Another Amell/Alistair oneshot, with a side of sneaky Leliana.

Just so you're aware, the gushing awfulness is intentional; it is a romance epic, after all. Romance epics do have a tendency to... dramatize, somewhat.

Pure silliness, not angsty (maybe if you squint?).

Epic

He raises an eyebrow, looking in puzzlement at the parchment, reading through Leliana's neat, slightly swirly handwriting.

It was love at first sight for our great Wardens.

Right. Love. That was why she'd refused to speak to him at all until they had a raging argument. His name was officially "templar" - even though he never took his vows - until Lothering.

How could it not be? The Hero, with her legendary beauty and grace...

When he first saw her, she'd nearly been arrested by templars, been caught in the middle of Jowan's blood magic; her hair was round her head in a messy halo, her eyes downcast and her robes bloodstained. As for grace? He swears he saw her trip over the hem of her robes and curse under her breath a moment before they met.

... and her soulmate, strong in mind and body, brave and handsome...

Andraste's flaming sword, Lel isn't actually planning on showing this to anyone?

He feels his face heat at his description. Brave? He must have seemed arrogant, arguing with another mage in front of her, but brave?

The reason for "handsome" escapes him, too - unshaven, purely average-looking Warden who took minor pride in his hair, perhaps.

He stops, re-reading another word. Soulmate? He isn't sure he believes in that sort of thing, just as he still doubts he believes in Leliana's Maker-sent vision.

They found each other through a Blight, found light in darkness...

Hmmm. He remembers what he called his fellow Warden - "a rare and wonderful thing among all this darkness" - and supposes that that part's true, at least, though this is starting to sound like one of Wynne's... er, intricately-plotted novels. He frowns. Wait, is Leliana stealing his words?

'Twas unlikely, a pair against all odds, a prince and a mage...

He can't imagine her being called just "a mage", either. Morgana. Or his favourite mage. Or Warden. Or "quiet, frightening mage with sword", as she herself suggested.

Hang on. He is not technically an acknowledged prince. Never was. Bastard, illegitimate - yet the woman's making it sound like he's the one true heir to the throne or something.

... the one true heir to the throne...

Oh, Blighted Void.

... who, despite his denials of his destiny...

He trails a hand down his face in frustration, glad it stops him reading the rest, and skips the next paragraph.

... who faced the darkspawn and the Archdemon as a king, beginning his fair and just reign...

They haven't even had the Landsmeet yet, and already he's ruling "fairly and justly"?

Unfortunately for him, he carries on reading, eyebrows climbing further up his head as he does so, wincing.

He's so absorbed that Leliana manages to sneak up on him. "Enjoying your saga, Alistair?"

He jumps, making a strange, very unmanly noise that sounds a lot like "Ark!" and swiftly folds the parchment so she can't see it. Then sighs - she's written it, of course she knows what's in it. He pockets it, glaring at her. "I am confiscating this. I can't believe..."

Leliana gives him a wide, dangerously sweet smile. "Oh, Alistair. That will not stop me - I have plenty of paper. Anyway, someone will have to read your tale at your coronation."

"Coro - ? Oh, no. Not this again. We are not talking about this..." He stands, beginning to walk away, when the Orlesian calls to him, in a voice dripping honey, "I suppose I shall have to show Morgana the latest draft."

"Don't you dare. You'll... traumatize her. Or she'll be laughing at us both for... well, forever. I'm not sure which is worse."

The woman just laughs, a tinkling, dainty, evil little laugh, and begins walking over to Morgana, while he watches in horror.

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