ar-lath-ma-vhenan:

fenharelwin:

grandenchanterfiona:

fartroulette:

nonbinaryanders:

K, so Alistair was probably born at the Weishaupt fortress because it would make little sense for Fiona to travel back to Ferelden close to her due date.

So, that means there were tons of Grey Wardens around when he was born. Lots of them. 

And he needed clothing, because you know, babies. They need clothes.

What if some of the Grey Wardens there knit or crocheted him baby hats with griffons around the brim with colorwork, or knit or crocheted him a hat that made him look like a griffon, with a beak, and feathers and stuff. 

And baby sweaters with colorwork griffons in fair isle bands. 

And dresses, as that was what all babies wore in times comparable to Dragon age, with a large griffon embroidered on the front.

And socks with griffons on them. 

Imagine it. Imagine baby Alistair at the Weishaupt fortress, being doted on by lots of older Wardens and being decked out in really cute griffon clothing. 

IMAGINE.

And since Grey Wardens have such a low fertility rate and babies are so rare, there’s not a single Warden in the fortress that doesn’t, at the very least, sneak into the room in the few moments baby Alistair is alone and coo into the crib.

When someone else comes in, there’s the magnificent sight of a grumpy old man leaning over the crib decked out in heavy plate and trying to be sneaky about it. 

Yes. YES.

Even the First Warden sneaks out of her office and goes into Alistair’s room and starts playing with him with his rattle. 

Until Duncan, who’d totally be the protective uncle who made sure the Wardens let Alistair sleep, came into the room and noticed her there and she slowly, without taking her eyes off Duncan set Alistair back into the crib and ran, literally RAN back to her office, because she can’t have her men know she was playing with a baby.

And Alistair, who likes being held, doesn’t have to worry about having someone to do that. There’s constantly a Warden there to hold him. 

And some of the formerly casteless dwarves, knowing no lullabies, instead sing him Dwarven drinking songs.

And some of the Dalish wardens sing him songs in elven that they know from their clans. And maybe one or two of them change their minds about whether or not elf-blooded babies have a right to be called elven. 

ser-charlemagne

awww

*adds “baby Alistair griffon clothes” to list of knitting patterns I want to design*

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