#Draw Me Like One of Your Orlesian Girls

[glittering-darmallon]

Thursday Bangers

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

I was tagged by @teamtakagi. I get so nervous tagging other people because I don't want people to feel obligated to do it or whatever. So do it if you want and @me if you do so I can read it.

This week's prompt:

"A hundred days have made me older since the last time that I saw your pretty face." - Three Doors Down

Featuring one sad boy Davrin about Luca- should anyone be interested, the pose he's used for the sculpture is much like the one in the Ancient Roman statue, Sleeping Hermaphroditus.

Davrin's chisel stilled, his hand coming to a stop along with it as he stared at the sculpture in front of him. The first few days after Luca vanished into that rift and Solas walked out instead, Davrin had worked like a man possessed, desperate to get the piece finished before the image faded from his memory. He didn't sleep for three days straight. While several of the others worked on ways to get the rift back open or find a weakness, things he was simply not capable of helping with, he'd been in here.

He'd been inconsolable, chest heaving with rage and despair in that moment, when he'd watched Luca touch that dagger and then disappear,  that by the time they all made it back to the lighthouse he was primed to explode. Yet, when he walked into his little house, the perfect  block of wood had materialized. On the floor, for it was far too big for the table.

Perfectly Luca sized.

And now here Davrin was, almost finished and afraid to complete it, because all that was left was Luca's face. Though he yearned for it, he knew having that sleeping face, peaceful blonde hair framing it like a halo in front of him would be the thing that finally broke him.  Everyone who could was working tirelessly to get him back, and Davrin was beginning to accept that in all likelihood, Luca was dead.

He didn't know what to do with that. Didn't know what to do with himself anymore. Sure they had gods to kill. But what then? The Wardens were all but gone, his love likely was too, and he was directionless. Truly without a purpose for the first time in his life, and it terrified him. In those moments before Tearstone Island, they'd talked about a future, and now it was gone. Davrin didn't want a future without him.

He heard the door open behind him; he didn't want visitors.

"Oh my! That's quite the accomplishment," Emmrich's words were soft, but laced with worry. "When's the last time you slept?"

"I can't. The bed's too big without him in it. I have to finish before I forget his face." Out of the corner of Davrin's eye, he noticed Emmrich approaching his work table where dozens of drawings on sheets of parchment lay scattered about.

Emmrich picked one up. "I don't think you're in danger of that happening anytime soon. He's in all of these."

Davrin looked over and snatched the drawings Emmrich had been about to turn over. "There are some in there I would really rather you not see."

"Unhappy with the result?"

"They're private. Fairly sure if we get Luca back, he will be embarrassed knowing someone besides me saw them."

Emmrich's brows rose in understanding. "Ah yes. Forgive my impertinence." He began to study Davrin's work.

"Stay on this side of the sculpture, if you would. I think I am going to reshape this section to be a sheet draped over his waist. I can't just- I went from the sketch and wasn't thinking clearly about who might see it when I started the whole thing. Truthfully…I haven't been thinking clearly much at all lately."

Emmrich lay a warm hand on his shoulder. Davrin both loved and hated it.

"I don't know what to do with myself. It's been weeks."

"We are working as fast as we can to find a solution."

Davrin shook his head, face crumpling. "It wasn't a criticism. I know you all are trying your best. " He licked his lips, his eyes growing damp at the whole  situation. He sniffled. "I miss him. We need to get him back." He hung his head.

"I need him back."

[sassylavellen]

Bringing this back one more time

No one:

Literally no one:

Me: Draw Me Like One Of Your Orlesian Girls Part 2?

Pose references used

My Characters -  Origins - DA2 - Inquisition (part 1) - Inquisition (part 2) - DLC and Misc Companions

[greypetrel]

OC tag game

Tagged by @dungeons-and-dragon-age, thank you so much, Laya! Gonna keep up with Inky, but hey, feel free to tag me or request another blorbo.

Name: Aisling Deshanna Lavellan

Alias: Lucky, Shrimp, Sleeping Beauty

Gender: Cis woman

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Age: 27 in 9:40

Spoken Language: Trade, Elven, learnt Tevene on her own "just to be sure", and learnt it better from Dorian. Josie tried to teach her some Orlesian, she has some basics but never stuck.

Occupation: First of clan Lavellan. Then very unsure Herald of Andraste. Inquisitor, more sure about it. After 9:42, horse breeder, local healer in South Reach, magic teacher for children.

FAVORITE:

Color: Teal

Entertainment: Shitty novels, smut or not, creating whacky experiments with Dorian, dancing, drawing very very badly, animal and horses, to watch, caress, adopt...

Pastime: Taking care of the horses in the stables, chilling out in a tavern with friends, writing long letters full of doodles to far-away friends, checking her friends have eaten and have been hugged today, provide that hug in case it lacks, sparring with the Chargers, gardening (more plant-picking in the wild, but still).

Food: Lemon custard pie. Any dessert with lemon. Any dessert, really. Citrus in general. Peaches. Anything that she didn't cook and isn't pickles, really.

Drink: Dalish peach liquor which she can never find outside clans. Mulled wine. Hot chocolate with allegedly too much whipped cream.

HAVE THEY...

Passed university: ... In the modern AU yes, she's into a PhD? Canonically she has equal instruction but no formal institutes in Dalish clans?

Had sex: Yes

Had sex in public: Oh damn. I think yes.

Gotten tattoos: Yes! Vallaslin on her brow and chin, and running all throughout her body. Back, arms and legs. Dedicated to Ghilan'nain, she didn't have it removed post Trespasser.

Gotten piercings: Nope. Her magic focuses on lightnings, she doesn't want to have any more metal on herself than strictly necessary.

Gotten scarred: Several scars, yes. More after the Inquisition, but surely some are from before. I think the most embarrassing one is a semi-circle between her thumb and index fingers. A halla bit her, but it was clearly her own fault, the poor halla is 100% innocent and did nothing wrong ever.

Had a broken heart: Romantically? Yes. Platonically? She's all kept together with glue and glitter.

ARE THEY...

A cuddler: In Dorian's words she's basically an octopus. If she likes you she will cuddle you. Unless you very specifically tell her no.

Scared easily: Nope. But if she's fully concentrated on something, she doesn't hear anything happening around her, if you walk close and tap her shoulder, she'll startle.

Jealous easily: Nope. If she'll enter a love triangle, she'll be the one to step away and leave the other two alone. "Other person is so much better than me, you're both really lucky, you'll be a great couple. :)" (self-esteem not there)

Trustworthy: Yes, to a fault.

FAMILY:

Parents/siblings: Adoptive mother and two older adoptive siblings, a brother -Pavyn- and a sister - Radha. She remembers very vaguely her biological mother, has no idea of her name, her clan, doesn't know if she has siblings out there. Could be, she doesn't want to know.

Children: After Trespasser yes. A girl, Niamh, and a boy, Taralin.

Pets: ... She'll adopt everything that moves. Too many too count. The favourite one is her horse, Little Brother. She and Cullen have an agreement: if one adopts something, the other can adopt something too. They have a farm. A big farm. She tends to adopt animals that are one step from their grave, on their way to the butcher. Three-legged cows, cats with no more eyes. All of the animals she adopts have food names. Cullen only gave her the one rule: nothing venomous and nothing that breathes fire. Which was a big disappointment because she really really wanted to try and imprint on a dragongling. Her How to Train Your Dragon dreams were compromised, alas.

Tagging: @salsedinepicta @ndostairlyrium @shivunin (do another if you'd like!) @hollytree33 @inquisimer @pinayelf @saltyowlets @star--nymph @chanafehs @kirkwallrealestate (hi Lu!) @diesvitae @idolsgf @heniareth and YOU!

[mercsmemes]

Tales from the Group Chat

“What are the Deep Roads if not the highways of Thedas?”

“Listen we’ve been over this: you can’t make a guy with a God complex top.”

“I’m sorry about your toilet.”

“The child must learn she isn’t worthy of unicorns.”

“Sorry, he wasn’t a random vampire. He was also a mime.”

“Why ask women when you could just be a man with an opinion?”

“I saw a space cowboy and it’s my duty, nay, PRIVILEGE to ride.”

“You bring geese into an argument to win it.”

“Murder attempts are how Orlesian nobles say hello.”

“I can excuse wanting to end the world as we know it but I draw the line at Cullen fucking.”

“Perhaps the real Talking Darkspawn was the Warden all along.”

“One day soon the dawn will come? Haha I think you will find the dawn comes every day.”

“I can’t believe Mythal was the first gamer girl.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be ingested.”

“It’s ok, I’m from the Qun-ion.”

“Whenever I see it I’m like bored but also offended by how bored I am.”

“Meredith Orsino Malcom [rando’s last name] you were named after all the people I blame for my trauma.”

“Peak Templar is Otto investigating a Veil issue and not the mages enslaving people like 20 feet away.”

“Every pair of shoes I own are clown shoes.”

“Gaslight gatokeep girlboss.”

“Accidentally killed my husband because I thought I had healing hands equipped but I actually didn’t so instead I punched him to death.”

“I tell her that I do not control the cricket and she does not believe me.”

“Would you rather have Goofy as your Psychopomp who takes you to the afterlife OR the obstetrician who delivers your baby?”

“Me, quietly: dickscourse.”

“Animals do not have money.”

“Your own fault for having feet, really.”

“Bring ravioli, babe.”

“Science lesbian is so vicious.”

“Spoilered because one has a dismembered penis for some reason.”

“Do not stand by my keyblade and weep. I am norted, I do not sleep.”

“When I die make sure I have cameltoe.”

“Women are completely hairless beings that don’t poop.”

“Are you calling me a Fereldan?”

“I can’t believe sex and Irn Bru were invented in the same land. Possibly in the same lake.”

“Simple and queer is the way we’re all feeling tonight.”

“Cullen had clearly started a raw meat diet and needed cover.”

“With the power of bisexuality we can make liking men feel gay.”

“You ask [name] to dom for you and he says yes but he starts crying and it kind of ruins the vibe.”

“I am haunted by the utter fruitlessness of making cornflakes.”

“Trophy spouses don’t have to be older or younger, just super hot.”

“All elves are just Solas running around really fast.”

“Accept the truth into your heart: Tevinter doesn’t season their spaghetti and they only have smooth penne pasta.”

“Antivans Mad at Food blog confirmed.”

“Meredith the PEZ dispenser.”

“What if the real handspider was the friends we made along the way.”

“So, no dongus?”

“WHEREwolf!”

“Sometimes the real Agents of Fen’Harel are the people modern society has crushed along the way.”

[loustica-lucia]

DATV — Draw me like one of your Orlesian girls

☀️Alba de Riva probably asking someone to draw him like one of their Orlesian girls or something🎨

Quick 1h redraw of that one pic before sleep time (I'm lying, I'm gonna go play DATV)

Reference picture:

[littlemissgeek8]

OC Tag Game

Sorry for the wait!! Life's been super hectic the past few weeks and I have had very little time to actually get things done and posted. But I really wanted to fill this out, and @thedissonantverses and @sandcastlekings both tagged me in this, so I knew I had to do it! I may do another pass later for Rhanek because he needs fleshing out a bit, but I stuck with my Cadash for this post. :3 Featuring: rare pictures of my girl from Inquisition itself!

Ignore the one picture where she's clearly ginger, I gave her darker hair later on. Also her hair should be very curly but ''inquisition have decent hair challenge: impossible."

GENERAL

Name: Darvia Cadash

Alias(es):"Herald of Andraste," "Inquisitor," "Songbird/Birdie" (Varric exclusive)

Gender: Cis Female

Age: 35 (as of 9:41 Dragon, born 9:06 Dragon.)

Place of birth: Ostwick, Free Marches

Spoken languages: Common/Trade, some Dwarven (But Dwarven's kind of a dying tongue and she's long removed from Orzammar, so she has little use for it most of the time.)

Sexual orientation: Demi-sexual/Demi-romantic

Occupation: Inquisitor, formerly (minor) Carta agent

FAVOURITE

Colour: She largely sticks to blues and greens.

Entertainment: Prior to becoming Inquisitor, she didn't have much chance for indulging in entertainment with how much work she was doing. However, she's fond of having stories told aloud to her (whether printed or not), she enjoys listening to musicians in taverns and listening in to the Chant being sung, and the few times she's gotten to watch an actual theater performance have been mesmerizing.

Pastime:She draws when she has the chance, she enjoys reading and singing, and she greatly enjoys gardening.

Food: She's fond of breads and potatoes in particular, especially if those potatoes are in a nice stew. Becoming Inquisitor opened up a world of new cuisine, and she's become particularly fond of Orlesian croissants.

Drink: Tea, very much so--sweet and milky. She has a favorite kind she bought at the market once that has a deeply smoky flavor to it (and thankfully the Inquisition was able to find more for her.)

Books: By and large her usual choice is fiction, with the occasional history book or non-fiction about gardening or poisons. Shockingly enough, she'd never read any of Varric's books prior to joining the Inquisition (though she did manage to read a small bit of The Dasher's Men that was being used to prop up a table in the Ostwick Carta headquarters.)

HAVE THEY

Passed university: She's had precious little formal education really, so definitely not.

Had sex: Not before Inquisition (and even then it wasn't before the victory celebration.)

Had sex in public: Absolutely not, she doesn't even let her hair down in public!

Gotten tattoos: Nope, the idea of using needles on your skin for fun (or art) makes little sense to her.

Gotten piercings: Most likely yes, since earrings can be used for disguises. I doubt she was happy about it though.

Gotten scarred: She's a two-handed rogue, she's definitely got scars from close combat. (Granted, not all of them are from combat, she's probably got at least one scar from clumsiness.)

Had a broken heart: Not until Veilguard heyooo fight me in a parking lot, Mary Kirby.

Been in love: Again, not until Inquisition, and it took her a few months to notice and even more months to act on those feelings.

ARE THEY

A cuddler: Oh absolutely, once that person's got past the "I don't know you well enough to touch you" phase.

Scared easily: Yes and no. She wasn't scared much back home or when she was working for the Carta, but once she's out of her depth in the Inquisition, she's a bundle of frayed nerves waiting to jump at every opportunity.

Jealous easily: I'd have to say yes, if just because the one relationship she's been in came with baggage that left her with some brand new jealousy.

Trustworthy: She may hate having to lie, but she'll never turn her back on someone she counts as a friend. (Solas does not count, he made her skin crawl from the start.)

FAMILY

Sibling(s):None, she's an only child.

Parents: Both alive, both largely dependent on her keeping them afloat because they want to be rich and famous, but Maker knows they'll never actually put that much effort into trying to make money in a way that won't land them in trouble with the law. (Usually embezzlement or outright scams, and they're really bad at both.)

Children: Not until after Inquisition, and at least one: a boy, Gwinak. (Haven't decided if they have more than one, but Gwinak's a certainty.

Pets: If Hawke doesn't roll up at some point and foist a mabari puppy onto her and Varric, I'm a nug. The Viscount's Keep is too boring anyway.

Gonna slap on some tags here for @biowaredisasterbisexual and @hyperions-light because I know they're interested, but IDK who else might want to see my cadash. XD

[danceswithdarkspawn]

🍒 What’s your favorite character dynamic to write? (Can be romantic or platonic, specific or general!)

🍑 If you could make a connection between your favorite character and another work you care about (whether a crossover/fusion or a wonderfully “pretentious” literary reference) what would it be? How would it work?

🥭 Rank from most enjoyable/fun to write to least: Fluff, Smut, Angst, Crack.

🍌 In your opinion, what’s the funniest joke/reference/pun you’ve made in a fic?

🍈 Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics? Free pass to rant about blorbo opinions.

"a few," he said

🍒: very, very close competition between Oblivious Idiots, Sharing A Braincell and platonic/familial relationships in general.

🍑: this is...a really good question. I'm actually not sure. I'm not actually involved in a lot of media and their fandoms, and the ones that I am, their genres and themes vary so wildly that I struggle to draw comparisons. I'm also pretty stubborn and like my things in neat little defined boxes. I did deliberately make a pop culture reference once for comedic effect and it kinda worked.

🥭:

angst - are we really surprised

smut - depending on the day/subject matter, this can be swapped with fluff. Sometimes it's fun, sometimes it's a pain to write.

fluff - I don't mind fluff, most of my ideas don't float this way unfortunately

crack - crack is the only genre I actively don't like, and this is true in trad media as well. Especially those that are meta-aware/break the 4th wall. This is something I associate with cartoons I grew up watching (think Looney Toons), and now I just don't find it as compelling or funny. I wouldn't even know how to start something cracky.

🍌: I usually don't intentionally put in jokes. Probably a toss-up of the pop culture reference listed above (a reference to Titanic, 'draw me like one of your French girls' became 'paint me like an Orlesian girl'); and a pseudo-meta reference in Broken Bird about Leliana probably being able to snap someone's neck with just her legs (which she does in Inquisition if you side with the mages).

🍈: I'm Not Normal about Leliana. As of yet, I don't think I have any recurring things for her across my fics (at least not intentionally) aside from Morrigan referring to her as 'little bird.' She does this in the Broken Bird universe as well as an unpublished Morriana ficlet sitting in my drafts. I don't really have much else to say about her except leave her aloneeeeee.

[broodwoof]

Look I’ll say it. I am SHOCKED that I’ve yet to see a single “draw me like one of your Orlesian girls” scenario for Solavellan.

omg ur right?? PLS THE POTENTIAL......

like! maybe lavellan is just being silly but he's like okay and draws her and it's soooo tender and she's like 🥹 I wasn't expecting you to rly put that much effort in

[sassytail]

I was inspired by @sassylavellen‘s draw me like one of your orlesian girls series to draw my own Mahannon lavellan(she/her)

also i know it’s been a million years since i posted anything on here but heyo

Twitter Mirror

[jacklyn-flynn]

"Are they sexy consequences?" Girl, I fucking hope so. 🤤

75 for Elodie and Fen 🤤 Please and thank you!

75. Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing.

“Are you done yet?” Hawke asked, finally making her presence known after having spent the last five minutes staring lewdly at Fenris’s naked back from the doorway. He was sprawled out on his bed, propped up on his elbows adding the finishing touches to a sketch he’d been working on for the past few weeks.

Fenris growled in response, sounding less than impressed by yet another interruption. 

“You do know growling at me like that isn’t going to scare me off - quite the opposite actually.” She winked when he turned his head to give her an irritated glare.

Hawke completely ignored her lovers less than welcoming demeanour as he shook his head and returned his attention to his sketchbook, climbing on to the bed and crawling on top of him to straddle the backs of his thighs.

“Hawke,” he warned as she leaned forwards to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” she whispered sensually in his ear before giving the sensitive tip and gentle suck.

“So help me, Hawke,” he began, “if you don’t let me finish this, there will be consequences.”

“What kinds of consequences?” She innocently asked, pressing another kiss to his back, and another, and another as she worked a path up to his other ear. “Are they sexy consequences?”

She felt him shudder beneath her, the markings on his skin shimmering slightly in response to her performance. 

And then nothing.

Hawke slid fluidly on to her back beside him, her mass of inky-black waves making it impossible for him to continue as she provocatively stretched her arms out above her head, drawing his attention to her naked chest.

“Oh, am I in your way?” she asked as he fixed her with an intense stare, innocently batting her eyelashes.

A spike of white-hot lust surged through her entire body when his intensely arousing voice moodily responded, “yes.”

Hawke slowly licked her lips, pleased by the annoyed twitch of his eye as he tried unsuccessfully to avoid looking at her mouth. “Give me a kiss and I’ll leave you alone.” 

Fenris rolled his eyes in exasperation, but she didn’t miss the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth - confirming he wasn’t quite as annoyed as he’d have her believe.

“Fine,” he grumpily submitted, pressing his lips to hers in what he intended to be a quick peck. 

But Hawke had other ideas.

She slid her fingers into his hair, holding him in place as she ran her tongue along the seam of his lips until he opened his mouth and kissed her properly. She tugged his hair at the roots, nails scraping along his scalp as she coercively kissed him into surrender.

“I’ll go now,” she spoke as his lips trailed a path down her throat, attempting to sit up and move away from him.

Fenris growled as he grabbed her by the hip and dragged her beneath him, the suave velvet of his voice making her visibly shiver as he spoke against her lips, “you’re going nowhere, woman.”

[Kiss Prompt List] | [26]

[thebookworm0001]

she uh. hasn’t had a great day.

[sassylavellen]

I was so scared to share those original drawings I did a few weeks ago for the “Draw Me Like One Of Your Orlesian Girls” sets, but a lot of people, including some of my absolute favorite artists here have been making art that was inspired by my set... I never thought it would happen like this, I was sure tumblr would strike me down, or that people would yell at me for doing them (that part did happen).

Thank you to everyone for all the kind words about my art over the last couple weeks! I’m definitely still learning, and I want to keep sharing my progress as I go! This means a whole lot to me, and I am excited to keep learning!

pose refrence used

[shadowheartoffaith]

Her hands curl over the headboard, her head falling back against the pillows as a low moan tears its way from her throat. Cullen’s head is buried between her legs, his hands wrapped gently around her thighs, keeping her spread open for him as his tongue passes over her folds in a way that has her swearing she is going to die from pleasure. 

She had woken to his fingers trailing featherlight down the bare skin of her side, the room still warm from the fire and the down of the lavish blankets draped over the bed. The entirety of Chateau Desjardins is stunning and decadently over-the-top with its marble floors and foreign art lining the walls. Elodie had been enraptured despite her exhaustion the night before when they had arrived. Though she is now accustomed to long haul treks through Thedas with Inquisitor Trevelyan and his party, five days of traveling on horseback had left her tired and a bit sore. 

They had arrived late in the evening, the Inquisitor and his Inner Circle and Advisors being led to the formal dining room for a warm meal and then shown to their rooms throughout the winding estate. The soldiers had made camp on the grounds and Leliana’s agents had gone on ahead to Halamshiral to find places to smuggle Inquisition troops into the Winter Palace during Empress Celene’s peace talks.

The evening had been long with talk of dress code and etiquette and protocol. The list of nobles in attendance had been chattered about between Vivienne and Josephine and Leliana. Vivienne had even arranged for gilded carriages to take them to the palace and mercilessly questioned the Inquisitor about the famed Council of Heralds for the majority of the meal, leaving Elodie’s head spinning with the intricacies of the Game. 

Her head spins for another reason now. Her back arches off of the mattress and Cullen’s hands slip higher to pin her hips down. Light dances behind her eyelids, his name escaping her in a sigh and he slows his ministrations but does not stop. Her fingers dig into his curls, urging him closer.

A sharp rap at the door has her eyes flying open. 

She bites down on another moan. A leftover habit from their days in the Circle; she fears being caught. She tugs at Cullen’s hair and he chuckles against her, his nose bumping against her clit. She hisses out a breath at the sensation. 

“They’ll leave,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. 

Another sharp knock sounds before a heavily Orlesian-accented voice informs them that breakfast is being served in the dining room. A heartbeat later her ears twitch at the sound of footsteps receding down the hall. 

“We should go,” she grouses. 

Cullen hums against her, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses up her bare leg. “Do you wish for me to stop?”

His voice is so low, so roughened with lust. She trembles at the thick edge of his Fereldan accent as it creeps into his voice. He lifts his head to look at her. His pupils are blown so wide his eyes are nearly black and she watches as he licks his lips clean of her. 

Her toes curl.

“No,” she breathes and he is back to the pressing task of making her see stars. 

He strokes her leg as he circles a particularly sensitive spot with his wicked tongue and a cry catches in her throat. All of her nerve endings are alight with fire and she feels her muscles coiling tighter and tighter before she falls limp and boneless against the mattress. Another soft kiss is pressed to her hip and then Cullen is hovering over her, those amber eyes tender and amused. “Good morning,” he murmurs, bringing his mouth down to hers.

She cannot speak, she can hardly move, but she returns his kiss. 

An even sharper knock at the door has Cullen growling down into her throat in frustration. He pulls away to call “What?” over his shoulder. 

“If you two are quite finished,” comes Josephine’s haughty voice, “There are preparations to begin! We have much to do!”

Elodie lets out a quiet laugh and Cullen grumbles something about privacy. 

“It is time to greet the day, Commander!” Josephine sing-songs from outside before she proceeds down the hall to break down another door. 

Elodie traces her fingertips from Cullen’s jaw up and over the shell of his ear. He leans into her touch, his stormy expression softening. “Duty calls,” she murmurs. 

He drops his head down to nuzzle at her neck. “I had no idea this party was going to take up so much of our time. Or become an all day event.”

“From what I’ve gathered Orlesian parties are some sort of national pastime.” She strokes the back of his head soothingly. “I may be even less excited than you are,” she admits. “But this is important. And once it’s over we can do this again.”

“I will be holding you to that,” he informs her, his breath warm against her skin. 

She grins.

“Dorian Pavus! Open this door!” comes Josephine’s shout from down the hall.

Elodie shakes her head. “I hope they locked that door or Josephine is about to get an eye full.”

Cullen peers up at her questioningly.

“If you’d ever been camping with Dorian and Bull, you’d understand. Apparently qunari have very lax views on public decency.”

His cheeks flush at her implication. “Have you...have you ever seen-?”

“A time or two, yes.” She tries not to think too long on the few times she had been sitting at the cook fire and Iron Bull had come wandering from his shared tent without a stitch on him, Dorian shouting from inside.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen grumbles, mortified, and pulls himself out of bed. 

She watches him gather up his clothing from the floor and splash water on his face. Something about watching him prepare for the day has always left her somewhat speechless. It is such a domestic and commonplace thing but it is also something so horribly intimate. She had never dared dream that a day would come when she would be the first to see him in the morning. His golden hair curled and bed-tousled before he tames it into submission, his amber eyes soft and still slightly glazed. 

He is lacing up his breeches when he glances back at her, still lounging in bed. He follows her gaze and can’t seem to help glancing down at himself self consciously. “What is it?”

Another smile spreads her lips and she shakes her head. “Nothing, vhen’an. I just cannot seem to move my legs yet, is all. You were very...thorough.”

His ears burn scarlet and he coughs to clear his throat. 

“For Maker’s sake! This is not a circus,” cries Josephine. “Find yourself a decent pair of trousers!”

The day is a flurry of orders and reports and dresses and shoes. 

The Inner Circle flits through the chateau as they prepare, sharing jokes and jabs in passing. Servants come through with trays of figs and roasted nuts and glasses of sparkling wine. 

Elodie is sat in front of a vanity mirror while one of the household servant’s carefully tends to her hair. Her long red tresses are carefully pulled atop her head in a coronet, a few loose strands curled into tight tendrils that frame her face. She has had no one to tend to her hair since Ormaline left the Circle. 

The girl is young, her brow furrowed in concentration as she threads diamond crusted combs into Elodie’s hair. She bobs her head with a satisfied smile which Elodie watches in the mirror’s reflection. “What do you think, my lady?”

“It is very beautiful, thank you,” Elodie tells her.

The girl’s smile widens. “What color is your gown, my lady?”

Vivienne glides into the parlor with Josephine and Cassandra trailing behind her. “You look marvelous, darling!” she praises, motioning with a hand. Two more servants enter, holding aloft the heavy dress boxes from Val Royeaux. Vivienne leaves them to arrange the gowns and comes up to Elodie’s side, studying her. 

“Madame de Fer?”

Vivienne purses her lips before turning to the servant girl. “Her face has such fine angles, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of course,” the girl says instantly. 

“I think some rouge along her cheekbones will do well to accentuate that. And perhaps some coal for her eyes, yes?” Vivienne recommends and Elodie feels as if she has become one with the furniture. She has never worn cosmetics on her face. Has only worn a gown two other times in her life. 

She feels frighteningly out of her depth and cannot help but wonder what Cullen will think when he sees her dressed up like some sort of showy bird. 

“Now, now, darling,” tuts Vivienne. “Do not frown! You will thank me.”

Vivienne had been present at all of Elodie’s dress fittings in Val Royeaux, offering her opinion on fabrics and colors she felt would suit Elodie’s skin and hair and eyes. Things that had been entirely lost on the healer. 

She takes a steadying breath and allows the girl to do as Vivienne has instructed, keeping her eyes downcast throughout the process of brightening her cheeks and lining her eyes and coloring her lips. 

There is rustling behind her as Cassandra and Josephine ready themselves. 

Vivienne is humming in approval behind Elodie. “Stunning, dear.”

“You will draw many eyes this evening, my lady,” the servant adds in agreement.

Elodie dares a glance at her reflection and her lips part in surprise. Her grey eyes sparkle like starlight, a thin line of coal smudge beneath to make them even brighter. Her lips are full and pouty and the color of flower petals. And the light rouge sweeping high up on her cheekbones makes her face appear even sharper, a bit more exotic. 

“Fashion is a type of magic as well, my dear,” Vivienne informs her, her tone as gentle as Elodie as ever heard her. “I daresay our dear Commander will be unable to keep his eyes off of you tonight.”

That thought sits warmly in her belly. She wishes this were the sort of party where that sort of thing could be afforded. Where Cullen could simply look his fill and perhaps ask her to dance, sweep her away from the crowd and kiss her soundly. But she knows that these peace talks cannot fail and that Cullen cannot be distracted. Not by her, not by anything. 

The Enchanter excuses herself to dress and Josephine takes up her place when the servant girl moves to retrieve Elodie’s gown. The ambassador is a vision in a soft dandelion yellow, her dark hair swept up into an elaborate updo of curls finished with shimmering ribbon. Long satin gloves cover her arms up to the elbow. 

Cassandra is in a pair of fitted trousers of black velvet, a purple doublet with the Inquisition’s insignia finishing off the look. The Seeker’s boots are polished to perfection and the entire ensemble fits her so perfectly that Elodie smiles. 

“You both look amazing,” she says earnestly. “Masen is not going to know what to do with himself,” she adds to Josephine.

The ambassador waves away the compliment, clearly flustered. “Oh, you flatter me much too much. He will have so much else to occupy his time this evening, I doubt he will even notice.”

Elodie doubts that very much and Cassandra says as much.

“Here we are, my lady.” The servant girl holds up Elodie’s dress and she rises from her seat and stares back at the emerald skirts of her ballgown. 

Now or never, she thinks to herself. She is suddenly nervous she will step on her trailing skirts and rip them. Or that she will trip in front of the nobility. Or-

The heavy fabric pools on the floor and she steps into the puddle of green tulle and satin. She holds out her arms to slip them through the thin cap sleeves that rest below her shoulders. The neckline ends just above her cleavage and the bodice is a masterpiece of embroidered leaves and flowers and the back dips into an elegant V baring her shoulder blades and the first few notches of the bar of her spine. She sucks in a breath as the servant girl laces up the corseting before stepping away to admire her work.

Elodie resists the urge to bite at her lip to avoid smudging the paint there. She sways in an anxious half-twirl, looking to Josephine and Cassandra for validation. “Well?” she asks nervously, bunching her hands in her skirts. “How is it?”

“Madame de Fer is correct,” Josephine says, eyes sparkling. “Cullen will not be able to keep his eyes off you. That is certain.”

“Perhaps it will be enough to distract him from how much he detests these affairs,” Cassandra laughs.

“Pardon me, ladies!” Dorian sing-songs as he strides into the room. “Ah!” He makes a beeline for the vanity, snatching up the stick of coal that had been used to line Elodie’s eyes before repeating the process on himself with practiced efficiency. He catches sight of her in the mirror and spins around. “Elodie?”

She laughs nervously, dipping her head.

The servant softly excuses herself, collecting the dress box and departing. 

Josephine smooths down her skirts before announcing she is off to see to the rest of the party, her concern seeming to center around Sera. Cassandra offers Elodie a nod and follows the ambassador out. 

“Is it so bad that you did not even recognize me?” Elodie teases Dorian once they are alone. 

“You must be joking,” he scoffs, drawing closer. “You are positively stunning.” He takes her hand and leads her into a twirl. “The color suits you. You will draw the eyes of the entire court.”

Elodie rolls her eyes. “Ah, yes. A rabbit in a ballgown. Simply magnificent.”

Dorian waves off her words. “We will look quite the menagerie, I am certain. You will be in good company with a Tevinter Altus, a Qunari spy and whatever Cole happens to be. And that’s not to mention Varric and his fan club and Blackwall’s beard. You just worry about wearing that dress as brilliantly as you are now.”

“Elodie, are you-Maker’s breath.”

She and Dorian turn to see Cullen standing in the doorway, obviously gobsmacked with his mouth hanging open. He stares at her, eyes roving from the diamond combs in her hair down to the embroidery of her bodice, trailing the length of her skirts. He blinks.

“Do you feel better about it now?” Dorian teases her. “I believe our Commander’s reaction says it all.”

“You look...that gown...it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful,” Cullen manages to stammer out. 

He paces into the parlor, his fitted coat a deep grey with the adornments afforded to his military position shining against the fabric.  

Dorian smirks. “It does look rather good, doesn’t it?” He gives her another once over, a 

mischievous glint in his eyes. “I do, however, think it would look even better on Cullen’s floor.”

Cullen pauses his advance, seeming to choke on his tongue. “Are you...are you flirting with her for me?”

Dorian shrugs. “I supposed I would get your evening off to as decent a start as your morning.” He holds up a hand before Cullen or Elodie can argue. “This house may be exquisite but the walls are not that thick.” He offers them a salacious wink before sauntering from the room.

Cullen watches him go, at a loss for words. 

“You look very handsome, vhen’an,” Elodie whispers. 

And he does. His coat hugs him perfectly, his trousers well pressed and flattering. And, of course, his boots are as immaculate as Cassandra’s. Thankfully his collar is high enough to hide the love bite she had left him with the night before. 

Cullen turns back to her, holding out a hand.

She takes it, their fingers lacing together as he draws her closer. 

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on,” he whispers reverently. His lips press to the side of her jaw, lingering. 

She trails her fingers over the Inquisition insignia emblazoned on the breast of his coat. “Cullen, I-”

“Come now, everyone!” Josephine calls from the vestibule. “We must be on our way! Has anyone seen Cole?”

Cullen offers Elodie a wry smile. “Duty calls,” he murmurs her earlier words back to her. “Shall we?”  

She takes his arm, feeling as if this is all some sort of fever dream and she will wake alone in her bed in Kinloch Hold. She tightens her grip and draws herself up to her full height as Cullen leads her from the parlor and into the vestibule where the others are already waiting.

[hollyand-writes]

Throwaway Thursday! 

I was tagged in this in early December 2020 by the lovely @fandomn00blr (back at you! 😄 and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reply to this!) to post something I liked but wasn’t working/coalescing/fitting into whatever I wanted it to! ❤️ 

Here is a long deleted scene (813 words) from my Regency AU Carver/Merrill fanfic “A Chance Engagement” (although I re-worked some of it in Chapter 20–21): 

---

Lady Leandra descended the grand staircase to greet Mr Tethras before he went, and ordered her son to go back to entertain their other guests, so Carver was forced to go back to the drawing room while the Hawke women had the privilege of walking with Varric out of the front entrance to linger in the street, and talk a little longer. Carver grumbled to himself, but inwardly he was torn: on the one hand he had no desire to spend any time with Babette or Fifi de Launcet; but on the other, Miss Merrill Alerion was with them – and surely he would not need to be so much on his guard around the pretty elf girl while his mother and sisters were temporarily out of sight.

He strode back into the drawing room, where Babette and Fifi were all smiles of delight at his re-entrance, and made space for him on the sofa so that he could sit between them. Carver hesitated; he did not want to sit anywhere near them if he could help it; and in the end he seated himself between their sofa and Miss Merrill’s chair, the better to look at her lovely face.

‘My mother ordered me to rejoin you,’ he said, unconsciously addressing himself more to Miss Alerion than the de Launcets. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting any intimate conversation.’

‘Oh! not at all!’ cried Miss Babette, somewhat shrilly, ‘we were just about to enquire what elven marriages were like. Are they similar to human marriages, Miss Merrill? Elven culture is so different from humans that elven gentry have very different standards of marriageability than human gentry, I am sure.’  

‘Um,’ Merrill started; she looked uncomfortable in the de Launcets’ presence, Carver noted, although he honestly could not blame her. ‘Well, like humans, we’re expected to make a desirable match if we can; but elven marriages are far more about love marriages than social advancement. I’m sure the latter does happen sometimes – but generally, affection for your spouse-to-be is important.’

To her further annoyance, the Orlesians scoffed at this. ‘Oh, how quaint!’ Fifi tittered, in a voice that indicated she thought anything but. ‘How naïve! No wonder it is so easy for human noblemen to seduce their elven servants, if something as fickle and unquantifiable as love is what you value above all else!’

‘Miss de Launcet,’ Sir Carver cut in, sharply, and both women stopped giggling at a red-faced Merrill, ‘I would advise you not to insult a fellow guest in my house.’  

‘Oh! of course!’ Babette simpered, anxious not to upset the man on whom she and her sister had such designs, ‘we were not trying to be rude – we apologise profusely to Miss Alerion if she believed us capable of such a thing! But Miss Merrill, as a friend: let me caution you not to give credit to such a notion. You know not the ways of the world, especially the human one; and we are only too happy to assist you. We would not want to see you taken advantage of by an unscrupulous human nobleman – would we, Sir Carver?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘You know,’ Merrill said, even more desirous of getting away than she was already, ‘I really should go back to Mahariel – I have deserted her too long. The Hawke Estate is so huge, though! – I fear I shall get lost before I find her room again, if there is not a servant who can guide me.’

‘No need,’ Sir Carver said, standing up, ‘I shall accompany you there.’

‘Oh, I really don’t think that will be necessary,’ Merrill said, backing away towards the door, while a glance showed her that both de Launcets were regarding her with hostile eyes – presumably they were angry that she was forcing Carver to spend time away from them, and she had no desire of coming between the silliness of all the human nobles in this room, ‘I am sure one of the servants will be sufficient!’

But it was to no avail: Sir Carver loomed over her, tall and broad and strapping, blue eyes peeking at her from under his dark hair so intently that Merrill felt she had no choice but to follow him.

For Carver, it was a welcome opportunity to get out of the drawing room, away from the de Launcets, and spend even a few extra moments on his own with Merrill. They did not speak as he led her through the halls to Mahariel’s chamber, but Carver’s mind was so full he was not sure he was able to speak. Merrill’s pronouncements on marriage captivated him even more than he was already, and as pleasing as she was to look at and listen to, he could not help wondering how in Thedas he would be able to keep any of this to himself for the duration of her stay. 

---

I tag the following people (no pressure!): @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @elveny, @kunstpause, @uchidachi, @charlatron, @wardenari, @goblin-tea, @visceralcoma, @veorlian, @hawkeish, @midnightprelude, @nug-juggler, @ayantiel, @stitchcasual, @natsora, @lauraemoriarty, @andrew-blackthorn, @wickedwitchofthewilds, @asaara-writes, @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul, @in-arlathan, @jentrevellan, @luzial and anyone else who wants to do this! ❤️

[ghilenan]

When Daeron says “draw me like one of your Orlesian girls,” you draw him like one of your Orlesian girls, Maker damnit!

Happy birthday, @quizzikemen! And also I’m sorry!

[crystalessenceswrites]

You’re Enchanting-- Excerpt

 So I guess I was feeling a bit angsty today? Not sure what brought it on, but I had to get this down on paper today. Decided I might as well share it too. Gives some lovely insight into Delphine’s childhood, although a bit depressing... whoops.

You can check out Chapter One [here] or on AO3 [here]

Thanks to @flyingmarshmallow64 for letting me bug you about this all evening!

Summary:  Delphine always told Elazar she would do anything to help him if he was ever in trouble, even knowing his knack for finding it. She didn't expect to be helping him save the world after someone blows up the Conclave and tears a hole in the sky. Nor did Delphine expect to be falling for anyone, let alone a troubled, former templar, while she's watching her best friend shape the future of their world with a green glowing hand.

Pairings: Cullen/Trevelyan & Dorian/Lavellan

Warnings: angst, panic/anxiety attack, Cole tries but is not particularly helpful this time... but Cullen’s here to save the day

Excerpt- The Winter Palace Approaches 

Josephine has enough energy to run Skyhold three times over on a normal day, and how she did was well beyond Del’s understanding. Just meeting with guests on sparse occasions in lieu of Josie was exhausting. Del’s years in the Circle had worn down whatever tolerance she had for her fellow members of the nobility. When word finally arrived on the status of securing the Inquisition’s invitations to the Winter Palace, Josephine truly became a force of nature.

Every detail had to be perfected; every soldier attending in the retinue briefed and schooled in court decorum, accommodations sorted and reserved, travel plans sorted down to the minute, clothes tailored and wardrobes packed. It was enough to make anyone’s head spin. Josephine took it all in stride. Del simply did her best to offer support where she could, even if it didn’t seem like much, Josie did always voice her thanks.

She did so again with a knowing smile as Del corralled Dorian and El into Josie’s office with the others. Varric was already lounging on a sofa in front of the fireplace -much like he did in the main hall- talking rather animatedly to a disinterested Cullen, Josie was deep in conversation with Leliana at her desk, passing swaths of fabric back and forth, while Dorian and El draped themselves over the sofa across from the author and commander.

Del’s eyes quickly shot back to Josie and the spymaster tossing around satins in varying shades of blue. Now she knew what this meeting was about. Was it still possible for her to sneak away and escape the coming torture? El would approve of her skipping anything for the first time in her life.

Whatever chance she did have of escape slipped away with Bull’s entrance, his boisterous greeting drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Smiling at the final arrival, Josie clapped her hands together and got down to business. Del slid into the spot next to Cullen on the sofa, much to the enjoyment of the couple sitting across from her. El gave her his signature shit-eating grin and Dorian wiggled his eyebrows rather suggestively at them. Varric tried rather unsuccessfully to hide a snort of laughter behind a cough.

At least someone was enjoying themselves right now.

Josie looked rather unimpressed with the dwarf but continued on with a speech about etiquette and appearances at the Winter Palace, “… so, taking this all into consideration, Leliana and I have chosen a formal uniform for those attending the ball.”

Grinning- something Del did not see Leliana do all that often- the spymaster unfurled a red formal military jacket. It wasn’t overly flashy despite being trimmed with a gold pattern and decked out with full shoulder pads, but it was understated in terms of Orlesian fashion. Del could live with it as it lacked a corset.

Varric made his distaste rather clear, moaning to Leliana about his reputation in Kirkwall, and whatever else seemed to come to mind.

El, surprisingly, didn’t seem to perturbed by it. He and Dorian held the jacket between them, inspecting the design. Even while holding it, Del couldn’t picture El wearing it, it was the opposite of his style, if you could call El’s choices in clothing a style. Most days he wandered around Skyhold shoeless, in a half unlaced white tunic and brown leather breeches, much to Dorian’s apparent delight.

Maybe this was Josie’s way of getting back at him for his blatant lack of regency as the Inquisitor.

Cullen pulled Del from her thoughts as he gingerly wrapped his hand around hers where it sat between them on the sofa. His move, while discreet, did not go unnoticed by their company. Iron Bull sent them both a knowing smirk from his place leaning against the wall behind Dorian and El.

Del rolled her eyes at the qunari before leaning over to bump shoulders with Cullen.

“Care to share your opinion Commander?”

As annoyed as he was by the proceedings, he still sent a small, soft smile her way, one that made Del want to wrap herself up in arms like the lovesick girl she was trying not to be.

“There’s a long list of reasons why templars don’t attend balls. I’d say this is near the top.”

Del tried to hide her mirth at the mental image of templars dancing in full armor but was rather unsuccessful. Cullen’s smile matched her own, his honey-colored eyes shining. He must be having a good day to be looking at her so warmly.

“How in the Maker’s name are you going to get Bull in one of these?”

Del didn’t even try to hide her snickers at the pure indignation that laced Elazar’s voice. Cullen rolled his eyes.

“We have an army of tailors at our disposal, Inquisitor. Iron Bull’s outfit will be taken care of.” Josie reassured the room while Bull looked like he was holding his tongue.

“Oh, but Ambassador, can’t you just imagine the juicy gossip that would arise from Bull attending the Winter Palace shirtless!” Dorian cooed, obviously enjoying whatever mental image he had conjured.

Josie balked at the thought, drawing snickers from most of the room. “He will do no such thing!”

As Josie descended into banter with the Tevinter mage, Leliana slid up beside Del, one hand lightly curling over her shoulder.

Curious.

“Has Josie spoken with you yet?”

“Spoken of what?”

“The letter we received from your mother.”

A chill ran down Del’s spine and Cullen aptly noticed. His grip on her hand tightened- his show of silent reassurance.

“And what does my mother want?”

Leliana didn’t react to the steel in her voice, or at least not in a way Del could note. Elazar did. Del chose not to acknowledge how he leaned away from Josie and Dorian, his brows furrowing, tattoos crinkling around his eyes.

The spymaster produced a piece of folded paper, passing it to Del, “she notified us she would be sending the Trevelyan’s family seamstress, who arrived in Skyhold this morning, to prepare and fit you with a new gown for the ball.”

Del wondered why the news seemed draw all the air from her lungs.

“But…” Del’s voice croaked slightly, she cursed her body for betraying her. “There’s no need- the uniform…”

“Josie and I thought it best not come between a noblewoman and her daughter.” Leliana spoke softly. Her voice calculatedly level, as if to sooth, “and we debated for a time… it may prove beneficial for the Inquisition for you to appear at the ball as a lady of your station. Your name, after all, supplies the Inquisitor with substantial credibility.”

It made sense, the were playing The Game for the highest stakes. So why was her head spinning?

Del nods, rather weakly. “I see…” She couldn’t find it in herself to look across the room at Elazar. “Would you give me a few moments to read her letter?”

“Of course.” Leliana retreats to Josie’s desk, shuffling papers in the now quiet room.

Del quickly squeezes Cullen’s hand back before standing, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

No one responds as she darts toward the main hall.

Cullen’s frown deepens as he watched her figure disappear, letter clutched tight in her fist.

“Maker’s balls, follow her Curly!”

 Delphine thanks Andraste and the Maker that the courtyard was empty today. She found her seat on the floor of the empty gazebo, leaning back against the railing as she pours over her mother’s words.

They hadn’t spoken since before the assault on Haven but Delphine recognized her handwriting all the same. They were definitely her words too- about her role in showing Orlais the position of the Trevelyans- that she couldn’t appear before the court as anything less than perfect.

You are a Trevelyan after all.

What a load of crap. Del’s grip tightened around the parchment. She hadn’t been a Trevelyan since she was eight.

“Delphine.” Elazar’s soft voice drew her attention away from the letter as he crouched down in front of her. Cullen stood silently behind him; worry etched onto his features.

Maker, she didn’t want Cullen to see her like this.

“El- I-I didn’t hear you…”

“S’okay, Del. It’s just us.”

Just us- just the two people who meant the world to her.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong, Del?”

Del wasn’t sure she could. She didn’t know if there were words to explain why it felt like there was a druffalo sitting on her chest.

“Broken… shattered… betrayed. Why did they lie to me? Why would they send me away? I tried to be good. I promise I’ll be good…”

Del immediately recognized the icy feeling washing over her as Cole seemingly materialized next to her, sitting cross-legged on the gazebo floor with her. “Every time they call it twists the knife deeper, stinging and biting… you want to be angry but you aren’t.”

If this wasn’t anger she was feeling then what was it?

“Like a doll or a prize they pull out to show it off when people are looking and then shove back on the shelf the moment they look away. It hurts… but for a moment you forget… its warm. She makes you feel safe, like when you were little and she’d hold you in her lap and tell you how special you were and how important you would be one day.”

Maker make him stop. She wants to scream so her eyes will stop watering but she can’t breathe. She can’t speak.

“And then they send you away again and back to the cage- to the shelf they hide you away on so no one can see the blemishes on their precious name.”

The first tear falls, Delphine tries to choke back the sob building in her throat. She can’t bear to look at Elazar or Cullen.

“Cole, this isn’t really the time-”

“She hurts too. Every time she sends her little girl away, she’s worried she’ll never see you again. She never wanted this life for you.”

How in the world could he know that? In what world was it okay for her mother to play the victim when it was Delphine they sent away! When they replaced her!

“She has no right to be sad!” Delphine wants to scream it so all of Skyhold can hear, but her voice comes out just above a whisper between her broken sobs. “They had the chance to stop it, they had the power to make people look the other way! They chose to send me away, even after they said they would do everything to protect me. They betrayed me, that’s all there is to it.”

Her vision is blurry, she doesn’t see Cullen kneel at her side, but Delphine hears him. Armor against stone. And she feels him. Cole’s cool presence quickly replaced by Cullen’s warmth. His arms begin to gather her up and Del lets him pull her into his lap, pushing her head into the space between his chin and chest piece. Her mother’s letter flutters from her grip. Del grasps at his armor, his cloak, the fur, anything she can find purchase on as the sobs come faster. She’s blubbering into his neck but Cullen just wraps himself tighter around her. Shielding her. One hand runs up and down her back in time with his breathing, the other cards through her hair, unintentionally pulling her braid apart.

A hand joins hers where it’s tangled up in Cullen’s mantle. She recognizes Elazar’s spindly grip. It’s grounding, in the way only El can be. She grips it as she grips at reality.

Slowly, Del begins to match her breathing with Cullen, long and deep as he continues to rub her back. The tears being to subside, replaced by hiccups. His arms never loosen.

“Come back to us, Delphine. Come back to me…” Cullen’s voice is so low she almost can’t hear him as he keeps her pressed tightly against his chest. His breath is warm against her neck but his armor is cold against her limbs. She tries to focus on the sensations and not the swirling mess in her head.

“Cullen-” his name falls from her lips as she wraps her arms around his neck- “don’t let go.”

“I’ve got you.”