#and Varric is like give her a change I think you'll like her

[hannahwdraws]

Just a couple of girls from The Free Marches

"I can't believe the girl I taught to weave flowers at the Arlathvhen grew up to be the 'fearsome' Inquisitor."

"I can't believe Varric didn't put two and two together sooner that we might have already known each other."

"Try not to blame him, you're so different from the girl I knew from back then."

"I'm still just a Dalish girl from The Marches"

[greypetrel]

8 and 30 for all of them! <3

16 for modern au Aisling/Cullen

(Or as many as you like, no pressure c:)

Mehehehehehehehehh *cracks hands*

Getting most under the cut because as always it's loooong, oops.

Tis the prompt list

8. What do they love most about the other? Why?

Alyra + Alistair: She would say "his stupid big heart". Meaning both how in contact he is with his emotions, and how he will always think of people first, bigger pictures later. Which is something... She doesn't exactly do. Or didn't at the start. And, his ability to find a silver lining and something to laugh upon in every situation and to make her laugh. He has a way to just... Be likeable and get along with other people she just doesn't have. Even with her, cold and unsympathetic and apparently uncaring? He didn't let him stop and befriended her. It hadn't happened in a while and she had a hard time telling him no for this exact reason: he took an effort to approach her.

Alyra + Morrigan: They share quite some world view, she admires her for speaking up her mind even if it makes her unlikeable and for her not being afraid of being alone to keep her point. She had quite some things to say about her clan, but growing up in such a close community, I think she started to stay silent and not question things because the mindset was "If you're on your own, you'll die". Morrigan is on her own and she not only survived, but became highly skilled and powerful, and isn't afraid of solitude.

Raina + Isabela: The way Bela is able to just... Wing it and go on without being crushed by guilt and consequences. The way Bela is unapologetic, which she would really like to be, can manage to appear to be... But in reality is really not. She'd love to be more like Isabela, honestly, but is too anxious for it. Bela's the one that share her humour, beside Varric, they can go on back and forth with overtly sarcastic remarks all evening and be content. And honestly? Bela's caring. Raina will just thrive being taken care of.

Raina + Merrill: How freaky capable and knowledgeable and wise she is, and how the horror and spite and nastiness from her clan didn't break her resolve and trust in herself and what she was doing. She would have been crushed in her situation, if her family would have been so oppositive as the Keeper was towards Merrill. Merrill wasn't, Merrill went on her own path even if it meant loneliness and being shunned from her clan. If the Blight and Kirkwall didn't put her through, Raina would still be blocked in Ferelden, most likely (and would have become your local Gentleman Jack)(Jack-the-lass, Jack-the-lass, no one likes a Jack-the-lass 🎶). And all this still staying so sweet and nice and not reversing her problems on others? Watch her melt in a puddle.

Aisling + Cullen: She likes people who are passionate about their occupation/hobby/whatever and who can change their mind, and he fills both checkmarks. They've been friends before they were lovers in canon as well, she likes how he's also a fish out of water trying to navigate a world that works on different, more complicated rules and making the best out of it, they're both people who thrive in much simpler environments and care little for appearences and the Game. They bonded out of that. She admires and appreciates how he's always kind and attentive to her, she's always prone to diminish herself and he won't have it, didn't have it from the start and put more weight on what she did than who she was, which title she had or where did she came from. He did some nasty things? Sure, but for her it's also pretty evident he's struggling to get better and make a better job, and she admires that. Also his hair.

30. What are their respective love languages? Do their love languages work well together?

Alyra + Alistair: Acts of services and just the right, well-thought gift. Alyra will think that collecting figurines is childish and unappealing, will still give him every one she finds just because he likes them and they won't raise money anyway in selling them (and we learnt in Redcliffe that apparently scamming children is bad). They got each other's back, and whether she will rarely speak or give compliments, by her actions is plenty clear that she cares. He can to the talking for both of them, after all.

Alyra + Morrigan: Acts of services, gifts, and touch. Morrigan is touch and attention starved? No problem, someone will gladly do her part in helping out on that sense. And people say she's not charitable.

Raina + Isabela: Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch-me. 🎶 Bela gives the best hugs, there's a motherly vein in her and it just shows. Quality time. Quality is on Raina's standards, so basically frolicking in a trashcan an evening at the Hanged Man drinking and laughing, nothing fancy, just to have fun. They can rob a bank, get in a fight, see who can slip in Aveline's office and leave her brass marigolds as a keepsake without getting caught... Bela will react not so good to Raina's acts of services, at first.

Raina + Merrill: Acts of services, which will be very appreciated. Quality time, but basically that's Merrill talking about whatever and Raina listening trying to pretend being smart and understanding as she's feeling humbled and admired. No, joking, Raina will ask Merrill to teach her Elven just to have something more in common (and she's curious), she'll teach her knitting. Quality time is also staying in the same room doing different things and talking about it, right? Or going down to the Alienage and help out. For Merrill it's words of affirmation, which will make Raina melt in a puddle.

Aisling + Cullen: Aisling is the local "free hugs" person. With him it'll be more purposeful and researched, basically every occasion is good to stop by and hug him. Napping? Better yet doing it on his chair as he's sitting on it, if he's not busy. uwu It'll work good, none of them is really much receptive to words, and some gentle touch can reach where words won't. Quality time, they started sharing lunch in Haven and never stopped, she participated in drills, give them time and they'll read the same book together and I'll stop because I'm feeling my glicemy raising.

16. Would they ever get matching tattoos? If yes, what would these look like?

Aisling + Cullen: If you ask her, OF COURSE and she'll have a long list of options he can choose from. Spanning from song lyrics to little symbols, from three swords crossed (they and Dorian were friendly dubbed "the three musketeers" as children, they were most of the time together, the one rule for going out in the evening for Solas was "all three or none at all") to a stylized, minimal animal (mabari/lion/horse?), she'll suggest some significant physical formula ("I already have Gravity, you can have it too, I'll ask the artist to copy mine, it would be nice :3 or something about electromagnetism? Some of Maxwell's equations would be so romantic!!" *Cullen stops following her*), somethin else significant, maybe a wind rose? She'll have ideas and a long list ready when he'll ask, stay assured.

[smutnug]

What Stays and What Fades Away

My first chapter with the amazing @wardsarefunctioning as beta! A thousand thousand thank yous.

Contains awkward flirting and Drunk!Hawke.

Chapter 27: Juliet

It had been a week since Tanner's abrupt departure, and Juliet still felt ill when she thought about the way things had ended. She chafed to be away in Crestwood, where Hawke was doubtless already waiting for them. 

But the Inquisition had become a large organisation, and large organisations seldom moved quickly. While Hawke could travel alone and in relative anonymity, Juliet's expeditions must be scouted, provisioned and planned to the smallest detail. So instead she was stuck here in Skyhold, surrounded by a thousand small reminders of her indiscretion. 

She sat at a table in the hall poring over a pile of documents that never seemed to get smaller: requisitions, reports, requests for the Inquisition's help from all over Southern Thedas. Scout Harding was already on the way to Crestwood, but she had left Juliet a map and pages covered in her small, neat handwriting: the location of the village and fort, a brief history of the place and its flooding during the blight, even a few credible rift sightings. A potential logging site? That would help in rebuilding - 

"Inquisitor?" The messenger gave a quick salute and handed her a roll of paper. "Plans for the mage tower, milady."

The mage tower. She waited until the man was gone before letting out a groan, burying her head in her hands. 

"Pining for your soldier, Freckles?" 

Juliet spun in her chair to glare at Varric. 

"Firstly," she said, "I'm not bloody pining . Secondly, can we pretend just for a minute that I have some kind of private life?" 

The dwarf threw up his hands. "Sorry, Inquisitor," he said, hopping up into the seat next to her. "You're one of the most important figures in Thedas right now. Definitely the most important in Skyhold. Your inner circle has at least three spies, and a mind-reading spirit boy." He patted her on the back. "Keeping secrets is hard."

She stared at him a moment longer, her lips pursed. "Thirdly -" 

"I'll change your names."

"Do not -" 

"And titles."

"Put this -" 

"And location."

"In a book," she finished. "Or I'll throw you to Cassandra."

"Oh, come on Freckles! It's got everything: deception, mistaken identity, star-crossed lovers…"

"I think you're reading a little more into it than actually happened."

"Of course I am. I'm a writer."

Conceding defeat, Juliet looked back to the documents spread out in front of her; the lines on the vellum seemed to blur and dance, Harding's meticulous text reduced to gibberish. She blinked hard, twice, but her eyes refused to cooperate. 

"Why not take a break?" Varric asked and added, too casually, "Take a walk in the garden."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why the garden, Varric?" 

"Why so suspicious, Freckles?" He grinned, hazel eyes glinting with mischief. "It's a beautiful day. The fresh air will do you good. See how your herbs are growing!" 

"I need to plan this…" she protested weakly. 

"Do you trust yourself to make good plans right now?" 

"Fine." She bundled up the documents, shoving them unceremoniously into a nugskin folder. "I'll go to the garden." In response to Varric's waggling eyebrows, she snapped, "but only because I've got no bloody place better to be."

With a smirk he propped his feet up on the table. "Enjoy the scenery, Inquisitor."

"Thin ice, Tethras," she shot back over her shoulder. 

It was close to midday, and she had to admit that the sunlight on her face and the smell of freshly-turned soil did much to clear her head. The air was fragrant with blooming herbs, all of which somehow seemed to thrive here despite the varying climates from which they had been plucked. She wished she could put down roots so easily.

Male laughter caught her attention; the voice was familiar, if not the sound. Beneath the gazebo a small table and two chairs were set up. Dorian faced the Commander over a chess board, hexagonal in the Northern style. The two men were too engrossed in the game to notice her approach and she took a moment to appreciate Cullen's relaxed posture, his easy demeanour as he rolled his eyes in response to Dorian's gentle ribbing. 

"Why do I even…" He finally saw her and broke off mid-sentence, half rising out of his chair. "Inquisitor."

Dorian flashed a charming smile in her direction before turning his attention back to Cullen. "Leaving, are you?" The mage's voice, much like his skin, was smooth as honey. "Does this mean I win?" 

It was jarring to see the Commander so comfortable in the presence of Dorian, of all people. Despite his wit and charm, or perhaps because of it, he didn't always rub people the right way. Plus he was a Tevinter, and an unapologetic mage. Was there some other reason than magic, then, for Cullen's reticence with her? 

Wary of spoiling the mood, she motioned Cullen to sit and tried to match Dorian's light tone. "Are you two playing nice?" 

"I'm always nice," Dorian lied without skipping a beat. He put his tower down with a decisive thunk and crossed his arms; impressively muscled for a mage, Juliet could never help but notice. If he'd been differently inclined, she was sure she could have put those muscles to good use. "You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory," he declared to Cullen. "You'll feel much better."

"Really?" Cullen pounced, shifting his tower from a black square to a white. "Because I just won," he said with a low chuckle, "and I feel fine."

Dorian raised one perfect eyebrow and smiled, impeccably gracious in defeat. "Don't get smug." He rose from his chair with the fluidity of a cat. "There will be no living with you."

Juliet shifted to let him pass and as she did so, his silken voice reached her in a pitch too low for Cullen to catch. 

"He's all yours, Inquisitor," he purred. "You lucky thing."

She felt her ears burn crimson, unfortunately catching Cullen's eye at the same time. Embarrassment painted a foolish smile across her face and the Commander looked at her with some confusion. 

"I should return to my duties as well…" he said, adding hesitantly, "unless you would care for a game?" 

Me? she nearly said. Did everyone else in Thedas die and nobody told me? Then she remembered the hand that had lingered on hers a moment too long after he helped her onto her horse, and a heat swept through her that had nothing at all to do with embarrassment. 

She maintained her composure enough to give him a tight smile. "Prepare the board, Commander."

Oblivious to the fire that raged inside the woman opposite him, Cullen was conversational as he laid out the carved pieces. "As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won, which was all the time." He glanced up at her, a rarely seen flash of mischief in his eyes. "My brother and I practiced together for weeks…the look on her facethe day I finally won…" 

Juliet caught a glimpse of the boy he had been in his smirk, before a little frown marred his features. 

"Between serving the templars and the inquisition, I haven't seen them in years," he said regretfully. "I wonder if she still plays."

It was easy to forget that Templars, too, could become separated from their families. She doubted Michael had ever recounted such fond memories of her. But she felt a pang when she thought of Lavinia, and of Alec, whose child must have been born by now. 

"You have siblings?" 

He seemed surprised by her enthusiasm. "Two sisters, and a brother."

"We're the same!" Juliet paused. "I mean, my family. Two boys, and two girls." She shifted, nudging Cullen's foot beneath the table. It went unacknowledged by both of them as they adjusted their postures, but she was aware now of his proximity; she could swear she felt the heat of his knee close to her own. 

"Really?" Leaning forward on his elbows, he graced her with a warm smile. "Michael I know, but…"

Juliet couldn't suppress an eye roll at the mention of her Templar brother. "Alec is the eldest. He's…well, he's unlike Michael. And Lavinia is between Michael and I in age. Terribly frivolous and always has her foot in her mouth, but she means well." Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of them; on waking in Haven to the news that she'd been publicly disowned, she hadn't dared to contact them. "Tell me about yours," she said with forced cheerfulness. 

"Mia," he replied with a smile, "is the one I told you of. Branson is my brother, and the youngest is Rosalie."

She wished suddenly, fiercely, that she might some day meet them. "Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight…" A flash of pain reached Cullen's amber eyes. "I do not write to them as often as I should." Staring at the board, his gaze seemed to come back into focus. "Ah, it's my turn."

"Alright," she said with a grin, "let's see what you've got."

He paused, looking at her for the longest time before shaking his head. Leaning in to make his move, he said softly, "You always seem as if you're laughing at a joke nobody else understands."

"I thought everybody understood," she said lightly. "I'm the joke."

"No." His stare, however glancing, pierced her to the core. "You are far from a joke. You're the reason we are all here."

"And who am I?" she countered. "Someone else would have led. Hawke, if Cassandra could have found her."

"Hawke." His wry smile made a mockery of the idea. 

"Nobody should take themselves too seriously." Pondering a moment, she moved a pawn into the path of his mage. "The more power you have, the lessseriously you should take yourself."

Cullen's gaze raked her. Surely, she thought, he must sense the shifting restlessness his mere proximity woke in her. Finally he shook his head. "Are you sure that doesn't do a disservice to those who choose to follow you?" 

"The opposite." She countered his move. "Power without humility lead to tyranny."

For a moment he looked startled. Then he laughed, shaking his head. "Of all people, I should know that." 

"So you and Dorian…" she began tentatively. 

"Dorian and I…?" Cullen's eyebrows shot up. "I assure you, there's nothing of that sort -" 

"Oh no, I just meant…you seemed to be getting along so well! It's not a friendship I would have expected."

"I ran into him in the library. Varric asked me to find a book for him." At her quizzical look, he chuckled. "I think he's trying to avoid Cassandra."

"I can't say I've ever seen Cassandra in the library."

"No point in taking chances, were his words. Anyway, Dorian…" Considering his next move, he twirled a stone piece in his fingers. Such long, clever fingers…he caught her eyes suddenly and she shut her mouth with a painfully audible snap . "He just seems lost, you know. He's a long way from home."

"Don't let him think you pity him," Juliet advised. "He won't thank you for it."

"It's not pity," he said, surprised. "Sympathy, yes, but I do enjoy his company." He caught her look of puzzlement. "Is that so unusual?" 

"Only," she floundered, searching about for the right words, "because of, you know, what he is."

"What he is?" Cullen's voice held faint disapproval. "I'm not sure I take your meaning."

Oh, Maker, now she'd offended him. "Only that I thought it might make you feel uncomfortable. Threatened, even."

"Threatened?" Cullen sat back in his chair, arms folded as he studied her face. "Why should I feel threatened?" 

Could we build a lesser amulet? she thought desperately.One that would take me back to before this line of conversation began. "You wouldn't be the only one. I know several people are concerned with his presence…" Biting her lip, she trailed off as Cullen drummed his fingers on the chair arm with evident annoyance. 

"I know that some people harbour foolish prejudices," he began, "but I certainly didn't think you would be amongst them, Inquisitor."

"Me?" she answered indignantly. "Why in Thedas would I be prejudiced against Dorian? I'm the same as he is!" 

Cullen gaped. "You are?" 

She couldn't understand his reaction; this was by no means new information for the Commander. "Well, yes. I mean I'm not from Tevinter, but essentially…"

They realised their mistake at the same time. Juliet groaned, covering her face; Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as he grinned sheepishly. "You meant…"

"Yes. And you thought…"

"I did." His grin slipped. "But you're wrong to think Dorian's magic should make me uncomfortable. I mean, you're a mage and I'm not uncomfortable with you."

"You're not?" 

She must have sounded a touch too incredulous, because Cullen looked at her sharply. Then he smiled, staring down at his hands. "I don't know if you've noticed, Inquisitor, but I can be somewhat…awkward…at times."

"No," she answered, laughing. "Really? It had completely escaped my notice."

"If I seem that way around you, please know that it's not because of the fact that you're a mage. It's because, well…"

Juliet's mouth went dry. "Yes?" 

"It's just the way I am," he finished quickly. 

Hope gave way to sharp disappointment. Surprised by the intensity of her reaction, she hid her feelings in contemplating the next move. "Your turn," she said finally. His pawn joined the small crowd of pieces on the tabletop. 

He studied the board, frowning. "You're no stranger to this game."

"My mentor in the Circle, Lydia," she swallowed hard at the memory, "didn't believe in idle hands. Or minds. When the study of magic didn't take up our time she had us learn history, geography, strategy, mathematics…" An opening became apparent and she swiftly dispatched one of his mages. "Chess."

At the mention of her Circle, Cullen's expression became shuttered. "It seems that was time well spent," he said stiffly. "I wish…" He shook his head, apparently clearing some stray thought. "Your move, Inquisitor."

Always Inquisitor. What was it about him - or about her - that drove her to keep needling him? He was too proper, too authoritative. It made her keep trying to crack open that facade of stiff professionalism, even if she felt like a bird hopelessly battering its wings against a window pane. It made her blurt out, even as her rational mind told her it was a terrible idea, "So…tell me about you and Hawke."

Cullen's smile vanished. "How do you…? Never mind," he said, somewhat curtly. "I would rather not." With exaggerated carefulness he finished his move, putting his knight down with the barest tap of stone on stone. Without meeting her eyes, he elaborated, "It was a mistake."

"Oh." A mistake. Her chest suddenly tight, she attempted what she hoped was a smile. "You have regrets?" 

Cullen's answering smile was more of a grimace. "I regret the entire thing. Now, really…I'd prefer if we moved on."

"I'm sorry," she said with forced cheerfulness. "It seems my sister's not the only one capable of putting her foot in it." She saw the opportunity to take his queen, and considered letting it pass; then, with an apologetic smile and a half-shrug, she toppled the piece with her mage. 

"There," Cullen said. "That's Mia's look."

Juliet laughed. "I wasn't aiming for stuck-up, but I suppose I've earned the right to gloat a little."

"It's not over yet," he countered. Thoughtful, he glanced at her through sandy eyelashes. "This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition - or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction."

"I aim to please." Impulsively, she added, "We should spend more time together."

Another misstep in a conversation littered with them. Wasn't Cullen supposed to be the awkward one? But there was no awkwardness in his heavy-lidded gaze. "I would… like that," he said, and his low voice sent a pleasant shiver through her body. She could only smile back inanely, until he shook himself and turned his attention back to the board. 

"We should…finish our game," he stammered. "Right. My turn?" 

They sat in companionable silence. Stone tapped against stone, and the low hum of insects and murmured conversations played around them. Finally Cullen played the only move that was open to him, and it was checkmate. He smiled wryly. 

"I believe this one is yours. Well played." He leaned back, rolling his shoulders in a way that distracted Juliet entirely from her victory. "We shall have to try again some time." Standing, he offered her a small bow. "Inquisitor."

"Juliet," she said. "Please."

"Juliet." It was only her imagination, adding that low, husky timbre to his voice, the flash in his molten gold eyes. It was just her name; there was no reason for it to feel like a caress. 

And yet long after he had taken his leave she sat, fingers playing around her lips as if the memory of a kiss lingered there. 

"Still here?" Dorian startled her from her reverie. He ensconced himself in the chair opposite, fingers steepled and a knowing gleam in his eye. "Do I sense a romance blooming? I would so love to attend a provincial wedding."

"Did you and Varric orchestrate this?" she demanded. 

"Varric?" he said, affronted. "Perish the thought, dear cousin. Our Commander wandered into my library and I took pity on him. He seemed so…" The mage twirled his hand theatricality. "Lost."

"How terribly kind of you to keep him entertained."

"Obviously, darling Juliet, I resent the implication to my very core." Dorian plucked an imaginary piece of lint from his trouser leg, examining it between thumb and forefinger. "But I did rather enjoy the game…and the view."

"You don't find our little garden too provincial?"

"Now, now," he chastised her. "We both know I wasn't talking about the garden. My question remains: are you two delightful creatures going to give all of us, your proud and loving family, the news we wait so impatiently to hear? Or must Varric's prize pool grow ever larger?" 

"Bloody Varric," she muttered. 

"Well?" Dorian crossed an elegant ankle over his leg. 

"I'm going to have to disappoint you."

"Oh." Dorian did, indeed, sound disappointed. "Tell cousin Dorian absolutely everything."

Juliet sighed. I regret the entire thing. Somewhere in the Hinterlands, Tanner would be thinking the same about her. "There's really nothing to tell." She turned her hand palm up; the Anchor pulsed faintly green. "I just don't want to be anyone else's mistake."

[greypetrel]

WHOOPS. Okay, I'm gonna pick two in case I manage to hit the same as someone else AGAIN:

You're safe, I promise."

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

If that doesn't work, then just pick your favourite and I'll love to read it anyways :D

Hello! Thank you for the second attempt at prompts, actually no one asked either!

Went for the first for now, BUT I kept the second, it needs more work and I'm writing this here and there. So the second may actually come somewhere in the future, totally at random. Meanwhile, I hope you'll like this!

Cw: violence, corpses, major character's death, panic.

Tis the prompt list

13. “You’re safe, I promise."

It was Kirkwall, and it was that night. The battle was infuriating, his upper lip was bleeding and he was growing tired. He could see Hawke, panting hard as well, a split eyebrow bleeding over her eye, but refusing to go down, Garrett, Varric and their friends scattered around with Templars and mages alike, trying to fend off the statues and Meredith.

He didn’t remember her so imposing, the heath so scorching, but now it was hard to stand up. The battle shouldn’t be dragging so long, but it was, the Knight-Commander impossible to bring down and not touched at all by sword, bolt or magic. Not even Garrett managed to hinder her minutely.

Good, Cullen thought, it would be over, at least.

A large swipe of her sword, and another, he moved and parried, ducked and hit, dodged a fireball here and another there, saw Hawke flying back, but he couldn’t stop to help her. Instead, he charged on. Parry left, parry right, shield bash, onward and onward until-

He crossed his sword with Meredith, grunting and pulling all his weight. It was impossibly hot, but as his blade swiped down and stopped crossguard against crossguard, each pushing the other, the Commander spoke, eyes flaming red.

“Why fighting, Cullen? You’re weak. You’ll give in, eventually. As you did tonight. As you did after Kinloch.” She pushed him, stronger than before, swatting him away with ease. He stepped back three, four, five steps and stopped, back in guard and ready to block with his shield when she swiped her sword down. He felt the hit up his arm and his shoulder, grimaced but didn’t move.

“Stop fighting. Everything will just crumble into your hands while you fake having some morals. You’re no better than me, and you know it.”

He shouted and lunged the sword in a side sweep, aimed at her waist left open. But as he did, Meredith was gone. With her, everyone else. The Gallows was on fire, corpses lay around -Maker, he didn’t want to look whose bodies they were- and he was alone, panting hard and sweating. It was too hot, too much. It wasn’t so, he remembered. But-

“Give in. There’s no point in fighting it. You’ll kill them all, eventually. You already did.”

He looked, and there were his friends from Kinloch, piled around him outside a circle of light. No. No this was Kirkwall, there was something wrong, it didn’t-

“You’re not real.” He gulped down. “This- It didn’t happen like this. You’re lying.”

“I am real enough. It didn’t happen like this, but it will, if you prefer.”

The air wobbled and changed again. From hot that he was, he was now frozen in place. It was Skyhold now, burning so bright that the stars and the moon were covered, red lyrium crystals jolting out of the balcony and the windows of the library, encrusting walls and tearing down stones. People were screaming, banging at doors, Behemoths and Red Templars storming around and bringing chaos.

“It happened in Kinloch. And in Kirkwall. And in Haven. And you know it will happen again here.” It was Meredith again, stepping around a fire and marching towards him. He stepped back, still on guard, ignoring the panic rising up. She swiped her sword down, with no real effort, he parried with difficulty.

“You think you made some great changes? Think you’re better than any of them just because you quit the lyrium? You’re lying to yourself, pretending to live a life that it’s not yours, that you don’t deserve. And this lie will catch up with you.”

No. It wasn’t true. It was a trick, another- He stepped forward, lunging again. And again. Meredith stepped back, easily and not fatigued, countering each hit, dodging his shield. She was but playing with him, a smile full of pity on her lips.

“You play the redempted, we all know you’re no better than me. Come the occasion, you’ll do everything back again.”

He wanted to say no, she didn’t let him answer.

“You would. You’re keeping her trapped here. You forced her on the title, no? You could have countered Leliana and Josephine. Could have let her go. It would have been easier. You were selfish, yet again. And because you were selfish, she will too, eventually-”

He shouted a no, closed his eyes and charged forward, moving on instinct, quicker than before. He felt leather and flesh giving way under the point of his sword, a gurgling noise as blood rushed from lungs into a throat and-

“-See? You’re no better than me. She’ll die. And it’ll be your fault.”

He opened his eyes and met a pair of green ones he knew better than his own. Except, he didn’t knew them like that. Full of dread, light leaving them quickly. No. No. He looked down: his sword was planted right in the left side of Aisling’s chest, right in the heart. He knew the blow was fatal, blood gushing out on the green leather of her light armour. He always told her to switch to metal, but she insisted. She insisted, metal would have been bad with lightning. She should have listened, and he…

He fell on his knees with her form slumping over his chest, lifeless.

“It’s your fault.”

He started screaming.

---

He jolted up the bed, still screaming out of the top of his lungs, breathing hard and heart hammering in his ears. The cool breeze from the gap in the ceiling cooled the sweat on his skin, making him shiver. It was his room, his loft in the tower. It was still night, nothing was on fire and the stars were twinkling up above, the full moon casting shadows inside. It didn’t feel real, and…

“Venhan?”

His heart caught in his throat. He snapped to the side, meeting with the same green eyes in his dream. These, tho, were alive, no fear in them, but worry. Worry, and sleep. He shook his head, still spooked.

“Go back to sleep.” He croaked, voice hoarse as he tried to catch his breath. “It- It’s nothing. Just a nightmare.”

It wasn’t the first time they spent the night together, by all means. She had actually asked him what he wanted her to do, assured him time and time again that she didn’t mind. Rationally, the information was there, but emotionally… It was always hard believing his memory, after nightmares. After that kind of nightmare, particularly. His head was pounding, heavily, he averted his eyes, trying to calm down and ignoring the movement in the bed.

“Can I touch you?”

She always asked, in those times. He had not to tell her that, and they figured it out that he needed to be the one to make the calls, and to start speaking first about what he saw. Some nights it was easy, and speaking helped. Right now, he was still feeling too guilty and grieving for it. He wasn’t really sure he wanted her to touch him, right now. His hesitation was answer enough, tho. She just sat up beside him, and moved a hand in his field of vision, palm up propped against her knee.

“Do it with me, would you? As I taught you, it’s easy. For me.”

She prodded, starting moving her fingers slowly, fingers touching her thumb lightly one after the other in a precise order that indeed she taught him, to check if that was a dream or not. She didn’t press, didn’t insist, just slowly kept it on. Slowly, he moved a hand forward, placing it beside hers and following her movement. It was difficult at first, he was still trembling and unfocused. But focusing on the fine movement helped, both in getting grounded in reality, and in giving his mind something else to think about.

“Good, venhan. You’re here. I’m here. It’s ok. It’s over, it was just a dream.” She coaxed him, in a soft, impossibly sweet voice.

Cullen unfurled some more, moving his hand to slowly, tentatively hold hers. She wasn’t so shy: she twined her fingers in his, squeezing tight, brush slowly caressing as she slowly moved herself and him back to lay down, adapting to his speed and his willingness to move. He followed her, letting her hug him and press him to her chest, sighing as she rested her chin on the top of his head. Warm, heart beating securely under his ear. Blissfully alive, alive. He hugged her tight, as tight as he could manage without hurting her.

“You’re safe, I promise.”

Aisling told him, an arm securely holding him closer, the other raising to his head to weave her fingers in his hair, caressing his head.

She kept repeating him that he was safe and sound, whatever it was it wasn’t real, it was ok. When he fell back asleep, warm and tight against her, his sleep was dreamless. Tomorrow he’ll do better.