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ceo-of-sloppy-men · 6 months

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Do Your Worst To Me; 'Til The River's Running Red

Chapter 1

Ship: Cullen Rutherford/Lavellan/Raleigh Samson Rating: Explicit (for mature themes, gore, lyrium addiction/withdrawal, injury, Samson's potty mouth, etc.)

A defeated Raleigh Samson is taken prisoner by the Inquisition after the battle in the Arbor Wilds. He wanted to die on the overgrown cobblestone, unfortunately, Cullen Rutherford and Neros Lavellan don't give a flying rat. Samson is determined to make them regret it.

Link to AO3 if it's your preferred platform.

I decided to post this here for funzies. CW: blood, injury, dying, lyrium addiction, etc.

Samson feels like someone doused him in oil and lit him on fire. It would be easier to list what doesn’t hurt rather than what does. He lays defeatedly in the dirt, a mere few feet away from the shattered Eluvian, staring at with a hollow gaze. Footsteps echo around him, pounding in his ears. He can smell the metallic scent of blood wafting off the dead bodies of his soldiers – fellow templars he had led into their final battle, so sure of his triumph he hadn’t anticipated failure. Yet, he’d failed all the same; he always failed. It was all he could hope to bleed out into the unforgiving, cool dirt, and let his life seep away into Thedas. Perhaps his sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain, even if his body was only meant to nurture flowers that would no doubt regrow in this Elvhen temple.

Warm fingers worm their way between his armour and matted hair, pressing against his pulse point. In his drugged-out haze, Samson barely registers the kneeling figure in front of him. She’s – no, they’re – one of the Inquisitor’s companions, a lithe elven mage with long ginger hair and skin covered in freckles. He stares up at them, losing himself in the golden halos of their eyes. A hiss screeches inside him that he shouldn’t find the enemy so comforting – so beautiful – but the protest is overwhelmed by the rest of his stupefied mind that finds Andraste’s kindness in their actions. The red lyrium in his veins sing at their magic, tucking him inside the safety of their warmth. He leans into their touch, shame coiling in his stomach that he could be so easily subdued. His only saving grace is that they don’t notice, talking over his shoulder as they pull their hand away, taking the warmth in his bones with them.

“He’s alive,” they relay tentatively to someone standing behind him.

A heavy sigh echoes through Samson’s ears, and sorrow returns to blanket him. He knows that sigh – he’s heard it a hundred times in this state. The only thing missing is the cold cobblestone pressing into his cheek. Even the roar of starvation – of his body eating itself from the inside out – he knows that voice.

“Of course he is. The Inquisitor should have just killed him.”

Yes, he should have. Finally, they agree on something! He should be bleeding out with his men – Cullen should put him out of his misery instead. Finish what the Inquisitor started.

“Galerius has his own way of judging things,” Neros shrugs, rising from their crouched position. Samson feels the pit of his stomach eating away at itself, fusing with the newly rendered anxiety. Just leave him here to die, damn it! “Do you want my help carrying him?”

“I’ve seen him walk in worse states; I’d prefer not to give him the luxury of being carried again,” Cullen bites and Samson can feel the glare he’s fixed on him. He wants to curl further into himself, wants to die here, wants to plunge his blade between the cracks of his armour and stop his own feeble heart. An unforgiving hand grabs his shoulder and pulls him to his feet.

“Walk,” Cullen demands.

Samson stumbles forward, tripping over his own sluggish feet and promptly crashes to the ground. His arms are too slow to catch himself as his face smashes against the overgrown stone floor. Somehow, his face still manages to hit a stone tile, and he feels the splitting pain echo in his bones as the blood trickles down his forehead.

“Seriously?! You can walk just fine, stop play-acting and fucking walk!” Cullen shouts, bitter heartbreak colouring his voice. Samson wraps himself in those words, letting the anger seep into his bones and remind him exactly why he’s not worthy of anything more.

“Cullen,” Neros says gently, and Samson hears Cullen sigh once again. “We do not need to stoop to his level. Do not become the villain simply because he did first.”

Hah.

Someone grabs his shoulders again, pulling him back to his feet. They flank him on either side, Cullen’s hands reluctantly bracing him from falling again and Neros’ hands tentatively examining the head wound he sustained.

“Leave it – just let me die,” Samson growls, pain lancing through his throat with each syllable. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry. Every ache in his body has been amplified as he feels his red-lyrium high dwindle away, slowly leeching from his body. He can almost picture the sores in his throat splitting open, and regret paints his bones the moment he speaks.

“The Inquisitor wanted you alive, so he’ll decide what happens to you. Until you’re up on a gallow, you don’t get to die,” Cullen sneers and Samson can remember the aching, teary-eyed gaze staring back at him all those years ago. He wants to go back to that moment more than ever right now. Maybe it would be different – maybe he could’ve joined the Inquisition and actually done some good with his pathetic life.

Instead, he manages a hollow laugh that ends with him coughing blood onto the undergrowth beneath his feet.

The sudden, startled noises from both of them aren’t worth the effort. Shame berates him as Neros scrambles to check him for injuries, and Cullen finally picks him up. He wished they’d left him to stumble back instead. It isn’t the first time he’s coughed up blood, and it won’t be the last – until…

White spots swarm his vision rapidly, and he blacks out before he can finish.

~*~

Cullen drops the limp, shaking body of Samson down on a cot inside the healers’ tent. He slumps into the chair next to it, feeling the weight of his armour pinning down his bones, exhaustion finally catching up to him. Two guards appear and whisk away Samson’s weapons, leaving him in nothing but his armour as Neros returns with freshly watched hands. A healing potion is thrust into his hands, and he can barely grip the bottle. He relies on their help to tip it to his lips, feeling utterly defeated as they cradle his jaw.

“You should rest, Cullen,” Neros attempts to persuade him.

“I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

There’s a soft understanding in Neros’ gaze that Cullen hates. He hates that they know. He hates that he told them. He hates that he didn’t keep it bottled up and to himself. No one needed to know about his entanglement with Samson – let alone his current lover. Yet, they knew all too well and still kiss his forehead gently.

“My brave knight,” Neros hums, knowing that’s all he wants to hear.

He manages a smile, and that somehow satisfies them. They turn to Samson’s weak form, hands on their hips, leaving him to his own thoughs. Cullen sits back, letting them know their own limits. Instead, he admires their diligence as they pull on leather straps and undo buckles, deftly removing foreign armour. A small pile forms on the floor that a soldier gathers up to store in a nearby crate until all that’s left is the cuirass. Cullen cringes as the scars and sores that scatter Samson’s body – countless lyrium burns, war injuries and even a few he doesn’t want to know the origin of. He remembers finding him on the streets, nearly as bad, beaten and bloody from attempting to steal Lyrium when begging didn’t work. He trembled then too.

“Lyrium withdrawals,” Cullen mutters absent-mindedly, one hand curled around Samson’s ankle to try and stop his leg from shaking.

Neros’ head snaps to him instantly, and they nod quickly:

“The shaking? I was thinking the same thing! Okay, I have something for that – it’ll help for the moment, at least.”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to explain to him why he smiles. He hates Samson – he swears he hates him – but he wouldn’t wish raw-dogging lyrium withdrawals upon his greatest enemy… Samson is his greatest enemy. Isn’t he? Or isn’t it Corypheus? Or the Chantry? Can it be all three – or is that too much? Maybe he’d wish lyrium withdrawals on Corypheus… does that make Samson less of an enemy?

Neros returns shortly, pulling him from his doom spiral. He watches as they mix a potion by spinning their wrist rapidly until it changes from bright yellow to a deep purple. Cullen shudders at the memory of the taste – a cheap wine-like body with sharp undertones of what could only be described as cat piss. Not that Cullen had ever tasted cat piss, but he’d bet money that’s what it would taste like.

Cullen gets the satisfaction of watching Samson’s face contort in disgust as Neros coaxes it down his throat… it’s not nearly as satisfying as he had hoped.

He pats Samson’s leg and mumbles a quick:

“It tastes like shit, but it’ll help.”

“What the fuck is that?! Spoilt milk mixed with sewage?” Samson coughs after Neros lets go of his nose.

“It’ll help with your withdrawals,” Neros states, unbothered by the insult hurled at their potion. “Let me know if you keep shaking, experiencing hot and cold flashes, constantly feel like you need to pee without actually having to pee, or if you can still hear your veins singing. This potion is technically made for lyrium withdrawals, but I’m not certain how much it’ll do for red lyrium.”

“Always knew Rutherford was a weak little bitch; I didn’t realize he couldn’t handle withdrawal symptoms without whinging,” Samson jabs because that’s all he knows how to do. That’s all Cullen wanted to do as well – jab and insult him, maybe even kick him a little while he’s down. But then he’d seen him lying in the dirt… Somehow it didn’t give him the satisfaction he was chasing.

He still wants him dead… at least, he thought he did.

Neros steps in before Cullen can come up with a retort:

“Actually, while Cullen has only taken a few of these. He’s relatively reluctant to accept any medication – which is understandable given… everything. This was designed for the templars the Inquisition took in. Many of them wanted to follow their Commander’s example and the Inquisitor asked me to design a potion to make it easier on them. As I haven’t treated any red-lyrium templars, any insight into the potion’s effects you can give me will help future red-templars the Inquisition helps.”

Samson just stares at them with wide eyes. Cullen smiles at that – there’s a satisfaction in seeing Samson rendered silent instead of getting the rise he expects.

“… I can still hear it singin’, but that might have more to do with having it in my chest. That and it feels a hell of a lot colder here than it did earlier,” Samson finally says, and Neros smiles softly.

“Thank you for your honesty,” they chirp, and Cullen has never loved them more. Even when faced with impossible odds they still manage to retain a staggering air of kindness. Maker preserve him, for their gentle heart will always weaken his knees.

“Now, um, what did you mean about it being in your chest?”

Samson barks in rough, ragged laughter as if they just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard. Cullen frowns, exchanging a look with Neros that he can only describe as concerned.

“Take a look for yourself, softy,” Samson invites them, gesturing to the cuirass still buckled to his torso.

Cullen can see them hesitate before reaching for the straps – he doesn’t blame them. Part of him wants to turn away from what he’s about to see… but the other part of him knows that he has to see this through. He has to know. He just has to.

Regret hits him like a truck the moment Neros pulls the cuirass away, hefting it like they expect the red-lyrium to come free with it only for it to slide off, leaving the lyrium impaled in Samson’s chest. The area around the wound is an angry red, oozing ever so slightly; Cullen doesn’t know if it’s blood or puss, and he’s not sure he wants to. Neros, for their credit, keeps a straight face, pulling the cuirass off carefully and setting it to the side. The soldier moves to take it away and they chide him, worried they’ll need to replace it in a moment. Samson, on the other hand, looks like he’s in agony. Cullen helps remove the back piece just to make sure he’s not impaled all the way through and can’t fight down the sigh of relief when he finds he isn’t. Neros is already futzing around, pulling Samson’s shirt off to get a better look at the wound – it peels away like he hasn’t taken the armour off for weeks (and smells like it too).

The moment Neros attempts to examine the wound, Samson whimpers, sounding like he’s biting back sobs. Cullen catches Neros pulling their hand back like they’ve been burnt. It’s too much to bear – Cullen takes his leave swiftly, kissing Neros on the cheek before stepping out of the tent. He has soldiers to check on, orders to give, and an army to lead back to Skyhold. Maybe a little distance and some fresh air will clear his head – help him recognize that he loathes Samson, that Samson is the enemy and the villain and the absolute worst and that he should not be pitying him. He hates him.

Doesn’t he?

~*~

Samson wants to curl in on himself – wishes he was still curled up in the dirt. They stand there, staring at him, scrutinizing him; the picture of beauty peering at him like he’s a mangy dog they found stumbling through the woods. He’s not sure what stings worse, the lyrium in his chest or the kiss Cullen left on their cheek. Cullen. His Cullen. The one he’d waited for, who’d dashed him across the rocks and left him for the scavengers. Bitterness returns to him in full force, curling in the pit of his stomach. How come Cullen got everything he ever wanted – his happy ending, his perfect daydream that he’d clung to like a child clings to a teddy bear? He’d still cling to his teddy bear his father hadn’t burnt it before sending him away. Is this it? Is he doomed to watch Cullen have everything he ever wanted right in front of him until the lyrium eventually claims him?

Fate was a cruel mistress indeed.

“I need to examine you to know how to help,” Neros says calmly, their voice a warm blanket for his weary mind. Calloused hands try to urge his hands away from where they’re plastered to his chest.

“It hurts,” Samson protests. “You’ll only jostle it!”

“I promise, I will be very careful not to jostle it. Do you know if it’s impaled in any of your organs? Have you tried to remove it before?” He almost believes the sincerity in their voice. As if he was just another patient they were tending to and not the prisoner that he is.

“Haven’t bothered; what good would it do? I’d just grow more.”

“And your organs…?”

“Beats me. Probably not – Corypheus kept tellin’ me I could pull it out and grow a bigger one. Not that I don’t think he wouldn’t risk my life like that. Just never bothered risking it myself,” Samson shrugs, allowing them to coax his hands away. “Just don’t jostle it.”

“I won’t,” Neros assures him, having paused to take notes in the notebook open near his head. He’d already made an attempt to read it, but the blasted thing was written in Elvhen. Unfortunately, Templars aren’t trained in Elvhen and he was never good at trying to pick it up during his time at the circle (boring days will drive you to real dead-end hobbies).

So, he lets them examine his chest – even if they do move it slowly, giving him fair warning so he can brace himself. It hurts less knowing that it’s coming, but pain still roars through him like he’s being stabbed. He’s just gotten used to it. They’ve got some sort of magical glasses on, peering at him and taking notes. Turning his head to his side he can just barely squint at the drawing of his chest cavity in their notebook. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t make him feel less like an overly scrutinized, dying animal. If he was less concerned with jostling the shard in his chest he would have curled into a ball of shame and yelled at them to leave him alone by now. Instead, he lets them poke and prod him so the damn thing doesn’t stab him in the lungs from moving around too much without something holding it in place.

“Okay, so the good news is that’s totally removable. But, the bad news is I’m going to have to keep it in for a while longer. Major surgery is not something to be attempted in a tent in the middle of nowhere… Think you can hang on until Skyhold? If you can’t I can try to remove it today, though it would be a major infection risk.”

That’s… not the news he’d hoped for. He’s not sure what he hoped for – death, probably. It would be fairer to everyone involved – Cullen could go on living his pretty, fairytale life; the Inquisitor could judge him to rot in prison until he succumbed; the world would go on, better without him in it. Yes, a life expectancy would have been perfect. “Oh, Samson, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but the lyrium is pressing against your heart and is sure to grow right through it.” Or maybe “Samson, the lyrium crystal will pierce your lungs and you’ll slowly suffocate on your own bodily fluids.” He had been prepared for those. He had been ready to jut his chin out and make some snide remark about already knowing he’s dying.

Instead, he stares blankly at them:

“What?”

“You’ll live,” Neros repeats and Samson marvels at how simple it is for them to say.

You’ll live.

It’s starts as a scoff, then a little snicker, devolving into a chuckle then full-blown laughter as he clutches his gut, wheezy laughter escaping him. Neros startles, blinking owlishly at him as he laughs like a madman, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He sees them take a step back as a particularly harsh laugh escapes him and can’t blame them. Then, as quickly as it started, he’s coughing, hands pressed over his mouth as he leans over the edge of the bed on his side. Blood splatters the floor beneath him as the tears in the corners of his eyes finally trickle down his face.

The speed in which Neros is at his side is strangely comforting. They rub his back until he stops coughing, passing him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth on and offering him a glass of water when he’s done. He gulps it down, finding himself suddenly parched. They give him another, but not a third and he can’t blame them – he’s certain if he has another it’ll come right back up.

“How do you feel about healing spells?” they ask tentatively, sitting next to him. Samson searches them for that same snideness any templar would wear when taunting another about magic. Staring back at him is a patient, reserved kindness that he could confess the worst to without fear.

“So, Cullen really found himself a mage-healer, eh? Someone’ll manage to look at him without grimacing at all of his sickness. Thought the reports were lying and you were just some elf who could heal like magic. Figures, he’s always been soft,” Samson vituperates to hide the security that flares in his chest. He doesn’t get this – he doesn’t deserve this. This isn’t for him. They’ve treated templars before; they probably have some rehearsed speech for the whole magic-fearing conundrum.

“That’s not what I asked and you know it,” Neros deflects, their expression never wavering.

“Oh come on, knife-ears, admit it; he saw you were a healer and knew you’d make a great hospice nurse,” Samson pushes, smirking, each word feeling like agony, cutting through his raw throat.

“You get it all out of your system yet, or do you still have more?”

Samson pauses at that. Get what out of his system? He’s just – actually he’s not sure what he’s trying to do. Cullen’s not here to get a rise out of anymore and Neros is apparently impervious to his usual material. Wait, why is he being mean to them again? It’s not like they left him back in Kirkwall. They’re just the nice… lady? Sir? Bah! They’re just the nice healer who’s taking care of him on his not-deathbed. He probably shouldn’t be angering his healer or they might walk off and leave him to it. Is he doing it because he wants them to walk off? It would certainly be easier to roll over and die than figure out what to do next.

“I’ll take your silence as you’re done. Now, back to my original question: are you okay with healing magic? Or should I prepare a potion for you? It won’t reverse all the damage that has been done to your body, but it’ll at least stabilize you while I figure out a treatment plan,” Neros reiterates with the patience of Andraste herself.

“I ain’t afraid of magic, if that’s what yer implying. That’s Cullen’s shtick, not mine.”

“Now, now, you know that’s not fair. Cullen has a valid reason to be afraid of magic and he’s worked very hard to get past it. Besides, he’s not even here right now, so what does it matter?”

“You’re probably comparing us to each other – we were both templars and all. Plus, it ain’t exactly a secret we were close. You know I’ve even seen the cute little mole just above his rump; bit it a few times too,” Samson tries, searching their face to see if that’ll earn him the rise he’s been chasing.

He almost curses when they roll their eyes with a smile at his attempt. What the fuck is it going to take to get a rise out of them?!

“Give Cullen some credit here; he’s already told me all about the two of you. But no, I’m not comparing you two to each other, or the two of us together. I am perfectly secure in my relationship with my lover and do not need to get into a dick measuring contest to prove it,” Neros says, taking Samson’s face in their hands. “Now, say ‘Ah’.”

Perplexed, Samson opens his mouth, sticking his tongue at them so they can peer down his throat. If they want to scrutinize the scabs in his throat that’s their problem. The cringe it earns him is worth it, though he could do without the pitying look that follows.

“I’m going to have to ask you to refrain from talking from now on, please,” they request, tilting his head left and right.

“Your loss,” Samson shrugs.

They look a little baffled that it had worked so easily – and Samson will take it. Even if it’s not the rise he was hoping for.

“Good. Now, I’m going to bandage your chest so that the lyrium stays in place and then I’m going to replace your cuirass for the time being. Nod if you understand me –“ Samson nods – “Thank you. After that I’m going to find a friend who’ll put you out for the journey back. We don’t exactly have enough supplies to treat your throat right now, but I do at Skyhold. It’ll just be easier to keep you unconscious until we get there. Nod if that’s okay.”

“I’m your prisoner, softie. Do with me as you will,” Samson shrugs, earning himself a glare. He rolls his eyes and nods his head.

“Thank you.”

He watches as they move about the tent, gathering bandages and making a salve. Light brushes of healing magic ghost over his skin, careful to repair what they can of his throat and alleviate some of the ache in his joints without sealing his chest around the red lyrium. He can tell they’re working as cautiously as possible to not seal his chest and he’s almost grateful – if only he was capable of gratitude at this point. Which he isn’t. Not at all. But, he does try to be compliant so they bandage him correctly; there’s no sense in sticking himself with poor bandages to get back at them. In the end it’ll just be uncomfortable for him. So, he lifts his arms when they ask, winces openly when something is moved incorrectly, and bobs his head when they ask him questions.

He doesn’t see who knocks him out afterwards, but it doesn’t matter as he drifts into hazy unconsciousness in the bottom of a locked cell. It’s easier this way; now he doesn’t have to spend the trip back stewing on his quick, pathetic defeat at the hands of the Inquisitor. A fucking mage had brought him down while his companions stood and watched, only adding insult to injury. The very thing he’d trained all his life to be able to defeat and they’d cut him down like he was wet parchment! His judgement won’t come close to rivalling the shame he’s already harboring.

~*~

Neros barley manages to wait until the soldiers to lock Samson’s cage before stumbling a few feet away and promptly puking. Bile passes through their throat and onto the unsuspecting grass as they grip their staff, biting back bitter tears. They squeeze their eyes shut, swaying lightly on their feet as they will themself to not puke again, their stomach churning.

A strong, sturdy hand rubs their back and they don’t even need to move their head to know the Iron Bull’s standing next to them (they can see his shoes). A bubbling, broken sob escapes them as they turn and collapse into him, weak hands feebly gripping his leather brace. The Qunari makes a murmuring noise in an attempt to soothe them, rubbing their back slowly.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know what to talk about! He’s just – he’s horrible!” they sob, hot tears rolling down their cheeks.

“Some people are just born mean. Trick is to learn how to not let ‘em get under your skin,” the Iron Bull reminds them, continuing to hold them for as long as they need.

“No, it wasn’t that… I can handle mean – a lot of templars are mean their first few days. I don’t take it personally and I knew Samson was his own special kind of rude thanks to Cullen. But –“ Neros chokes down a sob, trying to gulp air into their lungs – “The state he’s in is horrible! It’s painful to look at and the way he just stares a thousand yards away to cope with it – I tried to tell him he was going to live and he laughed so hard he tore the lyrium burns on his throat. Like I’d told him a cruel joke rather than good news!”

“You’re too soft for this world,” the Iron Bull chuckles, shaking his head. Neros feels the ground disappear from beneath them as he picks them up, cradling them in his arms. “Wish the world had more like you in it. You’ve got more compassion in you than most experience in their whole lives. What do you say we go find your beloved and get you the comfort you deserve?”

“I’d like that,” they sniffle, wiping their face on their sleeve. “Gods, I must look like such a mess. We finally win and what do I do? I cry over the state of our enemy!”

“Better than what most would do. I’d say you make us more deserving of the victory – it’s really good for the Inquisitions whole ‘we’re the good guys’ image.”

“I wish we weren’t so good – maybe if we weren’t Corypheus wouldn’t be so evil.”

“Nah, he’d just look better in comparison and then people would be sympathetic. At least this way we balance him out – we may even be putting more good into the world than he’s taking out of it. Better than the alternative of having more people join him.”

“You’re probably right… Thanks, ‘Bull. How do you always know what to say to make people feel better?”

“Ben-hassrath training. I know how to read people, which helps me know what they need to hear. Comes in handy when you’re trying to calm someone down,” the Iron Bull shrugs lightly.

“Oh… that makes sense.”

The Iron Bull chuckles lightly as he stops walking and jerks his head to the side, presumably to someone else. Neros peers over their shoulder to see Cullen rushing over to them. Concern is painted blatantly across his face, and they cringe; he probably thinks Samson hurt them or something. They should’ve just told the Iron Bull they could walk on their own to avoid worrying him so much, everyone’s under enough stress as it is.

“They’re fine, Cullen. Just a little shaken up by the state Samson’s in. Figured it was best to just come find you,” the Iron Bull explains, helping Neros to stand on their own two feet, using their staff as a crutch.

“Thank the Maker, I thought something had happened,” Cullen sighs, pulling Neros into a tight hug.

“Yeah, don’t mention it. Chargers are ready to head out when you are,” the Iron Bull relays.

“We’re ready too. Do me a favour and let Scout Harding know to go ahead; I just gave the order to for my men to get on their horses.”

“Will do,” the Iron Bull grunts before walking off.

“We’re leaving already?” Neros inquires, letting Cullen wrap his arm around their waist to support them.

“No one wants to stay in these woods overnight and I don’t blame them. Corphyeus took most of his men with him, so there’s no point in sticking around to round up stragglers for a few days. A team is staying out here just in case, but we need to get back to Skyhold,” Cullen elaborates as he helps Neros walk over to their War Nug.

“Does this have anything to do with Samson’s condition?”

“… I shouldn’t make decisions based on the state of a prisoner –“ Neros places their hand on his shoulder and he sighs softly, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a whisper – “A little, okay? The Inquisitor should judge him while he still can.”

Neros arches their eyebrow at him.

“Okay, fine, maybe I am worried about him and I want to make sure he can get back to Skyhold where we have all our medicine. But can you blame me? He has sensitive information on Corypheus’ forces and their battle tactics, not to mention he could be the first red templar we cure which could save hundreds of lives!”

“Cullen, I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I want to get Samson back to Skyhold for treatment just as much as you do – strictly for medical reasons though. But, you don’t have to get so defensive –“ they take his hand, cradling it gently in their own – “I know.”

Cullen bristles and pulls away, knitting his hands together.

“I’m – there’s nothing – I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I understand. I didn’t expect you too, I only wanted to let you know I am here for you,” Neros concedes, watching as his gaze darts around the camp to various soldiers gather together on horseback. “Not exactly a private place to discuss this.”

Cullen simply nods his head and Neros tentatively takes his hands back. He gingerly allows them to pull him into a hug with a defeated sigh. The hug is warm and comforting, despite the armour pressing in on them, smudging their elven robes with dried blood. The weight of the world seems to sluff off their shoulders, pooling around their feet, waiting for them to pull apart again and readjust the mantles upon their respective shoulders.

“Am I a bad person for… this?” Cullen whispers quietly as they try not to bury their face in the blood clotted in his mantle. “I hate him – but I don’t. It’s all so confusing, like I’m caught aboard a ship in a storm of my own emotions. I should hate him – I hated him all the way up until… it’s just hard to hate him when he’s like this.”

“No, empathy doesn’t make you a bad person,” they state firmly. He smiles weakly against their neck. “You’re exhausted, everything is going to seem overwhelming to you right now. I can’t speak for what you’re thinking right now, and I won’t pretend to know a way out. However, you need time to process what just happened – all of it, not just the recent events –“ Neros pulls back just enough to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek – “ We’ve got a long ride back, why don’t you start there?”

Cullen responds by smudging a kiss across their lips with a light smile.

“You’re right – how do you keep doing that?”

“Magic,” Neros giggles and Cullen chuckles softly.

A soldier runs up to them and they break apart to hear the news: everyone’s ready to head out. Mounting their respective steeds (a war nug and a shire horse) they set off to head the long trek home.

#raleigh samson #dragon age fanfic #dragon age inquisition #dragon age inquisition spoilers #cullen rutherford #sullen #cullen rutherford x raleigh samson #raleigh samson x lavellan #non inquisitor lavellan #oc: Neros Lavellan #cullen rutherford x lavellan #cullen rutherford x lavellan x raleigh samson #eventual romance #cw blood #cw injury

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thechildofbhaalhasawoken · 2 months

Text

The Lakeside

Another new part of the slowburn Cullen x Lavellan series!

“Ellana,” he sighed against her lips, still with his eyes closed. “You are one of a kind.” She leaned back enough to look at his face, and cradled his chiselled jaw in her hands. “Ella,” she said softly. “My family calls me Ella. You can call me Ella, too.” Cullen’s heart filled with warmth as he looked at her beautiful blue eyes. She made him feel included, like he suddenly belonged to something. Something else than work and duty. Now he was part of a small club, mostly consisting of her family, with the exclusive privilege of her nickname. Cullen pulled her back closer to him and pressed his stubbled face against her cheek. “Ella,” he repeated, trying out the shorter name. It felt good.

In this chapter of the series:

Ellana doesn't get Cullen's feeble attempts at getting private time with her, and her friends are there to make fun of her.

Cullen tries again, and manages to whisk her away for a day to a lakeside in Ferelden.

Includes the lakeside scene with Cullen's lucky coin. Canon-compliant but extended.

Lots of sexual tension, fluff, making out, also sex talk, and non-sexual intimacy.

Read here in AO3 (only for registered users)

or you know, enjoy the sexual tension under the cut.

The Lakeside

Words: 7 986. Rating: Teen

Cullen Rutherford leaned forward, grabbed a black pawn piece with his gloved fingers, and moved it three squares forward on the chess board.

“Hmmh,” Ellana Lavellan reacted on the other side of the table. “You’re going to win this one, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Cullen said, looking insufferably smug.

“If I didn’t like your confident smile so much I would find a way to wipe it off your face.”

“I’m glad my win works for both of us.”

Ellana sighed and moved a white tower piece in a feeble attempt to protect the King.

“Go on then,” she leaned back in her chair, and watched Cullen move a piece.

“Checkmate,” he said, and leaned back with a self-satisfied smile.

“Remind me again, why do I keep playing with you?”

“You just said you like me,” Cullen pointed out, the scar on his lip moving with his lopsided smirk.

“I said I like your smile,” Ellana pointed out, matching his smirk.

“Oh, you keep me around only for my looks then?”

“Like we haven’t been spending hours and hours just talking within the last couple of weeks? Are you going to get cocky because of the attention you got in Empress Celene’s ball?”

“You were the shining star of the evening, my dear, not I,” Cullen retorted, his amber eyes betraying his affection.

Ellana felt her insides melt into a warm goo when he called her my dear . It wasn’t long since he had insisted on only calling her Inquisitor , after all.

“But you have still received more letters from Orlesian admirers!” she couldn’t help but giggle.

“They would make excellent kindling if it wasn’t for the scented paper. The smell makes my headaches worse. Nothing good comes from that country,” Cullen mumbled, making Ellana laugh harder.

Cullen’s grumbling was playful, however, and Ellana saw the smile around his eyes. They sat in their chairs facing each other, looking at each other for a while in silence.

Finally Cullen cleared his throat. “Thank you for the game, Ellana. Now I wonder how you are with the second book in the Empire series?”

“I’m almost done! I’ll need the final book of the trilogy very soon,” Ellana replied excitedly.

Cullen swallowed and leaned forward again, placing his elbows on his knees. He seemed to place his words very carefully, speaking in a lower voice. “Do you have some time tonight? I could come and visit you and bring the book to you.”

Ellana waved her hand dismissively. “Oh there’s no hurry, it will take me a couple of days to finish the second part. Besides, I promised to join Bull and some of the others at the Herald’s Rest tonight for a few drinks. Apparently they need an honest tavern night after Halamshiral.”

Cullen’s face fell almost unperceivably. “Ah, I see.”

“But you can bring the book tomorrow to the War Room meeting.”

“Certainly,” Cullen said and they both stood. “Have fun tonight, Inquisitor.”

Later in the evening the tavern door opened, and Cremisius Aclassi walked in. It was easy to spot the group he was looking for - his employer Iron Bull kind of stood out from the crowd. The Inquisitor and Dorian Pavus sat at the table too - the two of them had goblets of wine, Iron Bull a big tankard of ale.

“There you are, Krem! What took you so long?” Iron Bull said loudly as Krem joined them.

“Somebody needed to face Ser Morris and explain our requisitions to him so he won’t think we’re joking next time,” Krem said gruffly. He got the attention of the maid and ordered a tankard of ale.

“Ser Morris is a stuck up, but requisition officers need to be stiff as flag poles,” Iron Bull said. “Otherwise the Inquisition would be bankrupt already.”

“Speaking of stuck ups, the Commander sure seems like a driven guy,” Krem changed the subject.

The Inquisitor cocked her eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“I saw him at the training grounds alone when I was coming this way. Giving a good beat down to a training dummy,” he explained, and took a good gulp of his ale.

Iron Bull nodded appreciatively. “Sounds like a good way to let off some steam. Maybe he has a night off, for once.”

Ellana suddenly froze and blood escaped from her face. “Oh.”

“Lavellan?” Dorian asked, noticing something was wrong.

“Nothing. I just realised something,” she said, staring at her wine goblet.

“Something to do with your dear Commander?” Dorian asked, and all three men around her leaned in with curiosity.

“Well, uh. Maybe.”

“Weeeell?” Dorian prodded her with his elbow.

Lavellan looked up at the three of them with desperation on her face. “I just realised he maybe offered to spend some time with me today, but I blew him off.”

Iron Bull, Krem and Dorian looked at each other, and then back at the woman.

“How did you only realise this now? What kind of circles do you talk around each other?” Iron Bull wondered.

“You haven’t heard those two? It would be painful if it wasn’t so endearing,” Dorian quipped.

“What did the Commander say?” Krem asked.

“We were playing chess after lunch and he offered to come to my room tonight to bring me a book we had been talking about,” Ellana explained.

“And what did you say?” Iron Bull asked next.

“What does it look like I said? I told him I was going drinking with you guys and he could bring me the book tomorrow to the War room meeting,” Ellana said, exasperated with herself.

The three men sat in tense silence around her, until they all suddenly exploded into laughter.

“Oh come on!” she groaned, holding her face in her hands in the middle of her laughing friends.

“Oh sweet Maker,” Dorian wiped the corners of his eyes, still laughing. “You… did you really think he actually wanted to come to your private room because of a book ?”

“Well not anymore I don’t,” they heard her mumbled reply through her hands.

Dorian almost fell from his chair from another fit of laughter.

Iron Bull tried to steady his breathing and gestured at the door. “He’s right there in the training grounds. You could go and ask him about the book!”

The Inquisitor lifted her wine goblet “No I can’t! I’ve had way too many drinks for that!”

“My dear, just think about it,” Dorian painted a picture, “you could have the Commander reading a book out loud to you right about now.”

“In your bed,” Iron Bull snickered like a teenager, “naked.”

“I’m so stupid,” Ellana wailed, burying her face in her hands again. “Believe me, I would have skipped this so easily if I had known what he really meant.”

“What I don’t understand is why you have to make it so difficult? You want him, he clearly wants you. Why couldn’t he just ask if you’re free tonight because he’d like to come to your room and make sweet love to you?” Iron Bull wondered out loud.

“I think it’s so precious that you were playing chess and he used lending you a book as an excuse to see you,” Dorian sighed.

“If you don’t mind me saying, Inquisitor,” Krem said, “but you two are made for each other.”

The Inquisitor blinked at Krem. “Why, uh, thank you Krem, I guess.”

Krem huffed into his ale. “You’re both complete nerds .”

In the morning the Inquisitor felt surprisingly good. She hadn’t stayed for long after her embarrassing realisation, and went to her room nursing a feeble hope of still receiving a handsome visitor. The Commander had not appeared, but at least Ellana had a decent night’s sleep and avoided a hangover.

After breakfast Ellana topped up her tea and carried the mug with her to the War Room. She was a bit early, but she spent the time alone going through her notes for the meeting.

Soon enough the door opened again, and in came Commander Cullen with his long strides and a straight back.

“Good morning,” he said and placed the papers from his hands on the War Table. “Did you have a nice evening?”

“Hmmh. I don’t think it was worth it,” Ellana mumbled.

Cullen smirked at her. “A headache?”

“Thankfully no,” Ellana shook her head and then lowered the teacup from her hands to the table. “About the book…”

“What book?” He seemed oblivious.

“The book you wanted to lend me last night? That I asked you to bring today instead?”

“Oh that book,” Cullen said nonchalantly. “I’m afraid I don’t have it with me now, my apologies.”

“Mmh,” Ellana squinted her eyes at him. “You didn’t actually want to come to see me over a book, did you?”

Cullen paused and looked at her. His amber eyes practically sparkled, and his lips stretched to a lopsided smirk. The look he gave her both infuriated her and made her stomach flutter.

“No,” he admitted.

Ellana groaned and covered her face with her hand.

His mellow laughter only made her regret spending the evening at the tavern rather than with him even more. “When did you figure it out?”

“After a few too many drinks,” she said and let both of her arms hang by her sides, looking at him with a pout. “You could have been a little more clear, you know. I would have happily told the guys to enjoy the evening without me.”

“That is encouraging to hear, but you know very well I’m out of my depth,” Cullen said defensively, but still smiling gently. “I need my excuses.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ellana mumbled just as the door opened again, and Leliana and Josephine came in to start the morning’s meeting.

Later in the afternoon, Ellana did her usual rounds around Skyhold, and winded up at the door of Cullen’s office, as she did every day. The doors were open, and the man was sitting at his desk, writing something.

“Ma vhenan,” Ellana said in a low, soft tone from the door, and stepped in.

“There you are!” Cullen looked up at her and stood up immediately.

Ellana stopped in the middle of his office, horrified that she had forgotten something. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes - I mean no,” Cullen stammered.

Ellana took the few steps remaining to the side of his desk, and looked at him in confusion. “Which is it?”

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he finally said, and looked around to see if someone else was entering the revolving door that was his office.

Ellana also looked around, and seeing as no one else was around, she sat on the corner of his desk.

“We have some dealings in Ferelden. I was hoping you might accompany me,” Cullen explained.

“Is something wrong? You didn’t mention this in the meeting today,” Ellana said worriedly, thinking that it must be something big if both the Commander and the Inquisitor were needed.

“What? No! It’s nothing to concern Leliana or Josephine with. I would rather explain there, if you wish to go,” Cullen said. He seemed a bit antsy, and Ellana wondered if it was his endearing bumbling around her and their relationship, or if she should be worried.

“When should we go?”

“Is tomorrow alright? I can arrange it on any day that suits you. We would need to leave in the morning, but we’d be back in Skyhold in the evening,” Cullen said.

Ellana squinted at him with suspicion. “Tomorrow is fine, but what is this about? Come on, tell me.” She reached for his cloak and tugged on the fabric needily.

Cullen took her wrist and shook his head, chucking at her. “No. You’ll have to wait. I’ll make the necessary arrangements so we can leave tomorrow morning.” He placed a kiss on her knuckles, looking at her from under his brow before letting her hand go. It made Ellana melt and give up. He was learning to handle her too well, she thought.

“Fine. Tomorrow morning then. What about tonight?”

“What about tonight?” Cullen asked as he returned to his seat at the desk.

“What are you doing tonight?” Ellana spelled it out for him.

“Ah, I’m afraid I have to work late tonight so we can ride out for the entire day tomorrow,” he said apologetically.

“Oh alright then. Be like that,” Ellana said, stood up and stepped to his side to lean over and press a kiss on his temple. “Remember to eat.”

“I will,” Cullen said obediently.

Ellana’s fingers ran through his hair at his neck as she walked past him to leave, and she looked over her shoulder at him with a cheeky smile as she walked out of the door. Cullen picked up the pen to resume work, but a warm smile played on his lips for a long time after she was gone. Nothing felt quite as good as receiving Ellana’s small shows of affection.

“Where are you going and why am I not coming with you?” Dorian asked sharply as he approached Inquisitor Lavellan who was pulling on her coat outside the Stables of Skyhold.

“Well good morning to you too, grumpy face,” Ellana told him in an amused voice.

A young stable hand brought out her horse and made sure the saddle and the bags were fastened properly.

“I am grumpy because you’re leaving me behind,” Dorian said and pouted. “Where are you going?”

“I have no idea, to be honest,” Ellana said, pulling on her gloves. “Apparently a day trip to somewhere in Ferelden. We’ll be back in the evening.”

“We? Who’s we?” Dorian asked.

Right on cue, Commander Cullen appeared from the stairs from the battlements while discussing with Captain Clark, a young but very promising officer the Inquisitor recognised.

“I’ll take point, Commander, and Lieutenant Kern will secure the rear. You and the Inquisitor will ride in the middle until our destination, where we’ll scout and secure the area before splitting up,” the young Captain was saying.

“Very good, Captain. Let’s get going so as not to waste daylight,” Cullen said.

“Inquisitor, Master Pavus,” the Captain greeted stiffly before walking off to get his men in order.

“Good morning,” Cullen greeted Dorian and Ellana, and asked the latter, “Are you ready to go?”

Ellana felt like giving him a kiss as a greeting, but stopped herself just in time. She had come to feel quite at home with him, but realised they weren’t yet at that kind of public relationship status. “Ready for anything, Commander.”

Dorian, however, looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?”

“I’m riding out with the Inquisitor for a change,” Cullen said, sounding rather pleased with himself. A stable hand brought out his horse as well. He took the reins and patted the horse on its neck.

“I see. Are you going to take her to meet your mother?” Dorian asked, his irritable voice turning a bit amused now as he crossed his arms on his chest.

“Not quite,” Cullen said, and added to Ellana, “don’t worry.”

“Fine. Go then, you crazy kids. But treat her well! And bring her back home before dark,” Dorian adopted a fatherly voice.

Laughing, Ellana kissed Dorian on the cheek as a goodbye.

Cullen and Ellana both got up in their saddles, and the Inquisition soldiers who were accompanying them also mounted their rides and they all rode out.

They spent the entire morning on horseback making good pace riding east. Ellana still had no idea where they were going and for what, but she had noticed a couple of things on the way.

First of all Cullen seemed to be in a good mood and quite talkative. While riding side by side, they talked about the obvious: Halamshiral, since they had returned from there only a couple of days ago. But their comfortable discussions ranged all kinds of subjects, and made Ellana feel warm and happy in Cullen’s company.

Secondly Cullen did not seem to be in charge, despite outranking all the other Inquisition soldiers quite obviously. It looked like Captain Clark was in charge. For something as standard as riding somewhere for an apparently routine operation the Commander of the Inquisition was not needed at all, so it certainly made Ellana wonder, but it was nice to see him relax and enjoy the outdoors.

Eventually Captain Clark motioned for them to halt, and for his team to ride forward. Cullen and Ellana halted and dismounted their horses.

“Let’s wait for a moment. This is good training for the new recruits that we have with us today,” Cullen said, standing by his horse and holding its reins in his gloved hand.

“Where are we?” Ellana asked, looking around for clues.

“We’ve arrived, but the men will make sure there are no nasty surprises. Our scout reports from the area have stated that there should be no rifts here.”

Ellana’s keen eyes followed the Inquisition soldiers closely. Everyone else seemed to know exactly what was going on and what to do, but she had no clue.

“Clear!” came the shout from somewhere they did not see. It was followed by a few others of the same kind, and soon Captain Clark rode back to meet them.

“Commander, the area is secure as expected. With your permission, ser, we’ll ride on and rendezvous later in this same spot.”

“Very good, Captain. Good luck. The Mayor of the village will be pleased to see you. Rendezvous in four hours,” Cullen told the Captain.

“Yes ser. Enjoy your afternoon, ser,” the Captain said with the first smile Ellana had seen from the young man all day, and he rode off.

The Inquisition soldiers mounted their horses and left, continuing along the same road they had arrived. Ellana turned to look at Cullen with raised eyebrows, and the man gestured to her to follow.

They walked their horses along a path under the hanging branches of old willow trees. The trees soon gave way to a clearing that opened to a lake. There was a small shack and in front of it a fire pit. There was a shelter that held a few logs that could be made into firewood, and the lake had an old pier but no boat.

“It’s beautiful here,” Ellana said out loud after she had taken it in.

“I’m glad you like it,” Cullen said as he led his horse to drink from the lake. Ellana followed his example.

They left the horses and Cullen took Ellana to the pier on the lake.

“Where are we?” she asked again hoping to actually get an answer this time.

Cullen walked a few steps in front of her and finally stopped at the end of the pier. The lake was calm save for a few birds flying off. Water lilies floated on the surface of the lake that reflected the cumulus clouds in the sky. It was overcast, but it didn’t look like it would rain.

“I saw how heavily the Winter Palace weighed on you, and how exhausted you were when we could finally leave,” Cullen said. “You walk into danger every day. I wanted to take you away from that, if only for an afternoon.”

“Oh Cullen,” Ellana said softly, touched by his sentiment. “Up until a moment ago I thought there was some work for us to do. But you really arranged some actual time off for us.”

“I did. I hope it’s alright,” Cullen said quietly.

“More than alright. Thank you. It really does feel good to be out in nature.”

Cullen looked pleased and his shoulders visibly relaxed. He leaned against the tall post at the end of the pier and crossed his ankles. When he spoke, he too sounded like he truly enjoyed the peaceful lake.

“I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet.”

“Did you come here often?”

“I loved my siblings but they were very loud,” he said, his eyes glazing over for a moment as he was taken by childhood memories. “I would come here to clear my head. Of course they always found me eventually.”

Ellana watched Cullen’s face. He looked peaceful, with a smile not on his lips but around his eyes. “You were happy here.”

“I was,” he admitted and turned to look at her. “I still am.”

Encouraged by his affectionate look, Ellana took a step closer, close enough to brush her arm against his. “While we’re here, you have me all to yourself.”

This time the smile reached his lips, too, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. “The thought may have crossed my mind.”

He pushed himself off the post enough to wrap one arm around her lower back and give her a gentle kiss. She melted into his touch and into the kiss. When it broke they pulled away slowly, looking into each other's eyes with soft smiles.

After a moment of enjoying the peace and quiet, and each other’s company, Cullen continued reminiscing.

“The last time I was here was the day I left for Templar training. My brother gave me this,” he said and took out a small silver coin with Andraste’s symbol minted on it. “It just happened to be in his pocket but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things, our faith should see us through.”

Ellana looked at the coin on his palm, and imagined Cullen treasuring it as his only secret possession, all through his teenage years to a young man to the seasoned veteran and General of an army standing next to her now. She knew that despite leaving the Templar Order, Cullen still owned very little of his own.

“A little luck can’t hurt every now and then,” she said.

“I suppose not. I should have died during the Blight, or at Kirkwall, or Haven, take your pick. And yet I made it back here.” Cullen picked up the coin between his index finger and thumb.

“Humor me,” he said, took her hand and placed the coin into her palm. “We don’t know what you’ll face before the end. This can’t hurt.”

Ellana looked down at the coin. She felt her heart palpitate. He was giving his most treasured keepsake to her? This means a lot to him , she realised, and closed her hand around the coin. I mean a lot to him.

“I’ll keep it safe,” she said and looked up into his eyes.

“Good,” he said in a low voice and moved to embrace her. He pulled her close to him and placed a kiss on her hairline. “I know it’s foolish but I’m glad,” he mumbled into her hair.

Ellana made sure to carefully put the coin into a pocket and then reached her hands up over the fur mantle up to his neck. She nuzzled her nose against his hard jawline, then his stubbled cheek. Their lips met for a slow kiss before they continued nuzzling their noses together, and finally Ellana buried her face against the side of his neck in a close embrace.

They had gotten to know each other slowly, and they had been through a lot already, but they had not been more intimate together than this. But she knew that this was her man. Her partner. Her loved one. For the rest of her days - be it ten days or a hundred years. With unspoken love aching her heart, she inhaled his scent and enjoyed his proximity.

Once Cullen and Ellana returned to shore from the pier, Cullen proceeded to remove his fur mantle and the coat that covered his steel cuirass.

“Now? Are we going to go for it now?” Ellana said with a grin and mimed urgently opening the clasps of her coat.

“No, Andraste’s mercy, no,” Cullen said with a reddening face, throwing his hands up. “I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to, it’s just that I was only going to…”

“It’s fine, I’m just teasing you! You’re an easy target, sometimes, I’m sorry,” Ellana said laughing, leaving her coat on.

“I’m sorry, I really… I would, but… not what I had in mind right now,” he said and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Ellana came to him and touched his arms gently. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was going to take my armour off, yes, because I’d like to chop some firewood,” he explained. “I happen to enjoy chopping firewood, but it’s not very comfortable with full armour on.”

“I understand. Can I help you?” Ellana offered, and turned his hand around in hers, searching for the clasps for his gauntlets and pauldrons.

Cullen smiled at her softly with relief washing over him as she was once again so patient with him. “You can, if you like. You don’t wear heavy armour yourself and I suppose your people don't use anything as clunky as this?”

“No. It’s noisy and it slows us down. I can’t understand how you can move so naturally wearing this, it must weigh dozens of pounds,” she said and managed to get both of his gauntlets off.

“I’ve been wearing heavier armour than this for almost fifteen years. The pauldrons are attached here,” Cullen pointed to the correct place, and let the curious woman find out for herself. He enjoyed having her so close, watching her beautiful features bunch up in concentration.

Cullen felt a sting of conscience. They had been in a relationship for a long time now, but they still hadn’t slept together, despite the obvious attraction. Ellana hadn’t shown signs of being frustrated, but that’s the way she was. Understanding, patient, kind. And now she had been joking about it… This would be an opportune time for them to enjoy each other. They had the afternoon to themselves and it was very unlikely they would be interrupted.

He wanted her. He yearned for her. He had for weeks - for months, if he was honest. But somehow he couldn’t make himself go to her room in the evenings in Skyhold. Somehow he couldn’t ask her to come to his. He was afraid. He had never been in a relationship before, and now that he finally could have one, he was too afraid to make it happen. He came to realise, with Ellana only inches away from him, her fingers working on his body taking off the pauldrons one at a time, that he was afraid to love her because he was afraid to lose her. He had been hurting for so long. Now he had something beautiful in his life - something that eased the pain, and made him look forward to the future. The pain he would feel if he lost her would finally kill him, one way or another. He was certain.

“Joking aside,” Ellana said as she placed the pauldrons down to the ground and straightened up to continue with his cuirass. “If you don’t mind me asking… Let me, shoo,” she swatted Cullen’s hands away and found the next buckles by his sides and underneath his armpits.

“About why I am so slow with you?” Cullen voiced the thoughts in both of their minds with a weary sigh, and spread his arms to his sides to give her room to work. Better to face the question together, he decided.

“Well, um, yes. I don’t mind, but I thought if there was something I should know…” Ellana looked up at him after she had undone his left side.

“No, not really. Nothing to worry about,” Cullen soothed her fears away, and gently stroked the tops of her arms with his hands. “I’m just a slow, broken man. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, Cullen,” she said and moved to work on the right side of the cuirass. “It just occurred to me that there might be a religious reason, but you did say you haven’t taken any vows like that. Or if you haven’t, you know… before…”

“Maker’s breath, I’m not inexperienced,” Cullen said quickly, desperate not to have her think him a virgin of all things. “But I can see why you would think that. I am inexperienced in relationships, I’ll admit that much. I’ve never been in a relationship with anyone.”

“Not until now,” Ellana grinned up at him, and Cullen felt a wave of warmth wash over him. It left him smiling at her, and was happy to receive a quick kiss on the lips when she got the buckles of his cuirass open. “Is that it? Does this go over your head?”

“Yes, watch out,” Cullen said, grabbed the front of the cuirass, and lifted it over his head. Underneath he wore a black jerkin, which he also took off, leaving him wearing his boots, black trousers and a white loose undershirt. He set everything aside in a neat pile.

“So how does that work? Being a Templar you can’t really have a relationship but sharing bunks still happens?” Ellana asked with honest curiosity.

She looked him over - she still hadn’t seen him without his uniform and armour very often. He was a handsome sight - broad shouldered, trim waisted, his arms thick with muscle. His shirt was tucked into his trousers, so it gave her a great view of his powerful legs, his delightful behind and also his… front. Which was also a delightful thought to Ellana, especially given the subject they were discussing.

“Something like that,” Cullen said. “Relations between mages and Templars are prohibited. A Templar's actions can’t be clouded by personal feelings if the worst happens. Fraternising within the Order is frowned upon, so whatever happens, happens in secret. In, um, training camps in the woods. Or relieving watch duties in more ways than one,” he listed, and Ellana saw his neck turn a dark shade of pink. “Or there might be, um, opportunities with outsiders. Brothels or simply personal encounters. Some people seem to really like a uniform,” he added. By the way he was flustering and avoiding her eyes, Ellana realised he was likely listing his own experiences.

“It didn’t happen a lot, but it did happen,” Cullen shrugged.

“I think I understand,” Ellana said softly, and thought it might be fair to hint at her own experience. “It all sounds a lot more complicated than frolicking out in the woods. I never, um, sampled among my own clan, so to speak. The boys in my clan felt like brothers to me. But I’ve had my opportunities outside my clan.”

Cullen nodded slowly, but did not dare to ask for more details. It was enough for him to know that she, too, had experience but he couldn’t bring himself to think of her with anyone else.

Ellana thought Cullen had been uncomfortable long enough. “I’m sorry. Perhaps not the best subject of discussion for today.”

“No, I’m glad you brought this up,” Cullen said quickly. “I can’t imagine what strange signals I’ve been giving you.”

“At least the signals have all been confirming that this is a thing. Us. We’re a thing,” Ellana said, pointing at the two of them.

“Very much a thing,” he agreed, but then he took a breath and changed the subject. “It’s time for me to confess something.”

Ellana froze in place - what had she missed? “Oh? Is something wrong?”

“No, not exactly. I thought I’d chop firewood and build a fire so we can have lunch together. But I have to confess - I can’t cook to save my life.”

Ellana stared at the man for a heart beat before she suddenly burst into laughter. She placed a hand on Cullen’s chest as she leaned forward laughing. “Cullen! I thought you were continuing with the same subject!”

Cullen chuckled, took her hand and placed his other hand on her hip, almost like a dancing position. “What did you think I was going to confess? That I’m a eunuch now?”

“No! I don’t know!” Ellana laughed, feeling comfortable and happy being held by him. The discussion had cleared the air and eased her mind.

“I assure you, my lady, I’m very much not a eunuch,” he said in a low, rumbling voice and kissed the ear of the giggling woman in her arms.

Ellana, trying to squirm away from the tickling kisses, suddenly realised this was the first time she felt him without his armour on - and the man was pressing against her purposefully to make his point. Creators , his body felt incredible - warm like a steel cuirass could never be, hard with muscle, his shape unfamiliar to her after all those times spent sharing kisses with him always wearing the blasted armour. Ellana’s giggles quickly turned into a muffled low moan against the side of his neck as she ran her hands up his sides and then down his back, feeling his broad shape that narrowed from his shoulders to his waist. He pressed against her, his arms surrounding her like they never had before. Now only warm flesh and muscle and cloth, no steel or leather or fur between them. She felt his body flush against hers, and she felt his groin against her hip. No eunuch indeed. If Ellana had wanted him before, now her insides burned with desire for him.

Cullen breathed in her scent, feeling her silky hair against his cheek as he held her as close as he could. Closer than he ever had. He had been dreaming of feeling the feminine shape of her body against his for a long time now. He knew the curve of her waist from earlier embraces, but the sudden intimacy of only being separated by a couple of layers of cloth was overwhelming. His breath hitched in his throat and his heart pounded in his chest desperately, and he wrapped his arms around her tighter, like he never wanted to let her go. She was so warm, and so soft. Her hands exploring his body felt incredible.

Cullen couldn’t help but search for her lips and cover her mouth in a ravenous kiss that had her let out yet another muffled moan. He felt her melt in his arms, he felt her push herself against himself. She wanted him. And Maker, he wanted her. It would be so easy to just take his shirt off, lay her on the grass beyond the firepit, kiss every inch of her skin as he stripped her one piece of clothing at a time, and make love to her right here.

He certainly made the point of his joke of not being a eunuch. When he finally caught himself, he was already fully erect in his trousers, and she had certainly felt it against her hip.

“What I was going to say was…” Cullen broke the kiss and panted against her lips.

“Are you going to talk about cooking now?” Ellana groaned. Quickly she lifted her arms to wrap around his neck and made him duck down for more heated kissing. Her tongue swiped at his lips and slid against his tongue as she kept her body pressed against his.

Cullen was inches from losing control. His hands came down to grab her ass, and Maker, what a fine ass it was, he thought. He lifted her up in the air to carry her without breaking the kiss. He immediately regretted the move, because Ellana promptly, and very naturally, wrapped her legs around his thighs. He almost growled into the kiss, trying to resist her temptation. Blindly he walked forward slowly carrying her, their bodies wrapped around each other, until he reached the side of the firepit. Cullen carefully leaned forward and set the woman sitting on the fallen log next to the firepit.

“There,” Cullen said as the hungry kiss finally broke. Both of them were breathing hard and their lips were pink and swollen from the suckling kisses. He took a step back before he could change his mind, leaving Ellana sitting there with a stupefied look on her face.

“I’m going to make firewood,” he said, catching his breath. “And you, beautiful, are going to find out what the Skyhold kitchens have packed us for lunch. Because as I said, I can’t cook to save my life.”

“Creators, you have the discipline of an entire army of Templars,” Ellana sighed as he turned to walk away to pick up an axe. She saw - and had felt - the bulge in his trousers as he turned away.

Ellana sat where Cullen had left her, following the man with her eyes. He was so handsome. No, Ellana thought, not only handsome. He was hot as embers. The black leather boots and the black trousers were a snug fit, and watching him go did nothing ease the desire in Ellana’s stomach.

“So, food,” Ellana’s brain fogged with lust finally caught up.

With the axe Cullen walked back across the lakeside, smiling and shaking his head at Ellana.

“I believe the saddlebags on your horse should be packed with our lunch,” Cullen said helpfully. He struck the axe into a piece of wood and began carrying sawed off pieces of tree trunks to be chopped into kindling and firewood.

Ellana watched him work for a short while. Cullen was impressive and very strong, and his thick biceps hard at work showed through the loose sleeves of the shirt. Finally Ellana felt like her legs could carry her, and she stood to search the saddlebags.

Cullen judged the time and decided to add one more log to the fire. They still had some time left before they needed to head back. Ellana sat next to him near the fire on the picnic rug she had found in one of the saddlebags. She was packing away the leftovers from their lunch - and it was no wonder. The Skyhold kitchens had packed enough food for at least four people, and the two of them were stuffed.

Cullen watched her work, much the same way he had watched her take off his armour. With loving eyes, drinking in the sight of her when she was concentrating on something else. Ellana was humming some tune he was unfamiliar with. The Inquisitor had developed a crease between her eyebrows, but now it was gone. The woman next to him looked relaxed and content, humming away as she wrapped the rest of the cheese and the Orlesian levain bread into brown paper. The domestic normality of what they were doing warmed Cullen’s heart, and made him very happy that he had managed to pull this off.

“You’re staring at me,” Ellana said, and only then lifted her eyes to look at him.

“I can’t help it,” Cullen said unapologetically, and leaned back against the tree trunk that served as seating around the firepit. “You look lovely.”

“I thought I had cheese on my face. The Orlesian one was runny, and too strong,” Ellana said, scrunching her nose. Cullen thought it made her look even cuter.

“I agree. The Fereldan smoked ham, however,” he said and closed his eyes, touching his thumb and fingers together in a gesture of appreciation.

“I knew this wasn’t just for me,” Ellana laughed, “this was also about my grumpy Fereldan Commander escaping the Orlesian court.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Cullen complained, grumpily.

“Uhhuh. Not grumpy at all, vhenan,” Ellana smirked at him. “Now excuse me a moment.”

Cullen watched her get up, then swatted her hand away as she ruffled his hair - but his hair had come undone anyway when he had been chopping firewood - and watched her walk away to the woods.

While she was relieving herself, Cullen lounged by the fire with his fingers crossed on his stomach, his back against the log and his legs long towards the fire. He was warm, and content, and happy. His thoughts were racing forward, thinking of how they would arrive back to Skyhold late in the evening. Perhaps he would help Ellana dismount from her horse. Perhaps he would keep holding her hand and walk her to his office, lock the doors and embrace her like he had embraced her earlier today. Only this time he wouldn’t break it off. This time he would ask her to stay the night.

He was startled from his thoughts by shapely thighs suddenly surrounding his head as Ellana sat on the log behind him.

“Where did you come from?!” he demanded, leaning forward and looking at her over his shoulder.

“I’m… sorry? Did I scare you?” Ellana asked, stifling a laughter.

“You did. I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t make a sound moving in nature,” Cullen breathed with his hand on his chest.

“It’s second nature. I don’t want to startle the wildlife or attract the attention of shemlen. Except you,” Ellana said, and touched his shoulders with her hands. “You I do want to attract.”

Ellana pulled him back to lean against the log, to sit between her legs.

“Like a moth to a fire,” Cullen sighed and settled back to a comfortable seat.

“Or a bee to a flower. A much less sinister metaphor,” Ellana suggested, and began to knead his shoulders with her palms.

“No, you don’t need to, hmmmm,” Cullen tried to tell her she didn’t need to feel like she needed to do him a favour, but his words melted away.

“How come I’m not surprised your shoulders are tight as bow strings,” Ellana said in a low voice.

Cullen couldn’t reply, his eyes had already drooped shut as Ellana used her palms to warm the tense muscles of his shoulders and neck. She pulled a little on the neckline of his shirt to reveal more skin. She noticed that there was a nasty looking but healed slash scar on his right collarbone and magical burn scarring on his left shoulder. She had a feeling he had many other scars hidden underneath his clothes. Someday soon she would kiss his scars, she decided. Every one of them.

Cullen didn’t remember that anyone would have ever rubbed his shoulders before, at least not like this. Ellana first warmed his muscles and skin enough to loosen his tendons a little, and now seemed to change tactics. She began using a bit more force. He squeezed his eyes shut and hissed between his teeth.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he heard Ellana’s voice, but he shook his head wordlessly and let her continue.

Cullen felt like he melted under her hands, and his head lolled forward, drooping down. Her hands were surprisingly powerful and firm and warm, and she seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Cullen realised he must have lost sense of time, and he caught himself groaning as her hands felt particularly good on the sides of his neck.

“Maker,” he breathed. “Where have you learned this?”

He felt Ellana lean closer to him, and press a kiss into his hair. “My mother. She’s been helping the clan’s midwife and healer, and is pretty good with things like this. Does it feel good?”

“It feels incredible,” Cullen mumbled, quite unable to open his eyes yet.

But he didn’t need to. Ellana’s fingers moved from his shoulders to his neck and then to his scalp. She ran her fingers through his hair, stroking the unruly waves gently. She then placed her fingertips more firmly against his scalp and began to massage his head, slowly and deliberately.

Cullen’s body had relaxed with the neck rub, and his heart had melted with her stroking his hair. How stupidly good something as simple as that felt. He had been alone for a long, long time.

But this, her rubbing his scalp? This was almost orgasmic. He let himself lean against her, his head against her chest, his arm slung around her leg. He had never experienced intimacy like this. It was an overwhelming feeling to be able to let his guard down and relax. He felt safe, and he felt cared for. He felt… loved? He wasn’t sure if that was the right word, but his own heart certainly was full of affection and, Maker help him, love for the woman taking such good care of him. This kind of closeness and intimacy was better than sex. Then again, he had never made love to her. Not yet. Perhaps that would be better than this. It remained to be seen.

After a while, Ellana’s fingers slowed and eased to stroking his hair again. Cullen kept his eyes closed and head leaned back against her chest. He felt her soft kisses all over his face, and he murmured something unintelligible.

“Hmm?” Ellana’s question was a soft sound he felt against his brow from her lips.

“Come here,” he mumbled, and reached back to pull her down.

Laughing a little, Ellana let him pull her off the log she was sitting on, and into his lap so that she sat sideways between his thighs, her legs to one side. Cullen didn’t wait at all, but covered her mouth with a languid kiss as soft as his whole body felt like.

“Ellana,” he sighed against her lips, still with his eyes closed. “You are one of a kind.”

She leaned back enough to look at his face, and cradled his chiselled jaw in her hands. “Ella,” she said softly. “My family calls me Ella. You can call me Ella, too.”

Cullen’s heart filled with warmth as he looked at her beautiful blue eyes. She made him feel included, like he suddenly belonged to something. Something else than work and duty. Now he was part of a small club, mostly consisting of her family, with the exclusive privilege of her nickname. Cullen pulled her back closer to him and pressed his stubbled face against her cheek.

“Ella,” he repeated, trying out the shorter name. It felt good.

All too soon the lovers had to untangle from each other, put out the fire, put on Cullen’s heavy armour again and pack away their things to the saddlebags. They met with the Inquisition soldiers and Captain Clark, who told them that their routine mission had gone well and the Inquisition had another foothold in Ferelden.

They arrived back to Skyhold at dusk, and Cullen, with his heart full, did exactly as he had planned. He dismounted from his horse first, strode to the Inquisitor’s horse and helped her down.

As the stablehands took their horses and the Inquisition soldiers went through their routines around them, Cullen held Ellana’s gaze and her hand. “Walk with me?”

Ellana, who was molten wax in his hands, smiled and nodded.

Cullen tucked her hand around his arm and walked with her towards the stairs that lead up to the battlements. They talked together in low voices about sweet nothings as they strolled towards his office, just as he had planned.

As they neared his tower, a messenger and an Inquisition Lieutenant ran up to him from his office - and Cullen knew immediately his chance was gone. He let go of Ellana’s hand as they halted to a stand in the battlements.

“Commander! You’re back!” the Lieutenant blurted.

“There has been an incident in the Western Approach!” the messenger said urgently and handed him a missive.

“And there has been a confrontation between some mages and a Templar in the barracks,” the Lieutenant added.

Cullen turned to Ellana. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“I know. Go,” Ellana said softly, and touched his arm affectionately. “Thank you for the day, Cullen.”

The man stood there looking at her for a few heartbeats, until he clenched his jaw and bowed his head to her. “Inquisitor.”

Then he walked away to his duty, opening the missive in his hands as he did, with the soldier and messenger at his heel.

Ellana remained standing at the battlements for a while, until she turned and walked back to her own tower alone.

#cullen fluff #yes there is a mention of the bulge #because we're getting actual smut in the next chapter #nah but srsly #dude needs a shoulder massage #i should calm down #cullen romance #cullen rutherford #dragon age inquisition #cullen x lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #commander cullen #dorian pavus #iron bull #cremisius aclassi #cullen's lucky coin

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