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spainkitty · 2 years ago

Text

There Isn't

Part II / III / IV

Takes place a year after the end of the main game, after Solas has ~mysteriously~ disappeared, and a year before Trespasser. Both Descent and JoH take place after the end of the main game in this 'verse.

tw: pretty heavy discussion & break up BUT there is a planned happy ending and it's almost finished 😀 Also, this is a hella long post. my bad?

Lanil's Pieces Masterlist

Sigrid Gulsdotten is a very, shall we say, interesting choice of recruit, Inquisitor. Commander Cullen has had a great deal to say on the matter. Still, we've had interest from scholars and mages beside themselves at the chance to speak with a "stable" abomination. (Especially since the Chantry is too weak to forbid it with any force.) I believe that Gulsdotten, with a guide and some guards for her own protection, would be a valuable guest to send to select lectures and salons.

Ambassador Montilyet

You cannot be serious.

Commander Cullen

"This is a great idea, Ambassador!" Lanil walked, well, more like ran, into the war room on her first morning back from the Frostback Basin.

She was definitely not thinking of the conversation she'd had with Dorian about him leaving soon. Or that Varric hadn't even come back to Skyhold with them, instead heading straight to Amaranthine to catch a ship to the Free Marches. Or that the Iron Bull, Cole, and Cassandra were the last ones of her close-knit friend group still in Skyhold since Sera went off to Nevarra to meet with the newest Red Jenny, someone named Johi, to help 'kick arseholes in their holes'.

No, of course not. She was only and entirely excited by the missive in her hand that she'd almost forgotten about in the hectic mess of finding Ameridan and stopping yet another god-dragon-creature from stirring up shit. If only Solas could be here to see that people were beginning to care, to ask questions, about the Fade and Spirits! She herself couldn't wait to sit with Sigrid and get to know her and her teacher.

"My Lady?" Josephine startled in place, nearly dropping her writing tablet.

Cullen and Leliana also did a double-take at her sudden appearance, but Lanil didn't bother looking at them. Her attention was solely on Josephine. She slapped the paper down on the table and leaned across it towards Josephine.

"You're serious about this? The lectures and salons and universities?" Lanil demanded.

"Oh! You mean about Lady Gulsdotten. Enchanter Sigrid?"

"No, I don't think either of those work. You can ask later. But yes, about her and her teacher!"

"Her teacher?" Cullen repeated.

His tone sounded... off, but Josephine was riffling through papers and handing them over to Lanil. She snatched them and read through the invitations and requests eagerly.

"They've been pouring in since I sent out a few... discreet messages to a few more renowned professors and Enchanters," Josephine said with a strained smile. She glanced towards Cullen, who was suddenly standing at his full height, arms crossed over his chest, a frown slowly growing darker and heavier on his face. "We all assumed you didn't like the idea when you didn't reply."

"It wasn't exactly an emergency or a priority. The god-possessed dragon was a bit more pressing at the time. But this is a great idea! I'll ask Sigrid myself how she feels about it--"

"You cannot really be serious," Cullen interrupted.

Lanil finally noticed his expression and her eyes began to narrow. "Is there a problem, Commander?"

"A problem?! You used the words 'god possessed dragon' in the same breath as offering to send a possessed mage around Orlais for, what, tea and demon summoning?" Cullen snapped.

"If you noticed, she's not a dragon nor is she trying to be a god or summon demons," Lanil retorted. "She's a mage, an Avvar mage, and the Spirit is her teacher. This is a chance for people to understand Spirits and the Fade better. A chance that most mages across Thedas would never have otherwise."

"Unless they decide to use blood magic and possess themselves or others," Cullen said sharply. Lanil bared her teeth, ready to bite out something caustic.

"Excuse me, Inquisitor, Commander, we don't even know if she'll agree. Perhaps we could wait--" Josephine tried to interrupt, her voice gentle and soothing.

"It shouldn't be an option at all!" Cullen slapped his open palm on the table. "This is madness. If you must, have this Avvar abomination meet with our own scholars. In a small room. Far from anything. With a templar present."

Leliana's eyes closed. Josephine inhaled sharply. Lanil, however, slammed both her hands on the table and leaned across it, eyes burning silver.

"She is not an abomination."

"She is possessed. Of course she is. Don't be naive, Inquisitor."

"By your Chantry terms. Your Chantry rules," Lanil snarled. "In Avvar culture she is a mage. Her Spirit is her friend, her family."

"My Chantry? Did you forget you're part of the Inquisition? A Chantry organization?"

"Barely a Chantry organization! And I'm Dalish!"

"You were raised in a Circle!"

"And they were going to cut my soul in half! I'm Inquisitor because you broke the Chantry rules!"

Cullen threw up his hands and backed away from the table. "This is not the same."

"Josie, maybe we should--" Leliana murmured.

"No, we're not done here," Lanil snapped. "Ambassador, how soon can you organize this tour?"

"Oh, um, only a few--" Josephine stammered.

"You can't do this. I won't allow it." Cullen ordered firmly.

"You won't allow it?" Lanil hissed.

"As your Commander, I have to think about the safety of the people. Maybe you don't think she's dangerous, but I knew a mage who allowed a Spirit to possess him, and he blew up Kirkwall."

"Maybe he was right!" Lanil shouted. Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine all reared back. "Maybe it had nothing to do with the Spirit, maybe it did, but if you hadn't noticed, the world is always on the verge of exploding! If I had stayed there, if I had lived through the utter bullshit of the Gallows, it was called the Gallows, Commander, maybe I would've helped!"

"You can't possibly mean that," Cullen managed to force out, sounding strangled.

For a moment, Lanil wanted to stick to it. To plant both feet and stand firm. But it had been obstinacy more than belief that had her spitting out those words. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at a far wall.

"I... I don't know..." Lanil said, barely more calmly, her control in tatters. "Maybe not. I knew Anders, too. He was my friend once. I believe that he believed it was the only path he had. Maybe Justice pushed that in him, maybe they... they sickened each other. But some of what I've done here has been just as bloody, and I have as high a body count, if not higher. I didn't need to be possessed to do it."

"This was a war that you didn't start, it's not the same," Cullen argued, shaking his head. "And what of Varric? He knew Anders in Kirkwall. What did he think of your decision to bring Gulsdotten here?"

Lanil scowled fiercely. And was silent.

"Exactly. It's dangerous. It stops here, at Skyhold, where we can make sure--"

"No." Lanil tipped up her chin and met Cullen's gaze. "No. Ambassador, make the arrangements."

"Lanil--!"

"If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility. A single person gets hurt, and you'll have yourself a new Inquisitor when I leave to take accountability for it. I hope that assuages any misgivings, Commander." Lanil turned on her heel and left.

"Void take it, Lanil!"

Josephine and Leliana watched as Cullen followed right on her heels. Slowly, Josephine met Leliana's eyes. Leliana rubbed her temples and sighed.

"I really don't know what to do here. I didn't think it would turn out like this," Josephine said, rather unnerved and rattled.

"It was bound to happen eventually. You're going have to choose by yourself now."

"What?!"

"Who do you want to anger more, the Commander or the Inquisitor?" Leliana asked with a humorless smirk.

"Oh, dear Maker," Josephine whispered.

...

Lanil stormed towards the main doors. She was going to go and find Sigrid. Or Dorian. She paused. Sigrid was probably in the mage tower, but Dorian prefered the library in the Rotunda. Actually, Sigrid might be there, too. She turned abruptly left and headed that way.

A hand grabbed her elbow.

"Lanil, we were not done--"

"Yes, yes, we were."

Lanil yanked her arm away and glared up the foot of difference in height. She had never seen Cullen this angry, his frown a snarl that almost matched her own. The closest he'd been was when he'd told her about Samson, or anything to do with Samson. Which had her blood immediately boiling--not very difficult when she was already furious.

"You can't just walk out of a meeting and consider it closed."

"And yet, I did." Lanil jabbed her finger in the middle of his chest. "You pushed me there. Not allow? Not allow me, Cullen? I am not a child."

"I..." He stopped mid-word and looked around. There weren't many guests or visitors a year after Corypheus' defeat, but every single one of them was obviously hanging onto every word they said. "We should speak privately?"

"Fine." Lanil snapped and began walking towards the door to the Undercroft.

"My office would--"

"No. It's not private enough and you're not coming to my room." She ugly-snorted and shook her head. "That's right, my room. More than a year later."

"Lanil, you're not going to derail this conversation with that," Cullen muttered under his breath as they stomped their way down the stairs.

"Screw you, Cullen."

"Damn it, Lanil."

She glared at him hotly. He shouldered his way through the bottom door, scowling just as darkly.

"Commander! And the Inquisitor, too! Uh oh..." Dagna set down the tools and wiped off her hands on her leather apron. "Something is not right in the state of the world again."

"Another darkspawn god coming down on our heads, Inquisitor?" Herrit asked, mostly confused but a little concerned despite himself.

"Nothing like that. This is rude, but could you two get out. Until we're done..." she glanced at Cullen and then back at them, "discussing."

"You got it, boss. C'mon, Herrit, let's go enjoy the sunshine."

"There's sunshine coming through that big hole there."

"Okay, let's go enjoy it anywhere not here." Dagna shoved and pushed Herrit past the angrily seething couple, then up the stairs and out the door.

The moment it closed, Cullen dragged both hands through his hair, wincing when it caught on his gauntlets. Lanil crossed her arms, her stance wide, and glared silently. Furiously. Somewhere in the back of her head, deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt it coming.

Mythal, let her be wrong. ...little odd praying to Mythal after meeting her in person...

Cullen finally spoke, "Let's get the easy thing out of the way--" Lanil snorted and barely kept from tossing her head like a horse, too. "I said I wanted our relationship private, and you agreed. Moving into your room is not private."

"That was over a year ago. Everyone in the Inquisition knows by now, so who cares?"

"I do!" Cullen inhaled sharply. "It's one thing for our people to know, but it's another for... for everyone else. Rumors and gossip, fine, but it's not gossip anymore when a dozen nosy nobles see me follow you up to your private rooms every night."

"But you do sleep up there almost every night! You just sneak in like a damned thief instead of my lover."

"You're the Inquisitor! You need to be above reproach--"

"So you'll fuck me, but won't publicly stand beside me," Lanil retorted dryly.

"Don't talk about us like that. It is not like that and you know it," Cullen snapped.

"Do I? Do I really? Sure feels like you're ashamed of us being an us," Lanil said through gritted teeth. "Are you scared your Templar friends will judge you, or your precious Chantry?"

"Lanil, now you're being an ass."

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm pissed."

"We can talk like adults--"

"Argue. We are arguing like adults. And I, for one, am an angry adult who doesn't like being patronized."

"Then, stop throwing my faith in my face like it's something that makes me less, or like it makes me love you any less!"

"Your faith has drilled into your brain that me, and all my people, not ours, my people can't be trusted. That Spirits can only be evil, awful, destructive things! You know that's wrong! But every time, every time this comes up, you're suspicious and close-minded first!"

"Because every time it ends badly!"

"That's obviously a lie since the Avvar have been doing things their way for hundreds or thousands of years, Cullen! Sigrid and her teacher are not violent. They aren't sickened. They choose to be together, to work and learn together, they are family and they keep each other safe, and they keep others safe. They know things and understand things about Spirits and the Fade in a way Circles and Dalish don't."

"You said yourself she was supposed to get rid of the Spirit and she left because she refused to. She's bucking the very tradition you're defending."

"The augur said that some mages never lose their Spirits. The same kind of mages that your Chantry brands with lyrium! Maddox, and people like Maddox, like Anders' Karl, they didn't have to be Tranquils. They didn't have to die. If we had lived with Spirits like the Avvar--"

"You can't be serious," Cullen scoffed, turning away and rubbing his face.

"Say that one fucking more time, Cullen, I swear!" Lanil dug her hands in her hair and growled. "Yes, I am serious! Me and Solas used to talk about it. What kind of world would it be if there was no Veil, if the Fade was like... like a state of being, like the weather, always around us. What would it take for Spirits to live among us peacefully. I used to imagine it, all the things he'd tell me, all the places and Spirits he'd seen. I want that world, Cullen. A world with less fear and more magic, more wonder. Learning from the Avvar, living a little more like they do, we could get closer to that."

"Worshipping Spirits as gods and sticking them in dragons to destroy us all?" Cullen asked tightly.

"That was one clan. Fen'Harel's bloody teeth, Cullen, some Templars rape mages, but you don't see me calling you a rapist."

"For fuck's sake, Lanil." Cullen punched the nearest bench and Dagna's tools rattled. "That is out of line."

"No, it's not. Or you wouldn't be so damned angry about it."

"How much of this sudden crusade to make the world more like the Fade is because of Gulsdotten, and how much of it is you hoping Solas is going to come back?"

Lanil froze, eyes wide and mouth dropping open. "What?" she wheezed.

"I know you miss him, but he left," Cullen said, his voice softer, his gaze heavy. As if he was being gentle. As if his words were fair. "He left, he didn't say good-bye, and he's not coming back. Making friends with every Spirit and abomination you meet isn't going to bring him back."

Her rage was no longer a fire. It was lightning. A storm. It raged and howled and thundered through every nerve ending. Solas once said her magic felt overwhelming, that if he listened, it drowned out everything else. She understood what he meant now.

The next thing that came out of her mouth was going to shatter something fundamental. Break it perhaps beyond repair. She felt the words burning her throat, her tongue, scraping at the back of her teeth.

"How much are you worried about another Kirkwall, and how much are you terrified of me?" she asked.

Cullen stepped back, his face a picture of bewildered shock. "What, I'm not--"

"What if I meet the right Spirit, Commander? What if I meet a teacher like Sigrid's who promises to show me the Fade in a way I can't see it alone? What if it promises to teach me lost Elvehn magic? What if one night, while you're sleeping next me, I say yes?"

Cullen turned white.

"That's what you're scared of. You're scared that Sigrid is an excuse for me to try it. You're terrified I'll become an abomination. That you'll make up one morning and a demon will be lying beside you. You don't trust me."

"Lanil, that isn't true. Of course I trust you," Cullen said. He was shaking his head, but his skin was too pale, too sweaty, his gaze nowhere near hers.

"You can't even look at me." Cullen's shoulders went tight. "You will always be scared of that part of me. Cullen, we can't work if you hate what I am."

His head snapped up and he stepped towards her, paused, and then crossed the short distance in long, determined strides. Gently, he cupped her face in both his hands, something he'd done a thousand times. His hands were shaking like the last leaves on a tree in winter. But his thumbs traced along the lines of her vallaslin. Gentle. Loving. Her chest cracked down the middle.

"This is--I do not and can never hate you, Lanil. This has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

"A part of me is of the Fade and the Fade is in me. My soul and whatever Spirits are made of... we're like... like cousins. Family. And you hate it. You'll never trust it. So you'll never fully trust me."

"Lanil. Don't do this."

"We're over."

His forehead bumped hers and she felt wooden. Empty. Like maybe she'd already carved out where he fit inside her. A hole in her chest where she'd kept him.

Vhenan. How many times had that words slipped past her lips to brand his?

"I'm the Inquisitor," she forced past numb lips that ached for the shape of different words.

"Lane."

"You're the Commander."

She gently took his hands. Pulled them away. Thanked the Creators that he wore gloves so his skin, his pulse, were hidden under leather and metal.

"Lanil. Don't. We can still talk about this."

"Don't worry, Commander," she smiled, a useless emotionless thing, as she met Cullen's too-wide eyes, "you don't have to worry about my reputation now."

She dropped his hands and it didn't feel like her fingers, her hands, her arms were moving. Someone else's feet encased in leather boots scraped over stone. Someone else's legs moved, carried someone else's body up the stairs.

"Lanil, there has to be..."

He couldn't even finish it. Because how could he? There has to be a compromise? A middle ground?

"There isn't."

She closed the door before he could make another sound. Her footsteps echoed. One after another. One more. And then another. The sounds in the main hall rang weirdly through her ears. Like trying to listen through thick glass. She didn't remember how she made it through, or how long it took to get to the doors. She didn't remember crossing the courtyard down to the stables.

But she saw Faith. Shining white and silver and beautiful. Cloven hooves picking their way delicately over grass and dirt to stand in front of her.

"Could we run, my friend? Could you take me anywhere but here?" she asked. Her lips still felt numb. Her skin icy. Faith lowered herself enough for Lanil to slip onto her back. "Ma serannas, falon. Ma ghilana mir atish'an."

When Faith ran, it felt like flying. The halla leapt with a grace and strength that belied her tiny frame and slender legs. They rushed past the guards so fast, they didn't have enough time to see Lanil's face let alone salute. She tucked herself as low and close as possible on Faith's back, her face whipped by the soft white hair stinging and sharp against Lanil's eyelids. Down her cheeks.

She gritted her teeth and let the halla guide her. Mountain air, the smell of wild heather and gorse crushed under hoof, the cries of wild birds; she thought of nothing else. No words. No broken expressions and brown eyes too dark and too bright. Just Skyhold's mountains and Faith.

It wasn't quite dinner time when Lanil returned. She gave Faith a few carrot and dried apple pieces from Dennet's secret stash. With a gentle rub of her bony chin to Lanil's head, mussing her already tangled hair, Faith went into the barn. Probably to ruin a bale of hay to lay indolently over it like a queen. Lanil had heard Dennet curse about it plenty of times. Finally, Lanil went on her way. There was someone, a few someones, she needed to speak with.

...

"Lady Lavellan? Lady Montilyet told me... My lady?!" Therilla gasped, eyes wide and mouth dropping open.

Lanil grunted, kicked the bed's headboard, and then cursed.

"Yes, I asked her to send you. Would you mind helping me pack for a long journey? In those bags there?" Lanil waved at the tattered and weather-beaten saddlebags in question.

"Um. Of course, but. Why are you stripping the bed? And moving the furniture?

Lanil huffed. All her sheets and blankets had been thrown onto the balcony. Her bureau and desk had switched places. The bed was halfway across the room, where Lanil was now standing.

"I realized I have that whole... um... loft? Indoor balcony? Up there. And I'm going to put my bed there. Make room for some sofas and a table. A little sitting room for guests, like what Vivienne did for her room when she was here."

"That sounds like a lovely idea. Perhaps I could go ask for some help?"

"No need." Lanil raised both her hands, scowled, and then hefted the entire bed up onto the loft area with a loud thud as her hands glowed blue. "I just wanted the right angle for it. Didn't want to accidentally break a leg. The bed's leg, not mine."

"I see. And the bedclothes?"

"I was half hoping the wind would take them. You can give them away." Lanil shrugged and started up the ladder. "I'm going to Val Royeaux to shop with Vivienne."

"Shop. You're going shopping with Madame de Fer?"

"Yup. It'll all be sent here. Make sure they make it look nice, won't you? I trust your taste better than mine. If Josephine wants to help, I don't mind, either, but I think Leliana will officially be in Val Royeaux as Divine by then. Any day now, she said."

"You won't do that yourself? The arranging?" Therilla asked. She slowly opened the saddlebags. Everything Lanil owned could probably fit inside.

"Nope. After Val Royeaux, I'm going around with Sigrid Gulsdotten to sit in on some of her salons. Dorian wanted to see a few of the lectures himself, so it works out great. Then, Dorian, the Iron Bull, and I are going to meet up with Varric in Amaranthine and we're going to the Free Marches together. We already sent him a raven, so he should wait for us, or he'll meet us in Kirkwall and show us around. After that, I'll escort Dorian to the border, I want a glimpse of Tevinter, but that's it. Then, I'm going to Wycome to make sure everything really is stable, visit where my clan..." She broke off slightly, hands freezing mid-air where she held a stack of books, then continued with that same overly perky voice, "Of course, since I'll be travelling, I should go to Nevarra to visit the Enchanters' College they're rebuilding, help out a bit. I'll probably stop at a few of our holdings and keeps around Orlais and Ferelden, too, make sure everyone is satisfied and doing well. Check out any rumors of rifts or demons or darkspawn. I'm pretty excited about it."

The entire time, Lanil was pushing and shoving her bed into the perfect position. Then, came down to start throwing clothes in the bags while Therilla rushed to fold and pack them neatly. She paced to and fro, grabbing books from the shelf, her portable writing desk, more clothes. Barely stopping to breathe, all the while with a fixed and crooked smile on her face. Flitting about like a bird branch to branch.

Therilla huffed and a frizz of hair fluttered over her nose. She was surrounded by clothes and books and a strange number of knives for a mage. Perhaps she cut a lot of herbs?

"What brought this on, my lady? It seems like you're planning to be gone years! Is the Comman--"

"A year at most. Before I forget." Lanil went into her closet and came back out with a large satchel. It was mostly empty, but it felt like it weighed more than a trunk filled with bricks of gold.

A pair of gloves. A handful of styluses worn down to the nub. A tin filled with a solution of elderflower and oakmoss that he swore to everyone else he didn’t use. Papers covered in bold, too-heavy handwriting not her own. Books with feathers or ribbons or dried elfroot for bookmarks, whatever had been nearby. Letters from South Reach carefully kept in their envelopes to preserve them as long as possible. The coin they passed back and forth. Slipped into a pocket or under a pillow or in a boot.

He'd laughed that time. He hadn't been able to figure out how she'd managed to get in it there while he was wearing it.

The satchel dropped with a sad little rattle and thwap.

She was not going to morbidly and symbolically compare it to the past eighteen months.

"That should be returned to the Commander's office. Maybe at dinner or before breakfast, when no one notices."

"Oh. Oh." Therilla's brown eyes glistened and her hand covered her mouth.

"It's nothing. I have a journey to finish packing for." Lanil grinned and spun on her heel. "Do you know what the weather is like in Val Royeaux?"

"Sunny, my lady. The weather should hold for a few weeks yet," Therilla murmured.

"Excellent."

...

Lanil hefted the saddlebags a little higher and shoved through the door into the main hall. Therilla had offered to help carry, but Lanil was more than capable of doing it alone. They weren't even full. Early dawn light trickled through the high stained-glass windows. Soon enough, the hall would be filled with so much sunlight it'd be impossible to walk through without squinting. But for now, the stone beneath her feet took on an unearthly quality, a pearly sheen that reminded Lanil of the Fade.

Dorian met her at the door and raised an eyebrow at her armful.

"You realize you have paid servants to do that for you?"

Lanil scowled at him. With an exasperated sigh, he took hold of the wide strap nearest him. She scowled a little harder, but they walked out the front doors with the saddlebags hanging between them. Funnily enough, even at this early hour, there was a large crowd forming at the front gates. By the time they got close enough to hear the words, Lanil also picked out a familiar voice. And then she saw his blond hair, curlier than ever, and dark fur ruff in the middle of the crowd.

She was surprised dust didn't rise around her boots, she reined herself to a stop so fast. Dorian jerked to a startled halt beside her.

"Lane, what--" He stopped, concern creasing his forehead deeply. She was staring at him, mute and ashen-faced, lips pressed into a thin, white line. He turned back to the crowd and saw Cullen bracing his hands on his hips and arguing heatedly with an Avvar stranger.

"I need to--stables. Go to the stables," Lanil said hoarsely.

"I knew this sudden plan to travel like a migrating goose was rushed and odd. Darling, you can't just run off after a fight," Dorian scolded. She didn't even bother frowning. Just stared at him. Slowly, the vague niggles of amusement ebbed. "Lanil, it wasn't just a fight, was it?"

Still nothing.

"Inquisitor!"

Lanil flinched, then drew herself up straight and square-shouldered so fast Dorian almost missed the first, involuntary motion. He turned to see Cullen striding towards them as suspicions mounted. Seeing the untamed curls and too dark circles in Cullen's wan and weary face more than confirmed them. The way both of them resolutely met eyes with entirely blank expressions, facades as perfectly painted as any Orlesian mask, made Dorian want to sigh. Or cuff them both 'round the head. Or shake what happened out of them.

Of course Lanil was running. Of course Cullen would say nothing.

"Commander," Lanil greeted blandly.

"Care to explain why--" Cullen stopped mid-sentence and stared at the bags hanging between Dorian and Lanil. "What are you doing?"

Dorian rolled his eyes skyward. Of course Lanil was running and hadn't warned Cullen.

"Leaving."

"Andraste's ass, Lane," Dorian whispered. He cleared his throat, though Cullen couldn't tear his eyes from the saddlebags. "We're accompanying Gulsdotten for the start of her tour before heading to the Free Marches. I will be going on to Tevinter after that."

"I said I'd take responsibility. The least I could do if be there to take the blast if Sigrid loses control," Lanil stated. Inflection still flat. Tightly and completely controlled. Cullen frowned darkly, but Dorian could see his hands shaking before he crossed his arms over his chest.

"No one likes a matyr, darling. Stop being so dramatic. We'll all be fine," Dorian said smoothly.

"We're going to be late," Lanil retorted, turning again towards the stables.

"What about the bear?" Cullen gritted out.

Lanil's facade broke as her head tilted. "The bear?"

"That man over there brought a bear and claims you know all about it," he said, waving towards the Avvar man.

Dorian couldn't help smirking at the bare-chested, fur-wearing man amid all the armored and multi-layered soldiers. For all their oddities, at least the Avvar knew how to appreciate the male chest. It was too early for the courtiers to be out & about, which was both disappointing for the scandalized twittering he was surely missing out on, but very fortunate for Lanil and Cullen's sake. Who, despite their carefully dull expressions and monitered voices, were as obvious as the Breach-made scar in the sky.

Suddenly Lanil's eyes lit up as the Avvar man neared them and she almost smiled.

"Storvacker!" she exclaimed.

Dorian couldn't quite repress his grin. "They actually sent Storvacker here?"

"You knew about this?" Cullen demanded. "Both of you?"

"Of course." Lanil tilted up her chin, mulish and stubborn. "I made the judgement. Storvacker is your agent now, Commander. Treat her with all due respect."

Cullen sputtered. The Avvar nodded to Lanil and grinned, all wide and toothsome and handsome. Alas that the only Avvar in Tevinter were those ne'er-do-wells causing mayhem with the goat-throwing Movran.

"Augur, it is a pleasure to see you again," the Avvar greeted.

Alas that this one only had eyes for women, it seemed.

Lanil nodded and then paused, head tilting again as she squinted.

"I know you. You were the first one up the wall at the Fortress."

"Tommar, augur. It's not often lowlanders tell us apart," Tommar said, obviously looking her up and down.

"You did an impressive job. Of course I remember. Where is Storvacker?" Lanil asked without a pause. Not noticing either Tommar's sudden prideful posturing or Cullen burying his face in his hand.

"Could this morning get any worse," Cullen whispered hoarsely.

Dorian's heart went out to him.

"She's down at the river, augur. She'll come up whenever she's ready," Tommar said. "I could take you to her now? I volunteered to come visit your Sky's Hold and offer you my services."

Dorian would not laugh. He caught the look on Cullen's face and, no, he really wouldn't laugh. Cullen met Dorian's eyes. Dorian hadn't seen him look like that since he'd watched Lanil training to face spiders again while she was slowly overwhelmed by her own panic.

Heartbroken and unable to say a thing.

"I'm about to leave Skyhold for the foreseeable future, Tommar, but you're welcome to the Inquisition. Commander Rutherford here is the leader of our forces, you should speak with him. About joining and Storvacker." She waved a hand at Cullen.

Tommar sized Cullen up, arms crossed. Cullen raised an eyebrow.

"My services were to you alone, augur. I'll return to Stone-Bear Hold once Storvacker is settled."

Lanil blinked. "All right." Her eyes suddenly widened. "Faith!" She shoved her saddlebags into Dorian's arms. He oofed loudly. She pointed at Tommar and ordered briskly, "You, with me. Dorian, I'll meet you by the river."

She ran past without a single glance back. Tommar shrugged with a grin and jogged after her. What was left of the crowd watched her leave before slowly dispersing, all muttering and whispering and carefully not looking at Cullen. He stood too still in the courtyard, hand clenching and unclenching and clenching into fists at his sides. Dorian hefted the saddlebags over a shoulder and approached him.

"Whatever it was, she'll come back," Dorian said quietly. Cullen startled, as if he had forgotten anyone else was around. "She'll come back and then you two can figure things out."

"No," Cullen whispered. "I don't think we will."

"If I may ask--" Dorian tried to ask without sounding like he prying. He didn't get far.

"You may not."

Dorian sighed. "I suppose this is our farewell, Commander. You are a good man and I am glad I got to know you, I hope you know that."

"I do now. Thank you." Cullen closed his eyes and his head lowered. "Please, watch out for her. As much as she'll allow."

"For as long as I'm able," Dorian agreed. He reached out to grip Cullen's shoulder. "She's the best friend I ever had, and that means... more than I can describe."

"Good. I..." Cullen broke off. His voice too thick and low. "Good. Safe travels, Dorian."

"Commander... Cullen, you are also are a good friend. Quite unexpectedly."

Cullen's shoulders tightened briefly, then he abruptly marched away. Dorian's hand left hanging in mid-air. Dorian frowned at his broad back, wishing there was any way, any words he could say, to help. In the end, he could only turn towards the stables and get started on those safe travels.

Part II

#so i should just post it on ao3 at this point #sigh #Lanil's Pieces #dai ficlet #dai cullen rutherford #dai lavellan #cullen x lavellan #Break Up fic #BUT THERE IS A HAPPY ENDING #... eventually uhhh #it was supposed to be 3 parts #it is NOT #also lanil is a petty asshole #and cullen has trauma/indoctrination he needs to stop ignoring...

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weaveandwood · 10 months ago

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Hi! Welcome to my corner of the Dragon Age and BG3 fandoms! Putting this here to keep my stuff easily accessible.

Here you can find my Dragon Age and BG3 fanfic and fanart.

Stay a while and watch me be unhinged about my favorite couples!

BG3: Gale x Auroria Wyll x Rosalind Dragon Age: Cullen x Brinni Lavellan Davrin x Evangeline Aldwir The Viper x Bianca de Riva Alistair x Ellaria Mahariel Solas x Leni Lavellan

COMMISSIONS: OPEN (DETAILS)

My Art: My Art Tag My Writing: My Writing Tag

My Fics:

The Snake and The Crow | DATV | Read on AO3 The Viper/Bianca | NSFW | Ongoing

One Shots - Dragon Age

In Hushed Whispers (Cullen POV) | Read on AO3 The First Time (Alistair x Ellaria) | Read on AO3 NSFW Just One Morning (Solas x Leni) | Read on AO3

One Shots - BG3 One shots are Gale x Auroria unless noted

Making a Cake NSFW Lavender and Vanilla NSFW Sandcastles The Hunt NSFW Going to the Market NSFW Campfire Cookout NSFW First Day of My Life Stay (Gale x Tav) NSFW Distraction (Gale x Tav) NSFW Midnight at the Elfsong (Gale x Tav) NSFW

Gifted Art & Commissions (go follow these artists!)

Gale x Ora by darkurgetrash Gale and Auroria by goromimii Gale's Poem for Auroria by sorceresssundries Auroria by elspethdekarios Auroria by githling The Bard and the Blade by orangekittyenergy Gale x Auroria by Steamclouds Woodweave by alsoika

My Videos (just kisses) My Screenshots

[header and dividers by saradika]

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inquisimer · 1 year ago

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✨20 Questions for Fic Writers✨

thanks @nirikeehan for the tag!

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

226,296

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Dragon Age at the moment, plus a hint of Dishonored. In the past I've also written for The Mortal Instruments/Shadowhunter Chronicles and MCU.

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

Grace In Denial: oneshot, f!Hawke x Anders - mostly fluff with a hint of emotional hurt/comfort Ended in Love: oneshot, f!Trevelyan x Cullen - some classic mage-Templar angst (cw: forced sterilization, abuse) Lamentations of the Living: oneshot, f!Mahariel x Alistair - the Dark Ritual/Ultimate Sacrifice debate It Will Have To Be Enough: oneshot, f!Lavellan x Cullen - Cullen waits for her to come back at Adamant Conditionally: oneshot, f!Lavellan x Cullen - Lavellan's clan does not approve of her relationship with a human

5. do you respond to comments?

I try! But I am very slow at it, and when the backlog gets too much I psych myself out about it. Currently working on convincing myself that it's not weird to reply to comments from many months ago😅

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Mostly A Lie,about an Inquisitor who breaks up with Blackwall at his judgement and a Blackwall POV of her subsequent relationship with Cullen

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Apple Whiskey, which is an all around fluffy fic about Alistair helping my Inquisitor Neria escape one of Josephine's parties.

8. do you get hate on fics?

I haven't yet, nope! And I know that if I did, I would bitch about it to my friends, block the user, and delete the comment. So what if we just didn't, hm?

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

A bit, perhaps. It's an eventual goal of mine to be more comfortable writing it, but that's definitely a work in progress.

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nope! Personally not a fan of crossovers.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

Sort of, as I participated in the DAFF Discord Server round robin anniversary event where we all popcorn wrote a crackfic. Other than that, nope! I think it could be really fun, though :3

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship?

Horation Caine x Marisol Delko (CSI: Miami - I will never write fic for them but their canon story makes me f e r a l)

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

My Inquisitor!Carver AU. The idea is compelling af, but I have other DAI retellings that I want to write more.

16. what are your writing strengths?

Character backstory, description in general

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

DIALOGUE, dialogue tags, making endings (to chapters or oneshots) sound like endings without being cheesy AF

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I like it, both as a reader and a writer! It can be used well for character flavoring, but is also frequently misused in a way that makes fic harder to read. If it's large chunks of text, especially with plot relevant information, I prefer another indicator that the language has shifted, like italics or a dialogue tag. I think it works best when the author has a reason for it besides "they're speaking another language", like they don't want the readers to understand what's being said, or the character is trying to deceive someone who doesn't speak that language.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

MCU Avengers

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written?

HMMMM probably a toss up between Inquisitor as a Companion: Neria Surana Lavellan (faux DA wiki page entry for my inquisitor) and after all this survival (a snapshot of Siobhan Hawke as Viscountess in Kirkwall)

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

3. what fandoms do you write for?

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

5. do you respond to comments?

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. do you get hate on fics?

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship?

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? T

16. what are your writing strengths?

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

19. first fandom you wrote for?

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written?

#tag games

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ao3-diablofic · 1 year ago

Link

by Kosho

Back at it again with Kinktober! My eventual goal is to use both the nsfw and cutesy prompts, but if not, then I’m aiming for at least getting it done.

Day 1: Elsine x Cullen Rutherford Day 2: Youkai x River Ward Day 3: Taki x Zenos Day 4: the commander x daeran Day 5: Cherish x Cullen Day 6: Arakiel x Socothbenoth Day 7: Felix Alexius x Talon Adaar Day 8: Solas x Jack Day 9: Zevran Arainai x Varadin Cousland Day 10: Paladin Danse x Leander Day 11: Female Necromancer x Kormac

Words: 13549, Chapters: 11/31, Language: English

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game), Cyberpunk & Cyberpunk 2020 (Roleplaying Games), Final Fantasy XIV, Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous (Video Game), Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Fallout 4, Diablo (Video Games)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Original Avvar Character(s) (Dragon Age), Cullen Rutherford, V (Cyberpunk 2077), River Ward, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Zenos yae Galvus, The Commander (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous), Daeran (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous), Original Inquisitor Character(s) (Dragon Age), Socothbenoth (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous), Male Adaar (Dragon Age), Felix Alexius, Solas (Dragon Age), Male Lavellan (Dragon Age), Male Cousland (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai, Paladin Danse (Fallout), Male Sole Survivor (Fallout 4), Kormac the Templar, Female Necromancer (Diablo III)

Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, V/River Ward, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), The Commander/Daeran (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous), Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Felix Alexius/Male Inquisitor, Male Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Warden, Male Cousland - Relationship, Paladin Danse & Male Sole Survivor, Kormac the Templar/Female Necromancer

Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Kinktober, Pegging, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Nurse - Freeform, Hate Sex, Teratophilia, Sweat, Collars, Tieflings (Dungeons & Dragons), Dubious Consent, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, Sex poison, Oral Sex, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Loss of Virginity, Virginity, Mage Adaar (Dragon Age), Named Adaar (Dragon Age), Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood, Blood Kink, Glory Hole, Praise Kink, Sensory Deprivation, Dream Sex

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50516668

#Diablo IV #AO3

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sapphireangelbunny · 2 years ago

Link

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Cullen Rutherford, Cassandra Pentaghast, Leliana (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Solas (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: i'll add tags as the story goes Summary:

Kayla never felt at home anywhere, even among her loving dalish clan. Her keeper sends her to investigate the Conclave. A gathering of mages and templars in a last test for peace. Kayla is thrown into the mess when the Temple of Sacred Ashes explodes, killing everyone inside but her.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #dai fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #inquisitor lavellan #fanfiction #cullen rutherford #cullenmance #cassandra pentaghast #leliana #eventual cullen x lavellan #i'm getting back into writing #i hope you enjoy #my writing #cullen x lavellan

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ree-duh · 1 month ago

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Okay my dai plan for my next games!

I will rerun solavellan now that I know how to record clips but that’ll be later at some point

Blackwall x elf inquisitor because Lavellan deserves happiness

Blackwall x Qunari inquisitor because he deserves a big strong wife

Iron bull x human / Qunari inquisitor cause I haven’t decided yet!

Eventually Cullen x human mage just for the drama of it

Also maybe a solavellan break up run where she rebounds with Cullen just to see if it works like people said

#ri✨talks

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shivunin · 2 years ago

Note

vibes into your ask

Cullen and Salshira- finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for . :3

Oh hi! <3

Had to take a minute to check what I'd written for them already! (I know pining usually is reserved for people who haven't been together romantically yet, but I took it in more of a 1800s-ish"I long for your touch" kind of way c: ):

After the Dark

Salshira kept pieces of Cullen with her always, in the form of the coin in her pocket, the mark on her jaw, and the ring on her finger.

The first was a memory of the years he’d spent alone in his own darkness, as much as it was a gesture of love. The second was a tether, something that told her without a doubt that no matter how far away from each other they might be, Cullen was still alive and well.

The third—well, that was the one she clung to all through those long, cold months in the dark caves of the Deep Roads.

The Inquisitor pressed it to her lips late at night when it was her turn for watch, willing his presence here, willing herself to believe that the warm metal was somehow a link to him. The nightmares were awful down in the dark, in the deep. Every night, she was a child again, screaming for her best friend while the giant spider dragged her limp body into the depths. Every day, she fought through endless waves of darkspawn, stinking and foul and grinning endlessly. But in the evenings, in the quiet—in those moments, Salshira had Cullen, at least until it was time to curl up on the cot alone again.

They’d been so long in the dark that when they finally completed their mission and climbed back out again, Salshira’s eyes flinched away from direct light. She felt like she rode back to Skyhold with her eyes half-closed, wincing at the brightness of the sun on the snow, at the shine on the others’ newly clean armor.

When at last they crossed over the drawbridge a week later, there was no pale form on the drawbridge as she’d expected. They’d sounded her party’s return; that was her flag going up on the ramparts. So where…?

Lavellan saw him as soon as she rounded the corner toward the stables. The Commander paced there, his usually neat hair mussed and all in curls at the sides. Both of his hands gripped the hilt of his sword, and he didn’t even seem to see her, so focused was he on scowling at the dirt.

“Cullen,” she said as soon as her mount passed most of the vendors at their stalls, and had to clear her throat to try again when his name came out in a croak.

“Cullen,” Salshira called, and his head snapped up.

She didn’t give him time to run for her. Instead, Salshira threw herself from the saddle, very nearly twisting her ankle when it caught in the stirrup.

In an instant, all the clever words deserted her. All the little jokes she’d thought up on the road here, eyes squeezed shut against the unfamiliar light—all the things she’d wanted to ask him about how he’d been while she was gone—all of them deserted her. There was only him, taking her elbows when she nearly tripped in the process of throwing herself in his general direction.

She couldn’t seem to see him. At first, she thought it was just the same sun-blindness, but no—it was a haze of tears instead, when Salshira was loath to cry at all and doubly so in public.

“Cullen,” she said again and again, the only sensible thing she could force out between her cracked lips.

Cullen pressed his forehead to hers, murmuring words she couldn’t seem to make sense of— “missed you,” maybe, and, “Maker preserve me,” and her name, over and over. He held her so tightly; too tightly, maybe, with their breastplates shoved hard against each other, but Salshira couldn’t bring herself to care. She just rested her forehead against his and waited, the relief of having him here—actually him, not a piece of metal or a mark on her skin—too powerful for any other thoughts to sneak in around it.

When they kissed at last, it was almost an accident. Cullen’s mouth still whispered words that might have been prayers or questions, her own trembling with unspoken emotion.

It hurt, just a little. Not the kiss, which was achingly gentle as soon as he realized that’s what he was doing. No—it was the relief of being home again, in his arms where she ought to be. After months of fear, after that final battle all but on her own, it was almost more than she could stand to finally let it be over.

“‘Ma sal’shiral,” she said at last when they could tear themselves away, and her fingers at last found the warm skin of his neck beneath the ruff and his armor, “How I have missed you.”

To her surprise, he laughed—a watery sort of laugh—and shook his head.

“Love,” Cullen told her quietly, “You’ve no idea.”

There would be more words later; better words perhaps, or at least ones she’d planned to say. But here and now, their own stumbling attempts were enough so long as they held on tightly to one another.

So long as they let go only as much as they must.

#salshira lavellan #cullen rutherford #cullavellan #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #my writing #sdskild sorry if this wasn't what you meant!#i got so caught up in writing her not confident for once that i ended up in a different place than i'd intended #anyways the deep roads were capital-t Traumatic for Salshira #like three of her worst fears stacked on top of each other in a trench coat #refused to leave her quarters for several days afterward and refused to surrender cullen back to the army #eventually josie got involved and treaties were signed relinquishing the commander to his duties etc #and Salshira never went back underground ever again #shivunin scrivening

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mistress-wolf-writes-au · 4 years ago

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Ok I did a thing. Chapter 1 and 2 of my Dragon Age Edwardian era AU is up on AO3. "The Sparrow"

This fic has a slight steampunk aesthetic to it as well. More to that on later chapters. I wanted to write a fan fiction that was somewhere in the timeline between the Dragon Age universe that we know and modern AU's. I wanted to tackle different "What If" scenarios and put it all in together. What if Solas didn't wake we he was supposed to sleeping two millennia instead of one? What if the veil got stronger? What if Cullen new Lavellan since childhood? What if Morrigan was Lavellan's adoptive sister?

This is a Cullen and Solas love triangle featuring my OC Isolde "Izzie" Lavellan. Lots of fluff and eventual smut. Thank you Altoclefgirl for inspiring me to write my own story. Your continued help and support as my beta reader and friend means the world to me. Ma Serranas Falon ❤️

archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_Wolf/pseuds/Mistress_wolf

Instagram. Mistress_Wolf_WritesAU

#cullavellan #cullen rutherford #cullen x lavellan #commander cullen #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #Izzie Lavellan #ao3writer #fluff #solasmance #solas x lavellan #solas fanfic #eventual smut #Edwardian era AU #steampunk

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tired-truffle · 20 days ago

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Something’s Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 6.4k

Part 12 - Two Steps Forward

"I don't know what's going to come out of me," I told her. "It has to be perfect. It has to be irreproachable in every way." "Why?" she said. "To make up for it," I said. "To make up for the fact that it's me." - Suzanne Riveka

Masterlist

Flames licked hungrily at Ash, their fiery tongues lapping along her skin. A primal scream fought to flee from her lips, but she could only choke on the thick smoke that filled her lungs. The acrid stench of burning flesh assaulted her senses, making her gag.

Through the suffocating haze of agony and terror, Ash strained to make out the looming shape of the Archdemon. Its massive form towered over her, its obsidian scales reflecting the hellish light of the inferno it had unleashed. As she lay paralyzed with fear, she could feel the intense heat emanating from its body, searing her flesh and scorching her lungs with each breath. The beast's demonic eyes glowed with pure malice, savouring her suffering as it held her in its grasp.

Ash's mind reeled, thoughts scattering like ashes on the wind. She had to get away, had to run from this nightmare, but her body wouldn't obey. Her legs were the roots of an old, gnarled tree, rooted in place even as the conflagration roared around her. Blistering, bubbling, blackening skin sloughed away to expose raw red muscle. She was melting, dissolving, disintegrating to nothing under the Archdemon's attack.

It couldn't end like this. Rae, she had to protect Rae. Ash willed her arm to move, to summon ice or water to douse the blaze. But her magic flickered feebly and sputtered out, powerless against the flames. Helpless as a child.

The Archdemon's maw split into a hideous facsimile of a grin, baring dagger-like fangs. With a bellow that shook Ash to her core, it lunged, Voidfire spewing from its gaping jaws.

White-hot, blinding, blazing agony. Too much. Ash threw her head back and howled, an animalistic shriek torn from the depths of her being. The world shattered around her, falling away in a torrent of embers and shards.

But the scene shifted, melted, reformed itself into a different horror. Gone were the flames and the Archdemon's bulk. Now there was only a yawning chasm of darkness, an abyss that left her disoriented, unable to tell which way was up or down. Spectral forms emerged from the shadows - twisted, emaciated things with hollow eyes and gaping mouths. They circled her, clawed hands reaching, grasping.

Whispers filled the air, the words strange and distorted. Ash strained to make out their meaning but it remained just beyond her reach, the voices overlapping, entirely gibberish. Louder and louder they chanted, battering at her mind. She clapped her hands over her ears but it did nothing to block the maddening susurrus.

It built to a fever pitch, hundreds of ghostly throats wailing, the force of it driving Ash to her knees. Something inside her snapped, a thread of control fraying apart. All at once, wild magic burst from her in a concussive wave. A soundless roar filled her head as the surge of power rushed outwards, slamming into the spectres and hurling them back into the void.

Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, the energy abruptly deserted her and she crumpled. The ground seemed to turn to quicksand beneath her, dragging her down into its depths. Deeper and deeper she sank as her vision narrowed to a pinpoint of light, then winked out entirely. The last feeling was the cold press of oblivion folding itself around her, and then…nothing - only the fathomless dark and sweet silence.

“He passed beneath the stone gaze of the cormorant statues flanking the gates and nodded to the guards on his way to the barracks. No one noticed his ragged, bloody clothing, which disappointed him as much as he benefited from it. Recruits these days. Always slacking off.”

Grey stone walls greeted her, a pale light shining through the thick glass window. Her body itched and ached as it had for…days? Weeks? She had little concept of time anymore, though it was clear that she was no longer in her tent. Had they made it to Skyhold?

Varric’s raspy baritone voice was easy enough to recognize, even in her groggy state. He continued reading, quiet and slow like a soothing bedtime story - but with a little too much violence to tell to children.

“Donnen bypassed the Captain's office and went looking for Jevlan. By now the kid ought to be rested up, and Donnen suspected he would need backup if his large, suspicious shadows decided to pick a fight. But Jevlan's bunk was empty.”

“Is he dead?” Ash turned her head towards Varric, his feet propped up on the side of her bed - a real bed and not a cot, its mattress lumpy but still cozy - as he leaned back in a rickety-looking wooden chair. At her side, Sweetpea lay curled up, purring and kneading her thigh.

His lips curled into a devilish smirk. “No need to be hasty, you’ll find out in good time.”

Ash huffed, a childish impatience clattering through her that came from, well, however long she’d been stuck in bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, eyeing her with a strange amount of scrutiny. Though he tried to appear relaxed, Ash caught a glimpse of the tightness of his shoulders, and how Bianca sat propped against his chair, ready for use.

“Like I got half my skin burnt off by an Archdemon.”

Varric chuckled, his finger drumming absent-mindedly against the book. “Yeah, I figured as much. But I meant more up here.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger. “No sudden urges to throw me against a wall?”

She furrowed her brow and cocked her head to the side, her lips pursing in confusion. He raised his hands in a gesture of nonchalance.

“I had to ask. The last time you woke up you threw the healer across the room while screaming bloody murder.”

Oh. Her heart sunk into her stomach. Fuck. Had that been the whispers in her dream? Simply the healer trying to do her job?

“Hey, no need to look like you strangled the life out of a kitten with your bare hands.” Varric removed his feet from her bed, placing his elbows on his bent knees and leaning forward. “Other than a few minor bruises and a touch of shock, she wasn’t seriously harmed.”

Ash gritted her teeth. “I still hurt her.”

Varric was silent as he studied her. “Was it you or…?”

Her heart continued to sink lower. “It was just me,” she confirmed, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. “They sent you here to babysit me?”

“I volunteered.” An affectionate light lit up his eyes, and despite her desire to berate herself until she was blue in the face, she felt herself relaxing.

But it didn’t last long.

“I need to apologize.” Ash attempted to push herself off the bed, but she made it no farther than an inch before she collapsed onto the mattress, a guttural groan pulled from deep within her throat.

“I wouldn’t suggest that,” Varric said a beat too late. “At least not without help.” He leaned back, opening his book once more. “And I’m afraid I don’t have the height to assist you, Frosty.”

Varric's voice washed over Ash as he resumed the tale, the cadence of his words lulling her into a sort of trance and cutting off any further protests. She let her eyes drift closed, the image of the stone walls around her fading away as her mind conjured the scenes he described. But try as she might to focus on the tale he wove, her mind kept wandering, thoughts skittering away like insects beneath a rock lifted by a curious child.

She stared up at the wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling, tracing the swirling patterns in the knotted grain with her eyes. Dust motes danced in the pale sunlight slanting through the window, glittering like tiny diamonds. She would spend much too long in the coming days staring at that ceiling, until finally - Creators, finally - the healers began to help her up. Sitting came first, and with it came new aches and pains, but Ash was determined to grit her teeth and force her way through it. And that was exactly what she did, much to Rae’s chagrin when she was sparred a moment to check on her sister. It irritated her to the point that she’d assigned Solas to be in charge of Ash’s movement. Ash had almost exploded in a ball of fury when she’d heard this. She didn’t need to be coddled by her sister’s object of affection.

But she should have known better than to expect Solas to coddle her. If Ash was determined to walk through the pain, Solas was perfectly content with this, as long as it didn’t undo all the hard work he’d put into keeping her alive. To her surprise, he offered gentle but firm encouragements, and soon, she’d made it to the window and back while leaning heavily on the elvhen apostate. She wondered briefly if she could put enough weight on him to topple him over, suppressing a giggle at the image of a flattened Solas beneath her plump form.

Rae had other plans for Ash than just sicking Solas on her; she would provide a much-needed haircut. Rae's nimble fingers worked through what remained of her once-luscious locks, trimming away the singed and frayed ends. Ash fought to keep her eyes from straying to the pile of golden strands accumulating on the floor, each discarded piece a painful reminder of what she'd lost.

"You know," Rae mused, her tongue poking out slightly as she concentrated, "I always wondered what you'd look like with short hair. Guess the Archdemon did us both a favour."

"Yes, because that's exactly what I needed. A makeover from the Void."

Rae chuckled, moving to stand in front of Ash and eyeing her handiwork critically. "Don't be such a grump. It's not like you were using all that hair for anything useful."

“A rude assumption.”

Rae ignored her, making a few final snips. "There. All done. Want to see?"

Ash hesitated, her heart thumping nervously in her chest. Did she want to see? To confront how much had changed? Steeling herself, she nodded.

Rae produced a small hand mirror from seemingly nowhere - a trick Ash had long since given up trying to figure out - and held it up.

The face staring back at her was both familiar and foreign. Her hair, once flowing past her waist in golden waves, now barely brushed her shoulders. The left side was noticeably shorter, the burns having claimed more there. But Rae had done an admirable job evening it out, giving it a tousled, almost stylish look.

Purposefully, Ash did not let her gaze wander to the bandages covering her burns.

"See? Not so bad, right?" Rae's voice was gentler now, a hint of concern creeping in. "It'll grow back, you know. And in the meantime, think of how much easier it'll be to wash."

Ash reached up, running her fingers through the shortened strands. It felt strange, lighter. Like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders - both literally and figuratively. "I suppose it's not terrible," she admitted grudgingly. "Though I'll miss being able to braid it."

Rae's face lit up. "We can do little braids along the side, or maybe some fancy pins. Ooh, or we could shave one side completely and-"

"Don't push your luck," Ash warned. And though Ash was sure Rae was tempted, she backed off. For now.

Ash had a few visitors over the days of her recovery, most wishing her well briefly before disappearing, their duties calling them away - Bull had been almost too big to fit through her doorway, and she’d laughed harder than she had in much too long as she watched him struggle to fit his horns into the room. Dorian, however, had taken it upon himself to have tea with her every morning without fail. He would sweep into the room with a flourish, a silver tray laden with a steaming pot of fragrant tea and an assortment of delicate pastries balanced expertly in his hands. His presence was a welcome respite from the monotony of her convalescence, his witty banter and tales of his exploits in the library soothing her restless mind.

Ash was surprised, then, when both Leliana and Josephine separately stopped by her chamber. Leliana arrived first, silent as a shadow, her hood pulled low over her face. She stood at the foot of Ash's bed, her piercing blue eyes seeming to see straight through to Ash's soul.

"I am glad to see you are recovering well," Leliana said, her lilting Orlesian accent softening her words. "We were all quite worried."

Ash shifted uncomfortably under the spymaster's intense gaze. "Thank you.”

Leliana's lips quirked into a small, enigmatic smile. "I have heard reports of your incident with the healer." Shame flooded through her. But Leliana continued, "It is understandable, given what you have been through. Do not let it trouble you."

Ash blinked, taken aback by the unexpected absolution. Before she could formulate a response, Leliana leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I would, however, suggest speaking with Commander Cullen. He has been rather concerned as of late." With that cryptic statement, Leliana straightened, inclined her head in a brief nod, and glided out of the room as silently as she had entered.

Ash stared after her, mind whirling. Cullen was concerned? About her? The thought sent a strange flutter through her chest. But if he truly was concerned, why had he not stopped by? It wasn’t like she could go to him. He was busy, she was sure, but if what Leliana said was true, surely he would have sparred a minute of his time.

She was still pondering this when Josephine arrived, a vision of gold and blue silk, her clipboard clutched to her chest. The ambassador's warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled down at Ash.

"It is wonderful to see you awake," Josephine said, her voice as smooth and sweet as honey. "I have brought you some lemon cakes, would you care to share them?”

Ash found herself smiling in spite of her melancholy thoughts. "I would love to. Please, join me." She gestured to the chair beside her bed.

Josephine settled herself gracefully, arranging her skirts and setting the silver tray on the bedside table. The scent of the cakes wafted over to Ash, buttery and sweet with a hint of lemon. Her stomach rumbled appreciatively.

As Josephine portioned out the cake, Ash studied the other woman. She had seen the Ambassador around Haven and, of course, had exchanged polite greetings in passing. But they had never really spoken at length. Josephine always seemed to be in motion, flitting from one task to the next with an air of harried purpose. Yet here she was, taking time out of what was undoubtedly a packed schedule to check on Ash's wellbeing. It was touching, and Ash found herself warming to the other woman.

"I must admit, I'm surprised to see you here, Ambassador," Ash said as she accepted a slice of cake. "Pleasantly so, of course. But I would have thought you far too occupied with important matters to waste time on me."

Josephine tutted, shaking her head. "Nonsense. Checking on the health and comfort of the Inquisition's members is never a waste of time." She selected a piece of cake and placed it on a napkin, eyeing it with a poorly concealed eagerness. "And please, call me Josie. I think we can dispense with formalities, don't you?"

Ash took a bite of the cake, the rich buttery flavour melting on her tongue. She closed her eyes briefly in bliss. Josephine certainly knew how to choose her pastries. Swallowing, she replied, "I would like that."

The two women settled into a comfortable rapport, chatting amiably as they savoured the delicate lemon cakes. Josephine regaled Ash with tales of her diplomatic exploits, painting vivid pictures of grand balls and tense negotiations with recalcitrant nobles.

In turn, Ash shared stories of her own upbringing amongst the Dalish, describing the lush forests, ancient ruins that had been her playground, and the more popular Dalish dishes. Josephine listened with rapt attention, keen to glimpse into a culture different from her own.

As the last crumbs of cake were brushed away, Josephine glanced out the window, noting the sun's position with a small frown. She sighed, setting her napkin aside.

"I'm afraid I must take my leave," she said, genuine regret colouring her words. "There are a dozen letters that require my attention before the day's end." She stood, smoothing her skirts.

Ash felt a pang of disappointment, having enjoyed the ambassador's company more than she had anticipated. But she understood the demands of duty all too well. "Of course.” Ash offered a small smile. "Thank you for taking the time to visit. It was nice to have a friendly face to talk to. Well, a woman, that is. Dorian would be beside himself if he thought I’d described him as unfriendly.”

Josephine's smile softened, warmth suffusing her features. "It was my pleasure, Ash. Truly." She reached out, giving Ash's hand a gentle squeeze. "I will try to visit again soon. In the meantime, do not hesitate to send word if you need anything at all."

With a final smile and a swish of silk, Josephine left Ash to her solitude.

That was, until one Altus mage barged into her room the next morning with little care for her privacy and suspiciously lacking the tray of tea he’d taken to bringing as of late.

“A little birdie told me you were in need of a human crutch,” Dorian announced, a teasing grin tilting his perfectly groomed moustache. How would Solas feel about being called a little birdie, she wondered.

Ash was seated in a chair at her bedside, a plush but lopsided cushion placed beneath her to keep the weight off the burns on her rear end. Carelessly, she flung the book she’d been blankly staring at for hours onto the bed.

“And you’ve come to offer your services?”

Giving an overdramatic, flourishing bow, Dorian held out his hand. “I have and you may thank me later. Shall we?”

When she’d been walked by Solas, his quiet observation had left her with nothing to focus on but her stiff, achy limbs and the tight pull of her burnt skin, pain racing all over her body as it struggled to process the input from her fried nerves. But with Dorian, Ash did not have to worry about silence.

Dorian looped his arm through Ash's, supporting her weight as they slowly made their way out of the room and down toward the gardens.

"It’s about time you saw it - Skyhold is positively bustling! We've got pilgrims and recruits pouring in from every corner of Thedas. The courtyard is packed with tents and training dummies. I've never seen Cullen so harried, the poor man is run ragged trying to whip them all into shape."

Ash huffed a laugh, picturing the Commander's exasperated grimace as he barked orders at a gaggle of green recruits. She felt a twinge in her chest at the thought of him, remembering Leliana's cryptic comment. Shaking it off, she focused on Dorian's animated chatter.

"Bull and his Chargers have set up shop in the tavern, of course. I swear, that Qunari can sniff out a cask of ale from a league away. He's become quite the local celebrity - the barmaids are all aflutter over his rippling muscles and 'rugged charm.'" Dorian sniffed disdainfully, but Ash caught a sprinkling of fondness beneath the snark.

They sat down on a bench and Ash pushed down the frustration that arose that she had only been able to make it a few steps into the garden. It was more than she’d managed yet, she should be proud of her progress, and she would have been for anyone else. But for some reason, she couldn't shake off the feeling that she should be meeting an impossible standard of recovery. It gnawed at her like a persistent itch, unrelenting and frustrating - or perhaps that was the twisting scars off her burns.

"Sera has claimed a tavern room for herself - apparently she's been pranking the guests by loosening the floorboards. Poor Josephine is at her wit's end trying to placate the victims."

"Sera's incorrigible. I'm surprised Josephine hasn't strangled her with one of her many sashes."

"Oh, I'm sure our dear Ambassador is sorely tempted," Dorian chuckled. "But she's far too diplomatic for such a scandalous display. Unlike a certain elven mage, I could name." He shot Ash a pointed look.

She swatted at him playfully. "Watch it, Tevinte."

"Speaking of scandals,” Dorian spoke out of the side of his mouth in an exaggerated aside. “You'll never guess who our dear Varric has been hiding from us."

Ash's eyebrows shot up, curiosity piqued. "Do tell."

"None other than the Champion of Kirkwall herself - Marian Hawke!" Dorian announced with a flourish, looking entirely too pleased with himself for delivering this bombshell.

Ash's jaw dropped. "Hawke? Here? But I heard that Varric swore up and down he had no idea where she was."

"He was lying through his teeth, the sneaky dwarf. He's been in contact with her all along, and now she's on her way to Skyhold to lend her aid to the Inquisition. Apparently, they’ve encountered Corypheus before." Dorian settled back against the bench, crossing his legs and smoothing his mustache. "I must say, I'm rather looking forward to meeting the woman behind the legend."

Ash snorted, a wordless agreement. Trust Varric to pull a stunt like that. She couldn't blame him for wanting to protect his friend, and it soothed a piece of her soul that he was able to so capably keep a lie, even under pressure, if he wanted to.

While Dorian’s chatter was a great distraction, soon even sitting on the bench became too much, and with great pain, he helped her back to her room. But he returned later that day, and then the next day, and the one after that, until their strolls became routine.

In the early days, Ash's walks were limited to the rundown gardens just outside her room, too exhausted from her pain and sedentary time. Yet, slowly but surely, she was able to make it further. It helped soothe the restlessness rattling her bones to make her rounds of the Skyhold courtyard.

Ash leaned heavily on Dorian's arm as they made their way into the bustling tavern, the raucous laughter and clinking of tankards assaulting her ears. The scent of stale ale and unwashed bodies hung thick in the air, making her wrinkle her nose. But beneath it all was the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat, making her stomach rumble insistently.

Dorian guided her through the throng of patrons, his aristocratic bearing and immaculate robes drawing curious glances. He paid them no mind, his focus solely on maneuvering Ash to a relatively quiet corner table. She sank onto the rough wooden bench with a barely suppressed groan of relief, her legs trembling from the exertion of the short walk.

"I'll fetch us some refreshments, shall I? Don't go anywhere." Dorian winked, then disappeared into the crowd.

Ash leaned back against the wall and let her eyes drift shut. The tavern's racket washed over her, voices and laughter blurring into a strangely soothing white noise. She had agreed to this test, to see how she would fare in such a crowded and noisy environment, and so far, she was surprised at how well she was managing. After her lengthy convalescence, she would need time to get used to being around others again.

As Dorian took his sweet time, she felt herself starting to drift, her exhausted body eager to slip into a restful state.

"Look who's up and about!" A deep, rumbling voice jolted Ash from her doze.

Ash cracked open one eye to see The Iron Bull looming over her, his massive frame blocking out the light. A wide grin split his scarred face as he plopped down on the bench across from her, the wood creaking alarmingly under his weight.

“Bull," Ash greeted, mustering a tired smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Bull chuckled, the sound like distant thunder. "Just wanted to check in on you. Make sure you weren't getting into any trouble."

"Trouble? Me? Never." She shifted, wincing as her scarred skin pulled taut. "I'm afraid I'm not up for much excitement these days."

Bull's single eye glinted with mirth. "That's not what I've heard. Word is you've been terrorizing the poor healers."

Ash grimaced, shame coiling in her gut. The last she’d heard, the healer she’d tossed against the wall had been assigned to the barracks - far away from her. "Not intentionally." She picked at a splinter on the table. "It's hard being cooped up for so long. I feel like I'm going stir-crazy."

"I get it,” he said, and Ash had the feeling that he was being genuine, not simply placating. “It's tough, being out of commission. Feels like you're letting everyone down." He leaned forward, resting his massive forearms on the table. "But you gotta give yourself time to heal. Pushing too hard, too fast - that's a good way to end up right back where you started."

Ash sighed, knowing he was right but hating it all the same. It was what everyone had been telling her after all. Her restless energy felt like a living thing, crawling beneath her skin and driving her to distraction. She needed to be doing something, anything, to feel useful again. But her battered body had other ideas, betraying her at every turn with its weakness.

As if sensing her darkening thoughts, Bull grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. "Tell you what - when you're back on your feet, you and I can go a few rounds in the training ring. Help you work out some of that frustration."

Ash perked up at the offer. "You're on," she agreed readily. "Prepare to eat dirt, Qunari."

Bull threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming through the tavern. "That's the spirit! I like a woman with fire." He winked roguishly, though there was no true desire behind it.

Before Ash could muster a retort, Dorian materialized at her elbow, two tankards in hand. He slid onto the bench beside her, eyeing Bull with both wariness and reluctant intrigue.

"Making friends, are we?" Dorian asked archly, pushing a mug of water towards Ash. She accepted it gratefully.

"You know me," Bull rumbled, his gaze raking appreciatively over Dorian - now that was a look of desire. "I'm the friendly sort."

Dorian sputtered into his ale, a flush rising on his high cheekbones. He dabbed at his mouth with an embroidered handkerchief - Ash hadn’t seen him take it out, where in the Void had he been keeping it? - glaring at Bull over the fabric. "I'm sure," he said dryly, though his voice held a telltale quaver.

Ash watched the exchange with growing attentiveness, her eyes darting between the two men like a spectator at a particularly engrossing tennis match. Bull's flirtations were about as subtle as a charging druffalo, but Dorian's flustered responses were the real entertainment. The normally unflappable mage was practically squirming in his seat, his wit deserting him in the face of Bull's blatant interest. It wasn’t long before Dorian made a poor excuse to depart - citing Ash’s exhaustion, despite how she had perked up - and all but pulled Ash out of the tavern.

As the week progressed, she had traversed through crowds of familiar faces and caught up with old friends, Dorian always by her side. Even Vivienne had taken a minute to stop her for a chat while she walked with Dorian, unexpected as that may have been.

"Miss Lavellan," Vivienne purred, her gaze sweeping over Ash with calculated precision. "I see you've finally emerged from your sickbed, a feat I wasn’t sure would ever come to pass."

Ash couldn’t figure out if it was meant as an insult, and before she could retort, Vivienne continued, "Those bandages simply won't do. I shall find you some robes that compliment your scars."

Taken aback, Ash covered her startle to the best of her abilities. "I don’t know, I think the white bandages suit me. Besides, the healers said I have to keep them covered, don’t want the sun re-burning them."

Vivienne's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. "I said compliment, darling, not cover. One must always present one's best face to the world, regardless of circumstance."

She circled Ash like a shark scenting blood, her critical gaze taking in every detail. "Yes, I believe I have just the thing in mind. A deep emerald silk, perhaps, with gold embroidery to draw the eye. We'll need to adjust the neckline to accommodate your bandages, of course, but that's easily managed."

Ash wasn’t keen on being her doll, though she did like the idea of a pretty robe for when she was feeling better - it would be wasted now. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm not exactly in a state for fancy dress."

Vivienne's laugh was cut crystal, sharp and glittering. "Darling, that is precisely when one must make the effort. Your current state of dishabille may be excused due to your injuries, but it cannot continue indefinitely. The Inquisition must present a united and polished front, even in times of crisis."

Dorian, who had been watching the exchange with poorly concealed entertainment, finally chimed in. "Come now, Vivienne. Surely you can allow our dear Ash some time to recover before subjecting her to your exacting sartorial standards?"

Vivienne's gaze snapped to Dorian, her smile turning predatory. "And you, Lord Pavus? Shall we discuss your penchant for buckles and straps? One might think you were advertising for a very specific sort of attention."

Dorian sputtered indignantly, his mustache bristling. "I'll have you know this is the height of fashion in Minrathous."

"Yes, dear," Vivienne said, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "And that speaks volumes, doesn't it?"

Ash had to pull him away before they spent hours bickering over fashion. She wasn’t interested in spending her limited walking time fighting Vivienne when she knew she wouldn’t win.

Yet, even as everyone greeted her and wished her well, one person was always missing - a certain Commander who had been on her mind more than she would admit. She’d caught a glimpse of his back once as he stood at a run-down table out by the healers’ tents, but he’d been engrossed in conversation and she hadn’t wanted to interrupt. Or rather she had wanted to, but had decided against it for reasons that were still unknown to her - unacknowledged.

“You’re looking a bit more stable on your feet today,” Dorian commented as they made their way around Skyhold.

“Worried I’ll be able to replace your support with a crutch?” She was still too prone to dizziness to be able to walk on her own, but the more they walked, the less it happened. Solas had informed her that he would be moving her to crutches within the next week. The healers were also set to remove her bandages then as well. She was looking forward to removing the restrictive fabric and ending her daily dressing changes. Thank the Gods it wasn’t Solas who provided that service.

Dorian laughed, though it was more of a guffaw. “You’ll never be able to replace me with something so simple. I’ll of course accompany you even when you no longer require my steadying presence.”

“You’re right.” Ash leaned more of her weight than was necessary on him, laughing as he stumbled before he caught himself. “I would be lost without your guidance.”

“Then allow me to guide you towards the training yard.”

Ash found herself wary of the sly grin that appeared on Dorian’s face as he steered her towards the exit of the main courtyard. “Why the training yards? You know I haven’t used my magic since Haven, I’m not exactly in sparring shape.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of observing our dedicated troops. Make sure they’re hard at work, protecting the innocent and ensuring no dastardly demons descend upon us.”

“Is that all?” She didn’t believe him for a second. “No ulterior motives? You didn’t hear a rumour that Bull would be practicing there?”

Dorian raised his nose in the air and sniffed indignantly. “I haven’t a clue as to what you are implying, I assure you my intentions are nothing but pure.”

Ash hummed her disbelief, but acquiesced. She wasn’t opposed to watching the soldiers train - the sight of sweaty bodies grappling and clashing with wooden swords was always entertaining, if nothing else.

Ash gritted her teeth, stifling a groan as they neared the training yard, her hip tightening in protest. The healers had been correct, she’d lost feeling in patches across her burned body - the worst parts where her nerves had been burned away entirely. However, that didn’t stop the rest of her body from protesting the increased exertion. She could feel the telltale ache building in her muscles, a weariness that seeped into her bones. Perhaps this hadn't been the wisest idea.

She was just about to suggest to Dorian that they turn back when a flash of golden hair caught her eye. Her gaze snapped to the source, and all thoughts of fatigue fled her mind. There, in the center of the training yard, stood the Commander, demonstrating a series of intricate sword maneuvers to a group of fresh-faced recruits. His movements were fluid and precise, each strike and parry executed with a self-assured grace. He was sure of himself, confident and calm, like it cleared his mind.

But it wasn't just Cullen's swordsmanship that had her heart stuttering in her chest. No, it was the way his white linen shirt clung to his sweat-dampened skin, outlining every ripple and plane of his muscular torso. The fabric was nearly translucent in places, offering tantalizing glimpses of what lay beneath. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing corded forearms that flexed with each powerful swing of his sword. She'd never seen him without his mantle and armour before, and her mouth went dry at the sight, her tongue darting out to wet her suddenly parched lips.

A low chuckle at her side had Ash startling, her head whipping around to find Dorian watching her with an infuriatingly knowing smirk - one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched in a silent question.

Ash’s cheeks heated under Dorian's far too perceptive gaze. "Shush," she said with contempt, tearing her eyes away from Cullen's glistening form with difficulty.

"I didn't say anything," Dorian replied, all wide-eyed innocence belied by the wicked curve of his lips.

"You didn't have to," Ash grumbled. "Your face says it all." She shifted her weight, wincing as her burn twinged. Fuck, everything hurt. The dull throb she'd been ignoring in her lower back flared to life, and she had to grit her teeth against a pained hiss.

Dorian's hand on her elbow steadied her, his teasing expression morphing into one of concern. "Perhaps we should head back," he suggested gently. "You're looking a bit peaky."

Ash shook her head stubbornly, even as her scarred leg twitched. "I'm fine," she insisted. Her gaze drifted back to Cullen of its own accord, taking in the flexing muscles of his back as he lunged and parried with a recruit, a practical education. "Besides, I think you're enjoying the view as much as I am."

"Maybe," Dorian allowed, tilting his head to better appreciate the spectacle. "The man does fill out a pair of breeches rather well, I'll give him that much.”

“Mhm,” she responded distractedly, her mind only half on the pleasing sight before her. As she watched Cullen put his recruits through their paces, a nagging thought wormed its way to the forefront of her mind, refusing to be ignored any longer.

Why hadn't he come to see her? She’d spent much too long dwelling on the question, and still, she didn’t have a good answer.

The silence from the Commander was conspicuous, an absence that gnawed at Ash's insides like a hungry rat. She tried to tell herself it was nothing personal, that he was simply too occupied with his duties to spare a moment to visit her - it wasn’t like they’d been friends right? And the Inquisition's forces wouldn't train themselves, after all. Surely that demanding task consumed his every waking hour.

And yet a small, insidious voice whispered in the back of her mind, an insistent lingering of doubt. Perhaps it wasn't duty that kept him away, but discomfort. Unease. Regret.

Ash's stomach twisted into knots as the thoughts burrowed deeper, taking root like poisonous weeds. Her mind spun back to the tent, when Rae had been called away and Cullen had taken her place at Ash's bedside.

She'd been so sure in the moment, riding high on the rush of their verbal sparring, and making such a proud man blush. The soft smile as he’d held her hand, careful not to squeeze too hard - she'd been certain it meant something. Though she wasn’t sure why she wanted it to.

But now, with the clarity of distance and the ache of absence, doubt hounded her like a hunting dog. Had she misread the situation entirely? Projected her own foolish desires onto his reactions, seeing only what she wanted to see? The thought made her stomach churn with embarrassment and self-recrimination - sickening.

Perhaps Cullen had simply been humouring her, too polite to pull away when she'd taken such liberties. What reason would he have to welcome her touch, her teasing? She was a mage, an outsider, a wild Dalish elf with no regard for propriety. Hardly the sort of woman a man like him would look twice at, let alone entertain such flirtations from.

“Should we head down so you can give him your praises in person?”

Ash tried not to let her sourness show in the tightness around her eyes, tried not to dampen the mood with her silly feelings, but Dorian was not so easily fooled. His teasing grin softened, and she scoffed, irritated at the concern swimming in his gaze.

“You’re thinking so loud I can practically hear it.”

Ash bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted iron. It didn’t matter that Cullen didn’t see her in a romantic or lustful light, nothing could come of it anyway. It was easier if he didn’t care for her. “It’s nothing. I just doubt he’d want to see me is all. He’s…busy.”

If Dorian wore glasses, they would have been halfway down his nose with the exasperated look he was giving her. “Fascinating. Tell me, how did you come to this astounding conclusion?” he drawled, a heavy dosing of sarcasm lacing his tone.

Ash scowled at him, and though she knew he would judge her for her answer, she said it anyway. “If he wanted to see me he would have chosen to already. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Dorian laughed like she’d just said the funniest joke he’d ever heard. She debated elbowing him in the side again, but decided against it - she could only rain so much physical harm down upon him before he made her regret it. “My dear, sweet Ashvalla.” He patted her cheek with a patronizing smile, to which she only scowled harder, her pointed ears flattened against the sides of her skull. “Did no one tell you that he’s been asking for updates regarding your well-being almost daily?”

The scowl slipped off her face and she blinked rapidly. “What?”

“The Commander is many things, but overzealous and invasive in his affections is not one of them. He is a private man, and therefore attempts to provide privacy in return, a show of respect, if you will.”

That was…an astute observation of his character. She had been so consumed by her own desires that she hadn't stopped to consider that there was a positive reason behind his absence. Leliana had said he was concerned, but without understanding why, she’d assumed it was over-exaggerated. There was no doubt that he was busy and that would have limited his time to see her even if he had wanted to, but now she felt silly. Like a young girl with a crush on an unattainable man.

“Fuck,” Ash mumbled, her ears dropping. “I hate it when you’re right.”

"Best not to doubt me, I am usually correct," Dorian quipped. "Now, are you going to continue ogling our dear Commander from afar, or shall we go over and say hello like civilized people?"

Ash hesitated, her gaze flicking back to Cullen. He was correcting a recruit's stance now, strong hands guiding the young man's arms into the proper position as they set up for mock battle. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, tracing a path along the sharp line of his jaw. Ash's fingers itched to follow that trail, to feel the rasp of stubble against her skin.

As if sensing her stare, Cullen looked up, amber eyes locking onto hers across the training yard. Ash's breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttering at having been caught.

She had been such a fool to think he was disgusted by her - no man would stare at her with such rapturous attention if he hated her.

Slowly, deliberately, she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in a coquettish wave, her smile widening as a flush crept up Cullen's neck, staining his cheeks a becoming shade of pink.

So focused was he on Ash that Cullen failed to notice his sparring partner taking advantage of his distraction. The recruit lunged forward, wooden practice sword arcing towards Cullen's unprotected side. At the last second, the Commander twisted away, but not fast enough to avoid a glancing blow that had him wincing and snapping at the overeager soldier.

Ash couldn't help it - she laughed, the sound ringing out bright and clear across the yard. Cullen's head whipped around, his blush deepening as he watched her laugh at him. He scowled, the twist of his lips more chagrined than angry.

Cullen turned back to his troops, barking out orders with renewed intensity. But Ash didn't miss the way his gaze kept straying in her direction, almost hopeful in its shyness.

"Well, that was entertaining," Dorian intoned, the picture of nonchalance even as he barely suppressed his glee. "Shall we quit while we're ahead? I'd hate for you to be responsible for any training accidents."

Ash snorted inelegantly. "Please, as if any of them could get the better of Cullen in a real fight."

"Hmm, I'm sure you'd love to see just how forceful he can be," Dorian teased.

Ash pinched his arm and he yelped. "Hush, you. Now take me back to my room before I drop dead.”

"As you command, my lady.” He began to steer her away from the training grounds. "Let’s make our escape before you swoon from exhaustion. Or lust. Whichever comes first."

Ash made a rude gesture in his direction, but allowed herself to be led, her legs growing heavier with each step. But she made it, she always did. Like a cockroach Voidbent on surviving the end times, even a little heart racing over a gorgeous man couldn’t stop her.

Next Chapter

A/N: I love writing for Dorian and Ash, two emotionally incapable bitches surviving together <3

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donttelljim · 3 years ago

Text

There Together

Dragon Age Inquisition Cullen x Lavellan Aredhel could get used to the Commander spending most nights in her room, but what takes a little more getting used to is his sleeplessness. A little light hurt/comfort fluff of Cullen and the Inquisitor navigating the night together, making something functional out of the slightly dysfunctional. Written for @chaos-company‘s Angstpril Day 17, Alternate prompt Tired. (On AO3 here) ============================

Aredhel rolled onto her side, shifting luxuriantly under layered linens and furs, her arm reaching in her unconsciousness for the warm, beloved body she knew she would find beside her. Her hand passed through where a shoulder should have been and kept going, her sense of gravity lurching at the lack of resistance. The mattress next to her was empty, the sheets cold. She woke up. In the dark, the Inquisitor’s cat-like eyes searched the blackness, going only by the little starlight that made it through her balcony windows. This late at night, the room was a scene etched in indigo, all but the coloured patterns of glass that spilt faint streaks into the space, watercolours over ink. Rising onto the balls of her feet, the Inquisitor looked about, crouched on the bed like the Dalish scout of her youth. She looked to the balcony, the desk, the hearth - all common places for her bedfellow to occupy himself on a sleepless night. It took a moment before a shift of fabric snapped her search, instead, to just beyond the mattress. “Cullen…?” As quietly as she could, the elf shuffled over her Frostback-inspired throws, coming to kneel by one of the stone totems at the bed’s base. Resting her hands against the creature’s pronged head, she peered silently over.

At the foot of the bed sat a circular rug, about the size of a glyph and bearing, in Inquisition colours, the symbol of the Chantry. It had been provided by Mother Giselle when the room was first furnished, and Aredhel had refused to get rid of it even as she’d gradually phased out Mother Giselle herself. Peering anxiously, poised and hesitating like a new hunter in a tree, the elf eyed Cullen as he sat. Her vhenan looked exhausted. His head was nodding, half of his limbs sprawled, the other half gathered to him; one leg trailed, the other had its knee raised - one arm flopped, the other rested braced, fist closed. She had seen the same manner on many a soul left guarding a campfire too long: he was watching for something. What he was watching for, however, only he could know. She glanced at the circular rug beneath him, gauging its size and imagery. Creators’ balls. Moving by delicate degrees, one bare elven foot alighted the bed, then the other, the soft shift of fabric against fabric and the even quieter pad of a light step against stone all there was to be heard. Giving the half-waking man a wide berth, she stepped around the outside of the rug, bringing herself into his peripheral before she risked startling him with speech. He had been overdoing it lately - she kept telling him that. From what she could tell, however - his slow movements, the lack of panic - this was a walking dream, not a waking memory. The difference was subtle, but important. He didn’t seem to spy her, eyes making critical study of something beyond and behind her. It was surreal to see: for all his tiredness, he eyed the dark like an archer, the keenness of his focus something that, in different circumstances, would set her Dalish heart fluttering. There was little in her life before Skyhold more impressive than the ability to scout. “Cullen…? Why are you down there?” She wanted to ask him whether he wouldn’t rather come back to bed, but she had quickly learnt better than to say anything to that effect when he was in his memories. She would rather like to find that desire demon and gut it, but she was all too aware that another woman had already attended to that task. Cullen raised a finger to his lips, eyes not moving. “Shh. They’ll come back eventually…I’m keeping watch.” His voice was remarkably level, extremely himself: relief nearly rushed Aredhel from her feet. She was glad, first of all, that her approach hadn’t been taken for ‘Her’ tonight. Those nights were much more trying. The other blessing was that he was steady: lyrium withdrawal, when it reared its head in his moments of greatest stress or exhaustion, lit a fire under all of the most fear-filled emotions, yet as he studied the dark, the Commander seemed as lucid and collected as if he really were keeping watch.

Taking the opening whilst she had it, before his half-dreams reframed her role in this scenario, the Inquisitor stepped over the threshold of the rug and sat beside him. “You’re dreaming, you know,” she reminded him gently, with the same conversational warmth as if she were suggesting he was being stubborn or competitive. “You should sleep.” Cullen shook his head, raising a finger to his lips once more, gaze not leaving the shadows. “That’s what they would have us do. Don’t worry -” For the first time, he looked to her, his tone solid and assuring despite the lack of threat truly around them. It was loaded with care for her, seeking to assuage her fears; “I’ve been here some time. I know how they play this…” As they continued to look at each other, Aredhel saw the shift begin: his initial acceptance of her, led by whatever part of him still remembered enough to expect her here, was merging uncomfortably with the narrative of the dream. She could see the wheels of his mind moving, searching for an explanation. As he squinted, her heart braced, ready for him to turn on a coin and cast her as his tempter and attacker…but instead, after some moments, Cullen only smiled, pleasantly bemused. “I’m glad you’re here, at least. Though I wish I could spare you from this.” Again, he turned and eyed the dark, gravely studying details she couldn’t see. “Odd of them to put you in here,” the strategist continued, frowning at the night as he puzzled over her apparent fate. “After all, you are one of them…” Prickles began to move over his skin - suspicion and paranoia as the logic presented itself. Not rocked (this wasn’t their first night of this, and it would not be their last), the Inquisitor slipped a hand into Cullen’s free one as she found his eyes, trying to bring his attention back to her, to knowing her, before his displaced memories extrapolated her into some maleficar. “Some mages said no. Like you did.” An explanation, without claiming a lie. She would never touch blood magic and she had turned down offers from many a demon, but even so. Sometimes, her heart clutched for the mages in that place - those that resisted and got out deserved acknowledgement they didn’t get. She wouldn’t feel comfortable claiming their victory. Cullen beamed even so, relieved, regarding her with unmasked adoration. “I knew you would.” His hand squeezed hers back, an unwanted congratulations that she felt wicked for receiving. “...This isn’t real, Cullen. It’s one of your dreams. You could go back to sleep.” Again, the man shook his head, pointing into the dark in patient explanation: “When I sleep, that one comes back. She was trying to find my dreams. But I’m keeping watch. We’ll be alright.” Aredhel watched her vhenan - everything from his posture to his careful tone was, even now, aimed towards keeping her protected and assured. She had seen, when his lack of lyrium chose to be cruellest to him, the true terror still remembered in his heart for that place, yet right now, in whatever blend of reality he inhabited, he was determined to provide a rock for her to lean against. Sometimes, come morning, he would apologise for nights like this, trying to ascertain how or why she still loved him after them: some nights, she was glad he could never witness from outside of himself, but if he could see this one, she pondered, moved, he would not worry again. “...Alright.” The Herald settled beside her Commander, folding her arms and shuffling down to plant herself for a long vigil on the floor, ignoring the draining pull already at her eyelids and her spirit. “I’ll help.”

The prisoner, as he thought himself, looked shocked, both politely and honestly taken aback: “You don’t have to.”

“No.” She crossed her ankles, sat shoulder-to-shoulder with him as if proving she would not be moved: “I do. If you’re here, then I’m staying with you. Unless you want to try following me out?” Again, Cullen shook his head, the motion short and blunt, his expression growing distressed that she kept pressing that point. “Do not ask me that,” he urged, trying to hide the impatience in his plea. “They were in my dreams. I am alert, now. I know how to guard this.” He gestured to the circular rug.

“Alright, then.” Resolved, smiling to him, Aredhel tucked closer beside her beloved, her back against the bed behind them. “I’ll take the next watch. You rest your eyes for a bit - we can trade tomorrow.” She could already feel the yawn of tomorrow’s duties stretching ahead of her, but all the more reason for him to sleep. The sentry visibly sagged with exhaustion as he allowed himself to feel it, though his look of hopeful appreciation turned promptly to professionalism before he could truly let himself sink. Always on duty. “Watch out,” he cautioned. “My abilities aren’t manifesting. Uldred’s people must have done something - ” Without missing a beat, Aredhel shot the ex-templar a sly smile. “It’s alright,” she muttered conspiratorially, smirking secretly to him as she raised her left palm. The Anchor lit and crackled, erupting in light - the air of it thrummed with power, yet, as they both knew, it didn’t feel quite like a spell. Their faces were underlit by green as she winked: “Mine are.”

The kitchen-hand had grown accustomed, by now, to pretending she did not see two figures below the Herald’s bedsheets most mornings, and she also pretended not to notice as she set two teacups on the tray she delivered, or the reports from the Inquisition scouts that she set with them. Even this diligence, however, could not ignore what she saw that morning: the Inquisitor and the Commander, both in rumpled nightclothes, lay sprawled on the floor, their backs against the bed, deep asleep. A throw of bear fur had been pulled down, dragging half of the bedding awry with it, and thrown loosely over them. The Commander lay face pressed against the mattress, open-mouthed, the Inquisitor’s head against his shoulder, hair askew and face puffy. Her left hand - the cause of so much speculation - lay palm up above the bearskins, the blessed Anchor fizzing and fitzing, still spitting weak bursts of power as she slept.

#angstpril2022 #fic #day seventeen #tired #dragon age #dai #dragon age inquisition #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #commander cullen #cullen rutherford #sleepwalking #sleepless #flashbacks

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