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greypetrel · 2 years ago

Note

Ooh "a tentative, exploratory kiss between friends" because I'm curious about the first one between Aisling and Cullen 👀 but if there's someone it fits better, that's okay too!

You have wonderful timing, I was about to write this for the next fic chapter. 💜🤣 (Spoiler? If anyone here follows the Wordy Monster.)

The chapter have more build up and Science Bros making things explode (themselves included). You can read it here!

Following the original cutscene because I honestly find it cute, adding here and there (and modifying a line because it doesn’t make sense for them anymore and I didn’t really like in the original, as usual it’s a “It could have been phrased better)

Tis the prompt list

"a tentative, exploratory kiss between friends"

That really won’t do.

The morning’s War Council has been a disaster. Josie was talking about the preparations and uniforms for the Ball and how everything was ready for the fittings, and silks and whatever and guests- And Aisling didn’t listen to one word. She couldn’t, because Cullen was frowning at a pile of reports, brows furrowed in concentration and eyes intent, focused on the task ahead. He looked good, his cheeks seemed fuller and he wasn’t that pale. Maybe the last brew she gave him worked better, she should ask him. Go back in professional mode, yes, that she could do. As long as he was healthy and she could keep him so, maybe make him smile and laugh once in a while, it was ok if he thought she dislikes him. It didn’t make him less kind towards her, less of a friend. And yet, she was longing for more, the very word “friend” is too little, getting stretched more and more. She was longing to just cup his face and yell at him that she didn’t care, she never cared if not in a foolish moment when she thought he was scared of her, and she didn’t want him to be afraid or uncomfortable, not anymore and not with her. She was too concentrated on noticing how his hair almost looked silver when hit in full sunlight. She was wondering how that scruffle would feel under her hands, rubbing on her cheeks and under her lips. And-

- and, she was brought down back to earth from her reverie by a smirking Leliana who made a too witty, too knowing joke about her daydreaming. Aisling grumbled that she was just tired, she slept little the last night, and Leliana just -smirking horribly- suggested her to count lions before sleeping. Josie snorted a laugh, and Cullen just sighed, begging them all to please go back to work, too concentrated, luckily, on his reading to mind that Aisling just turned the exact shade of red of the velvet Josephine was favouring for their uniforms.

This really won’t do, not at all, she couldn’t go on like this. She refuses to start blabbering.

So, she decided to do what the grown-up, responsible First of Keeper Deshanna Isthimatorial Lavellan would do. Open up and confess, come clean and start again. Whine a little over it, cry, get drunk with Dorian, Sera and Bull and get on with her life. She and Cassandra were friends, now, it hasn’t been easy, but they made it.

The plan is simple: go to his office, ask him for five minutes alone. Tell him that she has this stupid crush on him and please, ignore any weird behaviour from her, and please, let’s stay friend and keep things just as they were before. Assure him that she never disliked him on principle, she would never have approached him. Now that she knows she just admires him greatly for realising his situation and acting towards a real change, it wasn’t easy. And then, once everything was out and she had nothing else to hide and overthink about, she would have just got on with her life, less uneasy from all those secrets.

On paper, it looks easy.

As she stands there, staring at his door with a raised hand, stalling before knocking, it’s one of the most difficult think she could think of. A part of her mind is screaming to just… run for cover, take her horse and spend the time until the Ball with Keeper Hawen’s clan. Dig a hole in the garden to bury herself into, become fertilizer for the elfroot, it would just be fitting for her.

The other part, tho, knows better. The other part has the voice of Cole and of Radha and knows she needs to spit it out for it to go away, and go on with their lives.

So, she takes a deep breath, checks another time she’s in good order, fixing her doublet -the nice one, the one in teal velvet and golden buttons and pointy shoulder pieces that matches her Vallaslin- on her trousers, combing her hair more tidily behind her ears- Or maybe not? Are they too big? No, no, ok, that’s a stupid doubt. Combing her hair more tidily behind her ears. And with a big breath and a small prayer to Mythal for strength, she knocks.

He seems surprised to see her. It’s not lunch time, and he’s a little confused to see her so early. Asks her if something happened, jumping to emergency mode and leaving his desk, reaching for his sword instinctively. At least, seeing him so full of nerves helps in calming her down. A little, at least. Just enough to ask him, after some formalities and small talk about health and the situation in the Keep, if he has some minutes to speak with her.

Alone.

She puts emphasis on the adjective, bracing herself for a refusal, some frowning, some scolding because he has evidently, by the amount of paper piles on his desk, a lot of work to do and no time to lose with a silly elf that should be working and isn’t. And yet, he just fumbles more, puzzled by the “Alone”, and… And just leaves everything as it is and opens the door for her, leading her to the battlements and walking by her side.

Silence, between them, has always been comfortable, it has been from the start of their friendship, none really needing to fill the silence or force the other to speak at all costs. Which is something Aisling never likes to do, if she hasn’t anything to say. Cullen never required words, never expected her to speak and put her at ease. Now, their silence is charged, both embarrassed by a single, decisive word that the elf is now rethinking and reconsidering again and again. They pass the second tower. And the third.

“It’s… A nice day.” It’s Cullen, finally, to break the silence.

Except that Aisling is yet again in her own head, screaming internally as words elude her. And, allegedly, realising he’s speaking to her with half a minute of late. Enough that she just has to ask him: “What?”

Another pause, they both look at the other not knowing what to do.

“It’s…” He starts, rubbing his neck, but decides better right away, shaking his head and looking at her, instinctively straightening up. “There was something you wished to discuss.”

She nods, nervously. Here. That’s it. Moment of truth. Mythal have mercy, or tell Elgar’nan to open the earth and swallow her whole.

“Cullen, I care for you, and I-” She stops, words dying in her throat again, realising that he’s looking at her in the eyes and she really has not the guts for it. So, Aisling groans, averting her eyes and sighing, looking down.

“What’s wrong?” And now he sounds worried. Great.

“You left the Templars… But you wrote in your letter implying that the majority of people still dislikes you on principle. And…” A pause, trying to recollect her thoughts. “… I wanted you to know that I never disliked you on principle. And that I’m very sorry if I ever gave you this impression, really. But…”

He tries to reply, but she raises a hand, signalling to no, please, let her finish. He gets it. She’ll be damned because he somehow always gets what she’s saying, is probably the only one that had never troubles understanding her messy cursive, and right now it makes her heart clench because she’s about to ruin it.

“… but I know we’re friends, and… Well. I also know that you don’t have the best experiences with Mages…” She swallows. Spit it out, da’len, don’t let it poison you. “… Could you think of me as anything more than just that? Than an Apostate and… And a friend…?”

There. It’s not direct. It’s not blunt, because right now she can’t deal with directness. She hopes it’s enough, as she shily turns her head to peek at him, see what he’s doing and his expression.

“I could.”

He blurts out, abruptly, without a hint of hesitation in his voice. Aisling perks up, mouth open and eyes big in surprise and wonder at his admission, looking at him in the eyes.

"Wait... What?"

Wrong thing to ask, apparently, even if it burst out of pure surprise, out of needing a confirmation that she, indeed, has understood correctly and it's not just deluding herself. The result, all in all, is that Cullen shies away immediately, a hand coming up to rub his neck and turning away. He starts to walk again, as he fumbles with words again. Aisling just follows him, hope blossoming in her chest and butterflies doing evolutions in her stomach.

“I-I mean. I-I do.” A pause. “Think of you.” He starts to massage his temples. “… And what I might say in this sort of situation.”

She trots after him, heart hammering fast in her throat.

“What’s stopping you?” She asks, managing to slip in front of him and turn to face him, arresting his steps. The irony is not lost to both, and they exchange a smile as he, indeed, stops.

“You’re the Inquisitor, and we’re at war.” He states a note of regret in his voice. “And, you’re my friend. My best friend, before of everything else and I… I didn’t want to ruin it. Also I…” He sighs, shaking his head. “…I didn’t think it was possible.”

“And yet I’m still here.” She smiles, encouragingly. She can’t help but smiling, as she steps back to rest against the wall in a crenelle, both hands propped on the border. Heart full and near to bursting.

He smiles back, cheeks flushed pink as hers, stepping forward slowly to get closer. And closer.

“It seems too much to ask…”

“I’m your best friend, right? I don’t mind doing you a favour. If you want to, we can try...” She banters, half that and half fumbling herself, speaking too quickly and with not much sense, tying strings together just to fill the silence and vent some restlessness.

“… I want to.” If she’s restless and hyped, he’s soft and delicate, placing a hand over hers on the stone, looking at her right in the eyes as he gets closer and closer.

She’s pinned in place, she can just nod when he furrows just a little, to silently ask for permission, the way he does when they play chess, words are over and he asks her if he can move. The same way they communicate if they’re all right from one side to the other of the War Table. Aisling closes her eyes, floating in anticipation, feeling his breath -delicate, still, he must be keeping it, smelling faintly like elfroot and the herbs she put in his brew- she’s leaning minutely forward and their lips brush against each other, very tentatively before-

“Commander.”

He draws back, inhaling sharply through his nose. Aisling, on her own, thrown back to earth too abruptly, lowers her gaze and turns her head away from the newcomer, clearing her throat and straightening her spine.

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.” The Scout continues, and as Aisling looks at him, he has his head bent down on a writing board, not looking at where he goes or his surroundings.

She is grateful that he doesn’t, because like that he probably missed the Commander and the Inquisitor being far too close for propriety’s sake, and at the same time she knows that Cullen will get absolutely pissed by that attitude. He surely barked against her enough times in drills to always, always, mind your surroundings, how many enemies are around, terrain.

“What?” As on clue, Cullen barks, seething in irritation as he turns from her and marches to the poor, still incredibly unaware Scout.

“Sister Leliana’s report, sir, you wanted it delivered right away.” The Scout seraphically goes on, calm as if it was asking a friend to pass him the salt during a picnic on a sunny day.

Finally he raises his head, and Aisling can see all colour draining from his face. She’s trying her best to merge with the surroundings and pretend she’s not there, or she’s invisible, but she can’t help looking. Looking as the Scout suddenly realizes that he manages to step on at least three buttons of Commander Rutherford, enough to have him silent and most likely with a murderous expression on his face - again, Aisling knows that look he has with the particularly arrogant recruits that have him repeat very simple questions twice, explaining his work to him. The Scout looks at her, finally, and before Aisling snaps her head and eyes on the other side of the battlements, clearing her throat eloquently, she spots him absolutely terrified, putting 2 and 2 together.

“Or… Or…” The poor boy swallows. “… or to your office! R-right!”

It’s almost comical how he retreats walking backwards, not leaving Cullen’s eyes as one would do with some sort of wild animal very angry at you. As if he was afraid that by turning and running, the Commander would have understood that he was prey to run after, and jumped at his throat.

As the door to the guard tower slams behind the Scout again, Aisling speaks.

“Cullen, if you need to- oomph!”

He’s on her abruptly, heavily and roughly. He doesn’t really centre her mouth at first, and needs to readjust. But like that, he scrubs his beard against her face, slightly, and it’s rough and blissful and very weird, in a good sense. He cups her face, keeping her close and moving her slightly for a better position. She closes her eyes and kisses him back, not knowing where to put her hands. Tentatively, she decides that his ribcage, on his sides, is a good position. He doesn’t seem to mind, at least, when he moves away, red till the point of his ears, smiling goofily at her, eyes sparkling.

“I’m- I’m sorry. That was… Uh, that was nice.” He sounds not really convinced. It could be shyness, or not, she needs to know.

“… You don’t regret it, do you? I mean, we can always pretend it never happened, go on as before…” She prods, offering him a way out. She wouldn’t be able to go on as before, but she can try.

He just looks at her, tho, awestruck as if it is the first time he really sees her. Sees her for real, eyes shining and a smile not leaving his lips, bending his scar just so in that way she likes. She really hopes he doesn’t regret it, tho, because she doesn’t want him to look at her in any other way than this, and moreover she really, really wants to kiss him again. Kiss him better. Longer.

“No!” He answers her, and they both smile wider, one following the other. “No, not at all… Do you?”

“Mh. I’m not really sure. Care to try again? For science?”

And yet, she moves slightly closer, not going the full way, but making it clear that she’s up to it. He laughs, shaking his head and resting his forehead against hers, thumbs gently caressing her jaw where they’re still placed.

“Yes. Well…”

They try again. Slower, more tentatively, savouring the moment more. Aisling hugs him properly after a minute -she restrained herself-, bringing him closer despite his armour and cape. It’s really different than Ydun, it’s less soft and less delicate, movement less precise. It’s ten times better – more heartfelt, for once. She manages to shift a little and indeed kiss his scar, humming in contentment, before Cullen seems to remember something and moves a little back, concern on his still flushed face.

“I- I wanted to say, forgive me for what I wrote. I never… it came out wrong, I’m awful with letters that aren’t report, I didn’t mean to say that I think you disliked me on principle, I don’t think that. It’s just that… I mean-”

He’s fumbling so much, looks so concerned even if he stull is blushing madly, ears deliciously pink. He’s fumbling so much that she starts to laugh, slipping her arms in front of him, her turn to cup his face and bring him back for another kiss - regretting she did wear gloves today, but she guess it would mean they’ll have to do it again.

“Shut up.” She tells him, giggling as she kisses him again. And again.

#dragon age #dragon age fic #cullavellan #cullen x lavellan #aisling lavellan #cullen rutherford #writing petrel #RIP Jim you'll be remembered amongst heroes #(in the tower there's a group of people following them around because they all have been pushing them against each other for a while)#(poor Jim would be trampled by the whole inner circle for almost jeopardising the whole operation)#Yes even Cole did his best #And eventually succeeded

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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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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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littlelostmabari · 1 month ago

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Day 18: Close Call

This week was shit but I'm still alive :) I have a backlog that I will post eventually when they're appropriately edited!

Pairing: f!Reader (Lavellan) x Cullen

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You don't want to go to a dress fitting. Cullen doesn't want to go to dance lessons. Broom closets exist.

SFW. Unresolved sexual tension, pre-relationship. Reader is Inquisitor f!Lavellan, otherwise not described.

You had been in hiding for a little more than an hour now, and you were quickly becoming bored with picking the bristles out of the second broom.

You were not a favorite of Josephine's, especially when it came to the… thing… at the Winter Palace. The Ambassador had woken you up at quarter past nine bells with thirteen fabric swatches in all different colors and styles. Josie hadn't even bother to intentionally wake you: you had opened your eyes as the third swatch flitted over the skin of your shoulder. Your blinking eyes had met warm brown skin and yellow ruffles and a square of the most hideous puce taffeta.

And Josie had brought backup in the form of Vivienne and Dorian, who guarded the exit to the staircase and the grand doors to her balcony, respectively. Their positions had necessitated launching yourself in nothing but your nightgown over the railing and down the stairs. The only thing left behind you was the frost along the walls from her Fade Step.

It was too early in the morning to come up with a clever solution, so you defaulted to the easiest, and now you had to start working on the third broom.

About halfway through the first broom there had been annoyed footsteps and voices to match. A searching spell pinged through the closet, and you knew that Dorian had found you, yet the three passed by your hiding place without even approaching the door. You would owe him a bottle or two of the West Hill brandy.

The second broom had been fully plucked while you listened to a pair of laundry maids talking about who was bedding whom and with what frequency. There were things they spoke about that you did not need to know. They were almost done when one threw the door open, saw you, and squealed. A lot of hushing noises and promise of a sovereign later, when they finally moved on, you started to hear music from down the hallway which meant your way back to your room was compromised.

About ten percent of the way through the third broom, there was a commotion from the direction of the music, and a pair of hurried footsteps. You stayed quiet as a mouse, tucked up against the back of the broom closet with the broom clutched tightly in your hands — or, you tried to, but the broom closet was not the largest space even when it wasn't full of Inquisitor.

Unfortunately it was about to be a lot tighter squeeze, as with the briefest increase in music volume, the door swung open and another body with significantly larger shoulders than you quickly pressed into the closet and pulled the door shut behind them.

The darkness that didn't bother your eyes clearly befuddled the other person, who stumbled around in the darkness trying to figure out why the shelves in this closet were squishy and person-shaped.

"Maker's breath," came the exclamation as arms passed over your shoulders to press hands against the wall behind you, and you looked up into the wide eyes of your Commander who clearly couldn't see you, but knew he was not alone.

"'Ello, Cullen," you giggled, and relief shuddered through his shoulders followed quickly by a shiver of blush as he pulled away and pressed back towards the door.

"Inquisitor!" He clearly couldn't figure out where he should put his hands, especially because there was barely a foot of space between the two of you. He settled for behind his back pressed against the door, which only pushed his body that much closer to yours. When his eyes finally adjusted, you knew your grin would be unmistakable.

"Fancy seeing you here." You placed the palms of your hands on the end of the broom and placed your chin atop them, inching your face slightly closer to him.

"Yes, um, hello —" Cullen rasped, "— hello Inquisitor." He coughed and tugged at his collar and that's when you realized that he wasn't wearing his normal armor. He still had on his boots, but he was sans breastplate and mantle and vanbraces and only wearing his breeches and linen shirt. The music suddenly made sense.

"Dance lessons?" you giggled, gesturing at his clothes.

"Morning dress fittings?" he snickered, making the same gesture back at you. Your grin quickly faltered as your eyes darted down to your feet. Right. The nightgown. The broom dropped to the side and you made to cover herself with your hands. There wasn't much you could do, and you praised the Creators that humans had poor darksight. Even still, you and Cullen were suddenly in a resonance of stammering and blushing and it was only broken when voices echoed down the hall from behind the door. It was Vivienne's and Josephine's voices specifically, complaining that the lesser minds of the Inquisition did not appreciate the effort that was going in to make sure the Inquisition held its own at Halamshiral.

You didn't realize you had made a noise, but you must have because suddenly one of Cullen's hands was over your mouth and the other was behind your head and his body had pressed itself against you so that you couldn't move and make incidental noises against the shelves. You were up on tiptoes, hands down against the wall and back stretched to its limit.

"Please," he whispered. "Don't make me go back there." Your eyes were wide as you looked up into his, which had now clearly adjusted to the light. He was darting across your face, looking for anything that might indicate you would call out and betray his location.

"Commander!" Josephine called from right in front of the broom closet. You both held your breath — you could feel the tightness across his shoulders so you knew he was desperately begging you not to give him away. The only noise was the soft hiss of breath out of his nose and the huffing from Josephine on the other side of the door. Then, a final huff, a "where is he", and footsteps retreating down the hallway.

A moment passed, then another.

And another.

And another, and Cullen gently pulled his hand away from your mouth. You took a deep breath and it filled your lungs with embrium and oakmoss and elderflower. As your chest expanded, it pressed into his, and you realize that he hadn't moved an inch away from you even as his hand dropped from your face. Underneath the smell of the herbs there was a hint of petrichor and just the hint of whiskey, or perhaps that flavor was there because suddenly your vision was filled with amber.

His chest pressed forward with each breath too, and there was something in the twitch of his lips and jawline that made your heart leap. You'd not been this close to him before, except in your dreams. Except when the night was lonely enough that you had to conjure images of the Commander to drown out the foreboding of Adamant or the Winter Palace.

You relaxed, allowing the heels of your feet to fall to the ground, which is precisely when you realized exactly how Cullen had pressed you to the back wall of the broom closet — with the side of his hip, with his knee in between your legs. You stopped, shock still, and when he didn't pull back you dropped just a little more until your barely-clothed core rested against his unarmored thigh. That's when several things happened at once.

His eyes darted down to your lips, opened just slightly to breathe.

You brought one hand up to rest fingers on the waist of his linen shirt.

His fingertips tightened in your hair against your scalp.

And a knock echoed on the wood of the door.

"They're gone, Curly," the voice called out, a Kirkwall lilt to Varric's easily identifiable voice. Cullen flinched back from you, releasing your hair, and his eyes shockingly wide. "But they'll be back around this way in a couple minutes. If the Inquisitor is somehow nearby, she might like to know that the kid grabbed a robe from her wardrobe, it's sitting out here whenever she's ready for it."

Cullen coughed, and you heard a chuckled 'close call' from outside the door, then footsteps fading away. Cullen turned his back and adjusted his clothing surreptitiously.

"Inquisitor," he rasped, his voice scratchy. He pulled the door open and looked down the hallway both ways before stepping out and glancing down to a soft grey robe at his feet. He moved to pass it to you but stopped as the light illuminated your disheveled form. A long moment passed in which you did not make an attempt to cover yourself, before he swallowed, pried his eyes away from you, and handed the robe back into the broom closet. When it was in your hands, he strode away down the hallway with great haste before you had a chance to don it.

#veilguard30 #30 days of dragon age #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #i love me a broom closet trope #idiots in love #varric is normally a better wingman than this #i don't want to reduce josie to a punchline but she is so ANNOYING about the winter palace #I hate The Game #but I love the players

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weaveandwood · 8 months ago

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

Here you can find my BG3 and Dragon Age fanfic and fanart. I also have screencaps and video recordings of my playthroughs tagged.

Stay a while and watch me be unhinged about Gale and my Tav Auroria! EDIT: I'm also unhinged about Wyll and my second Tav, Rosalind! EDIT EDIT: I'm also ALSO unhinged about Cullen Rutherford and my Inquisitor, Brinni Lavellan

COMMISSIONS: CLOSED (INFO HERE!)

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

My Fic:

Weave and Woods | Read on AO3 Gale/Auroria | Slow Burn | NSFW 18+ | Ongoing

The Bard and the Blade | Read on AO3 Wyll/Rosalind | Slow Burn | Eventual NSFW | Ongoing

One Shots - BG3 Ask Prompts status: CLOSED 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

One Shots - Dragon Age

In Hushed Whispers (Cullen POV) | Read on AO3 The First Time (Alistair x Ellaria) | Read on AO3

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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sapphireangelbunny · 2 years ago

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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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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

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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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shivunin · 2 years ago

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16. Something written to your OC by an older member of the family and 3. Writing found in your OC’s trash can (Elowen Lavellan) from this prompt list:

A letter delivered along with three near-identical versions, each dated one day apart and signed with the same signature. Appended to this letter is a plea from an Inquisition agent stationed in Wycome requesting a swift response.

Ara da’ean,

I am certain you must know exactly why I am writing to you, but I will make my reasons quite clear before I continue:

When I heard you had taken up with a human, I accepted it. You have done what you can for the clan from the other side of the sea, and I understand your role is unusual. You must make whichever choices will help you survive amongst the shems. I understood that. We all understood.

But ‘ma’asha'lan, a Templar? How could you?

We have heard so little from you directly. After the fighting was over and your army arrived to fortify Wycome, I had assumed you were simply too busy to send your mother a letter. News reaches us here as well as it reaches the rest of the shem lands, so I know they have dragged you from one end of the continent to the other. I was not upset.

Only now do I see that it was cowardice, not official business that stayed your hand.

Respond at once and explain yourself. I intend to speak with this fool scout every day until I receive your reply.

—Fen’ghi’lan, Halla’amelan of Clan Lavellan

Mother to the Inquisitor, not that she seems to recall

A series of notes emptied from the Inquisitor’s desk-side rubbish bin:

Mother,

Mamae,

Fen’ghi’lan,

As I am sure you are aware, I am fully grown and perfectly capable of choosing

Fenedhis, she’ll kill me.

Mamae,

I am well, thank you for asking. As you can imagine, my time remains quite short.

You are right. I should have written earlier. I can only say that there is too much to say and I have no idea where to begin. This life is so different from the one we lived together with the clan that I scarce know what I can tell you without leaving out too much information entirely. I had hoped against hope that I might find a way to visit should the Inquisition have need of me in the Marches, but such things have not come to pass. So: there. I am sorry, and I mean it.

Now, with regards to Commander Cullen:

Yes. The rumors are true. This, like most things that have happened to me over the past year, is something that I believe will require more explanation than can fit in a letter. He is a kind and good man, Mamae. Trust that I know when something is wrong and when something is right, and this is right. He has nothing to do with what happened to Papae all those years ago and I wish you would just—

Fenedhis fenedhis fenedhis this is impossible

This line is followed by a series of scribbles that loosely depict a woman being trampled by halla. There is an Inquisition symbol on her breastplate and she is holding a staff.

Elvhen:

Ara da’ean: my little bird

‘ma’asha'lan: my daughter

Halla’amelan: Halla-keeper

#my writing #dragon age inquisition #cullavellan #elowen lavellan #clan lavellan #haha!! i have finally finished this!!#tbh this one was the most fun to write #the idea of the inquisitor getting in trouble with her mama cracks me up #this is a 'you never call' letter if ever i saw one #anyways she does eventually answer her mom it just takes a bit #and a conversation with leliana after fen'ghi'lan takes her frustrations to the communications hub in wycome directly #in case anyone is wondering elowen's dad got between a group of templars and an elven mage in an alienage #they sent him back to the clan in a jar (which they thought was awfully benevolent)#cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #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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donttelljim · 3 years ago

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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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captainderyn · 7 years ago

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Hide Away

Title: Hide Away

Summary: Tucdela, unwillingly named Herald of Andraste, has found a spot in the Hinterlands where she can almost pretend that she is just a Dalish elf again. An unexpected visit from the Commander to her hide away leaves her scrambling, but opens the gates to a new side of the him she didn’t expect.

Note: Yeah, Tucdela names her giant war steed Spook (modeled after the Inquisition Barded Charger). We can’t all have fantastic names.

It was hard to find quiet in Haven, whispers tailing her every step, praising her as the Herald, dismissing her for the same reason and the ever present comments on her ears. If her being an elf was going to continue to cause issue, they could at least start to point out the less obvious.

In the Hinterlands though, well beyond one of the northern camps in the hills, she could ride out to a small lake. She could stay there for hours every day and never see another soul except for the animals around her. It was nothing close to the groves she had found with her clan, but it was enough to give her peace.

The water was chilled, enough to raise goosebumps on her skin as she waded through, arms filled with blood lotus pickings and stalks of spindleweed. She shifted the plants into the crook of one elbow, using her other hand to shove away the searching muzzle of the massive horse sloshing behind her. “Spook, knock it off.” She scolded even as the Fereldan warmblood nosed at arm arm again, lips grasping at the stalks. “Spook.” Ducking away with a laugh, she put her back to the stallion’s nose, floundering away through the waist deep water. “These are for the Inquisition!”

Spook snorted, large head reaching over her shoulder. Water droplets dribbled from his muzzle onto the sensitive skin by her back and she yelped, some of the plants falling from her arms as she flinched away. Her horse flicked his ears at her before snatching up the fallen stalks.

“You did that on purpose.” Readjusting her harvest she glared at the horse before pausing as somewhere off on the path leaves shifted and twigs snapped without breeze. Spook lifted his head, leaves falling from his mouth as he let out a whicker. An answering nicker came and Tucdela felt her eyes widen.

Oh no.

Slowly she backed towards the outcropping of rock that tumbled partway into the stream, intent on disappearing behind the cover of the rocks. But the cover of the trees faded around the paths faded too quickly and she caught a glimpse of blond hair and a familiar bay Forder.

Ohh no.

“Spook!” She hissed, watching the stallion’s ears go forward as he too recognized the pair. “Spook, come here!” Water flew in shining drops as the massive draft horse plunged back towards shore, ebony coat gleaming in the sun as water streamed off his fur.

“Spoookk.” Tucdela whined, plunging into the water up to her chin, blood lotus and spindleweed pickings forgotten as they fanned out in the water around her. If she was lucky spook wouldn’t be recognized and she would be able to go unnoticed.

“Maker’s breath!” The exclamation followed Spook plunging out of the water and trotting up the bank with excited whuffles and snorts. “...Spook?”

Maker’s breath indeed, she shouldn’t have taken Spook along. She should have walked. “Where’s the Herald?”

Not here. The Herald was not here. Tucdela sank lower, sucking in a breath so she could sink until it was just her eyes above the water. Spook appeared first, followed by Cullen. The stallion looked out over the water, swished his tail, and plodded away to nibble at the grass along the treeline. If she looked just to Spook’s left she could see the pile of her jacket, boots, bow. All of which would be very nice to have right now, instead of just her underclothes she had been swimming in.

There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here. There hadn’t been anyone here for days, why start now?

Maybe if she held her breath long enough she could drown before inevitable embarrassment killed her.

She watched as Cullen looked over at Spook, clearly confused as to why the warmblood was up here. Then his gaze fell on the very pile Tucdela was trying to will over to her by sheer power of mind, where Spook’s tack rested as well. Then his eyes drifted over the water and settled on her.

For the commander’s credit he put two and two together very quickly and his expression shifted from confusion to alarm to something akin to discomfort in the span of a few seconds. “H-herald...I uh..didn’t expect to find you here.”

She didn’t expect to find anyone here either and reluctantly she rose out of the water until it was down to her shoulders again so she could breath. “Commander…” her voice squeaked and her cheeks felt like she had stuck her face over the cooking fire as she hurriedly gathered some of the remaining stalks of plants back to her. “I was just..gathering herbs. For the Inquisition.” She scrambled farther back into the water, falling under as her foot found nothing underneath it.

She was back in her previous spot very quickly, hair plastered to her head and face. Cullen didn’t seem to know what to do, he was looking anywhere but at her and seemed to be steadily inching back towards his horse. He must’ve hesitated when she went under, or he would have already been in the saddle again without a doubt.

“Why’re you here?”

“Cassandra was looking for you.” Cullen was talking as though the ground was the one Cassandra was looking for, with how intently he was staring at it. If she concentrated on his face enough she could see the hint of redness in his face. By the...if she wasn’t so mortified herself she may have found it endearing. “I was the one sent..well I volunteered...to go look for you. Scout Harding mentioned you had ridden out this way.” A hasty look up then back at the ground confirmed that she was still there--or perhaps he was checking to make sure she hadn’t flung herself into the deepest part of the lake yet. “And I thought this lake would provide a good vantage point...but I found you instead.”

“Is it important?” Tucdela toed forward a little bit, just far enough so her toes were no longer grasping for purchase in the pebbly mud of the lake’s bottom.

“Cassandra was quite insistent.” Cullen turned towards his horse, fiddling with the bridle. Thank the heavens for his embarrassment, she’s able to stumble out of the water and pull her coat and trousers on pretending as though he’s not there and when he finally did turn she was yanking on her boots.

Her cheeks were burning and his face is definitely a few shades pinker but nothing more was said of it, not even when they were both on their horses and walking down the hillside.

“Do you go there often?” Cullen glanced over at her and she nodded, guiding Spook around a rock.

“It’s quite there. There’s less commotion.” She hesitated, glanced at Cullen, then looked back between Spook’s ears. “No comments, either.”

The comment itself isn’t meant to be barbed but out of her peripheral she saw Cullen wince. It wasn’t meant in his direction at all, in fact he is perhaps one of the only people in the Inquisition that did not do a double take when he first saw the vallaslin or her ears. “Commander, that was not an attack on you.”

“Are you still getting trouble? After everything?”

Tucdela lifted one shoulder in a shrug, nose crinkling in disgust. “Either the people of Haven still think I killed their Divine or they do not think a Dalish elf should be anywhere near their affairs.” When she dared a look back at him he’s frowning.

“I can try to put an end to these...comments if you wish.” He’s sincere, which in itself was more surprising than the offer. Tucdela smiled then and in return she was granted an easing of his frown.

“It would be very kind of you. But don’t worry too much over it, I can take the passing comments on the shape of my ears or the superstitions regarding my people.”

When the path finally flattened out they could bring their horses side by side on the path, though they’re still pushed close enough that their feet are nearly brushing.

The silence was companionable before Cullen breaks it again with another question, just as inquisitive as the first. He was trying to figure her out, just as he had been doing since their first meeting. What, exactly, made her do the things she did?

She did the same, out of the same curiosity and want to know more she felt was his motive. Not to store information for potential leverage. “Why did you choose there? You could have gone much farther away from Haven and yet…”

“It reminded me of a spot I used to go with my clan, before the Conclave.” Answering honestly came easily.

He paused, then asked quietly as though it might cause some great offense to her; “I should like to hear more of your time with Clan Lavellan, if you would ever want to share.”

Instead she smiled again, this one reached her eyes even as she dips her head with a surprised laugh. “Would you really? Truly?”

“I would.”

“Well you can start by calling me Tucdela, instead of Herald. You all seem to forget I do not worship the same gods you all do. Being the Herald to something foreign to me feels..wrong.”

“Tucdela,” He said her name slowly, testing it and it’s lovely to hear him call her something other than Herald. When he said it a second time, more confidently, it sounds right. “Tucdela, perhaps you could call me Cullen..instead of Commander.”

She realized now why he hesitated over her name, something about it seems very..personal after months of titles. “...Cullen. Cullen it is.”

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullen rutherford #inquisitor lavellan #lavellan #cullen x lavellan #eventually #this could technically be the *start* of them #first time writing my lavellan AND cullen #go me #otp: The Elf and the Lion

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