tired-truffle

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 5k

Part 47 - I Can't Believe It's Not Smut

Both quotes from Leith Ross in the song We'll Never Have Sex

Ash: "Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me, not to take me home / If I said you could never touch me, you'd come over and say I looked lovely."

Cullen "Depollute me, gentle angel / And I'll feel the sickness less and less."

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

Masterlist

“You look awfully cheery for someone who almost died less than a day ago.” Rae squinted, the carriage jostling her small body as it hit a bump in the road - Halamshiral disappearing behind them. Good riddance. 

“Am I not allowed to be happy that I survived?” Ash dusted off her lap, crumbs from their lunch clinging to the fabric of her robes. 

Dorian - who had practically shoved himself inside the sisters’ carriage and seated himself beside Rae, there had been no room on Ash’s side - was much too nosy for his own good. “I heard that the Commander was spotted leaving your room this morning looking well-rested and grinning like a love-sick fool. Could that have anything to do with your renewed glow?”

Naturally, Cullen had been unable to conceal his emotions; he’d always worn them openly - as he had admitted last night. Minutes ago, he’d smiled softly at her, almost shy, as she stepped into her carriage, a light blush to his cheeks that Leliana - a few carriages down - had immediately taken note of. Ash couldn’t find it within herself to be upset about it.

“It may,” she acquiesced, feigning disinterest. 

Rae’s grin grew to match Dorian’s. “Does this mean you’ll finally stop moping around Skyhold?” 

Ash scowled. “I wasn’t moping.”

“Sure thing. You keep telling yourself that.”

Before the sisters could begin bickering, Dorian interjected, waving his hand between them to catch their attention. “I, for one, am intrigued by how this all came to be. Was the sight of you covered in your own blood too much for him to bear, forced to make a dramatic confession of love?”

That was a slightly simplified version, but it was mostly accurate. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, but you aren’t entirely wrong.” 

“Ha!” Dorian exclaimed, hitting his fist against his thigh. “I knew it! Trust a Fereldan to be so stubborn that it takes a near-death experience to reconcile.”

“Judging from how distracted he was this morning, I’m guessing that you returned the dramatic confession of love?” Rae folded her arms over her chest and crossed her legs. 

Much to her chagrin, Ash’s cheeks grew warm, her skin tinged pink. “I…may have been the one to, uh, say it first.” Very mature and absolutely able to face her serious feelings with poise.

Rae’s mouth fell open and Dorian blinked rapidly at her. Ash huffed, curling in on herself. “Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

Recovering first, Rae said, “You can hardly blame us. You aren’t exactly the most forthcoming with your feelings.” 

Ash sucked her teeth, irritated that they were correct. Dorian patted her knee with condescending condolence. 

“But we are incredibly proud of you for overcoming your enigmatic ways.”

“Did you have to write it down first?” Rae asked, faux innocence wrapped clumsily around a taunting smirk. “Or did you just rely on your overwhelming charm and wit?”

Ash thumped her forehead against the carriage wall.

“Don’t fret, my dear,” Dorian added, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Even if you fumbled, I’m sure all he heard was ‘blah blah blah, Cullen!’”

“Blah blah blah, love of my life,” Rae mocked, clutching her chest dramatically.

Ash shoved her sister with her foot, and Rae caught it, holding her ankle in an iron grip. She wiggled her eyebrows. “Play nice,” Rae scolded. “We all know you’re capable now.”

“Speaking of love,” Ash said, her lips curling into a grin that threatened to take over her entire face. “Did you get a chance to dance with Solas?”

“Hey, we’re not talking about me!” Rae protested, deflecting with a swift jab at Ash’s shin.

“But we could be,” Dorian chimed in, ever the opportunist. “I spotted the two of you on the balcony, dancing by moonlight. So very intimate.”

“You traitor!” Rae exclaimed, releasing Ash's foot to point an accusatory finger at him.

Ash giggled behind her hand. “Did he keep that stupid pointy hat on?”

“He took it off.” Rae scowled, caught between annoyance and amusement. “But there was nothing intimate about it! He was just being nice.”

“That’s certainly one way to describe it,” Dorian said. “Seems the aloof apostate has a softer touch than expected.”

Rae flicked her bangs from her eyes and crossed her arms defiantly.

Dorian fanned himself dramatically. “I’m surrounded by passion on all sides! Who would have guessed this carriage ride would be so very intense?”

“We can drop you off here if it’s too much for you,” Rae suggested with a smirk.

“Perish the thought! I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He glanced sidelong at them, feigning coyness. “I suppose this means you’ve taken the next step into romance with Solas?”

Rae shrugged, pretending nonchalance but fooling no one. “Nah. We didn’t have any dramatic confessions like some people.”

“Well,” Ash said, tilting her head innocently. “There’s still time.”

“Oh, Creators help me,” Rae groaned, throwing her head back against the seat and closing her eyes.

“Let us know if you need any pointers,” Dorian offered helpfully.

Rae cracked an eye open to glare at him. “I hate you. Why didn’t you sit with Bull anyway? Could have had some private time before we get back to Skyhold.”

“I’ll have plenty of time for that later.” Dorian smiled, far too pleased with himself. “He’s promised to help me break in the new bed I had sent from Val Royeaux.” 

“Ugh,” Rae groaned, swatting at him and earning herself a fond chuckle.

The carriage rumbled on, only the sound of hooves and the occasional bird call breaking the rhythm of their banter. Halamshiral was nothing more than a speck on the horizon now, and Skyhold loomed ahead like a promise yet to be fulfilled.

Ash watched the landscape roll by and felt something unfamiliar form in her chest - a lightness she couldn’t quite name. It was terrifying and wonderful all at once. She glanced at Rae, messy hair falling into her eyes as she dozed off, and then at Dorian, who was busying himself with a book he’d produced from his satchel. The world felt strange and new, like anything could happen next.

Whatever it was, it better be good. The world owed her as much.

In an effort to evade Josephine and her persistent attempts to persuade Rae to unpack the gifts sent by the eager nobles of Halamshiral, all vying for her favour, Rae reclined leisurely on Ash's bed while Ash went about unpacking. When Rae had first slipped through her door, she’d offered half an explanation.

“Josephine wants me to wear dresses,” she’d said, her nose wrinkled in irritation.

Ash released Sweetpea from her arms, the cat more than happy to be free from suffocating snuggles and peppered kisses. “Dresses would look great on you, plus, skirts are very comfortable.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause they show off your ass,” Rae grumbled.

“And tits,” Ash smirked. “Can’t forget those.”

Rae huffed a sharp breath out of her nose. “Yes, well, if you recall, I don’t have much of those. You took them all, you thief.”

The bickering teases had devolved from there. An hour later, they found a sort of peace, though Rae, unable to remain still and silent, drummed up new conversation.

“So,” Rae said, dragging out the vowel as her fingers drummed against her thigh - antsy to get out and do something productive but unwilling to risk running into Josephine. Sooner or later, she would have to face the Ambassador, but not yet. “How does Love feel about you being back with Cullen?” 

Ash paused in her folding, raising an eyebrow at Rae. “She’s happy about it.”

An understatement that Rae was much too sharp to miss. 

“You can’t tell me that a spirit of love wasn’t overjoyed at your love confession.”

Ash shrugged, placing a robe in her dresser. “I never said she wasn’t.”

Rae narrowed her eyes, her lips wrinkling as she pursed them together. What Ash had done to tip her off, she couldn’t figure out, but whatever it was, Rae wasn’t about to let it go. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ash’s hand curled into fists in her lap, and she straightened her back. “What makes you think that?”

Rae leaned forward, an elbow propped on her thigh, her index finger pointing at Ash. “You’ve got that squirrely look to your eyes. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing. It was handled.” 

“‘It was handled’ suggests that there was indeed something.”

Ash blew out a breath of vexation, throwing her stocking in her dresser unfolded, too irritated to bother. “Not anymore.” 

“Ash,” Rae warned, “don’t make me pull the Inquisitor card.”

For a fleeting moment, Ash considered storming out of her room to dodge the impending conversation, but she knew that would merely postpone the unavoidable confrontation. Rae was relentless and would never quit. Ash absentmindedly rubbed her sternum, her eyes deliberately avoiding her sister’s intense, unyielding gaze. It was unsettlingly reminiscent of their mother’s disappointed squint.

“Look, I would’ve come to you if it got any worse, but I sorted it out so you don’t have to worry anymore.” Ash took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts as Rae remained impassively silent. “I was hurting Love because I refused to tell Cullen that I love him, and it was…twisting her into something she’s not. She warned me that if I didn’t confess and continued to suppress my feelings that I would turn her into a demon and become an abomination. Clearly, that hasn’t happened and she’s no longer hurting. She’s actually been rather smug about this whole thing, so there’s nothing left to worry about.” Ash trailed off with an awkward chuckle, rubbing her bicep. 

The quiet was suffocating, the room much too small for the oppressive weight of Rae’s rage. 

“You were almost possessed by a fucking demon and you didn’t tell me?” Rae hissed through clenched teeth. “And now you have the audacity to tell me that there’s nothing to worry about? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ash winced, meeting her sister’s fiery gaze with a sheepish grin. “‘Almost’ being the key word there.” 

That was decidedly the wrong thing to say. Rae’s hands clutched the knees of her breeches, her fingers twisting and wringing the fabric as if she were envisioning it was Ash’s neck. 

“‘Almost’ doesn’t take away from the fact that you had a demon brewing inside you and you hid it from me!” 

“And you never would have known if I hadn’t told you,” Ash shot back, glaring daggers at Rae. “You’re welcome, by the way.” 

Rae scoffed, releasing her breeches to run a hand through her hair. “Only you would see this as doing me a favour.”

With the last of her items mostly put away, Ash had nothing to busy herself with. “If you’re just going to get mad at me, then maybe next time I won’t tell you.” 

She was acutely aware that her behaviour was both petulant and passive-aggressive, yet when it came to arguing with Rae, she often found herself reverting to those familiar, albeit flawed, patterns.

Rae’s nostrils flared as she struggled to rein herself in. She wiped a hand down her face and grimaced. “I’m allowed to be angry. You promised you’d tell me if something was wrong and you broke it immediately.” 

Ash deflated, releasing her defensiveness with the loosening of her muscles. “There wouldn’t have been anything you could have done to help, even if you’d known. The more you pushed, the more I would have resisted, and you don’t need to take on everyone else’s issues. Besides, I was perfectly capable of resolving the issue on my own, and Dorian was there if I needed it.” 

“I could have beat it out of you,” Rae grumbled, half-serious. 

Ash snorted, allowing a smirk to form on her lips. “Only if you could catch me.” 

Rae’s eyes lit up with predatory delight, a wolfish grin baring her sharp canines. What better way to take out her anger than a physical game? “Is that so?” 

Ash was on her feet and out the door quicker than she should have been able to, but when one had Rae on their tail, there was no time to waste. Laughter rang out across the battlements as sister chased sister, their argument forgotten in the stone walls of Ash’s room. It could rest, for now, but it was sure to resurface. Their disagreements always did.

Sweetpea hadn’t left Ash’s side since they’d returned from Halamshiral. She’d spent the first night back curled up against Ash’s neck, purring until she’d fallen asleep, and had slunk after Ash all day. As night fell, Sweetpea sat expectantly beside her as she finished tending to her Elfroot in the gardens, head tilted and large eyes fixed on Ash. Absentmindedly, Ash reached out to pet her, but the cat ducked out of the way of her dirty hands and batted her with a fluffy paw. 

“Alright, alright,” Ash pulled her hand back, brushing them off on her robes. “I’ll finish up. Just give me one more second, okay?” 

Sweetpea meowed with peeved assent, her tail curling around her paws. 

True to her word, Ash speedily finished her work and rinsed her hands in the fountain, ignoring the disapproving glares from the few nobles strolling through the gardens. She paid them no mind, they were of little interest to her. 

As she headed to her room for the evening, Sweetpea darted in front of her, her little legs spread in a wide stance meant to stop Ash in her tracks. 

“Yes?” Ash asked, in a good enough mood to indulge the small creature. 

Tail held high, Sweetpea trotted past her, returning the way they’d come. She paused a few feet away, glancing back over her shoulder, a clear indication for Ash to follow her. Curiosity won out, and Ash allowed her cat to lead her away. 

Ash kept a close eye on her fuzzy guide, following her through the gardens and across the main courtyard. Sweetpea’s path was unerring, weaving only to avoid the occasional soldier or servant bustling through Skyhold. As they approached the stairs leading up to the battlements, it became clear just where her cat was taking her. Ash felt a twist of delight and apprehension unfurl in her chest, knowing she was being taken to Cullen.

She hadn’t had a chance to speak with him much since leaving Orlais. They’d come back only yesterday, and he’d been busy running drills, attending meetings, and other such tasks he must complete as Commander.

The door to the office was closed, and Sweetpea pawed at it. Ash swallowed her nerves, there was no reason to be anxious. This was just Cullen, and she loved him, and he loved her, and she needed to get a fucking grip already.

She pushed open the door, peering inside.

Cullen stood hunched over his desk, hands splayed on either side of a letter, glaring at it like he could incinerate it with his gaze alone. Chirping loudly to get his attention, Sweetpea strode over to him, disappearing from Ash’s sight as she rounded the corner of the desk. Cullen’s eyes softened as they landed on the cat, who presumably was rubbing herself against his legs, chirping at him all the while and only quieting when he bent down to pat her head. 

Ash thought she might melt right then and there. He might have more of an affinity for dogs, but he was always kind to Sweetpea, even when she demanded his utmost attention and left little tokens of her affection - like dead mice - on his desk. 

“I think she missed you,” Ash said as she made her way over. Sweetpea hopped on the desk, tail held high and curled at the end, purring loudly as she pressed her head into his stomach. 

Cullen chuckled, indulging her with more pets. He looked up at Ash, that softness now directed at her. “I missed her too,” he said in a low register that had her heart beating hard against her ribcage and Love fluttering in her throat. 

Ash coughed and rubbed her knuckles against her sternum, willing Love to settle down. He frowned as he watched her, a question on the tip of his tongue that he didn’t know how to ask. 

She took it upon herself to answer for him. “Love likes to, uh, move when she’s happy. It feels strange, kind of like I need to cough.” 

He nodded thoughtfully. “And she’s happy now?”

Ash leaned against the desk, nothing short of adoration in her open gaze. “She is.”

He smiled, and Love fluttered again. “Good.” But the sweetness of his gaze soured as it landed back on the letter he’d been occupied with until Sweetpea had interrupted. Her tail flicked over the vellum, but that didn’t stop him from glowering. 

Ash scanned his face, the wrinkles that creased his forehead, the dark bags beneath his glassy, bloodshot eyes, and the paleness that clung to his skin. 

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

His glower was turned on her. “I had days of work to catch up on after we wasted time on attending Halamshiral.” 

In hindsight, she should have anticipated that he would immediately run himself into the ground. Briefly, she considered sitting on him until he fell asleep, but he’d already proved he was strong enough to carry her and could easily remove himself from beneath her. Damn him and his - incredibly attractive - strength. She hoped he’d throw her over his shoulder again sometime soon.

“This, in particular, seems to be giving you a hard time,” Ash waved her hand at the letter. “What about it has you so troubled?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing as though he could release all his irritation through his breath. When that didn’t work, he smoothed his fingers along his brow and squeezed his temples. A headache had brewed, whether due to lack of sleep, lyrium withdrawal, or general frustration was left to be seen. Knowing him, it was all three. 

“I had thought we’d leave the worst of the meddling behind us in Halamshiral, but the nobles who accosted me at the ball are unwilling to allow reprieve.” He rapped his knuckles against the vellum. “It’s only been a day and already two marriage proposals have found their way to my desk.” 

“Oh,” Ash said, blinking as she processed his words. Love did little to help, bouncing around her ribcage like a wild animal trapped in a cell. “That’s rather forward of them.” 

She had no reason to be jealous, even if Cullen wasn’t in love with her - which he was in love with her, had said so multiple times, and yet still it didn’t feel real - he was not at all interested in any of the Orlesian nobles. He was a Fereldan through and through, it would take quite the special Orlesian to turn his head. 

“Forward is an understatement,” he scoffed, crushing the letter into a ball. “Viscerally unwanted and overstepping is more accurate.” He threw the letter into a wastebin and folded his arms over his chest. 

Cullen’s annoyance soothed a small piece of her jealousy, and Love ceased her bouncing. Bumping her hip against his, his eyes snapped up to meet hers. 

“Brooding over a proposal you have no intentions of accepting hardly seems like a good use of your time.”

His scowl deepened. “It’s not,” he snapped. “I have much more important work to be doing, yet I cannot take my mind off this…this ridiculousness!” 

His fluctuating moods did not faze her, and she didn't take them personally—a feat she was quite proud of herself for. She placed her hand on his arm and Sweetpea chirped her concern, nudging her small head against his stomach again. Beneath her touch, she felt his muscles relax the slightest bit. 

“Then perhaps it’s time you rested and revisit it tomorrow with a fresh mind.”

“But there’s much that I must attend—“

“Would you like to be grouchy on your own or would you rather come to bed with me?”

Her offer had him faltering, his retort dying on his lips. She raised an expectant eyebrow, and he leaned closer to her, pitching his voice low. 

“You know which one I would rather.”

“I don’t know,” she teased, “with how often you get irritable, I’m starting to think you might enjoy it.”

His deadpan stare brought light giggles bubbling up her throat, mirth sweet on the back of her tongue. 

“Come on,” she pulled at his arm, and he came without resistance as she led him to the ladder of his loft. “Time to relax for once in your life.”

He snorted a laugh, a brief, amused sound that hinted at his agreement, but he chose not to argue. They climbed the rickety wooden ladder to his loft, its aged rungs creaking underfoot. Sweetpea trailed close behind them. As soon as they reached the top, Sweetpea darted forward, making a beeline for the bed. She nestled into the inviting layers of blankets, kneading them with her tiny paws and purring her contentment.

Wordlessly, Cullen began to remove his armour and bulky clothes, and Ash stripped down to her smalls, removing her breastband with a heavy sigh of relief. What use was a nightgown when he’d already seen every inch of her naked body? The smalls were simply for comfort. 

She’d tucked herself under the blankets by the time he’d completed his undressing - down to only his smalls as well. By Mythal, he was a lovely sight. The moonlight illuminated the strong lines of his torso, catching on the hair that smattered across his chest and led lower. She would never tire of seeing him like this, his strength on full display yet his eyes so gentle as he gazed at her. Her insides squirmed and the tips of her ears burned at the affection that rested in his eyes. 

He slipped into bed beside her, gathering her in his arms and pulling her flush against his chest. Sighing into her hair, he nuzzled his face against the top of her head. 

“This is much better than being grouchy,” he said with a lopsided grin that she could feel against her scalp. She tilted her chin, placing kisses along his jawline. 

It felt like years since their fight after Adamant and simultaneously like no time at all. He was familiar and comfortable like a favourite blanket warmed up beside a fire or tea on a cold winter morning. She loved him more than she could ever express, and there in his arms, she felt more at peace than she’d felt in her entire life.

The press of little paws up her legs and over her stomach reminded Ash that they were not alone. 

“Hello, Pea,” Ash crooned, snaking her arm up to pet the cat and then patting Cullen’s side. “Are you joining?”

Following Ash’s instruction, Sweetpea relieved Ash of her weight - how one cat managed to put so much force into her paws was beyond her - and settled herself on Cullen. He winced as her paws dug between his ribs and her claws pricked his skin, but he offered no complaints. 

“She’s never going to want to sleep anywhere else,” Ash said, tucking herself beneath his chin. 

He chuckled, low and rumbling. “Does that mean you’ll sleep here more often?” 

A warmth spread from her chest and out to her fingers and toes. Yes, she would like that very much. She’d lain awake for hours the first night back from Halamshiral, her mind buzzing with uncertainty, questioning whether it would be too much too soon to seek him out. Her tendency to overthink had become a barrier that she desperately wanted to avoid this time. She was determined not to let it ensnare her again, at least for as long as she could muster the resolve to prevent it. 

“I’m afraid so,” Ash sighed dramatically. “I apologize for the immense burden this places on you, but it cannot be helped.”

He snickered, holding her tighter, bordering on making it difficult for her to breathe. “If it can’t be helped, then I suppose I’ll have to make do with sharing my bed with the most beautiful woman in the world and her persistent cat.” 

Beautiful? She would agree with that. The most beautiful woman in the world? She wasn't entirely convinced about that, yet she could indulge him in this one fanciful notion.

Sweetpea chose that moment to stretch, her claws digging into Cullen's side. He winced and a quiet groan passed through his pursed lips.

Ash giggled. "My hero," she cooed, reaching up to smooth the furrow between his brows. "Bravely enduring cat claws for my sake."

"The things I do for love," he sighed, but his eyes crinkled with mirth.

"Oh?" Ash cocked an eyebrow. "And what else might you do for love, I wonder?"

Cullen's lips canted into a roguish grin that set her heart aflame. "Shall I compose poetry comparing your beauty to the stars? Slay dragons in your name? Or perhaps…" He leaned in close, his breath ghosting over her lips and she shivered. "I could simply kiss you until you're breathless."

Ash's heart fluttered in her chest. "That last one sounds promising.”

With aching slowness, Cullen closed the distance between them. His lips met hers in a tender caress, soft and unhurried. Ash melted into the kiss, savouring every gentle press and languid slide. There was no urgency, no desperate need - just the quiet joy of being together.

Cullen's fingers tangled in her hair, cradling her head as though she were infinitely valuable. Ash sighed against his mouth, going limp and pliant under his touch.

Cullen had always been wonderfully sweet with her. At times, he could be gruff or snappy, especially when he was overly exhausted or suffering from lyrium withdrawal, but those instances were not what came to mind when she thought about how he treated her. For so long, she had relied on her physical allure to capture the attention of the men she desired, and for the most part, it had been an effective strategy. With Cullen, however, there was an undeniable depth to his desire. He wanted her carnally; they’d slept together enough times for her to be sure, but it was more than that. It had been weeks since they’d done anything more than kiss. The night before Adamant had been the last time they’d done any purely sexual activities, when he’d all but demanded she sit on his face. He hadn't sought his own release that night, had simply licked her to a trembling finish and curled up around her like he could use his body to protect her from the world.

It must have been close to a month since he’d fucked her and he was kissing her slowly, dreamily, like they had all the time in the world. She was in nothing but her smalls and he didn’t grab for her breasts or grind his hips against hers - not that she would have minded, only that it stood out to her. He was happy to simply have her in his arms, to hold her and cherish her. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. 

Her quiet sniffles had him pulling back, regarding her with concern set deep in the crease between his brows. Attempting to duck her head did not work; his hand on her chin stopped her. 

“Did I do something wrong? If this is too fast—“

“No, it’s not that,” she was quick to correct him as she wiped at her eyes. “I just love you so much, and I can’t find the words to express how much I missed this, missed you. Sweetpea is much better at it.”

The cat lifted her head at the sound of her name, but upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary - she was well aware that her mother was fragile and emotional, even though she tried to hide it - she lay back down. 

His thumb caressed her cheekbone, and he placed a kiss on her forehead. “You don’t have to explain. I understand.” 

And she believed him. She trusted him. She loved him. She’d never been happier. Now, if only they could get Rae out of constant danger, then she could truly understand what it was like to be free. 

Ash trailed her fingers along Cullen's neck, feeling the tension knotted in his muscles. She called upon her magic, channelling a gentle warmth through her palm. As she pressed her hand to the nape of his neck, heat blossomed outward, seeping into his skin.

Cullen's eyes fluttered closed, a soft groan escaping his lips. Encouraged, Ash brought her other hand to his forehead. This time, she drew upon her ice magic, summoning a soothing coolness to her fingertips.

His breathing slowed, deepening as the aches in his body melted away under Ash's ministrations. Sweetpea, not to be outdone, began to purr loudly. The cat's rhythmic vibrations rumbled against Cullen's side, adding another layer of comfort.

Ash leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip of Cullen's nose. His lips curved into a drowsy smile, eyes closed in blissful contentment. "Goodnight, Ashvalla," he whispered, the words barely audible.

"Goodnight, vhenan.”

Within minutes, Cullen's breathing evened out completely. His face smoothed, years of worry lines fading as sleep claimed him. Ash gazed at him fondly, drinking in the sight of her lover finally at peace.

As she nestled closer, Ash felt her own eyelids growing heavy. She allowed her magic to dissipate, hands coming to rest on Cullen's chest.

Safe in each other's arms, Ash drifted off to join Cullen in contented slumber. The troubles of the world could wait until morning. Though his nightmares had them both startling awake throughout the night, confusion clouding his eyes as he came to, the relief that filled his gaze when he saw her made it all worth it. If she could help in this way, she was more than happy to oblige. 

A/N: We're healing! There will be smut again, but it may take a bit longer <3

Has anyone listened to My Way of Life by Frank Sinatra? It's very Cullen, highly recommend

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.6k

Part 46 - Big Girl Pants

"He looked at me. His hair was still a mess, and in the bright morning sunlight he looked more handsome and human than I'd ever seen him. 'I guess I'm asking you to trust me,' he said." - Leigh Bardugo

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

Masterlist

Sometime during the night, their bodies had shifted closer on their own accord. His leg slotted between hers, one arm under her neck and the other around her waist, his hand resting on the swell of her bare ass. She’d tucked herself beneath his chin, holding her to him like he might float away if she didn’t keep him pinned. 

As he woke, his subtle movements pulling Ash from sleep, he froze, coming to realize their position. 

Ash huffed irritably, prodding his stomach. “‘S like trying to snuggle a rock,” she mumbled, half asleep. 

Exhaling a breathy chuckle, he allowed his body to relax, burying his face into her hair and pulling her closer. She sighed her content. 

“I thought you wanted to talk first?” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Ash replied in a series of unintelligible grumbles, nuzzling her face against his neck. They were granted a morning of leisure at the estate before they had to begin the trek back to Skyhold - they had time. Besides, snuggling wasn’t anything particularly salacious. 

A soft kiss pressed to the top of her head warmed her all the way down to her toes. She dozed as Cullen traced small circles on her back and over her hip, allowing herself to naturally wake. She’d never been a morning person, but when she knew she had Cullen’s handsome face and beautiful voice to wake to, she didn’t mind as much. 

“Do you think we could stay here all day?” she asked, clearing the sleep from her throat. 

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin. “Your sister is bound to come check on you, and she is quite capable of finding her way around a lock.” 

Ash groaned, cursing Rae’s roguish abilities and incessant meddling - the pot calling the kettle black. “I’m guessing that Leliana’s scouts or the estate staff seeing you walk me back last night and subsequently never leave is the only reason she hasn’t barged in yet.”

Cullen hummed his agreement, and Ash braced herself. It was time to pull on her big-girl pants and face the music.

“While we have the time, we should probably talk about…all this,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady, even as fear pierced her lungs. Reluctantly, she removed herself from his arms. They wouldn’t be able to have a proper conversation if they couldn’t see each other, or if she fell asleep in the comfort of his embrace. Unwilling to remain lying down - feeling much too vulnerable, she sat up and scooted to lean against the headboard, holding the sheets to cover her chest. If she’d been truly dedicated, perhaps she would have gotten dressed, put that extra space between hard conversations and intimacy, but she couldn’t bring herself to - not when all she wanted was to be near him again, without any barriers. 

He made no move to dress either, but he mirrored her, sitting up and angling himself towards her. At least he was still wearing his smalls - though the tantalizing glimpse of the V leading down to his groin had her pressing her thighs together.

The quiet of the room felt suffocating, the rustle of sheets and the distant sounds of birds chirping at the rising sun the only noises Ash could hear over the pounding of her heartbeat. 

His hand found hers, pulling her gaze from her lap to meet his. Kind and gentle, patient beyond what she would ever have expected. 

“I’m possessed,” she began, careful to keep her tone even. Cullen nodded, undisturbed. “By a spirit of love who cannot be removed other than by death or Tranquillity. Last time you…weren’t willing to accept this, and I don’t blame you, it’s a lot. But now you say that you’re, what, okay with her?” 

Cullen’s forehead creased as he mulled over her question. “When I was first informed that you were possessed by a spirit and not a demon, I was angry and confused. As you know, the only other spirit possessed mage I’ve encountered destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall and took hundreds of lives. That, in addition to my…time at Kinloch, led me to judge you and your spirit based on those experiences, not on who you’ve shown me that you are. It was unworthy of me, and for that I am sorry.” 

His eyes flickered with uncertainty and he hesitated before speaking again, as though he feared saying more would make it worse. Ash relieved him of his indecision. 

“You don’t have to apologize, Cullen—“

“But I do,” he cut her off firmly, placing a hand on her knee. Affection and regret in the slope of his brows. “You are not the only one at fault, we both said things we regret, were rash in our anger. I should have made it clearer to you that you could trust me with this when you asked me, but instead, I avoided your question. I cannot turn back time, no matter how much I may wish it, but if you’d allow, I would like to prove to you now that you can trust me.” 

Ash's heart swelled at Cullen's words, a tentative hope spreading through her chest and easing the constricting grip on her lungs. Love trilled happily, and Ash placed her hand over his where it rested on her knee.

"I appreciate that, Cullen. Truly." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "But I need to know - what changed? How can you be so accepting now when before…"

Cullen's eyes clouded with pain, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I’ve recently come to learn a few key factors that aided in my decision.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “You died in my arms, Ash. After the Archdemon attacked in Haven, when we were fleeing through the mountains. I carried you with us, but you stopped breathing before we arrived to safety."

Ash's eyes widened in shock, raising her head. She hadn't known it was Cullen who had carried her broken body through the blizzard, though now that she did, it fit perfectly in her mind. The memory of that night was hazy, fragmented - flashes of searing pain, biting cold, overwhelming exhaustion, and the faintest hint of armour polish.

Cullen continued, his voice hoarse. "I was powerless to stop it. You were so…cold. I didn't truly realize then how close I'd come to losing you forever. Sweetpea alerted me to your condition, she insisted she ride in my mantle, though I’m certain she wanted to be close to you." He paused, inhaling tremulously. "Solas informed me recently that it was your spirit who kept your heart beating, who gave him time to revive you.”

Solas was more meddlesome than she’d realized, but if it had helped bring Cullen back to her, then she should thank him for it. She wouldn’t, but she should.

Ash sat in stunned silence. She'd known that Love had saved her life in Haven, she’d made the deal to allow her in. But hearing Cullen describe holding her lifeless body, the raw pain in his voice - it made the reality of her near-death experience hit home in a visceral way.

"I didn't know it was you who carried me," she whispered. "I remember bits and pieces, but it's all a blur. I had no idea."

“And again, at Adamant,” he continued with his list, horror growing in his voice, “when you went into the Fade and the Inquisitor had to be dragged out kicking and screaming, unwilling to leave you behind. I’d known you were possessed the minute you changed and I felt the strength of your magic, but still, I was terrified that you wouldn’t return.”

“Then at Halamshiral, you used magic despite the Mage Bane suppressing your connection to the Fade. No mage can do that, not without spiritual powers, it seems. Seeing what they’d done to you, I…I wasn't even there that time; if anything, I pushed you into a vulnerable spot. Every time I have been powerless to keep you safe, but your spirit has ensured your survival where I have not."

His hand tightened on her knee, as if reassuring himself that she was really there, alive and whole. "I've seen firsthand now how…Love protects you. She's saved your life multiple times, despite how exceedingly reckless you are.” Rude, but begrudgingly, she could admit that it was true. “How could I possibly condemn that?"

Cullen reached out, cupping her cheek in his calloused palm. His touch was achingly gentle, as if she might shatter at any moment - a real possibility after all her recent ordeals. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you at the Winter Palace. When I heard what happened, I…"

His voice cracked, and he looked away, blinking rapidly. Ash leaned into his touch, covering his hand with her own.

"You're here now," she said. "That's what matters."

He met her gaze again, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I am. And I intend to stay, if you'll have me. I know I've given you reason to doubt me in the past, but I swear to you, Ashvalla - I accept you fully, Love and all. I only hope I haven't ruined my chances entirely."

Ash's heart stuttered at Cullen's words, hope and fear and everything in between suffusing her lungs like delicate flowers growing through tissue. "You haven't," she said softly, "I don't think there's any version of me that could truly turn you away. But that's…part of the problem." She bit her lip, struggling to articulate the tangle of emotions strangling her. "I can't do that again, Cullen. I can't open myself up only to have you pull away when Love does something you don't understand or approve of."

"I understand your hesitation," he said, low and earnest. "But I give you my word - if Love does something I don't comprehend, I will come to you first. I'll listen and try to understand." His thumb stroked her cheek gently. "I've learned the hard way that jumping to conclusions helps no one. Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

Ash wanted desperately to believe him. The sincerity in his gaze, the tenderness of his touch - it all beckoned her to let her walls crumble. But the memory of his cold dismissal still stung.

"How can I be sure?" she whispered, hating how frightened she sounded. "What if…what if Love does something truly frightening? Something that goes against everything you've been taught to believe?"

Cullen's eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting to one side. "Like what Love was doing to you in the gardens?"

Ash's stomach dropped like a stone.

"I…" She swallowed hard, gathering her courage. "Yes.”

Cullen’s scrutiny bore into her. “What did I see, Ash? I couldn’t make sense of it. She was hurting you because you wouldn’t confess, but there was more to it, wasn’t there?”

What had he seen? Love’s magic overtaking her cowardice, nearly turning her from host to prisoner? The loss of control, the weakness of spirit - a danger to herself and everyone close to her. Expendable.

She sucked in a shaky breath, eyes darting from Cullen’s intense gaze. She couldn’t hide this from him if he already knew, could she? If what had happened in the gardens was enough to turn him away, better to know now before she got in even deeper.

“It was my own fault,” she said haltingly. “At first, I didn’t know what was happening, but I was able to contact her. It turns out I was stifling Love by keeping my feelings hidden from you. She told me that if I persisted in suffocating her by burying my emotions, she would twist from her natural purpose into a demon. And then I would have become, well, you know."

"An abomination," Cullen finished. Horror broke across his features. "You would have rather become an abomination than tell me you loved me?"

Ash clutched the sheet tighter against her chest.

"No. Yes. I don't know," she stammered, tears welling in her eyes. "I just—I've never felt this way about anyone before and it terrifies me." The words tumbled out faster, a dam breaking. "How could someone as wonderful as you ever love me in return? A possessed mage with more baggage than a pack mule? I was so afraid I’d hurt you further than I already had that I nearly destroyed myself."

Cullen stared at her for a long minute. "I have my flaws. Many of them. I have nightmares that wake me screaming, I’ve been told I get quite irritable, and I've both acted poorly and said things in my past that I'll regret until the day I die."

Ash reached out, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. "I know. And I love them all."

"Then why," he asked, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm, "are my flaws acceptable but yours aren't?"

The question struck her speechless. She blinked, mouth opening and closing as she tried and failed to formulate a response.

“Because I’m…” What, unlovable? A creature beyond reproach or redemption? Selfish and uncaring? It wasn’t her voice that echoed those supposed descriptors of herself around her mind, it was her mother’s. And by Mythal, was she tired of listening to that woman.

"Because I'm terrified.” The correct answer was the amalgamation of all her self-hate. “I'm terrified that one day you'll wake up and realize that I'm not worth the trouble. That the spirit inside me is too much, that my past is too broken, that I'm just.…too much."

"Ashvalla," Cullen said, both hands cupping her face. "You are exactly enough. Not too much, not too little. Just perfectly you."

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he caught it with his thumb.

"When I think about my life before you," he continued, "it feels like I was merely existing. Going through the motions. And then this impossible, infuriating, beautiful mage crashed into my world and suddenly everything was in colour again."

Ash let out a watery laugh. "Infuriating?"

"Absolutely," he confirmed with a grin, growing serious again. "I love you, Ash. All of you. The parts that make me laugh, the parts that drive me mad. I love you not despite your complications, but with them."

Love hummed contentedly within her, a warm glow spreading through her chest that was entirely separate from the emotional tightness wrapped around her throat.

"I won't pretend that this will all be easy. But the world isn't as black and white as I once believed." His lips quirked in a rueful smile. "You've taught me that, actually. You challenge everything I thought I knew, in the best possible way."

He took her hand, entwining their fingers. "I can't promise I'll never be afraid or uncertain. But I can promise that I'll always try to keep an open mind, to see the whole picture before passing judgment. And most importantly, I promise to trust you."

Ash's breath caught in her throat. Trust. Such a simple word, but one that held so much weight between them.

The early morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a soft glow on Cullen's features. His golden curls were tousled from sleep, a few errant strands falling across his forehead. The scar on his lip caught the light, and she yearned to place a kiss over the mark.

"I want to believe you," she said. "More than anything."

Cullen squeezed her hand gently. "Then let me prove it to you.”

Ash bit her lip. The earnestness in Cullen's gaze, the gentle way he held her hand - it all spoke of his sincerity. And despite her fears, she knew in her heart that she wanted this. Wanted him.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "Okay," she said softly. "I'd like that."

The smile that spread across Cullen's face was radiant. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. "Thank you," he murmured against her skin.

As much as she wanted to lose herself in this newfound intimacy, there were still unresolved matters that needed to be addressed.

She took a steadying breath. "Cullen, I need to work on some things, too." Her voice wavered slightly, but she pressed on. "I've been unfair to you in many ways."

Cullen's brow furrowed, but he remained silent, giving her space to continue. Ash appreciated his patience, even as anxiety gnawed at her insides.

"I've been quick to assume the worst, to push you away before you had a chance to hurt me." She ran a hand through her hair, wincing as her fingers caught on a tangle. "I’m sure you noticed that I have a habit of keeping people at arm's length. Of, uh, lashing out when I feel vulnerable."

Ash forced herself to meet Cullen's gaze, finding no judgment there, only gentle understanding. It bolstered her courage to continue.

"And I need to be more open with you about Love. I can't expect you to understand if I don't explain things." She paused, chewing her lower lip. "It's hard for me, sometimes. I'm used to hiding that part of myself. But you deserve to know, especially if we're going to make this work."

"That can’t have been easy for you to admit," he said, a teasing grin canted at the corner of his lips that brought a matching one to her own.

“Hush, I’m not done,” she huffed, though he merely placed another kiss on her knuckles - a gentle encouragement to continue.

"Most of all, I need to work on trusting you. Not just with Love, but with everything." She swallowed around a lump in her throat, fighting against the instinct to retreat behind her walls. "I'm not used to relying on anyone but myself. And Rae, sometimes. But I want to try. With you. You’re not a Templar anymore. I should have listened the first hundred times you said it, but I think we’ve established that I’m a little hard-headed when it comes to challenging my beliefs."

Had she lost her mind? Ash wasn’t entirely sure, but if spiralling into insanity felt this right, she didn’t want to be sane. Cullen's eyes softened, and he reached out to cup her cheek once more.

"Thank you for telling me this," he said, and Creators, did she just want to smother him in kisses.

Ash leaned into Cullen's touch. "I think we've both got some work to do. But I'm willing to try if you are."

Cullen nodded, his thumb brushing gently across her cheekbone. "I am. More than willing."

Like an avalanche raining down upon her, Ash was struck by how surreal this moment felt. There she was, bare as the day she was born, having the most honest conversation of her life with the man she loved but had thought lost to her.

Ash's skin tingled where Cullen's hand rested on her cheek, and she found herself leaning closer, drawn to him - a flower seeking her sun. Her eyes dropped to his lips, remembering their softness, the way they fit so perfectly against her own.

Had she a weaker heart, she was sure it would have failed her. At least she would have died happy.

"I wish I could have been brave enough to admit how I felt about you from the start," she said as her heart continued to beat. "Even when I was pushing you away, even when I was terrified of letting you in - I was yours. Completely and utterly yours. I'm sorry for all the time we lost because I was too afraid to admit how I felt."

Cullen watched her with such deep affection that it rattled through her bones and made Love swoop low in her stomach. Slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wished, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft, unhurried. A sacred promise, like coming home after a long journey. Ash melted into it, her hands coming up to tangle in Cullen's golden curls. Her regret for the time they'd lost, her gratitude for his patience, her hope for their future together, all mixed together into the sweet melting pot of his kiss.

A smile spread across her face, and against his mouth, a tingling sensation at the apex of her thighs stealing her breath away. "You're making it very difficult for me to keep my hands to myself right now, Commander."

He chuckled, his breath puffing over her lips. "Is that so? Well, perhaps I should make it even more difficult."

Before he could make good on his promise, a sharp knock on the door shattered their privacy and doused the flames of their growing passion. Ash groaned, burying her face in Cullen's chest as a muffled voice called through the thick wood.

"Lady Lavellan? The Inquisitor requests your presence before departure."

Was it already so late in the morning? Cullen's arms tightened around her. "Perhaps if we're very quiet, they'll go away," he whispered against the top of her head.

Ash snorted, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. "I'm fairly certain Rae would break down the door if I didn't respond."

With a heavy sigh, she called back, "Tell her I'll be there shortly!"

Footsteps retreated down the hall, and Ash allowed herself one more moment of indulgence, breathing in Cullen's comforting scent of armour polish and elderflower.

"I suppose we should get dressed," she said reluctantly, making no move to extract herself from his embrace.

Cullen hummed in agreement, his lips brushing the tip of her ear and making her shiver. "We should," he agreed, "but I find myself rather disinclined to let you go."

"As tempting as it is to stay here forever, I'm afraid my sister's wrath would be far worse than anything we'd face on the battlefield."

Groaning theatrically, Cullen finally released her, though his eyes remained fixed on her face. "I suppose you're right. But this isn't over, you know. I’m not done with you yet.”

Ash blushed at the promise in his words. "I look forward to what you have in store."

A future she’d never allowed herself to envision now lay out before her. A promise, Cullen’s love, her trust. She’d been a fool to think she could go without.

Next Chapter

A/N: A much needed conversation, though no smut yet, but soon…one day…But I promised one day Ash would find out Cullen carried here out of Haven, and that day has finally arrived! I was really saving it 😅

[tired-truffle]

You’re The Sun Who Makes Me Shine

An Alistair x F!warden fic

One-shot

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: Oops! Forgot to post this on Tumblr too!

Thank you @bibutterflies for letting me borrow your lovely warden Lila Amell ❤️ I hope I did her justice!

Title from the song I Touch Myself by Scala & Kolacny Brothers

This fic is NSFW

Masterlist

A low, stifled groan slipped through the cracks of her bedroom door as Lila reached for the handle. She frowned. It was late, near midnight, and she’d been caught up in the piles of paperwork she’d been procrastinating after a month-long, exhausting journey to the Deep Roads. At least Alistair had been with her, though there hadn’t been much space for quality time when one was nips deep in darkspawn.

The last she’d seen him, he’d been heading off to train with some of the older warden recruits - heavy hitters who weren’t skilled at pulling their punches. Usually, Alistair could hold his own, but even his boundless energy had its limits, and the Deep Roads had nearly sucked him dry.

Another groan, and Lila winced, imagining him attempting to stitch closed a wound he’d received during training. His stitches had to be the clumsiest she’d ever seen, on skin or fabric. He should have gone to the healer, but he likely didn’t wish to disturb there sleep. Considerate of him, but not necessary. She’d simply have to take over and stitch him up herself.

Opening the door, Lila strode into the room with the gusto of a woman ready to wrestle a needle out of her lover’s hand, only to stop short when she realized she had thoroughly misjudged the situation. Instead of a needle, Alistair held his hard cock in hand, his teeth gently biting his bottom lip, his head tilted back to rest against the headrest of their bed. His soft, sleeping trousers had been unlaced, his shirt hitched up to bare the lower planes of his abdomen that moved with his quickened breath and slow pumps of his fist. Upon her abrupt entry, he jolted, gasping at the intrusion, startled as he tried to shield his illicit activity from view, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks and over his ears. Caught red-handed, or rather, cock-in-handed.

Lila stood stock still on the threshold, here eyes darting from his lap to his face, her mouth dry as she struggled to form coherent words over Alistair’s wide eyed horror.

“Do you…” she licked her lips, gaze drawn to his cock, “want me to go?”

She hadn’t meant to pitch her voice lower, to imbue it with a husky neediness, but after weeks of only chaste touches and cuddles before crashing for the night, her body took over.

“No,” he said, too quickly to be casual - but then again, his devotion to her, both emotionally and physically, had always been zealous. He straightened, still blushing and bashful, but a spark of interest had his pupils expanding.

Lila shut the door behind her, turning the lock without breaking eye contact. Three long strides brought her to the edge of the bed, a fire roaring in the hearth heating up the room - though the heat in Alistair’s gaze alone could have sustained her in the mountains surrounding the Hinterlands.

Completing paperwork hadn’t required her armoured robes, and Lila was suddenly very thankful for the monotonous work. Removing her tunic in one swift tug over her head, she tossed it to the side, not caring where it landed. She made quick work of her trousers, Alistair’s eyes hungrily roving over every newly exposed expanse of pale skin. Her smalls and breastband followed suit.

“You too,” she said, gesturing to his clothes, his hand loose around his cock as he became fully distracted in her. But her words spurned him into action, and he’d stripped down to nothing in the span of seconds. Lila bit back a giggle, a pleased flutter in her stomach at his eagerness. He’d always been an enthusiastic lover, time had never changed his desire for her.

Lila kneeled on the bed at his feet, his legs bent at the knees and spread to make room for her. “Why did you stop?”

Alistair blinked rapidly, confusion tilting his lips into a frown, his brow furrowing. A sultry smirk curled the corners of her mouth, and she pointedly looked at his hard cock, twitching and untouched, and his hand lying at his side. His mouth formed an ‘O’ as realization sunk in, a blush spreading down his neck and chest that Lila had to resist from leaning in to run her tongue over his length.

“You want me to…” he trailed off, the blush deepening as his hand hovered over his length. He suddenly found the bedposts exceedingly interesting to look at.

“Touch yourself,” she finished for him. “Yes, I do.”

Eager to please and needing no further encouragement but the lock of her lips, Alistair wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping lazily as his eyes began to glaze over. A bead of cum rested at the head, and his thumb rolled over it, spreading it over the shaft.

Lila watched with half-lidded eyes, her breath hitching in her throat, momentarily forgetting her plan. Alistair reached for her, and jostled her back into ownership of her singular functioning brain cell.

“No,” she said, playfully slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch.”

His lips curved into an adorable pout, but she only smirked in return.

“Tell me what you were thinking about before I walked in.” Lila palmed her breast, shifting on her knees as pleasure coiled in her core.

“You,” Alistair rasped, his cock twitching as he quickened the pace.

Her hand trailed down to her thighs, teasing herself as she imagined those sword-roughened fingers grasping her hips and rutting against her. “Oh?”

He nodded, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. “Yes. You, I always, ah, think of you.”

“How do you think of me?” Lila dipped her fingers into her wet heat and thumbed her taut nipple with the other hand. A needy moan pulled itself from her throat as she ghosted over the sensitive bud of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

Alistair nearly stopped breathing altogether.

“I-I, uh,” he said intelligently, gripping his thigh to stop himself from reaching for her. “That time in the inn outside of Denerim, in the bath with the special oils. How gorgeous you looked and how soft you—ah—felt.”

Lila remembered that day fondly, after weeks of being covered in a sheen of their own sweat and Maker knows what else, it had been blissful to wash away the grim. His warden’s stamina had come in handy, and once they’d sloshed enough water out of the bath that there was sure to be extra charges when they paid the next morning, they dried each other off and continued in the plush bed.

Her laugh came out more as a breathy sigh. “We both smelled like roses for days.”

He smiled, affection breaking through his lust. “You always smell like a rose to me, darling.”

“How sweet of you,” she crooned, ending with a whine that had his hips jerking into his palm, a breath hissed from between his teeth. “Do you want to know what I think of when I’m alone and missing you?”

He nodded quickly, his attention rapturous, and she grinned. “It’s usually, ah, not specific, just how good it feels to have your cock inside me,” she dipped a finger into her cunt, her walls clenching around the intrusion and she moaned, “how full you make me feel, your hands on my breasts and your breath hot in my ear.”

His gaze dropped to her breasts, wanting to touch but trembling as he held himself back. “Such a good boy,” she purred, unsure what exactly had come over her, but revelling in this new game all the same. “Would you like a reward for your obedience?”

He nodded again, just as eagerly as the first, but this time, he found his words. “Maker, yes.”

Headiness overtook her, and any shame she may have felt for barring herself to him fully was thrown out the window - it wouldn’t be the first time, and if she had anything to say about it, it wouldn’t be the last. She draped her legs atop his, bringing their hips closer, but not yet touching, offering him a full, uninterrupted view of her finger pumping in and out of her soaking cunt.

It must have taken every piece of willpower he had to hold himself back, but he did.

“Tell me what to do, Alistair,” she said hoarsely, the wet sounds of her fucking herself on her finger lewd and matching the pace he’d set for himself. “Tell me how to fuck myself like you would.”

He groaned at that, a strangled noise in the back of his throat, his cock bobbing like it was trying to bury itself inside her. “A-Add another,” he stammered as his blush deepened. “Another finger.”

Close enough to a complete sentence for Lila to understand the meaning, she complied, adding a second finger to accompany the first. She moaned at the slight stretch, her legs quivering. It was by no means as much of a stretch as Alistair himself, but the way his eye widened just a touch, and his hips began to jerkily thrust into his fist...Maker, the sight of him coming undone pushed her closer to the edge.

She pried his unoccupied hand from his thigh, the heat of his skin suffusing into hers as she brought his fingers to her lips. Licking up the length of his index, his lips parted around his pants as she took him into her mouth.

He leaned forward, eyes glued to her lips as she swirled her tongue around the callused pads, sucking him deeper. She added a second finger, mirroring what she used to fuck herself, and he bowed, his face inches from her own.

“Maker, Lila…” his glazed over gaze raked up and down her body. “I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

Her words of affirmation were lost in the sucking of his fingers, and he shuddered at the vibration.

“I want you to come with me,” he said. “Let me see you, love.”

Lila could get behind such an earnest request. Continuing to pump her fingers, curling them to hit the spot that made her whine, she added her thumb to her clit, circling the bud and keening at the added pleasure that shot through her limbs.

The Deep Roads had been long and treacherous, and she had needed this release more than she’d realized.

Her orgasm shivered through her legs, exploding in a ball of pleasure at her core - long over due. Her cunt clenched around her fingers, and she gasped, curling in on herself as she worked herself through her finish. Alistair came with a hoarse shout moments after, and she forced her eyes open to watch his as bliss washed over him - his nose scrunched and his eyelids fluttering. Beautiful, the freckles smattered across his cheeks standing out beneath the pink tinge to his skin.

He removed his fingers from her mouth, and Lila pulled her fingers from her cunt with a wet squelch, panting as she came down from her high. She met Alistair’s tired gaze, a lopsided smile gracing his lips and making her heart flutter.

Absentmindedly, he pawed at the pile of clothes he’d discarded on the bed, grabbing his smalls and wiping the cum from his stomach and softening cock. Lila didn’t see where he tossed the ruined garment, nor did she particularly care. Free of the sticky substance, his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his chest and burying his face in her hair. He sighed his contentment, and when Lila could no longer tolerate the stretch of her hips, she pulled back slightly, shifting to straddle his lap properly. She settled back down, sweat slicked bodies cooling together.

“That was…unexpected,” Alistair said with a chuckle. “But I can’t say I didn’t thoroughly enjoy it.”

Lila placed kisses along the column of his throat, alternating between open-mouthed and tender brushes. “We should do it again sometimes.” When she bit down gently, he whimpered, and she grinned.

His arms tightened around her, and against her core, his cock began to harden again - warden stamina, one of her favourite perks. “You won’t hear any complaints from me.” He kissed the top of her head. “Now, what would you say, my dear, about bestowing upon me the honour of tasting you.”

A shiver ran down her spine, and her heart rate increased, anticipation thrumming up her desire. But who was she kidding? When it came to Alistair, there was almost nothing she wouldn’t allow him to do to her.

“I’d say: Maker, please, yes! I want you to fuck me with your tongue and then your cock,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. He laughed, his hands trailing down her back and over her thighs, and she joined him in his mirth.

“My Lady has quite the appetite, I suppose we’ll see if I can satisfy your hunger.”

And satisfy he did, until Lila screamed his name, until she collapsed in a boneless mess of euphoria and sweat. Much needed and well earned. Sleep could wait until after they’d had their fill.

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.8k

Part 45 - Who Needs Distance, Anyway?

"You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only / the sun has come this close, only the sun.”- Shauna Barbosa

Warning: A little bit of NSFW (I think?)

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

Masterlist

Whoever had left a bath, wash bucket, and roaring fire in the hearth in Ash’s room had her eternal thanks. Crossing the room and leaving Cullen awkwardly standing by the door, she dipped her hands into the room-temperature water. The perks of being a mage with pyromancy meant she never had to take a cold bath. Within seconds, the water was hot enough to soften her skin, but not too hot as to scald. She proceeded to do the same to the wash bucket. Using her innate magic came as easily as breathing, but after the Mage Bane, she was certain that anything else would have caused her to collapse.

With her bath set up, she turned to Cullen, still hovering near the entry, uncertain as he glanced between her and the bath. 

“It’s going to be difficult for you to help from all the way over there,” she teased, grabbing a washcloth.

“Yes, right,” he said, a light blush colouring his cheeks as he strode towards her. “How may I be of assistance?” 

She angled her back to him, sitting on a stool beside the bath, gesturing to the laces that held her bodice in place. “Untie these?” 

He responded with a gentle tug at the laces, carefully beginning to free her from the restrictive confines of the gown. While he worked, she soaked the washcloth in the bucket and began to cleanse the dried blood from her neck and chest, using the warm water to soften it. 

Ash was grateful that a small stack of washcloths had been left for her. She’d easily gone through half by the time she managed to clean away the worst of it. But the blood had soaked into her bodice and glued it to her skin, and though she could soak it from the top, she’d have to jump into the tub fully dressed to reach it all. 

When Cullen was finished with the laces, she turned to face him, the fire casting flickering shadows across his face. Creators, he was gorgeous. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn the gods themselves had crafted that strong jawline and straight nose, injected pure gold into his eyes, and carved his perfectly straight teeth from marble. 

“Help me get out of this?” she asked, Love swirling pleasantly in her chest when his eyes darkened. But Love was in Ash’s bad books and she thoroughly ignored the spirit. 

Cullen grimaced, nostrils flaring as he lifted his hands to rest on the edge of the bodice. “Are you certain? I doubt this will be…pleasant.” 

Ash shrugged. “I’ve had worse. It’s mostly softened, there’s just a bit further down that’s stuck.” 

Cullen nodded, his fingers gripping the edge of her bodice. With a swift tug like ripping off a bandage, he peeled it away from her skin. Ash inhaled sharply as the fabric unstuck, leaving her chest bare and tender. She took a deep, grateful breath, relishing the feeling of freedom after being trapped in the blood-soaked garment.

"Thank you," she said, her eyes meeting Cullen's. His gaze remained steadfastly fixed on her face, a feat of willpower that both amused and touched her. Her breasts were not easy to ignore, especially not for someone as entranced by them as he was - her stays pushing them up and together enticingly.

Ash's fingers fumbled with the fastenings of her petticoat, the adrenaline from earlier finally ebbing away and leaving her hands unsteady. Cullen noticed her struggle and wordlessly offered his hand. She took it, using his strength to balance as she stepped out of the voluminous skirts.

On shaky legs, Ash lowered herself onto the stool, now clad only in her stays, smalls, stockings, and garters. The fire's warmth caressed her exposed skin, and she shivered - though whether from the chill or Cullen's proximity, she couldn't say. But given Love’s constant heating, there was only one correct answer.

"Are you alright?" Cullen asked, always concerned.

Ash nodded, then grimaced as she caught sight of her blood-stained arms. "I will be, once I'm clean. Though I fear I might fall asleep in the tub at this rate."

Cullen chuckled, the sound warming her more than any fire could. "Then I suppose it's fortunate I'm here to ensure you don't drown."

She raised an eyebrow at him. “A dashing knight to my rescue. And speaking of rescues, perhaps you could assist me with these stays? The laces are rather tricky to reach."

Cullen's fingers brushed against her skin as he rounded the stool and grasped the topmost lace. "Of course," he murmured, his breath warm against her neck. He knew very well what he was doing to her, revenge for her eye-catching breasts, no doubt.

As he worked, Ash closed her eyes, focusing on the gentle tugs and the gradual loosening of the garment. She could hear Cullen's breathing, slightly quickened.

"Maker's breath," Cullen grumbled after a minute. "How many laces must these things contain?"

Ash couldn't help but laugh. Trust a man to complain about women’s clothing. "More than you'd think necessary, I'm sure. But they do wonders for the figure."

"I like your natural figure," Cullen said, then cleared his throat awkwardly as if only then realizing what he'd said.

Ash's cheeks warmed at the compliment, and she bit her lip to suppress a grin. "Why, Commander, are you admiring me from back there?"

"I-I was only—" Cullen stammered, his fingers fumbling with the laces.

Taking pity on him, Ash gave him a reprieve - hadn’t she tortured the man enough?

"You're doing a fine job," Ash reassured him. "Don't let my wicked tongue fluster you."

His fingers resumed their work with renewed determination. "Your…tongue does not fluster me," he said unconvincingly.

At long last, after what felt like an eternity of tantalizing touches and charged silence, the final lace came free. The stays loosened around her torso, and she took a deep breath. The sudden expansion of her ribcage made her dizzy, and she sagged forward, catching herself on the edge of the tub.

"Creators," she gasped, reveling in the sensation of unrestricted breathing. Her fingers found the indentations on her stomach where the boning had dug into her flesh, and she rubbed at them absently, wincing at the tenderness.

Cullen moved around to face her, and without a word, he knelt before her. Ash's breath faltered at the sight of him - all chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, backlit by the firelight. He was devastatingly handsome, and the intimacy of their position was not lost on her. Her legs were closed, but she wished they weren’t.

"Allow me," he said softly, his gaze dropping to her stockinged legs. His hands hovered near her thigh, waiting for permission.

Ash nodded, not trusting her voice. She watched with rapturous attention as Cullen's strong hands gently grasped the top of her stocking, unclasping them from the garters. His fingers brushed against her skin as he slowly rolled the fabric down her leg, goosebumps rising to the surface. Ash barely noticed, too entranced by the sight of Cullen's bowed head and the feeling of his calloused hands on her leg.

He repeated the process with her other stocking, his movements careful and reverent. When both stockings lay discarded on the floor, Cullen's hands lingered on her calves, his thumbs tracing small circles on her skin.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her calf, just above her ankle on the burned skin of her left leg. She could barely feel it, likely wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been staring at him. His golden eyes flicked up to meet hers, seeking permission, reassurance, or perhaps both. She gave an almost imperceptible nod, her heart thundering in her chest.

Emboldened, Cullen's gaze traveled up her leg, searching for an unblemished spot. His eyes found a small gap between the burns near her knee, and he leaned in once more. This time, when his lips met her skin, Ash felt it acutely. The warmth of his mouth, the slight scratch of his stubble, the light pressure - it all coalesced into a sensation that made her toes curl and her fingers grip the edge of the stool for balance.

Cullen lingered there for a beat, his breath hot against her skin. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with leashed desire. He was teasing her, the bastard, and she was falling for it hook, line and sinker.

"Is there…anything else you need assistance with?" he asked in a low and husky register.

Ash swallowed hard, her mind racing with possibilities. Fuck me over the edge of the bath, being the most prominent one. She knew she should send him away, that she was too vulnerable, too raw from the day's events to make any decisions involving Cullen and states of undress. But Mythal help her, she didn't want him to leave.

"There are a couple more items that require removal." Her fingers traced the edge of her garter belt, drawing Cullen's gaze to her hips. "Though I suppose I could manage these on my own."

Cullen's eyes darkened further, his pupils dilating. "I would be remiss in my duties if I left the job half-finished.”

Ash resisted the urge to squirm as Cullen's hands moved to her hips, reaching the clasps of the garter belt. He undid them, and the garter fell away, leaving only her smalls between them. Cullen paused, his hands hovering just above the waistband. His eyes met hers, seeking final confirmation. Ash made a noise of assent.

Hooking his fingers under the fabric, he began to slide it down. Ash lifted her hips to assist, hyper-aware of every brush of his knuckles against her skin. The smalls joined the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, leaving Ash completely bare before him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds in the room were their ragged breaths and the crackling of the fire. Cullen's gaze traveled slowly up her body, taking in every curve, every scar, every minuscule mark. When his eyes finally met hers again, the raw desire she saw there nearly took her breath away.

Hadn’t she said they should wait until further discussion before they relearned each other’s bodies? It must have been the blood loss.

"Ash," he whispered, her name a prayer on his lips. His hands rested on her knees, warm and steady. "You are…breathtaking."

A small but pleased smile curved her lips. "You're not so bad yourself, Commander," she teased, trying to lighten the charged atmosphere.

Cullen chuckled, his hands still resting on her leg, and she wished he’d never remove them. "I believe you mentioned something about falling asleep in the tub," he said. "Perhaps we should get you cleaned up before that happens."

Ash blinked rapidly, remembering the reason for that whole…exercise. "Yes, I suppose we should." She made to stand, but her legs wobbled beneath her.

Nude and ready for her bath, Cullen held her hand once more to help her into the warm, soothing water. Ash sank down until her chin hit the surface, sighing as her weary bones were relieved of pressure. She closed her eyes, giving her muscles a moment to release. 

“You can join me if you want,” she offered as she pulled her knees up to her chest. 

Silence answered her, and seconds before she opened her eyes to ensure she hadn’t stepped over the line with her offer, he spoke in a husky tone. 

“Whether I want to or not has nothing to do with it. Rather that if we’re to make it to conversing before…we engage in intimate acts together, then it is safest if I do not.”

Ash snorted a laugh, splashing water over her face to stop herself from breaking out into uncontrollable giggles. “You can just say ‘sex’, you know. Or fuck. Intimate acts, what are we, two repressed Chantry Sisters?”

��I’m trying to be polite.”

“How quaint.”

A splash of water hit her face and she yelped, wiping her eyes to glare at him and his cheeky grin - the scar on his lip pulled taught. 

Ash plucked a washcloth from the pile and tossed it at him, landing in his lap where he sat on the stool. “As punishment, you have to wash me.” 

His eyes darted across her fully exposed body, and his throat bobbed. “That’s more of a reward to me.”

Swallowing her delighted scream, she simply smiled.

He gave in to her immediately, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms that captured her attention like a magnet pulling iron filings. Scars crisscrossed his skin, and Ash traced the lines with her eyes. In time, she’d explore them all again.

He dipped the washcloth into the warm water, wringing it out before gently pressing it to her shoulder. Ash sighed, tension melting from her muscles as Cullen began to wash away the day's grime. His touch was meticulous, reverent almost, as he moved the cloth in small circles across her skin.

"Lean forward," he said, and Ash complied without hesitation. His hand, warm and steady, rested on her back as he washed away the dirt and sweat and blood that had accumulated there. She allowed herself to be moved by his gentle guidance, turning this way and that as he methodically cleaned every inch of her.

When he reached her neck, his movements slowed. Ash felt his fingers brush against the scar there, a permanent reminder of her near-death. She tensed, waiting for the inevitable questions. But Cullen simply continued, his touch no less gentle than before. She relaxed again, grateful for his silent understanding. Now was not the time to delve into these new wounds.

And if his hands lingered a little longer when he wiped the blood from her breasts, who was she to judge?

Finally, Cullen turned his attention to her hair. He cupped water in his hands, pouring it over her head. His fingers worked through the tangled strands, loosening the knots and washing away the crusted blood. Ash leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as he massaged her scalp.

The rhythmic motion of his fingers combined with the warmth of the water lulled Ash into a state of deep relaxation. Her mind began to drift, the events of the day fading into a distant haze. Ash felt herself slipping towards sleep, her body growing heavier in the water. Just as her chin dipped below the surface, strong hands gripped her shoulders, gently pulling her back.

"I think it's time we got you out of this bath," Cullen said, his voice tinged with amusement. "Before you prove my fears about drowning correct."

Ash blinked drowsily, struggling to focus on his face. "Mmm, but it's so warm," she mumbled, even as she allowed him to help her stand.

Water cascaded down her body as she rose, and she shivered as the cooler air hit her skin. Love’s heat had nearly vanished. Ash wasn’t sure she’d felt that cold since escaping Haven. Curious, but not something she had the energy to investigate.

Cullen's strong arms wrapped around her waist, supporting her as she stepped out of the tub on unsteady legs. The sudden movement sent her head spinning, and she stumbled, her wet feet slipping on the smooth stone floor. Cullen reacted instantly, pulling her against his chest to keep her upright. Water soaked through his linen shirt, darkening the fabric and outlining the defined muscles beneath.

A mischievous grin spread across her face despite her exhaustion. "You're all wet now."

Cullen raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with a barely suppressed smirk. "I wonder who is to blame for my predicament."

"You, obviously," Ash retorted, her fingers absently tracing the damp fabric clinging to his chest. "You're the one who caught me."

He rolled his eyes, but the fondness in his gaze dispersed any real exasperation. "Next time, I'll be sure to let you fall."

"You wouldn't dare.” She made no move to step away from him, enjoying the warmth of his body against her cooling skin.

His hand came up to brush a wet strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering on her cheek. "No, I suppose I wouldn't."

For a moment, they stood there, bodies pressed together, gazes locked. Ash's heart thundered in her chest, and she could feel Cullen's own rapid heartbeat against her palm. She wanted nothing more than to throw him onto the bed and let him ravage her.

Then, as if remembering himself, Cullen stepped back, hands still on her waist, but a safe distance between them. "Let's get you dried off before you catch a chill," he said.

He reached for a fluffy towel, shaking it out before wrapping it around her shoulders. The soft fabric enveloped her, and Ash sighed contentedly, burrowing into its warmth. Cullen began to gently pat her dry, starting with her arms, working his way up to her shoulders and then down her back. His touch was almost worshipful, as if he were handling a scared Andrastian statue.

When Cullen reached her legs, he knelt before her. This powerful man, on his knees, tending to her with such care, did more to her than was proper to admit. He worked his way up, drying her leg thoroughly before moving to the other. Once finished, he looked up at her, wrapped up in her towel, and smiled softly.

“Thank you.” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but when she met his tender gaze, it had stolen the remnants of her strength. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied, but she disagreed. 

As he rose to his feet, her eyes followed the strong lines of his body. He seemed to enjoy taking care of her, and she wondered how she had ever resisted this, how she had fought against his gentle attentions for so long. Only a fool would run from him.

"Are you ready for bed?" Cullen asked.

"I should probably find my nightgown," she said, though the thought of rummaging through her trunk seemed an insurmountable task.

Cullen appeared to sense her reluctance. "Would you prefer to sleep as you are?" He kept his tone carefully neutral.

"If you don't mind."

"Of course not. Your comfort is what matters."

He guided her towards the bed, effortlessly supporting her weight as she leaned against him. She inhaled, the scent of leather and elderflower that clung to his skin making her want to bury her nose in the crook of his neck.

As they reached the bed, Cullen pulled back the covers with one hand, the other still wrapped securely around her waist. The sheets looked invitingly cool and crisp, and Ash thought briefly to herself that Sweetpea would have enjoyed it - though she’d left the cat in Skyhold for her own safety.

Cullen helped her settle onto the mattress, and Ash sank into the softness as he tucked the blankets around her.

“Will you stay—“ Ash covered her mouth as she yawned. “With me?” 

“You want me to stay?” He tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing her face for any hint of a lie. 

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t,” she said, and he conceded with a hum. “Do you want to stay?”

“Yes,” he said much too quickly, though she didn’t mind. He cleared his throat, bashfully looking away. 

Ash giggled softly, her exhaustion making her giddy. She scooted over in the bed, patting the empty space beside her. Cullen hesitated for a beat before taking a step back and turning away, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt. Ash watched, transfixed, as he methodically undressed.

Pulling the shirt up and over his head, Ash was treated to the gorgeous view of his muscular back and the scars that lay across his skin. Cullen folded the damp garment with military precision, setting it aside before moving to his breeches.

Ash tried not to stare as he shimmied out of the tight fabric, but her eyes betrayed her, drawn to the flex of his thighs and the curve of his backside. He folded the breeches just as carefully, leaving him clad only in his smalls.

As Cullen turned back to the bed, Ash quickly averted her gaze, a blush creeping up her neck. The mattress dipped as he slid in beside her, the heat of his body instantly warming the space between them. He settled on his side, facing her.

Ash angled her face towards him, her heart fluttering in her chest, a mix of nerves and excitement making her fingers twitch against the sheets. She’d been certain she would never get such vulnerability with him again, had tried to convince herself she didn’t want it. She could hardly believe that this was real, that he was truly there with her, and it wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Gathering her courage, she slowly extended her hand, palm up, into the space between their bodies.

It was a small gesture, an invitation, a question. Cullen's gaze dropped to her outstretched hand, and with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, he reached out, his calloused palm sliding against hers.

Heartened by his touch, Ash rolled onto her side and shimmied closer, until their knees brushed beneath the blankets.

“Is this alright?” she asked in a whisper, the soft sound feeling much too loud for the fragile silence of the large room. 

Cullen squeezed her hand, meaning to offer reassurance. “Yes. Holding your hand is more than alright.”

She grinned into the dark. “I can move back if you’d prefer.”

“No,” his hand tightened around hers, “stay, please.”

Ash giggled at the hoarseness in his voice. It was good to feel wanted, her own desires stirring in response to his - but they would have to wait. “Can we talk in the morning? I’m much too exhausted to form coherent thoughts.”

Entwining their fingers, he brought her hand to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “May I ask one question first?”

He was too damn sweet for his own good. What would his soldiers say if they knew about this side of their Commander? Though her heart fluttered, wondering what he wanted to ask, she couldn’t deny his request.

"Just one," she agreed.

Cullen shifted slightly, and in the faint light from the dying fire, their eyes locked. “What does ‘ma vhenan’ mean?”

His pronunciation was close, but weighed down by his clumsy human tongue. A blush suffused across Ash's face, spreading down her neck and chest. She hadn't realized he'd noticed, hadn't known he'd been keeping track of the endearment that sometimes slipped past her lips in moments of vulnerability.

“It means ‘my heart’,” she said, and his soft smile had her instinctively leaning forward. “It’s a Dalish term for someone you love.”

Cullen's thumb absently stroked the back of her hand. "Your heart," he repeated, barely above a whisper. “I like the sound of that.”

“Then I will endeavour to say it more often.”

He hummed his agreement, and as she yawned again, he said, “Sleep well, Ashvalla.” 

“You as well, ma vhenan.”

Sleep came easily after that.

Next Chapter

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the tender touches and good old Ash and Cullen sexual tension - they've really been missing it!

[tired-truffle]

😂😂 enjoy!

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 7.7k

Part 44 - I Won't Say (I'm In Love)

"You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for." - Richard Siken

Song Rec: The Line by twenty one pilots

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

(Thank you for posting this gif @sweetjulieapples, it's perfect!)

Masterlist

“You’re like a brother to me, Dorian,” Ash said as the carriage ground to a halt outside of the estate. “I meant to tell you that earlier. Sorry for the delay.”

Ash had spent the majority of the carriage ride back in silence. Sitting across from her, Dorian cast concerned glances in her direction, his eyes filled with a helplessness that mirrored his inability to find the right words. What could possibly suffice in such a situation? How does one comfort a friend who had been struck on the back of the head, kidnapped, drugged with the Mage Bane, and manipulated as a pawn against her own sister, only to have her throat slit in the end? She’d survived, but only out of sheer luck.

Dorian's eyes diffused of their consternation, a genuine smile replacing his frown. "My dear Ashvalla, I'm touched. Truly. Though your timing is impeccable as always. Nothing quite says brotherly love like near-death experiences.”

She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they grasped Dorian's hand. The calluses from his staff were oddly comforting against her palm.

"Well, you know me," she quipped, her voice still rough from the healing magic that had knitted her throat back together. "I like to keep things interesting."

Dorian squeezed her hand gently, his gaze sweeping over her with poorly concealed concern. "That you do, my friend. That you do."

The carriage door swung open, and they were ushered out by an attendant to the lonely estate.

Ash couldn’t fathom how this day could get any worse. Love, on the other hand, possessed an imagination unbound by such constraints.

Burning and bubbling beneath her skin, Love unleashed her anger, her pent-up desire that had been suppressed by both Ash and the Mage Bane. As she stepped up to the manor, she stumbled, hiding her wince by ducking her head. 

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked, his steadying hand on her elbow. 

“I will be,” she answered, eyeing the enclosed confines of the opulent manor. If Love was going to throw a temper tantrum, Ash was reticent to allow her to do so inside. “I think I need some time alone, though. I’ll be in the gardens, should anyone need me.”

“But you’re still covered in your own—“

“It’s already dried, there will be no difference in trying to clean it now or later,” Ash spoke over him. “Please, Dorian, I just…need a minute to clear my head.”

Dorian sighed, tilting his face up to the night sky like it held the answers to his suffering. “If Cullen skewers me for leaving you alone, my death will be on your hands.”

The reminder of the Commander had Love flaring again, and Ash gritted her teeth into a smile. “I owe you one,” she said, and she did - or rather, she owed him several. 

Dorian clicked his tongue against his teeth and nodded to one of the manor attendees to unlock the gate to the gardens - giving her a hard look that promised retribution should she not follow through on their deal.

Moonlight flowed across meticulously trimmed hedges, illuminating stone pathways that wound between beds of dawn lotus and roses. Crystal grace hung from latticed arbors, and the night air carried a heady floral perfume, mingling with the earthy scent of soil and the faint metallic tang of her own dried blood.

Ash followed the central path, her steps unsteady as Love pulsed angrily beneath her skin. It was like carrying a storm inside her chest, lightning crackling through her veins with each heartbeat.

A marble bench stood in a small clearing at the garden's heart, surrounded by a circle of roses. Ash sank onto it gratefully, the green silk of her gown billowing around her as she settled, spilling across the bench like liquid emerald. Ruined now by her crusted blood.

When had her life come to this? For over two decades, she’d been possessed without complications, until Cullen came into her life. He set her heart aflame, making her feel things she’d never experienced before. She’d known familial love, of course, both given and received through her bond with Rae. The love from friends had been new, Dorian opening the door to the kind of companionship she never thought she’d have. But Love wasn’t this tumultuous when Dorian didn’t speak to her for weeks, and Ash loved him dearly. Why was Cullen so different? 

"Enough," she whispered to the spirit. "You're giving me a headache on top of everything else."

But Love was not in a listening mood.

As if in answer, Love pressed her flames along the insides of Ash’s ribcage. She clutched her arms tightly around her trembling torso, her body quaking as she stifled a cry. Tell Cullen she loved him, or turn into an abomination - a choice that should have been simple but was anything but. Gods, she loved him so much it ached in her chest, raw and consuming like a dying star, deeper than any pain that Love could inflict. 

Love’s power ebbed, granting Ash a brief respite to catch her breath. She needed to banish thoughts of Cullen, to cease feeding Love the fuel for her yearning, yet by Mythal, the image of that man's face stubbornly lingered in her mind. Horror and concern that had crossed his face when he’d seen her covered in her own blood. The angry furrow of his brow as he seized her wrist in the ballroom, softening into something she couldn’t identify. How flustered he’d been when Leliana challenged him. She longed for him - for the steady comfort of his arms around her, quiet words of reassurance whispered against her skin. She’d cast him aside, and now she was paying the price. 

Love surged again, stronger and hotter than before, and Ash had to double over and bury her face in her skirt to suppress the scream clawing at her throat. Dizziness struck her as she struggled to breathe, gasping inhales that failed to replenish her lungs. Fuck, it felt like her chest had been branded by a searing iron, molten lava coating her flesh. Light filtered through her tightly shut eyelids, and she hesitantly cracked them open, staring down at her chest - a sinking stone falling to her gut. 

From over her heart, jagged cracks had erupted in her blood-crusted skin, like a spiderweb spun by a vengeful hand. Fissures branched out in every direction, converging around a core of seething, spitting flames. Love had only ignited such a transformation once before, the morning of her dress fitting after Cullen had accidentally barged in and promptly left. Was this the signal of the end? Her final warning before Love turned them into an abomination?

Ash twisted her fingers in her hair, tugging at the strands and tearing them out of her ruined updo - pinpricks across her scalp almost unnoticeable under Love’s fire.

Dorian. She needed to find Dorian. She’d meant it when she’d promised to go to him if it became too much.  

“Ashvalla? What in Andraste’s name are you doing out here on your own? And is that—you’re still covered in blood.” Cullen - because, of course, it was him - had snuck up on her. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say she had been so consumed by the pain that she failed to notice the heavy thud of his footsteps drawing nearer. 

Staying curled in on herself to hide Love’s light, she gritted out, “Go away.”

He scoffed, his earlier irritation bubbling back to the surface. She doubted that the bright lights and relentless chatter of the ball hadn’t pounded a headache into his skull and furthered his foul mood - assuming he didn’t already have one gnawing at him to begin with. "Not until you tell me why you're out here in the dark instead of in bed resting, where you ought to be."

All it had taken for her to become the recipient of his concern once more was a near-death experience at the hands of some exceedingly rude Orlesians. He should have still been at the ball, right? But perhaps she had been sitting in the gardens for longer than she’d realized.

“You’re not my minder, Commander. I owe you no explanation,” Ash spat, pathetically unable to straighten. Love, taking issue with this, released a new surge of fire that ate away at the marrow of her bones. She hissed, low and under her breath, but Cullen heard her in the silence of the garden. 

She felt him grow closer more than she heard the soft sound of his boots crushing the grass. His hand hovered over her shoulder. 

“Don’t touch me,” she growled, jerking away from his touch even as she yearned to feel it. 

“Why not?” he asked briskly, and she could perfectly picture his nettled scowl. 

“Cause fuck you and fuck off, that’s why.” Ash was well aware of how childish she was acting, but she did not have the energy to care. “Let me find my moment of peace alone.” 

Love disagreed, and Ash shuddered as another bout of fire rolled through her and boiled her organs. 

"You sit here, in blood-soaked clothes, clearly in pain, trying to find peace? What possible peace can you find in such a state?"

Her ears flattened against her skull. “Didn’t I tell you to fuck off? No need to worry about the crazy, possessed mage, Templar.”

"Oh, for the love of—“ Cullen cut himself off with a frustrated growl. She peered through the curtain of her hair and noted his hands clenching at his sides. “Is it your neck that’s bothering you? Did Solas not heal you properly?”

His hand extended toward her once more, his fingertips gently grazing her shoulder. She recoiled slightly, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. Her hands were pressed protectively against her chest as she remained bent over, her skirt concealing the glow of Love’s rage beneath. She must appear utterly disheveled; tiny specks of blood clung stubbornly to her cheeks and matted her hair, while her eyes, rimmed with smeared kohl, were bloodshot and weary.

“I said: don’t touch me.” She barred her teeth in a snarl, pointed canines glinting in the low moonlight, ears tight to the sides of her head. It did little to deter him. Love writhed, slashing at her spine, deepening Ash’s snarl. 

“You’re a mess.”

Ash’s attempt at a grin ended more in a grimace. “How sweet of you to notice.”

He wiped a hand down his tired face, his gloves discarded along with some of the more decorative pieces of his Inquisition formal wear. Had he been in the middle of undressing for the night when he’d decided to take a late-night stroll through the gardens? Was he…meeting someone out here? There were plenty of eligible women at the ball, petite and demur - the opposite of Ash in every conceivable way. Perhaps that was more his type; someone who would yield to his every command without resistance, modest and agreeable. Not her, not difficult, bossy, demanding, loud.

He liked it when I was loudly screaming his name. Her mind added unhelpfully. 

“Would you allow me to help you for once in your damn life?”

“Then leave!” she cried as the cracks in her skin lengthened, cutting through her defences. “I don’t want you here!” A lie, she wanted him with her always, but it hurt too much. The magic flared again, her body jerking of its own accord and sending her sprawling to the ground. Her knees hit the soft grass, her hands following suit as she released a strangled sob, bent over and weeping into the dirt. “Please.”

He followed after her, crouched at her side, before she’d finished her sobbed plea. “Not until you explain what’s going on. Don’t think I don’t notice that…light you’re trying to hide.”

Get up. Straighten your spine. Since when do Lavellans wallow?

Ash froze, the voice so clear she almost looked around for the source. Her mother had been dead for over two decades, yet there she was, chiding Ash as if she were still a child with skinned knees rather than a grown woman with a heart breaking apart.

You think you're the only one who's ever suffered? Stop making your problems everyone else's burden. Handle it yourself.

The phantom scolding stung, but beneath the harshness lay the steel that had shaped Ash's own backbone.

“I have it under control,” Ash said through clenched teeth, both to Cullen and the voice of her mother. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“The last thing I’m worried about is you hurting someone.” He looked her up and down, a concerned tilt to his brows. “Right now, I’m more worried about you. You could have died today.”

“But I didn’t.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m not doing this with you.” And with no further warning, he shifted to kneel in front of her, grasping her biceps, and pulled her into an upright position. She felt the sway of her body as she rose, her limbs too feeble under Love's overwhelming power to muster any resistance. 

She tried in vain to cover the roaring magic with her hands, but the cracks had spread too far to be hidden. Tears rolled down her cheeks as his eyes widened and his lips parted, his breath catching at the blood and flames. 

“Is this the spirit’s doing?” 

Fear slithered down her spine like a snake shedding its skin - what would he do if he didn’t think she could be controlled? “Will you make me tranquil if I say yes?” she spat, though her venom did nothing to quell the hard look in his eyes. 

“How many times do I have to say no before you believe me?” he shot back. “Stop being difficult and tell me.”

She wasn’t going to win this one, she may as well explain and put his worries at ease - if she was lucky. “Love is upset with me. I’ll be fine once she calms down again. The Mage Bane hurt her, she’s confused.” 

A half truth, one that Cullen saw right through. 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“She won’t kill me, she’d just end up killing herself.” Ash panted as the magic slowed to a simmer, preparing to launch another attack. At least she had time to prepare herself.

His hands tightened around her biceps.

"There are thousands of different ways for that to go wrong, and you're just sitting here taking it."

“What else would you have me do, hm?” She pulled her arms from Cullen’s grasp, and he released her without resistance. She let her arms fall to her sides. There was no use hiding it from him anymore. “Beg to be made tranquil so it can all go away?”

“I'm trying to help you!” He ran a hand through his hair, letting loose a curl that hung over his forehead. “I don't wish for you to be in pain. Is that so difficult to understand?"

“I don’t really want to be feeling this either, but there’s nothing you can—“ Her body shook around a sob as the flames ate at her skin, curling in on herself like she could keep it contained - keep it from hurting him too.

“Ashvalla—“

“You don’t have to be here.” She swallowed a groan. “I know you’re still…angry with me.”

"How could I not be?” Frustrated and incredulous and worried, he could hide none of it in the strain of his voice. “Look at what you’re doing to yourself, and for what?"

If they fought, Ash could avoid the truth of her pain. A baited hook she latched onto like a common pike.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

He raised his face to the stars, taking a deep breath - praying to his god to give him strength. Similar to how Dorian had done earlier that evening. She was skilled at driving those she cared for to witless exasperation.

“Forget it, that isn’t the point.” Damn, she’d been hoping he’d continue down that path until he got so frustrated that he stormed off. “You say that you don’t need help, but you’re…being harmed by that spirit. I will help you if you’d allow it.”

There were countless reasons she denied him swirling in her mind, too numerous to name. A deep-seated fear gripped her heart, preventing any flicker of hope from taking root that he might still harbor feelings for her. Even if such feelings lingered, the harsh reality remained unchanged - he would always fear her. 

“You’ve done enough.”

"Ah, yes, my apologies." His words dripped in sarcasm, his anger seeping out. "Clearly, this is all my fault. I'm the one that's possessed by a spirit, collapsed in agony on the blasted ground."

“She wouldn’t be so upset if you weren’t here!” The same tired argument, relentless and repetitive, but he wouldn’t listen. 

"How dare I be concerned about your welfare."

“You don’t care for me! Not—ah—anymore!” Ash yelled, voice grating as Love flared. Biting back screams, the cracks in her skin reaching her shoulder, she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Maker’s breath, Ashvalla, I never stopped caring!" His voice was almost a shout to match hers, his words strained. "You're the one who's been pushing me away! You're the one that keeps running from anything that makes you feel a damn thing! But no - no, you'd rather sit here and suffer than let anyone help you."

He cared for her, after everything, every cold glance and clipped dismissal, he cared for her. But it couldn’t be willing, he cared because she had tricked him, fooled him into believing that she was someone worthy of it. 

“You’ve spent so long putting other people’s feelings before your own that you’re practically breaking yourself doing it. And for what? So you can be a martyr?”

“No!” She winced as the magic continued to roll through her. “All I want is for the people I…the people I care about to be safe. I’m not a martyr because I will survive, I have to.”

“For someone else, right? Never for yourself.” She hated how gentle his tone became, tinged with frustration, but soothing in its low timbre. Why couldn’t he just scream at her instead? “It has become increasingly clear to me why the Inquisitor was so incensed before Adamant. She’s had to watch you do this your whole life.”

Rae. Always Rae. She had almost died too many times to count, Ash couldn’t let it stick the next time she put herself in danger.

But wasn't that just another excuse? Another wall built to keep everyone at bay? The fortress of her soul, constructed brick by brick with every rejection, every dismissal, every time she turned her back on what she truly wanted - on who she truly wanted.

Her sister's face swam before her eyes, but it blurred with his. Emerald and amber, earth and the sky at sunset, both looking at her with the same exasperated concern. Both trying to save her from herself.

Only she could save herself now.

The cracks in her chest weren’t solely from Love. She’d been fracturing for years, hairline fissures spreading with every grin to cover a grimace. Every helping hand brushed away. It was second nature, a crutch she wasn’t able to give up, lest her knees collapse and she crumble to dust.

“I’m sorry that this is so hard for you,” Ash sneered, but it didn’t have the desired effect; he remained. “I’m sorry you’ve been involved in my mess yet again and by the gods do I wish you’d just fucking leave me alone. All you’re doing is irritating Love. You’re not helping.”

His lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “Why?”

Ash blanched, and Love stabbed her spine with white-hot needles. “Why what?”

“Why am I irritating Love?” 

Oh, that look in his eyes, ripe with understanding. Did he know? Was he disgusted by her feelings, and this some sick torture? 

“Go awa—“ She couldn’t say it, couldn’t give him the answer he sought, and Love punished her for it with another bout of fiery pain. “Fuck.”

“Stop pushing yourself like this,” he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice - anger at her? She wasn’t sure. 

“I don’t have a choice, she doesn’t understand.”

His fingers found her chin, tilting her face up towards his, his brows pinched in concern, frowning in aggravation. “What doesn’t the spirit understand?”

Again with the same leading question that she had no intentions of answering.

Love pushed, and Ash whimpered.

“Please don’t make me,” she whispered under her breath, meant for Love, yet with Cullen’s proximity, she was certain he’d caught every word. “I don’t want to tell him, not like this. Please, not like this.”

She needed to find Dorian, to get him to…solve her predicament? No, there was only one solution, only she could end this.

Ash rubbed her sternum, fingers pressing against her chest as if she could physically push Love back inside. The pressure did nothing to soothe the burning, but the motion was instinctive, desperate. She winced as the pain intensified rather than abated.

"I've seen you do that before," Cullen said, his eyes tracking the movement of her hand.

Love flared hotter at his observation, as if pleased to be acknowledged. The cracks widened, tendrils of golden light seeping between Ash's fingers.

"Yeah, well," Ash said, unable to meet his gaze, "she's particularly active around you."

The moment the words left her mouth, her mind screamed in panic. Would he know what that meant? Possibly. She didn’t want to be around to find out. Incensed and feeling a jitteriness rise beneath her skin, she leapt to her feet, wavering as her weak legs adjusted to the sudden weight. Cullen followed her up and she turned from him, pacing away until his hand encircled her wrist, pulling her to a stop. 

“Stop running away,” he said tersely. "You're being reckless, and until you are no longer in danger, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“I lied to you, I allowed a relationship between us when I knew the truth would wound you deeply. Why do you still bother?”

The confession was blunt but true. He didn’t let go of her wrist. 

“You had your reasons.”

Ash scoffed, turning to face him, hand pressed to her chest as she gritted through Love’s assault. “You didn’t seem to care much for my reasons a few weeks ago.”

“I was upset, I was hurt, I still am - how did you expect me to react?” He released her wrist to throw his hands to the side in a gesture of perplexity. 

“Exactly as you did.” Cold and contrite, another honesty bestowed upon him. 

A shadow passed over Cullen's face, the moonlight catching the hollows beneath his eyes. He looked at her - really looked at her - as if peeling back layers of armour she'd spent years perfecting.

"Is that what you think?" His voice had softened to something dangerous, something raw. "That I reacted exactly as expected because you deserve nothing better?"

Love twisted inside her, a terrible longing that wrapped around her limbs like ivy climbing a forgotten ruin.

"Don't you dare pity me," she whispered, the words scraping her throat.

"Pity?" He laughed, a broken, humourless sound. "I've never pitied you. Been infuriated by you? Constantly. Worried for you? Every day. But never pity."

He stepped closer, and she stepped back in turn.

“What happened between us after Adamant…” He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “It wasn’t only your fault.”

“Yes, it is!” She insisted, hands balled into fists at her sides, angry tears falling from her cheeks to splash on her corset-squashed breasts. “It’s all my fault! And now Love won’t let me rest because I won’t do what she wants, I can’t! She doesn’t understand, and I don’t know what to do, and I’m hurting her too. I can’t get myself to stop.”

Unravelling at the seams, unable to push back the terror that rolled off her tongue.

His eyes narrowed, his gaze darting across her damaged skin as though he could find the source of her pain. “What do you mean you’re hurting her? How are you hurting a spirit?” 

At her silence, he stepped forward and wrapped his hand around her shoulder, pulling her attention to him. “Tell me,” he prompted. 

Neither of them acknowledged that the cracks in her skin receded from his hand. Ash could breathe a little easier. 

“I won’t do what she wants. I’m…stifling her.” And turning her into a demon, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud. 

His hand tightened, and the cracks receded further. “What does she want?” 

“What I can’t have.” Ash’s voice broke along with the shattered remnants of her heart. What didn’t he understand? Why did he have to keep pushing her? Did he not see how desperately she needed him, how much she craved his touch?

Something shifted in Cullen's eyes - softening his features while tightening his jaw. His gaze dropped to the fissures spreading across her chest, to the embers flickering beneath her skin. When he looked back up, his eyes held a question. His hand dipped a hairsbreadth lower. Asking permission without words.

Ash froze, trapped between the desire to flee and to surrender. Love surged beneath her skin, yearning toward him like a flower seeking light.

She met his gaze, those eyes that had haunted her dreams, now filled with an emotion too tender to name. She gave him the barest nod.

His hand descended with excruciating gentleness, fingertips brushing the crusted blood on her chest as though touching a priceless relic. When his palm pressed flat against her heart, covering the worst of the cracks, Ash's breath caught in her throat. Where his fingers splayed, the cracks receded, sealing themselves as though they'd never been. The fire that had consumed her dimmed to a bearable simmer.

His thumb swept gently across the skin. It wasn't forgiveness - not yet - but understanding. Acknowledgment that neither could voice.

For a fleeting moment, Ash allowed herself to savour it, to pretend that this touch meant forgiveness, meant healing, meant more than a temporary respite from her torment. But beneath that touch, beneath the momentary peace, a tide was rising inside her. Not Love's rage this time, but her own.

How much longer must she endure this endless cycle? This constant battle between what she wanted and what she feared? Between protecting others and destroying herself?

Gods, she was so fucking tired.

Tired of the push and pull between them. Tired of the secrets. Tired of the constant vigilance required to keep Love contained. Tired of denying herself even the smallest comforts. Tired of being strong for everyone but herself.

She was shattered shards of a childhood ceramic bowl held together by nothing but stubborn will, and even that was failing her now.

Every day felt like walking on a knife's edge, waiting for the inevitable slip that would send her plummeting into an abyss from which there would be no return. And for what? So she could maintain this façade of control? So she could protect everyone from truths they would eventually discover anyway?

What was the point of surviving if she wasn't living?

She didn't want this anymore. This half-existence, this perpetual state of barely-contained madness. She wanted peace. She wanted to breathe without feeling like her lungs were filled with broken glass. She wanted to love without fear of destruction.

She was so tired of fighting herself. Of fighting Love. Of fighting him.

The tears that spilled down her cheeks weren't born of pain but of profound, bone-deep exhaustion. A weariness that had become her, tainting every thought, every breath, every heartbeat.

She wanted it to stop. All of it. The lies, the fear, the constant struggle to keep herself together when all she wanted was to fall apart in someone's arms and be told that she didn't have to be strong anymore.

In his arms.

Ash's shoulders slumped as something inside her finally, irrevocably broke. The last of her defenses held up by shoddy mortar and scaffolding that tumbled to the ground.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered. The admission like tearing out a piece of herself, raw and bleeding. "I'm so tired, Cullen."

Not Commander, but Cullen. The man she’d lost her heart to long ago. His eyes widened slightly at her words, at the naked vulnerability. “Ash—“

No longer able to hold the weight of her anguish and fear and a desperate need she didn’t understand, she crumbled. Hot tears fell down her kohl-stained cheeks, her voice becoming doubled, like it had at Adamant when Love had spoken with her. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it! I don’t care anymore, I just can’t take it! Tell me how to fix it, please, Gods, I can't do this.” She clutched at his shirt, her voice returning to solely her own. “This fucking spirit doesn’t understand that I fucked everything up. Every time I am near you she’s begging me to close that distance, but I’m the one who put it there!”

His shock at her outburst rendered him speechless, his mouth slightly agape as if frozen in time. She continued her tirade, the words tumbling from her lips with a relentless, raw intensity, like rivulets of blood oozing from a mortal wound.

“I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, and maybe I should have, but I couldn’t. Maybe I could have trusted you or believed you when you claimed you had no intention of killing me, hurting me, or making me tranquil. I never allowed you the chance to adapt or understand. Instead, I threw my possession at you and distanced myself before you could do the same to me. I’m a coward who doesn’t know how to let anyone in, but I’m trying to learn.” Her chest heaved with panted breaths, her eyes wild as Love’s fire coursed through her veins. She sobbed through her agony. “I love you so terribly that sometimes I think it may kill me, and I would welcome it. I’m afraid and I love you and I can’t do this anymore! I can’t—Cullen, I can’t do this.”

The agony in her chest faded away, and clarity took its place. No…she hadn’t meant to admit that. But in her exhaustion and the relentless pain that had worn down her defenses, she’d let it slip, unbidden. Love was satisfied, her relief spreading under Ash’s skin - she was no longer teetering on the brink of becoming a demon. If fortune favoured her, Cullen hadn’t caught those words or, amid her incessant ranting, hadn’t registered their significance. Maybe—

No, she should know by now that counting on luck was a fool's errand. 

Cullen’s lips parted around a choked breath as he stared at her, stunned into silence. Oh Gods, this was mortifying - to profess her love to a man who…did he despise her? Surely not, as he had assured her he cared, but what did those words truly mean?

No, it didn’t matter. Nothing would change. He could care about her all he wanted, but she would never be rid of her spirit possession. Love would always be a barrier to, well, love. 

Her hand gripped her arm where it hung at her side, nails digging into the twisted, scarred flesh. She couldn’t feel anything except for the hand he’d kept affixed to her chest.

“You were supposed to be fun, not…” Ash didn’t know why she was still talking. She’d said enough, but now that she’d started, she couldn’t get herself to stop.

“What?” Cullen prompted, a burning intensity to his gaze and a hoarse bark to his voice. 

She took a shaky breath. “Everything.”

He inched closer, as if drawn in by each confession.

“Again.” He prompted, his hand moving from her chest to cup her cheek, fingers brushing away tears.

Ash blinked rapidly, certain she had misheard him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Tell me you love me. Just one more time. And then I’m going to kiss you.”

Her heart stuttered. “What?” she asked breathlessly, like he’d punched her in the gut.

“You heard me.” His eyes never left her face. “One more time, and then I’m going to kiss you.”

He leaned in a fraction, then paused, uncertainty written in the furrow of his brow. Did he think she didn't want this? That after baring her heart, she would reject him now?

Ash couldn't bear the thought of him pulling away. Not when she finally had him so close, when the possibility of everything she'd yearned for was within reach. Even if this was the last kiss, she was powerless to resist. Love hummed contentedly beneath her skin, urging her forward.

“I love you, Cullen.”

With a low, strangled noise in the back of his throat, Cullen closed the distance between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was hard and desperate, like neither of them had breathed since they’d parted, like the kiss would bring back to life what they’d destroyed in the solitude of his office.

One sword-roughened hand slid into her hair while the other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Ash's arms wound around his neck as she pressed closer, deepening the kiss.

It felt like coming home, like finding a piece of herself she’d been searching for all her life. Cullen's lips were soft yet insistent against hers, his stubble scratching at her tear-stained skin. She could taste the faintest hint of wine on his tongue, feel the strong beat of his heart against her chest.

All the pain and fear of the past hours melted away. There was only this - Cullen's arms around her, his warmth enveloping her, his kiss setting her ablaze. Love sang through her veins, no longer an agonizing burn but a joyous, radiant glow.

When they parted reluctantly, both breathless, Ash kept her eyes closed for a moment. She was afraid that if she opened them, she would find it had all been a dream. But Cullen's forehead rested against hers, his fingers gently combing through her tangled hair, and she knew this was real.

She opened her eyes to find Cullen gazing at her with such tenderness it made her heart ache. A smile tugged at her lips, mirrored on Cullen's face.

"Ashvalla," he said, rough and tender and everything in between. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

She let out a humorless laugh - why not tell him everything? What else did she have to lose? Her dignity lay shredded in the garden bed. "When should I have done that? When I was lying to you about being possessed? Or after, when you could barely look at me?” Ash said, shaking her head and trying to pull away. "But nothing's changed. I'm still possessed, you’re still afraid of her."

Cullen didn't let her go. His other hand came up to frame her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “I was afraid of Love, of what it was doing to you, what it can do to you. But losing you frightens me more.”

Ash's mind reeled, heart skipping beats as his words sank in. No, that couldn't be right. He was a former Templar, trained to hunt mages who stepped beyond the line of acceptability. Her entire existence crossed that line.

"No, that's not right." She shook her head slightly against his palms. "We were only—"

"No." Cullen cut through her protest. "I know what you’re about to say. You are not just a body to me. I am certain I made that clear, so end this tireless attempt to make me slip. There is nothing to slip on. You are…even terrain."

Even terrain. The words echoed in Ash's mind as she studied Cullen's face. If he truly feared her - if Love's manifestation had triggered the Templar instincts he'd worked so hard to shed - wouldn't she have seen it? Wouldn't there have been that telltale flicker of revulsion, that instinctive recoil she'd witnessed in others?

But as she sorted through her memories since he’d joined her in the gardens, searching his expressions for any hint of disgust or fear, she found none. When Love had cracked open her skin and spit fire, he hadn't stepped back - he'd moved closer. When the spirit had raged within her, he hadn't reached for his sword - he'd reached for her.

Every time she'd expected him to turn away, had begged him to leave, he had leaned in instead. Where she expected judgment, he offered kindness. His hands on her skin had been gentle, his eyes concerned rather than alarmed. Even now, his thumbs stroked her cheeks with a tenderness that made her want to weep.

"You're not afraid of me.”

"No," Cullen agreed firmly. "I'm afraid for you. There's a difference."

"But I lied to you," she whispered, clinging to the last thread of her resistance. "I betrayed your trust. You told me what happened to you, and I still kept my possession a secret."

"And I reacted poorly," he conceded. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, the touch reverent and hesitant, as if she might shatter beneath his fingers. Or perhaps it was he who feared breaking.

"When I learned about Love, I was angry because I thought all we had shared was a lie, that your feelings weren't real - that they were the spirit's, not yours." His eyes searched hers desperately. She hoped he found what he was looking for. "I couldn't bear the thought that what I felt was one-sided. And then we argued and I…regret how it ended, that I let you push me away.”

Love pulsed beneath Ash's skin, not in pain but in triumph, a warm glow that spread through her veins like honey.

"What you felt?" she echoed, hardly daring to breathe. Her ears fell, quivering slightly.

"I thought it was obvious. I've been told I wear my emotions on my sleeve."

"I don’t understand." She needed to hear the words, needed them spelled out in a way that left no room for misinterpretation or doubt. She held her breath, barely daring to hope.

Cullen smiled, pained and tired, but it was beautiful - he was beautiful. "I fell madly in love with you. Maker help me, but I love you still, Ashvalla. I always will."

A small, choked sound wriggled from Ash's throat. She stared at him in disbelief, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.

"But…how?”

"Because you're brave and selfless and infuriating," Cullen said with a wry grin. "You challenge me and frustrate me and make me want to be better. And yes, you hid your possession. But I…understand why, now, even if I don't agree with it.” He leaned his forehead against hers, and on instinct, she tilted her face up towards his, his breath puffing over her lips and her eyes fluttering closed. "These past weeks have been torture without you. You were there, but I couldn’t reach you."

Ash's hands came up to grip Cullen's wrists, holding him there as if afraid he might disappear. Her chest ached, but this time it wasn't from Love's fire. It was something warmer, sweeter - hope blossoming where she thought it had withered away.

"I don't deserve you," she said.

Cullen shook his head. "You deserve so much more than you give yourself credit for."

"I'm still possessed," she whispered. This was a dangerous line they were toeing, and she wanted nothing more than to bound past it and fall into his arms, but she couldn’t stand it if he changed his mind later - once reality set in. "That hasn't changed."

"No," Cullen agreed softly. "But my understanding of it has. Love isn't controlling you. She's a part of you. You are still you."

“Am I?” So quiet she almost couldn’t hear herself speak. She hadn’t been just Ash in twenty-three years, but did that mean she wasn’t still herself?

“Of course you are,” he said with a fierceness that breathed air into her tired lungs. “You’re still the same—you’re still the same woman I fell in love with.”

Creators, she loved him and he…loved her, too. She wasn’t naive enough to think that love would magically fix all their wounds, but it was a start. They would have time to sort the rest of their mess out - together.

He pulled back, his eyes roaming over her face before settling on her neck. He gently tilted her chin up, thumb brushing across the fresh scar that marred her throat. The dried blood still caked her skin, flaking off in places where her movements had cracked it. His fingers ghosted over the crusted crimson stains that ran down her chest, disappearing beneath the neckline of her ruined gown.

"When I heard you'd disappeared," he said, raw and filled with sorrow, "I thought I'd lost you without ever getting to apologize for my behaviour that night." His eyes met hers, filled with regret and a deep, aching tenderness. "I was…I don't know if I have the words to describe how distraught I was. It made me realize how much of a fool I’ve been."

Ash swallowed hard, feeling her throat bob beneath Cullen's fingers. "You weren't—"

"I was," he insisted. "I let my fear cloud my judgment. I let you push me away when I should have been trying to understand." His thumb traced the line of her jaw, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down her spine. "When they told me you'd been taken, all I could think about was how our last conversation had been an argument. How I might never get the chance to make things right."

Ash leaned into his touch. "I'm here now.”

"You are," Cullen agreed, thick with relief. "But Maker's breath, Ash, you nearly weren't. This scar…" His fingers brushed over it again, reverent and careful. "When I saw all that blood, I thought…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. None of that was your fault." His hand slid to cup the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair.

"I'm so grateful you're alright. That I have the chance to tell you how I feel, to make things right between us. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself."

Ash's heart swelled. She brought her hand up to cover Cullen's where it rested on her neck. "You’ll never hear me admit this for anything else, so listen up,” she said with a tired grin. “We both made mistakes, but we're here now. Together. That has to count for something."

A small smile tugged at Cullen's lips. "Together," he repeated like a promise.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then to the tip of her nose, before finally capturing her lips once more. This kiss was different from the first - slower, deeper, filled with all the words they couldn't quite say.

His hand pressed harder against the small of her back, and Cullen's lips moved against hers with growing urgency, pulling her closer. Ash melted into him, her fingers coiling in his hair as she kissed him. A soft moan fell from her throat as he nipped at her bottom lip.

Love hummed contentedly beneath her skin, urging her on. Ash's hands slid down Cullen's chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. His own hands dipped lower, gripping her hips and holding her flush against him.

No, this was a terrible idea. As much as she wanted to shed their clothes and fuck him in the garden, not caring who saw, it wasn’t the right time.

Reluctantly, Ash pulled away. "Wait," she panted, pressing a hand to Cullen's chest. "We can't…we have to talk about this first. There's still so much…"

Cullen cleared his throat, the round edges of his ears turning bright pink. "Yes, of course," he said. "You're right."

Ash giggled at his flustered expression - caught in his desires. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry, Commander," she purred, her lips brushing his ear. "We'll have plenty of time for that later."

His blush deepened, spreading down his neck, but his eyes darkened with hunger as they roamed over her.

"I should probably wash up," she said, gesturing to her blood-stained dress and disheveled appearance. "I'm hardly fit for polite company at the moment." Cullen's eyes softened, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face as he realized their time together was coming to an end. He didn't voice his reluctance to part, but Ash could see it in the way his hands lingered on her waist, the slight downturn of his lips as he stepped back.

"Right," he said. "That dress can’t be comfortable."

Ash nodded, and the full weight of exhaustion settled over her. The events of the day - the kidnapping, the blood loss, the emotional turmoil - all crashed down at once. Her legs felt weak, her eyelids heavy.

"Actually," she said, sounding small and uncertain, "I'm not sure I can manage on my own. Would you…would you mind helping me? Even just to get back to my room."

"Yes," he said eagerly, though he tried to hide it by averting his gaze. "Whatever you need."

Ash gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you.”

Cullen wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her as they made their way back into the manor. The halls were quiet, most of the guests having retired for the night. They encountered no one on their way to Ash's room, for which she was thankful. She didn't have the energy to field questions or concerned looks.

Each step required more effort than the last, her body finally demanding the rest she'd been denying it. But soon, she’d be able to lie down, warm and clean and heart mending. The worst part was over. Although there were many challenges left to navigate, having Cullen by her side filled her with an unshakeable joy that nothing could diminish. She loved him, and by the Creators, he loved her, too.

A second chance. They had found their way back to each other, and for now, that was enough.

A/N: Finally! They figured some of their shit out, and there's plenty more where that came from. Don't worry, Cullen will learn exactly what was going on, but it will require a deeper conversation than the gardens will allow.

I hope it was everything you wanted, and I shall see you all in the next chapter!

[tired-truffle]

Ahaha thank you!! 😊

My AO3 can be found here, but you’ll have to pry it outta my cold dead hands /silly

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 7.7k

Part 44 - I Won't Say (I'm In Love)

"You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for." - Richard Siken

Song Rec: The Line by twenty one pilots

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

(Thank you for posting this gif @sweetjulieapples, it's perfect!)

Masterlist

“You’re like a brother to me, Dorian,” Ash said as the carriage ground to a halt outside of the estate. “I meant to tell you that earlier. Sorry for the delay.”

Ash had spent the majority of the carriage ride back in silence. Sitting across from her, Dorian cast concerned glances in her direction, his eyes filled with a helplessness that mirrored his inability to find the right words. What could possibly suffice in such a situation? How does one comfort a friend who had been struck on the back of the head, kidnapped, drugged with the Mage Bane, and manipulated as a pawn against her own sister, only to have her throat slit in the end? She’d survived, but only out of sheer luck.

Dorian's eyes diffused of their consternation, a genuine smile replacing his frown. "My dear Ashvalla, I'm touched. Truly. Though your timing is impeccable as always. Nothing quite says brotherly love like near-death experiences.”

She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they grasped Dorian's hand. The calluses from his staff were oddly comforting against her palm.

"Well, you know me," she quipped, her voice still rough from the healing magic that had knitted her throat back together. "I like to keep things interesting."

Dorian squeezed her hand gently, his gaze sweeping over her with poorly concealed concern. "That you do, my friend. That you do."

The carriage door swung open, and they were ushered out by an attendant to the lonely estate.

Ash couldn’t fathom how this day could get any worse. Love, on the other hand, possessed an imagination unbound by such constraints.

Burning and bubbling beneath her skin, Love unleashed her anger, her pent-up desire that had been suppressed by both Ash and the Mage Bane. As she stepped up to the manor, she stumbled, hiding her wince by ducking her head. 

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked, his steadying hand on her elbow. 

“I will be,” she answered, eyeing the enclosed confines of the opulent manor. If Love was going to throw a temper tantrum, Ash was reticent to allow her to do so inside. “I think I need some time alone, though. I’ll be in the gardens, should anyone need me.”

“But you’re still covered in your own—“

“It’s already dried, there will be no difference in trying to clean it now or later,” Ash spoke over him. “Please, Dorian, I just…need a minute to clear my head.”

Dorian sighed, tilting his face up to the night sky like it held the answers to his suffering. “If Cullen skewers me for leaving you alone, my death will be on your hands.”

The reminder of the Commander had Love flaring again, and Ash gritted her teeth into a smile. “I owe you one,” she said, and she did - or rather, she owed him several. 

Dorian clicked his tongue against his teeth and nodded to one of the manor attendees to unlock the gate to the gardens - giving her a hard look that promised retribution should she not follow through on their deal.

Moonlight flowed across meticulously trimmed hedges, illuminating stone pathways that wound between beds of dawn lotus and roses. Crystal grace hung from latticed arbors, and the night air carried a heady floral perfume, mingling with the earthy scent of soil and the faint metallic tang of her own dried blood.

Ash followed the central path, her steps unsteady as Love pulsed angrily beneath her skin. It was like carrying a storm inside her chest, lightning crackling through her veins with each heartbeat.

A marble bench stood in a small clearing at the garden's heart, surrounded by a circle of roses. Ash sank onto it gratefully, the green silk of her gown billowing around her as she settled, spilling across the bench like liquid emerald. Ruined now by her crusted blood.

When had her life come to this? For over two decades, she’d been possessed without complications, until Cullen came into her life. He set her heart aflame, making her feel things she’d never experienced before. She’d known familial love, of course, both given and received through her bond with Rae. The love from friends had been new, Dorian opening the door to the kind of companionship she never thought she’d have. But Love wasn’t this tumultuous when Dorian didn’t speak to her for weeks, and Ash loved him dearly. Why was Cullen so different? 

"Enough," she whispered to the spirit. "You're giving me a headache on top of everything else."

But Love was not in a listening mood.

As if in answer, Love pressed her flames along the insides of Ash’s ribcage. She clutched her arms tightly around her trembling torso, her body quaking as she stifled a cry. Tell Cullen she loved him, or turn into an abomination - a choice that should have been simple but was anything but. Gods, she loved him so much it ached in her chest, raw and consuming like a dying star, deeper than any pain that Love could inflict. 

Love’s power ebbed, granting Ash a brief respite to catch her breath. She needed to banish thoughts of Cullen, to cease feeding Love the fuel for her yearning, yet by Mythal, the image of that man's face stubbornly lingered in her mind. Horror and concern that had crossed his face when he’d seen her covered in her own blood. The angry furrow of his brow as he seized her wrist in the ballroom, softening into something she couldn’t identify. How flustered he’d been when Leliana challenged him. She longed for him - for the steady comfort of his arms around her, quiet words of reassurance whispered against her skin. She’d cast him aside, and now she was paying the price. 

Love surged again, stronger and hotter than before, and Ash had to double over and bury her face in her skirt to suppress the scream clawing at her throat. Dizziness struck her as she struggled to breathe, gasping inhales that failed to replenish her lungs. Fuck, it felt like her chest had been branded by a searing iron, molten lava coating her flesh. Light filtered through her tightly shut eyelids, and she hesitantly cracked them open, staring down at her chest - a sinking stone falling to her gut. 

From over her heart, jagged cracks had erupted in her blood-crusted skin, like a spiderweb spun by a vengeful hand. Fissures branched out in every direction, converging around a core of seething, spitting flames. Love had only ignited such a transformation once before, the morning of her dress fitting after Cullen had accidentally barged in and promptly left. Was this the signal of the end? Her final warning before Love turned them into an abomination?

Ash twisted her fingers in her hair, tugging at the strands and tearing them out of her ruined updo - pinpricks across her scalp almost unnoticeable under Love’s fire.

Dorian. She needed to find Dorian. She’d meant it when she’d promised to go to him if it became too much.  

“Ashvalla? What in Andraste’s name are you doing out here on your own? And is that—you’re still covered in blood.” Cullen - because, of course, it was him - had snuck up on her. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say she had been so consumed by the pain that she failed to notice the heavy thud of his footsteps drawing nearer. 

Staying curled in on herself to hide Love’s light, she gritted out, “Go away.”

He scoffed, his earlier irritation bubbling back to the surface. She doubted that the bright lights and relentless chatter of the ball hadn’t pounded a headache into his skull and furthered his foul mood - assuming he didn’t already have one gnawing at him to begin with. "Not until you tell me why you're out here in the dark instead of in bed resting, where you ought to be."

All it had taken for her to become the recipient of his concern once more was a near-death experience at the hands of some exceedingly rude Orlesians. He should have still been at the ball, right? But perhaps she had been sitting in the gardens for longer than she’d realized.

“You’re not my minder, Commander. I owe you no explanation,” Ash spat, pathetically unable to straighten. Love, taking issue with this, released a new surge of fire that ate away at the marrow of her bones. She hissed, low and under her breath, but Cullen heard her in the silence of the garden. 

She felt him grow closer more than she heard the soft sound of his boots crushing the grass. His hand hovered over her shoulder. 

“Don’t touch me,” she growled, jerking away from his touch even as she yearned to feel it. 

“Why not?” he asked briskly, and she could perfectly picture his nettled scowl. 

“Cause fuck you and fuck off, that’s why.” Ash was well aware of how childish she was acting, but she did not have the energy to care. “Let me find my moment of peace alone.” 

Love disagreed, and Ash shuddered as another bout of fire rolled through her and boiled her organs. 

"You sit here, in blood-soaked clothes, clearly in pain, trying to find peace? What possible peace can you find in such a state?"

Her ears flattened against her skull. “Didn’t I tell you to fuck off? No need to worry about the crazy, possessed mage, Templar.”

"Oh, for the love of—“ Cullen cut himself off with a frustrated growl. She peered through the curtain of her hair and noted his hands clenching at his sides. “Is it your neck that’s bothering you? Did Solas not heal you properly?”

His hand extended toward her once more, his fingertips gently grazing her shoulder. She recoiled slightly, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. Her hands were pressed protectively against her chest as she remained bent over, her skirt concealing the glow of Love’s rage beneath. She must appear utterly disheveled; tiny specks of blood clung stubbornly to her cheeks and matted her hair, while her eyes, rimmed with smeared kohl, were bloodshot and weary.

“I said: don’t touch me.” She barred her teeth in a snarl, pointed canines glinting in the low moonlight, ears tight to the sides of her head. It did little to deter him. Love writhed, slashing at her spine, deepening Ash’s snarl. 

“You’re a mess.”

Ash’s attempt at a grin ended more in a grimace. “How sweet of you to notice.”

He wiped a hand down his tired face, his gloves discarded along with some of the more decorative pieces of his Inquisition formal wear. Had he been in the middle of undressing for the night when he’d decided to take a late-night stroll through the gardens? Was he…meeting someone out here? There were plenty of eligible women at the ball, petite and demur - the opposite of Ash in every conceivable way. Perhaps that was more his type; someone who would yield to his every command without resistance, modest and agreeable. Not her, not difficult, bossy, demanding, loud.

He liked it when I was loudly screaming his name. Her mind added unhelpfully. 

“Would you allow me to help you for once in your damn life?”

“Then leave!” she cried as the cracks in her skin lengthened, cutting through her defences. “I don’t want you here!” A lie, she wanted him with her always, but it hurt too much. The magic flared again, her body jerking of its own accord and sending her sprawling to the ground. Her knees hit the soft grass, her hands following suit as she released a strangled sob, bent over and weeping into the dirt. “Please.”

He followed after her, crouched at her side, before she’d finished her sobbed plea. “Not until you explain what’s going on. Don’t think I don’t notice that…light you’re trying to hide.”

Get up. Straighten your spine. Since when do Lavellans wallow?

Ash froze, the voice so clear she almost looked around for the source. Her mother had been dead for over two decades, yet there she was, chiding Ash as if she were still a child with skinned knees rather than a grown woman with a heart breaking apart.

You think you're the only one who's ever suffered? Stop making your problems everyone else's burden. Handle it yourself.

The phantom scolding stung, but beneath the harshness lay the steel that had shaped Ash's own backbone.

“I have it under control,” Ash said through clenched teeth, both to Cullen and the voice of her mother. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“The last thing I’m worried about is you hurting someone.” He looked her up and down, a concerned tilt to his brows. “Right now, I’m more worried about you. You could have died today.”

“But I didn’t.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m not doing this with you.” And with no further warning, he shifted to kneel in front of her, grasping her biceps, and pulled her into an upright position. She felt the sway of her body as she rose, her limbs too feeble under Love's overwhelming power to muster any resistance. 

She tried in vain to cover the roaring magic with her hands, but the cracks had spread too far to be hidden. Tears rolled down her cheeks as his eyes widened and his lips parted, his breath catching at the blood and flames. 

“Is this the spirit’s doing?” 

Fear slithered down her spine like a snake shedding its skin - what would he do if he didn’t think she could be controlled? “Will you make me tranquil if I say yes?” she spat, though her venom did nothing to quell the hard look in his eyes. 

“How many times do I have to say no before you believe me?” he shot back. “Stop being difficult and tell me.”

She wasn’t going to win this one, she may as well explain and put his worries at ease - if she was lucky. “Love is upset with me. I’ll be fine once she calms down again. The Mage Bane hurt her, she’s confused.” 

A half truth, one that Cullen saw right through. 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“She won’t kill me, she’d just end up killing herself.” Ash panted as the magic slowed to a simmer, preparing to launch another attack. At least she had time to prepare herself.

His hands tightened around her biceps.

"There are thousands of different ways for that to go wrong, and you're just sitting here taking it."

“What else would you have me do, hm?” She pulled her arms from Cullen’s grasp, and he released her without resistance. She let her arms fall to her sides. There was no use hiding it from him anymore. “Beg to be made tranquil so it can all go away?”

“I'm trying to help you!” He ran a hand through his hair, letting loose a curl that hung over his forehead. “I don't wish for you to be in pain. Is that so difficult to understand?"

“I don’t really want to be feeling this either, but there’s nothing you can—“ Her body shook around a sob as the flames ate at her skin, curling in on herself like she could keep it contained - keep it from hurting him too.

“Ashvalla—“

“You don’t have to be here.” She swallowed a groan. “I know you’re still…angry with me.”

"How could I not be?” Frustrated and incredulous and worried, he could hide none of it in the strain of his voice. “Look at what you’re doing to yourself, and for what?"

If they fought, Ash could avoid the truth of her pain. A baited hook she latched onto like a common pike.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

He raised his face to the stars, taking a deep breath - praying to his god to give him strength. Similar to how Dorian had done earlier that evening. She was skilled at driving those she cared for to witless exasperation.

“Forget it, that isn’t the point.” Damn, she’d been hoping he’d continue down that path until he got so frustrated that he stormed off. “You say that you don’t need help, but you’re…being harmed by that spirit. I will help you if you’d allow it.”

There were countless reasons she denied him swirling in her mind, too numerous to name. A deep-seated fear gripped her heart, preventing any flicker of hope from taking root that he might still harbor feelings for her. Even if such feelings lingered, the harsh reality remained unchanged - he would always fear her. 

“You’ve done enough.”

"Ah, yes, my apologies." His words dripped in sarcasm, his anger seeping out. "Clearly, this is all my fault. I'm the one that's possessed by a spirit, collapsed in agony on the blasted ground."

“She wouldn’t be so upset if you weren’t here!” The same tired argument, relentless and repetitive, but he wouldn’t listen. 

"How dare I be concerned about your welfare."

“You don’t care for me! Not—ah—anymore!” Ash yelled, voice grating as Love flared. Biting back screams, the cracks in her skin reaching her shoulder, she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Maker’s breath, Ashvalla, I never stopped caring!" His voice was almost a shout to match hers, his words strained. "You're the one who's been pushing me away! You're the one that keeps running from anything that makes you feel a damn thing! But no - no, you'd rather sit here and suffer than let anyone help you."

He cared for her, after everything, every cold glance and clipped dismissal, he cared for her. But it couldn’t be willing, he cared because she had tricked him, fooled him into believing that she was someone worthy of it. 

“You’ve spent so long putting other people’s feelings before your own that you’re practically breaking yourself doing it. And for what? So you can be a martyr?”

“No!” She winced as the magic continued to roll through her. “All I want is for the people I…the people I care about to be safe. I’m not a martyr because I will survive, I have to.”

“For someone else, right? Never for yourself.” She hated how gentle his tone became, tinged with frustration, but soothing in its low timbre. Why couldn’t he just scream at her instead? “It has become increasingly clear to me why the Inquisitor was so incensed before Adamant. She’s had to watch you do this your whole life.”

Rae. Always Rae. She had almost died too many times to count, Ash couldn’t let it stick the next time she put herself in danger.

But wasn't that just another excuse? Another wall built to keep everyone at bay? The fortress of her soul, constructed brick by brick with every rejection, every dismissal, every time she turned her back on what she truly wanted - on who she truly wanted.

Her sister's face swam before her eyes, but it blurred with his. Emerald and amber, earth and the sky at sunset, both looking at her with the same exasperated concern. Both trying to save her from herself.

Only she could save herself now.

The cracks in her chest weren’t solely from Love. She’d been fracturing for years, hairline fissures spreading with every grin to cover a grimace. Every helping hand brushed away. It was second nature, a crutch she wasn’t able to give up, lest her knees collapse and she crumble to dust.

“I’m sorry that this is so hard for you,” Ash sneered, but it didn’t have the desired effect; he remained. “I’m sorry you’ve been involved in my mess yet again and by the gods do I wish you’d just fucking leave me alone. All you’re doing is irritating Love. You’re not helping.”

His lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “Why?”

Ash blanched, and Love stabbed her spine with white-hot needles. “Why what?”

“Why am I irritating Love?” 

Oh, that look in his eyes, ripe with understanding. Did he know? Was he disgusted by her feelings, and this some sick torture? 

“Go awa—“ She couldn’t say it, couldn’t give him the answer he sought, and Love punished her for it with another bout of fiery pain. “Fuck.”

“Stop pushing yourself like this,” he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice - anger at her? She wasn’t sure. 

“I don’t have a choice, she doesn’t understand.”

His fingers found her chin, tilting her face up towards his, his brows pinched in concern, frowning in aggravation. “What doesn’t the spirit understand?”

Again with the same leading question that she had no intentions of answering.

Love pushed, and Ash whimpered.

“Please don’t make me,” she whispered under her breath, meant for Love, yet with Cullen’s proximity, she was certain he’d caught every word. “I don’t want to tell him, not like this. Please, not like this.”

She needed to find Dorian, to get him to…solve her predicament? No, there was only one solution, only she could end this.

Ash rubbed her sternum, fingers pressing against her chest as if she could physically push Love back inside. The pressure did nothing to soothe the burning, but the motion was instinctive, desperate. She winced as the pain intensified rather than abated.

"I've seen you do that before," Cullen said, his eyes tracking the movement of her hand.

Love flared hotter at his observation, as if pleased to be acknowledged. The cracks widened, tendrils of golden light seeping between Ash's fingers.

"Yeah, well," Ash said, unable to meet his gaze, "she's particularly active around you."

The moment the words left her mouth, her mind screamed in panic. Would he know what that meant? Possibly. She didn’t want to be around to find out. Incensed and feeling a jitteriness rise beneath her skin, she leapt to her feet, wavering as her weak legs adjusted to the sudden weight. Cullen followed her up and she turned from him, pacing away until his hand encircled her wrist, pulling her to a stop. 

“Stop running away,” he said tersely. "You're being reckless, and until you are no longer in danger, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“I lied to you, I allowed a relationship between us when I knew the truth would wound you deeply. Why do you still bother?”

The confession was blunt but true. He didn’t let go of her wrist. 

“You had your reasons.”

Ash scoffed, turning to face him, hand pressed to her chest as she gritted through Love’s assault. “You didn’t seem to care much for my reasons a few weeks ago.”

“I was upset, I was hurt, I still am - how did you expect me to react?” He released her wrist to throw his hands to the side in a gesture of perplexity. 

“Exactly as you did.” Cold and contrite, another honesty bestowed upon him. 

A shadow passed over Cullen's face, the moonlight catching the hollows beneath his eyes. He looked at her - really looked at her - as if peeling back layers of armour she'd spent years perfecting.

"Is that what you think?" His voice had softened to something dangerous, something raw. "That I reacted exactly as expected because you deserve nothing better?"

Love twisted inside her, a terrible longing that wrapped around her limbs like ivy climbing a forgotten ruin.

"Don't you dare pity me," she whispered, the words scraping her throat.

"Pity?" He laughed, a broken, humourless sound. "I've never pitied you. Been infuriated by you? Constantly. Worried for you? Every day. But never pity."

He stepped closer, and she stepped back in turn.

“What happened between us after Adamant…” He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “It wasn’t only your fault.”

“Yes, it is!” She insisted, hands balled into fists at her sides, angry tears falling from her cheeks to splash on her corset-squashed breasts. “It’s all my fault! And now Love won’t let me rest because I won’t do what she wants, I can’t! She doesn’t understand, and I don’t know what to do, and I’m hurting her too. I can’t get myself to stop.”

Unravelling at the seams, unable to push back the terror that rolled off her tongue.

His eyes narrowed, his gaze darting across her damaged skin as though he could find the source of her pain. “What do you mean you’re hurting her? How are you hurting a spirit?” 

At her silence, he stepped forward and wrapped his hand around her shoulder, pulling her attention to him. “Tell me,” he prompted. 

Neither of them acknowledged that the cracks in her skin receded from his hand. Ash could breathe a little easier. 

“I won’t do what she wants. I’m…stifling her.” And turning her into a demon, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud. 

His hand tightened, and the cracks receded further. “What does she want?” 

“What I can’t have.” Ash’s voice broke along with the shattered remnants of her heart. What didn’t he understand? Why did he have to keep pushing her? Did he not see how desperately she needed him, how much she craved his touch?

Something shifted in Cullen's eyes - softening his features while tightening his jaw. His gaze dropped to the fissures spreading across her chest, to the embers flickering beneath her skin. When he looked back up, his eyes held a question. His hand dipped a hairsbreadth lower. Asking permission without words.

Ash froze, trapped between the desire to flee and to surrender. Love surged beneath her skin, yearning toward him like a flower seeking light.

She met his gaze, those eyes that had haunted her dreams, now filled with an emotion too tender to name. She gave him the barest nod.

His hand descended with excruciating gentleness, fingertips brushing the crusted blood on her chest as though touching a priceless relic. When his palm pressed flat against her heart, covering the worst of the cracks, Ash's breath caught in her throat. Where his fingers splayed, the cracks receded, sealing themselves as though they'd never been. The fire that had consumed her dimmed to a bearable simmer.

His thumb swept gently across the skin. It wasn't forgiveness - not yet - but understanding. Acknowledgment that neither could voice.

For a fleeting moment, Ash allowed herself to savour it, to pretend that this touch meant forgiveness, meant healing, meant more than a temporary respite from her torment. But beneath that touch, beneath the momentary peace, a tide was rising inside her. Not Love's rage this time, but her own.

How much longer must she endure this endless cycle? This constant battle between what she wanted and what she feared? Between protecting others and destroying herself?

Gods, she was so fucking tired.

Tired of the push and pull between them. Tired of the secrets. Tired of the constant vigilance required to keep Love contained. Tired of denying herself even the smallest comforts. Tired of being strong for everyone but herself.

She was shattered shards of a childhood ceramic bowl held together by nothing but stubborn will, and even that was failing her now.

Every day felt like walking on a knife's edge, waiting for the inevitable slip that would send her plummeting into an abyss from which there would be no return. And for what? So she could maintain this façade of control? So she could protect everyone from truths they would eventually discover anyway?

What was the point of surviving if she wasn't living?

She didn't want this anymore. This half-existence, this perpetual state of barely-contained madness. She wanted peace. She wanted to breathe without feeling like her lungs were filled with broken glass. She wanted to love without fear of destruction.

She was so tired of fighting herself. Of fighting Love. Of fighting him.

The tears that spilled down her cheeks weren't born of pain but of profound, bone-deep exhaustion. A weariness that had become her, tainting every thought, every breath, every heartbeat.

She wanted it to stop. All of it. The lies, the fear, the constant struggle to keep herself together when all she wanted was to fall apart in someone's arms and be told that she didn't have to be strong anymore.

In his arms.

Ash's shoulders slumped as something inside her finally, irrevocably broke. The last of her defenses held up by shoddy mortar and scaffolding that tumbled to the ground.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered. The admission like tearing out a piece of herself, raw and bleeding. "I'm so tired, Cullen."

Not Commander, but Cullen. The man she’d lost her heart to long ago. His eyes widened slightly at her words, at the naked vulnerability. “Ash—“

No longer able to hold the weight of her anguish and fear and a desperate need she didn’t understand, she crumbled. Hot tears fell down her kohl-stained cheeks, her voice becoming doubled, like it had at Adamant when Love had spoken with her. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it! I don’t care anymore, I just can’t take it! Tell me how to fix it, please, Gods, I can't do this.” She clutched at his shirt, her voice returning to solely her own. “This fucking spirit doesn’t understand that I fucked everything up. Every time I am near you she’s begging me to close that distance, but I’m the one who put it there!”

His shock at her outburst rendered him speechless, his mouth slightly agape as if frozen in time. She continued her tirade, the words tumbling from her lips with a relentless, raw intensity, like rivulets of blood oozing from a mortal wound.

“I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, and maybe I should have, but I couldn’t. Maybe I could have trusted you or believed you when you claimed you had no intention of killing me, hurting me, or making me tranquil. I never allowed you the chance to adapt or understand. Instead, I threw my possession at you and distanced myself before you could do the same to me. I’m a coward who doesn’t know how to let anyone in, but I’m trying to learn.” Her chest heaved with panted breaths, her eyes wild as Love’s fire coursed through her veins. She sobbed through her agony. “I love you so terribly that sometimes I think it may kill me, and I would welcome it. I’m afraid and I love you and I can’t do this anymore! I can’t—Cullen, I can’t do this.”

The agony in her chest faded away, and clarity took its place. No…she hadn’t meant to admit that. But in her exhaustion and the relentless pain that had worn down her defenses, she’d let it slip, unbidden. Love was satisfied, her relief spreading under Ash’s skin - she was no longer teetering on the brink of becoming a demon. If fortune favoured her, Cullen hadn’t caught those words or, amid her incessant ranting, hadn’t registered their significance. Maybe—

No, she should know by now that counting on luck was a fool's errand. 

Cullen’s lips parted around a choked breath as he stared at her, stunned into silence. Oh Gods, this was mortifying - to profess her love to a man who…did he despise her? Surely not, as he had assured her he cared, but what did those words truly mean?

No, it didn’t matter. Nothing would change. He could care about her all he wanted, but she would never be rid of her spirit possession. Love would always be a barrier to, well, love. 

Her hand gripped her arm where it hung at her side, nails digging into the twisted, scarred flesh. She couldn’t feel anything except for the hand he’d kept affixed to her chest.

“You were supposed to be fun, not…” Ash didn’t know why she was still talking. She’d said enough, but now that she’d started, she couldn’t get herself to stop.

“What?” Cullen prompted, a burning intensity to his gaze and a hoarse bark to his voice. 

She took a shaky breath. “Everything.”

He inched closer, as if drawn in by each confession.

“Again.” He prompted, his hand moving from her chest to cup her cheek, fingers brushing away tears.

Ash blinked rapidly, certain she had misheard him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Tell me you love me. Just one more time. And then I’m going to kiss you.”

Her heart stuttered. “What?” she asked breathlessly, like he’d punched her in the gut.

“You heard me.” His eyes never left her face. “One more time, and then I’m going to kiss you.”

He leaned in a fraction, then paused, uncertainty written in the furrow of his brow. Did he think she didn't want this? That after baring her heart, she would reject him now?

Ash couldn't bear the thought of him pulling away. Not when she finally had him so close, when the possibility of everything she'd yearned for was within reach. Even if this was the last kiss, she was powerless to resist. Love hummed contentedly beneath her skin, urging her forward.

“I love you, Cullen.”

With a low, strangled noise in the back of his throat, Cullen closed the distance between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was hard and desperate, like neither of them had breathed since they’d parted, like the kiss would bring back to life what they’d destroyed in the solitude of his office.

One sword-roughened hand slid into her hair while the other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Ash's arms wound around his neck as she pressed closer, deepening the kiss.

It felt like coming home, like finding a piece of herself she’d been searching for all her life. Cullen's lips were soft yet insistent against hers, his stubble scratching at her tear-stained skin. She could taste the faintest hint of wine on his tongue, feel the strong beat of his heart against her chest.

All the pain and fear of the past hours melted away. There was only this - Cullen's arms around her, his warmth enveloping her, his kiss setting her ablaze. Love sang through her veins, no longer an agonizing burn but a joyous, radiant glow.

When they parted reluctantly, both breathless, Ash kept her eyes closed for a moment. She was afraid that if she opened them, she would find it had all been a dream. But Cullen's forehead rested against hers, his fingers gently combing through her tangled hair, and she knew this was real.

She opened her eyes to find Cullen gazing at her with such tenderness it made her heart ache. A smile tugged at her lips, mirrored on Cullen's face.

"Ashvalla," he said, rough and tender and everything in between. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

She let out a humorless laugh - why not tell him everything? What else did she have to lose? Her dignity lay shredded in the garden bed. "When should I have done that? When I was lying to you about being possessed? Or after, when you could barely look at me?” Ash said, shaking her head and trying to pull away. "But nothing's changed. I'm still possessed, you’re still afraid of her."

Cullen didn't let her go. His other hand came up to frame her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “I was afraid of Love, of what it was doing to you, what it can do to you. But losing you frightens me more.”

Ash's mind reeled, heart skipping beats as his words sank in. No, that couldn't be right. He was a former Templar, trained to hunt mages who stepped beyond the line of acceptability. Her entire existence crossed that line.

"No, that's not right." She shook her head slightly against his palms. "We were only—"

"No." Cullen cut through her protest. "I know what you’re about to say. You are not just a body to me. I am certain I made that clear, so end this tireless attempt to make me slip. There is nothing to slip on. You are…even terrain."

Even terrain. The words echoed in Ash's mind as she studied Cullen's face. If he truly feared her - if Love's manifestation had triggered the Templar instincts he'd worked so hard to shed - wouldn't she have seen it? Wouldn't there have been that telltale flicker of revulsion, that instinctive recoil she'd witnessed in others?

But as she sorted through her memories since he’d joined her in the gardens, searching his expressions for any hint of disgust or fear, she found none. When Love had cracked open her skin and spit fire, he hadn't stepped back - he'd moved closer. When the spirit had raged within her, he hadn't reached for his sword - he'd reached for her.

Every time she'd expected him to turn away, had begged him to leave, he had leaned in instead. Where she expected judgment, he offered kindness. His hands on her skin had been gentle, his eyes concerned rather than alarmed. Even now, his thumbs stroked her cheeks with a tenderness that made her want to weep.

"You're not afraid of me.”

"No," Cullen agreed firmly. "I'm afraid for you. There's a difference."

"But I lied to you," she whispered, clinging to the last thread of her resistance. "I betrayed your trust. You told me what happened to you, and I still kept my possession a secret."

"And I reacted poorly," he conceded. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, the touch reverent and hesitant, as if she might shatter beneath his fingers. Or perhaps it was he who feared breaking.

"When I learned about Love, I was angry because I thought all we had shared was a lie, that your feelings weren't real - that they were the spirit's, not yours." His eyes searched hers desperately. She hoped he found what he was looking for. "I couldn't bear the thought that what I felt was one-sided. And then we argued and I…regret how it ended, that I let you push me away.”

Love pulsed beneath Ash's skin, not in pain but in triumph, a warm glow that spread through her veins like honey.

"What you felt?" she echoed, hardly daring to breathe. Her ears fell, quivering slightly.

"I thought it was obvious. I've been told I wear my emotions on my sleeve."

"I don’t understand." She needed to hear the words, needed them spelled out in a way that left no room for misinterpretation or doubt. She held her breath, barely daring to hope.

Cullen smiled, pained and tired, but it was beautiful - he was beautiful. "I fell madly in love with you. Maker help me, but I love you still, Ashvalla. I always will."

A small, choked sound wriggled from Ash's throat. She stared at him in disbelief, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.

"But…how?”

"Because you're brave and selfless and infuriating," Cullen said with a wry grin. "You challenge me and frustrate me and make me want to be better. And yes, you hid your possession. But I…understand why, now, even if I don't agree with it.” He leaned his forehead against hers, and on instinct, she tilted her face up towards his, his breath puffing over her lips and her eyes fluttering closed. "These past weeks have been torture without you. You were there, but I couldn’t reach you."

Ash's hands came up to grip Cullen's wrists, holding him there as if afraid he might disappear. Her chest ached, but this time it wasn't from Love's fire. It was something warmer, sweeter - hope blossoming where she thought it had withered away.

"I don't deserve you," she said.

Cullen shook his head. "You deserve so much more than you give yourself credit for."

"I'm still possessed," she whispered. This was a dangerous line they were toeing, and she wanted nothing more than to bound past it and fall into his arms, but she couldn’t stand it if he changed his mind later - once reality set in. "That hasn't changed."

"No," Cullen agreed softly. "But my understanding of it has. Love isn't controlling you. She's a part of you. You are still you."

“Am I?” So quiet she almost couldn’t hear herself speak. She hadn’t been just Ash in twenty-three years, but did that mean she wasn’t still herself?

“Of course you are,” he said with a fierceness that breathed air into her tired lungs. “You’re still the same—you’re still the same woman I fell in love with.”

Creators, she loved him and he…loved her, too. She wasn’t naive enough to think that love would magically fix all their wounds, but it was a start. They would have time to sort the rest of their mess out - together.

He pulled back, his eyes roaming over her face before settling on her neck. He gently tilted her chin up, thumb brushing across the fresh scar that marred her throat. The dried blood still caked her skin, flaking off in places where her movements had cracked it. His fingers ghosted over the crusted crimson stains that ran down her chest, disappearing beneath the neckline of her ruined gown.

"When I heard you'd disappeared," he said, raw and filled with sorrow, "I thought I'd lost you without ever getting to apologize for my behaviour that night." His eyes met hers, filled with regret and a deep, aching tenderness. "I was…I don't know if I have the words to describe how distraught I was. It made me realize how much of a fool I’ve been."

Ash swallowed hard, feeling her throat bob beneath Cullen's fingers. "You weren't—"

"I was," he insisted. "I let my fear cloud my judgment. I let you push me away when I should have been trying to understand." His thumb traced the line of her jaw, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down her spine. "When they told me you'd been taken, all I could think about was how our last conversation had been an argument. How I might never get the chance to make things right."

Ash leaned into his touch. "I'm here now.”

"You are," Cullen agreed, thick with relief. "But Maker's breath, Ash, you nearly weren't. This scar…" His fingers brushed over it again, reverent and careful. "When I saw all that blood, I thought…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. None of that was your fault." His hand slid to cup the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair.

"I'm so grateful you're alright. That I have the chance to tell you how I feel, to make things right between us. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself."

Ash's heart swelled. She brought her hand up to cover Cullen's where it rested on her neck. "You’ll never hear me admit this for anything else, so listen up,” she said with a tired grin. “We both made mistakes, but we're here now. Together. That has to count for something."

A small smile tugged at Cullen's lips. "Together," he repeated like a promise.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then to the tip of her nose, before finally capturing her lips once more. This kiss was different from the first - slower, deeper, filled with all the words they couldn't quite say.

His hand pressed harder against the small of her back, and Cullen's lips moved against hers with growing urgency, pulling her closer. Ash melted into him, her fingers coiling in his hair as she kissed him. A soft moan fell from her throat as he nipped at her bottom lip.

Love hummed contentedly beneath her skin, urging her on. Ash's hands slid down Cullen's chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. His own hands dipped lower, gripping her hips and holding her flush against him.

No, this was a terrible idea. As much as she wanted to shed their clothes and fuck him in the garden, not caring who saw, it wasn’t the right time.

Reluctantly, Ash pulled away. "Wait," she panted, pressing a hand to Cullen's chest. "We can't…we have to talk about this first. There's still so much…"

Cullen cleared his throat, the round edges of his ears turning bright pink. "Yes, of course," he said. "You're right."

Ash giggled at his flustered expression - caught in his desires. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry, Commander," she purred, her lips brushing his ear. "We'll have plenty of time for that later."

His blush deepened, spreading down his neck, but his eyes darkened with hunger as they roamed over her.

"I should probably wash up," she said, gesturing to her blood-stained dress and disheveled appearance. "I'm hardly fit for polite company at the moment." Cullen's eyes softened, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face as he realized their time together was coming to an end. He didn't voice his reluctance to part, but Ash could see it in the way his hands lingered on her waist, the slight downturn of his lips as he stepped back.

"Right," he said. "That dress can’t be comfortable."

Ash nodded, and the full weight of exhaustion settled over her. The events of the day - the kidnapping, the blood loss, the emotional turmoil - all crashed down at once. Her legs felt weak, her eyelids heavy.

"Actually," she said, sounding small and uncertain, "I'm not sure I can manage on my own. Would you…would you mind helping me? Even just to get back to my room."

"Yes," he said eagerly, though he tried to hide it by averting his gaze. "Whatever you need."

Ash gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you.”

Cullen wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her as they made their way back into the manor. The halls were quiet, most of the guests having retired for the night. They encountered no one on their way to Ash's room, for which she was thankful. She didn't have the energy to field questions or concerned looks.

Each step required more effort than the last, her body finally demanding the rest she'd been denying it. But soon, she’d be able to lie down, warm and clean and heart mending. The worst part was over. Although there were many challenges left to navigate, having Cullen by her side filled her with an unshakeable joy that nothing could diminish. She loved him, and by the Creators, he loved her, too.

A second chance. They had found their way back to each other, and for now, that was enough.

A/N: Finally! They figured some of their shit out, and there's plenty more where that came from. Don't worry, Cullen will learn exactly what was going on, but it will require a deeper conversation than the gardens will allow.

I hope it was everything you wanted, and I shall see you all in the next chapter!

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 7.7k

Part 44 - I Won't Say (I'm In Love)

"You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for." - Richard Siken

Song Rec: The Line by twenty one pilots

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

(Thank you for posting this gif @sweetjulieapples, it's perfect!)

Masterlist

“You’re like a brother to me, Dorian,” Ash said as the carriage ground to a halt outside of the estate. “I meant to tell you that earlier. Sorry for the delay.”

Ash had spent the majority of the carriage ride back in silence. Sitting across from her, Dorian cast concerned glances in her direction, his eyes filled with a helplessness that mirrored his inability to find the right words. What could possibly suffice in such a situation? How does one comfort a friend who had been struck on the back of the head, kidnapped, drugged with the Mage Bane, and manipulated as a pawn against her own sister, only to have her throat slit in the end? She’d survived, but only out of sheer luck.

Dorian's eyes diffused of their consternation, a genuine smile replacing his frown. "My dear Ashvalla, I'm touched. Truly. Though your timing is impeccable as always. Nothing quite says brotherly love like near-death experiences.”

She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they grasped Dorian's hand. The calluses from his staff were oddly comforting against her palm.

"Well, you know me," she quipped, her voice still rough from the healing magic that had knitted her throat back together. "I like to keep things interesting."

Dorian squeezed her hand gently, his gaze sweeping over her with poorly concealed concern. "That you do, my friend. That you do."

The carriage door swung open, and they were ushered out by an attendant to the lonely estate.

Ash couldn’t fathom how this day could get any worse. Love, on the other hand, possessed an imagination unbound by such constraints.

Burning and bubbling beneath her skin, Love unleashed her anger, her pent-up desire that had been suppressed by both Ash and the Mage Bane. As she stepped up to the manor, she stumbled, hiding her wince by ducking her head. 

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked, his steadying hand on her elbow. 

“I will be,” she answered, eyeing the enclosed confines of the opulent manor. If Love was going to throw a temper tantrum, Ash was reticent to allow her to do so inside. “I think I need some time alone, though. I’ll be in the gardens, should anyone need me.”

“But you’re still covered in your own—“

“It’s already dried, there will be no difference in trying to clean it now or later,” Ash spoke over him. “Please, Dorian, I just…need a minute to clear my head.”

Dorian sighed, tilting his face up to the night sky like it held the answers to his suffering. “If Cullen skewers me for leaving you alone, my death will be on your hands.”

The reminder of the Commander had Love flaring again, and Ash gritted her teeth into a smile. “I owe you one,” she said, and she did - or rather, she owed him several. 

Dorian clicked his tongue against his teeth and nodded to one of the manor attendees to unlock the gate to the gardens - giving her a hard look that promised retribution should she not follow through on their deal.

Moonlight flowed across meticulously trimmed hedges, illuminating stone pathways that wound between beds of dawn lotus and roses. Crystal grace hung from latticed arbors, and the night air carried a heady floral perfume, mingling with the earthy scent of soil and the faint metallic tang of her own dried blood.

Ash followed the central path, her steps unsteady as Love pulsed angrily beneath her skin. It was like carrying a storm inside her chest, lightning crackling through her veins with each heartbeat.

A marble bench stood in a small clearing at the garden's heart, surrounded by a circle of roses. Ash sank onto it gratefully, the green silk of her gown billowing around her as she settled, spilling across the bench like liquid emerald. Ruined now by her crusted blood.

When had her life come to this? For over two decades, she’d been possessed without complications, until Cullen came into her life. He set her heart aflame, making her feel things she’d never experienced before. She’d known familial love, of course, both given and received through her bond with Rae. The love from friends had been new, Dorian opening the door to the kind of companionship she never thought she’d have. But Love wasn’t this tumultuous when Dorian didn’t speak to her for weeks, and Ash loved him dearly. Why was Cullen so different? 

"Enough," she whispered to the spirit. "You're giving me a headache on top of everything else."

But Love was not in a listening mood.

As if in answer, Love pressed her flames along the insides of Ash’s ribcage. She clutched her arms tightly around her trembling torso, her body quaking as she stifled a cry. Tell Cullen she loved him, or turn into an abomination - a choice that should have been simple but was anything but. Gods, she loved him so much it ached in her chest, raw and consuming like a dying star, deeper than any pain that Love could inflict. 

Love’s power ebbed, granting Ash a brief respite to catch her breath. She needed to banish thoughts of Cullen, to cease feeding Love the fuel for her yearning, yet by Mythal, the image of that man's face stubbornly lingered in her mind. Horror and concern that had crossed his face when he’d seen her covered in her own blood. The angry furrow of his brow as he seized her wrist in the ballroom, softening into something she couldn’t identify. How flustered he’d been when Leliana challenged him. She longed for him - for the steady comfort of his arms around her, quiet words of reassurance whispered against her skin. She’d cast him aside, and now she was paying the price. 

Love surged again, stronger and hotter than before, and Ash had to double over and bury her face in her skirt to suppress the scream clawing at her throat. Dizziness struck her as she struggled to breathe, gasping inhales that failed to replenish her lungs. Fuck, it felt like her chest had been branded by a searing iron, molten lava coating her flesh. Light filtered through her tightly shut eyelids, and she hesitantly cracked them open, staring down at her chest - a sinking stone falling to her gut. 

From over her heart, jagged cracks had erupted in her blood-crusted skin, like a spiderweb spun by a vengeful hand. Fissures branched out in every direction, converging around a core of seething, spitting flames. Love had only ignited such a transformation once before, the morning of her dress fitting after Cullen had accidentally barged in and promptly left. Was this the signal of the end? Her final warning before Love turned them into an abomination?

Ash twisted her fingers in her hair, tugging at the strands and tearing them out of her ruined updo - pinpricks across her scalp almost unnoticeable under Love’s fire.

Dorian. She needed to find Dorian. She’d meant it when she’d promised to go to him if it became too much.  

“Ashvalla? What in Andraste’s name are you doing out here on your own? And is that—you’re still covered in blood.” Cullen - because, of course, it was him - had snuck up on her. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say she had been so consumed by the pain that she failed to notice the heavy thud of his footsteps drawing nearer. 

Staying curled in on herself to hide Love’s light, she gritted out, “Go away.”

He scoffed, his earlier irritation bubbling back to the surface. She doubted that the bright lights and relentless chatter of the ball hadn’t pounded a headache into his skull and furthered his foul mood - assuming he didn’t already have one gnawing at him to begin with. "Not until you tell me why you're out here in the dark instead of in bed resting, where you ought to be."

All it had taken for her to become the recipient of his concern once more was a near-death experience at the hands of some exceedingly rude Orlesians. He should have still been at the ball, right? But perhaps she had been sitting in the gardens for longer than she’d realized.

“You’re not my minder, Commander. I owe you no explanation,” Ash spat, pathetically unable to straighten. Love, taking issue with this, released a new surge of fire that ate away at the marrow of her bones. She hissed, low and under her breath, but Cullen heard her in the silence of the garden. 

She felt him grow closer more than she heard the soft sound of his boots crushing the grass. His hand hovered over her shoulder. 

“Don’t touch me,” she growled, jerking away from his touch even as she yearned to feel it. 

“Why not?” he asked briskly, and she could perfectly picture his nettled scowl. 

“Cause fuck you and fuck off, that’s why.” Ash was well aware of how childish she was acting, but she did not have the energy to care. “Let me find my moment of peace alone.” 

Love disagreed, and Ash shuddered as another bout of fire rolled through her and boiled her organs. 

"You sit here, in blood-soaked clothes, clearly in pain, trying to find peace? What possible peace can you find in such a state?"

Her ears flattened against her skull. “Didn’t I tell you to fuck off? No need to worry about the crazy, possessed mage, Templar.”

"Oh, for the love of—“ Cullen cut himself off with a frustrated growl. She peered through the curtain of her hair and noted his hands clenching at his sides. “Is it your neck that’s bothering you? Did Solas not heal you properly?”

His hand extended toward her once more, his fingertips gently grazing her shoulder. She recoiled slightly, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. Her hands were pressed protectively against her chest as she remained bent over, her skirt concealing the glow of Love’s rage beneath. She must appear utterly disheveled; tiny specks of blood clung stubbornly to her cheeks and matted her hair, while her eyes, rimmed with smeared kohl, were bloodshot and weary.

“I said: don’t touch me.” She barred her teeth in a snarl, pointed canines glinting in the low moonlight, ears tight to the sides of her head. It did little to deter him. Love writhed, slashing at her spine, deepening Ash’s snarl. 

“You’re a mess.”

Ash’s attempt at a grin ended more in a grimace. “How sweet of you to notice.”

He wiped a hand down his tired face, his gloves discarded along with some of the more decorative pieces of his Inquisition formal wear. Had he been in the middle of undressing for the night when he’d decided to take a late-night stroll through the gardens? Was he…meeting someone out here? There were plenty of eligible women at the ball, petite and demur - the opposite of Ash in every conceivable way. Perhaps that was more his type; someone who would yield to his every command without resistance, modest and agreeable. Not her, not difficult, bossy, demanding, loud.

He liked it when I was loudly screaming his name. Her mind added unhelpfully. 

“Would you allow me to help you for once in your damn life?”

“Then leave!” she cried as the cracks in her skin lengthened, cutting through her defences. “I don’t want you here!” A lie, she wanted him with her always, but it hurt too much. The magic flared again, her body jerking of its own accord and sending her sprawling to the ground. Her knees hit the soft grass, her hands following suit as she released a strangled sob, bent over and weeping into the dirt. “Please.”

He followed after her, crouched at her side, before she’d finished her sobbed plea. “Not until you explain what’s going on. Don’t think I don’t notice that…light you’re trying to hide.”

Get up. Straighten your spine. Since when do Lavellans wallow?

Ash froze, the voice so clear she almost looked around for the source. Her mother had been dead for over two decades, yet there she was, chiding Ash as if she were still a child with skinned knees rather than a grown woman with a heart breaking apart.

You think you're the only one who's ever suffered? Stop making your problems everyone else's burden. Handle it yourself.

The phantom scolding stung, but beneath the harshness lay the steel that had shaped Ash's own backbone.

“I have it under control,” Ash said through clenched teeth, both to Cullen and the voice of her mother. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“The last thing I’m worried about is you hurting someone.” He looked her up and down, a concerned tilt to his brows. “Right now, I’m more worried about you. You could have died today.”

“But I didn’t.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m not doing this with you.” And with no further warning, he shifted to kneel in front of her, grasping her biceps, and pulled her into an upright position. She felt the sway of her body as she rose, her limbs too feeble under Love's overwhelming power to muster any resistance. 

She tried in vain to cover the roaring magic with her hands, but the cracks had spread too far to be hidden. Tears rolled down her cheeks as his eyes widened and his lips parted, his breath catching at the blood and flames. 

“Is this the spirit’s doing?” 

Fear slithered down her spine like a snake shedding its skin - what would he do if he didn’t think she could be controlled? “Will you make me tranquil if I say yes?” she spat, though her venom did nothing to quell the hard look in his eyes. 

“How many times do I have to say no before you believe me?” he shot back. “Stop being difficult and tell me.”

She wasn’t going to win this one, she may as well explain and put his worries at ease - if she was lucky. “Love is upset with me. I’ll be fine once she calms down again. The Mage Bane hurt her, she’s confused.” 

A half truth, one that Cullen saw right through. 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“She won’t kill me, she’d just end up killing herself.” Ash panted as the magic slowed to a simmer, preparing to launch another attack. At least she had time to prepare herself.

His hands tightened around her biceps.

"There are thousands of different ways for that to go wrong, and you're just sitting here taking it."

“What else would you have me do, hm?” She pulled her arms from Cullen’s grasp, and he released her without resistance. She let her arms fall to her sides. There was no use hiding it from him anymore. “Beg to be made tranquil so it can all go away?”

“I'm trying to help you!” He ran a hand through his hair, letting loose a curl that hung over his forehead. “I don't wish for you to be in pain. Is that so difficult to understand?"

“I don’t really want to be feeling this either, but there’s nothing you can—“ Her body shook around a sob as the flames ate at her skin, curling in on herself like she could keep it contained - keep it from hurting him too.

“Ashvalla—“

“You don’t have to be here.” She swallowed a groan. “I know you’re still…angry with me.”

"How could I not be?” Frustrated and incredulous and worried, he could hide none of it in the strain of his voice. “Look at what you’re doing to yourself, and for what?"

If they fought, Ash could avoid the truth of her pain. A baited hook she latched onto like a common pike.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

He raised his face to the stars, taking a deep breath - praying to his god to give him strength. Similar to how Dorian had done earlier that evening. She was skilled at driving those she cared for to witless exasperation.

“Forget it, that isn’t the point.” Damn, she’d been hoping he’d continue down that path until he got so frustrated that he stormed off. “You say that you don’t need help, but you’re…being harmed by that spirit. I will help you if you’d allow it.”

There were countless reasons she denied him swirling in her mind, too numerous to name. A deep-seated fear gripped her heart, preventing any flicker of hope from taking root that he might still harbor feelings for her. Even if such feelings lingered, the harsh reality remained unchanged - he would always fear her. 

“You’ve done enough.”

"Ah, yes, my apologies." His words dripped in sarcasm, his anger seeping out. "Clearly, this is all my fault. I'm the one that's possessed by a spirit, collapsed in agony on the blasted ground."

“She wouldn’t be so upset if you weren’t here!” The same tired argument, relentless and repetitive, but he wouldn’t listen. 

"How dare I be concerned about your welfare."

“You don’t care for me! Not—ah—anymore!” Ash yelled, voice grating as Love flared. Biting back screams, the cracks in her skin reaching her shoulder, she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Maker’s breath, Ashvalla, I never stopped caring!" His voice was almost a shout to match hers, his words strained. "You're the one who's been pushing me away! You're the one that keeps running from anything that makes you feel a damn thing! But no - no, you'd rather sit here and suffer than let anyone help you."

He cared for her, after everything, every cold glance and clipped dismissal, he cared for her. But it couldn’t be willing, he cared because she had tricked him, fooled him into believing that she was someone worthy of it. 

“You’ve spent so long putting other people’s feelings before your own that you’re practically breaking yourself doing it. And for what? So you can be a martyr?”

“No!” She winced as the magic continued to roll through her. “All I want is for the people I…the people I care about to be safe. I’m not a martyr because I will survive, I have to.”

“For someone else, right? Never for yourself.” She hated how gentle his tone became, tinged with frustration, but soothing in its low timbre. Why couldn’t he just scream at her instead? “It has become increasingly clear to me why the Inquisitor was so incensed before Adamant. She’s had to watch you do this your whole life.”

Rae. Always Rae. She had almost died too many times to count, Ash couldn’t let it stick the next time she put herself in danger.

But wasn't that just another excuse? Another wall built to keep everyone at bay? The fortress of her soul, constructed brick by brick with every rejection, every dismissal, every time she turned her back on what she truly wanted - on who she truly wanted.

Her sister's face swam before her eyes, but it blurred with his. Emerald and amber, earth and the sky at sunset, both looking at her with the same exasperated concern. Both trying to save her from herself.

Only she could save herself now.

The cracks in her chest weren’t solely from Love. She’d been fracturing for years, hairline fissures spreading with every grin to cover a grimace. Every helping hand brushed away. It was second nature, a crutch she wasn’t able to give up, lest her knees collapse and she crumble to dust.

“I’m sorry that this is so hard for you,” Ash sneered, but it didn’t have the desired effect; he remained. “I’m sorry you’ve been involved in my mess yet again and by the gods do I wish you’d just fucking leave me alone. All you’re doing is irritating Love. You’re not helping.”

His lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “Why?”

Ash blanched, and Love stabbed her spine with white-hot needles. “Why what?”

“Why am I irritating Love?” 

Oh, that look in his eyes, ripe with understanding. Did he know? Was he disgusted by her feelings, and this some sick torture? 

“Go awa—“ She couldn’t say it, couldn’t give him the answer he sought, and Love punished her for it with another bout of fiery pain. “Fuck.”

“Stop pushing yourself like this,” he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice - anger at her? She wasn’t sure. 

“I don’t have a choice, she doesn’t understand.”

His fingers found her chin, tilting her face up towards his, his brows pinched in concern, frowning in aggravation. “What doesn’t the spirit understand?”

Again with the same leading question that she had no intentions of answering.

Love pushed, and Ash whimpered.

“Please don’t make me,” she whispered under her breath, meant for Love, yet with Cullen’s proximity, she was certain he’d caught every word. “I don’t want to tell him, not like this. Please, not like this.”

She needed to find Dorian, to get him to…solve her predicament? No, there was only one solution, only she could end this.

Ash rubbed her sternum, fingers pressing against her chest as if she could physically push Love back inside. The pressure did nothing to soothe the burning, but the motion was instinctive, desperate. She winced as the pain intensified rather than abated.

"I've seen you do that before," Cullen said, his eyes tracking the movement of her hand.

Love flared hotter at his observation, as if pleased to be acknowledged. The cracks widened, tendrils of golden light seeping between Ash's fingers.

"Yeah, well," Ash said, unable to meet his gaze, "she's particularly active around you."

The moment the words left her mouth, her mind screamed in panic. Would he know what that meant? Possibly. She didn’t want to be around to find out. Incensed and feeling a jitteriness rise beneath her skin, she leapt to her feet, wavering as her weak legs adjusted to the sudden weight. Cullen followed her up and she turned from him, pacing away until his hand encircled her wrist, pulling her to a stop. 

“Stop running away,” he said tersely. "You're being reckless, and until you are no longer in danger, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“I lied to you, I allowed a relationship between us when I knew the truth would wound you deeply. Why do you still bother?”

The confession was blunt but true. He didn’t let go of her wrist. 

“You had your reasons.”

Ash scoffed, turning to face him, hand pressed to her chest as she gritted through Love’s assault. “You didn’t seem to care much for my reasons a few weeks ago.”

“I was upset, I was hurt, I still am - how did you expect me to react?” He released her wrist to throw his hands to the side in a gesture of perplexity. 

“Exactly as you did.” Cold and contrite, another honesty bestowed upon him. 

A shadow passed over Cullen's face, the moonlight catching the hollows beneath his eyes. He looked at her - really looked at her - as if peeling back layers of armour she'd spent years perfecting.

"Is that what you think?" His voice had softened to something dangerous, something raw. "That I reacted exactly as expected because you deserve nothing better?"

Love twisted inside her, a terrible longing that wrapped around her limbs like ivy climbing a forgotten ruin.

"Don't you dare pity me," she whispered, the words scraping her throat.

"Pity?" He laughed, a broken, humourless sound. "I've never pitied you. Been infuriated by you? Constantly. Worried for you? Every day. But never pity."

He stepped closer, and she stepped back in turn.

“What happened between us after Adamant…” He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “It wasn’t only your fault.”

“Yes, it is!” She insisted, hands balled into fists at her sides, angry tears falling from her cheeks to splash on her corset-squashed breasts. “It’s all my fault! And now Love won’t let me rest because I won’t do what she wants, I can’t! She doesn’t understand, and I don’t know what to do, and I’m hurting her too. I can’t get myself to stop.”

Unravelling at the seams, unable to push back the terror that rolled off her tongue.

His eyes narrowed, his gaze darting across her damaged skin as though he could find the source of her pain. “What do you mean you’re hurting her? How are you hurting a spirit?” 

At her silence, he stepped forward and wrapped his hand around her shoulder, pulling her attention to him. “Tell me,” he prompted. 

Neither of them acknowledged that the cracks in her skin receded from his hand. Ash could breathe a little easier. 

“I won’t do what she wants. I’m…stifling her.” And turning her into a demon, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud. 

His hand tightened, and the cracks receded further. “What does she want?” 

“What I can’t have.” Ash’s voice broke along with the shattered remnants of her heart. What didn’t he understand? Why did he have to keep pushing her? Did he not see how desperately she needed him, how much she craved his touch?

Something shifted in Cullen's eyes - softening his features while tightening his jaw. His gaze dropped to the fissures spreading across her chest, to the embers flickering beneath her skin. When he looked back up, his eyes held a question. His hand dipped a hairsbreadth lower. Asking permission without words.

Ash froze, trapped between the desire to flee and to surrender. Love surged beneath her skin, yearning toward him like a flower seeking light.

She met his gaze, those eyes that had haunted her dreams, now filled with an emotion too tender to name. She gave him the barest nod.

His hand descended with excruciating gentleness, fingertips brushing the crusted blood on her chest as though touching a priceless relic. When his palm pressed flat against her heart, covering the worst of the cracks, Ash's breath caught in her throat. Where his fingers splayed, the cracks receded, sealing themselves as though they'd never been. The fire that had consumed her dimmed to a bearable simmer.

His thumb swept gently across the skin. It wasn't forgiveness - not yet - but understanding. Acknowledgment that neither could voice.

For a fleeting moment, Ash allowed herself to savour it, to pretend that this touch meant forgiveness, meant healing, meant more than a temporary respite from her torment. But beneath that touch, beneath the momentary peace, a tide was rising inside her. Not Love's rage this time, but her own.

How much longer must she endure this endless cycle? This constant battle between what she wanted and what she feared? Between protecting others and destroying herself?

Gods, she was so fucking tired.

Tired of the push and pull between them. Tired of the secrets. Tired of the constant vigilance required to keep Love contained. Tired of denying herself even the smallest comforts. Tired of being strong for everyone but herself.

She was shattered shards of a childhood ceramic bowl held together by nothing but stubborn will, and even that was failing her now.

Every day felt like walking on a knife's edge, waiting for the inevitable slip that would send her plummeting into an abyss from which there would be no return. And for what? So she could maintain this façade of control? So she could protect everyone from truths they would eventually discover anyway?

What was the point of surviving if she wasn't living?

She didn't want this anymore. This half-existence, this perpetual state of barely-contained madness. She wanted peace. She wanted to breathe without feeling like her lungs were filled with broken glass. She wanted to love without fear of destruction.

She was so tired of fighting herself. Of fighting Love. Of fighting him.

The tears that spilled down her cheeks weren't born of pain but of profound, bone-deep exhaustion. A weariness that had become her, tainting every thought, every breath, every heartbeat.

She wanted it to stop. All of it. The lies, the fear, the constant struggle to keep herself together when all she wanted was to fall apart in someone's arms and be told that she didn't have to be strong anymore.

In his arms.

Ash's shoulders slumped as something inside her finally, irrevocably broke. The last of her defenses held up by shoddy mortar and scaffolding that tumbled to the ground.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered. The admission like tearing out a piece of herself, raw and bleeding. "I'm so tired, Cullen."

Not Commander, but Cullen. The man she’d lost her heart to long ago. His eyes widened slightly at her words, at the naked vulnerability. “Ash—“

No longer able to hold the weight of her anguish and fear and a desperate need she didn’t understand, she crumbled. Hot tears fell down her kohl-stained cheeks, her voice becoming doubled, like it had at Adamant when Love had spoken with her. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it! I don’t care anymore, I just can’t take it! Tell me how to fix it, please, Gods, I can't do this.” She clutched at his shirt, her voice returning to solely her own. “This fucking spirit doesn’t understand that I fucked everything up. Every time I am near you she’s begging me to close that distance, but I’m the one who put it there!”

His shock at her outburst rendered him speechless, his mouth slightly agape as if frozen in time. She continued her tirade, the words tumbling from her lips with a relentless, raw intensity, like rivulets of blood oozing from a mortal wound.

“I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, and maybe I should have, but I couldn’t. Maybe I could have trusted you or believed you when you claimed you had no intention of killing me, hurting me, or making me tranquil. I never allowed you the chance to adapt or understand. Instead, I threw my possession at you and distanced myself before you could do the same to me. I’m a coward who doesn’t know how to let anyone in, but I’m trying to learn.” Her chest heaved with panted breaths, her eyes wild as Love’s fire coursed through her veins. She sobbed through her agony. “I love you so terribly that sometimes I think it may kill me, and I would welcome it. I’m afraid and I love you and I can’t do this anymore! I can’t—Cullen, I can’t do this.”

The agony in her chest faded away, and clarity took its place. No…she hadn’t meant to admit that. But in her exhaustion and the relentless pain that had worn down her defenses, she’d let it slip, unbidden. Love was satisfied, her relief spreading under Ash’s skin - she was no longer teetering on the brink of becoming a demon. If fortune favoured her, Cullen hadn’t caught those words or, amid her incessant ranting, hadn’t registered their significance. Maybe—

No, she should know by now that counting on luck was a fool's errand. 

Cullen’s lips parted around a choked breath as he stared at her, stunned into silence. Oh Gods, this was mortifying - to profess her love to a man who…did he despise her? Surely not, as he had assured her he cared, but what did those words truly mean?

No, it didn’t matter. Nothing would change. He could care about her all he wanted, but she would never be rid of her spirit possession. Love would always be a barrier to, well, love. 

Her hand gripped her arm where it hung at her side, nails digging into the twisted, scarred flesh. She couldn’t feel anything except for the hand he’d kept affixed to her chest.

“You were supposed to be fun, not…” Ash didn’t know why she was still talking. She’d said enough, but now that she’d started, she couldn’t get herself to stop.

“What?” Cullen prompted, a burning intensity to his gaze and a hoarse bark to his voice. 

She took a shaky breath. “Everything.”

He inched closer, as if drawn in by each confession.

“Again.” He prompted, his hand moving from her chest to cup her cheek, fingers brushing away tears.

Ash blinked rapidly, certain she had misheard him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Tell me you love me. Just one more time. And then I’m going to kiss you.”

Her heart stuttered. “What?” she asked breathlessly, like he’d punched her in the gut.

“You heard me.” His eyes never left her face. “One more time, and then I’m going to kiss you.”

He leaned in a fraction, then paused, uncertainty written in the furrow of his brow. Did he think she didn't want this? That after baring her heart, she would reject him now?

Ash couldn't bear the thought of him pulling away. Not when she finally had him so close, when the possibility of everything she'd yearned for was within reach. Even if this was the last kiss, she was powerless to resist. Love hummed contentedly beneath her skin, urging her forward.

“I love you, Cullen.”

With a low, strangled noise in the back of his throat, Cullen closed the distance between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was hard and desperate, like neither of them had breathed since they’d parted, like the kiss would bring back to life what they’d destroyed in the solitude of his office.

One sword-roughened hand slid into her hair while the other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Ash's arms wound around his neck as she pressed closer, deepening the kiss.

It felt like coming home, like finding a piece of herself she’d been searching for all her life. Cullen's lips were soft yet insistent against hers, his stubble scratching at her tear-stained skin. She could taste the faintest hint of wine on his tongue, feel the strong beat of his heart against her chest.

All the pain and fear of the past hours melted away. There was only this - Cullen's arms around her, his warmth enveloping her, his kiss setting her ablaze. Love sang through her veins, no longer an agonizing burn but a joyous, radiant glow.

When they parted reluctantly, both breathless, Ash kept her eyes closed for a moment. She was afraid that if she opened them, she would find it had all been a dream. But Cullen's forehead rested against hers, his fingers gently combing through her tangled hair, and she knew this was real.

She opened her eyes to find Cullen gazing at her with such tenderness it made her heart ache. A smile tugged at her lips, mirrored on Cullen's face.

"Ashvalla," he said, rough and tender and everything in between. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

She let out a humorless laugh - why not tell him everything? What else did she have to lose? Her dignity lay shredded in the garden bed. "When should I have done that? When I was lying to you about being possessed? Or after, when you could barely look at me?” Ash said, shaking her head and trying to pull away. "But nothing's changed. I'm still possessed, you’re still afraid of her."

Cullen didn't let her go. His other hand came up to frame her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “I was afraid of Love, of what it was doing to you, what it can do to you. But losing you frightens me more.”

Ash's mind reeled, heart skipping beats as his words sank in. No, that couldn't be right. He was a former Templar, trained to hunt mages who stepped beyond the line of acceptability. Her entire existence crossed that line.

"No, that's not right." She shook her head slightly against his palms. "We were only—"

"No." Cullen cut through her protest. "I know what you’re about to say. You are not just a body to me. I am certain I made that clear, so end this tireless attempt to make me slip. There is nothing to slip on. You are…even terrain."

Even terrain. The words echoed in Ash's mind as she studied Cullen's face. If he truly feared her - if Love's manifestation had triggered the Templar instincts he'd worked so hard to shed - wouldn't she have seen it? Wouldn't there have been that telltale flicker of revulsion, that instinctive recoil she'd witnessed in others?

But as she sorted through her memories since he’d joined her in the gardens, searching his expressions for any hint of disgust or fear, she found none. When Love had cracked open her skin and spit fire, he hadn't stepped back - he'd moved closer. When the spirit had raged within her, he hadn't reached for his sword - he'd reached for her.

Every time she'd expected him to turn away, had begged him to leave, he had leaned in instead. Where she expected judgment, he offered kindness. His hands on her skin had been gentle, his eyes concerned rather than alarmed. Even now, his thumbs stroked her cheeks with a tenderness that made her want to weep.

"You're not afraid of me.”

"No," Cullen agreed firmly. "I'm afraid for you. There's a difference."

"But I lied to you," she whispered, clinging to the last thread of her resistance. "I betrayed your trust. You told me what happened to you, and I still kept my possession a secret."

"And I reacted poorly," he conceded. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, the touch reverent and hesitant, as if she might shatter beneath his fingers. Or perhaps it was he who feared breaking.

"When I learned about Love, I was angry because I thought all we had shared was a lie, that your feelings weren't real - that they were the spirit's, not yours." His eyes searched hers desperately. She hoped he found what he was looking for. "I couldn't bear the thought that what I felt was one-sided. And then we argued and I…regret how it ended, that I let you push me away.”

Love pulsed beneath Ash's skin, not in pain but in triumph, a warm glow that spread through her veins like honey.

"What you felt?" she echoed, hardly daring to breathe. Her ears fell, quivering slightly.

"I thought it was obvious. I've been told I wear my emotions on my sleeve."

"I don’t understand." She needed to hear the words, needed them spelled out in a way that left no room for misinterpretation or doubt. She held her breath, barely daring to hope.

Cullen smiled, pained and tired, but it was beautiful - he was beautiful. "I fell madly in love with you. Maker help me, but I love you still, Ashvalla. I always will."

A small, choked sound wriggled from Ash's throat. She stared at him in disbelief, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.

"But…how?”

"Because you're brave and selfless and infuriating," Cullen said with a wry grin. "You challenge me and frustrate me and make me want to be better. And yes, you hid your possession. But I…understand why, now, even if I don't agree with it.” He leaned his forehead against hers, and on instinct, she tilted her face up towards his, his breath puffing over her lips and her eyes fluttering closed. "These past weeks have been torture without you. You were there, but I couldn’t reach you."

Ash's hands came up to grip Cullen's wrists, holding him there as if afraid he might disappear. Her chest ached, but this time it wasn't from Love's fire. It was something warmer, sweeter - hope blossoming where she thought it had withered away.

"I don't deserve you," she said.

Cullen shook his head. "You deserve so much more than you give yourself credit for."

"I'm still possessed," she whispered. This was a dangerous line they were toeing, and she wanted nothing more than to bound past it and fall into his arms, but she couldn’t stand it if he changed his mind later - once reality set in. "That hasn't changed."

"No," Cullen agreed softly. "But my understanding of it has. Love isn't controlling you. She's a part of you. You are still you."

“Am I?” So quiet she almost couldn’t hear herself speak. She hadn’t been just Ash in twenty-three years, but did that mean she wasn’t still herself?

“Of course you are,” he said with a fierceness that breathed air into her tired lungs. “You’re still the same—you’re still the same woman I fell in love with.”

Creators, she loved him and he…loved her, too. She wasn’t naive enough to think that love would magically fix all their wounds, but it was a start. They would have time to sort the rest of their mess out - together.

He pulled back, his eyes roaming over her face before settling on her neck. He gently tilted her chin up, thumb brushing across the fresh scar that marred her throat. The dried blood still caked her skin, flaking off in places where her movements had cracked it. His fingers ghosted over the crusted crimson stains that ran down her chest, disappearing beneath the neckline of her ruined gown.

"When I heard you'd disappeared," he said, raw and filled with sorrow, "I thought I'd lost you without ever getting to apologize for my behaviour that night." His eyes met hers, filled with regret and a deep, aching tenderness. "I was…I don't know if I have the words to describe how distraught I was. It made me realize how much of a fool I’ve been."

Ash swallowed hard, feeling her throat bob beneath Cullen's fingers. "You weren't—"

"I was," he insisted. "I let my fear cloud my judgment. I let you push me away when I should have been trying to understand." His thumb traced the line of her jaw, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down her spine. "When they told me you'd been taken, all I could think about was how our last conversation had been an argument. How I might never get the chance to make things right."

Ash leaned into his touch. "I'm here now.”

"You are," Cullen agreed, thick with relief. "But Maker's breath, Ash, you nearly weren't. This scar…" His fingers brushed over it again, reverent and careful. "When I saw all that blood, I thought…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. None of that was your fault." His hand slid to cup the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair.

"I'm so grateful you're alright. That I have the chance to tell you how I feel, to make things right between us. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself."

Ash's heart swelled. She brought her hand up to cover Cullen's where it rested on her neck. "You’ll never hear me admit this for anything else, so listen up,” she said with a tired grin. “We both made mistakes, but we're here now. Together. That has to count for something."

A small smile tugged at Cullen's lips. "Together," he repeated like a promise.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then to the tip of her nose, before finally capturing her lips once more. This kiss was different from the first - slower, deeper, filled with all the words they couldn't quite say.

His hand pressed harder against the small of her back, and Cullen's lips moved against hers with growing urgency, pulling her closer. Ash melted into him, her fingers coiling in his hair as she kissed him. A soft moan fell from her throat as he nipped at her bottom lip.

Love hummed contentedly beneath her skin, urging her on. Ash's hands slid down Cullen's chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. His own hands dipped lower, gripping her hips and holding her flush against him.

No, this was a terrible idea. As much as she wanted to shed their clothes and fuck him in the garden, not caring who saw, it wasn’t the right time.

Reluctantly, Ash pulled away. "Wait," she panted, pressing a hand to Cullen's chest. "We can't…we have to talk about this first. There's still so much…"

Cullen cleared his throat, the round edges of his ears turning bright pink. "Yes, of course," he said. "You're right."

Ash giggled at his flustered expression - caught in his desires. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry, Commander," she purred, her lips brushing his ear. "We'll have plenty of time for that later."

His blush deepened, spreading down his neck, but his eyes darkened with hunger as they roamed over her.

"I should probably wash up," she said, gesturing to her blood-stained dress and disheveled appearance. "I'm hardly fit for polite company at the moment." Cullen's eyes softened, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face as he realized their time together was coming to an end. He didn't voice his reluctance to part, but Ash could see it in the way his hands lingered on her waist, the slight downturn of his lips as he stepped back.

"Right," he said. "That dress can’t be comfortable."

Ash nodded, and the full weight of exhaustion settled over her. The events of the day - the kidnapping, the blood loss, the emotional turmoil - all crashed down at once. Her legs felt weak, her eyelids heavy.

"Actually," she said, sounding small and uncertain, "I'm not sure I can manage on my own. Would you…would you mind helping me? Even just to get back to my room."

"Yes," he said eagerly, though he tried to hide it by averting his gaze. "Whatever you need."

Ash gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you.”

Cullen wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her as they made their way back into the manor. The halls were quiet, most of the guests having retired for the night. They encountered no one on their way to Ash's room, for which she was thankful. She didn't have the energy to field questions or concerned looks.

Each step required more effort than the last, her body finally demanding the rest she'd been denying it. But soon, she’d be able to lie down, warm and clean and heart mending. The worst part was over. Although there were many challenges left to navigate, having Cullen by her side filled her with an unshakeable joy that nothing could diminish. She loved him, and by the Creators, he loved her, too.

A second chance. They had found their way back to each other, and for now, that was enough.

Next Chapter

A/N: Finally! They figured some of their shit out, and there's plenty more where that came from. Don't worry, Cullen will learn exactly what was going on, but it will require a deeper conversation than the gardens will allow.

I hope it was everything you wanted, and I shall see you all in the next chapter!

[tired-truffle]

SCREAMING 😂 it so is

At least they’re having fun 😏

I know the brat can't be fucked out of you, but that's not going to stop me from trying. Over and over and over and over.

[tired-truffle]

OC's Looks Board

Rules: Post 10 (or more) photos to capture what one of your OCs looks like. Hair, eyes, face, nails & wardrobe. Tag to pass it on!

Thank you for tagging me @sweetjulieapples and @p0lkadotdotdot 🥰

Ashvalla (Ash Lavellan)

Link to fic in my tagged post!

Hair pre-Haven:

Hair post-Haven:

Eyes:

Body:

Face:

Wardrobe:

Tagging @knuttington and anyone else who’d like to participate!

[tired-truffle]

The City Elf and the Frog

An AlistairxWarden fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.1k

Part 4 of 4 - Epilogue

Masterlist

Letters written back and forth, exchanging witty remarks and emotions too deep to say aloud, Tabris began to know the man behind the frog. Funny and kind, patient and idealistic, Morrigan caught her blushing more than once at the words he wrote to her through the enchanted parchment.

The seasons changed, marking the passage of time through rain, snow, and finally the verdant green of a new spring. Tabris had moved three times with Morrigan, each home more temporary than the last, while Alistair worked tirelessly in Denerim. He wrote of his frustration with nobles who refused to see reason, of evidence gathered and testimonies collected from servants who had witnessed the arl's son's cruelty. Despite his royal status, changing hearts hardened by prejudice proved more difficult than breaking a witch's curse - though it had been Tabris who pulled that one off, he’d only had to let himself be kissed.

On a mild evening in Cloudreach, the enchanted parchment glowed, signaling a new message. Tabris unfolded it to find Alistair's hasty scrawl:

I've done it. Not perfectly, not completely, but enough. My father has intervened. Come to Denerim. I'll meet you outside the eastern gate at midnight in three days.

Though Morrigan warned her it was certainly a trap, Tabris found herself outside the tower gates that lined the city anyway, a place she'd never imagined she’d return to willingly. Morrigan waited in the wings, ready to intervene if necessary.

The scents of the city wafted out from the open gates, the guards typically posted absent that evening. It smelled exactly as she remembered - like wet dog, cheap ale, and too many people living in too small a space. Alistair waited as promised, cloaked and hooded, but she recognized him instantly.

"You came," he whispered, pulling her into a tight hug that she readily returned. Their first non-amphibian hug, she noted. Warm and comforting, she wasn’t sure she could ever go without it again. It was much more enjoyable when he wasn’t damp.

"I did," she replied, taking a reluctant step back, searching his face for any hint of what he was planning.

The truth, when he explained it, was both victory and defeat. Most of the nobility still believed her guilty, but King Maric had seen the wisdom in his son's unwavering defense of an elven woman.

"Politics," Alistair explained with a grimace. "My father says the alienage elves grow restless. Relations between humans and elves worsen each year. He thinks…" Alistair paused, his cheeks colouring slightly, and his eyes darted around as though afraid of being watched. "He suggested that a marriage between us would serve as a powerful symbol. A royal wedding to an elf from the alienage - it would force the nobility to acknowledge you as more than just…"

"A knife-ear?" Tabris supplied when he faltered.

"Their words, never mine," he said fiercely, taking her hands in his - callused from swordplay and large enough to engulf her own almost completely. Humans were very large. "But yes. My father believes it would begin healing the rift between our people. And I…maybe this is too forward since you’ve only known me as a frog or through witchy parchment, but I find I rather like the idea. If you would have me, that is."

Tabris stared at their intertwined fingers, fitting together perfectly, despite the difference in size. "You're proposing a political marriage?"

"No," Alistair said firmly. "I'm proposing to you, Tabris. Just you." He squeezed her hands gently. "Not because my father suggested it, or because it would be politically advantageous, but because these past months of writing to you, of getting to know the woman who saved me twice over…I've fallen in love with you."

Her knees nearly buckled on the spot.

"That's a rather significant leap from being my pet frog," she said, her voice too airy as she attempted humor to mask the vulnerability that left her dizzy.

Alistair's laugh was soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Oh dear, she really wanted to kiss him. As a human, this time, not a frog. "I suppose it is. Though I'd argue I had a unique perspective. How many suitors can say they've seen their beloved at her most unguarded? I've watched you cry, laugh, dance terribly when you thought no one was looking—"

"I'm a wonderful dancer," she protested, her cheeks warm with a blush that reached the tips of her ears.

"Absolutely dreadful," he corrected with a grin. "But endearing. I've seen your kindness, Tabris. Your strength. Your heart. And I love all of it. All of you."

Tabris looked away, overwhelmed. The city walls loomed behind him, memories of all that had happened the last time she was there flooding back. The blood on her hands, the screams, the fear. Failing Shianni. Her ex-fiancé’s ring sat heavy on the chain around her neck.

"I killed a man here," she said quietly. "The nobles won't forget that."

"No," Alistair agreed. "They won't. But they'll learn to see you as I do - as a woman of courage and conviction who did what was necessary to protect her family."

“I…” Was she seriously considering this offer? If Morrigan was listening in - which Tabris did not doubt that she was - she’d be sneering with such disgust that Alistair may turn back into a frog through sheer force of her ire.

"I wish I had a better offer for you," he said quietly, the words almost carried away by the night breeze. "And if you refuse, I will not stop searching for ways to clear your name. I made a promise and I intend to keep it." His thumbs swept gently over her knuckles. "But as of now, this is all that I'm able to offer you - a marriage that will clear your name and perhaps begin to heal the division between our races, but that will also thrust you into a world that may not be ready to accept you."

Tabris stood silent, weighing his words. Marriage to a human prince - to Alistair. The thought should have been absurd, terrifying even. Yet as she considered it, pieces began falling into place. She could see her father again, see Shianni and Soris without fear of the guards dragging her away. More than that, she could have a voice - a real voice - in how elves were treated. A chance to improve the squalid conditions of the alienage, to advocate for her people from a position of power rather than poverty.

She looked up at him, truly looked at him - not as the frog she'd nursed back to health or the prince who'd promised to help her, but as the man who stood before her now, earnest and hopeful. His eyes held no guile, no calculation, only a sweet warmth that made her chest ache. The truth hit her with startling clarity.

She loved him.

The realization should have frightened her, but instead, it settled into her chest like a puzzle piece slotting into place. Somehow, between his silly jokes scrawled on enchanted parchment and his unwavering determination to help her, she had fallen in love with this strange, kind human.

"You're quiet," Alistair said, uncertainty creeping into his voice. "I've overwhelmed you, haven't I? Maker's breath, I'm sorry. I should have—"

Tabris reached up and pressed her fingers against his lips, silencing him. "I'm not overwhelmed, well, not at this second, anyway," she said, surprising herself with how steady her voice sounded. "I'm thinking about how strange life is. A few months ago, I was a fugitive with a pet frog. Now that frog is asking me to marry him."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "When you put it that way, it does sound rather absurd."

She lowered her hand, letting it rest against his chest where she could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart. "Life has always been absurd for me, Alistair. Why should this be any different?"

Hope flickered in his sweet brown eyes. "Is that a yes?"

"It's a 'I think I'm in love with you too, you ridiculous man,'" she said with a small laugh, a smile stretching her face so wide it made her cheeks ache.

His face lit up with such joy that it nearly took her breath away. "So you'll marry me? Even knowing what you'll face at court?"

Tabris squared her shoulders, drawing herself up to her full height, which still left her a good head shorter than him. "I've faced worse than disapproving nobles, Alistair. And I'll have you beside me, won't I?"

"Always," he promised fervently. "Through whatever the world throws at us."

A shadow detached itself from the nearby trees, materializing into Morrigan's slender form - interrupting the moment as Tabris attempted to draw up her courage to kiss him properly, like a squirrel scurrying around to hoard nuts for winter.

"How sickeningly sweet," she drawled, though Tabris detected a note of something almost like approval beneath the mockery. "I do hope you know what you're doing, Tabris."

"I rarely do," Tabris admitted with a smile. "But this feels right."

Morrigan sighed dramatically. "Then I suppose congratulations are in order." She fixed Alistair with a sharp stare. "Hurt her, and I shall turn you into something far less charming than a frog. Perhaps a slug. Or a particularly repulsive species of beetle."

Alistair swallowed thickly but stood his ground. "I would expect nothing less." He turned back to Tabris, ignoring the witch. "May I kiss you? As a man this time, not a frog?"

A laugh bubbled up from her chest. Tabris ignored Morrigan too. "I think I'd like that very much."

He leaned down as she stretched up on her toes, their lips meeting in the middle - his slightly chapped, but tasting of honey-rich desserts that she was only mildly jealous of. His arms encircled her waist, drawing her closer as her hands found their way to his shoulders. It was nothing like kissing a frog – it was warm and sweet and sent tingles racing along her spine. It was perfect, and even before it was over, she couldn’t wait to do it again.

When they finally broke apart, breathing hard, Morrigan huffed irritably. "If you two are quite finished, perhaps we might discuss the practical aspects of this arrangement? Such as how exactly you plan to present an elven bride to the court without causing a riot?"

"My father has already begun preparing the court," Alistair said, keeping an arm around Tabris's waist. "He's…surprisingly supportive. I think he sees it as a chance to make amends for past wrongs."

"Or to secure the loyalty of the alienage," Morrigan said with cynical distrust.

"That too," Alistair admitted. "Politics is never simple. But his support means we have a real chance at making this work." He glanced down at Tabris, his smile falling away under a serious frown. "It won't be easy. There will be those who never accept you, who will do everything in their power to undermine us."

"I know," Tabris said. "But I've spent my entire life being treated as less. At least this way, I'll have a voice." She squeezed his hand. "And you. I'll have you."

Before Alistair could offer a sappy response, Morrigan was quick to cut in. "Well, if you're determined to go through with this foolishness, I suppose I should offer my assistance. The court will eat you alive without proper preparation."

"You'd help?" Tabris asked, surprised - she had expected the witch to disappear once her safety was assured.

"Someone must. You clearly cannot be trusted to make sensible decisions on your own."

Alistair laughed, the sound warming Tabris from the inside out. "I think that's Morrigan's way of saying she cares about you."

The witch's golden eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have invested too much time in keeping this elf alive to see her destroyed by court intrigue. Nothing more."

"Of course," Tabris agreed, fighting a smile. "Nothing more."

Morrigan grumbled below her breath and turned away, but not before Tabris caught the slight upward tilt of her lips.

She was going home. After all the blood and fear and running, she was finally going home.

Her mind drifted to the alienage - the cramped buildings with their patched roofs, the vhenadahl tree standing in the center of the square, its ancient branches offering shade in summer and shelter from snow in winter. It wasn't much by human standards, but it was hers. The place where she had learned to walk, to fight, to love.

And her family…oh, how she missed them. They had thought her lost to them forever, condemned to die or to live as a hunted animal for the rest of her days, exchanging letters where they could. Soon she would see their faces again, hold them in her arms.

"What are you thinking about?" Alistair asked softly, his breath warm against her hair.

"Home," she replied, smiling at the man she loved. “I’d really like to go home.”

A/N: The end to my silly little frog prince AU <3 I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!

[tired-truffle]

I love them all so much ☺️ thank you for drawing my girl Ash - you captured her perfectly 🥰

“By your order, Inquisitor.”

Beautiful, unique OC Inquisitors owned by the Cullen Romancers group, drawn by me.

Evelyn (me) - Efa @jefarawol - Ash (the Inquisitor’s sister!) @tiredtruffle - Juliette @sweetjulieapples - Astoria @inquisiorastoria - Cordelia @bibutterflies - Lyria @dragonagedorks - Liavra @rea24268

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 5.1k

Part 43 - Fucking Orlesians

"The truth is you could slit my throat and with my one last gasping breath I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt." - taking back sunday

Warnings: Canon typical violence, drugging…and Orlesians

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

Masterlist

When she’d awoken from her trance, panting and covered in a cold sweat, Sigrid had already left. Dorian had remained, a book in his lap as he waited at her bedside. Unable to keep what she’d learned to herself, she’d told him. If Ash did not confess her love for Cullen, Love would turn into a demon. Dorian had almost instantly left to fetch the Commander himself, but Ash had stopped him. She needed time, she’d expressed to him, and with Halamshiral approaching in a matter of days, it could wait until after. It had taken a lot of reassurance and promises to tell him if anything else went wrong. She wanted to keep her promises, and sensing her sincerity, Dorian had let it drop against his better judgment.

The following days passed in a blur of last-minute dress fittings and a haze of pain when thoughts of Cullen overtook her. Solas returned the day before they left, but she had no more need of him. Ash knew what she had to do.

Too quickly to grasp the passage of time, the Inquisition arrived in Halamshiral after a brief stop at a nearby estate that Duke Gaspard had given them out of the supposed goodness of his heart - though Ash found that difficult to believe, especially upon meeting the man. Conniving and vicious, the lot of them.

Fucking Orlesians.

The dress was too hot, the throngs of people suffocating as Ash navigated the edges of the ballroom. At least the gown she wore was gorgeous, the only redeeming trait of the evening. A masterpiece of silk and chiffon, plunging to the floor in a waterfall of deep emerald and gold. The corset bodice clung to her curves like a second skin, laces at the back tying her in and accentuating her ample bosom that was at imminent risk of spilling over the flat neckline with every breath. Delicate sheer loops adorned her arms, giving the illusion of floating sleeves that caught the light and sparkled like dewdrops on a spider's web.

The waistline of the dress sat high, just above the swell of her hips. As she moved, the fabric swished around her legs, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her ankles and the golden slippers that adorned her feet.

Her blonde waves were a work of art in and of themselves, piled atop her head in an intricate arrangement of twists and coils, held in place by golden pins that glinted like stars in the night sky. Stray strands escaped their confines, framing her face and tickling the nape of her neck. The style left her burn scar exposed, a jagged line that ran from her cheek down her neck and worsened as it ran along her arm.

She kept her eyes trained on Rae as she danced with Grand Duchess Florainne. Ash trusted her as far as she could throw her, and given her lack of arm strength, it wasn’t a lot.

The whispers and furtive glances as she walked by were mostly ignored. She didn’t have time for petty Orlesian gossip, they had an assassination to thwart - an assassination that Rae was getting herself right in the middle of. A target had been painted on her back, and Ash watched her closely. So closely, in fact, that she hadn’t noticed that Cullen stood just meters away until she heard his strained voice. 

“I’m…married to my work.” 

She held back a snort. Typical answer of an ex-Templar trying to redeem himself while shooing fawning Orlesians away. 

“Still single then,” one of the nobles surrounding him crooned, excitement tinging her high-pitched voice. Love pressed down hard on Ash’s stomach and she had to clutch the railing to avoid both stumbling and vomiting up the little hors d’eouvres she’d absconded with earlier. She turned fully to the dance floor, knuckles white as she gripped the railing.

She hadn’t noticed Cole either until he spoke, standing closer to her than he would if he wore his wide-brimmed hat. “Cullen is afraid. They’re hunting him, following fear. He shouldn’t be here.” 

Turning sharply, she frowned at him, not understanding his meaning. Before she could voice that, however, she heard the click of the last puzzle piece sliding into place. 

“Did you just…touch my bottom?” Cullen asked, aghast and…afraid. The littlest quiver in his voice that would be undetectable if she didn’t know him so well. 

She glanced back out at Rae, and when she returned to look at Cole and request clarification - or rather confirmation - he was nowhere to be seen. 

A burn began in her chest, suffusing her skin with heat. Love had been especially active at the ball, surrounded by so many couples, she twisted and turned in her jealousy. Why couldn’t she have it? She wanted it, wanted to profess her love and have it be known, but it wasn’t Love’s love to give. 

Yet still, she wanted to protect him, and was willing to cause a scene if Ash didn’t give her what she wanted. With a deep breath, she reached for her magic, letting it flow through her veins like icy rivers. The air around her cooled rapidly, frost crystallizing on the gilded railings beneath her fingers.

The chill spread outward, enveloping the cluster of nobles surrounding Cullen. Their excited chatter turned to startled gasps as goosebumps prickled their skin and their breath fogged in the frigid air.

"By the Maker, has someone let in a draft?" one noblewoman exclaimed, her gaudy mask unable to hide her shock.

"It's freezing!" another whined, rubbing his arms dramatically. "Commander, surely you will escort us somewhere warmer."

"My apologies, but I must remain here. Official Inquisition business, you understand."

A chorus of disappointed sighs and grumbles met his statement.

"Well, I never!" huffed an older woman. "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. Fereldans and their beloved cold! Come along, dears. Let's find somewhere more…civilized."

With their noses held high and a haughty air about them, the nobles retreated, their heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor as they sought the comfort of warmer shelter. The chill she had summoned remained until they disappeared into the crowd, and she let her magic recede, the temperature gradually returning to normal.

Even though he wore dress boots as opposed to his usual heavy, armoured boots, she could easily identify the sounds of his footsteps approaching her. 

Cullen came to a stop beside her, at a respectable distance that grated at her heart. He stood rigidly, hands clasped behind his back, lips puckered. He was painfully handsome in the red and gold colours of his uniform and the tightness of the tailoring, that blasted mantle gone, allowing his long neck to breathe. “I had it under control.”

Ash kept her gaze fixed on Rae, unable to look at him for fear that Love would push those aggravating three words from her mouth. “You’re welcome,” she drawled instead, face placid and unaffected. 

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t need you to…to rescue me.” 

I didn’t need your magic, went unsaid, but Ash heard it loud and clear. 

“Cole believed otherwise.”

He scowled, eyes darting around for the elusive spirit turned boy and still kind of spirit. “I don’t need Cole’s help either.”

She pitched her voice low enough for only him to hear. “Yes, Commander, we all know how you feel about spirits.”

His shoulders stiffened, and she could almost hear the creaking of his jaw as he ground his teeth. “That’s not—“ he pursed his lips, nostrils flaring. “I’m not—“

“It’s alright, Ser, no need to struggle on my account,” she interrupted, releasing her hold on the railing and curtsying, bowing her head in false submission. “I’m not doing this so you forgive me. I know you won’t. You owe me nothing.”

As she made to brush past him, having lost sight of Rae among the throng of dancers and needing a new position anyway, a strong grip on her wrist stopped her in her tracks. The heat suffused through his gloves and into her skin, her blood, her bones. A shackle that chaffed at her flesh, rattled its anguish in the dark night. It had been weeks since they touched, and by Mythal did it almost bring her to her knees. She locked them in place, unwilling to show weakness, to reveal how such a small touch could turn her into a pathetic mess. 

“Forgive you?” he growled, though his brow softened just a touch - almost imperceptible, had she not been painfully familiar with his expressions. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a few nobles turn their gleaming gazes in her direction with predatory intrigue. Whatever he didn’t understand, now was not the time to address it. 

“Let me go, you’re making a scene,” she hissed through teeth clenched around a false smile.

Cullen's grip loosened, but he didn't let go entirely. Their eyes met, and Ash felt the world fall away. Time seemed to slow as they stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills. The opulent ballroom faded into a blur of muted colors and distant sounds. All Ash could focus on was the warmth of Cullen's hand on her wrist, the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.

Love stirred within her, pushing against her ribs, urging her to close the distance between them. But she remained still, frozen in place by the intensity of Cullen's gaze.

A sudden burst of laughter from nearby shattered the moment. Cullen blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and his hand fell away from her wrist. The loss of contact left Ash feeling oddly bereft, but she trained her features into a mask of indifference.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and strode away. She didn't look back, didn't acknowledge the burning of his eyes following her retreating form. Instead, she held her head high, shoulders back, every inch the poised and unaffected woman she was pretending to be.

Love lashed out, hot tendrils wrapping around her skeleton and burning to her marrow. She wasn’t sure how much more of this torment she could take, but she couldn’t let it show, not here, not when The Game would flay her for any misstep. Her mess was hers alone, and she refused to let it fall back on Rae. But the tighter Love squeezed, the more Ash thought of his angry expression as he regarded her with contempt, the more cracks appeared in her carefully crafted mask.

“—with the Commander?” an Orlesian whispered to her companion.

“You know what they say about rabbits,” the companion responded as Ash passed, loud enough to be meant for her ears. Her pointed ears.

She needed to find a private space to recollect herself, to reason with Love to give her more time, that Halamshiral was not the place for love confessions. Luckily for her, in her perusing earlier that evening with Rae, they’d unlocked an office in a private wing, and Ash headed straight for it. 

She barely acknowledged the people she passed, muttering vague excuses and apologies she couldn’t understand over the roaring in her ears - though her smile remained mild and polite, her eyes dry. It wasn’t until she’d slipped into the ornate office and firmly shut the door behind her that she allowed her tears to come in choking sobs, shoulders shaking and bones burning. 

Gods, why did this have to be so hard? Why couldn’t she let herself have something easy for once in her life? Why did she allow a man - a shem - to cause her so much distress? Her younger self would be disgusted at how pitiful she’d become. 

She gripped her wrist where he’d held her, the echo of his touch a brand upon her skin. She’d rather go through Archdemon fire again than deal with this anguish. She was the source of all her problems, and she knew this, she did, but she couldn’t stop herself from ruining everything with her anger and fear. Cullen had been…Gods, what hadn’t he been? Sweet and kind, gruff and commanding, she’d loved every piece of him - and still did, much to her despair. He was not a perfect man, overly grouchy, quick to snap, but she loved those parts of him, too. 

But the way he’d looked at her tonight…no, there was no going back to what they had. He would always see her as a—

A sharp pain laced across her skull as a hard object collided with the back of her head. She didn’t have a second to cry out, to pause her spiralling thoughts and fight back against the intruders. Maybe she would have noticed the secret entry opening behind the desk had she not been so consumed in her grief. 

Blackness swallowed her whole, and she wondered if Cullen would be saddened or relieved when they found her body. She would bet on the latter. 

Fog seeped through her brain, swirling in a mist around her consciousness and holding her head below water. Her shallow breathing was loud in her ears, the sound of distant voices shouting, muffled and unintelligible. She groaned, her head throbbed, and her mouth felt like it was full of cotton. 

Her body was jostled, her muscles aching with a fiery burn. Vaguely, she registered someone’s arm around her waist, hauling her up and leaning her body against theirs. Love pulsed weakly in her chest, a bare flicker of flame that nipped at her lungs, her magic tingling beneath her skin, but when she reached for its familiar warmth, it squirmed out of reach. 

She’d only experienced such sensations once before, when her Keeper insisted they attempt it so she could identify it should she ever be dosed. Mage Bane. She’d hated it then just as much as she hated it now. 

Lifting her eyelids took an immense amount of effort, like Sera had taken it upon herself to glue them shut, and her vision was too blurry to make out anything beyond fuzzy shapes. She blinked to clear the blurriness, but it only slightly worked, allowing her to see the four figures that stood across the expanse of green and grey - could they be outside? The chill on the light breeze suggested as much.

A sting tickled her neck, and a small bead of warmth dribbled down onto her chest. She hissed, though it came out more as a garbled moan, and the man holding her snickered. 

“Let her go!” Rae’s cry broke through the water in her ears. 

Ash was jerked back, tilting her chin up as the cold edge of a knife pressed against her neck. That was what the sting had been, a warning slice as the figures had tried to move closer. 

Somewhere to her right, she heard a feminine voice call back, taunting in its nasality, but she couldn’t make out the words as dizziness struck her. 

Fuck, this was bad. She had enough wherewithal to realize what was happening. She’d been kidnapped and drugged with Mage’s Bane to use her against Rae, to get her sister to submit or risk Ash’s life. 

It’s okay, she wanted to tell her, don’t worry about me. But her mouth wouldn’t form the words, and she groaned again instead. 

More shouting, more bargaining, and the four figures huddled closer together. They were trapped, and only Ash could do anything about it. 

Ash summoned every ounce of willpower she possessed, pushing through the fog of Mage's Bane to reach for that flickering ember deep within her chest. Love, she pleaded silently, I need you now more than ever. Rae needs you. Wake up!

For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. Then, like a spark catching dry tinder, Love winked into life. Heat trickled through Ash's heavy limbs as the spirit's presence filled her. Her captors had been expecting a regular mage, not one possessed by an angry spirit - they had no idea how powerful she was.

Ash gritted her teeth, channeling every last ounce of her willpower into Love's flickering flame. The spirit responded, a weak surge of heat coursing through her. It wasn't much, but it would have to be enough. She took a ragged gasp and summoned a small burst of fire in her palm.

The flames sputtered and wavered, barely larger than a candle's flicker. But as she pressed her hand against her captor's arm, it was enough. He yelped in surprise and pain, stumbling backward. His grip on her loosened, the knife's pressure easing for just a moment.

In that instant of distraction, Ash threw herself forward. But she had misjudged his strength.

White hot pain lashed across her throat.

The knife. In his startled state, her captor's blade had sliced her neck as she'd torn away from him. If he'd been at full strength, the cut would have been much deeper. As it was, warm blood immediately began to pour from the wound, soaking into the delicate fabric of her gown.

“No!” Rae’s bloodcurdling scream rent the air in two, a flash of green light and a warbling noise signalling the use of her Anchor-fuelled powers. Ash clung to her small victory. She'd broken free. Now Rae could fight without holding back.

Ash’s knees hit the stone ground, sure to bruise, as her hands fluttered up to her neck. Sticky, hot blood coated her fingers and poured down over her chest, her head spinning as she gasped for breath. The taste of tangy iron filled her mouth, and a chill overtook her veins. Creators, she was cold. Her limbs tingled, and she dropped to the ground, jostled as she was rolled onto her back by firm hands. 

More green light, lighter than the other. She could make out Solas’s outline as he pulled her hands from around her neck. 

“Hold on, Ashvalla,” he urged, “do not let this be your end.”

Ash wasn’t sure she had much of a choice, but as darkness crept around the edges of her vision, she beat it back with the dredges of her magic. After everything she’d gone through, she wouldn’t die in fucking Orlais. 

The sounds of battle faded, and her breathing got easier, her eyesight clearing. The Mage Bane was still in her system and would be for some time, but the initial confusion had worn off, replaced by a soul-deep exhaustion. She wanted to sleep, but as she closed her eyes, a tap on her cheeks brought her back. 

Rae’s face came into view, twisted with concern and splattered with blood - hopefully not hers. Solas sat back, wiping sweat from his forehead, drained from his emergency healing. 

“She will live, lethallan.” 

“Thank you, Solas,” Rae breathed, keeping her gaze trained on Ash as though she might flee should she look away.

Ash gave Rae her best attempt at a reassuring smile, though it fell weakly on her bloodied lips. 

Solas moved out of sight, quickly replaced by a very put-out Dorian, his nose crinkled as he surveyed her. Ash tried to speak, to assure them that she was alright, but all she could manage was a quiet gurgle. 

Dorian sighed, dragging his hand down his face. “Must you always be so dramatic?” 

That was rich coming from him. 

“How could you let yourself get kidnapped?” Rae demanded, voice cracking, and the ghosts of fear haunting her eyes. “It was reckless to go off on your own, and you could have been killed, you almost were!” 

It wasn’t like she wanted to get hit over the back of the head and subsequently drugged, but she recognized the panic in Rae’s eyes; she’d seen it enough in herself whenever Rae had been hurt. 

She tried again, this time able to croak out a quiet, “Sorry.”

“Sorry for getting kidnapped or sorry for getting your throat slit and nearly bleeding out all over Solas?” Dorian snipped, and Ash winced. 

“Both,” she answered, wrinkling her nose as a sharp pain pierced her temple. 

“We must get back to the Empress and inform her of what we’ve learned,” Cassandra’s voice cut in from further away.

Rae nodded, schooling her features back into a hard stare - one the leader of the Inquisition would be expected to wear. 

“Dorian,” Cassandra’s boots clipped against the cobblestone, “assist me in escorting Ashvalla back to the palace. Inquisitor, I would suggest you go ahead with Solas, the Empress will want a timely update.” 

Worry flashed in Rae’s eyes as she glanced down at Ash. 

“I’ll be…” Ash rasped, pausing to regain her breath, “right behind you.”

Exhaling once through her nostrils, Rae resigned herself to her duty.

Ash watched as Rae's silhouette faded into the darkness, Solas at her side, his head inclined towards her. Ash closed her eyes, trying to quell the nausea that bubbled in her stomach.

"Come on then, let's get you up." Dorian cut through the haze. His hands, warm and steady, slipped under her arm.

On her other side, Cassandra's strong grip supported her back. "Ready?" the Seeker asked, her usual brusqueness tempered with concern.

Ash nodded weakly, bracing herself. As they lifted her, a groan escaped her lips, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through her battered body. Her legs trembled, ready to give way beneath her.

"I've got you," Dorian said, adjusting his hold to take more of her weight. "Though I must say, you're heavier than you look. All that Fereldan cheese, no doubt."

Ash managed a weak chuckle that turned into a wince. "You're one…to talk," she said hoarsely. "All those…Tevinter pastries you have Josephine order. You’re just jealous."

"I would never seek to steal your signature style, my dear. Besides, I maintain a strict regimen of looking fabulous and killing demons. It's quite the workout."

The walk was slow but manageable, and she gained strength with each step, though her legs still wobbled precariously. When the dizziness subsided, she glanced down at her gown. 

Ruined didn’t begin to cover it. She’d lost more blood than she’d realized, the bodice soaked to her sternum in scarlet. It stuck to her skin as it dried, her breasts coated in the tacky substance. It would be a pain to remove later, but it wasn’t like she could strip to her underthings in the middle of Halamshiral. 

“Damn,” she pouted, “I liked this dress.”

Dorian huffed, jostling her as he bodily rolled his eyes. “You can purchase a new gown. What you cannot buy is a new neck.”

“Dorian is correct, you are lucky to be alive. An inch to the right, and you would have bled out before any of us could have reached you,” Cassandra added. 

That didn’t make it suck any less that her dress was destroyed, but she wasn’t going to win that argument, especially not with Cassandra, so she wisely kept her mouth shut. 

Ash's legs quivered as they ascended the staircase towards a private balcony. Dorian and Cassandra supported her on either side, their steady grips keeping her upright as they climbed.

As they neared the top, voices drifted down from the balcony. Ash strained to make out the words, her head still foggy from the Mage's Bane.

"…could have been catastrophic," Leliana's lilting accent carried a sharp edge of perturbation.

"Indeed," Josephine agreed, her diplomacy tinged with worry. "We must ensure nothing like this happens again."

Solas's calm voice cut through the tension. "The Inquisitor handled the situation admirably. We should focus on what we've learned from this incident."

A familiar baritone made Ash's heart clench, his voice tight and clipped. "We should have had better security measures in place. I take full responsibility for this oversight."

Even now, after everything that had transpired between them, Cullen was shouldering the blame. When would the mountain of his guilt crush him beyond recognition? He continued rolling boulders up the steep sides.

As they reached the landing, Ash caught sight of the group gathered on the balcony. Josephine stood with perfect posture, though her fingers fidgeted like she missed the familiar comfort of her clipboard. Leliana's sharp gaze swept over the railing and into the gardens beyond, ever vigilant. Solas was obscured from view behind Cullen - the Commander’s broad shoulders tense beneath his dress uniform. He stood with his back to the stairs, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Even from behind, Ash could see the rigid set of his spine, the way his free hand clenched and unclenched at his side.

The conversation halted abruptly as Dorian cleared his throat. "Your wayward mage has returned, slightly worse for wear but still breathing."

All eyes turned to Ash, and she fought the urge to shrink away from their scrutiny. She must have looked affright, her once-elegant gown now a bloodstained mess, her hair falling in disarray around her face.

This was going to be horribly uncomfortable, and Ash sent a quick prayer to Ghilan’nain for protection. Josephine was the first to react, her eyes widened as she took in the sheer amount of blood coating Ash’s front. She gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth as her face paled. 

Ash wondered if she should have tried to convince Dorian and Cassandra to sneak her out the back instead of…this. The Spymaster’s reaction was tight-lipped, a spark of relief in her eyes, but otherwise neutral - as Ash would have expected. But Cullen…he’d always worn his heart on his sleeve. She watched as his emotions flitted across his face in quick succession. Horror in the parting of his lips and a wide, almost bewildered cast of his eyes. Concern followed quickly in the subtle movement of his hand reaching for her before it was stayed by guilt, remembering their confrontation before she disappeared. And finally, he landed on anger. At himself, at her, at those who had brought her harm. His jaw tightened, and he clasped his hands behind his back.

Josephine pushed past him, halting in front of Ash to inspect her closely, her dark eyebrows scrunched together in consternation. “Oh, Ash,” she delicately touched Ash’s shoulder, soft as a butterfly’s kiss, before she withdrew, thinking better of it. “I’m so sorry, we shouldn’t have allowed this to happen—“

“I’m fine,” Ash smiled tiredly, “Solas patched me up, there’s nothing left to worry about.” 

Ash inclined her head towards the apostate, who returned the gesture. Cullen’s hands clenched at his sides, his eyes roving over her blood-soaked skin. What did he think of her like this? Some wild possessed mage, reminding him of the blood mages he feared? Or did he hold some remnants of feelings for her that had him distraught over the idea of her bleeding to death? 

“What’s one more scar?” Ash shrugged, regretting the motion as it irritated her throat. “Though I’d really love for this night to be over.”

Josephine's eyes softened with sympathy. "Of course. We will send you back to the manor so you may clean up and rest. You've gone through enough for one evening, I think."

Ash sagged with relief, grateful for Josephine's understanding. The prospect of a hot bath and clean clothes was suddenly the most appealing thing in all of Thedas. "Thank you," she said, her voice rough. "I'd appreciate that."

"We shouldn't send her without proper guard," Cullen interjected. "There may still be some lingering enemies bent on revenge."

Ash bristled at his words. He doesn't need to talk about me like I'm not here, she thought bitterly. The urge to snap at him warred with her exhaustion. In the end, fatigue won out, and she merely pressed her lips into a thin line.

"I can send a small contingent of scouts to accompany Ashvalla back to the manor," Leliana offered, smooth as silk. "They will ensure her safety."

Cullen scoffed. "Your scouts didn't keep her safe before. What makes you think they'll succeed now?"

Josephine’s sharp intake of breath filled the resounding silence that followed.

Leliana's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing in their depths. "My, Commander, you seem awfully worked up about this. One might almost think you had a personal stake in Lady Lavellan's wellbeing."

Cullen's reaction was immediate and visceral. His cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath his high collar, and he reared back as though he’d smelled some sour cheese.

"I-I'm simply concerned about the security implications," he stammered, his irritation crowded out by embarrassment. "Any threat to a member of the Inquisition is a threat to us all."

"Of course," Leliana replied, her tone maddeningly neutral. "And I'm sure your concern has nothing to do with your…history."

Ash felt her own face heat up at Leliana's words. She wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear. Instead, she was forced to stand there, propped up between Dorian and Cassandra, as her personal life became fodder for the Inquisition's inner circle.

A frustrated scream built in her throat.

Cullen's blush deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears. "That's-that's not…I meant that—it's not relevant.” He rubbed the back of his neck - a nervous tic Ash knew all too well.

"I think," Josephine interjected smoothly, ever the peacemaker, "that we can all agree Ashvalla's safety is paramount. Perhaps a compromise? We could send a mix of scouts and soldiers to escort her."

"I'll accompany her," Dorian offered quickly, his arm steady around her waist. "I could use a break from all this politicking anyway. Orlesians are exhausting."

A wave of relief washed over her at Dorian's offer. The thought of being alone with unfamiliar scouts and soldiers, vulnerable and exhausted as she was, made her skin crawl. But Dorian's presence would be a comfort.

"That's very kind of you, Dorian," Josephine said with a grateful smile. "That would be an excellent solution."

Cullen's jaw worked as if he wanted to object, but he seemed to think better of it. His eyes met Ash's for a brief moment before darting away. "Very well," he said gruffly.

Ash wanted to protest that she didn't need his protection, but she bit her tongue. She was too tired to argue, and a small, traitorous part of her heart warmed at his concern, misplaced as it might be.

"Splendid," Leliana said, clapping her hands together. "Now that the matter is settled, we have more pressing concerns to address."

As the others began to discuss logistics, Dorian leaned in close to Ash's ear. "Well, that was suitably awkward," he whispered. "Shall we make our daring escape before the Commander changes his mind and decides to escort you personally?"

A weak chuckle slipped from Ash’s lips before turning into a wince. "Please," she whispered back. "Get me out of here before I pass out or throw up. Whichever comes first."

She wasn’t sure which would be worse: projectile vomiting on Cullen’s boots, or swooning and waking up to find him hovering over her. She was not keen to find out.

Next Chapter

A/N: Will I ever stop putting Ash through it? The chapter you all have been waiting for may be coming up next…

[tired-truffle]

The City Elf and the Frog

An AlistairxWarden fic

Chapter Word Count: 6.2k

Part 3 of 4

A/N: Sorry this took me forever, I was struggling with the ending! I hope you enjoy the climax of the story, though you may notice I have added a chapter to the chapter count. There will be a sort of epilogue, hopefully posted soon <3 I've got it drafted, just need to edit.

Masterlist

Days passed, and no guards arrived, though Morrigan did not cease her vigilance. Froggy continued to recover exceptionally, yet every time that Tabris mentioned his return to the pond, suddenly his leg ached like none other. It gave her a great excuse to keep him around, even as Morrigan urged her to rid herself of the pest. He wasn’t a pest to Tabris. It was embarrassing to admit that he was a friend. 

How pathetic was that? She couldn’t bring herself to care. 

She’d begun to think that the interception of her letter had been a fluke, and if Morrigan was mistaken about Froggy’s magic potential, then she could be wrong about this, too. She should have known better than to underestimate the persistence of shems hunting an elf. 

Morrigan flew in through the window in a flurry of feathers and a dark puff of smoke as she gracefully landed in her human form. The severity of her solemn expression had frosty fingers gripping Tabris’s organs. 

“They have arrived. We must depart at once if you wish to avoid a fight.” 

Her heart dropped into her stomach, dissolving in the acid that climbed up her throat. Her home, she was going to have to abandon her home. How many times would she have to run before she could finally feel safe? 

“Let’s go.” 

She’d taken Morrigan’s warning to heart and had packed a bag of essentials - spare clothes, her daggers, and rations. Plucking the bag from where she’d stored it by the door, she held Froggy to her chest - a little too tight if the wheeze from his small lungs was any indication. 

Morrigan raised her hand, lips pressed into a straight line. “The frog remains.”

Tabris resisted every urge to hug his adorable little body tighter. “What? Why?” 

“He will slow us down.” Morrigan’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly, and Tabris wished she would harden her gaze; at least then she could justify her anger. “I know you care for it, but you will only be putting it in harm’s way. It will be safest for the creature if you return it to its home.”

Tabris gazed down at Froggy, her eyes brimming with tears as a profound ache built in her chest, moments from shattering through bones and sinew with the intensity of her sorrow. It was baffling why she had formed such a deep attachment, yet the mere thought of parting from him now was almost unbearable.

But Morrigan was correct. A life on the run was no place for a frog. 

“I’m sorry, Tabris, but we must withdraw before they are upon us.” 

Sorry that Tabris was upset, but not sorry to be rid of the object of her disdain. 

Sniffling softly, tears leaked from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, her bottom lip quivering. Froggy’s little feet curled around her fingers as if understanding that she was going to let him go. He croaked at her, and she wiped at her eyes. She didn’t have time for this, she could mourn the loss of his companionship later. 

He was just a frog. She was being silly. And yet she mourned the loss all the same.

“I need you to take him away. I can’t do it,” Tabris said as she shoved the tears back where they belonged - deep, deep inside. 

“Fine,” Morrigan snapped, disgusted at the idea of touching the creature she hated. “Give him to me and let us be done with this nonsense.”

Tabris raised Froggy up to eye height, staring into the unblinking depths of his gaze. 

“Goodbye, Froggy.” The words physically pained her to release, like taking a battering ram to the ribcage. “I will miss you.”

Froggy’s breathing came in quick, shallow pants, and it shattered her heart all over again. Unable to resist the surge of emotion, she lifted him gently to her lips and planted a swift, tender kiss goodbye on his tiny head. She didn’t notice Morrigan's eyes widening in shock, nor the startled warning that caught in the witch’s throat.

A blinding flash of light erupted, engulfing her eyesight, and Tabris dropped the sudden heavy weight in her hands, stumbling back and shielding her eyes. 

A solid thump sounded as something large hit the floor, a muffled groan, much too deep to be hers or Morrigan’s following. 

Tabris blinked rapidly as her vision slowly returned. Her eyes first landed on Morrigan, who looked akin to a cat left out in the rain, and then downwards to—

A naked man was kneeling on her floor, close enough that she could tap him with her toes if she wanted to. Tabris yelped, jumping back as her heart beat rapidly in her throat. What in the Void had happened, and where did Froggy vanish to?

The man stared at her, earthy brown eyes wide and goateed jaw slack. 

“Oh, for Mythal’s sake,” Morrigan grumbled, glaring at the back of the man’s head. 

He paid her no attention, instead wrenching his gaze away from Tabris and lifting his hands with a deliberate slowness. As he turned them over, examining them as if they held ancient secrets, a hoarse laugh erupted from deep within his throat.

“Oh, Maker,” he croaked, and he cleared his throat. “I can’t believe it. After all this time…and all it took was a kiss.”

He looked up at her again, a lopsided grin sliding over his lips. “Thank you, Tabris. You’ve saved my life for a second time. I don’t think I’ve owed anyone such a debt since I lost this one bet—well, now’s not the best time to be rambling about old stories.” 

Tabris blinked once, twice, but it did not help her process the bewildering scene before her. One moment she’d been tearfully bidding farewell to her beloved frog, and the next she had a naked stranger earnestly thanking her for saving his life. 

“Uh,” she said intelligently, holding her hand up to cover his crotch from view, her cheeks tinged with a reddish blush. “What?”

His hands swiftly darted to cover his lap, a warm blush travelling from his chest and creeping up his neck, enveloping the round edges of his ears - or, was there a subtle point to them? “My apologies. You spend months as a frog, and all thoughts of modesty and clothes lose any meaning.” 

With a disgusted scoff, Morrigan snatched a worn blanket from Tabris’s bed and carelessly tossed it over the man. For a brief moment, as he disappeared and became nothing more than a lump beneath her blanket, Tabris allowed herself to pretend that he no longer existed. Froggy was still hopping around, and she wasn’t about to leave her home before the shems found her and dragged her back to Denerim to face her execution.

His head emerging from the blanket as he wrapped it around his body, shattered her fantasy, and Tabris bit back a scream. 

The man turned slightly and narrowed his eyes at the witch. “You knew. It was you who cursed me, wasn’t it?” 

Morrigan clucked her tongue on the back of her teeth. “We haven’t time for this. The guards are almost upon us.”

Like she’d summoned them into being, heavy footsteps thudded on the packed dirt outside. The three of them froze, Tabris caught between Morrigan's fierce glare and the strange man's wide-eyed stare.

"Tabris of Denerim!" A harsh voice bellowed from outside, making her flinch. "By order of the Denerim Guard, you are commanded to exit your dwelling unarmed and surrender yourself immediately!"

Her blood turned to ice. They’d found her. She had nowhere to run to. And Froggy was a human man. She couldn’t figure out which was more distressing.

“Remain here. I shall dispose of them and then we shall make our escape.” Morrigan made towards the door, but before she could reach it, the man-who-was-Froggy scrambled to his feet. The blanket barely reached the top of his thighs, and it swayed as he stood, giving Tabris a healthy glimpse of his pert backside. She hadn’t the faintest idea how to process that.

Froggy had a nice ass. The scream she’d bitten back rose a little higher in her throat.

“Wait.” He strode towards Morrigan, who half-turned towards him, a thin eyebrow raised. “I’ll sort this out. No violence rained down upon them necessary.” 

“Pray tell, how will you manage such a feat?”

A loud bang on the door made Tabris jump. “For the last time, we have the house surrounded! Come out now, or we will be forced to enter!”

Despite having spent months as a fragile frog, the man did not back down from Morrigan’s challenge or the demands of the guards. “I am their prince, they must abide by my orders to stand down.”

Did her pointed ears deceive her, or had he said he was a prince? And if the guards recognized him as their own, that meant he was the Maker-damned prince of fucking Ferelden! Tabris leaned against the table, needing the support. Finding out one’s pet frog was royalty was not exactly an everyday occurrence.

Morrigan’s eyes raked up and down his body, disdain in the curl of her lips. “‘Tis a foolish plan, only a simpleton would believe you a prince and not a homeless beggar lost in the woods. But if you wish to be run through, I shall not stand in the way.” 

Hands clutched nervously in front of her chest, Tabris took a tentative step forward. “Frog—I mean, Your Highness, please don’t hurt yourself on my account. I’ll be alright.”

Like the Void would she allow these shems to capture her, but she couldn’t sever the attachment she felt for her frog-turned-prince. Loneliness had been her constant companion for so long, but he had been there for her, a patient listener when she desperately craved a compassionate ear. He had listened more attentively than she ever realized was possible, and although a part of her resented that silent understanding, it wasn't as if he could have told her.

He looked over his shoulder, giving her a boyish grin that had her heart squeezing painfully. “You saved my life, Tabris. Allow me the chance to repay that debt. And please, call me Alistair.”

She found herself nodding even before she fully understood. With her permission and the confidence of a man who’d returned to his body after months in a soft and squishy form, he brushed past Morrigan. 

“Don’t shoot, I’m unarmed,” the man - Alistair, prince of Ferelden - yelled before swinging open the door. Reckless shem, Tabris would have waited for confirmation for at least a few more seconds. How had he survived on his own for as long as he had?

“Show us your hands!” The lead guard shouted, and Maker, there had to be twenty or so of them scattered in her yard and trampling her garden. She clenched her hands into fists. This was her home, her second home. They had torn her from her first, why did they have to destroy this one, too?

Alistair chuckled awkwardly. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep the last of my dignity. If there’s even any left. It wouldn’t be very princely of me to flash you all, now would it?” 

The guards shifted, glancing at each other with uncertainty. 

“Oh, come now.” Despite a dozen weapons pointed at his chest, Alistair appeared completely at ease. “You wouldn’t harm your prince, would you? I’ve only been gone a few months. Ser Baryan, it’s good to see you.”

That really made them falter. The head guard - Ser Baryan, if Alistair’s head tilt was any inclination - who’d shouted at him, removed his helmet, blinking at the blanket-covered man in pure astonishment. They’d come to capture a wanted criminal, and instead, they’d found the missing prince. 

“Prince Alistair?” Baryan asked, needing the confirmation even as recognition flashed across his face. 

“The one and only.” Tabris could practically hear the bright grin in his voice. “And before you ask, I am fine and in one piece. Entirely thanks to the woman you are so intent on arresting.” 

His statement threw them for a loop, their faces contorted with confusion, and their weapons began lowering. Scowling, Ser Baryan raised his sword again, the rest following suit. 

“How do we know you aren’t some trick the knife-ear conjured up?” His lips pulled back in a sneer. “She’s aligned herself with a powerful mage, if she wasn’t already one herself. We intercepted her letters. They had dark magic written all over them.”

Alistair's mouth fell open at the accusation. Straightening his shoulders, he dredged up every bit of royal bearing he could muster while dressed in nothing but a blanket.

"Letters?" He scoffed, waving his hand in dismissal. "Do you honestly believe a mage powerful enough to create an illusion this convincing would need to send letters? I’d imagine them more inclined to use ravens. Much scarier."

The guard's eyes narrowed. "Then explain your presence here, Your Highness, if that's who you truly are."

"I was cursed," Alistair said simply. "Transformed into a frog and left to die in these woods. Tabris found me and cared for me until the curse could be broken." He gestured to his current state of undress. "Hence my…predicament."

"A curse?" Baryan repeated skeptically. "And who would dare curse the prince of Ferelden?"

Alistair's expression darkened. "That's a matter for the royal investigators, not a patrol sent to harass an innocent woman." He took a step forward, clutching the blanket tightly around him. "Now, as your prince, I command you to stand down and allow me a moment to speak with Miss Tabris before you whisk me back to the castle. Fully dressed."

The guards exchanged uncertain glances. Baryan's sword remained raised, though his grip had loosened.

"He looks like the prince," one of the younger guards said.

"It could still be blood magic," another countered.

Alistair sighed dramatically. "If I were a magical construct, would I know that you, Ser Baryan, lost three sovereigns to me in a game of Wicked Grace three nights before I disappeared? Or that you have a birthmark shaped like a nug on your left—"

"Enough!" Baryan interrupted, his face flushing crimson. The sword finally lowered. "It…it seems it truly is you, Your Highness."

"Finally," Alistair grumbled. Then, more loudly, "Now, about those orders I gave…"

Baryan hesitated, glancing past Alistair to where Tabris stood in the doorway. "The elf is still wanted for questioning, Your Highness. The letters—"

"Were likely intercepted precisely because someone wanted to frame her," Alistair cut in smoothly. "She has been under my observation for weeks, and I can personally vouch for her innocence."

Baryan's face contorted with indecision. The word of the prince should be enough, but Tabris could see the prejudice warring with duty in his eyes. Baryan glanced at his men, then back at Alistair. Slowly, he sheathed his sword and bowed his head. "As you command, Your Highness. But the court will want answers.”

"And they shall have them," Alistair replied, "when I return. Now go."

The guards withdrew reluctantly, casting suspicious glances at Tabris until they disappeared into the treeline - close enough to intervene if need be. Once they were gone, Alistair's shoulders slumped, and he turned back to face her with an apologetic smile.

"Well, that was bracing," he said, tugging the blanket more securely around himself. "I don't suppose you have any spare trousers? Being princely is considerably more difficult without pants."

Tabris stared at him, still attempting and failing to process everything that had just happened. "You're…actually the prince."

"I'm afraid so.“ He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Prince Alistair Theirin, at your service. Though lately I've been more 'ribbit' than 'royal decree.' Not that I did that much to begin with, bastard second-prince and all that.”

Tabris whirled around to face Morrigan, her mind racing to connect all the dots. The witch stood with arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed by the entire situation.

"You knew," Tabris breathed, the accusation sharp as a knife. It wasn't a question. "All this time, you knew Froggy was Prince Alistair?"

Morrigan's lips quirked upward in a small, smug smile. "Of course, I knew. Why do you think I was so insistent that you dispose of the creature?"

"But—" Tabris sputtered, heat rising to her cheeks. "You could have told me! Instead of letting me carry around the prince of Ferelden in my pocket! I talked to him about…everything!" The memory of all her private confessions to her amphibian companion came flooding back, and a hot wave of mortification washed over her, sealing her in a coffin of her own embarrassment.

"Yes, yes," Morrigan said, brushing her horror aside. "I attempted to convince you to rid yourself of him, if you recall. Multiple times, in fact. But you refused to listen to reason." Her tone softened slightly. "You were terribly fond of him."

Tabris’s ears burned. She couldn't bring herself to look at Alistair, who was standing awkwardly by the door, clutching his blanket and pretending not to listen.

"That's not the point," she hissed. "Do you have any idea how—how—"

"Effective it was?" Morrigan supplied coolly. "Indeed. The curse worked precisely as intended."

“Wait a moment, “ Alistair interjected, taking a step toward them. "You cast the curse? You're the reason I've spent months hopping through mud and eating flies?"

Morrigan regarded him with thinly veiled contempt. "Would you prefer I had let them execute Tabris instead? The royal guards were closing in on her trail. ‘Twas the perfect distraction to pull their resources away."

"So you cursed the prince of Ferelden?" Tabris asked incredulously.

"Precisely." Morrigan's tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing nothing more consequential than the weather. "With the prince mysteriously missing, the royal court was thrown into chaos. Searching for their precious bastard became the priority, not hunting down one elvhen woman."

Tabris sank into a chair, feeling light-headed. "You used him as a decoy?"

"A strategic diversion," Morrigan corrected. "And it worked. While they combed the city and countryside for their missing prince, you remained hidden and safe."

Alistair cleared his throat. "Not that I don't appreciate the creative thinking, but couldn't you have, I don't know, created an illusion? Started a rumor? Anything that didn’t involve transfiguring me?”

Morrigan's golden eyes narrowed. "Murder was another option."

“How kind of you to stay your hand, witch.”

Tabris rubbed her temples. A thought struck her, and she looked up sharply. "Wait. If you cursed him, then how did I break it? I just…kissed him."

As if her earlier mortification wasn’t enough.

"Ah, yes. The kiss of true love. A rather predictable counterspell, but effective nonetheless."

"True love?" Tabris’s ears rang, her cheeks burning hotter than before. She gestured wildly between herself and Alistair. "I'm not in love with a frog! I didn't even know he was a person!"

Alistair tilted his head side to side consideringly. "I feel I should be offended by that, but under the circumstances, I’m inclined to agree."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "I didn't say romantic love, you simple creature. Love takes many forms. Compassion. Friendship. Selflessness." She nodded toward Alistair. "You cared for him when he was nothing but a slimy amphibian. You showed him kindness when you had nothing to gain from it. That is a form of love - pure and uncomplicated."

Tabris fell silent, considering this. It was true that she'd grown attached to Froggy - to Alistair - during their time together. She'd confided in him, protected him, even mourned the thought of leaving him behind. Was that love? Not the passionate kind from the stories her mother used to tell, but something gentler, simpler?

"So," Alistair ventured, adjusting his blanket, "what you're saying is that Tabris loved me enough to break your curse, but not enough to make this awkward?" He smirked unhelpfully. "I can live with that."

Despite herself, Tabris laughed. It was a short, startled sound that surprised even her. "You're taking this remarkably well for someone who's been a frog for months."

"Well, I've had time to adjust to the idea," Alistair replied. "Lots of time. Hopping time. Lily pad time." He shuddered dramatically. "So much time spent avoiding being eaten by birds."

Morrigan made a disgusted noise at the back of her throat. "Enough of this. We have more pressing matters at hand. The guards may have retreated for now, but they will not wait forever. They are bound to become restless."

"They won't harm Tabris," Alistair said firmly. "Not now that I've vouched for her."

"Are you truly so naive? The moment you leave her side, they will find some pretense to arrest her. An elf with suspected ties to magic?”

Alistair leaned against the rickety table, his face twisted in a thoughtful frown. The blanket slipped a little as he scratched his chin, revealing a collarbone that Tabris deliberately avoided looking at and absolutely did not want to lick. She’d been alone for much too long - and she thanked her lucky stars she hadn’t been in the mood for any self-pleasure since she found Froggy.

"You're right," he said after a moment, addressing Morrigan but looking at Tabris. "Which is why I can't simply vouch for her and leave. I will have to clear her name."

"What?" Tabris blinked, certain she'd misheard him.

Alistair's eyes softened as he met her gaze. "It's the right thing to do. You’re innocent, and I won't sit idly by while they hunt you." A small, hopeful smile canted his lips. "Perhaps I could even get you a title. Lady Tabris has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

The absurdity of it hit her like a horse kick to the gut. She barked out a laugh that held no humour. "What? No! I don't want a title." The shine of his princely armour was already beginning to dull. He was still a shem, after all, and shems had never done her any favours.

"And why would you even do that? You've only just met me. Well, properly met me." Her cheeks flushed hot as another realization struck her. "Oh, Gods, you've seen me naked."

Alistair's face turned a beautiful shade of red that spread down his neck and disappeared beneath the blanket. "I-I closed my eyes!" he stuttered. "Every time, I swear! Frog's honour!"

Tabris raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"Look," he said as he took a careful step toward her. "You saved my life. I owe it to you to clear your name. You told me what happened in Denerim, about the arl's son. If anything, death was too kind for what he did."

The memory of that day made her stomach clench. Blood on her wedding dress. Her cousin's screams. The knife in her hand and the look of shock on the nobleman's face as she drove it into his heart, snarling like a feral animal.

"Shems don't pardon elves," she said flatly. "Especially not knife-ears who kill human nobles."

Alistair straightened, his jaw set stubbornly. "Then allow me to be the first."

The sincerity in his voice made a long-lost sentiment flutter in her chest - hope, perhaps, though she tried to crush it before it could take hold. She'd learned long ago that hope was a luxury elves couldn't afford.

She hesitated, gnawing at her lower lip. A part of her wanted to believe him, to trust him as she had Froggy, but he wasn’t a little frog anymore. He was a man, a Royal at that. Why should she believe him? Even if he attempted to do as he promised, there was no guarantee that others would listen to him. He’d said it himself; he was a bastard. How much power did he really have?

Alistair saw her hesitation, and he attempted another angle. "You could see your family again. Your father, your cousins - you could go home without fear of execution hanging over your head."

The mention of her family sent a sharp pang of longing through her chest like a lance piercing her lungs. How long had it been since she'd seen her father's face? Since she'd heard Shianni's laugh or felt Soris' comforting hand on her shoulder? The ache nearly brought her to her knees.

She looked at Morrigan, silently asking for guidance, for some sign that this wasn't another trap waiting to spring shut around her.

"Oh, for—" Morrigan gestured toward Alistair with a flick of her wrist. "He's much too simple-minded to lie to you. If he says he will aid you, he means it, however misguided his intentions may be."

Alistair opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "I'm choosing to take that as a compliment on my honesty rather than an insult to my intelligence."

"Take it however you wish," Morrigan replied shrewdly. "'Tis no concern of mine."

Tabris studied Alistair's face, and all she found was earnestness, a puppyish eagerness that reminded her so much of Froggy that it made her heart cramp. This was still him, wasn't it? The same creature she'd confided in, had spent evenings relaxing with. The same one who'd listened to her rambling thoughts without judgment.

"Alright," she said finally, barely believing that she was going through with his offer. "I accept your help."

Relief washed over Alistair's face, his smile widening until dimples appeared in his cheeks. "You won't regret this, I promise. Though I should probably find some clothes before we set off. A prince can only command so much respect in a blanket."

Despite everything - and there had been so much absolute fuckery - Tabris found herself smiling.

"Clothes," Tabris said, shaking herself from the strange fog that had settled over her mind. "Right."

She moved to the small chest at the foot of her bed, keenly aware of Alistair's presence behind her. The chest creaked as she opened it, revealing her meager collection of garments. Most were practical items - tunics and trousers worn soft with use, a few pieces that had been mended more times than she cared to count.

"I'm afraid I don't have much that would fit you," she said, rifling through the contents. "You're…considerably larger than I am."

"I'll take anything over this blanket," Alistair replied cheerfully. "Though I've grown rather attached to it. We've been through so much together these past ten minutes."

Tabris chuckled and pulled out her largest tunic - faded blue with sleeves that would surely be too short for Alistair's arms. "This might work for the top." She laid it aside. But when she searched for trousers that might accommodate his frame, she came up empty-handed. Her hips were much narrower than his, and he had more… undercarriage than she did.

Her fingers brushed against a length of fabric at the bottom of the chest, and she paused. It was a skirt - one of the few feminine garments she owned, rarely worn and nearly forgotten. Long enough to reach her ankles, with a drawstring waist that could be adjusted.

"This will have to do for the bottom," she said, holding up the skirt with an apologetic grimace.

Alistair's eyebrows shot up. "That's…not exactly what I had in mind for my triumphant return to court."

"Unless you prefer the blanket?" Morrigan suggested from her position by the window, where she was keeping watch - both on Alistair and on his guards outside, though they maintained a respectful distance. "I'm certain the royal guard would be most impressed by their prince parading about half-naked."

"The skirt it is," Alistair said with a resigned sigh. He extended his hand for the garments, then paused. "Um, would you mind…?"

"Oh!" As if she hadn’t embarrassed herself enough for one day. "Of course. We'll turn around."

She and Morrigan faced the wall, giving Alistair privacy to change. Tabris fixed her gaze on a small crack in the plaster, tracing its jagged path while trying very hard not to think about the man undressing behind her.

The rustling of fabric, followed by a triumphant "Ha!" And then: "Alright, I'm decent. Well, clothed, at least. The decency might be debatable."

Tabris turned to find Alistair standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. The blue tunic strained across his broad shoulders, the sleeves barely reaching his elbows. The skirt hung just below his knees, the drawstring cinched tight around his waist. A gap between the skirt and tunic revealed a tantalizing glimpse of his midriff that should not have made Tabris as desperate for him as it did. He looked absurd and endearing all at once, like a child playing dress-up in clothes he hadn't yet grown into - except in reverse.

"You look…" Tabris searched for the right word.

"Absurd? Laughable? Like a court jester who's lost his way?" Alistair offered, tugging at the tight collar of the tunic.

"I was going to say 'unique.'"

"Uniquely preposterous," Morrigan said, turning away from the window. "But 'twill have to do. You should return to your guard before they decide their prince has been bewitched after all."

For all his promises and good intentions, Alistair would be leaving her behind. She'd be alone again - well, with Morrigan, but that wasn't the same as having Froggy's gentle presence at her side. A lump formed in her throat that she tried to swallow down. But it wouldn’t budge.

"You should go," she said through the tremble that pulled at her voice. "The sooner you reach the castle, the sooner this can all be over."

"You could come with me, you know.” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. “I could protect you at court while we sort this out."

Tabris shook her head, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "A wanted elf walking into the royal palace with the prince? They'd arrest me before we crossed the threshold." She crossed her arms over her chest, a shield against the ache building there. "No, I'll stay with Morrigan. We'll find somewhere safe until you've had time to…do whatever you plan on doing."

"She speaks sense," Morrigan interjected. "The court is no place for her now. Not until her name is cleared."

Alistair's shoulders slumped slightly, but he nodded. "You're right, of course. It's just—" He ran a hand through his tousled hair. "I've only just become human again, and now I have to leave you."

The naked honesty in his voice made Tabris's heart flutter traitorously. She busied herself with adjusting the strap of her pack, avoiding his gaze. "It's not forever," she said, though the words felt hollow. How many times had she told herself that about her family, about her home?

"No," Alistair agreed firmly. "It's not." He took a step closer, close enough that she could smell the earthy scent of him - no longer musty pond water, but warmer, more human. "I give you my word, Tabris. I will clear your name. Whatever it takes. How will I find you when it's done?"

Morrigan let out a dramatic sigh, as if the mere question exhausted her patience. "Must I think of everything?" She reached into a hidden pocket of her dark robes and withdrew a small scroll of parchment, its edges tinged with a faint purple glow.

"What's that?" Tabris asked, eyeing the parchment with suspicion.

The witch unrolled it, revealing pristine, unmarked paper that seemed to shimmer slightly in the dim light of the cabin. "Enchanted parchment," she explained, her tone suggesting this should be obvious. "Whatever is written on one sheet appears on its twin. I had been crafting it as a way for you to reach your family after your last letter was intercepted." She tore the parchment in half, the purple glow intensifying briefly at the tear before settling back to a slight shimmer.

"That's…actually quite clever," Alistair admitted, earning a sharp look from Morrigan.

"Your astonishment at basic magical competence is noted.” She handed one half to Alistair, who accepted it gingerly. "Write on this, and the words will appear on our half. We can respond in kind."

Alistair carefully folded the parchment and tucked it into the waistband of his borrowed skirt. "And it works anywhere? No matter the distance?"

"Within reasonable limits. The connection weakens over extreme distances, but it should suffice for our purposes. Do try not to lose it. The enchantment is temperamental."

"Temperamental, how?" Tabris asked.

A wicked grin curved Morrigan's lips. "Let us simply say that should anyone other than the prince attempt to use it, they may find the experience…transformative."

Alistair paled slightly. "You mean they'll—"

"Turn into frogs?" Morrigan finished for him. "Perhaps. Or toads. I find variety keeps life interesting."

"Right," Alistair said weakly. "No letting anyone else touch the magic paper. Got it."

An awkward silence fell over the cabin. Outside, the guards shifted restlessly, their armor clinking softly. The moment of departure had arrived, and Tabris felt a childish need to cling to the man wearing her skirt. It was ridiculous to feel this way about someone she'd just properly met, and yet…

"I suppose this is goodbye, then," she said quietly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"For now," he said gently. He reached for her hand, and Tabris offered it without hesitation.

His fingers were warm against hers, no longer small and webbed but large and calloused. He bent over her hand and pressed his lips to her delicate bones, a barely there whisper that sent a shiver up her arm.

"My Lady," he murmured against her skin, his breath warm.

He straightened, then with a grin that was pure Froggy - cheeky and sweet - he added, "May I just say, I think I make this skirt look rather dashing. I might start a new fashion trend at court. Imagine all the nobles trying to outdo each other with increasingly elaborate skirts." He twirled awkwardly, the fabric swishing around his knees. "What do you think? Too avant-garde for reserved Ferelden sensibilities?"

Tabris couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up from her chest, genuine and bright. "Revolutionary, Your Highness."

"I thought I told you to call me Alistair. Or Froggy. I was growing rather attached to the name." His grin softened then, the humor giving way to something more earnest. "I meant what I said. I will fix this."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak past the lump in her throat. Morrigan made an impatient noise, arms crossed and tapping her foot.

"Write to me," Tabris finally managed. "Let me know you made it safely."

"Every day," he promised, backing toward the door. "Though I apologize in advance for my handwriting. It's been some time since I've held a quill."

"Better than when you had webbed fingers, I imagine."

He laughed at that, the sound warm and rich. "Fair point."

With one last lingering look, he stepped outside into the dim sunlight. The guards snapped to attention, having emerged from the treeline, their expressions ranging from disbelief to amusement at his unusual attire.

"Your Highness," Ser Baryan said, bowing stiffly. "Shall we escort you back to the palace?"

"Yes, thank you, Ser Baryan," Alistair replied, adopting what Tabris guessed was an attempt at a regal tone. "I trust there will be no further harassment of Miss Tabris?"

"As you command, Your Highness." The guard's eyes flickered briefly to the cabin before returning to Alistair. "Though I must report the situation to the Captain of the Guard."

"Of course," Alistair said smoothly. "I'll be providing a full account to the Royal Council myself. Now, shall we?"

As the guards formed a protective circle around him, Alistair glanced back at the cabin one last time. Through the window, Tabris watched him, her expression unreadable. He raised his hand in a small wave, and after a moment's hesitation, she returned the gesture.

Tabris watched until Alistair disappeared among the trees, the sun glinting off the armor of his guards as they escorted him away. When the last flash of metal vanished from sight, she let her hand drop slowly to her side, feeling strangely hollow.

Would he keep his promise? Could a shem prince truly clear the name of an elf who had killed a nobleman's son? The rational part of her mind said no - justice had never favoured her kind. But something deeper, something that had formed during those quiet evenings with Froggy perched on her knee, whispered that perhaps this time would be different.

"Do you think he'll really do it?" she asked softly, staring at the empty path where Alistair had been moments before.

Morrigan's snort pulled her from her melancholy. "Come, let us depart from this place before they return," she said, already gathering her few belongings. "The prince's protection will not last long once he is out of sight."

Tabris turned to face the witch, reality settling back onto her shoulders like a heavy, stone gargoyle. Of course, they had to leave, move to a new home. But maybe, one day, her prince would make good on his promise.

She grabbed her bag and stuffed Froggy’s blanket inside - a sentimental fool, Morrigan would call her, but she didn’t mind. There were worse ways to be.

Casting one last glance around her cabin, blinking back tears, she followed the witch into the woods and towards a new, new beginning.

Next Chapter

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 6k

Part 42 - So, Maybe I'm Not Okay

"Isn't it rotten? There isn't any use my telling you I love you." - Ernest Hemingway

Warning: After the second break, there are emotionally heavy themes

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

Masterlist

Ash couldn't believe she'd pulled it off as easily as she had. Josephine had bought her flimsy excuse hook, line, and sinker, eagerly rescheduling Rae's dress fitting to accommodate her ‘sudden interest in Orlesian fashion.’ Ha! As if. The only thing Ash found interesting about Orlesian fashion was how quickly it went up in flames. Though she was party to a pretty dress, the Orlesian style left much to be desired. Perhaps, if she were lucky, she could steer the seamstress away from anything too gaudy.

Rae had needed a distraction, and what were big sisters for if not to run interference? So there she stood, arms spread wide as a seamstresses fussed and pinned and muttered to herself, her assistant standing off to the side with a pile of fabric in her arms.

Love had been suspiciously inactive since her conversation with Dorian and Rae the day before, but Ash wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she’d take the reprieve while she still could.

Josephine had scurried off to fetch more fabric samples, leaving Ash to contemplate her reflection in the full-length mirror. The gown, emerald silk and gold embroidery, clung to her breasts, her cleavage nearly spilling over the corset bodice, and the puffy skirt making it difficult to move. She couldn’t take a full breath, but it was beautiful, she had to admit.

The seamstress clucked her tongue, eyeing the bodice critically. "We'll need to let this out a bit. If you'd be so kind as to remove the gown?"

Ash sighed, relieved to be free of the constricting garment. The seamstress and her assistant unlaced it, and she raised her arms as they carefully lowered the dress, helping her step out of it and leaving her standing in nothing but her thin shift.

With the impeccable timing of a Crow arriving at their contract after a murder, the door burst open. Ash turned to see Cullen striding in, his brows knit tightly together as he focused intently on the parchment clutched in his hands.

"Lady Montilyet, I have urgent need of—" He stopped short, his eyes widening as they fell on Ash.

The fates must hate her, Ash decided, to keep torturing her as they did. Throwing Cullen and everything she’d lost back in her face just as Love had quieted down for once. Upon seeing Cullen, all her reprieve vanished into thin air, and the force of Love’s anger battered against her worn heart and crackled along her ribs. It was all she could do to stifle a low, pained groan.

Cullen's gaze traveled from her face down to her scarcely concealed curves, a flush creeping up his neck. For a brief, fleeting moment, she glimpsed a flicker of the tender warmth that he used to hold for her, a gentle affection that she had coveted until…well, she’d said some pretty terrible things, hadn’t she? But as she’d expected, his expression quickly hardened into the cold mask she had grown accustomed to ever since their fight.

"My apologies," he said stiffly, averting his eyes. "I was looking for the Inquisitor."

Ash's throat tightened around a sob - both from the distance between them and Love’s shredding of her insides. "Josephine rescheduled her fitting," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. “I don’t know where Rae is.”

Cullen nodded curtly, still not meeting her gaze. "I see. Thank you for the information." He turned to leave, then paused, his hand on the doorknob. For a heartbeat, Ash thought he might say something more. But the moment passed, and he was gone, the door closing behind him, sealing him away from her again.

It was better this way, wasn’t it? He could never love a spirit-possessed mage. It was easier to split off now than it would be if they’d gone any further. Yet it killed her all the same.

Ash stared at the closed door, her heart a tangled mess of thorns and broken glass. Cullen's face, that brief flicker of warmth extinguished so quickly, haunted her. How had they come to this? Once, his gaze had been her joy, his touch soothing to her weary soul. Now, the mere sight of him was enough to shatter the fragile peace she'd cobbled together.

Love surged through her veins, making her stumble, setting her nerves alight with remembered passion and longing. Images flashed before her eyes: stolen kisses, tender embraces beneath the moonlight in his room, promises whispered in the dark.

It hurt too much. She couldn’t trust him, couldn’t trust herself.

Love's fury intensified, regret and desire clawing at her insides, rending flesh and bone in her desperate attempt to be heard. Ash gasped, doubling over as agony lanced through her chest.

The seamstress's voice registered. "Are you alright, dear?"

Ash waved her off, struggling to breathe through the torment. Love's rage was relentless, each pulse a reminder of what she'd lost, what she'd thrown away. Tears stung Ash's eyes, hot and bitter. She wanted to scream, to rail against the unfairness of it all. Instead, she swallowed hard, forcing herself to stand straight.

She was a coward. She’d pushed him away because she was afraid of being hurt again. But in doing so, she’d hurt herself more than he ever could.

Love rallied again, and Ash’s hands shot to her chest as though she could contain the spirit within her palms. But Love was an overheated cauldron over a roaring flame, and Ash a foolish child who hadn’t yet learned the dangers of fire.

The seamstress's voice cut through the haze of pain, shrill with concern, and was that…a hand on her forehead? "Miss Lavellan, you're burning up! Shall I fetch a healer?"

"Go away," Ash growled, her teeth barred and sharp canines gritted. "Just…leave me be."

The women exchanged worried glances, their eyes flickering with concern, but they retreated nonetheless, the door clicking shut behind them with a finality that echoed in the room. Alone at last, Ash staggered towards the mirror, her legs heavy and unsteady beneath her. She clutched the ornate frame for support, its intricate carvings digging into her palms. Her reflection stared back, a stranger with wild eyes and flushed cheeks. Fragile, unravelling, stripped of all pretense.

As she watched, horror-struck, a thin, searing line of fire crackled across her chest, starting at her heart. It spread outward like intricate spiderwebs, following the map of her veins, each new fissure bringing fresh agony. Ash bit back a scream, tasting blood as her teeth pierced her lip.

It was as though her very soul was being torn asunder, Love's fury carving new paths through flesh and bone. Every beat of her heart sent excruciating pain coursing through her body.

Did she deserve this kind of suffering? She wasn’t sure anymore. What she wanted most was to be hugged by a mother who loved her or held by a lover who didn’t fear her. She had neither.

Ash's legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, curling in on herself as though she could contain the inferno raging within. Her chest heaved with ragged sobs, each gasp for air fanning the flames higher.

Until, with no warning, the flames receded back into her heart. A threat, waiting for the right time to release. This was only the beginning.

"Fuck," she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. "That's not good."

A polite knock rapped on her door.

Ash lifted her head from the pillow, her tear-stained cheeks still warm and damp. Love had hardly relented since earlier that morning, and every bone in her body ached. It seemed the spirit had tired herself out, but Ash feared when she would return.

The knock echoed again, more insistent this time. Sweetpea raised her head at the disturbance, happily nestled against Ash’s side. She considered ignoring it, burrowing deeper into her cocoon of misery, but something in the rhythm caught her attention. It wasn't Josephine's delicate tap or Rae's familiar pattern - and thankfully, it was not Cullen’s commanding bang. Dorian would have opened the door without knocking by now. Curiosity piqued despite her exhaustion, Ash dragged herself from the bed despite Sweetpea’s disgruntled meow as she took over Ash’s pillow. Snuggle time was over.

"Who is it?" she called, voice hoarse from crying.

"My name is Sigrid Gulsdotten," came the reply, calm and steady. "Your sister sent me."

Ash hesitated, hand on the doorknob. She didn’t know this woman, this Avvar mage. But Rae had made her conditions clear. If Ash wanted to attend Halamshiral and have a chance to watch over her sister, she had to speak with the woman. With a resigned sigh, she opened the door.

Sigrid stood there in her leathers lined with thick fur. Her dark hair was neatly braided out of her round face. She carried herself with quiet confidence, but her eyes drew Ash's attention - piercing, as if they could see right through to her battered soul.

"May I come in?" Sigrid asked.

Ash nodded, stepping aside. Sigrid swept into the room, her eyes taking in every detail - from the rumpled bedsheets to the half-empty bottle of wine on the nightstand. Ash suddenly felt self-conscious about the state of her quarters, but the Avvar woman didn't appear to judge. Not outwardly.

"I apologize for Rae," Ash said, running a hand through her tangled waves. "She demanded we converse but didn't give us any topics to choose from."

Sigrid's lips quirked in a small smile. At least she appreciated Ash’s poor attempt at humour. "I think spirit possession is as good a place to start as any."

Ash's heart skipped a beat. "Ah. So she told you."

"Your sister wants to help," Sigrid said. "She's worried about you."

Ash sank onto the edge of the bed. "I know. But I'm not sure anyone can help at this point."

Sigrid pulled up a chair, sitting across from Ash. Her piercing gaze softened slightly. "I’ve had my spirit with me since I was a child. It's my closest friend, my dearest companion. It taught me much about spirits and their relationship to mortals. I’d like to offer some insight, if you’d tell me about your spirit. How did you come to be joined?"

Ash hesitated, weighing her words carefully. "It wasn't exactly a choice. Love…she found me when I was, uh, in need of help as a child. She offered me a deal; her power for the ability to experience mortal love through me. It worked, for a while. But now…I don’t know what to make of it anymore."

It was odd to talk so freely with a stranger about her possession, but she no longer had the energy to fight it. And something about Sigrid’s aura seemed to put both her mind and Love at ease - the woman’s spirit, most likely.

Sigrid nodded thoughtfully. "In my clan, we have a different relationship with spirits. We see them as guides, teachers. Not something to be feared or controlled, but partners on our journey."

"But how do you maintain that balance? Love…she's so strong. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in her."

"It takes practice," Sigrid admitted. "And a willingness to listen, to understand the spirit's nature. Love is a powerful force, but it can also be gentle, nurturing. Communication is vital to keep the relationship healthy.”

Listening had never been one of Ash’s strong suits. Neither was communication, if she was being honest - but she was working on it. Ash shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tracing the embroidery on her bedspread. She'd spent so long trying to suppress the spirit, to ignore her desires and demands. The thought of opening that floodgate made her stomach churn.

Your ignorance about spirits is your own problem, do not make it mine. She’d thrown that at Cullen, but there she was, ignorant about spirits and needing education from an Avvar.

Sigrid leaned forward, forehead creasing as she frowned. "Something has upset your spirit greatly. I can feel the distorted energy coming off you both. What happened?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and expectant. Ash's throat tightened, memories of her fight with Cullen flashing through her mind - the hurt in his eyes, the venom in her words.

Is that what you want, Commander? If I was tranquil you’d never have to deal with my more irritating qualities, you could fuck me whenever you wanted and I wouldn’t care. Isn’t that ideal?

She swallowed hard, searching for a way to deflect.

"Have you ever disagreed with your spirit?"

Sigrid's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly noting the evasion, but she didn't press. She leaned back in her chair. "Oh, many times. My spirit companion is Wisdom, and let me tell you, it can be quite…opinionated."

Despite herself, Ash felt a flicker of interest. "What do you argue about?"

"Everything and nothing," Sigrid chuckled. "The proper way to brew elfroot tea, the most efficient route through the mountains, whether or not I should tell the Thane's son that his new tattoo looks like shit." Her expression sobered. "But we've had our share of serious conflicts as well."

"What did you do to fix it?"

Sigrid's eyes grew distant. "It's not always easy. Wisdom and I have very different perspectives sometimes. But we've learned to listen to each other, to try and understand where the other is coming from." She focused back on Ash. "The key is remembering that we're partners, not adversaries. Even when we disagree, we still want what's best for each other."

Ash's chest tightened. Partners. Not adversaries. How long had it been since she'd thought of Love that way? Had she ever? The answer was no.

"But what if…" Ash faltered. She took a deep breath and tried again. "What if the spirit wants something you can't give? Something that would hurt you?"

Sigrid's gaze sharpened. "Is that what's happening with Love?"

Ash nodded, unable to meet the Avvar woman's eyes. "She wants…Well, I think she wants me to be with someone. Someone I can't be with. And when I refuse, she lashes out."

Surely she’d lost her mind to be confessing such a thing. If she wasn’t already possessed, she’d be on her way to the Seeker to rid herself of it.

"Ah," Sigrid said softly. "I see. And this someone - they're the reason for Love's recent distress?"

"Yes," Ash whispered. "We fought. A bad one. And now Love is…"

"Mourning," Sigrid finished. "She's grieving the loss of a connection she treasured."

Ash's head snapped up. "But it wasn't her connection. It was mine."

"Was it? Or did Love experience it just as deeply through you?"

The question hit Ash like a punch to the gut. She'd never considered it that way before. Had Love been just as invested in her relationship with Cullen? Just as hurt by its end? But unable to do anything about it.

"I…" Ash pursed her lips. "I don't know."

"Ashvalla, you and Love are not separate entities. You're intertwined. What affects one of you affects both. If you want to heal this rift, you need to start seeing Love as part of yourself, not an invader to be fought against."

It went against everything she'd been taught about spirits, everything she'd believed about her own possession. But as she turned the idea over in her head, she felt something shift within her. A slight easing of the constant tension she carried.

"How do I even begin? Love has only spoken to me three times that I recall, and she’s not exactly herself right now," Ash said, rubbing her knuckles against her sternum.

"We begin by going to the source. You need to speak with Love directly, to understand her perspective and find common ground."

"How? I can't exactly have a chat with her over tea."

"There is a way," Sigrid explained. "An old Avvar ritual that allows one to enter a trance state and communicate with their spirit companion face-to-face, so to speak. It's not without risks, but it could provide the clarity you both need."

Ash would do nearly anything to end this suffering. "How?"

"The ritual itself is simple enough, but it requires a skilled mage to guide you through it safely. Is there someone here you trust? It would be beneficial to impart this onto someone more easily accessible to you should you have need of it in the future."

Ash didn't hesitate. "Dorian. He's a Tevinter mage, but he's like a brother to me."

She surprised herself with how deeply she meant it. She should tell him the next time she got a chance. He deserved to know. Before she fucked it all up again.

Sigrid nodded approvingly. "Good. It's always better to have someone familiar with you during such a process. Shall we summon him?"

Less than half an hour later, Dorian arrived. "I hear we're delving into the depths of your psyche, my dear. How thrilling!"

Despite her nerves, Ash couldn't help but smile. Trust Dorian to lighten the mood.

As Sigrid explained the ritual to Dorian, Ash's gaze drifted to the window and the gardens below. She wondered, briefly, what Cullen was doing. Was he thinking of her? Or had he already moved on, burying himself in work as he so often did?

"Ashvalla?" Dorian's voice pulled her from her reverie. "Are you ready?"

She turned back to find both mages watching her expectantly. Ash took a deep breath, bracing herself. "As I'll ever be."

They instructed her to lie in bed, and Dorian gently coaxed Sweetpea to leave the room. The cat, obviously displeased, shot him a look of pure disdain, her tail flicking with irritation. Dorian would have to check his shoes for any unpleasant surprises, like dead mice, before putting them on for the next few weeks if that glare was anything to go by. Reluctantly, Sweetpea complied, her padded footsteps softly retreating, as she wanted nothing to do with the small, mysterious pouch that Sigrid pulled from her belt. Sigrid opened it, releasing a faint, earthy aroma as she sprinkled a mixture of fragrant herbs and crushed crystals in a circle around Ash.

"Try to relax. Dorian and I will guide you into the trance state."

It was easier said than done, but as their magic washed over her, she was powerless to resist the pull into the Fade.

A figure of flames wearing her body, rounded and soft but no less dangerous. 

“There you are,” Ash spat, irritation for the spirit who had caused her nothing but pain as of late. “What do you want?”

Love cocked her head to the side, unnerving without eyes to convey her thoughts and feelings. “What I always have, yet you deny me.” 

“I can’t give you that.” Ash scrunched her fists in her robes, her legs tucked beneath her. “It’s not mine to give.”

Love knelt to Ash’s height. “I am not his spirit, Ashvalla, I am yours.” 

Twisting her lips into a frown, she sat back on her heels. “Say it plainly, I don’t have time for riddles.” 

In the Fade, Ash did indeed have time, but it was her unwillingness to reflect on Love’s words that blocked her - and her unwillingness to admit it, even though she knew it to be true. 

Love glanced over her shoulder, able to view what Ash could not, and returned her searing gaze to the weakened mage before her. 

“You disguise your love as anger, you pushed him away before he could see that which you hide from him. In doing so, you stifle me, you press your hidden feelings down upon me until I harden into something I am not. You will create a demon of me, Ashvalla, if you do not confess.”

Mind blank, her mouth ajar, a trickle of panic pricked across the back of her scalp and slithered down her spine. This couldn’t be happening, not after everything she had gone through since Adamant. Love wanted her to profess her love to Cullen? Impossible. But to risk becoming an abomination? That option wasn’t any better. 

“I-I don’t understand. He doesn’t…how am I supposed to tell him when he despises me?” Whining like a child, what would her mother say? An admonishment of her lack of maturity, her selfishness. Just do it and stop complaining.

Love was silent, her head making minute movements the only sign that she was regarding Ash, trying to figure out what to say. 

“Your mother held no love for herself, and you were a mirrored everything she had been conditioned to abhor, so she did not know how to love you. That is not a reflection of your worth. You are not a mere extension of your mother, and you deserve love, both from others and yourself.” Love stood up as tears blurred Ash’s vision - unable to fully comprehend what Love had bestowed upon her. Love held out her hand, beckoning Ash to her feet. Ash followed, her legs moving on their own, her mind disconnected from her body. “Come, I will show you.” 

Into the mist they went, her mind reeling as she tried - and failed - to process everything the spirit had just told her. The ground beneath her feet shifted and warped, at times solid stone, at others spongy moss or slick ice. Wisps of memory flitted past - fragments of laughter, echoes of angry voices, the scent of willow bark tea and elderflower.

As they walked, Ash's thoughts tumbled over each other like leaves in a storm. Her mother hadn't known how to love her? The thought was simultaneously devastating and liberating. For years, Ash had carried the weight of her mother's rejection, believing herself unworthy, unlovable. She’d only recently begun to question it, but when she’d had her fallout with Cullen, all that work had come crashing down. But if Love spoke true…

She'd spent so long running from her own emotions, terrified of the vulnerability they represented. It was easier to lash out, to push people away before they could hurt her. But in doing so, she'd been suffocating Love, twisting her into something dark and painful. She’d been hurting the being that had not only saved her life multiple times, but Rae’s as well.

And Cullen…oh, Cullen. Had she really been disguising her love as anger? The memory of their fight burned in her mind, the cruel words she'd hurled at him like daggers. But beneath the anger, there had been fear - fear of opening herself up, of allowing herself to need someone. It was easier to drive him away than to risk being hurt again.

But at what cost? Love's warning about becoming a demon sent chills down Ash's spine. She'd fought so hard to maintain control, to prove she wasn't a monster. The thought that her own stubbornness might lead her down that path was almost too much to bear.

Her thoughts scattered when they came to a clearing in the mist. Stepping out, she came upon an unfamiliar scene - a grey brick expanse, chains lined on the walls, a figure at the centre of it all.

She almost didn’t recognize him at first, so unexpected to see him here, in her dreams, of all places. The bags beneath his eyes were lighter, though still present, the lines on his face softer with his younger age. His hair was curled naturally, not held down by pomade. She’d seen it in their early mornings together, but never as curly as it was here. Varric’s nickname for him made infinitely more sense. 

“Watch.” Love instructed, gesturing to Cullen in his Templar armour. He looked good in a skirt - would look good in anything - but seeing him only brought back all the pain she felt. Seeing him but not speaking, not touching. 

A woman stepped from the mists, her shoulders back, her chin held high. She wore a Templar uniform, though different from typical; no skirt, a red hood, and a golden crown atop her light blonde hair. 

Cullen inclined his head. “Knight-Commander, to what—“

She spoke over him, uninterested in his polite greeting. “We caught it, that abomination you’ve been hunting.” 

With a flick of her hand, another Templar - helmet on and face obscured - yanked on thick iron chains. A figure stumbled forward from the mists. Ash's breath caught in her throat as she saw herself - or rather, a dream version of herself - being dragged before Cullen. This other Ash appeared dazed, her eyes unfocused and glassy. Her blonde waves were matted with dirt and blood, sticking to her sweat-slicked forehead. The scars around her lips stood out starkly against her pale skin, marred with fresh cuts and bruises.

The chains clinked ominously as they bit into her wrists, leaving angry red marks where they chafed against her skin. With a rough shove, the Templar forced Dream-Ash to her knees at Cullen's feet. She swayed unsteadily, weakened and disoriented.

This wasn’t her dream, this was his.

Cullen inhaled sharply, his eyes wide as they searched her face. Panic and anguish tightened his body, his hands clenching around the pommel of his sword. “Why…” he swallowed hard. “Why have you brought her to me?” 

Ash turned to Love, distress shaking her hands. “I don’t think I should be seeing this.”

Love didn’t answer, remaining still as the scene progressed. 

The woman - it had to be Knight-Commander Meredith, there was no one else that Ash was aware of from his past that matched the description - smiled with cruel glee. “Your efforts allowed us to capture it. This is all thanks to you. It's execution is your responsibility.” 

Cullen looked up sharply, gaze torn away from dream-Ash. “Ser?” 

The severity of Meredith’s sharp features made her look like a hawk when she frowned. “Are you questioning my gift, Knight-Captain?” 

Bowing his head, a sign of submission, Cullen said, “No, Ser.” But the wavering in his voice betrayed his hesitation. 

Meredith’s eyes narrowed, her lips wrinkling. “It’s possessed, an abomination. Kill it before it kills us all. Or have you forgotten why you transferred here from Kinloch?” 

Cullen’s face visibly paled, the blood rushing from his head and to his heart as it struggled to beat. “I haven’t.” 

“Good,” Meredith stepped towards dream-Ash and fisted her hand in her hair, yanking her head back to bare her throat. “Then kill it. That’s an order.” 

Eyes darting between both women, his chest rose and fell rapidly with panicked breaths. His hand trembled as he unsheathed his sword, the metallic scrape echoing in the eerie stillness of the Fade. Ash's heart shattered into icy shards, each jagged piece piercing her lungs with the agony of betrayal. She had been right all along - he would choose duty over her, would cut her down without hesitation. The bitter taste of vindication mixed with the salt of the tears she swallowed.

But then, he hesitated.

The tip of his blade hovered inches from Dream-Ash's exposed throat, wavering like a leaf caught in an indecisive breeze. Conflict etched deep lines across his brow, amber eyes swimming with churning emotions - duty, fear, anguish, and something else. Something that made her knees weaken.

“Do it, Templar,” Dream-Ash sneered. “It’s your duty, is it not? Or are there other rules when you’ve fucked them first?” 

Her harsh words from their argument thrown back in his face, and he flinched. 

“Knight-Captain!” Meredith barked, tugging Dream-Ash’s head back harder and making her choke. “Do as you’re told.”

“Stop,” Cullen breathed, so quietly she almost missed it. “You’re hurting her.”

Meredith's eyes flashed with rage. She flung Dream-Ash to the ground, and she gasped, her face contorting in pain as she struggled to breathe.

"What did you say?" Meredith demanded, low, dangerous, and laced with the promise of retribution.

Cullen's mouth opened and closed, his throat working as he tried to form words. "I—I…" he stammered, his eloquence deserting him in the face of his commander's wrath.

Dream-Ash pushed herself up onto her elbows, her green eyes blazing with fury as she seethed at Cullen. Her lips pulled back in a feral snarl, teeth bared like a cornered animal, nose crinkled and ears quivering. Is that really how I look when I'm angry? Ash wondered, taken aback by the raw, untamed fury.

Her chest heaved with each labored breath, her nostrils flaring. Cullen's amber gaze softened for just a moment. Even though she looked like she was seconds away from sinking her teeth into his throat, he still…Creators, he still cared for her.

Something shifted. Cullen's grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles turning white. He whirled to face Meredith. The Knight-Commander's eyes widened in shock, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise as Cullen's blade plunged into her chest.

The sickening crunch of metal piercing armor was followed by a wet gurgle as blood bubbled from Meredith's lips. She staggered back, her hands grasping weakly at the sword protruding from her chest. Cullen's face was set in determination as he wrenched the blade free, sending a spray of crimson across the misty ground of the Fade.

Meredith crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath her still form. The Fade rippled around them, the dreamscape shifting and warping as Cullen's subconscious grappled with this act of defiance against everything he'd been taught to believe.

An act of defiance he’d done for her.

Dream-Ash's body began to shimmer and warp, her features melting like wax. Ash watched in horror as her doppelganger's body stretched and twisted, transforming into a figure of living flame. Love's familiar form emerged, her lips canted into a triumphant smirk.

"Foolish Templar," Love purred with both of their voices joined in a discordant melody. "She's mine."

Cullen's eyes widened in terror, his face draining of colour. He raised his sword with trembling hands, the blade wavering uncertainly between them.

"Ashvalla, please," he begged, his voice cracking and almost bringing her to her knees with his sheer desperation. "Come back to me. This isn't you."

As if responding to his plea, Love's form began to waver. The flames receded, revealing glimpses of Ash's familiar features beneath. With a final, mocking laugh, Love and her flames vanished, leaving dream-Ash curled on the ground.

She stirred, blinking up at Cullen with confusion and fear reflected in her red-rimmed eyes. Watching herself now…she appeared so much younger than she had when she was angry, a youthfulness to her full cheeks. Dream-Ash scrambled backward, her chest heaving with panicked breaths.

"Stay away from me!" she cried, hoarse and trembling.

Cullen's face crumpled, his sword clattering to the ground as he reached out with shaking hands. "I'm not going to hurt you. I could never—"

But she was already on her feet, stumbling away from him. Her tattered robes billowed around her as she ran, disappearing into the swirling mists of the Fade.

"Wait!" Cullen called after her. "It's not safe out there!"

But she was already gone, and the mists were closing in on him - alone in the darkness, the body of his Commander strewn across the ground, slain by his hand.

"I want to leave," Ash choked out. "I can't…I can't watch this anymore."

Love turned to her, the spirit's fiery form flickering with an intensity that made Ash's eyes water. "No," Love said simply, echoing with finality.

Before Ash could protest, the dreamscape shifted. The mists swirled and parted, revealing a scene that made her blood run cold.

There, on the worn stone floor, lay her own broken body. Her hair was matted with blood from where she’d taken a blow to the forehead. Chest unmoving, lips dyed an unnatural blue hue, her limbs splayed around her, she was gone.

Cullen's anguished cry tore from his chest. "No, no, no!" He rushed forward, falling to his knees beside her. His hands hovered over her body, shaking, as if afraid to touch her and confirm the terrible truth.

Unable to hold back, with a broken sob, he gathered her into his arms. He cradled her head against his chest, his fingers tangling in her blood-soaked curls. Tears streamed down his face, dripping onto her lifeless cheeks.

"Ashvalla," he whispered, his voice cracking with grief. "Please, don't leave me. Not like this."

His gloved hand caressed her face, thumb brushing over her nose and cheeks. He traced the curve of her jaw, the line of her neck, as if trying to memorize every detail.

"I'm sorry," he wept. "I'm so sorry. I should have protected you. I should have…" He broke off with another heart-wrenching sob. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to hers, his tears mingling with the blood on her skin. His body shook with the force of his sorrow, armor clanking softly as he rocked her gently.

Ash watched, paralyzed, as Cullen's fingers ghosted over her lips, tracing the scars there with a tenderness that made her heart ache. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, squeezing his eyes shut like he could pretend that warmth still lingered beneath her skin.

Her stomach churned as she watched Cullen cradle her lifeless body. The raw anguish, the broken sobs that wracked his frame - it was too much. She wanted to look away, to run, to wake up from this nightmare, but Love rooted her to the spot.

"Do you understand now?" Love's voice resonated through her.

Ash shook her head, her throat tight. "This doesn't change anything. He's still afraid of me, of us. You saw him raise his sword when I turned into you. I can’t tell him."

It confirmed everything she'd feared - that deep down, he would always see her as a threat, a mage to be wary of. He may want her, mourn her, but she couldn’t exist without Love.

“You are not afraid of him, my Ashvalla, you fear yourself. And what of me?" Love asked, stepping closer. As she moved, droplets of molten fire began to fall from her form, sizzling where they hit the ground. Ash stumbled back to avoid being burned. "I thought that perhaps you would come to love me, one day, as I do you. But you have shut me out and you have shut him out and that was not our deal!"

The spirit's voice deepened, the droplets of fire falling more rapidly, like tears. But she didn’t diminish, she only grew. Love shoulders curled, her arms hanging uselessly, and her curves melding into a solid wall of flame.

"You are a fool," Love declared, echoing with disappointment and anger, making Ash flinch - too reminiscent of her mother. "And you will only hurt us both."

Before Ash could respond, Love's form surged, enveloping her in searing heat. She gasped, feeling herself falling, plummeting into the depths of her own mind. The dreamscape dissolved around her, replaced by an all-consuming darkness.

Fuck, what had she done? The guilt she felt over what she’d done to her spirit plucked at her insides.

As she fell, Ash's thoughts raced. Was Love right? Had she misinterpreted everything? The image of Cullen defying Meredith, choosing her over his duty, replayed in her mind. But so did the fear in his eyes when he thought Love took her over.

She thought of his gentle touches, the way he'd traced her scars with such tenderness. The grief that had consumed him at her death. Could someone truly mourn like that for someone they feared?

Doubt crept in, insidious and persistent. What if she was wrong? What if her own fears and insecurities were blinding her to the truth? The possibility that she might be throwing away something real, something precious, made her heart constrict painfully.

But the old fears resurfaced. He was a Templar for ten long years, and she was a possessed mage. How could they ever truly overcome that divide? Even if he cared for her now, would he always see her as dangerous? Would she always be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to turn on her?

She couldn’t prove him right by letting herself become a demon, but by Mythal, how was she supposed to tell him she loved him when she could barely admit it to herself?

Next Chapter

A/N: Sigrid - Be gentle and kind with your spirit Ash the second she sees Love - There you are, what do you want, you stupid bitch? (See orange cat from the Aristocats spitting)

[tired-truffle]

It was so fun drawing all these lovely OCs from the Cullen Romancer discord 🥰 - click the photo for better resolution

(Like reading text from left to right) We have:

Cordelia, Juliette, Astoria, Yali

Evelyn, Ashvalla, Lyria, Efa

Kyndra, Mithra, Vherevin, Liavra

Tumblrs in order of OC below the cut

@bibutterflies @sweetjulieapples @phillypumpkin @priya-san

@p0lkadotdotdot @tired-truffle @jefarawol @dragonagedorks

@cullenssweatyballsakk @silhalei @violets-and-amber @rea24268

[tired-truffle]

Thank you for the tag @sweetjulieapples 🥰

Last song: I Love You, I’m Sorry (live) by Gracie Abrams - makes me think of Ash and Cullen 🥲

Favourite colour: pastel pink

Last book: Bound to Fall by A. K. Caggiano - I ADORE this author, cannot recommend enough

Last Movie: I tried and failed to watch Frosty this Christmas, I dont watch a lot of movies lol

Last TV Show: Just finished the latest season of Invincible - loved it and can’t wait for the next!

Sweet/Spicy/Savoury: Savoury for sure, I love salt

Current obsession: Dragon age, always dragon age - Alistair and Cullen have my whole heart ❤️

Last Searched: Link bare hips concept art (don’t judge me I needed to find it for Julie in our Zelda convo 😭)

Looking forward to: the weather finally starting to get warm and spring on its way!

Tagging @dancinginadream and anyone else who would like to participate!

[tired-truffle]

OC vibes

Thank you @sweetjulieapples for the tag!

rules: post your OC and then 4 (or more) random pictures with no explanation to convey your characters vibe

Ashvalla (Ash) Lavellan

Tagging @knuttington and @dancinginadream

And everyone else who wants to give it a go!