tired-truffle

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.3k

Part 39 - Blessings Upon You

"He had suddenly no pride, no pleasure, no desire; nothing but a sort of dull resentment against everything. He turned back; shut the door, and slipping between the heavy curtains and his open window, stood looking out at the night. 'Full of misery!' he thought. 'Full of damned misery!' - John Galsworthy

Song recs for this chapter: Ash - Over & Over by Rio Romero Cullen - The World We Knew (Over and Over) By Frank Sinatra

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

Masterlist

Dear Miss Ashvalla Lavellan,

It is my understanding that I have you to thank for my brother returning my letter, with more detail than I had been expecting. Though I had been expecting very little - if anything at all - the amount I did receive was entirely shocking. Who knew it would take such a monumental effort to tell his family a little of his life?

He’d likely be deeply irritated if he knew I’d sent you a letter without his knowledge but I have good reason for it. While he writes that he is well, I cannot help but feel that there is something he is not telling me. We can chalk it up to my elder sister instinct. I am not asking you to betray his trust and divulge whatever secrets he is keeping, but I must ask, is he truly well? He was always such a serious boy, I worried he’d never find happiness, taking the weight of the world on his shoulders as he did - and I suspect still does. Is he happy? He sure sounds it when he writes of you. Does he still wear his heart on his sleeve? If he does, I’m sure you’re well aware of how he feels for you.

I will cease my rambling and taking up your precious time worrying after my younger brother, though I am sure as an elder sister, you understand. I look most forward to hearing your reply.

Blessings upon you,

-Mia Rutherford

It must have been some punishment from the Gods to have received Mia’s letter when she did. Hands trembling, Ash placed the worn parchment - now stained with tears - down on her unmade bed. She wasn’t sure how many times she had read and re-read Mia’s words, her hope for her brother’s happiness. Happiness that Ash had destroyed. 

How was she supposed to respond, if at all? ‘He was happy, I think, and now he isn’t and that is all my fault. I broke Cullen’s heart and now he can scarcely even look at me, sorry.’ It hardly seemed appropriate. She couldn’t even offer reassurance that he was well, his lyrium withdrawal still caused him pain - pain she could no longer help with. She’d seen him from across the battlements that morning, his face pink and sweat clinging to his brow. A fever or otherwise, he was having a bad spell again. Was it because of her? Was he sleeping, or was he stuck awake at night replaying their argument over and over in his head like a bad play as she was? Regret and anger and hurt swirled within her chest, Love shifting uncomfortably as though Ash’s feelings were pressing up against her, contorting her to fit a mould she wasn’t meant for. 

Love pushed back, and Ash ignored the pain.

She couldn’t just sit there and do nothing, though she had avoided any interaction, she couldn’t watch him suffer from afar, but neither could she offer her aid. Though perhaps there was someone who could. Perhaps there was someone else who could step in. Not Rae, though, as they were still delicately tiptoeing around the unresolved issue of their argument, while Ash sifted through the tangled emotions of her anger.

Standing from her bed, the weathered floorboards creaked beneath her feet. She tucked Mia's letter into the pocket of her robes, the parchment crinkling against her thigh as she moved. Her quarters felt too small, too confining, the stone walls pressing in around her. She needed air, space to think.

She made her way into the Great Hall. Skyhold was quiet this time of day, most of its inhabitants busy enjoying dinner. Only the occasional guard patrolled the battlements, their armour glinting in the low sunlight.

Ash's feet carried her across the empty hall, her footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. She pushed open the door to the rotunda, the scent of fresh paint and old parchment washing over her. Solas stood before his latest fresco, his back to her, a brush in his hand. She watched him work for a moment, the way his long fingers moved with precision and grace, bringing the image to life with each stroke. It made slightly more sense to her why her sister was interested in him. He had…potential.

“Solas,” she greeted, crossing her arms over her chest and resisting the urge to scowl. Was Dorian in the library above? Would he leave when he heard her voice?

“Ashvalla,” Solas said with a slight inclination of his head as he turned.

Ash gritted her teeth, fitting the urge to flee or say something dismissive. Everyone knew she cared deeply for Cullen, even if she’d lied, there was no point in trying to hide it. Still, she crossed the room so she didn’t have to project her voice for all to hear. “I am worried about…him.” 

Solas raised a thin eyebrow. “You will have to be more specific, there are many in Skyhold that could apply to.”

With a huff, she bit out, “The Commander.”

“Ah, of course,” Solas said smoothly, his smile calm, but she didn’t miss the slight gloat to his tone. Asshole. “What has you so concerned for his well-being? I was under the impression that you two were no longer together or on speaking terms.”

Rubbing salt in the wound wasn’t an activity she was feeling particularly up for today, but she pushed through it. 

“He isn’t feeling well and you are a healer.” Ash lowered her voice, eyes darting to the railings above. “Couldn’t you…heal him?”

“Is that something he would wish for? I've witnessed his affliction and am aware of what causes his symptoms, but he has never told me himself. I would expect he’d be perturbed at my assumption.” 

Ash pursed her lips, no was probably the correct answer, but still…she couldn’t leave it alone. “Could you offer and let him decide?”

Solas regarded her for a long moment, his almost purple eyes searching her face. Ash shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling exposed under his scrutiny. Finally, he set his paintbrush down with a soft click against the desk.

"Very well," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I will offer my assistance to Commander Cullen. Though I suspect he will not be pleased by the suggestion."

Ash’s shoulder relaxed, tension seeping out. "Thank you, Solas. Truly. I know it's an odd request but I appreciate it."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Think nothing of it. I am glad to help where I can."

She nodded, suddenly feeling awkward and out of place in the rotunda. Ash was keenly aware of the weight of Mia's letter in her pocket. It seemed to burn against her skin, a physical reminder of her guilt and regret.

"I should go," she mumbled, taking a step back towards the door. "I have…things to attend to."

Solas inclined his head in acknowledgment, already turning back to his fresco. "Of course. Good day, Ashvalla."

Ash fled the room, her heart pounding in her chest. The great hall seemed even more cavernous than before, the echo of her footsteps mocking her as she hurried across the stone floor. She would head back to her room, it was safe there, no risk of running into the people she was avoiding. As much as it suffocated her, she would rather drown than admit that she longed so desperately for everything to return to how it had been. At least Sweetpea would return from her dinner-time hunt soon.

Cullen had been having a dreadful week, and rather than dwelling on the persistent thoughts of her that refused to leave him alone, he had immersed himself in his work. In hindsight, the lack of sleep and constant exertion may have led him to the sorry state he was in, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. He had too much to do and too little time. 

And yet, even as he sat at his desk, the words swimming on the page in front of him, his head pounding with a headache, his skin slightly too warm to the touch, he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting down a familiar path. How many times had he taken her on that very desk? Her warm, supple body soft beneath his clumsy fingers, her needy moans and breathy sighs making him dizzy with desire. She had seemed so trusting, as she lay beneath him, and he had known deep down that she would require time to truly open herself to him. Yet, the idea of possession — he’d never felt so blindsided before.

He had been a Templar for so long, and from the very onset of his training, it was ingrained in him that possession was a profound evil, that death was a merciful escape for those who had their bodies and wills stolen. But just the thought of Ashvalla’s eyes losing their vibrant sparkle, her lively gaze turning hollow, or her skin paling to an unnatural hue, her chest lying still and lifeless — it sickened him beyond words. The thought of Tranquility was no better; her lungs might draw breath, but it wouldn’t truly be her. Who would she be without her vivacity, her unbridled passion, and her infectious humour?

“Oak is prone to cracking if put under consistent pressure.” 

Cullen blinked away the memories clouding his vision, his brow furrowing at the sight of Solas standing quietly across from him, a tea tray balanced gracefully in his hands. The apostate's entrance had been so silent, Cullen hadn't even registered his presence until now - had he knocked? It was of little consequence; Cullen should have been aware regardless. He was distracted, not only by his body’s constant thrumming urge for lyrium, but by his need for her, and that he could not have her. 

Gazing down at his hands, which clutched the edge of his desk with such intensity that they trembled, he slowly released his grip. With an attempt at casualness, he brushed his hands against his pants. “Can I help you?”

He hadn’t meant it to come out as biting as it did, but Solas did not appear particularly concerned. 

“I have come with an offer of tea, though I admit it is not my blend. Scout Harding caught me in the kitchens and offered her mother’s. I understand she has shared this with you before?” 

Cullen blinked twice, had he developed hallucinations or was Solas - standoffish apostate mage Solas - offering him tea? 

“Yes, she has,” Cullen said warily, “it was most kind of her.”

“Indeed, she has a giving nature.” Solas placed the tea on the desk, and Cullen held his tongue when it covered the letters he had been attempting - and failing - to read. “Though I have added elfroot, to help with your symptoms.” Solas’s eyes roamed over Cullen’s too pale, to wane features. 

It was strangely thoughtful of Solas to bring by a soothing tea, though Cullen’s suspicion rose, helped little by the withdrawal. “Why?” He asked, eyeing the tea as though it might bite him. 

“Am I not allowed to be concerned for the Inquisition’s clearly unwell Commander?” 

Cullen startled back, not having expected such an abrupt response. But even in his foggy state, he was well reversed with the way certain elvhen mages used the tactic of answering a question with one of their own to dodge the truth. 

“She sent you.” It wasn’t a question, but he received confirmation in the placidness of Solas’s face. 

“No matter who requested I offer aid, you are doing no one any favours by running yourself into the ground.” 

Cullen’s hands balled into fists at his side. “She does not get to ask that of anyone, not after she—“ he cut himself off, his teeth clacking together as he forced his mouth closed. 

Solas sighed, looking wistfully towards the door as though contemplating every life decision that had led him to that moment. 

“It has taken me a good deal of time to reconcile with the fact that most citizens of Ferelden are not only unfamiliar with spirits, but petrified of them. If I were speaking with you on this subject when I first joined the Inquisition, I have no doubt I would have berated you for your prejudice and nescience.” Cullen did not appreciate how Solas had started, but he continued before Cullen could voice his objection. “But I have learned much about your people in my time here, and while I too had my reservations about Ashvalla when we first met and I realized what resided inside her, she has exceeded my expectations and poor judge of her character.” 

“I do not need you to lecture me on—“

Solas spoke over him, holding his hand up as a teacher might do to silence a student. Cullen hated that it worked. “But you do. I say this as someone who has in almost all cases been…irked by her crassness, her lack of propriety, and her flippant attitude; Ashvalla cares for you more than even she has admitted to herself.”

The way that Solas said it with such causal conviction, like it was fact and not a subjective opinion, had Cullen reeling back, his eyes cast wide. 

“The spirit of love inside her has shown me a benevolence and kindness I have rarely seen, much of which is reflected in Ashvalla herself - as much as she tries to hide that under her abrasive humour. While most would wonder if that is due to the spirit’s influence on her, I would argue otherwise; that it is instead a testament to her strong personality, that these traits were a part of her from the beginning and have allowed Love to grow and flourish. And I am, after all, an expert on the matter of spirits.”

Cullen shook his head, Solas’s words rattling around his skull and provoking his headache. “But you cannot know that for sure, and could that not be the spirit deceiving you so it may use you to further its own desires?”

“Spirits of love are rare and oftentimes fickle, but they do not deceive. There is no mortal alive who is as honest as Love, who wishes for such openness in return. I suspect it has been hurting her for Ashvalla to have kept her a secret for so long. Yet still, the care I feel from Love is beyond measure, even for the one responsible for that pain.” Solas paused, tapping the edge of the tray in thought. “While we escaped Haven, Ashvalla died, and it was not I who was responsible for her return to life.” 

Cullen felt like he’d been stabbed through the gut - no, he’d been stabbed through the gut before, this pain was worse, sharper. He remembered how he’d looked down at her, cradled against his chest, her lips tinged blue and her face unnaturally pale. Those scars around her lips had stood out more than ever - he hadn’t known what they were from at the time - though nothing could compare to the blistering red and charred skin of her burns. She’d stopped breathing, her heart had given out, and he’d called for Solas in a blind panic.

“Love would have been free to return to the Fade, to pursue her purpose with someone who would allow her to be free in the way she wishes, but she chose to remain, to use her power to keep Ashvalla’s heart beating until I was able to mend enough of her body for it to beat on its own. By the time you’d noticed her decline, it was too late for any mortal interference to change her fate. Love is the only reason Ashvalla still lives. I thought it prudent you know this, though I am not certain if Ashvalla herself is even aware.”

That was…too much for Cullen, he did not have the energy for the multitude of revelations that Solas had just hefted onto his lap. Ashvalla had died. In his arms. He’d known this, but the reminder alone made his chest constrict painfully, as if his own heart might stop beating alongside hers. Even now, with the hurt and betrayal still fresh, the idea of losing her forever was unbearable.

Hadn’t he lost her forever, in a way, when he let her flee from his office that night?

And yet, she lived. Not because of Solas, but because of the spirit possessing her. The spirit he had been so quick to condemn, to fear, had chosen to save her life for no other reason than that it cared for her. It had kept her heart beating long enough for Solas to heal her broken body. Love had stayed with her, even when offered freedom. Cullen had not.

His fingers twitched, itching to reach for the tea, to have something to hold onto as his world tilted on its axis.

“I will consider what you have said.” Cullen bit his tongue to stop the snide remarks that tried to push past his lips. “Is that all?”

Solas inclined his head, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Yes, that is all."

But as Solas turned to leave, a question fell unbidden from his traitorous lips.

“Solas, wait.” Cullen did not wait to see if the apostate listened, his mouth running of its own accord. “The Dalish phrase, ma vhen’an, what does it mean?”

A flicker of surprise flashed through Solas’s eyes, though it passed so quickly Cullen wasn’t entirely sure if it had existed in the first place.

“I suggest you ask her that yourself,” he said plainly before taking his leave, the door closing behind him with a soft click. Cullen stared at the spot where Solas had stood, his mind spinning with the implications of their conversation.

He groaned as he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers threading through his hair. The pounding in his skull intensified, each throb a reminder of his body's desperate craving for lyrium. But even that paled in comparison to the ache in his chest, the hollow space where Ashvalla's presence used to reside.

It didn't matter, he tried to convince himself. She had rejected him before he ever had a chance to truly understand, to learn about the spirit that shared her body. Ashvalla had kept that part of herself hidden, refusing to let him in, to trust him with her deepest secret. She’d used her wit against him, her sharp tongue to push him to the breaking point. And now, after his reaction, the fear and betrayal that had coloured his words, she would never forgive him.

He could still see the hurt in her eyes, the way her face had crumpled and just as quickly become a mask of apathy when he’d berated her. The memory was seared into his mind, a brand upon his heart. Cullen had lashed out, his Templar training rearing its ugly head in the face of the unknown.

Cullen's hands shook as he reached for the tea, the delicate porcelain rattling against the tray. He wrapped his fingers around the cup, the warmth seeping into his skin. The aroma of the herbs wafted up, mingling with the scent of parchment and ink that permeated his office.

He brought the cup to his lips, taking a tentative sip. The tea was slightly bitter, the unfamiliar herb adding a sharp tang, but it was not unpleasant. Cullen felt the warmth spread through his chest, easing some of the tightness that had settled there.

Setting the cup back down, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting to the window. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the mountains that surrounded Skyhold. It was a breathtaking sight, one he had come to appreciate in his time with the Inquisition.

But even the beauty of the landscape could not distract him from the turmoil inside. He had let his fear and prejudice cloud his judgment, had pushed Ashvalla away when she needed him most.

How was he supposed to reconcile her betrayal with her continued care for him - why else would she have sent Solas to tend to him, why else would she have noticed he was not feeling well?

He took another sip of the tea, letting the warmth soothe his frayed nerves. The herb was beginning to take effect, the pounding in his skull easing slightly.

The throbbing behind his eyes persisted, a dull ache that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He reached down to open the bottom drawer of his desk, the familiar motion requiring no thought. The wooden box containing his last vial of lyrium and equipment sat on top of a stack of old papers. He pulled it out, setting it on his desk, the Templar insignia carved into the lid.

Cullen didn't intend to take the lyrium - he hadn't in months - but the ritual of opening the box, of holding the philtre in his hands, sometimes helped to focus his mind when the withdrawal symptoms became too much to bear. It was a twisted comfort, like pressing on a bruise to feel a different kind of pain.

His fingers traced the latch of the box, the familiar click as it released sharp in the quiet of his lonely office. Opening the lid, Cullen stared at the vial of lyrium, feeling the pull, the yearning that never quite went away. How easy it would be to give in, to let the lyrium's song drown out his thoughts.

But as he reached for the philtre, something else caught his eye. A corner of parchment peeking out, caught beneath the box, its edges worn and soft from handling. Cullen frowned, setting the philtre aside and lifting the box to reveal what lay beneath.

His breath faltered, leaving him without air. But who was he fooling? He hadn’t breathed properly since Adamant.

It was a piece of parchment, and on it was the outline of a hand – her hand – traced in ink. Beneath it, written in Ash's looping scrawl: To use when my hand isn't available, great for long lonely nights or a quick release.

Cullen let out a strangled laugh that was half groan, half sob. He remembered the day she'd given it to him. She’d left it in the stack of reports she’d taken for him after forcing him to bed on a bad withdrawal day. He'd been mortified at first, but strangely giddy that she’d flirted with him so blatantly. He’d tucked it away for safe keeping - both from prying eyes and his own dignity - but he’d glanced at it often.

Once he’d had her real hand, he had no need for a silly outline. But now, seeing it again – this crude, ridiculous, perfectly Ashvalla gesture – made his chest constrict with an emotion too complex to name.

His thumb brushed over the outline of her hand, following the curve of her thumb, the gentle slope of her palm. How many times had he held that hand in his own? Felt those fingers intertwined with his, or cupping his face, or trailing down his chest with teasing intent?

The memory of her touch was so vivid he could almost feel the heat of her skin against his. The way she'd brush her fingers through his hair when he laid his head in her lap, massaging his scalp to ease his headaches. How she'd trace the scar on his lip with her thumb before kissing him, her touch so gentle it made his stomach flop.

And now those hands – those clever, wicked, tender hands – were beyond his reach. By his own choice. By hers.

Cullen swallowed hard, his throat tight. He carefully placed the parchment on his desk, smoothing out the creases. There was a smudge at the corner, where her wrist had rested against the paper as she traced her hand. A small, insignificant detail that somehow made it all the more precious. He stared at the paper, at the smudge of ink pressed against the parchment. How like her, to be so careless with the details while still managing to leave her mark everywhere she went.

He placed his hand over the outline, her long fingers disappearing beneath his.

The tea sat cooling on his desk. It was ridiculous, this piece of parchment with its obscene suggestion, and yet he couldn't bring himself to put it away again.

"Ma vhen'an," he murmured, testing the foreign words on his tongue. What did it mean? Why had she called him that, and why had Solas looked at him that way when he'd asked? He could hazard a guess, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to.

A knock at his door startled him from his thoughts. Cullen hastily tucked the parchment beneath a stack of reports, clearing his throat.

"Enter," he called, straightening in his chair and attempting to look like the Commander of the Inquisition rather than a lovesick fool.

However, even as the scout entered his office to deliver a report, his mind wandered back to Ashvalla. To the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, the feel of her hand in his as they walked the battlements. The soft sigh of her breath against his skin as she slept, curled against his side.

He had been happy, truly happy, for perhaps the first time in his life since he was a child. And now that happiness lay shattered at his feet, the shards cutting deep with every step. Was that the price of happiness? To experience it for so short a time only for it to be brutally ripped away? It would almost have been easier to have never experienced it at all, then he wouldn’t be left with this gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been. But still, he wouldn’t give up the memories of her for anything. He couldn’t. 

A/N: I hope you enjoy the little look into Cullen's thoughts - poor guy is struggling! There will be a few more chapters before they work stuff out, I wanted it to seem natural and not too rushed, but I promise they will still get their happy ending. It can only go up from here!

[tired-truffle]

The City Elf and the Frog

An AlistairxWarden fic

Word Count: 3.8k

Part 2 of 3

A/N: As an apology for my emotionally heavy long fic chapter, may I present this?

Warnings: Discussion of assault in City Elf backstory

Masterlist

Morrigan’s animosity towards Froggy grew by the hour. After dinner, Tabris took him out for his nightly hunt, and Morrigan cited the necessity of tidying up to get out of joining them in their ‘futile endeavour’.

Once more alone with her tiny companion, Tabris let out a deep sigh as she leaned against the coarse, rugged bark of a towering oak tree not far from her hut. The evening air had begun to cool from the warm summer day, and the distant hooting of owls put her at ease. Froggy’s long, sticky tongue darted out, catching the moths that drifted towards the lantern. She wondered what they tasted like, perhaps like chicken.

“I’m sorry about her.” Her ears flicked down as she gathered her legs close to her torso, resting her chin on her knees. “She means well, she just has a funny way of showing it.”

Froggy paused in his hunt, blinking one eye and then the other as he regarded her.

“If it wasn’t for Morrigan I’d probably be rotting in some dirty Denerim cell by now, or hung. I’m not super fond of either option. She found me stumbling through the woods, bleeding out from a stab wound to the stomach.” She could have sworn Froggy took a sharp intake of breath. Lifting her tunic, she tapped the silvery scar that ran down her side. “From a guard’s sword. Would rather kill me than risk letting me get away. Guilty until proven innocent doesn’t apply to knife-ears.”

Froggy placed a webbed foot on her boot, and she smiled at him. “I know you’d never do that to me, Froggy. You’re not stuck up and bigoted like all those nobles and their stupid guard dogs.” He lowered his body to lay flat on the ground, his tongue darting out the side of his mouth to catch an errant fly.

“You’re more like Morrigan.” The retch that followed and the fly that came buzzing back out of his mouth had her giggling. “Okay, never mind then, sorry I offended your delicate sensibilities. But she really is kind at heart beneath all that prickliness. She didn’t even know me, but she patched me up and gave me a home. Don’t tell her I told you this but I think she’s just as lonely as I am, and that’s why she helped me. She wanted a friend, even if she won’t admit it and would skin me alive for thinking so.”

“You sound quite certain that it is not my plan.” Morrigan appeared at their side as if out of thin air and they both jumped, Froggy croaking his surprise - or pain as he jostled his leg. “I could fetch a high price for such supple skin.”

Once her heart had resumed a regular pace, Tabris laughed heartily, Froggy looking at her like she’d grown two heads. “Why thank you, my friend. I use only the finest creams and oils to maintain it.”

Morrigan only rolled her eyes in response. Recognizing the call to return to the safety of the hut for what it was, Tabris stood, brushing off her pants before scooping Froggy up and grabbing the lantern. He’d had his fill, and Tabris was ready to retire for the evening. Besides, it was best not to keep Morrigan waiting.

“You cannot possibly be serious.”

“Why not? He likes it.”

“He—“ Morrigan cut herself off, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It cannot sleep with you, Tabris. ‘Tis a frog. It belongs in a pond, not in your sheets.”

Alistair was determined not to allow the witch to interfere with his cherished personal heating pad. The nights were bitingly cold, and his poor cold-blooded body yearned desperately for the comforting warmth that only a human presence could provide. It was also rather nice to sleep on her chest, cuddled up to her collarbone, feeling the gentle rhythm of her slow breaths. A reminder that he was safe, that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Tabris stuck her bottom lip out in an adorable pout, her eyebrows scrunched together. She held Alistair up in her palm, close to her face, and he did his utmost to mirror her expression.

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at him before clicking her tongue in disgust. “Fine. If you must expose yourself to it then I will not stop you. But if you crush it in your sleep, do not come crying to me.”

Tabris gasped, covering his ear holes with her hand. “I would never do that to him.” She paused. “He would make an adorable pancake though.”

Alistair’s eyes widened with alarm, and the witch’s lips curved into a grin, surely imagining him as a little green pancake. Her threat rang in his ears; I shall see to it that you are returned to whatever fetid mire you so carelessly wandered from. That could mean the fetid mire of the afterlife for all he knew. What had he ever done to deserve such hate? It felt personal, but he was certain he’d never met her before. Other than her striking eyes…and maybe her painted red lips, the more he thought about it, there wasn’t a bit about her that was familiar.

Alistair missed having teeth. Morrigan deserved a thorough biting.

As Tabris turned to bring him to bed, he took the chance to stick his tongue out in a taunt. A juvenile move, but satisfying when rage burned in the witch’s eyes.

Tabris readied herself for the night and Alistair floated in his tray. Once she was ready, she carefully lifted him out, enveloping him in the softness of a folded tea towel. The cloth was worn but clean, its pattern faded from countless washes. Slowly, she laid down, placing Alistair gently on her chest - where he belonged. It should have been disconcerting how attached he’d become in the week since she’d found him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, simply glad that he was no longer alone.

Morrigan had always been more reserved than most, but since she’d arrived at Tabris’ hut, she’d been acting cagier than usual. The elf didn’t miss the way Morrigan’s eyes would dart around when an unexpected noise reached their ears. Without a single word of explanation, she would morph into her raven form, her figure shimmering and shrinking into glossy black feathers, and then vanish into the sky for hours on end. At least Froggy seemed more relaxed without her around, though the first time she’d turned into a raven he’d nearly jumped out of his wet green skin.

But he had jumped, seemingly without pain, and Tabris had removed the splint. How could a frog heal a broken leg in only a little over a week? There was a good chance it hadn’t been broken at all.

“How does it feel?” she asked him, giving him space to test out his leg.

Froggy cast a cautious glance at her before shifting his attention to his injured leg, gingerly attempting to move the limb. When he didn’t recoil, he ventured to move it again, this time with greater confidence and a touch more determination, as he hobbled forward. His progress was slow and rigid, indicating that the soreness lingered, yet his condition had significantly improved since she had first come across him.

Tabris clapped her hands excitedly, grinning at the little guy. “Look at you go! You’ll be back to normal in no time, and then…I guess you go back to your pond.”

Froggy paused and she could almost see the gears turning in his head. When he took his next step, he all but dragged the leg behind him, croaking mournfully as he fell to the floor, defeated.

Tabris giggled, gently scooping him up. “Yeah, I don’t want you to go back either.”

His tongue darted out, sticking briefly to her cheek before winding back into his mouth. Tabris giggled again, her smile bright.

“Maybe I can find an excuse for you to stay. Morrigan isn’t the boss of me.”

Froggy nuzzled into her palm, and she carried him to his tray of water, placing him down and letting him float, free of his splint.

Tabris stepped back, watching as he swam lazily, unburdened. As the days had passed - and Morrigan’s strange behaviour continued - she’d started to doubt her friend’s initial assessment. Whether it was due to Froggy’s magic being undetectable to Morrigan - doubtful as even Tabris and her lack of Fade connection could sense how powerful the witch was - or due to some ulterior motivations that she couldn’t even begin to fathom, Tabris was not convinced.

The sky had darkened to deep indigo by the time Morrigan returned, her footsteps echoing softly as she paced the length of the small, dimly lit hut while Tabris prepared dinner. Unable to ignore her restless energy any longer, Tabris ladled the steaming soup into a bowl, and placed it firmly in Morrigan's hands, meeting her gaze with a pointed look meant to convey her annoyance.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or are you going to keep pretending like nothing’s wrong?”

Morrigan’s slender fingers curved around the sides of the bowl, her lips pressed tight together. “‘Tis nothing for you to concern yourself over.”

Tabris rested her hands on her hips. “I’m not stupid, Morrigan. You wouldn’t be like this if there wasn’t a cause for concern.”

“I did not say that I shouldn’t be wary.”

“Morrigan.”

The witch sucked her teeth, evading Tabris and seating herself at the rickety dinner table. “I do not wish to cause alarm when nothing may come of this.”

Tabris followed her, sitting across the table and leaning on her elbows. “I think it’s a little too late for that. Tell me what’s going on, maybe I can help.”

Taking a long moment to gather her thoughts, the only sounds that could be heard were the light splashing of Froggy in his tray, and the evening creatures coming out to greet the night.

“The last letter you sent your father was intercepted,” Morrigan spoke quietly, her voice pitched low, and Tabris’ heart beat hard against her ribcage. “For them to have the magic powerful enough to do such a thing…I fear they may be able to track it back to you. Yet ‘tis been a fortnight, and they have not made their play.”

Her blood rushed in her ears, her hands tightening into fists. Her legs went weak as her stomach roiled in protest, and she was grateful that she was already sitting down.

“Is my family alright?”

Morrigan’s responding nod eased a smidgeon of the panic that packed cotton into the cavity of her skull. “I have been keeping a watchful eye on them. As of yet, they are safe.”

A profound relief, but that didn’t mean that they never would be in harm's way because of her. Again. Maybe she shouldn’t have been sending them letters. She missed them dearly, but they could get in all sorts of trouble for contacting a wanted criminal. If the guards hadn’t approached her family…it meant they were trying to keep her from realizing.

“I have set wards that will alert us to any nearby activity and I have not seen any signs during my patrols, but the danger has not yet passed. If they were able to decipher my magic, then you will need to flee at a moment's notice.”

“Right,” Tabris’ eyes darted over to Froggy, her steadfast companion that she had become attached to much too quickly. Morrigan followed her gaze, sighing her exasperation.

“You have too soft a heart,” the witch remarked.

Tabris huffed a laugh. “Says the one who took in a stranger in need and is currently protecting her at great personal cost.”

“Tch,” Morrigan sniffed. “I have my reasons.”

“Yeah,” Tabris laughed honestly then, “‘cause you’re a big softie.”

Her eyes narrowed like an irritated cat, but instead of offering a rebuttal, she merely ate her meal, ending their conversation. That was fine with Tabris. While her moment of levity had aided in ridding her of the overwhelm of panic, it remained an undercurrent, riding through her veins.

If the Denerim guards found her, she wasn’t sure they’d let her live long enough to see the spiralling city streets again. Anything could happen to an elf on the road to prison, and no one would question them if she turned up dead. She was rather doubtful that regular guards could best Morrigan, however, this mystery person who had intercepted the letter was concerningly powerful. If their magic was strong enough to interrupt Morrigan’s perhaps they were strong enough to beat her in battle.

It would be smartest to pack up and move immediately, but there was no telling how far they could track her, and she had grown rather attached to her humble little home. Not to mention what that would mean for Froggy. If she had to evacuate the wilds entirely, he wouldn’t survive the harsher climates that existed around the sheltered forest. She would…have to leave him. For his own good. The thought alone nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Finished her supper, Morrigan rose from the table. “I must reinforce the wards. I will return before dark.”

Leaving no room for discussion, Morrigan strode from the hut, shutting the door firmly behind her as if to say ‘remain here’.

Cleaning up did nothing to distract her from her tumultuous thoughts, spiralling and buzzing about her brain like a hive of bees. It wasn’t until she was finished and drying her hands that Froggy’s loud ribbit pulled her from her mind.

She looked up to see him lounging against the side of the tray, his arms slung over the sides. Eager for his soothing presence, she made her way over, sitting on the edge of her bed and resting her chin on her bedside table, inches from Froggy’s tray.

Tabris exhaled, long and deep, as Froggy swam over to her side, peering up at her with his bright eyes.

“Do you have a family you’re missing?” she asked and he croaked lowly.

“I’m sorry if I took you away from them. You probably have hundreds of kids out there, huh? I’ve seen all those tadpoles that were laid this spring.”

He croaked again, this time louder and more insistent. A denial of his promiscuity, perhaps.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”

His tongue darted out again, sticking to her face before he pulled it back. It had made her smile earlier, but now she barely managed a saddened grin. “My freckles aren’t for eating, you silly frog.”

He remained silent, a clear disagreement.

Tabris raised her head, her shoulders curled inwards as she fiddled with a stray thread on her bed covers.

“I’d do anything to protect my family,” she started, the words falling from her lips unbidden. “But I’m just a lowly elf from the Alienage, I can only do so much against nobles. I was engaged, you know? I don’t like to think about it much, but he seemed nice. It was arranged.” The ring Nelaros had given her sat heavy on the chain around her neck. Froggy watched her silently. She liked to think he was giving her space.

“This lordling shem interrupted our wedding, Vaughan, a real pompous, entitled asshole. The Arl of Denerim’s heir or something. He…he, uh,” her throat constricted, her mouth drying. “He and a group of his guards kidnapped me, my cousin Shianni who came to my defence, my cousin Soris’ bride and her friend - we were getting married at the same time, helps bring the costs down. When I came to, these guards were talking about…they were going to do some terrible things to me, but Soris came to my rescue and we fought our way out, giving the other girls time to escape. Except for Shianni. They took her and I…I wasn’t strong enough to stop them. They killed Nelaros who’d also come to save us, I found his body in one of the rooms. That was my fiancé’s name, in case I haven’t told you yet. And when we found Shianni…”

Tears began to gather, blurring her vision until the world around her became hazy. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, applying pressure until she saw stars. She dropped her hands to the table and hung her head. “They violated Shianni. I was too late and I couldn’t protect her. But I could kill him for what he’d done. I didn’t even use my daggers, I just ripped him apart with my bare hands. He was a rich shem, they never would have punished him. I doubt that was the first time. He had a…reputation. He and his cronies got less than they deserved, they should have suffered, but I don’t regret it. Scum like that doesn’t deserve to breathe, and he can’t hurt anyone else.”

She stewed in the quiet of her hut until a tiny wet webbed foot rested on her thumb. Froggy had leaned himself half out of the tray, one foot on her and the other three keeping him stable as he gazed up at her with an understanding that he should not have been able to possess.

Tabris smiled softly, picking him up and running a finger over his back. “I’m glad you agree. Thanks for listening, Froggy. I’m happy to have you on my side.”

He let out a chirpy ribbit and she held him close. Maker, she didn’t want to leave him here. He was much too precious.

A heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders, one she hadn't even realized she was carrying, so accustomed was she to its constant presence. She'd never shared the story with anyone before. Others had been a part of it, but her departure had been so abrupt that she'd never had the chance to discuss it with them face-to-face. Letters had always seemed too impersonal, too cold for such conversations. Morrigan had never inquired, so she had kept silent - the witch most likely trying to give her privacy and avoid vulnerability at all costs. She clearly cared for Tabris, but emotional talks were not within her comfort zone.

Morrigan expressed her affection through actions, like the letters she’d magicked back and forth from her family and the wards she’d placed around the hut. That evening, the witch returned as promised, and tensely began to ready herself for bed, her cot placed across the room from Tabris - as far away from Froggy as she could get.

Froggy’s tiny body expanded and contracted with each breath as he swam around his tray.

"Do you think she's always been this cranky?" Tabris whispered in an aside to Froggy, watching as Morrigan aggressively fluffed her pillow, muttering something about 'primitive sleeping arrangements' under her breath. "Or do you think she was born with a scowl and it just stuck that way?"

Froggy's throat puffed out dramatically before he let loose a series of loud, rhythmic croaks that rose and fell in perfect mimicry of human laughter. The sound echoed through the small hut, causing Morrigan to whirl around, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

Tabris stood stock still, staring at the frog with wide eyes and her jaw dropped. Had her ears been playing tricks on her or had Froggy just laughed? There was no other explanation for that sound.

“Morrigan!” She exclaimed when she’d recovered from her shock enough to form coherent words. “Did you hear that? He just laughed!”

Morrigan shot her a reproachful glare. “Don’t be absurd. An amphibious creature does not have the intelligence.”

“Unless it’s a magic amphibious creature.”

Lips pulled back in a sneer, a muscle in Morrigan’s jaw ticked over the bone. “That creature is not of arcane nature.”

Tabris clasped her hands together, her ears tilted down and her eyes shining. “Will you try again? Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Morrigan, please,” Tabris drew out the vowel of her plea. “Just one more time and I promise that I’ll never ask you again.”

Morrigan closed her eyes, tempering her irritation, but even she - with her self-proclaimed icy heart - could not resist Tabris’ sweetness.

“I will indulge you this once, but it shall be the last time.”

Clapping her excitement, Tabris bounced up and down on the soles of her feet. “Oh, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Morrigan waved her off with a flick of her wrist, coming over to where Froggy rested in his tray. She closed her eyes, holding her hand over his body and breathing evenly. A light green wisp of magic encircled the little frog, and he croaked his affront, cowering as low in the tray as he could.

A few seconds ticked by, and Morrigan lowered her hand.

“‘Tis a simple frog, Tabris. I sense no Fade influence.”

Tabris’ shoulders slouched, her disappointment making her ears limp and the hopeful sparkle in her eyes dim.

“I guess I should have expected that. I don’t know why I thought that this time would be any different.”

Before Morrigan could offer any placating words, Froggy took matters into his own hands. Or rather, his own feet.

His tongue, long and slick, shot out of his mouth, latching onto the witch's palm with a wet slap. A noise of disgust and indignation bubbled up from the back of Morrigan's throat, and she yanked her hand away, shaking it vigorously in a futile attempt to erase the sensation that lingered on her skin. Her other hand rose swiftly, a small orb of fire crackling to life in her palm as a matching rage burned in her eyes.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Tabris put herself between them, hands raised in an attempt to soothe the witch’s fiery temper. “It just means he likes you, that’s all. Please don’t kill him.”

Morrigan barred her teeth in a snarl aimed over Tabris’ shoulder. She was much taller and likely stronger than the elf if her magical abilities counted, but Tabris stood her ground.

“I’m rather in the mood for boiled frog legs, aren’t you?” Morrigan said cooly and Froggy croaked, leaping back to the far edge of his tray, only his eyes peering above the water.

“You’re scaring him on purpose,” Tabris accused.

Rolling her shoulders back, Morrigan took a step away. “My threats are beyond its comprehension.”

Tabris glanced back at the cowering frog. “I’m not so sure about that. You did produce a ball of fire. I think most frogs would be afraid of that. And maybe there’s something that you’re not detecting. He still seems too smart to be normal.”

Morrigan tutted, already walking away. “Impossible.”

Wanting to avoid any potential bloodshed, Tabris let it drop. She wouldn’t get anywhere with Morrigan like this and she was exhausted after the emotionally taxing day. At least she had the consolation of snuggling with Froggy before bed. Whatever came of her predicament, she would ensure she could still enjoy whatever time they had left.

Before she was alone once again. Or imprisoned. Or dead. How had her life come to this?

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! This has been very fun to write, and I'm excited to warp it all up in the next chapter :)

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.6k

Part 38 - Teeth and Tongues Used as Weapons

"Oh, darling muse - he would have fought the fates for you. Poets, they can be soldiers, too." - p.d.

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

Warnings: Emotionally heavy chapter, demeaning self-talk

Masterlist

Ash wondered vaguely where she might find someone to oil the hinges of the office door as she nudged it open, squeaking spreading eerily like an out-of-tune fiddle as she paused in the doorway. Darkness filled the night sky behind her, stars hidden under heavy clouds. Candlelight from upon the sturdy wooden desk at the centre of the room flickered, illuminating her face with heavy shadows. Her pulse beat in a panicked rhythm, moments from leaping out from beneath her skin and skittering away into the dark. Yet she couldn’t avoid this forever. The inevitable anger, the fear, the disappointment of the man she’d so quickly grown to care for. The former Templar who’d captured her heart only to have his broken in return.

It had been mere weeks since he’d told her of the torment he’d suffered under the hold of demons summoned by mages. How she had helped him heal from it. And in return, she’d torn that wound wide open.

He stood facing away from her, positioned on the opposite side of the room as if he had contemplated slipping out unnoticed. Had he sensed her arrival and attempted to dodge this confrontation? Was he that afraid of her? The thought sat in the back of her throat like a bitter slave as she pulled herself up to her full height, using her old crutch since her body was still too weak to hold her fully. Breaking a couple of ribs didn’t help.

“Cullen,” his name was ripped from her throat in a ragged breath. It was the only word she could manage to say. How was she even supposed to start? Should she apologize for accepting a spirit into her body when she was a child? And then, to complicate matters further, she had allowed herself to become romantically involved with him, all the while concealing the spirit's existence - despite learning of his horrid past with possessed mages? That didn’t seem right. 

He stiffened, his fists clenching, leather gloves creaking under the strain. “Ashvalla.” It was a thousand questions all wrapped up into one word, hoarse and tired, like he could barely bring himself to say her name, like he didn’t know who she was. And in a way, he didn’t. 

Ashvalla, is that you? 

Ashvalla, are you truly possessed?

Ashvalla, why did you keep this from me, do you not care about me as I did you?

Ashvalla, Ashvalla, Ash—

She used to love when he said her full name, the way it would roll off his tongue. But when he said it with such despondency, it tore at her fragile heart and rent it to pieces. 

“Formality to maintain distance,” she said in a clipped tone. “I’m not surprised.”

He turned then, and Ash had to use every ounce of willpower not to stumble forward and wrap her arms around him. The bags under his eyes were pronounced, like bruised shadows, deeper and darker than usual, and his eyes appeared dulled and glassy, robbed of the spark she’d grown accustomed to when he looked at her. A flicker of what looked like fear rested in his gaze, a frown pulled at his lips. His cheeks were thin, he hadn’t been eating well, and his normally styled hair had fallen out of place in certain spots, his facial hair having grown in slightly, giving him a more dishevelled appearance. He was slightly flushed, and from the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, it was obvious it wasn’t a blush. She had done this to him, shame twisted in her gut, but she refused to back down. She had done what she’d had to do, she only wished he hadn’t gotten hurt in the process. 

“Yes, well…” he ran a hand through his hair, “I’m sure you know why.”

“I can hazard a guess,” Ash said with a lazy drawl - casual to cover up her racing pulse. 

Cullen’s lips pulled back in a look of distaste, and for a moment, Ash thought he may yell at her. But with the control that only years of Chantry discipline could teach, he shoved it back under a disapproving glare. “Oh, can you now?” He folded his arms over his chest, mimicking her drawl. 

Ash lifted her nose, a fire burning in her eyes. “I didn’t come here to exchange scathing remarks. Say what you want and let us be done.”

He advanced with deliberate, measured steps. His gaze remained fixed on her, and he halted when the space between them was reduced to several feet. Too close and yet too far. Ash longed for an entire continent to stretch between them while simultaneously desiring not a single inch to separate them, yearning for the space to vanish altogether. “Why did you keep this from me?”

“Keep what from you, Cullen?” she all but spat, her lips twisting into a scowl.

“Don’t be like that,” he snapped, irritable in this state, but this was what Ash expected, what she had prepared for. An angry Templar who’d discovered a secret-keeping mage. A liar. “Your magic, I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before, it’s…different from other mages. Stronger. And the way you vehemently defended that Avvar mage…Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about—“ He cut himself off, his mouth working around the words that he couldn’t say. 

“My possession?” She offered as flippantly as if she’d been talking about the mild weather. 

“Yes,” he hissed out with a narrowing of his eyes, maintaining his distance. 

She leaned more of her weight on her crutch, her knees weakening under the force of his intense gaze. “You know why.”

Cullen growled as his frustration overtook his fear - what Ash assumed was fear of her - and he strode towards her. His face was dark and gloomy, tight with rage. She stood her ground, resolute though her knuckles turned bone-white where she clutched her crutch. He halted just inches from her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, her fingers twitching with the urge to seize the edges of his mantle, to tug him nearer and lose herself in his comforting warmth. His intense gaze bore down on her, a towering presence over her shorter form.

“I want to hear it from you. I want you to look me in the eyes and say it out loud.”

A muscle ticked in her jaw, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly as she fought to maintain her upright posture. He didn’t seem to notice, the fire in his eyes wholly absorbed by this secret revealed to see anything else. “I am a possessed mage, and you are a Templar, former or otherwise.” The words were bitter, sharp as a knife and twice as precise. 

“Is that all you think this comes down to?” he asked incredulously, his hands splayed at his sides. 

“The way you spoke about that mage in Kirkwall and the Avvar mage…” Ash averted her gaze, focusing on keeping her feet steady on the ground. “I would imagine you would wish to put an end to any similar threats lest history repeat itself, as it is wont to do.” She was being unnecessarily mouthy, but she couldn’t stop herself. Each word she spoke laid another brick in the wall she built between them. She would keep building until there was nothing left of his presence around her. 

“That’s what you think of me? That I’d actually—“ he broke off, exhaling sharply through his nose. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? It’s your duty is it not?” Ash didn’t know where this anger came from, this sneer that spread across her face. She’d meant to stay impassive, aloof, but her body had other ideas.

Love pounded at her ribcage like jail cell bars, but Ash was an unforgiving warden.

“Maker’s breath, are you challenging me to-to kill you?” He acted like it was utterly unheard of for people in their respective positions to suggest such things. For Ash, it was simply an undeniable aspect of her existence - Templars were bred to put down mages like her. She was the embodiment of magic, and he held onto his fear.

They’d both been complicit in reaching for the sharp end of a sword, even though its gleam enticed. It still cut all the same.

Ash leaned forward, her teeth bared like a cornered animal, ready to bite the hands that tried to soothe it. “Kill a possessed mage? Isn’t that what Templars are supposed to do? Or are there other rules when you’ve fucked them first?”

He flinched like she’d struck him with the back of her hand, his lips parting and his brows raising. Something akin to hurt flickered in his eyes, a shadow passing over a field set ablaze, before he replaced it with a stern grimace. “Do not think you can throw our intimacy in my face whenever it suits you best.”

“Whenever it suits me?” Ash laughed humourlessly, tinged with a manic energy that bubbled up in her chest and coated the back of her throat. “I apologize for thinking that the man who has killed possessed mages is going to kill me; a possessed mage!”

Cullen sucked in a deep breath, holding it for a beat before releasing it in a frustrated hiss. “It's not that simple,” he snapped back with the same ferocity, his temper flaring. "Can you at least attempt to understand why I'm upset? Why you keeping something so significant from me is deeply troubling?" His jaw clenched. "Is that really so difficult for you to comprehend?”

Ash stepped forward, their chests only inches apart, his scent surrounding her - elderflower and armour polish. What was once comforting now tore at her heart like a storm over a dilapidated shack. “It wasn’t just you that I kept it from.”

He scoffed derisively. “That doesn’t make it any better. Does it not occur to you how dangerous this is? To have a demon within you?"

“She’s not a demon,” Ash cut in quickly. “She’s a spirit of love, hardly your average rage or desire demon.”

A desire demon, the one that had tortured him at Kinloch. She hadn’t realized the impact of her words until she saw a tremor begin in his hands.

To distract from the shaky movement, Cullen threw his hands up, exasperation written in the tired lines around his narrowed eyes. “A spirit, a demon, whatever you want to call it! It's still in your mind, possessing you! How can that not concern you?"

“I feel her more in my chest, actually,” Ash said, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference to him, but choosing to be difficult anyway. She was rewarded with a flare of his nostrils and a tensing of his shoulders. “And we have an agreement.”

Judging by the look on his face, one would think Ash had suggested he profess his undying love to Corypheus. “An agreement?” His voice raised in volume, loud enough that Ash had to resist the urge to flinch back. "An agreement to what? To let it stay there? That's insanity—"

“Love has done nothing wrong. She has had ample chance to hurt me if she wished to, but she hasn’t. If she wanted to harm me or anyone else, she would have done it already.” Ash held her ground, even as her knees threatened to buckle, her lungs threatened to seize. Even as Love pounded and howled against her ribcage, desperate to stop the gnawing ache growing in her heart. There was no fixing this, Ash knew it, but Love wasn’t ready to accept it.

“You don’t know that.” 

Something in Ash snapped. She felt it like a bone cracking over a rock, and her rage burned beneath her skin, crackling and sparking as she suppressed the magic pressing at her fingertips. Love’s flames would only make things worse.

“Don’t you dare condescend to me, Cullen Rutherford,” she seethed, ignoring the startled widening of his eyes - those beautiful, honeyed eyes - as she poked him in the chest with her long finger. “You don’t know what I do, you have not lived with this spirit for as long as I have. I can feel her intentions, her wants and wishes. She is good, even if she’s incredibly irritating half the time. I've spent so long denying her and pushing her away, but she has never been anything but gracious. Your ignorance about spirits is your own problem, do not make it mine.”

He snatched her wrist, pulling it away and to the side, his grip tight. “How long?”

Would the answer make it better or worse? Ash doubted it would help, but maybe if he realized she’d never been solely herself around him, he would have an easier time letting her go.

“Since the night my parents died.”

Cullen’s jaw slackened, his breath catching in his throat. “You…you’ve been possessed since you were eight?”

His fingers convulsed around her wrist, clenching tightly and sending a sharp jolt of pain through the thin bones of her wrist. His eyes clouded over, a shadow of deep sorrow flickering momentarily across his face. “So this entire time, ever since I’ve… you haven’t…how do you know that what you feel for me is truly you, and not the influence of this spirit?”

He asked a question she did not have the answer for.

She wiggled her fingers, but he was too distracted by his revelation to notice. He’d never known her un-possessed, the woman he cared for, had opened up to as he had none other, had never been solely herself around him. And she never would.

“You’re hurting me,” Ash said, barely able to suppress the whine in her voice. He released her like she was made of fire, recoiling with a sharp intake of breath. She cradled her wrist protectively against her chest, the skin red but not bruised. His eyes moved from her wrist to her face before dropping shamefully to the floor. 

“I—“ Cullen faltered, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine,” she cut him off, dropping her arm to her side as she sagged against her crutch, his eyes narrowing at her movement. 

His head shook. “It’s not fine, and neither are you.”

Ash scowled, putting the back of her hand to his head before he flinched away. A mild fever, just as she had suspected. “You look like shit too.”

For a brief moment, it appeared as though Cullen might either retort defensively or outright reject her statement. But even he couldn’t deny it.

“Yes, I suppose I do.” He conceded, running a hand through his messy hair - a gesture that only added to his frazzled appearance. “That tends to happen when the woman you care for keeps dangerous secrets from you.”

“What was I supposed to do!” Ash bit out, her irritation spiking as her energy waned. “Was I supposed to say ‘oh, sorry Cullen, I forgot to tell you but I’m possessed by a Spirit of Love, just thought you’d want to know, don’t kill me though’?”

“You were supposed to say something,” he said with the same force, his temper quickly rising to meet hers. “You should have told me before we ever even started—”

A sour taste coated her tongue. He couldn’t even articulate what their relationship had meant to him, too disgusted to entertain the idea of being with a mage like her, no doubt.

“So you could lob my head off as soon as the confession left my mouth?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Must you be so crass?”

“Why, does it bother you? Picturing my possessed head separating from my possessed body, my blood splattering across the ground. Isn’t that what you should want?”

His eyes widened in horror, taking a step closer as she stepped back, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach out to hold her but couldn’t quite bring himself to. “Maker, no. Don’t…don’t say that. There has to be some other way, that spirit…there has to be.”

He wanted to rid her of the spirit, return her to ‘normal’, palatable. Of course he did, she didn’t know what she expected. He was a former Templar, but that training didn’t just disappear because he cared for her.

“Once someone is possessed there is no removing the spirit or demon without killing the host or making them Tranquil,” she spat. “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, I wouldn’t argue, I’d just shut up and take it. Isn’t that ideal?”

“Stop saying that!” His hands squeezed her biceps, giving her a little shake, and she dropped her crutch in shock, her legs struggling to bear her full weight. His eyes darkened, his brow pinched as he gritted his teeth. “Never suggest that again. You know damn well that isn't what I want. How you can say that after…everything we’ve shared? Did I truly earn so little of your trust?”

Ash longed to trust him, to love him as he deserved and hold him and be cherished by him. Her heart ached for him, but she couldn’t afford the risk. 

She couldn’t tell him, it didn’t matter anymore.

“What other secrets are you keeping, Ashvalla?”

With a forceful jerk of her shoulders, she pulled out of his grasp, her stance widening. She resented that accusation. “My nightly blood magic routine for one.” Ash rolled her eyes. “Or all the bodies I keep stacked in my closet.”

“This is not the time to be making jokes." His tone was harsh, his teeth clenched together. "I’m attempting to have a serious conversation, and all you're doing is making snide remarks."

“No, you’re trying to lecture me and tell me what to do, to admonish my bad behaviour like the naughty little mage I am.” Ash stepped forward, a hand laid on his chest as she tilted her face invitingly - the mask she’d been so close to separating from sinew and bone snapping back into place. With eyes half-lidded, she purred, “Do you want to punish me, Templar?”

Cullen’s breath faltered, his hands raising as if to hold her before thinking better of it and letting them hang in midair. “That’s not what I’m doing.” 

Pressing her body up against his, she shot him a coy look through thick lashes. “But is it what you want, Commander?”

He let out a small strangled noise, his hands instinctively moving to her hips to keep her from knocking him off balance. Staring down at her, he opened his mouth to speak, but shut it with a sharp clack, his leaden tongue betraying him. 

Arching her back, a flirtatious smile ghosted across her lips. Ash grabbed his collar, pulling him close, his startled and feverish face only inches away from hers. “Pin me down and have your way with me. Teach me a lesson.”

This was how she had always felt the safest, seduction and whispered promises of desire that told a story of a powerful woman. It wasn’t her and it was her, two sides of the same coin. If he were to reject her now, when she was her and not her, maybe it would hurt a little less. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t fair that this was their end, but life seldom was. She would survive this, and so too would Rae. That was what mattered. Though it didn’t make the anger that welled up in her suddenly watery eyes any less irritating. 

“No, I—“ The words faltered and faded on his tongue as he tensed, his gaze searching hers. It was too late for her to hide the emotions flickering across her face, too late to retract what she’d said, what she’d done.  

He took a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself, his hands gripping her hips a little tighter, his fingers digging into the fabric of her robes. His chest heaved as he released a frustrated sigh. “Why are you doing this? This isn’t you.”

Ash ignored him, willing the tears to stay put. “Tell me what you want.” She desperately needed to know, yet it was the very last thing she wanted to hear. A thick, heavy dread had been slowly coiling in her gut since the moment she awoke, a gnawing sensation that was inches away from rending her in two. Cullen looked down at her with tired eyes.

“I want you to be rid of that spirit.”

Blood rushed in her ears, her magic surging beneath her skin, her muscles, through her bones, sharp and burning and relentless. He didn’t want her - she couldn’t exist without love, there was no cure for spirit possession save for death or Tranquility - and she should have known it. He didn’t want her and it broke her heart. He didn’t want her and maybe he never had. 

“I just…” he continued before she could make sense of her thoughts. “I don’t want you keeping dangerous secrets from me.”

Ash narrowed her eyes, ignoring the prickling tears at the corners. With a scoff, she pushed off of him, letting him stumble back at the sudden absence. Picking up her crutch, she leaned against it once more, all the while pretending she didn’t notice how he scanned her, how he searched for her thoughts among the pile of glass shards she offered him with bloodied hands. 

He remained silent for a beat, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Ash said, detached as she buried her tears behind yet another mask. “You weren’t special.”

It was a lie, and he always had an uncanny ability to see right through her. “Then why do you care, why come here at all? If I’m not special to you, if I’ve never been special, then why do you care about how I feel?”

Ash’s ears pinned themselves to the sides of her head as she snarled. “What makes you think that I do?”

His eyes darted across her face as he watched her closely, scrutinizing every minute movement, every small flicker of emotion she couldn’t keep at bay. “Stop. Stop with these lies. Look me in the eye and tell me that you never cared for me.”

Ash scoffed again, panic rising in her throat as Love fought and fought against the deception sitting at the tip of her tongue. She tried to say it, opened her mouth to speak, but Love held her back, only a strangled noise squeaking through their invisible battle. 

Cullen took a step closer until he was nearly towering over her. He grabbed her chin with a gentleness that had all her falsifications melting away like ice in a spring thaw. “Say it.”

“I can’t,” she ground out, tugging her chin from his grasp. “Are you happy now? I care about you but I still lied to you. I broke your trust, I broke Rae’s trust, Dorian is pissed at me too. And still, I wouldn’t change anything.”

And yet, Rae had been more upset with Ash for forgiving her so quickly. Even after all her biting words and anger thrown at Ash like a whip, Ash had pushed it all aside out of fear. Fear that her sister would hate her, would throw her out of Skyhold and leave her to traverse Thedas alone - or worse yet, chain her in the dungeons, taunting her with the noises of her home above. But Rae hadn’t done any of that and…the hurt remained. Her dagger may have missed, but her words had been sharper than any weapon, lodged in Ash’s spine. But who was Ash to not offer forgiveness when she had kept a damning secret?

Would her mother’s lips curl in a sneer if she could see the resentment towards her sister that burned so deeply inside that even Ash could barely see it?

“Why?” More demand than question and Ash bristled.

It was so obvious to her, her one goal had been realized. Did she really have to spell it out for him? “Rae is alive, I was able to retrieve her from the Fade and she does not bear the burden of having to choose which of her companions stayed behind to die on her behalf. If I’d told you or anyone else I would have risked not being there - locked away or tranquil or dead. I would have risked Rae, and I will never do that.”

“So that’s it then?” he shot back, a frown marring his handsome face - reddened with fever, and perhaps she shouldn’t have pushed him as she did. “You do not wish to be unpossessed, nor would you change anything that has happened?”

“This was a mistake. I warned you that Rae would come first, and you promised it wouldn’t bother you, and like an idiot, I believed you.”

“This isn’t—“ he cut himself off with a growl. “You can put her first and still—“ he broke off again, placing his head in his hands. 

She would do him the kindness of ending this horrid conversation. It would only continue to hurt them, and they had been plenty hurt already. They did not deserve to suffer further. Cullen didn’t, at least.

“Let this be done. I have nothing else to say. Whatever we had…cannot be fixed.” Her voice broke, but she pressed on." “You cannot trust me, nor Love, and I do not wish to be with someone who cannot accept me as I am.”

His hands formed into tightly balled fists at his sides. She may as well have run him through on his own sword for how much agony flashed across his face. He released a tired sigh, and her from his heart, she assumed.

“If that is what you desire then so be it,” he said, resigned to their fate. A former Templar and a possessed mage could never be. Ash had known this all along, she’d been a fool to ever think otherwise.

She nodded. “I will leave you to it.” 

His eyes burned with the need to argue, to demand more of her, but he scanned her weakened form and she hated the pity that settled in his gaze. “Yes, I suppose you will.”

What in the Void was that supposed to mean? Yet, it didn’t matter now; it was all over. She had harboured a secret, concealed it from him, and in doing so, had hurt him beyond repair. He was angry and wounded and he could never love her the way she loved him. And Creators, did she love him - and that was the worst part; it hadn’t been enough. She only wished it didn’t feel as though her heart was splintering into a thousand pieces within her chest. 

Her throat constricted - she was suffocated standing close to him yet unable to reach out and touch him, she felt the sudden urge to flee, to be somewhere where the reminder of what she never should have had - and yet lost - couldn't mock her so openly. She turned on her heel, ears ringing as she pushed herself along tired legs towards the door, crutch held tightly beneath her arm.

He didn’t call after her, didn’t beg her to come back, and she did not glance over her shoulder. The rope that had tethered them together snapped as she reached the door, flinging it open and escaping into the night. Away from him. Her heart left to bleed out slowly on the cold, hard ground.

Next Chapter

A/N: Ash is an unreliable narrator and her thoughts and feelings are not the same as mine. Haha, anyway, Alexa play Despacito.

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 1.8k

Interlude - Because I Have A Sister

Set after chapter 29 and 36

"See, I was born a second child, With a spirit running wild, running free, And they saw trouble in my eyes, They were quick to recognize the devil in me." -The Oh Hellos

Special thank you to @bibutterflies for inspiring this little interlude ❤️

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

Masterlist

Rae's POV

Ash’s taste in men was questionable on the best of days, and on the worst…Sennan could get fucked for all Rae cared - she’d never liked that shem. She didn’t like most shems, if she was being honest. She didn’t actively hate them, she just simply didn’t care for them. Only a few had managed to prove themselves worthy of her attention, and only recently. When she’d first regained consciousness after the explosion at the Conclave and deemed their Herald of Andraste, she’d been sure she’d died and gone to her personal hell. To not only be surrounded by shems, but to be lauded as their saviour too? Ugh. Horrific.

Solas had been a beacon of hope amongst the sea of curved ears and disdain. She’d flocked to him like a moth to flame, eager for companionship from someone who felt familiar - even if he wasn’t overly fond of the Dalish. It wasn’t as though her clan was particularly attached to her to begin with, so it felt like less of a betrayal. If not for Solas, perhaps she would have requested Ash join her instead of the short letter she’d written. She should have known better than to think her overbearing sister wouldn’t show up anyway. And of course, she’d immediately hated the only person Rae felt fully comfortable around. 

Yet somehow, Ash had sniffed out the uptight ex-Templar - the last person Rae would have guessed she’d gravitate towards. Rae liked him well enough; he gave his honest opinion and had respected her from the beginning. She trusted him about as much as she could for a shem.

Rae had assumed that Cullen, with his perpetually grumpy demeanor and broken past that was typically Ash’s type, would be overshadowed by his ex-Templar status.

She’d been entirely wrong. 

Rae drummed her fingers on her desk, a missive concerning the Commander’s forces lying on the glossy surface. It hadn’t been her intention to interrupt their…intimacy, but when she’d heard Ash’s giggles from the hole in his roof that he’d insisted stay unrepaired - much to Josephine’s chagrin - she’d been unable to help herself. He should get better locks if he really wanted to keep her out. Ash would ensure that Rae paid for her transgressions later, but it had been worth it to see her sister’s irritated scowl and Cullen’s full body blush. 

Giggling to herself, she penned a response to a noble requesting the Inquisitor’s blessing for his marriage. She couldn’t care less, but they needed the funds he’d pledged in exchange. Blessing officially given. 

A knock at her door interrupted her as she sealed the letter with her wax stamp. 

“Come in,” she called, adding the letter to her outgoing pile. 

Heavy bootstraps and the light clinking of armour signalled the Commander’s approach, and Rae suppressed a grin. She hadn’t expected him to arrive so quickly. She’d mean what she’d said; he could have finished fucking her sister first - ew - the missive could wait. Truthfully, it had been an excuse to stretch her legs and get some fresh air. But Cullen had always been a man of propriety - how he ever put up with Ash’s extreme lack of that particular value she may never understand - and he’d come to attend to his duty post haste. But maybe he’d been quick about it and managed to cum in—

Cullen cleared his throat as he approached her desk. “Inquisitor,” he greeted, voice hoarse and unable to meet her eyes.

Rae’s lips quirked into a slight smirk and she leaned back in her chair, folding her fingers together and resting her ankle on her knee. “Commander Cullen.” 

He glanced up at her, straightening his back, his cheeks tinged with a light blush. “You requested me?” 

Nodding, Rae pushed a glass of water towards him - having already prepared it in anticipation of his arrival. 

Cullen hesitated, but upon her pointed look, he inclined his head in thanks, taking the glass in hand and sipping. 

Rae timed her question for mid-sip. “What are your intentions with my sister?” 

Inhaling water was never a pleasant experience - whatever composure he’d managed to regain since she’d left his room was swiftly lost in a hacking cough as he expunged the water from his lungs. 

Face red and blotchy, he put the glass back on the desk when he was able to speak. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” 

Cullen sighed, tilting his head back like he was begging his Maker for strength. “I suppose I did.” 

“And?”

Pursing his lips, he was silent for a beat. “I intend to be with her,” he said, softer than before, sweeter than Rae had expected. “For as long as she’ll have me, that is.”

Rae huffed through her nose. Did he know how long that would be? She’d never seen Ash so smitten before.

“And if that’s forever?”

His blush deepened and his gaze dropped to her desk. He mulled over her question, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and just when Rae was about to prompt him, he provided his answer. 

“If that is what she wants then…yes,” he said with conviction, his jaw steeled against her response. 

Rae had no doubt that Ash didn’t know what she wanted, but Rae could see it as clear as day. Ash loved him, she was happy with him, her smile brighter than Rae had ever seen it before. A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders when he was around, and the soft secretive smiles he shot back at her, completely unaware that everyone saw how deeply he adored her…this relationship was good for both of them. Cullen could provide the support that Ash had never allowed Rae to - and other supports that a sibling could not provide. Perhaps Rae could worry about Ash’s sanity less now that there was someone else trying to ensure that she didn’t burn herself out - someone else for Ash to live for. 

“Good. You both deserve some happiness.” Rae paused as relief flickered in his gaze. “And if you break her heart, well, I’m sure you can imagine what I’d have to do.”

She may be grinning, but her threat was as real as the glint in her eyes. 

Arms crossed over his chest, seriousness befell his features, pulling his lips into a frown and furrowing his brows. “I’m well aware of what you’re capable of, Inquisitor. But I’d be more worried about what Ashvalla would do to me.”

Rae chuckled. Smart man. “Quite right,” she said, the missive she’d wanted to address with him catching her eye. She’d said all she needed to on the matter of her sister, she saw no point in dwelling. “So, the real reason I needed to speak with you…”

Rae held the parchment out for him, and Cullen, eager to move to a more familiar conversation, relaxed. 

For now, at least. Rae was sure that Ash - purposefully or not - would test every ounce of patience that poor, unsuspecting shem had. 

* * *

“Did you know?” 

Rae had never seen her Commander so incensed - barely holding it together, his leather gloves creaking and his jaw clenched so tight that the bones may snap. 

Her sister - Creators, her fucking sister - was possessed. By a spirit of love, if Solas was to be believed. He’d been so calm, casual almost, when he’d told her of his betrayal. How could he have kept such a secret from her? She was his Inquisitor and his…well, she didn’t know what she was to him, but she’d thought she was important. Ordering him out of her sight was all she’d been able to do to keep herself from screaming her foul rage at him until she’d flayed him down to the bone. She’d done it to her own sister - why not add her almost-lover to the list. 

And now her sister’s lover was demanding more from Rae, and she didn’t want the Mythal damned reminder. Ash had been happy with him, had finally had someone outside of Rae that she could focus her protective instincts on. But now…his lips curled back in a snarl, anger suffusing his short breaths. 

Her muscles tensed. He’d caught her as she was about to retire to her tent for the evening - having left Ash’s side at the healer’s for the first time in hours. She was stable, she would live. Rae hadn’t goaded her to her death. Why couldn’t the people she loved stop getting hurt on her behalf? What was it about her that cursed everyone around her? 

Sometimes she wondered if everyone would be better off if she just disappeared. 

“No,” she ground out, “I didn’t.”

Rae wasn’t sure if it would have changed anything if she had. Ash was her sister, she could be a diseased toad and Rae would still love her - from afar, but the sentiment remained. 

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache brewing behind his eyes that Rae could almost feel in her proximity. Rae squared her shoulders, her chin held high. 

“Is that all, Commander?” 

He dropped his hand, and for a moment, all she saw was a soul deep ache that shredded the little energy he had. Eyes lowered, brows pinched, a scowl etched onto his lips. Broken heart on his sleeve. Pity pulsed in her chest. He was a good man, loyal and caring. She hoped he’d find it in himself to forgive Ash - she hoped Ash would let him. 

Is this what mamae wanted? For one daughter to tear herself to shreds for the other? Rae had loved their mother, but resentment had started to take its place. How dare she try to take the only family Rae had left.

“What will you…” His lips screwed up like he’d tasted sour grapes. “Will she—is she—“

He cut himself off with a sigh, shaking his head. What will you choose as punishment? Will she be made Tranquil? Is she alright? Rae could finish them for him, if she’d wanted to, but there was no need. 

“Solas has vouched for her spirit, and once she wakes he will provide a more thorough assessment. After that, if she’s deemed safe, she will have similar privileges that she had before this reveal. Once all of this dies down.” Rae waved her hand, a vague gesture meant to indicate the general commotion. 

A flash of relief crossed Cullen’s face, so quick she almost missed it - his features relaxing momentarily before hardening again. 

“Thank you.” He nodded stiffly, body half-turned away as if making to leave, but unable to force himself any further from where Ash lay, recovering in her tent. Isolated. 

Rae strode forward, clasping him on the arm and making him jump. “Knowing Ash, she’s expecting the worst possible reaction. I doubt she expected to wake up at all, least of all with her magic intact.” 

His eyes darkened, understanding what she meant. Tranquility. “I would never allow that,” he said quickly and firmly. 

Rae released his arm. “I’m not the one you need to convince.” 

Cullen frowned, but he didn’t disagree. To reach her sister through all that fear she buried deep down was a near impossible task. If anyone could succeed, it would be the Commander. However, whether or not Ash would permit him to even attempt such a feat was an entirely different story altogether. And not one that Rae had the authorial sense to predict. 

A/N: Rae's insight was sorely needed, I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse!

I also don’t know if I shared this NSFW art here or not, but if you haven’t seen the desk scene with Ash and Cullen here is my apology

Or, a booby hug for the Commander during this trying time (though set in a previous, happy time)

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 5.1k

Part 37 - Well, Now What?

"What did I expect? To leave a hemorrhage of violets wherever I walked? No. A lost son is called prodigal. A lost daughter is just called lost." - Emily Rose Cole

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

Masterlist

Acid burned through heavy limbs, tongue heavy and dry, and eyelids that felt like they weighed as much as a fully grown Qunari. Ash had received her fair share of injuries and illnesses, it wasn’t the first time that she’d woken up with her head feeling like it had been bashed against a rock and stuffed full of cotton, but her experience didn’t make her any less disoriented. 

A groan pushed past her parched lips. She really needed to stop waking up like this.

The clatter of metal and the tight grip of cuffs digging into her wrists as she attempted to lift her arms snapped her into full awareness, her heart racing in her throat.

Oh Gods, what had she done?

Love’s magic had burned through her, seeping through her skin with its heat - the look of horror on Cullen’s face, Rae’s heart broken at her betrayal. Ash’s secret was out, there was no hiding her possession now. 

“Burning. Agony. It won’t stop - won’t end. I did what I was supposed to, why does it still hurt? Don’t push them away, they want to help.” Cole’s voice echoed through the room and she struggled to lift her head, unable to see him. When she was finally able, her neck aching in protest, she found herself alone, and lay back down. If he had more to say, she was sure he’d seek her out later.

To say she was disappointed that she’d woken up alone wasn’t quite correct. Relief trickled through her limbs that she’d been placed in her room back at Skyhold and not the dungeons - how long had she been unconscious to have no recollection of the journey home? And her solitude spoke to a level of trust she hadn’t anticipated. Surely, precautions were in place, but she’d half expected to wake up Tranquil. Or with Cullen’s sword at her throat, demanding answers - or worse yet; disgust and contempt in his eyes. 

The creaking of the door alerted her to someone entering the room, and she was ashamed of the ease that swept through her when she didn’t hear the jangle of armour or heavy boot steps. It was too soon, she wasn’t ready to face him - though she wasn’t sure if she ever would be. 

“Cole told me you were awake,” a poke to her ribs had her grumbling her irritation. “Seems like he was mostly right.”

They had a spirit watching over a spirit possessed mage? How much of a fit had Cullen had without a Templar stationed to keep a direct eye on her. 

“There are Templars outside the door,” Rae said, reading her mind. “But I didn’t want you to panic if you woke up surrounded by them. Plus I don’t trust them not to skewer you.” 

Ash grunted her thanks, finally managing to pry open her heavy eyelids to fix her weary gaze on Rae. Despite the deep purple bruise marring her jaw and the network of shallow cuts and scrapes crisscrossing her skin, Rae was alive and whole. Ash couldn't bring herself to regret her actions.

She’d braced herself for an outburst of anger - akin to their last confrontation - for Rae to snarl and curse her out for keeping Love a secret. Yet, Rae did nothing of the sort. She’d stuffed her fists into her pockets, her shoulders curling inwards, but when she looked at Ash, her ears drooping, her eyes shone with…was that relief? 

“You know,” Rae started, kicking absently at the ground, “when I realized we were in the Fade, the first thing I thought was ‘Ash is going to lose her damned mind.’ But even I didn’t consider that you’d reveal you’re possessed in some ridiculous attempt to try to reach me. Didn’t I release you from that promise?” 

Ash attempted to speak, but the only sound that emerged was a garbled noise, her throat parched and unable to form coherent words. Noticing her struggle, Rae came to her side, supporting her head to lift it and help her sip the glass of water that had been placed at her bedside. Once she’d had enough, Rae lowered her back onto the pillow.

Clearing her throat, Ash tried again. “That doesn’t mean I’m just going to sit back and do nothing while your life is at risk. I’d do that with or without that promise.”

Rae hummed noncommittally. “So you thought revealing to the entire Inquisition that you’re possessed was the right way to go about saving me? You’d have saved me a headache if you hadn’t interfered.” She pursed her lips, gaze distant as memories swam across her vision. “Though I don’t think we would have all made it out of there if you hadn’t shown up. We needed a distraction to get past that demon. I would’ve had to choose who to leave behind.” 

At least she’d done something good. If she’d revealed it all for nothing, Ash may have truly lost her mind. 

“If I apologize, are you going to hit me?” 

Rae’s gaze sharpened, narrowing her eyes. “Yes. I don’t want apologies, I want answers.” 

“Then ask your questions and I’ll do my best to provide.” Love flitted nervously in her chest but Ash didn’t have the strength to soothe her. Whatever feelings brewed between the sisters, they would have to wait until Ash had the capacity to address them.

Rae was quiet for several beats before she decided on where to start. “Solas said it’s a spirit of love possessing you, is this true?” 

With a hesitant nod, Ash confirmed her sister’s question. 

“He’s in trouble too, in case you’re wondering.” Rae sat at the edge of Ash’s bed, her finger drumming on her thighs. “Varric too. I can’t believe they knew before me. Though they had unfortunately little information.”

“I didn’t want them to know.”

Rae shot her a sharp look and Ash wisely shut her mouth. 

“How long?” Rae asked, her hands fisting in the blankets beneath her. 

Ash inhaled once as she prepared herself for the fallout. “Twenty-three years.”

Rae’s face darkened, her jaw clenching. “That was a lot of fire for an eight-year-old mage with her limbs bound. Or at least, what I remember of it, which isn’t much. Mostly just the sheer heat.” 

“When they separated us I…” Ash sighed heavily. “Love came to me and made a deal, she’d give me her power if I let her possess me and experience mortal love. I was so afraid I was going to lose you right after our parents that I didn’t even think twice.” 

Rubbing at her eyes, Rae cursed beneath her breath. “I should have released you from that fucking promise ages ago.” 

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” 

Rae’s shoulders sagged, her gaze cast down. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Ash’s chest tightened, a coil of anxiety wrapping itself around her ribs. “At first it was because you were so young and I didn’t want to burden you or worry about you accidentally letting it slip to someone. And then when you were older it had already been so long I…feared you’d hate me for keeping it from you, or for the possession as a whole.”

“So it’s ’cause you’re a coward?”

Ash barked a surprised laugh, wincing as it irritated her throat. “That’s one way of looking at it.” She paused, eyeing Rae with a hint of suspicion. “Why aren’t you angrier?” 

“Oh, I’m furious,” Rae said with a grin that undermined her statement, though it quickly slipped from her face. In its place, a haunted look settled across her features - the look of someone who had endured too many losses at too young an age. “When the Archdemon nearly took your life, I swore to myself that I wouldn't let you endanger yourself for my sake again. But despite my best efforts, you did it anyway. Physically and emotionally. When we fought in the courtyard I…I said things that I shouldn’t have. Awful, hurtful things. I let my anger and fear get the better of me, and I thought that maybe if I could push you away you’d stop trying to sacrifice yourself for me. In the Fade, when you showed up and Cass was dragging me away, I was terrified that I’d lose you for real this time. And I was still so angry. At you for doing exactly what mamae did, but also at myself. The guilt was going to eat me alive. I’m still angry and hurt that you kept your possession from me, and I imagine you feel similarly about what I said, but I’m more so relieved that I get the chance to tell you how stupid you are than anything else. I don’t have it in me to be angry right now.”

“Rae…” Ash grimaced, closing her eyes to avoid the weariness etched into the lines of her sister’s face. “As long as you don’t hate me forever, you can call me stupid as much as you want.”

“I’ll remember that,” Rae promised. “I may want to throttle you until your face turns blue sometimes, but I could never hate you. I thought you knew that.” 

Ash’s eyes snapped open, her eyebrows pinching together. Rae scoffed, waving away Ash’s confusion. 

“If I were going to hate you I would have already. You’ve been aggravating enough. But I’m not arrogant to think that I don’t have any either. But you’ve also apparently been possessed this whole time to, for as long as I can remember, so I don’t know a different you. You’re my sister, and once I have Solas as our resident spirit expert clear you, the chains will be removed and you’ll have free roam of Skyhold. Though you’re grounded from missions for the time being, until this all blows over.”

What should have been elating only filled her with dread. If she was confined to her room, she could hide from all the unwanted confrontation. 

Cullen…fuck, how was she supposed to face him?

Ash turned away from Rae, hoping to avoid any and all conversations about him, but Rae had always been too perceptive. “You can’t avoid Cullen forever. He’s…” Rae sighed. “He’s angry, but he cares for you a great deal. Just talk to him, maybe you can salvage it.”

Ash wasn’t so optimistic, but she gave her sister a half-hearted smile, unable to bring herself to speak.

Pursing her lips, Rae appeared to debate for a moment what she wanted to say. Once she’d decided, she spoke softly - disconcerting for her typically sharp sister.

“I didn’t tell at the time because I thought you’d either misunderstand or run from your feelings even harder, but in that future timeline that I saw in Redcliffe, Cullen had come to save you.” Numbness spread through Ash’s fingers that had nothing to do with her restraints. “They’d strung his body up in the inner courtyard but he was still alive, though barely. He was so relieved to see you, even managed a smile. He’d come to rescue you, not the Herald, but you. You demanded to know why, you were all…twitchy. He said that he didn’t need a reason, other than that it was you. Future you - which now that I know you’re possessed makes a lot more sense - took out an entire wall when he died and almost collapsed the castle on us before we got you to calm down.” 

A mournful ache built in her chest - and Ash was unable to tell if it belonged to her or Love. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because you should know how he feels about you. Even in that timeline where he’d only known you for a few weeks, he’d already begun to care for you enough to risk his life trying to save you.” 

Allowing herself to believe her sister’s assertion was an insurmountable ask. “He was probably there for you and just happened to also be looking for me. The Herald is most important.”

Rae shook her head. “Not to him.”

There would be no convincing Rae otherwise, so Ash conceded. “Maybe.”

Patting her lap, Rae glanced at the door. “Dorian was beside himself, you may want to talk to him too. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he just showed up here.”

Neither would Ash, but she wasn’t ready to talk to anyone, even Rae, she felt on edge with. She knew logically that she should be more upset with her. What she’d screamed at Ash in the courtyard had hurt, tunneling into her heart and disintegrating the last bonds she had to their mother - she no longer knew why she’d wanted them so badly. But if Rae was the only one who would tolerate her now that her secret was out, she was reticent to push the envelope. Swallow the hurt, bury it deep down where it couldn’t escape - let it eat her from the inside out.

“And you’re much too forgiving for your own good.” Ash winced as Rae once again seemed to read her mind. “You should be more upset with me. I’m going to be even angrier if you aren’t. Creator’s, Ash, I told you I wished your mouth had remained sewn shut, I reduced what you have with Cullen to some base need because I’m so fucking jealous that I don’t even have that with—” Rae bit her tongue, but Ash knew what she was going to say. Solas. Rae would never admit more than that, but she craved his affections just as fiercely as Ash did Cullen’s.

“I knew that I would hurt you,” Rae continued, quieter than before, a tremor in her voice. “That I’d remind you of mamae and everything that happened, maybe make you doubt your relationship with Cullen, and I said it anyway.”

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Ash played anxiously with the edge of her blanket. “I needed to hear it. I hadn’t listened to you before when you tried to tell me to back off, I didn’t give you much of a choice.”

“Yeah, well,” Rae muttered, looking off to the side. “I’m sorry anyhow. I promise I’ll try not to say something so shitty again. And when you’re feeling up to it, we need to talk this out further. I don’t want to leave this as it is.”

“Alright.” Ash shifted slightly and winced, her ribs aching.

Tapping her fingers on her thighs, Rae sucked her lips between her teeth, eager to change the topic. “What’s it like being possessed by a spirit of love?”

An abrupt change of subject, but Ash was more than happy to follow along. She needed more time to sort through how she felt about her fight with Rae. They hadn’t had a moment to stop since. She huffed as Love prickled at her ribs, pleased at Rae’s curiosity. “Irritating. All she does is bother me.” A sharp stab to her lungs had her wincing.

“Sounds like someone else I know.” 

Frowning, Ash continued. “It’s hard to explain, she’s just…there. I can feel her presence at all times and she pokes and prods me to let me know how she feels. But mostly she just feels like an amplification of my feelings, like it’s all already there but because of Love it’s all that much stronger.” 

It felt surreal to be speaking about Love to Rae, but the more she did, the more at ease she felt. 

“Does she…influence you?” 

That was a question Ash had asked herself too many times to count. Were her emotions her own, or were they Love’s? Where did she begin and the spirit end? 

“I don’t know,” Ash answered honestly. “It’s been so long…I can’t tell.”

Rae hummed her understanding, her forehead creasing slightly. She gave Ash's hand a gentle squeeze before rising from the bed, shifting restlessly on her feet. "I should let you rest. And inform Solas you're awake so he can examine you."

As Rae strode away and reached for the door handle, a furry blur darted between her legs. Sweetpea leapt onto the bed with feline grace. The small, fluffy creature circled twice before curling up in Ash's lap, purring contentedly.

Ash couldn't help but smile, her first genuine one since waking. She struggled to sit up, her muscles protesting every inch. The chains rattled, but she managed to prop herself against the headboard. Her fingers sank into Sweetpea's soft fur, the repetitive motion soothing her frayed nerves.

"Hey there, little pea," Ash murmured, scratching behind Sweetpea's ears. The cat's eyes closed in bliss, her purrs intensifying.

Rae lingered in the doorway. "She missed you. Wouldn't leave your side while you were unconscious. Other than to hunt."

Ash's throat tightened and she managed a nod. She must have been out for some time - a week, possibly. She focused on Sweetpea, watching the rise and fall of her tiny chest. Rae slipped out the door, leaving her alone with her cat - but not for long. Seconds after Rae left, the creak of the door opening alerted her to another’s presence. 

“That was fast,” she said without looking up, not needing to see Solas’s face to picture his disapproving expression. “I didn’t think you’d be—“

Well polished leather boots and many buckled pants came into her line of sight. Those did not belong to Solas. 

Snapping her head up, her lips parted, the blood draining from her face. “Dorian…” she breathed, gaze darting from his scowl to his arms folded tightly over his chest. A flash of anger sparked in his eyes and she swallowed thickly. 

Sweetpea continued purring. 

“You’re possessed by a spirit and you never thought to tell us?” He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for her answer. Rae had been right to suggest that Dorian would seek her out. He’d never been the patient sort.

The soft fur of her oblivious cat calmed the part of her that wanted to bite back. “You didn’t need to know.”

"Oh, that's absolute bollocks,” he scoffed. "You're a vital part of our organization and more importantly, my best friend. Did you honestly think that neither Rae nor I needed to know?”

Was she truly vital? What had she done that another mage couldn’t? Her contributions had been limited by her injury and her inability to tolerate hot climates.

“She’s a spirit of love, Dorian, she’s not going to hurt you.”

"The point isn’t whether she’s going to hurt me. The point is that you’re possessed and you didn’t tell us - didn’t tell me.” The real reason for his irritation. Dorian had invited her with him to meet his father’s envoy - who ended up being his father - and opened up to her about his past, how his father had tried to use blood magic to change him. She had only given part of the same. 

“I didn’t tell anyone,” she said, trying to get him to understand that it wasn’t personal. But it was for him. 

"Yes, that's the problem,” he said, his words clipped and frustrated. “You've been walking around with something like this and didn't tell a soul? Besides those crafty bastards that figured it out themselves. How could you, Ash? We’re supposed to be friends, we’re supposed to trust each other."

Sweetpea’s sweetness could only go so far. “It may be different in Tevinter, but you know how Fereldans feel about possession. Did you want me to flounce around all of Skyhold and sing it from the rooftops? That’s the easiest way to get my head lobbed off.”

Dorian laughed bitterly, leaning back against the wall as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not suggesting you go around announcing to the world, that—what do I look like, a blundering idiot? But you could've told me. I thought…well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Clearly, you don’t feel the same.”

“And what do you think they would have done to you had they found out that the Tevinte knew of my possession?” Ash shot back and Sweetpea lifted her head, blinking up at her with wide, curious eyes, her ears flicking. Shoving down her snarl, she petted Sweetpea’s head, lulling her back to sleep. 

"That’s the excuse you're going with?” he asked with incredulity wrapped around his words. “That you wanted to keep me safe from the wrath of the Inquisition?“

“You wanted a reason so I gave you one. You don’t have to like it.” She kept her face carefully blank, unwilling to let her tears fall. She knew she deserved this, his anger, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “You always do this, don’t you?” 

Ash faltered, a frown marring her mask. “What?”

“You want me to shout and swear while you sit there, calmly keeping your emotions in check, behind some demure, sweet hearted mask.” She flinched, but he didn’t let up. “Will you do the same with Cullen when you finally confront him about this, though with a heaping sized serving of seduction added in there?”

Silence descended upon them, the only sound the crackling of Sweetpea’s purr and the rush of blood in her ears. She’d stopped breathing, the air caught in her throat like a frog had made a home there. Dorian claimed she hadn’t let him in, hadn’t trusted him, but he knew her well enough to predict what she hadn’t even known. Or had she, and she’d simply refused to admit it to herself?

The angry lines around his eyes softened and Ash hated it. She wished he’d put them back. It was easier that way.

“You can’t keep doing this. You can’t try to shoulder everything on your own, bottling it all up and ignoring it. You’re going to get yourself killed, and take all of us with you—“ He clamped his mouth shut, looking intently at his boots. 

Shaking off her stunned stupor, she set her face into an irritated glare. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Dorian. Now, if you’re finished disparaging my character, the door is right behind you.”

He scoffed, pushing off the wall and taking a few long steps towards her, standing at the foot of her bed. The bed she was chained to, like the cornered feral animal she was. 

“That’s it, push me away. Someone tries to help you, tries to get you to look at your bloody issues, and you just push them away.”

“I’m fine!” She couldn’t remember making the decision to yell. “I don’t need your help, I can take care of myself!”

“Yes, that’s why you’re chained to your bed as punishment for your secret possession, why your sister is out there right now trying to cover for your lies, and why half your body is covered in burn scars from the last time you almost died!” 

It would have been kinder of him to stab her through the gut with a blunt knife. Tears burned at her eyes and her hand flexed on Sweetpea’s side. 

“Get. Out,” she gritted through clenched teeth, the only thing holding back a sob. 

Through her blurry vision, she saw him step back, surprise written across his face like a slap and the subsequent hardening as he steeled himself. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” 

Turning sharply on his heel, he was out the door before the first tear dropped, landing directly atop Sweetpea’s head. 

Sweetpea's paw swiped at her head, dislodging the teardrop. The cat peered up at Ash, filled with concern. She poked at Ash's belly with her soft paw, as if trying to prod the sorrow right out of her.

It was too much. The floodgates burst open, and Ash's body shook with wracking sobs. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air between cries, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.

Dorian's words echoed in her mind, each one a dagger to her heart. He was right. She pushed everyone away, kept them at arm's length. Even Rae, her own sister, the person she'd sacrifice everything for. And for what? To protect them? Or to protect herself from the pain of rejection, of abandonment?

Love fluttered anxiously within her, a warm presence trying to soothe her anguish. But for once, the spirit's comfort felt hollow. What did Love know of the complexities of mortal relationships, of trust betrayed and hearts broken? Cullen would never love her back, not as the pathetic mess she was.

Sweetpea stood to nuzzle Ash's chin, her whiskers tickling tear-stained skin. The cat's unwavering affection only made Ash cry harder. At least Sweetpea would never leave her, would never look at her with disappointment or disgust.

As quickly as the emotional storm had overtaken her, Ash felt it receding. She took a shuddering breath, willing her tears to stop. She couldn't afford to fall apart, not now. There were still so many battles ahead - with Cullen, with the Inquisition, with herself.

Ash closed her eyes, focusing on steadying her breathing. In, out. In, out. She imagined building a wall around her heart, brick by brick, sealing away the hurt and vulnerability. By the time she opened her eyes again, her face was a mask of calm indifference.

She heard footsteps approaching and quickly wiped away any remaining evidence of her breakdown - though she couldn’t erase her puffy cheeks or red-rimmed eyes. Sweetpea, sensing the shift in mood, returned to her position curled up in Ash's lap.

The door opened, and Solas entered, his expression impassive as ever. If he noticed any redness around her eyes or the tremor in her hands, he gave no indication.

Sweetpea’s ear flattened to her skull when she saw him, even though Ash no longer disliked him so intently, her cat hadn’t let go. 

“Are you here to tell me in an idiot too?” 

Solas chuckled, moving to her side. “I find healing rarely involves insults, but if the situation calls for it I am more than happy to provide.” 

“Ass,” she grumbled under her breath and he pretended not to hear her. 

Solas's long fingers pressed gently against her temples, a faint blue glow emanating from his fingertips. Ash suppressed a shiver as the cool tingle of his magic seeped into her skin. Love stirred within her, curious about this new presence.

"I’ve been tasked to ensure your spirit is safe," Solas explained. "I already knew that she was, but a thorough examination was insisted upon."

Ash didn't need to ask who it was that had insisted. She could picture Cullen's furrowed brow and scowl, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword as he demanded Solas check her again. Her stomach twisted at the thought of facing him.

Solas's magic probed deeper, and Love responded, reaching out with tendrils of warmth. The elf's eyebrows raised slightly, the only indication of his surprise at the spirit's eagerness.

"Fascinating," he said. "Your bond with Love is remarkably strong. It's rare to see such harmony between mortal and spirit."

Ash snorted. "Harmony might be a bit generous. She's more like an annoying clanmate who never shuts up about relationships."

A ghost of a smile crossed Solas's lips. "Perhaps, but a benevolent one nonetheless." His hands dropped from her temples, the glow fading. "As I suspected, there is no danger. The spirit poses no threat to you or others."

Relief washed over Ash. Having Solas's seal of approval might help ease some of the tension in Skyhold.

Sweetpea stretched lazily in Ash's lap, then hopped down to investigate Solas's feet. The elf regarded the cat with mild amusement as she sniffed his toes.

"So," Ash said, fidgeting with the edge of her blanket, "what happens now?"

Solas clasped his hands behind his back, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. "That depends on you. The Inquisitor has vouched for your continued freedom within Skyhold, and only her inner circle is officially aware of your possession. Most believe that you were overcome with worry for your sister, and your magic flared. But some remain…skeptical."

Ash's shoulders slumped. Of course there were. She could already imagine the whispers, the sidelong glances. Abomination. Demon-touched. Where they better than whore and harlot?

Solas was quiet for a moment, contemplative. “Why did you reveal yourself?”

The simple answer slipped off her tongue, a reflex long honed. “Because Rae needed me.”

“You’d risk everything on the off chance that Rae was in need of your aid?”

“Yes.” Another simple answer. Even without the promise, it would remain the same. 

He nodded, accepting her response. He studied her with those piercing eyes that always seemed to see more than they should. "I will inform the Inquisitor that you pose no threat. She will send someone to remove your shackles shortly."

As he turned to leave, Sweetpea darted between his legs, nearly tripping him. The elf stumbled, catching himself on the doorframe with a grunt of surprise. Ash couldn't suppress a snort of laughter at the sight of the usually graceful Solas thrown off balance by her tiny cat.

Solas shot her a wry look, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I see your feline companion shares your penchant for causing mischief," he remarked dryly.

"She takes after her mother," Ash quipped, though her humour was nowhere to be found.

With a final nod, Solas swept out of the room, leaving Ash alone once more. Sweetpea hopped back onto the bed, curling up against Ash's side with a contented purr.

Ash leaned back against the pillows, her mind racing. Freedom within Skyhold – it should have been a relief, yet it only intensified her anxiety, gnawing at her insides. While confined to the bed, chains serving as her temporary shield, she had a valid excuse to avoid Cullen. Unless he came to her first. Once freed, she would have to face the consequences of her actions head-on.

The thought of seeing Cullen made her stomach churn. Would he look at her with disgust? Fear? Or worst of all, that terrible blend of disappointment and pity? She could already picture his handsome face twisted with conflicting emotions, those warm amber eyes she loved so much now guarded and wary.

Love squirmed anxiously within her, sensing her distress. The spirit's presence felt like a weight around her neck, a noose she had tied herself. How could she explain to Cullen that Love wasn't a threat, wasn't controlling her, when she sometimes questioned the spirit’s intentions herself?

Ash closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. She focused on the soft fur beneath her fingers, the quiet rumble of Sweetpea's purrs. One step at a time, she told herself. First, get those blighted shackles off. Then…well, she'd figure out the rest as she went along. It's what she'd always done, after all.

Interlude

A/N: The next chapter will likely be out next week, it's a bit of a beast - BUT I will be posting an interlude of sorts later this week that looks more at Rae's perspective.

Thank you for reading, and I look forward to this inevitable conversation that is 37 chapters coming!

[tired-truffle]

The City Elf and the Frog

The City Elf and the Frog: Cullen x Female Lavellan

AO3

In Progress

Summary: Frog prince AU - Alistair is cursed to be a frog and is rescued by Tabris, Morrigan isn't pleased.

Word Count: 7.4k

Posted: March 15th, 2025

Updated: March 25th, 2025

Chapters: (1) (2)

[tired-truffle]

The City Elf and the Frog

An AlistairxWarden fic

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 1 of 3

Summary: Frog prince AU - Alistair is cursed to be a frog and is rescued by Tabris, Morrigan isn't pleased.

A/N: Thank you for reading this silly little AU I've been thinking of for a while now, I hope you enjoy!

Warning: There will be some vague mentions of the City Elf backstory.

Art by me :)

Masterlist

Becoming a frog had been an…adjustment, to say the least. Alistair hadn’t had much of a choice in the matter, nor could he exactly remember how it all came to be. One day he was a regular human prince - able to stand up straight on his own two feet, opposable thumbs, the whole works - and then zap! Frog time. 

Little snippets of memories swam in his now pea-sized brain; a wrinkled grin, long, slender fingers with wicked sharp nails grasping his chin, and the most vibrant golden eyes he’d ever seen. He had no idea what to make of it, other than that this had to be some kind of witchy curse. Maker, how he hated witchy curses. What he’d done to deserve this cruel fate had to have been pretty terrible indeed. 

Flies would never have been Alistair’s first choice of snack, but over the weeks - months? He could no longer recall, it was hard to keep track of time when one was a frog - he’d begun to enjoy the little crunch, and the taste was surprisingly similar to roasted chicken. Or perhaps he’d just forgotten what chicken tasted like.

Frog life wasn’t without its drawbacks. After being removed from the castle grounds by a confused maid, unsure how a frog had ended up in the prince’s room in his discarded clothes, he’d been left to fend for himself on the streets of Denerim - and the streets were no place for even the bravest of amphibians. How he made it onto a carriage out of the city was a blur of desperate leaps and daring manoeuvres. He’d think it were rather impressive if he could remember more than his near blind panic. Who knew a frog could scream like that?

Staying on the carriage until the horses had stopped for a drink of water, he’d made it to a pond miles outside the city limits in one piece - and he’d thought that the worst was behind him. He’d been unfortunately mistaken. The wilds were not a safe place for a delectable creature such as himself. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d almost been devoured in one bite. If he ever became human again, he’d be swearing off frog legs in solidarity. 

But that was a big if. As far as Alistair knew, no one was aware of his predicament, and even if they were, how could they find him in the wilds? There were thousands of other frogs, they’d be searching for ages. At least he wasn’t the heir to the throne, his father wouldn’t have to worry too much with Cailan still able to take up the mantle of King upon his passing. Alistair was a bastard anyway, it was probably best for his family that he disappeared; it had been quite the scandal when King Maric had claimed him as his own. 

Alistair had resigned himself to the lonely, short life of a frog. It wasn’t all bad. He didn’t have any duties to attend, no annoying nobles to entertain or studies to complete. He was as free as a frog in a pond - literally. Most of his time was spent floating on lily pads or swimming in the shallow water where no predators could swoop up from under him. He’d even managed to make friends with another frog at one point. He’d called him Charles and they’d hopped across the lily pads together in a game of what Alistair was pretty sure was tag. Until a raven had swooped down and carried poor Charles off. Alistair had learned quickly that swooping was very bad. 

The momentary companionship had fuelled his need for more, and like the Maker had been listening to his prayers, He provided. Though not in the form that Alistair had been expecting. 

Alistair had spent hours rubbing that stick against a rock until it shaved down to a sharp point. He didn’t like how defenceless he was, and he’d decided to take matters into his own webbed hands - feet? Holding it in his mouth, he brandished it at the overly curious fox that had backed him into a corner. Cursing himself for getting so distracted making his weapon that he’d failed to account for the reasons why he needed to make it in the first place, Alistair’s little heart beat quickly in his chest. Maybe if he leaped at it and poked it in the nose with the sharp end of the stick, he could get it to leave him alone. Or it would open its mouth and he’d be launching himself into the acidic depths of its stomach. Either way, he had to give it a try. He was out of options.

Mustering all his strength, he pushed off with his back legs, front legs stretched as he barreled towards the fox…and missed its head by a foot. In all fairness, the vision of a frog was disorienting at best, he couldn’t be blamed for his miscalculation. But with the stick in his mouth and a very different landing in mind, he hit the sharp edge of a rock with his back leg as he tumbled to the ground, and something inside snapped, sending fiery pain through his tiny body. 

Andraste’s flaming sword, this was how he was going to die. A frog with a broken leg, snacked on by a lucky fox. 

As the creature turned, Alistair spit the stick from his mouth and limped to face it. If he was going down, he refused to cower away from his fate - even though he really, really wanted to. 

“Oh, you poor little thing!” 

Alistair and the fox halted, their eyes drawn up towards the source of the voice. Emerging gracefully from the dense, leafy bushes at the edge of the pond was a young woman, her age seemingly close to Alistair's, as suggested by the youthful glow illuminating her tanned skin. Her chestnut hair had been braided back into double plaits, revealing her long, pointed ears. Encountering an elf in the woods wasn’t unusual, but he hadn’t seen a single elf or human since leaving Denerim. What was she doing all the way out here?

She rushed toward him and the fox scampered away, remaining within hunting distance if the woman decided to leave its snack. She tutted as she approached Alistair, kneeling in front of him as he cowered away, his leg splayed uselessly at his side as he tried hard not to move it, the pain not worth it. Her eyes - round, though slightly downturned, and a warm coppery shade - regarded him with such pity, her full bottom lip jutting out. 

“Did you hurt yourself trying to get away from that silly fox?” She asked, and Alistair croaked, hoping to convey that yes, he had hurt himself, and that he felt malicious was a better descriptor for the fox. She nodded her sympathy, seeming to at least understand his first point. 

She turned her head to glare at the fox, wrinkling her freckled nose as a long braid slipped from her shoulder and almost hit Alistair in the face.

“You should know better than to play with your food,” she admonished the fox. It blinked at her. 

Turning back to him, she placed her hands on the ground. “Come on,” she said with a smile that lit up her entire face, “I’ll take you back home and see what we can do for that leg.”

As wonderful as her offer sounded, he’d learned to be wary during his time in the pond. What if this woman was hoping for some easy frog legs? Or if she couldn’t fix it, maybe she’d just cut her losses and put him out of his misery. 

But what other choice did he have? He wouldn’t survive on his own if he was unable to hop or swim. He may as well lay himself on a silver platter. Summoning his courage, he tentatively placed a webbed foot on her fingers, unable to move much farther due to the sharp pain that radiated up from his leg at even that small movement. The woman’s grin grew impossibly bright, and for a moment Alistair was struck dumb. He hadn’t registered it when she’d first approached, but by the Maker she was beautiful. An odd thought for a frog to have.

She scooped him up the rest of the way, careful to jostle his leg as little as possible, though he hissed a few times as it ached. His belly lying in her palm, her other hand shielding him from above, she brought him away from the pond and towards what he hoped was a warm bed and no boiling cauldrons. 

Tabris may not have met many frogs in her lifetime, but this one was by far the strangest. He - she was pretty sure it was a he, he was more colourful than the female frogs she’d encountered, but she didn’t want to invade his privacy to check - seemed much too smart for a simple frog. When she spoke to him he would croak back or stare at her with those big, unblinking eyes that saw right through to her soul. She couldn’t decide if it was unnerving or endearing. For the sake of her sanity, she settled on endearing. It probably helped that the little splint she’d made for his broken leg made him even more adorable - she admired his vibrant emerald green colour and the twine used to keep the splint in place complemented it perfectly.

She wasn’t supposed to venture so far from her hut, but some deep-seated, irresistible urge had drawn her to that pond by the road. She couldn’t bring herself to regret it.  

Waking up to find him peacefully snoozing on her chest the first morning after she’d brought him home had been a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. His small, cool body rested lightly against her, and though the damp spot on her shirt marked where he lay, she didn't mind. She wasn’t sure how long frogs could go without being in water, so she’d placed a tray of water beside her bed to keep an eye on him. However, she hadn’t expected him to settle in so comfortably with her. Maybe once upon a time he’d been somebody’s pet. 

That was the only explanation she could think of, unless he was somehow a magical frog - though such a notion was utterly absurd. She’d never heard of a frog being connected to the Fade before, nor any other animal for that matter. She resolved to ask Morrigan the next time the witch made her visit. In the meantime, she continued her daily routines as usual, albeit now with a silly little companion by her side.

To accommodate her new friend, Tabris had set up a sticky paper to hang in her home - parchment with a light coating of honey - its purpose to ensnare unsuspecting bugs and provide a steady supply of snack for the tiny creature. She had no idea how much frogs were supposed to eat, but he didn’t seem to be complaining. Especially not when she took him outside in the evening, setting a small lantern out to attract the local insects and let him catch a few himself. This, she mused, was excellent for maintaining his self-esteem.

Her skills in locating worms had also improved remarkably. If anything, she was worried she was feeding him a little too much. 

Maybe…maybe at the end of his recovery, if she treated him right, he’d want to stay. Maker’s breath, that sounded pathetic - desperate for a frog’s company. 

Tabris had lived alone in the woods for nearly half a year. It was better that way. If her family harboured a wanted criminal, it would put them unnecessarily in harm's way. The nobles didn’t need any more reason to kill and imprison elves. Maker, she missed them, her father’s tight hugs, Soris’ teasing remarks, Shianni’s sweet smile. Tabris hoped she still smiled as sweetly. When she’d last seen her cousin…well, there was a good reason why Tabris had killed that nobleman’s son. 

Used to living alone - with only the occasional visit from Morrigan, a fellow recluse and inhabitant of the wilds surrounding Denerim - she frequently spoke to herself. It was something to fill the silence, something to distract from missing her family. At least Morrigan was kind enough to magic letters back and forth so she could keep up with them, but it wasn’t the same. She was lonely, that much was obvious to anyone with eyes - frogs included, it seemed, by how much he insisted with those beady but pleading eyes that she bring him with her everywhere around her hut - but talking to herself helped with that. 

And now, she had a captive audience. 

“The nug stew or the vegetable soup…” Tabris tapped her foot on the ground as she considered her options, her fingers stroking her chin. She turned to where her green companion sat on her spice rack. “What do you think, Froggy?”

She’d never been good with names, and he didn’t seem to dislike Froggy. It was an apt description after all. 

He tilted his head to the side and she nodded. “You’re right. Nug stew it is.” 

He gave her a light ribbit that made her smile. For a frog with a broken leg, he sure was in good spirits and surprisingly limber. But then again, Tabris knew nothing about frog pain tolerances. Or if his leg was broken instead of simply sore.

It had only been a week and already she was way too attached to Froggy. But how could she not be? He was adorable. 

She set about preparing dinner, humming lightly and wiggling her hips along with the tune, giggling as Froggy swayed along with her. 

A polite knock at the door interrupted her, and she fought back the urge to squeal and stamp her feet in excitement. 

Scooping Froggy up in her hands as he croaked curiously at her - she both hated and loved that she could tell that - she spoke in a rush, speeding over to the door. 

“Morrigan’s here! I’ve told you about her, she’s great. You’ll love her.”

Though he gave no response, Tabris was positive that her two best friends would get along. 

Alistair did not love Morrigan as Tabris had promised. The minute the witch - and yes, he knew she was a witch, she oozed witchiness - had laid her golden eyes on him, a sneer curving her lips, the hate had been mutual. And those piercing eyes tugged at his memory, though he couldn’t quite place it.

“Must you insist on keeping such repugnant creatures in your company?” The witch asked, eyeing Alistair like she could incinerate him with her gaze alone. He prayed to the Maker that she didn’t have that kind of power. “It could have all manner of diseases. You should dispose of that pest far away from here. He may be inclined to sneak back into your abode in search of warmth.”

Tabris, thankfully, did not take much stock in the witch’s suggestion and rolled her eyes.

“It’s nice to see you too, Morrigan.” She stepped out of the threshold and carried him back inside, the witch following her after a moment’s hesitation. “I thought you’d like Froggy. Look at him, he’s adorable.”

Tabris held him up to her face, rubbing her crinkled nose against his…nostrils? He was pretty sure frogs didn’t have noses. Up close he could see every freckle that scattered across her skin, and he had to resist his amphibian instincts to stick his tongue to each one. 

He glanced at Morrigan over Tabris’ shoulder and blinked one eye after the other. The witch scoffed, folding her arms over her chest and scowling. “Clearly you've been afflicted with some manner of poison - one that muddles the mind and leaves you swooning over such a beast. 'Tis a creature of the wilds, Tabris; the forest is where it belongs.”

Tabris sighed deeply, the bright smile slipping from her lips as her gaze turned somber and distant - reflecting a wistful sadness. Alistair silently cursed the witch who had brought this melancholy upon her, especially after he had been striving so diligently to lift her spirits. It was an ordinary curse, naturally, he wasn't the one dabbling in witchy magic here.

“I know, but he’s hurt his leg and I couldn’t just leave him to die. I’ll put him back when he’s healed.”

No! Alistair wanted to shout, but all that came out was a ribbit. He didn’t want to go back, he wanted to stay here with her and all her warm smiles and the soothing rise and fall of her chest as he nestled in for the night. She was so gentle with him, so kind to a measly little frog, and the world out there was nothing short of cruel. Besides, she seemed…lonely. When she spoke to him of her family, a deep longing wavered her tone, and when she became lost in thought, it was like a veil of fog surrounded her, weighing her down. 

In a move that surprised Alistair, Morrigan dropped her sneer - he’d been wondering if it was permanently etched into her face. “Ah, so you have decided to become nursemaid to the creature. ‘Tis a harmless enough pursuit, I suppose, as long as you return it to where it belongs once its convalescence is complete.”

A small, tentative smile returned to Tabris’ face, and Alistair felt a wave of relief rush through him - both that she no longer looked so downtrodden and that he wasn’t at imminent risk of being evicted. 

“It’s just a bit of fun.” Tabris placed him into his water tray and he missed the heat of her hands - damn his cold-blooded body, he could never seem to get warm without her touch. “Something to do amongst all the regular mundane tasks. Maybe I’ve just been alone for too long but it almost seems like he understands me.” 

Tabris strode across her hut to her little kitchen space and the nug stew in the cauldron boiling over the fire. 

“Oh?” Morrigan glanced over to where he floated, an eyebrow raised. 

Tapping her chin thoughtfully with the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir the stew, Tabris inadvertently smeared sauce on herself. Alistair momentarily debated licking it off for her, but he quickly shook himself of that audacious notion. No! Bad Alistair! That was entirely improper and he’d already been testing the boundaries of propriety.

“Could he be, uh, a magical frog or something?” 

Yes! He would have jumped for joy if his leg didn’t pain him so terribly. He’d change all his negative opinions on the witch if she could sense his curse, and surely they would help him then—

“A magic frog? You believe it to be enchanted?” Morrigan scoffed, lighting his hopes ablaze with the intensity of her hateful glare shot his way. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Could you check for me?” Tabris didn’t take her disdain as an answer, nor did she seem offended at her holier than thou attitude that had Alistair bristling. 

With a long-suffering sigh, Morrigan made her way over to his tray. “I will, if only to dispel this ridiculous idea.”

Ha, she’d be shown soon how wrong she was. Suck on that, witch, she’s not as smart as she think she is.

She waved a hand over him, her magic prickling along his back. Her expression remained impassive.

“‘Tis a normal frog. I sense no magical energies emanating from it and I detect no curses upon it. Are you certain it hasn’t infected you with a hallucinatory illness?”

…What? She couldn’t be serious. Was she weaker than she appeared, or the curse too well hidden? No, he’d felt that smidgen of her arcane energy and it had reeked of primal magic. She was lying, but the question was why?

Those golden eyes flashed in his mind again, and his heart sank into his gut.

Tabris frowned, disappointment flashing across her face before she tamped it down. 

“Oh. I’d thought for sure…” She shook herself, forcing her shoulders to straighten as she glanced at the few remaining ingredients she’d laid out. “Looks like I forgot the parsley! I’ll just be a moment.” 

Taking long strides across the hut, she was out the door before he could so much as splash to get her attention. One might call it ‘fleeing’. Perhaps she was lonelier than he’d realized if she wanted him to be magical that badly. 

Morrigan watched her go, flicking wisps of her hair over her shoulder before fixing her molten gaze on Alistair. Her lips tightened into a thin line, her eyes narrowed, and for a moment he feared she’d kill him right then and there. Instead, she leaned a little closer, towering over him. 

“How the mighty have fallen.” Morrigan did not sound at all displeased, rather like a cat who had caught the canary, or in this case, the frog. Her lips curled in a wicked grin that Alistair recognized all too well. That lying, no good, witchy bitch. She had done this to him, hadn’t she? “I had not expected to find the missing prince lounging in my dear friend’s home, but fret not; I've chosen to extend my stay, and I shall see to it that you are returned to whatever fetid mire you so carelessly wandered from.”

Alistair was certain she’d prefer he be squashed beneath her boot, but he had no time to croak a response as Tabris swept back into the house, parsley in hand and grinning despite the slight wet shine to her eyes. 

“Who’s hungry?” 

Next Chapter

A/N: I'll post the next two chapters in the next few weeks! I would love to hear what you think <3

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 5.4k

Part 36 - I Love You, I Love You, I—Oh

“I wrap my holy legs around his heavy head and let his tongue swim towards salvation.” - Baptiste

Thank you @bibutterflies for the song rec and it fits this chapter so well: Arms by Christina Perri

Warning: Smut in this chapter - skip to the break if you don't want to read it

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

Masterlist

Ash shifted restlessly in her sleep, the soft rustle of the canvas tent gently tugging her from dreams filled with fire and the cries of scared children. Her eyes fluttered open, gradually adjusting to the dim light of her tent. A familiar silhouette loomed in the entrance, broad-shouldered and scruffy - needing a shave but too busy to find the time.

"Cullen?" she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. She had barely seen him since they’d left Skyhold, his duties keeping him occupied long into the night and beginning early morning. By Mythal, had she missed him.

He remained silent, closing the distance between them with two swift, purposeful strides. Before Ash could fully comprehend what was happening, Cullen's arms were around her, drawing her close. His lips met hers, with a desperate and demanding intensity. The kiss was messy, searching tongues and soon to be swollen lips, but Ash melted into it, her body responding even as her mind struggled to catch up.

When they finally broke apart, both panting heavily, Ash saw the raw fear reflected in Cullen's eyes. It mirrored her own unspoken worries about the impending battle. Adamant loomed on the horizon, a formidable fortress of ancient stone, its walls stained with the blood of countless wars. They'd spent days planning, preparing, but nothing could truly prepare them for the losses they would face.

"I couldn't sleep," Cullen whispered, his forehead pressed against hers. "I kept seeing…it will be dangerous."

Ash ran her fingers through his curls, noting how they were free of their usual styling. He truly had tried to rest - she was shocked, but immensely proud and pleased to see him attempt to take care of himself. "I know," she said softly. "I see it too."

She pulled him down onto her bedroll, their limbs tangling together as naturally as breathing. Cullen buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize her scent, his hands roaming over her skin. Ash traced soothing patterns on his back with her fingertips, feeling the tension in his muscles.

The depths of his desperation was evident in every touch, soft kisses placed along her neck, his fingers pressed into her hips, the slight tremble of his hands. She understood what he needed - what they both needed. Not just comfort, but a fierce reminder that they were alive, here, now.

She captured his lips again, their hands fumbling with fabric, eagerly peeling away layers until skin met skin. Ash's nightgown was lifted up and over her head, tossed to the side, joining Cullen's discarded shirt and breeches, her smalls following in quick succession.

Cullen rolled them, guiding Ash atop him. His hands splayed across her thighs as he shifted down, positioning his face between her legs. Ash hesitated, hovering above him.

"I don't want to suffocate you."

Cullen's eyes narrowed, a flicker of exasperation cutting through the desire. "You won’t.” His hands squeezed her hips, tugging her down with gentle insistence.

She opened her mouth to voice another protest, but Cullen was quicker. He pulled her hips down swiftly, burying his face between her legs - his tongue glided along the length of her folds, brushing against her clit and pulling decadent moans from her lips. His hands gripped her backside, urging her to settle more of her weight onto him.

Her thighs trembled as she fought to keep herself steady, not wanting to crush him. But Cullen seemed intent on devouring her entirely, his nose pressed firmly against her clit as he lapped at her core.

"Vhenan," Ash whimpered, her hips rolling even as she tried to still herself, but he responded by holding her tighter, encouraging her movements.

Ash's initial hesitation crumbled with each deliberate stroke of his tongue, each gentle suck. Cullen's hands kneaded her thighs, silently beseeching her to let go.

Unable to articulate a coherent reason for her resistance, she surrendered to the mounting desire, letting her full weight settle onto him, drawing a deep, approving groan from him. Her fingers threaded through his hair and she rocked her hips, finding a rhythm that matched the relentless strokes of his tongue.

The tent filled with muffled gasps as Ash ground herself against Cullen's face. She bit her lip, trying to stifle her cries, but the swirl of his tongue over her clit tore a keening moan from her throat. Ash clapped a hand over her mouth, acutely aware of the thin canvas walls separating them from the rest of the camp.

His stubble against her skin, the wet heat of his mouth as he devoured her had a familiar tension building low in her belly, coiling tighter with each pass of Cullen's tongue.

When he sucked her clit between his lips, applying just the right amount of pressure, Ash came undone. She shuddered atop him, thighs clamping around his head as she cried his name. Cullen held her steady until she collapsed forward, bracing herself on shaking arms.

Once she’d regained her awareness, she rolled off of him, boneless and panting. She reached for him, intent on returning the favour, but Cullen caught her wrist gently in his fingers.

"Not tonight," he said, pulling her close instead. "This was all I needed."

Ash nestled against his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart gradually slow. The words "I love you" danced on the tip of her tongue, but exhaustion pulled at her limbs. She fought to keep her eyes open, wanting to savour their moment of peace.

But after so many days apart, the rise and fall of Cullen's chest and the warmth of his embrace soothed her restlessness. Ash's eyes drifted shut, the confession fading as sleep claimed her.

“Solas, Cassandra, and Varric with me, the rest of you support our forces.” Rae’s terse words echoed in Ash’s ears. After giving her order, she hadn’t so much as glanced at Ash before departing. Varric shot her a sympathetic grimace and Ash wasn’t able to relax her fist enough to wave off his concern. 

Dorian patted her shoulder. “Chin up, Ash. She’ll be back before you know it.” But his confidence wavered in his voice. 

She appreciated the attempt to cheer her up, but nothing was going to help. Not when Rae insisted on throwing herself into danger and refused to allow Ash to be by her side. They hadn’t spoken directly since their fight. Ash hadn’t the faintest idea what to say that wouldn’t make it worse between them. I’m sorry wouldn’t cut it.

Cullen gave them their orders, and she was both irritated that he placed her with his contingent, and pleased that she’d at least be able to keep him safe. Though she harbored no illusions; she understood fully that his decision to keep her nearby was driven by a deep concern for her well-being - and sanity. 

The battle began, and she threw herself into the heat of it. Ice crackled at her fingertips, crackling walls surging around her as she held the enemies at bay, allowing their archers time to pick them off.

The clash of steel echoed across the battlefield, the stench of sweat and blood mingling with the acrid tang of magic. Her hands trembled with the effort of maintaining the spells. Yet she held firm, her eyes darting to Cullen’s broad back as he led the charge, commanding soldiers and felling foes.

A whizzing arrow caught her attention, its path too true, too dangerous. Her heart lurched as she flung a hand out, a shimmering barrier of ice erupting in midair to halt the projectile mere inches from Cullen’s ribcage. It shattered with a sharp crack, shards scattering like brittle bark across the ground. Cullen didn’t stop, didn’t falter, but his eyes flickered to her, meeting her gaze for just a moment. He inclined his head, a small, fleeting smile thrown her way before he turned back to the fray.

I love you, she wanted to say, the words burning on her tongue. But the battlefield was no place for sentiment, and she bit them back, channeling the emotion into her magic instead. The ground beneath her feet crackled as frost spread outward, encasing the feet of demons and Wardens alike and slowing their advance. Her allies took advantage of the reprieve, their blades sinking into the halted enemies.

Hours must have passed as they fought, but Ash did not register the passage of time - too focused on keeping herself and their allies alive.

A thunderous, earthshaking roar boomed across the plains, so deafening it vibrated in her bones. Ash’s head snapped up, her breath catching as their enemies faltered, their relentless assault replaced by a moment of eerie stillness. The world stopped.

No. 

The scars down her left side itched, her lungs strained for air and her heart pounding in her chest. For all her declarations of wanting revenge, to destroy the creature that almost ended her life, all it took was a single roar to strip her of all bravado. She’d been reduced to a lost child, shivering in a rusted cage, lips sewn shut, limbs bound, the charred remains of her captors strewn around her. 

The flapping of rotten wings pulled her gaze to the Archdemon cresting over the mountains, bringing her back to the melting of her flesh as she writhed on the ground, screaming for her mother. She was not ready to face it, they did not yet have the strength to take it down and…it wasn’t coming for her. Though it swooped low over their troops - Inquisition soldiers and Grey Wardens cowering - it didn’t so much as spare them a passing glance. Its malignant gaze was trained on the centre of the fortress, where Rae had gone. 

Ash glanced at Cullen, horror and fear crossing his face before he clenched his jaw, returning the mask of Commander into place. 

“Inquisition! We must not falter now! Press forward, defend the Inquisitor!” 

Silence met him, but his command was enough to rouse Ash out of her stupor - or more accurately, to snap Love into gear. Face blank and unreadable, Ash raised her hand - though she couldn’t remember making the decision to do so - a ball of flame gathering in her palm, gradually swelling until it became a blazing sphere, wind whipping off its round surface and through her hair. 

She released it into the ranks of demons and Grey Wardens and it exploded through them with the force of a trebuchet. 

Twenty-three years. She’d held back for over two decades, keeping her fire magic at bay save for the occasional flame from Love. The last time she’d refused to use it she’d ended up half torched and Rae had gone to face her death at the hands of a crazed ancient Magister. The magic she used to soothe and ease Cullen’s headaches was also used to kill. She couldn’t bring herself to regret it. 

Shocked silence rang out for a beat. Then a cheer went up through her allies and the battle began again. 

“Ash…” Cullen stared at her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He knew what this meant for her, how serious a moment this was, and though he searched her expression, he found no traces of what she was feeling. 

Turning from him, she leapt into the fray. Ash's focus narrowed to a blur of flame and fury. Love's influence burned through her veins, muting her fears and doubts. In their place, a fierce determination blazed, as bright and unstoppable as the pyromantic magic she wielded.

Her hands moved in fluid arcs, unleashing torrents of fire that seared through enemy ranks. The pungent scent of burning flesh filled her nostrils as her magic found its mark, turning demons into smoldering husks. She barely flinched at the agonized shrieks that followed, her empathy dampened by Love's singular focus.

Sweat beaded on her brow, mingling with the ash and blood that streaked her face. Her hair whipped wildly in the heated currents generated by her spells and her burns itched as they dried out.

Through the haze of battle, Ash's gaze continually sought out Cullen's broad form. His armour gleamed in the firelight as he led the charge, sword flashing as he cut down foe after foe. Without conscious thought, her magic reached out to him, deflecting blows and incinerating enemies that dared approach.

The tide of battle ebbed and flowed like a turbulent sea, and Ash a small fishing boat atop the cresting waves. For every enemy felled, two more seemed to take its place. Ash's muscles screamed in protest as she maintained a relentless barrage of fireballs and walls of flame. Her mana reserves dwindled dangerously low, but she downed lyrium potion after lyrium potion as they were handed to her.

Through the chaos, she caught glimpses of her companions. Dorian's necromantic magic raised fallen foes to fight for them, while Bull's massive form cleaved through enemies. He let out a booming laugh as he swung his greataxe in a wide arc, sending demon parts flying. "Now this is more like it!"

The relentless onslaught began to slow, the tide of battle shifting imperceptibly at first, then with growing momentum. Ash's flames cut swathes through the dwindling enemy ranks, her magic pure destruction that sent demons shrieking back to the Fade.

Cullen's voice rang out, hoarse but unwavering. "Press forward! They're breaking!" His words galvanized their forces, a renewed surge of energy rippling through the Inquisition's lines. Ash caught his eye and saw in the depths of his gaze a deep, burning affection that made her heart clench. She would tell him she loved him, and maybe, he would love her too.

Demons dissolved, their unearthly shrieks fading into nothingness. The Grey Wardens, those who still stood, began to falter and surrender, outmatched and outnumbered.

Ash's flames flickered and died, her hands trembling as she lowered them. The battlefield fell eerily quiet, save for the groans of the wounded and the crackle of dying fires. She blinked, her vision blurry from exhaustion and the afterimages of her own magic. The world seemed to tilt and sway, and she stumbled, her knees moments away from buckling.

Strong arms caught her before she could fall. Ash looked up into Cullen's face, his features lined with concern and the shadow of fatigue. His armour, once gleaming, was now battered and streaked with gore, his hair curled and plastered to his nape with sweat.

"It's over," he said, his voice rough from shouting orders. "We’ve managed to best their main force into surrender."

Ash nodded, unable to find her voice. She leaned into him, allowing herself a moment of weakness as the adrenaline began to ebb. She’d done it, used Love’s flames to protect those she loved. The spirit hummed contentedly in her chest, pleased that she had been able to release her magic after decades of it being locked up - the soft purr of a pleased cat curled up in front of a roaring fire. Love’s presence in Ash’s mind eased, and though Ash knew she should likely be concerned that the spirit had taken partial control, she wasn’t. It hadn’t been the overpowering possessive force she’d imagined. Instead of ripping away her control and pursuing her own agenda, Love had seamlessly merged with Ash, her powers becoming theirs, their wills combining into pure, unwavering dedication. It was a feeling of rightness, like two halves of her soul coming together, completed after too long spent in isolation. 

A scout approached them, interrupting her reverie. Cullen, too tired to care that he held her in his arms in public view, waved for the man to give his report.

“The Inquisitor vanished into a Rift, Ser,” the scout said and Ash felt the blood drain from her face and her heart sink to her feet. “We’ve received no word from within but demons have come pouring out.” 

“Into a Rift?” Cullen asked, startled out of his composure. Surely that wasn’t possible, this was all just some sick joke that Sera had organized. 

The man nodded and Ash’s stomach lurched, bile rising in her throat. 

“Where?” she rasped. 

“Ashvalla, if she’s inside the Fade then you cannot reach her,” Cullen tried to reason, but Ash was beyond rational thought. 

She pushed away from Cullen, her strength renewed, and stepped into the scout’s space, her lips pulled back to reveal her sharp canines. “Where.” A demand this time, a warning. 

The scout’s eyes flickered between her and the Commander, and Cullen must have given him a nod of permission as he shakily addressed her. “I-in the main courtyard is the second rift, the one she initially fell through is out of reach.” 

Ash only needed one, and without further delay, she sprinted into the fortress. As she escaped the battlefield, she barely registered Cullen’s voice echoing behind her, barking orders at his second in command to assume control. 

The Rift appeared before her in the blink of an eye, her panic erasing her memories of how she got there. It loomed in the centre of the courtyard, a jagged tear in the fabric of reality that pulsed with a sickly green light. It floated, suspended like a puppet on invisible strings. The air around it shimmered and warped, as if the atmosphere rebelled against its unnatural presence.

Inquisition scouts and soldiers fought back against the demons pouring from the Rift, their faces taut with tension. Archers stood atop crumbling battlements, shooting down the demons that pushed their way past.

Ash's eyes darted frantically around the space, taking in every detail as if it might hold the key to Rae's whereabouts. Old stonework, scarred by centuries of battle and neglect, bore fresh wounds from the recent fighting. Scorch marks and impact craters marred the ground. Discarded weapons and fallen bodies - both friend and foe - littered the area. But Rae wasn’t there.

Rae was in the Fade.

It was so surreal for her sister to be stuck in the land of dreams and demons. They knew so little about it as a physical space, was it even possible for one to escape? It must be, she couldn’t allow herself to believe otherwise. 

The Fade repelled her as she stepped close, rejecting her mortal body and soul. She could not enter, could not find Rae and ensure she escaped. Useless, her relinquished promise taunting her, her mother’s face twisted in a disgusted scowl—

Love pulsed in her throat, insistent as her presence shifted, spreading through her limbs. Ash may not be able to get into the Fade, but Love…she would have to give up virtually all control, to allow her body to fall into Love’s waiting hands. She’d allowed the spirit her heart once, but could she give herself over fully? Would there be visible signs? Most likely, that’s what demons did when they took over a mage’s body, why would a spirit be exempt? 

Everyone in the courtyard would see her, and she did not doubt that some would put it together, or speak to someone who would. She’d be outed, everyone would know of her possession. Her secret had been hidden for most of her life, could she really reveal it now?

The answer was simple. For Rae, she would do anything. 

“Ashvalla,” Cullen hissed as he grabbed her wrist, standing so close she could smell his blood and sweat mixing with the familiar scent of leather and elderflower. “You cannot help her. Trust that she will prevail.” 

He’d caught up with her. Fuck, she didn’t want him to witness this. Reluctantly, she lifted her gaze to meet his, seeing the deep concern and tender affection that filled his gaze - she wanted to weep.

Oh, she was going to break his heart.

She’d never get the chance to tell him she loved him, nor feel the security of his strong arms around her again. She carved it into her memory, this last, fleeting moment with him before she ruined everything they had built together. His reaction was set in the stones that built his past - he would never accept a possessed mage, never accept her as she truly was. She should have known better than to believe that she could have him - she’d fooled him for long enough. 

I love you, ma Vhenan. 

Wrenching her wrist from his grasp, her lips parted in a feral snarl that didn’t match the tears glistening in her eyes. “You can’t stop me,” her voice doubled, hers and Love’s combining - inhuman. 

He blinked, startled at her rage, and the hold she kept on Love, invisible bonds to keep the spirit contained were released. Heat rushed through her body, writhing and swirling around her bones and suffusing through her skin. Her eyesight sharpened, the green taken over by a deep, flickering red, her hair floating around her, ethereal and unnatural. Power radiated off of her, her skin taking on an orange glow, the air around her distorting with heat that bubbled to the surface. 

The affection Cullen had held for her was gone in a flash, replaced by pure, unadulterated horror. A sharp intake of breath, eyes wide and glassy, faltering in the face of this unknown threat wearing the body of his lover. Every fear he’d ever had in mortal form. He took a step back. 

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, him looking at her like the monster from his nightmares. She’d prepared herself for this eventuality, had known deep down it was only a matter of time. But her heart still cracked and crumbled when his hand tightened on the pommel of his sword as he debated whether or not to pull it. 

She didn’t give herself the chance to find out what he’d choose. Rae’s safety was most important. Ash hadn’t thrown everything away just to do nothing. 

She reached the Rift in seconds, blasting demons out of her way, and without hesitation, she entered the sparking green ring.

The Fade plucked and prodded at her flesh as she pushed through, pulling at her hair and burning her eyes. But she didn’t back down. Planting her feet, she leaned her weight forward and shoved. 

Give me back my sister! The words echoed like a mantra in her mind and the Fade was unable to resist. 

Limbs flailing, she burst through the Rift, stumbling at the lack of resistance. She squinted, adjusting to the low light as she took in her green-tinged surroundings.

The Fade unfurled before Ash - a twisted dreamscape, reality warped beyond recognition. Jagged rocks floated in a bilious green sky, their edges blurred and shifting as if seen through a haze of smoke. The ground beneath her feet was a patchwork of cracked stone and spongy flesh that pulsed with an unsettling rhythm, like it was alive.

But Ash had eyes only for the figures racing towards her. Rae, her sister, her heart, sprinted at the head of a small group. Cassandra's armour glinted dully, while Varric's stocky form brought up the rear, Bianca cocked and ready. Solas charged alongside them, Hawke and Warden Alistair flanking the group, desperation in their panting breaths and wide eyes.

No matter how fast they ran, they would not make it. They did not see her, their collective gazes fixed on the…creature that stood between them. Filling the sky with its monstrous bulk was a demon that defied description. A spider, and yet so much more - a nightmare given form, with legs like obsidian spears and eyes that blazed with malevolent intelligence. Its mandibles clicked and clacked, a sound that resonated in Ash's bones, and ichor dripped from its maw in thick, viscous strands.

Lacking any conscious thought, Ash darted forward. Love surged within her, an unstoppable force of fierce protectiveness that set her blood alight. Flames erupted from her skin, wreathing her in fire that did not burn. The inferno lifted her off her feet, propelling her through the air and slamming her into the nightmare demon's face with the force of a meteor, her body a living comet. The spider reared back, its legs scrabbling at empty air as it fought to regain its balance.

Ash landed in front of Rae, her feet touching down on the shifting ground with a grace that belied the raw power running through her veins. Her skin crackled with energy and she turned to face the group.

"Go!" she commanded in a voice that was both hers and Love’s. "Get through the Rift!"

Rae stumbled to a halt, her eyes narrowing as recognition dawned. "Ash?" she gasped in disbelief. "What are you…how did you…"

The nightmare demon released an ear-splitting roar, the sound setting her hair on end. Its legs scrabbled against the shifting ground as it righted itself, mandibles clicking furiously.

"There's no time to argue!" Ash shouted, desperation edging her words. "You have to go, now!"

Rae's face contorted with anger and anguish so profound it may crack her in two - her hands balled into fists at her sides. "No! I'm not leaving you!" she cried, taking a step towards her sister. The others hesitated, torn between fleeing and staying to fight.

Solas stepped forward, his eyes flickering between Ash and the approaching demon. "I'll stay," he said, calm despite the danger. "I'll ensure Ashvalla escapes the Fade once you are through."

Rae whirled on him, her voice cracking. "No! I'm not leaving the two people I care about most to die!"

Ash's heart clenched at Rae's anguished cry, but she steeled herself against it. The nightmare demon loomed closer, its grotesque form blotting out what passed for a sky in the Fade. Alistair cleared his throat, his voice strained as he gestured at the approaching monstrosity.

"I hate to interrupt this touching family reunion, but I don't think our eight-legged friend shares your sentiments about quality time."

The demon's legs, each as thick as tree trunks, stabbed into the ground with sickening squelches. Its countless eyes fixed on them with predatory focus, promising a fate worse than death.

Ash knew what she had to do. "I'll hold it off until you get out, and I'll find a way to follow you."

She didn't give Rae time to protest, launching herself at the demon once more.

Flames erupted from her palms, coalescing into a whirling vortex that engulfed the nightmare's face. The demon shrieked, a sound that set Ash's teeth on edge and made her bones vibrate. But she didn't falter, channeling Love's power into a relentless barrage of fire.

Behind her, she heard the scuffle of feet and Rae's increasingly desperate cries. "Ash, no! We can’t leave her, let go of me! That’s an order, Cassandra!”

Ash didn't dare look back, fully aware that if she caught a glimpse of Rae's anguished face, her resolve would disintegrate like brittle parchment. Instead, she channeled every ounce of her strength into her assault on the nightmare demon. Love's flames licked across her skin, leaping from her hands in arcs of searing heat. The demon's chitinous hide blackened and cracked, black blood oozing from the wounds.

But for every injury Ash inflicted, the nightmare seemed to grow stronger, its rage fueling its relentless advance. Its legs stabbed at her, forcing her to dodge and weave. One glancing blow sent her tumbling across the ground, her breath knocked from her lungs.

As she struggled to her feet, Ash’s gaze was pulled towards her sister. Relief and torment warred within her as Rae was dragged towards the Rift by Cassandra and Hawke. Her sister's face ripe with pain and fury as she fought against their hold.

"I-I’m sorry! I didn’t—don’t leave me!” Rae screamed, raw like she’d been howling at the moon. "Ash, please!"

Solas stood between them and the nightmare, his hands raised as he wove barriers of shimmering energy. His eyes met Ash's, a silent understanding passing between them. He would get Rae out, no matter the cost.

Ash turned back to face the demon, drawing on reserves of strength she didn't know she possessed. The nightmare demon bore down on her and she summoned another burst of flame - but exhaustion made her movements sluggish. The demon's leg swept out, catching her mid-dodge and sending her flying. Again. She slammed into the ground, wheezing.

Pain lanced through her body as she struggled to rise. Her vision swam, her limbs leaden. Love's fire flickered weakly within her, guttering like a candle in a storm.

The demon's leg plunged down, pinning her to the ground. Ash screamed as its weight crushed her, her ribs creaking in protest. Darkness edged her vision as she gasped for air, each breath a labored gasp. This was it, she thought. This was how she would die, alone in the Fade, crushed beneath a nightmare. At least Rae could get away.

A voice slithered into Ash's mind, cold and insidious. It coiled around her thoughts like a serpent, its words dripping with malice.

"Poor little Ashvalla," it hissed, each syllable sharp as a dagger. "Unwanted. Unloved. A scared child playing at being a hero."

Ash tried to shut it out, but the voice burrowed deeper, worming its way into the darkest corners of her mind.

"You're nothing but a lost girl, flailing against forces beyond your comprehension. Did you really think you could best me? I am eternal. I am fear itself."

The nightmare's leg pressed down harder, and Ash felt something crack inside her. She coughed, tasting copper on her tongue.

"Your sister may have escaped my grasp today, but nightmares never truly die. And you are already living yours."

Images flashed through Ash's mind - Cullen's face contorted with fear and revulsion, his hand on his sword as he stared in horror at her transformed state. Rae's anguished cries as she was dragged away, the weight of guilt that would crush her for leaving Ash behind.

"Your lover recoils from your true nature. Your friends betrayed by your secrets. Your sister will drown in self-loathing, knowing you cleaned up her mess. Tell me, Ashvalla, was it worth it?"

Ash's vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. Yes, she would have said if she had air in her lungs with which to speak. She’d kept Rae alive another day and she would burn the world to ashes to ensure her sister’s safety. Even though it tore her soul to pieces.

Before the voice could pull more of her despair to the surface, a blast of arcane energy slammed into the demon's face. It reared back, screeching its rage. Ash's head lolled to the side, her bleary gaze finding Solas. He stood tall, staff raised, magic crackling around him like lightning as he unleashed another volley of spells - stronger than they had any right to be.

"Ashvalla!" Solas's voice cut through the fog in her mind. "You must go, now!"

The nightmare demon had turned its attention to Solas, giving her a precious moment of respite. She saw the Rift behind him. Beyond it, she caught a glimpse of Adamant's courtyard, of Rae being restrained by Cullen and Cassandra as she fought to return to the Fade, clawing at her advisor and companion, her face streaked with tears.

Ash pushed herself to her feet. Her body screamed in protest, every movement agony. But Love stirred within her, a warm ember reigniting into a roaring blaze. Fire jumped along her skin once more, soothing her aches and lending her strength - her body wreathed in flames as she soared towards Solas. The Fade blurred around her, her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the nightmare demon's furious screeches.

As she neared Solas, she saw the subtle shift in his stance, the way his muscles coiled like a spring. His eyes met hers, a flicker of something - relief? regret? - passing through them before he leapt backward through the Rift. The tear in reality rippled like disturbed water, its edges crackling with arcane energy.

Ash's vision swam, dark spots dancing at the edges of her sight. Love's fire still burned within her, but it was dying out, barely clinging to life. She was so close, just a few more feet—

The nightmare demon's roar shook the very foundations of the Fade. Ash felt its hot, fetid breath on her back as it lunged for her. Terror lent her speed, and with one final, desperate burst of energy, she hurled herself at the Rift.

For a heart-stopping moment, she thought she wouldn't make it. The Rift seemed to shrink before her eyes, its edges contracting like a wound trying to heal. Then she was through, tumbling end over end as reality reasserted itself. The world spun around her. Her vision faded to black.

Next Chapter

A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger!! More will be revealed next (likely on Tuesday)! Cullen's come a long way in his journey from hating mages, but will he be able to love a spirit possessed mage? Ash doesn't think so, but then she's also an idiot (affectionate).

A song rec for after this chapter: A Pearl by Mitski

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.8k

Part 35 - Don't Bring the Boy(s) Into This

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

"I cannot seem to contort myself back into the shape of a dutiful child. I am coming unraveled. I am coming undone." - Holly Black

Masterlist

Ash’s patience only lasted so long. She’d allowed two weeks to pass, but now they were only one day out from their departure for Adamant fortress, and she needed to speak with Rae before they crossed that threshold. They couldn’t go into a battle as large as the one they were facing without sorting through some of their issues. It would only serve as a distraction.

Managing to corner Rae was no easy feat, but Ash was nothing if not persistent. Rae had become rather attached to the bog unicorn that had recently joined their equestrian ranks - an unnatural creature with a pole impaled through its muzzle. She’d taken to visiting the stables to feed and care for it in the evenings - or so Ash had managed to get out of Cole. But this time, Ash was waiting for her. 

Crouched in the shadowy corner of the stables, her legs cramped from hours of stillness. The pungent scent of hay and horse manure filled her nostrils, mingling with the unsettling otherworldly musk of the bog unicorn. Its black eyes seemed to follow her every movement, even as it stood motionless in its stall. Gods, that thing was creepy.

She shifted slightly, wincing as her joints protested. A bead of sweat trickled down her spine, whether from nerves or the stuffy air, she couldn't tell.

The gentle creak of the stable door sent a jolt through Ash's body. She held her breath as Rae's familiar silhouette appeared, backlit by the fading daylight. Rae’s steps were light as she approached the bog unicorn's stall. She hadn't noticed Ash yet.

Steeling herself, Ash rose from her hiding spot. The sudden movement startled a nearby horse, its whinny accompanying Rae’s step back, her eyes narrowing as they locked with Ash's.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, without so much as a word, Rae turned and stormed out of the stables.

“Wait,” Ash hated the wavering desperation in her voice, but she couldn’t give up when she’d finally managed to catch her sister, grabbing her wrist to pull her to a stop. “Please, Rae, just talk to me.” 

Rae’s upper lip curled up and she yanked her wrist out of Ash’s grasp, continuing to march across the courtyard. “I have nothing to say to you.” 

“So that’s it then?” Ash had kept her feelings buried for too long, now faced with her sister after an agonizing two weeks apart, they bubbled up out of her chest like a fire had started in her stomach and boiled her insides. “You’re going to just run away like a child! Is this how the mighty Inquisitor deals with her problems?” 

Whirling around, fists clenched, Rae’s eyes held a burning rage that licked over Ash’s worn scars. Her ears flattened to the sides of her skull, her skin tinged red. “Fuck you, Ash! You’d love it if I was a child, wouldn’t you? Then I couldn’t protest when you make all the decisions and take all the credit, just like you always wanted.” 

Evening had settled in and the merchants had shuttered their stalls for the night, but there were still a fair share of people milling about. Ash had initially intended to have this confrontation in the stables, but if Rae wanted an audience, who was Ash to deny her?

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m here to support you and nothing more before you finally get it through your thick skull!” 

Rae growled low in her chest, her canines sharp and glinting in the pale light like she wanted to sink her teeth into Ash’s neck and rip. “If that was true then you wouldn’t have sucked up to the Keeper to become her First and leave me behind while you learned our people’s history. You would have done your job and stayed with our clan and you wouldn’t have come to Haven. You wouldn’t have gotten in the way of the Archdemon and you wouldn’t have fucked my war commander!” 

Ash could barely believe her ears. “If I hadn’t gained the Keeper’s goodwill, she would have kicked you out of the clan a long time ago. Why do you think she sent you to the doomed Conclave? She wanted you to fail.”

Rae’s enraged scream reverberated across the courtyard like a thunderclap. The dagger she hurled sliced through the air, a metallic blur that Ash barely managed to duck in time - a few inches of her hair sliced by the razor sharp blade. It sailed past her head and embedded itself in the side of the weathered stables with a dull thump, the wood splintering slightly around the point of impact. 

Ash gazed at Rae in disbelief, her eyes wide and questioning. Rae's chest rose and fell heavily, her breath coming in sharp bursts, and her eyes burned with a hatred that Ash had never witnessed before. Ash had never been good at knowing when to hold herself back. 

“I left the clan for you. I came to Haven for you. I took the Archdemon’s fire for you. Everything I have ever done is for you!” Ash seethed. “And don’t bring Cullen into this, he’s his own person and he can do what he wants.”

Rae barked a humourless laugh. “Yeah, you, apparently.” 

“Stop being such an asshole.”

“Stop saying you did this all for me when I never asked you to!”

“Rae—“

“I wish they’d kept your fucking mouth sewn shut so I never had to hear you say my name with such fucking condescension!” Pins and needles prickled at Ash’s lips as Rae threw their past into her face. “You did this for yourself and your need to be the saviour, just admit it.” 

Ice crackled around Ash’s fingers - or was it flames? It all burned the same. “I made an unbreakable promise. You may not have asked, but our mother did, and I will not betray her last wishes.” 

“Ar’vasrea’ma mar dirtha’vhen’an (I release you from your unbreakable promise).” 

The words echoed in her ears, a deafening roar that obliterated all other sounds around her. She staggered backward, her legs suddenly turning to jelly, incapable of supporting her weight. The ice that had gathered at her fingertips melted away, leaving her hands numb and trembling.

“Get your own friends and your own fucking personality that has nothing to do with me,” Rae spat, turning sharply on her heels and leaving Ash in the broken remnants. 

Rae's words had cut deeper than any blade ever could. The promise, the one constant in Ash's life, the foundation upon which she had built her entire identity, was…gone. Just like that. With a few simple words in their native tongue, Rae had severed the last remaining thread that tied Ash to her past, to her purpose.

The courtyard faded away, the curious onlookers becoming nothing more than indistinct shapes in her peripheral vision. Ash's chest constricted, each breath a monumental effort as the Rae's dismissal settled over her like a suffocating, scratchy woolen blanket. She had lost her clan, her family, her home - and now, she had lost the vow that had defined her for so long.

Who was she without that promise? Without the duty to protect Rae, to guide her, to be there for her no matter what? Ash had never allowed herself to imagine a life beyond that sacred oath. It had been her anchor in the storm, her guiding light through the darkest nights. And now, adrift in a churning ocean of uncertainty, Ash drowned.

It was too much. The loss of her clan, the weight of their deaths on her conscience, and now this - the final blow, delivered by the very person she had sworn to protect with her life.

Ash's mind reeled, desperately grasping for something, anything to hold onto. But there was nothing. No clan, no promise, no purpose. She was untethered, a leaf caught in a violent wind, with no idea where she would land or if she would survive the journey.

The heat of magic stirred within her, responding to her anguish. But even that felt wrong now, tainted by the memory of all she had lost. Ash had always drawn strength from her role as protector, as First, as sister. Now, stripped of those titles, she was empty, a shell of her former self.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, seconds or hours, but a hand on her shoulder shaking her lightly returned her to her body. 

“Ashvalla,” Cullen pitched his voice low, stepping into her line of sight, concern in the lopsided tilt of his mouth. “Can you hear me?”

Ash exhaled shakily, her limbs weak. “Yeah, sorry, I…wasn’t paying attention.”

Cullen hummed, eyes darting to the people watching. “Let’s get you inside, alright?”

That sounded like a great idea - she wasn’t keen on being any more of a spectacle than she already was. She allowed Cullen to guide her, his hand on the small of her back and her legs moving at his prompting. Her mind was floating among the greying clouds, pins and needles pricking at her fingers. Strangely, she felt calm, but beneath that thin layer of serenity lay a twisting mass of darkness she had refused to acknowledge. 

Rae had released her from her promise. Ash hadn’t broken it, but maybe…it had broken her. 

Ash waited in the centre of his office as he locked the doors behind them, barely registering the action. 

Could someone be released from a sacred promise? She’d never heard of it before. That promise had been her guiding force and without it…she was like a melon with all its guts scooped out and consumed - hollow. 

And there she was, monopolizing all of Cullen’s time with her trivial concerns. He had far more pressing tasks awaiting his attention than indulging her frivolous whims.

“My work can wait, you are more important to me.” Cullen tilted her chin to meet his soft gaze, his gloves removed and hand warm against her skin. Had she said that out loud? 

Love was suspiciously quiet, did she feel as empty and lost as Ash did? 

“I’ll be fine, vhen’an. I just need a minute.” Ash wasn’t sure if it was true, but she hoped it was. She didn’t notice the endearment that slipped past while her defenses were down. Numbed to everything.

He gave her a dubious look and Ash sighed. “A few minutes,” she amended. 

Cullen led Ash towards the ladder up to his loft. She climbed mechanically, her body moving on its own while her mind remained adrift. The wooden rungs creaked under her weight.

Ash's eyes fell on Cullen's bed, its covers pulled tight and corners tucked with military precision. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her. Cullen joined her, settling at her side, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, but not so close as to crowd her. He placed his hands in his lap, palms up - an open invitation should she need the support of his touch.

Ash stared at his hands, noting the calluses on his palms from years of wielding a sword, the small scars that she’d always wondered about but hadn’t asked after. When had he removed his gloves? Or his mantle and cloak for that matter. She thought of her own hands, how they had always been tools meant to protect and guide Rae. Now they felt useless, purposeless.

“I heard yelling, but I didn’t get there until the Inquisitor was leaving,” Cullen said. It was for the best he hadn’t heard the vicious insults they’d exchanged or what Rae had said about him, but Ash almost wished that he had. She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to repeat it. “Was that her dagger in the stable walls?”

Ash snorted, though it held no humour. “That’s not the first dagger she’s thrown at me. If anything, I find that reassuring.” 

Cullen’s eyes widened with alarm. She would have to keep in mind that he left home - and his siblings - at the age of thirteen. Likely he didn’t fully remember the violent lengths that siblings would go to during a spat. 

“Don’t say I told you so, but you may have been right about letting her come to me. My impatience got the better of me and now I think I’ve made it worse.” 

“I wasn’t going to,” he said with a gentle smile. “I am content with simply knowing.” 

Ash narrowed her eyes at him, but he continued his soft smile and it quickly melted any irritation she’d grown. 

She turned her head away, her ears drooping as she stared at the ground. “I know she’s never asked for my help or my support, and maybe that’s because she doesn’t need it, but…I’m not doing it because I think she’s weak or anything. It’s my job as her big sister to make sure she’s cared for. How could she expect me not to?”

Cullen shifted on the bed, the mattress creaking beneath him. “Maybe it’s not your job. Being the oldest sibling doesn’t mean sacrificing yourself for the rest.” 

Ash’s shoulders curled inward, her elbows propped on her thighs. “I need her to be safe, but she’s always putting herself in the most dangerous situations. She said that I jumped in front of the Archdemon for myself and some fucked up need to be the saviour. I don’t want to be the saviour, I just don’t want her to get hurt.” She turned to him, her eyes wide and desperate as she held up her hand, waxy and twisted with scarring. “Why does she think I would want this?” 

Carefully, he took her scarred hand in his own. The calloused pads of his fingers traced over the discoloured tissue, his gaze soft as he studied the markings.

"But you cannot save her from everything. There's a part of her that does this for you. To impress you. She wants to make you proud."

Ash frowned, her fingers twitching. “But I am proud of her.”

"But does she think that?" He asked, squeezing her hand to try to reassure her. "Your actions and love say a lot more than your words ever could. You may be proud of her, but you're also overly protective of her. You need to let her make her own mistakes and, if it really comes down to it, her own sacrifices. Even if you hate it."

Reeling back, she stared at him, jaw slack, unable to comprehend if she’d heard him right. His hand tightened around hers, not letting her pull away completely. 

“Don’t look at me like that. You know damn well it’s the truth.” Did she? She wasn’t entirely convinced. “You have to find a balance, whether you like it or not. She needs you to be less of a shield and more of a supporter. It's not healthy for either of you and it's going to result in her pushing you away."

Ash’s teeth clacked as she clamped them together to stop herself from snapping at him. “I think she already did that,” she said in a clipped tone. 

Cullen seemed to have endless patience for her that day. Was it pity that motivated him? She tried not to think about it. "She'll come around.”

“Maybe.” Ash worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Could it be that simple? 

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Cullen gave her a knowing look and she shrank under his quiet scrutiny. 

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

He placed a hand on her chin, his thumb tracing over her bottom lip and down across her vallaslin. "If you are willing to try, I will be here to listen.”

Sometimes, Ash wanted to smother him in kisses and bite his neck hard enough to draw blood for being so sweet. What had she done to deserve this? She couldn’t recall. But she would try to prove her worth.

“The night our mother died, she made me swear an unbreakable vow. It's sacred to the Dalish. ‘Protect your sister. Make sure she is safe, guard her with your life if you have to.’ And Rae…released me from that promise.”

Cullen's eyes widened, shock and heartbreak flickering across his features. His grip on her hand tightened, fingers interlacing with hers as if to keep her with him.

Ash shook her head vehemently, breaking herself free of his hold on her chin, her hair shaking loose in front of her face. "No, you don't understand," she insisted, her voice cracking. "It was the last thing my mother asked of me. I don't know how to exist without it. Rae has to come first."

The room felt too small, the air thick and heavy. Ash's chest tightened and a lump formed in her throat. She could still hear her mother's laboured breathing, feel the sticky warmth of blood on her hands as it was smeared across her skin.

She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see the pity she knew awaited her.

“Why does she?” Cullen asked, more forcefully than she would have expected. “Why do you always have to put yourself last, all in an attempt to keep a promise you made as a child?”

“I’m not putting myself last,” Ash insisted. Didn’t he see how selfish she was? She was keeping a life-altering secret from him, how could he not see it sitting at the back of her throat, begging for release? “She wouldn’t have asked it of me if she didn’t think I was capable. I can’t disappoint her!”

Her cheeks grew cold and damp, but she couldn’t figure out why.

“You’re not a child anymore, and what she did wasn’t fair,” he pushed back, but he refused to let her go even as every instinct screamed at her to run. “How much have you really sacrificed for this promise? For your sister?”

“What I had to.”

“You speak as if she will die the second she’s not under your watch. I’ve never met anyone more capable of fending for themselves than the Inquisitor. The last thing she needs from you is to be coddled like a child. You taught her how to take care of herself even when you didn’t have to, now let her use those skills. I’m not saying you can’t fight with and for her, but you’re her sister, not her armour.”

Ash sucked in a sharp breath, tears pricking at her eyes. Or had they already fallen? “But if she doesn’t need me then…why does she let me stick around?”

His grip on her hand relaxed, and he brought it up to his chest, holding it in both of his. “It’s not that she doesn’t need you, it's that she loves you and she wants you with her. Isn’t that better?”

Ash blinked rapidly, trying to process Cullen's words but her mind felt like it was made of thick gravy, slowly churning in an old cauldron.

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, searching for understanding. "I’d never done anything right before then, not as far as my mother was concerned. But when I made that promise, for the first time she looked at me like she might…love me? I don’t know, it sounds silly to say it out loud."

She watched as Cullen's expression shifted, his brows furrowing and a pained look crossing his face.

"Maker's breath, Ash," he breathed. "That's not how love works. To withhold it until you promised to sacrifice yourself for your sister? That's not right."

Ash flinched at his blunt assessment, but she couldn't deny the truth of it.

"I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But it was all I had from her. I just wanted her to be proud of me. I wanted to make her happy.”

Tears fell from her cheeks, landing on her thighs and soaking into her robes. From the growing wet patch on the soft fabric, she’d been crying longer than she’d initially realized.

Cullen pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as she finally let the tears flow freely. His hand stroked her hair as she sobbed, years of pent-up pain and longing pouring out of her.

"You don't need to earn love," he said into her hair. "You are worthy of it simply by existing. Your mother should have shown you that unconditionally."

Ash clung to him, her fingers grasping at his armour as she struggled to breathe through her tears. Part of her wanted to argue, to defend her mother's actions, but she was too tired to fight anymore.

"I don't know who I am without that promise," she admitted, her voice muffled against his chest. "What if there's nothing left of me?"

Cullen pulled back, cupping her face in his hands and wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

"You are so much more than a promise, Ashvalla. You're brilliant, compassionate, and stronger than you know. You've faced demons and all the cruelty that this world has to offer and made it out alive. You've built a life here, made friends who adore you. None of that came from that promise - it came from you."

Ash hiccupped, her chin quivering. She wanted desperately to believe him, to see herself through his eyes. Would he still see her that way if she knew the truth she had hidden from him?

"But what about Rae?" she whispered. "If I'm not…what am I supposed to do?"

Cullen's lips quirked up in a small smile. "Be her sister. Her friend. Support her dreams, celebrate her victories, comfort her when she falls. But let her stand on her own two feet. She's more than capable."

Ash nodded slowly, the pressure on her chest easing slightly. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Cullen's shoulder and closing her eyes. The room fell silent save for the distant sounds of Skyhold's nighttime activity filtering through the hole in the roof. As her tears subsided, exhaustion settled into her bones, weighing her down like lead.

Cullen's fingers traced soothing patterns along her back, and Ash felt herself melting further into his arms. The hard edges of his armor pressed against her cheek, but she didn't mind. It was simply a part of him, and she loved it all. Creators, she loved him so much it stole all rational thought.

Fuck.

As the minutes ticked by, Ash's mind began to wander. She thought of Rae, of the fierce determination in her sister's eyes as she faced down her enemies. She remembered the pride that had swelled in her chest watching Rae take charge, issuing orders with a confidence Ash had always known she possessed.

Maybe Cullen was right. Maybe it was time to step back, to let Rae shine without Ash's shadow looming over her. The thought was terrifying, but also…freeing. Like taking a deep breath after holding it for far too long.

Ash lifted her head, meeting Cullen's warm gaze. His eyes held no judgment, only understanding and a depth of affection that made her heart ache. She reached up, tracing the scar that bisected his lip.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

Cullen caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Always.”

An echo of a conversation from weeks ago, but no less important. And maybe, Ash could let herself believe that everything was going to be okay - this time around. Surely her luck couldn’t get any worse.

Next Chapter

A/N: Famous last words. Ya'll ready for Adamant? I wonder what's going to happen…nothing bad…unless?

When Ash says "Don't bring Cullen into this," all I could think of was "Don't bring the boys into this!" hence the title :)

[tired-truffle]

Happy Meal

An AlistairxWarden fic

Word Count: 2.5k

One-Shot

Summary: Alistair and Tabris go to McDonald's post-sex (A mild bit of smut at the beginning)

Inspired by all that lovely fanart of characters going to a fast food restaurant after sex - one is exhausted and covered in hickeys and the other is grinning for the camera

This fic idea wrapped its hand around my neck and shook until the writing fell out - I hope you enjoy

Masterlist

Soft, muscular thighs bracketed his head, Kal’s wet cunt grinding against his face, and Alistair couldn’t be happier. Her brows furrowed, her lips pressed tight together as she chased her…sixth climax of the evening. At least, he was pretty sure it had been six. He lost count somewhere between her needy whimpers as she clenched around him and her hot breath ghosting along his cock before she took him in her mouth. It had taken everything in him not to thrust into her throat - out of concern for choking her, even though she insisted she could take it, but mainly to keep himself from busting immediately. 

Two years, they’d been together, and they’d both been relatively young when they first met - and still were if his co-worker Wynne had anything to say about it. At twenty, Alistair may have been on the older side to still be a virgin in the eyes of most of his friends and society at large, but what could he say? He held form to the values instilled in him since childhood. Raised with traditional beliefs about love, he had always envisioned something special for his first time. Kallian Tabris was indeed a woman worth waiting for.

He’d quite literally tripped over his own two feet, an ungraceful stumble that nearly sent him sprawling face-first to the floor, the moment he caught sight of her in the grocery store. She’d been glaring at two different bags of trail mix, as if they were responsible for some grave injustice against her loved ones and in his rush to approach her and inquire further, he’d forgotten to ensure that his feet lifted high enough off the ground that they didn’t get caught on the tile flooring. Luckily, thanks to his remarkable talent to make anything look effortlessly awkward, he managed to catch himself on a shelf, knocking over some cereal boxes and sending them tumbling noisily to the ground. He’d leaned against that shelf like he’d meant to do that, while she’d startled and jumped, her head snapping towards him with wide eyes and the bags of trail mix clenched tight in her hands. Hand on his hip, he gave her a lopsided grin - as smooth as concrete. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you, I’m just nuts about trail mix.”

She’d blinked at him, her face blank, and he begged to the Maker to transport him to the cooking ware aisle so he could smash his face in with a cast iron pan. His one shot to talk to this gorgeous woman, and he’d blown it on a shitty trail mix pun. 

“I’ll, uh,” he pushed off the shelf, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Just as he began to turn and head towards those pans calling his name, a low voice pulled him to a stop. 

“Which one would you choose?”

Alistair paused, frowning at her, unable to understand the question. Her pointed ears fluttered ever so slightly and his heart followed suit.

Seeing his confusion, she wiggled the bags still clutched in her slender hands. “Since you love trail mix so much, I thought you could help me choose.”

Oh…oh! Had his failed attempt to flirt actually worked? Surely she couldn’t find his puns and two left feet endearing. But he wasn’t fool enough to mess up the olive branch she’d extended. 

“I’d be honoured, my lady.” 

He’d laid it on thick, but by the time he’d left the store, a lopsided grin permanently plastered on his face and her number in his phone, he hadn’t cared how idiotic he’d looked. He’d gotten a second date - and years later he had the pleasure of licking her to completion as she cried his name, her chest heaving and her skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat. 

Body nearly limp, Kal rolled off of him, landing with a muffled thump on the bed, one leg thrown over his waist. Her eyes glazed over and she rested the back of her hand on her forehead. His pride got the better of him and a smirk canted at his lips as he propped himself up on one elbow to gaze adoringly at her.

Being a young virgin had come with some glaring drawbacks. An inability to last longer than thirty seconds and then promptly pass out, the worst of the bunch. By the Maker had that ever been embarrassing, and she’d been nothing but kind about it. He’d made sure to learn how to return the favour with his fingers at least - and he was quite the fast learner. But still, he’d wanted to fuck her as she deserved. And with time and dedication - and lots of mind blowing sex - he honed his skills, gradually building the stamina to sustain his pace without finishing while expertly stroking her clit, ensuring her climax before his own inevitable release.

Though it was still always a close call. Thank the gods his refractory period was quick. 

Kal - unable to form any coherent words - huffed at him, lightly smacking his chest. His grin grew wider, but before she could do more than press her kiss-swollen lips together, he drew her into his arms, nuzzling his face against her neck. 

She relaxed in his embrace, sighing her content and turning to snuggle even closer. The sounds of their even breathing filled the air along with the tinny hum of the furnace. As the sweat began to cool, and Kal’s small body began to shiver - though her exhaustion seemed to overshadow any discomfort - Alistair’s stomach rumbled loudly, interrupting their moment of peace. 

Kal giggled, placing her hand over his belly and a light kiss to his chest. 

“I’m all out of food. I was going to get groceries today until someone distracted me.”

“Do you want me to take it back?” 

Kal tilted her head to look up at him, confusion in the wrinkling of her nose. “Take what back? My orgasms? It’s a little too late for that.”

“You underestimate me, dear.” 

Her eyebrows raised, but Alistair was already in motion. He made an overdramatic sucking sound, trailing his open mouth down her neck and over the soft expanse of her chest, headed with singular focus for the prize between her legs. 

Kal let out a startled yelp, laughter bubbling up unbidden as she batted at him, wiggling to escape his grasp. He persisted, undeterred, reaching the delicate dusting of curls above her overworked centre. 

“Alistair!” she exclaimed with shrieking giggles as she leapt out of bed. He followed after her, hanging half of the bed as he attached his lips to her backside and sucked hard, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer. “You can’t suck it back out, you freak. Stop that!”

He released her at once, bracing himself on his arms to prevent his face from colliding with the wooden planks beneath him. Grinning up at her, he crawled forward with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, and wrapped himself around her legs - locking her in place. Though he wasn’t naive enough to think she couldn’t dislodge him if she wanted. She was stronger than she appeared and he’d learned that the hard way. He gripped her knees as he placed a kiss to where the back of her thighs met the curve of her ass. 

“Can we get McDonald’s?” 

Kal’s eye twitched - though not out of irritation, but rather from holding back a soft smile. She was just as much of a fool for him as he was for her. “I thought we’d just order in from that Thai place you like.”

“And miss the ambience of fluorescent lighting and beleaguered fast food workers? Perish the thought.” 

She rolled her eyes, but she hadn’t the strength to refuse him. His plan was working. He’d only had to resist the urge to come more than once - a difficult feat to achieve when buried inside the woman he loved more than anything.

“I’ll drive.” An offer to sweeten the deal, and Kal finally allowed her smile to flourish. 

“You sure your hunk of junk can make it that far?”

Alistair balked with mock offence, a tease he’d heard many times. His 2008 Toyota Corolla had seen better days, but it got him to where he needed to go - and he couldn’t afford anything new. Kal took the bus, so she had no leg to stand on. She claimed it was better for the environment, but the Sharpie written on the passenger side dash that said ‘Kal’s seat’ would argue otherwise.

“I’ll have you know that that ‘hunk of junk’, as you called it, got me here in one piece and is sturdier than it looks.”

“If you say so,” Kal acquiesced, and he unwrapped himself from her slightly trembling legs, standing and pulling her in for a languid kiss that had her knees weakening further. 

Maker, but he was a lucky man. 

Kal threw on a hoodie and sweats, tossing her tangled hair into a messy bun. Alistair wanted nothing more than to pull her onto his lap and hold her until they both fell asleep, but his stomach grumbled its disagreement and reluctantly, he dressed in his flannel and jeans. 

Wordlessly, they piled into his car, wrappers from previous visits to various fast food chains strewn about and his dirty gym clothes haphazardly tossed across the backseat. The broken grab handle, a casualty from when Alistair had shown Kal a new trick he’d learned with his tongue - courtesy of Zevran’s unsolicited advice, though he’d never admit that to his co-worker and self-proclaimed friend, lest he be subject to endless teasing - glared at him from the cup holder. A constant reminder that he needed to fix it or toss it. He was leaning towards the latter. Somehow, Zevran seemed to know. He’d cast a knowing glance at the grab handle when Alistair had driven him home after a particularly grueling day, only to become sidetracked by the sight of a forgotten condom wrapper on the floor. How Zevran had managed to skirt an HR complaint for as long as he had remained a mystery that Alistair couldn’t quite unravel. 

During the brief five-minute drive to the nearest McDonald’s, Kal's eyelids fluttered closed, her breathing becoming slow and rhythmic as she dozed. He made sure to avoid the potholes, unwilling to disturb her rest - she was a tentative sleeper at best. Where Alistair could fall asleep at a heavy metal concert, Kal would wake to the sound of a cricket. If all it took was a few hours of passionate love making to get her to the point of exhaustion where she’d sleep in the car of all places, he’d have to provide more often. He’d benefit from hitting the gym more if he was to have the stamina. 

She jolted awake as soon as he shifted the car into park, her eyes darting around in a daze of disoriented surprise. He half considered running around to open the door for her, but he was still puzzling out if she’d be offended or pleased by his chivalry when she reached for the handle and stepped out on her own. 

He met her outside, holding her hand as they walked across the dark, mostly empty parking lot. 

“What do you want?” He asked as he held the door for her. She shrugged, squinting as the bright lights woke her against her will. 

“Take a seat,” he gestured to the booth by the window. “I’ll order.” 

He knew what she liked, and she grunted her approval, sinking onto the hard seat. Alistair hated the updated McDonald’s look - where were all the bright colours and cushy booths of his youth? Sucked down the capitalist drain with the rest of his childhood favourites. 

Heading up to the till and the young teen at the counter who would rather be anywhere else, he placed their order, getting extra just in case Kal wasn’t feeling her usual. He waited patiently - well, not entirely, his foot tapping the ground as he watched intently for his number to come up on the screen. When it finally did, he took the heavily laden tray with a sincere thank you, and made a beeline to where he’d left her. 

Holding back his laughter took all his strength, even still, his chest shook with barely contained mirth. In the time he’d been gone, Kal had spread out over the booth, her legs splayed beneath the table and her arms resting over the back of the seat, her head leaned back and resting on the edge of the planter behind. Hickeys lined her throat and disappeared into her hoodie, her hair frizzier than he’d realized in the dim lighting of her apartment. She was the picture of a blissed out mess, and he had been the one to do it to her. His chest swelled with pride and he slid the tray onto the table, purposefully loud enough to rouse her. 

Sadly, there was no room for him to sit beside her, not with her legs spread out like that, so he settled for sitting across and leaning forward on his elbows to stare lovingly at her. 

Kal narrowed her eyes. He continued to stare. 

She reached for the drink nearest her, maintaining eye contact as she ripped the top off the straw sleeve, brought it to her lips and exhaled sharply, blowing the remaining cover directly into his face. 

He stuck out his bottom lip as he slapped it away. “What was that for?”

Kal scoffed, sticking her straw into her drink and taking a long sip. “You look like a puppy expecting a treat.”

Alistair didn’t see how that deserved a straw sleeve blown at him. “The only treat I need is your beautiful face.”

“Ugh,” she said intelligently, nudging his knee under the table with her foot. Though she tried to bury herself in the closest chicken burger, Alistair didn’t miss the blush that tinged her cheeks and covered the tips of her ears. 

His stomach could take no more teasing, and before he pushed her too far, he tucked into his fries, sure that she would steal them from him before he could finish. She glanced up at him as she chewed, and despite all her exhaustion, all her playful irritation, there was nothing short of pure adoration in her eyes. 

He’d thought before that there was no greater happiness than being between her thighs as he brought her to completion, surrounded by her weight and her breathy moans. But perhaps, that wasn’t entirely true - or at least, there was a different kind of happiness that came with the simple domesticity of eating McDonald’s with the love of his life after he’d fucked her near to oblivion. Love mixed with pride and warmth in his chest and settled around his ribs. They could be anywhere, doing any activity - fighting monsters from the depths of the earth or stuck listening to Zevran’s sordid tales of his latest conquest - and he’d be happy as long as Kal was at his side. 

Her leg hooked around his, and his fries were snatched from his loose grip, too distracted by his quiet revelation. He’d let her have them. For now. He’d get his revenge in other ways that were preferably much more pleasurable for both of them.

[tired-truffle]

Blog & Blogger (picrew link)

Thank you for the tag @sweetjulieapples, this was really fun! I love picrew 😊

Tagging: @bibutterflies if you wanted to do it too!

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.2k

Part 34 - Condolences

"All you are is tired, my love, you are not guilty." - Dacia Maraini

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

Masterlist

Rae had avoided her for days. 

“Give her some time,” Leliana had told Ash, “she’ll come around.” 

Ash was fairly certain that Leliana was the mastermind behind Rae's impressive ability to evade her so effectively. Rae could be sneaky, but the level of stealth and planning necessary to entirely disappear from Ash's life demanded far more time and expertise than Rae alone had. 

At least Ash wasn’t grieving in solitude. She had Cullen, of course, and she couldn’t be more grateful for him. Each night since her meltdown - since she’d begged him to Silence her - she’d fallen asleep in the comfort of his arms. It baffled her now, how she’d ever convinced herself that just sex would be enough. He meant so much more to her than that - though the sex was still undeniably amazing, they hadn’t done anything but hold each other in the wake of her grief. 

“She loves you, she’ll come to you when she’s ready,” Cullen would tell her. Ash hoped he was right. 

As much as Cullen wanted to spend more time with her, the war didn’t stop just because her clan had died. Cullen had important work to complete and oversee, the lives of his soldiers and the citizens of Thedas on the line, and Ash refused to take him away from that. The guilt would eat him alive and he didn’t need more of that than he already had. That was where Dorian came in, his easy grin and upbeat attitude whisking her away for training, a walk through the gardens, or even to the library where they could read in silence together. Anything to drown out the echo of Rae’s voice in her head.

“Who was there for you, Ash, or did you just take it on your own and pretend like it doesn’t bother you like you always do?”

“Why can’t you even let me have my own mistakes? Why must everything be yours!”

Over and over again, she heard her sister’s biting words. Sometimes she could shove them to the back, pretend like they weren’t there. But they had a habit of resurfacing.

What she hadn’t expected was how many people would come to express their condolences. Varric had caught her in the library - she’d never seen him there before, strange for an author. 

“Hey there, Frosty,” he said, sitting in the chair beside her and across from Dorian - who pretended not to listen in. 

“Morning, Varric.” Ash frowned. Was it morning? She glanced out the window and winced when she saw the setting sun. “Or rather, evening, I guess.” 

He chuckled, low and raspy. “The days tend to blur together around here, everyone’s so busy, it’s like they’ve never heard of being off the clock.” 

It was kind of him to try to normalize her loss of time and she smiled softly, though it did not reach her eyes. 

“Look,” he reached into his bag and pulled out a thin book, placing it on the table between them, “I’m not going to ask you how you’re doing just for you to tell me you’re fine when it's clear to anyone with eyes that you’re not. But I am going to give you this.” 

Ash picked up the book, running her fingers over the worn leather cover. "What is it?"

Varric leaned back in his chair. "It's a collection of old Dalish folktales. I picked it up years ago when I was researching for a novel. Never got around to writing that one, but I held onto this."

Ash's throat tightened, her eyes burning. Dalish tales were not typically written, but passed on verbally from elders to their younger clan members - an important and sacred oral tradition. It had been Ash’s responsibility as First to the Keeper to learn their histories and preserve them for future generations. But her education had remained incomplete when she’d departed in search of Rae. Perhaps there would be some in the book that she didn’t know. "Thank you, Varric. This means…a lot."

Dorian cleared his throat, no longer pretending he wasn’t there. "That's quite thoughtful of you, Varric. I'm impressed."

"Don't sound so surprised, Sparkler," Varric chuckled. "I have my moments."

As Ash flipped through the pages, a folded piece of parchment fell out. She unfolded it, revealing a crude drawing of what appeared to be Sera mooning Corypheus.

"I’m not sure I remember our Keeper telling this story."

Varric leaned over to look. "Ah, seems Buttercup left you a little present. She mentioned wanting to cheer you up."

Dorian peered at the drawing. "Is that supposed to be Corypheus? I must say, Sera's artistic skills are certainly unique."

Ash shook her head. "It's ridiculous and perfect. I'll have to thank her."

Ash set off to do just that, bidding the dwarf and Altus farewell. But before she searched in earnest for the mischievous rogue, she stopped by Cullen’s office to give him a small token of her affection as he worked diligently.

The room was dimly lit, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the window, illuminating the scattered papers and books that adorned Cullen’s desk. Ash leaned over the wide surface, intending to plant a quick kiss on his lips. However, as she pressed her palms against the smooth wood surface, the entire desk suddenly lurched to one side. Ash's eyes widened in surprise as she caught herself, her lips mere inches from Cullen's startled face.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Ah, right. I meant to investigate that. It started doing it this morning and I haven’t had time."

Curiosity piqued, Ash crouched down to examine the desk's legs. When she reached the back right leg, she found the issue.

Ash's fingers traced the uneven, weathered surface of the desk leg and the rough edge where a good inch had been sawed off. Stuck to the underside was a crumpled piece of parchment. She peeled it off, unfolding it to reveal yet another crude drawing. This time, it depicted two stick figures in a provocative pose, one distinguishable by the exaggerated circles drawn on its chest area. The scene was set atop what was clearly intended to be Cullen's desk, the familiar contours rendered in simple, bold strokes. Scrawled beneath in messy handwriting were the words: ‘ree ree ree ree’.

Ash stood up, a lightness bubbling in her chest, and waved the note at Cullen.

"I believe we've found our culprit. Sera's been busy."

Cullen snatched the note, his ears reddening as he scanned its contents. "This is hardly appropriate behaviour for a member of the Inquisition," he grumbled, crumpling the paper in his fist. "I'll have to speak with her about respecting others' property and-"

Ash couldn't contain her giggles as Cullen's face grew redder by the second. His furrowed brow and stern grimace only made her laugh harder, the tension she'd been carrying for days finally cracking. Cullen's eyes softened as he watched her, his own lips twitching upward despite his best efforts to maintain his commander's demeanor.

"No, don't be upset with her," Ash managed between chuckles, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "I think I needed that. And she got the tits right at least."

Ash took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of leather, parchment, and the faint hint of armour polish that always seemed to linger around Cullen. Her shoulders relaxed, the weight of her grief lifting ever so slightly - if only for a moment.

Cullen sighed, his posture softening as he set the crumpled note aside. "I suppose a bit of levity isn't entirely unwelcome," he conceded, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Ash's ear. His touch was gentle, his calloused fingers lingering on her cheek and she pressed a soft kiss to his palm. With Cullen’s support, maybe everything would be alright.

In the days following, more members of the Inquisition offered their condolences.

Most unexpectedly, a small carved Halla appeared outside her door the day after Sera’s note - Ash hadn’t been able to find her, but she was sure that Sera would turn up eventually, no doubt showing her support for Rae first and foremost. No note accompanied the carving, just the lonely little wooden creature. She picked it up, turning it around in her hands until - aha! A ‘B’ carved on the stomach. It was as she figured, she’d observed Blackwall whittling in his barn on more than one occasion. A thoughtful gift, and it went straight to her windowsill. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Ash found herself being gently coaxed out of her room by Dorian. His mustache twitched with a mischievous smile as he linked his arm through hers, guiding her down the stone steps that led to her room.

“A change of scenery will do you some good," he said and no amount of protesting swayed him from his goal.

They made their way to the Herald's Rest, the tavern's warm glow spilling out onto the darkening grounds. As Dorian pushed open the heavy wooden door, the scent of ale and hearty stew wafted out, along with the low hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

As they stepped into the room, The Iron Bull waved them over to his usual corner.

"Ash! Dorian! Pull up a chair," he boomed, gesturing to the empty seats at his table. The wood creaked under his massive frame as he shifted to make room.

Dorian guided Ash into a seat. "I'll fetch us some drinks, shall I?" he said, patting her hand before sauntering off to the bar.

Iron Bull leaned forward. "How're you holding up, Ash?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble.

“I’ll be okay,” she said, avoiding eye contact - much easier to do since he only had one. “Eventually.”

"Loss is never easy,” he said. “But you know what helps? A good story and even better company."

As if on cue, Dorian returned, three mugs of ale balanced precariously in his hands. "Did someone say 'better company'? Because I believe I've arrived just in time."

“Hey!” Krem protested as he sat down at Ash’s side - she hadn’t seen him arrive, he was stealthier than she’d realized. “You didn’t get one for me?”

"Oh, don't pout, Krem," Dorian said with a smirk. "I'm sure you're more than capable of fetching your own drink."

"I'll get you one," Ash offered, pushing her chair back. The least she could do was buy a round for her friends who were trying so hard to cheer her up.

"No need," Krem said, waving her down. "The Chief can buy me one for once."

"That's not how this works," Bull objected, but his protest lacked conviction. "Fine. One drink. Then you're back to paying your own way."

"Did I ever tell you about the time we fought a dragon in the Western Approach?" Bull asked, his eye gleaming with excitement.

"Only about seventeen times," Krem groaned, rolling his eyes.

"Eighteen," corrected a soft voice from beside Ash, causing her to jump.

Cole sat perched on the edge of a spare chair. No one had seen him arrive - typical Cole fashion. Ash had been wondering when he was going to show up. It was only a matter of time before the spirit of compassion came to offer his unsolicited insight.

"The pain is less sharp now. It still cuts, but the edges aren't as jagged. You wouldn’t have listened to me before."

The table fell silent. Bull cleared his throat uncomfortably while Dorian shot Cole a warning look.

"Cole," Dorian began carefully, "perhaps now isn't the best time to—"

"It's alright," Ash interrupted, offering Cole a small smile. She was much to tired to fight him on this, and perhaps she’d grown to feel some sort of kinship with the spirit. They were the only one’s of their kind within Skyhold - lonely together. "Thank you for checking on me."

Cole tilted his head, his pale hair falling across his face. "You miss her. Sister, sunshine, shared blood and breath. But she's missing herself too. Lost in the echo of what might have been."

Ash's throat tightened. Trust Cole to cut straight to the heart of her worries about Rae.

"She's afraid," Cole continued, his voice taking on that distant quality that meant he was reading deeper emotions. "She doesn’t want you to abandon her like Mother. She thinks about the Archdemon often. Maybe you’ll understand if she pushes you away. Your love is dangerous. To yourself, not to others."

Ash's chest constricted, her breath catching in her throat. The tavern's warmth felt stifling, pressing down around her. Was she acting like their mother? The thought made her shudder.

Bull shifted uncomfortably, the bench creaking beneath him. "Kid, maybe ease up a bit."

"Sorry," Cole said, though he didn't sound particularly apologetic. "I'm trying to help. The Inquisitor will not hear me. The knot is tangled. If I pull here…" He made a tugging motion with his hands. "No, that tightens it."

"It's fine," Ash managed, though it wasn't. Not really. "Rae and I…we've always been complicated."

Dorian gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Siblings often are. My cousin and his brother once didn't speak for three years over a dispute about a particularly hideous family heirloom. Neither wanted it, but both insisted the other take it."

Despite herself, Ash smiled. Trust Dorian to find the perfect anecdote to diffuse tension.

"So what happened?" Krem asked, leaning forward.

"Oh, they donated it to a rival family as a wedding gift. Quite scandalous." Dorian's mustache twitched with amusement. "The point is, even the most strained familial relationships can mend."

Bull drained his mug and slammed it down on the table, pulling all attention to him. “If its stories we’re swapping…” Without further delay, Bull launched into a tale of one of the Chargers' more outlandish missions. Ash found herself drawn in, Krem's exasperated face as Bull described his lieutenant's attempts to wrangle a herd of drunk nugs bringing a smile to her lips.

As the night wore on, more of the Chargers filtered in, each adding their own embellishments to Bull's stories. Dalish, with her ‘bow’ that was definitely not a staff, demonstrated how she'd ‘shot’ a fireball at a group of bandits. Skinner rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smirk as Rocky recounted their escape from an angry mob of cheese makers.

For the first time in days, Ash felt the knot in her chest loosen more than a crack. She looked around the table, taking in the diverse group of misfits that had somehow become a family under Bull's leadership.

Iron Bull leaned in close as if reading her thoughts, speaking low enough for only her to hear. "You know, family isn't always about blood. Sometimes it's about who you choose to surround yourself with."

He gestured to the rowdy group around them who weren’t paying attention, to enrapture in teasing Krem for his inability to wrangle nugs. "If you ever need a large, dysfunctional family, you've got one right here with me and the Chargers. We may not all be Dalish, but we know how to stick together."

Ash swallowed around the lump forming in her throat. “Thank you, Bull.” And though she could not think of the words to truly express her thanks, she knew he understood.

The next morning, Ash found herself wandering the battlements, her fingers tracing the rough stone as she gazed out over the snow-capped mountains. She closed her eyes, letting the gentle breeze caress her face and tangle in her hair. She’d stayed late into the night at the tavern, but when her eyes started to droop, she’d called it a night and left to curl up in Cullen’s lap as he worked. He hadn’t even protested.

Footsteps scattered her thoughts of Cullen’s broad chest against hers, and Ash turned to see Cassandra approaching, her stern expression softened by something that looked almost like uncertainty. The Seeker came to stand beside her, joining Ash in looking out over the landscape.

"Ashvalla," Cassandra began. "I…I wished to offer my condolences for your loss."

Ash nodded, a now familiar ache pounding against her ribs. "Thank you, Cassandra."

The Seeker shifted, clearly uncomfortable, but she pushed on regardless. "I know our faiths differ, but if you would permit me, I would like to offer a prayer for your clan."

Startled by the unexpected gesture, Ash considered her offer for a moment. Ash had never been the most devout among the Dalish. She held a deep pride for their history - as was her role as First to the Keeper - and enjoyed the stories of Elvhen deities, but her belief in them didn’t run as deep as it did for many others in her clan. She saw no harm in allowing Cassandra to pray to her Maker - or Andraste, Ash wasn’t sure who was responsible for souls.

Ash nodded, signalling her assent.

Cassandra bowed her head. "The Light shall lead them safely, through the paths of this world, and into the next. Though these souls did not know Your Grace during life, we ask that You guide them to peace in death. Allow fire to be their water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, they should see fire and go towards Light.”

Willing her eyes to remain dry, Ash smiled at her, tinged with sadness, but grateful nonetheless. “Thank you, Cassandra. That was…very kind of you."

The Seeker nodded, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. She hesitated for a moment, then reached into her satchel. "I also thought you might need a distraction. Something to take your mind off things, if only for a little while."

Cassandra pulled out a worn book, its leather cover creased with use. She thrust it toward Ash, not quite meeting her eyes. Curious, Ash accepted the offering, turning it over in her hands. Her eyes widened as she read the title: "Velvet and Steel: The Knight-Captain’s Forbidden Love."

A smirk canted at the corners of Ash's lips as she looked up at Cassandra, whose blush had deepened considerably. "Why, Seeker," Ash teased, "I had no idea you were hiding such scandalous literature in that satchel of yours."

Cassandra sputtered, her face now a brilliant shade of red. "I-it's not…it's just a story!"

"Don't worry,” Ash winked, “your secret's safe with me. Though I must say, I'm impressed. I didn't think you had it in you."

The Seeker huffed, crossing her arms. "It's well-written. The characters are complex and the plot is engaging."

"I'm sure it is. Thank you, Cassandra. I look forward to reading it."

As Cassandra hurried away, still blushing furiously, Ash let her smile fade. She tucked the book under her arm, making a mental note to start reading it later that evening. Though unbeknownst to her at the time, she had to wait until after both Vivienne and Solas separately sought her out.

"If you need anything - a listening ear, a distraction, or simply a cup of tea - my door is always open to you,” Vivienne had said after expressing her condolences. She’d strutted away shortly after, and Ash promised to think on her offer.

Solas had probably been the most unexpected of them all, finding her in the gardens as she tended to her plants.

"Ir abelas," he said, his grey eyes filled with a deep sorrow. "Your clan's loss is a tragedy beyond measure."

"Ma serannas, Solas," she said, already forming her question. “How is Rae holding up?”

Solas's brow furrowed slightly at the mention of Rae, neither of them holding any pretences that he wouldn’t be at her side. "She grieves deeply, though she hides it well. Give her time. And when she does come to you, be prepared for the storm that follows."

Ash sighed, she knew that storm all too well and she was prepared to weather it. She only wished it would happen sooner rather than later, she was tired of waiting, the prolonged anticipation gnawed at her patience.

Time continued to pass, and the loss of her clan continued to ache. It was a wound that would always throb with the sting of perceived failure. However, she took comfort where she could find it in the kindness of her friends. 

A polite rapping of knuckles against the door pulled Ash to her feet. Dorian sat on the floor by her dresser, perusing through her robes and providing commentary on each piece, though he’d stopped as she’d risen to answer the knock.

“Oh, Josephine,” Ash tilted her head at the wide eyed look of distress the Ambassador was giving her upon opening the door. “Is everything alright?”

She twisted her hands together, her signature clipboard nowhere in sight. Josephine bit her lip and worried it between her teeth. “I don’t know how to answer that question. I would assume that it isn’t, given…everything.” 

Ash furrowed her brows, uncertain how to proceed. “Is there something I can help you with?” 

“Oh, no!” Josephine said quickly, her eyebrows shooting up. “I’ve already put you through enough. I came here to apologize.” 

Opening her mouth, Ash failed to come up with anything intelligent to say. “Why would you apologize?”

Josephine's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she wrung her hands. "It was my people. The diplomats I sent to offer aid to your clan - they were too late."

Ash’s stomach dropped, a cold weight settling on her chest. She leaned against the doorframe. The sounds of the busy courtyard below faded away, leaving only the pounding of her heart in her ears.

"Josephine," Ash said softly, "that's not your fault. You couldn't have known-"

"But I should have!" Josephine interrupted, her normally composed demeanor cracking. "I should have anticipated the timely nature of the request for aid, chosen a different route, something! If I had been more careful, more thorough in my planning…"

Ash shook her head. "No. You can't blame yourself for this. The fault lies with those who attacked them, not with you."

But Josephine was inconsolable, her poise completely shattered. "I insisted on this approach. I assured everyone it was the safest option. And now…now your family is gone because of my failure."

A memory flashed through Ash's mind - sitting in Rae’s room, advising her sister to choose Josephine's diplomatic approach over Leliana's more covert methods or Cullen's military intervention.

"If you're to blame," Ash said firmly, "then so am I. I advised Rae to choose your approach. I thought it was the best option too."

Josephine's eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting slightly. Ash reached out, gently grasping Josephine's trembling hands in her own.

"We made the best decision we could with the information we had," Ash continued, her voice steady despite the grief swirling within her. "We couldn't have known what would happen."

A tear escaped Josephine's eye, trailing down her cheek. Ash resisted the urge to wipe it away, instead squeezing the ambassador's hands reassuringly.

"But I-" Josephine began, her voice wavering.

"No," Ash cut her off, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We can't change what happened. Blaming ourselves won't bring them back. All we can do now is honor their memory and make sure their deaths weren't in vain." Now if only Ash could get herself to believe that.

Josephine's shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of her. She nodded slowly, her eyes still brimming with tears. "You're right, of course. I…I apologize for burdening you with my guilt. That was selfish of me."

“It wasn't selfish, Josephine.” And Ash would know, her selfishness knew no bounds according to her mother. “It shows how much you care. I appreciate that more than you know."

The ambassador straightened, smoothing her hands over her gold-and-blue ensemble. She took a deep breath, composing herself. "Thank you. I should let you get back to your evening."

Ash released Josephine's hands. With a final nod and a watery smile, Josephine walked away, likely to return to the endless stream of diplomatic tasks she’d left on her desk.

When the Ambassador had disappeared from view, Ash shut the door and turned, expecting to find Dorian where she had left him. She should have known better. He had stretched himself out on her bed, one of her finer robes laid over his body, a grin stretching his cheeks. Sweetpea lounged at his feet, eyeing him warily.

“I think I would look quite fetching in this. Is there any way you’d be willing to part with it?” 

Ash grinned as she went over, studying him with false seriousness. “The green velvet suits you and the gold would go wonderfully with your skin tone, but I’m afraid you’re missing an important part.” She tugged at the fabric that covered the breast, much too large for someone as flat as Dorian. 

He pouted, sighing melodramatically as he let his hand flop to the bed. “Why must you always ruin my fun?” 

Ash laughed, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly, catching her off guard - a tiny fragment of her battered heart had begun to mend, stitching itself back together. The laughter felt foreign. She hadn’t allowed such a joyful sound to escape her lips since the day she received the devastating news about Clan Lavellan’s fate, and Rae had started avoiding her.

“I’ll have something tailored for you so we can match.”

Next Chapter

A/N: A little calm before the storm! Can't wait to post the next chapter :) But it will likely be two chapters a week for a little while so I'll see ya'll next Tuesday!

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.9k

Part 33 - Stop - Supress - Silence

"You love like a mother, a father; a caregiver at the core. You forever prioritize your precious ones at the expense of yourself because you have never looked at your reflection and seen a soul worth protecting. (Do you remember how it felt to be tucked in and kissed goodnight, my child?)" - Unknown

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

Warning: Panic attack/emotional spiral

Masterlist

Pins and needles prickled at her scalp, sending tingles rushing down the back of her neck like a thousand tiny insects skittering over her skin. Oxygen had vacated her lungs, leaving her struggling for breath. When had she sat down? Only a moment ago she’d been standing to allow Leliana into her room. The Nightingale had sounded so despondent, detached as she relayed the news that turned Ash’s legs into quivering jelly. 

No…this had to be some sick joke, something to test her mettle or something Rae had commanded of her spymaster as repayment for some slight Ash had committed against her. But even Rae wasn’t that cruel.

Her sister…Creators, who was going to tell her? How was anyone supposed to tell her this?

How would Rae survive knowing that the ambassador’s plan she’d put in motion to protect their clan hadn’t been successful? How would she react when she was told that their entire clan had been slaughtered or scattered? 

Clan Lavellan was gone.

“Have you told her?” Ash croaked from between numb lips, her hazy eyes flickering to the woman standing before her. 

Leliana shook her head. “I thought it prudent that you be present and aware.”

There was no need to articulate the obvious, for the weight on Rae's shoulders was already substantial enough. She shouldn’t have to shoulder this burden alone. 

Ash felt her head nod, not having realized she ordered her body to move. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“We will be in the War Room when you are ready.” Leliana moved silently towards the door, but every step she took away from Ash felt like the beating of a war drum, the impending march towards death. The Spymaster paused. “Neither of you deserved this, we will ensure those who committed this atrocity are found and punished.”

It was her heartfelt way of expressing 'sorry for your loss,' and Ash greatly preferred this sincere gesture to a hollow attempt at placating her grief.

“Good.” Ash barely registered the sound of the door clicking shut. 

Her fists balled tightly into the soft fabric of her robes. She yearned to exact her own vengeance, to shred apart those responsible for the devastation wrought upon her clan. Rae had been stripped of her parents, and now, her entire community lay in ruins. How dare they inflict such suffering upon her sister? Rae had sacrificed everything - absolutely everything - to serve as their Inquisitor, their chosen Herald of Andraste, for a group of shem’lens and useless felasils(Idiots) that didn’t give a single shit about her. 

And what it meant for Ash…when her relationship with Cullen inevitably exploded, she had nowhere safe to return to.

She had no names to curse, no visions of faces twisted with hate and the promise of violence to picture in her head as the rage inside her burned and singed her bones, desperate to consume and destroy, but having nowhere to aim except inwards. Love’s wails of anguish rang in her head like she stood directly under a Chantry bell as it tolled midnight. Suppressing her fire took every leftover ounce of willpower Ash contained.

Magic coursed through her veins like glacial rapids, chilling her from the inside out and leaving a frosty sheen on her skin - smothering the flames inside. Her tears crystallized upon her cheeks, unnoticed until the icy droplets stung sharply like the prick of a bee's sting. Her fingers clawed at her hair, tangling and twisting as she tried to shove the magic back inside, somewhere safer, somewhere her rampaging grief couldn’t hurt anyone else. 

This wasn’t about her, this was about Rae. She needed to be there for her younger sister, that was her responsibility. Her sole role in life, the one thing their mother had asked of her. Yet there she was, struggling to manage her own turbulent emotions for her sister’s sake, when Rae already had more than enough on her plate.

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Spine straight, face blank, ice receding from blue-tinged lips. She wiped her tears from her cheeks as they thawed. A numbness spread through her limbs that was as satisfying in its dullness as it was terrible in its significance. But it was fine, she was fine.

Ash had lost her clan, but she still had her sister. A sister who needed her. There was no time for petulant mourning, no time to wallow in her own sorrow.

Her legs carried her toward the last remnants of her family. Fen’Harel himself wouldn’t be powerful enough to part them. Ash would fight the Gods themselves if it meant Rae would know peace. 

“Tell me what’s going on,” Rae seethed, banging her fist against the large wooden war table as she stared down the red-headed rogue across from her. Leliana remained unflinchingly neutral, gaze darting to where Ash pushed open the heavy double doors. Rae whirled around, the anger brewing in the sneer of her lips dulled when they landed on Ash’s impassive face - too unemotional for someone who usually covered her deeper feelings with a grin. Something was wrong. Rae knew it, and it was driving her mad not knowing exactly what. 

“Sister Nightingale, your Inquisitor has given you an order.” Ash barely registered Cullen’s words, tinged with concern and trepidation. Nor did she fully absorb the report that Leliana handed over to him.

“I requested Ashvalla attend today’s war council meeting to discuss the sensitive nature of the missive we received regarding Clan Lavellan. My scouts intercepted it before it arrived.”

Sympathy filled those beautiful amber eyes as he read the words that spoke of their clan’s destruction. Ash was unable to meet his gaze, unable to confront the softness and comfort that his look promised. How badly she wanted to fold herself into his strong arms. This wasn’t about her, she needed to look anywhere but at him. Josephine gasped as she read over Cullen’s shoulder, her hand fluttering to cover her mouth as she watched them both in horror. But Ash was not concerned with them, she drew herself up, leaning on her staff for support. As dreadful comprehension hit her, Rae's skin drained of colour and her lips parted. 

“No…” she breathed, her head shaking and her choppy hair falling into her face. “No, you’re lying—you can’t—this isn’t—“ Rae bit her knuckles as she shoved them into her mouth to stifle a keening sob before rounding on Leliana once more.

“Why didn’t you tell me first?” she demanded, livid and shaking. “I am your leader! Do you seek to undermine me, or have you simply deemed my sister more capable of doing my job?”

Ash took a step forward, her staff clacking against the stone floor and bringing attention back to her. “You know why,” she said with motherly patience and a calm that she did not feel. “Leliana wanted you to be supported. You already do so much, let us help with this.”

"No!" Rae erupted, causing Ash to jerk back in surprise. Her gentleness was not reciprocated and had only fuelled Rae’s growing rage. The mark on Rae’s hand - the anchor - flared a sickly green, though Rae paid it no mind. “That is complete nug shit and you know it. You need to support me? I never asked for that, remember?”

Rae barreled forward, her steps pounding the ground as she closed the distance between herself and Ash. Her fingers clamped onto the front of Ash's robes with a vice-like grip, her mouth twisted into a fierce snarl. After the shock of Rae’s outburst passed, Cullen took a step forward as though he meant to intervene. Ash held up her hand behind Rae, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pause - wary, but listening. 

“You didn’t have to.” Ash placed her hand over the one gripping her robes. 

“And you didn’t have to deal with it all on your own! You wanted to be here for me? Well, who was there for you!” Ash’s heart stuttered in her chest, her jaw slackening as Rae’s words tripped over each other in her mind. Who was there for her? What did that have to do with this?

“Who was there for you, Ash, or did you just take it on your own and pretend like it doesn’t bother you like you always do? What part of I’m sorry you have to remember alone do you not understand? It should bother you. Our clan is dead and I am responsible for it. You are all I have left, but if you won’t take care of yourself then I guess I don’t have you either.”

“Ma Fen’lin, you asked me how to help our clan, you chose what I suggested, this isn’t—“

“Don’t placate me!” Rae screamed, raw and cracking. She unleashed her grip on Ash’s robes and she stumbled, her shaky legs buckling before she caught herself on her staff. Rae clutched her wrist as the mark flared again, pulsing and illuminating her contorted face as she gritted her teeth against the pain.

“This is my fault! This is my fault and you…” Rae’s head shook and her voice contorted over the sob she was trying to suppress. “You think it is yours. Why can’t you even let me have my own mistakes? Why must everything be yours!”

“I…” What was she supposed to say to that? The words tangled in her throat, refusing to form. That’s not what she was trying to do; she wasn’t trying to make it about herself. This was about Rae, wasn’t it? Ash had only wanted to ease some of her heavy burden, no one should have to carry so much. But it seemed that she had achieved the opposite. The disdain glazing over Rae’s eyes as she stared at Ash had her taking a tentative step towards her sister, hand outstretched, her heart sinking into the soles of her feet. “Rae, please…”

“Save it.” Rae slapped Ash’s hand away, the sound echoing through the spacious room. “I need some space. Don’t come find me.” 

A strangled noise bubbled up from Ash’s throat, choking around syllables that yearned to be words but fell short. She wanted to speak, but there was nothing she could say that would help - she’d already ruined it past the point of repair. Love was only making it worse, writhing and pushing against her restraint from within, begging her to unleash the full extent of her magic - to let out all her grief. But she couldn’t. She had to keep it contained lest it harm the people around her, the people she cherished so dearly.

Rae’s boots passed her, a blurred figure in her swimming vision, her eyes fixed helplessly on the floor. Wind from her exit breezed past her, the light scent of elfroot and lavender brushing past her, a scent that was so specifically Rae. Rae who was grieving, Rae who took on the responsibility of saving Thedas, Rae who resented her, who thought her self-centred and arrogant - everything that she moulded herself not to be. One’s true nature was difficult to fight. 

Leliana and Josephine departed, offering her words of condolences that she did not have the wherewithal to retain. The grand doors to the war room closed firmly behind them, leaving her in the large chamber, but feeling suffocated by it - unwilling to look up as another pair of familiar and oddly ornamented boots came into her line of sight, stopping within arms reach of her. 

“This isn’t your fault.” Cullen placed a warm hand on her shoulder, the heat of his touch seeping into her skin through her robes. “Maker’s breath, Ashvalla, you’re freezing.”

Her head shook, ignoring his second statement. “I should have handled it better.” I should have been the person she needed me to be. 

A callused thumb brushed the tears from her cheeks - the heat of his touch like a fiery ember against her frigid skin. Again, she hadn’t noticed she’d started to cry. “You’ve lost your clan too.” 

Her stomach swooped uncomfortably, queasy and roiling. She knew she shouldn't be dwelling on those thoughts; her priority should be to console Rae, not to get lost in her own tumultuous emotions. If she fell apart now she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to pick up the pieces. 

“Ashvalla.” Concern rested in the pinch of his forehead. 

The sharp sound of wood clacking against stone echoed through the room as her staff tumbled to the floor, the noise reverberating in the silence. Her clan, her family - those she had left behind, with whom she had barely kept in touch, consumed by her own struggles - were gone. Rae's anger burned like a fire she couldn't extinguish, and every action she took seemed to spiral into failure. She felt utterly useless, worse than useless; she was harmful. She was the antithesis of everything she was meant to embody, she had failed their mother. 

Her knees buckled, unable to bear the strain, her skin itching like she’d run through a thicket of rashvine. A strong, solid weight caught her, soft fur surrounding her as her breath puffed out in a small cloud, mixing with the chilly air around her. Her grip on her magic was slipping again, but this time she wasn’t alone. No, she couldn’t let her magic hurt Cullen. Squeezing her eyes shut as strong arms wrapped around her, her body shook against the anguish that filled her chest and creaked along her ribs like it would break her open and spill her guts across the ground. 

Would Rae ask her to leave the Inquisition? Had she finally realized she was better off without Ash hanging around? Maybe she’d be too disgusted to even show her face and order one of her advisors to do it. Maybe it would be Cullen. A punishment, for her lover to send her away.

“Ash,” Cullen interrupted her spiralling thoughts, petting the back of her head like she was a feral dog requiring a gentle touch to prevent it from snapping. “You are allowed to be upset. I’m here for you, whatever you need, I will not leave you. But you…feel like ice. Tell me what I can do to help with this.”

She dug her fists into his cloak. “Silence me.”

There was still lyrium lingering in his system, surely he could Silence her enough to take the edge off.

He jolted abruptly, his expression transforming into one of bewilderment - his eyes widening dramatically, his entire body going rigid.

"What—" he began hoarsely, the question dying on his lips. "Are you out of your mind? I will not Silence you."

“Please, Cullen,” she pleaded. How far she’d fallen; a Dalish Mage begging an ex-Templar to Silence her. Surely her mother was rolling in her grave. “I can’t stop it.”

He kept her supported, arms securing her to him around her waist. “Yes, you can.” 

“N-No,” she stuttered through a sob, “I can’t do anything right. I-I can’t help my sister, I can’t control my magic, I can’t be trusted to make any decisions. I need you to Silence me, take this away. Please, I’m begging you.”

Frozen tears fell to the ground, tinkling like delicate glass as they shattered upon impact. Their breaths mixed together, a swirl of heat between them, frost gathering on the ends of her hair and sticking to his eyebrows and lashes. His skin flushed a rosy hue from the biting cold, and she inwardly appreciated his insistence on donning that outlandish mantle, if only to protect him from her.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, his mouth set in a firm line. “Do not ask this of me. Ever. I will not do it.”

He didn’t know about the spirit, about her possession. Would he feel the same if he knew or would he smite and slay her like the abomination she was? Would he fear her? She didn’t want to know, and yet the words pressed at her lips, begging to be free, begging for him to see her as she truly was. 

Cullen leaned down, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, and the other sliding behind her legs. Without any warning, he picked her up, a surprised gasp puffing in the cold air as she clung to him. Taking a few strides, he placed her down on the war table, little pieces scattering across the wood. 

“Let me go,” she demanded weakly. “I’m just going to hurt you too.”

“You won’t,” he said with such conviction that she almost believed him. Almost. 

She held up her hands, covered in a layer of frost, freezing vapour floating off of them and meandering down in a tranquil stream. “I will.” 

His gloved hand encompassed hers, and despite her attempts to yank it away, he maintained a firm grip, guiding her palm to rest flat against the side of his neck. His heart beat erratically, but his breath was stable, calm and measured. “I need you to slow down, stop thinking of everything that you believe to be wrong with yourself and focus on my breathing. Can you do that?”

Could she focus on his breathing? What was she, an infant? Of course, she could do that. A simple task, an easy instruction that even a child could follow. 

“Good,” he murmured. “And I seem to have forgotten, could you remind me what conditions elfroot needs to grow?”

She wrinkled her nose, why in the Void was he asking about elfroot at a time like this?

He smiled softly. “Humour me.”

“It needs partial sunlight, it withers under anything too strong. Damp soil is ideal, but it’s a hardy plant and they can survive without it for a few days.” She recited, the words feeling foreign in her mouth. It was so inconsequential, she couldn’t understand the reason he needed to know. 

“You’re right, not too much but not too little. Dorian tells me you enjoyed your time in the Emerald Graves. He said the weather was tepid, not overly cold, but with the sun covered by clouds and the trees you were able to enjoy it without your thick cloak.” He chuckled and Ash could barely believe he’d made such a sound when she had her ice-cold hand pressed to his neck. But their visit to the Emerald Graves had refreshed her. Keeping her burn scars covered constantly was a hassle, the cloak unwieldy. She’d felt…contented.

She blinked as the fog cleared from her vision, her nose crinkling as sensation returned to her extremities. Cullen’s hand brushed the remnants of frozen tears off her cheeks, a sweet smile pulling on the scar bisecting his lip. 

“You can control your magic, you are not going to harm me - or anyone else for that matter. You are grieving, give yourself the same grace you would extend to anyone else in your position. You are not the exception to your own kindness.” 

“Cullen, I’m so—“ She didn’t get the chance to finish as his fingers brushed over her chapped lips, silencing her. 

“Don’t you dare apologize, you have done nothing wrong.” 

Ash exhaled shakily, closing her eyes as she leaned against him, burying her face in his mantle. It smelled of him - leather and elderflower. Her cheeks tingled, stinging where the frozen tears had clung to her skin. Her fingers, once numb, prickled with pins and needles as they defrosted. His arms tightened around her, rubbing soothing circles onto her back as he let her come down from her panic. 

“Keeper Deshanna, my clan, they’re gone. They’re all gone.” 

Cullen rested his chin against the top of her head. “And there is nothing you could have done to change that with the knowledge you had.” 

Why couldn’t she ever do anything right? No matter how hard she tried there was always something that slipped through her fingers. She stretched and stretched herself until she was paper thin, cracking at the edges as the weight of her failures tore at her. 

Sobs unfolded from her chest, no longer able to contain their shaking force. Her grief, angry and bitter, twisted in her stomach like a writhing snake, biting puncture wounds into the lining. She clutched onto him, desperate and trembling, needing his grounding presence to stop her from floating away. She wanted to stay in his arms forever, to be safe and cared for.

Would he still care for her if he found out she was spirit-possessed? A question she had asked herself on repeat for the past few weeks since they had started to properly see each other. It was difficult to believe. But in that moment it did not matter. In that moment she gave in to her selfishness, her grief, and she consumed his fondness for her like a woman who’d been lost in a desert and had finally found a wellspring. 

As he held her, his warmth enveloping her like a soft blanket, she poured out all of her anguish, her loss, until she no longer felt much of anything at all, and her body gave in to the exhaustion. As long as she was in his arms she was safe, her limbs may become heavy, her brain foggy, but she knew he would support her. 

It was one of the many reasons she loved him, after all. 

She wasn’t sure when or how she’d made it to her room, nor did she particularly care to think about it, not when Cullen was wrapped around her, her head resting on his chest and his arms hugging her close. Sweetpea had snuggled herself across the top of Cullen’s head, her purrs soothing in the quiet of her chambers.

“My reason for joining the Inquisition was to support Rae. If I can’t do that, then why am I even here? If I’d been with my clan maybe I could have stopped this. Maybe I could have helped her more by staying out of her way.” 

His thumb and index finger held her chin, gently pulling her gaze upwards, a frown marring his handsome face. “You know as well as I that Rae is happiest with you here. How do you think she would have fared had harm befallen you as well - losing the only family she has left? And I…” He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. “I am eternally grateful that you are here. I do not know what I would do if you were not, if you’d been harmed.”

Ash's breath hitched at Cullen's words, her heart aching with a bittersweet pain. She shifted onto her elbows, studying the earnest vulnerability in his amber eyes. "You truly mean that, don't you?" she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. And perhaps screaming, she could no longer recall.

Cullen's hand came up to cradle her cheek, his calloused thumb brushing over her skin with a tenderness that made her want to weep anew. "You…you mean a great deal to me. More than I can adequately express."

She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she savoured the comfort of his presence. "Stay with me tonight," Ash pleaded softly. "I…I don't want to be alone."

"Of course." Cullen brushed a strand of hair from her face with gentle fingers. "For as long as you need."

He had made yet another promise, unaware of the profound gravity of it. She would need him endlessly, like the sun relied on the sky to rise each day, but could he truly dedicate his eternity to a woman who had deceived him about her very existence?

No, Ash was sure he would not. She absorbed every ounce of his affections while they were hers to cherish, clinging desperately to the man she desired above all others. Deep down, she recognized her selfishness and cowardice, traits her mother had always predicted would define her. Yet she couldn’t regret it, not when it meant she had Cullen - for however long he would give.

Next Chapter

A/N: So sorry for this, but this fight was a long time coming, and I am very excited for The Squeakquel (aka: rage meets desperation)

Also, hehe, Ash asking Cullen to Silence her, what a silly goose

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

Part 32 - A 'Vint, an Inquisitor, a Qunari and a Spirit-Possessed Mage Walk into a Bar

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

“I found him carefully studying me, his lips in a thin line. 'Has anyone ever taken care of you?' he asked quietly.”

Warning: Canon typical talks of emotional abuse from a parent and later on memories of violence against a child (Ash's backstory)

Masterlist

Ash leaned against the weathered stone wall of the Gull and Lantern, her eyes scanning the bustling Redcliffe marketplace. The late afternoon sun set on the horizon, hidden behind the ubiquitous Ferelden clouds. Iron Bull stood beside her, his massive frame dwarfing her own, his single eye alert and watchful.

"Think they're alright in there?" Ash asked, fidgeting with her staff. The tavern door remained stubbornly closed, muffling any sounds from within. Dorian had been uncharacteristically silent on the journey to the Hinterlands to meet with his father’s retainer. From what Ash knew of the man - which was very little, though none of it good - she wasn’t surprised that Dorian was preoccupied. It was cruel of the man to send a retainer to upend his son’s life. Would he have done so if Dorian hadn’t made a name for himself within the Inquisition? Cashing in on his estranged son’s fame.

Bull grunted, his horns catching the fading sunlight as he shifted his weight. "Dorian can handle himself. And Boss is in there, too. Between the two of them, I almost feel sorry for this retainer they're meeting."

Ash laughed quietly - more of a breathy exhale - though it did little to ease the knot of tension in her stomach. “You’re right on that one.” She sighed. "We're out here as the backup muscle, but I feel like we're just twiddling our thumbs."

"Sometimes being the muscle means waiting. Dorian knows we've got his back if things go south in there."

"True," Ash conceded. "Though I suspect that’s also why we’re out here and not in there with him and Rae. He knows we'd end up trashing half the tavern and that representative if he said something wrong. Probably make things worse with his father in the long run."

A group of children darted past, their shrieking laughter bouncing off the stone buildings. Ash’s fingers twitched, itching to reach for her staff at every sudden movement or loud noise. Before they’d departed Skyhold, Ash had spoken with the Seeker about a private matter - that the other woman had been mildly embarrassed to answer - and now watching the children run by, she couldn’t help but let her mind drift to the soft smile that Cullen had given her as they left the confines of the Keep. He hadn’t known that she’d gone to Cassandra instead of him - she hadn’t want to upset him or make him feel inadequate with her line of questioning - but it had been important. She’d already had her suspicions, and Cassandra had confirmed them. Perhaps she’d bring it up with him another time when she felt ready. They had time.

"You know," Bull said, changing the topic - a distraction from his concern for his lover that he wouldn’t admit. "I've seen a lot of family dynamics in my time, but you and the Inquisitor? You two are something else."

Ash raised an eyebrow, turning to face him. "Oh? And what's that supposed to mean?"

Bull shrugged, his massive shoulders rolling like small mountains. Ash wondered if he’d ever started a miniature avalanche with those things. "Just that you've got each other's backs, no matter what. It's good. Rare, even."

"We've been through a lot together," Ash said softly. "Rae's all I've got."

"Not anymore," Bull pointed out, his eye fixed on the tavern door. "You've got us now, too, and the Commander."

Heat rose to her cheeks at the mention of Cullen. "I suppose you're right," she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"'Course I am," Bull grinned, nudging her with his elbow and almost sending her flying - she stumbled, but managed to catch herself on her staff, shooting Bull an unimpressed glare.

The tavern door slammed open, startling Ash and Bull - well, it startled Ash, Bull was as unfazed as always. Dorian stormed out, his face twisted in anguished fury. He strode past them without a word, his shoulders rigid and fists clenched at his sides.

Rae emerged moments later, her eyes flashing with barely contained rage. She shook her head sharply as Ash opened her mouth to speak, jerking her chin to indicate they should follow Dorian's retreating form.

"What happened?" Ash hissed as they fell into step several feet behind the fuming Tevinter mage. "Is he alright?"

Rae's jaw clenched, her gaze fixed ahead. "Give him space," she said. "It wasn't a retainer. His father showed up in person."

"What?" Ash growled, her fingers instinctively curling around her staff. Bull remained silent, no doubt thinking along the same lines as Ash, though much too stoic to voice it. Love stirred within her, responding to the surge of protective anger. "That manipulative bastard-"

"Trust me," Rae cut her off, grabbing Ash's arm to keep her from turning back to the Tavern and giving Dorian’s father a piece of her mind - and fist. "It took all my willpower not to strangle the man myself. He’s…worse than I realized. Let's set up camp at the nearest Inquisition outpost. Dorian will find us when he's ready."

Ash wanted to argue, but she knew Rae was right. She’d be doing Dorian no favours if she beat his father to a pulp. That honour should be reserved for him.

Sighing, Ash resigned herself to a long night of waiting. They headed to camp, a small clearing in the hills staffed by Inquisition agents. As night approached and her restlessness hadn’t settled, Ash volunteered to fetch water from a nearby stream.

The forest hummed with the chirping of crickets and the rustle of nocturnal creatures stirring. Ash's mostly bare feet crunched over fallen leaves as she picked her way down the worn path. Kneeling at the water's edge, she dipped the waterskins into the crystal-clear flow. But as she filled the last skin, a twig snapped behind her.

Ash whirled around, her hand flying to her staff, only to find Dorian standing there. His normally pristine and polished appearance was a bit ruffled, his usually perfect hair slightly tousled, and his kohl-rimmed eyes showed a hint of red at the edges. To the untrained eye, these were subtle changes, as he still looked more composed than almost anyone she knew. Yet, for Dorian, even the slightest imperfection - a single hair out of place - was enough to raise concern.

"Hey," Ash greeted. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."

He attempted a smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "Yes, well, I found myself in need of a friendly ear. And perhaps something stronger than water, if you have it."

Ash patted the ground beside her, inviting him to sit. “I’ve only got one of those, I’m afraid, as long as a pointed ear will do.”

Dorian chuckled weakly as he lowered himself to the ground beside her. "They will more than do."

Ash waited, giving him space to gather his thoughts. The stream burbled softly, and a chilly breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and autumn decay.

Finally, Dorian spoke. "I wanted to talk to someone who…understands. Someone with a complicated relationship with their parents."

Had she really been that transparent? "You could tell?"

"It takes one to know one, my dear," Dorian replied with a wry smile. "We recognize our own."

Ash nodded, her throat tightening. "Do you want to talk about what happened with your father?"

“Not at all, actually. But if I don’t, it's just going to eat me up inside, and I can’t let him win by destroying my life any further.“ Dorian's shoulders slumped. "He…tried to change me," he said, his voice cracking. "With blood magic. After having taught me to abhor the craft for my entire, he had no problems resorting to it.”

Ash's breath caught in her throat. "What?"

"He wanted to…alter my romantic preferences. Make me the perfect Pavus heir." Dorian's laugh was bitter, devoid of any real humour. "As if magic could change who I am, who I love."

Rage boiled in Ash's veins, Love's presence flaring within her. She rubbed her knuckles against her sternum, willing herself to stay calm for Dorian's sake. "That's…Creators, Dorian. I'm so sorry."

He shrugged, but the casual gesture couldn't mask the pain in his eyes. "It's what happens in the Imperium. Anything to keep up appearances, to maintain the family line."

Ash reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing her hand on his arm. "That doesn't make it right."

"No," Dorian agreed softly. "It doesn't."

Ash's fingers absently traced patterns in the damp earth, her mind drifting to memories she usually kept locked away. He’d wanted someone who understood, someone to connect with. She didn’t want him to feel alone in his misery.

"I loved my mother," she said softly, surprising herself with the admission. Dorian turned to her, his eyebrows raised in silent curiosity. "She was everything I wanted to be. Strong, respected, a leader in our clan. I craved her approval more than anything."

Ash swallowed hard around the whimpers of a much younger girl who hadn’t yet become accustomed to the sting of her mother’s rejection. "But I never got it. No matter what I did, it was never enough. She always found something to criticize, some flaws to point out. She said things…terrible things. About me, about who I am. I've always wondered if they were true. I mean, she was my mother, she should know me better than anyone. And for so long, I believed her. I still do a little. There must be something fundamentally wrong with me if my own mother couldn't love me."

An owl hooted in the distance, its mournful cry echoing through the trees. Ash took a shaky breath, feeling Love's presence wrapped around her like the warm embrace of a mother she had never experienced.

"But being here, with the Inquisition…with all of you…the more time I spend around people who actually seem to like me, the less I believe what she said. I think." She glanced at Dorian, managing a small smile. "What I’m trying to say is that our parents may have created us, but that doesn’t mean that they know us or get to decide who we are. Nor is their supposed love worth changing ourselves for. It's easier to say than believe, I know, and I’m only just starting to realize this myself, but…if you ever need someone to challenge whatever crappy views of yourself your father instilled in you, all you need to do is ask, and I am more than happy to dispel them for you."

Seconds turned to minutes as Dorian sat quietly beside her, his gaze fixed on the gently flowing stream.

"Thank you, Ashvalla. Truly," he said at last, turning to her and managing a small but genuine smile. "It seems we both have our share of parental demons to exorcise."

"That we do. Maybe we should start a support group."

"'Children of Terrible Parents Anonymous'? We could meet weekly to commiserate over wine and cheese."

"I like the way you think." Ash bumped her shoulder against his and he grinned in response.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and some of the tension drained from her shoulders, grateful for this moment of connection. How had she gone for so many years without true friendship? She’d been a fool to think she was fine without it. Surviving and living were two different things, she was learning.

After a while of enjoying the quietude and finishing up her task, Dorian spoke again, quieter than before. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like? To have parents who accepted you, supported you?"

Ash sighed, leaning back on her hands and placing the last water skin to the side. "All the time," she said. "But then I think about Rae, about the family we've built for ourselves here. It's not perfect, but I love it."

Dorian nodded thoughtfully. "You're right, of course. Though I must say, the idea of Blackwall as a father figure is both hilarious and mildly terrifying."

Ash burst out laughing, unable to contain the joyous sound that bounced off trees and skipped over the water like a perfectly smooth stone. "Oh, Creators, can you imagine? He'd probably try to teach toddlers how to wield swords and swear the Grey Warden oath."

"While Varric regaled them with highly inappropriate bedtime stories," Dorian added with a chuckle.

"And Sera leaving 'presents' in their toy boxes."

They dissolved into giggles, the absurd mental images chasing away some of the heaviness that had settled over them. As their mirth subsided, a warmth filled the empty space left behind - affection for the man sitting beside her. For all of her friends, really - this strange, mismatched group they'd cobbled together.

Though the day had been stretched on endlessly, to finish it at her best friend’s side - for that’s what they were, she had belatedly come to realize - made it all seem just a bit more bearable.

Ash stared at the chessboard, her fingers hovering over a piece without truly seeing it. The polished wood gleamed in the soft light of the gardens, but her mind was far away, lost in memories of her early clan life and conversations had beside babbling streams.

"It's your move," Cullen prompted gently, pulling her back to the present like a fish hooked on a fishing line. His voice had that effect on her, smooth and with that wonderful Ferelden accent. Gods, she could listen to him talk all day about the most boring things and want for nothing else.

"Right, sorry," Ash mumbled, moving a piece at random. She winced as Cullen's eyebrows shot up, realizing she'd probably made a terrible play.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

Ash shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. He’d explained the rules to her what felt like dozens of times, but it was always in one ear and out the other. "Yes?"

In truth, her conversation with Dorian a few days prior had stirred up doubts she'd long tried to bury due to their incessant ability to invade her limited attention. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, sharp and critical as ever.

"You must think before you speak, Ashvalla. You allow your emotions to dictate your actions. If you truly wish to stay with the clan, with your family, as the First to the Keeper, you must learn to control yourself and put the needs of others above your own."

Ash's fingers tightened around the chess piece, her knuckles turning white. She'd spent years trying to live up to her mother's impossible standards, to be the perfect daughter, the perfect First. But it had never been enough. Even in death, her mother couldn’t let her go.

"Selfish girl," her mother's voice hissed. "Always thinking of yourself.”

Her father had always been too preoccupied with Rae or whatever task her mother had assigned to him to notice the tears in his eldest daughter’s eyes. Or perhaps that had been on purpose. She’d never gotten the chance to ask.

Cullen leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with mischief that she did not pick up on. "Well, if you're sure…perhaps you should move your rook diagonally across the board and capture my knight. That would certainly turn the tide in your favour."

Ash nodded absently, her fingers closing around a pawn instead. She slid it three spaces forward, knocking over one of Cullen's bishops in the process. The piece clattered to the ground, rolling beneath the table.

Cullen stared at her, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. Ash blinked, realizing what she'd done. She glanced down at the board, then back up at Cullen, her cheeks flushing.

"Oh," she said eloquently, her ears drooping slightly.

"You're distracted." He reached across the table, his gloved hand covering hers. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," she said automatically, then cringed at how unconvincing it sounded. "It's just…how much time do you have until you need to meet with Josephine?"

"Josephine? I don't have a meeting scheduled with her today."

"Oh," Ash said again, feeling foolish. "Right. Sorry, I'm a bit out of sorts today."

Cullen looped his hand beneath hers, ignoring the fallen piece beneath the table and squeezing gently. "I have time," he said. "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

Ash hesitated, her gaze drifting back to the chessboard. The pieces stood at attention, patient and unyielding, much like the man across from her.

Yes, she found herself thinking, she did want to talk about it, with Cullen specifically.

Wordlessly, Ash rose from her seat, her fingers intertwined with his. She tugged gently and he followed without resistance, leading him across the gardens and up the stairs to her quarters.

In the gardens, the impulse had seized her, an overwhelming need to bare her soul to someone who might understand. But would he? Could he still care for her once she showed him the writhing mess she held inside? Doubt gnawed at her resolve. She was foolish to think Cullen would want to hear her petty grievances. He had his own burdens to bear, his own demons to fight. Who was she to add to that weight?

As they reached the landing, Ash paused, her free hand hovering over the door handle. Was this a mistake? Her mother's voice whispered insidiously in the back of her mind, chiding her for her weakness, her neediness. But then Cullen's thumb brushed across her knuckles, a gentle reassurance that silenced the critical voice.

The door creaked open, and they stepped inside, Cullen closing it behind them. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and turned to face him. Before she could lose her nerve, she let the words flow from her lips.

"I want to tell you exactly what happened the night of my parents' murder. I've never said it out loud before, not even to the clan elders. I let the other children talk after we were rescued, but…speaking about his issues seemed to help Dorian, so maybe it could help me too." Her fingers twisted the fabric of her robe, a nervous habit she'd never quite shaken. The faint scars around her lips tingled.

“You don't have to—"

She shook her head, cutting him off. "I want to. But…I need you to just listen, okay? When I'm done, I don't want you to say anything. Not yet. Can you do that for me?"

Cullen hesitated, clearly torn between his desire to comfort her and his need to respect her wishes. Finally, he nodded, taking her hands in his. "Of course," he said. "Whatever you need."

A small smile canted at the corners of Ash's lips, warmth blooming in her chest. Oh, how much she adored that wonderful man. "Thank you.” She glanced around the room, feeling exposed. "We might as well get comfortable. This could take a while."

She led him to the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress. As they settled, a lump under the covers began to move. Sweetpea's fluffy head emerged, blinking sleepily at the disturbance. The cat stretched, taking her time, before padding over to Ash, curling up in her lap with a contented purr.

Ash's fingers absently stroked Sweetpea's fur as she gathered her thoughts. The room was quiet save for the cat's rumbling purrs and the distant sounds of life in Skyhold filtering through the window.

“We were in bed for the night when the slavers attacked, starting with burning the halla pen as a distraction. My parents were part of the group of warriors that went out to stop them. Rae and I had gotten out of bed by the time our mother returned - only our mother. We were so afraid, though we didn’t really understand what was happening. She told us to stay together,” a half-truth that she couldn’t bring herself to fully express, “and the shems followed her in and killed her.”

Sticky, red liquid pooling on the ground, the rough scrap of a sword being pulled from her mother’s ribcage. Rae’s wailing cries.

Cullen stiffened beside her, but he respected her wishes and remained silent. 

“They hauled us away,” she continued. “I knew she was dead, but I called for her anyway. I tried to fight back, but I wasn’t strong enough to do much damage with my little flames. Still, they didn’t want to risk letting a mage have full access to their powers. I would fetch them a pretty coin so they weren’t going to kill me. They bound my hands so my palms were pressed to my stomach. I’d end up burning myself if I tried anything. For good measure, they bound my ankles and…they, uh, sewed my mouth shut.”

Rough hands holding her down, clamping around her head as she squirmed. Unfamiliar fingers holding her lips together as they sewed through her flesh. The taste of copper coating her tongue and trickling down her throat. Children shouldn’t know what it’s like to choke on their own blood.

“I guess one of them was familiar with the way Qunari treat their mages. It wouldn’t have scarred if it hadn’t gotten infected from the dirty laces they used. I think they were from one of their trousers.” 

She glanced at him then, and it almost broke her. His hands twitched in his lap as he resisted the urge to pull her close and smother her, but it was his eyes that tore at her heart. It was like looking directly into the sun, a flash of helpless anger, grief, and the softer edge of compassion, all blinding in their intensity. 

Curling her fingers into her palm, her nails pressed into the thick pad of muscle. “They threw me in a cage like some wild beast. I mean, who even has cages on hand?” A poor attempt at humour that she quickly moved past. “But then they tried to take Rae away. I heard them talking about separating the group, if one was caught, at least the others could get away and collect the payout. Rae was going to be taken from me and I just…lost it, I guess. I blacked out, and when I woke up, they were all dead. My bonds had been burned away and a hole had been melted in the bars of the cage. It was so eerily silent that for a second, I was terrified that I’d killed Rae too. It’s hard to throw up around laces sewn into your lips, but it turns out it can be done.” Another attempt at humour that did nothing to wipe the horror off his face. 

“But then I heard her start crying, and I found them all unharmed at the edge of the camp. That’s where our clan found us a few hours later when they’d managed to track our location. They never did look at me the same after that, but at least they removed the laces.”

Stroking Sweetpea's soft fur provided a much-needed distraction, yet from the corner of her eye, she could see Cullen working over everything she’d shared. She’d unloaded a heavy burden on him, and while he’d encouraged her to do so, a light gurgling of guilt started in her stomach at her request for him to keep his thoughts to himself.

But she couldn’t rescind it; it was already taking everything in her to hold back a complete emotional breakdown. Not once since that night had she fully recounted it. Not to herself and certainly not to anyone else. She’d left out key details, and maybe one day she’d confide in him, but she couldn’t bring herself to quite yet. Especially not the spirit possession. As for the unbreakable promise…she wasn’t sure what held her back. Shame, perhaps, that she’d barely managed to uphold her end. 

His hand found her chin, tilting her up to meet the molten heat of his sunshine eyes. Cupping her cheek in both hands, his thumbs traced over the dot-like scars around her lips.

Keeping his promise, he pulled her into his arms, enveloping her in a warm embrace that chased away the chill that had settled in her chest. Ash went boneless against him, her body slotting against his - the final brick laid in a lovingly built home.

Sweetpea, disturbed by the movement, let out a disgruntled meow before relocating to the foot of the bed. The cat's tail swished back and forth as she settled into a new spot, keeping a watchful eye on her humans.

Years of tension seeped out of Ash, flowing away like wine from barrels left too long in the heat. Her muscles, so long held taut with the pull of her secrets, began to relax. Ash buried her face in the soft fur of Cullen's mantle, inhaling the familiar scent of leather, armour polish, and elderflower - his withdrawal symptoms must have been giving him trouble lately. Yet he’d still taken the time to listen to her so attentively.

She thought she should probably cry. After all, wasn't that what people did after unburdening themselves of such heavy truths? But the tears wouldn't come. A strange sense of calm washed over her, as if speaking the words aloud had somehow diminished their power over her.

Cullen's lips pressed against the top of her head and his arms tightened around her, one hand cradling the back of her head while he held the small of her back. He didn't try to fill the silence with empty platitudes or well-meaning but ultimately hollow comfort. He simply held her, offering his steady presence and affection to ease the burden she’d carried on her own for so long. The memories that had haunted her didn't disappear, but they seemed less sharp-edged somehow. Less able to cut her when she least expected it.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, though it could have been mere minutes. Time seemed to lose all meaning in the safe haven of Cullen's arm.

She lifted her head, meeting Cullen's gaze. His eyes shone with understanding, compassion, and something deeper that made her stomach clench. She could name it, if she wished to, but she was not yet ready for such revelations. He held her face in his hands, his thumbs ghosting over her cheekbones. Then, slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, he leaned in and pressed soft, reverent kisses to the scars around her lips.

Ash's eyes fluttered closed, holding back Love as she raced through Ash’s torso with her full, excitable flames.

When he pulled back, Ash found herself chasing his lips, not ready to lose the comforting contact. Cullen obliged, capturing her mouth in a slow, sweet kiss that made her toes curl. His fingers tangled in her hair, cradling her head as if she were something precious, something that deserved such softness.

"Thank you," she whispered against his lips. "For listening. For…for everything."

Cullen traced the curve of her cheek. "Always.”

And she believed him, foolish as that may be.

Perhaps she would cry before the day was done, though not because she was sad, but rather that she could hardly believe how lucky she was to be with him - to feel the depths of his affections. But her luck had to run out at some point, didn’t it? It always seemed to, one way or another.

When Leliana knocked at her door the next day, her face set in a grim expression, Ash knew with unyielding certainty that the time had come to pay her dues.

Next Chapter

A/N: The chapter title was a lie and only two of the four actually walk into the bar/inn, apologies for the deception.

What news could Leliana be bringing, I wonder…find out more on Monday!

[tired-truffle]

Alistair | Fenris | Cullen | Emmrich

For scientific purposes, who was your FIRST romance in each DA game.

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.3k

Part 31 - Bad Dreams and Better Understandings

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

"I looked at him, and I thought, If I was very brave or very honest, I would tell him. I would say it, so he would know it and I would know it, and I could never take it back. But I wasn't that brave or honest, so all I did was look at him. And I think he knew anyway." - Jenny Han

Song rec: Love Like You by Rebecca Sugar

Warning: Talks of sexual abuse at the hands of demons (Cullen's backstory) though not explicitly

Masterlist

“No,” a shaky breath, shredded with panic, “leave me.”

Blinking awake to the gentle glow of moonlight filtering through the hole in the roof of a room that was not her own, yet felt as familiar and comforting as if it had always been hers, Ash's eyes gradually adjusted to the dim, silvery light. Beside her, Cullen stirred restlessly, the blankets tangled and kicked off in his sleep, revealing his glistening skin. A sheen of cold sweat clung to his body, causing the tension in his muscles to stand out, his brow pinched and his face twisted in a pained frown.

“Cullen?” Ash wiped her eyes, her voice heavy with sleep as her mind struggled to catch up to her body, having been forced awake by his agitation.

“Leave me!” he shouted, his eyes shooting open, his chest heaving as he sat up, shocking her - a surge of adrenaline chasing away the last remnants of sleep.

He glanced quickly around the room, his hand instinctively reaching to his hip for a sword that was not there.

“Cullen,” she called softly, remaining still, not wanting to startle him with an unwelcome touch or unexpected movement. His gaze landed on her, and the fear that expanded his pupils and quickened his breath dissipated like water spilled across a heated rock. Shoulders falling, he breathed a tremulous sigh of relief that sounded suspiciously like her name.

She crooked her finger, curling towards herself and beckoning him back to bed in a silent request he couldn’t refuse. He settled down on his side, easing his head onto the pillow and closed his eyes - taking a deep inhale through his nose before releasing a weary exhale. Hooking her foot under the blankets scrunched at the foot of the bed, Ash lifted them up to drape over them both, tucked snugly around his shoulders. She wiped her hand across his forehead, taking some of the cold sweat with her and pushing back the curls that clung there.

Sweetpea - who’d been curled up at the end of the bed and jostled by their movement - padded her way up to snuggle herself behind Cullen’s back. Though she’d disappeared from Ash’s view, she could still hear her rumbling purrs.

“Bad dream?”

“They always are,” he said with heavy resignation that needled at her heart. “Without lyrium, they’re worse.”

She’d fight a hundred Archdemons if it meant she could take this burden from him. The withdrawal was unpredictable, she’d seen how serious it could get - yet he preserved, fought for what he believed to be right. He was separating himself from the Chantry and their control - from the institution he’d devoted his life to - but a nagging fear lurked at the back of her mind; what if one day the withdrawal took him from her? When she’d found him throwing up in his office, nearly blind with delirium, pale as a corpse, and a fever that burned through him, she’d been horrified. How many more of those days would he have to endure? And would there come a day when he could endure them no longer?

She’d raze every Chantry to the ground as penance if that happened. She could never tell him this - a secret she’d take to her grave.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said as if reading her thoughts, his hand cupping her cheek - a gesture he seemed rather fond of, not that Ash was complaining.

She leaned into his touch, pressing a light kiss to his palm. “I’m never worried.”

A smile ticked at the corner of his mouth and she counted her lie worth it. “I almost believe you.”

The slight chuckle that fluttered through his words brought a warmth to her heart that had nothing to do with Love’s incessant heat.

“You are…” he trailed off, a half-scoff signalling his intent to continue, but she beat him to it.

“Amazing, stunningly gorgeous, perfect in every way?”

A tease to keep him from saying whatever he’d been about to confess - what she wasn’t yet ready to hear. They’d established that they cared for each other romantically, but anything more - anything deeper - wasn’t something she was prepared to face. Not yet, at least.

His eyes softened with understanding - she both hated and adored him for it - but he did not push her.

“All of the above. Though you forgot impatient and stubborn, among others.”

“How silly of me. Were you thinking along the lines of: by far the most vexing woman you’ve ever met? Or perhaps: impossible to please, yet the only one whose approval you yearn to win?”

His grin turned sheepish and she couldn’t resist the urge to kiss him, teeth and all.

“I did say all that, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she punctuated it with another kiss, and then a third. Creators, she just wanted to kiss him forever. “You did. Though I did ask you for it, quite insistently if I recall.”

“I should have been gentler.”

Ash shook her head, their noses brushing. “If you had I would not have listened.”

It was his turn to press a kiss to her waiting lips, though he did not pull away as she had. His hand cradled the back of her head, holding her to him as her arm wrapped around his torso. They had time, she would not leave him before dawn. No amount of fleeing could free her from how deeply rooted he had become. To tear him out now would leave her with a gaping hole where her heart had once been.

“Would you like to talk about your dream?” she offered when he rested their foreheads together, content to share the same air.

The wind outside their cozy hideaway whistled against the keep, the only sound besides their even breathing that reached her ears. By the time he finally spoke, she’d begun to wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

“It's nothing new,” he whispered. “It's almost always the same, with some variation. You’d think that after so long I’d be able to identify that it wasn’t real, but it pulls me back to Kinloch, and I’m powerless to stop it.”

She’d figured as much. From the way he spoke about it, or rather, what he didn’t say, it was evident that his time in the Ferelden Circle clung to him like an unwanted shadow, hollowing out his eyes and filling his pores.

“It's difficult for me to share what happened, the full extent of it.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to, but I want you to know that nothing you could tell me would make me care for you any less. You survived, Cullen. I could never be anything but grateful for that.”

She traced the scar on Cullen's lip with her thumb, feeling the slight ridge where the skin had closed over. His eyes fluttered closed at her touch, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the wind outside.

Silence settled between them. She was content to let their conversation rest if that was where he wanted to leave it.

After a long moment, Cullen spoke again, hesitant but resolute. "I want you to know something." He paused, gathering his thoughts. Ash waited patiently, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin.

"The first time we were together, intimately," he began, a faint blush colouring his cheeks, "it was the first time since Kinloch that I truly wanted to be with someone in that way."

Ash's breath caught in her throat, but she remained silent, giving him space.

"In Kirkwall, I tried to lay with another a few times. I thought it was what I was supposed to do, to move on. But it always left me feeling empty. Hollow.” His brow furrowed as he recalled memories that she had no doubt caused him pain. How lonely he must have felt. “But with you, it was different. It felt right. Healing, in a way."

Ash stared at him, her mind reeling. She thought back to their first night together, how confident and skilled he had been. How he had known exactly where to touch her, how to make her body sing.

"But you were so good at it," she blurted out, unable to keep the incredulity from her voice.

Cullen's embarrassment gave way to a pleased smile, though his cheeks remained flushed. "Was I?" he asked, a hint of pride creeping into his tone.

Ash nodded emphatically. "Creators, Cullen, you were incredible. I just assumed you'd had plenty of practice."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that endearing way he had. "I'm flattered you thought I had experience. But no, I had little to speak of.”

The full implications of Cullen's confession sank in with the abruptness of a bag of bricks dropped on her head. Her stomach twisted with guilt as she realized what she'd done. She'd slept with him - the first time he’d been comfortable sleeping with someone,

perhaps in his entire life, and especially after the events at Kinloch, for reasons that eluded her understanding but she could guess at - and then vanished before he could even wake up. For weeks after, she'd continued to seek him out for physical pleasure, using his body while denying him the chance to voice his feelings. All the while knowing deep down that she reciprocated them, even if she couldn't admit it to herself.

"Oh, Cullen," she breathed, Love singing a mournful tune in her chest. "I'm so sorry. I left you right after and you—”

What could she say? That she wouldn't have slept with him? That wasn't true. That she would have stayed? Maybe, but the fear that had gripped her heart that morning might have driven her away regardless.

The first time I awoke alone, I wondered if I’d done something wrong, if I’d gone too far that night and scared you off, or if it wasn't as enjoyable for you as it had been for me. How had she not noticed? What he’d said to her that night he’d finally gotten her to confess her feelings, she’d looked right past it.

She could see it all so clearly now - Cullen waking up alone, confused and hurt, wondering what he'd done wrong. The vulnerability he must have felt, opening himself up to her in such an intimate way, only to be abandoned. And still, he'd come back to her, time and time again, never holding it against her or demanding an explanation.

"I treated you so callously," she whispered, her chin wobbling. "I was so caught up in my own fears that I didn't stop to consider yours. It should have been special for you, with someone who stayed, who held you afterwards and told you how much you meant to them. I robbed you of that experience, Cullen. I can never give that back to you. And then I kept coming back, using you for my own gratification without ever giving you the chance to tell me how you felt—”

"Ashvalla," Cullen interrupted gently, taking her hands in his. "It's alright. You didn't know, and I didn't tell you now because I wanted an apology or for you to feel guilty about it."

He squeezed her hands reassuringly. "I enjoyed being with you, truly. I did say it was healing, did I not? Would I have preferred if you had been there when I woke up? Of course. But I understood, even then, that you were dealing with your own struggles. My reasons for telling you this are not clear as I have not fully explained myself, but I would like to, if you’d allow me.”

“Please,” she said quickly, blinking back the hot tears that pricked at her eyes. Get it together, Ashvalla, she thought to herself, this isn’t about you.

Cullen took a deep breath, his eyes searching Ash's face as if seeking reassurance. She nodded encouragingly, squeezing his hands in return.

"At Kinloch Hold," he began, low and strained, but he soldiered on, "when the blood mages and demons took over, they picked off my fellow Templars one by one. I watched them fall, helpless to save them. Until I was the only one left."

She could almost see it - Cullen, younger and more naive, trapped in a nightmare come to life. The scent of blood and smoke, the screams of his comrades echoing through stone halls. She shuddered, drawing closer to him instinctively.

"I don't know if there were multiple demons or just one particularly cruel one," Cullen continued, his gaze distant. "But a desire demon, it took a special interest in me. It used the form of…" He swallowed hard, shame heating his skin and spreading over his ears. "There was a mage apprentice, Solana Amell. I-I had feelings for her, though I never acted on them. The demon knew, somehow. It wore her face, her body."

Cullen, terrified and alone, faced with a twisted version of the girl he cared for. The demon's cruel laughter as it taunted him, wearing Amell's skin like a costume.

"It would come to me, night after night. Offering comfort, release, escape. Wearing her face, speaking with her voice. And I…Maker forgive me, there were moments when I almost gave in." He shook his head, self-loathing twisting his features. "I wanted to give in, to end my torment. I was weak, I-"

"No," Ash interrupted firmly. "You were tortured, Cullen. Relentlessly. And still, you held on. That's not weakness. That's incredible strength.”

Cullen's eyes met hers, vulnerable and searching and she stared back, unflinching. "I've never told anyone the full extent of what happened there. I was so ashamed. I suppose I still am. The memories refuse to abate even now and they haunt me in my dreams.”

Ash's heart ached for him, for the young man he had been, forced to endure such suffering. What she wouldn’t give to go back in time and save him from it all. It made more sense than ever why he had distrusted mages for so long. How he could trust her now…Creators, she - a mage - had used his body too, and yet there he was, naked in his bed with her, skin against scarred skin. No amount of his forgiveness or understanding would ever abate her guilt, so she chose not to voice it. It wasn’t his job to make her feel better about the actions she’d willingly taken.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," she whispered fiercely. "You survived something horrific. The fact that you're here, that you've become the man you are today - that's a testament to your resilience."

"That's why I wanted to tell you this," he said softly. "So you could understand what you mean to me."

She was sure she was missing something, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. "I don't understand."

Cullen took a deep breath, bringing her hands up to rest a hairsbreadth away from his lips. "After Kinloch, I thought I'd never be able to trust anyone again, let alone be intimate with them. The very idea of it filled me with dread. But with you…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. Ash waited, her heart pounding in her chest.

"With you, it's different," he continued. "You make me feel safe. When I'm with you, the nightmares hold less power. The memories fade into the background. You've given me back something I thought was lost forever."

Ash's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "Cullen, I-"

He shook his head, silencing her gently. "Let me finish, please.” Whatever he wanted, she was more than inclined to give it to him. “When we're together, when you touch me, it's like you're chasing away the shadows. Every kiss, every caress - it's replacing those awful memories with new ones. Beautiful ones."

Tears gathered in Ash's eyes and she desperately clawed them back. She had no idea she'd had such an impact on him.

"Even when you left that first morning," he said, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "I wasn't angry. Though I was saddened that you were no longer there, I was also grateful. Grateful that you'd shown me it was possible to feel something other than fear and revulsion at the thought of being touched."

Ash's throat tightened and she cleared it to no avail. She wanted to speak, to tell him how much he meant to her, but she couldn't find her voice - lost somewhere between the wriggling spirit and the tears that stubbornly clung to her eyes.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Finally, she managed to whisper, “Curse you for always saying the sweetest things and turning me into a blubbering mess. It's unbecoming.”

Cullen chuckled softly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down Ash's cheek. "I rather like you this way.”

Ash scoffed. Of course, he did, and curse her weak heart for being more than happy to go through it if it made him happy. “You’re lucky I care for you as much as I do.”

The words felt inadequate, barely scratching the surface of the emotions swirling inside her. But it was all she could manage for now, and from the way Cullen's eyes lit up, she knew it was enough.

"That's all I need to hear.”

He kissed her then, slow and deep, all his ardour and devotion falling from his mouth to hers and she drank it up greedily. Ash felt something shift inside her. The walls she'd built around her heart crumbled just a little more, piece by piece. And for once, she didn't try to stop it.

When they broke apart, she didn’t move back, his lips ghosting against hers as he spoke. “I prefer this method of chasing away bad dreams to any other."

"Mm, me too," Ash agreed, tucking her head beneath his chin and slotting her leg between his, his hand coming up to hold her bare hip.

Cullen pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Shall we get some sleep? I have a feeling we'll have a busy day ahead of us."

Ash nodded against his chest, already feeling drowsiness returning. “It’s always busy,” she grumbled, though she didn’t dislike it. Staying busy let her run from her more troublesome thoughts.

The warmth of Cullen’s body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled her into a drowsy state. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she felt herself drifting off, cocooned in the safety of his arms. The wind outside had quieted, and Sweetpea’s purrs had ceased long ago.

Just as sleep was about to claim her, Ash yawned and murmured, "Goodnight, ma vhenan."

The moment the words left her lips, her eyes flew open, panic surging through her veins like ice water. She froze, her body tensing against Cullen's, praying to every god she could think of that he hadn't heard her slip, or if he had, that he wouldn't ask what it meant.

Ma vhenan. My heart. The endearment had fallen from her lips unbidden, a truth she wasn't ready to face, let alone confess to Cullen. She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

Mercifully, Cullen's voice drifted down to her, heavy with sleep and muffled against her hair.

"G'night, Ash." His arms tightened around her briefly before relaxing again.

Relief flooded her, leaving her limp and boneless against him. He hadn't heard, or if he had, he hadn't understood. The secret endearment remained safely tucked away in the depths of her heart, unspoken and unacknowledged.

As she waited for the adrenaline to fade, over Cullen’s shoulder Ash could make out the shape of his armour stand in the corner and her robes flung haphazardly over top - her smalls and breastband hooked over the pommel of his sword propped carefully against it. The sight of it struck her as oddly domestic and eased some of the encroaching fear. It was alright. He was human, he didn’t know what ma vhenan meant - the books he’d read on Dalish culture must not have covered that topic.

Exhaustion quickly crept back in, softening the edges of her thoughts and enveloping her in Cullen’s familiar scent - armour polish and elderflower. Comforting, and though he’d stolen her heart, there was no one else she’d rather have given it to. 

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you to the Cullen Romancers discord for giving me the idea for this chapter <3 love you all!

I do love a virgin Cullen, but I think this history suits them both better for the purposes of this specific story. I hope you enjoyed it!

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.6k

Part 30 - Unpredictable and Dangerous vs Steadfast and Reliable

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

"I am afraid of you. In loving me, you hold a knife at my throat. In loving you, I tell you exactly where to cut. We are two against the world, yet I still do not trust your hand in mine. This is new, and I am terrified." - A.J.

Masterlist

"It's like a forest in my hands," Cole said, his pale fingers tracing the intricate wooden patterns of June's Knot. "Branches twisting, roots reaching, but never quite touching."

Ash glanced at the spirit-boy as they strolled along Skyhold’s battlements, his wide-brimmed hat casting shadows across his face.

"That's the point, Cole. It's not meant to be solved. It's meant to challenge your mind, keep your thoughts sharp." She paused, leaning against the stone parapet. "Us Dalish believe that puzzling over it helps us connect with the creativity of June, the God of Craft."

Cole's brow furrowed, his hands still working the puzzle. "But it makes people frustrated, thoughts tangling like the wood. Cursing, throwing, giving up." He looked up at Ash, his eyes wide. "How does that help?"

“That's part of it too.” Creators only know how many times she’d launched her puzzle across the aravel. It hadn’t been until Keeper Deshanna had explained the true purpose that she’d understood - though still irksome despite it all, she wanted to win. “Learning to push through frustration, to keep trying even when it seems impossible." She plucked the puzzle from his hands. Her fingers moved over the wood, slotting a piece into place. "See? You can make progress, even if you never quite finish."

As she returned it, their fingers brushed, and Ash felt a familiar tingle - Love stirring at the contact with another spirit. She quickly pulled her hand away, clearing her throat and resumed their stroll.

Cole tilted his head. "It's singing. Happy to be touched, to be tried. Thank you. I understand now."

"I'm glad you like it. It's…nice, sharing a bit of my culture with someone who appreciates it."

Cole nodded absentmindedly as he resumed his puzzling. "The knot is like you, Ash. Complex, beautiful, unsolvable. But people keep trying anyway."

Ash stumbled, caught off guard by the spirit's insight. Before she could respond, he thrust a folded scrap of parchment into her hands.

"For Cullen," Cole said simply. "It will help him remember."

"Remember what?" Ash asked, but Cole was already walking away, leaving her holding the mysterious note and with a head full of questions. She turned the paper over, fighting the urge to peek. Whatever it was, it was for Cullen's eyes only.

Disliking that he’d known she was going to visit Cullen, Ash spent a few more minutes idly pacing the battlements between his office and the Herald’s Rest. She wasn’t naive enough to think that everyone wasn’t aware of what they were up to before they’d stopped hiding it. But at least they’d pretended not to, had been subtler about it. 

Just that morning, Varric had cornered her outside the tavern. The dwarf's eyes had twinkled with mischief as he'd sidled up to her, Bianca slung casually across his back.

"So, Frosty," he'd drawled, "word on the street is you and Curly are finally official. Care to share the details with your favourite dwarf?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Varric," she'd replied, pretending to be uninterested, though knowing he wouldn’t fall for it.

Varric had chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on, don't insult my intelligence. I'm a storyteller, it's my job to notice these things. Besides, it's the only piece of gossip anyone seems inclined to talk about lately.”

Ash rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at her lips. "And here I thought you'd be more interested in the impending doom threatening all of Thedas. My mistake."

Varric waved his hand dismissively. "End of the world? Old news. But the Commander becoming involved with a member of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, her sister no less? Now that's a story people want to hear."

“Then I’m afraid you’re out of luck, Master Tethras. There is no story I am willing to share.”

"Can't blame a guy for trying," Varric had raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just remember, when you're ready to share your epic romance with the world, I've got dibs on writing it."

"Oh, please. As if I'd let you anywhere near my romantic relationships with that quill of yours. You'd turn it into some tawdry romance novel faster than I could say 'Andraste's flaming knickers'."

"You wound me, Frosty!” he said with a grin that promised retribution. “I'll remember that.”

She prayed to her gods that he didn’t.

When she finally decided she’d given it enough time, she headed to Cullen’s office, only to find him scowling while pacing, hands clasped tight behind his back. 

“Do I want to ask?” Ash took a few tentative steps into the room, careful to give him his space. 

Cullen scoffed, gaze trained on the ground like he could incinerate the creaky floorboards with his eyes. “Ask your sister,” he spat, “it was her initiative.” 

Ash pursed her lips against her instinctive reaction to defend Rae. “Well, I’m not with my sister right now, I’m here with you. If you’d like to wear a hole in the floor, I won’t stop you, but you’re going to be extra pissy when you fall through.”

The glare she received was nothing short of furious.

“Alright,” she held out her hands in a gesture meant to placate, “not the time for jokes, I get it. If you’d like to fume on your own, I can leave, but I’ll stay if you’d like to talk about it.” 

His eye twitched as he locked his jaw in self-restraint, working over whether he’d like to accept her offer. For how angry he was, his skin was rather pale, the bags under his eyes pronounced. Ash had no doubt there was a headache raging between his temples. 

“The Inquisitor is putting everyone in Skyhold in danger by inviting her here. I cannot fathom what she’s thinking!” Cullen raged, his hands moving expressively - having decided that he would like to talk about it, though civility escaped him. 

“Who?” For the life of her, Ash couldn’t think of anyone that Rae would invite that would have Cullen so incensed. 

“A possessed Avvar mage.”

“A what?” Ash’s brain became fuzzy with white noise and she took a step forward in shock. 

His mouth curled in response, his lips downturned with irritation.

"She insists that spirit possession is different than demonic, but the point is that there's a mage, possessed by some unknown being, being invited to walk amongst our ranks without any supervision."

It took everything in Ash not to react, to keep her face carefully blank and not betray the pounding of anxiety in her chest. Love’s presence almost seemed to shrink, petering out until she was nearly undetectable, even to Ash. 

“Oh?” Ash clasped her hands behind her back to hide their tremor, mirroring him as though she could blend in, transform herself into his image so he wouldn’t see her as a threat. 

Cullen's gaze was piercing as he halted before her. ”What does that mean?" he demanded gruffly. "You say it like I'm being completely unreasonable.”

“I mean this in the kindest way possible, but could the headache I can practically see brewing behind your eyes be contributing to how upset this has made you?”

He scowled so deeply that Ash wasn’t sure his mouth would ever untwist. “My headache is irrelevant.” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, undercutting his statement. “We don’t even have the proper time to vet her, and the Inquisitor refused to allow a Templar to accompany her. We have no idea what she’s capable of.” 

“A Templar watchdog and an interrogation aren’t exactly the most welcoming,” Ash pointed out as gently as she could. 

Cullen looked up at her with narrowed eyes. “It’s safest.” 

“Maybe, but Rae’s never been the safest in anything she does,” Ash said, and Cullen didn’t argue, understanding but disliking her answer all the same. “And it’s not like there aren’t plenty of soldiers and Templars around Skyhold if something goes wrong.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, his frown deepening as he fought against reason. “Having precautions in place to prevent a disaster from occurring is more effective than waiting for it to happen and reacting accordingly.” 

“Why are you so sure something bad will happen?”

A haunted look crossed his face, filled with dread and accompanied by memories she was not aware of. “The last time I allowed a spirit-possessed mage to roam free, hundreds died when he blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and this entire mage rebellion began. They are too unpredictable. I will not risk more lives because of my oversight.” 

Unpredictable, dangerous, more trouble than they’re worth. That’s what he’d see her as if he knew. That anger and terror would be turned on her and she would lose him. Their relationship couldn’t continue; all roads led to pain, yet Ash was unable to come clean and end it. Selfish, just as her mother knew she was. 

“The mage rebellion was going to happen no matter what, it was just a question of when - and you know why.” Contrition coloured his cheeks at Ash’s words, so caught up in his fear that he’d slipped back into old habits. “Nor is it fair to hold all spirit-possessed mages accountable for one’s actions. I don’t hold you accountable for the crimes that the Chantry or humans in general have committed against my people.” 

"No, that’s not—" He sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that we have no way to know for certain what that spirit wants, how it influences her, or what it might do. That's why I want her supervised."

“You speak as though the spirit is the only one in charge, but it’s the mage’s mind and body. Don’t her wishes matter?”

That question made him pause completely, his forehead creasing as though he didn’t understand what she was getting at. "When there's a spirit possessing their mind, their wants don't matter. They aren't able to discern between a choice made of their own free will, or that of the spirit that's taken control of them."

“How do you know that?” Ash pressed, needing him to…she wasn’t sure what she needed, but it made her feel almost feral with desperation. 

"Because that's how possessing works." He scrubbed a hand over his face, the space between them feeling more like the Waking Sea than a few feet. "When a spirit controls you, they use you like a puppet. They take the mage’s will out of the equation entirely."

“That’s how demon possession works, not spirit.” Ash wanted to scream at herself to stop, but her tongue kept forming sounds without her approval. This argument was too close to home, and some small part of her died every time he spoke - withering like a delicate flower exposed to too much sun.

"There's hardly a difference between the two, and you know it," he huffed before starting to pace once more. "Demons and spirits are two sides of the same coin."

“How many spirits have you interacted with that make you such an expert on this subject?” Why couldn’t she stop pushing?

"What does that matter?" Cullen stopped in his tracks again, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded her. "Why are you pushing this?"

She’d just been asking herself that question, and she didn’t have an answer she wanted to give him. “I don’t know.”

Smooth cover, Ash, he’ll never suspect me now. 

“You don't know," he echoed, the words coming out more as a frustrated huff than a question. “You never push something for no reason. So what aren't you telling me?"

Sarcasm had never failed her before, why should it now when she laid it on so thick? “Oh, Cullen, you finally caught me, I’ve been possessed by a demon this whole time, now I have to come clean.” She flourished her fingers like she was meant for the stage and not for the darkest cellar known to man and elvhen-kind.

"This isn't a joke, Ashvalla.” Ash would argue that there was a joke in everything if one took the time to look. "Why are you arguing with me about this? Why is it so important to you that this mage be left unmonitored?"

He wouldn’t rest until he had an answer. She had to give him something before he became too suspicious, before he saw the nervousness in her ready-to-dart stance. Giving him a half-truth should suffice.

“Because I was afraid of you when I first met you. I was a foreign Dalish mage and I worried that you and the rest of the Templars would cut me down or make me tranquil the second I stepped one foot out of line. Which, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, I tend to do a lot. Respectfully, you don’t know what that’s like, and I don’t want this mage to feel that way.”

Cullen’s shoulders slumped, and he closed the gap between them in a few long strides - he would cross the Waking Sea for her, metaphorical or physical, but would he still if he knew the secret she hid? His hands rested on her waist, a troubled look crossing his face. “I know it isn’t fair. I just…I want to keep everyone safe. Magic and swords alike are dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Have some faith in Rae,” Ash placed a hand on his chest over his breastplate, the tremor soothed by his closeness. “She wouldn’t have invited this mage here if she thought they were a threat. She doesn’t trust easily, so they must have done something to win her over.”

For a moment, he was quiet, allowing himself the opportunity to release the agitation he’d been building. 

"I suppose you're right, as much as I don't like it," he mumbled begrudgingly. Cullen lifted his hand, covering the one on his chest.

Ash's heart skipped a beat as she remembered Cole's note. "Speaking of spirits,” the perfect segue away from that nightmare of a conversation topic, “I almost forgot. Cole asked me to give you this."

She fished the folded parchment from her pocket, handing it over to Cullen. His eyes moved quickly over the scratchy script that Ash could not read from her position. His lips tightened as though he’d tasted something bitter.

"What is it?" Ash asked, unable to reel in her curiosity.

Cullen sighed, handing her the note. "He keeps sending me these, but I don't know why."

Ash read the scrawled message: "Uldred marked you, but didn't make you. You stayed you."

She paused, reflecting on her brief interaction with Cole. "He told me it was to help you remember.”

Cullen scoffed. "As if I need help to remember. I live with those memories every day."

The pain in his voice made Ash's chest ache. Her fingers brushed against his stubbled cheek, his skin warm to the touch. "I don't think he means it like that," she said gently. "If I had to guess, he wants you to remember that you survived it and how far you've come since then."

Cullen's jaw clenched, but he didn't pull away. He leaned into her, his eyes closing briefly as if drawing strength from her presence. When he opened them again, they were filled with a storm of emotions - pain, anger, fear, and something softer that made Ash's stomach flop.

"Sometimes I wonder if I have come far at all," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "The nightmares, the cravings… they're still there, lurking beneath the surface."

She placed her hand on his forehead and clucked her tongue.

"From what you’ve told me, you’ve come quite far, and I’m sure you’ll go further yet. Give yourself some time to adjust, you’ve spent your life jumping from one thing to the next. But forget the headache, Cullen, you're burning up," she tutted, letting cold magic flow from her fingertips.

He blinked, having not considered this. "When did I get so hot?"

"I’d say you always have been, but I did only meet you this year," Ash teased with a smirk. "Come on, you need to sit down before you fall over."

He glared at her halfheartedly, but the affection he held for her undermined it.

She guided him to his chair, then turned to lock the office doors. When she returned, Ash gently pushed Cullen back and settled herself in his lap, her hand on his forehead and the other resting at the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his sweat-dampened curls.

"What are you doing?" he asked, though his hands automatically held her hips.

"Making sure you actually rest," she replied primly. When he offered no rebuttal, she curled in, resting her head on his shoulder. Ash's fingers worked their way through Cullen's hair, her magic flowing steadily to ease his fever.

Cullen's words echoed in her head, each one a dagger to her heart. Unpredictable, he'd called spirit-possessed mages. Dangerous. The fear in his eyes when he'd spoken of Anders and Kirkwall…that fear cut Ash deeper than any blade ever could.

What would he do if he knew? Would those amber eyes turn cold with suspicion and hate? Would his gentle hands, currently resting on her hips, push her away in disgust?

Ash swallowed hard, fighting back the lump in her throat. She'd argued for the Avvar mage, desperate to make Cullen understand. But in truth, she'd been arguing for herself, for Love. Selfish, as always. But would Cullen think so, would he agree with her mother’s assessment? A flicker of doubt slipped through the cracks.

“If I was possessed, what would you do?” The question tumbled from her lips before she could clamp her mouth shut. 

He tensed beneath her, his arms curling protectively around her waist and holding tighter against him, almost uncomfortable as his chest plate dug into her softer parts. “Please, don’t ask me this.”

Steadfast and reliable, Cullen could be trusted to do what was necessary, even if it broke his heart. 

“I think I know the answer.” She’d known all along, it was silly to ask and expect a different response. What had she wanted? ‘I’ll love you no matter what, Ashvalla, even if you are everything I fear most.’

Foolish, she was always so foolish when it came to love. 

“I don’t think you do. It’s not that simple, and I…I would rather not consider it.” He placed a soft kiss on the side of her head, his breath puffing against her hair. 

If Ash had her way, he never would. 

“What’s this I hear about you inviting a spirit-possessed Avvar mage to Skyhold without Templar guards?” 

Ash caught Rae as she strode with purpose towards the training yards, her fingers twitching at her sides like they were itching for her daggers. 

Casting a sidelong glance at her sister, Rae didn’t break her stride. “Is Cullen still in a tizzy about it or were you able to distract him with your…” Rae briefly lowered her gaze to Ash’s chest. “Feminine wiles?” 

Ash crinkled her nose, she would have preferred Rae to have said 'large tits’ - feminine wiles sounded like something out of a cheesy romance novel. “I talked him down, but not before getting an earful about it.” 

“I don’t see the issue.” Rae turned a corner, heading towards the dummies stationed at the corner of the training yard, already unstrapping her daggers from their holsters. “Sigrid isn’t a threat any more than anyone else with power. She was honest when I confronted her, and Solas vouched for her spirit. I want to understand more. Our Keeper made it seem like spirits were just as bad as demons, but clearly they aren’t. And if she’s wrong about that…”

Rae trailed off, securing her stance and launching a dagger at the dummy, landing in the centre of its chest with a dull thud. 

“The Keeper isn’t always right, even though she pretends to be,” Ash offered. “She was wrong about what you’re capable of, for starters.”

Rae huffed, ears tilted down. “Thanks.” 

Another dull thud as her second dagger hit the dummy in the face. 

“I, for one, am glad you aren’t bringing this mage in under armed Templar guard. It’s quite the bold statement, and I’m sure many of the mages you recruited will appreciate your trust.”

Rae pursed her lips, her gaze fixed on the handles of her daggers where they stuck out of the dummy. Both lethal throws with deadly precision. “I didn’t do it for them.” 

“That doesn’t mean they can’t take meaning from it.” 

“I guess.” 

Rae stalked towards the battered training dummy, fluid and predatory. Yanking the daggers free, she twirled them deftly between her fingers. The late afternoon sun glinted off the blades as Rae resumed her stance, muscles coiled and ready to strike again.

Ash watched her sister, how graceful yet lethal Rae had become. Each throw landed with pinpoint accuracy - throat, heart, eye socket. Thud. Thud. Thud. The rhythmic sound of steel sinking into straw-stuffed burlap.

A light breeze swept across the training yard, carrying the scent of autumn leaves and woodsmoke. Perhaps Ash had misjudged her sister's potential reaction to spirit possession. Rae seemed genuinely curious about Sigrid, even defensive of her. It was a far cry from the knee-jerk fear and revulsion Ash had expected.

For the first time in years, a tiny spark of hope kindled in Ash's chest. Maybe, just maybe, she could tell Rae the truth someday. To finally unburden herself, to share her deepest secret with the person she trusted most in the world. To no longer carry the weight of it alone. Not now, of course - there was still too much at stake, too many variables.

Her sister's strength and conviction never ceased to amaze her. If anyone could understand, could accept her for who and what she truly was, it would be Rae.

Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday.

Next Chapter

A/N: Ash - Calling Cullen pissy to his face Rae - Referring to Cullen as ‘in a tizzy’ Cullen - (Affectionately) wondering why he puts up with them

Sorry, had to test the relationship immediately. But they survived! For now. Also, when I saw this war table mission involving Sigrid, I knew I had to add it to the fic so stay tuned for that conversation