#dai fanfic

[weaveandwood]

In Hushed Whispers

There was a little interest in me posting some Dragon Age: Inquisition fanfic here, so I'm going to share the one shot I have written! I know I have a few mutuals who are also doing their first playthrough of Inquisition, so if you haven't done the quest this one-shot is named for, don't read this! Consider this your warning!

Pairing: Cullen/Female Lavellan (Brinni, my dual wielding rogue) Words: 1,374

Angst

Read on AO3!

Cullen threw the crumpled up message across the room and leaned over the war table, shaking his head, willing himself to take his next breath even as dread constricted every fiber of his being. 

Dead. 

He slammed his fist against the table, toppling over the markers that had been so carefully placed earlier that day. He told her it was a trap - he told them all! She wasn’t an idiot, she knew it was clearly a trap as well. Still, she was determined - and that determination had doomed them all.  

He paced the length of the room. Back and forth, over and over, replaying their last conversation in his head, trying to figure out what he could have said differently. 

“Redcliffe has repelled thousands of assaults. If you go in there you’ll die, and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it,” he had told her. Of course, there was the unspoken reason he hadn’t wanted her to go, one he was too foolish and too scared to voice. No, better to have her believe he only saw her as a tool, a weapon for them to wield. Nothing more. 

Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana argued the optics of marching on the castle, the consequences of leaving a foreign magister in power on Ferelden land. It appeared they had been outplayed. No matter how hard Cullen stared at the table, a strategy would not come to him. 

“There has to be something we’re not thinking of,” she had said quietly, finally breaking the silence and looking at each of them. “Another way in.”

Discussions took place. Brinni paced back and forth while Leliana and Cassandra spoke of the secret entrance for the family and planned the “distraction” Brinni and her envoy would be for the magister. Someone suddenly barged into the war room with insider knowledge of the magister’s plans - Brinni seemed to trust him and his easy confidence, so everyone else did as well. 

It was settled. They would leave first thing in the morning. 

 “The plan puts you in the most danger - we can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you,” he said to her before parting, his cool demeanor soothing over the storm within. Don’t go. It’s a trap. You will die. 

She went. So did Blackwall (prisoner), Varric (prisoner), and the new mage, Dorian (dead). 

Dead. 

If he had just talked to her, told her how important she was - not just to the Inquisition, but to everyone in their inner circle even after this short amount of time, how he looked forward to reading her messages from her seemingly never-ending duties in the Hinterlands, how their conversations while he was overseeing the training exercises were the best sort of distraction…

He sighed. She still would have gone. Still would have died. 

He walked out of the building, staring at the breach in the sky. What were they going to do now? 

Months passed. It was almost a year to the day since the Inquisition lost their one hope at closing the Breach. Cullen had been right about Redcliffe. He threw troops at it, but they were no match for The Elder One’s demon army. Thedas was gone - everything was covered in red lyrium. Leliana had been captured on a spy mission months ago. Cassandra and Iron Bull led a charge soon after the news of Brinni’s death reached Haven with the rest of her companions - they never returned. Josephine tried her hand at diplomacy and was caught by a demon possessing a nobleman. 

Dead, dead, dead. 

Only a handful of troops remained. Templars, warriors, and even a few elves had traveled to Haven after everything really started going south about a month after…after her death. They fought for the fallen Herald of Andraste. He fought for her. Brinni Lavellan. He still found his thoughts easily drifting to her. He did a double take every time he saw an elf with short white hair the color of starlight. He missed her, even now. Even as he mounted his favorite horse outside of Redcliffe Village, ready to lead one last charge against the castle. One last attempt at saving the world, though it was certain they would all end up the same as everyone else who had tried.

Would he see her once this was over? He mulled the thought over as they marched on the castle through fields of red lyrium, the power surrounding it warm and intoxicating. He saw corpses with crystals growing out of them and shuddered. What world was left to save? They got to the bridge and he dismounted, taking all of the riding gear off of his horse. He dropped it to the ground before slapping the horse’s hindquarters, sending it off to live whatever life it could manage. There would be no one left to care for it after today and he could not bring himself to watch the horse die in battle. He smiled to himself. “The Commander has a soft spot” - she had teased him about that once in the stables, long ago.

A horrible grinding noise brought his attention back to the present, the telltale sound of the demons that had laid waste to the land and the people of Thedas. This was it. He raised his sword, rallying the small troop behind him and charged. 

They fought as well as they could, taking down a few demons while the demons took down more of them. He watched as they fought and fell, their numbers shrinking further and further until only a true handful were left, each fighting their own hopeless battle. A cry, a thud. Dead. A shout, a demonic laugh. Dead. 

“Sir, behind yo-” someone called out, seconds too late. Cullen started to turn, his sword preparing to strike when he felt a sharp pain in his chest, followed by searing heat and frigid cold seeping through his body. He fell to the ground, looking up at the roiling green-grey sky and tried unsuccessfully to remember what it looked like on a clear, blue, cloudless day before magic destroyed everything. He was lying in something warm and wet and he was tired, so tired. His eyes fluttered and the world grew dim. The cries of battle were quiet now and the grinding noise from the demons drifted further from his consciousness. 

It was over. 

“Sir? Sir? A message from Redcliffe,” a voice called from outside the door of his office, accompanied by urgent knocks. 

Cullen startled and sat up. Had he been sleeping at his desk? The long nights and early mornings had caught up with him, it appeared - he would need to keep a better schedule. He cleared his throat, calling for the messenger to enter and took the small envelope from him. 

He quickly ripped it open to read the missive from Brinni’s operation, his eyes scanning desperately for a key word to indicate how the mission went. He quickly crumpled it up and threw it across the room to prevent himself from spending all day reading it over and over again before leaning over his desk, his head in his hands. 

Mission successful. Recruited mages as allies. Will explain when we return. - B

She was fine. She didn’t die, she wasn’t taken prisoner, and she had recruited the mages as allies for the Inquisition. Once again, she exceeded his expectations. He leaned back in his chair, his face to the ceiling and laughed loudly, the cord of tension within him that had been wound so tightly since they left finally loosening. Was the tension he had been harboring solely due to the fate of their Inquisition? They would be able to continue closing Fade Rifts and perhaps close the Breach with the assistance of the recruited mages. Or…was it something that was beginning to take hold inside him, gentle and warm, just like the way she smiled at him during her rounds the other day when she found him in the stables, brushing his favorite horse’s mane and talking sweetly to it? “The Commander has a soft spot,” she had teased him. 

It appeared that the Commander may have had more than one.

[schreibschuppen]

RaSen | DeviantArt

--- minimal NSFW i guess? --- “Das wäre alles.” 

Cullens Blick streifte sie nur kurz, als er seine Männer mit einem Nicken entließ. Fast bedauerte sie es. Seine gerade Haltung, die Härte in seiner Stimme, die keinen Widerspruch zuließ, die absolute Sicherheit in dem, was er tat… Kommandant Cullen berührte etwas in ihr, von dem sie fast vergessen hatte, dass es da war.

Mit festen, selbstsicheren Schritten durchquerte er den Raum, und sie war froh, dass die Steinwand in ihrem Rücken ihr Halt bot. Ihren Knien traute sie nicht, nicht wenn dieser strenge Blick in seinen Augen lag. Nicht, wenn er so dicht an ihr vorbei ging, dass der Geruch des Leders in ihre Nase stieg, die leise Ahnung von Metall, das leise Klirren seiner Stiefel ein dumpfes Ziehen in ihrem Unterkörper auslöste. Mit einer energischen Geste schloss er die Tür. Er lehnte sich dagegen, mit beiden Händen, als könne er so mit den Soldaten den ganzen Krieg aus dem Raum hinaus schieben. Kommandant Cullen schmolz, verflüchtigte sich mit einem leisen Seufzen. “Es hört nie auf, oder? Es gibt immer noch etwas zu tun.” “Wärst Du lieber woanders?” Cullen sah auf und warf ihr ein Lächeln zu. Ein müdes Lächeln, aber die Wärme in seinem Blick trieb ihr die Röte in die Wangen. “Nicht solange Du hier bist.” Er stieß sich von der Tür ab und ging zurück zu seinem Schreibtisch, der noch immer von Papieren und Krügen übersäht war. Oh nein, er würde sich jetzt nicht wieder in Arbeit verkriechen. Sie folgte ihm, aber bevor sie ihn einholen konnte, hatte er den Tisch erreicht. Aber er stützte sich nur darauf, räusperte sich leise. “Und wenn… wenn der Krieg vorbei ist, würde ich gerne hier bleiben. Nicht hier, aber bei dir.” Noch immer stand er mit dem Rücken zu ihr, aber sie konnte sehen, wie er die Schultern straffte, nur, um im nächsten Moment den Kopf ein wenig hängen zu lassen, so, wie er es immer tat, wenn er unsicher war. “Natürlich nur, wenn- ich… ich meine, ich weiß nicht, was Du- ich will nicht-” “Cullen.” Ihre Stimme war leise, und sie legte eine Hand auf seinen Arm. Das Metall der Armschiene war kalt an ihrer Haut. Sanft schob sie sich zwischen ihn und den Tisch, zwang ihn, sie anzusehen. “Musst Du noch fragen?” “Ich… schätze nicht.” Cullens Blick brachte sie beinahe zum Schmelzen. Seine Finger strichen über ihre Wange, und unwillkürlich schmiegte sie sich an seine Hand. “Cullen, für mich gibt es nur ein wir nach diesem Krieg.” Sie stieß gegen die Tischkante, und im nächsten Moment klirrte es. Irgendetwas war vom Tisch gefallen und sie hielt inne um nachzusehen, sich zu entschuldigen, aber dann begegnete sie Cullens Blick und auf einmal war ihr Mund trocken. In seinen Augen glühte ein Feuer, dass ihr die Hitze in die Wangen trieb. Wieder stieg ihr der Geruch nach Leder in die Nase, und Metall klirrte leise, als er ihre Hüfte packte und sie auf den Tisch setzte. Pergament knisterte, nur, damit Cullen es im nächsten Moment ungeduldig vom Tisch fegte. Sie musste schlucken. Der ganze Raum schien mit einem mal wärmer zu sein.  Unwillkürlich keuchte sie leise auf, als Cullen sich zwischen ihre Beine schob.  “Ich liebe dich.” Cullens Stimme war heiser und rau, sein Atem strich heiß über ihre Haut. Seine Lippen folgten ihr, als sie den Kopf in den Nacken legte, wanderten über ihr Ohr, ihren Hals. “Ich-” der Rest ihres Satzes ging in einem überraschten Stöhnen unter, als Cullens Zähne leicht die dünne Haut über ihren Schlüsselbeinen streiften. Er hielt inne, aber sie grub eine Hand in seine Haare, hielt ihn fest. “Ich dich auch.”

[sorceresssundries]

The Herald and The Warden

Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Blackwall/Female Quizzy (My gal - Sparrow)

Warnings: Mentions of torture and trauma, death, angst. SPOILERS - HUGE SPOILERS FOR BLACKWALL'S STORY ESPECIALLY IN PART 2 - TURN BACK IF YOU HAVEN'T GOT THAT FAR.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Ok, so Part 1 takes pace during the 'In Hushed Whispers' wibbly wobbly, timey-wimey mission if you choose to side with the mages.

May be a little confusing if you haven't played that mission, time travel is SO HARD TO WRITE GUYS holy moly.

“You shouldn’t be here” 

For a moment, Sparrow could only stand there, frozen by the sight of him. She swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat as she forced herself to move closer.

He was huddled in the gloom of the farthest cell, his back pressed against the damp stone wall, head bowed. The man who had once stood tall and unbreakable now seemed shrunken, diminished. The armour he had taken so much pride in was battered and bloodstained, pieces of it missing or discarded. Light reflected off the jagged shards of red lyrium embedded in the bricks, throwing distorted, eerie shadows that warped the space around him, making it seem as if the walls were closing in, as if the prison itself was a living thing, flexing its grotesque muscles until all hope was squeezed into useless pulp. 

Sparrow waited for the breath to find its way back into her lungs, or for the muscles in her body to soften so she could move. She was frozen in a time that wasn’t her own, in a future she didn’t belong in. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be here either. Not in this twisted, fractured reality. He belonged wherever she was. Not here, not like this. 

He stood stiffly, and his eyes, dull and empty, flickered when they met hers.

“No. Not this. Please. The dead should rest in peace,” he said, but the words came out wrong. Hollow. Distorted. It was all wrong. That voice - his voice - had once kept her steady when everything else fell apart. It had rolled like distant thunder in the belly of a hot sky, rich and deep. It was so full - of warmth, of security, of certainty  - and now it was empty. His words sounded like they had bounced around some long-abandoned space and been bent and broken before finding their way to her; shattered echoes of something she had once loved. The shrapnel of them cut at her heart.

“Blackwall” Her own voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to make him flinch. “I’m alive.”

He shook his head slowly, refusing to accept that she was really there, flesh and blood. Her feet were rooted, and her hand hung limp at her side; useless. Unable to pull him back from whatever abyss he was trapped in.

She had to fix this, she had to fix him. 

She stood in helplessness as Dorian explained how the portal Alexius had opened had moved the two of them forward in time by an entire year, and how they were trying to fix what had happened. The dulled scarlet of his lyrium-plagued eyes tried to understand. She missed the stormy grey of them, how in some lights they looked almost blue and sparkled like a sunlit seascape when he flirted and teased her. The way they crinkled at the corners when he smiled, that mischievous glint that promised trouble and adventure, had captured her completely. And on those darker days, when the burdens of his past weighed heavy on him, his eyes would cloud over and darken too. Even then, they were beautiful. He was beautiful. No man had ever looked at her the way he had, no gaze had ever held her so tightly. No one had looked into her with such intent and focus when she spoke, as though he was taking in every word and holding onto it for later. For when she needed them back again.

She needed them now.

This version of Blackwall wouldn’t look at her. He kept his gaze averted, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her, or worse, as if he didn’t recognise her at all. The distance between them was a chasm she didn’t know how to cross, and it broke her in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“More punishment,” Blackwall murmured, speaking to shadows, "It is deserved... But this... her... too much. Too far." His words were being pulled from the depths of a mind long broken. They were heartbreaking untruths, twisted thoughts crafted by a tortured man.

She winced. It was easier for him to believe this was a nightmare. She had gilded above the horrors of this last year like a bird over a storm. She had taken the easy route whilst he had been dragged through raging waters, salt-stung and drowning. How he must hate her. 

“If what you say is true,” he rasped, his voice wavering as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself, “then this nightmare… everything I’ve been through… is a mistake.”

“I should have been here,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. We’ll set this right.”

His response was a dark, cruel laugh. “Now I know I’ve gone mad,” he said, shaking his head. “Set this right? You can’t imagine the things that happened after you...” His voice caught on something, and he struggled to pick it back up “...after you died. The Elder One had the Orlesian Empress killed. And in the chaos that followed, his demon army invaded. The Inquisition was crushed. Anyone who didn’t convert was slaughtered. There’s nothing left out there.”

“Once we go back, none of that will happen,” she said, trying to clutch at something. Some shard of light or hope or truth that would set him free. An offering, a plea, a chunk of her still-beating heart, anything, she would give him anything. None of it would ever be enough. 

“It did happen.” His eyes finally met hers, and the pain in them cracked her. She couldn’t hold his gaze, not with the truth of it staring back at her. He had lived it. She had not. And no matter how hard they fought to change things, what had been done to the man in front of her could never be undone.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the key to unlock the cell. When the door creaked open, she took a step back, giving him room to come out into a world that had left him behind.

“Come,” he said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact as he pushed past her, not sparing her a glance. “I know where they are keeping the Bull.”

—♜—

The further they pressed on, the more Sparrow learned about the horrors that had occurred over the past year, the harder it was to pull her determination out from the deep, hopeless place it had sunk to. They found Iron Bull in another cell. The smart and sassy Qunari, who was soft as a lamb beneath it all, was changed. Detached. Even his sharp mind and quick wit were not a strong enough barrier to hold back the taint of Lyrium.

And Leliana… 

Sparrow almost couldn’t recognise her. Emaciated, with a sharp, alien edge to her, Leliana was still terrifying—perhaps more than before. She had always been ruthless, the bard who was more of a blade, but now, she was something else entirely. The notes they had found about her torture were horrifying, detailing inhumane acts that would have broken anyone else. But Leliana hadn’t broken. If anything, she had hardened into something colder, more brutal.

Sparrow had wanted to stop when she read those notes—wanted to retch, scream, burn this cursed place to the ground. But she kept going, numb and angry, unwilling to show weakness when everyone else had been forced to endure so much more.

Leliana was straight to the point of what was to be done. There was no time to believe in nightmares and ghost stories. 

“You need to end this.” The spymaster commanded. Her cold eyes that sat in hollowed-out sockets bore into Sparrow’s. “The Magistar is probably in his chambers.”

“Do you not want to know how we got here?” Dorian had asked, confused. 

“No.”

But Dorian wasn’t ready to let it go. “Alexius sent us into the future,” he explained, his voice urgent. “This—his victory, the Elder One—it wasn’t meant to happen. We have to reverse the spell, undo all of this, if we could just get that amulet…”

Her stare snapped to him from the shadow of her hood. “Enough. This is all pretend to you. Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.”

Dorian fell silent, taken aback by the venom in her words.

“Just finish it.” She hissed. 

The shame flooding Sparrow was unrelenting. Blackwall stood in the doorway, watching her, trying to work her out. A dying man visited by a ghost. 

He had always been a man guarded, by what she still wasn’t completely sure - but still, she knew him. Like few ever had, she liked to imagine. He planted seeds in the garden when no one was watching, he talked to the horses as he brushed their manes, he treated Sera like a sister and Cole like a person. She had coaxed smiles and laughter and softness from him on the days where he was weighed down and burdened. She had slipped through all those hard-built, self-assembled defences like rainwater - She didn’t force her way in, she didn’t need to. His heart had yielded to her in small, imperceptible ways and although there were many things unsaid between them, that didn’t mean they were unfelt. No matter how hard he tried to push her away. 

But that was in the time before. Before the world had turned cruel, and she had abandoned him. Those unsaid things had withered and left him, just as she had. This version of Blackwall should not exist to her, and so - this version of her should not exist to him. They were a universe apart, and she could feel it. 

Even his fight had gone. It was obvious as they moved through the bowels of the castle and cut down the agents of Alexius who stood in their path. 

A year ago, a lifetime ago, when they fought side-by-side it was an intuitive dance - her spells and his sword entwined. They could read each other so precisely they may as well have been strikes from the same blade. Now, it was clumsy. He was too close to her. She could feel him crowding her space, disrupting the delicate balance she needed to draw her magic. The air she tried to pull from felt thick and heavy, weighed down by his worried breaths. He wasn’t focused. His eyes were on her when they should have been watching his attackers. His movements, once fluid and sure, had become hesitant, as if he second-guessed each swing. And because of that, he was suffering more blows. The sharp, reassuring ring of steel on steel had been replaced by the sickening thuds of impact against his armour. He was slower, distracted, and she found herself having to cover for him, diverting her focus to shield him, to protect him. It left her exposed, vulnerable in ways she wasn’t used to.  

They had lost their rhythm, and so it was inevitable she would lose her footing and suffer a slice of an enemy's blade. The hiss of pain from her seemed to grant Blackwall strength from somewhere, and with a brutal kick to the chest sent the last abomination plummeting down into the pit below them. She gasped and clutched the wound, seeing the blood spill through her fingers and mix with the mulch on the dank floor. The sight of her blood, of something real, seemed to spark Blackwall back to life. She was a ghost no longer. 

“Are you alright, my lady?” 

She fluttered at the concern in his voice, a voice she had feared she'd never hear again, at least not with the warmth that had once made her feel safe. A different, deeper wound healed in some other part of her. “So, I’m still your lady then?” she asked, a smile tugging at her lips, the familiar flirtation slipping back between them like a lifeline, even now, even here.

“Always,” he replied, and for the first time since she’d found him in this twisted reality, his eyes met hers in a way that felt like him. He was in there, she could see him.

“There you are,” she breathed, her hand moving of its own accord to cup his face, her palm resting against his cheek. His whole body seemed to relax at her touch, as though he was finally allowing himself to believe that she was real, that this moment was real. “I was worried the Blackwall I knew had faded.”

But as the words left her lips, she felt a shift in him, something different, something unsettling. He reached up and took her hand, pulling it from his face and holding it between his own, clutching her small, soft hand as though it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

“My la… Sparrow,” he said, his voice faltering. He rarely used her name, and the sound of it from his lips sent a ripple of fear through her. She felt her heart begin to race, a gnawing sense of panic clawing at her insides. “My mind may be slipping, but I have enough wits about me to know what happens next. This is not my future, this is my present. Do you understand?”

“It doesn’t have to be. I can change it.”

“Of course you can,” he said softly, his eyes full of a sad resignation that twisted the knife deeper into her chest. “You could do anything you set your heart to. You’re the fiercest woman I’ve ever known.” He paused, steeling himself for what he needed to say next, even as it tore him apart. “But you’re changing it for that man who was waiting for you a year ago.”

“For you,” she insisted, her voice breaking as the icy realisation began to seep into the softest part of her bones, into the small, protected chambers of her heart that she had always kept empty. The truth was cold and merciless. 

Blackwall’s grip on her hand tightened as the castle rumbled and shook. “We need to move. Now."

As they pushed on, the horrors continued. The warping taint of lyrium grew heavier and more oppressive. Sparrow’s skin was so slick with cold sweat, she could barely grip her staff. The tinge of pulsing red was so present everywhere she looked, she began to think it must have settled into the whites of her eyes. The air was thick with it. Time was running out. 

They found Alexius almost too easily.

He knew they were coming and put up no fight. This was not an all-powerful magister or a blade of the Venatori, just a father who had failed to save his son. That was all. He had tried to bend the will of time, but she was indomitable, relentless, and unforgiving. And so, inevitably, time won, wins, is winning—always.

Alexius didn’t care about the Elder One; he never had. He just clutched at whatever hand held a cure for his child.

He had given up long before they reached him, and he knew the end had come. It was over quickly, another tragedy to add to Sparrow’s ever-growing list. Felix and Alexius both fell before them, and she hoped in this future, somehow, they were together again. She hoped in the past, they would be granted more time.

It was done. They had the amulet. All that was left was to cast the spell to take them back.

“Give me an hour to work out the spell he used. I should be able to reopen the rift.” Dorian’s eyes were wet, as he turned the bloodsoaked amulet over in his hands. 

“An hour, that’s impossible - you must go now!” Leliana shot back.

Then, the castle shook. A quake so mighty it knocked Sparrow off her feet as great chunks of the cursed castle tumbled down around them. A shriek like an ancient warcry rang around them, and trembled the very marrow of her bones.

“The Elder One.” Blackwall stated, helping Sparrow to her feet. “It’s coming.”

Him, Iron Bull and Leliana all exchanged a pointed look, and Sparrow knew what they planned to do before they moved. 

“No. Don’t you dare!” She grabbed his arm as he began to move towards the door, where the army of demons and dead would descend upon them at any moment. 

“Hush now.” He brought her to him, and she buried her face against his chest. He didn’t smell the same as he used to. He used to smell like the outdoors - woodsmoke and cedar and rain on a dry day. He felt thinner beneath his armour, the bulk of him had wasted away while she was gone. 

“I won’t let you die.”

"Listen to me," he whispered, cradling her head with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. His lips brushed against her hair, murmuring into the top of her head. "I’m already dead, and this is the only way to protect you.”

Her heart clenched painfully as she looked up at him, eyes searching his face for the right words—any words—that could make this moment stop. But nothing came. In the silence between them, her body acted before her mind could catch up. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a brief, chaste kiss. Even now, she didn’t dare assume he wanted her with the same fervour as she felt for him.

"I love you," she breathed, the words barely a whisper as she began to pull away from him, to let him go. 

But Blackwall’s response was immediate. His arms encircled her waist with an urgency that surprised her, pulling her back against him. This time, the kiss was not chaste. It was deep, deliberate, and slow—his lips tracing hers as if he were committing the shape and taste to memory. Each lingering moment felt like a lifetime, every gentle press filled with a quiet desperation. This was their first kiss, and he knew, with heartbreaking certainty, that it would be his last.

Time stopped. 

She could feel him trying to hold onto her, as if he could make this moment last forever, but forever was not theirs to keep.

“My lady—my fierce brave lady,” Blackwall’s voice was steadfast. “I have loved you for more than a year, and I will love you for far longer still. If there is another lifetime where I… where we…”

His hands came up, gripping her shoulders, holding onto her as everything he knew came to its end.

“There are truths to be told. But not here. Not now.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I am undeserving of you, I always have been. But if there is another life, a future where I could stand in your shadow for even a moment longer… I would die for it”

She tried to move her hands, to clutch at something, anything. To cling to him like a broken wave on sun-warmed sands, but he kissed her wrists and let them go. 

“Go,” he commanded, his voice hoarse, “Thrive. And know that every time I look at you—from wherever I am, whether it be the stables or the battlefield, or just sat beside you—I am loving you, just as I am now.”

Still, she stood rooted. 

“Don’t worry” he smirked slightly, and it reached all the way between her ribs and squeezed her heart. “You will see me again, very soon” 

“But… you…” Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat.

“Have the love of a woman worth dying for,” he finished for her, “And that is enough.”

He left then, turning away from her without another word, his broad shoulders set with determination as he faced the oncoming storm of screeching monsters and twisted magic. His sword gleamed in the dim light, raised high like a hero from a storybook, ready to face whatever horrors awaited him. The sight of him standing against the darkness tore at her heart.

“Sparrow.” Dorian’s voice cut through the haze of her thoughts, pulling her back. “I need to cast the spell, we must go. Now.”

His eyes, usually so warm and full of mischief, were now hard and focused. She started to follow his gaze over her shoulder, but before she could turn to look, his voice stopped her.

“Don’t look.” He was firm, sad. “Don’t look back.”

And she didn’t.

—♜—

She sat back at Haven, out in the clean, fresh air and stared unblinking into the flame of the campfire. There was an ice in her that wouldn’t melt.

Alexius was imprisoned. That horrific future was prevented. And the people she had met there… Blackwall and Leliana and Bull.. well, they were dead or nonexistent. She should feel relieved. But somewhere, somehow, there was a man she loved and who loved her, and he had suffered terribly. He was still brave and kind, right to the end. The thought wouldn’t leave her. 

Curse this key. Curse the breach. Curse the Elder One and the Maker and the Divine. All of them. All of it. The mages, the templars, the wardens—everyone who had ever had a hand in bringing her to this moment—were all to blame. She wasn’t a herald, she was a harbinger. She had bathed three times since returning, but the smoke and doom of what she had seen still clung to her skin. 

She wanted to let the rest of today plod along next to her. Slowly meander through each hour as though they were fresh paths never walked before. She didn’t want to think that there was a future predetermined, where her failure had made itself inevitable.

A warmth suddenly enveloped her, as a thick blanket was draped over her small and weary shoulders along with the scent of Cedar and Petrichor. Blackwall sat next to her, and threw some more wood on the fire. 

“You want to talk about it?” The steady, rich timbre of his voice was warmer than any blanket. It was a relief to have it back in her life. 

“No. Not yet.” 

He loved her, he had said so - but that was a broken, evaporated universe away. One that never existed, so… he had never existed? Those words had never been said. His lips had never met hers. Except they had. Her head hurt from trying to work it all out. The only certain thing to her was, she loved him; and it was not the time to tell him. She wanted to offer her love to him wrapped in joy, and not scorched by grief. 

“I understand,” he replied. For a while they sat there, as she slowly thawed out next to him. He didn’t press, or push, like the others had done. He sat beside her, and adjusted her blanket when it slipped, and passed the spiced wine he had made for her. But he kept quiet, letting her breathe. 

A feeling like sunlight passed over her, and she turned to see him gazing at her. He quickly looked away and cleared his throat, as though caught doing something he shouldn’t be. Sparrow smiled, for the first time since she got back. 

“I am sorry, for all the times I have pushed you away.” He was solemn. “You deserve an explanation, about who, what, I am. You should meet me tomorrow, at the Storm Coast. There is something I wish to show you” He gave her a final, soft look and for a moment she thought he would lean forward and brush his lips against hers, but he didn’t. 

There were truths to be told, and weights to be lifted. But it wouldn’t be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, Haven would fall. 

[sweetjulieapples]

"Dear Commander" a Cullen x Trevelyan fanfic

Read on AO3

Their correspondence would often push the boundaries of professionalism and to prying eyes would be out right scandalous. Coy smiles and stolen glances at the war table were just the beginning.

chapter list under the cut

Chapter One: Dreams of Lady Trevelyan

Chapter Two: "Welcome To Haven"

Chapter Three: War & Blasphemy

Chapter Four: Hope Is What We Need

Chapter Five: The Greatest Love Of All

Chapter Six: Adventure Awaits!

Chapter Seven: Modest In Temper

Chapter Eight: Bold In Deed

Chapter Nine: A Moment To Breathe

Chapter Ten: The Things You Find In Ferelden

Chapter Eleven: In Hushed Whispers

Chapter Twelve: Reprimands

Chapter Thirteen: By The Maker (Pt1)

Chapter Fourteen: By The Maker (Pt2)

Chapter Fifteen: The Herald's Green Inquisition-issued Scarf

Chapter Sixteen: A Victory Of Alliance

[andrastesacredknickers]

Stone and Moonlight

Summary: Lavellan has struggled to get restful sleep since the events at Haven. Though, her nightmares may be the least of her worries as she tries to navigate her relationship with one Commander Cullen Rutherford.

Pairing: Cullen x Lavellan

Word count: 2.4K

Tags: mentions of nightmares, Cullen fumbling as per usual, awkward flirting, Varric being a good friend

While writing this I was listening to: Distance by Christina Perry

Find me on Ao3 here

Eve could feel the fire against her neck as she ran. Her legs felt as if they were going to turn to jelly as she sprinted towards the gates of Haven. As she ran it felt as though her destination was growing farther out of her reach. Eve turned to see a wall of fire coming towards her, stumbling on her feet and beginning to fall.

The elf shot up in her bed, breathing heavily as she tried to orient herself. Her room at Skyhold began to materialize around her as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, sweat dripping down her brow. Eve couldn’t remember the last night she didn’t have a nightmare since making it out of Haven. The feeling of the archdemon’s fire at her back haunted her every night, the screams of those lost at Haven ringing in her ears.

She took a deep breath before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She waved her hand, conjuring a small ball of light to illuminate her room. Eve stood, stretching her sore muscles and walking towards her desk. She reached for a robe slung over the back of her chair, pulling it on and tying it tight. The mage slipped into a pair of boots, messily lacing them and heading towards her bedroom door. The light she conjured followed behind her a she made her way down the stairs.

Eve was beyond grateful for the suite she was provided at Skyhold. The room was massive, much more space than she would ever know what to do with. She had never had this much that was just hers. Among her clan she had a tent and a few belongings. But nothing like this. A large row of doors to her balcony let in the most beautiful morning light, she even had her own storage of wine. Eve did wish, however, that her room wasn’t so far from the kitchen.

The mage sleepily made her way through the halls, savoring how quiet Skyhold was this late at night. No soldiers running about, no visitors to make nice with, no one running up to her yelling “Inquisitor!”. Just stone and moonlight shining through the windows. Eve yawned as she rounded the corner into the kitchen, jumping as she saw a silhouette of a person sitting at the table in the center of the room, facing away from her.

“Maker's breath!” The figure hissed, jumping up from the table and turning to face Eve, fists raised for a fight. Eve froze for a moment, recognizing the voice immediately.

“Cullen?” Eve asked, waving her hand to bring the ball of light forward and illuminate the person before her.

“Inquisitor! I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle to you,” he said quickly, lowering his fists and bracing himself against the table. The commander wore loose trousers and house slippers, his upper body bare, the taut muscles of his stomach illuminated in the light. Eve’s eyes lingered on him, her cheeks going warm as she took in his form. The light she had conjured began to glow brighter for a moment, buzzing loudly. She ripped her gaze from his body, looking up to find him watching her.

"Erm, what was that?" Cullen asked, cocking his head to the side as he looked at her.

“Uh, nothing," she said with a sheepish grin. "It looks like I startled you a bit more than you startled me,” Eve deflected, watching Cullen’s jaw flex. He took a breathe, a smile crossing his lips as he relaxed. “May I ask why you’re sitting in the kitchen in the dark? We’ve got candles, you know,” Eve said, looking up at the chandelier hanging above the table.

“That’s true, however I couldn’t find a-,” Cullen started, but cut himself off as he watched Eve shoot flames from her index finger, lighting the candles one by one. “Match,” he finished with a chuckle, the room now illuminated with a warm light. Eve smiled, waving a hand and dismissing the light she had been using to illuminate her way. 

“That’s something I’m growing used to. You using magic to do stuff like that,” Cullen said, pulling out his chair and sitting back down at the table. His eyes lingered on Eve for a moment, noticing that her robe was beginning to fall open slightly.

“I can’t imagine not doing so, it’s just habit,” Eve admitted pulling her robe closed and walking towards the counter. “Why are you even awake, Cullen? I was joking when I asked if you ever sleep,” she said, facing away from Cullen and searching the cabinets for a tea cup.

“Hah, I- I do struggle to sleep some nights. So I come in here and scrounge for something to eat. It’s a bad habit, I know,” he said, running his fingers through his blonde hair. Eve pulled a tea cup out of the cupboard, looking inside to ensure that it was clean.

“I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before then, making tea in the middle of the night has become somewhat of a routine of mine,” Eve said, searching through canisters for the right blend of tea leaves.

“Well, I… have seen you. In here. At night. I just figured you’d want some time to yourself so I always just… turn around,” Cullen said, picking at a half eaten loaf of bread that sat on a plate before him.

“Time to myself?” Eve asked, turning to look at Cullen. He shrugged, popping a piece of bread into his mouth.

“You’ve got so many people demanding things of you all day, I suppose I thought you might cherish some alone time,” he said, looking over to her.

“That is true, though I cherish time with you more,” she said, immediately turning away from him to hide how deeply she was blushing. Eve closed her eyes, cursing under her breath as she placed the bag of tea into her cup.

“I- I enjoy spending time with you too, Inquisitor,” Cullen said rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Eve looked over her shoulder, rolling her eyes at the commander.

“Cullen, I’ve told you, you don’t need to call me Inquisitor. I much prefer my name, I’m just Eve,” she said, pouring some water into her cup over a teabag. She brought her tea over to the table, sitting down across from the commander and resting her elbows on the table.

“You’re more than ‘just Eve’,” he said, watching puzzled as she stuck her index finger into the water. The tip of her finger glowed red, heating up the water inside her cup. “You do things like that,” he laughed as she shook the water off of her finger.

“You know what I mean. I just... everyone else sees me as this big important person here to save the world. I need at least one person who still sees me for me,” she said, fiddling with the string on her bag of tea.

“I can understand that,” Cullen said with a nod, his eyes falling to the table. “I’ll do my best to refrain, Eve,” he said.

“Thanks, Cullen,” She replied with a smile, bringing the mug up to her lips.

“What has you making tea in the middle of the night? Is something troubling you?” Cullen asked, watching her intently. Eve took a sip, sighing as she set the cup down.

“I’ve just… had a difficult time sleeping since Haven,” Eve admitted, her hands wrapped around her mug of tea.

“I know what you mean,” Cullen said, shooting her a sympathetic glance. The two sat in silence for a moment, Eve drinking her tea and Cullen picking at the bread on his plate.

"You have them too, then? Nightmares?" Eve asked, watching Cullen as he pushed around bread crumbs on his plate. 

"I do. Not just from Haven, but those are the most prevalent right now," Cullen sighed. Eve nodded, toying with the string of her tea bag.

"Every time I close my eyes it's like I can feel the fire at the back of my neck. Nightmares always worry me. There are enough demons around when my eyes are open, I don't need them trying to plague me when I'm asleep too," Eve said quietly, letting out a huff of air. Cullen watched her closely, trying to hide the concern from coloring his expression.

"Yes, I understand your concern. I'm always here for you, if you need anything Inq-, Eve," he corrected, leaning back in his chair.

“Don't make promises you can't keep. Be careful Cullen, I might start to think you like me,” Eve chuckled, her fingers wrapped around the now long cold cup of tea.

“I, uh, I do. Like you, I mean. Uh, you’re a great friend, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, stumbling over his words. He buried his head in his hands, letting out a sigh as he felt his ears and face flush red. Eve nodded, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck.

“Right, thanks,” Eve said, pushing her cup away from her. “I suppose I should go back to bed. Get some sleep commander, you look like you need it,” Eve said, standing up from the table and swiftly turning towards the door.

“Eve I-“ he began, however when he looked up the elf was already gone. “Andraste guide me,” Cullen huffed, resting his forehead against the table.

______________________________________________________________

“Let me get this right, he said, ‘you’re a great friend’?” Dorian asked, his eyes wide as his hand covered his mouth. Eve groaned, her forehead resting on the table in the Herald's Rest. The tavern was mostly empty, probably because it was mid morning and most people had jobs to attend to. 

“Oh, that’s rough Boss,” Iron Bull said, tossing back a mug of ale. He slammed it down on the table, eliciting a huff from the mage sat beside him.

“Ugh, thanks Bull,” Eve sighed, softly hitting her forehead against the table.

“My dear, I think your commander might be a bit daft,” Dorian chuckled, watching as Eve sat up and rolled her eyes at him. She leaned her elbow against the table, resting her chin in her hand.

“The more likely scenario is that I’ve made this whole thing up in my head,” she huffed, reaching for a bottle of wine on the table and taking a long swig. 

“By the Maker, Eve. Don’t you Dalish use glasses,” Dorian huffed, pulling the bottle away from her. “Besides, everyone in Thedas can tell the commander has a thing for you. He turns red just at the mention of your name,” he said, pouring some more wine into his glass. Eve rolled her eyes at the other mage, threading her fingers through her white hair.

“This feels more like a ‘drown my sorrows straight from the bottle’ kind of moment, don't you think?” Eve huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll drink to that!” Bull laughed, grabbing the bottle from Dorian and downing most of it in one swig.

“Eugh,” Dorian huffed with disgust, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a sip. "Go back to the part where you said he was shirtless," Dorian said, leaning back in his chair.

“What are we drinking to?”

Eve looked towards the door to see Varric entering the tavern, Bianca slung over his back. She swiped the bottle of wine from Bull, swirling it around to see if there was any left.

“My sorrows,” Eve huffed, downing the remainder of the wine and slamming the bottle on the table.

“Count me in,” Varric chuckled, taking a seat next to Eve. "What's troubling our hero this morning? Orlesian politics, all of the holes in the sky, the kitchen is out of pie?"

“The commander called Eve a ‘great friend’,” Dorian said, leaning back in his chair.

“Oof, that’s..,” Varric said, patting the elf on the back.

“It would be a lot better if we all just stopped talking about it,” Eve hissed, resting her head in her hands.

“Let me just say my piece and we can let it go,” Varric said, cocking his head at Dorian and Bull, signaling for them to leave him with the Inquisitor. Bull nodded at the dwarf, laying a hand on Dorian.

“Come on Dorian, let’s go get some more wine,” Bull said, getting up from the table. Dorian narrowed his gaze at Varric, who widened his eyes at the mage.

“Ah, yes, let’s. It’s certainly a two man job,” Dorian said, getting up from the table and flashing Eve a smile.

“Where are you two-“ Eve said, watching as the other two men swiftly made their way towards the bar.

“Here’s the thing about Curly. He's great with the soldiers. With order, discipline. He’s not so great with the touchy feely stuff. He’s been through a lot,” Varric said, his hands folded in front of him on the table.

“So what do I do, Varric? Every time I feel like there’s something there, he just, deflects,” Eve said, looking over to the dwarf.

“Have you directly told him how you feel?” Varric asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“What? No! Of course not,” Eve huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He’s not going to be the first one to do it, Lucky. If you truly care for the man it’ll have to come from you first,” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder.

“Ugh, I hate it when you’re right,” Eve hissed, letting her head fall back.

“And I’m always right, you must be miserable,” Varric laughed. Eve rolled her eyes, pushing his shoulder playfully. “So, you going to do it?” Varric asked after a moment.

“Do what? Now?? Certainly not,” Eve huffed, shaking her head. “I need some… time. To think,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Time to think about what?” Dorian asked as he and Bull returned to the table, two bottles of wine in hand. Bull placed three wine glasses on the table.

“Dorian insisted we use these,” Bull said, rolling his eyes at Eve.

“Yes, it’s so terrible that I ask you to use a glass and not drink from the bottle like a couple of heathens,” Dorian huffed, sitting back down at the table.

“Time to think is later, time to drink is now,” Eve said, pulling a glass towards her.

“You got it, Boss,” Bull laughed, pulling the cork off of a bottle and pouring Eve a hefty glass.

“Cheers,” she mumbled, downing the whole glass in a one swig.

“Slow down there, Lucky. You're going to have a headache tomorrow,” Varric laughed.

“Maybe that’ll serve as a distraction,” she huffed, belching loudly.

"Nice one!" Bull cheered, pouring himself a glass. Eve laughed, shaking her head at him and leaning her shoulder against Varric.

"You'll be alright, Eve," Varric laughed. "Who's up for a game of Wicked Grace?"

[elreyesvidal]

Cold and Dark (F!LavellanxCullen)

AN: Initially posted this on ao3 but I never go on there so I deleted it and decided to share here instead. (Using the default name, Ellana.)

Orders, pleas, prayers, and screams drown out the sound of the distant marching and the flames starting to engulf Haven. A trebuchet is aimed for the mountain top, but before it can be fired, a blighted looking creature approaches. Ellana urges her companions to get moving, hoping they won't stop when they realize she's no longer behind them. Ellana had planned to linger to set off the trebuchet, what she did not plan was almost being hit directly by the creature.

One moment, Ellana fears her life will end at the hands of the one that calls himself Corypheus, and in the next moment, she is falling through an opening in the ground, unsure of what her fate is any longer.

When she comes to, she finds herself in a dark, cold, and empty cave. She gets up, doing her best to ignore the pain that lances throughout her whole body. Nothing appears to be broken, just bruised with some scrapes here and there. Ellana lets out a hiss when she tries to look around, the back of her head throbbing, she remembers then, how Corypheus had thrown her against the trebuchet. The pain finally catching up now that her adrenaline is wearing out.

It's okay, nothing she can't handle.

Once she makes it out of the cave, she realizes how bad the situation is. The aftermath of the avalanche is making it nearly impossible to see, but she has to pick a direction and move forward. She finds a couple of campfires, and although they are old, they at least let her know she is going in the right direction.

Eventually the strong wind dies down as she continues up the mountain, but she is beyond exhausted. The cold is becoming unbearable, if she was cold before it's nothing to what she feels now. In fact, the cold seems to numb her to the pain she was feeling before, save for the scrapes that she's praying won't become infected. The sound of her teeth chattering surrounds her as she keeps trekking upwards. Just reach the top of the mountain. She keeps repeating to herself. But then what? What if there is no sign of anyone?

Ellana has been avoiding thinking about the others, afraid that there's a possibility she failed and the old campfires she found were of a very small group of survivors. Did her companions make it? A part of her regretted asking them to stay behind with her but they didn't even hesitate to follow her. Her mind then wanders to her last conversation with Cullen. "But what of your escape?" "Perhaps you'll surprise it, find a way." "If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you."

Ellana herself hadn't said much at the time. What could she possibly say to someone she's still getting to know but also likes? She finds it ridiculous to be thinking of something so trivial when her life is on the line, as well as the impending danger on all of Thedas if they can't figure out a way to put an end to Corypheus and his plans. Then a dark thought crosses her mind, Do they still need her? Does she want them to need her?

She is tired, and not just from trudging through the snow for who knows how long. Securing the templars aid took a toll on her. Being brought into her own mind and being forced to see what the envy demon planned to do while pretending to be her. Cole helped so much, but there was no time for her to discuss what happened, on a deeper level, with someone else.

Nightmares had kept her from getting a full night's rest. Ellana always waved away Josephine's comments about how she would wake before even Cullen. Most of those early mornings Ellana spent collecting elfroot, it benefitted Adan as well as gave her an excuse to wander away from everyone until she felt ready to rejoin everyone. On a few rare occasions, Cullen happened to wake at the same hours. Ellana noticed the look in his eyes, mirroring her own. A part of her wanted to bring up what had happened, if anyone, maybe he would understand. But she'd always back out and instead would ask him to spar with her. His eyes would lose the darkness to them, and she'd feel her mind clear.

Now though, all Ellana could think about was what was waiting for her at the top. Another campfire. As she walked past it, she felt the smallest bit of warmth. Looking back at it as she paused, she realized there were embers. A spark of hope ignited in her, as much as she didn't want to get her hopes up. Her body had reached past its limit but she couldn't stop now, if she stopped she wouldn't be able to get up again.

A few more steps, if they're nearby, she'll be able to see them from the top.

As Ellana reaches the top, she notices lights in the distance. Before she can react, she sees several figures running toward her. As they become clearer, a wave of relief washes over her. Inquisition soldiers, Cassandra and… Cullen. "There! It's her!"

They found her. Unable to stay standing any longer, Ellana falls to her knees.

The inquisition soldiers begin to reach for her but Cullen stops them, "I'll carry her." The soldiers step back as Cullen removes his mantle and drapes it across Ellana. The action doesn't even register to Ellana, nor what he's saying, until he reaches down and scoops her up in his arms. However, Ellana doesn't have the energy to react like she normally would at such a display; instead, she simply curls up against his chest, holding onto his mantle with what strength she has left. Through her teeth chattering, she thinks she hears Cullen say, "I'm sorry, my armor plate must not be helping with the cold." She's not sure though, her consciousness keeps slipping away even though she wants to stay awake as much as she can.

Her teeth chattering doesn't begin to subside until they near the campsite, but she's still very cold. To the left of her, Cassandra speaks quietly, "Commander." That single words earns a sigh from Cullen and she feels herself being handed off to one of the soldiers after a beat of silence. Ah, it must be a warning. Now is not the time for there to be new rumors surrounding her. Ellana opens her eyes and looks toward Cullen. He looks worried, well more worried than usual.

Something unspoken passes between them and she misses his warmth as soon as he lets her go onto the waiting soldier's arms. From the corner of her eye, Ellana sees another soldier approaching with a thick blanket. The soldier absentmindedly reaches for Cullen's mantle, which appears to have been a mistake. Cullen stops the soldier's hand in place, but seems to realize the situation he got himself into. He clears his throat and clarifies, "I'll do it." The soldier, afraid to say anything, simply nods and waits with the blanket in hand.

Cullen gently removes his mantle but instead of putting it on, grabs the blanket from the waiting soldier, and puts it over Ellana. It's not until he steps back and nods at the soldier in dismissal that he puts his mantle back on. At that final sight, Ellana can't help but be glad that she kept going.

[rock-teh-elf]

Bull side profile my lov

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 25: Nook ~ Cullen Rutherford/F!Inquisitor [2,285]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

It began like most things in his relationship with Evelyn did – with a fantasy. A pipe dream, or so Cullen always deemed them back then. First because he believed she would never, could never return his feelings, and then even after…because making plans for the future, for after the Inquisition, felt a lot like tempting fate.  

But, despite all of his fears, and despite all of the odds, the future came. And it was a good one. Evelyn recovered from the loss of her arm, from the injury that almost took her life in Orlais, and on the other side of it they found what they’d spent so long wishing for. A quiet life of their own. Together. A home that they built themselves, to their exact tastes, laughing in the face of all of the little foibles that reared their heads in the process – because they were nothing compared to what they’d already faced. It was when the building was more or less complete, however, that Cullen was reminded of a conversation they’d had back in Skyhold, when their relationship was still a somewhat new, tentative thing.

“Where is it you go, when none can find you?”

They’d managed to steal enough time for lunch together – in his office, so he could return swiftly to his mountain of work immediately thereafter. There was little chance of them making room on his desk for it, but he’d produced a small folding table that he may or may not have stashed to the side for this very purpose, and it worked a treat. At Evelyn’s insistence, he took the chair and she perched atop his desk on the small space that did allow for it…and in a manner that played into more than one of the other sort of fantasies he’d had regarding her. The less-than-gentlemanly ones.

At his question, the smile slipped from her face, replaced by a guilty frown and he regretted asking in the first place.

“I don’t do it when I know I’ll be needed urgently. Or even semi-urgently,” she explained quietly. “Just…when I really, really need it.”

“I never thought for a moment that you were neglecting your duties,” he rushed to reassure her, “I cannot even imagine what it is you face…”

“Considering your standing by my side, staring at it with me, I suspect you can,” she replied.

Cullen liked the notion of that. Not at what they faced, of course, but that she viewed him as being right beside her in it. But why had he brought it up? Even if it didn’t have the sound of an accusation, it brought the world back in here with them. But Evelyn weighed him up for a moment, eyes filled with great consideration. Then, finally, she smiled a little and plucked up a lemon cake from the offerings on the table.

“Come – I’ll show you.”

He was powerless but to follow – wherever she was concerned. Were she any other, that might worry him…but were she any other, he would not have been falling so hard and so quickly. Andraste only knew how his luck was so great that it appeared to be very reciprocal.

Trying to give the impression that he was simply the Commander following the Inquisitor on matters of official business, he followed her across the battlements until she came to the derelict tower across the way – although he did a poor job at hiding his surprise when it became clear she wasn’t just passing through it to lead him elsewhere. How could she be here, of all places, when it was so commonly passed through?

Then, however, she climbed up onto the window ledge and used it as a jumping point to vault up to the small perch above. It had once been a floor for a second story within the tower, but it had decayed and crumbled so that now a perch was all it was. A precarious one, at that.

“Are you coming up?” she called down.

If she moved back far enough, it was easy to see how she would not be sighted there. Particularly since few would be mad enough to go climbing up there to begin with.

“I’m not sure it’ll hold my weight.”

“That muscle-bound, are you? Be careful, Cullen, or you’ll send me swooning.”

He chuckled. “I’d be amazed if it could support a mouse, Evelyn.”

“You’ll be fine. I give you my word.”  

Who was he to argue against the solemn vow of Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan? He climbed up, albeit with less grace than she’d done, and blinked in surprise when he did so. Having expected it to be entirely empty, he found instead that there were a few meagre signs of the time she spent here – namely a worn old blanket, a couple of books, and a jar of assorted dried fruits. Neither boredom, nor chill, nor hunger would have to send her from her refuge.

“Welcome to my kingdom,” she teased. “What’s wrong? You don’t look impressed by all of my riches.”

He didn’t feel impressed, but rather…sad. Desperately sad. That this was the best escape she could hope for when everything out there got to be too much. Considering all she did for everybody, all she gave, she deserved more than this.

“How do you read in this gloom?” he asked.

“Ah – you see the gap in the wall there where it’s crumbled away? In the afternoon, the light is better than any candle. It’s quite cosy, I swear. You should’ve seen the hiding places I used to wedge myself into back in the Circle.”

“And in the morning, when the sun is at the other side of the castle?”

“I’m never here in the morning. I only come when I’ve done everything else that might possibly need done, by which point my duties fall back to hearing Josephine tell me about the latest marriage proposals sent my way.”

Well. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t glad she sought to avoid that.

Since then, although he never let on to the woman who eventually became his wife, he’d had it in the back of his mind that if they were ever as lucky to have what they did now, he would make sure it housed a nook of the kind that she deserved. And when she left to visit family not long after they were finally done building their home, it allowed him to turn it into a surprise.

When he insisted on adding more space onto their would-be study than was strictly necessary, Evelyn hadn’t questioned it much – but now that she was gone, he could see about the things that she definitely would have questioned. Such as his designs for the large, ornate circular window that would act as one “wall” of the nook. For while he was fairly good with his own two hands, glass-work was beyond his realm of experience, as were the wrought-iron designs that would line it. He wanted this to be fantastic – he needed this to be fantastic. For her.

Even if that meant driving the local craftsmen towards murderous urges with his stubbornness. But those coincidentally faded the moment they realised what they put together would be going to the Inquisitor. Cullen had long since concluded that they’d faced enough, done enough, and sacrificed enough, that they were entitled to the perks that did come along. Which was why he finagled the best, plushest cushions for the nook – with covers made from the finest, softest forest green fabric available – for half the price. They even threw in a matching set of drapes to cover the nook and conceal it from view once it was done. Josephine would have been very proud. It was so spatious and comfortable that, given her small stature, Evelyn could sleep there, if she liked – although he hoped she would not – and wake up without so much as a stiff neck.

The cushion would rest atop the shelf he’d built, nestled between two curved bookshelves (also built by him) that provided ample room to house every book she owned…and hopefully at least some of the many she would no doubt acquire going forth. There was always room to store more – in a drawer, beneath the seat. He could build that-

No. He was getting too carried away with himself. She hadn’t even seen it yet. Cullen did, however, allow himself to add in an extra little ledge to allow room for a lantern, along with snacks or a tankard. Open candleflames by books seemed like a bad idea. As did wine, for that matter.

By the time the day of her return came one glorious golden morning, Cullen’s arms and shoulders were sorer than they’d been since he was regularly running drills with the Inquisition soldiers, and he found himself eagerly awaiting the sound of her horse on the road. Almost as much as he had when she used to be gone from Skyhold for sometimes months at a time, seeing through gruelling Inquisition business.

When her Amaranthine Charger came bounding up the road towards their home, Evelyn grinning atop it, Cullen was powerless but to return the smile – catching her when she all but launched herself off of the horse at him before the stallion even came to a proper stop. She kissed him, grinning through it all the while, and he cared not about the dust from the road that caked her – not only because he never cared about such things, but because this sort of greeting was something they’d been denied so many times in the past, having to prioritise professionalism.

“Come – I’ve something to show you,” he set her down and took her hand, self-control the only thing that stopped him from dragging her to the house.

He also chose to ignore her mutter behind him of I’ve heard worse lines, I suppose.

The curtains to the nook were drawn as they walked into the study, and her ride in would not have afforded her even a glimpse of what lay on the other side – so she had no reason to think there was anything but the window that had previously been there. But even that gave her pause, and she paused, one dark eyebrow raising in bemusement.

“You bought curtains, Cullen?”

The confusion was fair – Josephine would have had to draw blood if she wanted to get him discussing the décor of his tower, back in the day. She often threatened to do just that. A day where he begged Sera for a lunch date would come sooner than one where he took it upon himself to spontaneously pick up a pair of floor length velvet curtains for their study.

“I think you’ll find what lies beyond the curtains to be of greater interest.”

“Did you clean the window?” she teased.

“See for yourself,” he nodded in the direction of the curtains.

A perplexed furrow in her brow, her hand slid from his as she moved forth. Cullen watched with bated breath as she dipped one hand between the curtains and parted them – and then her jaw slackened and she went very still, staring ahead in disbelief. After a moment, the hand raised again, pushing the right side of the curtain fully aside, and then it moved to cover her mouth, trembling as it did so.

When she turned her head to look at him, her eyes were filled with tears.

“Oh, Cullen,” she breathed in disbelief.

“That was not what I intended,” he said softly, moving to stand behind her, wrapping his arms about her middle and taking in his handiwork once again.

With no small amount of satisfaction. He was worried that, once she’d seen it, he would belatedly notice streams of deficiencies in the finished product. But there were none.

“I thought about waiting until you returned and putting it together with you – with your input…but I couldn’t help but risk it. I thought it might be a nice surprise.”

“It is,” she replied quickly. “The nicest surprise. It’s perfect – it’s…I could never even imagine such a thing, much less piece it all together. I can’t believe…you did this for me?!”

“Who else?” he chuckled, squeezing her. “I’ve wanted to for years. I almost did in Skyhold, but we were looking to the future…I didn’t want to make something like this for you and then have to leave it behind. But here…”

“For years? Why for years? I don’t…”

“Since you showed me your perch in that tower.”

Afterwards, at the time, he’d offered to let her make use of his bedroom – and then quickly flushed and clarified that up in his loft, she might be more comfortable, and none would go seeking her there, for he could run interference. But she’d refused, admitting that if she heard him having to run such interference – while working, no less – she’d only feel guilty and give herself up swiftly thereafter. Still, the mental image of her huddled up on some miserable little slab of rotting wood in a threadbare blanket and calling it an escape always bothered him.

“You…Andraste, Cullen, since then? Because of that?” it sounded like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or sob, lifting one of the hands that were wrapped around her to her lips, and keeping it there.

Cullen smiled softly behind her. Even after all this time, she still had no idea the things he’d do just to make her happy. It wasn’t personal – that much he knew. When they first met, she loathed the idea of one so much as helping her carry something. If anything, he blamed the Circle. It only meant that he’d have to continue driving the message home.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

[warpedlegacywrites]

The Equation of Them

The @loveacrossthedaszine has been posted, and so I am now posting my entry fic separately for those who wish to read it!

It shouldn’t have happened. Dorian should have been more careful. Bull should have protected the Inquisitor. Now she’s injured, and they’re left with a problem to solve – why Bull chose to save Dorian over her.

2500 words Dorian Pavus/The Iron Bull

[spainkitty]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Chapter 2: The course is but run, and end has begun

Finally, her wisp's light began to refract against something moving. At first it looked like slithering. She and Dorian recoiled sharply before they noticed the rhythm of it. The ebb and flow. The sloshing against stone and wood.

“… that’s a dock,” Lanil said, breathless and her own dread and suspicions mounting. “Dorian, you said the amulet shouldn’t have moved us through space, only time?”

“Yes, but obviously something has—”

“No, no, you were right. Maker’s breath, you were right,” Lanil said. She all but fell on her ass to back away rapidly and incidentally dragging Dorian with her before sidling out of his grip. She spun in a circle with new eyes. The crater was massive, the pit nearly as large. The blackened rubble and the huge tree and there—a twisted mess of iron and wood that once had been a portcullis.

“Surana?”

“Redcliffe Castle has a dock, Pavus. A dock built underneath the castle,” Lanil said, fury and something deeper than fear running through every word. Dorian’s eyes widened.

“Yes, Felix brought me… You can’t mean that this is Redcliffe Castle!?” Dorian asked, sweeping his arm out.

Lanil ignored her heaving stomach, the constant song thrumming against her skull, the unsteadiness of her legs. She ran for the ledge, skirting the pit and the lyrium with shudders running down her spine. The sides of the crater were near a foot over her head, probably about level with Dorian’s height. She scrabbled up them, fingernails digging into dirt, her thin slippers sliding and slipping, pebbles and dust raining down into Dorian’s face when he followed her. She hauled herself over the edge, wheezing and cursing, vision spotting again, and saw the large, glassy, Fade-green surface of Lake Calahad and the mountains of Ferelden’s Hinterlands beyond.

“Fuck,” she hissed.

Dorian came up beside her, coughing slightly and brushing dirt from his clothes absently as he stared into the Hinterlands. What was left of it. Huge swathes of forest were replaced by blackened earth and large, glowing, red lyrium. The village on the opposite shore was in shambles and eerily silent, although it wasn't nearly the decimation at her back. The only movement among the rubble and few standing houses was the wind. And the rippling veins of light along the lyrium’s surfaces. Dorian and Lanil exchanged a loaded glance before heading towards where the broken bridge lay.

Getting from where the castle had been to the other shore across the lake was more time- and mana-consuming than difficult. The bridge between the shore and the castle had been destroyed when Alexius kicked out the arl, but there was more than enough debris in the water to fill in the gap. They had to clamber a bit, and the lowest part of their makeshift bridge was nearly under water, but they made it. Now on the other side, Lanil took in the details of the village’s ruin. Almost every building was dilapidated, whole walls missing, roofs caved in, shutters hanging from mere splinters. Huge stone blocks with traces of soot were lying like forgotten toys in the grass, and there were several gaping holes in the sides of buildings where more rubble had flown through. Lanil knelt beside one such chunk of stone, fingertips darkening when she touched it.

“This definitely came from the castle,” she said, frowning.

“Which means whatever destroyed it, it exploded outward,” Dorian surmised.

“Is this as bad as the Conclave? Did whatever happen then happen again?” Lanil asked, brushing her fingers clean on her robes.

“I didn't see it the aftermath with my own eyes, but it would explain why the sky is… like that.”

They both looked up reflexively and shuddered. Lanil could smell the Fade. It pervaded every one of her senses, almost as overpowering as the stench of the rotting fields and worse things left behind in these deserted homes.

Before they gone much farther, Lanil knew the entirety of Redcliffe was empty.

[britcision]

So my partner @ekwolfwood got me into Dragon Age Inquisition

I warned you I would become something terrible

SO HERE HAVE A FICLET FROM THE FOUR HERALDS AU IN WHICH TIME MAGIC FUCKERY HAS CAUSED THERE TO BE FOUR HERALDS OF ANDRASTE INSTEAD OF ONE

(It’s fine they unionized early the plot relevant parts are in progress)

Today’s bullshit featuring the talents of:

Corin Cadash - Carta blacksmith sent to the Conclave because the actual smuggler and spy got sick and literally no one else was available, as discrete and stealthy as a bag of loose bells (they/them Problem On Purpose )

Lluciano Lavellan - Dalish rogue and spy sent to the Conclave because in his heart he is a fucking golden retriever and outsiders are suckers for his big puppy eyes (he/him omnisexual disaster)

(Do you see the pattern? Good cuz the other two are Tavi Adaar and Séamus Trevelyan)

——————

Herbs

No one had specifically mentioned what species the healer in Redcliffe was, and Cadash hadn’t expected it to matter this far into the chaos.

The exhausted elf tucking herself back into a corner did not agree. Lavellan did most of the talking, since he was the nice one.

He’d had a bug in his ass since someone had mentioned needing a healer down at the crossroads, and someone else mentioned there was one here, in Redcliffe.

One healer for two settlements was a guaranteed shit show either way, but at least Redcliffe was still tucked in the woods. And apparently not treating one of their most valuable citizens well.

“Look, I don’t care,” the healer finally cut Lluciano off, raising a hand. “The people here barely tolerate me as it is, and that only because their human healer is dead. I’m not looking for a new place to be called a knife-ear.”

Lavellan’s earnest, hopeful smile crumpled almost at once, and Cadash was just glad they hadn’t brought Solas along for this trip. He always seemed to know just what to say to upset vulnerable elves.

They’d heard the derogatory words humans used for elves, dwarves, qunari for as long as they’d known humans. Hell, the Inquisition was the longest they’d gone in their life without hearing most of them.

Lavellan though… well, Lluciano Lavellan hadn’t had much to do with humans until he’d been sent to spy on the Conclave. The fact that even he clearly knew the word was… telling.

“Look,” Corin cut in, stepping forward neatly to dodge Cassandra reaching for their shoulder. Probably specifically to prevent this.

They might not be the most tactful member of the Inquisition, but sometimes straight talk helped.

“Times are shit and you’re a healer. No matter what blood you’ve got in you, it’s worth more than gold right now. You’re under personal protection of the Heralds and if anyone says one word to you at the crossroads, I’ll walk you to Haven myself and let them remember how well their bullshit treats their wounds.”

As far as they were concerned, anyone stupid enough to buy into any of this speciesist crap deserved whatever joys it brought them.

Cassandra subsided back, her lips pressed together in a tight line. The elven healer didn’t look convinced either, though something like a smile danced on her lips.

Lavellan stepped forward again, his hand coming up to hover between them, an offer for her to reach out.

“These are strange times,” he agreed with a slight nod to Corin, “but there is a lot all of us can do to help. I know I’ve been hearing it less than I thought I would. Perhaps this is how we change things?”

The healer hesitated for a moment longer, her gaze flicking from Lavellan to Cassandra, to Cadash and to the Iron Bull. Always back to Lluciano.

Finally she sighed and nodded, glancing around the small house.

“Alright. I suppose I’ll be safer with the Inquisition soldiers around than I am here anyway. But there are some things I’ll need first, for my patients here. I can’t just leave them,” she added, sounding almost bitter.

A damn good healer then. Cadash nodded as Lavellan happily stepped back, all adorable and flushed with success.

“Sure. What do you need?” They could probably find it while she packed, solve the whole thing, bring the healer to the crossroads themselves on their way back to Haven.

It’d give Corin a chance to impress their personal opinion on Corporal Vale. While dropping off some of the other supplies they’d grabbed. Carrot and stick and all.

“Just some herbs,” the healer explained, already turning to the shelf behind her to pick through what she could carry, “elfroot and spindleweed.”

And it meant she just so happened to be looking the other way when Lavellan lit up like a little sunbeam, practically bouncing on the spot in excitement.

And all four of his companions groaning loudly, though the noise grabbed her attention at once.

“I can help!” Lluciano told the now puzzled healer enthusiastically, already digging into his pack.

Varric sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall. Unlike Cadash, he didn’t always bother pushing through the taller people. He didn’t need to to be heard.

“Lavellan picked every elfroot in the Hinterlands on our way here,” he explained dryly while Lavellan pushed his pack into Iron Bull’s hands so he could root in to the shoulder.

How the damn herbs slipped from the top when he’d been grabbing them half an hour ago at most was beyond Cadash. But Lavellan did like when the Iron Bull flexed his muscles.

The healer looked like she was torn between laughing and shock, her mouth opening and closing until she finally settled into a startled laugh when Lluciano dropped double fistfuls of herbs into her arms.

“Is that all? Are there any other herbs you’ll need?” He asked hopefully, looking for all the world like an excited puppy.

The poor healer just stared at him for a moment, her mouth opening and closing.

By the door, Varric snickered.

“We’ve travelled from the Storm Coast to Val Royeaux, and the Herald’s picked every damn plant that even might be useful. Anything you need is in that bag,” he added with a nod to the Iron Bull.

“And the other one hauling every damn scrap of iron and serpentstone out of the rocks,” Iron Bull grumbled good naturedly, because he was a traitor.

Cadash huffed, settling their heavy and clinking pack more comfortably over their back brace.

“And here was me, about to measure you for some nice new gauntlets. I suppose I can put it all back,” they said archly.

Bull chuckled and shook his head, still holding Lavellan’s pack even as he bounced in place, waiting for the healer’s next request.

“Point taken, Cadash,” he said simply, and Cassandra huffed an exasperated laugh.

“Yes, well… that is one more thing we can promise you with the Inquisition,” she told the healer, her usual stiff formality cracking with the release of tension, “the Heralds will personally ensure that you want for nothing that could be foraged from the hills.”

Cadash narrowed their eyes as the healer fell back into shaky giggles.

“Was that sarcasm, Cassandra? Did you forage sarcasm in the Hinterland hills?” They asked mock suspiciously, grinning in triumph when Cassandra rolled her eyes at them.

“It was the only thing in abundance with you, Lavellan, and Varric that was not already snatched up,” she said simply.

The healer shook her head, tension slipping from her shoulders as she gave Lluciano a proper smile.

“Thank you… yes, there are a few other herbs I need, and then I can go. I suppose the Inquisition forces at the crossroads will have an easier time with the supplies I need.” She didn’t sound like she quite believed what was happening.

That was pretty much the normal reaction to a visit from the Heralds though, so she would find herself in good company at the crossroads.

Lluciano dived straight back into his pack, pulling out his various bundles and sorting them as the healer listed the different herbs she needed.

Nothing he didn’t already have in abundance either, as he happily dug through his bulging pack.

The Iron Bull just held it out for him, watching with a fond amusement that was just fucking adorable while Lavellan rooted around, chatting cheerfully about the different herbs and where he’d found each damned leaf.

So what if it was cute. Lluciano was always cute, it was like a fucking curse. Cute, weak ankles, prone to jumping or falling off things.

Catching Varric’s eye, Cadash nodded to the door and the two dwarves slipped outside. Cassandra followed, leaving the elves to their talk.

“It’s about time we headed back to the crossroads,” Corin mused, glancing up at the sky and frowning.

There was a lot that was wrong in Redcliffe, a lot that didn’t make sense and what did was absolutely not good.

Though they were pretty sure Vivienne was going to get a real kick out of what Fiona might have gotten herself into. And how many of the other mages were not on board.

A smile tugging at their lips, Corin stuffed their hands in their pockets. They could see it already; Vivienne’s smug smile, her plans to use the other mages’ discontent.

The complete unawareness that she could have probably actually done something useful for them before joining the Inquisition.

The fact that she could probably gain something by listening to them now. Learn something about the world beyond her circles.

Nope, Vivienne was going to thoroughly enjoy someone else’s plan failing, and Cadash would enjoy watching her try to weave it into all her own plans, blissfully unaware that the discontented mages wouldn’t follow her either.

Sure, a couple wanted to go back to circle life. But those outside, who saw more of the world, would be much less likely to fold themselves in under Vivienne’s plans.

Those now talking to all the other mages who had been pushed to breaking, who’d been living together, hearing their concerns.

They still wanted to reform the circles instead of burning the system down, sure, but that was all part of the system too. And when Vivienne failed to make any of the substantial changes, they’d decide it was because she was wrong.

Not that the system had been designed from the start with all of them in mind, and had channels to turn those who wanted to change the system from within into its strongest supporters.

It was a depressing ass pipeline, but Vivienne was a very intelligent woman. There was a chance she’d work it out before it was too late, if the Inquisition kept the circles empty long enough.

And if she hung around more templars, and mages whose towers were made of something less glamorous than her own.

And if that meant Vivienne travelling back to Redcliffe with them, if only to be smug at Fiona in person? It’d be good for her to spend some time with her feet in the mud.

She could join them all following Lavellan up and down every blasted hill and cranny, scooping up every weed in the fucking Hinterlands. Again.

———————

Because there is nothing I like more in DAI fanfic than Inquisitors who are explicitly and obviously still video game characters, with every stupid and nonsensical thing that entails 😁

Quite a few have been spun off from little side quests or pieces of party banter, and of course none of that would be half so easy without the fabulous work of @missnovelist at the Genitivi Chronicles!

It’s the full transcript, they’ve got most of the way through the main plot so check it out and I bullied them into making a Patreon so if you love this resource as much as I do

(You will the party banter is fucking killer and if your play through is anything like ours those MOTHERFUCKERS will NOT talk to each other no matter how little you fast travel

Vivienne is the villain of Varric’s new series)

Send them a few bucks for this massive labour of love! You get different dialogue options for each species of Inquisitor, for each background, and for half the decision trees so it’s one hell of an undertaking

EDIT: BEHOLD! The masterpost!

[weaveandwood]

…would anyone be interested in Dragon Age Inquisition fic? I just started playing last week and I have the brainrot.

[schreibschuppen]

AndrewRyanArt / DevaintArt

Part 1

Jetzt war es Dorian, der um Worte rang. Er musste sich verhört haben. Oder Alexander wollte ihn nur wieder ablenken, wie er es in letzter Zeit so oft getan hatte, wenn er nicht über etwas sprechen wollte. Wenn er etwas vor ihm geheim halten wollte. “Das ist aber nicht deine Entscheidung! Du hast kein Recht, einfach zu bestimmen, dass ich hier zu sitzen und zu warten habe, ob Du in einem Stück wieder kommst! Ich bin nicht aus Glas! Und ich gehöre bestimmt nicht zu deinem Hofstaat, den Du herum kommandieren kannst, wie es dir passt!” Er hatte das Gefühl, zu brennen. Und wenn er jetzt blieb, würde er Dinge sagen, die er ernsthaft bereuen würde. Also marschierte er an dem Inquisitor vorbei und schmiss die Tür hinter sich zu.

Es dauerte keine halbe Stunde, bis ihm sein Auftritt peinlich war. Er hatte sich aufgeführt wie ein bockiges Kind. Und er hatte zu viel gewollt. Wieder einmal. Gleich, was Alexander sagte, gleich, wie oft sie sich zusammen davon stahlen - mehr würde daraus nicht werden.

Es war spät, als es an seiner Türe klopfte, und um die Zeit konnte es nur der Inquisitor sein. Auch, wenn er bisher nie hierher gekommen war. Alexander betrat den Raum, begleitet von dem schwachen Geruch nach Lavendel. Einen Moment blieb er im Türrahmen stehen, und Dorian konnte sehen, wie er einen schnellen, prüfenden Blick in den Raum warf. Bevor der Inquisitor zu viel entdecken konnte, stand er auf, ein sorgsam platziertes, schiefes Lächeln auf den Lippen. “Ich sollte mich wohl für meinen dramatischen Auftritt entschuldigen.” “Du hast dich angehört wie eine eifersüchtige Ehefrau.” erwiderte Alexander, nicht ohne ein leises Lächeln. “Aber Du hast Recht. Ich habe kein Recht, Entscheidungen für dich zu treffen.” Er kam auf ihn zu, und dieses Mal wich Dorian nicht zurück, bis er seinen warmen Atem auf der Haut spürte. “Nicht solche, jedenfalls.” Seine Stimme war jetzt leiser und ein wenig heiser. Federleicht strichen seine Lippen über seine Haut. “Und dafür wollte ich mich entschuldigen.”

[macgyverbooks]

Dragon Age: Inquisition FanFic

The Lies In Which We Linger - Chapter One

Summary: As Aza struggles under the weight of the Inquisition and her growing responsibilities she finds solace in the arms of a fellow Qunari. But not all is well in Thedas, as the threat of breach grows, old enemies from Asa’s past to threaten everything she’s built.

Word Count: 3500

Warnings: None

-

The gob of spit landed squarely on my boot. Suspiciously yellow it dribbled into the cracks of the flagstone in a thick ooze

“Ox-bitch,” I glanced down at the owner of the spit who snarled from under his Andrastian helm. He stood straight and proud in his polished armour, chin raised and jutted foreword with aggression.

The Valo-kas to my right didn’t move, not even bothering to acknowledge the slight. Holding my stare the muscles in the soldiers neck and shoulders tightened in preparation. He was young, almost too young. A few pale yellow whiskers sprouted from his chin as a feeble attempt at a beard while his skin remained smooth and unmarked bar the angry red of his cheeks against the cold. The boy leered showing crooked teeth eyes flashing with male pomp like a skinny cockerel fluffing its feathers daring me to respond. It was going to be a long day. Remaining silent I resisted the grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth and looked ahead readjusting the grip on my simple stave.

The view truly was lovely. A panoramic vista of snowy mountains and wooded valleys with an immense clear blue sky above. If you squinted you could almost make out the herd beasts slowly making their way along the slopes below snuffling through the snow for roots and old grass.

From my vantage point on the parapets I had a good view of the main gate of the Conclave as a river of people flowed through. Even from this distance I could make out the many coloured garbs from across Thedas. Every now and then I could even spot the telltale tall and broad body of a Qunari topped with their great curving horns. More than likely they were only bodyguards or soldiers but the excitement of seeing so many my kin in one place was still thrilling.

An angry stomp of an armoured boot brought my attention back to the little boy.

“Oi, you hear me goat face? Or are you as deaf as you are ugly?”

Mulling over my options I glanced about checking for any other Guardsmen but non were about. He was small and no doubt light, a simple kick and I could send him neatly flying over the balustrade and tumbling down to the rocks below to meet his precious maker but I thought better of it. We were, after all under special instructions to “make nice”.

Sending a withering look to my right I dropped my chin letting him feel the full force of my attention as I stared down unblinking. Gripping my stave I let the crackle of magic fizzle around my fingers. Stinking of ozone and singed wood I leaned over him, baring my sharpened teeth and growled.

“You say something, Imekari?”

Turning even paler the boy soldier bolted with an undignified whimper. Straightening up I listened to his boots clomp away and sighed again.

“They get younger every year,” I muttered.

“You’re losing you’re edge, Aza.” The Valo-Kas to my right mumbled, “you would have flung him off the parapet not so long ago.”

I chuckled and leaned my stave against the wall readjusting my pauldrons, shrugging the tension from my shoulders.

“Not so long ago Meraad, you would have beaten me to it.”

Meraad shook his head, his twisted ivory horns exaggerating the motion

“You insult me” he huffed. I raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “He was too small, there would be no challenge.”

Ignoring my look he dug in his pouch producing two pipes and a small bag of tobacco. Packing one neatly he handed one to me then packed his own

“If you could do the honours” he grinned as I rolled my eyes at him.

“Only cause its you,” with a snap of my fingers a flame leapt to life dancing about like a mad firefly lighting both pipes with a flick of my wrist.

Leaning against the stone balustrade looking out over the mountains puffing sweet smoke it was almost romantic. Had it not been for the armour and weapons at our hips.

Taking a deep puff I blew it out into the wind watching it twist and swirl away. Without letting myself really think about it I lent gingerly against Meraads broad shoulder, testing the waters, fully expecting him to pull away. He didn’t. In fact he leaned into me in return, staring straight ahead. Satisfied I allowed myself a small smile, fiddling with the stem of my pipe.

“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Meraad rumbled still staring out at the mountains. “We’ve still got a lot to talk about, you and I.”

A ball of emotion squeezed my throat and I had to clear it a few times before replying lightly 

“Allow me one small victory.”

He grunted in response. Turning his head in a sweep of his board horns he glanced at me and grimaced, the corners of his full mouth pulled down in thought as he seemed to wrestle with his words. Opening his mouth to speak a single shriek of fear echoed from somewhere deep down in the conclave.

Both of us jerked upright on full alert heads on a swivel trying to pick up anymore sounds. The terrible cry came again, this time filled with pain. Hairs on the back of my neck prickled as tiny almost imperceptible shock waves of foreign magic began pulsating beneath my feet echoing up through the thick stone walls. Oh, that’s not good. Grabbing his shoulder I motioned to Meraad quietly

“I’m heading to the eastern stairs. Alert the Captain of the guard and start perimeter sweep with the others, now!” 

Turning to leave I stopped when Meraad grabbed my wrist and pulled me close letting our foreheads gently knock together

“I will meet you at the campfire tonight,” he whispered “for that talk.” 

At that he left hurrying around the corner to the steps leading down into the main hall. Staring after him I couldn’t help feeling hope bloom in my chest. He wanted to talk, after all this time he was finally ready. Turning to take a more direct route down through to the library and more private chambers of the Conclave following the steady thrum of magic I couldn’t stop the smile. Nothing could ruin this day. Nothing.

— A few weeks later —

Sat uncomfortably on the too low chairs I tried not to stare as the delicate elven barmaid served Cullen another beer. She hid behind her serving platter all blushing cheeks and doe eyes while Cullen, still suited up in his bright armour and fur mantle laughed and rubbed the back of his neck at her bashful tittering

Rolling my eyes in a painful groan I felt the pit of my stomach twist with embarrassment. Like I even had a chance. Glancing over I made the mistake of comparing myself to the beautiful elf. Where she was short and dainty I was long and broad. Her bright clear face only marked by the delicate lines of her tattoos, or Vallaslin, while mine was freckled, weather beaten and tattered with scars, some small some not so small. Running my tongue over the corner of my mouth I felt along the raised line of scar tissue that ran from eyebrow to chin, cleaving my lower lip on its way, and frowned swirling the dregs of my ale. I don’t know why I’d allowed it but my traitorous, stupid heart had leapt at the mere sight of the sweet and oh so charming commander. Like the hero in some star spangled folk tale he had appeared and like some idiot I had tried to flirt with him. What I had forgotten was that I more resembled the evil creature in the woods than the love struck, doe eyed heroine. 

Not that my motives had been entirely pure. I’d wanted a fling, something light and inconsequential that wasn’t going to haunt me later. A chance to feel close to someone again. Perhaps it was a poor attempt at consoling my damaged pride but, after some time observing the commander I had decided he wouldn’t appreciate the occasional one nighter. In fact the more I’d thought about it the more he seemed like the settling down type, the kind who would’ve picked out kids names and drapes by the morning after. Maybe I was a closet masochist, at least that would explain a few of my horrific life decisions and downright inappropriate taste in men.

An image flashed through my mind like a ghost. A frozen scene of Meraad tending to the campfire looking over his shoulder with a grin tugging at his mouth. Shivering I shoved the memory aside and downed the last of my drink. Drowning out memories had become a habit of mine over the last few weeks. It was unfortunate the weaker human beers and ales were hardly enough to get me tipsy. Dropping some coins onto the sticky table I shuffled out, sidestepping around the crowd of drunk soldiers and servants.

Out in the cold night air I breathed deep letting it out in a great puff of vapour. Like a dragon I thought with a somber smile. Hushed whispers to my left had me ducking my head, my shoulders tensing up as the three sisters bowed muttering “go in peace, Herald of Andraste” as I passed. Offering a tight lipped grimace of a smile I moved away quickly, heading for my quarters.

Herald of fucking Andraste. What a joke. Not that it really mattered what I thought. Soon as someone figured out I wasn’t deliberately trying to blow the sky open the rumours spread like wild fire. Prophetic. Messiah. Heaven sent. It was enough to make my skin crawl. Even worse was the way they looked at me, staring up in either wide eyed wonder or deep sneering suspicion. I wasn’t sure which one I hated more. At least Varric is here I thought, skirting past his tent were a small crowd had gathered, no doubt wanting to hear his stories.

The dwarf had appeared from nowhere with enough suave confidence to think he’d seen this all before. He was gentle if sarcastic in his manner and had quickly gained my approval much to Cassandra’s exasperation. With his sharp eyes and clever tongue I was keen to keep him around, though I sensed there was much more going on with him than he let on. Split loyalties could prove problematic if this “inquisition” grew anymore momentum. 

Approaching my temporary home I paused noting the door was open a crack, warm candle light spilling onto the snow. Old instincts rang in my head like an alarm and I approached warily, hand on my daggers before I could really think it through. Nudging the door open with a boot I cast my gaze about only to jump back, ripping the curved blades from their sheaths as a small figure dashed around the corner and through the door in a flurry of gold and purple. 

“Oh!” Josephine gasped, stepping back and nearly dropping her note board as her back connected with the door frame. Sighing in relief I quickly replaced the blades and raised my hands placatingly 

“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered, curling my shoulders and bending at the waist so I was closer to her eye level. “Thought you were a thief or something.”

“No need to apologise Herald,” Josephine waved airily, straightening her pristine gold cravat. Herald. I winced at the title, just use my name I wanted to say but I bit my tongue and nodded instead. “I was only dropping off some papers for you to look over.” If Josephine had been anyone else the following beat of silence would have been awkward. Instead she smiled, having to crane her neck up despite my efforts. “It is late, you should get some rest while you can. Tomorrow will be busy and we will need you at your best.” 

“When is it not busy,” I grumbled light heartedly with a polite smile, noting the way Josephines eyes flicked down to my mouth, my sharpened teeth no doubt catching the candle light. Shit. Though technically similar in structure to ours I found humans soft, fleshy faces difficult to read. I never knew how to judge their reactions and Josephine was no different, she was just more forgiving about my confusion than most, though the fact she and Leliana could manipulate their faces so easily still alarmed me. At least Cullen and Cassandra were more verbal and plain about their feelings though, in Cassandra’s case, I  sometimes I wished they weren’t. Despite all that I noted the minute widening of her eyes at my feral smile, the way she raised her note board a fraction higher. Damn it.

“There is someone here to see you, Herald.” She continued breezily, “They’re waiting for you by the Chantry.”  

Clamping my mouth shut I nodded, waving goodbye as Josephine disappeared into the biting winter night, the strange metallic fabric of her puff sleeves reflecting the cold moonlight. Turning toward the great stone hall I couldn’t stop the small shake of my head at the absurdity of my situation. Me of all people rubbing shoulders with templars, ex-royalty and ladies of foreign courts not to mention the multitudes of holy men and woman. A shiver ran up my spine thinking of the conversations with Lelianna in her tent. Her eyes razor sharp with intellect while she pondered and muddled over her words like a mad zealot, grappling with her faith. The awful way she had stared as I floundered for an answer to her questions, my face screwed up into a pained wince just remembering it. It was becoming a terrifying trend in my advisors, them asking for advice and me fumbling under the pressure. Wasn’t it supposed to work the other way round? And what did they really expect from me, some kind of divine wisdom just cause I survived a fucking explosion? I shook my head, that wasn’t it. For all their niceties the questions smacked of judgment, clumsy attempts at testing my character, drawing me out with their tales only to slap me with a moral dilemma and see what I’d do.

Solas was a fucker for it. I’d stood in child like rapture as he spoke of his experiences moving through the fade, what he’d seen and heard, the spirits he’d spoken with. He spun the stories in his gentle voice lulling me into a false sense of security only to pose an innocent question, then snark at my response. Bastard. All of them bastards. Everyone working so hard to put the world back together and stuck with me to lead them. Poor, poor bastards.

Approaching the hall I spied a soldier, a mercenary most likely, waiting by the doors. His armour though battered from use shined reflecting the last of the evenings sun. He was handsome I noted, short but stocky with close cropped brown hair and a soft unmarked face, not your typical looking merc for sure.

“You the Inquisitor?” He asked in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, his eyes looking me up and down.

“Depends whose asking,” I replied, eyeing him in return

“We’ve got word of some Tevinter mercenary’s out on the Storm Coast,” he continued unfazed. “My commander, Iron Bull,  offers the the information free of charge.”

Containing a snort at the name, I folded my arms instead and tutted

“How gracious of him, but I doubt anything is for free. What does this Iron Bull want?” 

“An interview. Come to the Storm Coast and see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition.”

Shaking my head I turned to leave. Any idiot with a sword can claim to be a mercenary and in all my time with the Valo-Kas I’d never heard of the Bull’s Chargers. I wouldn’t waste precious resources chasing what are most likely unskilled peasants with more bravery than sense.

“There is no shortage of mercenaries wanting to join our cause, I don’t have time to-“

“We’re the best you’ll find.” The merc stated. Glancing over my shoulder I squinted at him noting the lack of pomp or anger, just his plain stare meeting my gaze steadily. He wasn’t lying. “Come to the Storm Coast, see us in action, then decide if you need us.”

My lip curled at the wording but I nodded, grudgingly impressed by this soft spoken man.

“Fine.” I conceded with a tired sigh, “tell your Iron Bull we’ll be at the coast in a few days.”

At that the Merc nodded and left, walking off toward the ale house without so much of a backward glance.  

Closing the door of my quarters I poured over the new paperwork Josephine had left. A scout report caught my eye detailing a particularly nasty fight that had broken out in a village in the Hinterlands between the mages and templars, only a few had escaped. It twisted my stomach just how fast things turned to shit. Everyday reports streamed in from every corner of new rifts opening, demons spotted in one place after another, missing people and rogue mages and templars causing havoc. That first trip through the Hinterlands still hung over me. So much death and destruction and not a damn person to stop it. Still despite it all my heart lifted at the prospect of going to the Storm Coast despite my doubt. I hadn’t seen the ocean since I was a girl. With a sigh I stood and grabbed the report needing to organise a few things before I went to bed. Time away from the Haven was time well spent and I was anxious to be out from under the many eyes of this place.

—

“This is bullshit.”

Varric cackled. “Not a fan of the rain, Lucky?” 

“Rain. Rifts. Templars. Demons. Fucking giant spiders.” I listed staring down the beach, “what else am I forgetting?”

“Darkspawn.” Solas added dryly.

Nodding I hooked my thumbs into my belt and sighed. It had been one shit show after another, first the Hinterlands then that mess at Val Royoux and now this gods forsaken coastline. Looking down the beach from our little base camp the rain pelting down my neck all I wanted was to crawl back into bed. After the long gruelling trip over here, slogging through knee high mud and fighting off bandits we’d arrived cold, wet and tired and I’d stupidly spent most of the night going over notes, replying to messages from Scout Harding and looking over acquisition demands from Quartermaster Threnn. Now an ache had settled between my shoulder blades from hunching over my too low desk as exhaustion dragged at my eyelids. 

Below the sounds of fighting echoed up the beach, the clanging of swords cutting through the roar of the waves that battered the rocks. Taking a long breath I nodded at Cassandra and started down the rocky slope. Scout Harding had let us know the Bull’s Chargers were waiting on the beach but I’d let them sit for a few hours, instead heading out to find the few rifts that had been reported on. Demons had felt more important at the time but now I regretted the decision, after being blown off my feet by a fire demon and attacked by giant spiders I was in no mood to play diplomacy with a bunch of mercenaries. Plus my hand ached, the throbbing going straight to the bone as the sickly green light flared and arced. 

“Here we go,” I muttered under my breath as we emerged onto the beach right into the fray. Charging ahead I ripped my blades from their sheathes and tore into battle, all weariness forgotten, my blood singing. This I could do, rip and tear till the job was done. The simplicity appealed to some base part of my nature, the part that wanted to smash heads when some snotty peasant sneered “Oxman” to my face. 

Plunging my daggers in the neck of a Tevinter a shadow loomed over my shoulder. On pure instinct I spun and raised my blood soaked blades braced to be blown away by the massive arc of the war axe that sang through air like quicksilver. Feeling the whoosh of air tussle my braids I lowered my knives an inch in surprise. At my feet lay a tevinter who’d been creeping up on me twitching in pool of blood, an axe imbedded in his spine. Glancing up and up and up I squinted at the massive Qunari, his broad horns and even broader shoulders blocking the weak sun.

“Well hello, Inquisitor!” The Iron Bull said with a blood splattered grin.

[sweetjulieapples]

Dear Commander - Chapter 15: The Herald's Green Inquisition-issued Scarf

Cullen x Trevelyan

AO3 MASTERLIST

The Inquisition make their way to The Temple of Sacred Ashes to seal the breach. Cullen notices that The Herald is wearing a green scarf and proceeds to overthink that.

Full chapter below:

“And when the breach in the sky has been sealed, tell me - what happens next?”

This was the question on everyone’s mind. For most, it was a matter of duty. What jobs lie ahead after the breach and any left over rifts were done away with? What to rebuild? Where to next? For others, it was far more dire. The looming uncertainty of where to live and what purpose to have. What need has The Inquisition of hundreds of mages?

Chancellor Roderick asked the question, not out of curiosity, but of provocation. His words dripped with sarcasm, laced with condescending questioning in an attempt to provoke a reaction. The Ambassador, with all her grace, remained unfazed by his mockery. Maintaining a courteous smile and speaking with a gentle voice, Josephine responded calmly and with poise. “The Inquisition has plenty more work in Thedas, Chancellor. I do hope that The Chantry will come to see that in due time.”

“I will see that Val Royeaux puts an end to this heretical movement —”

“Roderick,” Juliette interrupted as she walked into the chantry. “It’s so lovely to see that you are working hard to do your part,” she stood at Josephine’s side and folded her arms. The ladies exchanged a subtle glance before Juliette continued, “Helping prepare to seal the breach and not getting in anyone’s way at all.” She smirked and with a sarcastic whisper added, “The Maker must be so proud.”

Roderick sneered with disgust. “Mock if you will. Your very presence is a blasphemous assault against all that is holy.”

Juliette's laugh burst forth abruptly, a harsh, cackle that seemed more of a snort than a genuine response. "That's a tad dramatic, no?" Roderick glared at her crude reaction. “It’s funny you should say that though, Chancellor,” Juliette said smugly. “I was actually sent here by Mother Giselle to fetch you. I doubt she’d appreciate waiting too long.”

He screwed up his face with frustration and snapped, “That is not what I meant and you know it.” He swiftly turned and made his way towards the exit, leaving Josephine and Juliette behind with amused smiles.

“I’m most grateful for Mother Giselle’s timing.”

“Oh, I haven’t the faintest clue where Mother Giselle is or what she’s doing. I just wanted him out of my sight,” Juliette confessed with a proud grin.

“Oh,” Josie laughed. “Very nice work, Herald.”

Juliette tilted her head to the side as they began to walk towards the war room. “Can’t you just do your thing, Josie? You know, a whisper here, rumor there…” A mischievous grin grew on Juliette’s face. “Could you start a scandal, get him booted from The Chantry?”

“Very easily,” Josephine laughed. “Believe me, I’ve thought of it more than once.”

“You have far more patience than I,” Juliette laughed. She stopped and gave Josephine a warm smile. “You’re really good at this, you know?”

“That means a lot. Thank you, Herald,” Josephine replied graciously. “I’ll be a moment longer yet but the others will be in soon. I’ll see you in the war room shortly?”

Juliette's smile widened in an exaggerated show of cheerfulness. “Oh, I’ll be there,” she said, the forced brightness in her voice not quite masking her exhaustion.

When Juliette pushed open the door to the war room, her heart skipped a beat at the unexpected sight. Cullen was leaning over the table, the soft glow of candles casting warm light and gentle shadows that highlighted the strong, chiseled lines of his features. He glanced up once hearing the door open. Their eyes locked in that instant—an electric, unspoken recognition passing between them.

The air seemed to thicken with tension as Juliette stepped inside, her steps hesitant as though she contemplated turning to run away. She could feel her cheeks flush slightly, a nervous warmth spreading through her. Cullen’s gaze, though steady, revealed a flicker of surprise and something softer, more vulnerable, before he quickly looked away to clear his throat. The silence that followed stretched out, heavy and awkward, amplifying the unspoken emotions between them.

Juliette made her way to the end of the table, her fingers grazing the map where The Western Approach was marked. Cullen offered her an awkward smile in lieu of a proper greeting.

“Tell me you haven’t been here all morning,” she said, mustering her best bravado.

Cullen, his head bowed as he flicked through reports, replied without looking up, “I haven’t been here all morning.”

Juliette’s laugh was a mixture of amusement and challenge. “Now, look at me and tell me again without lying.”

He answered with a soft chuckle, slowly lifting his gaze to meet hers. Guilt spread across his face as he admitted, “Not all morning.” Juliette narrowed her eyes and shot him a playful smirk.

“There is still much to do, however. Perhaps I should have come here earlier.”

“It will be over soon,” she said softly, a hint of sympathy in her voice.

Cullen’s expression fell, his face taking on a crestfallen look. The lines of exhaustion on his face deepened, and his shoulders drooped just a touch, as though the thought of closing the breach meant more than he was letting on.

“There will be plenty more to do moving ahead, Herald,” Cullen spoke quietly, his words laced with a touch of sadness as he busied himself and avoided eye contact.

Juliette caught the subtle shift in Cullen’s expression. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him, her gaze lingering on the signs of discomfort that flickered across his face. As she looked to his eyes she began to wonder when he might have last slept. The dark circles under his eyes and the pallor of his complexion spoke of fatigue. He seemed stressed—something not unusual for Cullen—but there was an added layer of unease, a sense that something was different this time.

Juliette wanted to ask if he was alright and offer her support, but the words caught in her throat. She decided it was better not to overstep and chose silence instead. She didn't want to intrude on his personal matters...again. She remembered how uncomfortable he had looked that night in the chantry when she had asked about his vows.

She observed the tightness in Cullen’s posture and the distant look in his eyes. It felt like there was a barrier between them, as though he was unapproachable. She took in a sharp breath, opening her mouth once again, only to let the words die unspoken.

The memory of their conversation in the chantry felt like a different world now, a time when laughter and lightheartedness flowed easily between them. Juliette recalled the moment when she could simply be herself, free from the weight of her title as The Herald of Andraste. The connection they shared seemed so genuine and effortless that night, a stark contrast to the distant and guarded demeanor she saw in Cullen now.

As she watched him , with his walls firmly in place, doubts crept into her mind. She wondered if their night in the chantry had been nothing more than a fleeting dream, a side effect of Adan’s potion distorting her perception. The warmth that had once sparked between them now seemed like a distant memory, obscured by the current coldness.

Juliette was distracted by a wave of uncertainty as she replayed their past interactions in her mind. The connection she had felt seemed so vivid, so real—yet now, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it might have been nothing more than a figment of her imagination. She remembered the moment clearly, that fleeting spark that had seemed to pass between them, only for Cullen to retreat soon after. His sudden departure left her feeling disoriented and questioning herself.

She wondered if she had misjudged the situation, perhaps coming across as too eager or intrusive. The lingering doubts made her second-guess whether she had somehow pushed him away. Despite these uncertainties, Juliette held on to the significance of their shared moment. Even if it was brief and ended abruptly, it was a memory that she wasn’t willing to let go of.

She closed her eyes, and with a sigh, fell back on what she knows best - self depreciating humor.

“That’s a shame,” Juliette said with a forced grin. “I was hoping to take a really long nap after I saved the world.”

Cullen’s eyes slowly lifted from their downcast position, a glimmer of amusement flickering across his face. He allowed a small, playful smirk to break through, his eyes reflecting a subtle spark of mischief. “What is it they say? ‘No rest for the wicked’?” he said, his voice carrying a gentle, teasing lilt.

Juliette let out a sudden, high-pitched giggle that echoed through the room. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” she said, her voice laced with playful teasing.

Cullen responded with a soft, breathy chuckle. Before he could speak, they were interrupted by the sound of Chancellor Roderick’s voice booming from behind the door.

“Where is she?” his voice reverberated throughout the chantry, showing his irritation.

“Where is who, Chancellor?” Josephine asked, feigning ignorance.

“Trevelyan! That lying little…”

Cullen waved his hand towards the door with an amused smirk on his face. “As I was saying…”

“Oh, lovely. He’s back already,” Juliette muttered under her breath, her earlier lightheartedness giving way to a resigned sigh.

“I’ll handle it,” Cullen said with a calm, dutiful tone. His smile suggested he was more amused than bothered by the interruption. He stepped out the door and called loudly, “Chancellor! Haven’t you done enough?”

Juliette listened to the bickering unfold from behind the closed door of the war room with a faint giggle, muffled behind her hand.

“Now, now, Chancellor. Let’s be civil,” Josephine chimed in, her voice carrying a slight patronizing edge as she attempted to reason with the irate chancellor.

“I demand an answer, now!” Roderick yelled.

“Do not raise your voice at our Ambassador!” Cullen retorted, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “This is a place of worship.”

Roderick twisted his face in disgust. “Oh, don’t give me that garbage, Templar. You’re running your rebel Inquisition from here, corrupting Thedas under Andraste’s name. You should be ashamed.” He stepped closer to Cullen, his voice rising with urgency. “Now, let me through. I need a word with your so-called ‘Herald’!”

Cullen shook his head and lied, flawlessly, “She’s not here, I haven’t seen her at all today. Perhaps you should try the stables.”

Roderick's eyes narrowed as he took in Cullen's response. His expression shifted from fiery resentment to a cold, calculating suspicion. The crease between his brows deepened, and his lips pressed into a thin line, revealing his doubt.

“Really now?” Roderick said, his tone dripping with skepticism. “The stables, you say?” Roderick shot Josephine a sharp look before returning his gaze to Cullen. “Very well. I’ll check the stables,” he said as he turned on his heel with a brisk, almost exaggerated stride. “If this, too, is more deceit, you’ll be hearing of it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Cullen mumbled as Roderick slammed the chantry door shut with a resounding bang.

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension dissipating into a mix of relief and bemusement. The door to the war room slowly cracked open, revealing Juliette peeking out cautiously with a guilty grin on her face.

“Leliana should hurry herself, we need to get this war council underway before he comes back,” Cullen said, gently pushing past Juliette as he moved back into the war room. She froze, as though a bolt of electricity had shot through her when his gloved hand brushed against her arm.

Cullen, now focused on the scattered reports on the table, barely noticed the effect his touch had on her. “We’ve got work to do,” he said, his tone now practical , as he shifted his attention back to the documents.

Juliette blinked rapidly before shaking herself out of her daze. “Yes, absolutely,” she said, attempting to regain her composure as she followed him into the room. The faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her efforts to appear poised.

The breach thundered and boomed far louder at the temple ruins, its noise competing against the howl of strong winds and the sickening song of the red lyrium crystals. The sky above was a tumultuous swirl of colour that seemed to mirror the chaos below.

Cullen looked down from the terrace by the temple entrance, or what was left of it. While his men assembled below as instructed, he watched with unease as debris and broken remnants of the temple’s structure floated in the air, suspended by the will of the lyrium’s force. He slowly glanced up to the sky, squinting at the light that shone down from above. Much like the breach, Cullen’s thoughts were a chaotic swirl of a mess.

Grand Enchanter Fiona led the mages into position, each group lining up along the crumbling parapets of the temple at various elevations. The explosion months earlier had left parts of the building exposed, in such a way that the structure now resembled an amphitheater.

The noise of the gathering crowd grew louder as more people arrived to fulfill their duties. All these people. If something were to go wrong...

Will the mages have sufficient control over their magic? What if the power overloads? Could it overwhelm her? What if—

Cullen’s thoughts splintered like broken glass, each shard a new worry. The crowd around him seemed to move in slow motion, their faces blurring into a backdrop of anxious noise. I should have asked her if she was ready. If she was feeling alright about all of this.

An officer stepped into his field of vision and greeted Cullen with a dutiful “Commander.”

Cullen flinched at the unexpected interruption, then forced a nod of acknowledgment as his men marched past, heading to their designated positions within the temple. He shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts, but the pressure in his mind felt like a vice tightening with every passing moment.

Not that it would matter if she was ready. It has to happen now.

He stepped closer to the edge of the terrace, peering down at the rows of soldiers below. They stood in precise lines, their uniforms immaculate and their postures rigid. They look impressive, Cullen thought, his eyes scanning the disciplined ranks. Harritt’s done an excellent job commissioning those weapons. The soldiers’ readiness seemed to contrast with the turmoil in Cullen’s mind.

But is it enough? Have I overlooked something? Are they truly prepared for what’s coming? They’ve yet to face demons. What else could escape that thing? How much power will it take to close - but what does she mean ‘It will be over soon’? There’s so much more we could — argh, that red lyrium!

Heat radiated from the lyrium crystals embedded in the walls at the entrance where Cullen stood waiting. The noise, a rhythmic, pulsing song, vibrated through his body like a heartbeat or a war drum, trying to exert its will over him. He took a few steps back, suddenly aware of the dryness in his mouth and the aches in his shoulders and legs.

Perhaps I should have said something earlier today. Did I seem too cold? I likely did. I’d hate for her to think that I wasn’t interested in speaking with her. I should have … what are they doing? Those will break!

“You there!” Cullen shouted over the howling wind, his voice barely cutting through the storm. He squinted against the stinging snow that lashed his face, the fur coat that sat atop his shoulders flapping wildly in the gale. Striding towards the nearby officer, he pointed urgently at the healers struggling with supplies down the stairs on the opposite side of the temple.

“Tell those healers to use both hands when carrying the crates, or better yet, send some men to assist them. We can not afford to damage the supplies at a time like this!”

“At your order,” the officer said with a fist raised to his chest.

Cullen folded his arms and looked to the sky once more. Every swirl of green light and thunderous crack that boomed above felt like a grain of sand slipping through an hourglass, each moment amplifying his anxious anticipation for The Herald’s arrival.

I should have asked her if she was ready. I never asked. Is she feeling alright? She must be nervous.

A sudden jolt of pain seared through Cullen’s head, as though a sharp, electrifying bolt had pierced his skull. A wave of excruciating pain surged through him, immediate and overwhelming, making him clutch at his temples. Determined not to let the routine headaches blur his focus, he fixed his gaze to the mages as they waited patiently for the ritual to begin.

That lyrium. The first thing we need to do is clear it out once this is …why did she say ‘It will be over soon’? Surely she cannot be thinking about leaving. Not now, not after —

Cullen’s eyes widened with alarm when he spotted someone veering off course. “Stop!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “You’re going the wrong way! It’s not structurally sound—you must use the western staircase! Has your lieutenant not informed you?” His gaze was fierce, reflecting his frustration and urgency as he tried to correct the mistake before it could lead to disaster. He shook his head in disbelief.

I asked them to barricade that exit. What else could they have neglected? I should go down there, make sure everything’s in order before she arrives… No, I must wait for her. I need to talk to her—set things right. I’m distracted. I can’t let this, her, cloud my judgment. I can’t fail them. I must give—

Cullen’s thoughts abruptly halted as he caught sight of Juliette approaching the temple’s entrance. His gaze snapped toward her, and for a heartbeat, everything else seemed to fade away. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes locked onto her with an intensity that momentarily silenced the tumult in his mind.

With Cassandra by her side and Solas trailing close behind, The Herald laughed as a gust of wind swept in, embracing her with its wild energy. Her hair flew in a chaotic dance, and the fabric of her coat billowed around her. Reacting swiftly, she reached up to secure the scarf that had been draped loosely over her shoulders, her fingers gripping it tightly to prevent it from being whisked away by the gust. The scarf was green, the same hue as the fabric worn by the soldiers in their uniform. It was a vivid reminder of her role within The Inquisition.

She chose to wear that today. What could that mean?

Cullen’s stance softened, and a flicker of something—hope, anxiety, or perhaps a mixture of both—crossed his features. The stern lines of his face softened, if only for a moment, as he prepared himself to address her, his focus now solely on the figure that had captured his full attention.

“Herald,” he greeted with a firm, formal voice, his posture now rigid, with his arms folded across his chest.

As she stepped closer, he noticed the worried expression on her face. Her dark brown eyes gazed into his, revealing vulnerability and nerves that momentarily disarmed him. Cassandra, standing by her side, tapped her arm with two quick, successive taps—a silent gesture of acknowledgment, signaling their readiness to move forward without further words. With that, Cassandra and Solas began to descend the stairs, leaving Juliette behind to speak with The Commander.

As the wild wind roared around them, Juliette’s lopsided smile quickly gave way to a look of frustration, her face partially hidden by the billowing strands of her hair and the scarf she struggled to keep in place. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she squinted against the force of the wind, her attempts to shield her eyes and maintain her composure evident.

Cullen's features tightened as the wind whipped around him, the gusts pressing against his stern expression. “Are you alright? You look—” he began, but his words were swallowed by the howl of the wind. He grimaced as the wind tugged at his coat and hair, making it difficult to keep his posture steady.

“Pardon?” Juliette yelled, her voice nearly lost in the roar of the gusts. “I didn’t hear you!”

She quickly moved in closer to him, and he slightly lowered his head to make himself heard above the wind. “Are you feeling alright—”

Before he could finish, another strong gust swept Juliette’s scarf from her shoulders, causing her to release a surprised squeak. Instinctively, Cullen lunged forward, his quick reflexes allowing him to catch the scarf mid-air.

He took a moment to steady himself before turning back to Juliette, his expression softening despite the harsh conditions. He extended the scarf toward her, their hands brushing briefly as she reached for it.

The touch was brief but electric. Juliette's fingers lingered against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and something deeper—an emotion she had been trying to keep hidden. Her heart skipped a beat as she met his gaze, feeling a swirl of unspoken attraction and vulnerability.

Cullen’s own eyes held a fleeting softness, a stark contrast to his usual stern demeanor. He noticed the tremor in her touch and, without thinking, placed his gloved hand over Juliette’s, as though to ensure her grip on the scarf was extra secure.

Juliette’s cheeks flushed deeply, a vivid contrast to the chill of the wind. She looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and fascination. The contact, though muted by the gloves, was still electric, sending a rush of heat through her. She quickly withdrew her hand, her heart racing as she fumbled to adjust the scarf around her neck. Even amidst the wind’s chaos and the surrounding noise, the moment they shared felt oddly quiet and serene.

Cullen stepped back and moved around the corner of the entrance, finding a small nook that offered some shelter from the wind. He drew in a deep breath, his pulse racing from the lingering of Juliette’s touch. She followed him, her gaze expectant, waiting for him to break the silence. Deciding to avoid the awkwardness of asking about her a third time, Cullen pressed forward with the conversation.

“The best of the mages are ready, Herald. Be certain that you are ready for the assault on the breach. We cannot know how you will be affected.”

“Well, that’s not exactly the reassurance I was hoping for, Cullen,” she said with a nervous laugh, glancing down at her hand. The glow from the mark was erratic, flashing and pulsating as she neared the breach. Cullen followed her gaze, their eyes meeting again. He offered her a soft, sympathetic look. “Am I shaking?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling. “I’m shaking.” She exhaled deeply, the breath coming out in an exaggerated puff as she turned away from him. “Let’s do this before I change my mind,” she said with newfound determination.

As she moved towards the stairs, the wind hit her with a fierce gust, making her cry out in surprise. “This weather!” She glanced back at Cullen with a faint smile. “Looking forward to clear skies and warmer climates.”

“Good luck, Herald,” He shouted.

“Thank you, Commander!” she called back, her voice just barely reaching his ears as she descended the stairs.

Cullen stood at the top of the stairs, his gaze lingering on the spot where Juliette had vanished. A heavy, disheartening weight settled on his chest as he watched her disappear from view.

So she is leaving.

[andrastesacredknickers]

A Hopeless Cause

Summary: Cullen tries his best to hide the fact that he has growing feelings for Lavellan, though he doesn’t seem to be very good at it. Watching her grow closer to Warden Blackwall leaves him frustrated, he tries his best to fight these bitter feelings. If only she knew how he felt.

While writing this I was listening to: All the Pretty Girls by KALEO

Pairing: Cullen x Lavellan

Word count: 2.6K

Tags: So much pining and yearning, Cullen fumbling as per usual, awkward flirting, Blackwall Flirtationship

Find me on Ao3 here

“I like a man with a nice beard,” Eve said with a laugh, shooting Blackwall a flirtatious grin. He sat beside her in the tavern at Haven, his arm resting on the back of her chair. The tavern was fairly full with the Inquisition’s scouts, chatter creating a low rumble. Eve had her hands wrapped around a mug, rubbing her thumb against the glass.

“A woman of taste, I see,” he laughed, the hand behind her grazing against her shoulder.

“Elven men don’t have beards, they’re all… naked in the face,” Eve replied, picking up her mug of ale and taking a big swig.

Cullen sat a table over, picking at a plate of food as he watched Eve and the Warden from afar. He felt his face grow warm as the two shared glances, Blackwall shifting to be closer to the elf. The commander couldn’t understand why he felt so… jealous. It’s not like he and Eve were anything more than two people working towards the same cause.

She was the Herald of Andraste and he the commander of the Inquisition’s forces. Any time they spent together was simply work, though Eve did ask him to train her along side his soldiers. She was interested in learning to defend herself without the use of magic. He liked that about her. She was a near hopeless cause at first, hardly even able to hold a sword. Cullen enjoyed the time he spent with her, training her one on one in the evenings. She was dedicated, never missing a lesson with him and he admired her determination. She was, after all, very busy. But she dedicated as much time as she could to improving her form, running drills, observing Cullen as he taught the other soldiers.

Eve was funny, she was smart, and the commander couldn’t help but notice the fact that she was also quite beautiful.

He looked back up at her across the tavern, noticing her eyes on him. She shot him a quick smile, returning her gaze back to the man sitting next to her. He watched as her eyes flicked quickly to Blackwall’s lips, meeting his gaze once again and laughing at his joke. Cullen loved her crooked smile, the way one of her eyes squinted when she laughed.

What he wouldn’t give to have her look at him like that.

“You’re not very subtle, Commander,”

Cullen jumped at the voice, turning to see Leliana leaning against the wall behind him. He grumbled to himself, looking back down at his plate of roast and potatoes.

“Sweet Maker, how are you so quiet?” He huffed, resting his head in his hand.

“Practice. It also helps that I don’t wear 10 layers of armor like you,” she said with a laugh, sitting down in the chair across from him. “She isn’t going to magically know you feel for her, you know,” the spymaster said, leaning back in her chair.

“What? Why would you? I don’t feel… anything for-“

“It’s quite obvious that you do,” Leliana replied, cutting off his stumbling. Cullen sighed, looking up at her.

“It would be… inappropriate,” he mumbled, hiding his face in his hands.

It didn’t matter what he felt. He was the commander and she… she was important. Eve was their only chance at sealing the Breach, the fate of Thedas rested on her shoulders. He couldn’t let his feelings cloud his judgement, now was not the time to indulge his feelings. Besides, she was a mage. He still struggled with feeling safe near magic users and Eve was no exception.

“And sitting here seething, staring daggers at the Warden is appropriate?” Leliana asked, raising an eyebrow at Cullen. He rolled his eyes, training his glare on her.

“Who asked you anyway, Leliana?” He huffed, his hands balled in a fist on the table.

“Oh my, Commander. You’re in trouble,” she said with a chuckle, turning her head to look at Eve and Blackwall. Eve still had her hands wrapped around her mug, her legs crossed under the table. Her foot rested against Blackwall’s shin, slightly rubbing against him as they talked. The Warden’s arm remained on the back of her chair, his hand now resting against her arm.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen groaned, shoving his plate forward and swiftly standing up. He looked over to Eve once more, seeing her cheeks and the tips of her ears blushed as she laughed. He turned on his heel, storming out of the tavern.

“Good night, Commander!” Leliana shouted after him, shaking her head. She looked over to Eve who raised an eyebrow at her. Leliana shrugged, pulling Cullen’s abandoned dinner towards her and picking at the potatoes.

Cullen stood outside the tavern, his back leaning against the building. He hated how worked up he felt over this. His heart raced, his stomach felt like it was in knots, his face was warm. He had no right to feel jealous, Eve had no idea how he felt. He didn’t even really know how he felt. She just had this effect on him, made it hard to focus, to think. Cullen cursed under his breath, making his way to his tent for the night.

“It would probably be best for me to head to bed. I think Josephine has quite the list of tasks for me to do tomorrow,” Eve said, looking down at her hands. She felt warm from the ale and the crackling fireplace in the tavern, feeling Blackwall’s hand resting against her arm.

“Let me walk you back,” he said, getting up from his chair and extending a hand to Eve. She smiled, placing her hand in his as she stood. His hand was warm, but rough from callouses. Blackwall gently squeezed her hand before releasing it, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him.

“You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you,” Eve chuckled, making her way out of the now empty tavern.

“A lady such as yourself deserves to be treated with respect,” he said, following behind her. As she stepped outside into the cool air, Eve took a deep breath. She wasn’t used to spending so much time indoors, the night air on her skin felt like home. She looked up to the sky, it was clear, the stars beautifully visible and sparkling.

“Being trapped inside so much is strange for me. I’ve practically lived in the forest my whole life,” Eve said, looking over to Blackwall.

“That must’ve been an exciting life, traveling so much,” he said as they walked, his hand brushing hers.

“You can’t tell me your life hasn’t been exciting as a Grey Warden,” Eve said, allowing her pinky finger to rest against his.

“Hah, yes. I suppose my life hasn’t exactly been boring,” he replied, his eyes dropping to the ground.

As the pair approached Eve’s door, she turned to face him.

“Thank you, Blackwall. I enjoy your company,” Eve said, leaning her back against the door frame.

“And I, yours,” he replied, resting his hand next to her head against the door. Eve cocked an eyebrow at him as he moved his face closer to her, dropping her gaze to his lips. Blackwall pressed his lips against hers, letting his free hand fall to her waist. She could feel the rough scratch of his beard against her face as he moved his lips against hers. She rested her hands against his chest, leaning in to his kiss. He smelled of leather and pine, she could taste a hint of ale on his breath. He pulled away, averting his gaze as he let out a chuckle.

“Good night, my lady,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

“Good night,” she replied, watching as he walked away.

Eve smiled to herself as she unlocked her door, slipping inside. She rested her back against the door, taking a deep breath before walking towards her bed. Eve quickly removed her boots followed by her coat and scarf. She kicked off her trousers, left only in her small clothes and shirt and slipped into her bed.

As she closed her eyes to sleep, Eve thought about the kiss with Blackwall. She had never kissed a man with a beard, it was rough and coarse, though she did like it. Eve liked Warden Blackwall. He was kind, determined, and dedicated to their cause, albeit a bit intense. It felt nice for someone to treat her as he did, her last experience with a man colored her ideas of how she deserved to be treated. As she lie in her bed, her mind began to wander to another man.

The commander.

Eve spent a lot of her time with Cullen, whether that be in meetings with her other advisors or when she trained with his soldiers.

Though Eve was a mage, she was determined to show the Inquisition’s soldiers that she was one of them. And learning to wield a sword was something she’d always wanted to do. Keeper Istimaethoriel always discouraged her from doing so, as she needed to focus on her studies. Cullen was so willing to teach her, taking time out of his day to train her one on one. He was kind with her, despite how awful she was at first. He was patient and thorough, making sure to explain things in a way she could understand. Eve was always surprised at how gentle he was when he helped her adjust her form, making sure to show her how to hold her body and where to place her hands on the sword.

Eve wondered what it might be like to feel his gentle touch in other ways. How his hand might feel in hers, how it might feel to kiss him.

Eve’s eyes snapped open. The elf rolled over on to her back, staring at the ceiling of her room.

“Oh,” she mumbled to herself, feeling her pulse race as she rubbed her forehead.

Eve always thought Cullen was handsome, she enjoyed flirting with him as it always made him blush. But he was the Inquisition’s commander. And an ex Templar. Surely, there could never be anything there. It would be too… complicated. Now wide awake, Eve knew that sleep would not be coming for her any time soon. She took a deep breath before sitting up, sliding off of her bed and pulling on her trousers. She slipped a sweater over her head and pulled on her boots.

“A walk… yes, that’s what I need. A walk and a cold shower,” she huffed, trying to shake the thoughts of the commander from her head. Eve grabbed her staff before heading out the door, securing it across her back as she walked into the cool air.

Cullen lay in his cot, staring up at the ceiling as his mind raced. He couldn’t get the image of Eve out of his head, the way she flirted with Blackwall, her smile, the way she batted her long white eyelashes, the curve of her nose. He huffed, rolling over on to his side and closing his eyes. He felt himself grow flustered all over again, imagining how he would react if he was in the Warden’s position. Would he be able to hold his composure if she rested her foot against him, running it up his leg? What would it feel like for her to place her hand in his? For her to lean in to him, looking into his eyes, her lips pressed to his?

Cullen opened his eyes, breathing heavily and his face warm. He grumbled to himself as he sat up, swinging his legs off the side of his cot. He could feel the frustration building inside him, he hated the way his body reacted to the idea of being close to Eve. Any time they’d touched, he thought about it for days after, overanalyzing every interaction.

He stood from his cot, shoving his feet in a pair of boots and sloppily lacing them.

I need to hit something He thought to himself, pulling on a sweater and picking up his sword. As he ducked under the flap of his tent he saw a figure standing near the stables, a hand outstretched petting one of the Inquisition’s horses.

Short in stature with snow white hair that nearly glowed in the dark.

“Of course,” he mumbled to himself, debating whether he should just pretend he hadn’t seen her. In a moment of boldness, he made the decision to walk over to the elf.

“Herald?” He said as he approached her, sheathing the sword at his side. She turned to face him, smiling at him with that crooked smile. He froze for a moment, already feeling warmth rush to his cheeks.

“Hello, Cullen,” she said, gently stroking the horses muzzle. She turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t call me that, please just call me Eve. What has you put so late?” She asked, cocking her head to the side as she looked at him.

“I, ah, couldn’t sleep,” he said, watching as she turned back to face the horse. He observed the way she traced her finger along the swirl on the mare’s forehead, whispering quietly to her. The mare bowed her head, allowing Eve to rub gentle circles along the swirl.

“I have a horse, Hugo. Something told me to travel to the Conclave on foot, my clan was staying just a days travel away. I’m glad I made that choice, I don’t know if I ever would’ve found him again had I brought him,” Eve said quietly, gently petting the mare’s cheek.

“Do you miss him?” Cullen asked, watching how gentle she was, how the horse responded to her touch.

“I do. He’s been my best friends since I was a girl,” Eve said, chuckling to herself. “That’s a bit embarrassing,” she admitted, reaching in to her pocket and pulling out a sugar cube.

“I don’t think it’s embarrassing. It’s cute,” Cullen said, biting hid lip as he looked down in embarrassment. Eve smiled, placing the sugar cube in the palm of her hand and offering it to the mare. “Don’t tell Master Dennet,” she whispered to her, giggling as the horse’s lips tickled her palm.

“Eve I-“ Cullen started, looking at her. The elf turned to face him, raising an eyebrow as he spoke. “I just wanted to tell you that-“ Cullen felt his face grow warm, anxiety bubbling in his chest. What was he doing? Surely he wasn’t about to tell her that he had feelings for her, this was not how he’d want to do it. If he ever did it.

“What is it? You can tell me anything, Cullen,” Eve said, taking a step closer to him and placing her hand on his arm.

“I just needed to tell you that I have to cancel our lesson tomorrow… something came up,” he blurted out, the feeling of her hand on his arm making his heart pound.

“That’s alright, I’m sure Josephine can find me something to do,” Eve said, patting the commanders arm before turning back to face the horse.

“I’m sure she can,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“Well, I suppose I should head to bed. Have a good night, Cullen,” Eve said, flashing him a smile before walking back towards Haven, shoving her hands in her pockets. Cullen watched as she walked away, rubbing the back of his neck. He turned to face the horse, who blew a snort at him.

“I know, I’m an idiot,” he grumbled, patting her cheek before turning back towards his tent. “Always such an idiot.”