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ramblinganthropologist · 8 years ago

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DA Halloween 2017 - From the Ashes

Prompt: From the Ashes ( from @dahalloween‘s 2017 challenge)

Summary: When Falon’Din’s eye glows bright over Ferelden, Cahel Mahariel finds someone he thought he lost for good. For just a short time, friends are reunited on a cold night as the seasons change. As it turns out, death doesn’t change much at all, and two young men can enjoy the fire together once again. Word count: 1895

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Sometimes, you found things when you least expected it.

Camp was quiet at last, with only the hooting of owls and intermittent snoring from various tents making any noise at all. Above the cold ground, a blanket of stars sparkled between the two moons, both full for the first time in months. That probably would have meant something to an astrologer, but for him it just meant more light.

Cahel flexed his freezing fingers as he moved a little closer to the blazing camp fire. That night, he had drawn the short straw and wound up on second watch. He was still yawning, and the little sleep he got later would do nothing to curb it the next day. Hopefully, no darkspawn would try to eat him when the sun came up. They might just have advantage.

“It's getting colder, Tamlen. Snow's going to be falling soon.” The massive mabari at his feet made no sound – he, unlike his master, was fast asleep. That fact didn't go unnoticed as the elf pulled a face. “You know, you're a damn traitor, sleeping while I'm stuck up hoping nothing tries to kill us in our sleep.”

He couldn't help but let out a good natured chuckle though. A dog was a dog after all; when they needed to sleep, they did it regardless of who was on guard duty. At least he was providing some much needed warmth to his freezing toes as he leaned back, staring up at the starry sky.

Fall always was the best time for looking at the stars, even in Blight-ravaged Ferelden.

“Let's see, there's the Big Halla and the Yearling... and there's both of Dirthamen's ravens.” He squinted, eyes glowing in the light as he inspected the stars. “Wait, what's that one?”

A bright blue star, close to the smaller of Thedas' two moons had drawn his attention. In the ink-black night sky, it gleamed like a jewel amongst the duller white dots of light. Yet, as he stared up at it, a shiver ran down his spine. There was something downright unnatural about it, especially considering that it hadn't been there an hour earlier.

He might not have been a master of the night sky, but he knew for a fact stars didn't just up and disappear.

Maybe that was why Cahel shifted a little closer to the fire and kept his free hand on the sword strapped to his side. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was an old song that the elders sang during nights like this. Since it had always been past his bedtime, he only remembered fragments.

Something about seeing what you'd lost in the mist of the night? Or maybe it was about being careful where you pissed at night; he didn't really remember.

“I'm just freaking myself out, Tam.” At least, he hoped so his voice dropped to a whisper. It had to be the cold making bumps raise along his arms; what else could have done it? They weren't in a darkspawn heavy area, and the only mages around were snoring away – and Morrigan might deny it, but she definitely snored – in their tents.

Had to be the weather. Had to be.

His commitment to that theory wavered the second the fog began to roll in, though. The hair rose on the back of his neck as his heart began to pound faster until he was sure only his binder was keeping it in. Something was beyond the line of the trees, but he couldn't look.

Down at his feet, Tamlen's large head rose as he began to growl. His hair was standing on end too, but he was far more prepared to go after whatever was waiting for them. Lucky he was, because his master was frozen in place.

“W-Who's there?”

Cahel's voice came out as shaky as his knees. Forget reaching for his sword, he couldn't even figure out how to speak right. At the moment, it was though something was holding him in place, forcing him to look into the darkness. Not even his eyes could tell what was beyond the trees, try as he might to piece it together.

Then there was the light, faint as if from a hundred yards off. It started as a small ball, but soon it grew until it was the size of an adult. A spectral hand reached out from the corpse of trees, resting on the wood in glowing white. It was see-through, much like the face and body that joined it.

“Mind moving over? It's cold over here.”

There was no denying that voice; Cahel's eyes widened as he finally made out the features of the glowing figure at the edge of camp. Standing there, still wearing the armor he had been the day they had lost him to the mirror, was Tamlen. Or, at least it was something that looked a lot like Tamlen; he was missing his feet for the most part.

Made sense; it wasn't like the dead needed their feet to go anywhere.

The very much dead elf sat at the edge of the log, sinking through halfway. By then, the mabari named for him had stopped growling. Instead, he sniffed at the log, yelping when his nose went straight through to the wood. Quickly, he returned to his master's feet, much to the amusement of the specter.

A moment passed before Cahel could find his voice again. “What...”

“Am I doing here?” Tamlen finished it for him, shrugging his shoulder. “To the void if I know. Last I remember I was staring up at Cherche as she slit my throat.”

He looked over his shoulder towards the tents, and Cahel swore he saw him frown. “She's not still upset about that, is she?”

Why would she? She had only been forced to put down her former apprentice turned ghoul as he begged for death in front of her.

Still, Tamlen looked good; whole, maybe. There was no hint of the corruption that had plagued the last year of his life. If not for the fact he was fucking see through, his friend would have said he could have been in perfect health. However, death kind of negated that.

Suddenly, though, the ghost – at least, he thought that's what it might be. For all he knew, the elf was just last night's dinner messing with his stomach – looked serious as they met eyes. There was a question in his eyes, one that had gone unanswered in life. Just thinking about it made Cahel's heart race as he waited for the glowing lips to part and speak the words he had been denied for so long.

“Really, you named your dog after me?”

Dog Tamlen gave a rather sulky look in his own canine way as he curled back into a ball, back to his namesake. Elf Tamlen responded in kind, and Cahel could have sworn his transparent cheeks puffed out in mild annoyance.

Great; he had a sulking ghost AND mabari to deal with.

Still, he was feeling up to talking. “Hey, we're in Ferelden. Naming your mabari after someone is almost as big a deal as if it was your first born kid.”

“They did always take their dogs seriously.” Tamlen gave him a look that went right through him. “Like something else you're taking seriously, for that matter.”

He jerked his head over towards the tent Cahel normally slept in. Right then, Alistair was alone, probably hogging both their bedrolls as he snored into his pillow. Getting a bit of space to himself in a few hours was going to be a trial, but the warrior would probably never wake up. Once he was down, only the Archdemon could wake him up.

Those knowing eyes caused the heat to flood his face and turn it crimson. Cahel looked to the side, towards the fire. There was nothing like an ex asking about the special people in your life to make you wish for death, and apparently that didn't even help an escape. After all, Tamlen was still there.

“It's... we haven't...”

Much to his surprise, the ghostly elf began to laugh. It was a nice sound, but something about it made the bumps raise on his arms anew. Still, an almost warm look filled Tamlen's eyes as he reached over to pat Cahel on the head, hand going straight through in the process.

“Good to see you're moving on, lethallin. You know, except for naming your dog after me. That's still kind of weird.”

Well, there went his embarrassment.

Cahel was the one pouting now as he took a swing through the ghostly body of his friend. “You're an ass.”

“Death didn't change that much about me after all.”

They were both chuckling now, probably because of just how strange it all was. Even though he still wasn't convinced it was actually happening, it was nice to have just one final chat between them. After all, their last words had been marred by a lot of bleeding.

And he meant a lot of bleeding; damn if ghouls couldn't bleed.

Still, Cahel frowned as he looked over at his friend. It might have been the light, but he was getting harder to see. “Will... can I see you again?”

“I don't really know how this works, so let's just say maybe.” Tamlen's eyes were towards the sky, where the blue star was beginning to fade. “The eye is closing. Think that means it's time to go.”

There was a pause, and then, “Do me a favor, would you? Kill that damn Archdemon for me; damn thing gave me headaches for weeks.”

Finally, he stood, but below the knees he was completely gone. His upper body was beginning to fade as well as he started to walk back towards the corpse of trees. By the time he reached it, only a bit of his neck and head were visible.

It was enough to get one last smile before he disappeared completely, along with the fog that had blanketed the campsite. Cahel was left alone, amidst the glowing embers of the fire and the wind that blew through the trees.

The star was gone up above now. However, the rest of the song was coming back to him in bits and pieces as he crowded close to the fire. When Falon'Din's eye glowed in the sky, that what was lost returned in the mist among the fall leaves. And just like those fall leaves, it would be gone in trace, perhaps never being there at all.

Well, it sounded better when somebody else sang it, but that was the gist.

“Should've known it had something to do with Falon'Din. It was too damn close to the Ravens.”

Still, even as he yawned, there was a small smile on Cahel's face. It had been a nice visit, brief as it was. And maybe, if he was lucky and survived the Blight, he would see Tamlen again next year too. Or, they might all be dead. That was kind of the toss up when it came to fighting the Archdemon. Either way, he would probably see him again.

Just, hopefully he was alive the next time. That would be nice.

#dahalloween #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Cahel Mahariel #Dragon Age Origins #Warden Mahariel

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a-shakespearean-in-paris · 8 years ago

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Water and Skin (NSFW)

I was editing my main slow burn fic, and whoopsies, my hand slipped and wrote this shamelessly cavity inducing fluffy sex story, in which Cullen takes his lady love by the lake. Things start to happen. Also on A03

Being sly was something he never prided himself in. But when he takes her to the lake, and sees her awestruck face, he is glad he chose not to be completely truthful with her about this particular outing. Then, when she takes him in her arms, and kisses him with all the fervor she has, he takes pride in coming up with the ruse about dealings to attend to in Ferelden. The title of the Inquisitor still hangs on her shoulders, but he is grateful, that for one moment in time, she can be carefree and joyous. He is grateful he can be the cause of it.

She bears the title of Inquisitor well. In all this time, she has never once complained about being Andraste’s Herald, being the leader of the new Inquisition, or being burdened with the weight of Thedas on her shoulders. Indeed almost every moment she had was devoted to her work. He was no different, in fact, he may have been much worse. There were moments between them where she pulled him into her arms and away from his desk. In those moments, she reminded him that he is still a man underneath the title of Commander. What was more, she reminds him he is a man who has found something wonderful amidst all the darkness. The least he can do, is pull her away and remind her that she is still a woman underneath her title of Inquisitor.

“Cullen,” she breathes between her kisses. “You are devious.”

Another kiss, and this times she moves to that sensitive spot on his neck, the one she discovered when they first began their new arrangement. She presses her lips there, and Cullen remembers her delight upon first discovering it. His mind is hazy, she alone has the ability to do that to him, but somehow, he manages a response. “Perhaps I…should be devious more often.”

“You should…”

Anymore of her peppering kisses, and he worries he will break his resolve and take her there, right on the pier. That though, wouldn’t be very appropriate for their first time together. She may not be a blushing virgin, and neither is he for that matter, but both still agreed a while ago that they shouldn’t rush into things. And he has done so many things wrong in his life. This will be the one thing that he does right.

That doesn't stop him for thinking of her often, however. He has thought of their first time together more times than he cares to admit. On his bed, on her bed, the desk, against the wall, and now on the pier by his favorite childhood spot.

This woman…he wants her more than he wants to breath sometimes. But he has to be sure. He has to know he is what she really wants.

“Honnleath is near here.” Cullen says, misty-eyed as he remembers how things were back then. “I would come here often to clear my head.”

Her head is now resting on his chest, and he loves holding her. Maker, she could shake the world if she so wished, but she is delicate in his arms, fragile. “It’s beautiful,” she says. “Did you come here often?”

He explains to her how even though he loved his siblings, they were very loud. And this place was always quiet. He could spend hours here when he was a boy. Thinking about the future, staring at the water. “The last day I was here was the day I left for the templars,” he recalls. “I wasn’t sure if I ever would make it back.”

“But you did,” she points out.

He nods. “I did. To you.”

One of her digits caresses the rough stubble that his razor never can catch. She always teases him about rough kisses, but he knows she loves the feeling of his unshaven face against hers. She now, is misty-eyed, pupils dilated and wide as she gazes at him with a slightly parted mouth. “Cullen,” she murmurs sweetly. “Do you know how lucky I am, that I met you?”

He’s the lucky one, he wants to tell her, but he is too busy kissing her. He thinks of his brother’s coin, the one he wants to give her, along with everything else he wants to say to her, but now he is far too preoccupied with her body, perfectly molded to his, and the earthy way she smells. He is content to be this way, for as long as she wants. It is paradise to have her in his arms. But when she breaks away, smirking at him, so does he.

He knows that cheeky smirk. And when she utters his name, he knows that cheeky tone. He also knows the devilish glint in her eyes. “What are you thinking?” he asks her.

“Well…” she draws, “I was thinking perhaps we could go for a swim.”

He blinks. “A swim?”

She chuckles. “It is a bit hot, and well, we are by the water. Would you like to?”

“Uhhh…” he doesn’t know how to admit it to her. “I…”

At his long pause, she understands. He never actually learned how to swim. He recalls the story to her as he remembers the events of that day. When he was around eight years old, Branson fell into the water. Without hesitation, he jumped in after him. He thrashed and thrashed until his father had found them and pulled both he and Branson up and onto the peer, soaking wet and coughing. That, in addition to two terrible boat rides from Ferelden, to Kirkwall, and back again, Cullen has averted the water.

She looks at him quizzically. “You had that experience and you still enjoyed coming here?”

“It was quiet,” he defends. “Besides, I suppose I have always been attracted to things that are dangerous.”

“Why you remained a templar for so long, I would imagine. Perhaps also explains your attachment to me.”

She says it playfully, and he can’t help but laugh. There’s more to his attachment for her than just her ability to find trouble. It’s everything about her. It’s how she never once complained about being the Inquisitor, and how she still finds ways to make everyone laugh, in spite of what’s happening. It’ about how she would give everything, if it was asked of her. It was how she saw him at his lowest point, clutching that vial of lyrium, and believed in him. She saw the strength, when he could not. He wonders if she knows that that day, she was the one who became his strength.

She falls into his arms again. “We don’t have to swim,” she says. “Being here with you, alone, is more than enough.”

He gets an idea. “Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind teaching me?” he suggests.

She looks up. “Really? Cullen, are you sure?”

He nods. “I am.”

“We don’t have to. If you’re not comfortable, I don’t want to force you.”

“You’re here. Of course I’ll be comfortable.”

It is dark, even with the moon and stars. He can still see her cheeks reddening, however. “You will…have to strip, you know.”

He knows just that, just as he knows she too is going to have to do just the same. It seems though that she is waiting for him, so he carefully removes his mantle and breast plate, stripping until he is only in his smalls. She has seen his bare chest before, as she tended to a cut he received during training one day, and she knows the scars that he bears. Despite this, she gazes at him with curious eyes. She is certainly not shy in drinking him in, gazing at his long. toned legs from endless training and riding, to his chest, equally as toned. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride as her eyes follow that path of hair that leads to the slight bulge in his smalls. She says nothing, but when she meets his eyes again, he knows she is wonderstruck to be near him like this. Then, she herself begins to strip. When she is only in her small clothes, Cullen looks at her with those same hungry eyes. He has never seen her this unclothed before, and there is nothing but her breast band and undergarment separating her from being completely bare. Under the stars and by the water, she is mesmerizing. Like him, her skin bears a few scars. A few on her collarbones, and a long jagged one on her arm, but they do nothing to tarnish her beauty. He wants to kiss every one, mark every blemish with his tongue, to let her know that he sees, but he still wants. And he always will.

Her reddened cheeks deepen in color, and she moves her hair to one side, exposing the lovely curve of her neck. “I’ll get in first,” she suggests. “Then you can come in.”

He nods, almost forgetting what their original plan was. She sits on the edge of the pier, and she beckons for him to do the same. He mirrors her, his feet hitting the water. It is cool, but not unbearably so. He hadn’t dared to even do this much when he was little, but she fearlessly falls into the water. Much to his surprise, she doesn’t sink and is able to stand up, with only the bottom of her breast band hitting the water. He didn’t expect the water to be this shallow, but then again, he was only eight when he jumped in. The water would have seemed deeper then.

She extends her hand, and Cullen takes it. Ever so gently, he allows himself to slip into the lake. He is surprised, and not altogether un-pleased by the feeling of it around him. It’s cool and welcome compared to the hot air, and he is shocked by how almost weightless the feeling is. Her hands are steadying him, and she is asking if he is all right.

“Yes,” he replies. “It’s…nice.”

Tentatively, she steps back until they are in slightly deeper water. Now only the tops of her shoulders remain uncovered, part of her long strands of hair getting wet. “I always have enjoyed being underwater,” she confesses. “Maybe for the same reason you liked coming here when you were younger. It’s quiet underwater, and peaceful. If I didn’t have to come up for air I might stay there forever.”

With her now, he wants to experience it. “Will you show me?”

“Would you be all right with that?”

“You’re here. I trust you," he assures.

She grins, placing her arms around his bare shoulders. In turn, he wraps his arms around her waist. “Three seconds underwater,” she says. “I’ll count to three, and if you don’t like it, you can come up.”

“Alright,” he says, and she begins the count.

On three the world changes. The world is blurry, but she is there, hair around her like a halo. It is strange, this underwater world, but it is quiet and peaceful, just as she said. It’s serene, having the sensation of the water everywhere. And perhaps if Cullen didn’t need to breathe, he would have stayed there longer.

When they rise she asks him if he’s all right again, and once again he nods. He thanks her, for showing him her world underwater.

“Thank you, for taking me here,” she replies, “Besides, it’s only fair I teach you something after you taught me how to hold a shield.”

He smirks when he remembers how he showed her the proper way to hold a shield, (The downward way, to prevent a spray of fire or acid,) and she promises the next time they go swimming, she’ll show how to dive. For now though, being here with him is all she wants.

Gently she allows the two of them to float. It’s a strange sensation, and it takes him a moment, but her body anchors him and he relishes the feeling of weightless floating. After a while, she begins to softly hum one of Maryden’s songs. She always hums, when she is content in his arms. For a few minutes, her gentle voice is the only sound in this world, a world were there is only water, and their skins.

It occurs to him they have never been like this before, not really. He has held her yes, but never like this. Before, it was always in stolen moments on the battlements or in his office, layers of armor separating them. Now they are in the water, and there is nothing separating their bodies save a few pieces of fabric. His hands are on her back now, moving in slow and rhythmic circles. Her arms are coiled around his neck, fingers twisting into his hair, and she looks at him as she has never looked at him before.

“Cullen,” she speaks. “I…do you wonder what will happen in the future?”

“Sometimes,” he admits. He doesn’t know how to tell her how he thinks every day with her is a lucky one, how he cherishes every moment that he has. How easy it is for her to be taken away, and how simple it could be that that the lyrium will one day whittle his mind. Because of that, sometimes the future seems too much to ask. It is still a future he prays for.

“What will you do?” She wonders, and he tells her of a thought that he had been harboring for a few weeks now. In the Inquisition, he has spoken to so many templars that want to leave the order someday, but the blue vial still calls to them. He thinks that perhaps there is a way they can more safely leave, and he thinks that maybe he can help them.

“It’s a wonderful idea,” she says.

“What about you?” he asks her.

“I don’t know,” she answers. “I can’t go back to what I was before. I don’t even know if…”

But she does not finish, and he knows what she is referring to. He has never allowed that possibility to enter his thoughts before now, but it surges and crashes through him, the fear that she might not make it out of this alive. Even when Corypheus is gone, she will still bear the mark. She claims it doesn’t pain her, but he sees her sometimes, contemplating it. And though she does not tell him, he knows she is worried. Worried that one day, the mark may take her away to where he can’t follow.

He will never allow that.

“No,” he mutters.

“Cullen, if—“

“No.” He holds her face in his hands.

“I want you to—“

“Never leave me. Please. Please.”

Her mouth travels downward, to his ear. A soft kiss to his neck. “I won’t ever leave you,” she whispers, “as long as you don’t ever leave me.”

“Never.”

Each kiss he gives her repeats the promise. I will never leave you. I will never leave you… “Cullen,” she breathes. The sound is melodious, and sends waves of contented shivers through him. She is his anchor in the water, and she glides them closer to the bank. When she rests her back against the grassy knoll, she beckons him with her arms. Her hands slide down his back as he lays himself atop her. She moans when she feels his hardness, pressing against her thigh. A brief image flashes in his mind, one of him forgoing romance and tenderness for a much more primal one, one in which he entangles himself with her. In this image their limbs are entwined, a thousand kisses bestowed, as his hands drift underneath, squeezing her until she mewls and whimpers underneath him.

He is thrown back into the present as her hands grip his hair. Her hips begin to move, seeking some sort of friction even as their bodies are still partially clothed. Her own want, need for him becomes known as she pleadingly whimpers his name, but as she tries to remove his smalls, he stops her. He needs to know this is what she wants. What she really wants, here, by the lake, the water lapping at their feet.

“Do you want…to be with me? Now?” he asks, his breath caressing her neck.

“Yes.”

There is no hesitation, but he needs to know without shadow of doubt. “We don’t have to. We can wait.”

Yet he can see in her eyes that she does not want to wait. He knows, and she knows, though he has cast that thought out of mind, that if any day can truly be her last day, she wants to live with no regrets. And Cullen knows, what it is like to live with regrets. He carries them every day.

His hands, linger at where her breast band is. With all his bravado in his earlier fantasy, he finds that now, he cannot move.

She holds him in her arms. “Cullen, if you’re unsure…”

“No, I want to,” he insists. “It’s only…It’s only…” How can he tell her, he doesn’t believe he ever deserves such happiness? That he doesn’t believe this can be real? He knows now, he will wake up. He will be in Kirkwall again, trying to find a way to break the chains again. He’ll wake, she’ll be gone, and the chains will never break.

Without warning she hooks her leg around him. The next thing he knows, he is on his back, and her lips are on every part of his face. Each kiss given is one of tenderness and patience. Knowing.

One lingers on the jagged scar on his lip. “I am real,” she says. “And I love you. I love your courage, I love how you endure. I even love how damn stubborn you can be sometimes. I love all of you. I want all of you.”

He takes her hand, places it over his beating heart. For all intents and purposes, it’s hers. “You are my second self,” he says.

“As you are mine,” she whispers back.

He wants to kiss her, perhaps bring her back into the lake until there is nothing in the world but the water and her skin, but she has another idea it seems. Her hands bring his to her breasts, and he begins to peel off the wet fabric of her breast band. She giggles, as he does so far too slowly for her taste. Before he can think that perhaps they should stop, someone could see, with one deft moment she tosses her breast band to the bank to be forgotten.

He cannot look at her without thinking that he is not worthy of this, or even that this is real. He’s afraid those thoughts always will always persist in some way, but her hands are in his, grasping them tightly, and letting him know that yes, this is no dream. She is really here, even if she is an unreal vision against the backdrop of the stars. She’s ethereal, and Cullen stares, wide-eyed at her naked body. Her breasts are full, nipples pink. Her eyes are pleased at his lust for her, and her rosy and pert mouth is set into a very satisfied smirk. Keeping that smirk, she takes his left hand, and slowly, brings it to her lips. One by one, she brings each of his fingers into her mouth. Her tongue laves his digits, and moans escape from his lips as she takes his other hand and does the same, allowing her teeth to playfully scrape at his skin. She then places his hands on her breasts, and Cullen rises, his mouth pressing and sucking into the soft valley between. He then lavishes her breasts, brushing his thumb against her hardening nipple. All the while, he savors the rhapsodic sound of her contented moans.

She leans him down to the ground, his back resting in the soft grass again. The kiss that they share is now a promise, a promise of more to come. His arms are around her, and rough and calloused fingertips knead her back. Her skin, still damp from the water is silky and smooth, and he gently rolls her over. With her back against the bank his mouth and tongue follow a path, down her throat and neck. He kisses that scar on her arm, following its path with his tongue. She gasps when his thumb brushes her nipple once more, and hands lock him in place as he encircles his mouth over it. His name is a strangled cry on her lips, sensual and further arousing him. But he continues with his exploration of her body, and commits to memory every little moan and sigh that escapes from her lips, as well as every motion that her body makes. She giggles when his bearded face peppers light kisses over her stomach. A wave of tremors convulses through her body as his mouth travels lower, to the waistband of her smalls. He keeps his eyes on her as he peels them off and away, and he keeps his eyes on her still, even as his head dips down to the fine and coarse hair, and lower still until his head dips to that little bundle of nerves.

Fingers twist tighter in his hair as he slowly laves at her clit. One stroke, and then another, and another still until her hand presses his head into her, a demand for more. He experiments with different patterns, swirling his tongue, then using the tip to make small circles. When he encircles her clit, her grip on his hair further tightens. He chuckles, and she moans at the slight vibration that it brings. The soft roll of his name on her lips becomes the most beautiful prayer. Her hips buck against him, and as he holds her in place, his hands can’t help but grasp her plump rear. Her cries are stifled and breathless, and she angles her hips just so when he squeezes her flesh. He can feel her end is nigh, even as she speaks a litany of affirmation and praise. Yes Cullen, right there, I’m…I’m…

He tongue keeps swirling her clit, even as he slides his digit inside her. When she comes, she does so without shame or embarrassment, unafraid to show him how responsive her body is to his ravishes. His name on her lips is a reverent thanks, a plea for more. She even tugs at his head, demanding he rise so she can bestow him with a thousand kisses. But he keeps his head planted between her thighs, and keeps his finger inside her walls. She is warm and tight, and Maker, he practically ruts against the bank as he thinks of what she will feel like when he slips his hard length inside her. He tastes her climax, and the salt and musk essence becomes the most exquisite thing he has ever known. She is the most exquisite thing he has ever known, and when he lifts his head and she can finally capture him in a searing kiss, her taste dances across their tongues.

Delicately, he buries his head in that soft hollow of her throat, kissing her neck and breasts as she runs her nails down his muscled back. Subtly, she begins to rock her hips against his, back and forth, back and forth, making him cry out. He is practically aching, has been since she first placed his hands on her, but as her hands touch the lining of his breeches, her intentions clear, he freezes. He allows himself this precious time to savor what they are about to do.

He knows that there are more moments to come, when he fears that the pain of his body craving the lyrium will rack his mind and make him think that losing his mind to it might be better than the anguish of his body. He knows now, he will forever cling to this moment. The memory of her under the moonlight and by the water will be his beacon. He will remember how there is beauty in her that exists in the soul and seeps through every part of her. Most of all, he thinks he will remember her eyes, peaking up at him with more tenderness, love, and understanding that he ever deserves.

She places her hands on his face, placing her forehead to his. A silent I'm here. Cullen holds himself there. “I will always want us,” he confesses.

“Then have me. Have me now.”

Gently, she begins to peel off his smalls. He helps her, and after a few minutes of struggling and a bit of laughter on both their parts, they are tossed aside. For the first time, now, as the water washes onto the knoll, he feels their bare skins pressed together for the first time.

She bits her lips, swollen from their ministrations, then lightly squeezes his rear as revenge from when he did it to hers earlier. Then, without taking her eyes off him, she wets her mouth, and slides her hand down to his length. His response is a sharp grasp as she slides her slick hand up and down. Maker, he has imagined this so many times, her hand on him and bringing him over the edge. He knows now though, his own rough and calloused hand was a poor substitute compared to her small and delicate palm. He is at mercy to her, and she knows it and savors it. And there is no other place he would rather be, than at her mercy and beckoning.

Any longer and she will finish him, but he grabs her hand, silently telling her to wait. “I want…” he begins, and she nods, understanding.

“Cullen. I want it to. I want you. All of you. I love you.”

She has made it abundantly clear already, reassured him a thousand times that what she feels is real. Yet when he hears it, he soars. “I love you too,” he murmurs back, and it is with one movement that he buries himself inside her.

He knows this feeling, and has experienced it before in rushed and hurried sessions with a few other women. Back then love was nothing but a fantasy, only a carnal lust to be met. Yet inside her, inside the woman he loves, and the only woman he will ever love, he knows this is the first time. She is warm and wet and tight, and for a few moments he remains blissfully still, enjoying the sensation of her for the first time. Yet the moments pass, and she tilts her hips upward. Her plea, move.

His resolve breaks and he moves within her, her face becoming a canvas of joy and pleasure. In this hazy paradise with only him, her and the water, there is nothing but these feelings of ecstasy and warmth as she kisses every part of his face. “Cullen…I’ve never…” she says in a lulling whisper. “You…ah…”

“Get on top of me,” he beckons, and she is more than happy to hook her leg over his so she is now the in control. She licks her lips in anticipation, grabbing the base of his length before guiding him back inside her. She is deeper now, and he holds her hips as she moves, barely leaving him before slamming herself back down. Her fingers move to her clit, making round and circular motions, but he deftly moves them away so he can finish her himself. Her walls clamp around him, and the divine sensation of it all brings him to rise, intending to claim her lips. Their kiss is long and deep, and as he can feel his body begin to quake, he wraps his arms around her. He is about to tell her they should break away, but her lips press onto his ear, and she whispers to him how she is waiting for him, how she wants to feel him inside her.

When his body shudders against hers and his warmth spreads inside, he can feel himself collapsing, and she is warm and wet and utterly beautiful, kissing every part of his exposed flush as he tries to remain in this hazy dream for a little while longer.

They will never leave this place. They will always stay by this world they created, under the stars and by the water.

An hour passes, and they are fully dried, by a campfire that they have made. “So,” she begins, rather cheekily, “this is your natural hair.”

She runs her fingers through it, a curl bouncing off her finger, and he hopes she doesn’t see how much he’s enjoying this. “Only for you,” he teases.

It occurs to him then that he wanted to do something, before the night was done. He takes out his brother’s coin, his lucky charm, and hands it to her. They don’t know what will happen before the end, he says to her. Having this won’t hurt.

“But, I don’t want your luck to run out,” she says.

“After I finally have some, neither do I,” he admits with a chuckle. “But if it keeps you safe, it’s worth it.”

She takes it, meeting his lips for one more kiss. When she pulls away, her eyes turn soft, and loving. “You know I love you, right?”

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You may have mentioned that.”

“But we were in the middle of making love. I thought I would tell you again. I love you Cullen. My second self.”

“I love you too,” he says, and the two lay down under the stars and sky.

Out of all the times Cullen came here as a boy, he would always imagine his life and where he would be in twenty years. She, this woman who he loves more than words can say, was never in those fantasies. Perhaps that was because his mind back then wouldn’t ever have been able to comprehend the love he feels. As a boy, he thought nothing would make him happier than his dream becoming a reality: the dream of being a templar. He couldn’t have ever have known, that the dream he never knew he had, the dream of her, would become realer than anything else in his life.

“The most beautiful woman is in my arms,” he whispers to his love. “And she loves me. And I will never let her go…”

#cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic #my fic #i have a problem #cullen smut #shakespearean writes

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talesfromthefade · 8 years ago

Note

DWC prompt: “people lie all the time.”

Eshalineva ‘Neva’ Lavellan x Solas for @dadrunkwriting

Fen’harel watches from a distance; the dark, looming figure of a wolf stalking her journeys through the Fade. What is that charming little warning the Dalish favor? May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent? Too late, he thinks ruefully, shaking his head. He shouldn’t be here- searching for her. He has no business or right to be, has countless other demands of him, demands he put before her when he turned his back and walked through the Eluvian without her.

“Solas, var lath virsuledin.”

Her cries of pain, her pleas, a heart-wrenching song that continues to echo, ti thrum through his very veins like the ancient, long-forgotten magic of their people. Their people, he thinks. She is, as Cole had once asserted, real. And yet… Yet she would see him stopped. Would save the world she knows, flawed as it is, much as it has disappointed and hurt her. Even at the cost of their people never again regaining what they once had been. She would see him find another way. And, he thinks, she is the only one who might stand a chance of doing so. Leaving her was the only way. Not the easiest, far from that, but the only way to continue on his path. Still, he cannot seem to help himself looking back in spite of himself.

Eshalineva, the wolf thinks staring across the distance. Neva, to most of their companions and the rest of Thedas, rather than butcher the Elvhen. Child of the moon, a child of night, of dreams, the creature thinks as he watches her. A child. So young. Curious. Still so hopeful. That he should have been so weak and foolish as to indulge himself for even a moment in a peace, an affection he knew full well could never last… That she should continue to look- keep a vigil for him- without thought of taking another lover even after so long… It was selfish. A crime what he has done to her. Another terrible mistake for which no penance will ever truly atone for, he thinks, allowing a brief, impossibly soft whine to escape him.

He knows better than to linger here. He shouldn’t really be here at all- their longing for one another, pain, grief, and shattered dreams are too powerful, too great a temptation for spirits and demons to resist for long, but the wolf cannot yet bring himself to turn away. He has trespassed on so many of her dreams, too many when he should have stayed away. But like the moon herself, he cannot help but be drawn to her.

Skyhold, he thinks studying the Fade where it takes form around her. She had come to enjoy exploring new parts of the Fade with him in their time together, but now she returns to something familiar, perhaps comforting to her in the wake of his second departure and everything she has learned. Not just Skyhold, however, but the rotunda he had made his sanctuary, he realizes with surprise.

“Solas,” she whispers softly, right hand outstretched into the distance between them, beckoning him nearer, stopping his heart. Has she seen him? Sensed him lurking there?

But no, a moment later an imposter wearing his face and form steps forward, drawing her into his embrace. She goes willingly, pliant in pretender’s arms. He is the interloper here, but the wolf cannot help the way his hackles raise in possessive fury at the display.

“Venhan.”

It sounds like him, looks like him, but Neva can’t be fooled. She’s far too clever to be lured in by these false memories, to be tempted by spirits or demons that might tempt her with things that never were and cannot be. She can’t be fooled, he thinks fiercely, claws digging into the ground beneath him as she melts under another’s touch. Her clothes slowly fall away to the floor, hands roaming over in ways he’d never allowed himself. Couldn’t while she hadn’t known the truth, couldn’t risk losing himself to. He growls, but the scene dissolves, Fade swirling around her, before becoming something else.

A little girl, a tiny slip of a thing that can’t be more than a handful of years with bright lilac eyes that can only be her mother’s, and a familiar nose he recognizes as his own rushes into her arms with a happy laugh.

“Mamae! I did it, Mamae,” the child crows delighted. “I finally got it. Look!” A little hand cradled in her larger one twitches, then sparks with magic as a tiny flame ignites and flickers gently in her palm before she extinguishes it to look at her mother expectantly.

“Oh Da’len,” Neva beams, scooping her up in her arms for a hug. “That was wonderful! Wait until we show your Papa.”

Something in the wolf’s heart clenches, howls in protest, as he continues to watch the pair of them as they go through the motions of various other scenes of domesticity together- playing, hunting, reading… This is what she dreams of? This is impossible. Wrong. All wrong. This is… too much. He can never have- can never give her any of these things. No matter how much he may wish to.

“I know you are there,” she says softly, startling him once more as lilac eyes suddenly fix themselves on the very spot he’d thought himself hidden, her hand reaching down to card through the child’s hair, and draw them to her hip with a sad smile. “You don’t have to hide from me,” she adds patiently, still watching the corner just beyond the Fade’s construction of the rotunda where he lurks. “You never did,” she promises, shaking her head softly at him, making the wolf wonder how long she’s been aware of him trespassing on her dreams.

He lets himself slip back into the form she knows best, now it’s clear there is no more point in concealing himself from her, crossing the space between them. The changeling the Fade has constructed clings to her side but a moment longer before she rushes forward to hug him instead. It’s a mistake. He knows as much, but cannot help himself, catching her he lets the little girl hug him, call him Papa, babble a moment about her accomplishments and pepper him with questions, before regretfully banishing her back to another corner of the Fade with a small sweep of his hand, dragging heavy eyes up to meet her tearful ones.

“She wasn’t real.”

“She could be,” Neva replies meaningfully. “We were. Or was that another lie?”

“No,” he replies immediately, shaking his head. “We were. But you torture yourself dreaming and imagining such things.”

“And you don’t? Watching my dreams,” she challenges with an arch of an eyebrow. Solas frowns, mouth thinning in frustration. He didn’t come here to argue with her. He… He doesn’t know why he came here. Why he torments himself like this, as she does with futures that will never exist outside of the Fade.

“It’s a lie,” he replies finally, biting his tongue before he can use any terms of endearment that have long since become habit, echoing loudly in the back of his mind. “A beautiful one, but a lie all the same.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that would bother you,” she accuses, but the bite and bitterness is gone from her voice nearly as quickly as it came on. She shakes her head as if to banish it, before continuing. “Everyone lies. People lie all the time. To themselves as much as anyone,” she says, leveling him with a significant look. “I enjoy them, its true, but I’m not going to lose myself to them. Permit me my pretty lies and I will let you keep yours.”

“You know the truth,” he protests quite in spite of and before he can stop himself, and she nods.

“I do. So, I know you do not truly wish to walk this path alone, or you wouldn’t keep looking back. Wolves are pack animals,” she continues, voice and eyes both softening a little as she looks at him, a sad frown twisting her mouth. She moves towards him, slowly like one might approach a wild animal, fearful of provoking it either into attacking or fleeing, before wrapping her arms around his waist, letting her head fall to his shoulder. “You should not be alone. You were not made for it, Vhenan,” she whispers softly, the imagined heat of her breath tickling lightly at his ear.

She’s likely right, he thinks, eyes sliding shut to savor her warmth, her touch, for as long as he can. But any other’s company would be little more than a hollow substitute for her own. She asked him once, to accompany him, but how could he ask or even allow such a thing? How could he survive seeing her come to resent, even hate him for what he must do to this world in order to restore their people? He is the demon, the nightmare, her clan tell stories of at night to scare each other. She is… Important. So rare and beautiful- body, soul and mind. Bewitching in a way he never expected to find anything beyond the wonders of the Fade. What can he give her in return, but pain and grief? To be with her would be to taint and corrupt the pure and wondrous thing that she is- the one good thing to come of this world gone horribly wrong.

“Stop it,” she scolds, interrupting his maudlin thoughts with a gentle flick of his nose, startling him so with the gesture, and the sheer absurdity of it that he almost laughs. That this young, impish, beautiful creature would dare to scold or patronize the mighty Dread Wolf. He does not feel so mighty now, however. He never has with her somehow. In most other’s company, he eventually found himself weary, forever reminded of his mistakes, burdened by the knowledge of the work he must do to amend them, but in hers- in hers he could pretend, forget, even for just a little while that he is anything more than a man in love. He is young again. Even hopeful. He is not alone. He is loved.

He told himself, leaving her heartbroken and crying in that glen that it was better this way. Though it would have been best never to have begun anything between them, to have encouraged her in any way. She loved an idea, without knowing the whole picture.

Except, of course, that’s no longer true.

She knows everything now. All of him. All his mistakes. All his plans.

“Ar lath, Solas.” The words are a knife, expertly aimed at his heart, plunged in, and then twisted, as the wolf within him whimpers. “In another world, you said,” she reminds him gently, calling back memories long ago but never truly faded, of a pain that has never diminished, and the most difficult thing he has ever done. Leaving her. “Could there ever be room for me in the one you hope to re-build?”

You would not want me in such a world, Vhenan. Not after what I must do to create it, the wolf thinks, bright eyes staring unblinkingly back into hers.

“I will want you always, she replies shaking her head. “In every life. In every world. In every form,” she promises solemnly, as his eyes widen in surprise. She heard him. Lilac eyes twinkle a little in amusement as she giggles softly at him. He’d almost forgotten how beautiful the sound of her laughter and happiness could be. Almost convinced himself he doesn’t deserve to remember it after all the pain he’s caused her. “This is the Fade,” she reminds him patiently, in much the same tone as he once used with her, exploring new places and forgotten dreams. “I have always been able to hear you,” the young elf whispers softly with a small rueful smile. “I have always known when you came to my dreams. Your pain, your loneliness- they’re very loud,” she offers. “I’ve never wished you any hurt- no, not even then-“ she adds, interrupting herself when he offers the best disbelieving look a wolf can manage. “But knowing that you did… it gave me hope,” she admits softly.

“You are waiting for the day when I will hate you. Take the name they gave you in vain and curse you, but I won’t. I see you, Solas. I know what you are. I know what you have planned. I do not agree that there cannot be some other means of achieving it without sacrificing the good of this world, but I love you. I want to be with you. Celebrate your triumphs and comfort you through losses. You want it too.” It isn’t a question, but it doesn’t need to be. She seems to know the truth of it as well as he does. Better, perhaps.

She is fading now. The Fade around her becoming steadily less distinct and solid as she begins to drift from him, waking. He stays, watching her become increasingly less corporeal until there is only her voice, a faint song on an imagined breeze that caresses his cheek.

“Come and take me, Dread Wolf. I am yours.”

#dadrunkwriting #solavellan #solas #eshalineva lavellan #neva lavellan #tales:neva #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #vir-tanadahl

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tearsofwinter · 8 years ago

Text

A couple of ideas that came about this week.

1) Frequency AU. Anders saves someone and in thanks, the person gives him a calling crystal. Anders accepts the gift, but thinks it’s utterly useless. A calling crystal must be enchanted as a pair. Without its’ sibling, the crystal is little more than a decoration. Weeks goes by and the crystal is silent with no signs of life or any indication that the second crystal exists. Then one night, the crystal flashes. Anders answers, and to his surprise, it seems this person found the second crystal that is paired with his. Over the course of months, Anders chit chats with this stranger. The person is funny, endearing, and sweet. Most important, he listens and encourages Anders in his darkest moments. Anders starts to fall in love when he realizes he never asked the person his name.

“Ah, of course. We talk as if we’ve known each other for years. I forgot we’re strangers speaking through crystals. I’m Fenris. You are?”

Anders is furious. He ends the call and marches up to Fenris’ mansion, demanding what’s the elf is playing at, but it’s Fenris that demands what’s Anders doing in his home in the middle of the night, ranting. This Fenris has no crystal and no idea what Anders’ talking about.

Later when he’s alone again, Anders calls “Fenris” through the crystal and tells him if this is a joke, it’s not funny. However, after speaking more, Anders finds out that it is Fenris, but not the Fenris he knows. The Fenris from the crystal is talking to him from the future.

In the future Fenris’ timeline, he and Anders were lovers. When Anders died during the mage rebellion, Anders gave him his crystal. While Fenris mourned and listlessly wandered through Thedas, the crystal suddenly flashed and he began talking to past Anders.

Long story short, 1) Anders falls in love with Fenris, but since the Fenris he loves is from the future, he can’t touch or be with him. And past Fenris hates him. 2) Future Fenris gives Anders some tips on how to successfully woo his past self 3) Future Fenris also reveals to Anders that he’s absolutely correct, Meredith is howling at the moon. If he can get evidence of the red lyrium sword, it’ll expose Meredith as an incompetent Knight Commander. 4) Through future Fenris, Anders begins making changes to future Fenris’ timeline. However, like the movie Frequency, future Fenris becomes an anomaly. He remembers both altered and unaltered timelines as if he lived through both. His goal is to guide Anders so that he doesn’t die, causing Fenris to live a life without him.

2) Second idea is a bit silly. I was playing with the idea of ABO and heat cycles. So let’s say Anders through whatever reason, starts his heats again. At first, he and Fenris are still bickering, despising each other, but when Anders enters his heat, he’s throwing himself at Fenris, trying to seduce him. Fenris is alarmed and confused, shoving Anders off him. However, when Anders is in fully blown heat, it pulls Fenris into it too, then all of a sudden the two of them are making out, tearing at each others’ clothes while the rest of the gang tries their best to pull them away from each other so they don’t do anything they regret.

Because Anders entered his heat first, he also falls out of it before Fenris does. Much like how Fenris is sober at the beginning of the heat cycle, Anders is sober while Fenris is still in it, making grabby hands at Anders.

When they’re BOTH out of heat, they avoid one another like the plague, embarrassed with themselves over how they were acting. They vow to not let this happen again...but then the second heat hits, then the third, and the cycle keeps repeating. With each subsequent heat, things gets dangerously close to sexual territory. It’s not like when they enter heat, they lose all their senses either. They know what they’re doing, what’s happening, but the primal part of their brain doesn’t care. Nothing else matters other than claiming each other as mates. So while they are in heat, they do get a glimpse of what life is like if they aren’t busy bickering. The person they apparently hate so much, can and is caring and adoring. They aren’t as prickly and annoying as they originally thought. It’s not the heat talking either, because the sweet side their heat forced them to witness in the other person, exists. They’ve seen it in the way Anders cares for his patient, in Fenris fiercely protecting their companions.

So in order to avoid doing things they might regret, Anders and Fenris talk it out and tentatively court. If they truly aren’t compatible, they’ll try to come up with something to stop the heat cycle.

Some notes 1) Why Anders heat only affects Fenris and why Anders is only attracted to Fenris when other potential mates are about. Each person’ compatibility is different. Let’s say Hawke and Anders’ compatibility is 94%, despite this, Fenris’ overrides Hawke, because his compatibility with Anders is higher. Same goes for Fenris. In this AU, the omega enters heat first and gets to choose their alpha before they go into full blown heat and they always choose the alpha is is the most compatible with them. Even so, if alpha knows or has been around an omega with a high compatibility than the one that is in heat, the alpha can and often does reject the omega because their scent is displeasing. In this way, there is a check and balance between alphas and omegas in choosing mates. 2) Anders gets his heat cycle again because Legacy, much like the Architect with Fiona. 3) In order to keep Fenris in line and not get distracted by potential mates, Danarius cast a spell on Fenris that stunts his sense of smell. There is a possibility he wanted to breed Fenris for more possible lyrium warrios so castration isn’t an option. However, when Danarius died, so did the spell. When his sense of smell returned, Fenris is disturbed to find that he finds Anders smell attractive. If he isn’t careful, he always finds himself walking next to Anders, trying to catch more of his scent. This attraction disturbs Fenris and he fights against it, resulting in him and Anders fighting more than usual. He will not be ruled by his instincts! Moot point when Anders also starts to feel the pull of attraction.

#myprompts #fenders

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shannaraisles · 8 years ago

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 12 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M (for language) Warnings: Bereavement, canon-typical injury and violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Fading Light

There is a persistent myth that a person can somehow catch up on their lost sleep. Total bollocks in Rory's experience. There was only so long a healthy body could stay asleep before it had to be up and moving; certain necessary biological functions that absolutely had to be attended to. Water and food were just as necessary as sleep, but it was proving far easier to regulate her intake of those than it was to try and reestablish a reasonable sleep schedule.

She didn't remember much about the journey back to Haven - a vague recollection of falling over far too many times for comfort until someone decided she should be carried. She blushed to remember just who had picked her up; Cassandra, of all people, insisting that she was the freshest of the soldiers and the healer was the most precious of the cargoes that needed bearing down the mountain. Lord, but that woman was strong. And as soon as she was no longer responsible for keeping herself upright, Rory had passed out. The next thing she remembered was waking up briefly to the sound of Chantry hymns at sunset, a good ten or more hours after she'd fallen asleep, safe and secure in one bedroll among many, packed into the quieter end of the field hospital outside Haven's gates. She'd roused just long enough to have a drink, use the pot, and check in with Fabian, only to roll back into her blankets and drift back to sleep.

That second slumber lasted only another three hours or so, and she woke to the more familiar sound of the wind over the ice and the quiet voices of men and women in pain. Leaving the bedroll, she made herself known to the healers who were covering the night-shift, relieved to note that they had things pretty much under control. She was treated with startling respect - startling, because she honestly hadn't realized they all looked on her as the senior healer in these parts - uncomfortable with their deference to her suggestions, but she had also been firmly told to go back to bed. Unable to face just lying there in the darkness, not quite able to force herself to sleep again just yet, she chose instead to leave the tents, wrapping up tightly in her cloak as she breathed in the gloriously fresh air.

The world was green. The eerie light of the Fade spilled out from the stabilized Breach, staining the night sky, the moons, the snow. She'd never realized just how much that tainted light could affect the play of shadows and light over everything around her. And it wasn't a dusky shade, or a foresty shade. Here and in person, Rory realized that Fade light was Disney lime green, raising the specter of Maleficent in her mind. Unfortunately, Corypheus was no Disney villain. Poor, unfortunate souls ...

Turning her face away from the Breach, she shivered in the wind, letting her gaze skim over the snow-swept ice. Everything was still green, but it was easier to pretend she wasn't standing within spitting distance of that awful scar in the sky when it wasn't in her eye-line.

"You should be sleeping."

For once, she didn't jump on hearing an unexpected voice in the quiet. Perhaps she was just too tired. Whatever the reason, she simply turned her head toward Cullen as he came up beside her, looking just as weary as she felt, no armor tonight betraying that he, too, was supposed to be sleeping.

"So should you," she answered softly. "Have you had any sleep yet?"

"A few hours," he told her, staring out over the ice. "There's so much to do. And ..." He trailed off, but she knew what the unspoken problem was. The nightmares. Too many demons, too little sleep, too much history, all keeping him from being able to approach sleep calmly. The shadows cast by the events at Kinloch Hold still stretched their hands over him.

"And," Rory agreed with a heavy sigh of her own. She could still hear the screaming of the dying, somewhere in the back of her mind. She'd been lucky so far, but she would suffer nightmares of her own sooner or later. "How is your head?"

Cullen gave a sigh of his own. "Mercifully clear," he admitted, his tone deep with gratitude as he glanced at her. "That second potion of yours seems to be working."

"I'm glad. The last thing you need is that headache on top of everything else." She shivered in the gusting breeze, shaking out her shoulders before pulling her cloak closer about herself.

"Cold?" Without waiting for her answer, he reached over, wrapping one long arm about her shoulders to pull her close against his chest. "You should go inside. We can't have you catching a chill."

She snorted with laughter, offering no objection to being hugged into him. "Contrary to popular belief, you can't catch a chill just from being cold," she heard herself tell him in amusement. "Lack of sleep, on the other hand ..."

"So go to bed," he told her promptly, grunting as she unwound one hand from within her cloak to prod his stomach.

"You go to bed," she countered, surprised by the way he caught her hand, enveloping her smaller fingers in his bigger palm.

They were silent then, both lost in thought, neither prepared to try sleeping again just yet. Without quite realizing it, Rory's head tilted slowly, finding a resting place against Cullen's shoulder as they shared the peaceful silence together. Her gaze focused on his hand and hers, enchanted by the contrasts there. Hers, small and weak, encased in pale blue hide; his, large and strong, wrapped in supple dark leather. Two hands with two different purposes, yet driven by the same need to protect and serve. She felt his head tip, his jaw pressing lightly to her hair as the arm about her tightened just barely.

"The next time I give you an order, I expect you to obey it, Rory," he murmured to her. How long has he been holding onto those words, she wondered. That conversation was days ago.

"And I will, if it isn't a stupid order," she answered him in a soft tone.

"I don't give stupid orders," he argued, his voice as soft as hers, lacking the heat of a true argument. Perhaps he was just too tired, too.

"That one was," she told him, curling her fingers through his as she felt him tense. "No, listen. Without a healer on hand, your party would never have reached the Temple, let alone held it. More people would have died. You don't have to like it, Cullen, but I won't be kept from where I'm needed."

"You could have sent the girl," he countered quietly.

"I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I had." Rory shook her head just a little, rubbing her cheek against the fur that adorned his shoulder. "Evy's brave, but she wouldn't have been able to cope. The forward camp was the best place for her. I'm the official healer; I couldn't ask anyone else to do that."

He was silent for a long moment before answering. "You're right, I don't like it," he sighed, his chest expanding and contracting against her. "But I understand. Just ... promise me you will stay back from the fighting."

She smiled faintly, touched that he was so concerned about her safety. "I think we've established that I can't fight for toffee," she assured him gently. "I can definitely promise to do my best to stay out of the firing line."

"That's all I can ask."

He dropped her hand, twisting to pull her closer as his arms wrapped about her fully. She went easily into that embrace, sliding her own arms about his waist in answer. In the eerie green night, it didn't seem real to be standing here in Cullen Rutherford's arms. Is this a dream? Am I in the Fade? If this is a dream, why hasn't he kissed me? I don't dream cut-price Commander, I dream full-on horny obsessive Commander! ... so why does this feel so much better?

"You did everything you could. At a certain point, a man's life falls into the Maker's hands."

She felt her breath catch in her throat. How does everyone seem to know what's hurting me? Am I that easy to read? Justinia had seen through her in moments; now Cullen was offering reassurance to doubts she had expressed to no one, not even herself. She hated that feeling of helplessness, of knowing that there really was nothing she could do. But she hadn't mentioned it to anyone.

"I should have ended it for them," she whispered sadly. "I didn't want to believe it was over, and they suffered for it. No one should die like that."

"You weren't ready to make that decision for them," Cullen murmured in a gentle tone. "And no one blames you for it."

"Calman did," she pointed out, but he wouldn't let her focus on that thought.

"Calman is an idiot," he said disapprovingly. "I heard about his behavior. And you still cared for his wound the way you care for anyone else who comes to you."

"My personal opinion doesn't matter," she told him, sharing a simple but fundamental truth of anyone in any kind of caring profession. "It doesn't matter if I hate his guts and wish he would fall off a cliff. He was injured and in pain; he needed a healer. That's my job, not to pass judgment."

"Exactly." Cullen drew back a little, looking down into her eyes. "It's your job to help those who can be helped. Every death lies at the feet of whoever did this - mage, templar, or other. Not yours."

She couldn't bear to look into his eyes, to see the warmth and sympathy there, not when she wasn't ready to let go of that sense of her own accountability. Maybe I could have stopped this from happening. Could we have stopped Corypheus here, before he killed Justinia and broke the world, if I had just said something a few days ago?

Closing her eyes, she pressed her face to his chest, thankful she met only warm wool and not bracing cold metal. "Tell that to my heart."

His arms drew more securely around her, holding her against the accusations rolling through her mind. "You tell it to mine," he murmured against her hair, feeling the same weight of guilt. "Security was my responsibility. All those people ... I failed them all."

"No." The word was muffled in his chest, making it necessary for her to raise her head once again and brave his gaze. "Cullen, no. You are not responsible for this tragedy. You said it yourself - the fault lies with whoever did this. They are responsible. Not you." And if I get the chance, I'm going to kick Coryphytits right in the nadgers for making you think you might bear the blame for any of this.

"You're so certain," he said wonderingly. "How can you possibly be so sure?"

She smiled gently, daring to reach up and let her gloved fingers curl to his cheek. Oh my gods, I'm touching Cullen-gorgeous-Rutherford! "Because you're a good man, Cullen," she told him firmly. "Too good to be able to conceive of anyone doing something so evil as this. And that isn't a bad thing."

"I wasn't always like this," he told her regretfully. "I've done terrible things."

Not so very terrible, in the circumstances. "Everyone has a past," she countered. "It's what you do in the present that counts."

"There you go with the caring again." He smiled his invisible smile, deflecting her earnest assurances with the barest hint of a blush on his chilled cheeks.

"Well, it's not a river, I can't dam the flow," she pointed out warmly. "You really do need to get some more sleep, though."

His smile faltered, the flame of fear hidden deep in his eyes. "I'm afraid to sleep," he confessed in a low whisper, the words almost lost in the breeze off the ice.

Her heart clenched as he admitted to this deep fear, tender concern choking her throat for a moment at his hesitant admission. Oh, my poor, broken lion ... "They're just dreams," she told him gently. "They can't hurt you."

"And ... the demons ..."

Damn, I forgot about the real demons in the Fade shit. She shook her head, edging just a little closer in the wrap of his arms as she held his gaze. "You are not weak," she insisted fervently. "You are no fool. No demon will ever trick you. I believe that. I believe in you."

"With the Veil torn -" he began, but she cut him off, laying her fingertips over his mumbling lips.

"I'll prove to you how safe you are in your dreams," she told him, her tone refusing to take no for an answer. "How safe it is to be around you. Just trust me." Her hand claimed his, turning to pull him away from the lake and toward the lines of sleeping tents.

He followed at her heels, realizing about halfway to their destination what it was she had in mind. "You can't spend the night in my tent, Rory," he protested, though he made no move to pull his hand from hers, or to slow her progress. "Your reputation ..."

"... can handle a little salacious gossip," Rory informed him confidently. "I am a healer. You are the commander, and you need to sleep. So I am going to help you get that sleep."

"I won't take a sleeping draught," he objected fiercely. "I need ... I need to be able to wake up."

She rolled her eyes, turning to look at him pointedly. "Do I look stupid to you?" she asked with mild amusement, knowing how much it must have cost him to say those words but refusing to coddle a fear that would kill him if he didn't overcome it. "Get in the tent, Cullen."

He hesitated, rubbing his neck as he eyed her, clearly torn between obeying and insisting on protecting her reputation. She met his gaze calmly, not at all concerned about her reputation, or lack thereof. What she cared about was proving to him that it was safe for him to sleep, even with the Breach so close; that he was in no danger of possession because of the man he was. After all, the first victim if he was possessed would be the person sleeping closest to him - her, in this case. She wasn't afraid, and she was hoping that one night with her sleeping at his side would be enough to prove to him that he didn't need to be so afraid, either.

He must have seen that in her eyes, recognizing her stubbornness for what it was. "Some people would call you crazy for tempting fate this way," he warned, but there was a warm kind of accepting defeat in his eyes as he said it that sent a prickling shiver to her toes. That's right, Cully-Wully, pick your battles. Let the crazy lady win this one. After a moment of watching her refusing to give an inch, he sighed, ducking into the tent ahead of her.

She felt a ridiculous urge to pet him like an obedient dog. Who'sa good boy? You are! Suppressing both that and her happy grin, she ducked in after him, tying the flaps securely behind her. The brazier was unlit tonight, the biting cold only slightly lessened by the wind-break of the waxed canvas.

"Chilly," she commented, perching on one of the chests to remove her boots. "Lucky me you run hotter than everyone else."

"What?" Crouched by the bedroll, Cullen looked up at her in confusion. She watched the comprehension dawn on his face as he caught on to what was going to have to happen. The blush was glorious to behold, rising with gradual grace in glowing red that crept up from the collar of his tunic to burn even the tips of his ears. "Oh ... oh, I see." He cleared his throat nervously. "Is ... are you ... is that ... acceptable, to you?"

How can he not know how adorable he is? I'm all but forcing myself into his bed, and he's worrying about me? Rory couldn't have stopped the smile rising on her face if she'd tried. "It is acceptable to me," she assured him as gently as she could. "Is it acceptable to you?"

"Uh, I ..." He seemed to be groping for something to say that wouldn't make him out to be a horny teenager or a frigid old maid. "I ... wouldn't want you to get cold."

"It's very important your healer doesn't keep you awake with her chattering teeth," she agreed, pleased to see the ghost of a smile flicker across his face in response, the way his shoulders relaxed as she made no big thing of an act that most would consider to be even more intimate than sex. Look at you, being all confident. What happened to Little Miss Talks Nonsense?

"Yes, that would not be conducive to a good night's sleep," Cullen agreed with her, tossing his boots aside. "You are sleeping furthest from the entrance, however."

Rory sighed as she wriggled her feet out of her own boots. Should have expected that, smarty-pants. "Still protecting me?" she asked lightly.

He met her gaze with a burning sincerity that turned the thoughts in her head to quivering jello, holding out a hand to invite her down into the blankets. "Always."

My turn to blush. And what a blush it was. It began somewhere around her belly button, gaining momentum and heat to meet the chilly air at the top of her high-necked tunic with what should have been an audible sizzle. It felt as though she could have cooked dinner for six on her face. And don't forget that you're grinning like an idiot, too.

Bright red and embarrassingly close to giggling with sheer nervous delight, she slid her hand into his, letting him tug her down onto her knees beside him. "Don't you say a word," she warned, knowing from experience that he was enjoying the fact that he'd made her blush again.

"My lips are sealed," he promised in amusement, reaching to undo the tie of her cloak at her neck as she worked the buckle of her belt loose.

Potion bottles jangled softly against one another as she set her many-pouched belt to one side with her boots, letting Cullen lift the wool cloak from her shoulders while she unbuttoned and removed her gloves. Without words, this all felt very intimate, as though there were more here than a stubborn woman proving a point to an equally stubborn man. And for all her noble sentiment, Rory could feel her nerves fluttering as she crawled by him to lie on her side, her nose mere inches from the canvas wall. A moment later, she tensed as the long, lean length of Cullen Rutherford curled himself into the contours of her back, drawing his thick blanket over them both. His arm came to rest about her, the weight of it laying directly over her almost healed ribs, but she didn't mind that pain. It was a reminder that this was real, it was happening. No one had aching ribs in a dream.

He felt warm and solid against her back, a protective shield against the world outside. Hot breath wet her neck with humid heat, sending scorching shivers down her spine to earth somewhere inside with crackling intensity that made her press her thighs together tightly. She drew in a slow breath, forcing herself to relax into the broad chest that lay against her back, the strong thighs that cradled her backside and legs. You're just going to sleep. He's this close to keep you warm, not to ... wait a second ... She wriggled experimentally, and felt her cheeks burn once again. Oh, my giddy aunt ...

"Uh ... Cullen?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you ... comfortable?"

She could almost hear him carefully considering the question, examining himself from top to bottom as he shifted at her back, making her ever more aware of what she had noticed. Feet, arms, legs, head, chest ... Oh. Cullen cleared his throat in embarrassment, lifting his arm from about her to remove the hard object pressing into her backside, laying the dagger down beside her head. Well, that's disappointing.

"My apologies," he murmured, wrapping his arm about her once more. "Force of habit."

Rory bit down on a slightly hysterical giggle before it could escape. "Understandable," she managed to assure him in a whisper, shifting to lay her hand over his at her stomach. "Try to sleep, Cullen. I'll keep you safe."

He pressed his face against the back of her neck, his arm tightening around her as he huddled closer in the cold night. "Where were you ten years ago?" was mumbled against her skin, a question he no doubt hoped was too indistinct for her to understand and answer.

On the streets with ten pounds to my name and nothing else, she thought, but she couldn't, wouldn't, tell him that. That belonged in a past that had no place in this world. Tonight was about him; helping him to relax into sleep, to understand that he was more than capable of defending his own mind, even when he was lost in dreams. With that in mind, she stroked her fingers gently against his arm, his hand, humming a soft lullaby she remembered from her childhood, before everything had gone horribly wrong. Though to her it was sad, a reminder of a life that had been far from perfect, to Cullen it seemed to be soothing, lulling him into accepting his weariness, into letting sleep claim him. She hoped that sleep would be dreamless. And if it wasn't, she'd be here to pick up the pieces and try again. Here, she would stay, at least until morning, gossip and rumor be damned.

Wrapped up in the arms of a man she was fairly sure held her heart in his palm and didn't even know it, it wasn't such a bad way to spend the night. She just hoped he wouldn't regret this in the morning. Everything looked different, in the cold light of day.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #cullen rutherford #rory allen #the aftermath of the explosion #sleepless nights #fluff #angst #all the angst #suggestive cuddling

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