#post-canon uldred

[massgrav]

– You're sure you'll be alright?

– As long as you come back to me.

——

Listen I have post-canon AU feels, I can't help it. Warden Jowan and his Problem Corpse

[lyriumlullaby-ao3]

So could you please give your TED talk about Meredith Stannard and why you want to rip her throat out with your teeth?

ahhh yes lmao i forgot i said that! disclaimer as i get into this that i think she's an amazing character and a great antagonist, and i'm by no means saying that anybody shouldn't like her. (idk, i just don't wanna get rude asks or anything if this post makes the rounds!)

okay so i mean, aside from the basic black and white thinking that, combined with the paranoia and other issues brought on by the red lyrium, made her behave tyrannically and commit ethical missteps with the mages under her charge, i have serious problems with the way she treats Cullen. let's just take a tally of how that goes, yes?

the kid is no older than 20 when he arrives in Kirkwall, and he is immediately made Knight-Captain, as far as I can tell. he was 19 during the events of Origins, and he says in Inquisition that he took his vows at 18, so he's just plain old 'knight-templar' when shit goes down in Ferelden. that's a leap of two ranks by the time he gets to Kirkwall. and granted, after the events with Uldred and all he probably gets promoted to Knight-Lieutenant out of sheer necessity, but still! 20 years old. second in command of one of the largest circles in Thedas. and yes, i think she did that on purpose. being younger and less experienced makes him easier to manipulate.

i also think it's likely that she chose him based on what happened in Ferelden. (and yes, i do think she chose him. i don't think he would have ended up in that position without Meredith's express approval.) i think she probably saw in him something of a kindred spirit based on his disapproval and hostility towards mages at that point in time, and wanted like-minded people on her team as she sought to exert power and control over the circle there. because let's be honest: the red lyrium made her faults worse, but it didn't manufacture them. otherwise, we would have seen the exact same mage panic in Bartrand, but his paranoia took a very different form.

we know she kept things from Cullen. 'things he wouldn't approve of,' he tells us in Inquisition. it was his job to keep her in check, relieve her of duty if she got out of control, and so she concealed things from him that might have led him to do so. if those first two weren't red flags, this one should be a dozen red flags plus neon lights plus sirens.

okay, so with that in mind, i'm going a little off book now, away from the canon and into speculation based on my understanding of the world. as Knight-Commander, Meredith would have directly overseen the lyrium rations of (if not most/all of Kirkwall's templars, then certainly) Cullen. he answered directly to her and no one else. that's one hell of a tool to use to exert power over someone. and i believe she probably did. i think she probably utilized her control of his access to lyrium to control his behavior, either by reducing his rations or increasing them, whichever suited her needs. as a recovering addict myself, this thought makes my stomach turn.

so all in all... this list makes me sick. it disgusts me to think of the ways she must have been manipulating him, playing on his fears and trauma and addiction and naivety to get what she wanted. this list reads to me like abuse, and i hate that for Cullen. sure, he wasn't a great person at that point in time, and that's partly due to trauma and partly due to anger and prejudice.

but how much of it is due to Meredith?

[dragonagekeeper]

Broken Circle Polls

Dragon Age Origins Polls

See quest and choice descriptions from Dragon Age Wiki/Keep below

Mages supported

The Warden fought to the top of the tower and defeated Uldred, saving the remaining mages and recruiting them into the Warden's army.

With mages

“Following months of effort, the tower of the Circle of Magi was finally cleansed of the last spirits to slip through the Veil. No further abominations were created, and First Enchanter Irving was pleased to declare the Circle safe. All that could be saved had been.”

Circle given independence

“The young templar Cullen never quite recovered from his ordeal. After months of attempting to convince his superiors that the tower was still a danger, he finally snapped and killed three apprentices before being stopped by his fellow templars. Eventually, Cullen escaped from prison, a madman and a threat to any mage he encountered.”

 These rumors are later revealed to be untrue.

2. Templars supported

With the mage threat contained and the Right of Annulment used, the templars pledged their blades to the Warden's cause.

With templars

“Following months of grim effort, the templars cleared the last remaining spirits from the Circle Tower, making it safe to rebuild a home for Ferelden's Circle of Magi. Rumors of what happened increased the common folk's distrust of mages, and more than one young apprentice claimed to encounter mages thought long dead still wandering in the Fade.”

Circle not given independence

“Once the tower was rebuilt, Knight-Commander Greagoir stepped down from his post and retired to a life of private contemplation as a brother in the Chantry. His health failed over time, and after refusing treatment, he perished in his sleep. Knight-Commander Cullen was said to be more strict and less trusting of the mages even than Greagoir was. He ruled the Circle with fear.”

Irving not killed

“Former First Enchanter Irving was imprisoned along with a number of other survivors and inspected carefully by the Chantry for any signs of demonic possession. After more than a year, he was finally released. His spirit broken, Irving allowed himself to be sent to the Circle of Val Royeaux in Orlais, where he served as an administrator for the remainder of his days.”

[thrall-of-mythal]

Where's that post about not interacting with source material long enough that your perception of a character no longer matches with their canon appearance, 'cause that's me with the trash man Cullen Stanton Rutherford

I just... I see the potential he could have had. In a world without bad writing and undeserved favoritism and whatever bullshit Bioware writers called his 'redemption arc'. His character could have been so much more than the lukewarm, half-assed attempt at 'oh not all templars are bad, look at this one' we were given.

Just hear me out-

He told his siblings that he was going to be a templar. At 8 years old. And he badgered the local templars into teaching him. That kind of ambition mixed with naivete is exactly the kind of set up that foreshadows his later arc and eventual downfall. And then, and then- he's a young kid, just 13, from a town small enough to only house 'a few templars', with more ambition and drive than he knows what to do with, and a visiting knight-captain takes notice of you. Offers you the one thing that you've wanted more than anything for the last 5 years. The chance to be a templar.

He goes, and his ambition and drive serves him well. He catches up quickly to his peers - kids from noble families with years of formal training. He makes a name for himself.

And every moment or every day, he's being steeped in the Chantry's teachings. Cullen's a kid from a small town and already possessing a hefty dose of hero-worship for the Templar Order. He's full of naivete, and no one is going to break that starry-eyed view of templars here - not when they have a promising young recruit in their hands. So the naivete grows, and Cullen believes wholeheartedly that he's working for the greater good. That everything he does is for the greater good. All the whispers of abuse and torture and the horrors of what lyrium does to the veteran templars? It's all for the cause, so that means it's okay, right? To protect the world from magic, and to protect mages from the world.

He takes his final vows at 18. Still a kid, really, but old enough. And he gets sent to Kinloch Hold. He learns what it meants to be a circle templar, and adopts it into his worldview with that same naive blindness. Forcing mages into their harrowing, killing them if they fail, making tranquil the ones who will never be capable, it's all to protect. The common man and the mage both. It's what he was taught, and that must be true.

But then. Uldred comes to tear the circle down from the inside. Cullen fights, like he was taught to, like he believe he must. He's tortured, locked in a magical prison, forced to endure demonic taunts and horrors for who knows how long. He watches his fellow templars fall to the torture, but somehow his own unrelenting ambition keeps him going, keeps the fire burning just a little bit longer. But he is a broken man all the same, exhausted and tormented, and now his blind faith comes to haunt him. Look what happened when mages were left to their own devices.

All that time locked in a prison with his own thoughts, fearful and exhausted, all those little teachings coming back to him. Templars are supposed to protect mages, aren't they? That means protecting them from themselves too. Templars will kill a mage who fails it's harrowing to keep it from becoming an abomination, and all the circle mages have been exposed to far worse than the harrowing by now. The only reasonable response, he thinks, is to purge the circle. Protect the mages from themselves, and the world outside from the mages.

He's sent to Kirkwall, after. To heal, maybe? Or just because no one wanted to put the pieces of him back together? Such a promising young knight, scarred and broken, a disappointment for someone else, a continent away.

He meets his new commander. She's a hard, cruel woman. She feeds into all his fears, tells him that he's right to think the mages need a stronger hand. She builds his faltering faith back up into the most twisted caricature of itself, and rewards him for imitating her own cruelty. She makes him knight-captain before he's even 23. He's still got all of that drive and ambition, even underneath the fear and trauma. He wants to protect people. He can't bring himself to see that he's doing the opposite. The cracks are still there, patched over with someone else's words, and to admit he was wrong would shatter him.

But he does start to question. He heals slowly, he gets older, he starts to question the things his commander tells him. He watches her grow more tyrannical, more reclusive, more controlling. He reminds himself that templars are supposed to protect the common people and the mages. His commander isn't protecting the mages, not anymore, he thinks. But he's still in too deep. He's been her right hand for six years. He's listened to her preachings for six years. Where do his loyalties lie? The commander who pulled him back together, who gave him opportunity and respect, who praised his cruelty? Or the order he idealized as a child, who took him in and trained him, who gave him a purpose, an addiction that will kill him one day, and the free reign to be as cruel as he likes?

The chantry is destroyed by a mage. His commander calls upon him to purge the circle. This time, he says no. He rejects what he's been told - for maybe the first time in his life - and stands up to his commander's cruelty. He finally, finally lets the view of the world he'd created shatter. He finally starts to question the years of indoctrination.

Inquisition could have done so much with that potential. Give me the Cullen who is constantly struggling with his chantry-indoctrination first thoughts. Who constantly has to pull himself back - or be pulled back - and remind himself that he rejected the Templar Order and yet here he is, acting like a Templar still. Give me the guilt, the actual guilt. Words are pretty, but actions last longer and mean something. Give me his constant struggle against his fear, so deep rooted and richly fed, and his attempts to overcome it. Give me the ability to call out his anti-mage sentiments, to help him fully turn away from the templar mindset. Give him the opportunity to be truly angry, truly horrified, over what was done to him by the Templar order. Give me the Cullen who is given chances to attone, and maybe he fucks them up, but he still tries.

Just... give me an actually nuanced character.

[fatetcrn]

Plot Ideas and scenarios for Alistair! Just for reference I threw together some random ideas to help kick off the plotting process. I gladly adapt to any world state of the warden / champion / inquisitor I am interacting with. I have no absolute default.

Alistair:

Origins:

A unique take on any main quest! Or Aftermath thereof. ( Ostagar, Redcliffe, The Broken Circle, The Nature of the Beast, Paragon of He KInd, That Sophia Quest ( I forget it's name ) and Return to Ostagar )

Camp conversations / moments

get discovered while out hunting / scouting away from camp by bounty hunters / sell swords / mercenaries / a handful of Loghain's own soldiers ( whoever is trying to look for the last two grey wardens and collect the bounty )

trapped in the Deep Roads. After a cave-in Alistair and you are separated from the rest of the companions.

Get trapped in the Fade AGAIN after encountering another demon in their travels. New demons, new challenges, new weirdness.

Random Encounters while travelling through Ferelden including and not limited to the ones you can have in game.

Denerim adventures. ( it's a big city full of magic and danger with many turns and detours... and zomg shops that sell LIMITED EDITION GOLEM FIGURINES!! )

Night before the Landsmeet. Alistair is restless and anxious and everyone is a little on edge.

Post Battle of Denerim celebration / coronation ( verse dependent ) shenanigans.

Awakening:

Join Alistair in his hunt for Darkspawn during the Thaw after the Blight.

Alistair is drawn back to Amaranthine during the Darkspawn civil war.

If Alistair was made king he is having some trouble adjusting. He needs some sage advice ( or criticism / encouragement ).

AU / Canon Divergent ( set during Origins )

Templar!Alistair ( who was never recruited by the Wardens ) Stationed at Kinloch Hold is found during Uldred's uprising protecting a group of mages and trying to get them to safety.

Templar!Alistair stationed in Denerim and perpetually arguing with the Revered Mothers and often sent into the Alienage with Sister Boann.

DA II

During his trip to Kirkwall, King Alistair slips away from his uncle disguised as a commoner and heads into the city. He knows the dangers, he is not unprepared and this could make for memorable tales and a break from the burdens of the crown. ( yes he does this often even back home in Ferelden particularly during his early days as king much to Teagan and his other advisors great dismay. )

Warden Alistair in Kirkwall on Secret Warden Business. ( Your guess is as good as mine. It's all hush hush. ) Might have something to do with the Deep Roads Expedition and a certain mage deserter and stolen maps.

Exiled!Prince / Mercenary Alistair. After being exiled from Ferelden by Anora, Alistair, for a time, travels as a freelance mercenary / sell sword operating across the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orlais and even Tevinter. ( AU? or just expanding on the Exiled!/Deserter Alistair found in the Hanged Man. Except he isn't ranting about how he is not King until the barkeep cuts him off ) Also duty will compel him to eventually rejoin the Wardens in Orlais.

Inquisition

Hawke and Alistair on the run and being chased by the Wardens before they meet up with the Inquisitor.

Warden!Alistair and his time at Skyhold and interactions with the Inquisitor or their inner circle / advisors.

King!Alistair is present at Halamshiral / the Winter Palace during the events of Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. Until I can find a justifiable reason for him to be there, he is there just as a neutral party and observer of the peace talks. Ferelden Royalty was not so much invited as Orlais just couldn't stop them from attending. Alistair walks in like " Bonjour, ya'll."

King!Alistair having to deal with the Venatori infiltration in his palace at Denerim.

King!Alistair actually getting involved in taking Redcliffe back from the Venatori...OR him waging a hopeless war on the Elder One in the dark future? Either as king of with a small group of Grey Warden making a lost stand.

AU

Inquisitor!Alistair ( Yes, I am doing the thing ) Details to come.

[houseaeducan]

part of the reason the oc directory i was trying to make still hasn't happened is bc i feel the need to write down their whole life story AND bc i want to explain their role in their own worldstate and my canon worldstate. but here's an incredibly brief run down of what my different hawkes' roles are in my canon worldstate

caleb - he is hawke. self explanatory

cat - catherine amell in this worldstate, caleb's second cousin and rowan (my amell)'s first! former member of the denerim criminal underworld after losing her family in the blight, moves on to getting rich by scamming rich people. dating isabela who is also dating fenris but she is not dating fenris but she did get platonically married to him for tax reasons. its not that complicated

cassian - older amell brother. mage in the ostwick circle who honestly liked it pretty fine there before the rebellion where he has to sort his shit out. probably does not meet/date fenris in this worldstate but maybe he does I'm not sure on this front

calliope - brought to the ferelden circle young, had a very weird fwb situation for anders for years, blood mage who took part in uldred's rebellion and then took advantage of the confusion to slip out when they finally open the gates back up. by the time they'd rebuilt enough to realize she was missing she was fully in tevinter where she managed to get apprenticed a magister. decided to jump ship in dai era when everyone was getting really into corypheus and she thought that seemed like a bad idea. tried to head to skyhold bc she had vaguely known dorian and thought he could put in a word for her with the inquisition but stopped in kirkwall along the way, met merrill, and had a hallmark storyline abt the power in love except in a wartorn fantasy city actively under siege

camilla - daughter of circle mages she never met, raised by the chantry and ended up joining the templars. knight-captain in starkhaven who ends up serving as an advisor to Sebastian when he retakes the throne and attacks kirkwall, believes Sebastian was sent by andraste to help bring thedas into a new holy age and eventually becomes his queen consort in a chaste marriage. she gets to be a villain in a lot of the post da2 Adventures In My Head. she gets infected by red lyrium and starts wearing increasingly weird gloves and helmets in order to conceal it as it slowly spreads. a lot going on with her!

ava - maybe not her actual name. the c naming convention was an accident at first and then i decided to stick with it as a joke but its maybe not a sustainable one. i made this hawke to help beta test a mod but now i really like her. anyway esteemed member of the fenbela polycule. dating fenris and isabela and maybe cat too I'm not sure on that one. i need to flesh her out in this world but i think she might have been an antivan crow at some point

[da2supremacy]

You mentioned DA roleplaying and I have to ask, how is that done? Do you use your characters from games? Make up a less important oc? Self insert?

So back in the day I was on three different invionsfree forums that were more or less ran and populated by the same core of people. A couple people were on one that weren't on another but the main players were all present on each one. Honestly, I might still follow some of them on my main tumblr but it's been so many years and so many url changes that I do not know who any of them are anymore lmao. Shout out it's Dylvon here, ya'll.

Anyway the subject of the RP changed based on the forum. Picking up a canon character or Warden Origin was done with an application. It was generally first come first serve. To play an OC you just made the character and ran with it. The beauty of forums meant that many threads could be going on at once and simply placed in a time line. This could all be meticulously organized so it really ended up feeling like you were one of many moving pieces in a puzzle. You could have NPCs that weren't yet in the story actually playing out what we knew them to be doing at the time of XYZ event in the game. Like on Reckoning while the Warden group was in Redcliff we were playing out Uldred's rebellion in a thread called, so very cleverly, "Breaking Circle". The three forums were as follows.

Reckoning: A re imagining of Origins with every origin surviving and every character from the franchise somehow in Ferelden to stop the blight. It was a mix of OCs and canon characters. I played Neria Surana. There was also a Solona Amell. We split the origin between us. Neria was the one that ratted Jowan out to my boy Irving. Solona was the one that actually liked Jowan. I believe we had Solona go to Ostagar with Wynne while Neria was excused from her business with Jowan bc the timeline shifted it closer to Uldred's nonsense. I was around for the start of this one and while Tabris is and shall always be my main Warden Surana is close to my heart simply bc I enjoyed being *this* Surana. Somnium: An Au. I went to college around the time this one was starting so I actually don't remember it's premise very well. It had something to do with the fade. I was Lyna Mahariel for all of probably four posts.

I forgot what we called the forum for DA2, but it was a standard playthrough of DA2 + some OCs. I played an OC named Elain who was the inspiration for the Inquisitor that was the liveblog at the beginning to this blog . A dalish elf who was taken away from her clan by a group of handsome apostates who she quickly realized would be the death of her. Admittedly, I do not think Elain was my best work in retrospect. Inquisition improved what was a poor character to begin with. A lot of contrived paper thin justifications for why she shared my opinions about various things that by all means she should not have shared. I was also in the middle of my Conservative Deprogramming so the takes were not hot. I was the designated "unpleasant character enjoyer" and therefore the only one that could play Petrice and Marethari straight. I understand Petrice. She is abhorrent but I understand her. Defending Marethari as a fool but maybe not the devil incarnate prepared me for being a Solas enjoyer.

If I were to make one now the premise I'd probably go with is "Inquisition agents doing the war table missions" with the honored Canon character positions being Sutherland and his posse, any named Inquisition agent in a war table briefing and any given member of The Chargers. Special mentions for Rylen, Charter and whoever the hell ran the base you can take in the other Orlesian map.

As for how people RP DA NOW?

Fuck if I know man. This was all happening in 2011. I've been out of the creating things part of the fandom for years. If anyone still RPs in DA give me a call and the low down.

[inquisitorismone]

lucy's canon world state - da2 codex entries

these got longer than the dao ones but there was more i had to say!

my hawke sided with the mages (obvs) and ran off with anders post-game. also can't stop thinking about how everyone talked shit about merrill and how Stupid she was the entire game even though she literally (and i mean literally) did nothing wrong

tied very closely into my dao worldstate (fergus cousland and queen anora political marriage)

The Reluctant Apostate He was a troublemaker, that’s how I remember him. Always found reason to defy the templars, in big ways and small. He was famous for sneaking out of his quarters at night, and admired by many of the young girls and boys for it. He was apprenticed under a fellow Healer, and I had to admit, he had a talent for it. Births were few but not uncommon in the Circle; I saw him assist on his first when he was just fifteen years old. Many of the Healers had given up on the mother, who bled too much after the baby came, but he worked through the night. She lived. But she did not wake in time to meet her son before he was taken from her by the templars. Anders threw a fit. A tantrum! It was before he’d taken his Harrowing. I remember thinking he would summon a demon of Rage and condemn us all.  Needless to say I did not vote for Fiona as our Grand Enchanter. I was perfectly happy in Kinloch Hold. Things were finally getting back to normal after Uldred, and now this. The only reason I left the Tower at all (Greagoir, bless him, he said he would stay with any mage who wished to remain loyal) is because I knew this merry band of rebels will desperately need Healers in the days to come. When Anders and the Champion passed through camp, you’d think it was Andraste herself. The young ones cheered for him. (I remember that too: the look of shock on the templars’ faces as he jumped off the dock, the cheering from the children as the fool swam across the lake.) He remembered me. Said he was surprised I came with the rebels. I told him I was surprised the templars hadn’t caught him and strung him up on the walls of the Grand Cathedral yet. He laughed and told me he’d missed me. I worked through the night with him, but this time we couldn’t save the young mother. He’s been carrying the newborn through camp, looking for other young children and nursing mothers.  He was a troublemaker. But I remember that boy who refused to give up on a dying woman. I remember the children cheering him on as the sunlight glittered off Lake Calenhad, laughter as he chased his freedom in the water. I don’t know anymore. Maybe rebellion isn’t so bad, after all. -from the diary of an elderly mage, formerly of the Ferelden Circle

A Rumor in Denerim Wife, I have said this before. I will say it again until you listen. The Champion and his apostate associate are citizens of Ferelden. Like all refugees in the Free Marches, they have been endlessly mistreated, distrusted, abused, and beaten down under the militant heel of Kirkwall’s elite. They deserve to be welcomed back into the country in which they were born. I understand Grand Cleric Elemena’s objections. Yes, the Maker’s word is truth, but the Chantry is an institution built by man. It is fallible. When we fail to protect our people, we invite our own destruction, Anora. Your father understood that. The Circle has elected rebellion. It is too late to stop this. I propose that we stop waiting for the world to go back to the way it was and accept it as it is now. Offer the mages protection. Arl Teagan has agreed to provide refuge in Redcliffe, but only you can declare that the throne of Ferelden will show mercy to men, women, and children thrown into war by the actions of their leaders. I am sure you can understand the terror they must feel in their hearts. There is one more thing. Travelers passing through rebel camps report that the Champion and the apostate are doing good where they can, offering healing and morale. There are reports they carry an infant with them, a boy: born of mages, orphaned by the war. I will not see a child deserted, Anora. I am your husband and I have a right to rule with your consent. This is the only demand I have ever given you. We shall permit no more children to die under our reign.  I will return to Denerim by the end of the month. I pray to the Maker that the baby is not born before I arrive and that he comes in good health. Stay off your feet and listen to the healers; you’re not as young as you once were. -letter from Prince Consort Fergus Cousland to his wife, dated 9:40

Theory on the Metastatic Abomination Dalish tradition does not separate the notion of the spirit and the demon. The danger that they present is no different than the danger of an inexperienced mage burning herself by conjuring fire without practice. A corrupted mage is not inherently of weak mind, she is simply untrained. How can we expect mages to resist the possession of a spirit - of a demon - if we refuse to teach how to safely interact with such creatures? Arcane warriors and Fade specialists come the closest, but their skills are rare and considered dangerous. We must learn to touch the spirits that reach for us when we draw on the power of the Fade; to manipulate them as they manipulate us. Brushing the hand of a demon will not corrupt the experienced mage, but it may provide inoculation against future possession. We must learn to recognize the touch. Possession is like a cancer, a tumor which grows if fed. But a tumor can be removed, excised from the body.  Stories of abominations are told to frighten mages, to keep them away from the wonderful things they could learn if they were not afraid of their true power. I ask you this: mightn’t we think of abominations as lepers, rather than boogeymen?  -a letter found discarded in the desk of Grand Enchanter Fiona, sent by a Dalish apostate

[orsino-the-enchanter]

So~... You and Alexius ? My my, an elven man and a heretical Tevinter... How delightfully scandalous ;) (@kinlochsghoul)

“Like you’re one to talk about scandals…” Orsino groaned, burying his face in his arms. Uldred always loved to embarass and tease him knowing his dread and denial of intimacy; he would never let this one go. Orsino mentally braced himself.

“Honestly, I have no idea what he finds in me. I mean, if he saw me as a friend, I guess I would be able to understand it; many saw a friend and a confidant in me and he’d be no different. But this is not the same. I don’t think he finds me attractive either -how could anyone find this (he vaguely gestured at himself) attractive?! I think he’s just sad and lonely, like I am; that’s all. Perhaps he’s a bit too lonely, or he’d choose another’s… intimate company.”

@kinlochsghoul

[dalishious]

do you know if there's anything canon on the number of mages and templars at kinloch hold before and after broken circle? or do you have your own estimate? thank you very much i appreciate the time and effort you put into these asks and your posts <3

There is no canon number, but WoTv1 says that most Circles are built to house “hundreds” of people.

“Circle Towers are necessarily large, as they house not only mages, but templars, servants, and often prisoners.”

“Over the years, numerous Circles have been built across Thedas. Though usually in remote places, Circle chapters can also be found in major cities. Most are huge structures, usually towers, dominating city Skylines and country horizons. Inside, there is ample room to house,feed, and train hundreds of people. Every Circle also has significant dungeon space.”

(Although some Circles are bigger than others.)

Kinloch Hold has 43 apprentice bunk beds that we see, meaning it has room for at least 86 apprentices alone. And I say at least because there’s obviously more levels of the tower than what we see, because otherwise that’s a lot of mages sharing just five beds on the second floor lol.

Of the people/bodies we can encounter during the quest Broken Circle, there are (give or take a few missed ones) :

35 Templars

36 Mages

3 Tranquil

80 Unidentifiable*

*These are generic dead bodies, i.e. burnt corpses

So that would make at least 153 that were in the tower when Uldred’s uprising began.

[massgrav]

he still got some Pride <3

[lesetoilesfous]

I can’t decide if I want “sensory overload” or “on a leash” for Fenris and Fenders, so um, whichever sparks your interest please!

Oh my gosh I had too much fun with this. And "on a leash" gives me a bingo, thank you so so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Prompt: On A Leash

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Slavery, Brainwashing, Mindwipe, Implied Sexual Abuse, Attempted Prositution, Graphic Depiction of Injury

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders, Isabela, Varric Tethras, Merrill

Additional Tags: Angst with a Bittersweet Ending, Hurt/Comfort (mostly), Evil/Red Hawke, post-canon, what if Hawke sold Fenris back to Danarius and then the gang went and saved him

Anders knew it was going to be bad. He was - had been - blinded by his own ignorance and pain in the past, too busy trying to scream loud enough to get people to stop ignoring the people murdering children to listen to anyone else. He’d been young and single minded and irrational, and then older and bitter and furious with a terrible, poisonous kind of pain that made it hard to see the world around him. But he wasn’t naive. He’d spent ten years nursing criminals and refugees. Before that, he’d spent nearly a decade in the Grey Wardens, with former slaves and blood mages and Dalish hunters and Antivan crows. Anders had not been naive since he’d first drunk from the Joining Chalice.

Still.

It’s almost impossible to see in the placid, polite, half-naked man the proud warrior he’d once known. Fenris’ hair has been shaved close to his head, a fuzz of powdered snow that’s bright as the moon against his brown skin. There’s a thick, silver collar hanging around his neck, and in it the reflections of his lyrium tattoos twist and shine like mercury. His chest is mostly bare, and thin white linen is wrapped in a loose skirt around his waist. His body is sculpted and unmarred and beautiful, and Anders does not for a moment believe that it means he has not suffered pain. His wide, green eyes no longer hold any of the intelligence, or humour, or fury that Anders had once fallen in love with. Instead he stares, docile, into the middle distance. A greatsword is slung on a strap of leather over his back, but like this Fenris looks no more capable of wielding it than a kitten. Again, Anders knows better than to trust in appearances.

Attached to the collar is a long, silver chain that ends in a black loop of leather. There are runes stitched into the leather in silver thread, though Anders cannot see what they are from where he’s sitting. Opposite him, relaxed, fingers hooked in the loop of Fenris’ leash, Danarius studies him with open curiosity.

Anders tries very hard not to vomit.

“So, you’re a Spirit Healer?”

Anders ducks his head, feeling his fingers beginning to shake and fighting hard to resist the urge to fidget. There’s a clocktower visible through the white marble arches of this balcony. He only has to last until the hour. Five minutes. He can do this. He tries very hard not to look at Fenris, or the way Danarius’ thumb is stroking possessively over the handle of his leash.

“I - I am, yes. I showed a talent for it when I was young.” Anders twists his hand in the air, summoning a wisp without catching his breath, and Danarius gives him the same indulgent, condescending schoolteacher kind of smile that Uldred used to offer before he beat you. Anders snaps his fingers, and the wisp returns to the Fade. At the back of his mind, Justice shifts uneasily, trying hard to resist his own urge to set the whole blighted mansion on fire. Anders tries to ignore the heat racing up the back of his neck and into his cheeks, and clears his throat. “I, uh, heard you were looking for apprentices?”

He can’t help the nervous tic that has him looking up, again, at Fenris as the lithe strength of his muscles. Again, he looks into those green eyes, searching for the spark of defiance that had drawn him so close so many years ago, like a moth to a flame worth dying for. “I’ve read your work an anatomical augmentation. It’s...fascinating.” Horrifying, he means. Anders had read the essays, in preparation for this. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop having the nightmares. Not least the ones which superimpose Fenris’ face and body over the all too familiar anatomical sketches of Elven Subject 003.

Danarius twitches his hand with a tinkle of the chain like the ringing of a bell, and to Anders’ horror Fenris folds onto his hands and knees in one fluid motion to kneel beside Danarius’ feet. No emotion passes across Fenris’ face. Danarius runs his fingers over the fuzz of Fenris’ shaved head, and Fenris shuts his eyes in open, simple pleasure and Anders nearly throws up. Danarius runs his fingers down the back of Fenris’ neck, squeezing the back of it posssessively before looking up at Anders’ with a terribly possessive gleam in his clear grey eyes. “You’re a fan of my little wolf, then.”

Anders swallows the bile in his throat and stares at the clocktower. Three minutes. He can do this. Sweat tickles down his spine beneath the loose Tevene linen robe he’d bought for this occasion. He resists the urge to fuss with his hair, braided out of the way of his neck and ears in a fashionable Minrathous style. He forces himself to incline his chin. “Y-yes. Among other p-things. Among other things.”

Danarius chuckles, sitting back with a creak of his wicker chair, the crushed purple silk cushions huffing behind him as he moves. “Why so nervous?” Anders forces himself to huff a self deprecating laugh. “You knew him, didn’t you. In Kirkwall.” Anders’ jagged, insincere smile stiffens on his lips and Danarius laughs, moving forward to press both hands onto Fenris’ bare shoulders. Fenris shudders and looks up at him, eyes wide as a child’s. Danarius caresses the back of his head, and leans down to murmur intimately close to his ear, still loud enough for Anders to hear. “Do you recognise him, little wolf? Do you know who this is?”

For the first time since Anders had arrived at Danarius’ damn mansion, Fenris’ expression shows a flicker of emotion. Confusion flickers across his brow in a brief wrinkle followed by sudden, mute fear that freezes his expression with stiff tension when Danarius slips his fingers beneath Fenris’ collar and shakes him, gently. (Like a dog, Anders thinks, and imagines what setting this man on fire would smell like.) Danarius laughs, polite and performative. “How rude, Fenris! This man has come all the way from Kirkwall just to see you! Go on, thank him.”

Fenris hesitates for a millisecond, and Danarius sets a sandaled foot on his shoulder and kicks him forward hard enough that he chokes, briefly, as the leash goes taut and pulls on the collar around his neck. Anders sits forward without thinking, the muscle memory of ten years spent protecting this man’s life before Garrett Hawke ruined them both taking over any conscious thought of deception. Danarius doesn’t remark on him giving himself away - Anders is well aware that that game is long since given up.

Instead, the magister sits back, adjusting his grip on the handle of Fenris’ leash as Fenris sits up with tears of pain bright in his eyes, his fingers moving to dip beneath the skirt of Anders’ robes as he lowers his head towards Anders’ lap.

Anders has about three seconds to look up at Danarius and see the perverse glee in the old man’s eyes before Fenris' mouth bumps his cock through the fabric of his robes and his smalls, and suddenly Anders is two years younger on his back in The Hanged Man with his hands buried deep in silver hair thinking hopelessly that he’s fallen in love again.

Then he’s touching Fenris - ignoring the lightning bolt of rage that twists Danarius’ face as he does so, and gently pushing him away. Fenris looks up at him with an expression of quickly stifled terror, and Anders’ heart shatters. “No, no, it’s alright, it’s not you.” His fingers squeeze, reflexively, against the warm, smooth skin of Fenris’ biceps. “It’s going to be ok. I promise, love.” Again, a flicker of confusion wrinkles Fenris��� brow.

The clocktower strikes twelve. As the bells ring throughout the city, Anders becomes abruptly aware of the street below them: the sound of hawkers and tourists, the shouting of slaves and soft music of minstrels. Danarius is staring at him with a sneer twisting his thin lips blue. Anders gives him a wide, open smile. “Well, since we’ve given up on pretenses.” Then he punches Danarius in the face, harder than he's punched anyone since he escaped Kinloch Hold, relishing the way the man’s nose buckles beneath his fist.

He has a heartbeat to think, Nice job bleeding a Blood Mage, idiot, before Danarius’ blue-veined hand is curling into a rigid claw, and Anders’ body is lifting off the ground, his limbs contorting behind him in an agonising rictus that rips his left arm out of its socket and twists his ankle until it cracks.

Then there’s a thunderous BOOM that rumbles through the building, shaking plaster dust from the painted canopy over their heads, and the balcony on which they’re standing begins to list like a ship at sea. Danarius loses concentration on the spell, and Anders falls to the ground. He doesn’t take the time to breathe through the white hot splinter of pain in his ankle. He grabs the leash and pulls fire into his hands until his fingers are blistering and melts the metal until it breaks. Then he turns to Fenris.

Fenris, who has drawn his greatsword. Anders stares at him, and thinks about sitting with him beside a fireplace, sleepy and soft with wine, and stroking his hair as Fenris admitted that of all the things he feared, one of the ones that terrified him most was killing his friends. The building lists with a grinding rumble like a broken bone beneath a qunari sten, and amphorae and flower pots go flying across the tiled floor, hitting the building across the street in fireworks of soil and clay dust.

Anders’ bad ankle slips on the tiles and he grunts and turns it into a smile, and meets Fenris’ eyes. “No matter what, I want you to know that I forgive you.”

Then he runs forward and tackles Fenris, throwing them both off the side of the balcony. Behind them, Danarius screams, and Anders calls up a shield around them both that materialises a hair’s breadth away from the clinging red vines of Danarius' magic.

It’s only when they’re airborne that Anders registers the blade skewered through his chest.

He breathes, and salt and copper splatter against his lips and tongue. For a moment, in the golden, multicoloured kaleidoscope of sky and street, suspended in the air in a terrible embrace, everything is quiet. Fenris frowns at him, and blinks, and his green eyes flood suddenly with recognition and grief as he looks down at the sword hilt between them, intimate as a lover’s embrace. “Anders.”

Anders grins at him, and thinks he isn’t crying because of the pain, his tears rising behind him as they fall like backwards rain. He cradles Fenris’ head in his hand, and wraps his arms around his shoulders, and chokes as his organs shudder against the blade attempting to split him in two, and he feels Justice’s presence building in his mind like lightning in a thundercloud. “Be right back.”

*

What happens next returns to Anders in snatches of lucidity. Justice takes over, and draws the fade around them like a cloak as they fall through the wall of the building across the street like a comet. Fenris is unharmed and panicking, covered in Anders’ blood, his white linen skirt pink and red with it, the damn collar still locked around his neck. Justice had drawn the sword out of their chest and filled the wound with a magic simulacra of the blood vessels, muscles, organs and nervous system that needed to be there, in the way he had once reconstructed Kristoff’s corpse. (Both of them had quailed, at that comparison, but neither had time to linger on it.)

The building they’d fallen into was, of course, riddled with magisters, but before Justice could exorcise his frustration with a little smiting, all three men and women were dead with a bolt to the back of the head. Isabela appeared from the shadows in a puff of smoke like a mage herself, and Varric waved at them to follow him onto a waiting carriage. Merrill barely waited for them to get on board before she snapped the reins, and they bolted into the panicking crowds, most of whom were running to get away from the collapsing mansion.

In the carriage, consciousness had begun to make its slippery way out of Justice’s hands like a wriggling fish. Both of them had registered Fenris’ wide-eyed panic: the way he’d stared at their old friends with no hint of recognition, and held Anders’ arm so tightly it would bruise. But at that point, the blood loss had overcome them both, and they had passed out to Fenris shouting Tevene interspersed with Anders’ name, and Isabela trying to understand why.

*

Two years after Garrett Hawke sells him back into slavery, Anders, Isabela, Varric and Merrill free Fenris from Danarius’ service. They don’t go back to Kirkwall - all of them are too conscious of the so-called Champion’s stomping grounds to trust those streets. But Isabela has a contact in the Antivan Crows (or formerly of them - it’s complicated), so instead they go to Antiva City. Two days later, Anders wakes up.

Fenris is staring at him, wearing real clothes that seem to sit uncomfortably on his shoulders. His collar is gone, and there’s a small frown on his brow - a lifting of his eyebrows towards the bridge of his nose that he always used to wear when he was puzzling over particularly cramped handwriting (or, later into his studies, when he was attempting to accurately interpret and summarise abstract Qunari poetry). Anders breathes, and his chest sets itself on fire, and he groans and lets his head fall back against the richly perfumed pillow behind his head. It does relatively little to drown out the thick stench of hot leather that is as thick in the air as molasses.

Fenris startles when he moves, and stands, moving to the door. Anders frowns at him, turning his head to one side with all the energy he can muster. “Where’r’you’goin’?”

Fenris hesitates, turning back to him before lowering his gaze to stare at his still bare feet. There are new scars there, Anders registers, sadly, in neat white bands around his ankles. “I thought I’d fetch the mistress.”

Anders snorts, “Have you told her you’re calling her that?” He tries again to force himself to sit up, and Fenris starts forward, hands freezing in the air between them. His fingernails are neatly, perfectly filed and it ruins Anders’ tentatively building appetite.

“You really shouldn’t be moving.”

Anders grins, trying to ignore the sweat running down his temples as pain racks through every muscle in his body. “Why? Worried I’m going to split in two?” Fenris grimaces, and Anders grunts, giving up and collapsing to the bed with a thunderbolt of pain. “OW. Sorry. Bad joke.” There’s a rustle of fabric, and when Anders is able to stop seeing stars, he turns to find Fenris on his knees beside the bed, head lowered, hands palm up in front of him. “What in the name of Andraste’s perfect silky knickers are you doing?” Anders asks as if he doesn’t know. He thinks it’s going to be easier not to take this seriously, at first. At least whilst he recovers from the mortal injury.

Fenris flinches, and Anders regrets his bad attempt at humour, feeling Justice rumbling in the back of his head like a bowel movement. “Sorry, sorry. Look, Fenris, I’m not going to...punish you, or fuck you, or whatever it is you think I’m going to do to you. I actually have a very busy day planned of, uh, staring at that crack on the ceiling and pretending it doesn’t hurt when I breathe. Or speak. Fuck. I talk too much. I need to - ow - work on that.”

For a long moment, Fenris says nothing. Outside, there’s the sound of someone playing violin in the street, and the rich, warm sound of Antivan spoken loudly and with laughter. Now that he’s acclimatising to the leather, Anders thinks he can smell cured meat frying, and he’s beginning to reconsider his aborted appetite. He’s trying so hard to see if he can actually hear the sizzling of street food that he almost doesn’t hear Fenris’ voice when he speaks, barely above a whisper. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” Anders responds, more muscle memory than conscious - hey he doesn’t remember anything about you maybe we should start slowly - thought. Fenris stares at him, eyes wide, though his mouth twists in apprehension before he smooths it back into impassivity.

“Domine - My master loves me.”

Anders sighs, falling back in the bed to stare up at the crack in the ceiling and try to ignore the hot-cold flushes of pain rocking up through his body. “You don’t remember anything about me, so I’m not going to take that personally.”

Fenris is very still. “You do not...like him?”

Anders chuckles, and regrets it when his tattered organs throw a violent protest. “What gave that away.”

“You broke his nose.” Fenris says, solemnly, and Anders does laugh then, so hard he thinks it splits something open, and he finds himself clutching at his side in the sudden fear that his organs are going to fall out. When he can breathe again, he coughs on his dry mouth and shifts his gaze to Fenris, who’s watching him with wide eyes and the curl of a smile at the corner of his lips which Anders doesn’t think he knows he’s doing.

Anders’ gaze falls to a pewter jug of water on the bedside table and a wooden cup beside it. It may as well be in the Nocen sea, for all the nauseating pain running through him.

“Would you please pour me a glass of water?”

Fenris immediately hurries to obey with a soft, stifled sigh of something terribly like relief. He offers Anders the cup, and when Anders’ shaking, sweating fingers slip on the wood his hand comes up to cup the back of Anders’ head whilst the other pours the cup against his lips. The feeling of Fenris’ fingers in his hair, after so many years, holding him like this, is almost too much for Anders to bear. He keeps his eyes shut for a long time after swallowing, and breathes as tears tickle between the seams of his eyelids and run quietly down his cheeks.

Fenris’ thumb gently catches a tear and brushes it away from his skin, and Anders forces himself to open his eyes and stare up at the elf in the sunshine yellow and orange painted room in which he’s been laid to recuperate. Fenris meets his eyes, so briefly Anders thinks perhaps he imagined it, and draws his hand away. “My master said that I knew you. But that I had forgotten.” Fenris hesitates, mouth stiffening into a firm line that is so painfully familiar Anders thinks he’d choose the greatsword again. Then he looks up, “Did I - did we - it seems as if I meant a great deal to you.”

Anders smiles at him, though his lips tremble, and tries to ignore the feeling of his heart breaking. Outside, on the street, an older woman walks past, singing quietly to herself and humming when she forgets the words. “I think we meant a great deal to each other.”

Fenris purses his lips, and looks away, out of the window. Over the street, the silver-green leaves of an olive tree brush the windows of nearby buildings. Elsewhere in the building, Anders can hear the familiar purr of Isabela, and Merrill’s chirping, and the soft old gravel growl of Varric. Occasionally, the floorboards creak when they move across the lower floors. At last, Fenris’ shoulders drop, and he shakes his head. “I don’t remember you.” The words are rich with regret and apology.

Anders blinks against the new tears tickling his cheeks, and shakes his head. “I know.” Then he reaches out, his fingers cold and numb with pins and needles. Stiffly, fumbling, he grabs Fenris’ fingertips in his own like a much older man, and squeezes them. “I just wanted you to be free.”

[darlingrutherford]

Back in October, I received an ask about Lana and Alistair sharing Cullen, which prompted me to think about what circumstances would have to happen in order for that to work in my DA canon. I started thinking about it deeply, which has turned into a lot of posts and, in November, I started working on the story version of how that would play out (or, rather, what would spark that first spicy encounter between Lana and Cullen, which could make way for more spicy encounters). I hit a rather big writer’s block on it (like most of my writing, thanks CFS) and was stuck writing a line here or there every week or so, but all this talk recently with @jellysharkbat​ about Cullanistair sparked something in my brain and I finally FINISHED IT. 

This ended up being way longer than I had originally planned lmao. So, I’m uploading to Ao3 as well if you’d rather read on there since they format a bit better than Tumblr. Enjoy!!

Healing | Cross-posted on Ao3 | Alistair Theirin/Lana Surana/Cullen Rutherford | DA:I | Explicit - trauma, PTSD, referenced non-con, sex | 18+ only, please!

     “You look exhausted.” 

The words flowed from her tongue easily enough. The past few months that she and Alistair had been at Skyhold putting together the pieces for the cure had found her and Cullen becoming even more comfortable around one another than back when she was a mage at Kinloch. As such, Lana hadn’t been expecting the almost put off glance from Cullen as his eyebrow quirked at her accusation, and her eyes widened as she quickly followed up her comment, silently wishing she could suck the words back in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - It’s just, you seemed like you were almost falling asleep there for a moment.”

Cullen sighed as his expression relaxed in understanding. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes returning to the chess board in front of them before his hand quickly dragged against his face in an attempt to wake up.

“My apologies,” he said. He leaned forward, moving one of his templars on the board to take her pawn. “I have not been sleeping well these past few nights.” 

“Is it the withdrawals still?” Lana asked. She kept her voice down when she asked the question, knowing full well that Cullen still had yet to make it known to many that his withdrawals were apt to keep him up at night. The corner of Cullen’s mouth quirked in a short lived smile as Lana pondered her move. 

“Those have not been as frequent as they once were, thankfully.” He paused as he contemplated his next words, the silence between them filled by the sound of crows as they flew above to Leliana’s tower. When he finally spoke, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I wake up more often, because of the memories.”

Lana nodded in silent understanding. She knew well what Cullen was referring to: of Kinloch, of the torture he had endured for days before she, Alistair, and their friends had rescued him and the few left alive by Uldred and the other blood mages who had taken over the Circle Tower. He had uncomfortably explained it to her weeks after she and Alistair had arrived at Skyhold together months ago, something he couldn’t have avoided when the initial sight of Lana had brought all those memories screaming back to him in his waking hours. Cullen had forced himself to make time for her, to help his mind realize the difference between her and the memory of the demon who used her image to torture him so many long years ago, but also for her. Lana’s guilt when he had eagerly left the room the first time had been clear as day, and Cullen knew she had no need to harbor it. Lana had saved his life, had protected the others he had so quickly wanted to condemn in his hysteria. She was not the same as the nightmares he so frequently experienced in his sleep. So they had spent time together ever since, talking through the past and making way towards the supportive friendship that had quickly grown between the two of them. 

“I still have nightmares from my childhood. Vivid ones, of the night my mother died.” Lana leaned forward, moving one of her rooks before sitting back. Her hand came up to tug at the end of her long braid, fingers pulling at the loose copper strands. “I used to have them every night, back when I was first taken to the templars. I went days without sleeping once, hoping that if I went long enough they’d never return.”

“I remember you being caught once after curfew, sitting in the hall,” Cullen said. A faint smile grew on his face as he looked at Lana when a laugh escaped her at the memory. “Knight-Commander Gregoir threatened to cut off your library access because of it, since you spent so many hours there, but First Enchanter Irving talked him out of it.”

“The only time I ever got caught,” she laughed. “The apprentices who slept near me would chastise me until I’d leave to calm down after one of them. I was too loud, apparently. They weren’t nightly by then, but they did occur every week at the least. They were still awful when I first left Kinloch for the Wardens. I’m grateful they’re not as frequent now. A couple times a month, perhaps.”

“What helped?” He wasn’t looking at the board at this point. His eyes were focused on Lana, watching her as she stared off at a nearby shrub as if it held all the answers in the world. 

“Time,” she finally said after a brief pause. “Time, and a lot of help. I blamed myself for my mother’s death. If I hadn’t come into my magic, she may still be… Well, but I know now that it wasn’t my fault. It took a long time for me to realize that, and I couldn’t have done it alone. That, and…”

Cullen waited for a response that didn’t come. Lana had closed her mouth, her cheeks turning pink. Cullen tilted his head, curiosity on his face.

“And… What?” He casually asked. 

“Well… I…. Had a trigger, for the memories when awake… Kind of like how they came back for you suddenly when you first saw me arrive. The nightmares were mostly in my sleep, but also, whenever I used magic… It was like I could hear her again in my head, screaming. The nightmares got worse the more darkspawn we came across, the more I had to fight. I hated my magic and what it represented.”

“I assume you no longer loathe it, if your dreams have calmed so much?” Cullen asked. Lana nodded her head quietly. She chewed on her lower lip as she returned her gaze to the board in front of them. Taking his cue, Cullen moved his templar once more. Truth be told, he was more focused on their conversation at that point than the game between them. “How did you accomplish that?”

“We… Alistair figured, if I used my magic and something good came out of it, that my reaction may change. I always used magic out of self defense, to kill darkspawn and such. He suggested that using magic for another person who would have a good reaction to it, that I would think of that instead of my mother by association. He’s a smart man. It definitely worked, the more we tried it.”

“That is fortunate that you had a way to disassociate from those memories,” Cullen said. “Healing magic can be very helpful, especially for those who fight darkspawn so often, I would assume.”

“It, well… Wasn’t all that we did.”

“I can’t imagine there are many other kinds of magic that wouldn’t be harmful to the recipient?” Cullen raised his gaze to look at Lana, noticing the pink that had spread to her ears as she cleared her throat.

“Alistair is… very receptive to it, if, um… You know, it’s controlled….”

“I see.” Cullen’s face had gone red the moment he realized what she meant. The two of them averted their gazes from the other, both intensely staring at the chess board as if their game had suddenly become just that more serious. They went through a few exchanged moves in silence, waiting for the awkwardness to tide over - as if it ever could - before Lana spoke again.

“Do you think this has helped you at all? Us, spending time like this together.”

“I haven’t had any feelings of those memories when I am around you in quite a while, so I would say, yes, it has helped considerably,” Cullen said. Lana seemed to visibly relax at his words as a warm smile grew on her face. 

“Is there anything else I could do to help redirect those memories?”

Cullen watched her as she moved her templar, taking his. The redness was returning to his face rapidly, well aware that she had no idea of the gritty details of the torture that involved her likeness. As Lana looked up and saw the almost shocked expression mixed with color on his face, her eyes widened again.

“Maker, I’m sorry, Cullen, I didn’t mean to make you think about it,” she said quickly in a mumble. “Do you want me to leave?”

“What? N - No, I… It’s, um…”

“I just, I know you said that a demon took the form of me. I don’t know what was said, what was done… Sometimes playing out a memory and changing the outcome, we’ve found it really helps me - Andraste silence me, I’m just making it worse, aren’t I?” 

Cullen swallowed, forcing his eyes back to the board as he tried to formulate what to say. Maker, what could he say in a situation like this? Cullen’s boyish crush on the young, red-headed circle mage was a memory long since passed. Of course she was still beautiful - more so now, if it was even possible - but he had moved on... Hadn’t he? Besides, she was with Warden Alistair, and quite happily by the looks of it. But still, for her to be suggesting without knowing what she was suggesting…

“It’s… It’s not that simple, unfortunately,” he stammered out.

“Are you afraid of what might happen? That I’ll hurt you?”

“What? No, I’m - I’m not afraid of you, it’s… Maker’s breath, I was tempted, tortured by your likeness, Lana. Touches, and - and, visions of so… so much more… You have no idea what you… what you’re offering, or how I will… how I would... ”

Their chess game was all but forgotten at this point. Cullen’s breathing had become heavy, his grip on the armrests of his chair tight. He had turned his gaze sharply to the side, staring at the stone wall beside them as he tried to hold back the emotions that threatened to break through his usually strong resolve. Lana sat there quietly across from him, sadness filling her as she watched Cullen all but break in front of her, like a teacup slowly hitting the hard ground. Minutes went by and, once Cullen had allowed a few heavy breaths to sigh from him and the color had calmed in his cheeks, Lana finally spoke.

“What if we tried?” She asked. Cullen looked at her incredulously, and she smiled softly. “Nothing has to happen. A completely safe environment. We wouldn’t do anything more than you felt comfortable doing. You would be in control this time. No demons.”

“What about Alistair?” Cullen asked quietly, the question surprising himself. Maker, but was he actually considering this? Lana’s laughter surprised him even further.

“Alistair won’t mind. He’ll probably encourage it, once I explain. He should be there, too. So you have someone else reassuring you who doesn’t embody the face of your memories.”

“I… I’m not sure if… You actually think it would help?” Maker help him, he was considering it.

“It helped me a lot.” Lana nodded. “It wouldn't hurt to try, right?”

“I don’t… think you realize just how… How far some of it went.” Cullen’s throat had gone dry, his voice a bit raspy.

“Alistair enjoys sharing me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lana said. She placed her closed hand gently against her lips, laughing lightly at the look that spread on Cullen’s face. “Believe me, he enjoys it. He often joins in. Although, obviously, he doesn’t have to. This would be about you, Cullen. About helping you. If reliving all that without the bad helps you sleep better at night, I’d be happy to do it. Just think about it. No pressure.”

      No pressure. The words had left her so simply, so unironically, as if this wouldn’t be one of the more difficult things for Cullen to consider. It would sound perfect on paper, he was sure: taking a moment of trauma and reliving it with the ability to strike out what had gone wrong. Of course, he couldn’t strike it all out. There would always be the memories he couldn’t rewrite: of his friends, murdered in front of him after hours of torture; of the mages who trapped him and cut him before sending a demon to play with his mind. But she was there, in Skyhold - the mage he had secretly pined for all those years ago. The very person whose visage had been used to torment him again, and again, as they played her in his mind the way he had always wanted her back then: touching him, kissing him, just as he had imagined it might be, only for her to transform into the demon once more before they tortured him some more. If he had a chance to rewrite even just one part of it… After this long of trying to run from it all, he owed it to himself to try. After all the guilt she had felt since the moment she had rescued him only for him to look at her as if she had been the one to do it, he owed it to her.

“I’d say you won’t even know I’m here, but… I think we all know that would be a lie,” Alistair chuckled. 

The three of them sat in a small room, the one Alistair and Lana had been staying in since they had arrived three months ago. Lana had suggested Cullen pick the location once he had agreed to their meeting, wanting him to feel safe wherever they were - one more way for him to be in control of the setting. Of course Cullen had his own room, but the hole in the roof and the possibility of interruptions was much too high. At least Lana would be comfortable in her own room, he had told himself. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Lana sighed with a smile. She wasn’t wearing her usual blue armor that day. She sat at the edge of the bed, a tunic much too large for her hanging to her knees and breeches covering her legs. Alistair had gone without much of his armor as well, lounging in a comfy chair near the window and looking quite relaxed about the whole situation. Cullen felt a mess inside and, after the way he had blunderingly discarded his armor as he realized he was much too overdressed between the other two, he was quite sure his anxiousness was apparent as he sat in a chair near the small desk at the wall. 

“I’m teasing, of course,” Alistair said with a smile. “But, not really, at the same time. I’m here for moral support. I know things like this aren’t always easy. It wasn’t difficult for me to redirect Lana when her memories became triggered early on, but, then, I wasn’t the focus of that memory. It’ll seem awkward in the beginning, I’m sure, seeing me in the corner, watching you canoodle with my wife -”

“Alistair…”

“What? You can’t expect me not to.” Alistair grinned at Lana as she rolled her eyes at him. “What I was trying to say is: I’m not going to deck you off of her at any point, unless you’re hurting her, of course. We’re all adults. Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself. Anyway, it’ll get less awkward, and we have all the time in the world. So, chop chop, get at it, have fun you two.”

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen groaned as he buried his face in his hands. 

“Ignore him,” Lana said lightly. Cullen looked up as he felt her hands on his, pulling gently as she uncovered his face. She wasn’t much taller than him in that moment, even with him sitting and slouching the way he was. It had been one of the first things he had ever noticed about her, how easy she would have been to hold in his arms. “Focus on me. Now, tell me… How did the demon tempt you with me?”

“I….” Cullen trailed off. He tried his best to keep his eyes on her, but he steadily found it more and more difficult as the memories threatened to return to him.

“I know it’s hard to talk about,” Lana said after a moment of silence. “Maybe start with the first thing?”

“You… I mean, it… When the deception began, the vision… I thought I had awoken in the tower by myself. I had almost thought they left, and then… I saw you. I mean… Not you, but…”

“Take your time, Cullen, it's all right.”

“I don’t want you to… To feel like you have to do this.”

“I wouldn’t have offered this to just anyone, Cullen. You and I have a connection that is unfortunate in one large aspect, and that’s Uldred. Let’s remove him from the equation.”

Cullen took a deep breath and nodded before continuing. 

“You crouched next to me on the floor. I tried to warn you of what had happened, but you told me all was well. That we were alone. It had all been some awful dream. You touched my face…”

Cullen froze as Lana touched his cheek. First her fingertips, gentle and slightly cool to the touch. Then they slid to hold him, the calluses on her hand from years of wielding her staff rubbing softly as they went. Lana rested her hand there, giving Cullen a small and encouraging smile.

“How are you doing?” She asked softly. Cullen's eyes flicked towards Alistair, almost expecting him to become uncomfortable with the situation at any moment, only to find the man lounging sideways in his chair with his long legs hanging over the side. 

“F - Fine. I'm, ah, fine.” Cullen waited until Lana gave him a small nod, his cue to continue. He cleared his throat, giving himself courage to continue as he focused his gaze on her. “I tried to tell you again that we should go, but you… You were persistent. You told me that you - you knew, about my thoughts… My… My desires…”

“Did you desire me?” Lana asked sweetly. Color rushed to Cullen's face as she brought her legs to either side of his lap, settling softly onto him. Her other hand met the opposite side of his face to mirror the one that already cupped his cheek, and slowly her hands slid back to curl gently in his hair. 

“I - I did, at the time.” The words were raspy as they left his throat. His eyes widened slightly as he felt his cock twitch once against his breeches, against her. A lilting laugh left her throat as she smiled.

“At the time?” She teased. 

“He'd have had to be mad not to be,” Alistair commented casually from the corner. Cullen nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. Maker, he had already forgotten that Alistair was there. Lana's hand dropped to Cullen's chin, gently redirecting his gaze towards her.

“What happened next, Cullen?”

“You… It...”

“Did it kiss you?”

“I… Yes,” he choked. Cullen's heart pounded in his chest as time slowed down for him. Slowly, steadily, Lana began leaning towards him, her eyes gradually closing as her lips neared his. And then, they met, and he froze. 

“Cullen? Cullen?”

Cullen blinked, finding Lana still on his lap but staring at him at an arm's length. There was a hint of concern in her eyes, and as his gaze slowly moved towards Alistair he saw the same caring, concerned look on the man's face. As Cullen began moving again Lana visibly relaxed as her warm smile returned to her face.

“What happened just now? Where did you go?” 

“It was… Almost just as I recalled,” he breathed. Maker, but this was more difficult than he had thought it would be. His hands were shaking, and he gripped the arms of the chair to steady them. He couldn't even recall her ending the kiss, seemingly having lost that time in his mind. 

“What was different, though?” Alistair piped in.

“What?” Cullen turned his head to look at Alistair. The man was still sitting with his legs over the side of the chair, however now he was propped up more proper. 

“Before, when it happened. Did it feel like her kiss did? Could you feel the callus on her lower lip from her chewing it too much? Were the kisses before rough and forcing, or soft and sweet?”

“Ah, m - more rough, I… Looking back on it, perhaps it was trying too hard to convince me.”

“So focus on her, then. Kiss her again, but this time count all the differences. Starting with that lovely callus of hers.”

Cullen mentally prepared himself as Lana gently ran her fingers through his hair. Her touch was kind, soothing, not at all what he had felt back in Kinloch. She trailed her fingers over his cheek, tracing his features like a lover memorizing their partner's face. He watched her eyes, her gentle smile as she followed her fingers, and his body relaxed under her touch. Her fingers trailed over the scar above his lip, following it to his lips themselves. That was when her eyes met his, and for a split second a memory of those same blue eyes flashed in his mind, only younger than the ones in front of him now, smiling up at him as they stood talking about the Harrowing she had just completed with ease, and his heart skipped a beat.

“This is real this time, this isn’t a dream,” she whispered. “You're a templar no longer, and we are not in Kinloch. Kiss me.”

Cullen's lips were pulled to hers as if by some invisible force. His hands rested at the small of her back, gripping lightly as they kissed. He followed Alistair's instruction, focusing on every little difference. He found the callus Alistair had mentioned, right at the middle of her lower lip, born from years of nervous habits, something completely missing from his memory. Her kisses were soft, gentle, as kind as her fingers that snaked through his hair once more to caress him - a stark contrast to the gripping, needing pulls from his nightmares. She smelled of lavender and vetiver, of ink and the pages of very old books. She let him take the lead, kissing back only when he kissed her, leaving him in full control. At one point a whimper left her throat, high pitched and shaking, and Cullen suddenly realized that his hands had moved to grip her bottom.

“A - Andraste preserve me, I am so - so sorry,” he sputtered while removing his hands from her. He sighed as Lana kissed him once more, and this time he found his lips trailing after hers when she pulled back.

“I meant what I said before,” she said with a small smirk. “Whatever helps you heal this memory…”

“It… It never got quite that far,” Cullen said as he cleared his throat. “Or, at least…”

“What happened?” Lana asked. Her hands were busying themselves in his hair, brushing back strands just above his ear to help relax him.

“It… It got close. It was as if it was on a loop… Always… Getting to that point, with you - it - on - on top, and then, just before, everything became real again. And they'd… Start over.”

“That's terrible,” Lana said with a frown. “The way I see it, we have two options.”

“Which are...?”

“We can play this out exactly as you remember, only follow through. We break the loop. Or, if this is too much, we can stop.”

“And… What are… your feelings on that?” Cullen asked as he eyed Alistair. The man cracked a grin from afar.

“Judging by the look on her face, and the conversation we had last night about it, she's very excited about comparing templars, if you catch my drift.”

“You really don't mind watching another man… With your wife?”

“He likes it,” Lana said with a smirk. A groan left Cullen's throat of its own accord as she shifted herself against his straining erection that begged to be freed from his breeches. “He enjoys watching me being pleased. And I enjoy him enjoying it.”

“Well, if… If no one objects, we could always try to… See how far we can get.”

“That's the spirit,” Alistair said encouragingly. “I only have one rule - well, two rules: One - what's your watchword, my dear?”

“Wicker.” Cullen watched Lana's cheeks flush ever so slightly as the world left her tongue, then his eyes flickered back to focus on Alistair as he continued. 

“That's right: Wicker. You hear that word, Commander, and you stop. You can use the same if you'd like. Rule number two: no coming in my wife. Yes, I realize we're wardens and wardens don't get pregnant often, but just humor me. Agree to those simple things and I'll let you in on a little secret - If you rub her ears too firmly a few times she'll come, so, avoid that. Unless you want her to come. In which case, it is a nice little trick.”

“Oh, Maker,” Lana sighed with a smile. Cullen chuckled nervously at Alistair’s suggestion. Maker, was he really going to go through with this? Would he even make it to that moment with her? Did she really want this?

As Lana leaned forward and took Cullen’s lips with hers he realized, yes, she did want this. Lana may have been rather obviously allowing Cullen to pick their pace, but she gave herself away in the way her hips gingerly rocked every now and then to rub against his straining erection, as if she couldn’t help herself. Cullen’s hands slowly snuck back to her waist. A strangled hum vibrated in his throat as he felt her breath shake against his lips, as if such a simple touch from him had evoked such a strong response. Memories flashed behind Cullen's closed eyes, little glimpses of watching her from afar so many years ago, always from afar. There were no rules now to stand between them, no blatant imbalances of power to keep his conscience from allowing him this. 

Maker, he didn't think he could stop kissing her even if he wanted to. Each kiss from her melded into his subconscious, each further and further from the frightful memories he had associated her lips with before. He felt as if he were truly breathing for the first time in her presence, a clear headed feeling he hadn't felt since his last draught of lyrium, and he needed more. 

“May I?”

Cullen's lips slowed to a halt as she spoke against them. He pulled back just far enough to glance down at her fingers that played with the lacing of his shirt. With a nod, Cullen watched as Lana slowly unlaced his shirt until it was nice and loose. Then she took his hand, directing his fingers towards the lace on the large shirt she wore. Cullen flushed crimson, realizing that doing so would reveal quite a bit more on her than it did on him. He swallowed as she molded his fingers to grip the lace, then he slowly pulled.

As her skin was revealed, inch by inch, Cullen felt himself seizing up. His eyes were glued to her, staring at her skin just below her clavicle as the fabric pulled away as slowly as his fingers allowed it to. He felt his mind going dark, everything around him swirling, Lana's posture slackened as she caught on to the change in Cullen's appearance when, suddenly, he saw the tip of an old scar. It poked out from under the lacing as it loosened, just on the right at the edge of the top of her breast. 

Cullen's breath released heavily, and he let go of the lace. The rest of it fell, the fabric sliding from her shoulders with it. Cullen's eyes stared at the scar, unable to take his eyes off of it as she sat on his lap with the shirt pooled at her hips. He swallowed hard, raising his hand to draw his fingers over the scar. Its edges were rough, not the work of steel - no, a claw, perhaps? From the corner of his eye, Cullen caught a glimpse of another: one just above her hip, mostly obscured by the fabric of the shirt. He clasped his hands to her waist, causing her to squeak in surprise as he lifted her off his lap and set her to stand in front of him. 

“Everything okay…?” Alistair's question went unanswered as Cullen gently slipped the shirt from Lana's hips until it pooled at her feet. Cullen remained seated in front of her, his face barely an arm's length from her as he hunched over to look at the scar. This one ran from her hip to mere inches diagonal to her navel. It was sharp, piercing, the work of something sharp and rounded - definitely steel, unlike the other. It was covered by a burn, almost hand-shaped in appearance, as if someone had placed their burning palm to her flesh to cauterize the first wound. 

Lana's skin was reddening under his gaze and touch, standing before him in her breast band and breeches. Her head tilted as she watched him stare at her scars, trying to figure out what the significance was as he gently took her hand and traced the scar on her arm - the one that gave her the most nightmares of them all. She bit her lip as he focused on that one, setting aside whatever feelings she had of it for the moment. Then his eyes shot up to her shoulder and he spun her with his hands. Her eyes widened as she stumbled to keep her balance from the sudden movement, making contact with Alistair's gaze as his brows lifted. Cullen was running his fingers over the burn on her right shoulder, and Lana and Alistair's heads tilted almost in unison as they heard what sounded like Cullen laughing. 

“Cullen?” His name was drawn out on Lana's tongue. Alistair sat up in his chair, craning his neck in order to see the Commander's face. His eyes were slightly watering, a look of almost disbelief on his face as he quietly laughed. If it hadn't been for the smile on his face, Alistair would have been more concerned. The two of them waited, giving Cullen a moment, before he finally spoke.

“You have scars.” The words left Cullen, and Lana felt the relief they carried with them. She relaxed instantly, smiling as she laughed as well. 

“It didn't have scars, did it?” She asked, and Alistair instantly slumped back in understanding.

“None at all.”

Lana's body was peppered with them: big scars, little ones, each telling their own story, and Cullen had never known. The demon had drawn on his knowledge of her, filling in the blanks as he would have imagined: it had been unmarked; flawless light olive skin that had matched her face, save for the nail sized nick just near her left eye. Each scar was proof that she was different, that she was her, the one who saved him from that terror all those years ago, not the cause. Each scar was proof, and of them she had many.

Cullen stood as Lana turned and took his hand, pulling him from the chair. She walked him towards the bed, her legs barely hitting the edge before he pulled her towards him and bent low to meet her lips. 

“Walk me through it.” Lana's words bounced off Cullen's lips between kisses. 

“Through…?”

“What happened next?”

Cullen slowly parted from her kiss, the reality of everything coming back to him. His cheeks flushed as he straightened, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he glanced at the bed. He silently kicked himself in his mind as he felt his nervousness setting in once more. 

“Well, I was… We were on the ground… You - I mean - It, r - removed my clothes, and its… Clothes...” 

“Do you want to change that?”

“H - How so?”

“It removed everything… How about you do it this time? Let it be your choice.”

Cullen slowly nodded his head as he considered it. His eyes wandered down to her breasts, barely covered by the cotton that bound it back. He averted his gaze as he felt his face burn, quickly deciding to remove his shirt first. He grabbed the hem, pulling it over his head and taking his time setting it to the side. Cullen could feel the burning traveling down his shoulders and across his chest as his hands found the laces of his trousers. Chancing a glance at Lana, he felt his stomach do a bit of a leap as he watched her teeth bite lightly on her lower lip - right on that callus - all the while her eyes were glued to his hands as they pulled at the strings. Maker, she wasn't trying to hide how much she wanted him, and it made him more careless as he let the trousers drop to the floor at his feet. 

As he tried to step out of the legs of his trousers, Cullen felt himself turn beet red as he realized one fatal mistake - his boots. He dropped down to crouch, sputtering apologies in his smalls as he tore at the laces of his boots and tried to kick them off as if doing so would curse their very existence. 

“Alistair didn't even get his boots off our first time, if that makes you feel any better,” Lana said with a light and understanding laugh. 

“Traitor, you're not supposed to tell people that,” Alistair scoffed, though the grin on his face gave his levity away. 

“Not just me, then?” Cullen mumbled. He tried to take a breath to shake the embarrassment. The feeling faded away soon enough as he saw Lana's feet stepping closer to him. 

“My turn, I believe?” She asked sweetly. Cullen slowly trailed his eyes over her form from where he was crouched, starting at her feet and moving up her cloth covered legs to the skin of her belly, all the way to her ocean blue eyes that sparkled down at him. Maker, he could crouch there all day, he decided. Boots shifted to the side and trousers with them, Cullen shifted to his knees as his eyes zeroed in on the laces of her breeches. He unconsciously licked his lower lip for a moment as he reached out to grasp the string. His heart was pounding, hand shaking ever so slightly as he pulled at the knot until it loosened, then placed a hand on either side of her hips, ensuring his index fingers were touching her skin to feel her as he pulled the breeches down. 

Lana stepped out of the breeches one foot at a time as Cullen pulled them for her. Standing, he looked around the room as if there would be instructions written on the wall. When he met Lana's eyes again she merely smiled in a manner that seemed almost mischievous.

“I believe I'm still clothed, Cullen.”

Maker, but she was. Two strips of fabric kept her from being known to him. Two simple, measly strips of fabric, one which seemed a miracle it was holding her breasts back at all. 

“Which… Um… Which one should I…?”

“I vote the breasts,” Alistair piped in suddenly from his chair. Lana shot a look at him that clearly told him to stop meddling, to which he threw his hands up in defense and added, “Just a suggestion. I apparently don't get a vote, sooo…”

“Whichever you prefer,” Lana cut in, turning her attention back to Cullen. Whichever he preferred… Maker, was there a preference to be had? In that moment, everything so very different from his traumatic past, it felt not unlike being presented with two gifts on Satinalia: two gifts which went hand-in-hand, each which would be opened eventually. Just… Which order?

Cullen let Alistair decide for him. It was simpler that way, though he wasn't sure he wouldn't have done the same in different circumstances. The grey breast band wrapped around her chest seemed to have a difficult task. It got the job done, if that job was only to hold her breasts in place long enough to get her armor on which would surely help with the rest. The world had seen plenty of advances in armor and weaponry, but, it seemed, these had scarcely seen an upgrade since the Exalted Age. 

Standing and stepping close enough to reach around her back, Cullen peered over Lana's head to eye the knot. He fiddled with it a bit, gritting his teeth at one point when it seemed the knot had possibly gotten tighter, when suddenly he felt it pop free. He gingerly took a step back as it fell to the ground, his eyes shamelessly glued to her breasts. Cullen could tell Lana was blushing, but, Maker help him, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He barely even registered the happy hum of approval from Alistair over in his corner, until Lana spoke.

“Would you like me to take care of this?” Her eyes were on his, watching his eyes follow her hand as she hooked her fingers in the corner of her smalls. Cullen managed a nod, and took a step back as she slipped them down.

A breath escaped Cullen as she stood before him. When first he had gazed upon the demon’s form - her form, twisted by what it had read in his mind - it had given off a feeling. Cullen couldn't explain it more than that. It hadn't felt right. It had felt conniving, eerie, like a dark, thorny path in the woods on an otherwise sunny day, riddled with tempting berries that carried an uncertain fate to whomsoever was foolish enough to pluck one and eat it. As Lana stood before him now, she seemed to glow in his mind. There was nothing eerie about her - her scars reminded him of that. And, Maker, she was perfect. 

“Almost.” Cullen stopped in his tracks as Lana piped in after he had taken one step towards her. He furrowed his brows in confusion, only to catch her drift as her eyes trailed downwards on his body with a sly smile. “Not quite fair… Is it?”

“I suppose not,” he chuckled as he flushed once more. Cullen slid his smalls down, pink spreading across his body as his cock stood at full attention in the cool room. 

“So…” Lana smiled, glancing eagerly at his length before looking back up at Cullen while she walked back towards the bed. She sat at the edge before sliding into the middle and patting the mattress as she continued to steal glances of him. “You were on the ground? I thought a bed may be more comfortable. I can move to the floor if you'd like.”

“No - No, you're right. A bed is… Better.” Cullen nodded as he followed her over. He slid onto the bed, suddenly aware of how strange the whole situation must have been. Here he was lying naked on a bed, with a naked woman, and her fully clothed husband sitting in the corner - and yet, there was a part of it that excited him, enough to keep him wanting to see how this would all play out. 

“What happened next?”

Cullen took a deep breath as he prepared to answer her question.

“It… Sat on my legs, and began to… Situate. And that… That's when it all ended. And became… Then it turned, and…” Cullen sighed shakily, closing his eyes as Lana ran her fingers softly through his golden hair. 

“We can take our time,” she said softly at his side. “We don't have to do this all tonight, Cullen. You're doing wonderful. If this is too much -”

“No.” Cullen said it firmly, shaking his head adamantly. He turned his head to the side to look at her, focusing on the scar on her chest, the top of the burn on her right shoulder, a cluster of freckles below her collarbone he had never seen before, all the differences. “I don't want to associate it with you anymore. I - I wasn’t certain before, but now... I want to do this.”

“Good.” Lana smiled, running her fingers through his shallow chest hair. “Because, I have to admit… Ever since you took your smalls off, I've been curious what you'll feel like…”

“Maker's breath.” Cullen nervously laughed, unable to say much else. He had never felt less suave in his entire life, he was sure of it. He blinked, watching as Lana straightened her body and slowly slid her leg over his side. Seeing her above him then, her hands on his chest, fiery copper hair in the candlelight, his mind began swirling. Lana watched as the color drained from his face, his hands gripped onto the blanket beneath him as if it were his only lifeline. 

“Cullen?” She spoke his name softly. Placing her hands on either side of his face she could feel him beginning to sweat. His eyes seemed to stare right through her, as if he were lost in a deep memory. “Cullen?”

Alistair got up from his chair when Cullen didn't move. Cullen's breath was heavy, his muscles tense as Alistair crouched down next to the bed and put his hand on Cullen's shoulder.

“Come on, Rutherford,” Alistair said firmly, giving him a good shake. Alistair's voice seemed to snap him out of it, his voice and way of addressing him not too different from how he had addressed him when they were both Templar trainees. Cullen swallowed as he met Alistair's eyes, then he turned and looked back at Lana.

“Do it.”

“What?” Lana was shocked at Cullen's request. It left him more like a command than a plea, determination coursing over his tongue. Alistair had backed off again to his chair, trying his best to let the two of them work through it now that Cullen seemed to be back.

“I want it to end. Please.” 

“Then end it,” Lana said. “You said this was where it changed… So change it. Take control. What do you want to do?”

It had never happened before. In his nightmares, reliving that hell he had been through, it played over just the same as he had experienced: everything but, her soft legs wrapped around his torso, melting away into purple and horror before he could even experience her. He knew exactly what he wanted to do to change it. 

Cullen grasped Lana by the waist, holding her in place as he rolled them until he was on top of her while she squeaked shortly in surprise. Lana hummed as his lips crashed to hers, whimpers bubbling in her throat as his fingers delved between them to test how wet she was. Maker, she was soaking, clearly having been ready for this since the moment she sat on his lap what seemed like ages ago to him. 

In normal circumstances, Cullen would have liked to have taken his time. These were anything but normal circumstances. Desperate to break the cycle, to have something new to add to the loop, Cullen slid up slightly, groaning low in unison with Lana's loudening whimpers as he rubbed his cock against her heat, coating it in her quim. He sat back just enough to glance between them, taking his hard cock in hand as he guided it to her entrance. 

Cullen's breath was loud, relieved as he felt her heat surround him. It was as if glass had been his prison and it had shattered all around him the moment her mouth hung open with a moan that echoed throughout the room. The sound made him shiver, and he watched Lana as her brow furrowed near her shut eyes, hands gripping the blanket as she fought the urge to roll her hips until he was ready. She was waiting for him to be ready. Cullen pulled back with his hips before gently thrusting back into her. His eyes rolled slightly at the feel of her, quickly opening again to watch as her chest arched slightly with each thrust. Maker, she was already making so much noise, and he was barely doing anything. The thought made Cullen feel warm, stroking his ego as he moved one hand from her hip to balance on the mattress near her face. 

Lana arched towards him, her mouth hanging open as her lips curled into a smile. Maker, Cullen felt different than Alistair. Alistair was gifted when it came to his size - she knew that from the few she had been able to compare by then. Cullen still filled her well, though, very well, in a way that didn't stretch too much for comfort. Oh, Maker, and that slight curve Cullen had to him - that was new, that was very nice. 

Her arms reached up, wrapping around to Cullen's back as he pressed his chest closer to her. Lana took advantage of Cullen's shoulder being level with her lips, pulling him closer to moan loudly against his skin as his thrusts became more purposeful. His hand slipped down to her thigh, pulling until her legs were wrapped around his hips. Cullen slid his hand over every inch of her he could reach, memorizing the feel of her, embedding the memory of her and this moment deep in his mind: he felt the difference between the soft skin of her breast to the scar his thumb ran over; the curve over the peak of her nipple, the way she shuddered and gasped as he grasped over it; the dip over her navel, down to the rough and smooth of the burn that lay over the bump of the long, deep scar just near her hip; and the sweet, sweet way his fingers could dig into the flesh of her bottom, the way her moans became louder and louder as he pulled her towards him while he became totally and incandescently lost in her. 

Time slowed down for Cullen, and at the last possible moment he suddenly remembered one of Alistair's rules. His abdomen was tightening, his body practically lifting as he felt his end near so soon after only just beginning. Grasping her legs Cullen peeled her from his body, pulling out of her and grasping his cock with his hand as he sat up on his knees. He groaned loudly, covering the tip with his palm as he pulsed and spurted into his hand. Cullen gasped, suddenly finding the room less than full of air to him. He gave himself a few hearty, slow strokes, ensuring that he had been emptied of every last drop before falling back to sit on the bed. 

The sound of Lana's happy humming made the corners of Cullen's mouth twitch into a lazy grin. He lifted his head to look her over, finding her still in the position he had left her: on her back, practically spread eagled with a wide grin on her face and flushed skin all over. As her eyes fluttered open and she met his gaze, Cullen felt his insides flip for what felt like the hundredth time that night. 

“How did we do?” She asked breathlessly, and Cullen couldn't help but chuckle. 

“I would say… We did a perfect job.” 

“Think you'll have better thoughts in your mind when you see me now?”

“I - Yes, I... I think I have quite the image to think of now.” Cullen flinched slightly as a cloth hit his shoulder. He looked down, picking up the light blue handkerchief Alistair had tossed at him before looking at the warden questioningly.

“I promise, it's clean.” Alistair winked as he lifted himself off the chair. Cullen nodded in sudden understanding, flushing as he used the handkerchief to clean his hand off. He looked up as Alistair approached the bed, watching as the man looked over his wife with a sparkling interest and a smirk that even made Cullen blush. “I hope you haven't been tired out just yet… My turn, yes?”

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 64 - Bridges Built and Burned

Chapter Rating: Teen Chapter Warnings: description of a panic/anxiety attack Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Read it on AO3 or start at Chapter 1

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Twelfth day of Haring, 9:31 Dragon

An air of calm followed Rosslyn over the following days as she settled into the limitations the mages put on her for her recovery. In the beginning, she chafed at not being allowed to do more, but after the first hour-long meeting with Cailan and his surviving advisors left her grey-faced and staring into thin air, she gave in to her convalescence with barely a grumble. Anora, at least, understood her need to be doing something, even if beneath the graceful manners and elegant pours of tea every conversation with the queen felt like a test, a way to pry out her inclinations and posture over the king’s good opinion. Perhaps the suspicion was merely a holdover from too many years of habit, a wariness for the woman who had been set up as her rival before she even left the schoolroom, but it didn’t make their talks any less exhausting.

Far more pleasant was the extra time she got to spend with Alistair. Charming as ever, he kept as much in her company as he could with all her duties loaded on his shoulders, taking her out onto the battlements or to see Cuno, or tucked up in the warmth of the library so they could go through paperwork together. The normalcy of it felt strange after almost a year of sleeping with only a thin sheet of canvas to keep out the weather, and the routine and bustle of an army camp to keep her from thinking too deeply of home. Now home was the reality, complete with the familiar comforts and faces she had left behind, even if the fit was slightly off, like a favourite shirt pulled out of shape after one too many launderings.

On the third day, she even managed to sneak away. It was good to have a little rebellion, despite her reluctance to go further than either seeing Lasan in the stables, or to the kennel to check on Cuno’s recovery. Her dog’s missing foreleg had done nothing to quell his excitement when she had first stepped into the runs, his fits of whistling sneezes setting all the others off in mad barking so they wouldn’t be left out. Only Alistair’s sharp check for her injuries had stopped the dog bowling her over, but he had pushed into her face nonetheless, anxious as a nursemaid as she buried her head against his neck and erupted into sobs. He was still wobbly on his feet and a little incontinent, thanks to the medicines mixed by the healers, but otherwise he had recovered well.

“A few more days, and the mages say they can start to wean him off their potions,” Gareth informed her now as they watched his eyelids droop from the latest dose.

“That’s good,” she answered, smiling. “Then he can come upstairs and stop howling the walls down every time I have to leave.”

“Daft sod. Uh – I mean –”

“You’re the one living with him,” Rosslyn allowed. “If anyone’s earned the right to call him that, it’s you.”

Gareth chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s a good lad, mind.”

“He is.”

On her way back to the keep, she turned right instead of left beyond the harness room, and followed the stairs down towards the cells claimed from the old Alamarri settlement on the hill. Guilt prodded her steps, and intrigue. A question that had bothered her since finding out how her dog had survived. The guards posted to the vestibule at the bottom snapped to attention when they saw her coming, though the nervous glance they shared betrayed more than simple surprise.

“I’m here to see the blood mage,” she announced, before they could ask, or tell her to go away. When they hesitated, as if she were no more than a mere servant wanting to satisfy her curiosity, she drew herself up and stared them down.

“With all due respect, Ma’am, that man is maleficar, he canna be trusted.”

“And with no templars in the keep –”

“Am I still the Teyrna of Highever, or has something changed in the last half an hour?” she demanded. “Your concern for my safety is noted, but you wear the Laurels and you will stand aside at my orders.”

Defeated, the guards shared another glance before the one with the keys led the way to the right cell. The weight of the rock pressed down on her, almost as heavy as the darkness crowding around the oil-burning lanterns set in alcoves in the wall.

“Leave me the light, and lock the door behind me,” she commanded.

“Aye, Your Ladyship.”

She held the lantern high as she stepped into the cell – the same one that so lately had housed Fergus, though she tried not to think about it, or the animalistic odour lingering in the stone. The blood mage huddled in the far corner, flinching away from the light as it fell on him, but not fast enough that her breath didn’t catch. He was thinner now, and the scruff on his face had lengthened into a thin beard, but the lank hair and pale skin were the same as they had been when she confronted Howe. Pushing the memories away, she looked further and noted the cloth wrapped around his manacles to stop him cutting himself on the sharp edges, though she doubted that would be much of a barrier to one determined to make themselves bleed. That he hadn’t resorted to those desperate measures counted for him – but then, perhaps he was just patient.

“Jowan,” she said, as the lock clicked behind her.

When he turned to her, he had to blink until his eyes adjusted to the light, and when he recognised her, trepidation stiffened every muscle in his body.

“Your – I mean, my lady?” He coughed. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure how all these different title things work.”

“Your Ladyship,” she affirmed. “To you, anyway. I’m told you’re the one responsible for saving my dog’s life.”

A hasty, terrified nod.

“Then I owe you my thanks. He’s doing well, almost back to his old self.”

“I – I’m glad to hear it, Your Ladyship,” he managed.

Rosslyn let the silence stretch. As the moments passed under what Alistair called her general’s stare she watched the mage fidget and drop his gaze to the floor, covering his arms across his body as best he could. Good; if he were flustered, she would more easily spot a lie.

“I want to know why you did it,” she said at last.

“Uh…”

“Why didn’t you let him die when you already had a hand in the deaths of so many others?”

Jowan’s eyes flicked to hers in what might have been defiance, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. “I never wanted to kill anyone,” he confessed. “I only ever wanted to live free of the Circle. I don’t know if you have any idea what it was like there –”

“I saw what it became,” she replied, gently.

“That’s right. I heard about what Uldred did. He was the one who taught me about blood magic. If I’d been braver…” He swallowed. “But I was just an apprentice, and he was one of the senior enchanters – I knew they’d never believe me if I said anything, they’d just… All I wanted was to escape. I’m not that good at magic, I was never like Surana or Clement or Karyna, and there were always so many horror stories about the Harrowing, I knew they’d kill me or make me Tranquil for sure.” He seemed to realise he was speaking too quickly, and sighed to centre himself. “But I was caught trying to get into the phylactery chamber. I had no choice. I wanted to protect Lily, but she… I don’t know what they did to her.”

“Who’s Lily?” Rosslyn asked.

“I love her. But when I… Maker’s breath, she looked at me like I was a monster. The thought that she might have paid for my crime…”

She recognised the spiral he was about to fall into, had been there herself. Steady, she leaned into his eyeline and repeated her first question. “Why did you save my dog’s life?”

“Because it was the right thing to do,” he replied, looking up from his hands at last. “I was too afraid before, but you stood up to him, even after everything he said. Howe and Loghain threatened to hand me over to the templars if I didn’t do what they asked, but when I saw what you did, I couldn’t sit by anymore.” He straightened, and for the first time met her eye without hesitation. “That’s the truth. I’ve made so many mistakes, disappointed so many people – I wish I could go back and fix it. I don’t know if anything I do could ever make it right.”

With a sigh, Rosslyn lowered the lantern. “His Majesty has asked for my opinion on what should be done with you. As it stands, the templars are not in a position to take you back to the Circle, but nor can he just let you go.”

“I understand, Your Ladyship.”

“For my own part,” she went on, “I am grateful for what you did, but it wouldn’t be fair to weigh one life against the many more you’ve caused to suffer.”

At that, the mage slumped, though his expression lacked surprise. “I know it probably doesn’t mean anything, but I do wish I could go back and fix everything.” He licked his lips. “Thank you for coming to see me, anyway, for… giving me a chance to talk. It means a lot.”

“No decision has been made yet,” she told him, without quite knowing why.

He offered her a smile as she called for the guard, but it was thin and faded quickly. His eyes followed the swing of the door as it was opened, and as she ducked through back into the corridor, she didn’t look back. The second guard had followed his mate to watch her, and he saluted. The door slammed. She almost turned away, but something about his manner stopped her, a nervousness more sensed than seen, and while she couldn’t source it, it brought her notice to his posture, the way he stood not by the wall but in the middle of the corridor as if to herd her back the way she had come. Considering she had already escaped Jowan’s cell unscathed, it made little sense.

“What’s down there?” she asked, with a jut of her chin.

“No one.” The guard’s eyes flew wide. “That’s – nothing. I meant, ‘nothing’. Your Ladyship.”

She advanced on him, just a step. “Who is down there?”

“Uh… It’s really nothing to concern yourself with,” he tried again, but before she could squeeze anymore out of him, a dry, nasally voice trickled through the cracks in the stone walls and turned her blood to ice.

“Is that a visitor for little old me? Do hurry up, I’ve got a busy schedule.”

The guard tried to push in front of her. “Your –”

“Give me the keys,” she growled.

She didn’t even wait to be given them, instead snatched the ring out of the guard’s half-obedient hand, already marching forward. Her fingers shook. Disbelief raged through her blood. Her heart beat so loudly she didn’t hear the key when she turned it in the lock, but when the door swung open, with the light spilling through around her against the opposite wall, even that seemed to stop.

Howe’s face was obscured by dirt and a grey tangle of beard, layers of old bandages wrapped around his head crusted with blood on the left side, his skin saggy from lost weight, but the hooked nose and narrow, polecat eyes would be recognisable anywhere. It was like being stabbed again. She wanted to vomit.

The swine smirked at her. “Well, well, well. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

She tried to focus on his chains, his clothes, how the once-bright satin hung off him in tatters. “They found you.”

Her lungs wouldn’t work. How long had he been kept in the dungeon – under her feet? Why was he still alive? Why had nobody told her?

“I suppose it was too much to hope Loghain might have killed you,” he drawled, as if remarking about a small bet on a slow horse. “You’ve shown such an infuriating talent for survival – or maybe it’s just that so many people are willing to die in your place.” His eyes glittered. “Your father, your people, your dog –”

“You didn’t kill him,” she snapped. “He lives.”

“Oh? Pity.”

“What are you doing here?” Every word ground like glass on her tongue.

At this, Howe looked absolutely delighted. “Me?” he repeated. “I am here on the king’s invitation.”

“You’re a lopsided old man sitting in his own shit in a dungeon.” The wound in her side ached. She couldn’t stop shaking. “You have nothing left. And you’ll die a traitor’s death.”

“Will I?” he asked. “And what about you? You seem surprised to see me. Nobody told you I was here, did they? Not your crippled excuse for a brother, or the king, or even your dear princey-wincey. It must hurt, thinking you’re so important, so grown up, only to find those closest to you have so little regard for you. imagine not even telling you they’re secretly hiding your greatest enemy in your own keep!”

A pause, to let the realisation settle, but even though she knew what he was doing her feet were rooted to the stone and every barb stung and her mind stuck on the sight of him and it whisked away to what he had done, what he had wanted to do –

“They still consider you a child, just like your father when he sent you away. Do you want to know what his last words were? The look in his eyes when he realised I was the one who had brought him what he finally deserved?” He laughed. “And your mother. Do you want to know how long it took her to die? How many arrows –”

“ENOUGH!”

He fell silent, still smirking as if he weren’t manacled in a prison cell, as if this confrontation were a victory, and revulsion crawled so far up her throat she could no longer breathe. She reeled away from the door like a drunkard, vaguely aware of the guards calling her name. Her lantern slipped form nerveless fingers and smashed.

“If he speaks again, cut out his tongue.”

If she spoke the words out loud, she couldn’t tell. The only thought in her head was the need to leave, to run, never mind the ache in her side and the jumble of questions stirred up in her mind like wind-scattered leaves. The whos and hows and whens swirled before her eyes, until her legs buckled and a sharp pain in her knees found her halfway up the stairs to the keep. A sob lurched in her throat, caught only by the hand she slapped across her mouth. Tears came unbidden. She bit her lips together and forced her lungs to still against the heaving breaths they tried to gouge out of the air, to keep silent in case the soldiers heard her, in case they came looking.

It was the pain from her wound that finally calmed her weeping, the fact that every cut-off inhale sent a jagged line of fire from her ribs to her hip, but with it her mind was allowed to drift from the blank panic of needing to keep quiet, and a seed of thought sprouted in the dark. She hadn’t known about Howe’s capture, but someone had ordered the guards to keep watch. Someone had kept this information from her, ordered them to keep it from her. The spark of realisation set among her tremors like dry tinder and flared into real, scalding anger.

It had her body in its grip before her mind decided where to go, drove her only up, past a startled maid on her way from the kitchen, past Cailan and Anora arm in arm with only the most instinctive of obeisances, before she reached the second floor of the keep, her family’s private level, the pull of her wound worsening with every step but not enough to stop her.

“My lady, what –”

But she swept away again before Graela had time to finish her question or drop the linens being folded on the bed. The Cousland sword clinked as she plucked it from its corner in white-knuckled hands. She had carried it through battle and fire and the swell of the Waking Sea, and now she had only a few strides left until she reached her brother’s temporary room.

Amell, tending him, jumped away with a small shriek as Rosslyn kicked in the door. Fury took her to the bed, where Fergus hastily flung the covers over to hide the truth of his atrophied legs.

“Rosslyn, what –”

“This is yours,” she snarled, and flung the blade onto the mattress by his hand.

“Father’s sword?” He glanced from it, back to her. “I don’t understand –”

“I was going to talk to you about it,” she rushed. “About the title and who should have it and what we would do next – but why should I bother if you’ve already decided to shut me out of decisions that are mine to make by right!”

“Rosslyn –”

“I know Howe is here!” she thundered, and her lips bared in a feral smile as he winced. “You didn’t think to tell me you’d found the man who slaughtered our entire family?”

How dare he. How dare he take this from her. Her breath came in spurts, her nails biting into her palms, flesh washing hot and cold as if night and day were chasing over her skin.

“I didn’t want –”

“He’s sitting beneath us right now and you thought you could keep it from me? How long has he been there? How long have you been lying to me? Was it before I woke up, or after? Those soldiers down there were wearing the Blue, plain as day, and only one person could tell them to lie to my face. How could you –”

“Your Ladyship, your wound.” Amell started forward. “It would be best if you –”

“Get away from me.”

“Don’t snap at her,” Fergus chided, as if he had the right, then slumped. “How did you find out?”

“What does it matter when you didn’t tell me?” she cried. “You’re my brother! You should understand! What, do you think I’m still a child who should be kept away from the kitchen knives? While you were cringing away in that dungeon doing nothing I was out leading armies, fighting for our people’s freedom! I did everything expected of me and more to get back here! I retook this castle! And yet none of that means anything?”

“You were still recovering,” he ground out, but the excuse only made her anger flare hotter.

“I have hunted him for a year, I had to read report after report of everything he did, I saw what happened to Canavan and Gilmore, and Mother, and Father, and I led Highever’s army away and into war even though it was the last thing I wanted to do! And you, meanwhile, can’t even find the guts to walk ten steps to your own room! You’re a coward. How dare you make decisions for me? The monster responsible for everything we’ve been through has been locked away right beneath our feet and you’re just sat here as if you don’t even care!”

“Don’t you dare tell me I don’t care!” he roared, his own anger finally let loose. “He took everything from me – everything. I couldn’t lose you as well. We thought it best –”

But she pounced on that word like a jackal. “We?” she repeated. Spots danced in front of her eyes now that her battle rage was burning itself out. She clutched at her side, felt something wet seeping through the fabric of her dress, but his blanch turned her stomach more than the agony gritting her teeth.

“We wanted to protect you,” Fergus insisted.

“Alistair knows.”

Her legs crumpled. She had to catch herself on the bedpost, and in the confusion that followed, Amell’s hands pressed over hers with cool words of reassurance, a shoulder under her arm hoisting her up, her brother reaching for her from so far away – and him in the doorway, transfixed, horrified.

“Graela told me you were…”

She swallowed past the knot of tears gathering sharp at the back of her throat and turned to the enchanter. “I – I can’t breathe.”

“You’ve torn the muscle layers. Here –”

Alistair darted in to help as she staggered forwards on Amell’s arm, but she pierced him with such a glare he stopped short, mouth slack with a look of puppyish hurt that woke a vindictive squeeze of satisfaction in her chest. She vaguely heard him exchanging low, desperate words with Fergus as she limped back to her own room, a curse, and then tentative footsteps as she was eased down into a chair by the fire. Now that she had opportunity to notice, every tiny shift of her clothes over her reopened wound tugged at the edges like fishhooks.

“Rosslyn.”

“This isn’t your room,” she growled at him. Air hissed between her teeth. She couldn’t tell if it was the pain causing the sting at the corner of her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Pushing down the discomfort she let her eyes fall on him, taking him in, hunched shoulders and hands wringing with the suppressed need to reach for her. “You’re sorry you were found out,” she corrected, slowly, with only the barest wobble in her voice before she turned her gaze to the hearth.

A pause, and then a sigh.

“Riley and half a squad of infantry brought him back two days ago. They found him with Loren and Mother Berit. It seems Loren decided favour with the Maker was worth more than his loyalty to the Crown.”

“And yet I didn’t hear a thing about it,” she replied. “You lied to me. To my face. Even though you knew what he meant to me.” The struggle to keep her voice level was one she was losing, but between the threatening tears and the words she had already hurled at Fergus, her throat ached as if she had swallowed smoke. And still her anger smouldered. “Ever since the battle you’ve treated me like I’m incapable of even standing on my own feet, like I’m a fool who can’t be trusted to drink out of a proper goblet. Fergus doesn’t surprise me, but you – How could you keep this from me?”

Alistair threw his hands up in exasperation. “Because I was afraid something like this would happen! Every time Howe turns up you get this – this intense focus and you stop caring about anything else. You push yourself, and you hurt yourself, and you get so blinded by the idea of vengeance you turn into someone I barely recognise!”

“I don’t turn into anyone!” she shot back, staggering upright once more.

“No, you should sit –”

She slapped his hand away. “This is me, and it’s not something that can be tucked away out of sight just because you find it distasteful. What do you think I was doing all those months you sat so cosily under that mountain? I killed people. I’ve lost count of how many, not to mention all the others that were sent to die on my orders. Why shouldn’t I seek vengeance?” she demanded. “Howe deserves to die. He deserves every ounce of suffering I can wring out of him.”

“There – that’s it right there!” he shot back. “You’re so focussed on how he hurt you, you can’t see how it’s twisting you into something exactly like him!”

“‘How he hurt me’?” Incredulous, she could only stare at him. “He ruined my life! Are you saying I shouldn’t be angry about everything he’s done?”

“This isn’t anger, this is blackness, and you’re letting it consume you.”

“He murdered my family!” she shouted. “He pretended to be my father’s friend for years and then he slaughtered him like an animal! Doesn’t it matter what he did to Cuno, to my people – what he was planning to do to me? He has caused so much pain and he deserves all of it back again –”

“And how would you do that?” Alistair challenged, in a voice like steel. “He’s one man – you can only kill him once.”

“I’d find a way – I will find a way to make it right. I let him go at West Roth and I have regretted it ever since!”

He drew back at that, as if she had struck him.

“I can’t do it again,” she promised. “I won’t.”

“And this isn’t a path I can see you walk down. I won’t watch you destroy yourself.”

Until that moment, she hadn’t noticed the physical distance separating them. There was hurt in his eyes, but also a plea to a part of her still reeling from the blow of being lied to – that he had lied to her about the one thing she had wanted for almost a year – and it channelled her rage into something colder, harder, like the slow of a river freezing into winter ice.

“Then get out,” she said.

He stepped towards her instead. She looked away, stiff, shoulders straight, a dismissal she had learned in her time at court when pretending someone didn’t exist was the biggest insult of all.

“Damn your pride,” he spat, after a long moment of watching her. She followed the stomp of his boots to the doorway with her face still turned to the window, refusing to be cowed, and when he paused, she braced for whatever curses he would choose.

“You saved my life at West Roth, in case you didn’t remember. I hope you don’t regret that as well.”

And then he was gone, and the anger clutching at her heart unspooled, and when her breath came back it was the sharp, desperate gasp of a sob as she fell to her knees.

[athena1138]

Lets be controversial shall we? Cullen R.

PFFT. If you think Cullen is controversial on this blog, you must be new. But thank you :3 

How I feel about this character a;uigrljkgvnsjbgrwdhljkascxnvz.jkrsgfle/d I love him. He’s my #1 favorite DA actual romance (second only to Varric.) I love his path, his journey, his growth. I’ve made a dozen posts about how much I admire him because he’s only fucking 30 by the time Inquisition rolls around and he’s already gone through so much but he’s managed to turn himself back into such a moderately well adjusted person even after a lifetime of indoctrination, after physical and mental torture and seeing his entire Circle die, after heavy addiction tendencies and reinforced propaganda by his superior officer, he still manages to bring it all back together and not be a worthless piece of shit. I know, he’s done horrible things. I’m not excusing those. He is a VERY problematic character, but I get it. PTSD does crazy fucking things to people, alright? Anders fucking accepted a demon into himself and blew up a Chantry. Obviously those two are the extremes, but there’s a myriad of other things we can see in other characters stemming from PTSD like-- Fenris walks out on the only true romance he’s probably ever had, Cassandra throws herself into her work to take her mind off her brother’s death, if you kill the Chargers then TIB shuts himself off completely and commits entirely to the Qun, Blackwall’s ENTIRE IDENTITY is a result of guilt-formed PTSD. 

My point is. Cullen did fucked up things. But I know why he did them. I do not condone them, no, but I mean. Fucking hell. He was 19 when Uldred had his rebellion. He was barely 20 when he went to Kirkwall and started working with Meredith whose anti-mage rhetoric only reinforced his UNTREATED trauma into anti-mage hate, and then he spent the next 7 years in a city with more blood mages than in the entire series put together, but he still pulled it all back in enough to at the very least be willing to work with mages in the Inquisition, to work alongside a mage, to love a mage, ON TOP OF the potential to end what is essentially a lifelong addiction to lyrium. He’s an incredibly strong and resilient person and I fucking love him. 11/10 would die for. Yep. Not to mention he’s fucking beautiful and his voice? I just. Whew. Oh my god. You wanna make me feel things, you better start playing Cullen’s voice. (Also, can we talk about that fucking stupid little laugh he gives during Wicked Grace night? Because that’s my Tumblr notification sound and it gives me fucking LIFE.) 

All the people I ship romantically with this character ME DAMMIT PLEASE GOD LET ME LOVE HIM. No, but, I’ve read some Cullrian things I’ve liked, and then there’s the Cassandra ship which I don’t totally hate (can you imagine those two blushing idiots together? I think I would die.) Otherwise idrk. 

My non-romantic OTP for this character I just want him to be friends with the world, ok? But I feel like he and TIB would be good friends if they were allowed to strategize (assuming they aren’t already good friends. I mean, there is that little dialogue Cullen has with a Jim about “He used how many shields?” and he sounded so thoroughly impressed.) And, I guess him and Rylen is a thing I’m starting to become aware of more. 

My unpopular opinion about this character Pfft. Did you read the first answer? I guess my next one would be, I really hate those mods that give Inquisition Cullen the curly hair. I do. I hate them. They’re not good, and they totally invalidate my favorite War Table banter which is Leliana and Josephine picking on Cullen about styling his hair. Curly haired Cullen FANART is my shit, especially if there’s a mess of curls standing nearby that’s his kid, but the mods are bad. 

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon. A longer romance with more dialogue since he’s not a companion, and I know this would’ve been hard/impossible to do, but I think it would’ve been nice to see him talk to Hawke. Maybe he apologizes for how he was and promises them he’s doing better, idk. It would’ve been sweet. 

TL;DR Cullen Stanton Rutherford is an fucking idiot and I would die for him in a heartbeat. I’m not writing a 50+ chapter story about him for nothing you know. 

[bisexualryder]

Okay dude i’ll bite, can i know more about your trio wardens au ? Like how did they meet ? Who did they romance ? What happens to them after dao ? In da2 ? Dai ? (Sorry im just a huge fan of ocs and i love the wardens)

Ahhh, first off - thank you for asking! I’m happy to gush about my trio of idiots wardens :D Secondly - don’t apologize for asking! I love talking about my OCs, I’m just bad about keeping up with posting and such lately (but hope to fix that soon, especially if I make this extra sideblog). ANYWHO, gonna jump in and apologize now if this gets long, lol.

—

SO I’ll hit romance first since that’s quicker and easier. Rylee and Ise (eventually) become a thing - they’re married by the time DAI rolls around. Typical grumpy asshole falls in love with ray of sunshine and doesn’t want to admit it at first. She tries to play it cool and ends up playing it too cool until she gets some help from the couple companions she befriends (mostly Zev, since Sten doesn’t care that much, but he offers his insight on what qunari do). But they don’t actually, like, really become a romance-y thing until after ghoul!Tamlen shows up and oof that one is painful.

Eleri I… don’t know yet, to be honest. She was a re-imagining of my old Cousland, who romanced Alistair, but with Eleri I’m actually leaning a bit more toward Zevran. But uh, still not sure yet, I’m mad indecisive on this one. tbh even Nate is in the running for her *shrug emoji*

On to the rest!

DA:O

They don��t all join the standard way, I guess, but they do all meet at Ostagar. Ducan officially recruits Rylee and Isethari, Eleri recruits herself, lol.

Rylee is recruited first. Standard Tabris origin there and it’s on the way to Ostagar that they plan to stop and see the Dalish elves and that’s when they find Isethari half-dead in the middle of the woods (it was sheer luck, really). Duncan sends Rylee, carrying the nearly-dead Ise, to the camp and goes to investigate the area. Other than Rylee wandering around the Dalish camp like an awestruck idiot, most of the Mahariel origin is the same. Rylee stays behind in the camp, though, when Ise and co. are sent back to the ruin where they run into Duncan. Once they leave, Rylee earns herself the duty of ensuring that Isethari doesn’t run on their trip to Ostagar, bc let me tell you Ise is not happy about leaving without finding Tamlen.

Now for Eleri, she escapes the castle with only her mabari after her parents sacrifice themselves to buy her time to get out. She manages to make it to the stables for her horse and rides as hard as she can to Ostagar, desperate to find her brother. When she basically gets told that he’s out scouting and she likely won’t see him before the battle, she asks about the wardens and is pointed toward Duncan. At that point, she goes up to him like: “I just slaughtered my way through an army of men trying to assassinate my family. I have nothing left but this dream, please.” He asks clarification, she provides, he eventually agrees and sends her off to gather the other recruits and report back with Alistair. It’s at that point she meets Rylee and Isethari, who are hanging around close together by the quartermaster (after Rylee nearly kills Daveth for hitting on that one woman, you know the one). 

From there up until the start of the fight, it progresses as it normally would in canon. They all get their quest, go out into the wilds, etc. etc. And once they survive the Joining, they have a pre-meeting meeting thing. Alistair and Eleri join the meeting as per canon, and Duncan assigns Rylee and Ise to the remaining warden forces. So from there, canon-typical for Eleri. Go to the tower, light the beacon, get almost killed and then saved by Flemeth, etc.

Rylee and Ise, however, have a much more trying experience. Rylee takes a genlock to the face (claws? blade? idk lmao) for Ise to protect her - this being around the time they can see the battle is going south. Duncan’s already been killed at this point and Ise starts to panic (she hates fighting as it is) and manages to half convince, half drag Rylee from the fighting and they flee the battle to the nearest town (naturally, Lothering). They end up meeting up with Eleri and Alistair (and Morrigan) again and explain what happened from their perspective and then work with Eleri and Alistair to come up with a plan of action.

Eleri takes up the role of warden-commander (since Alistair and Ise don’t want to lead and everyone knows Rylee leading is a Very Bad Idea™).

Uhhh, key highlights of what they do I guess would be:

Sided with the Mages

Irving saved, Uldred dead etc etc

Put Bhelen in power

Branka’s killed

sent Dagna off to study ofc

Sided with the Dalish against the werewolves

two elves with one being Dalish and the other violently racist made it a simple choice for Eleri to lessen a headache later (she had way too much else to worry about than argue with them)

Helped Redcliffe and saved Conner

demon killed w/Jowan’s help (he does the ritual and Morrigan is sent in to yeet the demon out)

Isolde’s alive

side note: didn’t poison the Urn

Anora rules w/ Alistair

Loghain alive & recruited as a warden (recruited post-final fight)

Alistair still performs the ritual with Morrigan

Awakening

Not too much of note here. Rylee is the one that finds Nathaniel, though, and it does not go well for him. It’s only Ise that stays Rylee’s hand from killing him. When they bring him to Eleri, she immediately recruits him when she realizes it’s her old friend. He’s still pretty ticked, but softens about the whole thing a bit when he realizes Eleri is around.

With more wardens, they’re able to more easily protect the Keep and Amaranthine. And the Architect does live (much to Rylee’s great annoyance).

DA2 & DAI

Sometime in here is when Rylee and Ise get married. They have two ceremonies - one in the Denerim alienage to honor Rylee’s culture and then again when they find Ise’s clan outside Kirkwall.

Hawke and co. do run into Ise and Rylee in the Deep Roads during the expedition (as they are canon with Ashley Hawke, there’s not a twin to save). BUT the two of them help Ash and crew gtfo and back safely to Kirkwall. Turns out they saw Bodahn on their way into the Deep Roads to investigate and got a tip to keep an eye out for some lost members of the expedition (the whole leaving suddenly without them thing didn’t sit right with him).

Later on, in that mission where you run into Nate? Eleri’s with him, though doesn’t actually advertise herself as the warden-commander while chatting with Ash. Ash isn’t dumb, though, (not always, at least) and gets a feeling Eleri might be kinda more in charge than she was told. So when wardens start disappearing, she takes a chance and makes contact. It ultimately pays off when Eleri sends Rylee and Ise to help the Inquisition.

During the events of Here Lies the Abyss in Inquisition, it’s Rylee that stays behind to buy everyone time to escape. And, much like when Ise was taken from her clan, she has to be dragged out - this time by the Inquisitor herself (Olivia, for the record) - kicking, screaming, and utterly sobbing that they’re leaving her wife behind.

BUT because fuck canon, Rylee survives and kinda wanders around the raw Fade until she finds another open rift. This ends up dumping her into the ass end of Orlais somewhere and it takes her a while to make her way back to Skyhold, but dammit! She and Ise do get a happy ending. It does take a while though, it really does. And for that duration, Ise doesn’t leave Skyhold for anything after they get her back there. Resigned, more than anything, she usually perches on an empty wall away from the hustle and bustle of the main areas near the stables. She also doesn’t eat much, only what small bits that Cole brings her.

As for Eleri, she - along with Nate, Velanna, and Sigrun - are searching for the cure. And I really haven’t thought much beyond that.

MAN this got long, I hope you don’t mind! I had a lot of fun thinking about this and gushing a bit about my girls and what they do :D So thank you, again, for asking! One day, I think I plan to write something detailing their journey from start to finish in DAO and maybe beyond, but it’d probably be a series of drabbles? I struggle with long fics and flowing from one chapter to the next, but maybe.