#why yes samson the Maker IS looking down on you and laughing

[librivore42]

Well now that I've been fully victimized by Luxson (Samux????? what is the ship name there lmao) I obviously need to up the ante: for Lux x Samson "to drink together after a shared traumatic experience" from the comfort prompts?? 👀

I went a little off-base with this prompt, because there's no shared traumatic experience except possibly Just Existing In the Gallows lmao. But when the muse hits you, you must comply! Drinking and trauma ARE included! For @thedasweekend

Words: 1462

Characters: Raleigh Samson, Lux

~~~~

"Ser Samson."

He didn't even need to look up to know who that flat voice belonged to.

"Ser Lux," he said sardonically, shooting one of his more charming smiles up at her as he took a slow pull of his drink. "Am I late for patrol?"

Lux blinked down at him slowly, pale lashes flickering as they caught the light.

"No."

Eloquent as always. Still, she didn't really need to string more than a few words together, with a sweet face like that. Shame she stood like a parade instructor and stared at you like a damn Chantry statue trying to pick out your worst sin. Not that Samson cared about hiding them if she could spot them, they added character.

She could do with a little more knowledge of sin. Might make her less serious all the time.

The charming smile still didn't crack her as she tried to grapple with the rest of what she clearly wanted to say.

"I. Need advice. If I am not. Bothering you?"

"Advice?" he said, leaning back in his chair and propping a boot against the leg of the table, eyebrows high. "Didn't think you'd come to me."

Sure, she wasn't spoiled for choice when it came to people who'd talk to her, but the two of them weren't exactly friends. "What's the matter, was Thrask too busy for you today?"

The older man had taken to Lux like he was desperate for a daughter, and she as if she'd never had a father before. She seemed to go to him for everything, tagging at his heels as guilelessly as a newborn pup under all that armour and training. Samson was surprised Thrask hadn't warned her away from him, if he was being perfectly honest. And yet here she was, awkwardly hovering in his space as if he had 'advisor' painted across his forehead.

Her eyes flicked away self-consciously at the question, and a sudden grin split his face. "Oh? Something you don't want to talk to daddy about?"

A baffled blink. He buried a snort of laughter into his empty glass and waved at her to sit. "Thrask," he clarified. "I mean Thrask."

"Oh. No, it is. Not like that," she said uncertainly, settling herself with that ridiculously straight-backed posture.

"Aw, and here I was hoping you'd gotten interesting," he said with a grin. "Something salacious you don't want to disappoint him with."

There was the crack, his best one yet if he did say so himself. She gave him a startled blink, redness speeding over her face as she caught onto the extremely obvious implication. "No I. That isn't. I."

"Relax," he said, amused at the way her shoulders deflated in some relief. "Drink?"

"I… do not. Find it pleasant."

"'Course you don't." Did she do anything that was even remotely fun? He just shrugged it aside. "So it's boring, big surprise. Hit me with you problem."

"It is nothing bad."

"I figured."

"It is just not something… Ser Thrask can help me with. But you are good. At talking to people."

It was just as well he'd finished his drink, or it would have ended up on the table as he let out a sharp, surprised laugh.

"You're coming to me for people skills?"

She nodded so earnestly, and the weirdest part was that it made complete, logical sense. Samson was very good at being personable, at reading the room and giving people what they wanted to hear. And he was pretty sure none of that was going to be in her wheelhouse.

"Not sure how much I can help you either," he mused, kicking back further as he folded his arms. "You're not the type. Too straightforward. Too blunt."

Too earnest, easier to read than a signpost. Still, with how much she faded into the background, he was sure she heard a lot more than anyone realised. And she had a terrifying memory, knowing everyone's rotations and duties, where anyone was likely to be at any given time. That could be useful, if she was grateful.

He had always been hard to read, harder to pin down. Always knowing which way the wind blew, who to please, where to give his best salutes.

Ironic, then, that he was the one who ended up in the gutter. And today, with the gutter being a particularly shitty place to be, he wondered again if the Maker had just had it out for him.

The lyrium had burned so many empty spaces inside him that only it could fill. But when he couldn't afford it, and the emptiness grew too much, he tried and failed to fill those spaces with the worst alcohol he could find, the kind that could strip paint and made thinking an optional activity.

"Samson?"

He still didn't need to look up to know who that flat voice belonged to.

The loss of the Ser shouldn't have rankled him so much at this point, but all his wounds felt raw and fresh, and he bared his teeth at her as she knelt carefully, like approaching a feral dog on the street.

He might as well have been one, the way he growled and swiped a clumsy arm at her, which she simply caught and used to lever him to his feet. He glared blearily at her left ear so he wouldn't have to look in her eyes and find an expression of pity or disdain, which he'd quite had his fill of from his old Order brothers and sisters.

"Where is your home?"

"Get off," he said instead, not enough power in his soaked and heavy limbs to push her away as he wanted. Grateful and incensed in equal measure that she did not comply.

"Where is your home?" she repeated, infuriatingly calm, until he had no choice but to let her manhandle him towards what could barely, charitably, be called a hovel, shouldering the door open to manoeuvre him inside.

"Sit anywhere," he said airly, gesturing broadly to the one single chair as he sagged against her. She knelt a fraction, shifting to stop him from smacking his face directly into her pauldron, and he ended up in the crook of her neck. Freezing so suddenly that she stumbled as her forward moment to the bed was arrested.

"Samson?"

"You stink of it," he said into her neck, and he could see the baffled blinking in his memory without having to even look at her face. "The lyrium."

"Oh."

That made no sense, but he was a few days too far and a few bottles too deep, and wasn't interested in making sense. He could swear she smelled of it, her skin humming with promise like a bottle of top shelf booze he wanted desperately to crack open, to tear the cork off with his teeth and just drain it dry.

"You need to rest."

"I need my life back. Or Meredith to fall into the sea."

"I. I am sorry, Samson," she said, her voice gentle, careful as she all but carried him to the bed and pushed him into it. More personable than he'd ever remembered it being. "If you wish. I can try to find you a job?"

"I have a job," he pointed out as she knelt to take off his boots, leaning in to try and see if her hair smelled like lyrium too. "It's just been hard times."

She looked up at him then, her eyes deadly serious, and he quickly pulled his face back before they smacked into each other.

"Samson."

"Don't Samson me."

"… Raleigh?"

"That's not…" he laughed despite himself, exhausted and exasperated, and fell sideways onto the bed. "Go away."

"But—"

"You've done your charitable duty, Ser Lux. They should give you a medal."

"That is not why I— I want to help."

He sucked a breath through his teeth, pretending to consider. "Not sure how much you can help me. You're not the type."

"The type?"

"The type that's good company for a cold bed and a lonely night." He arched his eyebrows. "Unless you've done a lot more than just learn to talk since I was last in the Gallows."

He missed, he realised, the satisfaction of seeing her redden as he hit on an implication that was obvious enough that even she couldn't miss it.

"No."

"Thought not. So what, you're just going to sit here? Make sure I don't go walking off the docks, or swallow my tongue in a drunken fit in the night?"

She nodded earnestly, all soft blonde hair and big eyes and lyrium smell, and duty and responsibility and not the slightest interest.

"Yes."

Andraste's burning backside, this night was going to kill him if the alcohol didn't do it first.

[nonalectos]

Jury Duty

Fandom: The Nanny

Genre: Romance/Humor/Comfort

Pairing: Fran Fine/C.C. Babcock

Rating: M

Summary: C.C. has been called to jury duty, and Fran decides to come along, placing C.C. in a very uncomfortable position considering the feelings she has been harboring for the nanny the last four years. To make matters worse, there's only one room left in the hotel.

Word Count:  2,826

Author’s Note: My first fic in six years, folks! I am currently neck deep in The Nanny hyper fixation, Fran x C.C. in particular, and I was inspired by my lovely friends and fellow shippers to write my first fic in years and very first fic for this pairing! Boy, have I come a long way since my Fran/Maxwell fanfic on Quizilla.com when I was 14-years-old. Interwoven with canon from S04E17: Samson, He Denied Her. Please enjoy!

This fic can also be found here on AO3.

“What’s that?”

“That’s...the nanny.”

_______

C.C. rolled onto her stomach, burying her face into her pillow, and groaned, the coolness of her satin pillowcase warming to match her body temperature a bit too quickly for her liking. As she shifted, contemplating whether to get up or relegate herself to a day in bed, ignoring all responsibility and...other stressors, an orange-brown fluff next to her feet growled.

Damn dog.

In order to prevent the mongrel from biting at her ankles, C.C. slowly pulled her legs up towards her chest before gently removing the covers, pushing herself up into a seated position, and scooting to let her legs hang off the side of the bed. She sighed and looked at her alarm clock.

5:30 AM

She had one of those dreams again. She was rarely the type to dream, but somehow her subconscious had been invaded by the intrusive thoughts she routinely pushed away during her waking hours. Sparkling red, a hand on her waist, her own hand tangled in a large nest of brown hair, and the recalled scent of scratch-and-sniff magazine perfume flashed through her mind before she could prevent it. She groaned again--loudly--and a retort, almost indistinguishable from her own guttural sound, emitted from the ball of fluff.

C.C. let out one more sigh before standing with renewed intention to have a good, productive day. She would bury her nose--and her mind--in her work. No one could get in the way of her and her job. She was the C.C. Babcock. She made her way to the kitchen and started her coffee maker. While she waited, she opened an envelope that she had left sitting on the table and froze, defeated.

_______

C.C. barged into Maxwell Sheffield’s office, ignoring the skip in her chest when she caught the image of brown, black, red, and white in her peripheral, accompanied by that--against all odds--alluring scent.

“Maxwell, you are not gonna believe this. I have been summoned for jury duty! Well, that is the last time I vote.”

The blur came closer. “Ms. Babcock, maybe I’ll go be on that jury with you.”

C.C. covered her panic with a chuckle. “Nanny Fine, you can’t just go.” This was it. The perfect moment for a witty jab. That would help. “It’s not like Supercuts.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve got a drawer full of those things. Besides, there’s nothing keeping me here.” Fran glared at Maxwell, and C.C. silently stepped out of the office as she heard the man’s voice raise, only making out an exasperated, “Ms. Fine!”

_______

“Oh I’ve just gotta get on this jury!”

As Fran blabbed on, C.C. tried not to focus on how close together they were sitting and how she could still feel the heat from the nanny’s hand on her knee, even after she had removed it. As Fran handed her a book, C.C. was given another chance at a jab. She gasped theatrically.

“You know him?”

“No. You read?”

Fran snatched the book out of C.C.’s hand, and C.C. laughed, the awareness of her leaning closer to Fran escaping her.

_______

“What do you mean there’s just one room left?” C.C. growled at the hotel receptionist.

The receptionist looked at the tall, blond woman towering above them nervously. “I-uh I’m sorry, ma’am, there are no other rooms available. Just the one.”

“But we have two people--” Fran gently placed her hand on C.C.’s shoulder and stepped in between her and the distressed receptionist.

“Are there two beds?” she asked, smiling.

“Y-yes,” the receptionist said hesitantly and then, more assured after calming down, “Yes, there are two beds.”

“See Babs? No harm, no foul,” Fran said brightly, squeezing C.C.’s shoulder as she reached over the counter to take the room key. As they walked towards their room, Fran went on and on about the plot of the romance novel she had shoved in C.C.’s hands earlier. C.C. focused on her breathing, trying to remain calm. She could feel the heat creep up her neck the moment the kid at the desk said they only had one room available, and now she didn’t even have to look to know she had red blotches all over her chest and cheeks. She couldn’t distinguish between her anger and...fear? No. C.C. Babcock was never scared.

“So then when he pulls her in--” holding the book close to her chest, Fran twirled around to face C.C. as she continued walking down the hallway backwards. “Ms. Babcock? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” C.C. responded curtly.

“You’re not having an allergic reaction, are you?” Fran rushed up to her and lifted her hand to examine C.C.’s face as she spoke. “You gotta be careful with shellfish! You know, my cousin, Ernie, never had an allergic reaction in his life. One day, 40 years old, he ate one fried shrimp and BAM --”

C.C. slapped Fran’s hand away, “I’m fine.” Her heart was racing.

“Okay, okay, sorry Mrs. Hyde.” Fran threw her hands in the air, and C.C. could have sworn she gave a tiny pout as she turned around and continued towards their room. When she opened the door, she paused, pulled it back to her, and turned. “You know, Ms. Babcock, we should celebrate! How about a drink? A whiskey. Bourbon. On me.” She winked then stood up straight with a stern look on her face, “ Well. Not top shelf.”

“Nanny Fine,” C.C. uttered through gritted teeth, “I just want to--” she pushed past Fran and opened the door “--lie down.” She stopped in the doorway, still as if she had come face-to-face with Medusa herself.

One bed stood in the room.

_______

The first night was somewhat tolerable. Fran was very kind to C.C., ensuring she was comfortable and that she did not take up too much of her space. C.C. reciprocated by keeping her distance as well. Falling asleep was another story. C.C. was the first to lie down. Being on the side of the bed facing the bathroom, she saw the nanny walk out, wearing one of her bathrobes. God, I hope she has something under that. She could hear the shuffling of the fabric as Fran let the robe fall to the floor and felt the weight in the bed shift as the other woman settled in. Before she could make sense of what was happening, she felt two swift pats on her hip. “Goodnight, Ms. Babcock!”

“Hm,” was the only confirmation she could utter.

C.C. was hyper aware of Fran’s presence. She measured the woman’s breathing and could tell by the slower, deeper breaths when she fell asleep. It took her a while to close her eyes. Every time she did, she saw Fran’s hand on her knee…

Her shoulder…

Her hip…

C.C. jolted awake from a half-sleep. She sighed and stared at the wall in the dark. The blackout curtains weren’t closed all the way, and she could see a sliver of light flash on the wall every once in a while. She could hear sirens, car horns, distant yelling, and sometimes a drunken laugh. She didn’t know what time it was, but it felt like she had been drifting in and out of almost-sleep for hours, still aware of the body radiating heat and energy next to her. What is it about Fran Fine? was the last thought that crossed her mind before she drifted into a very, very light sleep.

_______

C.C.’s eyes traveled down Fran’s figure as she stood up when Vincenzo approached the stand, her expression a mixture of endearment and bewilderment. Why her?, a question echoing the sentiment from the night before repeating in her mind. The rest of the day in the courtroom was filled with typical annoyances, with the exception of a moment of outburst from Fran that left C.C. with the sting of an emotion she couldn’t quite place in the moment as she softly pulled Fran’s arm down.

_______

The next day, C.C. pinpointed the emotion as Fran spoke. “See, that is what happens when a man tells you that he loves you and then he takes it back.”

Jealousy.

C.C.’s face was still until she realized her arms were full of snacks that Fran had been piling onto her.

“What are you looking for?”

“My Dexatrim,” Fran responded.

C.C. rolled her eyes and stuffed the food back into Fran’s bag, the thought popping into her mind again. Why her?

_______

She was exhausted. Eight days, hardly any sleep, and “a horse is a horse, of course, of course” stuck in her head practically 24/7, C.C. wanted to explode when she read the words on the slip of paper, “And one ‘not guilty’…,” followed by Fran convincing another juror to vote “not guilty.” Every time she thought she was going to escape her personal hell, she was dragged back down. She was Sisyphus, and Nanny Fine was her boulder.

C.C. stood. “Could it be that you’re just a little sensitive to this shrew maid because you have some fantasy of ending up with your employer yourself?”

Sting.

“Let she who is without fantasy cast the first stone!”

Ohh, if only you knew, Nanny Fine!

The rest of the afternoon was full of more sting as Fran not-so-subtly talked about Maxwell and the children, but at least they were finally done. C.C. could go home and try to put this all behind her.

As they walked out of the courtroom, Fran hooked her arm through C.C.’s and cheerfully said, “I have a proposal.”

“And what would that be, Ms. Fine?”

“I propose we take one more night off. You know, eat, drink, relax, before heading back to work.”

“Nanny Fine, I really--”

“Pleeease Ms. Babcock?” Fran pleaded, stopping and tugging on her arm. C.C. looked into Fran’s eyes: earnest, gentle, kind.

That’s why her. “Well, alright.”

“You know, I really feel like this has been a good bonding experience for us.”

C.C. rolled her eyes...and couldn’t help but smile.

_______ 

 She wasn’t drunk, but she did feel a little tipsy. A little more relaxed. She and Fran were making their way back to their room after a pleasant evening of food and a couple drinks each. The nanny really was good company, when C.C. let herself enjoy it. C.C. settled into what she had established as her side of the bed for the previous eight nights, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. Her blond hair pooled on the feather pillow under her head. She could hear the sink faucet turn on. A couple of splashes. Off. The towel being pulled off the rack. C.C. tore her eyes from the ceiling to the bathroom door. Fran walked out and, as she walked around to her side of the bed, began to untie her robe. C.C. didn’t take her eyes off of her. Fran wasn’t wearing anything particularly risqué--why would she be--but the loose fitting, thin material that made up her pajamas hung on her perfectly. C.C. could feel her neck and cheeks getting warm again--a nightly routine for her body at this point--and she turned over to hide. Her head was reeling with the influx of emotions she had felt over the last week, a mental Rolodex: anxious, longing, annoyed, jealous, hopeful...hurt.

“Nanny Fine?” She wasn’t sure if Fran had fallen asleep.

“Yeah, Babs?”

Her heart skipped.

“Why…” she turned over to face the nanny. “Why do you put up with it?”

Fran had been facing the other way. She turned over. The bedside table lamp hadn’t been turned off yet. C.C. was able to look into the other woman’s eyes again.

“Put up with what?”

“Maxwell. He...well, obviously he isn’t willing to give you what you want. Why hold out hope?”

“Why do you?” Fran retorted with a hint of defensiveness.

C.C. was silent for a moment. “I think I’ve confused myself.” Oh god, how much did I have to drink? “I don’t think what I really desire is what...I thought I desired.” I don’t feel drunk.

Fran maintained eye contact. Silent. Almost as if she knew. C.C. cast her gaze down. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Why do you act so hard?” the woman said. The words were accusatory but the tone was soft and empathetic. Despite her attempts to keep them at bay, C.C. could feel the sting of tears and a lump in her throat. “Oh, Ms. Babcock,” Fran whispered, slowly rubbing the blond’s shoulder with her thumb. “You really are a wonderful, caring woman. You just won’t let others see it. Like you’re protecting yourself from something.” Earnest, gentle...kind.

That’s why her.

“You hurt others before they can hurt you.”

C.C. looked back into Fran’s eyes. Up to this point, she thought her jabs had all been in jest. “Have I hurt you?”

Fran laughed. “Oh, honey. It takes more than what you can throw to hurt me.” C.C. sniffled. “But listen. I was holding out hope for Mr. Sheffield because the other person I noticed--the strong, loyal, brilliant woman who crossed my path every day--didn’t treat me the way I deserve to be treated.” Before C.C. could interject, Fran continued. “Now, that’s not to say he’s a saint. Faaaar from it, missy. But you, Babs. I see a lot of potential in you, but you gotta soften up that thing you got in that chest of yours.”

“I...don’t--half the time, I don’t even know what I’m feeling,” the words started escaping from her lips, betraying every cell in her body, every natural inclination she had. At least what she thought up to this point was natural for her. “When I first saw you, four years ago, in that sparkling red dress...the way you moved, the way you talked, your confidence, god I felt so...so intensely jealous. But...four years later, and I can’t get that image of you out of my head. Just you. Not Maxwell.”

Fran lifted her hand to wipe a tear from C.C.’s face then back to her shoulder. She felt the woman’s hand travel from her shoulder down her arm…

Her waist…

Her hip…

Then she tugged.

C.C. placed her hand on the brunette’s waist as she was pulled in, the many inches between them closed. She gasped, and her breathing became uneven. She could feel the flush in her cheeks as she glanced down at Fran’s lips, which she now noticed were coming closer...and closer. She had kissed people before. Plenty of times. But Fran’s lips felt like home. They were soft and warm, moving in tandem with her own. The perfect fit. C.C. moved her hand up Fran’s side, taking note of every inch of her curvature, until she was able to tangle her hand in that nest of beautiful, brown hair. Every breath she took in between kisses was filled with that wonderfully intoxicating scratch-and-sniff perfume scent, and in the moments a soft, nasally moan escaped from the nanny’s lips, C.C.’s hips pushed forward and she moaned in return. Fran coaxed C.C. onto her back with a gentle but firm push and straddled her, not letting their lips part for more than a second. C.C. put both hands on each of Fran’s hips as Fran began to leave a trail of kisses down C.C.’s neck…

Her collarbone…

Her chest…

This is better than being drunk...

_______

C.C. finally got the rest she needed. She woke up from a deep sleep and could feel the tangling of sheets around her body. As she began to shift, she felt a heavy weight on her legs and her waist. A quiet, gravely moan emitted next to her ear. As C.C. rolled over, Fran shifted but didn’t move her leg or her arm. Instead, she tightened her grip and pulled the woman closer. C.C. caressed Fran’s face as her eyes fluttered open.

“Mornin’, Babs baby.”

“Morning, Fran,” C.C. said with a smile and placed a sweet kiss on the nanny’s lips.

_______

Hand-in-hand, C.C. and Fran walked up to the desk in the hotel lobby to check out. The receptionist from their first night was working that morning. Fran smiled and slid the key across the counter, while C.C. took out her credit card to pay for all the unexpected nights.

“Good morning, ladies! Hope you enjoyed your stay. Did the pull out couch work out alright?” the receptionist asked.

Fran and C.C. exchanged glances and both blurted, “The what?”

[pikapeppa]

Samson/Roman Hawke: Ashamed

Some smut/angst/feels for a lovely Friday trade with my soulmate @schoute! In which Samson and Roman get into a fight and make up, even though making up is for couples and THEY’RE DEFINITELY NOT A COUPLE BECAUSE FEELINGS ARE GROSS. 

~9000 words; only the first section is here. Read the whole thing on AO3. 

*******************

- SAMSON -

Samson made his way to Roman’s house in Hightown with a little spring in his step.

Granted, it wasn’t much of a spring; his neck hurt from the awkward angle he’d fallen asleep sitting against an alley wall last night, and he had to be careful not to draw any attention lest the patrolling guardsmen throw him out of Hightown for daring to breathe their fancy air. Still, despite his aching neck and the necessary caution required for travelling through the elite part of town, Samson was feeling rather jaunty. It was hard not to feel a little cheerful when he knew he’d be getting some sex.

Late last night, Roman had stopped by his usual corner on her way home from the Hanged Man and had told him to come to her house today for a fuck. This had been happening more and more often of late; it had been a few weeks now since the first time he’d gone to her house and ended up having sex with her, and since that time, she’d started inviting him to her house at least three times a week. 

Well, ‘inviting’ might have been a strong word. ‘Bad-temperedly commanding’ was more accurate. Roman would come to see him for their regular little back-and-forth of insults and exchanges of information for coin, but just before she left, she’d tell him to show up at her mansion at such-and-such a day and time, and then she’d walk away without waiting for him to say yes or no. When Samson inevitably appeared at her mansion at the specified date and time, he’d find himself balls deep inside of the pretty bird about ten minutes later. 

It was… unbelievable. Literally beyond belief. Samson didn’t understand what the infamous Roman Hawke was doing with the likes of him. Not to say she necessarily had a lineup of suitors at her door, given how notoriously bitchy and scary she was, but still: she was rich and influential, while Samson was a homeless ex-Templar who barely eked out a living in Lowtown. She was in the prime of her youth, while Samson was… Maker, some days he felt like a ninety-year-old corpse. She was… well, not beautiful exactly; the average person wouldn’t go around calling her a great beauty, what with her constant scowl and her lanky body that was all arms and legs. But in Samson’s eyes… 

Fine, he’d admit it: he liked looking at Roman Hawke. She was real easy on the eyes, in his humble opinion. Whereas even Samson’s own mother would say he was nothing special to look at. If she were alive, that is. 

In short, he couldn’t figure out why Roman had decided that he was the man she wanted to fuck on the regular. But he certainly wasn’t going to say no to such a boon. He was getting more sex now as a beggar than he’d ever gotten during any other time in his life, and the irony of this was enough to cheer him up in a vindictive sort of way. To think that he, Raleigh Samson, was currently getting more tail than his former Templar brethren? More tail than that bloody handsome berk Cullen Rutherford? This thought alone was enough to bring a smile to his face. 

All in all, it was a cheerful-feeling Samson who knocked on the door of the Amell mansion a few minutes later. After a few seconds’ wait, Roman opened the door. 

Samson tucked his hands in his pockets and lifted one eyebrow. “Bird. How’s—”

“Get in here,” she said, and she grabbed his shirt.

He stumbled in surprise as she dragged him through the door. She slammed the door shut, and Samson barely had time to regain his balance before she was shoving his chest.

“Move,” she snapped. She took a step closer and shoved him again.

He hastily backed away from her, then kept stumbling back as she aggressively stepped toward him. “Hey,” he protested. “What’s going on ‘ere? What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” she said, but she kept pushing his chest until he stumbled into the wall. Then she ran her palm over his groin.

He grunted in surprise. He wasn’t even hard yet — Maker’s balls, she hadn’t even given him a chance to get hard — but at the pressure of her palm, he could already feel his cock stirring to life. 

She tsked and rubbed his groin. “Why aren’t you hard yet?”

He choked out a little laugh. “Give me two bloody seconds, won’t you? I’m not as young as I used to be.”

She paused in her rubbing and shot him a scathing look. “That’s a poor fucking excuse.” Then, to his mild disappointment, she stopped rubbing his groin and started untucking his shirt from his trousers. 

Her fingers were rough and brisk as she plucked at his clothes, and Samson watched her in exasperation. “If I wanted to be frisked, I’d have just gone to the nearest guardsman instead of coming here.”

She looked up. “Huh?”

He gestured at her hands, which were tugging impatiently at the laces of his trousers. “You’re being pretty rough, Bird. This feels more like a strip search than anything.”

She scoffed and kept pulling at his laces. “If you want to be treated all nice and sweet, go to the Blooming Rose.”

He took her jaw in a gentle grip and lifted her chin. “Why would I go to the Blooming Rose when I can get it for free?”

She scowled at him. “That’s why you’re here? Because you think I’m cheap?” She tried to twist her face away from his hand, but he tightened his grip on her chin so she couldn’t wiggle free.

He looked her intently in the eye. “I’m here because you told me to come.”

“And you came because you think I’m fucking cheap and easy,” she said in a hard tone.

He sighed loudly — why did she always have to be so fucking difficult? — then kissed her hard. Her lips parted, and Samson quickly pulled away before she could bite him.

He ran his thumb over her chin, then released her. “Maker bloody knows why, Bird, but I like fucking you. So finish your frisking already so we can get to it.”

She curled her lip at him and went back to pulling on his laces. “You’re — fuck you. Don’t tell me what to do.”

He smirked, pleased to have won this particular argument. Roman finally finished unlacing his trousers and pulled out his cock, and when she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, he let out a pleasured breath.

“Finally,” he said. “Are you going to get your kit off now, or–”

She dropped to her knees and took his cock in her mouth, and Samson jerked with shock at the sudden wet heat of her mouth. She moved her lips up and down his shaft, and when the head of his cock slid deep into the softness of her throat, a gasp of pleasure burst from his lips. 

Fuck, she was sucking him so firmly, and her throat was so sweet and warm, and if she kept this up for much longer, he was going to come. He placed his palm on the crown of her head. “Hang on, Bird, just a– ah, fuck…”

She released his cock and frowned up at him. “What, don’t you want this?”

“Of course I do,” he panted. “I just — don’t you want — what about you?”

She gave him a look as though he’d suggested something horribly perverted. “What are you, a fucking gentleman?”

He chuckled breathlessly. “I’m a perfect gentleman, all right. Just look at my genteel clothes.” He gestured sarcastically at his threadbare trousers.

She scoffed and pumped her hand along his cock. “Shut up. You can pay me back after.”

He smirked dirtily. “Pay you back how?”

“By putting your tongue in my pussy, you dumbass,” she said archly. 

His cock jerked at her raw words. The thought of Roman’s fragrant wet pussy against his mouth, that fragrant pussy of hers sliding onto his length, the way she clenched around him when he was deep inside of her… 

“Can I keep going or what?” she said impatiently.

“Yes, yeah, suck me off,” he panted. 

“Good,” she grunted. “Maybe you’ll shut the fuck up now.” She took him in her mouth again, and Samson closed his eyes in bliss. Her mouth was a perfect firm pressure around his shaft, and it felt so good that he couldn’t help but roll his hips toward her a little bit as she suckled him.

She growled around his shaft and rested her hands on his thighs. He groaned and tightened his fingers in her raven-black hair, and she started sucking him harder—

Someone knocked on the door, and Samson’s whole body went cold with panic. 

Roman released him with a muffled curse and stood up. “Put your cock away,” she said brusquely, and she turned to the door. 

“Don’t open it!” he squawked. “For Maker’s bloody sake, don’t–”

“I won’t,” she hissed. “Just lace up your fucking trousers.”

The knock came again, and Roman rolled her eyes. “Just a second,” she hollered, and she turned and gave Samson an impatient look. 

He hastily finished tying up his trousers and ran a hand through his hair, and Roman went to the door and opened it a crack. 

Varric’s voice filtered through the crack in the door. “Morning. Ready to go?”

“Go?” Roman said. “Go where?”

“Sundermount, remember?” Varric said. “Daisy’s little errand? I’m not keen either, to be honest; you know how I feel about all that nature shit, but we promised.”

Roman tilted her head back and let out a long sigh. “Fuck,” she groaned. “I completely fucking forgot. You’d better come in while I get my shit together.” She opened the door wider and stepped back to let him in.

Varric came into the house, and when his eyes fell on Samson, his eyebrows jumped up. “Oh,” he said blankly. “Hey.”

Samson nodded awkwardly and touched his fingers to his forehead in greeting. “Tethras.”

Varric’s eyes darted from him to Roman. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to, uh, interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Roman said. “He was just leaving.” She shot Samson a pointed look.

He wilted slightly, but he wasn’t really surprised; she usually tried to get him out before any of her friends or family could catch him here. He sighed and made his way to the door. “Enjoy your nature trip,” he said, and he reached for the doorknob.

To his surprise, however, Varric spoke to him before he could open the door. “We’ll probably be back by tomorrow night, if you want to join us at the Hanged Man for a round of diamondback.”

Samson turned and stared at him in surprise. Varric was inviting him to join them? 

“No,” Roman said. 

Samson looked at her, but she was scowling at Varric. Varric raised his eyebrows. “You sure? We can always use another player.”

“I said no,” Roman said in a hard tone. “I don’t want him hanging around with the others.”

Samson’s gut twisted. He was surprised at how much her words hurt, like a dull knife piercing beneath his ribs. It was one thing for him to sneak in and out of her house without anyone seeing, but to hear her blatantly saying that she was ashamed of him… 

He bowed sarcastically to her to hide his hurt. “As the lady commands. Don’t let me taint your posh presence any more than I already ‘ave.” 

Her pouty mouth twisted into a sour expression, but she didn’t say anything, and with a pang, Samson pulled open the door and let himself out. 

He skulked through Hightown feeling like a whipped dog. As good as he’d been feeling on his way here, he was now feeling like utter shit, and he hated that he felt so bad. Logically, he understood why Roman didn’t want him around: he wasn’t anybody worth keeping around. He’d been thinking it himself on his way to her house, after all; he was a dishonoured ex-Templar and a beggar, an unsightly old shell of a man who was all skin and bones, and she was Roman Hawke. Of course she didn’t want him hanging around her precious friends. 

If it made logical sense and he agreed with her, why did it hurt so fucking much to hear her say it?

He slowly made his way back to Lowtown, and his mindset swung from anger to humiliation to resignation and back to anger once more like the pendulum of a clock. She was such a bitch, kicking him out of her house and being so mean about it. While Varric was watching, no less, just in case it wasn’t humiliating enough to be kicked out with barely a goodbye. Who the fuck did she think she was to just boss him around, telling him to come over and then telling him to get out like he was at her beck and call?

He immediately answered his own question. She’s Roman Hawke, he thought. She’s better than you deserve, even if she’s mean as a rabid alleycat. And that, of course, was the problem. Samson was the first to admit that he was as good as the dirt at the bottom of her shoes, so he should consider himself lucky she’d even spoken to him in the first place, let alone allowed him to fuck her as many times as he had. And at least when she talked to him, she didn’t look at him like he was a piece of shit. 

Really, if he thought about it, Roman was essentially the only person in Kirkwall who even looked at him when she spoke to him. And when she looked at him, it was like he was more than just a washed-up vagrant. When Roman talked to him, it even felt like she thought his opinions were worth more than just wind. 

But then she kicked him out of her house before anyone could see him, and she told her best bloody friend that she didn’t want him around her other friends…

Fucking idiot, he thought, but he wasn’t thinking about Roman now; he was thinking about himself. It was stupid of him to read anything into the way she looked at him or talked to him. It was stupid of him to think that she saw value in him. Of course she didn’t see any value; she was Roman Hawke, the wealthy and terrifying bitch who had gone to the deep roads and come back alive — who regularly walked straight into life-threatening situations and came out of them with nothing more than a few cuts on her arms and her middle finger held high.

And he was Raleigh Samson, the ex-Templar beggar who would lick a corrupt guardsman’s boots for a mere whiff of lyrium. 

It’s as it should be, he thought. She was a noble lady now, and he was at the bottom of the gutter where he’d always been since they’d met. It only made sense for her to treat him accordingly. But now that he’d had a taste of what it was like for Roman to look at him like he had value, to talk to him like an equal, he couldn’t stand the thought of her treating him like a piece of shit like she’d done today.

There was only one thing to be done, then: he wouldn’t see her anymore. Sure, it would mean a significant source of his coin would dry up, and it would mean he’d probably be curled somewhere in a corner in a couple of days having the sweats and the dry heaves as he went through lyrium withdrawal. But even that was better than the thought of Roman looking at him like the ruin that he was. 

By now, he was back in Lowtown. He made his way toward his usual spot near the docks, but instead of stopping, he turned down an alleyway and followed a twisting and increasingly dirty path toward a loose sewer grate. 

He sighed. He hated going to this part of town, but at least it meant that Roman wouldn’t find him if she came looking for him.

With that glumly determined thought, he lifted the grate and disappeared into Darktown. 

Read Roman Hawke’s POV on AO3. 

[whereismywarden]

Violette/Samson “You’re n-not ,um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?” :///D

Thank you so much, this is a great prompt! I took it as an opportunity to have them finally, ahem, deflower the War Table ^^

[Smut Prompts]

Read on AO3

prompt: “You’re n-not ,um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?” pairing: female inquisitor x raleigh samson.rating: explicit.warning: not work safe,��smut.

The War Table was the only thing left in the room. Stripped of all decor and without her faithful advisors standing behind it, the place didn’t look so impressive anymore. It was just a simple, dusty room with a large oak table standing in the middle.

Violette had never seen it so empty before. It was intriguing. She’d always thought that without the map and the small markers, it would look like a plain old table. But she was surprised to discover that someone had carved the borders of Thedas into it. And if she remembered it well, the map should line up with them perfectly. She brushed a finger along the shores of the Waking Sea, softly, as if she were scared her touch might summon a storm in the real world.

“Are you getting nostalgic?”

She turned around to face Samson who was leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed in front of him in a casual sort of way.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sneered. “I can’t wait to get out of this damn place.”

He snorted, raising an eyebrow in clear disbelief.

“I only came here because it’s the last place anyone would come looking for me,” she felt the need to explain. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

“I think the last place people would come looking for you is the chapel.”

“I considered it, but there are still worshipers left around here who go there to actually pray. This room isn’t being used anymore, so I figured it would be a good place to hide from everyone’s fake sympathy.”

“I don’t think they’re faking it.”

“Not the point, Samson. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, it’s fine. You’re one of the few people in Thedas whose company I don’t mind,” she said as she sat on the edge of the table.

His tongue flicked over his lips as his eyes lingered over her body. Lately, she had gotten into the habit of wearing robes and dresses. They were easier to pull on and off with only one hand. Josephine had offered to assign a servant to her in order to help her dress in the morning, but Violette loathed the idea of being so vulnerable in front of a complete stranger. The dress she wore today was Dalish made and cut just above the knees. It was meant to be worn with some type of legwear, but she had forgone those for the same reason she had stopped wearing breeches.

“You’re not, um, you’re not wearing anything under that,” Samson stammered. “Are you?”

She smirked. “Why don’t you come and find out?”

He didn’t need her to say it twice. He walked up to her with a sense of confidence and a smug smile on his face that made her want to throw him down on the floor and ride him like a wild druffalo. Placing one of his rough hands behind her neck, he pulled her into a passionate kiss. Hungry for him, she didn’t wait to return the favour and devoured him with open-mouthed kisses. She could feel his hard bulge poking her leg as he pressed his entire body against her. He let his free hand travel up her leg with a painfully slow motion, grinning against her mouth when he finally reached the apex of her thighs.

“Just as I thought,” he purred. Violette closed her eyes, a small whine escaping her as he hooked his fingers between her folds to draw small circles around her clit. “And would you look at that, all wet and ready for a good fuck.”

“I’m not the only one ready for a good fuck,” she replied, palming his bulge.

Kissing her again, he let his other hand slide gently down her throat and push the thin fabric of her dress to free her breasts. The touch of his fingers against her tender flesh was exhilarating. No, intoxicating. She needed him. She needed him now. 

His lips followed his hand, kisses trailing down, down, down… She gasped as she felt his mouth run over her breast, his tongue rolling around her nipple, while his fingers still rubbed her sensitive nub. Slowly. Too fucking slowly!

Growing impatient, Violette fumbled to unhook the buckle of his belt. With only one hand, the task proved to be harder than she had expected. She let out a frustrated groan.

Samson chuckled. “Here, let me give you a— Let me help you.”

She pouted. “I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re a master of getting people naked with only one hand.”

“I could have done it if it wasn’t my dominant hand I was missing,” she mumbled as he dropped his pants down to his knees.

“Of course, you could.”

She grabbed his growing erection between her slender fingers with undisguised eagerness, starting to slide her hand up and down as he continued fondling her. He let out a low, guttural groan ending with something that sounded like her name.

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered him and he quickly obeyed her, throwing it on the floor like garbage.

She gave him an appraised look, her eyes travelling over the ripples of his scarred muscles and stopping on his hard cock. She bit on her lower lip with excitement, running her hand through the dark hair on his chest and down the trail that led to his member. She tried to grasp it again, but Samson had a different plan.

Hiking her skirt up to gain better access to her, he pushed her down over Orlais. He slid his hands between her thighs, massaging them softly before spreading them wide. Her legs rested in the crook of his elbows, dangling helplessly as she waited for him to fill her up completely. As she laid on the table, flushed and opened to him like an offering to the Maker, Samson stood fully erect above her, tall and powerful. His hooded eyes glinted with unrestrained desire, marvelling at her partial nudity. 

His voice came out in a low, husky growl. “Maker, you look beautiful like this.”

“Fuck me,” she commanded him once more.

He eased into her slowly at first, with the care of a gentle lover, before slamming his hips against her, drawing a sharp gasp from her. He waited for a moment as they both revelled in the familiar sensation of fullness that enveloped them. She loved the feeling of him inside of her, of his cock pulsing with desire for her. Then he started moving again, back and forth, as she leaned her head back with a sigh.

He alternated teasing, shallow strokes with deep, hard, unforgiving thrusts. This wild rhythm always drove her mad. He would take her all the way to the edge before slowing down, letting her euphoria drop just enough to leave her wanting before taking her back to the brink again. And she loved it. She couldn’t get enough of it, knowing that the resulting climax would be that much more intense the longer they could hold it. And in the past few years, Samson had become really good at giving her exactly what she needed when she needed it. Having a regular partner came with a few considerable advantages after all.

As he bent down to kiss her again, Violette wrapped her right arm around his neck to keep him close. She could feel the pulses of his heart through his chest, faster and faster, echoing her own wild beats. They were both panting and sweating with the exertion of denying themselves their sweet release. So Violette bucked her hips against his, meeting his thrusts and guiding him into a new rhythm.

“Getting impatient, Inquisitor?”

“I’m not… Inquisitor… anymore,” she managed to let out between ragged breaths.

Sliding a hand behind her back to keep her pressed against him, Samson pulled her up with him as he straightened himself. He was edging closer too, she could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his fingers dug into her thigh. He was no longer teasing her. He was fucking her in earnest, almost lifting her off the table completely as he bounced her around his cock. There was a silent question in his eyes and she offered him a quick nod in return, signalling her own incoming orgasm. He sped up the pace, pounding into her harder, hitting her sweet spot with each thrust. They came together, their moans echoing in unison. Violette fell back onto the table, breathless, her body shaking with the intensity of her climax.

“I— Thank you,” she breathed, still shivering. “I think I needed this.”

Samson bent down to kiss her. “You’re welcome.”

He slid out of her gently and leaned next to her against the table to catch his breath. She rose onto her elbow and smiled at him.

“So,” she said. “Was there a reason you came looking for me or were you just horny?”

He let out a sudden laugh. “Honestly, I can’t remember,” he answered before kissing her again.

[carterashofficial]

“Y'know, your roof may not be the safest place for us to stargaze.” for Alda & cullen?

So this has been sitting in my ask box for a while and now I finally got the writing mojo back to put words into sentences

thank you for the ask. it got long

The icy breeze sliced through Skyhold. No hint of spring, no, just more snow and sleet and, if they were exceptionally unlucky, another blizzard. Everything was frozen. Too frozen, in Alda’s opinion. And everyone else’s as well, she figured.

She paused by the tavern to adjust her scarf after a gust found its way to her neck.

“Ground’s too frozen to even think of plantin’ shite.”

She went still. The pair of soldiers were leaving the tavern, oblivious to the cloaked girl barely ten feet away.

“Aye, I know. Miss me some carrots. Might write me mam and tell her that. Get a right laugh out of her. Me, likin’ me veg.”

“No, I was thinkin’ of potatoes… nice and fried thin… Or tomatoes. Bloody hell, I’d give anythin’ for a tomato. Imagine tha’ Greg.” The soldier spat, then cursed. “Too fuckin’ cold for anythin’. C’mon. Get back in before our bits get frostbite.”

Alda’s sigh was stolen away on another burst of wind.

Haven had the gardens of the residents. The Chantry garden. There were plenty of winter vegetables, and other ones put in storage or dried. Now-

Something else to worry about along with everything else. It’d be a blessing from the Maker if no one starved before shipments of food arrived. Josephine had ordered them, Leliana’s spies and Cullen’s soldiers escorting them to make sure they got here…

She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her.

There was too much to worry about. And that wasn’t even looking to the future with Corypheus or Samson or what the red lyrium meant or what would happen to her after the Inquisition- and then the other Mages too-

Her cousin would be laughing at her right now and telling her to relax to focus on the immediate problem. And he’d be right.

No use fretting over something that wasn’t going to happen for weeks. Or perhaps years. Or Maker-knew-when.

Alda leaned back, hood falling off, to stare up at the sky. And noticed the light on in the Commander’s tower.

Of course he wasn’t asleep. There was a running bet in the ranks, according to Varric, that Cullen slept sitting upright with his eyes open and candles on, sword in hand, so he was always ready for an attack. Or so any enemy spy would never know when he was sleeping.

She picked her way up the icy staircase towards the tower. The snow was compacted and slippery. Using her ice magic wouldn’t help, nor would her lightning.

Alda smiled inwardly. If she could cast fire magic, now would be a perfect time.

It wouldn’t hurt to try, now, would it?

She whispered a little spell into her palm and focused, feeling the heat gather into a tighter ball, waiting-

And the flame flickered. Barely enough to light a small candle, but it was there, not that it would do much of anything.

Alda sighed and shook the spell away. Fire magic had always been a challenge. If there was an upside, there was never any threat of her burning down the Circle. She continued up the stairs, following that train of thought.

No, she never burned down the Circle, barely a collection of candles. She’d been one of the few mages with a tinder box.

And-

She balked at the door to his office. Why had she come up here?

Cullen didn’t need someone to tell him to go to bed. He was a grown man, the Commander of the army. Perhaps he was asleep, and had forgotten to blow out the candles. Or he was taking a bath, or working, or-

“Maker’s breath,” she whispered to herself.

But she was still outside his door.

The next frigid blast of wind decided for her.

Alda knocked, waited a beat, and then slipped inside. “Cullen?” She cursed herself. She shouldn’t be bothering him.

The floorboards creaked overhead. “Harding? Leave the report- Oh. Inquisitor.” Cullen’s face appeared at the top of the ladder to the upper half of the tower. “Do you need something?”

“I- no, I just saw your lights were lit.”

“Ah. Yes.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’ve got a bit of a problem.” Cullen shifted, and she got a view of the rest of him. He was still wearing his armor, but even more furs. His ears were red.

“What sort-” Cold air brushed past her. “Do you have a window open?”

Cullen made a face and gestured to the ladder. “Not exactly. It’s easier to show than describe.”

Alda frowned, curious, and started up the ladder. At the top, he offered her his hand to haul her up. And then she could see the problem. It explained why he had to many layers on. “Oh, Maker.”

He shrugged. “It could be worse.”

Alda stared at the gaping hole in his ceiling, watching fat white snowflakes drift down. Dead ivy clung to the wall and remaining timber planks, empty tendrils swaying in the breeze. “What, a bunch of bats could be up here?”

“Or deepstalkers.”

She gave him a dark look. He knew she was terrified of deepstalkers. But it was only fair play after mentioning bats.

He halfheartedly tried to hide a smirk. “No, I don’t have a window open. But it feels like I do.”

“Let me take a look.” Alda moved closer, peering at the hole. It would be possible to magic up a barrier… But she’d need to get a look from atop the roof, too. For all she knew, the wood planks were rotted away on the top and the barrier would do nothing if the rest of the ceiling caved in. “Could you boost me up?”

Cullen’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead in surprise. “Onto the roof?”

“Where else?”

He walked around his bed and grabbed a spindly ladder. “I’ve got something even better. You first, Lady Trevelyan.”

Alda made sure her hood was going to stay on before she started up the ladder. the exterior was slippery, far more than the stairs. And deceptively so. Under a thick layer of snow was ice, slicker than spilled oil. “Watch out, it’s slippery.”

Cullen nodded and hauled himself up. Once at the top of the ladder, he swept out an arm and used it to swipe the snow off the roof. “Andraste’s ass, it’s cold.”

She nodded silently, knowing that her face was going to be bright red from the wind and cold as soon as they were back inside. Alda light up a tiny bauble of light in her hand and scrutinized the wood under the ice. “Does that look fine to you?”

He climbed another rung of the ladder and leaned in. “Yes.”

“Oh, good.” Alda rocked back on her heels. “I can magic up a barrier for the time being until you requisition someone to fix this hole.”

“That would be perfect, Inquisitor.”

“Or,” she added, looking up at the sky. “You ask for a trapdoor. Look at that this view.” Her breath left her in a sigh. The whole world was alight with stars, diamonds and crystals hanging over velvety blackness. The snow on distant mountains glimmered. And-

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said softly.

Bright lights flickered across the heavens, little dashes of pink and green.

Alda shifted as the breeze picked up again, and-

Her boot slipped.

Even sitting on her ass, it was enough to have her sliding down towards the edge of the roof, cloak tangled around her other leg-

“Alda!” Cullen’s hand closed around her arm like a vise, keeping her from sliding any further. Slowly he pulled her back up, relaxing his grip once she’d found her footing again. But he didn’t let go of her. “Careful. We need you.”

She stayed silent, waiting for the adrenaline to pass. It’d just been so sudden…

“Alda. Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Just… I wasn’t expecting to slip.”

His eyes didn’t leave her face.

No, Alda had to get off the roof, stop looking at him like that, he was too close and her heart felt like she was still slipping on the ice. There was snow stuck in his curls. And he was warm compared to the icy wind-

She cleared her throat. “You know, your roof may not be the safest place for us to stargaze.”

“Right.” He broke eye contact and started down the ladder. “I’ll have to warn whoever fixes the hole. We don’t need to lose anyone to the ice.”

“No, not after Haven.” Alda followed him down. “That would be a cruel twist of fate.”

Cullen brushed snow off her shoulder. “Indeed. Are you certain you’re alright?”

“Yes.” Alda adjusted her cloak and ignored the chunk of ice that was stuck against the small of her back. “And just step back so I can cast a barrier.”

He did as she said, leaving her under the open roof .

Alda frowned in concentration, picturing the symbols and lines of a favorite ice shield. It would just take some manipulation to get it into a barrier… She flicked her wrist and cast the base, working on the rest of it. It took more energy than she thought to get it fixed in place. She’d poured her strength into it, giving it more than enough to feed on. She wouldn’t have to sit by, alert, while it was in place. “That should do it.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.”

And there he was, back with the title. Alda smiled faintly to hide her distaste of the rank. “Now you can stop smelling like a wet Fereldan dog.” She glanced over at him. “That was a joke, Cullen.”

He recovered quickly. “I thought that was you,” he teased back.

“I’m not wearing enough furs to cover a great bear. Why would I smell?”

“I- I don’t know.” Cullen’s own smile was soft as he gestured to the ladder down. “I’ll walk you back to the castle. We don’t need you slipping again.”

Alda slid down the ladder and waited for him. “That was a once-in-a-lifetime slip. Usually I never slip on ice.”

“Hm… sounds like magic.” He offered her his arm, other hand on the door. “Ready?”

She checked her hood and scarf. “Yes. Lead the way, Commander,” she said as she took his arm.

The wind hit them in the face. It tore through her clothes, like icy needles stinging her. Cullen’s arm shifted, going from being next to her to now being around her, shielding Alda from the worst of it.

She squinted, seeing a lantern. “Nearly there, Commander.”

And then they were. He heaved the door open against the wind. “See you tomorrow, Inquisitor. Goodnight.” And he paused, like he wanted to say more.

Frigid air was coming into the warm castle. Alda nodded. “Be careful on your way back, Commander. Goodnight.” She watched him let the door go, one final gust hitting her in the face before the door slammed shut with a resounding thud.

[jonogueira]

Áine.

Here’s the AO3 and the link to Moon Hair e Fire Eyes. I was listening to this while writing.

Chapter 38

In a sea of promises, an ocean of desires.

Leliana,

I am so sorry to inform you that from this day on I will no longer be part of the Inquisition.

I thank you for the opportunity, but I feel that there is nothing else I can do to help.

As far as I know you, I’m sure you are aware of the reasons I have chosen to do so. It is with a heavy heart that I must depart and try to gather the little I have left.

My family – Mother, Finley, Dudu, First and Nevan – will continue working under your orders, despite the discussion we had about my departure.

I hope they can do what I can’t any longer. You have my word and vouch for them. They may be a bit loud and full of opinions, but they are loyal and wish to help.

I don’t know what I am going to do or where I am going, but I will make sure to spread news of the Inquisition’s good work, if I happen to stumble on someone I think is trustworthy and capable, I will direct him/her to Skyhold.

In a more personal tone, I want to thank you for being there for me even from the shadows. I know that you have helped me the way you can.

I am grateful for everything you’ve done in my life; without you I wouldn’t be here. And although I am not at the happiest moment, I had great experiences and could enjoy things I would never be able to if you hadn’t intervened when you did.

                                           Your friend,

                                                                      Áine.

The day Leliana received the news her heart cried for the friend she was ‘losing’, but she understood her reasons and made no further questions. In her farewell letter, she wished Áine a good departure and the Maker’s blessings.

That was the reason she was reluctant to contact the mage again, but the situation in Emprise du Lion was direr than anticipated. 

Scout Lace Harding’s report was worrisome, and Leliana had to, somehow, have someone she fully trusted to keep things under control, and no other than her friend’s name came to her mind.

Áine hadn’t sent any news since her resignation letter eight months before, but she had sent two new agents to Skyhold, and with the information they were able to provide, she was capable of narrowing down her position. After weeks and a lot of trouble, her pursuit had results.

Scouts had been sent to find her, and they brought good news with them. Áine had last been seen in Lothering. An apple never falls far from its tree, and as a Fereldan, Áine wouldn’t be outside her home.

 Dear friend,

I hope finding me wasn’t as easy as you made it seem. I would be extremely upset if it were.

Your scouts have contacted me, and I have one request if I may. My return to the Inquisition must remain secret. I don’t want anyone to know I am back, including my family. If my request isn’t considered too much, I will gladly help you in that cold and forsaken place.

I don’t know what you want me to do about the dragons though, that is Bull’s line of expertise, and I’m sure Dorian is not happy about it.

                                           Your friend,

                                                                      Áine.

 P.S.: I missed you greatly.

 Leliana laughed with her reply, and within minutes a raven was leaving Skyhold with her answer.

 “But do we really need to go… again? Everything is frozen in that place, the trees, the animals, the people!”

“C’mon Dorian, you know that’s not true. The place is under a lot of trouble, the presence of Red Templars and cases of missing people have increased, and we are the Inquisition and cannot let it slide.”

“I know, I just wish it could be a little hotter. Skyhold is not one of the warmest places I’ve been…”

“Look, I promise you I’ll take you somewhere sunny…”

“No way, don’t give me that bullshit, I am not going to the Western Approach with you.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, we all know you are going. Especially because Bull has volunteered.”

“Fasta vass!”

Varric chuckled behind his cards.

“There’s no escape Sparkler, at least I haven’t found one… yet.” – He lowered his cards with a grin. – “I think this round is mine.”

“Kaffas” – He gave Alessa a side glance.

“And here I thought you were friends with Cullen… tsk tsk … I will tell him about it.” – She scratched her head.

“I don’t see why Cullen should be mentioned in this conversation.” – The mage rested his hand on the table and turned to look at her.

“He is coming with us. He wants to see how much Samson has fallen.” – She lowered her eyes to the table.

“Hmm… I see. It will do him good to leave Skyhold for some time.” – Dorian looked at the tavern’s window, lost in thought.

“He has been working a lot in the last months… Is he eating properly?” – Varric asked himself. 

Cullen was walking the battlements; he needed some fresh air. Two soldiers talked ahead of him; he could tell they were drunk by the volume of their voices.

“I don’t want to go back… I can barely sleep when I’m there.”

“I know! But you shouldn’t be complaining, you have your wife to warm your nights.”

“The last time we were there, we worked on different shifts, and I rarely spend a night with her.” – He sighed. – “Hey, I saw you talking to the new girl the other day. C’mon, don’t play innocent.”

Cullen was watching the soldiers lightening the braziers on the walls.

“Oh yes, she’s beautiful. She has the most interesting hazel eyes, and I can’t stop staring at her lips.” – He chuckled. – “Her sense of humor is amazing, and I love to hear her laughter.” – He put his hands in his pockets.

Cullen’s mind revisited Áine’s eyes and lips. He heard her laughter in his ears and smiled.

“It’s a shame she is so shy; she never talks about herself.”

“She is a spy; it is understandable. I heard Sister Nightingale chose her herself to be the head of the Keep’s spies.”

“It’s true, but still, I don’t know anything about her.”

“Does it matter? Do you fancy her or not?” – The soldier asked.

“Yes. I don’t care about what they say… she’s special.”

“What do they say about her?” – Cullen saw the man trip on a rock.

“Well, you know she is a mage, right? And people talk about her burned arm...” – Cullen’s interested was piqued. He walked faster to catch up with them.

“Yes, I’ve seen it. But people talk about what they don’t know. She is there for what? A month and a half? Maybe two?”

“I think around two… I’m not certain.” –The soldier adjusted his helmet. – “I don’t really care about that though. When she smiles, it is all that I see. The last time we spoke I told her I was coming to Skyhold and she gave me a quick hug for good luck, the mint smell…”

Cullen stopped.

“Áine…” – Her name reached his lips.

He turned on his heels and headed to his office. He searched every report he had on Emprise du Lion and re-read them, but found no evidence of her presence.

The last he heard of her was that she had left the Inquisition, and he heard it from Sera who had received a farewell letter from her. He was upset because she didn’t send him one, but he knew the reason and couldn’t blame her.

For two months she was stationed at Emprise du Lion, and he didn’t suspect. There were no clues indicating she was back, and Cullen was sure it was a secret between her and Leliana.

Sera would, despite being warned not to, have told him the moment she found out. Their friendship had grown, and he started seeing the troublesome elf as more than a nuisance and colleague, he began to see her as part of the family. How many times had she sent him food or came to have dinner with him in the last months? He had lost count of it. Of course, he still didn’t like her pranks, but he learned that that was her way to say she cared.

He would not let the Spymaster know he was aware of her present whereabouts. If Áine wanted him out of her life, he would respect her wishes, but the possibility of seeing her again, it didn’t matter if it was from afar… He sat in his chair and let his mind wonder.

They arrived in Emprise du Lion, and Cullen understood why everyone complained about the cold. The sight of the frozen river alone froze his bones, he closed his fur coat closely on his body and continued his way to the Keep.

As much as he tried to be discreet he couldn’t; he was caught several times looking around and lost in thought.

The night approached, and he was shown to his quarters and the other facilities in the Keep. He bathed and went down for dinner. His heart beating fast in anticipation of the moment he would see her again.

He was, in the end, disappointed because she was nowhere to be seen, but a piece of information brought hope to his heart.

“Inquisitor, I am Amelia. If you need anything, let me know, and we will provide.” – The woman gave Alessa a deep bow.

“You are the one responsible for keeping this place working?” – Alessa asked touching the spy’s arm, making her blush.

“N-No.” – Alessa chuckled causing the woman to blush more. – “My superior is looking at some leads in the town and left me in charge of the place. But I assure you, she wouldn’t trust me with this if I weren’t capable. She was worried about your arrival, and made sure everything was in place herself before leaving to continue her investigation.”

“I keep hearing about this woman, but I don’t know her name.” – Alessa waited for Amelia’s reply.

Amelia looked around and started rubbing her hands.

“I am sorry Inquisitor. I can’t give you her name because no one knows, we call her Mage.” – The woman was nervous.

“Mage? You call her ‘Mage’? That is very reassuring. I will have to talk to Leliana about it.” – Alessa rested her hands on her hips.

“Leliana sent word she was coming, it had her description, and she also presented us her…” – The woman looked around once more. – “The proof she was one of us.”

“Alessa, if you allow me.” – Cullen turned to them. His heart beating faster because he knew it was Áine they were talking about. – “If Leliana thinks it’s important that this woman’s name is not known, I am sure she has good reasons. Maybe we should wait until we are back in Skyhold unless we want to intrude in their investigations.”

“Well, I am the Inquisitor, and it would be important that I knew…” – Cullen chuckled at her words.

“Has it stopped Leliana before?” – He waited for her answer, and after her ‘no’, he continued. – “Leliana is the Spymaster after all; she has her reasons for doing things the way she does.” – He returned to his meal.

“I guess you’re right.”

Cullen returned to his quarter and got ready to sleep. Thinking she could be walking around the Keep made him restless.

They spent five days in Emprise du Lion, and he wasn’t able to see her once. At every corner, every meal, he knew it would be the time they would meet, but every time his anticipation proved fruitless.

They were leaving the place the next day, and this was his last opportunity to see her one more time. He had lunch and headed to town.

On his way there he kept thinking about the things he would say:

“Hello! How have you been?”; “Hi! You look well”; “It’s nice to see you again.”; “I am glad you are well.”

As much effort as he put on the things he would say to her, it wasn’t enough. He stopped and leaned on the broken wall of a destroyed house; he was at the town’s gate now and could hear people talking.

“I love you. I know I don’t deserve it, but just give me one more chance…please.” – He whispered to the cold wind.

After taking a deep breath, he adjusted his clothes and armor and entered the place. He walked between the houses and among the people, his eyes searching and his ears attentive until he finally heard her laughter.

His muscles tensioned and his breath was cut short. His heart beat in his ears, and there was a funny feeling in his stomach.

He walked toward the sound and heard her laughter again. He was near a window and eavesdropped on their conversation.

“You are trying to tell me, that you single-handed killed a pack of wild wolves, with a simple dagger, during the night?” – She laughed again, and Cullen grinned. – “That is actually impressive soldier, maybe we can head out tonight, and you show me how you did it. I know there’s a pack of wolves near the destroyed bridge…”

“No, ma’am… I mean, I don’t want to make the others uncomfortable…”

“Sure…” – He recognized the tone in her voice.

Cullen stiffed his laughter and turned right on the corner, bumping into a blushing soldier. He could see the door mere steps away when he passed by an open window, his instincts kicked in and he decided to go back and take a look at her.

She was wearing black pants and a blue blouse, with further inspection, he saw that she was barefoot and her blouse had small buttons at the neckline and delicate laces in the sleeves. She turned her back to him and started humming, the familiar melody brought lightness to his heart, and he couldn’t stop smiling. She kept her hair dark and the curls now almost reached her waist.

He imagined himself approaching her and wrapping them around his fingers. He would embrace her and fill his lungs with her scent, then kiss every little part of her face leaving her teasing lips for last. And still lost in his fantasies he saw movement out of the corner of his eyes, a blonde man was approaching her.

Cullen saw the man getting closer and touch her elbow; he watched how she turned to him with a big smile and then the delicate way he touched her face. The man adjusted her hair on her shoulders and said something in her ear, causing her to rest her hands on his chest and nod.

Cullen leaned with his back on the wall and with a blurry vision walked away, back to the keep.

“Just make her happy… she is worth every effort” – He thought, wishing he could advise the man.

The meeting was taking longer than Cullen had wished. The things they had discovered in the Quarry days ago, proved to be more troublesome than they had anticipated.

“I heard Michel de Chevin has already won some of the recruits’ respect. As a renowned Chevalier, I can already see him helping with the troops training. I just hope he understands this isn’t Orlais.”

“Hush Cullen. We all know a Fereldan man commands the troops, and no one is stupid enough to judge his skills and knowledge.” – Leliana looked at him with a malicious smile. – “Even if they try… believe me, they won’t.” – She winked at him.

“I thank you for the vote of confidence Leliana. I know deep down you are a human being with a lot of soft spots.” – He chuckled carefreely, joined by Josephine.

“Commander! I wouldn’t say that aloud; she might have to kill someone to prove you’re wrong.” – Josephine continued writing her report without looking at them and with a smile on her face.

“Hmm… you’re not wrong, Cullen.” – She took a dagger hidden on her clothes and started picking her fingernails. – “But this secret is never leaving this room.”

They laughed and started talking business again.

Cullen looked down at the report on his hand and rubbed the back of his neck. There was a knock on the door, and Michel entered the door.

He lifted his head to look at him, and his jaw tensioned. His shoulders were stiff, and he held the clipboard a little tighter than normal. He had been wondering who was the man with Áine since that day, and the answer was there in front of him.

Michel approached him and extended his hand, Cullen caught it with a steady hand and shook it. For the rest of the meeting, Cullen had to take deep breaths and control himself.

Days passed, and every time he saw Michel walking around, he had to remember that it was all his fault and she had all the right to start over. This time wasn’t different from the rest, he crossed the throne room and nodded at the Chevalier, his heart as small as a copper coin.

“You need to let her go. You had your chance, and you threw it away.” – He kept repeating it in his mind.

There was a snowstorm and Cullen probably was the only one outside. He braved it and reached his office, he opened the door and saw Áine standing by the window, watching the snow falling on the valley below.

He closed the door without taking his eyes off of her, and they were finally alone. The only sounds in his office came from the wind on the partially open windows and the logs crackling in the fireplace.

“I’m leaving for the Emerald Graves tomorrow…” – She hugged herself and kicked an imaginary rock. – “I just wanted to see you one more time… to make sure your withdrawal is not causing too many problems.” – He saw her tucking some hair behind her right ear.

They never discussed it, but she knew, of course, she did. How many times had he awakened in the middle of the night with her cleaning his sweat? Or pouring healing magic on his temples?

He will always remember the first time he woke up with a potion on his nightstand with a note from her.

For the pain.

When she was away, she made sure to leave potions behind in case anything happened. And after he started finding water and fruits on his table every morning after his exercises, he learned that she had agreed with one of the servants to always have fresh water and fruits delivered to him when she wasn’t there.

He didn’t need to tell her; it was one of the many reasons he loved her. She understood him, she knew him. No words were necessary; they didn’t need to say anything for the other to understand.

His fingers brushed against each other, and his lips were trembling. She was there; she was really there.

He steadied his voice and explained it was okay and under control. The headaches were rare now.

“Are you sure it’s under control? Do you have other symptoms?” – He noticed the warmth in her voice. There was true concern in her words.

“You don’t need to worry about it… me…” – He tried to continue his line of thought, but his words vanished in the silence of the room. He wanted to tell her he was fine without her, but he didn’t want to lie.

Cullen’s body started to warm up with the heat from the fireplace, but he could still feel the chilliness of her stance.

“I saw you.” – She leaned on her left side and caressed her burn scar. – “In Emprise du Lion… by the window.” – The silence stretched between them.

Cullen didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know what to say. He was scared she would walk away once again, so he decided to enjoy every second of her presence he could, to commit every detail of her in his mind.

With her back still turned to him, Cullen saw her straighten her body and start to move in the other door’s direction. He couldn’t allow it, no, he wouldn’t allow her to leave before he said everything he wanted to.

He blocked the door with his left hand, and she was trapped between him and it.

She had her hand on the doorknob, and their bodies were so close he could see some of her hair moving with his breathing.

The curls’ mint smell reached his nose, and he took a deep breath, his body tensioned with their proximity. She didn’t move, and he could hear her heavy breathing.

“Michel de Chevin…” – The name tasted sour in his mouth. – “Who is he to you?” – He whispered in her ear.

“Nothing but a friend.” – He heard her wavering voice.

He couldn’t stop it, and his fingertips trailed her right arm up to her shoulder. He could feel the shiver on her skin and heard the gasp that escaped her mouth.

His fingers traveled from her shoulder up to her neck, until he wrapped some of her curls around them. His heart ached, and he pulled them closer to fill his lungs with their smell.

He noticed she didn’t say a word and without a second thought he gently pulled the hair from her left shoulder, and his head slowly went down to have her skin on his lips. He stopped mere centimeters apart, and as she didn’t protest, he narrowed the space until her taste was on his tongue.

He squeezed her shoulder and bit her neck, with the tip of his tongue he tasted her from her shoulder to her ear. When he heard the shy moan escape her mouth, he sucked and licked her earlobe, his hand squeezed her waist and pulled her body near. Her hand traveled back, and he felt her fingers going into his hair, her fingernails scratching his skin.

He pulled her body closer and bit her nape, with his left hand he held her face.

“Áine.”

His voice was firm and full of desire when he whispered her name in her ear, not her nickname, but Áine. And when he heard her moan his name, he knew. He knew that just like he was still hers, she was still his.

His thumb traced her lips before he gently turned her head back in his direction. His right hand trailing down her right arm to reach her hand and finally intertwine their fingers.

When her face was finally in his line of sight he reached her lips with his, but before they touched, his eyes locked in hers and he got lost in a sea of promises.

Only when she whispered his name and her hot breath touched his lips, he finally kissed her, and they got lost in an ocean of desire.

Áine held his hair and pulled his head intensifying the kiss. Her body leaned against him, and he slid his hands under her coat. Her skin was warm, and Cullen caressed it with his fingertips, his left hand going up and his right going down.

He massaged her breast, and she bit his lower lip; he felt her standing on her toes to have her hips against his. His right hand undid the laces in her pants; his fingers were entering it when she stopped his hand, she stopped everything.

“Cullen, I…” – She turned to face him, and Cullen tried hard to steady his breathing. – “If we do this... I don’t want it to stop… I can’t nor want to move on from you…I…”

Cullen smiled and held her face between his hands, kissing her. She took his fur coat off, and it fell silently on the ground. He kept kissing her, and she managed to get rid of his belt, his vest soon was going up his head, and as soon as it was out of the picture, he held her and started kissing her neck.

His hand squeezed her left buttock, and his hand slid inside her pants to feel her skin. He heard her giggle and lifted his head to look at her.

“I need some help here.” – She poked his pauldrons and saw him smile.

“Right… sorry.” – He blushed making her laugh aloud.

She kissed him between smiles and giggles and ran her fingers through his hair. She parted the kiss, and together they took the pauldrons off, and it was tossed behind with a loud crash. Something got broken, and Áine leaned to see, but Cullen held her face and started kissing her again.

Cullen himself took care of the cuirass which he placed on the ground near them, and now free of what was stopping him from feeling her, he gave her a sly smile and caressed her face with his fingertips and palm. She sighed and took a deep breath, her eyes only closed when she leaned on his touch.

She gasped and laughed when he pressed her against the door, his hands grabbed her ass, and he lifted her off the ground. With his hips in between her legs and her arms around his neck, he kissed and bit her lips.

Áine couldn’t believe that after all this time she was here with him, and she wouldn’t allow him to push her away, never again. She drove her fingernails into his skin, and she heard his moan when she pulled him to her. His hips pressing on hers alone were almost making her come.

Cullen placed her on the ground and slowly took her coat off. His fingers brushed against her skin, and he kissed the way up her belly until he had her breast in his mouth. He bit her hard nipple and played with it, she moaned and pressed his head closer, and he made circles around it with his tongue. His other hand kneaded the other one, and she held his head with both hands.

He started his way down and stripped her of her pants; he kissed and squeezed her legs both on the way down and up. Her underwear was white, and he held its sides with both hands, his fingertips slowly took it down, and he made sure to look into her eyes during the process. Her smile was the most beautiful thing he had seen.

He placed her right leg on his shoulder and started sucking her clit. She gasped loudly, and her hand flew to his hair. The view of him down on her, made Áine forget everything. She tried not to moan but failed miserably. She wasn’t in control anymore. She leaned on the door and let him do whatever he wanted with her.

Cullen took her other leg, and now she was sitting on his shoulders, her only support was the door, and she was in the middle of thinking someone could open the door when he sucked her clit, and she jerked her head back, a loud noise escaped her mouth.

He played, licked and sucked her, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t delay her climax. She came in his mouth, and her legs shook on his shoulders. Cullen waited for her to regain some self-control and placed her on the ground again.

He wanted to kiss his way up, but she pulled him and kissed him. He felt her biting his lip and moaned, she kissed his chin and his neck. He noticed what she was about to do and stopped her by pulling her to his lips again.

“No.” – He whispered in her ear. – “Allow me.” – He started playing with her clit again, and her breasts got some of his attention as well.

He licked around her nipples and introduced a finger on her. When she started rolling her hips on his hand, he traced her lips with his thumb, and she placed it in her mouth. He moaned when she sucked it, and she let a giggle escape her mouth, in response, he bit her nipple and introduced another finger on her.

Cullen kissed her, and she held his cock, she started stroking it, and he panted on her mouth. With his moaning in her ear and his thumb playing with her clit she soon had another orgasm.

She laughed, and he kissed her neck. She turned and stood on her toes; her hands planted on the door. 

Cullen pushed her hair to her shoulder to have a full view of her back and traced it with his hands. He held her hips and slowly penetrated her.

She was hot and wet, his cock throbbed with pleasure, and he had to take a moment to breathe. He rested his head on her neck and breathed her hair smell in.

He slowly slid his cock out, and he saw she tensioning. The same way he let it out, he slid it in. He held her waist and squeezed it; he took the opportunity to feel her reaction to him.

He started going faster, and he heard her moan, but when she called his name and grabbed his ass, he gave up all his restraints and fucked her.

He was going fast and steady, her walls closed on his cock, and he grabbed her hair pulling her head to him. He kissed her, and she bit his mouth. When her fingers found his hair, his found her clit.

Cullen was almost coming when he felt her body trembling, and she cursed aloud. He smiled satisfied knowing it was because of him.

He took his cock out and turned her to him, he kissed her and held her hand. He adjusted his fur coat on the floor and lay her on it.

He parted her legs and penetrated her. He wanted to look at her when she came one more time.

It didn’t take long for Áine to come again. His kisses and his breathing in her ear were all she needed, but his strong thrusts and the way he squeezed her just made it more powerful. She felt her body melting and couldn’t help but to call his name when she came.

Cullen heard his name on her lips and felt her body shaking under him. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin when she reached her climax, and he smiled at it.

He was near his orgasm too, all it took was her driving her fingernails on his left ass and pulling him in. He felt it coming with a tingling sensation in his body, so he intertwined their fingers and kissed her. He thrust a few more times and came inside her.

She trailed his back up with her fingers and ran her hand through his hair. They looked at each other and smiled. She traced his features and kissed his lips.

“Cullen…”

“I love you, and if you give me one more chance, I will do my best to make you happy.” – The words blurted out of his mouth.

He saw her smile and then laugh, and laugh again. He blushed and waited for her answer.

“No.” – She said at the end.

He frowned and started moving away. She stopped him and forced him to look at her.

“I won’t give you what there isn’t to give. I am yours, Cullen, always have been. I told you once that there is nothing you can do that will stop me from loving you. Ever.” – She smiled at him, and he breathed again. – “I just want to be with you...”

Cullen kissed her, and she felt his tears on her cheeks.

“Good.” – He said while she cleaned his face. – “I won’t let you go anywhere where I can’t see you!”

“I believe there are no more circles.” – He laughed at her words. – “And I thought you weren’t a templar anymore.” – She rolled on top of him and planted kisses all over of his face.

He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. – “There’s a lot to say, but right now, I just want to be with you.” – He leaned on his elbows and kissed her.

He stood up and took his t-shirt to clean them.

“Agreed, Ser Templar.” – She rested her head on his chest, and he made circles on her back with his index finger. – “Do you think anyone will come by?”

“I hope not! And if they do, I will send them away.” – He heard her deep breathing; she was almost sleeping. – “I love you, Áine.”

“I love you too, Cullen.”

He watched the fireplace and listened to her breathing. He felt whole again with her sleeping on his chest. He couldn’t stop smiling.

“I won’t let anything come between us again.” – He promised on her hair.

 Thank you for the time!

I hope you enjoyed it.

[kagetsukai]

Six Dates And How To Fail At Them [Cullen-centric]

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford/(??)

Metaverse: Dance Like No One Is Watching (modern AU/dance!fic)

Synopsis: Cullen Rutherford is not completely incapable of finding himself a date, but he just doesn't have time to look. When his friends catch the wind of it, they volunteer to help him improve his love life. To various degrees of success, of course.

Read on AO3

Over the years Cullen had tried – really, he did - to find a woman who would put up with his particular set of peculiarities. That being said, he wasn't exactly keen on approaching random women, perusing online sites, or putting himself at a bar on a Friday night. All of that sounded worse than spending a whole day calibrating a finicky trebuchet. So when some of his friends decided to help him find female companionship, he was almost relieved.

He should have known better than to trust Varric with these choices, but he learned that lesson a tad too late. As he sat at a booth of some disreputable dive, the dwarf in question sitting across from him, in came a woman that he could only have been described as 'The Sex'. Her luscious brown body completely filled out her skimpy white dress and the overflow boldly spilled in all the right places. She immediately spotted him and he felt like prey pinned down by a hungry vulture.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” she purred at him as she sat down and slid uncomfortably close. “Varric never mention he had such sexy friends.”

Panic set in Cullen's chest as he desperately tried to signal to Varric not to leave him alone with this temptress, but the dwarf handily ignored him, going as far as throwing a parting wink.

Perhaps the whole date would not have been such a sound disaster if it wasn't for the fact that Isabela – that was her name – had insisted on getting super close and personal, which put him on the edge the entire evening. Cullen would keep trying to start a conversation, anything between a local sports team to something about politics, but she would dismiss him with half syllable responses and low, throaty giggles. It all ended abruptly the moment he felt a not-so-subtle touch on his right thigh. At first he thought it was an accident, but when a warm, solid hand aggressively fell between his thighs and squeezed, a startled yelp escaped his throat.

“Ooo... you're a big boy,” she whispered while he fought to remove her hand as quickly as possible. “Wanna take this somewhere more... private?”

“I don't think so,” he growled in reply and moved himself as far away as he could. Which wasn't far enough. “Let go of me.”

In the following commotion Cullen somehow managed to remove himself from Isabela's tight grip, settle the bill, and make a hasty retreat out the diner. Later, he would hope he didn't come off as too rude, but at that moment he wanted to run off to the other side of creation.

The voice message he left Varric that night borderlined on belligerent and uncouth, but he was too enraged to care. Sensing that, the dwarf didn't dare speak to him for two weeks straight.

===============================

When Varric approached him next about a potential date, Cullen refused immediately. Just the mention of the name Isabela – and he did come across her more often that he liked – brought on burning shame and terrible discomfort. Still, the stubborn dwarf shrugged and pulled up a picture on his phone.

“I think she's more your speed, Curly,” he said and casually pointed it towards Cullen. “She's super sweet, really easy-going, and I guarantee she won't try anything untoward.”

The face that looked back at him was beyond beautiful, Cullen noted. This woman had lovely dark hair - almost black - ivory skin, and piercing brown eyes; she was looking at something off camera and laughing without restraint. He swallowed around a lump in his throat as his heart did a weird little stumble.

“What's the catch, Varric?” he asked. There was always a catch.

Varric gave him a level stare.

“The catch is that if you break her heart, I will break you harder.”

Cullen frowned around a pause.

“I don't understand. If she's so precious to you, why try setting her up with me? I'm not exactly desirable.”

Varric gave him a look that was both bewildered and incredulous.

“Really, Curly?” he asked and without missing a beat, he continued. “Her family is a little too crazy, if you ask me, and I'd love to see her with someone who could take care of her when the eventual shit hits the fan. She seems to like a man in armor and you're not exactly difficult on the eyes. You have the chance to not fuck it up.”

The finality of the statement bode no further discussion and Cullen didn't press it. Instead, he agreed to exchange numbers with this woman and see where things went.

All in all, their first date went great. Beth was a sweet and gentle soul who volunteered at the local clinic for the needy while she studied to become a licensed physician. They seemed to have a whole lot in common and he was pleasantly surprised she was a devoted Andrastian. Their conversation had a wonderful ebb and flow to it, and Cullen was slowly understanding why Varric took a shining to this delightful woman. When he finally walked her home at a horribly late hour, he wondered if the little smiles she kept shooting him were an indicator he would be able to kiss her goodnight. Alas, it was not meant to be.

“Bethany Hawke! Where in the Void have you been?”

The rough and gruff voice that assaulted his ears sounded entirely too familiar and Cullen closed his eyes in resignation. Of course it was too good to be true. There was always a catch.

“I'm an adult, sister. You don't get to give me a curfew.”

“And who are you with? Wait...” the woman paused in her tirade. “Is that Cullen? Ser Cullen? As in, you are dating a Templar now?”

“Yes, we went on a date! What of it?”

Hoo boy, this was getting more than Cullen had bargained for. In his line of work he had constant run-ins with a ragtag group of misfits that he always found involved in something and Marian Hawke seemed to be their leader. She had a reputation of a stubborn and willful woman who defied authority at every corner, though it seemed her younger sister had some of that fire as well. The two women were having a row in front of their house and Cullen fervently begged the Maker to send a raging dragon as a distraction. It didn't come.

“How about I just leave you to it,” he cut in once he realized there would be no other way to interrupt them. “It seems like my presence here is unwelcome. Have a good night, ladies.”

He bowed and left the two Hawkes behind. When he got home, he did not call Varric to yell at him, but instead poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat there, mourning all that could have been and never would be. As he steadily drank the liquor, he vowed to never agree to any more dates with Varric's acquaintances.

===============================

Cullen was having a severe case of deja vu while sitting at a tall table inside of some swanky lunch place. It had an Orlesian name plastered all over the walls and menu, and he felt significantly under-dressed.

“This is a bad idea,” he mumbled to Cassandra under his breath. “I've told you--”

“Nonsense! You're overreacting,” she scoffed at him. “ I did not propose you marry the woman. This is just lunch between adults.”

Cullen tried hard not to roll his eyes. “I know nothing about this woman,” he hissed.

“Which is why I'm introducing you here, on neutral ground,” she pointed out and suddenly spotted someone at the door. “Ah. She is here.”

The next several minutes Cullen spent on introductions, subversive – and clearly mutual – checking each other out, and ordering of their respective lunches. He noticed that Threnn ordered something heavy on the meat and light on the 'frill'. He hummed with approval.

“I don't know why Cassandra chose this place,” she whispered to him conspiratorially. “I'm pretty sure we're both so Fereldan we might already have matching Mabari tattoos.”

Cullen coughed into his hand in an effort to mask his laugh and looked down at the woman as if seeing her properly for the first time. Her mouth was quirked in a cocky grin and he found himself returning it.

“I'm still working on getting mine, I'm afraid,” he quipped back.

His optimistic mood did not last long. Once Cassandra excused herself to make a 'very urgent, work-related phone call', Cullen got to converse with the woman in earnest. While Threnn seemed perfectly nice, albeit direct, she soon started sharing opinions he didn't even ask about.

“I really don't understand why Loghain had to be executed. He was single most decorated general in Ferelden's history. He would have been a perfect asset to this administration.”

Cullen frowned, trying to will his impending headache away.

“He was a traitor to his country, in case you forgot.”

“He made one strategic mistake. One!” she exclaimed louder than he was comfortable with in a public place. “That's not enough to kill the man.”

“There were charges of aiding and abetting Tevinter slavers as well as involvement in orchestrating an elven genocide,” Cullen ground out in the most level tone he could manage.

“That was fake news and you know it,” she decided with a glare. “And even if he did do it, so what? There's been too much riffraff in our country for too long. If we could ship them all away, we could make Ferelden great again.”

At that point Cullen chose to focus completely on his food, in case the words that wanted to come out didn't stay behind his teeth. He waited patiently for Cassandra to return, making only non-committal grunts when prompted.

Later, once alone with Cassandra at her desk, he repeated the whole interaction and made her promise to never set him up with anyone else again.

===============================

In a true fashion of perpetually inept and unlucky he found himself drunk and alone one Friday night, desperately craving companionship. Samson, his roommate who somehow had no issues finding women to be with, had suggested trying out the newest dating app that seemed to be all the rage. Fueled by liquid courage Cullen signed up and started browsing what looked like an endless stream of female faces, one lovelier than the next. When he set up a date for the next evening, he fell into bed feeling like the luckiest man alive.

The next morning brought a horrifying case of a hangover and several text messages from a girl that was saved in his phone as DalishFlower. Memories came back slowly, and with a fuzzy sheen that didn't match his mood, so he went through each and every name he contacted to make sure he didn't make more mistakes. With the app scrubbed from his device, he stared at the influx of cutesy messages that kept coming from a clearly elven girl whose name he could not remember. She seemed like a sweet girl, albeit eager, and Cullen felt guilty for accidentally leading her on. His mind made up, he set out for their meeting spot.

The Dalish restaurant – Halla Good – was quite to his liking, even if the meats were a bit gamier than what he was used to. There were a lot of vegetables as sides, both pickled and fresh, and everything seemed to be roasted on an open fire. If only his dinner companion was equally as agreeable. The elven girl that bounded through the door was incredible: she was an exotic beauty painted in dark hair and green eyes, she had a fantastically quick mind, and she seemed like the sweetest person on the planet. That being said, Cullen knew within the first five minutes he would not ask her for a second date.

“My Keeper is convinced I've made a mistake in devoting my life to preserving the eluvian – that's that old mirror I already told you about. It's a piece of Dalish history and she would have me keep it away as if something was wrong with it. She keeps telling me it's blighted, as if it was a living thing! Preposterous. She knows nothing on the topic. Besides, it's not like I'm going to make human blood sacrifice to fix it,” she rattled off in one breath and stopped. She looked at his face and frowned. “Do you get pedicures? I hear humans really like to have soft feet. Is that something you do?”

“I--”

“Oh, I'm sorry, am I being weird again? I'm being weird again, aren't I. Here, let me pour you some tea!”

The entire evening consisted of in-depth dissertations of Dalish culture, intersected by random comments about humans that Cullen had no rebuttal to or was genuinely surprised to be asked about. While at first he tried to insert even a full sentence of a reply to anything, he soon gave up and instead applied himself to devouring all sorts of grilled meat, steamed vegetables, and fresh cheese. Besides, the girl didn't need a conversation partner for most of the things she was talking about, anyway.

When the evening came to an end, Cullen stood with her just outside of the establishment's doors, trying really hard not to come off as a raging asshole.

“So, Merrill...”

She looked up to him with an intensely verdant stare. “Yes, Cullen?”

“I had a good time today--”

“Is this where you ask me to your place and we have sex?” she blurted out.

Cullen felt his face flame with a shade of red he hadn't experienced in a long while.

“What? No!” he exclaimed a little louder than he wanted. “That's not what I was going--”

“Oh.” She sounded confused. “But my friend Isabela told me that humans went on dates then they had sex. Is that not how it works?”

Why was Isabela still haunting his life? A variety of conflicting emotions danced through Cullen's mind at this revelation and he cleared his throat.

“That does happen with some people who are a little more... ummm... flexible with their... ummm... preferences.” Sweet Andraste, he was going to combust from embarrassment in front of this girl. “There's nothing wrong with that, of course! I just... I don't do that.”

“Oh.” Merrill still sounded a little confused, but no longer eager. “So, no sex?”

Cullen reached for his neck and prodded the painful knot that already started to form there.

“No, I don't think that's a good idea,” he said in the softest voice he could come up with. “Also, while I enjoyed our time together tonight, I don't think we are compatible enough for... ummm... future dates.”

For the first time that night Merrill stayed quiet and just stared at his face with an unreadable expression, as if searching for some secret meaning hidden there. She may have found something, because she nodded to herself, as if in confirmation.

“Of course. I understand. Have a good night, Cullen,” she said.

She abruptly turned on her heel and walked away into the night without any other explanation or without giving Cullen a chance to say goodbye.

Not even a week later he found his Templar protective gear covered in itching powder along with a note 'That's for making Kitten sad'. It was soon followed by a visit from Varric with not-so-subtle questions about whether or not he was prejudiced against elven women.

That's when Cullen vowed he would sooner die a celibate bachelor than agree to another blind date.

===============================

It took several years, and a fair share of trauma, but the sting of failed dates wore off, dulled, and joined all other things he would rather not think about. With the rise of the Inquisition he had a new set of responsibilities to worry about and his personal life took a distant back seat. Which most likely was the reason why his newest, and largest, work companion showed up in his office one evening with a suggestion of a date.

“She's fire, I can tell. All redheads are,” the Qunari extolled her virtues. “I did offer to let her ride the Bull, but she declined. I'm not one to force a woman, but maybe she wants a man who is more her size?”

Cullen pointedly ignored the backhanded comment about his manhood and side-glanced at his companion.

“I don't have a good track record with women, Bull” he felt he should mention. “I seem to attract a very particular kind of crazy.”

The Qunari shrugged.

“Crazy can be good. Crazy chicks tend to know some fun things in the sack,” he chuckled. “Not that I know much about Lace's proclivities.”

Shocked, Cullen raised his eyebrows.

“Lace? As in Lace Harding, Leliana's chief reconnaissance lieutenant? You're trying to set me up with a woman who can probably stab me if I look at her wrong?”

Bull chuckled somewhat lecherously.

“I have a feeling you could handle a woman like that,” he said and winked. “Plus, she doesn't strike me as bloodthirsty as her boss. When out in the field, she's cool as you please and nothing really fazes her. I think you two can absolutely hit it off.”

That was how Cullen ended up connecting with a dwarven woman with an impossible schedule that rivaled his own. They did eventually exchange phone numbers due to Bull's subtle meddling and messaged each other on a regular basis; they got to know each other through a series of topics, like favorite movies, current hobbies, or the first live concert they went to. Cullen found it extremely easy to chat with Lace and became increasingly more hopeful for the success of their first date. If it ever happened.

It was she who managed to come up with a solution.

 Lace: How would you feel about doing something informal and active? :)

 Cullen: What did you have in mind?

 Lace: I'll be in town this weekend. Would you like to join me Saturday morning for rock climbing?

He stared at the words and a sudden feeling in the pit of his stomach tickled at his nerves. This could be it.

 Cullen: I could make it.

 Cullen: I've never done it, though.

 Lace: No worries! I've got you covered. Just make sure you wear workout clothes you don't mind ripping or getting covered in talc.

 Lace: Would 7am be okay or is that too early? :P

Cullen actually laughed out loud, startling his assistant that sat in the office with him. He felt a blush prickle at his ears and cheeks, and he coughed to cover his embarrassment.

 Cullen: Please. I'm a career military man. It will feel like I slept in.

 Lace: Great. It's a date then?

 Cullen: It's a date.

He once again stared at the words and felt an increasing sense of panic as it trickled down his spine. Perhaps this could go well - they had been casually texting for several weeks now - but a nagging feeling that something would go wrong refused to leave. He took a few deep breaths and willed himself to relax; this was just a date.

Saturday morning Cullen woke up almost an hour before his already early alarm and spent most of the extra time fussing with his hair, his clothes, his phone, then his hair again. He almost texted Lace twice to cancel, only to berate himself for being foolish and a frightened child. It would be fine, he kept telling himself. He almost believed it, too. When he got into his car, it was with plenty of time to spare and he arrived at the spot almost half an hour early.

When Lace pulled in fifteen minutes later, she jumped out of her Mini Cooper with energy of a woman used to early mornings. She wore clothes that looked comfortable and practical, and Cullen allowed himself to briefly look her over, appreciating her sculpted shoulders and clearly muscular thighs. This was a woman with functional strength and a confidence in her body.

She stepped closer and a lovely smile split her face.

“Commander.”

She stopped, immediately screwed her eyes shut and reopened them, clearly apologetic.

“I'm sorry. Cullen. It's still a little difficult to separate you from the name on my paperwork.”

He chuckled.

“That's alright. As long as you don't start saluting me, we should be fine.”

It was her turn to laugh.

“I'll keep that in mind.” She pointed to the duffel bag in her hand. “I've got my stuff. Shall we go in?”

“Let's do that.”

Cullen had always thought himself to be a fit individual, especially since he had spent most of his professional time training recruits and getting them ready for the field, but the two hours he spent rock climbing with Lace taught him otherwise. Even with her direction and support he kept putting extra strain on muscles he didn't know he possessed and it didn't take long before he was covered in sweat, dirt and talc. That being said, when they decided to call it a day, he could not remember the last time he felt this free or this happy.

“So, what did you think?” she asked him as they slowly walked towards their parking spots.

“That was fantastic, but I will definitely feel it in the morning.”

She nodded. “The first time is rough on just about everybody. If you decide to keep up with it, you'll build up callouses and your body will get used to the strain.”

He was going to say something in return but then they stopped at her car and she turned to him, pinning him in place with a stare. Suddenly Cullen remember this was a date and his gut did a weird flip. Was he supposed to kiss her? They were both covered in filth, and they haven't really flirted while climbing, and he wasn't even sure if she liked him that way, and--

“Cullen, I'll spare you the guesswork,” Lace tripped his trail of thought and she tilted her head with a smile. “I think you're a great guy, I really do, and I did enjoy spending time with you, but... I think we should remain friends.”

Relief that flooded his senses was tangible. He chuckled nervously and reached to massage a knot in his neck that wasn't even there yet.

“Oh thank the Maker,” he exhaled. “I had no idea how to say it so I'm glad you're better at articulating your thoughts than I am.”

Her already sweet smile widened and she raised an eyebrow.

“Commander of the Inquisition who doesn't know how to speak his mind? I find that hard to believe.”

Cullen shrugged.

“It's one thing to yell at soldiers all day long. It's something else entirely when I'm faced with a pretty girl whom I'd like to stay friends with.”

She chuckled.

“Well, since you're being so sweet, I'll let you off the hook,” she announced and reached out her hand. “Friends?”

He took it and shook it once.

“Friends.”

They parted with friendly waves and promises to keep in touch, Cullen then returned home and decided he was just hungry enough for a late breakfast. While he prepped his meal, he grinned happily at having made a friend. He wondered briefly if Lace would let him tag along the next time she went rock climbing and he reached for his phone. Her reply was quick and to the point.

 Absolutely.

===============================

“Maybe you should try something different?” were Bull's exact words and the phrase had put Cullen's teeth on edge at once.

When the Qunari found out about the platonic nature of his ongoing relationship with Lace Harding, he got a strange look in his eye that did not bode well. The results were more ridiculous than he could have expected.

“Iron Bull!” he roared as he stormed into the Chargers’ quarters. “I need a word with you. Privately.

He stomped into the closest empty office, which happened to be Cassandra’s, and slammed the doors closed once the other man walked through.

“Did you think it was a good joke?” he hissed at Bull. “What the world possessed you to… to…”

“What?” the Qunari asked with a shrug. “Did you not have a good time at your date?”

Cullen wiped his face with both hands and groaned.

“For the first and last time, Bull: I am straight,” he said through his clenched teeth. “And please, no more set ups. I am done.”

Bull frowned. “Why?”

“Because you set me up with Fenris, you ass!” Cullen exclaimed and immediately clamped his mouth shut, afraid he could be heard outside the office.

For a brief second the two men just stared at each other, but then the moment broke as Bull guffawed in a booming voice and reached to clap Cullen’s shoulder.

“And that upset you?” he roared with laughter. “C’mon. It couldn’t have been that bad?”

Cullen screwed his eyes shut for a moment, recalling the awkward date from the night before, and ground his teeth again.

“It was worse! He clearly knew what he was getting into, I did not. Once that awkward conversation happened, he proceeded to order a lot of wine and getting shit-faced drunk. I had to help him get home and he threw up on my shoes.”

The Qunari was in a fit of such intense giggles that there were tears streaming down his face and he had issues drawing a breath. He kept trying to get a word out, but nothing would come. At that point, Cullen chose to cut his losses and stormed out of the the office in a huff, hoping that whatever else the Iron Bull had in mind, he could just… ignore it.

[klrkwall]

— pick your poison

— he always returned, he was the antibiotic to the poison samson's been surviving off of for the longest time in his life.

nikola has always returned to samson, the former templar never had to worry if he would be back or not. nikola is responsible for rehabilitating him, under commander cullen and the inquisitor's orders. they have personal history.

nikola and samson return!! i wrote a fic for my beef( @rangertabris ) bc he deserves it and he bought me dream daddy love u !

“Nikola.”

Natural. That’s what it made him feel. No longer did being called Nikola overjoy him each time somebody called him it, it was his name. He is merely only being talked too; a man being talked too. He waves as he approaches the former Templar who sat on the concrete grounds, pulling weeds that grew in between the cracks in boredom.  "I apologize for being late, were you waiting long?” Samson shrugs as he opens his palms and allows his collection of weeds to fall and rest against the ground once more. “

’Dunno. I lost track of time after the first two hours.” Samson jokes, the prince grins and sits next to Samson.  The bags under Samson’s eyes were heavy, Nikola always wondered -

"Do you...-

-...ever sleep?”

Nikola glances up from his overload of paperwork. On the other side of his desk is Samson, his eyes shoot towards the closed door then back at Samson. “Occasionally.” Nikola chuckles, focusing his attention back onto his paperwork. The former templar rolls his eyes and without Nikola noticing, walks around the desk and snatches the writing utensil, holding it up high.

“Excuse me!” He reaches up for his writing utensil, while still being seated in his chair. Samson chuckles, shaking his head. “Aight’ Nikola, you can be excused. From working.” Nikola’s hand shot down and a soft ‘tsk leaves him. “I really, need to do this. And last time I checked you were under my command to rehabilitate yourself –“ Samson’s left eyebrow rose, chuckling once more. “You really… have plans to rehabilitate me? You didn’t just bring up that whole damn speech in fronta’ the Inquisitor and Cullen to bring me back to your sweet little self.” His face was close to Nikola’s now, a smug grin lifting his lips. Nikola waved him away.

“Your breaths stinks, now give that back to me and allow me to finish these documents. I must have them done by the end of the day.”

“Yeah, sometimes I sleep. I wouldn’t be alive if I didn’t, sweet thing.” The nickname delivers a soft blush to the Prince’s cheeks, not noticeable by Samson since it was deep in the evening and no lights were on. “You just have heavy bags.”

“How in the hell can you see these when it’s dark as hell out?” Nikola shrugs. “I guess I just know your face that well. We aren’t exactly strangers.”

"Thank the Maker, I don’t know if I would know how to approach you right now anyways.”

“You almost sound sweet.” Nikola points out, grinning as he felt Samson’s hand slide over to cover the top of his. “I’m sweet for some random prince.” He jokes, and Nikola laughs.

“What are you even working on?” Samson’s curious, and Nikola knows the former Templar would stop at nothing until he sated his curiosity. Without looking up from his work, he delivers a flat reply. “None of your concern.” Samson leans his head back, stares up at the ceiling. A chandelier hangs off of the ceiling, it’s golden with many crystals made onto it. “Could you at least take a damn break and we eat somethin’? I’m dying here.” Nikola continues to write, delicately. “I’m sure the prison could be feeding you right now, if you wish to go there.” He glances up over to Samson, an eyebrow rose as he waits patiently for his response. Samson raises his hands up in defeat. “You already got me out, princey. You couldn’t just send me back, you’d miss me too much.”

‘Hm.’ He resumes his paperwork, and Samson groans loudly, making it crystal clear that he was indeed bored in just sitting in Nikola’s personal quarters for the day.

“Do you remember that one time, when we for some fuckin’ reason were throwin’ rocks up at Meredith’s office and your brother had to come get you out of trouble and you bailed me out too.” A soft snicker is heard, which Samson could have missed if he wasn’t focused on Nikola. The prince finally lays his writing utensil down and glances up, a small smile lifting the left side of his lips up. “Yeah, we were lucky not to be arrested, hm?”

“Ain’t you ever been told by your mother or something to get your frustrations out by doing something good?” Nikola watches Samson pick up a small rock from the pile on the ground with an uneasy look. He crosses his arms and leans against the bricked wall which blocked off the entrance to the circle. “By Kotthis, yes - but I’m sure the woman meant something relatively normal!”

Samson, still bent over turns his head slightly to look over his shoulder and towards the distressed younger man. “What is relatively normal? You literally worship gods that aren’t considered normal here.”

“Ignoring that! And I don’t know, writing in a book or something. Writing down what makes you feel angry then crumple it up and throw it at a wall.” Samson tosses a rock up and catches it with his hand, a large grin on his aging face. “Yeah, you could be borin’ or…” Samson pauses and his attention immediately turns to the tall building, there is a window with small light coming from it. Nikola predicts it’s a candle. Samson brings his hand back as far as it can go, and whips the rock up high into the air where it disappears for a second, hitting one part of the tower then coming back down to the ground.

“Shit! So close!”

“You’re like a small boy, pulling some dumb trick that’s going to get your arse kicked.” Ignoring him, Samson picks up another rock and tosses it to Nikola whose reflexes act fast and he catches it with both hands. “You throw it, if you can hid Meredith’s window you’ll get a prize.” The prince’s eyebrow raises as he continues to lean against the wall in protest. “I’m not getting arrested for some foolish grudge you have against some woman who looks as if she is a jester.”

He snorts. “This isn’t some foolish grudge, Nikola. She’s a terrible woman and she looks worse then a jester, aaaand you would get arrested anyway since you’re out here with me.”  Samson nods towards the road coated with darkness from the night, quietness from the winds. “You could walk away, if you wanted too.”

"For the sweet love of Sylveta, I am not going to leave you here on your own.” Nikola doesn’t move, he leans up from his back against the stone wall and tightens his arms he has crossed around the other. Samson whips another rock up - missing the window yet again. “Why not?”

Tension that had been building from the whole night one by one finally was noticeable, Nikola gazes at Samson with eyebrows arched into bridges.

“Why don’t…

...You just walk away?”

A pang of sadness stabs Nikola, in a non fatal spot. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, rehabilitating you so you aren’t rotting in some dungeon, forgotten about while they all drink to celebrate you being behind six bars in a room that will just bring you harsh shivers and loneliness will creep up on you.”

Samson challenges him, he continues to taunt. He wants Nikola to snap. The ache for Nikola to jump out of his chair, with one hand, slide all of his papers right off the desk despite their importance and yank him over the desk to kiss him like hell. Let Samson know he has done wrong, yet Nikola still craves him, wants him and this to work. The former Templar did too - but he showed it through taunts. “Why don’t you want that for me? I fucked everything up did I not?”

“You screwed up your reputation, Samson. The Champion gave you a chance by speaking to Cullen about bringing you back, I don’t condone Cullen simply wanting to throw you in prison and leave you there until your skin melts and your bones are the only memory of you. That’s why I spoke to the Inquisitor and Cullen, they agreed to release you into my custody because they see you can be rehabilitated.”

“And so they choose you.” He sounds disappointed, but he is not one bit. The only possible thing he felt was anger, it burst through his bones as he thinks of Nikola having to see him in this state. He is a broken man, once a respected Templar now a crippling addict with the memory of his addiction piercing through his pale, nearly rotting skin. More strands of black fell off his head each day. Samson is a corpse, a walking dead man. “Yes, they chose me. Because I care for you and I care for your rehabilitation. You aren’t a bad person, Samson.”

His voice cracks when he argues. “I follow the Elder One to do his biddings, he seeks to destroy this world so he can become the next huge God. Tell me,” His hands rest on Nikola’s desk and he bends down. Desperation. He’s desperate with his risen eyebrows, sunken eyes and head close with curiosity. “...Tell me, how am I not a bad person?”  The prince shoots straight out of his chair, his hand reaches over his desk and bunches a fist of Samson’s rarely cleaned shirt. He yanks the former addict towards him with meaning, half of him on his desk and presses his lips to his .

Over a year, it had been since he felt the lips that hardly ever lingered when kisses were left behind.

After what seemed like forever, the two separate and Nikola nervously chuckles. His cheeks are a blush, Samson finds him to be close to perfect. A hand crawls up his back and gently rests against his dark curls. A whisper travels from his mouth and into Nikola’s ear as he presses soft, ghosting kisses along the warrior’s jawline and up to the side of his ear.

“I see forever with you.” Forever was a concept once, a story parents would tell you before they were torn apart by death, infidelity or any other falling out. Samson never believed it, never believes it. Yet even when faced with hitting rock bottom, the younger man who he knows as Nikola stays. He stays.

Stay. stay. Stay. He never has to beg, never has to hug him when he leaves, scared of if he will ever return or not.

He always returns. Even when he left Samson behind, he still returned..

“Why-” Nikola continues to press hard kisses against Samson’s thin, cut pale lips. “...do you-” Another kiss. Samson finally pushes Nikola away gently, he still remains close but Nikola keeps his head where it is. Soft pants leave the both of them, Samson finishes speaking. “...Why do you do this? Why do you think I’m some good person?”

“Why do you still think I’m a good person after I left you?”

Samson’s hands hold a harsh grip on the rusting metal bars. “Because I know you are doing good elsewhere, and one day you would return. You always return.”

“Because you joined the Elder One since he was the only one who could take you, you convince people you’re a terrible person so they’re afraid of you and that is just because you are a stubborn fool who is drunk on poison that you’re some terrible person and the truth is you’re afraid of yourself. But the Elder One fears nothing, he took the poison you fed yourself and fed you a different kind. You were relieved by the different taste,” Spit from the prince splashes on Samson’s face, he pauses as he reaches out to wipe off his own saliva. “...you were so relieved for a different reality you didn’t know it was poison.”

“Let’s say I believe your bullshit for a minute. How do I not know you’re some different poison?” A finger strokes Samson’s cheek, softly brushing against sharp red shards. “Because I was here before any of this, I’m here to stay.”

Samson is the one to softly kiss him now, it’s gentle and not at all like the first one they shared in over a year. Despite the uncomfortable angle, Nikola fully rests his hand against Samson’s sunken in cheek, slightly cocking his head as he fishes for the taste of him.

“You always return…”

[hgfstreamchats]

Samson and Sally

Welcome to the 'highglossfinish' room. Thenightetc: *is summoned by noises coming from the tab* Thenightetc: omg. Shockbox: ...Interesting way to start the night, Knock Out. Knock Out: The humanling deserved an audience. Thenightetc: That was extremely cute. Shockbox: Fair enough. Knock Out: I hope everybody's ready for an obscure film about whales dying horribly. Thenightetc: Is that what this is going to be? Thenightetc: I've never heard of it, so Ratchet: I'm actually glad Radar decided not to stay for stream night. Knock Out: It's...certainly something. Thenightetc: So it's like Watership Down but with whales? Knock Out: More or less.

Shockbox: I have not seen this film nor Watership Down. Shockbox: But it sounds like a ride. Thenightetc: Watership Down is *great*.  Also harrowing, but great. Shockbox: What. Shockbox: That does not seem to be the variety of whale well known for eating anything larger than krill. Shockbox: Then again, I'm no marine biologist. Shockbox: Hm. Knock Out: There's a version in English, but it's fairly painful. Thenightetc: Biological accuracy doesn't tend to be a feature of these kinds of films Thenightetc: ...witness, the octopus with a mouth on the front Shockbox: That is /abhorrently/ inaccurate. Knock Out: And a penchant for grabbing young whales in dubious places. Ratchet: Well, that's morbid. Knock Out: Definitely for the best that Radar sat this one out. Shockbox: Is it lagging for anyone else? Thenightetc: Does it keep ... yes, for me too. Knock Out: Hold on. Let me fix that. Shockbox: Glad I wasn't suffering alone. Thenightetc: The problem seems to be with the livestream connection, not the movie itself. Knock Out: That should help. Thenightetc: yyyyyes, that's probably true.  he's not dead, he's just... somewhere else. Thenightetc: (The lag seems to be fixed!) Knock Out: Excellent! Knock Out: Wouldn't want to miss out on this all riveting...whatever this is. Knock Out: *all this Shockbox: They appear to be torturing the polar bear? Shockbox: Or, well, they were. Thenightetc: Or stealing its food, at least Thenightetc: ...I like the killer whales' leitmotif, at least Knock Out: If there's one thing this movie has going for it, it's the music. Shockbox: ....Promotion only? Knock Out: It was legitimately the only copy I could find. Shockbox: Hm. Thenightetc: So are the killer whales sapient, too, or...? Ratchet: Human data stream's funny that way Thenightetc: ...How did they carry that up there Knock Out: I take it back. Watership Down this isn't. Thenightetc: Why do they have feet Thenightetc: what ARE they Shockbox: ....... Knock Out: I'll have whatever they're having. Thenightetc: This just raises further questions Shockbox: I suppose nothing in this film can bother to be anatomically accurate. Thenightetc: GAH Knock Out: This has gone on about three minutes longer than it needed to. Thenightetc: oh thank god. Thenightetc: Oh, they're alive.  Never mind. Shockbox: I'm just. Shockbox: Tilting my head at the screen. Thenightetc: ...what Shockbox: I beleive that is what the humans refer to as a 'Big Lipped Alligator Moment'. Knock Out: Radiation poisoning explains a lot about this world. Shockbox: It really does. Knock Out: Watch out for Lavender Sweater McWhitePants there. Thenightetc: Does that bird have teeth?  I think I saw teeth Knock Out: Radiation. Thenightetc: Why are they still hanging around in the same area Shockbox: The bird was flying so /slowly/, how did the man allow this to happen to himself. Thenightetc: *shudder* Knock Out: Can't they call him something else? Ratchet: ... I'm not terribly sure what I've come back to Thenightetc: Why do the makers of this movie hate octopi so much, who hurt them Shockbox: On the behalf of all cephalopods, I am mildly insulted. Shockbox: ....Those /slapping noises/. Shockbox: Primus. Knock Out: Did they just...? Thenightetc: This is like that bit in The Lion King Thenightetc: That sure is how ships work. Knock Out: This movie's just full of how everything works. Shockbox: Upon performing a quick search through the human internet, these appear to be sperm whales, which /do/, in fact, consume cephalopods. Shockbox: So this is accurate to a degree, but it doesn't excuse what they did to the poor octopi. Thenightetc: It does not. Ratchet: ... well Thenightetc: Or the... walruses?  Whatever those were. Thenightetc: With the dancing. Shockbox: The only accurate thing in this film are the references to the sperm whale's dietary habits. Shockbox: And even then, I have only seen them consume octopus. Knock Out: They bid an emotional farewall to the "promotion only" sign. Shockbox: Yes, the text showing up at random intervals certainly adds to the experience. Thenightetc: ...what Knock Out: My personal favorite was when it showed up in the middle of the walrus song. It seemed...fitting. Knock Out: That moon, though. Knock Out: Is that normal? Shockbox: No. Shockbox: No it is not. Shockbox: That is just as bad as drawing stars on top of the shadow-cloaked portion of a given satellite. Ratchet: ... is... what is happening at this point? Thenightetc: It's showing us about the evils of pollution. Shockbox: ...I have to agree with your comment earlier, KnockOut. The background music can be pleasing. Knock Out: Wait 'til you hear the background music they pull out at the end. Knock Out: Makes all the rest worth enduring. Knock Out: ...And apparently, this is the first time he's seen the sun set over the ocean? Thenightetc: Maybe? Thenightetc: Did that turtle just Shockbox: She needs to stop doing that. Shockbox: That is physically impossible. Shockbox: Not that such mistakes are surprising, given this film. Shockbox: /Perfect timing for this text./ Knock Out: His corpse sounds like an old tarp. Knock Out: ... Shockbox: Hm. Thenightetc: well then. Thenightetc: Why is he such a blob Thenightetc: I love how there are all these modern-ish buildings in this ancient mythical city. Knock Out: Ooh, here it is. Thenightetc: Also cars. Knock Out: This slow jam. Thenightetc: ...Oh. Ratchet: I wouldn't call it an "ancient mythical city," considering that particular landmark. Thenightetc: Yeah, okay, it's just they kept calling it Atlantis. Ratchet: Did they? I couldn't tell. Thenightetc: Or they did at the beginning. Knock Out: Right on schedule. Ratchet: Is there a particular reason that every "mankind is destroying themselves" film uses that particular statue as an indicator that humanity has failed its planet? Thenightetc: It's recognizable, it's American, and it's near the coast? Ratchet: It's certainly two of those things. Knock Out: And that's the end of that little experience. Shockbox: Well. Shockbox: That was anticlimatic. Thenightetc: All that just happened. Shockbox: Indeed it did. Knock Out: It did. It really, really did. Knock Out: If anyone else has anything they'd like to see to end on a more climactic note, feel free to throw out suggestions. Shockbox: Hmm. Thenightetc: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uk6Ejm6mN1w ? Thenightetc: "Hermione the octopus eats a crab- close up " Ratchet: If it wasn't a full-length film, I would suggest... primus, whatever that movie is that she keeps talking about. Shockbox: I approve of us ending this with cephalopods. Shockbox: They deserve more appreciation. Thenightetc: They're great. Shockbox: 'To sleep'. Knock Out: Humans do love lying to children. Thenightetc: Why not? Shockbox: .....What is this video called? I want to save it. Knock Out: "Homosexuality in Octopuses." Shockbox: My thanks. Shockbox: I need to capture some of these creatures upon my next visit to Earth. Knock Out: And to wrap it up, these same scientists laughing at a cuttlefish. Thenightetc: Oh my gosh Thenightetc: ...it's not mov oh, there it goes Ratchet: What Thenightetc: What's that lower left one Thenightetc: With the... mouth Shockbox: Now /this/ is the climax we all had been anticipating. Shockbox: I do not regret joining this stream. Thenightetc: ...Is the octopus trying to eat the toy Thenightetc: *concerned* Shockbox: They tend to nibble on things curiously. Knock Out: Like most newsparks. Ratchet: Like a surprising number of newsparks. Knock Out: There it is! Rainbowmouth. Thenightetc: *leans forward* Shockbox: Intriguing... Knock Out: This human annoys me, but this is interesting. Thenightetc: Huh. Thenightetc: What are those *teeth* Shockbox: Ah, I'm familiar with these. Knock Out: It looks like it hurts to be it. Thenightetc: Woah. Shockbox: /Leaning forward. Shockbox: ....I will need to collect more than just cephalopods, upon my next visit. Knock Out: Collect this human too, if you don't mind. Dissolve him in something. Thenightetc: *...leans back* Shockbox: Hm, I /did/ run out of human samples... Knock Out: This one, then we'll call it a night. Shockbox: I am fine with this. Knock Out: This human has a more pleasant voice. Ratchet: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyYo3Hm6pS4 Ratchet: Rafael sent this about fifteen minutes ago and for some reason I cannot stop laughing. Thenightetc: ...it kind of looks like a shaved bear. Knock Out: You know what's nice? How humans are stuck on this world, but I'm not. Shockbox: Hm. Shockbox: Thank you for the stream, Knockout. Knock Out: My pleasure. Thank you for stopping by! Thenightetc: Yes, thank you! Knock Out: Good night, everyone! Shockbox: Another time. Thenightetc: This was great... some parts moreso than others.

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Elfy

Chapter 37 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! Read on AO3 instead.

In which @schoute​‘s wonderful Piper Lavellan makes a cheeky appearance! Also, conversations galore with Solas and Sera. 

*************************

Hawke dragged her feet dramatically as she and Fenris made their way along the battlements to Cullen’s office. 

“I told you, you don’t need to come,” Fenris reminded her. “Go to bed. I will fill you in tomorrow.” Cullen and a small group of soldiers had just returned from Samson’s headquarters yesterday morning, and Cullen had personally tracked Fenris down requesting a meeting tonight to discuss what they had found. Since Fenris, Hawke and their companions had only just returned from the Storm Coast this afternoon, Fenris knew the matter must be urgent. Hence why he’d agreed to come to Cullen’s office so late. 

Naturally – and perhaps against Fenris’s better judgment – Hawke had volunteered to tag along. 

She sighed. “No no, I’ll come,” she said. “I won’t let you suffer Cullen’s report alone.”

“So I will suffer your complaints instead?” he drawled.

She gave him a wounded look. “I’m not complaining!”

He shot a pointed look at her noisily shuffling feet, and a cheeky grin crept over her face. “Well,” she said slowly, “if you don’t like the way I walk, then you can always–”

“I am not carrying you,” he said flatly. 

She laughed brightly, then skipped around in front of him and draped her arms around his neck. “Spoilsport,” she purred.

He smirked at her, then kissed her lightly on the lips before disentangling himself from her arms and ushering her along the battlements. “I am surprised you’re tired. It’s barely an hour past midnight.”

She tutted. “Being tired isn’t the point. If I’m doing anything other than lying in my bed at this hour, I want it to be something fun. Drinking or darts or gambling or gossip, take your pick. But not working.” She wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the word working. “What sort of madman enjoys working this late?”

Fenris shot her a knowing look. “This is Cullen we’re speaking of. It is hardly a matter of enjoyment. You know that.”

She sighed. “I know, I know. I’m just being cranky. But this report had better be good,” she added threateningly. “In fact, it had better be the most exciting report I’ve ever heard. If it’s not delivered as an epic three-part soliloquy, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

Fenris chuckled and pinched her waist. “You are an idiot.” 

She squeaked and twisted away from him. “Only for you, Fenris,” she giggled. “Only for you.” She hurried over to Cullen’s office door and gestured at it in an exaggeratedly chivalrous manner. 

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You should spend less time with Dorian. His flair for the dramatic is rubbing off on you.” He knocked on Cullen’s door. 

“Enter,” Cullen called out. 

Fenris pushed open the door and allowed Hawke to pass before stepping inside. Based on Cullen’s manner when he’d spoken to Fenris earlier today, Fenris was fairly sure the news was good. 

Even so, he didn’t expect to find Cullen smiling when he opened the door. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows. He’d never seen Cullen looking this pleased before. The news from Samson’s headquarters must be truly excellent. 

Hawke sauntered over to Cullen’s desk. “Ooh, someone’s in a lovely mood,” she crooned. She sat on the corner of his desk as she usually did. “You must really have struck gold in the information department at Samson’s headquarters.”

“He sure did,” a woman’s voice replied. 

A voice that was emanating from Cullen’s bedroom in the attic. 

Fenris and Hawke stared at the attic, then whipped around to look at Cullen. His face was flaming red. 

Fenris blinked, and Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Oh Maker,” she said in delight. “Is that who I think it is?”

“It certainly is!” the owner of the voice said. She slid jauntily down the ladder and shoved back her cloud of silver hair before giving Hawke a mocking bow. “Piper Lavellan at your service, m’lady.”

Hawke burst out laughing, and Piper joined her. Fenris, meanwhile, turned to Cullen in genuine surprise. “You and Piper are together?” he asked. He knew Piper had accompanied Cullen on the foray to track Samson down, but he hadn’t known they were romantically involved.

Cullen rubbed the back of his tomato-red neck. “Er, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Forgive our, um, informality. With the lateness of the hour, I didn’t think…”

“He didn’t think to eject me from his bedroom,” Piper cheerfully put in. She took a seat on the other corner of Cullen’s desk, then reached out and tugged Cullen’s mantle affectionately. “Go on, Cullen, give your report.” 

“Yes, please do,” Hawke said. “This report just became far more interesting.” 

She was grinning wickedly at Cullen. Fenris sidled over to her and squeezed her arm warningly. “What did you find?” he said to Cullen.

Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly, then rested his palms on the desk in a businesslike manner. “Samson was not at his headquarters, unfortunately. Maddox killed himself to facilitate Samson’s escape.”

Hawke’s grin melted into a look of sympathy. “Damn,” she lamented. “I was hoping we could have saved him. Minaeve would have made him feel right at home.”

Cullen bowed his head to her. “We brought his body back to be laid to rest. If even Samson did his best for Maddox, we can do no less.” He looked at Fenris once more. “The Shrine of Dumat was destroyed by fire, but not completely. We salvaged a few significant items, which Dagna is working with as we speak.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “What sort of items?”

“Strange equipment stained with traces of red lyrium,” Cullen said. “Likely of Maddox’s own design. If Maddox used the equipment to make Samson’s armour, then Dagna should be able to use the equipment to un-make it.”

“We found a note from Samson, too,” Piper said. “Right, Cullen?”

He nodded. “Yes. It was all nonsense, however.” He picked up a singed piece of parchment from his desk and regarded it with distaste. “‘Drink enough lyrium, and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry lied to us. You’re fighting the wrong battle. Corypheus chose me as his general and his vessel of power’...” He shook his head in disgust and dropped the parchment back to his desk. “Does he think I’ll understand this nonsense? What does he know?”

His tone was snide. Piper reached out and ran a soothing hand over his forearm, and Fenris noted the immediate softening of Cullen’s expression. 

Cullen took a deep breath and looked at Fenris and Hawke once more. “In any case, the mission was a success. The red lyrium deposits at the shrine are being destroyed, and we’ve cut the red Templars down to the core. This leaves Samson with a severely curtailed army and enchanted armour he can’t maintain.”

Fenris nodded. “Excellent work. Both of you,” he added to Piper. 

She bowed playfully to him from her seat on the desk, and Cullen gave him a more serious half-bow. “Thank you, but my work is not done yet. We’re getting new recruits by the hour, and there are more than a few ex-Templars among them. They will need to be oriented to Skyhold and to commence training with the mages, and–”

“–and all of that can wait until tomorrow, after you get some sleep,” Piper said gently. 

He ducked his head bashfully and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, of course.”

Hawke shot Fenris a private little smile and slid off of Cullen’s desk. “Well, that’s fantastic. So I guess we’re just waiting for–”

The eastern door to Cullen’s office banged open, and Dagna rushed inside. “Commander, I finished– Inquisitor!” she exclaimed. Her excited smile widened further as she caught sight of Fenris. 

She thrust a rune at him. “Here, have this.”

He stared at the rune apprehensively. It glowed a livid, untrustworthy red. And yet, if Dagna was holding it in her bare hand… 

He gingerly took the rune, and Hawke sidled over to him and peered at it. “Ooh, now this is a shiny trinket.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dagna said happily. “I made it with red lyrium and what’s left of poor Maddox’s tools. The rune acts on the median fissures of lyrium to…” She trailed off at Cullen’s frown, then perked up again. “It will destroy Samson’s armour. He’ll be powerless.”

Hawke looked at Dagna with interest. “Wait, what were you saying about median fissures of lyrium? What does that mean?”

Dagna lit up. “Oh! Well, you see, lyrium and other minerals are mined from what we call veins, right? I’ve been thinking about it, and–”

“Thank you, Dagna, Hawke,” Cullen said. “Perhaps you can continue this discussion another time?”

Hawke pouted playfully at Cullen. “Oh, Commander. Too tired to listen, are you? Is someone lacking his beauty sleep? Your hair does look more dishevelled than usual.” She shot Piper a grin.

Piper grinned wickedly in turn, then turned to Cullen. “She’s right, you know. I think someone could stand to catch up on his sleep.” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

Hawke snickered, and Cullen’s cheeks and ears turned pink. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he muttered, and he abruptly turned to Fenris. “Maddox’s ploy effectively covered Samson’s retreat, but we will likely find him in the Arbour Wilds.” He straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “Your army stands ready, Fenris. For Samson, for Corypheus, for whatever you command.”

A jolt of apprehension tugged at Fenris’s belly. When he’d met with Leliana and Josephine this afternoon, Leliana had reported increasing movement of the enemy forces toward the edges of the Emerald Graves. It seemed that Corypheus and his army were on the move to the Arbour Wilds, exactly as Morrigan had predicted.

He looked down at the rune in his hands. All the pieces were falling into place for an organized assault on the Arbour Wilds. Corypheus’s army had lost their sources of red lyrium, Samson had lost his loyal Tranquil, and this rune would destroy his precious armour. The Inquisition’s army were refreshed and restored, having spent the last couple of months training and recuperating since the attack on Adamant Fortress.

There were no reasons that they shouldn’t assemble their forces for the next battle.

Fenris took a fortifying breath, then looked at Cullen once more. “We should prepare to march on the Arbour Wilds, then,” he said. 

Piper and Hawke sobered, and Cullen’s face creased into a stern frown. “I agree,” he said. “Let’s meet at the war table in the morning. I will advise Leliana and Josephine.”

“And Morrigan,” Hawke put in. “She’s the one who knows all about this eluvian that Corypheus is chasing.” 

“Thank you, Hawke, that’s true,” Cullen said with a nod. He stepped away from his desk. “Well, I suppose anything else can wait until the morning, then.”

“Yes,” Fenris agreed. He met Hawke’s eyes and tilted his head at the door. 

She nodded, then smiled at Dagna. “Can we pick this up tomorrow, perhaps?” 

“Of course,” Dagna chirped. “You know where to find me.” She waved a cheerful goodnight to everyone else, then hurried away. 

Hawke pecked Piper on the cheek. “We need to catch up, too,” she said. “Drinks tomorrow?” 

“Absolutely,” Piper said in a meaningful tone. The two women snickered dirtily, prompting Cullen’s cheeks to redden once more. 

Hawke smiled at Cullen. “Goodnight, Cullen. And congratulations, by the way. On your impeccable desk, I mean,” she added with a cheeky smile. “It’s tidy for once!”

Cullen’s face and neck turned beetroot-red, and Piper’s smile grew more cheeky than ever. Fenris took Hawke’s hand and pulled her toward him. “Goodnight,” he said to Cullen and Piper. 

“Er, yes. Goodnight,” Cullen stammered, and Piper gave him a jaunty salute. 

Fenris led Hawke back out onto the battlements. Once Piper had closed the office door behind them, Hawke let out a bright laugh. “Maker’s balls, I’m so proud of her,” she crowed. “She absolutely had sex with Cullen on that desk.”

Fenris gave her a distracted smile, and her grin faded. She squeezed his hand. “Hey, you. What’s the matter?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Another grand battle,” he said ruefully. “It feels as though the last was not so long ago.” 

Hawke smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re tired of killing people. It’s practically our number-one responsibility.”

He looked at her frankly. “I am tired of the constant danger,” he said. But this wasn’t the entire truth. What truly wore him down was the constant danger to Hawke. One would think that ten years’ worth of scraps and skirmishes would render him immune to seeing her in harm’s way. But his fear for her safety had only seemed to heighten with time, and particularly since joining  the Inquisition. 

He didn’t say this, though. Hawke already knew it, and he knew she felt the same way about him, to his dismay. It wouldn’t help either of them to remind her of the fragility of their lives. 

“It’s different this time,” Hawke assured him. “Corytits is on the defensive, not us. He doesn’t have a big fancy fortress this time. We took away his poor Wardens and his Templars and his red lyrium.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Honestly, Fenris, it’s going to be a cakewalk when we get to the Arbour Wilds.”

But something unexpected could happen, he thought. With his and Hawke’s luck, it was almost a certainty that some problem they’d not accounted for would arise. And the last time something unexpected had happened, Hawke had lost her brother. 

He was silent as they walked along the battlements. Then Hawke stepped in front of him. 

She rested her palms on his chest. “Hey,” she said softly. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening in that gorgeous head of yours.” 

He shook his head slightly. “It is nothing you haven’t heard before.” 

“Then tell me again,” she said. “I never get tired of hearing that lovely growly voice of yours.” 

He smiled faintly at her, then leaned his elbows on the parapet. “It’s just… the planning and strategizing. It makes it feel all the more like walking into a mortal trap.” 

She grimaced. “Well, at least we’re doing it together.”

“I would rather we were not doing it at all,” he said. Then he pressed his lips together and looked away. Truly, she didn’t need to hear these complaints again; he should be trying to reassure her, not bring her down into his anxious morass.

He stared blankly down at Skyhold’s garden. Then Hawke’s arms slid around him from behind. 

She pressed her cheek to his spine. “Hey. It’s going to be all right,” she murmured.

He took a deep breath. Did she really believe that, after what had happened to Carver at Adamant Fortress? Even with all the Inquisition’s advantages and all the planning and strategizing and strength, a single bad decision could set everything awry. One single poor choice could have disastrous consequences, and they wouldn’t know until it was too late. 

Her arms tightened around his waist, and he loosened his clenched jaw. “You’re right,” he finally said. “There’s no point worrying. Not for some time, at least.” 

“Exactly,” she said softly. “Na via lerno victoria.”

Only the living know victory. He huffed in amusement, then turned in her embrace and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “And so we will,” he murmured, and he pressed his lips to her chestnut hair. 

But that night as they lay in bed, Fenris couldn’t quite get to sleep. 

And from the shallow cadence of Hawke’s breathing, he didn’t think she could, either.

********************

Two days later, Fenris and Hawke set out to the Emerald Graves with their companions in tow. It would take two weeks for the full strength of the Inquisition’s army and allies to make it to the Arbour Wilds; in the meantime, Fenris and the others were joining Leliana’s scouts and spies in the task of slowing Corypheus’s army down and clearing the way for the Inquisition’s forces. 

They split into groups on arriving, with Solas and Sera joining Fenris and Hawke as they headed for the nearest rift. Within hours of their arrival, the ethereal and oddly haunted-feeling forest provided more than enough distractions to drive Fenris’s mortality-related ruminations out of his mind. 

Sera shuddered as they stepped out of Chateau d’Onterre, then spun on Fenris and poked him in the chest. “Never. Again,” she said threateningly. “Don’t like spooks, all right? It’s too weird. All that stuff’s just wrong.”

Hawke slung an arm around her shoulders. “Oh come on, Sera, you don’t enjoy a good haunted house to liven things up?” 

“No!” Sera exclaimed. “I like my dead things dead, all right? When you put someone down, they should stay down.”

Fenris huffed as he led them through the ornate courtyard and back to the forest. “That is a fair point.” 

“I know it is. I’ve got lots of them,” Sera said. She marched alongside Fenris and started counting on her fingers. “Dead things stay dead. No magic weird stuff–”

“Ouch. My feelings,” Hawke said in a mock-hurt tone.

“–aside from your pretty bird,” she added with a quick grin at Hawke. “And no demons. Seems simple, right? Wrong.” She turned around and scowled at Solas, who was walking alongside Hawke. “We come here, with all these stupid trees and all the stupid leaves, and suddenly it’s ‘demons! Magic! Ghosts in your face!’”

“May I ask why you feel the peculiar qualities of this location are my responsibility?” Solas said in a long-suffering tone.

Sera glared at him. “Elfy, that’s what.”

Solas sighed. “Much as you may wish to deny it, you and I are not so far apart as you think.”

Sera blew a raspberry. “Pthhb. Tell it to spiky here.” She elbowed Fenris and gave him a knowing look. “You know. Don’t need that old ancient elfy stuff from a thousand years ago. Here’s what we’ve got, yeh?” She looked around at the surrounding trees in disdain. “Well, maybe not here. But this, now. Right?” She widened her eyes at him expectantly.

Fenris shrugged. “I’ve never placed much value in the tales of ancient elves, no. They have little bearing on how poorly our people are treated now, either in Tevinter or here in the south.” 

Sera wilted. “Ah, now you’re going on about ‘our people’? Look, people are just people. Pointy ears don’t matter in it. Right, Hawke?”

Hawke grimaced. “You know, as the only human in this lovely little group, I don’t feel like I can really, er, participate in this discussion.” 

Solas gave her a chiding look. “And yet you are the only one among our company who has been asking about the elvhen legends that are rooted here.” 

Fenris frowned at Solas’s implication. Just because he hadn’t been asking the questions didn’t mean he wasn’t listening to the answers. Information was still information, even if it wasn’t particularly relevant. 

Hawke chuckled and linked her arm with Solas’s. “Oh, Solas. You know how much I love hearing a good story from you.”

Sera snorted loudly. “Stories. Wind out your ass, more like.” 

Solas pursed his lips, then raised his eyes to the lush treeline. “The passing of time twists history into story and story into myth. Under such circumstances, it can be difficult to discern tales from the truth.” He looked at Sera once more. “It makes all stories worth hearing, whether or not some wish to listen.” 

Sera shrugged, then hopped onto a nearby fallen log and tiptoed gracefully along its length. “Or maybe, what about this: we find some baddies, kick their butts, and have something to eat. You know, living stuff,” she said pointedly to Solas. “Stuff people do. Not like your dreamy-walking thing.” She hopped off the log and directly into a nearby mudpuddle. 

“Ah yes, dreamwalking,” Solas said calmly. “Would you care to learn the craft?”

Sera whipped around and stared at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He shrugged easily. “It would give you the chance to explore the Fade. I could introduce you to spirits.”

Sera’s face twisted in disgust. “Spirits like Creepy? You're messing with me on purpose!”

“Why would I do that?” Solas said. “It is not as though I know who filled my bedroll with lizards.”

Sera’s horrified face instantly transformed into a grin, and she broke out laughing. “Never gonna forget that one, are you? That was pretty good!”

Hawke coughed out a laugh, then shrugged when Solas gave her an arch look. “What?” she said innocently. “The look on your face was rather priceless. It’s a prank I would definitely have pulled when I was clever and young.”

Fenris glanced at her reprovingly. “You are not old, Hawke.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You’re sweet. But my imagination for pranks is getting old. That’s why I need Sera on my side.” She gestured for Sera to come near, then released Solas’s arm to link up with the gamine archer instead. “Now listen, while it’s just the four of us, I think you and I need to come up with something really clever…”

She and Sera pulled ahead while whispering together in a suspicious manner. Fenris wryly shook his head, and he and Solas walked side-by-side quietly for some time.  

Eventually Solas spoke quietly into the leaf-scented air. “In all my travels, I have never met an elf quite like Sera before.”

“I wasn’t aware there were so many elves meandering through the Fade,” Fenris said blithely.

Solas shot him a frank look. “You jest, but yes. There are. Memories of countless elvhen lives are impressed upon the world that you walk – that we walk. They melt through the Veil every night, laid bare for the discovery of those who seek them.”

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away. He wasn’t particularly keen to hear how wonderful the Fade was, not after what had happened there at Adamant Fortress.

Thankfully – or perhaps not – Solas changed the subject. “Fenris, you too were raised in a city, and in circumstances even more disempowering than the alienages of the south.”

Fenris grunted. “And your point is?”

“Do you ever wish you were anything other than you are?” 

Fenris glanced at Sera, then at Solas. “You mean, do I wish I were a human and not an elf.”

Solas tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Unless you wished you were something else entirely.”

Fenris raised one quizzical eyebrow. That was an odd thing to say. Then he shrugged and returned his gaze to the path ahead, and to Hawke’s slender back. “No,” he said. “I never wanted to be human. I am who I am.” 

“You never wished that you were different from what you are?” Solas asked.

Fenris frowned at him. “If you’re asking if I wish to be like the ancient elves of old, then no,” he said bluntly. “That is an empty wish. A wish premised on no proof. There is no point seeking to recreate times long past. Especially since we can’t confirm what those times were like.” 

“That is not what precisely what I meant,” Solas said. “But it is informative all the same.”

Informative? Fenris thought. What he’d said was hardly informative. It was just his opinion. But if Solas really wanted his opinion, he supposed he could share it. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do at the moment.

“I am satisfied with being a ‘city elf’, as they call it,” he said. “I don’t wish to be other than what I am. There is something… hardening about being the underdog.” 

Solas looked at him. “Do you mean ‘heartening’?”

“That as well,” Fenris said. 

The corners of Solas’s mouth curved in a small smile. Fenris shrugged. ”When I first escaped Danarius, I didn’t wish I was different. I wished everything else was different.”

Solas’s smile broadened slightly and he nodded in understanding, but Fenris frowned in thought. Now that Solas had him thinking about this, it was strange to compare his thoughts in the past to the way he felt about this topic now. 

“Despite that, I… I am different than I was before,” he said slowly. “When I was first freed, I was… enraged. The change I desired was little more than a Tevinter landscape rendered in blood.”

Solas’s expression grew somber. “You can hardly be blamed. No great change has ever been wrought without the spilling of blood.”

“I am well aware,” Fenris said flatly. “But…” He paused pensively before speaking again. “I no longer thirst for the blood of my enemies. The snuffing of lives is a necessary cost, but… it’s one I no longer relish.” He glanced at Solas. “That was not always the case.” 

Solas bowed his head briefly. “You are wise beyond your years, then.” 

Fenris raised a wry eyebrow. “And you are not?”

Solas smiled. “Ah. No. You should have seen me when I was younger. Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight.”

Without quite meaning to, Fenris let out a small laugh. “I cannot imagine.” 

Solas’s smile grew. “I would ask you not to try. It was a very different time.”

Fenris smirked at him, and they both chuckled. They walked together in an unusually comfortable silence for a time before Fenris spoke again. “And you?” he asked. “You have the bearing of a man who knows himself. Have you ever wished you were someone else?” 

Solas smiled, but it was one of his oddly melancholy smiles, like he wore the weary sadness of a much older man on his face. He sighed and gazed up at the sun-speckled canopy. “Sometimes you find you are forced to change. To become other than what you were, whether or not you wish to.”

Fenris frowned. “You were forced to be someone else?” he asked. 

“I was thinking of my spirit friend,” Solas explained. “The one you and Hawke took mercy on. There must be a strangeness to that: to being forced to act against your very nature…” He trailed off, and his gaze fell to Fenris’s tattooed and flickering left palm.

His expression softened. “I apologize, Fenris. That was thoughtless of me. This is not a pain that is foreign to you.”

Fenris closed his fist and looked away. Solas was right about that. In many ways, Fenris’s life was a sequence of changes forced upon him against his will. First he was a mage forced to become a lyrium-lined and mindless weapon. Then he was a weapon forced to turn against those who healed and sheltered him. Now he was an introverted man who wanted to be left in peace, forced to become the famous – or infamous, depending on your perspective – leader of an enormous semi-political and paramilitary force. 

He shrugged and tried to pretend he wasn’t bitter. “Such changes are rarely chosen so much as forced,” he said. “And yet…” His eyes fell once more on Hawke’s jauntily swaying hips, and he remembered the conversation they’d had on the Storm Coast: the conversation where he’d told her, truthfully, that he wouldn’t trade an unmarked past if it meant never having met her. 

He looked frankly at Solas. “I would not undo what I’ve suffered. Without those fickle twists of fate, I would not have the things I cherish now.” 

“Yes,” Solas said softly. “You have said that before.”

Fenris nodded, then rubbed fruitlessly at the glimmering mark on his palm. “I can only hope this cursed anchor will turn out to be similarly serendipitous in the end.”

Solas bowed his head once more. “I hope that for you, as well.”

Fenris nodded his thanks, and they continued their walk in a rather friendly silence. 

Later that night, after closing four rifts of varying sizes and almost being squashed by an angry giant, their little group made camp in the shelter of a rocky overhang by the river’s edge. Solas taught Hawke the basics of ancient elvhen glyphs while Fenris supervised the roasting of a leg of ram and Sera played some sort of complex hand game with a piece of string.

Fenris watched Sera as he turned the meat on the spit. Her fingers moved swiftly through a series of complex patterns with the string, and her tongue was poking out of her mouth in concentration. 

He jerked his chin at her hands. “What do you call that?”

She shot him a brief incredulous look. “String,” she said. 

Fenris gazed at her chidingly. “I mean what you are doing with it. The… patterns.”

Her eyes widened. “You daft? Cat’s cradle, of course!”

Fenris shrugged cluelessly, and Sera’s eyes grew even wider. “You don’t know cat’s cradle? Shite. Let’s learn you up. Come on then.” She waved her string-bound hands at him.  

He raised one eyebrow at her. She sighed loudly, then rose to her feet and plopped down cross-legged on the ground in front of him. 

She unravelled the string from her hands. “Come on, Ser Lordybloomers. I’ll teach you.” She held her hands up so they were about a foot apart. “Like this, yeah? Put ‘em up.”

Nonplussed, Fenris lifted his hands, and Sera draped the string around his fingers. Then she pointed at his middle fingers and at the string. “Talking fingers through there, and pull… Nice,” she said in satisfaction as he followed her instructions.

She leaned forward and pinched the X’s of string, then pulled them under another loop of string around his little fingers. A second later, the pattern of string was on Sera’s hands instead of Fenris’s, and the pattern was different than before.

“Right,” she said officiously. “Now pinch here and here and go under there.” She gestured at the string with her chin as she spoke, and Fenris had no idea what she meant. 

He stared at the string on her hands in growing puzzlement. “...What? I don’t–”

She sighed impatiently. “All right, look, I’ll do it with my toes. But don’t go thinking I’ll start prancing around all no-shoes like you two elfy nutters.” She kicked off her flats and started playing cat’s cradle using her own hands and feet.

Fenris watched her apprehensively. “What is the goal of this game?”

“Keeps the fingers nimble,” Sera replied. “You know, for… things.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

And here we go, Fenris thought wryly. He gave her a mockingly innocent look. “Things such as shooting arrows, you mean.”

Sera wilted slightly. “Well, yeah, them too. And also, you know, things?” She widened her eyes comically. 

“Fletching arrows?” Fenris said in the same innocent tone. 

Sera stared at him, and he stared blithely back at her. Then she burst into raucous cackling. “Right, you’re having me on,” she crowed. “Cheek and salt, that’s you.”

Fenris smirked and turned the meat once more, and Sera chuckled to herself as she twisted and plucked the string into a series of complex patterns with her fingers and toes.  

A minute later, Sera nodded her head at the ram leg. “When’s that gonna be ready then? Ribs are sticking to my spine over here.”

“Soon,” Fenris said. “And yes, you can have the fattiest piece.”

She smiled at him. “You’ve been hungry too, eh? Proper in-your-bones hungry.”

“I have, yes,” he said. He reached into his travel pack and pulled out a waxcloth of dried apricots, then handed them to her.

She eagerly opened the waxcloth and stuffed five apricots in her mouth, then smiled at Fenris again. “You’re all right, you know,” she mumbled through her full mouth.

Fenris shot her another smirk. “And now I know how to lure you into a trap. Food.”

She swallowed the apricots and elbowed him. “I mean it. At first I thought, ‘he’ll be no fun. Elfy sort, no smiling, so serious’. And that scary fist-y thing you do…” She shuddered. “Well, that’s just wrong. But still. You’re a little wrong, but mostly right.”

He huffed in amusement. “I shall continue to try and meet your high standards.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then popped another two apricots into her mouth. “Good on you, Inquisything. Oh, and I like your pretty bird, too.”

Fenris glanced across the fire at Hawke. She was lounging on her belly on a bedroll beside a cross-legged Solas, and they were animatedly discussing some charcoal rubbings that they’d taken from a crumbling bridge that afternoon. 

 She caught Fenris’s eye and winked without interrupting her conversation with Solas. Fenris smiled to himself, then turned the meat again. “I am fond of her, as well.”

Sera elbowed him again. “Then you should really play this cat’s cradle with me. So you can get proper good at, you know. Things–”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “All right, enough,” he admonished, and Sera cackled.

A few minutes later, the ram meat was cooked and shared out, with the fattiest piece going to Sera as promised. By the time Hawke had pulled some oatmeal biscuits from her bag and handed them around, Sera had already devoured her meat. 

She happily took the biscuit that Hawke offered her and crammed it in her mouth, then held out her hand for another. “I’ll take Solas’s seconds. Getting a little big for his breeches, he is.”

Solas tutted. “That is unnecessarily rude, whether you meant it metaphorically or literally.”  

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Meta-whatsit? You’re making no sense. Or less sense than the usual no-sense.”

“You mean nonsense?” Hawke asked. 

Sera gave Hawke a look like she was mad. “No, I mean things. He doesn’t. Look, can I have another biscuit or not?”

Hawke chuckled, then offered her the entire packet. “Of course you can. Go nuts.”

Sera grabbed the biscuits with a grin. “No nuts in these, but thanks!” She darted over to the other side of the fire and sat on a boulder, then promptly started gobbling the biscuits. 

Solas pursed his lips in disdain, then turned back to Hawke. “As I was saying, the universal nature of the ancient glyphs is that they transcend the spoken tongue,” he said. “Ancient elves across Thedas would have spoken a multitude of dialects. But written Elvhen was common across the land. It tied them together in a way that spoken language could not.”

Hawke thoughtfully nibbled her biscuit. “So technically the Dalish could learn to read ancient Elvhen without needing to speak it.”

“They could, yes,” Solas said slowly. “Whether they would is another matter.”

Hawke gave him a chiding look. “Solas, I just can’t believe that not a single Dalish person would listen to what you have to say about your wandering in the Fade. Seriously, if you ever met Merrill…” She shook her head and smiled. “You would be her new best friend. She would never stop asking you questions.”

Solas smiled faintly – another of those sad little smiles. “Perhaps I will meet her someday,” he said.

“I hope you do,” Hawke said brightly. “It would be a match made by destiny.” She smiled at Fenris, then awkwardly dropped her gaze.

As usual, Fenris felt a pang of guilt at the mention of Merrill. But for the first time in years, he didn’t remain silent. 

“You’re right,” he said to Hawke. “Merrill would enjoy Solas’s company.”

Hawke looked up at him in surprise, and Fenris gave her a small rueful smile. 

She beamed at him in return, then turned back to Solas. “All right, explain this to me again. A single glyph can mean an entire word, or it can be a sound?”

“A syllable, not a sound,” Solas corrected. “But yes; those are the basic principles of this orthography, from what I’ve gleaned in my studies.” He brushed the crumbs from his hands and pointed at the charcoal rubbing, which was laid out on the bedroll in front of himself and Hawke. “I am not… entirely fluent in the ancient glyphs, but I believe–”

“You’re not?” Hawke said. She gave him a mock-disappointed look. “Solas. How dare you be less than fluent? I rely on you to be my lovely shaven-headed resource for all things elven.”

“Ptthb,” Sera interjected. “Head’s bald, not shaved. Big difference.”

Solas completely ignored Sera and gave Hawke an arch look. “I cannot decide if that’s meant to be insulting or flattering. Shall I go on?”

Hawke chuckled and bumped his shoulder with hers. “Please do. You know I could listen to you getting academic all night.”

Fenris pointedly cleared his throat, and Hawke beamed at him. “Unless, of course, a more dreamy baritone wants my attention instead.”

Fenris rose from his spot by the fire, then came to sit beside her instead. “Your flattery comes too late, Hawke.”

“Oh Fenris, don’t kid yourself,” she simpered. “It’s never too late to flatter you.”

He pinched her waist, and she squeaked and slapped his hand away. Solas subtly cleared his throat and gestured at the charcoal rubbings. “If I may…?”

Hawke nodded. “Please, please! Go on, Solas.” She shot Fenris a mock-reproving look, and he shrugged unapologetically.

Solas pointed at the parchment. “This symbol here: it is meant to represent a bow. Likely a mark of the goddess Andruil – the goddess of the hunt. Or of sacrifice, according to some.” He pointed to another. “And this here is a wolf. Likely to represent–”

“Fen’Harel,” Fenris said. “The Dread Wolf.”

Solas lifted his eyes to Fenris’s face. “You do know some of the elvhen tales, then.”

“Merrill told us,” Hawke said. “She called him the trickster god. Apparently he tricked both the Creators and the, er… not the Old Gods…” She looked askance at Fenris.

“The Forgotten Ones,” he supplied. He shrugged dismissively. “Whoever they were.”

Hawke snapped her fingers. “Yes! That’s it. Fen’Harel tricked the Creators and the Forgotten Ones into locking themselves away in their respective realms so he could walk in this world all by himself.”

Solas looked down at the parchment again. “That is the story, yes.”

Hawke stretched her legs out and idly scratched her chin. “It always seemed like an odd story to me.”

Solas looked up at her. “How so?”

“It seems lonely,” Hawke said. “If I was a fancy immortal god, I wouldn’t want to be alone forever.”

Fenris shrugged and stretched his legs out as well. “Perhaps being alone was a preferable alternative to suffering the eternal company of fools.”

Solas and Hawke both looked at him in surprise. “Why would you think the rest of the elves’ gods were fools?” Hawke asked.

“They permitted themselves to get locked away,” Fenris said. “That hardly strikes me as godly wisdom.” He waved his bare toes idly at the fire. 

Hawke grinned and playfully punched his shoulder. “Now you’re just being heretical on purpose.”

He shrugged again. “You cannot be heretical if you don’t practice the religion in question.”

On the other side of the fire, Sera scoffed loudly. “You know what I think?” she said to Solas. “Your stupid stories are just that: stupid stories.” She hopped to her feet. “Enough tosh. I’m going to catch lightning bugs.” Then she cackled. “I’m going to bugger off! Ha! How d’you like that, then?” She ran off without waiting for a response. 

Hawke snickered, but Solas curled his lip. “Fenedhis lasa,” he muttered.

Hawke whipped around and grinned at him. “Ooh, I love foreign swearing. What does that mean?”

“It means…” Solas trailed off, then sighed and rubbed his bare scalp. “It means something rude that indicates I have sunk to Sera’s level.” He gazed at the parchment for a moment more, then looked at Hawke with a wry smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I will turn in for the night.”

“All right,” Hawke said affably. “Goodnight, Solas. And thank you for the lovely lesson. It was titillating as always.” She winked at him.

He gave her a tiny smile and bowed his head. “You are welcome, Hawke.” He met Fenris’s eye and nodded, then rose to his feet and slipped into his tent. 

Hawke smiled at Fenris, then sidled closer to him on the bedroll until she was tucked into his shoulder. “And then there were two,” she murmured. 

He smiled back at her. “And so there were.”

She gently butted his chin with her forehead. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

He raised his eyebrows and glanced around. “Now?” he asked. It was full dark by now, and they’d been in the Emerald Graves for long enough to know it was crawling with dangerous creatures, many of which were even more active during the night than during the day. 

“Yes, now,” Hawke said. She gave him a teasing grin. “Why, are you afraid of monsters in the night?”

Fenris arched one eyebrow. “Frankly, yes. You might be able to heal with magic, but I doubt you can replace an entire rib cage that’s been trampled by a bronto.” 

Hawke pouted. “Are you doubting my healing skills?”

“No,” Fenris said. ��Simply your ill-timed sense of adventure.” 

“Oh, that’s all right then,” she said cheerfully. She rose to her feet and pulled on Fenris’s hand, then looked over at Sera, who was sitting on a boulder about thirty paces away and staring at an empty jar with an unusual degree of stillness. 

“Hey Sera,” she called. “We’re going for a walk. We’ll be back soon.” 

“Have fun doing things,” Sera called back, and she let out a mad giggle. 

Hawke raised an eyebrow as she took Fenris’s hand. “What’s she on about?”

“Nothing of consequence,” he assured her. 

They meandered hand-in-hand along the riverbank chatting quietly. But as they strolled beneath the speckled darkness of the starlight-sprinkled leaves, he couldn’t help but think about the history of the Emerald Graves: this territory that had been guarded against humans by the legendary Emerald Knights, and the human-owned mansions that now occupied the lushest parts of it. Proof that once again, humans had taken something that wasn’t theirs. 

Fenris would steadfastly maintain that the myths of the elvhen gods had no bearing on him. The bloody history of the Dales, on the other hand, was concretely true. 

As he and Hawke wandered along, the faint rushing of the river grew louder until they reached its source: a silvery fall of water set into a tree-and-moss covered ridge. 

“Perfect,” Hawke said. “Let’s go see if there really is some treasure hidden behind that waterfall.” She released Fenris’s hand and pulled her staff from her back, and with a wave of her hand, a faint green light rose in a wide circle around their general vicinity. 

Fenris studied the glow with appreciation. “Wards. A wise idea.”

“Thank Solas for the idea,” she said. “To keep off the giant spiders, you know.” She chuckled and placed her staff on the ground, then started pulling off her boots.

He watched her with fond exasperation. “Just because Sera thought the waterfall would be a good place to hide treasure doesn’t mean there is any.” 

Hawke grinned at him. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” She stepped into the river so the water was licking at her toes, then looked back at Fenris in surprise. “It’s quite warm, actually. I might be tempted to go for a swim. Wash off any remaining demon ichor, or whatever you call that metaphysical goo they make when they die.” She shucked her long leather vest, then shot Fenris a challenging little look and started unbuckling her belt.

He smirked. “No, Hawke.”

“Oh come on,” she wheedled. “Come swim naked with me.” She unbuttoned her trousers and started untucking her linen shirt, then paused and gave Fenris a stricken look. “Unless you think it would be rude for a human to swim naked in the Emerald Graves?”

“Why are you asking me?” Fenris retorted. Then he bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so confrontational. 

Hawke’s expression grew slightly cautious. “Well, I don’t see anyone else around to ask, do you?” Then her eyes went wide and round. “Oh Maker, please tell me you don’t see anyone else around. If I have to deal with one more restless spirit  today…”

He managed a faint smile. “No, it’s not, um…” He ran a hand through his hair. “You should go ahead and swim.”

She watched him for a moment, then stepped away from the water and stroked his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He nibbled the inside of his cheek for a moment, then gave her a frank look. “Do you think I am more like Solas or Sera?”

Her eyebrows jumped up on her forehead. “I think you’re different from both of them,” she said. Then she smiled. “If this is a contest for who’s the finest and most dreamy companion, then you know where my vote lies.”

He snorted and looked away from her. “I should know better than to ask such a biased opinion.”

She chuckled softly. Then she reached up and gently turned his chin so he was facing her once more. “Really, Fenris. Why would you ask that?” She tilted her head playfully. “You’re not having an identity crisis, are you?”

He gave her a resigned look. “It’s not a laughing matter, Hawke. Not truly.”

She sobered, then sat on the grass and pulled him down beside her. “Tell me what you’re thinking, then,” she urged. 

He rested his arms loosely on his knees and idly watched the flowing water while he gathered his thoughts. “Every other elf we’ve travelled with: they fit… something,” he said with difficulty. “Sera is the epitome of a city elf. Merrill is a prime example of a Dalish elf. Solas is…” He trailed off. What was Solas’s defining trait, exactly?

“Odd,” Hawke supplied.

Fenris snorted. “You’re not wrong.” He thought for another moment. “Solas is an elven apostate,” he said finally. He studied the river for a moment longer before speaking again. “They are… exemplary representations of elves. And I… I am not sure what I represent.” 

Hawke was quiet. A moment later, Fenris glanced askance at her. 

She was smiling at him – one of those soft, understanding, adoring smiles that instinctively made his heart flip. He ducked his head shyly and rubbed his hair. “You humans needn’t represent any particular aspect of… human-ness. Humanity, that is,” he mumbled. “You don’t need to be any particular type of human. You just are, and no one questions whether you are human enough.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes. “Did Solas or Sera question whether you’re elfy enough?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s not that.”

Her expression cleared, and she shuffled a little closer to him and rested her shoulder against his. “Fenris, I don’t think you need to represent any specific elf qualities in particular. You are an elf. You fight back when people mistreat you for being an elf. You talk back when people say shitty things about elves in general. That’s good enough for any elf.”

“Is it?” he said. Was it good enough that he defended himself? Should he not be doing more for… for elves in general?

Hawke, however, frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He eyed her solemnly for a moment. Her copper eyes were clear and earnest, and he loved her so very dearly. 

And she was so very human sometimes.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her rounded ear. “When this is all over… Perhaps I will ask Leliana to reach out to Briala. Perhaps the Inquisition can help her achieve her goals.”

Hawke smiled. “Briala really made an impression on you at the Winter Palace, didn’t she?”

He nodded slowly. Then he took a deep, bracing breath before saying his next words. “Perhaps we… perhaps you might try to contact Merrill again. To see if she would care to assist Briala as well.”

He watched as Hawke’s expression shifted from shock to unadulterated joy. “Really?” she asked. 

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. A moment later, Hawke was hugging him tightly. 

She kissed his cheekbone, then pressed her lips to his ear. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you more than any fucking thing in this world.”

His heart did another happy little flip, and he turned his head to face her. She pressed her forehead to his and stroked his cheek. “And as far as elves go – as far as anyone goes, really…” She smiled. “Well, I think you’re perfect exactly the way you are.”

He huffed in amusement. “No one is perfect, Hawke.”

She pulled away slightly and batted her eyelashes. “Not even me?”

He smirked, then cradled her slender neck in his tattooed palm. “Not even you,” he murmured. “You are, however, the perfect woman for me.”

She beamed at him, then shifted close and pressed her lips to his ear again. “You smooth talker, you.”

Her heated breath sent a pleasant little shiver down his spine. She pressed one more kiss to his cheek, then rose to her feet. “Now come on. Come skinny-dipping with me. Let’s scandalize some of the spirits that are pressing through the Veil here.” She grinned cheekily at him, and without waiting for his response, she pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it beside him on the grass. 

He watched with a swelling of fondness – and a delicious swelling between his legs – as Hawke divested herself of the rest of her clothing. Once she was nude, she sashayed over to the edge of the river and stepped into the water. 

She smiled coquettishly over her tattooed shoulder. “Come on, handsome. Are you joining me?”

He smiled. He’d meant what he said before; nobody was perfect, not even Hawke. But in this moment, with her bare golden body that he knew as well as his own and the heated affection in her smile – not to mention the years of squabbles and support and arguments and understanding that bound them together… 

In this moment, lit with moonlight and the faint glow of her magic on the ground, Hawke was perfect. And Fenris loved her more than any damned thing in this world.