#cullvellan

making fun of myself for having an obvious type before anyone else can rise to the occasion

watch the original post here: [ x ]

So that WIP I posted just yesterday? Turns out I just needed a few encouraging words from @swaps55 and like three paragraphs to get it to a place where I felt comfortable posting the whole thing. I mean literally it’s just three additional paragraphs to what I posted yesterday, also the end of that one sentence. 

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Elanor has been able to call lightning from the Fade since she was a small child, startled awake during a thunderstorm, fingers cramping as she looks out the perfectly round hole she’d burned through the side of her tent, but she’s never learned the trick of enchanting objects. 

Her keeper held a few enchanted pieces, a ring that strengthened barriers, which Elanor was only so so about using anyway, and a belt that somehow deflected arrows. Nothing like she’s come across with the Inquisition. The old jewelry, the things she and her friends pull from old bones in ancient ruins all across Thedas, that’s what makes this new life of hers the weirdest. 

Some rings bite with a clawing whisper at the back of her mind of the great things they have accomplished in their time. The staggering power of those rings frightens her even as she uses them, will use anything to free Thedas from the terror Corypheus brings. They’re useful, even if she doesn’t like the way they call to her, the way some deep part of herself longs to surrender. 

When she doesn’t need them, she stores them in a specially lined box that Dagna had crafted for her, anything to block out their call. 

Some rings spread warmth through her, the feel of the sun on her back or the soft weight of her furs at night. Those rings are a gentle breeze that wafts through her, offering protection or the willpower to keep standing. She’ll keep those rings on her hand even when she doesn’t need them, when they couldn’t possibly help, because she’s come to think of them as friends. 

When Cullen asks her to marry him in the garden of Halamshiral, it hadn’t occurred to her that he’d give her a ring, that even though this hadn’t happened according to his plan, there had been a plan, or the beginnings of a plan, and that beginning was a delicate ring of wood and iron, carved leaves bolstered by metal, neither part whole without the other. 

This ring Cullen gives her as he promises to love her forever isn’t a ring of power, isn’t the last vestige of an ancient god. Not that she knows of, anyway. There’s no reason she should feel anything from it. 

But from the moment Cullen puts the ring on her hand, his fingers grasping at hers like he’s still worried she’ll somehow slip away, his ring is a firebrand. It doesn’t burn her, doesn’t hurt at all, but there’s a heat to it that she would never have expected, like being carried to a warm fire after being lost in the snow.

I don’t draw enough hugs, I need to draw more hugs.

I absolutely love Mia. “Jyn? Not Inquisitor? Not Her Worship, the Herald of Andraste?” I love how nosey she is!!

Before Cullen and Jyn admitted they have feelings for each other, I imagine Jyn saw the letter from Mia about how Cullen doesn’t write home enough and she decides to write to Mia that he’s okay. I guess it would go something like this:

“Andaran atish’an Mia,

I did not mean to pry but I saw the letter you sent to Commander Cullen. Since he has not written you back yet, I decided that as Inquisitor I would let you know that he is alive and well. I will try and give him less... commander-y things to do. That way he will have plenty of time for his sister. 

Dareth shiral, Inquisitor Jyn Lavellan.”