For @gugle1980, a piece with Cullen and her character Anya, as thanks for donating to my ko-fi. Thank you!
Raptly, Cullen watched as Anya kneaded the dough against the table, her hands covered with flour. Once done, she flattened it just like his mother used to and pinched it inside the pan. She intended to make a peach pie for him, and she grinned as she began placing the ripe peaches in. Had he would have known she meant the here and now when he told her heâd like a peach pie, he wouldnât have said anything. The Inquisitor brought in some peaches, Anya said, wrapped in his arms after making love. So many peaches. Weâll be making peach pies and tarts for months.
My mother used to make peach pies, Cullen said. With cinnamon. Iâd like one now.
Now?
His mouth watered. Yes, now.
Then letâs go.
That was what happened--they hastily and haphazardly dressed at half-passed midnight and escaped to the kitchen where they began work on the pie. Cullen cut the peaches as Anya made the dough, and once it was done she began to work at the lattice wrap on top of the pie. â
âWait,â Cullen said before she could begin. âWhereâs the cinnamon?â
Anya grinned and obliged, finding the tin in the spice cabinet and topping the pie before working the lattice. They waited the long hour for the pie to bake, doing nothing and everything as he held her in his arms and kissed. âRemember the first time?â she asked, glancing at the kitchen table, and Cullen blushed as he recalled taking her on his desk. Just as he could entertain the notion, take her, the thought becoming more enticing as they kissed, Anya chuckled as he parted and informed him the pie was likely ready. Removing herself from his arms, she took the pie out. She began cutting the pie, the sugared crust brown and the peaches still juicy. She served them, but didnât take the first bite. She waited for him.
The peaches were sweet and caramelized, the cinnamon strong but not too strong. He wasnât the Commander anymore, and Kirkwall never happened. He never became a templar. He stayed at home in Honnleath always.
â...how?â he asked Anya, shoveling another forkful of the pie. âHow did you know this is what it used to taste like?â
She touched his hand. âI...Iâm not sure if i did.â
Her lips taste like the peaches from home, and her arms feel like home. It took him time after they were done with the pie, time to realize that it wasnât that Anya had a secret power that made all her food taste like his motherâs at used to taste, but it was that she was like home.
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Features Cullen reuniting with his Inquisitor, Victoria in the war room. passion ensues :)
He wouldnât ever get peace from the dreams, would he?
It took only a single moment to realize it was all a dream and he wasnât back there again, but that moment often felt an eternity. Then once the realization came, that he wasnât back there and it was only a dream, panic had to quell, his beating heart had to ease. He would then have to wipe the sweat from his brow, and then reach for his coin. A ritual of a thousand nights. Unavoidable and sporadic, but never something he could completely rid himself of. That night was no different, save when he tried to reach for his coin, he remembered it wasnât there. He gave it to Victoria. She had it with her, the same way she had his heart.
He sighed when his feet hit the cold ground. He stretched and remembered she wasnât home at Skyhold. Whenever she was gone it was difficult when he woke up. In the middle of the night he had nothing but his thoughts and his worries. Her being home alleviated them, her being away somewhere far off on a mission exacerbated them. He could hear her then without her even having to be there, Cullen, try to go back to sleep. Donât you dare think about getting work done.
Perhaps if she was home he would have convinced himself to stay in bed, somehow lull himself back to sleep. But he didnât want to go back there, and he didnât want to think of her gone, even if she now had his coin, and childlike he thought that would keep her from harm. He had to stay awake, there was much work to be done anyway. He stuffed on his boots and threw on a discarded white tunic, and he lit a candle at his desk downstairs. Realizing he left a few papers in the war room, he took the candle and began the walk.
He hardly needed the candle, the moon and stars through the window illuminated the map. Strange, celestial beauty it had, and Cullen sighed as he stretched out. The Inquisitor needed troops in the Arbor Wilds. Funny how she was the Inquisitor in the War Room, Victoria anywhere else, and Tori when they were together, kissing and in each otherâs arms.
Maker, it was more than missing her. It was craving, pining, hungering like he never hungered before. Why didnât he tell her he loved her? Anything could have happened while she was gone. She had his coin, yes, butâŚ.
âCullen?â
The moon through the windows made her a near ghostly apparition at first, but it was her. It was her.
He rushed to her side and threw his arms around her, she doing the same. âTori,â he muttered, his joy turning her into Tori instead of the Inquisitor or Victoria, âyouâre here. Youâre back. When didâŚ?â
âWe rode in early,â she said, standing on the tips of her toes to meet his embrace. âOh Cullen. Iâve missed you. Why arenât you in bed? One of the servants said they saw you come to the war room. Did you have trouble sleeping? CullenâŚâ
âIt doesnât matter. Youâre here.â
In a long moment he held her tightly and fiercely. In a second long moment, he kissed her gently. He had the thought that he should take her elsewhere but that thought was fleeting before he became lost in the kiss again. Maker, he had her again.
âItâs becoming harder,â he admitted, squeezing tightly. âToriââ
âYou canât worry about me Cullen.â
He sighed. She held his face in her hands. He kissed her palm. âI can worry about you a little,â he said.
âBut now I have luck. AndâŚâ
She took his hand and guided him to the war table, closer to the stars that spilled from the window panes and closer to the light of the burning candle he brought. She took off her travel cloak, set on the table, her hands slowly traveling to the top button of her shirt after. She undid the button. Silver glittered at the base of her throat.
He instinctively touched it, his coin that he gave her for luck, and maybe too, to think of him when they were far. âI donât know what to say,â he said, âIââ
âYou donât like it. Oh. I justâI didnât want to lose it, andââ
âI love it.â
âOh Cullen.â
Her lips tasted of thanks, underlined with a desperation. She moaned as he kissed lightly her neck and her jaw, and before he could think of it he was propping her on top of the war table. She laced her arms around his neck, his arms coiled around her waist, and it was Cullen, whispering through the deluge of kisses that he needed her.
Her thighs parted, legs wrapping around him. She said nothing, only let an eternity pass between their eyes. Decorum got the better of him. He apologizedâit wasnât proper to do what he had just suggestedâon the war table no less where they had meetings with Josephine and Leliana and they talked and made plans with their Inquisitor. How would he ever look at the war table again without becoming hopelessly aroused? Or Maker forbidâembarrassed. It had been a long time for him, he worried it would be too fast, not good, and she wouldnât enjoy herself, andâ
âI want you.â
She whispered those three words in his ear, I want you. She deserved a proper session of love making, long moments of himself mapping her body with his lips and tongue. But his hands were so rough, her body soft and undeserving of that. He hesitated.
She pulled him in. Her lips captured his bottom lip. She breathed into his kiss, hummed softly at his taste.
âI donât want proper,â she said. âI want it right now.â
âYouâll have me?â
She pressed their foreheads together. âYes Cullen,â she muttered. Â âAll of you. Here.â
He blew out the candle and set it aside, wanting moonlight to be the only thing that bathed their bodies. She tugged at his shirt and he tossed it to the ground. He was littered with scars and burns. The light was low but she could still probably see most of them. He had a shiver of uncertainty, a no, until her hands slid down his chest. He was going to fall, but she was grounding him.
There was a moment before. He held her face in his hands, regarded every small part of her face. Her dark and short dark hair that framed a heart shaped face. Full lips he spent so long kissing. He longed for a thousand years of that. The small and subtle tattoo under her eye. Her unique eyes tinged with purple.
Her shirt fell the floor alongside his. She wasted no time taking off her breast-band either, and in a stroke of boldness he kneeled to the ground, took off her boots, and helped her slide out of her breeches and small clothes. He wanted to see her bare in the moonlight. Maker he can come at the sight. She was a goddess of the moon and stars, dusted with the powder of the light through the window pane. His hands donât suit her. Butâ
But she took them in hers, silently entreated them to skim up her thighs, part them. He knew some things, but it wasnât as though he was completely experienced, but either way she was the first woman that he thought he loved. He gave her his coin. He had never wanted to give another his coin.
âI wantâŚâ
She gripped his hair and twisted it in her fingers as his prickly and unshaven face left kisses on her thighs.
âMy mouth?â he rasped.
She nodded eagerly, gasping when he gave her not his mouth, but his gentle finger at first, tentatively touching, seeing her reactions. She spread her legs further and it compelled him to give her what she so desired. His adoring tongue lapped at her clit, tasted her taste of salt and musk, reached around and grasped her hips as she inched closer to his mouth. He felt her orgasm around him. He touched his clothed cock, stroked himself at such a sight. That could have been it for him and he would have bee satisfied. Not for her.
She pulled him upward by the shoulders and stroked him through his breeches. At her mercy he moaned and panted, wrapping his arms around her and breathing hard into the crook of her neck. Her hands eventually wrapped around his back, sunk underneath his breeches. He helped her take it off. She moved to the war table and he had to chuckle. She chuckled too. That would be its legacy and everlasting memory in his mind. Not the hours of strategy they discussed or something or other, but the Commander making love to his Inquisitor. Cullen and Victoria, bare for each other. In love.
He thought. He hoped. He poured that hope in the way he mapped her body with his tongue, resting underneath the map of Ferelden and Orlais. So long he had studied those maps only for his favorite map to become her bodyâstrong and muscular and kissed by the sun, yet with a feminine softness. His coin still rested at the base of her throat. He tried not to cry. And then she wanted to touch him, map his body with her tongue and they switched places. The table was hard underneath his back, but her lips were soft. She loved him and revered him. He was at the mercy of a goddess.
When he thought he could take it no longer and she straddled his hips, he thought maybe they shouldnât in a moment of clarity he almost hated himself for having. âItâs alright,â she said when she noticed his concern. âIâve taken the witherstalk potion.â
âAre you sure?â
He felt a scared little boy. It was a lifetime of ingrained inferiority speaking, thinking he wasnât good enough. But Victoria. Beautiful, beautiful sheâŚshe leaned down and she kissed him.
âMore than sure,â she said. âCullen. Iââ
She sank on top of his cock and he rose to meet her. It was more than he imagined, because his imagination couldnât ever dream of such sweet bliss as her heat around his cock, the steady rhythm of her moving up and down. It had been so long, he knew it was going to be embarrassingly short. He warned her even and told him it was alright. It was the first time, they could practice. He nearly cried when she affirmed they would do it again.
He made her cum with his fingers and she cried out into a warm and heady kiss. He came a beat after, sweaty and in her arms, his goddess.
âI canât say I regret you came here anymore,â she said, chuckling. âThatâŚwowâŚâ
âI love you.â
She blinked and he fell. It was the end. She didnât love him back. Sheâ
âI love you too.â
He kissed her and it was a kiss of relief. They removed themselves from the table and map after, and he prayed their secret wouldnât be found out. It was futile thoughâhe knew how things worked at Skyhold. Besides, he had to walk out with her hand in hand, grin on his face, back to his room where she spent the night with him.
In her arms, he fell asleep. And then in the morning, they made love again and mapped each others bodies again. The bed was much softer on his back, but her lips were far softer.
Thank you so much for your continued support @schoute <3 Hereâs a piece that features your Piper Lavellan (Rutherford) and Cullen post Tresspasser! :) Rated E for sexual content.Â
Once, not too long ago, mornings were for the two of them. In that not too long ago time, Cullen would wake first, a symptom of early life spent in the chantry, and think he would let Piper sleep a little more. He would think that until he realized how precious their moments were together, and delicately trace Piperâs shoulder with the pad of his forefinger. Sunlight spilling through the open windows would wash her in orange and yellow golds, and she would wake. They would kiss, maybe do more. Usually more. Mornings were precious because they didnât always have them together. They had to make them last. Somewhere ingrained even after mornings werenât so much for the two of them, Cullen still wanted to make them last.
Yet after the Exalted Council, there was some comfort in knowing mornings were still for Piper and Cullen. Yet it shifted from kisses and other things to helping her out of bed, pulling her hair up and helping her dress. She thought herself a burden in those moments, but she could never be a burden. He loved taking care of her. He adored helping her. She thought it pulled them apart yet he saw it as bringing them closer. How often did she help him when he was going through the throes of withdrawal? To do the same was no burden. He loved her. He wanted to see her as her again.
âCullen,â she said that morning, stirring as he yawned and stretched. âYou promised. Itâs today.â
Nodding, he kissed her forehead before rising and dressing quickly. He let the dog out, feeding him first, going back to the bedroom. Piper had already dressed herself, managing to do everything save lace her tunic, breeches, and tie her hair up. Wordlessly he helped her, taking her to the vanity after where he brushed her hair and pulled it in a braid.
âIâm getting better at this,â he said, half to himself, half to her. She smiled, half of it genuine and half not. He was glad to see it still.
They went outside where he had set up the training dummies the days before along the side of their home. They lived in the outskirts of South Reach, near enough to his siblings, yet isolated enough so that they had some privacy. Since the day they moved Piper wanted him to teach her one handed techniques with a sword. Perhaps before that even, but he needed time to prepare and time to install the training equipment. He promised he would because he would promise her anything, but he was still apprehensive as he handed her the starting rapier.
He was right to be apprehensive. She took the rapier, and frowned.
âCullen, give me a sword like yours,â she said, attempting to hand it back to him.
âThis is for starting out,â he replied.
Reason wasnât in her terms that day. She demanded a larger, broad sword, but Cullen remained unmoved.
âYou have to walk before you fly.â
âI did fly! Cullenââ
âPiper, I donât want you getting hurt.â
She shook her head, apologized. She sighed deeply, telling him she understood. âShow me what you know,â she asked of him.
âCome here.â
She held an upright position, fit for an archer but not a swordswoman. He held her body to begin, positioned her and guiding her steps. He moved her about in an invisible duel, instructing her how to move her hand, how she may parry a blow.
âThis is how we learned in the chantry,â he reminisced, âThe instructor would come around, show us where to stand and how to hold a sword. Shields came later, then actually moving and sparring after that.â
âWeâre going to spar much sooner than that.â
He understood, yet still he was unmoved. âPiperâ"
âI have to be able to protect Cullen!â
She spun around, tossing the sword on the ground. âDonât you understand?â she asked, âThis is all I know.â
âThatâs not true.â
âIt is,â she insisted. âAll Iâve done is protect people. In Clan Lavellan, I was a hunter and made sure we were alright. It was the exact same thing in the Inquisition. Itâs all I am or ever will be and now thatâs taken awayââ
âThatâs why I have to learn,â she said, looking to their feet. âYou have to teach me.â
âVal Royeaux wasnât built in a day.â
She repeated the oft repeated phrase, âit has to be now. You must teach me now.â He set his sword aside, took a string of Piperâs white hair and tucked it behind her pointed ear. Any other time such a gesture would have been welcomed. A rain of kisses would have followed, her pinning him to the wall. A rain of kisses, and maybe more.
Not today. He would have considered himself lucky if he got one smile
âI will teach you,â Cullen said, still holding on. âBut Piper, please donât think that this is all the good you ever were. Youâre more than your skill with a bow, more than what you lost.â
âThatâs not true,â she said, and she had begun to cry. âMy skill with a bow was sometimes all I had. If I canât protect people, if I canât save anyone anymoreâŚthen what good am I?â
âYou didnât need a bow to save me.â
She fell into his arms. Her tears wet his shirt. He didnât remember her crying at all since the Exalted Council. He hated her tears, yet knew they needed to happen. He was glad he was there for her.
He needed to cry to, he realized as a tear fell from his cheek. How easily exactly, could he have lost her? How much relief did he have, joy, when he found out he didnât, and they would have that life that they promised together?
âCullen,â Piper said, standing on her tiptoes and wiping the tears away with the pads of her fingers. âYou canât cry too.â
âI almost lost you.â
He cradled her, back and forth, observed the pliancy of her limber and sinewy body against his. In his haziest daydreams he had the thought that the Maker made them so they could fit together, but that couldnât be true. The truth of the matter, and one that was far more romanticâwas that they learned to fit together.
They kissed, exchanged heated breaths, and it was dizzy and dancing. She led him to the wall. âThere she is,â Cullen whispered as she nipped at his neck, made him even dizzier, made him want to dance longer. âThereâs Rowdy.â
She chuckled into their kiss, not hearing that name since the Exalted Council. It was Varricâs nickname for her, Rowdy Piper Lavellan. He had more names for her he wanted to give, and so did she. It had been a while, a long time, Cullen whispered as she led him back to their room, and she tossed him to the bed. It thrilled him when she climbed atop him, grinded against him. Rowdy really was back.
âPiper,â he rasped, âlet meâŚâ
âLet me.â
âLet me welcome you back.â
He laid her gently on the bed. They helped each other take off their clothes, and when they were bare, sun spilling through an open window, he began his reverence. He kissed every part of her face, her neck, relished the soft moans she made as he did. His fingers drifted between her thighs as she mewled, impatient, and he himself rubbed against her thigh to somewhat abate himself. He teased her clit as his warm open mouth kissed between her breasts. He traveled to her right shoulder, skimmed his lips down her arm. She twitched underneath him as his fingers pressed harder, moved in circular motions. She came, and he took her hand in his, cradled it, kissed every fingertip.
She froze when he kissed down her other arm.
âNo,â she said. âCullenââ
âI love you.â
âIâm notââ
âI love you.â
She wept again. He stopped his ministrations, resting against her, shifting so he wouldnât hurt her with his weight atop her. He kissed away the tears. âI thought you were back,â he whispered. âWhatâs wrong?â
âEvery time I feel like myself, I remember. I canâtââ
âYou save me every day.â
âEvery day?â she asked, voice cracking, tears still streaming.
âEvery day.â
âLay down for me.â
He was pushed to his back. She climbed astride him, let the warmth of her folds envelope him. She moved like that, coating him in her arousal, and though he wasnât inside her yet, it was welcoming warm exquisiteness as his head rolled back against the pillow. Her nails were against his forearms. His body shivered. She coaxed, teased, as she shifted against him and prolonged the before. He opened his eyes. He saw beautiful her.
She undid her hair. The curls fell and kissed her shoulders. She grinned wickedly at him, more than aware of how spellbound she made him, his wicked, wicked woman. She leaned down. The tip of her tongue glided against the corner of his mouth. The kiss she gave was deep and sweet.
âRide me,â he breathed.
âCullen. Youâre going to have to hold me.â
She rose, then he rose, and they began to learn together. It was something they had been doing since they met, but they found that that time, making love was neither different nor foreign from before. There was an edge to it, an exquisite sweetness in the way she moved, her arm wrapping around his neck, and his hands leveraging her as she sank on top of his cock. So sweet because it had been a whileâtheir wedding night, but other than that, it was warm familiarity, a pattern and a routine. He had been a man of routines all his life, and yet Piper was his favorite always new and thrilling routine.
âI love you,â he said. âI will teach you all I know, but please, please, donât believe that all youâre worth or all you ever were was on the bow and protecting people.â
âItâs not, I know,â she said, pressing her lips to his collar.
Long and deep kisses passed as he held her, and she sank again and again on his cock. âThen why,â he began, moaning as she pressed herself even deeper, âis it so important that you learn?â
âWhat else can I do?â
âBe with me.â
âI am with you.â
âLive with me. Build a life together, travel with me. Would you go somewhere with me?â
âAnywhere, Iâd go anywhere.â
He laid her down. She squeezed his arm. An ankle rested on his shoulder as he teased, the tip of his cock at her entrance. She whined, taking him, stroking him once, twice before removing, and he was so addicted to that feeling of her that he couldnât tease either him or her any longer and thrusted himself inside.
âAnywhere,â she said as he began to rub her clit, make her come quickly and softly. âLetâs see everything.â
âYou wonât be held back.â
âNo,â she promised. âI wonât be.â
He came, spilling inside. He remained inside as he came back to earth, falling against her, letting her move the two of them to their sides. He was inside even still. She stroked his cheek and dampened hair, tenderly kissed and stroked down his side. She took care of him. She always did. She took care of everyone. It was up to him to take care of her. How lucky he was.
âCullen Rutherford, you promise me one thing,â she said, pointing a finger at him.
âAnything.â
âYou have to know. I didnât save you. You saved yourself.â
âYou lifted me up though.â
âCullenââ
âYou lifted me up.â
He was going to hear none of that talk. There were things he knew to be true, and her helping him forge and reassemble was one of them.
âFine,â she conceded. âI may have assisted lifting you up. But you did the rest. And todayââ
He knew. He lifted her up, but she was going to forge and reassemble herself, find herself again. And they were going to travel, make love, maybe adopt more dogsâŚand other things.
He couldnât wait. For that moment, he treasured the beautiful, wonderful moment of Piper entangling them further, and him helping Piper begin the process to learn. Learn, forge, assemble again, and renew. Â
A commission for @gingerbreton that features a bashful Alistair and his warden, Ysabelle or âIzzy.â Thank you so much for your support! :)
Alistair found Ysabelle outside. The rest of the party was in the tavern, (except for Morrigan, who sauntered off somewhere, thankfully.) and Alistair hoped Izzy wouldnât think the fact that he happened to notice her slipping outside to the garden was done because he couldnât keep his eyes off of her all afternoon and evening. It was true, but not in a lecherous wayâno, certainly not. It was only they had so few moments for quiet. She was lovelier in quieter moments, not as worried or frightened of the seemingly impossible task that they had.
Maker, she was lovely. He could be struck by her presence a thousand times and still be overwhelmed with that simple fact. In the orchard, a small woodland area away from the woods farther in, she was sitting on a stone bench, framed by the trees. The leaves were golden red. They were like her hair.
âAlistair,â Izzy said, seeing him, much sooner than he would have liked tooâbut he was rather tall and hard not to notice.
âHello,â he greeted, rubbing the back of his neck.
She grinned. âI was hoping you would find me.â
He stared. âYou did?â
âOf course,â she said, low, giggling. âWhy do you think I slipped out?â
âYou wanted to be alone?â he suggested, shifting. âWhich Iâm, uhâ"
âI wanted us to be alone.â
She suggested they perhaps could be alone together, outside where surely no one would notice. His heart leapt as he sat next to her. Their legs touched, and he felt an odd sort of thrill when she didnât move it away.
âLeaves are pretty here.â
Makerâs breath, had he actually said that? Next he was going to wax about how beautiful the moon was or something equally as overdone. Izzy was going to laugh, he was sure of it.
She didnât laugh. She smiled instead, tucked a red lock of hair behind her ear. âThey are,â she agreed.
He supposed it was now or never. âThey reminded me of your hair.â
She cocked her head. He realized, indeed, she did want him to go on and wax poetic. Such a woman Ysabelle was. In battle she could be a dance of red death, duel wielding her motherâs rapiers and turning it into an art as he lumbered his sword and shield, protecting the party. She could be that woman, but she could also be the woman who blushed crimson and scarlet, wanting to hear things from someone else. From him.
âYour hair,â he continued, wanting to be that man. âIt really is, quitâŚred. And gold, in the sun. Reddish gold, like the leaves. Itâs really pretty.â He didnât like where it was going, he wasnât a good poet, but he opened a gate. He had to continue. âYou know, I never used to like autumn or Harvestmere, but I do now. A lot.â
âIt gets a little chillier in Autumn,â Ysabelle said, her thigh touching his. âChillier nights mean we have to find creative ways of getting warm.â
âIzzy? Are you suggestingâŚ?â
âOh yes I am.â
She rested her head against his shoulder. He was unburdened of his usual plate armor, as he only decided to wear a simple tunic underneath a larger overshirt for warmth. Izzy took the red cloak she was wearing and wrapped it around his shoulder, and the two passed in comfortable silence in the chilly autumn. He could have sat there for a thousand years without talking. Being with her was more than enough and more than he could have ever hoped. But he loved the sound of her laugh too much, he knew he would say something eventually, even something embarrassing and ridiculous to hear her laugh again. In hearing it he would be happy, because she was happy.
He was about to say something about how theyâre likely taking bets inside about the two of themâit had been happening since he gave her the roseâbut Ysabelle broke the silence first She had a question on her mind, something she had been pondering since the Korcari Wilds.
âI was wondering,â she began, not breaking that sweet contact they had, âbut what changes after the joining?â
âYou mean other than becoming a Grey Warden?â
He had to say it, the sarcastic quip was on the tip of his tongue. She smirked, smacking him lightly on his thigh. âOww,â he over-acted, making her laugh. He got to hear his favorite thing, and he rode that brief high before she asked him to elaborate. The truth was there was no guidebook. In fact, after his joining he asked Duncan the same thing. âYouâll see,â he forewarned, but that was it.
âYouâll see?â Izzy repeated. âJust try that line on me.â
âI can think of much better lines for you.â
âWell, why donât you use them?â
âPerhaps I will,â he said, voice honeyed with promises. âLater though. When you least expect it.â
She was practically wicked, Alistair knowing he was going to have to find a particularly good opportunity for the lines he truthfully hadnât thought of, because they usually came right at the moment he blurted them out. Like the compliment of her hair being the same as the autumn leaves, he had thought of it then and decided there was no time like the present. Other than that, opportunities were not so easily afforded to them. All the grand plans he could make when he was alone in his tent, coming up with just the right thing to say and sweeping her off her feetâmaybe after a grand battle with darkspawn, the two running toward each otherâusually had to be left to the wayside in the heat of desperate moments. Unfortunately, they were usually more concerned with staying alive.
That concerned him thenâstaying alive and not dying of embarrassment as he went through all the things he observed after the joining. She said she didnât notice much of an appetite change, though he noticed how she had wolfed down food. He even thought once it was a good thing she got a lot of exercise.
âWhat can I say? Iâm a growing girl.â Â
âIâll say.â
They shared a knowing look. He asked her not to hit him. She didnât thankfully, but she did inch closer. Her hair was under his nose. It smelled like the autumn air and something that he couldnât name, other than that it was distinctly her. He was glad they were so close. Talking of nightmares and how they got worse wouldnât have been as easy had they not been so close, and how they got worse when a Grey Warden knew their time had come.
She lifted her head. âHis time has come? What do you mean?â
Alistair fell. In the midst of everything that happened, he never got a chance to tell her before about the taint and what it did. He swallowed. He took her hand.
He sighed. âThe taint. EventuallyâŚitâs a death sentence. When a Grey Warden knows their time has come, they usually go to the Deep Roads for one last glorious battle.â
She didnât day anything, but she had grown pale, nodding in understanding. She called it a high price to pay, and he agreed, though he told her what Duncan always told him: they were the only ones that could stop the Blight.
âItâs true,â Izzy said once again inching closer. âBut if thatâs the case thenâŚI really think you really should get on with those lines.â
She chuckled, merry, and he was lifted again from where he had fallen. Her lips were such a delicate coralâinvoluntary he bit his bottom lip, trying to figure out what her lips would taste like between his, what she would do if he leaned in and did that thing he had been thinking about since the moment they met.
âIzzy,â he began, low, âI think I have something else in mind than a line.â
âIâd like to see,â she said, breathless. âIâd like to see very much. Especially if it involves the steamy bits.â
He chuckled. He said when he gave her the rose that he was looking forward to the awkward and embarrassing stage to end and the âsteamy bitsâ to begin. However, there was something nice about the courting stage, how every little thing she said or did thrilled him. He had a feeling though, that that would always be the case.
But he really, really, really wanted to kiss her.
He took a deep breath. He grew more aware of the sounds of wind and rustling leaves, the progressing sound of drums and lutes that swelled from the tavern. He became more aware of his thundering heart.
She closed her eyes. He cupped her chin in his hands, hoping she wouldnât find them too rough. She sighed instead at the touch, she liked his touch, it encouraged him to lean in.
âIzzyâŚâ
âAlistair.â
âIââ
âShit!â
Izzy pulled herself away and Alistair fell again, this time to the deepest corner of the earth. It was the Bannâputting his paws on Izzyâs leg and startling both her and him. It was funnyâonce Alistair said he wasnât mangy, to Morrigan of all people.
The dog was looking awfully mangy then.
âCome on boy,â Izzy said, scratching behind his ears, his whole body wagging. âIâll take you back inside.â
The Bann followed Izzy, leaving Alistair by himself with nothing but the autumn leaves to occupy him. He sighed, knowing Zevran or Wynne would see his grim look of defeat. Another moment, gone. They had so few that would dwindle away, the progressively cheerier music that played in the tavern was mocking him of that lost moment. And it wasnât the darkspawn or Morrigan that ruined this one, but a dog.
Well. He did say there was something nice about that before stage.
Leaning back, Alistair laughed. He laughed so hard he put his hand on his stomach because it began to ache. Onward for more adventure, another day and another opportunity. Â
He was going to go back inside when she came back.
âAlistair,â she said, hands on her hips. âI believe we were still in the middle of some lines, donât you?â
She invited him, all but asked. But he did have time to kiss her, all the time in the world. And there were so few times with music.
âActually, I have another idea,â he said, rising. âWould you indulge me? Itâs not a line, exactly, butâŚâ
He outstretched his hand. She took it. He had never learned to dance, but he hoped he made up for it with his gusto.
They danced among the autumn leaves, Alistair dipping her when the drums and lutes progressed into a crescendo. Izzy laughed, red hair cascading behind her, her hair like the autumn leaves. He loved her laugh. He even wondered if anything would beat her laugh.
Kissing her probably would have. But they were going to dance then, and enjoy the sweet before. The before really was something special.
A commission for @princessbatteringram from @agentkatie! Hereâs a surprise with Lottie Hawke and Isabela!Â
Varric made it clear: the ship was ready to sail. Lottie wasnât. Neither was Isabela. But Varric also made it clear that if Lottie didnât get up from her spot, the boat would sail away without her. She was half sure he was joking. That however, would all depend on Isabela.
âDone yet?â Lottie asked.
Isabela toyed with the black feather that adorned the top of Lottieâs sailor hat. âNot at all, sweet thing.â
Sweet thing, she said. Involuntarily, Lottie melted. Isabela had been clinging to Lottieâs hat all morning, fiddling with the feather on the cap and outlining the embroidery detail. Occasionally she stuck it on top of her head and posed, Lottie making the appropriate googling eyes. âYouâre overdoing it!â Isabela would say, hitting her on the arm, but the truth was that the googly eyes and oohs and aws of appreciation werenât something Lottie had to force. Isabela was stunning as far as mermaids went. Granted, Isabela was the only mermaid Lottie had ever seen, but out of all the human women Lottie had seen, Isabela was also in the top tier. Of course, there were no such thing as an unattractive woman, but Isabela soared high in Lottieâs mind. There was a reason she fell overboard in The Sirenâs Call anyway.
As Isabela still fiddled with Lottieâs hat, Lottie recalled the grand adventure she thought sea-faring would be. Or at least, thatâs what she said to Varric at the Hanged Man when she had the grand idea to buy a boat off a seller near Kirkwallâs docks. Lottie had a good feeling about it all when the purchase was finalized and they were off, but Aveline gave a hard stare before the captainâs boat, dubbed The Sirenâs Call departed. She had a catchy name, until it became a reality, or at least of sorts. Isabela was no siren, she made sure to mention it when Lottie woke up stranded on the beach. âIâm a mermaid,â she proclaimed, showing off her dark blue tail, scales shimmering and fin flapping against the sand, and though insisted she was compelled to fall overboard by the siren on the rock. Yet Isabela assured repeatedly as Lottie continued to spit out seawater that she was, indeed, a mermaid, and sirens didnât exist. And if they did, Isabela was sure to note they would have better things to do than lure pirates and seafarers to their doom.
It had been a week. They ate coconuts from the trees, swam, and talked by a campfire at night. Lottie asked if Isabela had some Mermaidâs Lagoon to head off to, but Isabela said there was nothing of the sort. Give it a week, Lottie said. She knew Varric would find her, but she was ambivalent when he appeared with The Sirenâs Call Two that afternoon.
âCome on Hawke,â Varric said, Lottie and Isabela still in the sand. The Sirenâs Call Two even had an experienced crew that Aveline hired to rescue herâa boat where she was unfortunately not the captain. At least Lottie still had her hat.
âI canât believe you found her,â Isabela scoffed. âYouâre better than I thought. A lot of dwarves have fallen at sea.â
âDwarves donât go to sea unless theyâre dragged there by other people,â Varric said, glaring at Lottie. âCome on Hawke,â he ordered. âTime to go. Iâm sure you can sail back here any time. Just donât do it yourself.â
Sighing, Lottie stood, looking to the ship, where the crew was waiting for her. She looked at Isabela, her blue tail flopping against the sand. She grinned at Lottie, sashaying her shoulders in such a way that made her coin necklace glimmer in the sun. It first caught Lottieâs eyes when she was sailing, the open sea, that golden coin necklace that draped across Isabelaâs chest. She made it out of coins she had found at the bottom of the sea, she had said one night.
Isabela must have mistook Lottieâs look. âI suppose you want this back,â Isabela said, holding onto Lottieâs hat.
âIââ
She looked at Isabela. She looked at the boat. She looked at Varric, staring with his hands on his hips. Wait a minute, she silently asked, eyes trailed to the dwarf. He rolled his eyes, but otherwise said he would be waiting in the rowboat, and theyâd leave from there. From there, Lottie walked to Isabela. Isabela wasnât a patient mermaid, but she sat quietly, waiting for Lottie to say something. She didnât, not at first, electing to plop on the sand next to her instead.
âThank you again,â Lottie said after a moment, breaking the silence âReally. You didnât have to save me.â
She grinned. âI noticed you noticing me. Partially my fault youâre here. Maybe if I didnât wave you wouldnât have fallen off.â
âWell, I wanted a good story.â Lottie laughed. âI got one.â
âIâm going to miss you.â
It was the softest Isabela had spoken since Lottie had fallen overboard and came to the island. Pulling the hat off her head, she tried to give the captainâs back. Though Lottie held it in her hand for a moment, even considered putting it on, Â she shook her head and handed it back to Isabela. Â
âYou mean to give it to me?â Isabela asked, flabbergasted. âButâ"
âIâm not a real captain anyway,â Lottie had to admit. âYou thoughâwell, youâre not a captain either, but the hat looks better on you.â
âOh, Lottie.â
Isabela reached around, unclasping her necklace. It took a moment before Lottie realized Isabela meant to give it to her, and not merely show off her breasts as Lottie first thought, and perhaps lecherously so.
âFor you,â Isabela said, clasping the necklace around Lottieâs neck, Lottie trying not to look at Isabelaâs breasts longer than necessary. Unfortunately, Isabela noticedâof course she noticedâand appropriately angled herself just so. Her dark hair was caught in the wind, and wearing Lottieâs hat, Lottie understood the Sirenâs Call Two may take her back to Kirkwall, but she would always be that overboard sea captain who had fallen into the water, and into Isabelaâs arms.
âMiss you,â Isabela murmured, a hand gentle in her hair.
ââŚgoodbye.â
There was no embrace. Instead, Lottie rose from the sand, sensing Isabela outstretch her arms to lead her back. Lottie couldnât look back, what if Isabela lured her? She said she wasnât a siren and they didnât exist, but Lottie was skeptical, moving from the beach to the water to the rowboat that would take her away from Isabela. Lottie fell, and fell hard, and shit, there was no way around it, she was a siren. She had lured her, almost convinced her to stay too, and not with a voice but with all her, all her, andâ
âWhatâs wrong?â
Lottie hoisted herself into the rowboat, her bottom half sopping wet. Varric hit her leg with his when she didnât respond.
âIt was aâŚnice island, that was all,â Lottie muttered. âGood coconuts.â
Varricâs face was blank. âSomehow,â he began, leaning in, âI donât think youâre talking about the ones on the trees.â
âNoâŚIsabela!â Lottie shrieked, wiping tears away, and longingly toying with the necklace that hung around her neck. âNever met one like her before. Sheâs beautiful, she makes me feel like Iâm actually a captain, andâŚandââ
âGo to her.â
She stared, mouth agape. âWhat?â
He put his hand on her knee. âHawke,â he began, gentle âthe island isnât even a mile away from Kirkwall. I can come every week, Iââ
She embraced him tight, he hit her back with comradery and happiness, encouraging Lottie to go to her. She jumped from the boat back into the water, overboard again, this time to her, to Isabela. Yet it was her excitement that did it, that made her legs and arms turn to lead. She couldnât swim. She knew how, but she couldnât.
And then arms were around her, welcoming, saving, and Lottie broke to the surface. âIsabela!â she cried out, coughing out seawater. They swam to the surface, or Isabela more swam and Lottie more held on, and still held on as she found herself encased by sand and water, on her back with nothing but sky overhead, until there was all Isabela. Isabela laughed, alive and in love, holding Lottieâs face in her hands.
âCouldnât stay away from me, huh?â she asked, laughter still in her eyes.
âYou stole my hat,â Lottie smirked, getting a glimpse of the captainâs hat from the corner of her eye.
âYou stole my heart.â
âWellâŚâ she played with a dark strand of Isabelaâs hair. âYouâre the siren. Youâre the one that lured me here.â
âWould you want to be anywhere else?â
Lottieâs answer was a kiss. She tasted the salt from the sea and she tasted Isabela. She looked to the Sirenâs Call Two, Varric at the top, waving. She wove back, knowing he would at least be visiting once a week, and brining snacks too.
But for the time being, there was Isabela, reaching for the hat Lottie gave her. She donned it, wore it well. She wore it better than Lottie, who frankly would have lost it anyway if she hadnât gone overboard that first time. Isabela wasnât going to lose it, not at all. Like how Lottie was, it was hers.
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For @storybookhawke! Features Karl and Anders in a universe where Karl never became tranquil, and Anders managed to rescue him from the chantry during his first quest in DA2. takes place in his clinic directly after the quest. A touch of angst, mostly fluff.Â
thank you for the support!
His hands shake. He canât say whyâhis greatest fear, that of Karl wearing the tranquil brand, did not come to pass. Whatâs more is that Karl is back. He is alive. He is alright. Itâs what Anders wanted, needed, though he doesnât dare assume Karlâs home, though home ran through his mind in the chantry when they found him. He doesnât assume anything yet, other than Karl knows what he did and likely disapproves. But thereâs time to think of that later.
Now Anders offers a stifled âthank you,â to Hawke and Hawkeâs collection of odd companionsâa heavily armed ginger, a beefy looking boy with a giant sword that he assumes is the little brother, and a dwarf with a crossbow. There is the matter of the Grey Warden maps to attend to, but Hawke made it clear heâll be back. Anders made a promise, he is going to attend to it. Hawke has nothing to worry about.
Hawkeâs a good man underneath it all, Anders thinks. It also seemed to him that he could see something more in the way Anders rushed to Karlâs side, nearly cried when he saw he was alright. Then the burn of rage was too much. They used Karl to get to him, like they used all the mages. It could have happened. They could have branded Karl. And thenâ
The rage. The burn. The fire. It overflowed and spilled to his hands and through his being. He didnât mean for Justice to spring forth. He couldnât help it. He came out when it was too much, when he could not suppress it any longer. Karl knows, and he disapproves, Anders knows. He must. But heâs alive.
Itâs been an hour and theyâre back in his Darktown clinic. His hands still shake as he tries to peel away those contemptible and awful Circle robes. But they are awful in both basic fashion sense and with what they represent. Karl needs healing, needs everything, but as Anders tries to take it off to get a better look and heal him, Karl stops him.
Karlâs hands are on his, holding them and squeezing them tightly. Heâs sitting on the cot thatâs usually for patients and Anders thinks of how he started that day like any other. He didnât dare hope he would be able to bring Karl back. After everything thatâs happened, he very rarely hopes. It makes it too much and too overwhelming that Karl is alive, but he cherishes it. Despite everything he can still cherish some wonderful luck, something beautiful.
But then Anders starts to drift. He wonders of what would have happened had they waited to get Karl. He thinks of all the others that have worn the brand of tranquility and how many more well. He squeezes Karlâs hand tighter and Justice is close to emerging. Justice whispers through him that they were lucky, but something must be done now. If Anders doesnât do anythingâŚif he remains silent and hidden at DarktownâŚ
You must help them all, Justice says. All of them. They must beâ
âAnders?â
He breaks free. His own, he finds himself holding Karl and holding him close. Their arms wrap around each other. Anders tries not to weep into his shoulder, but in his pretending his shoulders shake and his whole body shakes and he tells Karl theyâll pay for using him as bait. Theyâll pay, theyâll all payâ
âEnough of that,â Karl says. âPlease Anders. JustâŚhold me.â
Anders nearly cries with such a simple want, but he says âI need to heal you,â and he starts to. He wasnât hurt, Karl says. They roughed him up a bit, but nothing serious. Never the less the magic pours from Anders and onto Karl. He takes a discarded cloth and wipes the blood from Karlâs lip, and presses his finger against it so it will heal.
Karl takes his hands again. Anders looks into his soul and tells him that if he waited, he would have never forgiven himself.
âI thought you had long given up on me.â
Anders curses himself that Karl ever thought that. In Kinloch Hold they had to keep their relationship a secret, and it occurs to Anders then that with Karl he unconsciously goes back to old habits of hushed tones and secrecy, the two hiding behind bookshelves and cupboards for a brief reprieve of paradise in the cold and dark Circle tower. Itâs still dark but they donât have to be a secret anymore. They can be as loud as they want. Maybe someday they can even walk hand in hand down a street in the sun, proud and happy and in love.
But heâs giving himself too much hope.
âI couldnât give up on you,â Anders says, holding Karlâs bearded face in his hands.
âI never thought Iâd see you again.â
He has been given few sweet reposes in his time. Because of that Anders has always worried heâll take too much and then itâll be too much when the moment is finally over. He doesnât cling to the too few moments of happiness for comfort. Heâs learned to cling to his anger, his justice. Fitting he now merges with that spirit of the fade Himself, Justice and all that He stands for.
âI didnât either,â Anders admits.
âHow did you even get here?â
âA long story,â Anders says. âBut Kirkwall. Itâs a place for old washed up Fereldens like us.â
Karl chuckles and Anders chuckles and he canât help it. He kisses Karlâs hand not out of habitâback in the Circle there was hardly any time for such casual yet beautiful intimacyâbut out of a desperate want and starvation for comfort. Heâs had not one since heâs arrived.
But he has it now.
âWhen I heard you were here, I had to do something,â Anders says. He kisses Karlâs hand again.
âIâm worried about what youâve become Anders,â Karl whispers. âYou brought the fade to the chantry. You merged with a spirit, didnât you? Anders, what ifââ
âKarl, please,â Anders begs, holding onto him all the more tightly. âI know.â
âHow?â
Itâs a long story, he admits. Maker, Karl doesnât even know Anders is a Grey Warden and heâll never dream a peaceful dream. Not that he would anyway, after everything.
Now, Anders just wants to be kissed. He wants perhaps not to be loved, but to feel wanted and needed. He wants to be touched.
He asks Karl, the first he ever felt for, who he never thought he would see again, and didnât dare hope for but wanted all the same. Karl gives, Anders sinking down to the cot. They hold each other, and they kiss. Itâs soft at first but it becomes more and more intense and hard, Anders nipping softly at Karlâs lip, Karl tugging at the furs Anders wears. Itâs so much and itâll disappear. It willâ
âIâm here,â Karl whispers. âIâm not going to leave Anders. Iâm safe.â
They have so much to talk about. For now, Anders nods and indulges in a moment longer than heâs used to. Then, later in each otherâs arms, they speak of trying again. It will be hard, yes, but nothing has been easy. It doesnât mean itâs not worth it.
And as they fall asleep, Anders does allow the hope, that one day they can walk free in the sun with Karl, hand in hand as any other lover.
This was my half of an art trade I did with @scharoux! thanks for trading with me! Features Rhaella Lavellan and Solas :)
He traces her lips with the pad of his thumb. Itâs a dance they have often partaken in since the kiss on her balcony. In the dance so often done, they steal away for a moment alone to indulge in fevered kisses and sometimes moreâ but not quite more. Itâs all Rhaella and Solas in the dance, all the more precious because they have to be something other than themselves and wear masks any other time. Rhaella especially. Sheâs the Inquisitor, the Herald. More symbol than woman, but he makes her feel more like Rhaella.
The soft butterfly kiss but not kiss of his delicate fingers against her bottom lip entices her to open her mouth. He kisses her open mouth by encasing her bottom lip with his, while long fingers weave themselves through her hair. She wonders if this is a dream, but feels her feet rooted the earth, feels the soft wool of his shirt and warmth of his fingers against her cheek. It is real. Sheâs obsessed with all of his kisses, but clings to the ones that happen in waking life.
They part and she holds onto him still. He laughs and mentions a scout, or worse, one of her companions will find the two of them huddled behind the Heraldâs Rest. Theyâre lucky enough already that Cassandra hasnât come back yet, as she can usually be found nearby training or reading. But they have had some luck of late.
Rhaella chances the breadth of Lady Luck, (she owes her after everything anyway.) and pulls Solas in for another kiss. They havenât had the luxury to be alone in some time. She wants to take the moment, draw it out into a thousand moments. The feverish kisses in the fade he sometimes bestows upon her, they can only satiate her so much.
âLetâs sneak away.â
A brow lifts and he studies her with no small measurement of curiosity, innate within his being, not something he thinks is found in others. She has intrigued him. Sheâs in no small amounts, thrilled.
âSneak away?â he repeats.
âYes,â she says. âLetâs sneak away, you and me. Thereâs a small grove just outside of Skyhold. Or we could go somewhere else. Maybeââ
âSneak away,â he says again, amused. âHow romantic.â
âYouâre rather romantic yourself,â she points out. âDo you remember the Winter Palace? You were so happy to dance with me.â
âAnd what a fine partner you were,â he says with a grin, before the grin fades. âRhaella, is itââ
âIâm not sure how much longer it will be before the March to Adamant,â she says, knowing what lines he will use about duty and responsibility. Cullenâs report estimated three weeksâ time for the army to march to the Approach, and Rhaella heeds his advice to wait until there is more training, wait until Harritt has time to assemble more pieces of armor. They have time. It is the perfect time for the two of them to sneak away.
He more than obeys. His lips pressed against hers are warm and real. It tastes different when he kisses her in the fade that night. In her waking life his lips are earthy and pliant, soft. In the fade his lips taste less like earth and more like air, though they are still pliant and soft and Solas. There are other differences as well when they are in the fade. Sometimes the colors arenât as vibrant. Itâs blurred and disoriented, like Haven was when he took her thereâbut never Solasâand she is not as rooted to the earth. She floats.
Itâs blurry to start with in dreams. Even Solas appears as if through rain, dissolved almost until the lines sharpen. His face is all sharp angles, and even in the fade sheâs mesmerized by the line of his jaw and dimple in his chin. She caresses it with light, airy fingers. He laughs and it fills the empty space. Â
âSee?â he says, and he takes her hands in his. âWeâve snuck away.â
His lips are there against her forehead, though not as present as they would be in waking life.
âWhere?â she asks.
âWhere would you like to go?â
She has no answer, and Solas laughs. She laughs too, for she knows it was her idea in the first place, and she didnât think it through enough to come up with the most basic of things to conjure: where exactly they would sneak off too.
âName a place,â he begins, âAny place.â
âThatâs broad.â
âA place that meant something to you,â he amends, smiling and conceding.
She doesnât have to think far, because it hits her suddenly, a memory of sneaking away as a young girl, her clan wandering the Eastern Forests. There was a meadow, littered with flowers of purple, yellow, blue, red, and so many colors between.
âThere was a field of flowers once,â Rhaella says, âandâŚâ
And they are there. They stand in the purples, yellows and all the other colors and itâs as vibrant and as much as like colors spilled from a paint box as it was when she was a little girl, filled with wonder at the sights before her. She had seen magic before that day, but she had never walked through it, lived through it.
Solas and she, they recreate that wonder of the day, and itâs all the better, because is here to live it with her, even if it is through dreams. He picks a blue bloom that matches her eyes, and he tucks it behind her ear. He dances with her like he danced with her at the Winter Palace, and the petals and blooms are their symphony. Theyâre not sneaking away, but theyâre reveling. He kisses her, and thenâ
She wakes.
***
The advisors call her away from his side the next day. They prepare for Adamant and then Harritt talks of the necessary precautions made.Â
But he isnât there when she can finally go to him.
She falls. She wanted to dance again, and the dancing at the Heraldâs Rest isnât the type of dancing she wanted. She wanted it slow and soft, not frantic and noisy like it is there. She should have known he was up to something then.
She is, however, in the tavern when he finds her. Sheâs with Sera and theyâre trying to learn Wicked Grace with Bull and Dorian when his graceful hand touches her waist, and fingers splay across. Heâs not one for public kisses, but his hands entice. They are more than enough.
âRhaella,â he whispers. âLetâs sneak away.â
Her companions say nothing as she slips away with him hand in hand, and though sheâs too much enthralled, she notices their snickers. Solas doesnât say anything but he takes her outside of Skyholdâs grounds, and he tells her to close her eyes. He has some place secret he wished to take her to. For him, because she trusts him, and that fact almost frightens her, she does close her eyes. She never has to worry with him.
When it seems as though heâs been guiding her for too long and theyâre about to march to Adamant, he stops her. She doesnât open her eyes yet, but from behind her he moves until his hands are covering her eyes.
âAlright,â he says, âWeâve snuck away. NowâŚâ
He uncovers her eyes. Sheâs in dreams. Sheâs convinced sheâs in dreams, surrounded by colorful flowers as she is. They are everywhere. Even the tree of Skyholdâs grove she mentioned the previous day is lined with the purples, the reds, the blues, and the yellows. Thereâs more colors too, the emerald green of the stems, the soft pinks of other blooms. Heâs created that spot she stowed away to once as a child, but he has made it more.
There is more, he says. He moves his hand with one graceful motion, and they sparkle like stars under the stars and moon. Heâs taken the fade and heâs made it realâand yes, she knows itâs realâfor her feet are rooted to the earth, itâs vibrant and bright, she can see him perfectly clear. Oh, Solas. He is perfect with his verdant eyes and what he did for her, taken her in a waking dream.
She rushes to his arms. They fall in the flowers. He toys with her long strands of hair as she kisses him in dreams but not dreams.
âFor you,â he says. âRhaella. Youâve brought the fade to waking life.â
