“Did the Inquisitor send you to save me from myself,” Dorian asks with a chuckle, the Altus’s words a little slurred as he raises the bottle of wine he’s been drinking from at Cullen as he nears the necromancer’s designated corner of the library.
“Cole,” Cullen replies with a shake of his head. “He seemed to think you might be more receptive to my help than his… attempts.” Dorian snorts, throwing back the bottle for another long swig before nodding.
“Well, you’re certainly prettier to look at,” the Altus replies. “Bit blurry at the moment,” he adds, squinting a little. “But, yes, still pretty.”
“You’re trying to distract me,” Cullen replies with the slightest hint of a frown as he watches the other man sink a little deeper into his chair.
“I’m trying to make you blush,” Dorian replies smiling from behind his mustache. “Not my fault you make it so easy. Is it working? My vision’s a bit hazy at the moment.”
“Dorian,” Cullen replies, refusing to take the bait. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” the Altus replies a little too quickly to be believable. “Can’t a man enjoy his alcohol in peace?”
“If I thought you were enjoying it, sure,” Cullen replies frowning a little, the Commander slowly closing the distance between them and kneeling in front of Dorian’s chair. “Why did Cole send me to come find you,” Cullen asks softly, voice full of concern. “What’s happened?”
Dorian frowns, slowly lowering the bottle and setting it down beside the chair, plucking a crumpled scroll of parchment from between the cushions of the chair and holding it vaguely in the direction of where Cullen kneels in front of him. Cullen takes it, eyes pouring over the page, noting some places where the ink is smudged, before amber eyes shoot back up to Dorian’s, which are still a bit glazed, but fixed upon him now.
“Felix is- he’s-“ Dorian whispers shakily, unable to bring himself to say the words aloud, lest it make it all real.
“I’m so sorry, Dorian,” Cullen whispers softly, full of sympathy.
“Oh, no. No, don’t look at me like that,” Dorian whines.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m- Like you’re- Oh,” Dorian huffs shaking his head. Cullen isn’t always the sharpest or quickest man, certainly not as much as Dorian when he has all of his faculties, he can’t read emotions so easily as Cole can, but he gets the idea. Dorian doesn’t want pity. But that’s not what this is.
“Like you’re important to me and I’m worried about you,” Cullen asks softly. Dorian’s mouth snaps shut as he stares back at Cullen.
“I-“ Dorian stammers. “No. I- I suppose looking at me like that is alright,” the Altus mumbles softly. The corners of Cullen’s mouth twitch with the smallest hint of a fond smile as he nods. “Must be the blurry vision I didn’t recognize that’s what it was,” Dorian adds with a nervous laugh.
“How about we go down to the kitchen and see if we can’t find you something to eat so you don’t hate yourself tomorrow morning,” Cullen offers gently.
“I- may need some help navigating the stairs,” Dorian admits.
“I’ve got you,” Cullen promises, sliding a strong arm under Dorian’s and around his shoulder as the mage rises shakily to his feet.
“Yes,” Dorian mumbles, almost inaudibly. “You do.”
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For DADWC! Cullen Rutherford / Aderyn Hawke "Character makes a promise" but war flavored lolol
Summary: Word reaches Kirkwall that the Chantry is looking for Hawke. It prompts Aderyn to take matters into her own hands, and leaves her making a promise she cannot be sure she can keep to the one person she would want to be true to.
a/n: Prompted for DADWC @dadrunkwriting by @wolfs-dawn who wanted a war-flavored “character makes a promise,” with a dash of “cold hands in warm hands” for @a-song-in-the-stillness.
Racing for Cover
Kirkwall always had ears. With Varric Tethras stepping in as the Viscount those ears had expended well beyond the walls of the city, which Aderyn Hawke could never claim not to appreciate. In fact, those very sources were the reason she knew what was coming. Her hair trailed behind her as she rushed down the stairs from Hightown on her way to the Gallows; well, what was left of it. What little remained of the Circle of Magi there had been liquidated to other Free Marches’ Circles, though there was still a force of Templars stationed to keep the site secure.
None of their number flinched when Hawke darted past. Her brother served among them, which offered her a better cover than being the Champion of Kirkwall and the former Viscount. All of them would likely assume that she was there to see him. And they wouldn’t bat an eyelash when she ducked into the barracks. Though her pace slowed once she slipped inside, her countenance was still set in one of stark focus. Clearly, the woman came with a specific purpose.
She made her way through the barracks and into the corridor where they had relocated the storage and offices. She avoided those and made for the personal quarters of the Knight-Commander instead. Certain she hadn’t been noticed, she closed the door behind her quietly and crossed straight for the dresser. Buried in the lower drawer, she found what she sought. It was a simple dress, nothing anyone could pinpoint as hers, but it might seem strange if someone stumbled across it. She also stuffed the stray ribbons strewn amongst the linen into the heavy bag on her shoulder.
Her retreat thus far went far too smoothly, and she knew it would not continue. There was one more stop to make. One other person besides Varric that needed to know she was leaving. It would be harder to tell him. She leaned a hand on the door and took a long slow breath as if it would calm anything—her nerves were fraying and she didn’t know why they were looking for her. Whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good. Not after everything that had gone down in Kirkwall. She closed her eyes and shook her head as flashes of it popped through her head like dried corn in the heat.
For naught but a heartbeat, she considered just leaving. Then he wouldn’t have to lie. Cullen was a smart man, a gifted soldier, but he was also an honest man. He could lie, but he was not nearly as gifted at it as she or Varric. And if the forces that sought her out, learned about him. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about that. Leaving without a word would at least mean they couldn’t doubt his denials, at least about knowing where she was.
It hurt her heart to even think about it. They’d promised not to part like that again, with one of them choosing what was best and safest for the other.
“Curse the damn Chantry,” she whispered. She yanked the door open and stopped. The sword blazed like it had that day in Lothering when she’d first seen it on him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, ushering her back into his quarters like a teen trying to hide his lover from his parents.
His hand slipped around her waist, and he pressed the door closed as he pulled her to him. Aderyn sank against him, her arm going around him and her forehead resting against the polished metal. He smelled of iron, leather, and a hint of something green and herbal. She knew that was the armor, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t the smell that surrounded her in the dead of night when the only thing she could hear was his heartbeat.
She touched his face and rose onto her toes as she stroked his jaw gently in that way that prompted him to bow his head and find her lips. His embrace tightened as hers did around him. They lost themselves in the kiss, but only she knew why it was tinged with that sense of desperation.
When the kiss broke and she found her feet again, he looked at her with a question knit in his brow. “Aderyn?” he said quietly, his keen eyes studying her in only the way he could.
Blinking up at him, she didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to see the disappointment it would bring. “They’re coming.”
“What?” he asked, trading worried curiosity for a protective concern.
“I have to go. Now.”
He let go of her then. “I’m coming with you,” he declared without a second’s thought. When he turned toward his dresser, Aderyn grabbed his hand. It was icy cold. And she couldn’t help but think how she always teased him that his warm heart left nothing left for his hands or his feet. She pressed his hand between her own, always warm, hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
“You can’t.”
He stopped and shot her a glance.
She pressed another kiss to his hand in hers, then reached up for his cheek again. “You’re safer here.”
“And you’re safer with me.”
Damn you, she thought. “I know. But if you run with me, things will unravel. We’ve worked too hard to scrabble this city back together to just abandon it to the winds.”
“Fuck Kirkwall!”
She couldn’t banish the smile or hint of laugh his reply prompted. “I’ve been saying that for years.”
When he laced his fingers between hers, she was aware of how much warmer his hand had become, those his fingers still bore a chill against her flesh. “I’m not letting you go again.”
Aderyn drew her fingertips against his neck. “You’re not letting go. I’ll be back. Once they are gone, Varric will tell me, and I’ll be back here so fast you won’t believe it. I promise.”
Cullen stared at her. She could see the fight in him—reason and emotion bashing one another about like two drunkards.
“It took too long for us to get here again. I will be back,” she swore. “I love you, Cullen. Always have. That’s never going to change.”
He scooped her up against him, and she draped her arms around his shoulders, cradling his head in her hands as she kissed him with desperate abandon. A little voice in the back of her head accused her of not being able to make such a claim. With the insanity breaking out through the Marches, Ferelden, and the rest of Thedas, how could she make that promise.
Tears burned at her eyes, and she squeezed them even tighter as she kissed him that much harder. “I love you,” she gasped between kisses, refusing to let him go yet.
The templar seemed as reluctant as her. Finally, Aderyn felt like she could actually, maybe make it out of the Gallows at least. She knew once she got out of his quarters it would get easier. And easier still once she was in the courtyard, and at the steps, then back in Lowtown. Distance would make it so much more possible for her to get out before the Chantry’s forces arrived. She just had to get out of his arms, which proved far harder than the mere thought of it seemed.
“And I love you, Aderyn. I don’t want to let you go.” He held her against his chest still.
“I don’t want you to either. But it’s only for a little while.” Another promise she couldn’t guarantee with a war raging beyond the walls of that room.
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I expect nothing less.”
Finally, he set her back on her feet. His hands brushed over her forehead before he clasped her face. “And you have to leave right now.”
“Yes,” she managed to breathe, like the word might choke her on the way out of her mouth.
His forehead rested against hers, then he pressed his lips to the same spot. Her hands clutched at the edge of his armor as she fought back the tears threatening to race down her face once more.
“I don’t think I will be able to take it if you’re gone long,” he whispered against her skin.
“Me, either.” It was the Maker’s honest truth. The idea of being apart from him for any extended period terrified her. But it was the only choice she could find at the moment.
His lips fell upon hers again, and she could feel a tremor in them that he fought off by kissing her harder. That broke the damn. His display of pain, allowing hers to spill over.
This time when they parted, they stared at one another. His thumbs brushed over her damp cheeks. Warm brown eyes moved over her face like he was trying to memorize every freckle, every wrinkle, every little scar. Aderyn did the same, wishing to brand his face in her memory. Their next kiss was more tender, soft, shallow, short. She pressed a kiss to the scar on his lip, and pressed her hand to the center of his chest. Both of his hands covered hers, holding it there over the scar few knew existed there.
“I’ll see you soon, Cullen.”
“You better,” he replied with a weak smile. “Or I’ll come find you myself.”
“You’re the only one who ever could.” She stretched up and stole one last soft peck before reaching for the latch behind him. He held onto her hand, his fingers stealing the warmth from her skin, until the distance forced him to relinquish that last point of contact.
Tears were streaking her cheeks again before she reached the courtyard. When she stepped out into the falling sun, someone waved at her. The flash of dark hair and a wide grin forced her to smile. She waved back, then forced herself to leave. She had to go. She’d never met a Seeker before, but all the stories suggested their zeal outsrtipped that of the most dedicated or depraved templars. It was not an introduction Hawke wanted to make.
No, she reminded herself. Better safe than sorry. That mantra repeated through her head as she made her way to the docks. Her eyes fixed on the Gallows as the small boat rowed out to the vessel off the coast. “I’ll be back,” she whispered to her brother, and more importantly to the man she’d loved her entire life. “I’ll be with you soon.”
First part of the 6 (and more) fanarts meme - people sent me some cute OCs! 💞Hope I did them right <3
From top to bottom:
Reth by @wolfs-dawn
Neria Surana Lavellan by @inquisimer
Neria Surana by @windwalker57
Irassalin Lavellan by @xochihuacoyotl
Thalia Trevelyan by @nirikeehan
Malachi Trevelyan by @fthechantry
It figures, Cadence thinks grimly as they listen to Duncan describes the ritual through which they will become wardens. If they happen to survive what drinking the blood of those vile creatures will do to them. When first they'd left the Alienage they'd thought perhaps... But it doesn't matter now. It was foolish to have thought a life of service to anything might be a pathway to freedom. Though, hopefully, their departure from the Alienage will at least spare the others from any wrath or retribution for Vaughn. Cadence knew their luck would run out eventually, they just hadn't counted on it being so soon.
They glance at Alistair where he stands illuminated by torchlight. The first person beside Shianni they have ever been able to share their pronouns. A life in the Alienage hasn't exactly made them trustful of many men, but Alistair didn't ask any questions. Took them at their word and not only used but made sure to subtly correct Cadence's fellow prospective wardens when they spoke about them. It might have been nice to have had more time, to get to know him better, even under such terrible circumstances, Cadence thinks recalling the warden's joke about the Darkspawn and Blight bringing people together.
Cadence watches as Daveth begins to spasm, choking for air before collapsing to the ground and feels their fists clench, their jaw setting with a click. Where Jory is fearful, Cadence feels anger. Daveth would have been an excellent warden. Where Jory seemed concerned with honor and the prestige of the order, Daveth spoke of sacrifice, of others before himself. As Duncan's blade plunges through Jory to protect the secrets of the Gray Wardens Cadence's eyes are drawn once more to Alistair. Is this the way of every joining, they think, searching his face for his thoughts on these events. Is this why the Warden's numbers are now so few? Cadence may not have warmed as much to Jory as Alistair or Daveth, but this whole affair seems so wasteful. If by some miracle they survive this ordeal, Cadence would like a word with someone about that.
Duncan approaches with the goblet reminding them of their commitment, but it's unnecessary. When they give their word, they keep it. If this is the price for their safe exodus from the Denerim, at least this death will come swifter than at the hands of the city guard, tortured and rotting away in a damp and sunless cell. Cadence accepts the goblet and drinks the foul contents, bracing themselves for what's to come. What follows next happens quickly, and in a haze, visions of a corrupted dragon, before their body and mind seem to reinorient and Cadence finds themselves blinking up at Duncan and Alistair. So, they think, slowly rising to their feet, live to die another day.
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