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mothergayselle · 3 years

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Damsel? Me? Never // Mahariel/Zev/Alistair

words: 2k rating: T summary: mahariel is stubborn and zevran loves a damsel. when you overwork yourself, who else would you want to sweep you off your feet? (alistair disapproves +15)

(( read on ao3 ))

xxxxx

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, the fainting. Neither were the unending, incessant patrols at night. Mahariel must have rounded the camp a hundred times, and still she slithered along the shadows of the Brecilian forest like Death, except, she needed the sleep.

Zevran’s accent was curled, a midnight rose unfurling in the fragrant air. “May I suggest we return to camp soon?” he prompted. “You’re looking a little…”

Mahariel’s subsequent glare teased a smile from him.

“Well, radiant as always, of course. However, fatigued would also be an accurate description.”

During patrols, Mahariel always insisted on taking point — which, the group noticed, as a duelist — put her in the direct line of fire. If she wasn’t always so utterly silent, it would’ve been a matter of contention.

Still, her persistence to spend each night patrolling often drove Alistair to pace the entire camp until their inevitable return. And they had returned, every time, although this did little to ease his worrying.

Mahariel continued to slink through the brambles of the forest, folding each footstep into quarters as she padded with the side of her feet. “It’s not my fault I can’t sleep,” she hissed, rounding the trunk of a redwood. “I have, uh, what did Zathrian call it—”

“Post-traumatic stress—“

“—Yeah. Exactly. I didn’t ask for a troubled childhood.”

Their breaths were waifs spilling out of their throats. “Ah, yes. The plight of the wounded child,” he mused.

“You would know.”

The remark didn’t hurt — on the contrary. The vitriol of Mahariel’s words was intoxicating, like a fine wine laced with the sweetest poison. Zevran’s mouth tingled at the taste. “Indeed, I would. In fact, I used my childhood quite often when working with the Crows. Women love a broken man.” His tongue lingered on that last part.

Mahariel’s cadence never stuttered. “Yeah, all right. Same old story. Men and women, drink and sex. Money. Blood splattering onto your boots. More sex. More money. Blah blah blah. Shut up,” she murmured. “I’m working here.”

The jests laid hollow, and Zevran frowned. Throughout her babble, it’d been clear. Even in the dark, Mahariel’s grip on her daggers was slack. Too weak for the flourishes she favored. If a darkspawn or a werewolf were to ambush them now, the blades would slip through her fingers.

Nevertheless, he made a conscious effort to respond in turn. “I’m waiting for your imminent unconsciousness, my dear. Judging by your posture and the shuffling of your feet, you have but minutes.”

Mahariel scoffed, and he watched as she momentarily paused their scouting. She rolled her neck, wincing, and turned to face Zevran’s nimble frame. “I’m tired, Zev. That hardly makes me a damsel in distress.”

When he grinned, the corners of her mouth spasmed. It was impossible not to smile at such a mischievous expression. Like a wolf, Leliana had said. Minus the canines.

Zevran tilted his head at an angle that exposed the hard, fine line of his jaw. The dimple on his cheek, as wily as he, winked at her. “If only, madame. However, should you ever change your mind—“ His grin only widened at the slight narrowing of her eyes. “—Allow me to be the prince who, helplessly allured by your beauty, sweeps you off your weary feet. I should want for nothing more.”

He added a bow for effect, and the full moon calcined his hair into silver.

“Do you ever tire of monologuing?” she teased, chewing the inside of her cheek. An exercise to control the smile assembling beneath the surface. “It must be a lot of work, lying so often.”

The next exhale was long, a release of something hard. When Mahariel proceeded to sheathe a dagger, Zevran’s gaze was drawn to the way its point scraped against the holder before plunging in. A wave of exhaustion seemed to visibly tug at the Warden, and he inched forward, returning his own weapons to the scabbards behind his neck.

“Okay,” she said. Her eyelids fluttered, and she swallowed nervously as she sheathed the other dagger. “I’m ready to head back now.” Mahariel sneered at Zevran’s advancement. “I’m not going to collapse, idiot.”

The forest itself seemed to catch the guile. Her words were snatched away by its perfect darkness, beckoned out of her throat by its lull. The animals were quiet — save for the owls. No monster trudged their way. Camp was safe. Camp had been safe, but Mahariel chose to toil regardless and they all knew it was futile to stop her.

In her defense, there were many nights where she had intercepted shadowy villains, berserk-brained and intent on attacking their lodging. Mahariel was diligent, and that diligence was why they turned to her as their leader. On nights like these, though…well.

Mahariel grimaced. The tattoos on her face shimmered when her head lolled and greeted the stars. The Creators. The Maker. Zevran didn’t know. One of those, perhaps. Her copper hair fought the moonlight slicing into it, holding onto a sliver of color before it could be bleached completely. A rumble of defiance purred out of her, and she swore a string of oaths that surprised even Zevran. He only stalked, one half-foot at a time, until a respectable amount of room lay between them.

“Zevran?” she asked, bringing a clean hand to her face.

His face remained smooth as he replied. “Yes, dear?”

Mahariel’s eyes snapped open once more to shoot him a withering glare. “I hate you.”

Contempt in the face of exhaustion was impressive. Zevran’s lips arced, the smirk pulling at their fullness. His eyes, though. Did she see how they tightened? How they remained untouched and cold?

“Zev,” she said, scowling, her mouth loosening open. “Catch me.”

It was, unfortunately, a dance they’ve performed before. A dark routine, of sorts. Mahariel reached for him as her knees failed, though she was unconscious by the time she sank into his chest. Zevran huffed in disapproval. Silly woman. Stubborn woman. This wasn’t dramatic at all.

The velocity made it easy enough. With one hand he cradled the Warden’s head while the other, yes, swept both feet off the forest floor. Zevran felt the impulse to glower, to physically express the criticism he felt brewing inside his belly, but the desire quickly evaporated. Mahariel, limp and haunted, was hard to accuse. Even when a damsel.

It wasn’t just the blue half-moons etched beneath her eyes, or the small cut on her lip that she picked at. A few fainting spells hardly compared to the friendship she’d so easily offered, even after their objectionable meeting. With the Warden inert in his arms, Zevran trudged back to camp.

<-----------------------------------x------------------------------------>

They always slept in shifts, but there he was, circling the fire, stomping a trench into the Earth.

Honestly.

Alistair intercepted them as they emerged from the shadows. “Again?” His voice was breathless as it echoed across the campsite. It was a good thing they’d secured the perimeter, then.

Mahariel stirred in his arms. “Mm?” It took her a moment to recognize that it was his face, and not Alistair’s, peering back at her. She swore something filthy, a curse Zevran frequented on his own — had he rubbed off on her? Glee registered in the back of his mind. He’d save that for later.

He couldn’t help but grin at her confusion. “Hello, my dear.”

By then, Alistair had approached with long, anxious strides. Poor bastard. He’d covered the span of the whole campsite in a matter of seconds. “Lyna?”

Zevran ignored the annoyance flashing across Alistair’s face upon greeting him with a nod. “She's only been out for a bit. The coast is clear, by the way. We made sure many times.” That last part was for himself.

“Don’t be passive,” Mahariel slurred out. She turned her face away from his chest and breathed deeply, although her eyes remained closed. The lashes on each undulated as they sought for something to help them open, perhaps. Brambles of blackness. “It’s unworthy of you.”

Mahariel eased into Alistair’s hold easily. Zevran gently deposited the Warden as soon as he’d reached for her. A poor bastard he was, yes, but the stress carved so deeply into the man’s jaw evoked a modicum of sympathy.

“Is she hurt?” he asked. Zevran shook his head in an answer.

Mahariel, meanwhile, was beginning to revive. “She is not hurt, thank you.” The belligerence in her voice softened Alistair’s panic somewhat — his teeth finally unclenched and the air was filled with the sound of the subsequent sigh. The noise drew her attention upwards, and she frowned.

“I’m sorry. I’d planned to take it easy tonight but I just kept seeing things in the dark.” The frowned deepened, tightening her brows. “Or so I thought.”

Zevran watched their exchange politely. Alistair may have more questions after he’s put her to bed like the damsel she really wasn’t, but sometimes made herself to be.

Every word she spoke visibly dissolved the worry from Alistair’s body. It was a bit sickening to watch, but he couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same in his place. “Yes, well, who knows what could’ve swooped in from the treetops?” He then realized the stupidity of his words. “Uh, um, that probably… was not helpful.”

Zevran felt like rolling his eyes.

“Let us retire, shall we? I’m beginning to get the feeling that the others feel as if they are missing out.” He moved his chin in the direction of the site, where Leliana and Wynne had gathered together. The rest were asleep, although Morrigan looked suspiciously rigid and alert in her supposed slumber, even from the far edge of the campsite, where she holed up.

Lyna made a small noise of complaint and shot Alistair what Zevran thought to be a very persuasive expression. “Can I at least walk?” she asked him. Her voice was much sweeter than its prior timbre. “No need to cause more of a disturbance than I already have.”

Alistair’s first reaction was to gaze at her adoringly, but then the love-sickness faltered and he returned to her face with a narrowed, probing stare. There it is, Zevran thought. He’s finally catching on.

Lyna flashed him a grin as he set her on her feet. “We’ll talk about this… later,” he said.

She stood on her own well enough. Alistair didn’t let go as she fanned out her hair. Glints of auburn were teased out from the fire several yards away. He continued to eye her with suspicion, and Lyna sighed. They all began a slow walk to the tents.

“Maybe if you hadn’t forced blood down my throat,” she said to Alistair, who promptly looked stricken with shock, “You wouldn’t have to wait so long to go to bed.” There was an awkward emptiness among them, but then she grinned, every bit as wolfish as Leliana accused him of being. Alistair’s expression of surprise melted at the wink she threw at him afterwards. Zevran smiled to himself.

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have met me,” Alistair teased back. There remained a slight strain in his voice, so Mahariel reached up and tussled his hair. He proceeded to swat her away. “And Maker knows, that is a fate much worse than anything I can imagine.”

Gag. Zevran made a mental note to help the ex-templar with his lines. Just as he was about to abandon them to their ill-timed, puppy love, Leliana had flitted to them, as graceful as an Orlesian, summer breeze. Her lips were roses in the darkness. Lovely.

“Next time,” she said, raking them over with her gaze. Zevran came last, and there was a very obvious tautening of the upper planes of her face. “I’m going with Lyna. You enable her too much.”

Only her temper was more lovely than her mouth. “Leliana, this is Lyna.” He gestured to her without looking. “It seems as if you two haven’t met. In case you were wondering, she’s the boss.”

Leliana harrumphed. “Which makes you…?”

“I’m so glad you asked, gorgeous. I—“

“Nevermind.”

#mine #writing #fanfics #dragon age #dao #mahariel #zevran #alistair theirin #warden #i almost tagged lavellan lmao so many elves

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thederailedtrain · 5 years

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The Mark of Oblivion: City Hall Station [Three]

“Start at the beginning,” Cedric said. This was as much as he’d gotten from Toni when she burst into the shop not five minutes ago. “What happened?”

“Literally, exactly what I said,” Toni replied. “I was coming home from work when I caught Gus’s name over the typical Harbinger chatter.” Toni tapped her head twice. “Did a little digging, and it looks like Bryce was approached by Gus’s girlfriend, Phoebe-”

“Sophie,” Kira corrected.

“Sophie, whatever,” Toni waved her off. “Anyway, she apparently noticed something was up between the two of them and guessed Bryce was involved somehow. Since Gus hasn’t spilled the beans about this whole Otherworld business, she figured Bryce would. So he took her to the old 6 train station beneath City Hall, lured Gus there, and tricked him into revealing magic to her first.”

Cedric could see Kira’s breathing hitch. “You mean they’re fighting right now?” Her voice had risen several notes along with her nerves.

“Well, I would’ve gotten here sooner, but someone sealed off the basement from teleportation magics,” Toni sent a withering glare in Cedric’s direction. He was ready to argue back, but Toni just charged right ahead. “The second I figured out what was up, I made it down as fast as the 4 train would take me. Y’all owe me a subway fare, by the way.”

Ignoring Toni’s last comment entirely, Salazar spoke up. “If I’m remembering correctly, Gus’s girlfriend is mortal.” He received three nods of confirmation. “Then this is a lot bigger than just some battle against a Harbinger. The exposure risk-”

Cedric didn’t wait for him to finish. “I agree. We need to send someone immediately.”

“I’ll do it,” Kira’s response was so quick, she ran over the tail end of Cedric’s words. She jumped from the couch, already going for her jacket.

However, Cedric’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Perhaps you’re not ready for this yet,” he said, his voice low.

“What?!” Kira cried. “This is my best friend. I have to go-”

“As much as I hate to agree with him, Mr. Warden’s right,” Toni cut in, giving her what was probably supposed to be a consoling shrug. “You’re probably worse off than he is right now,” she added, throwing a nod in Salazar’s direction. Salazar gave an impressive eye roll for a man with only one eye. “Alright, Cedric, looks like it’s you and me.”

Realizing that he really was the only option they had at the moment, Cedric sighed. He let his hand linger on Kira’s shoulder for a moment, unspoken promise in his eyes. We’ll get him back safe, don’t worry. Just before he let the hand drop, Kira covered it with her own. Cedric was grateful she had to turn away to speak to Toni, because he was having trouble thinking past their points of contact.

“So why come up here in the first place?” The witch asked. “Why not grab Cedric and go? To put me in a situation where I’m utterly useless?” Even Kira seemed surprised by how loud she’d gotten by the end of her rant.

To her credit, Toni didn’t flinch. “Because you were right earlier,” she explained. “Gus is your best friend and you deserve to know what was going on.” She paused, shrugging. “I mean, I could’ve just texted you, but it’s not like I have your number.”

Every time Cedrd thought he had Toni figured out...Kira opened her mouth, but seemed to have trouble getting the ‘thank you’ out. Cedric could feel her stare on him as he shrugged on his coat. “Kick Bryce’s ass for me,” Kira said eventually. “And stay safe, alright?”

“We will,” Cedric assured her. Then he turned and headed out the door because if he didn’t look away now, he knew he would never be able to. It wasn’t until they were out on the street that he found the words again. “There’s an alley behind the shop that will provide enough cover for a transference spell.”

Toni nodded, a couple steps behind Cedric. He figured, given the situation, Toni would want to stay on point. Honestly, Cedric should’ve known better. “So judging by how that went down in there, I’m gonna go ahead and guess you still haven’t told Kira? Like, anything, I mean.” Her voice cut through the nighttime traffic like a well-honed knife. Cedric was glad he was turned away so she couldn’t see him wince.

“How about we discuss this some other time?” Cedric asked, once he’d managed to school his expression back to normal.

Years in court when he was a young man had been good practice for exactly this type of situation. But that training never taught him how to stop thinking about something, or remove the ache it caused from his chest. Cedric actually found himself looking forward to the battle, if only because it would give him a momentary respite.

Toni muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “It’s not me you need to discuss this with.” He ignored it and held out an expectant hand, which Toni took with a shake of her head. “Alright, Mr. Warden, hold onto your scarf.”

Which was all the warning Cedric got to close his eyes before the world dropped out from under him. Over a thousand years living in the Otherworld and Cedric still had yet to get used to transference via chaos magic. Few other things provoked this kind of instinctual fear in him. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on Toni’s hand.

At least it was over quickly. The world wasn’t spinning the same way it did for most other transference spells. That Cedric knew how to handle. This was like coming back to consciousness after suddenly falling asleep. Cedric needed a moment to get his bearings back.

The moment he opened his eyes, nostalgia hit him like a tidal wave. Aside from rust and water damage, the old City Hall Station looked exactly like it did the last time he’d stood on this platform over seventy years ago. Cedric only noticed Gus seconds later when the werewolf nearly bowled him over.

Gus didn’t stand fully to his feet, remaining in a crouch. He shook himself off, growling under his breath while his jacket continued to smoke. The intimidating image was completely undercut by the tone of his voice. “Oh, hey, guys! I was kinda hoping you’d show up soon.”

“Thought I said this party was supposed to be invitation only,” someone else said, prompting Gus to switch from friendly to snarling once more.

Cedric followed his line of sight across the platform to where another man was standing. He was a Harbinger, that much was obvious from his appearance and the chaos-tinged smoke of black magic curling around his body. And while Cedric was only vaguely familiar with him, there was an intrinsic loathing tied to his face. It was Gus’s, Cedric knew, still lingering in his mind from when they’d been linked during their last battle against the Harbingers. That same hatred was pouring off of him right now.

“Oh, honey,” Toni simpered. A wide grin broke out across her features as she let her eyes turn black. “I know I’m not your boss anymore, but a little respect would be nice.”

When Bryce’s eyes widened, Cedric didn’t need his empathy to guess why. “Who...who are you?” The air of superiority in his tone did little to hide his stumble.

“Hmm, guess we must’ve just missed each other,” Toni sighed. She turned her head, staring wistfully into the distance. “Too bad. That would’ve been a much more effective threat if you’d been around for my reign of terror.”

While Toni’s gaze was diverted elsewhere, Bryce attempted to strike. It was a desperate maneuver - he must’ve noticed the difference in power between himself and Toni - and even Cedric could sense the spell before it left his hand. He watched in horror as the cloud of black smoke sailed right for Toni, only for her to deflect it casually back at him.

“Everyone’s always trying to use my own tricks against me,” She pouted, dropping the expression to return fire.

Taking that as a sign the battle was back on, Gus rushed back in. Cedric nearly followed suit, until a thread of emotions wandered into his consciousness. It had been there the whole time, overshadowed by everyone else’s because it wasn’t wrapped in a magical presence.

Once Cedric put it all together, he whirred around. The woman standing behind him was petite, with vibrantly red curls and blue eyes that were wide as she took in the scene before her. Cedric already knew that this had to be Sophie, Gus’s girlfriend. With one last glance at the battle raging on the other end of the platform, Cedric turned and ran towards her. Toni and Gus were more than a match for Bryce. Right now, Sophie needed him most.

“Are you alright?” Cedric asked, kneeling down once he got to her feet. Even like this, he was practically eye to eye with Sophie. She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, pulling back when her eyes landed on him. “Don’t worry, I’m Gus’s friend. I won’t hurt you.”

“I-I’m alright,” Sophie stammered automatically. She was more preoccupied with accessing Cedric’s threat level than telling the truth. The incubus sensed the moment she decided he was trustworthy and watched her begin to backtrack. “No, what am I saying? This sucks and I have no idea what the hell is going on right now.”

Cedric nodded slowly in understanding. “Can you tell me what you remember about how you got here?”

“Umm, I don’t remember much, actually,” Sophie replied. She sounded surprised by her own answer. “I got a message from Gus about him coming back to Henderson, so I decided to go in. But then I bumped into Bryce. I might’ve taken my frustration out on him and he said something about having Gus tell me himself...And then I wound up here. It was really dark for a while, but then Gus was here and they started fighting.” She stopped short, seeming to realize she had been rambling. Cedric was impressed she caught onto his influence so quickly. “Gus…” Sophie trailed off, gaze now on the battle. Cedric was prepared to give her reassurance that he was going to be fine, but Sophie’s next words surprised him. “What is he?”

Of course, Cedric sighed. Sophie was a mortal, she wasn’t used to Otherworld matters the same way his regular clients were. “Much as I hate to admit it, I think Bryce was right about one thing. This is a private discussion for the two of you,” he said.

It was a massive breach of protocol, but at this point, Cedric felt he owed it to Gus. He’d done the same thing when Kira had accidentally exposed Gus to the Otherworld. Of course, Cedric also knew there was a chance Gus would become an Otherworlder himself, so the situations weren’t exactly the same. With Sophie, he couldn’t feel a single glimmer of magic.

What he could feel from her was a confusing mass of emotions. Given the circumstances, that was to be expected. Sophie was putting on a strong face, but that didn’t stop Cedric from sensing the anger and frustration welling up within her. The betrayal. To her credit, Cedric knew she hadn’t shed a single tear.

She’s like Gus that way, Cedric couldn’t help but think. He could almost visualize the close bond between the two of them, stretching out from her to him like a thread. It had become frayed in the past few months, but her concern over him right now was keeping it from snapping.

“You know,” Cedric added after a moment of listening to Sophie’s emotions. “This is something you were never meant to see. If, after this is all over, you want to go back to not knowing...I can help you forget.”

There was a strange look in Sophie’s eyes when she finally turned back to him. The conflict of emotions reigning over her thoughts swirled more furiously. Before she could settle on an answer, a voice cut through the usual sounds of battle.

“Why?!”

Cedric recognized Gus’s accent immediately. Both he and Sophie turned to see the battle still raging behind them.

It was an interesting fight to behold, but it was clearly one-sided. Bryce was perpetually losing ground, trying to get out of range of Gus’s fists while simultaneously dodging the spells Toni threw his way. Cedric could feel his regret at his choice of opponents, even from here.

In response to Gus’s question, Bryce let out a laugh. The sound was quickly cut off by a burst of chaos magic that slammed into his back. While he was still stunned, Gus seized the opportunity. He grabbed a handful of Bryce’s turtleneck, using it to slam him against the nearest support beam. The impact rang throughout the platform.

“Why?” Gus repeated. Even though he was closer to Bryce now, and didn’t have to compete for volume, his voice was just as loud. “Why would you- Sophie did nothing to you! Why would you hurt her?!”

Again, Bryce let out a laugh. There was some fear and frustration in the sound, but it was masked by an overwhelming sense of victory. He certainly chuckled like he’d won. When Gus did nothing, only continue to glare him down, he appeared to roll his eyes - it was difficult to tell if that was the intention when he lacked scleras.

“First of all, I didn’t hurt her. She came to me for help, and that’s exactly what I provided,” Byce answered. “But this really isn’t about her. No offense to you, Sophie. Hope there aren’t any hard feelings after this,” he spoke the last bit to Sophie directly, nodding to her from across the platform.

“Go to hell,” Sophie spat back.

“Actually, I’m trying to bring hell to us, but that’s a little besides the point right now,” Bryce grinned. Turning back to Gus, he added, “But I’m man enough to admit it; you won our fight on Saturday. I had to find some other way to settle the score.”

“You sound pretty confident for someone currently pinned to a wall,” Gus fired back.

The smile that spread across Bryce’s face was directed across the platform. “Yeah, I probably do,” he sighed and the sound was almost wistful. “But the Warden over there looks about ready to bust me for magical exposure, so I think it’s time I ghosted.”

Suddenly, shadows enveloped Bryce’s form, which quickly dissolved in smoke. Toni, who was in the middle of a binding spell, cut herself off with a loud swear.

“No!” Gus cried, claws slashing through the air in a vain attempt to grab anything. They passed harmlessly through the smoke that was left behind, gouging lines out of the paint covering the support beam. The frustrated shout he let out sounded close to a howl.

In the following silence, Toni surprised Cedric by beating him to a comforting statement. “Hey, chill out, alright?” Well, perhaps not comforting, but there was an undercurrent of concern in her voice. She placed a hesitant hand on Gus’s arm, which Cedric could see shaking even from so far away. When she did, the shaking stopped. “There’s someone over there who needs you right now and that’s more important.”

At that, Gus’s head snapped up. His glowing gaze flew right to where Sophie and Cedric were huddled by the stairwell. By the time he’d jogged over, his eyes were back to their natural shade of hazel.

“Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Gus asked. The words tumbled from his mouth so fast, all Sophie could do was nod or shake her head to keep up.

Sophie took a second before pulling Gus in for a hug, which Gus returned with gusto. He picked Sophie up, spinning her away from the stairs. “Gus…” she trailed off, staring up at him. “What just happened?”

#the mark of oblivion #n: the mark of oblivion #the magic shop #writing #my writing #katie writes sometimes

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ellenembee · 7 years

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The Revelation of All Things - 42. In which the past plays havoc with the present

Read the full fic on AO3.

Read on Tumblr (desktop)

They left the inn around noon the next day to begin the journey back to Skyhold. They rode until dusk, and after the lack of sleep from the night before, everyone turned in almost immediately. As Cullen pulled the covers around him and listened to Dorian's quiet snoring, he fervently wished for some tea. Yesterday's events combined with a hard day's ride had left him aching and restless. His ever-present headache needled into his brain making the itch for lyrium all the more irritating.

Speaking of irritating. He hadn't recognized her immediately when they passed each other in the dim corridors of the Winter Palace, but when Evana had informed them that Celene's arcane advisor would be joining them at Skyhold as a liaison to the Empress, Cullen finally put it all together. Morrigan.

Memories of Kinloch, never far away to begin with, rushed back to him. In his mind's eye, he could see Neria, the Hero of Ferelden, standing before his magical cage with Leliana and Morrigan, his body withered with thirst and hunger and his mind nearly broken from the torture. Among other things, the demons had tortured him with Neria's face - the face of his youthful infatuation - and Morrigan had witnessed him at the end of a descent into near madness. He'd demanded all the mages be killed, whether they were possessed or not, but Neria had refused, thank the Maker. The young and idealistic Leliana had been sympathetic to his condition, but even now, more than a decade later, he could still see Morrigan's cold, yellow eyes glaring at him through the transparent barrier of his prison. If she could've reached him, he had no doubt she would've killed him for his words alone.

After turning over a few times, trying to push the thoughts away, he finally gave up on sleep. If he didn't get up, he would wake Dorian with his restlessness. He quietly put his boots and doublet back on and exited the tent. The watches nodded to him as he sat down at the fire. Attempting to keep his mind busy, he ran over the previous day's events in his head before turning his thoughts to the future.

Unfortunately - for himself and for his work - they had been invited to a small gathering at Lady Seryl's estate in Jader. The detour would cost them little in time - they would stay the following evening at Lady Seryl's home, and leave again the following day - but he'd been looking forward to getting away from the nobles and back to work. He had much to organize now that Orlais could be counted as an ally. The last thing he wanted was spend another evening with them. He had an assault to plan.

Although none of them had spoken of it recently, the Grey Wardens and their potential demon army weighed heavily on them all. He'd done all he could to set things in motion before he left, but it would still take weeks, perhaps months, before preparations were complete. And just because they were planning an assault didn't mean other problems would go away. No, he'd have plenty to deal with once they returned to Skyhold.

A sharp pain pierced through his body, and he tensed as the ache spread from his chest and down his arms and legs. He felt a fine layer of sweat form on his skin as he struggled to maintain even breathing. Curling into himself, head resting on his knees, he repeated a Chant to himself for several minutes. Gradually, the pain dispersed, and he tentatively relaxed again, though his muscles now ached from how tensely he'd held himself while trying to ward off the pain.

Cullen cursed internally. All his planning depended on him performing his duties to the best of his ability. The symptoms had been manageable to this point, but only with Evana's help. He relied on her tea and draughts almost completely now, and even they couldn't fight back the worst of the withdrawal. He'd been a fool to think he could go this entire trip without...

"Couldn't sleep, either?"

Evana's soft voice startled him from his thoughts, and he turned to find her in the process of settling beside him.

"No," he admitted. "Despite the lack of sleep, I'm feeling a bit restless."

"Me, too. I came out to make some tea." She glanced over at the watchman on the other side of the camp and then lowered her voice even more. "I'm glad to have your company, vhenan. We don't have a kettle, so I'll have to use magic. Will that bother you?"

"Uh, no. Of course not."

Cullen just stared at her. Her delicate features reflected the soft warmth of the firelight, and it dawned on him that she'd pulled her hair back. It had grown longer since she'd first joined them, but this was the first time he'd seen it this way. She'd braided the silvery strands tightly against her head, starting at the crown, and he marveled internally at how it opened her face and exposed to him the soft lines of her jaw, the curve of her high cheekbones, the smooth expanse of her forehead decorated with the crisscrossing lines of her vallaslin. He realized he'd never seen it fully and studied the lines now with interest, eager to learn more of her, commit every part of her to memory.

He almost thought she might be a figment of his imagination. He had, after all, been wishing for tea - her tea - and now here she sat making it for him. Surely he was dreaming. But she continued to work quietly as she set two wooden cups on the ground and filled them with water. Then, she pulled out a pouch and added the leaves. Finally, he felt the small pull of her magic all around him, and the air shimmered slightly as she heated the water. Instantly, the smell of earth and herbs surrounded them. The familiar scent seemed to have a subtle calming effect all on its own, and he was forced to admit this was real. She was real. Here. With him. He marveled anew at his luck.

She handed him a mug. The warmth of it radiated out to his chilled fingers.

"Here you are," she murmured with a small smile.

"Thank you. I'm sorry you're having trouble sleeping."

"I'm just restless, like you," she replied softly. "I feel tired, but my brain won't stop running in circles. So much has happened, but all I can think about is what might be ahead. And... I'm not really looking forward to tomorrow night, either."

Cullen smirked. "After last night, me neither. I had no idea that joining Cassandra's cause would bring this kind of attention. Ironically, it's your leadership that has made our organization so powerful - and therefore desirable - in the first place."

Evana smiled at him. "Without your leadership, we wouldn't be here at all. It's not surprising that others are starting to take notice."

Cullen smiled and tilted his head to her. "Thank you, but as I said last night, there's only one person's attention I crave. And she's having tea with me right now."

She quirked a brow and smiled at him. "Hmmmm... you do have a way with words, Commander."

He just laughed quietly. Sharing his feelings with her became easier each time he allowed himself the liberty. Perhaps her positive reactions had made him less frightened that he might say too much? He still had much to work through and many unanswered questions, include new questions about her clan after what they had discussed the night before. But sitting around a campfire within earshot of two guards was neither the time nor place to discuss any of those things. So for now, he determined to be comfortable. They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their tea, and he felt the herbs begin their work. Finally, she broke their comfortable silence.

"How long do you think it will be before we can head to the Western Approach - to Adamant?"

"At least another month, but probably longer. I'll need to check in with Rylen about supplies and troop numbers. We'll have to arrange transport of the siege equipment and ensure Harritt is on track with the other blacksmiths for armor and weapons. Getting the troops out there will take at least a few weeks, fully loaded as they'll be with equipment and supplies. We'll also need to talk over strategies for the battle - best and worst-case scenarios based on the plans from Adamant..." Cullen sighed and gave her a weak smile. "We have much to do. But thanks to you taking Griffon Wing Keep, we're already ahead of the game. It will be hard fought, but I believe we can do this."

Evana chuckled wryly. "It's good to know my Commander has confidence in our abilities. I thought I might use the time to finish stabilizing the Emerald Graves and then stop off at the Exalted Plains. I might even head back to the Western Approach early. I didn't have a chance-"

She interrupted herself with a large yawn. Cullen gave her a sympathetic look.

"We'll have time to discuss all this back at Skyhold. Why don't you go ahead and get some sleep?"

"What about you?" she asked with poorly concealed concern coloring her tone.

He looked into his half empty mug. "I'll just finish my tea and head to bed shortly."

She gave him a skeptical look but said nothing. Glancing toward the nearest guard to find him turned away from them, she leaned toward Cullen to kiss his cheek, but he surprised even himself by turning his head to meet her lips instead. After a blissful moment of delicate pressure, she pulled away, blushing furiously and glancing at the guards again. She shot him a shy smile, and then left him there by the fire.

Maker, how he wished he could lay by her side and hold her tonight... and every night. If he'd realized how his one night with her would ruin him for sleeping alone, he never would have...

Who do you think you're kidding? He'd have done it just the same. He could still feel the press of her back against him, the way their legs and hands entwined as they slept. When he'd woken with her in his arms, he'd been sure it was a dream. But then he remembered - he didn't have good dreams.

Perhaps one day, after he'd told her the truth about himself and learned a bit more about her in return, he'd give himself permission to... stay the night with her. At least once in a while... if she wanted him... and if she didn't end things first.

The deeply scarred, insecure part of him had feared that eventuality from the beginning - and was astonished she hadn't already.

Cullen felt his eyelids grow heavy. Finally. He drained the remainder of the tea and made his way back to his tent, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"Cullen! Cullen, wake up! You're having a nightmare."

Dorian's voice pulled him out of the Circle - out of the grasp of the desire demon and, not surprisingly, the depths of Morrigan's cat-like eyes. He shot straight up in bed, nearly cracking skulls with Dorian. The blood rushed through his ears as images from his dream held him in thrall. The thin layer of sweat covering his skin now cooled in the morning air, and he shivered.

Cole's voice cut through his fog. "Cold, dark, temptations all around. I will not give in. I shall endure. Maker... please..."

He groaned internally. "I apologize for waking you both. Please, I'm alright. Go back to sleep."

Dorian looked unconvinced. "You're sure? Would you like me to wake Evana?"

"No!" Cullen said quickly, a tiny surge of panic rippling through him. He took a breath and tempered his tone. "No. Thank you. I... I'm quite used to it."

The last thing he wanted was to worry her even more. She didn't need to shoulder his burdens as well as her own.

"You're 'used to it'?" Dorian questioned, the concern in his tone deepening.

"I often have nightmares," Cullen explained with affected calm. "It is of no concern."

Cole looked like he might say something else, but Cullen jerked his head in a nearly imperceptible negating motion to silence the boy. Dorian nodded and gave Cullen a final searching glance before sliding back under his covers, and Cullen laid back down to try to sleep again.

It was no use. Every time he closed his eyes, the images from his nightmare filled his brain. Although the tea still helped him fall asleep, it certainly wasn't blocking out the nightmares anymore. Another result of the worsening withdrawal. Maker, when will it end? Will I ever be whole again?

"You will."

There was a time he'd have found Cole's whispered affirmation to be completely unnerving, but now, somehow, he found a strange comfort in it. Cole believed it, which made it easier for Cullen to believe that someday he might feel well and whole. He wasn't sure he could even remember what "whole" felt like.

Today, however, was not that day. After staring at the ceiling of the tent for several minutes wrestling with the after effects of the nightmare, he finally got up and dressed for the day. The gradual lightening of the tent told him dawn approached. If he couldn't sleep, he could at least begin preparations for breaking camp. The dull ache of a headache niggled at the back of his brain as he quietly worked to set up for breakfast. Cole came with him and helped but said nothing, for which Cullen was immensely grateful. A little after sunrise, Leliana joined them around the fire.

"How long have you been up?"

"Not long," he lied.

Leliana looked around her at the mostly packed camp. "Right."

"I'm used to being up early. And Cole's been up with me."

Leliana just hummed at him, her gaze at once knowing and somehow sympathetic, and fell into silence. With the memories of the Kinloch and Morrigan still floating in his brain, he almost asked after the Hero of Ferelden... but then thought better of it. Leliana surely knew that his 18-year-old self had been infatuated with the elven mage under his care in the Ferelden Circle, and he didn't want the spymaster to think he was asking after Neria because he still harbored feelings for her. So they sat together quietly until Leliana finally broke the silence. He found her thoughts had echoed his own.

"Morrigan is to join us, then, yes? I will admit, though we traveled together extensively during the Blight, she is not my... favorite person. And you... will you be quite comfortable with her around?"

Astonished and touched by Leliana's show of concern, Cullen responded in kind. "It was a long time ago. We are none of us the same people we were then, for better or worse."

"Still, I know we spoke of this when you first joined but... I often wonder if my presence causes you pain at times, knowing that I saw you at your lowest point."

Despite the roiling in his gut, he tried to keep his tone light. "It's alright, Leliana. Nothing has changed since then except for how much my respect for you and your work has grown. All I remember from our first meeting is your kindness - and I've already apologized for my harsh words in return. Unless you wish for me to apologize again?"

Leliana shot him a wry grin. "That won't be necessary."

"I will likely avoid her if at all possible, but that has less to do with her presence in the keep and more to do with the fact that-"

"-that she is utterly smug and unlikable?" Leliana finished with a grimace. Her voice softened slightly as she added, "What Neria sees in her to call her friend, I will never understand. Well I remember her smug distain for the rest of us... poor Ali bore the worst of it."

Cullen tried to bite his tongue and resist the urge, but Leliana had left him with the opening. He had to take it.

"How is the Hero, by the way? Have you heard from her recently?"

"No."

The short, biting answer brooked no follow up question or even a sympathetic response. They sat in silence once more, but this time, the tension overwhelmed him. He should have known better. If he'd thought about it at all, he would have realized it must be difficult for Leliana to be so often separated from her love. After all, he could relate. Next time, he'd keep his idle curiosity to himself.

By the time the tension between them finally dissipated, Cassandra and Josephine had joined them around the fire. The soldiers had already packed up and were eating breakfast.

Finally, Evana and Dorian joined them for a quick breakfast, and they started off for Jader. After stopping briefly for a midday meal, they arrived at Lady Seryl's home just after sunset. Josephine had procured "appropriate" clothing for them in Halamshiral, so they retired to freshen up and change clothes. Cullen would have much rather spent the evening working - or better yet, with Evana - but he was pleasantly surprised to find the gathering was to be a very small party of Jader nobility. At least he wouldn't have to keep up appearances for an entire room full of people.

He emerged from his room as Evana passed by on her way to the stairs. She wore a simple but elegant pale blue long-sleeved dress. Instead of the large, chunky waves of Halamshiral, she'd braided her hair as it had been last night except for the several curled, loose locks that framed her pale face. The effect was enchanting. She paused to greet him and gave him a teasing grin - almost a smirk.

"Care to escort me down, Commander?"

"I... uh..." He cleared his throat in an attempt to focus on creating a coherent sentence. "Yes, I'd love to," he finally managed.

He offered her his arm and smiled as her hand curled around his elbow. Although he felt a bit exposed without his armor, he relished the feel of her fingers gripping his arm through the formal shirt and jacket as they began their slow descent.

"You look quite dashing, Ser Rutherford," she commented airily. "I'd hardly recognize you but for that alluring scar on your lip. I think I quite like seeing you out of your armor."

Cullen coughed and felt the heat of a blush spread over his face. He stole a glance at her and witnessed the exact moment she caught on to the double meaning in her words. It was her turn to stutter and blush.

"That is... I... um... I meant seeing you in plain clothes, not ... I mean, not that I wouldn't like... oh... my..."

They paused halfway to the first landing, still hidden in the shadows, and she covered her burning face with her free hand. She tried to withdraw her other hand at his elbow, but rather than let her go, he turned and caught her around the waist, pulling her to him as he'd wanted to do since Dorian had forced them to part at the Winter Palace. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder... and started laughing quietly.

"There I was, trying to be suave and confident. I should have just played it off like I meant it that way. I mean, we are... we are... together."

He laughed with her for a moment before placing a gentle hand to her jaw and lifting her face to meet his gaze. "Yes. We are," he affirmed quietly.

Cullen leaned forward and this time witnessed the moment she understood his intent. Her lids fluttered closed as his nose touched hers, and he tilted his head slightly, his heart racing as his lips drew nearer to their goal. Why did every time feel like the first time with her? Why did his body react with such intensity - the kind of intensity he'd not felt in years... if ever?

He used every ounce of his willpower to slowly, chastely brush his lips over hers, but the way her lips felt - warm, soft, inviting - Maker's breath, his willpower came up short. Being in her company but unable to touch her or kiss her had worn on him. He pressed his mouth more firmly over hers and deepened the kiss, enthralled by how she responded to him so quickly, so effortlessly. He let his fingers slide over her cheek and down her neck, and she let out a soft but vocal sigh into his mouth.

A vague thought played at the back of his brain. We shouldn't be doing this. Not here. Not now. We could be caught at any moment. With a groan of reluctance, he broke the kiss and pulled back slightly, though he didn't let her go just yet. Her chest heaved invitingly as her labored breathing mingled with his own. She opened her eyes slowly, lazily, and he fought back the inappropriate visions dancing before him of her flushed cheeks and languid smile in an entirely different setting.

"Perhaps we should not kiss on Lady Seryl's stairway," he breathed, a wry grin curving his lips.

Evana gave him a coy grin in return. "Perhaps not."

He placed one last kiss on her cheek as he murmured in her ear, "Although I do remember you giving me permission to kiss you whenever I like."

She laughed breathily in his ear, and a shiver ran down his spine. "So I did. But I think you'd be more embarrassed than me if we were caught."

"Hmmmm... you might be right."

He offered her his arm once more, and after a final moment to regain their composure, they joined the party. Josephine already stood with a group of nobles in a corner, and the rest of her companions joined them shortly thereafter. He registered Cole's presence here and there, but none of nobles seemed to notice him at all. The Orlesian pomp and circumstance was almost more ostentatious here than in Halamshiral, but Lady Seryl's support of the Inquisition bought her their time and polite conversation, regardless. Cullen knew he in particular couldn't afford to snub the lady or he risked losing a large portion of his siege equipment.

Unfortunately for the Commander, Lady Seryl seemed particularly enamored with him. He retreated to Evana's side whenever possible, but the noble woman would always draw him back into her conversation. By the time they turned in for the evening, Cullen had a splitting headache, and he thought in passing that it might have been better to build the siege equipment with his own two hands rather than endure such an evening.

The party arrived at Skyhold late the following day. Several nobles had arrived ahead of them, and as Josephine dragged Evana away to meet with them, Cullen gave her a sympathetic look before heading to his office to deal with the work that had accumulated in his absence.

He found himself still awake at midnight, running over the reports he'd missed in the last several days and sorting out priority for requests and requisitions. The most alarming request came in the form of a note from Harritt stating that his current staff simply wouldn't be able to finish all the required armor in the time frame necessary for the assault. The Inquisition's forces had grown to a point that he could no longer keep up with the demand. They would need to find an additional - and trusted - master blacksmith to guide a second shift of workers in the armory.

Cullen made note to find and speak with Harritt the next day and settled back in his chair to rub his temples. The headaches plagued him still, but the nightmares were worse. Without the lyrium to help him forget, the dreams of his time in Kinloch Hold and of the Kirkwall Rebellions were becoming more intense. He found himself more often than not dwelling on the dark thoughts and whispered temptations he'd endured from the demons all those years ago - even in the light of day. And last night, he'd relived every death he'd witnessed at the hands of the abominations in vivid detail - as if not a day had passed. The images flashed before his eyes again, and he sucked in an angry breath.

"I shall endure."

The words came out as more a growl than a prayer. The willpower it now took to simply remain focused exhausted him. Cullen sunk deeper into his chair and pushed harder on his temples. A sharp stab of pain, enough to make him gasp at the sudden intensity, shot through his left eye. He stood up and found his legs weak - he would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't grabbed onto the chair. A bead of sweat rolled down his face and fell into the seat of the chair as he held onto the arms. After another moment, Cullen pushed himself up. He would endure. He had to. The song called to him, but he deliberately avoided looking at the shelf across the room.

Crossing the room slowly, he placed the kettle on the fire and turned back to ready his mug. Pulling off his gloves, he dosed out the tea and then leaned against the mantle to admire the skill and effort she'd put into the pouches as he waited for the water to boil. The designs were delicate and precise - not floral exactly, but they did remind him of forests and trees. He shook his head. All this - her heritage and her family - she had given up to stay and fight with the Inquisition. Even if she hadn't always been happy with her clan, even if she'd told them to move on without her, wouldn't she want to go back in the end?

Finally, after avoiding it for days, he allowed himself to think back to their conversation about Dalish customs. Her vague words had left him with more questions than answers, but in the back of his mind, he knew what it really meant.

His jaw clenched involuntarily as he slowly replaced the pouch, pushed away from the mantle and began pacing. The books he'd read on Dalish customs had been vague as well, but one thing was clear - the Dalish didn't like any humans, which meant clan Lavellan wouldn't like him and would certainly never accept him as a proper partner for Evana.

What did that mean for her... for both of them? Their connection still seemed so tentative, so fragile. After the war, if any of them survived, would she truly want to build a life with someone like him, someone human, someone so broken? Would her clan force her to choose? Could he in good conscience ask her to give it all up - her previous life, her family, her entire prior existence - for him?

With a pained cry, Cullen let his bare fist connect with the stone wall beside him and then breathed heavily as the pain radiated from his now bruised knuckles to his palm and through his forearm. His head felt as if it might split in two from the wedge being driven into the base of his skull. Dark memories of past actions and whispers of inadequacy muddled his brain, but one thing stood out crystal clear from the muddy ruins of his thoughts - a sudden, inescapable knowledge that wounded him more deeply than any blade he'd ever known.

He could never presume to ask her to sacrifice so much for him. It doesn't matter what I do, what I want. When this is all over, I must let her go.

I'm going to lose her.

#revelation of all things #revelations #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #my fanfiction #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #Poor Cullen #winter palace #halamshiral #troat

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