As Soothing as Elfroot (Cullen x F!Inquisitor)
Lyrium was a deadly vice.
It promised the prospect of power and glory, all in the form of finely ground mineral that whispered songs beyond the fade. Templars had used it to score countless victories in the name of Andraste, but like all sources of power, it was not without cost. The whispers would grow too loud. The Maker’s voice would flutter through their twisted dreams. Their memories would warp and flicker until they disappeared completely, like a flame beneath a stamped boot.
Cullen had been desperately trying to wean himself from Lyrium for a week now. Some would call him foolish for doing something so dangerous. Makers breath, he could die if his body couldn’t handle the intensities of his withdrawals, but he made a promise to the Inquisitor– that he would quit for the sake of their future together. He loved her more than a bird loved its song or a flower loved its bloom. He wanted to wed her after the rifts were closed and Corypheus was banished for good.
So why was he sitting alone in his office, hunched in his chair with his head in his hands?
Cullen rocked back and forth. Back and forth. The wood of his armchair creaked beneath the weight of his self-soothing gesture. His fingers curled into his hair, untangling it from its neat style and causing blond strands to linger around his temples. He had never felt such self-hatred in his life. Even now, the quiet he usually saw as a pleasure felt soul-achingly loud. Releasing a shaky breath, Cullen slowly sat up, removing his hands from his sunken face. He gazed at the Lyrium kit on the floor, shattered beyond repair. In a fit of rage, he had hurled it at the wall and shouted until all the air rushed from his lungs. And it was all directed at the Inquisitor.
A cold sweat broke out on his temple. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and recalled their exchange of words.
“Cullen, I don’t understand. I’m trying to help you, love, but I can’t when you continue to push me away.”
“Because you don’t understand! Do you know of the war in my mind, the feeling that-that my very self is trickling between my fingers like water?”
“Please, Cullen, you need to–”
“- No, I don’t need to do anything! I don’t need to be coddled or pitied or made to feel like a little boy when I’m still a commander! I don’t need you nor your constant pushing!”
Cullen winced after the argument flashed through his mind, those cursed words that had sent the Inquisitor away with a solemn, damning silence. She didn’t yell back or slam the door in his face. No, she retreated with that sort of dangerous calm that screamed that someone wasn’t truly okay. He felt like a monster more grave and vicious than any darkspawn. He didn’t recognize himself anymore, and he was sure neither did the Inquisitor.
Abruptly, Cullen rose from his chair and nearly stumbled into his desk as he made his way to the door. His mind felt like a rift growing larger by the second, and his feet felt like they were tied to cobblestone blocks. But he was determined to make things right with the woman he loved.
Even if he had to fall to his knees and beg.
The Inquisitor sat alone in her bedchambers, hands folded neatly in her lap. She had been staring at the floor for a few minutes now, pondering Cullen’s harsh words and dissecting every syllable. Did he truly mean that he didn’t need her, that her efforts to support him were a burden? She had held him when the headaches grew too great, leant a listening ear when his ramblings grew long, brought him elfroot tea to soothe the nausea in his belly, but now it was too much?
The weight of her responsibilities settled harshly on her shoulders, threatening to press her body further into the mattress. She felt a stinging prickle behind her eyes, and she raised a delicate hand to wipe away the tears before they could trickle down. She was the Inquisitor; she wasn’t supposed to weep just because her heart was broken. She had all of Thedas to focus her concern on. But everything felt so formidable. Who was to comfort the comforter– to protect the protector?
Just as the Inquisitor shifted to rise from the bed, she heard a knock rasp at her door. Her breath hitched, and she stilled.
“Who… who is it?” she asked, steeling her voice.
Silence lingered for a moment.
“It’s me, love. It’s Cullen,” the commander spoke beyond the heavy oak doors. “I– may I come in, please? I want to atone for my behavior earlier. I’m ashamed of myself, truly.”
The Inquisitor’s heart ached. For a moment, she was tempted to send him away and sulk in her hurt, but she knew that would get them nowhere. They were both hurting in their own ways, and perhaps this would be their way to reconcile that. With a sigh, she sat back down on the bed.
The doors creaked open slowly, followed by Cullen slipping into the room, tunic sleeves rolled at the elbows and hair a mess. His frown arched downwards, and those pretty amber-hazel eyes couldn’t quite meet her gaze. He looked like a scolded dog crawling back to lick her wounds.
“Inquisitor…” he began, gingerly approaching her on the bed. He finally looked down at her, feeling a suffocating ache in his chest at the red rimmed proof of her earlier tears. He reached out a calloused hand to cup her cheek, brushing his thumb just beneath those tired eyes. “... I am so sorry. Nothing can excuse my earlier behavior. These withdrawals make me into a monster, and I let it.”
The Inquisitor hesitated only for a moment before leaning into his warm, trembling palm. His touch was achingly tender, as if he was afraid to break her further. It didn’t erase the hurt of his words, but it reminded her that her Cullen was still there, beneath the battle of his addiction.
“Did you mean what you said earlier?” she murmured.
Cullen’s heart sank to his boots. In a panic, he stumbled downwards onto his knees to be eye-level with her. His hands moved to cradle both of hers, offering a tight, grounding squeeze.
“No, no, love. I-I didn’t mean a single word,” he assured, bringing her hands to his scarred lips so he could lace them with desperate kisses. He breathed in her scent and locked it away deep in his mind. Soft, sweet, strong. “I’m a complete, utter fool for ever directing my turmoil at you. I do need you. I need your touch, your support, your presence in my life. You’re the only person keeping me fighting through this-this mess in my mind.”
Cullen ducked his head, burying his face into her lap like he was praying at her altar. “Please, forgive me.”
Silence lingered between the two for one tense moment. Then, Cullen felt fingers slowly smooth through his hair. He let out a shuddering breath of pure relief and slumped against her.
“I forgive you. I know this is a heavy burden on you, Cullen,” she murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I won’t lie to you, I’m still hurt. But I know those words aren’t truly you. Not like this. Just please promise to not push me away. Talk to me if you need space.”
Cullen lifted his head, filled with a newfound hope and overwhelming love. He reached up to hold her face with both hands, stroking her cheeks in worship. “I promise. I’ll talk to you. I won’t shove this all away until it surfaces to hurt you. I’ll be the man you deserve love, I promise with my very being.”
He leaned in to press a tender kiss to her lips, and when she reciprocated, he let out a soft sigh. This is where he belonged. This was his home. Not Skyhold, not Redcliffe, not Ferelden, but her.
When he pulled away, he offered her a small, shaky smile through the pulsing of a newly blooming headache. “I believe I owe you a walk through the battlements and a cup of tea,” he suggested, rising to his feet and guiding her upwards with a gentle hand. He squeezed before leading her outside into the soft light of the growing evening.
He knew, then, that his woman was as soothing as elf root, as sweet as vintage wine.
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