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((Night one of a ball. The Inquisitor and the Hero of Fereldan meet. There will never be rest. Also AO3 is already up to chapter 6 because I forgot to post the others on Tumblr so I am doing that now.))
A time after the events of the Exalted Council, Warden Commander Neria Surana has returned with a cure for the Taint, and an heir is born to King Alistair and Queen Anora. Denerim is extremely crowded with the festivities of the Royal Christening. Commander Cullen Rutherford, stifled by the palace, nobles, and too many feelings attempts to find lodging elsewhere. The only place with open rooms is the Pearl. It seems he and Neria Surana had similar ideas. But there is only one decent room. And of course only one bed. Both of them probably needed to stop moping. But in truth it was more alluring an idea to have someone to mope with.
Available on AO3~!
“Andraste’s flaming…I hate my hair.” Neria muttered to herself as she looked herself over in the mirror.
Despite her best efforts to pull her hair into something Anora would call “minimum effort” for the royal ball, she could simply not get it to obey. She knew she’d hear it from her if she didn’t do something intricate. A lecture about staying at the castle to have ladies-in-waiting do her hair.
She decided, eventually, to pull her too-wavy hair into a low bun, and disguise the simple style with two braids running from her temple to the back of her neck, circling the bun and tucking in what she hoped looked elegant with a twinge of romance.
“If Morrigan is good enough for Orlais, I’m good enough for Fereldan.” Neria muttered, standing from her seat to inspect herself.
Wisps still stuck out this way and that from her forehead, and there was a long strand that curled near her pointed ear. She’d decorated it with a blue ribbon and bow that matched her formal vest. Her skirts fanned out widely below. On her forearms were bracers embellished with the Grey Warden crest, more for decoration than anything, the metal too thin and flexible to give any real protection. They matched the pendant she wore that nestled just above the cleavage shown by the low front, and the ear cuff she’d had commissioned for her first ball. No use hiding what she truly was.
She didn’t look bad at all.
“Are you ready yet?” Cullen’s voice came from the other side of the privacy screen.
“You didn’t have to wait for me.” Neria chided gently, though stepped out from behind the screen with easy grace. “Won’t the Inquisition miss you if you’re late?”
She didn’t miss the way Cullen’s eyes flitted over her. Face, neck, chest, back to her face. His cheeks were red. Neria suddenly felt infinitely prouder.
Cullen cleared his throat, suddenly focusing very hard on the adjustments of his gloves and the sash over his shoulder. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“It’s in style to be fashionably late.” Neria said as she adjusted her skirt and placed her own sash around her shoulders. “Luckily, we won't be.”
“Good.” Cullen did seem relieved, tying off the sash at his waist. He tugged at his collar. “I always feel so stuffy in these.”
“You’re…hang on.” Neria stepped forward, reaching up to adjust his collar. “It’s crooked. It’s not going to sit right against your neck.” She moved it, unbuttoning a few buttons to re-adjust. “There.” She said with a grin. “That better?”
Cullen’s cheeks were red. Neria blinked. She didn’t realize how close she had gotten until now. They were nearly chest to chest, nothing but a breath between them. The elven woman cleared her throat, taking a step back.
“Come on. The carriage should be here…”
Cullen blinked. “A carriage?”
“Well I’m not walking the back streets of Denerim in my finest.”
Cullen raised a brow. Neria had a feeling he had half-expected walking the back streets of Denerim in their finest to be the plan, but Neria didn’t fancy getting mugged halfway there. She knew crime in Denerim had improved, but two finely-dressed individuals still made for prime targets. When they stepped onto the balcony, a small carriage waited for them at the back entrance.
“I thought it was just you.” The young man driving the carriage called to Neria as she and Cullen descended the balcony to the street behind the Pearl.
“Sorry, Connor. Change of plan.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “Seems I’ll have an escort after all.”
“Uncle Teagan will be disappointed.” His eyes widened when he realized who Cullen was. Neria should have known the Commander of the Inquisition should have been recognizable. “That’s…!”
“An old friend.” Neria said casually.
“At the Pearl?!”
“Don’t worry.”
The boy, Connor, sighed in defeat. “Always a surprise with you, Auntie Neria.”
Neria only smiled at the boy, reaching up to squeeze his hand. Connor gave her a smile as he squeezed back, and that made her feel infinitely lighter. Cullen opened the door to the carriage, offering a hand to help her climb into the cramped space. The carriage was barely big enough for the two of them, and as they sat across from each other, their knees touched. Neria tried to ignore the odd way it felt so casually intimate. She’d never had any problem being tactile with…anyone before. It used to drive Anders and Jowan insane. Was this just because it was Cullen? Because of what he used to be?
Soon enough, the carriage began to move, swaying softly as the horse pulled them along. Neria tried, again, to stop herself from reading the Commander. She focused on the crisp evening air. Th view of the setting sun as it disappeared here and there behind buildings as they rode. Cullen ‘s eyes were squarely out the window as the lights of the market and palace drew near, but they were soon flickering to Neria, and above her to the small window that gave view of the driver.
“He’s Lord Eamon’s son.” Neria explained before Cullen could ask. “He’s a mage. Had a brush with a nasty demon during the Blight. He’s been a little…lost since the Circles got disbanded.”
Lost was an understatement. She was well aware that Connor blamed himself for all that happened at Redcliffe. All the lives lost. The Desire Demon poisoning his mother and uncle. She understood that all too well, but she couldn’t let the boy carry such a burden.
Cullen nodded, though had a distinct look of pity in his eye. “He’s young.”
“Too young.” Neria agreed, attempting to give an optimistic smile. “But he’s a bright young man. He’s doing well.”
He nodded. The carriage turned, bumping against the cobblestone roads. Their legs pressed against each other now as they both seemed to relax on the ride.
“You’ve been helping him?” Cullen asked.
She blinked at him. “Of course. He was terrified as a boy. I helped him control his magic. Irving and I both took him to the Circle when it was time. I helped him settle in. When they were disbanded I visited Redcliffe as much as I could.” She paused. “I know what being accosted by a demon is like. Besides, I’m half responsible for what happened anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
Neria frowned, her eyes casting down to her hands as they sat in her lap. She’d been the one to help Jowan escape. Of course, she’d do the same if she had to do it over again. But Jowan was the one who had taught Connor to hide his powers. Who had poisoned Eamon under the orders of Loghain. She’d heard over and over again from Alistair, Leliana, and Morrigan that it wasn’t her fault, but it never left her mind. None of it did.
“If I hadn’t…With Jowan…” Her voice trailed off. It was on the tip of her tongue to explain this to Cullen, but then the carriage was pulling to a halt.
“We have arrived.” Connor called.
Neria sighed, slumping back into her chair. Already she could hear the soft chattering of nobles and others, gathering at the palace before things truly began that evening. Mingling in the courtyard and the throne room as dinner was prepared. Soon there would be eating and dancing and far too little to drink. Maybe she could still run back to Amaranthine.
Cullen rolled his eyes. “Come on. At least it’s not the Winter Palace.”
She groaned. “Thank the Maker for that.”
Cullen moved to open the door and step out of the carriage first. He offered her a hand to guide her down. Thankfully, Connor had dropped them off inside the main gates, a little ways from the courtyard. They wouldn’t be immediately seen by many, and could still make an entrance to the group already gathering. A few familiar faces caught her eye, though no sight of the Divine herself, she imagined she would be inside with Alistair and Anora.
Connor seemed a little lost as Cullen helped Neria from the carriage. That was to be his role, after all. His way of getting out of the ball itself, escorting her down. Crowds were still a lot for him, and thankfully Eamon had agreed to let him sit the festivities in the Palace out if he was seen being present in come capacity. “Shall I be here for you tonight, Auntie Neria?”
“Please.” She all but begged. “Thank you, Connor.”
The boy smiled to her, nodding politely to Cullen before guiding the horse and carriage away. Neria took a breath, standing straighter. She was the Hero of Fereldan. Now was the time to act like it.
“I should go join the Inquisition.” Cullen said.
“Of course.” A Noble in an Orlesian mask approached and she greeted him pleasantly, allowing him to kiss her hand. It was all a show. Someone wanting to meet her in person. “Oh! I need to find Warden Rainier. I believe he came with you all, yes?”
“I believe so.” Cullen agreed curtly. Neria didn’t miss the way his own posture had straightened, his arms at his side in what she could only describe as “at attention” as he walked. Not did she miss the group of noble ladies already eyeing him up.
“You have admirers, Commander.”
At first, Cullen arched a questioning brow at her. She nodded across the garden, where a group of ladies in frilly dresses and metallic masks were whispering amongst themselves, giggling as they nodded over to Cullen. He groaned.
“Maker’s breath there will be no end to this.”
Neria opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but then another noble approached. Neria smiled as she recognized the shock of red hair and the braid pushed behind his ear.
“Teagan!” She grinned.
“Neria, dear.” Teagan greeted. He pulled her into an embrace. It was familiar, and made Neria a bit relieved, and she relaxed if only a little. She and Teagan might have flirted briefly once, but he treated her much more as an Uncle now. The embrace was more familial than anything. It reminded her of Irving.
“Who is this?” Teagan asked. “An escort?”
Cullen cleared his throat, hiding his reddening cheeks with a firm handshake with Teagan. Neria was more graceful. “No. He’s the Commander of the Inquisition. An old friend from my time in the Circle. I met him on the way in. Cullen, this is Bann Teagan of Redcliffe.”
The brow Teagan raised told her that she didn’t necessarily believe her, but it wasn’t…entirely a lie.
“I should get to the others.” Cullen said, perhaps too quickly. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course. See you inside.” Neria gave Cullen a nod, and he bowed in return. It was impressive, how well he’d slipped into his role as commander. She turned back to Teagan. “Are you alone?”
“Isolde is inside.” Teagan said. “From your time in the Circle?”
“We’ve told you about the Templar we rescued?”
“Ah. Of course.” Teagan offered her his arm to guide her further through the courtyard. She took it gratefully, allowing him to bring her to the table of refreshment. “You are in top form tonight, my lady.”
“You don’t have to fret, Teagan.” Neria laughed as he offered her a drink and a plate of sweets. “You remember I’m technically still an Arlessa, yes? This is not my first ball.”
“You haven’t been to Denerim in years.” He replied. “We were worried you might never visit again.”
“I can’t stay away long.” Neria’s voice grew softer. The words sounded like a lie on her tongue. She might have stayed in Amaranthine longer if Nathaniel had refused. If Connor wasn’t here. “Besides, It’s time to move on.”
“Is it?” Teagan asked, his eyebrows raising. “That’s good to hear. You know, the prince of Starkhaven himself is supposed to be here. And I cannot tell you how many requests Eamon has gotten to court you.”
Neria groaned. “I almost regret leaving that in his hands. Do I want to know? Is there even anyone worth my attention?”
“Not really.” He admitted with a laugh. “But I’m sure your dance card will be full tonight. But you should know, my offer of marriage for convenience still stands.”
“And have Isolde glare daggers at me for the rest of my days? I’m flattered, Teagan but I must refuse.”
“She’s not so bad.”
“If you say so.” Neria drained her glass. “Please tell Eamon not to accept any offers.”
“He knows better. You don’t have to despise him so.”
Neria rolled her eyes. She still remembered how Eamon had looked at Alistair before the Landsmeet. As if he was a piece of meat, or a puppet ready for his strings to be plucked. The only reason Alistair was on the throne was because he himself told Neria it was what he wanted. Eamon had been furious when the plan for him to marry Anora came to light, something Neria still took satisfaction in.
“Do you have a first dance partner?” Teagan asked, giving a polite nod to a group of nobles that passed. All the eyes on her made Neria’s skin crawl.
“Do I ever?” Neria hid her rue smile behind a bite of the tiny, too-sweet cake.
Teagan rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky a warden is here.”
“Speaking of, where is the Inquisition?”
“I’ll introduce you to the ambassador.” Teagan offered, “She’s lovely. You’d enjoy their group.”
She was sure she would. Admittedly, Neria hated that she missed the adventure. But the Cure seemed more important when she heard the Inquisition was already looking into the tear in the sky. Teagan guided her to a corner of the courtyard away from the doors. A dalish elf was propped on one of the benches. On either side of her was a large Qunari, another man with tan skin and a Tevinter accent. She was surrounded by at least six others. Warden Rainier, a dwarf that looked as if his nose has been broken speaking to another woman who she was nearly certain was the Champion, a Seeker speaking to Cullen, another elven woman with no vallaslin to mark her as Dalish pulling at the collar of her formal attire, a woman with an antivan accent, and a very familiar Enchanter.
Vivienne saw her before the others, her eyes lighting up immediately. Neria was well aware that Viv was a master of the Game, but the surge of pride she felt when her expression turned genuine could not be denied.
“Neria, darling! I was afraid I had missed you.” Vivienne pulled her into an embrace not unlike Teagan, leaving him to scramble to take Neria’s plate and glass as Vivienne kissed each of her cheeks. “It is so good to see you.”
“It is good to see you too, First Enchanter. Or is it just Lady now?”
“Whatever you prefer, dear.” She turned to the others. “Inquisitor, some meet the Hero of Fereldan.”
The title from Vivienne alone turned many heads, and a small hush fell over the courtyard. After a moment the chatter began again, cautious, as if Neria would simply disappear if they got too loud. Part of her wished Vivienne wouldn’t boast so, but she also couldn’t deny the happiness that came from having a First Enchanter praise her. Circles or no, there was respect there.
Teagan cleared his throat, pressing Neria’s refreshments back into her hands. “I believe I should go find Isolde. I will see you tonight, Neria.”
“Thank you, Teagan.” Neria said with a somehow sincere smile. When she turned back to the group from the Inquisition, she was suddenly surrounded.
The dalish elf, the Inquisitor, she realized, approached first. “It’s an honor to meet you, Warden Commander Surana. Truly.”
“The honor is all mine, Inquisitor Lavellan.” Neria replied. “I hope that you are not disappointed that I could not lend more aid during your time of need. I apologize for that. But I should thank you for taking care of Morrigan and Leliana so well.”
“They took care of me. Come, sit with us, please.”
It was less sitting and more congregating in a small area. Neria found herself fitting in easily with the Inquisition. They were all easy to speak with, and they had a good sense of humor. The only thing to remind her of where she was were the other attendees interrupting every now and then, vying for an audience with the hero of Fereldan, Inquisitor, and Champion of Kirkwall, Neria came to realize. Her refreshments were soon forgotten as she fell into idle conversation, swapping stories and tales of adventure and travel alike.
“So, is it always a term of endearment?” She asked The Iron Bull when she heard him refer to the Tevinter mage, Dorian, with a term she recognized. “Sten, or rather, the Arishok now, used it.”
“Kadan? No not always. Depends on the person, you see.”
“That’s a relief.” Neria sighed, “I’d hate to have spurned his affections if it were meant to be romantic.”
Bull gave a hardy laugh ad a slap on the back. “Wouldn’t that be a story, eh? Varric, what do you think?”
“The Arishok, still a Sten, falling in love with a Bas Saarebas in a distant land, only to be spurned by her when she falls for the King?” The dwarf gave a pointed look to the Seeker, Cassandra, who was looking on with a sudden twinkle of interest in her eyes. “Nah. Sounds way too mushy for me. Only a truly hopeless romantic would want to read any of that.”
Hawke laughed beside Cassandra as the seeker glared daggers at him, and even Neria could do little to hide her amusement. “Falling for the king might be an exaggeration.”
“That’s what makes the story so good, Hero.”
“Perhaps she and the Arishok could reconcile.” Josephine, the Antivan ambassador, suggested. “Make it a truly happy ending.”
“No that won’t work either. I was banned from Seheron by the last Arishok.” Neria said. “And I have been sword to secrecy as to why.”
Another laugh from Bull, and the conversation switched to Hawke and the previous Arishok. Neria felt a tap on her shoulder, turning to see Warden Rainier. “Commander, could I speak with you a moment?”
“Of course.” Neria said.
They took a few steps away, back towards the garden wall. Thom Rainier was a Warden recruit with a troubled past, but there was no Warden without one. He looked rather nervous as he led her away. “I uh…I must apologize. I know we arranged for me to be your first dance partner, but I must request to be, erm…relieved of that duty.”
Neria blinked, raising a brow at him. Rather guiltily, he looked behind her. Neria followed his gaze to the Inquisition, landing on Josephine.
“Ah.” She gave him a smile. “There is no need to apologize. I understand completely.” She waved her hand dismissively. “So at-ease or…whatever. You’re relieved.”
The tension in his shoulders left, and he gave her a solute “Thank you, Commander.”
With another far too enthusiastic bow he returned to the group. Neria sighed, biting her lip. This was a dilemma, but she didn’t want to focus on that now. Not with too-familiar footsteps approaching.
“What was that about?” Cullen asked, two glasses in his hand. He offered her one. She took it gratefully. “A dance?”
“It’s an old Fereldan tradition, apparently only common during these fancy celebrations.” She explained, sipping the wine. “Your first dance is to be with the person who escorted you to the party. Symbolic of a partnership and putting them first or something. The rest of the dances can be with anyone. Likely a way for nobility to mingle with each other in more intimate ways while remaining proper.”
Cullen tilted his head. “So you won’t have a first dance partner? Is that…bad?”
“Normally, no. but I’m the Hero of Fereldan. Somehow it’s…significant. Or so I’ve been told. Usually, I get a Warden to dance with. It doesn’t HAVE to be romantic, and if I dance with a Warden no one can claim I’ve chosen someone. Rumors don’t spread.” She frowned, massaging the bridge of her nose. Anora was going to kill her.
She downed her wine too quickly. She’d think of something, she always did. She turned to thank Cullen for the drink, but then an elven servant was approaching.
3 am thoughts or whatever the fuck this is idk it's just 3 am and i realized this is a long tittle rip
How come I always gotta pee when I'm extremely comfortable? Like this shit isn't fair honestly. Does this hoe actually think he can drop me and pick me back up whenever he feels like it? Like I'm a fucking toy? Bitch no. Fine ignore me and don't talk to me for a few days but don't come back to me saying how much you miss and like me and expect me to be there for you you lil shit. You're officially irrelevant to me and I shoulda listened to that pineapple head. Why are people so mean? I'm very sensitive and just want someone to call me pretty and give me hugs and listen to what I have to say through music. And someone I can cherish and keep safe and make them feel like home. AND ITS ALRIGHT. COUNTING ON SOMEONE TO HOLD TONIGHT. (I think those are the lyrics idk my brain is kinda fuzzy and I'm listening to ambulance sirens?(is that what they're called idk I'm horrible)) My arm really hurts. I'm such JOSHLER trash tbh. I've read so many JOSHLER fics and I cri because I need affection and I wish JOSHLER were real and I like how JOSHLER automatically capitalizes every fucking time like yes bitch I'm not kidding that they have taken over my life. I like being alone but I also hate it cause I'm clingy asf rip I'm searching for this boy who called me hot at Schlitterbahn but I can't find him and he was pretty hot himself too and I regret not getting his digits. I'm gonna commit. I also just felt something crawl up my leg oh my Jesus fuck no. My dog is very warm and fat is so cute. I love the color blue. My lips are pretty chapped. Why do my eyes feel like bricks? I don't know what I mean by bricks but it just seemed like the right term. When I see the term "term" I automatically think of sixth grade and about this boy I was best friends with and its such a cringe fest I'm gonna commit again. I love Pete Wentz. I'm still so in love with him please help.
my friend and i drove out really far tonight, completely silent as we listened to the entirety of The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me. the whole time, she was concentrating really hard on something on her phone and i told her to tell me what it was. she told me she was just writing something about the night and that she’d text it to me once she got home. here it is:
doesn’t this night feel kind of like halloween? sort of mystical, crooked stars and mentally grunting trucks on the dark streets, woven into darker fields. music that makes you think of your first love with the best, most smothering type of pain, burning your esophagus like the dry leaves you smoked an hour ago, when the stars were less crooked and the smoke seemed less evil. the churches you pass, and infinitely leave in the dark mists and clutches of the night, strangely similar to the black wool sweater you own, wearing it still only because you swear you’ve owned it in a past life. tears burning like soft angry ashes sliding down your cheeks and slipping off your lips, tasting like blood, hydrating like water on a day that is much less hot than you perceive it to be. finally now, being able to set your thoughts in emotional order and practical chaos, and after loving the relief of organization for a few moments, you start missing the feelings that made your eyes not just so soulful, but so powerful. passing this house that’s far out in the field, lights still on. you suddenly feel like the person who lives there is your distant relative, and you’re somehow finally coming home, or at least a part of you is. finally your heart is at rest, and your eyes can close for a little, and your tears will taste like salt.
