For Day 3 of @rutherfest, I wanted to revisit how Cullen might have been feeling during the romance lock-in scene. I may expand on this at some point, but for now:
(Cullen/Emmaera Lavellan | 877 Words | No warnings)
It was a relief, in some ways, to have one’s path decided in advance.
Being a Templar had given him that. Cullen could remember well what it had meant to wake and know what the day would bring, for good or ill. His role had necessitated some decision making, of course, and at the time he’d been honored at the chance to provide direction for some of the others. But—in the end, it hadn’t been so much freedom as all that, had it?
Every Templar who’d been with the Order as long as he had would have been hard-pressed to remain ignorant of this path’s termination. He’d seen it plenty himself: the loss of memories, of faculties, the slow slide into oblivion. Some had called it a just price to pay for acting as sword and shield for the Maker’s Bride. Others had turned their faces from it, had hoped that they would somehow be the exception to the rule.
Cullen—well. After the Circle tower in Kinloch hold, he’d had little interest in thinking so far ahead at all. His path had been decided for him, and there was a relief in that. There was no after. If he tried hard enough, there was no before either.
But after—after haunted him now.
Cullen understood war and its tactics. He understood training and supply lines and strategy. Fighting—preparing to fight—neither surprised him nor worried him. By now, he understood it all too well. They would win or Corypheus would, and any actions their people could make to impede the would-be god were worth the price.
No, it was not the war that worried him. He had faith in their forces, in their leader. But—there would come a day when the Inquisition was no more. Or it may yet exist, but would do so with another Commander. There would come a day when he would have to decide what that meant, who he might wish to be beyond this crisis. He had put his head down and turned his attention to strategy and the troops and his work, but that decision had loomed ever more present since the day he’d realized how much he wanted a future that included the Inquisitor.
Desiring anything at all was still so profoundly foreign. The idea of wanting something that depended so utterly on a hundred other factors—not the least of which among them were her own plans and desires—was all so dreadfully complex. How could he even begin to seek an answer when he struggled to define the question? Untangling his own thoughts to produce something coherent was forever falling lower on the list below the constant updates, patrols, meetings, intel, and (pleasant though it was) the time he spent with her.
It did not surprise him that this, like so many other admissions, spilled from him before he’d planned it out properly.
“I find myself wondering what will happen after,” he said now, turning to face Emmaera. She tilted her head, eyes tracking him. They caught his and he found, as he had a thousand times before, that he could not bring himself to look away.
“When this is over,” he went on, and touched the angle of her jaw, “I won’t want to move on—not from you.”
Only the corner of her mouth lifted, as it so often did when he said things like this to her. He could be caught like this—could find himself staring at her with no memory of what he’d been about to say. It was—quiet, still, looking at her. It was as if her presence muffled the endless round of thoughts circling his head.
But no—not now. Now that he’d started this discussion, he had to finish it.
“But I—I don’t know what you,” he turned away, clutching at half-formed thoughts and incomplete sentences, “that is—if you—”
His name was gentle and fondly chiding on her lips—as if her answer ought to have been obvious.
It was odd—for so many years, he had been focused on everything but the future or the past that he had very rarely been actually experiencing the moments he was living. The past was a horror; the future was a slow descent into nothingness. The present was a refuge, a bulwark against both, but he’d never especially wanted to be there either.
In this moment—when he was at last assured of some future worth turning toward—he was finally aware of everything that the present entailed. There was neither past nor future, only now. For the first time, it was not a denial of of worry or regret, but a refuge from it. He was here, he was now, and she was with him.
This—the texture of her skin, the soft sigh she made when his mouth found the edge of her jaw—was all the world that need matter right now. Cullen held himself to the immediacy of the moment as tightly as he could, surrendering to the uncertainty of the future.
Who he would become remained indefinite, vague, impossible to predict. As long as he knew this one thing—that the future would include her, too—Cullen found it was an uncertainty he could accept.
This is a fic set just after Solas has the conversation with Emma about whether she's changed since she had the Anchor on her hand, in which she is trying to figure out whether she has:
Emmaera heard Cullen before she saw him: boots on stone, the soft creak of his metal armor, the intake of breath when he reached the top of her stairs. She turned to look at him, but didn’t say anything and didn’t move from the balcony. She’d felt rooted here ever since Solas had gone away. She was too full of—something—to move now. She had to hold still until she’d thought it all through.
“Are you all right?” her lover asked, slipping through the doorway and stopping beside her. After a moment’s thought, he rested a hand on her shoulder.
Her chest felt tight. She exhaled all at once, only then realizing that she had been holding her breath.
“I—don’t know,” she told him. He stood with his back to the sun, so that it lit the fine strands of hair that stood above the others. She closed her eyes against it and leaned into him, taking comfort from the solidity of his body beside hers.
“I don’t know if I am who I was,” she told him, all at once, as if the words couldn’t bear to wait behind her lips any longer.
“Never really been alive before” for the prompts :3
Ooooh, thank you so much! The instant I saw this one, I knew what I wanted to write c:
(Prompts)
Not a Moment Sooner
(Cullen/Emmaera Lavellan | 1,159 Words | CW: References to lyrium addiction)
“Never really been alive before,
I always lived in my head.
Sometimes, it was easier
hungover and half-dead.”
—Florence + the Machine, “Back in Town”
Cullen jolted awake, the nightmare still thick in his throat.
The room was quiet beyond him save the soft, even breathing of his love. He could hear the wind whistling through the hole in the roof, the orderly scuff of boots on stone, the distant caw of a raven. All was well enough, even if for a moment he had to remind himself that all of those things were right. He was the Commander of the Inquisition, no longer a Templar, and this was where he was supposed to be.
Heart still racing, he rolled onto his side. Emmaera’s breathing did not change. Moonlight settled gently over her bare shoulder, brushed soft fingers over her long, loose hair, and traced the swell of her hip with silver. For a moment, Cullen just looked at her and breathed.
Yes. He was here with her, right where he was supposed to be. He wasn’t that man anymore. Those days were in the past.
The wind brushed past again and Emmaera shivered, though her breath remained even. Carefully, Cullen drew the sheet up over her shoulder and tucked himself against her. Her hair tickled his chest when he moved closer, but he was loath to let go. The nightmare—no, dream—hovered close even now and she seemed his best hope at beating it away again. Eyes tightly closed, he pressed his nose into her hair and breathed in the faint scent of lavender.
Long experience had taught him that he dreams of daily life as a Templar were almost worst than the nightmares of torture. He could expect the torture. He could plan for it, act around it, sometimes work himself out of those nightmares. Though he was often unwell on the mornings after the worst of them, he could work around that, too. That pain was an old pain. He knew its boundaries well by now, knew its pitfalls and its limitations.
The memory of who he’d been before, of what it had been like to feel that liquid surety in his very blood—they were far worse in many ways. It was painful to remember how simple life had been then. He had rarely been asked to express his own judgment, to think for himself; there had been only the Knight-Commander and the lyrium and the conviction that the Chantry must be right above all others. Moreover, the days after these dreams were a torment. He could all but hear the song of lyrium in passing templars, in the potion belts the mages wore. Maker, he could hear it even when there was no clear origin—and it made him horribly, horribly thirsty.
Parched, in fact, as he was now.
In the dream, Cullen had patrolled through Kirkwall’s streets. The sun had been hot on his back and the lyrium had just begun to fade in his veins. His head ached, as it often had when he’d struggled to sleep the night before. The one patrolling with him had been functionally faceless, helmed and covered in full plate. Cullen had ignored them, and his companion had not spoken.
People turned from them as they turned the corner, huddling away with shoulders hunched to avoid notice. Others had straightened up and nodded to them. Cullen had nodded back in acknowledgment, even though the motion made his head ache even worse. He needed more. If he asked, perhaps Meredith…but no. He would not ask. He was strong enough to bear the aching without fresh lyrium.
He did not know what made him turn as they passed the alleyway, but he’d paused to look.
There—an elven woman, huddled against the wall. Markings like vines and tree roots had grown over her chin and forehead—Dalish. She’d been clutching her arm, her face a mask of pain. Cullen had looked at her, and felt nothing, and turned away.
A nightmare, then. Not a dream. Yes, he was certain of it. He’d told Lavellan that it made him feel ill to know that the man he’d been before would not have cared for her. The thought of it had chased him into dreams before tonight, the creeping horror of the person he’d once been. For a decade, lyrium had left no room to think, no room to care, and he had allowed it to happen.
Ah, he ached tonight. His joints were the worst, but his head was pounding, too. Perhaps that was where the nightmare had been called from; perhaps his own body had summoned it from his own pain.
Emmaera made a soft noise and pressed herself back against him.
“’sit morning already?” she murmured, turning her head. Cullen kissed her cheek carefully and wrapped his arm more firmly around her waist.
“Not quite. Rest, love.”
Emmaera hummed in acknowledgement, but rolled over after a moment and peered at him. The light caught in her eyes for only a moment before she huddled against him. She was so lovely—always, sleep-tousled hair and all. When she pressed her face into his neck, her nose was shockingly cold.
“You’re not to get up yet,” she murmured, lips brushing against his bare skin. “You promised I’d have you until the sun rose. The troops can wait.”
Cullen huffed and kissed the side of her head. Affection chased away the shadows in his heart, though it did little for the headache. He was grateful for it even so.
“You have my solemn vow, Inquisitor,” he murmured. “Until the sun rises. Not a moment sooner.”
She laughed softly.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Her heart beat steadily under his hand. Her breath was warm against his chest. The headache was his, and for all that it clutched at the base of his skull he would not be exchanging it for a fog. This life—it was not easy. Perhaps it would yet kill him.
But it was his life. His, for the first time since he’d been a boy. If his body ached, if his mind tormented him in his sleep, well—at least he knew it was his body, that the decisions he made were his own. For good or ill, he stood on his own two legs now without lyrium or Order to prop him up or puppet him around.
“I love you,” Emmaera murmured, her voice drowsy again. She kissed his neck and nestled closer. “Go to sleep, Cullen.”
Yes—he was his own man. And though it had perplexed him at the time, she had seen this and…loved him for it.
“I love you,” he echoed, passing a hand slowly over her back. “I will try.”
Though he tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep again, when the sun broke through the windows at last he found himself calm and clear. Most crucially, when dawn came, he knew that he was not alone. Maker willing—Emmaera willing—he never would be again.
Tagged by @brother-genitivi---Thank you so much! I am always delighted by any opportunity to talk music c:
I didn't want to pick one ship, so here are three songs for each of my canon DA ships instead (I have great playlists for all of them that I want to show off haha), so nine total split across the three.
So:
Arianwen/Zevran
The Killing Kind by Marianas Trench (YT link)
The ghost in me was true but
you were haunted too just
didn't see it all along.
Nevermore to leave here, nevermore to leave here
You should never be here
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
I know my love can be
the killing kind.
Howl by Florence + The Machine (YT Link)
If you could only see
The beast you've made of me
I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free
Screaming in the dark
I howl when we're apart
Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your bleeding heart
Got Weird by dodie (YT Link)
I got weird when we made out
What a goddamn kiss to think about
Poured a drink all over my wiring
Short a fuse, all cylinders firing
It got weird when we made out
Clearly I've got shit to figure out
Baby, baby, please don't hate me
Call me up again, I won't get weird
Maria/Fenris
Francesca by Hozier (YT Link)
Now that it's done
there's not one thing that I would change
My life was a storm since I was born
How could I fear any hurricane?
If someone asked me at the end
I'd tell them "put me back in it." ...
I would still be surprised I could find you,
Darling, in any life
reckless driving by Lizzy McAlpine (YT Link) (with Maria singing the man's part)
Now we're at 180
and I can finally see
but then it's over in a second, crashed the car into the tree
Yeah, I can see it all happen
You'd rather die than take your eyes off me
Lose Myself by Lera Lynn (YT Link)
Don't want to talk
Don't want to listen
You'll just convince me
That you're what I'm missing
If I stay longer, I know what I'll do
I'll lose myself in you
Emmaera/Cullen
Dark Doo Wop by MS MR (YT Link)
The world is gonna burn, burn, burn, burn
As long as we're going down
Baby you should stick around
It's all gone to shit; it's out of our hands
Baby if you could, I know: you would hatch a plan
That's my, that's my man
You and Me on the Rock by Brandi Carlile (YT Link)
I'll build my house up on this rock, baby, every day with you
There's nothin in that town I need
after everything we've been through.
Me out in my garden
And you out on your walk
Is all the distance this poor girl can take without listening to you talk
I don't need their money, baby
Just you and me on the rock
Photograph by Cody Fry (YT Link)
If I wished myself a superpower
I would make this moment last for hours
If I had my will, time would just stand still
Wait for me until I find some magic film
To take a photograph and live inside
I need some way to prove that this was real
A memory is not enough
I'm scared that I'll forget the way it feels
To be young and in love
Let me stay right here---just a moment longer
The picture is so clear
Please let this last forever
Tagging (no pressure): @greypetrel @demandthedoodles @star--nymph @vakarians-babe @scribbledquillz @zenstrike @gaysebastianvael @transprincecaspian @ndostairlyrium @gvnseylike @idolsgf @layalu @bitchesofostwick @jtownnn and YOU
