An unprompted Storm 'Rook' Hawke & Varric, pre-veilguard (maybe a few months after Varric 'recruited him') for @dadrunkwriting
Prompt: what's your excuse this time?
----
"Alright, kid… what’s your excuse this time?"
Storm looked up from the small bound pad of parchment he’d been doodling in—more scribbling than art, more avoidance than either.
"No idea what you’re talking about, *uncle* Varric."
"Uh-huh. The 'uncle' card doesn't work on me."
The dwarf ambled closer, casual as if he’d just wandered in for a chat, and not a reluctant lecture,
"I must’ve hallucinated Harding’s report then. And this—" he gestured the bandage on Storm’s hand, "—is obviously the latest in Warden fashion accessories."
Storm shrugged. "Paper cut."
"Sure. And I’m a nug wrangler." Varric tilted his head, leveling the kid a look, "What was it this time? You decided the hurlock needed a hug? Tried to arm-wrestle an ogre?"
Storm smirked faintly. "You’d be surprised how vicious paper can be."
Varric’s look didn’t shift.
Storm tried to hold it. Failed.
He stared down at the page instead, quill pressing so hard it nearly tore the parchment.
"You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Rook," Varric said, quieter now.
Storm rolled his eyes, "it's nothing."
Varric didn’t believe that for a second. "You don’t have to keep proving you’re breakable. We already know."
"Not broken."
"Not what I said."
Storm’s jaw tightened.
The ink pooled under the nib, feathering into the parchment—dark veins branching out like frost. His fingers flexed once against the quill, then stilled.
Varric sighed, dragging a chair over and taking a seat, "I thought your parents were a handful. But you're starting to make Blondie look well adjusted."
Storm’s mouth twitched like he wanted to fire back, but instead he muttered, "He’s not."
"Yeah, kid. I know." Varric leaned forward just enough to catch his eye. "Question is—why are you gunning for his record?"
Storm finally looked up, irritation flickering sharp and brief before settling into something tighter. "If I don’t do it, someone else does."
"And if you’re dead, what then? Other than me having to write a very awkward letter?"
Storm shifted in his chair, shoulders rounding, like if he could just make himself smaller. He went back to doodling, though the lines had turned messy, jagged.
"You’re not answering me."
Storm blew out a slow breath through his nose, "If I’m dead, I’m dead. End of problem."
"Yeah, and start of a whole other list of problems for the rest of us," Varric shot back.
"I'm not gonna die Varric." Storm muttered.
Varric arched a brow, "That’s a bold claim."
“You done lecturing?”
“Not even close.” Varric rose, “But I’ll save the rest for next time. And there will be a next time, because apparently you’re allergic to learning from experience.”
Storm managed a genuine grin at that, though it was small. “Guess I’ll keep you in business, then.”
Varric huffed, shaking his head as he turned to leave. “Yeah, Rook. Just try not to make me write your final chapter, alright?”
Storm didn’t answer, just pretended to keep doodling until the door clicked shut.
It's ridiculous. Frivolous to be doing something so mundane as shopping when the whole world is threatening to come to an end. Particularly shopping for anything that won't immediately assist in avoiding that terrible outcome. That's what they'd told themselves while wandering through the night markets of Treviso, anyway. It was beautiful, sure, but unnecessary. Much as Tobias' eyes had lingered on it, the elf had stuck to the essentials, combing the market for any tradesmen or merchants that might have equipment, weapons, or materials to upgrade they and their companions existing gear.
It had come as a surprise then, the first time they visited their room in the Lighthouse after returning from the markets to find the windchime hanging in one of their windows, glass beads refracting the light, while a tiny golden charm striker and wooden tubes create a soft tinkling harmony on the breeze. It is every bit as lovely as they remember and imagined, and somehow makes their space feel more theirs.
Tobias smiles fondly, reaching out to slowly catch one of the golden striker and between their fingers, admiring the metalwork more closely. A soft tinkling, not made by their new decor comes from behind them and the elf's smile grows.
"I hoped you would like it," Emmrich offers with a small smile as Tobias turns to greet them. "I- I saw you admiring it in the market. You're so diligent about taking care of all of us, when you didn't get it for yourself, I knew I had to," the necromancer offers fondly.
There are a hundred things that Tobias wants to say. All of them, however, seem to stick in their throat as their blue-green eyes meet Emmrich's. He can't possibly know the reason why the chime had first caught their attention, that the gentle tinkle of metal and echoes of the wood striking against one another had reminded them of him and Manfred.
Emmrich is, of course, always welcome in their space, but the older man seems... hesitant to intrude upon their space or time, rather as if he thinks their patience for him and his presence might be finite. It's a positively ridiculous notion, one which the elf would very much like to disabuse him of, but they aren't certain how without showing their hand. A man as accomplished as Emmrich must surely be spoiled for choice when it comes to a partner of a more... romantic nature. Perhaps he has one already he left behind with the Mourn Watch. There's no reason to think that he might be interested in them.
That doesn't stop their foolish heart from hoping, though. Or from little things, silly things like the sound of a particular wind chime, reminding them of him and bringing a smile to their face.
"Thank you, Emmrich," Tobias smiles softly, dropping the striker and listening as it knocks gently against the tubes once more. "It's beautiful."
"You deserve beautiful things, my dear. Yes, we're saving the world, but it's also important to remember what we are saving it for," Emmrich says returning their gentle smile with one of his own.
"I think I'm going mad." for Anders and the Warden Commander? :3
Hi Potato! Thank you for the ask, friend! I answered this prompt as part of the 100 Word Challenge for @dadrunkwriting . I hope you enjoy. There's a bit of a nightmare in the beginning, just so you know. <3
“Anders!”
He reached towards the sound, struggling to move even an inch. Everything was melting: his boots, staff, his very bones. Anders gasped. Darkspawn were approaching; guttural growls buzzed in his head. War drums shook him to his very core—
“Anders!”
He startled awake, heart pounding and drenched from sweat. His eyes widened; the Commander sat beside him.
“...Bad dream?” she asked.
“I think I’m going mad,” he whispered, in tears. “That dream…”
“You’re not. Every Warden has nightmares.” She pulled him into an embrace. “Shh, I’m here, I’ve got you.”
Anders held her tightly, grateful to call her ‘friend.’
Welcome to the DADWC! Here’s a prompt for you! “Reading a book together,” for the pairing of your choice!
For @dadrunkwriting !
Morrigan comes in to say goodnight to Kieran, only to find Mahariel reading a book with him already.
Rating: G
-:-:-:-
Armor lay in a heap by the door, visibly stained with blood and smelling of smoke and battle. Morrigan was no stranger to such things, yet with no small measure of loathing she realized that her nose had become accustomed to the overwhelmingly floral scents of the court. The acrid scent of the Deep Roads and its Darkspawn made her nose wrinkle slightly as she closed the door behind her and made her way deeper into her rooms. At least Halevune had not shucked his outer layers beside the eluvian this time. The cleaning staff had had a grand time trying to remove the mysterious blood stains from Morrigan’s lush, gifted carpets, and she had briefly considered whether she should move the grand mirror somewhere slightly more out of the way.
She had not, for it was too sweet a sight to find Kieran watching the mirror from his four-poster bed, waiting for his father to arrive.
That was where she found them: skin-to-skin in bed, candles lit all around them to better help them study the book in Kieran’s lap. Their eyes were trained on her, however, and a crooked smile played easily on Halevune’s pale face. He nudged Kieran’s head with his chin. “Good ears, ma’da’isenatha,” he said proudly. “Even I did not hear her coming.”
Kieran giggled. “I know you could hear a mouse at a mile, papae,” he retorted with a roll of his golden eyes. “He knew you were coming, mother. But I did hear you this time!”
“Oh, did you?” she queried, sauntering closer with a coy smile of her own. “And what did you hear, I wonder?”
“I could hear your feathers,” Kieran said, “and talons on the landing.”
“Very good. ‘Twas indeed in the form of a raven that I took my leave of the Empress today.” Morrigan sat heavily in his bed and kicked up her feet without removing her boots. The voluminous skirts of her court dress rolled and puffed awkwardly, and she wrinkled her nose at them--if only to hear Kieran’s giggle again. She rested her head on his shoulder and looked down at the book he still held. “And what is this, my love? ‘Tis new--from your tutors?”
“Papae brought it from afar,” Kieran said. “It is a collection of the Adventures of the Black Fox!”
“I do not think I have heard of this ‘Black Fox,’“ Morrigan mused as she ran one finger down the uneven pages of the tome. An illustrated novel, it seemed, with a delicate wooden cover painted white and adorned with leaves. The title was in script so elegant and swirling it was almost illegible.
Halevune shifted in bed and stretched an arm out to brush a flyaway strand of Morrigan’s hair behind her ear, and she flicked her golden gaze back up to meet his. “I only know of one fox, and he is pale as the moon.”
Hal rolled his eyes. “Nathaniel tells me the Black Fox is every young rogue’s dream come to life,” he explained, ignoring her teasing with well-practiced ease. “He was a noble who forsook his title, donned a mask, and adventured across Thedas making a mockery of those frilly cakes and fops.”
“Ah, I see the appeal!” Morrigan gave a sigh of lament, then grinned up at Kieran. “Are you a young rogue, then, Kieran?”
Her son scowled at her, but a smile burst across his face quickly thereafter. “Papae says that if I complete my studies and get the right people to like me, I could be a spy,” he said around his too-wide smile.
“A spy for what cause?” Morrigan asked, looking not at Halevune for a moment. She knew of plenty of causes they both, collectively, might support--least of which being the growing unrest between Orlesian City Elves and their noble masters. But she wondered what her sweet child might surprise her with.
He lowered her voice, though his whisper was still too loud to be truly conspiratorial. “For mages, mama.”
Morrigan blinked up at him. “What do the mages need that you would further their goals?” she asked.
“Freedom,” he said, eyes wide and disbelieving. “It’s not nice, what the Andrastians say about mages and witches. It must be so sad, to be locked away in a tower. But no one knows that I am what I am. I could fly in through their windows and bring them letters from their families!”
Halevune had let his hand dance down Morrigan’s shoulder while she spoke with Kieran, and now he found her hand and twined his fingers with hers atop Kieran’s book. They shared a look that lingered a moment too long as they both, doubtless, thought of things she had said, and things he had seen, at the broken Circle in Ferelden. These moments came more often these days, often prompted by Kieran’s inquiries and innocent, well-intentioned observations about life in the Orlesian Court.
Kieran began to fidget, and when Morrigan looked back up at him she found his gaze uncertain.
She offered him a faint smile. “My kind-hearted son,” she said gently. “’Tis a worthy cause indeed.”
Relief and pride flooded Kieran’s face, and her heart tightened to realize how the puppy fat was beginning to melt from his cheeks. Sometimes when she looked upon him now, she saw the ghost of his father in his face--barely older than a child, with as much idealism and kindness in his eyes and roundness to his face as his son now held.
She sat up to press a kiss to Kieran’s temple, and across the top of his head she caught Hal’s gaze again. There were so many more shadows beneath his eyes now, than there had been then; the Taint had bleached his hair entirely now, and the purple of his vallaslin was stark against sallow skin. Yet in his pale gaze, still, she saw the boy she had--against all expectations, against her supposedly better instincts, against the odds--fallen in love with nearly ten years ago.
“Tell me more of this ‘Black Fox,’ then, if he has inspired you so,” Morrigan said, leaning back to look down at the page. “What have you read of this masked rogue so far?”
For DWC: "Interesting and sophisticated / refusing to be celebrated," for Varric and a partner of your choosing, doesn't have to be shippy?
For @dadrunkwriting, and for @sulevinblade
~1400 words, Padi Hawke & Varric, good for all ages, mentions of alcohol and a depressed Hawke
Posted to AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16719058 (copy and paste since links are weird)
“Hawke, you can’t stay in there forever.” Varric turns on his heel, not quite pacing in the hallway.
“And yet, here I continue to sit.” Her voice comes to him through the door to her bedroom, where she’d been all day, if Bodahn is to be believed. The untouched tray of food outside is convincing, if nothing else.
“Is Anders in there with you?” He stops, head tilted up to look at the ceiling. Anders isn’t in there. He knows he’s not; he rarely is these days, a fact that Varric is aware of and doing his best to monitor without letting anyone know.
“No.”
Varric’s head falls forward, and he shakes it. Hawke shouldn’t be alone when she gets like this, and while he doesn’t mind stepping in as her best friend, Anders is leaving too much of this to other people. “Where is he?”
A noncommittal noise is all he gets in reply, and it stings more than it should to hear it. She deserves someone to be with her when she needs them most.
“I should go find him.” He mutters it more to himself than to her.
A sigh, loud enough to be heard through the door. “It’s unlocked, Varric. You can just come in, you know.”
He’d been waiting for a signal, and he’ll take that. “You inviting me into your bedroom, Hawke? People might talk.” He smiles so that it’s audible, letting the little relief he feels warm his voice.
Varric pushes open the door and is surprised to find her lower than eye level. She’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. She has the Viscount’s crown in her lap; a souvenir from the fight with the Arishok, not yet returned as it has yet no rightful owner.
“Neither Orana nor Sandal care who comes and goes in my room,” she replies, glancing up at him and rolling her eyes before looking down at the crown again.
He’s not sure he believes that, but he lets it lie for the time being. It’s not why he’s here.
She’s wearing loose brown pants and a pale tunic, long blonde hair braided and hanging over her shoulder. She’s barefoot, toes flexing slightly as she rolls the crown back and forth in her hands, as if testing the weight of it.
Varric doesn’t have to hold it to know that it’s too heavy for her head.
“You know they’re throwing a party for you today.” He knows she knows, but it’s why he’s there, and probably why Anders is gone, and this is one of those parties where the guest of honor really ought to turn up, even if she will be fashionably late at this point. “You know, you’re not exactly dressed for it.”
“If I did something good, then why doesn’t it feel like I did something good?” Her voice is small in the space of her bedroom, not even reaching the walls to echo, and he doesn’t know what to tell her. He doesn’t know how to make her see how big her heart is, that it hurts even for the ones she has to kill to keep the city safe.
He sighs, shuffling across the floor to sit down next to her. She leans against him as if it’s the most natural thing on the planet, her head tilted to rest against his.
“You saved the city from the Qunari.”
He feels her shrug. “I didn’t save Saemus. Or his father,” she adds, lifting up the crown to drop it into her lap. “Or my mother. Isabela’s in the wind, and I--” There’s no humor in her laugh. “Right up until the end, I really thought that the Arishok might leave peacefully. I didn’t want him to die.”
“He would’ve killed you,” Varric reminds her, though he doesn’t think she needs it. But he might. She makes good points, even if it’s easy for him to overlook them in favor of seeing the good she does. None of them are perfect, but every day, he sees how she tries. Violence is always her last resort, but they seem to get there faster and faster these days.
Hawke still hasn’t replied, and he doesn’t want her dwelling on the thought of what might have happened with the Arishok. No good will come of her thoughts following that path.
“You sure you don’t want to go to a party? There’s free drinks, food. You’ll be accompanied by Kirkwall’s most eligible bachelor all night.” He nudges her with his elbow, but she continues to rest heavily against his side.
“They want to go gawk at the woman who killed the Arishok. Who let the Viscount die.”
“No,” he replies, bordering on too cheerful. “They want to see more of you, know more about you.”
“They didn’t want to know more when I was a penniless refugee from the Blight. Then they only wanted me gone. They only care because I’m good at killing things. Is that really what makes a Champion?” She punctuates the question by setting the crown rolling away from her. It cuts a clean path across the room before clanging against the wall and falling, wobbling like a coin until it comes to rest.
Hawke pushes herself to her feet to retrieve it, and Varric calls it a small victory. Some days he fails at getting her out of bed; those days will not be in his stories, when he retells them.
He stands as well, but leans back against the bed, not quite sitting.
“What makes a Champion is you, Hawke. Whatever you are, that’s what a Champion is.” Not for the first time, he finds that he completely believes it. He’d known before he met her that there was something special there, and he has yet to be proven wrong. Special isn’t always good. It’s not always the strongest, or the fastest. But it’s there, and she has it.
“I spent a year in this city running bloody errands for nobles and they wouldn’t so much as nod when they passed me on the street. But kill the right person, and they give you a title.” She bends at the waist to pick up the crown as she speaks.
“And a party.”
“And a party,” she repeats, sighing. “Everything that’s happened in this city, and the nobles want to throw a party.”
“You’re interesting! It’s a compliment. It’s…” She’s not going to take it as a compliment, no matter what he tells her. He straightens, walking slowly across the room towards her. “You saved them, and they’re grateful. And I know, you wanted to save the rest of them. You want to save everyone.”
The words are there, on the tip of his tongue. She’s turned to look down at him, crown hanging all but forgotten in one hand. But then her grip on it tightens, and he knows. He can’t tell her that she can’t save them all. It’s all she has to hold onto, and he won’t take it from her.
“But tonight, what do you say we go bother some nobles instead?” He offers it as gently as he can. He’s already pushed more than he wants to, but sometimes she needs to be guided. Varric doesn’t want to set her course, but he likes to think that he can see when she’s veering from it, that he can help set her right again.
“No.”
He’s disappointed, but only for a moment, until he looks up into her face. The dullness is gone from her gaze, and she has one brow raised. The Hawke he knows - the face she shows the world - is coming back. Varric doesn't know what he said that did it, or if he even played any part in it at all, but he's glad to see his friend again.
“Let’s bother some nobles by not going to bother some nobles,” she suggests. “Let’s stay in. We’ll have drinks, play cards, and let them all wonder what the Champion is up to that’s so much more important than them.”
“You’re sure?”
As if to answer, she tosses the crown again, this time a careful cast so that it lands on the bed without bouncing or rolling off. Then she turns away and heads out her bedroom door into the hallway.
“Let’s go see if there’s anything left from dinner in the kitchen.”
The painted figurine of a desperate heart. <-- hurt me with your Solas angst
You cannot see it, but I am giving you two looks. One that is mischievous, and one that says, “I hate you and I will kill all that you love.” But, whatever.
I had been contemplating doing this scene for awhile, so HERE YA GO. This is for @dadrunkwriting ! (Also, I fully realize that @veridium-bye may kill me for this scene and to that and I am only half sorry.)
With the major events in Crestwood taken care of, the group was set to leave within the next few days. They were in the keep at Caer Bronch, settling in after a day of battling demons and highwaymen. Adari had gone to the small room at the top of the stairs to talk to the scouts. Anything else that needed their attention needed to be taken care of soon.
Solas stood off to the side of the stairs, waiting for her to emerge. He was eager to have her attention without so many prying eyes, but he was apprehensive of his plan. It may not work, but he had to know when this was finished that he had at least tried. He couldn’t wait any longer.
Hearing her open the door and begin her descent, he calls out. “Inquisitor, may I have a moment?”
She had been reading a report, but his formality caught her attention. Looking over to him, she said, “Is everything alright? You only ever call me Inquisitor out there,” she says as she gestures with her hand. He knows what she’s implying.
“Yes, I just… I needed your attention. Forgive me.”
That seems to catch her off guard. She is quick to offer, “We don’t need titles for you to have my attention, Solas. What is it that you need?”
His chest tightens when she says his name. She so rarely does, it gives off a feeling of intimacy, of being known by someone.
“I was hoping that I might steal you away for a time. Is that alright?”
She pauses a moment to think. Finally she says, “I think I could give you the evening if you’d like? Let me go tell Cassandra in case the world decides to end before we come back.”
He chuckles, despite himself, and nods at her. “Meet me at the front gates when you are finished then.”
It isn’t long before she finds him. She holds up a basket, saying, “I didn’t know how long we’d be out, so I got us dinner.” He smiles warmly at that. He so rarely gets her to himself that he feels peculiar when faced with the reality of it.
Once they leave the Keep, he feels some of the tightness in his chest start to loosen. He wasn’t even sure that he would be able to get her away, but she was happily walking along beside him. The evening was starting off better than he had imagined.
They walk in companionable silence for a time before she asks, “Where are we going?”
“To a place not far from here. I would have shown you while we were out with the group, but I wanted it to be a surprise for you. I hope you do not mind.”
Her face seems to light up a bit at his words, which eases yet more of the anxiety away. She smiles at him and replies, “After so many demons and corpses, I could use a nice surprise. Thank you, Solas.”
He chuckles. “You don’t even know what it is, yet you want to thank me? What if you hate it?”
Adari laughs saying, “You know me too well. I don’t think you would give me a surprise that I hate!”
He looks down at his feet, smiling to himself. He thought he knew her well, yes. Hearing that being confirmed by her seemed something he should treasure.
They reached the mouth of a dark cave. He turned to her saying, “This is it. There’s an area past the cave tunnel.” He held out a hand to her, offering guidance in the dark. She smiled, taking it. They walked through the darkness quickly and quietly, and he found himself holding his breath. He tried to gain control, afraid she would hear his fumbling. They reached the inner part of the cave that expanded into a small enclosed courtyard of sorts. Adari gasped at the sight.
The area was framed by two Elven statues, with a pond in the center. The moon hung low in the sky, reflecting itself in the water. He held up a hand to examine as he said, “The Veil is thin here… can you feel it? The way it tingles on your skin?”
She looked around them for a moment before lifting up her own hand. “I can.. it.. it almost feels like drops of dew on my skin.” She smiled up at him. “Solas, this place is beautiful! Thank you. Truly. It’s refreshing to take a moment to really see everything around me.”
Good. This was what he had wanted. He gestured that they sit down near the edge of the pond to eat the food she had brought along. It was comfortable now, the time and space they were able to share together. So much of it was battles, yes, but there were other times like this. She had seemed to attach herself to him right away in Haven, as much as he tried to tell her otherwise. She came to him for guidance, for knowledge, and most surprisingly for companionship. He hadn’t understood it, but they had become fast friends.
While they ate, she talked to him happily about whatever came into her mind. She told him of latest book she had read, a small one of Dalish poems that had been given to her by the clan in the Plains as a gift. She explained how difficult it had been to see Blackwall in prison recently, and how she was grateful that she was able to offer him a second chance. On and on, she went. He was happy to let her talk as long as she wanted, as they so rarely had these moments of late. But when she leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder, he remembered why he had brought her here.
“Adari, I,.. well I brought you here for a reason. I wanted to find a way to show you, tell you, what you mean to me. And to thank you.” She sat up and turned to look at him. “What are you thanking me for?”
Taking a breath, he said, “You have so often challenged my views of not only the Dalish, but of the world as I have known it. You are unlike others, and that has been… refreshing to discover.”
She looked into the water of the pond for a moment before answering. “The Dalish are flawed, yes, but they are still my people.” Solas turned her head gently to look at him. “Yes, which is why I must tell you the truth. Your markings. They are slave markings. Originally they meant show which of the gods a slave belonged to, and well.. it has just been perversed over time.”
She stared at him for a long moment before answering. “The one thing the Dalish use to set themselves apart from others is just another thing that they misunderstood?”
Solas nods at her numbly. “I don’t say this to distress you. I know you would want the truth, as ugly as it may be. I have done some research, and I have discovered a spell to remove them. That is, if you wish.”
Adari makes a small noise in her throat before answering. “I didn’t want the markings to begin with, Solas. You know I don’t believe in the gods. To be seen as truly Dalish, to be seen as a full adult in their eyes, however, it is required.” She pauses for a moment, thinking. “But I am no longer truly Dalish. I don’t think I could be after being the Inquisitor. It would not pain me to lose the markings.”
He is relieved to hear her say this. He moves to face her fully, saying “This will not take long.” A blue green magic pulses from him as he washes her face with it. He reaches her chin and pulls back, taking in the sight of her without the markings. Taking in a breath, he says, “You… you are so beautiful, Adari.” She blushes at him, and he cannot stop himself. He moves to grab her face in both his hands. Pulling her close, he kisses her.
And she lets him. For one eternal moment, he is simply the painted figurine of a desperate heart. He puts everything he feels for her into that kiss, a kiss he has held back for months. He has waited, hoped, and dreamed, knowing it would not come into fruition. And yet here he was.
He pulled away, hesitantly. She looked up at him, surprised. “Solas?”
Taking his hands from her face, he reaches for her hands instead. He takes a shaking breath before saying, “So much has happened, and before this is over so much more will. I just.. I needed to be selfish for just a moment.” He pauses in case she wishes to speak. She seems to understand he has more to say, so he continues. “You have to know that I love you. Deeply. More than I thought I was capable of, more than I have ever been capable of. I needed this moment to be selfish, because I couldn’t bare the thought of not telling you. At least once.”
She looked down at their hands. Very quietly she said, “Solas, you know that… that I’m with Cullen. That I’m in love with him.” He sighs. Of course he knew. It’s why it had taken him this long to bare himself to her.
“I do. But can you fault me for offering the truth?”
She shakes her head, and squeezes one of his hands. Looking up, she meets his gaze with her tear filled one. “But Solas, you have to know that I love you as well. It’s not the same, but… it’s not worthless. “
He swallows before answering her. “Yes. I know. And, I am grateful for your love in whatever form you will give it.”
She reaches across to hug him, and he feels her wet cheeks on his neck. Even if her love was not the same, he knew it would be hard to leave when the time came. He holds her tighter, whispering apologies into her hair for so many things she did not yet know.
DWC ' Are you sure this is legal?' pairing of your choosing
Are You Sure This Is Legal?
Grace/Cullen • The Gallows • Modern AU
for @dadrunkwriting
“Grace!”
Grace looked up from her spot at the back of the holding cell, her arms squeezed tightly around her legs as she shivered in the damp cold of the police station basement. The thin, barely there paper shirt they had given her did nothing for warmth or comfort. Her clothing, what little of it had been at the Rose, was taken for evidence. Cullen was standing at the bars, worry etched onto his face like acid taken to glass.
“Cullen!” Grace gasped, rushing up to the bars. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!”
“What happened?”
“Samson. The guy who owned the place,” Grace said, fighting back tears. “He’s the one whose been selling the red lyrium. I didn’t know!”
Cullen reached a hand through the bars and cupped her face, wiping smeared makeup from her cheeks. “I know. I believe you. Let’s get you out of here.”
“How?” Grace sniffed, wiping her eyes hastily with the back of her hand.
“I’ll make a few phonecalls,” Cullen said, lowering his head. “I know the Commander… we have a history.”
“Cullen is this legal?”
“I’m not completely sure,” he said, shrugging. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “But then again, I don’t care. I can afford fines. Right now, my main concern is you.”
“Cullen!”
He shushed her harshly, turning away while the phone rang.
“Hello, may I speak to Commander Stannard please? Yes, Merideth? Its Cullen. Mmhm.” He paused and looked back at Grace. “I need you to do me a favor. You know the Rose? No, one of the girls is my girlfriend. I want her out. Now.”
“Cullen, it’s ok. I can pay my own bai-“ Grace started to say, lowering her face. He ignored her.
“Merideth this isn’t negotiable. How much…”
“Cullen!”
“Done.” He clicked the phone call off, and turned to Grace. The cell opened and he grabbed her shoulder and hauled her out, shucking off his jacket and wrapping her in it. “Let’s get you home.”
“Cullen what did you do!” Grace protested as he started to lead her out. The cell door shut behind them with a bang.
“Made a call.”
“Cullen!”
“Don’t worry about it Grace.”
“Cullen tell me!”
“I said don’t worry about it,” Cullen snapped. Grace twitched and lowered her head again, pulling the jacket closer around her. He sighed heavily. “I called Merideth Stannard. Before I went to school I used to work for the Kirkwall Police department. She was my superior. I did some things and she owes me,” Cullen explained, nodding to the guard. He let them out without protest, even holding open the front door as they exited.
The trusty, rusted old sedan was waiting for them outside the station, and Cullen opened the door, shielding her from the outside world as he shut the door behind her. It wasn’t until the door slammed that she started to shake, the terror and the panic of the previous night’s events finally catching up with her.
“Grace?” Cullen asked gently. “Grace do you want to go to your place or mine?”
“I don’t care,” she whispered, eyes welling with tears as her hands started to shake. “Just get me out of here.”
“Mine it is,” Cullen answered, taking one of her hands while he let up on the clutch. “Just try and relax. It’ll be ok.”
“I’ll try,” Grace whispered, letting herself emotionally curl into the foetal position. “Maker will I try.”
