#freya lavellan

[seffie-is-ageing-dragons]

How the average interaction between Freya and Solas goes

[elfrooting]

This is what bringing Sera to the Winter Palace is like.

[tightassets]

Working on a simple sketch style. might need to keep working haha. First attempt with @juniperandjawbones’s Freya Lavellan. I never do lines for hair, so it’s something I’m going to have to improve for a sketch style. Back to the (literal) drawing board!

[noctuaalba]

@lyrium-lovesong‘s absolute babe Freya Lavellan! <3

[buttsonthebeach]

Miles to Go

@lyrium-lovesong asked me to write about her lovely universe once more, and I jumped at the chance to tackle Cullen’s POV! Thank you for this treat, friend <3

I previously wrote Saltwater, which features Freya.

Pairing: Freya Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford

Rating: General

**********

Cullen Rutherford was, allegedly, a master of self-restraint. A man who had spent his life studying it, in fact. A man who had combed through the Chantry’s litanies searching for more and more and more of it. Seeking out where all the lines were and then judiciously avoiding or guarding those lines.

Some of that had fallen away, after Meredith. Kirkwall. But in large part he still prided himself on it. He did not take unnecessary risks in his chess games with Dorian. He did not lose his temper when Leliana and Josephine argued for courses of action that he disagreed with, or when they teased him. Most importantly, he had not once taken lyrium again.

(He’d opened the pouch yes, yes, looked at it, thought about it, dreamed about it, thrown the whole thing against walls, yes, but all of those were further signs of his self-restraint.)

And he, of course, did not spend time worrying about Freya Lavellan while she was away.

That, besides the lyrium, was his greatest self-restraint. At least in Cullen’s own eyes - he had not told anyone else he felt that way. Most people would laugh at the thought. The great Commander, struggling to restrain himself from giving in to worry. So he wore that secret close to his skin, beneath every layer of armor. Swallowed it down like a sick man’s bile.

He feared for Freya almost as much as he loved her.

She was in the Emerald Graves hunting Red Templars, looking for evidence Samson had left behind, when he articulated those words clearly to himself. It was two weeks after she’d left, and he was lying in his bed, looking up at the blue-black night above him through the hole in his ceiling, at the pinpricks of the stars. After so long inside stone walls and towers it was good to be reminded they were there. This night, the comfort of that thought was interlaced with thoughts of Freya - which stars she looked upon, where she was sleeping, how her day had gone, how many times she had risked herself in battle against Corypheus’s forces, against monstrous creatures. 

The thoughts were as entwined as he wished they were at that moment. The stars are beautiful tonight, and I miss Freya. The breeze feels good, and I wish Freya was here. He longed for her so strongly that the longing took physical shape and crawled into bed beside him, half convincing him that she was there, her leg thrown across his, her head pillowed on his chest, the scent of her skin and her red hair tickling his nose. At one point, half-asleep, he reached out to touch her, to stroke her back and kiss her forehead, only to realize with a start she was not there. He knew soldiers who had lost limbs, and said it felt like this - like there were times the limb seemed to come back to them, so real they could feel it once again, only to vanish like smoke.

I fear for Freya almost as much as I love her.

There was a mathematical logic in that thought, he supposed, rolling over, trying to chase the feeling of loss away. Perhaps the Maker had always weighed out fear and love in equal parts, like a merchant weighing gold and goods (you must pay this much fear for this much love) and Cullen had never known it until now. What was not logical was how much he’d been struggling to sleep since Freya left. He’d slept alone most of his life, and there were still many nights when she slept in her own chambers even when she was at Skyhold. He should be more used to this than he was to having her here, her cold feet seeking the warmth of his body, her wriggling and stirring and even occasional snoring startling him awake.

And yet, there he was, unable to sleep. Unable to think of anything but her.

Some self-restraint.

So he sat up, slung himself out of bed, and went to put on his armor. Maybe the ritual of that would be enough to bring him back to himself, his discipline. Instead he found himself thinking of her again, of the time she asked to be taught how to help him with his armor, how he’d told her it wasn’t necessary, he knew how to remove it and don it himself. How she’d rolled her eyes at him.

“I know that,” she’d said. “But I want to learn. Just because you can do something yourself doesn’t mean you should always have to.”

And just like that, there were phantom hands alongside his own - smaller and more gentle, hands used for picking herbs and healing the sick, and Cullen wanted to drop his hands to his sides and let them take over. To surrender to the feeling of being loved and cared for.

But no one was there. Not really.

Maybe she isn’t coming back this time.

He strode out of his chambers, willing the thought to stay behind.

As he made his way down the rampart that connected his chambers to the rotunda, he saw a soldier approaching at a quick step, and instinctively straightened his posture, tensed his jaw. He needed to be Commander Rutherford, now. Not some lovesick fool.

“Commander Rutherford. Did someone already come to wake you?”

“No. I had an idea to improve our defenses here, and I wanted to walk and make notes before the idea left me.”

Lying to people under his command never failed to leave a bad taste in his mouth, but it was still better than the truth. Your Commander misses his lover so much that he can’t sleep.

“Oh. That works out I suppose. I was sent to wake you and tell you that you are wanted at the War Table. The Inquisitor has sent urgent correspondence back from the Emerald Graves. She thinks she may know where Samson and his lot can be found - where we might get to the secret of Samson’s armor.”

Cullen’s heart leapt twice - once at the thought that they might have his former colleague pinned down, and then once, even higher, at the confirmation that this news from Freya was recent. That there would be a letter from her waiting at the War Table, written in her hand, that perhaps other letters had arrived, more personal ones.

You have truly gone soft, Rutherford. Focus.

He followed the soldier through the rotunda, across the cavernous great hall, past its empty throne, and down the long crumbling corridor that led to the War Table. Leliana and Josephine were both already present, Josephine looking particularly tired, while Leliana looked as alert as ever. He wondered what sort of impression he presented.

“Well,” Cullen said. “Let’s see this letter.”

“Letters, actually,” Leliana said, handing him a packet of parchment, and once again, Cullen’s heartbeat picked up its tempo, just a little, just enough for him to notice, at the thought that they all might be from Freya. 

Instead they were all in Samson’s hand, dark and angular. He pressed hard on his pencils and quills whenever he wrote, leaving splotches and splatters of ink, or smearing the charcoal. Cullen experienced a moment of childish frustration, wanting to push them aside and ask if there had been any from Freya, or if these had just arrived with no context at all. Then a wave of shame washed over him, settling by his feet, lapping at his ankles, making him feel cold even beneath the layers of armor. He had dedicated himself to the Inquisition and its cause before he ever dedicated himself to Freya. How dare he let his personal feelings interfere with the task at hand for even an instant? Especially when being a good commander was the best thing he could do to ensure Freya’s safety?

“She got these from intercepting caravans of red lyrium in the Graves, yes?” Cullen asked as he skimmed them for more details, a picture already forming in his mind. None of the letters directly stated where the red lyrium came from, but they did talk about how long it was taking to get where it was going, and that gave him an idea of where to start looking on the map.

“That is correct. I am reading her letter now,” Josephine said, and Cullen’s eyes flicked towards her, seeing the parchment in her hand, seeing how the candlelight illuminated it so that he could see Freya’s handwriting clear as day. Cullen would let her finish reading it. It would be his turn soon enough, and then he could trace the letters, and it would be as close as he had come to touching her in weeks.

“Does she say where they were found?”

Cullen continued his questioning and studying, half of his attention on the smugglers’ letters, half on the answers Josephine and Leliana gave. He was forming a picture in his mind, imaging both the paths of the Red Templars and Freya in the Emerald Graves. She’d been there once before already and told him how brilliantly green they were, and how haunted they seemed. Life and death entwined. What stories would she bring back to him this time?

“Emprise du Lion,” he said finally. “I can study the maps and routes more thoroughly tomorrow, but I am fairly certain. They are quarrying the red lyrium in Emprise du Lion and then shipping it throughout Thedas. The Emerald Graves has been a major thoroughfare, but I am more than willing to believe that Freya has made a mess of that plan in the course of acquiring these letters.”

Pride tinged the words - because he feared for her, yes, but he was also fiercely proud of her. This brave and capable woman who chose to come back to him when she was done saving the world.

(Even if it seemed like it would never really be done, like it would only grow more dangerous each day.)

“As am I,” Leliana said. “I would respond telling her to rendezvous with us here in Skyhold before heading out to the Emprise, but she says here that there is a matter Solas wishes to attend to in the Exalted Plains. Depending on how long that takes, she may not be able to return to us in Skyhold before the passage is blocked by snow and ice.”

“That is not the worst turn of events,” Josephine mused. “We might wish to redirect Inquisition forces to aid her before she gets there. Your spies for intelligence, Cullen’s soldiers for support against the Red Templars, my nobles for supplies and shelter.”

“Agreed,” Leliana said. “We will continue to coordinate that with her as she heads to the Plains and back. Cullen?”

It was a good plan. 

It was a good plan that would keep Freya away from Skyhold for several more weeks, and send her into the depths of the Red Templars’ organization.

He felt his fingers tightening on the letters, and forced himself to relax.

“Yes. Let us begin drawing up the letters and other orders.”

They worked long enough on the plans that by the time they emerged, the sky was beginning to lighten - deep navy turning to a softer shade of blue, gold and pink tingeing the easternmost mountaintops. Cullen knew that soon Freya would wake and see the same dawn.

I hope you get the chance to enjoy it, love. I can’t wait until the next time we watch one together. I miss you. I love you.

“Cullen,” Josephine called. She held out a small square of parchment as she approached. “This was tucked inside the envelope that everything else came in. I only just noticed it. I believe it is for you.”

Cullen waited until Josephine had walked a distance away, and then he unfolded it, and saw Freya’s messiest handwriting, and six short words.

I miss you. I love you.

An echo of his own unspoken words just moments before - a miracle as real as anything in the Chant of Light. A reminder that his life was not all self-restraint and fear. That love could outweigh all of it, and yet also lighten every burden he carried. It was not a guarantee against all the darkness in the world, against all the things that could go wrong - but it was a miracle nonetheless.

Cullen smiled and walked on, ready to face the dawn.

[scharoux]

Freya Lavellan in Modern AU

Part of my trade with the biggest sweetheart, @lyrium-lovesong 💛 Thanks for doing this trade with me!

Please give credit, do not alter or edit if reposting.

[dirthara-mama]

Spin the Bottle - 💋

OC Kiss Week 2019

Featuring @lyrium-lovesong 's gorgeous Freya Lavellan, my Ayelet, and their canon LIs.

“I have never heard of this game, lethallan.” Solas leaned forward in his chair, his expression cheerful even in the low light of the remaining candles. The hour was late, and only the two couples remained in the Inquisitor's private dining quarters. Warmed by wine and ale and pleasant conversation, affection was flowing as freely as the drink, and there was no shortage of embarrassing stories from their childhoods.

“Something you haven't learned in the Fade, then?” Freya tried to muffle her laughter in Cullen's shoulder. “It's Cullen's game. He played it in Templar school.”

“Training.” Cullen's voice had no edge as he feigned taking Freya's drink away – she scoffed and put up a small fight until he gave in – then took a sip of his ale. “And I never took part in this one. It was popular among my less studious peers.”

“So let's have it, then. Another card game that ends with you naked?” Ayelet threw a leg over Solas's lap and his hand fell on her thigh, somewhere he'd never dare touch her while sober and in mixed company.

Cullen's face, already ruddy from drinking, burned at the memory of last month's game of Wicked Grace. He shook his head. “No, no. It's… a kissing game.” He put his bottle to his lips, downed what was left, then laid it on its side in the center of the table. “Take an empty bottle of ale, spin it like this, and whoever it lands on has to kiss the spinner.”

“Well the first one's easy, vhenan.” Cullen's lazy demonstration of how to play landed on Freya. She turned his face towards hers.

“What- now?!”

Ayelet whistled, a sorry sound coming from drunken lips, but Freya winked at her effort to cheer them on.

“Yes, now! It's only us down here, live a little, Commander.” She lowered her voice at the use of his title. Ayelet and Solas exchanged a sideways glance, neither questioning how or why Cullen's spirit was suddenly bolstered.

Freya pulled Cullen to her by his collar, grazing her lips across his before kissing him properly. She released his shirt but, to everyone's surprise, Cullen was slow to pull away.

“Commander, we've never seen this side of you!” Ayelet fanned herself. “Alright, my turn.”

She gave the bottle a strong twirl, but after a couple of spins it stopped unnaturally on Solas.

“That's cheating!” Freya pointed at him!

A triumphant smirk on his lips, he shrugged. “There were no rules against it. I suppose Templars cannot plan for everything.”

Solas slid an arm around Ayelet's waist and pulled her against his side. The hand that once sat on her thigh came up to rest under her chin, his thumb stroking her bottom lip.

“Oh, Creators, get on with it,” Freya groaned and poured herself another cup of wine.

Ayelet leaned into him, mouth already parted and a hand bunched in his shirt.

They separated when Freya cleared her throat. “A little excited, were we?”

They went on spinning for a few more rounds after establishing that Solas could not magically stop a spin. Between the increasingly intimate couples’ kisses there was one mutually blush-inducing kiss between Yel and Cullen, two awkward pecks for Solas and Freya, and a kiss between Cullen and Solas that was more well-received than either expected.

Ayelet glanced between the men and her friend. “I think I saw some tongue in that one. Freya?”

“Definitely tongue. Definitely a lot of tongue, I can tell by that thing Cullen does-”

“Alright!” Cullen clapped and handed a bottle to Freya. “Shall we have one more spin before bed?”

Still giggling, Freya took the last spin. Around and around the circle it sped, and with that same unnatural jerk as before, it stopped on Ayelet.

“Solas!” The disgruntled chorus didn't bother him in the slightest as he leaned back in his seat with a fresh cup of wine.

“It's the only match we haven't seen tonight. If anything, this keeps things balanced.”

Cullen nodded. “Actually, he's right. Balance is important. This is fair.”

“Fine,” Ayelet scolded, “But next time, no. magic.” Solas lifted a hand in defeat.

Freya and Ayelet stood and shook off their annoyance, took a deep breath together and focused on each other.

The first kiss was soft, a quick press of Freya's bottom lip between Yel's. Enough purchase to keep them close even though Solas and Cullen were already congratulating them on the task.

Foreheads still together, the warm breath of the other on their faces, they leaned in again. Firm this time, bodies close; the click of teeth dampened by tongues, the tug of a bitten lip, a soft moan that could have been from either of them; and hands wandering from waist to ribs, into curls, squeezing backsides and hips, until finally a breast was palmed and Cullen stood, his chair squeaking across the sticky floor.

“I think it's time for bed, don't you, Solas?”

Solas gulped as the women pulled themselves away, their faces red with anything but embarrassment. “Time-” he cleared his throat, “Time for bed, indeed.”

[magical-potions]

// sorry, couldn’t resist, they are just too cute (also look @ that close up, that kiss lip boiiiii)