I was having some more modding fun in Dragon Age: Inquisition recently, and through the magic of video editing, played with a costume change between scenes in the Perseverance quest.
And lemme tell ya, having Cullen go from fully clothed to shirtless really adds to his vulnerability and makes the confession scene hit WAY harder. (Cut it with the 'he's sexy when he's shirtless' jokes, I'm actually being serious here.) It's kind of a shame they didn't do this in the vanilla game, it would've been a cool detail for his character.
Cullentine 2026 - Day 3: A Present Intimacy, A Lifelong Commitment
Here's the conclusion of my series for Cullentine 2026! Thanks for joining me in this little experiment, it was fun to try! I do hope you all enjoyed this little story!
(I know I originally capped the word counts for these ficlets at 550, but this last one turned into 610, but I doubt y'all would mind. haha)
Part 1 | Part 2
Summary: "If true love must run its course, we mortals shouldn't have much to worry about..." The commander finally learns to embrace this truth...and receives some long-overdue gratitude.
Prompts/Themes: Sweet Nothings, Warm Embrace, Utter Bliss, Lingering Kiss, Quiet Rest
Pairing: Cullen Rutherford/F!Trevelyan (OC)/Sebastian Vael
Genre: Romance/Drama
Chapter Rating/Warnings: Soft!M/Sensuality, Mentions of Lovemaking
Word Count: 610
- Minors Please DNI- Reblogs are Appreciated -
-Cloudreach, 9:42 Dragon - Five Months Later-
Spring was coming, Cullen could feel it. Yet, despite the distant birds announcing the season, his bedroom remained quiet.
He had decided to start his morning with a shave, but something catching his eye on the table stopped him; it was the report with Josephine's note attached, the one about Emilia refusing Sebastian's marriage proposal all those months ago. A report that once made Cullen feel sick, now made him smile. He knew why.
She had refused the offer because she wanted him. She loved him!
As he glanced over at his bed where Emilia lay sleeping, his heart warmed. But as much as he wanted to hold her, kiss her, adore her, he couldn't bring himself to wake her.
He turned back to the table, deciding to let her sleep a little longer.
It wasn't until he felt the tip of her nose touch his bare back that he realized time had passed and he had slipped into a daze as he shaved.
Emilia had wisely waited until he had put the razor down before embracing him from behind and nuzzling his back. Underneath the towel he was using to wipe the remaining soap from his face, Cullen smiled.
"I'm sorry, dearest," he apologized, "but I'm afraid whatever you're thinking about will have to be put on hold."
A tiny whine came from behind him, followed by a kiss to his shoulder. "I guess I had forgotten that I still need to share you with your soldiers," she joked softly.
Cullen turned around, resting his hands upon her hips and his forehead against hers. "Know that my heart will still be with you," he whispered. From how sweetly he was looking at her, she would've kissed him right then, but his gaze shifted to the side.
"But for us...this afternoon, perhaps?" he started to ponder. "I think I should have some time after the field drills-"
"Shall I ask Josephine and Leliana to join us?" she cut in.
"What!?" Cullen looked back, alarmed. But after noticing the cheeky look in Emilia's eyes, he finally caught on. "Ah...I'm doing it again, aren't I? Planning," he said sheepishly. "I'm sorry...I'm afraid I'm not very good at the whole... 'lover's spontaneity' thing..."
"You seemed quite good at it last night," Emilia replied, smiling at the memory of their first time being intimate.
But he never had a chance to finish as her lips were soon upon his. He didn't mind, however.
"Hmm...it seems you're catching on, as well," he hummed in approval before pressing his mouth to her neck.
Emilia's eyes lazily wandered as he kissed her skin and soon, her gaze caught the report on the table. "By the way," she murmured, "I know it was long ago, but...I never had a chance to thank you for the flowers."
He pulled back, surprised. "You knew?"
"I'm sorry," she said with a grin, "but you aren't very good at disguising your handwriting."
Cullen flushed, embarrassed. "Oh. Can't believe I didn't consider that." His hand slipped up to cradle the back of his neck. "Though, I'll admit I was dreadfully nervous."
She looked confused. "Why?"
"Well...we had barely talked about anything beyond Inquisition matters at that point, so...I suppose I just wasn't sure how to approach you otherwise," he clumsily explained.
She smiled. "Still...I'm glad you left them for me. It...confirmed what I had hoped."
"What was that?"
"That you also had feelings for me."
Cullen's face turned to a pleased pink, and as Emilia kissed him again, the commander realized that he had nothing to worry about.
This was something I had put together a little while back and decided to save it for the final day of Rutherfest, since it was a free-for-all-day.
I always found it kind of hilarious that in this scene, if you chose to side with the mages, Cullen starts by chewing out the Inquisitor, only to switch to being all cordial and friendly barely minutes later. So, I decided to turn up the crack on that scene and made a silly little edit out of it with him and my Inky, Emilia.
Hope y'all get a kick out of this! I had fun making it! 😁
Cullentine 2026 - Day 1: A Prince's Passion, A Commander's Vulnerability
See what I did with the title there?
Life has been hectic these past few months, so I decided to keep things easy. Therefore, I present a bit of an experimental piece: the first of three 400-550 word ficlets that altogether will eventually make up a mini story. So, stay tuned for the other two parts in the coming days!
Summary: Cullen Rutherford was never good at the first shaky steps of courtship. This fact is only made more certain as he witnesses the attempted wooing of the Inquisitor by the visiting Prince of Starkhaven.
Prompts/Themes: Shy Touches, Wilted Bouquet, Racing Heart, Shaking Hands
Pairing: Cullen Rutherford/F!Trevelyan (OC)/Sebastian Vael
Genre: Romance/Drama
Chapter Rating/Warnings: T/None
Word Count: 508
- Minors Please DNI- Reblogs are Appreciated -
----------
-Firstfall, 9:41 Dragon-
...never should've listened to Varric…
...should've kept the gloves on…
...should've eaten something first…
Anxious thoughts crowded Cullen's mind as his sweaty, trembling hands finished tying the cord around the small bunch of wildflowers he had picked earlier. They were faded, but Cullen tried not to mind that. To even find flowers in the snowy mountains around Skyhold felt like a blessing from Andraste herself...or maybe even a sign he was meant to do this.
Do what, exactly? Even he wasn't sure. All he knew is he wanted to give something the woman he hadn't been able to stop thinking about...something not relating to Inquisition business...something to make her...smile.
Would she like them?
Cullen shook his head. He already made a plan. He needed to stick to it. Overthinking would only diminish what little bravery he could muster.
Flowers in hand, he took a deep breath and opened his office door.
He was ready to advance.
That was, until he saw that very woman, the Inquisitor herself, and the visiting Prince of Starkhaven in the distance. Arm in arm, they were walking together along the battlements.
Cullen's first thought was that Emilia Trevelyan was merely trying to play the part of a good hostess; their guest was royalty, after all.
However, that logic morphed into something the commander couldn't name when he saw Prince Sebastian stop and turn to her. His fingers were gentle as he brushed away a lock of Emilia's hair, his lips were chaste as they kissed her hand.
Just what was going on?
Without realizing it, Cullen had stopped in his tracks, his fist tightening around the bouquet - an affectionate token that now felt incomparable to whatever the prince could offer the Lady Trevelyan - he swallowed hard.
Was his timing off? Or was this just a bad idea in general?
Cullen was too far away to see Emilia's facial reaction to the prince's proper, almost shy gestures, but regardless, cowardice nearly stopped the commander's racing heart.
He couldn't do it.
The bouquet was soon abandoned on the wall, left to wilt in the weak winter sun as the commander retreated back to the sanctuary of his office - a place where logic ruled and emotions weren't considered.
A place he belonged.
But it wasn't too long after that Emilia, having finally broken away from the courting prince with a sigh of relief (lack of training as a noble left such cordial interactions exhausting), found the flowers. Her heartbeat quickened, but for what reason, she wasn't sure.
Why would there be flowers right outside of Commander Cullen's office? Flowers gathered in a sort of bouquet? Were they for him or was he planning to give them to someone? If so...who?
Curiosity had prompted her to at least stop to examine them. Carefully, she scooped them up in her hand and gave the bouquet a once-over. Seeing no immediate answers to her internal queries, she almost set it back down without a second thought...
That was, until she discovered her name attached to them.
My schedule unexpectedly picked up this past month, so it left me little time to put anything together. However, I thought I could share an excerpt from my in-progress story for Cullen and my mage Inquisitor, Emilia, because it was relatively fitting to today's prompt.
A/N: For quick context, this takes place relatively early on while they're still in Haven, and the working relationship between these two is still understandably strained, given their opposing backgrounds. Also, this segment does cover the side effects of lyrium addiction and withdrawal; don't know if a warning was necessary, but better safe than sorry.
Chapter: The Rabbit in the Lion's Den (Excerpt)
Emilia accidentally stumbled across Cullen in one of the smaller, makeshift tents, sitting on a crate by a small fire with a heavy blanket over his shoulders. In his hand was a leather drinking pouch, which he seemed to be partaking from a lot. He appeared so caught up in gulping the liquid down, that he didn't seem to notice her at first. He was acting almost…desperate. She didn't know why, but something about the sight was unnerving.
When was the last time he had any water? she couldn't help wondering with a twinge of concern. She knew he worked hard, but she never imagined it was to a degree where he was harming himself. While it obviously was his choice, she almost felt bad for him.
Sensing that he probably should be left alone, she turned away, but the crunch of her first footfall in the snow caught his attention.
"Herald…!"
She quickly looked back to see him attempting to stand up in respect, but he quickly sat back down again. He closed his eyes momentarily, almost looking in pain. Had he injured himself while training with his garrison? She didn't see any sort of bandages or wound marks on him. Curious, she continued to study him. From the beginning of their acquaintanceship, Commander Cullen Rutherford had appeared impenetrable—so to see him in a weakened state felt otherworldly.
Yet, he didn't send her away.
Emilia almost wished he had, though, as she was now left in an awkward state of not knowing what to say or do. She had already stared at him too long. So, she just stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she watched him take a few deep, shaky breaths.
Fortunately, his recovery was surprisingly quick. His eyes soon reopened and he finally spoke up again. "Forgive me for not getting up," he apologized; he sounded unusually tired.
"Don't worry about it," she tried to assure him, though she found it odd that not standing up in her presence was the thing he was apologizing for. He sounded so…unselfish. It reminded Emilia of when she caught him helping that injured soldier to safety not long after she and the commander first met. It reawakened some sort of feeling in her, though she couldn't name it.
"You're welcome to step in, if you wish," he tentatively offered.
She shook her head slightly, snapping out of her thoughts, realizing that she must've looked like a daft simpleton standing there still staring at him. With a soft "thank you", she took him up on his offer. But as soon as she was inside the tent, she noticed something about Cullen that she hadn't picked up on before. Was he…shivering?
With barely a thought, she grabbed a bundle of small branches sitting nearby and threw them onto the fire. She then knelt down and poked it a few times with another stick, hoping to give it some more life.
"Thank you," he said, moving a bit closer to the warmth.
She looked over at him. "Are you alright?"
"I will be with some rest. You needn't be concerned," he responded in a more normal tone of voice, as if nothing was wrong. He was sitting up much straighter and his shivering was now nearly non-existent.
It was all very perplexing, that was for sure. But for once, Emilia realized it was better not to ask too many questions.
The silence between them was brief before Cullen broke it. "Uhh…you've traveled some distance to reach Haven. You're from the Circle in Ostwick?" he asked quietly, not looking at her. It seemed as if he had no idea how to start a normal conversation. All Emilia had ever heard him speak of was the Inquisition and related military matters.
But regardless, the unexpected subject made her tense up, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. Fear coiled in her chest, wrapping around her heart and lungs like a snake made of metal—protecting and choking her at the same time. Why was he asking her that? What interest did an ex-templar have in a disbanded and destroyed Circle?
"Would you preferred I stay locked away, like a good mage?" she blurted, just a bit too defensively. She cautiously look at him out of the corner of her eye, her mind begging her to flee.
His head whipped towards her, his mouth gaping at her response. "I didn't–" He was caught completely off-guard. "I only meant to make conversation."
Seeing the way his cold-flushed cheeks reddened even more and how he averted his eyes, Emilia immediately felt bad for lashing out. Even though he tried to downplay it, it was clear he was exhausted; perhaps he just hadn't been thinking clearly when he asked that.
"I beg your pardon," she softly apologized, giving him some grace. "I'm not accustomed to people asking me questions like that…at least not without some sort of suspicion attached to it."
"I suppose it was a poor choice of topic, given our past. Shall we speak of something else?" he tried again.
Things now felt even more uncomfortable than before. What on earth could they talk about? What did they have in common, other than being recruited by a rogue organization that dared to go against the Chantry?
The Chantry…
Now that made the young woman think. Think and speak before she had a chance to consider otherwise.
"Commander…if you'll indulge my curiosity…" she began cautiously, "why would templars break away from the Chantry?"
Cullen shifted where he sat, pulling the blanket tighter around him. "The Order believes the Chantry no longer supports their efforts," he said simply. "Not to the extent they should." His brow then furrowed a bit as stared into the fire.
She looked bewildered. "But the templars have served the Chantry for ages."
"And in that time, they have come to take the Order's services for granted." His voice then grew more passionate, just as it had the last time they spoke, but this time it carried an undertone of vexation. "Templars risk their lives against blood magic, demons, abominations—to feel as if those efforts are dismissed…" He then paused and looked back at her, his demeanor softening a bit. "I may disagree with the Order's actions—that I'm here as proof of that—but I sympathize with their frustrations."
Emilia was more than familiar with all those things; she had known fellow mages who turned to blood magic or couldn't pass their Harrowing and needed to be eliminated. From a mage's upbringing, she mourned those individuals. They never asked to be born with such abilities, any more than she wanted hers.
But something in Cullen's tone gave her own perspective pause. His voice hinted something deeper, something darker, something that was remaining unsaid. The way he spoke about such things was nothing like the way she had heard templars—even the ones filled with the most righteous anger—speak about mages and what they were capable of. Against her will, it piqued her curiosity…but it also frightened her.
But while her initial fear was that the commander secretly hated her for who she was, logic soon stepped in and reminded her of something else: Cullen left the templars willingly. This notion stopped her thought process. Maybe she could at least attempt to see things from his point of view? Was it possible to?
As Emilia basked in new thoughts, now gazing back into the fire, she switched from kneeling to sitting cross-legged. She then leaned her elbow on her knee and cupped her face in her hand with a sigh. "I wish I could understand," she said—more to herself than Cullen—as her eyes followed the dancing flames before her.
His eyebrows raised. "Understand?" He heard her, but he didn't quite follow.
She returned his gaze with confusion in her own. "You told me that you left the Order…that you disagreed with their actions…so why did you join in the first place?"
He shrugged. "I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need." As Cullen spoke, he looked out towards the throng of fledgling soldiers—both young and old—who were still trying to master the basics of combat. "I used to beg the templars at our local chantry to teach me." He then smiled a bit at the memory, getting lost in the past. "At first they merely humored me, but I must have shown promise—or at least a willingness to learn..."
As she listened to the story of his youth, Emilia wondered where this mysterious chantry was. The templars there sounded so different from most of the ones she had encountered in her Circle. It almost didn't sound real. Was Ser Bowen—the only templar she could almost call friend—from that chantry? It could explain why he had been more humane than most recruits. To her surprise, it also made her wonder if there was more to templar life than she had ever been privy to.
Blast her natural curiosity.
"Prior to the Conclave, I only ever encountered templars in the Circle," she told Cullen. "Do they do anything besides guard mages?"
"Templars protect against the dangers of magic. Before the Order left the Chantry, that meant serving in a Circle. They were also tasked with tracking apostates or fighting demons inevitably summoned by the weak or malicious."
His voice had once again taken on an edge, and Emilia shifted uncomfortably. Was his sporadic irritability because of her? Or was he truly in pain?
"What do you think of mages?" she then asked, wanting a straight answer to silence her thoughts and assumptions. "Are they all a threat?" She felt a bit silly asking such a question, once she heard it with her own ears. He's an ex-templar, silly girl, a voice from within chided her. What do you think he's going to say?
But perhaps she hoped that those glimmers of decency she saw glinting from the iron-clad commander before meant that he had begun to look past his old ways, at least a little bit.
His eyes again took on a distant look. "I've seen the suffering magic can inflict. I've treated mages with distrust because of it—at times without cause." His tone then softened, coated with remorse. "That was unworthy of me. I will try not to do so here."
Their eyes locked as he spoke, and remained so even after he fell back into silence. Brown studied blue and blue cautiously regarded brown—a silent conversation each set of eyes was hesitant to start. But for a minute or two, it seemed as if a possible breach could be crossed between them—templar and mage able to peel back the singular labels that had been placed upon them early in their lives and see the raw emotions and hearts bared underneath. Something was there—some sort of kindred spirit, perhaps?—there had to be. They both had already been through so much in a span of just a few days. Maybe that was where a bond of comradery could start.
Emilia's heart thumped harder in her chest. She had not expected the latter half of his answer, but it had given the naïve part of her hope. Maybe there really was something different about him.
She dared to speak.
"Commander, you—?"
But Cullen cleared his throat, interrupting her before she could say anything. He then forced himself to look away as he straightened his shoulders once more, seeming to remember himself. "Not that I want mages moving through our base completely unchecked," he then added.
Oh.
"We need safeguards in place to protect people—including mages—from possession, at the least." The commander in him had once again appeared. No, not the Inquisition leader, the ex-templar.
The force of Emilia's heartbeat lessened in disappointment. Did he think she was still capable of that? After all, he had no knowledge that she passed her Harrowing, so perhaps he still considered her a threat.
Logic be damned, the small, anxious voice within—the same that had guided her through the years in the Circle—whispered again. We need to get out of here. Fast. Minimal contact. Minimal contact.
She succumbed to its wishes.
"That's…all I wanted to know," she said politely, but quickly. "Thank you." She then stood up and started to make her way out—retreating, almost.
"Oh? Well, if you require anything, I'll be here…!" he quietly called to her back.
She paused at that and turned around to give him a nod before trotting off—the rabbit fleeing the lion's den.
Cullen watched her go, having no realization of the dumbfounded look that now graced his features. He hadn't expected her to leave so hurriedly. Was it something he said? He then briefly rolled back his tired mind to their previous conversation and groaned.
Of course it was something he said.
The commander then picked up the nearby stick and poked the fire with more force than she had, revitalizing it as he shook his head. "Asking about the Circle in Ostwick. Nice going, Rutherford," he muttered to himself.
He truly had just tried to make simple conversation. Even in his responses about the templars, he tried to present it as gently and rationally as possible. Should he have spoken differently? She was a mage after all, and obviously wary of him—just as much as he was her. Anyone would've had to be completely blind not to see that.
Regardless, he wondered if he shouldn't have responded as he did. That maybe he should've eased her into the idea of the necessities of a templar presence in the Inquisition a bit more carefully.
The other half of him quickly rose up in defense—hard, regimented, unwilling to give in. No, those measures are necessary. Protection. Safety. You're doing the right thing, Rutherford. No need to sugarcoat the truth because of a lovely face—
Lovely?
He blinked, frozen otherwise. Yet, his head was starting to hurt from all chaotic movement of thoughts inside of his skull. Something about Emilia had made him uneasy, paranoid…curious. Or was he just falling back into his old habits—the ones he had tried to forget, to change? He had tried desperately to not be the man he was in Kirkwall, not think as harshly as he did anymore. But the man in Kirkwall had the advantage of a clear mind and a templar garrison to support him…didn't have to deal with nightmares and obsessions over the smallest of details…didn't have to be around…her.
His eyes then shifted back towards the entrance of the tent. Emilia had left him, but he could still see her, standing a good distance away, speaking with Cassandra. Were they talking about him?
He shook his head and took another long drink out of his pouch. His brain must've been foggier than he thought if he actually was concerned. But at the moment, it felt no amount of water could clear it.
What did it matter if they were speaking of him? They were all colleagues now; it was only natural, right?
Then why was he so nervous?
He glanced back outside, but Cassandra was gone, and Cullen only caught a quick glimpse of Emilia before she jogged out of sight. It appeared as if something had caught her attention.
Cullen didn't ponder what, but rather, he thought once more back to their conversation. His eyes drifting to where she had sat, he recalled one thing in particular that she had said—that he hadn't expected her to say.
"I wish I could understand."
In spite of her background, she wanted to understand the templars' situation—understand him. At least, that was what it seemed like.
He couldn't recall a mage ever wanting to do that before.
But then he had to spoil it by being heavy-handed about the Inquisition's need for templars. He grimaced. He never was the most tactful speaker when it came to matters outside of his training. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He shouldn't have entertained her in the first place, not with the way he was feeling. But the two of them couldn't avoid each other forever. If they had to work together, best to establish good—or at least decent—relations as soon as possible.
Which meant keeping personal matters out of the equation.
With that realization in mind, Cullen pulled out the small journal he always kept on his person and flipped to the marked page where his most recent list was written down.
– See Cassandra for weekly evaluation
– Find a way to order a tin of pomade without Leliana finding out
– Remember to actually eat something today
He quirked his mouth. As usual, he forgot about that last one. No wonder his stomach felt a bit sickly. (Certainly it wasn't due to his distress over offending the Herald of Andraste, surely not.)
His mind began to wander again. When was the last time he had a decent appetite? Desired a good meal? The regimented dining hours had kept him on track well enough back in the Circle he served in, but after Kirkwall, his eating schedule fell into complete disarray—sometimes resulting in him sometimes going a full day without ingesting anything solid. But that was also when he decided to try and rip himself from the lyrium leash and throw away his old life of stringent order. Of letting someone else dictate where he would go and what to do, even with something as simple and necessary as partaking a meal. Now—though he couldn't bring himself to admit it, even to Cassandra—almost every part of his body felt completely messed up in some form or another. Was it beyond repair? Was he beyond repair?
The horrifying thought was interrupted by a churning in his stomach—subtle, but just enough for him to feel it.
He glanced down at himself in surprise.
Perhaps not. Perhaps…his body was trying to fight back. Regain normalcy. Heal.
Feeling a flutter of hope in his chest and an growing hunger in his belly, he started checking the various pouches on his person. Soon, he came across the one that held a few small biscuits, the ones he carried with him for just such an occasion. It was Cassandra's suggestion, and one that Cullen—especially at that moment—was secretly grateful for. As he bit into one of the biscuits and began to chew, his eyes shifted back to the book now perched on his thigh. After checking off the entry about making sure to eat, he added a few more entries—and a note—below.
They read:
– (Haven, 9:41 Dragon— Praise Andraste, I've started feeling hunger again. Rutherford, do not forget this moment.)
– Restock pickled eggs (Thank the Maker we're in Ferelden)
Now feeling better than he had all morning, a smile tempted to tug at the corner of his mouth as he wrote. Ferelden. Home. Of course there would be a breakthrough after returning to his homeland. The pleasant thought of not being too far from where he was born almost made him forget the reason he was there in the first place.
However, the moment disrupted by the sound of high-pitched barking and a familiar voice calling out, "Hey, come back with that!"
Cullen jumped, so lost in his thoughts he was. Gripping his sword hilt out of habit, he looked up just in time to see a heavily-pregnant fennec dash into his tent with surprising speed, run around the small fire ring, and then rush out again right past her pursuer—Emilia. The young woman stopped briefly at the entrance with a sheepish look on her face and a short apology to the commander, before running off again, more determined than before to get her stolen item back.
Cullen hadn't even a second to respond. But her renewed presence reminded him—and that slight optimism in his demeanor faded.
Oh. Right.
Putting pencil to paper once more, he then added one last, and very important detail:
– Do not speak about anything outside Inquisition matters with the Herald—UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE.
