Chapters: 25/25
Fandom: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Female Hawke/Cullen Rutherford
Characters: Female Hawke, Poppy Hawke, Cullen Rutherford, Varric Tethras, Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke, Alex Hawke, Anders (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Cassandra Pentaghast, Cole (Dragon Age), Iron Bull
Additional Tags: Retelling, Smut, Awkward Sexual Situations, Frottage, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Consensual, Foreplay, Vaginal Fingering, Angst, Self Pity Party, Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Denial, they won't say they're in love, Nightmares, Mention of past Torture/Trauma, implied past sexual assault, Feelings, Fluff, Lyrium Addiction, Grief/Mourning, Implied Suicide Attempt, Canon-Typical Violence, Reunion, ALL the awkward, more angst!, Reconciliation, fluffy fluff, declaration of feelings, trust me now?, Power Couple!
Summary:
Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle ...
In honor of Kinktober, and standing in solidarity with my fellow creators over the age of thirty whose horny bits didn’t suddenly shrivel up and disappear when midnight hit on the last day before the big three-oh turned up, here’s a story I’m proud of.
Smut, fluff, more smut, hurt, yet more smut, plot, feelz, smut, smutty smut, happy ending. How’s that for a blurb?
Read on AO3
Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle ...
Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle …
[Read on AO3]
9:50 Dragon, Justinian
"When the pains come ... I can't breathe. I can barely stand. I have days when I-I can't remember my own mother's face ... I ..."
Cullen reached out, laying his hand firmly on the former templar's shoulder.
"I cannot promise that you will regain those memories you have lost," he said quietly. "But you will not be alone to break this leash. We will help you find your freedom again."
The older woman met his eyes with anguished hope.
"How did you do it?" she asked, her voice rippling with awe. "You had none of the help that you give us."
Cullen's expression softened, remembering his own pain - pain that still struck him now and then, but no longer held him at bay.
"I didn't do it for myself, when I began," he told her honestly. "I began because someone I loved would have wanted me to be free. I continued because I needed to prove to myself it could be done. And I succeeded because that someone came back into my life just when I might have given up."
The other former templar smiled, in spite of her shaking pains.
"She's Champion of more than Kirkwall, then," she said approvingly.
Cullen chuckled, patting the woman's shoulder.
"She hates being called that," he warned with a smile, rising to his feet. He gestured to one of the apprentices. "Hallen ... take Ser Fionn inside and get her settled in."
"Yes, ser!"
As the boy nodded, snapping to attention, Cullen looked back to his newest patient.
"If I may, I would like to ask the healer to look at you," he told Fionn gently. "He is a mage, but his first instinct is for potions and ointments. He will never use magic without speaking to you of it first, you have my word."
Fionn frowned, but nodded as she rose to her feet, her movements stiff. Cullen could remember that feeling, whenever everything hurt so much that even the slightest motion felt like a struggle uphill. But he could also remember the harsh, instinctive distrust of mages and magic, the teachings of the Chantry and of bad personal experience so deeply ingrained that the thought of trusting one with your own health was almost unthinkable. Yet Poppy had said that learning to take each mage as an individual and not a reflection of the worst magic could offer without proof was as much a step on the road to recovery as living without lyrium, and she was right. That was why they had asked the College of Magi to provide a couple of spirit healers to join the sanctuary when it had first been created.
He gripped her arm, holding the older ex-templar's gaze with a confidence he knew she couldn't yet share.
"You will be free, Fionn," he promised her quietly. "I swear it."
Her fingers gripped his forearm painfully tight for a long moment, and that, too, he remembered. That feeling of being lost, out of control, needing to cede control in order to find it again. It felt unnatural, but it was the only way. He held her gaze for a long moment, watching as she found her strength once more.
"By the Maker's Grace, I shall," she agreed.
Cullen watched her walk away with young Hallen, only letting out his breath when she was far enough away not to hear the exhalation. It got no easier, seeing former templars come to them, desperate to be free of the lyrium leash they had borne for too long. But there was pride, too, in knowing that they came here, that they had faith that they could achieve everything he had done. And speaking of achievements ...
"Da!"
He turned at the sound of that familiar pair of voices, clamoring over one another to be the first heard, the loudest, the one to get his attention for themselves, remembering just in time to brace himself as two young figures barreled into him - Camren and Alex, his twin sons, ten years old and eager to be older still.
"We saw the queen, Da!" Cam declared cheerfully, grimacing as his brother elbowed him out of the way.
"She shook Ma's hand and said we're nearly as big as her!" Alex added with a gleeful grin.
"And I hope you were gentlemen," Cullen told his sons, grinning as they nodded with enthusiasm. "What have you done with your mother?"
"She's over there," Cam said, waving one hand dismissively.
Cullen chuckled, rolling his eyes at the twin boys. They were an exhausting delight, the pair of them, as much like him as they were like their mother, curly-haired and blue-eyed and forever getting into scrapes. And they had been such a surprise. To go from alone to married and a father of twin boys within a year ... it could have been too much to cope with. Could have been. But Poppy was his wife, the mother of his children, and he was certain there was nothing she could not cope with. Well, within reason, he mused, letting the boys pull him toward the stable. Being abandoned to unload the cart alone in favor of her husband’s company probably annoys her a little.
Not that it was obvious, if it had. Poppy was chuckling with the stable-lads at the antics of Scout, the Rutherford mabari, wagging his stubby tail as he danced around in pursuit of a wayward feather. Found in Orlais, he was never going to be a proper mabari, but with toddlers around, Cullen had never truly minded that. Scout was devoted to Alex and Camren, and to little Beth, even now being lifted down from the cart by her doting mother. Four years old, brown-haired and amber-eyed, the sunny little girl beamed at her father as she found her feet.
"Da!"
"Hello, sunshine," he answered, bending to sweep her up onto his hip to the tune of her giggles. "And hello, love."
This was offered to Poppy, earning him a smile and a kiss before she lifted a couple of the sacks onto her shoulder.
"Miss me?" she teased, laughing as he kissed her again.
"Always."
Beth's fingers tangled into his hair, drawing his attention back to his youngest as Poppy turned to corral the boys into being helpful for just a little while longer. It was a joy to see them together, watching as his wife loaded up the boys with teasing affection, as Scout finally caught his feather and brought it over to present it to little Beth; to see Poppy at the heart of their family. She had lost so much, too much. It was a privilege to have been the man to give her back what she needed more than anything - the unconditional love of a family who adored her.
It had been ten years since the end of Corypheus, eight years since the disbanding of the Inquisition, and Cullen could honestly say he had never been happier. Though the threats of the world were still out there, in this small corner that belonged to them, he was content. He had purpose in helping others break their lyrium leash; he had pride in the children growing up like weeds before his eyes; but most importantly, he had Poppy. They had struggled a long time to get here, to this sense of domestic peace that was all their own. All the pain had been worth it.
Let others take charge of the world outside ... this life, this home, this love was theirs, and no one could take it from them. Poppy had earned it, through blood and tears. A hard-won peace, and a family to love; she had never asked for more. And he would defend it to the last, if anyone dared to threaten it now.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Marcher fields.
Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle …
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9:42 Dragon, Solace
Skyhold was so quiet without the majority of the Inquisition in residence.
Poppy was uncomfortably reminded of Kirkwall in the days following the Qunari invasion, a population discovering slowly just how much had been lost in the chaos, a stillness covering everything for days. There was no such mourning here and now, of course - indeed, the Inquisition had just achieved a victory over Corypheus in the Arbor Wilds. But most of the Inquisition were still in the Arbor Wilds, dealing with prisoners, ferrying the wounded safely out of harm's way. The only reason she was in Skyhold was because she had outright refused to be left behind when Cullen had joined the rest of Xena's inner circle to rush ahead to the fortress.
But there was a restlessness hanging over Skyhold. Corypheus' army had been defeated, not Corypheus himself. No one knew better than Poppy that he would not give up so easily.
She pushed away from the gatehouse battlements, turning back to look into the lower courtyard, quietly agitated in herself. Xena and her advisors were closeted in the war room; the rest of the inner circle were in their accustomed places around the fortress, each waiting to be told what the next step would entail. A skeleton crew of guards and servants made the fortress seem far less populous than it had been just a few weeks before. But that lack of people made unknown faces very easy to spot.
It was a dwarf that had caught her attention. Ordinarily, dwarves were a regular sight in Skyhold, the much-needed connection to the lyrium supply from Orzammar, but this one ... there was something furtive in the way he moved. He walked with purpose, certainly, but kept glancing around, as though expecting to be challenged at any moment. Poppy's eyes narrowed.
Best not to disappoint him, then.
Passing through the unused gatehouse and down the steps into the upper courtyard, she lengthened her stride to intercept the furtive dwarf as he reached the top of the wide steps from the lower courtyard. He stuttered out an apology as she ran into him, barely catching his breath before her hand clamped onto his shoulder and dragged him back under the arch of the stairway that lead to the keep proper. Bearded and tattooed - Carta, or casteless-turned-exile, she realized - the dwarf glared up at her as Poppy pressed him against the stone.
"Who sent you?" she asked, pleasant enough for the time being.
"Messenger from the camp," he answered her in a gruff tone, though she noted he was clever enough not to try and pull out of her grasp.
"Nice try," Poppy countered. "But you're not wearing any insignia I recognize, and you move like someone worried about being caught. Now ... there are two people who could have sent you that immediately spring to mind. One of them will result in you being put in the cells; the other will result in you turning around and taking a message back from me. Lying to me will result in more than a few bruises. You look like a clever lad. So who sent you?"
She could see the options flickering through the dwarf's mind - was his employer worth getting himself beaten up by the Champion of Kirkwall? No one was worth that. Inviting the woman who had killed the Arishok to kick the Void out of you was stupidity worthy of a prize, and they both knew it. He sagged a little under her grip, pulling a neatly-folded letter from his pocket. Poppy glanced at the initial written on it, and felt a part of herself growl. Bianca.
"Where is she?" she demanded, her grip tightening on the dwarf's shoulder. "In the camp?"
He winced at the bite of her fingers through his cloak. "Not here, messare," he swore vehemently. "Traveling with her husband."
"But she found the time to write this and send it here," Poppy pointed out with a scowl. She considered her captive for a moment. "Are you her courier of choice?"
The dwarf cleared his throat awkwardly. "For Ferelden and the Marches," he told her. "Personal courier."
"How many of these letters have you delivered to Varric over the years?" she asked suspiciously.
"Too many," he admitted. "It's steady money, messare."
Poppy paused, thinking over her options. She knew that Varric had called it off with Bianca, not simply because he had begun a relationship with Xena - who, in her opinion, deserved her friend infinitely more than the smith who had kept him hanging for years - but also because he had shown her the letter he had sent to Bianca making his position absolutely clear. That Bianca would disregard his request to cut all ties was enough to make Poppy angry. But she could see a way to deal with it while preserving Varric's opinion of the woman he had once loved.
"That steady money should have dried up already," she told him honestly. "Varric wants nothing more to do with her, and I will not allow my friend to be badgered and prodded at by someone who forfeited her right to his attention years ago. I am going to burn this letter. You are going to assure her that you delivered it. I am sure she'll send another one when she gets no reply. You will burn it. You will burn every letter she gives you to give to Varric, and you will swear blind that you delivered them. And I won't hunt you down and make you regret ever lying to me. Are we clear?"
His eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. "What do I get out of this, messare?"
Poppy bent down until she was glaring into his eyes from barely an inch away, her voice low with menace. "To walk away."
The dwarf swallowed, apparently not needing much time to weigh his options at this point. An offer to have your ability to walk removed by a human legend in her own lifetime could do that.
"Right you are, Messare Hawke," he agreed. "Tethras won't get another letter from her via my hands."
"Glad to hear it." Poppy straightened, removing her hand from his shoulder, and jerked her head back toward the gatehouse and the bridge to the mechanized lift. "Sod off."
The unfortunate messenger did just that, taking the steps back down to the lower courtyard a good deal faster than he'd come up them. Poppy frowned, looking down at the letter in her hands. It was so tempting to open it, to find out exactly what Bianca thought she was doing, but at the same time ... these were private words. They were words that were not meant for anyone but Varric, and though Poppy had no intention of letting him find out they had ever been written, she wouldn't betray her friend by reading them.
"Although it really doesn't surprise me that she doesn't understand what the word "no" means," she muttered to herself, inserting one corner of the folded and sealed parchment into the flame of the nearest torch.
And, without warning, green light flashed across the world, a ponderous crack of thunder following it as high above the clouds swirled, horribly familiar to anyone who had looked up at the sky following the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The burning parchment dropped from Poppy's fingers as he head snapped up, hearing the cursing that rose from everyone in this outer area.
Corypheus.
So he had surfaced. Too arrogant to run and hide, to lick his wounds and try again years from now, he was forcing a confrontation. And by the look of things, he had gone back to Haven to reopen the Breach.
She felt a flare of anger that her mistake had come back to haunt so many people all over again, her feet already moving toward the armory. She wasn't the only one headed in that direction - Iron Bull, Sera, Blackwall; they were all moving to collect their weapons, expecting to accompany the Inquisitor to this final confrontation. Poppy glanced up at the window of the war room, seeing Josephine's frightened face, Leliana's impassive wariness at her back.
A few minutes later, and she was ducking out of the armory, settling her armor and weapons about herself, unsurprised to be stepping aside as Xena and Varric hurried past her to arm themselves. Servants were bustling, throwing together packs for the journey down to the site of the Inquisition's first defeat; on the other side of the bailey, she could hear Master Dennet and his grooms preparing the mounts for their party. And there was Cullen, stone-faced, worry in his eyes as she tightened the last buckle and moved to join him for these few moments.
"I have to go," she told him before he could open his mouth to argue. "Corypheus was my mistake in the first place. I have to be there."
"I know." Cullen's sigh was heavy, but accepting, his hands falling to her shoulders as he looked into her eyes. "I want to come with you, but ..."
She reached up, gently curling her fingers to his cheek. "I know," she promised, drawing him down to press her brow to his. "We're going to win this, Cullen. I am coming back."
"Maker, please ..."
Heedless of any curious eyes that might turn to them, he pulled her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she wrapped her own arms tight about him. She could feel him trembling, knew he could feel her shaking in answer. This was a fight she might not come back from ... but she refused to admit that aloud. She had lost too much not to have earned her happy ending. Not even Corypheus was going to keep her from having that promised home with her husband at long last. She just had to see this through to the end that loomed over them.
"Hawke."
Varric's voice as he passed, his hand on her back, drew her out of that embrace, a warning that there would be no waiting for her if she missed their departure. Cullen stiffened, his lips warm against her temple before he let her step back. No more words - everything that needed to be said between them had been said too many times before. All that remained was hope; hope that there would be no more need for such words when she returned again.
Poppy nodded to her husband, falling into step with the rest of Xena's motley crew, all of them somber with the knowledge that this really was the final confrontation. Riding out of Skyhold, turning their faces to the looming threat of the Breach, they all knew just one thing ... it was Corypheus or the world.
Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle …
[Read on AO3]
9:42 Dragon, Solace
Music played, drink flowed, the hall was filled with smiles and chatter. The tension of the last year evaporated in celebration and song. Corypheus was dead; the Breach was sealed once and for all. It was over.
In the midst of the celebration, Cullen leaned against the wall beside his wife, releasing a long, low sigh.
"Is it me, or do we have a moment to breathe?"
Poppy chuckled into her wine glass. "Just a moment," she agreed, shifting her lean until her shoulder rested against his.
His laugh answered hers, his arm rising to loop over her shoulders and hold her close against him, calm and comfortable with letting everyone there see the love he had for his fierce wife.
"I think you're right," he agreed, kissing her temple. He nodded toward the table opposite, where Varric and Xena were telling wild stories for the amusement of Cole and Sera and others. "She brought us here. She's proof that the Inquisition made a difference. That we will continue to do so."
"The soldiers put their trust in you, Cul," Poppy reminded him, tilting her head to meet his self-effacing gaze. "You're the commander they follow, the man they trust. This victory is yours as much as it is theirs."
He smiled, almost dismissing the fond assurance as he squeezed her to his side. "When I think back to the man I was when we met," he murmured softly, "I am ashamed that I lost sight of the real worth of the world, and of the people in it. You taught me to see things rightly, that the action of individuals does not always pertain to the people as a whole. That it is possible to move on from pain and torment, and find the path again."
"You did that yourself," she began, but he shook his head, cutting her off with another easy smile.
"It would not have occurred to me to try without your influence," he told her. "Thanks to you, I am almost free. I will be able to help others free themselves from the Chantry's leash."
"We will," she corrected him in a soft tone, smiling at the surprise on his face. "Cullen, you married me, remember? You're all I have, all I want. Where you go, I go."
Cullen frowned worriedly as he held her gaze. "But you should not mold your life to mine at the expense of ambitions you may have for yourself, love."
Poppy's expression softened. "Cullen ... my whole life has been about other people," she told him quietly. "About what they want and need, about how I can help them. For as long as I can remember, what I wanted wasn't as important as what everyone else wanted. But is it so hard to believe that I want to make you the center of my world? That you are all I want, and that helping you achieve your goals, your ambitions, is as important to me as it is to you?"
He twisted to face her, one shoulder pressed against the wall as his hand rose to touch her cheek.
"Tell me one thing," he told her softly. "One thing, one dream, you have. Let me make something come true for you, Poppy."
Her smile flickered, a hint of mischief in her gaze as she reached for his hands, drawing his palm over her waist from one hip to the other to twist herself into his arms.
"You already have," she told him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I look forward to seeing your expression when you discover it."
Confusion furrowed his brow, even as he smiled back at her. "Discover what?"
Poppy chuckled, kissing him once again. "You'll see. I have to talk to Cole a moment. Do try and enjoy the party without me, sweetheart."
She squeezed his hand against her a moment longer before stepping away, leaving her cup in his hand. Cullen watched her with a bemused expression on his face. He was fairly sure she hadn't actually answered his question, still spending her life, her energy, on pleasing other people over herself. But she had never lied to him, not even when a lie would have been kinder than the truth. So what had he missed, he wondered, sipping from the cup she had pressed into his grasp.
And kept wondering, his eyes following his wife around the room, unaware of the faint smile playing over his face. He watched as she laughed with Varric and Xena, as she danced with Dorian, shared a plate full of cakes with Sera, bowed teasingly to Vivienne and received a smile in return.
But that was Poppy, wasn't it? She could make friends with anyone, at any time. She saw something in everyone around her that made them want to be the person she believed them to be. Even the Arishok had respected her; Meredith had been wary of what the Champion might have seen in her. According to Xena, even Corypheus had taken a second look when he realized that Poppy was at her back. She was a force of nature, a pivot on which the world could spin, and yet she never acknowledged it. All she did, all she had done, had been for the good of others, never asking for the acclaim that came with it. She had paid a heavy price for the respect of the world around her ... but he knew she would give it all up in an instant if her friends needed her to do so. If he needed her to do so. And that was why they loved her, why he loved her. Why Alex had sacrificed himself for his twin, why the world needed her.
Yet she insisted that all she wanted was him, her husband, and this mysterious something he had apparently already given her. She had been through the worst that life could throw at her, lost everything and gained back only some of what had been taken, yet still she smiled and laughed. She was still Poppy.Cullen smiled to himself, pushing from the wall to set his cup down, moving to catch her hand and pull her out of the press of people, reveling in the brightness of her smile."Enough of this," he said softly, kissing her knuckles. "The world can have you tomorrow. Tonight, you are mine."She laughed, letting him draw her under his arm and away from the celebration. "I'm yours every night, Commander."His grin was wicked, glad to see her eyes darken in lovingly lustful reply. Just one look, and she melted. Had it always been like that, even from the start? He could hope. They had been parted for too long; never again. She was his now, and he was hers, joined in the Maker's eyes 'til death and beyond."You will never doubt it again."
Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle …
[Read on AO3]
9:42 Dragon, Wintersend
"Whart eez zees, if you pleez?"
Cullen snorted with laughter as he shut the door behind him, watching Poppy gesture wildly at various pieces of Orlesian architecture and furniture all the while proclaiming how awful they were in the worst Orlesian accent he had ever heard. And not caring one jot if anyone else heard her, either. They were spending the night in rooms assigned to them by the new Emperor - or rather, the elven woman now holding his leash - and Poppy Hawke did not give a damn who heard her mocking the nobles they had just spent far too many hours in the company of.
"Non, I sink zees is atrocious. Tayk eet away."
She flashed him a cheeky smile, tossing her sash onto the bed as she moved toward the balcony, unbuttoning her dress jacket. He followed suit, his own jacket already mostly undone before they'd even reached the bedroom, but now his sash joined hers on the bed as he finished job, stepping out into the cool air of the dawning to take a deep breath.
"Are you done critiquing the furnishings, love?"
Resting an elbow on the stone balustrade, Poppy laughed, shaking her hair back out of her face.
"I could go on a bit longer, if you'd like," she offered. "I have a lot of opinions about Orlais and what passes for culture here."
"You're more Fereldan than I am," he accused her fondly, pulling off his gloves as he spoke. "I am never allowing Josephine to dictate what I wear ever again."
"I don't know," Poppy mused, looking him over. "You did look pretty yummy all dressed up."
"Whether I did or not, the predators in that ballroom were definitely circling," he pointed out, his chest tightening for a moment.
It had not been a good feeling, to be hunted by so many preening ninnies and unable to do anything to stop them. He knew it from old, of course - for some reason, his looks attracted Orlesian noblemen and women by the score, especially in formal settings. He had learned that in Kirkwall, and only once had he complained to Meredith of the way he had been treated by the nobles. She had told him to accept it as part of his sacrifice to the Order. Only Poppy had been infuriated by the way he was treated as a conquest, or a piece of meat to be admired. And tonight, Poppy had outdone herself in embarrassing every single one of the circling vultures before they had a chance to make him feel uncomfortable. Once word got out that the Champion of Kirkwall was protecting the Commander of the Inquisition, their attention had moved elsewhere, but their eyes had stayed fixed on him.
"If Rogue was still with us, he would have done more than I did," Poppy assured Cullen, gently resting her hand on his forearm even as she tucked her own gloves into her belt. "He developed quite a taste for Orlesian undergarments during those last few years in Kirkwall."
Cullen chuckled, feeling the tension ease away again as he laid his own hand atop hers for a brief moment. She had an uncanny ability to bring out the humor in even the worst situation, he was coming to realize. For all that they had known each other intimately in Kirkwall, loved each other, it was becoming clear with each day spent in each other's company that there were whole tracts of personality on both sides that they had never had the leisure to share in their stolen moments. Her humor was one; his stubbornness to keep going in the face of his own aches and pains was another. They were still learning about each other, even after a decade of knowledge. Cullen felt privileged that she still wanted to learn about him at all.
"Perhaps one day we'll find you a worthy successor to Rogue," he suggested, rolling up his sleeves to rest more comfortably in a lean that echoed hers against the cool stone.
Poppy's smile was a little sad, but mostly fond. "Maybe," she conceded. "he saved my life so many times, that dog. I think the next mabari in my life should be yours, though. Every Fereldan boy should have a mabari at some point in his lifetime."
"Oh! Ah, no, that-that won't happen for me," Cullen stammered, shaking his head. "Not that I wouldn't like it - I've wanted a mabari all my life - but ..." He cleared his throat, faltering under her expression. "I don't deserve one," he finished lamely.
"Bollocks," was her succinct response to his excuse, a robust dismissal of his opinion of himself that made him smile rather than bristle in defense. "Mabari don't care if you deserve them or not - which you absolutely do, by the way. We'll find you a mabari one day. Promise."
She grinned, lurching up from her comfortable lean to peck a kiss against his laughing lips. It was very hard to be consistently down on himself when Poppy was so determined to keep his mood quite this high. He should be exhausted, mentally wearied from the effort of dealing with Orlesians all evening, and yet he felt light and refreshed, and he was certain it was entirely down to her. It was a feeling he never wanted to let go of.
"Marry me."
It wasn't until he noticed that Poppy's eyes were wide that Cullen realized he'd actually said the words out loud. They had been running through his head every moment of every private minute they had shared since falling back into each others' lives, but he had somehow managed to keep them silent and mental. Until now, it seemed.
He cleared his throat, his hand rising to rub awkwardly at his neck under the full force of her curious surprise, preparing the retraction as tactfully as possible before he opened his mouth.
"Yes."
The words died on his tongue as she interrupted - just one word that turned his jumbling thoughts into a pure, joyful screech, slamming every other thought into reverse before it could crash into the flashing sparkle that was hearing an affirmative to a question he had never yet planned to ask.
"Yes?"
Poppy's full lips curved into a laughing smile at the disbelief on his face. She knew him too well not to have guessed that the proposal had come as a shock to him as well. She nodded, stepping close to skim her hands over his sides, beneath the hang of his jacket.
"Yes," she confirmed. "I will marry you."
Cullen stared at her, unseeing, letting the words run through his mind, the knowledge that she really had agreed to be his wife settling on his heart in a gentle drift. A slow smile crossed his face, his head dipping to touch his lips to hers, arms wrapping about her back to pull her close into him. This was not how he might have planned it - a Fereldan man asking a Fereldan woman to marry him at the heart of Orlesian imperialist monarchy - but since when did plans mean anything, in the long run? What mattered was the answer.
"I love you," he breathed against her lips, chuckling as she bounced on her toes, loosing a tiny breathless squeal into his mouth.
"I love you back," she promised, brimming over with excitement. "When can we do it?"
Cullen blinked, drawing his head back just far enough to take in the impatience now coloring her expression with a low laugh of his own. And he thought he had been impatient in asking so soon after their reunion.
"Don't you want the full ceremony?" he asked in bemusement. Women liked the floofy dresses and the flowers and all the fuss, didn't they?
Poppy pulled a face. "I don't need it," she insisted. "We don't need it. All we need is each other. Cullen, I've loved you for almost ten years. It's about time we told the world about it, don't you think?"
He blinked in confusion. "So ... you do want the big fuss?"
"No." She laughed, shaking her head. "I want to wear your ring and take your name. I'm tired of being Hawke. I want to be a Rutherford."
"I ... don't have a ring," he admitted awkwardly, frowning as he realized that not having a plan for this moment might result in disappointing her, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was disappoint his Poppy.
"Cullen ..." She reached up, smoothing her thumb between his brows until his frown eased away under her smile. "Why don't we go to Val Royeaux with the Inquisitor before we set off for the Western Approach? she suggested. "We could get a pair of rings and get married in the space of a single day, and no one else needs to know what we're up to."
"Not even Alex?" he asked, surprised she wouldn't want to include her brother.
Poppy snorted with laughter, rolling her eyes. "Alex has already told me several times that, if I ever ask him to give me away, he's going to throw me off the highest tower at Skyhold," she told him in amusement, though her expression sobered before she continued. "He never really got over 'Bela, you know? Romance, couple things ... they remind him of her. He'll be happy for us, but he won't want to watch it happen."
"Are you sure about that?" Cullen asked, remembering how fervent Alex had been in soliciting the reunion that had lead to this point. He could well imagine how hurt the man might be if Poppy got married without even telling him in advance, much less asking him to be there. "I would ... I would be happier if you asked him to join us, Poppy."
She looked surprised, tilting her head to consider him. "But you and Alex can't stand each other."
He smiled gently. "That has nothing to do with it," he reminded her. "We both love you."
"Common ground, hmm?"
Her brow rose above her smile as she held his gaze. Cullen found himself gazing at her, the warmth of affection in his heart as strong in that moment as it had ever been before. She knew him so well, well enough to tease him while acknowledging that he had a point to make; well enough to love him while understanding that she didn't have to like everything he did or said. They had learned that about one another, that love did not mean constant happiness or never-ending agreement. But on this point, they were agreed.
"But if we wait to ask Alex," Poppy mused, "we can't do it until after we've been to Adamant. I don't want to wait that long."
Cullen couldn't help chuckling gently at this display of impatience in a woman he had watched be patient with an entire city for almost a full decade. Time really had taught her to put herself first in some cases. It was wonderful to see.
"All right then," he murmured, dipping his head to touch his brow to hers with a slow sigh of contentment. "Let's get married."
Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle …
[Read on AO3]
9:42 Dragon, Late Drakonis
The journey back to Skyhold was oddly subdued. Despite the victory, the Inquisitor and her inner circle were very aware of what had been lost to ensure that victory. Everyone was very careful around Poppy as the army made its slow way back toward the Frostbacks. Thus, when Cullen announced that he and his wife would catch up with them in a day or two and drew her away toward the town of Val Firmin, no one argued.
"Why are we stopping here?" she asked as they rode into the town together, but all he gave her was a mysterious glance, almost a teasing glimmer in those whiskey-warm eyes of his.
Val Firmin was a jewel, she had to admit. Built on a sloping hill overlooking Lake Celestine and the Imperial Highway, it sparkled in the gathering dusk as torches and candles were lit to hold back the night. The Chantry dominated the top of the hill, as many chantries did in Orlais, but that was not where Cullen was leading her. He drew her to a quiet district, to a neat little inn, claiming her hand in his own with an encouraging smile to lead her inside. A few words to the innkeeper, and they were sitting down to a hot meal together in a corner of the taproom while a room was prepared above them.
"Why are we here?" Poppy asked him again, curiosity overpowering the faint numbness of grief that had overshadowed everything in the past days and weeks.
"Am I not allowed to gift my wife with comfort and privacy every now and then?" Cullen countered, the sheer force of suspicious innocence in his expression drawing a weary smile from her in return.
"Cullen. I'm fine."
"You don't have to be fine, Poppy." He reached across the table, enfolding her hand within his grasp. "Not with me."
She shook her head, her smile regretful, letting her thumb stroke over his knuckle. "I don't know how to not be fine," she murmured back to him. "I've always been the one everyone else leans on."
"Lean on me," he told her, raising her hand to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles.
"I don't know how," she whispered hopelessly.
Cullen smiled tenderly at her, turning her hand to kiss her palm. "Let me show you."
How could she refuse? She had been strong for him. And, despite her protests, there had been occasions when she had leaned on him in the past. She knew he would look after her, wrap her bleeding heart in his love and hold her until the pain eased away, however long it took. She knew she needed it; she needed to feel the pain and let it pass through her before it congealed and turned her bitter in its wake. Alex wouldn't want that. Not even her mother would have wanted grief to change her into a bitter parody of herself. Leandra may not have been the mother she would have liked, but she had loved her eldest daughter, in her own way.
Hand in hand, Cullen drew his wife to their reserved room in the quiet tavern above the taproom, where a fire was lit in the hearth, the light dancing over the surface of the steaming bath set before the fire itself. The air smelled of honeysuckle, and for the first time in what felt like an age, Poppy actually smiled without being prompted. Honeysuckle. The oil she used on her hair and skin for preference, and somehow Cullen had convinced the innkeeper to infuse the bath with that same oil. He caught her smile, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, and pulled her across the room to gently divest her of her travel-stained clothing.
Only when she stood bare in front of him, tired eyes watching his gaze flicker over her skin, did he pull his own mantle from his shoulders, shaking his jerkin away and rolling up his shirt sleeves. Then he pulled her into a gentle embrace, callused hands soft against her skin, reveling in the sensation of an embrace that did not include leather or plate or weapons. He waited for her to relax, until he heard the faintest hitch in her breathing, and bent to lift her into the bath, easing her down into the steaming water as she shuddered through her aching hurts.
The water was just hot enough to sting, the heat sinking into her bones, forcing her muscles to relax as Cullen guided the cloth over her skin, the soap into her hair, working the lather in until she lolled in the bath. His hands were still chilly, thanks to the lyrium withdrawal, a pleasant counterpoint to the heat that seeped into her. Each pass of the cloth was punctuated with a gentle kiss to her shoulder; the rinsing of her hair was done so gently she might almost have been a small child in his hands. And she knew he had learned to do this for her. Somehow he had learned to wash hair and skin without scrubbing or becoming impatient, just for her. How had he known he would need these skills? How long had he been quietly dreading the day when she would be the last of her bloodline to stand?
When he lifted her out of the bath to dry her down, she tried to still his hands.
"You don't need to -"
"Poppy."
He paused, curling his palm to her jaw, meeting her eyes with fierce certainty that made her melt a little inside. What had she done to deserve a man who loved her like this?
"I know I don't need to," he told her softly. "I want to."
She actually laughed - just a gentle huff of amusement, but it was a genuine laugh, a sound that lit up his eyes with relieved affection as he rubbed the water from her skin and hair.
"You are impossible to argue with these days," she murmured fondly, smiling as he leaned in to kiss her.
"I learned from the best," he answered, letting the damp towel fall only to wrap her in the warmth of a blanket and lift her into his arms once again.
Poppy sighed, strangely contented as he settled in the wide armchair in front of the fire, holding her curled up on his lap, She nestled into him, her forehead tucked into the crook of his neck, and just ... let herself be. She could hear the crackle of the fire, the rattle of hooves and wheels over the cobbles outside, the rumble of conversation from the taproom below; closer to, she was aware of the sigh of Cullen's breath, and the gentle beat of his heart. And slowly, she became aware of something more.
Cullen was singing.
"Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee all through the night ... guardians shall the Maker send thee all through the night ..."
An old Fereldan lullaby, a song her father had sung to her when she was small and could not sleep. When shadows had threatened her peace and nightmares had haunted her young mind, Malcolm Hawke would kneel beside his children's beds and sing this lullaby to them as sparkling lights danced on his fingers, his low voice a promise that he would always be there to guard them against the fears of the night.
"... soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and dale in slumber sleeping ... I, my loved ones' watch, am keeping all through the night ..."
She remembered snuggling down into her blankets with Alex as their father sang; remembered the nights when Bethany would join them, and Carver, too, the four Hawke siblings protecting each other against the nightmares that might come for them. Through the years they had dropped away, one by one ... Father, Carver, Bethany, Mother, Alex; all gone ahead to a place that had to be better than the world that had hurt them so badly, and only Poppy remained.
"Hark, a solemn bell is ringing clear through the night ... thou, my love, art Maker's hand winging home through the night ..."
But not alone. No, she was not alone, not abandoned. Despite her grief, she had love still, and hope. As Alex had said, she had a future. She had Cullen, her husband; Varric, her friend. She could gather new friends around herself as she had done once before, build a family from them to cushion her against the loneliness of knowing her own kin were lost. She was loved, and that made all the difference.
"Thedas dust from off thee shaken, soul immortal shalt thou awaken ..."
Curled in the arms of the man she loved, bathed in firelight, wrapped in gentle affection, her bleeding heart began to heal, secure in the knowledge that she would never again be alone.
"... with thy last dim journey taken home through the night."
Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle …
[Read on AO3]
9:41 Dragon, Firstfall
"You're doing it again."
Poppy blinked, dragging her gaze from the table across the hall to stare at her brother, mildly uncomprehending. Alex was smirking at her over a forkful of Antivan cherry pie.
"Doing what?" she asked innocently.
"Come to bed eyes at your dreamy commander," he teased, and yelped as her foot made contact sharply with his ankle. He laughed, reaching down to rub it. "All right, all right. Just try not to lay him out on a table in public, would you? I love you, but not that much."
Poppy smirked back at him, ignoring the snickering rising from Varric on her other side to let her gaze return whence it had come. Cullen was apparently deep in discussion with the Inquisitor on the far table, his own dessert hardly touched. Xena was animatedly talking about something that was clearly important to her, and the sheer force of his attention was endearing to see. It was good to know that he had learned to make friends of his colleagues in these past years, that he wasn't as alone as he could so easily have been. As she watched, his eyes flickered toward her, meeting her gaze with a warmth that blossomed deep inside, in her heart and in her belly, casting her face into a gentle glow of a smile that made her brother snort with laughter again.
"Oh, shut up," she managed, rolling her eyes away from Cullen as warmth grew in her cheeks. "This is all your doing, you can't complain about it."
"Am I complaining?" Alex defended himself. "I thought I'd earned the right to be smug."
"Not until it's a done deal," Varric interjected across Poppy. "Half an hour of grabby kisses does not mean they're back for good."
"Gosh, aren't you the little ray of sunshine?" Poppy drawled to her friend, unable to keep her smile in check as he guffawed with laughter. "Easy there, short-arse. You're already halfway to the done deal with Xena, you know."
Varric's laughter abruptly stopped, and Poppy had the privilege of seeing her friend look totally disconcerted. He glanced across at the Inquisitor's table himself, his own gaze lingering as Xena let out a raucous laugh of her own. She knew that look - she'd seen it in Cullen's eyes too many times not to know it - but Varric seemed hell-bent on not admitting his heart was already lost.
"Not gonna happen, Hawke," he told her quietly, dragging his eyes away.
"Bianca?" she murmured, concerned when he blanched and nodded. "One of these days, you're going to have to tell me this story."
"When it's over, maybe." He sighed, shaking his head. "But enough about me. Can I write your epic love story now?"
Poppy let out a burst of cackling laughter, quick to quiet herself when noble heads turned toward her, burning with curiosity.
"When the adventurous part is over, maybe," she allowed, knowing it had to be killing Varric to be sitting on romance he wouldn't have to make up to get it written down. "I'll tell you when that is."
"I'm going to be an old man before you say yes to that, aren't I?"
"It's a distinct possibility, yes."
Varric sighed exaggeratedly, throwing a grin her way as he poured more ale into his tankard. With a quiet giggle to herself, Poppy made a valiant attempt to finish her pie, but her eyes rose yet again to the opposite table.
To Cullen, gazing back at her with a fiendishly secretive smile glimmering in his gaze, raising one eyebrow at the turn of her blush. All she could do was smile in return, her mind's eye lingering on the kisses they had shared not so very long again, on the newfound certainty that he still loved her. Work and duty had got in the way of a proper reunion ... but now the night had come, and the meal was over. Varric had said Cullen worked long into the night, every night, but she didn't think that would be the case tonight. She hoped it wouldn't be. There was still so much that hadn't been said, so much they needed to renew together. One night would not be enough. A lifetime ... well, that might be time enough.
"Just go to bed, would you?" she heard Alex sigh exaggeratedly. "This is getting nauseating."
She kicked him again for good measure, laughing as he whimpered just for her benefit, and finally rose from her seat, locking eyes with Cullen once more. He nodded to her, slowly rising from his own seat as she turned away to head for the door into the walled garden, ignoring the hopeful attempts by various nobles to get her attention as she passed them by. She had no time for them anymore, and certainly not tonight.
The sound of the gathering in the hall faded as the door swung shut behind her. Poppy breathed in the fragrant air of the little garden, smiling faintly as she recognized the scents of elfroot, embrium, Crystal Grace, even the dank tang of deep mushroom. Xena's little herb garden was coming along very well, it seemed. She stepped across the cloister, resting her temple against the cool stone of the uprights, one arm wrapped about the narrow column. Nerves flickered in her belly - would she be all he remembered? Was she good enough? Would he even bother to follow her out here?
The noise from the hall swelled for a moment at her back - she started to turn - and Cullen was there, arms reaching for her, mouth hungry for more of the kisses they had been denied for far too long. She couldn't help giggling into the first of those kisses, feeling his lips curve in an answering smile lost in the heady rush of knowing that this was what she had been missing all these years. The safety, the warmth, the love that Cullen could envelop her in with just a kiss filled a hole in her heart she had been nursing since the last time he had been able to touch her.
Bare hands skimmed her sides, kneading, holding, one smoothing down over her hip to pull her ever closer, the other diving into the fall of her hair, cradling her head in his palm as her hands passed restlessly up and down his back. No armor tonight, for either of them - simple jerkin and shirt for the Commander of the Inquisition, never before seen without his plate and mantle by the eager nobles until this night. But he wasn't the Commander of the Inquisition, not here, not now. He was Cullen, her Cullen, and the woman in his arms wasn't Lady Hawke, wasn't the Champion, wasn't even the consultant helping the Inquisition with the Warden problem - she was Poppy. For the first time in a very long time, she was simply Poppy.
Stone pressed against her back as he surged forward, pinning her there quite literally between rock and a hard place, filling her mouth with his soft groan at the gentle rake of her nails through his hair. She was vaguely aware of the rise in sound behind him, and an embarrassed female voice stuttering out an apology for interrupting as he drew back from her in frustration. She caught a glimpse of Chantry robes disappearing back into the Great Hall, unable to keep herself from snorting with laughter at being interrupted again.
Cullen's frown smoothed away as he looked at her, slowly relaxing into a smile of his own as they leaned into each other in the moonslight.
"I think it's time we found a little privacy, don't you?" she murmured, tracing a fingertip along the stubbled line of his jaw.
"Maker, yes," was his fervent reply, drawing another laugh from her as she pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
She pushed him back, claimed his hand in her own, guiding him quickly away from that access way toward a door set into the outer wall of the castle. Skyhold was enormous, there was no doubting that - plenty of space for visitors and inhabitants alike - but she had been given a room beneath the Inquisitor's rooms in the tower, with a wide window that overlooked the bailey of the keep. It was a great honor, of course, to be quartered all but with the Inquisitor, but right now, Poppy was more frustrated with the sheer number of stairs required to reach the appropriate level. It was very difficult to force herself to keep going with Cullen walking close to her back, the hand she hadn't claimed brushing hungrily over her side and hip as though he couldn't bear to stop touching.
In the darkness of the hallway, she fumbled with the door handle, loosing a breathless whimper as his lips found her throat, seeking out the sensitive dip behind her jaw that he knew would turn her to water in his grasp. The door came open, and she stumbled forward, released from his arms to turn back and watch as he closed and locked the door, turning to her with predatory tenderness in his gaze. And she didn't care. For the first time in a long time, she was glad to be the prey, glad to be caught and kissed and touched, reminded all over again that this was where she should be, this was where she should have stayed. She loved him.
It could have been hours later, it could have been moments, but the moons soon shone through the window on rumpled sheets and bare skin, on limbs tangled together without any wish to separate. Poppy lay on her side, facing Cullen, her fingertip teasing gently up and down a new scar on his chest; his fingers pushing through her hair to trail down her back as he brushed kiss after soft kiss to her lips.
"You look good," she murmured to him in the darkness. "Not so haggard. Not so driven. Apart from this -"
Her hand rose, gently touching the pad of her thumb to the groove between his brows, proof that a frown lived there more often than not. He, predictably enough, frowned at the touch, eyes tilting upward for a brief moment before returning to her own.
"I have headaches," he admitted quietly.
"I thought you had good supply lines here," Poppy queried in a soft voice. "Surely you're not low on lyrium?"
Cullen grimaced, a flicker of that old awkwardness touching his expression as he sighed. His hand covered her, drawing her palm to his mouth to press a hot kiss there.
"No, Poppy, I ... we have good supplies," he promised her. "I simply ... I haven't taken lyrium for over a year now, not since I left Kirkwall."
Horror flashed through her for a long moment - memories of Samson's hungry addiction, of Cullen's own descriptions of the templars in the infirmary at the Gallows when their reliance on lyrium had become too much. But no ... he wasn't raving. He wasn't haggard or grasping for something he couldn't have. He had made the decision himself. And she couldn't deny that it had done him so much good already. His flesh was warmer, pinker; his eyes, brighter; his mind just as sharp as it had been. He had not lost anything through this decision of his. Perhaps he could teach others to do the same, and finally break the Chantry's leash entirely.
"I wish I had been there to help you," she whispered tenderly, drawing her fingers along his cheek as his hand returned to her back, encircling her in his embrace once again. "I'm so proud of the man you've become, Cullen."
He shook his head, a deprecating smile touching his lips - lopsided, thanks to the scar Alex had branded him with years ago.
"You made me the man I am, Poppy," he murmured back to her. "Even without you there to hold me to account, I have spent years wondering what you would do. I have tried to live my life the way you would want me to. I turned a blind eye to too much in Kirkwall; I allowed too many abuses, too much misery, to fester and bloom under my hand, just because I refused to let go of my own anger. I'm still angry, Poppy. But I won't let it blind me again."
She smiled sadly, knowing he had been through too much to ever let some of it go, shifting closer to touch her lips to his brow as his hands tightened on her once more, gathering his cheek to her breast, lowering her head, curling to wrap him close and stroke his hair, letting him listen to the beat of her heart as he had done so many times before.
"I will never leave you again," she whispered into the darkness. "Let the world find another Champion. I've found where I belong."
