@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
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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.
Christiiiiiiina. Okay, so, I got all emotional when you filled one out for me and started typing out a bunch of nice things in response and then I was like.... wait.
Anyway. I’ve always been so in awe of your writing and I’ve been in love with Freya since the moment I opened your first fic on AO3. Your Project Ruby was the first modern AU story I read (and one of the first incomplete fics lol), and I’m still so in love with it. It’s smart, it’s clever, and I’m obsessed with the relationship between Freya and Cullen. I love how uplifting and supportive but also no-nonsense you are in the fandom, I love your defense of people who write fic, I love that you’re involved in local politics. I love that you like my Avery/Ryder AU because I literally had no idea you’d even looked at it, and while I thought I’d stopped being intimidated by you as a fic writer my brain sort of short-circuited when I read that lmao.
Oh! Speaking of that, I love Aisling (and your fics with Jaal) and Autumn (and How to Kiss A Turian, which I have recommended to several friends).
For the WIP Wednesday stuff, how about dawn, snow, and glass?
from a solavellan one-shot:
Snow swirling around them and settling in her hair and he had told her she was graceful.
fake-dating shenko:
He’d made a beeline for the bar as soon as they’d entered, and returned with an easier stride and a glass full of some bubbling neon sugary shit for her. She’d have preferred something stronger, of course, but they do have a mission to complete.
—
The Game: Send me a word; if it’s in my WIPs, I’ll share the line with you!
Late to the borthday party, but happy birthday and WELCOME TO 35! Here is your membership card and your complimentary bottle of ibuprofen. I'm glad you got to celebrate with meat and booze, as is the American Way™. 💛
Ahhhh, now I get to do one for you! I’m pumped!I guess it goes without saying that you’re definitely a refreshing bright spot and presence in fandom. I always enjoy seeing you on my dash/feed/whatever it’s called these days, whether it’s art, writing, a tag meme, or whatever it might be. You seem to have a really strong dedication to being compassionate and uplifting both in your friendly and less-than-friendly interactions and I think it’s really inspiring! While I’ve not had the chance to read more than a couple of your short works and WIPs, from what I have read so far, I can tell that you’re a skilled writer, and I honestly can’t wait to read more of your things! Your art is also FANTASTIC, and so signature. I feel like I could probably see a piece of art by you, without knowing it was by you, and still recognize it as yours. You have such a cool style!Tl;dr, you rock, and I’m so honored that you found me worthy of a follow :D
text overlaid atop the dragon age logo that reads "@lyrium-lovesong is such a talented writer and artist; and a wonderful kind person. She is such a bright presence and always curious about other’s OCs and headcanons. Thank you!"
