“Let me get this straight. You’re asking me if I have a favourite body part of Inara’s?” Frowning he folds his arms over his chest, still looking like he doesn’t quite know how to answer the question. “I can’t say I do, in all honesty. Am I supposed to?” He doesn’t sound pleased at the prospect of not being able to answer a question, regardless of how ridiculous it sounds to him.
“I suppose if you’re asking for the part that I like about her in general I could give you a worthwhile answer. I like her mind. When she sees fit to use it for things other than avoiding work or mischief she is far more intelligent than she would have you believe. As much as it irritates me to no end that she has an answer for /everything/ it is impossible to deny that she possesses a considerable amount of cleverness that she seems to only want to use for cheek. There’s no helping that, unfortunately. Don’t think I haven’t tried.”
“As a commander she doesn’t give herself nearly enough credit at the end of the day. While I would not lie and say that she is more qualified than her peers to hold the position she does, the Wardens would not be as they are without her to hold them together. She is the heart of the Wardens and she does not retreat from such a messy role. She is a safe haven for those without a place to go and… I appreciated that quality a long time ago.”
“However, for the record I do not like her sense of humour, no matter what she might have told you.”
Gargalesthesia - The sensation caused my tickling.
Gargalesthesia - Thesensation caused my tickling.
Procrastination, Inara has not come tolearn well enough yet, is not herfriend.
She has, despite her repeated protests,spent the last two days locked up in that stuffy office, while her gleefulaccomplice in avoiding the frowning archer no doubt struts around the mess halltelling bad jokes, lest Nathaniel has caught him, too, and set him on scrubbingfloors or filing papers out of spite. You’vecreated a monster, she can hear Anders telling her still, a look just shyof panic on his face when, not even half an hour after she’d named NathanielHowe her Warden-Constable, he had already changed half the orders on the boardand reorganized the watch patterns.
Ah, but like it or not, he was just themonster that she needed, a well-kemptdragon who knew just when his dear princessneeded to be locked away in a tower.And there she sits, guarded by nothing more than the fear of the boiling heatof his glare should he find her slipped way, for hours on end, staring atpaperwork she only thinks she understands, even with Howe’s notes, and missingWynne’s gentle guidance through maths and foreign tongues and jumbles ofletters longer than her pinky finger more than ever.
When the sun slips down over the tree topsthat night, it steals Inara’s consciousness along with it, sacks the secondwind keeping those eyes open on its way out and leaves her slumped over herdesk in dark, heavy exhaustion, drooling into the hand propping up her head.
She jolts back to life and sneezes, imagesof starry nights and moonlit skin ripped away from her by cold, lonesomereality, an itch beneath her nose she scratches at only to discover the sadstate of her slobber-laden hand. With a groan she wipes the drool that’strickled all the way down to her elbow on her pants sleeve, feeling unladylikeas ever. She refocuses her eyes on the paper, tries to focus, and promptlyslumps face-first onto the desk with an ungraceful thud.
The next time she wakes the prickle is atthe back of her neck. She slaps at it half-woke, hits the mahogany of the chairagain and scowls at the pain. She tries again to focus, propping her chin ontwo fists. No sooner do her eyes start to close than does there come a tickleat her ear–
--this time she’s fast enough to clasp theends of the probing thing in her slapping hand, finds fringes of feathertrapped tight between her fingers and turns to scowl at the offender.
“Oh, fuck you.” Words that may have been ameasure more intimidating, were they not tangled in a mewling yawn.
“You’re lucky I am not an assassin with ablade,” he tells her.
“Let’s agree to disagree on that,” shegrumps, and though her muscles are tightening, shifting as she readjusts in herseat feeling like a snake coiling up to strike, her aggression falters whenjust a trace of doubt runs through her mind that those words are said in jest.
She comes so close to losing herself tothat painful snap of cold despair – oh, how the night and flitting dreams toorudely brought to mind can wound in the night. But his hand falls on hershoulder, and there is warmth in thetouch that she does not expect, the shock and feel enough to keep her anchored tothat moment, to him, just long enough for that cold to pass, roll off hershoulders in a shudder.
“That’s quite enough for the evening,” hetells her, pretending not to notice when she leans into the touch. “Get somerest.”
Heleaves her there in steadily swaying, swinging candlelight glow, the featherquill deposited neatly at the side of her desk, and returns to find her therein the morning, as the first rays of sunlight begin to peek above the forestline, papers piled, neatly signed, in perfect order. He closes down the blinds,and lets her sleep.
“Commander Cullen. What a pleasant surprise,” the former Warden-Commander smiled like a sunset when she turned to see him standing there, her eyes full of dusk as the gloss of her lips flashed the last flares of struggling sunlight.
It took only a glance from her companion with creases in his eyebrows to turn her around again, inspire her to finish loosing the saddle on her Anderfel Courser, however reluctantly. It a pretty thing, that horse, more white than sandy brown except about its ankles. She called him Howie, telling Cullen with a grin that made his stomach flutter that this was an inside joke, though he had not had the chance when she was leaving to ask any more and was not entirely foolish enough to do so then, given their company.
“What brings you down here?” Her gaze was a glorious sunset over the back of her horse, stealing his breath and filling his mouth with the sweet taste that accompanied all great glances at extraordinary beauty. She asked the question like she did not know how desperate he was to taste her lips after their long days apart, like she could not tell from his shoulders flinching, his fingers flexing, how he wanted more than anything to clench her waist and pull her to him right there in front of the stable hands and the faux-Warden’s “casual” glances, give them even more cause for their whispers. She asked like she didn’t have his favorite perfume on even though she had just returned from a long journey, like the shadows in her eyes didn’t show two figures moving in the dark.
“I came to see that the Warden-Commander made it safely to Skyhold, of course,” he responded as if it did not take his whole resolve to hold himself back away from her, to turn and bow to Nathaniel as the eldest Howe regarded them both with an entirely and completely unamused look, stuck hard on his face like it was chiseled into flesh-shaded stone.
“I was not expecting such a warm welcome. The Inquisition truly lives up to the rumors,” he commented blandly, refraining from rolling his eyes only for Cullen’s sake. The look he shot Inara immediately afterward informed her that there would be a discussion to follow in private, made something inside her twist and strain. He held a hate for all things Orlesian – brittle masks for useless pretense included – that was difficult to rival.
“Of course. If there’s anything that you need, Warden-Commander, please do not hesitate to ask.”
“One of your staff has already offered to show me to my quarters. And I trust that Inara can manage the horses,” his demeanor changed with this, face brightening mischievously although he did manage to suppress a grin at all but the very corners of his mouth as he handed his saddle over to his silently objecting companion, the leather landing heavy in her arms as she glared at him over the top of it. “If I should require anything else, I shall take appropriate measures.”
And then he was gone, leaving the Commander and former Warden-Commander alone there in the stable to stutter and trip over full-blushed silence until the stable hands managed to remember themselves and stop leering quite so openly.
“He doesn’t like being an excuse for things,” Inara said softly as Cullen assisted her in putting up the saddles and the reins and riding gear and brushing down the pretty painted ponies. “Manages to be a mighty ass when he has rights, too. Natural nobility, that one. And just a bit of a tit.”
“I was under the impression that the two of you were friends.” Cullen was so diligent, so careful not to let himself brush against her, not to let his gaze linger on her curves or get drawn in by and lost inside those pretty ever-shifting emerald-amber eyes that threatened every second to drown him in the memory of every touch and every kiss they’d ever shared, every tide that had risen inside him longing for another every moment she was gone, every tidal wave of pleasure that awaited them once they could be alone.
“We are friends. He’s my best friend, probably. The older brother that I would never admit to ever having wanted,” She paused, then, looking either confused or concerned – Cullen had not quite learned how to tell those particular two things apart, just yet. “I’m going to ignore the unfortunate statement that makes about my life, though you might want to keep it in mind.”
“What unfortunate statement might that be?” He flashed a smile that sent sparks racing down the lower part of her spine, added to the heat pooled between her thighs. She loved that little smile more than she could ever have put into words, loved how it laid hidden there at the corner of his eyes and lips like it was only just for her, quiet and subtle on a face that she was beginning more and more to equate more and more with soft and slow and fur than fire and thunder and brass.
“Well, he is the oldest son and to a man made my enemy and killed by me during the Blight, the heir to the lands that were then stripped and transferred to the Grey Wardens in my honor, and we met only because he came to kill me and avenge the horrible losses I inflicted upon his family. Now, he is my closest friend, brother in all but blood. Bit odd on paper, that. Makes me seem a fool at best and treacherous at worst – or so I’ve been informed by the advisor to the King.”
“I… can’t deny that the circumstances are unique,” Cullen offered as the pair finished the last of their horse-related tasks, Inara offering gentle instruction to the stable hands all too eager to come closer to the pair and see conversation they might catch the edges of, and headed towards the grand maze of steps that would carry them up past the crowds and up the walls to his tower, his quarters, where they might escape the prying eyes that, for the time being, kept their hands from brushing, their fingers from intertwining. “But much of what has happened to you – to us all – in recent history has been quite strange. It is good practice to take allies however they might come to be at your side, and hold the good ones close. In any case, what business would that be of the advisor to the King?”
“You know, one day you will look at me and not see some wonderful, redeeming character quality lining the shattered, jagged reminders of all of my missteps and flaws,” Inara sighed, not entirely certain if the warning was truly for him or for herself.
“And on that day, I will no longer be worthy of your company,” he answered. His fingers closed around her as soon as the heavy door of his tower clinked shut, his lips fell on hers like a powerful predator finally falling on exhausted prey. “I shall endeavor with my whole spirit to delay that day until just after the end of eternity.”
“Eternity is an awfully long time away,” she murmured against the skin of his throat as her teeth grazed over the bump with strong pulse beating just below and made him shudder. “Be careful what you wish for, my most darling Commander.”
“Will you lie with me tonight?” The words were an explosion, a rupture of boiling blood bursting from the deep cracks in proper pretense. His throat was suddenly filled with gravel, his voice raw and red with need as his cheeks flushed scarlet. “I have been dreaming of—I mean to say, it’s been two weeks—but I quite understand, if the early morning coming—“
“Yes,” she answered, kissing him as he pressed his body against hers, tangled her fingers on one hand in the hair on his head and the other in his pauldrons. “I have been dreaming of this, too. Every night that I was gone.”
Cullen only smiled, but Inara could read so much more in his eyes. “I hope I will live up to the expectation.”
Send me an OTP and I will give you my headcanon of:
Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA:I don't think either of them would be particular fans, but Nathaniel still wins out. Inara does have a kink for public sex and sexual acts, which he does not share. However, she doesn't care for mushy or lavish PDA and I think she'd be at least a little mortified if she were actually caught having sex by people she was supposed to be in charge of or people she respected(but not Eamon).
Who’s the funniest drunk:Probably Nathaniel, and Inara would tear off her own arms to see him actually drunk.
Who texts the most:Probably Inara, though I imagine most of their relationship to be lengthy texts including information or a command that neither of them respond to other than to show up at a place if that's what's requested of them. I don't picture them having long or cute text conversations.
Who has the most embarrassing taste in music:Nathaniel lbr he's gotta listen to some shit.
Who reads the most:Nathaniel.
Who’s better with kids:Neither of them oh God please no one give them children.
Who’s the one that fixes things around the house:Nathaniel probably intends to, but I bet Inara "helps".
Who’s got the weirdest hobby:They're both probably about as weird as each other.
Who cooks and who cleans up:They probably get take out, or have someone do that for them. If anyone cooks at all between them, it's probably Inara, and Nathaniel probably gets stuck cleaning it up when she's left it for so long that he can't help but give in.
☛ : What is their typical response to being given orders?
For Inara, it depends very much on who is giving them and when. If she's in a situation where she feels safe in confident in the leadership of another person/the orders are given by someone she highly respects/adores, she tends not to question orders she is given and instead follow through as passionately as she is able, and does so in hopes to exceed their expectations.
If she is given orders by someone she deems unworthy, however, or if the plan seems unnecessarily dangerous or seems to ignore the importance of the lives of others, she is prone to undermining them. She is definitely one to react violently under leadership she doesn't trust or approve of; she murders everyone in the tribe that abuses her, kills the Denerim city guards who abuse the elves, and in her AU where she is not recruited but instead escapes to live and work in a little town outside Denerim, she kills any guards or authorities who might recognize her, as quietly as she can.
❤ : Describe a physical action that shows complete trust.
Hmm. This is going to be a little NSFW, but I'd say any allowance of a sexual partner to bind her would be a sign of complete trust. I would say that sexual contact in general is a show of complete trust, because as much as Inara likes to flirt and flutter her eyelashes, she doesn't tend to have sex with people she'd be wary of in the dark. However, in verses where Inara and Alistair split, this isn't always the case(take Shane, for example).
But allowing herself to actually be bound/restrained in some way by a lover is the ultimate show of trust by her in any verse. She's had so many bad experiences with people violently asserting power over her, that to leave herself so completely vulnerable is a rare and special thing, and something that would probably only take one abuse for it to cease to ever happen.
❣: Describe a way that will earn affection (whether platonic or romantic) from them.
Inara tends to favor people who sort of give her a long leash to be herself, more or less. She doesn't like people who crowd her trying to shove judgement down her throat, and she doesn't like people who crowd her like they worship her. She enjoys people who approach her like she approaches others -- with a healthy dose of caution and a good buffer barrier of personal space.
She likes to learn her way to the core of people slowly, rather than having someone's personal stories and secrets and desires and dreams all vomited at her all at once. Not that she doesn't care about these peoples' lives and stories, but she feels this immense pressure when people share things with her like she is expected to share back, and this upsets her and pushes her away when she's still in a stage of relation to another people where she doesn't necessarily like to do that.
So I guess the short version is: to earn her affection, you have to treat her like she is a cat. She'll curl up on your lap when she wants to, and you had better not mind too much when your play rapidly turns to her gnawing on your arm.
♡ : Is there a certain scent that brings about nostalgia? If so, describe a memory this scent brings back.
There are quite a few scents that inspire nostalgia in Inara. Sweets were already talked about, so next I think that I'll do the scent of wood fires.
This scent evolves for her -- when she is young, it brings strong memories of home, sitting around the fire with her clan members. As she grows, she associates it with survival, warmth and security, huddling near flames and clinging to life.
During the Blight, though, she always remembers Duncan. It's burned into her memory, the first night spent with him beside the campfire, wondering if he really was a Grey Warden or if he had simply taken her away to sell or slaughter. She remembers the look in his eyes when he stared into the fire, the stoic sight of him tending those flames in Ostagar, and the way he watched and shook his head when she sat gossiping with Daveth or whispering to Alistair. Returning to find his campsite vandalized by Darkspawn as if they felt it, too, the power there, solidifies that association for her ever onward, and for his vigil she always makes certain that the air is filled with the scent of that heavy wood smoke he seemed to so favor.
