Finally working on stuff again! Chapter 11 of Direction is coming along. A Hawke/Varric Casino AU because I can. And the long-awaited (by no one but me) Dirty Dancing AU!
Still can’t talk about Mystery of Chopper Base, and I'm not ready for the season finale, but I can manage a short fic. Kanera, 373 words, cut for spoilers.
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Hera refused to let herself wonder if this would be the last time she held Kanan. She had known this day would come, ever since the Empire sent more Inquisitors. Maybe she should have seen it coming when Fulcrum ceased being Fulcrum and became Ahsoka Tano. Maybe even from the moment they found Ezra.
The Jedi had their own mission, just as critical to the rebellion as hers. As much as she wanted to be there for Ezra and Kanan, there were things she just couldn’t do.
Ezra had grown so much since going the crew. Hera couldn’t be prouder, but she wanted to be there to catch him if he fell. If he wasn’t ready.
And Kanan… They had scarcely been apart since the day they met, with the exception of his time on Mustafar. Those days were some of her worst, and she could only imagine the full extent of the horrors that Kanan went through.
Even if it wasn’t the last time, she wanted to remember the way she fit against his shoulder.
It wasn’t fair of her to be so cold to Kanan. They always trusted each other unconditionally, but the cavalier way he treated this mission had her on edge. He couldn’t pretend everything was going to be okay. Even with Ahsoka on their side, the Inquisitors were always one step ahead, and there was still the Sith Lord.
She pulled him closer, and he rubbed her temple with his chin.
“This base is the best thing to happen to the rebellion in months. Focus on all the great things be you’ll be able to do here.” Kanan’s lips brushed her face.
“And this is your chance to get the upper hand against the Inquisitors,” said Hera. He nodded, breathing in deep.
“I’ll bring Ezra back.”
Hera tilted her head back to press her lips to his neck. He couldn’t promise that, and he knew it.
Kanan’s hand drifted up her side, coming to rest at her chin. He leaned down to kiss her, soft and slow.
He couldn’t make promises, but he could pour his faith, his fears, his love into this moment. And she could return in kind.
Things always get a little out of hand on Wicked Grace night, and treading the line between friendship and the unknown isn't even the wildest thing Hawke and Varric have ever done. Give it a year and they'll both look back on this night and laugh. Probably. (3,605 words)
Fandom: Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Characters: Amanda Hawke (female mage), Varric Tethras, Isabela, Merrill, Fenris, Anders, Sebastian
Pairing: f!Hawke x Varric
Once again, @itshawkebitch has graciously let me borrow Amanda Hawke only to have me stomp on her heart. Rated T for heavy drinking and a bit of language. Read on AO3.
Sitting this hand out was the right decision. Varric took a swig of ale and propped his foot on Hawke’s stool to watch the cards fall.
“Three Serpents.” Isabela laid her hand down and Fenris pounded the table so hard the cards jumped.
“You win again,” he growled.
“I like your energy.” Isabela raked the pile of coins toward her. “But I like your coin more.”
Hawke smirked and started to clap while Isabela stacked her coins, and Varric chuckled.
“Easy for you to laugh,” said Anders. “Neither of you lost any money.”
Hawke shrugged. “Funny how the game works that way.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Fenris said, laying down a stack for the next hand. “Twenty silvers.”
“Ooh, confident.” Isabela shuffled the cards with expert hands. “I haven't even dealt yet.”
Fenris swirled the wine in his goblet and stared her down, but naturally, Isabela was unfazed.
“I'm afraid that's all I'm willing to lose tonight,” said Sebastian, standing up from the table.
“Sure you don't want to make it interesting? I'd say that belt buckle of yours is worth at least a sovereign,” Isabela mused.
Sebastian ran a finger along Andraste’s golden crown. “I'm afraid this isn’t up for grabs.” After so many years running with Hawke’s crew, he didn’t blush as easily as he once did.
“Pity,” Isabela sighed.
“Good game, everyone.” Sebastian continued on his way, nodding to Hawke as he passed. “Good night, Hawke.”
Hawke nodded and raised her mug. “Here's to you, Sebastian. Pleasant dreams.”
“To Choir Boy,” Varric chorused, knocking his mug against hers. They both downed the rest of the ale in their cups.
“I pray you're still in such good spirits tomorrow morning,” said Sebastian, half-serious and half-bemused. He left the Hanged Man and Isabela dealt the cards.
Varric took one look at his hand and knew that this wasn't the one, either. “I think I'll hang onto my money a bit longer.” Waving his empty mug in the air, he added, “Or put it to better use.”
“I like the way you think,” said Hawke, forfeiting her hand. “I've got this round. Anyone else?”
Anders declined and anted up. Fenris, who still had plenty of wine, was too focused on his cards to answer.
“If I have any more, I won't be able to see my cards,” said Merrill, placing her bet.
Isabela smiled at Merrill and put in her money. “I'll take another, Hawke, if you're buying.”
“You always get my money one way or another,” she said. “Three drinks, coming right up.” There was a little song in her voice. Was it Varric's imagination, or did she brush her leg against his when she stood?
He must have imagined it. She strode off to the bar, displaying coordination no one who had downed so many drinks had any right to possess. Grace, really.
“I'm rather enjoying the view myself,” Isabela said, startling him. Had he said that out loud? How many had he had? Corff started to laugh at something Hawke said, but Varric turned his attention back to the game.
“Oh! Have I won?” Merrill blinked down at her hand on the table.
“You sure did, kitten,” said Isabela, leaning back in her seat. “Nicely done.”
Varric glanced at Isabela and he could have sworn he saw her sitting on some cards.
“Venhedis!” Fenris pointed a finger from Merrill to Isabela. “You planned this!”
“What can I say? I was distracted,” said Isabela. She winked at Varric as she collected the cards, but he just shook his head. Isabela was always seeing things that weren’t there. She greeted Hawke with a knowing smile, but Hawke didn’t seem suspicious.
“Who won?” Hawke asked, placing Varric’s drink in front of him.
He gratefully accepted. “That massive pot went to Daisy.”
“Good on you!” She passed Isabela her drink and tilted her own cup to her lips. “Isabela’s pockets were getting entirely too heavy.”
“Only because she decided to line Merrill’s,” Fenris muttered.
Isabela shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. And you both know I don’t have pockets.”
Anders sighed and stood from the table. “Well, as much as I’d like to keep bleeding coin, there are matters that need attending back at the clinic.”
Varric was surprised he stayed as long as he did. These days, he only ever saw Anders for those special missions when Hawke wanted insurance in the form of an extra healer. Varric still couldn’t wrap his mind around Anders’s attempt to pass along a family heirloom, and he didn’t like being out of the loop.
But Anders had been sociable tonight. Varric exchanged a look with Hawke and they raised their glasses. “To Blondie,” they said in unison, knocking mugs.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” added Hawke after she drank.
Fenris let out a humorless laugh. “Too late for that.”
“At least I’m not going home broke. Try not to bet your dignity,” Anders shot back.
Isabela rolled her eyes. “Down, boys.” She heaved a sigh. “Can’t we have one night without you two bickering?”
“We can’t break the streak now, can we?” Anders gave a weak smile and took his leave. Isabela started to deal the cards and Merrill frowned.
“Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead,” she said, pursing her lips. “I could use a new rug.”
“But imagine the rug you could buy if you won again.” Isabela leaned in, speaking in low, tantalizing tones. “Fine Orlesian silk thread, or perhaps bear fur?”
“Oh, I’d just get it dirty,” said Merrill.
Isabela winked. “That’s the whole point, kitten.” Merrill giggled at this, but Fenris just scoffed.
“If you’re just going to let her win again, I see no point in staying,” he said, looking away from the table in disgust.
“Come now, Isabela wouldn’t do that.” Hawke smirked and laid down five silver coins. “Stay for another round.”
Fenris narrowed his eyes, but he saw her bet. This time, Varric had something to work with.
“I’m in, but make it ten,” he said, doubling his stack. Hawke raised an eyebrow, but her confident smile never faltered. Even without her weapon or blood-stained armor, anyone could recognize the woman who had defeated the Arishok. She’s got a hell of a game face.
Isabela looked from Hawke to her cards and back again, but she finally resigned, setting her hand down in disgust. “Not this time.”
“I’d give you my cards, but I don’t think even you could make these work,” said Merrill.
All eyes landed on Fenris. With a grunt, he put ten silver in the pile. Hawke added to her original bet, still wearing that beguiling smile.
In the end, it was Hawke who took the pot with two sets. Now grinning like an imp, she raked in her coins, and Varric had a hard time feeling disappointed.
Fenris downed the last of his wine and sighed in frustration. “Well done, Hawke. Perhaps I’ll have better luck against Donnic next week.”
“You always do,” Isabela said. He bid everyone goodnight and left before Hawke and Varric could toast to him. Merrill stretched out her arms and couldn’t hide her yawn.
“I had better go, too.”
Isabela finished her own drink and stood. “I’ll walk with you. I could use some fresh air, or at least as fresh as it gets in Lowtown.” Hawke and Varric started to raise their glasses, and Isabela put up a hand. “Don’t. I’m not drunk enough to handle you two being cute.”
“Suit yourself,” said Hawke. “We can be cute without you.”
“But why be cute when things could get so much more interesting?” Isabela drawled, walking with Merrill to the door. Varric shook his head. He knew where Isabela was going, but the idea was ridiculous.
“Interesting? Do you mean between…” Merrill’s voice trailed off as they headed out, but Isabela was louder.
“I’ll explain on the way.”
He stole a look at Hawke, who didn’t seem to notice. She was counting her money and tapping out a happy beat on the table. Varric took the cards in his hands, shaking Isabela’s words from his head.
“You look awfully happy with your little stack of coins, Hawke. Care for another round?”
She looked up in mock horror. “Why, Varric, don’t you want me to be happy?”
He wanted nothing more, but he met her shock with a devious smile. “It’s every man for himself in Wicked Grace, you know that.”
“Then let’s make it more interesting.” And she had a devilish look of her own, one that made him feel just how many drinks he’d had. He took another long drink so as not to let on. “Perhaps you’d wager advance copies of your novels?”
“Come now, Hawke, some things are sacred.”
She reached over to toy with the ring around his neck. “Your necklace, then.” He looked down at her long fingers. She was drunker than she looked, too, and the light in the Hanged Man was getting dimmer.
“Sentimental value,” he said, his voice coming out lower than he intended. Hawke drew her hand back, startled by his tone, and he met her eyes. “Can’t put a price on that.”
“How about an earring, then? They can’t all be special.”
Varric laughed. “Are you that desperate to carry a piece of me?” She had to know that she already did, wherever she went. The thought was so sappy, he wanted to cringe. Hawke wasn’t laughing at him, so at least he probably didn’t say it out loud.
“What, were you just going to let me win? Don’t you want to know what I’m wagering?” And she did this little wiggle, lips ever so slightly pouted. He couldn’t be sure if it was intentional, but it was having an effect.
“I’m sharing a drink with a beautiful woman. What more could I possibly want?”
“My unending love and devotion?” she offered, widening her eyes.
“I already have that.”
She smiled, and he really needed to sober up. “Damn, you caught me. What could I possibly offer that you don’t have?”
Hawke was doing it again. That little wiggle. He could think of a few things right now, all of them scandalous and justified. He took another drink. “This outta be good.”
Hawke’s eyes lit up. “You can write a book about me!”
“I think enough weird shit has happened to justify a book. If you win, you can write whatever you want. If I win, I get to keep an earring.” She leaned in and fingered the gold ring in his cartilage. “This one.”
Her touch tingled, or maybe that was the drink. He could smell the ale on her breath—or was that his? Either way, there was no way she could take him when she was this drunk. He still had his wits about him. As proof, he scooped up the cards and shuffled. Even if he couldn’t match Isabela’s flair, he didn’t drop any cards.
“A book? That’s a damn good idea. You’re on, Hawke.”
The ale was gone, and then Corff was shooing them out. “Either take it to a room or take it outside, we’re closed.”
“Well, I can’t leave now, can I?” said Hawke. Varric agreed, and the two of them lumbered into his room to continue their game. It wasn’t suspicious—Hawke came into Varric’s room all the time. Usually with at least two other companions, but still.
Head foggy, Varric was careful to deal the right number of cards. Not much to work with, he thought, looking at his cards. Hawke was focused on her own hand. He took a turn to discard, as did she. In the end, he put down the best cards he could manage against Hawke’s hand.
“A pair of Swords.” They said the words in unison. Hawke started to giggle, letting out little snorts here and there, and Varric couldn’t help but join her in laughter.
“Well, shit. Now what?” he said. “Now that you planted the book idea in my head, I’m not gonna let it go.”
“Oh, Varric.” She ran her hand over his arm, leaving goosebumps in her wake. “You know I’d let you do that anyway.”
And he did. She was a good friend; his best. He couldn’t imagine sitting here so close with anyone else, knees touching like something out of one of his books. Only his heart wasn’t racing because of course it wasn’t. This was Hawke, and she was looking at him like she had looked at him hundreds of times before.
“We have been through a lot together,” he said. “It would make a damn good book.” He could call it The Tale of the Champion, or Journey of the Champion, or something with Champion, and he’d finally get the chance to let the world know what Hawke could do—with perhaps a few embellishments.
“I see those gears turning in your head,” said Hawke with a sly smile. “So you get your book. Do I still get your earring?”
“Those weren’t the terms!” Varric protested. “You offered up the book, win or lose, and I made no such offer.”
“Spoilsport.” But she didn’t seem too put out, and she was still laughing. “How about a consolation prize? My very own nickname, for example.”
He shook his head. The thought had crossed his mind, but he always came up blank. “You’re too complicated to sum up in a word or two. Or at least, any word other than Hawke.”
“Do you even know my first name?” she asked. “Sometimes I think the only person who did was my mother.”
“Of course I do, Amanda.” It did feel strange on his tongue. “I thought you liked being called by your last name.”
She smiled and patted his hand. “I do. It’s just nice to be reminded that the important people know it. Nice to be more than a Champion.”
“You’re more than just a Champion to me, Hawke.” Shit. But he was surprised how little he cared that he was getting sentimental. In the candlelight, her eyes looked endless. Had they always been this deep? He wouldn’t have been able to tell they were brown if he wasn’t so close.
“And you’re more than just the Head of House Tethras to me.” She was giggling again. “You’re an acclaimed author and expert marksman with the finest chest hair in Thedas. Should I go on?”
Now he was laughing, too—laughing, not giggling, and he said, “You’re going to make me blush. I’m almost tempted to stop you.”
“I dare you to try.” And before she could list the rest of his virtues, he stopped her. With his mouth.
Shit.
Hawke went rigid, and he started to pull away, but she surged forward and kissed him like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.
Dim awareness that he was going to regret this later sparked in his brain, but Hawke’s hands were in his hair, and her technique was...well, she wasn’t the Champion of Kirkwall for nothing. Varric ran the back of his hand down the side of her face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been kissed like this, by someone he trusted, someone who loved him more than anything and was determined to show him.
It was before Bianca got married to what’s-his-name.
And even though he knew that pulling away was what he was really going to regret later, when he was alone and trying to relive the past with a woman who didn’t really want him, he pulled back.
Hawke knew it, too. She stood, looking as sober as Varric felt, and her attempt at a smile broke his heart. “Good night, Varric.”
And then she was gone.
I’ll deal with this in the morning, he thought, tossing and turning as he tried to get comfortable in bed. At some point, the drunkenness took over, sending him into fitful bouts of sleep. First too hot, then too cold; he was never going to drink again (he could almost laugh at that one).
In the morning, he had half a mind to go straight to Anders for a hangover cure, but that would require moving. Instead, he stared at Bianca, wallowing in guilt and pounding temples.
The worst part was knowing his guilt was misplaced. Bianca had chosen stability over love, and he didn’t even want to know what she got up to with that other guy. Exclusivity was Varric’s choice, even though he hadn’t seen her in years. It suited him just fine.
It was fine because he always had an excuse. When Isabela needled him, he could say he was taken. When people asked if he and Hawke ever, “you know,” he could give them a dramatic sigh and lament how it just wasn’t meant to be.
And now, he had firsthand experience of just what he was missing. He hoped he wouldn’t remember anything, but the memory of Hawke’s delicate touches as her fingers traced lines over his scalp was so clear it almost soothed his headache.
He shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as he did.
But crazier things had happened while he and Hawke were drunk. He couldn’t recall any right now, but this was just another one for the pile. Maybe this one wouldn’t go in the book.
He doubted Hawke was stewing on it. She had probably cured her own hangover and gotten back to work without a second thought. It didn’t have to mean anything, and he didn’t want to make things weird.
Maybe they’d even laugh about it someday...or they’d never speak of it again. Either way, they were going to be fine, and if he didn’t drag himself out of bed, he was going to miss breakfast.
At least the sausage and bread on his plate looked appetizing, as did the goblet of water. He ate slowly, trying to think of a joke to amuse the day shift girls, but he was drawing a blank. Isabela either hadn’t come back or had come and gone, so they couldn’t swap stories.
For once, Varric really didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. He tried to focus on plotting his new book; he’d start with the Hawke family’s journey from Lothering. Losing Bethany was hard on Hawke, harder on Carver and Leandra. Varric could only imagine how it felt to lose a beloved sibling. Bartrand was still here, at least sometimes, and they had never been on good terms.
Hawke’s tale was marked by tragedy, most of it senseless. That wasn’t unique in the Free Marches, but the way she responded was. No matter how she mouthed off, Hawke was the people’s Champion. Even if no one was there for her, she was there for everyone. It must have been exhausting.
And he was not going to let a night of drunken foolishness stand in the way of their friendship.
“Morning, Varric.”
Apparently, neither was she. Hawke sat down next to him at the table. She always did attack her problems head on.
“Good to see you up and about,” Varric replied. She looked like she always did—eyes bright, not bloodshot.
She wiggled her fingers, and he tried not to remember where they were last night. “Spirit magic is a beautiful thing. Just say the word.”
“Do your worst,” Varric conceded. Her hands hovered over his head, the familiar tingle of magic alleviating the pressure. He took in a deep breath. “Much better, thanks. There’s nothing like sticking it to nature’s consequences.”
She grinned. “Happy to help.”
Varric ate some more of his breakfast, but it was hard to enjoy his cleared head while it was flooding with thoughts about last night. He was being ridiculous; this was Hawke.
“So last night was wild, huh?” he said. It sounded even dumber than it did in his head.
“Oh? Compared to the night we fought off fifteen mercenaries, I thought it was pretty tame. Isabela stabbed three in one swipe.”
That one could go in the book.
Varric laughed. “You have a point.” He took another few bites to fill the silence. “So, we’re good?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” said Hawke. He studied her for a moment, remembering how desperately she had kissed him last night, but there was no trace of that raw passion in her eyes today. He had to remind himself it was a good thing.
Varric shrugged it off. “No reason. So, who do we need to kill today?”
“How did you know?” said Hawke, lips curling up in a smirk.
And just like that, the momentary weirdness had passed. Neither of them ever brought it up again, even after Hawke left to find the Wardens.
So why was Varric thinking about it now? He blamed the cold—he wasn’t meant to travel the mountains.
But he couldn’t avoid it any longer. Corypheus was alive, and Hawke would want to know. She would want to get involved. And after the Herald almost died for the Inquisition, it was the least he could do (even if Cassandra was going to kill him).
Duty made him write the letter, but it was something else that compelled him to slip in that earring. Finally living up to my end of the bargain, he wrote.
He had never questioned the state of their friendship since that morning; it was as strong as it ever was. But he never forgot that night.
Hawke had more important things to worry about. He doubted she had even thought about it since.
Then again, she did have one hell of a game face.
I got a love of my own / Shouldn't get so hung up on you
I remember the way that we touched / I wish I didn't like it so much
I heard So Emotional by Whitney Houston on the way home from work one day and couldn’t stop thinking about Varric.
So I watched “The Protector of Concord Dawn” and I wrote a little Kanera fic. Cut for spoilers, PGish rating, 356 words.
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It wasn’t the first time Hera had been injured, and it wouldn’t be the last. He took a deep breath and ran his hand over her arm.
“Please do not touch the patient,” chirped the medical droid. Kanan let his arm fall to his side. At least they had access to advanced medical technology now. It wasn’t just Kanan trying to make a six inch bacta patch cover a twelve inch gash on Hera’s back.
When he first joined her crew, they were invincible. Even when his Jedi reflexes weren’t quite quick enough, even when Hera was wrapping his sprains or she was resting cracked ribs, they were survivors.
Then, fighting the Empire started to mean something to him, and having Hera at his side meant more. Eventually, he started to mean something to her. The stakes were higher.
He still remembered her first rule, laid on him in the heat of the moment.
If we’re going to do this, you have to promise me that you’ll always finish the mission. No matter what happens to me.
It wasn’t an ultimatum he was used to hearing in the bedroom, and it led to the sort of weighty conversation that Kanan used to avoid at all costs. That conversation led to so much more—things that hurt too much to think about while Hera was lying unconscious in medbay.
Knowing that she would recover didn’t make it any easier to see her skin covered in cuts and bruises. It didn’t stop his stomach from turning as the droid poked, prodded, and stitched, chattering away about the extent of her injuries in complicated medical jargon that Kanan fought to tune out.
With each addition to the crew, the stakes got even higher. Now, the whole Phoenix Squadron was relying on him to carry out Hera’s dearest rule.
Promise me that you’ll always finish the mission.
Without Hera, without their crew—their family, without all the people who brought him back to his training, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his promise.
Now, the path was simple. When the medbay door slid open, he knew what he had to do.
—
By the way, my main blog is @rockihiko-sanada but now I post fics here.
A suspicious piece of mail turns out to be an invitation to Cassandra’s wedding, and Cullen has turned down one too many invitations to get out of it. Going stag to a wedding can’t be that bad, right? (11,561 words)
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition (Modern AU)
Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Leliana, Josephine Montilyet, Dorian Pavus, Iron Bull, Cassandra Pentaghast, f!Trevelyan, m!Trevelyan, and many more.
Pairings: Cullen/f!Trevelyan, Dorian/Iron Bull, Cassandra/m!Trevelyan, background Josephine/Harding and Sera/Dagna
A wedding guest meet cute featuring Cullen Rutherford and @itshawkebitch‘s Cat Trevelyan. I can’t thank her enough for letting me borrow her Inquisitor’s whole family for my modern AU madness!
Mild teen rating for some alcohol use and kissing. Originally posted one chapter at a time, but here it is in a masterpost! You can also read it on AO3.
Chapter 1 - Cullen works too much.
Chapter 2 - Josephine takes wedding planning seriously.
Chapter 3 - Cullen’s suit doesn’t fit.
Chapter 4 - Cat and Cullen meet face to face.
Chapter 5 - Like it or not, Cullen’s the belle of the ball.
Chapter 6 - Cat makes her toast, and Cullen makes his getaway.
Chapter 7 - A heart to heart between Cat and Cullen.
Chapter 8 - Varric’s surprise and a new beginning.
Cassandra does her best not to think about the Herald while cutting down corpses and collecting herbs in the Fallow Mire, but Wilhelm is an endless source of distraction.
Another piece of my Wilhelm/Cassandra series, which I never would have continued without ideas and encouragement from witchythief.
“Look out!”
With a slash, then a splash, the top half of a corpse landed in the murky water at the Herald’s feet. Its rotting legs crumpled to the mud. Cassandra sheathed her sword and Wilhelm flashed her a smile as he stood, freshly picked blood lotus in hand.
“Thank you, Cassandra.”
Cassandra nodded in his direction, avoiding his gaze. His defense had improved but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t teach him to stay focused.
“‘Of course we should go in the ominous, reeking cesspool,’ says the Herald. ‘Let’s have ourselves a nice swim in the freezing bog. Perhaps wash our hair.’” Dorian never kept his comments to himself, but this time, he had a point.
“No one said you had to go in, Sparkler.” Varric shouldered Bianca from the safety of the grass. “Though I’d have thought this would remind you of home. Demons, malicious spirits, walking corpses…”
“Yes, if I close my eyes, plug my nose, and pretend that this place sees the sun more than three days a year, it’s just like I’m back home,” said Dorian, wringing out the back of his robes.
A suspicious piece of mail turns out to be an invitation to Cassandra’s wedding, and Cullen has turned down one too many invitations to get out of it. Going stag to a wedding can’t be that bad, right?
Varric's surprise is revealed, Cassandra and Gabriel make their escape, but where does that leave Cullen and Cat?
At some point, dancing had turned back into walking, hand in hand now. Cullen barely paid any attention to where they went, lost in conversation with Cat.
“So when I came to pick Gabe up after the race, he and Cassandra were so deep in conversation that I left and got lunch. When I came back, they were still talking in the middle of the park, so I took them to a coffee shop and made myself scarce.” Cat grinned at him. “They’ve been attached at the hip since then. Naturally, my parents think they orchestrated the whole relationship. Funny how they only jumped on board once they found out she was a Pentaghast.”
Her earlier comment about failing to secure a husband (twice) weighed on his mind, but he didn’t want to pry. “And how did you and Cassandra become friends?”
“She made a point of getting to know me,” Cat said, a little smile on her lips. “And she knows a thing or two about breaking free from family expectations, which is a topic near and dear to my heart.” She squeezed Cullen’s hand. “What about you? Did your parents always hope you’d be a templar-turned-charity-executive?”
Cullen thought back, but he couldn’t remember his parents being anything but supportive. “If they had other hopes for my career, they never mentioned them.”
Cat let out a dreamy sigh. “That sounds wonderful.”
Knowing that an understanding family was the stuff of dreams for her made his heart ache, and left him feeling more than a little guilty for losing touch with his siblings. She didn’t have anything to add, and he wasn’t ready to volunteer, so he returned to familiar territory.
“And how did you meet all of my coworkers?”
Her expression was flat, as if it were obvious. “Karaoke night.”
“Of course,” he said with a chuckle.
“I made friends with Dagna and Sera, Bull and Dorian,” she paused for a quick, humorless laugh, “boy, were my parents disappointed when they found out he was gay. Josephine, Leliana, Lace, Varric, before he moved back to Kirkwall… All of them, really, except for the elusive Cullen.”
Cullen arched an eyebrow. “Is that what they call me?” That wasn’t so bad.
Cat snorted. “Oh, you wish. There's Curly, Stick-in-the-Mud, Troglodyte, Jackboot—”
“I get the picture,” said Cullen, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I didn’t even get to Sera’s favorite yet!” Cat stuck out her lower lip to pout, and he was tempted to kiss her again, nicknames aside. But that wouldn’t be appropriate.
“You can tell me next time,” he said. Her eyebrows went up and one corner of her mouth twitched up.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“No, I mean the next time someone in your family marries one of my friends.” Realizing he had just told her no, he added, “Or over coffee. Or dinner. Or karaoke, since that seems to be what you—”
She stopped his babbling with a kiss on the cheek. “I get it. And coffee sounds lovely.” Her eyes filled with mock pity and she patted his head. “You're not ready for karaoke night.”
But nothing could wipe the smile from his face. They gazed at each other until he was dimly aware of the buzz of a mobile phone—not his. “Aren’t you going to check that?”
Cat shook her head. “I’m not missing anything.”
“Just the wedding of your favorite brother and best friend. Nothing important,” he said with a smirk. She bumped her shoulder against his and pulled out her phone with an exaggerated huff. A mischievous look crossed her face as she read.
“Oh, we don’t want to miss this,” she said. “Varric’s surprise is ready.”
“Oh?” As much as he wanted to keep talking with Cat, he couldn’t deny his curiosity.
“We’re to ‘make ourselves decent and meet in the trophy room,’” Cat read aloud. “Do you want me to mess up your hair and make it look convincing?”
The glint in her eye and the thought of her fingers in his hair made it a tempting offer, but he just shook his head. “Next time for sure.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, you know,” she said, pointing a finger at his nose. “Your hair is just too perfect.”
Cullen squared his shoulders. At least someone appreciates it. And knowing she wanted to see him again warmed his stomach more than the whiskey had.
He followed her through a maze of halls and rooms, somehow avoiding the other guests, until they met Leliana.
“And where have you two been?” she asked, eyes twinkling. Cullen only smiled back at her, glad to have a mystery of his own for once.
Albeit not a very tricky one.
“Hurry, Cassandra’s coming!” hissed Josephine, beckoning them inside. Now that there were other people around, he put some distance between himself and Cat and looked around for a clue as to Varric’s surprise.
No clues were necessary, because standing in the corner of the trophy room was none other than Amanda Hawke. Cullen blinked a few times. “The Champion of Kirkwall?”
Hawke smirked. “Long time no see.”
Echoes of Cassandra’s voice grew louder from the hall, and Leliana put a finger to her lips.
“What are you up to, Varric?” Cullen couldn’t tell whether the increase in volume was because she was getting closer, angrier, or both.
“Me? Up to something?” said Varric. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Tell her, Pep Squad.”
Gabriel’s voice was the epitome of calm. “I’m sure you’ll like it, my love. Whatever he has planned.”
Cat snickered and slapped her hand over her mouth before Leliana could admonish her.
Weary but still sparkling, Cassandra stepped in, flanked by Gabriel and Varric. Puzzled, she looked around the room.
“I suppose a break from the fest…” Her voice trailed off when her eyes landed on Hawke. Only squeak escaped her lips before she hid her face in her hands. “Varric, you DIDN’T.”
“He did,” said Hawke. “I hear you’re a fan?”
Cassandra turned to Varric, her face red. “You told her?!”
“Hey, don’t be mad at Varric! I’m flattered,” Hawke said. She shot Cullen a pointed look. “Most people don’t appreciate what I did in Kirkwall.”
Cat glanced at him, one eyebrow arched, and he vowed to tell her the whole story later. On their date. His heart leapt at the thought.
“Well, do you have any questions for her?” asked Varric, taking his place at Hawke’s side. Gabriel took Cassandra’s hand and squeezed.
“Do you sign books?” she blurted out. Cat and Hawke laughed, and Cullen could have sworn they were in stereo.
“Not usually, but seeing as it’s your wedding…”
Cassandra’s grin was radiant, but then her face fell. “Oh no, I don’t have my book,” she moaned.
Varric laughed. “We’ve got you covered.”
Josephine produced Cassandra’s stabbed copy of Tale of the Champion from behind her back and Cassandra looked like she might cry. She took the book and passed it to Hawke, not meeting her eyes.
“To Cassandra,” said Hawke as she wrote. “No hard feelings. If you’re ever in Kirkwall, don’t be a stranger, but watch out for the Red Lyrium.” When she passed the book back, Cullen could make out XOXO Amanda Hawke. Cassandra clutched the book to her chest.
“Thank you, Hawke! You have no idea what this—” She stopped to look down at Varric. “Varric, how can I ever make this up to you?”
“Aw, don’t mention it,” he replied, his ears going a bit pink.
Cassandra looked from him to Hawke, a wide grin on her face. “Would you stay? We have plenty of cake.”
“Thanks, but we need to be getting back to Kirkwall,” said Hawke, sending Varric a warm smile that made Cullen wonder.
“Of course,” said Cassandra, nodding. “Thank you for coming. This gift—thank you.” Gabriel put an arm around Cassandra’s shoulders as they bid Hawke and Varric goodbye.
“See you next summer!” Cat called, waving. Varric saluted her and took his leave, with Josephine and Leliana standing watch.
Once Cassandra caught her breath, she faced Cullen and Cat, eyes narrowed. “Where have you been? You missed all the dancing.”
“Not all of it,” said Cat with a smirk. Cullen coughed. Hopefully, they wouldn’t get the wrong idea.
Gabriel grinned and turned to Cassandra. “I’m sure Kitty was just showing Cullen around the palace.”
Cassandra looked from Cat to Cullen suspiciously. “You didn’t touch anything, did you?”
Knowing Cassandra, it was probably a straight question, but Cat didn’t take it that way. “Nothing in the palace,” she said, throwing Cullen a wink.
Gabriel elbowed her and grinned. “And you didn’t think this would be any fun.”
He seemed unperturbed by the implication that his sister was off canoodling with an older man. Cullen could feel the panic setting in, but remembering that this was a man who trusted his sister to shoot flaming arrows at him brought him some comfort. Cat may not have had parents she could trust, but Cullen would never be that close with any of his siblings.
Maybe he’d never be that close with anyone. All the hand holding, dancing, and most of all, the kissing, seemed like a dream, and he couldn’t believe he’d gotten so carried away. The thought that she might be toying with him, that he was just the evening’s entertainment, invaded his mind.
That’s not very charitable, he thought, wrinkling his nose. He tried to ease his guilt with a deep breath, but all it did was remind him of how tight his collar was.
Cat’s voice shook him out of his head. “Don’t you crazy kids have a honeymoon to run off to?”
“Do you think we can slip out without anyone noticing? I think I’m done being paraded around,” said Gabriel. There was annoyance beneath his good-natured laugh.
Cassandra grunted in disgust. “We should have eloped. If I never see a camera again, I will die a happy woman.” She unpinned the braid that crowned her head and let it fall.
Cat put her hands on Cassandra’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. I will cover for you.” She kissed her cheek, then Gabriel’s, and then she was halfway toward the door. “If there’s one thing I can do, it’s make a scene. See you when you get back!”
Gabriel shook his head. “No way. You’re in enough hot water as it is. Besides,” he added with a wink, “I told Mother our flight is at 11 o’clock tonight, but it’s not actually until tomorrow morning. The limo should be here any minute.”
Cassandra let out a happy sigh, holding her book tighter. She kissed Gabriel’s cheek. “That’s the most wonderful thing I’ve heard all night. Aside from your vows.”
“Brilliant!” Cat exclaimed. “Give me the details so I can corroborate.”
While they schemed, Cullen took the opportunity to approach Cassandra.
“I am so happy for you, Cassandra,” he said. She smiled back at him and he laughed. “It’s very kind of you to keep inviting me, even though I keep turning you down.”
“So you don’t like going out,” she said with a shrug. “Neither do I. But you’re always there when it counts.”
“I did have fun,” he admitted. “Perhaps I could join you for less...formal events in the future.”
“Do my ears deceive me?” said Leliana, stepping back into the room. “Or did Cullen just agree to come out with us?”
Josephine nodded. “I believe that constitutes a verbal contact. You can’t go back on it now.”
“And because I’m feeling charitable, I’m going to pretend that your sudden change of heart has nothing to do with meeting Gabriel’s sister,” Leliana added. Cullen glanced over at Cat, then back at his friends, his face warm. Caught. But she was only part of the decision.
“I know you said you were sick of cameras,” he said, pulling out his cell phone. “But we never did get that picture.”
Cassandra shook her head, grinning. “Oh, I didn’t mean you and you know it!” The four of them squeezed in so that Cullen could take a picture. He could barely get them all on the screen, and after four tries, Gabriel plucked the phone from his hands and took the picture for them. It would look nice framed on his desk, Cullen decided.
After another round of goodbyes, Gabriel and Cassandra made their getaway. Leliana and Josephine headed back to the ballroom to close out the party, leaving Cat and Cullen alone again.
“So, I suppose this is where we say goodnight,” he said, feeling more self-conscious than he had with everyone watching.
Cat flashed him a seductive smile. “Not until I get something from you.” She pointed at the center of his chest and wiggled her finger.
Alarms went off in Cullen’s head. Those were bedroom eyes. Did she want a kiss? Something more? “I, ah…”
“Your number.” Of course she was teasing him. “Honestly, Cullen.”
He sighed in relief. He was beginning to like her smirk almost as much as her smile. “I'm glad I amuse you,” he said as they exchanged numbers. He cleared his throat. “Can I amuse you again on Wednesday?”
“Coffee would be amusing. How’s 7:30?”
“It’s a date.”
And that date was just the first (or perhaps the second) of many. Cat was right, of course; he wasn’t ready for karaoke night, or bowling night, or dancing at the club. He probably never would be, but sometimes he went along anyway.
Leliana was right, too; he preferred quiet nights in with Cat. Still, his friends were unpredictable, and there was a certain charm in that—except when Varric was in town and the game was Wicked Grace.
At least no one called him a stick in the mud anymore.
Back to Chapter 7 | Thanks for reading to the end!
And thanks again to @itshawkebitch for letting me borrow Cat, Gabe, and Amanda. :3 I had so much fun with them.
A three-part story framed around dancing at the Winter Palace. In dances between friends and lovers, timing is everything. Josephine, Wil, and Cassandra got the timing right.
Preparations
Wil had only asked a simple question.
“You’re making me nervous gaping at me like that, Josephine.”
Josephine closed her mouth but kept staring. “Forgive me, Inquisitor. I assumed, given your family—your station in Ostwick, that you would be used to formal balls.”
“I was always too young to go. Then, I started preparing for life in the Chantry,” he said. “Though I’d wager that a ball in the Free Marches is nothing like an Orlesian fête.”
“You have me there.” She set down her papers and smiled up at him, tension leaving her shoulders. “Sometimes I forget that you had planned to join the Chantry.”
“Am I that blasphemous?” asked Wil. He intended it to be a joke, but Josephine’s eyes went wide.
“Oh no! Please don’t misunderstand. I only meant that it’s hard to imagine you locked in a library all day.”
“It did get lonely, sometimes. But I suppose we’ll never know how that would have turned out.” And Wil was surprised to find that he wasn’t sad about it. Of course, now that he had people to discuss books with, he had almost no time to read.
“An unintended consequence of the Breach, albeit a pleasant one.” Josephine stood and rounded her desk, her hair and blouse shining in the sunlight. “Now, what did you want to know?”
What was the most urgent question? Wil scratched his chin. “Do I get to wear a mask?”
She laughed, but stopped when he didn’t join her and cleared her throat. “I think it would be best if you didn’t. We don’t want to seem like we’re mocking their customs.”
“Mock Orlesians? I would never.” Wil put a hand to his chest, covering his disappointment with feigned offense. But he laughed it off. “All right, no masks. Next question. What do I say if someone talks to me?”
She blinked a few times; apparently, Wil was asking stupid questions, though Josephine was far too polite to say so. “Could you be more specific?” she asked.
Wil frowned, grasping for an example of a situation, but he didn’t even know enough to know what to ask. “No?”
A little laugh escaped her lips before she covered her mouth, but Wil wasn’t bothered. “I apologize. It’s just that you of all people will have no trouble charming the court.”
“I’m not half as charming as you are,” he said, flashing a smile.
Wil’s words and Josephine’s subsequent blush did not deter her. “This is exactly what I mean. If it were Sera, I’d be more concerned. Presenting Cole at the Winter Palace?” She shuddered. “Perish the thought. But you, Inquisitor, will be fine.”
The knot in his stomach started to unravel, but only a little. “Just the same, I’d like your advice.”
“Very well.” She pursed her lips, thinking. One corner of her mouth quirked up. “Never give a direct answer. As I understand from talking to Seeker Pentaghast, you are quite good at this.”
Wil didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t realize Cassandra talked about him, but Josephine didn’t give him a chance to ponder it.
“Don’t reveal your cards until you are certain you have the upper hand,” she went on. “Your natural charisma is a boon, and the Orlesians do love a fresh face, but everyone else has been playing the Game for years. Decades.” She sighed. “I suppose your apprehension is not without cause.”
He swallowed, but masked it with a grin. “Thanks. You’ve made me feel better.”
“Oh, goodness!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I’ve made it worse, haven’t I? That was not my intent.”
“Relax, Josephine, I’m being honest. You’ve helped a great deal.” This made her smile. Wil shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “There’s just one more thing.”
“Of course, Inquisitor.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “Will I be expected to dance? I haven’t danced since I was boy. Once I devoted my life to study, my parents abandoned all hope of socializing me.”
“And yet, you are among the most civilized members of the Inquisition,” she replied with a giggle.
“Oh, I think Dorian has a leg up.”
“Be that as it may, I’m afraid his heritage won’t win him any points in Halamshiral.” Josephine frowned. “Orlesian nobles aren’t known for their open minds.”
“All the more reason I shouldn’t step on any toes, literal or figurative. Will you help me?”
Josephine’s lips curled in a mischievous smile. “Hoping, perhaps, that you’ll have a chance to dance with Cassandra?”
His grin widened. “If only she would have me,” he said, his voice wistful. For a moment, he had considered asking Cassandra to show him how to dance. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to talk to her, but she avoided him these days. She was probably hoping he would take the hint.
Wil briefly considered asking Dorian, but didn’t want to endure the inevitable teasing (even if he deserved it).
“Well, there will most certainly be dancing, and there is no faster way to dazzle at a ball,” said Josephine, pulling him from his thoughts and extending her hand.
He was right to come to Josephine. Laughing, she showed him how to lead, the movements coming back to him as if he had only learned them in a dream.
Aftermath
The Inquisitor had been remarkable. In a matter of hours, he had gone from dancing with the Grand Duchess to taking her down with well-timed words. Cassandra could only watch in awe as he charmed the court at every turn. Despite the civil war and the Breach, he would be the talk of all Orlais for months to come.
Were it up to Cassandra, she would have let the Empress fall, beheaded Florianne, and called it a day. They would have left for Skyhold hours ago, The Game be damned.
The Inquisitor’s way was better, but she never would have found the words.
Now, he stood on the balcony, gazing out at seemingly nothing. The orchestra played a stately tune. Not Cassandra’s favorite, but suitable for dancing nonetheless. If she approached him, would he ask her to dance? And why was it so disappointing that he hadn’t already? He was the portrait of propriety, as he should be.
That didn’t stop her mind from wandering as she stared at his back. Dare she ask him? Would he laugh at her? Worse, would he agree? From the way he glided around the ballroom with the Grand Duchess, she could have believed he’d danced his whole life.
All the more reason to avoid the question entirely. She would stick to charging on the battlefield and leave the softer skills to the Inquisitor.
But she could imagine it; his hand warm in hers, inviting her to dance in that low, rumbling tone he so rarely used. He would take the lead, sweeping them in slow circles around the balcony until the music faded and the moonlight cast a blue glow on his cheeks. The Inquisition, too, would fade away, just for a moment. A moment that was theirs alone.
“Aren’t you going to speak with him?”
Cassandra nearly jumped onto a pillar at Josephine’s voice. She turned sharply to look at something else—a tapestry, a table—anything but the Inquisitor or Josephine.
“Oh, Josephine! You startled me.” If she didn’t mention it, maybe Josephine wouldn’t bring it up again. And maybe Commander Cullen will marry one of those Orlesian Duchesses.
“The Inquisitor. Wilhelm. He always values your input. Perhaps he would like it now.”
Cassandra shook her head. “I can’t imagine what I could say that hasn’t already occurred to him.”
Josephine sighed. “Some company, then?”
“He has had a long night,” said Cassandra, letting her eyes drift back out towards the balcony. “I’m certain he has heard enough idle chatter.”
“Time with a friend is completely different from gossip at a ball.” Despite Josephine’s good-natured tone, it felt like a scolding. “Besides, as long as I’ve known you, you have never been one for idle chatter.”
“He is tired, as am I. If you are so worried, why don’t you talk to him?” Cassandra regretted her words even before Josephine’s face fell. She should not have snapped, and she took a deep breath. “I apologize. It has been a trying day for us all.”
Josephine recovered with a nod. “Of course. For Empress Celene to survive an attempted assassination and coup, and with Ambassador Briala at her side? Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would never believe it.”
“No one could have predicted it.” Cassandra looked around the ballroom; the excitement still hadn’t settled, and the wine was still flowing. “But one does wonder how long the peace will last.”
“And people accuse me of worrying too much,” said Josephine with a laugh. “You should take the time to enjoy this victory. Who knows when we’ll have another chance?”
“You should take your own advice.” No one worked harder than Josephine. Her mind was always on the next steps, like a chess player dozens of moves ahead of her opponent. Cassandra tilted her head towards the balcony.
“If you’d like to talk, I’d be happy to—”
But Cassandra had had enough talking for one night. “Go. Dance with him. You practiced together. It only seems fitting.”
Josephine frowned, searching her face. Probably for a hint of jealousy. Cassandra made sure that she would find none. “I would never intrude—”
“Your concern is misplaced. You intrude upon nothing.” Her response was too quick, so she forced a smile, trying to put Josephine at ease. “You said it yourself; he needs a friend. You are his friend, are you not?”
“Well, I am, but—”
“Then go.” Cassandra kept her tone friendly, but firm. She didn’t need Josephine or anyone else jumping to conclusions about her and the Inquisitor. There were already mumblings around Skyhold, but those rumors couldn’t be further from the truth.
“But what about you?”
“Commander Cullen needs help preparing for the journey back to Skyhold.” When Josephine’s concern didn’t fade, she added, “But thank you.” Cullen would appreciate the help, and the familiar company. Furthermore, it was practical; the sooner they left, the better.
Josephine pursed her lips. “I can help the Commander just as—”
“Go,” Cassandra repeated. She lowered her gaze and added, against her better judgement, “For me.”
Josephine caught her meaning with a nod. Her eyes went round with compassion (or pity, Cassandra couldn’t be sure), and she headed through the grand balcony doors.
When the Inquisitor turned to face Josephine, Cassandra ducked out of sight, but not before catching a glimpse of his face. His brow crinkled—was it a flash of disappointment? But as quickly as it came, it was replaced by the smile that had charmed more than just the Orlesian elites.
As he swept Josephine into his arms, Cassandra left to find Cullen. There was much to do.
Denouement
With his arm around Cassandra’s waist, Wil stared out at the horizon. A peaceful silence settled as the sun rose, unobstructed in the healed sky. His shoulders ached and the cut on his hip probably needed attention, but nothing could persuade him to leave his quarters
Most of all, he needed rest, and judging by Cassandra’s heavy eyelids, she needed it as well. The workload hadn’t slowed after defeating Corypheus, and neither of them had gotten much sleep. Much as Wil wanted to celebrate with the rest of the Inquisition, he felt himself nod off a couple times before he decided to return to his room.
He pressed a kiss to Cassandra’s temple and drew her back inside, but they had only taken a couple of steps when a trumpet called out from the party below. Pounding drums soon joined the melody; it was an old Free Marcher drinking song his father had sung before. Thankfully, no drunken singing made it up to the balcony.
“So much for sleeping,” said Wil with a laugh.
Cassandra growled, eyes narrow but much more alert than before. “I will break that horn in half.” She started for the door, but he grabbed her hand.
“Let them celebrate. When’s the next time we’ll defeat a would-be god?”
Her frown faded as she looked at him, and she heaved a sigh. “Maker forbid we should have to do it again.” She drew close to him once more, her body stiff but warm at his side. As they listened to the music, the tension began to slip from her shoulders, and she leaned against him.
“This almost reminds me of the Winter Palace, only without that itchy red jacket,” said Wil, wrapping his arms around her. But the balcony also drudged up memories of pining after Cassandra, wondering if it was time to give up on his failed attempts at flirtation. “And, while I admire Josephine and treasure her friendship, I think we both knew she wasn’t the one I was hoping to see on that balcony. I should have sought you out.”
Cassandra let out another sigh. “It seems like ages ago. I wanted to go to you, but I was afraid.” With a grunt, she added, “I was a fool.”
He looked down at her and smiled, running the back of his hand down the side of her face, over her scars. “You, my love, are many things, but you are no fool. Stubborn, perhaps.” It was one of the qualities he most admired in her.
“I can live with that.” She laughed, like lyrics to the music that floated up to his quarters, and her smile pulled at his heart. “It doesn’t matter. We are here now.”
“Here we are,” he echoed. Her eyes fluttered shut and she rested her head on his shoulder. The song changed—a slower, softer song that Wil didn’t recognize. His head sagged as he listened, bobbing not with the music but with drowsiness. Cassandra started to hum, and he thought she might be drifting off as well until she looked up at him.
“I have always loved this song.” Her voice was dreamy, but she held his gaze, and he understood.
“Would you like to dance?” It seemed a fitting way to celebrate, and if she accepted, he would resist sleep as long as it took.
A breath of a laugh escaped her lips. “Are you sure you can stand?”
“So long as you’re holding me.”
She beamed up at him, radiant with love. “All right. Just for a little while.”
He took her hand, shifting to hold her like Josephine had shown him months ago.
Even though their best efforts soon became more of a lazy sway, Wil had never enjoyed a dance so much. Dancing so close at the Winter Palace would have caused a scandal, especially given where Cassandra chose to put her hands, but he wasn’t about to object. His lips brushed her jaw, affectionate but not urgent—he was just too tired.
When Cassandra mumbled something about a Wedge of Destiny, he tugged at her arm, half-dreaming himself.
“Let’s go to sleep.”
Cassandra’s hair tickled his neck as she nodded. “Thank you for the dance.”
They couldn’t even manage to turn down the sheets, let alone change clothing. It was all Wil could do to help her out of her boots before she collapsed at his side. He never slept on his back, but it would do for tonight. Eyes closed, he caught the side of Cassandra’s mouth for a soft kiss goodnight. She nudged his head, guiding his lips to hers for another before burying her face in his neck.
Sunlight poured through the open balcony and the musicians played on, but Wil and Cassandra were blissfully unaware.
I want to thank @windborn297 for inspiring me in this post! I apologize—I had every intention of thanking you and then when I posted this story, but I completely dropped the ball.
A suspicious piece of mail turns out to be an invitation to Cassandra’s wedding, and Cullen has turned down one too many invitations to get out of it. Going stag to a wedding can’t be that bad, right?
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition (Modern AU)
Characters: Just Cat and Cullen in this chapter
Pairings: Cullen/f!Trevelyan (for real this time)
Plus One: Chapter 7
1,645 words | AO3 link
Cat finally gets Cullen all to herself, but it's all in good fun.
It was much easier to deal with stately noble types when they were depicted on canvas. I wonder how much the parties here have changed. The only difference Cullen noticed as he strolled through the dark hallways was that the people in the paintings wore elaborate masks.
He wandered into what must have been the library; the shelves were stacked with ancient books, giving the room a distinct aroma. Unable to resist, he dragged a finger across one of the substantial wooden tables, surprised to find no dust when he examined his finger.
“Awfully clean for a place no one lives, huh?”
Cullen almost jumped at the sudden noise. He whirled around to find Catherine Trevelyan standing between two bookshelves with her arms folded across her chest. That smirk was even cuter up close, and he took a step back. “Forgive me, I—”
Catherine held up a hand in front of him. “There’s no need to explain. I knew you’d come for me.”
“You...what?” He frowned at her. She must have misread his intentions. He started to apologize when she broke into laughter.
“I’m only joking. I had to get out of there before my mother fried me with her evil eye. I thought my toast was pretty tame, but nothing’s ever good enough for her, is it?” She tossed her hands in the air. “Good thing I gave up a long time ago. So, which one of my cousins tried to feel you up?”
The topic change was so abrupt he almost choked. How did she know about that? Catherine waited calmly for his answer, and he cleared his throat. “I’m not sure. Might have been a tall redhead.”
Her eyes went wide. “Wait. Someone actually copped a feel?” She frowned, puckering her lips to one side like she had during her speech. “Was it Abigail? Long hair, lots of freckles?”
“Perhaps?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll kill her for you.” It was probably another joke, but Cullen remembered the flaming arrow story, and he swallowed. “But I did warn you, didn’t I? Trevelyan women mean business, and some of the guys, too. Of course, the guys don’t have expiration dates.”
“Expiration dates?”
Catherine nodded, expression solemn but eyes alight. “Oh yes. I’ve failed twice now to secure myself a husband, so I’m basically a spinster.”
“But you’re only 22!” he exclaimed. After it came out, he grimaced, hoping she wouldn’t find it creepy that he remembered her age.
Catherine laughed. “I was going to quiz you on my toast, but it sounds like you were paying attention.” The laugh faded and she crossed her arms again, studying him. “So, Cullen, how old are you?”
At least she didn’t let him wallow in embarrassment for too long. “I’m 30.”
“Gabe said you didn’t cross paths in the Order for long,” she said, nodding. “I bet you don’t even remember him, do you?”
“Not well,” Cullen admitted. “I only made the connection after dinner.”
“Wow, the memory really is the first thing to go when you get old, isn’t it?”
Another joke, Cullen realized with a smirk. She had no way of knowing how unpleasant those days were for him, and she meant no harm. “At least I haven’t found any grey hairs yet.”
Before he could back away, she was standing on her tiptoes at his side, close enough that he could smell her perfume (or maybe that was just how she smelled). He tried to breathe normally as she examined his hair.
“I think you’re good,” she said. When she stepped back, she left far less room between them than before. “Let me guess. Gabe greeted you by name and remembered your favorite color.”
Letting out his breath, Cullen nodded. “That’s essentially what happened.”
Catherine smiled in that way that tugged at his chest. “That’s Gabe. Well, I’m glad you met the best of the family. There’s really no one else worth knowing.”
“I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Catherine.” It must have been the whiskey, but he didn’t regret his words. Her eyebrows went up just a little before what he now recognized as her default glare was back.
“Most people call me Cat, you know. In fact, I believe I was introduced to you as Cat.”
She had him there; Dorian had called her Cat multiple times, but it seemed so forward. Then again, apparently everyone used nicknames in their little group. “Forgive me. I just figured, since you all knew each other...” He scratched the back of his neck.
“Everyone but you. So tell me, why do you hate all your coworkers?” she asked, walking in a little circle around him.
“What? I don’t—”
She scratched her chin and pulled up her dress. “Oh, so you just hate fun, is that it?”
He started to protest before he caught the spark in her eye. She was egging him on again.
“Yes,” he said. “I abhor fun and avoid it at all costs.”
Cat grinned, and he knew he’d picked the right answer. “Good call coming to this wedding, then. Even Gabe and Cassandra couldn’t save it.” She wrinkled her nose, then reached into her hair and began pulling out pins. He couldn’t look away as shiny black curls fell to her shoulders one by one. “I thought Trevelyan weddings were bad, but Pentaghast weddings are a nightmare.”
By the time she was done, she must have stuffed 50 hairpins into her purse. She ran her fingers through the curls a few times before securing them in a ponytail. The tension in her shoulders eased, and he wondered if her hair was naturally curly like his.
Realizing he hadn’t spoken as he watched her, he cleared his throat. “I haven’t been to a wedding since I was a child, but weddings in my family were nothing like this.”
“Small chantry, few witnesses, most of them dogs?” asked Cat.
Cullen laughed. “Is my Fereldan showing?”
“A bit. But compared to this, I’d take the dogs.” She met his eyes, just a trace of a smile on her lips, and he held out his arm.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to continue exploring the palace, Cat?”
“I don’t suppose I’d mind,” she replied, taking his arm.
She steered him through the halls and rooms, speculating on what might have once transpired and how many blood stains had been scrubbed clean. When they reached a study, muted music rose from the ballroom beneath them.
“That must be Gabe and Cassandra’s first dance,” said Cat. Cullen frowned. How selfish of him to take all of her time.
“I apologize,” he said, taking a step toward the door. “If we hurry, we may still catch it.”
Cat waved her free hand. “Please. It’s hard enough for Cassandra as it is. The fewer people watching, the better. I’d just make faces at her, anyway.”
She did have a point; Cassandra was probably worried about getting the steps right, and an audience would only make it worse. “If you’re sure.”
“Don’t worry so much.” Cat gave his arm a squeeze. “Cassandra didn’t want to dance at all, but her family insisted. Proper decorum or something. Thank the Maker they didn’t make me dance with Edmund.” She made a gagging noise.
“I can see how that would be awkward.”
“Not that I have anything against dancing itself,” she said, her voice coy. “I’d dance with you, if only you liked having fun.”
Even if she was joking, dancing with Cat sounded much more enticing than any of his prospects downstairs. He turned to her and lowered his voice. “I might be persuaded to make an exception for you.”
The corners of her mouth crept up. “Why, Cullen, is that an—”
"Catherine? Are you up here?" The voice came from the hall. Cat’s eyes shot open and she swore. Her grimace said that it was a relative, and as her eyes darted around the room, he could almost see the gears turning in her mind.
In one swift motion, she grabbed Cullen’s shoulders and whipped him around so his back was to the door. Before he could catch a breath, her lips crashed into his.
The shock numbed his brain, but without those pesky higher functions, instinct took over. One hand found the small of her back while the other rose to the soft wisps of hair at her neck, and he drew back just a fraction to slow her frenzied pace.
She let out a little gasp against his mouth, her arms dropping to her sides. He stiffened with fear—was this not what she wanted? But as he tried pull away, she wrapped her arms around him and relaxed into the kiss, letting her body melt against his. Maker, but the way she sighed made his knees go weak. At least I'm good at something.
It didn’t last long, and he was still dizzy when they broke apart.
“I, ah, think she’s gone,” said Cat, her voice lacking its edge. Cullen could only nod as she gazed up at him, lips parted. “Cullen...”
“Yes?” he murmured. She blinked a few times, drawing his attention away from her mouth.
“You didn’t take the full Chantry vows, did you?”
“Sorry?” He still had his arms around her. Maybe I should move…
“Well, I’m pretty sure they maintain the bedchambers,” she began with a wink, “if you want to take this upstairs.”
That snapped him out of his haze. “What?”
Cat laughed—played again—and Cullen joined her. In the distance, some jazz standard came to a crescendo, or maybe his mind was finally clear enough to hear the orchestra.
“Just a joke.” Her smirk softened but the twinkle stayed. “I would take that dance, though,” she said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Smiling back at her, he took her waist and her hand. “It would be my pleasure.”
A suspicious piece of mail turns out to be an invitation to Cassandra’s wedding, and Cullen has turned down one too many invitations to get out of it. Going stag to a wedding can’t be that bad, right?
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition (Modern AU)
Characters: Cullen, Sera, Dorian, Iron Bull, Dagna, and so on...
Pairings: Cullen/f!Trevelyan with Dorian/Iron Bull, Cassandra/m!Trevelyan, and Dagna/Sera
Plus One: Chapter 6
1,266 words | AO3 link
Cat has a captive audience for her toast, and Cullen finally makes his escape.
As it happened, "Sourpuss" was Catherine.
Fitting.
A droning toast from Edmund left Harding's eyes drooping. The occasional rude noise from Sera couldn't make the speech interesting, and even Vivienne's eyes had glazed over by the end. Polite applause started Varric awake, and Cullen stifled a yawn.
But when Catherine stood, Cullen straightened his spine and gave her his full attention. She could barely keep it together during the ceremony. How would she handle a room full of people? Her face gave nothing away, but Cullen's heart pounded a bit faster—sympathy nerves. He could give a presentation on disaster response efforts in his sleep, but standing in front of friends and family for a toast? Just thinking about it made his stomach turn.
As soon as Catherine had the microphone, her grimace eased into a regal smile. Cullen's breath caught in his throat.
"Thank you, Edmund, for that heartfelt tribute." Even from a distance, a twitch of her mouth betrayed her gracious tone, but the smirk was gone before it arrived. "And thank you to all the friends and family who came from all over Thedas to celebrate with us today." She stepped out from behind the long table and positioned herself next to the couple (in front of Edmund).
"I've been lucky enough to get to know Cassandra over the past 2 years," Cullen's eyebrows shot up—had it been that long?—as Catherine went on, "and I've never met a more passionate, selfless person. Without a doubt, there is no one in the world who loves Gabriel more than she does. I could tell you all kinds of interesting stories about Cassandra," now Cassandra's eyes went wide, "but I won't do that to her. My brother, on the other hand..." She grinned wickedly and Cullen felt it in his gut. Gabriel just laughed.
"I've known Gabriel for, oh, about 22 years now, if our parents are to be believed." Cullen chuckled, but he was the only one, and he cleared his throat. "But for those of you who haven't been so lucky, here's a crash course in Gabriel." She sent Gabriel a look of true fondness and Cullen smiled.
"When we were growing up, our lovely parents got rid of us every summer by sending us to camp in the Hinterlands. It was the best part of the year, despite the ridiculous songs they tried to make us sing. We used to make up our own words, but don't worry, Mother, I won't repeat them here." Cullen found himself mirroring her satisfied smirk as the guests laughed.
"Every year, they had a talent show to close out the summer, and every year, I had to top the last year." Catherine's face lit up and Cullen shifted in his seat. "The best one was our reenactment of the end of the First Blight. I got the brilliant idea to unleash a volley of arrows at Gabriel, and his response was, 'I love it! But what if you lit them on fire?'"
There were several gasps, and the Trevelyans were shaking their heads. "Unfortunately, the camp wasn't ready for that much excitement. But Gabriel told the counselors that it was all his idea, and I said the same thing. You can imagine how thrilled our parents were to get that call." She puckered her lips and the crowd chuckled. "To this day, no one has ever topped that performance. But in the end, it was the both of us in the Disciplinary Cabin, waiting to be picked up. That's my brother—he's always there for the people he loves, for better or worse."
The crowd applauded as Catherine smiled warmly at the couple. Once it was quiet, she reached behind her back and raised her voice. "And now, we will reenact the Volley of Fire—"
Cullen nearly choked as Mrs. Trevelyan shot up, but Gabriel just laughed. Cassandra, whose eyes had shot open, relaxed and Cat smirked.
She raised her glass and Cullen did the same. "To Cassandra and Gabriel! May your life together be a storybook romance."
She toasted Gabriel and Cassandra and then took a drink, ignoring the rest of the head table.
"Hear, hear," said Varric. Cullen turned to the sound, finding Varric's glass waiting.
"Right," said Cullen, clinking glasses with the rest of the table. When he snuck a glance back at Catherine, he could have sworn she tipped her glass in his direction, but he had to be mistaken.
"Riveted, I see," said Dorian. "I'd tell you to dance with her, but I'm sure you won't."
Cullen was saved from responding by a prayer from the Revered Mother, and he gave extra thanks to the Maker for that.
As soon as the salads were served, Cullen found himself with three more glasses of whiskey. "Wonderful," he muttered. "They were paying attention." But he took one and passed the others around.
Catherine's toast replayed in his head. If she was nervous or uncomfortable, she hid it well, striding around the table and making daring jokes at her parents' expense. This wasn't her first speech, and she was only 22.
Then again, he thought, glancing around the grand hall, she was raised in this world. He took a sip of his whiskey and his heart sank a little. What could a society woman like that ever see in me? She may have had a mischievous streak, but it was just a game to her. The sooner he forgot about this little crush, the better.
For the first time in years, his social prospects were dim enough to get to him. He sighed and poked at his salad. Hurricane season was coming and there would be plenty to do at work.
Maker's breath, am I really looking forward to natural disasters?
A voice that sounded suspiciously like Dorian responded, Your life is a natural disaster.
The food and conversation were welcome distractions, and Varric's stories were always good (though he didn’t give anything away about Cassandra's surprise).
Once dinner was finished, the guests began to mingle once more. The moment Cullen stood to find the restroom, he was swarmed.
"What's your name? How do you know the couple?" asked a blond.
Cullen sighed. "I work with Cassandra."
"Oh, you must be Cullen!" squealed another, this one with dark hair. "Gabriel said you used to be a templar."
"Yes." But how did Gabriel know? Something clicked in his memory and he groaned. Gabriel joined the order just after Cullen started working in Kirkwall. Those weren’t his favorite memories to visit, but his stomach filled with guilt until he felt a hand on his... "Did you just grab my bottom?"
The admirers giggled.
"I hope you'll save me a dance, Ser Cullen!"
"Only after he dances with me!"
Cullen frowned. "No, thank you. Please excuse me." Tapping into his evasion skills, he ducked behind them and made for the restroom without looking back.
"So mysterious!" he heard someone call, to another round of giggles.
As he exited the bathroom, the crowd loomed in the ballroom, all excited conversations and tipsy shenanigans. Not eager to have any more hands on his rear, Cullen's eyes landed on the stairs to the left. They weren't roped off.
The palace normally functioned as a museum; surely no one would mind if he explored a little.
Dorian will text me if I'm missing something important.
And with that rationale, he headed up the stairs. As the roar of the crowd got softer, his tie felt looser. The palace really was quite impressive when no one was sending him drinks.
A suspicious piece of mail turns out to be an invitation to Cassandra’s wedding, and Cullen has turned down one too many invitations to get out of it. Going stag to a wedding can’t be that bad, right?
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition (Modern AU)
Characters: Cullen, Sera, Dorian, Iron Bull, Dagna, and so on...
Pairings: Cullen/f!Trevelyan with Dorian/Iron Bull, Cassandra/m!Trevelyan, and Dagna/Sera
Plus One: Chapter 5
1,184 words | AO3 link
Cullen finds himself knee deep in unwanted attention at the reception.
The receiving line turned into a ferry line as guests were sailed over the Waking Lake to the old Winter Palace. It hadn’t been used a palace for almost a century, but it was restored and kept in its former condition, which might have been interesting were it not for the reception.
After half an hour, there were seven untouched drinks sitting in front of Cullen, only one of which he had ordered himself.
“From the young man at Table 33,” said a waiter, placing a martini glass in front of Cullen.
Eight drinks.
“At this rate, we may as well open up a bar,” he muttered. “Does anyone want any of these?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” came an unfamiliar voice from behind him. An elf with an uneven haircut snatched up what looked like a glass of mead and took a long drink. Next to her, Dagna from the lab grinned at him.
“Hey, everyone! Wasn’t sure anyone else made it. We were late to the wedding, so we had to sneak in the back.” She took a seat next to Iron Bull. The elf sat next to her, and Dagna put a hand on her shoulder. “Oh! Cullen, this is my girlfriend Sera. I don’t think you’ve met.”
“You’re Cullen then?” Sera snorted a laugh. “You’re everything they said you’d be, aren’t you? Right down to the hair.” He couldn’t tell from her tone if it was a compliment or not.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, fighting the temptation to ask what she called him at karaoke night. He looked down at the collection of drinks and sighed, selecting the whiskey on ice that he had ordered.
“So, are you just Mr. Charity? Ordering drinks for the table?” Sera asked.
Cullen rubbed his temples. “I ordered one drink. The rest just showed up. Take them, please.”
“Cullen here has many admirers,” said Dorian. He claimed the martini and passed something that was giving off fumes to Iron Bull. Dagna and Lace both helped themselves, and Cullen rubbed his temples, praying that would be the end.
“Anyone else here from work, or is this all of us?” asked Dagna, looking to the two empty seats at their table.
“Vivienne de Fer is here. Director of Staffing?” said Harding. “But she’s been off mingling since she got here.” There was a hint of relief in her voice. Cullen liked Vivienne, but he could understand why Harding was apprehensive. Vivienne was in her element here, and that alone was intimidating.
Someone brushed against Cullen’s back, and when he turned to apologize, he was greeted with a face full of silky scarves.
“Oh, excuse me,” said the woman wearing the scarves. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “How clumsy of me.”
“It’s quite all right,” he coughed out, plucking the material from his face and shifting out of her grip.
“I’m Evelyn, by the way.” She draped her hand in front of him, as if waiting for Cullen to kiss it. “Let me make it up to you with a dance later.”
“No, thank you,” he said, keeping his hands and lips where they were.
The woman pouted. “I’ll be at Table 15 if you change your mind.”
Cullen sighed as she walked off, then took a sip of his whiskey. He didn’t have to turn his head to know Bull and Dorian were smirking at him.
“Maybe it’s a good thing you never come out with us,” said Bull. “There’d be mobs.”
“I doubt that very much.” But Cullen was relieved that the next person to approach the table had a plate of appetizers.
He downed an oyster, more to distract himself than anything, and when he set down the shell, Varric Tethras had appeared two seats over.
“That’s because she didn’t.” Varric held up his hands when he was met with shocked expressions. “Don’t worry, I’m not that stupid. I’m here with Leliana, and she swore Cassandra was okay with it. Especially considering the wedding present we got her."
"You're up to something," said Sera, wrinkling her nose. "You're always up to something."
Varric smiled. "You give me way too much credit, Buttercup."
Buttercup? Does everyone here hang out except for me?
Vivienne returned to their table moments before the bridal party arrived. “Isn’t she lovely?" she said, looking through the doors at Cassandra. "I suppose if we must sit in the back, we may as well enjoy the view while we can."
Cassandra looked just as beautiful as she had at the wedding, but there were traces of weariness in that smile. It wasn’t surprising; now that the nerves had faded (and, as Bull explained, she had sat through thousands of photographs) she was probably ready to retire for the evening.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, he told himself, sitting up straighter. Think of what poor Cassandra has to go through.
Gabriel wrapped an arm around Cassandra and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. Whatever it was, the tender way she smiled up at him warmed Cullen’s heart. He looked away as she kissed Gabriel’s cheek, not wanting to intrude on the private moment.
I’m glad she found someone who makes her so happy...even if I can’t place him for the life of me.
There was yet another processional as the guests of honor entered the hall, complete with announcements. Cullen cringed at Sera’s loud whistle for Leliana and Josephine, though he allowed himself to clap a bit louder.
“These stuffy types get off on the sound of their own names,” Sera grunted as the others marched in. Cullen was inclined to agree. “Surprised Cassandra came out as not awful as she did.”
Finally (not that he was waiting for it) came, “The Maid of Honor, Ms. Catherine Morwenna Trevelyan, and the Best Man, Mr. Edmund Ioan Trevelyan.”
Sera let out a whoop and Catherine looked right at their table, but it was Cullen her glare landed on. He swallowed. Was that look because of their terrible introduction, or was Dorian telling the truth?
She looked ahead as she passed, but about halfway to the front of the hall, she turned around and—was that a wink? Cullen blinked a few times. No. I’m seeing things. It’s dim in here, and I’ve had a drink. He glanced around the table, but no one else seemed to have noticed.
Waiters had filled champagne glasses while the guests were distracted.
"Wonder how many toasts there'll be?" said Dagna. “I’ve never been to a wedding this fancy before.”
"Buncha nobs stroking each other’s bits?" Sera stuck out her tongue and made a rude noise. "Wake me up when they bring the food ‘round.”
"You sure about that? Ol’ Sourpuss is probably going to make a toast at some point," said Varric.
A grin spread across Sera's face. "Oh, right! That oughta be good."
Cullen frowned; he couldn’t keep up with Varric’s nicknames, but everyone else seemed to know who “Sourpuss” was, so he didn’t ask.
A suspicious piece of mail turns out to be an invitation to Cassandra’s wedding, and Cullen has turned down one too many invitations to get out of it. Going stag to a wedding can’t be that bad, right?
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition (Modern AU)
Characters: Cullen, Cat, Dorian, Iron Bull, Cassandra, Gabe...
Pairings: Cullen/f!Trevelyan with Dorian/Iron Bull, Cassandra/m!Trevelyan, and Josephine/Harding
Plus One: Chapter 4
1,181 words | AO3 link
In this chapter: Cat hands out flower petals and Cullen gets the stink eye.
Cullen probably should have felt guilty for watching Catherine through the entire wedding. When the Revered Mother mentioned Gabriel's loving parents, Catherine rolled her eyes and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. At one point, one of the other bridesmaids nudged her, smiling pointedly. Catherine answered by baring her teeth in a forced, malicious smile that almost made Cullen laugh out loud.
He wasn’t sure if she resented all the fanfare or if she was upset about the wedding itself. Maybe something else entirely. It certainly wasn’t the bride and groom, for she reserved her soft, beautiful smile for them. When they exchanged their vows, Catherine’s face was almost dreamy, exuding happiness and stirring Cullen’s chest in long forgotten ways. And when the couple kissed, she looked a little choked up, though she quickly covered it with a genuine grin.
With that, the ceremony was over, and Cassandra and Gabriel made their way back up the aisle. Cassandra was radiant—he really should have looked sooner—as she clutched her new husband’s hand, and Cullen hoped it was the storybook wedding of her dreams.
Cat looked dejected to link arms with the Best Man (Edmund—her brother, he realized). Unlike her solo entrance, she left the chantry at double speed, practically dragging him behind her as if she had somewhere important to be.
Relief and disappointment hit him when she didn’t glance his way as she passed their row.
Why should she? If she had seen him watching her, she would have found it creepy. Is that why she hurried by? Cullen huffed and adjusted his collar. Now he was just being ridiculous.
Dorian sent him a knowing smirk. “Enjoyed the show?”
“Of course,” said Cullen, looking away. Surely he was talking about the wedding. Catherine was standing close to Cassandra the whole time; there was no way anyone could have known.
He started to get up, but Bull shook his head. Just when Cullen thought he was free, the chantry was dismissed by rows into an agonizingly slow receiving line, with no Catherine for him to watch.
Harding gushed about the ceremony to Bull and Dorian (but mostly Bull), and Cullen tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone. The crisp outside air was like the kiss of life, and when he finally reached the bride and groom, he found himself trapped in an unexpected hug.
“Cullen!” Cassandra exclaimed, squeezing his shoulders much harder than he expected. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“Congratulations Cassandra, Gabriel,” he said, returning the hug, then shaking hands with Gabriel. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Great to see you again!” said Gabriel.
Again? The word sent him into a small panic. Cassandra must have brought him by the office at one point, and Cullen must have forgotten. He nodded to be polite.
“You are coming to the reception, aren’t you?” Cassandra asked.
I wasn’t aware I had the option, he thought. “Of course.”
She beamed at him, then at Gabriel; he had never seen her so excited, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “We must take a picture with Leliana and Josephine.”
He assured her that they would, then added, “It was a beautiful ceremony.”
Dorian caught up with him as he walked away. “Liar, liar pants on fire. I saw you watching Cat. I bet you can’t remember one thing from the ceremony.”
“Cassandra got married,” said Cullen. Dorian laughed.
“Cheater. She’s right over there, if you’d like an introduction.” He pointed to Catherine, who was standing apart from the bridesmaids, a basket of flower petals in her hands. Cullen stole a quick glance, trying to make it look like he was just scratching the back of his neck.
“That’s quite all right. I’m sure she has more important things to do.”
“Apparently not,” said Dorian. “Because here she comes.”
He tried not to look as Catherine approached, steeling himself instead. He wasn’t that rookie templar anymore; there was no need to run from a pretty girl.
Catherine flashed a trace of that smile at Dorian, but there was panic in her eyes. “Hide me from my mother, please,” she said. “I don’t want to hear her lecture. It isn’t my fault this dress doesn’t fit.”
“Don’t worry. Most people were too focused on the wedding to notice you pulling up your dress.” Dorian sent Cullen a meaningful look, which he ignored. Bull and Harding approached at the perfect time, and Catherine greeted them with about as much ceremony as she used for Dorian.
“Oh,” she pulled a paper cone from a stack in the basket and scooped up some petals, “you’re supposed to throw these at Cassandra or something.” She handed the cone to Bull, who sniffed it and smiled.
“These lotus petals, Boss?” he asked. Catherine looked at him like he was speaking Qunlat.
“How should I know?” She scooped out petals for Dorian and Harding, then presented Cullen with a cup. He tried very hard not to touch her fingers as he took it.
Catherine looked at him expectantly, her lips set in that frown that had first drawn his attention.
“Thanks?” he offered. Her brow dropped in confusion and Dorian laughed.
“Cat, this is Cullen.”
Apparently, that required no further explanation. She looked Cullen up and down and nodded as if she suddenly got some obscure joke. “Ah yes, the old stick in the mud.” Squinting, she peered up at him and leaned in close. “You had better watch out. You’re very handsome, and all my cousins are very single.”
Cullen cleared his throat. “I’ll...take that under advisement,” he said, taking a step back. Despite the cool weather, his neck was getting hot.
“See that you do,” Catherine said, her voice grave. Was she imitating him? And did he really sound like that? None of his friends seemed to want to rescue him, but some blessed person called her name and she broke her stare. “Duty calls,” she groaned, trudging off.
Cullen exhaled, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the group. "I wasn't aware you talked about me when you all went out."
"Don't feel bad. We'd call you a stick in the mud to your face if you came out with us, too," said Bull.
"It's much nicer than what Dagna's girlfriend calls you," Dorian added. Cullen groaned; he didn't even want to know.
"Should we go throw these at Cassandra?" asked Harding. With a giggle, she added, "Not actually at her. She might fire us. Or me, at least."
"I suppose," said Dorian. "Rather messy tradition if you ask me."
Bull shrugged. "Cleaner than exploded birds. Not as fun, though."
Dorian let out a groan. "That's a myth. Uncooked rice doesn't make birds explode."
"Really? That's disappointing."
"I can light a bird on fire if it would cheer you up." Bull's eye widened at Dorian's offer and he nodded.
"No," said Cullen.
Harding laughed. "You sound just like Cassandra."
"Someone has to be sensible. Let's just throw these petals and get to the reception." Mentally, he added, I could use a drink.
A suspicious piece of mail turns out to be an invitation to Cassandra’s wedding, and Cullen has turned down one too many invitations to get out of it. Going stag to a wedding can’t be that bad, right?
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition (Modern AU)
Characters: Cullen, Iron Bull, Dorian, Lace Harding, and Cat Trevelyan herself!
Pairings: Cullen/f!Trevelyan with Dorian/Iron Bull, Cassandra/m!Trevelyan, and Josephine/Harding
Plus One: Chapter 3
1,614 words | AO3 link
In this chapter: The awkward affair begins, but Cullen finds a way to make it more than tolerable.
Dorian was right—he really should have tried on his tuxedo before the day of the wedding.
Ceremonial templar robes had always been required for events in Kirkwall and at Kinloch Hold, and while he didn’t miss the heavy armor (or the skirts), he did miss the simplicity.
He couldn’t remember when or why he acquired the tuxedo (maybe some sort of college formal), only that his mother had purchased it for him.
Unfortunately, as Josephine had explained, Black Tie meant he couldn’t just wear a work suit. But so long as he didn’t have to breathe deeply or run, it would be good enough.
At least his hair looked good today. He even indulged in a few of his more expensive products (which he usually rationed) to give it that special touch. To show Cassandra I care about her big day, he told himself. It had nothing to do with what Mia said. And even if he were to meet someone nice, or cute, he’d have no idea what to say. Better to just—how did Leliana put it?—sit in the corner and “look pretty.”
He shook his head, and with one last glance in the mirror, he was ready enough. Right on cue, he got a text from Dorian, who was waiting outside the hotel with Bull.
He headed down to meet them, and Dorian greeted him from the passenger seat with a sly smile. “Well, someone’s going to break some hearts tonight.”
Cullen snorted. “Hardly.” He took a seat in the back and shifted his shoulders, as if it might help the jacket fit better.
“I beg your pardon, but I was talking about me," said Dorian with a smirk.
Cullen laughed, relieved that he was no longer the focus of the conversation. “I stand corrected.” He adjusted his coat tails so they wouldn’t wrinkle too badly and tried to put the seat belt somewhere benign.
“So, does anyone know where this place is?” asked Bull.
“Don’t look at me, I’ve never been in an Andrastian chantry before,” Dorian replied. “I’m still not convinced I won’t burst into flames the moment I set foot inside.”
Bull sighed. “Tell me you’re not going to start a fire just to make a spectacle of yourself.”
“Please,” Dorian chided. “Knowing Cassandra, this wedding will have so much spectacle, no one would even notice.” Cullen chuckled. Cassandra was no nonsense at work, but Josephine and Leliana had insisted on showing him a picture of her wedding dress and it was so sparkly, he was inclined to agree with Dorian.
Bull tilted Dorian’s chin up with a gentle hand, challenging his mock pout with a smile. “What if I made you a sign? It could say, Watch out for the Magister. I can carry it over your head. Would that make you feel better?”
The beginnings of a smile played on his lips as they drove off. “A kind offer, but no, thank you.”
Bull chuckled and shook his head. “Pass me that invitation, Cullen.”
Cullen picked up the envelope from the seat next to him. Mr. Dorian Pavus and...he couldn’t begin make sense of the ornate script that came after.“Is that your name?”
Bull laughed, taking the envelope from him. “What, did you think she’d address a fancy invite like that to Mr. Iron Bull?”
That would look rather silly. “Well, how do you pronounce it?”
“Unless you were born and raised on Par Vollen, I wouldn’t even try,” said Bull. Cullen looked to Dorian, who shook his head.
“Oh no.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I studied Qunlat for 7 years, and last time I said his name, I got teased mercilessly for my terrible inflexion.”
Bull elbowed his shoulder. “Keep trying. You’ll get it.” Dorian flushed, but he couldn’t force his lips to turn down.
The chantry in Val Royeaux was bigger than the one in Kirkwall and much bigger than any that Cullen had seen in Ferelden. The tall towers and intricate stained-glass windows were the stuff of fairy tales, and Cullen could imagine Cassandra grudgingly agreeing to hold the wedding there while trying her hardest not to grin.
It only got more elaborate on the inside. Floral arrangements in stark white and deep red adorned the chantry, and someone at the door presented him with a program done in the same gold and black embossing as the invitations. Cullen’s shirt felt much tighter around his neck as he looked around the chapel. There must have been 500 people in there, with 20 minutes until the ceremony. The lights were so bright—and why was it so hot?
Bull’s voice pulled him out of his panic. “We want the side with the strong cheekbones.”
Just in time, too. The last thing I need today is a headache...or worse, he thought.
“I’m not sure which side to sit on,” said Dorian. “I’m related to both the Pentaghasts and the Trevelyans, you know.”
Cullen’s eyes widened. “You’re related to the Trevelyans? Is that how I know the name?” He was mostly thinking aloud, but Dorian shook his head.
“I doubt it.” He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a very distant relation—I won’t bore you with the specifics.”
Cullen almost did a double take when Lace Harding waved them over to a row near the middle. Her deep blue evening gown suited her, but she looked like a different person outside of her normal business casual.
“Familiar faces! Thank goodness.” She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and laughed. “Josie pointed me over here, so I’m sure this is the right place.”
Dorian took her gloved hand as he and Bull showered her with compliments. Harding grinned and did a little spin while Cullen marveled at them. He didn’t realize that Bull and Harding knew each other.
Must be from karaoke night.
“You clean up nice!” Harding said, and it took Cullen a moment to realize she was addressing him.
“I, um, thank you.” He sat down between her and Dorian, adding, “You look very nice, too.”
“It’s fun to get all dolled up every now and then. Wait until you see Cassandra—she looks incredible.”
He nodded, trying to listen as she and Dorian chatted, but he had nothing to add. None of the names on the program looked familiar, aside from Cassandra’s.
Has there been music playing this whole time?
As if there weren’t enough people in the room, a small orchestra was stationed off to one side. Strangers continued to file in until it was standing room only and he could barely hear the music.
If I ever get married, I’m not inviting anyone, he thought.
A change in the music hushed the audience, and then a beaming young man dressed all in white, and a woman, at least 25 years his senior, in blue, started up the aisle. A greying man at least 10 years older followed behind.
“That’s Gabriel,” whispered Dorian. “And his parents, I’m assuming.”
At least Dorian didn’t know everyone. Once the groom reached the front of the chantry (there would be no walking at hypothetical Cullen’s wedding, either, he decided), the orchestra started up a traditional Orlesian fanfare.
Leliana walked out first, with that I know something you don’t smile on her face, followed by a dark-haired man—”Nicholas,” hissed Dorian. Then came Josephine, in the same maroon dress as Leliana, with a bright smile and a twinkle in her eye. That was the end of people Cullen recognized, and he glanced at the unfamiliar names on the program once more. Perhaps there was a line he hadn’t read, or something he had misread, but he turned the card stock over again with no such luck.
Dorian muttered names as people walked by, but by the fifth bridesmaid, even he had no clue. “The pale ones are Trevelyans,” he said. Cullen nodded absently, wondering if he had remembered to put his blow dryer away.
Maker’s breath, he thought, does it take this many people to start a marriage? By the ninth bridesmaid he was considering counting light fixtures, until Dorian chuckled.
“And there’s our Cat,” he whispered, nudging Bull. “Doesn’t she look thrilled?”
He followed Dorian’s eyes to the back of bridesmaid number ten’s head—no, the Maid of Honor’s head. He glanced at the program (even though he had it memorized) to confirm. Catherine Morwenna Trevelyan, Maid of Honor. Sister of the Groom, Friend of the Bride. So Dorian and Bull knew her, too.
She drew out her steps, taking almost twice as long to reach the front as anyone else, and when she turned to face the crowd, Cullen understood Dorian’s comment.
“Why is she scowling?” he asked, leaning over to Dorian.
Dorian smirked. “That’s just how her face is. Charming, isn’t she?”
A laugh slipped out before Cullen could stifle it. She looked like he felt. The dress suited her, even as she transferred her bouquet of roses to one hand to pull up the top of the gown. Cullen never understood how women kept strapless dresses up. He once thought magic, but her struggle said it was more complicated than that. She glanced up at the ceiling and blew a stray piece of black hair out of her eyes, and Cullen snickered to himself.
Another shift in the music had the crowd on its feet, and Cullen followed suit. He watched Catherine’s face brighten as everyone else turned to look at the back of the chapel.
“Oh,” breathed Dorian from somewhere beside him. Iron Bull sniffled.
Cassandra must be walking in. I should look at her. But Catherine was smiling, and Cullen just couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Tethered (T)
Kirkwall is crumbling, his relationship is strained, Dog wants to lie on the bed, and even Champions get tired. M!Hawke/Anders pairing, set before The Last Straw. 1,956 words.
Fresh Air (T)
Aveline finally worked up the courage to ask Donnic on a date, but not without volunteering Hawke to come along. Naturally, it snowballs into a group outing, with more canoodling than canoeing. A fluffy Dragon Age 2 modern AU also known as the canoe!AU. M!Hawke/Anders established with lots of others in the works. 13,720 words.
Dragon Age: Inquisition
Noble Intentions | Through the Night (T)
Hawke is determined to fix her mistakes on her own, but Fenris is determined to be by her side. A two-part study in sleep deprivation, set after Here Lies the Abyss. F!Hawke/Fenris pairing. 2,972 words.
Shelter (T)
The last thing Hawke wanted was for Anders to follow her to Weisshaupt, but Varric chose the worst time to start telling the truth. More Inquisition-era Hawke, but F!Hawke/Anders this time. 2,587 words.
Lying in Wait (T)
Just because Carver went along with Hawke and Aveline’s plan doesn’t mean he likes it, but Merrill breaks in with news that changes everything. An Inquisition-era tale of Carver/Merrill. 3,540 words.
Sunshine (PG-T)
Wilhelm Trevelyan never learned how to take a hit, but luckily, he takes everything in stride. An ongoing series of snippets of the growing relationship between Wilhelm Trevelyan and Cassandra Pentaghast. 9,531 words.
The Long Haul (T)
Once the dust settles, things make a little more sense. It’s Hawke. Of course it’s Hawke. But that doesn’t mean anything has to change. A Hawke/Varric piece written as a gift, takes place from the end of Inquisition beyond Trespasser. 4,673 words.
Game Face (T)
Things always get a little out of hand on Wicked Grace night, and treading the line between friendship and the unknown isn't even the wildest thing Hawke and Varric have ever done. 3,605 words.
Plus One (T)
A suspicious piece of mail turns out to be an invitation to Cassandra’s wedding, and Cullen has turned down one too many invitations to get out of it. A Trevelyan/Cullen modern AU written as a gift. 11,561 words so far.
Star Wars Rebels
Rough Patches (PG)
Sometimes, admitting that you’re wrong is easier than admitting someone else is right. The highs are easy, but we are made or broken in the lows. In other words, Kanan and Hera are having a bad week. Takes place before Rebels. 2,274 words.
An Abundance of Caution (T)
Hera’s almost certain that Kanan’s packing a lightsaber. Now, if only she could get him to show it to her… A bit of pre-Rebels humor. 1,800 words.
Consummate Faith (PG)
Kanan is plagued with self-doubt after Ezra’s brush with the dark side, but he’s always found his peace with Hera. Kanera pairing, takes place after “Gathering Forces” but before “Path of the Jedi.” 1,148 words.
No Time for Romance (T)
Kanan and Hera are partners, working in harmony towards a common goal. It’s more than enough, but that doesn’t make it easy for either of them. A three part exploration of the romantic possibilities between Kanan and Hera, pre-Rebels through Call to Action, barely off-canon. 2,477 words.
Promise (PG)
Kanan remembers a promise he made to Hera. Takes place during ”The Protector of Concord Dawn.” 356 words.
This Moment (PG)
This would not be the last time Hera held Kanan. Takes place during “The Secret of Chopper Base.” 373 words.
Not a Total Loss (T)
Kanan is going nowhere until he crashes into his destiny. Then again, maybe it’s just a fender bender. A modern AU meet-cute for Kanan and Hera. 5,312 words.
Direction (T+, only on AO3)
Hera has direction and Kanan’s a distraction. When their paths cross at a party, it’s not love at first site, but it is a break from reality. An ongoing Kanera modern/college AU with some cameos. 25,210 words so far.
Persona 4 Arena Ultimax
Interpersonal (T)
Labyrs and Sho find themselves drawn to each other as they explore the finer points of human communication. An ongoing series of Shobrys stories that I swear I will finish eventually. 8,505 words so far.
All but the shortest of these can also be read on AO3, where I also go by valkyrish.
Labyrs and Sho find themselves drawn to each other as they explore the finer points of human communication.
Fandom: Persona 4 Arena Ultimax
Characters: Labrys, Sho Minazuki, Aigis, Margaret
Pairing: Shobrys
An ongoing series of Shobrys stories that I swear I will finish eventually. Originally posted one chapter at a time @rockihiko-sanada, also available on AO3. Rated T for language. 8,505 words so far.
Chapter 1: Something Akin to Affection
Chapter 2: Modern Communication
Chapter 3: Disarm
Chapter 4: Sisterly Bond
Chapter 5: Infinite Possibilities
Chapter 6: Answers and Distractions
Exploring the romantic possibilities between Kanan and Hera from before Rebels through Call to Action, slightly AU. Rated T for suggested sexual situations.
Already posted separately on my personal blog rockihiko-sanada (huge thanks to anyone who read it) and on AO3, but here they are together.
Part 1: A Meditation on Strength
Life is good, but Kanan and Hera are both holding back. When they break, they have each other. 823 words.
Part 2: Pulse
Losing Kanan shattered the balance on the Ghost, and getting him back did not instantly restore it. Hera and Kanan manage to find a moment of peace in between. 546 words.
Part 3: Fleeting Domesticity
Nothing and everything has changed. War rages on, but life does not stop, and Kanan and Hera have learned to appreciate what little time they have. 1,108 words.
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