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greypetrel · 1 year

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14 for Aisling and Cullen, 22 for whomever 💗

Hello! 💜

Thanks for the prompts! I’ll post this and Number 22 later on with a tag,

Arbor Wilds? Arbor Wilds.

Finally introducing George the Red Templar! He glitched out in the middle of the Temple of Mythal when I played the quest. So you see I had to include him. He decided the war was stupid, yielded and retired in the Temple. Grew on the elves like moss. Strawberry flavoured moss because his specialty is strawberry daiquiri he prepares for everyone around.

Oh, also: I really like the mission buuuut I have opinions. For once, I retcon that the map isn’t available anymore. So imagine that Aisling just… Pestered Morrigan enough that she opened the Eluvians again and got her and her party back to the Temple (the mirror didn’t break). Quarrelled HARD with Cassandra for that one line she says about the Temple being build out of Superstition. Quarrelled with Cullen as well because he didn’t have a ready answer for her and she -and everyone- took it as “I agree with Cassandra”.

If you want some soundtrack for VIBES…

Tis the prompt list

Casual touch to elbow/shoulder/hand while telling a story

The Temple of Mythal was peaceful in its quiet sacrality. And yet, while Chantries tended to inspire a sense of repentance, put you against your sins to face them, this was… Welcoming, in a sense. In the same way that Skyhold was even if in a much bigger scale.

The works to repair the damages that the Red Templars did were going on steadily, or as steadily as the few people that had come there with the Inquisitor allowed. The elves were a quiet presence, not hostile anymore and easier with the foreigners as days goes by and they all showed they were there in good intentions and willing to help for help’s sake, growing curious about them even. The situation was relaxed, if one didn’t think they were all on borrowed time and mere days away from being forced to go out and march back to Skyhold with the big bunch of the army, it almost looked like a holiday.

The day after the battle, the Inquisitor, Radha and Solas were joined in the Temple by Dorian -of course, it didn’t surprise anyone to see the Tevinter pack his things and just… March inside the Temple as if camping in ruins was his favourite thing in the world. The Iron Bull, weirdly enough, followed suit a couple of days later, with Dalish and Grim, leaving the rest of the Chargers to Krem -who was in and out himself. And Cole, of course. Cullen too had followed, after a week, delegating the rest of the work as the important allies scattered, tentatively and expecting to be kicked out of it in less than five minutes by a still angry Aisling.

But… She hadn’t kick him out. He sought her out, talked to her, explained himself. They got on a truce, and promised each other to work out on things, since none of them was ok in just… Pretending like nothing happened. It wouldn’t have been fair, for none of them. It was something, even if Aisling said she needed some space. Maybe being not that cheerful and upbeat all the time, always smiling, laughing and prodding him to talk was really more of her than not the other way around. She was acting normal, just… Less prone to just have it always his ways, and testing shily limits and boundaries. Using magic more, for once, even if she always looked at him when she started, if he was around, to instinctively checking he was ok before going on with her spells. He always nodded and smiled at her, spurring her on to raise some stones with magic -it was extremely useful, it would have taken him, Bull and Grim the whole afternoon to clear that pile of rubble she removed in one minute. It still didn’t feel fully all right, still left him with some sort of uneasiness, but… It was her. He trusted she wouldn’t have hurt him and just… Endured it. Got further away when it became too much. Told her it wasn’t her fault, but his in very clear terms, and that she shouldn’t stop.

They were, in substance, working things out for real, out of the honeymoon phase and out of Aisling sweeping her doubts and problems under the carpet and making things easier for him… And Cullen not noticing that she was doing all the work.

They sat together at dinner, lunches she was often in some secluded corner trying to decipher inscriptions or slip in a half crumbled room, or tagging Abelas here and there and asking him questions (it was fun to watch, the ancient elf treating her with patience, like an old dog with an unruly puppy). He spotted her, once, high up on a wall, sitting there while she ate, a leg dwindling down. How she got up there scared him to no limits, the idea of her falling scared him even more… But, this was important to her, and if she found some ancient carvings up there, he trusted her to be on her best behaviour. At least it wasn’t a galloping horse.

Things were going fine.

It was evening, dinner had ended and everyone was slowly retiring to their tends, some still dwindling around the fire in the petitioner’s room that the elves had allowed them to camp into. There were rooms designed to house guests, but the mattresses were long gone, some had no roof anymore, and so they treated the central room like a small camp, around the firepit in the middle.

He bid Dorian good night, pretending not to see how he followed the Qunari in his tend. As everyone around was pretending not to see ever since he came there. And he believed, even before.

The night was peaceful and balmy, the stars twinkled in the sky outside the big windows, between impossibly small and delicate twisted columns and the canopy of trees, swaying gently in the breeze. It reminded Cullen of other summer evenings, back in his childhood, when there was still peace and life was simple. Maybe life could be simple again. Take a war away, just leave this. Working, no planning, see a thing that needs to be repaired, do it. Eat when you’re hungry, sleep when you’re tired, enjoy the simple things. Joke with friends, have friends to call such outside work. Simple problems, solvable ones, without the constant knowledge of having the world on your shoulders.

He was happy of the Inquisition, happy of what they were doing. But-

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Came a familiar, dear voice to bring him out of his reverie. He opened eyes he had apparently closed, and smiled at Aisling, standing over him with a couple of mugs in her hands. Fancy mugs with two tiny paper umbrellas balancing on the lid. He smiled, scuttling a little to make her space against the wall he was propped against, right below the window, and patting the floor beside him. She didn’t need words to understand, and just handled him the drinks, before sitting down at his side, sighing in contentment as she stretched her legs before her and her back, arching it like a cat and stretching her arms up.

“Tired?”

“A little sore. You?”

“Same.”

“How’s your ankle?”

“It’s fine, thank you. Solas patched it up for good, see?” She demonstrated, lifting the leg and rolling her foot around the ankle easily, one side before and the other lately. It cracked minutely tho, making her grimace.

“Easy, tiger. Don’t hurt yourself more.”

“It’s fine… Nothing some alcohol can’t help, anyway.”

“Glutton.”

“You love it.”

She bantered back, instinctively, and froze. They had reassured each other that love was still on the plate, of course, but… No other words have come on that, and surely none in joking terms. Just a promise to work it out and put more effort into coming to compromises, and… They got back to slowly and tentatively dancing around the other, both careful not to overstep in the other’s boundaries. But, as much as it was evident Aisling was thinking she just did, lowering her gaze and frowning, this really wasn’t it.

“Yes, I do.” Cullen reassured her, placing a hand on hers, closed on her thigh, as with the other he handled her one of the mugs, careful not to shake it so much that the umbrella would have fallen.

She looked back up, smiling shily at him, cheeks turning pinker. “Me too.”

They clinked the mugs together and took a sip at the same time. It was… Sweet. Tasting strongly like strawberries and lemon before the heat of the liquor came. Needless to say, it was too sweet for Cullen, and made Aisling’s eyes shine in delight, the way she always lit up when she ate something good. Usually, cakes or desserts.

“Too sweet for you?” She asked.

“A little, yes. But not bad.”

“Well, someone will finish it if you don’t want it all, don’t worry…” She sipped another time, sighing. “Aaaaw, it’s just like eating cake!”

“I think George listened to you, yesterday.” He chuckled observing the other Templar near the firepit, sitting and chatting as it was the most normal thing in the world with a puzzled Solas, another couple of ancient elves that looked at the human with curiosity, and a Radha that was having allegedly too much fun from the situation, looking at the exchange around her.

Nobody paid much mind to the redness of his eyes or how pronounced were his eyebags, or the fact that his hands trembled. Cullen frowned, recognising all too well the signs of what was to come. He didn’t know if Red Lyrium was anything different, but…

“He’s gonna be all right. They’ll take care of him.” Aisling placed a hand on his elbow, squeezing reassuringly, before raising her voice. “Hey, George!”

She called, and the Templar perked up, turning towards her with interest. The Inquisitor raised her mug, in greeting.

“It’s delicious! Best one yet!” She complimented him, cheerfully and with a big smile on her face.

“Thank you, milady!” He thanked her, brighting up instantly.

The man sure was enthusiast and adapting to the new environment quickly. So quickly that the elves were all taken aback. So taken aback that they just… Vibed with him. Accepted his cocktails and his food. Assigned him the one closed room that was in good conditions, when he asked them politely if he could stay there.

Done with that, every group took back to their own, Solas complaining affectionately that it was not the best one yet, Lavellan just liked stuff that rotted your teeth instantly, and the conversation took back, leaving Aisling and Cullen back to their own corner, sipping slowly and enjoying the silence.

Except, Cullen for once didn’t want silence. The last days has been instructive and full of new informations… And made him realise that he knew next to nothing about Elves and Dalish beliefs. Sure, she told him of Ghilan’nain when he asked about her tattoos, spoke to him about her role in her clan and introduced him briefly to the Creators. But…

“Can you tell me about Mythal?” He asked her, slouching a little on the wall and getting more comfortable, one leg propped up, bent at the knee, and the other feet crossing the opposite ankle.

She turned to look at him, mildly surprised.

“Really?”

“Sure. We’re in her Temple, with her priests, and I realised I know little about her.”

“Morrigan’s the priest now, technically. But… Ok. What do you want to know?”

She asked, turning towards him and slouching down more herself.

“You told me she was the Mother goddess, of love and judgement.”

“Mh. And the sea.”

“The sea?”

“Yes.” She smiled, making herself comfortable before starting to speak.

She told him of Elgar’nan defeating his father the Sun for destroying what his mother, the Earth had created. But, without the Sun, nothing green could grow back, and no matter how hard the God tried, how complex his spell grew and how much power he spun into them: no root could stick, no leaf could grow in a world full of darkness, and the land was thus left barren and void. The Earth cried so much that her tears filled oceans, and then, when all hope seemed lost, from the sea walked out Mythal. She alone could reach Elgar’nan and calm his rage, placing her hand on his brow-

“- like this.” Aisling placed a hand on Cullen’s brow, palm cooled by the drink, touch delicate. He bent his head forward, planting a stray kiss on her wrist just because it was there and he could, and he had missed her. She giggled, ruffling his hair some, and lowering the hand, resting it on his shoulder, casually. She left it there, as she continued.

Humbled and finally free of his rage, regretting what he had done, Elgar’nan travelled to the place he had imprisoned the Sun, and spoke to him. When the Sun, equally remorseful for the destruction he brought, promised he would not have burned forests again, he was freed and allowed to his course in the sky. Elgar’nan and Mythal, thus, put their best efforts in recreating what the Sun had destroyed, filling the world with all things green and luscious, helped by the Sun and the Earth. And the world grew and thrived. That same night, when the Sun was asleep, Mythal collected the glowing earth around her bed and shaped it in a sphere, which she hung in the sky to illuminate the night.

“The moon?”

“The moon, yes.” Aisling sighed, bending her head over her hand on his shoulder. “And ever since that day, people came to ask Mythal for judgement, which she delivers like a mother, just and loving and compassionate. But terrible in her ire. And her children, which she had with Elgar’nan, helped them in shaping the world as we know it today.”

The fire crackled, and the breeze seemed to rustle the leaves above something more, as if the world was answering to what was being told. Cullen saw her using magic by now, weaving lightning and thunder with pin-point precision -she saved him a couple of time but ten days ago with that, and she was terrible and beautiful, one of the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. But, there was magic in her words, apparently, or it was the Temple around responding to her words. With more knowledge that it wasn’t just a story, it was a theogony and something that people believed in, it almost looked like…

He leaned his head on hers, closing his eyes and resting his hand on her thigh, leaning against his.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Mh? Not wild and savage?”

“No. Not at all, it’s… A world born out of love and forgiveness. It’s… Soothing.”

“What would the old Chantry Mother say, you rascal! Expressing appreciation for old heathen tales.”

She giggled, mocking him with affection as she nuzzled even closer than she already was, leaving her mug on the ground to come and hug his arm, sighing in contentment as she did so. He planted a kiss on her head.

“Oh, she would have a stroke seeing me, no doubt.”

“Would she.”

“Definitely. Sprawled on the floor of an elvhen Temple, legs all over, very unproperly sitting and with an Apostate perched on my shoulder?”

“Very compromising. Pesky heathen witches dragging good chantry boys on the road to perdition!”

“Wait until she knows you’re also the Inquisitor. We’re in deep trouble, you see.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll save you.”

“I’m sure you’ll do.”

“ìI will zap her butt. Maybe turn her into a toad, who knows. We’ll live here drinking fancy cocktails that taste like cake.”

“You’ll go annoy Abelas, I’ll stay helping George fishing. We’ll tell each other what did we learn in the evening. Yes.”

“I don’t annoy him!”

“I heard him sighing five times, today.”

“It’s not-”

“-before breakfast.”

He chuckled, turning to kiss the top of her head as she huffed in a mock protest -he knew she was pouting even without looking. And then he snaked his arm away from her to circle her shoulders and bring her close. She shifted, following his movement, collecting her legs and tucking herself in his side, hugging his waist. He let the moment past, considering and caressing the idea more seriously than was needed. He knew it was a joke, but the more he thought about it… The more he realised that yes. It wouldn’t be half bed, if he could allow, for one minute, to think past duty, past the work and obligations. It felt even more illicit than considering Mythal’s tale and thinking that it wouldn’t be half bad believing that the world was created out of an act of forgiveness.

Aisling sighed deeply, her weight on his shoulder becoming slowly heavier the closer she got to sleep. He stayed there, drawing circles on her arm with his thumb, absent-mindedly, the overly sweet alcoholics, the last days of relaxation and easy, direct work after a real victory, one with no sacrifices involved, all of this emboldening him and coating his ideas in hopes.

“I think I’d really like that, you know?” He whispered, softly as it was a secret. He didn’t trust himself to stay with that little, one wish. But maybe, he could trust her with it.

“Mmmh.” She mumbled, half asleep.

He didn’t know if it was a question or an affirmative, if she heard it or not. He didn’t express the thought any further. Not now, not right away. One day. One day when duty didn’t call them back, when they would have been tired of politics and of fighting windmills. One day he would have told her. But for now, he just stayed awake, cosy and warm and with his favourite person in his arm, just existing and considering the idea that maybe even him could wish for something. That maybe the world could indeed have been created by one single act of forgiveness.

#dragon age #dragon age fic #cullavellan #cullen x lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #dalish inquisitor #cullen rutherford #aisling lavellan #writing petrel #the Arbor Wild map is a good one ok and I really really really like the Temple and the banter!#BUT. That line of Cassandra in particular needed to be addressed by a Lavellan inquisitor #Picture Cullen and Dorian waiting in front of the doors like dogs waiting for the owner to come back #and then BAM #doors open and there's Aisling and Cassandra trying to eat each other's face #and this is the reason why in the fic I didn't let Cassandra be gay #Cullen has reasons to have doubts about at least the Chantry #his whole arc is becoming less and less attached to old prejudices #and if there's one person whom the Chantry has fucked up it's him #Cassandra is still... too attached and too convinced #ok I'll stop ranting about this mission ooooops #it's WORDY again hope you'll like it BYEEEE

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