Fanfiction: ...when the heart murmurs (Dragon Age: Inquisition)
Title: "...when the heart murmurs"
Status: Complete
Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Cullen Rutherford/Male Mage Inquisitor
Disclaimer: Copyright @ BioWare. No infringement intended.
Rating: T
Genre: AU-canon, slash, romance, adorkable, character introspection, friendship, first kiss
Warning: Drug Addiction/Withdrawal (mentioned)
Summary: A game of chess, a slip of tongue, a chance at happiness.
...when the heart murmurs
Lavellan weighed the captured knight in his hand, fingertips tracing the lines of armor Blackwall had carved into the wood. The birch had been varnished and polished until it gleamed, truly a fine gift.
More pieces sat in a neat row beside his half of the chess board. The Inquisitor clearly intended to take his time, deliberating over his next move. They both did by turn, at ease in each others company.
Cullen watched him, fascinated by the vallaslin that branched across his brow and framed his eyes, how they changed color in the flicker of the fireplace, stark black to burnished gold. A log cracked, sending up sparks with a wave of heat that hit their skin. A pleasant sensation after hours spent outside where the howling wind carried the sting of fresh snow. There was never a lack of demons and Venatori to fight or rifts to close.
The air within the room, in contrast, was filled with the aroma of strong tea, dried herbs and flowers, their cups refilled twice but now almost empty. Gone was the smell of fresh paint and new furniture, the signs of long neglect.
Josephine had been adamant that the quarters of the Herald of Andraste needed to be grand, and repaired first. Not only because they needed to reflect their occupants elevated status, but also for Aiden's comfort. She had reminded them all that the Dalish had left his clan, given up the nomadic lifestyle of his people and many of their traditions, all for the sake of sealing the Breach and restoring order. And now he was leading them.
It was a great personal sacrifice, one too easily forgotten or taken for granted in the face of the terror that Corypheus and his Red Templars had visited upon Haven, and were even now spreading throughout Ferelden and Orlais.
"Your turn."
Cullen averted his gaze too late, his staring discovered, and moved a pawn at random to cover his blunder, destroying the groundwork laid down over the past half hour. There went his strategy, meant to ensure his eventual victory, for they were evenly matched.
"Maker," he cursed softly, then huffed a laugh at his own carelessness. "Forgive me. I'm afraid I'm no worthy opponent tonight."
Aiden, thankfully, did not comment on the source of his distraction or the flush Cullen could feel creeping up into his cheeks. He simply smiled, like he had every time before, and captured another pawn.
"Check."
"Not for long," Cullen countered, his bishop at the ready to intercept the threat. "There."
"Hm," Aiden hummed, then frowned. "All is so still and silent. I can't help but feel that it's a sign for trouble to come."
"Like Sera playing some more pranks? With your help, I might add."
Aiden shrugged, clearly unrepentant. "Perhaps."
But it was true, Skyhold was rarely so quiet, filled as the fortress was, not only with soldiers, templars, mages and pilgrims, but also delegations and dignitaries hailing from all corners of Thedas. Not to forget more shady characters and the clergy, both adding an extra strain to an already explosive mixture. Cullen was quite grateful that the latter rarely fell under his purview, for they required either Leliana's iron fist or Josephines' more delicate touch.
Of course when one had to deal with inanimate objects it was best to call upon Cassandra, who seemed only too happy to stab them.
Cullen shook his head at the random thought and leaned back into the heavy armchair, settling deeper into the cushions. His muscles ached after training with his men. Not unpleasantly, mind, more in the fashion of skills earned and honed through hard exercise.
Still, all the more welcome was this more recent addition to his daily routine, these games of chess in the evenings.
The setting in the Inquisitor's quarters had become familiar, imbued with a sense of calm and peace that soothed the pressure behind his eyes, the pounding headache and tremors that made his hands unsteady while writing reports. To say nothing about his fraying temper that he had to keep firmly in check.
Cullen shifted and swallowed, imagining the taste of Lyrium on his tongue, although he had never been fool enough to actually ingest it. Using a syringe had been the safer method recommended by his mentor, the dose thought to be more precise and the effect immediate.
Once, the scars of needle pinpricks layered above each other in the crook of his elbow had been cause for pride, another sign that spelled his allegiance, his faith. Now they were a source of conflicting feelings at best, shame and anger at worst, though at least they were easily hidden underneath fabric and armor.
Few left the Templar Order to begin with, and none ever truly managed the feat. Lyrium was a strong leash, tethering them, someone else always holding the other end, be it the Chantry, their own deteriorating minds or the greed of black market dealers.
Of course the Inquisition had secured other means of access, but Cullen had felt once too often like a plaything of fate, too blind in his faith and loyalty, helpless to -
"Checkmate," Aiden said, disrupting his wayward thoughts with that peculiar timing of his, voice clear and mild; knowing.
Cullen sat up straight, surveying the board, then gave his king a push that toppled it over with a soft clack. As a child he had had a hard time to concede defeat in a graceful manner, always feeling mocked by his sister's smile. Many things had changed, himself being no exception.
"The game is yours." He bowed slightly. "Well played."
"Thank you." Aiden inclined his head. "Another game? Perhaps this one will see you less distracted."
"I was with good reason. I do enjoy the time we spent together."
The words came out in a rush and Cullen immediately regretted speaking his mind without censure. Not that the sentiment was anything but honest. Finally, after a lifetime of devotion only to the Order and his duties - first as part of a Circle, then as Knight-Captain of Kirkwall - he had met... someone special.
Not only a man that had earned his respect, that Cullen considered worthy following, but who was... kind. Had become a friend. Cassandra he had confided in out of necessity, and though that could also be said of Aiden as the Inquisitor, the difference was that Cullen had wanted to. Had not doubted to be met with understanding and support.
All else was a complicated tangle of emotions, one that putting into words was best left to poets and besotted fools. Cullen fervently hoped he would not act much more like either, though staring and his nightly fantasies were bad enough as it was.
With the whole world at risk, not acting on his feelings seemed ludicrous. And yet, when Aiden had expressed his interest in him, Cullen had found reasons enough to turn him down. For a time, their interactions had been either formal or an awkward fumbling, at least on Cullen's part.
Like now, when his thoughts should not stray, not with bright blue eyes focused on him, trying to determine whether or not he was sincere. Cullen could hardly fault Aiden for being cautious.
"You know of my feelings for you," Aiden said, as if it were that simple, and perhaps it should be. "What changed yours?"
"Nothing. That is to say..." Cullen trailed off; tried again. "I didn't know. What I wanted. And when I realized that the answer was you, I thought that, under the circumstances, it was too much to hope for."
"And yet here we are."
Cullen wondered if his grin was as wide and boyish as it felt on his lips. "Is that a yes?"
"Would a kiss lay all your doubts to rest?"
It did indeed - eventually: Cullen, in his haste to get up, jostled the table, sending chess pieces flying. He shared in Aiden's laughter, then silenced it, while his white queen was consumed by flames.
So there was awkward fumbling involved, but the reward was all the sweeter.
["The mouth obeys poorly when the heart murmurs." ~ Voltaire]
The End
Status: Complete
Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Cullen Rutherford/Male Mage Inquisitor
Disclaimer: Copyright @ BioWare. No infringement intended.
Rating: T
Genre: AU-canon, slash, romance, adorkable, character introspection, friendship, first kiss
Warning: Drug Addiction/Withdrawal (mentioned)
Summary: A game of chess, a slip of tongue, a chance at happiness.
...when the heart murmurs
Lavellan weighed the captured knight in his hand, fingertips tracing the lines of armor Blackwall had carved into the wood. The birch had been varnished and polished until it gleamed, truly a fine gift.
More pieces sat in a neat row beside his half of the chess board. The Inquisitor clearly intended to take his time, deliberating over his next move. They both did by turn, at ease in each others company.
Cullen watched him, fascinated by the vallaslin that branched across his brow and framed his eyes, how they changed color in the flicker of the fireplace, stark black to burnished gold. A log cracked, sending up sparks with a wave of heat that hit their skin. A pleasant sensation after hours spent outside where the howling wind carried the sting of fresh snow. There was never a lack of demons and Venatori to fight or rifts to close.
The air within the room, in contrast, was filled with the aroma of strong tea, dried herbs and flowers, their cups refilled twice but now almost empty. Gone was the smell of fresh paint and new furniture, the signs of long neglect.
Josephine had been adamant that the quarters of the Herald of Andraste needed to be grand, and repaired first. Not only because they needed to reflect their occupants elevated status, but also for Aiden's comfort. She had reminded them all that the Dalish had left his clan, given up the nomadic lifestyle of his people and many of their traditions, all for the sake of sealing the Breach and restoring order. And now he was leading them.
It was a great personal sacrifice, one too easily forgotten or taken for granted in the face of the terror that Corypheus and his Red Templars had visited upon Haven, and were even now spreading throughout Ferelden and Orlais.
"Your turn."
Cullen averted his gaze too late, his staring discovered, and moved a pawn at random to cover his blunder, destroying the groundwork laid down over the past half hour. There went his strategy, meant to ensure his eventual victory, for they were evenly matched.
"Maker," he cursed softly, then huffed a laugh at his own carelessness. "Forgive me. I'm afraid I'm no worthy opponent tonight."
Aiden, thankfully, did not comment on the source of his distraction or the flush Cullen could feel creeping up into his cheeks. He simply smiled, like he had every time before, and captured another pawn.
"Check."
"Not for long," Cullen countered, his bishop at the ready to intercept the threat. "There."
"Hm," Aiden hummed, then frowned. "All is so still and silent. I can't help but feel that it's a sign for trouble to come."
"Like Sera playing some more pranks? With your help, I might add."
Aiden shrugged, clearly unrepentant. "Perhaps."
But it was true, Skyhold was rarely so quiet, filled as the fortress was, not only with soldiers, templars, mages and pilgrims, but also delegations and dignitaries hailing from all corners of Thedas. Not to forget more shady characters and the clergy, both adding an extra strain to an already explosive mixture. Cullen was quite grateful that the latter rarely fell under his purview, for they required either Leliana's iron fist or Josephines' more delicate touch.
Of course when one had to deal with inanimate objects it was best to call upon Cassandra, who seemed only too happy to stab them.
Cullen shook his head at the random thought and leaned back into the heavy armchair, settling deeper into the cushions. His muscles ached after training with his men. Not unpleasantly, mind, more in the fashion of skills earned and honed through hard exercise.
Still, all the more welcome was this more recent addition to his daily routine, these games of chess in the evenings.
The setting in the Inquisitor's quarters had become familiar, imbued with a sense of calm and peace that soothed the pressure behind his eyes, the pounding headache and tremors that made his hands unsteady while writing reports. To say nothing about his fraying temper that he had to keep firmly in check.
Cullen shifted and swallowed, imagining the taste of Lyrium on his tongue, although he had never been fool enough to actually ingest it. Using a syringe had been the safer method recommended by his mentor, the dose thought to be more precise and the effect immediate.
Once, the scars of needle pinpricks layered above each other in the crook of his elbow had been cause for pride, another sign that spelled his allegiance, his faith. Now they were a source of conflicting feelings at best, shame and anger at worst, though at least they were easily hidden underneath fabric and armor.
Few left the Templar Order to begin with, and none ever truly managed the feat. Lyrium was a strong leash, tethering them, someone else always holding the other end, be it the Chantry, their own deteriorating minds or the greed of black market dealers.
Of course the Inquisition had secured other means of access, but Cullen had felt once too often like a plaything of fate, too blind in his faith and loyalty, helpless to -
"Checkmate," Aiden said, disrupting his wayward thoughts with that peculiar timing of his, voice clear and mild; knowing.
Cullen sat up straight, surveying the board, then gave his king a push that toppled it over with a soft clack. As a child he had had a hard time to concede defeat in a graceful manner, always feeling mocked by his sister's smile. Many things had changed, himself being no exception.
"The game is yours." He bowed slightly. "Well played."
"Thank you." Aiden inclined his head. "Another game? Perhaps this one will see you less distracted."
"I was with good reason. I do enjoy the time we spent together."
The words came out in a rush and Cullen immediately regretted speaking his mind without censure. Not that the sentiment was anything but honest. Finally, after a lifetime of devotion only to the Order and his duties - first as part of a Circle, then as Knight-Captain of Kirkwall - he had met... someone special.
Not only a man that had earned his respect, that Cullen considered worthy following, but who was... kind. Had become a friend. Cassandra he had confided in out of necessity, and though that could also be said of Aiden as the Inquisitor, the difference was that Cullen had wanted to. Had not doubted to be met with understanding and support.
All else was a complicated tangle of emotions, one that putting into words was best left to poets and besotted fools. Cullen fervently hoped he would not act much more like either, though staring and his nightly fantasies were bad enough as it was.
With the whole world at risk, not acting on his feelings seemed ludicrous. And yet, when Aiden had expressed his interest in him, Cullen had found reasons enough to turn him down. For a time, their interactions had been either formal or an awkward fumbling, at least on Cullen's part.
Like now, when his thoughts should not stray, not with bright blue eyes focused on him, trying to determine whether or not he was sincere. Cullen could hardly fault Aiden for being cautious.
"You know of my feelings for you," Aiden said, as if it were that simple, and perhaps it should be. "What changed yours?"
"Nothing. That is to say..." Cullen trailed off; tried again. "I didn't know. What I wanted. And when I realized that the answer was you, I thought that, under the circumstances, it was too much to hope for."
"And yet here we are."
Cullen wondered if his grin was as wide and boyish as it felt on his lips. "Is that a yes?"
"Would a kiss lay all your doubts to rest?"
It did indeed - eventually: Cullen, in his haste to get up, jostled the table, sending chess pieces flying. He shared in Aiden's laughter, then silenced it, while his white queen was consumed by flames.
So there was awkward fumbling involved, but the reward was all the sweeter.
["The mouth obeys poorly when the heart murmurs." ~ Voltaire]
The End