[FIC] Fireside; PG-13; Dragon Age Inquisition
Title: Fireside
Author: phate_phoenix
Pairing: Inquisitor/Knight-Captain Cullen
Word Count: 1130
Rating/Contents: References to suicide.
Summary: Cullen has a nightmare. Ashtal is there for him.
Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN
Author's Notes: A sort-of sequel to a piece I wrote on the dragonage-kink named Seeking (link location is NSFW but story itself is pure fluff). Read that first if you'd like! Written for the 4000 page celebration of The Official Knight-Captain Cullen Cullen Discussion Thread 2.0. Please enjoy!
Ashtal does not move when Cullen’s tent suddenly flies open and he races out, eyes wide and still cloudy from whatever horror awoke him. She simply watches Cullen as he stands in the cold night air and presses his hands to his face, taking deep breaths. He shudders as he lowers his hands, head slowly rising. Ashtal can see the moment Cullen remembers he is not alone: his eyes snap to her and an embarrassed flush burns up his neck to his ears.
“You already did your watch, Cullen,” Ashtal says. She is no fool--sweat on the brow, twitchiness, dark circles under his eyes, she understands. But Cullen relaxes and the red recedes a little from his face.
“Y-yeah,” he says, eyes dropping momentarily. The ground is hard and cold around their camp, some dirt mixed in with large, flat stones. Cullen steps forward and joins her by the firelight. “I had nightmare, and didn’t want to go back to sleep.”
Ashtal nods, scanning the bare forest around them. “I am here to listen, if you wish to share.”
Cullen freezes, and Ashtal knows his hazel eyes are on her face. She glances his way before returning her gaze to the wilderness. The night has been quiet, with not even animals passing by. They are moving through rocky terrain, however, and few things like to dwell in these places with little undergrowth. Cullen’s presence is welcome company, even if he does not speak.
But then he does.
“I’ve had this nightmare before,” he starts, slowly, and Ashtal nods once to show she’s listening. Her mother used to do the same for her. Cullen goes quiet for a period of time, before taking a shaky breath. “In Kinloch Hold, there was a mage,” he says. “She was young, smart, and strong. Easily the best of her peers.”
There is a fondness in his tone that belies more than simple admiration, but Ashtal does not begrudge this woman for it. She is not here, beside Cullen now. She is not the last person to have kissed him, to have watched his back in combat, to have heard him laugh. She is gone, and Ashtal is here.
“She passed her Harrowing with grace and ease,” Cullen continues, oblivious to Ashtal’s thoughts. “There was no doubt she would: she was then-First Enchanter Irving’s own apprentice.” He looks up, and Ashtal follows his gaze to the night sky. “There was an... incident, with an apprentice mage. Jowan, I think. The First Enchanter had her investigating this Jowan, to figure out what his plans were, if the rumors of him learning the forbidden arts were true.”
“Blood magic,” Ashtal says, and looks at Cullen. He does not take his eyes away from the starry skies, and his throat bobs when he swallows.
“He exposed himself as a maleficar and escaped the tower with her unwitting help,” Cullen says. “Knight-Commander Gregoir was furious. He wanted her made Tranquil, or locked in the Aeonar, but Irving stepped in and explained she’d been working for him. They fought about it for months, and she was placed under constant guard to ensure she hadn’t been made a thrall.”
Ashtal nods to the darkness. “Harsh, but understandable.”
Cullen does not react to her words, and Ashtal’s brow furrows at the far-away look in his eyes. “Then Ostagar happened, and Uldred returned and...” He clears his throat.
Ashtal stares. She has heard the sad tale of this Ferelden Circle--of blood mages summoning demons, killing many innocents with their wrath. The Vashoth village she’d stayed in had, overnight, become tense about the few mages who’d lived among them. Though her people had thrown off the shackles of the Qun, its fingers still pressed into their minds.
Cullen takes a deep, shaky breath, and Ashtal refocuses on him. “Once I was the last one left alive of my brothers and sisters, the maleficarum took great pleasure in trying break me,” he says, only a small waver in his voice. “The demons waited until I had passed out from exhaustion and then plucked my deepest secrets from my mind.” He stops again, and his throat works uselessly for a moment. Ashtal lets him struggle, lets him fight this internal battle. “Days before the Hero of Ferelden came, they brought her before me.”
Finally, Ashtal lays a hand over his, entwines their fingers. Cullen’s eyes clench shut.
“They wanted to make me watch her break,” he says. “This beautiful thing that I shouldn’t have desired. They’d had her at the top of the tower, in the Harrowing Chamber with the others. She was strong, powerful, dangerous--everything they desired for their abominations.” He paused, mouth open slightly.
“They walked her down the stairs like a marionette,” he begins again, hoarse. “All violent movements and none of the grace I remembered, like they’d tangled her strings. They stopped her before me, made her look me in the eye. I could still see her in them, still see her fighting. After days of the same torture I’d endured, she still fought on, still had her mind. And I could see the moment she realized what was going to happen, why she was here.”
His eyes open.
“She set herself ablaze with her own magic.”
Ashtal bows her head, closing her eyes. She has no god to pray to, like Cullen, but she can only hope this woman found peace wherever her soul traveled to. When she looks back at Cullen, his eyes are hollow and bottomless, and it hurts the core of her.
“That’s what keeps me awake at night, sometimes,” he says.
Ashtal lets him grieve alone for a moment. Then she turns and lays her forehead against his temple. “Her spirit remains with you,” she says at last. “Thank you for trusting me with her memory.”
A single tear rolls down the corner of Cullen’s eye. “Sometimes,” he continues, “it’s not her face, though. Lately... sometimes... sometimes--”
“Enough, Kadan,” Ashtal murmurs. “I am here, you are here, and together we are strong.”
Ashtal does not know how long they sit like that, but, when the sun rises, Cullen’s eyes look less dead, and she feels victorious.
--
Author: phate_phoenix
Pairing: Inquisitor/Knight-Captain Cullen
Word Count: 1130
Rating/Contents: References to suicide.
Summary: Cullen has a nightmare. Ashtal is there for him.
Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN
Author's Notes: A sort-of sequel to a piece I wrote on the dragonage-kink named Seeking (link location is NSFW but story itself is pure fluff). Read that first if you'd like! Written for the 4000 page celebration of The Official Knight-Captain Cullen Cullen Discussion Thread 2.0. Please enjoy!
Ashtal does not move when Cullen’s tent suddenly flies open and he races out, eyes wide and still cloudy from whatever horror awoke him. She simply watches Cullen as he stands in the cold night air and presses his hands to his face, taking deep breaths. He shudders as he lowers his hands, head slowly rising. Ashtal can see the moment Cullen remembers he is not alone: his eyes snap to her and an embarrassed flush burns up his neck to his ears.
“You already did your watch, Cullen,” Ashtal says. She is no fool--sweat on the brow, twitchiness, dark circles under his eyes, she understands. But Cullen relaxes and the red recedes a little from his face.
“Y-yeah,” he says, eyes dropping momentarily. The ground is hard and cold around their camp, some dirt mixed in with large, flat stones. Cullen steps forward and joins her by the firelight. “I had nightmare, and didn’t want to go back to sleep.”
Ashtal nods, scanning the bare forest around them. “I am here to listen, if you wish to share.”
Cullen freezes, and Ashtal knows his hazel eyes are on her face. She glances his way before returning her gaze to the wilderness. The night has been quiet, with not even animals passing by. They are moving through rocky terrain, however, and few things like to dwell in these places with little undergrowth. Cullen’s presence is welcome company, even if he does not speak.
But then he does.
“I’ve had this nightmare before,” he starts, slowly, and Ashtal nods once to show she’s listening. Her mother used to do the same for her. Cullen goes quiet for a period of time, before taking a shaky breath. “In Kinloch Hold, there was a mage,” he says. “She was young, smart, and strong. Easily the best of her peers.”
There is a fondness in his tone that belies more than simple admiration, but Ashtal does not begrudge this woman for it. She is not here, beside Cullen now. She is not the last person to have kissed him, to have watched his back in combat, to have heard him laugh. She is gone, and Ashtal is here.
“She passed her Harrowing with grace and ease,” Cullen continues, oblivious to Ashtal’s thoughts. “There was no doubt she would: she was then-First Enchanter Irving’s own apprentice.” He looks up, and Ashtal follows his gaze to the night sky. “There was an... incident, with an apprentice mage. Jowan, I think. The First Enchanter had her investigating this Jowan, to figure out what his plans were, if the rumors of him learning the forbidden arts were true.”
“Blood magic,” Ashtal says, and looks at Cullen. He does not take his eyes away from the starry skies, and his throat bobs when he swallows.
“He exposed himself as a maleficar and escaped the tower with her unwitting help,” Cullen says. “Knight-Commander Gregoir was furious. He wanted her made Tranquil, or locked in the Aeonar, but Irving stepped in and explained she’d been working for him. They fought about it for months, and she was placed under constant guard to ensure she hadn’t been made a thrall.”
Ashtal nods to the darkness. “Harsh, but understandable.”
Cullen does not react to her words, and Ashtal’s brow furrows at the far-away look in his eyes. “Then Ostagar happened, and Uldred returned and...” He clears his throat.
Ashtal stares. She has heard the sad tale of this Ferelden Circle--of blood mages summoning demons, killing many innocents with their wrath. The Vashoth village she’d stayed in had, overnight, become tense about the few mages who’d lived among them. Though her people had thrown off the shackles of the Qun, its fingers still pressed into their minds.
Cullen takes a deep, shaky breath, and Ashtal refocuses on him. “Once I was the last one left alive of my brothers and sisters, the maleficarum took great pleasure in trying break me,” he says, only a small waver in his voice. “The demons waited until I had passed out from exhaustion and then plucked my deepest secrets from my mind.” He stops again, and his throat works uselessly for a moment. Ashtal lets him struggle, lets him fight this internal battle. “Days before the Hero of Ferelden came, they brought her before me.”
Finally, Ashtal lays a hand over his, entwines their fingers. Cullen’s eyes clench shut.
“They wanted to make me watch her break,” he says. “This beautiful thing that I shouldn’t have desired. They’d had her at the top of the tower, in the Harrowing Chamber with the others. She was strong, powerful, dangerous--everything they desired for their abominations.” He paused, mouth open slightly.
“They walked her down the stairs like a marionette,” he begins again, hoarse. “All violent movements and none of the grace I remembered, like they’d tangled her strings. They stopped her before me, made her look me in the eye. I could still see her in them, still see her fighting. After days of the same torture I’d endured, she still fought on, still had her mind. And I could see the moment she realized what was going to happen, why she was here.”
His eyes open.
“She set herself ablaze with her own magic.”
Ashtal bows her head, closing her eyes. She has no god to pray to, like Cullen, but she can only hope this woman found peace wherever her soul traveled to. When she looks back at Cullen, his eyes are hollow and bottomless, and it hurts the core of her.
“That’s what keeps me awake at night, sometimes,” he says.
Ashtal lets him grieve alone for a moment. Then she turns and lays her forehead against his temple. “Her spirit remains with you,” she says at last. “Thank you for trusting me with her memory.”
A single tear rolls down the corner of Cullen’s eye. “Sometimes,” he continues, “it’s not her face, though. Lately... sometimes... sometimes--”
“Enough, Kadan,” Ashtal murmurs. “I am here, you are here, and together we are strong.”
Ashtal does not know how long they sit like that, but, when the sun rises, Cullen’s eyes look less dead, and she feels victorious.
--