(fic) History of Lies (Dragon Age, Cullen/Mari Hawke)
Triple Drabble (300 words)
Knight Captain Cullen attempts to have a peaceful night of sleep while staying at Mari Hawke’s manor (sometime in the middle of DA2’s Act III).
.
They held each other as they lay beneath woolen blankets. Cullen’s mind drifted into the drowsy half-wakefulness that lingers just before sleep. Everything outside Mari’s canopied bed was losing its power to define them. Mari was just a woman, willowy limbs draped over his body. The softness of her breast beneath his chin. His brow nuzzled into the curve of her neck. The steady march of her heart drumming below his ear, the slow rise and fall of her breath. She was just a woman as she held him, as he pressed his lips along the ridge of her collarbone. Just a woman, smelling faintly of lavender and the mix of their salty sweat. And Cullen was just a man, weary from another day of unwanted events, his muscles finally lax after making love.
Despite the war that threatened to rage beyond the bed’s canopied curtains, his world shrunk to the fierce heat of skin upon skin, to the firmness of Mari’s forearm beneath the pad of his thumb as he followed the length of her arm to her hand and clasped her fingers. The satisfied hum of acknowledgement briefly buzzing in her throat. Both of them tired beyond words. Tired of a world that named them by their inherent opposition. Tired of bearing the weight of the Order’s laws while standing in the heat of Kirkwall’s decaying streets. Tired of Mari’s tightrope act as she balanced all the good that she had done for the city against her crime of being alive. Tired of each ruse that cloaked their nights together. The string of lies to his Knight Commander, to Mari, to himself. Tired of vows rendered meaningless as Kirkwall’s templars lost their way. Tired of an unwinnable position. Tired and weary. Desperate for a night of peaceful sleep.
Crossposted at http://vieralynn.dreamwidth.org/178203.html.
Knight Captain Cullen attempts to have a peaceful night of sleep while staying at Mari Hawke’s manor (sometime in the middle of DA2’s Act III).
.
They held each other as they lay beneath woolen blankets. Cullen’s mind drifted into the drowsy half-wakefulness that lingers just before sleep. Everything outside Mari’s canopied bed was losing its power to define them. Mari was just a woman, willowy limbs draped over his body. The softness of her breast beneath his chin. His brow nuzzled into the curve of her neck. The steady march of her heart drumming below his ear, the slow rise and fall of her breath. She was just a woman as she held him, as he pressed his lips along the ridge of her collarbone. Just a woman, smelling faintly of lavender and the mix of their salty sweat. And Cullen was just a man, weary from another day of unwanted events, his muscles finally lax after making love.
Despite the war that threatened to rage beyond the bed’s canopied curtains, his world shrunk to the fierce heat of skin upon skin, to the firmness of Mari’s forearm beneath the pad of his thumb as he followed the length of her arm to her hand and clasped her fingers. The satisfied hum of acknowledgement briefly buzzing in her throat. Both of them tired beyond words. Tired of a world that named them by their inherent opposition. Tired of bearing the weight of the Order’s laws while standing in the heat of Kirkwall’s decaying streets. Tired of Mari’s tightrope act as she balanced all the good that she had done for the city against her crime of being alive. Tired of each ruse that cloaked their nights together. The string of lies to his Knight Commander, to Mari, to himself. Tired of vows rendered meaningless as Kirkwall’s templars lost their way. Tired of an unwinnable position. Tired and weary. Desperate for a night of peaceful sleep.
Crossposted at http://vieralynn.dreamwidth.org/178203.html.