Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Cullen Stanton Rutherford. Former Templar. Commander of the Inquisition's forces. The Lion of Ferelden. 

Husband to one Inquisitor Endara Lavellan. A fact he could still hardly believe. Yet here she was, draped across his chest in the early purple hours of the Orlesian dawn. 

He could lay like this forever. Watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Feeling the steady thrum of her heart beating against his. Silently thanking the Maker for her return. Though she didn't escape from the eluvian unscathed. 

Problems they could sort later. As long as she was at his side, the rest was trivial. Like the council that awaited them in just a few short hours. Or Solas’ mad plan to watch the world burn. 

Things they would conquer together. As they had before and would again. But for now, his vhenan needed rest. A gentle smile on her lips as he dipped his head and allowed his kiss to brush against her forehead. Not wanting to wake her. But needing her to know even while asleep, that he loved her and was there. 

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“Read em and weep boys!” 

Celeste slammed the cards down as a collective groan went out around the table. She didn't spend her youth as Isabela's protégé and neglect to learn how to be the best Wicked Grace player this side of the Free Marches. And with the current bounty on her head, what better way to spend her time than getting drunk in some back alley Rivaini bar? 

Let the nobles and the Venatori come after her. She was skipping town on the morrow anyway. Right after she won just one more game…

Or maybe she would need to make her exit sooner rather than later. Judging by the rough looking soldiers who had just appeared at the tavern's entrance, she was in for some trouble. 

Not that she wasn't used to trouble. Or capable of handling herself. But she was supposed to be keeping a low profile. The Lords were having enough issues after her latest shenanigans. And Isabela did tell her to behave while she went and met up with her contact. 

Welp, only one thing for an honorable pirate such as herself to do. 

“Hey handsome-” She turned to the man beside her who had been dealing cards. Middle aged dwarf. Five o clock shadow. Attractive enough. Broad chest with a massive ring hanging from a necklace that definitely wasn't made to fit his fingers. “Play along and I will make it worth your while.” 

He barely had time to protest as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Sliding into his lap in one smooth motion as she buried her face against his neck. Fingers tangled in his hair as she giggled and acted the part of drunken bar wench. 

And he played his bit just as well. Holding her close as if they had been entwined all evening. Though she was going to smack him later for how hard his grip was digging into her hip. Yet it seemed to work as the soldiers passed by without sparing them a glance. 

“You always make it a habit of luring poor unsuspecting men in on your plans to get out of trouble with the local authorities?” he whispered in a low voice as he ducked his head. She hadn't noticed it before, but there was a roguish twinkle to his eyes as their gazes met. A pleasing tilt to the corner of his mouth as it was drawn up in an easy grin that she mirrored. 

And she found she was in no hurry to scoot off his lap as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and replied, “Only those that look like they are as naughty as me.” 

He chuckled then. A hearty rumble that made her chest feel lighter than she had in weeks. Ever since the mission gone wrong and Isebela told her she was being sent down south, she hadn't been herself. But this man made her feel things. Alive. Happy. Even despite their brief interaction. Things best not explored under her current circumstances. 

“Shame I won't be staying in Rivain longer,” he sighed longingly as he looked around the tavern before his gaze settled back on her. “Between your card skills and humor, I bet you'd be one hell of a good time.” 

That actually drew a blush from her. The tips of her ears heating before she quickly cleared her throat. 

“Yeah well I'm not sticking around long either. For obvious reasons-” She cut her eyes to the side indicating the soldiers before continuing. “But thanks for your help, handsome. Gold's yours if you want it. Not like I can't win more.” 

She went to hop off his lap and scurry out before she was caught in any more trouble, but a muscular arm across her thighs halted her in place. The warmth of his skin on hers made her thoughts fuzzy. His voice taking on a husky tone as he leaned up and whispered against her neck. 

“Keep the gold, Ace,” he said as his grip loosened. Stroking a calloused thumb against the inside of her knee as she relaxed into him. “Take it as an advance. A hope that when we next meet, it's as friends.” 

And maybe more. 

He didn't say the words. Didn't have to. The way his fingers reluctantly drug over her skin spoke volumes. 

“May the winds be ere at your back, Ser Dwarf,” she replied as she leaned down and let her lips ghost over his cheek. A chaste kiss with a promise that there could be more. One day maybe. If fate was on their side. “And may a similar port call us soon.” 

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Solas stood there. Shoulders slumped in defeat. Wounds oozing from his battle with Lusacan. Ache in his muscles paling in comparison to the devastation in his heart. 

But then Rook smiled. That gentle brilliance in the dark. Her fingers curling around his in soft absolution. As if all his sins could be forgiven in that one brush of her skin against his. 

“I love you,” she called over her shoulder as she pulled him through the tear in the Veil. Pledging her future to him. Entwining their lives forever in her sacrifice to their love. 

A fate most unfair. Saddest smile gracing his features as he pulled her against his chest. Her hand to his lips as he skimmed tender kisses against her knuckles. Her eyes wide in unwavering trust as he sighed in resignation. Memorizing the lovely panes of her face as he slipped one slender finger along her jaw. 

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he whispered as her brow knitted in confusion. A last look of longing before he shoved her back through to her friends. Slamming his bloody hand against the Veil as the tear snapped closed. Like the strings of his shattered heart at the broken scream that tore through her. The sight of her struggling to reach him the last image before he found himself alone once more. 

But it was worth it. For her he would endure. An eternity in the Fade was a smile price to pay to see her free. 

Though he would carry the memory of her love wherever he should roam. For Rook opened doors, even when Solas had to close them. 

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It started innocently enough, as many things do. A life in the Necropolis merged well with a life spent studying poisons under the watchful eyes of the Crows. Afternoon discussions as they discovered their many similarities. Among them chiefly, a shared love of botany. Of the warmth of fresh loam tilled under to receive new life. The joys of watching their efforts grow into unique beauty. 

He remembered the first time he gifted her a simple pink iris. An expression he knew she would understand. Crows were learned in all the secret languages. And floriography, of course, was no exception. 

“I value your friendship as well,” she grinned as she held the bloom close. Her eyes fluttering closed as she inhaled the flower’s soft scent. Emmrich knowing he was doomed from that moment on. Accepting his fate as his heart beat against his ribs. 

The weeks after were filled with similar gestures. A Pansy for his thoughts here. A daisy of her attachment there. Saying all the things they dare not aloud. With fleeting touches and longing glances. 

Until the day he was emboldened by passion’s folly. The white lily of pure love picked from his beloved Memorial Gardens themselves. A declaration that muddled his thoughts as he twirled it betwixt his fingers. She had made her offer. Her stand. Revealing her heart along the delicate white petals. Awaiting his reply as he pondered his next move. 

A simple question he asked in the form of a four leaf clover. As if whispering the words ‘will you be mine’ directly against the curve of her slender neck. 

Surprised when she appeared directly before him in his study. Pressing a sprig of mistletoe into his palm as if that gesture alone held all their answers. A clear meaning of ‘kiss me’ written on the luscious part of her lips as she leaned in close. But his need to ensure this was her true desire as he held her on the edge of future's calling. 

“Darling, you are quite sure?” he asked breathlessly as he stared at the delicate leaves. It was one thing to exchange favors between two yearning hearts. But another entirely to trade kisses in the soft evening firelight. 

“Yes, mi alma,” she whispered as her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. Her lips ghosting the strong arc of his jaw as she chanted against his skin. “You love me, no? Unless I have read the flowers wrong-” 

He soothed any doubt as he wrapped her in his arms. Angling his face so their noses could brush as he replied, “No you were correct as always, my darling. You are all I could ever want, and more.” 

They spent the late hours in sweetest bliss. Forgetting all else save the feelings they shared. While perched on his desk lay the plain offering of mistletoe. The one he would keep for years to come. 

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Being a Warden, Rook knew the cost of taking down Ghilan'nain's arch demon. What Davrin was prepared to sacrifice as they battled the many heads of Razikale. The justice he planned to bring after the devastation of Weisshaupt. 

Yet, Rook wasn't sure he was ready. Could accept a day where he wouldn't be greeted by those soft brown eyes and easy smile. The way his pulse would speed up each time their hands brushed casually over morning coffee. 

“Just make it count. I can only die once…”

Davrin said the words with a chuckle. As if they were discussing dinner. Not the end of all things good in the world as he charged forward to meet his end. 

And maybe it was selfish, but Rook just couldn't let him go. 

He casually tossed the lyrium dagger to Lucanis. Knowing the Crow would catch it. Would use it well. Before his feet hastily carried him where he needed to be. 

Davrin was stronger. But Rook was faster. His sword plunged into Razikale's neck. Unsure if the howl of pain tearing through the Blighted god or the cry of distress from Davrin was louder as the beast beneath him drew its last breath. 

The battle fading away as the Warden pair stared at each other. As death ignored its claim and Rook's heart continued to beat. 

“You're…” Davrin had so many unspoken words, but the shriek of pain from Ghilan'nain interrupted all thoughts. Lucanis had missed. Blood trickling down the God's face as she unleashed her revenge upon their group. 

“Time to go,” motioned Rook as he dodged the tendrils of Blight slithering towards them. Their group dashing for the safety of the Eluvian. Though a steady hand found his despite the chaos of the moment. 

The Wardens tangling together as they tripped through the mirror's smooth surface. Rook swearing for the briefest of seconds a pair of lips brushed his brow. Though it could have just been wishful thinking as he landed on top of Davrin. 

They had much to discuss as he looked down into the warmth of his fellow Warden's brown eyes. As calloused fingers entwined his and pulled him into a tight embrace. But words hardly seemed to matter as he melted into Davrin. They could talk about what happened later. For now, this was all that Rook could need. 

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The Blighted gods weren't the only thing to escape the ritual gone wrong that day. The world Garrett Hawke emerged to after ten years in the Fade was different and yet the same. His best friend dead in his arms as he followed the rag tag bunch through an eluvian and to safety. 

It took weeks to get his bearings. To contact old friends. To hunt Fenris down. 

His love. The one he owed a million apologies. Hiding in Minrathous of all places. Helping a group known as the Shadow Dragons. Freeing slaves of course. Bringing justice to a place that knew none. 

He wasn't sure what he would say when Neve arranged the meeting. Standing in the backroom of an unlikely pawn shop as he paced a line in the floor. 

Would old feelings still hold true? Had Fenris moved on? Not that Hawke could blame him. But hope was sharp like greatswords were heavy. And he could only hope for mercy as the door creaked open to reveal the most covetous sight in all of Thedas. 

“So it's true.” The lithe elf stood in the doorway. Hand pressed against the wooden frame. Eyes hesitant as he looked upon Hawke. As though he expected the man to disappear if he breathed too heavily. Anticipation and longing stretching between them as hearts hammered inside steel clad chests. 

And then Hawke was moving. Unable to contain himself. Falling to his knees before the man who had stolen his love all those years ago. Even if the tides had changed now, he still needed Fenris to know. 

“I'm so sorry,” he begged as he crawled the last few inches. Hands around boney hips as he pressed beseeching kisses along armour skin. Wishing to convey his longing. His need. As fingers tangled in his hair and a broken sound echoed from above. 

“My champion. It's really you.” 

The pain in Fenris’ voice only added to his guilt. Burying his face into his lover's side as the elf wrapped him close. Claiming him with the firm press of his fingers into his scalp. As if to say now that he had him, he would never let him go again. 

“I am here, my love. And I promise I will never leave again.”

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“You look distinguished, Archon Pavus.” The voice is deep. Rich. Full of promise as Dorian turns with a subtle tug up at the corner of his mouth. 

Rook is a vision. All seven foot four of his massive frame. Mismatched irises dance with mirth as he inclines his horned head slightly. A calloused palm extending outward. An invitation as the Qunari gazes across the opulent space.  

“You demanded my presence to this little- gathering of your Magister friends,” he begins as Dorian clocks his barely restrained disdain before he continues, “The least you could do is entertain me for a dance. Or is the savior of Thedas beneath you, my Archon?” 

Dorian doesn't bother dignifying that question with words. Doesn't trust himself not to say something outlandish about how the Qunari was beneath him just this morning. Instead, his answer comes in the sliding of his hand against Rook's. The pair gliding out onto the dance floor as soft music picks up in the background.

Rook leads, and Dorian follows. The eyes of the room upon them. Rumors shivering through the air in hushed whispers. The Hero of the Veilguard and the newly minted Archon. On display for all as they celebrate their recent victory over the gods. 

“You probably didn't want people finding out like this,” Rook says almost apologetically as they turn about the room. Giving life to the thing they haven't dared speak of over these last few months. When secret meetings and stressful hours turned into something more under the weight of world's ending. 

And honestly, Dorian isn't sure how he feels right now as he twirls the fabric of Rook's Shadow Dragon armour between his fingers. But the admission of desire from the Qunari sends a secret thrill from him. A chance for something more than stolen moments and late night confessions. Though it's dangerous to say the least. 

“It's probably better like this than any other way,” he finally admits as Rook breaks out in a grin. One last turn as the music fades. That devilishly handsome charm flaring before he dips Dorian low. Unexpected but not unwelcome as his lips graze the Archon's ear. 

“Then let's give them a show, amatus,” he says before his mouth finds Dorian's and the world fades away.