People Will Talk
By R2s Muse
Disclaimer: The Dragon Age setting and its characters belong to Bioware. I'm just borrowing!
A/N: A story slightly inspired by the "thanks for the memories" theme for the BSN Cullen thread Page 5000 celebration, it started out about Cullen and then Solas kind of ... slipped in there. My DA:I experience in a nutshell! :) Hope you enjoy!
Special thanks to my beloved beta, MeanieWeenie, who may actually romance Solas now. :D *eyebrow waggle*
Chapter 1: Vir dirthera
Del grumpily yanked open the door to the war room and was preparing her unapologetic excuses for being late, when she saw Solas and her day immediately brightened.
The tall elf was speaking softly with Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana, and the corners of mouth had curled up like they did when he enjoyed sharing a story from the past. The three women listen raptly, caught in his spell, but he turned at her entry and smiled from across the room, that private mysterious smile that made her heart race in delight. The smile that he only shared with her.
As Del approached them, he was saying, "I am glad I could be of service. I will now leave you all to your meeting." He nodded cordially at the advisors in parting and then turned to go.
He passed Del without stopping, only saying, "Inquisitor," in that bright, business-like voice he had used when they were strangers. The voice he still used too often with her.
"Vhenan," she blithely responded. He paused briefly at her use of the Elven endearment, and his expression flashed with something like pleasure or annoyance, perhaps both. He inclined his head almost imperceptibly and continued out of the room without another word. The door swung shut behind him, and it was like the sun had retreated behind a cloud. Her heart sank.
It was obnoxious to call him my heart in front of the others, even if they didn't know Elvish. But she couldn't help it. These days she found herself recklessly trying to provoke any kind of reaction from the man who had kissed her twice, but otherwise maintained a studied distance from her, even in private.
He had warned her, of course, that getting involved was a bad idea. He sometimes studied her, with those sensuous lips pursed and dark brows lowered in intense focus, as if he was puzzling her out like one of his ancient texts. He made her feel enigmatic and important. Special. Like a priceless book or painting worthy of a pedestal. But she also craved a connection that was far more plebeian and intimate.
Of course, when he took her in his arms, she saw a whole different side of him, ardent and uncontrolled. The fire that burned just below the surface. The fact that he tried to hide that side, even from himself, made her want it more. She would give anything to see his careful barriers fall again and to experience all of him, not just the polite, scholarly façade.
Or perhaps she never saw that side of him because he no longer burned for her.
She sighed, and Leliana eyed her speculatively. "Solas was sharing some of the stories he knows about Halamshiral while we were waiting for you and Cullen," the spymaster said. "He is very . . . experienced, no?"
Del grunted a non-committal response at Leliana's nosy prodding. Del's experience with Solas, or lack thereof, was none of Leliana's business, spymaster or no.
"Where is Cullen, by the way?" Josephine asked. "It is not like him to be late as well." She pressed her lips together in a subtle indicator of her annoyance.
Del grimaced at the dig. "I'm sorry," she mumbled about her own tardiness, even if they should expect it from her by now. She would never be an early morning person, not like her advisors seemed to be. Cullen particularly.
"Indeed. Cullen normally sends word if he will not attend," Cassandra agreed, her perfect brows drawing down.
Del finally pulled herself out of her self-absorption over Solas. It was true. Cullen was never late.
What the others didn't know was that Cullen was having a harder time managing his lyrium withdrawals than he let on. Just the day before he had considered taking it again until she had talked him out of it. She eyed Cassandra, hoping Cullen's sudden lack of punctuality didn't make her jump to the right conclusions.
"I can send someone to his tower," Leliana offered, gesturing to one of her agents lurking covertly in a shadowed corner.
"No, I'll go," Del said in a rush. "It will give me a moment to wake up a bit myself." Before anyone could object, she slipped out of the room and into the labyrinth of passageways and stairs that ultimately led to Cullen's patchwork tower.
She knocked on the door first, feeling intrusive for checking up on the commander of her armed forces like he was an errant schoolboy. "Cullen?" she called. There was no answer, so she yanked open the heavy door and stuck her head inside. "Cullen?"
His office was empty. She stepped further into the room, and her footsteps were loud in the silence. A half-written report lay on his desk next to the barest stub of a well-used candle.
She frowned. Where could he be?
She was headed back to the door when she heard a faint murmur echo off the walls. She paused to listen and heard it again. The babble of indistinct words and the rustle and creak of a mattress tick. Her attention turned upward toward the ladder that led to his sleeping quarters.
Did Cullen just oversleep after working too late the night before? Should she wake him? The man worked so tirelessly, she decided to let him rest and give the others his regrets.
"No!"
She froze with her hand on the door handle at the plaintive cry, her head whipping upwards again. She listened intently and heard more murmuring, punctuated with sounds of distress.
She was halfway up the ladder before she questioned the propriety of barging into the commander's bedroom. She stopped just before reaching the top and cleared her throat noisily. "Um, Cullen?"
The only response was the susurrus of shifting bedclothes, a low moan, and labored breathing. She waited, wracked with indecision, imagining their joint humiliation if she had misinterpreted the sounds. What if he wasn't alone? She almost started back down the ladder, when she heard him call out again. A wordless sound filled with fear.
She peeked her head up into the room. A single blanketed form on the bed thrashed to the side and muttered angrily.
"I trusted you!" he cried, before trailing off into a heartbreaking sob.
She dashed up the ladder and approached the bed, thinking only that she never wanted to hear that sound ever again. Cullen was locked in some sort of nightmare, his closed eyelids rolling in terror. Perspiration beaded his forehead and his lips twitched, forming soundless words spoken to unseen specters. He thrashed his head to the side. His bare shoulders strained atop the rumpled blanket, like he struggled to escape the dream.
"Not the same . . . never be the same . . .," he insisted in a low voice.
"Cullen?" she repeated. "Cullen!" He didn't seem to hear, so she drew closer and sank down to perch on the edge of the bed. She put her hand gently on his arm, hoping to draw him slowly out of the depth of sleep. Or at least out of the dream. "Cullen, wake up."
He shot up unexpectedly from the bed and grabbed her shoulders, gripping them roughly in his hands. Startled, she gasped, unsure what he would do. Or what she should do. His face came close to hers but his gaze was unfocused, caught in the nightmare still. The circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual.
He frowned at her in his sleep and mumbled, "...wouldn't ask me to . . . She's nothing like you . . ." He leaned closer, pressing his forehead to hers. She held her breath, searched his face, willing him to see her, worrying what would happen were she to wake him too abruptly.
When their skin touched, he took a deep breath and seemed to relax into her. He sighed and his breath fanned across her face. She could feel the heat from the bare skin of his chest.
"I know you would never ask," he murmured. "I know you." He tightened his hands on her arms and stared intently at her, his face still a breath away.
Hoping some sense was returning to him, she said tentatively, "Cullen? Are you okay?"
He answered by crushing his lips to hers in a searing kiss that was touching in its desperation.
She stilled in surprise, shocked both at his boldness and at the responding warmth that blossomed inside her. When she didn't move right away, his hands slipped up to cup her face and his lips moved against hers, soft and seductive. The inconvenient heat unfurled in her belly.
She wasn't sure who he thought she was, but clearly he was beyond reason. She pressed her hands to his chest and pulled away.
He released her mouth and whispered, "Delilah."
White hot shock flashed through her at the use of her name. Her given name. No one knew her real name. Her hated shem name, bestowed by a city-born mother who had thought it sounded Dalish.
How could he know?
Beyond the mystery of how, was the strange thrill of who. Awake or not, he thought he was kissing her. He was kissing her. Suddenly she couldn't breathe and her whole body tingled at the realization, coaxing the neglected fire inside her into a roaring torrent.
He took advantage of her hesitation and his mouth crashed onto hers again, drawing her body up against his and holding her tightly like a man drowning. A gorgeous, naked man drowning. His tongue slipped between her parted lips and tangled with hers. She reeled under the onslaught and closed her eyes as she started to respond.
He dipped her back to press her flat on his bed, looming over her with desperate, needy kisses. She moaned softly, overwhelmed by the wanton passion she'd been craving. Craving from . . . Solas.
She went cold and immediately stopped, pressing her hands against his bare chest more firmly this time. "Cullen!" she cried in a strident voice.
He leaned back from her, the haze of sleep and desire lifting from his countenance and his cheeks flushed red as he realized what was happening. "D-Del . . . Inquisitor! I'm . . . I'm so sorry." He jumped back from her until his back was against the headboard and snatched the bedclothes up to cover his nudity.
She sat up unsteadily, and they stared at each other with glazed eyes while their breathing returned to normal. She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks, mortified that she hadn't woken him sooner. More mortified that she remembered too clearly the press of his lips against hers. "N-no, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have startled you awake. Y-you were having a nightmare," she said. "I thought I could help," she added in a tiny voice.
"Maker's breath," he swore, dropping his face into his hands, which trembled. After a moment, he looked up at her and squared his shoulders. "Inquisitor, you have my sincerest apologies. I knew not what I . . . I-I mean, I didn't realize that I . . . that you . . ." He drew a shaking hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry. I honestly have no words. I can only beg your forgiveness for my shameful behavior."
She took a deep breath, inwardly quaking in reaction. "Cullen, there's no need to apologize. You clearly were in the throes of a powerful nightmare. I was concerned. Are you all right?"
He rubbed the back of his neck and wouldn't look her in the eye. His other hand gripped the blanket in his lap with whitened knuckles. "I am . . . as well as can be expected. The nightmares are worse without lyrium, but I will endure."
"Do you have them often?"
"They are nothing I cannot handle," he said, stoically setting his jaw.
"Cullen, talk to me," she said softly. "It's not like you to miss a council meeting. That's why I came."
He swore. "Have I? Blast it all! I pledged to you that my . . . affliction would not interfere with my duty to the Inquisition." He moved to stand up, but at the last moment, remembered his lack of clothing and pulled the fallen blanket back up to his chest. He gave her a look of embarrassed consternation that, in spite of everything, made her bite back a smile.
"I'll let you dress." She moved to the ladder to wait in his office below.
Once she was alone, the cold, hard guilt set in, sinking like a rock in the pit of her stomach, and she started to shake. She paced across his office a few times before stopping to lean an unsteady hand on a bookshelf. Focusing on her worry for Cullen had allowed her to ignore her own complicity in the kiss. She touched fingertips to her slightly swollen lips, which still tingled from the force of Cullen's mouth. The imprint of his rough stubble.
Oh my. What would Solas think?
She suddenly imagined Solas standing beside Cullen's bed in his usual scholarly pose, hands lightly clasped behind his back, and giving cheerful pointers to Cullen on technique.
An ironic bark of laughter escaped her. What would Solas think? Would it even bother him at all? She had no idea. She squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out such thoughts, thumping her forehead lightly on the side of the bookshelf, wishing the jolt could erase the past few minutes.
She jumped at the thud of boots on flagstone behind her and turned to see that Cullen had joined her, apparently sliding down the ladder in his haste. He had his belt in hand and was still wrapping it around the plain tunic he'd thrown on, leaving aside his more complicated armor for once. Her traitor mind admired how the tunic pulled slightly across his broad shoulders. Broad like Solas's . . .
She shook her head violently to dislodge the thought.
"Let us go," he said gruffly, striding toward the door.
"Cullen, wait."
He stopped and looked at her uncertainly. His face was still flushed.
"They can wait for a few more minutes. I want to know—I need to know—are you okay?" She let her genuine concern color her voice. "I know you're going through a rough time. The council can proceed without you, if need be."
He frowned and considered her question for a moment. "Inquisitor," he started, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I appreciate that you're trying to help. I do. But the best thing we can do is to forget that this ever happened and proceed as normal. I . . ." He cleared his throat and wet his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "Please. I need the solace of my work." His haunted eyes begged for her to understand. And she could, to some extent.
"Okay." They both headed to the door, but she stopped again. "Cullen, just one thing . . ."
He turned back to her, and his jaw clenched tightly.
"Delilah. How did you know?" She tilted her head to the side. "I haven't told anyone here."
He flushed. "Oh. Um. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to invade your privacy. Erm. Solas told me. Once."
She frowned. "I see."
He escaped out the door, and she followed more slowly.
ooXXoo
The rest of her day could only be described as even more awkward. Cullen couldn't bring himself to even look at her throughout their meeting, to the point where even Cassandra noticed how oddly he was acting. He had avoided Del from thereon in.
Then she spent the afternoon dodging Solas who seemed to be everywhere she went around Skyhold, greeting her with his slow smile and melodious Hello.
At dinner, it was the same. Cullen fixedly kept his gaze averted from her and was even more taciturn than normal. Josephine, Leliana and Cassandra passed curious glances between them.
And Solas had stopped smiling.
Del tossed and turned that night in her giant canopied bed. The full moon outside her windows filled the room with light, mocking her attempts at sleep. The times when she finally dozed off it was to troubled dreams. Troubled and . . . stirring.
No sooner would she slip into the Fade than she would be replaying the unfortunate scene in Cullen's bedroom. Almost like an outsider, she watched herself collapse back under Cullen's weight, moaning wantonly as he covered her and plundered her mouth. Sometimes she embraced him, her hands slipping around his back, reveling in the feel of his bare skin, pulse charging, pulling him closer. Sometimes she kissed him back and her fingers threaded into his unexpected hair, brushed against his rounded ears, and everything was wrong. Sometimes she stopped him just as his lips touched hers and she shook him awake from his nightmare. She tried to push for this last outcome, eventually half-convincing herself that this was how it actually had happened.
But, this time was different.
She must be more deeply asleep now, she reasoned for a split second, since she was suddenly fully present within her body. She felt every sensation, every ill-considered impulse, as the scene unfolded yet again. She felt the worn smoothness of the wood from the uppermost rung of Cullen's ladder. She heard the rustle of Cullen's frenzied thrashing in the bed.
Unlike the other dreams, this one had heightened detail and clarity. More like the true memory. Cullen's bedroom, and the man in the bed, looked just as real as they had that morning. But there was also a strange watchfulness to the quiet as the ambient noise from Skyhold had vanished, almost like it listened in.
As she drew near the bed, she saw the lines around his eyes crinkle in anguish. She tasted the tang of his fear on her tongue.
"Not the same . . . never be the same . . ."
His tortured mumbles were accompanied this time by a new sound: a whispered echo, claiming a new narrative in Cullen's own voice.
I trusted you because it was my duty, Cullen's echoing voice said accusingly. I trust her because she has earned my trust. It is not the same. You could never be the same.
The echo seemed to fill in the words he hadn't uttered aloud, completing his half sentences and revealing the fears that gave rise to his nightmare.
As she had in reality, Del tried to comfort him, and he shot up from the bed, clasping her shoulders. Her heart raced in surprise, even though she'd been expecting it.
"...wouldn't ask me to . . . She's nothing like you," he mumbled and again the echo whispered on.
She wouldn't ask me to violate my principles, the voice cried. Not like you did. She's nothing like you.
Cullen pressed his forehead to hers, so close now that their breath mingled. Del tried to pull away, but she couldn't deviate from the events of the real memory. She could only watch and wait for the inevitable.
"I know you would never ask," he said to her. "I know you."
I know you would never ask. I know you. I trust you. I need you.
Although she was caught in the truth of her own actions, Del wondered at the veracity of these sentiments from Cullen. It was a dream, after all, and presumably Cullen was just a figment of her imagination. She was not aware that he had any kind of romantic interest in her. Were these echoes only her sleep-muddled guesses as to the meaning of his mumbled words? Or was there some more powerful truth at work here?
Determined to change the outcome of the dream, Del prepared to rebuff Cullen and wake him up, but when his mouth pressed to hers, she froze again, locked into the predestined kiss. He whispered her real name against her lips and she succumbed. Again. Her body reveled at the rough nap of the blanket against her back, the press of his body on hers, while her mind recoiled at the guilt of her actions.
Somehow she was trapped in this careful retelling of the memory in the way that it really had unfolded, and she was powerless to change it.
All around her, the room began to darken and she felt an abrupt chill. The feeling of being watched intensified.
At last, the moment arrived when she would break away from her indiscretion and put an end to the kiss, but before she could, all light in the room snuffed out. Cullen's weight was gone and a cold, swift wind descended upon her. She sat up in alarm and the vortex of air swirled angrily around her, pulling at her hair, skimming her cheek, enfolding her in its rough embrace, taking her breath away with its ferocity. She cowered before the intensity of the storm and held her hand up to protect her face.
The roar of the maelstrom changed in pitch, like it was no longer confined to Cullen's small room. Under her knees she felt not the soft give of Cullen's bed, but instead the hard pebbles and grit of the cold ground. In the distance she thought she heard the mournful howl of a wolf.
She blinked several times as the roar of the wind slowed to a whine and the utter blackness receded. The pale fingers of dawn crept up behind distant mountain peaks. Overhead, the bleak light of the few remaining stars twinkled down at her without pity. Against the lightening sky, Del could make out a broken archway and the outline of colossal statue of a wolf. The wind picked up again, whipping her hair into her face and she heard the crunch of footsteps. She blinked and, through her fingers, saw the familiar silhouette of a broad shouldered, smooth pated elf. The shadowed embodiment of her guilt, stalking toward her.
Then, she was sitting up with a gasp back in her own bed, automatically raising her hand defensively against a now non-existent whirlwind. She squinted in the stillness at the dawn sky brightening outside her windows.
She took several gulping breaths and her rapid pulse started to slow. She wiped away the damp sweat from her upper lip. Her bedclothes were twisted about her like she'd tossed and turned. Maybe that's what she had felt ensnaring her as her guilty nightmare almost forced her to confront Solas about her misstep.
She let herself fall backwards, plopping back down on her pillow with a heavy sigh, and stared up at the canopy. One thing was clear: it was time for her to step up and be an adult.
A/N2: I wasn't sure how to deal with the Elvish in this story. I stole the chapter titles from In Uthenara, the Elven eulogy, so I thought I would go ahead and provide the translations here. Next up: Chapter 2 of 2: Vir lath sa'vunin, where Del will confront her missteps, um, quite directly. ;)
(Ma) vhenan – My heart
Vir dirthera – We tell the tale [[a line from the Elven eulogy; see wiki/Codex_entry:_In_Uthenera]]
Vir lath sa'vunin – We love another day [[a line from the Elven eulogy, see wiki/Codex_entry:_In_Uthenera]]
Thanks so much for reading!