I'mgonnadoitthen *^* I found you prompt, 1 or 36 for Doriael? :D
#36. Your eyes heavy, nightmares robbing you of sleep
Fael Lavellan belongs, of course, to the lovely @kurosmind <3 I hope this is okay! (Pavellan, approx 1800 words, most under the cut)
It was just like every other night. At least, every other
night of late.
Dorian breathed out softly, his shoulders slumping as he
noticed the empty space in the bed beside him. Again? Stifling a yawn, he pushed the covers off and swung his legs
over the side, too aware of the cold floorboards as they pressed against the
soles of his feet. The door to the balcony was ajar. Of course it was.
Quietly, Dorian crossed the room and rested his hand to the
frame. The door tried to sway with the gentle wind, but the heavy wood was too
much for the breeze to shift. Pushing it open, Dorian quickly found what he had
been looking for. Pale hair, rounded shoulders, a head hung low as if begging
the night itself for sleep.
“Amatus…” Dorian began softly. It pained him how it never
got any easier. How little he knew. How little he could truly help. What good
was he if he could not even bring comfort to the one man he…
“Go back to sleep, Dorian,” Fael said, his voice flat. Not
cold, not even angry. Just empty, like a hollowed out log, its insides long since
rotted away. “I’ll come back in soon. It’s all right.”
Hesitating, Dorian hated that he actually considered doing
as he asked, even if only for the span of a single heartbeat. It wasn’t that he
didn’t want to be there for Fael – quite the opposite, actually. It was just
that, no matter what he did, nothing seemed able to take away his pain for more
than a few breaths. Maybe even a single night, if he was lucky. It was a pain Fael
swallowed during the day, forcing it to the back corners of his mind. No amount
of holding, caressing, or talking could smooth edges that badly torn. Dorian
was no healer. For the first time in his life, he truly wished he was someone
else. Someone better equipped. Someone just a little less broken. Someone who
“Now now, you know I won’t be doing that,” he said, slipping
into his usual offhanded tone. Resorting to the known. The comfortable.
“Besides,” Dorian continued quickly, forcing the thought
form his mind, “it is far too cold in that bed without you beside me. You’ll
catch your death out here.”
Fael flinched, and Dorian hesitated, hand outstretched. He
had intended to place it on his amatus’ back, but changed his mind at the last
moment. Well, that was a poor choice of
words, Dorian thought bitterly, lowering his arm awkwardly. Sometimes he
wondered how he had survived the Imperium at all, given his propensity for jamming
his foot in his mouth. He could practically taste the floorboard dust.
Inspired by the hairstyle swapping post by the great @awaari, I wanted to try my hand on it with my inquisitor Gundri Adaar and Dorian. Well, having horns sucks when you cannot really see much of hair anyway I guess, but I believe Dorian looks cute with my inquisitor’s hairstyle.
No.58 “You smell like a wet dog.” - Cullen and who ever you want!
I knew what I had to do the second I saw this, and I am completely unashamed. For @dadrunkwriting!
Pairing: Halise Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford (plus a little Dorian, but not romantically)
Rain was a rare occurrence at Skyhold. It was so
high in the mountains that if there was any kind of precipitation, it came in the
form of snow. But Halise loved the rain—on the distinct condition that she had
a place to retreat from it. So when a nearly instant downpour surprised
everyone at Skyhold, all she could do was have a little laugh and head into the
main hall from the gardens.
Nearly everyone present at the fortress had
crowded into the room faster than she could shake the raindrops from her curly
mop of hair, some much wetter than others. She scanned the incoming crowd,
looking for her friends in the midst of the throng of nobility pouring into the
main doors. When she spied a very perturbed Dorian, she made her way over,
grinning at the mess the rain had made of his hair.
As if he read her mind, he held a finger out in
front of him, closing his eyes in a further display of his irritation. “Not a
word from you.”
Halise pressed her lips together, hiding the smile
creeping up her lips rather poorly. At that moment, a flash of red and silver
near the front door caught her eye. Cullen had just gotten in, presumably from
the training grounds where he’d been working with his recruits. His rapidly
curling hair and his lion’s mane coat were both soaked, water dripping
beautifully from his sculpted nose and chin onto the floor. When he saw Halise,
his firm expression shifted—softened.
He made his way to her through the pack of nobles
whining about how their silk clothing was “absolutely ruined” by a couple of
raindrops. They hadn’t experienced nearly as much of the downpour as Cullen so
obviously had. The second he reached Halise and Dorian, the mage clapped a hand
over his mouth and nose. Cullen and Halise both shot him a quizzical look,
comingling with just a bit of shock.
“Maferath’s balls, Cullen!” Dorian shouted, his
agitated voice muffled by his palm. “You smell like a wet dog!”
Halise and Cullen shared a look of amusement,
though his irritation still showed through the clench of his jaw. Without a
word of warning, he shook his head vigorously, sending copious amounts of water
flying from his golden curls in every direction and splattering all over Dorian’s
Dorian sputtered in his dismay. “Must you always be
so Ferelden, Commander?!” he
Cullen smirked, curling that damn attractive scar
of his. “As a matter of fact, Tevinter,
yes I must.”