a writing prompt: the kirkwall crew + purple mage hawke teasing cullen about being forced to work with hawke again during the inquisition. extra bonus if you could incorporate his infamous "mages are not people" line lol
What’s that, sweet anon? Did you say WRITING PROMPT WEDNESDAY???? (I am so excited you submitted this, here we go team)
Cullen has already issued so many orders across this makeshift plank of a desk in Skyhold’s courtyard that the inside of his head feels like a whirlwind of logistics. There hasn’t been much time to rest since their arrival at Skyhold. Guard rotations to establish, defenses to set up, injuries to tend to, beds for refugees – and now Varric is bringing some guest in to help with Corypheus before they’ve even managed to clear all the junk from the main hall…
Cullen takes a moment’s pause, shutting his eyes, attempting to rub the weariness from them. His head is pounding, as usual, but he tells himself to endure. They must be ready. Maker knows what else they might have to face here…
And then, just behind him, a woman clears her throat.
Cullen wills himself to weather this headache, then turns about. “Yes? Can I help–”
Piercing blue eyes, red streak lashing across her nose, and a shit-eating grin that strikes a familiar terror deep into Cullen’s heart.
“Hi there, Curly-Wurly,” says Marian Hawke. “My, what a fetching coat you’re wearing!”
In a flash it all comes back to him. All those years of trauma and disaster. Surronded by fire and blood magic. Hawke’s grinning face waltzing through a ceaseless storm of destruction…
“Ooh, it is rather lovely, isn’t it?” says a sweet little voice – Hawke’s Dalish friend, what was her name again? She is peeping out from behind Hawke, green eyes wide and shining. “Such a nice furry collar! Do you ever run about the battlements and pretend that you’re a griffon?”
“With a majestic coat like that?” comes another familiar voice. Cullen turns and realizes he’s surrounded by these horrible people: on his other side stands Isabela – now there’s a name he can’t forget. She’s leaning casually, hip cocked, one elbow propped on the shoulder of that stern elf with the white tattoos, as though he’s a useful piece of furniture. (The elf has his arms folded and doesn’t appear to be reacting to this. Perhaps he can’t feel it through his armour?)
Isabela winks at Cullen, then goes on: “A thing like that is fit for no less than a Speed Griffon.”
“There is no such thing as a Speed Griffon,” says the stern elf.
“Now, Fenris, you don’t know that,” Hawke says. “What if the term just refers to a very fast griffon?”
Fenris appears to be unimpressed. “Would that then make me a ‘speed elf’?”
“Yes, but only when you’re running, I think,” the little Dalish one says seriously. Then she looks at Cullen again. “Do you ever run very fast when you’re wearing that lovely coat?”
Cullen says the first word he has managed to say to this group, which is, brilliantly, “Um.”