Birthday Month Fic - #4
Aug. 5th, 2020 12:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
galadriel1010Prompt: Attempt At Humour
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: f!Inquisitor/Cullen
The Inquisitor thinks she's funnier than she is. But that's alright, because so does Cullen.
“From there we can push on up to Sahrnia,” Leliana was saying. “We may not need the Inquisitor at all. There have been few reports for Rifts from the area, mostly Red Lyrium. It would be wise for you to keep away from the area, if possible,” she added.
The Inquisitor hummed thoughtfully, and she played with the marker in her hand that she so desperately wanted to place on the map over the keep in the area. Her eyes narrowed, but still she held back. “Refugees?”
“No one has got out for weeks. If our scouts can get through, they will be the first outsiders that we know of since Kingsway. If we are lucky…”
She rolled her eyes. “We’re never that lucky, Josie.” She set the counter down at the edge of the table and leaned forwards. “In fact, whenever you start a sentence with ‘If we’re lucky’, I know exactly what’s going to happen.” The joke fell like the lid of a coffin on an already difficult meeting and she straightened up with a sigh. “Sorry. Let’s pray for another miracle, and then produce one ourselves. It’s what we do.”
Josephine managed a weak smile. “Indeed, Inquisitor. I will write to Baron Desjardins immediately and ask him to prepare support for the inevitable refugees.”
“And I will send scouts into the surrounding area,” Leliana offered. “There may be others who got our or who have been able to visit.”
“I’ll make preparations to move our forces into the area. If we are to hold it, we will need numbers, sappers, engineers, supply chains…” Cullen trailed off under Lady Trevelyan’s smile. “I’ll… have the plans ready for you,” he stuttered out.
She rewarded him with another of her lop-sided smiles, the ones that told him she was trying not to laugh at him but failing, with her nose scrunched like a rabbit. It stopped him in his tracks like a shield wall. “I’ll come with you,” she offered, or ordered. He was never sure which. “I could do with the fresh air.”
They left Josie and Leliana in the Ambassador’s study, comparing notes over some noble or other, and strolled through the main hall. Lady Trevelyan called out greetings to those she knew as she passed, and Cullen was left trailing in her wake, as usual, and glad that she’d been raised in Ostwick instead of Kirkwall, as was also usual. The city would have been razed long before Anders reached the end of his patience if she’d had anything to do with it. She’d joked about that once, but it wasn’t funny if it was true. They passed through the rotunda, where she stopped to admire Solas’s work on the fresco, then left him in peace and emerged into the bright afternoon sunshine on the bridge across to his office. The light tangled in her dark curls like liquid gold, and he resisted the urge to follow it with his fingers. Resisting was easier when her eyes danced with mirth because she’d seen him and heard him thinking it.
“Is everything a joke to you?” he asked, both wearily and warily. “You never seem to lose your humour.”
“Not everything.” She glanced around, the first sign that she was aware of their exposed position, and stepped back towards him, out of sight of all but the guards on the outer walls. He forced himself to keep his eyes on her rather than look, as if he could have looked away from her. She was mischief, through and through, always just the right side of trouble. In another life, without the Rebellion and the Inquisition, he couldn’t help but imagine that she would have burned out, bright and hot and full of life. The Circle wasn’t a kind place to mages like her. But the world was already burning, and fire was her element.
She was toe to toe with him now, eyes fixed on his, and his breath caught in his throat. Then she snorted inelegantly and burst out laughing. When she looked back up, the crooked smile was back. “Never been able to do that,” she admitted. “Never won a staring competition.”
“I’m not surprised. Do you ever stop laughing long enough to start?”
“Sometimes. When I have something better to be doing.” Her eyes flickered down to his lips. “You know what I’m about to do, right?”
He swallowed hard. “I hope so.”
“Good.” And then her lips, still smiling, were pressed against his and his back was pressed against the door into the keep, and thank the Maker she wasn’t laughing at this.
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: f!Inquisitor/Cullen
The Inquisitor thinks she's funnier than she is. But that's alright, because so does Cullen.
The Inquisitor hummed thoughtfully, and she played with the marker in her hand that she so desperately wanted to place on the map over the keep in the area. Her eyes narrowed, but still she held back. “Refugees?”
“No one has got out for weeks. If our scouts can get through, they will be the first outsiders that we know of since Kingsway. If we are lucky…”
She rolled her eyes. “We’re never that lucky, Josie.” She set the counter down at the edge of the table and leaned forwards. “In fact, whenever you start a sentence with ‘If we’re lucky’, I know exactly what’s going to happen.” The joke fell like the lid of a coffin on an already difficult meeting and she straightened up with a sigh. “Sorry. Let’s pray for another miracle, and then produce one ourselves. It’s what we do.”
Josephine managed a weak smile. “Indeed, Inquisitor. I will write to Baron Desjardins immediately and ask him to prepare support for the inevitable refugees.”
“And I will send scouts into the surrounding area,” Leliana offered. “There may be others who got our or who have been able to visit.”
“I’ll make preparations to move our forces into the area. If we are to hold it, we will need numbers, sappers, engineers, supply chains…” Cullen trailed off under Lady Trevelyan’s smile. “I’ll… have the plans ready for you,” he stuttered out.
She rewarded him with another of her lop-sided smiles, the ones that told him she was trying not to laugh at him but failing, with her nose scrunched like a rabbit. It stopped him in his tracks like a shield wall. “I’ll come with you,” she offered, or ordered. He was never sure which. “I could do with the fresh air.”
They left Josie and Leliana in the Ambassador’s study, comparing notes over some noble or other, and strolled through the main hall. Lady Trevelyan called out greetings to those she knew as she passed, and Cullen was left trailing in her wake, as usual, and glad that she’d been raised in Ostwick instead of Kirkwall, as was also usual. The city would have been razed long before Anders reached the end of his patience if she’d had anything to do with it. She’d joked about that once, but it wasn’t funny if it was true. They passed through the rotunda, where she stopped to admire Solas’s work on the fresco, then left him in peace and emerged into the bright afternoon sunshine on the bridge across to his office. The light tangled in her dark curls like liquid gold, and he resisted the urge to follow it with his fingers. Resisting was easier when her eyes danced with mirth because she’d seen him and heard him thinking it.
“Is everything a joke to you?” he asked, both wearily and warily. “You never seem to lose your humour.”
“Not everything.” She glanced around, the first sign that she was aware of their exposed position, and stepped back towards him, out of sight of all but the guards on the outer walls. He forced himself to keep his eyes on her rather than look, as if he could have looked away from her. She was mischief, through and through, always just the right side of trouble. In another life, without the Rebellion and the Inquisition, he couldn’t help but imagine that she would have burned out, bright and hot and full of life. The Circle wasn’t a kind place to mages like her. But the world was already burning, and fire was her element.
She was toe to toe with him now, eyes fixed on his, and his breath caught in his throat. Then she snorted inelegantly and burst out laughing. When she looked back up, the crooked smile was back. “Never been able to do that,” she admitted. “Never won a staring competition.”
“I’m not surprised. Do you ever stop laughing long enough to start?”
“Sometimes. When I have something better to be doing.” Her eyes flickered down to his lips. “You know what I’m about to do, right?”
He swallowed hard. “I hope so.”
“Good.” And then her lips, still smiling, were pressed against his and his back was pressed against the door into the keep, and thank the Maker she wasn’t laughing at this.
