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Slow Burning Dreamer	By : Breathing2nd Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3733 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-1
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-Nine
- 10-Ten
- 11-Eleven
- 12-Twelve
- 13-Thirteen
- 14-Fourteen
- 15-Fifteen
- 16-Sixteen
- 17-Seventeen
- 14
- 15
- 16
“Maker’s breath!” Cullen swore from across the vast space. He’d rushed out of the war room in search for something, anything, that might clean the mess they’d made. The Inquisitor, on the other hand, had debated the effects of fire on the rapidly staining ink. She knew there were cleaning agents in the kitchens, but without asking someone, Isala had no idea exactly what to use.
Through some miracle, they’d managed to avoid getting the ink on any of the maps or parchments scattered across the massive war table. Cullen had taken much of the black stain across his hand and the remainder lay in a small, shallow pool on the stone floor below.
“Where is everyone? That hall was buzzing when I came through earlier.” Cullen growled from the double doors. He crossed back to the table where Isala was crouched, plucking tiny shards of glass from the mess. The ink was creeping onto her fingertips and beneath her nails and she’d already scraped the edge of her gown in it.
“I sent them to bed. It is rather late, Cullen.” Isala stated evenly. Now that the glass was in her palm, she wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“Yes, of course.” He huffed coming to kneel nearby. “I’d hoped to borrow a cloth from one of the servants I saw cleaning earlier. There isn’t anything useful in Josephine’s office.” He sighed. “Here, let me take that.” He gestured with a nod at the handful of glass.
Isala glanced down at the ink splattered shards in her small hand. “Tear a bit of my dress. I don’t want you to cut your hand.”
If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn the Commander scoffed then. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
The elf’s eyes were stern when she met the human’s. “Cullen, please. Just tear a bit off the bottom. It’s already ruined anyway.”
He hesitated, but her eyes remained firm. Cullen took the delicate fabric of her dress between his hands, the ink-stained one instantly creating prints. She watched him take a breath and then heard the choked cry of fabric straining and tearing. Whether it was from his strength or the delicacy of the skirts, the material shredded in a waist high split that left her slender legs suddenly exposed.
“Maker!” Cullen swore, dropping the remnants of the dress he held. His eyes immediately falling to the floor. “Forgive me! I…I—”
“No, this is good.” Isala assured him. “We can use this.” She took up one side of the dress in her free hand and thrust it toward the human. “Here, take this and tear it into another strip.”
“Inquisitor, I—”
“It’s alright, Cullen.”
The Commander didn’t question her again. His large hands made quick work of ripping through the fabric once more and Isala pulled the last of the threads free with her own hand. With the first strip dislodged from the bodice she was able to discard the bits of glass into it, creating something like a little pouch that she tied off and settled onto the floor. With both hands free, she continued what Cullen had started, ripping larger strips from the chemise to use as rags.
She handed one to Cullen. “See what you can get wiped clean from the table. I’ll work on the floor here.”
The human stared at the cloth in his hand with a kind of regret in his warm brown eyes but did as she asked, rising to wipe the table clean.
The ink absorbed into the delicate fabric quickly and it took several strips of cloth to make any progress on the mess. When all that remained was a dark stain Isala gathered the blackened remnants of her skirts and padded into Josephine’s office, tossing them into the silent fireplace along with the little bag of glass.
With a little motion of her fingertips, the elven mage had drawn a glyph into the air and flames sprang up into the fireplace. She could almost feel Cullen tensing behind her and she was reminded of what the Commander had once been, and in many ways, still was.
A Templar.
“I’ll have someone come see about getting the stains out.” She murmured, eyes fixated on the flames as she spoke. She felt Cullen shift behind her and she bit her bottom lip. How different a position might she have been in at this very moment had that ink pot not been where it was? She sighed a long exhale at the thought.
“I am sorry.” Cullen began. “About your gown.”
Isala rolled her eyes, though he couldn’t see it. “Cullen…” she spun around to face him, the fire crackling behind her. “Don’t apologize. I asked you to do it, remember? I don’t mind the gown.” She shrugged, glancing down at the tattered ruins of her night dress. Though, now, it looked like a strange, mangled bodice at best. The skirts had been torn up to her waist and only a narrow train of fabric remained. Her toned thighs were exposed to view and even the intimate silk of her small clothes could be seen plainly.
Cullen looked around the room quickly and then fixed his gaze at the floor, a flush of crimson rushing up his neck and into his cheeks.
Isala smiled, wetting her lips. “You act as if you’ve never seen a woman without her skirts before, Commander.” She took a few calculated steps toward him, though he remained unmoved. His eyes never wandering.
“Oh I have…I mean…that is…” he sighed, forgetting his chivalry long enough to meet her gaze. She was within arm’s length now. He could have reached out and touched her. “You are the Inquisitor. You should not have to walk back to your quarters…” he struggled for the right word.
“Naked?” She offered, smiling. “Cullen, have your forgotten I’m Dalish? This is just a step down from normal.” She was grinning now.
The human didn’t seem as amused. Without another word he pulled the shirt over his head and held it out to her. Isala stared, dumbfounded for several heartbeats. He was…Creators he was carved from Ironbark. His chest, his abdomen, his shoulders, his arms. Every inch of bare flesh was hard and muscled and she felt her breath catch in her throat as her words died where they formed.
“Please, at least take this.” He held out the shirt he’d just been wearing. Isala found it difficult to argue and held her arms up in acceptance. Cullen helped her slip the warm garment over her head and arms and she was suddenly engulfed in soft linen. It hung well past her hips and over her thighs. It would have made an exceptional night shirt in truth and she had to resist the urge to bring the edge of the sleeves up to her nose to breathe in. Already she felt as if the Commander were holding her gingerly in his arms, a thought she could have slept all night to.
“Thank you.” She said at last.
Cullen smiled, seemingly pleased with her shrouded in his clothes. “You’re most welcome.”
“Escort me to my quarters?” Isala prompted, finding the willpower to turn her gaze away from the finely chiseled human before her.
“Uh, em, your quarters?” She could almost hear him swallow hard.
Isala smiled and glanced back over her shoulder. “Yes, so that I can give you your shirt back.” She made it sound as innocent and mundane as she could. “Unless you had intended to walk back to the barracks bare-chested?”
“Um, well, I, that is…” he was rubbing the back of his neck, like he always did when he was nervous or anxious. The tension across his chest and in his arms as he moved…Isala held her breath.
“C’mon, it’s not far.” She urged, forcing herself to look away and start for the door. In truth she could have just Fade stepped all the way to her room. She could have hidden herself in magic if she were that concerned for her modesty, but now that she had his shirt around her, she wasn’t in a rush to take it off.
“Alright.” He murmured, falling into stride beside her. Isala had to resist the urge to squeal to herself and bit down on her lip to keep from grinning like a fool. All the times she’d tried to lure him up to her room and all she had to do was take her clothes off. How utterly simplistic.
The elf couldn’t squash the chuckle in her throat and Cullen eyed her sideways.
“Something amusing?” He asked.
“Hm, oh no, nothing funny about any of this.” She teased and that earned her a sheepish grin from the Commander.
- 14
- 15
- 16
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Slow Burning Dreamer