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Slow Burning Dreamer	By : Breathing2nd Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3692 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
            She wasn’t sure how long she had laid in a heap on her floor. She knew that first light had yet to break out over the horizon. That torches were still lit to chase back the waning darkness. The last small hours were still upon them, but the Inquisitor knew she couldn’t go back to sleep. She wasn’t certain she wanted to. It seemed she was finding it increasingly difficult to discern when she was dreaming or in the waking world, and that was a frightening thought.

            Isala cloaked her slender body in a robe made of samite. Vivienne had given her a thirty minute dissertation about how dales loden wool would be a much warmer fabric and more beautifully embroidered. She had no doubts that Madame de Fer would bring back a new wardrobe with her on her next visit to Val Royeaux. She seemed to think that the Inquisitor should dress the part and was determined to clothe the Dalish elf in the sophistication of the Imperial Court, if it was the last thing she did.

            Isala liked the samite robe just the same. The dusty blue complemented the fairness of her hair and brought out the color in her eyes. The speckling of dots embroidered faintly into the fabric was just enough to break up the monotony of a solid hue. It was elegant but simple. Just the way she liked it.

            The white of her sleeping gown peeked out from beneath the robe as she walked briskly through the Great Hall. The long, wide sleeves swished against the skirts as she crossed the vast room and toward the rotunda. She stilled as she approached a sleeping Varric, curled onto the couch just before the door. The fire was still faintly alive in front of him and she could see that he’d been up late writing letters. The ink was still evident on the dwarf’s fingertips.

            Isala crept quietly to the wooden door that led into the rotunda. She closed her eyes as she opened the entry, praying silently that it didn’t squeak. She felt almost silly, sneaking about, but she didn’t particularly want to wake anyone.

            When she was certain the door had closed completely behind her she took another step, only to pause inside the threshold. The rotunda was where Solas spent most of his time. She was actually relatively certain it was where he slept as well and she had reason to believe he was most likely still asleep. Then again, considering she was wide awake now, there was a good chance the elven sage might be as well.

            Isala sighed. She had started walking this direction with a singular purpose. Cullen. She needed to shake the dream from her mind. Needed to look into the Commander’s eyes and feel the earth move a little beneath her. She needed the reminder that she was awake and alive.

            She’d decided to follow The Iron Bull’s suggestion. To storm the castle, as it were. To simply barge into his office and see if he wanted the same things she did. It was the reason she’d barely dressed. The reason her hair still fell around her shoulders in pale waves, like seafoam. The reason she’d hardly thought it all through. The reason she was standing, panic stricken, in the entry to what might as well have been Solas’ room.

            Isala leaned her head back against the wall closest to her. The stones were cool against her skin and gave her pause to think. What if Solas was in there? What if he was awake? What would she say to him? Would he say anything to her? He rarely did when she passed though the rotunda. Often times, she felt as if she were the only one initiating conversation. Otherwise, they were little more than two ships passing in the night.

            “Coward.” She breathed, hissing to herself. She clutched her fists at her side and stood straight, marching forward suddenly with renewed intent. If Solas wanted to speak to her about the dream, then all the better.

            She passed out of the short hallway and into the rotunda. The scaffolding Solas had been using to paint was still there. The desk at its center was littered with papers and one of the strange shards they had found while in the Hinterlands. The sconces on the walls flickered with warm candlelight and cast long shadows across the room. A room that was otherwise empty. Solas wasn’t there.

            Isala let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding onto and quickly crossed the room. She opened the door that led outside and was instantly hit with the crisp mountain air. It whipped into the room, lifting the edges of some of the pages scattered across the desk, before the Inquisitor managed to close it.

            Outside, the air seemed restless. It tugged at the folds of her dress and whipped the loose strands of her hair as she made her way across the stone pathway and toward her Commander’s office. Isala could see the candlelight flickering from his open window and she gripped hold of her skirts to make it easier to walk at a brisker pace. With each step, her resolve grew more solid. She could already imagine him, sitting at his desk, his armor discarded, finally. He’d be wearing only his undershirt and trousers. His feet would be bare, his hair mussed from sleeping, the stubble just starting to color his jawline.

            Isala’s footsteps sped as she reached his door. She had to stop herself from kicking it down. She didn’t knock, however. Didn’t announce herself. Simply threw the door open wide and thrust herself inside.

            She opened her mouth, ready to tell him she’d missed him, to rush to his desk and crawl into his lap, to—

            “Inquisitor?” Cullen’s warm voice cut off her air supply as she barged into the office. He was indeed seated at his desk, but as was his usual manner, he was fully clothed. It wasn’t the sight of him that killed the words in her throat, however.

            “Ah, so this is the infamous Harold of Andraste?” A voice almost purring with an Orlesian lilt, said. A man, flamboyantly dressed and yet, still holding on to a military air, stood just in front, and to the side of, Cullen’s desk. He wore a half mask, as most all Orlesian nobility did. Only his bottom lip and chin peeked out from beneath the intricate accessory.

            Cullen stood and cleared his throat suddenly. “Y-yes, Inquisitor, this is…”

            The Orlesian moved toward her, his hand extended as he gave a low, graceful bow. “Your humblest of servants.” Isala stared at the human’s outstretched hand and tried not to cringe. Josephine would have been beside herself and undoubtedly, the Inquisitor would never hear the end of it from her Antivan Ambassador.

            The Dalish took his outstretched hand and did her best curtsy.

            “I must say, I almost didn’t recognize you outside of your armor. You simply must wear skirts more often. It becomes you.” The Orlesian sneered behind his mask. Isala pulled her hand back and straightened. “We have only just arrived for the festivities. I understand a very enthusiastic Happy Birthday is in order?”

            Her birthday? Creators, she’d almost forgotten. The ball. The guests. Isla inwardly cringed. “Thank you.” She glanced to Cullen, who seemed as stunned as she was, and cleared her throat. “Well, I was just out for an early morning stroll.” She lied. “I saw the light on in the window. I am sorry to have disturbed you.” She gathered her skirts and moved past the visiting noble and toward the door to the right.

            “Inquisitor.” She heard Cullen call after her, but she didn’t stop. The door slammed behind her, she hadn’t meant for it to, but she kept walking even after the sound rang out. The air was like a slap to her skin as she crossed the battlements and away from Cullen’s office.

            What had she been thinking? She was just going to barge into Cullen’s office and what? Ravage him? In what universe was he not busy? In what universe was she? When was there ever going to be a time when he was not her commander and she not the Inquisitor?

            Isala tilted her head back to the sky and closed her eyes as she stood in the middle of the stone rampart. The wind whipped her hair around her long ears and slender face. Her robe and nightgown rippled and waved in its wake. She breathed deeply of the cold, mountain air and tried to clear her thoughts. She needed to get a grip on herself. To ground herself from her dreams and desires both.

            She heard a door close nearby and the swift breeze almost swallowed up the voice that followed after. She thought she heard someone calling for the Inquisitor, but she didn’t move or open her eyes just yet. She just needed a few more moments to calm herself. She just needed another second to be alone. To be Isala, instead of the strong, smiling face of the Inquisition.

            “Isala?”

            She turned to face him. He was already almost within reach.

            “Cullen, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just barged in like that. Certainly not at such an early hour and you had company and I’m—”

His arms were around her and he’d pulled her body against his so suddenly that the words rushed out of her mouth in a gasp.

“You’re back.” He murmured into her hair. She felt herself relaxing. Felt her body melting into that warm, familiar embrace. There was such relief in his voice.

“Yes, we rode well after sundown. Everyone was already asleep so,” She was speaking into his shoulder. Into the spicy scent of his clothes.

“Your last report said you we to arrive days ago. When you didn’t show…” His arms tightened ever-so-slightly and Isala let her own slide around the human holding her close.

“We ran into a few skirmishes along the road. It delayed us. I should have sent word, but we were already so close, I didn’t think it that serious.” Her voice was quiet as she spoke against his body. She felt the wind pick up around them, but it was as if its chill could no longer touch her so long as Cullen held her.

They stood there in the quiet of the early morning air. Neither spoke for several heartbeats. Neither moved, but the Inquisitor didn’t mind. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to feel the touch of another being. The real, solid connection of another body, reminding her that she was still a part of this place. Still tethered to the earth. To reality.

“I should let you get back to your guest.” She said at last. Though, she didn’t want to let him go.

“Guest? Oh, you mean the Chevalier?” Cullen chuckled. “I told him we would talk another time. I’m sure I’ll be reprimanded by Josephine in due course.”

Isala drew back enough to stare up into the Commander’s face. The first beams of sunlight were breaking over the horizon and they cast warm, golden light across the human’s face. It turned his eyes molten brown and set his hair aflame. The elf smiled wide as she stared up at him.

“What?” He asked softly as she studied him. Isala shook her head, letting the smile be answer enough. He really was quite handsome, for a human.

He kissed her then, and she hadn’t expected it. It was like all the other kisses before. Crushing and passionate. Like it was the first time and the last time. Like he was trying to tell her everything he couldn’t seem to form the words to. That kiss went straight to her center and clenched every buried muscle in her body. The little hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end and her toes curled a little against the cold stone floor.

When he began to pull away Isala leaned into him to steal another kiss. It was softer, gentler, and accompanied by a hushed whisper on her lips.

“I missed you too.” She cooed, wanting nothing more in that moment than to rush him back to his room and find out exactly what was waiting beneath all that armor. He smiled against her lips and gazed down at her through hooded lids. The Inquisitor looked back at him and for the first time noticed just how tired he looked. The dark circles beginning to beneath his eyes. The hollowness of his cheeks. The paleness of his complexion. Had he slept at all? Was he ill? Had something happened while she was away?

“Are you well?” She prompted gingerly. “You look tired.”

She watched as the ex-templar’s face fell a moment before he covered it with another soft smile. “Better now.” His hand rose to trace the edge of her cheek. She realized that his hands were bare, for once, and she relished in the feel of that little bit of bare skin. He curled his fingers into her hair as if letting water pass through them. “I like you hair this way.” He said it almost absently.

“Then I shall have to wear it like this more often.” Isala offered playfully.

“Perhaps at the ball tonight?”

The Inquisitor stiffened. The ball! That was right. It was going to be tonight. She’d almost forgotten again. She’d wanted to forget, but it didn’t seem like it was going to go away. Even if she wanted it to.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your own birthday.” Cullen teased, but then his face sobered as he took note of the expression the elven Inquisitor wore.

“Is it terrible of me to have hoped I’d missed it?” She asked. Isala leaned her forehead against the human holding her and Cullen rested his chin atop her pale hair.

“Not at all.” She could feel his hands beginning to trace small circles along her back. “I’ll go if you will.” He offered and she smiled, even though he couldn’t see it.

“I’m not sure that I have a choice.” She groaned, but then added. “I’m glad that you’ll be there.” She felt Cullen’s hand slip beneath her chin, lifting her gaze back to him. His eyes were sharp and held such intent when he looked at her then. She couldn’t look away, and didn’t want to, but almost felt the need to squirm beneath the weight of them.

“For you…always.”
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Slow Burning Dreamer