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greypetrel · 1 year

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"Reading together" for cullen and aisling 💗

Hi Mo! <3

Hope you’re doing better and better every day, thank you for the ask! And for this prompt in particular, it allows me to play on something that danced in my mind for quite some time eheheheheh.

(Namely: the “Find all 50 copies of Hard in Hightown lost in Skyhold” mission. Which was so deliciously whimsical and absurd, why the Inquisitor should be the one doing it, can you imagine seeing the Inquisitor bringing ten copies of a notoriously smutty novel around the Keep? *Vivienne shudders*. And well, Cullen had one copy on his bedside table… 😉 )

Tis the prompt list.

All-Nighter.

reading together (one may be reading aloud while the other is cuddled up against them, their eyes closed as they listen)

It has been one of the weirdest days so far since Aisling set foot on that ship in Wycome. And this is saying something, since her whole experience included closing a hole in the sky, closing a lot of holes in the fabric of reality, speaking with a Magister born centuries and centuries ago, travel in time, being proposed by a Gran Duke in Halamshiral and had her tower bombarded with goats.

But today risks to surpass them all.

First, Leliana and Cullen fiercely debating over whether to help Meryden stop her rival and the rumours she is spreading around. Nothing unusual, months of works later having the two discussing very animatedly at each other was basically a given in any council and weird when it doesn’t happen. The topic, tho, is what makes it weird, and Cullen’s stubborn intention of not doing anything about it as a group, not in a sense of “I won’t participate in this mission, you settle it yourself”. No, he’s been openly against anyone doing something, with the pretext that they can’t lose time and resources to settle a feud between two minstrels. By the time Aisling walks out of the War Room, she is running a headache from trying to conciliate the two with Josephine, convince them that they two would have dealt with the matter, they needn’t worry about it. To no use.

After that, a lunch with a couple of Counts from the Free Marches to ensure some favourable commercial routes that needs some discussion and her physical presence, and she all but climbs up to the first story of the library, groaning to bid Solas hello and doing the same with Dorian, groaning more, in happiness, as she finally sits down on the armchair and can close her eyes for a nap.

Except, she couldn’t: she is reached by a librarian who insists that she should be the one to search for and bring back not one, not two but fourty-eight (48!) copies of Hard in Hightown that are currently missing from the bookshelves.

Why the library needs all those copies of Varric’s book is a question that jumps to her and Dorian’s mouth as soon as the quest is proposed.

No amount of scepticism or questions about why it has to be her, the Inquisitor, to retrieve all the lost copies, could save her from the task, anyway: Dorian offers to help and they separate, looking for loose copies in two, that are found in all kinds of places, from behind her throne (she has no idea how it got there), to a void corner behind the Herald’s Rest she fakes she doesn’t know is Cassandra’s favourite reading hideout (she smiles at the Seeker knowingly, when she passes, and giggles seeing how the woman pales and looks at the copy she holds in her arms with pure horror). There are two in the Chantry (she notes the spot as a good reading place, since she unwillingly set the trend to gift Andraste mint saplings and plants, the small chapel always smells the nicest), and four in one of the towers that still needs repairing. And, weirder still, when in two they couldn’t find all of them and decide to call it off for the day, retrieving the 36 they managed to find to the Librarian, Aisling finds 4 more.

3 are on the stairway to her quarters, scattered around, and another lays abandoned on the railing of one of the balconies in her room. She is very sure she hasn’t left it there: she likes reading but ever since she became Inquisitor, all she had time for were non-fiction and treatises about this or that topic she should know to better act the part, and had a very vague knowledge of because apparently she grew up in a very different world. She read the Tale of the Champion in Haven, but she had considerably more free time back then, but now? Nothing much, save for something in Orlesian Josie got her to practice the language. But it could have been considered study.

She considers stopping by to read the book, out of pure curiosity about the whole ordeal of the afternoon, and just to understand why they have so many copies and why everyone got one without returning it. But, she is waited for, and as curious as she is and eager to go back to read something just because, she isn’t taking time away from Cullen.

Oh no. They settled for dining together, this evening, struggled to find the time and free their schedules enough (convincing Cullen to take an evening off is a deed by itself), and she isn’t rescheduling this. Sorry, Varric. She ponders whether to bring a copy with her, to read together… But remembering how he reacted when she all but named the Tale of the Champion makes her leave the book where it is. She just quickly washes herself, changes to something prettier -not a dress or she won’t ever pass the Great Hall-, brushes her hair, grab an extra clean shirt in the chance she’ll oversleep the next morning, and she’s out of her room.

She calls for dinner in the Commander’s office on her way there, and Frida launches her a knowing look she doesn’t really like, but pretends to ignore and not to be embarrassed about. As she pretends to ignore the faint remark to be careful and mind some defenses that in writing would come between quotation marks and makes her flush and stumble on her feet. And when she makes her way past the bridge out of Solas’ rotunda and knocks on Cullen’s office, he’s still finishing one last report, begging her for just one minute with hair down his coif -she loves seeing them undone, but she also knows that it’s a symptom of the day being particularly haphazard and hectic, forcing him to rake his fingers too much through it.

“A penny for your thoughts?” She asks when he leaves his quill down, giggling, and is met with his eyes, snapping out of the parchment, and a low, dragged groan explicating everything without a word.

“I know, it’s been a really shitty day.”

“Yours too?”

“Oh, I got the weirdest task ever, you wouldn’t believe it. Can I move the papers? Or we can dine on the floor and improvise a picnic.”

“I’ll never quit if you don’t take the papers away. Please, take the papers away.” He chuckles, grateful.

They settle to work in a practiced order, one facing each side of the desk. Aisling knows, by now, the order he likes to pile reports and orders and schedules, and can divide what she finds in neat piles, closing books on her way and moving everything on the side.

“What weird task was it?” Cullen asks, as they are still tidying the desk.

“Returning all the copies of Hard in Hightown of the library, apparently no one did.”

“… Why should you do it?” He puzzles, in disbelief.

“I know!” She giggles, shrugging. “And do you know how many copies do we have?”

“I am now afraid to ask.”

“Fourty. Eight.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Good sir, I am not! Why do we have those many copies? Is the book that good? I know Varric’s good but… Fourty-eight? For a smutty novel? Who reads it who can’t wait for the others to finish?”

She’s so enthused in her speech that she doesn’t notice Cullen looking poignantly down on the desk, nor his cheeks gaining some colour. He just chuckles some more -it does sound more forced than before- and pats the last report pile together.

“I wouldn’t know…”

The topic gets abandoned as someone knocks on the door and, finally, their dinner gets in and placed on the now free(r) desk. Two plates each, plenty of bread, one dish full of tiny pastries, and since both prefer it and Dorian has put up a war to the wines served in the Keep, a jug full of beer. They eat, side by side on the same side of the desk, Aisling props her feet on Cullen’s seat, he slouches forward and spreads his legs, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee with none the wiser to keep them proper and poised as they eat and laugh together, winding down from the day and not in a real hurry to move, right now. Some casual touches are enough, getting progressively more, her knees bends on his thigh and his hand loosely on her calf, thumb caressing it mindlessly. Aisling lights the candles up when the sun sets, with a quick snap of her fingers so none of them has to raise from their sitting and they can keep on eating the pastries. A perfect, relaxing evening.

Except, nothing could really go fully well. None of them is really surprised when someone knocks on the door, a couple of hours after sunset, insistently. Cullen groans loudly, massaging his temples with bare fingers -they both got rid of gloves time ago- as the messenger outside apologizes and exclaims it is urgent.

“It’s always urgent, isn’t it…” He complains, softly.

“You love your work.” Aisling giggles, bending a little forward on his lap to press another peck on the corner of his mouth, for strength.

“No, I hate it.”

“My my, Commander, what would the Inquisitor say hearing you complain so?”

He opens one eye, looking at her with all mock reproach. She just smiles more, dipping in for another kiss. He answers to this, this time.

“Come on. I’ll wait for you up there.”

“It’s not really encouraging me to focus on work, you know…”

“No, I’m aiming at you dealing with whatever it is as quickly as you can, so I can steal you for some more time.”

“And your aim is unfortunately too good.”

They snort a laugh, together, and rise up from Cullen’s seat, separating their way. Aisling hops on the ladder as quickly as she can, sitting on the floor and looking up through the hole in the roof at the weather. She can see stars, so they won’t get rained on yet again -she stopped insisting on him to repair the damn thing at least a month ago. With another snap of fingers, she lights the candles around the bed, sitting down on the mattress and unwinding her leg wraps with a huff of delight, after the long day. From below there is discussing, and if she wanted, she could focus on the words. But her attention gets caught elsewhere, tuning down whatever urgent matter is coming from below. If Cullen isn’t barking and has not that tone of voice, it can’t have been that severe….

… So, she squints at a single volume on his bedside table (a barrell), looking newer than everything he got on the bookshelves below. She borrowed his books, she knows what he has, and this looks too recent an edition for his collection. She isn’t one to shuffle through other people’s things without a clear permission, and she wouldn’t dare to do so with him neither. But she is curious, and Cullen isn’t there to ask.

Her heart beats faster, as she gets rid of the leather and tosses it haphazardly on the side -forgetting that Cullen positively hates when she just scatters clothes or things around- and moves closer to the headboard. Just one look at the cover wouldn’t hurt, would it? He wouldn’t be offended if she just read the title…

---

Aisling hears Cullen stepping up the ladder before seeing him, when she’s in the middle of chapter 3. And indeed, she’s so into the reading that she doesn’t lower the book and just greets him with a “All done?” as she turns the page. She keeps on reading, waiting for an answer that never comes. After a minute, she lowers the book with a question in her eyes, and is met by Cullen staring at her with horror on his face, stuck there sitting on the ledge.

“What?” She asks. She took off her trousers and remained in her smalls and shirt, but he saw her with less clothes on.

“You found it.” He says, laconically.

“Wha- Oh, the book?” She asks, closing it on her index finger and sitting up straight on the bed, crossing her legs under her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried, but it was there and… Well, I’m sorry.”

She shrugs, easily enough apologizing for something she sees upset him. But, Cullen shakes his head, helping himself raising up with his hands and walking to the other side of the room, starting to unbuckle his armour.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do anything bad, you’re free to use my things.”

“But, you’re upset.”

“I’m not.”

“Sure, and I’m the Empress of Orlais.”

He turns to scowl at her at that, as the only reply. Aisling grins, smugly, letting him start again the conversation and just waiting there. It’s not so late, and she’s not really sleepy and has brought there, little by little, everything she needs to spend the night without showing that she didn’t get into his office for an early meeting for real. After that first time she had to sneak out, she left a brush and some spares for her morning routine around his loft, to gain a couple of hours more together. So, now, she waits patiently for him to discard his cape, first, pauldrons and vambraces then, cuirass last. Everything gets placed tidily and methodically over a mannequin, ready to be worn the next day. Her discarded pair of leg wraps and her trousers earn another scowl and a grunt, as he bends down and collect both without a word.

“Leave them, come on! I know where they are.”

“This time. Another, you won’t find them and I’ll laugh looking at you skimpering all the way to your room like you are now.”

He complains, in a well-reharsed ritual, neatly folding everything and placing her clothes on the back of the chair he sits onto to take his boots off.

“You wouldn’t mind the view.”

“I wouldn’t.” He admits, chuckling. “But we’ll have to count casualties between the scandalised nobles in the Great Hall, and I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of bureaucratic hell.”

She sits back, making space for him and outstretching her arms in a silent invitation for a hug, as soon as he raises up, barefoot and just in breeches and shirt. He flops down on her, sighing loudly in her shoulders and circling her bust with both arms, as she does the same with his shoulders -the cursed book still held in her right- and starts pressing kisses to the side of his head right away.

“Can you- the book?”

“What?”

“Put it away?”

“Can I finish the chapter? Donnen and Jevlan just entered the mansion under very mysterious circumstances…”

Cullen groans loudly.

“I can read it aloud! Or start from where you got if you just started it.”

“You really want to spend the evening reading Varric’s trashy novel?”

“It’s been ages since I last read something for fun… And the trashiness is what makes it fun.” She giggles, ruffling his hair. Just a little, just as a treat, treading her fingers between the curls and loosening them from the offending -to her- pomade. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that…”

“You do!” She chirps, delighted. “What’s the problem, then? We can read it together.”

“… Is it not a problem for you?”

“Why would it be, Venhan?”

“It’s trash. And clichèed. And I’m pretty sure it talks about one of the guards in Kirkwall.”

Aisling considers it, shifting a little to get comfier under his body. He’s warm and cozy, and she loves feeling his weight on her. But…

“Are you afraid I’ll judge you because you like smutty, trashy literature?” She asks, softening her voice.

Another groan, as the man clutches her more tightly. She huffs a little, giggling and doing pretty much the same.

“That’s all right. I’m sorry if I disclose it to you, but your strategy books are quite boring. Even more than Josie’s endless genealogies!”

“You’re just saying it to make me feel better.”

“I swear I am not! The last novel I read was something extremely cheesy that Cassandra lent me… We were in the Western Approach and I couldn’t sleep during the day.”

“And it worked?”

“Absolutely not, I read it all in one go and when I was done it was the sunset and we had to get back to work.” She giggles. “I don’t regret anything, tho, it was gloriously awful, the main dude was constantly glistening for some reason, and the lady found the lack of bathes and perpetual transpiration very sexy, somehow.”

“Should I try it?” He chuckles as well.

“Please, don’t.” The giggling turns into a full laughter that they both join in.

When it ends, Cullen sighs, loudly, turning his head and pressing a kiss on her neck, dragging it a little more than necessary. Not that she complains, particularly as the next thing for him is raising up on his elbows and searching for her lips for a better kiss, long and lazy.

“So.”

“So?”

“I reached chapter eight, but I don’t mind getting back with you.”

“Really?” She lights up in a smile, delighted.

“At one condition.” He nods, smiling back. “We-” He pecks her lips. “-Aren’t-” Another kiss on the left corner of her mouth. “-Reading-” Another one, on the right corner. “-everything-” One more kiss, on the tip of her nose. “-tonight.” He concludes with one last kiss, back on her lips, with some difficulty because she smiles into it.

“Aye aye, captain!” She agrees, kissing him back before shifting purposefully under him. “Turn back and bend your legs.”

They settle up, Aisling propping both pillows behind her back to prop herself straight against the headboard, legs and arms spread wide to accommodate Cullen, sitting with her back on her, more forward not to weight too much on her. He takes the book, minding to keep the page she had it opened to, and keeps it open on his chest, close enough that she can read it over his shoulder.

“Comfy?” He asks.

“Very much!” She replies, sneaking her hands under his armpits to hug him tight.

If Dorian’s definition of Aisling like an octopus had seemed exaggerated before, it certainly stopped being so since they got properly together and started spending the night in the same bed, as often as they could when Aisling was in Skyhold, and she got even more touchy than the usual. She started reading, putting real emphasis in the words and modulating her voice according to the tone of the tale, whispering when Donnen went undercover, making all the characters sound different and poking Cullen until he started to read Donnen’s lines himself.

It is trashy. And not as smutty as they both thought from the start. But Varric’s blatant lack of interest in boats and learning what the pointy ends are called is not enough to make the narration less captivating. They laugh and gasp, shifting position after a while, again and again, always keeping close to each other so they could read from the same page, limbs intertwined most often than not.

“ ‘The Sword of Hessarian,’ she breathed, almost a prayer.” Aisling breathes too, with comical pathos.

“ ‘You can get it to the Divine?’ Donnen asked.” Cullen reads, trying too to sound suffering and in pain. He has a laughter in his voice and is not a good actor, but he tries his best.

“She wiped at her eyes. ‘I'll take it to her myself. What do you want in return?’ “ Aisling asks, inkling her head towards Cullen and battling her eyelashes up and down very quickly, lips pursed slightly forward, suggestively.

“Donnen struggled- Maker, I can’t-” Cullen has to interrupt himself, to snort some laughter at Aisling. “-Donnen struggled to his feet. ‘Just put in a good word for me with the Maker, your ladyship. You never know when I might need it.’ And he walked away, leaving her standing in the firelight with history in her hands. The end.”

They both let down in some laugh, not caring if hours have passed, all candles flickered out and they are reading to some globes of light Aisling evoked effortlessly and are dancing loosely around them, as the sky pales out the hole in the roof.

“It was lovely, thank you.” Cullen says, sighing and leaning against her. They’re both on their bellies, side by side under the blankets.

“Mh. I didn’t like the ending, tho.” Aisling declares, with a pout as she closes the volume and shifts to place the book back on the side-barrel/table she found it in the first place.

“Why not?”

“Well, poor Donnen deserved some prize for his troubles, of course.” She declares, turning on her back and stretching, arching her back and her arms, like a cat.

“Oh? What kind of prize?” Cullen asks, placing a hand on her waist and dragging her closer.

“Well, maybe he would have liked a kiss from Lady Marielle. Like this…” She giggles, cupping his cheeks with both hands to drag him down for an illustrative kiss. “I was promised some smutty literature, and all I got was meaningful stares!” She pouted, eyes glinting in mirth nonetheless.

She doesn’t have a poker face, and Cullen loves it. All games are just so openly so. It’s impossibly late and they’ll both regret this in the morning and during the day. But they don’t have that much time together, and since they’re both there… Better yet adding the smutty part that the book lacked.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullavellan #cullen x lavellan #dragon age fic #da fic #dai #writing petrel #aisling lavellan #I wasn't planning on this to be so long but the saps started sapping and I was unable to stop them #hard in hightown

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