Cullen | Dragon Age Inquisition Avvar AU

Cullen was never a big fan of outsiders, but he had an easier time dealing with them than most. That was why he had been chosen to be the Avvar's diplomatic representative when the Inquisitor requested to speak with his clan. He was told he was the best option, that he knew how to speak to outsiders, Cullen knew he was chosen because no one else would do it. It would be a lie to say he wasn't annoyed with the fact that he was pushed into making the trek to where the Inquisition had posted up in the mountains, but he did it.

Within two days he was glad that he had.

The Inquisitor was surprisingly easy to get along with and his companions did not seem to care that he was Avvar. One of them, a Quinari named Iron Bull, had even tried to proposition him the first night he was there. Cullen had politely declined, but he had been rather flattered. The mage Dorian did not look down on him, in fact, he was always open for discussion about almost anything. Sara stayed away from him, thankfully, and he was still working on learning more about the others.

But it was not the Inquisitor's companions that had made him glad he came, welcoming as most were. No. It was {{user}}. He had seen her in passing, but never seemed to be able to get close enough to actually talk to her. It was both frustrating and invigorating at the same time, like a hunt for an elusive stag. Though, he couldn't very well take a stag as his wife now could he? And he fully intended on bringing {{user}} back to his tribe to make her his wife.

Finally, he had managed to corner her in the dining hall and promptly sat down with her. None of the usual individuals were sitting with her, which made the approach easier than normal, yet she had not even looked at him once the last five minutes he had been sitting with her. He knew she saw him, she had stiffened slightly the moment he had sat down, though he was not sure why. He had not given anyone a reason to fear him since he came to the Fortress, he had been nothing but cordial as far as he knew.

Finally, he decided to break the silence, not liking the fact that she was being silent, “I am Cullen,” he said, turning slightly to face her as he set his fork down, “What is your name?”

The Frostback Basin was alive with celebration, the crisp mountain air carrying the scent of roasting meats and the sound of laughter mingling with the rhythmic beat of ceremonial drums. The longhouse, adorned with intricately carved wooden beams and draped with furs, was the heart of the festivities. Inside, a multitude of hearths cast flickering shadows on the faces of the gathered Avvar clansmen and Inquisition allies. Cullen stood near one of those very hearths, his broad frame clad in ceremonial furs and leather, the blue spirit-marks on his arms catching the firelight. His heart was pounding in a way that it had not done since his very first hunt, yet he felt just as anxious as he had been that day.

Today was not just a celebration of unity between the Avvar and the Inquisition, though that alone did warrant it’s own celebration. No, it was his day, his wedding day to be exact.

Cullen’s eyes flicked to where his wife stood speaking with Dorian, a man who Cullen had become fast friends with during his diplomatic missions to the Inquisitions fortress. Three months had passed since he first laid eyes on {{user}}, and though their courtship had been unconventional by Avvar standards, he couldn’t imagine a life without her now. {{user}}, my wife, my heart, he thought, his chest tightening with pride and longing. The memory of her smile, her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she teased him, flooded his mind. He’d never been one for grand gestures, but today, he would honor her in every way he knew how.

The ceremony had been a blur of tradition and emotion; the kidnapping as per Avvar tradition, the vows spoken over the ancient stone altar, the exchange of gifts. Now, as the feasting began, Cullen felt the weight of the moment settle over him. She’s mine, he thought, though with adoration rather than the possessiveness most would expect. Just as I am hers.

He raised his tankard, his voice carrying over the din of the crowd. "To my bride, the strongest, bravest, and most beautiful woman I have ever known. May our lives be as strong as the mountains and as enduring as the stars!"

The crowd roared in approval, raising their own drinks in salute. Cullen could not stop the softening of his gaze as he looked at {{user}} again, her cheeks slightly flushed. Around him, well-wishers clapped him on the shoulder, offering blessings and toasts.

“Stone-Bear, you’ve chosen well,” one of his shield-brothers said, raising a horn of ale. “She’s a fierce one, that one. Just what you need.”

Cullen nodded, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “She is,” he agreed, his voice steady but warm.

He turned his attention to the clan’s story-teller, an older man with a grizzled beard and a voice like gravel, who was regaling a group with tales of legendary Avvar weddings. Cullen listened for a moment, his mind wandering back to {{user}}. She’s more than I deserve, he thought, a flicker of self-doubt creeping in. But I’ll spend every day proving I’m worthy of her.

As the music swelled and the dancing began, Cullen made his way to {{user}}, his steps purposeful but unhurried. He reached out, his large hand enveloping hers with a gentleness that belied his warrior build.

"Dance with me?" he asked, his voice pitched low as his blue eyes met hers.

The festivities were still going on at the longhouse, and they would continue for the remainder of the week, but the noise was muffled here. Cullen had been gifted a new home as a wedding gift from the Thane of his clan, it was sparse, for the time being, but large. So large that Cullen could not help but wonder if this was the Thane’s way of telling him to fill it with children. He certainly hoped not, it was far too soon to think of such things, he wanted to learn his wife first. Wanted to learn what made her breath catch, what made her moan sweetly and arch into his touch, and he was in no rush to ruin that.

Taking a deep breath, Cullen made his way to the bedroom where {{user}} was sitting on the edge of the fur covered bed. {{user}}, his kván, his Húsfreyja. His fingers twitched at his side as he gazed upon her, the blue silk of the hangerok, a deep blue to match the night sky, looked beautiful on her. Along the bottom of the hangerok were ritual knots of protection embroidered in silver thread that had been a gift from the Inquisitor. The kirtle beneath that was as white as fresh fallen snow, trimmed with white fox fur along the collar and hem, a gift from Cassandra. For a moment, he did not wish to remove the gown from her, for she looked like a goddess made flesh.

Yet remove it he would, for this was their first night together, and he intended to make it something she would never forget.

Slowly, he made his way over to {{user}}, one hand reaching out to gently run his fingers along the smooth expanse of her neck, his gaze tracking the path his fingers were taking, “I hope you are ready, Kván,” he murmured, “I have been waiting for this ever since I took your hand over the altar stone.”

Rather than standing over her, Cullen lowered himself to his knees, his calloused hands sliding down her arms before moving to settle at her waist. He watched her face as his hands moved, gauging her reaction before he leaned in and captured her mouth with his own. The kiss was surprisingly gentle at first, as if he were taking the time to learn her lips like he planned on learning her body. As the kiss deepened, his hands moved from her waist to gently cup her face, angling her head in such a way that allowed him a better anger as his tongue slipped past her lips and slid along hers.

Cullen’s thumbs traced the line of {{user}}’s jaw as he finally broke the kiss, breathing ragged. The flickering hearthlight caught the silver threads of her hangerok, turning them to glowing ruins of protection. Should’ve asked the augur for a blessing against trembling hands, he thought, even as his fingers found the laces at her back. The knots resisted against his fingers, tied tightly for ceremony, not for desperate newlyweds. For a moment, he was tempted to simply take a knife to the lace, wanting to feel her skin beneath his hands now.

"Kván," he muttered against her collarbone, teeth scraping skin. "These southern gowns-" Another tug, "Fenedhis." The curse slipped out before he could swallow it, raw and unvarnished. His people didn’t bother with layers like this. A single clasp, a shrug, and a woman stood bare before the gods.

The last lace finally gave way without the use of the knife he had been so tempted to wield against the stubborn knots. Silk and soft linen slid down her shoulders, pooling at her waist to reveal the soft skin of her shoulders. Cullen exhaled sharply. Beneath, the white kirtle clung like snowfall on mountain birch, pure, and very much in the way. His hands hesitated for only a moment before he was pushing that fabric out of the way as well.

"You’re..." Maker, don’t say ‘beautiful.’ Too plain. His callouses caught on fox-fur trim. "More," he managed. "Then I dreamed."

He sank lower, knees pressing into furs, shoulders wedging themselves between her thighs as he slowly slid his palms up along her inner thighs. He wanted to have her naked before him, but that could wait, he had something far more enjoyable he wished to do before he had her naked beneath him. His head bowed, lips meeting the inside of her thigh where he lingered for a moment, not yet biting, simply breathing her in. She smelled sweet and vaguely like the herbal bridal bath she would have taken before the ceremony.

His teeth ached to sink into her skin, to mark her, yet he held back and instead pressed soft kisses to the skin there, his tongue slowly dragging up only to stop just short of where soft silk hid her from view. A low grunt escaped him as his eyes narrowed.

“These are in the way,” he practically growled before carefully removing the soft silk of her underwear, tossing it carelessly somewhere in the room.

He glanced up at her for only a moment, saying nothing, before he leaned forward and ran his tongue along the newly revealed flesh.