Dragon Age One Shots

Autumn in Dragon Age -- Cullen

"Hold still!"

I stood sentinel in the corner watching Cullen attempt to wrestle a giddy eight-year-old in place. While she'd usually give in after a show of cajoling from her father, the allure of a mountain of candy kept her twitching about like leaves in the wind.

"Mar, I swear to the Maker," he sighed as she slipped from his arms and dashed for the plate of cooling spaghetti on the table. Five orange noodles slithered into her puckered mouth, yellow and red stains slapping against both her cheeks and the grey fabric hanging too precariously off her shoulders.

Without a by-your-leave, Cullen locked his arm around his daughter's waist and hauled her into the air. Those same burning amber eyes tried to curse at her father for interrupting her dinner, but she had no recourse as he plopped her on top of the kitchen counter.

"Da-ad!" she groaned, her arms flopping to the sides in exaggerated annoyance.

"This is too long," Cullen yanked up the hem of the tunic/robe that without shoes on piled at her feet. "I need to pin it up." He blindly fished for the plastic bottle crammed full of the safety pins while having to keep both eyes on our daughter.

"It's fine," Marie rolled her eyes sky high, an adult sigh of exasperation escaping her lips.

"You'll trip and break your nose," he insisted, already bunching up the ends of her costume and pinning it in place.

"But I ha' to eat dinner!" she complained, wiggling at her knees despite being high off the floor. One glare at her father paused the jostling but she jabbed at her nearly congealed plate of pasta. Ever since it was fished steaming out of the pot, Marie would run into the kitchen, cram a handful into her mouth, then dash to her room to add another layer to her costume.

It was a surprise this year. One she cobbled together all by herself, if my paying for the various pieces at the store didn't count as helping. As Trick-Or-Treating grew closer, she'd try to make us guess, growing angry at how off the mark we were. All of Cullen's answers had been some form of a witch, which was usually when she'd stomp off to her room in a huff and start gluing rhinestones on.

The beleaguered father concerned about his daughter's nose turned to me for backup. Unfolding my arms, I stepped closer to the pair. "He's right." That was clearly the wrong answer as she blew her fallen hair up. "You don't want to break that pretty nose of yours."

"Maybe I do!" Marie insisted. "Get a kitty bandage on it, all the ice cream I can eat, and I can miss school."

"Ice cream...?" Cullen glanced to me and I shrugged. There'd been a rash of tonsillectomies in her class and all Marie got out of it was unlimited ice cream. "No, you don't want a broken nose. You're not getting a broken nose. Not on my watch."

Luckily, our daughter was blessed to know when she was beat. With a roll of her eyes, she pronounced, "Fine."

Without her interference, Cullen made quicker work bundling up the too long strip of fabric Marie industriously cut a hole into to shove her head through. It dangled above her ankles in an asymmetrical line, but as she was placed back onto the ground, Marie gave a twirl. The heavier safety pins helped increase the reach which she giggled at.

Secure in her not-breaking-her-nose costume, she dashed back to the cold spaghetti. After dumping another mass of parmesan onto the plate, Marie slurped down the rest of the dinner she had to finish before making her rounds.

Speaking of. I checked the clock on the microwave and groaned. Cullen caught the move, his hand wrapped around the small of my back as he leaned close. "I have to leave soon. Rounds starts in a half hour and with all the kids about to flood the street..." Rather than repeat my woes to the man who knew them as well as his own, I wrapped my arms around his chest.