Chapter Text
Cullen didn't even hear Medea come in until he heard the clamor of metal on wood. He snapped his head back to see her stand there cross-armed, ears twitching in amusement. Only the sound of the crackling hearth filled the dead silence as he stared confusingly at her. His eyes traveled down to see the large metal tray of food- a plate filled with roasted chicken and potatoes, a large bowl of porridge, and a tea pot.
Cullen sniffed to find a sharp herbal scent tickle his nostrils. He scrunched his nose.
"Mint? Really?" Medea raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, you think you have the right to complain, Cullen?" Medea questioned in a mocking tone. Cullen's heart skipped a beat, still not used to his first name rolling from her lips.
She pulled a chair and plopped herself on it, not caring for decorum. Medea knew how to make herself at home in his office now that she visited him whenever he missed meal times. At first, Cullen insisted that she let him be, that he was fine with what little he ate as he worked endlessly. But this was Medea, so she took his words and toss them over her shoulder. After a few more visits, he had to contend to the fact that Medea was a woman of her words, a trait Cullen could not help but commend.
Medea went ahead and poured him tea before piling chicken high on her plate. Cullen pulled out his own chair to sit across from her, taking a sip of the tea and wincing at the bitterness. Medea noticed his reaction and rolled her eyes.
"You Fereldans have no taste buds yet a bit of mint and you get all cranky, I swear," she sighed, taking a sip of her own drink and hummed pleasantly. Cullen stretched his lips thin but remained silent as he served himself some porridge.
Medea took a deep breath of content but stopped. She looked around curiously, sniffing the air for something before she tilted her body to the side to scan behind Cullen, noticing the multitude of documents in flames.
"So, do I dare ask why you are burning paperwork? Kind of a waste of paper," Medea remarked. Cullen took a quick sip of porridge before speaking.
"Too many nobles complaining about the how we are distributing aid to the refugees, letting them 'occupy' their precious lands," Cullen scoffed bitterly while rapping the wooden table with an irate finger. Medea snorted, making him quirk his lip.
"You know what, you should do it more often. I think I can get used to the smell of burning Orlesian paperwork," she chuckled as she raised her tea cup to him. Cullen shook his head softly before meeting his own to hers, the clink of porcelain pleasant to his ears.
"I'll keep that in mind the next time you visit." Medea smiled at him, her cheeks dusted a soft pink that make her vallaslin melt into her skin. He brought his cup to his lips with a smile of his own before wincing again as the taste of mint met his tongue.