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Cullen’s initial impression of Lavellan was founded on complete uncertainty.
They were hardly an Inquisition yet, and no matter how he figured it, she didn’t really fit. She could close rifts, and so she had a place at Haven, but that seemed to be the extent of her usefulness. She was indeed a mage of incredible skill for one raised outside of a Circle, but that only served to make Cullen more wary of her. The former templar in him found it difficult to overlook such a slight.
She was considerably brave, that was for certain--to how far that courageousness extended he wasn’t sure. She was too childish, sometimes even ignorantly so. He had often watched as she would absently conjure snowflakes to swirl around her fingers, oblivious of the sprinkled onlookers eyeing her nervously, wary of untamed magic. She drank in the tavern at night far too often, would slur the words to human songs she didn’t even know as the bard played on. And he had woken up late at night too many times to the sounds of whooping and laughing, finding she and Sera skating haphazardly on the frozen lake. He would always ask politely if they could stop, and she would always laugh but concede for the night. And then she’d just come back to it after a week or two.
One night, when the withdrawal was running his breath ragged and his blood boiling, he couldn’t halt his anger. He huffed at the two skating elves, launching into a rant about responsibility as they stilled, teetering in only their shoes on the icy sheet beneath them. By the time he had calmed himself, Sera had already discreetly made her escape. The Herald, however, had remained.
“You don’t care for me much, do you Commander?” she had asked, quirking an eyebrow as he huffed there, sweat beads scaling down his forehead.
He stilled then, mulling the response on his tongue. His anger had subsided within his tirade, leaving him mostly just embarrassed. In truth, he didn’t know quite how to peg his feelings for her. She was young, and thrust into something she hadn’t asked for. But it was also true that in this time of the breach, everyone was, and they had given in to their responsibilities. But his eyes couldn’t stray too far from that green mark glowing dully in her palm, and he had to remind himself that no one had to give up as much as she had.
“No,” he responded flatly, and then again with more defeat. “No, I-I’m sorry, it’s not that.” He stabbed his hand through his disheveled hair, suddenly queasy as she watched him with that light gaze. “I am just...under much stress at the moment. I fear I’ve been taking it out on you.”
Something flashed in her eyes, briefly played on her face like crack in the ice. For a moment, it felt as if she were about to say something very profound, shed off that childish armor for just a moment to speak plainly. But then she laughed, head rolling and eyes crinkled and the moment passed.
“It’s because you don’t drink nearly as often as you should!” she gasped, clapping her hands together as she chortled. “You work too hard Cullen.”
“Commander,” he corrected, and even he didn’t know why.
“Of course,” she nodded, her voice mockingly regal as she curtsied, the smug smirk never leaving her lips. “Though my suggestion remains...”
He turned from her then, marching away from her teasing as she giggled in delight far behind him.
~~
Cullen realized he didn’t know just how brave Lavellan was, not really, not until Corypheus launched his attack on Haven.
“What about it Cullen, will it work?” she had asked, eyes devoid of any of that familiar spark as she consulted him for Roderick’s plan.
“Possibly. The path, if we are able to get to it should secure our survival as Haven falls.” He was uncertain, didn’t even know what he was saying as she watched him with a strange furrow of the brow. “But what of your escape?”
She met the question with silence, an uncharacteristic bolt of something on her features. He was sure it was just like the moment he thought he saw on the lake. For the first time, maybe she didn’t seem quite so young.
“Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way?” he assured, and even to him it sounded completely pathetic. She laughed then, a dry noise full of anything but humor. This time, she probably thought him more ignorant than she.
They seemed to be the small stillness in the blur of soldiers and scouts running past them, a strange rift in time. She lifted her hand, landing her fingers on the length of his forearm and smiled at him. A rippling, wintry smile that settled the fire in his veins. He swallowed a knot in his throat that he wasn’t aware had formed, placing his own hand atop of hers, and then her face fell and the moment broke.
“If we are to have a chance--if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you,” he commanded, their hands dropping back to the respective sides, and then she turned from him and was lost in the blur herself.
He knew she was going to die. She knew it too. He remembered the time she had stumbled into his tent, drunk, raving something about his unkempt, curly hair. He had politely, albeit in a rush of embarrassment, begged her to leave when she began reaching to card her fingers through the blonde mass. Cullen wondered if that was the same person he had just seen signing her death certificate. The thought of never seeing her drunken, lopsided grin again made his heart clench.
~~
“You’re about to relive those childhood defeats,” Lavellan declared, the right corner of her lips tugging upwards. “This game is mine.”
Cullen laughed, which was probably the first time she had ever truly made him laugh, and he didn’t fail to notice the way her eyes crinkled just the slightest bit in response.
He played their game of chess absently at first, focusing on telling her silly stories of his youth. He didn’t think he had ever seen her pay so much attention to a conversation before, certainly not in their war council meetings. Months ago that might have annoyed him, but now it just made his stomach dance.
“This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition,” he noted aloud, watching as she made her move. “To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.” It wasn’t something either of them expected to hear, but he meant it. He was a hardworking man, and if you wanted to hear Sera’s opinion for whatever reason, a bit of a “tightass”, but Maker preserve him he was still a person. Taking a moment rest, however brief, from constantly worrying about the Inquisition was vital to his health.
“We should spend more time together,” she grinned, thumb worrying at her bottom lip as she made her next move.
“I would...like that.” He could feel his blush dust it’s way across his cheeks, and if it weren’t for the way her face pinked in the same manner, he might’ve cursed himself in embarrassment.
“Me too.”
“You said that.”
They played the remainder of their game coyly, conversations playing around the situation. She attempted to distract him with grandiose tales of her adventures with her clan so that she could cheat, and Maker was she terrible at it. Every time she thought she had made a sly advance a wicked grin would light up her face, and he didn’t miss the little quirk in the corner of her mouth revealing that she actually had to restrain herself from strings of giggles threatening to burst. It struck him as so incredibly endearing that he almost wanted to let her win.
Almost.
“Well, I believe the game is mine,” Cullen smirked, moving his last chess piece to claim the board.
“Wait-what?” Lavellan squeaked, eyes running over the board as she calculated the past few moves in disbelief.
“Dorian cheats at this as well,” he grinned, arms crossing in smug victory.
She couldn’t even pretend to be disappointed. She only laughed, a sea of smiles traveling between them as she thanked him for the game, promising to get him next time.
He was happy to see her like this again. When he had found her practically frozen to death after Haven he was worried she would be lost to them--lost to him. At this point, he wasn’t sure if he could even endure the thought.
~~
The Inquisition advisors had tried every which way to change their Inquisitor’s mind. The Winter Ball was of grave importance to not only Orlais, but to the Inquisition’s reputation, and she actually elected to bring Sera, the Iron Bull, and Dorian. Her advisers had scoffed at first, brushing it off as one of her ridiculous jokes. It took very little time for them to realize that she was entirely serious.
“They’re my closest allies, I’ll feel more secure with them there,” she had argued, hands waving dismissively as she absently scanned over the war table.
“Yes, but Inquisitor,” Josephine tried reasoning, brows in a permanent furrow as the discussion continued on. “It’s just an unnecessarily bold choice. The Iron Bull for example, would be perceived as incredibly inappropriate to the court. Qunari are not exactly normalcy in the Game.”
“Bull is intimidating,” the elf argued back. “He’s a symbol of the Inquisition’s strength.”
“Then there is also Dorian. Bringing a Tevinter mage is scandalous at best, idiotic at worst-”
“Dorian is from a noble background, he’s well versed in the Game.”
“And Sera?” Cullen intercepted, failing to suppress his smirk. Lavellan was good at pulling excuses out of her ass, but there could not be a single thing in her arsenal to defend that choice.
She turned her gaze on him, lips matching his smirk and eyes sparkling in mischief.
“Well somebody has to lighten up the nobles at bit.”
“I’m certain you’ll already be taking care of that,” Josephine had huffed, shaking her head in defeat.
The Inquisitor just laughed.
And then here she was, as usual, having the last laugh. A Dalish apostate, standing in front of the entire court of Orlais, ousting the Grand Duchess. Varric couldn’t come up with a story even half as good.
“I cannot tell if she’s brilliant, or just lucky,” Leliana commented to Cullen, face settling blankly as they watched the scene from behind the balcony. “She’s played everyone. Even us.”
Cullen could only grin.
Lavellan looked up at him almost as if on cue, meeting his eyes. She smirked, and he could almost hear the resounding “I told you so”.
When he found her on the balcony later, he didn’t have to imagine it.
“Maybe my advisors will listen to me now,” she grinned, all teeth and ruddy cheeks.
He hummed back, settling his arms on the balcony rails, enjoying being so close to her.
“Doubtful.”
They laughed, before meeting eyes and taking in the silence. Of course it wouldn’t last long, Lavellan was never one for the quiet.
“I’m amazed you were able to slip away from your gaggle of lovers,” she quipped, fingertips worrying at the balcony railing.
“Please do not refer to those vultures as my lovers.”
“Oh Cullen do lower your voice, you’ll wound their pride,” Lavellan feigned shock as she halfheartedly placed her hand against her chest before ruining it with a giggle. “So many beautiful women practically clamoring for your attention, and you hardly paid them any mind.”
“Perhaps my attention was focused elsewhere,” he smirked, eyeing her face boldly.
“On what? The creampuffs? I have to admit, they caught my eye as well.” Maker, every time he thought he had her, she weaseled her way out of it. He was almost beginning to believe that blushing was some sort of social faux pas for the elven people.
“Yes, well,” he nodded, trying to ignore that smug look she got whenever she deflected his flirtations. “Look, I know it was foolish but I was worried for you tonight.”
Lavellan softened a bit, losing that smirk for his sake before gently placing her hand on his.
The music was slow and soft behind them, and the stars were sparkling so perfectly that Cullen couldn’t have been more convinced that the Maker was working on his side tonight. He stepped away from her gently, offering a smile to her confused face.
“I may never have this chance again, so,” he offered his hand to her, looking for any sign on her face that she was about to laugh at him. “May I have this dance, my lady.”
Before he could mentally kick himself for being entirely too formal, her small features had broken out into a smile and she was accepting his hand.
“Of course,” she nodded, eyes so soft and sweet as she met his. “I thought you didn’t dance?”
“For you, I’ll try.”
Her cheeks tinged pink, and Cullen silently offered his thanks to the Maker.
~~
Cullen couldn’t breathe. His lungs felt shredded apart, gurgling with relentless blood. The box on his desk taunted him, the little vial of bright blue lyrium singing it’s harsh insults as it always did. His thoughts were ragged, his teeth furiously clenched and he couldn’t handle it anymore. With an angry howl, he picked up the box, so frustratingly light despite the amount of burden he carried within it, and launched it haphazardly away from his sight.
The dense crack of the box and the shattering of glass should have satisfied him, but it was halted all too quickly when he saw the Inquisitor in the doorway, quickly moving her lithe figure away from the hurtling box. The sight had his heart practically give out.
“Maker’s breath!” he gasped, hands raising helplessly. “I didn’t hear you enter, I--”, he felt the cold knot in his throat as her eyes softened. He couldn’t bear such a sight. Shutting his eyes as if it could make that look on her face disappear, he spoke again with a lower, entirely defeated voice. “Forgive me.”
“Cullen,” she began, voice so sweet to his ruined brain. “If you need to talk…”
“No, you don’t have to--” he could’ve cursed the Maker for the inopportune giving out of his legs, as his sentence cut short and his hands desperately sought purchase on his desk. The elf rushed to his side, and though she had great power over that mask she wore, she couldn’t hide the flash of panic in her big eyes.
“I never meant for this to interfere,” Cullen breathed, unable to look at her.
“Will you be alright?” she murmured. With anyone else, he knew the concern would stem from the safety of the Inquisition. With her though, he wasn’t so sure.
“Yes,” he lied, and she didn’t even try to hide the disapproval on her face. “I...I don’t know.”
It was far too quiet in his little study, doing nothing to drown out the pounding of his heart in his ears. He was sure she could hear it, was sure that all of Skyhold could hear it--could hear of his suffering and ignore it just like he had tried to for ten years. But she wasn’t ignoring it. In fact she looked like if he didn’t tell her the truth of it right there, she’d use that mark to pull it right out of him, like demons from the Breach. Cullen didn’t really understand why, but the thought made his stomach dance.
She would’ve waited forever with him in that cold office, and he knew it. But he couldn’t bear to keep anyone waiting for him ever again, and so he very slowly let out his breath, and then he told her.
She listened quietly, mark burning on her hand as he revealed himself to her, story by story. He told her of the Ferelden Circle, and the twisted, murdering demons there that still haunted his dreams. He told her of Meredith, of the decimated trust between them and the madness he unknowingly helped her wreak upon Kirkwall.
“Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. I...I want nothing to do with that life.” He meant it to sound angry, the bubbling in his chest was furious as he pounded each word from his tongue. But this, this came out defeated, like a dying man’s last words. In many ways, he did feel like this was his death.
But she was determined to keep him afloat. “Cullen, of course I can. I-”
“Don’t,” he said, suddenly memories of the beautiful ice crystal magic she liked to form on his window whipped like a storm through his mind. “You’re a mage. You should be questioning what I’ve done.”
She fell completely silent at this, struck by his words, and he felt so very far from her. “I thought that this would be better, but these thoughts still persist. How many lives depend on us--depend on me. I swore myself to this cause. I...I should be taking it.”
Cullen’s fist suddenly seemed entirely too unencumbered. His eyes lulled over the green mark that swept over the Inquisitor’s small hand, and in another situation, he would’ve laughed. She was forced into this cause because of a curse on her palm, and he thought himself the victim? He had pledged himself willingly to the Inquisition but wasn’t ready to face the consequences of what that really meant. He wanted the same weighted pain that she felt, to take it from her so that she would never know a life of burden again. He deserved it didn’t he? As if in agreement, his fist shot out at his bookcase, knuckles cracking against the taut wood as books fell like weights around him. He didn’t care what Cassandra thought of his state of mind, he knew how he felt. He should be taking the lyrium. The Inquisition deserved no less. Lavellan deserved no less. He should be taking it.
“I should be taking it,” he spoke, voice falling soft like snow between the two.
“This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition,” Lavellan said suddenly, eyes looking heavier than he felt. “Is this what you want?”
What he wanted? He searched her face for a sign of laughter, a glimmer of recognition to how ridiculous the question was. But he found nothing. An entirely new person was standing in front of him, practically seething at his reckless display of self-destruction. He suddenly felt so much softer, like the feathery pauldrons weighing on his shoulders. The pain in his hand became unbearable as she stared at him, so full of emotions he couldn’t pin down.
Sighing softly, Cullen lowered his fist as he answered, “No.”
Cautiously, so cautiously that it broke his heart, the elf moved closer to him. Her hand danced at his pained fist, as her bright eyes held his own. She was waiting patiently for him to continue.
“These memories...they have always haunted me,” he spoke slowly, unsure if he recognized his own voice. “If they become worse, if I--if I cannot endure this-”
Lavellan didn’t even wait for him to finish, her heart clenching adoration for him smattered across all her tiny features as she simply uttered, “You can.”
He wanted to kiss her. He had never wanted to do anything more. But he knew it wasn’t the time, not when he was so breathless and she so overwhelmed. So he settled for a small squeeze of her fingers, and a breathy, “Alright.”
~~
When the Herald had returned to Skyhold, she was met with an endearing celebration. The wretched Hinterland dragon’s head was wheeled in behind them, and crowds of troops and pilgrims were practically gnawing at each other to get to see it up close. She was tired, back aching and bones scraping against each other, but she was proud. She felt strong and altogether dangerous as she stood in front of her prize.
Cullen however, was not as pleased.
When the raven had arrived to inform Inquisition advisors that the Herald and her party had discovered a dragon lair, Cullen almost fainted. When the letter continued on to tell them that the party was preparing to slay the dragon, he was positive that his heart had actually given out.
He had sent so many ravens, ten at the least, begging the Herald and her team to stay put until he could send more troops. He sent a company of soldiers to their location after the first raven went out. A second one after the fourth raven came and went with no response from Lavellan. He had worried himself into a sickness, staying up till the early morning on the battlements, eyes glued on the bridge linking Skyhold to the rest of the harsh world.
A week had passed with no word, and the former templar was becoming more unwound by the hour. When a messenger came by his office with news of the party's return, he hardly let her finish the sentence before he was pushing past her and out the door.
He barely had time to wrack his brain for all of the horrible things that could have happened to the elf in her battle when he heard it. A laugh, sharp and unladylike, and very much Lavellan. When he reared the corner, he found the source.
She was bruised and visibly worn, but she was walking, and with the most absurd shit-eating grin on her little face. Bull’s right arm was around her shoulders, and his left around Dorian’s, while Cole trailed behind them, giggling. They were a perfect picture of wild happiness, a gibbering mass of smiles and laughter. Cullen had never hated such a sight more.
When she had first caught a glance at the soldier, Lavellan was smiling brightly, clearly pleased with herself. It didn’t take her long to notice that look on his face though, and her smile quickly faltered. Extracting herself from Bull’s arms, she tiptoed towards Cullen slyly, maintaining a strange coy expression on her features.
“Hello,” she grinned cautiously, stopping just inches away from him. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss her or kill her.
“Happy with yourself, are you?” he spat, and even he was shocked by the venom in his voice.
“Cullen, I…”
“Don’t. I was worried sick for you. Nothing from you, for days. My ravens came back empty handed every single time. I thought you were dead.” She watched him, silent as he paced. It was infuriating. “I don’t suppose I have to tell you how selfish this was? A moment of glory that could’ve cost you your life. Where would I--” he stilled, struck by how ridiculous the statement would be if he dared to utter it out loud. Thinking quickly, he drew back from her, muttering so halfheartedly that he knew he was caught. “Where would the Inquisition be without you.”
She softened, as she always seemed to do when things became serious, but he couldn’t bear to see her that way. Not while the blood was still drumming in his ears and his nails were biting cruelly into his palms. Cullen turned away from her quickly, and made his tired escape back to his office. She did not follow.
~
Cullen could hear the celebration from his tower. He hadn’t heard the bards sing so joyously since Lavellan had closed the Breach, and the laughter of his soldiers and Skyhold’s pilgrims was brimming with excitement. The whole world seemed struck giddy by the Herald’s feat in battle. By the time night had fallen and his anger had soothed, even Cullen couldn’t keep the bubbling of pride from his throat. Yes, fighting the dragon alone was entirely too reckless and even a little stupid. But it was also unabashedly brave, and it never hurt for the world to be reminded of just how valiant the Inquisitor was. Even if it made his heart sick with worry.
He was absently writing reports when the shy knock sounded at his door. He didn’t have to ask who it was.
“Come in,” Cullen said softly, moving to stand up from his desk.
Lavellan entered slowly, shutting the door very quietly behind her. He didn’t think she had ever actually knocked before. She had been reprimanded by him more than a few times for barging in unannounced, even before they were together. It was a little annoying at first, but as their time together continued, it rapidly became adorable. To see her awkwardly standing at his door, as far away from him as possible, hurt.
The silence between them lasted for only a minute, but it felt like hours. She shuffled her feet as he looked anywhere but at her. After it looked like the quiet would become unbearable, she cleared her throat.
“I noticed you weren’t at the celebration,” she said, and the thought of her scouring the grounds of Skyhold looking for him made his heart clench.
“Yes, I...I had some reports to finish,” her face fell at the excuse. “And...you know me. I’ve never been one for parties.”
Her smile returned, small and taut, but still a smile. Cullen sighed deeply, moving to the front of his desk and offering his hand out to her. She moved to it quickly, and took it in her own without question.
“I’m sorry,” they said together, and her smile grew wider.
“No, you don’t need to apologize,” Cullen shook his head, free hand grazing at the back of his neck. “You were just protecting the Hinterlands. You had a good party with you, and...and you’ve become so skilled. I should have known you would be fine.”
If she disagreed with him, she didn’t show it. Instead her eyes watched his face, searching for something. He felt uncomfortable, like the canary in the cat’s paws. She had him entirely wrapped around her little finger--the days of keeping secrets to himself were beyond over.
“I was the selfish one,” he continued, thumb rubbing against her hand as he looked anywhere but in her eyes. “I was so terrified that you would...that something would happen to you. I completely forgot about the Inquisition, I only cared about you and...and how I would ever be able to live on without you. It frightened me, how careless I became. I...I failed the Inquisition in my fear for you. I am so sorry.”
“Oh Cullen,” she grinned suddenly, shaking her head. She was entirely unmatched to him, a chuckling juxtaposition to his unraveling figure. “We are both so very new at this.” He eyed her, confusion plain on his features, and she only responded by laughing again. “You’ve failed no one. I was reckless, and you...you care for me. I know you have the weight of the Inquisition on your shoulders, but that doesn’t mean you’re not human. I have spent my fair share of many nights at camp, desperately worried for your health. Some nights I nearly drove myself mad. We have our duties, I know, but we have each other too. I could not carry this weight on my own.”
“But if our feelings interfere with our duties-”
“They won’t,” she said suddenly, and her arms snaked their way around his shoulders as she stood on her tiptoes. Bringing her face so close to his that their noses brushed, she spoke very softly to him, “They will never, because I will ensure that I never have cause to lose you. This would be an awfully empty world without you.”
If Cullen had ever recognized love, this would be when. Her mouth pressed sweetly against his as his hands wrapped around her waist, and he hoped she could tell just how much he cared for her by the way his lips moved against hers.
And if he hoped that his kiss left her more out of breath than fighting vicious dragons in the Hinterlands had, well, you couldn’t blame him.
~~
Cullen had little sympathy for Blackwall--or Thom Rainier or whatever the bastard wanted to be called now. If it were up to him, the “Warden” would be rotting in that Orlesian prison (which Cullen strongly believed was probably a fate worse than death). But the Inquisitor had asked her advisors to work out a way to get Blackwall out of his cell, and back to Skyhold where she could pass judgement on him. Publicly, he did so without question or comment. Privately, he had asked her what she planned to do with the warrior once he was back in front of her. She had admitted that she honestly wasn’t sure.
It took less than a week for Josephine to weave her magic on Orlais, and by the early morning Blackwall was delivered back to the Inquisition, and straight to the Inquisitor’s throne.
It had been enacted quietly and quickly, so very few onlookers besides the Herald’s inner circle and advisors were there to watch the potential decimation of a well liked member of the Inquisition--someone Lavellan often called a “good man”.
It seemed like time was at a standstill when the guards delivered Blackwall, and Josephine had finished her introduction to the case. The whole room felt the weighty decision forced on the Herald. After an aching stretch of quiet, she broke the silence first.
“I...I didn’t think this would be easy but it’s harder than I thought,” she sighed, and Cullen wondered if anyone else could tell how close her voice was to breaking.
“Another thing to regret,” Rainier responded dully. “What happens to the reputation your Ambassador has so carefully cultivated. What happens once the world learns of this corruption in the Inquisition?”
The elf practically choked, her face falling only momentarily before she answered softly, “I had no other choice.”
“You should’ve left me there!” Blackwall growled, and Cullen’s hand reflexively rested on his sword. The man was chained, and there were enough friends of Lavellan there that no harm could’ve truly come to her, but his fear flared all the same, never once dulling as Blackwall continued. “I was ready to die...I deserved it. What becomes of me now?”
The former templar wondered if she was ready to deliver her verdict, the whole room hummed in a shared and uneasy wonder themselves. Lavellan hardly noticed, as her eyes never left the warrior that shook so menacingly before her--the old friend who let his despair and guilt pass between them without resistance.
“You have your freedom,” she answered, so easily that it seemed almost unreal.
Even Blackwall was in disbelief. “It cannot be as simple as that.”
“It isn’t” she agreed, and her eyes swept out over the crowd, as if she was addressing the entire room instead of the worn soldier in front of her. “You are free to atone as the man you are. Not the traitor of your past life, or the warden you pretended to be.”
The room stilled along with Blackwall, as his eyes watched her face carefully. “The man I am...I barely know him.” He spoke slowly, as if he expected the Inquisitor to interject and admit it was all just a big joke. As time passed, and he realized that she was being entirely serious, his voice was shaking, but he was raising it. No longer afraid when she remained his friend. “But he...I have a lot to make up for. If my future is mine, then I pledge it to the Inquisition. My sword is yours.”
Her face split into an open mouth grin, and he returned it, before laughing. “If I had said anything less, would an arrow have swooped from the balcony and snuffed me like a candle?”
She returned his laughter in kind, eyes back to their regular sparkle. “Take your post Thom Rainier.”
~
When she came to Cullen’s office later, she was met with utter disbelief.
“After everything he’s done, you give him his freedom?” he sputtered. “He lied to the Inquisition--to you! He was your friend-”
She interrupted by pressing a hand against his chest, bringing the other to caress his face and put an end to his ramblings
“Good men deserve second chances,” she whispered, and laid a soft kiss to his cheek. With a swift silence, she turned away from him and left his office, leaving the commander rigid in his room.
The sudden crash of guilt was almost overwhelming. When she returned to him that night, he apologized, and held her tightly, as if her innate magic could cure the scar from where he had extracted the templar’s emblem from his chest.
~~
Lavellan leaned quietly against the door frame of the little temple, watching her commander with care. Cullen hadn’t noticed her presence yet, and she couldn’t say she wasn’t glad to be caught in the eye before the storm.
She knew he was religious, but could barely count on one hand how many times she had actually seen him in the temple before. He was kneeling in front of that big statue of Andraste--the unearthly woman who had supposedly chosen an elf as the savior of Thedas, despite Lavellan having never heard of her a day before the explosion at the chantry. She had always been a proud Dalish, knowing and caring of nothing outside of the aravels. Why Andraste would ever raise up such an indifferent and unworldly little elf--and why any Andrastian would ever believe it--still remained quite the mystery.
Cullen was murmuring something softly into his hands, something that Lavellan just barely recognized as the Chant of Light. She had often heard him rehearse it to himself when he woke up from his nightmares and thought that she was still asleep. She had asked him once to teach her some of it, but in truth it was very long and boring and she had forgotten it in less than a day. Cullen didn’t seem to mind, so she didn’t mind much either. She may not know Chantry teachings but she knew of many other things. She knew how to care for the halla back in her clan, how to keep their coats clean and how to spot plants that were poisonous to them. She knew how to wield magic, how to freeze opponents before they could even think of attacking her, how to combine her spells with her party’s talents to make quick work of their enemies. And she knew Cullen, the way his shoulders shook and his brow furrowed when he was worried. The little flare in his nostrils when he was angry. The small twitch of his lips when he stifled a laugh because he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of finding one of her jokes funny. She knew that shoulder droop he had now, the uneasiness of his words as he stared so furiously at the ground. Lavellan knew when something was wrong, when he needed her.
“A prayer for you?” she spoke softly, footsteps echoing on the small stone walls of the temple as she began to step towards him.
“For those we have lost,” he answered almost too quickly, tilting his head to peek at her behind his eyelashes. “And...for those I am afraid to lose.”
She rested her hand on his forearm as he rose up to meet her, face pale with worry. “You’re afraid?”
“Of course I am,” he laughed, breathy and lifeless and almost in disbelief. “Are you not?”
Her grin back at him looked almost as empty as he felt, and her words rang just as hollow. “We’ve nothing to fear. We’ve taken almost everything from Corypheus. He is weak.”
She was right of course, but she could see it in his eyes that he found it difficult to be as confident as she was. He softened at her words anyway, reaching towards her to cradle her cheek. He was always surprised at how easily her body fit into his. Her little smile as she nuzzled into his palm was almost blinding. She was so beautiful, she was always so beautiful and he had never seen anything quite like her. All these years of pain and hardship, he had never expected to find her, least of all in the Inquisition. There had been times where he thought he had truly lost her before, and not a day went by where he didn’t worry for her safety, but it all suddenly seemed so trivial now in the face of the upcoming battle. It was truly doom upon all the world, and she was at its very center, and not for the first time, there was nothing he could do to save her.
“Talk to me,” Lavellan whispered, curling into the warm hand at her cheek as she watched him so wearily.
It took him a moment to punctuate the unraveling string of thoughts racking his brain, and even longer to figure out just which one he wanted to say to her. Words were never his forte. “When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again.” he choked, each slow syllable a struggle to let tumble from his lips. “Andraste preserve me...I must send you to him.”
He didn’t know what he expected from her, maybe an easy deflection of his fear, or a witty quip of self confidence. But for once she did not offer him either. Instead her face fell, and he watched as a sea sloshed in violent turmoil behind her eyes, and even though her gaze was steadily trained on his face, he was sure she was looking right through him. And then she was crying, like a bolt of lightning the tears had spun from her ducts and she was gripping his hand, fearful as she teetered over the cliff’s edge.
“What...what if I can’t,” she whispered, so quietly Cullen had to strain to hear it. “It’s all come to this, all of Thedas is watching me. You are waiting for me. Cullen...if I don’t come back--”
“Maker, no,” he choked, and he was grabbing at her, pulling her by her hips into him so tight he couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t die now. It wouldn’t be fair. How could the Maker give them to each other so close to an inevitable doom? How could he have given them such a short time to fall in so utterly in love only to rip it away before they can enjoy peace? Cullen couldn’t believe that--he wouldn’t. The Maker must be real and he must love his creations deeply to put someone like her in the world, and nothing but a cruel indifference could justify stripping her away from it.
“Whatever happens,” he began, lips against her neck as she tightened around him, “you will come back.”
“I...I certainly hope so.”
Cullen pulled his face away to rest it against her forehead, searching her face for something he didn’t know yet. Her eyes were water-stained but so fierce and so full of life that he couldn’t imagine them ever dulled and empty. “The thought of losing you--I can’t,” he whispered, and because he didn’t know what else he could say to make her believe him, he kissed her gently, and she melted underneath his touch.
She would make it. They both would make it. They always did.