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She was bright, bright like the sun as she strode into the War Room in Haven with a cool confidence. He hardly had time to collect himself when Cassandra introduced him, afraid the Herald had caught him sneaking a quick up-and-down. Later that night, when she’d asked him to call her by her name, he’d nearly given in. But he’d restrained himself. He’d walked her back to her quarters like what he hoped appeared gentlemanly. He knew he was anything but. He was the night to her bright blue sky eyes, the moon to her sun.
He only continued to feel the strange pull and companionship towards her as the months in Haven dragged on. As he watched her leave with her party, then return slightly bruised and battered. Perhaps he’d sensed a kindred spirit: she had suffered much in her past—things she wasn’t quite ready to talk about, but seemed to be on the mend from—and was using this as a chance to start over. To do something good. But she was succeeding breathlessly while he was left flailing in knee-deep water. The more the Nightingale found out about Valari, the more he realized her strength, her brightness, her sunlight that still shone bright after trudging through the dreary landscape of her past. She was too warm, too bright for his dark hands to hold. He realized too late that he would only eclipse her and for that, left her flailing in the dark.
He could only watch in horror as the sun slowly went dim. His efforts to revive it failed miserably, for the darkness could never revive the light. Not that he knew how; his attempts either fumbled miserably or one of them was pulled away before he could try. Deep in her own knee-deep water, she sank down, down, down.
Until Samson brought a plague on Haven and she drowned.
His sunlight was back and he grasped for it like a drowning man for air. Her light was rising slowly, but rising nonetheless. She even smiled as she moved the chess pieces across from him and he felt himself breathe easy for the first time in months. He no longer flailed in the water, but swam, just by her presence. He wished he could make her smile like Dorian or Sera or Bull. He wished she interacted with him with the same ease as she had with Cassandra. But she was here, she didn’t hate him, she had forgiven him for abandoning her when she needed him most in Haven. That was more than enough.
He nearly dropped his chess piece when she said, “We should spend more time together.”
“I would…like that.” He smiled.
She smiled back. “Me, too.”
He couldn’t withhold a laugh. “You said that.”
She froze in setting a piece down, blushed beautifully and let loose a nervous laugh. She set the piece down a little too hard and the table wobbled, knocking over a few pieces in the process. He laughed again, unable to contain himself as he helped her stand the pieces back up in their correct positions. He was sure his joy and infatuation were clear in his face, but he didn’t care. All he cared about, was that the sun was finally coming out again.
The surrounding nobles plagued the Winter Palace like storm clouds. Not the summer storms he remembered watching with awe from his bedroom window as a child, curled in his mother’s lap. He could still remember her soft laughter as he clung to her at a boom of thunder; she had told him there was nothing to be afraid of, taught him to count how many miles away the storm was in the seconds between the lightning and thunder. No, these nobles were the fierce storms that destroyed houses—cold, drenching rains that brought sickness with them; howling wind that tore shingles off roofs; floods that drowned the land just like him.
His breath left him in a whoosh as the sun emerged from the clouds and there she was. Every bit the Lady Inquisitor Margo Trevelyan that the ambassador had told her to be for this damn ball, but still undeniably herself. Many throughout the night murmured that her dress was too “plain,” the skirt far too “flat,” but he thought she looked perfect. She always looked perfect. And she had chosen him. For whatever reason, she had chosen him. He bathed in her warmth while they danced on the balcony and then again when they decided to sneak off within the labyrinthian gardens of the palace, lost and never to be found. As long as she was there, that was all right with him.
Adamant had darkened his sun once again. Although he was grateful that she clung to him, that she didn’t hide or pull away. He stayed with her, refusing to part even when others tried to call him away. Warm baths, a soothing hand on her back as she struggled to return her breathing to normal, tight bear hugs after the nightmares, hard and rough kisses to remind each other that they were alive; they’d survived. When he’d watched her fall into the waiting rift, he thought his legs would fail him as the universe plunged into engulfing darkness. When he’d found her alive, he’d tethered himself to her side. He felt he didn’t have any light to give her, but she seemed to grow stronger from his presence nonetheless, gluing herself to his side in return.
She finally cracked a small smile when Varric had joked on the return journey that they might as well share a horse, they were so close. Cullen wasn’t opposed to the idea. He would never turn down more time to hold her. Instead, they simply smiled like the lovestruck fools they were and he reached out to hold her hand. It might take awhile for the sun to rise again, but he would wait as long as needed.
She was gone off to battle—the final, final battle—in the Valley of Sacred Ashes. He felt himself sinking in knee-deep water for the first time in months and didn’t bother trying to swim. Sacred ashes, fucking killing ashes that could kill his love, his light, his life. He ran his fingers through his hair, yanking a death grip and paced his office. He paced the battlements. He paced the grounds, the gardens, the great hall until Rylen forced him to eat and drink at the Herald’s Rest. The Herald’s Rest: what if the Herald was laid to rest, what if they received word that she died? What if he had to bury her, attend her funeral? What if the light went out and never came again? His universe would have no light without her. No one could replace her. The sun in the sky was dull and dreary by comparison.
He didn’t sleep that night, just stared at the starless sky through the hole in his roof. Maker bring her back to me Maker bring her back to me PLEASE…
Without much thought, he soon found himself in her room. He flopped down on her bed and drowned in the scent of sunlight, hugging a pillow to his chest, desperately trying to convince himself it was her body and she was safe and he could sleep. Maker bring her back to me Maker bring her back to me Maker please Maker Maker Maker—
She was alive and safe and whole and in his arms. He swore to the Maker that he would never ask for anything again. She felt warm and heavy against his chest as they watched the sun rise over the Frostbacks. The dawn had come, just like in the old song. Not only over the Inquisition’s struggle, but over him, over them. She had come and shown him the way, that there was light in the darkness and that he wasn’t as dark as he’d originally thought. And even if he was, light and dark needed each other to exist. Just like he needed her to breathe, just like she needed him. The water had receded for both of them and—although sometimes the tide came in strong—they both were there to extend a hand to the shore. He was home, he was whole and he was warm as he held his precious beam of light in his arms.