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Cullen refused to even look at the coin for a long time, finding no luck during years and years of anger, and misery, and wretched choices. He carried it with the rest of his belongings, but it only returned to his pocket after Kirkwall’s Chantry, when he was once more despairing and adrift, holding onto it and praying to no one in particular. By the time Cassandra’s letter found him, the coin had preserved him during the aftermath of the explosion, tucked safely under his glove with its memory of home and its illusion of safety.
Now it keeps him company in the darkest moments of the night, before dawn breaks, when the lyrium sings its false promises loudest, when the pain hooks into his skin, into his bones, unwilling to let go.
The coin is with him in Haven, in Skyhold, in his daily attempts to lose and find himself in the rigorous discipline. It is with him when he meets her, when he picks her up from the grip of the snow after Haven and realises he can't lose her, when he figures out that he doesn't associate luck only with the idealised memory of his childhood anymore.
At night, the coin catches the flickering candlelight and for a fleeting moment it shines as golden as her hair, as her eyes, as the glow of her magic. He holds on to it when he wakes up with screams tearing themselves from his throat. He holds on to it when he tells her, when he confesses his sins to her because she is what sustains his faith now. He tells her about the past, tells her about the anger, and the misery, and the wretched choices, and she looks at him like there is nothing tainted about him, her fingers in his hair and her lips whispering against his skin. He knows that there are things he can never stop apologising for, but on the battlements he finds redemption, he finds forgiveness, and as the wind wraps itself around them the pain grows quiet.
Later, he tells her about the lyrium, tells her how it sings to him, and her eyes are soft and concerned and then steel when she tells him to continue on his mission to be fully severed from its spell, and all he can think about is how the golden glow of her magic has become familiar, the dread that used to grab him by the throat in the face of any and all magic slowly fading.
They steal moments amidst expeditions, just the two of them in hidden corners of the fortress, and everything in him grows quiet around her, even the voices that tell him how inferior he is to her. She is a Trevelyan still, regardless of being a mage or not, and she is the Inquisitor, but when she holds him there is nothing else, just his heartbeat and her breath and the lack of space between them.
He holds on to the coin when she is gone, out of the reach of his protection. Cullen knows only too well that each time she leaves it might be the last time he watches her from the bridge, her golden hair escaping its constraints in the frenzy of the wind. He is not sure how to bear the weight of her absence, and it doesn’t get easier.
One morning he falls asleep at dawn, his head on his desk, only a short and embarrassing doze that no one witnesses, but he dreams of the lake, and he wakes up with the coin clutched in his clenched fist. After running drills, he informs Leliana that he will attend to affairs in Ferelden after the Inquisitor returns from Val Royeaux. The spymaster says nothing with words and everything with her eyes, as usual, but it doesn’t feel like judgement.
The Inquisitor joins him on his impromptu trip without asking questions, trusting him in a way that makes his heart soar and his words stumble over themselves when he tells her about his home and his family on the journey there. She falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, and he feels more peaceful than he’s ever known before.
At the lake, he places the coin in her hand with a kiss pressed to the metal, and it shines bright in her palm, her smile overwhelming. He takes his gloves off despite the chill by the shore, and she takes his hand, the coin absorbing warmth from the two of them. Magic used to terrify him, but he still feels it humming in her and it isn’t a threat, and he still doesn’t know how to feel about what he doesn’t understand, but he knows how to feel about her. The sound of her magic is so unlike the song of the lyrium, and he finds himself wishing desperately for her safety, wishing he could put invisible shields all around her, wishing he could protect her even though she doesn’t need him for that.
She can feel the fear in him, the cold sweat that breaks at the thought of losing her, of how she could be ripped from him at any time, and she holds him well into the night, her fingers gentle as they tangle in his hair. She is safe here, in this moment, on the shore of the lake that used to be Cullen’s favourite place in the world before he knew how it felt like to be by her side, and in this moment it is enough.
Before putting the coin away, she also kisses it, and then laughs at the look on Cullen’s face. She says ‘for luck’, and then leads him away, his hand in hers.