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Cullen didn’t think he had ever seen this many nobles in Skyhold. They thronged the Great Hall, filled every corner of the library and took over the tavern, their loud chatter and constant congratulations shouted in his direction grating on his every nerve.
He looked for refuge in his office but found they had infiltrated even there, Marquis Leandres searching through the books on his shelves and Lord Soucy perched on his desk, a dangerously full glass of wine in his hands. The liquid slopped all over the pile of reports waiting for him as the Lord turned towards him, arms outstretched.
He backed out of the room too quickly for subtlety, murmuring apologies and fled down the stairs towards the stables. They’d already been decorated, adorned with floral garlands and streamers, the mounts brushed and oiled until they were gleaming. The harts antlers were strung with strands of pearls he realized with a twinge of horror.
Cullen groaned as he strode away from the stables, searching out a quiet corner by the now empty market stalls, leaning a hip up against the wall. He stared up at the soaring heights of the snow-covered peaks to steady himself, gulping in breath after breath of cold, mountain air to quiet the racing of his heart. The fingers of a hand came to rest on the twisted strands of gold encircling the finger of his other, twisting it around until the friction of metal against skin calmed him. Braided gold dotted with rubies; perfect for my ferocious lion, Dorian had said with a quiet smile as he’d stared down at his own, silver and ebony strung with emeralds.
At the light touch of hands on his hips he turned around with a start to find Dorian, resplendent in scarlet and gold, lips quirked in a knowing smile as his gaze flitted up and down the warrior’s body.
“You should wear cream more often, you know. It suits you.” Dorian sniffed approvingly as he stepped closer, snaking a gloved hand around Cullen’s waist. “Much better than that metal nonsense and that pile of… fur you insist on draping across your shoulders day after day.”
Cullen snorted as he leaned into his lover, resting his forehead against the mage’s shoulder. “I’m glad you came,” he murmured into the soft velvet of Dorian’s jacket, relishing the feel of it against his skin as he breathed, each ragged breath slowing and steadying a bit more. “I missed you last night. But don’t let Josephine see you. I don’t think I can stand another lecture on the bad luck we will court if we see each other before the wedding.”
“Josephine will be busy up until the very moment the lights dim and the music begins. She’s directing the placement of what looks to be all of the candles in Thedas. That woman won’t be satisfied until all of Skyhold is lit up like a beacon.” Dorian rolled his eyes dramatically. “Is this what you Southerners actually do for weddings? Or is this just our delightful ambassador’s way of getting revenge for not allowing her to marry us off to suitable noblewomen for the good of the Inquisition?”
“Don’t tell me it’s not like this in Tevinter?” Cullen joked, raising an eyebrow at Dorian’s protesting squawk. “No planned ritualistic murders? Too little blood magic?”
“You…” Dorian sputtered. “Are absolutely impossible.”
“I am,” he agreed as he took advantage of the mage’s shock to press a quick kiss across his lips. “And yet, you’re still marrying me. Here. Like this. In front of all of these people.”
And yes, he was. Dorian was marrying him. Him. In front of all of these people, many from the most influential families in Thedas. In front of his family - his parents, Rosalie, Branson, Mia and her family had all made the trip from South Reach. In front of Dorian’s family even though Halward had arrived silent and tight-lipped; Aquinea at least had smiled, embraced him in that distant, formal way he’d come to associate with nobility. Him. He was marrying Dorian; the light of his life, the one constant in his life these past three years. His harbor, his safe shore, his rock. His home.
“Yes,” Dorian sighed as he raised a hand to smooth and push back the rumpled curls threatening to fall across the blonde’s forehead. “Just like this.”
“It’s a little… much, isn’t it?” Cullen asked, his brow furrowing as he looked beyond Dorian to the courtyard where a large trellis had been erected and strung with ivy and what appeared to be thousands of dark red and cream roses. He frowned, sighing as he raked a trembling hand through his hair. “Maker’s Breath, I knew letting Josephine and Leliana handle the details was a mistake.
“Oh, Amatus,” Dorian chuckled as he leaned over to straighten the man’s collar and press the petals of the rose pinned to his lapel that he’d clearly been fussing at back into place. “Do try to relax, hmm? Judging from the sky we have at least an hour before the festivities begin. Josie just won’t be satisfied unless we make the walk up to the altar in near-darkness, lit only by candle and starlight to satisfy her romantic soul.”
“But yes,” Dorian continued. “You’re quite right. It’s a bit much. It’s garish, it’s barbaric, it’s undeniably Southern.”
Then Dorian’s lips were on his, surprisingly soft despite the cold wind coming in from over the mountains. His kiss was soft, trailing lightly across his lips. It was soft. Tentative. Hesitant. As thought Dorian were testing him, questioning him. Demanding an answer. And the only one he had was the press of his lips against the mage’s, the light touch of his tongue teasing between his teeth. His hand came to cradle the back of Dorian’s head, gently stroking through the thick, dark strands, drawing him closer. He moaned softly into the mage’s mouth, pressing closer still, his hips pressed against Dorian’s and Dorian’s gloved hands tangled in his hair as they both leaned into each other in tandem.
He could happily spend a lifetime like this, he realized as his fingers trailed down to grasp at Dorian’s chest, careful not to disturb the rich velvet cloaking it.
“But it’s perfect,” Dorian continued as he broke away from the kiss, raising a hand to cup his chin.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
Cullen hummed in agreement. “A bit?” He laughed weakly. “I have no idea what sort of thing your father has prepared, you see. Tomorrow we might both be gibbering idiots, cawing like Leliana’s birds or perfectly fine.”
“I shouldn’t worry. You forget that you have real Templars. Anything my father might plan should be easily countered.”
And now Cullen laughed. “What I would give to see that." He smoothed a hand over the front of his jacket, easing out a wrinkle. "Are you?”
“Nervous?”
“Yes.”
Dorian closed his eyes, moving closer until they were forehead to forehead, cheek to cheek.
“Terrified.” Cullen wrenched away at the admission and he struggled to hold the man in his arms, fingers tightly clasped around his hips and his elbows struggling against the warrior’s chest.
“Amatus, not of you. For Andraste’s sake, never of you. I just… never thought that this would be possible. It’s still… so new to me.” Cullen stilled in his arms and he pressed a gentle kiss to the man’s forehead.
“New doesn’t mean bad, Amatus. Just new. I’m afraid you’re going to have to teach me all sorts of things in this wonderful, exhilarating new life of ours.”
“I love you, my heart,” Cullen breathed. “Whatever we face going forward, we face it together.”
Together.
The word hit him like a shot to the gut and suddenly Dorian knew. Cullen was right. Whatever they had to face, whether withdrawal or changing the world, they would never have to confront it alone again.
They would face it together.
And from this moment on, everything would be fine.
He turned to leave, pressing a final soft kiss across the man’s scarred lips before he pulled away.
“Come Amatus, let us part and pretend we didn’t break our darling ambassador’s ridiculous rules, hmmm? I don’t particularly cherish facing her wrath.”
Cullen smiled as he loosened his grip on Dorian’s hips, sneaking in for one final kiss before he let the mage go, watching as he walked away towards the waiting sunset.
“Soon, my heart. Soon I’ll be no one’s but yours.”