Work Text:
It is early when the party leaves Skyhold. Morning mist, grey sunlight through clouds, a drizzle in the courtyard. Cullen watches from afar as Róisín picks her favourite horse from the stables, helps Horsemaster Dennet ready the dark, strong Free Marchers Ranger to carry her out into another mission. Varric is there too, with his pony that always struggles to keep up with the rest. Cassandra rides a dark, Ferelden Forder, used to the harsh climates of the area, not as fast as Ros’ steed, but more sturdy. And Dorian of course rides his Dracolisk, a beast so fierce and wild it intimidates everyone who sees the travelling party coming. Dennet hates the beast, but it is tame as a lapdog once Dorian holds the reins.
Cullen watches as they pack their supplies for the journey and when they head towards the gates to join the small contingent of men they would take with them to Crestwood to find the Warden Hawke had spoken about, he walks down the steps to join them.
Róisín notices his presence quickly and leaves the side of her companions. He takes her hands, brings them to his lips. It is too early for too many words. His lips linger on her skin for a long while before he looks up to meet her gaze.
“Be careful,” he whispers.
“I will.”
“Send word when you’re at the fortress.”
“I will.”
She smiles up at him, caresses his cheek with one hand, thumb brushing over the scar on his lip. She gets to her tiptoes for a gentle kiss. Both committing the other’s lips to memory, for they will be apart a long while. When he meets her gaze again, her eyes are warm, betraying their icy colour with the genuine love he sees in them. She smiles. “I love you.”
He cups her face in both hands, kisses her forehead.
“And I love you.”