Work Text:
Days dripped by slow as resin would bleed from the trees in Honnleath in the summers of his childhood, when he curiously poked them with a kitchen knife to watch what happened. And he bled with the days now. Waiting for her return. Word from Crestwood was they had located the Warden and were on their way back. That had been days ago.
He slept only short nights, most of the hours when he was alone he worried and wondered and listened for any ravens returning with news. None came. Most of the days he grew increasingly unfocused, zoning out of his meetings with his Captains when he listened for familiar voices in the courtyards. He pestered Leliana day in day out if she had heard anything. The answer always the same.
Not yet.
Until finally, thank the Maker, the horns rejoiced to announce the arrival of a travelling company. Cullen was up and out of his office as fast as his armour allowed it. He nearly ran over one of the scouts on his way to the office. He ran to the inner courtyard, to the portcullis they were pulling up now. The men that arrived were familiar. And they were the ones she had taken with her more than a fortnight ago.
There was Dorian with his Dracolisk. Cassandra on her horse, Varric, Hawke, and the Warden they had brought with them. A young man with Ginger hair, stubble on his chin and cheeks, brown eyes. Handsome, Cullen thought with a sting of jealousy that this Warden had travelled with her for all this time. With his Ros. He bit his tongue at the thought. She would laugh at him if she knew.
His eyes were searching past the men and women who arrived. There! Her horse. And her, just climbing off the back of it. She was giving instructions to her scouts and it took all his self-control not to run to her. Instead he walked in a steady pace, greeted Cassandra, and made his way towards Ros.
When she finally turned to meet him, she was beaming.
“Cullen,” she said, her voice a sigh of happiness. His smile could not be stopped. He rushed the last few steps to her, arms wrapped around her and he lift her off the ground. Her laughter bubbled from her as he spun them around and then brought her down to meet her lips. Her arms rested on his shoulders. Her kiss was light, sweet, Maker’s breath he had missed her taste, her laugh, the feeling of having her in his arms.
“I missed you,” he whispered against her lips. He met her smile.
“I missed you too, my sweet Commander. And Maker, I love you…”
He laughed, put her feet back on the ground. Now that pang of jealousy seemed so silly. How could he ever doubt her love for him when it was so plain on her face? Everything and everyone around them seemed forgotten and meaningless – be it the scouts, the soldiers, Cassandra, the Warden and Hawke, none of them mattered. “So what do you intend to do about it, hm?” she asked, a challenge and a tease in her hushed voice. He laughed and before she could protest, he had her on his arms.
“I can think of a few things,” he said, pecked a quick kiss on her earlobe. “But first, MyLady Trevelyan, I will take you to a bath. You smell like too many days on the road!”
Ros gasped, playfully upset (although she of course knew it was true) and she pretended to struggle when he threw her over one shoulder and carried her away with him, her bubbly laughter filling the courtyard.