Chapter Text
Leliana had actually been the first one to figure out that the best way to get the Inquisitor through conversations that annoyed her on sheer premise was to find some way to keep her hands busy while she was talked at, but Cullen was the one to crack that the real trick was to get her moving and outside the war room. Any time he had a stack of dry paperwork that required her input, he simply found wherever she was lurking and took a seat on the nearest flat surface — the practice was mutually beneficial. Fresh air for him, an outlet for her, and the added bonus of not being interrupted by messengers.
This particular day he’d found her throwing knives for target practice, which meant he had a bench to comfortably sit on in the shade of the pines and could enjoy the breeze without having to squint against the sun. Compared to the constant gray looming over Kinloch Hold and the oppressive heat of Kirkwall, Skyhold’s chilly, sunny afternoons were a gift. “The problem is transport, more than anything else. We just had to execute a large resupply at Caer Oswin and storms en route put a lot of our equipment in disrepair.”
When Cassandra had asked him to come on as Commander she had been right that the work wasn’t all that dissimilar to what he was doing as Knight-Captain, but he certainly missed only having to deal with Kirkwall’s limited types of unfriendly terrains. Managing logistics across a troubled border was starting to give him a permanent headache.
Tevra threw a knife and scrunched her face when it missed the paper bullseye she’d posted on the hay dummy by just an inch. “Can we fix it?”
Cullen sighed, tapping his finger on the annotated map unrolled in his lap. “There’s a well-trod east-west route here. Going east, farmers use it to take food to Denerim, but the caravans are usually emptier on the way back west. We could either hire them out or trade transport for protection on the way back to the Crestwood area until our equipment gets serviced.”
There was a part of him that wanted to pretend she turned to him with a smile because he had a solution for their logistics problem, and not because she hit a bullseye as he was explaining it. “Sounds like you’ve got it figured out. Do you need me to sign off on anything?”
“Yes. I’ll add it to the pile.”
Cullen watched her as she drew another knife and shifted her attention back to the target. He could hardly admit it to himself, but these afternoons spent working were becoming an exercise in self-indulgence. It took time, but some months back the Inquisitor finally browbeat him into seeing her for what she actually was; not a divine messenger, but someone in uniquely unlucky circumstances, just trying to survive. While this was good for their professional relationship it had the unfortunate side effect of drawing his attention to her in a way he forgot it could even be drawn.
The Herald of Andraste was untouchable. Tevra Lavellan, on the other hand, kept getting close enough to reach for.
Most days he blamed the withdrawal for making him strange and irrational, but that was easier to do when she wasn’t standing right in front of him. After all, observing the way her wild eyes focused in on the target across the yard or the way her shirt revealed the curve of her waist when she twisted back a little for the toss didn’t require anything of him, and his complete lack of understanding or experience in approaching other people about matters even remotely related to attraction prevented him from acting anyway. If he was going to lack the stamina to deny himself all distractions like he did in the Order, then at least this one came with little risk and brought him some small sense that he was capable of feeling something as normal as infatuation.
“You want to give this a try?”
Cullen looked at the throwing knife she was spinning casually in her hand. “I’m not necessarily sure when I’d have a reason to throw a blade? I do better in close combat.”
“Maybe right now, and for fun?” Right. Fun. “If you like, you can think of it as … a team bonding exercise.”
There were enough paperweight-sized rocks around for Cullen to feel safe in leaving his sorted piles behind while he went and made his best attempt at fun. He didn’t really know what fun was to him — he liked playing chess, and was already surprised enough that Tevra let him teach her as one of their first attempts at repairing their relationship. Having more than one fun activity felt … indulgent.
He watched her as she demonstrated how to line up a toss. Cullen knew he ought to be more attentive to her instruction rather than just her, but there was something about the elf that had long since started to pull him in in a way that he found both nostalgic and terrifying. He didn’t even know what the feeling was, at first; it had been so long since anyone had caught his eye that way that he’d fully forgotten what it felt like. At one point, he thought the way he went warm around her was hay fever.
Now he knew he just couldn’t help but be aware of her. Her arms were bare with her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders as they usually were when the weather allowed, and she’d managed to pull her blonde hair into a ponytail though strands escaped it. Cullen had noticed some time ago that her left ear was a bit lumpy from some past blunt-force trauma, but when Varric asked about it the elf had simply waved him off and said something to the effect of it being a result of an unlucky bar fight, and that was that.
He’d heard people say she had a boyish charm, but that felt off. Thinking of her as just pretty felt equally inadequate. Captivating, maybe.
Either way, the infatuation was wholly inappropriate and he wished he had the willpower to resist it, but he was tired, and had far less time in his day for the kind of contemplation that had made him resolute in the past. He simply had to be at peace with having a childish crush.
And once again, the object of his infatuation blinked her green eyes at him. “Tell me you heard any of that before I hand you a very sharp knife.”
“Of course I did,” he said, only lying a
little.
Cullen’s first toss was close enough to the bullseye that it gave him quite a bit of false confidence, which was immediately shattered by the way the second knife bounced off the dummy and fell to the ground. The third stuck on the outside ring of the page.
“Honestly?” Tevra said as she appraised his work. “Not terrible for your first try.”
The problem was that his second try was no better, and neither was his third, and while he would have loved to graciously bow out of the exercise he was determined to get it right, now. When he finally cursed under his breath just loud enough for the elf next to him to catch, Tevra sighed. “I keep telling you, it’s your elbow.”
“It’s tucked in.”
“No, it’s not.”
“How much more tucked in does it possibly need to be?” he said, failing to hide his irritation and immediately feeling bad about it. The elf, unphased, grabbed his elbow and brought it another inch further in.
“Try there.”
Huffy, he took the knife she offered her and got into position again. “There?”
“No.” She took his elbow again and pushed it in, this time keeping her hand there. He hoped she couldn’t somehow feel his pulse quicken through his sleeve. “There.”
“If this doesn’t hit —”
“Oh fuck off, it will. Just throw.”
“Are you going to let me go?”
“No. Throw.”
Bullseye. Bullseye, and he was almost mad about it, but couldn’t be given that Tevra looked at him with smug little grin that he ought to have found irritating but instead found endearing. Just to be sure of the reason of his sudden success, Cullen crossed the open space of the barn to grab the three blades buried in the target, and returned to his position. He checked his footing, lined up the throw, and at the last minute moved his elbow in just a touch more than felt natural. Second bullseye, then third. “See?” she said. “It’s always the elbow. Now you’ve mastered the basics.”
“The basics —”
“Imagine how surprised everyone will be when you finally master your first party trick.”