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It has been almost two weeks since they found Skyhold and renovations have been going smoothly thanks to Josephine's expert coordination. Although they had lost many a good soldier, their ranks still managed to grow as people from all parts of Thedas came by the day wanting to volunteer their services to the Inquisition.
On the tenth day, Cullen woke up early in the morning to prepare for the soldiers' daily routine. He walked along the battlements, heading towards the forge to check on the supplies for the new recruits. He checked with messengers that stopped him outside his office and thanked the group of labourers that he passed by. As he walked down the stairs he noticed some of the older soldiers sparring in the yard. Amongst them, there was a lone elf wearing Dalish armour and practicing strikes with a staff against a straw dummy. It was the first time he had seen Inquisitor Mahanon in combat since they first fought demons in the Frostbacks. He reached the bottom of the stairs and made his way to the elf.
"Inquisitor. I didn't expect to see you up training so early."
Mahanon smiled radiantly, he leaned against his staff and pushing back a lock of dark brown hair that had escaped his ponytail, clearly showing the inked lines of his vallasin and the glow of sweat on his skin. "Being a mage is more than just reading books, commander."
"As I've noticed. How is the new armour fitting?"
"Perfectly; I've missed proper clothes."
He chuckled, "Don't let Harritt know, he would be heartbroken."
The inquisitor laughed; it's been a while since he was in good spirits, it seems the accomplishments they have made in the Forbidden Mires have improved his mood slightly, despite the number of corpses and demons emerging from the waters. 'All the corpses was great fun for Dorian' he remarked after the trip, with a soggy glowering Dorian standing next to him looking like the complete opposite of fun.
It was clearly not just the expeditions that were improving his mood, it was his confidence. In the war room, he conversed more easily with his advisors over what had to be done whereas in the past they would chase him down to make a decision. Although he still spoke to Orlesians through gritted teeth and forced smiles he no longer brought up the Exalted March - a true victory, Josephine once exclaimed happily during a meeting. He made rounds more frequently around Skyhold, talking to the people and checking up on them rather than slink away into a corner to brood. It was obvious he was shaping up to become the leader that they sorely needed.
"Care for a spar?" The Inquisitor asked with a grin, "I promise I won't use any magic."
Cullen chuckled and crossed his arms, "I wouldn't like to embarrass the Inquisitor so early in the morning."
His blue-green eyes glimmered with amusement, "Is that a challenge?" He tossed a practice sword at Cullen and lifted up his staff.
Cullen grabbed the sword, turning it over in his hands while he glanced at Mahanon from the corner of his eye. Mahanon stood innocently, waiting for his answer with eyes that were full of humour.
He contemplated for a few seconds longer, ambling slowly to the weapons rack, trying to look casual. He leaned over and picked up a shield, getting a feel of its weight before shifting into a fighting stance, causing Mahanon to let out a loud bark of laughter as he moved into position as well.
Without a word, Cullen swiftly stepped forward and swung his practice sword, wanting to test the elf's reaction. He overestimated his reach and Mahanon deftly knocked his blade to one side and stepped backwards, a wryly smile formed on his face as he lifted his staff up and delivered a flurry of strikes and blows. The inquisitor was fast and nimble; it was hard to parry his strikes without guarding himself entirely with his shield, at the beginning it looked like Mahanon had the upper hand. But his blows lacked strength compared to his more experienced soldiers and Cullen decided to remain on the defensive to study his moves. Before long, Cullen started to parry his blows, forcing him back, it was clear did not strike unless he could win, dodging aside and stepping back when he thought that Cullen would jab forward. If Cullen played his cards right, that caution could be used to his advantage. A more bold charge might startle him.
A blow caught his side and he winced, he's clearly been at his desk for too long if he did not notice that. No amount of training could beat real experience out in the field and the Inquisitor had fought enemies ranging from demons to red templars in the past few months. With his shield, he managed to knock Mahanon, giving himself some time to compose himself while the elf staggered backwards. As Cullen straightened up, he studied his opponent in front of him. The Dalish armour fitted well on his lithe form and it suddenly dawned upon Cullen just how agile his form was. His shoulders were broad and the muscles in his arms were well defined. Sweat gleamed over his dark skin and his lips twitched into a smirk, perfectly emphasised by the curls of vallasin on his chin.
There was a hiss past Cullen's ear and he only just managed to raise his sword up to stop the staff.
Maker's breath, he was paying far too much attention to the wrong things.
Mahanon smiled, noting Cullen's delayed block. All of a sudden there was a spark of mischief in his eyes and he asked, "Do you know what my favourite thing about being a mage is?"
Before Cullen could reply, he pushed him back and dropped down low, with a low sweep of his staff he knocked Cullen off his feet.
"I get to hit templars with a stick." He said as he brought the staff down beside his face. He stood over the Fereldan and grinned, extending his hand out to Cullen, "I won, Commander."
The rush of the battle started to settle and Cullen was suddenly aware of the sound of their panting. He smiled and grabbed his hand, allowing Mahanon to pull him up. "You were lucky - I was merely out of practice."
The Inquisitor scoffed, "Aren't you a sore loser?"
He stood up and rolled his shoulder, grimacing as the sting from the blows started to ebb in. "If you hadn't distract me I would -" He froze, "I - I mean -" The words tumbled clumsily out of his mouth as his face reddened as he caught the surprised expression on Mahanon's face.
The elf looked embarrassed, "I distracted you?"
"I - uh..."
They stood there silently for a second, an achingly long second that dragged out painfully with no signs of resolving itself. Cullen didn't know how to explain himself; how would it look if he told the Inquisitor he had been distracted by his face? Hell, he didn't know how to explain that to himself. He reached back and rubbed his neck, unable to quite look the Inquisitor in the eye without feeling rather stupid.
Mahanon reacted first; he stepped back - it suddenly occurred how close they had been standing before that which only served to embarrass and confuse Cullen further. He patted the templar firmly on the shoulder and smiled a little, a gesture that was both light-hearted and remarkably understanding,
"Maybe I'll use magic next time; make a bigger distraction if that's what it takes to beat you." He said jokingly.
Cullen laughed softly, he folded his arms and stared straight at him, "You won't catch me off guard again."
Their gazes lingered briefly before Cullen finally decided to finally head for the forge, feeling more at peace than he had for weeks.
Mahanon watched him go.
He wasn't satisfied with the answer Cullen gave him. Oh no, he wanted to catch him off guard. He wanted him to distract him. And he thought it was rightly unfair that Cullen was the one leaving him with the last word, a last lingering gaze so intense that it felt like it seared him.
He was going to change that.
He stepped forward, "Commander."
Cullen turned around, looking at him expectantly. By the Creators, the man was unjustly beautiful. Those yellow curls that fell loosely over his forehead, the way those golden-brown eyes looked at him, the way the scar slashed up his lips and drew his attention to them. The creators had a cruel sense of humour to make a templar look like that, testing Mahanon's ability to stay firmly biased against them. He just wanted to run to him, to stop playing coy and just grab his face in his hands and kiss him deeply. To have him hold him tightly and kiss him over and over until he could no longer remember it was winter.
But he didn't run up to Cullen and he didn't kiss him.
Instead, Mahanon grinned and said, "Be nice to the new recruits."
Cullen's expression relaxed, he laughed and waved at him as he headed into the forge. Mahanon's shoulders sank and he sighed, somewhat disappointed with himself. He picked up his staff and made his way back to the main hall. Along the way he heard a 'tsk tsk' from one of the soldiers.
"Not a word, Jim." Mahanon muttered.
Creators, he was in love with Cullen Rutherford.