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The night air is cool tonight, a welcome breeze on his too warm face, helping him forget the vestiges of his dream.
The nightmares have lessened, a little, but they still stay with him long after waking. He sits on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, waiting for his heart to calm.
Perhaps a walk will do him some good, tonight. Stretch his legs, and clear his head.
The idea decides him, and Cullen dresses, before making his way onto the battlements. They are quiet, the soldiers taking the night off - it isn't exactly like the Elder One will strike again, after all. He moves, unhindered, across the walls, coming to a rest and leaning against them as he stares out at the mountains.
It's peaceful here. For all his preparations, turning the ruin into a worthy fortress, Skyhold holds an aura of calm, of regality. It's high walls and battlements served the people here well, kept them safe within the castle. Even now, over three months after Corypheus's defeat, the Inquisition is in no hurry to abandon it so quickly.
A flash of movement catches his eye, and he turns his head to see a slim form walking closer.
She can't sleep either, it seems.
It makes sense. They both have their nightmares to face.
Still, each support the other, when they have the heart to spare.
The two of them stare out at the landscape, and she turns first, leaning back against the stone to stare up at the stars. He follows, and his breath is stolen by the beauty of the sky.
There are shimmering tendrils of light, weaving and curling amidst the moon and stars. They shine pale blues and greens, and from the corner of his eye he can see her staring up in wonder, reflections of the ribbons dancing in her gaze. It's ethereal, made only more so by the utter stillness of their surroundings, as if, just for tonight, the world has decided to suspend time itself.
'I've never seen this before.' It's a whisper, but he smiles at the sound.
'I've only seen it once or twice. Back at Haven.' She tilts her head, listening, and he tells her stories of the long nights, when his withdrawal was at its height. He speaks of sleeplessness, of long walks in the snow. He remembers falling back into a drift, and tells her how he saw, in his hazed and delusional mind, the magic rising high above him, in the air.
She finds his hand, holding it tightly, and the two of them stay there for a while more, each lost in thought, each fighting off their nightmare.
Above them, the night sky sings.