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It was already nightfall by the time they returned to Skyhold, two weeks after the siege of Adamant. Nythara was at the front with Hawke and Varric, with Solas and Cassandra riding a few paces behind them. The rest of the gang was farther back, mingling with the soldiers. Sera, Bull and the Chargers were cheering loudly at the sight of the large gates and already making plans to spend a night of drinking. Blackwall had chosen to stick close to the Wardens on the journey back, bringing up the rear of the rather long procession.
Nythara sighed heavily as the guards opened the gates. She couldn’t wait to sleep in a real bed again. Preferably for a month or two.
“Glad to be back home?” Hawke asked.
Nythara nodded. “You have no idea. What about you? Will you be going home now?”
“No, not yet. Someone needs to tell the rest of the Grey Wardens what happened. I’ll be leaving for Weisshaupt soon. Actually,” she added, turning to Varric with a sly grin, “Varric, do you think you could write to everyone and let them know?”
Varric snorted. “You can’t manage a few letters?”
Her grin widened. “But you always make them sound so much better.” She bent closer and gave him a puppy-eyed look, batting her lashes for extra effect. “Pretty please, Varric, my absolute most favorite dwarf ever?”
Varric rolled his eyes. “Of course I write better than you. I have a reputation to uphold.” He sighed dramatically as they all dismounted and handed the reigns off to the stable hands that came to take their mounts. “Alright, Hawke, I’ll do it. What would you ever do without me?”
“I’d be completely lost.”
“I bet. Should probably write Fenris first. Maker, I’m glad I won’t be doing this in person.”
No sooner than the words were out of his mouth there was a commotion from the direction of the keep. They could hear Josephine yelling at someone, followed by a loud crashing sound.
“Hawke!” an unfamiliar voice shouted.
Varric groaned at the sound. “Shit.”
Nythara raised an eyebrow quizzically. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sticking around to find out. You’re on your own with this one, Hawke.” With that, the dwarf suddenly turned and ran in the direction of the stables. Actually ran.
Nythara turned back to Hawke, but the woman’s silver eyes were trained on the steps in front of them, her expression a strange combination of hope and trepidation. As they watched, a male elf Nythara didn’t recognize rounded the corner and bounded to the bottom of the stairs.
He was tall for an elf, with dark olive skin and a shock of white hair. It was too dark to see much more than that from across the courtyard. He looked about wildly until he found what he was searching for and froze.
“Hawke.” He said it much quieter this time, his deep, gravelly voice breaking in the middle of it.
Hawke didn’t move, didn’t say anything. She simply stared at him, apparently struck dumb. But then he started towards her, his long strides angry and his face set in a scowl, and the spell was broken. She held her hands up in front of her and took a single step back. “Fenris, let me explain—”
Whatever she was going to say was lost as the elf grabbed her up in his arms and practically smashed his mouth against hers. Nythara saw Hawke’s eyes widen in shock before they fluttered closed and she wrapped her arms around the elf’s neck with a quiet sigh. They remained that way for a few moments until the elf pulled back and rested his forehead against hers.
“Festis bei umo canavarum,” he growled softly, “You ridiculous, stubborn, foolish woman. Do not ever do that to me again. I do not care what danger you run in to, I will not let you face it without me at your side.”
Hawke nodded, and Nythara was stunned to see a tear track its way down the usually unshakeable woman’s face. “I’m sorry.” She finally opened her eyes and gave a watery smile. “Can you forgive me?”
“Always.” He said it so quietly, Nythara almost didn’t catch it. But then he straightened and turned his gaze on her, a pair of vibrant green eyes glaring at her as he asked, “And who is this?”
Before she could introduce herself, Hawke laid a hand on his arm gently. “Fenris, this is Inquisitor Nythara Lavellan. Nythara, this is Fenris.”
Nythara couldn’t quite suppress her grin. “I had figured as much. It’s good to finally meet you, Fenris. Hawke speaks very fondly of you.”
The glare softened to a scowl. “So you are the one in charge here.” His eyes traveled over her face, following the lines of her vallaslin. “You are Dalish.”
“I am.”
Then he looked pointedly at the staff on her back. “And a mage.”
Nythara crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
Instead of answering her, he turned to Hawke. “Does this one play with demons and blood magic as well?”
Hawke rolled her eyes. “No, she doesn’t. And before you ask, no, she isn’t an abomination either.”
Fenris gave a single, sharp nod and looked back at Nythara. “Then no, we do not have a problem.”
“Is he always like this?” Nythara asked Hawke.
The woman shrugged. “You get used to it.” When Fenris huffed beside her, she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, but was valiantly fighting it back.
Nythara smiled at the pair before she felt a strong hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Cullen standing behind her. Her smile stretched into a full-blown grin. “Hello, Commander.”
Cullen smiled in return. “Inquisitor.” Then he looked up and the smile faded. “Fenris.”
“Knight-Captain.” The elf’s tone was flat, but his eyes were focused intently on the hand Cullen had placed on Nythara’s shoulder. They flicked back up to Cullen’s face and he raised one eyebrow pointedly. “You as well, I see.”
“I assure you, I don’t know what you’re referring too.”
Fenris looked back to Hawke, who laughed and nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes indeed. Him too.”
“Hawke,” Cullen started, but the Champion cut him off neatly.
“Yet another broody man, wary and distrustful of magic, has had his eyes opened – his entire world turned on end, in fact! – by a single remarkable mage girl.” She grinned as she said it, gently elbowing Fenris in the side. He returned the gesture by bumping his hip against hers.
“Remarkable indeed.”
Cullen groaned and Nythara couldn’t help but giggle at his discomfort.
But Hawke wasn’t done yet. She leaned closer and faux-whispered in Fenris’ ear, “Must be the scar. Makes him look…dangerous. I hear women are attracted to that sort of thing these days.” She slipped a hand into his and wound their fingers together.
This time Fenris did smile, a cheeky, knowing smirk that somehow both softened and sharpened his face. He looked at Hawke from the corner of his eye and said, “Is that so?”
Hawke winked at him and opened her mouth to respond, but there was another commotion at the top of the stairs that interrupted her. Josie was shouting in Antivan now and there was another crash followed by…was that barking? Hawke’s eyes lit up in excitement.
“You brought her with you?” she practically squealed the question at Fenris.
He shrugged nonchalantly, but Nythara could see the smile in his eyes. “She refused to let me leave home without her.”
At that moment a giant brown mabari leapt off the last step and skidded around the corner, charging at Hawke and barking happily. Hawke stepped away from Fenris and opened her arms wide.
“Kitty!”
The dog took a flying leap and crashed into her master’s outstretched arms, knocking them both to the ground. She started licking Hawke’s face, peppering the woman with slobbery kisses while the dog’s whole body wagged in joy. Hawke’s booming laugh echoed throughout the courtyard, causing several people to turn and stare.
“Okay, okay!” she giggled, trying to push the massive hound off of her, “Yes, I missed you too.”
Nythara raised an eyebrow at Fenris. “I think Kitty is even happier to see her than you.”
“Don’t let the broodiness fool you,” Hawke said from the ground, “He’ll be doing the same thing once he gets me alone. Just with less drool.”
“Hawke.” There was a note of fond exasperation in Fenris’ voice as he pushed the mabari off of Hawke and helped pull her to her feet.
“You know I’m right.” Hawke grinned at him as she started tugging him back towards the keep. “Keep the servants away from our room tonight,” she called back at Nythara. “I’d hate for all the noise to scare them.”
“Hawke!” Now it was Fenris pulling her along, and Hawke laughing breathlessly at his embarrassment.
Cullen and Nythara watched as they disappeared from view before Nythara leaned her head against Cullen’s shoulder. He stiffened a little at first, but then settled his arm lightly around her shoulders. She smiled in content.
“You know,” she said softly, “In all the time Hawke has been here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile like that. Do you think we look like that to other people?”
“What do you mean? Like an elf and a human?”
She slapped at his arm playfully. “No, you silly shem. Like we’re…happy. Like even though the world has gone to shit, we’re still happy, dammit.”
Cullen was quiet for a moment, though Nythara could feel his thumb running in circles as he thought. “I don’t know. We haven’t exactly given people much to see, have we?”
Nythara looked up at him, one eyebrow raised and a wry smirk on her mouth. “You realize the battlements outside your office are, indeed, outside, right?”
The man sputtered, and his face turned a shade of red close to the color of the Inquisitor’s hair. “I, well, that’s—” he cut himself off with a huff at Nythara’s snorting giggle. His whiskey eyes went all soft then as he watched her, and he reached down to clasp one of her hands in both of his.
The elf tilted her head at him quizzically. “Cullen?”
Though the both of them still wore gloves, he imagined that he might feel the warmth of her hand through them anyway. That he could still trace the lines of the delicate bones of her fingers, so much slighter and far more dexterous than his own. And it suddenly felt as if something settled within him, like a lake going still after the rain passes. He looked up into her large turquoise eyes, saw the way they caught the torchlight and shone like a cat’s in the dark. Eyes like those could drown a man, and by the Maker, he wanted them to.
“I don’t know what other’s see when they look at us,” he told her, “and I’m starting to realize I don’t much care. But I know what I see, when I look at you.”
He watched the way she bit her lip, those eyes darting away before looking back up at him. “And what is it that you see?”
The rest of my life. He swallowed that thought back down. Too soon, much too soon. “The woman who has made me feel more alive than I can ever remember,” he said instead, and hoped that it wasn’t too much.
Her eyes grew wider, almost comically so, before her face broke into the biggest smile he’d ever seen on her. Even bigger than the first time he’d kissed her. “Really?” she asked, and the word still cracked despite how softly she said it.
“Really.”
She huffed out the tiniest nervous laugh. “Well, that’s good to know. Because I…well, I feel the same way. Just so you know.”
And wasn’t that a relief? No, not just a relief, but perhaps the greatest relief. Cullen was of half a mind to drag her into his arms and kiss her right there, to spin around in the courtyard like a pair of lovestruck teenagers. But, despite his claim of not caring what other people saw of them, his sense of decorum and desperate wish for some semblance of privacy won out in the end.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, and brought her hand up to kiss her gloved knuckles. He lingered as long as he could, hoping she might understand just how much he meant his words, as if he could press them through the fabric and into her skin so she could feel them for herself.
When he finally stood and let her hand go, he immediately missed the holding of it. The holding of her. Still, it was late, and their journey had been long. They should both rest, much as he would rather spend eternity in her company.
“I think perhaps this is where I bid you goodnight, my lady.”
Nythara smiled. “If you must, Commander mine. Sleep well.” She waved her fingers at him as she headed for the stairs, her steps almost bouncy.
It wasn’t until after she disappeared from view that his brain caught up to the mine she had tacked onto his title.