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"Did you see it yet?" Sera asked Cullen, biting her lip.
"See what?" he asked.
She grinned. "You should head to the tavern." She sauntered away, but over her shoulder, added, "I didn't realize it was Valentine's Day."
Cullen looked up from the notes he was studying, a chill of unease immediately crawling up his spine. Anytime Sera looked at him like that he was sure she had some ridiculous prank in mind—and he was to the butt of it.
“Valentine’s Day,” he said under his breath. What in blazes could she be talking about?
He tried to put it out of his mind, seating himself in his chair behind his desk and shuffling the papers he had before him. He had a great deal of work to do, what with sorting out the templars from the soldiers and keeping some of the more spirited ones away from the few mages they had here at Skyhold.
But when he found himself reading the same sentence again for the fifth time he knew it was a hopeless battle.
Maker’s breath. He sighed and pushed his chair back, pausing to lay a paperweight over the stack of papers before standing.
“So you’re going!”
“What?!” He whirled around, his heart still pounding in his chest as he stared up at Cole—who was currently sitting on the top of one of his bookcases, a hopeful look on his pinched and dirty face.
Cullen sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing the space between them. “I thought I told you not to do that!” he said.
“Sorry,” came the contrite reply.
“I suppose you know what she’s on about,” he said, reaching irritably for his cloak.
“Yes,” said Cole. He sounded excited again.
“And I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what it is?”
“I can’t. I promised I wouldn’t.”
Cullen sighed again, shaking his head as he stepped out onto the ramparts. It was a chilly, blustery day, but the sun was out, bright and shining. The people he passed looked cheerful enough, though it was true these days that everyone had a smile and a wink to spare for him. It had always been one of his greatest fears, to have his love life be so open for all to see it, but he had only himself to blame. He ground his teeth as he passed a rather smug looking Chantry sister.
“Going to see the Inquisitor, Commander?” she asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” he said.
The worst part? He had yet to see the inside of Auren’s chambers. He simply couldn’t bring himself to go there. No less than a hundred pair of eyes would mark his path there, and the number of wagging tongues at the breakfast table the following morning would pain him to no end. Instead it was five minutes here, ten minutes there—half an hour above his office with the doors locked below. As if those below didn’t know immediately why the way had been barred.
He crossed the courtyard, earning salutes from the men and women practicing there. At least his soldiers hadn’t lost their respect for him. If anything there was now heightened respect for the man fortunate and powerful enough to be bedding the Inquisitor. He allowed himself a slight twitch of a smirk at the thought of those three words: bedding the Inquisitor. They were three words he knew well to keep to himself though.
He paused at the entrance to the tavern, his eyes needing a second to adjust to the dim lighting. It was crowded today, but there was a low hum about the place, replacing the usual raucous shouting and laughter. Little candles sat atop each table, and there was more than the usual number of couples dining tonight.
“You’ll want to head upstairs, Commander.”
He looked at the nearest table to his left, down into Krem’s smiling bright eyes. The man had something of a rosy tint to his cheeks, no doubt in part due to the copious amount of empty flagons before him. He appeared to be the only solo occupant, though that wasn’t surprising, as it was a well-known secret that he and the pretty minstrel had become something of an item, and she was currently performing.
Bloody—when did I become such a gossip?? He shook his head, forever cursing Leliana’s and Josephine’s nonstop prattle in the war room.
“Upstairs?” he asked.
“Upstairs,” the other man agreed.
He started to go before pausing.
“This isn’t one of Sera’s pranks, is it?” he asked.
“I don’t believe so, sir.” As the expression on Krem’s face was sincere, and he never knew the man to be a liar, he decided to take him at his word.
He received a few more than knowing looks as he made his way upstairs. That unnerving chill was beginning to work its way up his spine again. He did so dislike the feeling that everyone around him knew something he didn’t.
As the second floor of the tavern appeared to hold nothing of significance, he continued on to the third floor, though he well knew there was really nothing up here save a few boxes and empty tables.
That’s when he saw the rose petals.
He stopped and stood there, at the top of the stairs, looking down at the neat sprinkling of petals before him. They appeared to lead all the way to the little alcove, an attic of sorts, where one could access the ramparts if one so desired. Little more than a storage room, if he recalled correctly.
Too curious to be unsettled now, he followed the petals to the little room, taking the three steps and pushing the rickety old door all the way open. There before him was a neat little table and two chairs. Atop the table was an elaborate spread, roast duck if his nose was right, the tantalizing smell mingling with the smell of warm bread, mashed potatoes, various roasted vegetables, and a recently opened bottle of Anders Auslese.
And staring down at it all, arms crossed over his chest and a furrow marring the vallaslin on his brow, was the Inquisitor.
“I assume you knew as much about this as I did,” he said.
“I’m not sure I know anything at all,” said Cullen. He frowned down at the table, the contents of which seemed so offensive to his lover. “Sera said I ought to come, so here I am.”
“It was Leliana for me.”
“Leliana?”
“Cullen has something he wants to share with you, she said. A little something special for the Feast of St. Valentine.”
Cullen felt himself color a little. “I—ah—”
“It’s all right. I knew she was lying.”
“If I knew you were interested in this sort of thing,” he began, reaching up to absently rub at the back of his neck.
Auren looked at him. “Cullen. I’m Dalish.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’d never even heard of the Feast of St. Valentine until today.”
“Oh.” He dropped his hand. “Of course.”
Auren lowered his arms as well. “I suppose we ought to eat it.”
“I suppose we should.”
He watched as the other man reached for the bottle of wine, examining it, bringing it to his nose after a moment and sniffing. He set it back down again.
“They’ve made the bed,” said Cullen, noting for the first time that the old headboard had been repaired, the mattress replaced, a smattering of fresh blankets thrown across the top.
There was that raised eyebrow again. “How observant of you.”
“What? No! I don’t mean it like that.” He scowled, though he could feel himself reddening even more. “In any case, it’s obvious they mean for us to—” He choked off, unable to bring himself to finish.
Auren was starting to look amused. “Before or after dinner, do you think?”
“Does it matter?” He swore under his breath. “As if we could. All of Skyhold saw me marching up here. And doubtless you as well.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Of course it does! We both have an image to maintain. We can’t have our people seeing us cavorting about like schoolboys behind the stables.”
“Just imagine the look on Master Dennet’s face if we did.”
Cullen paused in his diatribe, the image abruptly thrusting itself before him. The horsemaster’s mouth half-open, as if he might say something, but then thinking better of it and turning away. Seeing his Lord Inquisitor pressed naked between a stable and Skyhold’s commander would likely render any sane man free of words.
Auren’s lips twitched.
Cullen snorted, unable to keep the laughter from bubbling up inside him. His lover quickly joined him. It was rare to see the Inquisitor laugh. The sight made something warm blossom within him, his insides quaking just a little.
“This thing you have with secrecy,” Auren said after they’d both composed themselves. “You should get over it.”
Cullen snorted. “Easy for you to say. But then you have all the modesty of a Mabari in heat.” He reached down, dipping his finger absently in a dollop of warm mashed potato before bringing the tip to his mouth.
“How is it?”
“Very creamy. Could use a bit more salt, though.”
“You know I’d have you in front of everyone if you’d allow it.”
Cullen froze, his eyes meeting his lover’s. It felt as if all the warmth that had been slowly building inside him had now pooled together, dipping down somewhere below the vicinity of his belt.
He lowered his hand and cleared his throat. “Is that so.”
Auren took a step closer. “Downstairs. In front of everyone. On one of the tables.” He took a step closer. “Maybe the bar.”
It was Cullen’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“On the bar.” He felt a little smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “You’d have me?”
Auren met his smirk with one of his own.
Perhaps there was something to be said for not being so clandestine all the time. There was the envy, the curiosity even, he saw in the eyes of his friends and co-workers. There was the occasional exchange of smiles and brushing of hands in public. The ribbing he wasn’t so fond of, but he could grow used to it—in truth, he already had. And there was the man before him, his dark green eyes warm with desire, his skin beginning to flush—his for the taking, given freely, this wild creature who could have had any man or woman he wanted, but chose him instead, for some inexplicable reason he had yet to discern.
“You should probably close the door,” said the Inquisitor.
Cullen closed the door behind him.
And locked it, too.