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Cullen fumbled with the clasps of his jacket once a again for good measure, tugging at the garment lightly. It had been some time since he'd ventured out of his tower not in his uniform, and frankly, he was wondering why he'd made the decision to do so.
Granted, for the next several hours he'd told his men to direct any issue to Rylen. As his now second in command, Rylen could handle just about anything that came up while he was at The Herald’s Rest with his companions.
Rylen had nearly shoved him out the door when Cullen had asked him to cover for him in case of emergency this evening. Apparently, his men thought he needed a break and a drink. Or a few.
He glanced at the simple green silk pouch placed delicately on his desk.
Yes, he would need a drink.
Dorian had wandered into his office nearly two weeks ago, inviting the commander to a not so formal birthday party for their Inquisitor. Not a surprise Dorian had told him, but a relatively low key gathering of their companions. Cullen was startled to hear her birthday was so soon, and nearly a week from the autumnal solstice. Dorian had assured him that Rosalin hadn't even bothered to tell him , her best friend that it was to be her birthday soon, and to not feel bad that she hadn't mentioned. Apparently Josephine had mad a comment to him about planning a rather elaborate banquet and Dorian had nipped that in the bud.
Cullen, thankfully, had been in conversation with Dagna over sourcing and crafting this particular gift for over a month. He had planned to give it to Rosalin on all Feasts Day, but Dagna had been nearly done with it already. The dwarf was more than happy to finish them earlier than planned.
So, after messing with his coat for the fourth time and realizing he was already running several minutes late, Cullen tucked the pouch into the inside pocket of his coat, and left his tower.
A chilled air swept over Skyhold, the grip of autumn soon to settle its claws. The sun had already made its descent, the sky hued in purples and oranges and pinks as he walked across the battlements. Music sounded from the windows of the tavern, and jaunty tune carrying into the evening. Voices were abuzz through the walls of the tavern by the time he arrived, Bull's laughter booming out the door as he pulled it open.
“Curly!” Varric exclaimed as soon as his boots entered the tavern. “You made it!”
Cullen felt heat rising up his neck as he noted the rest of their companions presence. He'd only been a few minutes late and yet he was the last to arrive.
“Apologies for my delay. I, uh, got caught up with some paperwork.” He winced internally.
You sound like you don't want to be here.
Before he could correct himself, Dorian was shaking his head and gesturing the commander forward. “Diligent as always, Commander.” He pointed at a chair squished between the Inquisitor and himself. “We saved you a seat. Right next to freckles” Conversation around them continued, Cassandra scoffing at something that had Sera in hysterics.
Cullen took the opportunity to finally set his eyes on Rosalin. She sat, legs crossed and one hand on her tankered of ale, a smile lighting her face that only seemed to glow brighter when her gaze met his.
He hoped his friends couldn't see the flush rushing to his cheeks. Which only grew as her eyes seemed to flutter over him and his lack of armor.
Perhaps he should have worn it?
He shoved the thought aside as he made his way to his reserved seat, ignoring the knowing look Dorian was casting his way. He'd been a fool to tell the man of his feelings for the Inquisitor.
“Sera - that's genius-” Bull cackled from across the table as Cullen pulled out his chair beside Rosalin.
He missed the rogues's response, his focus swallowed whole by the woman beside him. She smiled up at him, her freckles crinkling along her nose. “No armor tonight, Commander?” She teased.
He shook his head, scooting in his seat beside her. He didn't fail to notice that Dorian had bunched he and the Inquisitor rather close, their chairs mere inches apart. Damn him.
Cullen shook his head, regarding the woman beside him. “No. I told the men Rylen was in charge for the evening. This seemed like a good reason for a night off.”
Maker, had he just implied her birthday was a convenience for him? Andraste preserve him-
Rosalin leaned in slightly, her spiced scent wafting into his nostrils and nearly intoxicating him, as it always did when she was near. “I rather think the casual look is striking on you, Cullen.” She told him.
Just as swiftly as she leaned in she was gone, though the warmth of where her shoulder brushed his arm remained.
Cullen swallowed. Perhaps not wearing his armor was the correct choice.
“Who needs another round?” Bull asked over the chatter and laughter “Inquisitions buying!”
…..
“Bull, pay attention. It's your turn.” Rosalin poked, her cards fanned out in front of her.
Bull scrunched his brow, elbowing his well used ale tankard to the side. “I am boss. ” He goaded. “It's not my fault Varric's a slick dealer.”
The dwarf grinned, chuckling, but made no comment. Instead crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair on Ros's other side. Several of their companions had turned in after a drink and dinner, leaving Bull, Varric, Sera, Dorian, Rosalin and himself to refill their drinks and shuffle to a table to play cards.
Dorian and Bull had each won a round so far.
“So how old are you turning, your royal lady bits?” Sera asked from across the table leaning over her cards.
Dorian snorted faintly. “Has no one told you that it is impolite to ask a lady her age?”
Sera crinkled her nose in a grimace. “Here I thought Rosalin said I could ask her anything.”
“Not anything,” Dorian Protested. “There are some thing that a lady has the right to keep-”
Rosalin sat up from her chair, reaching behind Cullen's back to flick her friend in the head, her other hand leaning On his shoulder for support.
“Ow! What was that for?”
Cullen pretended not to notice the way her fingers gripped into him, the linen of his shirt bunching beneath her grasp. They'd all had a few to drink. Certainly her ever closer proximity was due to the three tankards of ale she'd consumed over the hours. Though, he'd admit, even with the few he'd drank he barely felt a buzz.
“You know better than to think I care about propriety,” Rosalin corrected, leaning over her cards to meet Dorian's eye. “You just like to cause a stir.”
Dorian huffed and rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “With Vivienne retired for the evening, I felt it necessary to take her place.” He reasoned.
“And you are one of my best friends because you do not,” she jested back.
It was no secret that Vivienne and Rosalin rarely saw eye to eye. In fact, if it wasn't for the propriety Vivienne cared so much for, Cullen doubted she would have shown tonight at all.
“Make a move yet, Bull?” Cullen asked over the two mages' squabble, watching as Bull Set down his cards.
The warrior glanced at his cards with a sigh before placing them face down. “Staying. For now.”
“Now what about you, Sera?” Varric asked.
The elf grinned, pushing more coins onto the table. “I'm gonna raise, but Rosalin needs to answer my question first. I need to know if I need to watch you for achy joints and all that.”
Rosalin laughed, her side leaning against Cullen just briefly. As it had several times over the course of the evening. It made his head spin more than the ale, everytime.
“I'm twenty eight.” She told the elf. “No need to worry about achy bones, Sera. Just unrequested comments about my age from various nobles.”
Maker. She was young. Younger than he'd thought, to possess the poise and wisdom she had. Cullen suddenly felt a fool for his rather inappropriate feelings.
"Cheers to that kaffas,” Dorian mocked. “To disappointing our noble families.”
Rosalin gave him a mock salute and Cullen couldn't help but chuckle, breaking him of his torrent of thoughts.
Rosalin tipped her mug to her lips, finishing her drink before regarding the elf once more. “I'm betting you're twenty, Sera.”
The elf grinned. “Ah, sorry. Twenty two.”
“That's why you're so immature”, Dorian teased over his hand, “You're the youngest by far. I'm nearly fifteen years your senior.” He placed his cards down. “I fold.”
Cullen glanced at his own cards, debating his next move as the conversation carried on around him. Sera goading the rest of the ‘oldies' to reveal their ages. Bull, forty two, Varric, thirty five. Cullen thought he'd be skipped over as he finally chose to raise to meet Sera's bet. He had a good hand.
“What about you, Cullen?” Rosalin asked, her elbow lightly nudging his side. Those sea green eyes looked up at him below her lashes, and he doubted she knew how truly beautiful she was. “How old is our Commander?”
He cocked his head to the side and towards her, in a show of confidence that sprung from nowhere. Or perhaps his likely winning hand.
“Thirty-five.” He told her. “Old enough to make my knees ache on chilly days.”
Rosalin grinned, before placing down her cards. “You may be old,” she teased, “but you can still play one hell of a game of wicked grace.”
…..
Cullen won that game, and Varric won the next two after that. Eventually, with the Tavern nearly empty and yawns being passed around the table, it was decided to turn in. Cullen leaned into Rosalin's ear as she collected the tankards on their table, making it easier for Abel to collect and clean.
He couldn't help but feel warmth at the thoughtful gesture. Her ever present kindness.
“Rosalin, if you have a moment before you turn in, I'd like to speak with you.”
Rosie straightened and Cullen was suddenly utterly aware that he'd never called her by her name before.
Gratefully, Varric, who had remained to clean up his cards, pretended not to notice the exchange.
“I- of course, Cullen.” She agreed softly, before grabbing her cloak and fastening it around her shoulders. “Lead the way.”
Cullen did so, though not before pressing a few coins into Abel’s hand in thanks for the evening. He held the tavern door for her, allowing Rosalin to enter the dim courtyard beyond.
He led her towards the stairs that led to the main hall, but just far enough to be out of sight of any prying eyes.
“Is everything alright?” Rosie asked as they walked.
Cullen grimaced at his naivety. Of course she was nervous. “Yes, I, just- uh” he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I wanted to wait until the others were gone.”
Rosalin quirked a brow and he swore her gate drew closer to him. “Is that so?”
Maker's breath. This woman.
Cullen nodded, finally reaching his Intended destination. He turned to her fully now, steeling himself as he reached into his coat.
Her eyes fell to him, watching with pinched brows as he pulled the satin package from its interior pocket.
“I'd intended to give these to you for all Feasts Day, but Dorian informed me today was your birthday. I had them quickened.”
Rosalin gently took the satin bag from his hands, eyes wide. “You didn't need to get me anything. For either.”
“I know.”
She chewed on her lip as she pulled the drawstring, reaching in to pull out a pair of thin wool lined leather gloves. Intertwining floral detailing stamped into the cuffs.
Rosalin sucked in a breath.
“I remembered you telling me your fingers sometimes grow white and stiff in the cold, making it hard to cast. I asked Dagna if she knew of any runes and materials that would keep you warm, but still give you the dexterity you require. She crafted these.” He rambled. “She did excellent work and-”
“Cullen,” she whispered, pulling on a glove.
“I recommended the floral etchings as I know you have a love for herbalism and-”
“Cullen.”
A warm hand cupped his jaw.
Cullen snapped out of his stupor, only to find a softly smiling Ros in front of him, her hand cradling his cheek. Her eyes searched his.
“I - this is-” suddenly she was throwing Her arms around his neck in a tight hug. His own hands fluttered to her hips in surprise.
“Thank you” she mumbled into his neck.
Cullen held her close, a beat longer than he should have before she was pulling away. Her hands clung to him, her body pressed to his front in an intimate manner that had him thanking the maker the second time tonight for forgoing his armor.
“This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me, in a long time.” She confessed, still in his arms. “Truly.”
She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, so light he barely noticed it, before pulling herself from his embrace.
Heat crawled up his neck, “You’re, uh, maker. You’re welcome, Rosalin.”
She laughed lightly before reaching out to squeeze his bicep through his shirt. “Have a good night, Cullen.”
He nodded, his brain slowly catching up to him. “You too.”