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It’s one of those groggy post-return mornings, the kind where only thoughts of what’s at stake pulls Livi out of an incomplete sleep.
She’s bleary-eyed and cocooned in a house robe over her night clothes. It takes a bit of stumbling, interrupted by eye rubs and stretches, before she can tuck herself into the plush chair at her desk. There’s a mound of paper and steaming pot of coffee already there. The silver pot makes a pair with a bowl of fruit, glistening fresh pieces of the favorites she can stomach first thing in the morning. The smell of parchment mingles with the breakfast and the brew while the steam rising off the the drink is catching early rays of light. Again she is oh so very thankful for Josephine’s delay and Shanna’s service,the former’s tactical delay and the thoughtfulness of both.
As she slowly makes her way through the mound of paper on her desk with one hand, she sips some black coffee, hoping that an unadorned start will wake her up enough to where she add all the cream and sugar she really wants.
Scowling a bit, Livi starts skimming a marriage proposal (only for what’s between the lines mind you.) The particularly saucy line the sender saved for eigth paragraph doesn’t take away her appetite, but rather feeds it with pique. She reaches to grab a slice of peach and as she takes a bite the creaking sound of her door disrupts the morning stillness.
A small sense of dread buzzes through her chest only to be replaced by a warm low excitement when she realizes sure, steady steps, a bit heavy, belong to Cullen.
As the top of his head comes into view as he climbs the stairs, she somehow knows the sight of morning light playing in the gold of his hair will always be one of her favorites.
As soon as Cullen’s at a decent height, almost to the top of the stairs, their eyes meet and he gives her a lopsided grin.
While he crosses the room his arms are not behind his back nor is his hand upon the pommel of his sword, a little detail her ever vigilant concern picks up on.
“Good morning.” She smiles, the half-eaten slice of peach still halfway to her mouth.
Cullen places his palm against the nape of her neck, a small grounding gesture for their mismatched heights.
“How was your trip to Val Royeaux?” She asks, her eyebrow slightly cocked as she puts away her food.
He rounds her chair before stooping a bit to press a kiss to her cheek. “Tolerable for once.” A matching pair is made when he moves to the other cheek. “In fact I had some time to take care of a personal matter.”
Brows knit in confusion, she turns around gripping the back of the chair so she can keep her unladylike seat.
Cullen pulls a small square box from the inner pocket of his mantle. It’s a flat black, stamped with intricate swirls in silver, with a deep green ribbon holding it closed.
Livi doesn’t know what to say so she doesn’t test it, opting for a wider smile instead. A few presents have passed between them so far, small, sentimental tokens she’s found during her travels. It’s never been necessary for him to return the favor, but that doesn’t make this exchange any less meaningful.
Livi gently takes it from him and then grabs the edge of the ribbon with just enough pressure to release it.
Within, overlapping neatly, are several pairs of gloves. The first pair is red velvet, cut low to where it barely had a wrist cuff, the scant edge covered with intricate patterns of sparkling black beads. Beside them, just as delicate was a black pair, almost sheer but surely woven with the patterns of traditional Antivan lace. He hadn’t forgotten utility either, a soft black leather pair missing every finger past the knuckle except for the index finger and thumb. The last the pragmatic everyday, long and fine cotton in a deep shade of purple.
Back in the Circle she’d had to sew her own, one of the first doses of humble reality away from her parent’s keep. Recently there had been no time to consider something unnecessary, making due with the few pairs she had picked up as an unofficial apostate.
Months ago she would have scoffed that the idea of her Commander wasting his time a boutique, but now she knew his subtle taste for luxury intimately.
“They’re gorgeous!” Livi almost purred while rising up to hug him as best she could with the box still in one hand.
An open look passes between them and he’s clearly proud. Again she opts for actions, something he’s been teaching her, instead of words.
She tugs his glove gently from his right hand, that one purposely for the scars and the rough places that have so far mapped out his life. Clasping it in both of hers, Livi lifted Cullen’s hand closer to kiss it. One against the little, light, almost invisible hairs above his knuckles. One for the large scar in the webbing of his thumb, a souvenir from catching a blade bare handed. One for the burn from a clumsily made lyrium dose.
And a few more for good measure.