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When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him.
Sunrays trespassed the boundaries of his room, through the hole in his roof. The sunny and warm day, sometimes not so common in Skyhold, embraced him like velvet. It's a good feeling, he thinks, to be able to wake up with such weather, with the woman he loves at his side.
Cullen gives her a smug grin, lustful gaze as he took notice of her features; collarbone bare as part of her chest was not covered by the blanket. The memory of last night still vivid in his mind.
But something was off— she didn't smile back. Her eyes were immobile, glassy gaze as she kept staring at him.
He furrowed his eyebrows, “What's wrong?”
Evelyn had been observing the Commander for the last ten or twenty minutes, taking into memory his features; how his curly and tousled hair fell perfectly around his face, molding his temples in such a way that made him look younger.
She had noticed, the first time they met, how handsome was he. His always so carefully combed hair, a sign of vanity that at first wouldn't match his constant serious expression. Yet, as she came to know him, she discovered that such was just a layer of his being, like the many others she came to undress over time. And she loved it, to know these many parts of him— these many "Cullens" that were foreign to the world. It felt like a secret shared between only the two of them, something reserved to her eyes only.
Evelyn was taken aback by his sleeping face. He looked so peacefully— a clear contrast to when he was awake: the bags under his eyes almost invisible when his eyelids were shut. Free of worry, free of stress: his tousled hair making some curls fall over his face.
She had been entertaining herself with one strand for a while, but stopped and pulled her hand back when a wrinkle had formed between his eyebrows, afraid to wake him up from his moment of peace.
Her mind wandered then, from simple adoration of his figure and everything he was, to how loveable he looked in Halamshiral, the image of a true chevalier, nothing like those self-entitled Orlesians noble.
It was, however, at that memory that her mind decided to take darker turns: whispers ghosting her brain as she remembered some nobles gossiping their hearts away.
As one imagined, she wasn't the only one who had thought Cullen to be the most handsome thing the Maker had created.
Women and men gossiped about the success the Commander had achieved in the palace, how his features had conquered many of them. They eyed her lover with hungry eyes; furious lions drooling with thirsty lust over a nug.
Evelyn and Cullen had been discreet about their relationship. They had kept their affair private for a long time, and for a long time, only some people in Skyhold were aware of their relationship.
Yet, that didn't stop the man from casting side glances at her in Halamshiral, every time their eyes met. Much to the contrary of his innocence, however, his actions hadn't gone unnoticed.
“He is prying, it's almost adorable,” Evelyn had heard a noblewoman chuckle within an earshot. “He can't take his eyes off the Inquisitor.”
“Do you think they—”
“There had been rumors.”
“No!” her gasp had been overly exaggerated. “What does he see in her? She is so dull!”
“Power, my innocent child. Men love women over them. But he will tire of her soon enough. Men like the Commander need someone fit to his class rather than a northern barbarian!”
“Evelyn?” his hoarse and quiet tone called her, a little hesitant in an attempt to not take her by surprise. He did short notice of trying to hide the worry under her name, for his furrowed brows betrayed the calmness he tried to convey.
She blinked, brought back from her reverie.
“Oh,” a silent gasp escaped her lips, thoughts still a mess as she tried to push the memory of the noblewomen aside. “Cullen, good morning.”
Her failed attempt to convey him a proper smile made him furrow even more.
Her body flinched under the sight of his fingers reaching out to touch her cheeks, her unexpected reaction stopping him in his tracks.
Chest became heaven as he started to think that he had somehow done something wrong. Had he hurt her last night? Had he said something? Maybe on his sleep?
Someone had already told him he talked in his sleep— maybe one of his nightmares? Maybe she was not satisfied?
He definitely must've done something.
It was when he was about to talk, when he parted his lips, however, that her voice came instead— rushed words under a jagged breath.
“Why me?”
He was taken aback; brows arched then furrowed, confusion clear on his face, “What?”
Cullen watched, frozen on the spot as she bit her lips, as her gaze diverted to the side, then to her fidgeting fingers over the blanket.
“I—” she stopped, swallowing hard before continuing. The words faltered in between her lips as insecurity washed all over her body. She suddenly felt small, and vulnerable.
“I know that I'm boring and plain. I don't have any beautiful features, no beautiful, vibrant eyes, no perfect skin or anything. I'm average, Cullen... and you are… well, you are handsome.”
“Evie—” he tried to dismay the question, arms going to her side, an attempt to pull her to him, into an embrace.
Evelyn shook her head, moving away from him.
He frowned, thoughtful expression as he squinted his eyes. Cullen saw a shimmer in her irises— Maker's breath, was she really asking such question?
He licked his lips, then, pressing them together in a stern line, wrinkles imminent on his forehead as he started, in an almost scolding tone.
“Do you like me just because of my appearance?”
Her answer was immediate, eyes wide in disbelief at the absurdity of his question.
“Of course not,” she said, followed by a shake of her head.
“Then, what makes you think that it matters to me?”
That wasn't fair! He wasn't only handsome but also one of the people with the highest integrity she had ever met. He was good at what he did, and his intentions were nobles. Not to mention that, albeit everything he had been gone through, and his past mistakes, he was always trying to improve himself, trying to atone for his wrongdoings.
How could she ever compare?
“But Cullen, I— I'm so dull, I don't excel at anything. My combat is average, I don't know tactics like you. I'm not a spy like Leliana, nor an ambassador like Josephine. Even as a rogue I'm nothing grandstanding: Sera can pick locks better than I, Varric would do a better job than me in the field,” she breathed deeply, trying to contain the untamed tears that had started to form in the corner of her eyes,
“If not for this—” she brought her left hand to her field of vision; scornful look as she stared at the fading lime glow coming from it. “If not for this, I'd be nothing. No one important, no one who would ever capture your eyes—”
Her words fell short, then, sound turning into a gasp of surprise when Cullen reached out to take her marked hand in both his own.
Her gaze followed his movements, lips half parted as he took her hand to his lips, eyes meeting as he gently brushed his mouth over her knuckles.
Last night had been the first time they had laid down together, that he saw her in her purest form.
He could still feel the warmth of her bare skin against his cold hands— the way she cried his name as she reached the apogee of pleasure; how her chanting of love and adoration filled the room, making him shiver down his very soul.
Evelyn's life looked so much simpler than his: no drama, no nightmares. She had told him how her childhood had been surprisingly normal, how she was raised to be devoted to the Chantry in her adult age.
She had not known war, and was kept from a safe distance from the shenanigans of the nobility, especially given the fact that she had no chance of becoming the heir of the Trevelyans.
Her days were filled with duties to the Maker, with prayers and sermons.
And he loved that— the thought of having a peaceful life, without imminent danger creeping on their doorsteps.
He found himself being jealous of her simplicity.
The contact of his lips against her skin sent shivers down her spine, cheeks flushing as a beating of a heart was skipped.
Cullen looked at her, with his piercing amber irises, golden as the sun— gaze filled with adoration.
She wouldn't normally feel so insecure about herself, but hearing those nobles speak about her, about her Commander... hearing they laugh and spill words of how undeserving she was of him, seeing how many people swooned for the man… it had made her feel unworthy. It made her realize how lucky she was to have him. But on top of all, it made her fear; Maker— he could leave her anytime he wanted, for anyone better.
A single tear rolled down her flushed cheeks.
“Evie?” his voice came in a weak, soft tone. Face turning into a worried expression.
With his other hand, Cullen reached for her— calloused fingers taking away the sinful tears that tried to wash his lover away.
“I'm sorry,” she stuttered, sobs precluding her words from coming off properly.
It was then that he took her by her shoulders and pulled her body closer to him, skin-against-skin once again.
Cullen evolved her in his arms, hiding her crying face against his collarbone.
Maker, how could she ever think that she was unworthy of him?
“Evelyn,” he called her softly, lips against her scalp. Eyes closed down as he took into the feeling of having her warmth against him, the feeling of her hair brushing against his face. “Evie, Maker— don't cry,” a hand pulled her even closer, holding her tightly as the other started to caress the small of her back in slow and arbitrary movements, barely pressing the tip over her skin.
They stood like that for a long moment, silence becoming a comfort as Evelyn slowly started to control her sobs.
When she had all but stopped, Cullen said.
“I don't care if others think you're pretty or not, you beautiful to me. I don't care if people think you're boring, or dull; you keep me grounded. You're not less worthy than anyone else, Evelyn. And it wouldn't be the lack of a Mark or title that would stop me from loving you.”
At that she stopped sobbing, taking in a deep breath as she pulled herself away.
Evelyn's chin raised, and Cullen took notice of her swollen cheeks and eyes; wet tracks coming down her eyes.
He leaned in, eyelids shut as he took her lips in his, a feathered kiss shared between them.
He licked his upper lip as they broke apart, savoring the salty taste of her tears.
Evelyn was silent now, shoulders faintly raising from time to time, vestiges from her sobs still lurking inside her body.
Her gaze was attentive, unasked questions lingering in her irises.
Cullen's voice was still soft and low, but held a more assertive tone as he spoke once again.
“You have coped with my lyrium withdrawal, stayed by my side when I was at my worst. Of all the words I could use to describe you, ‘dull’ would definitely be one of them. You are not unworthy, Evelyn.”
Her eyes were sparkling now, a sheepish smile crawling its way up her lips.
“Cullen...”
His hand moved from her back to caress her cheeks, rubbing the wet tracks of tears away.
“I see you, Evelyn Trevelyan. Mark or no Mark— Inquisitor or not, I see you. And it's you that I love. You and just you.”
Cullen leaned in to kiss her then, pulling her over him as she tangled her arms around his neck. With his legs, he kicked the tangling blankets away, revealing the sculpture of her form to his eyes, freeing the way so his hands could roam up and down at her shape.
Warmth flowed through both their veins as they moved on the bed, a spin making him take the upper side now, filling Evelyn with open-mouthed kisses.
If there was still any doubt left about the fact that he loved her because she was , he would definitely kiss it all away.