Work Text:
How did we get here?
They have both wondered, perhaps more times than they could count. Amidst the chaos, when they were least expecting it, they found each other.
Perhaps it was luck. Or perhaps it was a promise - For you, I'll try.
And they did try. Every day, little by little, they learned to trust each other. It was new to both of them, what they had built, and it wasn’t always easy, but it was theirs. Awkward, sometimes messy, and real.
The proposal took her by surprise. Him too, if the way he blurted out the words was anything to go by.
It was not something she had imagined for herself. To have a family of her own, to be someone’s wife… A few years ago, she would have laughed at anyone suggesting as much. But she said yes, and she had never been more certain about anything in her life.
The chambers the Empress had so graciously granted her are large (almost as large as Skyhold’s courtyard, if that was possible) and spotlessly clean. Never lived in before, she’d bet. Still, she is thankful for the sanctuary they provide. In the few quiet hours she has with him, she can pretend everything is alright. No burning Anchor threatening to melt her skin away. No simpering Orlesians and glowering Fereldans; no Eluvians and Qunari spies. Just Cullen and Nehn.
She shifts on the bed, drawing the duvet up her shoulders. They still had a little time left before she had to go save the world again.
A gentle hand reaches out to her, cradling her cheek and running a thumb along freckled skin. The smile she greets him with sends a jolt of emotion through him.
Nehn wore her smiles often, and she wore them well. Her mirth is infectious; her warmth pulling everyone in like a brightly burning beacon. It was one of the (many, so many) reasons he was drawn to her from the beginning.
Her cheer is also her armor, one she rarely took off. How many times had she deflected a question with a witty joke or dismissed her own value in a burst of laughter?
But she did not have to carry that burden alone anymore. Whatever came next, they would face it together. He would stand by her, no matter what. It was the least he could do, after everything she did for him. For all of them.
He hoped he brightened her days as much as she brightened his.
Nehn stretches her legs with a long sigh and rolls over to his side, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “You know,” she mutters, voice still croaky from sleep. “Best not tell Josie yet, or she’ll invite every noble in the vicinity and their entire entourage to boot.”
Cullen snorts, a soft little sound that never fails to amuse her. “Maker’s breath, I’d hope not!” Returning to Halamshiral for the Council was insult enough as it is.
“The perks of marrying the Inquisitor.” She flashes that familiar lopsided grin. “You get Thedas’ finest to wish you on your special day.”
He chuckles in response, and her grin grows wider. “If that’s the case, I suppose I can handle a marquis or two.”
Those silly, light-hearted moments bring her more comfort than he knows, his laughter especially so. At times she still can’t quite believe that this man, this sweet, wonderful man liked her enough to stay by her side for the past three years and now wanted to be her husband.
Husband. The word will always sound strange, no matter how many times she repeats it in her head. And this…it was good. The planning, their conversations…It was a distraction she sorely needed. More than that, it gave her hope. When it was all over, he would be there, waiting for her. Waiting to begin their life together.
And she wanted to live that life.
She runs her fingers through the curls on the base of his head, smooth and well-kept even after hours of sleep. She would have been jealous of his perpetually perfect hair she didn’t love it so much.
Cullen leans forward to press a small kiss on her forehead. He truly is making it impossible for her to leave the bed.
“The banquet will be worthy of an Inquisitor if I have any say in it, however,” she continues, blowing a stray lock of ginger hair off her face. “Only the best dishes of both Dalish and Fereldan cuisine.”
He trails a hand up and down her arm. “You can arrange the menu to your liking if you wish…Though I suggest consulting Mia first or we won’t hear the end of it.”
“I can imagine,” she nods in agreement. Cullen’s tales painted his sister as a proper terror, so of course Nehn was very eager to finally meet her. “Besides, my mother will want to be involved too.” She gives his nose a playful tap. “No offense to your shemlen cooks, Commander, but I wouldn’t trust any of them with Mythal’s Delight.”
Cullen quirks an eyebrow in curiosity. His knowledge of Dalish customs was still, ah, limited, so her insight is always welcome.
“Clan Lavellan’s traditional bonding dish,” she explains. “Roasted crickets dipped in honey.”
He nearly chokes on his own spit. “Crickets…?”
“Mhm. They are said to increase…What’s the word?” She glides a finger along his jawline before her voice drops into a husky whisper. “Virility?”
Heat spreads from the back of his neck to his cheeks. It was never easy to hold his composure in her presence. “It sounds delicious…I look forward to -”
His words are drowned by a peal of loud, clear laughter as Nehn’s head hits the pillow, arms wrapped around her stomach.
Cullen frowns. Was it something he said?
“You should have seen your face!” she manages once her giggles have died out. “Quite the sight, really!”
He sighs. He should have known better after all those years. And yet…
His expression softens. She is always beautiful when she laughs. Hers is a face made for joy and Maker, he’ll do whatever it takes to preserve her smile.
He slides an arm around her shoulders. “No roasted crickets, I take it?”
“No roasted crickets,” she affirms, her lovely green eyes alight with amusement. She snuggles up to him, her gaze searching his. “Thank you, Cullen.”
“For what?”
“Everything,” she whispers and pulls him into a kiss.