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It was late. Eileen’s eyes adjusted to the dark as she left the room Solas had taken to painting, out into the chilly mountain air. She shivered, her thin nightclothes doing little against the bite of the breeze, her bare feet freezing against the chilled stone beneath them, the only relief coming from the pants she had grabbed and slipped on as she left her quarters. Cullen’s tower wasn’t far, though, and the mage approached slowly. A small glow spilled from the windows. Was he awake?
She pushed open the door, the metal, just as everything else, frigid against her fingers, and stepped inside the relatively warm room. The door clanged shut behind her, startling Cullen— who was falling asleep at his desk, hunched over papers— to look up at her with a half-annoyed, half-tired expression and stand quickly. Eileen clearly wasn’t who he was expecting, though, and his face softened as soon as he recognized who it was. He averted his eyes politely and coughed softly. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice flustered and his cheeks blushing.
“I couldn’t sleep. Why are you still up?”
“You didn’t expect me to be?”
“I…” She blinked. Chuckled a little, tiredly, and pushed back her loose blonde hair. “Actually, I don’t know what I expected.”
Cullen seemed to stall for a moment, and cleared his throat. “If… if you’d like, you can go upstairs. I’ll follow when I’m finished with a few things. That… that is, if you want…—” He cut off with a sigh, more flustered than before, hiding his face behind a hand, clearly embarrassed. “Maker.”
Eileen laughed a little, feeling herself blush, too. “Thank you.”
She climbed the ladder upstairs and made her way to the bed sat in a corner. It was unmade, and when she climbed in, she took comfort in the scent of Cullen on the blankets: grass and dirt and wood and smoke. Despite the chill of the hole still in the ceiling, it made the blankets feel warmer, somehow.
It wasn’t long after that the man himself came upstairs, too. She was facing the wall, but heard him climb, walk a few paces. Heard the clangs of his armor as he removed it, the rustle of fabrics as he changed, she assumed. She heard the creak of the bed frame as he sat on the mattress, and felt the bed shift under his weight. He laid down on his back, and the mage took the liberty to turn onto her other side to look at him. He was looking at her, too; their eyes met.
“Is there any reason you couldn’t fall asleep?” he asked, his own voice soft with tiredness.
“It’s… one of those nights, I suppose.”
He nodded. “For me, too.”
She reached up to him, to press the back of her hand against his forehead. Not totally feverish, but definitely warmer than normal. He took her hand in his own, gently lowering it. She let him. He placed a soft kiss on her palm.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I can worry as much as I like. I care about you. It comes with the territory.”
“Bold words from the woman who runs headfirst into danger almost every day.”
“You run into a lot of danger, too, you know.”
“Not nearly every day.” His gaze softened. “I worry about you.”
“I’m careful.”
“Caution doesn’t mean much when you’re facing down a darkspawn magister and his dragon.”
“I have the Maker and your luck with me at all times. I’ll be okay.”
“My luck?”
She chuckled a little, almost awkwardly, the sound quiet from tiredness. “I may or may not take that coin with me absolutely everywhere. It’s always in a pocket.”
This time, he chuckled, placing a kiss on her head. “That’s… not as comforting as I’d hoped, but it makes me love you more, if that’s even possible.”
Eileen cuddled up to him, sleep pulling at the edges of her mind. She’d meant to respond, but whatever words she’d come up with were lost in the thickening of her tired thoughts. With the sound of Cullen’s heartbeat thrumming in one of her ears, she slipped into unconsciousness.
-
Once again, though, she woke in the darkness of night.
It took her mind a while to catch up with itself and remember where she was. She yawned, slightly annoyed at her inability to stay asleep. Maybe it was the cold? She was slightly chilled. But wasn’t Cullen…?
She then realized that the bed next to her was empty.
Where was he?
She sat up, and it didn’t take long to find him; he was looking out a nearby window. His arms were crossed and he was lost in thought. She lifted herself out of bed, trying to be quiet, but the floor under her bare feet squeaked, which startled the commander from his thoughts. He turned to look at her, his expression apologetic.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.” She approached him. “I think I was just cold. What about you?”
He looked back out the window before he responded. His voice was quiet. “Nightmares.”
Eileen laid her head against his shoulder, her cheek acting as the only cushion. “I’ll listen, if you want to talk. But don’t feel forced.”
Standing in front of the glassless opening, the air bit through her nightclothes and into her skin. She shivered slightly, unintentionally, and Cullen wrapped a warm, steady arm around her. He didn’t speak, so the mage left it there. She eventually began to doze again, right there, leaning on him.
When he finally spoke, it was so soft it hardly took her out of her half-asleep mind.
“I hated mages,” he said. “Despised them. They disgusted me. And yet…” He trailed off, shook his head slightly. “Aren’t you disgusted by that?”
Eileen took a moment to respond, thinking carefully over her words— or as careful as a tired mind could think. “You said, once, that demons tortured you during your time in the Ferelden Circle,” she began, seeming to catch him off-guard as he slightly stilled. “You didn’t give details, and I wouldn’t ask for them. I can’t imagine what that did to you, but I can imagine, at least vaguely, how demons came to be in the Circle to begin with. All to say, I don’t believe your hatred and fear was completely unwarranted. Not an excuse for anything you may have said or done, no, but a reason, which is more than some others may have.” She looked up at him, and he looked down at her. His expression was solemn. “And besides, you’ve changed. Grown. If you held me to my past flaws and transgressions, as you hold yourself to yours, you’d probably hate me, too. I know I would.”
His expression seemed to soften at that. He leaned forward to kiss her, softly, before resting his forehead on hers. Eileen continued, “We aren’t those people anymore. Don’t let the Cullen Rutherford from Ferelden and Kirkwall dictate how you hold yourself. You’re not him. You’re my Cullen Rutherford, an honorable, brave, good man. And I love you.”
He kissed her again, more passionately this time, and sweeped her into a tight embrace. They stood like that for a while, holding and kissing each other. She almost melted in the warmth of his body and kisses. At some point, though, her kisses must have gotten sleepy and slow, because Cullen chuckled quietly and, in one swift yet gentle motion, had her picked up bridal style. Eileen squeaked in surprise, an undignified noise that had her lover shaking in laughter. She didn’t meet his gaze as her face flushed, but she couldn’t help herself from smiling.
All too soon, he had set her down on the edge of the bed and kissed her one last time before she crawled back under the covers. He followed, and soon they were once again huddled together and drifting into sleep.
Before they had completely succumbed to unconsciousness, though, Cullen asked, “...Eileen?”
“Hm?”
“I love you, too.”