Chapter Text
“Maker’s ass!” Regan couldn’t believe how much trouble she was still having just getting dressed. All her old outfits … from before … apparently involved buttons or toggles and while she had gotten better at fastening things one handed, it still took forever. And when she felt rushed, or was running late, it was downright impossible.
She ripped the shirt off and flung it aside in disgust, adding to the already large pile in the corner. If she bothered counting, she knew there were probably at least two shirts for every day that had passed since she traveled through the eluvian last. And with each passing day, the pile just got larger. With a frustrated sob, she dropped onto her bed and ran her fingers over the stub of her left arm. Her fingertips followed the scarring as it all but knotted near the center, heart dropping a little with each stroke.
She couldn’t fight, couldn’t unlock doors or chests, couldn’t even get dressed or cut up her own damned food any longer. The only good thing that seemed to have come from any of this was that she had a husband, but even that felt tainted somehow … ruined by the sudden loss of her arm. Regan wiped her eyes with the back of her hand again … considered standing up and throwing on one of Cullen’s tunics. They were the easiest things to wear anymore – no buttons, and she could leave the collar untied. But this was supposed to be a formal meeting, and that tunic, despite the comfort, was in no way appropriate. A strangled sob escaped as she curled up against the sheets and considered giving up and just hiding in her chambers the rest of the day.
“Love?” Cullen crept up the stairs to their chambers, listening to the stifled sobs that were still so unfamiliar to him. Throughout everything … from the moment he’d met her in the war room in Haven, up until that fateful trip through the eluvian, she’d taken everything thrown at her in stride. Yes, she’d had moments of doubt, and even a few bouts of tears, but nothing this bad. “Regan … dearheart? Is everything ….” His voice trailed off as he reached the top of the stairs and saw her in a heap on the bed, shoulders shaking with each sobbing breath.
He was at her side in an instant, dropping to his knees the moment he reached the bed. Strong hands reached out, rubbed along her side and through her hair. He wanted to pull her to him, assure her everything was alright. But he knew … somehow, he knew … that that wasn’t what she needed just then. “I’m here, love. What can I do? What do you need?”
Her initial reply was too muffled for him to hear; her face was buried in a pillow and any sound was garbled by sobs. When he touched her shoulder, asked her to repeat herself, she was up like a shot, swinging her right fist at nothing awkwardly. “I need my fucking arm back.” Her voice cracked on the last word, all the frustration she’d felt over the last few weeks finally breaking her. “I need to beat some sense into that blasted elf and stop him from destroying everything … and I … I can’t … I just …. How can I with only one damned arm? I can’t wield my blades, I can’t relearn a bow. I can’t even get dressed alone. I … can’t do anything. I’m fucking useless now.”
Cullen remained silent as he moved to sit next to her on the bed. He wrapped an arm around her, pulled her to his chest, and the next thing she knew, she was curled up in his lap, sobbing into his shoulder, wetting the expensive fabric of his jacket. He ran his hand gently along her spine and pressed his lips to her hair. “You are far from useless, love.” He let his fingers tickle over her skin, only just then realizing that the only thing she had on her upper body was the thin breast-band she had modified to be slipped on one-handed. He couldn’t help the twitch he felt in his groin, nor the thoughts that flooded his mind, but he was cautious. It wouldn’t do for her to think the only thing he felt she was useful for now was his release.
“Really, Cullen? Just what use does a one-armed fighter who only knows how to use two blades have? What use is someone who can’t even get herself dressed without help?”
“Well, most nobles would say they’re the only ones who can run a country,” Cullen pointed out with an innocent smile. He felt, more than heard, the chuckle she tried to hide, and couldn’t help but feel a little proud that he could make her laugh, even in this state. “After all, even the King and Queen of Ferelden have people to help them dress, and I’ll bet they even help each other.” He shifted just enough to bring his lips to her ear, praying she didn’t notice the bulge that was forming beneath her rear. “Let me help you, love.”
She bit her lower lip, trying to fight back a fit of giggles at the thought of her old friend being strapped into whatever gown she had to wear for some royal function or another. She remembered quite well how much the other Regan hated getting dressed up; it was a feeling they shared for much of their youth. “But … how can anyone … would anyone even ….” She paused, tried to collect her thoughts. “But I can’t fight any longer …. I’m not even … I mean, I’m physically not even the same woman you married. How can you … you want to stay with a ….”
He cut her off with a kiss, lips pressed against hers, tongue sliding through the gap left by her being interrupted mid-speech. His hands moved to her waist, tightening and pulling her against him as his hips shifted upwards, pressing the evidence he’d hoped to keep hidden against her. He growled softly as she finally reciprocated, fingers threading through his hair. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss to speak, peppering her face, ears and throat with soft kisses in between words. “You are the same woman I married, Regan Trevelyan Rutherford; the same kind-hearted, stubborn, skillful, beautiful, amazing, intelligent, beautiful, loving, surprising, perfectly imperfect woman I fell in love with, who took pity on a recovering addict of a templar and loved him back.”
“You … said beautiful twice,” she pointed out in between muffled sobs, feeling her cheeks burn as she shifted to straddle him, trapping his clothed erection between them. She felt anything but beautiful right then; eyes burning, cheeks red from both the crying and the sudden blush. Tears still filled her eyes, her lips were red-lined and chapped and she was pretty sure there was a little gunk dripping from her nose just then … and still minus one half of an arm – certainly not the mental picture of the woman he’d married.
“Because you are, love.” He kept one arm around her, cradling her to him as the other rose, allowing the back of his fingers to trace along her cheek. “You are beautiful, missing arm or no. You could be missing both arms, a leg and a … a spleen, and I’d still find you beautiful.” He leaned in, ghosted lips against hers as he continued to trace fingers along her skin, run through her hair. “Marrying you … was the smartest thing I have ever done, and I … I cannot imagine ever being without you. I … I love you.” He paused, made sure she was looking at him, paying attention. “I know I’ve said it countless times before, but it’s as true now as it was the first time I said it, and every time since then. I love you, Regan Rutherford … my love … my wife ….” He buried his face against her neck, breath tickling her skin as he made a whispered confession. “The woman I’ve dreamt of starting a family with for more than two years.”
“Cullen ….”
He heard her whimper, felt her shiver against him and smiled. It was torture … for the both of them, he knew, but he gently pushed her back. “Maker, I wish we didn’t have to make an appearance below, but I … there are people waiting ….”
“And Josephine would kill us both if we didn’t get down there soon,” she finished for him, finally smiling.
Cullen nodded, elated to see the smile grace her lips. “And when this banquet is over, I want to carry you back up here and make you scream your husband’s name for all of Thedas to hear.” Her answering moan was enough to make him want to reconsider going back downstairs, again. But the threat of an angry Antivan was enough to deter him, for the moment. “And tomorrow, we can go see if Dagna has any ideas for a … replacement arm. She’s been itching for a new project.”
Regan nodded slowly, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. “Will you help me get dressed, then?” She reluctantly rose and walked over to the pile of shirts, plucking up the shirt she’d originally been trying to fasten and holding it out. “And then, later … perhaps help me get … undressed?”
“Always, love,” Cullen replied, following her. “Always.”