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The battlements were quiet that night.
Torchlight shone faint in the darkness. The range between the dying embers had grown long and sparse where a sentry was not required. Absolute darkness reigned wholeheartedly, where repairs to the old crumbling masonry had not yet been completed. Only the starlight kept you company here, on this stretch of stone that had become yours and yours alone. Moonlight illuminates the heart you allow to bleed on your sleeve in the presence of no one but the Maker, Andraste, the Elvhen gods of old.
Skyhold was at peace, after such a harrowing win. A raging celebration had cloaked your base from the stables all the way to Leliana’s aviary - a collective exhale, finally, breathed new life into not only the Inquisition itself, but those supporting the cause you had, once upon a time, questioned on your own. It was infectious, this taste of victory, especially when the road to get here was long and cruel and tedious. Roaring fires have calmed to kindling now, the rest of the Keep not too far behind for the night.
There was still much to be done, but this night provided a vital respite that no one seemed to oppose.
It was a calm thing, at such an hour so late. The pathways up into the depths of the stronghold were occupied by the occasional pair, group, lone survivor stumbling to bed in their own corner of the castle.
Your time was your own, now - and by the way Bull kept sliding rounds of Maraas-Lok your way - it was a welcome thing, slipping away from your friends. Dawn was fast approaching, and you hoped to at least have your head about you when the time came to greet it. Sleep sounded a welcome way to temper the evening, but - exhausted as you were - it would never stay for long. So, here you came. Slipped away through the shortcut passages that were less traveled, less well known among those that weren’t under your direct chain of command.
Not many knew to look for you here. Save Cole, because he was Cole. He watched over you, here at Skyhold. Out of sight, always, but without a doubt, at your back nonetheless. Leliana, of course - the Nightingale was spymaster of the Inquisition for a reason. And, finally -
“Oh, I - there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
Cullen.
So lost in your thoughts as you were, with your gaze tipped up, up, up, towards silver-lined clouds wisping over bright constellations and velvety darkness alike. The steady breeze gliding over your skin had a calming effect this evening. Gentle as it was, a natural balm to any sleepless night, especially on the worst ones. You hadn’t realized this serenity had been broken by heavy footfalls on stone, and, hidden by the wind swirling past, was the familiar rustle of the fur cloak he never went without.
“Didn’t I leave you fast asleep in my quarters?”
Starlight painted a smile upon your lips, and you wore it with all the grace and beauty of the Divine. Cullen had to stop, when your face turned from the heavens to him, down here on Thedas. If it weren’t for the brisk mountain air grounding him here and now, he would be drifting away, lost in the radiant presence of the Inquisitor - his Inquisitor. A smile began to rise upon his lips, and he ducked his head in shadow. A blush began to bloom, and he knew you wouldn’t leave it be.
“You did,” he says to the stones. “And you -” He steps closer, eyes tipping up towards yours, watching him. There’s a glint in your eye; the one he’s learned to mean mischief. At his expense tonight, no doubt. “ - slipped away without a trace.”
A small laugh escapes you, loud in contrast to the quiet of the night. Your hands drummed upon the chipped stone in front of you, an idle movement to occupy your body. You had become so much more restless, since you were crowned Inquisitor.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You didn’t think I’d notice you were gone?” This time it was Cullen, who chased away the silence with a quiet laugh of his own. He reaches for you, a hand skimming along your spine. It’s gentle, his touch, softer without the leather gloves always hugging his skin. “My love, I always notice when you’re gone.”
Your smile is warm, his words taking root in your chest to grow a beautiful garden in your heart. As for it reaching your eyes, as it so often does…
Cullen notices, of course, when it doesn’t.
His smile wavers, all space between you disappearing when you lean into his touch. Your name is quiet, when it leaves his lips. It’s spoken with reverence, always his favorite prayer to sing even when you are no longer near.
“Are you all right?”
It was unintentional, to laugh at his question. And yet, that didn’t stop the sound from spilling into the night, swirling above with the snow that had just begun to fall. They were both gentle in delivery, the flakes weightless and fluffy as they shone bright in the rays of moonlight that remained. The clouds were thick and glowing now, heavy under the weight of unfallen snow. Your voice was loud in the darkness, loud in comparison to the quiet worry that Cullen always held for you.
But, the world had become heavy, even in victory. Leading the Inquisition came with a price you kept to yourself, most days.
Heavy is the head, as they say.
“I don’t think I have a choice but to be, do I?”
His touch stills, and you both turn your eyes out towards the darkness, out into the world beyond Ferelden, beyond Orlais, where trouble is no doubt lurking. Somewhere, it’s hunting for you. It never stops.
The breath Cullen takes is unsteady, yet his tone remains soft. Tender. “In front of the Inquisition? Your troops and allies? No, I’m afraid not - the stakes… None of us have that luxery. Though -”
It’s gentle, when he pulls you into him. You breathe in the comfort of leather and sandalwood, the faint air of celebration and strong liquor still clinging to him for dear life. The hand that isn’t holding you rises to rub circles along your back. Traces soothing lines down your side to twine his fingers through your own. It doesn’t take long before you’re burying your face into his furs.
Cullen says your name again, all quiet and warm and strong. “You have a choice with me. Always.” a kiss is pressed to your crown, and it lingers. Lingers. Lingers. “With all of us in your council, really. Just as we know we have a choice around you.”
Too soon are you creating space from one another, but Cullen is stepping back to tilt your chin up from the safety of him, to the uncharted glory of the sky. Snowflakes are swirling just a little bit quicker now, the wind coming to bite, rather than soothe. You bring your eyes down to meet his veiled amber gaze, breath shaking at the warm look he’s giving you now. It’s the one you’ve seen only when you come home hurt.
You nod, the heaviness of your crown resting a little easier now. A little less heavy, but a little more snug. Cullen offers you a smile - something small, something aching, and he begins to tug you forward by the hand. You don’t fall into him again, because he’s walking backwards in time with your steps, back the way he had come.
“That’s it, love. What do you say we continue this back inside? It’s getting a little too cold for my taste.”
A smile of your own begins to take shape upon your lips. “Welcome to the dregs of the Inquisition, Commander. Most of us don’t have a shiny rack of Templar armor to cozy under, believe it or not.”
“Oh, is that what you think? That it is warmer than it is dreadfully heavy?,” he tugs you harder with the next step, and this time he has to catch you so you don’t trip. The noise of shock that pierces through the snowfall mixes with a laugh as Cullen keeps teasing. “I brave the cold to find you, and then you twist your dagger where you can, hm?”
“I suppose -” you begin. The grin spreading across your lips is coated in irony and dripping with sugary sweetness. “- someone other than Sera should keep you on your toes. Unless, of course, you’d rather I leave it all up to her and her bees-”
“Don’t you dare.”
“You didn’t like the bees?”
“Inquisitor.”
“Yes?”
“Maker’s breath - just - I - let’s go inside.” Cullen huffs, turning on his heels to leave you laughing in the face of the dark of the night. Snow was catching in his furs, his golden hair still glowing bright in the ethereal glow of snowfall - a beacon for you, in the darkness. The grip on your hand tightened, and you couldn’t help squeeze back, laughing an apology as you finally kept pace with his strides.
When you begin to shiver, the weight of a fur cloak is slung around your shoulders; the warmth burying you in a wave of peace - the first you’ve felt in months - and you rode that wave all the way to your quarters through dawn.