Written for a tumblr prompt: In which Cullen helps Trevelyan get a CLUE about how he feels. She's imagining his attempts at flirting/subtlety in the exact WRONG way and when she confronts him he gets kind of flustered and finally just owns up to what's going on. Poem at the end is part of Ashe Vernon's "Profane". Cross-posted on tumblr and AO3.
Elena trudged up the stairs to her quarters, swearing with each step. She had just ordered new boots and they were chafing abominably. Not only that, but she hadn't bathed in two weeks; rather, she'd been too busy running around the Hinterlands after rogue Templars. Finally, Elena slumped down onto her pristine white couch with a huff and kicked her boots off. She needed a bath, a proper warm one with a tub and not just rubbing cold lake water under her arms and between her legs every morning.
But she didn't have time for a proper bath, no. She had to go to the war council and give a pointless report about how useless her trip to the blighted Hinterlands had been.
"Maferath's balls!" Elena exclaimed, kicking her coffee table. She instantly regretted it as a sharp pain laced up her already throbbing foot.
There was a knock at the door.
"Yes?" Elena snapped; she winced at how harsh her own voice sounded. "Come in, please."
A moment later a servant appeared carrying a large vase of dawn lotus and crystal grace.
"The flowers you requested, my lady," she murmured, placing the vase in question on Elena's desk and bobbing a curtsy.
Elena almost corrected the woman—she hadn't ordered any flowers—but then, these were her favorites. Who on earth could have sent them? She stepped forward and inhaled deeply, feeling abruptly less cranky as the soothing, sweet aroma hit her nose.
"Could you please draw me a bath; and let my advisors know the war council will be moved back an hour."
Elena strode into the still empty war council, feeling more human that she had in weeks. Her still wet hair hung damp and shiny down her back. Instead of her usual plain tan trousers and doublet, she'd opted for full, light blue skirt that fell to the floor and a simple white blouse. Warm afternoon sunlight filtered in through the high windows behind her. Elena turned, looking out over the Frostback Mountains.
The sound of the door opening caught her attention, and she looked over her shoulder just in time to see Commander Cullen appear in the doorway.
"Inquisitor," he greeted, mouth slightly agape. "You look…" he cleared his throat, "different—nice, I mean. You look very nice today."
Elena tried not to giggle at his flustered demeanor. How in the Maker's name did he ever get anything done when he could barely speak a woman? She smiled, and left the window to stand close to the war table, next to him.
"Thank you, Commander. I have to admit, I was in rather a foul mood earlier, but then someone sent a bouquet of flowers to my room—dawn lotus and crystal grace. They're my absolute favorites."
"Yes," he rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks a little pink. "You said that at our last council meeting…do you, ah, have any idea who sent them?"
She shook her head. "Not a clue. Maybe Cole? Like I said, I was in a perfectly foul mood before they arrived…he's good at sorting out that type of thing."
Elena paused, studying his face. "Are you quite well, Commander?" She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "You look a little flushed."
He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could the door opened and Leliana and Josephine appeared. Elena dropped her hand and stepped back.
"I am quite well, I assure you," he murmured, before setting to business.
Three Weeks Later
The Inquisitor padded quietly through the library, a slim volume clutched in her hand. It was late at night, and she was hoping not to meet too many people, given her errand. She had found the book in questions left on her pillow a week ago. Curious, she had flipped through it, ears and cheeks progressively growing redder with each page. It was a book of ancient Tevinter love poetry; some of it was downright explicit, while the rest were erotic, sensual, even romantic. She had enjoyed it, but certainly she didn't want anyone to see her reading it. Elena had teased Cassandra mercilessly for her love of shameless romance stories, and she certainly didn't want word of this to get back to the Seeker. Which was why she was returning it in the middle of the night.
"Oh!" she exclaimed.
Rounding the corner into one of the alcoves, Elena stopped short. Dorian and Cullen stood together, heads bent in conference. When they heard her, Cullen immediately jumped back, a guilty look on his face. Dorian smiled.
"Elena, darling, what brings you to my domain this late at night?"
"I was just returning…this," she said, clutching the book closer to her chest.
Before she could protest, Dorian plucked it out of her hands, "ah, The Songs of Urthemiel. Wickedly delicious, my dear. I can remember sneaking a read when I was but a young boy. Tantalizing, truly," Dorian winked and Elena felt her cheeks burn.
She glanced at Commander Cullen, horrified to have him know she read something so…smutty. He was just so practical—surely he would think her frivolous for it. Cullen, however, was looking pointedly at his boots, a flush high on his cheeks. Well he had been raised by the Chantry, surely all this talk of love and desire was uncomfortable for him.
"Yes, well, it appeared on my pillow a few nights ago. I thought I'd just return it…" she trailed off, hoping she had given the impression that she hadn't been actively searching for something to get her knickers soaked.
Dorian smiled and handed it back to her.
"I hope you enjoyed it," he paused, glancing at Cullen for a moment. "I sent it to you, my dear. Thought you could use a change of pace from dry reports and battle tactics."
Both Elena and Cullen stared at the Tvinter mage, mouths slightly agape. Dorian chuckled.
"You two look like a pair of book ends. Now, I'm really rather tired, so I'd appreciated it if you would both move to another part of the library. That book belongs two alcoves over, top shelf," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Elena and Cullen stared at each other for a moment before she turned on her heel and marched to where Dorian had pointed her. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up pressing herself flush against the shelf and tried to slip the volume back where it belonged. She could almost—well, if the shelves weren't so tightly packed! She let out a huff of frustration.
"Here, let me get that for you."
She jumped, not expecting Cullen to have followed her. Before she could reply, she felt the solid warmth of him at her back as he easily reached above her and slipped the book back where it belonged, his fingers brushing against hers as he did so. She shivered.
"I could have gotten it," she mumbled, turning to face him—Maker's breath he was close!
He looked down at her, the dim light of the nearby candles glowing in his golden eyes. She swallowed hard and tried not to think about the poems she had just put back. Her eyes fell to the scar that bisected his lips, and dragged her tongue over her own unthinkingly. She wondered if she would be able to feel it if he kissed her.
Sweet Andraste, where had that come from?
His eyes flicked down to her mouth, breath hitching in his throat. She couldn't breathe, the air suddenly heavy around them. What was happening?
"Well, if you'll excuse me," she stuttered, pushing past him.
"Did you enjoy it?" He called after her. "The book, I mean."
Elena stopped, cheeks once again aflame. She turned to look at him and hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "I think, Commander, you must be teasing me."
"Maker, no! I would never!" He rubbed the back of his neck, while taking a step towards her. "I just…I'm asking because I…I'm hoping to send a book to a, ah, good friend. And if you liked it…I mean, I trust your taste in literature."
Elena raised her eyebrows, mouth making a little 'o' of surprise. A good friend? Cullen was looking to send love poetry to…a friend?
"Well, I wouldn't advise sending that particular volume to anyone you didn't want to…ah, I mean, it would send a rather distinct message," she shuffled her feet, not wanting to look into his earnest gaze.
"But did you like it?" He asked softly.
Elena looked up, finding him once again right before her.
"Yes," she said, voice small, and then more hurriedly. "Good night, Commander."
She turned on her heel and left, trying to shake the feeling that twisted up her spine at the nearness of him.
A Week Later
The Herald's Rest was boisterous that evening; scouts returning from the Hissing Waste mingled with spies from the Fallow Marsh. Elena sat wedged between Krem and Bull, a tankard of hard cider before her, scattered among three empty ones. Her fingers and toes tingled pleasantly with warmth and she couldn't stop the smile tugging at her lips as she listed to Lieutenant Aclassi spin stories about past jobs.
"So there I was, hammer in hand," he winked, "as a flaming tree ran at me—"
"You're putting me on!"
"I assure you, your worship, I'm not," he said.
Before Krem could continue his story, the tavern door opened again, a cold blast of air swirling through the stuffy room. Much to everyone's surprise, Cullen walked in, divested of his armor, but still wearing his heavy fur cloak. Bull raised his hand, waving the Commander over. Cullen looked hesitant, eyes scanning the table until his gaze fell on her. Throwing his shoulders back, he approached them and took an empty seat on the bench across from them.
"Good evening," he said, nodding to them all.
"Commander, what brings you here?" Bull cheered.
"Just hoping to meet…someone," he murmured, flushing a little, though whether it was from the warmth of the room or embarrassment, Elena couldn't tell.
"Say no more," Bull laughed, pushing a tankard toward Cullen. "Tell me who the wench is, and the Iron Bull will see it happen."
Cullen sputtered, eyes wide, at Bull's words as he tried to drink his ale. "Excuse me?"
"Well, you never come here, and you've been here the last three nights. Clearly you're looking for someone who's always here. I know you're not after me, so which tavern wench is it?"
Cullen's face was tomato red at this point, and he made to stand up. Elena smacked Bull's shoulder.
"Leave my commander alone, Bull," her voice was slightly slurred. "Or he'll never come drink with us again." She turned to Cullen, reaching across the table to catch his hand. "Please stay. Ignore Bull, he's only ever got one thing on his mind."
"That's not fair, Boss," Bull interjected. "I think about killing things too."
Cullen glanced down, to where her hand gripped his before sighing and sitting back down. He returned her grin, lips quirking into a half smile.
"A toast!" Bull called, raising his tankard. "To our Commander and our Inquisitor!"
"To the Commander and the Inquisitor!" the crowd cheered.
Elena laughed and clinked mugs with Cullen before downing the last of her cider. A moment later, one of the waitresses brought another round of drinks for the table. Elena watched Cullen to see if he paid any particular interest to the woman—only, of course, to see if Bull was right. Cullen thanked her for the new drink, but other than that, Elena didn't think he showed her any special attention. Curiosity satisfied, she turned back to Krem.
The night wore on, and the empty cups slowly overtook the table. Elena was feeling good. Light and joyful as she listened to the men around her trade off stories. Krem had his arm around the back of the bench and she was leaning into his side. A barmaid came over again, tray of drinks held aloft. Bull elbowed Cullen in the ribs as she left.
"Is that the wench, Commander?"
Cullen reddened, eyes trailing after the woman in question. Elena sat up, wondering what he would say, as a hot, uncomfortable feeling settled in her chest.
"She's pretty," she commented, trying to ignore whatever was clawing at her stomach. "I wouldn't send her love poetry thought…I doubt she can read."
That was mean.
Cullen glanced back at her sharply, a reproach in his eyes. Elena blushed, regretting the venom in her words.
"Love poetry, eh Commander?" Krem started, wiggling his eyebrows. "You mean: he fucks like a seraphim / and there's no part of scripture / that ever prepared you for his hand kind of stuff?"
"Certainly not!" Cullen protested, "I mean, perhaps to the right woman—"
"The right woman, eh?" Bull winked. "Red headed? Pretty titties? Sucks your—"
"This is ridiculous!" Cullen snapped, setting his mug down with a thunk and marching towards the door.
Elena glared at Bull and Krem before scrambling after him, compelled by unknown feelings. She caught up with him halfway across the yard. The cold night air slammed into her, both making her aware of how drunk she was and simultaneously sobering her somewhat.
"Cullen, wait!"
He turned, his frame rigid with annoyance. She could feel the anger rolling off of him, hot and ready to snap.
"What?"
"I'm sorry. Really, they—we, we've all had too much drink. Come back, I promise we won't tease you about your lady love again."
"I don't have a lady love," he snapped, his voice thick with hurt.
"Cullen, I'm sorry. Please don't be angry," she reached for his hand, but he jerked it away; the sting of his rejection hit her harder than expected, her eyes pricking with tears.
"You've made it quite clear that you think me a fool. I will bid you goodnight, Inquisitor. I'm sure Lieutenant Aclassi will be more than happy to provide you with company."
She furrowed her brows, "Krem? What in Andraste's name are you talking about?"
He took a step toward her and Elena resisted the urge to step back—he was just so big, tall with broad shoulders. She felt like prey under his sharp gaze.
"You. Krem. You seemed cozy with each other tonight. You certainly let him touch you enough," his voice was tight with an emotion she couldn't quite identity.
His words ignited something primal and vicious inside of her. She snarled, jabbing his chest. "And you certainly let your eyes wander all over that bar wench. I'm sure she'd let you touch her. I'm sure she'd suck your—"
"Damn it Elena!" He roared, gripping her shoulders. "I am not in love with some barmaid—Maker help me, I'm in love with you!"
Eyes wide, she stared at him, her mouth an 'o' of surprise. "What?"
Instead of replying, he slid his hands up her neck to grip her jaw, fingers digging into her skin, and then Cullen's mouth was on hers, hungry and dominant. His scar was smooth where the rest of him was rough as he pressed his tongue between her lips; she met him with equal force, pleasure licking down her throat, spiraling out from his fingertips. Elena pressed herself against the hard planes of his body, arms around his neck, and fingers raking through his curls. One of his hands moved up to tangle in her hair, tugging hard enough to angle her farther back, opening her to him. His other hand stroked down her body, rubbing the swell of her breast, the curve of her waist, to wrap around her hips and hold her close. Fire burned in belly, and she ached with desire as they stumbled into each other. Desperate to be close to him, she jumped,wrapping her legs around his waist, a moan tearing through her at the feeling of his arousal pressed between her thighs. He stumbled backwards, resting against the stone wall of the staircase to keep them upright. His mouth moved against hers, harshness slowly giving way to a gentle press as they relaxed into each other. Cullen's tongue stroked over her own, soft, tender. Slowly he pulled away, pressing little kisses to the corners of her mouth as he did so.
Their heavy breaths filled the courtyard as she rested her forehead against his. He set her down with care, keeping his arm tight around other hand cupped her face.
"You love me?" she asked, pulling her head away just enough to look into his eyes.
He gave her a shy, lopsided grin, "yes. Despite the fact you're the most infuriatingly oblivious woman I've ever met."
Elena blushed as she drew little circles on the back of his neck with her nails. "So you sent me the flowers, and left me the book of poetry?"
He nodded, relief shining in his warm golden eyes. "And I started coming to the tavern because you go to the tavern."
"I am such a fool," she gasped, realization crashing over her.
"OI! You two! Get a room!" Sera yelled from her the open window of her room.
Glancing at the elf above them with a frown, Cullen stepped away from Elena but laced their fingers together. Bringing her hand up to his mouth, he brushed his lips over her knuckles.
"Come, my lady love. I, for once, am inclined to follow Sera's advice," he whispered, before gently leading her up the stairs towards his tower.
As they reached the door, Elena tugged on his hand. "Wait, Cullen, wait."
He turned, a soft smile on his face. "Yes?"
"I love you too," she whispered, kissing his cheek as he smiled beneath her lips.
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