I don't own Dragon Age.

Evelyn Trevelyan struggled to unbutton her gown with one arm. The Orlesian dress seemed entirely made up of knots and buckles and buttons and bows. Cullen's mabari, still without a name, looked up at her, but offered no help and retired to a pillow in the corner.

The Inquisition had been in Val Royeaux for the past weeks, working out the logistics of their conversion to the Divine's honor guard. Tonight was the first night that she and Cullen would stay in their official appointments, instead of two cots in the work rooms of the Grand Chantry. Despite both of their demands, Josephine saw the Inquisitor and her Commander placed in one of the finest neighborhoods of the capital city before she left for her homeland. The floor was all white marble with black veins dancing across it. The furniture was heavy mahogany and muted velvet. No doubt in the weeks to come, every piece would quietly find its way to someone else, while Evelyn procured simpler, less ostentatious fixings for the home.

Home. It was hard not to think of Skyhold when she thought of that word. There was talks to gift the castle and its lands to Evelyn, create a House Trevelyan at Skyhold from her and Cullen. Cassandra promised to see it through, but no doubt Orlais and Ferelden would be threatened if she held an actual political title. Still, it would've been kind if she had been allowed to return to her castle in the mountains. No matter. A week would pass before she and Cullen would be on the move again- off to visit his brother and sister and nieces and nephews in the South Reach. It would only be the two of them, just-

"Maker's balls!" She cursed, her fingers sore and her dress no more off than it started. "Cullen, get me a knife!"

"I believe there's a simpler solution." His voice was much closer than she expected- already inside the room. He had been watching her for some time, and she trembled when his hands found her waist and began to deftly work at the buttons that followed her spine. In moments, her dress was on the floor and she stood in her nightgown, thin as spiderwebs.

"Thank you." She turned and kiss his lips. He was dressed in a nightshirt and simple black pants, his hair mussed and flat after a long day. She liked the feeling of his rough cheek against hers and his rough hands along her waist. She pulled the pins from her hair and laid them on their bedside table. The bed was one extravagance she might have to indulge in. She could lose Cullen in it, in its warmth and downy softness. Josephine could go over the top, but she knew how to pick a bed.

"If I ever have to sign another paper," Cullen said as he sat on the edge of the bed. "It will be too soon." He ran a hand through his hair. "I feel like I'm a little boy again, with Chantry sisters nagging me around every corner."

"Imagine how Cassandra feels." Cullen choked on a laugh at the thought. Evelyn seriously considered taking the Divine out to tear down buildings or anything that allowed her hands to destroy. She had never seen a woman of faith, clothed in fine silk and gold, look so liable to punch through marble. But Cassandra had changed in the past two years- she had grown into the Sunburst Throne. And soon, she would leave to rebuild the Seekers, leaving the Chantry under the hand of Grand Cleric Godiva (a old, serious woman from Nevarra who Cassandra knew as a little girl). The time working with her hands would do Cassandra some good.

"We must find new appointments."Cullen looked around at their finery, voicing her own private thoughts. "I feel like I'm in the Winter Palace and- it puts me on edge. I would not find this comfortable."

Evelyn opened her mouth to agree, but thought of a better response and smiled coyly, running a hand through her auburn hair, letting it fall past her shoulders. "And what would make you comfortable, Commander?"

"Well, some simple furniture for one, and none of these silk hangings, it's almost obscene. A statue of Andraste, perhaps. That corner would be…" Cullen looked at Evelyn expectantly and saw the light in his wife's eyes and the welcoming curve of her body, visible through the white nightgown. "Oh. Oh!"

"Maker, Cullen, I-" But his lips met hers with a smile and a kiss and she pulled him closer to her. Their bodies pressed tight as Cullen laid himself over her. They were both scarred and hardened, in different ways, but together, the landscape of every battle and every scar made something beautiful. Evelyn felt supple and soft under Cullen's fingers. She smiled, but pulled back after their legs brushed against each other.

"Cullen?"

"Yes?" He said eagerly.

"You're wearing boots to bed, my love." She told him. "Just… wanted to point that out."

"What? I'm-" He looked down and blushed furiously. "Maker's breath, no, I'm so sorry, forgive me, I'm-" He lept out of bed and struggled pulling off his leather boots. Evelyn laughed and pulled herself over to the other side of the bed. After tossing both boots across the room, Cullen landed with a flop on the bed.

"Yes, sorry bout that, my fault." He smiled nervously at her. Delicately she cupped his face in her hand. Cullen let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes as she ran her thumb across the scar of his lips.

"It comes to mind that we haven't shared a bed since the Exalted Council." Evelyn mused, still entranced by her husband's face.

"Yes, well-" Cullen pulled his head from her reach, much to her disappointment. "We've been surrounded by others for every second since we started to serve Cassandra. To be honest, I've been so exhausted that I haven't even thought about it."

"Oh?" Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you haven't thought of it, no need to do anything now. Goodnight." She turned on her side with a smile. Cullen laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into the curve of his own body. She felt his breath on her neck and heard him whisper, "I have thought of this many times. More times than I'd care to admit." She smiled, but something in her made her tense, and he pulled back for a moment.

"What's wrong, my love?"

"Do you- Will… Will your family accept me?" She asked slowly.

"Of course! Why wouldn't they?"

Where do I begin… She sat up and rested against the headboard. Cullen shifted and laid his head in her lap. "I am a mage." She began. "And a lady- I might be from the Free Marches, but it is still nobility. And Inquisitor to boot. Might be intimidating."

"My family will not care. Your title and rank are no less frightening to them than mine. Branson will probably idealize you, Rosalie will be jealous, but Mia will adore you, and that's all that matters. If Mia is on your side, the others will follow suit."

"Jealous? Why?"

"You've seen the world. You are the Inquisitor." Cullen looked up at her. "You are also beautiful. Rosalie will resent you."

"Cullen!" She admonished him. "You don't think your sister is beautiful?"

"No, it's not that!" He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I haven't seen her since she was- 12, 14 maybe. Who am I to know? But she was pretty when she was younger. But you- you are beautiful." This made her smile, of course, and Cullen relaxed. "As for you being a mage… I admit, that might pose a special challenge. I don't think any of them would come outright and say anything, but there might be some tension. But you'll charm them over, I'm sure of it. Mother might be harder than most, but-"

"Mother?" She pushed Cullen's head from her lap. "Cullen Rutherford, you are not saying that all this time, your mother was alive and you didn't tell me!" She stood by the side of the bed, furious.

"It's not- I mean, I didn't- yes?" He looked at her pathetically. There was no way out of this one; he would simply have to wait until she decided not to be furious.

"Your mother? I've been with your for over two years, I've killed demons with you, you've watched me enter the Fade, battle Archdemons and dragons and red templars, I'm married to you for Andraste's sake, and yet you decided to wait till now to discuss your mother's existence! I thought I would at least get a hint that she was still alive! Maker's breath, Cullen, what- How- Ugh!" She paced a bit, running a hand through her hair. Cullen sat on the bed with a slightly disappointed look on his face. After a few moments, she turned her back to him, her hand on her hips.

"May I speak?" He asked tentatively.

"Yes." A single syllable reply.

He took a deep breath. "My mother is quite old. Rosalie's birth took a toll on her body, and my father's death, on her mind. Mia tells me she is not quite herself- she forgets people, places. She mistakes Mia for her sister who died when she by Ferelden rebels in the last age." Cullen rubbed the bridge of his nose. Evelyn turned around slowly, hearing the regret in his voice. "I- I haven't seen her in many years. I visited once after I finished my training. At first, she wept with joy and pride. That was the good part. Then, she called me Gregory, my father's name. Then she became awfully confused, thinking it was my brother's wedding day and she needed to cook, or something of the like. Then- then she became angry. Cursing, and throwing things…"

"Oh, Cullen." Evelyn crawled back onto bed, her frustration alleviated. She laid her hand on her husband's shoulder.

"It was terrifying. I was only a young man- a boy who thought he was a man, really. I was selfish. I ran. I've only written since. Mia tells me she asks for me sometimes. But I have no doubt she also curses my name too." Cullen let out a deep sigh. "She is one of my many regrets. I have failed in my duty as many things, but I have failed as a son most of all."

"Cullen, don't say that." She pulled him close to her body, his face resting on her bosom. She could feel his shamed, hot face against her skin, and she almost wept. "Cullen, you have done feats that would make any mother proud. But this illness of your mother's, this sickness of the mind… There is nothing you could've done. Even if you had remained by her side, become a farmer- she would've still lashed out at you, eventually."

"How do you know?" He asked, his voice husky and muffled.

"There were elderly enchanters in the Ostwick circle." She began, her own cruel memories coming up. "Sweet men and women who had spent years in the Circle. But, eventually, their age made them volatile. They forgot simple things- where they were, what spells to cast, who was around them. Then, they began to mistake people for old friends, family. One man, Bryce- the best healing mage I'd ever met- he thought I was his childhood sweetheart. He grabbed my hand and asked me to meet him in the meadow. He called me Lydia. His eyes- they were a thousand miles away."

She took a breath, wreathing her fingers in Cullen's hair. "The lucky ones were made Tranquil, able to spend the rest of their days in peace. Bryce- he was possessed and- the Templars dealt with him." They shared a heavy silence, each clinging to the other.

"I'm sorry." He said.

"I am too." She looked down and brought his face up to hers. "Your mother loves you- even if her mind is confused, or gone. She loves you. As I do." Evelyn kissed him gently.

"I thought it would be easier." He murmured. "If I didn't tell you, I didn't have to face it. She wasn't real. I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven, my love." She brushed his cheek and smiled at him gently. He could be so dense, this man of hers, but how could she hold his own sweetness against him? How could she hold his protection of himself, of her, against this man she loved?

"I cannot promise she will be kind to you." He told her. "She was raised in a world where the hate of mages was praised. She might hate you."

"As long as you don't." And that brought a smile from him, and then a kiss, and then more and more and more.

Later, they were laying on the huge expanse of the bed together, tangled up among the silken sheets. Suddenly, the mabari lept onto the bed, bouncing them both up to a terrifying height.

"What the-" Cullen sat up and glared at the hound, who had curled up in a huge mound at their feet. "No! Down." He commanded sternly. The dog promptly ignored him.

"Let him be." Evelyn urged him, pulling her husband back down to her. "There's more than enough room."

"All the same, I'd rather have just the two of us." But he laid back down anyways, wrapping his arm around her, pulling her onto his broad chest.

"Have you thought of a name?" She asked.

"Actually, yes." He smiled. "I thought 'Alistair' would be good. For the king, you know."

"Yes, I'm aware of the King's name." She said sarcastically. "I think it is a fine name. Al the mabari."

"Alistair." Cullen corrected. "You can't name a warhound 'Al'.

"Please. You can't name a sweetheart like him 'Alistair'." She stroked the dog's back with her foot. "He's Al, plain and simple." As if in agreement, Al raised his head and sniffed at the couple.

"Ugh," Cullen rubbed his eyes. "I'm not going to win at this one, am I?"

"Not in the slightest, love. Now, go to sleep."