The celebration, though fleeting, was essential for morale. The Inquisitor had once again returned victorious, and those gathered around her light rose up in mutual joy to revel in the possibility for hope. Herald of Andraste, the Chosen One, she had emerged from chaos and terror and united them all. Watching her now in front of the fire, Cullen felt both at once pleased and troubled for her, worried over the burden she carried and what was to come.
The courtyard was alive with the sounds of music and laughter; firelight danced and played against the rise of Skyhold's proud walls, which were steadily being restored under Josephine's stern supervision. From here, one could catch scents of the stables, where the nuttiness of hay was rarely soured by shit or dirt, and instead Cullen could enjoy the softness of horse hair and straw being carried to him on the wind. He could hear the animals chuffing and snorting – they were probably disturbed by the presence of those overgrown lizards, Dracolisks that the Inquisitor had been so excited to find. He supposed they were useful in the desert climes, where their scaly claws gripped better in the sand and they seemed unbothered by either the glaring sun or the harsh, dry winds, but they still gave him (as his sister would have said) "the Jeepers." Thinking of his family now made him wistful, because it had occurred to him as of late that this ragtag bunch of strangers were beginning to approach something not far off.
The Inquisitor – Ana – sat between Iron Bull and Varric, both leaning in and laughing as they spoke to her. Cassandra smiled eagerly nearby, trying to be a part of the joke, and Cullen felt a stab of affection for her. The Seeker was, without a doubt, one of the most imposing people he had ever met, but she had a streak of innocence that was endearing, even vulnerable. Leliana had deigned to retire from her Perch, as he liked to call it, and was circulating the outskirts of the party, always smiling, but always watching too.
Josephine, of course, was fussing. Cullen shook his head; he could not imagine what the Inquisition would be like without their anxious Antivan friend, but even he thought she could benefit from some relaxation. Solas was nowhere to be seen; not surprising, really. He so rarely took an interest in personal pursuits, and seemed only to materialize when there was useful work to be done. Even Bull, who was supposed to be a taciturn Qunari, was better at socializing.
Sera was leering over the edge of one of the roofs. Cullen might be mistaken, but he had a sneaking suspicion she was about to pour or dump something onto the crowd below. He considered stopping her, but decided against it. Either it would come to nothing, or she might finally get her comeuppance and stop attempting to treat every waking moment as an opportunity to lark. Sighing, he had to admit the possibility of discouraging Sera from tomfoolery was extremely low. He made a mental note to check his desk for traps later; knowing Sera, she had taken advantage of everyone's gathering into one spot and visited their private rooms in their absence.
Vivienne was circulating carefully among the nobles present; those who had been drawn to Ana's growing reputation and all the possible privileges that may come with it. Cullen did not exactly dislike the First Enchanter, and yet there was something fundamental about her he didn't trust. She, like many who had joined the Inquisition, had her own reasons for being here. That alone was enough to give Cullen pause; he wondered what would come of the charming relationship she had with the Inquisitor should their objectives experience a parting of the ways.
Blackwall drew Cullen's attention as he joined the others at the fire. Many were burning tonight to accommodate the swell of guests eager to celebrate, but Ana still enjoyed some privacy from the clamor by gathering off to one side with her friends. Cullen hesitated as he watched Blackwall's beard shift under the influence of his smile; Ana smiled back and said something, and Blackwall laughed. Cullen had wanted to go over there, to join them, but something held him back. He was always present when the Inquisitor needed him, always ready to do the work she asked of him, but whenever they were alone, he became uncomfortable…. And yet, on a night like this, when she had once again escaped death and disaster by the edges of her nails, he longed to tuck her away somewhere safe and only with him. This is what stopped him from sitting with her as the others did; he could not risk being impertinent.
Iron Bull was gesturing, his mouth quirked in a smile, and Ana smiled back, her eyes alight with humor. Her dark hair, usually braided out of the way, was loose in waves that rippled down her shoulder. Her skin was glowing from exposure to the western sun, and her blue eyes were as clear as a pool of water. Varric was beginning to laugh again; his shoulders shook with mirth, and Ana's full lips parted to stretch wide as she listened to end of Bull's story, her teeth white and straight underneath. She was so beautiful; magic lived in every part of her being, made her something more than anyone he had ever known. She was a lady of parts, as his father would have said, kind to a fault; brave; and fiercely intelligent – but fragile too. Her family, the Trevelyans, had been relieved she survived the Conclave, but had declined Josephine's offer of safe passage for a visit. It became apparent that, though her father did not wish her dead, it made him deeply ashamed he had produced a being of magic and, in so doing, earned the Maker's disdain. Horse rubbish, of course, but the Trevelyans were nothing if not pious, and so they ignored their daughter as much as could be socially accepted.
Cullen felt angry thinking of their rejection, and so he tried to focus on something else. The curve of her smile; the line of her neck, long and swan-like; her small shoulders; the shadow in her clavicle, which sat above the soft cotton of her neckline. A chain glittered there, disappearing underneath the fabric, shifting when she moved. Her hands gestured emphatically as she nodded, speaking quickly to the others, her lips pink and her eyes bright. Cullen became transfixed, remembering times they had spoken together, her concentration in the war room – her fierceness in battle. He remembered her screaming with rage in Redcliffe when a rebel mage hurt a little boy and the fire she released as she threw herself protectively in front of the villagers. And she had been so tender when healing the wounded alongside Mother Giselle that night, her cheeks dirty and her armor stained, but without ever seeming to tire, working into the wee hours of the morning.
"She is a beauty, our Inquisitor."
The sound of the Tevinter's fulsome tone was unwelcome; Cullen's lip nearly curled. Dorian saw this and chuckled.
"My dear Templar, you have nothing to fear from me. I'll behave myself, so long as I am in your presence."
"What you do is of no consequence to me," Cullen replied shortly, unconsciously assuming a protective stance; his legs spread out slightly, and his arms crossed. Dorian watched the Commander's tell – it was no wonder he was such a poor card player – and smirked silently. This was going to be very easy.
"Why not go over there and actually speak to her, Commander? Or are you afraid you'd say something inappropriate?" Dorian laced the last word with a layer of unwholesome meaning. Cullen glared at him.
"I," he replied coolly, "Haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about."
Dorian nodded sagely, "Oh, I'm sure. It is so easy, isn't it? The attraction you have to her? Well, I can hardly blame you."
Cullen ignored him, his cheeks becoming hot in the darkness.
"She struck me as cold at first – her noble training, I thought, but then I realized she was shy! Imagine my surprise; the Herald of Andraste was modest!"
While Dorian chortled, Cullen began to experience a strange sort of humming in his veins. He didn't like Dorian talking about the Inquisitor, and certainly not with such irreverence.
As if oblivious to this, Dorian continued. "And then to watch her fighting, the way she rabble-rouses – she could probably give Maferath himself a few lessons! Although, I suppose that would be Andraste's bag more than his, wouldn't it? Getting people stirred up to a cause? She certainly was effective at it, and so is our Ana."
Cullen gritted his teeth, "If you please, leave me be. I have to… guard the party perimeter." This last part was muttered irritably, his face glowing in betrayal of the lie. Dorian laughed out loud this time.
"Please! My dear Commander, it is obvious to anyone you object to my speaking of her with such familiarity. But, why should you, if you do not care for her?" Dorian was sly now, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
Cullen's jaw tensed visibly under his effort to restrain himself from retorting; he was not a child and he would not be baited into a quarrel by a flamboyant, arrogant peacock who couldn't be trusted as far as a man could throw him. And Cullen was dearly tempted to test that distance personally.
Dorian sighed, looking back at the Inquisitor with affection. "She is a rare sort of person; I often wonder after her welfare, you know. It is the job of a friend, after all, to ensure his friends' happiness. And she has done much to help me, so there must be something I can do for her. What do you think would be a good present?"
Cullen snorted at this; as if Dorian were really asking him such a question. He wanted something else, and Cullen would not give it to him. "Why do you not speak to someone else of this?" Cullen replied curtly, not meeting the mage's keen eyes. "Would a woman not provide better council on such matters?"
Dorian tutted, "Commander! What a silly question. Women, bless them, have such a limited scope. No, they would tell me to surprise her with flowers, or jewelry or – if they were of sounder judgment – a new stave. But what a woman truly needs is competent, thoughtful companionship."
This last word rung with unsaid meaning, and it burned Cullen's ears. "And what do you mean by that?" he snapped, goaded in spite of himself.
Dorian became idle with speculation; "Oh, I don't know," he said thoughtfully, pushing out his lower lip so that his mustache seemed absurdly pronounced. "Being the Inquisitor must be so lonely; elevated to near Godhood, seen as an arm of the Maker. It is one thing to have friends upon which you can rely to support you, but look at how they all speak to her. With such eagerness! Such admiration! Whom does she have to simply be human with? To be just Ana?"
For once, Cullen paused in his seething to consider the question. Dislike Dorian though he might, what he had said held merit. Cullen saw Ana's life with new eyes and appreciated clearly one of the things that had been bothering him: he desired closeness to Ana, sought to be her protector, because she seemed so constantly alone. Despite being surrounded by those who fought for and beside her, she was separated from them as if by a veil and Cullen worried about what this could mean. Would she sacrifice herself unnecessarily to see them all safe? Would she do only what she thought was right, set apart by the hand of Destiny? No – he couldn't lose her.
Dorian watched the Commander's anxiety grow and waited, giving him time to come to a better understanding of his own feelings. Honestly, men could be so slow! Dorian looked upon the Inquisitor, his gaze softening. You owe me, he thought tenderly.
When the time seemed ripe, Dorian forged on; "You know, the answer seems simple, doesn't it?"
Cullen seemed to return his attention to the other man with difficulty; "What do you mean, Dorian?"
"Well, why not me?" Dorian exclaimed with a sweeping of his hands. "I'm a mage, just as she is, and devilishly handsome to boot. We'd make an excellent pairing; think of it, even my parents might approve! She's both a Trevelyan and the head of the Inquisition; they could grow rather heady on that kind of power."
In the flickering light of the bonfires and torches, Cullen's face suddenly looked ugly. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I wouldn't despoil her," Dorian agreed in a lofty voice. "We'd have to be married first."
As suddenly as a viper's kiss, Cullen's fist was wrapped around Dorian's throat. Though the Tevinter mage had been expecting this, he had underestimated the pain of Cullen's strength once directed with such hostility against his person.
"Cullen! Cullen!"
Ana had come running, her eyes wide with shock. Dorian grunted, his hands wrapped around the Commander's arm as his feet dangled uselessly beneath him. Before Cullen could suffocate him, Dorian issued a slight shock of electricity and the Templar let him go, hissing.
Both men were breathing hard, though for very different reasons, when Ana reached them.
"What in name of Andraste's holy pants is going on here?!" Ana looked between the two of them with her hands on her hips, emanating disapproval. Cullen bowed his head, ashamed, while Dorian rallied for swagger.
"Nothing we couldn't handle, my dear," he tried to reassure her. Ana's glare immediately disgraced him into silence. He tried to look suitably penitent.
Ana looked at her Commander, one eyebrow quirked; "Cullen?"
Struggling, Cullen replied in broken, short bursts. "I'm… sorry… There is…. No excuse, your Worship."
Ana made an impatient noise, "Don't call me that! Why were you fighting each other?"
The two men exchanged a look and did not immediately answer.
"I… insulted our commander unintentionally. My apologies, Ser." Dorian bent into a flowery bow, one hand extended. Cullen bowed his head once more in return.
"It is I who should be sorry, Dorian. I…. should not have lost my temper."
"This is a celebration, Cullen," Ana told him reproachfully, "Why would you do this?"
Dorian started; no, this wasn't what he had meant at all. "Ana – " he began.
"And you," Ana turned to him, eyes burning, "Shouldn't have been causing trouble." Dorian's mouth clapped shut as if glued and he said nothing, feeling truly shamed this time.
"No more fighting," she told them both, and stalked off, her shoulders hunched angrily. Bull approached them.
"I don't know what you two got into, but you sure have pissed of the Boss." And he went after her, shaking his horned head in amusement.
"Good work, men! You really know how to ruin a wonderful party!" Varric called cheerily; Cassandra shook her head at both of them with disgust.
"Maker's Breath," Cullen muttered, looking miserable. Dorian decided not to worry; with a friendly clap on Cullen's shoulder, he prepared to join the party.
"Well, at least we're in the kennels together, my friend. And, there is one good thing to come of this. Actually, now that I think about it, there are two."
"And what is that?" Cullen asked sourly.
"You're out of denial and I am free to flirt with that charming young soldier over there," Dorian nodded pointedly at a man who was skirting the edges of the party with a nervous expression on his handsome face. Cullen spun on Dorian, flabbergasted.
"Oh yes, didn't I mention that?" Dorian asked as he suppressed a grin, "I prefer men. It really prevents me from marrying dear Ana and keeping her happy, but I suppose that just means someone else will have to do it."
And with an elegant shrug, Dorian departed and Cullen stared after him, thinking Tevinters really were evil bastards after all.
