When Cullen had caught a glimpse of her entering the garden, bathed in light and all white, he felt a lump in his throat. Her long hair had been pulled from its usual ponytail, now wavy and settling over her shoulders. She pulled at the long sleeves awkwardly, a small smile on her face as she looked up at him. She moved with ease, the short train of the gown trailing behind her with each step she took towards him. When she had gotten close enough, she reached for his hands and squeezed them tightly. Part of him was thankful she had no idea just how much his hands were sweating underneath the leather of his gloves. It hadn't been because he was second-guessing himself. It was more of the realization that she was there and that he was worthy of her.

"Hi," she had murmured, massaging his palms gently with her thumbs. She was grinning now, the freckles on her cheeks wrinkling the longer she looked up at him. He had dreamt of this moment a thousand times before—how she would look, how he would ask, and her reaction. Yet, when she stood across from him, eyes wide and glinting with small tears—his dreams didn't do it justice. With the chaos that seemed to follow them through the years they'd spent together, everything seemed to fit into place now. His thoughts had swirled endlessly with everything the both of them had gone through to get to this moment. When he said his vows to her, he had meant them with every fiber of his being. His voice never wavered as she squeezed his hands. Later that night they laid together, wrapped in each other's bodies, and filled the quarters with murmurs of each other's names and blissful sighs. Lying next to her as she slept, pressing gentle kisses to her hair, Cullen took comfort in knowing that, whether the Inquisition disbanded or not, he had her. They had each other.

When his wife had come back through the Eluvian, she had looked tired. Her eyes looked heavy, yet when she saw his face, she offered a small smile. In the meetings to come, she seemed to be withdrawing. I'm fine, she had urged Josephine and Leliana, but the sympathetic smile she wore betrayed every assurance leaving her lips. She hovered over the table, reading reports in the quiet of candlelight, and Cullen became the one to force her to come to bed. He had whispered I love you's in the night and stroked her hair when she finally admitted her pain. It only hurts a little lately. I'll be fine, she whispered in the privacy of their room. Don't you dare tell the others yet. It's probably nothing. He had agreed—reluctantly—but took to kissing and massaging her hand until she had fallen asleep.

It wasn't until she stood in front of him, holding back tears that he felt his heart break for her. "All the demons I've fought…all the rifts I closed," her voice broke softly and Cullen immediately stepped forward, taking her hands. "I don't want to die…" The words came out between a sob and a stifled laugh, because she didn't know where else to go with the phrase. Her chin quivering as she offers a small smile in his direction. Her eyes not leaving his, she took a breath before continuing, "Not knowing that the world still needed me." I still need you, Cullen wanted to murmur. Instead, he had wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.

Before she had gone through the mirror, she had ran her fingers through his hair and twisted her fingers around a loose curl near the nape of his neck.

"I love you." The words were muffled against his shoulder, but she said it again after he kissed her lips, then once more after pressing her lips to his clean-shaven cheek. Before approaching the mirror, she ran her fingers over the scar on his lip and then touched the loose curls once more. His lips twitched when she kissed him once more and he took a moment to wipe away any sign of tears on her face. He held his composure, trying to take in everything about her—the way her brow furrowed in frustration at reports, the way her laughter rang through his quarters during late nights, her happy sighs when he pressed kisses to the inside of her thighs, or the way she smelled of strawberries.

"Cullen," she murmured, catching his attention once more. Even then, he had tried to remember the way her lips curled upward with each syllable of his name. He smiled at her, a forlorn one he could not help. Be safe. I love you. Come back to me, he had wanted to say. She nodded slightly; she knew, he didn't need to say it. The look on her face said it all. Chin held high and a grin on her face, she took a step towards to the mirror.

"I really do love the curls," she murmured, her laugh lingering in the room around him before she was gone. She didn't say goodbye before stepping through the Eluvian, but it felt so much like one that the guards leave him alone with the mirror for an hour after she'd already left.

"Cullen, you should get some sleep," Josephine had been making her usual rounds.

"Go ahead without me. I should be here if…" he glanced up at the mirror, swallowing thickly. "When she comes back." Every so often this would repeat—Josephine would take a seat next to him, taking notes quietly before excusing herself to keep the nobles busy.

"Take a nap," she'd insist, shooing him away. Sometimes he did. Other times he'd walk the gardens with his mabari feeling a bit more lost in the Winter Palace than usual. If he did leave, he often found himself laying in his quarters-their quarters- clutching at her pillow for that faint smell of strawberries.

"Curly- get up, you're needed!" Varric's voice had boomed in the small room, causing Cullen to sit up.

"What's wrong?" Cullen got to his feet and haphazardly put on his boots. It had been the quiet that gave Varric away. "Is it…? What happened?" Cullen pushed out the door, taking long strides to the storage room. Calling after him, Varric picked up his pace until he stepped in front of him.

"She's fine—she's alive, but we should talk first."

"Bugger that—" Cullen pushed past him once more. Inside the room, his wife sat against the wall, her staff forgotten on the floor beside her as Dorian applied salves to fresh cuts on her face. Some layers of her armor had been removed and cast to the side to reveal some bruises on her collarbone and, more noticeably, her left arm had been placed in a sling. Cullen felt a lump form in his throat all over again as a worn smile spread across her face. In one swift movement, he crossed the room and knelt to her side. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

"You came back," he had whispered. Tears welled in his eyes as her fingers tangled themselves in his hair once more. She gestured towards the sling, tears falling freely the longer she looked up at him.

"Not all of me," she sobbed, covering it with a small laugh. She removed the sling to show that her upper forearm had been bandaged and tied off. Shrugging sadly, she looked away from him in shame. Instead, he cupped her face in his hands, his fingers carefully trailing over the scar on her jawline.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered, pressing his lips to hers. He stroked her hair, smoothing the unkempt tufts that had come loose from her ponytail. "I said the rest of my days and I meant it. I love you." She smiled at his words and the way he kissed her eyelids and how his thumbs brushed against her cheeks.

"Is it in entirely bad taste to mention that it's a good thing you're right-handed?" Dorian quipped, offering a sympathetic smile. She rolled her eyes and winced as Cullen helped her to her feet with a groan. "No? Time for drinks, then?"

In the days to come, she made a point of attempting to do things on her own. While Cullen spent time with the mabari, he could hear cries of frustration or of joy at trying tasks. He would come to her side either way, ready to assist or to provide words of support when she needed them most. Yet, most days cursing her clothes and her hand seemed like the primary choice for her mornings and nights.

"Take a breath," he chuckled, sitting beside her.

"Damn it," she muttered as she fumbled with the buttons of her shirt. Her brow furrowed in the way he had come to know so well, she grumbled under her breath. Eventually, she gave in—closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "It's just a shirt." He offered her a smile before leaning in to kiss her neck.

"Just a shirt," he repeated the words softly- a reminder. He nuzzled her neck, his breath hot against her skin. He couldn't help but smirk when she finally moved her hand out of the way to let him help her.

"Lie down," he murmured.

"Cullen…"

"I'm still your advisor for the time being," he chuckled. His laugh was low, the playful smirk on his face was one that she had come to favor since they began their relationship years ago.

"Well, I certainly can't argue with that." She kissed him gently before following his orders. With each button he undid, he pressed heated kisses to the skin underneath. He untied her breeches, inching them down and leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. He hovered over her when he was finished, taking in the sight of her once more.

"What is it?" She asked, her fingers running through his loose curls.

"You're so strong." The words came out without thought, but he meant them. He touched her forehead with his, silently thanking the Maker she was still in his life. "Soon, you won't need my help," he chuckled. He can smell the strawberries in her hair, on her skin. The smell he missed for weeks on end whenever she left.

"Who says I need your help now?" She winked, finally claiming his mouth with hers. He smiled against her lips, knowing the truth of her words but grateful for every moment she allowed him. After everything, they still had each other. Any number of events could have changed that, could have led to their deaths. Yet, everything led up to this moment: kissing his wife and feeling loved by her. She ran her fingers through his curls, pausing the kiss to study his face. He pressed a kiss to her stomach, then another near the hem of her smallclothes before looking up at her.

"What's on your mind?" Concern laced his voice as he tucked her hair behind her ears with care.

"It just feels good to be home," she shrugged, smiling. He captured her mouth with his, kissing her softly until he left them to continue planting kisses elsewhere—her collarbone, her chest, her hipbones, and eventually her thighs. She melted in his arms, melted at his touch. Little else mattered. Cullen had been right. As long as they had each other, that was enough.