A/N: In response to the tumblr prompt, "a kiss on the neck," with Cullen and F!Trevelyan. Post-game.
"A Letter Home"
The evening light of the summer sun is only a shade or two lighter than amber here in the Emerald Graves. Under it, the blooming daffodils and white-blossomed trees turn a rich yellow, the golden detailing on the balcony overlooking the garden, liquid fire.
"Lady Trevelyan…no, no, that won't do, she's my mother, not some aristocrat I'm petitioning for aid!"
The quill rasps against the parchment as Evelyn crosses through the salutation with finality.
"Dearest Mama…"
A pause.
"Certainly not. I've never addressed her as 'Mama' in my whole life! She would find the familiarity shocking!"
Crumpling the vellum into a ball, she tosses it over her shoulder to join the three or so already scattered across the tile. Placing another pale sheet out, Evelyn pauses to admire the way the sunset transforms the cream colored square pale orange.
"Mother, I apologize for the tardiness of this reply. It has only been three weeks since the defeat of Corypheus, and things have been moving at a rapid clip, with my attention called to a thousand matters. In any case, I hope you, Papa, and my sisters are well. I am writing you this letter from a small villa in the Emerald Graves, which I recently acquired from the Comte D'Auragnac. He was looking to relocate permanently to Val Royeaux, so I was able to persuade him to part with it for a remarkably small sum. I hope you all will be able to visit soon…"
She pauses again, tapping the silver-nibbed quill against the edge of the desk which she's placed on the balcony overlooking the garden. Her father would find the villa enchanting, she was sure; he'd lose himself in the library for a week, to say nothing of the woods themselves, and while she had done her best with the garden, Evelyn was confident her father's wizened hands could coax the pitiful orange and lemon trees to bloom and bear fruit. Cosette was living in Starkhaven with her husband and their children and seemed entirely disinclined to leave. Marie would enjoy Ardente, the Orlesian cook Evelyn had hired, if nothing else, and her husband would find the hunting diverting. Tatiana would hate it during any season other than the summer, when the well-to-do of Orlais retreated to the Graves seeking cool streams and shady glades. Her mother would find the whole thing entirely provincial. Only five bedrooms? For shame!
"I'll just leave the damned invitation in," she grumbles, dipping her quill again in the Antivan silver inkpot Josephine gifted her.
"I am writing primarily to tell you…"
"Evelyn?" Cullen's voice rings out from the bedchamber behind her. Turning her head, she spies him leaning against the white marble column of the doorway, their ornate Orlesian bed behind.
"Yes, my love?"
Striding to where she sits, he brushes an auburn lock away from her ear.
"Dinner will be ready shortly. Dorian has given Ardente some odd Tevinter recipe to make. He and Bull are in the library. Cassandra is in the stable. Sera is off in the woods somewhere, with Cole I think. Maker knows where the rest are…"
He spies her half-written letter. "What are you writing?"
Evelyn sighs heavily, breathe gusting through her nose.
"Well, I'm attempting to write to my mother…to tell her…well, and it's going quite poorly."
Bending at the waist, Cullen rests his curly head on her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, Evelyn can see his lips moving as he reads, the scar she loves so dearly turning white with the motion. And then his warm lips are pressed to where her neck joins her shoulder, tongue darting out to draw a line along the arc of her collarbone, and Evelyn shivers despite the warm afternoon sun.
"Just tell her the truth," he murmurs, nipping at her throat.
"Cullen, I can't 'just tell her the truth', she'd – oh"
His teeth edge along her earlobe, drawing it into the warm, wet heat of his mouth.
"Just tell her the truth, my dearest love."
"I can't," she says, though with less conviction than before as his hand slips around her waist and up, cupping a breast through her loose cotton gown.
"No breastband, dearest? And with guests in the house, too, you minx."
His fingers all too easily find her rapidly pebbling nipple beneath the thin fabric, and Evelyn whines, high and tight in her throat despite herself.
"Cullen, dinner will be soon…"
"Plenty of time," he murmurs, peppering kisses against her temple, her ear, the line of her throat, "if you'd just finish your letter."
"You are incorrigible," she mutters, before his hand slips down her gently rounded middle and between her thighs, finding her already wet and wanting.
"And you are incredibly alluring and clearly interested."
And then Cullen does something that's gotten one of Evelyn's hands pressed hard to her mouth as she dashes off more lines, moaning against her own knuckles, and she is swept into his arms, kissing him hard as he carries her back into their bedroom, fully intent on making the most of the twenty minutes they have before dinner.
…I am writing primarily to tell you that Commander Cullen and I were wed two weeks ago, in the Chantry chapel at Skyhold. Our wedding was performed by Leliana, who you will know as the new Divine Victoria. I hope that you will not be too terribly disappointed. Our positions have only served to illustrate to us that we must seize what happiness can be found while we can. While I know this news may come as a shock to you, to Papa, to my sisters, I am entirely content. No, truly happy, more than ecstatic. In truth, the common tongue lacks the words for my joy. The Maker has seen fit to bless me with Cullen. He is the most honorable, most kind, and most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am the happiest of women to be able to call him 'husband'. As you know from my previous letters, he is an incredibly capable commander, and I've no doubt he will apply the same drive and passion to our marriage, and to the rearing of our first child, who will be born this winter. I hope to hear from you soon.
Your daughter,
Lady Evelyn Rutherford, Inquisitor
Reviews and constructive criticism always welcome!