It was cold in the mountains at night. There was a fire in her room, but Ran needed to learn this new home of hers without being stared at by the curious. She wrapped a fur around her shoulders, grateful for the extra warmth as her bare toes curled against the cold stone. Shemlen had floor coverings, didn't they? She'd have to suggest it to Josephine.
The rotunda was dark, Solas no doubt holed up somewhere to explore in his own way, and the rustle of crow wings echoed in the empty space. If she closed her eyes, Ran could almost pretend she was back with her clan, listening to the wind blow against the aravels. She let herself indulge in the fantasy for a few homesick moments. There was a single candle left on the table, and she lit it with a thought and took it with her as she continued on.
She let the corridors take her where they would, learning Skyhold's shape and rhythm the way she would learn the lay of a new camp. Her path circled in and down, to an old forgotten library that smelled of stale air and old leather, then back up and out to the cool night air, until the way disappeared into a fall of masonry. There was a roof not far below. The moon was full and the night was bright—did she dare?
Ran blew out the candle and jumped. The angle of the roof was steeper than she thought, and there was brief, awful slide that she only stopped by throwing herself backwards. She laughed, flat on her back and spread-eagled. A call came from one of the sentries, and she waved to show she was all right.
That was that then. Time to head back to her room before someone recognized her. She scooted to the edge of the roof and dropped—carefully—to the stone steps below. The closest door led to the kitchens; she was pretty sure she could find her way back from there.
A rush of warm air and that thick, yeasty smell she'd come to associate with shemlen cooking hit her when she re-entered the hold. The wall scones were lit, and she blinked at the unexpected light. In the middle of the kitchen was Cullen, armorless, hands and wrists powdered white, clearly startled to see her.
"Inquisitor," he said. "I did not think anyone would still be up."
"I didn't either." Ran wasn't sure how to address him. He was the Commander of the Inquisition, and she was, as of that morning, the Inquisitor, but such titles seemed out of place here, in the quiet of the night. More than that, there was a fragile respect between them ever since the attack on Haven that she was loathe to disturb.
Cullen's shoulders flexed back, and she realized she'd been staring. "I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you wouldn't still look as big."
"You what?"
"Without the armor. I'm used to shemlen—humans—making themselves look bigger with it. But you look the same."
He looked down at himself, and a hint of color appeared on his cheeks. "My apologies. I would not have appeared in such a state of undress if I'd known I'd have company."
What an odd thing to say. He was wearing as much as any of the tradesman. Ran wondered if they were his nightclothes. Humans seemed to think the clothes they slept in were more scandalous than their daywear, regardless of what was revealed. Should she leave? They'd only just started getting along, she didn't want to ruin it by discomfiting him.
He took the decision out of her hands by speaking again. "I used to help my mother make bread, before I was sent to the Templars. She would let me shape the loaves and I would nap in the afternoon sun while they rose. I find it helps when I cannot sleep." Cullen smiled at the memory. "And the kitchen staff are never sorry to find loaves already risen and ready for baking in the morning."
"You have trouble sleeping?"
Cullen winced, as if he had admitted something he wished he hadn't. "Sometimes. It does not happen often."
That didn't seem like the whole truth, but things were too delicate between them yet to push.
Ran inched closer as he started kneading the dough again. She'd had bread before, but the making of it was a mystery. It was...strange to watch. The sword calluses on his hands spoke to a life spent as a warrior, so at odds with the domesticity of their current occupation. She was beginning to think that Cullen had many such contradictions.
She let her fur wrap loosen as she warmed up, content to stay silent and watch as Cullen worked the dough. He glanced at her at the movement, but, much to her amusement, quickly averted his eyes and kept them firmly on his work. After a bit, he separated the dough into four sections, then made each into a round ball before setting them on a long wooden board next to the fire.
The bell outside rang for the changing of sentries. It was an hour past midnight.
"I should go," Ran said. She was tired and yet she felt reluctant to leave.
"Yes, I should as well." Cullen dusted his hands off. He stood there awkwardly when she made no move to go.
"This was..." What? Relaxing? The first time she'd ever felt truly at ease with a human? "Nice," she finished.
"It was." He sounded surprised as he said it. "You will have to tell me what you think of my efforts tomorrow."
She didn't usually eat bread at breakfast. But...
"I will," she said.