A/N: This is my first time EVER trying my hand at fanfic! Please be kind! That being said, I am open to any critiques on my writing style, grammar mistakes, or any type of inconsistencies! I'm hoping that this can be my new side project to get more experience with writing :)
"That fiery breath on that last one, though. I thought you were history, Trevelyan!"
"I had plenty of room, Bull. Besides, I wasn't the one riding on her head at the end!"
Her bright green eyes danced with laughter, and when they met his, he felt his breath catch in his chest. However, Cullen couldn't help but feel irritated with Evelyn. She was the Inquisitor - The Inquisitor - she shouldn't be putting herself in harm's way unless absolutely necessary.
It had become a sort of unofficial tradition for the prominent members of the Inquisition to meet at the Herald's Rest upon the return of Evelyn and her companions from their many errands outside the castle walls. The wind rattled up in the rafters of the tavern, the fires roared with heat, and the ale flowed as the door creaked open, and Cassandra, Josie, and Varric came through from the cold. Iron Bull's form shook with laughter, his great form taking up much of his side of the table. His huge hand clasped a mug of some unknown liquid that many of the other's dare drink from - besides the Inquisitor herself, apparently. They had shared some of the vile stuff after they had taken down their first dragon together, and rumor had it she had spent much of that night and the next day locked inside her privy. Cullen had been slightly annoyed upon hearing that had fought a dragon at all but understood that they were cornered and had to take it on. However, now it had turned into a game for Evelyn and Iron Bull - how many dragons could they take down without being killed? Cullen believed them to be playing a terrible game of luck, of which he thought would soon run out.
It seemed that wherever they went, whether it be to defeat a horde of undead from a drowned village or to clear the roads of Darkspawn, Evelyn and Iron Bull could sniff out a dragon to fight.
"But it's such a thrill," Evelyn had cooed at him the first time he brought up his concerns with her. "And besides, I have a good team backing me."
Cullen understood that her friends had her back, of course. Sera had turned out to be an excellent shot with her bow, and Dorian was skilled with healing magic to help patch them up afterward. Even Blackwall had started tagging along with the ragtag crew of dragon slayers, "to keep Evie safe," he had claimed. Cullen couldn't fault Blackwall too much on that, really - he had been lying about who he was all along, and Evelyn had used the power of the Inquisition to clear his name. He better keep her safe.
But now, Cullen was sitting with his fists clenched under the table as he listened to their latest conquests. Upon returning from Emprise Du Lion, they had tangled with not one, not two, but three dragons. One after the other. And they had been laughing and making jokes all along about all the near misses they had endured.
"I'm still impressed with that first one we encountered," Dorian said, his lip curled into a smirk. "How Sera was able to shoot it through the eye as it was in flight, bringing it down with one flimsy little arrow…impressive."
"Hey, that was after I gave it a good beating with my hammer," Iron Bull said defiantly. "She just finished it off for me," he chuckled, giving the tiny elf a rough nudge on the shoulder that nearly knocked her off the stool she was perched on.
"Oh, piss on it," she said, taking a sip of her ale and sniggering.
"What about Blackwall almost decapitating the second one?" Evelyn piped up, grinning. "When I saw the head flopping around like that, I thought for sure it was going to fly off and hit me."
Sera gagged. "I'm glad it didn't."
"That big fat head would have crushed you for sure," Blackwall laughed, running a hand through his freshly washed hair. "If I was but ten years younger I could have probably got that head clean off."
"Oh, you say that as if you were ninety years old, speaking of the glory days," Evelyn pulled on his beard teasingly. "I wouldn't put you a day under eighty."
Blackwall feigned insult. "The glory days were when they locked your kind up to keep us from your cheekiness," he laughed, to which Iron Bull threw his horned head back in laughter, his great chest heaving.
"Oh, you love me," Evelyn said, smiling as she took another drink.
Much of the other companions had been watching this exchange with varying amounts of interest. Josie had mixed looks of amazement and horror at the details of the dragon fights, whereas Varric was laughing at the snark between the friends.
Another round of drinks was brought to the table, compliments of another group of soldiers who had come in and saw their beloved Inquisitor or well-respected commander and sent over some favors. Varric had started sharing some of the stories about his time in Kirkwall, and Cullen realized it was the first time he had shared any stories about Garrett Hawke since they had lost him to the Fade. He glanced at Evelyn to gauge her reaction and was surprised to see she was looking at him with a faint smile on her lips. She quickly looked away once their eyes met, and he noticed her cheeks flush ever so slightly. Her beautiful face had suffered some scarring from the attack on Haven when she had bravely stayed behind to slow down the oncoming attack from Corypheus and his army of Red Templars. But it had now faded into a couple of slashes across her left eyebrow and down her left cheek; she was lucky she still had her eye. It didn't take away from her distinct beauty, he thought, as he gazed for perhaps too long at her otherwise porcelain skin - a reminder that she was of noble birth; and her thick auburn hair, which was usually tied up in a braid but now hung loosely over her shoulders and halfway down her chest. He suddenly felt eyes on him and glanced up quickly to see Josie staring at him, a knowing smile spreading across the Ambassador's lips. Cullen felt a blush creeping up his cheeks as he tried to seem really interested in his cup of ale.
"How are the troops doing, Commander?" Blackwall asked, turning his attention to Cullen, who was grateful for the distraction.
"Ah, very well," he answered, taking on his usual air of authority as he described the progress of his latest recruits. Blackwall, who had once been a commander himself when he was known as Thom Rainier before he went into hiding, often liked to discuss tactics with Cullen. At first, it had bothered Cullen mightily; he had been angry at Blackwall for his lies and deceit. But over the last few weeks, Cullen had seen how true Blackwall had been in redeeming himself. As weary he had been about Blackwall, Evelyn had been all but forgiving towards him, and Cullen felt he had no choice but to trust in her decision.
After finishing his ale, Cullen took his leave - conveniently when Iron Bull was starting to pressure his fellow comrades into taking a swig of his poisonous alcohol. The evening air was cool outside, the sky fading into a deep purple as he climbed the stone steps towards the battlements of Skyhold. The mountains surrounding the keep were beautiful, and Cullen found himself pausing with his gloved hands against the stone, looking out into the distance. He could hear the faint chatter of his men down below the battlements in their camps, talking and laughing amongst themselves. A song or two wavered up from the darkness, although he couldn't make out the words. He smiled in spite of himself - the battle at Adamant had been long and hard, but victorious - and they deserved some celebration.
Clenching his fists slightly, he remembered he was annoyed at Evelyn still. He really wanted to tell her off for being so careless -
"Commander?" her voice came from behind him. He hadn't heard her light footsteps coming up the stone steps.
"Ev - Inquisitor," he stammered, taken by surprise.
"Enjoying the view?" she said, that playful smile spreading on her lips.
He looked her up and down, then felt his face burning and thanked the Maker that it was dark out. "W-what?"
"The view?" she laughed, gesturing to beyond the battlement walls.
"Oh," he said quietly. "Yes. I - ah. I am still in awe of the beauty. Out here, I mean." He cringed inwardly at his own awkwardness. He was the Commander, for crying out loud! He led armies into battle. What was it about this woman that turned him into mush?
It's because she reminds you of -
"It really is," she said, leaning against the battlements and sighing loudly. "I barely remember my home, and for most of my life, I was stuck in the Ostwick Circle Tower. I never thought I would even see mountains again, let alone be living in the midst of them."
She gazed out longingly into the distance, as he gazed longingly at her. She had faint black markings underneath her left eye that almost resembled the sun, and he had often wondered when she had gotten it and what it had meant. There was so much he wanted to know about her. He had never known such a complex woman.
At first, she had seemed so young and naive, a rich girl who had either known the safety of her noble family's estate walls or that of the Circle. Her reluctance to claim that her new power was a gift from Andraste seemed like a refusal to take on responsibility, and her childlike wonder often irked him. Until he slowly realized that her wonder at the word was of a woman who had spent much of her life sheltered, and was now allowed out in the world to experience things first hand. When she stopped to pick up a flower to admire its beauty, it wasn't because she was being silly or wasting time, it was because she had never seen such a flower before. And her reluctance to take on her new responsibility wasn't the avoidance of duty, it was because she truly believed that Andraste herself would never choose her as the Herald.
"My parents were devout Andrastians," she had told him back in Haven when he had found her kneeling in the snow just outside the walls, praying. "Many of my cousins joined the Chantry when I was growing up."
He knew that underneath her thick lambswool coat and scarf was a golden symbol of Andraste, a sign of her devotion. She wasn't the holiest of people he had come across - she didn't stand any vigils or know the Chant off by heart - but she prayed to Andraste when she was troubled, and that was enough for him to find even ground with her. He even admired her, in a way. The way the Chantry and the Templars had been acting towards mages recently, he would have understood if she had felt a hatred towards them.
"I don't have to like the Chantry or the Templars to still believe what I believe," she had told him.
"It's nice seeing Varric almost back to himself again," she said, breaking him from his thoughts. "I just wish there was something I could have done differently, to save him…"
Cullen knew she meant Garrett. He placed a hand on her shoulder, as he really didn't know any words of comfort for the loss or guilt she clearly felt. She turned her face towards his hand, placing her cheek against his fingers and nuzzling into him. He felt his heart beat faster at the sudden affection from her. How could he have been so angry at such gentleness? Her eyes remained closed, her breath warm against his wrist as they stood, feeling comfort in the silence as the sky darkened to a deep blue and the stars started twinkling above.