Written in response to a tumblr ask prompt: Cullen's trying to convince Trevelyan not to go out and fight a dragon (or something) bc she could be KILLED for maker's sake, but she won't listen and in the heat of the argument he accidentally blurts out his feelings for her. I actually had two ideas for this prompt; I'll be posting the second as soon as I have time to write it!

"Please don't go," he murmured, hand coming to rest on her forearm.

Elena jerked her head up to search his face—it wasn't like the Commander to be so bold. In fact, beside when he carried her out of the blizzard after Haven, she couldn't think of a single time he'd touched her. His mouth was set in a hard line, brows creased, and golden eyes dark.

"I have to. The people of the Hinterlands have already been through so much. They shouldn't have to worry about a dragon burning down what's left of their homes and crops."

A group of Orlesian nobles glanced at them suspiciously as they stood just outside the door to her chambers in the Great Hall. Though she had left the council room in a rush, he must have hastened after her. Cullen cast a baleful glare at the whisperers before tugging Elena into the hallway beyond the door. The gloom and quiet of the stairway surrounded them, mercifully granting privacy.

"It is not a risk that the Inquisition—that you—should be taking. Send the Iron Bull and his Chargers in your stead."

In the tight space of the corridor, she was made acutely aware of just how much bigger Cullen was than her; he towered over her, board shoulders blocking the doorway behind him. He leaned down over her, one hand resting against the wall behind her head. Warm breath stirred the lose tendrils of her hair, tickling her neck.

"I can't do that. It would be…unworthy of me. I promised Mother Giselle I would do all in my power to help the refugees," she whispered, conscious of the prying ears in the room just beyond.

"This isn't some raid to close a rift or two, Elena. These creatures were worshiped as gods, and for good reason," He hissed. "You could die, for Maker's sake!"

She frowned, mulling over his words. He may have been right, but that didn't change her desire to help. Something else about what he said was bothering her as well, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"That's true any time I leave Skyhold," she finally said. "I'm not some delicate maiden who needs to be protected and sheltered all the time. It's my job, my duty, to take these risks."

"And it is my duty to see you safe," he pressed, the hand that still gripped her forearm tightening, pulling them closer. "I almost lost you at Haven. I cannot and will not allow that to happen again."

Elena sucked in a sharp breath, the emotion behind his words slamming into her. I almost lost you. Not, we almost lost you, or the Inquisition almost lost you.I. Cullen's eyes widened as he realized what he'd just said. So, it wasn't just careless speech—he clearly felt he'd said too much, revealed something. Elena became acutely aware of how close he was to her, how he leaned over and above her, of the warmth of his breath on her neck and the desperate, imploring look in his eyes. If someone were to open the door to the great hall, surely it would appear as if they were lovers stealing clandestine kisses.

Her eyes fell to his lips, still set firm in a frown. The scar along his upper lip was white against his warm skin. Slowly, and more gently that she thought him capable of, he slid his hand down her wrist to grip her fingers loosely in his. She stared, a million different emotions and thoughts flying through her brain as her heart hammered against her chest.

"I don't…I mean, I can't…" she stammered, scrambling over what to say.

She saw the defeat settle in his eyes at her words. He let go of her hand, leaning away from her.

"I apologize, Lady Trevelyan, for overstepping my bounds," he murmured, voice deprived of the emotion it held just moments ago.

Her words stuck in her throat, dry and rasping. Cullen nodded once, turned on his heel and left. She watched the door swing closed, stared after him, tears welling up in her eyes. What had she done?

Cullen watched from the battlements as the Inquisitor's party rode into Skyhold, triumphant from their dragon slaying expedition. Despite the fact that they looked rather singed around the edges, they were all in high spirits. And if he had to wager a guess, they had also been into the spirits already. Almost against his will, Cullen found his gaze drawn to Elena. They hadn't spoken since they day before she left. Her hair blazed bright under the mid-morning sun, and her cheeks were flushed. Tossing her head back, she laughed at something Dorian said. Sighing heavily, Cullen turned away before she could catch him staring, and returned to his office.

Fool, he chastised. To think she could ever care for you. He shook his head. He was a wreck of a man. The blood on his hands from over a decade of violence and oppression was enough drive anyone away, let alone a woman chosen by the Maker's Bride.

Cullen stood behind his desk, forearm and brow resting against the cool glass of his window.

"Fool," he whispered to himself.

"Cullen? Is this a bad time?"

Heart hammering in his chest, he spun around. Elena stood in the middle of his office, eyes down cast and fiddling with something in her hands.

"What are you…" he cleared his throat. "I mean, what can I do for you, Inquisitor?"

She stepped forward and firmly placed something on his desk. Cullen stared at her a moment, wishing she would look at him. Tentatively, he reached for the object. Turning it over in his hand, he realized it was golden statuette of knight.

"I, ah, found it. Among the dragon's horde," she spoke so softly he almost didn't hear her at first. "It made me think of you."

Finally, she glanced up, a hesitant smile on her lips. He was transfixed. She was so beautiful, radiant, really. He had not dare to hope to ever see her look at him like that, not after their last conversation.

Me?" He prompted.

She nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Yes. Golden and strong, and honorable. He's good, too good, really, it's kind of intimidating." She paused, flushing for reasons that certainly had nothing to do with the weather. "And, um, see his shield? He's protecting someone…someone he cares about. And really, that person is so lucky. If, um, she didn't mess it all up that is. If he still does. Care about her, I mean."

Cullen couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips. Slowly, giving her time to run if she desired, he walked around his desk to stand near her. He could smell the dragon blood that was still, no doubt, crusted under her nails, but under that was the sweet, clean scent which was uniquely her. Gently, he captured her face between his hands.

"He does. Always, no matter what."

Elena closed her eyes, a radiant smile spreading over her lips. Cullen brushed his left thumb over her eyelid and down the curve of her cheek. He heard the breath hitch in her throat as he leaned down and traced the path with his lips. He repeated his caress on the other side of her face, before lowering his mouth to hers. The noise she made as their lips touched sent shivers up his spine and heat straight to his belly. She gripped his hands, twining their fingers together and anchoring him to her; she crushed herself to his body, deepening the kiss. Cullen pressed back, desperate to feel soft curves of her even under their many layers armor.

When they finally disentangled from each other, tears glistened in her bright eyes.

"Cullen, I'm so sorry—"

"Hush. There's nothing to be sorry for," he murmured before stooping to kiss her again.

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