Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bioware and to the writers and animators voice actors and whoever else I may have forgotten to mention. The only things I claim to own are my own characters and the plot of this story.

He had been sitting on the floor for hours, staring at the broken box lying on the cold stone a few feet away from him. He'd thrown it in his anger, narrowly missing the Inquisitor as she entered his office. She had laughed it off, saying the box probably deserved it. But behind her laughter, he had seen her concern, her worry. Her eyes betrayed what her voice would not.

He hadn't meant to tell her about his past. He hadn't ever intended on telling anyone. But with her, the walls around his heart seemed to crumble, and his story just tumbled over his tongue before he could even think about it. The torture in Ferelden, the destruction in Kirkwall, his refusal to take lyrium again, everything laid bare before his Inquisitor. He'd felt so helpless, so vulnerable, so useless. And even though her words had encouraged him, he still doubted that he could continue as Commander.

He shook suddenly, teeth chattering together as the lyrium withdrawals returned again and with force. As he stared at the shattered remains of the last remnant of his Templar life, he wondered if he had made the right decision. It had been weeks since he'd last taken lyrium, and even then, it was under the watchful eye of Seeker Cassandra in an attempt to wean him off the stuff. There was a dull throbbing in his temples that was slowly growing worse, and he closed his eyes. From outside his office, he heard footsteps approaching. Strange, no one else had come recently. Cassandra must have been diverting the guards away until now.

The door leading to the bridge connecting his office to the main tower opened a crack. "Cullen?" questioned a soft voice.

His heart skipped a beat, but he didn't move or open his eyes. The door creaked open a bit farther, and he heard her breath catch briefly. "Oh, Maker," the Inquisitor whispered as she slowly approached. "Have you been here the whole time?"

The footsteps stopped before him, and he felt something touch his cheek. Involuntarily, he shivered. Her finger traced his cheekbones and down the side of his jawline to his chin before he opened his eyes. She was kneeling before him, slight frown touching the corners of her elegant lips. "Are you cold?" she asked softly.

They sat in silence like that for several moments. Concern filled her eyes, and he knew he must have looked awful. In truth, he had no idea how long he'd been sitting on the floor. It could have been anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, although he suspected more the latter. Suddenly, the corners of the Inquisitor's mouth turned up slightly. "Wait here," she told him as she stood up. "I'll be back."

Her touch left a slight tingle on his chin as she turned and left out a different door than the one she came through. Silence fell over the office again. He had seen the flickering light from the torches along the battlements when the Inquisitor had left. Occasionally, he could hear footsteps approach and then turn around, but none of the guards came into his office. But other than that, he heard nothing else.

It was several minutes before he heard footsteps that didn't turn away at the door to his office. He heard a grunt and a muffled curse as the door handle jiggled. A few seconds later, the door creaked open to reveal the Inquisitor carrying a large tray in her hands and a blanket draped over her arm. She struggled to hold the door and keep the tray steady, but by the time Cullen realized she needed help, she was already through the door.

She gave him a small smile as she set the tray on his desk. On it were two wooden steins and a large pitcher of steaming liquid. It took a few seconds for the smell to reach him, but when it did, he realized she had brought spiced cider. He barely remembered telling her it was his favorite drink for winter nights while they were still in Haven. As he marveled at her ability to remember, the Inquisitor stepped toward him and unfolded the blanket. It was made of thick druffalo hide and was large enough to cover his bed in the loft upstairs.

"Here," she said as she knelt in front of him and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. It smelled wonderful, perfumed with something from Orlais that gently eased the tension out of his muscles. "That should help ward off the cold."

She stood up and began to turn away, but he grabbed her hand. He was awestruck that someone would do this for him. No one had ever been this kind to him or cared for him this much since he'd joined the Templars. "Lyssa," he whispered, the rest of his words catching in his throat.

The corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile. She gently pulled her hand away and stepped over to pour cider into the two steins. Steam rolled off the liquid as she poured it. The barkeep at Herald's Rest must have just brewed it up. When the mugs were full, she set one on the edge of the desk and handed the other one to him. He took a sip of the deliciously warm drink. The spice helped chase away the chill creeping into his office as well as the shaking from the lyrium.

Lyssa moved past him over to where the shattered philter still lay by the door. While he watched, she carefully picked up the broken glass and splintered wood and tossed them in an empty barrel. The small broom that had been left from previous tenants rested in the corner, covered in cobwebs. She retrieved it, and swept the remaining pieces into a small pile that she pushed into a hidden corner. When the last bit of the philter had disappeared into the shadows, she returned to where Cullen still sat.

He gazed up at her for a moment before she moved to sit down beside him. She settled in quickly and reached up to retrieve her own mug of cider. She took a sip of the warm drink and sighed softly. They sat there in silence for a moment before the Inquisitor leaned over onto his shoulder. Cullen didn't mind. In fact, this was the most relaxed he'd felt all day. The blanket had helped chase away the chill of the night, and the cider had brought back fond memories to help ease the lyrium withdrawals.

He wasn't quite sure how long they sat there, silent, watching the flames of the torches create flickering shadows in the stone walls of the keep. The only sound was the occasional footsteps of patrolling guards and their breathing. So quiet was it, in fact, that when Lyssa finished her cider and set the mug on the floor, Cullen jumped. His mug was still half-full, but he too set it aside.

The moment his hands were free, Lyssa took them in her own and twined her long fingers with his. Hers were marvelously warm and surprisingly soft. Slowly, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back. He knew even without looking that she was smiling. Her thumb was twirling patterns on the back of his hand, and he heard her take a deep breath.

"Cullen," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

He tensed. In his experience, if someone started apologizing, terrible things were soon to follow. Yet her fingers didn't let go of his, even as he chest tightened with worry. "I wish I could take all of those terrible things that were done to you away. I wish I could bear that burden for you. And I'm sorry. I tried to tell you that understood. But-I don't. I can't. And I never will," her voice was soft, but her eyes were shining as she gazed up at him. "What happened to you, the things you've witnessed and endured, I will never be able to fully understand. But I do know this. Cullen Stanton Rutherford, I love you. With everything I have. And nothing could make me ever stop loving you. Nothing."

She gently pulled a hand free and turned his face fully toward her. Her hair shone in the torchlight, which also cast her face in warm light and dark shadow in turn. Gently, she leaned up and kissed him. For a moment, he was stunned at the amazing woman beside him. And then he kissed back.

It was long, perhaps longer than any of their brief kisses when they slipped away together on the battlements. He leaned into her kiss, drinking in her wonderful scent. Sword oil and leather, Prophets Laurel and the perfume she used on the sheets in her quarters, sweat and cider. All those things familiar to him, and yet a perfect description of the woman he loved. A warrior. A helper. The Inquisitor. Cullen wrapped his arms around her waist, as she brought her own around his neck. The blanket fell away, but neither of them felt the chill. For the moment, they were warmed from head to toe.

And then it was over. Lyssa drew back, still smiling. Cullen smiled too, for the first time in a long while. It was broken by a sudden yawn. The Inquisitor giggled softly, then stood up and drew him after her.

"You're tired," she said as she set her mug back up onto the desk. "The watch had already changed by the time I came back with the cider."

"That late?" Cullen asked, surprised. He'd been there much longer than he'd originally thought.

Lyssa nodded. "I do believe, Commander," she said with a laugh in her voice, "that it is very much past your bedtime."

"And I believe it must be past yours as well," he responded.

"You can keep the blanket," she said as she moved around him to pick his mug off the floor. "I have plenty more in my quarters."

He retrieved the blanket from the floor at his feet and threw it over his shoulder. It would be the best way to carry it up into the loft that served as his bedchamber. Lyssa picked up his mug and set it beside the other on the tray. She reached to pick it up when he caught her hand. "Please stay," he whispered, suddenly afraid of being alone with his thoughts again.

Again, she smiled at him. Without another word, they walked to the ladder, still holding hands. Cullen went up first, and she followed. He'd already placed the blanket on the bed by the time she had climbed all the way up. He heard a gasp, and then turned to find her staring wide eyed at the loft. He realized that she had never been there before, and the room wasn't exactly in the best of condition.

"Cullen, have they not come to fix your quarters?" she asked, obviously shocked at the state of the loft. In the moonlight shining through the hole in the roof, he saw her gaze fall on the pile of broken wood in the corner, then flit to the bush drooping from the ceiling.

Instinctively, he reached to scratch the back of his neck. "They did," he said slowly. "I, uh, may have told them it had already been fixed."

He glanced away, but knew her eyes were now fixed on him. "Why?" she asked from where she still stood by the ladder.

For a moment, he considered telling her a lie. Something to do with the cool night air or how the sun woke him up. But when he glanced back up at her to speak, he hesitated. The moonlight was shining perfectly through the hole in the roof, casting her in a beautiful pale light. The sight took his breath away, along with any thought of lying to her. Finally, he managed to take a breath. "I-I don't like enclosed spaces," he said finally. "I reminds me too much of-"

He trailed off as she crossed the room to take his hand again. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "It doesn't matter. As long as you're comfortable."

Cullen wrapped his arms around her again, leaning down and burying his face in the space between her neck and shoulder. He was glad she'd stayed. The action startled her, but she quickly recovered and planted a soft kiss on his neck. They stayed there only for a moment before he yawned again. She patted him on the back, silently reminding him it was time to sleep. He leaned back and smiled at her before planting a brief kiss of his own on her lips.

"Let's get you to bed," Lyssa half-whispered, smiling. "It's late."

They parted. Cullen stepped over to the trunk that stored all his worldly possessions and began to take his armor off. Once the carefully polished metal was safely in the trunk, he reached down to remove his tunic. Before the garment passed over his shoulders, he heard a soft intake of breath from behind him. It wasn't quite a gasp, but it conveyed her emotion just was well. He knew his back was crisscrossed with old scars, some from training, some from battle, and still others from punishment and the torture in Ferelden. He stepped away from her. In the years he'd been a templar, no one except his fellow recruits had seen his scars. And they understood what they meant. Sitting on the bed, he reached down to take off his boots and set them neatly by the bedside table, just as he'd been taught.

The floor creaked a moment before a warm body pressed down the straw on the mattress behind him. Cullen heard the Lyssa's boots hit the floor and she shifted. Suddenly, a cool finger touched one of his scars and traced it as the line ran across his back. The action drew an involuntary shudder from him. It was such a simple, yet intimate gesture. Soon the rest of her fingers joined the first, followed quickly by her other hand. They ran up and down his back, soothing the tense and sore muscles. It was the first symptom of lyrium withdrawal he'd noticed in hours, but under the gentle motions of the Inquisitor's hands, they slipped away.

He leaned back against her with a soft sigh, eyes closing as she brought his head into her lap. Now her thin fingers brushed through his curly hair, before she touched his forehead with a gentle kiss. They sat like that for several minutes, until he heard her yawn again. He smiled and reached up to take ahold of one of her hands. "You're tired," he said softly. "Go to sleep, my dear."

Lyssa gave him a tired smile and he moved so she could lay more comfortably on the bed. "You too," she whispered, letting her hand drop from his to fold underneath her head as a cushion.

But sleep was already calling to her. Cullen watched as her eyelids grew heavy and finally closed. Her breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. In the moonlight coming in through the hole in the roof, she looked peaceful, serene, beautiful. He reached over and brushed a strand of her deep brown hair out of her face. Slowly, so as not to disturb her, he moved so he was laying facing her.

In this new light, he began to see things he'd never noticed about her before. Like the light spattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Or the thin white scar that curved along the right side of her forehead, usually hidden by her hair. The lightening of her chapped lips from a rosy red in the center to a pale pink at the outer edges. How long her dark, thick lashes were and the light tan line on her wrists where her armor usually sat. The faint glow of the Anchor on her left hand as it draped across her bosom.

Andraste preserve him! One day soon, he would have to send this beautiful woman- a strong warrior, the Herald, and the other half of his heart and soul- out to face Corypheus and his armies of darkspawn and red templars. He shuddered at the thought, fear rising in his chest and causing his heart to pound hard enough he was sure it would wake his sleeping partner. Every day they grew closer to the final confrontation with their enemy. And with a shock, he realized that he was suddenly afraid for what would happen after the battle. After the enemy had been defeated and the Inquisition had served its purpose. The fear threatened to spill over from his thoughts into reality, but his attention was drawn away by Lyssa rolling forward and flopping her left arm over him.

No matter what came in the next few days or weeks or months, Cullen decided that he only wanted to hold onto this night, this moment, this image of comfort for a little bit longer. There would be plenty of time to worry about the future during the days ahead. So he laid awake for hours, only moving once to get up and lay the blanket across Lyssa's sleeping form. Once he was assured that she had not woken up, he slipped back down onto the straw mattress beside her. Even in her sleep, she moved closer to him, the warmth and comfort of her presence washing over him, easing the worry and fear away. And as dawn began to color the sky a deep red color, Cullen finally felt the beckoning of restful sleep.

Author's Note: Agh! My first Dragon Age fanfic is done! It has been half-written for a while now, and I am so relieved to finally be posting for y'all to read. I really hope you enjoy reading this little fluff piece featuring our favorite feathered-armor wearing ex-templar and the lovely Inquisitor.

If you like this story, even just a little bit, would you mind leaving a review? And feel free to message me if you have any thoughts/ideas/concerns/etc or if you might like to see this made into a story with somewhat random updates. Thanks again for reading! ~NightRider