Trials

by nothelping

Collection of Inquisitor & Cullen one-shots. First one: "What did you think you were doing, Inquisitor?" "Get your hands off me, Commander, before I'm forced to remove them." "You had no place risking your life like that!" "You think to tell me my place? You are very brave." "Who's making all that noise?" "The Commander and Herald are in the war room at each other's throats."

Chapter 1 - Before the Dawn

At the Shrine of Dumat, the first thing that struck him was her fighting style. Cullen had never seen the Inquisitor fight before, and honestly it terrified him.

She fought fast and loose, utterly impatient, heedlessly hurling herself out from behind safety to carelessly charge at enemies.

Hidden behind a wall, he watched her wait for Solas to freeze a cluster of red templars before rushing in with a war cry - fearlessness and unwaveringly confident - shattering them with her sword and shield, her menacing black armor becoming a canvas for the blood of her enemies.

She was a woman who was strong and tough, a woman who fought as easily as she breathed. She killed with a vicious, deadly efficiency, running her blade into one red templar after another, blood and death filling the field of battle around her. She was a force to be reckoned with… and sheknew it.

He was impressed, who wouldn't be, but her ruthlessness was disturbing. She obviously appreciated violence in a way that wasn't healthy. She was so brutal and merciless so… angry.But worse than that she was reckless. She always rushed in alone, without back-up. She went for the killing blow while leaving her sides unprotected, taking arrows and blades to her exposed sides that would have killed her dead by now if it wasn't for her downing health potions like they were pieces of candy.

Foolish. Very foolish. Didn't she know how important she was?

Cullen glanced down at Varric who was squatting beside him behind a wall. The dwarf was worriedly staring at the Herald's back with a nervous expression, as if he was as anxious of what she'd do next as Cullen was. That she was so unpredictable to even her own companions was distressing.

He'd thought it would be better to accompany her, thought it might bring him some piece of mind to be with her on an actual mission. But this mission wasn't bringing him piece of mind, it was bringing on a heart attack.

Varric's eyes shifted to Cullen and he burst out laughing. "Shit, what happened to your face, Curly?"

He grimaced. "It got hit."

"By what?"

"A fist," he muttered.

Varric smirked. "Why didn't you stop it?"

"I tried," he snapped. "Very hard."

"Were you blocking the fist with your face?" The dwarf asked, grinning.

"Shut up," Cullen growled.

"Hey, don't growl like that at me, Curly," Varric chuckled. "It's not my fault you look like shit. And you better watch that wound. You're bleeding all over the place," Varric said as he pointed to Cullen's hip where the point of a sword had sliced into him pretty deep.

Cullen heard a familiar war cry and whipped his head around. Alarm shot through him when he saw the Inquisitor being overpowered by a massive red templar wielding a double-handed sword. She tried to dodge but the blade came down in one vicious strike across her body, a shrill scream of pain tearing violently from her throat.

That sound… it struck so deep that he thought it might have caused him to bleed somewhere.

Before the red templar could cleave her in two, the heel of her hand slammed into his nose followed by a quick snap of his neck.

Though the danger seemed to be over for the moment, Cullen couldn't quite catch his breath. The panic was still there, lodged in his throat. It prevented him from taking in oxygen, like a pinecone stuck in his windpipe.

The Inquisitor turned her head and spat out a mouthful of blood into the dirt. She popped the cap of a health potion and tossed it back before throwing it aside, wiping away the droplets from her chin.

She used the back of her hand to push a wayward strand of her short, choppy, blue-black hair out of her eyes. She adjusted her sword in her hand as she stepped over the body at her feet. She shook the blood from her sword before sheathing it, putting away her shield too before racing into the base.

She didn't look back.

Not once.

She didn't even bother to check and see if the rest of them were still breathing. Didn't give a damn whether they were dead or not.

Varric took off after her. Cullen caught up to him quickly. Solas and Bull immediately flanked them. They were all breathing hard as they sprinted after her, making their way through Samson's burning camp. But even running full out, the Herald was able to keep several yards ahead of them. Her stamina was incredible and they were having trouble keeping up with her.

The four of them entered the keep and the clang of sword against sword somewhere in front of them grew louder along with the screams of death that seemed to perpetually follow in the Inquisitor's wake.

Adrenaline began coursing through him as they drew closer to the battle, the air heavy with the metallic scent of blood, the tang of hot metal, and the acrid sweat of fear she so easily incited in others.

They entered a large hall with archers stationed in the distance and they quickly ducked for cover behind a low wall.

After the first wave of arrows landed around them, Cullen peaked over the wall. In the distance he saw her. Fresh blood dripped off her blade, her chest heaving with exertion. She wore no helmet and he could see her black eyebrows drawn low and tight over her smoke-grey eyes that flashed dangerously as they scanned the enemies that surrounded her.

"Attack me if you dare," she taunted them.

One of them did not hesitate. The red templar charged and she swung her sword, her blade slashing clean through his neck. The red templar stood there for a moment, motionless. Then he fell to his knees at her feet, and his head rolled away.

"Come on, you bastards," she goaded, presenting the point of her sword to them in a provoking gesture. "Who's next?"

When none attacked, she spun her sword once in her hand, adjusting her grip. Then, without any fear or hesitation, she rushed them head on despite being grossly outnumbered.

Varric swiftly covered her with raining arrows while Solas hit them with a fireball and then another and another.

A stab of fear gutted him when a red templar rogue appeared out of a puff of smoke behind her, daggers raised.

"Inquisitor!" Cullen shouted in warning, watched while his stomach roiled for fear she'd be hurt.

She spun around and lifted her shield but she was too late. Blood sprayed as a dagger caught her along her pale cheek.

He stopped breathing.

When bright red blood appeared on her cheek in the form of a red line from her ear to the corner of her mouth, everything within him solidified to petrified stone. Cullen watched, horrified, as blood spilled out and ran down her cheek, the paleness of her skin so stark against the bright red color.

The Inquisitor's eyes tightened on the red templar, her glare sharp enough to cut bone. She pivoted on her foot and cut the last red templar's head from his shoulders.

Cullen felt the breath he'd been holding leave his body, felt the blood in his body start to move again as relief washed through him. But it was short-lived, instantly replaced by a fierce anger, an anger so overwhelming it exorcised all of the fears that had just moments ago been suffocating him.

"Crazy, reckless woman," he gritted under his breath.

What was she doing taking on all those red templar's alone? Did she have a death wish or something? Or did she simply not care whether she got hurt or not? Dammit, how could she be so senseless? Just the thought of her lying motionless on the ground, her face bloodless, staring out of lifeless eyes…

Cullen's jaw slowly clenched with seething fury, his mouth flattening into a single, white-ringed line.

She was completely out of control. Unpredictable, impulsive, reckless. Utterly insane. She acted without thought or care for her own life, as if it didn't matter, when nothing else mattered more. How could they win this war without her?

One thing was for sure, if this kind of behavior didn't stop, she was going to get herself or someone else killed.

He was honor-bound to protect his leader. He had to confront her, although he wasn't looking forward to it. The Inquisition's temperamental leader thrived on confrontations and battles. Direct and unapologetic bluntness was her preferred operating style over a diplomatic and civilized conversation.

She had this ever-present aura of intimidation, this imposing self-command, and an unwavering amount of authority that she put out without even trying. Some called her a bully and a thug, or a bitch. She was intimidatingly tall and strong and, when her argument failed to get her own way, she was not above shamelessly using her strength and title as an added negotiating tool, browbeating obstinate opponents into obeying her commands.

People couldn't understand why they followed her. But the truth was she'd gathered around her a group of extremely dedicated and resolute individuals who were totally commitment to their brilliant but aggressive leader. She may be quick to anger, but she was appreciative, honest, fearless, and selfless to a fault.

Despite being a member of the noble Trevelyan family, the Inquisitor didn't have any friends and didn't get along well with people. She could be difficult, had a no-nonsense manner, and liked to use her fists when words just slowed her down. She wasn't exactly what you would call "friendly". She kept to herself unless she was yelling at someone. But more than all the others she'd always been somewhat friendly with him. But perhaps he was misreading her. With the Inquisitor it was always hard to tell. She was so hard to read. She kept anything personal about herself close to her chest, saying it was no one's damn business.

Another wave of red templar's suddenly appeared at the end of the hallway by the Inquisitor. Before Cullen could shout a warning, she ran towards them, pulling a grenade from her belt. Without hesitation, she threw it at them.

The resulting explosion swallowed her up. It rocked the camp, sending chunks of the concrete ceiling and other debris showering down and clattering to the ground around her that formed a thick dust cloud.

A sensation filled him. It was fear—sheer, cold fear. Panic swept over him. He sucked in oxygen in a stricken gasp. He took one step forward, his hand outstretched, feeling a desperation that he didn't recognize as he stared wide-eyed at the pile of rubble and mountain of dust that remained where she'd stood only seconds before.

"Inquisitor… INQUISITOR!" Cullen roared, his voice cracking as he frantically searched for her, terrified.

Heart pounding with dread and panic, Cullen quickly vaulted over the low wall, running blindly towards the dust cloud that had swallowed her up. He coughed, his lungs burning from the dust and smoke that he was forced to breathe in with each breath he took. As the dust settled, he saw a lone figure rise slowly, shakily from the rubble.

"Samson got away. Maddox is dead," the Inquisitor said hoarsely as she slowly got to her unsteady feet, bits of her armor torn or missing, parts still smoking from where she'd been set on fire.

The others noticeably relaxed, like it was just another day, another close call, but not Cullen. He was shaking with the force of an immense rage that gripped him. The emotion was so intense, it literally frightened him.

"Let's look for clues to where Samson went and then get out of this shithole. I'm sick of these red lyrium-swilling, manskirt-wearing bastards," the Inquisitor muttered as she barreled passed them into the next room, forcing Varric to jump out of her way, like one would out of the path of a bull.

Cullen followed in her wake, seething with a rage so potent it was manifest. He could feel it—from the fury that burned him, to the heart that squeezed him.

"Inquisitor!" Cullen bellowed, throwing open the door, his violent entry sending the door banging into the wall.

She kept her back to him while she continued to search Maddox's quarters, completely ignoring him, like he didn't even exist to her, and he felt affronted by her comprehensive show of disinterest and detachment.

He stormed up to her, his shoulders heaving with raw aggression that seemed to boil up from fathoms deep down inside him. With a murderous edge, he grabbed her by the shoulders, whipping her around to face him so fast he nearly knocked heads with her. She was tall but he towered over her, bearing down on her, utterly threatening.

"Dammit, what did you think you were doing, Inquisitor?" Cullen slashed down at her from his imposing height, his voice so guttural and ferocious he hardly recognized it. He'd never been so furious.

He felt her tense beneath his grip, clearly surprised by his bold move and no doubt the murderous expression that marred his face. He understood her shock. He was always painstakingly courteous and deferential with her. But not now.

Her eyes fell to his hand gripping her shoulder before flickering up to his face, so cold they could freeze water.

"Get your hands off me, Commander, before I'm forced to remove them," she warned in a venomous voice and scorching grey eyes full of threat.

His jaw clenched so tightly that he thought he could taste his own blood. He released his grip with a jerk, but remained leaning aggressively over her, crowding her.

"Don't you have any concern for your own safety whatsoever? What were you thinking?" He could barely get the words passed his teeth that were clenched so tightly his jaw hurt. "You had no place risking your life like that."

"You think to tell me my place, Commander? You are very brave." Her voice was a razor-thin rasp, her dirt-covered face marred by a fierce scowl, outrage pouring off her in aggressive waves.

"You threw a grenade practically at your own feet. You almost died! How can you be so unconcerned about that?!" Cullen thundered with raw, splintering hostility, burning with fury and frustration. "You nearly killed yourself, taking the rest of us with you!"

She tilted her chin to an even more belligerent angle. "The grenade killed the remaining red templars. I call that a successful mission despite not catching Samson."

Cullen pointed accusingly at her. "It was an unnecessary risk!"

She slapped his hand away, her eyes bright with indignation. "It wasn't a risk." She heaved a deep breath, like she was attempting to calm herself. "You clearly don't remember who you're talking to, Commander, so let me remind you. I am not the one death comes for. I'm the one dishing it out."

"Dammit, you are such a bloody, arrogant woman!" The words were an explosive crack of sound, his mind unable to grasp how being obstinate ran through her every damn fiber!

"Arrogant?" she echoed half an octave higher. "It's not arrogance when it's a fact!"

"For someone so smart, you can be pretty dumb sometimes!"

"What did you just call me?!" she shrieked.

He was mad. He was so mad, he could hardly articulate. "Do you not care for your own life?!" he yelled. "Is it so meaningless to you that you'd throw it away so thoughtlessly?!"

She stepped toe-to-toe with him, getting right in his face, her gaze impaling him on what Cullen could only assume was a spike of some sort. "You are out of line, Commander."

"No, you are out of line, Inquisitor." His hands clenched and unclenched as he positively blistered with fury. "You used unsafe, illogical tactics, pointlessly putting all of our lives at risk. That is not the quality you want in a leader."

She went white with outrage, considering his words as a direct challenge to her authority.

There was a sound behind him and he watched her eyes shift away from him to stare over his shoulder at the others that had to be standing in the doorway, watching them.

In response to finding out they had an audience, he saw the small nerve fluttering at the corner of her narrow mouth that was compressed by the clenching of muscles along her rigid jaw.

Her gaze snapped back to him, narrowing to mere slits, and he felt pummeled by the force of her concentrated angry energy. "You're going to want to watch your tone, Commander," she warned, and Cullen could feel the force of her tightly leashed temper licking out at him like flames. "Only the most foolish would risk incurring my wrath."

He tossed back will biting derision, "Maker turn his gaze upon you, Herald, for I pray your carelessness won't doom us all!"

"Your disapproval has been noted, Commander," she countered in a tone of crushing finality. "Now back off."

He didn't move a muscle, remained towering over her. He breathed roughly, challenge in the immovable stance of his body. He stood leaning over her with his shoulders so taut they were up to his ears, his legs braced, expecting a blow but remaining firm in his conviction, retorting curtly, "No one ever listens, not until it's far too late."

"I said back the fuck off," she snarled before shoving him and he stumbled back from the force she put behind it.

His lip curled into a sneer as he pressed a fist against his armor, over his heart in a mocking gesture, gritting with brittle contempt, "As the Inquisitor dictates."

He shot her one last fulminating glare before angrily pulling his helmet back on and shoving past her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Who's making all that noise?" Bull asked the Inquisitor's companions where they were gathered around the door that led to the war table.

Varric chuckled. "The Commander and the Herald are in the war room at each other's throats."

At that moment something large and heavy smashed into the door on the other side so hard there was a violent shake of the walls from the force of the impact.

"No shit!" Bull exclaimed with excitement and amusement as he approached the door. "Can you hear anything?"

"No, the walls are too thick," Dorian pouted.

"What are they fighting about?" Cassandra asked.

Sera answered in a sing-song voice, "Cully-Wully went to the Shrine of Dumat and got all pissy with Her-Gracious-Ladybits."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Pissy?"

"He didn't like the way her Inquisitorialness carried out the mission," Varric clarified. "They've been in there since the moment we got back working it out and settling their grudges."

Suddenly, from the war room, they heard the unmistakable noise of glass smashing and splintering.

Together they all eyed the door nervously.

"It doesn't sound like they are working it out," Cassandra pointed out.

"Do you think she's killing him?" Blackwall asked worriedly.

"I bet ten gold she breaks something of his. Any takers? Double your money if you can call the something she breaks," Varric announced, tossing a small pouch full of gold onto the floor.

"I'm in!" Sera exclaimed. "Bet he walks out with a busted nose."

"I'll get in on that action," Blackwall said. "Twenty gold says she gives him two black eyes."

"My money's on the Commander," Cassandra smirked. "He knows how to handle himself and he's taller and got almost a hundred pounds on her."

"But the Inquisitor fights dirty," Bull chipped in. "Thirty gold on a pair of crushed testicals."

"Cassandra, where is Commander Cullen? I do hope he is not calibrating the trebuchets, again," Josephine said as she entered the hallway that led to the war room where they were all gathered. But once she saw everyone standing around the door to the war room, she glowered at them all.

"What are you all doing standing about?!" Josephine shrieked as she walked towards them. "All of you, get back to work!"

Grumbling the group exchanged disappointed glances before dispersing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In spite of the fact that he had been conducting a mental countdown, Cullen still tensed as a chair crashed against the wall, sending a concussive shock vibrating around the room.

In the two years that he'd been with the Inquisitor, he'd frequently witnessed her explode, but he'd never been on the receiving end of one of her fiery tantrums. But when she lost her volatile temper with one of her companions or advisors, she usually chose to vent her anger on the in animate objects around her rather than on them. To his knowledge she had so far cost the Inquisition a statue, a painting, two mugs, an ocularum shard and a terse lecture from Josephine after the Inquisitor had dramatically set fire to one of Josephine's reports, causing a minor bonfire in her office that led to the evacuation of Skyhold for an hour.

"Inquisitor…" As soon as the word left his lips, a glass vase flew across the room, shattering against the wall behind him.

"Are you quite finished?" he grumbled irritably.

She made a sound that was pure rage before she grabbed the nearest thing she could.

A miniature statue on the war table.

She sent it soaring across the room toward him, but he easily sidestepped it, and it shattered into a million pieces against the wall.

Cullen rubbed his burning eyes. Every muscle in his body was rigid with tension, outrage strumming his nerves. Every muscle ached. He was angry, frustrated, tired, and hungry. He was still in his armor from the mission, which was covered in grim, sweat, and dried blood. His face was dirty, stubble roughening his jawline. Only the most fierce self-discipline held back his exhaustion.

"I've had enough of this," he shot angrily at her before heading for the door.

"Don't turn your back on me, Commander!" The Inquisitor shouted at his retreating back, sending a paperweight zooming for his head.

Cullen twisted, dodging it, but it clipped his injured hipbone and he grimaced, praying the deep gash there didn't start bleeding again.

He watched her look around wildly for something else to throw at him, but he was on her in an instant.

His hands caught both of her wrists and brought them forcefully against her sides. With her palms against her thighs she tried unsuccessfully to break free of his powerful grip. When she couldn't, she tried to knee him, but he was expecting it. His thigh nudged between hers, immobilizing her. There was a dark edge to him as he glared down at her.

"Let me sum up what is going to happen very plainly for you, Inquisitor—Next time you go on a mission, you will not put yourself in needless peril, or endanger those who accompany you." His voice was as dark and thunderous as his expression. "Act crazy on your own time, Inquisitor."

Hardened grey eyes flew up to his and narrowed severely, her mouth twisting savagely. He had the feeling that this was probably what it felt like to stare down a Qunari dreadnaught. Deliberately taunting and provoking a woman as powerful and formidable as the Inquisitor was a dangerous endeavor.

"Be very careful, Commander," she uttered with lethal quiet. "You're bordering dangerous close on insurrection."

"For what? Pointing out your recklessness?" he asked with indignation. It was abundantly clear to him now that the Inquisitor was not a woman who ever played safe, not when she had come to earth convinced of the fact that she always knew best.

She ripped her wrists from his grasp. "You've made your concerns known, Commander. I will consider them," she said, her tone clipped and unfriendly, her expression stony. "I will consider them along with all the other shit I'm forced to consider on a daily basis."

The muscle in his clenched jaw worked violently as his back teeth grinded together. They stood, staring at one another, an antagonistic and brittle silence engulfing the space between them that was so full of angry tension that it felt like lute cords stretched unbearably thin and just waiting to snap.

He cursed before brushed roughly past her, yanking his helmet off before throwing it forcefully against the wall. He stormed towards the back corner of the room, as far away from her as he could get. With an angry shake of his head he ripped off his gauntlets before tossing them angrily down on the chair. "I know you're self-sacrificing, to the point of foolishness, but really…"

He heard her heavy steps as she stomped up behind him. A strong, bare hand grabbed his arm, and spun him around.

"Don't you ever, ever, question me or my orders during a mission in front of my men again," she virtually spat the words at him, shaking with the force of her rage. "Next time you have an issue with the way I lead you will keep your mouth shut and approach me privately after the mission, not during and certainly not in front of my companions!"

He'd never seen her this angry before. Her cheeks were flushed, her grey eyes dark and stormy. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, short black hair sticking to her temples. The heat from her hand burned through his arm, warming his skin.

"Don't you ever tell me what to do on my mission," she snarled. "Do we understand each other?"

"I won't sit back and let you throw your life away," he tossed back with biting harshness.

Her chin lifted sharply, fingers tightening on his arm. "Do you not think I can defend myself?"

His jaw flexed. "That's not what I… you're the strongest person I know. But that doesn't mean you aren't worth protecting!"

Her eyes narrowed and seemed to fire daggers at him. "Either I am fully able to take care of myself, or I am not, and you need to guard me like I'm an infant."

Despite the seething antagonism aimed at him, his eyes locked onto hers, glittering and intense, a deep scowl tainting his lips. "I have no issue with your fighting ability, Inquisitor. What I have issue with is your carelessness," he drawled with icy precision. "A careless leader is like a wildfire. As prone to consume itself as it is to devour all that surrounds it."

Flames sparked to life in her eyes and she pulled on his arm to bring him closer, as if she was trying to physically bend him to her will. "Regardless of what you think of me, I am in charge here and not you."

"I serve the Inquisition and will do as I'm commanded, but in this instance I am right." It came out clipped and harsh, implacable, refusing to be submissive. "You might get a rush from a near-death experience, Inquisitor, but I do not. You had other options and you took the one that had the greatest chance of having your body parts scattered all over the damn floor!"

Her chin clipped up as if he'd hit her. "I am the leader of the Inquisition," she shot back at him with raw venom. "You will follow my command, whether you like it or not!"

He pushed her away from him with an explosive curse. He turned his back on her and rubbed angrily at his jaw, his fingers scraping across the slight stubble there.

"If you refuse to listen and see reason, Inquisitor, then I shall not impose my presence on you any longer," he muttered as he moved past her, reaching the door without the awareness that he'd even moved his feet.

She stepped into his path, forcing him to stop and face her. She put her hand on his chest to keep him there. His chest lifted on an unsteady breath against her palm.

"Despite what it may look like, I do know what I'm doing," she said on a wispy catch of breath, her voice holding something that sounded a lot like vulnerability, which was insane. The Inquisitor was never vulnerable.

"Today you were careless. You could've…" His jaw clenched. "I told you I would not allow the events at Haven to happen again," he uttered with a raw edge. "I gave you my word."

After Haven, he'd made the decision that there was nothing he wouldn't do to protect her. Because when they hurt her they were also hurting him.

"I can take care of myself," she said weakly, her voice just sliding away.

"What if you can't… what if you…" His gaze swung away from her before returning. "Contrary to popular belief, and your ego, you are not invincible, Inquisitor. You can be cut and when you do, you bleed, just like any other."

She averted her gaze, her hand falling from his chest. "I am not made of glass."

He hunkered down on a level with her, his eyes tethering hers. "No, but you are breakable… like all precious things are."

"I'll be fine," she said evenly.

"There is no certainty in life," he uttered under his breath. "What if your luck runs out? What if you get hurt? I'd never forgive myself." Anger - no, it was fear, he now realized - had swept him into a fit of insubordination on that mission. "I was worried for you today."

"You're always worried about me," she said grimly, as if it were the worst possible offence that a person could commit. "It's not your responsibility to look after me. I wish you would leave well alone. I don't want or need you to worry about me, Commander," she said dismissively as she made to move passed him and open the door.

Her calculated slide past him was halted by the arm that unconsciously glided across her stomach and curved around her waist. He felt her tense, the side of her body pressed against the length of his, his skin heated at the contact. He turned his head to the side to stare down at her side profile.

"You can let me worry about you a little." His voice was so low it was barely audible.

The Inquisitor turned her head to the side, her chin touching her shoulder, and then her eyes slowly dragged up to his.

There was a sudden thrumming tension in the air. He didn't know where it had come from but he felt charged with a sensation disturbingly akin to excitement. His chest felt strangely tight as he looked down at her - her hair was still damp with sweat from the mission, her lips parted, her breath hot on his face, an audible fracture in her breathing pattern.

His armor suddenly felt too hot, too heavy as he watched a bead of sweat roll down her temple. Instantly he felt something dark stir in his gut. His fingers curled tighter around her waist in response to it. He tried to ignore it but he knew it was impossible. He could no sooner ignore it, or her, than he could ignore his own need to breathe.

What was wrong with him? He was honor-bound to respect his leader; equally determined to resist what he shouldn't be feeling for her.

The Inquisitor suddenly frowned up at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked sharply, his eyes dropping to her lips to watch the end of the last word form.

She shoved him when he failed to say anything, as if to snap him out of whatever had overcome him. It only caused him to take a few steps back and the dark something inside him to pulse, like a low hum of primal excitement in his blood, the tension and the need in him unmistakable.

"Evelyn." Her name came out like a warning.

It hit him then that he'd just called the Inquisitor by her first name. He was on a roll today – insubordination, jostling his leader, and then being wholly disrespectful by not referring to her by her title.

Every natural instinct spurred him to get out of there. He needed to leave. Now. Right now. Before he did something he would regret.

She had no interest in him whatsoever. He was just a desperately lonely man projecting his longing onto a woman that wanted nothing to do with him. Why would any woman want him? Women didn't like things that were damaged.

He curled his fingers in his collar and tugged, trying to loosen its suddenly tight hold around his neck as he walked around the Inquisitor to the door. His hand lifted and reached out to fall heavily on the door handle. Before the wooden door could open even an inch, her hand appeared on the wood, slamming the door thunderously shut.

Whirling around he found her standing far to close to him with her palm still pressed against the door.

She sliced a hard glance his way from beneath her lashes, her steel orbs stabbing into him. "You don't leave this room until I'm convinced you trust my judgment."

Her hand slowly fell from the door. She walked around him to lean her back against the wall beside the door, crossing her arms and looking back at him through eyes narrowed in challenge.

"You want my trust? Then you tell me why," he breathed jerkily. He looked away from her to stare at the door, hands curling into fists at his sides. "Tell me why you do it."

"Do what?" He heard her ask tautly.

He stopped looking at the door, his attention shifting to her and sharpening to a fierce intensity. "Risk your life like it means nothing."

His legs moved toward her without permission, and they felt like lead with every step. "Does it make you feel invincible?" he asked, his voice deeper, raspier. "Does it give you a sense of control?"

Her expression tightened, eyes becoming wary. She wasn't expecting this and she watched him with a mixture of surprise and trepidation as he pressed even closer—trapping her against the wall behind her, placing his hands on either side of her head, the stone cold beneath his palms.

"No, that's not it," he confirmed under his breath. He searched her eyes with his own; understanding dawning on him. "You do it to feel pain, don't you?"

"You are a man of discernment," she retorted in a quelling tone that suggested he was trespassing on forbidden territory.

"It's the only way you can feel anything, isn't it?" he probed gently. "You need to risk your life to feel the rush… to feel something." He felt his expression soften with sympathy. "It's the only way you can feel alive, isn't it?"

"It's just too much." The words came out like a dark confession, her eyes shadowing before falling to stare at her left hand at her side that curled into a tight fist. "I never wanted this." Her voice was hostile and defensive; he'd clearly touched a nerve.

He shook his head slowly. "You're on the edge, Inquisitor," he cautioned, watching her lashes flicker as her eyes slowly returned to his. "Careful you don't fall over."

She jerked back, bristling. "Let me tell you about living on the edge, Commander," she hissed. "The hardest thing in my life is to live it. This war… it's bloody and violent and brutal. Fighting it is hard, it's painful, and it's terrifying. It's every second. It's everyday. Nonstop. Until I can't anymore," she said. "And if I have to be violent, impulsive, aggressive, and ruthless to feel something real while saving this ungrateful world, then you can help your delicate sensibilities by turning the fuck away!"

"Let me tell you the hardest thing in my life," Cullen snapped right back. "It's watching you fight for your life." His fingers pressed into the wall beside her head, straining white against the stone. "My guts turn into a painful knot of terror as I watch you dodge each blow aimed to rip your head from your shoulders. Every protective instincts rises up from the dark depths of my being, demanding that I destroy anything and anyone that dares to try and hurt you, to kill you…" To take you away from me, he finished silently.

His voiced faded to nothing as he caught the scent of her, his anger leaving him on the tail end of a jagged exhale. This close he could smell the scent of the soap she used to wash her hair, the oil she used to sharpen her blade, the bees wax she applied to her lips when they were chapped. He could feel her sweet breath on his face, feel her chest rise and fall against his, feel the heat coming off her skin…

Irresistibly impelled, he leaned his head down to bury his face in the curve of her neck, her damp hair caressing his cheek.

"Commander—" His title came out hesitant.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, taking in the earthy scent of her unperfumed body. It was heady and real. It reminded him of flesh and sweat and softness. Sweet Maker, she smelled so inconceivably good.

He couldn't stop himself from nuzzling her neck. It made her shiver, so he did it again.

"Cullen—" His name came out low and breathy, as if she'd run a great distance.

He heard her release a shaky breath as he ran his lips beside her ear, rasping, "This world can't lose you…" His breath stirred the hair by her ear. "…I can't lose you."

His breathing was ragged, his heart hammering in his chest, and it was through nothing less than sheer force of will that he didn't touch her, to keep his hands planted firmly on the wall beside her head. If he touched her, he wouldn't be able to stop them from wandering, and if he evertouched her skin…

He was getting hard.

Shit.

She was going to realize it soon because she was tall and her hipbone was pressed directly on his groin.

Maker, please don't let her feel it. Please, please, please…

Her chest froze against his on an upward breath, her hip pressed against his growing erection. She stopped breathing.

He winced. She could feel it. She had to feel it.

In a sudden blur of movement, she brought her hands to his chest and pushed with all her strength, so hard he stumbled backwards until the small of his back slammed into the war table behind him, causing the numerous pieces resting on its surface to wobble and topple over.

"I-I'm so sorry, please forgive me, I-I..." he stammered, ashamed, positive she was going to kill him.

Her eyes were black, her chest heaving, her hands going to the bottom of her chestpiece and in one motion she removed it over her head.

His eyes bulged in his skull. "W-What are y-you…?" he stuttered, shaken.

She swiftly removed each piece her armor, letting each piece drop to the floor, until all that remained were her smalls.

He couldn't remember how to breathe. Did you exhale first, or inhale?

Her grey eyes were fixed on his, a wayward strand of raven hair falling into them. Wide-eyed, still unable to draw breath, his gaze crawled down to the tiny scrap of material covering her breasts, down further to her narrow waist that flared to shapely hips, to linger on legs that were long and lithe, lined with muscle. Scars and burns were scattered all over her body, adding to her aura of toughness, but without the heavy armor she looked smaller, feminine and unbelievably soft.

"Maker's breath, you're beautiful." He didn't even realize he'd spoken out loud until he heard the throaty sound of his own voice.

Like the addict he was, he drank in the sight of her, scanning every inch, memorizing every dip and curve, every piece of perfection. He would keep it with him to his grave.

"Impossibly beautiful." His tone was awed.

He watched her stalk toward him, captivated by the play of lean muscle under her pale skin.

"None more beautiful," he husked.

Unconsciously, his hands began yanking on his own chestpiece, trying to pull it up his torso but his hands were shaking so bad he fumbled terribly with it. Somehow he managed to wrench the damn thing off in his urgency, and it hit the floor with a loud clang.

When she was close enough to touch, his hands instinctively reached for her, wanting to learn all the secrets of her skin, but she shoved his chest and he fell backwards, his back colliding with the war table. His arm knocked against a neat stack of papers, sending them spilling across the war table and fluttering to the floor, his legs hanging off the side of the table.

He couldn't believe this was really happening. Never had he felt such wild anticipation mixed with abject panic. They had just been screaming at each other… and now… now…

She climbed up onto the war table, adjusted her legs on either side of him. Her hands were fast and urgent as they took two fistfuls of his tunic before ripping it right down the middle. Heart in his throat, he watched her gaze fall to his bare chest where his tunic hung loosely in her grip.

Maker, he really hoped he wasn't dreaming.

She traced each sculpted muscle of his chest with her fingertips, running her hands down the smooth lines of his ribcage. He released a shuddering breath, his muscles clenching beneath her wandering fingers.

Only one way to find out if he was dreaming.

He sat up swiftly, curling his body up to hers. His hand fisted in her hair to hold her still as he slammed her mouth down on his. He kissed her, forcefully, roughly, with a kind of crazy desperation, gripped by an urgency that burned. Her fingers were in his hair, pulling at the strands, sucking his tongue into her mouth before sinking her teeth into his bottom lip, her nails biting into his scalp. It was hard and frantic, starving, as if they would die the moment they stopped.

When oxygen became a necessity they reluctantly broke away, though her mouth hovered not even an inch above his.

"How long have you been wanting to do that?" she panted against his lips.

"Longer than I should admit," he husked, his throat contracting tightly around the words.

"Why didn't you do anything?" she asked, like it was so easy.

His hands slid up the bare skin of her ribcage before curving around to run up her back, feeling her muscles ripple beneath her silky smooth skin. His hands wrenched at the material on her back, tearing the fabric open. He dragged his hands down the bare flesh of her exposed back and she arched into him, fingers tightening in his hair.

"Because you're the Inquisitor. We're at war. And you…" He pulled the remaining fabric away to expose her entirely above the waist, and groaned at the sight of her. "I didn't think it was possible."

His fingers splayed wide on her upper back as he drew her to him, his head dipping to her chest. He caught her nipple between his teeth and flicked it with his tongue, hoping he was doing it right. The gasping moan that fell from her lips sent his tongue swiping back over it before taking her breast more fully into his mouth and sucking hard. She arched her back against his mouth, whimpering, and he nipped a little too hard in his eagerness and she winced.

"I'm s-sorry." His voice was rough and shaken, apologetic.

She put her hands to his chest and pushed him back down onto the war table as she sat up in a sitting position. Her lips were plump and red, her eyes smoky as she stared down at him. Her short black hair tumbled around a face that would haunt his dreams forever.

"Commander…" Her voice was the softest and huskiest he'd ever heard it. "Cullen, have you ever done this before?"

He shook his head.

The corners of her mouth lifted in a small smile, transforming her face. He'd never seen her smile before.

It was the most breathtaking sight he'd ever witnessed.

Her fingertips began trailing lightly across the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen, running suggestively along the edge of his pants.

He made a harsh, growling sound in the back of his throat.

He was so hard it hurt.

The urge to grab her hand and press it against the aching part of him was nearly irresistible.

He was only dimly aware that her fingers had begun to unbuckle his belt. The belt loosened and he began to hyperventilate when her fingers impatiently moved between them to unlace his breeches.

A strangled and very embarrassing sound of shock and need fell from his lips when her hand reached beneath his pants and touched the part of him that no other person had ever touched before. He felt myself thicken and jerk in her hand, and he heard her laugh.

Maker, he hoped she wasn't laughing at him. He wasn't sure he could handle that.

She took him in her hand, working him out of the confining fabric of his pants and a desperate grunt broke free of him. Panting, his hands shot out to clench her hips, but he didn't know what else to do.

Her calloused fingers pumped him once, and he shuddered, hard, fearful he would release in her palm. The feeling she was inflicting was so overwhelming that the room began to spin and he had to close his eyes.

She did it again and he heard himself groan - the sound of a man in sheer torment. All he could do was let his head fall back with a thud against the war table, his fingers flexing on the flesh enveloping his hips. It felt so good it was almost painful.

It was far too late to stop. If anyone interrupted now he would kill them and then make her continue. If she stopped here she could ask anything of him and he would do it. So long as she finished the torture she was inflicting on him, so absolutely desperate was he for relief.

She released him and bent forward to place her palms against the war table on either side of his head, bringing her face close to his. The tips of her breasts rubbed against his bare chest. Her mouth hovered just mere inches above his, heating his lips.

"Want me?" she asked as she rocked against him, rubbing against him.

"So bad I can hardly breathe." The strangled words spilled from his mouth.

"You sure?" She slowly rocked against him again.

"Evey," he warned, the word a harsh grate, needing her as he'd never needed another.

With a rough sound of impatience his hands yanked on her hips until he was pressed dead center between her thighs against the vee of her smalls. His fingers glided between her thighs, his thumb slipping beneath her smalls to draw the entire length of his thumb slowly along her, wrenching a moan out of her.

Her arms began shaking on the war table beside his head when his thumb slid inside her, lingering, only to withdraw and stroke her again. Her eyes were black, her pupils dilated, her body trembling—because of him. Him.

He did it again and she hissed between her teeth. "Don't play with me," she warned harshly. "I don't want to be teased."

He couldn't agree more. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to just get inside of her. He had to have her.

His eyes locked with hers, neither looking away as he pushed her smalls to one side and thrust upward, burying himself deep within her.

"Maker's breath," he groaned, hardly aware that the words had left his mouth, so consumed was he by the incredibly tight, molten, wet heat that surrounded him.

His eyes rolled back in their sockets before closing as a tremor wracked him, feeling like he was about to pass out. He could feel her all around him, surrounding him, holding him tightly.

"You are… I have never felt anything like this," he bit out in a tone of wonder as his back arched and his hips thrust upward, trying to force more of himself into her.

Tunneling her fingers through his hair, she held him close as he started pumping into her, rutting against her body. Her nipples raked his chest with each of his jostling movements that were frantic and raw, a complete loss of self.

Slick skin, soft breathy sighs, heady feminine scent, the creak and scrape of the war table as they ground against each other—he committed it all to memory.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could last. But he didn't want this to end. Never wanted this to end.

Andraste preserve him, he would endeavor to last—

She began picking up speed, her legs bent beside his hips as she rode him, and all he could hear was his own desperate panting deepening into groans, feeling like she was going to rip the very essence out of him.

A rough, unhinged sound vibrated in the back of his throat as he grabbed the firm flesh of her rear, adding the strength of his arms to her movements.

"Sweet Maker!" He jerked into her as he rocked faster and harder. "Never knew… I would kill for this." Faster. Harder—

He struggled to focus on her perfect image above him, but an exceptionally hard ripple around him made his vision blur, made him forget his own name. It was more than he could bear after a lifetime of celibacy.

She leaned forward to bury her face in his neck and his hand came up to cradle the back of her head to press her mouth deeper to the skin of his throat as he thrust into her, his pace speeding up, urgent now. Up and into her, over and over, until her entire body snapped taut, her voice callinghis name to the Maker.

The sudden death grip that squeezed him from inside her sent him over the edge. With a stifled groan he rocked against her, his body contracting in hard, racking tremors as he poured himself into her.

She lay heavy on his chest, panting into the curve of his neck. His arms wrapped around her, holding onto her like an anchor because everything else in the world had fallen away.

They stayed like that, still intimately connected, his heart pounding against the hand pressed against his chest, all the while he listened to their heavy breathing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Did you hear that?" Blackwall asked the others.

"I think someone was… screaming," Cole gasped, terrified.

"But who was the one screaming?" Blackwall questioned.

"The Inquisitor," Varric said matter-of-fact.

"How do you know?" Bull demanded.

Varric scratched his cheek. "It was more high-pitched. Defiantly female."

Sera giggled, "And how do you know Cully-Wully doesn't scream like a little girl, hmm?"

"Looks like I'm the winner," Cassandra exclaimed. "I told you Cullen would pin her flat."

"I don't know, it's awfully quiet now," Blackwall pointed out.

"Maybe they finally killed each other," Sera said dramatically.

Cassandra scoffed. "Or maybe they came to an understanding."

Sera was shaking her head adamantly. "No way! You heard all the shite they broke! They were definitely beating the hell out of each other."

Bull folded his arms. "Maybe they're just mortally wounded."

"Possible but unlikely," Dorian chimed in. "Did no one notice the kind of tension that was between them when they first arrived? Commander Cullen was being dominant and the Inquisitor was responding to it."

The Inquisitor's companions were staring thunderstruck at the magister.

"Whoa hold it, hold it." Sera was shaking her head in disbelief. "Are you sayin' they've been in the war room this entire time… shagging?"

"What is shagging?" Cole asked innocently.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The room seemed unnaturally quiet now. They were still, so still, their breathing so loud it seemed to echo in the silence of the war room.

How long had they been on the war table, tangled together in a knot of limbs?

He couldn't be sure.

Cullen shifted uncomfortably on the war table and she pushed herself up right in his lap. She gave him a slightly awkward look before turning to assess the disaster that surrounded them.

Scattered pieces of armor, torn clothing, and papers were scattered around the room. A small table was turned over, a drinking glass broken in one corner, miniature statues toppled over on the table or strewn about on the floor, a chair lay in shattered pieces against the wall where it had been thrown.

It looked more like the destruction left after a tornado.

What had he done?

He'd completely crossed the line, that's what.

She'd started it though, right? He thought, but then frowned. No, I did. I started it. It was all my doing. My fault…

He'd fantasized about something happening between them, but it had never been anything like this. What just happened was… well what was it? Whatever it was, he'd never felt anything like it. Was sex always like that? He wasn't sure. Didn't think so.

Maker, he hadn't planned this. Sure he'd dreamed of it, but it was always supposed to happen after he'd flirted with her several times over a nice game of chess, after they'd had a few candlelit dinners somewhere fancy in Val Royeaux, after he'd taken her to the special lake from his childhood, after he'd given her a bouquet of freshly-picked flowers, after he'd kissed her once maybe twice. That was how normal people started a relationship. They didn't get into a physical altercation before tearing each other's clothes off and screwing each other on a table in a very commonly used area.

He was a complete and utter bastard.

Apologize, he told himself. Say something good.

"That was, umm, really nice," he stammered, and instantly grimaced.

Why? Why did you say that? What's the matter with you?

When she said nothing he grew apprehensive.

"Do you regret it?" he whispered, his tone cautious and uncertain.

His chest was unbearably tight in the bone-crushing silence that followed that question.

"Do you?" Her tone was even, giving nothing away.

"NO!" It burst out of him so loud and panicked that she jumped slightly. He cringed with embarrassment and softened his voice. "I mean… no. Not at all."

Cullen lifted his head and caught her eyes with his own. "Evey, umm, I mean Evelyn—Inquisitor… ugh…" Cullen cleared his throat, not such how to address her now. "I—"

"Stop. You don't need to say anything," she said casually as she slid off the war table, leaving him lying on his back with his chest bare and his pants hanging below his hips.

Nonchalantly, she picked her shirt up off the floor and used it to wipe away the slickness between her thighs before moving across the room to her pack lying on the floor by the wall. She tossed the material into her pack and bent down to pull out a fresh shirt.

"Lady Trevelyan—Herald… wait," Cullen called out as he sat up on the war table, his legs hanging awkwardly off the side, still not sure what to call her.

"You don't need to say anything," she assured him as she pulled the fresh shirt over her head.

Tongue-tied, he watched her make her way around the room, collecting her armor, putting them on with quick, sure movements.

"Thank you." She adjusted the belts and buckles of her armor, until she was presentable. She ran a few fingers through her short crop of black hair before she regarded him. "That was exactly what I needed."

Realizing his mouth was hanging open foolishly, Cullen quickly closed it, still unable to speak.

Suddenly someone started banging loudly on the door with their fist causing both of them to jump. The door abruptly opened and Varric stepped inside.

"Inquisitor, if you and Curly are finished in here, I want to know who won this fight because there's this bet going on and—holy shit!" Varric exclaimed in shock.

"Don't say a word, dwarf," Cullen warned from where he lay naked and sprawled on the war table.

Before he could move to cover himself, Josephine strolled in, "Are those two done tearing each other apart? We need to begin preparations for the-e… t-the…" she sputtered out, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on his naked body.

Cursing, Cullen jumped off the war table, keeping his bare back to them as he yanked his pants up to cover his nudity.

"I-I am so sorry," Josephine apologize, flustered.

"This is actually, umm…" Cullen stammered as he stuffed himself into his pants.

"Is something the matter—Ah!" Cassandra gasped in mortified shock the moment she entered the war room seeing his bare back and his fingers making quick work of the laces of his pants.

"Do you see this?" Cassandra ask dumbly behind him.

"No." Josephine and Varric replied at the same time.

Cole suddenly appeared out of thin air on top of the war table.

"It comes off?!" Cole gasped in disbelief and awe, his eyes shifting back and forth between Cullen's bare torso and the pieces of his armor lying scattered on the ground. "I didn't know it came off!"

"Out, Cole!" Cassandra barked, and Cole immediately disappeared, looking terrified, as if scarred for life.

Cassandra shot Cullen a disapproving look before flicking her gaze back and forth between him and the Inquisitor, like she was trying to put together a particularly challenging puzzle. "I apologize, Inquisitor, for interrupting what I assume was a… way to work off stress?"

"I had no idea either of you were carrying that much… tension," Josephine said with a blush.

"Well, they're not carrying it anymore," Varric chuckled. "Nothing wrong with having a little fun."

"Who wouldn't be a little curious?" Josephine murmured silkily, and Cullen didn't particularly like the way the ambassador's lascivious gaze raked over him with unhidden interest.

"I'm leaving," Cassandra grumbled, visibly uncomfortably with the whole situation. "I don't want to see anymore than I already have."

"I'll say this once and only once," the Inquisitor stated severely. "If any of you so much as breathe a word of this, so help me, I'm going to start at your ankles, end at your neck, and break every bone in-between. Twice," she threatened. "Am I understood?"

Once they all nodded their assent, she said casually, "Now, Josephine, you said something about preparations?" Her voice sounded perfectly calm and professional. "Shall we go to your office to discuss them?"

Cullen's gaze shifted to the Inquisitor to watch her step through the door behind Josephine who was pushing the others out to give him some privacy, leaving him behind to pick up his ripped tunic and put on his armor.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Well, shit, Commander! Looks like the Inquisitor let you out alive after all!" Bull exclaimed with a harsh laugh the moment Cullen sat down with his dinner at the group's typical table in the dining hall. "Hearing all that fighting going on in the war room we all thought for sure one of you was coming out missing a limb!"

Cullen kept his expression blank as he felt the entire table turn their eyes upon him, waiting anxiously for his answer.

Maker, he'd never been so uncomfortable or embarrassed before in his entire life.

"We had a disagreement but it's been resolved now," Cullen said carefully. "You know how the Inquisitor gets when she loses her temper."

"She does like to yell a lot, and break things," Sera giggled.

"Yeah, but someone had to win," Blackwall pointed out. "So, tell us, who pinned who?"

Cullen froze, had to will away the blush that threatened to rise into his cheeks.

When he didn't answer right away, Bull explained, "We want to settle a bet."

Cullen looked down to stare at his hand that was pushing his meat around on his plate with a fork. "The Inquisitor always comes out on top."

There was some cheering followed by the passing of coin after that statement.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that night Cullen found himself pacing his room.

He was going crazy. He was sure of it. His body still stung slightly from her nails. He could feel his hair sticking up where her hands had pulled at it. He could smell her maddeningly intoxicating scent all over him.

Maker help him, he would never be the same.

He had begun to covet her without ever realizing the fact. He had never felt something so strongly for anyone in his entire life. When had she become as much a part of him as his sword arm?

Theirs wasn't a normal relationship, and she may keep her thoughts and feeling to herself, but he knew every inflection of her voice, every tilt of her head, every expression, every shade of her eyes. That had to count for something, right?

Images of her in the war room suddenly materialized in his mind's eye, so vivid and clear. He was suddenly overcome with an unholy need to be closer to her. A need as fundamental as it was madness.

Moments later, he was surprised to find himself in the Inquisitor's stairwell, the door to her quarters closing behind him.

Sweet Andraste, he was nervous, horribly uneasy, his palms embarrassingly sweaty. Yet excitement and anticipation coursed through him at the thought of seeing her, hopefully being close to her again. But he was afraid to face the fallout. Afraid because he knew what she was going to say, and he knew it wasn't going to be good.

His stomach turned at the thought of her rejection. What had he been thinking? He hadn't been thinking at the time, that was the problem. She'd said it had been exactly what she needed. Did that mean it had only been a meaningless easing of tension for her, a release of stress?

Andraste preserve him if that were true. She had no idea how lost to her he already was. If he had been only a mistake to her… it would destroy him. It was too late for him now. How stupid could he get falling for her… for the Herald of Andraste for Maker's sake!

Cullen paused at the top of the stairs. A quick survey of her quarters revealed two empty bottles of wine on her couch, a stack of reports on her nightstand, and a box of chocolates and empty wrappers lying on her floor in front of the fireplace.

He turned his head and regarded the woman sitting at the large wooden desk in the corner, scribbling away.

He opened his mouth to start his prepared speech when the Inquisitor said casually, without looking up, "Give me a few minutes."

He nodded though she didn't see it.

Uncomfortably he looked carefully around him. His gaze took in everything - her bed, her couch, her desk, her books, her paintings, her personal trinkets and things that must've held some kind of sentimental value. He shifted uneasily on his feet at the top of the stairs, not sure what to do now that he was actually in her quarters for the first time, at night no less.

Restless, he skittered to the mantelpiece over the banked fire that glowed warmly in the fireplace and fiddled with the trinkets she must've picked up in her travels with the Inquisition.

Cullen took a moment to steady his breath, rehearsing his speech in his mind before letting his gaze land on the Inquisitor who was now standing, resting one hip on the corner of her desk, her arms crossed over her chest, her grey eyes fixed intently on him.

The sheer intensity of those piercing grey eyes on him shattered his composure and the fingers fiddling with the miniature Dread Wolf statue on her mantle slipped causing the piece to fall but he quickly caught it in his sweaty palm in the air before it shattered on the floor. He apologized profusely, stammering like an idiot the entire time as he put the piece back where it belonged and silently ordered himself not to touch anything else.

The tension that filled the air after that was thick and heavy, making the distance between them swell to nothing.

He'd hoped to see her smile, but she was stilted and withdrawn.

He didn't like her this quiet. He preferred her yelling at him, throwing things at him, shoving him.

What did that say about him?

Unable to stand another second of the tense silence, he stumbled clumsily into speech, "I-I, um, I just wanted to… ugh, what I wanted to say was, uh, I—"

"Why are you stuttering?"

"What? I-I'm fine," he laughed awkwardly. "I… uh, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You know," he finished lamely.

She frowned. "This is very… awkward."

"Would it make you feel better to curse or threaten me with something horrendous?" He tried to joke, but it fell flat.

He coughed into his hand when she didn't laugh. Had he ever heard her laugh before? He didn't think so.

He couldn't meet her eyes. "So… Inquisitor… ugh… what happened, um, in the war room… that was… what was that?"

There was a long silence. He wanted to look at her face to judge her reaction, but he couldn't lift his gaze higher than her collarbone, too afraid of what he'd see there.

She asked cooly, "You want to talk about why we fucked on the war table?"

He winced. "Maker's breath, you're so blunt…" He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks hot. "But, well, yes… um, I just—"

"Take off your shirt."

"P-Pardon?" he stammered.

"You're bleeding," she said blankly, pointing to his shirt.

Cullen looked down at the red spot on his white tunic right over his hipbone. "So I am."

"Take off your shirt."

"Oh, um, okay, but…" He had begun to pull up the hem of his shirt, when he paused. "We're going to talk about what happened, right?"

She didn't answer, didn't look like she was going to answer either.

Cullen frowned at her silence and reluctantly removed his shirt. He couldn't help but peer covertly at her through his lashes to where she was leaning back against her desk, watching him, but nothing in her expression suggested what she was thinking.

He tossed his shirt onto the floor and she picked an adhesive bandage off her desk before approaching him. He swallowed nervously when she stopped right in front of him. From this position he was staring down at the top of her head before her face lifted and he collided with those smoky eyes. Their torsos were inches apart, his knee touching the side of her leg a little. Just as their proximity and the intensity of holding eye contact was becoming truly devastating for him, she went even further and leaned in toward him.

The distance between them narrowed to nothing as she reached forward and pressed the adhesive bandage to his hipbone, covering the gash there. The fabric of her tunic brushed the bare skin of his chest, though her actual torso never touched his. His face hovered just above hers, and thankfully the angle gave him a chance to break that soul-reaching eye contact. His heart was pounding in his throat as her hands brushed his bare skin, causing his muscles to involuntarily clench before she lowered her hands to her sides and backed up a step.

He wanted to touch her. He really wanted to touch her. But would she let him? What was going on? He needed to know what this was.

"So… us… earlier…?" he pressed, hating himself for his persistence in the face of her discomfiture.

She looked up at him, and there was something in her gaze that he'd never seen before. "I did it because I like you."

"Why?" he asked, uncomprehending.

Her lips quirked. "Why not?"

He nearly laughed with self-deprecation. "I can think of many reasons why not."

"I wanted you. You wanted me." She shrugged. "What more is there to talk about?"

He looked away, his face turning a deeper shade of red as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I know that I'd never… that is to say that I am… ugh, inexperienced." He swallowed. "But was it, ugh, was it good for you?"

Maker, he hoped so. He would die a horrible death right there on the spot if she laughed at him and said he'd been terrible, an utter mistake and—

"Cullen, do you need to ask?" she answered, as if it were obvious that she'd enjoyed it as much as he had.

He nearly sighed with relief and felt a much needed injection of self-esteem. "I suppose not. But…" He cleared his throat. "Do you see me as a mistake?"

"My mistakes are many," she murmured. "You are not one of them."

"Inquisitor… Herald… Evey…" he said quietly in a strained voice. "I can't pretend it meant nothing."

"The first time usually feels that way. It will pass," she said impassively.

Disappointment and rejection flooded through him. But he watched, as if from behind a pane of glass, as his own hand slowly reached up to ghost a finger against her cheek, stroking the hollow beneath her cheekbone, unable not to touch her.

"I won't be able to move on," he confessed huskily. "Not from you."

He noticed the way her breathing seemed to stop for a fraction of a second. She didn't answer, said nothing. Then she stepped back, a hand going up to grip the back of her neck, the action revealing the internal conflict she was currently experiencing.

"I'm sorry," she exhaled sharply. "Look, I'm not very good at this kind of thing. I'm not very good with people. I've always had a hard time…trusting. It's harder now, with this bloody thing," she grumbled irritably, staring down at the Mark on her hand. "Everyone wants a damn piece of me."

"I don't want a piece."

She shot him a pointed look. "You want more than that, I think."

When he didn't even attempt to refute that, her mouth twisted and her gaze skittered away from his before returning.

"What do you want from me?" she asked directly.

"Right now?" Cullen released a rough laugh. "Anything you'll give me."

Her eyes became hooded, her eyelashes shading her gaze, keeping her thoughts wholly hidden from him. He stepped forward and curled his finger under her chin, tilting it up so he could delve into eyes like wisps of smoke chasing a blown out flame.

"What is it you want?" His voice was hoarse from the raw tightness in his throat. His eyes shifted back and forth between hers, searching. "Tell me. I'll give it to you. Anything."

"I don't think this is the right time to start anything," she said flatly, features grave.

His hand left her chin to slid slowly up the nape of her neck, going under her short crop of raven hair, finding, caressing the back of her neck. "Why not?"

She seemed disturbed by his intimate gesture. She swallowed and she quickly stepped back to put space between them. "We all must do what is best for the Inquisition."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

She exhaled sharply, agitated. "It means I'll soon be fighting an ancient darkspawn. That I'll be standing before the jaws of an archdemon, full of brimstone and fire, ready to swallow me whole. And I know, deep within myself, that I might not live through it."

"Maker, no," he whispered brokenly at that doom-laden forecast.

Her head tilted as she eyed him closely. "You're afraid?"

"Of course I am! Corypheus possessed that grey warden at Mythal. What more is he capable of?" Her shook his head almost violently. "It's only a matter of time before he retaliates. When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again. I will have to send you to him."

A grimace contorting his features. "You're not even mine and it still kills me to watch you leave." His voice was tortured. "I cannot bear to think if you—"

"Cullen…" The sympathetically in her voice was so thick.

"Whatever happens, you will come back," he stated with a raw edge to his voice.

"There is no certainty in life," she murmured, throwing his own words back at him. "If it's my time to—"

He tipped up her chin with his crooked forefinger and pressed his calloused thumb over her full lips, gently silencing her, chilled to the marrow by that prediction.

"You will come back to me," he swore, his voice steadfast in its conviction.

Her lips parted against his thumb. "You can't make that promise."

Emotion welled in his throat as he cased her face in both of his hands, the rough pads of his thumbs resting lightly on the apples of her cheeks. "I will protect you."

"Cullen, I'm the Inquisitor." Her mouth curved into a small, sad smile. "You can't expect to protect me from everything that wants to kill me."

"I know…" They were quiet, quiet words. "…but I can try."

His fingers wrapped possessively around the back of her neck, his thumbs caressing the skin just below her ears. "The thought of losing you…" He clenched his eyes shut in dire pain, dropping his forehead against hers. His breath stilled, then was expelled on an anguished groan of agony along with a tormented, "…I can't."

"Are you saying that you care for me?" Her breath filtered unsteadily out against his face.

Cullen opened his eyes slowly. Through the parted, woven threads of his eyelashes, he could see her face less than an inch from his.

"Care for you?" A tremor threaded his voice, heat burning the backs of his eyes. "I've killed for you, would die for you." He shook his head slightly, his forehead rolling against hers. "No, I don't just care for you, Evey." He sucked in a lungful of air, his vision blurring. "I… love… you."

The words seemed to hang between them like a concrete block, about to slam to the ground and rattle them to their bones. For a split-second, he collided with splintering grey eyes, incandescent with shock and disbelief.

He pulled back instantly, releasing her, already feeling her rejection, knowing he'd just made a colossal ass out of himself. "B-but I… I-I don't know what you—That is, if you, ah…"

"Cullen… how long?" It came out as hardly more than a whisper.

He blinked. "Pardon?"

Her eyes claimed his – moist and glistening - and didn't release them. "How long have you loved me?"

"Since I thought I'd lost you at Haven," he confessed with a break in his voice.

And then she smiled. And – Maker's breath - that smile…

It nearly put him to his knees.

"How long will you love me?" she asked, more than a hint of vulnerability lacing the softly spoken words.

His chest lifted on an inward drag of air. Then softly, almost achingly, "Is forever enough?"

There was a long silence, those depthless grey eyes pouring into his, and then her hands captured his face and she lowered his mouth to hers. She kissed him as if she was trying to give him her very soul in that kiss.

"Forever is what I wanted," she whispered, her mouth still touching his, her lips caressing him with every word.

"Good," he growled with unconcealed satisfaction as he squeezed the backs of her thighs, his arms flexing, her feet lifting easily off the ground to wrap around his waist as he carried her to the bed. "Because I'm never letting you go."