They had wondered what would come next, after the final battle. Cullen held the lady Inquisitor as they watched the bright rays of morning seep over the mountains. After what seemed endless darkness, the dawn had finally come, and with it, the question "what now?".

Cullen slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the small box that had rested there since they had returned from Adamant Fortress. Since his Lady Trevelyan had stepped out of the Fade again. Ironically, it had been then, when to others she seemed immortal, that he had feared losing her the most.

To survive the Conclave had been miraculous. To emerge from the remains of Haven had been an answer to the most fervent whispered prayers of his life. But her return from Adamant...

It was selfish to expect any more miracles. The Maker surely would not save her again.

So Cullen had spoken quietly with one of the smiths hanging about Skyhold, one of those who specialized in precious metals. He had been very particular about what he wanted, the gold engraved with loops and swirls, and set with a single smooth stone. Lazurite.

If the smith wondered about the use of that particular stone, or if he noticed that the Inquisitor tended to use the blue ore frequently in her arms and armor, he made no comment. The ring was finished in a week and delivered directly into the hands of Commander Cullen.

And it remained in his hands still. They still had their battle with Corypheus to face, after all. The Inquisitor could not afford to be distracted in the face of such a threat. Though he had been tempted, when she found him praying at the small altar in the garden. He had held her in his arms, and she had confessed just how afraid she truly was...surely this would have been the best time for such a vow, some promise that she would return, no matter what.

But he had held his tongue, and pulled her closer. What he had to ask her should not come from desperation or fear. When they could be at peace without the terror of tomorrow, that would be the time.

And now their battles were won. Now she basked in her victory just as she squinted into the morning light. Surely now, now was the time?

"A question, if I may?" He said, pulling away from their embrace.

The Inquisitor turned, smiling. "Of course, Cullen. What is it?"

Oh Maker's breath, when she smiled at him like that he felt like his thoughts were turning to water and leaking out his ears.

"Ah...I wanted...no, that's not right. This is...Maker's breath, this is difficult. Let me start again." He took a deep breath, and held her hands in his own.

"I never thought I would meet a woman like you. Someone who is a partner, and a strength, and a comfort in all things. I do not feel that I deserve you, but I will spend the rest of my life trying, if you will let me."

Cullen let go her hands, bent to one knee, pulled out the ring box, and opened it before her. The Inquisitor gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sound. She seemed afraid to breathe.

"Alethea Trevelyan, I ask you now for your hand in marriage. Would you do me the greatest honor in becoming my wife?"

Tears rolled down her face, and she had not removed her hand from her mouth. He had done it wrong. He had messed it up and now she had no idea how to let him down gently-

And then her head gave the tiniest of nods.

"Yes," she whispered. Her hand fell away at last, and he saw that she was smiling and laughing. "Yes yes yes yes YES!" He picked her up and swung her around, and they were both laughing in the morning light.