Just a slightly longer drabble that I wrote yesterday about our two darlings. Because a slow burn is my biggest weakness and an amazing ship type to write about. This was written as a bit of sweetness in midst of an exam chaos and my focus is pretty much all over the place but I ended up really enjoying writing it and I hope it'll be a nice read as well. All characters belong to Bioware.
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The sun was warm and burning bronze against the horizon when they walked out on the battlements, the colors bathing the walls so rich and inviting, it almost made the cold mountain air prick slightly less sharply against their skin. It has been mere days since the events at the Winter Palace and the atmosphere everywhere around them was sharp, excited and bathed in anxious anticipation – it felt good to have something feel more serene, at least for a few moments, before the sun sets down and everything turns as dark, cold and frightening as the recent events.
For a moment, the young man stopped and turned to stare at the setting sun, perhaps to savor the moment it was creating, and the elf slowly came to a halt as well, joining him as she leaned her arms, crossed against the harsh stone, her small frame somewhat relaxed for the first time today. The commander though, had his arms crossed behind his back and his posture rigid and tense, his expression not as at peace one might expect from someone admiring this view. The Inquisitor studied his face with worried eyes. He was often the pillar that held this entire organisation, its meetings and events calm, focused and strong. But there wasn't really anyone who kept him strong. She felt an incredible urge to gently place her hands on his cheeks, to smooth out all that worry and sadness and replace it with the peace and happiness, like moulding clay. However, that was neither possible, nor was such gesture appropriate, so she kept where she was, returning her gaze to the horizon.
„I never thanked you...", he suddenly spoke out quietly and Lavellan raised her eyebrows in a confused manner. He noticed and offered a small, albeit still troubled smile.
„For your advice a few days ago."
Because the events in Orlais weren't the only thing that transpired a few days ago. Immediately after that evening, Cullen reached yet another difficult decision, one in which Lavellan aided him in a way she thought was best. But seeing his features even more tired and anguished than usual lately, it made her doubt whether it truly was the best choice to support. The worry in her eyes deepened as she tilted her head and observed him carefully.
„Cullen, are you alright?", her tone was quiet and gentle, matching his own. He tried his best to put more enthusiasm in his smile, but it didn't quite work.
„I will be."
Her eyebrows furrowed, her lips parting for a moment but her words stayed stuck firmly in her throat, because she knew, deep within herself, that, in the long run, this was the best for Cullen, this should make him feel better, healthier, in the long run. Her jaw clenched nervously as she suddenly dropped her gaze. It should make him feel better – if it doesn't kill or ruin him in the process.
He must have noticed the subtle mixture of fear and doubt his reply planted in her so he quickly added, „It was the right thing to do, I know it. Don't feel bad for helping me see that..."
Lavellan just nodded, still looking down. „How are your dreams? Do you sleep well?"
Cullen sighed, averting his own gaze downward as well. „Not any better, yet. I make by. I function. I'm not a liability to our cause," his words were now more stern, almost rehearsed.
Lavellan quickly raised her brows, hastily placing a hand on his shoulder.
„No, I didn't mean that-... I mean, I…", it seemed as it was just now that both she and Cullen noticed her palm on his armor and she pulled it back in an instant, awkward movement, briefly eyeing her palm as though she just burned it on an open flame, before planting it firmly beside her body – something about that gesture seemed more sudden and cold than she intended and Cullen reprimanded himself in his mind for the way it seemed to have stung him right back.
„I want you to feel better because of yourself, not me or the Inquisition," she finally finished.
Cullen's expression softened once more, „I will, it just takes… time."
Lavellan sighed, leaning her arms back on the stone surface in front of her as they stayed silent for a few moments while the sky began turning its colors to a set of darker orange hues. Sera and Dorian were having a mock duel with a pair of steel practice swords bellow, Sera's warm, high pitched laughter piercing the quiet and bringing a gentle smile on Lavellan's face as she watched them.
Cullen chuckled quietly in a low, soft rumble, that made the girl's smile widen even more. „I admire them so much for being able to be so carefree in the midst of all of this..."
Seeing him smile as well, especially under the strong lights of the sunset in front of them, made him appear so much younger and innocent, probably similar to how that curly haired templar boy looked like more than ten year ago when he first started serving at the Fereldan Circle, before everything in his life descended to madness that turned him into the troubled, wounded man that he was now. Lavellan cherished those very, very rare moments like these, when he seemed younger and happier again, his smile almost mischievously crooked and his eyes cheery, liquid gold and glistening.
„If you want, you can teach me how to sword fight as well, guarantee that it'll make you laugh for days, only I don't take any responsibility for the eyes, noses or other minor body parts of passerbys that I end up poking out on accident in the process."
He let out a chuckle again, this time louder and more vivid, making her grin brightly.
„How about trying to teach you some bow and arrow skills in return? If we aim you in a good enough of a direction, there's a significantly lesser chance of poking anyone's facial features using that particular weapon."
Lavellan's jaw dropped as she feigned shock and offence, „You underestimate me, Sir!", and then they both laughed.
Without realizing it, Cullen made a step closer to Lavellan as he turned to face her and lean on the battlements wall.
„I like this," his smile finally radiated a more sincere, relaxed light and it rose color in Lavellan's cheeks and caused her heartbeat to gently grow more rapid, „Moments like these. Brief as they are. Makes me feel like we are all still people through it all. Not soldiers, not politicians, not chess pieces, but people", his attention drifted back to the friendly 'duel' below, now with Iron Bull sitting besides them and howling roaring cheers – those for Dorian being ever so slightly louder. Bull probably failed to notice this little fact, just as Cullen failed to notice that, upon viewing the rosy hue on Lavellan's cheeks, his own face felt warmer than a moment before.
„We are just ordinary people. The pain and fear that come with all of this only reaffirm that. There's something bittersweet about that, actually," Lavellan moved her attention to the anchor on her palm and clenched into a soft fist a few times, „The day we turn cold and unresponsive is the day we'll truly be ruined."
Cullen's own palms lifted up in front of him as he judged their shaky shapes with inescapable discontent and sorrow. „That's a very positive way of seeing it. I'm..." he took a deep breath and clenched his own fists, although he did it with less patience and tenderness, and it did not help their shivering one bit, „ …not quite as able of seeing it that way."
Tentatively, nervous and shaky in her own way, Lavellan's palms gripped the young commander's and pressed them together. Which in turn did not help her racing heartbeat one bit, though she could hardly care less right now.
She smiled, „To tell you the truth? Me neither. But I'm getting there."
Their fingers tangled together in a forbidden embrace and, by the Maker, Cullen never wanted her to let go. But he knew he wasn't allowed to feel that way and she wasn't expected or advised to reciprocate in any way. Though this never stopped him before to marvel at the beauty of the shape of her eyes, of the way her smallest touch sometimes sent electricity up his spine, of the way he admired her wisdom, her humor, her voice, her company and her grace more than of any other person he met before. How it always took him a moment too long before stopping himself from imagining that, if their lips met for just a few seconds, she could heal every little wound, bad memory and fear inside of him like a soothing, consuming flame of sweet remedy.
He let out a breath and lifted up her palms until they touched his lips. He was forbidden anything more, but she didn't flinch away and he allowed them to linger there for a few seconds before letting her go and turning back to his previous firm stance, his face once again troubled, though Lavellan would never guess it was, in this moment, for a different reason.
She held her arms close to her chest for a moment, perhaps she wanted to keep the warm, bright sensation from before for just a while longer, wanting desperately to store it in her heart permanently, because she felt there probably won't be another moment like this. In her case, as in his, she felt her devotion would never be reciprocated, nor was it proper, nor was she what he deserved. And the Inquisitor should most definitely refrain from making herself appear as a stumbling, blushing child with an unreturned crush in front of her commander.
No, it wasn't possible, or wise. And yet they both remained close to one another until the sun set. Simply standing together in silence. After that, they made their courteous, formal goodbyes, as colleagues should, and they each went their separate way.