Disclaimer: Don't own Dragon Age.

Warning: Dumb fluff ahead.

It had been many months since they found Skyhold, light of salvation shining on the snow covered mountainside, and Ros was not sure if she could ever get used to living in the castle. Her companions, her advisors, the pilgrims from Haven, just about everyone had managed the sudden change from village to fortress just fine, but where among stone walls and fine tapestries was there a place for a Dalish?

The stone was cold and the tower which held her bedroom was the highest, isolating her from the rest of the castle's inhabitants. The first night she spent in Skyhold, she, out of habit, looked for points of weakness and formulated escape roots from her room while she lie in bed. The only door was the one that led to the main hall. If that door became blocked, the only exit was off the balcony, ending in a fall that would surely kill her. If anything happened to that one door, she would be trapped in this ridiculously huge bedroom.

Her second issue was with how quiet it was. Being physically isolated was one thing, but the fact that room was dead silent at night, drove that feeling further into her core. She didn't like dead silence. It was eerie, it was lonely, it made her anxious. The Dalish camp she spent her first 23 years in was never silent, not even at night. There was always wind rustling the leaves; elves breathing, snoring and shifting in their bedrolls and on their cots; insects chirping; a campfire crackling… She never realized how loud the camp had been, or even how loud little Haven had been, before she experienced the heavy silence of nighttime in Skyhold.

She didn't want to bring up her problems with the room to Josephine; the poor woman had worked so hard to put it together for Ros and had more than enough concerns more deserving of her attention than something as trivial as Ros not liking her current living quarters. In any case, Ros's frequent trips around Thedas on "Inquisitorial" (as Varric liked to put it) business, meant she only had to tolerate the room for a week or two at a time before trekking off into the wilderness.

She shifted on the mattress, trying and failing to get comfortable. Between the feathery, cloud-like, unbearable softness of her bed—which was the third, and in her opinion, the worst of her complaints about the room—and the fact it was currently occupied by not one, but two people, it was hard to find a position where she wasn't crushing Cullen's arm or being swallowed up by the bed.

Note to self: Have Josephine requisition something a bit firmer for a mattress. Or replace it with a cot from the barracks. Or maybe Cullen would be willing to trade…

Speaking of Cullen, he seemed content with the current arrangement, despite being hesitant when she first pitched the idea. She asked him to spend the night with her, the less innocent connotations of the phrase "sleep with me" eluding her. She had raised an eyebrow in confusion when he stuttered and blushed. When he finally asked if she really wanted that, it dawned on her that they were thinking of two different things, and she was quick to rephrase her original request.

She thought it would help not only with her loneliness, but also the nightmares, something she was struggling with ever since entering the Fade in Adamant. The images haunted her sleep—her clan decimated, the future she saw at Redcliffe realized, her friends dead or turned into lyrium, and Cullen…

His back was to her. She called to him, voice cracking, as he turned around. Red crystals grew from his shoulder, his head, his body, consuming him. His eyes—now piercing crimson—landed on her, but held no recognition. She didn't struggle when he reached out and grabbed her by the neck, strong hands—hands that held her, hands that she used to love—tightening, crushing…

She shuddered and took a shaking breath. Cullen must have felt her move—from her tossing and turning to her trembling—and woke up. His arms drew her in closer, pressing her to his chest. Sleepily, he lifted his head and placed a kiss on her cheek, feeling a few wet tears under his lips.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I feel like I'm drowning," she answered, voice flat.

"Nightmares?" He knew those all to well.

She shook her head. "No." Her voice still quivered, even as she said, "It's this damn bed. I swear it's alive and trying to eat me." That was her indication that she'd rather not talk about it. One that Cullen understood and would oblige, for now at least.

He chuckled, and she felt the low rumbling through her back. It was beginning to put her back at ease.

"I don't know how you humans manage to not suffocate between your feather pillows and feather beds."

"I take it feather mattresses are not commonplace in Dalish camps."

"Not in my camp, at least. We didn't even have beds."

Cullen raised both brows incredulously. "Really?"

"Really. Beds are quite difficult to drag around. And we were content to sleep on rolls, cots, the ground, trees…"

"Trees? You've slept in a tree?"

"Many trees, actually."

"You're joking."

"I'm completely serious. Look at my face. Is this not a serious face?"

She rolled over to face him. He squinted in the dark to see her. Her full lips were pressed into a flat line and her brows were slightly furrowed. She did look faily serious, but with Ros and all of her ridiculousness, that could mean nothing.

Whether or not she was really joking, he humored her. This conversation, after all, seemed to be taking her mind off whatever fears were haunting her.

"Are trees even comfortable? Would you not be afraid of falling out?"

"Compared to a cot or a bedroll, not really. I've only slept in trees on hunting trips that lasted more than a day. It's safer to be in a tree than on the ground, especially when you don't know what could be roaming the woods at night.

"As for falling, some of elves tie themselves to the trunk as a precaution."

"Did you?"

"Of course not. I'm far too graceful a sleeper to necessitate such a practice. I'm rather offended that you would suggest otherwise."

"My apologies." He gently lifted her chin and pressed his lips against hers.

"I am the Inquisitor. I have never fallen out of a tree."

"Of course you haven't, my lady." He silenced her with another kiss, feeling her mouth curve into a smile under his.

He settled back into the pillows. He moved his hand along her jaw, fingers gently stroking her cheek and neck before they tangled themselves in her wild curls. Her eyes drifted shut and she let out a content sigh in response to his feather light caresses. Cullen touched his forehead against hers and let his eyes close, still lazily playing with her hair.

They stayed like that for a moment, until Ros spoke again.

"Actually, there was one time…"

Cullen cracked an eye open. Ros still had hers closed, but a smile played on her lips as she remembered.

"Not so graceful, then," he teased.

"It only happened once, and it wasn't—nevermind," she said suddenly, ending the story before it began. "It's too embarrassing."

"What?" he asked, pressing her to finish. Cullen couldn't even count the number of times he had made a fool of himself in front of Ros. Rarely had he seen her cheeks darken in embarrassment—when stroked her face with his thumb, it felt warmer than normal. He only wished it wasn't currently night so he could see her blush clearly. "You can't begin a story like that and not finish it, love."

"It's a long story and it's very late," she said, making excuses.

Cullen sighed, not bothering to mask his slight disappointment. He kissed her again, because he knew neither of them would tire of kissing. "Very well. Another night, perhaps."

Another night? Could she do another night with Cullen? As much as she loved having him around, making her smile and distracting her from her nightmares, she wasn't completely sure he was good for her sleep. Perhaps she just wasn't used to sleeping next to someone. Maybe their next night would be different…

"As long as it's not in this bed," she grumbled, squirming until she was no longer in the small indent in the mattress that she felt she was slowly sinking into.

"Allow me," Cullen said, finding her complaints about something so simple as a bed amusing. He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him, so that she was resting on his chest instead of the mattress.

The move surprised her. She placed her hands on either side of him and lifted herself off his chest to look down at his face. "Are you sure? You won't be uncomfortable?"

"Of course not," he assured her. He paused for a moment before adding, albeit concerned, "I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable. If you don't want to—"

She shook her head. "No. It's fine." She lowered herself back down, ignoring her rapid thudding of her heart. She had to remind herself that this was still a pretty innocent, innocuous position. She rested her head against his chest, immediately relaxing once she realized how comfortable he was compared to her mattress. He was warm and firm. She could hear his heart beat strong and steady like a drum. Coupled with his breathing, it put her at ease. She could feel his defined muscles, the result of many years of strenuous training, through the thin fabric of his cotton nightshirt, and she wondered if he always wore a shirt to bed or just did so tonight for her sake.

Cullen wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back just how he knew she liked it. Before nodding off, he pressed on final kiss on her hair and whispered, "Sweet dreams."

And they were.