I love you, you know that, right?
I love you too.
Cullen breathed a sigh as he lounged back against a rumpled pillow, his smile just as lazy as he watched the inquisitor, his lover, saunter away with an unspoken promise of later, of forever. He watched as she climbed down the ladder leading to the room below, his eyes lingering even as she vanished from his loving gaze. He held his breath until he heard a door close, gentle and quiet, imagining the smile on his love's face as she marched foward to take on the day.
Cullen turned his head toward the space that lay abandoned, where she'd spent the night beside him, against him, his ward against the horrors that lay in wait for the darkness to come; for his eyes to close and guard to fall. She couldn't stop the nightmares, no matter how many pleasant memories or whispered words of love she offered him, but she made the mornings brighter and the fog fade faster. The scent of her lingered on the linen, her warmth still haunting every inch of his flesh, or perhaps the memory of her did, Cullen couldn't be sure.
He knew he had to rise, he'd never been one to lie in; to laze around when a million things needed doing. But his heart had never been this heavy with joy and adoration, it held him down with the weight of a fallen sky, only made worse by thoughts of her, of last night, of every night from now on and every day too; every second of their lives they'd decided to weave together.
Cullen heaved himself up with a groan, dressing quickly, methodically, with well practised hands. He remembered the way her fingers had felt as she'd slipped off his gloves, lifted his shirt, toyed with his belt with a teasing grin. She'd taken much longer than he'd ever dared to as she stripped away layers of armour and iron, leaving him naked, body and soul; his bared skin an offering of his devotion to her.
Cullen shook his head to be rid of the pleasant thoughts, the distractions that just wouldn't do. He climbed down the ladder that didn't seem as traitorous as it had every other morning, his legs unusually light as he stepped down rung by rung. He was greeted with the mess of last night, the beautiful chaos left in the wake of their passion. He stepped over broken glass and scattered trinkets to capture a quill that lay by his desk, only a dripping of ink remaining in the pot lying next to it; still, enough remained for all he needed to say.
He began to write a letter, Dear Mia it started; his hand steady and sure as he wrote his inquisitors name next, a proud statement, a spilt secret on the parchment that sent a jolt of pride straight to his heart. He hid his confessions of love behind how are you? and I'm feeling better than I have in a long time, undoubting that his sister, his wiser, prying sister, would see the truths behind his measured words and drag them into the light.
Let her, he smirked, let her tell the world. Cullen Stanton Rutherford was in love, was loved, and for now, the chains didn't rattle quite so loud.