Krissey's Notes: I don't normally do notes at the beginning, but this time I think it's pertinent, considering that there's gonna be the artwork as the cover page of this story. So. 83

This fall I participated in the Cullrian Mini-Bang 2015 that fyeahcullrian did on Tumblr. And can I just say: Gosh it was a lot of fun, and gosh the works that have been posted are so good. I am so honored to have been a part of this mini-bang for it's first year! It's been a wonderful experience, and I encourage a lot more people to participate next year, if it happens again. 8'D It's a blast.

I also had the fantastic opportunity to work with artist uschiolga (that's her Tumblr username-CHECK HER OUT DO IT). It's her art that's being posted in companion to this piece as a "cover art," since doesn't offer much in the way of inserting art alongside the text. But can I just say she was so sweet and SUCH a huge help when writer's block had me bogged down and idea-less. So. Thank you so much dearie for all your hard work and encouragement. 8'D This is for you.

Our prompt this year was "Last Kiss." So with all of this said and done, enjoy.

Courage of Stars

The thing about feelings, about relationships, was this: Dorian had decided long, long ago that it was just not possible. Good endings, happy marriages—those sorts of fortunes just didn't happen for people like him. That was how it was. Experience was a cruel but effective teacher, and Dorian had been its pupil ever since he first discovered that his idea of "happiness" didn't match what he was told it should be.

So, no. There were no such happy endings for him.

All Dorian's "kind" were going to get were hurried dalliances in the shadows, brief meetings and empty beds in the morning and breathless—too many—last kisses. That was their lot. That was all he could expect. To hope for anything more like an actual romance for the books—that was childish, foolish. Hopes were going to get him hurt.

So the first time Dorian and Cullen kissed, he had carefully negotiated it to be with no-strings-attached. It was just sex, they both claimed—decided—and neither of them was going to expect anything more than what they were willing and wanting to give right there, and then, in that moment. That was supposed to be the end of it, and it was supposed to be safe. Fun. A dalliance. Something Dorian was used to.

And yet, there was kissing.

A lot of kissing.

And actually, the Tevinter mage found he didn't mind it one bit. He kind of liked to fancy that it would never end.

He gave back as hard as Cullen did, gasping against those scarred lips, and sharing heated breath as their hands scrambled for each other's clothes. It was rough, wonderful. Dorian found release in minutes to the pounding of Cullen's body into his own, and the smooth toss-and-roll of his hips.

Then, in the quiet, when they lay there, panting and sweaty—it was hard to say that all of that had been "just sex."

It frightened Dorian, the passion. Despite what he had said, despite what he told himself, the rules and lines they had both laid down together, Dorian still found himself simmering. Something was there, burning softly, still alight under his skin. Even as he cooled down, and even as they stared at the gaping ceiling above Cullen's bed, tired, sweaty, tangled and salty messes, Dorian kept returning again and again to that—that spark. Whatever it had been, that he had felt, had tasted and seen, in those fragmented moments between the clumsy meeting of their lips.

He had liked it, this. Being with Cullen. Dangerously so.

But Dorian knew all too well that twinge of his heart.

There were no happy endings for people like him.

He got up before his skin was fully cool and made some witty, charming remark to Cullen in thanks for the tumble—words that he doesn't even remember now, but it's not like they matter—and he changed and left before the roundness of Cullen's eyes, the way in which he suddenly sat up, grew too much to bear.

That was definitely going to be the last of that, Dorian decided. Whatever "that" was; he had gotten laid—wondrously well, if he may say so. Cullen may be clumsy still in his flings, like the Commander had warned, particularly with people with his same…endowments, but there was so much passion and fire there that it hardly mattered. (Passion and fire that admittedly, worried Dorian more than he cared to admit.)

And now, satisfied, happy, thrumming, Dorian could go back to life as normal at the Inquisitor's side and put the whole matter behind him, far more relaxed than before.

It was just sex, after all.

It was just two men who liked each other's company who needed to unwind for an evening, and did.

That was all.

The kisses meant nothing.

The fire meant nothing.

He was probably just making it up, anyway. Like normal. He had to be.

There was nothing there. It was all just nothing.

There were no happy endings for people like him.

The second time they kissed, Dorian refused to consider it anything more than just a thank you. It was being polite, it was being kind and that was it.

Their usual chess games had grown uncomfortable since their time together, which was precisely the opposite of what Dorian had wanted. And on the third day of awkward silences, the instant the Commander opened his mouth, the look on his face told Dorian exactly what it was he wanted to talk about, and Dorian found that was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

Quickly, he made up some crummy excuse about suddenly remembering the answer to a very important question the Inquisitor had asked him earlier, and he stood, making to leave.

But then—

"Can I ask you…just one question? Before you go?"

Cullen.

Damn him, but it was the honesty, the sincerity in his voice that gave Dorian pause. He could never turn that man down.

Dorian turned to him. He baited his breath, put on a patient smile. He asked as charmingly as he could, "Sure. What is it you wish to ask of little old me, Commander?"

It was clear that Cullen didn't expect Dorian to actually let him ask his question. But he recovered quickly, clearing his throat. He folded his hands together, elbows propped on his knees. Those golden eyes glanced briefly away before they met his own again. "Can I ask why you said what you did?"

Dorian stared at the Commander for a moment, unknowing. "Said what?"

"The other night." There was no doubt in Dorian's mind which night Cullen is referring to. "Before you left. You told me, 'You're welcome.' And I'd…kind of like to know why."

Oh.

…did he, now?

That seemed strange, even to Dorian. He thought he was cleverer than that. But nonetheless, regardless of whatever it was he should have said, it seemed he had to humor Cullen about the matter, now. Maker knows why he actually said those foolish words; he clearly wasn't thinking. It doesn't make any sense?

Dorian waved a hand, rolling his eyes with more confidence than he felt. He grinned. "Oh, pish. Don't you know? It was for the great time, Commander. I should think that would be obvious."

It should be. It feels like it should be.

But Cullen's unwavering look at him meant they both knew it really wasn't.

"Dorian…"

Oh. Oh no.

Dorian wasn't here to get talked to with that tone. The tone of, "I'm sorry," the tone of, "I feel bad about this"—the tone of regret. No. Dorian does not do regrets. And Maker forbid he should somehow be prevailed upon to regret any part of an amazing night with an even more amazing man—

No.

Dorian's feet turned him around. He was about to head with even more purpose to the main hall, to see the Inquisitor, his friend, who yes, is trying to save the world but at least somehow that seems a whole lot simpler right now than dealing with feelings and Commanders and one-night-stands and kisses that maybe felt more than just kisses. He was trying to go. He wanted to go. He needed to go.

But then…

Dorian stopped as the Commander stepped in his way, an unreadable look in his eyes.

"Look," Cullen began, and that word felt heavy. Dorian kept his expression still, carefully unreadable. He knew it was successful upon feeling scrutiny of Cullen's gaze and knowing that those eyes were slowly filling with worry. "I don't wish to cause a scene any more than you do. But I just wanted you to know…"

There his voice drifted off. There was a pause.

He continued. "…I wanted you to know that it—that night wasn't a service you provided. You aren't something used to just pass the time, Dorian." Cullen's eyes met his. "You know that, right?"

…oh.

Dorian was at a loss. He felt like he should laugh here, toss back his hair, grin widely, say something equally charming and confident that's filled with his usual debonair flair. Of course I'm not a—whatever you called it. No! Poppycock; I'm the main event, don't you know? People spend their time to come to me; not the other way around.

But.

"I wanted that with you," Cullen added, more subdued. He hadn't even realized that somewhere in that speech the Commander's eyes had fallen, but Dorian recognized that the moment they came back up to meet his own. "Although I…ask you to forgive me if you find I'm speaking out of turn or completely misunderstanding your meaning. It's possible that I am inferring what you said incorrectly and if so, I'm—I'm sorry, I was only trying to—"

Of course he's tripping over himself now. The daft fool.

Dorian found himself leaning forward before he could stop himself and kissed Cullen briefly.

It was nothing that anyone should have seen because of where they were standing, in the shadow of the pillar at the edges of the courtyard, but. Still. It was the kissing outside, in public, that made Dorian's nerves do odd things as he pulled back. He greatly regretted his actions the moment he could see Cullen's face.

"That is a thank you," Dorian clarified. He cleared his throat. His stomach did a horrid squeeze and toss, and he turned to leave. This time, Cullen didn't stop him.

Instead, Cullen smiled at his back as the mage left—far too fond than perhaps should have been appropriate.

The third time they kissed, Dorian was drunk off his ass and Cullen was actually trying to help him, and it was all rather…not what Dorian had wanted it to be, either.

He hardly remembered it the next morning, but apparently it was the talk of the tavern how Cullen had saved a very, very drunk Dorian from getting into a brawl with a much larger and very brute man, because the Tevinter mage had been a bit too offensive and clever with his quips. That last part, at least, didn't surprise Dorian.

What did surprise him, however, was that it wasn't Cullen who told him about the incident. In fact, he hardly talked about it. At all.

It was Krem who told Dorian that Cullen, who had also been at the tavern that evening—"…which was strange in itself, because when does the Commander ever take an actual break from his work to have a beer or two? He needs to do it more often, y'know? Poor sod; he's looking a bit pale these days…"—and the instant the man Dorian had apparently been wittily insulting stood up, so did Cullen.

No fight took place, much to the disappointment of the other patrons at the bar, but Cullen did lead away one very proud and indignant Dorian who kept calling Cullen his, "Mighty Champion," among other such nonsense—"Too afraid to challenge 'im, is it? Hah! That's what I thought; see, Commander, you'd do splendidly in Tevinter. You could duel for me just with your glare alone!"—as he lead him out of the Herald's Rest.

And really, Dorian just wanted to melt and die because that's exactly the decorum that wasn't expected of a Pavus, no matter how inebriated.

Or, perhaps it was just desserts for the Pavus name, since seeing his father again in Redcliffe was the very reason Dorian had been so drunk. But habit, guilt and duty were old friends, old weights on his shoulders that he hadn't been able to shrug off even after leaving his homeland for so long.

Dorian didn't even find out that apparently, he had kissed Cullen and tried to pull him into his room for another go while the Commander was trying to leave him in his quarters, until he got the man to tell him everything that had happened by defeating him in their next chess game.

He listened, arms crossed over his chest, one knee over the other, as Cullen recited his version of the story. It was remarkably similar to Krem's, except with the whole "kissing as he was trying to be a gentleman and let Dorian fall asleep in his own bed in peace for the evening" thing.

Cullen was even reluctant to give out that much; eventually he did, but no matter how hard Dorian pressed, there was still one detail that the Commander refused to mention. Which left Dorian with little options.

"So." Dorian tilted his head, watching the man across from him. "…I suppose then it is Fate whom I should thank for your presence at the tavern last night, Commander. Else, who knows what would have become of me."

Cullen didn't respond for a full minute. He looked down at his hands, his thumbs idly and slowly rubbing against one another. When he looked up, his eyes didn't quite meet Dorian's own. "…yes, I suppose so..."

It was simple; it was just a few words, but it was all Dorian needed to know it very much wasn't Fate at all.

Of course Cullen would be too humble to say that he had heard about Doran's unwelcome reunion with his father. Of course he would spare Dorian any embarrassment from being completely translucent about his intentions that evening. Maybe a part of the mage had wanted to be pummeled by a stranger—maybe he wanted to get into a fight.

But Cullen would never admit he had been there, aware of the way Dorian's mind works perhaps more than even the mage did, and very much ready and willing to help him and protect him. The daft fool.

"That kiss…" Cullen murmured finally, into the silence that Dorian had unwittingly left open after the Commander spoke. "…last night; that doesn't have to count. By the way."

Dorian scoffed a little bit. "Of course it doesn't. Who's counting, anyway?"

Cullen flushed, and bowed his head.

Dorian was nowhere near about to admit that he had been doing the same.

There were no happy endings for people like him.

The fourth time they kissed, it was in the wake of an argument. If that was even a viable reason to kiss—Varric liked to make it so, Dorian knew. It was "real popular with the fans," apparently.

But no, that hadn't been Dorian's intent at all when he started fighting with Cullen. He was hardly even aware of the tension within the room as he stormed in soon after they returned from Adamant. He was legitimately infuriated; had a good reason to be, he believed. After all, the Commander of their armies shouldn't be making such reckless moves—shouldn't be diving before the Tevinter mage at the risk of his own life to ensure his safety—that was not permissible. Cullen was needed for far more than one life; he could not be so willing to waste his own on him…!

No, Cullen's self-sacrificial nature had gone too far.

But Cullen was looking so pale and fragile as he had been the past several weeks, that when Dorian marched up to him, for a moment he didn't know what to say. (Krem had been right, Dorian couldn't help but think, in that moment they spoke outside of the Tavern. Something was pinching at the corner of Cullen's eyes, dragging his frame down and pulling his cheeks in. It was almost like something was eating at him from the inside-out…except that was terrifying to think about, and so Dorian dealt with the idea as he dealt with most things. He didn't.)

Except for this, of course. This was a matter he would not let sit.

"Commander," he called. He waited just on the other side of the desk for Cullen to look at him, but the foolish man didn't. He fiddled with his papers, fingers scrabbling as if just looking for idle work to do. Dorian frowned.

"You know, I'm not a very big fan of being ignored," he uttered. "But I don't think I should have to tell you that, Commander—after all, you know me oh so very well." Was it a stab at Cullen's insight that fateful night in the Tavern? Was it a stab at the night they had chosen to lay together? Dorian doesn't know; both of them, maybe. Sure. Why not. Pull out all the arsenal he has at his disposal; he will not be cowed into letting the Commander endanger himself again.

Cullen winced. His hands stilled. "…Dorian…" he murmured.

And there it was. There was that tone of voice again: something that very much grated on Dorian's nerves, no matter how innocent it was. Or perhaps, because it was innocent.

The mage scrunched up his nose and tossed his head to the side. "Oh, please. Don't 'Dorian' me—you know quite well why I am here. So I would advise you to save yourself the trouble and not try to talk your way out of it. You won't."

The Commander kept his head down for a great deal of time. When he finally raised it, the act alone looked like it took so much energy to complete that Dorian suddenly felt whatever anger that had been built within him quail just a bit.

"I will not be brought to regret my actions, Dorian. I can't be," was all the man said.

Dorian shifted his weight. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Then you're a great deal more of a fool than I took you for. Does it not occur to you the position you hold? What you are?" Cullen didn't answer. Dorian didn't intend to have to spell it out for him. "My good man, you are a Commander—"

"—I am just. A man," Cullen tried to say.

Dorian wanted to throw his hands to the air. But he was more composed than that; he would not resort to such gestures when words would suffice. He scoffed, and nodded. "Oh, sure. Just a man. Just a man that people look up to. 'Just a man' who they take orders from." Cullen still didn't answer, and it occurred to Dorian that he didn't even know what kind of answer he was expecting. But when Cullen turned away to walk towards his bookcase with slow, dragging steps, he added, "Why do you somehow think you aren't vital? How are you under the impression that you can just throw your life away, as if you don't—"

…as if you don't matter?

Cullen winced. His motions stilled. He was reaching for something on the shelf, but his hand paused in the air. After a pause, his fingers fell to the woodwork, and the Commander's head bowed again. "It's not that, Dorian. Please don't misunderstand me. But don't…ask of me any more."

"You're a fool," Dorian sneered, uttering those words again because it feels like all he could say. He hadn't realized his arms uncrossed from his chest, but they did and fell to his sides. "Why? Why should I stop? What will it take to get it through to you that you are invaluable to this cause?" Is it really just the cause? Just the Inquisition? Dorian's never known himself to hold the banner up so high before, and with such zeal. "We are in desperate need of you, Commander—"

"—and what of you, hm?" Cullen spun around, and suddenly, there was some fatigue-fueled fire in his eyes that Dorian hadn't seen before. "What's wrong with protecting you? Are you not more important than I am, as a member of the Inner Circle? You protect the Inquisitor. You fight alongside him. You are part of the face of Inquisition, just as much as everyone else. Why should I be called so foolish just because I wanted to protect you?"

This was a new turn Dorian did not want the conversation to take. He scrunched up his nose again, reverting back to old tactics. Old looks of derision he knew could put others of far higher rank and statue in their place. His arms crossed over his chest once more. "Let's not pretend here, Commander. Nobody would shed a tear for the evil Tevinter Magister if he fell in battle, and you are well aware of that."

That made Cullen start. "That's not true."

"Oh? Isn't it?" Dorian almost wanted to laugh, and he did. "Tell me, have you been walking the same halls I have, Commander? Are we in the same Skyhold? Surely you've heard how they talk about me."

"You should hear how some of the mages talk about me."

"That does not lessen your importance, Commander."

"Neither does it yours!"

Dorian grit his teeth. "Forget that, then! I didn't come here to babble about pitiful old me, anyway. I came here to tell you that you cannot afford to attempt that ridiculous stunt you pulled back in Adamant! You have to cease this reckless behavior at once!"

"And I'm going to tell you—" –and even as he spoke, Cullen stepped closer, his stance becoming more haggard while at the same time, somehow, miraculously, more aggressive. For a moment, in the glint of the light, something in Cullen's eyes truly resembled a lion— "—that I cannot be prevailed upon to ever promise that I won't attempt it again."

"Unbelievable!" Dorian crowed, noticing how close they were getting. Hardly caring. "Absolutely unbelievable! You'd throw your life away for nothing —"

"—I've come to think of it as throwing my life away for everything—"

"—and why? What makes you so sure of that, Commander? How are you not certain that you're making one huge, giant mistake—"

"—because I love you!"

There was a strange silence that filled the room afterwards, their heated breath intermingling in small space between them. Dorian's not sure when it started raining outside but somehow, sometime, in the midst of that conversation, it did. A sharp flash of lightning illuminated both of their faces—and the reality at how close they were to one another.

Slowly, Cullen's shoulders unclenched. His form loosened and his face lost the tension that once lined it and made him look so fierce. Suddenly, all Cullen looked was just drained and tired. His eyes drifted away; he added, a bit weakly, "…the mistake has already been made, anyway. Long, longago, and now it is killingme, because I'm trying to fix it. But you…" There was a swallow. Golden eyes, then, slowly raised to his again. "…you were never a mistake, Dorian."

Dorian swallowed. Against the quite pittering rush of rain on the walls, he couldn't help but ask, "…what part?"

"All of it."

The damned man didn't even miss a beat.

Dorian didn't know what to do, but he kissed him.

It was—nothing that had ever been between them before. It was soft, gentle. It had the effect of waves, drenching Dorian's heat and ire and dousing it until all he felt was nothing but a hollow aching inside.

When they broke, when their eyes met again, just as delicate as their kiss had been, suddenly it struck Dorian. What Cullen had meant, about "mistakes" made "long, long ago."

He hadn't even thought about it, because he hadn't tasted it on Cullen's lips. Though it shouldn't have been, it was the absence that let the illusion continue—that let him go on unaware of the real plight that was happening inside the Commander's own body. What it was that was eating away at him so deep inside.

"…you're dying, aren't you? Because you stopped taking lyrium?" he murmured, and his eyes searched the Commander's weary, drawn face. Cullen closed his eyes and bowed his head, and Dorian felt his chest constrict. "That's part of it, too, isn't it?" He continued, now that he felt he couldn't stop. "You're dying, so you think you're expendable anyway. You wanted to die—"

"—I don't." There was an indescribable, deep pain in Cullen's eyes that made Dorian withdraw. He took a step back. The Commander sighed, and it felt heavy. So heavy… A gloved hand reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. "I don't…think now's the best time to talk about this, Dorian," he finally added after what felt like an age of silence.

Dorian watched him. "I'm under the impression there won't be a best time to talk about this, Commander."

Somehow, miraculously, a small smile appeared at the corner of Cullen's mouth. "Perhaps not," he admitted. But he shook his head, and then something in him shuttered away. "Regardless, just…not now, Dorian. I don't think either of us are in the best place for it right now."

It occurred to Dorian that he wasn't talking a physical place.

"I'm sorry."

Dorian shook his head at that, and a soft sound escaped him. A laugh? If it was, it died halfway through him. "Don't be," he muttered back. His eyes drifted to the Commander's. He couldn't look for long; there was something too much behind them. "I'm just…" …not used to that, I suppose.

The Tevinter mage cleared his throat and turned away. "Well, I'll be back. At some point. Maybe."

But when Dorian left, he found he was actually relieved Cullen had said "not now". There was too much to consider, too much to reflect upon, after such an explosive moment. It felt like everything Dorian had known and kept tight blasted apart, and now he had to pick up the pieces and remember how they puzzled-pieced together again. There was too much to try and refit back into what he had always thought.

There were no happy endings for people like him.

At least that much was still true, because of course the first man who professed such endearing love for him, who actively did so much for him, would in that same breath admit that he's not long for this world.

Of course…

If Dorian's knuckles the next day were bruised because of a chip that appeared in his library corner wall, at least everyone around him had the mercy and kindness in them to pretend they didn't see it.

"I want it to count. The kiss, that is."

Their chess games had morphed into something else entirely, slowly, over time. Now that Dorian knew about Cullen's gradual failing health like the rest of the Inner Circle, apparently, he had taken to spending more and more time around the Commander. Reading while Cullen was working in his office; offering advice if Cullen felt a matter worthy enough of discussing with him. Fetching the Commander food if the daft fool had forgotten to get up and retrieve some for himself yet, like he had an awful habit of doing.

It all felt rather domestic for Dorian—and it wasn't even as if he had expressed feelings in return yet, because he hadn't.

But he had to admit: when he imagined someone, anyone, professing that they loved him, he hadn't envisioned this. The ease with which he and Cullen slid together, intermingling their everyday dealings. It was all…soft. It felt anticlimactic, as well, in the wake of such an impassioned confession, but Cullen never complained. And perhaps that was the most amazing part.

Cullen never once voiced any negativity about his lodgings, or about the lyrium withdrawal that was hurting him so terribly. Never once did he turn his face to the heavens to ask, "Why?" And perhaps most importantly, never once did Cullen ever act like he expected Dorian to return his affections or even act like he knew how to handle responding to such a genuine confession.

That was perhaps the thing that Dorian was most grateful for: that Cullen was somehow aware that Dorian's past dealings with romance had never quite prepared him for a sincere one. Even if the man didn't know the full details yet, even if Dorian hadn't told him everything, he never expected for Dorian to know what he thought about them, about love, and about a relationship. He was courteous, gentle. He would ask, in that deep, quiet voice that made Dorian's skin remember that one night so many months ago now, "Does this make you uncomfortable?" And whatever Dorian answered, he would take it into account and act accordingly.

Perhaps they both hadn't been ready, with such high emotions strung that day after their return from Adamant. Dorian suddenly became aware of that as well; perhaps Cullen just wasn't speaking for himself that day when he said "not now."

But…

"What?" Cullen asked, blinking into awareness as he looked up from the letter he had been writing. For days, he had been pressing Cassandra relentlessly so she could find him a replacement. But no matter how he asked, her answer remained the same. Dorian wasn't sure if he was inclined to appreciate Cassandra's stubbornness or think it unwise of her to be so hopeful that their Commander would make it through this in working order. Cullen cleared his throat. "What did you say?"

Dorian hadn't been reading the pages before him, though he'd been pretending to. His fingers curled at his lip, elbow propped up on the armrest beside him. He considered carefully whether or not he should repeat himself, but just for a moment. "That kiss," he murmured. He didn't raise his eyes to Cullen's; couldn't. "When I was inebriated. I want it to count."

That seemed to surprise Cullen, who gave a great pause after the mage had spoken. And then: "Why…?"

It was a good question, in all honesty. Dorian lifted his head to look at the opposite wall. His leg danced a bit, perched as it always was, over the other, and he took a careful breath. "Oh, you know. No regrets, and all of that."

Cullen frowned. He could see it out of the corner of his eye, the downturn of that mouth, the draw of his eyebrows together. "Dorian…"

There it was. Again. That tone.

Dorian stood up, the restlessness in him coiling low in his legs and spreading up through him. He shut the book quickly that he hadn't read a word of and came to the Commander's desk, dropping it there. He then placed his hands on the covered surface and bent over it, watching Cullen carefully. Cullen blinked and watched him in return, slowly leaning back in his chair to give them space.

"…Dorian…?"

It was suddenly a different read to his name, and it threatened what little resolve Dorian had built for himself to say what he needed to say. But no. He would say it. He had convinced himself it was the right thing to do; the only option that would make him survive this. He had to. If not for the sake of them both, then for the sake of himself. And he would not be shamed from this.

"…I can't."

But that didn't change the fact that they were the hardest two words he perhaps ever had to say.

Dorian bowed his head when the silence grew. "I'm sorry, Commander. But I can't do this; not with you."

Not with someone who's dying. I can't give my heart like this, only to have it broken. Surely you understand?

I can't dare allow myself to even hope.

There are no good endings for people like him.

It was a horrible, fragile silence that filled the room after his words. Once again, it made the tenuous resolve Dorian had built within him wobble. His shoulders bunched; fractures trickled up his chest.

And then, impossibly enough: "I understand."

Dorian's head snapped up. There was a deep pain in Cullen's eyes, staring back at him—but yet, also a greater resolve that Dorian suddenly admired. A strength; perhaps he'd always had it in him. Dorian knew he did.

He exhaled. He nodded. Slowly, the mage's eyes lowered. "Very well, then. So I…suppose this is it."

Cullen cleared his throat. "I suppose it is." And if his voice broke ever so delicately on those last words, Dorian gave him the grace to not mention it.

Instead, the Tevinter mage leaned forward, and kissed him once over the Commander's desk.

This time, it lingered.

When they broke and Dorian walked away, he vowed that that, right there, would truly be the last kiss they would ever share. He told himself that when he shut the door, it was on more than just on Cullen's room that day.

Dorian never really made it back to Cullen's office. He intended to, in order to resume their chess games, or to help the daft fool as he was making some other important decision or another, or whatever reason it was he told himself he should see his friend for that day.

But in truth, the walk was too long, too much, he never really made it across the bridgeway to the Commander's room again. Not after he said no.

And then Cullen finally collapsed and couldn't stand again, and they had to bring him in to a different room inside of Skyhold with a stronger roof under which he might be able to die in peace or somehow survive this withdrawal that was taking such a heavy toll on his body. In the meantime, Cassandra had reluctantly promoted Rylen to take Cullen's post, but she felt it as they all did: it was the last thing they wanted to do.

Meanwhile, Dorian found that Cullen's new room was, perhaps, far easier to get to than his office had been.

It all started off as a one-night-stand. He knew that, logically. That was all it was supposed to have been; that was all he had intended, from the very beginning. Just—sex.

But he should have known that Cullen never did just have "sex," did he?

His heart was too kind, too wide. Too soft for it. He cared too much. Saw too much meaning under just the two words—"You're welcome"—and refused to take a night off even when the pull of lyrium got too strong within his own battered bones, but yet in a heartbeat, he threw his work to the side to ensure that a dear friend would be safe while he drunk himself into a stupor.

The daft fool.

Time seemed to slow as Dorian opened the door before him carefully, quietly. He was told the man needed his sleep to regain his strength if he could. If he could—what three completely horrible words, he wanted to tell them all. How dare you have such little faith in this man?

But that question felt rather hypocritical of him to ask.

It felt like a testing grounds instead of a small stone room. Even though these tiny quarters were all they could give to the Commander of their armies, Dorian knew it was still more than Cullen would ever ask for, and more than Cullen would think he deserved.

How long, Dorian wanted to ask the man, as he reached his bedside. How long have you really loved me? Only to be told at the last minute that you'd spend your final days knowing I refused to love you in return?

But he's afraid that if he did ask that, the span of time would stretch too long before him, and the tragedy of it all would seem too great. Shame and loathing loomed over his back like a wolf waiting to swallow him whole if he discovered the answer.

There were no happy endings for people like him.

Like them, apparently.

Dorian reached forward, and his fingers drifted lightly over Cullen's wane cheek. It was a small thing, a small touch, but still his skin tingled. That fire from so long ago was still present, wasn't it? Perhaps it never had left.

Cullen felt it; he must have, somehow. Impossibly. His head turned towards Dorian's hand, and he didn't even open his eyes, but the faintest of smiles slide over the man's face. It took away years of stress, erased the lines of tension in his features from the horrible withdrawal.

For a moment, it amazed Dorian even that he should have that effect on someone. Could his touch do that, ease another man's pain?

Something very young in him that had been hoping for a moment exactly like this, finally felt at peace.

"I'm sorry," Cullen rasped, a small sound of disgust escaping him. His eyes opened to slits, tired eyes locking on Dorian's own. "I'm guilting you into this, aren't I?"

Dorian blinked. The world warped before him, and he fought the wetness back with a smile. His throat felt extraordinarily tight. "You're a fool if you think you're capable of manipulation, Cullen," he whispered back. His hand drifted, found Cullen's hair, and he ran his fingers through its softness. Cullen's eyes slipped shut again.

It's been so long since they were gently intimate like this.

But had they really ever been? Had Dorian ever allowed himself to feel this? Allowed them both to?

There was suddenly something very heavy in Dorian's chest. He shook his head, opening his mouth to rid himself of it. "No. You haven't guilted me into anything; it's all been me. I've…simply been a fool this whole time, haven't I?"

That made Cullen frown. His eyes opened as much as they could again.

"I just…I thought it would be different, I guess." Perhaps he's babbling. He's not sure what he expected, really, or what he anticipated love to feel like, be like. But if love could have all the softness of floating dust in window-filtered light...then he hadn't considered it, but this might actually be it.

As much as it was the burning fire Dorian had felt that first night that simmered under his skin—it could be this, too. Such a tender and burning warmth.

Dorian cleared his throat. His fingers continued to brush through matted blonde curls. "How long?" he finally asked. "How long have you loved me?"

Cullen's smile widened, softened. His eyes shut again. "I don't even know."

Dorian fought the urge to laugh. Once again—inappropriate. Not what he wanted. But oh, all he could think was of course. Of course the Commander should not know; of course things were not so defined as they were in the storybooks: so well-planned and carefully plotted. So clean and gradual and predictable.

Of course this, of course they, were nothing like that.

"Cullen," he whispered to the man. Is that the first time he's called him by name, and not 'Commander'? A shame, it feels like; Cullen didn't even move at it, the bastard. Not even an inch. But he was listening, he could tell. "…if this is going to be our story—" –if this is going to be our lot, our fate, what we do with the cards that we've been so cruelly handed— "—then I want to make it a damn good one."

And this time, when he kissed Cullen—for the first time, Dorian allowed himself to pray that it would not be the last.

You taught me the courage of stars before you left.
How light carries on endlessly, even after death.

With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite.
How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.

"Saturn," Sleeping at Last

There could be happy endings for people like them.

He lived.