Running
Cullen rose early that morning, the pre-dawn chill clinging tightly to the stone ramparts of Skyhold. He always rose early, largely due to living the life of a military man. Mornings were times for drills, preparation, briefings. Hours lost here could be crucial to the success or failure of any given initiative.
Shaking himself free of his just-awoken mind fog and pushing the nightmares to the recesses of his conscience to be recollected later at cost, he bid his weary self out of bed, dressing hurriedly to trap what warmth his body still held with his layers of cloth, leather, metal and fur. The snow had been so bad recently he had to abandon the use of his quarters in the tower overlooking the portcullis – the snow had piled in through the yet-to-be-repaired breach in the stone coving overhead. The barracks were warm, though offered little privacy.
Since he had ceased taking Lyrium, troubled dreams turned to vivid technicolour nightmares. They woke him constantly, drenched in cool sweat and crying out for… Maker knew what. There was never an answer. Never a deliverance from reliving the horrors of his past. He sighed heavily as he buckled his sword hilt around his waist. That would be the least of his worries if…
No. He couldn't think of it.
Stiff limbs carried him across empty courtyards, the silent herb garden, and barren ramparts, save for the odd sentry patrolling here and there. The startling landscape of the Frostbacks, kissed by the impending dawn glow, never failed to stagger him. Breath rising in a mist before him, he takes in the crisp air, the sharp cold burning his lungs a little. The various sky-scraping peaks, pure white with virgin snowfall, stood silent and stark against the gold-edged ink blackened skies of the hour.
The hold is gloriously silent. No swords clashing at this hour. No bickering democrats from Orlais. No armour clanking, no chattering merchants, no-
He frowns.
The door to his working quarters stood open, held wide by a hastily improvised stop – a stack of books. Frowning, he draws closer, eyes narrowed, the one gloved hand resting on the hilt of his sword tightening its grip with a creak of leather.
A swift appraisal finds nothing out of place, aside from another door to the west being propped open in a similar manner.
He spots a sentry just outside on the ramparts – surely, they would have spotted something amiss? He feels ire bubbling beneath the surface of his usually restrained temperament. If he ended up yelling at a soldier at this hour, it would be some sort of record for him.
Before he had the chance to make a scathing passive-aggressive query of the sentry however, he hears rapid footfalls from up ahead. His body tenses. Running was never a good sign, not in his experience. He squints out from his vantage point on the walls, ignoring the sentry, who seemed grateful of any excuse to ignore his commander in response.
Suddenly a figure comes into view, running at a sprint along the ramparts, head bowed in concentration. Cullen follows their journey along and out of sight for a moment as no doubt they ran through the battlements and watch towers, only to reappear before him on the stretch of wall before his quarters. Whoever this was, they were clearly responsible for propping open his doors to allow them to run unhindered.
He expected that they would come in for a shock when running into him – possibly literally if they did not glance up from their manoeuvres – and hearing a piece of his mind. Who he did not expect to encounter, however was…
"Inquisitor!" He exclaims, recognising her despite her current state of dishabille.
Inquisitor Ysabel Trevelyan practically skids to a halt before him, chest heaving with heavily laboured breathing. She raised one index finger to indicate she needed a moment to recover, hunching over, gasping and spluttering for air.
Cullen, one eyebrow threatening to rise, catches the eye of the sentry and gives a side-jerk of the head. The young man nods curtly before scuttling away into the dark.
"Phew! Comm-ander, I didn't-expect to see- you at this—hour." She gasps, standing upright and stretching out her arms with a pop of joints.
He notes that her usual casual attire has been moderated to allow her morning's activities. No doublet jacket to be seen, in favour of her thin undershirt. A faint blush comes unbidden to his face at the realisation that her sweat renders the fabric see through. Curious eyes find, in the moments she is still distracted, the musculature of her arms, the slender curve of her neck, revealed from hiding by a ribbon keeping ebony hair at bay.
"What, by the Maker, are you doing out here?" he enquires, noting that goosebumps has risen along her skin. In the light of a flaming torch he counts freckles along the back of her arms, notes that they dust across her breast bone. "I was about to give that sentry a piece of my mind for not noticing my office had been apparently infiltrated. It seems you were the culprit."
"So you were going to yell at me? Your superior officer no less!" She succeeds in embarrassing him, though her comment was good-natured. "To answer your first question, one of those experts the council recruited recommended some training to me. It's rather unbecoming isn't it? Hence the early hour."
She gestures to herself with a mock expression of disgust twisting her features. "Josie doesn't know though, so… might we keep this between us? She'll kill me for looking so… undignified." She stands straight, irises dancing.
The way she refers to Josephine as Josie snags at him, and he cannot think why for a moment.
"Alright Inquisitor. But won't you come inside? I could light the braziers?"
She nods, following him into his office, carefully collecting the stack of books she had used to prop open the door and returning them to their previous location piled up on top of a barrel. Clearly tomes he used a lot, he thought with an eyeroll. Wait, wasn't that a copy of Hard in Hightown?
The doors closed and the brazier lit, they gravitate toward it to ward off the chill.
"I'm sorry about your room being so cold. I thought I might instruct the servants to light your fires for you once I had done. I didn't realise you would be awake at such an hour." She tugs the ribbon in her hair free, black locks tumbling over her shoulders and spilling half way down her back. He is almost sorry for the loss of the sight of her elegant throat.
"There is much to do and I… I haven't been sleeping too well." His hand finds the back of his neck, as it often did when he was around her.
Her gentle grey eyes fix on him, brows creased with concern. "Is there anything I can do, Cullen? You should really try to get some rest." She couldn't help but dwell on the warnings he had given, about the risks of halting taking Lyrium.
He had recently informed her of his decision to cease taking lyrium upon joining the Inquisition. She had to admire him for that, though she worried for him privately.
"Ah… No, thank you, Inquisitor. I can only endure it. It was my choice after all."
"My name is Ysabel, Cullen. I think we have been through enough together by now, that you've earned the right to call me that."
Josie. Because they were friends. Because she had affection for the Antivan Diplomat. Because when Cassandra wasn't looking, she might wink, or stick out her tongue at her. Because they spent time together, giggling over various Diplomat's actions at court, or whatever it was Sera had gotten up to now.
"Alright, Inq- um, Ysabel." He must have looked comically stuffy, because she laughed, nose crinkling in mirth, before stepping in a little closer, placing her mark-free palm at his elbow.
"Or, Bella, if you'd prefer." As if his preferences were anything to do with it. God, he was blushing again, wasn't he?
"I'll keep to Inquisitor if I can. Don't want to slip up before some Orlesian Courtier and lose The Game in one fell swoop." He rolled his eyes, not noticing the hurriedly assembled expression of his Leader before him, recovering from a flash of discomfort.
"I'll leave you to your duties, then."
"Inquisitor."
-0-
Splinters
He had practically hurled the accursed box with all his might at the wall. His inner voice offered a slow, congratulatory applause at his choice of timing: right as the Lady Inquisitor walked through the door, the wooden box and its contents making contact with stone, the wood splintering into pieces.
His shout of rage suddenly seemed less impactful, followed by a hurried, desperate apology.
True to Lady Trevelyan's way, however, all was forgiven with a light-hearted comment about his poor aim, before she got down to the true reasoning for his anger.
He felt like he was failing the Inquisition- Cassandra had hinted as much, in a recent conversation where they had shared concern for the Commander. The Lyrium withdrawal was taking its toll; he was barely sleeping, food had lost all appeal, he had become agitated and unfocused… yet Seeker Pentaghast did nothing to interject, to question his judgement.
"If Cassandra is unconcerned, I have no reason to worry, Cullen."
His fist makes a resounding thud, colliding with his desk. "I gave everything to the Templars. When I left, I promised myself I would give the Inquisition more. I cannot give it anything less."
"Nobody said this would be an easy journey for you, Cullen. You did this for a reason – remember those reasons now. Don't waver. You can't give up!"
"I should be taking it, I should-" He'd started to pace behind his desk, his palm returning slick with sweat as he rubbed the back of his neck habitually.
The Inquisitior's eyebrows creased. "Cullen, stop. You told me you wanted to cease taking it, to remove the leash around your neck. I support that decision. Nothing else needs to be said on the matter. Unless… if you need to discuss anything else, you know where I am."
He scowled after her as she stalked from his office, frown deepening as he couldn't help noticing, even in his haze of irritation toward her and craving Lyrium, the gentle sashay of her hips.
I am a Blackwall girl through and through. But on my second playthrough I thought, that Cullen guy seems pretty hot, maybe I'll give it a shot. And boy was it worth it. I think I may even change allegiance for good.
In the late-night hours trying to fall asleep I had a clear thread through a series of different narratives that form their romance. As one often does after sleeping, I struggled to reassemble that narrative, so clear the night before.
So, this isn't perfectly true to the game narrative, as I was literally playing at the same time and uncovering new interactions. I jumbled things about to suit the story I wanted to tell, so don't tell me its inaccurate because I know!
Also, I found so many BAD Cullen x Inquisitor stories. What a waste. My Inquisitor was a human female warrior, not an elven mage. Maybe not as forbidden a love and thus not an enticing, but I felt I needed to tell my story. So here it is! Please leave a review!