This was written for a fic exchange on tumblr. We swapped our usual genres, so here's my attempt at angst. I don't think it's my best writing, tbh, but I hope you like it.
Warning: Major Character Death.
Cullen could feel his eyes growing heavy as the bright afternoon sun warmed his back from where it streamed in his office windows. Reports on the troop movements through the Hissing Wastes were never particularly riveting reading material, and this afternoon, he was finding it harder and harder to focus.
Resting a cheek on his fist, his eyes drooped, fluttered open and then drooped closed again. He wasn't sleeping, not really, just resting his eyes. He certainly heard the slap of tiny feet across the wooden floor.
There was a sharp tug on his elbow. "Papa? Are you sleeping, Papa?"
Quick as a flash, Cullen captured the little girl around the waist and caught her up in his arms. She shrieked with delight, little legs kicking in the air until she settled in his lap. He looked down at her, a smile tugging at his scared lips. Her thick red curls were once again an unruly cloud around her face, partially obscuring her bright green eyes as she looked up at him. He'd have to brush them through again—thank the Maker he'd been dealing with his own curls for the better part of four decades.
"Shouldn't you be at your lessons, my love? Where's Mother Giselle?"
She shrugged, unconcerned with the goings-on of adults.
"Can we go visit Mama?" She asked, voice filled with hope.
Cullen paused, unsure if now was the best time. But the sweet look on her face couldnt be denied. "Of course," he murmured.
Shifting her in his arms so that she was easier to carry, he stood. Soon she'd be too big for him—and too grown up to want her father to carry her—and even though she was squirming with energy, Cullen relished the chance to hold her. As they walked out of his office and down the battlements of the Skyhold, Cullen thought back to the day Elena had told him they were going to be parents.
"Cullen, do you have some time?"
He looked from his desk, smile already spreading over his face at her voice. Lady Elena Rutherford, the Herald of Andraste and his wife, stood in the doorway of his office. Instead of her usual tan tunic and trousers, she was dressed in a simple blue dress, with a sprig of flowers in her hair. Her cheeks were flushed, and he wondered if she had run all the way to his tower.
"Of course," he said, standing and reaching for her as she crossed the room. "You look lovely today."
She smiled at his compliment, and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in the soft fur of his surcoat.
"I have some news for you," she whispered.
Cullen held her close, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. They had been married for two years; he had proposed the morning after Corypheus was defeated, arms wrapped around her waist, holding her to his chest as they gazed across the vista from her balcony. Two years, and now…He had an idea of what she was going to say—there were signs, though neither of them had been brave enough to say it aloud as of yet. The closest they had gotten to it was when she casually announced over breakfast that she was going to see the healers.
"Yes?" He ventured, barely able to keep the excitement and trepidation out of his voice.
He saw her blush where her face peaked out from his mantle, a coy smile curling at her lips. Tears were already forming in the corner of her green eyes.
"We're going to have a baby."
He let out a loud whoop of joy. Lifting her up in the air, they spun around the room, laughter echoing throughout the tower.
"Oh Maker! Is that okay?" He asked, suddenly setting her down.
Elena laughed, bracing herself against his arms. "Of course. I'm not made of glass, you know."
Cullen couldn't stop grinning. He captured her face between his hands and leaned down, lips brushing over hers, softly at first, but then with more ardor. Elena twined her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his. After a long moment of nothing in the world but her mouth on his own, he pulled away just enough so he could look into her eyes. Taking one of her hands, he brought it to his lips for a kiss.
"Thank you," he murmured against her knuckles.
She tilted her head slightly to the side, "for what?"
"For loving me. For giving me the chance to build a family with you."
He had not, for very long time, thought that he would ever find a woman who would want his children. If anyone had asked him when he joined the Inquisition if he thought he'd be a father someday, he would have laughed. But here he was, with a beautiful, kind wife and a child on the way.
Elena brushed a tear from his cheek. "I love you, Cullen Rutherford."
"I love you too," he murmured, before dipping his head for another long kiss.
Lilly wiggled in his grasp, and Cullen reluctantly set her down, taking her tiny hand in his instead. She was telling him about all the stray cats in Skyhold that she'd adopted, and Cullen listened intently, occasionally nodding in greeting to those they passed. They entered the great hall, and made their way towards the door to the left of the throne.
"Ser Mittens doesn't really like Lady Cassy, but that's only because she doesn't let him lay on my bed."
"I thought Ser Pounce slept on your bed," he replied.
She shook her head, "no, Papa. Pounce sleeps on my pillow."
"Ah, I see. My apologize, my lady."
Cullen opened the door for them, and they descended down into the basement of the keep, the bustle from the great hall cutting off quickly, a gentle quite settlign over them. The hallway was darker than he would have liked, and he made a mental note to have the servants make sure the torches were always lit along the wall. Lilly ran forward, knowing the path to Elena's chamber by heart. Cullen followed her, the ache in his chest growing with each step.
By all accounts, Elena's pregnancy was an easy one. That was not to say that there weren't days where she was irritable, or that her feet didn't swell, but by the Maker, she glowed. Cullen loved watching her change and grow as their child grew within her. He loved kissing her stomach and feeling a hand or a foot press against his face. He sang to her, his hand rubbing small circle on her belly, and her perched in his lap as they sat together before the fireplace. They had sat like that together the night Lilly was born.
She was nine months along, and the healers were saying the baby could come at any time, now. He had been sleeping soundly for once, curled around his wife, hand resting against her side. Suddenly, his eyes shot open, and he realized Elena was leaning over him, eyes wide.
"Cullen!" she hissed.
"Huh? What? Is the castle being attacked?" He asked, trying to ground himself in reality.
"Cullen, the baby's coming. Get the healers," she whispered, hands gripping his shoulders.
He scrambled out of bed, feet tangling up in the sheets as he tried to hurry. His hands were shaking as he battled to pull some trousers on, heart racing. Her words rang in his ears: the baby's coming. Sweet Andraste preserve them!
Finally, deeming himself presentable, at least somewhat, Cullen raced down the stairs and ripped the door open.
"Get Grand Enchanters Vivienne and Fiona, and any other healers who happen to be in the keep. The Inquisitor has gone into labor!" he all but roared at the guard stationed outside their door.
Bolting back up the stairs to where Elena was still standing next to his side of the bed, he helped her sit down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She held his hand tightly.
"Cullen, I'm scared," her voice was quiet, barely even a whisper.
Though she tried to hide it over the last nine months, he knew she was dreading this moment. Her own mother had died in childbirth, and the pall of it still hung over her thoughts at times.
"Shh," he hushed, squeezing her hand. "Everything will be all right. I'll be just outside the door. If you need me, or want me, call and the Maker himself won't keep me away from you."
Bending down, he kissed her, hard and fierce, tasting the warmth of her mouth, the softness of her lips. She sighed and leaned into him.
"I love you, Elena," he murmured.
"I love you too," she whispered back.
He stood next to her for a moment, stroking her hair away from her face. Gazes locked, he tried to communicate how much he loved her, how important she was to him, with just a look. Cullen could see the fear in her eyes, and he wished to the Maker there was something he could do to take to away.
A moment later, the door below opened and the tromp of boots on the stairs alerted him to the fact that it was time him to leave; men weren't traditionally allowed to witness birthings, and they had decided to respect tradition. Currently, however, Cullen wished he'd been more insistent on being about her side.
With on last glance back at his wife, Cullen left.
As he reached the door, cracked open where Lilly had left it, Cullen hesitated. He could hear his daughter chattering away, telling her mother about the cats and her lessons. He paused, listening.
"Mother Giselle is teaching me how to write, but it makes my hand hurt. And my letters aren't as nice as Papa's. Though I can write your name now, and mine!"
He smiled to himself, please to hear that Lilly thought her education important enough to tell her mother about. She was a smart girl, with a knack for learning that bordered on troublesome some days. He wondered what Elena might say to Lilly's chatter–she would be so proud of their little girl.
Taking a deep breath, Cullen opened the door.
Taking a deep breath, Cullen opened the door.
The screaming had stopped—well, Elena's cries had stopped, he could hear a different type a screaming: a high-pitched, lusty wail. Their child. He took the stairs two at a time, hands trembling and smile already growing on his lips. Dorian was right behind him, surely, but Cullen didn't care. He barely saw anyone else in the chamber; he only had eyes for the mother of his child.
His gaze fell to their bed and he stopped short, the breath knocked out of his lungs. Fiona was leaning over her, one blood soaked hand on Elena's stomach, the other soothing back her hair.
No one would look at him, and the air in their chambers felt oppressively heavy and thick, despite the open balcony doors.
He took a shaky step, and another, and another, until he was kneeling beside the bed. Fiona stumbled away from him, saying something but he couldn't hear her.
"Elena, my love?" He called tentatively, clasping one of her hands in his. "Sweetheart?"
He waited for her fingers to curl around his, for her eyes to flutter open and his name to fall from her lips. He waited, but—
Cullen leaned forward, pressing his mouth to hers, hands grasping her face and willing her to kiss him back. Her lips were warm and red as they had been when he kissed her hours ago. But he didn't feel the press of them against his, nor feel the soft sigh of breath or slide of her tongue or scrape of her teeth.
He pulled away, hands trembling, shaking—shaking her.
"Elena!" He called, louder this time, panic climbing in his throat.
He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and heard Dorian whisper his name, but it was all very far away.
"No! no, no no," he babbled, climbing onto the bed and gathering her to him, the warm rush of blood—her blood—soaking into his clothes and skin. "Sweetheart, love, wake up!"
He curled over her, rocking her against his chest. Surely she was just sleeping–giving birth was difficult, after all. Surely she would wake, if he just–
He kissed her again, desperate to feel her respond—maybe if she felt his mouth against her, his breath in side of her, maybe she would awaken. That's how it worked in the old tales, was it not? The sleeping princess awakened by true love's kiss? Tears wet his cheeks, hot and salty, falling against her face, into her hair.
"ELENA!" he bellowed, shaking her violently and making her head snap back like a rag-doll.
Hands pulled at him, tearing him away, ripping her out of his embrace. Cullen lashed out blindly, swinging his fist against soft flesh and hard bone. He didn't care–he had to hit something, anything. He was the commander of the Inquisition–general over an entire army, but he had never felt so powerless. Someone slammed him against the wall, a hard slap glancing across his cheek a moment later.
"CULLEN," Dorian roared, finally coming into focus before the Commander's eyes. Pain was bright in the mage's gaze, "Cullen, I'm so sorry."
He felt the anger whistle out of him at Dorian's words, and Cullen slumped forward, burying his face in his friend's neck. He was sobbing now, bone wracking, gut tearing sobs. He felt empty, achy. Like a despair demon had punched a hole through his chest. How could the Maker have let this happen? She was chosen. Surely the Maker would pull her once again from the Fade; Thadas needed her. How could He do this? Hadn't Cullen been faithful? Hadn't he given enough to the Chantry, to Andraste, to the Maker himself?
"You're a necromancer," he whimpered. "Bring her back, please."
He felt Dorian shake his head, "she wouldn't be the same, Cullen. She's gone."
Suddenly, a sharp wail cut through his grief. Cullen's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as they fell on a small bundle in Vivienne's arms. Our child–Elena's child. Everything in the room, time itself, froze. Cullen stared as the terrible truth of reality sank into him. He stalked towards her, fury growing as the mage took a step back.
"Give me my child, Vivienne," he said, voice low and dangerous.
If possible, the Orlesian lady stood even straighter and taller, meeting his gaze with cool resolve. "What are you going to do, Commander?"
She thinks I'm going to hurt Elena's baby, he realized, a different kind of pain—one mixed with shame—lacing through his heart. His stance softened and he held out his arms attentively.
"He's all I have left of her," Cullen whispered. "Please."
The First Enchanter's rigid stance relented just a bit as she carefully handed the bundle into his outstretched arms. Those around him seemed to sink back into the margin of room.
"She," Vivienne gently corrected.
Cullen looked down at the pink face nestled between a thick blanket, tears blurring his vision.
"Hello, Lilly."
The room was lit by torches and the bright afternoon sun filtering through a stained glass window carved into the cliff-face that supported Skyhold; it cast a riot of colors across the cold stone floor. Lilly sat cross-legged in front of a marble slab, chattering away. Cullen's heart squeezed as he approached.
The dwarves of Orzammar had crafted the tomb—a gift negotiated by Leliana, who was owed a favor by King Harrowmont. White marble carved and painted so delicately he could almost imagine his wife was simply asleep, hands folded neatly against her breast. If he looked long enough, stared hard enough, he could almost see her chest rise and fall.
For the briefest of moments, Cullen let his hand rest on her hair, thumb caressing her cheek.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Feeling the prickling of tears in his eyes, Cullen scooped Lilly into his arms and hugged her to him, one big hand cradling the back of her head. He could feel her hot breath against his neck as she wrapped her little arms around his shoulders. After a moment, she pulled her head back and looked at him with bright green eyes.
"You can cry if you want to, Papa," she whispered, resting a tiny hand against his cheek. "It's okay."
Cullen shook his head, throat too tight to speak, and pressed his lips to her temple.
"I love you, Papa."
"I love you too, Lilly."
You're all I have left.
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