A/N: I don't own anything, all belong to Bioware and etc, I take them out to play, man I need more fics about these two.

Unbounded Circles

–

–

He must've gone off the deep end entirely this time. But even as he presses his hand to his temples and holds on to the wall with the other for support, there's no doubting the mage robe that stands out so starkly against the dreary backdrop of Kirkwall, or the shocking red of her hair that reminds him of sunsets (or a flame, a fire, or blood).

(as the moth sees light and goes toward flame, he should see fire and go towards light)

It's longer than he's ever seen it, but even now she's kept it in the same style of the twin braids framing her face. He can't help but stare hungrily at her, watching her gazing around the Gallows with a carefully blank face. Templars and others alike seem to skirt around her, averting their eyes and looking in another direction.

And since there were hardly any mages left in Kirkwall, it didn't take a genius to figure out who she is with the staff strapped to her back. Everyone knows the Hero of Ferelden was a mage.

He watches as she moves towards one of the templars in the square, saying a few words that were beyond his hearing. The templar gestures up towards him, and Cullen straightens himself before schooling his features into blankness. Her face tilts up towards him and their gazes lock, and for a moment, he swears he felt everything stop.

–

He had requested aid from Ferelden to help rebuild the Gallows. In truth, he was expected a little more than just one woman, but as she reassures him on their way to Meredith's office - no, wait, his office now - one woman was more than enough for the job. He doesn't have the will to disagree with the Warden Commander.

For the first time, Cullen curses the size of the Gallows. She trails behind him, a constant sensation at the back of neck reminding him that she was here, and it's been more than ten yearssince... well, since, and the urge to turn around and stare at her and drink in her features and set into memory everything about her was becoming unbearable and they are nowhere near his office.

It's a relief to be able to put the wide desk between himself and her, and sitting down in the hard unyielding chair reminds him of his position, of their position, and he pushes all distracting thoughts into a crevice at the back of his mind and turns his focus on the task at hand.

"It shouldn't take me too long to get everything back in order again," she states, biting her bottom lip as she studies the reports that detailed her cousin's escape from Kirkwall. He tries not to focus on her mouth, or on how she worries at her bottom lip with her teeth, or on the memory of those lips pressed against -

"Anders?"

He starts, the thought dislodging from his mind at the sound of her question.

"The apostate mage also on the run with Hawke," he informs her. "He is responsible for the destruction of the Chantry and the death of all still inside at the time."

She is silent as she stares down at the report.

"I did not think that he..." she whispers softly, her eyes sad and distant. Cullen feels something sweep over him, a surge of anger towards the apostate that he wasn't quite sure of.

"Did you... know him?" he asks, refusing to let his voice betray his emotions. She gazed at the window and nodded.

"He was... a friend."

He's not sure he likes the term 'friend', judging by the way she said it, but he can't let himself be distracted by this.

She sighs and her mouth sets itself into a hard line. "What's done is done. The most important thing is to rebuild now."

"And how do you propose we do that?" he asks, unsure.

"Leave that to me, Knight-Captain."

–

He offers her the Amell estate in the first week for her to live in while she was here, thinking that she would enjoy the comfort of a house, and perhaps the family history that she never knew about. She takes one look at the place and refuses.

"I am a mage," she states simply. "I feel more at home in a Circle."

Instead, she settles down in his old quarters. He doesn't know how to feel when he enters his old office and sees little touches of her everywhere - in the little figures she places at the window sill, the instrument she hangs up next to the door that she refers to as a 'dream catcher' (apparently those things are popular in Orlais).

The speed at which she works to rebuild the Gallows though leaves him in amazement. Within a few months, the courtyard had been completely dismantled and rebuilt, the task easier now since the bronze statues of chained mages are no longer there. The templars themselves are becoming more easy around her too, no longer skirting around her presence and some even relaxing enough to talk to her. Perhaps it's the new atmosphere - The Gallows looks startling different after the renovations, and Cullen can't help but think that this is the way it should've been in the first place.

He mostly leaves her to her own devices - partially because she seems to prefer it, and partially for selfish reasons. Being around her for too long sets him out of balance. It seems that the longer he spends in her presence, the more his center of gravity shifted until he feels as if he's merely an object orbiting around her, never moving closer but always circling.

Lately however, it is becoming harder to avoid her. It seems that everywhere he goes, she would be just around the corner, asking him to show her around the city, to introduce her to the new templar recruits, to help her find certain articles in the library.

He doesn't understand why he can't say no.

Well, he does. But he'd rather not think about it.

–

Tonight he returns from receiving a late patrol's message about bandits along the Wounded Coast, and is on his way back to his quarters when he passes her door. The light from inside spills into the corridor, and he peers in to find her still seated at her desk, her figure hovering over a mountain of paperwork.

He knocks lightly, and pushes the door open wider to let himself in. She starts slightly at the sound, but her face relaxes into a smile when she sees him.

(- he likes seeing her smile, seeing her pink lips curl up at the edges whenever she sees him, he thinks he would like it more if she would press them against his -)

"Hello Cullen," she says, shuffling the stack of papers in front of her with one hand and suppressing a yawn with the other. He moves past the fact that he doesn't remember when she started to use his name again, and frowns down at her.

"What are you still doing at this time of night?" he asks, a little annoyed at both her for being irresponsible and himself for caring.

"The Circle in Montsimmard in Orlais is sending over some of their new recruits to us after weeks of negotiating," she states, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "I need to get their paperwork done by tomorrow morning to prepare the cots for their arrival in the afternoon."

He frowns again at the dark shadows under her eyes, and the weary tilt of her head as she stares down at the forms in from of her.

"That may be so, but you need to sleep, this isn't good for your health."

She laughs and turns her green eyes on him, tired but still twinkling with mischief.

(just like before, when they were young and foolish and naive but it seems that nothing has changed because he is still foolish and naive)

"What is this I see? The stoic Knight-Captain caring about a mage's well being?"

He refuses to admit that she might still have the ability to make him blush harder than anything else, but he can't think of anything witty to say in response. So he simply settles with, "Yes, I care about you."

There is a silence that follows his words that he doesn't like. It is uncomfortable, and her laugh has died and she's gazing up at him with an expression he can't determine and then oh gods, she licked her lips and temptation flares up again, and he wants to kiss her so badly it hurts -

"You care about me?" she asks softly, her hands pushing the forms to one side as she stands and moves to the front of her desk. She leans back and looks up at him and all he can think about is the faint smell of her perfume clogging up his brain.

(he's no longer the same as when he was in kinloch hold, where mages and templars alike fell around him in pools of blood and magic and he blamed her for everything because if she hadn't existed then maybe he would've been spared)

(ten years is a long time)

"Very much so."

(and he still wants her, loves her)

And then her lips were on his, and he could feel his whole world crumble beneath his feet and the only thing that was real was the feeling of her mouth moving like fire across his lips, across his skin, and he can't stop kissing her because he doesn't want to stop kissing her.

And then she's guiding them both back into her private room, letting her fingers find the catches in his armour and dropping the pieces of steel onto the floor without a single care for the amount of noise that they were making. His fingers are undoing the clasps of her robes and then they were finally unclothed and she was lying beneath him on the bed, her face flushed and her lips red from his kisses.

He groans when he sinks into her, ten years worth of wanting and waiting, and it's better than he could've ever imagined. And then she's arching up against him, his name leaving her lips in a cry and he comes as well, shuddering helplessly against her.

–

He wakes in the morning to arms wrapped around his middle, and the feeling of something soft pressed against his back. He twists himself around with some difficulty, and looks down at the woman lying next to him.

He knows that this would never be the type of romance that ends in a happily ever after. But it feels right. She feels right beside him, pressed against him and snoring lightly in her sleep.

Maybe this would work, maybe this won't. But he's willing to try, and if the Maker can forgive his sins, then maybe he can begin to forgive himself as well.