"Come on papa! I'll race you to the top!"
"Are you so certain you'll beat me?"
"I have every other time!"
Cullen's lips spread into a warm smile as he beheld his daughter who was practically vibrating with the excitement of a challenge. She'd inherited her mother's brilliant hazel eyes, auburn hair, and pointed ears. Contrary to her mother's straight hair though, his daughter's was curly like his own.
"We'll see who wins this time," he replied at last. Those earthy eyes glimmered at his challenge, and Cullen felt his heart ache at a memory of an identical set of eyes beholding him in the same way.
His grief dissipated with the sound of his daughter's voice.
"Alright. One, two… three!" The small girl shot forward with an almost impossible amount of energy. Cullen had no trouble keeping up, but as per usual, he restrained himself slightly so she would reach the top first.
As the two of them stood at the top doubled over gasping for air, his daughter said breathlessly,"I win again." The corners of her lips lifted into a victorious smile, and Cullen couldn't help but return it.
"It seems you have." After the both of them caught their breath, Cullen took the small red-head's hand in his own and asked softly,"Are you ready?" A solemn nod was his response.
Approaching her grave was never easy. His heart became heavy and the whole world seemed to blur around him. His daughter had mourned her mother as much as he had, but she'd pulled through much better than he had, and she was so much stronger.
Even if his other half was gone, his daughter was here for him now. She was now his anchor, and as he stood before that grave, she held him steady and squeezed his hand reassuringly.
Cullen kneeled before the grave slowly, his daughter mirroring him. They stayed that way quietly for a long time before his daughter reached into her pocket and took hold of a small object. She withdrew it from its safe place and held it in her hand for a few moments. She then brought it to her lips and pressed a soft kiss to it before placing it before the grave.
To some it might seem a rather silly tradition to leave a coin before a grave, but to the both of them, such a small coin had meant the world to their beloved inquisitor.
"May your luck never run out," his daughter whispered. When he glanced over, he saw tears streaming down her face.
Cullen felt his own eyes start to burn with unshed tears, and now he let them fall. He hadn't allowed himself to cry at her funeral in front of all of their friends, but that night he'd shed all of his tears in front of his daughter, and she'd shed all of hers as well. Crying was nothing the both of them were ashamed of. It was a display of how much the person they'd both loved so much meant to them.
"I miss her," his daughter murmured.
"As do I, emm'asha," Cullen replied, reaching over to smooth back her hair. She managed a small smile at the name her mother had called her so endearingly.
"The sun will set soon," she remarked, glancing over to the west. Sure enough, a multitude of vivid colors were blooming across the horizon.
"Then we should be getting back." Cullen stood up, offering a strong hand to his daughter. She grasped it softly, and he pulled her up. She looked up at him, and then fixed her gaze to the grave and whispered,"Ma'arlath." I love you.
"Ma'arlath," Cullen echoed,"ma vhenan." I love you, my heart.