"Leliana, this is foolish," Lana sighed, her hands extended at the shoulders while an elven woman kept stretching a string across her back and huffing with each measurement. She got an exceptionally long sigh after the seamstress wrapped the string around Lana's waist and brought the waning size to her face.
Her friend cast off her Divine robes for the far more practical look of an average, forgettable cook waltzing through the back rooms of the Grand Cathedral. It wouldn't fool anyone with half a sense as Leliana always wore this ethereal glow around her, but she seemed more at ease without the needs of the chantry bowing her brow. Leliana sat upon the famed divan that Lana wound up sleeping on for most of the night. When she woke, she found herself locked in Cullen's limp arms, his head fully tossed back as a gurgling snore worked its way up through his throat and out the nostrils. Lana regretted forcing him to remain there, doubly so when he rose and had to dig out a crick in his neck and spine, but she was grateful that he stayed with her. Maybe one day she could finally face sleep without fear stirring in her heart.
After a few hours of the early morning lost reading and a hearty breakfast dropped outside the door by quick and silent footsteps, she found herself at the mercy of Leliana while propped up on a footstool, spinning when commanded. Bolts of fabrics rested beside Leliana on the sofa, which she kept running her fingers over before pronouncing which was the better option. Her eyes darted up to Lana and she sighed, "Lanny, you can't tell me you intend to spend the rest of your life in ill fitting men's clothing."
"Well, no," she sighed, then reached down quickly to catch the slipping waistband on her borrowed trousers. Even with a belt, it refused to remain up. "But I don't need all this fancy measuring and fitting and...just give me a robe. I can slip that on, knot up the belt, and be on my way."
Leliana stood up and caught the seamstress' tight hand, "Could you give us a moment, please?"
"I suppose," her orlesian accent was thick, almost to the point Lana couldn't understand it and she relied on Leliana to relay the gist. Bobbing her hair filled with pins, she slipped out of the apartments and gently shut the door.
Once she was certain they were alone, Leliana picked up a bolt of fabric and held it out to Lana's fingers. "Lanny, I know you only arrived, and I do not want to heap more worries upon you."
"Come now," Lana sighed at her friend even while mentally admitting the golden fabric was smooth as water, "worries are part of my diet. You of all people know that."
"Sadly true," Leliana folded her arms across her chest and tipped her head down, "before the...siege at Adamant, you made overtures about leaving the Grey Wardens."
"I," Lana's head bowed to her chest, "yes, I did."
"And you intend to keep with that plan?"
Lana grimaced; even if it was the best decision for her she still felt like a failure for turning her back on them. She did owe the wardens her life, even if she gave it back in return. "Yes. Given what the fade did to...my state, I rather doubt they'd want me back."
Reaching a hand out to grip tight to Lana's hand, Leliana smiled sweetly, her always cherry red lips curled up in a comforting smile. "You have every right to wish for freedom from them."
"I..." Lana tipped her head back and forth, unable to fight back the regret, "suppose. But if they're still struggling to rebuild after two years, then something must have-"
Leliana laughed her crisp, peal-like laughter, the one from before the Temple of Sacred Ashes exploded and darkened her world. For awhile, Lana feared she'd never hear that one again. "You never change, do you? Even still you struggle to keep from racing to help." Lana shrugged. In the end, it was all she really knew. It wasn't what she wanted out of life, but it was what people needed and expected from her.
"My question, concern, is if you are not returning to the Grey Wardens then where do you intend to go?"
Her heart constricted as, always, Leliana drove up through the ribs and right at the heart of the matter. For her whole life she'd been told where to go and what to do. At six she belonged to the circle, at nineteen to the Wardens, and now... It felt both exhilarating and terrifying to think she belonged to herself.
"I don't know, haven't thought as far as..." Lana began, before Leliana interrupted her.
"Things are better for mages, but if someone as well known, as well regarded, as powerful as the Hero of Ferelden walked the streets without answering to anyone I fear what lengths people would jump to."
She said it diplomatically, but Lana could hear all the words her friend didn't speak. "Leils, is there a problem with the mage college?"
"There are always doubters and people who despise change. In truth, I am finding more opposition to my attempts at including elves in the chantry hierarchy. And these are only in minor positions as well. I doubt southern thedas would survive an elven Mother." She patted Lana's hands as if she was the Divine comforting one of her flock instead of the little redhead Bard always trying to gossip about Lana's love life.
"If there's a problem, then..."
"You intend to help with it? To serve with the mage college or in some other capacity?" Leliana interrupted again, her crystal eyes sharpening from Lana's guilty grimace. She was about to offer up her arm without thinking of the consequences.
"I...I have to think about it. About all of it." Out of the myriad of options before her, all Lana knew that what she wanted was Cullen, but they hadn't had the time... No, they hadn't taken the time to discuss that future yet. Maker, what if he intended to return to the Inquisition? What would the Inquisitor make of her now? Would it drive their relationship back underground for the sake of peace? Or... She shut her eyes tight at all the ors sequestered in her heart.
Leliana patted Lana once more before returning to the divan, "In the mean time, I'd think it prudent if no one is made aware of who you are or what you are capable of. To the rest of thedas, the Hero of Ferelden is dead."
"People aren't going to wonder why some random, unknown woman is suddenly living in the Divine's apartments?"
"You are with the Commander of the Inquisition, that should be enough," Leliana said serenely, but there was a smirk at the end. After catching Lana in flagrante delicto with Cullen, the Spymaster only wondered once about their relationship and ever since that talk seemed to treat it like little more than an amusing anecdote. Oh that Lana, she can't stop falling for blonde templars. Now there was a question merged in with Leliana's comment. Not one coming from a Spymaster who understood the rigors of war, but a Divine that wanted to protect her dear friend's heart and soul.
"I am with him," Lana said, bobbing her head.
"Good. Now, I believe we should bring back in the seamstress to finish with your outfit selection. Have you given any thought to ruffs? They're proving rather popular," Leliana switched gears completely while cracking open the door and waving the elf back inside.
Lana weighed both bolts in her hand, uncertain what she was supposed to do with any of it. If she was set loose in a market with a full purse, she knew enough to pick up a warm coat, or sturdy boots, and she had a true knack for armor selections, but making something from whole cloth? It was the endless choices all over again. "I've sometimes thought about a, uh, dress?"
"Oh course, a Lady would wish to look her finest," the seamstress yanked out her book and began to flip through silhouettes so quickly Lana's eyes bulged.
"No, nothing so fancy," she all but panicked at one with scaffolding worked into the skirt wide enough it'd clog up the point bridge, "but a simple one with, um, maybe a bit of lace here..." Lana pointed along her chest and the elf nodded.
"Naturally, you'd like to emphasize your Maker given assets." She jotted more things down in a language Lana couldn't read. It couldn't be Orlesian, she'd learned that one after a few years in the Circle. This was a strange mix of symbols and short hand, perhaps something that costumers and sewers passed between each other. More than likely it was a way to jot down notes about temperamental customers without them catching on.
The seamstress' massive blue and brown eyes snapped up from her book, and she tipped her pinned bun at the bolts, "What fabrics would you like it in? There are numerous options available depending upon the season and..."
"That one," Lana said quickly, the woman barely finishing speaking.
That earned her an eyebrow raise and a gentle nod. Either it was a terrible choice, or a surprisingly good one. "How long will it take to finish?" Leliana asked.
"A dress cut whole cloth? I'd say two weeks."
"And there's no way you could hurry it along for the sake of the Divine?" she pried, throwing around the weight of her name for Lana's sake, which only made the mage blush.
"That is using the Divine timescale. But..." her fingers prodded at the tunic dangling off Lana's frame, "I've got a few other clothes I can alter to fit you. None as fine as what we've got planned, but they'll be better than this...whatever you're wearing."
"Excellent," Leliana clapped her hands once. "Now," her fingers prodded at Lana's burned, serrated, and dried out tresses, "the next step is doing something about your hair. I have one of the best barbers in Orlais attending soon. Have you given any thought to it?"
Lana patted her own hair, aware of the damage she did to it, but uncertain what, if anything, could save it. She wasn't one of the lucky people with the striking bone structure who could support a shaved head, as she learned at a young age in the tower before another senior enchanter from Rivain transferred in and took pity on her. But the fade left little behind to work with and it'd take a miracle to fix it without chopping it all off and waiting years for it all to regrow.
"Don't worry," Leliana smiled, her hands wrapping around Lana's shoulders, "he'll think of something. I'm certain." Bobbing her head, Lana sighed. In preparation of getting to work on the demanding schedule, the seamstress began to gather up her bolts of fabric, the book tucked under her arm.
"Um," Lana coughed, an idea percolating in her brain, but she wasn't certain if it was her place to say anything. "I was wondering if I couldn't have a tunic made as well."
"Nothing wrong with tunics, we have a few patterns that would..."
"Actually, it'd be for a man," she gritted her teeth, aware of Leliana's curious stare digging through her blush.
"Do you have his dimensions?"
"Ah, it's the same as this tunic I'm wearing," now the blush was in full blast as the seamstress eyed her up. She was aware of the implications, the bedraggled wanderer wearing only men's clothing, begging for anything to change into. It was one thing to assume she wore whatever was gifted to her by kindly strangers, but to ask for another in the same size, well...
"I can get the numbers off of it, then. Let me guess, the same simple design. No ruffs, or lace about the sleeves or collar."
Leliana snorted at the idea, then covered her mouth with her hand, "None of that, no. It would be unwise for him, a very entertaining image though."
Rocking back and forth on her feet, Lana smiled at the same blasphemous thought as the Divine had. Maker, he'd scowl himself to death in such a thing. After stretching out the tunic and measuring only that, the seamstress yanked open her book. "Very well, and is there anything else you'd like for it?"
"Could you make it in green?"
Whistling through his teeth, Cullen tried to call Honor away from the trio of women clustered around his dog. The fearsome and dangerously smart mabari looked up at his command, then flopped back down as if she was incapable of rising away from all the gloved fingers digging into her fur. When her back leg began to paddle at the air he knew he was done for.
"What's her name?" one of the women cooed from behind a mask.
Cullen folded his arms and muttered under his breath, "Pain in the ass." He hadn't wanted to leave Lana alone, but Honor needed exercise and he feared how many canticles he'd have to recite if she chewed up any antique furniture or pissed on any priceless chantry historical rugs. Probably enough to go through the whole chant three times over. When Honor's whining switched from 'I want attention' to 'This is getting serious now' he knew he'd have to do something. Then Leliana arrived, somewhat solving the problem. She assured him that she'd keep Lana company until he returned, and that they had much to discuss.
Something in her tone gave him pause, and with every minute ticking by, Cullen's skin itched to return to Lana's side. He remembered the Spymaster's threat to him before she even became Divine. Maker only knew what power she'd flex if she didn't approve of him now. "Honor," Cullen shouted at his dog, "that's enough. We need to get back."
"Oh, she's so adorable," the woman in the red mask squeaked.
"Almost as adorable as her owner," another said before her eyes crawled over every inch of Cullen.
He had his hand around Honor's collar when she spoke and he couldn't stop his mouth from dropping open. Still wearing what he slept in, by the void, wearing what they traveled in for months because Lana got his second change of clothes, he looked more like the wandering sailors working the docks than anyone respectable. He hadn't had time for a proper wash in...it was best to not think upon.
"Mona," the one in red chastised, slapping her gloved hand into the second, "he's dressed like a common street vagrant."
"There's nothing wrong with getting down in the dirt every now and then," she snickered as if he wasn't right there listening.
"Until you find yourself bedridden with some filthy disease," the other continued, her tongue tutting harder over his appearance.
Cullen felt the same shameful blush burning up his neck as he had for years whenever a woman picked apart his appearance as if he was some lopsided cake displayed in a window. It'd slowed as of late, people too scared of the templars to cross the line in Kirkwall, and most showing some respect to the Commander to speak the words away from his hearing. But here in Val Royeaux where appearance was the only metric that mattered, it all came beating back against him. Snarling, Cullen pulled Honor away from the vipers in dresses and pointed her in the direction of the Grand Cathedral.
"March," he ordered, and Honor's lagging tongue snapped back in, her back straightening to attention. Despite the rest of the citizens filling the streets with fascinating smells and sights, the mabari kept her sight straight ahead now.
"Maker's breath, I wish I was home," Cullen groaned. He'd spent little time in Val Royeaux at the behest of the Inquisition, always managing to pass it off to someone else unless it truly required him, like the Blackwall situation. Otherwise, he let Josephine or Leliana handle it. People wore smiles painted upon their masks, but underneath it was all scowls and jaded eyes. It was exhausting just stepping one foot into the streets with a sea of porcelain eyes judging him.
Pinching his shoulders tight, Cullen subconsciously slipped into Commander mode. He was only dimly aware of its existence from when he'd shake it off at night and find his neck tight and his back sore, but the rest of the Inquisition snapped to attention the moment he'd glower from on high. It seemed to be having the same effect in Val Royeaux as well, the denizens sliding further away from the dirty and tousled man who spent a night sleeping upright on the couch and was in no mood for anything. He made it down another three blocks, inching ever closer to the Grand Cathedral in the center of the city. Washing himself in his growing list of pains and complains, Cullen grew more belligerent in every step, when his eyes scattered across a market stall.
Tufts of ornamental flowers bloomed off stems trimmed and bundled together by ribbon, but it was a small pot with silver and green leaves that caught his attention. In their long ride across the Anderfels to civilization, Lana pointed out that exact plant off the sides of a ditch. She said it carried much of the same medicinal qualities as elfroot, but would bloom a bundle of bright blue flowers every spring. A smile broke up his etched on scowl, the frown lines falling away as he thought upon the night spent with her in his arms. Sure, he woke to an aching back and neck, which she apologized profusely for, and then tried to massage away. But it was worth it to hold her close, to feel her heart thrumming strong against his as he watched her eyelids flutter in a dream. Sometimes in her dreams, she'd frown, her fingers clawing at thin air. Cullen would grip one with his thumb rubbing against the back of her hand, and he'd tell her it was all right. She was safe. She had him. She'd always have him.
Right then and there he decided to buy up the not-elfroot plant. It was awkward to cart around the pot in his arms, dirt scattering as he shuffled it around, but Cullen couldn't wipe a smile off his face as he marched it past all the surprised looks of Val Royeaux. What did he care what any of them thought? They didn't matter; the only opinion who did was waiting for him.
It felt beyond strange for him to enter the Grand Cathedral and then turn not to the vast sanctuary but take the eastern walkway where the living quarters of the Mothers were. While not officially disallowed, men were frowned upon in the living areas, but Leliana waved it away. He was the Commander of the Inquisition, which served the chantry. He had every right to be here. It seemed a hollow excuse seeing as how he...
Cullen paused in the winding stairs up the back entrance to the Divine's apartments. While she was gifted with a good twenty rooms, Leliana had little trouble is offering up a small guest section of three to them. They were lovely to rest in, to recuperate, but Cullen knew he couldn't spend his days there. He needed something to do with his time and skills, a cause to devote himself to. He always had, but was that cause still the Inquisition? Scrunching up his nose, he realized he had yet to send a letter to the Inquisitor informing the man of his Commander's whereabouts. That'd have to be rectified soon, plans put in place, and more than likely it'd take time for him to become re-acclimated to the changes from the transfer. Three months was a lifetime to soldiers in the wake of so much upheaval. He'd have to put in most hours of the day for weeks to become the Commander again. Rise, work, and sleep. For years un-counting that was his life, but now? Suddenly, he wanted so much more, but he had no idea how to achieve any of it.
Pausing outside their door, Cullen shifted the plant to his other arm and wondered if he should knock or simply enter. It was their quarters, but Leliana and Lana could be having a private conversation and...letting discretion win, Cullen knocked on the door as he pushed on it. No one shouted for him to stop, so he continued in. "Hello? We've returned," he said as Honor bounded past his legs. She tensed up beside the divan in preparation of leaping upon it, but he shook his head, "Don't you dare."
Rolling her head back, the tongue slipped out in a pant to assure her master that she had no intentions to get anywhere near the fancy furniture. Cullen snickered at her bald faced subterfuge and let his hand drift over her head. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Ah, Commander," the Divine appeared from the bathroom. No, he was supposed to call her Leliana when she wasn't in her robes. She'd insisted with that crystal glare that made him wonder why she spent so much of her life in Skyhold under a hood. Leliana could shape the fabric of thedas with a solitary glower.
"Did you have any problems?" he asked, trying to see around to find Lana. Perhaps she was resting in the bedroom neither of them had yet to see.
"Of course not, it's been a productive morning and...you have a plant in your arms," she gestured at the pot cradled in the crook of his elbow.
"Yes, it..." Cullen's thought drained away as Lana stepped behind Leliana. Sweet Maker, she was beautiful. A wondering smile slid up her luscious lips, almost revealing those rarely shared dimples on either side. Her doe eyes hung below lowered lids, but they darted up to him with a question buried deep inside. How did he last two years without seeing her perfect face beaming at him? Blessed Andraste, he swore he'd do anything for her.
"What do you think of it?" Lana asked, her graceful fingers patting her head, but Cullen didn't follow them. He was too distracted by the charming blush curling up her cheeks. After so many weeks of them laying gaunt against her emaciated face, it warmed his heart to see color and a plumpness return.
"A-Of what?" Cullen stuttered, trying to pinch himself awake.
Lana smiled, her eyes narrowing with confusion, "My hair. I know it's short, far too short, but it was the best that could be done with..."
Finally, he caught on to what her fingers were flicking against. She was trying to yank out her own curls, as if she could straighten them to draw the length out. Cut tight to her head, her ebony hair was combed with a dramatic side part. Still struggling to fluff it up, her yanking hands paused and she folded them in front of her stomach, the question palpable in the air.
Cullen slid across the room, his smile rising as he picked up one of her hands with his free one. "Lana, you're beautiful no matter what," he whispered.
"I don't know, I mean..."
"Even if your hair's short, or long, or straight, or bald-"
"Or grey," she sighed, repeating back the same words he said to her. "There's plenty of that mixed in."
He graced the back of his fingers across her cheek, the nails dipping down into her scar, before he could cup the back of her head. "I can't stop looking at you," he admitted, bringing his forehead to hers.
"Nor I you," Lana said, rising on her tiptoes as if she strained to kiss him when a soft cough broke from their forgotten watcher. Blushing brighter, she slipped back down to the floor and cast a soft apology in Leliana's direction. After a moment, Lana blinked and then gestured at his cargo, "You've brought a plant back?"
"That was what I was wondering about," Leliana said, her body slack despite the crossed arms, but there was an unreadable smirk across her lips. Cullen was uncertain if he'd made the right or wrong choice about Lana's hair, and either seemed as if it would end in a spike trap.
"I spotted it in the market, and, well..." he handed it over to Lana who accepted the plant with more confusion in her face. "You pointed it out when we were in the Anderfells, with the bright blue flowers."
"Oh," her eyes brightened in recognition and Cullen smiled. "You think it's foxglow."
"It's not?" his smile crashed into consternation as he prodded at the silver leaves.
Lana giggled, "No, it's close, I can understand the confusion. Both have the same silver veins running through their leaves. This is adder's hiss, which can induce horrible hallucinations and vomiting in someone if they eat it. Where did you find it?"
"A flower stand on the walk up," Cullen felt a stir of anger rising through him from his failure. He wanted to get something nice, and instead he brought her poison.
"Interesting," Lana glanced towards the Divine.
"Do you remember which one is dealing in potential poisoning? I'll have my...clerics look into it," Leliana spoke up, her shrewd eyes slipping over him.
Cullen was about to tell her, hopeful at least something would come of his blunder, when Lana interrupted, "I doubt it's anything nefarious. It's a pretty planet, people like that it's shiny. Besides..."
She placed the plant down upon the table, then pointed at a saucer upon the end table behind Cullen. When he picked it up, he was surprised to find it still slightly warm. After harvesting a single leaf off his poison plant, Lana dropped it into the cup and stirred it with a spoon. "You can't accidentally or even purposefully poison anyone with adder's hiss because..." as she finished stirring, she yanked out the spoon to reveal tendrils of bright silver leeching off the leaves and disseminating through the tea. It glittered like stars. "It's a dead giveaway almost instantly. I've heard of some remote people in the mountains drinking it as part of a ritual to honor their ancestors, but I wouldn't risk it."
Unable to wipe away the excitement in her eyes from sharing a new fact, Lana placed the cup down on the table and turned back to them. "It's rather interesting that its natural silver shine can be transmuted so easily. I'm not certain if..." her words trailed off and she paused. "Sorry," she mumbled to herself, and then in an aside over her shoulder whipped off, "No Jowan, I have no memories for you."
Cullen and Leliana both stared at her as Lana paused in messing with the plant's leaves. Her lips opened and she twitched her nose while a blush burned over her cheeks. "I didn't mean, I, it was a habit in the fade, when...and the spirits to combat, I..." She turned in on herself, her arms wrapping around her chest in a one sided hug. Despite feeling worthless from bringing in adder's hiss, Cullen slid an arm around Lana and pulled her close to him. She didn't release her grip upon herself, only leaned against his chest while he brushed his lips against the top of her head.
"Silver tea. That would explain why I so rarely hear reports of adder's hiss poisoning," Leliana commented after a time, not drawing any attention to Lana's outburst and only focusing on the effect the potential poison would have on anyone immediately at risk. "I'm sorry to say, I need to return to the chantry before anything of importance occurs. Lanny, think upon what we spoke of."
"I..." she bobbed her head and the dread washed away. A quirky smile turned up Lana's lips. "I'm not a child, you don't need to remind me to finish my spells before dinner."
"Forgive me, I fear the cowl has turned me into Wynne," Leliana laughed. Tipping her head, she said a crisp, "Commander," before exiting the apartments and leaving them alone.
The shame returned instantly around Lana once the door shut, but Cullen only held her tighter. She released her tight grip on herself and ran her fingers over his arm coated in the filth of the road. "Lana," he whispered into her sheered hair, "you were in there a long time. It's understandable that...parts remain with you."
"I know," she bobbed her listless head and drank down a sigh. "What about you?" The turn of conversation caught Cullen so unawares, his grip slackened and she turned in his arms to look up into his eyes.
"What of me?"
"The lyrium withdrawal and...don't roll your eyes before insisting it's nothing. It is something," her fingers dug into his cheek, keeping him focused on her compassionate eyes.
He did his best to not think about the thirst by focusing on her. She needed him to help her heal, to guide her back to the real world after two years in the fade. If he gave her his all then, then he didn't need to hear the lyrium calling through his veins. "I..." Cullen knew insisting he was fine would only get him in more trouble, "I'm more on edge as of late, though there's a good chance that's simply Orlais itself."
Lana snickered at that, and she folded up into him, her cheek burying into his chest. Maker, that was what he needed. Wrapping his arms around her, he drew strength from her embrace. While Lana curled up to him, he felt safe enough to admit the truth. "The thirst is there, stronger than what I've faced in years. And I've noticed more trembling in my hands."
"So, not the time to ask you to repair a miniature clock?"
"Only if you wish it smashed into millions of tiny pieces," he joked, earning him a soft laugh. With eyes shut tight, Cullen pressed his lips to her forehead, giving thanks that he could hear her laugh again, that he could do something to give birth to it.
"You shouldn't push yourself," Lana said, "healing takes time and..."
"Are you going to repeat everything I said to you?" he asked, rising up higher to try and catch her eye, but she was buried too deep into him.
"Let me think, I believe there was something about fighting through the pain and..." she giggled as his fingers swept down her sides finding the sweet spot, "and that...Maker, fine-fine. I give!" She waved her hands from his tickling and he stopped, falling into the joy swept across her face. With both hands, Lana grabbed onto the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss. What started as a sweet peck heated beyond measure as Lana parted her succulent lips and Cullen's tongue slipped in. A moan rattled in the back of her throat, her fingers digging into his curls and pulling him ever deeper into her. Slowly, his hands rose from the curl of her waist upwards, when Lana slipped away from him, a curious quirk to her smile.
He steadied himself from the rush of blood while she placed her head back upon his chest as if nothing happened. It seemed as if they were always surrounded by others, first the king and now the Divine. Whenever there was any alone time, either Lana, himself, or the both of them were exhausted beyond measure. On occasion, Cullen wondered to himself when or if they'd return to beyond a few kisses, but he felt like a cad whenever the idea stirred. She'd been through he couldn't even imagine, the least she deserved was time.
"Tell me," Lana spoke, her voice husky, "why'd you really get the plant? You're not a flowers person."
"Are you?" he asked, feeling uncertain once again.
She chuckled, her nose nudging into her sternum, "No, not particularly."
Trying to bury the shame of his utter failure, Cullen admitted the truth to her, "I was in a foul mood during the walk, from the Orlesians, more or less. And while 'grumping' as you put it, I spotted what I thought were the familiar silver leaves of the plant you pointed out and it lightened my spirits."
"You saw it and thought of me," she said, her cheeks spreading wide while she buried her smile against his filthy tunic.
"I..." he snorted, "Maker, that sounds even more trite when said aloud."
"No," Lana lifted her weary head to gaze up at him. Instinctively, he cradled her cheek in his hand. "I love it. It's a very beautiful plant, and I haven't tried to keep anything alive in awhile." Her eyes slipped closed, those brush thick lashes fanning out over her cheeks. "Thank you, I'll have to keep it up away from Honor."
"Um," he glanced around the room aware of the near goatlike climbing skills his dog possessed, "perhaps if we extend it off the ceiling in the middle of the room."
"She'd be unlikely to eat it if it's hanging from a hook near the window, unless she has access to climbing gear."
"Maker," he shook his head, a full smile properly replacing his bad mood, "I fear she could con some out of a merchant."
"Awe," Lana turned in his grasp to eye up Honor whose stub was wagging from her name being mentioned, "do you have your own secret caches stashed about the city already?" Her hand danced along Honor's ears, digging into the spot behind the left that caused the mabari's tongue to dangle out.
After watching his dog succumb to the machinations of his...Lana, Cullen asked, "What did you and Leliana get up to?"
He got a slow eye roll as she returned to him, "I think Leliana is trying to establish me here for a year or more. Today it was looking presentable with a haircut and ordering clothing."
"Well, we could both use a wash at least," Cullen smiled, but internally a panic grew. Would Lana want to remain in Val Royeaux close to her best friend? Not for a short time of healing but for that mentioned year or more? Could he survive Orlais as long as she wanted?
"Mmm," Lana's hands ran down the scoop of his shoulders, caressing the divots and rise of his arms while a hazy look fell over her eyes. He had no idea what she was thinking as she seemed to be measuring him up with her fingers. Suddenly, her eyes focused and she stared up at him, "Oh, we have yet to check out the bedroom."
"You didn't look?"
"Without you? Never. I fear I'll need backup by the way Leliana failed to describe it." She stepped back slowly, her feet barely lifting off the ground which meant her muscles were tensing up again. Lana only made it through the long trip by flooding herself with magic. While he knew little of the nitty gritty of casting, Cullen could taste a near constant mana in the air around her skin and spotted her often flexing her aching fingers from dipping too much into the veil.
Holding a hand out to him, Lana lifted one shoulder, "Shall we see what terrors await us?"
Cullen took her hand and wrapped it in both of his. "Do you think we'll require Honor?"
Sliding along the floor at a glacial pace, Lana didn't let on to her pain. A mischievous smile was all that graced her features as she placed a hand against the doorknob, the perfectly ordinary looking doorknob. "Honor," she called to their mabari, causing her to rise off the floor, "stand ready." The dog wagged her tail and then froze, waiting for input. Lana lifted her eyes to Cullen and crossed her fingers, "Here we go."
As the door slid open, the light of the sitting room could only glance upon two of the four posts supporting the bed and a crimson rug resting upon the floor. Lana released his hand and he tasted the fade building into the world as she brought a fire to life in the hearth. After blinking away the yellow burn against his eyes Cullen turned to glance at the room and he felt his knees give out.
"Holy Maker," he cursed, covering his mouth with his hand both terrified to look and look away at the same time.
"There's nothing holy about that," Lana pointed at the bed post that, thanks to the fire bringing out the highlights of the carved wood, he realized was not a twisted bundle of vines as he'd previously thought. "Or that," she pointed at the second post across from it. "Now that's just impossible," she scoffed at the back posts which Cullen realized were joined by another pair of exuberant participants carved into the cross joints.
"At least the mirror doesn't look too...Oh," her voice fell as she scooted close to the grand vanity set along the side wall. Carefully, she picked up the hinged mirror and scooted it up and down. "Is it just me or do the body parts have faces?" she asked flippantly, somehow not unnerved by every facet of sexuality carved and painted surrounding them. Cullen had to be burning to ash from the blush blazing under his skin but Lana seemed to only be slightly curious and mostly amused.
"Ooh, look at the carpet," she twisted her head around, following the outer circle. "It's like an ode to cunnilingus in fiber form. Can you imagine what the meetings of Grand Clerics were like in Innocente's time?"
"I fear I would have to walk into Andraste's holy fire if I did," Cullen answered truthfully.
Lana snickered at his response as if it was a joke. Spinning once in a circle, she plopped down onto the bed, placed her hands on her knees and announced, "I like it."
Cullen's jaw dislocated and hit the floor coated in etchings of various body parts doing things body parts did. "You..." he pinched his eyes up then opened them wide, hoping that would somehow erase the multitude of carnal delight available to people contained in only four walls. "You like it?" Maker, what did he get himself into? A panic gripped onto his stomach and refused to let go at the terror that this was Lana's idea of preferred decorating.
"Yup," she smiled, placing her hands behind her as she leaned back, "it's so horrifyingly atrocious I'll be able to stay awake easily in here."
"Oh sweet Maker," Cullen collapsed in on himself, grateful that she felt the same as him. Then he rose up in response to the end of her sentence, "Lana..."
"I know, I know, but..." she lifted an eyebrow, her lips rising in a sneer, "do you think you could sleep in here?"
"I'm terrified to touch anything at the moment," he admitted. Cullen kept his hands cupped around his elbows just to make certain they didn't come in contact with any of the carvings or other surfaces.
Giggling, Lana patted the bed beside her. He screwed up his courage and shut his eyes in order to risk sitting down. Slowly, he lowered his back half towards the blanket stretched upon the mattress, hoping he could hover above it without touching anything. Just as he was about to adjust his knees, Lana wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him onto the bed. In shock, Cullen tumbled downward, first ass and then the rest of him until his back was fully coddled by the mattress. He blinked, staring up at the ceiling that bore a surprisingly beautiful painting of Andraste's life done in pastel oils.
Then Lana's face hovered above his and she smiled wide. "It's comfortable, isn't it?"
Cullen nodded and he rose up to a sitting position, "Say what you want about the...peculiarities of the Divines, but they certainly enjoy their comfort."
"And I thought Leliana would be out of place among them," Lana snorted, "shows what I know."
"I really do not wish to hear why," Cullen said, pinching his nose. It'd been a trying day and somehow it managed to keep getting more surreal with every opened door. He began to push his fingers into his closed eyelids, when he felt a hand curl around the back of his neck. Agile fingers dug into the knots, trying to loosen away the headache. It wasn't until he took a deep breath that he felt the gentle kiss of magic floating under his skin. She was subtle with it, only offering a quick sip of her balm when he'd fall under great strain.
As the pain lessened, Cullen reached over and grabbed onto her hand. Lana's eyes darted up, the edge of concern cresting through her beautiful face, but he didn't admonish her or try to cast away her helping hands. Instead, he smiled and whispered, "Thank you."
"I love you," she sputtered out. "I, uh, wanted to say it before when Leliana was here but, she can be a bit overprotective."
"You do not say," Cullen sighed, wishing he had his own backup out here beyond the dog who adored everyone she met.
Lana ran her fingers down his thigh, her thumb playing with the hole above his knee. "I meant it," her eyes snapped up at him, conviction swirling through her elegant browns, "I love you. And, I want what we have to work, to really work and be something."
By all that was good in thedas, he loved her. It wore at his nerves traveling with the King, of that there was no doubt, and while he had his reservations about finding Lana and ever holding her again, he knew with every fiber of his soul that she had his heart. She always would. As his hand cupped her cheek, Lana pressed her own against it, holding him tighter to her skin.
"I'm leaving the Inquisition."
"What?" Lana started, rising up.
"I..." He hadn't meant to say the words aloud, they slipped free while he watched her give him her own heart. He'd been thinking them often of late in the back of his mind, the question dogging his every step. Even before setting out to find her he wondered if he would return to Skyhold. Now, with Lana beside him, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else but wrapped in her arms.
Dipping his head down, Cullen's forehead skimmed against hers, "I gave the Inquisition my arm for three years. It was to be my redemption and, perhaps it's bold of me, but I think I've finally earned it."
"Cullen," her cool touch followed his cheek and down the scruff while she closed her eyes, "I don't want to, to come between you and... It was your cause."
"And now it's over," he stared into her eyes that looked uncertain, but for who?
"If I weren't here, if...if we'd never been," she waved between them, then her eyes darted up to the bedpost carving and she pointed at that instead. "Would you want to leave the Inquisition?"
He pulled her wandering hands into his and rested them both in her lap. "Lana, you are here. I want you here, more than anything I've ever... I gave the Inquisition three years of my life, I think it's your turn now. I love you."
Her perturbed frown blossomed into a heart warming smile and she swallowed, "All right then. I suppose the next question is how does one leave the Inquisition?"
Cullen wrapped his arm around her shoulders and carefully pulled both of them back upon the bed until they lay side by side, his hands cradling her. "That will require a lot of letters."
Only a flicker of light managed off the hearth, which made reading the words in her book a challenge. But Lana wasn't about to lift it higher for fear of waking the man sleeping beside her. It'd been a long day as she watched him draw up lists upon lists of what'd be required to extricate himself from the Inquisition. She tried to offer suggestions, but while he was always elbows deep into running the entire army, the most she ever had to worry about were fifty or so wardens. The seneschal handled every other minor problem at the Vigil and across the Arling. While a few of the little affairs could be managed by letters sent to Skyhold, Cullen calculated that he'd need two, perhaps three weeks to fully transfer power over.
Throughout the day, he jotted down outlines to his lieutenants and the others in power across thedas he kept in communique with, while Lana prodded into a book she kept failing to read. She was grateful, beyond grateful to think that he'd want to stay by her side, but a fact dangled over her head like a scythe about to slice away the chaff. Leliana was right, the Hero of Ferelden had to stay dead. It was Lana's only hope to remain free of anyone that would look to her for either support or revenge. Which meant she could never return to Skyhold. While she trusted the Inquisitor to keep the secret, there were far too many people who recognized her, knew her as the Hero and were there when she fell. Her secret would die the moment she stepped foot upon the mountain.
Lana was certain that she'd never be able to return, her biggest concern was how she'd explain it to Cullen. Three weeks apart was little in the scheme of things, and yet...
Her finger hovered over the page, tracing a sentence on transmutation of runes that she failed to read. After both of them savored another hearty meal and bathed separately, Cullen suggested she take the bed while he sleep on the divan. It was, after all, far more comfy and didn't have such a particular decor theme haunting him. She was more than willing to let his chivalry cover over for the abject terror of the room, but as he slid out to the door and Lana faced a night of walking in the fade, her heart thundered in her chest. It'd beaten so fast, she grew dizzy and gasped for air. Her hand dug into the duvet for strength, when Cullen's wrapped around hers. Without saying a word about her panic attack, he slid under the covers and held her until she fell asleep.
Maker, she needed to get better. He couldn't keep doing that, night in and night out playing her comforting blanket and defender. It'd wear him raw. Lana lasted a few hours in the fade before either her body revolted at the idea or her mind did and she fully woke. Beside her, Cullen slumbered, his head tossed back against the pillow mercifully not shaped like any male anatomy. She watched his curls spilling off the side as he rolled around, struggling to find a comfy spot. Lana knew the feeling well. After two years in the fade, laying on the mattress was like falling into a cloud. A part of her yearned to stretch out upon the floor, the real floor that wouldn't transform into grass or ancient ruins when she wasn't looking. But she didn't want to leave him.
Without any other options, Lana snatched up one of the books piled upon the nightstand and began to read. It wasn't the most enlightening of books, the theories having been disproven years ago, but it was interesting at times to follow the old paths of spells and what they later branched off into. On occasion, a new discovery could be made from the old bones. Her fingers darted down the spine, doing exactly what the librarians ordered her not to as she dug into it. What was she going to do with her life? No wardens, no mages, no orders...it was both exhilarating and terrifying to face an unending abyss.
A snort drew her attention and she turned to find Cullen thrown upon his back. She expected to catch him snoring, but a sneer knotted up his features and his hands began to paw at the air. At first only growls and groans erupted from him, but they became words as the nightmare dug in deeper.
"You will not delve into...no, please no. Don't touch it! I will not allow you to...Begone! Please," his cries faded to a whimper and his fingers dug into the mattress as if he was clinging to someone's shoulders, "please let me be."
Lana picked up one of his hands, the nails biting into her skin but she didn't yelp at it, only locked her own fingers around his. Caressing her hand down his cheek, she whispered, "It's okay, Cullen. You're safe. You're here with me. I promise. I'll keep watch over you."
The sneer deepened and she felt him falling further into the lyrium withdrawals. He'd often smack his lips to compensate for the dry mouth festering on his tongue. Lana tried to keep a carafe of water around, but despite Cullen refilling his glass often something told her it didn't help. She moved to grab it up off the night stand but Cullen reached out, his clawing fingers digging into her. "Don't leave me," he whimpered in his sleep. Freezing in place, Lana tipped her head back to catch a slither of tears in her eyes from the pleading in his voice.
With their hands locked in place, Lana eased down back into bed. She curled her body around his, her head resting upon his shoulder. Perhaps it was the warmth or the pressure, but Cullen calmed, his tense muscles slacking. Even the sneer faded back to the sweet man she knew. "I have you," she whispered into his ear, "and I'll never leave. I promise."