Constance's eyes, still warm and fixed on him, narrowed slightly as she shook her head. She shifted a little on the bed, her mouth twisting into a disbelieving frown, "... What?"
Cullen wasn't foolish enough to think she had misheard him, but he was aware that two words of such a demand, with no prior discussion was perhaps not enough of an explanation, so he elaborated with that same tone, hushed and serious; "I want you to conscript me. Into the Wardens. I want to fight at your side,"
In those too deep, unfathomable eyes, he watched as the understanding broke over her face slowly, and began to feel dizzy when her brows drew down like she still didn't believe, and shook her head again, her usually soft voice taking on a dangerous edge, "You can't be serious..."
"I am," he insisted "and why wouldn't I be?"
Why wouldn't he want to be at her side, the side of the woman he loved, even if that meant conscription? He wondered why she was looking at him like that, like he was a petulant child demanding the impossible instead of a man telling her that he wanted to be next to her, always, in her bed and in the heat of battle.
"You want to be conscripted? Into the Wardens," She said the word like there was something wrong with it, "Why?"
Why? He thought incredulously, because I love you! Is that not reason enough?! But, with a sinking feeling in his gut he realized he'd never outright said he did, never told her the words sticking to the roof of his mouth, rooting in the end of his chest and stomach when he thought about her. He... never felt he had to.
And Constance was a very practical woman, realistic and tactical. Was love even enough of a reason for her?
She didn't let him speak, "Cullen, the Inquisition needs you, this is your home,"
He wanted to scoff, I have no home, but the words wouldn't come out because he didn't want to hurt her like that, not with his derision. The realization of her accepting that soon she would be leaving – and thinking he would be staying - that settled over him in a haze of incredible disappointment, and through all the reciprocation and exchange of warmth, to think that perhaps she didn't feel the same as he did, that she was only too happy to bid him goodbye at the end...
It hurt worse than any blade.
"Did you think," he started, "that you would leave for Adamant after your dealings here were finished, and that I would simply, what... stay behind?" He gestured around the room, "After all this?"
After sharing his bed with her, after everything they admitted to each other first with letters, and then in person? Did she truly think she could walk away and he would be accepting of that?
Was he just a lovesick fool who misinterpreted the situation?
No, it couldn't be, he thought vehemently. He shared too much of himself for it to all be for nothing, or just a mistake-
"Yes," she met his angry stare with a level one, and that mask of Command fixed on her face though he could see through the cracks in it, "you know what kind of work being a Warden entails. Do you really want to fight the Darkspawn? Do you really want to spend weeks, months in the Deep Roads hunting Broodmothers, or spend even more nights plagued with nightmares about tunnelling monsters clawing in the darkness?"
"If it means being by your side, then yes," and he meant it, even if it came out as harsh and angry because she looked at him like he didn't know what he was saying, like the words weren't real – sweet nothings passed between lovers after sex, as if he'd ever had the gall to be so disingenuous.
And she turned away; he felt like she'd slapped him, "Cullen, you do not know what you're asking. There are reasons why I am looking for a cure for the Taint, and I would not want to subject anyone else to this life, least of all you. I conscript out of necessity; for our dwindling numbers and thinning ranks, but I do not want to put more people to the killing floor just because there is a chance that they will live as one of us,"
When she looked back at him he could see the sadness in her face, like it was killing her to say it but she was saying it anyway, "You are safe here, and I would have that no other way,"
Not a mistake then, just different views on what constituted how their relationship was progressing, just a... breakdown of communication.
He didn't want to stay in the "safety" of Skyhold. He didn't want to stare out into the Frostbacks and pine and wonder when he would next see the woman he loved. He didn't want to receive a letter detailing her death and be so far removed from her life that he couldn't even have the courtesy of being beside her in her fall, or falling himself to protect her
After everything, after falling in love with her in the Tower when he was young and foolish, and carrying that flame still small, but still there, only to have her fall back into his life with open arms – he would not resign himself to a life where she wasn't in it any longer.
Cullen had been bereft of any sort of pleasure or fulfilment of selfish desires for his entire life, and he was not about to let one of the few good things he had escape his grasp.
He would not sit idle under the guide of safety while she faced death and ruin every day, not while he could still carry a sword, not while he still had his mind. The Inquisition would carry on regardless if he left or stayed; his role was inconsequential as the role of every soldier was in the grand scheme of things.
But with Constance, he could keep her safe.
"Wait-" she tried to reach out to him as he got up off the bed, but her hand never got to him. He located his trousers somewhere on the floor and pulled them on haphazardly. Constance clutched the sheets up to her chest and sat up, looking lost as that commanding mask of hers cracked and her face crumpled like it did after she was finished speaking with Morrigan.
"Don't go," she choked out as he made his way to the ladder and started descending it, and she started scrambling to get up off the bed, "Cullen, please,"
No. She didn't believe him, so he would just have to make it clearer to her that this was his intent, it was not some daydream that passed him by, that he thought it would sound like something she wanted to hear, and he knew very well what he was getting himself into when he made his demand.
The office was cold and some of the candles had burned out, the only few that remained were the ones that had burned so low they barely flickered at all, but the light was enough. Enough for him to find where he was going, touching down onto the stone and striding across the office with purpose. Constance was a bare few seconds behind him, who clearly didn't have the patience to locate and put-on her clothes and instead was swimming in his shirt that nearly reached her knees.
There, right where he left it; he pulled his sword up by the handle from where it rested against the mannequin, and in his peripheral vision he could see her stilling on the bottom rung of the ladder, hands clutching the rough wood trying to find some purchase there.
"What-"
He unsheathed it; the blade gleamed in the dim light, nicked and stained occasionally from battle but he kept it sharp and as clean as he could. Templars learned early not to get attached to blades; they could break or become dull, or get taken away in battle. Even the most pristine and beautiful Templar swords held by the highest commanding officials were no different from the standard issue ones the recruits were given. They were a tool, nothing more; just as a fist was and just as a shield was, and his sword was no different. He'd gone through 3 different ones since he took the mantle of Commander and they were all the same; longswords with no titles, rounded pommels and sturdy hafts as he preferred.
The sword had no real significance to him other than it being an extension of who he was at his core; a warrior, and a good one at that.
And that sword was hers if she would have it.
It was a proposal of a sort, as he got down on one knee in front of her with the flat on the blade in one hand and the handle resting in the other, offering it instead of holding it, although he doubted she wanted an exchange of Lover's Knots or a ring to signify that he was deadly serious about being with her and only her.
As a Warden Commander she had no need for rings or Knots; he knew that when first approaching such a relationship with her there would be no settling down in a house in the country, no children or land or titles, spending the rest of their days growing old together. They were warriors who fought for Thedas, and even if fighting for the rest of his life wasn't ideal he would gladly live the rest of it bloody and violent if it meant his time would be with her. So he bent his knee.
It certainly wouldn't be the first time she brought him to his knees.
She gasped, stopping her tentative inching towards him as he bent in front of her, his knee on the floor, her hand going up to her mouth, "Cullen, don't-"
"I swear on my faith to the Maker and all under him, as an Ex-Templar of the Order and the Commander of the Forces of the Inquisition that I pledge myself to your service-"
"Stop-"
"-for as long as I am able to carry a sword and shield, they will be raised only in your defence and at your command. As long as I am willing and able, I will fight at your side and protect you and your kin, pursue what wishes you have of me and provide all aid and relief that I can, for as long as you have use of it,"
It was a spin on the lengthy vows they took as Templars, the rough gist with a twist of swearing loyalty and fealty to her instead of the Order, and judging by her face she finally understood the gravity of it. He was not the sort of man who bent his knee to everyone, and when he made a promise he always kept it, when he pledged himself to a cause he did so with everything he had in him.
Constance was cupping her hands over her mouth, her feet awkward and twisting on the rug, the long sleeves of his shirt ruffling at her wrists and making her look so small, even from being on one knee in front of her, and she looked every bit the awkward, sweet girl he remembered from the Tower years ago.
"You were unsure of my intent," he continued, looking up into shining blue eyes, "now you have it. Con, I am serious. I am not going to stay here when I could be by your side, at your back, on the battlefield, in your bed - wherever you have need of me,"
She sobbed, "You'll die!"
As she dropped to her knees in front of him, she took the sword by its handle and hefted it from his hands, dropping it to the floor between them. Were she not the woman he loved, tears streaking down her face, the action would have been a very vulgar denial of his pledge and honour, yet she took his shoulders and tried to shake him as if that would make her words get through that much better, ignoring the sword on the ground like it was so inconsequential-
"I am not losing you to the Joining, Cullen," she said, "I can't. This will be the most selfish thing I have ever done, but I cannot accept your plea. You deserve better than what I – th-than what the Wardens can give you. If you undergo the Joining ritual you could die, and I will not have it,"
She continued, "It is not a vigil like the ones you hold to become a Templar or a Seeker, it kills more people than it connects to the Blight. Only the strongest survive, and even though I know you would be the perfect candidate, at the perfect time – you're wilful and smart, and I would be a fool to turn down a tactician in such a dire time, I am too selfish. I can't, Cullen, I can't lose you to the Taint,"
"Then don't," he insisted as she grimaced through the tears, holding her arms by the elbows, her fingers digging into the bare skin of his shoulders, "I make this pledge to you, not the Wardens. If you won't conscript me at least allow me to be by your side-"
Her fingers squeezed, "But why? Here you are safe - with me you could be killed-"
"Because I love you," he hissed, his hands roughly cupping her face, "... and I don't want to be away from you when I know I can protect you,"
Her lower lip was trembling, and it took a long time for her to consider what he'd said, something more honest and believing breaking through, "I... I can't offer you a normal life. I'll never be able to leave the Wardens – I would never want to abandon this cause,"
"I do not want a normal life, Con,"
"I'll never be able to stop having these nightmares, I'll never..." she swallowed, "I'll never have your children,"
"I don't care,"
"You should,"
"I don't," he insisted, "if I wanted the ideal, I would never have allowed myself to fall in love with you. Do you think I planned to have an easy life after choosing to join the Order? Or the Inquisition, for that matter?"
"There is more,"
"I'm willing to listen, but my answer will remain the same I assure you,"
He watched her look at the floor, and he leaned in until their foreheads rested against each other because the lack of closeness from her was killing him, the lack of anything but refusal from her was killing him. Maker how, how did it all go so wrong so quickly?
Clearing her throat and sniffling as more and more tears fell, she eventually continued, and he had to strain to hear her, "... I... I am not long left for this world, Cullen. The Taint in me, in-in all Wardens... eventually, it poisons us. I have been looking for a cure but if I cannot find one in time, if I cannot... I... only have another ten, perhaps fifteen years at the most, before I have to bid everyone farewell and go to the Deep Roads to die in battle. Do you truly wish to live like this? With me? Knowing our time will be so short?"
He wasn't surprised, not truly, not because he was expecting it but because he didn't feel in any way shocked, he just ached for her in ways he couldn't put to words. It was no wonder the Wardens seemed so dour, or that Nathaniel left out that part of Constance's side-effects when they were speaking on the battlements. To know their lives were so short...
It was selfish of her to want someone to love, knowing she was going to die so soon, even if ten or fifteen years seemed such a long way off, those decades had habits of creeping up on people. But even if it was selfish, even if ultimately her love had doomed him to a short life with her he failed to see a fault in it when it fulfilled him in so many nameless ways. She could not brush it off and leave, pretend she hadn't completely wrested him in ways he'd never felt because the loss would end him faster than her apparently short life would.
He could go on living without her, to be sure, but it would be a half-life; one with no purpose or fulfilment that she gave him, empty without her presence in it. The sacrifice, the toiling, it would be worth it to soothe the ache in her, to be able to wake up to her every morning and to be the last thing he saw before he slept however roughly.
Cullen didn't want to die, but for her, if she could be that last thing on his mind, in his heart before he fell it would be enough.
"Con, I will follow you, wherever you go," he brushed his thumbs through the tracks of tears on her cheeks, "even if that means into the Deep Roads to die at your side,"
She choked through the sob, cupping the back of his neck and shaking her head, "I can't ask you to do that-"
"You're not asking; I'm telling you this is how it will be,"
Then she was laughing, laughing and crying; "Maker but you are a stubborn mule. Leliana was right about you,"
What the Spymaster said about him he wasn't privy to, and he didn't particularly want to know what they were gossiping about when his back was turned, he just knew that he was fairly certain he had convinced her to accept his pledge, as she continued that half-laugh half-cry because she was so overcome, overwrought, so guilty to want more and afraid to take it.
Constance kissed his cheek, then his chin, "I love you," she said, kissing his forehead, across his nose, to the other cheek, "I love you. I love you, Maker I love you," and on and on until her frantic kissing and leaning into him made them tumble back onto the dusty red rug, and she straddled his hips to keep kissing his face and ears and neck and lips until he felt himself burning a little, warm under her touches and tears and barely stifled laughs. They manoeuvred the sword out from under his knees with some difficulty, some sniggers and snorts and more kissing like they were becoming a commodity.
There was no building swell of what he'd come to call his love for her, just a low, easy calm that settled over him like waves lapping at beach, as she kissed him all over and he kissed back with as much as fervour as he could afford without establishing a dominance.
The floor of his office – his unlocked office he was quick to remind himself, was not the place for such things, when anyone could just walk in and get a good eyeful of the Warden Commander, naked from the waist down, on top of him and planting kisses all over his face – but he failed to adequately care when he took her waist in his hands, leaned up and she followed as he pulled his shirt up, over her head and then she was naked again.
They would see them together and he would not care; let them, he thought. Let them see her claim him and know that it was their mistake to assume the office unoccupied, that they would not be together.
Cold stone and the rough rasp of the carpet was irritating against his bare back, but it was another thing he failed to care about as they worked together to pull his trousers down, and with a shuddering groan he arched as she took him, all of him, leaning up with hands on his chest and stomach and sinking onto his cock like she belonged there.
With heavily-lidded eyes and that – strange, serene calm – he looked up at the woman he loved lost in the pleasure of their coupling, and moved her hips with his hands as he rolled himself into her, over and over, head tipping back when the pleasure got too great for him to keep his gaze on her.
It was rushed, hurried, unbelievably intimate, without restraint or care for how it looked or felt, a natural, gradual build towards something more than just an orgasm. Even with their earlier exploits he still felt himself travelling towards that rush, and he could see it in her too, in the unrestrained way she moved on him.
They came together, quietly and without any sort of grace, but he watched her as she watched him, open-mouthed and released from whatever was holding them back before, whatever unspoken words between them finally said. She found purchase in his arms through the shaking, whispering more I love you's into his ear as her head rested over his shoulder.
It was only then, when he wrapped his arms around her quaking frame and noticed he was shaking too, that he felt that warm, entirely indulgent feeling of love rippling through him as he thought I am the luckiest man in Thedas for having this.
They lay there in the silence; she rolled off him and slung and arm and leg over his chest and hip, and still they failed to care if someone were to knock or walk-in on them naked on the dusty rug on the floor to Cullen's office. Their conversation had been too draining and too important for that.
"... You will have to tell the Inquisitor soon," Constance eventually said, tracing the tip of her index finger around the faded scar on his sternum, "if you still wish to keep your pledge."
"I do," he replied easily, taking her hand, "and I will. Perhaps first we can get up off the cold floor before we both catch a cold...?"
"Wonderful idea, although the circumstances were rather worth it..."
Cullen chuckled, waiting for her to tiredly extricate herself from being so wrapped around him and he rose to his feet, pulling her up and flush against him.
Maker but he would never tire of the feeling of her naked skin on his, he thought as he kissed her softly, giving her arse a quick slap as she turned towards the ladder. He puffed out what was left of the candles and followed after her, and they slept for what Cullen felt was one of the most restful, peaceful sleeps he'd had in years.
The terrifying thought of telling the Inquisitor his decision was pushed to the side for perusal in the morning, and he gathered the woman he loved into his arms and kissed the top of her head, feeling like things were beginning, finally, for him in ways he'd always dreamed.
Others would disagree, and he would even be inclined to agree with some of them in some ways, but having her in his arms after such a long time, truly accepting him as her lover, was enough.
Mia,
As I said, I will do my best to try and make it to South Reach when I can. Perhaps that will be sooner than later – I have not taken any time for personal affairs since before Kirkwall, after all.
I do know of the Hero of Ferelden - she does have a name, you know. Her name is Constance Amell; did I ever tell you she was a Mage in Kinloch Hold before she was recruited into the Wardens?
Constance is an incredible woman, worthy of her title as Ferelden's Hero and more. It is unsurprising that so many of our soldiers speak of her; she is certainly inspiring, to say the least. Her visit has upended many of the day-to-day routines in Skyhold but it is ultimately for the better, especially as she now commands our Warden allies from what was left at Adamant.
I will pass on your compliments,
Please give my love to our siblings, regardless of who they apparently do or do not love more.
- Cullen
