Cullen looks up as I enter. I know there's a sloppy smile on my face and my legs are a bit shaky.

He grins, "So the rumors are true."

"What? Rumors?" My face gets hot. "Already?"

The scar on his lip pulls up in his grin at me. "It seems you were quite loud, Inquisitor." His laughter is a warm rumble. "Dorian came to deliver the news personally."

"Of course he did." I roll my eyes.

"Cassandra was here when he arrived. She tried to offer me condolences."

"Condolences?"

"Apparently the nature of our arrangement had not yet reached her. Or maybe she had dismissed them as just rumors."

"Ah."

He makes a sort of giggle-snort sound I've never heard from him. "The look on her face when I told her I already knew. Dorian had to explain it to her."

Cullen is standing before me, grinning, his hands on my shoulders. "I take it the two of you made up?"

I blush. "Yes."

"Good." He kisses my forehead, then makes a face. "You smell like him."

"I smell like him? What does Solas smell like?" I sniff my arms.

"Like... like Solas, I guess." He stands back. "Was there something you needed?"

I look up the ladder. "I wanted to hide for a while. Can I take a nap?"

"Only if you wash first before you crawl around in my bed."

"Yes, ser!" I press a fist over my chest in salute.

"Your form is terrible."

I climb up the ladder, swaying my hips as I go. "I thought you were rather fond of my form."

"I am," that low breath in his voice makes my heart flip inside my chest as I climb.

Once in his loft, running a damp cloth over my body, half-shrugged out of my robe, his voice echoes up to me.

"You know, if I had known you were into such public displays of affection, I might..."

I laugh. "You might what? Take me on the war table?"

"Maker. Now there's an image."

"Or on the battlements? On the throne?"

"Well, I... Well."

I laughed again. "Cullen, if you're looking for ideas, I'd much rather you let me wear your helmet during sex."

I heard something crash below.

"Cullen? Are you alright?"

"My helmet? Why?"

"And your fluff."

"Pauldrons."

"I think I'd look rather nice with a lion's head and a flowing red cape... and nothing else."

I could hear a muttered Maker's breath from downstairs and I giggled.

"Just an idea," I sing-songed, fully clean and naked in his room. I took one of his shirts – clean, folded crisply and in neat piles with his other things – and slipped it over my head before crawling into his bed to nap.