Chapter Nine
Where You Are
"When there's nothing but dark and sound,
I will be beside you.
When there's nothing but the long way 'round,
I will be beside you."
—"Beside You," Phildel
Cullen shifted in his sleep, his skin cool under the coarse blankets. It itched and rasped against him—why did he feel it all over? He tossed a bit, unable to move too far. Panic began to grip him. Something was holding him down. This wasn't right.
He forced himself awake, the fear a bright, sharp thing that launched him into consciousness. His ragged breaths filled the air as he sought out the threat. Instead, he found canvas walls and a flickering candle.
There was no magic, no demons. He wasn't wracked with the convulsions of withdrawal. It was just a tent.
But what, then, was holding him down?
He dragged a hand across his brow, dashing away the cold sweat that gathered there, before examining himself. His bare chest greeted him and a quick peek under the blankets told him he was entirely naked. Even his smallclothes had been stripped from him.
And then there was the weight over his legs. Looking further down, he saw her. His heart sputtered to a stop before taking off like a racehorse. Katerina was there, an arm folded beneath her head as she slumbered against him. That was what he felt holding him in place. Her free arm was stretched out, her fingers entwined with his.
She was bent in a most awkward fashion, sleeping atop his legs and holding his hand. And he was naked.
Cullen felt his face heat at the impropriety of it all. This wouldn't do. She couldn't be here with him like this—it could compromise the Inquisition and derail their mission with the scandal. It could hurt her. He needed to get dressed, and quickly, but found he couldn't do it without waking her.
With a sigh, he shifted and winced at the strange aches of his body. The skin of his left side was unnaturally tight and pink, like new skin revealed from beneath a scab. Cullen's fingers experimentally touched the pink patch when the memory came back as flashes of exhaustion and pain. He'd nearly been eviscerated by a terror demon. Its claws had torn through his side before he felled it. He'd kept on fighting, unable to stop lest the demons overrun the fortress. His armor and fitted leather jerkin saved him from bleeding out prematurely. He allowed himself a moment to breathe only when the Inquisitor stepped through the rift. He remembered the way the world swam, how he'd been able to focus on nothing but her—how he'd leaned heavily on a soldier as he fumbled his way here.
He didn't remember much else, but he knew the wound should have slowly killed him from blood loss or infection. When his fingers met only tender flesh, Cullen frowned. He was certain it had happened though his body told a different story.
Cloth rustled then, and her sleepy voice was like music to his ears. "Cullen?"
"Kat," he breathed, feeling himself smile at her despite himself.
He chuckled when she launched herself at him, her wiry arms wrapping about his shoulders and face burrowing into the hollow of his neck. He returned the embrace, holding her close and memorizing the feel of her against him. Soft silk glided over his chest and warm, buttery leather was the only barrier between her hip and his hand. Despite the smell of lightning and smoke clinging to her hair, Cullen still breathed the sharp, honeyed scent of her skin.
Calloused hands cupped his face as she pulled back to examine him, her touch soft and sure. Storm-gray eyes observed him, looking for any hint of fever or concussion while nimble fingers danced across his features. He nearly growled when they brushed over his scarred lip before moving lower. She shifted away from him then, and he instantly missed the heat of her and the pressure of her body atop his. Heedless of modesty, she folded the blanket low on his hips, and he could swear she started blushing.
Katerina tried to keep herself from ogling her golden general, but it was impossible. He was well-toned from years of swordplay and a strict exercise regimen. The ridges of his muscles looked divine in the flickering candlelight; ivory skin and supple muscle glinted when the light caught the spatters of flaxen hair covering his chest and trailing lower. The hair grew darker, like aged honey, as it disappeared beneath the blanket. She wet her lips and forced her gaze back up when she spied the nest of dark curls peeking out to torment her. Her face burned and she couldn't meet his eyes, instead letting her cool fingers skate across the newly healed flesh of his side. It was still pink and cool, but tender as she learned when he grunted at her touch. She winced in apology before continuing her examination, speaking as she worked.
"Your pupils are responding evenly to light, so there's no concussion," Kat narrated, hoping that her words would distract him from the discomfort of being examined while completely nude. "And no fever which is a relief since the demon nicked your spleen. The skin is healing well, and I don't see any signs of infection. How do you feel?"
"It's tight," he said, shifting a bit. The blanket threatened to slip even lower as he rose to recline on his forearms. "What happened? I know I was hit—a terror demon…"
She nodded grimly, eyes tight as she pressed a hand to his shoulder in a bid to keep him resting and relaxed. "Vivienne told me about it. She said she discovered the wound and sent you here as quickly as she could. I-I came as soon as I heard. Does it hurt?"
"It's tender, but I'm not in pain anymore." He missed her cool touch as she drew back. "What happened? Who healed me?"
Gray eyes flickered up to meet his before they fell back to her lap. "I did. Solas would have, but he said he tapped his mana on others before you arrived. Even lyrium wouldn't have given him the longevity needed to heal you."
"You—" He raked a hand over his face at that, nausea rocking his stomach at the knowledge that she'd used magic on him—that it had been inside him while he was unconscious and incapable of defending himself. Hot anger bubbled so brightly within him that the air felt colder on his skin and dwarfed the sensation of being irreparably tainted.
"You would have died, Cullen." Her chin trembled at the thought of losing him, but she didn't move apart from that. She'd resolved to heal him even if it meant he would hate her for that betrayal of his trust, though that didn't mean she wouldn't try to defend her actions. "There was no other way—I know you hate magic, but I-I couldn't lose you."
Her admission and the vulnerability in her voice cooled his instinctive trepidation. This was Katerina, he realized, the one mage he'd trusted to cast on him before. He forced himself to look past his prejudice to really look at her. Despite everything—his past experiences, his reflexive fear of magic, and stubborn inability to accept help freely given—he did trust her. She cared so deeply, was so innately good that it boggled him. Cullen didn't believe her willing to hurt him, even if she was fully capable of it. Almost before it began, his anger subsided and was replaced with an aching tenderness about his heart.
As if with a mind of its own, his hand reached out to cup her cheek and turned her towards him. "Thank you. After all, what's an Inquisition without its general?"
Katerina watched him for a long moment, forcing her breathing to slow and swallowing the tears that threatened to choke her. "I don't know, but I'm certain an Inquisitor without her Commander would be nothing."
'Her Commander,' his mind whispered, savoring those words and the sense of protectiveness, possessiveness they seemed to hint at. 'Hers and hers alone.'
He shouldn't have liked the sound of that as much as he did. It evoked an answering pang of need within him, so sharp and sudden that it hurt in the sweetest way. He wanted her. More than that, he needed her. Cullen had half a mind to lash the tent shut and ravish her right here on the cot to show her just how much he cared. But he saw the exhaustion lining her face, the fear that weighed down those pink lips, and the way her head hung low. Right now, she needed a friend, not some half-baked advances.
With that in mind, he tugged the blanket up higher to preserve his modesty as he stood. Katerina rushed to the other side of the cot to steady him—something he was grateful for when the canvas walls tilted dangerously.
"Solas gave you an elfroot potion to keep you unconscious, but the dizziness will pass," she explained, propping him up with her body so they didn't go tumbling to the ground. "I'm guessing you'd like to get dressed?"
"Very much so," he said ruefully. He didn't relish the dizziness but didn't see the downside if it meant holding her close. "I'm at something of a disadvantage like this."
Kat couldn't hide the grin his words inspired and glanced up at him through her dark lashes. "Then remind me to catch you undressed more often, Commander."
Cullen had to suppress a groan at the obvious flirtation in her voice and the reaction it inspired. He felt himself twitch and begin to stand at attention. The feel of her softer, slighter body against his through thin layers, that low insinuation—Maker, how he wanted her. He began mentally reciting the Chant, praying for some self-control.
She could feel his arousal pressing against her belly, thick and hard. Experimentally, she shifted closer and was rewarded with a hiss. Fingers trailed down his sides, delighting in the play of hard muscle beneath smooth skin. His left side was still pink where she'd healed him, but cool to the touch like the rest of him. Kat fingered the edge of the blanket that he held about his waist, wondering what he'd look like without it. Her mouth watered at the thought of him and she rubbed her thighs together in a bid for some relief to the liquid heat pooling there.
"Cullen, I—" Her tongue felt thick and clumsy in her mouth, and Kat darted a glance up at him.
Dark eyes blazed with hunger as he felt her touch whisper against his skin. "Tell me, Kat."
It was a command, hard and firm as he pressed against her once more. His arousal slid closer to the heat of her core, so hot and so near that he could feel it through her leather trousers. The hand on her hip slipped an inch lower to rest just shy of the curve of her plump ass. His fingers itched to knead her soft curves.
She felt it all, just as she felt his searing gaze when her tongue wet her bottom lip. It was that which made her bold. Her fingers closed about the blanket, ready to rend it from him, as she said, "Cullen, I want y—"
The tent flap flew open, admitting the morning light and a scowling Seeker. The pair flew apart as Cassandra straightened, her dark eyes quickly taking in the scene. The Commander's death grip on the rough blanket and his quick, shallow breaths told her as much as the flush staining the Inquisitor's face and neck. Mercifully, her only reaction was a quirk of one elegant brow.
"It is good to see you awake, Commander." He shifted guiltily under her scrutiny and nodded. "Do you think you'll be well enough to ride out today?"
Cullen cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at the Inquisitor. "I-yes, it should be alright. The Inquisitor mended me most adeptly."
She bit down the urge to grin wickedly at that, instead simply humming in acknowledgement. The Seeker next swung her dark gaze to the Inquisitor and that dark scowl returned. After she'd finished healing the general, Cassandra had forced her way into the tent and demanded a full report. The only thing that kept her from screaming and shouting with all her righteous fury at the mage was the Commander's need for rest.
"Has the Inquisitor given you her report?" Cassandra bit out, glowering fiercely at the woman staring determinedly back.
"No, I only just awoke and attempted to dress," he said, all desire now evaporated from the air. "Allow me to do so, and then I'll hear it."
"Very good. I'll send Solas in to assist you."
Cullen tried to protest that he didn't need any help, but the Seeker had already swept away as abruptly as she'd appeared. He sighed and carded a hand through his tousled hair. Curls ran wild once more and he knew he desperately needed to shave. Determined not to wait, he moved to fetch the clean clothes stashed neatly in his saddlebag.
A rustle of cloth and leather was the only reminder he received that Katerina was still there before she gestured for him to sit once more. She quickly unpacked the change of clothes he'd reserved for the journey back to Griffon Wing Keep and carried them to the cot.
"Here," she said. "I'll help you. There's no telling where Solas may be, and Maker knows I'm not exactly incapacitated with modesty."
His face burned at the thought of her dressing him. "I can't let you do that. Not after—that."
"Cullen, this isn't sexual," Kat said bluntly, meeting his gaze without so much as a blush. "That moment is gone, and now I'm trying to help you. I've done this before whenever Enchanter Lydia and Elara took me to clinics and hospitals in Ostwick."
"You've dressed other men?" he asked skeptically.
"I've undressed them too. And women and children when they came in for treatment. I'm not exactly a blushing novice at the sight of the human body." Her dark brows rose as she asked archly, "Now would you like to have pants on when Cassandra returns or no?"
"Maker, yes. There are some things that the Seeker simply doesn't need to see."
Katerina knelt before him, his smallclothes in hand, and held them so that he could step into them while balancing against her shoulder. Seeing her kneel like that was a sight he'd be hard-pressed to forget. Already, he could feel that same heat stirring in his belly, his cock twitching when she steadily held his gaze from her position before him.
"You know," she said casually, as if she weren't slowly skating her hands up his strong legs or like her warm breath didn't tickle against his skin, "I don't think you're going to like me overly much after I tell you what happened."
She very pointedly kept her gaze on his so that he could pretend that some modesty still remained between them. Katerina forced herself not to stare at his most intimate area, fighting to keep herself from even looking at it lest she forego her report in favor of doing something far less professional.
"What do you mean?" Cullen asked as he adjusted his smalls around his insistent arousal. He just couldn't seem to control himself around her, as if he were some green boy seeing a woman's ankle for the first time.
Cullen felt himself growing even harder when her gaze flickered over his body and noted the weeping head peeking out from the waistband of his smalls. She'd flushed and licked her lips, making him groan at the way her eyes lingered on him before tearing her gaze away. He forced himself to think of the templars he'd known, of reciting the Chant of Transfigurations before a flickering candle. He resorted to listing horse breeds when those didn't work.
She repeated the process with his trousers, her fingers and the fabric skimming up his legs. He nearly keened with desire when her gray eyes flickered to his arousal one last time and she chewed her bottom lip before lacing his pants with nimble fingers.
"Kat?" He swallowed thickly at the sheer want etched on her face. "The report?"
"Right. I'll just spit it out." She sighed and helped him sit before launching into the tale. All desire in her expression died as she passed him his shirt before pacing before him. The words spilled out of her, distant and numb, as she recounted the chase, the dragon, and the fall. He shrugged into his loose cotton shirt as the story unfolded, and his heart stopped when she told him that she'd opened the rift in the courtyard—that she and her companions would have been dead if she hadn't done so.
She told him about being physically in the Fade, about the spirit wearing the Divine's face guiding them through, about regaining her memories of that fateful night when the sky was torn open. Cullen's mouth filled with the bitterest disgust when she told him about that night, about the Wardens who'd held the Divine hostage as a sacrifice to Corypheus. His blood ran cold when she told him about the Nightmare controlling the Wardens and fueling their fears. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms when she broke down crying at the end.
"Loghain and Hawke both offered to stay, and I… I had to choose." Katerina angrily dashed her tears away as she recalled sending the gruff, kind man to his death. "I got him killed. Loghain Mac Tyr is dead because of me."
"He offered to stay, to regain the honor he'd lost and fought to restore. That's not your fault. I saw you come back through." He reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek, allowing his fingers to linger. "You've no idea how relieved I was to see you—to know you were alright, despite the tears."
"That's not all," she said slowly, pulling back as her gray eyes shuttered on any emotion. With a deep breath, she said, "I recruited the Wardens. They have no one in command with Clarel and so many others dead, so it was that or exile."
The air left his lungs in a rush as her words sank in. "Even after the blood magic? After learning what they did to the Divine?"
"Yes." She lifted her chin and met his surprised gaze steadily. "They are some of the best fighters in Thedas with experience against darkspawn and demons alike, and we need all the help we can get."
"But they're susceptible to Corypheus's magic—his control dying after slaying the Nightmare proves that," he replied, not unkindly. His fingers reached out to stroke her cheek again as they spoke. The debate was not heated, and Cullen needed her to know that he wasn't angry with her regardless of his instinctive poking.
"Then we'll organize them, control where they go and what they fight. We'll keep them away from the Venatori and templars. We'll point them to foes we know they can handle." Her eyes dropped to her lap and one hand rose to cover his. "I couldn't just abandon them, Cullen. There are still good men and women in their numbers—Loghain and Blackwall have proved that to me. I thought they deserved a chance."
He withdrew his hand at that, remembering that Blackwall fell into the Fade with her, that he'd been there to protect her from the demons and nightmares in that place. He would have to thank the man for protecting her, for guarding her against the things in the Fade and bringing her back whole.
"I saw the Black City," Kat told him, voice soft and eyes wide as she recalled the place. "It stood over us the whole time. It was real."
"You—what?" His body went numb at that and his hand fell away.
She'd actually seen it, that place of stories and legends. A part of him had always questioned the veracity of the tales, the skeptic within him wondering if it were simply an exaggeration. He'd kept faith, finding comfort in the Chant and the thought of something more, but this… This was the starkest confirmation of it all he'd ever had. It was one thing for a mad magister to claim credit for turning the Golden City black, but Katerina had no such illusions of grandeur. She also had four people who could verify what she said.
"My family is a devout one," she said, head moving slowly from side to side. "My parents take pride in their close-knit relationship with the Chantry and the sheer number of sons the family has given to the templars over the generations. But I never truly believed. It just seemed too pretty a story to be real, like fairies and mermaids and nymphs."
Cullen watched the conflict rage across her face as everything she'd ever believed was thrown into turmoil. "It's alright to have doubts. It makes all the good you've done that much more admirable because you did it without any expectation of a reward in the afterlife."
She shook her head again, this time with a fond smile and wide eyes. "How are you always so good, fy nghariad aur?"
"What does that mean?" he asked with a soft smile in return.
"Only good things," she promised, dropping a kiss to his cheek. "I'd best go before Cassandra comes to yell at me some more. Don't push yourself too hard for the next few days."
She was quiet the entire way back from Adamant Fortress. It had been a long two weeks riding back at the head of the Inquisition's army. While Katerina joined her friends and advisor for the evening meals on the road, she wasn't herself. The tensions were high as everyone held different opinions about the Wardens' second chance.
Cassandra had made her feelings known in no uncertain terms, even going so far as to publicly shout at the Inquisitor before Vivienne intervened for the sake of the peace among their troops. Blackwall was skulking about and trading barbs with the Seeker, his blustery pride rankling her ire. He, at least, was pleased with the Inquisitor's decision.
It had taken a toll on Katerina. There was no laughter, no joking with Dorian and Bull or chatting with Varric. She had withdrawn into herself, pondering over everything she'd seen in the Fade and the choices she'd had to make.
Katerina shook those thoughts away, focusing on depositing her mare in the stable and separating herself from the others as fast as she could. She couldn't stand the reproachful glares from Cassandra or Dorian's concerned frown any longer. They chafed at her, grating and demanding. Cassandra wanted explanations and arguments; Varric was planning his next book series and trying to make her smile; and Blackwall wanted to gloat about her pardoning the Wardens—it was too much.
All she wanted was quiet.
Luckily, Josephine had a steaming bath awaiting her in her modest washroom with all the oils and soaps she preferred already laid out. While the others convened in Skyhold's main hall for their suppers, Katerina had squirreled herself away in the blissful quiet of her rooms. With a heavy sigh, she stripped off her filthy clothes and submerged herself in the hot water.
The Nightmare had known her every fear, every little thing the nasty voice in the back of her head whispered at night. It had played on it, delighting in her dread. It had whispered to her of her failures, reminding her of everyone she'd let down. Her parents, her sister, Sienna, Felix, Cassandra, Dorian—the list went on and on. It seemed never ending. It had taunted her, hissing to her that she'd never be enough without the mark. It reminded her that she could never have love because of what she was. It sang that she had deserved death by the Seeker's hands, it was just luck that held her doom at bay. But the wolf was circling, it said, and it would come for her one day soon.
She'd added another name to her list in the Fade, another person she'd let down. Loghain had given his life for her escape. She tried convincing herself that it was his duty as a Grey Warden, but it sounded hollow. Nothing would change the fact that it was her choice that left him there. His blood was on her hands.
Washed and no longer covered in the grime of the road, Katerina let the water drain away and set about the rest of her toilette. Her wet hair was quickly combed and excess water soaked away with an old shirt, and she rubbed lotion into her skin. Those were her two vanities—no matter what, she tried to care for her curls and her skin. It was a habit she'd retained from her childhood when she'd watch her mother tend to her own dark curls and smooth, blemish-free skin.
Tiredly, she shrugged into her favorite sleep shirt and the heavy brocade robe lined with silk that Josephine and Vivienne had acquired for her. The rich ivory fabric cinched about her waist with an amethyst sash matching the inner lining. The fashionable women around her tutted when she didn't wear the fashionable nightgowns they'd selected for her—yards of lace and silk gone to waste. This robe was her one concession to their wish for someone more stylish in the role of Inquisitor.
At peace for the first time in weeks, she stepped onto the balcony overlooking the mountains. It was so blessedly quiet up here. There were no hissed arguments or cutting remarks to pretend to ignore, no grating laughter as the soldiers celebrated a victory that she didn't feel. It was just her, the starlight, and the wind.
A knock at the door interrupted her solitude. With a groan, Kat called the intruder in though she didn't move from her position on the balcony. Heavy footsteps moved about her room before joining her.
"I brought you some food," Cullen said softly as he joined her outside. "You haven't been eating."
She blinked at that, surprised he'd noticed between all his other duties. "Thank you."
He noticed that she didn't make any moves toward the food, turning back to watch the glittering stars instead. He let the silence grow. They didn't have to talk; he knew that she'd been pensive since she stepped out of the Fade for the second time. It had shaken her. After everything they'd been through, everything she'd seen, it seemed she'd hit her breaking point. Everyone had noticed, though some were less restrained in their opinions than others.
It had been the same earlier that evening. They'd all gathered for the evening meal except Katerina. Her trusted companions and advisors all noticed, though no one said a word. It was only when the polite dancing around her absence and rehashing the events at Adamant became too unbearable that Cullen quietly slipped away. He'd heard their thoughts before. They'd been having the same conversations the entire journey back to Skyhold. He didn't care to hear Cassandra's opinion on recruiting the Wardens for the thousandth time, just as he didn't care to hear her argue with Blackwall and, now, Leliana on the subject. If it chafed at his patience, Cullen couldn't imagine how the Inquisitor felt since it was her decision under attack.
A few quick words to Cook and he had a tray piled high with food and tea as he mounted the back stairs to Kat's rooms. He didn't blame the Inquisitor for needing some separation. Adamant was all anyone was talking about, and she didn't need to hear about it again. Nothing was going to come of their dinner conversation, and she'd already heard it all. No one had anything new to say, and he determined that he could do more good here than sitting about and listening to the others bicker.
"You know, when I was a child," he started, watching her from the corner of his eye, "my sister, Mia, would harangue me endlessly about my moods. I was a scamp, she'd say, disappearing for hours and returning with pockets full of frogs or acorns. As I grew older, I'd still disappear for hours, but then it was to the Chantry."
Kat watched him silently as he spoke. She didn't know where this story was going, but his soothing voice and the fond smile eased her nerves. He, at least, wasn't going to lecture her. Not now.
"One night, not long before they accepted me for training, I asked her about it. 'Why are you always yelling at me?' I'd asked. I just wanted her to leave me be." He shook his head at the memory, still able to smell the scent of his mother's cooking as the rain fell about their little home. "But then she said, 'I yell because I love you. If I ever stop yelling then either the world has ended, or I've gone mute.'"
It was only then that he turned to look at her and noticed again just how small she was compared to him. "Everyone here cares about you. Don't let their tempers make you think otherwise."
"How can you be so understanding right now?" Kat huffed, scowling up at him. "I've let everyone down. I don't know a single person I haven't disappointed. I mean, I told Loghain to stay—he's a good man dead because of me. The Wardens deserved exile, I know they did, but I gave them another chance because of him and Blackwall. I allied with the mages despite our corruptibility. I've made decision after decision that I know you don't agree with, and you should be screaming at me for this. If I'd been cleverer or stronger, I could have been better... I could have saved everyone."
Cullen grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her frantic ranting. "You survived and you took away Corypheus's demon army. You freed the Wardens from slavery. That will never be disappointing."
"Cullen…" Her chin quivered then at his words and her throat was impossibly tight with the tears she was holding at bay.
Without missing a beat, he drew her into his arms and just held her as she cried. Sobs shook her lithe frame and hot tears seeped through his shirt. He was glad he'd already left his armor with the smith as he gathered her close. One hand stroked over her damp curls in an attempt to soothe her. He didn't know what else to do but let her cry herself out.
The tears eventually subsided, and Cullen tugged her inside away from the cold. It was warmer in the seating area from the fire burning merrily in the hearth. He tucked her there with a blanket over her lap before moving away towards her desk.
Kat stared into the dancing flames, mesmerized by the tendrils of pure heat. Even though she wasn't watching him, she was keenly aware of the general's whereabouts. She'd thought it would be suffocating, but, if she were honest with herself, it was nice to be taken care of. She was so tired of being strong, always being in control and tending to others, that this was a refreshing change of pace. She couldn't recall the last time someone had actively taken care of her like this. Cullen bustled back over with a mountain of food heaped upon a plate and two glasses of wine, breaking her out of her trance.
"You need to eat," he said as he settled in beside her. A quick glance had him frowning. She was still too pale after her breakdown. Her eyes and were nose red while the rest of her looked drawn and pallid. "I won't leave until I'm satisfied."
She huffed at his paltry threat, but still picked up a slice of the hard, white cheese. "Yes, Commander."
"Tell me about your time in the Circle," he said. He watched her closely as she nibbled at the cheese.
"What's there to know? I studied, slept, and studied some more. Occasionally, I gardened." Kat shot him a searching look—he, of all people, should know just how rote Circle life could be. "I'm sure your stories are better. Tell me another."
Cullen shook his head as he swallowed some of his cold ham. "I've already told you one story. If this is to be fair, you won't get another out of me until I get one from you."
"Tit for tat, hm?" The mage shook her head to hide the beginnings of a weak smile. She thought for a moment, finishing the cheese and reaching for more as she looked for a good story to tell. "Oh! There was a time when Sienna fancied a templar. They'd never spoken, but she was convinced that he was her soul mate. She started noticing him and leaving little treats by his bed: bottles of healing tonics, cakes—that sort of thing. This went on for weeks. It turns out that wasn't his bed. It was his lover's, and she was convinced that someone was trying to poison her. Sienna was mortified."
The ex-templar chuckled at the antics, blushing to recall his own first infatuation. "I used to think I loved a mage. In Ferelden, at my first station. She never gave me the time of day, but I was like a lost puppy around her. The words would never come out right—I usually ran away."
"What happened? Did she ever return your affections?" Kat shot him a glance, wondering if this mage had ever realized what a good man she had under her nose.
"No," Cullen said with deprecating grin. "She was the Hero of Ferelden."
Kat nearly choked at that. "What? No. Not the king's mistress!"
"Yes. I made a fool of myself in front of her more times than I care to recall." He chuckled again and sipped his wine. "It's a miracle she didn't bite my head off or dropkick me from the Keep."
"I can't imagine you acting like a lovesick puppy," she teased. "I'm sure you were adorable."
Cullen groaned at that, though he couldn't stop a satisfied smirk from quirking his lips. The more he drew her out, the more color returned to her face and the more she ate. He didn't mind her teasing if she continued to move away from the dark place she'd been in.
"It's alright," Kat continued after swallowing down more food. "I once fancied a templar boy. He never noticed me either."
"I find that hard to believe." He nudged the barefoot sticking out of her blanket with his own booted one. "You're a hard woman to miss."
She rolled her eyes at that. "Yes, one mage among dozens, all with dark hair and all wearing the same robes. I was such a standout."
"I'd have noticed you." The admission slipped forth before he could stop it and Cullen felt his ears heat. "I-I mean…"
Kat froze at his words, her heart skipping a beat—was he saying what she thought he was? Was it possible that her golden general harbored feelings for her too? She knew he found her attractive—it was hard to forget the way his body had reacted to her nearness after the siege—but she'd been ready to dismiss it as a natural reaction to surviving in a warzone.
She ducked her head to hide her face, the wave of bashfulness flushing her face and chest. It seemed almost too good to be true. Before she could so much as open her mouth to make any confessions of her own, Cullen produced a checkered board from beneath the low table.
"I thought we could play." His voice was a little too loud, as if that could take away the words still echoing through her head. His hands were shaking as he cleared room for the game, practically flying to put the low table between them. "Here, you play as white."
Shaking away the disappointment, Katerina set up her pieces and made the opening move. The only sound was the shuffling of their pieces and the crackling fire. She had no idea how long the game dragged on, but he eventually started to speak.
"I didn't even ask—do you enjoy chess?"
She captured a rook before speaking. "I do, though I'm not the most proficient player. My father and I—" His long fingers moved his knight and carried off a white pawn "—used to play before I was sent to the Circle."
He watched her careful examination of the board and longed to kiss the pucker that appeared between her brows whenever she fell deep into thought. "How old were you when they took you?"
"I'd just turned twelve, though my powers had manifested a few weeks earlier." She continued scanning the board, planning her next move carefully. "I was so scared when it first happened. I froze a patch of flowers in the middle of the summer, and I'd heard the way my mother spoke about mages. I was convinced I was evil or possessed."
Cullen frowned at that, his heart hurting that she could ever consider herself to be a demon. He knew better now—her will was too indomitable, her spirit too good for that to be true. The words nearly tumbled from his lips, but he'd had enough embarrassing confessions for the evening. Instead, he bit his tongue and let her continue at her own pace.
Her pawn captured his knight, clearing that sector of his pieces, before she spoke again. "I hid it from everyone. I didn't want to be taken away or be locked up by the Chantry, and I had a rucksack packed in case I had to flee—I was convinced I could survive in the wilds as an apostate or be taken in by a Dalish clan." She rolled her eyes at the memory and shot him a grin, inviting him to laugh at her youthful follies.
"But that didn't happen," he chuckled.
"No." She sighed as he captured her rook. "I had a nightmare and scorched my curtains. My mother was more concerned with screeching about abominations than the fire. Enchanter Lydia took me away the next day."
"Did your father play with you after that?"
Kat shook her head, fixing her gaze on the board so he couldn't see her frown. "No. When I could visit, he was much more occupied with improving my ability to defend myself."
"He taught you well," Cullen murmured.
"How did Aidan do in your absence?" she asked, shifting at the sensitive topic. It still chafed that she hadn't heard from her family.
He watched her clear another of his pieces from the board with a wry smirk. "Skyhold didn't go up in flames, so he did well. There's still a mountain of paperwork to sift through—" She groaned at that, reminded of the similar stack looming over her desk "—but it's good to know he can manage the day-to-day operations."
"Why's that, Commander?" she teased archly. "Are you planning to venture into the field?"
"If need be." He caught her gaze over the board and nodded to her. "If you'll have me."
Her heart skipped a beat at that. Traveling with him, fighting beside him, sharing those adventures with him—"I'd have you any day, Commander."
"Where do you go next?" he asked, voice soft and warm like the hearth at her back. He pretended the heat in his cheeks was from the blazing fire.
"The Exalted Plains." She recalled the spymaster wanting her to seek out information about the sudden disruption in communication between Val Royeaux and the soldiers there. "We leave in three days."
Cullen nodded at that, disappointed that he wouldn't be able to join her this time. "Maybe I can join you next time."
"Just say the word."
Cullen spent the weeks she was away poring over reports of troop movement, working with Vivienne and Blackwall to train the new recruits still arriving in droves, and generally doing his best not to think about the Inquisitor. He'd seen how vulnerable, how fragile she was in the wake of Adamant, and it frightened him.
He'd read her report, heard the tale directly from her lips. He saw the way it haunted her. Every night before she left, light flickered in her tower windows until the first fingers of dawn chased away the darkness. Dark circles grew under her eyes.
That vulnerability startled him, and her tears began playing a role in his nightmares. Demons circled her, taunting and swiping at her delicate flesh, and an impenetrable barrier stood between them as she wept. He saw her breaking down, giving up just as he'd seen his fellow templars flag under the torment.
Every morning that she was gone, he awoke in a cold sweat to empty his stomach. His muscles ached and trembled. He began relying on summaries of reports rather than reading them all himself as his head ached terribly. If he tried eating, he lost the food in a matter of minutes. By the time she returned a month later, Cullen couldn't see straight.
He heard her arrival, her familiar merry laughter echoing off the stone ramparts. Moments later, a winded messenger slammed into his office. Cullen winced as the heavy door bounced off the stone with a ringing bang. Bolts of pain lanced deeper into his skull.
"Ser! The Inquisitor's back!" the messenger cried.
The Commander ground his palms into his eyes, voice tight as he responded. "Yes, I can hear that."
"She's heading to the war room to meet with the ladies—"
Cullen rose with a groan, catching himself as the room swayed. "Very good. I'll be there momentarily."
The young woman fled from his office before he could say anymore. It was a good thing too; he'd been tempted to put her on latrine duty for the racket. The dimly lit keep was a welcome reprieve from the glaring sunlight, and Cullen quickly made his way to the war room. Luckily no one stopped him, and he was able to breathe easy in the quiet corner so near the Chantry. He drew the heavy curtains to, shoulders slumping with relieve when he could actually stand to open his eyes in the darkened space.
His eyes adjusted quickly and he started to find the Inquisitor already there. She stood watching him with those stormy eyes of hers. His heart skipped a beat to see her.
"Ka—Inquisitor," he greeted, folding his hands atop his pommel. "You look well."
"Cullen," she replied with a smile. "I'm glad to see you. Are you alright?"
"Fine, why do you ask?" He tried to dismiss her question, but knew she saw through him.
"Is it the lyrium?" Kat pressed, her smile faltering as she really looked at him. He was wan and weary, pale skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. He even looked like he'd lost some weight while she was away.
He glanced towards the door, knowing they'd be interrupted any moment. "Yes, but I'm sure this spell will pass in time."
"How long?"
"Inquisitor, I'm fine, truly—"
"How long, Cullen?" She rounded on him with a frown.
"Since you left," he admitted, running a gloved hand over his stubble.
Kat reached out and touched his hand, the other hovering near his cheek before withdrawing. "I'm here until after we visit Halamshiral, so if you need anything—"
"I won't hesitate to ask." He forced a smile, praying it reassured her as his eyes felt like they vibrated from the pounding tightness in his skull. The last thing he needed was to have her faith in him shaken. He couldn't afford to let her down—to let the Inquisition down. There was still so much to do and if he wasn't up to the task… He'd have to speak with Cassandra soon.
"I may be able to prepare a tea for you, something to help settle your stomach and alleviate the worst of the headaches," she said, fingers tapping quietly against the table. "Are you in pain now?"
"As I told you, I'm fine." Cullen fought to stay calm. His head throbbed painfully with every syllable and tap of her fingers. He could barely see straight as the headache tore through him.
"If you'll let me, I can help—"
"Stop it," he bit out, glowering at her as his stomach roiled uncomfortably. It threatened to expel the little he'd choked down that day. "I'm. Fine. Let it lie."
Kat froze when he snapped at her, watching him with wide eyes. It was unlike him to take such a tone with her; once they'd gotten comfortable with the other, he'd been nothing but patient and kind. She knew she shouldn't have pushed him, but this was… unexpected.
"Yes, Commander."
Her stiff tone cut through his frustrations and he watched helplessly as she quietly retreated to review a stack of reports and missives that had accumulated in her absence. The room seemed to echo with his harsh words. Silence that had initially comforted him now taunted.
"Kat—"
He was cut off by Josephine and Leliana appearing through the creaky door, talking quietly together until they saw the others awaiting them. They greeted the pair with smiles and warm welcomes before diving into business. Josephine's quill flew furiously across her papers as she took notes, listing everything that needed her attention.
"We need to continue investigating these 'Freemen of the Dales,'" Cullen said, toying with a marker. "Anyone binding demons and using blood magic so carelessly should be looked into."
"Yes, their connection to the Venatori is troubling," Katerina demurred. She refused to meet his eyes, instead looking between the other two women for some confirmation.
"Agreed," the spymaster said, passing him a letter from her sheaf of papers. "Luckily, we've been contacted by someone about exactly that. Fairbanks—obviously not his real name—has encountered them in the Emerald Graves. They are attacking refugees, and some of Fairbanks's people have gone missing. He suspects the Freemen."
He passed her the marker and watched as the redhead carefully set it over the Emerald Graves on the large map.
"I'll go there next," Katerina said, voice soft as she made note of this on her own papers. "I'll make contact with Fairbanks and investigate the Venatori involvement personally."
"Before you do," Josephine interjected, her rolling accent easily drawing their attention, "we must prepare you for the peace talks in Halamshiral. The Grand Duke, Gaspard de Chalons, has generously offered to escort you and your entourage to the peace talks."
"Of course," the Inquisitor replied easily. She leaned against the massive table, hips cocked, as she watched the two masters of the Game. "What must I do to prepare?"
"First, you must be fitted for a gown worthy of Orlesian court. Luckily, Madame de Fer has already summoned her seamstress for the occasion—one of the most exclusive designers in Orlais," the ambassador said, cheeks flushing with excitement at the prospect of new gowns and the chance to participate in court life again.
"All of your companions have been invited as guests of the Grand Duke, though you should select which of them will join your investigation," Leliana added, easily picking up the thread. "They'll need to be fitted for formalwear as well and schooled in proper etiquette. The Game is an unforgiving thing. Even the mildest of errors may prove disastrous."
Katerina nodded, her own stomach fluttering with nerves at this new unknown. "How many people should accompany me?"
"Choose three companions," the spymaster said easily. "It makes a statement, tells the court that you have no shortage of allies while avoiding a gaudy display of force. We shall attend with you—" she nodded to the other advisors, ignoring the general's scowl "—and the rest will be stationed throughout the party to watch and prepare to evacuate guests if necessary."
"Vivienne should join me, obviously," the mage said, frowning as she debated the others. "I'll let you know about the others."
The two women nodded before Josephine continued. "Vivienne has kindly offered us the use of her townhouse in the city. We will stay there in the days leading up to the ball. There are all manners of events that would be beneficial for you to attend, including a Satinalia ball."
The Inquisitor sighed at that, reminded of the life she'd seen her mother lead before the war reached inside Ostwick. It was one party after another, an endless string of teas and card games, galas and garden parties. She remembered thinking it dreadfully dull as a girl, and that hadn't changed now. However, she saw the necessity of it all. If she were to build connections and continue strengthening the Inquisition, this was a necessary evil.
"Very well," Katerina sighed, resigned to her fate. "Will I need gowns for those occasions as well?"
"It would not go amiss," the spymaster said. "We'll be in the fittings with you and help select appropriate designs, as will Vivienne."
The mage smiled at that. "Thank you; a part of me was worried I'd have to face that particular beast on my own."
"There will be no fashion disasters on our watch, we promise you that," Josephine teased with a bright smile.
"There should also be some dance lessons for myself and anyone in the party not accustomed to such things," Kat suggested thoughtfully. "I'd hate to bumble through a waltz with someone important and start another war."
Even Leliana chuckled at that despite the ring of truth in the other woman's words. "I'll see to it. The Commander can partner with you until the rest of the party is settled."
Cullen had only been half-listening to them discuss the ball while he took the opportunity to read through his stack of correspondence. The darkened room and the relief at seeing the Inquisitor looking much improved had lessened his throbbing headache somewhat. Forcing himself to read was better than staring longingly at the mage from across the table. Maker knew he didn't need to tip his colleagues off to their earlier tiff, nor did he need either of them suspecting his unwavering feelings towards the Free Marcher. It was only when Leliana used his title that he rejoined the conversation.
"Sorry, what's that?" he asked.
"You'll be partnering with the Inquisitor in dance lessons," the spymaster said. A wicked smirk crossed her lips when his brows flew up in surprise. "Both of you need to be sharp for Halamshiral."
"How long do we have for all this?" Kat asked, forcing the redhead's attention away from the gobsmacked general.
"A month."
"I hope the seamstress brought a small army with her." She rubbed the bridge of her nose where a headache was forming and nodded. "Alright. I need to clean up a bit and then let's do the fitting, if that works?"
"Very good, Inquisitor."
"If that's all…?"
Josephine raised her quill, drawing the Inquisitor's attention. "There is one final matter. We have received several offers of marriage and proposals of courtships—some which could prove beneficial for the Inquisition."
Cullen had to swallow a growl at that. Complete strangers had the nerve to ask for Katerina's hand? Their Inquisitor was worth more than some arranged marriage. She was worth more than a life relegated as some dolt's broodmare and convenient political capital. He tried to ignore the jealous flare at the thought of her on some nobleman's arm. The general glowered darkly at the ambassador for even bothering to mention such a preposterous idea.
"Yes, Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven comes to mind," Leliana said, tapping her lips. She'd noticed the general's scowl and hid a grin. "I knew him after the Blight—he's a good man, devout and dedicated to preserving his family's name. He will be at the Winter Palace for the peace talks."
"You should meet with him," Josephine continued, watching the Inquisitor with her dark gaze. "I hear he is also a charming dancer."
"Very well," the Inquisitor sighed. "Arrange a meeting. But Josie, please don't accept any proposals on my behalf."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Katerina."
She shot the Antivan a fond smile before sweeping from the room without a backward glance. She didn't want to see Cullen's disapproving frown or the twinkle in Leliana's eyes. All Kat wanted was to wash away the dust and don a clean set of clothes.
She found that in her rooms, quickly stripping and using the cold water in her washbasin to wipe away the worst of her travels. As soon as she'd dressed and brushed the knots from her hair, she turned to leave. But something stopped her. A glance at table where she kept her herbs called her back, and she quickly withdrew some of her dried stock. She quickly crumbled some elfroot and ginger, grinding it with her pestle and slipped it into a neat bundle. Tying it off, she repeated the process with chamomile and elfroot before labeling each.
Satisfied, she hurried towards Vivienne's rooms and passed the package along to a soldier nearby with a whispered instruction. While she was being measured and selecting fabrics, the soldier hurried to carry out her orders. Luckily for the young man, the Commander wasn't in his office so he simply left them on the general's desk and scurried away.
Cullen returned to find gift waiting for him, and he immediately recognized her tidy handwriting. Each bundle was labeled with instructions, though the second label forced a smile from him.
For headaches, if you can pull your head out of your ass long enough to accept help. Yours, K.
Maker, but he adored his stubborn Inquisitor.
Fy nghariad aur: My golden darling (Welsh, var. of "cariad" which can mean "love," "beloved," "sweetheart," "darling," or "lover").
I've spontaneously decided, with no basis in canon whatsoever, that if the Orlesians can speak French and the Antivans seemed based upon Spain, the Free Marchers (or at least Ostwick) can speak Welsh as their native tongue. Katerina is a noblewoman and highly educated so I don't really see the problem with her speaking multiple languages and choosing to give Cullen a couple of pet names in the one closest to her heart.