Uncensored version found at: *AO3*/works/28044180/chapters/70239069

It took Cullen almost a fortnight to actually move into the Herald's cabin, mainly because he insisted on sorting through everything doubly to make sure the items ended up in the right place. He had little control over his own life as a templar: obsessing over the assortment of knick-knacks he'd accumulated over his life was one of the handful ways he could take back the control.

Luckily for everyone involved, Tharin was away in the Fallow Mire all that time, so the two men could pretend the move was a smooth transition. Even though they both knew it was not.

Cullen was proud of the Herald's progress. He wanted to make sure the soldiers were loyal to Tharin, not to him, and the more the young man made a name for himself the more likely that would happen.

According to the reports, Tharin and his party easily managed to rout the horde of Avvars who had captured Inquisition soldiers. The hostages returned to Haven unscathed, with new war stories for their drinking buddies.

Cullen was at the gate with Leliana and Josephine to welcome back the returning champions. When the Commander clasped the Herald's forearm to greet, the young man covertly slipped him a note that read:

Dear Cullen,

Please come find me at the tavern tonight. Cassandra and Varric quarreled the whole time, and I mean that literally. They missed the chance to take down a band of undead because they were deep in an argument about the Seeker's demand to inspect the dwarf's personal journal.

And Solas, while helpful with all things magical, was aloof as usual. I need to talk to someone who appreciates my stupid stories.

It would be a tremendous understatement to say I've missed you, but I shall say it nonetheless. I've missed you.

I will be eagerly awaiting your company.

Yours, Tharin.

Coincidentally, Cullen had missed him terribly as well.

The door to the Singing Maiden swung open and there stood Commander Rutherford. The man was dressed in a surprisingly smart outfit of a clean white shirt overlaid with a short indigo tunic. They were all neatly fastened with a sable leather belt at the waist. A pair of well-fitted beige wool trousers accentuated his muscular calves. His burly forearms were free of vambraces and his hands of gloves, instead showing off the many scars and burns collected over the years. He looked mildly embarrassed, but also expectant.

Flissa greeted the Commander with an overt look of surprise. It was impossible, not just rare, to see him join the Inner Circle and the soldiers for a night of drunken debauchery. Still, there was no way for her to know that the man was there for something far more wholesome and duller than what her establishment usually offered.

Cullen flashed an awkward grin and trotted up to the bar. He tried in vain to sound authoritative as he ordered, "Two steins. Fill one with your best ale and the other one with the cheapest." He paid the woman and quickly spun around.

When Cullen found what he was looking for, the tentativeness that had been clouding his expression evaporated and he broke out in an unabashed smile. Flissa and a few more perceptive members of the Inner Circle – Varric, for starters – who were watching him felt like they just witnessed a demon crawl out from underneath a floorboard. Not only had they never seen the Commander at the tavern, they also had not once seen him out of his armor and had never witnessed the man's face showing such elation. Maker preserve them, they were truly living the end of days.

The Commander was happy. His original vow to stuff his feelings down proved to be unachievable even for a short term, and once he gave in, he found his life to be infinitely more pleasant. In fact, he was rather amazed to find that he was too happy to care about the raised eyebrows of the spectators all around him. Flissa brought out the steins and he grabbed them carefully.

"Thank you." Leaving the barkeep behind with an inexplicably disturbed look, Cullen headed to a corner table by the window, his steps cautious lest he spill a drop. When the Commander reached the destination, he was met with loose sheets of paper strewn all over the tabletop. He managed to find spots of wood not cloaked by the white of the parchments and set down the beer. Then he finally exhaled and greeted the man sitting across the table.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long, my lord."

"Not at all. And please call me Tharin."

He felt his face warm up and blurted, as if on cue, "I couldn't possibly…"

To no surprise on the Commander's part, the young man was effortlessly alluring. Tharin had shed all pieces of armor and cleaned off the dirt from his adventure. The simple button-up shirt and trousers were stretching from his muscles, and Cullen had to look away lest he start to ogle. He felt positively juvenile.

Tharin thankfully seemed unaware of Cullen's dilemma and merely chuckled as he collected the sheaves of paper to clear the table. "That's all right. Just go on pretending I don't have a name."

The other man instantly jumped in to help with the slips. Cullen looked at their contents and frowned.

"Are these all for work? I hope my esteemed colleagues are not working you to death. You just returned from a rescue mission."

"Our fearless Ambassador thought it necessary to ask my opinion on every diplomatic decision, and Leliana agreed. Evidently, they pile up quickly while I am away." Tharin yawned and stretched his large frame, his hands almost hitting the window behind him. "I tell you, I would've paid more attention during history lessons if I knew I would one day be forced to recite every little squabble among noble families to the two most imposing people I've ever met. Excluding you and the Seeker, of course."

The Commander grinned and passed the gathered pile of paperwork. "Here. Maybe this will help." He pushed the stein with the best brew toward the Herald. Tharin looked appreciative and swigged half of it in one go.

"Ah, much obliged. Actually, I was thinking about getting some supper. I'll get you something too."

"I can get them." Cullen fumbled around trying to locate the silvers and bits he knew he had.

Tharin put his foot down and insisted. "Nonsense. You got me a pint of Haven's finest. The least I can do is to repay your hospitality with some exceptionally terrible food." When the young man chortled and winked, Cullen realized he knew about the difference between the two steins they shared.

The Commander quietly hoped the Herald did not think he was too poor, too miserly, or too uncouth for a nobleman like him. He then recognized what his own mind was implying and immediately shut down that avenue of thought. It was already more than enough to be able to talk to the Herald, to lay claim to his friendship. Asking for anything beyond that would be greedy of him.

"Besides–" Tharin grunted as he stood up. "I need to stretch my legs anyway."

Cullen watched the young man coolly stroll up to Flissa. As the woman brushed back her fiery hair and lightly touched the Herald's bicep as they spoke, he felt envy. Envy at her easy charm, at her elegant movements, at her confidence to flirt openly with the Herald. He knew his reaction was unreasonable. It was Tharin's prerogative to court whomever he wanted, and Cullen had no right to judge one way or another.

The thing was, the young man did intimate an interest once before, but Cullen had not taken it seriously. Even under the best-case scenario, it seemed to him too improbable that Tharin would be serious about a man – a man! – almost ten years his senior. It made better sense to him that the man was just being flirtatious to gauge his reaction.

But more importantly, this happened long before he laid bare his past. He was not certain then how Tharin would react, whether his stories would be met with pity, derision, or something worse.

He was not even sure if the exchange was what he thought it was. Perhaps the young man was genuinely interested about his life back in Kirkwall and only asked for more details to satisfy his curiosity.

All signs pointed to another heartbreak. Cullen had had plenty of it and desired no more, especially not from Tharin. So, he preempted and told the young man, "I would value your friendship. I'm afraid I cannot offer more. I trust you will understand." He built a fortress, a citadel of excuses, at the center of his mind where he could hide and wait. Wait until the feelings passed and he could get on with his life. By himself.

Surprisingly, they still became fast friends and remained so even after his confession. In fact, Tharin became his confidant, the only one who knew everything from his past. The Commander convinced himself that was enough.

Now, as he sat inside the well-lit tavern watching the young man and the attractive redhead laugh so gaily together, a doubt emerged in the corner of his mind. It began to prod him, asking if he'd made the right decision that day, questioning whether he'd let a chance go to waste.

Months after the encounter Cullen still remembered Tharin's words precisely. He tried to analyze them again.

Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall? No one special caught your interest?

Vague. Just because Cullen tried to deduce their meaning again did not mean that the veil of plausible innuendos gave way to unobstructed clarity.

The Commander suddenly felt abysmally insignificant and redirected his gaze to the stein for a measure of comfort. He could see the scarred face looking back at him in the murky brew and grimaced. Aren't I a catch, he thought darkly.

As Cullen's thoughts turned negative, Tharin sauntered back looking especially amused. "I hope you like your mystery meat with a side of mystery greens. Flissa wouldn't tell me what was in stock today." The young man flashed an impish smirk. His gleaming eyes were filled with an unadulterated glee Cullen could never hope to emulate. Maker, he was perfect.

Tharin's demeanor softened as he settled in his chair. He shot the Commander a bashful look and quickly added, "By the way… You look really nice." Red spots on his cheeks grew larger. "Not that you don't normally, you do, but… it's good to see you out of the armor."

Cullen's heart was in his throat, pulsing rapidly. The pang of envy and self-pity gave way to a surge of hopeful yearning. The Commander smiled lightly and managed a couple words, "You look really good too."

With that last remark, the two men sat in silence and stared at their drinks. It was only when Flissa came over with hot plates of unidentified food-like objects that the pregnant silence was broken.

After an hour or so of amicable banter as they shared surprisingly flavorful, succulent skewers of beef and spring vegetables and drank stein after stein, the two men were finally at ease. Their straight warrior postures were all but forgotten as they reclined in their chairs. Unexpectedly, it was Cullen who asked Tharin a personal question.

"So, I thought you were noble-born. I mean, you are a Trevelyan. How is it that you are not used to giving orders or playing the Grand Game?"

Game on, Commander, Tharin thought. "Well, first off, I think you've come to have a rather high expectation because of Josephine. She is just too amazing a diplomat. I don't doubt that if she really wanted, she could even convince Orlesian aristocrats to play nice by attending the court in their knickers. Or maybe just stark naked. You know, no hidden weapons, no vials of poison, and no assassination attempts. Though I suppose they would have enough orifices and crevices to hide some of those things."

Cullen choked on a mouthful of ale and proceeded to snigger. Tharin matched the reaction with his own giggle as he pictured supercilious nobles of Val Royeaux parading in their birthday suits, the hilts of daggers, hopefully sheathed, sticking out of their private areas.

"But what I really should tell you is that I'm a noble in name only. In truth, my family is… was… just a group of small-time traders from Ostwick. My father was of a lowly cadet branch that split off at least a couple generations ago. Plus, you know my mum was an elf. Maybe Leliana didn't mention, but… Mum was actually a house slave in Tevinter, and Dad bought her freedom."

It was all so jovial only a moment ago and now Cullen looked solemn. He quietly sipped his beer, which Tharin interpreted as disinterest. "Forgive me. It's not really an appropriate story to tell here, is it? I should stick to more cheerful ones."

Cullen looked as if he stepped on hot coal. "What? Maker's breath! No, you misunderstand. I do want to hear about your family. I was simply thinking how foolish I was in assuming you would be… more aristocratic."

"Ah, so you were waiting for my evil side to emerge, correct? Waiting to find out whether I'd chased village tots from my enormous estate? Maybe whipped a peasant on a whim? A cranky, conniving duke who lives for the Grand Game?" Tharin cackled wickedly and rubbed his hands together, causing another fit of breathless laughter in the other man.

"Sweet Maker, that is too much," Cullen barely managed to respond coherently in between amused bellows. Tharin's heart soared as he watched the Commander roar.

It took another minute and a few calming sips of ale before Tharin could continue. "It's interesting to think how different my parents were from the extended Trevelyan clan. Dad never really cared about the honor of the family. He found love and he made enough money to make a comfortable life for us. That was it. He really had no delusions of grandeur that seems to come with the Trevelyan blood. And my mum… I might be idealizing her, but she was the sweetest, kindest lady I knew as a child. She never once preached hatred toward Tevinter or some of our… less open-minded neighbors."

Tharin paused, feeling pensive. "I often wonder about how completely different my life would have been if they didn't die when they did… Maybe I would have been a Free Marcher merchant, or a scholar in Orlais. Maybe a seaman. I don't know. But a former templar with a shimmering hand who works for the Inquisition? Definitely not… Although if it came to that, I wouldn't have met you."

From his previous experiences, Tharin knew the Commander was an easy target to tease. The young man watched as Cullen's scarred lips curved up, half awkward and half pleased.

But Cullen soon looked back with those amber eyes, so utterly serious. "I apologize if this is too forward, but…"

"Right. My parents." Tharin smiled to let the other man know his curiosity was welcome.

"My dad had a stint at a trading post in Qarinus. It was probably a demotion, since Qarinus isn't even an important port city and Tevinter doesn't do much trade with the outsiders anyhow. One day, he was invited to a formal dinner hosted by a publican, and that's where he met my mum. She served him a goblet of wine and smiled, and he was smitten. He courted her secretly for months until the publican figured it out and demanded he break off the relationship.

"He, of course, didn't. He sold everything he owned, paid the man everything, brought Mum back to Ostwick, and wed her at the docks. They had literally nothing at the beginning, but they worked hard. By the time I was born, Dad was operating a small import and export business, Mum was working as a milliner, and they had a little house to their names. They really had a formidable partnership."

Tharin wanted to test the waters. He put on the sweetest smile he could conjure up and intoned innocently, "Kind of like us, don't you think?"

Cullen looked away immediately, but there was no hiding the blush. The young man felt triumphant. It was good. The high would get him through the painful part.

"Mum never recovered from her years in Tevinter. I remember her being bedridden a lot, though as a child I didn't know better and was just glad to spend entire days talking, reading, or singing together. She passed when I was ten and my father was never the same. He sold off the business, drowned his sorrows at every tavern in the city, and then one day he was gone too. I wasn't even twelve, yet and I was orphaned.

"I only had distant relatives and none of them wanted to take me in, so I was sent to the Chantry to train as a templar. My distant uncle, Bann Trevelyan, offered to put my name down in the family registry as his youngest, but it didn't matter in the end. The Bann's wife would not let me set foot in their estate. She said it was the duty for every Trevelyan to serve the Chantry, but I think most of the clan just plain didn't like me. I remember one of my great aunts calling me a mangy knife-ear mutt at my dad's funeral."

Tharin hurried through the rest and then gulped down the ale. Sympathy from the Commander was the last thing he wanted. This was nothing compared to what Cullen had gone through. It was just a garden-variety sad childhood story.

The young man endeavored to avoid the other man's gaze as he finished. "Until then, my childhood was happy. My parents were good people. I did miss them a lot, especially when the templar trainers yelled at me for being too slow. To me, a chantry was never a home."

The Herald tried to beam but managed only a crooked grimace. "I really was a bad initiate. They made me retake most of the subjects before I was allowed to go on the vigil." He exhaled to signal that he was done, that it was Cullen's turn to say something. Anything.

Regrettably for Tharin, another spell of wordlessness had struck Cullen. The Commander's eyes were directed at his own stein and the young man felt too uncomfortable to let the silence linger.

"I think that's part of the reason why I love travel diaries. The voyagers venture forth to uncharted territories, but they always come home to their loving families. It makes me believe I could have that again one day. It's childish, I know."

Only then did Cullen look up. He shook his head and replied purposefully, "No, it's not. All of us think back to happier times and wish we could go back. I certainly want to believe I could be part of a loving family again, someday."

The Commander fixed his piercing eyes on Tharin and spoke tenderly, "You aren't alone in this."

Another hour passed. Tharin and Cullen talked about everything, from their favorite food (venison pasty for Tharin, shortbread biscuits for Cullen) to the training of the recruits ("Still an adjustment for some, my lord").

Now the topic of the conversation turned to the Fallow Mire and the enemies the Herald of Andraste vanquished. Tharin was talking about the Hand of Korth, the Avvar leader who held Inquisition soldiers captive. He gesticulated wildly to show the size of the war hammer the Hand wielded and his errant Anchor hand knocked a plate off the table.

The steel plate landed on the floor with a loud clang and a dozen wooden skewers flew everywhere. Cullen and Tharin both jumped from their seats and knelt to pick up the remnants of their supper. The young man turned scarlet and stammered, "Forgive me, that was ungainly of me."

Cullen smiled magnanimously and intoned, "Pay no mind. It happens."

As they hurriedly caught the pieces rolling around on the floor and moved them back to the tabletop, the Herald could feel all the eyes in the tavern focused on him. He peeked and saw the soldiers staring bemusedly.

Vivienne, Varric, and Sera were huddled in the far corner, obviously in the middle of gossiping. Though it was quite unusual to find the enchanter among the lowly recruits and scouts, let alone the dwarf who authored penny dreadfuls and the ill-behaved elf.

The prospect of sharing intimate details and hidden secrets of the Inner Circle must have proved to be too irresistible of a bait for her. Why would she be here in this tavern, the rusticity of which was positively Fereldan, otherwise? Indeed, Vivienne's arms were tightly crossed and her shoulders tense, despite her animated expression.

In the overbearing silence Varric and Vivienne's voices came off as stage whispers. They quickly averted their eyes when Tharin scowled. Meanwhile, Sera was totally oblivious, soused, and gleeful. She would have been singing and dancing lewdly if not for Vivienne continuously shushing her.

Tharin snorted mirthfully, "Oh dear, I do believe we've overstayed our welcome in this establishment. Shall we bid our farewell for the night then?"

Cullen looked on uneasily, realizing what had transpired around them. He sheepishly said, "I've taken too much of your time anyway. My apologies."

"Not at all. You have no idea how much I enjoyed this. You made my day, Cullen. Thank you."

The floor was as clean as it was going to get. Tharin stood up and carefully gathered all the used steins, plates, and silverware for Flissa. In a manner diametrically opposed to when he knocked the steel plate off the table, his hands moved about gracefully and quickly, denying Cullen any part of the chore.

The young man then put on the gray fleece that had been resting on his chair, tucked away the papers in his satchel, and motioned the other man to follow him.

The chatter in the tavern turned more raucous as the door closed behind them. Tharin looked back, amused by an image of Varric and Vivienne furiously debating the seeming closeness of the Herald of Andraste and the Commander of the Inquisition's forces. Cullen merely stared at the ground.

The young man took a deep breath and looked to the man standing next to him. "So, to our cabin then, Commander?"

To their cabin. He wanted to remind Cullen that it was their home, a place they shared together. The Commander responded with a timid nod.

As they walked the deserted path, Tharin kept going over different ways to reveal to Cullen his feelings without scaring the man off. He hadn't dared to hope before, but… there were some encouraging signs, and he could be persistent if he wanted. And he wanted this badly.

Nonetheless, the window of opportunity was rapidly closing. Sure, they were headed to the same place, but he knew that as soon as the front door closed behind them the Commander would become too skittish.

There were only a few paces left. Tharin's body took over when his brain failed. His legs abruptly stopped moving and his knees buckled. He seated himself on the icy steps in the front yard.

"Come, join me."

The Commander stared at Tharin quizzically, but nevertheless obeyed. The young man blurted out an excuse, "I just want some night air before we go in." Cullen's face relaxed and he nodded.

Yet even before the other man was completely seated, he found himself lobbing a question senselessly, "Has Leliana told you my full first name?"

It had obviously taken the Commander by surprise, but the answer came straightaway. "I don't believe so."

"It's Haretharin. I've no middle name. I know, if my mum and dad didn't want everyone to know I had elven blood… I think more than nine out of ten people I come across cannot properly pronounce it."

"Ha-RE-tharin," Cullen ventured cautiously.

It was good for a first try. "Well done. I knew you'd get it right."

"Ha-RE-tharin… Does it mean something?"

"Mum came up with it. After she died, Dad told me it means 'he who protects us all.' I always thought my parents were being overly ambitious, but maybe they could see the future." The young man looked up at the night sky and sighed. "I pray they were right."

He could see Cullen's warm eyes gleam in the corner of his vision but did not respond. Instead, he sat silently, stared at the heavens and dreamily connected the stars in his mind, all the while gathering up enough courage to take the leap.

Haltingly, Tharin reached out. His right hand shook quite noticeably, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he tried to wet his parched throat. The anticipation was a killer.

Before long, his callused fingers were on top of Cullen's. When the Commander did not pull away, Tharin tried to entwine their fingers. Cullen was hesitant at first, but soon accepted the hand. Their fingers gripped each other tightly. The Commander's thumb gently stroked Tharin's index finger, welcoming him.

"Cullen?"

"Yes?"

"Is this… all right?"

"Yes."

Their hearts were pulsing in synchronicity through the locked hands. Tharin could not stop the corners of his mouth inching upward as colorful spots crowded his vision, a firework in his brain.

It was a moment that required no spoken words. Tharin was content to sit in silence, concentrating on the warmth of Cullen's hand. The Commander's hand was remarkably soft. His supple skin neatly juxtaposed the young man's rough hand. Was it because he had gloves on at all times? Was it possible this man actually knew how to take a proper care of himself? Whatever the reason, the young man was glad of it.

The intense heat radiating from Cullen drew Tharin in closer until he nuzzled, his heart still pounding rapidly, but otherwise relaxed.

But he could tell Cullen was panicking. The Commander's body was tense, the breaths shallow and rapid. Tharin was suddenly overcome with an urge to pounce and pepper the man with kisses. He instead buried his face in the hollow above Cullen's clavicle. His pointed nose brushed against the neck fuzz and the comforting scent flooded his nostrils.

Cullen swallowed roughly, and Tharin chuckled and sighed. He felt guilty for having stoked the anxious reaction but was nonetheless unwilling to let go of the solid sense of security that Cullen's heft offered. He stayed nestled on the sturdy shoulder and listened to the steady thrumming emanating from inside.

The Commander made a small noise that did not quite develop into an identifiable word. He then attempted to clear the pipe quietly, only to break into coughs. It was most unfair that the man could be so adorable even when flustered. Especially when flustered, to be more precise.

After a while, Cullen cleared his throat again, successfully this time, and proceeded to speak casually as if this was his plan all long. "I picked up an interesting Elvish phrase from that book… The Dialectics, don't know if you remember…"

Tharin shifted and looked up at the Commander. "Oh yes? Do tell."

"'ma'sa'lath, ar tel'juha'lam'shiran na."

"Wait, I know 'ma is my… My… something, and ar is I, I think." Tharin regretted having never asked his mother to teach him Elvish. "I give. What does the rest mean?"

A thin smile hung on Cullen's scarred lips. "…I will tell you later, if you are good."

"I don't suppose I will tell you later is what it means, right?" Cullen merely shook his head, refusing to betray any more clues. Tharin lurched away and pouted in mock anger. "You know you're being incredibly unfair, right? The only person I knew who spoke Elvish was my mum and I haven't been able to speak to her for over ten years."

Cullen's soft eyes sparkled with mischief. It was an extremely rare occurrence for the Commander and those eyes enthralled Tharin.

The light banter must have done the trick. The man looked much more at ease, almost enjoying the moment.

Cullen turned, rested his other hand in the young man's cropped mane, and looked intently. He then lightly kissed him on the temple and whispered directly into his right ear, "It's cold. We should get inside." The vibrations of Cullen's low voice sent shivers down Tharin's back.

The Commander stood up and extended a hand, his face filled with cheer so relentless that Tharin could almost see the seasoned officer's callow days staring back. The young man felt the corners of his lips upturn as he grabbed Cullen's hand, suddenly finding himself being pulled up effortlessly by a burly arm.

When they finally arrived at the front door, Tharin dawdled. He felt the lust for the golden man course through his body. He let go of the Commander's hand and reached out, fastening his hands around the waist. Powerful muscles contracted underneath.

The young man licked his dry lips and asked hesitantly, "Cullen… Do you want to…?"

The atmosphere changed instantly and not for good. The murky dread came back on Cullen's face and he sighed mournfully. "I… I don't think we should."

Another rejection.

It occurred to Tharin that he now had nothing to lose by laying everything out in the open. And so, he did. He lifted his head defiantly and stared into Cullen's poignant amber eyes. He released his words softly but made sure they carried with them his resolve.

"You must know that I like you, more than I should, far more than what is allowed… But you've made yourself clear that you don't like me. So, tell me again how foolish I am being. Please. I want to stop hoping."

The words set Cullen's eyes ablaze.

"No."

Tharin's comeback to this unexpected answer was half said when he found himself pinned to the wooden door by a pair of unbelievably strong arms. He saw Cullen's face closing in, so completely, devastatingly, hopelessly earnest. He let his eyes close gently. In the bosom of total darkness, Tharin finally felt Cullen's lips pressing against his.

The Commander kissed like he had never kissed before. It wasn't that he was bad at it, but that he was singularly focused on it, so obvious in his hunger. He tasted like cheap beer and elation, and Tharin's heart tightened at the mundanity. It had taken them so long to get here, yet it felt like he had always known Cullen's lips, like he could not imagine going without it even for a minute.

The kiss was better than what Tharin had envisioned during those lonely nights, those freezing mornings spent with Cullen, and those afternoons when they debated in the war room.

It was everything and much, much more.

Too soon after, Cullen was gone. Already missing the man, Tharin opened his eyes.

He saw a scarred face contorted with surprise and worry. The intensity had been replaced by tentativeness and the amber eyes wavered. The man stuttered, "I–I didn't mean to upset you…"

When Tharin wiped his cheeks, he realized belatedly that a couple drops of tears had escaped through his eyelids. Startled, he stared at the wetness on his hands.

Cullen's face sank. "This was… I am sorry. I should've asked first…" The arms dropped and dangled on his sides uselessly.

The young man knew he had given a wrong impression, so he linked their hands and nudged his nose against the incarnadined cheek. Now that they passed their first hurdle, he was no longer willing to let the fear dictate their interactions. He crinkled his eyes and cooed encouragingly, "No, Cullen, it was perfect. You are perfect."

Cullen broke out in a relieved smile. "So…"

Tharin buried his right hand among the Commander's blond locks and pulled the man toward him gently. He whispered, "I'd like more of it now." A gratified chuckle followed, and his wish was granted.

Their second kiss was even more violent. Their mouths fused and Tharin leaned into it. Cullen's lips opened readily as Tharin's tongue invaded, and they came together like a hot wax on an envelope, melting and blending.

By the time their mouths parted, both men were panting. Their foreheads bumped as they took a break. Tharin cupped the Commander's head and stroked the sideburns. Without looking he could tell the other man had on an appreciative smile.

"Cullen."

"Mm-hmm?"

"Say my name."

"Is that an order?"

"Yes."

"…Tharin."

"Cullen."

It was like they were making an introduction for the first time. Tharin, Cullen. Like newly acquainted thespian partners trying to commit each other's face to memory, the two men locked eyes and repeated each other's names.

A gust of night air kicked up the feathery top layer of snow to form a veil that spirited the men away. They were in their own world, in their own miniature snow globe. The Breach, wars, the meaningless carnage and destruction, templars, the Fade, demons, the Game, all those troubles receded from the young man's consciousness as the snow glinted. Feeling liberated, he burst out laughing, drawing a broader smile from Cullen.

The pristine joy, however, quickly became subdued and the enigmatic intensity was back in Cullen's eyes. "I have another Elvish phrase for you."

The young man sighed, feigning annoyance. "More Elvish? All right, Commander. What do you have for me?"

"Ara vhen'an." The golden irises seemed to glow even brighter. Cullen swallowed hard as if to put a new emphasis. "It's w–what I wanted to say… That I… love you."

Tharin froze. He already knew what it meant: his mother would hum those very words every night before his eyes grew heavy and the slumber approached. Ara vhen'an, Haretharin.

Suddenly, Cassandra's concerned voice rang in the young man's head.

It is good to know Cullen's found someone to confide in. He needs a person who understands him, who can accept him and his past.

Would he be good for Cullen? Would he be enough? The first time he'd been given a chance like this, he could not even protect the life of his love, let alone make him happy. He could not even show Kyre the world beyond the Circle. And now he was standing in front of a man, whose heart was pure and who just declared his love for him, filled only with carnal desire.

It sickened him.

The thoughts instantly extinguished the lust. It was Tharin's turn to run. "You can't mean that, Cullen. You couldn't possibly know. We haven't even courted, let alone…"

The young man was terrified. Of hurting Cullen, of disappointing him, of failing to make him happy, of becoming another burden in a life filled with unmitigated agonies. He had been blithely oblivious of – or at the least had been ignoring – the possibility that he may not be what Cullen needed.

Tharin gently, but firmly, pushed the other man away and turned to unlock the front door. "Forgive me. You are right. We probably shouldn't do this. And I, um… I am a little tired from the trip…"

He heard a little sound of surprise that was followed by a torrent of strained words only after an interminable moment of absolute quiet.

"…I understand, my lord. I know now that I've overstepped my bounds… I–I hope you can forgive my insolence. I will go back to sleeping in my tent. If you will allow, I will come gather my things and move out tomorrow."

The beaten down tone rattled Tharin. He had once again given a wrong impression and hurt the man inadvertently. Sod his crippling anxieties, he had to undo the damage. He whipped around to find the Commander's head turned away, his expression that of the utterly defeated.

"Cullen, wait. Please." The Herald reached out to grab the Commander's wrist before he could fade into the night. The man jolted at the contact.

The touch grounded Tharin. The young man felt thin, rapid thumps pulsate through Cullen's bare skin.

"I wasn't lying when I said I like you a lot. I just… thought it would not be fair to you, because I don't think I can fully reciprocate your feelings right away. You deserve someone who loves you as much as you love him. In fact… I know I'm not good enough for you."

Cullen looked deep in thought for a long while and started to speak carefully. "…I don't quite follow. To me, you are flawless. If anything, I've been afraid that I… am not good enough for you. I am older than you by nine years and… my past will haunt me until the day I die. There are going to be many difficult days ahead because of my past and I will end up weighing you down. So, if you are willing, I would be grateful to have whatever you can give."

Tharin could tell that this was Cullen at his most vulnerable and most honest. All the tensions in his muscles gave out at once. He had to lean against the door to not wobble. His heart thudded loudly from the relief and the pain.

Not daring to look directly into the solemn eyes, Tharin instead focused his gaze on a little lint stuck on Cullen's tunic as he started with his own confession. "You are worth so much more than you judge yourself for. I wish you could see that…"

The young man quickly wiped his eyes again, smudging the new wetness there. "Maker… I always thought you weren't interested in men, let alone me, so I daren't hope. And then we kissed, and my desire for you just took over… It was the only thing I could attend to. I don't want that. I mean, I do. I just don't want you to think that what I feel for you is just lust, something that will be gone after one night. It's much more than that."

An absolute hush fell over Cullen. Tharin felt the panic rising but kept going without checking the man's reaction.

"What I want is… to be with you. I want you to know that you are important to me, more than anyone else. I can't lie and tell you that what I feel for you is… what you told me. But nothing would please me more than to be by your side, to keep you safe and happy. So…"

Tharin sighed, "as trite as this will sound, I would like for us to wait until you are comfortable. With us, with… everything. When you're fine with everything – and only if you truly are – I would like to show you that I am serious about this, about us."

Finished with his declaration, Tharin looked up to find a pair of soft golden eyes filled with amazement. Cullen seemed to be searching for adequate words, only to give up and exclaim in a muted voice, "Maker's breath…"

"Do you believe me?"

"Yes… Yes, of course, my lor–"

Tharin cupped the Commander's face before the man could finish. "No. From now on, you are to call me by my name when we are alone. Not my lord, Herald, or your worship. Just my name."

"Oh, um… Tharin…"

The young man let go, but not before he leaned forward to lightly kiss Cullen's stubbled cheek. "That's better."

The Commander blinked incredulously.

"I'm yours, Cullen, if you will have me."

"Yes." The man stopped before cautiously adding, "Tharin."

It was entirely impossible to contain himself. Tharin forcefully pulled the man into his arms and locked lips again. This time, however, the resultant kiss was tender and subdued. He knew the new sprout of the budding affection was fragile and he was going to do his utmost to protect it.

As they broke from the kiss, Cullen blushed and gave a playful pat on the back. After a moment of bashfulness followed by reluctance he declared, "I should get going."

"Where to?"

"I accept your suggestion that we should wait. But if that were to happen, we cannot be in the same room by ourselves. Otherwise… I cannot promise I will leave you alone, and I can tell from your state that neither could you. So, I will have to stay in my tent for now."

"But it's freezing out! I don't want you to catch your death just because I–"

Cullen shushed the young man and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead. "Sweet dreams. I will see you in the morning." And then the man was off.

"Cullen!" Tharin called out before having thought through what he wanted to say. The Commander whirled around and shot him a curious look.

"Ah… Keep warm. Please." He felt rather lame as his voice cracked.

Cullen laughed emphatically and held up his hand. "I will. Don't fret."

Tharin watched as the Commander sauntered off with buoyant steps. He hugged himself and chuckled as the tall figure turned and disappeared behind the gate.

Thank you Project Elvhen (*AO3*/series/229061) for the Elvish phrases!

Next up, seeing things from Cullen's POV.

Your thoughts, feedback, and critiques are always welcome! Thank you for reading!