If you haven't already, please make sure to check out the previous chapter - The First View: From His Heart! Thank you!
Uncensored version found at: *AO3*/works/28044180/chapters/70296123
Cullen could not look up when they exited the tavern. It felt like all the eyes in Thedas were focused on them, gossiping and judging. And that's when he heard Tharin speak.
"So, to our cabin then, Commander?"
His overwhelming embarrassment was tempered by unanticipated excitement. This was the first night they were walking home together. The first night they would share the same room. The first night he could fall asleep listening to the young man's breathing…
Tharin strolled leisurely and forced Cullen to keep pace by slowing down. Despite the unhurried steps, their shoulders kept bumping. The Commander was almost sure the Herald was doing it on purpose, but he had neither the nerve nor the self-confidence to try something bold. He kept trying to steal glances at Tharin to see if his intuition was correct.
The young man's face betrayed no overt emotion. The familiar tight sensation that portended a looming anxiety made him unable to stop checking. Unfortunately, the revelation never came. Tharin's intent remained shrouded in mystery.
Cullen could see the door to the cabin getting nearer. He gulped the freezing air and was about to suggest they talk about his book when he was interrupted by the sound of a heavy object hitting the ground.
It was Tharin's satchel. Next, the young man was also on the ground, perched on the icy steps.
"Come, join me." The young man added less convincingly, "I just want some night air before we go in."
Whatever the reason, whatever the excuse, Cullen was glad. He would have been too nervous once they were inside, and this way he could prolong the close interaction. For just a few minutes, Tharin was his and his alone. He sat down without another word.
As soon as his seat was on the snow, he heard Tharin speak an octave higher than his usual voice. The query was markedly abrupt. "Has Leliana told you my full first name?"
Cullen answered honestly, "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."
The Commander tried to emulate to his best ability. "Ha-RE-tharin."
He felt vindicated when this attempt was met with a thin grin and a compliment.
"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's gaze turned skyward. The sigh that followed made Cullen feel melancholic. "I pray they were right."
Cullen wanted to say his parents were right, but it was apparent Tharin was not looking for reassurance. He sat silently next to the young man, his eyes tracing the strong profile, and thought of ways to make the Herald feel less burdened, less weighed down by the impossible task he had a hand in forcing.
It was then he noticed Tharin's right hand inching closer. There was an obvious tremor in the movement. The Commander felt his throat tighten and looked away. He waited for the inevitable contact that he had been longing for.
The young man's fingers found his hand and Cullen felt tiny bubbles crashing and pricking the insides of his body. When he regained the sensation in his limbs, he promptly intertwined the fingers. He dreamily stroked a knuckle on the other man's index finger, committing to memory the bumps and grooves.
"Cullen?"
"Yes?"
"Is this… all right?"
Yes, yes, yes. This was what he'd wanted all along. From the thousand words that rapidly passed through his mind, he could only choose to say "Yes."
Tharin was unexpectedly rough-skinned, thick calluses covering much of the hand. It was true, he had never seen the young man with anything other than basic accoutrements necessary for self-defense. Sometimes Tharin would even forgo the helmet, prompting a long lecture from Cassandra about being combat-ready. Thus, fur-lined gloves, which shielded Cullen's hands from cold mountain winds, were definitely not part of the Herald's wardrobe.
Dry and cracked skin was no joke, especially when it made sword grips painful. Perhaps he could gift a pair of gloves for the young man. He made a mental note to ask Leliana for the man's birthday. He could make it a surprise.
The stray thoughts in Cullen's head were reduced to a shapeless, dull humming when he felt Tharin lean on his shoulder. The young man's pointed nose brushed against the side of his neck, the breath was so hot on his cold skin, and his muscles tensed unwittingly.
The Commander was starting to dread the continuing absence of dialogue. Spoken words were not his strong suit, but they were a better alternative to prolonged silence. He did not want Tharin to find out that he was in fact inexperienced and boring. When he heard a little chortle coming from the young man, he knew he had to do something.
Cullen tried to speak but found his throat dry and blocked. He attempted to clear the passage as inconspicuously as possible, but something got caught and it led to hacking coughs. He did his best not to shake too much, lest he accidentally hurt the young man.
Once his uncooperative respiratory organs calmed, he proceeded to speak nonchalantly as if his nerves were not on the edge of a precipice, "I picked up an interesting Elvish phrase from that book… The Dialectics, don't know if you remember…"
"Oh yes? Do tell."
The Commander forced his way through the frayed nerves and repeated the phrase that he must have practiced a dozen times, "'ma'sa'lath, ar tel'juha'lam'shiran na."
"Wait, I know 'ma is my… My… something, and ar is I, I think." The young man sighed exasperatedly. "I give. What does the rest mean?"
Cullen felt his lips curl upward as he thought himself brilliant for this lark. It was his way to tell his truth without revealing it outright. "…I will tell you later, if you are good."
"I don't suppose I will tell you later is what it means, right?" Cullen shook his head. It had never been his plan to let the young man in on his true intent so easily. He wanted to savor this sweet moment little longer, until the time when he would have to confess and more than likely suffer a rejection. That wouldn't come until later. Later.
Tharin jerked away from his shoulder and he felt the absence acutely. "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 could have broken out in the broadest smile of his life but tried his hardest to suppress it. Coming across as too cheeky was the last thing he wanted, especially when it was in response to Tharin's reaction. At least the man did not appear to be offended or hurt.
The Commander noticed that his heart was no longer drumming against his chest. He was still anxious, but thank the Maker, it was not debilitating. Hanging on to the newfound sliver of fortitude, he decided it was his turn to make the next move. He tousled the young man's hair and kissed his temple. He then whispered words he hoped the other man would take as an invitation, "It's cold. We should get inside."
Tharin's thick mane tickled his nose. Cullen smelled soap and the faintest hint of the young man's earthy musk. He must have taken a bath before meeting him at the tavern. Imagining the young man undressed, the Commander found himself becoming aroused.
He wanted Tharin, here and now.
Cullen sprang to his feet and impatiently pulled the other man up, feeling a bit immature and ridiculous. Thankfully, Tharin grinned good-naturedly at the eagerness.
When they reached the entrance to their home, Cullen saw Tharin hesitate. When he looked into the young man's eyes, he saw unadulterated lust. Lust for this broken man. The intensity of it matched his own, but it still unsettled him, because it was a sight he was never acquainted with and had never envisaged aimed at himself.
Within the blink of an eye, Tharin was wrapped around him, asking in that impossibly low, seductive tone, "Cullen… Do you want to…?"
The Commander could not stay the hands of anxiety as much as he could not rip away from his own shadow. It followed him wherever he went and inevitably corroded away any paltry amount of self-confidence he fought hard to attain.
This, what he was about to do with Tharin, was real and it was happening right in front of his eyes. It was too much. Cullen wanted it, yet he wasn't sure if he could. Did he have it in him to pleasure Tharin the way he wanted, no, deserved to be pleasured? He choked a feeble response, "I… I don't think we should."
Cullen could not believe the look of hurt that instantaneously supplanted lust in the young man's face. The persistent eye contact was beginning to unnerve him. He thought he saw disappointment and anger rise in the icy eyes, just for the briefest moment.
Tharin crooned softly, but resolutely, "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 blue eyes, now emptied of reproach and replaced instead with profound earnestness, hypnotized the Commander and fear finally loosened its viselike grip on him. He uttered a single word, as if he had been saving it for this moment.
"No."
Without waiting for the young man to string together a coherent response, Cullen shoved him against the wooden door. He saw a glimmer of anticipation in Tharin's eyes before they were shut. When he was ready, he closed the remaining space and firmly pressed their lips together.
Lost in a timeless moment, the Commander did not care who watched, whether they judged, or if he was good enough. It only mattered that he could feel the softness, the wetness, the luscious heat that he did not even realize he hungered for. This was his first real kiss and Tharin made it perfect.
Cullen tasted thick saliva and a bitter note of fine ale. It was not what he expected, but he still felt himself being consumed by the kiss. It required fuel and his whole body was going up in flame.
He let himself burn, burn ever so ferociously, entranced by this new sensation that already seemed so integral a part of his humanity. His mind shouted in joy and his heart matched with beats, Tharin, Tharin, Tharin…
Yet the moment passed too soon. When the lips parted reluctantly and Cullen opened his eyes, he saw on Tharin's rosy cheeks two thin lines of moisture.
Tears.
His heart sank and he felt the freezing mountain wind wick away the nervous sweat. He could not believe how absolute bliss could turn so quickly into absolute helplessness. He dropped his arms and spluttered, "This was… I am sorry. I should've asked first…"
But instead of retreating, the young man stepped forward, grabbing Cullen's hands. The patrician nose was pushing against his cheek, as its owner murmured in an encouraging tone, "Cullen, it was perfect. You are perfect."
How strange, he did not feel perfect. Indeed, he felt like the most imperfect being in this plane of existence. But he was glad he was wanted. "So…"
Tharin smiled his bright smile and pulled him closer. "I'd like more of it now." And who was he to deny such request?
The wait was worth it. That deep-seated feeling of resignation that was accumulated over two decades from crushes unrequited, spurned, or abandoned, dissolved into a throbbing mass of exultation and euphoria. Cravings for lyrium, the little aches and pains from past battles that never fully healed, and the bottomless guilt that repeatedly harked him back to Ferelden and Kirkwall all fleeted away. And Cullen wanted them to never return. He sincerely prayed that this passion would make him anew, into the version of himself he always wanted to be but could not.
He felt a desperate hunger take over the second time their lips crashed. Any traces of leftover anxiety, that were terribly sticky and clingy, were gradually being scrubbed away by the fresh lust. Cullen found it difficult to imagine what was to follow, but he was aware of the urgency in his arousal. He wanted to make Tharin feel good, to let him know he – not the Herald of Andraste – was the only person that mattered. Even if this was to be a short affair, Cullen would always remember that for one night the most stunning, the most kindhearted man was his.
Once again, they parted and the kiss lapsed, but this time Cullen felt more sated. More importantly, he checked Tharin's eyes and found them dry. He exhaled discreetly, relieved of the doubt.
The young man was so close. Their foreheads were kissing, and the now-familiar rough hands were holding his head. He felt comforted, protected. Maybe even… loved, just the tiniest bit.
One by one Cullen let go of the restraints he had put on himself. The fear of rejection, the anxiety of inadequacy, and the specter of public humiliation slinked off, revealing the steel gate of his citadel.
"Cullen."
"Mm-hmm?"
"Say my name."
"Is that an order?"
"Yes."
"…Tharin."
Refusing to call the young man by his given name was the last seal that kept his feelings in check. Now that it was broken and his donjon was breached, there was nothing left to fear.
He watched Tharin's serious face break into a muted grin and then into a wholehearted laughter. Its force shook the young man and his own body resonated along. Snowflakes whirling through the wind reflected the moonlight and coruscated around the Herald. It indeed made him look transcendent, almost forcing the Commander to his knees and worship.
Cullen wanted to confess now. He needed to let his truth out. It was a similar impulse to the one he felt on the night when he confessed his injuries and crimes, but this time the compulsion was a happy one. If the former was about atoning for the past, this was about throwing open the door and welcoming the future. He thought he was ready.
"I have another Elvish phrase for you."
Tharin exhaled, but his face was glowing. "More Elvish? All right, Commander. What do you have for me?"
This was it. "Ara vhen'an." The truth. "It's w–what I wanted to say… That I… love you." He would have liked to sound a bit more confident.
And then things took an immediate turn.
Before Cullen's eyes Tharin's face transformed, from light to dark.
It was now the young man who looked and sounded flustered. "You can't mean that, Cullen. You couldn't possibly know. We haven't even courted, let alone…" The arms were pushing away before the choppy sentence was complete. It was like the ground had given away and Cullen was tumbling. His heart broke as he silently observed Tharin put up a wall.
And from behind the wall echoed a voice so strained, so dry, "Forgive me. You are right. We probably shouldn't. And I, um… I am a little tired from the trip…"
Cullen had critically miscalculated. He realized too late that he underestimated the weight the word love carried for the young man. Clearly, he only wanted a night of passion. Maybe to mollify the pain of the lost love, not a lifetime of being chained to a damaged man.
Cullen hoped for more in a fit of recklessness and revealed everything with all that talk of love. What an idiotic thing he had done. Better to leave Tharin be for now. He would wait for the young man to come to him, if he ever decided to again. If he ever decided to forgive the thoughtlessness.
Yet Cullen could not quiet his mind altogether. It churned out questions that made him feel uneasy and pointlessly jealous.
Was Tharin thinking of his first love right now? Was the memory of Kyr the only thing in his mind?
Was there any part of him that still wanted Cullen?
The Commander hoped fervently that he wouldn't sound so crushed as he endeavored to build back his wall. "…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 only thing he could have now was a graceful exit. Even that, however, was not to be as he felt the young man's warm, callused hand grab his wrist.
"Cullen, wait. Please."
The Commander wondered what more could be said. A final acknowledgement that he was in fact not wanted? That it was all in his head? He looked at the young man and found the cobalt eyes waver like candle flame in the wind. A wave of pain hit his heart anew. He had intuited correctly.
He quietly steeled himself and waited for the blow.
"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."
The blow he'd expected never came, but he was now baffled. How could the young man not be good enough for him? He did not believe in certitude, but in this he had no doubt. Tharin was perfect and Tharin was what he wanted.
"…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 that and I will end up weighing you down. So, if you are willing, I would be grateful to have whatever you can give."
This was another truth Cullen was hesitant to verbalize before, but he nonetheless spoke plainly. There was nothing to be gained from holding back. Not anymore.
"You are worth so much more than you judge yourself for. I wish you could see that…" Cullen heard Tharin sniff, but he could not tell whether it was from the cold or something else. The young man's right hand moved quickly across his eyes.
"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. But 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."
What?
"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…"
A momentary hesitation, followed by a voice as steady as a sonorous river flowing through the fertile delta unhindered and strong, "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."
Cullen saw the brilliant sapphire eyes fixed on him. There was no waver in them now, only strength and acceptance. He felt too stunned to speak. A sound escaped his mouth and he realized after the fact that he inanely invoked the Maker's name. It was like him to ruin the moment.
"Do you believe me?"
Every part of Tharin's declaration was so far beyond the realm of possibility Cullen had imagined that it was taking his breath away. Yet as he watched the young man try his hardest to convince him and ask him to trust, offering a piece of the beating heart, he felt his defenses melt away. His fortress came undone, now just a pile of rubble. His love, though it would not to be reciprocated right now, was freed.
"Yes… Yes, of course, my lor–" As he fumbled through a response, he felt the rough hands once again cupping his face. The warmth, the warmth… All of this was threatening to overwhelm him.
"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…"
As if to reward the Commander's acquiescence, the young man pecked his cheek. The spot instantly grew hot. "That's better."
More surprises. It was going to take a lot to keep up with his love, just as it should be. Because Tharin was perfect while he was unquestionably not.
"I'm yours, Cullen, if you will have me."
"Yes… Tharin."
The most dazzling smile Cullen had ever seen lit up Tharin's face. He pulled Cullen into his burning bosom and they locked lips as if they had done it a thousand times. If the first two kisses were like staring into the scorching sun, the third was like letting the gentle warmth of a sunrise caress him.
But Cullen had to make a difficult decision. He furrowed his brows apologetically and softly intoned, "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."
Cullen could not quite believe how lighthearted he felt. He could have skipped to the moons and skipped back in time for breakfast. Even as he suggested they separate for the night, he felt happiness.
"But it's freezing out! I don't want you to catch your death just because I–"
Tharin, a hulking warrior who feared naught and who was feared by all, could be so endearing when he was flustered. Cullen suppressed an urge to tease and instead kissed the young man's forehead. "Sweet dreams. I will see you in the morning." He then turned to leave before his resolve weakened. Quickly now, he thought.
"Cullen!" The sound of his name suddenly pierced through the frozen air. He spun around and paused.
It took Tharin a moment to say something, and when the young man finally managed, his whole face reddened from the neck up. "Ah… Keep warm. Please."
Just like that, the Commander could not suppress his mirth any longer. He waved to calm the worried expression. "I will. Don't fret."
It took Cullen everything he had to not call out right there and then, I love you.
Did anyone manage to figure out the phrase Cullen uttered? Ten points to Gryffindor if someone did!
And I swear to the Maker, this is the last time there are chapters in which the same event is discussed from different POVs.
Next up, enter Leliana.
Your thoughts, feedback, and critiques are always welcome! Thank you for reading!