A/N: I had to cut out the scene in the war room, as this chapter was too long to upload onto this site. Don't worry, I kept the juicy bits in ;D (Full chapter is on AO3)
Chapter Fourteen: Testing One's Feelings
Cullen was in a quandary.
Not that he hadn't been in difficult situations before. He was a soldier first. Had been a templar for over a decade. Lived through a Blight. Seen two Circles fall. Battled darkspawn and demons and dragons.
But this was nothing he could thrust a sword through. This was nothing he could fight. He could neither draw a plan of attack, nor plot how to use his opponent's weaknesses against him.
This was something intangible, though no less powerful because it lacked muscle or mass. This was something he had never faced before. This was…
"Maker's breath," he huffed, frustrated. With himself. With her. With the situation.
He had always assumed, because of the withdrawal, that his feelings towards Peredura were imagined, part of his obsession, a symptom of his illness. He was free of that now or at least—he assumed—freer. Yet his thoughts would linger on visions of her whenever he was alone or during a moment of peace. His dreams would turn from nightmares of Kinloch to memories of her cooling touch as she cared for him. And there was a… an ache… an emptiness in his chest… without her nearby.
He had ignored it, as best he could, for the past three weeks. There was danger enough to distract him, and he'd certainly had to keep his wits about him while tracking down his templar contact. Yet today he was returning to Skyhold, and it seemed time and distance had done nothing to ease these feelings.
That they were feelings, he didn't doubt, not any longer. He merely doubted their honesty. After all, he had never before had the desire to woo a girl. Never before her. Never before those gentle brown eyes had captivated him. Never before that timid smile had awoken something inside him. Never before her empathy and loyalty had inspired him.
Now… how could things have changed so drastically? How could he trust the change, coming on the heels of his withdrawal? How could he be sure of her feelings, before he announced his and risked making a fool of himself?
He knew he'd have to speak with her eventually, test his feelings to discover if they were imagined or honest, unrequited or reciprocated. If she didn't feel anything towards him, other than friendship, it would be embarrassing, but he could recover from it. If she did have feelings for him…
Oh, Maker, he thought to himself, could he even let himself consider it? She was the Inquisitor, he the Commander—there simply couldn't be something between them, even if there was something between them. He would be better off, the whole Inquisition would be better off, if he never brought it up with her and continued to deny his feelings.
But what if they weren't a part of his withdrawal? What if they were real? What if she felt them, too? Wouldn't her happiness count for something, as well as his own?
He came around a bend in the trail and paused to take in the view. Skyhold was now visible, rising high above the scenery, the afternoon sun illuminating the rooftops and battlements. In an hour, he'd be within the soldiers' encampment in the valley. Another hour after that and he'd be back in the Keep itself. And he was still no closer to a solution, to a plan of attack, to an inkling of an idea of what he should do.
He could only hope that she was currently away on a mission somewhere, just to give himself more time to come up with something. Though deep inside he knew, if he hadn't come up with a solution by now, he never would.
The last part of his journey went pretty much as he anticipated. He was challenged, asked to prove his identity, and was allowed to pass by a very perplexed-looking scout. He didn't understand at first why the scout looked at him so strangely. He supposed it was the mismatched armor, pieces picked up here and there, some even scrounged from corpses. Not something he would normally do, steal from the dead, but he couldn't have done this mission in his own armor, and he hadn't wanted to take the time to find something suitable from Skyhold's stores—he was supposed to have left days before. He decided to leave the helmet off to at least let his face show, thinking that would ease him past the next sentry.
It did, though not without the same strange look. He might have chalked it up to womanly silliness—those strange little looks and giggles behind his back that were suddenly silenced whenever he turned around—but the second soldier had been male. He supposed it could be because he hadn't shaved the whole time he'd been away, giving him a more unkempt look than his normal half-preoccupied state. After the fourth sentry, however, he began to wonder if there was bad news of some sort awaiting him at the Keep, or if he had missed something major and was walking into a mess. Whatever the cause, it certainly didn't improve his temper, and he stalked through the main gate of Skyhold with his hazel eyes glaring and daring anyone else to look at him askance.
He hadn't made it three steps beyond the portcullis before he came face-to-face with the Inquisitor. Well, if there had been some major catastrophe while he'd been away, at least she was still alive. He greeted her with a very curt, very impersonal, "Inquisitor," while he tried desperately to hold on to his aloof demeanor.
"Commander… oh!" Her eyes had shone brightly when she saw him, a smile gracing her face and seemingly erasing the scars. The next moment, her gaze had traveled upwards and her smile faded into something a bit more perplexed. "Welcome back to Skyhold. I, er, trust your mission was successful."
"After a fashion." He had trouble looking at her, feeling the need too strongly to stare and re-memorize every minutia of her features. Instead he made his eyes scan the courtyard, observing the placement of her guards, acknowledging Fear's greeting, noting the progress of the repairs, anything but looking into her eyes and allowing himself to feel whatever it was that he was feeling. He needed some air and some space, before things got out of hand. Right, it was time to employ Standard Tactic Number One: Retreat. "If you don't mind, Inquisitor, I'd like to take a few moments to freshen up before giving my report."
The smile returned, a little humorously, and effortlessly blocking his escape, his legs refusing to work when she looked at him like that. "No doubt. You, er, have the worst case of helmet hair I've ever seen."
So that was why everyone was looking at him so strangely. He felt a bit of relief, glad that there wasn't anything serious he had to contend with right away. Still, he wondered why no one else had mentioned it; it wasn't like he would be offended if someone had said something. At least Peredura certainly seemed at ease enough to tell him about it. In fact, she was too at ease, reaching up on tiptoe, her hand lifting to one side of his head where she ran her fingers through his hair. Repeatedly. She made a small grimace, "It doesn't seem to want to lie flat…"
Nope, this wasn't going well. Just standing before her was making his knees weak and his palms sweaty. How could he ever find the strength to ask… find the words to explain… find the courage to discover…
He really needed to get away. Now. But he couldn't move, couldn't dislodge her hand, couldn't hinder her efforts…
"Begging your pardon, yer Worship," Devensport cleared his throat and approached, "But Master Dennet doesn't like for you to be late for your lessons."
She made that grimace again, only more sour this time. "I suppose you're right. Excuse me, Commander, but I have a riding lesson I wouldn't want to miss. Not again, anyway. You'd better take care of that cowlick yourself."
"Yes, Ser," he swallowed, feeling regret when he saw her turning away. He knew he should be grateful for the reprieve, but his heart was warring with his reason.
"Unless…" she peeked at him around the corner of her overgrown bangs, over her shoulder, that timid smile doing something with her lips far better than chewing them, "You'd like to come with me?"
He should have taken the opportunity to run. Instead, he found himself turning towards her. Before he could answer, however, she was dropping her gaze and sputtering, "I mean, I'm sorry, you just got back from a long mission, you're tired, you probably don't want to go out again, not right away, I should leave you to change your clothes, at least, not make you go riding…"
"I'd love to," he found himself answering, quickly silencing her ineffective babbling string of excuses, and just as quickly feeling the need to make his own sputtering excuses, "That is, I can ride, quite well actually, and have trained templar recruits to ride, but I, er, do have other matters that need attending to, so, um, perhaps another time…?"
Oh, Maker, had he just asked her out on a date? A riding date? Or had she asked him first?
Judging by the blush staining her cheeks, she had done the asking. "Until later then, Commander. Have a meeting called for when I get back from my lesson, and after you've had a chance to wash off the dust and dirt of the road. Now, I really have to get going. Master Dennet gets grumpy when I'm late. And I don't want to disappoint him; he is putting so much effort into finding me the right mount. Excuse me."
He watched her speed away, Devensport and Abbets in tow, feeling cheated somehow. He was supposed to be the one retreating, not her. The next moment, he all but slapped himself upside the head, remembering that this was what he wanted. Even if it was opposite of his original intentions, the end result was the same: escape. Bemused over his adverse reaction, he shook his head and resumed course for his tower.
It didn't occur to him until later to wonder over her awkwardness.
"Is there any other business?" Peredura asked hopefully, looking around at the others to see each of them shaking their heads, "Good. Then we'll adjourn until tomorrow morning. Josephine, could I speak with you a moment?"
"Of course," she readily agreed. If she was surprised by the abruptness of Peredura's request, or the way she was already taking her arm and pulling her from the war room, Josephine showed no sign.
Cullen did. He stared at her retreating back and couldn't help but wonder why she seemed so eager to leave. He didn't think it was because of him; she had been happy enough this afternoon to see him. In fact, she had leaned in close to him and run her fingers through his hair. She had even asked him to go horseback riding with her at some as-yet-to-be-determined date. On the other hand, she had seemed flustered immediately following the offer. Perhaps there was something about him that upset her on some level.
Just before the door closed, she glanced over her shoulder with one wide brown eye, to find him staring at her.
The toe of her boot caught on a chipped flagstone, causing her to stumble.
His hand reached out as if to catch her, even though there was a whole room between them.
Josephine returned Peredura's grip to steady her, and he could hear her remark just before the door closed, "Careful, Peredura. I'll not have you twisting your ankle simply to get out of dance lessons…"
Cullen found himself staring at the dull brown of the door, rather than the silky brown of Peredura's hair. He quickly realized his hand was hanging out in space, and decided to finish lifting it to rub the back of his neck, as if he had been intending to do that, instead of catching Peredura. He cleared his throat and made his own excuse to leave, "It's late. I, ah, should get back to my office, catch up on as much work as I can tonight."
He didn't look to see if Cassandra or Leliana were fooled by his actions; he only walked as briskly as possible without allowing it to seem like he was racing away. The next moment he was safely through the door, the portal closing with a satisfying thunk behind him. He paused a moment to take a deep breath, all of the anxiety and tension from the past several weeks creating a tight knot between his shoulder blades. He knew he should go back to his office and make himself relax before leaping headfirst into work. If he could relax. Heaving another deep breath, he started down the hallway, the staccato beat of his boots making a familiar and comforting rhythm, lending a calmness to his soul.
It was short lived. He opened the door at the far end of the hallway and entered Josephine's office.
"…but of course there would be repercussions. Are you sure?"
Peredura was standing with her back to the door, facing Josephine in front of the fire. She didn't see Cullen, but she did see Josephine's eyes flicker over her shoulder towards the opening door. If she was concerned over who might have entered the room, she didn't show it, instead focusing on her conversation. "I think so." She paused to laugh, a little bit sheepishly, "I suppose that doesn't sound very confident, does it? Yes, I am sure. I know how such a thing might look—his being from Tevinter—but he's had experience with balls and social events and the like. At the very least," she leaned her head in closer, "Dorian knows how to dance. If I have to twirl around the ballroom, he can keep me from making a complete ass of myself."
Josephine gave a long-suffering sigh and shook her head, but she knew she was giving in. "Oh, very well, I will add his name to the list of those we wish to take with us. I suppose you'll want to take Bull, as well?"
Peredura shrugged, "The Inquisition is diverse, not discriminating against race or creed…"
"But we cannot take everyone," Josephine countered.
"At the very least, leave Sera behind," quipped Cullen. "Imagine the chaos she could create."
He hadn't meant for the comment to be so dry, nor to carry quite so well across the room, but it was and it did. Peredura spun to see who had entered behind her, her eyes widening and her mouth hanging slightly slack when she saw it was Cullen. Before she could respond, however, Josephine was already shuddering and answering, "Oh, I'd rather not imagine, if you don't mind. Please, Peredura, I know the two of you are close friends, but…"
"…Sera would be out of place there, among so many nobles," she agreed, quickly regaining control of her reactions. "No, we won't take Sera. But I am serious about Dorian and The Iron Bull, at least."
Josephine nodded, resignedly, "I shall see what I can do."
"Thank you, Josephine. Er," she turned towards him, but if she had intended to say anything, she must have changed her mind at the last moment, merely giving him a brief nod, "Commander." She all but ran for the door, her head hidden within her soft long tresses and her limbs moving stiff and hasty. If Cullen didn't know any better, he would think she was the one making a retreat. The idea confused him. He stood for a moment and pondered, trying to find the reason why Peredura was acting so strangely around him. She had been very warm and open towards him upon his arrival; her behavior hadn't changed until…
Of course! She had asked him to go riding with her. He had thought at the time that it had sounded very much as if she was asking him out on a date, and had also thought his own response could have been misconstrued the same way. And just now, she had been asking Josephine to arrange for Dorian to come with to Halamshiral. Dorian, who wouldn't make her look like a fool. Dorian, who could dance. Dorian, with whom she had so much in common. Dorian, who could make her laugh.
It was clear to him now. She and Dorian must have started seeing each other during the past three weeks. At the very least, she had feelings for Dorian. And she was feeling embarrassment over her offer to go riding, thinking he—Cullen—might be reading more into it than was there. That would explain her flustered state, her sputtering, her running away to avoid any sort of personal interaction with himself that might again be misinterpreted as something—anything—more than mere friendship.
"Was there something you wanted, Commander?" Josephine's question broke through his thoughts like a charging golem.
"What? Oh! Er…" he groped for any sort of excuse as to why he was standing there, in her office, staring into the fire. "No, nothing, I was…"
"Are you feeling unwell?"
"No, ah," he almost moaned. Truthfully, he was feeling cheated, realizing he'd missed the chance to test his own feelings towards Peredura. "I mean, yes, but it's just a slight headache, nothing more."
"When was the last time you had any lyrium?"
If Josephine's question had been forceful, Leliana's question fell like a guillotine blade. Both Cullen and Josephine turned to stare at her standing in the doorway, her bobbed red hair poking out from beneath her hood. Cassandra was just behind her, and Cullen's eyes bored into her next.
"I didn't tell anyone; I swear it." Cassandra seemed just as surprised and caught off guard by the question as everyone else.
"She didn't have to," Leliana supplied.
"If I may ask," Cullen squared his shoulders and faced the three women, feet shoulder width apart, his left hand lying deceptively lazily on the hilt of his sword, "How?"
"I am the Inquisition's spymaster, Cullen," Leliana sniffed, "But this was one secret I didn't have to ferret out. Though I knew you and Cassandra were keeping something from the rest of us, I trusted that the two of you would come forward with whatever it was when the time was right. It was the templar in charge of rationing our supplies of lyrium. She had been noticing for some time, months in fact, that you have been taking less than your fair share of lyrium. She came to me with her concerns, fearing that something was wrong and wanting to inform someone of your actions. I assured her that everything was as it should be, but to tell me immediately if there were any changes, either increases or decreases. She came to me again, right after you'd left on your mission, to say you hadn't taken any lyrium with you."
He nodded, amazed that he had been found out so simply.
"So… how long has it been?" Josephine asked.
He let a deep breath out through his nose. "The last time I had lyrium was the day before Peredura returned from Haven."
Their reactions were varied. Cassandra gave him a little smile, her eyes glowing with pride over his accomplishment. Leliana inclined her head, accepting affirmation of her suspicions with practiced ease. Josephine let out a surprised gasp, quickly stifled behind one hand, but had to press, "Cullen, how is this possible? Didn't you say just a few moments ago, lyrium is a necessity templars cannot go without?"
"I… am no longer a templar," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret and loss. The next moment he had set his personal feelings aside and focused on the logic behind his decision. "We couldn't afford to allow the Chantry to gain any leverage over us. Because I was once in the Order, I had an obligation to the Inquisition, to quit using lyrium, to sever any connection to the Chantry, so I could devote myself fully to our cause. I have done so."
"Does anyone else know?"
"I informed Cassandra as soon as I started, trusting her to keep on eye on me and do what was needed, should anything go wrong. And, as soon as Peredura became Inquisitor, I felt she had the right—the necessity—to know about my endeavor."
"And, you have succeeded?" Josephine's curiosity seemed insatiable that evening. "There are no ill effects?"
"Nothing that isn't manageable," he admitted only slightly reluctantly, but held her gaze steadily. He knew he was going to be under intense scrutiny, as word spread and others tried to determine if he was actually free of lyrium or faking it. In a sense he welcomed the attention; it would encourage him to remain honest and sober. "Now, if there are no other concerns, I should get back to my office. There is a lot of work I need to catch up on."
"Of course," Josephine gave him a short bow of respect. Cassandra stood quietly and watched him, like a proud mother. Leliana inclined her head once more, a hint of a smile playing around her lips. The next moment, Josephine was giving him a brief hug. "And… oh, well, congratulations."
"Thank you," he accepted Josephine's praise, however empty it felt. His success was due mostly to Peredura's hard work, work for which she could never receive the credit. It wasn't fair.
Neither was his missed opportunity with her.
He spun on his heel and marched from the room, his stride strong and purposeful, his back straight and chin up. He was thankful that the women waited until the was through the door before they started their gossip. That they would talk about him he was sure; what he had done was unprecedented, and a lot of people were going to have a lot of questions. And, hopefully, some of those people and questions would lead to others following in his footsteps. What he'd done hadn't been easy, but he did prove it possible. That counted. For quite a lot.
But he'd rather not deal with all the speculations tonight, his mind overflowing with enough of his own speculations.
He had lied about going back to his office, instead feeling the need to get out of the Keep and back into the fresh air. Outwardly he paced the battlements and relished the feeling of a breeze ruffling his hair. Inwardly his mind mulled over his problem. Peredura. Specifically, Peredura and Dorian. He could feel the strange sensation in his chest, the sharp pinch like a knife wound whenever he recalled the sight of her and Dorian standing together, his theatrical displays, her uninhibited laughter.
At least he had discovered her feelings, before he announced his and made a fool of himself. But that didn't mean his feelings went away, or were diminished by any discernible amount. Instead the ache appeared to have grown, filling his gullet with bile, making the leather of his glove creak as his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
He needed to get his mind off of her; he needed to focus on work. Thankfully, due to his long absence, there were plenty of reports to go over, stacked at least a foot high on his desk back in his office. Yet his feet betrayed him, keeping him pacing the battlements, moving further and further away from his tower.
He stalked into an empty tower and out the other side, suddenly finding his view unimpeded, the last tower behind him. As he approached the southernmost tip of the battlements, he saw the patrol had thinned out noticeably. He wasn't too concerned. This part of the battlements was built atop a sheer cliff face, a treacherous frozen lake at the base far below. It would be unlikely that any enemies would scale it, at least not at this point in time. He hadn't even concerned himself with repairing the damaged, partially collapsed section up ahead, other than of course clearing away loose rubble and shoring it up so no one in the courtyard below could be hurt by falling debris.
It was full night, the moon bright though still rising behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the landscape. Thanks to this he might have missed her, he might have turned around and gone back the way he had come, if she hadn't made a loud noise upon noticing him.
Peredura had been walking the battlements and trying to clear her head, no easy task this night. Her thoughts should be full of reports and plans, dance steps and history lessons. She tried, she honestly tried to distract herself, to focus on important matters, but again and again her thoughts would return to those enigmatic hazel eyes, those honey-colored eyebrows, those suppressed and tightly controlled curly locks.
Maker, she had run her fingers through them!
Peredura made a grimace over the embarrassing memory, and her appalling lack of self-control. She had been able to keep her head while he'd been away, but with Cullen back in Skyhold, all she could think about was this awkward something between them. She knew she should say something, find some way to break through this block, yet she couldn't tell him how she felt, not when she was so unsure about his feelings towards her.
She had tried. She had tried to be patient, to follow Dorian's advice, but it didn't seem like she was getting anywhere—like they were ever going to get anywhere. Even after all she'd done during his withdrawal to show him her feelings. She had cared for him, protected him, listened to him, held his hand… But as soon as he was well, as soon as he could stand on his own two feet, as soon as he no longer needed her, he had left her. Alone.
Which was where she had been tonight. Alone. On the battlements. Lost within her thoughts. Bitter and dark thoughts, painful and aching, wondering if she had somehow blown her chance at happiness. That other Cullen from the abominable future had loved her, but perhaps that was only because of the dire situation. Perhaps it had been the loss of the Herald, the fall of the Inquisition, the corruption of the red lyrium that had made Cullen's feelings turn to love. And by changing that future, by keeping him and the Inquisition safe, she had removed the circumstances that caused his love to blossom. It would be ironic—wouldn't it?—if by saving him, she had made it so he would never love her. She knew she shouldn't feel cheated, that it was better for Cullen to be alive and cold towards her, than dying and in love with her.
But she was selfish, damn it!
Then Sera had popped up, Sera who always seemed to know exactly what Peredura needed and when she needed it. Sera began distracting her with raunchy stories made more delightful by her colorful accent. The stories were so vulgar, that her guards had to excuse themselves a little further out of earshot, to either keep from hearing them, or keep the Inquisitor from hearing their snorting. Peredura didn't mind the privacy, eagerly forgetting her troubles over Cullen and silently thanking Sera in her heart for being there, for always showing up at just the right time with just what she needed. That is, until Cullen appeared on the landing above them and Sera had abruptly left her to approach him. Peredura's hands reached out to grab her, to stop her, to keep her from attracting Cullen's attention, but her fingers closed on empty air.
"Oi! Lion-face! What 'cher up to?"
Up on the landing, Cullen could barely suppress the urge to glare as he turned to face Sera. She was almost as bad with nicknames as Varric. "'Lion-face?'"
"What?" she blinked her large, anything-but-innocent eyes up at him, "You didn't seem to like 'Mabari lap dog.' Besides, Perry's already gotten herself a real one. Nah, you're more a lion, with all that fur over your shoulders and up top, looking like a mane," she waggled her fingers at his scalp, before changing to shake one finger and putting her other hand on her hip. "And don't think I didn't see the helmet what matches your armor, squirreled away in your trunk."
"You… you've been in my things?"
She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest, "Not that there's much to go through. Someone would think you're a stingy miser, never buying nothing of value. And don't change the subject. We were talking about you."
"Were we? I hadn't noticed," he deadpanned.
"Right. Loads of things you haven't noticed," she agreed, "Like why I'd be out here, well after suppertime, freezing my knickers off—if I were wearing any knickers."
Cullen put a hand over his eyes, beginning to feel a real headache forming, "Maker's breath, I did not need to know that."
Sera stomped her foot and made a sound overflowing with frustration. "Will you listen to what I'm saying?!"
"I am listening," he said slowly and succinctly, "But you are not making any sense."
"Honestly," she threw her arms wide, "I know I'm speaking plain, can't speak nothing but plain. So why is it, only Hairy-Perry's the one what understands me?"
He blinked at her.
"Right. I'll try again. Look over my shoulder, toy soldier, and tell me what you see."
He probably wasn't in the mood to endure one of her little, nonsensical games, but at least she was a distraction from more weighty matters. He decided to play along and answer, his eyes never leaving her face. "The battlements."
She rolled her eyes. "Look harder than that."
"The Keep? The mountains? Stonework…"
"No," she made another sound, a long grunt deep in her throat. "Here, let me; a soldier's only good for swinging pointy things, but an archer's good for aiming." She walked around to his back, grabbing his arms and twisting his upper body. Cullen was taken by surprise, unprepared for her manipulation, otherwise she would never have been able to budge him. She did manage it, however, and pointed his face towards the ruined section of the wall.
"See her now?"
"See who?" his eyes searched the shadows. "There are two guards on the stairs, but…"
She gave him a shove, again only able to do so because: first, he was preoccupied with trying to figure out what she wanted him to see, and second, because he did see. His feet stumbled loudly on the stones, stomping and scuffing for several paces until he could check his forward momentum and regain his balance. But it was too late, his presence noted by both the guards, and the woman they guarded.
Cullen's swallow was audible. There she was, past the bottom of the shallow set of stairs in the wall, her small form almost swallowed by one of the merlons, her face hidden within shadow. He eased his steps into a more measured rhythm as he sauntered down the stairs, knowing he was committed. He couldn't very well turn tail and run now, not after he'd been seen, not after it seemed as if he was approaching her—thanks to Sera's shove. He nodded to the guards in passing, noting they were the same pair from earlier in the day, the same pair she almost always chose to accompany her.
"Begging your pardon, Commander," Devensport spoke before he'd gotten a step beyond them. Cullen halted his progress to look at him expectantly. "But Abbets and I'll just be up here a ways, up on the landing. Get a better view of the area that way."
"Ah, yes," he sighed, thinking he didn't want that much privacy while facing Peredura, but unable to think of a reason to counter their intentions, "Very well, carry on."
"Ser!" they saluted in unison before marching up the stairs towards the landing, from which Sera had already conveniently disappeared.
He turned back to face Peredura, feeling like he was facing down a pride demon while wearing nothing but his knickers. He finished walking up to her, not too close, but close enough that he could keep his voice quiet while they talked, sensitive to how sound carried in the still night air. Her features emerged from the shadows as he neared, honest and open, and perhaps with the faintest tint of pink. At least she seemed as nervous as he felt, an encouraging sign—he hoped. He cleared his throat and without thinking said, "Inquisitor."
Damn, that hadn't been what he wanted to be the first thing to come out of his mouth, something formal and dry and off-putting. He could clearly see it had been a mistake, by the way she dropped her face, her hair falling forwards over her shoulder as she answered, "Good evening, Commander." She turned her head far enough to take note of the collapsed part of the wall behind her, obviously looking for an exit and deciding that wasn't the way to go. And since he stood between her and her guards, she was essentially trapped.
He needed to put her at ease, to reassure her this wasn't a matter of importance or, er, well, that it was important, but it wasn't business. It was personal. He should be personal. Though not too personal. Realizing he was taking too long to answer, he blurted, "It's a nice evening… for a stroll."
"What?" her face grew blank, as if she didn't understand the words he had spoken. The next moment, her cheeks flushed fully, that lower lip of hers quivering as if it wanted to hide between her teeth, and she sputtered, "Oh, um, yes, strolling, that's what I was doing, up here, alone, standing on the battlements, strolling…"
Which was true, she had been strolling, strolling and trying hard not to think about Cullen. And failing miserably at it. And now here he stood, they were alone, and she had her opportunity to talk with him, and instead her words tumbled from her lips in a mess of sound and syllables that seemed incomprehensible even to her own ears. Oh, Maker, she thought to herself, why could she never say what she wanted to say?
Cullen didn't want the silence to grow between them and tried to think of something else to say. "We could, er, stroll, if you wanted, together, that is, unless you'd rather stroll alone, but we could together, or not together, but just side by side, two people strolling in the same direction…" Oh, Maker, he rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck, why could he never say what he wanted to say? "That had sounded much better in my head. Why do things never come out the way I intended them to?"
She gave a laugh, a nervous little blurb, quickly stifled behind her hand, though her eyes remained twinkling with mirth. "If you ever learn the trick, would you tell me? I seem to do it a lot, too."
He hadn't meant it as a joke, but he had made her laugh, and a spot of warmth began to grow inside his heart—Dorian wasn't the only one. He half-smiled in return, the scarred corner of his mouth lifting upwards. "Deal."
Silence grew, something neither cold nor warm, as they stood there and looked at each other. Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck, while Peredura chewed her lip.
"I'm sorry to hear about your templar friend."
He took a deep breath, remembering his friend corrupted with red lyrium—now Cullen understood what Peredura had seen in that other future. "Thank you. It wasn't easy, but I had to end his suffering."
"I understand."
Silence again.
"Did you get the bed I ordered for you?"
"Oh, yes, thank you," she answered, "It came last week."
"Do you like it? I thought it would be good for you, with the heavy drapes you can lower, help keep out some of the chill at night."
"Yes, it, um, works nicely. I haven't felt chilled since."
"Oh, um, good, then…"
Yet another silence fell between them, and—though still not exactly uncomfortable—it did make both of them shift their feet and fidget while they stood there, facing each other. This time there was a burst of sound as both of them tried to speak. Just as suddenly it broke into laughter, nervous but becoming a little more relaxed. Cullen took another step towards her and said, "Ladies first."
"No," she shook her head. "I went first last time. It's your turn to go first."
He was taken aback for a moment, not sure if he should ask about Dorian as he had intended. They were standing there, smiling at each other, so pleasantly now that the discomfort was fading, he didn't want to bring it back by asking about another man. With his courage flagging, he groped for the first topic that came to mind, "I was only wondering where Fear was tonight."
"Oh, ah," she glanced off to the side, "Krem's borrowing him. Leliana's scouts have reported seeing a strange creature—some sort of large wolf or bear, walking upright but hunched over—in the next valley. Solas said it's a yeti, a creature that's, um," she paused to chew her lip while she thought of the correct word, "Indigenous? Yes, indigenous to this part of the Frostback Mountains. His advice is to stay well away from it; apparently it has a strong, musky odor about it. Krem thought it would be a good way to start training Fear to hunt, following this scent since it's so strong."
"That is a very good idea," he agreed, "But you know you should…"
"I should be the one training him," she nodded. "Yes, I know. But I don't know how to hunt. Krem does. He's going to get started teaching Fear, and later when I have the time and Fear understands the signals, I'll join them and be able to learn without being a distraction for Fear."
"Sounds reasonable," Cullen agreed, thinking he might have hurt her feelings. She had finished his sentence with such alacrity, he conceded he might be nagging her too often regarding the training of her hound. He decided to change the subject. "Well, now it's your turn. What was it you wanted to say?"
"Oh! Right." Again her lip sought solace between her teeth, a tiny furrow forming between her brows. "I wanted to ask how you're coping. Without the lyrium."
He had to look away, to fill his eyes with something other than her face full of care and concern, the expression bringing to mind far too readily memories of those days spent in her chambers. "There are… good moments, and bad moments. I can usually predict, if I push myself too hard, that I'll have a rough time of it. These past few weeks of danger and hard travel, I've learned just how much I can take before that happens. But now that I'm back, knowing that lyrium is readily available, seeing others use it, getting up in the mornings and reaching for my kit on the table next to the bed…" He interjected half a laugh, "I'll manage. At least the pressure to keep it secret is over, now that the others have found out what I've done."
"Oh, no, Cullen," she put her hand on his forearm, the heat of her body unable to penetrate his armor, yet he was sure he could sense her touch, "I'm sorry, it wasn't me, I didn't tell anyone, and I don't know how they could have found out…"
"It was the templar I put in charge of rationing the lyrium," he assured her, taking hold of her hand with his gloved one, again certain that he could feel her skin through the leather. "She noticed I was taking less and less, and that I didn't take any at all with me when I left on my mission. She reported her suspicions to Leliana."
Her lips made the O shape, but this time she didn't give it voice. "Again, I'm sorry. I should have thought of that…"
"No, it's all right, I don't mind the questions or the scrutiny. I'm rather thankful that I have you and the others to hold me accountable. I'll need that in the coming months," he assured her. "In fact, it's better if the news starts to get out, that I've broken lyrium's hold over me. Other templars will hear of it, they'll know it can be done, and—perhaps—some of them might try it, too." He stared at her face, his eyes flickering between hers, trying to convey more meaning into his speech than he could find the words for, "That was one of the reasons I did this, not so much for myself, or for the Inquisition, but for others."
There was understanding in her eyes, and an encouraging smile on her lips. She gave his fingers a squeeze, reminding him that he was holding her hand. His first impulse was to let go, very suddenly and very abruptly, but he squelched that impulse, thinking that such a move would seem cold and uncaring. Instead he allowed his hand to grow heavy, his fingers slipping slowly away from hers.
It was the right move, seeing as how the smile remained, tender and accepting and sincere, as if she was looking at someone she, well, cared for deeply, at the very least. He found himself wondering if she really was in a relationship with Dorian, or if he was misinterpreting her genuine niceness for something more—either towards Dorian, or towards himself. Feeling emboldened by the warm moment they were sharing, he decided to come right out and ask about Dorian, but his manner was anything but oblique. "So, um, you and Dorian…?"
Yes, he'd messed up again. He could tell, even in the faint light, that her expression had turned flat and cold. "What about me and Dorian?" she asked, her tone tight and crisp.
"I, well, I just thought," he began, fairly incoherently, "The two of you, I mean, you seem to get along so well, together, the two of you, and…" His words trailed away in amazement as a string of Tevene burst from her lips. He continued to be a little in awe of her as she turned to pace away before putting on a show, threatening the battlements with her fist, throwing in a gesture or two whose meanings he was sure were not socially acceptable, and finally ending up kicking a small block of rubble before falling silent. He cautiously cleared his throat, a little wary of drawing attention back on himself, and asked, "What was that?"
Peredura squeezed her eyes shut, taking several breaths through her nose as she fought to get her temper under control. "I can't believe this," she shook her head, turning back to face him, "You're barely back, not even a day, and already you've heard the rumors."
"What rumors?"
"It's not fair! I've tried to stop them, to find out who's telling them, but no one wants to admit where they heard it first, and they can't seem to let it go. If I knew who had started this, who was spreading them…"
"What rumors?"
"I mean, yes, Dorian and I get along," she continued as if she hadn't heard him, "But he doesn't know me, not really, not like you do. He doesn't know about my opeigh addiction, or that I'm a former slave from Tevinter. He doesn't even know I'm elven. How can I be in a relationship with him, if he doesn't know that?"
He waited this time for her to pause before asking, "What rumors?"
"You…?" she started and stopped so quickly, she might not have said a word, but merely formed a partial syllable. She blinked at him, took a breath, blinked again, and licked her lips. "You haven't heard the rumors that Dorian and I are in a relationship?"
"No," he honestly answered. "I haven't heard any rumors. Since my return, I've been in the war room with you and the others, remember? Aside from the time I took to get washed up, that is."
"Oh," she blinked again. "Then… why did you ask about us?"
"I, er," now it was his turn to feel discomfited, "I mean, you did ask Josephine to make sure he came with us to Halamshiral."
"That's only because he can dance, and I wanted to make sure I had a partner, if I needed one."
"And, well," now he continued as if he hadn't heard her, "The two of you do get along, you're always laughing at his jokes, and you're both from Tevinter, so you have things in common, and I thought he found you attractive, at least he acts like he does."
She stared at him, her thoughts a mystery, for so long that he began to sweat in the chilly night air. Then one corner of her mouth twitched, not by much, but enough to throw confusion into the conversation. "You think Dorian," she raised one eyebrow, "Finds me," she put a hand over her heart, "Attractive?"
"Of course he would. Any man would. You are beautiful, Peredura, despite the scars. Your hair is silky and healthy, your eyes are a captivating shade of brown. And you have such a gentle soul… Are you laughing?"
"I'm sorry," she couldn't suppress the smile any longer, and tried to hide it behind her hand even as she answered him. "I'm not laughing at you, but no, Dorian wouldn't find me attractive. Trust me."
"What do you mean?"
Peredura took a deep breath, fighting off the last of the giggles. She couldn't admit to how she knew, but she could throw out a few suspicions and let him fill in the blanks himself. "Dorian isn't 'any man,' as you put it. He, er, well, let's just say, there are some men out there who don't find any woman attractive…" She left the sentence hanging.
It took Cullen a full three seconds before his eyes widened with surprise. "You're not serious!" he scoffed. "You mean he's…" He stopped himself and shook his head. "No, I don't believe it. How do you know? He's told you this."
"No," she answered honestly, "But he's never made any advances towards me. Sure, he'll flirt and tell stories to amuse me, little things to lighten my mood when I'm feeling down, but he's never tried to kiss me. He's never even tried to hold my hand."
"But I thought I saw…" quickly he stopped himself, not wanting her to know he'd been spying on them. Well, it wasn't exactly spying, but he had come across them standing together—close together—on more than one occasion. He supposed, in thinking carefully over what he saw, that from his angle he couldn't be sure one way or the other that they had kissed, had shared a touch or embrace.
Then again, there had been plenty of times he and Peredura had stood close together without sharing anything intimate. They were doing so right now. He cleared his throat and tried, "That's no proof, you know, just conjecture."
She merely shrugged in response, leaving him to wonder. It would be more believable if he did the convincing himself.
"So, um, then there's nothing between the two of you…"
"No," she looked at him curiously, feeling her heart begin to flutter, wondering and hoping and praying she knew why he was asking for clarification, "I've said that already. There's no one… Well," she gave her lower lip a nip, deciding to throw caution to the wind and give him a hint, "There is someone I sort of, ah, like, a lot, but I have no idea how to tell him."
She was looking at him from just behind the edges of her overgrown bangs, that innocently flirtatious look that made his palms sweat inside his gloves. He licked his lips, deciding to match her hint with one of his own, "Um, I know the feeling. There's someone… I… like, a lot, too. I've been afraid… well, I don't have a lot of experience with relationships."
"Neither do I," she admitted softly.
"Not that I've never been with someone, I have, but I've never felt this way about anyone, ever before."
"And I'm scared," she took up where he left off, moving slowly until she faced him fully, "Nervous, maybe, that he won't feel the same way I feel, and how foolish I would look, telling him how I feel, only to find out he doesn't share those feelings."
"Exactly," he sighed, partly amazed that she understood, partly resigned that of course she would understand. "I don't even know if these feelings are real, or a product of my withdrawal from lyrium, I…" For the first time in his life, he wanted to bite his lip, thinking he might have let too much slip out.
She saw his eyes widen, the moonlight barely strong enough to let the blush on his cheeks show. She smiled, trying to reassure him, to ignore his little mistake, "Taking that first step, it's daunting. It's making me hesitate. But I'm also afraid, if I hesitate too long, I'll miss my chance."
"I don't want to miss this chance, but what do I have to offer y— er, any woman?"
She gently settled a hand on his chest, somewhere over his left collarbone, close to his shoulder, her fingers burrowing into the long coarse fur of his mantle. "Cullen, you should give yourself more credit; you have a lot of qualities that a woman would find attractive. You are a brave and skilled fighter, a fierce defender and loyal friend. And boyishly handsome, when your hair hasn't been stuck inside a sweaty helmet for three weeks," she mildly teased him, receiving a smirk from him for an answer. "Any woman would be lucky—blessed—to have you in her life."
He looked at her for a moment, his sharp hazel eyes penetrating into her yielding brown, not in an invasive manner, but searching—almost desperately— before he could find the voice to ask, "Truly? Any woman? Even… you?"
He was amazed she couldn't hear his heart battering at his ribcage, attempting to escape his chest. She was amazed he couldn't hear hers doing the same.
"Any woman," she leaned in even closer as his hands came up to cup her shoulders, "Even me."
Oh, Maker, this is really happening, they both thought. He bent his neck, lowering his face as she uplifted hers. Her eyes closed, something she didn't even realize was doing.
Not until a voice called out along the battlements. "Hey, Fear, heel! Excuse us, your Worship. Fear's been good for me all evening, paid attention to every command I gave him, but I guess he's too excited to see you again."
Peredura's eyes flashed open, surprised to find Cullen's face so close she could breathe his breath—and angry over the interruption. She leaned around his shoulder as he rotated out of the way before she barked, "WHAT?!"
If Krem was hurt or shocked by her manner, he didn't let it show as he sauntered up to them. Nor did he show any reaction over finding Peredura and Cullen so romantically positioned. He smiled widely, his cheeks flushed with the chilly air and his boots sodden from tramping through snowbanks. "We just got back from our first night of tracking. Thought you'd like to hear how it went."
"Right," she squelched down the disappointment over the missed opportunity, the frustration over the intrusion, and tried to speak civilly. "How was it? Did you find the yeti?"
"Nah," Krem gave Fear's ears a goodnatured tussle, "Wherever or whatever that creature is, we didn't come across any sign of it. But we did find a nice little warren of rabbits. Had a bit of fun, giving them chase, letting Fear work off some excess energy. But don't worry—I didn't let him get blooded, not this time."
Fear gave him a dissatisfied whine at that.
"Oh," the disappointed sound in her voice had nothing to do with the semi-unsuccessful hunt. She had no idea what Krem meant by Fear getting blooded, but figured rightly she probably didn't want to know, at least not tonight. She only wanted him gone and for her and Cullen to pick up where they had left off, hoping that it wasn't too late, that their opportunity hadn't passed them by. "Well, better luck next time. Thank you, Krem."
"I could take him out again tomorrow night, if you'd like."
"That would be fine," she ground out between her teeth. She could feel Cullen pulling away, imagined him putting a formal and proper amount of space between them. She wanted to pound out her disappointment on the battlements with her bare fists.
Krem's grin widened, and for a moment she feared he hadn't been fooled, that he knew exactly what was happening—or had almost happened—with her and Cullen, and he was stalling deliberately to torment or torture them both. She wanted to hit him, to shove him away, before Cullen could escape. The next moment, he miraculously wiped the shit-eating grin from his face and gave them a formal bow. "Well, then, I'll take my leave. Goodnight, Inquisitor. Goodnight, Commander."
"Goodnight," she answered, relief washing over her as Krem spun on his heel and disappeared into the night, leaving them alone once more. Now, if only she could keep Cullen from running away, if only she could recapture that moment, if only she could…
Before she could speak, before she could think of anything to say that would keep him from backing away, Cullen took hold of her shoulders and twirled her around. She gasped, shocked, but he didn't stop; he was too determined to do this before there was another interruption, another missed moment. His hands remained on her shoulders, holding her a willing captive, as he fell upon her like a hawk on a hare.
His lips were firm against hers, strong and sure and surprisingly warm like the man they belonged to, with just the right amount of pressure, neither lightly insecure nor obsessively harsh. She savored the sensations, the warmth of his body, the movement of his lips, the musky scent of masculinity. Timidly, impulsively, her jaw opened slightly, allowing just enough room for her tongue to slip out and taste his lips.
His reaction was unexpected. A deep moan echoed within his chest, his fingers tightening their grip on her shoulders, and he pulled her closer into him. Her front was smashed against the unyielding metal of his armor, making her gasp, opening her mouth a little bit more. He took advantage, his tongue sliding out as hers had done, though he dared to venture further.
Now it was her turn to moan. She had had so many new experiences over the past several months, so many shocks, she should have developed an immunity—or at least a resistance—to being startled. But nothing could have prepared her for this, for the feel of him inside her mouth, stroking her, counting her teeth, delving deep and lapping her up like a favorite dessert. Her mind was overwhelmed, unable to process all she was going through much less come up with some sort of action to take. Luckily, her body instinctively knew what to do. She bent backwards a little, molding her body against him as his hands moved to her back, supporting her, encouraging her.
Oh, Maker, this was heaven.
Cullen pulled back with a soft hum, the sound swallowed by the night and the blood pounding in her ears. Peredura found herself out of breath, her vision dark even after she opened her eyes. But she could see his face, see his gaze drop slightly abashed and to the side. "I, er… sorry, I… that…"
She feared. She feared he was pulling away again. She feared that worse than she feared anything, even having to face Corypheus. One of her long-fingered hands reached up and touched his cheek, keeping him from turning away, causing him to lift his eyes back up to hers with hope. "That… was… I don't know the word… something more than 'nice' or 'good' or even 'perfect'… something I've wanted for so long…"
"So have I." He sounded amazed, relieved, even a little happy. His face started looming closer again, his lips already parted, and she matched his expression, tilting her face to move her nose out of the way.
But both of them stopped, a new sound reaching their ears. It wasn't alarming or all that loud, but it was distracting. Cullen laughed, just a little, and settled his forehead against hers before turning slightly to look at Fear. "You should take care of your hound."
Peredura also turned to look at Fear, sitting on his haunches, staring intently at them, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. It was his pants they were hearing, pants that were conveying an urgent message. For the first time, she found herself wishing Varric had never given her the puppy.
"It's all right," he assured her when she hesitated, "Go see to his needs. Besides, I think we've gotten over the hump."
"But I want to kiss some more," she whined.
Fear answered with a whine of his own.
Cullen half-smiled, the scarred part of his lip rising up in a smirk. "So do I. But another time." He began to pull away from her, letting Fear know she would be with him soon.
"When we go riding," she pressured, wanting to pin him down to specifics before he could get away, "Tomorrow."
"I can't," he shook his head as he walked with her and the hound towards the stairs, "Too much work. But the day after tomorrow, I'll set aside a few hours to ride with you."
"Promise?" She wasn't letting this go, or his hand.
They neared her guards, who were eyeing the two of them without trying to look like they were doing so. He ignored their scrutiny and focused on the woman at his side—the woman who had wanted him to kiss her for a long time. "I promise. Now, go see to your hound's needs." He bowed over her hand, brushing his lips across the back of it, "Goodnight, Peredura."
"Goodnight, Cullen," she sighed, a little sadly, a little resignedly. "Come along, Fear, sounds like you've missed your supper. Let's get you fed."
Cullen watched them walk away, his eyes scanning every shadow and scouting every corner, as she and her Mabari and her guards made their way from the battlements to the kitchens beneath the Keep. Only when she was safely indoors did he start his own steps.
Peredura had wanted him to kiss her, had wanted it for a long time. Briefly he regretted the time he wasted in worry and doubt; that time was past and couldn't be reclaimed. But she had wanted him, Cullen. Not Dorian. Not Solas. Not any other man. His heart felt like crowing, overfilled with triumphant elation. He had done it—he had claimed her heart, and he hadn't even known he'd been trying.
He was whistling a merry tune as he walked along the battlements back to his office.