She rolls to her side, and seeing Cullen is still there sighs. "Come on, out with it," she says, her voice partially muffled by a blanket.
The man looks up from where he was rubbing his temple. "What?"
"If we're going to argue about me learning from Hawke, let's do it now and get it over with."
He frowns, head tilting slightly. "While I fully intend to have a conversation with that woman, I have no criticism for you."
That makes her tug the blanket down and she fixes him with a disbelieving look.
"Hawke is right that she's spent more time fighting those with a sword and shield than most. She does have valuable knowledge to share, but there are layers to teaching combat and she was going full tilt at you right at the start."
"But you didn't try to stop it."
One eyebrow lift's and he folds his arms over his chest. "Two-thirds of your advisors and most of your companions were on that field watching. Half our soldiers had climbed the parapets to try to see the fight. Any further attempt to stop you would have undermined your rank in the Inquisition."
Evelyn considers this and pushes herself up in the bed, ignoring the question she sees in his gaze. "Yes, well, I concede you have a point."
"I would appreciate a-" his statement is cut-off with a hiss, his fingers going up to his temples once again and Evelyn is kicking off the blanket to scramble over to him. She pools the healing magic to her and with a nudge, replaces his hands with hers. It is a few more seconds until his brow smoothes out and his eyes open. For a moment he just watches her, his hazel gaze unreadable until they widen and he jerks back.
Belatedly, Evelyn realizes she just used magic, without permission. On a templar.
Stupid, so bloody stupid.
And suddenly she is a little girl again, trying to make herself small enough to escape anyone's notice, small enough to never be a threat. She feels the cool static of fear prickle over her skin as she instinctively braces for a silence or a smite.
"I'm... I'm sorry," she mutters, moving away but her retreat is stopped when Cullen grabs her wrists.
"I'm not angry," he says quietly, "Truthfully, I'm more concerned about you using magic at all right now. You've only been resting for the better part of an hour."
She blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to the calm tones of his voice instead of the angry shout she expected. Rotating her wrist in his light grip, she shows him the anchor. "This gives me a closer connection to the Fade. I seem to recover faster with it."
He frowns at it but doesn't release her.
"It hurts you, doesn't it?"
Her fingers curl into a fist around the anchor, snuffing out the pale green light.
"It doesn't matter," she says, "It is what it is."
The fingers at her wrist flex before he stands.
Maker, he is a large man, she thinks, dumbly. She'd be at his chest if she stepped into him and has the silly notion that the exact same thought is coursing through the Commander. What if he had been moved to the Ostwick circle instead of Kirkwall? She can picture his stern gaze watching them but somehow can't imagine him mocking or laughing at her like the Templars there seemed to do so much
"Would you like to forget about it for a time?" he asks, voice low, pulling her back from the dark halls of Ostwick. He is so close to her, her fingertips could brush the cold metal overlying his chest.
"Alright," she whispers and the corner of his lip quirks upward.
"Get on the bed."
She can hear the creak of his armor as he hastily unlatches his gauntlets and she moves to the headboard. The sun is now lowering over the Frostbacks, the waning light bouncing through the stained glass and over her floor and bed.
There are two thuds when he kicks off his boots and then he is there, leaning over her and supporting his weight on his elbow. Evelyn is struck with the idea that he is going to kiss her and he hasn't done that yet, right? No, she would have remembered, certainly...
But instead of lowering his lips to hers, his mouth descends over her neck while his hand traces the outline of her breasts down to the curve of her waist. Her own hand tentatively starts to sweep up his neck into his hair but he goes momentarily rigid before taking her wrist and setting it next to her head.
The message was gentle but well understood.
I touch you. You don't touch me.
So many questions threatened to tumble forth at that moment.
What is wrong? Are you frightened of me? Do I repulse you in some way? Why won't you let me touch you? Is it because I'm a mage?
But she couldn't bring herself to say them when the flat of his palm skimmed over her chest and his fingers started to flick open the buttons of her top. Goosefleshed pebbles over her bare skin as the cloth was parted, exposing her to the cool air.
She closes her eyes, the myriad of light from the stained glass playing beneath her lids and it is like every touch creates a symphony of color.
The scrape of his teeth against her collarbone. Red.
The squeeze of his hand over her breast. Blue.
The slight pinch when he tweaks her nipple. Green.
And on and on until Cullen shifts his hand lower, the flat of his palm sliding down the plane of her abdomen to the laces of her pants.
"Tell me if you want me to stop."
But her body just thrums with anticipation as he pulls the strings loose and slides his hand underneath.
Evelyn had touched herself in the quiet dark of her room back at the circle, slivers of physical joy that were punctuated by the loneliness that came after. But those stolen moments hadn't prepared her for the feeling of his calloused finger tracing down her seam nor did it allow her to stifle her gasp when he pressed into her body at the same moment his mouth lowered onto her breast.
Her hands twisted in the sheets beneath her to prevent her from reaching for him like instinct told her to and his attentions halted. The bed dipped as he pulled one of her hands to meet the other and now caged together in his grip over her head, he held them there.
She feels wanton, the way she spreads her legs to let him reach deeper inside her, a slow-rolling pressure against her inner walls. His grip on her wrists above her head is bruising but she likes it, this feeling of being pinned down, exposed and open to him. A faint voice in the back of her mind is slightly horrified, screaming that she shouldn't like this in any way, with any man but another withdraw and thrust of his fingers silences it better than she ever could.
Cullen tore away from her breast when she clenched down on the repeat intrusion, a low growl rumbling from his chest, that seemed to coil the knot within her even more. And when his thumb pressed against her nerves there, it was like a string pull taut from the tension at her wrist to where his mouth kissed her skin and his fingers pressed deep into her body. And then she unraveled.
The sheen of sweat on her skin had formed ice crystals from her unintentional magic and she shivers. Cullen was breathing heavily against her, his face hidden against her shoulder when he reached down and pulled the blanket over her before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. She was still staring at the ceiling when he had finished replacing all of his armor and rose and looked over at her briefly, his mouth opening as if he was going to speak. But then he frowned, his hand going up to the back of his neck before falling again.
"You need to eat. I'll have the kitchen send up food," he says quickly before leaving.
Her fingers curl over the rough stone of the parapets as she spies Cullen and Dorian below playing chess. From here she can see the self-satisfied smirk on Cullen's face as he proclaims checkmate once again and Dorian dismissively waves to reset the board again. To say the friendship between the two had been surprising was an understatement.
A gregarious Tevinter mage friends with a rigid Templar...
That templar has been in your bed. Maker, that templar had parts of himself in your body.
Her cheeks heat and warmth floods her belly as she remembers that evening but dissipates as she recalls his hasty exit.
Why do you come to me at all?
"He is quite the enigma, isn't' he?"
Evelyn startles and looks up to see Hawke leaning against the wall observing the same scene below. "Former templar of one of the most brutal circles in Thedas now commander of a mage's army." She shook her head and shrugged. "I've seen that man bash in a man's skull with his shield and I've seen him blush and stammer when he tries to question prostitutes in a brothel."
"What? That... I don't.. " stammers Evelyn frowning in confusion and Hawkes huffs a short laugh.
"You can't make heads or tails of him either?"
Sighing, Evelyn shakes her head. "Not in the least. But I trust him."
"Yeah, me too." The Apostate straightens and jerks her head towards the field they use to train. "You wanna go blow shit up?"
Releasing the stone wall, Evelyn smiles. "I'd be delighted."