When Evelyn first met Cassandra, the Seeker's glare had been piercing with suspicion and distrust, then later, reluctant acceptance before settling into comfortable familiarity. But the expression she keeps shooting her now is completely new, cycling through variations of indecision and overwhelming curiosity.
"Everything alright, Cassandra?" she asks when it gets to a point that Evelyn is afraid she'll have a fit of apoplexy. The Seeker glances around, ensuring no one else is in hearing distance before she speaks.
"Is there something going on with you and Cullen?" she asks, blunt as always, and Evelyn uses the need to reposition her gloves further down her wrists to buy her some time to respond.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, he wouldn't stop looking at you when we arrived at Churneau-"
"People always look at me. Part of having a glowing hand."
"And he carried you out the Temple-"
"How else was he supposed to do it? Drag me by my ankle?"
"He took off his gloves and touched you, there," she says with emphasis and moves her horse closer to gesture to the back of her neck.
Evelyn frowns and lightly bats her hand away before reaching for her own reigns again. "So?"
Cassandra makes an exasperated face and Evelyn is surprised at how lively the normally stoic warrior appears. Her reproach and quiet disapproval had been expected if the connection between herself and Cullen were ever to be discovered and she is unsure of what to do with this wide-eyed woman whisper-shouting with a conspiratorial light in her eyes.
"I have known that man for some time and the most I've ever seen in the way of affection from him towards anyone is a clap on the shoulder as a 'well-done'."
"Maybe he missed. The neck is very close to the shoulder."
She rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath that forms a soft cloud in the freezing air. "A seasoned warrior can land a blade accurately within the space of a finger's width and your explanation is 'He missed'? You knew it was him. Immediately."
Sighing, Evelyn closes her eyes and doesn't argue the point.
"It's all so romantic."
Evelyn's eyes fly open and she nearly falls off her horse to see Cassandra staring into the distance, looking as moon-eyed as any fifteen-year-old maid.
"It's... not, Cassandra, it's not what you think."
"What do you mean?"
"It's not romantic. There are no whispers of undying affection or dreaming of the future. We're just two soldiers providing each other some companionship in wartime."
The other woman's brow furrows as she makes a face. "I've never once heard of Cullen having dalliances with fellow soldiers. Or dalliances with anyone for that matter."
"Well, there's a first time for everything."
The Seeker's face falls, her eyes narrowing in disapproval.
Oh, thinks Evelyn, there it is.
"Who decided this? You or him?"
She is tempted to throw her hands up and declare it none of the other woman's business but she has a sinking feeling that it would sunder this fragile thread of friendship building between them.
"Neither. It's just understood."
One dark eyebrow quirks up in disbelief and she shakes her head. "The characters in Varric's novels have more sense. But you are both adults." She said the word 'adults' as if she were dubious of its veracity. "Do as you wish."
Cassandra lifts her chin and straightens her back before urging her horse forward and away.
This time it is Evelyn who makes a face, trying to figure out why her tryst is so vexing to the woman.
It's my heart, after all. I'm the one who will suffer the consequences.
A sudden rush of freezing wind has her ducking her face to use one eye to navigate the narrow pass. She thinks of her quarters at Skyhold, its large hearth, and its many warm blankets. The deep of winter in Thedas has arrived, burying more than just the Frostbacks in snow and she is looking forward to actually remaining at Skyhold for once.
"Inquisitor?"
She looks up from her mountain of parchment paper and rubs her eyes before beckoning the soldier forward. "You asked to informed of Commander Rutherford and his soldiers return. They have just arrived ma'am. The Commander requests to debrief in one hour."
She dismisses him and thumbs at the edge of the paper while her chin drops in relief. Cullen had stayed behind with some of his soldiers to salvage any clues to Samson's whereabouts with the intent to follow in two days' time, but heavy snows and unexpected skirmishes delayed his return nearly two weeks.
She tries to refocus her mind on the task at hand but soon gives up and makes her way to the War Room.
This time, Cullen is the last to arrive. His cheeks are red from the windburn and his jaw set in a frustrated clench, but to Evelyn, he otherwise appears unharmed. The hard look in his eyes softens a fraction when he looks at her before greeting each of them.
"There was nothing else of value discovered at the Shrine. We made sure the surrounding countryside was free of red templars and caved in the entrance. Hopefully, that will prevent any further person's corruption until it can be dealt with more permanently."
"And Samson?'
His hand curled into a fist that pressed down on the war table. "Nothing. We interviewed every merchant and traveler we came across but no one has seen anything. I'll order patrols to resume."
"And I will set my scouts to it as well."
He gives a satisfactory nod. "How goes Dagna's progress?"
"She thinks she can forge a rune to break the armor's power but it will take time and coin." He looks displeased with this answer but offers no other opinions on the matter.
"Anything else?" asks Evelyn and Josie taps her quill to her parchment.
"Empress Celene has sent us," she pauses briefly, "a liaison. She has just arrived today."
"Who?"
"Her arcane advisor."
"Morrigan?" questions Evelyn in surprise thinking back to the apostate she'd briefly encountered and Leiliana nods.
"Morrigan traveled with the Hero of Fereldan during the blight. She is a powerful mage and very clever."
"Do you trust her?" asks Cullen and Leiliana frowns before answering. "She could be a great asset but she would never be a reliable one. We must never forget that she has motives for all she does and every decision she makes will depend on the good it does her and her alone. I have only ever known of one person to be the exception and due to some news I received this evening, this may work to our benefit." A bright grin stretches across the spymaster's face. "My people have found Solana out West, looking for a cure for the Taint. At first, she was reluctant to abandon her mission but once informed of the nature of Corypheus and his likely connection to the Calling, she will ally with the Inquisition and do what she can."
There is a clatter as Cullen fumbles the metal marker he had been holding in his hand but it is already righted by the time she glances over.
"We also have a prisoner that you will have to decide what to do with," says Josie quickly, drawing back Evelyn's attention. "He is an Avvar named Movran the Under."
"What did he do?"
At this Josie seems to be fighting a laugh. "He attacked us. With a goat."
After the absurd trial of the Avvar chief, Evelyn makes her way to the undercroft and is surprised to see Cullen there with his shield laid out before himself and Herrit.
"No problem commander, I'll just-"
The blacksmith turns to his forge and seeing one of Dagna's latest modifications Herrit throws his hands up. "Like I don't already have a to-do list as long as one of Maryden's feckin' songs. Dagna! DAGNA!"
Cullen rubs his temple as he watches the blacksmith charge out the room. "I suppose this won't be done tonight then," he comments and raps a knuckle against his shield.
Evelyn snorts, folding her arms across her chest. "Don't count on it. I half expect to find them slap fighting like children every time I come down here but together they do impeccable work."
He smiles but it is a strained, flat one and much closer to a grimace. There are tired lines around his eyes and his hair is a bit wilder than usual, a few daring strands lifting from the waves to curl. Something in her chest clenches at the sight.
"How are you, Cullen?"
"Angry," he replies simply. "Samson was nearly in our grasp and I let him get away. More templars are going to lose themselves to red lyrium. More people are going to die."
"It's not your-"
"Fault?" he asks. "Samson was a brother of the Order and he has betrayed everything we stood for. It is my last duty as a templar and my most important as your Commander that I bring him to justice." The muscle in his jaw flexes. "I will not fail again."
"I know."
He inhales deeply and gives one short nod in acknowledgment of her conviction before speaking again.
"I have some correspondence to complete before the night is out but I would like it very much if you come by my office later."
Nervous anticipation blooms hot under her skin and flushes her face. "I will try."
The corner of his mouth lifts for the briefest instant and then, he leaves.
She hesitates as her fist hovers over his door, anxiety clawing at her insides. It is late enough that he is certain to have finished whatever work he planned and he asked her to come. But with their new understanding, this feels different, more real in a way their furtive meetings before did not.
It is the cold that makes her brave in the end.
"Enter," he says at her knock.
He is bent over his desk, quill moving furiously in his hand, though it stops when he sees it is her. The room is lit with a few candles and a fire bowl near the desk, their light dancing in a draft from above.
He says nothing as she closes the door and more fully enters the room. She can't be certain from the way the shadows fall over his expression but he seems to look her over in one long glance from her face down her body and then up again before he rises and steps around his desk. Again, she waits for instruction, though she's not sure if she does so because it is what he needs or if because it is what she wants (both, it is both).
Take off your coat."
She shirks off the material and lets it fall to her feet.
"Come here," he beckons and he moves when she is close to the desk, circling around her. Evelyn lets out a shaky breath when she feels his body heat and his breath stirring the hair she had left down.
"How fond are you of that tunic?"
"Not very?" she replies, giving him a confused glance over her shoulder. "It's just a shirt-"
Her voice cuts off in a startled gasp as there is a tug at the hem of her tunic and a sudden rush of cold air against the skin of her back. The cloth about her shoulders sags as he pushes the scraps forward.
He's cut my bloody shirt off.
She feels his finger crook under the edge of her breast band. "And this? Fond of it?"
Her ribs expand with a breath she exhales through her lips. "No "
She swears she can feel his smile just before he carefully slides the edge of his blade between the cloth and her skin. In the next moment, it is gone.
He returns to her, his hands resting on the bare skin where her shoulder meets her neck. In a slow sweeping motion, he skims down her arms to intertwine his fingers with her own. His thumbs brush over the pulse at her wrists, a slow, soothing circle before he guides them both forward, and presses her palms flat against the surface of his desk.
"Tell me if you want me to stop."
She is half-naked, bent over his desk, her heart pounding in her ears in excitement and arousal, as she fights the desire to fidget. The room is cold but the fire near his desk keeps her warm and the dancing light hides the slight tremble in her limbs. It is almost a relief when he touches her again, one broad palm following the dip of her waist down to the curve of her ass, then up to curl over her hip. The is a faint vibration as he tugs at the leather lacings on her leggings and they give way, his hand sliding in to cup her intimately.
She feels lightheaded from her rapid breathing and bites her lip to keep herself from begging him to put his fingers or otherwise, deep inside her and calm this maddening ache.
And finally, when she is about to break, he presses one long finger into her heat and hisses a sharp intake of breath.
"Fucks sake, Evelyn," he growls and moves closer to her, his hips now firmly pressed against her ass and adds another digit.
After that, Evelyn is lost to sensation, her world is narrowed down to him. She is surrounded, his hand at her breast, his presence at her back, and his fingers deep in her cunt and she arches her lower back, pushing against the firmness that she is almost certain is his cock. She is rewarded with a shuddered breath and instinctive thrust of his hips that makes her burn with a wicked pride. He readjusts his wrist to press his thumb against her bundle of nerves in slow circles.
A piece of parchment crumples under her hand and she holds her breath but cannot help the soft whimper that escapes her. That cord within her is spirialing tight nearly to the point of pain before it snaps loose, an intense wave of pleasure sweeping over her.
For a moment, all is quiet except for the sound of a deep swallow behind her. His hand is gone from her in the next instant and there is the sound of a jostle of fabric on his person before his breaths become rhythmic and jerky, nearly muffling a quiet slap of sliding skin.
Maker, he's...
The thought gives her a rush of joy to have affected him so. It feels more equal. Better.
She just hears a strangled groan and the commotion stills before he pitches forward, one hand slamming down on the desk's surface next to hers and his head coming to rest between her shoulder blades. It feels strangely intimate, his fingers overlapping hers and his breath ghosting across her back.
"Thank you," he says softly, and yet it sounds like a fervent benediction, then with a sigh, heaves himself upward and away. By the time she turns around after replacing her pants, he is holding out a tunic from his trunk.
"Here."
She takes it and slides it over her head, raising a brow when it falls to mid-thigh and gaps open at the neckline to fall down her shoulder. When she looks up, she is surprised to find him watching her, his eyes soft and his mouth quirked in a smile.
"It's not an exact replacement, but it'll do for now."
"And who's fault is that?" she teases lightly as she scoops up her coat.
"Somehow, I am completely unrepentant," he counters, smile widening and he steps closer before leaning forward, his lips nearly at the shell of her ear. "Wear it when you sleep."
Despite everything they have done, this makes her blush and she used her nod to hide the reaction. "Right, well, goodnight Cullen."
There is a hesitation in his demeanor, one hand going to the back of his neck before he drops it.
"Goodnight, Evelyn.)