CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Cullen's head spun as he tried to fall asleep, but he couldn't. Not with those wine-stained lips stuck in his mind.

'She's grown quite fond of you…and she's not the only one.'

"What does that even mean?" Cullen sighed, turning over in bed. After an hour of trying to sleep to no avail, he stood and walked to the dresser. Maybe a walk would help clear his head. He threw on some trousers, a shirt, and a fur-lined coat before exiting his room. He started making rounds of the battlements. He tried to think of work-related topics: army size, weapon shipments, military alliances…but his mind always returned to the same place. Myra.

He knew it was wrong. Damn it, it was so wrong. She was with Solas, she had a child…But still he couldn't shake her tired gaze that sparked, even the tiniest amount, when their eyes met. But who was to say that spark was nothing more than recognition, or appreciation, or even a platonic fondness.

He was fond of her, and she of him, as she'd admitted today, but how far did that fondness go? Could it even be possible for her to return his feelings?

No, damn these thoughts, damn them all. She was his leader. His strong-willed, cunning, beautiful…

"Commander?"

Cullen looked up from his rumination to see Myra herself. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, strands curling prettily around her face. I never knew she had curls.

"Inquisitor." Cullen settled beside her. "It's late. I didn't think anyone would be up."

Myra laughed a bit. "I don't know the last time I got a good night's sleep."

"You're telling me…" Cullen said.

Myra's expression was hard to make out in the darkness, but Cullen could feel her sympathy. "Withdrawal?"

"Yes."

Myra looked down, off the battlements. Maker, with the way the moonbeams reflected off her black curls, she looked so beautiful…

"We…don't have to talk if you don't want to," Myra said. "It's been a long day for both of us, and…"

"I'd much rather talk with you than lap around the battlements," Cullen said.

"You have a routine? Even for insomnia?" She laughed. When she laughed it tinkled like a music box.

Cullen settled next to her, resting his elbows on the battlements and staring out to the Frostbacks. "When you put it that way, you make me sound like a control freak."

"You are a control freak."

Cullen chuckled. "Fair enough."

She laughed a bit. "Then again, I'm one to talk."

Cullen looked at her. "You?"

She nodded. "It just…expresses itself differently, I guess."

"How?" He looked away quickly. "Erm, sorry, is that too personal?"

Myra looked up at the sky. She seemed conflicted. He wondered if perhaps she was looking to her gods, the same reason behind the tattoos on her face, for an answer. Did she believe in the gods? He'd never asked, he'd just assumed she worshipped the elven gods, but she still went to the Chantry services with Fennec when she returned to Skyhold, so perhaps it was wrong of him to assume…

"At these hours," she finally said, "no question is too personal." She twisted the ring on her right hand. This wasn't the first time he'd seen her do that. Was it a nervous habit? He wanted to ask.

"I'm…" Myra said. "I'm very careful when I speak to people. I say what they want to hear, control them, in a sense."

Cullen didn't say anything. He didn't quite know what to say. Did that mean she fabricated this conversation? No…the way she fidgeted with her hands told him far too much. She was being honest.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I never was a saint."

"No one is." Cullen said. "Besides, if that's the worst thing about you, you're damn close to being one."

"Do you really think so?" Myra said.

"You're certainly no Leliana. You just want people to like you. And you've succeeded. I've yet to hear a single complaint about you as Inquisitor."

Myra looked over the edge of the battlements, her expression hidden. "Thank you."

Cullen smiled. "Don't thank me, thank yourself. You're a good leader."

"I try to be. I suppose my upbringing helps."

"How so?"

"I was First to the Keeper. Leading my clan is what I've been trained to do for most of my life, ever since my parents died."

"You mentioned that…being an orphan." Cullen looked down over the edge of the battlements. "How old were you?"

"I had just turned five."

Cullen shook his head. "So young…" How had he never known? He supposed it's not something that came up during their discussions at the War Table.

"My aunt, who was also the Keeper, took me in, but she had a clan to care for. Luckily, I was a talented mage, or she probably would have never noticed me." She gave a wry laugh, the kind that hid sadness. "So, I trained hard. I trained so hard the Keeper named me her First when I was 12."

"12? That's even younger than when I started my Templar training. Is that normal?"

Myra shook her head and turned around, leaning her back against the battlements. "You can imagine my pride." Cullen leaned with her. A guardsman passed and Cullen nodded at him. "The clan was skeptical of me for my youth, but they must have seen something in me because they began to respect me."

"I remember going into my Templar training…" Cullen's mind wandered back to his Chantry days. "I was one of the youngest boys there. Most of them were nearing adulthood."

"Was it hard being away from your family?"

"Yes, but you get used to it." Cullen laughed a bit. "I was terrible about keeping in touch. My sister hated it."

"I would too."

"My mind sometimes wandered during training. The sparring and sword training were probably my favorite parts." A cold wind blew. Myra huddled closer to him. He flushed a bit. "Erm…that and the Chantry services. They always comforted me." Our arms are touching. Maker's breath, our arms are touching!

"My favorite part of being First was all the stories I had to learn." Cullen watched Myra wrinkle her nose. "Never quite liked the way the elders told them, though."

"How come?"

"Because they were too…distant. You couldn't feel…" Myra trailed off in thought. She gestured with her hands. "Dirthamen, for example. When he and his twin soul, Falon'Din, are separated, you can't feel his fear at being separated. If you make that fear real for the listener, tangible, then it becomes all the more powerful when he masters the ravens Fear and Deceit. The story has a greater impact. The elders recite the stories, but I try to relive them."

Cullen smiled. "I always liked the Mothers who put life into the Chantry's teachings rather than recite the Chant." He looked at his feet, shuffling them a bit. Finally, he worked up the nerve to ask. "I'd…like to hear one of your renditions sometime."

She laughed. "I'm afraid I don't know the Chant well enough yet to—"

"Not the Chant," Cullen said quickly. "I meant…the stories of your people."

"My people?" She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I didn't take you to be a scholar of elven lore."

"Is it a crime to get to know you better?"

"Depends, will it lead to trouble?"

Cullen looked up at the sky. "Well…it can't be a couple more hours until dawn. We were heading towards trouble the moment we left bed."

Myra laughed. He liked making her laugh.

"Fair enough." And with that, she began telling a story.

"Tea?"

Cullen looked back to see Myra holding two cups. He smiled appreciatively and took one of them. "Thank you."

Myra smiled back, then stared out at the battlements. Cullen followed her gaze. He appreciated these nightly talks they had. It was nice to have company…made insomnia less lonely.

"How are you feeling?"

Cullen did not reply at first, gazing deep into the Frostbacks. A cold wind blew and he sipped the tea she'd given him.

"I've been better," he finally said. "I…still wonder if I made the right decision…not taking lyrium."

"The more you think about it, the more power you give it," Myra said. "Easier said than done, but try and trust in yourself and the decisions you've made. If you're always second-guessing your steps, you'll never find your footing."

"You're right, as you often are."

Myra smiled at him. He smiled back. Maker, he loved the way she wore her hair at night. Such long, black, lovely locks only tied back in a loose bun…the moonlight highlighting shades of midnight blue…the same color as the tattoos on her face, characteristic of all Dalish. He noticed he was staring and quickly looked away, flushing.

"Enough about me," Cullen said. "You've been through so much this past month…how are you doing?"

Myra took a long drink of her tea and sighed. "So much rests upon me…and now with this Orlesian ball…" She shook her head and sighed. "I wonder if I'm enough."

"Do not sell yourself short," Cullen said, drawing close. "The Inquisition wouldn't be anywhere near as successful without you leading it."

Myra looked down to hide her flushing cheeks. "You're just saying that."

Cullen laughed a bit. "Trust me…you know how some people are "silver-tongued"? Well, my tongue's made of lead."

Myra laughed so hard she dropped her tea cup off the battlements. "Oops."

Cullen rubbed her back. "Don't worry about it. Let's get back inside." He grabbed the remaining tea cup and finished his tea. Myra held one of his arms as they left the battlements.

"I'd love to test your claim sometime."

"Hm?"

"Your "lead tongue"."

Cullen momentarily forgot how to breathe. His face reddened. "I—You—"

She laughed again. "You make it so rewarding to fluster you."

He sighed. "Don't toy with my emotions, Inquisitor."

"Who said anything about toying?" Myra said. She looked pained, but it was hard to tell with her face shadowed.

Cullen's mouth twisted. "But you're with Solas."

"If things were different—"

"I do not operate under "if"s, Inquisitor."

Silence fell between the two. Myra had released his arm and now had them crossed tightly across her chest, as if trying to hold herself together. It hurt Cullen to see her hurt like this, but what else was he supposed to do? The Inquisition couldn't handle an affair…and neither could he.

"You don't care for me," Myra said.

Cullen shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all."

"You're leaving me."

"No." He pulled her back as she began to turn away. "No, I'm not leaving you. I would never…" But looking at her, he could tell she wasn't going to listen. Looking around, he saw they were alone, so he pulled her close.

"Listen," he said, holding her safe in his arms. "I understand. Everyone important in your life has left you, and you're scared it will happen again. I understand what it's like." He rested his cheek on top of her head. She was rigid, but he hoped she was listening closely to him. "But so long as I'm here, you will always have me by your side, however you'll have me.

His hold on her tightened. "I can't imagine the hardship you endure everyday as Inquisitor, but if I can ease the burden in anyway...If I can carry your throne…"

Myra nodded slowly. Perhaps she understood what he said, or perhaps not.

Only time would tell.