It was snowing.
Fat, languid flakes drifted through the air in drunken spirals, landing with a whisper on the cold stone battlements of Skyhold. Most of Skyhold's fires had been extinguished hours ago, as even the tavern was closed by now, but her magelight illuminated the space around her with a warmth that pushed the darkness back, if only a little.
She shivered, and wrapped her cloak tighter around her body, fingers digging into her sides as they sought the warmth hiding there. She regretted not dressing more warmly before leaving her quarters, but she had been so desperate to escape that she hadn't even considered dressing herself in other layers. Boots and a fur-lined cloak had been about as much as she could manage, trapped in the foggy, claustrophobic panic that accompanied her nightmares with increasing frequency. It felt like it had been weeks since she'd slept properly, and she'd begun to retreat into the armour of Inquisitor more and more, . Decisions became about the numbers, not the lives lost, and her short temper and single-minded focus had started to create rifts with her companions. She could see the chasms opening with each word she spoke, but was unable to help it, too caught in the grand scheme of things to predict the multitude of little hurts her actions would cause.
Her breath shuddered out and hung, crystallised, in the air. The door of the tower next to her opened, then shut, and someone moved to stand behind her. The Commander, she thought, though she took her cue from his silence and held her tongue. She didn't want to fight; she had come out here seeking solace, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to conjure up the animosity that turned their normal encounters to thinly veiled warfare.
In the darkness, it was easy enough to pretend he was just another figment of her imagination, like the demons that clutched at her each time she closed her eyes. She concentrated on slowing her breathing instead, fighting to rebalance herself and give her the ability to get through another day. Blackwall – Rainier now, she had to remember – waited in Skyhold's dungeons, and she was expected to sit in judgement soon after the sun rose, in a handful of hours. Each option presented to her brought its own host of problems, and she still hadn't decided what to do. Another impossibility asked of her.
She'd almost forgotten about the templar's presence when he moved, settling himself snugly at her back so that their bodies touched, cloth against plate, thigh against thigh. After another few heartbeats, he wrapped his arms around her elbows, cradling her arms against her chest. It made her tense, before she closed her eyes and accepted it, leaning back against the warm body behind her.
They both had their demons to fight. Here, in this stolen moment, it felt natural to lay down her weapons and just breathe, the solid plate under her head providing a strength she hadn't realised she needed, hadn't thought to seek from someone else rather than attempting to muster it herself. For the first time in weeks, she could relax, without feeling she was balancing on a knife's edge, bloody from the effort. It was, she thought, ironic, that she was a mage and seeking refuge in a templar's arms.
She couldn't say how long they stood there, frozen in the moment as the faint blush of dawn crept across the horizon, chasing away the few remaining clouds. She hadn't even realised it had stopped snowing, or that the last few flakes had melted from her hair, the damp causing it to curl madly around her face.
The unmistakeable sound of Skyhold waking up clattered across the courtyard as half-asleep residents tore themselves from their beds, ready to start preparing breakfast or finish some crucial task. It brought her back to herself, and reminded her that she didn't have the luxury to waste time here, when there were so many other things requiring her attention. She had come seeking peace and had, surprisingly, found it.
"Thank you, Cullen," she murmured, and this time it was his turn to stiffen at the sound of his name. She regretted it as soon as the name passed her lips, felt like she'd somehow lost by transforming him from the stylised idea of the Commander to something real.
For a moment, she thought he wasn't going to reply. His arms tightened around her before he released her, and by the time she turned, he had composed himself, face shuttered and any warmth hidden behind the perfect image of the Commander.
"I hope we both sleep better tonight." Aware of the curious eyes, he stepped away from her, putting the normal distance back between them. "Evelyn. Inquisitor."
Like the fragments of her nightmare, this was yet another thing that she would have to leave to the dark. She collected the abandoned pieces of her armour around her and put the Inquisitor back together, hiding any traces of the frightened girl behind the image of herself she saw reflected in every fanatical soldier's eyes.
Andraste's chosen had no time for weakness, or need for comfort.