Chapter Twenty-six

Hand in Hand

The Great Hall was full to bursting with raucous celebration, two long tables packed with revellers that sat hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. Even the Orlesian nobles who had spent months hiding behind their masks and casting sooty glances as they gossiped had loosened up as ale flowed through the crowd, the kitchen staff providing a feast fit for royalty. The Inquisition's finest dispersed among the revelry, drinking, eating, laughing, dancing – whatever their hearts desired, they did – as their hopes and dreams of victory became reality.

And yet, amongst it all, amongst the celebration and fanfare, Cullen desired only one thing.

Valina.

Skyhold had been so swept up by the excitement of Corypheus defeat, he'd hardly seen her since she arrived back with the group that morning. They'd shared only a fleeting embrace before she was swept away by a mob of cheering soldiers. Even at dinner, she'd been taken in by their companions, pulled onto a bench to share in a toast from a bottle of expensive Tevinter wine. It was the bottle Dorian had saved for this very celebration, and it seemed Malakar convinced him to share.

Soon, attention turned from food to dancing. From what he'd seen out of the corner of his eye between fielding his well-wishers, Bull, Dorian, and even Rainier had stolen her for a dance.

He thought back to the Winter Palace all those months ago when they first met, remembered his frustration. He'd missed his opportunity to dance with her then, and now that he wanted to take her in his arms, he couldn't. How he wished he could ignore his responsibilities just this once.

How he wished he could be selfish.

Instead, Cullen had been accosted all evening by well-wishers who disregarded his polite attempts to extract himself from meaningless conversations he'd had over and over for hours. They all thanked him for his service, congratulated him for the Inquisition's success, and wanted to discuss his plans until every step he took closer to his goal was hindered by a handshake or even the occasional hug.

When an Orlesian Baroness who was entirely too hands-on to be appropriate suggested they go somewhere quiet so he could give her a private lesson in calibrating a trebuchet, he finally snapped.

She ducked away from him with a scowl and he straightened his surcoat, striding through the remainder of the crowd, but when he reached the place at the table where he was sure Valina was only moments ago, he found it empty.

'Hey, Curly,' Varric called a few places down, his voice half-muffled by the crowd around him. He jerked his thumb towards the door behind him, the one that led through the rotunda and out to the battlements. 'Her usual spot.'

Cullen waved his thanks, wasting no time to squeeze through the rest of the bodies that blocked his path. He hurried out along the battlements, through his office, and out onto the moonlit path. He found Valina there, sitting on the outside wall, feet dangling over the edge.

He slowed his steps as he approached, taking in her silhouette in the soft light of the moon. He knew he should feel that familiar spark of fear to see her sitting on the edge but to see her again in the flesh – returned in one piece, despite facing down the Inquisition's ultimate foe – certainly put things in perspective. Rather than wanting to scold her for sitting up on the wall, he wanted to spill his soul to her or express a prayer to the Maker for returning her to him, but he found words escaped him entirely. Instead, he simply stared. Even in nothing but a soft serpentstone tunic and her favourite leathers, her dark hair flying free in the soft breeze, she was exquisite beyond words.

He leant beside her on the wall, looking out. The stormy skies had calmed above, leaving only patches of clouds to hide the sparkling sky.

'You're not going to chastise me for sitting up here?'

He glanced up at her, into her bright green gaze, and a smile lit his lips. He stripped off his gloves, tucking them into his pocket before he gripped the top of the wall. The stone was bitingly cold beneath his palms as he lifted himself, but the contact against his bare skin was reassuring as he began his climb. Halfway up, as he swung his foot onto the top edge and felt his stomach dip as he wobbled slightly off balance, he started to regret his actions, but then he felt her steadying grip on his arm.

Cullen settled his heels against the outer stone, gripping the top edge, white-knuckled as he looked down the steep slope below. He took a steadying breath, focusing on the warmth of her palm as she covered his hand with her own.

'It's over,' Cullen said, staring out at the mountains below and the star lit horizon, 'we… won.'

'And yet, the Inquisition remains.'

'For now. There are still people who need us, and there are still things we must do.'

Valina twined her fingers with his. 'We?'

He glanced at her, but her gaze was locked on their hands, her thumb tracing circles on his skin.

'Valina, I know we haven't talked much about… about the– about our future…'

'We've not had much time, admittedly, we've been so busy chasing down Corypheus,' she said, returning her gaze back to the starry sky, 'so busy fighting.'

'I know…'

She tightened her grip on his hand. 'You're not about to apologise to me, are you, handsome?'

'I…' A smile tugged at his lips. 'No. Selfish as it might have been to drag you into this, despite the obvious benefits for the Inquisition, I can't regret all we've done together.'

'Even the bad bits?'

Adamant. Her parents capture by the Venatori and her near death. Their imprisonment at the hands of Mireille and the confrontation with Benet that followed. The Arbor Wilds.

Yet, even in the worst moments, he found her shining serpentstone gaze.

He smiled. 'Even the bad bits.'

He caught her fingers, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. For a while, they simply sat there, as quiet and still as the fortress beneath them. The music from the Great Hall drifted through the breeze, reaching them even on the battlements. It was softened by distance but he could still discern the familiar tune of old Ferelden waltz, the sound igniting memories of dancing with his mother and sisters in his youth.

He allowed his thoughts to drift back to the Winter Palace again. So many of his memories of that night were clouded with frustration, impatience, even anger, except for the moment he laid eyes on her.

Leliana approached the noble, offering her hand, and to his surprise, the unknown woman accepted, allowing Lady Nightingale to lead her down onto the ballroom floor. They found their poise easily, Leliana leading the way through the moderately paced waltz. When they turned, Leliana's back facing Cullen, he felt a flash of regret spark in the pit of his stomach when his gaze fell upon the noble's unmasked face. Dark curls framed her exquisite features; her skin a warm bronze, her high cheekbones softly dusted with a golden powder to highlight them. When she smiled at Leliana with wicked red lips, he felt his stomach dip. Suddenly he wished he had been less hasty to refuse Leliana's suggestion.

When Leliana returned, he tried to concentrate on the information she shared with him, but Cullen found his gaze focused elsewhere. He watched Valina from across the room, feeling his stomach dip with regret once more.

'Can we learn more from her?'

'Perhaps,' Leliana admitted, glancing sideways at him as he shifted on his feet. His demeanour had changed since she returned. He had lost the irritated edge to his voice, a quiet curiosity permeating every word, every subtle movement, but before Leliana could question him, he walked away, his gaze focused on Valina.

Nerve-wracking did not adequately describe how he felt as he approached, his heart thundering in his chest until he swore he could hear his pulse in his ears. Still, Cullen steeled himself as he eased his way through the crowd, dodging the glances and death glares of women he had previously rejected advances from, his steps nearly faltering as he neared her. He fidgeted with the wrist of his gloves and smoothed his jacket, wishing again that he had made time to have it taken out before the ball. He felt hot, the collar suddenly far too tight.

This is no worse than marching into battle, he decided, and no more difficult.

The thought echoed through his mind again, and he threw his leg back over the wall, dropping down onto the cobblestone path of the battlements. He stripped off his surcoat, hanging it where he'd sat only moments before, trusting the rough stone to keep it in place before he straightened and extended his hand.

'Lady Valina, my love, would you grant me the honour of this dance?'

For a moment, he swore she was reading the memories on his face, serpentstone gaze captivating him, and his heart thundered just as hard as the first time he approached her. Finally, she climbed down from the wall – more gracefully than he'd managed – and joined him on the path, taking the hand he offered without hesitation, and he drew her closer, wrapping an around her waist.

He knew she was weary from the battle and return trip, and from the celebration that followed, so they moved with half steps, simply making slow circles rather than following the dance. Their pace allowed Valina to tuck herself tightly against his chest, laying her cheek on his cuirass, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead before he leant his cheek on the top of her head, loose curls of her hair tickling his neck.

He closed his eyes, trying to take in every thought, every touch and scent and sound of this moment. He cherished the warmth of her hands in his, the soft rosy scent of her silken hair. He cherished her, the woman the Maker had sent to him despite the things he'd done and seen, despite all the self-loathing and guilt he'd carried for ten long years.

He'd never allowed himself to imagine a future until that night at the river by her family estate. They'd finally voiced their feelings there, reassured each other about their future even in the face of the continuing war, and confessed their love… Still, a voice had lingered in the back of his mind, out of reach of his conscious thoughts but always whispering the fears he could not voice – about the war, about Corypheus, about the lyrium withdrawals that plagued him – that instead haunted his dreams.

The longer they stood there on the battlements, hand in hand, pressed tightly together and doused in moonlight, the smaller that voice became, until all at once he realised.

The war is over.

Corypheus is dead.

My hands are steady.

'Valina, I don't know what happens next,' he said, voice barely a whisper against her ear, 'I just know that no matter what, I want to be with you.'

She leant back just enough to meet his gaze, watching his expressions, a curious light in her eyes. After a moment, a mischievous smile lit her lips. 'Cullen, are you trying to ask me something?'

'I…' He glanced down, heart hammering in his chest. He knew to what she was referring, and although the word had never been spoken out loud, he couldn't deny he'd thought about it, especially recently.

'Perhaps,' he said finally, almost grimacing instinctively at the evasive answer, 'I mean, not just yet… the fate of the Inquisition must be decided and I must remain commander as long as is necessary to support the Inquisitor–' he cleared his throat– 'and I need to talk to your parents, of course… but soon, yes, I want to… I will ask…'

Strong fingers caught his chin, gold meeting serpentstone, and he forced a steadying breath into his lungs.

'You,' he said, answering her smile with his own, 'I will ask you.'

He clutched her tighter as she coaxed his head down so she could capture his lips. He poured all his love, all his hope into the soft caress of their kiss, and felt it returned in the tenderness of her touch, and the way they lingered together even when they were too breathless to continue.

'I look forward to our future, then,' she said, words barely a whisper against his lips, 'and all the mischief we'll get up to.'

'Together,' he agreed.

He stole another kiss before he dropped his arms, capturing her in his embrace. He lifted her, spinning them around until her laughter echoed off the cobblestone, and he knew his wicked rogue had captured his heart forever more.

It is with a heavy heart that I present to you the final chapter of Shadows & Daggers. I planned to continue on into the pre-Trespasser story line, but due to recent mental health issues that have become far too pressing to ignore, I've decided to follow my original outline and end Valina and Cullen's main story in line with the Dragon Age: Inquisition end game. I hope to continue their adventures in the future, and even have plans to write an AU and long-fics for a few other pairings, but for now, I will be focusing on some smaller endeavours and returning to other fandoms I love.

To all of you who have stuck with me through this journey, I cannot express in words how much your support has meant to me. Thank you, and no matter where your passion for fanfiction takes you next, happy reading 3