30: Heroes (Part VI)
"Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in."
― Leonard Cohen
Evelyn's hands traveled over the crenelated parapet as they strolled down the ramparts, both she and Cullen skirting conversation with awkward silence. Their eyes gazed at the landscape beyond the walls as if they were taking inventory of it for the first time ever. A mild breeze carried the tails of the fortress' flags. Cullen didn't know what to do. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, that spell—her presence— would be broken, and she would be whisked away again. Maybe this time, for good.
The truth, he remembered uneasily.
"Evelyn," he spoke up. "I want to tell you something."
They came to halt and she peered at him a bit apprehensively.
Can I blame her?
He found how her brow furrowed just so when she focused on anything intently incredibly charming. At that moment, devoid of armor, her staff, all the formal regalia of her office, she appeared so vulnerable to him. He remembered the slender woman who stubbornly trained alongside his soldiers, determined to prove that she wouldn't be just some symbolic figurehead for the Inquisition. The weight of the longsword he had very intentionally issued her had made her grimace and strain as she tried to raise it; but even if her arms shook and buckled under the weight, she persistently and stubbornly showed up for training. Her body had changed since he'd first held her close: from delicate, almost fragile, to strong, well defined…and even scarred, he thought, remembering the injuries she'd sustained in Adamant and in the Fade. Adamant had been a nightmare come true; the memory of her tumbling towards what he was sure was death had become his definition of complete despair. As he recalled how he'd felt and contemplated her, so close to him, it didn't matter that she was the mighty Inquisitor. He loved her and he still wanted to embrace her, reassure her, shelter her.
"Can I be honest? Perfectly honest?" he asked, stopping before one of the doors to a passageway connecting the ramparts.
"I… would expect nothing less," she stammered, bewildered.
"I want to make things better between us," he confessed longingly. "But I don't know where to begin…"
She pressed her lips together averting her eyes.
"I miss you. I am missing you right now, even as you stand before me. This estrangement between us isn't right—but you need to help me. I am sorry you are upset with me. That, Maker, I am. But tell me how I can make it better, because I had no intention of hurting your feelings…and yet I did," he said earnestly.
She examined his face, lingering on his eyes, contemplating them ever so pensively.
"Please don't give up on me," he urged her.
For a tense moment he interpreted her silence as disapproval. When she covered her face with her hands, he thought he was done for.
"Look at what I have done! Why would you ask such a thing?"
He held still, confused.
"Why would you ever want to be with someone who chastises you for a time before we had even met," she continued, her face buried in her hands. "Someone as spiteful, as childish, as I have been?"
He moved his hand towards her, but stopped halfway. The condescending "there, there," froze on his lips.
Listen. There is meaning behind the words, he told himself.
She appeared so upset, so distraught.
"I don't think of you that way at all! And I don't like to see you like this," he said gently. She finally glanced up at him. "What can I say to reassure you…"
Her eyes were filled with tears. He felt a pang in his chest.
Because of me?
"What can I do to convince you of my feelings, Evelyn?"
"Even though I was so angry and horrid to you?" she asked mournfully.
"Yes, well—" he started, but quickly fell silent.
The inquisitive look in her eyes alerted him that she was hanging on to his every word. It was no time to bask in any perceived vindication. He collected his thoughts and took a deep breath.
"Evelyn, I'm not very good at this. I know you feel bad about what happened…I know I feel terrible about it too. And I also know we are bound to do something similar again," he cautioned. She watched him warily. "But," he began, taking her hand in his and clasping it tightly against his chest, "there is no one else I would rather make these mistakes and learn with. Will you be patient with me?" he asked sincerely.
"If you will be patient with me," she sniffed, squeezing his hand back.
"Tolerate my faults?" he asked.
"If you tolerate mine," she said, a faint smile starting to emerge on her lips.
"Get as angry as you'd like, but not leave me?" he asked, brushing his lips against her knuckles.
"No, I don't want to be apart again," she shivered.
He tilted his head at her, relief in his expression.
They began speaking at the same time.
"I love—"
"You."
It was Leliana's voice cheerfully calling from behind the door early that morning. As he blinked his eyes open, he saw Evelyn standing with her back turned, adjusting the hastily tossed on tunic. She glanced over her shoulder and upon seeing him awaken, leaned over.
"I'll be right back," she whispered, planting a kiss on his cheek.
He watched her saunter down the steps and listened to the door creak open.
"I forgot we had arranged to meet this early," he heard Evelyn apologize very softly.
He couldn't understand all the words they exchanged in hushed tones, catching only the occasional word or phrase. From what he gleaned, Evelyn had asked to postpone the morning meeting, earning them a small reprieve from the maelstrom of activity that engulfed them on a daily basis. Evelyn thanked her, but before the door shut, Leliana impishly called out:
"Good morning, Cullen!"
Worth her salt, that spymaster. Did anything get by her?
He replied tersely, with just a hint of annoyance.
But in truth, the ribbing was nothing, he thought, as he watched Evelyn make her way back to the bed, hastily free herself from the superfluous tunic. He yearned to touch her, pull her against him, warm and inviting, coaxing from her those tantalizing sighs that ignited a deep, inebriating bliss.
What had we been arguing about, anyway? he wondered vaguely as she slipped between the covers he held up for her.
He knew, as their limbs entwined, that there would be other tiffs, spats, and misunderstandings. He thought, as they became lost in each other's gaze, her need for him stoking his desire for her, that those other, bitter moments they'd face, would be worth weathering for the closeness and wholeness they felt with each other.
Later on, as they lay in each other's arms, laughing lightheartedly, speaking to each other in murmurs, all right in the world, he knew he would take it, just the way it was, their perfect imperfections and all.