The Perfect Moment
A quick warning: There are depictions of injuries, wounds, bruises. I also make mention to my Inquisitor’s backstory which includes slavery, but it’s not explicit.
Anyways, a summary for this: The Inquisitor is back after 2 months away, and Cullen has been considering proposing. Unfortunately for him, Jim fucks it all up. Again. It’s fluff, pure fluff. Fluffier than a bunny’s ass on Easter.
This piece now has a short little sequel-ette (Cullen’s journal about asking her.) It was sent as an ask to my main tumblr, then I misunderstood what I was writing and ended up writing a piece for this story’s main story (Faded to be Together) that won’t be there for like. A longass time yet. But the actual diary piece won’t be included in the official story at all, I don’t think. So. Here.
XXX
She’s in the bath. He can hear the gentle sloshing of the water as she adjusts herself, smells the gentility of the fragrances imbued in the soaps throughout the room. He pauses at the foot of the stairs, papers held between atypically gloved hands, and stuffs them back in his pouch. It is rare that they get to spend time alone together without the looming evidence of their positions, just as a man and woman in love. The proposal is always on his mind, a thousand fanciful plans involving romantic dinners, maybe a dance, maybe beside the lake where they’d once shared pieces of themselves, surrounded by her friends or alone, under the stars or upon a hill at dusk. Would it be tonight? He shook his head and smiled to himself. No, not yet.
He was about to address himself, maybe with a clearing of the throat or a soft, “My dear,” but instead thought against it. A gentle surprise, then. She had been away for nearly two months, travelling once again to the Western Approach to investigate rumors of breaches. Two months with nary more than a handful of letters—not that he considered her thoughtless or cruel. Quite the contrary, every letter sent was in fact several pages long, one even as long as 25 pages back to back, every inch filled with her words of love and longing for him, with tales of their adventures. He had hoped they might be allowed to spend more time together before she had been dragged into a meeting with Leliana, but as it was she was only allowed enough time to fling her arms around him and kiss him fervently—in front of his men, which had caused an uproarious chorus of “aww”s and whistling. He couldn’t be mad, though, as he’d kissed her back with just as much passion and fervor, held her so tightly he worried her tiny Elven body might actually snap in half in his arms.
But here they were. Finally alone, and finally at peace. He walked up the stairs to her quarters—their quarters, a change he’d once worried might have caused a stir in the ranks but which only seemed natural to everyone around them. A fire crackled in the fireplace, it’s gentle glow casting across the room, giving it a warmth that had been as absent as she. Her staff stood proudly against the wall behind the desk, her traveling cloak folded neatly over the back of the chair, boots sat lovingly against the wall. He smiled to himself, their battles over his excessive tidiness returning to his mind, this small gesture of cleanliness all the reassurance he needed that he was on her mind.
The tub sat near the flames, steam rising lazily off of it, her curled chestnut hair sitting over the side several inches longer than he remembered, a pointed ear decorated with nearly a dozen rings poking out amongst the spirals, one arm draped over the side of the tub closest to the fire. He set his things down on the couch near the staircase and crossed the room to her, steps muffled by the large rug. What was he going to do once he got there? Would he join her? Pull her from the water and ravish her? Sit beside her and listen to her lilting voice as she told him about her time away? He smiled to himself. Anything would suffice, so long as it was with her.
As he drew nearer the tub, he paused, the smile sliding off his face. When she’d come to see him earlier, she’d been fully dressed, all evidence of those two months hidden from him. He could see them now, however. She sat in the tub, her head against her shoulder, eyes shut. Her face had been unchanged, that much he knew. Still scarred from her difficult life, vallaslin dancing across her cheeks like tree branches, lips still full. The only new thing had been a scar down a cheekbone, something he’d seen as they were parting ways that day, and that one small injury had been enough to boil his blood. But this?
She was thinner. That was to be expected, as nutritious food is difficult to find that far west. He’d anticipated it, had been prepared for it, and he’d felt it in their embrace. But the scars, the bruises. She’d had some from before—from her time in the Denerim alienage climbing the tree and getting into alleyway scraps, more than a handful from her brief time held as a slave by a Hightown nobleman, some from her time in the Kirkwall Gallows (one which he ruefully remembered turning a blind eye to as Knight Captain,) some from her time with Marethari’s clan then finally with Clan Lavellan. She’d told him stories of most of her more dramatic scars one night, as they lay together in bed, his chin resting on her bare stomach, his arms around her waist. She’d gathered a few more within her time as Inquisitor, as is obviously expected, but now posted along her skin like canon-wounds on a battle field stood shockingly dark bruises, some on the verge of healing. There were several stitched cuts along her leg, a barely-healed gash along her arm, frighteningly dark bruises along her ribs.
Tears prickled in his eyes as he took in the sight of her, this woman who had so easily captured his heart. Part of him panged with guilt as he recalled how tightly he’d held her earlier, though she had given no protestation.
He must have released a heavy breath because her ear twitched, and she bolted upright, covering herself, the Fade around them tensing with unbidden magic. She relaxed as quickly as she reacted, her expression softening as she realized who it was. She smiled brightly in such a way that caused his heart to ache, and she put her hand on the side of the tub. “Cullen.” His name comes from her lips like it has a thousand times before—welcoming, breezy, filled with warmth and familiarity. There must be something in his expression, because worry fills hers, and she rises from the tub with ease, an arm lazily across her chest in an attempt at needless modesty. She is reaching for a towel sat upon a chair near the fire, but before she can grab it, his arms are around her. One hand is pressing her head into his shoulder, his face buried in her hair, not caring that his tunic is getting wet. She squeaks with surprise but is quick to relax into his surprisingly gentle embrace. A soft laugh is evident in her voice. “I missed you, too,” she whispers.
He wanted to hold her tight, to crush her into him, but the fear of hurting her was too much. Instead, he pulled back, a hand going to gingerly cup her cheek, urging her to look up at him. He looked into her eyes, the same eyes he’d stared into for hours on hand, so gently warm and sweet like honey. They looked back at him with such emotion, such love. He looked down at her naked body, and another pang of guilt flashed across him. He bit the inside of his lip before looking back into her face. “You are injured.”
Realization hit her after a moment, and she rolled her eyes, a breathtaking grin stretching across her face. She waved her hand, stepping out of his arms to grab her towel and wrap it around her body. “It’s nothing. It looks much worse than it really is.”
Cullen frowned, watching her as she crossed the room to her dresser and begin rooting around for clothes. He couldn’t help but notice the small splotch of blood upon his shirt where her stitches had touched him. “How can you…” He sighed, shaking his head. He crossed over to her and dug in his own drawer before producing a tunic for her, one of her favorites owing to its large size. She watched him struggle for words as she slipped into it, sliding a pair of smallclothes up her legs after a moment. Finally, he sighed and took her hands in his, dragging her to the bed where he sat down. She stood before him a moment, eyes catching the light, setting them strangely aglow as she observed him. Cullen is a learned man, educated in many things, but verbosity is not his strong suit, a fact she was acutely aware of. She had learned quite early on to be patient with him, to allow him time to formulate his thoughts. Finally, after a long moment, he just hung his head, pressing his lips to the backs of her hands. “It worries me when you are so far away from me. You must promise me to endeavor to be more careful. I don’t know what I would do if…”
She shushed him, her hands moving to cup his cheeks, his own hands gently cupping her wrists. “Cullen, you mustn’t think like that.” She moved so she was straddling his hips, her weight and warmth surprising given her small stature. “I’m not going anywhere.” Another brilliant smile flashed in front of his eyes as she brushed a curl from his face. “You’d be positively lost without me.”
He snorted, arms moving to slip gently around her waist. “Who said anything about me? I’m only thinking of the good of Thedas.”
She laughed then, a surprisingly deep-bellied laugh given the weakness of his joke, but the sound was music to his ears even still. It filled the large room and washed across his body as comfortingly as the sound of the waves against the docks at Lake Calenhad. As the laughter settled in her, she ran a hand through his hair, her head tilted as she appreciated him, the smile softened on her features. After a long moment, she leaned down into him, her forehead pressed against his, eyes drifting shut as they shared their breath, their warmth. Painfully slowly, their lips finally found each other, the kiss sensual and unhurried despite the two months of anticipation.
This could be the perfect moment, he thought to himself. The ring was sitting in his drawer in the desk, hidden in the bottom between some old training reports. What words would he choose? “Marry me” seemed too rushed, too impetuous. Could he give a speech? Would she allow him the time to get the speech out? Would she even say yes? His inclination was to think that yes, she would. She’d given him no reason to doubt that her feelings for him were genuine, but perhaps…? No. That’s stupid. The woman in his arms is many things, but cruel is not one of them. She would never toy with anyone in such a manner, no matter what they may have done to her in the past.
A pang of guilt shot across him again as he thought back to those days. Part of him still couldn’t believe he’d been too hopped up on lyrium to truly notice her, to remember her again all these years later. True, she’d not had vallaslin in those days, and her hair had been kept different and dyed to black. But her laugh. It was a sound he was sure could pull him from the brink of death.
Bitterly he realized that nobody laughed in those days. Not in the Gallows. Not like that.
“Cullen?” His name was a whisper on her lips, the warmth of her hand pressed into his cheek again.
“Mm?” He blinked, suddenly back in the moment, back in their quarters, in their bed. Her expression was one of concern as she brushed her thumb across his skin, but he smiled gently at her, shaking his head. “I was just wandering.”
She scoffed, leaning back on his knees, arms folding across her chest. “Oh, I see how it is. Well in that case, I’ll—” she made a move to get off him, but shrieked as he suddenly lifted her up and tossed her back onto the bed. “Cease! Fiend! I require assistance!” she called lightheartedly, laughter rolling off of her as she playfully tried to scramble away from him.
He was laughing, too. He’d almost forgotten the feeling, the way his gut hardened and ached with the exertion. When she was gone, laughter like this was rare for him, though their friends did their best. The Iron Bull in particular was quite good at almost getting him to lose himself like this (no, not like this, per se, but like the weight of the world was no longer an issue,) though nothing compared to the way she eased him out of his shell.
Their laughter died down after Cullen crawled over her, the two of them panting softly, smiling gently at one another. She was a vision, her curls splayed about her head in a sort of halo, the darkness of it complimenting the tanness of her skin in such a way that she almost looked as though a wooden carving, flawless and beautiful, the scars upon her face no more than the passage of time. Her glowing eyes looked up at him through thick lashes, a hand moving to slip beneath his tunic and caress the hair on his chest, her touch like electricity upon his skin.
No. This is the perfect moment. He smiled down at her then leaned down to catch her in a kiss, this one much deeper than the one before. It was an attempt to wordlessly convey the absolutely ineffable depth of his love for her, even though he knew such a feat could never be possible. Part of him hopes she understood that. The hand in his shirt grew more insistent, moving to urge him to push the shirt off, their breath quickening. Perhaps the moment can wait. He barely leaned up to pull the tunic off, the only time their lips parted was to allow the offending material to be ripped from his head where it was cast aside.
And a yelp from across the room drew their attention.
The heaviness of the fade was back, the electricity in the room at her command as the two of them turned to the intruder.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Cullen was filled with rage so strong he was surprised he didn’t burst into flame himself. “Jim. Get. Out.”
The squire stood there, gaping, stammering to find words, Cullen’s tunic in his hands, eyes flickering from the Inquisitor to Cullen to the ceiling to the floor.
Cullen threw himself off of the bed and rounded on Jim so fast the poor man barely had time to register the impending danger. He yelped again, throwing Cullen’s tunic to the floor as he turned tail and threw himself down the stairs, shouting apologies over his shoulder. Cullen slammed and barred the door behind him, fists clenched against the wood, breath ragged as he struggled to calm himself back down.
And then he heard her laughter, coming in bursting, erratic shrieks and gasps. Incredulously, Cullen poked his head up over the bannister as he made his way back into the room. “I fail to see what is so…”
She was practically rolling, doubled over, clutching her stomach as she fought to breathe. Tears were rolling down her cheeks with the force of her laughter, and upon seeing his shocked expression she shrieked again and laughed even harder, cheeks darkening with the effort.
Cullen stood there a moment longer before he, too, began laughing. He walked over to the edge of the bed and plopped down so their heads were at the same level. They laid like that for a long time, just waiting until the other settled down. At some point, they joined hands, and she pulled his into her chest, eyes drifting shut as she smiled. It didn’t take her long until she had fallen asleep, her breath becoming gentle and even. Cullen lay with her for a while, basking in her presence, a soft smile upon his face. After an hour or so had passed, he slipped out of her hold and crossed over to the desk. As quietly as he could, he dipped his hand into his drawer and pulled the ring out. Turning it about in his hands, he took in the delicate pearl that sat neatly upon the silver band, the softness of the jewel reminiscent of the warmth of her eyes. He looked over to her sleeping form, now stretched out, an arm to her side as though searching for him. He smiled to himself and leaned back in the chair, tucking the ring back into the desk.
There will be no perfect moment. Every moment with her is already as amazing as it could be. I’ll know when it’s time.
