In Marcher Fields - Chapter 17
Poppy Hawke was never the daughter her mother wanted, the sister her twin preferred, the hero Kirkwall desired. They do not see the woman who stands between them and the chaos that threatens. No one takes the time to look, until she crosses the path of a certain Knight-Captain with demons of his own to battle …
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9:41 Dragon, Firstfall
"So that's decided, then. We'll head to Adamant immediately following the Ball at the Winter Palace - everything should be in place by the time we get there."
Xena nodded firmly, patting the table in front of her. It had not taken more than an hour to settle everything for what looked like an assault on the Warden fortress - between Leliana's scouts, Josephine's contacts, and his faith in his own men and their abilities, Cullen felt sure they had more than a fighting chance, even with the probability of demons.
"And Lady Hawke?" Josephine asked, in a deceptively mild tone.
Cullen didn't miss the way both she and Leliana glanced briefly in his direction, feeling his face heat up at the implication that he should know what was happening with Poppy. Alex had remained in the Western Approach with Alistair, both of them keeping an eye on the slow gathering of Grey Wardens at Adamant while Poppy came back to Skyhold to report on what they had found out after Erimond's aborted attack on Xena. Apparently there had been a fair amount of friction between Poppy and Alistair, which was another reason to keep them as far apart as was feasible. Cullen was just a little ashamed of his quiet pleasure on hearing that the hero, Alistair Theirin, hadn't managed to charm Poppy enough to keep her from sharing her opinion on blood magic and idiocy. But only a little. He was more distracted by the looming conversation he had promised her brother he would have with her.
"She'll be coming to the Winter Palace with us," Xena was saying confidently. "Lisette already ran up a spare uniform, it just needs to be fitted. And let's face it, we're going to need every bit of leverage we can get in Orlais."
"Grand Duke Gaspard may not appreciate -" Josephine began, but Leliana interrupted.
"To have the Champion of Kirkwall alongside the Inquisitor is a valuable asset in such a setting, Josie," she reminded the ambassador. "Hawke is well able to navigate Orlesian society and politics. We will just have to keep her away from Lord Cyril du Montfort, that is all."
Xena perked up. "Oh, does she have a history with him?"
Despite himself, Cullen was smiling as he answered before Leliana could.
"She was involved in the circumstances of his father's death, I understand," he told the Inquisitor. "It was very hushed up, but she was at Chateau Haine when Duke Prosper died."
"I did not know that," Josephine admitted with some surprise. "Lord Cyril is now one of the Council of Heralds ... but no matter. If Lady Hawke remains with one of us, there is little chance she will cross paths with him."
"An excellent idea, Josie," Leliana agreed. "May I suggest Hawke accompanies the commander for the evening?"
A slightly alarming smirk passed between the two women as Josephine considered this. The sheer level of knowing impishness in the room increased smartly, raising suspicions in Cullen's mind. He knew what Orlesians were like, especially in a formal setting. He wasn't particularly looking forward to the ball in any case.
"I'd feel better knowing she was somewhere easy to find," Xena volunteered. "Does that work, Cullen?"
"So long as she doesn't have any objections, then I see no reason why not," Cullen agreed, trying not to sound as hopeful as he felt. If he could guarantee Poppy's company for the entirety of the ball, he could also guarantee that the worst of the advances would never come to pass.
"She's agreed to come, anyway," Xena said, jumping down from the carven block they'd had made so she could stand at the war table and not feel like a child in front of the humans. "We can sort out the rest another time. When's dinner?"
As the discussion devolved into the familiar debate about just why Xena wasn't allowed to eat her dinner in the Herald's Rest when they had nobles visiting the castle, Cullen stepped away, making a few notes that he would have to make sure were circulated by the end of the day. There was always so much to do - orders to give, reports to read and sign, requests to confirm or deny, tactics to arrange, training to oversee ... He was generally the last to leave these war room discussions, trailing out in the wake of the ladies by several meters at least, frowning down at the notes in his hand as he stepped into the crumbling corridor.
"Cullen?"
Surprised out of his fierce concentration, his boot caught on an upraised corner of flagstone, bringing him to a stumbling halt as Poppy pushed from her lean against the wall. He hadn't expected to see her there; wasn't ready to see her one-on-one. All right, so he'd had several weeks to mentally plan the conversation Alex had asked him to have with her, but Cullen had thought he might have at least another day. The Poppy he remembered had always enjoyed the night immediately following any sort of mission that took her away from home as a time to be with herself. As the thought crossed his mind, he instantly knew what was different. No home, too much time alone. Of course she would want to spend the time with people.
She tilted her head, meeting his gaze with blue eyes that were so much more guarded than he remembered.
"Can we ... talk?" she asked softly.
He could have sworn she seemed almost nervous. But Poppy was never nervous or, if she was, she never let it show. Letting it show was a weakness that could be exploited. That was the sort of thing you only shared with people you trusted, people you ... People you love. And she was nervous - it was there in the flicker of her gaze, unable to hold his eyes for more than a moment before sliding away; in the hand that wrapped about a hank of her loose hair, no longer black but restored to the swaying brunette he recalled, gently tugging once or twice before falling to her hip.
"Of course," he assured her, buoyed up by this clear indication that he might not be wrong in his hope after all.
She glanced around the open corridor, her expression just a little bemused.
"Ah ... in private?"
"Oh! Oh, yes, of course." Cullen wanted to slap himself for fumbling that. "Ah ... my office is usually quite stuffy at this time of day," he said. "Shall we ... shall we walk on the battlements?"
The nervous glimmer in her eyes fled at that, reassurance that she did actually want to talk to him, and not just have someone to walk with through the Great Hall. He'd seen the nobles clustering around Josephine's door, eager to be able to say they had spoken to the Champion of Kirkwall. He didn't envy her having to navigate that maelstrom of entitled asses every time she had to pass publicly through the castle.
"After you," she said, gesturing for him to lead the way. "You know Skyhold best, after all."
"I think the only person qualified to know it best may be Sera," he said, moving to guide her through Josephine's office, ignoring the curious smile on the ambassador's face as she watched them walk by. "If only because she has a terrible habit of investigating every crevice at the most inopportune times."
Poppy snorted softly; a glance at her revealed a quiet smile that was achingly familiar. He missed seeing that smile on the pillow beside him. He missed everything, but now was not the time to suddenly declare his heart.
"I would say she sounds like Merrill, but somehow I don't think they could possibly be compared and found similar in any way," she murmured in amusement, wiping the smile from her face as Cullen drew the door open.
The clustering nobles drew back as commander and Champion stepped smartly into the Great Hall - it was that or be mown down. Without needing to discuss it, Cullen found himself matching his pace to Poppy's, allowing her to quicken to a long stride that took them out of the hall within moments, leaving the nobles to mutter and complain among themselves in the wake of two warriors who clearly had other things on their minds. They kept that pace all the way through Solas' study, and into Cullen’s office, where Poppy finally slowed.
"Sorry," she apologized, her expression just a little tight. "I don't have much patience with nobles these days."
"Understandably," Cullen assured her, settling his notes safely on the desk.
He was a little surprised, though. She had always had patience with the nobles of Kirkwall, even when they had messed her around. But then ... four years with only her brother for consistent company, four years of avoiding population centers. It was no wonder her levels of patience with the useless and inane had diminished. It made sense.
"Well ... shall we?"
He gestured toward the northernmost door, letting her take the lead this time as they stepped through and passed across the gatehouse, through the still decrepit second gate tower, and out onto a quiet stretch of the battlements. A pointed look at the guard patrolling this section sent her marching smartly away to lurk on the other side of the next tower. This length of battlement would be safe enough, with Commander Cullen and Lady Hawke there.
Yet now they were here ... nothing was forthcoming.
Poppy said nothing, her eyes focused on the distant mountain tops as she stepped into the sunshine, resting her forearms against one of the merlons that had not yet been restored. The sunlight shone in the honeyed highlights of her brown hair, the longer length making his fingers itch to glide into those waves and curls, to feel the softness and hold her against him, to breathe in the honeysuckle scent of the oils she used to strip blood and dirt from the mane that crowned her. Gone was the shapeless clothing; her tunic and pants fitted her snugly, displaying the toned form that was still a little too slender for his liking, the evidence of a life lived hard these past lonely years. Blue eyes that had always reminded him of the summer sky over Ferelden looked out over the Frostbacks, distant in thought as her teeth tugged at the pillow of her lip.
The silence grated on his nerves. They needed to talk - words that had gone for too long unsaid needed to find expression somehow. But how to begin?
"It's, ah ... nice day," he blurted out, inwardly cringing at the ridiculous opening.
"What?" She blinked, dragging her gaze from the snow-capped mountains to look at him with mild bemusement.
"I, ah ..." Cullen cleared his throat, pulling his hand down from its nervous creep to the back of his neck. "You said you wanted to talk?"
"Oh! Oh, yes, I ..."
Poppy hesitated, twisting toward him in her lean. Her hand opened toward him, then drew back, folding anxiously over the other as she looked down at her fingers. Cullen moved closer, taking up a lean of his own against the same crumbling merlon she had chosen. He could see her turmoil, the roiling emotion she couldn't quite hide from him, but he still knew how she needed this to go. She needed him to keep his mouth shut so she could say what was on her mind without distraction.
"Cullen, I, we ... that is, I didn't ... fuck, this was so much easier in my head ..."
She closed her eyes, missing the affectionate smile that rose on his face on hearing that. He watched as she drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and finally just committed to the sentence she had prepared.
"Cullen, I love you," she blurted out, opening her eyes after this spilled forth. "I never stopped loving you, I've missed you so much, but I don't know if you can ever forgive me for what I let happen in Kirkwall, and for running away afterward when I should have stayed to face -"
He raised his hand, gloved fingers gently stopping the burble of words from her lips. She stilled, her eyes wide with worry and hope as she stared at him, swallowing down whatever else had wanted to escape in that flurry of verbiage. And Cullen felt ... he felt. For the first time in years, he let himself fully embrace what he had thought was lost, the feeling that she was here, she was his, that she loved him as he loved her. Alex, you were right, he told the man in the silence of his mind. Thank you.
"There's nothing to forgive," he told her gently, his thumb pressing just a little more firmly against her lips to prevent any interruption. "You were right. Though the method was extreme, Anders was right. I should have listened to you sooner. But none of that changes how I feel about you, Poppy. I love you. You're the only woman I have ever loved. Whatever else has changed in my life, that never has, and it never will."
"But -"
"No, love." He felt the scar on his lip tug tight as he smiled at her confused delight, a feeling he had not actually enjoyed since she'd left his life. Without her, that scar was a reminder of what he had lost; with her, it was a reminder that she had chosen to be with him. "No buts, no sorries. No more apologies or regrets. Stay with the Inquisition, Poppy. Stay with me."
He shifted closer, finally allowing himself to trail his fingertips along her jaw, into the fall of her hair, thrilling to the way she tilted into his touch, leaning into him as he leaned into her.
"No more running, Poppy," he whispered, tasting her breath on his lips for the first time in what felt like an age. "Be with me, always."
"Yes ..."
It was barely more than a whisper, but it was there, her agreement, her longing, heard and tasted and felt, and so much more than just a word between them. It was a promise, a promise that begged to be sealed with a kiss ...
"Commander!"
And in a flash, the moment was gone.
Cullen groaned, his jaw clenching at the familiar sound of his most enthusiastic messenger's voice directly behind him. He closed his eyes, opening them to find Poppy's brightest grin shining back at him, the dance of her eyes promising that the only reason she wasn't laughing was because she was sure this could get better. His hand uncurled from her jaw as he straightened up, turning to glare at the luckless Jim.
"What?"
He watched as the boy faltered in the face of his obvious disapproval, as the eager eyes flickered back and forth between Commander and Champion who was, no doubt, still grinning like the cat that ate the canary from her lean against the wall. She's doing nothing for my reputation here, he realized, but was quick to squash that thought. She's more important than your bloody reputation, you oversized nug-rat.
"Uh ... it can wait," Jim quavered, backing away only to turn and run for the nearest door - anything to be out from under that particular scowl.
Cullen sighed, shaking his head as he turned back toward Poppy. "I'm sorry, there's always - mmm ..."
Her lips on his, her hands in his hair, and all the Jims in the world could not have stolen this moment from him. This moment, this feeling, Poppy in his arms once more, wrapped around him as he tugged her close to his chest, breathing her in with the freedom he had missed for so long. The world could go hang so long as she kissed him, so long as she let him kiss her, lips soft and gentle and loving as they traded that long-denied affection back and forth until breath became more necessary than kisses. To hear her laugh that familiar breathless laugh as they drew back just far enough, to feel himself chuckle along with her as she held him close ... it was as though the years that had passed had never parted them.
Cullen grinned as he pulled Poppy close, burying his face in the honeysuckle sweetness of her hair, and sighed in slow delight. She was here, she was his. He was home again.
