Chapter Text
His dreams are changing.
When Cullen was a boy and sticks were swords for his young mind there was plenty of colour in his world, there was a vibrancy to it that came with the innocence of childhood. That came with the imagination and naivety of being young and sheltered - of believing in a cause greater than your own. When he finally convinced the adults that he belonged to the Templar Order, outfitted in his padded blues and armoured greys, he thought there was nothing that he could not do.
The events at Kirkwall shattered that existence, too long had he clung to a poor imitation of duty and it had cost him. It had brought down the world of colours and his mind shuttered to his feelings, guilt enveloped him whole and for a while he was only darkness, tinged with red, glowing brightly at the corners of his mind. His dreams consisted only of nightmares, battling demons in the Fade of rage and fear, reliving those moments, the scrape of metal against skin, the rough stone against his knees as he screamed.
There are nights he wakes screaming - hands over his head thinking he is back there, bruised and broken. It takes time to come back to where he really is, takes time for his eyes to adjust the darkened room and to notice there are no shackles on his wrists.
Those nights he will work furiously, pen to paper, maps spread out over his entire office - driving away all other thoughts until his fingers are stained with ink and his eyes blur with the effort of reading by candlelight.
Only then does he sleep – an hour or two, the night sliding into dawn, and he rises with the sun streaming over his eyes and thinks: today is a new day, today will be better. Because what else can he do?
The Inquisition gives him purpose, a purpose he has not felt in years – a calling, though he is reluctant to call it that, still remembers the last time he placed his trust so deeply on an order. His world used to be rules and ranks and he is still trying to fit the broken threads together into something whole. When Cassandra had asked him to lead the Inquisition armies he had seen a bright, thread of hope and followed it, and now –
- his dreams are changing.
He starts to dream about her, and that is when he really knows he’s done for because his dreams have never been a place of comfort.
Cullen wakes, sheets tangled around his legs, hands gripping the mattress and it takes a few seconds to orientate himself. The moon is bright through the roughly patched ceiling and the layer of sweat on his body begins to cool quickly. He feels his heart rate begin to settle but his erection is still uncomfortably demanding his attention, flush against his stomach.
Flashes of the dream come back to him, smooth skin and hazel eyes and his hands grazing the underside of her breasts, sliding to her waist as he thrusts inside her.
Cullen groans, and runs his hands through his hair exasperated.
"Fuck," he mutters, with feeling.
When he meets her in the War Room that morning, he finds it hard to look at her. His mind supplying unhelpful images, he can't stop thinking about her in that way, about whether she would make those desperate, mewly noises he imagined or whether she'd moan and sigh and call his name. It is all entirely inappropriate thinking and for maker's sake, he needs to pull himself together.
In Haven it had all been so much simpler, she’d been away most of the time and he’d been able to think of her simply as the Herald of Andraste - a tool to be used for the good of the Inquisition, a means to an end. The contact they had had in Haven had always been so formal, so guarded: war room chats, going over reports and those few times she had dropped in on him training recruits.
The first time she'd done that, it had taken him a while to notice she was even there, he'd been in the middle of demonstrating the correct angle to hold a shield to deflect magical attacks to the new recruits. They were young and inexperienced, but most of them eager to be doing something – but they weren’t soldiers, not yet.
"Mages have a great deal of arsenal at their disposal and are dangerous opponents. It may seem trivial, but this correct positioning will save your life one day."
His men had stiffened slightly at his words, and when he turned he’d seen the source of their discomfort. She was there, the Herald of Andraste, standing in the doorway observing him, leaning against the wall. It looked like she was just about to head out on a mission as she was fully decked in armour; strips of cloth and leather binding her figure. He noticed that she liked to remain as free as possible and eschewed the usual mage robes he had seen those wearing at the Circle. Her head had been tilted to one side as she observed him, curious, arms crossed over her chest.
"Ah, Herald," he coughed, "Welcome. These are the new batch of recruits."
His recruits saluted awkwardly. He'd have to get them to practice that too.
She had smiled at them and stepped forward, pushing off from the wall with one hand. With a small movement, a crackle of lightning began to float around her fingertips, bright and dangerous.
"Would a demonstration be helpful?"
Maker take him, every single instinct in him had stood on edge and his grip had tightened on his shield, but he couldn’t back down from that. So he had hunched his back, lifted his shield and met her challenge.
"Please," he said, gesturing for her to begin.
He saw her stance shift, shift her weight to ground herself and the almost imperceptible grind of her heel and swing of her hips. That was what gave her away, he should probably warn her of that.
She flung an arc of lightning towards him and he heard the recruits gasp; they'd probably never been so close to real magic before. But Cullen was a trained Templar, ex–Templar, and the muscle memory did not leave you quickly. Twisting his body slightly he brought his shield down to protect the exposed areas she'd been aiming for and deflected the lightning back to her. She reacted quickly, bringing up a barrier with a flourish of her hand upwards, simultaneously letting forth another burst of lightning from her free hand. Cullen deflected once more, aiming the spell at the ground that caused a mountain of dust to rise. Cullen used this distraction to get in closer, moving into the cloud of dust. If he had had his sword, he would've performed a shield bash and gone in for a swipe. From here he could see her defensive crouch, arms raised, body tense – she looked so deadly, something raced straight through him.
She seemed surprised to see him so close but to his surprise, she just grinned. Her lips were full and slightly parted as she breathed a bit more heavily. He had been transfixed.
She had let herself loose from her crouch and laughed, immediately relaxing again.
"Excellent work, Commander. I can see these recruits are in good hands."
With some difficulty, he had let himself relax, shaking his head to get the dust out of his eyes.
"Thank you for your input," he said, "It helps for them to see what they need to be fighting against."
The smile left her face and he wondered what he had said to shut her down so quickly. She just nodded to him.
"I better be going,"
She gestured towards the sparring ring as she was leaving, talking over her shoulder.
"Useful little trick, you might have to teach me sometime."
He had watched her walk away, probably longer than necessary still wondering what to make of her, before turning back to the recruits.
Life had continued in Haven after that incident much as before, she was constantly needed by others – to help close rifts, to negotiate treaties, to give her opinion. He was one of the culprits, and it was odd how easily everyone at Haven seemed to accept her as a natural figurehead. Even Cassandra was warming to her.
He would see her return from missions with blood spattered armour and obviously tired, but she'd laugh at something Varric said, smile as Iron Bull subtly helped her keep her feet and Cassandra would look at her out of the corner of her eyes, pensive – grudgingly admiring. Cullen noticed these moments and they stirred something in him; he just wasn't quite sure what.
He would hear about her from his troops – dashes of conversation as he passed.
I heard she healed him with just a wave of her hand. I heard she can kill a man without even moving. She saved that little boy down the well – I don’t care what people say about mages, she’s stepping up and that’s all that matters.
The growing number of recruits under his command was a testament to her character, and yet she seemed to constantly elude him. She was not what he expected her to be, they knew she was a mage, they knew she had at one point been at the Circle in the free marches but even Leliana could not track her whereabouts after she turned nineteen and the lack of information was suspicious. Whenever he tried to track her down he always seemed to arrive a few moments too late – “oh she just left ser, helped me fix up my bags.” “she’s usually with the blacksmith at this time, giving him some new tricks” “she was here earlier, but she mentioned something about a new alchemy recipe?”
Every person had pointed him in a different direction; this woman seemed to be in a hundred different places at once. He had circled back on himself, mystified.
“Leliana – do you know where the Herald is?”
Leliana was bent over her table, tracing circles into the wood with her dagger as she traced invisible lines over the map with her other hand.
“Hm? Wasn’t she with that alchemist? I’ve heard she’s managed to upgrade quite a few of our potions – I have no idea how she knows these things.”
It was always when he was least expecting it that she actually showed up. So the next opportunity he had got to know her better had been after she had returned from a mission unconscious, the news had reached him through messengers minutes after her arrival in Cassandra’s arms, leaving a trail of blood towards the alchemist's hut.
She had remained unconscious for another two days; they were not expecting her to wake for another two more when Cullen looked up to see her framed by the door of the training area once more. She looked pale, bandages covered her entire torso and her arms were heavily bruised, she wore a light robe over her injuries, presumably unable to bear the weight of her full armour.
"Templars are a right bunch of bastards,” she said, wincing as she walked up to him. He tried to suppress a smile and failed, it was good to see her up again.
"Yes, I've heard of that reputation," he said, and he saw her steel herself for the next words.
"I need you to teach me, what they know. What we met out there - these red Templars are different, they are stronger and they know how to get under me and my crew. And I can't afford any weaknesses right now."
Cullen’s eyebrows had risen sharply, disbelief overriding any other feeling he might have. She continued to fidget under his gaze, but she did not leave. What she was asking, what she was suggesting was a breakdown of everything he had known, a total lowering of walls between mages and Templars that had never happened before in the history of the Chantry.
“And you think this is a good idea?” he asked, and Kilastra had smiled sadly.
“I’m not in the habit of trusting Templars-”
“Ex-Templar,” Cullen corrected her, he had had to do that a great deal recently, there were many who still wanted to refer to him by his old title, but there was a reason he joined the Inquisition and it wasn’t just to re-build an order that clearly didn’t work.
“- but I’m asking, please. We need your help.”
There was a part of him that strongly disagreed to that plan, which bristled at the idea of helping someone he had previously sworn to keep under control, of handing over information that could undermine the Templar order. But he had looked at her, really looked at her standing in front of him: defiant, scared, and determined. He had seen the lengths she went to for the Inquisition, he’d seen the easy way she had won the respect of her companions, and he felt the way she was beginning to get under his skin. He also had noticed the way she was struggling to hold herself and the vivid, purple bruising on her collarbone had made something stir within him, something he had thought long dead. He had joined the Inquisition for a reason, he reminded himself and perhaps this was part of it.
"Come back in three days."
–
They hadn’t got a chance then to start training because a bloody dragon attacked Haven, sending them scattered to the mountains and fighting for their lives. He had managed to catch her eye as she had twirled to face the roaring beast, hands sparking already and she smiled at him, a little sad, a little lost and it took all of him not to run to her and protect her. But he knew he had a duty to the people of Haven, and besides, she was already on her attackers – a force of fire and lightning.
That long, long night of not knowing where she was or what had happened to her, of seeing the avalanche cover the town they had been building had almost thrown Cullen into despair.
He had kept thinking - if they had had time to train together, would it have made a difference?
When they had found her again, shivering and ice–cold, curled in on herself, the faint green light from the mark on her hand illuminating her tired face– he had vowed he would find the time. He would see her through this whole ordeal alive and well whatever it cost him.
It was after they settled in Skyhold that the dreams had started, so different from before, and he knows for certain; all the noble intentions of wanting to help her save the world have fallen to the wayside.
The first night he wakes, fisting his cock beneath the sheets, back arching in pleasure as he imagines her laid out on his bed, fingers between her legs – he knows he is in over his head. A wave of guilt crashes over him and he huffs a dark laugh into the empty air. He thought he’d had enough guilt on his hands and he almost misses the nightmares.
At least those he knew what to do with.
This new…situation was troubling. He thinks he can control it though, like so many things before and that it will pass – like so many things before.
"Commander?"
Her voice cuts through his thoughts and it takes everything in him not to startle, he has been staring at the little metal marker on the map for maker knows how long. She is waiting expectantly for his answer.
"A little distracted today, are we?" Leliana breaks in, she runs a finger along the wooden table they use to spread out their maps and pretends to find dust between her fingers. She grins at him from beneath the cowl that seems a permanent fixture framing her face and he swears that woman can read his thoughts sometimes.
"Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of neck in embarrassment, a nervous habit he does not know how to quench, “long night of reports, what was the question?"
Kilastra nods once, a little affirmative mmm at the back of her throat to acknowledge their tiredness, she is appreciative of the long hours she knows everyone keeps.
“I need you to send some soldiers to fix the bridge in the Western Approach, Darkspawn are becoming more and more of a nuisance there and I want to shut it down as soon as I can – but the builders need protection. Do you have any men ready to go?”
Cullen has a mental map of where each of his squadrons are, they are still too few at the moment to deal with everything the Inquisition is trying to tackle so the forces are spread out over Ferelden and Orlais.
"I have men that could be there in two days, help build the bridge in three."
"Yes,” she says, adding a please as an afterthought, she taps the area on the map with two fingers, "I will be heading back out there in a few days, so that fits perfectly."
Cullen starts preparing the letter in his head as Josephine begins to brief Kilastra on some diplomatic incidence that requires her input. Kilastra is leaning heavily on the table, she is still recovering from her near-death experience with the avalanche and he can see that she is favouring her right side.
“Do I really have to care about what noble whatever his face wants?” he hears Kilastra ask, she is pinching the bridge of her nose – a sign he has realised means that the meeting will come to a close soon.
“Kilastra, how can you say such a thing? You know as well as I that without support from the nobility the Inquisition would not last long.” Josephine shakes her head at the Inquisitor, her gold earrings jingling with the movement.
“You, of all people, know –“ she begins but Kilastra cuts her off.
“Fine, fine. Send a token then to – what was it?”
“Sir Telredon.”
Kilastra makes a face.
“He is awful.” She mutters, turning away from the table. “Well, I will leave it to you. For now, I must go prepare for our next outing.”
Josephine smiles, satisfied, writing something down on her board. The candle attached to its tip has burned low, red drops of wax stiffening on the side. They must have been here longer than anticipated.
Cullen manages to catch up with Kilastra as she leaves the war room, matching his strides to hers.
"Inquisitor, when you have a moment?" he asks.
She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, a small frown creasing her brow.
“I really think we should start going on a first-name basis, don’t you?” She says, and he cannot be sure whether her tone is playful or not. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he’s been using her title as a way of keeping distance; it’s been easier this way.
"I was thinking that we might start up that training you mentioned, you know, before."
She looks slightly taken aback, but pleased and he can tell from the little bounce in her step as she stops walking to face him that she’s genuinely excited, with hands on her hips she regards him a little suspiciously.
"I thought you might try get out of that."
He imagines her surrounded by Templars, the red glow of the lyrium crystals growing from their bodies lighting up her face as she prepares to meet them, and he remembers her when they found her in the snow, the feeling that had gripped his chest when he had seen the mountain fall.
"I did too, but recent events have, uh, made me see the benefits outweigh any issues I may have."
“Okay!” she says, excitedly, counting something imaginary on her fingers, “I have some time – this evening? I’m sorry, I know it’s late but –“
“There’s always something to do?” He interrupts her, well aware of the demands placed on them all.
She huffs out a breath, thankful for his understanding.
“Yes, exactly.”
“This evening is fine, I’ll meet you after sundown.”
