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Chapter Text

A far cry from the splendor of Skyhold, when Yvette opened her eyes and took in the little bedroom in the cabin they'd built for themselves, it always felt like home—like a place she'd searched for her whole life and finally found. Sensing her waking, Cullen drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as his arms tightened around her, his breath warming the nape of her neck. The first rays of dawn filtered through the large windows that overlooked a meadow where their horses grazed, hues of color painting the floor from the stained glass rosette window they had salvaged from Skyhold.

Back then they would already be up and dressing for the day, but life moved slower in the Ferelden countryside. Many would argue they had won their retirement through blood, sweat, and tears, but neither of them ever wanted to rest on their laurels. That didn't mean they were in a hurry, however.

When she turned in his arms he helped to balance her. Even after a year she still had trouble with the loss of her arm. At first the slow progress had frustrated her so much that she pushed everyone away. The pity in their eyes when she dropped something had made her want to scream, no matter how well-meaning everyone around her had been. She'd cried more in the months that follow the Exalted Council than she had in all of her life, and she'd wanted someone to slap her and tell her to stop. No one ever did.

He helped untangle her hair from the chain around her neck that held her wedding ring and lucky coin. Branson had seen it one day when it fell from her tunic as they worked on the barn and joked about how it looked like the coin he'd given Cullen years ago. When he found out it was the same coin, he gave his brother a hard time for being so sentimental, but Cullen laughed more easily with his family around.

"You probably spent all your luck landing this one, anyway," Branson had joked, elbowing Cullen in the ribs.

Their eyes had met across the barn as she swept hay using one of the prosthetics Dagna had made her to hold the broom handle, and Cullen's honey-colored eyes turned warm and tender as he'd agreed. The same way he looked at her that morning, his fingers trailing along her neck and shoulder. When he looked at her like that there was never any room for doubt in her mind that he loved her, and it made her chest tighten with warmth and happiness.

"Husband," she breathed, the word causing his lips to lift into a grin.

"Wife," he echoed softly, his thumb brushing her lower lip.

Between the tone of his voice and the brush of his fingers, a thrill raced down her spine and pooled in her belly. As she leaned into him and his nose brushed hers, the bed dipped beneath the weight of their mabari. Captain crawled over them, lavishing their necks and cheeks with sloppy kisses, his whole body wiggling with excitement.

"Captain," she groaned, trying to hide her face.

"Down," Cullen commanded, his tone slipping into the firm one he used to issues orders in the Inquisition. Captain whined, ears flat in contrition, while dog and master stared at one another in a battle of wills. All Cullen had to do was lift a brow for Captain's head to droop in defeat before he turned and trundled off the bed.

Cullen lifted the corner of their quilt to wipe her face and his, and when their eyes met they couldn't help but laugh. He found her hand and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. "I'll run you a bath."

"Join me?"

Despite being together for years, a flush still crept up his neck at the thought. She brushed her fingers over his cheek, relishing the feel of his short beard against her palm. Growing it hadn't been intentional, but she certainly wasn't complaining.

"There's nothing I'd like more."

Chapter Text

Despite the mad dash he'd been on to get back to his office, as he approached he slowed. He hadn't left it dark, and he was fairly certain the candles wouldn't have burned down in the time he was away, even if he had lost track of time somewhere between losing his chestplate and, well, everything else. When his shirt had come off he had been determined to win his dignity back only to lose more of it. He had never given Josephine enough credit; she was not a woman to be trifled with, no matter how pretty and innocent her smiles pretended to be.

The Inquisitor's looks over her cards hadn't helped him concentrate, either. Every curl of her lip and lift of her brow had emboldened him, every story they drew from her reminding him of exactly why he had fallen for her. She captivated him, from the twinkle of her green eyes to the way the firelight danced across her skin. There was no doubt that she was a distraction - one that worked in Josephine's favor - but one to which he was all too happy to surrender.

At the door to his office, he lamented that all he had was a dusty, moth eaten tapestry he'd knicked out of one of the abandoned towers between the Herald's Rest and his tower, barely big enough to wrap around his waist. All the same, he secured it as best he could so he had his hands free. An assassin would be mad to attack him in Skyhold with its hundreds of soldiers, but perhaps they were getting desperate. More likely it was Sera playing another prank, despite being passed out in the tavern.

A sliver of moonlight illuminated the tower as he swung open the door, and he waited a beat - for the attack to begin or the prank to reveal itself - before he entered. It was only when the door latched behind him that the candles around the room flared back to life. Sitting in the middle of his desk, looking far too pleased with herself, the Inquisitor held a familiar scrap of fabric.

"I thought you might be missing these."

"Maker's breah, Eve." He sighed in relief and crossed the room to grab his small clothes from her. "Do I even want to know how you beat me here?"

"Probably not."

He had seen her charge into battle leaving frost in her wake. A manipulation of the Fade, she'd told him once. Maybe he should have chastised her for using it outside of battle - in Skyhold no less - but she hooked a finger into the loosely-tied wrap and the words died on his tongue as she drew him toward her.

"We should play cards more often," she grinned, unwrapping him like a present on First Day.

"I do not need help embarrassing myself in front of you," he scoffed, but his breath hitched when the old tapestry hit the floor.

"You were blushing," she teased, walking her fingers up his body from his navel to sternum. "It was adorable."

"Maker's breath," he breathed, the ragged tone of his voice making her laugh.

"Not blushing anymore," she pointed out.

When she opened her mouth - probably to tease him again - he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers, the way he'd wanted to all night. Her lips tasted like whiskey and ale—more intoxicating than anything else he'd consumed. Maybe the night hadn't been so bad after all.

Chapter Text

The Fade had been an ordeal. She hadn't known Stroud long, but he had held out against the pull Corypheus had employed against the Wardens and she had respected him for it. Choosing him to stay behind should have been a more difficult decision, but Hawke was like a brother to her. And it was the fact that she'd let her heart and not her head choose that ate away at her long after.

Cullen pulled her into a dark alcove within Adamant, sensing her distress and drawing her away from the others. By then he knew the layout of Adamant well—he had searched every inch of it twice over for her. The little phylactery she had given him had still glowed faintly despite the men seeing her plummet off the fortress, so he'd known she was out there somewhere, but it felt like Haven all over again.

With the little privacy the alcove provided, she wrapped her arms around him immediately.

“I know I’m covered in muck and demon blood,” she acknowledged. “Probably some Warden blood, too.”

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, and she laughed in response. “Are you all right?”

“I remember everything that happened now,” she sighed. “At the Conclave, I mean. Corypheus was right, it’s no holy blessing. I picked up an elven artifact, and it branded me. I’m a fraud, Cullen.”

“The power may be elven, but you wield it for the good of the people of Thedas.” He pulled back and held her face in his hand. “That monster will never be right about you.”

Her brows knit as his words touched her, and she leaned forward to press her forehead to his. “It doesn’t disappoint you–-that I’m not more?”

“If the Maker put you in the right place at the right time to receive this power, who’s to say you aren’t?” He argued. “I know what I see when I look at you, Eve. I know how these soldiers look at you, how they fight for you–-that’s what matters.”

“When you know how many we lost…” She sighed and trailed off; that wasn’t what she wanted to think about when she didn’t have long to speak with him.

“I should have a good number by morning,” he promised.

She lifted her fingers to lightly touch his jaw, holding him in place as she brushed her nose along his and tilted her head. Her breath ghosted across his lips, and she pressed her lips to the scar on his upper lip before she nipped at his lower lip, teasing. He grasped her waist and held himself still, enjoying her slow torture and the way it caused a shiver to race up his spine. She pressed her lips to the tip of his nose and then, finally, her mouth was fully on his. He parted his lips for her immediately, and she took full advantage. The stone pressed against her back as he pressed her back against it, and she arched her body into his with a sigh.

A distant commotion drew them apart, and she let him go with an exchange of love breathed against each other’s lips. He had an army to corral, and she had a report to write. There would be time later to pick up where they left off, and she promised him as much before she let him go.

Chapter Text

Halamshiral bustled with visitors from across southern Thedas for the Exalted Council. Its gardens were filled with dignitaries and servants shuffling to and fro, nobles gathered in all manner of finery to witness the fate of the Inquisition. Normally the little pavilion nestled within the hedges at the edge of the gardens would be filled with the same visitors as they sought privacy for illicit rendezvous, but soldiers in Inquisition regalia stood near the entrances, subtly turning people away for the afternoon.

Josephine had managed to secure the gazebo at the last minute, officially for Inquisition business. In truth, it was a much more intimate affair, attended by only a handful of trusted confidantes, with the Inquisitor and Commander at its center. The Antivan Ambassador helped to twist the Inquisitor's long auburn hair into neat braids, lamenting that she hadn't been given time to arrange for proper hairstylists.

"This is more than enough, Josie," Yvette assured her.

She had, after all, secured the location and a dress of white lace and ribbons, a delicate thing with a corseted bodice and form-fitting skirts. There would be no running in it - Yvette could barely walk in it - but for a few hours she could manage. For once, escaping from a formal ceremony was the last thing on her mind.

"I always expected it would be a much grander affair," Josephine sighed. "I had already begun to plan—"

"We were just going to ask Mother Giselle to marry us in our uniforms," Yvette pointed out.

The Ambassador muttered something in Antivan and Yvette laughed. She didn't know much Antivan, but from what she had learned she gathered that Josephine found the idea appalling. Many would find the small ceremony lacking, especially as they were in Orlais, but it was already more than she or Cullen had anticipated. Yvette had confided in Dorian about their plans and within the hour Josephine had pinned down the gazebo, wardrobe, and flowers, and wrangled most of their companions. She truly was a force of nature.

"Your bouquet of sneezes, Your Inquisitorialness," Sera announced, holding out a bouquet of Andraste's Grace tied with a golden ribbon.

"Has she arrived?" Josephine asked as she pinned the Inquisitor's braid into a crown around her head.

"Yep," the elf confirmed. "Didn't bring her hat, though."

"Thank the Maker," Yvette added, and Sera laughed.

"Where'll she put all her secrets?"

"I think she keeps her nugs in it."

"Only when I have to smuggle them to my apartments." Leliana grinned, joining in on the joke as she joined them.

"Did you have trouble getting away?" Yvette asked.

The former bard gave her a look that said she thought it was cute that the Inquisitor even asked. She had, after all, spent most of her life as a spymaster. "I have a half hour before they'll notice I'm gone."

"Did you see the Commander? Is he ready?" Josephine inquired, worrying her cheek between her teeth as she stood back to look at the bride-to-be, then freed a few more wisps of hair to frame her face.

"Dorian has him properly groomed and dressed," Leliana confirmed.

"It's missing something," Josephine decided as she studied the Inquisitor again, but she threw her hands up in defeat. "It will have to do."

"Relax, Josie, she looks perfect."

"When you're ready, Your Worship, we'll begin," Josephine acquiesced.

Yvette smoothed a hand over her stomach adjusted her silk gloves and nodded. "I'm ready."

"Time to become a wifey," Sera cut in with a grin.

As they moved toward the gazebo, Sera sang some kind of wedding march, mixing words in with "dum"s and "da"s. Yvette was pretty sure she heard something about becoming Lord Cullywully and Lady Evie Inquisitorial Uptightness, but as soon as she locked eyes with Cullen the world around her faded away. His eyes took her in, head to toe and back again, as a lopsided smile tugged at his lips, and the look he gave her made it worth being barely able to move.

From the corner of her eye she saw Dorian wipe away what looked like a tear as Bull patted him on the back and Cassandra passed him an extra kerchief. As Cullen reached for her hands, Sera plucked the bouquet away and passed the flowers to Cole, though Josephine quickly took possession of the blooms. At Cullen's side, his new mabari munched happily on an expensive bone.

"You look lovely," he said softly, taking her hands in his and winning a smile from her. "Seeing you like this, everything feels like it was worth fighting for."

"This?" She motioned between them with their joined hands. "This was worth every bit of it."

Gently Leliana, dressed in the robes of the Divine, cleared her throat and began the ceremony. Neither of them heard much of it, far too lost in the moment. It might not have been the grand affair Josephine had envisioned, but for them it was perfect.

"This is where you make a promise," Leliana prompted.

"Right." Cullen cleared his throat and stood up straighter, holding their hands to his heart. "I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days."

She repeated the vow, her eyes never leaving his. They exchanged rings, simple bands made of silver twined around gold, and a swell of anticipation settled over those gathered as Leliana pronounced them wed. Using their joined hands he drew her to him, releasing her only so he could cup her face in his hands and kiss her. A cheer rippled through the guests, and when he began to pull away she wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him there a moment longer.

"Husband," she said softly against his lips, and she felt the way he smiled in response.

He nuzzled his nose against hers, testing her new title on his lips. "Wife."

"Go get a room," Sera heckled. "If you think she looks good now, just wait until you unwrap her."

Cullen's ears went pink when Yvette couldn't hide her grin.

"I think we have the night off," she offered, "if you want to find out."

Chapter Text

The sounds of battle happening further into the mass of trees and vines in the Arbor Wilds made Yvette's palms itch with the need to be out there among her soldiers, fighting. She did her best to give Josephine and Leliana her full attention as they debriefed her on a litany of missives and reports from their allies, but the Inquisition's Commander was notably missing and it constantly grated at the back of her mind. They noticed her distraction, of course, but politely continued to ignore it as they moved on to supply lines.

Just as Josephine finished with a report about their trebuchets - or the ones on loan from Jader - sunlight fell onto their makeshift command center as the tent flap pulled back and Cullen swept inside. He pulled off his helmet with a sigh of relief, his blonde curls messy and damp with perspiration. All Yvette could focus on was the blood splashed across his armor, her brows drawing down with concern.

"Are you hurt?"

Confusion flashed through his golden eyes before he glanced down at the state of his armor. "No," he answered, "it's not mine."

"The Commander has been out since yesterday," Josephine added, a tinge of frustration in her voice.

"It's easier to lead from the front lines," he insisted. "Corypheus's forces have been receiving reinforcements as quickly as we have."

"We came from the Basin as quickly as we could," Yvette said, kneading at her shoulders. The siege on the Wilds wasn't supposed to happen for another week, but the timeline had changed when Corypheus's forces had begun to amass. Unfortunately she had already committed herself to Stone Bear Hold's attack of the old Tevinter fortress, so the Inquisition forces had been holding the Wilds in the meantime. "How are our soldiers?"

"Better than expected," Cullen reported, wiping at the back of his neck with a washrag. "Our numbers rival theirs now."

"That's something," Yvette accepted, shifting her weight. "What do I need to know?"

"We have a route to the temple. It's under attack constantly - they really don't want you there - but it's nothing you can't handle, considering what we've heard from the Basin."

"I can hardly believe it myself," she sighed. A god in a dragon's body, the first Inquisitor engaged in hundreds of years of struggle against it, and the way history had perverted his legacy—it was a lot to take in, and hardly any time to do so. She could process later.

"If you're ready, Inquisitor, I'll return to the forward camp."

"We have troops here to accompany you," Josephine added.

"Send them to the front with the Commander," Yvette ordered. "They can relieve anyone that's been out since morning."

Leliana threw Cullen a pointed look that he avoided acknowledging.

"I'm ready," she agreed, rolling her shoulders. "I'd like a moment, if you can spare it."

Cullen nodded, and the other women excused themselves to give the two privacy. Once they were alone, the space between them narrowed and she took closer stock of the man she hadn't seen for too long. He did the same, his thumb ghosting over a bruise on her chin.

"Ice is slippery," she explained ruefully. It had to be an ice dragon.

"I thought you learned that lesson in the Hinterlands," he mused.

"You would think," she laughed. "How long have you been out there?"

His jaw worked and she wondered if he was calculating a number or figuring out if he could get away with a lie. The circles under his eyes pointed toward too long. When he leaned into her palm against his cheek it almost looked like he dozed for a moment, but there was still fight in his eyes when he opened them again.

"It isn't constant fighting out there," he revealed. "They come in waves; we rest while we can."

While it wasn't an answer, she nodded in acceptance. "Has there been any sign?"

"A scout reported a sighting of Calpernia this morning near the temple," he relayed. "With so many red templars streaming in, Samson isn't far behind, which means—"

"Corypheus."

"Are you ready? You've hardly had a moment to breathe."

"You're one to talk," she needled, sharing a smile with him.

When he pressed his brow to hers, she closed her eyes and breathed him in. His hands moved from her neck to her shoulders and down her arms to wrap around hers as his nose slid along the length of hers. They nuzzled into one another, their lips barely brushing as they simply enjoyed the presence of their lover and their stolen moment—a calm within the eye of the storm. She let him be the one to initiate the kiss, and she closed the distance between their bodies that he had tried to maintain to keep the muck of his armor from marring hers.

Tongues brushed, but they both pulled back before they could get too lost. There was too much to be done to linger, but they both needed that moment of intimacy to regain their strength. The end was close; they would pick up where they left off after the battle.

"Now I'm ready." She handed him his helmet and he thanked her with a kiss to her temple.

"Then I'll see you at the forward camp, Inquisitor."

Chapter Text

When the bells tolled and the people came to greet her, she still had sand in terrible places. It had been over a month since she had been back, and the Inquisition was eager to see its Inquisitor. She expected to see him, but even after the crowd had thinned she saw no sight of crimson and armor, no longing golden eyes. Cassandra was also missing, and when she lingered in the courtyard, one of the soldiers she recognized approached her cautiously.

“If you’re looking for the Commander, he’s gone to see Seeker Pentaghast,” the runner said.

Either he was nervous because he was talking to the Inquisitor, or there was more to it.

“Oh,” she said, grasping for words. “That sounds…”

“It’s not my place to say, ser,” the man shifted uncomfortably. “I would suggest you check in with them.”

He saluted and took his leave as soon as she did the same. Imogen butted her head against her shoulder, pushing her toward the smithy. She turned and ran her hand along her horse's long forehead, and her soft nose bumped into her chest again, pushing her. “All right, Immy,” she breathed into her brown hair and finally called over the stable-hand waiting to take her.

“An extra sugar cube,” he confirmed, before she even had to say it.

“Please.” She nodded, and watched him lead her horse away.

As much as a bath called to her, she took the staircase in leaps and bounds, eager to see what was going on that kept them apart.

“If I’m unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this,” she heard Cullen say, the tone of his voice frustrated and frantic. “Would you rather save face than admit–”

The moment he saw her, his words died in his throat. “You’re back,” he was genuinely surprised, despite the bells tolling an hour ago. “Forgive me, I– We’ll speak of this later.”

And then he was gone with barely more than an acknowledgement after a month apart.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor,” Cassandra greeted. “Cullen told you that he’s no longer taking lyrium?”

“That’s what this was?” Her brows raised and her chest tightened. “I mean, yes. I respect his decision.”

“As do I,” she agreed. “Not that he’s willing to listen.”

“What do you mean?” Concern was beginning to make her short of breath.

“It’s been a hard month,” the Seeker said hesitantly. “Planning for Adamant, knowing what awaits us… Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him. I refused. It’s not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far. I imagine you would also not let him go.”

“Why didn’t he come to me?”

“We had an agreement long before you joined. As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers,” Cassandra explained. “And he wouldn’t want to…risk your disappointment.”

“Is there anything we can do to change his mind?” She pressed a hand to her stomach.

“If anyone could, it’s you,” she admitted. “Mages have made their suffering known, but templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break the leash, to prove to himself - and anyone who would follow suit - that it’s possible. He can do this, I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time.”

At the door, Cassandra stopped her again. “And please get some rest, Inquisitor.”

Sand rubbed blisters into her feet as she rushed up stairs and across battlements. He was hurting, and she needed to get to him before anything worse happened. As soon as she opened his door, his box that normally held his lyrium philter smashed into the wall next to it.

“Maker’s breath,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t hear you enter, I–Forgive me, Eve.”

“Cullen, if you need to talk…”

“You don’t have to–” He began to round the edge of his desk to get to her, but staggered and had to catch himself from falling. She was at his side in seconds, hands reaching for him. “I never meant for this to interfere.”

“I know that, I believe you,” she assured him, even as he turned away from her to the window. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yes,” he said, too quickly. “I don’t know. I… After Kinloch, when I was tortured, they tried to break my mind, and I–how can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my knight-commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Of course I can,” she insisted. “I–”

“Don’t,” he said firmly. “You should be questioning what I’ve done.”

She shrank back at his tone; she had never heard him so angry.

“I thought this would be better–that I would regain some control over my life,” he continued, pacing the length of his office. “But these thoughts won’t leave me… How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause… I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry. I should be taking it.”

He stopped by the bookshelf and his fist collided with it. “I should be taking it.”

“Cullen, please,” she begged, approaching him like a wounded animal–slow and small. “This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition. Is this what you want?”

“No,” he let out a long breath, deflating. “But… these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse–if I cannot endure it…”

When she reached out for him again, he let her. She pressed her palm against his chest, and he let her draw close until he was pressed between the bookcase and her. He ducked his head to press his forehead against hers, and they breathed in tandem.

“You can,” she assured him. “You can do this, Cullen.”

He pressed his eyes closed and cupped her face in his hands. “All right,” he breathed. “I–Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Cullen. You’re the one enduring immeasurable pain to do something so brave. I’m in awe of you.”

“That’s too generous,” he insisted. “You–you’re back and I wasn’t even there to greet you.”

“That isn’t important.” She almost laughed as she covered his hands with hers. “I wasn’t here when you needed me.”

“You were here exactly when I needed you,” he promised. “I was–if you hadn’t talked me down, I might have given in.”

“You would have taken a breath and been fine. You’re stronger than anyone I know, Cullen Rutherford.”

He kissed her, and she melted. It had been too long since she had been near him–smelled his hair oil and armor, felt the leather of his gloves, tasted his lips. They were in his office, where he tried to remain professional, but there was nothing professional about the way he kissed her. It was desperate and hungry, and she found their positions reversed before she even realized he had moved. His facial hair tickled her neck as his lips moved along her jaw, and she sighed as she tilted her head to give him more of her.

“Commander,” she breathed. “I should go bathe.”

“You’re perfect.” His lips moved against her skin and his hands dropped to her belt.

Gently she grasped his chin and pushed him back so she could meet his eye, her thumb brushing over his jaw. “We’re in your office, are you sure?”

“If you’d rather not…”

“Oh, I absolutely would,” she assured him. “I just want to be sure it’s what you want, too. You’re the one who values professional decorum.”

The corner of his mouth lifted as he nuzzled his nose along hers. “Hang professional decorum.”

She laughed and kissed him, and he grabbed her backside and carried her to his desk. When he set her down, the stacks of papers and stationary shifted, and an empty bottle tottered off the edge and shattered against the ground. They shared a look, and then he swept everything else off the desk. Parchment fluttered to the floor and bottles clattered, but neither of them paid it any mind. She slid back onto the desk and he followed, settling his hips against hers as he climbed on top of her.

Thank the Maker he'd found such a large and sturdy desk.

Chapter Text

What did one gift a woman who had the world in her hands? Ever since she had done so much for his nameday, Cullen had thought about it–excessively. Adamant had thrown a wrench into things; they had been marching across Orlais when the day had come, and the battle had followed soon after. It was well into Drakonis when they returned to Skyhold, which meant he was months behind, but he had become relatively talented at managing logistics during his tenure as knight-captain, so of course he had a plan.

Hopefully she would like it.

Waking her up had become one of his favorite things to do. Mornings were notoriously hard on him due to the withdrawal, but when she was with him she reminded him to stay ahead of the side effects that plagued him the most, like dehydration and nausea. She spent time at night rubbing salves into his aching hands and joints and brewed teas during the day; little bottles of elfroot for pain were left on his desk, and she coaxed him out into the garden to play chess or take a walk among the battlements. And every morning he woke up, he watched her sleep beside him in the golden light of dawn and thanked the Maker for her.

When the brush of his fingers on her cheeks roused her, the perfect smile curled her lips and she pulled him down for a kiss. Some mornings the kiss led to more, others she just held him; it didn’t matter what kind of morning it was, another one with her was all he needed. The morning of the day he had everything in order to celebrate her, he made love to her languidly and took his time to worship her like she deserved.

It wasn’t until she climbed out of the bath hours later and found him still in her room that she realized something was going on. She froze in the doorway, the stained glass of her balcony windows painting her body in shades of red, blue, and green. For a moment he thought about taking her back to bed - she had always mentioned wanting to spend days in bed with him - but he already had plans in motion.

“Is everything all right?” She asked slowly, hip against the doorframe and arms crossed over her stomach; she was in no hurry to dress, probably because she could see exactly how much he liked looking at her.

“I thought we could go for a ride,” he offered.

“I’d love to,” she agreed, “if you’ll tell me what’s really going on.”

“We missed your nameday,” he explained. “I’m hoping to make it up to you.”

“I thought my gift was getting to live through the Fade,” she mused, “but I’ll never say no to time with you.”

“I’ll prepare the horses.” He crossed the room to her, and she stretched out to kiss him before he left her to dress.

In the time they had been away from Skyhold, the roads to and from the fortress had been better constructed. Their horses were able to gallop safely, and she laughed as she let her horse run to her heart’s content. The joy on her face as the wind whipped through her hair was contagious and he almost changed his mind on their destination so she could keep going. He had to whistle to her to get her to turn back when he led them off the road at a marker.

With spring’s arrival, more of the mountains were turning green and flowering, but plenty of patches stayed snow-capped and rocky. Their path was steep, and they had to leave the horses partway. As they climbed they passed a layer of clouds that left mist clinging to their skin. When they came to the summit, it was worth it.

“Maker’s breath,” she exclaimed, her voice filled with awe. “Is this another of Blackwall’s?”

“It is,” he confirmed.

Ferelden spread out before them, and the sky was clear and blue with little coverage, allowing them to see much of the countryside and its hues of greens. What clouds did pass by left shadows across the land. Spring brought patches of wildflowers, adding splashes of color along with fields of crops and streams. They could almost see all the way to Lake Calenhad, and he pointed to the south where a road cut away from the King’s Highway–the path to Honnleath. A herd of rams grazed not far down the mountain, and a caravan - likely of goods from Orzammar - meandered down the highway.

“Is this our new nameday tradition–reminding ourselves of the beauty of the world around us?” She questioned, wrapping an arm around his waist and laying her head against his shoulder. “If so, I think I’ll enjoy it.”

The idea of creating lasting traditions with her made his chest tighten, and for a moment he could only squeeze her closer. “That sounds perfect.”

“Maybe we can source a list of places to see from our friends,” she suggested. “Blackwall seems a good place to start. Do you think…”

She trailed off, because when she looked up at him he had tugged a cord from around his neck, and in his palm was a ring. “Cullen–” she began, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“Just let me say this,” he requested. “I know we haven’t spoken about the future much, so I wanted to make my intentions plain. When I left the Order I took my sword; it was one of the only things I had left from that time. Like my philter box, I wanted to repurpose it into a new sword. It seemed only fitting that part of that renewal be dedicated to the woman who helped me break the leash that threatened to choke me.”

“You broke your own chain, Cullen,” she insisted, her attention fully on him instead of the breathtaking view.

“You gave me the strength.” He unwound the ring from the cord. “In the future, I’ll give you the proposal you deserve, but for now, a promise–to spend my life being the man you deserve.”

“You’ve always been that man. You’ll always be that man.” She reached up to lay her hand on his cheek. “But if you need to hear the words, I’ll say it plain: I accept.”

With his free hand, he reached out to slide his arm around her waist and draw her close. She molded herself to him for a kiss, and when his fingers slid into her hair she sighed against his lips. The morning sun warmed what the frigid mountain winds cooled, and their bodies did the rest. Gently she pulled back and used her fingers on his cheek to tilt his head so she could press kisses into his jaw and neck, and between each she told him exactly what she wanted him to do to her.