"Lead on," he said. Lana did just that, her body gently nudging into his while she poured enough energy into her staff to kick out a small blue orb. Even on the best of days, winter winds whipped off the mountains ravaging most of Skyhold, but tonight they lay dormant. Perhaps they were enjoying a night in as well, playing games with the other weather phenomena. Only a cold chill crept off the snow swarming the walls in the slowest invasion. Lana bit back a shiver as the creeping fingers of winter plucked at her skin below the linen tunic. She cursed herself for trusting Hawke and not bringing her cloak.
Cullen caught the movement, "Are you cold?"
"Only a little," Lana answered. She slipped a hand under the drapery of his surcoat, pulling her body tighter to him. His warmth enveloped her as he placed his hand upon her shoulders to try and guard her against the mountain air. Cullen sighed softer than the winds, his lips almost pressing into the top of her head. Silently, they walked in that formation like two people competing in their own personal three legged race. Despite the armor, she nuzzled her head into the crook of his armor, finding a rare soft section on the commander's unbending body.
Circling the battlements wasn't the most exciting of tours, but the moon hung full in the sky so bright only a smattering of stars could break through the night. She felt blissful, freer than her heart had been in a near on year while gazing up at the endless void. To some it unnerved them, the question of how a never ending abyss could envelop the world. What was at the edge of the sky? Lana knew she'd never find out, but it was fun to wonder. The only other movement through the hold came from people milling below on the courtyard. No one else stepped upon the battlements. For once, they were completely alone. Even then, she felt Cullen stiffen below her hands when a voice carried on the wind. Gossip was dangerous and could derail an army's cohesion, especially if favoritism was suspected. To show that much interest in a potentially dangerous outsider would only reflect poorly on the commander. She'd hoped to keep their...andraste's tears, what were they doing? Was it little more than a protracted one-night stand? Lana knew she had no standing to ask more of him than that, to expect more than that. And, she wondered, could she ever be trusted with more than a passing fling? Her own heart lay in...she wasn't even certain anymore. Perhaps no one had a claim to it. Instead, it was sealed in those jars the Nevarran mortalitassi use, never to be unearthed for a thousand years. Still, talk could become an issue and he needed to be told.
"There's something you should know," Lana began. Her steps slowed and they paused just before a massive gap across the wall where time or an ancient boulder shattered apart the stone path. Twisting in his grasp, she looked up into his eyes. Cullen laid his hands gently across both of her shoulders and waited for her to explain.
"Hawke's been talking," she said and Cullen laughed.
"Next you will tell me the sun rises in the east."
"Except she's been talking about me...and you," Lana watched his smile snap away to a wrathful focus.
"Talking to who? About what?"
"The what I'm uncertain of, but the...Dorian knows something. At least enough to ask me about...I, uh." It struck her that telling Cullen might be crueler than leaving him with a heads up to beware rumors. It'd be better to keep the truth vague.
But he sighed and massaged the back of his neck, "You may as well give me the full of it. I will only imagine it's far worse than it is."
"He asked me what your smallclothes are made of," Lana sputtered out, her eyes dancing from his face back to the empty void beyond Skyhold. She'd expected Cullen to snarl, or perhaps throw something, but he only snorted. A few sharp curses broke under his breath, but when she turned back to him his face was calm.
"What did you tell him?"
"The truth. Sort of. That I couldn't answer his question," Lana shrugged. Her hands skimmed up his biceps to his shoulders, trying to find the man below the armor. She saw it only for the briefest of windows, but the image rested safe in her memory. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "It's not as if there's a material nothing's made out of."
"It's, uh," Cullen's cheeks burned and his eyes danced upon the ground. "Been a few years since you last would have...imposed upon such a discovery."
Lana blinked into his bashful eyes for a moment, then she glanced down his body to stop at that big sword, "Are you telling me you've changed tactics since then?"
Gulping a few times, Cullen pressed his lips close to her ear. His warm breath raced through her body alighting the butterflies no longer dormant in her stomach. "Not precisely, no. I was hoping to give you an excuse to check."
"Oh," Lana brushed her fingers against his cheek, "I've never needed an excuse."
He slipped down and so quickly placed a kiss against her lips he missed by half, either the indisputable innuendo or the excitement making him jumpy. Before Cullen could rise to his full height, Lana grabbed onto both sides of his face and pulled him down for a proper one. After three days in the sick bed with only Hawke and a tight lipped Leliana for company, she damn well deserved it. Stubble prickled into her top lip from the man who never seemed to properly shave. She cupped her lips around his bottom one instead, sucking and nibbling upon it. Cullen enveloped his arms around her and pulled her body tighter. Ignoring the push of metal against her chest, she melded deeper to him and felt the evidence that he hadn't changed his stance on underthings. Sweet maker, that throb below the belt pushing against her stomach made her head spin more than the cheap mead ever could. A soft sigh rattled in her throat as her body tried to jumpstart her mind, but she broke from the kiss and back onto her feet. There was a time and a place, and no matter how badly she wanted to defile the commander of the Inquisition right now, she wasn't about to put Cullen in any awkward danger.
He held his hands against her back, the fingers digging into her exhausted muscles and he gazed down at her. "I never want to let you go," he whispered so softly, his eyes closed tight, she wondered if he meant to keep it to himself.
"That would make eating difficult," Lana said while watching to see how he'd react to her hearing his words.
Cullen chuckled but didn't break his hold upon her. His eyes rolled open but there was only contentment in them, "Sadly true." No accusing her of being blood mage, no sudden questions if she could read his mind through some other forbidden magics. She'd known how tight of a line she walked with him in the deep roads. A templar being shown the full potential of a mage let off her lead, it was dangerous for her. But she'd needed him, needed a templar, so she shrugged off the panicked looks upon her casting amplified spells. Or when he kept his fingers wrapped around the knife's hilt after her bad dream. And now, he suffered the indignity of someone like Pavus as if a magister were little more than a hangnail.
"I am surprised you put up with Dorian. A tevinter mage no less."
Cullen pinched his lips together in thought, "He's insubordinate to an infuriating degree, but proven that he's devoted to assisting our cause."
Parting her fingers through his forehead, Lana drew across the wrinkles staining his brow. She lifted them up causing his eyebrows to rise in fake surprise. Underneath them the scowl broke, even the pain etched under his eyes and around his mouth seemed diminished. "You have changed," she stuttered.
"I..." Cullen's eyes dipped down to his feet, "I know that I was...I cannot ask for forgiveness for what I did. The anger, Maker, the hatred."
Lana cupped his cheek and his eyes flickered to meet her. She smiled, "People, not problems."
"People," he agreed. "Though you can cause problems." Cullen sighed, rolling his eyes from whatever else the tevinter mage saddled him with.
Burrowing her fingers into the gap of his armor, she hooked an arm around his muscled back and pulled herself higher to meet him. Lana trailed kisses along his jawline. The stubble scratched her lips, but she didn't mind knowing that she'd savor that particular burn later. Taking extra care to lavish attention upon that little divot in his chin, she paused to whisper, "You
have no idea how many."
His body trembled from the hunger in her voice. She should stop it, rein herself in as she always did, but sod common sense. Sod duty, the order, and every other weight hanging off her neck. All she wanted right then in that moment was him. Cullen seemed to be of the same opinion. He kissed down her neck, the warm breath alighting her skin against the creeping frost. Pushing back that infernal high collar with his pinkie, he continued the trail lower, savoring every inch of her skin as if they were stumbling kids sharing each other's bodies for the first time. Lana rose up on her tiptoes, steadying herself as he dipped even lower.
"Oh! Oh, Maker! Sorry, I didn't realize there was anyone over here."
Lana wiped away her light, casting them both into darkness. Her eyes snapped over at not a soldier, but what looked to be one of the merchants out for a night stroll. He was dressed in traveling leathers far too light for the mountainous weather. "That's quite all right," Lana said. She kept her hands pinned tight to Cullen holding him in place against her chest. It was doubtful the merchant had any idea who she was, but he'd be certain to recognize the commander.
"Having a bit of fun away from prying eyes, eh?" the man snickered. "Say no more, say no more. I'll just leave you two to it then." He slipped backwards on his heels, sliding deeper into the shadows. It wasn't until she lost sight of his face that Lana released her grip on Cullen. The commander glared at the retreating form, but a burn scarred up the back of his neck.
"I'm doing fantastic at this," he muttered under his breath while scrubbing his face with his fingers.
"Uh huh," Lana said, her eyes still upon the nondescript man trying to blend back in with the rest of Skyhold. Cullen followed her gaze, then turned a question upon her. She twisted her head, "A merchant, wandering the battlements alone at night expecting this broken section to be empty."
As the information dawned on him, Cullen rolled his eyes, "He's a blighted spy. Great."
"I can tell Leliana in the morning, assuming she isn't already aware," Lana continued to watch the man she'd painted in her mind. Before her flare sputtered out she got a good look at his face and a memorable scar bisecting up the cheek. Even a beard could not hide it.
"And in the meantime he'll do who knows how much damage, gather all the secrets he can, and pass them on to his contacts. Whoever they are," Cullen sneered again, the hammer finding a new nail.
That was what he was best at, the unstoppable force, finding an immediate threat and ending it. But she'd seen this kind of subterfuge before, ran into it on more than few occasions in Amaranthine. The best response was to tag the man, watch to see where his dead drops were, then move to intercept. Anything else wasted possible opportunities to smoke out others. And yet, Cullen's approach felt so much simpler and satisfying.
Lana ran her fingers down his arm to slip them into his hand. He broke from his mental list of all the ways to punish the spy due to her touch. "Leliana can handle it," Lana whispered. "It will be easier if I mention running into him on the way to my room. You grabbing your sword and intercepting him would raise questions."
"True," he admitted, but she still saw the glint in his eye. "I would leave it in her capable hands either way." At Lana's curious smirk, he added, "I do have some control over my actions."
"Speaking of..." Lana patted her side, the pain redoubling as the last of her draught drifted out of her system, "sleep sounds a wonderful option right now."
Cullen cupped her hands inside of his, "I would still make good on my earlier offer."
"I wouldn't have it any other way, commander," Lana said. She took his extended arm the way an elderly woman would cling to her helpful grandchild as they stepped down the battlements and onto the courtyard. Few paid them any attention, their own pallets filled for the night, but a couple soldiers saluted as Cullen passed. He'd return it, ask if all was well, then continue guiding his platonic associate past them. It wasn't until they rounded into the great hall that she dared to slip closer to him. No one moved among the empty tables stretched along the runners. Every fifth candle was lit, the flame low and bobbing from the winds of their passing. It cast dark shadows against the scaffolding, and drew the eyes upwards towards the inches of moonlight cresting through the roof. Skyhold was quiet.
By the time they got to her door, Lana ached to curl up under the covers and not rise until she was finally rid of this blasted wound. Cullen dropped her hands and awkwardly twisted his body up in an uncertain knot. His hand ruffled through the back of his hair, knocking the not-curls forward.
"Something on your mind?" Lana asked. Maker, with a flush upon his cheeks and those deep set eyes dancing into hers, then away out of fear, he was a man who could steal any heart he wanted. How were there not declarations of war for his hand?
"I was wondering, wanted to ask you about a thing that I noticed. Your card game with the Inquisitor."
"And Hawke," Lana prompted.
"Yes, her too." Cullen smiled and finally settled in her eyes to say, "I saw your hand."
Lana feigned a mock outrage but internally her mind screamed, "That's cheating, commander."
"I wasn't involved in the game, it can't be cheating if I have no stake in the game," he scoffed, but those piercing eyes softened for a moment as he remeasured his morality. "You...you could have won," he pointed out the obvious.
"True," Lana bobbed her head, her eyes focusing just below his.
"Why?"
Her mind reeled to find an excuse, anything to explain why she did it. "I rather doubt Hawke or the Inquisitor were serious. Hawke is never serious," Lana smiled, but she knew it wasn't reaching her eyes. "To take command of the Inquisition now given all he's accomplished, all those who've pledged to him, it's preposterous."
His fingers knotted through hers and she sighed from the contact dragging her back. "You could have..."
Lana raised an eyebrow at him and walled up her fear behind sarcasm, "Suddenly, you seem eager for me to take up the mantle. I didn't realize you bore that particular hunger for my ordering you around."
Instead of blushing, he sighed at her and was not about to rise to the bait, "Lana, you just spotted that spy as an afterthought. You'd make an excellent leader, you always have."
Right, an excellent leader who got everyone under her command brainwashed, kidnapped, or worse. The kind of leader who ran from her duty when no one was left. If it weren't for Hawke... Lana pulled on Cullen's hands and knotted them around her back. His eyes dipped in confusion, but he didn't fight her. The chill of the night nipped against her cheek as she placed it against the armor over his chest. "I'm tired of all that. Tired of being distant, being..." she dug harder into him, her fingers rubbing circles along his back, "untouchable."
Stubble roughed up her forehead as Cullen placed his chin against her. "I suppose I can understand."
Clinging together overlooking the garden, a thousand unspoken conversations rose up between them. Conversations they needed to have. Lana knew it, but she feared to put a single voice to them because she also knew exactly how it would all end. This was a fool's dream, but it was a nice one.
Cullen's lips kissed her forehead, drawing her out of her reverie. Sliding away from his warm embrace, a yawn struggled out of Lana's throat. "Sleepier than I anticipated," she said, then blocked off a second with her hand.
Her fingers knotted around the handle and she pushed open the door to her room. The abandoned candle sputtered on the desk, her book still open from when Hawke dragged her away. Warmth percolated through the room, calling her to it.
"Good evening, commander," Lana said. She picked up Cullen's hand and gently kissed the glove. Perhaps not the wisest of decisions as they tasted of oil, leather, and the grime coating Skyhold's walls.
Cullen chuckled at the move, then he dipped down and scooped her up for one last kiss. His arms knotted around her waist, lifting her higher as they attempted to devour each other. Before any other spies could accidentally wander in, he placed her down. With
a twinkle in his eye, he said, "Sleep well, Lady Amell."
Chapter Eight
Sparring
The smell of sweat slicked off brows onto the grass below, the sound of metal bashing into metal or meat, the burst of energy riding the wind from combatants revealing each other's weak points. Lana forgot how much she missed sparring. As the warden commander, her job was to watch the warriors train the others. It wasn't as if a mage could offer up much by way of suggestion for how best to stick someone with a sword. Use the pointy end and try to not get stabbed. And, she was supposed to be the intellectual one, jotting down notes and paging through books, not neck deep in the blood and muck while rain pounded from the skies watching two of her own square off.
But, by the Maker, did her blood pump while she sat perched upon a stack of straw bales watching an Inquisition soldier try and pummel the hell out of Hawke. "Keep your arm up," Lana shouted.
Hawke spun around, dodging the man's shield and spraying the audience with mud from her extended sword. "Arm schmarm! I've got this!" her cousin shouted. She'd stripped off her armor for what ladies and gentlemen in imposing masks would probably call indecent, displaying her scarred and imposing muscles for the world to see. It wasn't that Hawke wasn't lady like, she merely followed her own definition of lady. One that involved hitting things often. Hawke snorted at the indignity of Lana's involvement and the cold of the mountain crystalized her breath giving her the impression of a bull about to charge. Her opponent, a well meaning kid who was honored to fight the Champion of Kirkwall, mightily wet himself.
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