My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Sliding a leg into the water and watching it glisten a green as haunting as the fade rifts, Lana wished she had just a sliver of soap. She'd tried everything, even attempted to make her own with the fat off a pride demon's corpse, but that was the most unholy smell she'd ever suffered. Demon rendered lard wasn't going to be on anyone's menu.

  As the water licked up her skin, almost as warm as a person's touch, she shuddered. No, it wasn't really soap she wanted. She leapt both legs into the pond, the water sliding up to her thighs. The pond barely shifted from her weight, whatever magic pressed in on this place held it firm and taut. Trailing her fingers against the glass water, Lana stepped deeper into it while her mind slipped back to where it shouldn't.

  She expected to have to knock upon the Commander's door but it was thrown wide open allowing all of his minions free range of the place. One of the soldiers leaned over his desk, adding more papers to a pile threatening to topple onto the floor. The soldier's face glanced up and she lifted an eyebrow at the interloping mage.

  "I was looking for Commander Cullen," Lana said shifting up and down on her toes. She felt foolish, the sun barely broke the jagged horizon and she had no viable reason to be visiting him at all, much less this early in the morning.

  If the soldier could read her mind, she gave no indication to try and stop her. Instead she gestured upward, "He's in his loft."

  "Thank you, uh..."

  "Addley," the woman smiled.

  "Right. Thank you, Addley," Lana bobbed her head in thanks and began the climb up his ladder. Maker's breath, when he picked this room was he trying for the most awkward quarters imaginable? It was one thing to keep near the heart of action - even her rooms in the Vigil sat over the throne room with a view of the courtyard - but this was preposterous. What if he was injured and couldn't climb the ladder? Would he have to sleep on his desk? Maker, he probably would, and wouldn't even complain about it.

  Prodding her head up through the hole, she spied the man's bed rumpled beyond regulations, the duvet trailing onto the ground from a man dragging it off him as he rose. Hm, seemed templars could get away with leaving their beds unmade but mages had to make it tight corners every morning. How unfair. Carefully sliding out of the hole, Lana steadied herself on the sloping floor then turned to find Cullen leaning near a mirror with a blade in his hand.

  She'd had two to one odds with Hawke that he never actually shaved. Perhaps some old elvhen blood in his line kept the scruff from ever growing beyond its first quarter inch, but there he was shirtless, yanking down on his top lip to scrape his hair away with the dull edge. Cullen hissed when the blade skittered down his cheek, red dots rising in the wake from terrible razor burn. Screwing his eyes tight, he placed the blade back in its box and grabbed up a cloth to dab away the loose hair and blood. Judging by the way he sneered but didn't flinch this probably happened often.

  Lana went from amused to blushing awkward as the time stretched on without him realizing she stood behind. Surely he'd turn around from his mirror and spot her, or he'd catch sight of her in the very mirror. But the commander must have been lost in thought as he never once turned to find her. Maybe she should have waited downstairs with Addley. After finishing with the razor, and stopping the blood, he dipped his cloth into the brass water basin perched on his end table. Water dribbled off his shoulder as he squeezed the cloth against it, rivulets canvassing every delectable curve of the muscles down his back. There were numerous good things to be said about the front of a man, for obvious reasons, but something in the play of shoulder muscle undulating with each move and the long canyon running the length of his spine until it disappeared into his pants and parts there of shut off the thinking center of Lana's brain. Abs were nice, in the right dose, and a chest of course for laying a head upon, but Maker did she love a good backside, perfect for gripping onto and curving the palm of her hand against while the straining muscles played against it. Few were blessed with the right combination, but the commander had it in spades.

  Perhaps he finally sensed a presence behind him, or more likely he heard her struggling to keep in a sigh from water highlighting each taut curve of his body. The cloth paused in the basin and Cullen glanced over his shoulder at her. Surprise twisted his tongue giving Lana time to jump in.

  "Good morning," she said.

  "Uh, morning to you as well. I, were we planning on...? I don't remember if there was an idea to," Cullen stuttered around the confusion.

  Smiling, Lana stepped closer to him. He still had his back turned to her, but his neck strained to keep focus upon her until she leaned beside him, her hip brushing against the table. "No, there was no plan. I," absently Lana picked up the abandoned cloth and splashed it in the basin, "I wished to see you."

  "Oh," now the blush rose up his cheeks, his lips parting with a soft laugh, "I'm, it's nice to see you, too. Assuming it's nice to see me as well."

  After wringing the saturated cloth out, Lana pressed it against the middle of Cullen's back, right in the area he couldn't reach. His eyes slipped closed as she stroked downward tracing the bends of his muscles she wished to follow with her lips instead. "I am surprised at you. The commander of the Inquisition reduced to taking a spitz bath."

  He chuckled at her summation of his morning toilet while she soaked up more of the lukewarm water. A part of her was shocked it was even that warm; he struck her as a 'crack the ice off the bucket in the morning and wash with that' type.

  "Surely someone of your lofted position can afford a claw footed tub and gallons of piping hot water," Lana continued. She placed one hand upon his chest for balance while the other wiped down his side. Below her fingers, the throb of his heartbeat thumped in an increasing allegro. Despite the morning mountain air, his naked skin was warm and inviting, tempting her to place her entire chest against his.

  Cullen glanced down at her hand, but his arms remained dangling at the side, uncertain what to do. Even she had no idea what her endgame was beyond getting him clean. "Someone in my position can ill afford to waste time boiling away in a bathtub," he sighed, but there was no bitterness in his words, as if he had little use for a tub. Instead, he whispered it softly to her, his breath pushing into her hair.

  "Come now, given the choice between cold water and a lone washcloth versus a hot bathtub and," she paused in her scrubbing to lean back and catch his eye, "someone to bathe with, would you really pick this?"

  "Depends on who I'm sharing it with," he smiled with the curve of his lips that both curled her toes and broke her heart. Cullen was never the light hearted grinner that...others were -- his smiles came at great cost, which made them rarer and more precious. A bit like a butterfly that only lived for a few weeks before the golden wings shattered against the ground. The laugh was one thing, a quick bray that he pushed out for the sake of solidarity or because something caught his fancy. But that grin, that 'you reached my soul and I have no idea how to respond beyond this smile' touched her every time she saw it. A forgotten part of her never wanted it to end.

  Releasing the washcloth in the basin, Lana slid around to face him. Her butt gently knocked into the mirror, but he was focused only on the woman placing her hands upon his chest and pushing up on her tiptoes, lips searching for his. She'd been dreaming of these kisses for nights now; when not hearing the archdemon chittering in her brain, at least. How he'd soften his lips from their tight strain whenever she'd press against him. Almost as if his armor melted at her touch, exposing for a brief moment the man beneath it all. That was what she wanted, yearned to have again just like in the Deep Roads.

  Cullen's hand cupped her jaw, those strong fingers pressing gently into her cheek. He pulled her closer to deepen the kiss, his other arm wrapping around her back while Lana slid her hands around his neck to steady herself. Then the sound of a door knocking back on its hinges brought them both back to reality. There was all of Skyhold wandering in and out only a ladder's jump away.

  He broke the kiss, but didn't slip away. Instead,
he pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, "There's talk that the Hero of Ferelden will be attending a ball at the Winter Palace."

  "Interesting," Lana said. So close she could see the damage he did to his cheek with the razor. She flinched from the specks still welling in a raging scarlet. Softly, her fingers trailed down the razor burn leaving a hint of healing magic in their wake. Nothing near as impressive as curing a broken leg, this was more like a dab of lotion upon a sunburn. "You think she'll show up dressed like a griffin? Or, perhaps she'd roll in on a cart drawn by darkspawn."

  Cullen smirked and his fingers caught hers as they finished the spell. Already the welts were vanishing away leaving only poorly scraped stubble behind. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

  "I know," she said, her vision drifting from his panting lips up to those honey eyes. They rested downward themselves, only a hint of that amber color evident below his concerned brow. "But if it will help..."

  "Are you certain you're up to it?" His hands didn't move towards her wound, but she understood.

  "I'm as on the mend as I'll ever be. Don't worry, Cullen," she splayed her fingers against his soothed cheek, "I can handle myself." Leaning forward, she cupped her lips around his for another kiss. A curious hint of mint lingered on his tongue that hadn't been there before her spell.

  "I know you are more than capable, even when injured." He breathed into her ear, "I only thought you would prefer to gnaw your own leg off than have to face down a room full of orlesian nobility."

  Lana threw her head back and laughed, the mirth strong enough to jump to his face. His once doleful eyes sparkled in response as she curled up tighter in his arms. "You're sweet," she said, pecking against his cheek.

  "Is that so?" he volleyed back, bearing a quirk to his lips.

  "I've always thought it."

  "Sweet is the last descriptor I'd have put towards me. As of late, at least," his eyes turned away from her, but she caught his cheek and tried to pull him back.

  "Cullen," Lana whispered, "I..." A thousand thoughts rattled in her head. She knew about the rigors of command, how it was easier to harden your flesh to armor than face the unending pain of loss as your people were inevitably struck down. That one could easily lose themselves to the distance and think that all remained was the steel shell. But by the Maker, she did not see that when she looked upon him. He cared, sometimes she feared for how much he did and the toll it carried.

  Sighing, she let every thought slip through her fingers. She couldn't find a way to voice it beyond some claptrap about maintaining one's humanity in the face of adversity. Instead, she snuggled her head against his bare chest, his skin radiating against her cheek. "I thought you were sweet in the tower. Remember the, uh, nickname you had?"

  "How could I forget?" he sighed but shook his head, a soft chuckle at the end.

  "Well," her fingers trailed along his collarbone, following the swoop until it fell into the divot above sternum, "It was I who began it."

  "Really?" he started, his eyes trying to pry her off his chest so he could study her for a falsehood, but Lana buried herself deeper, a blush rising up her cheeks. For the Maker's sake it was over ten years ago, but she couldn't stop the giddy embarrassment at getting called out for it, even if she did it to herself. "I'd thought it was one of the other templars trying to prod at me. But it was you all along? If I'd known..."

  "Nothing would have changed," Lana whispered to his chest.

  "That," despite the chill whispering through his loft, Cullen was an oasis of warmth. He clung tighter to her, his hands meeting behind her back, "that's true, sadly."

  "Life's never been a straight line for me, not the way it's supposed to." She didn't mean to sound bitter. All things considered, she was damn lucky she still breathed.

  "Lana, I..." he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, pulling her with him as he thought, "Whatever path the Maker's set for me, for you, I'm grateful you stumbled back into my life."

  "Me too," she whispered, rising up to kiss him again.

  Lana's eyes snapped awake and she smashed both fists through the water, splashing herself in the face. Unable to notice the water dripping in her eyes, her mind burned in rage as she rounded upon the spirit reclining on the water's edge. "You had no right to delve into my memories, Jowan!"

  "What, me? What did I do?" he pointed at himself as if he was the wounded party.

  "We have an arrangement. One I can easily end with your death," Lana flared her fist in ice and the spirit trembled at the threat.

  "Hey, wait, hold on. That wasn't me. Cross my heart and please don't stab it. What could I even get from you and your templar shooting goo goo eyes at each other?"

  That was true. There was nothing of his idiom inside that memory, certainly no reason for him to risk their tenuous deal for it. "No one else here reads my mind. Nathaniel only takes the scraps from yours and she doesn't need to bother."

  Jowan knocked his slipper into the rock rising around the pond's edge and he sneered at her submerged feet. "Like I'd want a thing off you being with him. Don't you know he's the enemy? Same exact type of dead eyed murderers that killed me."

  "Because you poisoned an Arl!" Lana shouted at him. "You had every opportunity to fix your mistake, but you just kept running."

  "I did what I could to survive. For me, and for the woman I loved. But what would you know of that, Lana the pure, Lana the untouchable? Never crossed a rule, always kept herself in line. Dare not open herself up for fear of any of that dirty heartache stuff throwing off her life. No. And the one time I come to you, beg you to help me, what you do but go right to Irving and rat me out. I needed you and you abandoned me."

  "You. Were. A. Blood. Mage!" she screamed, leaping up and down in the pond.

  "Which I did because of you, to prove that I could be as good as you. If it weren't for you, I'd still be alive. Do you regret telling Irving?"

  The spirit's spell broke over Lana and she shook her head. Massaging her forehead with her wet fingers, she whispered, "You're not really Jowan," a few times to herself. "If I hadn't told Irving about it, they'd still have found you, would have stopped you. But if I'd turned you down that day, then I wouldn't be stuck here in the fade."

  "How's that?" Jowan asked, the spirit caught off guard by the sublimation of her anger.

  "Duncan never would have recruited me and I'd never have become a grey warden, much less stopped a blight, and I'd never have assisted the Inquisition to wind up in here with you. That's the thing about regrets, sometimes they cut both ways."

  Jowan didn't sneer from her jibe, instead he smiled wide, a new dawn rising upon his face. "You're right. I never thought about it that way. Excellent."

  Andraste's holy knickers, this was going to drive her mad, assuming she wasn't already. Talking to her dead friends, constantly reliving what pushed them to their limits for his own instinctual needs, and all so she didn't starve while walking the fade. Another thought chewed on the back of her mind. If it wasn't Jowan who plucked at her memory, then what did? They weren't like a daydream, or even a true dream. When the spirits or demons slipped into her head, every moment felt real, her memory almost wiped clean of whatever came after. She could cling to the fact she stood in the fade to keep her grounded but within some of them she didn't even want that, wishing she could fully lose herself to what used to be.

  Lana waded through the pond to the shore, her mind churning up thoughts and none of them coming up good. Sensing a change in his food source and potential only friend, Jowan spoke up, "What is it?"

  She grabbed up her pack, ignoring the fire where she'd intended to dry herself and her clothes for the not-night. "We need to find the other one. I have to ask her some questions."

  "Oh great, because she's just a barrel of fun," Jowan moped, folding his arms in anger.

  Lana ignored him. Picking up her staff, she turned to look into the sky. Hanging far too close than she liked was the Black City, always looming over
her every step.

  Chapter Nine

  Faithful

  9:41 Skyhold

  He watched her thin fingers run the rim of the tea cup. She wouldn't drink it, or even acknowledge it, beyond circling the top as it cooled on his desk. The book Lana swiped off his shelves was proving far more interesting than a royal elfroot blend. Perched upon the edge of his desk with one leg off the ground, she'd been reading through it quietly while he was getting work done. Supposed to be getting work done. Every few lines, Cullen's gaze would travel up the slender arms calmly turning a page, fall into the gentle eyes lost in thought, and hunger for the succulent lips in a calculating pout. He'd accomplished barely a thing since she strolled into his office and he didn't care a whit about it.

  Trying to ground himself, he reached for his own mug of tea and picked up the small goblet of milk. Why it was in a goblet was beyond his understanding aside from Josephine explaining, "There is a small dish problem that I am looking into. I suspect Sera is involved but haven't found the proof yet." Slopping a mess across the tray, Cullen managed to get a plop of milk into his mug.

  "You're doing it wrong," Lana said, somehow watching him with her eyes still engrossed in the book.

  "It's not my fault the glass doesn't have a spout," he said.

  "Not that," she closed the book and placed it upon the desk. Spinning around, she placed a hand next to her own cup as she beamed those soulful eyes into him. "The milk. You add it first, then the tea. Everyone knows it."

  "Why would I do that? What difference does it make?"

  "What difference? All the difference in thedas," she threw her arms wide and hopped off the desk. Grabbing up the book, Lana moved towards the shelf to return it back where she found it. "By adding it first you ensure the perfect distribution of milk to tea, it doesn't sit there in a white blob on the surface."