My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Shrugging, she turned to him, "I hadn't had them done since I was a teenager. It seemed like fun." Formed from a special ink that upon drying clung invisible to the skin, they could only be revealed by moonlight thanks in part to some enchanting. The spell was easy enough most mage children could manage, it was brewing up the ink that proved more challenging.

  "They're..." Cullen drew his fingers across her cheek, trying to trace the delicate pattern without smudging it. "When did you get them done?"

  "When last we were in the market area. There were stalls all over the place."

  "But, it must have taken forever to draw such a delicate pattern, how did you find time?"

  She tried to not roll her eyes, "You were haggling and getting into it with some merchant about something. I figured I'd be able to sit for a good half hour before you'd notice. Turned out I was right."

  Laughing through his small shame, Cullen turned her in his lap to look fully upon the right side of her face lit up. Against her darker skin, the moon glow bore a far more impressive appearance than to the paler flesh, as if she sparkled from within. "Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," he sighed, catching her lips in a succulent kiss. Breaking away, his eyes lingered down her glittering throat towards the birthmark. She had the inker trace the thin lines and dots across her natural mark, highlighting its swoops and swirls.

  Cullen's fingers drifted towards it before he paused and gulped, "How far, um, down do they go?"

  Impishly, Lana lifted an eyebrow and asked, "Would you like to find out?"

  "More than anything in thedas," he moaned, tugging her tighter to him as they kissed with a rising heat. Scooping her up in his arms, Cullen staggered out of the chair.

  He began to drop her feet to the floor, but she shook her head. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Lana didn't want to abandon his tempting lips. Struggling to get through the room while she kissed him, Cullen paused at the door to the bedroom. Before he walked inside to begin the far more fun festivities, he butted his forehead against hers and whispered, "Lana, this is the best Satinalia in my life."

  Scooping her fingers along his cheeks, she kissed him once more. "Mine too."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Charm

  Dropping his hand under the table, Cullen banged his knuckles against the support leg before glancing fingers across his intended target. Reinforcing his grip, he circled around Lana's fingers that'd been upon her knee. She didn't turn away from watching a few street jugglers ply their trade, but a blush rose up her cheeks as she returned his caress.

  More than aware that he was acting like a love addled young man while wearing a cheesy grin from holding a beautiful woman's hand, Cullen couldn't scrounge up the ability to care. On occasion a few eyes turned in their direction, all of them landing upon the Commander...no, the ex-Commander of the Inquisition. He'd look up to ascertain if it was anyone he'd know but that only seemed to encourage more gawking and, on occasion, some attempting to strike up a conversation.

  After dismissing the last hanger-on with a "Madam, please, I am with someone and have no interest in any of your children, grandchildren, or great grandchildren!" they'd been left alone. Lana remained quiet through it, her leg crossed at the knee while she picked at the wool scarf tied around her neck. It was done in the colors of blue and silver, a fact that alarmed Cullen when she appeared with it, but Lana waved him off. They were the colors of the year and much of Val Royeaux was wearing them. She'd blend in perfectly.

  It seemed strange to have the open air patio in use, with snow from the Satinalia blizzard still clinging in drifts piled up against walls and a chill wafting on the breeze, but Orlesians never made any damn sense. Honor slumbered at his feet after a rousing day of chasing after a few children who managed to snag the mabari's ball and thought they could escape with it. It was the perfect winter afternoon with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

  "Does that happen often?" Lana asked, turning to face him. The gap of her face that was visible between wool scarf and fluffy hat bore the red haze of cold that only winter could bring, but she smiled and shook off any of his suggestions to head inside. Lana lived for the outdoors any chance she had.

  Giving his hand another squeeze, she elaborated, "Women approaching you and offering you up to daughters or granddaughters?"

  "No," Cullen groaned, wishing Orlais would keep its knotted nose out of his business. "At least, not on the regular."

  "Oh no, you can't deflect that. You have to tell me now," Lana perked up, adjusting herself in her chair. They weren't the most comfortable seats in Val Royeaux, and by the winter's chill the wrought iron burned a cold up through his pants. He wished he'd put on the pair of long johns Lana suggested.

  Cullen tried to stall for time, his eyes trailing around the courtyard filled with the remnants of a happy Satinalia. Scraps of bunting hung off the drying evergreen boughs on their way to being everbrown. But what demanded their attention were the jugglers, huskers, and -- Maker help him -- mimes working the crowds. Drained people moved through Val Royeaux on their way to return home after the celebration and the street hustlers knew that was when to strike.

  "Was it during your time in Skyhold? Kirkwall?" she adjusted herself in her seat. "I can keep guessing all day, you know."

  "Very well," he sighed, accepting defeat, "it was in Rivain."

  "When you were...? Oh," she sagged down a bit but Cullen tugged her tighter to him by their conjoined hands.

  "It was quite possibly the most embarrassing moment to have happen."

  "Why?" Lana chuckled, "It's not as if Alistair was... Oh, dear," she patted her cheeks at his sneer, the one she claimed he wore special whenever the king was mentioned.

  "He was purchasing some trinkets for his Queen," Cullen said. Lana merely nodded along as if she was aware of that arrangement and didn't care. "...when the woman at the shop asked if she could purchase me for her daughter or granddaughter. I wasn't entirely clear on the conversation." Lana tipped her head down, staring at the table while Cullen continued. "In truth, if it weren't for the king's interceding I'm uncertain what I'd have done. I...I do not speak Rivaini."

  "Be more surprising if you did. It's a difficult language to master," she said. Her head remained hanging down as if she found the table fascinating, but he heard a snicker in her voice.

  "I see," Cullen mused, wondering how a man as simple as Alistair could manage that. "He made some bold exaggerations of whatever malady in body or charm turned me unacceptable and, after she cast their warding eye at me, I was free to continue on." Waving his hand across the table, and nearly elbowing over the empty mug, Cullen sighed, "There, now you know the entire humiliating moment."

  Lana nodded her head solemnly, her fingers reaching over to pat his softly in compassion, when a snort reverberated in her nose. Trying to not glare, Cullen watched her snort once again. Unable to hold it back, the laughter tumbled free. Lana's head whipped up and she leaned back in the chair, trying to pin her hands against her face as she laughed so hard her shoulders vibrated. It was so damn infectious, even Cullen felt a tug despite the laughter being at his expense.

  As she managed to compose herself, Lana wiped a tear from her eye, "I'm sorry, I...I don't mean to laugh, but you don't know. Maker, I doubt Alistair did either. And it's..." She succumb to the laughter again, doubling over so quickly her forehead skimmed above the surface of the table.

  "Don't know what?" Cullen tried to not sulk, but judging by her face he'd either dodged a hail of arrows or was about to be stuck in the back.

  Cupping a hand to her mouth, Lana sat up. Breathing deep, she began to explain, "In Rivain, they have a celebration. An old one from before Andraste's time. It used to honor Uthemrial, which is why I know of it. Kill an old god and suddenly one becomes interested in everything in their past. Sorry, not helping. The woman, she wasn't trying to buy you precisely. Not as a husband by any means. It was more she wanted to, um," Lana tented her fingers, "compensate you for your eventual time a
nd..." a snort burnt in her nose before she could continue, "effort."

  "Effort in what?"

  "Ah, this is the um, difficult part. The ceremony, well, it's more a celebration not unlike Satinalia but back at its roots. Less calm, orderly standing in a chantry singing songs, more...uh, carnal delights."

  "Carnal...? Oh Maker," he groaned folding into his hands.

  "It is an interesting one to behold, and they rarely let people from outside the country become involved in it. You should be proud," she said, reaching over to pat his hand.

  Cullen's eye darted up to hers and he growled. That only caused her to laugh harder, clearly enjoying the fact that someone in Rivain attempted to buy him for his...prowess. "I do not think I shall lose this burr of embarrassment until I am sixty five," Cullen muttered into his hands.

  "It's a real badge of honor, or so I hear," she took it all as flippant with a shrug of the shoulder.

  "It is bothersome. No, beyond that, to have people pecking and clawing for my attention as if I'm some, some gilded bauble to throw around their neck," he grumbled.

  Her hand paused in patting, and in a soft voice Lana asked, "You never took advantage of all that attention?"

  "What?" Cullen dropped his hands to look up at her, "No, of course not. Why would I?"

  She lifted a shoulder and gazed out at the procession of people moving sullenly through the snowy streets of Val Royeaux. "It wasn't as if you didn't have a good reason to want to, and, judging by what I keep overhearing, had more than ample opportunity to explore."

  "Lana."

  "I wouldn't hold it against you, I promise. I mean, Maker knows I have my own..." she waved her hands towards the east, "past."

  Leaning forward, Cullen grabbed onto her washy hand and pinned it tight in his. It felt frozen solid next to his skin. Maker, did she ever warm up? Rubbing his body heat into it, Cullen sighed, "There was no one else, not between the years of Kirkwall and Skyhold, nor after you..." He swallowed, still unable to say the words. Fell felt too flippant for the sorrow he was trapped under, while died drove a nail through his heart. "I was not of the right mind to want to look. As if anyone could measure up," he tried to flip it into a compliment, but Lana's frown deepened. Did she not believe him? Cupping her cheek, he said, "That should put you at ease."

  "No, it..." she crinkled her nose, "I don't know. I, I hate the idea that you were alone for so long. In pain, and because of me, unable to-to find someone else. And at the same time, I'm so glad that another woman didn't swipe you away. Given the way everyone keeps talking, your reputation grew in the years and it was already on the rise when I was in Skyhold."

  She looked up at him, her melting brown eyes pleading for her words to make sense. Brushing his fingers back against her cheek, Cullen ran his thumb through the indent of her slowly fading scar. Lana cupped his hand tight to her skin and he felt a smile lift it high. Her ornery eyes darted up. "From the rumors, a part of me keeps expecting some woman to show up insisting you're the father of her child."

  At that Cullen laughed and shook his head, "It's preposterous to consider it being fact, but that could still happen."

  "Oh?"

  "A few have tried, but far more over the years claimed the Inquisitor as the father of their baby. One even showed up on Skyhold's door."

  "Inquisitor Gaerwn?" Lana asked, her face falling in shock, "Do they not know he's...how would that even work?"

  Cullen parted his hands, "Miracle of Andraste herself."

  Snorting, Lana covered her face, the joy brightening her cheeks. Maker's breath she was beautiful. He barely got any sleep before Satinalia with her resting in his arms, the light glowing off her skin and casting her tender features in a warm haze. While she murmured in her sleep, Cullen would dart a finger through her short hair, the tips skirting along her dewy skin trying to memorize each inch. Every time he touched her he couldn't stop his mind from trying to imprint the moment deep onto his memory for fear that...that it'd be the last.

  "Cullen," Lana spoke, drawing him from staring slack-jawed at her.

  "Yes?"

  "How do you feel now that you're no longer with the Inquisition?"

  "Lana," he shook his head, "I'm happy to be..."

  "I know, I know," she smiled, no pain in her face. The easy smile drained his own perturbations, their first fight feeling like it occurred ages ago. "But it's a change, and changes take time to adjust to." She scoffed for a moment and glanced down at her frozen tea, "I still do things as if I'm in the Circle tower. Ever wonder why I'm always asking for permission?"

  "I..." he shook his head, realizing that it hadn't fazed him because it, in turn, was second nature for the templar to be asked by the mage. That thought sunk deep into his chest.

  "This isn't about me," she broke off her line of thinking, "Honest and true, good and bad, how are you feeling?"

  He couldn't get out of it now. That was what he'd ask her when she'd start from a nightmare or face her personal demons. She'd hesitate, not wanting to worry him, but eventually her confession would slip out. He was working on not rushing to solve it each time.

  "You're right, it feels...strange. To have no one to answer to, no one to command me, no one in turn to be commanded by me. An endless void can be terrifying," he gazed around the courtyard. Normally it was a palette of primary colors, but by the grey winter weather it looked stark and drained of life.

  Lana tugged onto both of his hands, her thumbs rubbing the back, "Not if you find something to fill it."

  "You have some ideas on that?" he asked with a smirk, but in truth, he hoped for an answer.

  She tipped her head back and forth, "I'm working on it."

  "Does that mean you have no intentions upon filling me in?"

  "We'll see, it depends on how things go," Lana said while reaching for her no doubt cold tea. An impish smile began to crawl up her cheeks and Cullen couldn't help himself. Despite the public place, the nearness of the Grand Cathedral casting its religious shadow, and a dozen people glancing curious in their direction, he tugged on Lana's hand. Her teacup rattled, sloshing the cold brew across the table, but he didn't care. Cupping a hand against her jaw, he leaned forward and kissed her fully. She tipped her chin to line her lips up, that round nose of hers burrowing into his cheek while she pressed ever tighter to him.

  As they broke apart, more than a few obvious glares directed their way. Cullen tried to ignore them while staring deep into her eyes, but when the coughing began he sighed and backed down to his seat. Smiling even brighter, Lana's cheeks lit up in a different kind of rosy glow. Whispering, she pointed a hidden finger at the rest of the patio, "Methinks they're a bit jealous."

  "I..." Cullen blushed now, the faux pas sinking in, "I couldn't help myself. You're so, you know."

  "I have a vague recollection," she smiled at his floundering before her voice dropped lower, "but I do enjoy hearing it reenforced from time to time."

  He began to reach over the table to cup both of her hands in his when an elf dressed in black stepped up to the table behind Lana. "And what are we having over here today?" His voice bore a strange accent out of place amongst the nasally Orlesians, and upon closer inspection Cullen realized that he wasn't dressed in the standard black waiter wear but had on hearty leathers buried below a wool cloak.

  "Nothing," Cullen said, waving his hand and hoping the man would get the hint.

  "Ah, of course. And what of you Lania, is there any room in your diet for a crow?"

  Lana's eyes lit up and she spun in her chair. "Maker's breath!" she shouted loud enough for the plaza to hear, "What are you doing here?"

  The man smiled, his eyes only upon her. Perhaps it was Cullen's imagination, but he leaned nearer towards Lana, just within her personal space to make it intimate but not close enough to be off putting. "Where the wind blows so go I, you know how it is. Got to keep busy or I fear I'll grow moss upon my joints. But imagine my surprise to learn that the bella donna of my dreams pulled off the unimag
inable once again, stepped across the veil itself, defeated death, and wound up in Val Royeaux of all places."

  When he reached out and took Lana's hand, she shook her head and sighed in that "oh you" variety. For fear the blonde man intended to kiss her hand, Cullen sat up, "Excuse me. Who are you?"

  His vast elven eyes darted away from the unkissed hand to Cullen who was trying very hard to maintain his dignity and balance. "I could ask the same of you. Oh, Lania, do not tell me you and he...?" Lana shrugged. "Fair haired. Sturdy," he assessed Cullen with a quick once over. "Another templar?" Now she bobbed her head, and guiltily glanced away. Sighing, the elf tipped his head back, "Ovviamente. You always did find your fun hidden within the chantry's rather strapping arm."

  "Maker's sake," Cullen smacked his hand against the table, "who are you?"

  "Ah, sorry," Lana blushed bright, "This is Zevran."

  "Zev to my friends," he said, extending a hand to Cullen who didn't take it. "Which, I see where we stand on that fact. Very well." He retreated the proffered hand back to cross his arms instead.

  Lana rolled her eyes, and scooted closer, "He fought with us during the blight. He's my contact in Antiva, the one I sent the letter to..." She pivoted in her chair to gaze up at the cocksure elf, "which should not have even arrived there for another month."

  Parting his hands the elf beamed wider, "I am wintering in Val Royeaux this season. It's provided me with ample opportunity to keep my rather delicate ears to the ground." Cullen snorted at that non-answer. "You do not agree, templar?"

  "Why does everyone keep calling me templar?"

  "If the rather fetching skirt fits..." the elf taunted, inching closer to him.

  "For the love of Andraste," Lana waved a hand between them. "Zev, focus please. How did you get your fingers on the letter that was supposed to be secretly mailed?"

  "You know I have my tricky little ways, bella donna," he oozed. That was it, he had not just a voice or physicality that oozed, his entire charm was built upon rolling over its intended victim and slowly suffocating it to death. It was blighted Dorian all over again. "Imagine my surprise to open up this quaint little letter, with perfect penmanship I might add, and discover that my oldest and dearest friend is yet alive. Not only alive but in Val Royeaux where I happen to be staying. I simply had to try and track you down."