Chapter Text
"Damn and blast."
Caitriona tips her chin down to hide her smile. Cullen sits across the chessboard from her, elbows on knees, so still and so focused on the pieces in front of him that she's not sure he realizes he's said anything aloud. When they first started playing their daily chess games, he beat her more often than not. But now, after months of practice (and a fair amount of studying up on strategy), they've drawn roughly even in skill level, and he's still adjusting to the challenge.
A breeze picks up, blowing leaves across the garden, and she shivers a little. She looks up and is surprised to notice the sky is starting to lose its usual brilliant color and turn a dusky blue-green as the sun sinks behind the Frostbacks, a sign that she and Cullen have played more games today than she realized. With a tiny pang of disappointment, she supposes that this will probably have to be their last game of the day. Playing chess with Cullen is one of the few times that she is able to really spend time with anyone else — it's rare that she's truly alone, but most of the time others are around, she's too busy making earthshaking decisions and avoiding reverent gazes to feel like she's among friends.
Her attention is drawn back to the chessboard when Cullen finally breaks from his statuesque stillness, snatching a piece off the board and moving it to its new space decisively. "I'm fairly sure I'm done in, but I’ll fight to the last," he declares. He sits back in his chair, resting one ankle on the other knee, steepling his fingers together to observe as she examines the board to see where things now stand. She leans forward, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the creeping chill, not willing to end the game early just for a little cold weather. After several minutes, she thinks she has a handle on his strategy and what to do next, but pauses when she looks up from the board to comment.
Cullen has shifted while she was studying the pieces, now leaning back in his chair, eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. She looks closer, and can see his forearms jumping slightly as he tries to steady his hands. He's breathing steadily, evenly enough that she can tell he's doing it to try to calm himself.
Her expression softens, then changes into one of worry. If he's shaking like this, he must be having an especially rough moment. She wants to comfort him, but months of chess games, afternoons at the war table, and walks along the battlements have taught her that the best thing she can do for him is wait. Eventually, his breathing becomes gentler and he visibly relaxes, although he doesn't open his eyes yet.
"Another bad one?" she asks gently, reaching across the board to lightly brush his hand. Her heart aches to see her friend afraid, in pain.
Cullen looks up with a start and a guilty expression. "I apologize, I didn't— well— yes. It was."
"Do you want to set this aside? We don't have to finish the game."
"No!" he replies, too quickly. "It passed quickly this time. I'm all right, really. Please, don’t worry about me."
"In that case," she says, mischief in her voice, "I shall continue to destroy your forces." She makes her next move, subtly checking Cullen once more for any signs that he's still suffering. He seems to have largely recovered, though, and refocused his attention on the game, so she sits back again to wait. Caitriona relaxes into her own chair, contentment seeping back into her body. The first stars have just begun appearing in the darkest part of the sky, and the nearby peaks of the Frostbacks are silhouetted beautifully by the setting sun. Soon they will run out of light, but she doesn't want to stop yet. She's grown fond of their time together, and lately, finds herself wishing it could go on longer.
He's just lifted a hand to reach for one of the pieces when the deep boom of a heavy wooden door closing echoes through the garden courtyard. Caitriona and Cullen both tense, Cullen's hand going automatically to his sword hilt. Most likely, it's just one of Skyhold's guards coming through, perhaps in search of a little fresh air after a long day on duty. But after what they've been through, they're both always on alert, even in what seems like the safest of places.
A moment later, striding through the deepening twilight, they see that the new arrival is not a guard, but one of Leliana's runners. The young man is so fresh-faced that Caitriona wonders whether he can even be of age yet. For a moment, she reflects sadly that he must be new to the Inquisition if he still has such innocence about him.
"Commander", the messenger says crisply, giving a little half-bow to Caitriona before turning fully to Cullen. "Mistress Leliana bade me fetch you to the War Table."
Cullen frowns slightly, glancing up at the sky, then rising from his chair to face the young man. "At this hour? Can it not wait until morning?"
Taken aback slightly, the runner regroups and stands up even straighter in response. "I'm afraid not, Commander. She wished me to tell you that she insists on seeing you now."
"Just the Commander?" She feels a ripple of disquiet within her, a pebble of concern dropped into still water, and a sudden, urgent need to understand exactly what is going on. "If it's so important as to call him away at a moment's notice, isn't it something I should also be involved in?"
Even in the fading light, she can see the young man's face redden deeply, and feels slightly guilty. Before she can reassure him, he stammers, "I don't— don't know, my lady Inquisitor. I was sent with a message for Commander Cullen, but my mistress didn't ask for— didn't say anything about—"
Caitriona stops him with a wave of her hand. "Never mind, recruit. I'm sure that if Leliana needs me, she'll send you back my way. Go ahead and take your man to the War Table." The messenger sags a little and sighs quietly in relief for a moment before collecting himself, nodding to each of them in turn, then walking back across the garden. As he disappears to the other side of the courtyard, she chances a look at Cullen; he, too, seems concerned. He glances back up at her and they exchange a look that says whatever this is, I don’t like it.
"Well, then." A look of regret crosses Cullen's face before he dons a carefully neutral expression. "I'm afraid I have no choice but to end our game early after all," he says matter-of-factly. Then a hint of a smile comes to his lips. "All to the better for me, I think; I'm certain my doom was drawing near. It appears I am saved this time, but as always, I hope you will grant me another chance tomorrow."
Her small smile mirroring his own, she nods and promises him that he'll get plenty of opportunity to defeat her later. He offers her a deep nod before turning on his heel and following the path back towards the great hall and War Table.
With Cullen gone, she's much more aware of the cold Skyhold night. She shivers again, harder this time, thinking back over the afternoon. Rather than rising from her chair, heading indoors to the warmth of a crackling hearth, she stays in the garden, watching as the last streaks of blue fade into a moonless night, the sky painted with swirls of light and countless tiny pinpricks peppering the velvet blackness.
Night duty pages have come through the garden, lighting lanterns along the walkways, when she comes out of her reverie. How long has she been sitting here, thinking of everything and nothing? Long enough to wish I had a cloak, she muses, suddenly feeling that the late afternoon chill has become the cold bite of a wintry mountain evening. She stands, about to head back into the castle to a fire, any fire, when Leliana's messenger returns. The look on his face makes her heart skip a beat. He's still not giving off any clues as to what exactly is going on, but she can tell it's not good — the poor lad clearly wishes he was anywhere else but here.
"My lady Inquisitor," he says uncertainly, "I'm sent to... you're needed now, too."