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The Inquisitor’s quarters were, to put it simply, comfortable. Stained glass windows reflected pale shards of moonlight, and a wide fireplace embraced him with fiery embers.
His bedroom was just a loft above his office. There was a hole in the ceiling, and despite how much light it gave, she always shivered in her sleep. The mountain wind howled during the coldest nights— once Trevelyan had to place a field of magic around them to keep the heat in.
That was when he decided they were to sleep in her quarters. He cared for her physical state, not so much his — Cullen rarely ever slept on a bed since joining the Inquisition, since self-care seemed like a waste of time. There was too much work to be done, too many soldiers to account for, and too many trebuchets to be recalibrated.
He also found it hard to sleep, even when he nestled within their spacious and warm bed and curled up by her side. Terror sometimes shook him awake. And then exhaustion would take its place soon after. The ever present memories of his past seemed to hold him hostage, restraining him from hearing the sweet melody of sleep.
But Cullen found the only cure to his madness— the one way to guarantee a sound and soft night was to gaze at her. To really look at her and brand his memory with every single fine detail.
Tonight they both stayed longer in the war room, and it was impossibly late. Even Leiliana had protested that it was now a sin to be awake. She had also remarked on how tired Trevelyan had looked.
Our poor Inquisitor seems half dead already. Perhaps Cullen should take her to her chambers.
The Nightingale was right, of course, but as he and Trevelyan walked the empty great hall and made their way up to their quarters, all thoughts of resting fled from his mind.
“I think I’ll lay by your side and then return to my office once you fall asleep.”
He had said that as soon as they reached the top of the foyer and he watched as she turned to him with a look of incredulity.
“You will not.”
Oh that voice. His heart thumped with an increased nerve and ardor.
She strode to the dresser and started to peel off the layers of clothes. Skyhold was getting colder by the day, even their bedsheets had been changed to thick furs. A cozy, comfortable sight.
And yet, even with that and her now naked body climbing into the covers, he lingered by the entrance.
“There’s much work to be done.”
She sighed, a distressed, exasperated tone that signaled that there wasn’t going to be an argument with this one.
"Please. You need rest. No matter what your thoughts are telling you, there will always be a tomorrow."
She was right, of course, but he still hesitated in taking a step towards her. With a hand running through his hair and a muttered alright, Cullen moved to sit on the bed, feet still firmly planted on the floor and hands bracing the sides of the mattress.
What if tomorrow brings another war. What if tomorrow she leaves on another grueling mission where he spends hours anxiously pacing his cramped office. The floorboards were already worn enough, and their creaking did nothing to ease his thoughts.
Cullen opened his mouth, and tried to stand once again. He would tell her it wouldn’t take long. That he would just be gone for another hour or so.
But her hands pushed him down and she kissed his cheek, her lips tracing his jaw and finally his neck. She made work of his armor, her fingers deftly unbuckling and removing the metal plates to finally expose his muscled chest. She caressed his back, then kneaded that one hard knot of muscle beneath his shoulder blades. Makers breath, he almost groaned in relief.
The touch of her hands and her lips erased any thought of leaving. This was their only time for privacy, for intimacy. He eased out of his boots, then his trousers until he lay there, naked before her and she lay nestled in his arms.
"Cullen?" Her voice was tender, just like the hands that moved up and down his skin. "Where are you right now?"
Maker’s Breath. All his thoughts of work and what-ifs disappeared. He was here. Here. In this luxury of a room, with the hearth roaring and the mountain wind howling. With this woman that was his saving grace, the only person that could handle the weight of his worries.
His lips grazed the tip of her ear, and he felt her hum in response. Her body was a steady pillar of strength. Yet, she was also so warm, so gentle. He couldn’t help but tighten his arms around her.
“I’m here.”
Her doors to the balcony were open, leaving traces of midnight wind to whisper softly against the hearth-fire.
There will always be a tomorrow.
He looked into those eyes, finding the truth and the future all at once. Yes, he is the Commander of Inquisition. A title bearing enough weight and responsibility for a single lifetime.
But now, he is also hers. And she will teach him how to live and love fiercely and passionately without the limits of time and each day’s burden.
"I'm here,” He repeated. His words caught the night breeze and they were followed by a gentle, tender kiss and a repeated whisper of promise.
He smiled at her, and she traced that scar on his upper lip, kissing it softly as they laid together on the bed.
“I want to fall asleep...and wake up to you.” Those words were quiet. Almost as if he were asking, pleading, praying for the Maker to grant his wish.
“And you will.” Her eyes were bright and shining with so much promise, one that he knew she would keep.
Their hearts burned with such ferocity that his broken pieces melted and reforged anew. He kissed her again, and the enchanting lull of sleep nestled between them.
He gazed at her, watched her lips as they parted from his. Watched as her fingers stroked his curls. Watched as she took his hand and kissed it, placing it over her heart.
No one has ever made him feel like this. Feel this.
This warmth. This song.
Cullen closed his eyes.
“I love you,” she whispered gently.
But he was sound asleep.