My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "That was..." he tried again.

  "Sex?" she threw out, getting a chuckle.

  "I believe it was that, true," Cullen lowered to his elbows so he could part the hair stuck to her forehead. His skin glowed from the firelight which was now roaring in the hearth. She bit back a frown from losing so much control, but Cullen didn't notice. Didn't care. He placed another kiss against her lips, then her forehead. "You are, I still can't believe you're here."

  "For a few hours, anyway," Lana said. "Until they kick us out for being turnip farmers."

  Cullen smiled, but he brushed off her jibe. "Lana, I..."

  She cut off his comment with a kiss, her fingers curling along his jaw, "You're amazing."

  "No, I'm fairly certain it's you who deserves the honor. I'd forgotten how..." he twisted on his legs and glanced down at her own knot of pubic hair, "What was that throb you added?"

  "Ah, a little spell. An attention pulse you can leave for signals or set to...you probably don't want its full history," she blushed, but his fingers cupped her cheek, a heartwarming grin on his face.

  "It was like nothing I'd ever felt before."

  Now she smirked, "There are perks to sleeping with a mage."

  He dipped down to kiss her sweetly. As he pulled back, he whispered, "Only you." Gently, he twisted his hips lower, removing himself from her. She was almost sad to lose that last part of him. Lana sat up on her elbows to watch, when exhaustion yanked her back.

  "Maker, I'm going to need a week to sleep off the clowns, and another two to sleep off that."

  Cullen tossed his trousers off the end of his feet and climbed into bed beside her. Slipping to the side of the bed, Lana yanked up the forgotten blanket tumbled to the floor. Returning to him, she pressed her head to his chest while he draped the blanket across both of them. "I'm glad to know I can beat out clowns."

  She was never one to crash right after sex, though Alistair was practically mid-sentence awake and then boom head on the pallet, ass in the air gone. But now sleep haunted through her mind, trying to coax her down into its tendrils. His hands dug into her shoulders, their warm and sweaty bodies chilling in the cold air in spite of the blanket. Through the fog, Lana dampened down the fireplace until only a hint of light sparked from the embers. A strange feeling gurgled up inside of her and she started upon realizing it was happiness. How did she forget that?

  "Cullen," she sighed into his chest, "it was worth it."

  * * *

  "...And you say you discovered this information from a crystal?" Vivienne's crisp words drifted around the table, her elbows expertly dipped below the lip as she sawed into her breakfast tart. How Madam de Fer could hack apart something that could collapse a hurlock's skull with such dainty grace was beyond Lana. They were some of the few people gathered at one of the many recovery nooks scattered across the Winter Palace. After sneaking out of Cullen's room before dawn, Lana found her original room. She dressed quickly in her old traveling clothes and stumbled across Madam de Fer laying into the spread the servants placed upon the table.

  "It wasn't a crystal, precisely," Lana explained while prodding at the runny yolks of her eggs. "But blood that'd been crystalized."

  "Blood magic," Cassandra breathed. She was out of her 'idiotic finery' and back in her preferred Seeker outfit. Despite the long night, the Seeker seemed alert and unaffected by the festivities save the arm she kept thrown across her eyes.

  "Ancient elven blood magic," Lana corrected. "It seemed to mention Arlathan itself."

  "Of course, I should have anticipated such," Vivienne huffed. "What else could contain so much information but blood?"

  The three women broke from their conversation about Knight-Enchanters at the sound of a man crashing through a side door. "So sorry, don't seem to be able to open my eyes this morning. Or most mornings," Dorian's silky voice apologized to the servants he ran into. Despite the claims of pain, he glanced down the small stairs and grinned upon the trio at the end of the table. "Maker's breath, I'd thought I'd be the first to rise."

  "Ha," Cassandra laughed. "I've been awake since dawn."

  "By all that is good in thedas, for what purpose?" Dorian whined as he yanked out a chair. Practically collapsing into it, the man banged his forehead into the table and sighed. Unable to move it, he motioned for the servants to set the table around him.

  "Why, my dear Lord Pavus, are you suffering from a bit too much celebrating?" Vivienne asked.

  "Of course I am. They wouldn't stop toasting us, then they had to toast the toasting. And it would be rude to not toast to the wine itself, no matter how dreadful it may be," Dorian's mumbling earned a nod of agreement from Vivienne. He picked his head up to stare at his fellow heroes of Orlais and groaned again, "Why aren't you two in the same sorry state as me?"

  "Pentaghasts never suffer from hangovers."

  "Really?" Lana leaned forward, "Is there something tied to your dragon hunting blood or..."

  "No, we simply never start drinking, or never stop. Either way," Cassandra shrugged, a whisper of a smile on her lips.

  "But I know you were deep into the wine, Vivienne," Dorian continued needing anyone else to suffer along with him.

  "Oh darling, the first thing one learns at court is how to pace oneself lest you become the fool who spends the night with vomit upon his shoes."

  Dorian threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling. He looked so pathetic, his ramshackle hair plastered to a sweaty forehead, she almost wanted to heal him. But to do so unasked to another mage was impolite and could be construed poorly. Instead, she stirred her eggs some more wondering if she had enough control to cook the runny mess with her fingers.

  "And what of our Warden friend here? Didn't see you at the after-death party. Were you busy drinking behind the scenes?"

  "I was too busy healing people to do any drinking," Lana admitted.

  "You and Blackwall are tried and true exemplary specimens of Grey Wardens - a teetotaling puritanical bunch who'd probably blush at the sight of an ankle," Dorian stung back. Lana only shrugged, she had nothing to prove to him or anyone else for that matter.

  Climbing down the stairs into their little nook came the Inquisitor wrapped up in his own discussion with Cullen. The pair were in as heated a talk as one could get over waste extraction for armies, but Cullen broke for a moment to smile at her. Lana grinned back, then wiped it away, her focus turning back to her eggs. She didn't want to appear the blushing maiden in front of everyone. The Inquisitor's fingers lingered for a moment upon the back of Dorian's chair before he guided himself to the one beside it.

  "Nice to see us all awake, long before the rest of the court," the Inquisitor said.

  Cullen rounded the long way around the table, a noticeable limp as he favored his left leg. Odd, she didn't remember him limping after the battle. Pointing at the commander, Dorian called out, "Too much exertion fighting off a few harlequins?"

  Yanking out his own chair beside Cassandra, Cullen lowered himself to his breakfast. For a brief moment his eye caught Lana and a guilty pleasure glittered in them. Oh, so that was it.Turning away from her, he inspected the offerings and snatched up a hunk of bread, "Something of that nature."

  "What do you do with templars when they age past their usefulness in the South? Put them out to stud?"

  "Dorian," the Inquisitor whispered a warning.

  Cullen shook his head and glowered at his breakfast. "I'm too exhausted to argue. Just continue with whatever you were on about and leave me to eat."

  "Did we miss anything important?" the Inquisitor continued. His fingers danced near the tevinter mage's without actually touching them.

  "Yes, I was trying to delve into the backbone of the Grey Warden order. Determine what drives such a force to run head long into what most people would wisely run away from," Dorian crowed. His obstinance seemed to blot away the pain of his hangover. "Seems our warden friend here is against drinking."

  "I never said that," Lana interjected.


  "And now I've moved on to the question of other peccadilloes the wardens resolve from their nature."

  "This should be interesting," Cassandra sat up higher in her chair, her boot banging into the table.

  "Duty bound, devoted to the cause, forsaking every temptation and all that," Dorian continued, "very noble. I find myself curious if wardens have also abandoned the sins of the flesh."

  "Dorian!" the Inquisitor hissed.

  "What? We all know no one's getting through that mat of bear fur we occasionally call Blackwall. I wonder about our warden friend here. She seems to clean up all right. Is the celibate life more a feature of the Grey Wardens or a choice."

  Lana shifted in her seat, blisteringly aware of every eye burning through her from the mage's sudden interest in her social life. She didn't look up from her breakfast, terrified she'd glance in Cullen's direction and give everything away. Rifling through any option to get rid of Dorian's fascination, it was the Seeker who came to the rescue of the mage.

  "For the Maker's sake," Cassandra snorted, "you don't need to keep showing off. We all know you two are involved," she gestured to Dorian and the Inquisitor, the former who beamed and the latter that blushed, "we simply don't care."

  "You, um," the Inquisitor for once seemed lost for words, "ah...Dorian?"

  His lover shrugged, "I never said a word, Amatus." The Inquisitor knocked into Dorian's shoulder, but his eyes smoldered - he was in deep. Enjoy it while it lasts, Lana thought. She felt Cullen's eyes trying to pierce through her, but she kept her head bowed in contemplation. Only a tiny smile played against her lips, giving away that she had every intention to replay the events of last night once they were away from the Winter Palace.

  "So," Dorian continued, "whose sex life do we discuss next?"

  Chapter Fourteen

  An Olive Branch

  Skyhold's great hall bustled as Josephine directed a stack of crates originally bound for the stables, but someone got their missives crossed and the linens meant for the dining tables wound up being fed to horses. It was a mark of her grace that the ambassador maintained her cool instead of strangling the shrugging carter with her half digested tablecloth. Lana'd been watching the display for awhile waiting for the ambassador to snap. A few people tried to intercede on Josephine's behalf, but most were moving further and further away from the merchant all sending the blood about to be shed. Lana hovered in the corner while clinging tighter to her staff. Devoid of its blade, it blended in as a walking stick but she hated having it out in the open, having her out in the open.

  Sure, other mages waltzed through Skyhold as if it was a circle's courtyard but even they left their staves in the armory. No one wanted to be the errant flame loosed in a barrel of powder.

  "Ah, Warden," the Inquisitor's pinched voice called from a door. Varric's head swooped away from the ambassador waving the hay in people's faces and calmly explaining how it was not linen. The dwarf's eyes danced from Inquisitor to Warden, but whatever the Inquisitor wanted couldn't compete with a man trying to press the hay to the wall and pretend it was sticking.

  "You asked for me," Lana dipped her head to the Inquisitor.

  "Forgive me, I was speaking with...um," and that steely resolve snapped for a moment. She knew exactly who he was speaking with, though it was doubtful much speaking was involved. Not that she was going to call him to task for it. "I see you brought your staff. Excellent."

  Her fingers rolled through the deeper indentations pricking against old names she feared to forget. "Yes?" Her 'as you asked' went unsaid.

  "As I understand it, your early tour of Skyhold was less than satisfactory." The elf's grey eyes brightened to an almost pale blue in the light from his stained glass windows. He shook off that glumness that plagued his sinew like knocking dust off the hay linens during spring.

  "It has been confined more or less to my room and the dining hall," Lana admitted. After returning from Halamshiral, she ventured out with Hawke a few times under the pretense of exploring and yet with each trip they wound up in the tavern. Hawke seemed to be under the illusion she could drink the qunari under the table once she discovered his weakness. Lana suspected his only weakness was sneaking in on his blindside and redheads.

  The Inquisitor bobbed his head, "I thought, given your performance at the Winter Palace, that it should be rectified. Please, follow me." He guided her deeper into the great hall and past his throne.

  "My performance?" Lana asked. As far as she knew it'd ranked somewhere around satisfactory. Well, as far as the Inquisitor was concerned. The commander gave a hearty endorsement.

  "I heard about your initiative to rescue my people, and your endeavors in the ballroom saved even more lives," he threw open a side door on his right and stepped down a giving staircase. Lana followed after and the sight knocked a breath from her. She leaned upon her staff to find her balance. Blacksmithing tools sang throughout the undercroft, furnaces buffeting out smoke while whet stones honed blades for the next mission. That wasn't surprising to the old Warden Commander who didn't start the day without a trip through an armory. What gave her pause was the missing back wall revealing a bright blue sky broken up by the jagged teeth of the white mountain. And below them all was the eternal rush of a waterfall pounding through the crevices to thunder miles deep. She wanted to scamper over and hang her head off the edge, reach towards it and feel the force of every drop against her hand. Why was Skyhold perched over top such power? Was the waterfall used for some hidden devices in the Keep, ancient elven devices? She hadn't seen any mills in the area, though it would make sense to implement one with the growing army. They'd mentioned elves having created Skyhold before humans even came to thedas. Would they have needed the waterfall to...? Lana shook away her eternal questions; if there was an answer someone else in the hold was probably working on it right now.

  "Impressive?" the Inquisitor posed, smiling over his domain. She bobbed her head appreciatively, then nodded a few more times. Despite missing out on most of the game in the Winter Palace, Lana felt she was dancing to a new tune now with him, one that could backfire if she failed in a step.

  The Inquisitor lightened up considerably surrounded by the crash of steel, his wary eyes lifting in an almost smile. "Seeing as we are about to approach the Western, well, Approach." He blushed from his verbal fumble and Lana began to understand what the brash tevinter mage saw in him - raw vulnerability buried under his formal armor. Shaking his head, the Inquisitor began anew, "An update to your weapons and/or armor might be useful."

  "Ah..." Lana's fingers ran up and down the length of her staff. She'd had plenty of time and opportunity to switch it out over the years. Wade had crafted a thing of beauty for her out of dragon bone. But, no matter how many powerful staves she kept locked in her armory, this was the one that carried her into battle. The one that carried her back out.

  "Our blacksmith is a professional," the Inquisitor continued, as if needing to impress her. He gestured to the man working the forge. The smith only grunted in response and returned to his work. "A new staff blade could help, or our arcanist could work in a more powerful rune."

  "You have a tranquil to enchant items?" Lana asked. She gazed over the handful of people working the forge, but couldn't see anyone with the sunburst burned into their forehead.

  The Inquisitor tapped his fingers against his collar bone and gazed up, "Not precisely. Our arcanist is not what one would expect, but she's amazing. Dagna!" He called the name out into the undercroft, his voice echoing above the waterfall's din. Why did that strike a chord inside her brain?

  "Yes? Oh, you're back! I hoped you'd be back because..." a dwarven woman prodded her head from around a stack of boxes. She smiled at the Inquisitor then turned to the mage standing beside him. That's when the woman squealed a pitch high enough to blanket out the whine of whetting blades. "By the paragons, and ancestors, and anyone else super old listening in. It's you! It is you? It has to be you! I never thought I'd ever see you again!" She
flew up the side stairs and ensnared her arms around Lana with such force the mage almost tipped backwards.

  "I, uh..." Lana was dumbstruck by the attention and bit down an instinctive urge to pat the head of the woman burying her head into her stomach. From beside her, she felt the castigating eye of the Inquisitor drawing across her.

  "You don't remember me, do you?" the woman said, but her eyes and cheeks didn't stop smiling. "It's okay. You had a lot going on, world changing stuff really, with blight, and dwarven politics, and that whole war thing. But I'll never forget you. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

  Lana blinked, the whisper of a memory elongating, "Dagna?" Then it clicked. "Dagna! The dwarven girl who wanted to study magic. Maker, what are you doing here?"

  The dwarf squealed again and spun around in a circle, "You remembered me! How could you, we only spoke five and a half sentences? Oh, but of course you would. You probably remember everyone you meet."

  "That's not entirely..." Lana tried to get a word in, but Dagna was too far gone.

  "What am I doing here? Exactly what you helped me to do. Magic! Well, enchanting. You know I can't do magic. Not the way you do, with the ice and sparks all over the place. Pew pew pew," she squeaked in awe, her eyes glazing over, as she waved her hands around like casting magic.

  The Inquisitor coughed, breaking up the adoration, "I take it you've met the Warden before, Dagna."

  "Met? She's the one who got me into the circle. Helped me to study magic. The only reason I'm not stuck in Orzammar right now bored out of my mind in the smith class."

  "I see..." the Inquisitor leaned away from the dwarf catching up with an old friend. Lana could sense the door she'd creaked open with him slamming shut, and she had a pretty good idea why. At the Winter Palace she didn't interfere in his plans, deferring to the role of side soldier and little more. It kept the line of command simple with no one else gawping at the great hero, and now...