My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Reaching a hand out to grip tight to Lana's hand, Leliana smiled sweetly, her always cherry red lips curled up in a comforting smile. "You have every right to wish for freedom from them."

  "I..." Lana tipped her head back and forth, unable to fight back the regret, "suppose. But if they're still struggling to rebuild after two years, then something must have--"

  Leliana laughed her crisp, peal-like laughter, the one from before the Temple of Sacred Ashes exploded and darkened her world. For awhile, Lana feared she'd never hear that one again. "You never change, do you? Even still you struggle to keep from racing to help." Lana shrugged. In the end, it was all she really knew. It wasn't what she wanted out of life, but it was what people needed and expected from her.

  "My question, concern, is if you are not returning to the Grey Wardens then where do you intend to go?"

  Her heart constricted as, always, Leliana drove up through the ribs and right at the heart of the matter. For her whole life she'd been told where to go and what to do. At six she belonged to the circle, at nineteen to the Wardens, and now... It felt both exhilarating and terrifying to think she belonged to herself.

  "I don't know, haven't thought as far as..." Lana began, before Leliana interrupted her.

  "Things are better for mages, but if someone as well known, as well regarded, as powerful as the Hero of Ferelden walked the streets without answering to anyone I fear what lengths people would jump to."

  She said it diplomatically, but Lana could hear all the words her friend didn't speak. "Leils, is there a problem with the mage college?"

  "There are always doubters and people who despise change. In truth, I am finding more opposition to my attempts at including elves in the chantry hierarchy. And these are only in minor positions as well. I doubt southern thedas would survive an elven Mother." She patted Lana's hands as if she was the Divine comforting one of her flock instead of the little redhead Bard always trying to gossip about Lana's love life.

  "If there's a problem, then..."

  "You intend to help with it? To serve with the mage college or in some other capacity?" Leliana interrupted again, her crystal eyes sharpening from Lana's guilty grimace. She was about to offer up her arm without thinking of the consequences.

  "I...I have to think about it. About all of it." Out of the myriad of options before her, all Lana knew that what she wanted was Cullen, but they hadn't had the time... No, they hadn't taken the time to discuss that future yet. Maker, what if he intended to return to the Inquisition? What would the Inquisitor make of her now? Would it drive their relationship back underground for the sake of peace? Or... She shut her eyes tight at all the orssequestered in her heart.

  Leliana patted Lana once more before returning to the divan, "In the mean time, I'd think it prudent if no one is made aware of who you are or what you are capable of. To the rest of thedas, the Hero of Ferelden is dead."

  "People aren't going to wonder why some random, unknown woman is suddenly living in the Divine's apartments?"

  "You are with the Commander of the Inquisition, that should be enough," Leliana said serenely, but there was a smirk at the end. After catching Lana in flagrante delicto with Cullen, the Spymaster only wondered once about their relationship and ever since that talk seemed to treat it like little more than an amusing anecdote. Oh that Lana, she can't stop falling for blonde templars. Now there was a question merged in with Leliana's comment. Not one coming from a Spymaster who understood the rigors of war, but a Divine that wanted to protect her dear friend's heart and soul.

  "I am with him," Lana said, bobbing her head.

  "Good. Now, I believe we should bring back in the seamstress to finish with your outfit selection. Have you given any thought to ruffs? They're proving rather popular," Leliana switched gears completely while cracking open the door and waving the elf back inside.

  Lana weighed both bolts in her hand, uncertain what she was supposed to do with any of it. If she was set loose in a market with a full purse, she knew enough to pick up a warm coat, or sturdy boots, and she had a true knack for armor selections, but making something from whole cloth? It was the endless choices all over again. "I've sometimes thought about a, uh, dress?"

  "Oh course, a Lady would wish to look her finest," the seamstress yanked out her book and began to flip through silhouettes so quickly Lana's eyes bulged.

  "No, nothing so fancy," she all but panicked at one with scaffolding worked into the skirt wide enough it'd clog up the point bridge, "but a simple one with, um, maybe a bit of lace here..." Lana pointed along her chest and the elf nodded.

  "Naturally, you'd like to emphasize your Maker given assets." She jotted more things down in a language Lana couldn't read. It couldn't be Orlesian, she'd learned that one after a few years in the Circle. This was a strange mix of symbols and short hand, perhaps something that costumers and sewers passed between each other. More than likely it was a way to jot down notes about temperamental customers without them catching on.

  The seamstress' massive blue and brown eyes snapped up from her book, and she tipped her pinned bun at the bolts, "What fabrics would you like it in? There are numerous options available depending upon the season and..."

  "That one," Lana said quickly, the woman barely finishing speaking.

  That earned her an eyebrow raise and a gentle nod. Either it was a terrible choice, or a surprisingly good one. "How long will it take to finish?" Leliana asked.

  "A dress cut whole cloth? I'd say two weeks."

  "And there's no way you could hurry it along for the sake of the Divine?" she pried, throwing around the weight of her name for Lana's sake, which only made the mage blush.

  "That is using the Divine timescale. But..." her fingers prodded at the tunic dangling off Lana's frame, "I've got a few other clothes I can alter to fit you. None as fine as what we've got planned, but they'll be better than this...whatever you're wearing."

  "Excellent," Leliana clapped her hands once. "Now," her fingers prodded at Lana's burned, serrated, and dried out tresses, "the next step is doing something about your hair. I have one of the best barbers in Orlais attending soon. Have you given any thought to it?"

  Lana patted her own hair, aware of the damage she did to it, but uncertain what, if anything, could save it. She wasn't one of the lucky people with the striking bone structure who could support a shaved head, as she learned at a young age in the tower before another senior enchanter from Rivain transferred in and took pity on her. But the fade left little behind to work with and it'd take a miracle to fix it without chopping it all off and waiting years for it all to regrow.

  "Don't worry," Leliana smiled, her hands wrapping around Lana's shoulders, "he'll think of something. I'm certain." Bobbing her head, Lana sighed. In preparation of getting to work on the demanding schedule, the seamstress began to gather up her bolts of fabric, the book tucked under her arm.

  "Um," Lana coughed, an idea percolating in her brain, but she wasn't certain if it was her place to say anything. "I was wondering if I couldn't have a tunic made as well."

  "Nothing wrong with tunics, we have a few patterns that would..."

  "Actually, it'd be for a man," she gritted her teeth, aware of Leliana's curious stare digging through her blush.

  "Do you have his dimensions?"

  "Ah, it's the same as this tunic I'm wearing," now the blush was in full blast as the seamstress eyed her up. She was aware of the implications, the bedraggled wanderer wearing only men's clothing, begging for anything to change into. It was one thing to assume she wore whatever was gifted to her by kindly strangers, but to ask for another in the same size, well...

  "I can get the numbers off of it, then. Let me guess, the same simple design. No ruffs, or lace about the sleeves or collar."

  Leliana snorted at the idea, then covered her mouth with her hand, "None of that, no. It would be unwise for him, a very entertaining image though."

  Rocking back and forth on her feet, Lana smiled at the same blas
phemous thought as the Divine had. Maker, he'd scowl himself to death in such a thing. After stretching out the tunic and measuring only that, the seamstress yanked open her book. "Very well, and is there anything else you'd like for it?"

  "Could you make it in green?"

  * * *

  Whistling through his teeth, Cullen tried to call Honor away from the trio of women clustered around his dog. The fearsome and dangerously smart mabari looked up at his command, then flopped back down as if she was incapable of rising away from all the gloved fingers digging into her fur. When her back leg began to paddle at the air he knew he was done for.

  "What's her name?" one of the women cooed from behind a mask.

  Cullen folded his arms and muttered under his breath, "Pain in the ass." He hadn't wanted to leave Lana alone, but Honor needed exercise and he feared how many canticles he'd have to recite if she chewed up any antique furniture or pissed on any priceless chantry historical rugs. Probably enough to go through the whole chant three times over. When Honor's whining switched from 'I want attention' to 'This is getting serious now' he knew he'd have to do something. Then Leliana arrived, somewhat solving the problem. She assured him that she'd keep Lana company until he returned, and that they had much to discuss.

  Something in her tone gave him pause, and with every minute ticking by, Cullen's skin itched to return to Lana's side. He remembered the Spymaster's threat to him before she even became Divine. Maker only knew what power she'd flex if she didn't approve of him now. "Honor," Cullen shouted at his dog, "that's enough. We need to get back."

  "Oh, she's so adorable," the woman in the red mask squeaked.

  "Almost as adorable as her owner," another said before her eyes crawled over every inch of Cullen.

  He had his hand around Honor's collar when she spoke and he couldn't stop his mouth from dropping open. Still wearing what he slept in, by the void, wearing what they traveled in for months because Lana got his second change of clothes, he looked more like the wandering sailors working the docks than anyone respectable. He hadn't had time for a proper wash in...it was best to not think upon.

  "Mona," the one in red chastised, slapping her gloved hand into the second, "he's dressed like a common street vagrant."

  "There's nothing wrong with getting down in the dirt every now and then," she snickered as if he wasn't right there listening.

  "Until you find yourself bedridden with some filthy disease," the other continued, her tongue tutting harder over his appearance.

  Cullen felt the same shameful blush burning up his neck as he had for years whenever a woman picked apart his appearance as if he was some lopsided cake displayed in a window. It'd slowed as of late, people too scared of the templars to cross the line in Kirkwall, and most showing some respect to the Commander to speak the words away from his hearing. But here in Val Royeaux where appearance was the only metric that mattered, it all came beating back against him. Snarling, Cullen pulled Honor away from the vipers in dresses and pointed her in the direction of the Grand Cathedral.

  "March," he ordered, and Honor's lagging tongue snapped back in, her back straightening to attention. Despite the rest of the citizens filling the streets with fascinating smells and sights, the mabari kept her sight straight ahead now.

  "Maker's breath, I wish I was home," Cullen groaned. He'd spent little time in Val Royeaux at the behest of the Inquisition, always managing to pass it off to someone else unless it truly required him, like the Blackwall situation. Otherwise, he let Josephine or Leliana handle it. People wore smiles painted upon their masks, but underneath it was all scowls and jaded eyes. It was exhausting just stepping one foot into the streets with a sea of porcelain eyes judging him.

  Pinching his shoulders tight, Cullen subconsciously slipped into Commander mode. He was only dimly aware of its existence from when he'd shake it off at night and find his neck tight and his back sore, but the rest of the Inquisition snapped to attention the moment he'd glower from on high. It seemed to be having the same effect in Val Royeaux as well, the denizens sliding further away from the dirty and tousled man who spent a night sleeping upright on the couch and was in no mood for anything. He made it down another three blocks, inching ever closer to the Grand Cathedral in the center of the city. Washing himself in his growing list of pains and complains, Cullen grew more belligerent in every step, when his eyes scattered across a market stall.

  Tufts of ornamental flowers bloomed off stems trimmed and bundled together by ribbon, but it was a small pot with silver and green leaves that caught his attention. In their long ride across the Anderfels to civilization, Lana pointed out that exact plant off the sides of a ditch. She said it carried much of the same medicinal qualities as elfroot, but would bloom a bundle of bright blue flowers every spring. A smile broke up his etched on scowl, the frown lines falling away as he thought upon the night spent with her in his arms. Sure, he woke to an aching back and neck, which she apologized profusely for, and then tried to massage away. But it was worth it to hold her close, to feel her heart thrumming strong against his as he watched her eyelids flutter in a dream. Sometimes in her dreams, she'd frown, her fingers clawing at thin air. Cullen would grip one with his thumb rubbing against the back of her hand, and he'd tell her it was all right. She was safe. She had him. She'd always have him.

  Right then and there he decided to buy up the not-elfroot plant. It was awkward to cart around the pot in his arms, dirt scattering as he shuffled it around, but Cullen couldn't wipe a smile off his face as he marched it past all the surprised looks of Val Royeaux. What did he care what any of them thought? They didn't matter; the only opinion who did was waiting for him.

  It felt beyond strange for him to enter the Grand Cathedral and then turn not to the vast sanctuary but take the eastern walkway where the living quarters of the Mothers were. While not officially disallowed, men were frowned upon in the living areas, but Leliana waved it away. He was the Commander of the Inquisition, which served the chantry. He had every right to be here. It seemed a hollow excuse seeing as how he...

  Cullen paused in the winding stairs up the back entrance to the Divine's apartments. While she was gifted with a good twenty rooms, Leliana had little trouble is offering up a small guest section of three to them. They were lovely to rest in, to recuperate, but Cullen knew he couldn't spend his days there. He needed something to do with his time and skills, a cause to devote himself to. He always had, but was that cause still the Inquisition? Scrunching up his nose, he realized he had yet to send a letter to the Inquisitor informing the man of his Commander's whereabouts. That'd have to be rectified soon, plans put in place, and more than likely it'd take time for him to become re-acclimated to the changes from the transfer. Three months was a lifetime to soldiers in the wake of so much upheaval. He'd have to put in most hours of the day for weeks to become the Commander again. Rise, work, and sleep. For years un-counting that was his life, but now? Suddenly, he wanted so much more, but he had no idea how to achieve any of it.

  Pausing outside their door, Cullen shifted the plant to his other arm and wondered if he should knock or simply enter. It was their quarters, but Leliana and Lana could be having a private conversation and...letting discretion win, Cullen knocked on the door as he pushed on it. No one shouted for him to stop, so he continued in. "Hello? We've returned," he said as Honor bounded past his legs. She tensed up beside the divan in preparation of leaping upon it, but he shook his head, "Don't you dare."

  Rolling her head back, the tongue slipped out in a pant to assure her master that she had no intentions to get anywhere near the fancy furniture. Cullen snickered at her bald faced subterfuge and let his hand drift over her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

  "Ah, Commander," the Divine appeared from the bathroom. No, he was supposed to call her Leliana when she wasn't in her robes. She'd insisted with that crystal glare that made him wonder why she spent so much of her life in Skyhold under a hood. Leliana could shape the fabric of thedas with a sol
itary glower.

  "Did you have any problems?" he asked, trying to see around to find Lana. Perhaps she was resting in the bedroom neither of them had yet to see.

  "Of course not, it's been a productive morning and...you have a plant in your arms," she gestured at the pot cradled in the crook of his elbow.

  "Yes, it..." Cullen's thought drained away as Lana stepped behind Leliana. Sweet Maker, she was beautiful. A wondering smile slid up her luscious lips, almost revealing those rarely shared dimples on either side. Her doe eyes hung below lowered lids, but they darted up to him with a question buried deep inside. How did he last two years without seeing her perfect face beaming at him? Blessed Andraste, he swore he'd do anything for her.

  "What do you think of it?" Lana asked, her graceful fingers patting her head, but Cullen didn't follow them. He was too distracted by the charming blush curling up her cheeks. After so many weeks of them laying gaunt against her emaciated face, it warmed his heart to see color and a plumpness return.

  "A-Of what?" Cullen stuttered, trying to pinch himself awake.

  Lana smiled, her eyes narrowing with confusion, "My hair. I know it's short, far too short, but it was the best that could be done with..."

  Finally, he caught on to what her fingers were flicking against. She was trying to yank out her own curls, as if she could straighten them to draw the length out. Cut tight to her head, her ebony hair was combed with a dramatic side part. Still struggling to fluff it up, her yanking hands paused and she folded them in front of her stomach, the question palpable in the air.

  Cullen slid across the room, his smile rising as he picked up one of her hands with his free one. "Lana, you're beautiful no matter what," he whispered.

  "I don't know, I mean..."

  "Even if your hair's short, or long, or straight, or bald-"

  "Or grey," she sighed, repeating back the same words he said to her. "There's plenty of that mixed in."

  He graced the back of his fingers across her cheek, the nails dipping down into her scar, before he could cup the back of her head. "I can't stop looking at you," he admitted, bringing his forehead to hers.