My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Humph, I heard about her mythic code that none of Leliana's people could crack."

  "Turns out it was a picture of a dragon, or so Hawke claimed. Knowing her, there's a good chance it is some unbreakable code that leads to ancient treasure or curses. Perhaps both," Lana paused at the desk to steady herself on it. "I would not put it past my cousin."

  "True," Cullen agreed, rising up with the papers laden in glass. "She was beyond understanding even before becoming the Champion. Sometimes I wonder about the rest of your..." Trembling like a newborn kitten in the snow, his hands quaked without control, sending the glass leaping off the papers. "Maker damn it!" he groaned, letting the rest scatter from his still shaking hands.

  Cullen planted his elbows on the desk and collapsed his head into his hands. Softly, Lana ran her fingers over the back of his neck waiting for him to explain. Great gulps of air drew into his mouth as she picked at the curls knotted against his nape. Glass glittered in the blue and green sunlight streaming from the stained glass window. Slowly, the shaking in his hands died and he rose up. Yellow tinged his skin a sunken sallow, while his eyes were streaked in red spots on the edges from an obvious strain upon his entire body.

  "Do you want to sit down?" Lana suggested, pointing at the chair before realizing it was covered in books. Trying to not purse her lips, she pointed towards the sitting room, "On the divan?"

  "I..." he staggered a foot towards her and had to lash out quickly to catch his fall. Before he could say a word against it, Lana wound her hands around his forearm and tapped into the fade. Her tongue tasted of blue as she weaved as much healing energy as she dared into him.

  "Lana, you shouldn't waste..."

  "It's a good day for me. I don't need it but you do," she insisted, already pulling her finished magic out. While she was skilled enough to nearly revive someone close to death, even her strongest healing spells could only grant Cullen a brief reprieve. Something in the templar's body worked counter to magic itself when she fought against the lyrium or lack there of. "Here," Lana tried to wrap his hand around her shoulder, but regretted it the moment an ounce of his weight fell upon her.

  "Uh, I'm all right. I can walk out." Whether from her magical help or pure stubbornness, Cullen rose up and moved towards the divan. For once it wasn't covered in books or scrolls. Only Lana's blanket coated the cushions, which Cullen didn't bother to pick up as he sank into them, hands clutching tight to his wan face.

  She followed close behind, as did Honor. Despite having the full energy quota of a young mabari, Honor took it slow around Lana, always giving her time to pause and catch up. Even now with her master ahead, the dog still waited patiently for Lana to sit on the divan before flopping on the ground and exposing her belly. "Silly girl," Lana cooed, digging her foot into the soft tissue and smiling at Honor's joy. She risked a glance over at Cullen and while he was trying to paint on a smile it couldn't overcome the grit to his jaw. Maker, the strain upon him must have been something else.

  Sitting up straight, Lana's fingers wrapped around his shoulders and without any fuss, she pulled his head into her lap. Cullen grumbled a few half hearted 'you need not bother's but he willingly succumbed to her arms. With his head stretched across her thighs, he slipped his eyes closed and gasped for air through his mouth. She knew that breathing technique he tried to do to calm himself. It seemed to be beyond his grasp this time, the edges wheezing through his nose with each exhale.

  "Really bad this time?" she asked. With her fingers, she pushed away the curls swamped onto his sweaty brow and then began to massage it.

  Cullen sneered again before trying to wall it away. She watched the same arguments play out over his features. 'I shouldn't bother you with this. It's nothing. I'll endure.' Each one Lana had a retort to and he knew it. With his eyes shut tight, he whispered, "It must be Wednesday."

  "I..." that was new. Lana glanced around as if there was a chantry calendar in the apartment. "I believe so?"

  "Wednesdays are..." those honey eyes rolled open and she stared down into the depths of his full pain for once trawled to the surface. Lana had to fight down the urge to wrap her chest around him, as if she could somehow protect him from the suffering under his own skin. Cullen swallowed, his throat hoarse from the eternal dry mouth, and he started again, "They are when I relapse the worst. Especially after lunch."

  Sliding to his side, Cullen stared out across the apartment while Lana dug into his curls, trying to soothe him by ruffling up his hair. "Every Wednesday the templars would receive their ration of lyrium. Most would drink it once it was given, but I..." a brittle sigh broke up his words, "I would save it until after the noon meal under some misguided belief that having that much control meant I could fully overcome its deleterious effects."

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, uncertain what, if anything, to say.

  His hand gripped onto her knee and squeezed, "I keep thinking I'm past it, that I don't need to maintain a constant vigil upon myself, but...that's a lie."

  "If Alistair hadn't--" she cursed.

  "No, I...that didn't help, but even after," he steadied his breath, "three years without and I could still lose control of my hands, find my legs stiff without cause, and-and feel the thirst in my very veins. I am uncertain if I'll ever be free of it."

  "Oh, Cullen," she had no idea how to respond beyond wiping her fingers over his forehead and curling his hair back behind his ear.

  "Now you know the full of it. How long do you think you can suffer someone who despises rainstorms, and Wednesdays, or will grow discordant for no obvious reason?"

  Steadying her own waning body, Lana bent at the waist and placed her lips against his forehead. It burned next to her cool skin and she kissed him twice more before answering, "For as long as I breathe."

  A gasp rattled in his throat, and Cullen's hand drifted down her knee to cup against her calf. He wrung his fingers against it as if he needed to massage her, or perhaps perform some duty to make up for his failings. That idea stung her anew and she tried to wrap an arm around his chest, cuddling him tighter.

  "I'm frightened," stuttered out of him so whisper quiet she almost thought she imagined it. "When I first made the choice to free myself from lyrium there was..." Cullen swallowed, the edge of his throat cracking even more, "if I failed, whether I returned to the addiction or perished, it didn't matter. No one needed me to succeed, to prove it could be done, to live. Then Corypheus rose and..."

  He fell into an imposed silence, his fingers prodding at her knee. "What happened?" she asked, suspecting he needed to say what stuck in his throat.

  "There was a point when I, the pressure of failure...knowing that if I wasn't strong enough we could have lost the entire world, all of that drew forth a bad turn." He paused and then snorted a mirthless laugh, "On another Wednesday I believe. Certain I couldn't continue on, I looked to Cassandra to relieve me, or..."

  "Cullen?"

  Sighing in his gut, he twisted further in her lap until his face hung towards the ground, "I asked the Inquisitor if I should not take lyrium again for the good of the Inquisition."

  "What did he say?"

  "He refused my request."

  "Thank the Maker," Lana sighed. They'd never gotten on in a case of two big fish in a small pond, but an overwhelming gratefulness swept through her for the man. While he was pragmatic to a cold fault, there'd been a kindness in him few saw. Perhaps she should send him a fruit basket in thanks; everyone loves those.

  Cullen smiled, the edges of his cheeks visible to her, "Once Corypheus was dealt with and the pressure off, I...I returned to the thought that if I had another bad turn that I couldn't rise from, at least no one was counting on me. No one needed me."

  Unable to stem the pain knocking in her stomach, a few tears slid down Lana's cheeks. She wanted to wipe them away before he noticed, but she couldn't pull her hands off of him, needing to hold him.

  "And now..." he turned in her lap and looked right up at her. His hand graced her cheek
and she leaned into it, "I could lose everything I've ever dreamed of and that frightens me."

  Gasping, Lana accepted there was no stopping the tears now. Each drop slid silently off her cheeks to pool where his skin met with hers. "I'm here with you. I...I don't know if that helps--"

  "It does," he interrupted, his taciturn smile returning.

  Lana crumpled up into her lap, her forehead skimming across his, "I love you, you know."

  "You may have mentioned it a time or two," he answered before slipping his eyes closed and repeating, "I love you too. For, Maker, so long. It overwhelms my heart to think upon the breadth of time."

  She understood, her own struggles in coming to terms with that fact drawing much from her. When does someone know they're in love? Was it the moment you first realize it, or should it be counted from the first true feeling? If so, then when did that occur for her? She carried him in her heart for far longer than Lana was even aware of.

  "Lana," he drew his fingers down her cheek and repositioned himself in her lap. "Why did you select me in Kirkwall? You could have had your pick of templars in Ferelden who'd have been happy to serve the Hero of Ferelden, the one that rescued them from darkspawn and abominations."

  "That's true," she admitted, never having thought about any of them. She was in a panic upon learning the truth of White and in her haste her mind offered up only one suggestion. "I-I spotted you, during the Qunari uprising when the Grey Wardens were trying to extricate ourselves without doing more harm and...there was a moment."

  "A moment?"

  "When I trusted you," she said, the words whispered to her mind from her heart. "When I didn't believe all the rumors and saw what I saw in you before."

  "Oh..." he lapsed back into silence, but he kept his fingers curled around her face.

  "Why did you agree to help me? It...I rather doubt Meredith approved, or the rest of the chantry."

  It took a few minutes before he spoke, only his less ragged breathing punctuating the silence. "Because..." he smiled wistfully, "I was in love with you even then. Even knowing you were a mage, knowing there was no chance you would ever look at me. I loved you and...and needed to know you were safe."

  Curling up as far as her abs allowed, Lana pressed her lips against his - soft and yielding to match him, the kiss sweeter than morning dew in buttercups. "I love you," she whispered, her mouth forming the words against his. He repeated the same, kissing with each word as if to stamp it upon her heart.

  Her muscles finally gave up in agony, and regrettably Lana rose away from him. Cullen wasn't the only one facing the future of never recovering. "How are your hands?" she asked.

  "Better," he flexed them over her thighs, "it's calmed a bit in my blood. The healing power of love?"

  Lana snorted at the theory. "I knew more than a few mages who liked to float that idea, often with exaggerated eyebrow waggling and rib nudging. Sadly, there's no data to back up such claims."

  "Oh."

  "But..." Maker, she felt better having him in her arms, knowing he was holding her tight when her body turned against her and her days grew dark. Why wouldn't it be the same for him? "I love healing you, so, perhaps there's something to it after all. In a roundabout convoluted way, the rather incongruous hypothesis of if A equals B, B equals C, then C must equal A."

  A snort echoed off her lap and Lana's musings faded away but she smiled at the soft chuckle shaking his shoulders. "I'm so glad I have you," he sighed, "no matter what it cost."

  She ran her fingers down his shoulders and cupped his hands in hers. "Me too," Lana whispered. She hated that he felt he had to take the lyrium, that she could have cost him even a few days because of it, but Cullen needed to know she was grateful for it. That his sacrifice was worth it so he could keep heading towards the finishing line of healing.

  "I should get up and..." he moved to rise, but Lana wrapped her hands around him.

  "Rest here with me, for a few winks. Please?" she traced along the crow's feet building beside his eye, an entire nest already.

  "In your lap? I...all right," he sighed, and carefully Cullen adjusted his head to get comfortable.

  "I could grab a pillow, I know my thighs aren't very good for much of anything and..."

  He curled his arms around her knees as if trying to tuck her closer to him, "Lana, it's perfect."

  While her fingers pushed at his curls, she watched him drift away in her lap, a serenity filling her veins as she could hold him while he slept. Perhaps there was a truth to healing through love after all.

  Chapter Eight

  Family

  Cullen was entranced watching Lana stretch as high as she could, her head craned back and arms in the air while flakes of ice crystalized around her fingers. Instead of blasting the shards of ice through an enemy or freezing a darkspawn solid, she lightly rolled her fist and a ball of frozen water plopped into the planter dangling next to the stained glass window. With a wave of her other hand, she did something to the ice ball causing it to melt into the dirt, barely disturbing the silver and green herbage.

  "Is that good for the plant? I could have watered it instead," he said, trying to peer into the pot holding the surprisingly lush adder's hiss.

  Lana crossed her arms, "No, it's my plant and I'm going to take care of it." Glancing up at it dangling far from her reach, all her focus was on his blundered purchase while his was upon her. Deep in his heart, he feared that it'd be strange to find her no longer dressed in the typical mage robes, but those breezy dresses of hers grew on him. An ease slipped across her when she wore them, as if she was a young woman skipping through a summer meadow instead of hiding away from the growing breadth of winter in the Grand Cathedral.

  It didn't hurt that the thinner fabric let him draw more achingly closer to her skin than any of the wool robes ever did. A secret smile turned up his lips and Cullen's mind slipped back to last night and the other kinds of magic her fingers cast.

  Lana paused in prodding her stick at the plant to inspect the leaves, "It's spidering out faster than I expected. Going to need a bigger pot soon, and..." her eyes glanced over to him, "and why are you smiling like that?"

  "Oh," he shifted back and forth on his feet, feeling self conscious in an instant for no discernible reason. It wasn't as if she didn't deserve to know the truth. "I was, uh, contemplating last night."

  Her own bright smile lit up his heart. Limping towards him, she ran her delicate fingers in slow strokes across her chin. "Ah, of course. You're thinking of the time when my mage managed to claim your cleric. It was a master move."

  "Not, um, not precisely no," Cullen tipped his head back to try and bury the blush. Winds whipping through Val Royeaux caused the sunlight to glitter across the ceiling, like their own personal stars. While he was distracted, Lana wrapped her arms around him, her frame slotting so easily against his as if she was meant to, as if she'd never left. As if the Maker designed them both to. Calm curled up to replace his embarrassment, as it always did whenever he held her. It was strange at times to think of how physically small she was, barely standing above the height of some thirteen year olds, but she bore such an imposing mark in his mind he often envisioned her as tall as her cousin. Perhaps even greater.

  Lana's warm cheek burrowed against his shirt, barely buttoned to try and combat the heat rising from the burst of braziers in the chantry proper below. When her fingers began to draw down the collar, skimming his skin beneath, Cullen whispered in her ear, "In truth, I was thinking of when my Queen took your King."

  "That's not precisely how I remember it going," she said, her endless brown eyes rolling open with nothing but joy dotted in them.

  Dipping down, Cullen's lips darted close to hers, "I wasn't speaking of the game." He kissed her luscious mouth, his hands locking against the small of her back. As she tilted her head to match him to deepen the kiss, he couldn't stop fluffing at the bow tied behind her, yearning to tug on the end, slip his hands below the slack and caress every inch of her sk
in. Maker he wanted her, every vein in his body cried out for her, but...he pulled himself back, his hands sliding away from the bow to settle against her hips.

  Lana slid down to her toes covered in a pair of socks with pompoms on the outside. Her fingers drifted up his neck to knot in his hair as she sighed, "I wasn't thinking of the chess game either. I'd say your King and Queen euphemism would require more, um, you know, active parts than what we, what I managed to..."

  Reaching behind his head, Cullen threaded his fingers through hers and pulled them down to cup between their bodies. "It was good, and you're far more talented with your hands than you give yourself credit for."

  She tried to wave his compliment away, but a smile lit up in her eyes. "You can thank magic for that. All that casting requires a great dexterity in your fingers."

  "I should send a card to your old senior enchanters," he mused returning back to her for a kiss. Lana turned her delicate fingers in his and then yanked his hands behind her, pulling him in deeper. Aware of his need boiling below the surface, Cullen tried to slip his lower half back, but she had other plans. Gripping tight to his waist in a hug, her tiny body overpowered his. Dragging her fingers around the back of his waistband, she yanked up the ends of his shirt he took the time to tuck in and reached under. When her nails skirted across his flesh, all conscious thought in Cullen's brain melted away. He was dimly aware of the day, and his name, but the rest fled him as she worked higher up his back, caressing and scratching the unreachable parts along his spine.

  "Sweet Maker," he gasped, leaning his hips away from her stomach. Lana's hands unfolded from under his shirt but he didn't back too far away, letting her rest her head agains his chest.Maker, he smiled to himself threading though her hair, this was perfect. Happiness. Even with the mountains of work ahead of him, the restless nights and even more restless days as he worried about her out of his sight, happiness surrounded Cullen. It felt strange to be able to glance over at her and feel only joy, no buts or howevers trying to blot it away.