My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Rather than offer a hand, he rolled his fingers across her back and dug each palm into an asscheek. She giggled madly as he lifted her higher into the air, barely able to palm her luscious backside. After placing her gently to the ground, Cullen's hands roamed upward, locking in tight around her waist to keep her weight.

  Smiling, Lana reached both her arms out to snuggle her cheek against his chest when she paused and gasped, "Maker's breath, you're coated in sweat!"

  "Imagine that," Cullen chuckled, swallowing to try and wash away the rasp in his voice. Lana didn't slide away from the sweat glistening across his chest, but she did slick some off before laying her head down. After cupping her shoulder, Cullen whispered near her ear, "It is all your doing; you have only yourself to blame."

  "If so, then I do good work."

  "The best," he sighed. They were being silly, it was the middle of the day, they were naked and standing beside the breakfast table where anyone could burst in on them. They should both dry off, clean up, and dress, but Lana wanted to melt into his arms. She felt a deep urge to spend the rest of winter hibernating on top of him.

  Smiling wickedly, she glanced over at the footstool they'd kicked out of the sitting room. "I've never been able to do that standing before," she admitted, "the mechanics don't quite work out right." Lana tried to mime matching two joints together with an insurmountable height differential. Watching her, Cullen laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  "A first then, for both of us."

  "A good one," she said, then licked her finger and pretended to write something in the air, "I'm adding it to the list." After putting away her imaginary quill, Lana glanced down at the aid that made it all possible. "Do you think Leliana would mind if we sort of stole that footstool. It's the damn near perfect height..."

  "Stole?" Cullen asked. "Do not tell me you intend to repeat that performance all across the Grand Cathedral. I fear the Mothers would have me walk the streets of Val Royeaux naked if they caught us."

  "What about me?"

  "You're the Divine's mistress, they're certain to go lenient on you."

  Lana snorted at the idea, as if she wouldn't be boiled alive and her juices used to make a pudding for such an infraction. Sure, Leliana could use those rumors to her advantage but the moment anyone got a whiff of them being false, or worse -- assumed Lana's attentions turned elsewhere -- it would be a mess of epic proportions. People either marked her as Ferelden or those with a good ear, Marcher. The Divine's not-Orlesian mistress stepping out with a Ferelden man would probably mean war because Orlesians loved any excuse for it.

  Maker, why was everything in Val Royeaux so damn hard?

  "Lana," Cullen startled her from her thoughts, "I know we haven't spoken much of the future, of your plans, of even my plans, but..." he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is not the time, not while we're both unclothed and undone."

  "Are you sure...?" she ran her fingers across his chest. Something in his tone struck her; there was an edge hiding below the easy banter.

  "Yes," Cullen forced up a smile.

  "You promise we can talk later," she began, worried that this might become like the Alistair issue and blow up in their faces if left alone too long.

  "Of course, always. I," he paused and wrapped his arms tighter against her, as if he was suddenly afraid she might disappear on him. "I fear my mind is on other things at the moment."

  "So I noticed," she smiled, her fingers drifting down his stomach to curl around his wet cock.

  Sighing in his throat, Cullen pressed another kiss to her head, "And you are about ready to pass out. Don't argue, I can tell when I have nearly all your weight in my arms."

  "Are you calling me fat?" she said in mock outrage, but he deftly dodged it.

  Digging into her ass, Cullen lifted Lana up off the floor. She yelped in surprise before knotting her fingers behind his head. Pressing a kiss to her lips, Cullen carted her towards the bedroom. At the threshold he paused and whispered, "I love you, you know."

  "I do," she stared deep into a cauldron of joy and anguish bobbing in his eyes. Lana wanted to examine both, but Cullen turned on his smile and lifted her onto the bed.

  "Good."

  Chapter Twenty One

  Return

  Water lapped against the boats clustered across the river, every mast tipping and waving as another gust of wind bobbed them along. Beside him, Lana pointed at something far in the distance, gesturing at a part of boats that she found interesting. Cullen's focus, however, zeroed in on her. Flush with excitement and being free of the Grand Cathedral's walls, Lana'd been smiling nearly the entire day. It certainly helped that the northern winds blew away the chill of winter, rising the temperatures to a light cloak comfortable range.

  He'd feared after the fire that she'd prefer to remain sequestered safe behind chantry stone, yet Lana all but champed at the bit to get free and drug her feet when they had to return. Either she was beginning to go stir crazy or his own wandering needs were transferring to her. In his heart, Cullen knew he had to say something. He was free of the Inquisition, and it was time to move on to the next stage of his life. But what did that entail? Would she... Lana mentioned wanting to be with him, except where would that be? What would that lead to? Could either of them honestly retire? Leliana was correct, without a cause Lana was likely to spark from one idea to another until she burned out.

  Then it was the question if now was the appropriate time to be discussing his future, her future. They didn't talk about it, but more than a few nights Cullen would wake to her cries in the darkness. Concerned, he'd wipe away her mana, the attack causing Lana to whimper but slip back to sleep. He hated it, hated having to drain her, to hurt her, but he feared what would happen if he didn't. What would she do if he wasn't there to stop it? He'd seen mages run amok, split in twain as a demon erupted from their skin, every spell at their disposal pouring from their fingers. And Lana, she wasn't just any mage, she was trained to be beyond the best. She was honed to twist her body and mind beyond its limits to take down armies. She had to be.

  "You look a million miles away," her voice called to him. Shaking his head, he turned away from the bobbing boats. Lightly, Lana traced her finger across his forehead, curling up a free hair that'd been tickling his skin.

  "I was contemplating the boats," Cullen said, his eyes darting down to the ground.

  Pursing her lips, she cocked a single fist onto her hip, "Right, then what's a schooner?"

  "A type of pastry," he threw out, "only eaten during the middle of the day."

  Lana chuckled, her hand curling up over her stomach as she bundled it warmer into her coat. Her other hand gripped tight to the cane, while Honor took up guard watching it. Neither of them were certain why she decided it was her job, but it seemed to make the mabari happy when there was no food to pilfer or children to play with.

  After shaking her head, Lana turned back to gaze out at the river. "I like being on water," she said, her eyes trailing a small rowboat crossing under the bridge they sight-saw upon. Three people crowded inside it while only one worked the oars. The other two were having an involved discussion about the quickest route to Antiva, loudly enough anyone a good mile away could hear.

  Cullen settled in beside her, his fingers gripping onto the railing. "Oh?"

  "It feels like home, I suppose," she said. Nearly fifteen years she lived inside that tower surrounded by a lake, sequestered from the rest of civilization for the sake of the people inside, for the safety of the people on the outside. Taking the boat on and off the island was a slog, requiring such red tape most templars didn't bother. And yet Kirkwall, with ships constantly passing too and fro through the locks was ten times worse.

  "That's probably why I hate being on water," Cullen whispered aloud.

  "I didn't...I'm," Lana started, her fingers pressed to her lips to hide her frown.

  Cullen screwed up his nose at his slip, "You did nothing. I'm not made of glass. I
can mention the circles, talk about them. To some extent."

  "So you'd rather live somewhere landlocked?" she said, trying to switch the subject.

  "And you prefer a seaside resort. I'm certain the Divine has access to a few of those," he tried to play it off with a smile and a shrug of his shoulder but Cullen felt the words trip and plummet to the ground.

  "What's been bothering you?" Lana asked, turning her back to the water. Her eternal eyes honed in on him, darting across his face as she reached out for his hand. "You said you'd tell me, remember. Promised."

  "I..." he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose I did." He knew he had to talk to her about this, but by the Maker did it have to be now while surrounded by curious Orlesians? Lana loved him, he knew that, but...but what if that wasn't enough? While he could serve out his time as some diplomat for the chantry or another fancy do-nothing position the Inquisition dreamed up, Cullen knew in his heart he wouldn't. For the first time in his life he was free of a yoke he shackled on himself at thirteen. He could go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wished and the single fact reverberating through his mind was that this wasn't where he belonged. Orlais was not his home, and it never would be, but what of Lana?

  Would she want to return to the Free Marches? It was her birthplace. What would they think of him, the Knight-Captain who let his Knight-Commander destroy the circle. Ferelden had been Lana's home country as well, perhaps more than any other. Would she want to set up roots in Denerim? Maker, could he deal with having Alistair that near at all times? Or there was Amaranthine itself? Would she and the king work some noble magic to install her once again as an Arlessa? In all that where would it leave Cullen?

  These thoughts were what kept him up at night, when he wasn't worrying about Lana, about her magic, about the chantry, about the veil, about the state of thedas, and just general background worries. He knew he was working himself up into a lather, that a single conversation with her would solve it all, but...

  What if she chose something he could not follow? By the Maker, how could he live with himself if he gave her up, if he walked away?

  "Cullen," Lana spoke, breaking him from his internal torment. She reached her arm around his back and tugged him closer. Shuffling on his feet, he wrapped his hands around her for a tight embrace. Placing a kiss to her forehead, he heard a sigh rattle in her throat.

  "I don't want things to linger between us, to get out of control," Lana explained. Her eyes darted up to his and she winced, "I'm still trying to figure all this relationship stuff out."

  "Me too," he smiled, bumping his nose against hers.

  "You can talk to me, and we'll figure it out. Whatever it is. I promise," her hopeful eyes gazed up at him, begging to release whatever catch he put on his tongue.

  Maker's breath, he was being foolish. Cupping her cheek, he kissed her. "You're right. I...I've been thinking--"

  "Commander!"

  Without releasing his hold on Lana, Cullen glanced over his shoulder to look for the voice. A young man pumped his hand through the air as if he was trying to snag a carriage. Smiling brighter than seemed possible, the man hurried up his step and, as the afternoon sun lit up his features, recognition rose. "Lieutenant Darby?" Cullen stuttered.

  "We've been trolling up and down this blighted city in hopes of spotting you, Sir!" Darby paused before them. If one could somehow transfer a pup into the body of a twenty something fair skinned, fair haired, and fair eyed man you'd have Darby. Over exuberant, impossible to sting, and friend to all he met, he was beyond memorable in his years serving the Inquisition. It's hard to forget someone who began, of all things, as a piss boy to a dead master who plucked up a sword and ran head long into the army.

  "Hoping to spot me?" Cullen struggled quickly to keep up, "Wait, what we?"

  "Ah, coursen that's me, forgettin' my own foot in places." Spinning around Darby waved behind him and shouted, "Eh! Fellas! I found 'im afor the rest of you!" The chipper Ferelden's cries rung across every mast and brass fixture in the area causing three more heads to rise from the crowd and begin to slide towards them.

  Sporting the infectious grin that never left, Darby jabbed a thumb at Lana, "Seein' you ain't alone, neither."

  Flames! Cullen felt a blush struggle to race up his skin as he realized he had his hand cupped against Lana's cheek. He tried to un-awkwardly remove his hand and slide away from her without making it look like he did it on purpose. Darby, in his fashion, either didn't catch on or didn't care.

  Extending a hand to Lana, he smiled, "Nice to be making your pleasure, Miss...Or, is it Mrs.? Hopin' it ain't the last one or I'll be, oops, gettin' you into a bit of trouble on my own--"

  "It's Lana," she interrupted Darby's tripping tongue as the rest of the pack arrived. Sure enough, Cullen recognized some of his close circle soldiers, a few of the lieutenants who kept track of their various battalions, the dwarven captain who ran between him and the other advisors, and...

  A dreadful lump lodged in Cullen's throat as his eyes landed upon the woman with her braided hair tossed over her shoulder. "Addley," he said, trying to shake off the squeak.

  Her eyes darted over to Lana for a moment, down the nearness of how her hands rested within reaching distance of Cullen, and then focused fully upon him, "Commander."

  "The way I hear it, that title's been passed on to you. Rightly so, I'd add," he tipped his head to her. Addley's face flickered for a moment before she smiled, bowing her own head.

  "I'm happy to try and live up to what you began, Ser." The burn increased from the way she smiled at him, a familiar one Addley would flash during meetings or the few downtimes they shared after.

  "An' she's doing a right bang up job at it too," Darby inserted himself, slugging into the dwarven captain's shoulder. She sighed but laughed at the eternal pup's enthusiasm. "Sometimes more bang than not given what happened with the Avar."

  "The Avar? But I'd thought we'd brokered a truce with them..." Cullen began, stepping right back into his old boots. Guilt of a different kind rose up through his stomach and he glanced over at Lana. She'd thrown on a patient smile, but her eyes kept darting over the faces trying to see if any would recognize her for who she truly was.

  "Oh, aye aye, it ain't like that. Well, not entirely like it, but seein' how..."

  "What the lieutenant is driving at is there was a small scuffle between one of their warriors and an Inquisition soldier, but the matter was solved," Addley interrupted.

  "Yup, all done up shiny and quick. The weddin' was lovely too, lots of axe throwings over the happy couple."

  "Axe throwings...wedding? Whose wedding?" Cullen shook his head, struggling to find any sense. He hated to admit it, but every time he reconnected with someone from the Inquisition he felt put off by all that he'd missed. Life kept on whether he was at the helm or not.

  "It was Lyle and..." Addley began before sighing, "I'm afraid the story takes some time to tell properly."

  "There were about a dozen giants involved at one point," the dwarven woman, Binla, spoke up.

  "And a lake of mead!" Darby waved his hand through the air to try and conjure it up.

  Cullen stampeded in the middle of it, "The giants were in a lake of mead?"

  "Nah, nah, twas at the weddin'. Shame you missed it," his eyes wandered away from the Commander to Lana beside him. "Course, we may be getting an encore..."

  "I heard nothing about this from the Inquisitor, or any of the others I met with," Cullen mused, complaining under his breath. He glared at the ground, not mad at any of his people but the trickle of time itself, when he felt a hand slide against his.

  Turning, he spotted Lana, a whisper of a smile upon her lips, "You have plenty of time to catch up with them. Go on, have a drink, talk, carouse."

  Ignoring the mob of soldiers -- his soldiers -- beside him, Cullen turned his full focus on Lana, "Are you certain? I wouldn't wish to put you out..."

  Reaching over, Lana cupped his cheek before dragging her thu
mb across his lip and down the scar. She leaned closer to him to whisper, "I know what it means to check back in with old friends and those who shared with me. Besides," Lana slid away and raised her voice, "there's all of Val Royeaux to keep me entertained. I will be beyond busy."

  Cullen wished he could tear himself in two, send one half off with his soldiers to speak of the old times and the new, while the other stood wrapped around Lana watching the ships list in the waves and plan for their future. He curled his fingers around hers, struggling to find a way to explain it, when her thumb rubbed against the back of his hand. The move was enough to shore up his heart. Smiling, he bumped his forehead into hers and whispered, "Very well, but take it easy."

  Nodding at his request, Lana mouthed, "You worry too much."

  "It's what I'm best at," he answered back in kind. Breaking away from her, Cullen glanced down at the dog sitting in rapt attention. "Honor, protect your mistress." Barking a few times, the mabari rose to her legs and slipped beside Lana, waiting for the woman to pet her head.

  Sliding her cane under her, Lana brushed a few fingers over Honor's head before smiling at the crew. "It was a pleasure meeting you." They in turn nodded at her, doing their best to try and not gape at this unknown woman in Cullen's life. Glancing over at him, Lana gave one last order, "Cullen, I trust we can rendezvous later at Honor's bakery." He nodded, happy to sweep her up later.

  She began to limp away, but turned and called at him, "And for the love of the Maker, do have fun."

  The soldiers waited until Lana was around the corner, all of them standing at rapt attention. Of course it was Darby who broke the silence, "Well, that answers that."

  "Answers what?" Cullen interrupted, worried that they'd all recognized Lana. He could swear them to secrecy but the fewer people who knew a secret the longer it kept.

  Darby banged his fists together, "We been scratching our heads tryin' to figure out what was mighty enough to keep you from us. Now I gets it. Hey," he spun around to face down the rest of the crew, "who had that in the pool?"