My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  He snickered, "I'm no longer the Commander, remember."

  "Yes you are," she said. "Doesn't matter how far you are into retirement. Titles like that, the ones earned in war, they never go away. Well, not unless you go deep into hiding, maybe fake your own death, and then everyone thinks you're the maid or something."

  She slipped on an easy smile, but he knew it had to bother her. It angered him to no end when they'd meet with the dignitaries who'd fall all over Cullen as if he pissed gold but barely deign a glance at the woman beside him. The only ones who gave her the respect she deserved were the King and Arl Teagan, the people who knew who Lana truly was. "You deserve better," he huffed.

  "I don't know, sometimes it's nice to be a nobody," she said running her fingers down his shirt. As they traipsed near his stomach, Lana's tongue trailed across her lips. "I get to overhear the noble women all a titter over the Commander in their midst. When they're not asking me to fetch them more wine."

  He didn't understand it. So many of the gentry treated Lana like furniture, as if she faded into the wallpaper, while he couldn't remember a time that she didn't command his attention from across a crowded room. "I wish I could whack them all about the head," he growled.

  "No you don't," Lana chastised, before tipping her head, "all right, some of them I'll give you. Cullen," she drew her fingers down his cheeks, pulling his eyes to hers, "I don't mind. I don't care because, for the love of Andraste, I have you. It's worth it to be able to wake every day in your arms not fearing a darkspawn attack or an army come to knock down our little abbey's walls."

  "They could do it with a sneeze," he sighed, well aware of the work still ahead of him. Biting on his lip, he butted his forehead tighter to hers. "I'm...having you here, with me. Doing what we're doing for the good of..."

  He'd had a speech prepared for nearly a month now, one that spoke of how his heart beat only in time with hers, how he'd try to wake a few minutes before she did just to watch her slumber in peace. That he loved her beyond reason, and never in his life imagined he could be this happy. But anytime he tried to begin it, the words jumbled in his throat, his tongue rolled upon itself, and he glanced over at her bemused expression realizing that he'd blown his moment. There was always the next time, Cullen kept repeating to himself. He could ask her again later, when he hadn't inserted his foot into his mouth.

  At the rate his attempts were going, the likelihood of that seemed to be sometime within the next twenty years.

  For her part, Lana waited, her fingers knotting around his as she tugged them down to hang between their pressed bodies. His thumb rolled across each of them, knocking about the ring she always wore. Maker, why couldn't he do it? It was two simple words but any time he thought of it his brow perspired in terror and his tongue scampered down his throat. He knew she loved him, knew she wanted to be with him. Maybe, maybe that was all they needed and he was stressing himself over a frivolity.

  "Cullen," she breathed, her eyes staring down at their conjoined hands - both of them cracked and knotted from the work they put in, their lives donated to the cause. A knot of a smile lifted up her lips and Lana raised her eyes up to his. "Would you marry me?"

  Shocked, he jerked back. She did it, took the fear and trepidation away from him with a single twist of that beautiful mouth. "Yes," Cullen gasped, giddiness replacing the flop sweat. "Maker's breath, yes." Cupping her jaw, he kissed her with a purity they hadn't felt since that very first one in the deeproads. When he'd stood there with his heart in his hand, risking everything, and she gladly accepted it. Now it was his turn.

  "I..." he slid back before diving back for another kiss, this one burning through his soul and awakening every fiber of his being. "I love you," he sighed.

  "That's a good reason to get married," she said straight laced, before smirking.

  "What will I...?" he began, shaking his head even as a lightness lifted his soul ever skyward. It'd been weighed by rocks, some of his own choosing and others heaped upon him from outside forces. But Lana, that little mage who flitted through his mind with an elegant ease for so long, removed each one piece by piece until he thought he could fly. "I've wanted to ask you, to...but I didn't know if," he stuttered, mashing his forehead against hers.

  "We certainly don't need anyone's blessing," she sighed, her fingers straining to knot behind the back of his neck. "There's no land to tie up, no dowries to pass back and forth, but..." her lips parted and she took in a breath. Rolling those endless brown eyes up at him, Lana sighed, "I know what the Maker means to you, and having Andraste forge our union would..."

  "Lana," Cullen smiled, pushing back the invading hairs he freed, "you don't have to explain it."

  "Sorry," she smiled, "old habit."

  "One of many I love," he wrapped her tight against his chest and the weight of their struggle crashed upon him. "And never want to lose."

  Fifteen years since the blight, when she vanished from his life to warp and hone herself into a slayer of darkspawn. Fifteen years since his heart, his certainty, was shattered by blood mages leaving him a jagged edge that slit apart all who drew near. So long, it could have failed dozens of times over but they kept finding each other. A long, knotted road for both to travel before stumbling upon a place of peace.

  Maker, Andraste, thank You both for giving me the patience to wait, and the sight to know when it was love before me.

  Lana mumbled something incoherent, dragging Cullen away from his musings. He tried to lift her off his chest, but she clung tight. "It's probably tradition to celebrate ones engagement and, any other time I'd tear those pants suckered to your ass off you, but I'm afraid I'm waning quickly."

  Trying to not laugh at his...Maker's breath, she was his fiancé now. The idea drew a smile to Cullen's lips which he placed onto the top of her head. Tugging her upward, Lana slipped weary feet on top of his and together they staggered towards the mattress that would one day become a bed. Their bed, a marital bed. It seemed too much to hope for.

  Rolling onto the straw and snatching up a blanket, Lana slid over onto her side. Her head dug deep into the pillow, those lush lashes slipped tight. Cullen took his time, yanking off his boots and clothes, arranging them onto their lone chair and then burrowing under the blanket to watch her, his future wife. He was going to be the Hero of Ferelden's husband. That was...

  After she left him in Kirkwall, he'd often start from a dream unlike the others that haunted him. There were no blood mages, no demons, simply Lana and Cullen together, as impossible as it seemed. It was foolish to cling to, but as his world crumbled around him, the hope was all he had - an impossible future that somehow became reality. Cullen caressed his thumb across her cheek, watching the gentle rise and fall as she breathed deep.

  "I love you beyond reason," he whispered to the night air.

  Her cheek lifted below him, a smile answering his confession, "And I you, even if you won't go to sleep."

  Whispering a wordless apology for keeping her awake, he tugged his hand back to his side but kept watching Lana. The candles dampened, only a blue haze from their brazier lifting awake, even though Lana didn't shift in her dreams. Her magic was a whisper through the world, barely noticeable to him anymore. Happy beyond his wildest dreams, Cullen felt the sweet bliss of sleep waiting for him.

  "You know," Lana's thoughts interrupted from the darkness, "we're going to have to have a wedding and invite all our friends."

  He started wide awake at the idea of the Divine, the king of Ferelden, the Inquisitor, the Champion of Kirkwall, and anyone else who bore the power to sway nations all swooping into their little abbey for a wedding. Groaning at the idea, Cullen tried to mash his face into his pillow, "Oh Maker."

  Lana simply chuckled.

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  9:46 Hinterlands

  Lana threw in the literal towel stained an unholy green along with her fingers. The distillery itself huffed from the final drops percolating through her glassware, steam drif
ting out the window, and otherwise looming in its heretical fashion. Snatching up her cane, she slammed the door and stepped away from her potion room; normally a refuge of exciting possibilities, now it only stirred her anger and stained her skin. With a hand along the banister, she limped down the winding staircase of the open air abbey. Made up of a dozen small cells ringed around a giant courtyard, it was a real gem hidden under a massive pile of debris. Abandoned before the blight, trashed even worse after that, and then home to runaways during the mage rebellions, it took them what felt like a year to get their land cleaned out. For a month they had to sleep in the barn because what rooms they could clear out either had gaps in the roof, the walls, or were filled with arriving patients.

  By the time they moved into their room, the old abbess' overlooking the courtyard, Cullen swore he'd build a proper bed with a headboard and posts. She was just grateful to be off of straw. Maker, no one deserved to sleep in that stuff. Lana smiled as the man of the hour swept towards her across the courtyard dotted with lit lanterns in preparation of the coming night. He wore his work gear, stained leather scraps tossed over a ratty shirt and pants with just enough patches to cover the holes. Not that she was in much better shape, the apron from the distillery still knotted around her bearing stains in all the hues of the rainbow along with the vomit from Ser Henric. Clinging to his arm was the local Sister, their area far too remote to afford even a Mother. She was maybe twenty-two with massive eyes and a tendency to giggle when panicking, which occurred often.

  "Hello, honey," Lana called. He swept an arm against her waist and pulled her close for a kiss. She began to reach up to touch his cheek when his eyes widened at the verdant hue of her fingers.

  "Not a good day?" Cullen asked. Then he kissed her so sweetly she almost didn't care about the bad luck.

  "No, the newest formula is not stable. I'm going to need more embrium if I hope to make an effective potion that doesn't have to be administered every half hour."

  Sister Kelsa giggled, "Maker, the way you go on about all that fancy potion and bottle stuff you almost sound like a mage."

  "Er, uh," Lana glanced over guilty at Cullen, then smiled at the Sister, "funny that."

  "So..." Kelsa patted Cullen's hand in a grandmotherly way, the age difference making it comical, but she meant well. She blushed up a storm the first time the fabled commander of the Inquisition visited her little chantry for services, but over the year Kelsa grew used to him. At least she moved passed her stammering and nearly passing out stage. The Sister often visited them to administer any last rights, provide succor of the faith, or simply talk with the misplaced templars. Despite her young age and insecurities she believed in what she was doing with a passion. Now she was arcing an eyebrow and looking at the two of them as if she had a big surprise in store.

  "So?" Lana asked first.

  "So, are you nervous about the big day?" Kelsa smiled wider, her hat wafting in the wind as she whipped her head from Cullen to Lana.

  "Big day...? Oh," Lana groaned at herself, "Maker, with the mixture and I, right, right, the big day. Nervous? Me? No, no. What about you?" She turned on Cullen, who looked as equally perplexed.

  "What do we have to do tomor-? Oh! Yes, I complet-"

  Kelsa interrupted him, "I've found it's often the woman with certainty in her step and the man with feet of ice." She patted Cullen's hand again missing the grimace passed between the two love birds. The Sister's eyes skipped past them and her knowing smile vanished to a stammer, her finger pointing in the distance, "Is that Arl Teagan?" She spun on a dime, watching the Arl marching through the courtyard with a certain destination on his mind. "Blessed Andraste," a blush curled up her cheeks, "you do gather some fine company, don't you Commander?"

  "I, uh," he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, then gestured at the Arl who wasn't there for him. "Why don't you go and greet him. I'm certain he'd love to hear from you. Hear how the chantry's getting on." Kelsa blushed brighter, but nodded her head. She made it a few steps towards Teagan before snatching up a wine bottle someone left out, pouring herself a generous glass and downing it all.

  Cullen cupped his hand around Lana's waist and dropped his head to her shoulder. As the pair watched Kelsa giggling like mad while speaking with the Arl, he whispered in Lana's ear, "You forgot."

  "I don't seem to be the only one," she answered back, an ornery twist to her lips.

  "How did time fly past so quickly?" he sighed, wrapping his other arm around to pull her into a full hug. Lana rested her weary head against his chest, grateful for the breathing pillow for a moment.

  "It has a nasty habit of doing that." She knew there were a dozen matters, no -- given the day tomorrow -- a good hundred that required her attention. But at the moment, all she wanted was to stand in their abbey wrapped up in his soothing embrace.

  A squeal reverberated through the courtyard, drawing not only Lana and Cullen's attention but the Sister and Arl as well. Leaping like a man with a poker shoved up his backside was the king of Ferelden. A hooded figure clung to his back, her squeals shattering through the resting air as she dug in tighter. Even as he twisted like a bucking horse, Alistair kept his hands wrapped around behind himself to pin her tight. Still, more than a few servants watched like hawks from the periphery, ready to snatch the girl away should anything befall her.

  "Lanny!" Alistair shouted, leaping towards them at an impressive speed.

  "When did you arrive?" she asked, struggling to remember who was supposed to even be here. The roster was in constant flux, even more so now.

  "Oh, a few hours ago. You were involved with some secret incantation magic, save the world stuff so I thought it was a good time to run around and stretch my legs," he beamed at her, then cast a glance over at Cullen, "Templar."

  "King."

  "Da-a-ddy!" squeaked from behind Alistair.

  Rather than answer his summons, Alistair threw his head back and pinned a hand to his ear, "Did anyone else hear that? Sounded like a strange call, perhaps from some dangerous wildlife in the area." She tried again, her 'daddy' increasing in volume and pitch. "Definitely either a bronto, a dragon, or a nug," Alistair continued to theorize, even pausing to scratch his beard. He was serious about keeping it. "Wait a second," he snapped his fingers. "Is there something on my back? I feel like someone stuck a little..." he slid the princess around his hips into his arms, "spud there." Still squealing in eternal joy, his daughter hung in his right arm, squished up against his side, her hands skimming across the grass. The hood of her cloak flopped back and forth revealing flashes of dark hair and rosy cheeks.

  "She's quite an armful," Alistair huffed, struggling to keep her upright while she waved her limbs as if swimming through the air. "Maker, when did you get so big? Are they feeding you twice for dinner? Come over here and say hi to your auntie Lanny." He rolled her around so she hung in front of him, a hand extended in greeting.

  "I'm not really your, all right, I am an aunt. Sort of," Lana smiled, grabbing onto one of the girl's hands and giving it a soft shake.

  "Mmblimp terpintm lint!" mumbled from the little girl's mouth.

  "What was that?" Lana glanced in surprise, scared she'd done something wrong. She'd never spent much time around children.

  "Mbltipies!" the girl cried again, not in any distress but very clearly needing her father to understand.

  "Oh, all right," he dropped her to ground and her chubby legs took off instantly, far steadier than what Lana remembered the last time she saw the child. "She was asking to go see the 'mari' puppy. We've got a new litter now in the stables, and if you're looking for Spud she'll be rolling around on the straw with all of 'em."

  "And you right beside her," Lana smiled watching the girl approach Honor. She extended the same hand Lana shook towards the dog, who spun around from the grass she was chewing. Gently, the mabari stuck out her snout and gave the hand a good long sniff, then blew snot across the princess. That got the dog a giant belly laugh, the girl findin
g it hilarious. The princess of Ferelden, covered in mabari snot, threw her arms around the dog's neck making a lifelong friend.

  Cullen lifted up his chin and ordered, "Honor, guard." His dog barked once to acknowledge the command, then wagged her tail as she slobbered along the girl's cheek.

  "'Honor guard,'" Alistair snickered, "you've been waiting to use that one. So, big day. Anyone getting cold feet, panicking, thinking about making a break for Rivain, or planning on walking down the aisle completely pissed?"

  "No," Cullen cut back, folding his arms across his chest.

  "That's too bad," Alistair was still as jolly as before, unaware he stepped into any offense, "I was a good five bottles in for mine. They had to pick me up and drop me in place. I tried to marry a decorative fern and then fell asleep standing behind a statue of Hessarian."

  "I remember," Lana sighed. She'd been the one to give away his secret position to the Arl.

  "Right, you were there along with all the pink brontos." He smiled wider, then picked up her hand, "You'll be beautiful as always, Lanny." After giving it a good shake, he turned to Cullen, "I'm sure you'll be fine as well. Now," he slapped his hands together to rub them, "what I could go for is some real food. Home cooked by sweet ol' templars."

  "Sweet Maker!" Kelsa's voice echoed across the courtyard, her panicking giggles increasing in vibrato, "Are you, um, the-the king of-of a, Ferelden?"

  "The one and only, for now," Alistair smirked, but his smile faded at the shocking pallor chasing across the Sister's face. "You okay? Do you need a lie down or...?"

  "Your Majes-ness! I, uh..." She turned to the confused couple, "You are friends with the King of...of the place we live? No, of course, the commander of the Inquisition. It is understandable, the connections to, um... Many very important people all here to watch and, oh dear. Will there be anymore surprises attending?" she squeaked out.