A Candle in the Darkness (A Dragon Age: Inquisition fanfiction)

Maker Watch Over You

31 August, 9:41

It was dark in Cullen's office at this hour of the morning, the candles guttering on his desk the sign of his long night of work. It had been a better night than usual—he had spent a good four hours in the bed in the loft above him, much of that in actual sleep. Now that the fever had broken, he felt a little better, but there was still much work to be done, and that kept him awake as much as the nightmares did.

Cullen studiously kept his eyes off the box on the highest shelf of the bookcase. It could provide him a night's sleep, but at a cost he wasn't willing to pay. He kept it there to remind himself every day of the choice he had made to put all that behind him.

In some ways, his insomnia made things easier, because the only time his office wasn't filled with a constant stream of demands on his time and attention was the middle of the night. If he slept like normal people, he'd never get anything done.

He was pleased with tonight's work; he had a stack of dispatches to send once his messengers got up, and had earned a few moments with a book. Cullen ran his fingers along the spines of the volumes on one overstuffed shelf. After a lifetime of not owning anything, his first goal had been to surround himself with as many books as he could. Of course, other than a small stack of beloved volumes up in the loft, these all truly belonged to the Inquisition, purchased with Inquisition funds. But he had chosen them, and in every way that mattered they were his, at least, as long as he could hold fast against the lyrium.

He chose a book and sat down with it, but it was hard to focus on the words. He was just at the wrong level of tiredness—tired enough not to be able to be productive but also tired enough that his resistance was low, which meant the whispers of old fears and remembered demons in his ears ... and not yet so tired that he could sleep.

To avoid looking at the box again, Cullen looked at the clock. It was getting on toward that time. He put the book away, then turned from the shelves and went out the door onto the battlements. The sky above the mountains was just turning grey. He could see the change, but down below in the courtyard they wouldn't see it for another few minutes. Just one of the many reasons he liked being so far up—he greeted each sunrise with glad relief, symbolizing as it did another night's victory against the lyrium, and another day that he could continue commanding the forces of the Inquisition.

If Cassandra ever told him he must step down, he would go without protest; he had promised himself that much dignity. But it would break his heart. He had never felt this drive to succeed before, never had a task before him that demanded so many of his talents, or forced him to learn so much. And he loved every day of it. His soldiers had come together at Haven and fought with everything they had, obeying his orders without question. They had come far enough from that day that he could evaluate what had happened without that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that the whole debacle was his fault, but the failure there still left him with something to prove—to himself, if to no one else. And to the men he led, that next time they would prevail.

Thinking of Haven reminded him of the woman they had come so close to losing there, and he moved to the edge of the battlement to look down into the courtyard. As he had expected, Antonia was there, preparing for the expedition to Emprise-du-Lion she was leading out. He tried to think of her as "Inquisitor", as he was so scrupulously careful to call her, but somehow he couldn't. Thinking of her as "Antonia" in the privacy of his thoughts was the one liberty he allowed himself.

Far below, Varric was with her, as he so often was, whispering something to her that made her laugh.

Cullen couldn't really hear her laugh from up here, but he could imagine it, and it made him smile in response. She had no way of knowing what her sense of humor did for them all, but he could see it. His role was to be disciplined, Leliana's to be secretive, Josephine's to be dignified. Antonia bridged the gap between the three of them and the rest of the Inquisition. Just as in Haven, she spent her time when in residence at Skyhold visiting as many people as she could, listening to their needs, and she got things done. They all missed her when she was away from the keep.

But none as much as he did, or so he imagined. Sometimes it felt as though she took all the color with her when she left, and only when she returned was everything crisp and sharp and bright again.

It was foolish to feel this way about her; he told himself that every day. She was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, and such a beautiful woman, with her expressive eyes and her delicate face and her slender frame. Cullen always found it surprising to watch her hefting a greataxe, because she didn't look strong enough for such a weapon. But he'd seen her use the pommel to lay the Iron Bull flat on his back with a single blow, so he knew how deceptive her air of fragility really was. Added to that her intelligence and her easy humor and warmth, and there wasn't a man in Thedas she couldn't have at a crook of her finger. The idea that she might turn those beautiful eyes on a damaged ex-Templar ten years her senior was too incredible for Cullen to imagine it possible, despite the occasional meeting of glances that sped up his pulse and cut off his breathing and left him thinking things he shouldn't.

Down below they had finished loading the horses. Vivienne and Antonia were astride their mounts, and Cassandra was halfway through the gates on hers, impatient to be going as she always was. Varric was fussing over stowing his beloved crossbow, and the other three started off without him. At last the dwarf was satisfied. Before turning his horse in the direction of the gates, he looked up at where Cullen stood and waved, and Cullen stepped hastily back. That dwarf seemed to know everything that went on in Skyhold, and the last thing Cullen needed was to have his hopeless ... attraction to the Inquisitor bandied about.

Crossing to the other side of the battlements, he watched them until the last horse had disappeared down the mountain road. "Maker go with you," he said softly, then turned back to his office. The sun had reached it, but it seemed suddenly very dim.