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

Right Here Where You Are

24 Haring, 9:41

The door to the office opened for the fourth time in a quarter hour, and for the fourth time Cullen looked up hopefully, his breath coming short and his heart leaping. It was absolutely ridiculous, he told himself. He was a grown man in a position of tremendous responsibility in one of the most powerful organizations in Thedas—and yet it seemed all he could think about was a beautiful woman with big brown eyes.

It wasn't her again this time, and after he dealt with the new dispatch he bent back over his desk trying to keep his mind on his work, reminding himself that she was busy, too, with as many calls on her time as there were on his. But she was leaving tomorrow for Orlais, and he worried, as he always did, craving the reassurance of her presence as long as he could have it.

The door opened a fifth time, and this time it actually was her. Cullen mustered enough control to say, "I hoped you'd stop by," more or less casually, when what he really wanted to do was leap over his desk and kiss her.

"Do you have some time?" Her eyebrows were up, and now so was his heartrate, following her implication perfectly.

"I believe so." He absolutely did not; everything on his desk was urgent. "Wait for me?"

"I can stay a few minutes." Antonia gave a pointed look around the room, and one by one the soldiers disappeared.

"How did you do that? I can never get them to do that."

She smiled. "Perks of being the Inquisitor."

"That, and everyone's scared of you."

Antonia frowned. "I don't see why. I mean, I'm not Cassandra. Or you. Or Leliana."

"No, I suppose not, but you're very ..." He searched for the words. "Quiet? You seem to know just what's going on, and you never raise your voice, and you're very nice about it, but you expect people will do what you tell them to do."

"Varric said I had 'scary equanimity.'"

Cullen considered the phrase. "An apt description. Since you never lose your temper, everyone assumes that if you ever do very bad things will happen."

"Do they?"

"You're asking me? You've never lost your temper with me, either." He bent over the papers on his desk again to avoid looking at her. "Although Maker knows you've had reason."

"I have not. Don't be ridiculous." She hitched her hip onto the corner of his desk. "Now, will you finish up there? I'll get in trouble if I drag you away before your work is done."

"Wait. Do that again."

"What? This?" Antonia stood up and sat down again, and Cullen furrowed his brow. "What?"

"There's something ... off. I don't know what. I thought maybe ... but it seems to be all right." He glanced up at her. "Someone said they saw Sera in here yesterday. I know she did something, and when I find out what it was, I will—" He couldn't think of anything in specific. "I will do something back."

Antonia laughed. "All right, then. Got anything in mind?"

"Not yet. Did you know she brought me cake the other day? Said I looked hungry."

"You probably did. You should eat more. Why are you telling me this?"

"Well, it was either an act of kindness or a trap. I was hoping you'd know which."

"Did you eat the cake?"

"Of course. And it was quite tasty. Which only adds to the confusion." Cullen picked up his pen, trying to finish the orders he'd been writing. But there, as she perched on the corner of the desk, in reach of his free hand, was a very toned, very shapely thigh, one he ached to touch. He knew how firm and soft that thigh would feel; he knew the sounds she would make if he ran his hand up that thigh to the warmth at the core of her; he knew exactly how she would call his name. And the further knowledge that he wasn't touching her the way they both wanted because of his own damned issues was doing nothing for his peace of mind.

"Maker's mercy!" He put down the pen, since he had absolutely no idea what nonsense he was writing, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Why do you put up with me?"

Antonia had clearly been lost in thought; she looked down at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Well, here you are, and here I am, and ... and I know what I want, and I think I know what you want, and—"

"You think? Perhaps I've been too subtle every time I drop in here to drag you off to the battlements." She was smiling at him.

Cullen pushed back his chair, looking up at her. "And here I am, too afraid of shadows to take advantage of the situation."

"Well, okay, but that's now. We're making progress." There was a flush on her cheeks, and he wondered if she was thinking about what had happened in the cabin in Ferelden. He hoped she was still thinking about that, anyway. Maker knew he was.

"I still can't understand—why it's worth it to you, this ... waiting." Couldn't she see herself? he wondered. "Look at you. You're the Inquisitor, and you're ... intelligent, and strong, and beautiful. You could snap your fingers and have any man in Skyhold—in Thedas, probably—at your beck and call. What are you doing wasting your time on a very damaged ex-Templar ten years your senior?" He hadn't meant to say all that, but it had been dammed up a long time.

Antonia tilted her head to the side. "You really don't know, do you? Look at yourself! You're the commander of the forces of the Inquisition. You're intelligent, and strong, and damned attractive. You can't tell me you don't feel the eyes on you as you walk through the keep. Half the women in Skyhold, and a significant number of the men, would give their eyeteeth to be up here where I am, and if I ever let you out of Skyhold, that would go for half the women in Thedas—not to mention a significant number of the men."

Cullen was aware of the eyes; he had been around enough to be cognizant of his own attractions. But none of those other women were her, and that was what made the difference, made him so much less confident where she was concerned. But by the same token, if he didn't deserve her, who did? The idea of another man being what she needed was ... impossible to contemplate.

Antonia continued, "So what are you doing wasting your time on a slip of a girl ten years your junior who couldn't in a hundred ages fathom everything you've been through or how you had the strength to come through it the way you have?" She clearly meant it, too, which filled him with wonder. "You may think you're too damaged, if you want to call it that, for me, and I think I'm too young and too inexperienced for you ... but at the end of the day, this is the only place I want to be, right here where you are. And I think you feel the same way." Her voice was soft and husky with emotion that she didn't even try to hide.

"You think?" he echoed her, trying for lightness, but his voice was hoarse. What could you say to a woman like that? He got out of his chair, taking her face in his hands, and kissed her. And kissed her again, and once more, until they were both breathing heavily, and he wished with every fiber of his being that he was ready for more. "If you want, we could ... go upstairs, and ... I could—"

Antonia closed her eyes, and for a moment Cullen thought she was going to say yes, but then she shook her head firmly, putting her hands on his breastplate and pushing him back. "No. Not that I don't ... the other night in the cabin was ... um ... wow. Someday I'm going to want to know exactly where you learned all that."

Cullen could feel the tips of his ears reddening, thinking of that very interesting interlude from his past. Someday perhaps he would tell Antonia all about that, but not yet.

"But next time things get—that far ... I want everything." She was looking at him now, her eyes serious. "Do—do you understand?"

Cullen nodded, not quite sure he could get words out. He had always known she was unbelievable, but her patience and her generosity of spirit were a far greater gift than he had imagined—and despite her fine words, a greater gift than he deserved.

"Good." Antonia hopped down from the desk. "You know, in listing off your virtues before, I forgot to mention that you're the only person in fifteen years who has beaten me at chess. Let's go see if you can do it again."

"You're on, Inquisitor. I believe you'll have to prepare for a losing streak." But there was no chance of his winning today, whatever he might say—she was all he could concentrate on. And he didn't mind that at all.