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

Women

3 Wintersend, 9:42

Cullen had never entirely understood women. His sisters had been sixteen and ten when he left for the Templars, and he at thirteen too young to pay much attention to their moods. In the Circle, the female mages and Templars he'd come into contact with had been equal parts torment and temptation, and his own adolescent issues had taken precedent over any concern about interpreting theirs. Things had gone marginally better in Kirkwall—Hawke's Rivaini friend Isabela had waylaid him one night at the Hanged Man, and he hadn't made it back to the Gallows for three exceptionally informative, not to mention pleasurable, days. But while Isabela had taught him a great deal that he had been happy to learn, she had been the first to admit that when it came to the "girly stuff" she was as at sea as he was. After that, the number and quality of his physical encounters had certainly improved, but as to the emotions of his paramours, he had never been as enlightened as perhaps he should have been.

All of which he considered now, watching Antonia across the War Table. He had to count his lucky stars that she was of such a generally equable temper. He rarely saw her upset, and when she was, there tended to be a good reason for it. But it meant that when there was a problem, he was entirely unequipped to know what to do about it.

Right now, she was clearly upset, but if there was a good reason, or any reason, he was at a loss to know what it might be. Worse yet, the person with whom she appeared to be upset was him, which had him racking his brains to imagine what he could possibly have done. She'd only been back from the Western Approach for a day, and while they had seen each other on the battlements last night, it had been a particularly nice night, certainly no trouble there. The thought of the kisses they'd exchanged caused a tightening in the pit of his stomach that had him hastily moving his thoughts on to other topics.

Antonia continued avoiding his eyes, and then Leliana was with her after the meeting, which left Cullen to work through the afternoon, blocking out his confusion with all the myriad details of manning, instructing, feeding, and running an army. Fortunately, those details were of fairly absorbing interest to him, and before he knew it, he had worked entirely through Josephine's dinner with the Nevarrans.

Not that his presence had been particularly desired there. Josephine usually invited him to these things only when there was someone of a martial background in attendance to whom he could explain details about the Inquisition's army. Otherwise, Cullen's general distaste for the intrigues of the nobility made him a less than desirable dinner guest. He could be polite, and even charming, when necessary, but he'd made it clear long ago that it had better be very necessary if they expected it of him. He respected Josephine's role in their triumvirate, but felt that he added as little to her tasks as she would add to his if he asked her to appear on the battlefield.

Nonetheless, missing the dinner meant that he was that much closer to sunset, and he hastily finished off the set of orders he'd been writing and sent them off with the nearest soldier.

He was unusually nervous as he approached 'their' section of the battlements. This was the best part of his day, by leaps and bounds, this set of hours when he could hold her and kiss her and assure himself that she was real, and alive, and by some Maker-given miracle his—at least for now. But tonight he had no idea what to expect.

She was there, waiting for him, sitting on the courtyard-side wall, but she seemed tense, and she didn't smile when she saw him. From a sense of self-preservation, Cullen also sat on the wall, but left some distance between them.

"There you are."

"Mm-hm," she said absently. Her eyes were on the dark mountains, her expression unreadable.