Chapter Text
As they entered the privacy of the trees, Cullen reached to take Ana's hand. He was stood on her left, meaning the hand he would take was the one with the Anchor. He realized at that moment he never had touched it. He couldn't decide if it was fear or faith that had driven the aversion to do so.
Both, to some degree, if he were honest with himself.
Fear of the unknown magic and shame at his perceived unworthiness to touch something that he could neither fully believe nor dismiss as being a boon from the Maker. The latter no longer affected him as the truth about what had happened at the Conclave had come during the siege at Adamant. Ana had come to the Divine's aid and by interrupting Corypheus's plans, had wrested the orb and thus the Anchor from his grasp. Providential still, Cullen had no doubt of that, but he had no need to regard the Mark as anything beyond magic—foreign or no.
Yet even as he and Ana began to grow closer, he'd been unable to bring himself to touch it, the fears from the past still whispering. But as he'd been allowed the ability to observe Ana more intimately, he'd come to realize that the Mark pained her almost constantly. Less than it had, perhaps, but more than she let on. No different from his own ever-present pain that he hid as much as he could. A part of him wondered if it would hurt her for him to touch it.
"Ana."
"Yes?" He watched as she pulled her shawl closer around her.
"Does the Anchor still hurt?"
Instinctively, she curled her hand into a fist and held it against her chest. She looked away from him in order to hide the lie that came. Not that she was intending to be deceitful, but he knew she did not want him to worry. "A little. Sometimes."
Gently grabbing her elbow, he brought them to a stop. "Ana, look at me."
After a few moments, she turned to look at him. Her hazel eyes were a shade somewhere between a caramel brown and soft green within the cover of the trees. Her eyes were one of the things he most adored about her. Kaleidoscopic in how they constantly shifted color depending on the light. But no matter their color, they were always warm and kind when she looked at him.
"Does it hurt?"
Squeezing her eyes closed, her lower lip trembled as she quietly admitted, "Constantly."
Despite his fears about magic that still clung to him even after all these years, despite how he knew they would never fully leave him, when he gently took her hand and held it atop the gloved palm of his own, he was not afraid. Gingerly, he spread her fingers out to expose the Anchor. As he did, the magic of it sparked to life, casting them both in its garish green light. Beyond the light, Cullen could make out the slash through her palm. Something between a burn and cut that remained open as the magic seemed to crawl out of the wound. Though the lyrium had long been out of his system, the little that lingered in his bones bristled at the threads being pulled on across the Veil and his scars he'd earned in that magical cage prickled with it.
But he remembered whose hand it marked. Recalled how gentle those hands could be. Watched the multiple memories of Ana using her magic the way she wanted to—to heal, not harm. That was how she used the Anchor. To heal the Veil, to seal the Breach and to cast away demons. At every turn, even when they'd argued about allying with the rebel mages, Ana had used her magic with the utmost integrity.
Though he knew he still had a journey ahead of him, he was doing his utmost to push past the instinctive distrust and ingrained fear. To remember that magic itself was not the problem, but the darkness within the heart of the one whose hands chose to wield it for ill. To believe the former made him too akin to Meredith. The latter helped him remember that mages were people first. A truth he'd nearly forgotten as he was lost in the shadow of his anger.
And knowing all of this, Ana still chose him.
Her face fell as she let out a shaky breath.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Alone with a mage," she spoke as she looked around, addressing one of the things that had been hanging over their heads like a cloud since they'd met, growing steadily heavier the more of his past he revealed. "That doesn't concern you?"
"The templars have rules on…fraternization," he offered before meeting her gaze, "But I'm no longer bound by them."
She worried on her lip. "I know, but…you've seen the worst mages have to offer." She paused a moment before meeting his eyes, earnest worry in them. "How can you not see that in me?"
"I don't," he said, readily, moving toward her and drawing her to look at him. "If I've given you reason to doubt…" He let out a deep sigh as he rubbed at his neck before murmuring, "Of course I have."
He was a templar, former or no, and she a Circle mage. There was no circumventing that truth. Both of them had been scarred by the institution that claimed ownership over their faith. She'd been taught that her magic was something to be afraid of; that she had to be locked away not only to be watched, but also to protect non-mages from her. It didn't matter that she had no choice in it or that she only wanted to use her magic to heal and help others. To make the best of a difficult situation.
He had been taught that the outside world needed to be protected from mages for their potential to be dangerous and that templars were the ones that stood between the two. That mages and templars had to stand on opposing sides. He'd attempted to cross that line, seeing the person before the magic, and had been betrayed. First in Kinloch and again in Kirkwall by blood mages. He'd suffered at their hands. Learned well the reason for the fear of magic. He'd told her as much. How it'd corrupted him. Twisted him. Made him into a man that wouldn't have cared for her because he would've seen first the mage, the magic, not the woman who wielded it. He'd bit at her to see why he wanted nothing to do with that life while raging that he should take the substance that allowed him the ability to subjugate mages. She'd asked him what he wanted. He'd stayed true to his vow to stop lyrium. To carve a new path forward.
But did his vehemence during that moment cause her to wonder if there was a part of him struggling with her magic simply because she believed it a constant reminder of what he went through? A reminder of who he had been? Of his regrets? His fears? How could he convey his complete trust in her despite it all? That he did not see her as some exception to all he wrestled with, but as a vessel of hope that one day he could be free of it? That he had faith in her—not of a religious nature, but assurance that the beliefs he'd once held had not been wrong and that he could trust in them again.
"Cullen?"
Closing his eyes, he bent to press a kiss to her palm right over the Anchor. Where once she had his sword because he'd sworn to serve their cause out of a call to duty from the Maker to help set right the wrongs he'd had a hand in causing, she now had his heart and unwavering devotion both as her commander and as her suitor. The magical mark was warm as it hummed slightly beneath his skin. Straightening, he found there were tears in her eyes.
"Whatever I fear of magic, I see none of that in you." It was not enough, he knew, but it was the best he could give. His healing was not done, but in her, he had hope for the future. "I wish I could take the pain away."
Her lips trembling as her eyes shone with the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks, a small smile pulled her lips as she drew back her hand. "Kissing it helped."
Cullen laughed through his nose. "Liar."
She smiled softly at him before growing nervous again. "You said that the templars had rules on fraternization. That you once considered yourself bound to them."
"Yes?"
She sighed and looked miserable. "Then can you forgive my question the other night about you and the Hero of Ferelden?" Genuine worry colored her face as her eyes searched his own.
His brow knitted in confusion. "Which question?"
Her mahogany hair, tinged red in the sunlight dappling through the trees, loose as it hung to her slender waist, he watched as she reached for that strand he'd noticed she favored when she worried, twisting the thick wave round and round her finger. A blush rose in her cheeks as she chewed on her bottom lip.
"If you…I-if you'd…" Her face grew positively crimson, splotches on her neck to join the constellation of freckles and beauty marks.
Oh. Cullen bit back a laugh and tried to keep his face neutral. He took her chin between his fingers to draw her eyes to him. "Why do you feel you must apologize once more?"
"I worry that it was impertinent and…insulting to you both."
"Not at all," he assured, "It was a fair question."
"How?" she pressed, "She was a mage in your charge. Under your protection and guard. You struggled with acting on your feelings for me as equal colleagues with no other true barriers, my being a mage and you a former templar aside. Duty always seems to come first for you."
His lips twitched despite the affection her words stirred. It was a showing of her good, if a little naive, heart to think so highly of him based only on his most recent history. "And there were never any…affairs between mage and templar at your Circle in Ostwick?"
She looked away from him, squirming slightly at the nature of the question. "Well…yes."
"We are, after all, men and women at the end of the day—no matter our other differences," he stated, trying not to relish in his teasing too much. "To be locked within a tower day after day…it's only natural that some get ideas misaligned with their ideals." Then he sobered as a sickening thought occurred. "This is, of course, pertaining to willing partners, not…nefarious acts."
Her eyes flicked to his. "Ostwick was not the Gallows."
He flinched at that. He knew it was not meant in judgment, though Ana never shied away from laying what sins belonged to him at his feet. It was never harsh, more akin to the blade of a surgeon in caring hands. Cutting to heal, but it didn't stop the pain at the reminders of his failings—even if he'd only learned of many of them, and their severity, in the aftermath of Meredith's downfall. "I'm glad."
"Besides, Mikael, the templar to whom I was charge, took his duties seriously. He was well-respected and he protected me…to his last breath."
"Were you friends?"
Ana shook her head. "Not in the sense you mean. We were cordial, but no more. He never crossed that unspoken boundary." She looked down. "Not that it stopped me from…caring for him."
"I am sorry that he died."
"As am I for your Neria," she offered.
It'd been a long time since he'd heard that name. It was always "the Hero" or "the Warden". Her humanity lost to the symbol she had become. Not unlike the woman before him. His heart hurt for her to know her future most likely held the same fate. Though to hear Neria's name now upon the tongue of the woman he loved more than he'd ever thought possible as she offered him condolences was both bitter and sweet.
"Thus why I want to apologize," she continued when he didn't speak.
"Sweetheart," he breathed as his gloved fingers took her chin. "There is nothing to apologize for. You know me as the man I am now. It's only natural to be curious about the past. Though I do appreciate that you hold me in such high regard as to think I never had a more…youthful streak."
"Did you?"
He's joviality died as nerves took its place. "Your assessment is the correct one."
Humor lit in her eyes even as he saw them soften. "I must admit it's less my assessment and more…everyone else's."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm afraid, Commander, that your romantic life, especially the lack of one, was a rather popular topic of conversation—and that was before you decided to whisk the Inquisitor away on a trip in order to lure her into your bed."
Heat lanced from his toes to his gut. "Before I decided to—that's not—but I…that is, we—" Then the pieces clicked. Those two Orlesians that always gossiped about them in the main hall flashed in his mind. Blighters. "Maker's breath!"
At that, she laughed merrily and walked further into the trees. When he'd finally collected himself and caught up with her, he took her marked hand and entwined their fingers. She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze even as they kept looking away from each other to hide the deep blushes on their faces.
…
They'd spent the afternoon hand in hand walking through the trees enjoying the deluge of conversation as the dam that'd been subconsciously built between them finally broke. What had been difficult at the beginning of their trip was now effortless as they got lost in each other's words. They discussed everything. The past and the present. The good and the bad.
His life as a boy and then as a templar recruit. Her life as a noble girl and then as an apprentice. The Order and the Circle. Their interests and hobbies. Favorite books and songs. Their families. Ana finally spoke of Will and found the tears did not come as Cullen let her speak of her beloved brother who'd died before the Conclave. He spoke of his parents, a bittersweet smile on his mouth as he did. She talked of her adventures. He of his duties. Anything and everything until the sun began to sink toward the horizon.
"Should we head back?" Ana questioned.
She was sat upon a rock nearby a happily gurgling stream while Cullen leaned against a tree with his hands on his sword belt. They'd fallen into silence, but it was now comfortable instead of strained. Ana took a moment to simply admire him as he looked toward the sun. The pale gold of his hair that he styled so that his natural curls were more tame. His dark brows that were always so serious in their set. His amber eyes ringed in long, dark lashes that ranged from a soft honey-brown to pure gold depending on the light. His fine nose that, while strong, was still delicate somehow. The bow shape of his lips. The handsome scar slashed through the upper one. His strong Fereldan jaw and chin covered in a fine layer of stubble. How the vibrant forest framed him as the sun bounced off his armor and the fur of his surcoat swayed in the light breeze.
He really did look like one of the knights from her romance novels. Regal and noble and resplendent. But what she adored most was how at ease he looked. She suppressed a smile as relief flooded through her. They were both now far more at ease and it was tangible between them. Standing, she smoothed down the skirt of her dress.
"I suppose we should," he stated as the motion drew his eyes to her. "You look lovely. Have I told you that?"
She shook her head even as she bit her lip. It was a simple dress of fine wool dyed a lovely shade of green. Lined and trimmed in cream-colored fur. She was grateful that she'd brought it with how cool the weather had turned. It kept her from constantly having to use her magic to keep herself warm—which reminded her too much of when she'd been lost in the mountains and her magic had ran out.
"Thank you," she smiled.
He gave a nod before pressing off the trunk of the birch he'd been reclining against. She found herself rooted to the spot as he strode toward her, eyes intent as he stood tall. He was so commanding and proud in his movements yet graceful, too. Like a great lion.
She couldn't help the way she swallowed hard as he stood before her causing her to have to tilt her chin in order to meet his eyes. Molten amber in the dying sun as he indulged himself in looking at her; she watched as they dropped to her lips. Slowly, he leaned in to give her a tender kiss. The first they'd shared since they'd left. It was gentle and unassuming.
And it made her weak at the knees.
He broke away, a content smile tilting his lips as he studied her through heavy-lidded eyes. "Now we can head back."
Ana chuckled behind her fingers, attempting to keep the feel of his lips on hers lingering for just a bit longer, her heart far lighter than it'd been mere hours ago.
…
"You know Andraste's old mabari.
He don't show up in the Chant.
And if you ask those holy sisters,
Well, they'll say Andraste can't
Have had some big old smelly wardog.
But all Ferelden knows it right:
Our sweet Lady needed someone
Who would warm her feet at night."
As they drew close to the campsite, they heard the sound of singing carried on the evening breeze. Breaking through the trees, they found a merry sight. In the center of camp was a cheery fire. Upon a spit was a large deer that'd been hunted as well as a few sticks of roasting fish. Surrounding it were the off-duty soldiers with drinking bowls and instruments in hand dancing as they belted the song at the top of their lungs once they reached the chorus:
"And there's Andraste's mabari
By the Holy Prophet's side.
In the fight against Tevinter,
That dog would never hide.
They say the Maker sent him special,
Always loyal, without pride,
So he could be the sworn companion
Of the Maker's Holy Bride."
Ana caught Cullen's amused smile before he donned the mask of the commander and stepped into the firelight. Silence swallowed the camp as all the soldiers froze and glanced nervously at one another. For a few tense heartbeats, Cullen simply stood there staring them down. Stepping before him, Ana started up the song again with the next verse. It was one Scout Harding had taught her while out on the road—a favorite of Fereldans to sing in taverns; it'd been sung often in Haven before Corypheus's attack.
"Oh, that dog, he guards Andraste
Without arrogance or fear,
Only asking of his mistress
Just a scratch behind the ears.
But then old Maf'rath gets to plotting,
Tries to lure that dog away.
But even as they trap the Prophet,
Her mabari never strays."
She turned to look at Cullen with a brow raised. After a moment, he let out a sigh before flashing her a look that said she'd have to make it up to him. Then, in one swift motion he scooped up a bowl full of ale, drank some of it and started singing loudly as well, the rich tones of his singing voice just as enjoyable as all the other times she'd heard it and sung in harmony with it.
"And there's Andraste's mabari
By the Holy Prophet's side.
In the fight against Tevinter,
That dog would never hide.
They say the Maker sent him special,
Always loyal, without pride,
So he could be the sworn companion
Of the Maker's Holy Bride."
Ana sat upon a log, still singing, and watched as Cullen sang and drank with his soldiers. A few of them broke out in a Fereldan jig that no amount of coaxing would get Cullen to join in on, but he had a broad smile on his mouth as he watched them and joined in the laughter.
"Oh they thought the wounds had killed him,
But then he limped out toward the fire.
And Hessarian, he shed a tear,
As that dog laid on the pyre.
And there's Andraste's mabari
By the Holy Prophet's side.
In the fight against Tevinter,
That dog would never hide.
They say the Maker sent him special,
Always loyal, without pride,
So he could be the sworn companion
Of the Maker's Holy Bride.
Yes that mabari's the companion
Of the Maker's Holy Bride."
At the end, Ana clapped while they all burst out in laughter and slapped each other on the back. Cullen was happy and it made her heart sing with joy. Their eyes met. His face softened as his gaze turned molten with the intensity of his affection for her. The warmth the look stirred to pool in her belly lingered long after she'd retired for the night.
…
And so the evenings carried on in much the same way as they continued on toward their true destination. The days were spent walking or riding (as it seemed Aegis had finally regained control of himself) together discussing all manner of things or nothing at all as they simply drank in each other's company. Until one evening when the soldiers had had enough of their commander's lack of awareness of how desperate his lady was to dance with him.
Ana was sat upon a log listening to the soldiers play their instruments and joining in the singing. Cullen had been absent; she believed he was checking on the soldiers patrolling, when he'd crossed into the light of the fire. Gone was his armor and its underlayers. Instead, he wore a thick tunic dyed a rich maroon and embroidered with mabari in gold thread. Overtop, a deep brown leather jacket lined with fur. In exchange for his fighting leather breeches, he wore a finer pair tucked into freshly shined jackboots. At his arrival, a few of the soldiers—those with instruments—began whispering conspiratorially. Cullen was distracted as he spoke with Lieutenant Bevin. Quickly after coming to a decision, the soldiers broke and began playing a familiar tune.
"Once we were
In our peace
With our lives assured.
Once we were
Not afraid of the dark."
At the slower tempo and sweeter tune, Cullen turned to find Ana. Ana's eyes already on him, very appreciative of the change of attire and how well it suited him, he turned fully to her. She prayed she didn't look too hopeful or eager as she knew he may not be willing to dance with her before the soldiers, but still she silently pleaded. He stood a moment, his hair and the collar of his jacket fluttering with the cool breeze, until one of the soldiers pressed him forward before pretending she hadn't and scampered off into the shadows beyond where the firelight reached.
"Once we sat in our kingdom
With hope and pride.
Once we ran through
The fields with great strides."
Clearing his throat and looking adorably flustered, Ana stood as he approached her. She curtsied to him as he bowed slightly before they stepped closer together. His arm wound around her waist and pulled her flush to his chest causing her to inhale sharply at the unfamiliar closeness as his armor was absent. She'd had the same reaction when they'd danced at the Winter Palace.
He took her hand in his, she biting back a gasp as their bare skin met. It was the first time he'd touched her without gloves on. A thin layer of leather between them always. The sensation of his calloused palm, his rough fingertips and the warmth of his skin against hers was enough to set her heart racing. Besotted, he led her in a slow dance.
"We held the Fade
And the demon's flight
So far from our children
And from our lives.
We held together
The fragile sky
To keep our way of life."
Her eyes found his, the intensity in them made her heart beat unevenly as heat pooled in her cheeks and begun to burn hotter at the base of her spine. She had to look away or she'd be unable to trust her feet to finish the dance. But she found herself unable to resist him long. He too handsome and the allure of what smoldered in his gaze too much to withstand.
"Once we raised
Up our chalice
In victory.
Once we sat
In the light of our dreams.
Once we were
In our homeland
With strength and might.
Once we were
Not afraid of the night.
We held the Fade
And the demon's flight
So far from our children
And from our lives.
We held together
The fragile sky
To keep our way of life."
At the last, he pulled her in for a sweet embrace as the soldiers cheered. Beneath the noise, his lips brushed the skin just before her ear as Cullen whispered, "I've something to show you."
Following him gladly, they made for the trees.
…
It took some time, soldiers greeting them along the way with torches in hand to act as a guide while they followed what Ana could tell was a path. Old, unused in recent years, but a path nonetheless. After a time, the soldiers stopped greeting them and Cullen asked Ana to use her mage lights so they could see their way forward. The path disappeared beneath the dried needles of the pines that laid upon the forest floor. Just when she began to worry they were lost, they broke through the sea of trees.
Before them sat a beautiful lake surrounded by all manner of evergreens, the water crystal clear and melodic as it lapped against the shore. The full moons above were reflected in the rippling surface like great drops of liquid silver had fallen into the water. Extending out from the shore was a worn pier and upon it was a new barrel with a lantern sat on it's top. She had a sneaking suspicion as to where Cullen had actually been.
"Where are we?" Ana questioned.
"You walk into danger every day," Cullen began, his tone serious. "I wanted to take you away from that. If only for a moment." She could feel him looking at her as he said it, her heart fluttering as his voice warred between being protective and being soft. He leaned against one of the pier's posts, clasping his hands in front of him. "I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet. A luxury we both value."
Trying to dismiss the curiousity that sprung up a the knowledge that they were close to where he'd been born and bred, she said, "You value quiet? I've wondered how you've survived without a parade of messengers and war reports."
"I should last a few more days," Cullen deadpanned as he sighed, guiltily dreading the return to his duties. "Besides, I told Leliana to send word if—"
Ana cut him off, a teasing smile. "Cullen. You. Me. Alone. Pretty lake."
He gave her a grateful look. "Right. Of course."
"Did you come here often?"
"I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head." A smirk curled his mouth as he continued, laughter lacing his voice. "Of course, they always found me eventually." There was a lightness to his voice that she'd come to know was reserved for talk of his family.
"You were happy here," she observed. It wasn't a question, but a statement as it was plain on his face.
"I was," he acknowledged, "I still am." He looked out upon the water, content.
"While we're here," she teased, pointing out that they were once again completely alone, "you have me all to yourself."
A smug smirk pulled his mouth as his brow quirked mischievously, his eyes finding hers. "The thought may have crossed my mind." There was a promise of the best kind of trouble in his voice.
Ana blushed and looked away, listening to the water gently splash against the posts of the pier.
A few heartbeats later, Cullen continued, "The last time I was here was the day I left for templar training." She looked at him and watched as he pulled something from his pocket. He held it out between them and studied it. "My brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket but he said it was for luck." It was a coin. The surface worn smooth as if it's been rubbed over and over again. "Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through."
"Faith is stronger," Ana stated with conviction, "I gets us through when luck fails."
"I believe that, and yet.."
"Besides," she interjected, "I don't think it worked. You haven't been all that fortunate."
He made a face that said she was right as he shrugged. "I should've died during the Blight. Or at Kirkwall, or Haven. Take your pick." He looked around them, a proud smile fighting to stretch his lips. "And yet I made it back here." He looked at her then, eyes soft before he took her hand and pressed the coin into her palm. "Humor me. We don't know what you'll face before the end. This can't hurt."
As much as he was trying to be nonchalant, she understood the significance of the gesture. It was a bestowing of luck, yes, but he was giving her what could very well be his most prized possession. Something he'd carried with him from this very spot all those years ago when he'd left behind home and family to go and help people. To serve. Only for the world to chew him up and spit him back out. Again and again in an attempt to rip his ideals from his soul. But he'd never let go. Never lost himself. Not truly. That was a clear as the coin in her palm. Now, he was telling her that he trusted her to keep his future safe.
She assured him she would. "I'll keep it safe."
She wanted nothing more than to see that future, too.
"Good," he breathed as his hands lighted on her hips and pulled her in. His eyelids grew heavy as his gaze flicked between her own and then fell to her lips. "I know it's foolish, but…I'm glad."
His lips met hers in a kiss and on the breath of what he'd just told her without speaking a word, she met it. Loving the feel of his hands on her, she reached up to run her hands through his hair before resting her arms around his neck. And like that they stayed, lips saying all they couldn't and all they wanted to while the music of the night played around them in the click of the insects, the hoot of an owl and the small waves softly cresting upon the lake shore.
She could almost see him here as a boy. Pretending to be a templar as he and his brother fought with sticks for swords. He and his siblings splashing in the water as they cooled off in the summer heat. She could hear their laughter echoing off the trees and the stones and the earth that held their memories. It was the whispering of the spirits letting her in to his world for just a moment. Letting her see him as she would never have known him.
Getting a sudden idea as the memories slowly faded away, Ana broke the kiss and flashed Cullen a wild smile before kicking off her shoes and running off the pier to jump into the water, clothes and all. The cold water rushed over her, quickly soaking through her layers. But she didn't mind as beneath the water it seemed the world's problems faded away. She felt free, her own happy memories coming to mind in the waters of the font that held happier times for the man she loved.
A summer afternoon with Will when the allure of a cool pond to escape the hot sun was too much to resist and the punishment worth the fun. They'd been in a different world. Brother and sister adventuring across Thedas searching for treasures lost upon the bottom of the ocean. They'd found all manner of things, though pretty rocks had been their favorite treasure. Now, she truly did possess a priceless treasure; the small coin in the palm of her hand a symbol of the greatest gift she could ever receive: Cullen's devotion.
She broke the surface when her lungs burned for air to find Cullen sitting on the edge of the pier, shaking his head despite the crooked smile on his mouth. She smiled back before swimming toward him. As she reached the pier, she pulled herself up to rest on her elbows as she kicked her legs in the water. The air was freezing as it blew through her wet clothes and kissed her damp skin, but she found she was too exhilarated to care.
Cullen leaned over, lips stopping a breath away from hers, "Enjoying yourself?"
She flashed an impish grin. "Not yet."
Trying to outwit him, she threw her arms around his neck and made to pull him in only to find him a solid, unyielding force. Instead of pulling him in, he pulled her partway out of the water. Their chests pressed together, his thighs against her hips and hands on her waist, she found herself suddenly very aware of his body as his body heat radiated through her wet clothes. Her skin tingling at it and making her very aware of every inch of her that was touching him. She found she rather liked how they fit together, complimented each other, despite the blush that bloomed at the thought.
His eyes smoldered and his voice turned husky as he said, "You've a wild heart, Ana Trevelyan."
That roughness in his voice made her heart beat a little faster. Her lips parted as his arms wrapped around her. In a swift, strong move he stood and pulled her up from the water with him as if she weighed nothing before his mouth slanted over hers with such tenderness it took what little breath was left in her lungs away. Her hands fell to his chest where she felt the even thud of his heart and the steady rhythm of his breathing. A contrast to the turmoil in her. It was a pleasant sensation to be so close to him, to feel his warmth, to feel him.
There was something more between them now. The want of something more. Even she felt it growing heavy on the air. In a moment of boldness, she grabbed onto his tunic and curved herself into him. As she did, she felt the muscled planes of his body once more and heat lanced through her. His hands moved from her waist to spread across her back and hold her closer as he deepened the kiss. A chill wind ripped through the clearing and caused her to shiver in his arms.
He broke away to rub heat into her arms. "You must be freezing."
Unwilling to admit that she didn't believe it was entirely the cold, she murmured, "A little."
She tried to make sense of the feelings she could no longer ignore, but did not fully understand, as he walked her off the pier and onto the shore. She sat upon the ground and thanked Cullen as he removed his jacket and wrapped it tightly around her. Taking a few moments to gather some fallen limbs, he returned. Breaking the larger pieces over his thigh until he had enough to build a fire, Cullen set about arranging the wood appropriately.
"Would you mind?" he asked when finished.
With a flick of her fingers, a fire sparked to life and quickly ignited into a pleasant campfire. Ana was now very aware of him as he sat down beside her so that his back was to the fire and his hip was pressed against hers. Cullen's bare fingers brushed her cheek for the briefest moment as he moved a thick strand of wet hair off her face and curled it around her ear. The touch left heat in its wake, reigniting the fire in her blood that seemed to sink lower to join the small flame that was steadily growing. His arm fell protectively across her as his hand pressed against the earth to hold himself up. For a moment, he simply drank her in as the firelight danced upon her skin before looking away.
"I swam in this lake shortly before I left. The way you ran and jumped in reminded me of Branson. He was always so carefree and wanting us to laugh," He chortled at the memory. "Mia was too dignified. Rosalie too shy."
Ana was grateful for the distraction of conversation, not quite trusting herself as her every nerve felt awake being so close to him. "And you?"
He flashed a conspiratorial grin as he studied her from the corner of his eye. "I often tossed Mia in as recompense for whatever slight she'd delivered as my elder sister earlier in the day. Bran would help. But the girls would always conspire to deliver payback in their own ways."
Ana laughed merrily at the admission. "Your family sounds wonderful."
He faced her then, his countenance softening. "They are." His smile fell a little. "I wish I hadn't forgotten that."
"Do you write to them more often now?"
His eyes flicked up to meet hers, the firelight turning them to gold. "I do. It will take some time, but…I am grateful that Mia never gave up on me."
Ana's eyes flicked between his own. "She cared too much to let you go."
His brows rose as a lopsided smirk pulled his scar. "Or it was simply her stubborn Fereldan nature winning out."
Ana swallowed hard as her cheeks heated. "I can assure you it wasn't."
He studied her face. "And I do not understand why," he admitted. They both knew they were no longer talking about Mia.
Tentatively, she placed a hand on his cheek, recalling his words about how it was a miracle he was even alive. Thank you, my Lady. "Because you have suffered enough."
He looked at her with such adoration and the barest hint of disbelief as his lips pulled in a soft smile. She found it so endearing that her gaze dropped to his mouth and she leaned forward to kiss him. Just before their lips met, he had slightly parted his own in anticipation. Despite it, despite what was in the air between them, the kiss was achingly gentle. His lips were barely pressed against hers, yet she could sense the desire simmering just beneath. Stronger than the kiss they'd shared upon the pier because of how aware she was of it now.
It made Ana's heart race in earnest.
She pulled away, her innocence winning out, only to be stopped by Cullen's strong hands cupping her neck as his whole body leaned into her, his thumbs caressing her jaw as the tip of his nose skimmed her own. His touch fanned that flame into something stronger. More intense. Eyes closed and breathless, she tilted her chin to meet his mouth once more, eager to taste that yearning that was a reflection of her own.
She sensed as Cullen released the damper on his temperance just a bit as his lips became more assured and he tilted her head for better purchase. Readily, if shyly, she yielded to his lead and opened her mouth to him. He stilled for just a moment before he drank her in as a man dying of thirst. A brush of his thumbs along her jaw coaxed the barest noise from her throat. The passion in his kiss was tender yet unyielding. The same contrast as the man who held her in his hands.
The man who’d all but declared not only his love for her, but hinted at a want for this to be his future. The man to whom her heart belonged. To whom she wanted it to belong to forever.
As he deepened the kiss even more, the depths of his feelings pouring into her, Ana's lips moved in harmony with him. She felt nothing short of alive; nervous excitement tingling everywhere their touch met and spreading throughout her entire being. The flame had grown to a conflagration as it set her blood aflame. The pleasant sensation grew and grew until her whole body shivered again.
He gentled at it. His calloused hands, sensuously rough against her soft skin, swept up the column of her throat to cup her face as he simply savored the moment and the feel of her lips against his. Breaking, his nose skimmed the entirety of her own as their shaky breaths mingled.
"We should retire for the night, right?" He all but whispered.
"We should," Ana breathed, her voice hitching.
A last lingering kiss, he stood and helped her up. Entwining their fingers, he brought the back of her hand to his lips before looking over at her. His brow knitted as he observed, "You're completely dry."
Ana looked down to realize he was right. She cleared her throat. "I…might have been too distracted to entirely stop my fire magic."
"It did occur to me that your lips were rather warm." The words out, his hand flew to the back of his neck. "I, uh, I mean…Maker's breath."
Ana laughed heartily as she wrapped herself around his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder.