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Perrine watched her Commander as he shifted in his seat for the tenth time in as many minutes. He was still paying attention to the discussion around the War Table, but she could tell he was struggling. The lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows were scored more deeply than usual, and purple shadows bloomed like bruises beneath his honey-colored eyes.
Frowning, she got to her feet, causing Leliana to stop talking and Josephine and Cullen to turn their gazes toward her. She cleared her throat.
“I think we’ve done enough for tonight, wouldn’t you say?” She indicated the guttering candle flames. “It’s late, and I’m sure we could all do with a good night’s sleep.”
“Of course, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, sharing a glance with the other advisors. He rose to his feet and grimaced, a hand going up to rub the back of his neck. “Indeed, it has been a long day.” He gathered his papers and nodded to her, then to the other women before turning and heading for the door.
Her eyes followed him as he opened the large War Room doors and disappeared into the hallway, and she missed the knowing look the other two women shared.
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Perrine stood outside Cullen’s tower contemplating whether or not she should go in. He was probably already in bed, and if he were already lying down, she didn’t want to make him get up. The man had looked dead on his feet.
She bit her lip and fussed with the buttons of her tunic. Only last week he had told her that he had quit lyrium, and from everything she knew about it, it had to be wearing on him, even If he didn’t insist on doing the work of 10 men.
Giving the door a soft knock, she slipped quietly inside. She shifted from foot to foot in the doorway for a moment — his office was quiet and dark. She frowned; he must be in bed — she should go. She was about to turn to leave when Cullen’s voice boomed down from his lofted bedroom.
“Who’s there!”
She froze. “It’s uh, me,” she squeaked, fidgeting with the buttons on her tunic.
“Inquisitor?” His question was accompanied by the sounds of movement overhead, and seconds later, candlelight pooled on the stone floor beside the ladder. Cullen appeared at the loft’s edge. He knelt at the top of the ladder and peered down at her. “Is there something the matter?”
“No, it’s just that I – I just wanted to see if you were all right…if you needed anything.”
Even in the dim light, she could see the smirk pulling at the scarred corner of his mouth. “Actually, there is something with which you can assist me, if you were so inclined, of course,” he said, getting to his feet. “Please come up.”
“A-all right.”
When she got up to his loft, she noticed two things: one was that the odor of elderflower and oakmoss permeated the air, and the other was that Cullen wasn’t wearing a shirt. He sat on the edge of his bed in nothing but a thin pair of cotton breeches that he probably slept in, and he held a small jar in his hand with a white paste inside of it.
For a minute, she was captivated by the sight of his muscular form: the wide shoulders and broad chest that tapered down to a slim waist. She had never seen him without a shirt, and Creators, he was magnificent! The muscles in his arms and chest rippled as he shifted on the bed, and her eyes were drawn to the soft golden down that covered his pectorals before narrowing into a thin line down his flat stomach and disappeared under his loose trousers.
The sound of him clearing his throat brought her out of her daze, and she flushed to the very tips of her pointed ears. “Uh, you needed something, Commander?”
He lifted one golden brow, and his smirk widened. “Ah, yes, Inquisitor. Would you terribly mind rubbing this cream into my neck and shoulders?” He rolled his shoulders and scowled, his cheeks tinged with red. ” I’m afraid the girl who usually does this for me could not attend me this eve.”
Her mind raced as she stood a few feet from the ladder, shuffling her feet. Her gaze flicked from him and the floor, then back again. He wanted her to touch him; to put her hands on his naked skin. Her heartbeat picked up its pace, a live thing thrumming in her chest and her vision narrowed to twin specks before she remembered to breathe. Gulping great swallows of air, she stepped closer to him on trembling knees.
“Okay,” she whispered as she accepted the jar from him.
She stepped behind him, her heart still fluttering madly in her chest. She stared at the broad expanse of his shoulders and back, thickly muscled from years of training and hard action. She had often wondered what his body would feel like, and here, now, she had the opportunity to find out. His lightly freckled skin turned golden in the candlelight and seemed to beckon her touch.
“Are you all right?” His voice interrupted her thoughts, and she became aware that she had been standing there doing nothing for too long. “You — you don’t have to do this if you don’t wish to.” He tried to turn his head to look at her, but winced and raised a hand to rub his neck.
Poor man, he was hurting, and here she was thinking about him in that way. “I’m fine,” she blurted, quickly dipping her fingers into the ointment in the jar and pulling out a glob of it. She lifted it to her nose before starting to work it into the skin of his neck. Before she could stop them, the words were out of her mouth. “This liniment is why you smell so good?”
He chuckled. “You like the way I smell? That is good to know,” he said, lowering his head to give her more access to his neck. “An apothecary in Kirkwall made it for me — I use it every morning and before bed, and I find it helps to keep my aches and pains manageable.”
“Is it the lyrium withdrawal?” She gathered more of the fragrant cream in her fingers and worked lower on his back, dragging her thumbs down his spine towards his shoulder blades and back up again. His skin was soft and warm, and his muscles were firm under her touch. The little pebbles of tension under his skin and in his muscles dissipated under her touch.
Cullen groaned. “Maker, that feels so good. Go just a little harder, if you please.” She did, and he continued, “I am sure the lyrium withdrawal isn’t helping matters, but,” he let out another groan, “I have been a soldier for many years, and a few aches and pains are quite natural at my age.”
“But you can’t be much more than thirty years of age,” she blurted and blushed. Luckily he couldn’t see her crimson cheeks from where he was sitting. Creators, the way this man made her feel!
“I’m five and thirty, actually, and quite old enough, I assure you.” He hummed his pleasure as her hands worked loose a stubborn knot between his shoulder blades. “Maker, I think I shall have to have you do this for me every morning and every night from now on. You have remarkable healing hands, my lady. Even my headache is waning.”
Her hands paused in their ministrations. He couldn’t be serious, could he? Not that she minded, exactly, but…”I-I..” she started to say when he turned toward her, color high on his cheeks.
“Oh, I –I only meant-I mean, I didn’t mean- Maker’s breath!” Cullen ran a hand over his face. ” Forgive me, Inquisitor, of course, I did not mean that you should attend me…only, your hands are the Maker’s gift, and I wished for you to know that.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it lightly, his eyes turned to molten gold in the candlelight. “Thank you for helping me tonight.”
Mythal’enaste, the way he looked at her just now, it made her heart flutter, and she was almost dizzy with the scent of the liniment and of him. What was he doing to her? He was her Commander and a shem; he was a decade older, as well. She could see her Keeper’s face scowl in disapproval if she were to bring such a one home. Then, she remembered that she had promised Solas that she would accompany him to the Dales. She would tell him they could leave as soon as he could be ready. It was best that she didn’t linger in Skyhold for a while — until she could exorcise these treacherous notions from her heart.
She straightened her posture and pulled her hand back from him, nearly crying at the loss of his touch. “You’re welcome, Commander,” she said. “I – I have…to go.” Without looking back, she turned and slid lithely down the ladder to his office and ran out of the door leading to the rotunda.
She didn’t see the crestfallen look on her Commander’s face, nor the way he’d watched her run away from him with mournful golden eyes.
~fin~