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

The Light

24 Wintersend, 9:42

Cullen meandered along the battlements, looking up at the stars. It was a beautiful night, and he was for once happy to be alone in it. He was happy in general. The past week with Antonia, and the months before that, had been the best of his life. He had a job that challenged him, that made a difference in the world and helped people, and now he had a woman to share it all with—a woman whose like he had never met before. He still couldn't quite believe that she loved him.

She certainly did her best to prove it to him, however. He shivered in remembered response at the thought of her kisses, her touch, the sounds she made. Cullen was not a stranger to physical passion, but nothing he had experienced in his life came close to what he felt with Antonia; what a difference it made to love the person you were with. And it wasn't just the love-making. Cuddling with her under the covers, their long talks in the depth of the night, waking from a nightmare safe in her arms ... He sighed with a contentment he had never expected to feel.

With some amusement, he thought of Mia's last letter, and how quickly she had pounced on his careless use of Antonia's first name. Mia had always been able to see right through him—he shouldn't have been surprised that she still could, despite the time and distance between them. He really owed her a good long letter. Maybe he would write her tonight. He would finish this round of the battlements and then head back to his office and try to keep his mind off what had happened there, on top of his desk, long enough to tell Mia everything.

Cullen was on the back side of the battlements now, used really only by the men on patrol. He was surprised, therefore, to hear a whimpering sound coming from somewhere ahead of him. At first, he thought it sounded like a puppy. Dogs had proliferated in Skyhold, appearing from somewhere, and being fed by the various soldiers and workers around the place. He hoped no one had brought a helpless puppy up here and left it. Cullen had his fair share of the Fereldan love of dogs—he had even considered getting Antonia a puppy for Wintersend. A mabari, naturally, who would be a guardian and a warrior for her when it grew up.

But this was no puppy. As he drew closer, he could tell it was a woman crying. The sound constricted his heart—he hated to hear anyone in pain. Cullen quickened his steps, closing in on the source of the sound.

And then he recognized the slender figure standing there, leaning against the battlements and weeping as if her heart was broken, and he stopped moving entirely. What in Thedas was Antonia doing up here on the battlements crying so desperately?

"Antonia," he called softly, not wanting to startle her. He hurried to her side.

She looked up at him, stricken, and for a moment he thought she was going to embrace him. Then she turned away, her shoulders shaking as she struggled to gain control, and failed utterly.

"What is it, love?" he asked, gently putting his hands on her shoulders and pulling her back against him. But she twisted away, burying her face in her hands.

Cullen was at a loss. He didn't know why she was crying, or if he had done something wrong, or if there was anything he could do to help, but he did know that he couldn't just stand here and leave her in misery and not do something to make it better.

She was gasping now, shuddering with the effort. "Please," she managed to get out. "I'll ... I'll be okay ... I just ... needed to be ... alone ..."

"If you think I can walk away and leave you like this, you're very much mistaken."

"You can't ... you can't fix this."

"I'm staying anyway. You can't get rid of me that easily," he said lightly, trying not to add to whatever burden she was struggling with.

Antonia put out a hand to the top of the battlement, holding herself up. "It's just ... everyone keeps ... keeps talking about the—the future, and ... and I ... all we did was go to a ball and not get killed, we didn't ... didn't defeat C-Corypheus, and I can't—can't do this alone."