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

Forethought

29 Bloomingtide, 9:42

Antonia had made the right choice in deciding to help out the surgeons. Wounded were pouring in from the Wilds, most of them those who had been injured in the early part of the fighting who had had time to get back to Skyhold. She mechanically performed the tasks the surgeons assigned her, glad to see that her presence seemed to help the soldiers; so many of them were awed by the idea that the Inquisitor herself was washing and dressing their wounds.

She tried not to talk to them about the battle, eventually preferring to work on the ones who came in unconscious and couldn't ask her questions. Basic tasks were fine; but anything requiring thought touched on the great gaping wound in her mind and heart that she didn't dare come near, not until she was too exhausted to do anything else. And despite the long day of combat and all the emotions that had filled her throughout the course of it, she was still not quite that tired yet.

How long she had been working she didn't know—long enough to refuse any number of cups of tea, trays of food, and breaks urged on her by various well-meaning people. Varric stayed with her and kept people from asking her questions, and Phoenix lay in a corner, his ears alert and his eyes on her as she worked.

Early the second morning, a group of wounded came in through the gates, and Antonia was busy trying to figure out how they were going to squeeze in any more beds when she heard Varric say, hoarsely, "Well, I'll be a nug's uncle." He called to her. "Antonia. Turn around."

His voice was urgent, and his use of her first name had her snapping her head around toward him. He motioned toward the gates. Antonia followed his gaze, and she froze. Standing by a lathered, weary horse, looking around—looking, no doubt, for her—was a familiar form she had never expected to see again. Her gaze moved slowly upward, taking stock: thick boots; long cape; breastplate; fur collar; blond hair ... Antonia's mouth moved, forming his name, but her voice didn't seem to want to work. Her legs did, carrying her forward without her being entirely aware that they were doing so.

At some point she remembered how to use her voice. "Cullen!"

He turned to look at her, and she barely registered a look of relief and then consternation on his face before she had launched herself into his arms, her own arms and legs wrapped tightly around him. She buried her face in the fur, trying to assure herself she wasn't dreaming. Heated skin; beloved voice in her ear; gentle hands, all familiar and loved and not dead.

"Love, what's wrong? Antonia?"

Eventually she managed to let go, looking up at him and letting her hands touch his face in further reassurance. "Are you real?"

"Shall I bite you to prove it?" he asked very softly in her ear so as not to be heard by those around them.

Dimly through the haze of relief Antonia remembered that was her usual response to him asking the same question, and somehow that broke the dam. The tears she had held back all day came now, and she sobbed in his arms.

Next to her, she heard Varric's quiet voice in explanation. "They told us you were dead. Red Templar arrow. Glad to see rumor was its usual lying self."

"Maker." Cullen's arms tightened around her, holding her close against him. "I did get hit by an arrow, but it only knocked me down for a minute. When did you hear such a thing?"

"Early in the day. Before—before everything," Varric said. "You should have seen her. You would have been proud of how she held up."

"I'm always proud of her." Cullen rested his cheek against her hair, rocking her gently back and forth. "I'm all right, love."

Antonia pulled herself together, aware that she was making a tremendous spectacle of herself amidst all the soldiers who had come in with Cullen and who were no doubt staring at the big, strong Inquisitor crying like a very small child. She swiped at her face with both hands. "Thank the Maker." At last she was able to look up into his eyes, able to really make herself understand that he was there, whole and in one piece and alive. "You were hit?"

He pointed to a sizeable dent in his breastplate.

She touched it gently. "Did I say I hated this thing? I love it. It's my favorite thing ever."

Cullen chuckled, taking both of her hands in his and kissing them. "Are you all right now?"

"I think so. That was—Maker." Then, before she could stop to think about the ramifications or all the fears that had kept her from it before, she gripped his hands more tightly and said, "Marry me, Cullen."

His eyebrows flew up, his breath hitching, but instead of answering he stood there staring at her with a very odd look on his face. Antonia was confused—she wouldn't have expected it to be that difficult a question, even if she hadn't intended to ask it. Then Cullen laughed. "Shouldn't you get down on one knee?"

She smiled. "I suppose. For that matter, I don't have a ring, either. It was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"Well, then, in that case ..." Cullen let go of her hands, and reached into his pocket. "Perhaps you could let someone with a little more forethought show you how it's done?" He withdrew a small velvet bag, and Antonia put a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, you had a plan! And I completely stepped on it, didn't I? I'm sorry!"

He gave her a mock frown. "You think you want to marry me and you didn't know I had a plan? Perhaps I should be rethinking this."

"No! No, you don't have to rethink anything. I was ... out of my head. Stressful day," she reminded him.

"Yes, that's true. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, in that case." He grinned at her. "Besides, the weakest part of my plan was the part where I had to convince you to say yes, so you've actually been a big help." Taking a deep breath, he got down on the requisite knee, holding her hands in his.

Antonia couldn't help it. "Yes!"

A laugh went through the crowd that had indeed gathered around them, entirely unnoticed by both of them up until now.

Cullen groaned, pressing his face against the back of her hands. "Now, all we need is—"

"Commander!" Eustace put in helpfully, grinning widely. With all her focus on Cullen, Antonia hadn't even seen him, or Lucky, who sat next to Phoenix, both of them grinning doggy grins.

"There he is." Cullen nodded. "Now, it's perfect." He shook his head, but he was smiling. "I had a whole speech, and it was very moving, but at this rate that would take us until the next age. So ..." He wasn't smiling now; the look in his eyes made Antonia tremble. "Antonia Trevelyan, light of my life, will you marry me?"

She nodded. "Yes, please," she whispered.

Between his shaking hands and hers, it was another production getting the simple but beautiful band of carved dragonbone out of the little velvet bag and onto her finger, but at last they managed it, and then she was pulling him up to his feet, and his arms were around her and his mouth seeking hers, sealing the promise with a kiss. Around them the assembled soldiers were cheering and catcalling and applauding.

At last she broke the kiss, turning to face her people. "I think we've all deserved a celebration. Ale and wine will be on tap tonight, as our gift to you. We couldn't have made it through today without all of you." Suddenly a wave of dizziness and exhaustion came over her, and if Cullen hadn't been there to catch her, she would have fallen.

"She hasn't slept a wink since ..." Varric said to Cullen, who bent and slipped his arm under her knees, picking her up.

"The Inquisitor is going to get some sleep. I recommend you all do, as well," he said. "The ale will still be there when everyone's rested again."

Antonia was only vaguely aware of the crowd parting to let him through, of the dogs trotting after them, and she was asleep in his arms long before they made it to her quarters.