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

Never Again

29 Solace, 9:44

She was sleeping, at last. Cullen lay next to his wife, watching her tenderly. She had cried for hours, or so it felt, on learning what it had cost her to be rid of the Anchor forever.

Cullen had held her and reassured her and promised her that they would find a way. But there was no way, and she knew it as well as he did.

Now that she was asleep, he was free to admit to himself what he hadn't even dared to think while she was awake: that he was relieved. The Anchor was gone. It couldn't jeopardize her life any further. And ... now that she could no longer wield a two-handed blade, she could no longer be asked to put her life in danger on behalf of the Inquisition, or anyone else. Selfish it may be—and as a soldier and a swordsman, he entirely understood the devastation of no longer being able to use her skills—but her life and her safety were the most important things in the world to him. He had feared her loss so many times.

Gently, he gathered her closer, resting his cheek on her hair, letting one hand steal across her stomach to cover the faint rise where their child slept. "Maker forgive me," he whispered. Because all that mattered to him, truly, was going home to their son and living in peace for the rest of their lives. Was it so much to ask?

He fell asleep with her in his arms, and woke to Antonia's movements as dawn broke, the light coming in through the windows.

She was up and beginning to struggle into her uniform one-handed before Cullen could dispel the haze of sleep.

"Let me help you, love."

She shook her head, not looking at him. "I can manage."

"I know you can, but it's ... it's going to take some getting used to. And I would be glad to help."

Antonia stopped what she was doing. "Cullen." Fresh tears were flowing down her cheeks, and he practically leaped out of the bed to hold her. "I didn't—I didn't want it this way."

"Of course you didn't."

"Do you think he did it to punish me?"

"No." Little as Cullen cared for Solas, he couldn't imagine the elf being needlessly cruel this way. "I think he didn't have any other way to remove the Anchor. Remember, Corypheus couldn't take it off at all. I think Solas did the best for you that he could."

"Why? Why would he bother, if he's just going to destroy the world anyway?"

She had managed to get that out between sobs last night, and Cullen had pushed it out of his mind in favor of the more immediate necessity of comforting her as best he could. Now it all came flooding back, Solas as Fen'Harel, bent on restoring the world of the elves no matter what it cost the other races of Thedas. "You said he was willing to be convinced."

"'Willing' is putting it strongly. He's absolutely certain he's right; he just doesn't mind my spending what time he allows me to have trying to convince him." Antonia rubbed her face against Cullen's shoulder. "I'm so tired, Cullen. I—If I tell you something, will you ... can you forgive me for it?"

"Of course. Always."

"I don't want to fight anymore. I don't ... I don't want to run the Inquisition anymore. I don't even want to know what Solas is doing. I just want to go home to our little boy, and have our baby, and just ... be."

Cullen tipped her chin gently up with one finger. "So do I, my light. So do I."

"Then—can we do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can we ... just quit?"

"If that's what you want. The Inquisition has done its job—we defeated Corypheus, we saw order restored in the Chantry. Now, between Orlais and Ferelden and the Imperium and the elves ... it may just be that the Inquisition is no longer what Thedas requires."

Her brown eyes studied his face, light rising in them like the dawn. "Yes. Oh, Cullen, I love you so much."

He pulled her close against him, closing his eyes, reveling in the knowledge that she was his now entirely, that he never again had to watch her go into battle and wonder if she was coming home. "I love you, too."