Chapter Text
Cullen had always risen with the dawn. When he was a child, it was expected that he would be up early to help his parents with the chores on the farm. As a Templar, it was just one of his many duties. As the Commander of the Inquisition’s army, it was the example he wanted to set for the men and women he commanded. No, waking as the sky began to lighten was a familiar part of his routine. What was unfamiliar was the heavy weight on his chest.
Cracking his eyes, last night came back to him. The Inquisitor – Saibra – had gotten drunk and dragged some of her friends to waken him with their singing. After escorting her back to her tower rooms, she had begged him to stay. He shouldn't have, should have considered her reputation. But she had been drunk, tearful and upset, the role they had thrust on her weighing heavily. How could he resist her pleading?
He had settled her under the covers, lying next to her on top of them, but sometime in the night she had wiggled out of them and crawled on top of him. She looked so peaceful, the sharp angles of her face softened with her hair down. He had seen her like that so rarely. As the Inquisitor, she was cool, professional and so put together. It was strange to see her hair loose and mussed from sleep but, at the same time, it was exactly as he had imagined. Maybe, now they were together, he could see her like this more often.
Carefully, lest he wake her, he raised one hand and trailed his fingers through the chestnut waves. It was as soft and silky as he had imagined. Though the smell of Qunari liquor from her breath wasn’t something that would have ever imagined. Nor was the way his other arm was going numb trapped underneath Saibra’s weight.
The dawn bell roused him a little further. He should leave. Saibra was the Inquisitor and the daughter of a noble house, even if she was a mage. Her reputation was precious and if he was caught leaving her rooms… he wasn’t sure whether he dreaded the scandal or Josephine’s scolding more.
He tried to gently manoeuvre out from under Saibra, but the arm draped over him clung tighter and she buried her nose into his neck. “Nice pillow,” she muttered, not opening her eyes. “Stay.” Her breath on his neck made him shiver with a longing for something he had not wanted in a very long time, even as he had to stifle a chuckle at her ordering him about like he was her pet mabari.
“This pillow has a job to do elsewhere,” he whispered before pressing a kiss to her hair.
“Nuh-uh.” Saibra’s voice was slurred with sleep. “My pillow.”
Cullen was certain by now that she wasn’t exactly awake. “Sorry, sweetling. Duty calls.” He gently but firmly extracted his chest and arm out from under her. Perched on the side of the bed, he watched as she flopped over onto her back and gave a gentle (and very unladylike snore) while he rubbed the feeling back into his arm. Padding quietly across the room he found a pitcher of water on a chair near the fireplace and a tankard on one of the bookshelves. He filled the tankard and left both on the table by the bed. When she truly woke, Saibra was going to have one monster of a hangover.
Right before he left the room, Cullen turned to gaze at the woman, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, snoring softly in the large bed. The pins and needles in his arm and any rebuke from Josie would be worth it, he decided. Being Saibra Trevelyan’s pillow isn’t so bad.