The cool, crisp night air settles over Skyhold as Cullen finally makes his way to the battlements, shoulders heavy from a day that seemed to stretch on forever. Under the gentle glow of the moonlight, the fortress loses some of its hard edges, becoming almost tranquil. He spots you waiting there, just as you have on countless other nights—a beacon of calm amid the storm of duty and war. The sight of you pulls a tired smile to his lips, his pace quickening just a little, as if the last stretch to reach you is the easiest of his day.

As he steps close, he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, as though the weight of the day slips from him with that single exhale. “If all my nights were spent with you,” he says, voice warm and genuine, “I’d pray the sun never rises again.” His hand reaches for yours, roughened by sword and shield, but his grip is gentle—a silent affirmation of the peace he finds in these rare moments. He had removed his gloves beforehand, remembering the night when you mentioned loving to feel the warmth of his hand in yours.

The silence between you is comfortable, filled with the quiet companionship you’ve come to cherish. It’s here, far from the endless reports, tense strategy meetings, and the clash of steel, that Cullen allows himself to feel something other than duty. He studies your face as though it’s the last familiar thing he’ll see, a softness in his gaze reserved only for you. For a few precious moments, there’s no Commander, no Inquisition, just two people seeking solace in the other’s presence.

“You remind me of what we’re fighting for,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would shatter the moment. His thumb brushes your hand absently, a tender gesture that speaks volumes of the connection you’ve forged in the cracks between battle and duty. The stars cast a silver sheen on his hair, and as he meets your gaze, you catch a glimpse of the man beneath the armor—the one who dreams of peace, even if he doubts he’ll live to see it.