A Surprise for Satinalia
A very merry (belated) Christmas to my good friend @angelfrost! Thanks for asking me about my Alistair phone case so we could squee about Dragon Age together. Here is a little something for you. (Alistair is not in it, but another of our favorite rare pairs is!)
Summary: When Josephine receives an anonymous gift, she knows it’s from a special someone, which leads her into the arms of a friend.
“Good night, everyone,” Josephine said, standing from her seat in the main hall. “Happy Satinalia.”
What remained of the Inner Circle at this late hour bade her the same with various levels of slurring.
With the exception of Leliana, of course; she’d had several too many drinks and spoke loudly enough so everyone present could hear. “It’s too early for bed unless you’re sharing it with someone!” She waggled her eyebrows up and down. “A certain commander, perhaps?”
“Leliana!” Josephine hissed, but the damage was done.
“She’s right,” Varric joined in, and oh, Maker, Josephine did not need this. “If anyone needs to relax with a nice roll in the hay, it’s Curly.”
Josephine’s eyes widened, and she felt her cheeks heat.
Leliana scoffed. “For all of your writing, you have no sense of …”
Her brow furrowed adorably, and in spite of everything, Josephine had to hold back a smile; Leliana hadn’t let herself drink this much in quite a while.
“Romance!” Leliana finished triumphantly. “You have no sense of romance, Varric. Josie deserves more than just a single night. She should be swept off her feet!”
Josephine buried her face in her hands, praying that one of those left might come to her rescue. But Dorian and Bull were far too interested in each other, and the Inquisitor had just sneaked off with Blackwall now the others were distracted with teasing her.
Varric shrugged into his ale. “The romance serial is not my best work. But be realistic, Nightingale. Does Curly seem like the type to sweep any woman off her feet? He’d probably die of embarrassment from just thinking about it.”
Leliana rolled her eyes. “Fereldan men are such prudes,” she agreed, pouting for a moment before brightening suddenly — and oh, yes, poor Leliana would be feeling her overindulgence tomorrow. “Which is why Josie should sweep him off his feet!”
“I will do no such thing,” Josephine said sternly, hoping her tone could convey her seriousness. “We are coworkers, and nothing more.”
In truth, she and Cullen had been dancing around each other for months now, flirting and laughing and speaking late into the night about everything and nothing at all. Their relationship, or lack thereof, was one of Leliana’s favorite teasing topics, even when she hadn’t been indulging. But while Josephine admired Cullen greatly and would have been lying if she said she wasn’t discouraged by his apparent lack of interest, she would not push. His struggle with lyrium was serious (if not well-known outside the advisers), and it would be unfair of her to demand or even request more from him.
Leliana looked crushed. “But Josie —”
“I’m off to bed now,” Josephine spoke over her. “Happy Satinalia again, and good night.”
Leliana let out a disappointed sigh, resting her chin morosely on one hand. “Good night, Josie.”
But just as Josephine headed turned to leave, she saw Varric pull out his notebook and a quill.
“So, Nightingale,” he said in a cheerfully innocent tone. “Is it true you fought alongside the king and queen of Ferelden during the Blight?”
Leliana perked up at once. “Oh, yes, but they were merely Wardens back then!”
With a smile at the idea that Leliana would be regretting more tomorrow morning than just how much alcohol she’d imbibed, Josephine headed toward the quiet solitude of her office.
Once the door had closed on the hall, she let out a soft, contented sigh. Today had, indeed, been a wonderful holiday, full of food and friends and laughter — and not a thought about work. All of Skyhold had joined the celebration, and she’d consumed so many mouth-watering desserts and rich wines that she felt she might burst. It was so important, in these difficult times, to remember that she had made wonderful friends here. That they, as well as the joy they’d celebrated together all day, were what the Inquisition was fighting for.
Truly, her only regret was that she had barely exchanged more than the greetings of the season with Cullen, who arrived late to the festivities and left just after dinner, claiming the excuse of a headache. Even though she’d decided not to pursue anything more with him, he was a good friend, and she’d hoped to spend some time celebrating with him. He did so need to rest and relax from work; she hoped he was getting that now.
Fortunately, she’d given him his gift the previous evening — a box of his favorite buttery sugar cookies, which she had baked herself. Though she had gifted him the cookies for his birthday as well, he once again seemed inordinately pleased with them. He had even reddened and apologized for his lack of a gift in return, but she’d assured him reciprocation was unnecessary. She’d left his office disappointed but not unhappy; he was not the sort of man to shower anyone with gifts, particularly female friends (likely due to the Fereldan prude in him), while she had always adored giving gifts to her friends and family.
Now at her desk, she set down the beautiful new quill and ink set that the Inquisitor had gifted her — a lovely collection of Antivan inks in nearly every color and a quill from each type of feathered animal the Inquisitor had killed. She adored each and every bit of it and found herself sorely tempted to sit down and compose a letter merely to try out the lovely purple ink, when she noticed a small package on her chair.
It was wrapped in simple brown paper with a beautiful, if inexpertly tied, red ribbon and accompanied by a plain card that read simply, To Josie. Happy Satinalia.
Intrigued, she picked up the parcel and sat. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, although that didn’t mean much; anyone could have written the card. Her stomach fluttered at the idea of a secret admirer. Why wouldn’t the giver have signed their name? There was something rather romantic about such a gesture.
She bit her lip and untied the ribbon, which was the only thing holding the brown paper in place. She gasped when she saw the contents.
It was a tin of her favorite Antivan tea.
With trembling fingers, she removed the lid and inhaled. Goosebumps traveled down her arms as memories of home flooded her mind — the sounds of the port as she watched her family’s ships come in, the smell of Mother’s favorite leather boots, the feelings of warmth when the family gathered around the table for dinner. Oh, how she missed them and her home country.
She caressed the tin with an almost religious devotion. Maker’s breath, how was it possible? The mage-templar war and now the fight against Corypheus had made trade difficult. On her last trip to Antiva just before she joined the Inquisition, she’d procured nearly a dozen tins, but they had been lost at Haven, and even with all of her connections and the weight of the Inquisition behind her she’d been unable to obtain any more. (Not that she’d spent much effort on something so trivial and personal with everything else they had to contend with.)
She inhaled again and actually giggled. Who could have managed this? Or rather, who could have managed this who also addressed her as Josie and knew of the tea’s importance to her? Leliana, of course, but she would never give such a gift anonymously, if for no other reason than she would have wanted to see Josephine’s face when she opened it.
She’d never mentioned the tea to the Inquisitor. Varric always called her Ruffles. The Iron Bull would have made himself known. No one else would have the connections.
In fact, no one called her Josie except for Leliana, the Inquisitor, and —
Oh.
Oh.
She’d been wrong.
This was not a romantic gesture at all.
~~~
As she approached the tower, she saw a light in the window.
So he was still awake, at least.
Good. She wasn’t sure she’d have the courage tomorrow, once the wine wore off.
With a deep breath to steady herself, she counted to three and knocked on the door.
She heard a chair scraping and footsteps, and then the door opened.
He was in a plain tunic and trousers rather than his armor, and his mouth was open and ready to say something (sternly, by the look on his face), but whatever he’d planned seemed to flee his mind upon seeing her standing there, and he simply gaped.
“Good evening, Cullen.”
“Josie!” He swallowed, inhaled to speak, and then shook himself before opening the door wider. “Please, come in.”
She smiled, heart pounding. “Thank you.”
His office was better lit than she’d often seen it; Cullen had a bad habit of letting the candles burn down until they snuffed themselves, so most of the time she had only seen it lit by a single, barely surviving stub. It looked bigger now, with several lit candles on the desk, one on top of the bookcase, and even one on a stand near the ladder that led up to his quarters.
What surprised her most, though, was the desk — usually strewn with haphazard piles of parchment, it was now clear of all paperwork save two tidy stacks. In the center sat a thick book with a mark only a few chapters in, while on either side of it sat a steaming mug of what looked and smelled like tea and the box of cookies she’d gifted him, open and emptier than when she left it last night.
“Enjoying a quiet night in?” Josephine asked.
The door clicked closed behind her, and Cullen rushed forward.
“I was — that is — I did have a headache earlier, and when I returned I made some tea in order to relieve it, and then I —”
Josephine held up a hand. Cullen immediately fell silent.
“It’s all right,” she said, smiling. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. I know that large crowds exacerbate your headaches, and you haven’t been feeling well lately anyway.” Her eyes drifted to his desk, taking in the comfort of the candlelight and the book and the tea and (her stomach swooped) her cookies and was that … ? Yes, it was a fuzzy and warm-looking blanket on the seat of his chair, as if he’d been wrapped in it until recently. A jolt of envy shot through her. “You must have been quite cozy. I’m sorry to interrupt.”
She returned her gaze to Cullen to find him rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did when nervous.
“I — uh — Did you need something?”
Did she? What was her purpose here, anyway? To confront him? To thank him? To demand why?
At her hesitation, his hand left his neck and reached out to her. “Are you all right?”
No — and yes. Oh, why did this have to be so difficult?
“I received a present this evening,” she said, in lieu of anything more polarizing.
“Just the one?” He cocked an eyebrow. “I could have sworn I saw you with half a dozen at dinner.”
She giggled and looked away, pressing her hands to her burning cheeks in order to cool them. Maker, what was it about that twinkle in his eyes that made her heart flutter so?
“I — yes, I did.” When she dared look at him again, he was gazing at her with that lopsided smile that did things to her insides. She cleared her throat. “There was one in particular, though, that was my favorite.”
His smile faltered for an instant, so quick she might have imagined it, and then he leaned toward her as if confessing a secret. “It was the Inquisitor’s, wasn’t it? She was quite proud of the Antivan inks she managed to procure. Did my eyes deceive me, or did I see a pink one?”
She grinned. “Your eyesight is perfectly fine. Though I’m rather fond of the purple, myself. I think I may begin color coding reports and letters by topic with them.”
Both his eyebrows rose. “Indeed? I look forward to seeing which you choose for military matters.”
A beautiful golden brown, she thought. To match your eyes.
“You’ll be the first to know,” she said, dropping her gaze. “But there was another gift. One I found on my chair when I returned to my office.”
“Oh?” His smile melted away at that, and though he was clearly still listening, she ached in its absence.
“Yes. It was a tin of my favorite tea.”
“What a thoughtful gift,” he said, tone giving nothing away.
“Indeed. I would thank the person, but I’m afraid they forgot to sign the note.”
“I … see.” In two words, everything on his face resembling emotion had been replaced by his cool, professional mask, and he began to walk back towards his desk. “Perhaps they wish to remain anonymous.”
Josephine’s heart quickened. Maybe she should let the topic drop. She’d told him it was her favorite gift and that she wished to thank her anonymous benefactor. Maybe that was enough.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “I suppose I just wonder why.”
Cullen stopped before his chair, leaning on his desk. Though he tried to hide it, she saw him shudder, and his face was a few shades paler than before.
It seemed he wasn’t as well as she’d previously (and rather unfairly) assumed.
“Perhaps …” He looked at her then, and though his smile was kind, it lacked its usual conviction. “Perhaps they wish for your focus to remain on the gift itself.”
Her stomach flipped. She tried to remain calm as her heart sped up, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded.
“So likely not from a secret admirer, then?” She had to breathe sooner than she expected, but turned it into a sigh. “I suppose I let my romantic Antivan imagination run away with me.”
Cullen’s cheeks pinked slightly, though it might have been due to his color returning naturally and not for any sort of emotional reason. “Were that the case, wouldn’t the greater romance be found in remaining ignorant of the person’s identity?”
She looked for a sign of humor, or that tell-tale twinkle that was her surest sign of intentional flirtation, but found none. Cullen was deathly serious.
Her heart sank. Perhaps she was mistaken after all and should have left him to his cozy evening of reading.
But even in error, diplomats never wavered, so she smiled and responded, “Oh, most certainly. My puzzlement lies not in the identity of the giver, but the reason for the gift itself.”
Cullen frowned, and his voice held a gently earnest concern she’d never heard before. “Is it so hard to believe that someone might wish to remind you of home?”
Biting her tongue to keep from smiling, she shook her head and frowned. “Who said the tea was Antivan?”
Something not unlike panic passed over his face for a moment until he yanked up his mask yet again. “You did. Unless your favorite tea has changed since you spoke of losing your precious few tins at Haven?”
Excellent. She had him now.
“It hasn’t,” she agreed, finding keeping a straight face difficult. “But there’s my difficulty. This anonymous admirer might have had better luck with a different gift … because only two people here know how special that tea is. Leliana is one of them.”
Cullen blinked for a moment, mouth agape. Then he lowered himself into his chair and tipped his head to her.
“I see I’ve been outwitted.” There was that twinkle in his eye. “Congratulations, Lady Montilyet. I concede that you have bested me.”
Josephine chuckled behind her hand, but only at his formality. As she approached his desk, her eyes began to sting.
“How?”
Cullen shrugged. “I asked Leliana in order to verify the proper name of the tea, which I gave to Varric. He did the rest.”
The bottom seemed to fall out of Josephine’s stomach. They had both known? Their seemingly spontaneous discussion in the hall must have been meticulously planned. Maker, Leliana had probably been faking her drunkenness! Oh, when she next saw those two …
But that was for tomorrow.
Tonight, she was here with Cullen.
“It must have cost you a fortune.”
“You have no idea.” Cullen shook his head. “Leliana has only teased me incessantly, but Varric extracted from me a promise of a future favor, no questions asked. It will no doubt cost me either my dignity or my morality. Quite possibly both.”
“Great sacrifices, indeed.” She couldn’t keep a straight face, but she kept her expression to only a giddy smile as she came to a stop in front of him. “Know that they will not be in vain and are deeply appreciated. But truly,” she added seriously, waiting until he met her gaze to continue. “It is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me. I adore it.”
Their height difference was such that she stood only a few inches taller than Cullen when he was sitting. Therefore, she had an up-close view of his cheeks and the exact shade of pink they flushed.
“I’m glad,” he said, looking slightly up at her.
And before she could think twice, she leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. She lingered for several seconds, and when she pulled away she could almost feel the heat his now-red cheeks emanated.
She held his gaze for a few moments longer. Maker, she could get lost in those amber eyes. But before she could determine what they were saying, they disappeared from view when he closed them and turned away with a swallow.
Disappointment slowed her pounding heart even as she scolded herself. She’d promised herself not to push him.
Taking a step back, she asked, in a voice far too soft and unsteady for her liking, “Why keep it a secret? We could have exchanged gifts last evening.”
Cullen glanced at her from the corner of his eye and shrugged. “I had intended it for your birthday. These remind me of home.” He motioned to the half-eaten box of cookies. “I thought you deserved the same. But last night you gave me these, so I decided not to wait.”
“But why —”
“Because …” Cullen sighed heavily, frustrated. “I didn’t want it to be a gift to you, from me. I just … wanted you to have it.”
Ah.
Her breathing slowed, and a dense feeling settled in her belly. She’d been correct, then.
“So not a romantic gesture.”
His head snapped up. “Certainly not.”
The words hit her like a punch to the gut, forcing air from her lungs in a sharp exhale. A knife slashed across her heart, and tears sprang to her eyes unbidden.
But ever the diplomat, she refused to show weakness. So she forced a laugh she didn’t feel and waved the foolish suggestion away.
“Of course. I thought not. I meant … the joke …”
It shouldn’t have hurt so much; she’d known since she deduced the tea was from him. But his words and tone stung with an unnecessary harshness that approached cruelty.
“Thank you again,” she nearly whispered. “And happy Satinalia, Cullen.”
She hurried to the door, ignoring the scrambling behind her.
“That’s not — I meant —”
Her hand was on the latch when he shouted.
“Josie, wait!”
It was the desperation in his voice that stopped her. She turned around to find him stumbling toward her before skidding to a halt several feet away.
“Please,” he begged, and if he wasn’t sincere, Josephine didn’t know him at all. “I meant this wasn’t — I didn’t want —”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them again to meet hers.
“The tea,” he said, much calmer now, “was never intended to be a romantic gesture. The cookies have helped me feel … less alone here, and I wanted you to have something to remind you of your home in the same way, untainted by our relationship. Or rather, by me.” He dropped his gaze and waved at himself. “For this exact reason.”
Tentative, he reached out to her. When she didn’t pull away, he took her hand, dwarfing it in his own before enveloping it in his other one.
“I never meant to imply that romantic gestures as a whole were — that I didn’t want — or, or, intend to, or —” He huffed in agitated frustration and froze, his gaze frantically roaming up and down her face. “Josie,” he breathed. “I want to —”
Josephine lurched to her tiptoes, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him with all the pent-up desperation of the past few months.
His arms wrapped around her in an instant, pulling her against his chest, one hand thrust into her hair while the fingers of the other splayed across the middle of her back.
Maker, kissing Cullen was more wonderful than she ever imagined. As a diplomat, she was always in control, ever needed but never welcome; while others kept their hands clean as they stomped on her toes, she was expected to take everything with a smile, a wave, and a thank you in the name of peace and prosperity.
But Cullen. Oh, he worshiped her like she was Andraste herself — clutching her as expertly as he gripped the sword and shield he wielded to protect; moaning into her mouth as beautifully as he sang the Chant; gripping her hair as tightly as he clasped his hands in prayer; blessing her with every nip at her lips, every swipe of his tongue, every shiver of pleasure that left goosebumps in its wake when she responded in kind.
For the first time in her life, she ceded control, allowed herself to live in the moment and see what could happen if she took a risk and placed her trust in someone else. She leaned so far into Cullen that she barely noticed when one of her feet popped up, leaving her balanced on only one leg. She trusted him to catch her, and he did, cradling her with such gentleness she felt almost weightless.
When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, he gazed at her with an expression so open and kind and vulnerable that her knees felt weak.
Fortunately, he had already caught her, and she knew he wouldn’t let her fall.
“That was … really nice,” he said, that lopsided smile lighting up his face and making Josephine feel lightheaded for reasons other than lack of air.
She smiled her happiest, most genuine smile. “How long have you wanted to do that?”
He chuckled, and she felt it rumble pleasantly in his chest. “Longer than I should admit.”
“Hmm.” She kissed him again, a quick one this time, and Maker, how had she survived so long without this? “Then we should definitely continue.”
“I quite agree,” he murmured, pressing his lips just below her earlobe and sending a shiver up her spine. “But over there, perhaps?” He nodded toward his desk. “I was rather cozy when you arrived, and with a beautiful woman in my lap, I’ll have everything I need.”
He cradled her head in his hand and kissed her just once, just gently, and it was her favorite one yet.
Thankfully, she still had enough of her faculties left to shake her head. “Not quite everything.”
His brow furrowed, but she kissed it smooth easily enough and extracted herself — regretfully — from his arms.
“Sit down and get cozy,” she said, smiling. “I’m going to make us some tea.”
