#refused to leave her quarters for several days afterward and refused to surrender cullen back to the army

[shivunin]

vibes into your ask

Cullen and Salshira- finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for . :3

Oh hi! <3

Had to take a minute to check what I'd written for them already! (I know pining usually is reserved for people who haven't been together romantically yet, but I took it in more of a 1800s-ish"I long for your touch" kind of way c: ):

After the Dark

Salshira kept pieces of Cullen with her always, in the form of the coin in her pocket, the mark on her jaw, and the ring on her finger. 

The first was a memory of the years he’d spent alone in his own darkness, as much as it was a gesture of love. The second was a tether, something that told her without a doubt that no matter how far away from each other they might be, Cullen was still alive and well. 

The third—well, that was the one she clung to all through those long, cold months in the dark caves of the Deep Roads. 

The Inquisitor pressed it to her lips late at night when it was her turn for watch, willing his presence here, willing herself to believe that the warm metal was somehow a link to him. The nightmares were awful down in the dark, in the deep. Every night, she was a child again, screaming for her best friend while the giant spider dragged her limp body into the depths. Every day, she fought through endless waves of darkspawn, stinking and foul and grinning endlessly. But in the evenings, in the quiet—in those moments, Salshira had Cullen, at least until it was time to curl up on the cot alone again.

They’d been so long in the dark that when they finally completed their mission and climbed back out again, Salshira’s eyes flinched away from direct light. She felt like she rode back to Skyhold with her eyes half-closed, wincing at the brightness of the sun on the snow, at the shine on the others’ newly clean armor. 

When at last they crossed over the drawbridge a week later, there was no pale form on the drawbridge as she’d expected. They’d sounded her party’s return; that was her flag going up on the ramparts. So where…?

Lavellan saw him as soon as she rounded the corner toward the stables. The Commander paced there, his usually neat hair mussed and all in curls at the sides. Both of his hands gripped the hilt of his sword, and he didn’t even seem to see her, so focused was he on scowling at the dirt. 

“Cullen,” she said as soon as her mount passed most of the vendors at their stalls, and had to clear her throat to try again when his name came out in a croak.

“Cullen,” Salshira called, and his head snapped up. 

She didn’t give him time to run for her. Instead, Salshira threw herself from the saddle, very nearly twisting her ankle when it caught in the stirrup. 

In an instant, all the clever words deserted her. All the little jokes she’d thought up on the road here, eyes squeezed shut against the unfamiliar light—all the things she’d wanted to ask him about how he’d been while she was gone—all of them deserted her. There was only him, taking her elbows when she nearly tripped in the process of throwing herself in his general direction. 

She couldn’t seem to see him. At first, she thought it was just the same sun-blindness, but no—it was  a haze of tears instead, when Salshira was loath to cry at all and doubly so in public. 

“Cullen,” she said again and again, the only sensible thing she could force out between her cracked lips. 

Cullen pressed his forehead to hers, murmuring words she couldn’t seem to make sense of— “missed you,” maybe, and, “Maker preserve me,” and her name, over and over. He held her so tightly; too tightly, maybe, with their breastplates shoved hard against each other, but Salshira couldn’t bring herself to care. She just rested her forehead against his and waited, the relief of having him here—actually him, not a piece of metal or a mark on her skin—too powerful for any other thoughts to sneak in around it. 

When they kissed at last, it was almost an accident. Cullen’s mouth still whispered words that might have been prayers or questions, her own trembling with unspoken emotion. 

It hurt, just a little. Not the kiss, which was achingly gentle as soon as he realized that’s what he was doing. No—it was the relief of being home again, in his arms where she ought to be. After months of fear, after that final battle all but on her own, it was almost more than she could stand to finally let it be over. 

“‘Ma sal’shiral,” she said at last when they could tear themselves away, and her fingers at last found the warm skin of his neck beneath the ruff and his armor, “How I have missed you.”

To her surprise, he laughed—a watery sort of laugh—and shook his head. 

“Love,” Cullen told her quietly, “You’ve no idea.”

There would be more words later; better words perhaps, or at least ones she’d planned to say. But here and now, their own stumbling attempts were enough so long as they held on tightly to one another. 

So long as they let go only as much as they must.