This work is also posted on my A03 account. The link to which can be found on my profile. Please check there if you wish to see the link to the original prompt

This work has not been proofread or edited by anyone other than myself. I acknowledge and apologize for any errors still present

Of all the great men in the world who could ever compete for her hand, the Inquisitor's betrothed just had to be him. Sebastian Vael or rather Prince Vael, as he was now to be called, was nothing if not a sign that the Maker had it out for Cullen. Not only would he have to sit by and watch as the woman he lov-, cared fo-, thought-of-highly was married off, he'd have to watch while it was his friend was the who did it.

In the end, all Cullen could do was watch jealously as the Inquisitor and Sebastian walked side by side, away from him.

He swallowed hard, grit his teeth together and turned on his heel. He forced his legs to move, though each step felt like he was moving through the Ferelden mud. The walk up the ancient stone stairs and across the battlements towards his office was painful. He willed his eyes to remain straightforward, lest he show a poor example to his soldiers. He was the Commander and he needed to be unflappable to them, a picture of stoicism and cool control, not a silly, foolish man.

Cullen had managed to get inside, shut the door and collapse against it for at least thirty seconds before the second door burst open. He jumped from the sudden sound and groaned as over Sera, Blackwall and Dorian strode inside his small office. Sera walked across the room and immediately perched herself on his desk while Blackwall rested himself against the other door, crossing his arms over his chest. Dorian stole Cullen's chair, crossing his hands behind his head as he rested his feet against the edge of the desk.

"What do you want?" Cullen asked tiredly.

"How are you holding up, Commander?" Dorian asked in a tone softer than Cullen would have expected the man to use.

Cullen blinked. "Fine, why do you ask?"

"Saw your Prince down there," Sera replied. "Wanted to know what you're gonna do about 'im."

"I don't quite follow."

"Come on, Cullen. You'd have to be blind to see the way you look at the Inquisitor," Blackwall said, chuckling.

Cullen sighed and rose from the doorway. He gripped the sides of his coat and adjusted the fabric against his armored frame. "Well, you are quite mistaken. I feel nothing for the Inquisitor beyond the feelings of respect and admiration for her work in the service of Thedas."

"Oh I see," Dorian said, a smirk curling on his features. "If you say it enough times, you hope that you'll believe it?"

The Commander felt his cheeks grow hot and he prayed to the Maker that he wasn't turning bright red under their careful scrutiny. "Even if I had feelings for the Inquisitor, I would never be so bold as to believe myself in any way worthy of her affection. She is a remarkable woman to be sure but, she is a noble-born lady and I am nothing outside of the Inquisition."

"You're a good man."

"Many people care that I am nothing," Cullen replied, looking away from the group. "Her parents, the Chantry, the rest of the Thedas nobility and perhaps even Trevel- I mean, the Inquisitor herself."

His three unwelcome guests all rose to standing positions simultaneously and burst into passionate protests:

"That's a load of-"

"Now really, Comman-"

"You can't just giv-"

"Enough!" Cullen cried, holding his hands up to silence them. "The Inquisitor's family has arranged her marriage to Prince Vael, there is nothing to be done about it."

Dorian rose from Cullen's chair, grabbed Sera and pulled her towards Blackwall at the door. "Well, Commander, should you change your mind. You know where to find us."

Cullen watched as the three of them left his office and let their words mull in his mind. He went to his desk and sat, resting his elbows on the hard wood surface. Cradling his face in his hands, he let out a soft, exasperated sigh. Even if he were a noble, why would Trevelyan choose him over Vael? Cullen was a wreck, wracked with want for that Maker-damned lyrium. Vael was whole where he was broken, full where Cullen was empty, bright to Cullen's dark and could offer Trevelyan the world. Everything that Cullen owned fit into a single chamber. Were he in the same social sphere as the Inquisitor, how would he even set about trying to court her?

He sighed and straightened himself in his chair as he took a report off of his desk and forced himself to focus on it. There was little point in pining for a woman that would never be his.

. . .

The following day Trevelyan rose early, grabbing her bow and fled the restrictive confines of the stone walls before the rest of the castle, save for the serving staff, had begun to stir. She took a quick detour through the kitchen and gratefully took a pastry from the flustered cook and made her way out to the archery target that had been set up for her use. As soon as the cold, morning air hit her skin, she felt the grip of anxiety loosen its hold. With a small smile on her face, she took off at a run across the courtyard. Her feet flew across the open space, her soft boots made even softer crunching sounds through the broken stones and dew-covered blades of grass. She stuffed the pastry into her mouth as she moved, knowing there was no one around to judge her boorish manners.

It was longer a longer run, down the stairs leading from the kitchen, across the small market area and back up the stairs in front of the tavern but the exhilaration of feeling the wind against her skin made the last of the tension ease from her shoulders. When she finally made it to the small training area behind the tavern, Trevelyan felt as she had before her mother's letter had made its way into her life. She took the quiver of arrows she'd tucked into a small nook in the brick wall of the tavern and swung the leather over her shoulder.

She rolled head around on her neck and breathed slowly, in and out before hoisting her bow. She squeezed the grip, causing the soft leather to squeak under the pressure of her hold. Staring down the sights, she pushed every other thought from her mind. Gone was her mother, the letter and the arranged marriage; gone was Prince Vael, his piercing blue eyes and the incredible gesture of him walking up the path; and gone was Cullen, that scar on his lip and the way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was nervous. Her entire existence was nothing more than a series of movements pulled from her muscle memory.

Trevelyan lifted her hand behind her head, grasped an arrow and nocked it. She pulled the bowstring back until her fingers curled around the string touched her cheek, stared down through the sights, and lined up her shot. Letting her breath flow out through her teeth, she loosed the arrow and watched as it slammed into the target in front of her with a resounding thud, just an inch short of the bull's eye. She didn't think as she pulled another arrow from the quiver, nocked it and loosed it in short succession. Her second attempt landed just inside the red ring, but she didn't stop to celebrate. Instead, another arrow was pulled from the quiver and the process repeated.

Seven arrows flew into the target before she finally sighed and lowered her bow. Two of the shots had gone wide as little niggling thoughts had attempted to invade her mind. One shot, she was particularly proud, had managed to hit nearly dead center. Trevelyan set her bow down and went to retrieve her arrows. With the arrows safely returned to the quiver, she began the process over again. Trevelyan was so absorbed in her task and the effort of keeping her mind free, she didn't hear the sounds of dirt and stone crunching beneath boots behind her.

"You're an archer?" a man with an astonished brogue asked her. Trevelyan's concentration shattered and she dropped the bowstring in surprise, causing the arrow to arc wide and completely miss the target. She whirled around, cheeks burning hot with the shame. Prince Vael stood before her and before she could open her mouth to reply, his face contorted in something akin to embarrassment. "Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry, my lady. I thought you heard me approach."

She swallowed and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "No, I'm afraid I was quite…absorbed. But it's quite all right, Prince Vael."

"Please, call me Sebastian."

. . .

Letting out a soft breath, Sebastian surveyed the courtyard below him from the balcony in his quarters. It was early, the sun barely up and the wind still wet from the night. The Prince let his mind wander as the sun kissed the skin of his cheeks and the mountain air rustled a few strands of his light brown hair.

Skyhold was every bit the wonder that Sebastian had heard and the Inquisitor was every bit the beauty her mother had promised. Even through their limited interaction, Sebastian could see that Trevelyan was a woman worthy of the praise lavished upon her. She'd maintained a gracious and cool manner, even with the awkwardness of their meeting. Skyhold was her domain and Sebastian knew his presence was disruptive, but Trevelyan had hid it well. It was an admirable quality and an uncommon one.

His swiftly moving current of thoughts haltered as he watched the figure of a woman sprint across the courtyard below him. She had a bow slung over her shoulder and from her clothing, he could tell she wasn't an Inquisition soldier. Suddenly giddy, he realized that there had to be a practice range nearby and he was eager to get some exercise and practice in. He donned his shining white armor, picked up his Starkhaven bow and took off in a jog out of the castle and into the direction he'd seen the woman.

The familiar thunk of arrows hitting a target hit his ears as he neared the area he'd been told was a tavern. Tucked just out of sight he could see the target range and a woman standing in front of it, aiming her bow. As she let go of her bowstring and loosed her arrow, she tossed her head back and Sebastian realized with a start that the woman was in fact, the Lady Inquisitor. He watched her carefully as she pulled another arrow from her quiver and nocked it.

Sebastian felt himself smiling as he asked, "you're an archer?"

Her concentration seemed to shatter as she dropped the string and her arrow went wide. Hot shame seemed to pool in his cheeks as he stumbled over himself to apologize. Her stormy features relaxed a little as she accepted his apology and when he asked her to call him by his Andrastrian name, she seemed to relax completely.

"Very well, Sebastian. My friends call me Trevelyan."

He grinned brighter in spite of himself and quickly coughed to duck his head and cover his cheeks that he was sure were burning bright red. He cleared his throat and gestured to the target range behind her, "your mother didn't mention that you're an archer."

She laughed at that. "She wouldn't. My mother wouldn't consider anything martial important enough to recommend me."

Sebastian stuck his thumb in the direction of the bow slung over his shoulder. "It's important to me."

The polite smile on her face slid and for a moment, Sebastian swore he saw the real Trevelyan with a gentle but astonished smile on her face. Her eyes drifted across his weapon and without a word, he reached behind him to pull it from his shoulder. He held it out for her. Sebastian couldn't fight the warm, stirring feeling in the pit of his belly as he watched her small hands drift across the surface of his bow.

"This is a beautiful weapon," she murmured as she lifted the bow, testing its weight.

"It belonged to my grandfather," he explained. "The bow is the wise man's weapon, he always said."

Trevelyan smiled genuinely and handed his bow back to him.

"Mine is far less grand, I'm afraid." She retrieved her bow from the ground and held it up for him. It was a simple longbow, with plain wood and a leather grip. "I've been meaning to commission Harritt for a better one. I actually had a nicer bow, but it was destroyed when Corypheus was defeated. I don't know if I have the heart to replace it."

"This is still a fine weapon and really, it's the archer that matters. The fastest arrow from finest bow in all of the Thedas would still miss if loosed by a poor archer."

"I suppose that is true. Are you-"

Her sentence was cut short by the arrival of an Inquisition soldier, armed with a stack of papers. The young man looked embarrassed as he shoved the papers into Trevelyan's hands. The messenger's cheeks were tinged pink as he nervously glanced between Sebastian and Trevelyan. Despite the interruption, the man seemed too nervous for Sebastian to be upset. He offered the man a kind smile, which only seemed to further mortify the messenger.

"Begging your pardon my lady, I have an urgent report for you to read."

The Inquisitor had little choice but to accept the papers from his shaking hands. Chewing on her bottom lip, she rifled quickly through the pages. Her eyes scanned over each line of text carefully but occasionally flicked back up to the messenger. Finally she said, "These are kitchen requisitions."

The young man stammered, "Y-yes, I was told that you n-needed to see them."

She sighed and handed the papers out for him to take. "I'm quite sure that the kitchen is in good hands, thank you Jim."

"Oh, Inquisitor, I-I was also supposed to tell you that," he hesitated, as if searching for his words. "That, uh, Commander Cullen wishes you to be present for the uh, troop inspection this morning."

"Oh? That's odd, he's never asked me to attend an inspection before," Trevelyan murmured thoughtfully. She gave a soft shrug, "very well, tell the Commander I'll be there."

"Do you mind if I join you? I'd love to see the troops in their colors."

For a brief moment, he thought he heard the messenger heave a weary sigh. But no, Sebastian had to have just been imagining things.

. . .

The brisk morning air did wonders to push the remnants of the nightmares away from Cullen's mind. He took a stroll across the battlements every morning to rouse his tired body awake and to refresh his mind. If his route happened to take him right near the small archery range by the tavern at the same time the Inquisitor was usually out practicing, it was purely coincidence. He tried to only watch as he passed by, rather than seeking her out and stopping to stare. There was a fine line, he knew, between admiration and discomfort.

He enjoyed the moments he got to see her holding her bow. Cullen could remember all to well the look of heartache on her face when her old bow had been found smashed in the aftermath of the battle. She made due with a plain longbow, but Cullen knew she longed for something as grand as her last weapon. She was graceful when she had a bow in her hand, but there was a certain strength in the way that she lifted her arms that spoke of her dedication to her martial training. He wished that he could go down to the training area with her, watch her up close as her arrows sunk into the targets.

Cullen paused, realizing that instead of the familiar thunk of her arrows hitting their marks, he heard laughter. He whirled around in the direction of the range, dropping all pretenses. Below the courtyard he could see the familiar white armor of Sebastian Vael shining in the morning sunlight. He was walking side by side with Trevelyan, the pair laughing at whatever they were discussion. All he could do was watch as Sebastian bent low, picked a small dandelion, and held it out to the Inquisitor. Cullen cursed under his breath and forced himself to turn away from the scene. He paced swiftly, a few strides in each direction before he nodded to himself. He took off in a great stride towards the Inquisition quarters.

Standing in front of a wooden door, identical to each door across the entire corridor, Cullen raised his gloved hand and knocked twice. "Dorian, I've changed my mind."

As I said on a03, I stayed up all night to get this finished for Cullen Week. If you notice anything strange, that's why! Thank you so much for reading.

As always, you can find me on my tumblr. The link to which is on my profile page. 3