AN: So I had fun thinking about the confusion Cullen might have about loving a mage. I don't own DA:I; if I did, I might have delved a bit deeper into the emotions department. :)

Everyday Magic

For as much as Cullen told himself he had left his Templar life behind, he still started whenever a mage used magic around him; while a part of him was still fearful and weary of the arcane, another part of him was fascinated by it. Mages, on a whim, could shape the world around them and turn the tide of battle by harnessing forces of nature. It was terrifying to witness.

It was also exhilarating.

He knew that Ellana had much to do with his changing view of mages, for the dear Lady Inquisitor herself was a mage. He was fascinated with her; magic was part of who she was, so ergo, he was fascinated with magic. And it really only seemed to stem from her; he was considerably less enthralled with the arcane when their other elven mage talked about the Fade, or Dorian playfully shot sparks in his direction –much to the commander's embarrassment –or when he overheard Madame de Fer enumerating the finer points of Knight Enchanting to Cassandra.

Ever since his horrific time in the Kinloch Circle, magic had left a hard pit of distrust and fear and pain in Cullen's stomach; following the Mage Rebellion in Kirkwall, after the Grand Enchanter's actions (as well as those of the healer Anders), Cullen's opinion of mages had soured further still. Only Serrah Hawke, a mage herself, had shown him that mages could have redeemable qualities; she had opened his eyes so much that he had stood with her against Meredith, the latter's lyrium- and paranoia-induced insanity notwithstanding.

In Hawke, he had admired her ideals of right and wrong, ideals similar to those he had striven to uphold within the Templar Order, before he had seen its corruption and left to command the Inquisition's growing forces. Surprisingly, Ellana had shown to be rather scrupulous and idealistic herself, eager to prove Thedas wrong about long-held prejudices against the Dalish. He was more than a little ashamed to admit that he had viewed all Dalish mages as some sort of practitioner of blood magic, so when Ellana had decided to add Knight-Enchanting to her formidable abilities –that did not, in fact, include blood magic- he had been surprised. Pleasantly so.

The final tipping point in changing his opinion of her magic was Ellana's concern for others. She could create walls of flame and summon blizzards, but Cullen had come to see that the Lady Inquisitor really prided herself on her healing talents. And really, Cullen mused, as he shuffled another report from Scout Harding around on his desk, that was the thing he admired most about her and her magical ways: she used it to bring their friends –and herself, perhaps more importantly –back to Skyhold, all in one piece, after venturing out into the field.

A wry smile made its way to Cullen's lips. More often than not, he found his thoughts turning to Ellana –for she no longer was just "Inquisitor" or "Lavellan" to him –and he was quite firmly decided that she was indeed capable of more sorcery than just conjuring ice or fire—

"Am I interrupting something?"

-And now Cullen was sure that he could add mindreading and apparition to Ellana's considerable talents.

She stood in front of his desk, a hand poised smugly on her hip, a smile playing across her lips.

She knows exactly what she's doing, what she does to me, Maker's breath—

He coughed. "Nothing incredibly pressing, no." Curse his traitorously pale Ferelden complexion.

Her smile widened as she circled around to where he was standing behind his desk. He turned to face her, an eyebrow raised at her proximity as she reached a hand out to him; Reyes was due to report in any moment now, they couldn't possibly have time—

And she plucked the report he had been unconsciously strangling out of his gauntleted hands.

Smoothing it out across the desk, she tsked. "Cullen, I hardly think Scout Harding would appreciate this treatment of her missives." She raised the crumpled parchment and scanned her eyes across it. "'Stunning exotic flora' and 'the most beautifully crafted sand dunes in Thedas' might not accurately describe the Hissing Wastes, but you must concede that it does add a bit of flair to the usual report."

Cullen flushed even more, if that was possible. Magic was the only explanation for her effect on him.

A devilish idea burst into his head, and before he could dismiss it, he reached out and pulled Ellana towards him. He smirked with male pride as she let out a small sound of wonder at his boldness, and then a sigh, as he pressed his scarred lips to her –perfect, pink, unbelievably soft—unblemished ones.

He felt as if sparks danced between them as he kissed her, as she melted against him—Maker's breath, Varric's clichéd stories are rubbing off on me—and right then Cullen knew what his favorite kind of magic was.

It was the everyday kind. The kind that he felt when he saw Ellana from across the battlements or across the war table; the kind he felt when he kissed her in the gardens, when she smelled of turned earth, smearing dirt across his unshaven cheeks; the kind he felt when they were together late at night, wrapped up in the warmth of bedclothes and each other in order to keep the mountain air at bay.

Ellana somehow managed to work some new magic everyday, and he realized that this was what they were fighting so hard for. Such unremarkable, everyday moments with the people special to them—this was why Corypheus needed to be stopped. Maker knew he was a selfish man; Cullen wanted nothing more in the world than to spend more time with Ellana, to spend the rest of his life with her. But he also thought of all the others across Thedas, those who also loved and were loved in return, and who were fighting, same as them, to protect that love.

After a few –too short—moments Ellana pulled away, the rounded tip of her nose resting against his. He noted her flushed cheeks and dazed eyes, and smiled to see them. She smiled back.

"Not that I have any complaints, but what brought that on?" A worried look flitted across her features, her brows knitting slightly. "Is everything all right?"

Cullen chuckled, keeping his hands firmly on her hips. "Must I only see you in the war room? Am I not allowed to simply enjoy you? To enjoy this—"

In answer the Lady Inquisitor stole a kiss of her own, a light brush against his mouth as she stood on tip-toe. Efficiently silenced, Cullen rested his forehead against hers, content to just be, with her standing less than a breath away, her slim fingers gently toying with his hair.

After a span of heartbeats, Ellana pulled away from him again, smiling softly. She opened her mouth, words on the tip of her tongue; abruptly thinking better of whatever she had planned to say, she closed it once more. Cullen waited patiently.

"We're going to defeat Corypheus, Cullen. We are, and then you and I are going to retire and make a quiet life for ourselves." She said it so simply, like it was an indisputable fact. Her eyes were earnest, and he loved her even more in that moment than he had ever dreamed possible.

Maker, how he wanted that future with her.

Before he could form a fitting, appropriate reply to her declaration, she was out the door, headed off to Andraste-knew-where.

Cullen wrestled with equal parts hope and despair –Ellana has the strength, but Corypheus is a Magister, Maker take him—but decided that field reports were easier to stomach on happier thoughts, and how could he be unhappy after Ellana's visit and admission?

Yes, he decided, he would fight lyrium withdrawal, high dragons, even Corypheus himself, if only to protect what happiness he had found.

Wryly, Cullen mused that it was a fortunate thing to be an ex-Templar; he was coming to enjoy, not fear, magic, as he had been taught.

Nay, he dared to assert that he loved a mage (Maker's breath!) and he loved whatever spell she had cast on him.