Okay, this is my first Dragon Age fic, but I couldn't get this one out of my head. So here it is!

Spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition, so you've been warned.

The day dawned gray, a heavy cloud of fog shrouding Skyhold and the surrounding peaks in a thick layer of mist as the rains began to fall, but he paid it no more than the cursory glance. For now, the fortress was quiet, the occupants below still trapped within their dreams as he kept a watchful eye, ever-vigilant despite the hour.

He smiled down at the babe in his arms, his eyes soft and his heart full as she slept peacefully, bundled tightly in a blanket of velveteen and fennec fur. Her arrival had come mere hours before, early by the healer's standards, and, despite the fear that had gripped him some time ago, he was now so blissfully content as he rocked her slowly, his eyes focused on the soft rise and fall of her chest.

Erianna.

His daughter.

He marveled at the softness of her skin as he ran the tip of his finger across a smooth cheek, smiling as she turned towards the touch as if to seek him out instinctively.

She looked like her mother, for which he'd already repeatedly thanked the Maker. Her small ears tapered off into a sharp point, nearly too elegant and regal for a being so tiny as she, but he thought them endearing nonetheless—he always had. It appeared that Erianna had inherited all of the smooth and delicate features of her elven heritage, it seemed, save for the rounded curve of her chin that was distinctly his and the flaxen hairs on the crown of her head, the ends curling in an all too familiar way like his own, which only caused his grin to widen further.

Maker's breath, but his child was beautiful.

A loud pop from the settling fire caused her face to scrunch adorably, a sound of pure discontent leaving her in a rush that only succeeded in sending a surge of unadulterated panic lancing through him. Quickly, he did his best to quiet her, tightening his hold and bouncing her in some innate way he'd not been previously aware of before he became a father less than half a day ago, but her distress merely grew.

And so he hummed.

It was a forgotten song, one he'd not thought of since he'd left Honnleath as no more than a child, but now, his tired mind recalled his mother's sweet voice and, bolstered by the memory, his confidence and his song grew and he watched, breathing a great sigh of relief as Erianna's face smoothed once again.

"Like your mother, indeed," he told her fondly, recalling well the nights he'd hummed a similar tune to soothe away the grueling night-terrors of the woman sleeping just off to the edge of his sight, her mind the victim of her own haunting experiences often enough, despite his constant vigil and his arms around her.

But for now, they both slept undisturbed, Anya's small frame draped in the heavy pelt of Great Bear to chase away the ever-present chill that the rains had brought. His daughter's birth had been fraught with complications, fear gripping his heart as his beloved's body had grown tired, her pain and exhaustion driving him mad with a helplessness he'd not felt since her battle with a crazed, darkspawn magister more than three winter's past. The healers had tried to throw him out, tried to tell him that this was no place for a gentlemen, but he was nothing if not stubborn, and so he'd remained, whispering fervent prayers and desperate words of love in her ears as he kept her upright in their bed, willing her whatever strength he'd had left in his shaking frame. And, once again, like so many times before, she'd rallied beautifully and he was instantly besotted with the pink, wriggling being that was his daughter as she'd cried out her obvious frustration at the world.

"You shall want for nothing, my darling," he whispered, heart in his throat and the sting of unshed tears in his eyes.

At his hushed words, her eyes blinked opened and his breath left him in an unsteady rush, his own eyes staring back at him; the amber within brighter than his own and laced with the colors of fresh earth and honey. They were full of an innocence he couldn't remember, from a time before he'd pledged himself to the Order and lost his way following the mad wills of another. Before, his lady Inquisitor had offered redemption in the form of her boundless love and had shown him happiness once again.

"You should know that I am afraid," he confided quietly, laying all of his insecurities and fears at his daughter's tiny feet. "I don't know how to be a father."

It had been a mantra replaying in his head since Anya had burst into his office, surprising both himself and a few of his scouts that had gathered for a report, her eyes shining with such stark emotion that his chest had begun to ache. She'd jumped into his arms, despite their audience, and spoke the words so quietly in his ear that he wondered if he was mistaken. He'd remembered his eyes widening as his heart began hammering away and he'd had just enough presence of mind to whisper a breathy "dismissed" before they'd both crumpled into a mess of happy tears.

But despite his elation, his doubts had plagued him.

"Oh, Cullen, ma'arlath," she whispered, looking at him with a soft smile before she'd taken his face in her capable hands. "You don't have to know. You just have to be."

"But-" he tried to protest only to be cut off by a single finger placed against his lips as she stepped into his arms.

"Do you love me, darling?"

His eyes widened, shock and surprise painting his features as he stared at her. "Of course I do!"

"And do you love our baby?"

"Yes! With everything I have," he told her, confused at her line of questioning.

She chuckled, thoroughly amused for some reason he couldn't fathom. "Then you'll do fine. I have every faith in you."

He blinked, already shaking his head. "That isn't an answer."

"Of course it is," she scoffed, fingers trailing up to push an errant curl from his forehead before wrapping her arms loosely around his neck, her rounded belly settling comfortably between them. "From the moment we met, you gave me your respect and, eventually, your trust and love, asking only for mine in return. And you gave them to me freely."

With a contented sigh, his head fell to rest on hers. "How could I not?"

She paused in her explanation, standing on toes to place a sweet, lingering kiss upon his lips. "Our child will only ask the same of you. He or she-"

"She," he interrupted, but she paid him no mind, though her grin betrayed her as his hands splayed across her stomach protectively—lovingly.

"-will want only that which you've already given."

He must have looked skeptical, because she continued, a touch of sadness creeping into her vision at his clear doubt. "You are everything anyone would want in a father, love, and more than I could have ever asked for in a husband. You are safety personified, kind, and wholly good and, despite your reservations, you deserve every happiness that anyone could ever give you."

Cullen smiled at the recollection, allowing her words to soothe his doubts once again.

"I'd nearly given up on the idea of you, but your mother is a force not to be trifled with and I rue the day you figure that out," he chuckled lightly, his mind filled with memories yet unmade, of a curious, golden haired little girl with a knack for the mischievous, her wild curls bouncing as her laughter drifted about. "I hope you're better at talking your way out of trouble than I, my love."

In some silent understanding, she gripped her father's finger tightly between one of her smaller, but no less capable hands, a yawn much too large, wracking her tiny frame before her eyes closed again, seemingly content within the confines of her father's protective embrace.

"We shall learn together, yes?" he whispered, a lone tear trailing down his cheeks at he watched her fall into slumber. "So long as I have breath left in me, no harm shall come to you. I swear it."

His eyes burned, his throat tight with suppressed emotion, but he laughed. "Look at me!" he breathed lowly, elation flooding through him suddenly as he wiped at his face. "Maker, I'm a mess. I hope you don't mind an utter fool as a father."

Father.

Andraste, preserve him, but the new appellation sent a tremor through him as it finally settled in. The word sounded foreign, no doubt—more so than Templar or Knight-Captain ever had—his past not leaving room for any hopes of a future that included a family, but, despite its newness, the sweet, lovely feeling that enveloped him was familiar if not surprising.

Cullen's smile never faded as the sun broke free, the first rays of sunshine bathing them both in warm light as the night-guard outside their door bid the day farewell, the first sounds of a waking fortress reaching his ears from the courtyard below. Sleep would elude him this day, his responsibilities as Commander forgotten in the wake of a new title that now rested on his shoulders.

He always assumed he'd end his days within the Circle, content with his duties and the path his life had taken, but alone nonetheless. However, he was finding with a stark sense of sudden clarity, that he loved this so much better.

*ma'arlath=My love

It seems natural for me to assume that Cullen would have had a daughter, but that's just me. Let me know what you think!