Moments

Moment of Everything

He stood vigil before the slit window looking across the gate, watching the wagons loaded down with the trappings of the Inquisition leave Skyhold. The sight drew a smile to my lips as he was supposed to be packing. His shadow slumbered on the floor, huffing as he chased fireballs, his paddling paws tearing up the blanket that used to be on his master's bed. Softly I closed the door, cutting off the summer air blowing through. Cullen didn't hear, his body leaning closer to the window spying something interesting happening in the courtyard.

Somewhere down there was an agitated ex-ambassador trying to get everyone in line and marked so this would go easier. Too bad half of them were still hung over from the eternal goodbye and good luck celebrations. Why pack the alcohol when you could drink it and save on space? Josephine herself polished off an entire bottle of whiskey, tears dribbling down her cheeks as she belted out a song in Antivan. After the third round of it, she managed to get Bull to sing along, shaking his horns to her erratic beat. It would take another month before we'd be finished with the deconstruction, but every day Skyhold felt more abandoned than when we found it. People who greeted me every morning returned to their homes far across seas I'd only seen on maps. Sculptures I stopped seeing vanished in the night, leaving behind another hole to be filled with crates. And some historian ran around collecting all the banners slapping against stones, insisting they must be preserved.

Sliding onto my toes, I crept towards the ex-Commander far too enraptured in the commotion to hear the Dalish woman slinking around in his office. Holding my left arm tight to my chest, I skirted around his desk, falling into his peripheral vision. He must have been deep in thought as he still didn't turn. My fingers caressed up his back, wrapping around the curls falling across his neck. Only a soft tremor shook his body from the surprise; he was growing used to his wife's soft feet. I stood upon my toes to see over his shoulder, using my right hand as ballast. A dozen horses paraded in what was probably supposed to be a formation, while Master Dennet threw his hands in the air. Perhaps it wasn't going so well.

Cullen sighed, capturing my fingers in his own. "I can hardly believe it's over."

"It's not over yet," I said, my lips whispering against his cheek.

His face lifted in a smile and he turned from the stables emptying of horses to face me. "No?" he rubbed up and down my right arm, "Soldiers dismissed, ravens released, political ties cut. Seems certain."

I smirked, "Has anything I've done ever been certain?"

"Aside from marrying me?" he asked, that sweet but painful smile slotting into place. "No. Not at all." Cullen slipped his arm around my waist, his fingers working in circles around the small of my back. No more Inquisition pajamas dulled my nerves to the touch, through the light cotton I could feel him properly. His eyes dipped down to my left hand - no, not hand, arm. "How is it?"

"Hurts like shit if I bump it, or touch it, or a breeze hits it," I said. He frowned from the truth. It took all my best arguments and promises for him to let me away from the healers so I could confront the Exalted Council. I had at best a few minutes of speech and posturing before I was back by his side, begging for something to kill the pain.

"That remaining mage says it's healing well. Cleanest cut he's ever seen. Probably because it wasn't cut," I mused, lifting the still bandaged limb up. Cullen cupped his hands around my forearm, keeping far away from the throb that died down until I instinctively tried to reach for something I could no longer pick up. Time - everyone kept telling me I'd need it to adjust, and soon I wouldn't even notice I lost the anchor along with my hand. Funny how it was always people with both hands telling me that.

I cupped my husband's face with my remaining hand, fingers parting through his stubble now reaching into beard territory. Something about being free of worry, duty, the Inquisition carried over to his toilet as well. Even his hair was allowed to return to its natural state, the curls wadding around his round ears. "At least this gets me out of having to pack," I joked, waving my stump around. "People are bending over backwards to collect my things and carry them for me."