Fate's Reprieve

ONE

She took a deep breath and smiled as she gazed out the window, watching the afternoon sunlight play in the shadows of leaves on the glass. Such an odd thing, those little moments. Seconds that meant absolutely nothing, yet somehow imprinted themselves in her memory. Minuscule slices of time without any real meaning, yet so full of clarity, down to the scent of the dust on the wooden window frame, the whirring of marble on marble grinding together, the air just barely edging into a warmth not quite uncomfortable, but close. There was nothing special about the moment itself, really. It was just a mundane thing; quiet, unassuming, and utterly unremarkable in any way.

There was no reason it should be etched into her soul, yet there it was.

She gave a nod of acknowledgement, releasing it with a slow exhale. It passed in a heartbeat, but it would always be with her, one of those things to draw on at the most unexpected times to recenter herself. Closing her eyes, she tucked it away beside the other memories like it: an empty stairwell of stone free of the myriad voices of Skyhold, sitting on a stump around a fire on an afternoon following a brief hunt with her clan, and the stillness of a cloudless sky from the back of a cart on a well-traveled road.

So many little moments that meant nothing, yet everything. She loved them all.

With a silent thanks, she returned to her work, not at all surprised to hear the door outside open and close, proceeded by the familiar stomp of heavy feet. One of her favorite sounds, the sounds of a soldier— her soldier— returning to her.

"Another one for you," Cullen Rutherford, his armor long since stored in a dark closet, tossed the missive on the dining table without looking. "Don't they know you're retired?"

Shianna glanced back from where she was grinding elfroot for a poultice, tossing a small smile over her shoulder. "Is that what I'm supposed to be? Seems about right. I was only tired at Halamshiral, now I get to be tired and re-tired and over-tired and—"

Her words disappeared in a little laugh as his arms wound around her waist, and he brushed a soft kiss along the nape of her neck.

"You make jokes," he murmured against her skin, "but do you really think a single day is too much to ask for without those infernal birds pecking at our windows?"

She let the pestle rest along the side of the mortar bowl and turned in his arms, brushing a blond wave of hair from his forehead. "And give up the odd bit of traveling I get to do? I think you'd get terribly sick of me if you didn't get to miss me every now and then."

Cullen caught her chin as she leaned up to kiss him, stopping her before her lips reached his. "You know that isn't true. After everything, no matter how much time passes, I'm still terrified to blink for missing a single second with my wife."

Her insides coiled, fluttering at the word. Wife. Two years gone, and it still warmed her down to her toes. Every time he said it, something in his voice, the breathy inflection of it, the longing in his eyes, it was the same as the first time he used it.

Forever his.

"Ne'emma lath, emma nehn," she whispered. "Always."

At last, his fingers drifted up to her cheek, and his kiss sealed her promise. As much as she loved him, it only made it more difficult when letters arrived. Even before she so much as looked at the parchment, she knew what it said. She'd been expecting it for weeks. It'd been too long since a solid lead came in, and the past few days saw an uptick in messages that signaled one thing.

More time apart.

When his arms loosened their hold on her, she saw it in his eyes. He knew as well as she did what it meant: she had to go, he had to stay.