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Jan. 25th, 2015 09:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
witticasterThey've fallen into a routine on quiet evenings. Cullen sits at his desk and Betrys, just off to the side of it; while he plans their army's next steps, she reads, embroiders, or devotes a corner of the desk to work of her own. When he needs her opinion, she's there, and when the candles are stubs and they're drowsing over their projects, they shuffle off to bed.
Tonight, she's frowning over a letter. The expression on her face must be more intense than she realized, because somewhere in the middle of a sentence, she feels a tap at her shoulder. Glancing up, Betrys finds Cullen looking at her, his scarred mouth pinching up in a bemused little smile.
"Hmm?"
"I thought I should stop you before your pen became the latest casualty of the Inquisition," he answers, gesturing to her hand.
Betrys looks down and is surprised--but not very surprised--to find bite marks. She hadn't realized she'd been chewing on it. "Bad habit," she says, smiling back. "I'm always putting things in my mouth when I'm thinking."
"Really." Cullen, saucy man that he can be, just lets the comment rest there, though his smile grows a little when Betrys' cheeks flush. He saves her after a moment or two, because he has a kind heart as well as a flippant tongue. "What are you writing?"
"A letter." Though calling it a letter is a stretch at this point. Aside from the salutation My dear lady mother, there are three sentences and a half. The pen taps at her lips again, but she has the awareness to set it down on the table before she begins to abuse it further. "My mother wishes to know more about you."
"Your--" He stops short, brows raised. "You...told your mother about us?"
"Of course I did." It's Betrys' turn to grin a little wickedly. "I left a few details out--"
"I should hope so."
"--because I didn't want Father to come to Skyhold and murder you." They were unhappy enough that she was playing Inquisition in the mountains instead of coming home. If she'd characterized their relationship as anything but courtly and chaste, Betrys was quite sure the Inquisition would be doomed--not by Corypheus, but by her parents dragging her away Ostwick by the ears. "So far as they know, you are a perfect gentleman who hasn't tried to do anything more than hold my hands in yours and recite poetry."
Cullen laughs, but the relief is visible in the way his expression relaxes into a grin. "Do they..." He clears his throat. "Are they opposed?"
"Oh, no. Well--Father's sorry you aren't a lord, but Mother said you sounded very charming." Betrys leans over until they're nearly nose to nose. "Luckily, their opinions aren't the ones that matter."
She kisses him, knowing that she can never, ever tell her family that the handsome gentleman courting her favour let her stroke his tongue with her own, and decides that finishing Mother's letter can wait.
Tonight, she's frowning over a letter. The expression on her face must be more intense than she realized, because somewhere in the middle of a sentence, she feels a tap at her shoulder. Glancing up, Betrys finds Cullen looking at her, his scarred mouth pinching up in a bemused little smile.
"Hmm?"
"I thought I should stop you before your pen became the latest casualty of the Inquisition," he answers, gesturing to her hand.
Betrys looks down and is surprised--but not very surprised--to find bite marks. She hadn't realized she'd been chewing on it. "Bad habit," she says, smiling back. "I'm always putting things in my mouth when I'm thinking."
"Really." Cullen, saucy man that he can be, just lets the comment rest there, though his smile grows a little when Betrys' cheeks flush. He saves her after a moment or two, because he has a kind heart as well as a flippant tongue. "What are you writing?"
"A letter." Though calling it a letter is a stretch at this point. Aside from the salutation My dear lady mother, there are three sentences and a half. The pen taps at her lips again, but she has the awareness to set it down on the table before she begins to abuse it further. "My mother wishes to know more about you."
"Your--" He stops short, brows raised. "You...told your mother about us?"
"Of course I did." It's Betrys' turn to grin a little wickedly. "I left a few details out--"
"I should hope so."
"--because I didn't want Father to come to Skyhold and murder you." They were unhappy enough that she was playing Inquisition in the mountains instead of coming home. If she'd characterized their relationship as anything but courtly and chaste, Betrys was quite sure the Inquisition would be doomed--not by Corypheus, but by her parents dragging her away Ostwick by the ears. "So far as they know, you are a perfect gentleman who hasn't tried to do anything more than hold my hands in yours and recite poetry."
Cullen laughs, but the relief is visible in the way his expression relaxes into a grin. "Do they..." He clears his throat. "Are they opposed?"
"Oh, no. Well--Father's sorry you aren't a lord, but Mother said you sounded very charming." Betrys leans over until they're nearly nose to nose. "Luckily, their opinions aren't the ones that matter."
She kisses him, knowing that she can never, ever tell her family that the handsome gentleman courting her favour let her stroke his tongue with her own, and decides that finishing Mother's letter can wait.