Chapter Text
“Finally, these arrived for you yesterday. You enjoyed them so much the last time, I thought to order another batch.”
Gayle quirked her eyebrow at Josephine, intrigued. The ball at Halamshiral had been a few weeks ago, yet she was still receiving gifts and petitions from Orlais and beyond. Cullen was also dealing with a barrage of solicitations and had found several rather ingenious ways to destroy them. She watched as he leaned a little too far over the war table while pretending to read a pile, letting a candle catch the edge of the papers.
“Oh dear, clumsy me!” he declared loudly as he tried to feign alarm. Cullen made no attempt to put out the flames, instead he tilted the bundle slightly, allowing the red tongues of fire to creep up the sides. With a smirk, he walked to the open fireplace and threw the whole lot into the crackling flames.
“How terrible!” Gayle couldn't help but join in, trying to look dismayed even as she stifled a chuckle. “I do hope none of the proposals I received were in there.”
“All of them I'm afraid. Such a tragedy!” Cullen was grinning now, his smile bright and boyish with mischief. He threw her a wink as they both tried to swallow down their laughter.
Gayle couldn't believe how different Cullen seemed now to when they first met all those months ago in Haven. On first impressions, the Commander had appeared a stern, serious man and she had struggled to pierce his polite and formal outer shell. He had despaired at her complete lack of fighting ability and she had often riled him by favouring spies and politics, instead of sending his troops in to deal with situations directly. This had led to an argument, probably the most words they had ever exchanged up until that point, over her using his forces to help rebuild a tower. Seething with anger, Cullen had accused her of not trusting his abilities or those of his men, using them as labourers instead of the fighting force he had struggled to build. Dismayed at the accusation, Gayle had quietly informed him that she would never risk their forces lives when an alternative was presented.
The assault on Haven had changed everything. Her confrontation with Corypheus, the devastating landslide and her desperate struggle through the mountains had obviously altered Cullen's opinion. When they reached Skyhold, he began to open up and Gayle found herself faced with a very different man. He was gentler now, more open to discussing personal things like his childhood and his life as a Templar. He would spend a few hours each week teaching her chess (which, unlike cards, Gayle was awful at) and when he confessed his struggle with lyrium withdrawal, she had found herself spending hours in the library trying to find information that could help his recovery. They had fallen into an easy friendship now, their humour bouncing off each other’s to the annoyance of her other advisers.
“Well, it is a good thing that I handed you the copies and not the originals I have here,” Leliana said, giving them both a smirk as she reached into a leather binder and pulled out another set of papers and began to fan herself with them. Gayle raised an eyebrow at Cullen and he replied with a nod. They would find a way for those to “accidentally” disappear later. Gayle thought it might even be worth calling in a favour from Sera.
“If you are all quite done? Inquisitor, you haven't opened the parcel I ordered for you,” Josephine said, lifting her eyes to bestow a disapproving pout as she motioned towards a small crate on the floor. Gayle flashed her an apologetic smile and knelt down, prying open the wooden lid to reveal several sealed jars. Picking one up, she peered into the dark sloshing liquid, noting the bobbing green spheres inside.
“Oooooo pickles! Yes. Josie, you are a saviour and a saint!” Gayle said, quickly scratching the wax seal back and unceremoniously pried out a pickle before popping it into her mouth. Her face contorted into a twisted grimace as her taste buds protested at the sudden vinegary onslaught. It was painfully delicious and completely moreish, a strange combination of incredibly strong vinegar, sea salt and a crunchy gherkin-like vegetable. She opened a watery eye to see her advisers regarding her with mild disgust. Crunching down the pickle enough to swallow, she tilted the jar in their direction.
“Sorry...eh, want one?”
“By the Maker, after the last time? I thought you were introducing us to a new form of torture instead of food,” Cullen said, wrinkling his nose, his throat bobbing as he tried to swallow back the memory. Leliana and Josephine just shook their heads, looking at the jar as though it might explode at any moment. Gayle shrugged, quickly scoffing down another one, relishing the crunchy texture. There was a little musky hint to them that she hadn't noted the last time, but it wasn't unpleasant.
“Shall we continue going through the dispatches then?” Josephine motioned to a tottering stack on the table and everyone nodded their reluctant agreement. Sitting in one of the more comfortable chairs, Gayle accepted a handful of notes from Leliana and settled down to a long day’s work. While her advisers briefed her on what they had received and suggested various options for dealing with arising issues, Gayle continued to sneak mouthfuls of pickle in-between reconciling disagreements and making decisions.
Late morning drifted into mid-afternoon and as they spoke of Red Templar sightings, Orlesian politics and Tevinter spies. Gayle began to feel an uncomfortable heat building in her stomach, creeping up over her skin and causing beads of sweat to form along her spine. Taking a few gulps of watered wine, she shifted a little in her chair, looking up from her paperwork to see if anyone else was warm. Leliana and Josephine were deep in their paperwork. Cullen, on the other hand, was staring intently back at her, sweat glistening at his hairline. His hands were gripped to the chair, his breathing deep and laboured.
“Is it just me, or is it sweltering in here?” The two women looked up, shaking their heads in unison.
“You do look rather flushed, Inquisitor. Perhaps we should take a break.” Leliana shot a concerned glance at Cullen, who had remained silent throughout. Josephine nodded and began to gather up the parchment strewn around her, shuffling it into some sort of order.
“Right, let's meet back in say...an hour? I think I'll head out, get some fresh air,” Gayle said, quickly scrabbling to her feet, leaving her own papers in a messy bundle on her chair before heading to the door. She slipped out into the corridor, which was mercifully a little colder than the war room, and decided that a visit to the garden would be an ideal place to cool down. She heard Cullen's heavy footsteps behind her and figured that he might have the same idea. They could maybe even get in a practice game of Wicked Grace as, given his last performance, he was in dire need of it. As Gayle turned to make the suggestion, a strong hand clamped over the crook of her arm, and with a quick jerk, she found herself trapped in a crushing embrace.
Cullen pushed her roughly up against the stone wall of the corridor, the sheer size and strength of him nearly lifting her off the ground as he crushed a searing kiss against her mouth. Trapped between rock and steel plated muscle, Gayle could only stare – stunned - at the dark lust in Cullen's golden-brown eyes as he ground against her, his hands roving over the lines of her body. She opened her mouth to protest, or shout, or ask him what the hell was going on, but her words were muffled by the sudden intrusion of his tongue as it lapped and swirled its way around her own. He was groaning desperately now and she could feel the bulge of his growing length against her stomach, her own body gushing a pulsing wet heat in response. Wiggling her arms up between their bodies, Gayle managed to grab his shoulders and, using every ounce of her strength, she pushed him away long enough to gulp the breath back into her lungs.
“Cullen! What are you doing?!” she managed to croak, her arms already shaking from the effort of restraining him. His eyes were a little less wild now and he shook his head, looking bewildered as his hands groped and kneaded her backside.
“I don't know...I...can't. I can't stop...I need. I'm burning up! Maker, I have to...please!” He sounded desperate, pained, and Gayle knew that - whatever this was - it wasn't him. Her arms gave way and he was back on her, his mouth trailing down her neck as he began to pull on her leather jerkin, fingers tearing at the fastenings. She had to get help; this could be some kind of twisted spell. She couldn't risk calling Leliana or Josie, what if he attacked them too? She needed to get to Solas, he'd be able to tell. Not knowing what else to do, Gayle relaxed her muscles, letting her legs drop out from under her as she slid from the jerkin and landed on the stone floor. Scooting to the side, she aimed a hard kick at Cullen's legs, sweeping him to the ground. She scrambled up before he could grab her, leaping for the door as she felt hands brushing against her ankles. Clattering through into Josie's office, she didn't wait to see if he was following her as she tore through the second corridor and into the main hall.