Chapter Text
Rayne woke to the feeling of warmth. Warmth from the dying fireplace across the room. Leaking in from the windows, strained through the stained glass, petting her cheek with green fingers.
Mostly, though, it was radiating off of the mountain of man beside her.
He practically glowed with golden light, from his messy curls to his not-so-gaunt cheeks, to his war-scarred chest. As gently as she could, she traced a bad scar on his arm, a gnarled white lump bursting from his skin. Barely ghosting her finger over the glossed skin, she wondered what caused it. Had it come from his time with the Circle?
He shifted slightly under her touch, unconsciously moving his arm away from the tickle. She jerked her hand back and mentally scolded herself.
She hated to wake him, as much as she wanted to cuddle close and hold him. It had been some time since the fall of Corypheus, and stresses around Skyhold had finally begun to ebb away, allowing the recovering commander to relax and truly get some rest. It was true that the commander still had his hands full with the flood of new refugee recruits, as well as serving as her adviser to military procedures. However, without the threat of a would-be god and the pain of the early stages of lyrium withdrawal, he was able to find some sort of peace.
It helped that he was no longer allowed to sleep in the decrepit tower he used to. Rayne insisted he sleep in her quarters, at least so he could stay warm through the cold mountain nights with a proper roof over his head. He didn’t argue with her. Much.
“It could be better if I stayed with my work, and out of your way…”
Nonsense, she had told him. They were publicly-acknowledged lovers. People would talk more if they didn’t share a bed.
Since he hated gossip that was the end of that.
However, people still loved to talk, especially about such high-profile people.
Engagements, weddings, gifts, meeting families, and most of all: children.
Heirs to the Inquisition’s legacy, and the continuation of both Trevelyan and Rutherford bloodlines. Seeing the two esteemed families come together was something the Orlesians frothed at the mouth over.
Not that either line had no heirs, Rayne’s brother had two young but able-bodied sons, and both of Cullen’s sisters had children of their own.
But that didn’t stop the gossips.
“They’ve been together for some time...accidents are bound to happen.”
“They should be married by now, the war has been over for months!”
“I saw the Inquisitor steal an extra pastry at the banquet…Magritte craved those same pastries when she was carrying Gustav…”
Somehow, Cullen didn’t seem to hear any of it. Perhaps he was just used to tuning out the whispers in the halls. Skyhold, at least, was home to much quieter gossips than Orlais, it was easy for a distracted Fereldan to miss it. In any case, whether he was truly ignorant or had indeed noticed it, he made absolutely no mention of the rumors whatsoever.
Rayne, however, was much less fortunate.
She heard each whisper like an arrow in her chest.
Sideways glances sizing her up. Ogling at her hands for rings. Scrutinizing her every movement for any sign of some upcoming news, be it a child or a wedding. Or both.
She ached for children, she always had. Now that she was mostly settled with Cullen, she looked forward to starting a family with him. Seeing him interact with their children, seeing what their children would be like…everything about it seemed wonderful.
Yet her doubts raged in her mind, tainting her romantic side with fear.
She was, after all, a mage. Any children born to her would have a high chance of becoming mages themselves.
While this was becoming more publicly acceptable, it still held some negative connotations. People still feared mages and their potential. It had taken months for people to stop whispering about the Herald being a mage, and more time still for the world to accept her a the Inquisitor, regardless of what all she had done for Thedas.
Though the looming fear of society rejecting her children was considerable, it wasn’t her biggest concern.
Cullen was known to have very…intense ideas about mages. He was nearly famous for it across Ferelden and the Free Marches. Since his time in the Circle during the Blight he had harbored a crippling distrust of mages. He had good reason, considering what he had suffered at the hands of abominations. However, it was still extreme, even for a Templar. If he had children with her, he ran the risk of fathering mages, the very thing that continued to haunt his nightmares.
Her heart sank in her chest as she ran her fingers over the lace of scars on his chest. He had shown progress, slow and steady, in his acceptance of those with magic. He got along well with Dorian, and was more scared of Vivienne herself than her magic.
Not to mention his thoughts on Rayne herself. She knew he cared for her. She knew he would never hurt her or persecute her for her unfortunate defect at birth. In fact, he had been grateful for her magic on many occasions.
But still, she couldn’t be sure his warm thoughts of her would extend to their children, if they were unlucky enough to be mages.
There was adoption, of course. The war left behind many orphans waiting for good families. It would bypass blood while still giving them the opportunity to raise and love children of their own.
Yet there were still…considerations.
Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a blanket of warmth and out of her thoughts.
Sleepy golden eyes looked up at her as Cullen rolled over, moving Rayne onto his chest.
“Good morning.”
Despite her sour thoughts, she felt a grin pull at her face. He was delirious with the morning haze, his voice little more than a husky croak. He was like a painting in a Chantry, effortlessly cherubic and relaxed. The feeling was contagious.
His brow slowly knit together. “Are you all right?”
She blinked. She had forgotten to actually reply to his greeting. “What? I…yes. Good morning.” She kissed his nose, hoping he would let it drop and go back to sleep.
He didn’t.
Clumsily gentle, calloused fingers tangled in her hair, cupping her head. “Rayne…”
She let out a long, shaky sigh. “I’m fine, Cullen. Just…overthinking.”
“Can I help?”
The question caught her off guard. Not because it wasn’t something he would say, but because she had been so desperately hoping he would let it pass. There was so much going on in her mind, so many fears and doubts, she was embarrassed to verbalize them.
“I…don’t know. Maybe?”
He searched her face, studying her features for any kind of hold. “Talk to me?”
She let a wry puff of air escape her lips. “You’re asking me to unload more unnecessary information on you, Commander? Don’t you have enough on your plate?”
He barely smiled, his eyes still filled with concern. “As your advisor, isn’t that what I’m here for? Helping take things off of your plate, Inquisitor?”
With a sigh, she conceded. “Alright, Rutherford, you win.” Thinking about what exactly to say, she sat up, straddling his hips. She blushed faintly when his eyes were immediately brought to her chest, still bare from the night before. At least it gave her an inkling of confidence to actually start the conversation.
Tracing designs on his chest with her finger, she slowly began. “There’s…been a lot of talk. About us.” Before he could enunciate his distain, she continued. “About us having children. And…I wanted to know what your thoughts were.”
“My thoughts? People need to stop talking about us like that, it’s not their business. That’s what I think.”
She flushed deeper. “I mean what do you think about us having children. Together.”
“Oh.” The word hung in the air between them as he ran through the thought in his head. She watched as he let it sink in, mulling it over. “I…hadn’t given it any thought. Not really. I never thought I would be in a position where that was a valid concern.”
“Well…it is. We’re lovers, openly so. It…could happen.”
He pulled a face, blanching at the thought. “I realize that.”
Ignoring the tugging in her chest, she pressed on. “Do you want kids?”
He huffed. “I would be a terrible father.”
He wasn’t looking her in the eye, but she knew he was thinking of all the horrible things he’d said and done as a Templar. Gently, she stroked his hair, calming the both of them. “You don’t know that. You’re a better person now than you ever were, you-“
“Could relapse and make a mistake and ruin everything.”
The harshness in his voice and intensity in his eyes stopped her in her tracks. “Do you really believe that,” she whispered.
Breaking eye contact, he looked away, rubbing shaky hands up her thighs to calm himself. She doubted he even realized they were her thighs and not his.
“Cullen?”
“I…don’t know.”
Taking a breath, she pulled his face back to look him in the eye. “You’re not alone in this. Every decision wouldn’t be put all on you. Maker, we would have to fight Josie and Leliana off of them.”
A short, barking laugh was his response, and she could feel the tension ease in his muscles. “I believe you’re right…With how invested everyone is in just us…Maker’s breath they would have a field day with our kids.”
She bit her lip, stifling a laugh. Warmth spread through her body at the thought of little tiny Rutherfords with mounds of curly blonde hair running around wreaking havoc and charming everyone around them…
It cooled when she remembered magic was a thing.
“If…we did have children…” she played with the sheets around her hip, fidgeting uncomfortably as she pressed on.
He stared at her, completely lost at the turn in the mood. “Yes?”
“There would be a chance – a very high chance,” she added, “that they would be mages.” She let her voice trail away to a whisper, refusing to look him in the eye.
He deflated beneath her. “Ah.” He struggled with an answer. It looked like it physically pained him. “There...is always a chance of that, even without a mage parent. And the Inquisition has the means to handle those situations sanely. There are many good, respectable teachers here…Dorian and Vivienne would surely be among them. The remaining Templars and mages here…could get the situation under control, should it take a turn for the worst.”
Under control. Like a beast to be caged.
Shoving down her aggravation, she took a steadying breath.“You wouldn’t send them away?”
“Maker, no.” he gripped her hands, pulling them up to kiss them. “The world doesn’t have to work like that anymore. I…would prefer that they be watched and properly educated, like the mages in the Circles, just in case…but…there’s enough structure here, we wouldn’t have to send them away.”
She barely relaxed. “Would…you still want them?”
Wide, confused eyes stared at her. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“They’d be mages.”
“You’re a mage,” he gently reminded her. “And I love you. I know…my past thoughts on mages were…despicable, disgusting, really. But…I didn’t trust them. I trust you, and I trust the people here, in Skyhold. Any child of ours would be raised well, and I would love them just as I love you, regardless of whether they have magic or not.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. She pulled her hands free from his to wipe them away with the back of her wrist. “Okay.” Thinking for a moment, she prodded again. “So…you do want children with me? Or at least…would be comfortable with it happening?”
“Yes,” he said with a nod, firm and sure.
She nearly shook with relief.
He still watched her, though he relaxed with her. “What brought all this up?”
She let out a weak laugh, and reached out to take his hands again. Slowly and awkwardly, she pressed his rough palms to the soft skin of her belly, just above the crook in her hips.
His brow knit in confusion, obviously waiting for more.
Maker, don't make me spell it out…
She barely nodded, looking at him intensely to try and get her point across, gripping his fingers.
All at once it hit him. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He pressed his fingers to her belly and gasped.
“You…really?”
She could only nod, burning with unheeded embarrassment, happiness, and fear.
The pure, unadulterated shock on his face was almost comical. Every tension line in his forehead and nose vanished.
Finally, she found her voice. “Surprise?”
He huffed out a laugh. “You can say that again…When? How…when did you know?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know the particulars but…the healers say maybe a couple weeks. Not too long, but long enough for some telltale signs to start popping up. I’ve…only know for three days. Nobody else knows but Elaine.”
He wriggled rather ungracefully to sit up with her, still caressing her middle. “Not for long.”
Groaning, she pressed her face in his neck, taking in the warm, heady scent of his skin. “Don’t tease, it’ll be hell and you know it. Everyone asking us incessant questions about everything…”
He froze, she could almost hear him pull a face. “I only meant the inner circle…I don’t want to think about the court and all of that nonsense hearing about this.”
She grinned, some impish part of her enjoying his squirming. “They’ll have to, at some point.”
With a sigh, he nodded. “I know. But…for now can we just…enjoy this little secret together?”
Untucking her head she looked up at him. “You’re enjoying this?”
The look he gave her in return was enough of an answer, filled to the brim with love, awe, and happiness. Yet, still he nodded. “Yes. Of course I am.”
“Even with all of the ‘what if’s?”
“Yes.”
The certainty in his voice assured her, and she clung to the feeling of acceptance and love she felt there in his arms. She was sure she would need it in the near future.