iron bull, on the eve of a battle that will be difficult, that will be trying, that doesn’t promise everyone will return safely, sharing a drink with his inquisitor. he laughs, despite himself, and drinks to suppress the immediate feelings of unease. when the inquisitor goes to their quarters, he follows. that night he sleeps with the inquisitor against his chest, encompassed in his arms.
in the dredges of the night solas lays awake by the fire with the inquisitor. they sit together, and by firelight solas traces the scar on the inquisitor’s palm. under his breath he speaks a litany of elvish prayers, each as much a praise as a blessing. when the inquisitor asks what it means, he touches the translation from his lips to their own.
dorian, amidst low whispers and fervent kisses, touching the inquisitor’s cheeks and searching inside their eyes for giveaways of trepidation. he gives up with a small scoff and a faint smile, charismatic and yet entirely vulnerable at the possibility of loss. he claims the inquisitor’s hand in his own and doesn’t let go for the rest of the time they sleep.
on one of the highest of skyhold’s spires, sera and the inquisitor look out above the vastness of the night sky. sera turns her gaze to the inquisitor and simply stares, eyes wide. the inquisitor questions this, and instead of giving a straight answer, sera leaps forward and buries her head in their chest, arms wrapped tightly around them.
at the wartable cullen goes over battle plans meticulously, over and over again until late in the evening. he sees the inquisitor sitting at the head of the table, the first time he remembers they are with him, it seems, and without warning strides over to them and claims their lips, attempting to say what his words cannot.
blackwall stands, alone, contemplating how many ways a shield and a sword can be used to protect something dear. when the inquisitor comes to bring him inside to them, he looks at the insignia of the inquisition on their armor, then to the one of the grey wardens. he pulls the inquisitor close against his chest and reminds them of what protection means to a warden.
josephine is content to stay in the inquisitor’s presence. they communicate in gestures instead of words, and she places light touches to the inquisitor’s hands, waist, and finally their collarbones. she reaches into her clothes and pulls out her own necklace, smiling warmly as she folds it into their hand.
while the inquisitor sleeps, cassandra lays with them awake, muttering prayers to the back of their neck as she holds them. each time the inquisitor stirs she stops, and resumes when she is sure they are asleep again. finally, she closes her eyes and whispers, "may the maker bring you back to me."