Ariadne + Cullen, friendship and a moment of joy and wonder. Odd that someone in so much pain could create something so beautiful. Odder still that so much magic sings along his skin and he’s never felt more safe. (AO3)

***

As soon as he steps over the threshold and back into the Tower, Cullen winces. He steps aside, allowing Liselle to pass, and opens and closes his hand a few times. Though he’s grown accustomed to the steady, constant thrum of magic omnipresent at Blackrock Tower, cresting waves of intentional, purposeful magic still catch him off guard. He takes a breath – breathe in, breathe out – and the waves settle into ripples of mildly-irritating pinpricks at the back of his neck.  

Cullen takes another breath and reminds himself that it’s Solstice Night; Edward makes a point to warn him when mages are working out of their laboratories or after hours, and tonight is encouraged to be full of both. He follows Liselle toward the armory to stow his outer gear and shield before walking toward the Great Hall in hopes of finding a warm drink after the chill of an outdoor patrol.  

He stops still and gapes in awe at the sight before him. He’d passed others on his way, mages and templars working together to string sparkling garland and boughs of pine through the halls, shushing each other so to not wake the young ones, but this – Kinloch Hold had only a few sprigs of holly and a log burning bright, and after years spent celebrating holidays in muted, subdued joy, he hadn’t realized how much he missed the decorations and lights. The wonder.  

Spying a familiar flash of red hair, he makes his way down the aisle. Blue cloth covers the wooden tables; delicate silver threads catch the light, glittering like snow as he passes. A group of junior mages argues whether to charm the candles to smell like cinnamon or apple (“Both,” Margaret says with a firm look and, when she turns and walks away, a roll of her eyes that makes Cullen stifle a laugh), and nearby, Michael and Ferdinand sit and weave seashells into large pine wreaths. Everywhere he looks, he finds joy and happiness – even Emelie, so stoic and reserved, holds a sprig of mistletoe over Octavia’s head and sneaks a kiss while Edward pretends to be too focused on hanging a strand of little glass snowflakes to notice.  

Off to the side, Ariadne and Joanie stand in front of a large pine tree, directing two junior templars to move it a little to the left – no, too far, back to the right. By the mischievous smirk on Ariadne’s face, Cullen gathers the tree is perfect as long as it’s generally in this corner. After a few more directions, and as Ariadne nearly loses the battle against her restrained laughter, Joanie relieves the templars of their duty. The pair rush out of the Hall, passing Cullen on the way, very intentionally not making eye contact with anyone lest they be pulled into another task involving centimeters.