Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You left her?” His right hand clenched. He had to hit something. Anything. “You left her to fight that thing… alone?”

The Seeker’s cheek was pale. She looked ill. “You cannot blame me more than I blame myself.” Her voice was hoarse with pain.

Josephine put her hand on his arm. “Commander, please. We all mourn the loss of the Herald.”

Not like I do, he thought. His eyes stayed on Cassandra’s. “You were there. You were with her. You should not have left her.” His whole body trembled with rage. That was the exhaustion. The lyrium addiction. It made everything worse. 

“You are right,” she said, in a heavy voice. “She told us to go, but I should have stayed with her. I have failed my duty.”

“You were in battle,” Leliana said quietly. “We must make decisions swiftly in the field. You're not at fault, Cassandra.”

“Not the only one at fault, anyway,” Cullen all but snarled. He turned on the elf. “And you! What good is your magic if you couldn’t even save one person?”

“I regret that I could not do more,” Solas said. “The dragon was beyond my abilities. It appeared before we had time to prepare.”

He wanted to punch that supercilious elf in the face. Instead his fist made contact with the tree they sheltered under. “Leliana, give me two of your best scouts. I’m going to go look for her.”

Cassandra said, “I should go. The fault was mine. Varric and I will search for her.”

“Stop it,” Leliana said, and her voice rang with authority. “It’s too dangerous, and the Inquisition can spare neither of you. Look around. We have people who need us now. They are our first responsibility.” She looked at Cullen with compassion. “The Herald gave her life for us. Are we going to throw away her sacrifice with recriminations that threaten to split us apart?”

“We don't know that she's dead,” he said. But Leliana was right about one thing: he could not leave his soldiers. Most of Haven had made it out before it was destroyed, thanks to the Herald. Many were wounded. He would need to review the troops, secure escape routes, assign scouts. They would need food, clothing, shelter. A plan.

He had to get used to the idea of life without the Herald.

He would never forgive them for letting her face Corypheus alone.

He would never forgive himself.

Chapter Text

Snow flurried against the tent, waking him from another nightmare. He passed a hand over his eyes. The dreams were getting worse. He should be taking lyrium again. Without it, and without her, he was a mess. His hands shook as he pulled on his shirt. How much longer could he go on like this?

How could he miss her so much now?

A day since the attack on Haven. Four months since he’d met her. Trevelyan.

He didn’t even properly remember their first meeting. She was simply Cassandra’s prisoner: an unknown woman they’d fished out of the rubble of the Temple. The devastation caused by the explosion was his primary focus. He needed to rally and regroup the soldiers. He’d spared her hardly a glance when she’d shown up in Cassandra’s wake, with the strange glowing mark on her hand.

In Haven, he’d walked past his soldiers’ tents. They were all talking about her, naturally enough.

“She’s a criminal,” said Finn, one of his lieutenants. “She shouldn’t be allowed to go around free like that.”

“She’s not!” This was Baines, a new recruit. A farm girl from the Hinterlands. “She’s got divine power, she does. How else did she survive? She’s been sent from Andraste to save us!”

“What a load of —“

Cullen cleared his throat. “Don’t you both have work to do?”

“Yes, Commander!” They scuttled away.

Then she’d closed the rift; fine. So, she was good for something after all. Cassandra no longer seemed to think it suspicious that she’d apparently walked out of the Fade. For his part, however, he maintained vigilance. He’d seen too much of magic and the Fade to take anything for granted.

Back in Haven, Cassandra came to see him at the training yard. “She’s awake. I’ve asked her to join us in the Chantry.”

“Very good. What do you think of her, Cassandra? She was your prisoner, after all. Some of my soldiers are calling her divine.”

“Yes.” Cassandra looked uncertain, which surprised him. She was not often unsure of herself. “I’ve heard them call her the ‘Herald of Andraste,’ whatever that means.”

“Surely you don’t believe that could be true?”

A troubled look crossed her face. “I don’t know, Commander. You weren’t there. I saw how her mark flashed with a great light and sealed the rift. Is that is not the Maker’s power, then what it is?”

“It could be a demon.”

Her brows contracted. “I’ve thought of that possibility as well. You will have to observe her carefully. Your Templar training will be useful.”

Chapter Text

He joined Leliana and Josephine in the war room. Cassandra and the woman hadn’t arrived yet. Cullen didn’t mince words. “I am troubled by this title my troops have adopted for Lady Trevelyan.”

“Indeed,” Josephine said. “The Chantry has wasted no time in using it to paint us as heretics.”

“But it could be very useful.” Leliana tapped her finger thoughtfully against her cheek. “If the people believe we have the Maker on our side, then they will be more willing to support our cause.”

“I cannot believe you would prey on faith like that,” said Cullen.

She offered him a smile that he couldn't quite read. “Couldn’t it be true that she is what people think she is?”

He hated dealing with Leliana and her obscure questions, her convoluted reasoning. Her mind twisted and turned in the shadows, while his sought a straight, narrow path. Still, Leliana was an important ally. "What have you found out about her?"

"As far as my people can discover in the short time we've had to investigate, she is who she claims to be. Evelyn Trevelyan, youngest child of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. Twenty years old, no known criminal associations. The family is known to be pious and supportive of the Chantry. In fact, her parents were planning for Evelyn to join the Templars." 

Interesting. But not reassuring. Cullen knew first-hand that many people joined the Templars who were selfish, cruel, or otherwise unfit to serve as they should. She might still be unworthy of trust. “What does Lady Trevelyan think of all this?”

Footsteps approached, and Cassandra's voice echoed in the chantry. Leliana went to the door and opened it. “Let’s ask her, shall we?”

Seeker Pentaghast walked in then, followed by Evelyn Trevelyan. He hadn't had much chance to study her previously. He saw a woman nearly as tall as Cassandra, with hair cut short to fit under a helmet, and a faint scar across her left eyebrow. A duellist's injury. She stood calm and confident, fully the equal of any of them. She even smiled, albeit briefly, as if a day ago she hadn’t been in chains. Her smile was open, friendly, disarming. It both attracted and irked him a little. Typical noble. Aristocrats assumed command quickly and easily, with a sense of entitlement that bordered on arrogance. But he kept the irritation tamped down. Let her prove herself.

Cassandra nodded in his direction. “May I present Commander Cullen, the leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

He stepped forward and returned Trevelyan's nod of greeting. “Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more will be before this is through.” He wanted to remind her, none to gently, that they’d lost good people. That now was not the time for long-winded etiquette. Nobles often forgot that there was a human cost to power.

She hadn’t heard about her new, unofficial, title. She seemed genuinely shocked. Her dark eyes widened. “Just how am I the Herald of Andraste?”

A good sign, Cullen thought. A more ambitious noble would have embraced that position swiftly, and capitalized on it. “Quite the title, isn’t it?” he said. “How do you feel about that?” He watched her reaction carefully.

She glanced down at the war table for a moment, at her hands spread on the table as if to brace herself, then straight into his eyes. Her gaze was steady. “I’m not sure how I should feel.”

Not an entirely satisfactory answer, but not terrible, either. He supposed he would also be conflicted and confused, in her place. “The Chantry has decided that for you, it seems.”

Her voice betrayed a faint edge of frustration. “They aren’t more concerned about the breach? The real threat?”

Cullen was pleasantly surprised at her question, which revealed a tendency toward strategic thinking. At least she was in agreement with the leadership present that the breach was the greatest danger. “They do know it’s a threat. They just don’t think we can stop it.” We have to prove them wrong, he added in his head. Can you do that?

It was a heavy burden. But she took it on willingly. She agreed to go look for Mother Giselle in the war-torn Hinterlands without complaint.

Cassandra escorted her out.

“What do you think, Commander?” Leliana asked him.

Grudging admiration edged out suspicion, but he would stay wary. First impressions can deceive. “We’ll see how she performs in the Hinterlands. I am willing to give her a chance.”

Josephine sighed. “I’m afraid she is our only chance at the moment.”

“Then let us hope she does not disappoint us. In the meantime, I will continue building our military capacity.” He left the two of them to go over other details which were outside his purview.

The next morning, he was at the training yard reviewing the new recruits when he saw the party preparing to depart. They were across the field, by the stables. Cassandra was leading the expedition, and accompanying her were Varric and Solas. He shook his head. A merchant and an apostate? What was Cassandra thinking? He'd offered a few of his soldiers but the Seeker seemed to think that a smaller, less overtly military group was less likely to frighten Mother Giselle and her people. He hardly thought bringing along an elven apostate would endear them to her, either, but it wasn't his call.

Assuming they made it through the Hinterlands. Leliana's scouts painted a dangerous picture of the current situation.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Trevelyan hoisted a pack onto her back, then adjusted her bow and quiver.  He admired the ease with which she handled her weapon — she was no hothouse aristocrat, raised in sugar and silk. She’d had real training. She checked her gear twice. That was exactly what he always did, and what he trained all his soldiers to do.

Varric said something, Cassandra groaned, and Lady Trevelyan threw her head back and laughed. Her laughter was free and rich and resounded across the field. It tugged at something in Cullen. When was the last time he'd heard someone laugh like that? He turned away. He had matters to attend to.

“Commander!”

It was her, calling to him as she strode towards him. His practiced eye evaluated her efficient gait, her strong and graceful posture. A soldier through and through. A part of him relaxed slightly. They might be able to find common ground after all, warrior to warrior. Cultures may change but war was always the same. “Yes?”

“I wanted to say goodbye.” She grinned. Effortless charm. Damn her. It seemed to come so easily. "Do you have any advice for me?"

Don't get killed? He tried to return her smile. "If you meet anyone who might make a good recruit for us, see if you can send them to Haven. We'll take all the talent we can get."

"I'll do my best." Her grin deepened, revealing a dimple in her right cheek. It was adorable.

He cleared his throat. “I look forward to your reports from the field.” Maker, he sounded like a prig. But this was serious business. He hoped she understood how much was riding on her. “Good luck.”

A shadow crossed over her face then. “I fear I will need more than luck, Commander. But thank you.”

Then she was gone.

Chapter Text

Cassandra dutifully wrote up reports from the Hinterlands. He had asked her to monitor the Herald for possible demonic activity.

Contact with Mother Giselle established. The Herald still harbors discomfort with her title. Her conversation with Mother Giselle seems to have had a deep impact on her. She remains thoughtful.

I do not sense any demon interference. She has, it’s true, a soft spot for some of the mage rebels. However, I believe this speaks to her compassion as a whole and not to any particular sympathy for the rebellion. In general, she is eager to offer assistance to all troubled people, whatever their affiliation. I think this may be a good thing for the perception of the Inquisition in the area.

“I agree,” Leliana said, reading over his shoulder. “Whatever she can do to win people over will only help our cause.”

Cullen wrote back:

Threnn and I have put together a list of requisitions that will aid in our resupply efforts. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if your party could help gather these resources that would be helpful.

From Cassandra:

Your request was conveyed to the Herald, who was… not pleased. I am enclosing the note she wrote for you, at her request.

From the Herald:

Commander, so not only am I to recruit agents to the Inquisition, but you want me to run around gathering elfroot and iron as well? Wouldn’t one of your recruits be better suited to this task? Honestly, you’d think I’m the only one working for the Inquisition! I’ll send you some herbs *if I have time* but between the rogue Templars and the rebel mages I very much doubt I shall be in the mood for flower-picking.

-E. Trevelyan.

Cullen had to laugh at that. He sent no more missives. She was right to chide him — she had her hands full, and the last thing he wanted to do was distract her from her primary objective.

Then Baines brought him a note addressed specifically to him.

Commander, you will be pleased to hear that I have made contact with the horsemaster, Dennet, and he has agreed to come on to manage our stables if you would be so kind as to build some watchtowers in the area. I agreed to his terms. Not only that, but I found you the perfect horse. He’s a veteran warhorse — eighteen hands high, tough as a bear, and jet black. You would be proud to review your troops astride him. His name was something regal and overblown but I’ve renamed him Blackberry, which he seems to like. He’s very fond of apples. Anyway he reminds me of you and I thought you would like him very much and cut a very dashing figure perched atop his strong back.

We’ll be home in less than a week. Blackberry can’t wait to meet his new master.

-E. Trevelyan.

“Blackberry?” He shook his head but his mouth refused to relinquish the smile that tugged at it.

He sat down to write a reply but had no idea what to say, and in the end he sent nothing.

Chapter Text

He woke in a delirium. He'd hardly slept. The blizzard continued to rage, and had since that night at Haven. When had that been? Two days ago? He sat up and shivered. Rubbed a hand across the bristle on his jaw.

No one had arrived in the night. No one had seen her.

She was still alive, he knew it. He didn’t know how. He had to believe she would find them. He had ordered them to leave their campfires exposed so she might come across them, and know which direction they’d gone.

#

Their first real conversation took place a day or two after she'd returned from her first visit to the Hinterlands. He was at the training yard again. The new recruits had potential, but there was so much more work to be done. He had to make sure they would be ready -- for whatever came their way.

He saw her loping towards him and dismissed his lieutenant.

"We've received a number of recruits," he told her. A warrior like her would appreciate being kept in the loop about their military strength. "Locals from Haven, some pilgrims." He turned to her. She was watching him thoughtfully. "None made quite the entrance you did."

 She tilted her head. “At least I got everyone’s attention.”

That disarming smile again, demanding he smile in return. "That you did," he agreed. He rambled on for a bit about the Inquisition, why he was there — hoping to impress upon her what it meant to him, what it meant that she was also there. She and her mark, the key to everything. He caught himself just in time. “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

“No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.” And her easy, inviting grin.

He chuckled. “Another time, perhaps.” 

But then her smiled deepened, and Maker’s breath, that dimple winked saucily at him and for a moment he forgot what he was saying. “I, uh…" He paused, and all thought fled for an instant while he stared at her. "Still a lot of work ahead,” he finished lamely.

Later he wondered if she were simply being polite. Or was she teasing him? Could it be that she was flirting with him? It had been so long that he had no idea whether he'd even recognize flirting, if i happened. Or perhaps she really did want to hear his thoughts on the Inquisition. 

He wasn’t so immersed in his work that he was unaware of her qualities. She was beautiful, of course. She had dark, starlit eyes that sparkled, and her cropped hair, often tousled, glinted with gold and copper highlights. Her voice was rich and cultured and when she spoke, sometimes he could feel it reverberating deep inside him. But all that was neither here nor there. He'd spent years in single-minded pursuit of his duties and he wasn't about to waver from that path now.

He wasn't the only one affected by her. She'd made an enormous impact on the Inquisition leadership already, in only a few weeks. Cassandra had quickly moved from suspicion to respect. Whatever Leliana thought privately, in public she gave the Herald her full support. Josephine seemed to think her useful and gifted at forging alliances.

The elven mage would not let her out of his sight, although that was probably due entirely to the mark on her hand. Solas had otherwise shown no interest in anyone besides himself, and certainly not in humans. But he seemed to shadow her steps.

The person she seemed closest to was Varric. She seemed to think him amusing. They apparently spent their downtime in the Singing Maiden together, where they traded stories, drank together, and played Wicked Grace. They seemed to be genuine friends.

Friends. Cullen wondered what that was like. He hadn’t had a friend in a long time. 

Chapter Text

He had gotten angry with her after the second excursion to the Hinterlands. He’d read Cassandra’s report about a new agent Trevelyan had recruited. As soon as she returned from that trip, he went to go talk to her in her quarters.

She opened the door to him with a tired smile. She looked a bit peaked and a twinge of guilt pricked him. He should perhaps come back later. No, best have it out now. Besides, if he didn't broach the subject, he'd have to make up some other reason for visiting her quarters, and he couldn't think of what he'd say.

He kept his tone brisk and professional.  “Herald, I want to discuss the matter of Scout Ritts with you.”

She gave a guilty start, and her smile disappeared, which gave him another pang. “Well, hello to you, too, Commander. What's this about Ritts?” She sat and began to remove her boots.

He stayed standing, shutting the door against the cold. He'd try to keep this short, for her sake. “Is it true that she admitted to fraternizing with an apostate mage?”

“How did you find out? Varric wouldn’t have… Oh. Of course. Cassandra.” Her brows knitted together in disapproval.

“Yet you decided not to report her.”

“That’s right.” She crossed her arms and looked at him serenely, almost defiantly.

“Ritts is a potential threat to the Inquisition.” He didn’t like this aspect of command, but it had to be done. Trevelyan was new to the Inquisition. She needed guidance on what was appropriate, and what was not.

“I disagree,” she returned calmly. “Ritts had a moment of weakness, but she is no traitor. And as Varric noted, she has talent that our spymaster can use.”

He reined in his temper. She was tired, after all. “A moment of weakness is all it takes to be compromised.”

She tilted her head up at him thoughtfully. “Would you have felt the same if Ritts’s lover had been a rogue Templar and not an apostate mage?”

“Are you suggesting that I have a prejudice against mages?”

“Not at all. It’s just a question, Commander.” 

He frowned. He’d expected her to meet his anger with her own, or acknowledge her fault and apologize. But she seemed content to merely study him, as if trying to place his values. Trying to understand him.

“Unauthorized liaisons of any sort are forbidden among the Inquisition’s troops,” he said. "As the commander of Inquisition forces, it falls on me to ensure the safety of everyone involved."

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question, but I suppose it will have to do." She sighed, and placed her hands on her knees, leaning on them. She looked tired. "I understand your position. However, I evaluated the situation and in the end, I made the decision I felt was correct. Ritts gave me her pledge of loyalty.”

“And how do you know she won’t have another incident?”

“I’ll just have to trust her, I suppose. Besides, she'll be reporting to Leliana, not to you.”

A preposterous answer, and one that overlooked the fact that he was still responsible for everyone's safety. Not Leliana, not Cassandra, and not the Herald. “Is that all you have to say?”

Her clear eyes looked into his with no apology. She'd finished taking off her boots and her feet were bare on the wooden floor of the cabin. She looked very young. “Yes, Commander. Sometimes mercy is just as important to wield as disciplinary action. Surely you can understand the circumstances. Ritts was swept up in her feelings for someone. Have you never had a moment of weakness?”

Maker’s breath, those eyes of hers seemed to pierce his soul. That voice of hers, low and steady, resonated in his chest. He had no words to reply.

She looked away. “I suppose not. You were always the perfect soldier, no doubt. At some point, you’ll have to trust my judgement, Commander. If I make mistakes…” She shrugged. “Then they are mine, and I’ll do my best to remedy them.”

A moment of weakness… that’s all it took, he knew too well. At the Circle Tower in Ferelden, there had been a mage who’d caught his eye… he would have… He shook the thought from his mind. He hadn’t succumbed. He’d stayed true. Maker’s breath. He felt ill. The lyrium addiction crawled over his skin and hollowed out his belly. He grit his teeth.

She was watching him, eyebrows lifted. “Was there anything else, Commander?”

“No,” he said, and started for the door.

“How’s Blackberry working out?”

The question was so unexpected, so charming, that it dissolved what remained of his irritation. He laughed. “He is a well-trained chevalier’s mount, one in a thousand. You have an eye for horseflesh, madam. But I think he deserves a more dignified name.”

“What’s wrong with Blackberry? It’s perfect.” She grinned.

He was getting close to a moment of weakness of his own. Could he settle on the bench next to her, pour out two mugs of ale perhaps, and talk horses for the next hour?

No. He had no time for such diversions. “Pardon the intrusion. Good night,” he said quickly, and left.

Chapter Text

He successfully avoided her for a few days.

Then one night he went to the Singing Maiden, mostly because Josephine and Leliana insisted he needed a break. “Go on,” Leliana said. “Besides, it would be good for you to mingle and get a sense of troop morale, wouldn’t it?”

He had just gotten a goblet of wine when his eye caught hers. She was sitting in the back, with Varric and a few others. She waved at him with a friendly smile.

He nodded back, a bit stiffly. He wished he could be the kind of person who could sit down with the group, enjoy the banter, play a game of cards, but he wasn’t. He remained at the bar and turned away.

Varric sidled up next to him and ordered another round. "Hey Curly, why don't you join us?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't be. In fact, we were just talking about you. The Herald thinks she could take you in arm wrestling. What do you say?"

A smile tugged at his lips in spite of himself. "Oh, she does, does she?"

Varric shrugged. "That's what she's claiming. Come on. You're not going to let that stand without a challenge, are you?"

He looked over at the corner. Trevelyan grinned at something that one of his soldiers said. Was that Finn trading jokes with her? He couldn't sit down with Finn and the Herald and others. It wouldn't be appropriate. He needed to maintain boundaries, a sense of decorum.

"Another time, perhaps."

"I think you're just scared," Varric said, eyeing him.

Cullen chuckled and finished his drink. "Scared I'll lose?"

"Yeah. But I'm not talking about the arm-wrestling match. You're scared of losing your heart, Curly."

He scoffed. "Ridiculous."

Varric shrugged. "Okay. Have it your way. But if you ever need a friendly ear, I'm around."

#

The next morning she came to see him at the training yard. “Was there something you needed?” He kept his tone polite, but remote. Chilly, even.

She dove right in without preamble. “I’d like to know more about the Templars.”

Well, that seemed safe enough. “If you need insight into what the Order is doing now, I’m afraid I can’t offer more than you already know.” He paused. That sounded almost rude. “Anything else, I will answer as best I can.”

She asked a number of mundane questions then steered the conversation towards his personal experience. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t a secret, and he was proud of his training, although his career as a Templar had a few significant stains on it. Still, she had better know about his failures sooner rather than later.

Then she asked about his vows. It all seemed innocuous enough until she asked, with an entirely too innocent look on her face, “Are Templars also expected to give up… physical temptations?”

It caught him completely off-guard. “Physical? Why… why would you..? Ahem. That’s not expected.” He hurried on to cover his confusion. “Templars can marry, although there are rules about it, and the Order must grant permission. Some may choose to give up… more… to prove their devotion but it’s not… required.”

Her grin again, this time with a touch of wicked guilelessness. “Have you?”

“Me? I’ve… uh… No. I’ve taken no such vows.” He expelled the air in his lungs. She was teasing him, the minx. “Maker’s breath. Can we speak of something else?”

Her grin deepened. “That’s all I wanted to know. Thank you.”

“I’m sure you have other matters to attend,” he returned, coolly polite once more, hoping she would take the hint.

She did. Thank the Maker.

But ever since that conversation, he couldn’t help watching her. He doubted she ever noticed. He hoped she didn’t.

There was no denying that she drew his eye, every time she sauntered past the training fields. She was quick to laugh but he’d also seen her deadly aim when she practiced archery.

He’d always felt it important to maintain distance between himself and the troops. It was easier to remain the stern, remote Commander of the Inquisition than to invite familiarity. He wasn’t on intimate terms with anyone, certainly no one under his command. It would complicate things.

But she wasn’t under his command, not exactly. She was apart from the hierarchy, something else altogether. He didn’t know quite what to make of her, or how he should behave around her.

She didn’t seem intimidated by him in the least, which was both refreshing and… well, a bit embarrassing. Certainly no one else ever asked him personal questions. Cassandra was like him, just as committed to her work, uninterested in personal matters. Leliana had other means of finding out anything she wished to know. And Josephine was too discreet to pry. The Herald, however, had apparently made it her mission to ask about every aspect of his life and his past and to discomfit him as much as possible.

Harmless flirting, he told himself. She probably flirted with others too. He shouldn’t take it seriously. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They were at war. There was no time for dalliances. And besides, she was the Herald of Andraste and he was the Commander of the Inquisition. It wouldn't be appropriate for them to have an intimate relationship.

He wondered if she had a lover, then told himself it was none of his business.

But Varric's words still echoed in his head.

Chapter Text

Josephine wanted to send her to Val Royeaux to meet with the clerics. Val Royeaux.

The words escaped him before he could reshape them into something more diplomatic. “You can’t be serious!”

The ambassador said, “Mother Giselle isn’t wrong. At the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.”

An angry reply sprang to his lips but Leliana cut him off, as if sensing that he wasn’t going to contribute anything constructive to the conversation. “And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?”

Josephine glanced at Trevelyan. “Let’s ask her.”

The Herald shrugged. “What can they do? It’s just talk.”

Cullen glowered at her. Her naiveté irked him. She met his eye briefly, and he saw a flash of fear in them. It was bravado then, not naiveté.

“Don’t underestimate the power of their words,” Leliana said. “An angry mob will do you in just as quickly as a blade.”

Cullen wanted to slam his fist on the table. He couldn’t believe they were actually considering this — sending her into the lion’s den. He couldn't believe she was willing to go along.

Cassandra stepped forward. “I will go with her. Mother Giselle said she could provide us with names? Use them.”

Leliana frowned. “But why? This is nothing but a—“

“What choice to we have, Leliana? Right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the breach.” Cassandra looked at Cullen and Josephine, as if for support. “Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.”

“It’s too risky,” said Cullen. “We’re offering them our key chess piece on a platter.”

“I agree with the Commander,” Leliana said.

Everyone looked at the Herald. She drew in a deep breath. “I can do it. I will do it. Cassandra, can we be ready to leave tomorrow?” She smiled. “I’m afraid I have nothing appropriate to wear for Val Royeaux, but I suppose they’ll have to take me as I am.”

She walked out of the war room, and that was that.

Except it wasn't, not if he had anything to say about it. He went to see Leliana. She was tending to her ravens.

“This is an ill-considered scheme,” he said. “It leaves us potentially exposed to attack, and for what? No discernible gain. The Chantry cannot help us. Sending the Herald to Val Royeaux merely paints a target on her back for all of our enemies.”

“I agree,” she said. “But she is resourceful, Commander. She has not been killed yet."

He sighed. "Not for lack of trying."

"Having the Herald appear in Val Royeaux to parley peacefully with the moderate clerics sends a powerful message: that the Inquisition is not extremist, that we seek to resolve differences. When she makes her entrance -- and you know how good she is at that -- the people will see that  she is not a demon at all. I have little faith that the Chantry will hear what she has to say, but even so, it might turn out for the best.”

“It won't serve our cause if she becomes a martyr. What are you doing to protect her?”

She smiled at him. “Besides sending our formidable Seeker with her? Don’t worry; my people will be positioned all around the city. At the first sign of trouble, we’ll whisk her out of there.”

“Good.”

In a very different voice, she said, “Cullen, do I detect a concern for the Herald that is more than professional?”

“I — what? What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“She is a valuable asset, that’s all. I feel no more concern for her than I do for any of our people. Nor any less.”

“Ah. Do you know, Cullen, you’re so very adorable when you rub the back of your neck like that.”

Chapter Text

On the second night after the attack at Haven, he had walked out with the scouts as far from the camp as he’d dared, and now he was back in his tent, shivering. The more he pushed himself, the worse it got. The addiction clawed at him. The unrelenting chill didn’t help. Outside, the storm howled and scrabbled at the flimsy canvas of the tent like a wild thing.

He stared at the lyrium vial in his hand. He could take it again. Lessen the pain that beat at him. It was too much to bear. He curled his fingers around the fragile glass.

“Commander?” Leliana’s voice, just outside his tent.

“Yes,” he said. He tucked the vial away. “Come in.”

Leliana ducked inside, bearing a cup of something hot and steaming. “I brought you some tea. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’ve been better.” He wiped the sweat off his face with a cloth and accepted the mug. He sipped without tasting anything. “Have your scouts found us a suitable camp for tomorrow?”

“I think so. For the night, anyway. We will have to decide on a more long term solution soon.”

She was right. Finding a new headquarters for the Inquisition needed to take priority over everything.  “Any news of …” He couldn’t bring himself to ask. He knew what the answer would be.

Her voice was gentle. “My people have seen nothing. I’m sorry. I know how much she meant to you.”

How could she, when he hardly knew himself? “I won’t stop looking for her. She may still be alive.”

“But you must also prepare yourself for the possibility that she is dead, Commander. It's been nearly three days. The country is hostile. Even if she were perfectly healthy, she would have difficulty surviving the weather and lack of food.”

“She’s a soldier,” he said. His voice cracked. “She survived the Conclave. I won’t give up on her.”

Leliana only nodded and withdrew.

#

He’d never been so worried about her as the time she spent in Val Royeaux. Bears, bandits, even demons the Herald vanquished with ease, but how would she fare in the nest of vipers that was the fabled Orlesian city? 

She had been gone only a few days when Leliana came to speak to him. He was in the midst of taking his frustrations out on a training dummy. His skin steamed in the cold air. He wiped his face and turned his attention to her.

“The Herald is on her way home. She's just crossed into the Frostbacks.”

Thank the Maker for the spymaster’s ravens, Cullen thought. “And the meeting with the clerics?”

“Just as we feared. The meeting did not go well. But there is an unexpected complication.” She held out a rolled piece of parchment. “Read for yourself.”

He did. He had to read it twice over. The hastily-penned report made little sense. “I don’t understand. Lord Seeker Lucius struck Revered Mother Hevara? In public? Declared independence for the Templars? What is he playing at?”

“I do not know. Not yet. I have sent my agents to uncover what they can.”

He grit his teeth. To think that the Herald had been within striking distance of such unprincipled power… “If we can maneuver around Lord Seeker Lucius, the Templars would make a formidable ally.”

“Or enemy.”

“I have to believe that Lucius does not speak for all in the Order. A significant number of Templars may be persuaded to recognize his folly and join us.”

“Perhaps. In any case, the Herald survived the encounter — and recruited three new agents.”

“Who?”

“One is an Orlesian merchant, Belle. She should arrive in a week or so, and will bring valuable trade contacts with her. The other two — well, you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

He didn’t like the mischief in her smile.

The Herald arrived early in the morning a few days later. He'd made it a point to be out in the training yard every morning since Leliana had come to talk to him. He told himself it was where he belonged, and not because he was desperate to see if the Herald fared well.

But when she arrived, riding in with the others, h e had to physically check himself from running to her. He watched her from across the training field as she dismounted, stretched her legs. He drank in the sight of her. She was well. She looked tired, but not injured. She patted her bay mare and shared a joke a Varric. He let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Only then did he notice her two new companions. No wonder Leliana had smiled -- they were polar opposites.

One was Lady Vivienne. He’d heard of her, of course, and it said something about the Inquisition’s growing clout that someone like her would publicly join them. He had no use for Orlesian machinations but he had to admit the Herald had done well in finding a high-status ally with respectability and imperial connections.

The other looked to be a common elven street rat. She slipped ungracefully off her horse and gave a short laugh, then made a rude gesture at Lady Vivienne's back. What on earth could the Herald see in her? 

No matter. They had business to discuss. He joined Leliana and Josephine in the Chantry. Decisions would have to be made quickly.

Not even Josephine wasted time on pleasantries. As soon as Cassandra and Trevelyan entered the chantry, the ambassador approached them. “It’s good you’ve returned. We’ve heard of your encounter.”

Cassandra looked startled. “You heard?”

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course,” Leliana said.

Cullen folded his arms. “It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.”

As if she sensed his disapproval, the Herald shot back, “We had to do something, and now we have an opportunity.”

“Yes,” Josephine agreed. “And we have the opening we need to approach the Templars and the mages.”

Cullen stared at her. The mages?

“Do we?” Cassandra’s voice was doubtful. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“True,” said Leliana. “He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been…. very odd.”

“We must look into it,” he said. He wasn’t ready to give up on the Templars because of one corrupted leader. “I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.” He himself had turned against Knight-Commander Meredith, after all, once he’d realized that she’d gone over the edge.

“Or,” Josephine said, “the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead.”

He couldn’t believe she would suggest this. “You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse.” At least the Templars had a sense of discipline. Who knew what the roving band of apostates believed? Who knew how many demons were already loose in their midst?

Trevelyan let out a sharp exhale of frustration. “Or you could stop bickering and make a decision.”

They all looked at her. She had dark rings under her eyes. She was under strain.

“I agree,” Cassandra said.

But Josephine had to put in one last appeal. “We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe. The mages may be worth the risk.”

“They are powerful, Ambassador,” agreed Cassandra, “but more desperate than you realize.”

The Herald shrugged. “So it’ll be dangerous. I’ve been in danger since I walked out of the Fade.”

Something about the fatalistic way she said split a crack in his heart. It was true, he couldn’t deny it. He was charged with protecting the Inquisition, but that meant sending the Herald into danger, over and over. 

Cassandra’s eye glinted with cold anger. “If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave—“

Josephine interrupted. “The same could be said about the Templars.”

It was time to put this discussion to rest. The Herald needed to sleep, and they were talking in circles. “True enough. Right now I’m not certain we have influence to approach the Order safely.” He needed time to plan, to prepare, to assess. There was a time for action, and a time for caution.

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places,” Cassandra said. She turned to Trevelyan. “That’s something you can help with.”

“In the meantime, we should consider other options,” Josephine hinted, giving him a pointed look.

Other options. He wondered what that meant. The discussion seemed to be over for now. Cassandra stalked away. He nodded a brief farewell to the Herald and followed the ambassador into her office.

Chapter Text

Josephine sat at her desk and put her head in her hands. “This is a mess, Commander. Please, close the door. We must speak in private.”

He obliged. He agreed with her, but right now, they needed to focus on solutions, not on untangling what went wrong. “We need more time to assess the situation. I’m certain we can convince the Templars that the Inquisition adheres more strongly to their values than the Seekers do under Lucius.”

“That may be. But it is not the Templars I wish to discuss. I may have found another potential ally in an unexpected place.” Josephine paused. “I have been approached with what appears to be a proposal of marriage.”

“Congratulations,” he offered politely, wondering what this had to do with anything.

“For the Herald.”

That brought him up short. “Who?”

“If you can believe it, Grand Duke Gaspard.”

He took a deep breath the calm his internal turmoil. “No, I can’t believe it. Why would he offer such a thing?”

“He is gathering allies for a move against Celene.”

“I know that, but what advantage would marriage to the Herald give him? As far as he's concerned, she's toxic! The Chantry has denounced her. The Templars have called her weak. The Orlesian nobles won’t speak to her. The Fereldans are suspicious of her. Our Inquisition is still perceived as completely disorganized, with no real power. Any association with us is bound to hurt his chances at recapturing the throne, not strengthen them.”

“I believe that is no longer true, Commander. The appearance of our Herald in Val Royeaux has incited a ripple of interest in the highest circles of Orlesian society. I have received several letters of interest from some of the best families. After all, Lady Vivienne has joined us. She wields a great deal of influence in the court.”

“But Gaspard is a warrior. A general. He doesn't listen to whispers.”

“He does when they concern his cousin. Lady Vivienne was personal advisor to the Empress, you recall. Gaspard may believe this is Celene’s way of getting her hooks into the Inquisition.”

“Ridiculous!”

“I happen to agree with you. In any case, there was no formal proposal of marriage, as such. An exploratory invitation, hinting at something more. A subtle first move in the Grand Game. Nothing may come of it. But it is… intriguing.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

“I know what we should not do about it. We must not tell the Herald. She has enough to worry about.”

“I agree.”

“Nor should we ignore it. The Grand Duke is too powerful and would react poorly to an outright slight. Therefore we cannot reject his advances out of hand, regardless of what our final decision may be. Nor can we appear too eager. However, it could be useful to have a degree of influence with the Grand Duke in our back pocket.”

“Useful? Dangerous, you mean. He plays the Game, Lady Ambassador, and he is an expert.”

“So am I, and so is Sister Leliana.” She smiled. “She is, of course, aware of the situation, and her people are infiltrating the Grand Duke’s household as we speak. This will be a delicate courtship.”

“So delicate it could end with a blade in someone’s back,” Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, marriage negotiations are far outside of my area of expertise. Why did you wish to speak to me about it?”

“I need your help, Commander. You know him, don’t you? By reputation, at least. What sort of man is he?”

In spite of what he might feel about a potential marriage, it was his duty to be objective. “He’s a true chevalier down to his bones. He has honor. His troops love him. He is a skilled leader, an experienced general. Many believe he should have been Emperor. He’d be a good one.”

“But what about his… softer side? Do you know anything about his paramours?”

He resisted the urge to snap that she should ask Leliana about that, not him. He knew she was only trying to do her job as thoroughly as possible. She had of course already asked the spymaster these questions. She wanted his opinion, and it would be unconscionable for him not to help. “No, although I believe he and his late wife were said to be genuinely fond of each other."

“Hm. Do you think the Herald could find him attractive?”

“How should I know?” Then he sighed. That had been rude and unworthy of him. The truth was, in his estimation, no man was good enough for the Herald, but Gaspard was a royal prince. If that wasn't good enough, then who? “He is handsome, and courtly, and intelligent, and rich. And he may well still become emperor.” 

“I don’t really think the Herald cares for titles or wealth, do you?”

Why was she asking him? "If you believe I have insight into the Herald's preferences, you are mistaken."

"Then she is not currently attached to anyone?"

"I am not privy to her attachments. You know as much as I."

"Ah. I'm sorry, I had thought -- never mind." Josephine watched him for a moment. The candle on her desk flickered. He suddenly felt overly warm and restless to leave. Then she stood up decisively. “I would like you to travel to Val Royeaux and speak with him. Discreetly. Warrior to warrior. I can arrange a meeting that will seem like coincidence.”

“I cannot spare the time. And in any case, I really don’t think…”

“You’re the only one I can trust with this, Cullen,” Josephine said quietly. “You’re the only one of us he’ll openly meet with.”

“Cassandra…”

“--needs to stay with the Herald. You know that as well as I. You can be back within a week or two at this time of year.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to find out?”

“If the Herald were your sister, would you be comfortable with her marriage to Grand Duke Gaspard? That is all I wish to know. Please. Do this for her.”

That did it, of course. For her, he would have walked into the Void.

Chapter Text

The day before he left, he rode out with her and the others as they left Haven for their third excursion to the Hinterlands. “I am proud to say I know those hills better than Scout Harding at this point,” she joked. “The bears recognize me now, you know. They wave their giant paws as we pass.”

They traveled down the road a mile or so. He was reluctant to let her out of his sight. Every time she left Haven, she risked coming back injured. Or not at all. “Let me know how you fare at the mercenary fortress," he said. "If you should need some support, I will divert a detachment of guards to assist you."

"We'll be fine, Commander. Stop being such a mother hen." She wrinkled her nose when she smiled.

He returned her smile. The day was brisk but bright, a perfect day for riding. If they didn't have the Breach and a thousand other fires to put out, he'd be tempted to invite her to race him up the mountain. "When you make contact with the Grey Warden, ask if he's had any word about the Hero of Ferelden. She's been missing for years, but as she was a Warden-Commander, he might have heard something.”

"I have to find him first. Then we'll see. ” She grinned at him, then saluted at his horse. “Good bye, Blackberry. Take care of Commander Cullen, would you? Don’t let him go chasing after mages on his own.”

#

A week later he was in Val Royeaux. How he hated this city. Behind its glittering facade festered corruption.

It felt wrong to keep this mission secret from the Herald, but Josephine and Leliana insisted. He reluctantly agreed. He could oppose one of them, but when they united, they were impossible. And terrifying.

He walked through the golden gates, followed by two of his best soldiers. His cover story was that he was there to secure a supply of high-quality weapons for the Inquisition. “The Grand Duke plans to attend a ceremony at the Academie des Chevaliers in the morning,” Leliana had told him. “The celebration ends around noon, after which he and his entourage will make their way to the home of one of his supporters." She pointed at a street on the map of the city. "You will happen to meet them on the way.”

“He knows I am meeting him, doesn’t he?”

“He suspects we are sending someone, yes.”

Josephine clasped her hands. “Just… be polite, Commander.”

“I’m always polite,” he growled.

“My people will shadow you the entire way,” Leliana said. “Good luck.”

Sister Nightingale’s people were discreet. He had no idea where they were. He arrived in front of the Academie at noon, made it look as though her were casually strolling by, and was greeted by one of Gaspard’s men — no doubt a plant. “Ah, if it is not the Inquisition’s Commander. Ser Rutherford, yes?”

And just like that, he found himself invited to join the group for a drink at a nearby villa.

The Grand Duke sat himself next to Cullen casually, as if none of this had been carefully planned. He'd taken off his mask, and it lay on the table in front of him. Unusually for an Orlesian noble, he wore no makeup. His eyes were icy blue in his strong, almost brutal face. The face of a fighter. “So, Commander,” he said. “You have come to ask about my… intentions towards your Herald, have you?”

Cullen was surprised the Grand Duke broached the subject so directly. That wasn't how the Game was played. He took a long sip of his wine. “I have the greatest respect for you, your Grace." 

“Ha! Spoken like some who understands the Game.” He leaned forward a little and Cullen could smell his perfume — a light, citrus scent of refined masculinity. Would the Herald find it alluring? The Grand Duke continued, “I despise the Game. You and I, we are soldiers, yes? Warriors. Our conversation is steel to steel. Would you care to spar with me?”

Had he heard correctly? “I beg your pardon?”

“One can learn so much about a man by crossing swords with him, do you agree? Let us get to know each other better, Commander. There is a courtyard in this villa we may use.”

A fierce desire shot through him and he grinned. “I thank you for your invitation. Let us spar in private, your Grace. It would not be discreet to let all of Orlais know that a royal prince was beaten by a Fereldan.”

The Grand Duke laughed.

Both he and the duke stripped to their linen shirts. Cullen was offered a selection of exquisite rapiers — not his preferred weapon, but he chose the plainest one. The Grand Duke had his own.

The courtyard was deserted, as Cullen had requested, except for his own guards and two of Gaspard’s men.

They fought. They were well-matched. Gaspard had the greater finesse with the weapon of choice, but Cullen had the edge in youth and passion.

“So, your Herald,” said Gaspard as he flicked his blade at Cullen’s shirt. “She is tolerable to look at, I have heard.”

More than anything Cullen wanted to focus on the duel, not on banter. He wanted to win. “She is lovely,” he said. "Strong and graceful."

The Duke sketched a mocking salute. "Ah, you remain her loyal retainer, of course. To you, she is the most beautiful woman in Thedas.”

Cullen paused at that but caught himself and recovered his footing. It was true, what the Duke said. “She is a trained fighter, like you, your Grace. You would respect her.”

“Ha! Would you lay odds on her against me?” The duke feinted and lunged. 

Cullen had to smile as he parried and countered. “Of course. I regret to say she would wipe the floor with you.”

Gaspard chuckled and bowed a little flourish in acknowledgement. “She sounds formidable indeed. Have you had a chance to sample her other, less martial, charms?”

Cullen stumbled. Gaspard took advantage of the moment by leaping forward, but Cullen managed to dodge the point of the blade just in time. “No,” he said through gritted teeth.

The duke pursed his lips. “I apologize. I forget the prickly sense of honor Fereldans have about intimate relations. Orlesian society tends to be less… restrictive. I meant no disrespect to you, or your Herald. I was merely curious.”

“Why the interest, if I may ask?” Cullen’s thrust was repelled easily by Gaspard. “Surely there are dozens of ladies of quality better suited to your rank.”

“None are the Herald, blessed of Andraste. That is intriguing, no? Tell me, Commander,  you were a Templar once, a man of faith; do you believe she is a divine messenger sent by the Maker?”

Blast the man, how could he keep up this conversation so effortlessly, and manage to deflect every attack at the same time? Cullen wiped the sweat from his brow.

What did he believe? “The Maker’s ways are not always revealed to us,” he said finally.

“That is true.” Gaspard lowered his weapon. “I think we have sparred enough for today, Commander. It grows too warm for vigorous exercise. Shall we call this a draw? I thank you for indulging me.” He inclined his head politely.

What had happened? Cullen had no idea, but he bowed. “It was my pleasure.”

“I have no doubt we shall meet again. Until then, Commander.”

Gaspard retired — to a cool bath, presumably. Cullen sank heavily on a marble bench and wiped his face. Had Gaspard played him? If so, he couldn’t see how. Had the Grand Duke extracted any information he could use against the Inquisition? Cullen thought not. It had been an extremely puzzling afternoon, but in the end, he sensed that the duke remained a potential ally. 

For his part, all he could report to Josephine was that Gaspard remained reasonably interested in the Herald whether as a marriage prospect, an ally, or a lover, and that he appeared to be a man of principle.

And Cullen had confirmed one more suspicion: much as Gaspard might claim to despise the Grand Game, he proved disconcertingly deft at it.

Chapter Text

While his attention had been consumed by dealing with the Grand Duke, the Herald had gone to Redcliffe and made contact with Fiona, the Grand Enchanter.

Former Grand Enchanter.

“Redcliffe has been taken over by Tevinter magisters?” He paced the war room. “How could this have happened without our knowing it?”

Leliana and Josephine exchanged glances. Had they used Gaspard as a distraction to get him out of the way while they guided the Herald to Redcliffe?

“He seemed to have come from nowhere,” Leliana admitted. “We had no warning. I have no information on Alexius. My agents are even now scrambling to gather more.”

“This changes everything,” he growled. “And why did the Herald go to meet Fiona? I thought we had not made a decision on our next move yet. Was this your influence, spymaster? You’ve always had a soft spot for the mage’s cause.”

“We should discuss this with the Herald when she returns,” Josephine said swiftly before Leliana could reply. “This was her decision. She will be back in Haven in a few days.”

“And she has recruited the Grey Warden we asked her to find,” Leliana added. “A man named Blackwall. He seems… a good man.”

Cullen would not be mollified by this bit of good news. “Magisters in Ferelden — it’s practically an invasion.”

“It is deeply troubling,” Josephine said.

“And who is Dorian Pavus? Can we trust a Tevinter mage?”

“No one is suggesting we trust him,” Leliana said, clearly a bit nettled. “However, what other reason would he have to warn us off Alexius? Even if he plays his his own hand, he could play into ours.”

“This Tevinter cult he mentioned bears investigation,” Josephine said, picking up a report from the table. “The Venatori. I have asked my contacts about it. Commander, you should know that we have received a letter from Alexius asking for a meeting with the Herald. If we refuse, there may be repercussions.”

“Enough talk,” he snapped. “Alert me the instant she returns.” He strode out of the room.

Maker. He hadn’t been this angry in quite a while. He could blame some of the turmoil on the lyrium addiction — the symptoms were worse when he overworked himself — but he had to admit there was a significant dose of fear mixed in with his fury. He had always managed his fear well. That was one of the first things you learned to do, as a leader of troops whom you have to send to their deaths. Fear was healthy. It kept you from overconfidence. It moderated your rage. It reminded you that people were fragile.

But when the fear gnawed like a hungry beast, eating your insides, then it could pollute your ability to make decisions.

He shouldn’t have treated Josephine and Leliana so curtly. That sort of uncontrolled outburst was beneath him. He’d go back and apologize.

He entered his cabin and sat at his desk. All energy seemed to drain from him in an instant. Tomorrow. He’d apologize tomorrow. He pulled out the box of lyrium vials he kept nearby, just in case.

Why hadn’t he thrown them out? Because he was afraid he would need them again. That was his worst fear. That he would return to the man he used to be. Leashed by lyrium, ruled by fear.

If only Cassandra were here. He could talk to her. She had dealt with Templars, knew their tribulations. He could ask her if he seemed… if he were still fit to lead.

He didn’t know anymore.

#

Two days later, the Herald returned, along with the Grey Warden Blackwall.

This time, Cullen went to go meet her as she rode in. 

She sat hunched on her horse, her cloak wrapped tight around her. A dusting of snowflakes crystalized in the hair that spilled from her hood. In spite of her obvious misery, she flashed him a wan smile.

“You are certainly a sight for sore eyes, Commander,” she said, and his heart twanged in response. “You can help me off my horse. I’m afraid I—“

“She is ill,” said Cassandra brusquely, trotting up alongside. “I told you we should have returned sooner.”

He held out his hands to help her down and she all but tumbled into them. The horse whinnied anxiously.

Cullen removed his glove and touched her forehead, which burned. “You've got a fever.  Solas, you couldn’t do anything?”

The elf stood apart from the others, as usual. “I have eased her pain,” he said. “But some illnesses simply take their course. She will recover, with proper rest.”

"I'm fine," she said weakly, but he could feel her trembling. He realized he was still holding her hands and he dropped them, self-conscious.

Varric put his shoulder under hers, supporting her.  "Come on, Herald, let's get you into a hot bath." 

"Are you suggesting I smell bad?" Assisted by Varric, she began walking slowly to her cabin. Everyone followed her, a step behind. 

"Well, now that you mention it..." Varric grinned, but Cullen could see that he was worried.

The Herald turned to them. "Stop hovering about like anxious Chantry sisters! I'm fine. I'm just a little tired, that's all." She glanced at Cullen. “Did you want to speak to me?”

Cassandra threw him a glare. “No doubt it can wait.”

Trevelyan smiled. “I’m not sure it can. See how he struggles to keep his lecture in check? I know what you’re going to say, Commander—“

They’d reached the door of her quarters. Cassandra opened it and hustled her inside.

“I’ll return when you are feeling better,” he said.

“That would be good.” Trevelyan’s voice was faint.

Cassandra shut the door in his face.

#

The Herald sent him word that she was ready to speak to him some time after dinner. He hesitated. For her sake, he considered telling her to sleep, and they would talk tomorrow. But something made him throw on his cloak and go over.

She looked much better. She sat on her bed with a dry wool cape flung over her shoulders and a steaming mug in her hands. Her smile had a touch of wariness to it.

“I know what you’re going to say, Commander. You didn’t want me to go to Redcliffe.”

He ran a hand through his hair. He’d been so angry earlier. Then he'd channeled that into words he would say to her. How disappointed he was that she hadn't consulted her advisors. That tactical decisions, in particular, needed to be run past him. If she’d come and spoken to him, he could have…but it didn’t matter. His anger had deflated entirely now. He pulled up a chair and sat across from her. “I am disappointed that you chose to act without consulting us, that's true. We’re team, Herald.”

“I… You’re right.” She stared down at the mug in her hands.

He smiled. “Did I just hear the Herald admit she was wrong?”

She made a face. “Don’t get used to it.” Then she turned serious again. “It was impulsive of me to go to Redcliffe, I'll grant you. I was right there, and I... I thought I could take care of it quickly. I hadn't counted on Alexius. But now -- we can't just leave those mages in servitude to a Tevinter magister! It’s wrong.” She looked fiercely at him.

“Fiona chose her own path.”

“Because she felt she had no choice! Cullen, we have to help them. Confront Alexius. Isn’t this what we do? Isn’t this precisely what the Inquisition stands for?”

“Yes; but not at the cost of destroying ourselves.” Destroying yourself, he meant.

“So we should just do nothing and let the Breach destroy us all?”

“That’s not what I—“ He caught himself. He didn’t want to get into an argument with the Herald. More gently, he said, “We must act, but we must be tactical. The magisters may be just as dangerous as the Breach, in their own way.”

“But we’ll have help. Dorian Pavus knows Alexius. He worked with him. That could be just the advantage we need.”

“Or we could approach the Templars.”

She shook her head. “I trust them less than the mages.”

That hurt. Part of him was still entangled in his former life as a Templar, he supposed. Would he ever be able to leave it behind?

"But weren't you once planning to become a Templar yourself?"

She wrinkled her nose. "My family's idea. Not mine." Then she looked up and regret bloomed on her face. "I'm sorry." Her hand darted out and she touched his arm for a brief instant.  “That must have sounded as though I don’t trust you. I do.”

A tiny spot on his forearm was still warm where her fingers had pressed it. She had less reason to trust him that she realized. The addiction buzzed in his head. What if it impaired his judgement? Perhaps she was right not to trust him. He couldn’t even trust himself.

He stood up. “I should let you rest. We can continue this tomorrow. We should hear what Leliana and Josephine have to say.”

"Oh," she said, looking startled. “Of course. Thank you for coming, Commander.”

He shut the door firmly behind him.

Chapter Text

The third night after the attack on Haven. Another nightmare.

Sometimes the dreams were full of shrieking corpses. He could see faces of people he’d known. Mages in the Circle Tower, fellow knights in Kirkwall.

But other times the nightmares were a more subtle horror.

He walked through snow. All was shadow. His throat ached from a silent scream. His heart raced. Each step heavier than the last.

A sense of dread guided him. He walked for hours, days. Then the snow cleared. He started to run.

Something lay in the snow. A crumple of cloth. He ran, without breath, without voice.

He already knew what he would find. Her face, cold. Her skin, encased in a coffin of red ice. No. Not ice. Red lyrium.

She opened her eyes. They shone crimson.

Her voice was warm and rich, both familiar and strange, resonating through his entire body. “You came for me, Cullen. I knew you would.”

He knelt at her side, as tender as a lover. “Demon.”

She rose and stood in front of him. “Embrace me. I know how much you long to.”

“No,” he said, but it was a lie. Every fibre of him ached to pull her in close. Demon or no.

She laughed, reached for him. Her cold hand touched his cheek.

He tried to recoil, but he couldn’t move. “Leave me, demon!”

He froze in horror as she leaned in to kiss his lips. Her touch scorched him with ice-cold fire.

He woke with a shout, covered in cold sweat. The box of lyrium vials lay at his side. He picked it up with trembling hands. Perhaps just one dose… to get him through this nightmare.

He threw the box down and began to pray.

Baines came to his tent. “Commander? It’s time to move.”

They trudged through the snow. Time had no meaning anymore. Was it the third day after Haven? Fourth? Two more wounded had died in the night. The healers were exhausted trying to keep the rest alive. They were all down to half-rations. And Cullen still didn’t know where they could go. Where could they find safe harbor for the Inquisition? All they had built, everything they’d worked tirelessly to nurture, Corypheus had wiped it all away.

He almost didn’t notice Solas until the elf addressed him. “I have traveled through the Fade these last several nights, and I have encountered no sign of the Herald.”

He grunted. His entire body felt weak today. “What does that mean?”

“It means, Commander, that there is a very good chance her spirit has not passed into the Fade. She is likely still alive.”

He stopped and stared into the elf’s eyes. “You’re sure?”

“No. I cannot be sure. But I thought you would like to know that I, too, believe she lives. She will find us.”

Cullen watched as the elf glided away.

#

The Herald confronted Alexius in spite of his warnings. The entire time she was gone, his sleep was broken. He had nightmares about the Circle Tower in Ferelden. He watched, helpless and frozen, as all his friends and peers burned to death around him, possessed and tortured by demons.

He tried to make sense of the field reports that the ravens carried in advance of her return. The first thing to understand was that she was safe. She had survived, and captured Alexius. The Tevinter mage who’d helped them — Pavus — was also accompanying her.

But all the rest — he had read them over so many times and still could not grasp what had happened. She had gone through time? To the future, a world even more bleak than he feared. That was the appalling potential of the Breach.

More than ever, they had to seal the Breach. Everything depended on it.

Could they trust the mages? He pulled up Cassandra’s report and reviewed it.

I recommended conscription, but the Herald offered them alliance. The former Grand Enchanter and her mages will join us at Haven in a week’s time. We should be prepared.

He knew what she meant. Mages needed Templars. There were a few in the Inquisition, but not nearly enough to manage the swell in their ranks. There would be morale issues, too. Many people were afraid of mages. One of the valuable functions of the Circles was to keep mages safe from those who would harm them out of ignorance and fear.

One of Leliana’s people interrupted him with a sharp knock at his door. “Commander, the Herald has returned. Your presence is requested in the chantry right away.”

He found Josephine and Leliana already there. “This was irresponsible,” he said, waving Cassandra’s report.

“The mages have good reason to want to help us,” Leliana said. “The Herald freed them from Alexius.”

“It doesn’t matter what the mages want. They can’t help what they are. I saw first hand what happens when mages are freed from all constraints. We must find a way to contain them.” He took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone. “It’s not a matter for debate. There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared.”

Josephine frowned at him. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.”

He was about to say he didn’t care how they appeared, as long as everyone was safe, but the Herald had walked up, followed by Cassandra. He turned his concern towards her. “What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open.” She should know this better than anyone. Hadn’t she been fighting the demons spilling out of the Fade for weeks now?

She looked tired, almost gaunt. “Give them their freedom for now. If they prove later they can’t handle it, impose restrictions.”

She made it sound so easy. But it wasn’t. “And how many lives will be lost if they fail? With the Veil broken, the threat of possession… You were there, Seeker. Why didn’t you intervene?”

“While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it. The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages' aid and that was accomplished.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks,” said a voice from the corner. They all turned. A Tevinter man leaned against the wall, as relaxed as if he were attending a tea party. A wry smile quirked his lips. “And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.” That must be Dorian Pavus, Alexius's former pupil. What in the Void was he doing here? Cullen's hands fisted in spite of himself.

Cassandra glared at the interruption. “Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

He couldn’t argue with that, at least. He'd just prefer not to lose any more people in the attempt, if he could possibly help it.

The Herald said, “Closing the Breach will require a lot of magic and that means lyrium. I have contacts who can help.”

“Contacts meaning… smugglers?” Leliana asked. “Send them word. We need every advantage.”

Working with lyrium smugglers now? What were they becoming? “We have legitimate supply lines already.”

“And they don’t need to hear of this,” Leliana returned smoothly.

Josephine said, “Keep it under the table and I’ll do what I can to quiet rumors.”

“We should look into the things you saw in this dark future,” Leliana said. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do,” Dorian said. “Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone.”

The man’s jocular tone was entirely inappropriate to the nature of this discussion. Cullen said, “One battle at a time. It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.” And away from Tevinter mages dropping in uninvited. But the Herald should be there. “Join us,” he said to her, with what he hoped was a sincere invitation. “None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

She smiled wearily. “And I’d hoped to sit out this assault on the Breach. Take a nap. Maybe go for a walk.”

He chuckled. She could still make him smile, even when he disapproved of her decisions. “What is it they say? No rest for the wicked?”

“Meet us there when you’re ready,” said Josephine.

“I’ll skip the war council,” said Dorian breezily, as if anyone had invited him. “But I would like to see this Breach up close if you don’t mind.”

Cullen did mind. But the Herald’s eyes lit up. “Then you’re staying?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The south is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

Little pieces? That could be arranged, Cullen thought. Just one tiny sign of possession and he would be more than happy to draw steel on the mage.

The Herald smiled broadly. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with. Future or present.”

It wasn’t his business, but were they actually flirting? In front of everyone? During a meeting about the Breach?

“Excellent choice,” the mage replied. “But let’s not get stranded again any time soon, yes?”

Enough of this frivolous banter. “I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

He tried not to watch the Herald and the Tevinter mage stroll out of the chantry together. He wanted to ask her what had happened. How she fared. Whether she was... shaken by the experience she'd gone through. But instead he went back to his desk and to the stack of reports that awaited him.

Chapter Text

Everyone thought it was over. Including him.

When they returned to Haven after sealing the Breach, he joined the entire community in cheering the Herald. Then he gathered his lieutenants and tell them how proud he was of them. “Against all odds,” he said, “you have persevered. If not for you, the Herald would not have been able to reach the summit and use her mark. I want you all to remember every detail of what you did today, and tell it to your children and grandchildren.”

Then he dismissed them with a grin. “Enough speech-making! You should go and celebrate.”

When he was alone again, he glanced into the sky. The green glowing portal was gone. A faint scar remained. Good. Scars were reminders. He touched the one that marred his lip.

He walked through Haven that evening, with no particular destination in mind. His soldiers danced with mages. Elves caroused with humans. The Iron Bull and his Chargers handed out mugs of ale to Chantry folk. There was no suspicion, no fear between them anymore. They were united in victory. Somehow, this motley group of outcasts and refugees had come together to do what no other organization managed. He could be proud of that. It was the Herald, and the hope she symbolized, that bound them. His heart filled with gratitude and pride.

He walked along the walls, checking the guard posts as he passed out of long habit. The guards hailed him cheerfully. Even tonight, they needed to maintain vigilance. The same number of guards were posted tonight as every night. Those on watch would have their celebration later.

He turned back to the chantry. He hadn’t seen the Herald yet since they’d all returned. Would she be one to carouse, perhaps with Sera and Dorian and Varric? Or would she want to relax in quiet contemplation? He wondered idly where she was. Would she care to share a drink with him? As comrades-in-arms, of course; nothing more. They deserved to celebrate together, didn’t they? He could invite Cassandra and Josephine and Leliana, as well, so it wouldn’t seem too awkward.

“Hey, Curly!” Varric rose from the campfire where he’d been sitting, surrounded by a group of eager listeners.

“Good evening, Varric.”

The dwarf left his admirers to join Cullen’s slow stroll. “Congratulations are in order. We did it.”

“Indeed we did. I admit it hardly seemed possible at times.”

“Ha! Yeah. What will you do now?”

“Sleep, probably.”

“That’s a good start. I didn’t want to say anything in front of everyone else, but you had been looking a bit ragged lately. You looking for the Herald?”

“Why would I be looking for her?”

Varric sighed. “Come on, Curly. It’s me. I’m not going to disapprove. Now that the Breach is taken care of, you might want to think about what the future holds, and whether she might be part of it.”

He’d never considered anything like that. His focus didn’t let him. “There’s still a lot of work to do.”

The dwarf chuckled. “Let me give you a piece of advice, Curly. No one ever lay on their death bed saying, ‘Gee, I wish I had done more work.’”

“Because people who don’t do the work don’t have the luxury of dying in bed, Varric. You don’t have time for regrets when a demon cuts you down.”

“You sure know how to set a mood, Commander. Anyway, just talk to her. With the Breach gone, she doesn’t have to play the Herald anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means she might enjoy just being a regular woman once in a while, and not a bloody icon. I can’t imagine how exhausting that must be.” Varric ambled towards the Singing Maiden, leaving Cullen to his thoughts.

Perhaps the dwarf was right. They finally had a moment to breathe. He'd not missed the looks she'd given him, at times; the way she gently teased him. He couldn't ignore the way she made him feel. What harm could it do, one drink together? As colleagues, yes, but leaving the door open for something more, if she wanted it.

What was he scared of? He almost smiled at himself, at his over-cautious nature. It was ridiculous. What was the worst that could happen? She'd say no. 

He squared his shoulders and started to walk briskly towards the tavern.

The warning bell rang then, and wiped out everything else.

#

He steeled himself. At times like this, there was only focus left — nothing else mattered. The gates opened slowly and he had his sword ready. He would throw himself in front of the Herald if he had to.

“I’m Cole,” said the odd boy who emerged, seemingly out of nowhere. “I came to warn you, to help. People are coming to hurt you.” He stared directly at the Herald as he said this. “You probably already know.”

The Herald’s voice was steady. “What is this? What’s going on?”

“The Templars come to kill you.”

“Templars?” Cullen strode over, sword still in hand. He didn’t trust this boy. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?” None of this made sense. What did the Templars hope to gain? The boy made it sound as though they were here specifically for her. Why?

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” Cole said. He turned again to the Herald, reaching a hand towards her in appeal. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.” That sounded almost like a threat. Cullen took a step forward. But Cole reached his other hand towards the mountain. “There.”

They looked. Over the peak stood Samson and… a demon? A Darkspawn? Cullen squinted. Was that the “Elder One”?

Cole whispered, “He’s very angry that you took his mages.”

Cullen grit his teeth, his hand on his sword hilt. Samson he could handle. The Elder One…

“Cullen!” The Herald’s voice, taut with desperation, cut through his thoughts. “Give me a plan. Anything.”

Yes. A plan. His mind was already clicking elements into place. “Haven is no fortress,” he said, thinking out loud. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can.”

He turned to his soldiers without waiting for her response. He trusted her. 

#

That monster… was that an Archdemon? By the Void. He leaned against the wall for a moment, collecting his breath and his thoughts. Then he surged forward again. He called for a retreat. “Move it! Move it!” She was the last one through. As soon as she made it, he slammed the gates closed. “We need everyone back to the chantry. It’s the only building that might hold against… that beast.” He shared a look with her. Her eyes were grim. She was a warrior. She knew when there was no getting out. “At this point, just make them work for it.”

Make them pay for every inch. If they were going to go down, then they would go down fighting, by the Maker. They would die deaths they could be proud of.

Of course, the Herald went one step beyond, as she always did, rescuing what villagers she could on her way back to the chantry. He was already at the Chantry, organizing the retreat. He ran over as soon as he spotted her. Still alive and whole, thank the Maker. “Herald. Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an Archdemon,” said the strange boy. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care what it looks like. It’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” the boy said. “He only wants the Herald.”

How did the boy know so much about the Elder One?

The Herald seemed to believe him. “If it will save these people, then he can have me.”

Before Cullen could argue, the boy said curtly, “It won’t. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like—“ There was no point. There was no time to interrogate the stranger. It was time to tell her the cold truth of their situation. “Herald. There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“We’re overrun. To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

She didn’t understand what he was saying, not yet. She was ready to sacrifice herself, but she still believed she could protect everyone else. He held her gaze steadily. “We’re dying. But we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.” What was that Varric had said about regrets on the death bed? Well, make this a death he wouldn’t regret.

The Herald stared back at him, absorbing his words. Grappling with their meaning.

Cole murmured something. “Chancellor Roderick can help,” he said. “He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path,” the chancellor said, his voice a painful rasp. “You wouldn’t know it, unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage. As I have.” The Herald moved towards him to hear better. Roderick pulled himself up, braced against the wall. “The people can escape. She must have shown me — Andraste must have shown me so I could tell you.” He coughed.

“What about it, Cullen? Will it work?” Her eyes pleaded with him. She desperately needed to believe it could.

He didn’t want to make her any false promises. “Possibly. If he shows us the path. What of your escape?”

She didn’t answer him. Turned away.

So she did know. There are no tactics that make this survivable. She’d decided how she was going to die. He had to respect that.

“Perhaps you will surprise it,” he said. He had to believe it was possible. “Find a way.” You must, he wanted to add. But he didn’t. There were other people here that needed him. Their safety was his responsibility. He barked out his orders, then turned back to the Herald. “They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the treeline.” She nodded and made for the door. He called to her, “If we are to have a chance… if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.”

She held his eyes for a moment, then disappeared into the night.

It was the last time he saw her.

Chapter Text

And now she was gone.

It wasn’t Cassandra’s fault. Nor the elf’s, nor Varric’s. No. It was his. He was in charge of the defense of Haven; he should have had more watchtowers built; he should not have relaxed his guard. If he’d had warning, they might have… 

What right did he have to call himself Commander if he couldn't protect the Herald? He was useless.

He stared at the lyrium vial in his hand. He could take it again. Lessen the pain that beat at him. It was too much to bear.

 # 

Another day of slogging through the endless blizzard passed. He pulled his cloak tighter around his neck. In the storm it was impossible to know what time it was but it felt like he’d been marching for hours.

“We’re at the campsite, Commander,” a scout called from ahead.

Cullen gave the orders to make camp, set up posts, get fires going, assign watches.

He paced, restless, at the edge of the camp, looking back to the west, where Haven used to be.

“Hey Curly.” Varric came up to him. “You should eat something. The Herald isn’t going to like it if you starve to death while she’s gone.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then at least get some sleep. You look terrible.”

“I’m taking first watch.”

“Yeah, first watch, and second watch, and all the other watches. I’ve noticed. Well, if you change your mind, I’ve saved a nice loaf of bread for you that’s only slightly stale.”

#

He knew they were worried about him. He didn't care. 

He told himself it was because she was the Herald. A symbol of hope they all needed. And not because she was Evelyn, a woman with deep eyes and a wry smile who made him feel like he could be simply Cullen, a man, instead of the dour Commander of the Inquisition.

He walked outside of the camp, up the hill a bit. About a quarter-mile out for privacy. He knelt in the snow and clasped his hands together. "Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder."

The snow crunched softly behind him and Cassandra's voice said, "May I pray with you, Commander?"

He nodded. Her voice joined his: "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade."

He stopped. His throat had closed up. She continued, "For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light."

"Do you believe that?" Cullen asked.

"I believe the Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next. She is Andraste's Herald and the Maker will take her into His presence."

He raised his head and realized his vision blurred with tears. Perhaps Cassandra was right. She had gone to the Maker's side. She had left this world.

"Come, Commander, let us return." Cassandra started back towards the tents.

He hesitated, gazing up at the ridge of the mountain. A light glimmered there. The storm was clearing. Were the stars sparkling behind the clouds?

Or was his tortured mind playing tricks on him?

A flash of green through the snow?

“Commander? Are you all right? Where are you going?”

For he had started to run up the hill.

Then he saw the figure, a shadow against the snow. It couldn’t be.

It had to be. “There! It’s her!”

Behind him, Cassandra's shout. “Thank the Maker!”

He reached her side and knelt, touching her cold face and putting his fingers against her throat. Pulse was slow and weak, but she was alive. Against all odds, she had returned to them. No visible injuries. He gathered her in his arms and lifted her, cradling her head against his chest. Maker, don’t let her die now. He ran back to the camp. “Solas!”

The elf appeared in an instant. “Put her in my tent. I shall see to her injuries.”

Cassandra exhaled. “It is a miracle. She is truly the Herald of Andraste.”

It was a sign. A sign that the Maker had granted him one more chance. A sign that his faith was rewarded. And in your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame.

He would not let her face the monster alone again. Maker help him, but he would die before he would let that happen.

“I promise,” he said to her sleeping face. “I promise you.”