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Chapter Text

The fighting had been going on for days, and the exhaustion was getting to him and his soldiers. More and more of the wretched creatures came pouring out of the cursed green tear before them, a seemingly endless stream of foul Wraiths and Shades - snarling, clawing, soulless, and relentless in their attacks. These foul monsters apparently never tired, and they certainly never surrendered. 

With just some short moments of respite in between the waves of demons that came from this accursed new rift, Cullen and his group of fighters had been moored on a snowy plateau on this nameless mountain somewhere in the Frostbacks for far too long now, and their reserves were running low, both in provisions and in stamina.

The terrible storms which seemed to permanently enshroud the menacingly sharp, rocky peaks looming above them with its jagged cliffs certainly didn't make things better for morale, Cullen thought. It seemed as if the mountain was ready to kill them itself, should the demons fail.

Just one avalanche, one loose boulder, and we are done for, he mused grimly. There is enough snow up there to bury us all 20 metres deep in an instant. He heard another rumble from the mountaintop that sounded almost like a groan. As if the situation wasn't bad enough already, now even the very mountain they stood on seemed inclined to end their desperate endeavour sooner rather than later.

Although they had been spared from the worst of the snowstorms down here so far, Cullen knew all too well how quickly the weather could change at this altitude. And if his senses did not fool him, he felt a change in the air - shifting winds, temperatures that fell even lower than before, and there seemed to be no end to the dark clouds the sky above these lands could produce.

Between the demons and the inhospitable terrain, the overwhelming grief for their Divine and hundreds of others whose lives were lost, this fight shook him and his troops right to their core. And always, the hideous ghostly green gash hung over them like a terrible wound in the sky, buzzing with magic and seeping ghostly whispers from the Fade out into the night, making sleep nearly impossible.

When the brief he'd been handed some four days ago had said "breaches in the Fade", they unfortunately weren't exaggerating. Cullen and his troops had arrived at Haven as fast as they could after he had read the troubling reports about these abnormal magical occurrences. These portals all seemed to have sprung up around Thedas at roughly the same time, but this close to what they thought must be the original tear due to its sheer size, the hordes of demons were more numerous as well as more tenacious than elsewhere, it seemed.

At least they thought that's what this was - a tear in the fabric of reality. And after the explosion at the Conclave, on which there apparently still were no news as to what caused it, this rift had been the first one to appear. And it was gigantic: this close, the sheer size of it had boggled his mind. One thing these rifts all had in common though: they were absolutely abhorrent.

Unholy, he thought with disgust as his sword cleft another wraith clean in half, and the apparition dematerialized with a ghostly shriek.

The worst part about this whole situation was, however, that they seemed artificial. Man-made. Who could be responsible for such terror, and what else was lurking behind the green sheen of the original portal? He dreaded the answer to that question every night.

The clamour of battle mixed with the inhuman screeches of the wretched demonic creatures echoed trough the sharply angled slopes of rock around him, which were almost permanently covered in ice that glimmered and glistened and packed, dense snow this high up. The howling winds that swept through the craggy valleys and out onto the plateau where they made their stand were cutting into his skin like daggers, and he felt his breath shortening fast over the continued heaves of his sword, the shield in his hand growing heavier by the minute. They would not be able to last like this much longer.

With a heavy-handed overhead blow, Cullen heaved his sword into the Terror demon in front of him, dark magic fizzing and sputtering around the polished steel with a familiar angry crackle. It was like cutting through long-dead flesh infused with lightning, and it took all his remaining strength not to be knocked over by the recoil, as he dug his left foot deeper into the snow.

Stand your ground, the voice of Cullen's former Knight-Commander rung in his ears. He steadied himself with an angry grunt, the growing dread gripping his stomach tight. How much longer could they go on like this, with no sign of the Seeker? The situation was getting more and more desperate as the remaining soldiers were being slowly worked raw by the inhuman, evil energy that tore into them with the force of an ocean. He drew in a long, ragged breath and recalled his vows.

Never retreat, never falter. You are the last line of defence, the protector standing between the domain of people and the shadow realm.

Cullen shakily regained his footing, though his legs felt frozen to the bone. One breath, two breaths. Keep going. He felt a new surge of energy within him, like divine magic.

The Templar tenets were interwoven with the fabric of his being like golden fibres in an old, worn tapestry that had still kept their lustre. After years of training his hands knew what to do almost by themselves, and like a rolling boulder the fight in him was reawakened by the Maker's grace.

The demon finally fell before him, writhing and still clawing at him, and Cullen felt an icy shiver crawl up his spine as he looked upon the sizzling, twisted remains in front of him when they finally stopped twitching.

Dead, he thought, and rolled the word around in his tired brain as if it was in a language that was not his own.

What does "death" mean for such a creature? Could these things truly die? A demon from the rift - where does it disappear to once it has been slain? He turned his view over to the breach in the sky, which gaped back at him like an open maw.

They return to the Fade, boy, and there’s always more demons in the Fade, Greagoir's rough voice echoed within him, and he shuddered again. As if on command, Cullen saw more of the cursed creatures slither out of the tear, and he felt sick.

There is no end to them. How are we to win this?

A young soldier to Cullen's right thrust his short sword deep into the amorphous mass before him, his hands rendered unsteady and bloodied from the ongoing fighting, his eyes feverish. The man seemed close to collapsing, and so did many of the others.

 Maker, where are the reinforcements?

Cullen's eyes inevitably fell on the sad remains of their fallen comrades around them, their mangled bodies strewn over the battlefield, with their dark armour standing out against the bright snow with grim certainty. There were not many of them left. He saw another recruit slashing into a demon feverishly, fear distorting his face and making his movements abrupt and desperate.

It's hard to get used to the nightmares if you know you won’t wake up from them.

They should be here by now. Cullen grimly lifted his now impossibly heavy sword and made his way over to another foe. Cold and heavy, his legs dragged through the knee-deep snow - his muscles sore, aching ropes of blind pain. With a furious grunt, he hacked a deep gash into the side of a shade that came toward him, his stomach turning as he watched green and black ooze spilling forth from the wound, bubbling and hissing in the cold winter air. A sharp, sudden pain in his sword hand almost made him drop his weapon, and he realized that the venomous miasma had burned into his skin, right through the thick druffalo leather of his gloves.

Andraste, give me strength, it’s just like them, Cullen realized with terror gripping his every muscle, as he watched dark blisters form on the back of his trembling hand. Creeping, mocking, clawing, the abominations in the mage's tower all those years ago swirled around him again, clear as day. And then...the blood. Oh Maker, all that blood.

The outline of the Wraith began to blur before him and Cullen felt as if his legs were about to give out. He shook his head with a growl, trying with all his might to focus his remaining energy into his sword arm. Grimly, he pulled his weapon back from the demon's corpse and winced as raw pain shot trough his arm up into his right shoulder. His eyesight was unfocused and his muscles ached violently from all the blunt force, but he would keep the fight going. Duty before the self always, he reminded himself.

Before the demon had even stopped moving, another wave spilled out from the rift with ugly hisses and growls, and the last remains of his soldiers' resolve visibly crumbled before Cullen eyes.

It’s too much. They’re too many and we will not make it. Anger and despair clung to his innards like a cold wet piece of cloth, and his head felt like it was about to split. His right arm sunk to the ground for but a second, exhausted with pain, and immediately the bulk of the demons rushed towards him.

One thought is all it takes - break concentration for even a moment and you lose. He'd let down his guard for just an instant and now he saw a hulking fiery monster come down upon him. Cullen sucked in a sharp breath and dropped his sword in the snow beside him, heaving his shield up before him with arms that felt like they were encased in molasses, but he was too late. The demon's foul stench already encased him as the rotten magic burned just inches before his eyes.

He fell back onto his knees as the flames blackened his shield and curled around it, reaching for his weapon with his arm moving entirely too slow. Hot and crackling, the unholy fire in the creature's eyes came closer and closer, and he felt nausea take over.

It’s too late, I won’t hit it in time, Andraste, preserve me.

He steadied himself for the inevitable strike of the demon's blow, when a thunderous noise split his ears. With an enormous blast that knocked him onto his back, and a sound like giant glass shards crunching into each other, everything before his eyes suddenly turned into a blindingly bright haze. His field of vision washed over with milky white from one moment to the next, and he felt lightheaded. Glossy and slick, a bright light flashed right before him and bore into his eyes like knives, as the icy cold wind that came with it almost knocked the air out of him.

After a breath or two, his vision still unfocused and his mind flushed with confusion, Cullen groped around for his sword, then pushed himself up unsteadily, staggering backwards as his gaze slowly and unwillingly focused through a bright blue glare onto a large pillar of ice that seemed to have materialized before him out of thin air.

His exhausted brain had trouble making sense of the situation, and the cold sunlight that broke through the clouds and now reflected off the smooth surface was almost enough to blind him. With what was left of his wits, he thought he saw that the ice had an eerie blue shine to it, which seemed almost unnatural.

Suddenly, the pieces fit together: Magic, he realized with an exhausted, almost automated panic.

Not a moment later, he felt something whizz past his head, and he saw a brown-feathered, thick wooden bolt digging into the icy boulder. With a sharp crashing sound, the frozen form burst into pieces before him. Quickly, he raised his shield to escape the razor-sharp shards of ice cutting through the air around him, dropping to his knees again.

For a moment, the world was encased in a glittering, deadly rainbow of ice, dancing and reflecting the evening light like a thousand mirrors. If Cullen hadn't been so focused on not being cut into an equal number of small pieces, he might have thought it a beautiful sight. But he had no time or energy to appreciate the magical splendour.

When he looked up again from behind his shield, the rage demon that had stood before him moments ago had disappeared. 

As the magic slowly settled in the air around him, Cullen reached for his sword, then got up and turned, gripping his weapon for dear life.

A wave of relief washed over him, and the panic melted from his mind as he finally saw them. There in the distance, a group of people came running down the mountain toward him and his soldiers, who greeted them with triumphant shouts. At their front, he could already make out Cassandra, that mouthy dwarf and behind them, the mage.

Maker’s breath, he thought. I will have to thank the elf later. He just saved my life.

The soldiers around him cheered as arrows rained down on the demons, and he realized with immense relief that the Seeker had apparently regrouped with the scouts he had long thought lost to the elements, and they were coming to their aid, finally.

With newfound energy, he made his way through the knee-deep snow over to the Seeker, who came down the slope towards him, peeling away from the group of soldiers she'd brought with her. The weather on the mountain pass above them was still terrible, shrouding everything not too far behind Cassandra in fog and snow flurries.

Beside a jagged mountaintop to his left, the setting sun lazily peeled out below a blanket of clouds, suddenly encasing the entire plateau in an otherworldly red glow.

By the Maker's grace, I am saved, he mused, lightheaded and almost giddy with relief as he saw the demons around his troops fall one by one.

He shielded his eyes from the sun's sudden glare, feeling the warm rays on his skin as he cut through the snow.

Thank the Maker, there is still hope.

If they were to somehow end this stream of demons washing out into the world, they would need all their strength combined.

Maybe with Cassandra and the scouts, they could-

Cullen stopped in his tracks as if struck by lightning, ice cold horror gripping his heart.

One breath, two breaths... Oh no. No, no, no – how could it be?

The Seeker was still making her way down the mountain half running, half sliding down the frozen slopes, and behind her, there were indeed soldiers and scouts, but he thought he had seen something strange in their midst. Although it was silly - almost certainly impossible - he felt an old, familiar terror creep up inside him.

Unable to move, he strained his eyes to make out the people that had come out of the storm peeling out of the mountain's shadow into the red glow of the sun slowly; nothing out of the ordinary among them, though he could only imagine how exhausted they had to be.

And then he saw it again. It hit him like a boulder, making his head swim. He almost started laughing, so absurd and impossible was the sight, but the sound caught in his throat and only a choked breath escaped.

Behind Cassandra, the blurry, unfamiliar outline of a rather tall person appeared, quite unlike the others that had followed the Seeker. They now both made their way over to him, it seemed, and he watched in disbelief as slowly, like a shadow in her shadow, something grew upwards and around Cassandra's face, encircling her head like a strange and grotesque halo, pointing towards the sky, curled and terrible.

It was…Maker, no. Impossible.

Weakened and dizzy, the realization slowly became clear in his mind:

They were...horns.

And now Cullen laughed.

Chapter Text

Their group had been running up and down this accursed mountain nonstop since that brash woman, Seeker, she’d said was her title (and what a stupid one it was), had deemed it appropriate to finally let Adaar out of their chains. After much dramatic deliberation and arguing, they had finally agreed to help (mainly to get these humans off their back); a decision they now sorely regretted. Their legs were columns of tension and raw pain, after they’d been chased around by the ceaseless, relentless human for days now, and every breath felt as if a knife went straight through their lungs.

Adaar rubbed their aching wrists absent-mindedly, almost tripped over a rock that peeked out from under the snow and cursed under their breath. Maybe they were physically bound and jailed no longer, but Adaar remained their prisoner nonetheless, and wherever the Seeker went, they had to follow...for now.

After they awoke in a strange, dark and damp environment, Adaar had trouble making sense of the situation. One moment they were sipping some sharp-smelling, tangy brew and pretended to listen to the ceaseless prattle of the noble they were supposed to accompany – apparently, fermentation had been his secret passion – the next, Adaar found themself in shackles, chained up to a wall Gods knew where.

That stupid Orlesian duke is probably dead now, as are all the others, Adaar thought grimly, and they had to admit they didn’t even remember his name, so uninvested had they been in the whole affair. Was it Gustave? Guiseppe? Did it even matter anymore?

Nothing about their life before this seemed to matter anymore. In the blink of an eye, the whole world was turned upside down and now they seemed to be this woman’s prisoner, not even knowing what their crime was supposed to be.

And I will likely die on this mountain. If the Gods are good, I just might. All hells, my legs are cramping again!

They allowed themself a moment of respite – thanks to the fact that pretty much everyone else’s legs were considerably shorter than theirs, they had advanced a fair bit despite being somewhat hobbled due to the sharp pains in their calves and feet.

At first, Adaar had tried to break free from their prison when they’d found their wits again - throwing their body at the walls of the cage they'd been held in like a wild animal, thrashing and screaming, threatening these miserable idiots. How dared they imprison them like a common thug? 

For a while, the frightened low-rank humans Adaar had been left alone with had recoiled from the snarling creature they'd captured, staring at their horns and bare teeth in horror. With the magic fizzling in their tied hands, Adaar had been ready to end them all should anyone have dared to come too close. Someone among them had been smart enough to put a force field in place inside their cell which dampened their magic, however, and Adaar instantly knew that there had to be a Templar among these people, which had sent them into a seething rage. Still, would any of them have made the mistake of entering the cell, it would not have ended pretty.

Sooner or later the humans had tried moving in closer despite their obvious narrow-minded fear of anything magical and began shouting their pathetic orders at Adaar from outside the bars. Sometimes Adaar surprised themself with the colorful language they were able to summon, as they called these lackeys every curse in the book. Barking like a mad dog, they had writhed around in their chains, and their wrists still complained about it now. Still, it had been so worth it, just to see the looks on their stupid faces. One had seemed dangerously close to pissing himself, and it still made Adaar chuckle now.

But then the questioning had begun. This so-called Seeker had suddenly appeared out of the darkness, strangely nonplussed by all the commotion around her, and when she'd stepped through the cell door Adaar knew it was her who had been dispelling their magic. The ground around Adaar had been covered in fine ice crystals, but they retreated from Cassandra's feet as if she was on fire.

"What do you want, Templar scum?", Adaar had hissed at the woman, ready to die trying to off her.

The Seeker had not been impressed however, and had launched into a string of interrogation mixed with shouted orders circling Adaar, apparently clinging firmly to the delusion that she had any kind of real power over them. When she finally saw that they would not waver, she had grabbed Adaar's arm in a fit of rage, and they took their chance. With a pained cry, the woman had recoiled from the icy spikes that shot out of Adaar's skin. The other humans retreated with panicked gasps, but all it seemed to do to the woman was send her into a frenzy. With fire in her eyes, she'd drawn her sword on Adaar, apparently ready to impale them on it.

"Go on and try it, please! I will fucking end all of you!", Adaar had laughed at her, and the Seeker had seemed about to explode, when behind her suddenly another voice had spoken up, softer and without the unbridled rage Cassandra possessed.

They had never even noticed her enter, but there she suddenly stood - another human in their cell. She was cloaked in a grey hood, now pleading with the Seeker, seemingly trying to hold her back.

"We need her, Cassandra!"

Adaar had felt a familiar rage boil up inside them.

"Hey you…! I'm not a fucking she, and I will not be used for any of your sick Templar experiments, so stay the fuck back, you freaks!" The other woman had finally turned to face them, her hand resting on the Seeker's arm softly, and Adaar had seen her face for the first time.

They recalled that deep sadness in her eyes, and deep lines on her face, which gave her  a tired look that did not quite match her age, they wagered.

"My apologies to you. But we are not Templars, and we wish you no harm, I assure you." Her voice had been calm and somehow strangely reassuring, tinged with a soft Orlesian accent. The Seeker, however, seemed to have different ideas.

"Tell us what you did to the Divine at once, Qunari!"

Behind her, the other woman said something to Cassandra, who still had her sword drawn on them, but Adaar knew they had the upper hand now. The Seeker was obviously bluffing, and these people needed them. For what, was still entirely unclear to them at this point, however. And what would they know about the Divine of these Chantry humans anyway?

"What is your name, Ser?"

The cloaked Orlesian woman had tried her best, Adaar knew, and she was obviously desperate for answers as well. But they had none for her and were getting tired of the clumsy idiocy of these people.

"I'm no man either, you goddamn morons. And don't you play nice with me now. You might not be Templars, but I see those Chantry symbols on your robes, you devout assholes. You're no better than them, so don't you fucking lay another hand on me, or I will take this whole prison down, with all of you in it!"

The Seeker had finally been taken aback by this a bit and lowered her sword, but the strange pale woman had appeared unimpressed, even smiling at Adaar weakly.

It seemed to them that these people had enjoyed the show of the thrashing inhuman wildling freak. It was the same wherever they went, Adaar thought. Humans either despised them openly or gawked like at a rare wild animal, marveling at the disgusting foreign beast.

It was no different here, out in the open, even though they'd been freed from their chains. They still felt the barely concealed stares of the soldiers burning into their back, suspicious and careful in their words and movements around Adaar, weapons at the ready always, even after they had agreed to help (and they hadn’t even killed or even maimed a single one of them, even though they really wanted to).

The Seeker and the rest of the group had now caught up with Adaar and so it was time to trudge through the endless snow once again. Their head was swimming as they climbed another rocky slope - the air up here was getting mighty thin, Adaar thought. Perhaps this was why the rifts form so readily up here in the mountains? Tears, the woman had called them. Breaches in the sky, in the very air around them, through which the Fade appeared to be seeping out into their world, like from a deep stab wound that had been dug into the otherworld itself. Adaar had never seen anything like it, and it scared the shit out of them and the soldiers alike. At least that was one thing they had in common.

Adaar was wondering how long they could all go on like this, hastening from one rift to the next, with no end in sight. Granted, they were not without talent when it came to fights but this was beyond anything they had ever encountered before, doing the odd mercenary jobs - and there were so many demons here. All over the real world, not confined to the Fade or a conjuring anymore; hounding and killing everything and everyone in their path freely. Adaar shuddered. What in all hells had they gotten themself into now? Also...how?

What the hell had happened? It seemed like just another simple job - with a payout that would have been nice and fat, as well. Maybe that had been a little suspicious, yes, but their group really needed the money right now. 

Simply guard the damn noble from any pickpockets, or identity thieves, or whatever the fuck rich people were afraid of these days, get paid, and maybe there would even have been time to see the dogs. Their heart had jumped in excitement when they heard that these dusty nobles would be bringing their guard mabari, with which Adaar was endlessly fascinated.

That had been one of the main reasons they had signed their little straggling mercenary group up for that mission - that, and the money of course. Well, as it turned out, it would NOT be a simple guard mission at all; there now was no pay and in fact, it would be far more than what they'd signed up for altogether. But how could they have known? It still seemed ridiculous to Adaar when they went through the series of events again, each one more unlikely than the next.

The fucking Chantry for starters, Adaar thought with a shiver of contempt. Mages, Templars and clerics had all been gathered and huddled together in their finest robes in that tight space - mingling, chatting and rubbing shoulders. It had made their fingertips itch. And then - the explosion. Adaar's ears were still ringing from it.

After that, they remembered nothing. Nothing! Where they were, how they got there – Adaar had no idea. And where were their friends? No one they knew was around anymore, now there was just this Seeker, pushing and prodding them, the chatty dwarf and that weird skinny elf forward; up and down the mountains.

Since they had left their cell there had been little else besides frantic running, slashing through demons and jumping over corpses and rocks. To top it all off, there was this creepy seal on their hand now - an enchantment of some sort, they wagered, which for some reason allowed them to close the tears by some strange magic they had never encountered. And that was why they really needed Adaar.

Their original plan had been to abandon these idiots as soon as they were out of their cell (maybe rip off a few arms for good measure, too), but that idea had dissipated pretty much instantly the moment they stepped out of their stuffy prison and saw that giant tear in the sky, like a gaping hole in the fabric of reality. So, grimly accepting the humans’ proposal to try and seal it, and still confused as to what the fuck was going on, they had stuck around. What else could they do? Adaar had no idea where exactly in these blasted mountains they even were.

After they'd closed the first few rifts, which had impressed everyone immensely, the Seeker had presented Adaar to someone called the Chancellor, another dusty Chantry geezer, who hated the very sight of them. They were paraded before this asshole like spoils from a fight. He had appeared less impressed with their newfound ability than Cassandra, however.

This is the prisoner? Well, chain them! What is that Qunari doing walking around the camp freely? His shrill, chalky voice still rang in Adaar's head. He was just another smug Chantry fucker who had looked at them like you would at an insect. A big one maybe, but still worth squashing.

And then, after even more arguing (and the conclusion that Adaar was more useful to them out of their fetters) the Seeker woman had had the audacity to ask Adaar for their opinion.

Should we try to save the scouts or go on to meet the army?

Who the fuck was Adaar to decide that, all of a sudden? Maybe this was a way to test them? Either way, they had stood defiantly in the face of that sad little Chantry cuck and declared they would lead the team of four into the mountains.

"We can’t just leave them" had seemed like a good thing to say in the moment.

So now they were all rushing down yet another slope; the very thankful, since rescued scouts trailing behind them, when the Seeker suddenly pointed to the bottom of this particular hill and shouted “There, the Commander!”, at what seemed to be a human in a pretty fine predicament: dozens of demons were surrounding them and their few remaining soldiers, while even more spilled out from another tear in the Fade not far away.

Strewn all around the soldiers, Adaar saw corpses in similar uniforms - mangled, bloodied and burned. Was this the famous army they were supposed to meet? Did this little detour really save people then, or just shift the death toll? Adaar felt sick all of a sudden.

While Cassandra was rushing down the snowy mountain, and the dwarf fired his crossbow every which way, surprisingly hitting a fair share of the demonic fiends even from this distance, sending bolts whizzing through the air around Adaar, suddenly one of the larger demons rose up above the important-looking human in the center, towering over them, ready to claw into the soldier.

It was a Rage demon, a filthy beast made of flame and hatred, and one of the stronger and most dangerous in the mix, and it was going right for the human, together with a group of lesser demons and wraiths. Rage demons weren’t clever by any measure, but they were experts in sensing weakness, and this particular human seemed about ready to collapse from what they could tell up here.

The Seeker quickened her steps, now practically sliding down the snowy slope, but Adaar knew she would never make it in time. The Rage demon that was moving towards who Cassandra had called the Commander was much bigger and faster than the shades, and it had almost reached the soldier, who seemed not to have taken notice of it yet, being caught up in a fight with another shade.

With a trembling hand, Adaar fumbled out one of remaining the lyrium potions that the Seeker had given them, downed the burning liquid in one go, and felt the energy rush through their body. They had already ingested a fairly reckless amount of lyrium, to be able to deal with all the demons during the last couple of days, and every further potion they took was getting closer to sending them over the edge.

Adaar remembered their one encounter with lyrium burnout a couple of years ago, and they were not too keen on repeating the experience. That human needed help however, and they seemed important, so this was the only way.

Once lyrium takes hold of you, it is very hard to let go of its grasp, and Adaar felt its magical tendrils burying into their brain further and further. Mages were at a reduced risk of lyrium addiction than people without magical abilities, but it was entirely possible for a mage to fall victim to its grasp fully.

The high that even a single lesser lyrium potion provided could last for hours, and you do not want to stop afterward. It was one of the first lessons Adaar had been taught about magic – managing their lyrium intake vigilantly – and they knew the threat was ever looming, but for the duration of the effect that lyrium provides, it was very hard to envision the inevitable comedown, and it was the same every single time.

The potion hit Adaar like a freight train and their mind was blown wide open. Suddenly everything seemed very easy, too easy almost. Adaar felt like they only needed to reach out their hand and grab whatever they needed from the Fade, and a strong feeling of elation and boldness came over them, as it did every time.

With a focused effort, they materialized a large ice shard before them, reveling in the feeling of raw energy that connected them with it for just a moment, then Adaar sent it flying down the mountain as their ears buzzed with the magic that surrounded them, hoping the human would not be hit - the distance, together with the winds up here made aiming fairly difficult.

With their heart pumping rapidly and frantically, and every muscle tense and ready to snap (another sign that lyrium burnout was looming over them, but they ignored it), Adaar watched the frozen spear hiss just past the human, before hit the demon full force as it dug into its side and froze the monster solid instantly. Adaar could feel their heartbeat in their eyes and fingertips, feeling sick and exhilarated at the same time.

The ice was much easier to control out here, among all this cold and the literal mountains of snow. The expenditure of a spell of this magnitude, at this range still made Adaar dizzy, however and they slowed down to a halt, unable to go on for a moment. It felt as if the ice they had conjured into being had sapped all of their body's water reserves, and had maybe taken an organ with it, too.

Thankfully, the dwarf who was next to them had reacted instantly and fired his crossbow at the frozen demon with a steady, calm hand, while Adaar was trying to catch their breath again.

With a terrible crash that echoed off the rocky slopes around them, magnified tenfold and reverberating off the walls of stone, the ice shattered into a rain of white and blue shards right in front of the human.

A beautiful sight, Adaar thought, trying to ignore the sickness in their stomach and the lightheadedness that came over them.

Ice - calm and strong and reliable, it always brought a cold stillness with it, which also calmed their mind, somehow. Adaar didn't have a chance to muse on this long, however. There were still a lot of shades around, and the humans down the slope seemed almost expended. Like in a trance, they reached for another lyrium potion, and realized it was the only one left.

Perhaps I am finally losing his mind after all that blood loss, Cullen thought. He looked up at the snowy slope above him with sweat slowly trickling down his back, despite the cold. He was still not convinced that what he saw was really happening. It couldn't be. It simply couldn't.

Behind the Seeker, the looming outline of a rather burly, tall person had risen from the fog, towering over the others in its height, even compared to Cassandra, who was by no means weak or dainty. What rose from their head was indeed horns, as he could now see, twisting up into the sky. As they came ever closer toward his group, he could also make out their ashen, pale skin; their muscular physique and a long, twisted staff in their hands.

No, no, no.

He would not, could not believe he was seeing, though he was now certain, despite the distance and his blurry vision.

A....Qunari. Out here. It seemed too terrible and ridiculous to be true.

Flashes of a city in ruin, buildings in flames and the screams of the dying flashed before his eyes. Then he saw them - the horned giants around him, slaughtering, burning, laying waste to the stony façade of Kirkwall. Their swords slashing, their axes cleaving, no mercy or pause for any citizen.

And you couldn’t stop them. -You- couldn’t do anything.

Cullen shivered as an icy panic gripped his heart, while his body still felt like it was burning up beneath his armor. But before he could get his bearings even remotely, the Qunari and the Seeker were both almost next to him, Cassandra barking orders at the soldiers and yelling something that was possibly directed at him, but his ears were ringing, his eyes watery and burning, his gaze still fixed on the grey giant whose outline against the setting sun was now the only thing he could focus on, and they were coming right. Toward. Him.

Tall...so very tall, oh Maker-

Cullen gripped his sword with a quivering second hand wrapping around the long, smooth hilt; getting ready for the inevitable. The creature was so close now, he could hear them breathe in ragged, drawn-out breaths, and with a swift, determined movement that seemed entirely too quick for someone of such a sturdy build, the Qunari had rushed past him before he could even blink.

They didn’t even seem to acknowledge him, and instead tore right into some Shades a little further away, sending a stream of icy blue crystals into the screaming husks of demons. Numb and shaking in his boots like a little boy, he simply turned as his gaze followed them, and stared as the word still rang in his head.

Qunari.

He saw the icy slivers produced from their staff that were slicing into the monsters, and suddenly remembered the word, like in a dream: Saarebas.

Mage.

He found himself almost paralyzed, unable to move or speak. Almost all the remaining demons had fallen by now, when the Qunari suddenly raised their large, muscular arm up into the sky. Still trembling and feeling nauseated, he watched as a sickly green stream of glaring light connected their hand with the rift, and when they snapped their hand shut, the tear closed with a thunderous crash. 

What followed was a blur of events and impressions that his tired brain had trouble taking in, and he would still struggle to recall them clearly and in order weeks later.

The rest of the demons somehow simply disappeared in an instant and suddenly, everything was quiet around them. He heard the wind howl again, and the soldiers moan and cheer weakly, but none of it made sense to him in the moment – all he could see were horns.

“….made it just in time, Commander.”

The Seeker’s voice rang hollow in his ears as he turned to look at the woman standing before him now. She looked frazzled and exhausted, but also clearly pleased.

“Is, is this…”, he started, but the words came out of his dry mouth sluggishly and unwilling. He looked over the Seeker’s shoulder and saw that the very large mage was already making their way over to them, staff in hand and with magic still crackling at their fingertips.

The Qunari’s eyes were strangely wild and intense, he saw as they came closer. On their clothes, bloodstains glistened red and wet in the late sunlight. He could smell the lyrium in the air around them and his stomach roiled again. Cullen's hand was now gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly, his knuckles stood out from his bloodied hand painfully white.

“Yes. The prisoner, Commander.", the Seeker answered nonchalantly, though her voice betrayed how tired she was.

"They have agreed to aid us”, she added in a hushed tone apparently meant only for him. The woman’s words left an ashy taste in his mouth and Cullen swallowed hard.

Qunari, he thought again, still frozen in place. Maker preserve us.

Adaar turned away from the rest of the quietly shrieking, de-materializing shrouds of demon husks - in an instant they had closed this rift successfully as well. It was finally blissfully quiet after the monstrous screeching and deafening clamour from all the fighting that had surrounded them for what seemed like an eternity had been silenced.

They realized with an uneasy feeling that, now that the fight had ended, the soldiers around them were gawking at them without reserve, and Adaar’s muscles tensed instinctively as they gripped their staff firmly, slowing their steps. The Seeker and that other important-looking human were both facing them from a few paces away.

Cassandra beckoned them closer with an impatient gesture, so Adaar continued their way over to her and the other human, who stood next to her and simply…glared at them. 

Mercifully, this command from their superior apparently ripped the soldiers out of their trance and most of them stopped staring as much as Adaar moved through them, instead tending to wounds and generally regrouping.

As they came closer to the Seeker, Adaar turned their attention to this soldier they had just rescued from the Rage demon, looking him in the face for the first time. (…Of course no one thanked them for their help, but were they surprised? No.)  

He was a rather tall man, for human standards anyway, who stood unnaturally and uncomfortably straight, as his obvious rank demanded. Adaar surveyed his strangely impeccable posture, his shield firmly in one hand, the long sword in the other, and paused - they had seen this exact same stance a hundred times before.

Realization suddenly hit them like a wall of bricks, and they were unable to breathe for a moment.

Templar.

It was clear to them in an instant - the way he stared at their staff and hands with obvious disdain, the way he seemed ready to drive that sword right into them, should anyone even think the word "abomination".

Prickly goosebumps crawled down their neck and arms while every instinct said run, but the Seeker waved them over still, so they slowly closed the distance between them.

Adaar stopped closer to Cassandra, leaving a few paces between them and the human, because they now saw the Templar tensing visibly, his posture stiffening even more (if that was even possible) as they moved into sword reach. Adaar looked at the duo suspiciously, but the man did not move an inch, and the Seeker woman seemed to be ever impatient, so they lowered their staff cautiously and finally stepped up right next to them.

"Right. Well. This is Commander Rutherford, leader of our forces. Commander - this is Adaar. Our...erm, prisoner."

The silence that followed the Seeker's words was deafening, as the Templar and Adaar stared each other down.

I'm ready to go, boy, just make one wrong move. I'll fucking kill you. All of you if need be.

Adaar's muscles were so tense they felt ready to snap. If they’d known that the soldier they were saving was a fucking Templar Knight, they might have delayed their actions somewhat. The man, visibly uncomfortable as well, made no inclination to respond; instead, he just kept staring at them dumbly.

“There.”

The Seeker was not much for words, but her voice thankfully finally broke the silence, as she pointed behind Adaar. When they followed her gaze, it was suddenly clear to them why they were all here.

Looming over the crater at the bottom of the mountain, Adaar now saw it - a gigantic tear; crackling, simmering and evil. But this one was not like the others: there were no demons pouring out of it. It simply hung there, like an ominous shadow over this ruin of a…temple, was it? Another goddamn Chantry thing they were not at all keen on getting close to, but it was clear this was where the group was headed.

“So…what’s the plan?”

Adaar tried to keep a level head, but felt increasingly irritated by the obvious, yet silent gawking of the Templar, and they finally turned to face him again.

He was looking up at Adaar quietly (despite his tall build, Adaar still towered over him by at least one and a half heads) and a bit vacantly, with an empty expression they could not quite place, while his body seemed to be buzzing with electricity and tension. He stared at Adaar with a hardened look for a few heartbeats as their adrenaline levels spiked. Without a change in his expression or body language, he finally turned his gaze away wordlessly and turned to leave, as if he hadn’t even seen them.

What. The. Fuck.

Adaar gave the Seeker an exasperated look, but the woman seemed no to have noticed any of it, and simply and factually stated, “Leliana will be down there. We need get to her. First, let's take a break and regroup; I will come find you in a bit."

Now that was something Adaar could agree to.

"Can you do any healing?"

Adaar gave the Seeker a puzzled look. Had she missed the part where they were a mage?

"Yes, I know some spells, of course. I can take a look at whoever needs it and try to help".

The woman seemed content with that. She seemed to ponder saying something else for a moment, but instead simply nodded her head at Adaar, then marched off toward a group of soldiers.

Adaar felt like this terribly long day would be followed by an even longer night, but what could they do but follow along? The chains on their arms might be broken but this Seeker still held a tight leash on them, as did the Breach.

If I can close another one of these monster makers, let’s just fucking do it. I can still get out afterwards.

Most of the soldiers did indeed need healing of course, with deep gashes and burns covering their skin. Adaar did their best with little remaining supplies, and everyone seemed to be very thankful, even though most of the soldiers still eyed them with an uneasy distrust or outright fear. When they saw that the other, more brave ones didn't grow horns from Adaar's spells, however, more lined up to be treated, so that by the time they were finally done, it had gotten dark. Some small fires had been set up, but they knew everybody would get ready to leave again soon.

Time to maybe catch my breath for five minutes.

They found a spot where not too many people were hanging out and sank down into the snow, their entire body a vessel filled with pain and the bitter aftertaste of entirely too much lyrium.

It didn't take too long, however, before they heard footsteps crunching in the snow beside them.

Oh, great.

Adaar looked up and met the soft face of the dwarf with that crossbow, who now stood eye to eye with them, grinning. If he was as tired as they were, he did not show it.

"This seat taken?"

Adaar laughed weakly. "Be my guest. It's not like I own the mountain." 

Varric gave Adaar a crooked smirk and plopped down next to them, sending a cloud of dusty snow into their lap.

"Hey now, be careful, or I might rethink that generous offer!"

He held his hands up apologetically.

"Snow and mountains don't exactly make up my favored terrain. Actually, I hate the stuff." He looked around and chuckled dryly.

"Is this wet mess comfortable for you, Short Stack? There are tents and fires, you know."

Adaar shook their head with a tired scoff. They were unsure how they felt about the nickname the dwarf had given them, but he had a strangely disarming way about him, which made it nearly impossible to be angry at him.

"No, not at all, but I needed some time away from the talking...and the smell of blood."

Adaar made a mock retching sound, and the dwarf nodded understandingly.

"Yeah, I get that. It’s hard to get used to, but knowing our luck, you will have plenty of time to do just that."

For a while the two of them stared into the night quietly, and Adaar felt the chill of the night creep into their tired bones, shivering. Varric looked up at them quizzically.

"Are you cold? I thought you were an ice mage!"

Adaar raised their eyebrows, feigning offense.

"Great, now everyone knows I'm an apostate, thanks a lot! Besides, you're the one running around the Frostbacks with your entire chest out, man."

The dwarf paused for a moment and blinked, then broke out in raucous laughter. It was warm and hearty, but he suddenly also sounded exhausted and entirely worn out. Adaar felt strangely at ease next to the man, but maybe it was just nice to talk to someone who wasn't barking orders or accusations at you for a change.

"You got any tinder on you?"

Varric looked up and met Adaar's dark eyes, the glimmer of the fires around the two of them reflected in them like dancing red stars. He patted down his coat pockets.

"I believe I do - yup, here you go. Are you going to-"

Before he could finish, the Qunari had already taken the small pieces of dry wood and placed them in from them in the snow in a little tent shape. They held out their hand, gently breathing into their open palm, and Varric was surprised and delighted to see small sparks fly onto the tinder, setting it ablaze instantly. Before them, a nice little fire was now burning happily, without much wood to feed it. Indeed, it hardly seemed to touch the tinder at all.

The flames also appeared to be too hot for their size, but Varric wasn't going to complain out here, even if magic always made him a little queasy, especially ever since things had gone south with Meredith and the mages in Kirkwall.

"Well, that's resourceful."

He smiled at Adaar, who seemed lost in the fire, piercing it with their gaze. He wondered if they were able to hear him at all (mages could be a little weird when it came to fire), but as they warmed their hands on the magical campfire, a small smile crept over their lips as well.

"You didn't think I could only do ice, did you? I obviously learned some other basic spells, as well."

For a moment, Varric was afraid he had maybe offended the Qunari (mages could be a little weird when it came to their spells, too), but they said it without any malice and kept smiling at the flames.

Weird, sure...but actually pretty damn nice for a mage, he decided.

It was good to have someone to talk to, even if Adaar was one of very few words, it seemed. Varric studied the profile of their face for a moment and noticed how entirely soft and frail they seemed in this moment, despite their large stature, despite the powerful magic and all the anger. He knew what it was like to have prejudice thrown in your face because you're different, but most of the time, he was able blend in around humans fairly easily by now.

Well. There's no blending in with those things on your head, he thought.

Varric had seen the looks the soldiers had given Adaar, and he planned to do something about it, should it continue.

He thought himself a pretty good judge of character, but somehow found Adaar fairly hard to read, mostly because of all the scowling that was going on.

Is it any wonder though? They have been pushed around with orders and accusations by strangers, and kept prisoner for the last couple of days. Poor kid, they sure didn't ask for any of this.

Suddenly, Adaar rustled around in their pockets for a moment, took out a piece of paper and stared at it. Varric tried not to be too nosy, but thought he made out a butterfly of some sort, which looked like it had been drawn by a young child. 

"You okay there, Adaar?"

The Qunari looked at him with a puzzled expression, seemingly having forgotten that he was there.

"With you here, how could I not be?"

Adaar pushed the little shred of paper back into their coat and smiled, but their eyes seemed watery and tired. They straightened their back and took a shaky breath.

"Nice shooting, by the way. That was no small feat."

"Thanks, kid. You too, you know, I -"

Adaar gave him a puzzled look and their eyes grew big, their smile wider.

"Kid?? Just how old do you think I am?"

Varric chuckled grimly.

"Too young for any of this bullshit, I'll wager."

They smiled weakly at that, and looked at the fire again.

"Aren't we all, Varric?"

He chuckled.

"Simultaneously too young and too old for this bullshit, you are absolutely right. Also, I’ll be damned, but I think Cassandra is calling. We better get a move on."

Cullen's hands were still trembling slightly, as he realized with immense annoyance at himself, and he knew he could not let the others see it, although it was probably entirely too late for that.

He could not say how much time had passed between the rage demon shattering before him, and being introduced to Adaar, but it had seemed simultaneously like an eternity and only a few heartbeats, as it always did in battle. He could only pray not too much damage had been done to his image by his little malfunction earlier.

Control yourself. Cassandra knows what she’s doing, and she has good judgement.

He was currently following her and the prisoner further down the mountain, shouting orders at soldiers along the way, trying to regain some control over the chaos.

Never let them see you falter, he thought, straightening his back just a little more.

No matter where he tried to focus his attention, though, right in the middle of his field of vision there was always the tall figure of the Qunari, their horns bobbing up and down as they walked the hastened pace that Cassandra led with, though it took them fewer steps than her altogether.

He had decided it was safer (and less prone to end in another embarrassment for him) if he came in last, which allowed him to keep an eye on the mage at all times.

The image before him was now permanently burned into his skull. Like twisted bones they were growing out from the mage's high forehead, curving back in swooping downward arches, then circling back forward next to their face where they ended in two sharp spikes, and he found himself unable to look at anything else.

He remembered the painted giants again, as they had charged his soldiers in Kirkwall headfirst with their piercing battle cries, and swallowed hard. This was likely not going to end well, but he had to keep a clear head.

The Qunari had not seemed actively hostile toward him or Cassandra, though they had looked at Cullen with utter disdain right from the start. Still, they appeared to be cooperating, and for now, they apparently posed no immediate threat.

No such thing with Qunari, he reminded himself, gripping the hilt of his sword with his shaky hand.

They are living weapons with no personal choice in their actions, deployed by and following the Arishok. Especially the mages. They have no individual agenda; the only thing that matters to them are the demands of the Qun. Be careful.

Something was off about this one however, he thought. They were somehow different from the ones he'd encountered so far, though he could not quite put his finger on what separated them from the others.

Then he suddenly realization hit him, as he was staring at the Qunari's back and the way they moved down the mountain. This was the first one he’d encountered that wasn’t a hulking, giant man.

He had been wondering about that fact in Kirkwall, but assumed their duties were split up by gender and fixed in a binary way like all of their society, so they might have just sent the men to the city. This Qunari was no man, though, and they seemed strangely calm and collected compared to the Arishok's forces. The most puzzling thing, however, was their face.

He remembered the few terrifying Saarebas he had encountered, and this was obviously one of them. Qunari mages are bound, masked, controlled, their mouths sewn shut. Yet this one seemed to wander around without another one guarding them and apparently bore no scars from any former thread around their mouth or eyes.

They spoke with a mixed Marcher and Ferelden accent, but he was not able to place it exactly. Their build was…so different from the Qunari he had seen before: towering and broad-shouldered certainly, muscular and very much tall and grey, but a little lither than the others he had seen. They seemed completely reasonable when they spoke, but he knew that was likely an illusion; one he could not, and must not trust.

Cullen cursed himself for how he had found himself unable to look away from the mage as they had stood beside him and Cassandra for the first time, and he felt exceedingly foolish about it, because of course they had noticed and he was forced to appear engaged in something else, perhaps surveying the area, but of course, there was nothing but mountains around them so he just looked at…nothing. Then he'd just walked away. He clenched his fist in anger and his hand started shaking again.

Maker, like a bloody recruit who has just seen his first mage and is scared out of his wits completely.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. That was all unimportant now and they really had more pressing issues to deal with. Cullen tried to steady his hands once more, tragically failed, and trotted on, his face a steely façade betraying no emotion.

Duty before the self, always.

Chapter Text

This rift was indeed different, Adaar thought. It...spoke, first of all, and with their own voice no less. Was this some kind of new demon trickery?

Creepy shit, Adaar thought with a shiver down their spine as they heard their own words echo through the rocky valley, and it seemed to upset the Seeker properly as well - especially after their, and then what must have been a demon’s, the voice of what apparently was, or had been, the Divine joined in.

The people gathered underneath the swirling green light heard just pieces of a conversation – one that Adaar barely remembered, and the words had absolutely no sense to them (what was decidedly worse, though, was that Adaar did not remember saying them). Back and forth the voices went, in a jumbled nonsense of an exchange that no one seemed to be able to understand, judging from the lost expressions Adaar saw all around them.

What followed was a deafening silence, after the last bits of the ghostly whispers reverberating off the walls of the mountains around them had died down.

The tear above their heads seemed to lie in wait, fizzing and sputtering with magic way up there in the air, though no demons were to be seen so far.

“We will have to open it…to close it.”

That weird pale elf suddenly spoke up, and everyone’s heads whipped around as people were startled out of the tensed quiet. Solas never said much but when he did speak, Adaar usually did not like what came out of his mouth. They had distrusted him from the start for some reason, but unfortunately, at least this time he seemed to know what he was talking about.

“That means demons – be ready!”

The Seeker’s shouted reply violently shook Adaar out of their stupor as they still pondered the implications of Solas’ words, and before they knew what was going on, they lifted a hand and the mark on it was being drawn to the tear like by its own will, then the rift was ripped it open with an ear-splitting crash and finally, the demons started pouring out.

They watched as the hordes of bloodhungry enemies streamed out of the pale green portal like spectral ants that were about to overrun them all, bracing themself with what little remained of their stamina at this point.

Man, those things are ugly. Why can’t there ever be any cute demons?

Adaar was having trouble concentrating after days of being in and out of fights, potentially life-altering decisions and conversations they never thought they would be having. Apparently, their brain had decided the wisest course of action would be to flee into an exercise of ranking demons by their attractiveness. Adaar ripped their staff up and tore into the first one, a wraith, studying its movements and expressions intently through bloodshot eyes.

Envy and Rage demons had to be on the lower end of the scale, they thought as their spell encased a Shade in glimmering ice, while Pride and perhaps even Fear demons or Terrors could be placed more toward the top - with Shades and Wraiths as a fairly middle-ground choice. Now, Desire would be the most obvious pick for most appealing Demons, but Adaar had always thought they tried just a little too hard. The horns were nice, though...

An ear-splitting crash ended their daydreaming violently and abruptly.

Before they knew what was happening, a Lesser Terror tore into their magical shield from behind and one of its claws ripped through their flimsy armor, just between the shoulder blades. They had let their concentration down for too long and the snarling monstrosity had taken note immediately. Adaar leaped back with a pained cry and lifted their staff between the demon and them, panting heavily.

The demon did not appear all too impressed by this and charged again, this time going for a frontal assault. The deep exhaustion Adaar felt, together with the sharp pain that now pulled them back into reality made an unbridled rage bubble up within them.

Mages were not famous for doing all too well in close range combat, but that did not concern Adaar right now. All their frustration and anger, together the constant anxiety and stress of the past couple of days focused onto their enemy and in that moment, there was nothing else in their field of vision besides the Terror demon.

With a guttural scream that would make their vocal cords burn and ache for several days to come, they rammed their staff into the ground before them, and a milky cloud of thousands of sharp ice crystals materialized from it, enveloping the demon within an instant and rendering it frozen in place.

Instead of waiting for one of the fighters around them to finish it off, Adaar lifted their staff up, then rammed the sharp metallic blade at its far end into the block of ice with all their might.

The force of the impact sent shockwaves of pain through their muscle and bone, but Adaar barely took note of it – if anything, it only made them angrier. With another immense effort, they yanked the blade free again and lunged forward to strike the final blow.

“I take it back you monster – you fucking suck!”

Forgotten were any kind thoughts concerning the appeal of any demon, and none of the better qualities Adaar had just ascribed to them in their mind lingered – the only thing that was left was pure, blinding hatred.

Adaar rammed their staff into the frozen monster again, this time even harder. That did the trick. The fiend, together with its icy prison, shattered into millions of tiny pieces right before Adaar’s face with a satisfying loud CRUNCH.

What was left of the scene after the cloud of ice had settled was a Qunari with heaving breaths and intense loathing in their eyes, who had several tiny cuts all over their face, throat and hands. The violent outburst had taken up all of Adaar’s focus, and they had let their shield die down completely, exposing them to the full force of the energy contained in the spell.

Their hair and clothes were covered in a fine film of ice crystals, which slowly melted away as the magic expired. Where the raw mana had burned into the rough spun tunic Cassandra had lent them, intricate patterns made up of discolored fabric appeared, which would never wash out again.

Adaar had little time to worry about any of it, however, because out of the mist, a face now materialized before them, and it stared them down in wide-eyed bewilderment.

“Are…are you mad?! That - could have killed you!”

Before them stood none other than the Seeker, and she had that reprimanding look on her face that Adaar had come to find very irritating within the short time they had known her. She held her sword high up before her with an arm that seemed frozen in time – she had apparently just gotten ready to strike the killing blow on the Terror, when Adaar had rendered that plan futile by hacking away at the thing with reckless abandon.

Now they felt the strain of the impact clear as day, as well as a faint ringing in their ears.

Adaar huffed impatiently at the sight. There was blood running down their back, making the fabric of their clothes stick to their body, as well as their temples and chin in tiny streams, and the battle was far from over. They did not wait for a lecture from Cassandra, and instead waved her off, sprinting toward their next target. The woman yelled something after them, but it was lost in the clamor of steel and inhuman screeches.

The fight against the vicious Fade creatures had been intense and desperate even before the very large demon showed up several moments later, but then, of course a very large demon showed up, and it almost took them all down.

Adaar had never seen anything like this demonic outpour, not even during their lengthy excursions into the Fade, which had been plentiful. Horror spread over them as the demons' shrieks, the clang of metal and the stench of death swirled and blended into an unholy cacophony in their head, and the magic burned through their veins mercilessly. Not much longer before lyrium exhaustion would take over, Adaar thought.

A bright, green light suddenly blinded them, and then there was nothing but pain. Searing, hot. Too hot to bear, pounding in their head and drowning out all other thoughts, the monsters encircling them all ever closer.

With a sharp pain in their chest that took their breath away while cold sweat ran down their back and mixed in with the blood, they heard a faint voice calling their name, which seemed to come from far, far away. It was the last thing they heard before darkness settled in.

Adaar cracked their burning eyes open, startled and confused. Everything hurt. Even parts of their body they had never taken note of were now hurting, and there was a loud ringing and buzzing in their ears that drowned out everything else for a few moments.

"Fuck."

Their own voice sounded as if a stranger was speaking through the murmur in their head which was now accompanied by a sharp, stabbing pain behind their temples and forehead as well as cold nausea.

That feels like a concussion. Or perhaps a skull fracture..

Presently, they heard a small noise next to them – what must have been a small clattering sound, which sounded like thunder in their ears. A throbbing pain shot through their head and Adaar felt like throwing up.

Trying to focus their blurry vision on a shadow they now noticed beside them, Adaar squinted and turned their head a little too abruptly in the direction that noise had come from. Now part of their neck hurt immensely, as well.

“Fuck!”

This time, they only thought it. If Adaar had opened their mouth in the moment, they might have actually thrown up. The world was spinning around them, and they froze in place for a second, waiting for it to stop. Slowly, the edges of their surroundings appeared to become somewhat solid again, and the colors did not blur together quite as much anymore.

No matter how hard they tried to focus, they could not make out any real details, however. The light around them was entirely too bright, their stomach was still protesting vehemently, and their ears could only make out muffled sounds.

Like waking from a deep coma, they slowly pushed themself up from their horizontal position and squinted once more into the glaring light around them.

Everything was still spinning and everything still hurt. Why did everything hurt? Adaar shook their head slightly and forced their eyes onto the shadowy outline before them once again.

It was...an elf? Yes, a young skinny elf, as Adaar now saw, standing in front of them and shaking like a leaf, at their feet a washbasin or bowl of some sort.

“Uh…hello?” was all they managed to croak out groggily before the person dropped down to their knees in front of Adaar.

“I beg your most humble forgiveness! I am but a simple servant, your Worship. I did not mean to disturb...”

Adaar felt nauseated once again, but also strangely giddy. Did the elf just call them...your Worship? If everything hadn't been so painfully sore around their ribs they would've started laughing. But Adaar also did not feel like laughing right now. What in all blazes was going on?

Slowly, they looked around themself and found that the two of them were inside some sort of cozy little cabin. It was but one fairly small room with some crude furnishings, but appeared to be kept tidy, with a jolly little fire burning in a simple brick furnace on the wall across from them. They could make out a couple of objects a bit further back, like a table with some flasks on it, and a generally unassuming, but also painfully Ferelden decor. Was that…a boar's head on the wall over there?

Focus, Adaar.

The young lad was still kneeling and shivering in front of Adaar and they slowly realized that they were sitting up in a fairly comfortable and clean feather bed. They couldn’t put together why this person seemed to be afraid of them. Also...why was he addressing them in such a polite manner, instead of screaming Oxman before running off in terror?

With some effort and a lot of holding onto the wooden head part of the bed, Adaar cleared their throat and attempted to speak. It felt like their mouth was full of broken glass, but they managed to get out a few words.

“Don’t…be scared. Tell me what’s going on, please. Where am I?”

This seemed to upset the poor lad even more, and he stammered something about a “haven” and "Chantry" and having to go meet the Seeker “at once”.

Oh no. So all of that wasn’t just some terrible nightmare, huh? 

After the elf had left in a scrambled hurry, Adaar looked around again and realized this chamber they had been propped up in was, in all actuality, pretty comfortable. A lot nicer than the last ditch they had slept in for sure.

Nobles did pay like crap, every time.

.......The payment for the Conclave job! 

Adaar gasped, then clutched their chest immediately. Oh, that felt like broken ribs. Fucking fuck, yet again.
Damn it, now they would never get that money. Great. Adaar really hated working for free.

Just after they had finished this thought, it occurred to them that the rest of their crew was possibly not even alive anymore after that massive explosion, and they felt even worse. After trying their best to push the thought far away into the back of their mind, and taking a few almost-steady breaths, they gingerly got up from their bed.

This was indeed a real feather bed, they realized - something Adaar had not seen in a long time. No wonder I slept through midday, they thought, squinting into the dusky light that streamed in gently through the sole window of the room.

Adaar made their way over to the source of this light, and immediately regretted it. Leaning down heavily on the windowsill, they gasped and puffed like an old man, the world spinning around them. As they tried to catch their breath, they risked a cautious peek through the glass.

Outside, the afternoon sun slowly crept toward the peaks of some tall, snow-covered mountaintops, behind which it would soon disappear. The ground was mainly rocky or hard-packed dark soil, with but a few tufts of fresh spring grass here and there. It may have been early spring (as far as they remembered), but there was still a lot of snow and ice around, and as their eyes got used to the light, Adaar could make out a shimmering frozen lake that stretched past the houses outside.

It looked nice enough, but Adaar did not recognize this place at all.

Faint clanking sounds, together with animated voices were audible from the left - there were people around, and lots of them. Adaar turned, and slowly shuffled their aching body towards the only door in the room, more confused than ever. Cautiously, they slowly opened it - their feet did not seem to want to fully carry Adaar’s weight, so they moved wobbly and at a snail's pace - and stepped outside.

The sunlight, though already weak, almost blinded them and yet another sharp pain shot right through their head. Adaar shut their eyes firmly, trying not to fall over immediately. When they opened them again, it seemed a bit quieter than just a moment ago, somehow.

Adaar warily looked around and saw that a small crowd was gathered outside their little cabin. Most of the people were now looking their way, as well as whispering among each other. Hesitantly, they took another step, then started to walk toward the group unsteadily.

Have I ever been able to walk normally before? It seemed like the first time Adaar was upright on two legs, and the looks of all these strangers threatened to topple them.

Thankfully, they did remember how to walk eventually and did their best to appear composed and not filled with shattered bones as they moved up to the crowd with a slight limp.

As they moved past a stout little cabin to their left, a large, imposing structure came into view behind it. It was situated atop a gentle slope, with several packed dirt roads leading up to it, and Adaar figured this had to be a good place to get some answers.

The shape and looming scale of the building immediately spelled “Chantry” to them however, and Adaar felt anger rise up inside them almost automatically. They took note of the streaming banners adorned with flaming swords on the building with disdain, as well.

Fucking hell, of course the Chantry's involved in this mess.

As they made their way through the crowd that parted for them in a strangely eager way, Adaar heard whispers about "the Herald of Andraste" and a "savior" while people viewed them with ardently glistening eyes.

And then they began to truly worry about the state of things that unfurled around them.

The Commander pinched the bridge of his nose. It all seemed far too much to handle in just three short days, but he had to keep his composure. He was feeling tired and irritable, and the encounter with a Qunari mage on that mountain had shaken him more than he liked to admit. Especially after what the Seeker had told him was to happen with them.

The Ambassador, though ever pleasant, was incessantly chattering away next to him about important decisions that needed to be made, yet all he wanted to do was slash his training dummy for a few hours or so, to get the restlessness out.

His body seemed to buzz with nervous energy despite the exhaustion that was tangible in every bone, and he repeatedly ran his thumb across the pommel of his sword absent-mindedly; a sign that he was wound tightly and close to crumbling from stress, but of course he could not let himself crumble.

Cullen gripped his thigh under the table to still his hand and hoped the others had not noticed him fidget, or that he was clenching his jaw so tightly that his ears started ringing.

Just then, Josephine got up with a flourish and beamed across the room.

“…and she should be here any minute!”

She started bustling around the large oak table doing Maker knew what, as her notes were always in perfect order and certainly needed no rearranging. He straightened his back again, and tried to keep his composure.

A messenger had come in and let them know that the Qunari was awake, appearing to be well, a few moments ago. The Seeker had followed her out immediately and everyone was seemingly very excited. Cullen did not know how he was to feel about this news, yet. Slowly, his hand made its way over to his sword pummel again, as he tried to suppress tapping his foot.

The heavy wooden door swung open wide with a creaking noise that grabbed everyone’s attention at once, the chatter in the room died down, and in stepped Cassandra with the prisoner in tow, who was bruised quite badly and seemed a tad disoriented and confused. Cullen felt his chest tightening again and sat up even straighter.

Josephine of course had the first word: congratulations were poured onto the Qunari, who appeared a bit lost, and formal introductions were made. The prisoner looked around at them all with uncertainty and a tinge of suspicion, but they also nodded quite courteously and stated it was "A pleasure to meet all of them".

When their gaze landed on him, however, a slight frown appeared on their forehead and their eyes darkened somewhat. He could only imagine that his face was mirroring the expression.

Cullen felt a sudden sting of shame, thinking back to his first reaction upon meeting them - he'd behaved like a scared little boy fresh out of training, and resolved to do better this time.

You will always just be a scared little boy, a raspy voice reminded him, and he shook it off as best he could with a barely perceptible shiver.

Cassandra had ensured him the prisoner was most reasonable and cooperative, so he was going to hold his tongue for now, hoping for the best - with dread, but cautious optimism.

Indeed, the Qunari acted surprisingly civil and composed as they sat down at the table with them and took part in the discussion. Though they appeared a little unfocused and wary, they were also seemingly eager to help.

No wonder they seemed a bit under the weather, Cullen thought, with the kind of beating that they had taken at the temple...it could only be through magic that they were already up and walking again. He frowned at the thought, turning his attention to the papers in his hand.

Over the next hour or so, when plans were laid out by both Josephine and Cassandra - with Cullen adding curtly phrased logistic prepositions and strategies, he firmly kept his eyes on the prisoner, but the civility they displayed did not seem to waver, which put him at ease somewhat. Still, he would not risk what they had so painstakingly built up by trusting a Qunari - who was also a rogue mage.

At first, Adaar hadn't been able to stop laughing when the Seeker had presented them her explanation about why the people here had seemed so weirdly in awe of them. The “Herald of Andraste” - A Qunari apostate.

These people were, apparently, complete nutjobs.

However, laughing had hurt their sides and innards immensely, and Adaar suddenly recognized the extent of their many internal injuries sustained during the fight - of which they admittedly remembered very little.

Then, as the meeting inside this so-called war room went on, they grew truly concerned about the sanity of these folks.

This Inquisition, as they called themselves, simply could not be serious about them staying with them, and not as a prisoner, but as an ally?! After all that, they now wanted to partner with them?

And they were to carry that ridiculous title the people had come up with, even if semi-officially? Herald of Andraste. Adaar scoffed quietly as they viewed the group of humans, who looked back at them with expectant faces.

Oh, what have you gotten yourself into now, Adaar?

They contemplated simply getting up and walking away from this mess, but then the Seeker had reminded them that they were quite possibly the only one who could deal with these demons that flooded the land, with their strange new mark being the only thing that even stood a chance of closing that big tear in the sky, and they did not feel like scoffing or walking away anymore.

"I'll do it", Adaar had heard themself say, and that had been it.

Everybody had seemed extremely pleased afterward, then they all shook hands and disbanded, off to do the myriad things the bubbly Ambassador had alluded to, and Adaar was left sitting alone and dumbfounded in the small room with the gigantic table, staring at their hand, which was glowing faintly in the dim evening light.

Ah, shit.

They had stopped for a while after the Inquisition had returned to Haven and he’d finally gotten some rest (and medical attention), but now the tremors were back. Slight involuntary movements, and not too bad, but strong enough that Cullen couldn't pick up all the papers before him as fast as he wanted.

Everyone else had already left to begin preparations, and he suddenly found himself alone in the war room with the mage. It had gotten entirely quiet around them, and he looked up at the Qunari, the air feeling as thick as water in his lungs.

His clumsy rustling about of the papers must have broken their chain of thought, and the mage, who was no longer a prisoner, as they had decided, jerked their head up to look at him - eyes piercing, clear and deep set in their head under thick brows. He swallowed.

"Oh," they muttered, apparently only now taking note of him and locking eyes with Cullen.

Never had he felt so uncomfortable just being looked at, Cullen thought, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other uneasily. A stupid, nervous trait he used to have in his youth, that betrayed weakness and came out again now, of all times.

The hulking mage was still sitting in their heavy oak chair, which somehow still seemed small for them, as their large torso towered over the table. Their thick arms were folded in front of them and they leaned back with their broad, grey face facing him in stony silence. He tried to suppress a hard swallow.

Keep. it. together, damn it.

“Ahem. Herald...I”, he began but got no further.

The Qunari seemed slightly startled and chuckled, a deep breathy laugh that came from deep within their chest and cut him off. For a bit, they both were silent again, eyeing each other. Under his armor and furs, he was sweating.

The mage’s clothes for their part were strange, Cullen thought - unfit for a mage. He found himself looking at their muscly, bare arms which were resting on the smooth wood as they now slouched forward over the war table.

He’d thought the heavy desk, with its gigantic measurements, seemed like someone was compensating for something when they had planned it, but now, as he saw the Qunari sitting at it, it seemed to him like it was made with someone just their size in mind. He felt strangely small next to the two of them.

Their eyes were still surveying him silently, and he thought he noticed them faintly glowing with a strange sheen, like a dark blue lake glistening in the pale winter sun. Though he wore many layers to combat the cold, Cullen might as well have been entirely naked, at least that’s how he started to feel under their scrutinizing gaze.

He resolved to say something.

Anything.

"Yes – Herald. It's...quite the title. How do you feel about it?" he asked, not sure even himself to what avail, but Cassandra had pressed the matter, to which Josephine had of course agreed, that they must work together, if there was any chance of closing the Breach. Besides, he could not help but wonder about the strange new addition to the Inquisition, and so he was at least willing to try.

"I find it...a little unnerving", was the mage's answer, presented with a slight lopsided smile.

Diplomatic. Their voice was deep and low, almost hushed, with a tone that was much softer than he'd anticipated. He noticed that strange accent again, like a faint sing-song deep in their throat at the intonation of certain words, and it seemed to carry a strange somberness with it.

He could not help but smirk. "I'm sure the Chantry would agree."

Cullen now chuckled slightly and the mage's expression became somewhat surprised, then turned to a sour, hardened look quickly, while he felt his smile falter.

The Qunari stood up abruptly and their chair screeched back across the floor, the hargh sound startling Cullen. Now he saw the mage in their full height before him, imposing and somewhat frightening as they were alone together in a room, and he felt his heartbeat in his throat. Had he angered them somehow? His thoughts started racing.

They were looking down at the table, their eyes not visible to him, and he realized they were glowering at their clenched fists. Cullen felt his own clammy hands tense at his sides.

"I should get to work, as well.", they stated flatly, and he was taken aback by how abruptly their tone had changed from a factual, almost amicable one to an almost hostile growl.

In an instant they were out the door, leaving the Commander alone and at a loss. He breathed out with a shaky sigh and finally collected his papers. As he looked down, Cullen noticed that the hair on his arms were standing up, and he felt much colder than just a few moments ago.

Chapter Text

Everybody was always staring, pointing, whispering about them. Every day - the smith, the quartermaster, the barkeep, the Seeker and that Spymaster, the Ambassador; everyone had something to say and somehow Adaar's opinion was always wanted in matters of, well, everything.

It began to occur to them that these people could probably barely wipe without them.

The Commander was thankfully keeping quiet most of the time during these endless meetings, but all those people bustling around Haven and all the staring and hushed whispers behind their back were a lot for Adaar to handle. They did not enjoy being the center of attention, and now they were just that, constantly.

Everybody seemed so...pleased with them, and yet so very distrustful. Not that this was new for them, but now these people had decided to rely fairly heavily on the Qunari in matters they barely understood, which made them extremely uncomfortable.

There were war table discussions every damn day in the morning, bright and early. They had no talent for strategy, so all of it seemed almost like another language to them.

Introductions to some visiting nobles usually followed; some were simply nosy onlookers that just happened to pass through the town of Haven (which was strange, as it was situated in the complete ass end of nowhere), and some stayed “for support”, adding to the mass of people surrounding Adaar constantly.

People either treated them like an almost-holy savior sent by the heavens themselves, or a curious and somewhat disgusting novelty, and they felt how their nerves were beginning to be chafed raw.

So, one night, rather than collapsing into bed and then not being able to fall asleep with all the thoughts swirling in their head yet again, Adaar took up a satchel and left their little cabin in the deep dark, out the window, so the guards in front of the door wouldn't notice.

They watched their breath form little white clouds in the cold night air as they rounded the corners of the town carefully on their way to the frozen lake. Unfortunately, they saw yet more guards posted at the large gate that led out of Haven, so instead of crossing through, they disappeared into the dark, shimmying along the wall.

When they were certain they were out of view, Adaar summoned a heap of snow in front of the wall, then climbed the palisades and left Haven - far away from any prying eyes.

A little further down the road outside of town, by the other side of the lake, they had seen the edge of a magnificent forest, to which they were now headed. Even though this place seemed like a glorified prison that was about to drive them insane, Adaar absolutely loved the mountains, and they now marveled at the beauty around them.

It felt like they could take flight at any moment, the sky was so close. The air was free, clean, and chilly, and the trees called to them in the hushed darkness. So, with a few quick strides with the lingering light from the town behind them they reached the pitch-dark tree line undetected and dove in, ready for some quiet.

These people were, thankfully, the absolute worst at keeping watch, Adaar thought with a sense of mischievous glee.

"What do you mean, GONE?!"

Cullen stared down the soldier who was supposed to keep an eye on the Herald's cabin, but apparently a giant, horned grey mage giant could simply go missing from one moment to the next without anyone noticing around here.

He let out an annoyed grunt, told her to take her position at the cabin door again and that she was to inform the Seeker at once, should the Herald return. The guard, now sweating profusely, only managed to salute in reply.

"I believe I saw someone walking towards the forest. Might’ve been them, Commander."

Cullen turned around and noticed one of Leliana's younger recruits had come up behind him. Maker's tears, can nobody do their job around here? Are the guards at the gate asleep, too?

He grunted again, gripped his sword and told everyone to keep an eye out, keep this all under wraps, and that he would be back within the hour. It was the middle of the night and it would certainly cause a panic, should everyone find their newfound Herald suddenly gone. Plus, they couldn't have gone far, so he would just take care of it.

Cullen went into the direction the scout had indicated. He found footsteps soon enough – interestingly they started in front of the wall - and made his way after the Qunari, now fearing the worst.

He followed a narrow path into the adjacent forest, immediately cursed himself for not bringing a torch, and for not stationing more guards at the mage's cabin.

Maker, all these recruits were green. Moments like these made him miss the rigorous Templar training. But only for a moment, before he remembered Meredith's face twisted up in red lyrium taint with a shiver.

Mercifully, the moon had now emerged from behind the clouds; making it a little easier to see the winding dirt road before him and so he pushed forward through the eerily still forest.

What he would do once he found them was another issue, however.

Adaar took in the fragrant night air, the scent of pine and wild animals lingering around them, as the forest stood still in the pale moonlight. Finally, freedom.

No one asked them what their opinion on this or that was here, no one wanted to let them in on any strategic plans, which they did not understand most of the time anyway -now were just the soft hoots of an owl in the distance and the wind rustling in the trees surrounding them.

Their head felt cleared instantly, their limbs refreshed and their muscles stopped aching a little in the cold night air. They mused about the strangeness of the situation they had found themself in and listened to the snow softly crunching under their footsteps.

Not much further now.

Nothing. Cullen was about to drive his sword into a tree. He had been searching for the missing Herald for almost an hour already, but there was no trace of them. Of course, it had since began to snow, which covered any trace of the Herald that was still left, and he feared he was beginning to get lost in the forest, as he had left the path some time ago, and did not know the area too well, especially in the dark.

Damn Cassandra, he thought, and damn this whole group of fools for trusting that mage - himself included.

Of course the Qunari would run off at the first opportunity, leaving them all stranded and without any means to close the Breach. He was such a bloody fool. Of course they would abandon them.

Everybody always does, little boy. You always fail, and you always end up alone.

Cullen slowed his steps, then came to a full stop in the dark. He listened to the soothing sounds of the forest – the treetops swaying in the breeze, the soft calls of nocturnal animals in the distance – and started rubbing the pommel of his sword nervously.

Oh Maker, not now. Please.

But the voice kept going; in the still of the night, there was seldom anything loud or present enough to stop it, and he heard it drum on mercilessly in his head, taunting, mocking, spewing insults.

Cullen’s breathing became short and ragged, and he felt his stomach churn. He turned like in a trance and quickened his steps – he had to get back to the barracks, back into the light. Panic rose within him slowly.

Adaar’s breath was a steady cloud of white steam in front of them as they bowed down and took out their knife. With measured movements and a small smile creeping across their face, they cut the lush green plants to store in their bag.

Elfroot. There is so much of it here, they thought. They could use this for all kinds of potions, and Adan had recently said they could always need more. Lost deep in thought, they gathered the elegant, thin plants in their arms in thick bushels and hummed under their breath.

Just a bit more, Adaar thought as they now slowly started to feel the extent of how tired they actually were. They could make use of this patch now that they've found it, and maybe even could teach the herbalists how to find good spots to harvest by looking for irregularities in the tree crowns and for groups of the plants that Elfroot liked to grow next to.

Adaar let out a yawn in the still night and shook their exhausted, sore limbs.

Time to head back and get into that wonderful bed.

Feeling refreshed and calm, they resolved their little excursion had gone on long enough, and they should probably head back before anyone would miss them.

A loud rustle in the leaves behind them made them drop the herbs in their arms and swiftly turn around, eyes wide while goosebumps rose on their neck. Adaar waited for a few heartbeats, listening.

Nothing, just the wind whistling quietly through the woods. The cold crept up their back as they stared at the dark wall of trees. Adaar was illuminated by the dim moonlight, magnified and bouncing off the snow around them, leaving them completely exposed in the small forest clearing. The short flurry of snow had stopped again, and now there was nothing concealing them from the eyes of potential enemies.

Stupid. So very stupid.

Another rustle was audible from the undergrowth and suddenly, a figure emerged. Adaar quickly drew their staff, the crystal glowing bright and blue, ready to unleash hell on whatever came at them.

Cullen stumbled out of the trees, his mind and body numbed with familiar dark thoughts terrorizing and racing through him, his only aim trying to get back to where people were, pacing fast. But the falling snow and the dark had disoriented him, and he did not know where he was anymore.

His only thought was: Get out. Out of the forest, back to Haven. Out. Out. Out.

He had thought he’d finally reached the end of the woods, but quickly realized this was only a small clearing in the dense wall of black trees. Damn it all!

You're useless, the terrible, familiar voice teased. You're weak and you will never amount to anything besides being a gigantic failure and disappointment to everyone, little boy. Look, you even lost the one person who might have been able to help you.

There was a terrible cackle that sounded like shattering glass in his head.

He felt close to tears with despair, his heart pounding in his chest hard and fast, his skin crawling with terror, everything around him forgotten and invisible.

"Hold it right there!"

A voice cut through the clear night air, stopping him in the torrent of his thoughts, and he looked up in a panic. Cullen took in his surroundings for a moment, then gasped.

Though he had been shaken out of his stupor by the unexpected sound, he now found himself in a different kind of predicament. Before him lay the still and ghostly white forest clearing, the falling snow since stopped, and the moon was peeking out between the clouds for a moment, casting a harsh, clear light on the scene.

In the middle of the little patch of snow stood a tall figure, facing him. It was the Herald.

The Qunari was standing a few paces away, staring him down. As he saw the mage standing there, after what felt like an eternity stumbling around in this accused forest in the middle of the night, his frustration and exhaustion finally boiled over.

"You!"

He furiously took some fast strides towards the Qunari, when, with a sudden movement which he perceived in terrible detail as time slowed to a crawl, they swung their right hand upward. The ice that had already formed in it was glimmering and crackling loudly, and he realized they got ready to impale him with it.

The figure which had come out of the woods suddenly strode towards them and did not stop. Who the hell could this be, out here - at this hour? Bandits? But just one...?

Adaar could not see the person's face against the dark forest, only that they were advancing rapidly, but they'd picked the wrong fucking mage to ambush here.

They could now see that it was a tall human, who drew their sword and held up their shield before them; a swift, controlled motion Adaar had seen so many times before, and their breath caught in their throat.

Templar.

Anger boiled in their stomach as they got ready to end this miserable piece of shit right there and then. This had to be one of the rogue bastards who had taken the law into their own hands after the disbanding of the circles, and he was coming closer fast.

Right before they could cast, the figure stopped in their tracks and raised their head a little, just enough to be suddenly bathed fully in moonlight, and Adaar finally saw their face.

"Fucking hell!"

Adaar violently crushed the icy bolt in their hand just in time, before it could be sent out to end this careless idiot's life, and the impact sent sharp little slivers of blue, glittering ice flying around the two.

The man standing before them seemed panicked and was frozen in place, with his shield still drawn up before him.

Cullen stopped in his tracks and got ready to block the blow just in time, his mind and body recalling the years of training without having to think, and apparently just in time, because not a moment later he heard a loud, sharp crunch.

When he looked up again, icy crystals were dancing around him and the Qunari in the quiet night like light snowfall as they lowered both their staff and hand, their eyes fiery and wild.

"What in blazes are you doing out here?!"

The Qunari’s words shook the immobilizing fear from his mind and stared at the mage before him, incredulously.

"You're asking me?!"

Cullen was livid and still somewhat panicked; his palms sweaty, his head pounding, the blood rushing in his ears. Adaar's eyes slowly grew wide as they looked at him, and he realized he still had his sword drawn, ready to strike back. Only there was no strike coming from them, not anymore.

He saw the mage grip their staff a bit tighter, and with a voice that shook a little, they uttered an unsteady "Commander?", their eyes shining pale in the moonlight. The Qunari's aura was cracking with magic, and the sound and smell of it sent familiar shivers up his back.

Cullen took a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself.

Slowly, he lowered both sword and shield. Hot blood rushed to his chest and face. The silence hung heavy in the air as neither of them spoke for a moment.

"So. Have you come out here to kill me?"

Cullen startled as the Herald's voice in the deadly quiet forest air was now thick with disdain, hatred almost.

"Rid the world of another mage, huh, Templar?"

At that word and the way they said it, electricity shot through him and he dropped his sword in the fresh snow to his feet as his eyes met theirs, now full of fire.

"What?"

He felt despair fill every corner of him, ready to drop to the ground, his limbs threatening to give out underneath him.

Templar.

They might as well have punched him in the face. He was shaking now and cursed himself for it.

"No...I.. Forgive me, Herald."

...Forgive him? They're the one who ran off in the middle of the night! He was breathing heavily now. This was not going at all how he’d envisioned it.

And yet, the look on the Qunari's face left no other emotion in him but shame and regret.

They stared at him, just a few feet away now, clearly and openly despising the man in front of them.

"Fuck you, Templar scum."

It hit him like a brick again, and he looked at them, defeated.

"I am..not a Templar anymore, Herald."

His voice was weak and he felt a hundred years older. They simply scoffed and shook their head, still looking at him with this icy stare that shook him to his core, saying nothing. It was not needed.

"It's just...when I saw you cast I... I'm – sorry."

They stood before him wordlessly for a moment, then turned and holstered their staff. Silent, but furious as he could tell, they gathered some herbs off the ground while Cullen was left standing dumbly and silently, frozen in place. He dared not move a muscle.

With hatred in their eyes and the stench of magic still stuck to them heavily, the Herald came back up to him and locked eyes with Cullen again, their face a stony, bitter facade.

"Yeah, I get it. You can take the man out of the Templars… am I right?"

And with a last derisive scoff, they walked past him into the forest, and he followed, feeling numb and defeated.

Chapter Text

Trembling like a leaf, out of breath and nauseated, Adaar had finally reached their cabin again in the frozen silence of the night. It usually never really bothered them, but now the cold was almost too much to bear.

They had been running almost the whole way back and their lungs hurt immensely from the freezing air they kept sucking in in short, shallow gasps.

The guard who was posted outside the cabin let out a small yelp, then a surprised gasp when she saw them and stared up at Adaar with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open as if to speak, but unsure about what to say.

Wordlessly, Adaar had stormed past her with their insides in a leaden knot. Finally in their cabin, they pleaded to whatever spirits were listening that nobody would stab them in their sleep, or worse, come to talk to them tonight.

Nobody did, however, as they lay breathlessly on their bed staring at the wooden ceiling and counting the rings and knots in the lumber over and over, wringing their hands. Finally, the commotion and many hushed voices outside died down and moved away until there was a heavy silence. Adaar shut their eyes and felt a lump rise in their throat.

Templars. It's always the same with these fucking Templars.

Disgust filled them and anger roiled in the pits of their stomach as they tossed and turned, then finally fell into a restless sleep.

Josephine would not, or perhaps indeed could not, stop talking. And the sun had only just risen; its weak pale rays falling in through the window behind her.

And on top of all this there was no coffee, as Adaar noted with exhausted despair. This had been a particularly bad war table meeting so far, as it revolved around Adaar solely, over and over, and it took all they had in them not to simply walk out and never come back.

The Spymaster, together with the Seeker and the Ambassador took turns reprimanding, pleading, shouting at and generally showering Adaar with disappointed looks that seared into their skin as their cheeks burned with rage.

Adaar was hit hardest by Josephine's unending stern and diplomatic speeches, which they could tell were a thin veil concealing her anger. The other two let it rain down on Adaar more freely as they were all crammed into what now seemed to be a tiny stuffy prison cell, and they felt like they were going mad inside it as the air lay on them heavy and hot, causing them to have trouble both breathing and concentrating.

Adaar was both mortified and stunned to be reprimanded like a child by these people who barely knew them, while simultaneously feeling a shameful rage fester in them as they stared at their hands in their lap wordlessly.

Adaar was still their prisoner and they had been a goddamn fool for thinking otherwise. They now felt like a hostage and wanted nothing but to escape.

But the Antivan of course managed to completely disarm any anger Adaar held, when she said with maddeningly convincing determination,

"Herald, we were merely concerned. We simply cannot afford to lose you."

Adaar realized with a painful sting of shame that she was right, and that they had perhaps acted a tiny bit foolish and maybe even irresponsibly.

After a sullen pause during which no one spoke, Adaar sighed and threw up their hands in defeat. The tension in the war room was palpable and entirely discomforting, like cold sweat covering your whole body, and Adaar wanted nothing but to be rid of it.

With great effort, they cautiously spoke to finally break the hovering, uneasy suspense.

"I.. apologize. I did not intend to worry anyone and make you think I would just...leave". They shook their head, rubbed their tense neck and sighed; this was definitely not what Adaar had intended by taking their little walk.

Stupid. Of course it would seem like you were deserting, you dunce. These people don't trust you, not yet. Why would they trust you, you hulking great wall of stupid Qunari mage bricks?

They looked up at the women across the great big table and felt like a common thug on trial.

This is so humiliating.

Adaar took great pains to avoid looking at the Commander, who had mercifully been silent throughout this whole ordeal, while they were trying their best to not be giving away any of the nervous energy that raged inside them. Their voice was at times breaking and trembling, but Adaar still hoped they sounded sincere.

"I am... committed to this cause. Really. But I - I just needed some time to clear my head with all of this going on, and... I'm not used to all this, mh, attention."

By attention they of course meant responsibility, but that would only give the four people looking at Adaar now more reason to be concerned, and that was the last thing they needed right now.

Finally, after another pause during which they studiously surveyed Adaar's entire person, the women seemed somewhat placated. The Spymaster even gave them a small smile and nodded, while Josephine pleaded again for them to please let them know when they go on a private trip and where, and how long and ultimately suggested going back to more strategic matters that needed planning, for which Adaar was eternally grateful.

Cassandra needed not say anything, she simply gave them her least stern scowl and sat down with a factual nod which meant, back to business.

The Templar, of course, stayed silent and only nodded in approval of the Ambassador's suggestion. Adaar thanked their lucky stars for at least that small mercy.

"...Recruit, will you hold up your shield? That hit could have cleaved your head in half just now! Your left foot further back, you will lose balance immediately slouching like this!"

Cullen had been barking orders at the recruits all day and his voice was about to give out, but he had to keep going. There were a few more silent groans from the crowd of soldiers, but they did as they were told.

Useless. Utterly shameful.

He was furious at himself and his ineptitude, and determined to work these boys til they dropped. He could kick himself for how everything had ended last night.

You are never to raise your sword against those you serve.

What had he been thinking traipsing around in the woods alone? What if this had been another mage, a rogue apostate? They could have killed him easily in his state of stupor. Cullen couldn't help but grimly wonder why the Herald hadn't done so.

He shook the thought from his head and gave another order.

The meeting this morning had gone by agonizingly slow and he was a fool, they were all fools for doubting the Herald, but ultimately, they had just been doing their jobs. Him particularly badly, however.

The anger burned behind his eyes as he slashed at the shield of the recruit in front of him, his trembling hands making his movements slightly erratic and harder to control, which frustrated him to no end.

"Up, again! Your enemy will not simply relent once you no longer feel like fighting!"

The youth before him was nearly out of breath, but Cullen was not about to cut them any slack. He could not undo the absolute catastrophe that had unfurled in the forest, but he could make these recruits learn how to hold their shields up, and by Andraste, he would at least do this part of his job right.

Adaar was always the first to exit the war table discussions these days. No way I'm being caught alone with the Templar again, they thought as they rushed through the door, glad to be out of there.

Plus, they had so many things to take care of now, they scarcely knew where to start.

They were to go to the Hinterlands, to find some horse master and a Mother of the Chantry (Oh good, more Chantry nonsense!, was of course not what they had said to Cassandra, but boy, had they thought it), find more allies and secure resources, oh, and deal with the rebel mages and a ton of rogue Templars in the area while they were at it. To top it all off, their gear was in atrocious condition.

So Adaar routinely fled the meetings as soon as they could, their head pounding with all the strategic information and intricate details of Ferelden nobility they struggled to retain; they tried to keep up with Josephine's instructions on who not to talk to about whom, and all the while Leliana was needling them with questions about this and that, all very subtle and casual but no doubt intended to pry even more information out of them than what they already know about Adaar.

Under these circumstances a trip to the Ferelden countryside to fight murderous thugs and demons sounded absolutely fucking delightful right about now.

All that and the terrible state of their equipment meant, of course, going down to the smith a couple of times a day to discuss endless matters of weapons and armor and materials, and to try on this and that. To do this, however, Adaar had to walk past the soldier training grounds - every. single. time.

The Commander was always there and yelling at the frazzled troops nonstop, barking orders here and there relentlessly.

"Not a Templar anymore" my ass, Adaar thought as one day after they had finished their mind-numbingly long discussion with Harrit about what kinds of steel melded best with magic, they stopped at a safe distance and watched how the Commander instructed the soldiers to block magic and acid splashes with their shields, all with the precision of one that has been in the Order for years and years, and who knew nothing else.

Adaar shivered, thinking back to the raised sword he had held in the forest. It was just like them.

A familiar terror gripped their heart and they tore their gaze away from the man bitterly, to go and try on another sleeve of their armor instead. These people knew a lot about smithing and could even craft magical equipment, but they definitely were no experts in how to fit it all to a Qunari build.

If I never have to talk to that man again in my life, it will be too soon, they thought, as the Commander's shouted orders at the poor recruits were audible in the entire smithy.

Almost giddy like a child, Adaar sat on their newly acquired horse, gently swaying back and forth as the majestic animal trotted to and fro wherever Adaar guided her. Master Dennet was indeed a master of his craft, they thought, pleased with themself.

Adaar had been pretty sceptical that he would find a mount for them, and he had joked, in that very dry way that was particular to Fereldens, about their "feet dragging on the ground while riding" but he had actually procured the perfect horse for them from his stables.

A truly magnificent animal with a dark coat and broad muscular chest, the draft horse was perfect for them. She was gentle and patient too, which was good since Adaar hadn't ridden since they were 12, at which point they had already barely fit the horse at the farm their family had stayed at for a while anymore.

And they had indeed found allies all over - a Warden no less; one more elf, who couldn't have been more different from Solas, and well...another Qunari. Quite a big one, too. Now, people would likely not be happy about that, but the mercenary company was too good to pass up on. Plus, they had been tasked with finding allies, so...task completed.

Weary and muddy, they reached Haven at nightfall, with the newly recruited fighters in tow. Mother Giselle had promised to follow as soon as her duties were adequately passed on to another healer (the woman wasn't all that bad after all - at least she didn't just sing the Chant and fold hands like the others).

A few Inquisition stable hands were already coming up to secure the horses in the stables, so Adaar dismounted with their back in agony, thanked the humans who bowed entirely too often and too low, and walked toward their cabin, ready to take a damn bath.

But of course, there was a nervous messenger at their side in an instant, and they all had to go to the Chantry immediately please and oh Herald it was so very good to have you back your Worship!

Adaar was dead tired, but as they looked up the gentle slope of the hill the town wrapped around, it did indeed seem like there was some kind of commotion going on in front of the church, so with a wistful sigh they trotted toward the large building, promising their aching joints a bath would come their way soon.

As they neared the Chantry, Adaar quickly recognized what was happening, and their chest tightened. A group of mages and Templars were engaged in a clamorous altercation in front of the church’s gates with numerous onlookers around them.

So far they were fighting only with words, but it was obvious the situation was getting heated quickly. Adaar stepped up to them, ready to interfere, when another figure shouldered through the crowd and pushed an incited mage and Templar, who seemed ready to tear each others' throats out, away from each other.

"Enough!"

The Commander's voice boomed through the mass of people, and most fell quiet instantly. Adaar stopped in their tracks, taken aback by the unexpected interference.

"Knight-Captain-", the Templar began, still in a heated rage, but the Commander cut him off with unyielding command and looked the man down with an icy stare.

"That is not my title. We are not Templars any longer - we are all part of the Inquisition now!"

He growled the words first and ended in shouting at the man. Adaar startled at the Commander's angry tone and stood frozen in place, stunned, watching the scene before them dumbfounded.

"Everyone, back to your stations, now! ...I will deal with you two later."

The Commander jabbed his gloved finger at the two men who still glowered at each other, but now seemed defeated, if not placated, and both vanished into the already dissolving crowd.

Everyone was scuttling back to their stations quickly, which soon left Adaar standing alone in the square, still muddy and dusty and bloody from their travels, and smelling of horse. They watched the Commander rubbing his forehead in strange nervous manner, before he looked up and spotted them, seemingly for the first time.

Adaar surveyed the tense man with suspicion - what had just transpired was just so completely out of character for him.

"Herald! You're - back."

He seemed perplexed, Adaar thought, but his aggressive posture softened visibly after a moment, and he exhaled a ragged breath.

Adaar mused that he seemed less like a threat now and more infinitely tired, as they remembered to breathe again while the shock still tensed their every muscle and his harsh, commanding voice still rang in their ears.

Drawing in a shaky breath they cleared their throat, resolving to appear in control and nonplussed.

"Yes. I...am happy to report that we have secured many new alliances in the Hinterlands." Adaar paused for a moment, but the Commander did not retort.

"What's...going on here then?"

Adaar meant their voice to sound cold and factual – maybe even a bit hostile, but the truth was the whole ordeal had left them confused and fairly rattled, and a thousand thoughts were rushing through their head.

Did the just...defend the mages? 

The Commander took a moment to respond, then shook his head slowly and replied with a brief

"Nothing we can't handle, but tempers are flaring. It would be wise to address the Templar-mage conflict soon, Herald."

Adaar sighed and crossed their arms with their lips in a tense, thin line. They had seen the destruction the fighting had cost the Hinterlands and its people firsthand, but they also knew they were sitting on a powder keg with this politically charged conflict, one they were not sure they were equipped to handle, and they dreaded the next war table discussion.

"Can I...help with anything?", they asked the man cautiously, and the Commander suddenly looked up as if they'd disturbed him in his train of thought.

Cullen shot the Qunari a surprised look. This was not what he had expected at all; rather, he'd been waiting for a speech on how he should restrain the former Templars better, and to be reprimanded about how the situation was completely out of hand, and why he wasn't doing his job.

Which was all true.

He felt embarrassed and vexed that they had seen this commotion, as it made him seem completely unable to keep even a semblance of order at camp.

The Herald stood before him in a defensive posture, obviously waiting for a reply, and yet again, he felt wholly unfit to handle the situation. Why had he not been blessed with even a fraction of Josephine's diplomatic abilities?

"I...perhaps you could talk to the mages, Herald. Tell them - that the former Templars are not here as their enemies, that-"

With a sting in his chest, he remembered the look Adaar had given him in the forest - repulsed was probably the best word - and how they'd spat out his former title. Templar. He swallowed his last words and cast his gaze down.

Adaar's tone was dry and distant, and he heard it like through wool in his ears.

"I will see what I can do, but you must understand that these people do not have many fond memories of their former jailors, Commander." 

That seemed to surprise him even more, Adaar thought.

Was he really that blind to what the mages had been through? That every single one of them had a story about the Templars abusing their power over their "charges" - those they were supposed to protect?

Of course he was.

Adaar had never been in a Circle, thankfully. They did not doubt it wouldn't have ended well. Few had been willing to approach the Qunari family living near the forest and their weird demon child; they could have been having blood magic rituals every Tuesday and probably nothing would have come of it.

But then, of course, the mage rebellion had started. And Adaar had no longer been a child living at home at that point, they had had to go out into the world to "make a name for themself", and there, the Templars had been everywhere. And they were all. the. same.

The silence between the two was both leaden and deafening to Cullen. That had not gone well.

The Herald's face could have been a statue's, and their eyes bored into him now.

"If that is all, I will take my leave, Commander." Cullen simply nodded slowly and solemnly.

And so the Herald was on their way, leaving him to wonder if he'd ever find his senses around them.

Whenever the Qunari spoke in that dismissive cold tone of theirs, all ability to form sentences seemed to leave him abruptly and he was left a blundering mess. They also had a way of being able to destroy any resolve of his with a single look of their stony greyish blue eyes, and suddenly he was unable to keep much of a coherent thought in his head.

And, not surprisingly, they hadn't taken to his suggestion of furthering peace between the former Templars and the mages.

They want to help, Cullen thought as he made his way back to his tent, dead tired. But the Herald's distrust for the Templars was deep-seated. Probably this was not unfounded at all, too. A Qunari mage - who wouldn't see an enemy and immediate threat in them? And Templars were trained to neutralize threats; they were very good at it, too.

Cullen sighed and rubbed the tense muscles of his neck. He would have to keep trying, there was no way around it. He would have to find a way to work with the Herald, to make them trust him.

Even if it took him the rest of his life. He would serve.

They had just come back from Val Royeaux, where a whole another shit barrel of a situation had unfolded with all these Chantry folk and the Templars - and the Seekers involved, apparently? And this war table meeting had been going on for decidedly too long, without any conclusion in sight. Also, naturally everybody had an opinion on the matter, just none they could agree on.

"We must address the situation at hand, Inquisitor. This will only escalate further if we do not take immediate action."

The Ambassador was right, of course, but no one provided any help in the matter of what exactly should be done next. Adaar was close to resigning, and the others were not far behind, it seemed.

"What do you suggest, then?"

Adaar was waiting for a diplomatic solution from the four - suggestions of how to avoid further bloodshed, and how to move forward with caution and a level head. Instead, they all started throwing half-baked ideas into the room, of meeting with the Grand Enchanter, or needing more support - even petitioning the Crown was in the mix, or meeting with the fucking Templars, of all people. The four were bickering back and forth until Adaar's head was swimming.

Oh, they were definitely not equipped to handle this.

"Enough."

Adaar held up a hand before their face, their ears ringing form the overlapping chatter, and finally the others fell silent.

"I will meet...with this Grand Enchanter Fiona, who was the only one who seemed willing to come to a solution and approached me herself."

They were done arguing about this, with no tangible solution in sight.

"And what about the Templars?"

A low voice interrupted their train of thought and Adaar snapped their gaze up at to see the Commander looking over. Who else would this suggestion come from, honestly.

With tense shoulders and a stiff posture they met his eyes coldly and simply stated, "If they are willing to meet us after I've been to Redcliffe, we can talk. I would not have them rampaging any more than the people of Ferelden - whose houses they are burning with the people still in it, I might add, and they do not seem intent to work with us in the least, so that's it about the Templars from my side. Commander."

Adaar pressed the last words out in a hiss, then stared the now-silent human down with a heaving chest and heavy breaths of hot anger.

Sometimes there were indeed upsides to being a towering, intimidating oxman and then, Adaar used it to their full advantage.

Defeated, the human only gave a curt nod and lowered his eyes, which Adaar noted with satisfaction.

That's right, slink away like the cowards you all are deep down. You know what your brethren did - and still do.

Cullen was leaning on the wooden banister by the frozen docks, the sun slowly setting over the icy shimmering lake before him. He was longing for some quiet in his head, which was constantly rattling off a million tasks and listing another thousand things that still needed to be done, all at once.

He stretched his aching back as a pleasant tiredness fell over him when he heard short, heavy footsteps approaching and turned halfway, dreading whaevert it was that would be interrupting his precious break.

He soon saw that it was the chatty dwarf who now came straight toward him.

Maker preserve me... I only want some peace.

But Varric had a way of charming anyone into a conversation, even the "broody Commander" as he had come to call him, and Cullen had to admit he enjoyed their conversations - some of the time.

The dwarf always seemed genuinely interested to see how he (and everybody else) was doing, and he usually also knew when it was time to leave, so Cullen groaned softly but stayed and turned to the lake again, fixing his gaze on the frozen waters.

"How's it going?"

Varric came to a halt beside him and was now leaning on the banister too, though on a lower spoke than the Commander.

He looked up at Cullen, who was genuinely at a loss of how to answer that.

"Another successful meeting completed?" he went on, obviously knowing this was not true at all.

"Well, in some ways."

Cullen now turned his back to the lake and crossed his arms grimly.

"Progress is progress, no matter how slow. Though I would prefer it otherwise."

The dwarf chuckled his hoarse reply.

"You can't just stab every problem with a sword to make it go away, Curly."

Cullen winced slightly, and hoped the dwarf had not seen it. Never would he make that mistake again. Never draw his sword like that again. Foolish. Impulsive. His pulse began to accelerate and a cold nausea took hold of him as he recalled his shameful behaviour in the forest some weeks ago.

"You...alright there?"

The dwarf eyed him studiously while Cullen took pains to appear stoic and collected. Keep it together.

"It's not that bad of a nickname, you know. I had other choices that didn't make the cut."

Of course the dwarf had noticed his discomfort - he always did.

"No, Varric. I.."

Unwittingly, Cullen looked up at the Herald's cabin which was always in his view, always reminding him of how much he was failing at his job – protecting those he was sworn to.

Varric followed his gaze and cocked his head slightly.

"You two playing nice? I hear there's some...difficulties."

Cullen snapped his head down to face him, his cheeks burning red.

"Who is spreading such-" he started, but the dwarf only chuckled and threw his hands up defensively.

"Relax, it was only something Josephine mentioned. She wishes things were more civil at times, apparently".

Cullen could not help but let out a small, frustrated groan, and fell back onto the banister, gripping it with one hand to steady himself.

"Well, the Herald does have certain...misgivings about my former rank, it seems."

Cullen looked away from the small cabin and up into the darkening lilac sky, wishing he could be some other place, any other place else right now.

What was he doing, discussing this with the chattiest, most gossiping person he knew? But to his own surprise, after the dwarf stayed silent, he kept going, unable to stop himself.

"I am unsure as to what I have done (well except that time I almost attacked them in pitch black night – this he only thought, however) but they seem to have taken a disliking to my person, from the start."

Varric looked up with a questioning look and Cullen could have slapped himself for telling him all that. The dwarf let out a sarcastic chuckle which made Cullen bark back, "And what is so funny about that?!" to which the other replied, with what seemed to be an almost sad shake of his head, "Oh Curly, they don't dislike you, they're afraid of you."

All Cullen could do was stare at the dwarf, and they were both silent for a while.

"What do you mean? Why would they be...afraid?"

Varric was not making any sense, and he got the distinct feeling he was being made fun of. But the other man did not seem amused.

"Think about it, Cullen. They're a mage, and you're a...well, a former, but still, you used to be a Templar. You people are terrifying to mages, even if they are tall and built like a brick house, and have not been confined to a Circle. The way they look at you, at all Templars - I know, you're not Templars any more, don't make that face. To them you still are though! The way they look at you is like a bird that has been caged looks at a cat batting at the bars from the outside."

After that it was quiet for a long time. Cullen turned around and looked at the lake again while the colour slowly faded from the skies. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, and it seemed the dwarf had said his piece because Varric bode him farewell for the night, which the Commander barely registered.

You're such a damn fool.

Chapter Text

Adaar's head pounded slightly each time they bobbed up and down as their horse took another step, and there was still a ways to go before they arrived back at Haven. Their thoughts were swimming around in blurry circles with the multiple confusing impressions of the last couple of days, while their entire body ached and every muscle throbbed in their limbs.

They were dead tired and longed for a hot meal and a soft bed. While they had trouble focusing on their own thoughts, the man next to them would not stop talking and making quips, as he had done for quite a while on their last leg of the journey. They could feel he was nervous and probably scared out of his wits, and he made up for it by his elaborate appearance, thought through in every tiny detail, together with his eloquent speech and constant jokes.

Adaar didn't mind it much. How could they? He had just saved them, hell, probably every soul in Thedas, when he brought the two of them back through that...that...time rift that that creep Alexius had created in Redcliffe.

What a ride that had been. Adaar grimly chuckled under their breath as they recalled the Magister's twisted creations in that hypothetical future they had witnessed. Why had it all seemed so real? Why did it still? Because it was. Because it would have been.

"It's a risk to accept this invitation, Herald - and very likely a trap.", they heard Leliana's words echo in their mind.

"We can't, in good conscience, ask you to play bait, Herald", the Commander had sternly added, no doubt in a last attempt to persuade them to go meet with the Templars, but their mind had been made up.

Time magic? All the free mages held in captivity by this Tevinter Magister? No way Adaar was just going to look away with this one.

And so they had gotten stranded in time with this dashing mage, in a cruel and twisted version of the future which still had their head spinning. Dorian had been a steadfast companion throughout, and he'd wanted to join the Inquisition afterwards, so of course they had said yes.

The group now reached the small slope leading up to Haven, and as they rounded a corner of trees, Adaar saw them:

Mages. Hundreds of them, pouring into the small town from almost every direction - a steady trickle of people coming down the dirt roads that wound through the jagged Frostback mountains. Adaar had never seen so many of them in one place, and it took their breath away for a moment. Cassandra and the Iron Bull were riding up behind them wordlessly, with the Tevinter mage next to them, constantly chatting on about the quaint Ferelden scenery, and Adaar felt the tension in the air with unease, shifting in their saddle.

Varric seemed deeply disturbed by the whole mage business, still, and for once he was very quiet as well. Adaar knew that both the Seeker and the other Qunari disagreed with their decision of taking in the mages as full allies, as many others would, but for now they did so quietly.

Adaar drew a long breath as the group approached the gates of the town, a messenger already running up to them, panting and waving a piece of paper over their head.

Adaar jumped off their horse, held up a weary hand pleadingly and handed the startled woman their bridles.

"Yes, yes, to the Chantry - everyone's waiting. I got it."

The scout appeared somewhat frazzled, but responded only with a curt nod, then bowed politely and lead their horse away.

Adaar felt a sinking feeling settle in their stomach as they ascended the stairs leading up to the Chantry with the Seeker by their side, who still would not speak to them, and with a sense of cold dread clutching the back of their neck, they dove into the dark quiet inside.

After much deliberation and back and forth, Adaar started wondering whether there would still be dinner left by the time they were done. Flissa usually kept some in the back of the kitchen for them, but even her patience had limits.

There had been no open arguments between the advisors so far, but everyone seemed extremely tense. The Commander was still missing from the meeting, and Adaar was very grateful for it. Logistics were being laid out before them, further steps of ensuring that the mages were properly trained to aid in closing the Breach were presented, and it all seemed to be happening to someone else, though they dutifully nodded along with every word.

The tone in the room seemed artificially factual, and no one added any personal notes or opinions. Everyone took pains to skirt the topic of the mages joining the Inquisition, some with more, others with less skill and effort, but all determined to uphold this contrived peace in a terribly terse manner.

Phrases now started repeating themselves, with words like “negotiable” and “opportunity” being thrown around especially often, and Adaar’s focus started to wane.

They was yanked back into reality harshly when the door of the war room was slammed open, which finally put an end to these awkward, superficially procrastinating talks.

Everyone turned to face the entrance in unison and a sudden silence fell over the group. Adaar’s stomach tightened when they saw the Commander entering the war room with two bustling scouts trailing in behind him. He gave a few short orders under his breath and the two bowed deeply, closing the door behind him carefully as they left.

The man looked somewhat haggard, Adaar thought. Unwell even. He appeared thinner than usual almost, as he did not seem to fill out his armor and voluminous bear fur coat entirely and he was very pale, with dark circles under each eye. His mouth was a thin, hard line.

Oh, this is going to be great.

Almost instinctively, Adaar crossed their arms before their body in anticipation of an onslaught of anti-mage sentiments from the man. Everybody was still looking at the Commander, the room gone completely quiet. They all seemed to share similar thoughts, and Adaar caught Leliana and Josephine exchanging somewhat worried looks.

He looked up at the group slowly, not raising his head fully as if the light hurt his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he finally forced out a "Don't stop on my account", his voice carrying a faint quiver in it as Adaar noticed.

"Well...we were just about to get to the matter of the new recruits, so perhaps you would fill us in on the situation, Commander?" Josephine asked, ledger and quill always in hand, ready to take notes - proper, in control. Her face betrayed no emotion, but she seemed tense somehow; more than the usual amount, at least.

Usually, the Commander was the image of dutiful sobriety and control himself, but now he seemed almost a bit disjointed and beside himself. Adaar shifted in their seat with unease. What the hell was going on here? They’d been gone for a little over a week, and apparently, something had taken place in the meantime that everyone knew about beside them.

The man before them shuffled through his papers with some annoyance, then drew in a long, ragged breath and Adaar noticed he was leaning on the table slightly. Was he this tired? They never did see him take a break from his work, but today he seemed extremely impatient - more than usual and, if such a thing was possible, his words were even shorter and colder.

Adaar scoffed quietly and leaned back in their chair. Well, here we go. Let's hear it, then.

He finally seemed to have given up on finding the right paper and instead chose to address the room directly.

"The new recruits are settling in quite well, but we are having some difficulties finding adequate room for all the mages. We will manage though. Ghaelan has been tasked to oversee the new arrivals."

Adaar started at the mention of the man's name and interrupted the Commander with a scoff of disbelief.

"Wait, wait. Ghaelan as in...Knight-Captain Ghaelan? You...you put a Templar in charge of helping the mages settle in?!"

The Commander barely looked up at them as he opened his mouth to reply, but Adaar simply waved him off impatiently.

"Yeah, yeah, you're ‘not Templars’ any more, sure. Do the mages know that, though?"

They felt the anger pulling at their insides, hot and heavy like molten iron, but Leliana interfered before Adaar could continue with "And do the Templars remember that when they see a mage? What if they see a hundred at once?"

The Spymaster looked at Adaar intently as if she'd read their mind, and with encouraging nods from Josephine behind her, she ensured them that "Ghaelan is an experienced man and exceedingly good with people. He has a very calm demeanor, so we felt it best that he should oversee the arrivals - and instruct the former Templars in assisting the mages - as allies, Herald."

At this, the Commander let out an almost inaudible sigh, which nearly drove Adaar up the wall nonetheless, and all the endeavors of the Ambassador and the Spymaster to calm the situation had been in vain in an instant.

Adaar stood leaned forward onto the table in front of them, staring the man down.

"Would you care to share your opinion on the matter, Commander?"

Again, he seemed unable to look up fully, which Adaar thought incessantly rude, and fixed his gaze on them from under heavy lids. Adaar noticed a soft glow underneath the amber of his eyes, almost feverish. Oh, this must eat him up inside.

The Commander took a long but fairly shallow breath and spoke with a raspy, low voice that they almost struggled to hear at times.

"I am glad the matter is resolved, but I do have concerns about this alliance you struck up with the mages, Herald. These are rebels, now left with almost no supervision, and they have proven themselves to be...irrational at times."

Adaar's eyes must have spelled out murder in big bold letters, because the Commander cast his gaze down immediately afterwards, all of it said in this detached, icy cold tone of his. It was obvious he did not, in fact, think these mages deserved to be free and "unsupervised".

Adaar growled. Out of the corner of their eye, they noticed Josephine looking at them with nervous unease, and they would not give her time to interfere. There was no way they were letting this stand.

"By that, you must mean leashed, Commander, and by irrational you must mean terrified and desperate to be free of their life-long chains, yes? I am very sorry this inconveniences you, but they also had nowhere else to go."

Now he finally looked up at them fully for the first time today, raising his head slowly and furrowing his brows deeply over his darkened eyes. He almost looked as if he was in pain.

"Yes, because they struck a bargain with a Tevinter Magister, Herald."

Now there was fire in his eyes and his voice carried a faint snarl in it, almost undetectable, but they heard it.

Adaar let out a derisive laugh. There’s the Templar I know! Let's fucking go, then.

"Well they did that because they were desperate and had no allies, Commander. Because everyone else had cast them out - simply because they did not want to be jailed again! I do not agree with how they handled the situation, but I will not be the one to put them back in their chains! Also, how do you expect them to cooperate with us fully if they are our prisoners?!"

Adaar was fuming. There were low gasps from Cassandra and Josephine, and Leliana tensed in her chair, remaining silent. Adaar's last words were almost spat out at the Commander, and now their hands shook with anger, sweat forming between their palms and the smooth wooden surface beneath them.

Templars are all the same, always. Say it. Say they are Abominations waiting to happen and that they need to be controlled, I know you’re thinking it!

But the Commander simply cast his gaze down, looking infinitely tired and weak, then nodded slowly.

"Understood, Herald."

The Commander left after some more discussions which he did not take part in, excusing himself and flatly stating there were more newcomers to oversee than Ghaelan could handle by himself. Adaar had been too dumbfounded to say anything else on the matter to him.

Had he just...agreed with them? Just like that? Adaar was unable to really focus on anything the three women were discussing and mainly stared at the map during the remainder of the meeting, fiddling with their gloves under the table and agreeing with the others here and there.

The tension in the room was palpable after their outburst and no one really dared to address it, trying to focus on other matters, but they could feel the disapproval oozing their way, and noted the concerned looks with annoyance.

When they were finally let go, Adaar started off toward the lake immediately, wanting to see for themself if the newcomers were being treated properly.

Almost everybody in town was involved in getting them settled in, bustling back and forth, and it all seemed to go fairly civil. Quite a few of the new additions gawked at the "Herald", seeing them for the first time after no doubt many rumors had circulated, and there were a lot of whispers, but Adaar was surprised to see it all happen so smoothly.

They ignored the onlookers as best they could, just like they always did, but it did unnerve them that there were a whole lot of them now.

In the midst of it all Adaar suddenly spotted the Commander, giving instructions in every direction in his short, impatient, gruff way. Adaar shook their head.

Those poor soldiers. I wouldn't want to work under him - he seems a real tyrant.

However, Adaar also had to admit he was welcoming the mages without much visible suspicion or chagrin other than his very short temper today, and the fact that he kept rubbing his temples when he thought no one was looking.

Toward the end of the meeting, Josephine had pleaded that Adaar "must find a way to work with the Commander better" and Cassandra had agreed, with the Spymaster standing by and nodding silently and solemnly. Adaar had to admit they felt somewhat bad for how the whole thing had transpired.

It had been a very controversial decision on their part, but they stood by it. And the Commander also had been fairly non-challenging today, for his standards. With an annoyed sigh, they walked up to the man who looked...extremely shitty and very pale in the sunlight, holy crap, and cleared their throat behind him.

Cullen whirled around at the noise. Not another blasted messenger or - Maker help me, if one more person asks me where they can find softer sheets I will jump headfirst into this frozen lake, he thought while gritting his teeth.

He had turned around a bit too fast however, and everything was swimming before his eyes with an aura of purple and red pain painted around the outlines for a second. He pinched the bridge of his nose and had to shut his eyes for a moment.

Maker’s breath, let this day be over soon. I don’t know how much more I have in me.

Cullen heard a soft scoff and quickly realized this was no messenger addressing him, because he now heard the Herald's voice, though faintly and somewhat distorted. They were also speaking fairly quietly, which made what they said infinitely harder to understand among the clamor of the newcomers around him.

"I am probably the last person you want to see right now...but I wanted to ask how I can help. If this is too demanding for you, I can speak to the man with the 'excellent people skills' instead, if you point me to him."

He opened his eyes slowly, pain still shooting through his entire upper body, and when he looked at the Herald again he first saw only a vague outline of a person towering over him, before their contours slowly solidified. They were standing quite close to him and he could see the barely concealed annoyance on their face.

"I...there are many who need to be redirected to the temporary quarters, over toward the herbalist's hut. You could point the way and answer any questions the newcomers have. I'm sure they would be delighted to speak to the Herald in person."

The pounding behind his eyes and in his ears made it difficult to gauge their reaction, but as his vision slowly stabilized further, he saw them nod and take off.

What a truly unpleasant man this Commander is, Adaar thought. Absolutely no social capabilities whatsoever. No tact, no smile for anyone, ever. Completely insufferable!

But he was doing a good job, they had to admit that, even if his mood was usually foul, and today it seemed even fouler than normal. Thankfully, he had seemed uninterested in working together, which Adaar welcomed of course.

They had helped as best they could with the new arrivals, but Adan had finally kicked them out due to the fact that his hut had gotten so crowded that he physically could not hand out supplies anymore. Everyone wanted to talk to their damn Herald, if only to say “Hello...” and then stand there gawking for several minutes (which several of them did).

Most everyone had been successfully herded into the temporary tent quarters around the forest by now, close to where Adaar had gone wandering off and then met the Commander that terrible night some time ago – a memory that still haunted them.

Adaar shook off the thought with some effort and let their eyes wander over the icy sheen of the lake. Their work was done for the day, and they felt how endlessly tired they were. Flissa had indeed kept some food aside for them – bless her heart – and Adaar was ready to fall into bed, but after the bustle of today, they needed some peace and quiet before they could settle in for the night.

The late evening sun was setting over the still waters, encasing everything in a faint red glow. Adaar tried to let go of the tension they held in their shoulders. There would be more people coming in tomorrow, and they had another full day of work ahead. It was good to do something to proactively help people, though, and a nice change from slaying monsters all the time.

The mages had all been completely entranced by the Qunari, everyone had had a thousand questions and was very thankful. It had made Adaar extremely flustered, but everybody had seemed genuine and thankfully, there were very few mentions of Andraste guiding them out of the Fade and the veracity of the story.

Now Adaar watched as the last stragglers wandered in and listened to the soft murmur of the wind in the trees swaying in the breeze, thankful for a bit of quiet as the cool evening winds stroked their cheeks.

They heard a low shuffling sound behind them and groaned inwardly. What now?

"Herald."

Adaar turned somewhat annoyed and was startled to see the Commander standing a few feet away, looking even more haggard than before but also a bit less irritated.

They drew in a shaky breath, then nodded at the man curtly, the wind softly combing through the darkened grass at their feet. All else had fallen quiet, and Adaar felt a cold panic grip their heart. What was this about now? They did not want to be alone with him in this state.

The man came closer slowly, then stood there and didn't speak for a while. He just looked at the ground between them, and Adaar's irritation with the human began to rise again after their initial surprise had died down.

"Was there...something you needed, Ser?"

They had no patience for the clumsy ways of the soldier, and really wanted some peace right now.

"I..."

He trailed off and stepped up even further, still not expressing himself, and Adaar now began to worry, their anger fading somewhat.

"Is...there something wrong?"

Man, he does look like shit.

His hair was unkempt and stood off from his head in several places where some curly strands had escaped his usually meticulous grooming. The Commander’s face was pale and sunken in, and...was he swaying a bit?

The man looked up at Adaar with bloodshot eyes and stated, eloquently and with a slight stammer that was so aggravatingly unique to him,

"No. Yes...well, I mean.."

Adaar furrowed their brows and let out a small, annoyed sigh. How had this man ever ended up in any rank above initiate?

Fuck me, can he get to the point already?

Adaar crossed their arms and stared the human down, their patience all but gone now.

In a motion that seemed entirely too quick for the exhausted state he was apparently in, he gripped his sword with one hand. He was now standing very close to Adaar, closer than they liked, especially in this situation that was unfurling, and drew the long blade in front of them as the metal hissed against the sheath by his side.

Adaar gasped as they took a step back and unwittingly grabbed hold of the banister behind them.

No. No, no, no.

The Commander grabbed the sword with both hands, then lifted it up over his head where he turned the blade to face downward, and Adaar started shaking like a leaf. They got ready to run should he make one more wrong move, but the man did not swing the weapon at Adaar, he held it firmly where he stood with both hands, pointing down like a ceremonious offering.

With another smooth motion that they wouldn’t have thought him capable of, he rammed the blade into the ground before Adaar and fell down on one knee.

What the actual fuck.

He finally spoke, looking down at the ground in front of him, and his voice was strangely soft and somber. Adaar did know what the hell was going on, and was still ready to book it, clutching the wooden support between them and the lake for dear life.

"Herald. I must beg...your forgiveness. I have acted on impulse; I have let my doubts get the better of me and I have betrayed your trust. I am...shamed, to no end, and I see that this is impeding the work of the Inquisition. If it please you, I will have another take my place at the earliest convenience. I'm sure Leliana has numerous resources, including someone more fit than me."

He paused for a moment, and Adaar thought they saw a faint tremble in his hands which were still gripping the sword's hilt above his bowed head.

"And if I have ever given you reason to make you think I am not fully behind your every decision, please tell me how I can make amends, Herald. If you would have me leave instead, I am gone, your Worship. I await your command. I wish...only to serve."

Adaar's cheeks were flushed bright red, and they almost started laughing, so unexpected and strange was this sudden outpour of words. What was happening here? Was this some kind of joke?

They looked around frazzled and with shallow breaths, but there were only a few passersby looking over at them, not enough for this to be a setup. With their head swimming somewhat they rubbed their forehead as they stared at him, too flustered and confused to speak.

The Commander did not look up, his hands resting firmly on the grip of his sword while he was still on one knee, as the sun slowly disappeared behind the mountains and stars started appearing between the clouds overhead. Adaar felt an intense heat creeping up their neck and swallowed dryly.

"Uh, to begin with...you could get up. People are looking at us, and I believe they're getting concerned."

The Commander still wasn't raising his head or moving though, and his only reply was,

"I don't care who sees this. Let them know that I serve the Herald, fully."

Adaar flushed even more as the embarrassment crept over both ears.

"I said you can get up, Commander – please for the love of everything, stand."

They could not suppress a small, lopsided smile, which they put down to the ridiculous weight of the situation.

Now he was looking up at them, and they knew he could see the grin they were unable to suppress, even with the oncoming darkness. It faltered quickly as Adaar surveyed his face. The expression on it was so completely genuine and without any pretence that it made them a little sick.

He kept his steady gaze fixed on them for a few more agonizing moments, then slowly rose to his full height in front of them, still standing a head and a half shorter than the Qunari, but his posture was unwavering, and for the first time Adaar strangely felt no mistrust for the man; his face seemed so earnest and void of any malice as they stood face to face, enveloped by the peacefully darkening evening.

This...is weird.

"So you mean.." he started, apparently at a loss for words, and his eyes darted across Adaar's face in a nervous manner, surveying their expression.

Adaar shook their head and scoffed weakly.

"Commander - why would I replace you? You're...good at what you do. You're a good, mh - leader, and you've given sound strategic advice always."

Except maybe for the Templars.

But Adaar would not speak of this now - he looked so completely sincere, it seemed almost cruel to bring it up. Plus, he did actually look terrible, and Adaar felt bad for him.

The man blinked a few times and bowed his head in an almost religious manner.

"Very well, Herald. Thank you. I will not disappoint you again." Adaar felt a sting in their chest as they looked at him. He was so, so pale and seemed to be in some pain. It was silent between the two for a moment before they spoke.

"Commander...you don't look particularly well. Forgive me, but...are you alright?" Adaar's chest constricted as he looked up once more but quickly avoided their gaze again.

"Yes. Thank you", they heard him lie through his teeth, before he saluted and took off into the night after they dismissed him.

Chapter Text

Everybody always had questions for Adaar. And Adaar always had to have answers. Ever polite, collected and charming, they spent their days pretending not to notice all the well-wishers and endless visitors in Haven gawking at them like at some exotic animal.

All fucking day it was "The Herald" this and "Your Worship" that, and Adaar missed the days when it was just them and their little group of mercenaries, wandering the wilds and crashing at taverns, passing out on the floor.

Now, there was no more sleeping on floors for Adaar, no more roaming. Josephine had made very sure of that first one, too. Not that Adaar missed the back pains that came with sleeping in a pile of people like dogs, but those had been simpler times and no one had known then who they were except "That Big Qunari".

These days there were always more dignitaries to dress up for, to be clean and cheerful for, and Adaar was constantly reminded to always, always keep their magic in check, and hidden and subtly tucked away.

Not everyone looks kindly on that, Herald.

When Adaar had replied that they could give a rat's ass about what some dusty human noble thought about their magic, and that they were damn ready to set their minds straight if anyone should disapprove, the look on the Ambassador's face was enough for Adaar to not only never bring the subject up again, but also willingly play the lapdog if need be.

Disappointing Josephine was a crime Adaar could not pay for if they used up all the time given to them, and so they held their tongue and sat on their hands through endless meetings where they watched the Antivan perform true miracles with her diplomatic skills. Adaar had come to adore the woman, who was not only sharp as a whip but also kind and oh so beautiful and patient.

Adaar could only dream of being like her, of course. They were large, very large in comparison to the others especially, always standing at least a head or more above everyone else (save for very few exceptions, such as Bull and that freakishly tall Fereldan stableboy). With that came some clumsiness, as it was impossible to be lithe and graceful when everything is built for someone three to four heads shorter than you.

In addition to all the newcomers, of course, Adaar was always there for everyone. There was constantly some messenger briefing them on a topic that made them feel either comatose or panicked, and they could not take five steps without anyone wanting something or another, and one day, it was all just too much.

Fine. So Adaar couldn't just go wandering around aimlessly whenever they pleased, and someone had to be informed of their whereabouts at all times. This of course had them stay at Haven a lot, constantly reminding Adaar that they were just a prisoner still. Well, to get some rest from all the bustle, Adaar needed not leave the camp.

There were a few straggling Qunari roaming Haven now - the alliance with the Bull's Chargers had brought that with it, though Adaar did not fool themself about why those burly stone-faced men were here; it was blindingly obvious that those Qunari were spies.

When they had talked to Adaar in Qunlat that one time, watching their every movement, and Adaar had managed to answer in very bad grammar and sentence structure, both of which there were thankfully not much in the Qunari language, everyone had seemed placated a little bit. It was still blindingly obvious Adaar was Tal-Vashoth, but the Qunari had kept their distance beyond curt greetings and respectful nods after it. Such strange people they were.

But having a few more people around who were at least a little taller than Varric meant that they could perhaps go sort of unseen. Adaar had been pacing up and down their room for a bit coming up with a plan. They opened and rifled through their iron chest stuffed full of clothes that had been picked for them by others, which they had all stashed away rather quickly after dry and very insincere thank-yous (I'm just not going to wear a ruffled dress, Josephine, face it).

Way down at the bottom of the box, they found what they'd so carefully stashed away. Adaar pulled out the rough tunic they had swiped from a fairly tall human, threw off their constricting, yet noble-pleasing silks and slipped in. Over it, they donned some mage robes Leliana had procured from them, which Adaar had told themself they would never be seen in until they died, since it made them look like a grotesquely looming Chantry cleric, but for this occasion, it would do.

At least it hid their face nicely. Adaar finished this sneaky look with the Inquisition's signature scout hood, also stolen from some human. They felt a little foolish, but a rush of adrenaline still surged in their veins when they viewed their shrouded form in the floor-length mirror (another not-so-subtle gift from Josephine), turning from side to side.

They looked so...anonymous. The horns were a problem, Adaar realized, but they managed to wrap some cloth around them to obscure them further; they were not the gigantic wide set kind Bull had, anyway.

The getup did look a little strange, sure, but there were all kinds of weirdos wandering Haven these days. And to Adaar's immense relief no one seemed to care a lot about what they were doing for once, after they had left the cabin through the back window; finally, the guard that had been stationed there for weeks had been removed again some nights ago.

At first, they were afraid someone would spot them right away, but none of the people who were bustling through town seemed to pay them much mind. Everybody was busy with some task or another and no one saw the Herald now, they just saw another weird mage.

Adaar marveled at the peace that was to be had in this town when no one recognized your face. There were a few 'out of the way'-s but most people still yielded to the tall stranger, if a bit more gruffly now. And there was such juicy gossip to be heard when no one saw the Herald approach!

Adaar learned nothing of great importance, but apparently, the kitchen maid had a thing for big hulking Qunari men such as Bull, and some Chantry Sisters evidently found the Commander "dashing", which made Adaar very quickly change their course away from the Chantry and toward the tavern – some robe getting intimate with Commander Rutherford was definitely not something they needed to picture.

It was slowly getting dark, which helped with the skulking a bit, but the base of their horns now started itching immensely under the many layers of cloth, and it was hot and sweaty under there, so they resolved to get out of this getup soon.

But first, one more thing.

Adaar headed out toward the lake to watch the stars come out over the water in peace for once, after they felt they had done enough creeping around, and found that the soldiers were still training at the camp.

They stopped just outside the gates, leaning against the sun-warmed wood of the town's palisade wall, and shook their head at the scene.

That man really does not cease to work, ever.

Adaar chuckled softly as they watched the poor recruits jump back and forth before the Commander, and with no small amount of surprise they realized that some mages had joined the training, which he was overseeing himself.

For a while, they watched how the soldiers parried and slashed about, while most of the mages stood there looking a bit lost. A woman in full armor passed Adaar, giving them an odd look, and they suddenly realized how exposed they were out here. They casually pushed away from the wall and turned, now eager to move to less conspicuous areas, lest someone should spot them.

"Recruit! Over here - now!"

The Commander's voice boomed across the yard. That man really did not lay off these poor soldiers, ever, Adaar thought to themself chuckling into their hood.

Thank fuck I don't have to train with him.

Behind them, the Commander kept shouting at some poor soul impatiently, so they quickened their steps – that was enough excitement for today; Adaar really needed some quiet.

"Hey, you!"

Someone gave Adaar a quick shove - an actual shove, by nudging their arm rather roughly, not something that happened often...or ever, these days.

Adaar stopped in their tracks, turning around both confused and a little irritated.

"He means you, dummy!"

The young soldier from before was looking at them intently and pointed behind herself, her armor glittering in the setting sunlight. Adaar blinked at her and felt a shiver creep up their back, despite the oppressive heat of the thick layers of cloth.

"Huh?"

Adaar was about to walk away and ignore the piercing glare from the woman before them, but then they noticed with growing dread that it had gone suspiciously quiet around them.

"The Commander! Now!”

The woman appeared incredulous at Adaar’s noncompliance.

“Get going before he plants a boot up your ass!"

With that she pushed Adaar (which admittedly did not achieve much except irritate them further) in the direction of the training grounds.

Reluctantly, Adaar turned and saw the mass of mages and soldiers, of which there were a lot looking over at them now.

Great. Just perfect.

Adaar let out a soft groan and hesitantly took some steps forward with heat creeping up their neck and made their way toward the gawking crowd. In their midst stood the Commander, who had his arms crossed and was glaring their way.

He stood there unmoving like a statue, raised above the peoples' heads on a wooden platform, with the sun's rays reflecting off the lake and encasing him in an orange glow.

Adaar felt their stomach sink as they slowly moved through the crowd. Most people had stopped sparring at this point, and almost all had their eyes fixed on them now.

This was not good.

The Commander shifted from one foot to the other impatiently, his mouth a thin, disapproving line.

"Before the sun comes up again, if you please, recruit."

Some soldiers started chuckling next to Adaar, while several mages were staring and whispering.

Fantastic. Good job skulking around undetected, Adaar, you absolute fucking idiot.

Adaar tried to come up with some kind of plan to get out of this mortifying situation, but they found their head to be completely empty, and soon they were in front of the Commander. He was looming over them for once, on the podium from which he was overseeing the training - which had now all but stopped by now.

Everybody wanted a piece of this drama and people were watching intently from all sides.

"Uhh..." was all Adaar managed before he started laying into them.

"What exactly do you think you're doing, recruit - having a nice little evening stroll? Why aren't you at your assigned training grounds? You're wearing the gear, after all."

Adaar looked down at themself and their stupid mage robes. Fuck.

This was not as great a plan as you thought it would be, huh?

Above them, the human shook his head, placing his hands on the pommel of his longsword firmly, a gesture that meant business, as they had learned by now.

Adaar's throat slowly closed up and their head felt like someone was hitting it with a hammer repeatedly. Sweat was running down the small valley in the middle of their chest where the thousand layers of cloth didn't cling to their skin.

Fuckedy fuck fuck, fuck!

They stared up at the man who rose into the evening sky just a few paces before them, tall like a tree and broad like a boulder, and Adaar felt their heart pounding hard and fast. Think, think, damn it!

Adaar realized they had never seen the Commander like this. He had never seemed so present, so vivid and imposing in their mind as he did now, almost larger than life. He exuded command and commanded respect, his rank one with himself.

Was this how people usually saw him? Adaar got to see the man as a very different person normally, calm and quiet, respectful toward them and almost soft at times. Now he seemed more like a wild beast, and Adaar felt panic grip their every muscle.

The Commander scoffed at Adaar and shook his head.

"Well, lucky for you we were just about to enter a joint mage-soldier training. Care to partake, recruit?"

Before Adaar could say oh hell no, the man hopped down from the platform, lithe and quick, brimming with strength like a mountain lion, and in an instant he was in front of them, the crowd around the two parting just a little too eagerly.

With a swagger that Adaar had never thought him capable of, he moved closer toward them. Apparently, the Commander of the training grounds was a very different person than the man they'd gotten to know so far.

Adaar was not sure if they liked this version of him. It made them feel almost shy and at a loss for words.

He glowered at them, his posture straight, his face hard and unyielding.

"What's your name, recruit? Don't just stand there slack-jawed."

Adaar's mind felt like jelly sloshing around in their skull.

"Uuh...Becky?", they heard themself say and cringed under their hood.

Becky!? Really, Adaar? 

The Commander raised an eyebrow, but other than that, his face still betrayed no emotion.

"Alright, recruit...Becky."

He stepped up to them even further, looking them up and down, and Adaar might as well have been naked - they felt as if he could see right into their soul. Still, he didn't seem to recognize them.

Time stood still around the two as Adaar studied the glinting metal ornaments on his broad chest, the little leather straps that held his armor together. It seemed like he was sewn into this unyielding exoskeleton of his, and if only they could undo those seams, he would turn into the calm, collected man they knew from their meetings again.

They also saw a strength underneath all the metal, leather and cloth and even in his face, framed by the lush fur of his coat, that seemed unfamiliar to them. It was raw, somehow. Primal. And it scared the shit out of Adaar.

Who was this man? No one they knew.

Can't you see me? I'm right here, please see me, Adaar pleaded in their panicked mind. But the Commander's face lacked any recognition. Adaar's gaze was absently fixed on a scar that ran across his upper right lip - this was what made his little smiles so jagged and lopsided, in the rare instances you got to see them, they mused.

But now there was no trace of a smile, instead, there was a deep frown on his face which made him look iron, unyielding and cold.

Get it together, you absolute noodle! Focus! This is not the time to look at scars, you idiot!

"I assume you have completed your Harrowing?"

Adaar startled and panic bubbled in what was left of their brain as they stared into the man's eyes.

Shit.

They knew next to nothing about the Harrowing, except what little they had read in books and heard from the recruits here and there - this would not end well. Everyone was looking at them now, and the world seemed to have stopped revolving. If only they had just gone to bed early instead.

"Uhm...yes..?"

Adaar felt dizzy. They could just walk away. What was he going to do, stick his sword in them, a perfectly innocent recruit? But Adaar did not, could not move and so the Commander nodded once, factually and unforgiving, making Adaar feel like they were a child again. The man before them looked more impressive and in control than they'd ever seen him.

"Well good! So you know how to fight, then. Let's get started."

Oh fuck, oh shit, oh no, oh hell no, was all that was going through Adaar's head, but the Commander had a look on his face that told them he would not be dissuaded. Also, they could not back out now, lest they make him and the freaking Herald of the Inquisition look like two absolute incompetent fools, Adaar realized.

Damn it all to hell!

So they said nothing, and he continued, mercilessly.

"I assume you can cast a shield?"

Hearing this, Adaar felt a wave of relief wash over them, and finally found their footing again. That they could do.

Adaar could cast a mean barrier, and this way, at least no one would get hurt.

Reluctantly, they nodded, then stepped back a few paces as the Commander instructed with his impatient gestures, and drew a small barrier up in front of them, wondering where the hell he was going with this when he unsheathed his sword, quick as lightning, and took a swing at them.

Adaar was so startled at first that they almost let their shield right down again.

Holy. Crap.

They could tell he was holding back, but the man had a ton of force and, thankfully, also control in his sword arm. Another gigantic swing and the sword hit Adaar's crackling barrier as sparks of magic shot out around the two, and now his weapon was stuck firmly in the hissing force shield.

Small gasps were heard from all sides, and Adaar felt like they were sweating blood.

"Not bad."

The Commander wedged his sword free from their barrier, but Adaar kept the shield up, pure terror in their eyes, which thankfully no one could see under the many wraps and hood they were wearing.

"This, recruits, is why mages are so hard to fight - even in close combat. Unless you break through that barrier, there is no way for you to touch them."

Turning to the side, he now addressed a group of pale-faced initiates.

"Now, mages - you will want to work on keeping that barrier up at all costs, until you can put some distance between you and the fighter, and then cast. Let's try that again; watch carefully how the barrier will disintegrate after a while, which is when you can go into full combat with them."

Adaar's eyes widened.

Oh fuck no, Commander. Not today, not here, not now.

"Recruit, keep your shield up, now."

They fully intended to do so, but the next blow which he sent down on Adaar came just a little quicker than they expected, and was almost enough to break through already.

Fuck, he is strong.

Adaar realized they'd never seen him fight before, not up close like this, and it was truly terrifying.

The Commander kept slashing at the barrier, which Adaar intended to keep up with all their might, but after a while they realized that the recruits were getting somewhat restless and started whispering around them.

Adaar realized they were coming close to breaking cover or, even worse, embarrassing the leader of their forces, so they let the shield die down just a little bit, and the man saw his chance immediately.

He still wasn't coming down on them full force, but Adaar's blood froze in their veins nonetheless when the sword sliced through their barrier cleanly, and halted just inches above their arm.

He was clearly completely in control of what he was doing, but all Adaar wanted to do was run away crying and screaming. His entire being, his movements, his posture screamed ‘Mage-Hunter’.

The Commander withdrew the sword again swiftly, with many new gasps from their audience, which had grown quite a bit since they started, and nodded at Adaar, seemingly pleased.

"Good. Now, I also want to demonstrate how to block a mage's attack with your shield, because your enemy will not just stand there doing nothing. Even when their barrier is up, skilled mages can still cast, and they can do so from almost any distance, make no mistake."

This was a man who spoke from experience, they realized, and it made Adaar shudder. How many mages had met their end fighting him like this?

"Recruit...Becky. Cast at me, so I can demonstrate how to properly block it and-"

Adaar was, at this point, completely ready to be done with this charade. With trembling hands, they sent a small icy sliver toward the Commander, definitely not enough to hurt anyone; it was more like a child's snowball, but he instinctively drew his shield up and dropped down behind it with the grace of a cat, blocking it instantly.

"What in blazes do you think you're doing?!"

He got up again, clearly furious, and Adaar suppressed a grin under their hood.

"Well, Commander, skilled mages will not wait for you to finish talking in a real fight, either, so let's get to it", they drawled in their best imitation of a deep Ferelden Hinterlands accent. The man was fuming now, and he had his sword drawn again.

"Very well, recruit. Have it your way then." He raised his shield again, and ‘Becky’ felt cold terror creeping up their arms and back.

Fucking idiot. Shouldn't have done that.

Adaar put a barrier up between them again, their fingers feeling numb.

For what felt like an eternity, they were circling each other, Adaar casting minor snowballs and the Commander stepping toward them from time to time to slash at the barrier, without too much force behind his swings, as they could tell.

"Are you holding back, recruit? Please - not on my account!"

There were chuckles in the crowd again, and Adaar heard themself snarl back, "Well, are you, Commander?", after which they could've kicked their own head in, because now there was fire in the man's eyes.

Adaar cursed softly and strengthened their shield, and just in time too, because he suddenly lunged at them. It almost shattered their eardrums when his sword collided with their magic.

They hadn't been in a fight this close in a while, usually keeping their distance or freezing enemies solid while rushing to a safer spot, and Adaar had seldom seen anyone with such determination and unwavering concentration in their eyes as the Commander had in him right now. And this was only a mock fight.

They staggered back and in a slight panic, they drew up a small ice wall between the two. This seemed to startle him a little bit, which gave Adaar a moment to regain composure.

"Don't fight defensively - attack, recruit! You won't have time to dance around with your enemy all day in battle!"

Very well. Let's be done with this, then.

Adaar lifted a hand. The Commander saw it coming immediately, ducking behind his shield, and they sent a stream of sharp ice crystals his way, not enough to hit anyone around them - everyone had assumed a safe distance from the two anyway, but people did jump back now regardless.

Adaar did not relent; they wanted this to be over, but it was also somewhat satisfying to see the Commander struggle to stand his ground.

Finally, they saw him waver just a bit as he was slowly losing his footing, his shield giving way to their magic somewhat. Adaar was pleased at first, but then slowly realized everyone had gone very quiet all of a sudden.

They thought with a sense of horror that perhaps the people of Haven should not see their Commander be beaten in combat by a bloody green recruit, but it was too late, as he now seemed to be falling over at the impact of the icy crystals against his shield, so they snapped their hand shut in a panic and let their barrier down, running over to him.

"Comman-"

Adaar was cut off, as in an instant, he was suddenly up again and in one smooth motion, his sword drawn for the kill, he was charging toward them as Adaar stood there with their mouth hanging open, like they'd lost all sense of their body.

It was a ruse. You’re so stupid!

They managed to draw up a weak barrier in their confusion, but he cut through it like through pudding and they both toppled to the ground, the Commander hacking at the remaining shield until it was gone, his muscular arms entirely too close to their face, and then his sword was at their throat.

They felt their whole body go numb, and all strength left their arms which now lay uselessly by Adaar's side. The Commander was pinning them down with his legs, the cold steel of his sharp, polished sword next to their exposed skin.

His gloved hand was gripping the hilt of his sword in an iron fist, and with his other arm he propped himself up in the grass, close to their face, like a steel rod that someone had rammed into the ground next to them. Adaar felt the heat coming off the Commander's face and arms, while the cold, wet grass nestled around their body. His smooth, hard breastplate was pushing down onto their torso, making it hard to breathe.

He was on his knees, perched above them, and Adaar was entirely too aware of his steel thighs pinning down their legs, right on top of their hips, and felt nausea gripping their stomach.

It was like a tree had fallen onto them. They knew they were strong enough to push him off, but every muscle was frozen tense and useless in their panic. There was a frantic heat emanating from him which felt like smoldering coals were about to burn right through their clothes.

He was panting hard and fast on top of Adaar and looked like a wild animal that was about to rip into his prey. His amber eyes were hard and piercing, and seemed to dig right into Adaar's brain, allowing no coherent thought, rendering them completely motionless.

"...And that is how you defeat a mage, recruits. Perseverance. They cannot cast forever and eventually - "

His voice trailed off as the Commander's face darkened, his breath seemingly caught in his throat for a moment. The man's eyes slowly grew wide as he stared down into Adaar's face closely for the first time as their hood slipped off their head a bit, a slow horror creeping over his face as realization dawned about who was lying below him.

He stammered a few syllables, now apparently at a loss for words. When Adaar finally removed the stuffy cowl from their head, utterly defeated, he withdrew the sword, dropped it into the grass next to them with terror in his eyes, and rose to his feet instantly.

The crowd began murmuring and people let out surprised gasps as Adaar sat up, mortified, their face burning with embarrassment.

The Commander started stammering again.

"You...your Worship, I-"

It had gotten far too quiet around the two of them. Adaar shook off the panic and finally felt their limbs again, which were now tingling with electricity. They held out a hand, which he quickly took to help them up, still staring wordlessly. As they were standing next to each other, Adaar looked around into the empty faces of the soldiers, who looked like they had just witnessed the Empress of Orlais dance with a pig.

Who is the pig and who the empress, though, Adaar asked themself, and suppressed a laugh. It was all too bizarre.

No one dared say a word as the two of them stood in the cool, encroaching darkness, as the sun cast its last dying rays onto the scene.

"Well...that was...good exercise to never underestimate your opponent, recruits! Always keep your guard up and...always go in for the kill."

Adaar felt like an utter fool, but they had to say something.

"Nicely done...Commander."

Adaar's cheeks were crimson and they could barely make eye contact with him.

"Herald."

After a second or two, comprehension finally spread over the Commander's face and he raised a fist to his chest with a small bow of his head.

He had apparently regained composure, and just in time.

"Indeed. Recruits - I hope you learned something, and...I hope you were watching."

Of course - every damn soul in the camp and the kitchen mice were watching this, Commander...

Adaar had trouble breathing, their vision blurring and their head swirling with embarrassment.

"I believe that's enough for today. Everybody, to your quarters - we will continue tomorrow. Good work, everyone."

The soldiers gawked for a moment longer, then they gave the two of them short bows and slowly wandered off to their camps, shooting glances back at them and whispering excitedly.

Within a few heartbeats, Adaar and the Commander were alone by the lake, and neither of them spoke.

Suddenly, Cullen let out a hoarse gasp and looked at them in horror after he'd been staring at his feet for a while.

Adaar startled at the noise and looked over at the man puzzled, their cheeks still flaming red. His eyes were wide, almost panicked.

"Are you...are you alright, Herald? Forgive me...I would never have, ever... and all that after I swore I would - if I'd have known it was you.."

Adaar relaxed their shoulders a bit as they saw the man who stood before them – it was the old Commander again, the one they knew and recognized, and they were so very glad to see him. His hard demeanor was gone now, as was the threatening posture and imposing stance. He almost looked a bit smaller than he had before, Adaar thought as their chest constricted again in the oppressive quiet.

"No, I - I'm fine, Commander, do not concern yourself. You did bruise me up a little, but I know you would never hurt one of your recruits."

He appeared so tense he seemed ready to snap as he stood before them, apparently not daring to move a single muscle.

"Never, Herald - and never you, Maker, I…"

And as he looked at them with his warm eyes, which now seemed infinitely softer than before, like pools of dark honey in the pale light of the evening, Adaar felt their fear wash away slowly.

He looked so vulnerable all of a sudden and Adaar felt a strange warmth spread through their body. The Commander was almost a completely different man now. As he stood before them, meek and passive, like a boy who had just broken something valuable, Adaar relaxed again for the first time tonight.

Finally able to breathe again, Adaar gathered their thoughts as they both looked down for a while, like children who'd been caught doing something forbidden. Adaar felt terrible about all this.

"Commander. I did not mean to embarrass you in front of your recruits. I am...so sorry."

He shot them a quick, surprised look and after a moment of silence, his whole demeanor changed slowly, as he chuckled, silently and hoarsely. Adaar was so startled, they found themself unable to continue. They could not remember ever hearing the Commander...chuckle.

"Well, they did just see me best the Herald of Andraste in battle so I'd think you've done a lot for keeping the order in my camp just now - your Worship."

Adaar's head snapped up.

"You're not…well, angry?" Their heart pounded in their chest like a hammer as they thought of his arms pinning them down, with muscles like steel ropes.

"Angry, Herald? I...oh - I mean I was, at first; I could not figure out why one of my newest recruits was so damn good. I began to think I'm getting old."

He almost laughed the last part, a light, warm tone of voice they had not heard from him before, and Adaar somehow did not trust this easy mood at all.

But when he was smirking at them lightly and with infinite exhaustion, that lopsided grin that the scar made even more prominent, they let some of their defenses down, foolishly, as they reprimanded themself immediately, but they could not help it.

"Besides, it was me who insisted you came to train with us, so you were merely being polite, right?"

Now it was Adaar who chuckled, if a bit dryly. No, Commander, I was just ashamed that you had caught me skulking around the camp like a lunatic.

"My pleasure", they managed to croak out, finally.

"In addition, I did not notice that your head was gigantic and strangely shaped for some reason."

The human scoffed again, then immediately looked mortified.

"I mean, Maker, I meant only-"

He blushed a deep crimson red and Adaar raised a hand to cut him off, shaking their head with an embarrassed expression.

Gods, let this moment pass.

It was quiet for some time again, which Cullen broke when he looked at them and in the same strange soft voice, now almost hushed, asked,

"You were holding back, weren't you?"

Adaar locked eyes with him and felt the heat creep up their ears again.

"Only a little anymore - in the end."

To this he just smiled, the tiniest crooked smile on his face, and Adaar felt a strange tingle in their breast, like he had plucked a string in their chest that they did not know was there before.

"I mean, I would of course never try to harm you either, Commander-"

Fucking hell. They were truly making an absolute ass out of themself, and all that in these blasted Chantry Sister robes.

His face took on a strange expression they could not describe, but it mirrored the quiet, almost warm voice he spoke in now and it made Adaar very uncomfortable.

"Well, would you care to repeat this some time?"

Adaar was filled with panic again instantly.

"What?!"

They studied his face, and saw none of the hard man they usually came to face when talking to him.

"I think it would be good exercise for the recruits - and for me. Who better to learn from than from the Herald?"

He sounded almost sheepish in the end, and Adaar felt that tingle again, this time deeper in their core.

Fuck it all to hell. Can this be over already?!

"I - if you think it will help the recruits, of course. I...will come in more appropriate gear next time. I hate these damn robes."

They looked down at themself and scowled in exaggerated anger. He seemed to be suppressing another small smile, but failed part way through.

"Very well, Herald. I look forward to it."

Chapter Text

Cullen sighed wearily as the late moon crept over the frozen lake before him, his body a miserable knotted ball of strain and exhaustion. In the back of his head, he felt the familiar, dull ache of longing - a perpetual reminder of his weakness, like the jarring, lingering aftertaste of bile on your tongue when you've gone hungry for too long.

It tugged at his insides constantly and macerated his ability to concentrate; a hole inside him that he was painfully aware could never be filled again.

Somehow it was always worse at night, when the weight of the day had depleted his energy far enough that nothing was left but a brittle cast of his physical self, but mentally, there were still mountains of pain to fight.

There’s no winning against mountains.

He pinched his eyes shut and tried to focus on something, anything else but the throbbing, pulsing urge...to use.

The hour was getting dark, and Cullen was so very tired, but the reports and requests still came streaming in every day and he had to take the time to work through them.

Cullen groaned as he read through the seemingly endless paragraphs on the page before him, detailing every one of their endeavours with painstaking pedantry.

He knew he would never be as good as Leliana at noticing the subtleties in them, which he was sure were of great importance, nor would he ever be as interested as Josephine in remembering the many constant changes in politics, but still they both kept sending him updates, expecting him to keep up with their progress, and the recruits were always clamouring for more this or less that, and he needed to finish diligently filed reports on the fights in the Hinterlands and other strategic updates.

He rubbed his burning eyes with the back of his hand. Today had been strange, exhausting and long, but through all his fatigue he still felt more alive than he had in a long time, and it showed him yet again the one thing he was really made for: fighting.

The adrenaline still rushed through his system, keeping him wide awake now despite his lack of actual physical energy. Cullen put the stack of reports down for a moment, wholly unable to focus on a single word, and let his view wander over the shimmering ice in front of him, and further away yet, to the steep slope of towering rocky peaks in the distance.

Behind him, horses were whinnying in their stables contently and he felt like he should be at peace in all this quiet. Still, his thoughts were racing back and forth, and always away from the reports.

His heart had almost stopped when he'd finally realized who he was about to tear a new windpipe opening into, and initially his mind had not been able to register the facts laid out before him. Like diving through dark, murky waters, he had recognized the face before him only slowly, unable to connect the dots at first, the only certainty in his mind for a few heartbeats had been those deep blue eyes with their grey icy shimmer hidden behind all that cloth, looking up at him and right through him, into the most vulnerable spot in his brain.

He shivered in the cool breeze and wrapped his thick coat around himself a little tighter. In his mind, he had torn himself apart a thousand times already since the incident.

Why not one more time?

A soft breeze whirled up a cloud of icy crystals on the frozen water's surface, and in their cold sheen he saw the look in the Herald's eyes before him again.

The Qunari had not resisted; they could've killed him for his insolence if they'd pleased, but they had only looked at him with that perplexed, wounded look that he now saw before him layered over everything else, and they had shown no inclinations of fighting back.

Their face had been closer than ever before in that moment, and as realization crept in, he'd noticed the peculiar steely shimmer in their eyes again, cold and intangible like that wave of frozen particles on the lake in the moonlight.

Those eyes still looked at him now as he watched the snow drift across the lake; blue pools of deep, somber energy which seemed so strange and foreign, and yet they carried a feeling which was so very familiar to him: a deep, all-enveloping sadness.

A profound, deep wound was laid bare before him just then, which he'd never noticed before, but a person's eyes never lied, and he'd seen it plainly in that moment.

He realized now that it had always been there, he had just been unable to place his finger on the emotion which seemed to burn within the Herald at all times, even when they raised their voice in anger, or the few times he'd seen fear in their face, even in moments of joy (which were admittedly rare whenever he was around) - that pain always lingered in the back.

He now keenly felt the cold surrounding him, and recalled thinking at first that the Herald had seemed just as cold as tonight was, and distant at all times. Maybe there was more to it than that, Cullen mused, maybe it was a barrier they erected between themself and the world, because he'd seen a deep hurt in those eyes at that moment, a hurt that was very well known to him, and that stemmed from one thing only - broken trust.

Cullen felt a pang of unbearable remorse thinking back to how easily he had been blinded by their disguise. How could he not have realized who it was under those mage robes? Who else would pose such a formidable foe but the Herald themself?

Embarrassment crept up inside him and gnawed at his entrails. Maker, he was such a fool. Cullen turned the event over in his mind again and again, from every angle. It had definitely not been his finest moment, and all those recruits had been there to witness it, together with, Andraste, the Herald. Cullen buried his face in his hands for a moment, hot humiliation burning on his cheeks.

No matter how often he replayed the scene in his head, he could not get over the fact that the Herald had not been angry afterward, they had not screamed or reprimanded or dismissed him from his station, as they ought to have. He could slap himself for not recognizing his superior, his charge and also master, right away.

Admittedly, he had never seen them fight before, other than at the mountain near the Temple of Sacred Ashes the first time he'd met them, and he knew now why they'd been so successful in their endeavours as their leader.

Talented, fierce and magnificent were only a few of the words that came to mind when he thought of Adaar and their little mock fight. And they had been so gracious toward him and his blundering.

Maker, sometimes I am not sure why I am blessed with such luck.

They should've told him to go to hell afterwards for being so insolent, for breaking his promise to never raise his weapon against them so briefly after he'd given it, but they had not seemed vexed in the least - maybe a bit shaken, but they had been calm and forgiving, and even asked if he'd been angry. He did not deserve any of this.

Cullen ran a hand through his hair; it felt rough and dirty, and there were many loose strands pointing every which way, greasy and caked in dirt in places. He needed a bath. First thing tomorrow, he told himself; now it was time to get at least a few hours of sleep.

He glanced up at the Herald's cabin and was glad to see that the windows were dark already. At least they were getting some rest.

Cullen knew he worked too much, slept and ate too little, but it was all for the Inquisition, for their cause and of course - for the Herald. He simply could not afford to let them all down, though he seemed to be doing so continuously.

With limbs that felt like they were encased in lead, Cullen finally collapsed onto his bedroll in the cold, silent tent. It would take a while to warm up, but he did not mind it. He eased his back into the woollen comfort that shielded him from the cold, hard ground and tried his best to let go of the tension in his muscles.

The air inside his waxed canvas shelter was not much warmer than the chill around it, but he was used to sleeping outside.

It had been a while since he'd had an actual bed to lie down in, and whenever he did have the opportunity to sleep inside, he kept the windows open, otherwise the heat seemed to be suffocating him in his sleep. It's what he used to do at the Circle, when he'd still been a young recruit, and he mused that the habit must have formed there and stayed with him. He recalled how the soft beds in the circle were, how nice it would be to actually sleep in one and...

Oh no.

At once, he felt all traces of sleep fall off of him as a jolt of lightning went through his head. So it would be one of those nights.

Whenever he was alone with his thoughts for too long and could not fall asleep fast enough, his head always turned into a dark siphon of self-destruction.

A thousand memories poured into his head again, like so many times before - of her, of the way she'd smiled at him from across the corridors and how he had longed to talk to her, to be near her in his naive youth, but of course that had been impossible.

The pain still felt so fresh, like it had felt all those years ago, and his memories still haunted him - they probably always would, though he did not feel the same about the Hero of Ferelden anymore. That had been a lifetime ago, and he'd just been a boy then. Additionally, the pain associated with those times was too much to bear for him to long for those feelings, or for her.

He tossed in his bedroll and cursed the day he had let impurity into his heart; so foolish, so weak. She was your charge, your responsibility, and you had such...vile thoughts about her.

He shook his head, sweat collecting on his upper lip and forehead.

Please, not tonight.

But Cullen could already feel her scratching at the base of his skull - as soon as he would fall asleep, there she would be, he knew. Taunting him, mocking, hunting him in his dreams. His chest was now heaving with every breath, as though he was running up a mountain, but he lay silently in his bed.

On one hand, he prayed that sleep would come soon, on the other, that meant she probably would be there.

If only he could have a little of it...maybe that would ease his pain -

No.

He forced himself to stop tossing and closed his eyes, trying to breathe steadily. When there was nothing to distract him or keep him busy, the voices came rushing right back into his mind, he'd found. The demon and its enticing promises, first and foremost, and with it all the panic he'd felt, just as fresh as the day he had been locked into that cage; the weeks of torture afterward - it was as if it all had happened just today.

But today, something else crept into his mind as slowly, surely, a warm and strong calm broke through. It spread from behind his forehead toward his arms and slowly to his middle, where it settled and finally allowed him to breathe freely again. Before him in the dark he suddenly saw the Herald, clear as day, as if a candle had been lit next to him. His insides constricted and a shiver went through his chest as he recalled their face when they had actually - smiled at him.

It had only been brief and as soon as it had flashed up, their face had turned into a scowl again, but it seemed to be burned behind his eyes now. They were truly magnificent. Awe inspiring.

He knew the Herald hated him, they despised his past as a Templar and they mistrusted him at all times. All he usually got were cold stares and disapproving scowls together with angry words, and taunts, but in that one little moment today, he had felt none of the icy hatred toward him.

Cullen felt a strange warmth settle in his stomach, a rather unfamiliar sensation, and he was endlessly glad when he thought back to how it all had ended today - relieved. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest which had been there since the whole Inquisition endeavour had swirled into his life, and which had gotten only heavier after he'd learned the Herald of Andraste was a Qunari apostate who would be working with them.

It felt like things would maybe not be so impossible as he had thought; he knew they would never fully trust him, but maybe, if he could facilitate his soldiers improving their fighting when the Herald agreed to work with him, Maker, he would feel like maybe he had done a small part of his duty to the Inquisition, which so far had been fulfilled to a minimum at best.

Cullen turned to his side again - it was impossible to find sleep in the whirlwind of thoughts that rushed through his head right now. He wanted to work together with the Herald, all he wanted was to serve and fulfill his duty, but his clumsy speeches and his temper and his own distrust had hindered so much of it.

He was looking forward to fighting with them again; this was something he could do, and it would go very differently the next time, once he knew who was in front of him and how he had to act. Respectful and proper this time, he reprimanded himself. I may never be worthy, but I must try my best. And with a prayer in his head, he finally drifted into sleep.

Chapter Text

Adaar was pacing up and down in their cabin, fidgeting with the hem of their tunic, as they had been doing for longer than they cared to admit. Their sweaty palms and elevated pulse left no doubt about how unsure they were about the whole ordeal, but they stayed determined to go through with the plan nonetheless.

Just slip in and out and no one will even notice.

The idea had sounded good in theory, sure, but fear now reared its ugly head, clenching its fist around Adaar's heart without mercy.

People will not judge you, Adaar kept telling themself in an unconvincing, yet stubborn mantra.

Some might even be happy to see you there. I know at least one that will be for certain, though I’m not sure everyone will buy it...

The people of Haven had been clamoring for a real, full-length Chantry service from Mother Giselle for a while now. Those Andrastians were always so keen to worship in an orderly, clergy-approved fashion; in the right place and at the right time.

It had always seemed kind of odd to Adaar, fairly pedantic and somewhat forced, especially for someone growing up Tal-Vashoth - and without any faith to speak of. They were careful not to use the word ‘boring’, out loud, at least – true believers seldom had a good sense of humor, as they’d learned the hard way.

Still, Adaar found themself curious to see one – a real life Chantry service, with bells and whistles and the whole ‘we all sing at the same time’ deal. Curious, yes, but also highly uncomfortable with the concept. It wasn't like humans had ever been happy to see them inside a Chantry, let alone when a service was conducted, so they had never actually been witness to one.

To top things off, Chantries usually went hand in hand with Templars, so yeah, no dice so far. Somehow, they had gotten it into their head to change this now. Maybe it was all this talk of Heralds and Chosen ones, but Adaar had become increasingly fascinated with the topic. Also, it was somewhat embarrassing how little they knew about the belief of a majority of the people they were supposed to inspire…

Adaar stopped their frantic pacing for a brief moment, to stand in front of the half-opened window and listening to the birdsong outside. Spring was coming onto the world slowly, though more timidly at this elevation than it did elsewhere, and there were flowers blooming in the sunlight everywhere, strange wispy mountain varieties which were largely unknown to them. They wrung their hands looking at the peaceful scene, unable to make up their mind.

Sure, it would be immensely uncomfortable; almost certainly holier-than-thou to a nauseating degree, and stuffy inside with all these people crammed in there - suffocating even. But it also would be interesting to see what all the fuss was about.

And it might have made him happy.

After forcing themself to breathe deep a few times, which was entirely unhelpful in calming their mind, Adaar finally turned and started toward the door, their hands clammy and shaking slightly.

Fucking get a grip, Adaar. It's not like you're about to go to your own sentencing.

So why did it feel so much like that’s exactly what they were headed towards?

After cursing under their breath a few more times (best to get this out of your system before entering the Maker's fan club meeting, my guy) Adaar slammed the cabin door shut behind them and made their way to the large, imposing building nestled in at the foot of the mountains, their legs fueled by nervous energy more than actual commitment to their decision.

The service would have started a while ago, so this might be a good time to get in and out again unnoticed. Or so their theory went.

There were not a lot of people out in town, as most were obediently participating or watching the service, and Haven looked strangely deserted. Usually, there were dozens of people bustling about and chattering, but today, the dusty streets were almost empty.

This lip service was apparently supposed to give everyone hope. That's something Adaar did not expect to find in the Chantry now or ever, but the image of his face burning in their mind, with eyes grey and somber, and so big and full of innocence made them press on, even though their legs felt like rubber at this point, and they truly did not feel like going on anymore.

The Chant became audible more clearly now as they approached the Chantry - many voices joined together in adoring prayer were echoing through the dusty streets of the small town. It made Adaar shudder a little, despite the sun warming their skin.

Sounds kinda creepy. Is this…what everyone is so nuts about? I’m not sure about this whole thing anymore I think..

It was a rather warm day, so one of the Chantry doors had been left open, and Adaar now stopped just before the large wings, adorned with wooden carvings of…Andraste probably?

A hard lump was forming in their throat. Terror struck them all of a sudden, like lightning, as long-buried memories resurfaced. They had already noticed the strong smell of incense drifting out of the church from several paces away, and the air was filled with its scent now - their scent, so sweet and sticky and heavy that their stomach churned.

As the diluted smoke enveloped them like some sort of miasma, Adaar felt the fragrant incense trigger an intense fear in the back of their head. They looked up at the looming stony facade of the church and felt the presence of a thousand Templars imprinted on it and in it, their memories carried around Adaar by the scented fumes like ghosts.

Adaar shut their eyes almost paralyzed with panic, trying not to spiral out of control completely.

It's ok. You can always leave.

Focusing on the sensation of the soles of their feet touching the ground, the wind stroking their face gently and the sun warming their scalp, Adaar slowly, gently guided themself out of the maze of their swirling thoughts, gingerly returning to the present moment.

There are no Templars here. At least none that can hurt you.

When their breathing finally resumed to a somewhat healthy rate, they looked ahead and inside the towering gates once more, then steeled themself with the familiar, often-rehearsed mental calming routine.

You can do this, you are strong, there is no danger here - only in your head.

And before panic could take a hold of them again, they slipped inside the Chantry.

Entering without causing a scene had worked better than Adaar had thought, as everyone inside was fully engrossed in singing or listening to the Chant. A few people had turned when their silhouette darkened the slanted light of the spring sun streaming in for a moment, but their shadow joined the sweet, scented dark within the Chantry almost instantly afterwards, and Adaar hurried to a corner at the back, where no one would bother to look.

The light was dim inside, and it took their eyes a while to get used to it, as they stood blinking in the thick scented air for a few heartbeats, trying to find their bearings. The Chant was very loud in here, as it reverberated off, and was magnified by the walls in such a way that a hundred voices sounded like a thousand.

When they could finally see properly again, Adaar was taken aback by the transformation the church had gone through. They stood near the wall wide-eyed and a little breathless, taking in its full splendor.

There were candles lit everywhere in the smokey interior of the great hall, and people were absorbed in the ceremony completely, almost as if in trance. The half-speaking, half-singing of the Chant was carried out by low voices from every corner, soon rising to a full-bodied echoing force before dying down to a low hum again, and Adaar was in the middle of it, listening in awe. The words sounded sad to them, though it was hard to make out everything, but the people participating appeared to be full of hope and purpose.

At the very front, Adaar spotted Leliana and Cassandra standing before a makeshift wooden altar, both fully engaged in the Chant. They seemed to know every single word, as if they'd done this a thousand times.

They probably had, Adaar thought bitterly; the Chantry sure liked to spread its indoctrination through repetition.

Josephine was there as well, ever the picture of grace and poise; and in the back, a little to the left, they saw the Commander, his head apparently bowed in silent prayer.

Adaar's heart pounded in their chest steadily as they listened to the dozens of voices reverberating in the stony hall. They felt strangely moved by the sight, together with the choir of these faithful humans and elves, though a little embarrassed by their own stupid softness.

You don't believe this crap, remember?

Their curiosity was piqued by the intricacies of the service as it went on, and how everyone except them seemed to have been let in on the secrets surrounding it – there were constantly people walking up to the altar; Mother Giselle, who stood right in the middle of it all said a few words to everyone in a very ceremonious manner, before they left again with solemn looks on their faces.

This didn’t seem exactly like a hoot and a half to Adaar, but everyone in there appeared to be fully committed to the procedure.

After a while spent silently watching, Adaar felt a little bolder and decided to move closer to the front.

Don't look too pious now, you dumb lug-nut, or they might ask you to join, they told themself as they slowly, inconspicuously, made their way through the Chantry, staying well-hidden in the shadows beside the main group of people, in the dark behind the large columns that framed the main hall.

Stopping just before the bulk of people who were gathered in front of the wooden altar, Adaar leaned against the stony Chantry wall off to the side with forced casualness, and once more felt entirely out of place. No one seemed to pay much attention to the Herald in here, thankfully, as everyone was watching Mother Giselle and the others lead them through prayer.

They decided to do the most unobtrusive thing and silently survey the women leading this service as if they knew what was going on, but their eyes soon wandered over to the Commander, who still kept his place in the second row, by himself. It was a little strange to see the man here; they had never really considered him to be one for quiet, organized ceremonies, but of course it made sense with his background.

Adaar's chest constricted as the watched the Commander stand tall and straight like a rod at the heart of the Chantry, the picture of control and pious devotion.

I don't know what I expected, Adaar mused grimly. Once a Templar, always a Templar.

They scoffed at their own naivety as the lump in their throat grew once more, and just as they were about to tear their gaze off of the man who seemed to be completely immersed in the ceremony, the Chant died down a little bit, then shifted from a song lead by Mother Giselle's calm voice and echoing with many more women's airy tones to a more somber, deeper intonation.

The Commander lifted his head as if on cue. He clearly knew the procedures, as he now folded his hands in front of him while taking a step forward. It all seemed like a well-rehearsed play to Adaar; everyone had their place in this strange, stilted sequence of events, and they wondered why these people truly thought this was the one correct way to appease their Maker.

Sure, it was beautiful, but man, to do this every week? What a goddamn waste of time!

Adaar felt kind of disappointed this was supposed to be "it", but also not completely surprised by the fact it let their expectations down. No miracles, no revelations were to be found here.

I haven't missed too much all these years, it seems.

The Chant quieted down again and Adaar turned, ready to leave. They were about to politely shoulder past a few people who only now seemed to notice them, when they heard a familiar voice rise up over the somber chorus of all the others. Adaar turned around again slowly, not entirely sure they were ready for what they were about to see.

The spectators, or whatever you called the people in here, had gone quiet in obedient reverence, and Adaar stood in their midst, dumbstruck.

The women who had stood by the altar up to now had shifted to the back, and having taken their place at the front, Adaar now saw the new center of attention.

Yes, they certainly saw it, but their mind had difficulties registering what was happening. For a few moments, Adaar forgot to breathe.

Their eyes were fixed on the Commander wide and burning – no, not the Commander, a Templar, who rose before the people like a towering statue, his skin like pale marble illuminated by warm candlelight.

His head was framed by a shimmering golden glow from behind, as if their vision had blurred all of a sudden. As if a divine light had touched the man, a halo of sorts was circling his hair and face from behind while the broad crest of his fur coat cradled his earthly form like many tongues of black flames were licking at his throat.

And he was singing.

Adaar was unable to move a muscle as time seemed to stand still around them. Entranced and stupefied, they listened to the timbre of his voice carry this Chant of the humans across them and the others who were listening in quiet rapture.

These were the people who Adaar had despised all their life, but all hatred and mistrust seemed to be washed away from them now, with his words and their melody coming over them like gentle waves, taking all sorrow and anger with them.

The song seemed to come from all corners of the Chantry, not just from him, and Adaar suddenly realized that the mass of people around them had started to accompany the man's song, merging into a choir of strange, unfamiliar beauty.

Adaar barely registered the words of the song; surely it was about Andraste's sacrifice and her undying love for her husband or something similar, and of course, entirely full of sorrow.

The melody spoke of mourning and melancholy, reverberating deep within Adaar as they felt their heart ache, their eyes watery and burning with all the smoke in here, and their lungs suddenly choking for air.

In a daze, Adaar turned, pushing through the people as they left the Chantry in hasty strides, feeling their way out more than seeing, one hand sluggishly tracing the stone walls to their right for support as they sought only to leave.

How's this for a revelation?, they heard a familiar mocking voice ask, their head spinning and panic gripping their stomach.

Finally outside, the fresh air and sunlight knocked some sensation into their body again.

Fuck the Chantry, Adaar thought as they leaned against the rough stone wall in the midday sun outside, trying to catch their breath. What the hell was supposed to be the purpose of this? To make people feel small and insignificant? To add to their sorrows and fears?

Adaar swallowed and closed their eyes, the sunlight piercing their retinas like daggers after the dark inside. No, I think I understand. Their heart raced now and they felt strangely invaded by the whole experience.

The intent of all this was to make people feel something in the daily toil of their shitty lives, so they would come back again and again to have some kind of semblance of purpose. It was easy to mistake this for a divine experience, Adaar thought. Well, they had experienced it now and they hated it.

Stay the fuck out of my head, they hissed at the building and the strange ritual inside under their breath.

Suddenly, the second half of the Chantry's gates opened and Adaar startled at the sound. They must have stood there for a while, as the service seemed to be over and people were now streaming out the gates slowly while the Chant inside had died down without them noticing. Instead, a cacophony of tolling bells started above their head now.

Time to go, before someone quizzes me on Chantry history, Adaar thought.

There was large mass of people trailing out onto the road now, however, cutting off their way back into town. In a hurry, they ducked into the dark beside the Chantry, where it was cool and quiet. They could just sneak behind the houses back to the cabin from here.

Just as they were about to leave, weary and fairly shaken by it all, Adaar heard their blasted new title being called behind them.

Fuck it all to hell.

Hesitantly, Adaar turned around with their heart pounding in their chest and their belly constricting painfully. Before them in the cool breeze, surrounded by the tall, soft grass stood the Commander, like a picture right out of some holy book.

It had been a long time since Cullen had felt this calm, this fulfilled. The ever-present racing thoughts in his mind had been quieted and his hands were steady for once, his shoulders soft and relaxed.

For a brief, wonderful moment he stood outside in the clear spring air, feeling the sunlight caress his skin. All the sorrows of the past days melted from him, and a peace washed over Cullen which felt unparalleled.

After taking another moment to simply exist in this rare feeling of serenity, he turned and looked around the crowd, but the person he was looking for was nowhere to be seen. He shook a few more hands, wishing blessings upon the people surrounding him, and finally separated from the crowd, his heart still elated with song and the words of the Maker.

Just as he was about to turn to the training grounds, Cullen spotted the a figure in the dark, away from all the people. They stood in the little alley beside the Chantry, and there was no mistaking them – it was the Herald. So this is where they’d disappeared off to. Strange that they should be here, in this unassuming place he had never really taken note of – all by themself.

He hesitated for a moment, then took heart and walked over with a strong sense of purpose and courage reawakened in him. How wonderful it had been to see them in the Chantry, participating in the service! He had feared that they would miss it when he could not spot them in the beginning, but of course, the Herald hat attended. And they had stayed for the part he had been chosen to lead, as well…

He stepped into the quiet shadows that the Chantry building cast and surveyed the tall silhouette, like a ghostly manifestation which seemed entirely out of place in the splendor of this spring daylight.

Cullen took a few moments to steel his resolve with his heart now beating like a hammer; he suddenly felt strangely young and insecure again, as he looked at their broad back, the horns circling their head like a crown, and a small shiver ran down his neck, that could perhaps be attributed to the spring sun he had been standing in for a while now.

The air around them was filled with the scent of spices of spring herbs, together with the thick incense smoke that still lingered on him, fresh and strong. He called out to the Herald as he approached, his mind still awash with their image, like a divine apparition between all the mortals inside the Chantry. As the Qunari turned, he felt a surge of joy in his chest, but was taken aback just a brief moment later by the look on their face, and stopped in his tracks.

The Herald's brows were furrowed, their lips pressed together into a thin line. On their cheeks, a wet shimmer glinted lightly as the sun caught in it, their eyes puffy, red and tense. The smile vanished from his face as he suddenly realized that they had been crying.

No, surely he was wrong. The Herald of Andraste had no need for such displays of weakness, and they could not have been moved by the words of his God like that. But they kept wiping at what were clearly tears, which did not accomplish much, as more were now flowing down their face slowly, yet steadily.

He lingered where he stood for a moment - maybe he should not disturb them here. But as he viewed the Herald across from him in the lush grass, he realized the damage was already done. So he simply stood before of the Qunari, his courage waning quickly and doubt clouding his mind again. He found his hand rubbing the pommel of his sword nervously, when he realized that this might not be the best gesture, given their recent experiences, and simply folded his hands in front of him instead.

Get a hold of yourself, man.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally decided he had to do something besides stare at them, and walked over slowly, still entirely unsure of what to do. They were viewing him silently, and he once again felt abandoned by his wits and strength, feeling a faint quiver in his fingers already.

"Herald, I...", he started, unsure of where he was going, but he didn’t get very far either way.

The Qunari's stony face made him lose all sense of the words he had prepared in his mind before. They drew in a shaky breath and shot him an expectant look, maybe ready for him to leave, probably ready for him to leave, but he found himself unable to move.

"I...saw you in there. At the service." It was beautiful, he added, but only in his mind.

Their eyes suddenly widened, and he could have slapped himself for his ineptitude when it came to finding the right words. For a few more agonizing heartbeats, neither of them spoke, while only the calls of birds filled the air around them while the murmur of the crowd slowly died down behind him.

Oh…dear. What now?

The Herald cast their eyes down, and his chest constricted. In their posture he saw nothing of their usual strength and determination, yet neither hostility nor distrust, they only lifted a hand to their face in a tired, somewhat defeated manner, and ran it through their hair.

"Yes...well. I wanted to - see. What it was like. I...had never been, before."

The Herald's voice was quivering, weak almost. Once again, he felt his chest tighten, his throat closing up.

This was very much out of character for them, and he did not quite know how to handle the situation.

The gentle spring breeze whispered around the two of them, and he felt just as out of place as they currently looked.

"So did you – what…did you think?"

Cullen chastised himself once more for his inability to speak even remotely coherently in their presence. Adaar on their part let out a shaky sigh and turned their face away from him with their shoulders bowed slightly, their hands clenched together before them with one thumb rubbing over the other in an unfamiliar, nervous manner.

This was not the Herald he knew; always strong and imposing, calm and a little sarcastic, maybe uttering a few cutting words aimed at him - there was none of that now.

They seemed almost a bit smaller than they'd been before, open and vulnerable, and he thought about how woefully unprepared he was for a situation like this.

Damn it all.

Cullen scratched the side of his neck nervously - maybe he should leave? He could still leave.

But then he heard the Herald speak, quietly and in the same shaky voice as before.

"It was...not what I had thought. I don't know what I expected. But people - seemed to enjoy it. I believe it gave them hope and strength, in a way."

They were still looking away, apparently into the woods, but their eyes were strangely unfocused as if they were fixed on something that was not there at all.

It was uncomfortably quiet for another while, and Cullen wrecked his brain for something to say. The Herald suddenly sighed and ran a hand over their forehead with a quiet scoff.

"I think he would have liked it.", they stated almost as if to themself, but Cullen, ever the master of sensitive subtleties heard himself say, quite loudly,

"Who?", which in turn seemed to startle Adaar back into reality.

They looked at him fully for the first time in what had seemed an impossibly long time, seeming slightly surprised to see him standing there.

"Meraad.”

Cullen did not know what to say, and so he stared on, dumbly. Perhaps it was better not to interrupt the Herald, he told himself, but the truth was he had no other options either way.

“He...he was always fond of the Chantry."

Cullen felt a cold dagger go through his heart when he saw the soft expression on their face, and his head started to swim. Oh, what had he done now?

Adaar’s lips were pressed together tightly and he saw another tear glint in their eyes when they spoke.

"I...had a brother. Younger than me. He...he is not.."

Their lips now quivered, and they drew in a shaky breath. Cullen felt the words hit him like a rock while he resisted the urge to say anything and instead just stared at them, his eyes wide.

After a while, the silence got too much to bear.

"Herald..."

Tears were now streaming down their face, and he heard them sob uncontrollably, the sound cutting the air around them like a knife. It was quiet and suppressed but it was enough, more than he could take.

He walked up to the Herald, as far as his weakening legs allowed him, but still could not bring himself to say anything; he wrecked his brain for any words, but they would not come, so Adaar spoke again before he could.

"He always wanted me to go to the local Chantry with him. Begged me. He...really believed, you know. He believed what the Sisters would tell us, the few who were brave enough to come and talk to the heathen Oxmen, about the Maker, Andraste, and the Chant, and so one time we...snuck into the town's Chantry together, at night."

Cullen was now at a complete loss of what to do or say, while an invisible force was keeping him from getting any closer to the Herald, so he just stood there like an idiot, his mouth slightly open as if to speak, but still there were no words inside him.

"There was, of course, no service at that late, but he had so wanted to see it. He was not even 15 yet, he was just a child, Commander, just a boy!"

Their sobs were now coming harder, their voice raised almost to a shout. Cullen realized they were very much out in the open and hoped to the Maker no one would see the Herald like this, no one but him. He positioned himself so that he would shield them at least a bit from any onlookers, but everything around them was quiet and as he looked behind himself briefly, mercifully, there was no one in sight.

They went on, speaking more to themself than to Cullen.

"People in town knew I was a mage, of course, but they never approached us. He was not gifted with magic himself, but he was very talented, so good with any craft you could think of - he could learn it instantly, and he was so very smart.

But we were both not smart enough to stay away from that blasted place. One night, we crept inside like thieves and looked around in the glinting golden hall for a while.

Every single thing in there was more valuable and splendid that anything we'd ever seen or owned, ever. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and we were stunned by it all.

We wanted to go looking around more, but suddenly we heard noises behind us. Being the naive, stupid children we were, we had not thought of them being there that late, but I guess that's where they stayed, even at night.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because regardless of where they'd come from, we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by three Templars."

Cullen's heart must have skipped a beat, maybe two, and he felt his vision go dark for one moment, his breath caught in his lungs. There was only one way this was going to end, and he did not want them to continue, he was not sure he could take it, to see them this hurt for much longer.

The Herald was no longer sobbing, and their voice had gone flat and very quiet, which jarred his ears even more than their frantic shouts.

"We ran. We made it past them somehow, and out into the night, but even though we were taller and faster than them, we could not run from the arrows.

One of them caught Meraad in the back of his thigh, and we had to stop. They caught up to us, of course.

I called to them, pleaded for them to stop, but I was young and dumb and scared, and magic flared up in my hands, which of course prompted them to do the exact opposite.

They circled us – my brother was always so protective of me, his older sibling; the mage, the outcast. He grabbed one of their tunics from where he was sitting on the floor, desperate for them to stop.

It all happened so fast, I only remember a flash of blood and steel, and him sinking to the ground, lifeless."

The Herald's feverish gaze was fixed on Cullen now and he was shivering slightly, his hands trembling, his mouth was very dry while in his head, a low pounding began.

"I killed all three of them that night, but it did not bring him back. Nothing would.

I carried him all the way home, but it did not make a difference. I screamed at the top of my lungs, i used all the healing magic I knew, but he would not open his eyes.

My family had to leave after that, of course. I left our next home after just a few weeks; I could not bear to see his things around the house anymore, and the look on my father's face when he told me I should have looked out for him.

I have not gone back since and...I can't..."

Adaar trailed off and swallowed, hard and dry, looking into nothingness again.

Cullen felt his breath coming only shakily, and with great effort due to the blasted nervous tremors in his fingers, he handed them his water skin - it was all he could think of.

They looked at him weakly and took it, but instead of drinking, they only stared at it for a while, as they were not sure what they were looking at.

When they handed it back to Cullen and he took the rough leather back into his hand, feeling more useless than ever, they suddenly placed their other hand over his and locked eyes with him.

Thunder went through his whole body as he stood there, electrified, trying to appear composed. He had no idea whether it was successful or not, but the Herald seemed to take little notice of him as a whole, anyhow.

A small mercy.

"I think he would have enjoyed it.

I – I heard you sing, in there. I wish he could have seen it. It was beautiful, Commander."

With a endlessly sad, trembling sigh, they looked up the Chantry walls.

"I hope you are comfortable now, wherever you are."

They withdrew their hand and wiped at their face again.

“Is that what you would say? After someone has died?”

Cullen found himself frozen in place, still holding his water skin out in front of him, still feeling the warmth of their hand on his. Realizing how foolish he must have looked, he tucked the leather away quickly, finally able to move again, his face burning hot and red while his heart seemed about to leap out of his chest.

What is wrong with you?

“I…You would say something like, rest easy…. at the Maker’s side. Until we meet again…”

For the first time, those words seemed somewhat cheap to him.

And as the tears started streaming down their face again, Cullen watched himself place his hand gently on their upper arm, and with a voice he did not know himself, weak and trembling, he nodded and told them,

"I am sure he found peace, Herald. I shall pray for him if it please you."

Adaar looked up silently and slowly. Meanwhile, all the sound left in the world seemed to have ceased around them. He saw the Herald, and saw their forehead strewn with deep lines he had never noticed before.

The Qunari first raised their gaze up at Cullen and then looked down at his hand which was resting on their arm with a puzzled, yet stern expression, and he knew he had failed yet again.

He had angered the Herald with his belief which they obviously did not share - he never knew when to speak and when to keep his blasted mouth shut. He quickly withdrew his hand, hot embarrassment burning within him.

What were you thinking?

Cullen turned, ready to leave before he should sully their grief even more with his ridiculously incapable ways, and muttered a brief

"I...forgive me, Herald.", before he felt it hit him like a rock.

From behind him, a hand grabbed his arm firmly, and he turned with his eyes cast down, ready to face any rightfully deserved blow.

For several heartbeats he stood there as the spring breeze whistled through the narrow space between the Chantry and the mountain it was built next and into, his whole body stiff.

The hand on his arm neither tightened its grip nor loosened it, and he felt time stand still around him. Slowly, he looked up at the Herald, who was now much closer to him than they had been before, less than an arm’s length away, and their face showed an expression he could not identify, but he was certain it was not good.

"Herald.."

His hands were trembling hard now, and Adaar saw it as they looked down at them with a strange expression. He felt exposed, naked almost in the cool shadows where they had stepped into his personal space.

The two of them now seemed entirely removed from time, and all their surroundings. Their hand was still on his arm, without force, but the skin where they touched him through the cloth throbbed and stung, as if boiling water was run over it.

All the air left him as something slammed into his chest, hard and sudden. Cullen closed his eyes instinctively, his mind emptied of any thought. He felt something touch his back now, it felt like knives in his skin, and he was unable to breathe, petrified and feeling like he was about to lose consciousness altogether.

Then - nothing.

Gingerly, he opened his eyes, to see nothing much at first. His entire upper body was burning hot and felt constricted, with something wrapped around his neck. As his vision slowly focused on his surroundings again, he saw that the Herald was close, so very close and breathing into him, heavily. He felt faint again, unable to fully piece together what was happening.

Looking down, he saw a pool of dark hair entirely too close to his face, and felt hot, heaving breaths on his neck. The Herald was leaning against his body while short sobs escaped their throat, their arms were wrapped around him and their face...their face was on his shoulder as tears streamed down their cheeks at first, then down his neck and into his armor.

Cullen felt dizzy; he could not remember the last time someone had been this close to him. Maker's breath, he was not one for physical or emotional openness, and few people around him had come close enough for him to let his guard down, and this was exactly why.

He felt panicked. Restricted.

Cullen stared down at the top of the Herald’s head, as if they were a wild animal pinning him down and he felt nausea creep up in his abdomen. Their scent enveloped him now, streaming up from their soft hair, mixing with the scent of incense that still clung to him.

Slowly, the Herald's sobs got quieter and as they shifted their head, burying their face into the fur of his coat, his muscles softened a bit and his breath came back to him. He felt as if they had melted into him, touching his very core, something no one had come even close to in years. Perhaps ever.

With racing thoughts and sweaty palms, he softly placed a hand on their back, easy, not too quickly, so they would not be startled, and he felt them move even closer.

Cullen closed his eyes, ready to fade out of existence entirely.

"Thank you, Commander. I would appreciate it."

He heard their muffled voice through several soft sobs at his shoulder, and his mind sluggishly pieced together what he heard. They had accepted his prayers, his meek offer of consolation. With burning cheeks and a flaming hot neck, he placed another hand on their back, a little bit tighter now, only a little, and if his heart had stopped there and then, he would have gladly accepted it.

Chapter Text

Sunlight was streaming in gently through the thick windowpane, mixed with birdsong and a soft breeze that swayed the trees beside the cabin. Lush grass mixed with yellow and white flowers were visible just outside on the hill, and Adaar soon expected a cute little bunny or two to make an appearance.

It all was so very idyllic and picturesque that it made them sick. The sun felt more like daggers in their eyes than a golden glow, the birds were entirely too loud and somewhat shrill in their ears, and the constant mountain winds gave Adaar a headache.

It didn’t help that everyone else would be in a splendid mood today, talking about how beautiful a day it was. Adaar was tired of hearing it before they even got up.

The hour had already advanced to early midmorning, and they were still lying in bed – it had been yet another night without enough sleep.

Insomnia had been part of their life periodically ever since their teen years, waxing and waning as it pleased, with no predictable patterns, but it certainly got worse anytime their mental state declined. And that train was on a downhill course so fast it was about to derail.

This time around, the troubles falling - and staying - asleep had started after that fateful day at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and rest never came easily to them anymore these days, no matter how exhausted they were.

Tossing and turning in their sheets that felt far too thin one moment and smothering the next, they often stayed up for maddeningly long hours after the lights had gone out; a thousand thoughts swirling in their head, burning questions invading their thoughts, never to be answered.

It was a lot worse here at Haven, where they spent too much time sitting through endless meetings, and didn’t have as much exercise as they did in the field, where it was easier to simply fall onto a mat and drift into sleep out of sheer bodily exhaustion at the end of the day.

If they finally did fall asleep here, they often awoke during the night, sweating - the Mark on their hand sizzling, their sheets freezing cold and their skin covered with a sheen of icy crystals.

It had gotten a little better since they started sparring with the soldiers; the added activity got a lot of energy out and they felt like they were doing something tangibly good for once, but whenever they didn’t have the time, the dreams returned, of screeching demons around them, and lately, of their brother.

They should never have gone to that fucking Chantry in the first place. What were they thinking it would accomplish? Well, it had led to at least one thing for certain: memories flaring up like forest fires, here and there, unpredictable and unstoppable.

Adaar felt a pang in their chest, a hole that they knew would never again be filled.

I miss you, little brother. What would you say if you could see me now, on top of the world, and too depressed to get out of bed still?

They sighed heavily and finally managed to sit up, running a hand through their tangled mess of hair. Adaar liked to keep that part of their life private and under lock and key. And now the goddamned Commander knew about it, of all people. Just great.

Images from the day before shot into their head clear as day, and Adaar felt slightly nauseated - they had actually hugged the man, sobbing into his shoulder for who knows how long.

What was wrong with them? Breaking down like that in front of the Commander of their forces, the absolute paragon of self-control and propriety - now he must see them as some kind of weakling; unstable, and perhaps a little crazy. 

Rubbing their puffy face until it burned gave Adaar the push to finally get up. They stumbled over to the rough-hewn wooden table in the corner and washed up with the cold water from the basin the chambermaids always left the day before.

They were so entirely uncomfortable with someone waiting on them hand and foot, handing them their clothing and bowing entirely too often, that they had pleaded with Josephine to arrange for them to stop coming in first thing in the morning - one of them had even tried to dress Adaar one time, and that had been the final straw. It was still hard to look that young black-haired elf woman in the eyes after that awkwardness.

But no matter how much Adaar tried to convince everyone that they were able to wash and dress themself, the servants (Adaar hated calling them that, but that was in all actuality the best description for their job) would not be dissuaded from bringing fresh water in the evening for them to wash the next morning.

You must look your best, Herald, please!, Josephine liked to remind them, and they heard her voice in their head clearly now.

Adaar could in theory heat up the water with magic, but they preferred the icy cold on their face – it was a nice reminder that the world of their dreams and night terrors was gone, and they were back in the here and now.

Only for bathing would they actually use warm water, and they realized it would be time for one again, soon. If it was up to them, something so trivial as freshly washed hair could wait for a couple of days, but their opinion on this had been heard and dismissed.

The Ambassador simply would not have them running around with their hair or garments a mess, ever; even if they felt like putting on clothes was too much some days and only wished to stay in bed. But it was no use. They needed to be presentable, as Josephine had put it, at all times.

Adaar stepped out into the unrelenting sun after a quick wash and squinted into the early morning sky. Awake was the last thing they wanted to be right now, for sure, but another meeting was soon going to get started.

They were getting better at sitting through these arduous discussions of strategy and understanding most parts, too. That didn’t mean they looked forward to, or enjoyed them, however.

Slowly, Adaar made their way up to the tavern in order to get some food before the war table meeting. They had but precious little time left after lounging about in bed for far too long, but Leliana’s quick reasoning, Josephine’s mercilessly bright mood and the Commander’s dry anecdotes on an empty stomach were akin to torture, so they would rather be late and scolded for that, than not being able to listen to anything they all said.

A multitude of shouts of ‘Herald!’, paired with many salutes, and ‘Good morning your Worship!’ greeted Adaar, along with many bows and they managed to respond to a few, if only with a grunt to some (those they knew wouldn't mind, or wouldn’t tell Josephine about it afterwards).

The tavern was fairly quiet still; only Sera was about already (which was not surprising since she did live there, despite protests from the Ambassador and Cassandra) and the bubbly elf woman started firing a thousand questions at Adaar, about when it was time to "kill some baddies" again and when they were finally going to head out – apparently, Adaar wasn’t the only one who did better out on missions than here, surrounded by all these people.

"Ugh, Sera - soon, I promise. Please, not before coffee though, alright. No talking before coffee, please."

The elf chuckled in reply, punched Adaar’s arm lightly and took off, no doubt to wreak havoc on some other people who despised mornings, and Adaar did feel bad for them, but was also quite selfishly glad for some quiet.

That wonderful drink from Antiva had truly saved them a number of times already. The hot water strained through the roasted beans resulted in a steamy cup of happiness that perked up their spirits like magic. Tasty, tasty magic.

Flissa was still somewhat nervous whenever she saw a Qunari enter the tavern, but she did her best to appear calm and by now, she knew exactly what Adaar wanted, since it was always the same: bread, fruit, and coffee.

The first time, she had presented them with a fried sausage for breakfast and Adaar was pretty sure they had turned an actual shade of green (it's too early for that smell Flissa, fuck) and she had since learned to deal with their sensitive stomach in the morning a little better.

The human now handed them the food which had been standing there for quite some time it seemed, promised to have the coffee ‘ready in an instant, your Worship’, and Adaar simply grunted in agreement.

When she came back they had already started nibbling on the fruit and she was nodding approvingly, happy to see the Herald eat. She was simply perfect as an innkeep - always so caring. When she presented them with the wonderfully fragrant drink, Adaar could have kissed the woman.

"You're an angel, Flissa, thank you!"

To this she only blushed, mumbled something and was off to the kitchens again.

Adaar sipped the drink, content that for once, there was no one there to talk to them, when they heard a quiet cough to their right.

"Good morning, Herald."

In an instant, a thousand images flashed before their eyes, of them in the Chantry shadows, crying and hugging Commander Rutherford, who stood before them now, looking fairly tired and a bit disheveled himself.

They had to suppress a smirk, despite their initial panic. He looked about as underslept as they felt and there was a stain of something oily on his usually perfectly groomed wool tunic. He was holding the remains of a large breakfast in his hands, which he now put down on the bar next to Adaar.

"Muh..muhrning."

Adaar swallowed dryly and took another sip of their coffee, hoping he would take his leave as soon as possible.

When he didn’t, and instead stood there fidgeting for a moment, Adaar quickly swallowed the fruit in their mouth and pointed to his chest as nonchalantly as they could before he could come up with something awkward to say, which he no doubt would otherwise, judging by the look on his face.

"Don't let the Ambassador see that.", they chuckled, feeling somewhat energized and amused by the frazzled appearance of the usually so neatly put-together man.

He seemed not to notice the stain right away, looking up at them still confused, and so Adaar helpfully took their white cloth napkin, dunked it into the pitcher of water before them and patted at the fabric just below his right collarbone.

He seemed to flinch a tiny bit, and just then Adaar heard Flissa rounding the corner again. They looked up at the completely puzzled Commander and stopped in their tracks with cheeks instantly flushing red, as they realized their actions had been a tad impulsive and perhaps even rude.

Adaar thrust the napkin into his hands in a panic, and as the innkeep appeared at the bar again, they left him with a rushed "I trust you have the matter in hand", then hastened out of the tavern, leaving their half-eaten breakfast behind.

Not thirty minutes later, Adaar sat at the giant war table trying to pay attention to what Josephine was already going on about, which was no doubt of great importance, fidgeting with the hem of their shirt.

Good job making a total fool out of yourself back there, yet again.

Leliana entered, a hefty stack of reports in hand, followed by Cassandra, and finally, the Commander trailed in behind the two. They looked up at him, he looked at them with eyes slightly widened, and as they saw that there were no more stains to be seen on his clothes, Adaar gave him a stealthy thumbs up, not knowing what else to do.

He might have blushed briefly, Adaar thought (but that would be crazy, so it clearly must have been their imagination), before he took his place - where he was again the image of stern self-control and gravitas.

The meeting went well, and they all resolved it was time for Adaar and their entourage to head out to the Hinterlands again; another set of rifts had appeared somewhere in the forest area that belonged to someone named Hafter, and those needed to be taken care of before they could address the Breach itself.

Adaar quickly slipped out when their talks were concluded and headed toward the smith to get their gear in order for the journey to come. Once Harritt had been briefed on all that needed to be done (that will take at least a day, your Worship), they headed toward their cabin, only to be stopped in their tracks by Bull.

"I need to kill something, and soon, Adaar." he growled, never one for many words and always straight to the point.

They looked at the man perplexed – he appeared restless and irritable, as if something was weighing on his mind heavily. Adaar considered asking him what was going on, but he would likely give the same answer he always gave – it was something to do with the Ben-Hassrath; something he couldn’t talk about.

"Well, I could offer you some sparring with the recruits until we head out tomorrow? Please just don't…actually kill them, alright?"

He seemed to think that was an excellent idea, and his second-in-command, Krem, wanted in as well, having listened in from the side.

Adaar felt like they wanted to hit something as well, and so the three of them headed toward the training grounds and soon came across the Commander, who was already there somehow, shouting orders at some recruits.

Krem made a remark about how he couldn’t wait to see "if all Qunari were such lumbering hard-asses as the Boss" to which both Bull and they replied that Adaar was not actually Qunari – him with a bit more conviction than Adaar. Krem only smirked and mumbled, "I see".

They were such a strange group, Adaar thought - the way his soldiers showed Bull the utmost respect and still gave him a massive amount of lip. Adaar liked the two of them especially – the Qunari and his second in command – they both were always straightforward and Adaar appreciated their rotten humor and foul mouths. They never got away with cursing that much with anyone else.

The three were standing not too far from the Commander who now looked up at them, furrowing his brows briefly, and Adaar thought they saw him fidgeting with the hilt of his sword in a somewhat restless manner.

"Herald."

He gave them a curt nod and looked at the two men questioningly. Adaar spoke first, not wanting any talks of killing recruits to cause unrest, even if they were said in jest.

"Commander. We were thinking you could maybe include these two in the sparring lessons we have been discussing. What do you think, have you got a place for them? I think the soldiers could benefit from it."

The man seemed surprised a little but soon agreed.

"Of course - that would be an excellent opportunity for the recruits. Cassandra is here as well. Let's get right to it."

He instructed the soldiers about what they would be practicing with the two and watched them for a while, until Adaar spoke up behind him.

"Thank you for this, Commander – I think it will be great for everyone involved."

He jerked his head around to face them, seemingly unaware of Adaar still having been there, and simply nodded in his stilted, wordless manner.

Adaar felt increasingly awkward with the silence growing between them, and added after a while,

"Maybe I could join again, soon, as well?"

He seemed to fidget again - this time Adaar was pretty sure they'd seen it, and lowered his voice, which made it hard to hear him within the clanking and shouting around them.

"Certainly…if you wish.”

Something about the way he said that made it seem like he was somewhat unsure he meant it. Adaar knitted their brows, but did not want to get into it any further.

“Excellent. Shall we get started? No time like the present, right?"

The four of them had shown the recruits quite a few new maneuvers today, both about how to deal with magic and how to use it best, and by the end of the day, they were all indeed exhausted, even the Seeker. Maybe Adaar in particular had overdone it a bit, but it had felt so very good to get all the nervous energy out, though they would be sore the next day, which was not ideal.

Adaar holstered their staff as the soldiers and mages alike headed off to go on their well-deserved break and eat, and dusted their clothes off as they heard someone stepping up from behind. They turned and faced a man who appeared equally exhausted.

"Oh, Commander. Good session today - thank you for letting me take part."

He blinked a few times, seemingly caught off guard.

"Herald, you do not need to ask. We are all at your service."

Adaar shook their head at that, scoffing quietly. They still did not feel quite comfortable leading such a large group of people at all.

"Well, they are your soldiers, Commander. I defer to your judgment."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but they only held up a hand, as he was surely about to go off about the Herald and Andraste and their worthy cause and such, and Adaar was far too tired to hear it.

"Please, I only mean - I respect your position. I think that's appropriate; you lead them well."

The human drew in a breath and ended this uncomfortable discussion with a bow and a “Herald.” He finally appeared placated, or simply did not wish to contradict, which was just as well.

He rubbed his neck and stared out at the lake for a moment, then at Adaar, and they felt a weighty question coming.

Damn. I should've left when I had the chance.

"Are you... How are you, your Worship?"

Adaar groaned inwardly and felt a familiar heat rising up their neck.

"I...I'm fine. I've been, uh, meaning to thank you, Commander. And also to apologize. I..."

They had rehearsed what to say a hundred times in their head last night, and now the words were like rocks, tumbling over each other and out of their mouth all at once. "There is no need to apologize, Herald. I...I am sorry for disturbing you, I never meant to intrude."

Adaar shook their head, ready for this all to be over extremely soon.

"No need to apologize either. I'm sorry you had to see that. I'm usually more... composed."

He nodded in reply.

"It can be challenging to keep appearances up at all times - believe me, I know. If...if you ever need to talk, Herald, I..."

Adaar looked at him and felt a strange warmth in spreading their stomach. Warily, they looked the man up and down. His voice was soft and calm, and they doubted he had ulterior motives, but then again, you can never be sure, especially with a Templar.

"Thank you, but…that won't be necessary."

"The offer stands, Herald. Whenever you may need it, I am here to listen."

He began shifting around from one foot to the other after that, and another awkward silence passed between them. It was broken by a polite cough beside the two.

"Forgive my intrusion, but may I borrow the Herald for a moment?"

It was Krem, who stood there saluting the Commander. He in turn simply nodded, then bowed slightly toward Adaar and took his leave.

Adaar tried to get their thoughts in order, feeling somewhat caught off guard, though very thankful for his interruption.

How much of that did he hear?

"Ahem. Krem - was there something you needed?"

The man's eyes sparkled up at them.

"Nothing specific, your Worship; I just thought you could use a break. And I wanted to ask if perhaps you'd like to accompany me to dinner?"

Cullen's eyes shot open in the dark. Another damned nightmare had shook him awake and robbed him of the ability to sleep. He had gotten very much used to it by now, but his body certainly had not. Already, he felt the drumming in his ears begin and his head started to pound with a familiar ache.

He felt weak and drained but it was no use - there was much to do today, and it would dawn soon, so he might as well get up. The Herald was leaving for the Hinterlands again today, and the soldiers and mages needed training now more than ever.

The session with the Chargers might have been a good start, but it was up to him to make sure it continued in a productive manner. Furthermore, he had to send troops out after the Herald, to aid in the closing of these new rifts they had gotten fairly disturbing reports on.

Cullen rubbed his forehead, groaned lightly and pushed himself up from his bedroll. When he’d gotten dressed, he stepped out into the cloudy, cold day with dry eyes and a drier throat, but filled with determination. The rising sun was peeking out timidly behind the clouds on the horizon, but its light was blinding nonetheless.

So it will be one of those days, I see.

In an instant, there was a messenger on Cullen’s heels, handing him a multitude of reports - he would have to read them over breakfast. Thankfully, Flissa had that ready for him when he entered the tavern.

The Herald was nowhere to be seen today, likely getting ready to leave. He sighed. Sometimes Cullen wished he could join them instead of being cooped up at Haven at all times; being out in the field would be a welcome change for him, but it was no use. This is where he could serve the Inquisition best.

After the short meeting with Leliana and Josephine - the Herald was not present here either, and neither was the Seeker - he headed down to the smith, who informed him that Adaar had already left. Cullen rubbed his neck and headed back to the training grounds, wishing he could have seen them off, but it was just as well; he would simply send a raven informing them when the troops were scheduled to arrive.

On his way over, he passed the stocky Tevinter from Bull's group, Krem, who bowed just a little too deep and nodded at the Commander. Cullen nodded back but did not stop. No time to chat. Besides, he found himself not fully trusting the man.

Or his superior, for that matter. Not because he was a Qunari, but because he was a Qunari spy. He saw him watching and listening always, never too far away from Cullen’s station, and he had no doubts the Tevinter was tasked with keeping this up while his leader was out in the field.

He only wished the Herald would not spend their time with the two of them so lightly. Cullen had seen Adaar with the Tevinter during his evening meal yesterday, and the memory still left a stale taste in his throat. When he’d gone to sit down there had only been one space fairly close to the two in the tavern, and so he had taken it.

Cullen had not been able to make out a full conversation, nor had he tried to intrude, but he could not help but overhear that the Tevinter had kept chatting at the Herald with no pause, and they had laughed at every one his jokes, loud and raspy.

The man also had touched their arm seemingly casually a little too often for his liking, and Cullen had felt a twinge in his chest. Come to think of it, he had never heard them laugh like that before. It had sounded free and unrestrained somehow. He shook the thought from his mind - who was he to question the choices of the Herald of Andraste?

But he could keep an eye on this man. The safety of the Herald was paramount, after all.

Adaar rolled over in their bedroll, their mind swimming, the images of demons seared into it, their faces sneering and screeching. These new rifts were worse than any they had seen so far. Out here in the thick Ferelden forest, they had been discovered much later than the others and had been left to fester and spread.

As a result, their group had more trouble closing them all. They had put up their tents for the night near the mountainside; Bull and Varric had wanted to stay in a cave they had discovered just before, but Adaar had refused to sleep next to what had looked like very large bear remains, and so they all had made camp under the open sky instead.

Usually, they slept well under the stars, but there were none out tonight. The sky was overcast with clouds, and the night was not as cold as usual for it. Adaar often did not sleep in their tent, preferring the freedom of the vast night sky above them – they only hoped it would not rain once they had finally fallen asleep.

They sighed and rolled onto their back, listening to the fire crackle next to them, when a large figure appeared next to them out of the dark of the night. It was Bull, and Adaar was left wondering yet again how he managed to move so quietly at times.

"Can't sleep, boss?"

He sat down beside them on the ground covered with pine needles, again, almost soundlessly. Adaar rubbed the space between their brows, then waved at Bull dismissively.

"Oh no, this is just such a lovely little vacation we are having, and I wanted to enjoy every moment of it, even the nights, when something is almost certain to strike at us from the dark, you know."

Bull started laughing heartily, until Adaar punched his arm lightly.

"Shh - don't wake the others, man. What are you still doing up, anyway?"

The other Qunari scoffed.

"Oh, I wanted to admire the view as well; the South is so quaint and lovely. Besides, it is so very hard to fall asleep without any Vints ready to stab you in your sleep. I do kinda miss it sometimes."

Now Adaar had to suppress a chuckle.

"Shit, I should've brought Dorian after all - next time, I promise.”

Bull laughed again, this time a little more quietly.

"Yeah, I do miss our Vints. Hope they're doing alright at home - I’m sure they can’t wait for me to return.”

The man paused, seemingly discarding the thought, and surveyed Adaar intently.

“I saw you hanging out with Krem, by the way. Careful with that one, boss."

Adaar sat up and huffed with a mock scowl.

Real subtle as per usual, Bull.

"Uh, I can take care of myself, you know. Besides - are you saying one of your own can't be trusted, Ser?"

Adaar raised an eyebrow in exaggerated jest, but Bull stayed dead serious.

"What? No, he's a damn good man. All I'm saying is...ah, I guess you'll see for yourself. He's quick with his sword and his words, you know."

He chuckled. "No need to worry though. I got my eye on you as always, boss.”

Maybe he considered saying something else, but thought otherwise, and stood up again.

“Well, have a good night – don’t let the demons bite."

With that, he was off to his tent (which he barely fit in) and Adaar laid back down, musing how strange their situation had become - from a prisoner that saw a threat everywhere, to the ‘Herald of Andraste’ who had found some people they could almost call friends.

Dorian and Bull for one, though they didn’t know the mage very well yet, they still liked him immensely. The Qunari, who was now apparently looking out for them, and seemed to be a bit soft inside, though he took great pains not to show it, had proven to be a reliable and sensible addition to their group. Cassandra was still a tough nut to crack, but a good person through and through. Josephine and Varric were both lovely - the dwarf was snoring next to them in his tent right now, and Cassandra likely went over some more tactics for the next fight – her tent still had a lamp lit inside it.

Even the Commander didn't seem as bad anymore - he was almost civil at times. Adaar yawned and turned over, trying not to imagine hearing too many demons rustle in the undergrowth next to them as they fell asleep, for once almost content.

Chapter Text

There was already a lot of bustle and shouting going on outside his tent this early in the day, which sent sharp pains up his spine and behind his eyes. Maker, was there never a day where this would get at least a little bit easier? The sun had not even fully risen, and he already felt dead tired.

It should be easier by now.

Cullen rose slowly, tried to get his messy hair under control with the water in his wash basin, splashed some on his face and stepped outside.

People were running back and forth, and he tried to focus on something, but his vision took a while to get used to the bright daylight. It was a clear, sunny day, and his surroundings could have been considered beautiful if there hadn’t been so much unrest all around him. He saw a number of servants carrying an array of herbs and bandages toward the town and got an uneasy feeling. Everyone was entirely too hurried.

This can't be good.

He heard footsteps approaching rapidly behind him and swiftly turned, only to crash into someone. He sharply drew in air through his teeth and scowled at the messenger, a young lad whose eyes were now fixed on him, wide.

"What is the matter with you, recruit?! What's so damn important you couldn't stop in your tracks in time before you ran straight into me?!"

He felt bad for yelling at the boy, who did now look like he was about to cry, but the sharp pain in his head had started the anger roiling in him and his temper was short today, too short for any of this foolishness.

"Commander. My deepest apologies. It's...it's the Herald, Ser. They have returned."

Cullen felt a wave of relief wash over him - it had been too long, longer than usual this time, before the Herald had gotten back and they had all started to worry these last couple of days. There hadn't even been any word back from the raven he'd sent, which was highly unusual. Someone usually found the time to reply, not too seldomly the Herald themself.

The lad was still standing in front of him, fidgeting with his sleeve.

"Was there something else? Maker's breath, out with it!"

This only made the boy more nervous though, and he stammered out a hurried "They're...unwell, I think, Ser. Adan is taking care of them."

And with a short bow, before the Commander could react, he was off.

Cullen felt heat rise up in the pits of his stomach.

Unwell? Does that mean hurt? If so, how badly?

It must be more than the usual bruises if Adan was involved personally. He started toward the healer's hut instantly, a thousand thoughts rushing into his mind. Cullen took two steps at once going up the stairs, pushing some gawking recruits out of the way.

Maker, please let them be alright.

At the crossroads, he ran into Varric, who looked like he had not slept for several days. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was uncharacteristically pale, perhaps even a bit gaunt. Cullen’s insides constricted as the dwarf shot him a piercing gaze, without any of the jauntiness he usually greeted him.

“Commander.”

No jokes, no subtle taunts. This was not a good sign. Cullen came to a halt before the other man, and shot him an expectant look. The usually so incessantly chatty man did not speak, however.

“Varric – you’re back. How did…”

He trailed off and somehow found it impossible to keep going. Varric still did not speak and instead looked up at him, somewhat sad. Cullen felt like he was about to lose it.

“What’s going on?”

The dwarf finally found his words again, it seemed.

“You’ve heard. Listen, I won’t lie to you – it’s not good, Cullen.”

No Curly? No other mocking nicknames or remarks that made light of his posture or manners? Cullen started to feel faint.

“What isn’t? What in blazes happened?”

Varric scowled and crossed his arms before his chest, which was entirely too exposed. The gold hem on his tunic sparkled in the morning sun as if to mock him.

“You need to stay calm, alright? We all do. They’re in good hands, it’s just…”

When he trailed off again and stared into the fire beside him with a grimace, Cullen realized he wasn’t going to get anything useful out of him and started in the direction of Adan’s hut, not even bothering to say goodbye. The dwarf shouted something in his direction, but he was too far away already to make out the words.

Cullen tried his best not to appear too rushed, taking quick, long strides instead of running, so as not to spread more panic among the frazzled troops, but all and any looks he got along the way were not encouraging.

The light was dim in the healer's cabin when he entered, and Cullen tried to get his eyes to adjust, still none the wiser. The blasted mages who were standing outside had given him no useful information either, while the Tevinter and the elf had just looked at him solemnly and strangely. He had entered a little too fast, though, and immediately felt nauseated in the room laden with scents of various spices and a humidity level that was uncomfortably high.

It smelled of a multitude of herbs and tinctures, and the air was thick and stale, mixed with the unmistakable scent of blood. Through it all cut a sharp voice which was apparently directed at him.

"Close the damn door! What are you doing?!"

Cullen perceived the words like through a thick haze. Someone tried to usher him out, but he pushed them aside, moving further back into the room, and so the door was shut behind him by someone else. As his vision finally adjusted to the dark inside, he saw them.

The Herald was stretched out on the cot in front of him, looking sickly. Their skin was an unnatural shade of pale green. Cullen had trouble staying on his feet for a moment at the sight. They looked all too much like a corpse.

"You can't be in here, Commander!"

Someone tried to lead him outside again, pulling at his arm, but Cullen only gave them a short shove - it was the Sister who was helping the healer. He barely took notice of the woman.

Cullen stepped closer to the bed and noticed Adan standing there bowing over the Qunari, who appeared to be unconscious. Their face, however, seemed to be distorted with pain nonetheless.

"Are...they alright, Adan?"

The healer looked up, seemingly registering Cullen's presence for the first time.

"What are you doing in here? Get out, Commander, I'll see you when I'm done."

Cullen felt anger rise within him, and the trouble he had breathing in here didn’t make it better.

"Damn it, speak man, are they...alive?"

He growled the last words and Adan seemed taken aback.

"Andraste's tits, yes! Now, if you're not leaving, at least be quiet!"

He bowed back down and removed a woollen blanket from the Herald's pale body. They looked almost not like a living person anymore, and more like a wax figure, and entirely too fragile despite their muscular build. Cullen felt his face drain of all blood and his stomach turned again. There was a long, fairly deep gash running down the Herald's side, and it had festered. Dried blood stained their clothes and skin, and there was a lot of it, still seeping out slowly in strange, thick drips.

He knew instantly that this could not be a normal wound. Only one thing caused injuries like that, and it was demons.

Leading away from the wound in multiple directions, veins were visible in a concentric pattern, but they looked too thick and had taken on a sickening shade of purple. The edges of the jagged cut were a dark, unhealthy red.

There were bandages covering them in multiple other places too, bloodstained and soggy with herbal tinctures, and he suddenly realized there was not much else covering them. His vision blurred again as he turned on his heel entirely too quickly on impulse and staggered outside.

A rush of blood now returned to his head, and he felt himself blush over both ears.

Maker's breath, what was I thinking?

Cullen felt a sense of helplessness take over. Never had he seen the Herald like this before, not even close to this state. Gone were all their strength and vigor, their unrelenting energy and fierceness. They seemed more like a sick child or an eldery invalid. Cullen rubbed at his forehead, which was beaded with sweat now.

The healer's assistant had followed him outside and Cullen turned to her in shock when she cleared his throat behind him.

"What...what happened?"

The woman tutted but sounded sympathetic.

"They're going to be fine, Commander. Adan knows what he's doing, but he needs peace to work. I need to go back inside, too. Now please, give them some space, will you?"

Cullen nodded and swallowed hard. Someone was approaching him from behind, and when the woman had disappeared through the door again, he looked over to see it was Cassandra. She looked just as exhausted and worn as Varric had.

"Andraste preserve us - what happened, Seeker?"

The woman slowly shook her head, looking forlorn. He could see she had sustained several injuries as well, which were patched up only roughly, but she was apparently not too concerned about them.

“We were just in the process of closing another rift. They were much worse than we had anticipated, Commander.”

Cullen dreaded what would come next, but not hearing it would have been worse. He steeled himself for her words, but they felt like a punch in the gut nonetheless.

"Some of the soldiers who were tasked with helping to close the rifts joined us in the forest. They were overwhelmed, as well.

A young recruit was in over his head - the Herald saw and...stepped between him and the demon. They got the brunt of the force, which likely saved his life."

Cullen's hands were trembling, and his back felt clammy with sweat.

"That's not...they shouldn't..."

Cassandra's face was hard and tired, and she had trouble keeping upright.

"Well, they did. They're going to be fine, Commander, we patched them up as best we could, then came here straight away. Adan is a skilled healer, and he is doing what he can.

Now come, there is an urgent meeting waiting in the war room."

With that, the woman was off to the Chantry and Cullen felt unable to move for a few heartbeats, the milky pale body of the Herald still seared into his mind. Slowly, he gathered his remaining wits and made his way over as well.

The meeting had consisted largely of confused and grim reports about the gigantic rifts in the forest; apparently, they had managed to seal almost all of them with a tremendous effort, before this incident with the Herald had occurred. Cassandra had ordered the troops to retreat, and they would need to go back again.

It seemed far too soon to even think about returning, but the others were now engrossed in discussing the timelines and tactics of just that.

His skin crawled with goosebumps at the thought of the wound in the Herald's side. They were risking their life out there every day, and they were one mage. The only one able to seal these rifts and – the Inquisition could simply not afford to lose them. It seemed entirely too much for just one person.

He would need to give his soldiers a good talking to that they were not to interfere with the Herald's work, and that the Herald came first - always.

Stupid. Why would they do this?

"Commander, everyone was simply doing their job. We were all exhausted from days of fighting and it just...happened."

The Seeker seemed to have read his mind and looked at him pleadingly from across the war table.

"Just happened? This is not acceptable. This can not happen, ever! What if they - “

He rose from his seat too quickly and had to shut his eyes as sharp pains shot through him and lights danced before his eyes.

Nobody answered - everyone seemed to be as much in shock as he was. The meeting was largely concluded as far as he was concerned, and he could not sit around any more.

Cullen rushed outside, stopped for a moment in the morning sun unable to find a clear thought in his head, then found himself wandering over to Adan's hut again. When he arrived there, he asked himself what in Andraste's name he was planning to do, when the door suddenly swung open and Adan stepped outside, wiping his hands of blood. Lots of it.

He felt weak in the legs, grinding his teeth; his breath coming only shallow and ragged, as he walked up to the man.

"Commander."

Adan nodded at him, while his face gave away nothing. The man could be maddeningly stoic at times.

"I...how are they?"

He could hardly make himself stay to hear the answer.

"The Herald is stable, no thanks to you."

Cullen felt like he was about to collapse.

"Oh, thank the Maker!"

He grabbed hold of one of the wooden beams on the cabin to steady himself and felt a wave of relief wash over him.

"Don't go thanking the bloody Maker - I did all the work."

Adan looked at him from where he was leaning against the doorframe, and his face softened a bit.

"They are awake, if you want to see them. Only shortly though, you hear! And no yelling, or any other loud noises!"

Cullen nodded at the man, pushed himself off the wall and drifted toward the door, but was stopped again by Adan before he could enter.

"Hold on now. How are you doing, Commander? You seem exceedingly irritable today. Is it that bad? I can give you something for that, you know."

Cullen only looked at him and nodded again, weakly.

"Later."

With that, he shouldered past the healer and entered the cabin again.

Adan's assistant was still inside, and she huffed when she saw the Commander.

"Did Adan say you could come inside?!"

Cullen wrung his hands in embarrassment.

"Yes. I...apologize about before. Can I see them?"

The woman shook her head and got up from her stool by the bed.

"Five minutes!", she hissed over her shoulder as she left him in the dimly lit, stuffy room.

He looked over at the cot, his hands shaking quite heavily now. Nothing in the room seemed to stir beside him.

Cullen stood there for a moment, staring at the Herald, who was covered up to their chin by a white blanket, like in a cocoon - thankfully, as Cullen was not sure that he could stand the sight of them in that helpless state, and that poisoned wound again.

"...Herald?"

He spoke in a hushed tone that he was not even sure he heard himself, but they apparently noticed and turned their head weakly.

Their eyes opened slowly. They were sunken in and red, but Adaar saw him.

"Commander…hello."

He approached with a pounding heart and sat on the little wooden seat next to the bed, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

"I hear you're giving our healer grief, Commander. Do you not want me to come back from this?"

They chuckled in a low raspy voice, and Cullen collapsed forward where he sat, letting his head fall into his hands with heaving breaths.

They were alright. They were alive. For a moment it had seemed like...

He felt a light touch to his knee, almost not enough to register, but he recognized it and looked up instantly.

"Are you alright, Commander? You look...terrible."

He could not help it, that was too much. Cullen started laughing, silently and dryly. Was he alright? Definitely not. But the Herald was alive and apparently well, and that was all that mattered.

Adaar sighed deeply, which hurt more than they had anticipated, and they let out a low hiss. Apparently, the damned demons had had some kind of poison on their claws, and it had sunk deep within their body, as Adan had kindly informed them. This was not good news; they had never heard of anything like it.

"You need rest!" was all Adaar heard, every day, morn till nightfall. With Adan’s healing skills and Solas' spells, they felt good as new after two days already, but the healer would not have it.

"You are still weak. Rest up - or so help me!"

So they obliged, even though the itching of their wound was close to driving them up the wall, and they stayed in bed, not even able to have a conversation or read, since their head needed rest as well, apparently.

But after day four of nothing but rest (which was really day eight, as they had been informed – Adaar had just been lucid enough to remember the last four), it finally got too much for Adaar and they got up from the bed in their cabin, where they had been moved after they felt stable enough. The room swam a bit at first, sure, but oh - it was good to be up again.

They washed their face briefly and staggered toward the door, where the guard they had positioned outside jumped at the sound of it opening, and held out her hands in front of her.

"No, Herald, you're not supposed to be up! Please, go back to bed! Let me get Adan and -"

Adaar groaned and waved her off.

"Oh…hell no. Anyone but him. Also, I am leaving. Step aside."

The poor guard protested a few more times, then took off toward the town when she realized that Adaar would not be dissuaded. It was early morning and likely time for a war table meeting.

How wonderful!

They could barely contain their giddiness. Birds were singing slightly off-key around them, and had the sun always been this weird green tint? Either way, it was so good to be out of the cabin, and on their feet again. Adaar had come very close to dying from boredom, and this in contrast seemed like a racy adventure.

I can't wait to see them all, Josephine and Leliana and even the Commander, oh, how grand - to have a real conversation! With actual people!

They realized after a few paces that they maybe felt a bit light-headed, but it did not matter, anything was better than being confined to that bed even a minute longer. Adaar thought that the healer probably had them on some strong mixture to mitigate the pain, and they felt great.

People stood around town gathered here and there and were stopping in their tracks to stare at the Herald as they felt like they floated toward the Chantry.

Oh, I can't wait to see their dear faces!

They hastened through the dim corridor, then swung the heavy iron door open, ignoring the next guard's pleas, and, oh - the faces inside the war room were a sight to see indeed.

Adaar realized through the thick wool their brain seemed to be packed into that they had heard shouting from inside the war room, and things appeared indeed heated, but everyone froze in place and mid-sentence when they saw Adaar, swaying in the door frame and sweating profusely.

"Maker - somebody help, quick!"

Josephine was the first to react, and Adaar suddenly saw the Commander round the table in a hurry and rush toward them after he’d been nudged by her.

"Hello, Commander. How goes the - "

He grabbed Adaar by their shoulders and gently pushed them down into a chair, which cut off their train of thought abruptly.

"What in the Maker's Graces are you doing up?!"

Leliana quickly paced over as well, followed by Josephine, and Adaar stared at them with confusion from their seated position.

"I...couldn't stay in bed any longer. Can I pleeease be part of the meeting? Just a little?"

Adaar gave them what they thought were puppy eyes, but everyone seemed cold and unmoved by it, so they must have been doing it wrong.

"Absolutely not! You need rest, Herald!"

Josephine felt Adaar's forehead with the back of her hand and appeared concerned.

"What are these guards doing?!"

"Not their job apparently!", Cassandra replied. They all seemed very displeased with the situation, so Adaar grabbed the Ambassador's hand pleadingly.

"Oh come on, it's not like they could really stop me if they wanted to, Josephinster.”

They had to suppress a giggle - to show they were serious and focused enough to participate.

“Please, can I just stay for this one? I am bored out of my mind!"

But the Antivan could not be swayed.

"We are done here for today, Herald."

As if on cue, the healer entered, with a handful of guards in tow.

"Adan, would you see them back to their quarters, please!"

The man nodded at the Ambassador, and Adaar let out a groan. Not back to bed. But the others were merciless.

"Come, Herald - please."

He helped them get to their feet with considerable effort and two of the guards involved (Adaar was not of lithe frame) and half-carried them out of the room. One of them wanted to put one of their arms over his shoulders, but Adaar resisted.

"I'm too heavy for you anyway."

He sighed and took their arm in his instead, which Adaar grabbed and held onto for dear life. Outside, the sun was glaring at them, and they felt a sting behind their eyes, suddenly getting weak.

"Oh. I think I should perhaps lie down."

And down they went, like a sack of flour.

Cullen had gone through too many reports during the day, and his eyes felt dry. It was nearing nightfall, and he had trouble focusing on any of the words. All day, only one thought had plagued his mind: How was the Herald doing?

After their war meeting had been cut short by the Qunari's surprise entrance, he had gone on to other logistic duties, and there was never a shortage of those. He was done with all of them now, and they had not been as good a distraction as he’d hoped. With a sigh, he put down the papers in his hand. There was only one thing that interested him right now.

Some people stared when they saw the Commander briskly striding over to the Herald's cabin, but they quickly went on their way when they saw the look on his face.

Maker's breath. Hopefully not too many had seen the Herald in their agitated, wounded state. But Cullen knew that indeed enough of them had seen today’s events for gossip and uncertainty to spread.

But that was all unimportant, compared to their health. Finally, he had found some time to check in on the Herald, and he would not let himself be distracted by anything right now.

Cullen gently opened the Herald's cabin door and stepped over the threshold. Inside, the light was dim, but not unpleasant. He found the Qunari lying on a bed of down, buried underneath many blankets. He considered leaving again when there was no reaction, but his curiosity won.

"Herald? Are you...awake?"

First, there was no answer, not even movement in the bed, but he could see the horns peeking out of the covers and slightly shift.

Cullen stood in the room, inadvertently realizing he had never been inside the Herald's quarters before. It was cozy, he thought, and there were things he recognized as their belongings here and there. The room also had a certain smell to it, which was not unpleasant, but he could not place it. He swallowed.

"I can...come back later."

The Herald suddenly shot up from the bed suddenly, and Cullen startled.

"Commander!"

The Qunari perked up in an instant and looked at him with the wide, glassy eyes of someone under the influence of a lot of medication. Perhaps a good fever was in the mix, too.

"I - did not mean to disturb you. I only wanted to check on you, too see if you were feeling alright, after...this morning. But maybe this is not a good time."

The Herald waved him over urgently, and Cullen suddenly regretted coming here. They seemed just a little too eager to speak to him, a little too glad too see him. But it was good seeing them up, he had to admit.

"No, please stay, I can't take this boredom anymore. I feel like I'm going insane. Come here."

Adaar patted the side of their bed with a glazed look.

Hesitantly but dutifully, he brought over a chair and sat down next to them, and somehow it felt like he was doing something forbidden.

"What...do you need, Herald?"

They fell back down in the bed and threw an arm over their face in a dramatic flourish.

"Just talk to me. Please. I feel like I haven't had any contact with the outside world in weeks."

He slowly began to fill them in on the war table meetings they had missed, though he doubted they would remember much after this talk. Adan really had them on strong pain medicine. They giggled strangely and turned over onto their side to face him after a while, and he knew they had not been listening.

"You have...a good voice Commander. I've always liked it. So deep and...somber."

Their eyes fell shut slowly, with a content expression on their face and he felt a bolt of lightning shoot through him.

What?!

They are delirious, he told himself, and he chided himself for staying this long.

Time to go.

Cullen got up a little too abruptly, and the chair fell over behind him with a clattering sound.

They noticed his attempt to leave, shot up in bed again with a speed he wouldn't have thought possible for someone in their state, and grabbed his hand above the wrist. Cullen froze in place. The Qunari was simply lying there, holding on to his arm seemingly unaware.

"Herald..."

They opened their eyes again and stared at him with a feverish gaze, apparently only now realizing that he was still there. For a while, they knitted their brows and studied his face intently, though he was unsure that they were really taking note of anything that happened right now. After a while, the look on their face changed to a somewhat solemn one, as if they’d just come to a very important conclusion.

"You're a good man. Everything about you is…good."

They chuckled again, low and raspy, and his breathing began to quicken. He only wanted out, this was not right, none of this was. He shouldn't have come, he should never have seen them in this state.

"You know how I know?"

Somehow, Cullen found himself unable to wrestle free from the Herald's grip. They were not holding on with their anything close to their full strength, but he was afraid of hurting them in their weakened condition.

"You have kind eyes. I wish I could - "

Adaar pulled him closer to the bed suddenly, with more force than he thought them able to muster in this wounded and drugged shape, and he lost his footing for a moment. Cullen stumbled forward, and grabbed hold of the head of the bed with his free hand, unable to breathe.

Their face was now so very close to his, and they lifted the other hand, slowly and with no small amount of effort it seemed (just how were they able to move so fast before?), placing it on his cheek. Their palm was hot and dry, but the fingertips were ice cold somehow.

He felt time stand still and panic rise within him.

No.

He could not be here. This could not be happening. How was this happening?

The Herald did not speak anymore. He only felt the warm, soft skin against his own, and his breath only came in shallow gasps. He wanted to leave again, but found himself unable to move, not because they were restraining him, but because all strength had left him.

Their face had taken on a soft expression, their eyes seemed to look deep within him, and he felt entirely naked as they looked into his eyes, right through every barrier he had ever built up.

"See? Kind."

A small smile crept over their lips before they lowered their hand again and let go of his. In that moment, he heard the door behind him open and whipped around wide-eyed, to see Adan standing there with a basket full of herbs. The man seemed puzzled.

"Is...everything alright? What are you doing in here, Commander? They’re not ready for any visitors."

Cullen looked down at Adaar again, who seemingly had fallen asleep now, then simply turned and walked past Adan and out the door wordlessly, his whole body buzzing.

Chapter Text

"Come closer now, little boy, don't be scared. I have such pretty games I wish to play with you."

The voice lulling him into a feeling of safety and peace was like poisoned honey, thick and sickly sweet in the darkness. Cullen swallowed, hard; he knew it had to be a trap. But the face...it was her face...surely she wouldn't lie to him.

The woman before him beckoned him closer with a beguiling look and there seemed to be a shimmer surrounding her, a halo of cold glimmering rich silver.

And Maker, she was beautiful.

It drew him in like a magnet, and all he wanted was to be encircled in it too, to be part of the light in the darkness around them.

Hesitantly but like in a trance, he stepped up to her lithe figure, which was now drenched in light. Cullen's gaze was fixed on her, the image of pure beauty and grace. Something in his heart was awakened by her, something he had thought to be dead already.

A longing that was ancient and pure and wild rose inside his soul – a longing to be held, to be safe and close to this being of light, to become part of her power.

"Did you miss me, little boy?"

Her voice was pure like new glass, like cold lake water rippling over his skin, and it drowned out every other thought in his mind.

Was this magic? Perhaps, but he could not care less. She was too beautiful too all-encompassing, too warm, and he felt so at home here.

"Y...yes, I did. I always do. You...know I do."

Slowly, he approached her even further, but he soon felt an eerie, uncomfortable heat rising at his core - something was not quite right about this.

Cullen knew he had seen her before, but somehow that seemed too good to be true. Surely nothing so beautiful and wondrous had entered his life before.

"Come, now, don’t fret. Let me embrace you, darling."

He stopped abruptly just before her, his face now burning hot. Oh, he did so want this, but she...there was something about her - something was not right. If only he could remember...

"What's the matter, dear? Don't you love me anymore?"

Cullen honestly couldn't recall if he did, all he knew was he wanted this, and it was wrong, but, oh, he yearned for it still...maybe even more because of it. He felt his cheeks flush, his body stiffen, and the woman's face took on a strange expression, impatient almost.

He felt embarrassed, like a child that was about to be scolded.

"Come now."

The woman's face was glowing from within, her eyes emeralds set in cold fire, and the last thing he wanted was to disappoint her. She looked up Cullen with a mixture of pity and loving patience.

"Oh, you Templar boys, always so chaste. But you are lying to yourself, are you not, little boy?

You are not that pristine after all. I see the dark thoughts in your head...and oh, such wicked thoughts they are.

What a rotten mind you have."

Her last words seemed to echo around him, becoming solid and ensnaring him with unseen tendrils and sinking small sticky hooks into him, numbing him all over.

Now he knew this was not right, and panic bubbled within him. She was not...this was not... And with a clarity that seemed like a slap in the face, he remembered, as if after years, repressed memories now resurfaced, all at once.

"No...Neria, you're....you're dead."

The woman sneered and her face quivered under the sheen of light, as if something else was about to break through.

"Well, does it matter? I am here now, little Templar. Come - take what you so want, what you've always wanted."

He was convinced. It might not be real, but this was all he had and if he could have it, only for a moment, he wanted it, had to have it - now.

He stepped into the core of light surrounding her, and it encased him like thick fresh cream. Her touch was warm, her skin oh, so soft as she embraced him. He never wanted to let go; this was where he could die if need be.

Quietly, and with a hoarse metallic scratching in her voice, he now heard her chuckle. Slowly, he looked up at her face - had she always been this tall?

Cullen now saw it was not Neria the Warden at all. Her face...he knew it had been wrong, it was...Maker, no, were those....horns? He panicked.

A demon.

The figure laughed, shrill and cruel.

Cullen tried to step back, get out of this poisoned embrace, but the creature had him tightly in its grip. Would he be denied even this simple short moment of peace?

"No...Neria, please..."

But it was not the kind elven woman's face looking at him now, it was someone else. The sight seemed familiar somehow - those eyes...

"Don't you like me anymore, Commander? I know you are enjoying this - maybe a little too much, in fact."

And suddenly, with full force, he recognized them, it was...no, Andraste, no, please...it was not a demon's horns on the figure holding him, but it was also not Neria, or some perverted version of her.

It..

Maker, it's the Herald.

"Such foul thoughts your mind comes up with, boy. Was one not enough? You needed to come back for more, didn't you? Well, I don't mind...you're soft, and so tasty, little Templar."

Cullen was shaking like a leaf. This was not right - no, it's not real. It couldn't be. And yet, their arms were holding him just like he’d always wanted to be touched, in the many cold, lonely nights he’d stayed awake by himself.

"Don't be shy little boy, you need it, don't you? You need to feel it again. Oh, it has been so long. I am glad you let yourself feel this again, dear."

Its grip on him tightened even more and he felt himself gasp for air, choking in the miasma that surrounded them now.

"Please...no.."

The Herald's voice, which had lulled him into a stupor wherein all strength left him suddenly changed, and it felt hot where they touched, too hot to bear. In a deep roar, the demon laughed at him, and he could feel sharp claws digging inside his back, but had no voice to scream with.

"You're the one who keeps coming back for more, boy."

It hurt; Maker, it always did. Searing, slicing, tearing into him while sheer terror filled his every thought and choked his lungs until they threatened to collapse, til it got too much to bear; and with a gasp, he sat up.

Cold sweat covered him, his head was swimming with fear while his heart pounded in his chest and his hands shook as if he was about to freeze to death.

A dream. It was just a dream.

Cullen tried to catch his breath as if he had been running for miles.

He ran a hand across his face and tried to his bearings. Would this never stop? Every other night she came back to haunt him.

No, not her.

A demon. Mocking his once soft, childish feelings and his pain, as she’d done for years...and now...

His face burned hot as embers as he thought of the demon in the image of the Herald...so close to him.

Shame spread within him. This was wholly unworthy. He would need to pray for the Maker to help him strengthen his spirit. He could not let these lying, foul demons in any more. Not like this.

Dazed, Cullen stepped out of his tent into the early sunlight. The day was already a lively bustle, and he was ravenous. The cool breeze from the lake shook the heavy thoughts from his mind somewhat, and he started toward the town, trying to steady his hands and his shaky breath.

Some recruits were saluting him, and a messenger stopped to hand him papers mid-square before the flight of stairs just past the gate.

Cullen listened to the report summary from the woman impatiently, then sent her off and leafed through the papers. It was a lot of information, but it was all fairly good as far as he could see; the efforts in the Hinterlands were finally progressing and they would need to...

A shuffle of feet and a cheerful voice shook him from his contemplation as he stood in the square, deep in thoughts, and his head snapped up.

"Good morning, Commander. Heavy reading, this early?"

He lifted his eyes with an annoyed scowl - he did not like to be interrupted, and his recruits should know that by now. But, oh, it was not a soldier addressing him.

For a moment he stared at the person in front of him as he found himself unable to reply. The images from his wretched dream were all at once before him again, and with them racing through his head, like an unstoppable fleeing horse, the heat rose up his neck. Cullen tried to steady himself and cleared his throat to try and look a little bit less of a complete fool.

"Herald. Good morning."

He bowed and a slight smirk seemed to appear on their face, which he registered with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"You're up. Are you...feeling better?"

Again, his vision started to swim with images burning behind his forehead.

You needed to come back for more, didn't you?

He swallowed and looked at the Herald wordlessly for a moment, his hands clutching the papers, his body frozen in place and buzzing with a nervous, uneasy energy.

Finally, they replied, sounding a little tired but otherwise good-tempered, compared to the strange mood the night he had last seen them.

It had been a few days, but that moment seemed ever present in his mind.

"I am a lot better, thank you. It's good to be out again.”

He waited for any indication that they were about to address the uncomfortable incident in their cabin, but if they tried to gloss over any awkwardness, they were doing so very well.

“I am starving. Care to accompany me to breakfast? I bet you haven't even eaten yet, and you're already working."

Adaar clicked their tongue in what he thought to be a mocking manner, but their face seemed to be without malice.

You have kind eyes.

He drew in a breath and tried yet again to steady his hands which still shook despite his best efforts.

"Yes, Herald. Of course. I was headed there myself."

He managed to say the words without too much emotion, though they tumbled out with little control from his dry mouth.

Adaar shook their head and held out a hand, mentioning to the reports he was holding.

Close, too close. 

"Give me those. It's too early for that - the sun's barely up."

He tried to protest wordlessly, but of course, they would not relent and so he dutifully handed the stack of papers over.

"You'll get those back after we've put some food in you."

Defeated, he sighed and walked to the tavern with them, now feeling entirely without guard after having handed the reports over, and his hands started fidgeting again.

Cullen could not find any words in the leaden silence they ate in and kept glancing over at the papers, desperate for a distraction from his racing thoughts in the stuffy tavern where he felt somewhat trapped.

He heard the Herald chuckle and looked up.

"I see you eyeing those, Commander. Man, don't you ever stop working?"

Cullen sighed and put down his fork, barely able to eat anyway as despite his hunger, an uneasy queasiness clutched his stomach.

"There is much to do, your Worship."

Adaar groaned quietly and fell back in their chair.

"Please, it's too early for such formalities."

While both were silent for a moment, they surveyed his face, making him avert his gaze.

"Aren't you tired? You look tired."

Cullen felt electrified by their voice, recalling the demon copying it in his dreams no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, and he tried to straighten his back, his thoughts reaching a boiling point in his head.

Such pretty games I wish to play with you. 

He shuddered, and was pretty sure they had seen it.

"I am fine, Herald. Do not concern yourself. It will not impact my performance."

Adaar snorted while leaning forward to sip their coffee and shot him an incredulous look over the mug.

"Alright, Commander. First of all, I'm not too concerned about your...performance."

At this, they raised an eyebrow sarcastically.

"Second, that's because you're a human, a person, and not a magical construct which you expect to just function.

And third - man, you are a terrible liar."

Adaar laughed and he felt each word seared into his skin, each sound like a slap across the face.

They're...mocking you.

He looked down wordlessly and pushed himself back from the table with a grim expression.

"Herald. If that is all, I need to get back to work."

You're a good man.

So they had been making fun of him and, fool that he was, he had not seen it. He felt a sting in his chest.

"Commander?"

He looked up and his expression must have given away his hurt feelings despite his best efforts to conceal them.

"You... ah, fuck."

Adaar put their hands in their lap and shook their head.

"I'm sorry, I'm not my most eloquent in the morning. I'm just...look, I didn't come to offend you, Commander."

He shot them a wary look, and they chuckled dryly, sending further daggers into his constricted chest.

"I, ugh, I meant to do quite the opposite actually. I need... to apologize for how I behaved."

Cullen's heart skipped a beat, and his ears started ringing as he heard their next words, dampened through a whooshing sound of blood pounding in his head.

No, please, no, he only wanted to forget that had ever happened. But the Herald continued, undeterred.

"I don't really remember a lot, only that I interrupted a war room meeting and I must've talked a whole lot of nonsense..."

Cullen's breath was shallow, his mouth dry. 

See? Kind.

They looked at him and fidgeted under the table.

"I uh, I heard you visited me afterward. If I...said anything rude or...?"

He only wanted to leave now, or perhaps to sink into the floor and never resurface, but he did not, and Adaar kept going.

"Look - whatever I said, you shouldn't take at face value. It was probably garbage, and I'm sorry for saying it."

You're a good man. Everything about you is good.

Cullen scoffed lightly and Adaar was silent for a moment.

"That bad, huh?"

He was ready to be done with this, but the Herald shot him an expectant look. All the strength seemed to have left him, and he felt incredibly tired.

"It...was actually quite kind."

Now they let out a dry laugh.

"Well, that must've been by mistake."

Enough.

Cullen rose, and the Herald jumped up with him.

"Whoa, hold on!"

He reached for the papers, but they put their hand onto the stack, way too close to his hand yet again, sending a shiver up his spine.

"That was a joke, Commander. Shit, I'm really bad at this. Look, if you want to tell me what..."

He lifted his hand off the papers, and they let go of the stack as well, surprise and confusion on their face.

"It does not bear repeating, Herald. Do not concern yourself with it, please. Good day."

Huh. Now that had gone extremely well.

You idiot. You absolute fucking moron.

But was it really their fault the Commander was so completely without humor?

Fuck. You know that’s not the point.

No, it wasn't his fault. What the hell had happened that day they'd decided to leave their cabin in a feverish daze and go on a little excursion into town? Adaar finished their coffee hastily - they were already late.

The meeting, which they were indeed late for, went by in an exceedingly awkward manner. Adaar had kept looking at Cullen and his face had given away nothing, his answers were professional and short, but never really addressed to them. Adaar was at a loss. What a terribly frustrating man this Commander was.

Josephine and Leliana seemed to take note of the tense air, but mercifully, they did not address it. When they had finally finished, the Commander rushed out wordlessly and Adaar was only too happy to get out themself. They tried to keep up with him for a moment but it was impossible, he practically sprinted off.

Maybe I should not press this further.

Adaar stopped and huffed, as they heard someone come up beside them and turned. It was Dorian, looking effortlessly gorgeous as always. How he did this in a camp in the mountains, full of hay and soot, was beyond Adaar who regularly looked like an old ratty dirty dish towel themself.

"Hello, Herald. What has the Commander's knickers in a bunch today? I greeted him when he left the tavern this morning, and the sound I got as a reply was barely human. He's lucky he's so pretty, otherwise I might be sore."

Adaar shook their head and rubbed a temple, thinking back to their disastrous morning chat.

"Dorian...he's...he just has a lot of work right now."

The man scoffed and crossed his arms in his standoffish, scolding manner.

"Oh, Adaar, what did you do? Sounds like you are in trouble! Did you offend Andraste's pyre or commit a similar verbal atrocity?"

Adaar sighed, not in the mood to address this right this moment at all.

Furthermore, they now saw Josephine come toward them, and cursed themself for not taking off like the Commander.

"Herald. Good morning, Dorian. Well, that was...arduous."

The Antivan shook her curls and looked at the two of them exasperated.

“Do you have any insight on what just transpired? It seemed there was some tension between the two of you.”

Adaar wished they had never gotten up today. But it was no use, these two would not relent, they knew. The look on Dorian’s face said he would not walk away until he’d heard every part of this juicy piece of gossip.

"I...think I might have said something in my painkiller-induced haze that I shouldn't have. Josephine, what in blazes did I do?"

The Ambassador shook her head solemnly, and her hands were now folded together neatly before her, which always meant trouble.

"Nothing more than stagger into a meeting while I was there, but I cannot say what transpired afterwards, Herald."

She seemed very displeased by all of this, and Adaar felt like a reprimanded child.

"I'm sorry. I think…I should go talk to him."

Dorian started laughing, loud and sarcastically.

"If you dare, Herald. You might find this monster a bit harder to slay than the ones you usually fight, but I wish you luck!"

He held up his hands in a teasing manner and started to take off, apparently having heard enough.

Adaar scoffed.

"You're lucky you're pretty or I'd plant a boot in that face at least once a day. You're no help at all!"

Josephine gasped lightly beside them as the Tevinter chuckled and traipsed off toward the tavern.

"Sorry, Ambassador."

They looked at the woman sheepishly, but could also see she enjoyed all this drama to a degree.

"You should go talk to him, Herald. He can be...somewhat obstinate at times and we have too much to do for him to get in a mood."

With that, she bowed and headed back to the Chantry, leaving Adaar none the wiser. They cursed under their breath.

I guess I have to figure this one out by myself.

The day went by at a snail’s pace. The weather was unnaturally hot for the season, and the air more stale than usual.

Adaar had spent it finally getting their gear repaired (Nasty gash there, Worship. Will take me a while to fix.) and gathering all the supplies they would need before heading out to the Hinterlands again.

They shivered slightly at the thought, but it was no use, of course. Those two last fade rifts could not be left to ravage the country and spew out demons that would attack travelers in the woods unchecked. For now, there were troops stationed around them at a safe distance to keep civilians away, but that was obviously not a permanent solution.

As they headed back to their cabin from the stables, they saw that the troops' training had just finished, and soldiers were getting ready to get supper. In the midst of it, as always, sat the Commander, wiping his sword with a cloth. On his face, they could see a deep scowl darkening his face.

Oh, the recruits must have had a blast today.

Adaar stood a few paces away and looked over to the man. Then, with a heavy sigh, they walked over.

No time like the present. 

He apparently did not hear them approach and was still engrossed in cleaning his sword. He rubbed his neck in a nervous, irritated manner when they were already standing behind him. Adaar coughed lightly to get his attention, dreading his reaction already.

"Commander."

He looked around bewildered and the scowl on his face only deepened when he saw Adaar.

"Herald. Was there something you needed?"

They shifted from one foot to the other and scratched the base of their horns on their forehead. After a moment of silence, he looked away and at his sword again, seeming impatient and tired. Adaar cleared their throat.

Get on with it, you stupid ox.

"I...I wanted to..."

Damn it, why was this so freaking hard? He gave Adaar a weak look and they could have slapped themself.

"I wanted to apologize."

With a sigh, he finally sheathed his sword and got up from the wooden stool on the pier.

"Please. Do not concern yourself with it."

His voice was a low, dismissive tone that was maybe meant to sound neutral and factual, but they could hear the anger below it.

"If that is all, I need to be going."

Oh no. You're not getting away again.

Adaar held out a hand and he stopped as if on command, but his face showed how displeased he was with the whole situation.

"There's something you need to see. Please come."

He hesitated at first, but ever dutiful, he bowed slightly and followed Adaar off to the woods. This title did have some perks, at least.

Their walk away from the camp was spent in total silence, and they could feel how uncomfortable he was.

I’m right there with you, Commander.

The two entered the lush green thicket at the forest's border, and Adaar led him in through the trees and towards a narrow path around a stump, into a part where the undergrowth got denser. They could feel him fidget behind them, but he did not speak.

"Not much further now. There's a hidden path here, used mainly only by the wild rams."

He did not answer, but he also kept close behind them.

They followed the narrow trail for a while and finally, after rounding a very large pine tree, they both stepped out into a small clearing right by the lake. Adaar could hear him draw in a breath and smiled inwardly.

It was quiet, save for the birds lazily singing their evening song, and the sun was setting to the right, casting its orange glow on the ice. Right by the edge of the water, small blue and purple flowers bloomed, and a little further back stood an old bench, the wood grey and bleached from the sun and rain.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The trees framed the area so that they were shielded from the view of the town, and the evergreens growing over the lower branches of the trees above created a small grove around the bench.

"It…is."

He seemed wary still, as was indicated by his mouth which was a hard, narrow line.

"Why are we here?"

Adaar gestured toward the bench.

"This is where I go to get some quiet. Come, sit."

They took a seat on the right of the small wooden plank and Cullen hesitated, but when they mentioned toward the empty space to their left again, he slowly sat as well. 

Neither of them spoke at first, the wind whooshing through the treetops behind and above them, and Adaar felt the tenseness leave their shoulders slowly. Cullen for his part shifted around in his seat and finally broke the silence.

"What are we doing here, Herald?"

Adaar chuckled and looked over at the man.

"You are entirely without patience, aren't you?"

But when they saw a shadow fall over his face again, they quickly raised their hands apologetically.

“Sorry.”

Come on, Adaar. Get it together.

With a sigh, Adaar surveyed the lake and forced themself to speak. No more hesitation.

You owe it to him.

"I...ugh. I am...not cut out for this, you know?"

Cullen gave them a questioning look as they leaned back on the bench exasperated, while he was fidgeting with his gloves.

"There's so many people relying on me, and always surrounding me, and I...get nervous."

The Commander seemed confused but stayed silent.

"…And when I get nervous, I make up for it with sarcasm and jokes. It's a façade, Commander. A mask I hide behind, so people don't see I'm...well, terrified."

Cullen stared at them and opened his mouth to speak, but Adaar shot him a pleading look and he kept quiet.

"I'm not scared of the enemy we face, no more than is healthy at least. And I will face it, make no mistake.

But I have never had a place where so many people were relying on me, and I am stupefied with fear that I'll let them down.

They put so much hope in me, and everyone is doing their best at all times, and I am just absolutely terrified I won't do the right thing."

There was a pause before Cullen spoke and his voice was now a bit softer than before, but very low.

"You will, Herald. You always have, so far."

Adaar shook their head and shifted their whole body on the bench to fully face the man.

"Please. There is no need for formalities here - no one can fucking hear us. It's why I like to come here. When it gets...too much."

Cullen seemed to withdraw a bit after they turned, and Adaar sighed.

They reached under the bench and brought forth a small Mabari figurine with a stone bowl at its feet. The Commander seemed taken aback, but intrigued.

"I found this at a market in Redcliffe. I think it's supposed to be a...well, actually I have no idea what that’s supposed to be for. But I use it for this."

Adaar produced a handful of incense and a tinder box from their belt, placed the figurine in front of them in the grass and lit the resin. A small stream of blue smoke rose up and surrounded them with a sweet scent.

They sat down on the bench again, leaning back and listened to the birds and the waves lapping at the shore. Cullen was quiet and they could feel his tenseness.

Man, is he always on? Nothing can hurt you here, Commander.

After a while he spoke again, in the same soft voice, and they had trouble understanding him despite the hushed silence of the forest around them.

"But I thought...you're not faithful, are you?"

Adaar smirked and kept their gaze fixed on the water.

"I don't follow the Chantry's teachings, but I believe in magic, in spirits and in getting some quiet.

Now, I've seen your church - it's only fair that you should see mine. The forest is where I am most at ease; I grew up in it, and it feels like home.

I want to offer this place, if you ever...need some quiet, it is yours as well. But please keep it to yourself."

He seemed to be deep in thought, and Adaar was only too happy for some silence after their awkward speech, so for a while they listened to the low sounds of the forest, both of them encircled by the rising, scented smoke.

Cullen looked over the lake and Adaar felt strangely at peace next to the man, even though he was in their place of refuge, which they had never wanted to share with anyone, but they couldn’t think of anything better to offer. Now they worried it had been inappropriate and he wasn’t enjoying it at all.

After a while, he spoke, and some of the tenseness had left his voice finally.

"Herald I...thank you for showing me."

Adaar looked over at the Commander; he seemed moved and very earnest, and it made them blush a bit. They nodded and looked down at their hands.

Now for the difficult part.

"Look, I don't remember what I said or did, but it seems I have offended you, and if that is the case, I am truly sorry.

I…also need to apologize for how poorly I handled things this morning.

I am...bad…at letting people close and being sincere. So, I make up for it with jest, but I feel like I made everything worse."

Adaar carefully looked over at the man, and he was staring at the ground, no discernible emotion on his face.

"You have to remember I am just a lumbering, clumsy Qunari, Ser. We are not very smart or gifted with words."

Finally, he looked at them and seemed surprised.

"That is not true, Herald, you-"

Adaar laughed lightly, and he seemed to wince at that.

Idiot. You're on slippery terrain still.

They felt like they were handling a flighty wild animal instead of the strong, cold man they knew.

"That was a joke, Commander. See, I'm doing it again."

He furrowed his brows and looked at Adaar for what felt like a long time. They started to get nervous and shifted in their seat, but his face suddenly seemed to light up, if only a little bit.

"Herald, I-"

Adaar shook their head and cut him off.

"You know my name - titles don't mean anything here."

He seemed taken aback and his eyes widened.

"I...but I, Herald.."

Adaar chuckled and finally gave in.

Alright then, Mr. Proper Procedures. Maybe I am asking too much at once. 

"Very well, have it your way. It's getting late. I should head back to camp. Are you..."

He stood and Adaar got up as well, still nervous. But he only bowed and when he looked up again, he gave them the smallest smile, barely visible, but they saw it and beamed at him, eternally relieved. 

Chapter Text

Cassandra stood in the great hall of the Chantry tall and stern, looking very much like one of the statues that surrounded her. She was wearing her travel gear already, with her longsword strapped to her back.

Her face showed a stony expression that gave away nothing, except that it wasn’t a good idea to talk to her, and so the people going in and out on their daily errands made a wide berth around her in their way; even the Sisters moved just a little further to the side than they needed to.

This is how Adaar found her this morning, standing right in the middle of the corridor, tapping her foot impatiently. Apparently, she’d been standing there for quite some time.

Even though they were right on time for the war table meeting, Adaar could not help but feel like they did something wrong when they spotted the woman, who was evidently waiting for them, judging by the way she stared them down the entire length of the way.

“Good...morning, Seeker. You’re here early.”

And suspiciously not inside, waiting for the meeting to start. This spelled trouble. Adaar could only hope it wasn’t about them. They stood before the woman, who didn’t say a word in reply, and instead surveyed the Qunari from head to toe, while Adaar did their best to appear nonplussed and stop their legs from swaying.

Most days they were dead tired, and the healing wound in their right side ached and prodded still, but Adan had cautiously cleared them to go out in the field again – the rifts simply could not wait. With a lot of foul-smelling herbs and even more magical healing, Adaar was almost good as new, at least on the outside.

The troops were getting ready to head out as well, and there was much to do before they could get going. Adaar was feeling impatient and increasingly uncomfortable under the human’s scrutinizing looks.

"Is...something wrong?"

Right this moment, the Ambassador stepped out of the door behind Cassandra, seemingly having waited for Adaar to arrive as well. She quickly made her way over, and gave them a polite greeting, paired with a small bow.

"Not quite, Herald, we simply meant to ask... are you feeling well enough to head out? It seems to be quite soon after such an injury was sustained.”

Adaar drew in a deep breath and tried to appear full of vigor, plastering a broad smile on their face.

“Of course. Adan gave me permission himself. Now, shall we?”

Adaar motioned behind the two women, and the three headed to the war room together where Adaar swung the door open and punched the wounded side of their torso lightly with their opposite hand to show just how well it had all healed.

"Better than ever. I feel fine."

That was, of course, a lie and they immediately wished they hadn't just done that. The area around where the gash had been was still very much bruised, and by no means well enough to take another beating. The next few breaths were agonizingly painful, and Adaar smiled through the pain, trying not to show they were close to collapsing and writhing on the floor.

Adaar heard a small gasp from within the room and followed the sound with their gaze unwittingly. Everyone was standing around wordlessly - Leliana had stood up and looked bewildered, while the Commander had stood up from where he was sitting and was now staring at them, wide-eyed.

They struggled to breathe for a moment, but still managed to saunter into the room confidently before plopping down into a chair and choking out,

"Really, I'm fine. Let's get started."

Throughout the meeting, people kept eyeing Adaar strangely. Cassandra kept looking at Adaar whenever the others were talking, but still hadn’t said anything, while others seemed to switch between watching their every moment and avoiding eye contact altogether.

 When all matters concerning the expedition seemed dealt with and people got ready to leave, Adaar got up and stopped the others in their tracks before they could leave.

"One moment. Is...something the matter?"

Everyone looked at the Herald now, silently. Clearly, something was the matter, but no one would tell them.

"...Is there anything I should know?"

Suddenly, the Seeker spoke to Adaar's right, her voice a strange somber tone.

"I...Herald. I only wished to offer my deepest-"

The woman was cut off by the Spymaster in an angry whisper for a moment.

"Cassandra!"

Leliana had taken her arm, but the woman shook her off obliviously and went on.

"My deepest condolences, Herald."

Adaar felt a bolt of lightning go through them, and it seemed like all their blood rushed to their head at once.

"Wh- what's going on? Condolences…why? What happened?"

Adaar looked around the room for answers, but all they got where empty faces and concerned stares.

Is it...no...it can't be my parents, please, no.. 

They were both not old certainly, but something could always happen to two lone Qunari in a war-torn country. They could certainly defend themselves by the usual means, but if a group of mages had come across them…

A multitude of scenarios started swirling around in their head, while no one would speak to them, still, and their whole body started to shake slightly.

Cassandra looked at them with sympathy, and finally spoke up again.

"It's only...your brother, Herald. I'm so sorry."

The words hit Adaar as if they'd stepped into a fire pit, hot and choking and the shaking stopped. Instead, anger slowly bubbled in the pit of their stomach.

"What?"

They only pressed the word out in a hissing whisper, but everybody seemed to hear. Adaar unwittingly looked over at the Commander, who sat in his chair, wide-eyed and dumbly quiet, as always.

"You...you fucking told them?!"

Adaar's breaths came hard and fast now, and they stood up just a bit too fast, the room swimming around them.

"No, Herald, wait..."

They shot the Spymaster a look across the table which could've killed, and the next words died on her lips instantly.

"Are the personal details of my life nothing but a matter of gossip to you people?"

No one said anything, and it was not needed. Furious, they pushed past the Ambassador at the door who seemed as much at a loss as the Commander, and rushed out of the Chantry, only out of here.

"Congratulations, everyone. That was handled well by all of us I believe. Cassandra - what were you thinking?"

Leliana rubbed her temple and sighed, while Josephine looked after the Herald with concern.

Cullen's head was swimming, while he heard the others talk like through a haze. How...how did they know? Had someone seen them?

"And you, Commander - you knew as well?"

He stood up, slowly.

"And what if I did?"

Leliana shook her head.

"We only just found out ourselves. We have made contact with their parents and were...informed of his passing. This was not how we planned to handle it."

She shot Cassandra a dirty look, who only stood there, dumbfounded.

Josephine spoke first.

"We had better go find them. This is not a good state for the Herald to be traveling in, especially with their recent injury."

The three of them set out, and Cullen stayed back, rubbing his neck.

His day was passed going through a multitude of tasks in preparation for the Herald’s next excursion, and he scarcely had time to think about the matter, though a sense of unease stuck at the back of his head throughout.

A few hours later, he was leafing through his reports absentmindedly when someone stepped up behind him. The Spymaster had a grim look on her face when he turned to face her, and he knew what this was about instantly.

"...And?"

She shook her head in exasperation.

"No one knows where they are. I wish they didn't have this tendency of disappearing."

Cullen put down the stack of papers and threw on his coat again.

"I think I have an idea where they could be…but I better go alone."

He shot her a look.

"That means alone, Spymaster. No...entourages, please."

Leliana did not seem pleased, but she nodded curtly in reply and took off toward the town again.

Cullen had quite some difficulty finding the small trail again, but after a while of searching he finally found the right stump and turned. Maker, it was hard navigating this forest without Adaar leading the way.

He hoped to Andraste he was right and didn't waste everyone's time coming here. On the other side, the other’s efforts would probably not be fruitful, either.

As he turned round the large tree, he saw a weather-beaten bench and two curled horns visible through the evergreens, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Adaar whipped around as they heard him rustling in the undergrowth and stood.

"No. Oh hell no. You do not get to fucking come here now."

Cullen saw the roiling anger in their eyes, which was, frankly, terrifying, but he was also so relieved to have found them. He stepped forward wanting to explain himself, but they cut him off immediately.

"What's the matter with you people? Leave! Now!"

He saw ice crystals forming in their palms. The static of magic crackled in the air and he stopped in his tracks.

"Herald, I..."

 They stepped around the bench, now furious.

"I said fucking go!"

A bolt of blue and white shot past Cullen and he whirled around to see a large branch cracking and crashing to the ground behind him. He turned to the Herald again slowly, eyes wide.

The magic was still buzzing around them and a film of frost was now creeping up their arms. They locked eyes with him and scoffed.

"Oh get over yourself, I wasn't freaking aiming for you."

With that, Adaar turned and pulled up an ice block on the lake in front of them, then shattered it into a million pieces with a flourish of their hand, which went flying around the Herald and Cullen, as he was still standing there, frozen in terror.

"Fuck!"

They turned again and he must have been white as a sheet.

"You're still here! Ugh!"

With the force of a wild animal, Adaar rushed over to him and grabbed his arm, the cold from their hand creeping through the cloth as they pushed him away, not too hard but it was enough, and he staggered and fell. The Herald was breathing heavily as they stood over him; ice now covered their arms up to the shoulders, but there was fire in their eyes.

"What is it that you fucking want?! What can't you just leave me alone?"

Adaar was shaking from anger, and there were tears in their eyes now, freezing around their lashes in the cold that surrounded the two. Cullen had trouble catching his breath and lay there quaking before them.

After an agonizingly long moment spent in silence, Adaar looked down at their hands, then at him and then stood there wordlessly first, before they extended a hand and Cullen winced on the ground before them.

But there was no ice bolt flying toward him, they just held out their bare hand, which was usually covered by leather gloves, their face still a stony cold image of fury. He did not move.

With an annoyed sigh, they shook the ice from their hands violently, and offered their hand again with emphasis. Cullen now slowly sat up and took it, and Adaar yanked him up harshly. When he was standing again, they let go of him and silently turned to sit on the bench. Without looking at him, the Herald stated coldly,

"Now leave."

But he didn't. Instead, he found himself walking up to them slowly, as you would approach a wild dog, and stood beside the bench for a moment. Adaar looked up incredulously.

"What the hell do you want?"

It seemed like they were still furious, but their voice also sounded as if they wanted to cry, Cullen thought. He shifted from one leg to the other.

"Herald, I'm...sorry."

They scoffed in reply.

"You're sorry. Well, that's great, and you’ve said it now, so please go. I want to be alone."

Cullen stepped closer but stopped when he saw an icy sheen creeping up their fingers again.

"I didn't know. I never..."

He felt foolish; did it really matter at this point?

"You never - what? Told them?"

He nodded.

"Well then how the hell...”

The Herald stared at Cullen, then fell back on the bench, staring into the canopy overhead in exasperation.

"Leliana."

Adaar looked up at him with fury in their eyes and Cullen simply nodded again.

"That's even worse! She's spying on me, I know - but she saw? How?!"

He quickly held up a hand, before their temper could flare up again.

"No, Herald, she...contacted your parents. She must have only found out recently."

Adaar stared at him and suddenly all strength and fury seemed to leave them at once, their voice now a thin whisper.

"She...spoke to them?"

A short, dry laugh escaped their throat.

"Well, now you know why I never introduced them to any of you."

Cullen of course did not know, and looked at them quizzically.

"They hate me, Cullen - they blame me for his death and… Damn it!"

He staggered back a bit as they buried their face in their hands and started crying - low, quiet sobs.

Cullen.

The way they had said it sent electricity through him.

His heart was racing as he gingerly stepped closer again, the ice was back now and covered their shoulders as well, a fine layer of white crystals. Cullen sat down beside them carefully.

Adaar’s head shot up and they stared at him, eyes wide and red, tears covering their cheeks and freezing on their face in white glistening tracks. 

He slowly and gingerly put his hand on Adaar's shoulder, and finally, the ice slowly receded, back down their arms, toward their fingertips, and finally disappeared. A pink glow returned to their skin, making them seem less like a magical apparition and more like a person.

Cullen felt as if he'd just narrowly escaped death, but the Herald seemed less like a ferocious killer and more like a fragile, scared child now.

"I'm sorry.", he whispered. It was all he could think of.

Adaar scoffed between sobs.

"Aren't you afraid I'll impale you with magic?"

He felt his face soften and squeezed their shoulder carefully.

"No."

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

"And then I pushed the stinkin' demon bastard forward; Bull jumped up behind me and sliced his axe down - shattering it into a thousand pieces!

I swear, the look on the farmer's face afterwards was priceless. And all he cared about was his damn prized druffalo!"

Bull roared with laughter at the story as Blackwall told it, seemingly hearing it for the first time, and the Chargers raised their cups with a "Horns up!" that echoed through the tavern in reply.

Sera was too drunk to care at this point, babbling something about baked good to herself, Dorian was telling a quip of his own to some enthralled servant girls and Cassandra only shook her head at it all smirking while sipping her beer.

The last expedition had gone well; all the rifts in that cursed forest had finally been closed, and the area was more or less secured. Since they had gotten back to Haven, everyone was in unusually high spirits. Varric raised his tankard at Adaar from across the table, and for once they felt at peace.

"The druffalo was fine, by the way - not that any of you seem to be too concerned!"

More laughter followed, and Adaar felt a warm buzz. They didn't drink too often, having learned the hard way that their magic was harder to control then, as well as having made some bad choices in the past, which is why they usually skirted the stuff. They would never have come to anything like this, if not for Bull and his team urging them to ‘let loose and celebrate for once'.

Adaar now had to admit this was nice – if they didn’t overdo it. The faces around them were aglow with something resembling happiness for the first time they had joined this Inquisition, and for once, they felt like a part of the group fully.

Still, some fresh air would be welcome now; the tavern got way too stuffy way too soon, especially with this many people inside. Adaar excused themself to many protests and headed outside with swaying steps.

The cool night air whirled around their head, and Adaar rounded the tavern to stop and lean against the wooden wall of the building, their head swimming lightly. This was nice.

All this constant Herald talk and all the attention had started getting to their head, and not in a good, confidence-inducing way.

It only made them more nervous than they already were and somehow, they were on edge all the time. Alcohol was not a solution they relied on as a general rule, but it did take the sharpness out of reality for a while. Why didn't they do this more often again?

All the resolutions and plans they had made beforehand seemed just a little less important now, as they were having too much fun to think about what awaited them tomorrow. Maybe just one more drink, Adaar resolved. The Chargers had pressed them to participate for many rounds now, and there were only so many times they could say no to those beaming faces.

Before Adaar could finish the thought, they realized someone had stepped outside into the dark next to them. Slowly, the blurry outline came sauntering over.

"Nice party, Herald. You sure know how to work a crowd."

They made an effort to focus their vision, and after a few seconds saw Krem smiling up at them broadly. His cheeks were reddened, his eyes somewhat glassed over, and his hair fell into his face in messy short strands. Adaar felt their blood quicken a bit at the sight.

The two of us alone out here - what will people say?

The stout Tevinter soldier stood next to them now, leaning his shoulder against a wooden beam on the outside of the tavern wall. Adaar smelled rich cedar soap on him, and the strong Qunari alcohol Bull had passed around, which they themself had taken pains to avoid.

"Thanks, Krem. Enjoying yourself?"

He nodded, seemingly having had one or two more drinks than would have been prudent, himself. But tonight was not about being prudent.

The man was not wearing his armor today, and Adaar could see the outlines of his well-defined arms through the flimsy fabric, even in this dim light.

Did he choose that tight-fitting tunic on purpose? He must be on the hunt, Adaar mused.

"Well, then what are you doing out here?"

Their speech was somewhat slurred, as they realized with annoyance. Enough booze for today, Adaar determined, after all. Maybe it was best not to go inside again. Out here was nice, too…

The man smirked and gestured towards Adaar in an exaggeratedly gallant manner.

"I thought I'd see if you're alright, Worship. You just up and left your own party."

Adaar threw their head back with a scoff, and the sudden movement reminded them never to touch any glasses you didn’t know the contents of, with their head swimming far more than they had anticipated.

"It's everyone’s party, Krem. And please - don't call me that. Name's Adaar, as I’m sure you know; there's no need to be so formal."

He laughed, leaning a bit closer. The chirping of crickets and muffled laughter from inside were the only sounds around the two.

"If you say so. I aim to please…Adaar."

Adaar looked him up and down with a mock scowl and slowly felt a warmth spread through them, which they couldn't attribute to the alcohol completely.

"You know, you and the boss don't really have a whole lot in common.", he mused after a while. Adaar chuckled hoarsely in reply.

"Why, because I wear shirts?"

He laughed, loudly and fully, his voice reverberating with a drunken easiness. It sounded warm and homely in their ears, and Adaar found their eyes unwittingly wander over his taut body quite overtly. They never would have dared to behave quite so crassly if they weren’t drunk, but there was no one to watch them here, so…

Damn, are all Tevinters built like that? Maybe I should go sometime.

"Yes, that's...one of the reasons.”

He looked Adaar up and down, in a way that wasn’t really befitting his station. They realized that they did not mind one bit.

“You know, Bull was the only real picture I've had of Qunari so far, aside from his few macho-man spy friends. I have to say I'm rather grateful for the new insight your presence has provided."

Adaar rolled their head to the side on the hard surface of the wooden wall to fully face him a light daze, and saw the flicker of torches reflected in his warm hazel eyes. He always had a such calming effect on them somehow, and they had never thought him to be unattractive, either.

"Is that a compliment…or just a very low bar crossed?"

In the surrounding dark, this conversation quickly took a strange, forbidden turn, and Adaar enjoyed it immensely.

Krem lifted a hand to his heart feigning offense, and gasped.

"I would never dare to try and flatter the Herald of Andraste so crudely."

Adaar laughed and pushed themself off the wall with a considerable effort.

Quick with his words, indeed.

"Shame. I guess I'll go back inside then."

They felt light and giddy, something that didn't happen often, but they did not want to take it too far. Or did they? It was hard to tell with all the alcohol swirling around in their head.

The Tevinter took a quick step forward, looking at Adaar with a strange sparkle in his eyes, and they stopped in their tracks. It was only polite not to walk away now, right? He was facing Adaar now, with them looming over the man, but it didn't interfere with his spunk one bit as he grinned up at them confidently and stepped up to Adaar even further.

"That's fairly close, soldier. You're not intending to break decorum, are you?"

He took another half-step toward them and was now so close his boots almost touched theirs.

"Never, Herald. Nothing would be further from my-"

Without having much control over it, Adaar took the next step to shrink the gap between them, then placed a hand on his chest softly. Krem froze and surprisingly didn't make a move, which calmed Adaar's now racing pulse a bit.

He was a handsome man, Adaar thought, with his high cheekbones and a warmness in his eyes that pulled them closer still. Adaar found themself wondering if the rest of him was that well-trained. Bull sure kept his troops in good shape.

"Well. Then I guess I'll just have to break all this annoying decorum myself."

Adaar swiftly pulled him closer with their other hand and he gasped lightly as their bodies collided. His was warm and strong, as they could now feel very well through the light fabric of his tunic, but he wrapped his arm around Adaar gently, as if he was holding a bird.

Adaar's breathing quickened and their blood was pumping fast and hot with alcohol. His torso against theirs was taut and muscular, and he was so very close they thought they could hear his heartbeat.

They looked in his soft eyes and slowly moved one hand up to his neck, caressing his smooth skin while he gently moved his hand further upward on their back, where he gripped their shirt, breathing hard. A soft moan escaped his throat as Adaar's body melted into his strong torso.

I could just pick him up and carry him off right now...

A crash, followed by a scream and then frantic overlapping voices behind them made them both turn, wide-eyed and fairly out of breath, and as if they’d been ripped out of a dream. A strange hectic commotion was audible just a few paces away to the left.

"What the hell?"

Adaar let go of the perplexed man and he of them, and both rushed over as he grabbed the sword at his side.

A small crowd had gathered at the base of the hill, with three people in the midst of it all who seemed to be engaged in a rather serious quarrel. Adaar saw a mage - a young woman with her arms crossed defiantly, standing across from two men. As they got closer, their breath caught in their dry throat for a moment.

Facing the mage stood two Templars, which was easily discernable by their clothing - they seemed drunk and somewhat agitated, yelling obscenities and slurred insults at the woman, and the situation seemed to get more and more heated by the second.

Adaar turned to face Krem, both of them now sobering up quickly, but their head was still buzzing and their vision a tad unfocused.

"Stay here. Get help if needed."

The man nodded quickly, still flushed but now wearing a stern expression, and Adaar pushed past a few onlookers, then swiftly stepped between the woman and the Templars, standing up to their full height. 

This seemed to throw the men off for a moment, but they recovered quickly, with drunken anger burning in their eyes.

"And there we have the root of all this evil. The heretic apostate that calls itself Herald of our lady Andraste…

But look! Don't you see? It is nothing but a dirty uncivilized Oxman, blinding all of you with its magic!"

Adaar scoffed derisively and crossed their arms as well, remaining rather unimpressed by this verbal onslaught, which might have taunted them more were they sober, but right now, they were in too good of a mood to let these two idiots spoil it.

"That's all? You couldn't come up with anything better? Why don't you leave this woman alone and get the hell out of here, before you fall on your big mouths, you duds. I will deal with you both tomorrow, when you’ve sobered up."

But the two men did not seem intent to do so in the least, and started hurling insults toward the mage again, so Adaar turned around to tell the woman to leave, as the situation seemed to become more and more unstable.

As soon as they'd done so, Adaar felt a push from behind and whipped around, anger boiling up in their swimming head. They heard several gasps from the crowd, which had grown considerably since they had joined the commotion.

"Fucking mage. We should just lock you all away again - then we'd have no more of these blasted holes in the sky and no more demons killing good, innocent people!"

Adaar balled their hands up in fists at their sides with all of their muscles tense already, but resolved to stay calm.

"These demons are killing mages too, you know. A pronounced flaw in your logic there."

Having this conundrum thrown their way, the Templars appeared even more agitated, cursing Adaar further until one of the men suddenly stepped forward.

Alright - bring it on, fuckers. This was a perfectly nice evening up until you had to ruin it.

Ice crystals were already forming between their fingers and their palm, but Adaar knew they didn't need any magic to take them down. A well-placed punch in their stupid Templar faces and -

"What's going on here?!"

The Commander's voice was booming through the night air as the crowd suddenly parted to let the man through, and Adaar was thrown off guard for a moment. Where'd he come from all of a sudden?

"…Herald?"

He stopped and looked at the three of them, scowling even deeper after his initial surprise. One of the drunk men threw his hands up, then gestured toward the Commander wildly and erratically.

"And you. Fucking…mage-lover!"

The Templar spat the last word out while the one beside him only laughed drunkenly, as if his friend had just told the wittiest joke known to man.

"You were one of us once. Now you are just as bad as them - no, even worse!"

The Commander seemed unmoved by this and simply stared them down.

"That's enough."

His voice was calm, but Adaar recognized there was a tenseness to him that was almost palpable.

The Templar who had held his tongue up to now shook his head.

"It will never be enough. Not while they're still standing!"

He drew his sword in a motion that seemed far too quick for a man of his inebriation, rounding Adaar and taking a swing at the mage who was still standing behind them.

Adaar saw the blade coming down on her, stepped sideways into the blow and drew up a shield between the two of them and the Templar, but they were drunk and slow and it came up just a little too late.

The sword cleaved through the barrier with a crash and sliced cleanly into Adaar's shoulder, the searing pain blurring their vision for a moment.

All they saw next was a flash of silver, then the Templar's head - cleaved in twain before them, blood gushing, and half his face grotesquely sliding off to one side before he collapsed to the ground.

In an instant, the Commander was on the other Templar, but the man dropped his sword momentarily, held up his hands defensively and cowered before him, turning green at the sight of his companion slowly bleeding out on the ground.

"Restrain this man!"

Adaar heard the man's words through a wall of booze and confused pain. Two guards who had followed the Commander had the Templar in chains immediately and dragged him off. 

Adaar's gaze was fixed on the man before them, his head split open. His brains were oozing out onto the black grass between cracks in the snowy white bone. And there was blood, pools and rivers of it, now gushing forth from the cleft in the man's head.

This was all oddly fascinating to Adaar and they could not tear their eyes away from the terrible sight. Someone spoke to them, it seemed, but they could not really make out the words.

A vague outline of a person, who Adaar saw out of the corner of their eye, yelled out orders they could not fully decipher through the ringing in their head.

"..erald....hear me...?"

The buzzing in their ears was too loud to make out anything sensible, and Adaar felt nauseous, dizzy. They looked up and saw a tall silhouette walk up to them. Strangely calm, they watched as the person waved a hand around something protruding from their side.

They looked down to their right and saw...a sword - a long Templar blade, firmly stuck in their shoulder. It must've broken bone, they mused, and heard themself chuckle.

"Well, shit."

At the sound of their own voice, they startled slightly and reality pulled itself back together around them.

"..will pull the sword out now... Herald?!"

They looked up - it was Cullen speaking, as they now realized, and he seemed very concerned and spoke fast, too fast for them to follow, so they simply nodded absent-mindedly.

He grabbed the hilt, which sent another wave of agonizing pain through the right side of their body, and in a controlled motion that seemed like he’d done it far too often, he de-lodged it from their shoulder with a terrible crunching sound that made Adaar sick.

Not a moment later, he was pressing a piece of cloth on the now gushing wound, and pulled their left arm over his shoulders. Adaar was only too glad for it, for their legs went out under them now.

Cullen had his difficulties manoeuvring the stairs to Adan's hut; half-carrying the Herald, half-pressing the cloth onto their angrily gushing wound with his right arm wrapped around their back.

He still could not believe what had just transpired. It had all happened so very fast - but that was no excuse of course.

Cullen had failed the Herald, he should have been there sooner - and if he could kill the man again, by Andraste, he would. A dozen times, he would.

The healer had apparently already been notified and was presently waiting in the door to his hut, despite the late hour, with sleep in his eyes. He looked at Cullen with a scowl.

"Do you have to go 'round sword fighting at this hour, Commander?"

Adan growled the words, but Cullen pushed past him unimpressed, paying the man no mind.

"The Herald needs you. Now."

The older man simply groaned and pulled the door shut behind the three of them.

Candles were already lit inside, and Adan produced several bundles of herbs from a corner, while Cullen made his way to the bed on the far side of the room, dragging the Herald behind him.

A needle and thread ready on the table next to it, together with strong smelling alcohol in a transparent bottle and a lot of gauze.

Adan pushed him aside with a grunt, and Cullen stepped back in a daze while the healer removed the makeshift bandage from the wound, uncovering an angry well of bloody ruin in the Herald's shoulder.

The gash ran several inches long and at least another and a half deep - Cullen could see it now, laid out in all its gory terror. Blood was thankfully no longer streaming fast from it, but the shuffling of moving the Herald onto the bed hadn't helped, and so it had started oozing out again, dark and thick.

Cullen had seen this type of injury before a thousand times, but his stomach turned and his skin now felt clammy still, with every muscle in his body stiffened while his heart pounded like a hammer.

Please, please, please. Oh, please be alright.

Adan eyed the Commander over his shoulder with an unchanged scowl, but his voice had somewhat softened.

"Don't you worry now - I'll fix them right up."

Wordlessly, he washed the wound with a hundred practiced movements, then laid a paste of sweetly sick smelling herbs inside it before sewing it up in a skilful, deft manner. He finally dressed it all with some more fresh herbs and many layers of bandage as Cullen wrung his hands and paced up and down the stuffy room, watching.

To be this badly wounded, and so shortly after their field-sustained injury…

Cullen felt like he was about to throw up, his head swimming with anger.

That damned drunken fool.

He only hadn’t seen this sort of attack coming because he would never have thought anyone to possess such insolence, and the shock was still deep in him.

Finally, Adan spoke again, turning around from his patient.

"The bone is fractured badly, but I've set it for now. With some magic, it should heal up nicely. We need to stabilize them first, though - they're still not fully recovered from that demon attack. Go get them to a real bed - and make sure they stay there this time, will you?"

He didn't need to tell Cullen twice. The Herald was sitting up on the cot - awake, but very pale and absent-looking. The encounter seemed to have rattled them quite a bit, and he’d smelled the alcohol on them, which certainly didn’t help right now. Cullen stepped up to them gingerly, afraid to startle them any further.

"Herald. Let's get you to your cabin, alright?"

His voice was so low, Cullen wasn't sure the Qunari had heard them for a moment.

They soon looked up at him and nodded weakly, but Cullen's heart skipped a short beat and the stiffness in his body let up a bit as they locked eyes with him, clearly shaken but lucid.

People were staring left and right as they passed through town, the Herald swaying next to him with their uninjured arm draped over his shoulders. Cullen gruffly told the people along the way to return to their quarters. The town was still in shock and chaos, and there was commotion at every corner.

He still couldn't believe what had just happened.

Tensions had been rising constantly while the Herald had been away on their latest trip, with the small town slowly but steadily overflowing with soldiers, mages and refugees, but he never expected it to escalate like this. For a former member of the Order to simply attack a peaceful mage, and then the Herald, it was nothing he'd have seen coming.

But you should have.

Icy dread crept up his spine, and he did his best to shake it off and keep his wits about him.

They came up to the tavern now, with the Herald breathing raggedly next to him, and he saw someone engaged in lively conversation to his right. Cullen could only see their back, but they were apparently trying to get a crowd of people to leave, seemingly exasperated.

When the group saw the two of them approach, the people finally slowly dispersed, and the man turned. Cullen now saw that it was Krem, looking tired and like he'd sobered up a little too quickly.

The man stepped up to them, opening his mouth to speak, as disdain spread in Cullen’s heart at the sight of him.

"Commander. Are they...is the Herald alright?"

Cullen only grunted and waved the man off gruffly, with a commanding gesture that left no room for interpretation.

"The Herald is wounded and needs rest, soldier."

At that, Krem quickly stepped aside and looked after the two wordlessly as Cullen left him standing there. Apparently, he had not been expecting this kind of response.

Good.

Cullen could feel his chest tightening and hot anger now crept up his neck.

Only a few more paces. Keep it together.

"Herald, we are here, hang on just a bit longer.”

Cullen nodded at the guard posted by the cabin.

“You- open that door!"

The woman guarding the door stared wide-eyed as the two of them approached and complied hastily.

Cullen led Adaar inside, more dragging them now than just assisting, and guided them over to the bed as the door was shut behind them. The Qunari fell down onto the covers silently when Cullen loosened his grip on their arm.

It was hot and quiet in the cabin, and Cullen went to open a window. The moonlight streamed in and with it, the cool night air. He leaned on the sill, exhausted from dragging their heavy frame around, when he heard the Herald groan behind him.

He turned to see that they were sitting on the bed with their head in their hands. Cullen felt a tinge of panic, but was also glad they were up and not passed out.

It can't be that bad then.

"You should get some rest, Herald. I will station two more guards around your - "

The Herald looked up at Cullen with visible effort and squinted into the room while a frown appeared on their forehead.

"Can you light a candle? I can't fucking see in here."

Cullen was taken aback but nodded and went across the room to retrieve one. When he turned, he saw them trying to kick off their boots as they breathed in sharply, cursing under their breath.

Cullen stood there helplessly, watching. He was not equipped for this, as he quickly realized.

"Do you need...I mean, can I -"

Adaar shook their head, though he could see they were in pain.

Stubborn, he thought. As always.

He placed the since lit candle on their bedside table and Adaar had finally removed the heavy leather boots, now dragging their legs up onto the white linens.

After this ordeal, they fell back down and closed their eyes with a frown on their face. Cullen watched silently and with a knot in his stomach.

When they didn't speak for a while, he turned to leave and get more guards, reliable ones this time - when he heard rustling behind him, and the Herald’s voice cut through the silence in the cabin.

"You killed him."

Cullen looked back from halfway across the room, startled. There was that ice gripping his spine again.

"He...attacked you, your Worship."

Adaar stared at him silently for a while, the candlelight flickering and dancing around on their face, with an expression he could not quite pin down.

"He was a Templar. And you just...split his head in half."

They seemed almost offended at the thought, and Cullen felt heat rising up his neck under their gaze.

"And I would do it again, Herald…regardless of who attacked you. I only regret that you were wounded. I will not hesitate next time."

Adaar scoffed and shook their head, looking away.

Cullen's stomach was a fiery knot. His next words came out of his mouth on their own, as if he heard someone else talking in his voice.

"Do you still not know where my allegiance lies, Herald? I serve you, and the Inquisition. Anything else is of no significance."

Cullen felt immediate reproach after speaking to the Herald like this, but the anger was settling firmly within him, his hands shaking slightly in the half-lit room. Their disbelief at the matter was like a dagger in his heart.

When they looked up again, they seemed almost sad.

"I do now, Commander...thank you."

Cullen was at a loss. He bowed stiffly and turned to leave when he heard them speak again, this time quietly and almost gently.

"Did you know him?"

With his hand on the door handle already, he replied in what was almost a whisper, and without turning around again, he slipped out into the night.

"I did, Herald."

Chapter Text

The stars in the early night sky were timidly awakening behind the wispy clouds across a lilac and orange backdrop, and a gentle wind rushed the waves across the water, which reflected the colours like a sea of mirrors. It was strangely quiet around the lake, even with the laughter and cheers across Haven.

Cullen rubbed the side of his face with a weary, but content sigh and looked up once more at what was now merely a lightly glistening green scar in the sky where the Breach had been.

They had done it. The Herald and the mages had actually succeeded in closing that gaping horror together. He still could not believe it should finally be over; that all these people should now be safe – a word he had come to mistrust as a general rule over the years.

A young soldier ran past him, then stopped and saluted with a wide smile, to which he only nodded. The lad hardly stopped to see his reaction and traipsed off toward the town, while Cullen was endlessly glad he would be spared all the tumult up there. He had never been one for festivities, and those seemed to be in full progress now.

The Herald had returned a while ago and Cullen was imagining the people still were busy carrying them through town on their shoulders. He would find them tomorrow to congratulate them on their victory when everything had quieted down a bit, only too glad no one seemed to pay him any mind right now.

They hadn't spoken a lot since the morbid incident with the former Templar, except for the regular war table meetings, but he assumed they had to be ecstatic.

And rightfully so.

Everyone had played a part in this, but it was the Herald's victory first and foremost.

Cullen picked up the stack of reports in front of him again and sighed. He could only hope he had done his part; that he had done enough. Maybe if he'd....

"Commander, there you are. Say, are you avoiding us?"

He whirled around; a woman's voice had ripped him out of his deep pondering suddenly.

Before him stood Leliana, with her hands behind her back and a slight smile on her face.

Of course. Maker, it was too good to be true.

"Spymaster. I trust all is well. Did you need anything?"

She only chuckled lightly in reply.

"What are you doing down here…working? This celebration is for everyone - you included."

He groaned and rolled his stiff neck at her words – he was in no mood for celebrations.

"I have much to do still. I need to -"

Leliana stepped up to him briskly and shook her head at him with a look that said no back talk.

"Put down those papers, Cullen. It's not really up for debate, you know. The Herald did ask for you themself."

He drew in a deep breath and looked at the woman like a dog whose bone is being taken away before he finally put down the papers and secured them with a statuette of an iron fist.

I suppose they need me for some formality, Andraste preserve me. There goes my evening of quiet, uninterrupted work.

"Very well then. Lead the way."

There was laughter in every corner of the town, and people were getting quite drunk despite the early hour. Cullen followed Leliana with a knot in his stomach - he'd never been keen on ceremonies and merriment, but he supposed it had to be done.

The Spymaster was right, he thought, this occasion required some amount of decorum. Cullen straightened his back and tried to ready himself mentally. Did he remember all the appropriate phrases? It had been a while since they’d had a victory this grand.

When they came close to the tavern, Leliana stopped to faced him, looking like she expected him to know what he should do now.

He did not.

"Alright then. What is it you need of me?"

Cullen's patience was fading fast.

Leliana laughed shortly and crossed her arms in a scolding manner.

"What I need of you? Maker's breath, just go talk to them, Cullen. They're over there."

She pointed to the square in front of the tavern, where a large crowd had gathered and was engaged in festivities very loudly. He felt his throat tighten.

"But-"

When he turned again, the woman had already disappeared into the night.

Of course.

Cullen sighed heavily and looked at the crowd of people – it smelled of beer and roasted meat and everyone was in a splendid mood. There was even dancing.

Maker, I hope nobody expects me to dance.

He stood up straight, put one hand on the pommel of his sword and headed towards the crowd.

He tried his best to mingle, but Cullen felt entirely out of place here.

There was music; people were loud and exuberant all around him, and he felt a headache coming on. On top of that, the Herald was nowhere to be seen. He wandered around aimlessly for a bit, and when he finally approached a group of soldiers to inquire about the Herald's whereabouts, their laughter and jokes seemed to die down suddenly.

They looked up at the Commander in silence as if he'd just caught them sneaking off from their posts, which was the case, technically.

When he found himself at a loss of words somehow, and grumbled a "Carry on", they resumed their conversation with a slight bow of their heads toward him, but it seemed to him as if they were a little quieter than before. This was all entirely too uncomfortable, and he was beginning to get frustrated.

After a few more rounds of fruitless searching for the Herald, and now ready to give up, Cullen meandered out of the crowd and leaned against the ramparts to the side with a sigh, rubbing his neck.

This was useless. There was no way he would just run into them here. He would just have to find them tomorrow and -

Suddenly, cutting through all the commotion around him, he heard a familiar raspy laugh to the right and turned. The Herald was practically towering over the crowd, engaged in lively conversation with some soldiers.

How have I not seen them before? 

They seemingly felt his eyes on them, and looked over. When they saw him, he thought he saw their eyes light up a bit, but it was too dark to tell. They bid their farewell to the group, then strolled over to him with a plate of fried bread and roasted squash on it, beaming from ear to ear.

"Commander! It's good of you to come. Are you enjoying yourself?"

Were they mocking him?

Clearly, I am not.

He gave the Herald a curt nod and they smiled at him; their hair was sort of mussed, their cheeks flushed pink, and they smelled of rich firewood smoke.

Cullen swallowed a clot in his throat. It seemed they were feeling better, which was a relief. Then what was he so nervous about? He remembered all the proper procedure which was applicable in an event like this.

"I...meant to congratulate you, Herald. This victory is a great success and clearly deserved", he stated with a bow.

They raised an eyebrow and chuckled, then rubbed their forehead.

"Oh man, I see. Did Leliana make you come here? She did, didn't she? She means well - this is your victory too. Do try to enjoy it, Commander."

Cullen coughed uncomfortably and glanced at the large mass of people beside them. He expected that Tevinter to show up at any moment, and that was something he seriously did not need to witness.

They were both quiet for a bit and he was growing more uncomfortable by the second.

"Well then. I should really..."

As if on cue, the Herald suddenly stepped closer and shook their head.

"No way, Commander. You're not going back to work right now. I understand if you're not comfortable with the crowd, but please stay at least for a moment and eat something with me. Will you?"

He shifted from one foot to the other, nervously fidgeting with the hilt of his sword, but he also had to admit he was starving, and all that food did smell good. So he simply nodded weakly, and the Herald gave him a wide smile, thrusting their plate into his hands.

"Oh, good! I'll get you something. ...Meat and beer, I suppose?"

He confirmed, defeated, and the Qunari disappeared into the crowd in an instant.

Cullen stood there against the ramparts for what felt like an eternity, awkwardly holding the Herald's plate while people passed and bowed occasionally as he tried his best to look civil and some degree of festive.

With a roaring laugh, someone suddenly dissolved out from the crowd right in front of him, yelling a high-spirited response to someone further away. The man turned with a flourish, and as he saw Cullen, his wide grin faltered somewhat.

It took him a moment before he apparently remembered his manners and curtly saluted Cullen. It was Krem, and he looked to be somewhat inebriated already.

Wonderful.

"Ah. Commander. Congratulations on today. What a...fine victory for all of us."

Cullen's throat was dry. This was truly the last thing he needed right now.

He quickly started to excuse himself to go looking for the Herald and tell them he really needed to be on his way - but of course, right then the Qunari emerged from the crowd behind the Tevinter.

They were holding a plate with what looked like braised nug on it and a tankard in hands. When he saw the Herald, the Tevinter actually seemed to blush, which Cullen was pretty sure he’d never once seen him do before.

Maker give me strength, for I have none left.

The Herald stepped up to the two men and looked at the soldier with a strange expression.

"...Krem. Hello. I see you found our little private party. Care to join?"

As if the situation wasn’t bad enough already, they winked at the man, and Cullen's face started to burn.

Maker, please no. Anything but that.

But mercifully, the man bowed somewhat rushed and stated he was 'needed elsewhere' before he quickly submerged himself into the mass of people again, leaving Cullen somewhat dumbfounded, but also relieved.

He handed their plate back to the Herald absent-mindedly, feeling more uncomfortable than ever.

This was a terrible idea, start to finish.

Instead of accepting their plate again, the Qunari only laughed and tilted their head.

"Commander, you need to take something off me first. I only have so many hands."

He complied reluctantly, swapping plates with the Herald and taking a large tankard of beer that they had brought with them, then coughed nervously again, looking after the Tevinter.

"Do you want to...I mean - if you need to go..."

Andraste's pyre consume me now, I beg of you.

Adaar turned their head with furrowed brows to follow his gaze, still smiling, then scoffed when they understood what he meant.

"Oh, no. Krem is chasing after a tavern maid, I believe. I do not want to interfere with that."

Cullen was taken aback.

But they...I saw them...

Adaar saw the confused look on his face and realization apparently dawned upon them.

"Oh, my fucking... Someone told, didn't they? The gossip in this town, I swear. If we hadn't had the Breach to distract them, people would have spread a rumour that I was able to sprout wings whenever I pleased or something."

They laughed again, light and airy, and his heart ached at the sight. Had he ever seen them this light-hearted?

"Wait, they probably already did that too, huh? Oh well. I just never pictured you to be fond of shallow tattle, Commander."

The Herald grinned at him while he blushed a crimson red, almost dropping his beer wanting to protest this accusation, but thought better of it just in time. It would be even worse to have them know he'd seen.

The Herald took a bite of their bread, gave him a gentle slap on the arm and seemed to suppress a broad smile.

"Eat, Commander, before it gets cold. I'm just teasing you; I know word spreads faster than the plague here."

His face and neck were still burning hot, but he was very hungry.

They ate in silence for a while, which was a welcome change to the blighted conversation they’d had before.

You're such a damn fool. And this Tevinter is, too.

The cut of meat was supple and sweet, and he felt a bit better after he'd finished. As he was washing it down with the light ale, he heard the Herald sigh deeply and looked over. They were gazing over the crowd and the look on their face had turned from a boisterous smile to an almost sombre expression.

"Are...you alright, Herald?"

He had trouble gauging this sudden shift in mood and could have punched himself for being so slow. Had he missed something again?

They drew in a breath and looked over at Cullen with eyes that were slightly glazed over; they had seemingly been deep in thought, and he cursed himself for not just keeping quiet. But now they did look...sad somehow, and he started to worry a little.

"It's just...look at them all. They will all swear up and down that I single-handedly saved them from every single demon in the world, and that they saw Andraste hold my pouch while I did so, no offense Commander, sorry, but they...they won't..."

The Herald sighed shakily, trailing off mid-sentence and Cullen was at a loss of what to do. They were quiet for a while and his throat was dry no matter how much ale he drank, too dry to speak, and he shifted uncomfortably, shoulders tensing.

After a while, Adaar put their plate down on the ground and leaned against the wooden stakes behind them, crossing their arms. Where had the festive mood gone all of a sudden? Had he said or done something to upset them? They swallowed and looked down at the grass beneath their feet, or maybe at nothing.

Had it been this quiet before? Even the music didn't seem so loud anymore, and Cullen could swear he heard his own heartbeat. The Qunari was leaning against the palisades fairly close to him, and he could hear them breathing, every other sound drowned out somehow.

Their voice came upon him like an avalanche when they suddenly spoke again.

"You know, when people look at me, all they see is…The Herald. Maybe The Big Hulking Ox, but never just...Adaar."

His stomach sank a little bit and he bit the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with a reason to excuse himself, but of course, he found none.

The Herald chuckled dryly and looked over at him, his gaze shooting up to meet theirs.

"You know, with all these people that surround me, I feel completely alone most of the time. I have...precious few friends to call my own and no family to speak of. Instead, I have this."

They lifted their left hand, and the Mark glimmered in the dimming light before him, the magic crackling quietly.

"And all it does is separate me from people even more. I’m supposed to be happy right now, right? Why don’t I feel it?”

Cullen pondered whether they had been drinking, but their speech showed no trace of it, nor did their mannerisms.

With another weary sigh, they looked up at the wide night sky which was strewn with several stars by now.

"It doesn't help that I'm entirely suspicious of everyone I meet, but I guess that's what happens when you grow up getting shit from people all your life.

You don't...trust. You just don't. And you start to make wrong accusations. Like...I did with you." 

A bolt of thunder went through his head first, and then his whole body. Cullen stared at the ground, eyes wide and burning. They were not drunk, but certainly that could be the only explanation for this, and their voice was so soft and gentle. He felt like a little boy recruit about to be embarrassed in front of the whole Order.

His breathing came only shakily and he rubbed his neck with a trembling hand.

"Herald..."

They pushed themself off the ramparts they were leaning against and stood in front of him now, a tad too closely, and he felt vulnerable like a child. They spoke again, softly and with a low, hushed tone.

"I misjudged you Cullen, often and quite badly. I am really sorry."

His head shot up and they locked eyes with him. They had called him by his name again, and it felt just as strange and dizzying as it did the first time. The sound rang in his head with a strange echo, sticky sweet against his innards, and as if it burrowed down right to his core.

Cullen felt a little sick and he was sweating. With the same soft voice they went on, leaving him no reprise.

"I...apologize that I've been so difficult. You only ever meant well, I know, and I would be happy to consider you a…friend."

That last word sounded almost like a question.

It was silent for what seemed like an impossibly long time and he kept staring at them, the Herald, who he served, who he was sworn to, and he couldn't, it just wasn't right, he was just an unimportant small man, a cog in the machine that supported them, he...

Cullen saw their eyes slowly tense and their brows furrow, their lips were now pressed together as they still stood there, expectantly.

Say something, damn you.

"I...Herald, yes, I mean, if you..."

They took a step back, ever so small, but it felt like he was hanging from a ledge into an abyss and they'd just cut the rope that held him.

The Herald smiled - it was bitter and paired with a sad scowl. They shook their head when he wanted to speak again.

"No, Commander, it's OK. That was stupid of me. Please forget I ever brought the matter up. I – good…good evening."

With that, they turned, and he dropped the tankard, starting after them.

You unspeakable fool. You utterly useless man.

He reached after them in the crowd - what do I care who sees now - and caught their sleeve. They turned around trying to shake him off half-heartedly and he could see tears welling up in their eyes. Cullen's heart was caught in his throat, and he opened his mouth to speak, when he heard them.

Bells.

Adaar's eyes widened at the sound, and they both looked around frantically, when their eyes landed on the mountain behind them, where he now saw fires coming toward them, little specks of red light in the leaden night. And there were a lot of them.

He sucked in a sharp breath and drew his sword, looking at the Herald. They only nodded shortly.

"I will meet you at the gates."

With that, the Qunari grabbed their staff from their back ever ready, and took off into the night. 

Chapter Text

Adaar was rushing through the chaos, trying to come up with a plan, while everybody around them seemed to be running around like headless chickens. The black sky above them was streaked with burning red lines, as if hell was raining down on Haven. Fires were roaring everywhere, and the screams of dying people filled the hot air, mingling in with the smoke.

The whole town had succumbed to panic and Adaar felt that much closer to following suit with each passing moment. Fear had a tight grip on their heart as ashes and embers whirled around them in great thick clouds, the sooty fallout of all this destruction.

Keep it together, keep it together, keep moving, breathe, was their endless mantra, and it barely made a difference in the end. Adaar felt sick to their stomach, their hands were cold and clammy and they had trouble holding the staff as it seemed to grow increasingly heavy every second.

Their senses were heightened to a painful degree, and everything seemed to be entirely too sharp and close to them. Every little movement registered like a deep cut in their head while their heart was pounding far too hard in their chest; pump-pump-pumping sheer horror through their body in panicked waves.

Some say there is a calm that washes over you as you enter battle, that you function without thinking and the world is at its clearest and most absolute, but Adaar found that that was a load of pig shit.

Right now, they were a panicked wreck, and nothing was calm or clear. The monstrous constructs which appeared around them awakened a fear in their heart which was unparalleled to anything they could have ever encountered in the Fade. There, you knew your own perception can play tricks on you and if you're skilled, you could alter its malleable, impressionable structure.

Nothing about any of this was undefined or unclear however, and Adaar felt entirely robbed of their powers. The screaming Red Templar horrors were undeniably here, brutally real and they seemed to all have bled straight out of their nightmares into reality.

It was hard for Adaar to register this was actually happening - everything seemed so out of place and they found themself wanting to run and hide. There was nowhere to run, however. The whole world had been turned into a fiery pit of destruction and death, in which their magic seemed to be only a drop of ice in an ocean of fire.

They had found Cassandra, Varric and Bull in the chaos and sent the other fighters they'd seen out in all directions, to help the people of Haven. It all still seemed so very wrong - surely there had to be someone they could tell that this was all a mistake, that this was not supposed to happen.

Adaar's heart was about to crush under its own weight in their chest as they took in the smoldering remains of the place they all had come to call home, which was currently quickly disintegrating before their very eyes. They did not know a lot about strategy or full-scale war, but they were aware Haven was no fortress. The wooden palisade walls would only hold for so long, and there seemed to be no end to the advancing demon horde outside the gates.

Bull's axe came crashing down beside them, and they looked back in terror at what seemed to have been a person at some point, but now there was not much left of that: bloody red crystals unlike anything they had ever seen were bursting through her head and torso, ripping open the Templar uniform which they'd worn at some point.

Adaar started shaking uncontrollably - this thing had almost gotten to them. They whirled around to face Bull, who was in a raging frenzy. His face and arms were covered in bloody specks that looked eerily like freckles and his breath was coming hard and fast like a hammer. He was a terrifying sight, looming over everyone in his brutal raw strength.

Adaar watched in a daze as blood dripped from his weapon, slow and red. At his feet, something that might have been entrails at one point pooled in a slithering black heap, steaming and shimmering in the cold night. Something was wrong about them though; they looked like they had been eaten up from inside, their shape destroyed almost beyond recognition by perforation and pustules that left a misshapen mess like a malignant growth in their place.

In horror, Adaar watched as the dead mass twitched and writhed in front of them still, like a pile of fat disintegrating black slugs.

They felt a lump rise in their throat and their stomach heaving. The red crystals that burst forth from these monsters were on the inside too apparently, and seemed to have grown over several organs in this Templar, encrusting them in a sickly red glow like some sort of hardened, foreign fungus.

Adaar's vision blackened around the edges and they felt unable to breathe as their stomach tightened further. The stench of blood filled the air in an inescapable mist, and a wave of death and decay hit them as they stared at the remains of what seemed to have been a human at some point.

"You have to move, Adaar!"

The other Qunari's voice came down on them through the clamor of battle like a boulder, and Adaar was startled back into reality.

"What the hell are these things?!"

It seemed impossible that something like this should exist in the same plane they all did. These….creatures were misshapen and horrifying, but worse than any of that was the fact that these were not demons as it had first seemed to them. These monsters had all been people at some point.

Adaar felt sick again. Bull grabbed their shoulder with an iron grasp and turned them away from the carcass.

"It doesn't matter! Listen to me boss, we need to get going - there are too many of them out here!"

They nodded slowly, like in a trance.

Damn it Adaar, you're supposed to be a leader to these people. Get it the fuck together.

They did their best to keep moving and to shake the terror that seized them progressively. But there were just so many people. Where should they all go?

The group of four was now hastening toward the town, and Adaar tried to get people they picked up along the way to follow in a somewhat controlled fashion.

Please at least keep up the semblance of control, you big lumbering ox.

As they approached the gates of Haven, they saw the Commander standing there, waving people in. A strange twinge of despair grabbed at Adaar's heart as they viewed the man. He looked disheveled and dead tired, but also somehow alert and more in control of this situation than they could ever hope to be.

It seemed like almost all of the survivors head retreated inside the gates by now, so their group rushed in as well. Soldiers pulled the heavy wooden doors shut behind them hastily, and Cassandra began a shouted briefing on the situation immediately while Adaar stood there, dumbly staring at the chaos in town.

So much death and destruction. Why? Who is behind this?!

As they were pondering this, a sudden unexpected quiet came over them, and with an eerie cold feeling grabbing their neck Adaar looked up around, their ears ringing with the strange new calm.

Something's not right.

"...the Chantry. We need to get everyone inside, and-"

There was a rattle, followed by knocking sound, and a muffled pleading voice behind them - had they left someone behind who was now trapped outside the gates?

Frantically, Adaar pulled open the gate while Cassandra tried to protest, and in staggered a lanky young man. He waved his arms at the startled party and started giving a confused overview of the situation, about which he seemed to know a lot, and it confirmed their suspicions.

Fuck.

Adaar felt their breathing become shallow as they recalled the uniform on the monstrous horror that seemed to have once been a soldier. Not just any soldier though.

A Templar.

They felt cold and miserable all of a sudden. Of course they would attack; the Inquisition hadn't sided with the Templars, so they were clearly the enemies. The Commander seemed to know the leader, Samson, and Adaar felt dizzy and weak.

Why did it always have to be Templars?

To add to their problems, these seemed to have been in contact with red lyrium, as Varric alluded to grimly. Adaar shivered at the thought of the future they'd seen in Redcliffe. Apparently, this was the same substance and it was able to infect people, which is what must have happened to these Templars.

Perfect. Of course these idiots would try and gain more power through something they barely understood.

Adaar did not need to hear any more.

"Enough. We need to get these people out of here. Commander, get everyone inside the Chantry; we will try to cut through their forces out here."

The man stared at Adaar with a sad, somewhat empty look and Adaar felt a strange hole open up inside them, but they answered with a steely resolve in their eyes.

There is no time to mourn these people now.

It seemed as if he meant to say something but decided against it at the last moment. Instead, he nodded gravely, and their group took off again. 

The creatures were hideous and horrifying, up close or far away, though Adaar tried their best to keep a distance to the snarling monstrosities. There was nothing human left inside them as they had to accept the more they fought, and they all had the same eerie, faint red glow to them with those horrific crystals growing out of their bodies like giant parasites.

Frantically, the group fought through the bulk of the Templars, which had now arrived in front of the gates. The plan was to get some of the trebuchets to work again, so they would at least stand a chance of defeating this demon army.

A nauseating, thick stench of blood and ripped up entrails wafted over them, and Adaar found themself quickly succumbing to despair.

No, you can't. They are all depending on you, damn it.

Varric seemed to take this all the hardest. He was uncharacteristically quiet and grim; a strange mood for the man who usually had a quip and good spirits ready for everyone. Adaar recalled the story of the Templar in Kirkwall who had succumbed to red lyrium.

Of course, that's how he knew.

They shuddered and looked over the horde of corrupted Templars which stretched as far as they could see.

How did this happen?

Two of the large catapults were finally recovered with the help of many of the soldiers and mages who'd stayed behind to fight, so Adaar and their companions headed back to the gates, where the Commander already came running toward them again.

He looked almost as desperate as Adaar felt, but he kept it together admirably. Adaar wished they were as in control of their emotions, just once.

"Worship. Most everyone's in the Chantry by now. We should regroup -"

But Cullen never got to finish his sentence, as the most hideous sound Adaar had ever heard sliced through the air around them like a rusty sword cutting through glass.

With a screech that almost shattered their ear drums, a shadow overhead blotted out the moon and the fire, and all they saw for a few seconds was a red glaring stream of lightning coming down on them.

Adaar ducked and drew up a barrier over themself and the others in a panic, before they all rushed inside the town again, pulling the gates shut while the shadow flew overhead.

Adaar stared up at it and could not believe their eyes.

A dragon.

The word rang hollow in their ears. What in blazes was a dragon doing here?

The Commander's eyes were wide as he stood beside them, glistening with disbelief in the cold moonlight and his flushed face paled when he saw it fly over them with thunderous wings and another head-splitting screech.

Varric gasped, clutching his Crossbow, as well as Adaar's arm as they were still unable to tear their gaze away, and Cassandra said a prayer that went unheard against the creature's screeching.

Not even Bull seemed excited - he cursed under his breath and had the same look of panicked disbelief on his stony face that Adaar imagined they themself expressed.

"To the Chantry, now!"

The Commander's words finally pulled them out of their stupor. Adaar's magic crackled in the cool night air as they sent bolts of ice flying every which way, which sliced through the hordes of monstrously deformed Templars which were climbing the ramparts already. They had ingested so much lyrium at this point that their vision began to swim, but it was no use, they had to keep going.

Houses were burning left and right, and soldiers were fighting everywhere with panic written on their faces as the group moved through the ruined town in a daze. They pulled a few stragglers from the remains where they could and rushed toward the large building themselves. The magic in the air made Adaar's head swim and it felt...wrong. Dark and tainted.

"I believe that's everyone - quickly, now!"

The Commander was inside the Chantry already and pulled the large doors shut behind Adaar after the party had rushed inside, out of breath and with cold sweat clinging to their skin.

Adaar felt nauseated and feverish. Their whole body was numb, like it belonged to someone else. They exchanged a look with the Commander, who seemed to be someone else entirely at the moment, a construct more than a man, only an arm and a sword on a body moving on its own, and he was shouting some short orders into the crowd.

There was a frantic back and forth from everyone for a moment when all of a sudden, the strange young man they'd met at the gates spoke up again, quietly, but everyone heard it somehow and turned, the people around them falling silent collectively.

Adaar now saw that he was merely a boy, and he was indeed strange, to say the least. He spoke in riddles, describing someone or something called the Elder One, and apparently knew about a secret passage, which the Chancellor, who was currently bleeding out on the ground behind him confirmed.

Adaar turned to the only one who seemed to have a grasp on the situation logistically – the Commander.

"Will that work?"

They were grasping at straws, but it seemed like they did not have many options.

"Not if Samson and that Dragon tear down this building first."

Adaar and everyone else seemed to realize collectively that they were entirely outnumbered and there was no chance they could hold them off long enough for everyone to make it out. But the boy held out a pale hand into the crowd and shook his head, which strangely caught everyone’s attention again.

"There is another way. The Elder One, he wants the Herald alone. He's not interested in the rest of you, I think."

Everybody was slowly turning to stare at Adaar and a strange calm began to wash over them in the hushed silence and dim light of the Chantry. They felt almost happy. Relieved.

Adaar took a deep breath and half a smile curved on their cracked lips, which were stained with soot and ash. Finally, a viable option had presented itself.

"Well, then I think it's obvious. I go out again - alone this time."

Cassandra, Varric and the rest protested immediately of course, but it was no use. Adaar would not hear it; they would not risk everyone's lives just to hide in here a little longer.

"All of you are leaving, now. Commander, tell me what you need from me."

There was a leaden silence blanketing everyone, before people started drifting off to the back of the Chantry, slowly first, then more pressingly. Some may have said encouraging things or voiced their concern before they left, but Adaar did not register any of it, really.

Quietly, the Commander walked over to the door with Adaar, where he filled them in on a plan he apparently had just come up with.

Man, he's good at this.

When he had finished explaining his strategy, Adaar simply nodded, still strangely calm and ready for their task, as if they'd been training for it their whole life.

When they turned to exit the Chantry however, the Commander did not leave with the others and instead stepped between Adaar and the door, while there was an expectant silence hovering between them.

"Commander? Is there anything else I should know?"

The man held their gaze for a moment with a somber look and came a few steps closer, speaking in almost a whisper, which made cold goosebumps trickle down Adaar's arms.

"Herald, you..."

He fidgeted for a moment, and Adaar thought he seemed somewhat dissatisfied with the situation.

Why? Everything is clear. We finally have a chance.

Adaar stared at him expectantly, feeling that there were no more words needed.

"Perhaps...you will surprise it, find a way..."

So that's what this was about. Their precious Herald needed a proper sending off. Adaar scoffed at the man, who seemed taken aback somewhat.

Enough with this fucking Chantry decorum already! We don't have the time.

Adaar grabbed their staff and looked at him once more with an impatient frown.

"Sure, Commander. Just...please just get them out of here."

And without another look back, they went out into the night.

Cullen was absolutely frantic, though he did not want to admit it, even to himself. It did not help that everyone seemed to have entirely given up hope right now. Sure, they were all exhausted, many were wounded and they had just narrowly escaped, but there had to be something, anything they could do.

Everything had happened so fast after the attack, and now it all had come to a standstill all of a sudden while his mind was still racing, his body ready to keep going - at least that's what he told himself.

He and the people of Haven had watched the town being buried under a giant avalanche from their vantage point up the mountain, just when they had finally reached it. The soldiers had given the signal immediately, a burning arrow in the air, while Cullen’s chest had constricted and all the air had left him at once, to the point of him almost losing his balance and vision.

The trebuchet had been aimed perfectly, and the projectile had set off a massive amount of snow on one of the mountainsides. All that remained of the town afterward was a mass of misty white fog in the silvery moonlight, and then complete deadly silence had settled over the grisly scene. It seemed the Herald had succeeded. The dragon was gone.

"We have to go look for them!"

The Ambassador was currently running back and forth between the Council and the soldiers behind him and seemed to be the only one who still had their wits together. Cassandra turned and grabbed hold of her arm firmly.

"Are you mad?! In this snowstorm? We will have to wait for it to pass, Josephine-"

The words of the two women turned into a meaningless droning in the background as Cullen looked up at the huge white cloud raging at the peak behind them. The weather was coming closer, and he could not even see the broad path their group had trodden on the slope anymore, so thick was the storm.

Their group had made camp in a basin after a long descent down that blasted mountain, where it had seemed fairly quiet and sheltered. Cullen was tired to the bone, but all he wanted was to scale that mountain again and dig through all the snow on this blasted ridge with his bare hands if need be, just to find them.

He felt disbelief rise in him as the situation became clear in his mind: they really had left them behind down there. The Herald had stayed back so they could flee, and now…

His skin ached from the freezing cold, his head swam and he was chilled to the core. There was no use in going back, and he had to accept that at least for tonight. After more heated debate between the Seeker and Josephine, they all finally settled down grimly and resolved to wait until the morning to send out a small search party if the weather permitted, but until then nothing could be done.

He did not sleep much that night. It was cold in his tent, but he could only imagine how much worse it had to be for Adaar, out there, alone. If they were even still alive…but that was a thought he did not permit himself, yet.

After three entire days of waiting around and doing nothing, Cullen was about to hack this entire mountain to pieces. Three hellish days they had spent out here in hopes an opportunity would present itself, but it hadn’t, at least so far.

The snowstorm still hadn't passed entirely but it seemed to have receded at least somewhat, and there now was a thick fog covering the peak towering over them.

"We cannot wait any longer, Cassandra. They will not last out there - we need to go and start looking now, or we might as well give up on the Herald entirely!"

The Council stood before him wordlessly as he spoke, all of them looking incredibly tired and worse than ever in any respect – physically as well as mentally. Cullen expected himself to look no better, but he could not find a second of rest while the Herald was still out there.

Josephine spoke up, looking weary and wrapped in so many cloaks that she looked like some sort of tragic noble hostage, trapped with her vile kidnapper out in the brutal wilderness, but her voice still carried the same reason and calm it always did.

"We are all tired and unsure of what to do next, but we must keep together and above all, keep hope alive."

Cullen felt dazed and frustrated as he listened, and he realized he would not be able to sit and listen to the same hopeful speech again.

"We all want to find them as soon as possible, but for now, today - we can't. This storm is still going on. Let us try tomorrow and get some rest tonight. Most of us haven't slept in days."

That was, at least, a fact he could agree on with her. And he had to admit, though he hated to do so, that going out now, he would not be able to ensure he was giving his best, tired as he was. His entire body ached and his ability to concentrate was at an all time low.

While he was certainly used to life in the field, this brutal cold was not something any of them could endure for long and he knew they all had to get moving soon. Where to though, no one seemed to know, so at least through that miserable fact they had some more time to find the Herald. He prayed to Andraste to watch over them as he finally went to get some sleep, feeling more helpless than ever.

Chapter Text

The fight for Haven had been absolutely brutal so far, and it had left carnage in its wake everywhere Adaar looked. There were lifeless, mangled bodies strewn across the grounds they had all been able to walk peacefully until now everywhere you turned. Bodies of people they had known.

The head seamstress’ face, torn off clean on one side and horribly disfigured on the other, still stuck in their mind; her red blood darkening the snows around her corpse. She’d always mended Adaar’s clothes with a smile and a quip, no matter how badly they’d messed them up on their excursions. She had never complained, she had always been friendly and delighted to see the Herald, and now she was dead.

They had tried to save as many people as they could, but it was no use – many unlucky souls had been simply cut down, like weeds that were in the way. Adaar could only hope the others would fare better.

Fuck, please, please, let the Commander succeed. Please, Cullen, just get them out of here.

Adaar rushed over to the catapult with the small group that had insisted on following them out of the Chantry. A wild plan had manifested in their head during the fighting and while they had talked about the mountain. If it worked, they would all be safe, but it was a complete shot in the dark. It was also the only hope they had. 

At this point, it was almost impossible to get through the groups of misshaped Templars, as they covered almost all of the area surrounding the town, while more streamed down from the mountain continuously. There wasn't much time left now.

Adaar grabbed Bull by the arm, who was still fucking topless in this freezing cold, with nothing more than a leather harness covering his broad chest. It almost made them laugh, so absurd was the sight. He stared down at Adaar, one of the only people who was even taller than them, and stopped in his tracks.

"What is it, boss?"

They looked at the large man solemnly. Adaar had come to consider him a friend, and an ache shot through their heart as a grim finality settled in their mind. But there was no time for sentiment now, and exactly because they cared for these people, they had to do this. It was time.

"Go to the Chantry and join the others now. I can advance on my own from here."

Bull's eyes widened and he grabbed Adaar, leaning in with wild confusion written on his face.

"Are you insane?! I won't-"

Adaar grabbed his hand, lifting it off their shoulder with solemn determination, and he fell silent.

"I will not discuss this with you. Take the others and go. That's an order."

He froze in place, seemingly of two minds about the matter, and Adaar sincerely hoped he would not choose now of all moments to disobey.

Cassandra and Varric came running up to the two now, bewildered as to what was happening, and covered in soot and blood. All three of their companions looked exhausted. Adaar smiled thinly at the sight of them, and for once, they felt like they knew exactly what they were doing.

They will make it out of here. I will ensure they do.

"Adaar...?"

Varric, as always, was too smart for his own good and looked them up and down suspiciously, as realization that they might do something crazy slowly settled in. Adaar looked at Bull once more and raised their brows expectantly.

"You…want to go on alone.", they heard the dwarf say in the background, but paid him no mind.

"Herald, no! Absolutely not - we will not leave you now!"

The Seeker was, of course, furious and headstrong as always, but time was running out fast and they could not indulge her, either. Bull nodded, finally, and Adaar let go of him.

"It's really not up for debate, Cassandra. Go, get to the others, and do it fast!"

And with a swooping motion of their staff, Adaar summoned a gust that sent the three flying toward the gates. There they quickly scrambled to their feet and Adaar watched with relief how Bull rushed over to grab the others and pushed them through the large door. Cassandra struggled to get free, no doubt to run towards Adaar again, while Varric just stared in disbelief.

When they were through, Adaar slammed the gates shut behind them with another icy gust and covered the wooden surface with a thick wall of ice, which almost used up all of their remaining magic.

It's worth it if means they make it out.

Oh, please let it be worth it.

Now they were all alone in the midst of all this madness, and unchecked terror finally crept up their spine and arms, covering them in an angry, icy sheen. Adaar drew in a shaky breath and started towards the catapult with was the center of their plan, trying not to take in too much of the dead people, animals and horribly disfigured Templar remains around them.

Their legs seemed to be made of butter as they ran, threatening to give out at any moment, and Adaar cursed under their breath.

There's no time to be weak now, damn it!

They were no hero, as they sadly had to admit now. All they wanted to do was run. That was no option, however, as Adaar was all too well aware. All these people depended on Adaar, their wonderful shining brave Herald, to save them. How the hell had it come to this? They had never asked for any of that.

But as they looked down and saw the ruined bodies of the stable hands, remembering the faces of the soldiers and washers, smithing assistants and fishers, the cooks and the mages, they knew that neither had they asked for any of it, and hot anger rose within them once more.

Good. You don't have any time to be scared, so better be fucking furious.

Adaar arrived at the trebuchet trembling and out of breath. It was surrounded by more of the tainted Templars and some demons, which were now aimlessly creeping through the cold night air.

It was still raining ash and fire, and all of it mingled with the blood and snow on the ground into a sickeningly pink and black mush. Screams of dying people and some horses further back created a terrible cacophony of death around Adaar, impeding any sane thought.

All this also made it hard to breathe for Adaar. Fire was not, and had never been their element, and the heat started to get to them. With an unsteady hand Adaar fished out their last lyrium flask, drank the burning liquid and then drew up their mage armor, as well as an icy wall in front of them while they rained down hell on the monsters which were now approaching them fast, bereft of other targets.

They were completely dead inside - Adaar could see it now. The Templars were possessed and altered by something, maybe a curse, maybe a demon, maybe it was that red lyrium itself. And oh, those crystals growing out of them, like nauseatingly deformed new body parts, or some sort of parasite that had taken them over – Adaar could not look at them for too long, or nausea threatened to overpower them.

Adaar did not relent, no matter how close their pounding heart seemed to collapse under the terror they felt - they could not, even though every bone in their body felt like it had disintegrated by now and their magic was running very, very low. Bolt by bolt, they impaled the Templars, and the ice sliced through their bodies with a maddening wet crunch, as the red monstrosities circled in around them closer and closer.

Adaar froze a large demon that appeared next to them out of nowhere in a panic, and shattered it with a swift hit of their staff.

What I wouldn't give for a sword next to me now.

The picture of Bull, Cassandra, Blackwall and the others following the Commander manifested in their mind, and they prayed to everything he believed in to aid him now.

I wish I had paid more attention to their stupid Chant - maybe then they would actually listen to a filthy Qunari like me.

The man was capable - with or without his Maker, Adaar reminded themself, and they had to believe Cullen could do this, otherwise all of this was for nothing.

Another snap of their hand made another hideously deformed creature freeze before them. Adaar took the opportunity and rushed closer to the catapult, drawing up an ice mine behind them while impaling more of the Templars to their right to buy some time, and realized with horror that their ice bolts had gotten smaller and weaker.

I can’t hold on much longer. Please, Commander, be ready.

Two of the former humans fell over next to Adaar, already dead, but now there was another large demon coming toward them from behind the wooden construct.

"Damn it, you hideous shits! How many of you are there?! Stay the fuck back!"

With considerable effort, Adaar shot a large bolt of ice into the towering Behemoth's chest and it struggled to keep moving for a second. Adaar's arm felt terribly numb after it, and their head pounded with immense exhaustion.

Now, you have to do it now!

Adaar started to climb up to the platform and shot a panicked look toward the red giant which was already coming closer, having been slowed down by their attack only for a moment. With pain shooting through their entire body, they aimed the trebuchet at the white peak of the mountain towering over them.

With a loud crack, the air split around them and a heavy gust of hot wind knocked Adaar down from the catapult, encircling everything around them in ash and pitch-black dust. In a panic, they scrambled about in the dark for a moment, when the silhouette of the red monster was suddenly visible to them again, advancing fast.

With a last effort, they raised their hand and a piercing pain went through Adaar as they froze the demon in an icy prison just mere feet from where they were standing. Adaar screamed a curse into the night; that was it.

No more fucking magic left.

They stood up with a remainder of strength that didn't even seem to be their own and crawled toward the platform again, hoping that the Behemoth would not break free; please oh please just a few more seconds - 

Something hit Adaar's head with a dull thump and knocked them to the ground. As they looked up in a daze, with blood trickling out through their teeth, they saw that a giant black shadow had descended onto the frozen monster and crushed the figure with a nauseating noise, like glass grinding on bare bone.

There was silence for what felt like an eternity as Adaar stared into the gigantic hideous face which hovered above them. Its teeth stood out against the night like bloodstained daggers, gleaming at them from behind peeled back lips that grinned in the mouth of a corpse.

The dragon looked like it was dead already, its nostrils a bony ruin, the body strewn with gaping holes that glowed in the same eerie red as the Templars did, wings crinkling like paper - no, like dry dead skin - as Adaar shook like a leaf on the ground before it.

They tried to reach for their staff, slowly, carefully, and the beast let out a screech which shattered all of their senses at once. Their eardrums felt like they had been pierced through by fire; stars were punching into their eyeballs and their body became numb all over as they sank down onto the bloodstained earth.

As they looked up again through a haze of despair and sheer terror, a figure emerged next to the dragon and advanced towards Adaar. Weakly and hopelessly, they scrambled back, but the looming tall thing was in front of them in what seemed like an instant.

It was hideous and terrible - worse than anything they'd ever seen, and that was no small feat.

Its body, like the dragon's, was a bloody gaping ruin covered with the same red glowing crystals. It appeared somehow altered by them; as if something had taken a living creature apart and rebuilt it into this disgusting thing. Its face resembled something once human, but that was about it. Everything else screamed demon at Adaar. And then it spoke.

Adaar could not believe what they were hearing. This abomination seemed to be sentient, but completely mad. It talked of a key, an Elder One, it gave itself the name Corypheus, and it wanted to remove the "anchor", as it called the mark on Adaar's hand.

It seemed that this creature was responsible for all of this, and Adaar felt no more fear as they listened to the ravings of the demon. Only unbridled, gleaming hot anger.

"So you mean to tell me…all these people here are dead because of some magical experiment of yours that went wrong, and it somehow involved me?"

With an effort that threatened to tear every muscle in their body, Adaar pulled themself up and a desperate fire was burning in their eyes.

"You will pay for that, you-"

But they were not able to finish their sentence, as a searing heat shot through their left arm, blinding them and forcing them back onto the ground as they screamed in pain. The creature was holding up some sort of orb which pulled and ripped at the mark in their hand, and Adaar was convinced this was the end.

The pain still shot through them, throbbing and sharp, but Adaar realized there was a sudden leaden silence around them, with nothing digging into their throbbing arm anymore. Suddenly, the creature burst forward and lifted Adaar up by their left hand with a hideous scream, leaving them dangling like a doll in its claws limply.

"You have spoiled it with your stumbling! It can't be removed anymore!"

The creature seemed livid and Adaar smirked at it weakly through a haze of blood and ash.

Good. Then I have done at least something right.

Whatever this monster wanted with the anchor, as it called the mark on their hand, could not be good.

With another screech, it hurled Adaar onto the trebuchet and all the air left their lungs.

"It matters not. I will find another way. You are just a minor distraction in my plan."

Adaar lifted their very tired and pounding head, barely conscious, gripped the rope securing the catapult and looked at the mountain pass above them, so very far away, so still and white and at peace. The demon already crawled closer and Adaar blinked into the night wearily, their eyes almost falling shut from sheer exhaustion.

And there it was, right on time.

A small red dot gleamed in the dark - they barely saw it through the dust and whirling ashes and all the fire surrounding them. But they did recognize it at once - it was the signal Adaar had been waiting for. The sign that the others were safe, that they had made it.

Adaar raised their eyes at the creature and smiled while a strange warmth spread within them. There was no more doubt, no more fear, no more pain. It had all been worth it after all, and nothing else mattered anymore.

The monstrous construct stopped and stared, seemingly perplexed, and Adaar pushed the last of their life force into their arm on the rope.

"Go to hell, demon."

A sliver of ice that manifested from a reserve they did not have cut through the thick fibers of the rope, and the creature screeched hideously as it realized what Adaar had just done. The trebuchet let loose a giant boulder which they followed with burning eyes, and the last thing Adaar saw was a white shadow that swallowed the world, as a dull thunder came down upon them and took over everything.

Cullen left his freezing tent in a daze and was immediately hit by the frigid air outside, which was somehow even colder than inside the tarp. He had not gotten much sleep last night, but what little he had in him helped tremendously.

He felt a little more clear-headed today, and more determined than ever. His first look was up at the mountain peak that towered above them, and he did not particularly like what he saw – the snowstorm still hadn’t stopped. How was that even possible? Just how much snow could there be in those blasted clouds?

Around him people were already awake, or perhaps they hadn’t slept at all. They were busy cooking, attending to the wounded and keeping a number of fires going. There were a lot of injured people at camp, and they all seemed to be healing very slowly, even with magic. Soldiers looked up at him with weary gazes and some saluted, some were too weak even for that. It was a dismal situation.

He started towards the large tent which they were holding their meetings in every day, hoping to Andraste there would be some food there already so he would not have to delay his plan any further.

Cullen pulled the stiff cloth aside, and found that Leliana and Josephine were inside already. Maker only knew where Cassandra was. The two women appeared weary and worn, probably not having slept much either, but at least it was warm in here. His fingers and toes were numb, as was most of his face, and the heat felt almost painful at first.

He saw a plate with food in the corner, and sat down on one of the chairs inside, grabbing some of the bread and meat. It was all ice cold, but it was all they had for now, and he was starving.

After a while during which no one talked, his extremities began tingling quite unpleasantly, as his body slowly thawed in the warmth that emanated from the fire inside. It was a miracle he hadn't frozen to death in his sleep yet, but he had to sleep away from the others.

Cullen could not let anyone see him thrashing and maybe even talking about Maker knew what during his night terrors, which were especially bad right now, so he slept alone in an unheated tent.

The cloth at the entrance was pulled back from outside, letting in the angry cold and some snow. Josephine pulled the blanket around herself more firmly and moved closer to the fire. In stepped Cassandra, together with the Healer Adan. Now they could finally start.

Cullen did not waste any time and addressed the subject at once.

"We need to get going as soon as possible. Is everything ready?"

Cassandra scowled, but it was not really directed at him. It was more her general state of mind at the time, as it had been since they’d left Haven.

"The Qunari are ready. As are the scouts. Commander, I hope you're sure about this. This is the one shot we get."

Cullen paid that last comment no particular mind and directed his attention to Adan, as a feverish uneasiness spread through his stomach.

"If we wait any longer, it might be too late. Adan, give us your thoughts on the situation."

He tried his best to sound professional and in charge, but his voice almost left him as he said it.

The Healer was silent for an agonizingly long while next to Cassandra, then looked at the three of them and presented his opinion with a factual gesture which seemed to mean, 'This is the best guess I've got, but I don't have a lot of hope for it all as is’.

"If you are to go out and look for the Herald, I'd wager today would be the last day for it, Commander. Longer than four days without any food and heat in this weather - I don't think even the most physically fit Qunari could make that."

Leliana nodded with no doubt a million thoughts on her mind but kept quiet, and Josephine sighed, before stating she wished them all the best and sincerely hoped for their success. Cullen looked over at Cassandra who nodded gravely, but he could see none of the doubt that had been there before in her eyes. She was ready and behind the plan - finally.

Thank the Maker, no more negotiations.

Cullen stood in an instant and Cassandra followed him out the tent. Leliana was to stay here with Josephine to ensure that the camp did not descend into chaos fully, and Adan had already started laying into that food platter. The poor man did not get many breaks these days, and Cullen did not begrudge him one in the least.

The two of them found Bull nearby – he and his second in command were discussing something in an animated exchange that died down once Cullen came into earshot. They, together with a handful of other Qunari would head out with Scout Harding and her people to find the Herald, and they had better do so today.

Krem and the dwarf woman stood next to the Qunari men, looking very much like children amongst giants. The Tevinter seemed to consider saying something, but the look Cullen shot him made him change his mind, apparently, which was probably for the best.

They received rations from the cook and good luck wishes from everyone who was about, and together, their group set off into the snow which was thankfully still trodden down a bit from the caravan, which made it somewhat easier to get through.

The day was cloudy, and thus the morning was not as mercilessly cold as it could have been, but the icy winds which picked up around them after a while were less than pleasant and made advancing even harder, slowing them down quite a bit.

No one spoke much, and the one thing on their collective minds seemed to be ‘Let's hope they're even out there’, as no one was too sure that that was the case.

But Cullen knew, he somehow knew that they had made it out. The Maker and Andraste would surely watch over their Herald and keep them safe even through this ordeal. Please, please watch over them, had been his constant silent prayer through everything these past few days, and he fervently hoped someone was listening.

A thumping noise shook through their consciousness, jerking them back into reality with a violent force. Weary and incredibly weak, Adaar opened their eyes and was not able to see a lot at first in the dark that surrounded them. Their head was pounding hard and everything was numbed by burning pain.

Slowly, they came to their senses. The taste of dried blood in their mouth made them gag and the terrible dryness in their throat caused them to almost cough their lungs out. What had happened? Where the hell were they?

Then it hit them like a bolt of lightning - Corypheus. That name, that hideous face were in front of them again, and Adaar jerked up, a little too fast, and felt like they would collapse again right away.

Their stomach roiled and their vision left them as they fell onto their forearms and dry heaved into the darkness. Their stomach constricted violently as a retching, suffocating sound escaped their throat which made them even sicker. It seemed there was nothing to throw up left in them, however, which made the whole ordeal even more painful, while it felt like their eyes were about to pop out of their head from the effort.

With a pained gasp, they rolled over onto their back and pinched their eyes shut, whimpering into the cold. The strenuous movement made it feel like all their intestines had been ripped out at once, and their muscles were weak strings of raw pain.

Slowly, they opened their eyes again and were now able to make out vague shapes in the dark. It was cool but not freezing around them, but their limbs seemed to be devoid of any blood or life force.

Adaar felt how thirsty they were. To their left, they could make out a wall of what seemed to be snow, so they dug their hand in it and scooped a handful into their mouth like a dying animal. They sure felt like one, too.

The snow was cold, too cold, but the moisture was soothing and much needed, so they repeated the motion a few more times, and then resolved to try and sit up.

That proved more difficult than anticipated, however, as it seemed like several bones in their torso and arms were broken or at least fractured, and there were angry gashes and burns along their skin everywhere.

Adaar fumbled around in their pouch, but all that was left from their supplies was some dried Elfroot, so they took out all of it and chewed on the bitter herb listlessly. It seemed to do some good though, as the pain receded a bit after that.

Slowly, the memories came back to Adaar. The festivities, Haven - the army that had attacked them. And the people who they had left in the Chantry, to try and survive, while they were going to their death.

The friends they had pushed away so they would live while Adaar stood alone against the darkness. Was this really them? They did not seem to recognize themself in these actions.

As they sat on the cold ground, a picture of misery, pondering the strange events which had unfolded seemingly all by themselves around Adaar, they heard that thumping again. This time they managed to sit up, though pain still jolted through every fiber of their body.

They could now see the area around them more clearly. It was a tunnel of some sort, continuing in darkness right in front of them, while a snowy wall seemed to have blocked off the way just behind them.

How lucky could one idiot be? Maybe this Andraste really was watching over them, as everyone insisted.

With a groan, they staggered to their trembling feet and leaned onto the stone wall next to them. As they stared ahead, they realized the sound had to be snow - falling into the tunnels in great big heaps. They stood for a bit and were delighted to realize they did not lose their footing right away.

Maybe...they could even make it out of here? It was a wild thought, and fairly unrealistic, but it was better than being buried alive down here. They had to try, at least.

For what seemed like an eternity, Adaar felt along the frozen walls, taking some turns which lead nowhere. Slowly, desperation and doubt in their new plan set in. They had no food, no idea how long they had been down there already, and they were badly wounded. But what was the alternative? Lying down to slowly die in here?

Hell no. I fucking hate caves.

Somehow, Adaar had not died in the avalanche they'd set off in Haven, and it must have flung them into this tunnel system that apparently ran under the town, which they had also survived somehow. So, as long as they were able to keep standing, they would try to get out of this hole and at least see the open sky again one more time before they snuffed it.

Suddenly, they heard rustling ahead of them and stopped. Adaar's head swam, and fear crept up their spine. They had no weapons, and precious little magic left in them, if any. The amount of lyrium that they'd taken in the fight had burned through their nerves and their entire body felt like it had been skinned once over, so even if they did still have any potions left, it would not do much good to consume them now.

There was also no way they would be able to cast even the simplest of spells right now.

Carefully, they listened to make out the sounds - it was impossible to tell how close whatever was causing them was ahead. These tunnels distorted every sound around them and the snow dampened it all even further. So Adaar carefully pushed on as there was no way back now; the tunnel behind them had gone on straight for too long and there was no way they would make it back and out of there.

After a few bends, they thought they saw a faint glow ahead. Maybe it was in their head - their very damaged, beaten up head - but it could also be a way out, so they pressed on a bit faster and indeed, the glow seemed to get brighter. Adaar felt almost giddy. Just a few more bends, and then-

Fuck. 

This was not an exit after all, as they now saw, but a large cavernous hall with paths leading off to three sides; one of them caved in. A large hole far up in the ceiling let dim daylight in, which illuminated the scene. In the midst of this they saw where the rustling had come from. Three ghostly forms were trapped down here with them.

They were moving around aimlessly and Adaar cursed themself for not taking that path to the left a few crossings back, but there was no turning back now. Suddenly, one of the demons stopped in its movements.

Oh shit.

Adaar leaned against the wall and tried not to make a sound, but it seemed the Shade had sensed them. Now, all three were advancing slowly and Adaar felt the blood freeze in their veins.

With a hideous snarl, one of the creatures came around the corner of the tunnel Adaar was in and with a desperate effort, they lifted their left hand up against them, not sure to what avail.

For a moment, everything was bathed in blinding green light. Adaar's entire arm felt like it was being ripped out of its socket, and they stared in horror as the three Shades came closer, then they were suddenly lifted up into the air, where they disappeared into...a rift?

Where did that come from? Did I just do that?!

There was no time to think.

Adaar took the chance and rushed off past them, into one of the two tunnels which were not collapsed, praying to whatever Gods were listening that this would not lead them to their death.

Chapter Text

The day was passing rapidly, while Cullen's mood began to shift from determined and hopeful to sour as slowly, desperation started to mix in. They had been traversing the endless mountain slope for hours now, and he could see how tired the soldiers were becoming. However, no one seemed ready to give up just yet, at least not in spirit. So why was his own faltering?

They all loved their Herald too well to give up now and were ready to risk their lives finding them. He felt pride well up within him and a small bit of comfort in the fact that these people who had been through so much would at least try to use what was left of their strength to find the Herald of Andraste, even though chances they were actually out here and that this search party would find them were more than slim.

He knew all that too well. He was not a complete fool - Cullen was aware that they were more than likely to return unsuccessfully, but he had to try; he had to at least make one last, organized effort. It was his fault, after all, he was to blame for all of this. His poor planning and his unbelievably short sighted, desperate agreement to their suicide mission had likely killed the Herald - had almost killed them all.

As he pondered his failures as a Commander, he could feel several uneasy glances from the people traveling with him being shot in his direction, searing into his skin. He thought he could hear murmurs too, but that could have been just the wind.

Cullen realized he must look a complete mess - he hadn't had a bath in days, no real food and next to no sleep. The only thing driving him was getting them all out of this white hell, but he could not leave without at least trying to find the Herald.

It could not be great for morale to see their Commander like this, but he could not give up now, nor spare himself any pause or respite. This was more important than appearances, and morale would be all but obliterated should they truly lose their Herald.

At least the other Council members had agreed on that, though none of them had had any idea on how to move on when their little search party would return – with or without the Herald. Cullen mused that it was likely just as much an effort of his to get out of these discussions and to delay that nightmare, if only a little bit further.

Perhaps inspiration would strike out here, had been his thought before, but now he seemed further away from that than ever.

Should they make the wrong decision in leading all those people forward, there would be dire consequences, and he dared not think of that right now. They were not at all safe yet, but at least they were alive.

He was such a coward. Maybe he was not cut out for this position after all; maybe he should resign after all this. He determined to do just that, should they return empty-handed from this expedition. Though, despite everything, despite the white nothingness stretching endlessly into all directions around them, he did not want to accept that possibility just yet.

Let’s keep going, only a little bit further.

With trembling breath, Adaar had crawled along the ever darkening tunnel walls, which now lead steadily upwards - hoping, praying, that the Shades would not follow, or at least not catch up with them if they did. They knew this was not very likely, but then again, Shades were renownedly stupid as hell, so maybe they had at least a sliver of a chance.

They tumbled forward into the dark and hoped there were no treacherous holes to stumble into coming up ahead as they moved with what was more a hobble than a panicked sprint, away from the demons.

At some point even their panic was not enough to fuel them forward anymore and they had to slow down, their aching body flaring up in agony with every move they made, but Adaar had no choice. They could not rest now.

So they stumbled on and paused and then stumbled on again for ages, as terror gripped around their heart ever more tightly as they expected their outstretched hand to hit a wall of snow any second, or worse.

Adaar felt like a lost child in these caverns, all by themself in the endless, cold darkness, and they realized tears were welling up in their eyes. Uncontrollably, they started sobbing with fear in quietly repressed, painful heaves so the Shades or whatever else was in here with them would not find them.

Still, no wall of snow came up before them just yet and so they moved on, tears streaming down their icy cheeks, and hunger burning in their stomach, almost too painful to bear now.

When their feet finally could not carry them anymore and they almost fell over, Adaar decided it was time for a break, whether they liked it or not. So they sunk down onto the stone floor and rested against the wall, too tired to worry about anything following them, and fell into a comatose sleep.

With a panicked jolt that snapped through their entire body, they jerked awake again after who knew how much time had passed, feeling like absolute shit, maybe even worse than before, if that was even possible.

And they were still down here in this hellhole. Adaar sighed a weary and trembling breath and rubbed their aching joints; at least nothing had killed them during the...night? Or maybe it was daytime? It was impossible to tell in here.

Tired and sore, but at least a little more energized they stumbled forward, further up the incline for what they were sure were hours, and suddenly, they could make out some shapes more clearly again.

Very faintly at first, but stronger after a while, they were sure they saw light ahead. Was this another cave illuminated from above? Adaar did not want to get their hopes up too far.

It did not matter, though, because at least they would be out of this maddening darkness. Desperately they kept moving, and slowly, they were able to see the contours of the walls beside them. This time the light was different, and it seemed to be actual, direct daylight streaming in, because now there were tiny wisps of lichen growing on the stone beside them. Adaar felt so happy they almost collapsed.

More and more, there were larger patches of lichen and even moss visible on the walls here and there, and when they found small sprouts of fern growing in the cracks of the stone, Adaar ripped them out and stuffed their mouth greedily. It was almost surely the best thing they had ever eaten, and there were more ahead.

When they were finally convinced they could not fit any more fronds into their sad, protesting stomach, they moved on once more and a bit felt sick, but also a little less like a dead person. The light was now so strong, they realized, that they could make out almost everything, even some color, and it hurt their eyes a bit.

As they turned around another corner they finally saw it: a steep incline stretching out in front of them, with a round opening of light glowing at its top. Adaar began their feverish ascent and crawled up the slope more than they walked, but they were finally moving toward it - an exit out of this tomb.

After a hellish climb that left their legs trembling and their eardrums ready to burst from the rush of blood to their head, they reached the top and stumbled forward a few feet, where they were suddenly hit with the full force of daylight surrounding them, as if they'd stepped out into a furnace.

It was so bright Adaar had to shut their eyes, and collapsed onto their knees. After a few heavy breaths, they peered through their fingers, and saw the whole splendid reality of a gorgeous mountaintop stretching ahead.

There were some trees and barren rock here and there, with everything else being covered by endless amounts of snow. Above them, the endless, wonderful sky unfolded covered in clouds, but so, so bright. Adaar felt a wave a relief wash over them and started crying, curling up into a ball of pain and exhaustion.

As they were lying on the ground, pushing out a few more desperate sobs, they realized how incredibly foolish that was. The wintry chill that came with the winds out here crept in though their clothes fast, as it was much colder out here than in the cave; they had no idea where to go, and no rations whatsoever.

With their eyes now somewhat accustomed to the glaring light of an afternoon winter sun, they looked around and found some more fern growing at the cave entrance. Adaar ate some more and stuffed their pouch full of them, chewed some more handfuls of snow - at least they would not die of thirst out here - and surveyed the area. They had absolutely no idea where they were, and everything looked the same – glaringly white and snow-covered.

Adaar realized they must have scaled one of the mountains from the inside, as the path behind them had been inclining steadily, which had made it so maddeningly difficult to walk. But which mountain?

They looked around and realized they did not have much time to decide where to go; the sunlight was already getting dimmer, and the peaks around them cast harsh shadows in the valleys to each side. Adaar tried to judge the position of the sun behind the clouds, but it was difficult to discern.

Finally, they thought they recognized the mountaintop behind them - it was the other side of the mountain that Haven's Chantry was built against. That must mean the others had come by here, on a similar path.

Before they could get too excited, Adaar also saw that there had been lots of snowfall recently, so it was impossible to tell the direction the group had taken in, should they indeed have been here.

They finally decided, with advanced, near-death defying calculations, that ‘that way’ was the correct direction to go in. If they guessed right, this was where the troops' signal had come from, to the right of the mountain, as seen from the town. This was, of course, entirely speculative but there was really no time to hesitate, so they set out feeling sore, tired, close to collapsing and entirely alone in this world.

After walking through massive amounts of snow for another eternity, they realized the day had already progressed faster than they would've liked, and the only thing other than trees and rock they had seen so far had been a single upturned cart, which had almost stopped their heart.

This either meant that Adaar was headed the right direction, or that they had all been buried under another avalanche. Or it meant nothing at all.

No, it has to mean something good. You cannot lose hope now.

After more miles of endless snow and tiny specks of trees in the distance, they finally saw it: a fireplace, a sign that life had come through here, just down the slope they were standing on. In a mad frenzy, they rushed over to it. Their angry legs gave out under Adaar and they promptly fell onto their face into the sharp, frozen top layer of the snow, where they stayed for a moment, cursing this mountain with every fiber of their being.

Slowly, they pulled their aching body up again, and crept over to inspect the ashes. They were ice cold, just like the rest of this place. Adaar felt ready to lie down and be done with it all.

It was getting dark fast now, and the snow had gotten a bit softer and fresher altogether, presumably because of the snowstorm which raged at the incline ahead, making it even harder to walk. They felt impossibly tired and decided to make camp for the night.

There were a few trees not too far from the campfire, and Adaar could see a small stump amidst them. They investigated the remains of the small tree and scooped away some of the snow on it. It had definitely been cut recently, not just fallen over.

Under the layer of icy crystals that covered it, they felt thick wet sap slowly oozing forward and freezing over quickly. This tree had been cut down one, maybe two days ago. There had been people here recently!

With a weary sigh, they dropped to the ground under one of the larger trees and started digging a little pit in the snow, to shield against the winds, looking and certainly feeling like a half-dead, wet rat trying to find shelter.

They broke off some branches from the other pine trees and started to cover their aching body with it. With what seemed to be the last energy they would ever possess, Adaar stuffed some more fern fronds into their mouth and fell into a deep slumber.

The others were just about ready to give up, Cullen could feel it. Not from a lack of determination certainly, but the soldiers just would not make it much longer physically, and soon, they would have to turn back, as the daylight was waning fast.

Maybe he should stay out here alone, send them all back and keep wandering on his own – up the mountain and into the heart of the storm, where he would find the Herald's lifeless, frozen body, so he could at least die knowing. It seemed preferable to turning around now and returning empty-handed.

But Cullen told himself he could not give in to desperation now, though it was certainly tempting. He kept imagining the Herald wandering in the white emptiness, alone, left to die and deserted by everyone - everyone who would soon leave to never return to this mountain, dooming them to an unmarked, snowy grave.

The thought was simply too much for him, and he had to stop. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose trying to steady his shaky breath, and he felt a heavy lump form in his dry throat, while the icy winds bit his face mercilessly.

Beside him, he heard muffled footsteps coming closer in the soft snow. Weakly, he looked up to see Cassandra coming towards him, looking just as desperate as he felt. Her voice, however, was strong and sure as always, though she kept it low so the others would not hear.

"I know it's maddening, Commander, but we have to believe. Do not despair. I think we still have a chance of finding them. The Maker is watching over them, I know it."

He was surprised to hear her say this, and part of him assumed she only did it to console him, to keep morale up. But she also did not suggest turning back, though she seemed dead tired herself. He nodded and straightened his back.

You're a leader – act like it, damn you.

He knew they all had to be careful with loud noises up here, so they could not go around calling for the Herald. The fresh snow on the mountain towering over them could come down and bury them any moment should they set off an avalanche, so he kept his voice as low as he could while still making sure everyone could hear him.

"Soldiers! You there, fan out over to the right, and you others - over here; I will scale this incline and then we will regroup here for a break. Do it thoroughly. Remember, there have been snowfalls recently."

The implications of those last few words almost choked Cullen, and it felt as if the word buried was seared into his forehead. He was sure the others could see it there, too, written in big bold letters. No one made any comments, however, and the soldiers complied immediately despite their weariness.

Dead tired himself, Cullen started up the incline, toward where the snowstorm still whirled around the mountaintop, and his heart felt constricted, his body endlessly weak. He felt a hundred years older as with each step, yet another maddeningly stoic white part of the mountain ahead became visible, stretching the mountaintop ever further away from them, with no trace of the Herald anywhere.

He had to stop where the incline finally flattened, as his legs were about to give out. It was impossible, he finally realized. They would never find them here, and the Herald was most likely dead by all accounts. He had tried to remain hopeful, but was there really any chance they had made it out there all this time, alone?

He looked down to his soldiers who were circling the area, everyone just as tired as he was himself, he knew. And they still had to make it back. It would be dark when they'd finally arrive back at camp.

Cullen prayed he hadn't endangered the lives of his people today too recklessly and that they would all make it back safely. One group was already slowly making their way back to where Scout Harding was conversing with a few other soldiers who had come back from their search unsuccessfully. They were already starting a small fire to warm themselves by, and he felt sick to his core.

Yes, the Herald was likely buried up there…somewhere under the snow, alone and cold, and no one would ever find them. Or they had died at Haven - that possibility seemed more and more plausible by the second.

He breathed a heavy, defeated sigh, and determined to say at least one parting prayer in their honour before he would resign himself to admitting defeat.

Slowly, he produced a tiny statuette of Andraste from his pockets that he’d been carrying in his pocket for the last couple of days - it seemed fitting for the Herald - and placed it in the snow in front of him. He sank to one knee and folded his hands as the lump in his throat seemed ready to choke him and paralyze his whole body.

He could not seem to find any words, so he choked out a weak Andraste preserve them after a while, and when he lowered his hands, he felt more foolish than ever.

Look at you. You have done this a thousand times before and now, when it matters, you fail. You always do.

Tears welled in his eyes, hot and unstoppable. The Herald deserved so much better than this. He looked up with an endless sense of frustration at himself. They would need to hold a proper service when they were at a Chantry next. He couldn't even pay his respects right. Cullen felt ready to end it right here and now as a thousand thoughts swirled through his head at once.

The white snow blowing in front of him, together with the insurmountable peak, seemed to mock him; seemed to say, I took them. I took them and I beat you, because I do as I please - as I have done and stood for millennia, not subjected to the wishes and lives of you tiny humans.

If he listened closely, he thought he could even hear the words whispering in the wind. He must finally be going insane.

He cursed this monstrous, unscalable mountain and pounded his fist into the snow with a frustrated grunt. Exhausted and defeated, he knew it was finally time to go. Cullen lifted his eyes to the snowy peak hidden behind clouds one more time, then turned, sighing raggedly.

A little further off to the right, a few straggling soldiers who had been surveying the area around a small grove of trees were now returning. He watched the group of people slowly descend from the incline, which was a little less steep there. He had picked the hardest, most arduous course for himself, but it was of course not enough punishment for what he'd done, or failed to do. It would never be enough.

Cullen saw the shadowy figures round a stony mound below him and disappear behind it for a moment, moving rather slowly all in all. They would do well to get out of here sooner rather than later, he had to admit that now. He had to get it together.

He was still responsible for these people, and -

Out of the corner of his eye to the left, he saw what seemed to be a lone straggler further up the mountain, fairly far off from where he'd sent the second group. They were stumbling in and out of the snow flurry and if they moved up even further, they would be in the midst of the snowstorm.

He slowly got up and rubbed his neck, wondering what on earth this scout was doing that far up the mountain. They almost seemed to be lost.

Andraste preserve me, how hard can it be to walk up and down a mountain?

Cullen shook his head and looked down toward the group the straggler belonged to, which now reappeared at the bottom of the incline, and they seemed to have no inclinations to turn back and look for or retrieve the lost scout.

On the contrary, they made their way to the campfire which Harding and the others were standing around and slowly began taking off their gear, getting ready for a break.

He shot another glance upward, where the shadowy figure almost wasn't visible against the fog and the storm clouds anymore, but there it was, staggering around in the cold, alone.

Maker's breath, now I have to go and save some bloody recruit. What kind of people has Harding brought with her? 

He cupped his hands around his mouth and, against his better judgement, shouted against the snowy peak.

"Soldier! Down here, now!"

The mountain answered almost immediately with a low rumble, and he regretted his actions instantly. With a shiver, he waited for any more signs of an approaching avalanche, but mercifully, it seemed to have been just a warning. The soldier didn’t seem to have even heard it.

From behind him, he heard a low unintelligible noise, which must have come from Scout Harding or Cassandra. He turned, and saw the former ascending toward him. Cullen walked forward to the edge and motioned up to the peak behind him demonstratively.

Harding stopped and waved for him to come down. Cullen shook his head in reply. Were they really this disorganized?

There is a person missing from your group.

He finally trotted downward to meet her partway.

“There is a soldier up there!”

The woman came closer and threw her hands up in a questioning manner.

"There's no one else up there, Commander. Have you seen a mountain troll perhaps?"

Cullen turned around again, not in the mood for any jests. It was hard to tell from where he was standing now, but yes, there it was again – fleeting like a ghost in the fog, but he was sure he saw it.

"That's no troll. Right there, Harding. Who told you all to go up that far?"

He looked at the woman intently, who only stared back expectantly, then shrugged slowly and stared at the white wall behind him with narrowed eyes. Cullen did the same for a second, then realization hit him like a wagon load of bricks and he staggered backwards a few paces.

He turned around in a frenzy. Harding caught on immediately and her eyes widened.

"No way - I, oh hell!"

She turned on her heel and rushed down the mountain, as Cullen whirled around in the other direction and staggered up the steep slope frantically.

Oh Maker, have mercy.

He reached the plateau again, completely out of breath now, staring at the clouds intently, but he could not see anything in the white blurry mist for a moment, while his heart was gripped by icy terror.

There! He saw the shadow again, which now stumbled more than they walked, and he waved his arms, still not daring to shout, but they did not seem to take notice. He started up another second incline and the figure stepped out of the snowy fog here and there. Now he was almost certain he saw them: horns.

With his heart racing, he advanced toward the person's outline, just a little further, come on, when he saw them collapse and disappear from his view. Cullen’s breath caught in his throat.

No, please, Maker, no.

He hastened forward with no regard for his aching legs which were ready to give out underneath him any time, as he pushed himself forward in the soft white snow. Rounding a small snowy mound in front of him, he suddenly saw them again.

Snow had already started to cover them, a blurry outline which seemed more prominent and at the same time smaller against the snowy nothingness than anything he'd ever seen. They were lying face down in the snow and did not move. He finally reached the body in a panic and his hands shook so badly he wasn't sure he could ever use them again.

"Herald!”

He collapsed onto his knees next to them and slowly turned them onto their back. Their large frame seemed to be frozen solid already, but also strangely light. He was unable to breathe for a moment as he looked down into the blue, lifeless face of the Herald, who lay in front of him, stiff and motionless.

With a shiver that gripped his entire body, he pulled the glove off his right hand. It trembled so severely that he had considerable effort doing so.

Hesitantly, he placed his ungloved hand against the Herald's neck while the bitter wind was biting into his skin already and snow whirled around them, engulfing them both in white, icy death. He barely felt it.

The storm was now so close it whipped at his coat and the howling roar coming down the mountain was so loud it seemed to drown out his own thoughts. As his skin gingerly touched the Qunari's, his hand jolted back instantly and panic gripped his heart, seemingly stopping time. They were ice cold.

He breathed in deeply and tried to get some order into his swirling thoughts.

You can't lose it now, Cullen. They need you.

With another hesitant movement, he wrapped his hand around the side of the Herald's muscular neck, which felt entirely like that of a corpse with rigor mortis already set in, and he shivered again. His vision was about to desert him and he felt nauseated. Desperately, he croaked out what was more a whisper against the raging storm than anything else.

"Herald, can you hear me?"

There was no reply, and no movement from them.

"Please, Herald! Maker, no..."

Cullen's heart was encased in a bitter and heavy resin which threatened to choke him.

"You can't be dead, no, please...Adaar –“

He dropped his head and started choking up heavy sobs, a sad sight no doubt, but he could not help it, and it did not matter anymore. They were dead. He had come too late and the Herald...they were - 

Frenzied, he stopped in his pitiful display of failure for a moment; had they just moved?

"Herald...Adaar? Can you hear me?"

Cullen dared not breathe, he was so terrified that there would be no response again, but suddenly slowly, with a faint delicate flutter, their eyelids opened just the tiniest bit, like the wings of a dying moth.

Chapter Text

Cullen had trouble focusing – more than usual, he thought. The day was one that was just a little too bright, where things appeared blurry around the edges, and everything bled together into one incessantly loud and sharp mess that made his ears ring.

After the Herald had been recovered in the snow, still breathing but so very weak - like a small candle in a snowstorm with its flame fading, everything had happened very fast. Scout Harding had been the one who had kept it together admirably, and he was grateful for it, since he couldn't exactly say the same for himself.

All he remembered was pulling off his bearskin coat and draping it over the Herald carefully, like this was the only thing in the world that had ever mattered or ever would. He recalled the soft hair on his coat, the warmth of it as he pulled it over their frozen body, and how the cold wind slammed into his body, though he barely felt it.

The dwarf woman had come running up the hill with a few Qunari in tow, while he'd kneeled there, seemingly removed from time and sense. The three men, who were each built like a barn had stood around him and Cullen had seen them look down at the two of them - he was sure they or someone else had said something, but he'd been very much unable to make out any words.

His body feeling like it was a mile away, he'd felt a hand placed on his shoulder, pulling him back gently and he registered it as if it happened to a passing stranger, an anecdote in your day. He'd looked down at the hand on the shoulder of some other person far away, and had tried his best to piece together the correlation between this gesture and the state of things at the time, but all he felt was nausea for some reason, and a steady pounding in his temples.

He remembered looking up into the face framed by copper hair and seeing that besides Harding's, a lot of other eyes were on him. Embarrassed over how undignified he was behaving, he'd tried his best to snap back into reality, moving over in a trance to let them help, but moving still. In an instant, the pale body before him had been heaved onto a stretcher and covered in many blankets. Cullen had watched all of this with strangely insistent disbelief and confusion.

"Mages! Over here, quickly now!"

The bright-eyed woman then had beckoned two people over who'd been completely out of breath from scaling the incline behind him. One of them was wearing mismatched gloves. Somehow, the most inane details about the whole affair had stuck with him.

"Here, warm them up, gently though! Don't go too fast or too hot and start at the extremities. You'll need to..."

Again, Cullen had slowly lost focus and pinched the bridge of his nose. There'd been too much tumult around him, making him feel dizzy. He'd tied to redirect his attention to the Herald, who was still lying on the ground with their head rolled to the side, their eyes closed with a strange tense expression on their lifeless face. His chest had constricted and he'd felt how shallow his breath was, he'd seemed to be gasping for air almost, making it even harder to concentrate on the Qunari’s outline in the snow flurries around them.

Cullen remembered shoving his trembling hands into the frozen layers of his clothes, while the cold stung his knuckles and crept up his wrists, though he'd acknowledged it without feeling too much discomfort. Everything had seemed very matter-of-fact and out of his hands, so he'd dully accepted the situation laid out before him: the Herald was likely dead or dying, he had failed completely and they were wasting their time on this cursed mountain.

He scarcely remembered at all how they'd transported the Herald back to the others; he was simply a bystander in all of it, though at times Cassandra had directed some words toward him, and he knew he had answered, though he could not for the life of him remember what they had talked about.

Back at the camp everything had happened almost by itself and without much effort on his side, though he had shouted a few disjointed orders at people, which must have made sense somehow, because people obliged without much chagrin in the ice cold night.

He'd seen the giants who had carried the Herald the whole way with no problems disappearing into a tent, the Herald still on their stretcher, which was now covered in a fine sheen of snow, and he had had no idea whether the body under those covers was warm or cold.

Cullen had looked at the grey outline of the makeshift infirmary for a moment, then turned and meandered over to his tent with no one bothering him. He had been unimportant and redundant in the whole process, and for once, he was glad for it.

As the sun now crept higher and slowly reached the top of the peaks surrounding them, illuminating the space where they had sought shelter in a pink glow, people started bustling back and forth between the tents and everything in the camp seemed a bit more alive all of a sudden, and not just because of the daylight.

The atmosphere was brighter; hopeful, even. He envied the soldiers with their newfound energy, but also felt deep dark self-pity pulling at him, with a hint of despair. He tried his best to shake it off and stay positive; so far there had been no bringer of bad news today.

Let the people have their hope, he thought, and made an effort to mean it, but the situation was grim, no matter how he looked at it. They were still up here, in this cursed maze of ice and snow, rations were running very low and they had not figured out where to go next yet. Still, before he could even think of attending a Council meeting, he needed to see the Herald, for better or worse.

He neared the large tent slowly, almost shy, and all his intentions died down rapidly and then almost altogether as he stepped closer. He needed to be ready for any news, to face whatever may lie inside it, but he knew he wasn’t, not in the slightest.

Despite this, he found himself stepping up to the entrance as dread encased his every thought, but before he could go up on, a person emerged from the tent rather hastily.

Startled, he felt the blood drain from his face and froze in place. Before him stood Adan, looking like death himself - it was clear he had not slept all night. He was giving some unintelligible instructions to his assistant and as he turned to leave, he almost ran headfirst into Cullen.

With a surprised and slightly annoyed look on his face, he stared at the Commander with red, watery eyes and scowled.

"Ah. Did…you need something?"

Cullen felt like slapping the man. Wasn’t it obvious? There was but one thing that interested anyone today. But he thought better of it and instead of laying into Adan, he motioned to the tent behind him.

"The Herald. How are they...?"

He felt foolish and ridiculous, but could not for the life of him bring up a commanding tone of voice. Instead, he sounded like a child telling a grown-up how very sorry they were. For what? He had done nothing wrong - except take far too long to find the Herald and also for endangering their life in the first place.

Adan sighed, rubbing his forehead, and Cullen felt weak, too weak to stand. If only he could hold onto something…

The buzzing in his ears got so loud he almost didn't hear what the Healer said next.

"I'll be honest with you Commander, it doesn't look good. They've sustained a lot of injuries, most of them internal. Then they've been in the cold for far too long, and I'm not sure how much I can do for them at this point. We will have to see."

Cullen had to let a few of his heartbeats pass before he could think, or speak again.

"So they - they're alive?"

It seemed impossible, but Adan had said nothing that suggested the opposite.

"For now, yes. Now please - I need some sleep."

And with that, he pushed past the Commander, who was left to stare at the smooth mound of cloth that contained the Herald. Safe for now, and alive.

"...for three days! What are we supposed to do – just keep waiting? There is no more time, Leliana!"

Cullen's head was ablaze with a thousand thoughts today, and each of them kept spinning around and around in the same manner they had done a thousand times now, not getting him anywhere.

He groaned and leaned back in his flimsy deerskin chair, which was just about the most uncomfortable thing he had ever sat in, and rubbed his neck, closing his eyes for a moment.

Behind his lids, his eyes burned like fire, dry and strained from the constant lack of sleep and endless staring at the few maps they had of the area, which maddeningly showed nothing useful. Peaks after peaks of giant, jagged rock outlines surrounded them and there seemed to be no safe way to go forward at all.

All of it was, of course, covered in snow which made movement anywhere perilous and nearly impossible. To add to this, there was precious little information about where glaciers or caves were hiding under the deceivingly pure, white blanket.

"We can't just charge forward; we have civilians with us, carts and animals, children - refugees! All of whom could die if we make one wrong move on this terrain!"

Cassandra was looking at the Spymaster with an exasperated expression and threw her hands up.

"We have to do something!"

Next to him, Josephine was hiding behind a stack of papers containing who knows what information, maybe none.

She was taking this the hardest, he thought. While the others let their tempers flare and fought back and forth to no avail, she kept mostly quiet. At first, she had tried to keep the peace in these meetings which since seemed to have merged into one continuous talk that never stopped, but her spirits were getting low, he could tell, and she'd given up on diplomacy when she saw it was no use.

They all knew too well how big the burden was that rested on them, and none could think of a good way to progress out of this situation. Which meant there was no way. It was live or die out here, and they could not take any chances. But the situation was getting more and more dire.

Rations were now very low, though the soldiers had found some game in the scarce forests, and they still had the oxen and horses to fall back onto, but those were very much needed to get them out or here, and far too valuable to eat.

At least most of the soldiers had recovered at this point, or at least as well as they would out here. All except the Herald, of whom they had neither seen nor heard anything for the past few days. It seemed they were alive, which was the report they all got from Adan every morning, but beyond that, nothing. It was certainly one of the main reasons why spirits were so low.

Everyone had been very excited when they'd been brought back to camp, but now the wait was wearing people out, as there was nothing to do on this cursed mountain. At least the weather had been fairly stable, as it seemed that all the storms were caught and weakened by the tall peak that overlooked them - the one where they had found the Herald.

In a ridiculously ironic way it almost seemed to be shielding them from anyone who might be looking for them, almost watching over them. This was a thought much further removed from sanity than he liked to admit, but they had to take their blessings as they came right now, and it had, in a way, delivered the Herald alive and more or less well to them, just at the right time and place for him to find.

Cullen rubbed his forehead - he was getting sentimental and sappy and that was never a good sign. The sleep deprivation had to be really getting to him. He pushed himself up from the chair and the turmoil of voices around him suddenly died down.

"Where are you going? Do you have a suggestion you'd like to add? You can't just leave now."

Cassandra looked worse than he'd ever seen her, her hair a complete mess, and with deep black circles under her eyes.

Cullen shook his head and made his way to the entrance of the tent.

"This is getting us nowhere. I need a break."

He turned his back to the woman quickly, who now had even more fire in her eyes, as he could see.

"What do you mean - you can't -"

As he ducked outside, he heard Leliana say something in return, apparently reassuring and affirming his need for a break, so that Cassandra would not come after him, thank the Maker.

With his left hand on his sword's pommel, he was looking up to the white mountaintop on which the sun's glare in the snow was already getting dimmer. Another day with no solution. He knew he could not give up hope now, but it was getting harder and harder by the hour. If only there was some idea they could hold onto, but -

Behind him, the fabric flaps of the tent were suddenly folded back and Josephine slid through, breathing a heavy sigh as soon as she was outside. Neither of them said a word standing side by side for a moment, as he felt the cold, thin mountain air brush through his hair and sting his face, a welcome change from the stuffy tent, nonetheless.

He looked over at the Antivan, who was still steadfastly wearing her golden silks, which were now quivering with every smallest movement of the ice cold wind.

"Ambassador, you really ought to get your coats for when you are outside like this. We can't afford you to fall ill now."

She looked up at him with her deep, lively brown eyes and he could see the warmth she usually exuded was very much dimmed.

Still, she was never unpleasant or desperate outright, ever the image of self-control and manners. A strength he could never hope to possess. People called him iron and immovable and unflinching, but he had nothing on this dainty woman in terms of composure.

"I will head back inside again soon, Commander, do not trouble yourself. Then I will ask our two lovely ladies of the Inquisition to vacate my tent, because I cannot take any more of this back and forth, especially at this volume."

Cullen was somewhat amused at the fiery look on Josephine’s face, a rare emotional outbreak for her, but she was back to her collected self in an instant, breathing another heavy sigh and smoothing her skirts.

"Please do take some time off from this yourself - I believe today's meeting is concluded. Thank you very much, Commander."

And with a perfectly controlled bow toward him she slipped back into the tent, leaving Cullen once again more than happy that the bulk of the Inquisition's diplomatic obligations were not resting on him instead.

Swiftly, he headed back towards his own tent, not desiring to get roped into another fight with Cassandra or Leliana. On his way he passed many worn out faces on the people huddled by fires. Not many were looking at him, which he was glad for, as he still had no solution to their plight.

He meandered through the stations of their camp, thinking he should look for food before he did anything else. He had been eating precious little and seldomly, and he definitely could not afford to lose his strength now, though his appetite was ever low.

Lost in thought, he rounded the now very familiar corners of the camp without looking up and then stopped, puzzled and taken aback with himself. Instead of heading toward the makeshift kitchen, he was now standing right in front of the infirmary tent, looking up and down its grey fabric walls that gave away nothing about what was happening inside, and he felt something tug at his insides.

It would be good to warm up, and there was likely food to be found inside, he mused. Besides, he had not seen for himself how the Herald was faring. Still, he could not bring himself to go inside.

Cullen was fiddling with his sword's pommel absentmindedly debating what to do, when he heard two familiar voices behind him. The Spymaster and Cassandra were still arguing over something, it seemed, and they were coming his way.

Maker's breath.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw them heading roughly in his direction. Without thinking, he turned and slipped into the tent, unwilling to continue the discussion from before.

Inside, it was warm and dark, and every sound that had been audible outside was pleasantly muffled, as if by an invisible force field. Maybe there was one - he was not informed of what Adan had put in place here. Why would he be? This was not part of his duties, not at all.

Cullen waited for a few moments to calm his breath - it seemed to him that he was not supposed to be here for some reason; it felt like he was trespassing.

That's ridiculous, he told himself, while he tried to steady his trembling hands.

You're the Commander of the Inquisition. Of course you can be in here.

Slowly, as if to convince himself of this fact he wandered around, enjoying the unfamiliar quiet inside. His eyes had not yet accustomed to the dim light and he was running his right hand along the fabric of the tent so as not to stumble over anything. It seemed so much bigger on the inside, he thought.

There was no sound except the steady breathing of some sleeping soldiers, and he felt more at peace than he'd had in days.

There was incense burning in a corner, which gave the air a sweet smell, and as he breathed in the familiar scent, his head finally stopped spinning a bit. On a table along the left wall, he spied some bread - he knew the cooks always carried a lot of food in here, more than these mostly sleeping people would be able to eat. Eagerly, he grabbed a piece.

While he was enjoying this treat - both the bread and the silence, he realized how incredibly silly he must look; hiding in the infirmary, eating the patients’ food. Cullen looked around to make sure there were no people waking up, but all was calm. Relieved, he turned and took a step to the right, but he must have miscalculated the distance, as he slammed his shin into a sharp corner and almost cried out in pain, rubbing his leg in silence instead while moaning quietly.

So stupid.

What was he doing in here?

As he looked down, he realized what he had ran into. It was a bed, or more of a makeshift cot, on which he could see, under many blankets and furs, the outline of a person. Cullen swallowed the last piece of bread hard and dry, and it felt like lead going down his throat.

There, on the pillow, he could clearly make out the shape of two curled horns, winding around the patient's head with an elegant and strange twist he had so often caught himself looking at, wondering what it was like to have these things on your head.

Then he saw under it was not so much a pillow but a roll of cloth apparently supporting their neck, with their head turned to the side on top of it. The nurses must had gone through a lot of trouble adding pillows again and again, which were now strewn around the head end of the bed, all of them fallen off and a few ripped open, no doubt by their horns.

He had to suppress a laugh. Cullen had always wondered how Qunari sleep and it seemed it was not the way the healers had anticipated.

The Herald was wrapped in several blankets and their cheeks had taken on a fairly healthy colour by now. He felt relief like he had not known in a long time. There they were, alive and seemingly well, or at least doing much better.

He leaned in a bit closer, and there it was, steady and deep, their breath went in and out, in and out, like a child's. Cullen grabbed the chair next to the bed, as he suddenly felt dizzy, and so overcome with delight that he had to sit down.

It was quiet around them for a while, as Cullen watched the Herald's outline for a bit, still not believing what he saw fully - he thought they could vanish again at any moment, and so he kept his gaze fixed on them intently. Their face was turned away from him and he followed ripples of their hair flowing down next to their neck with his eyes in wonder.

He had only ever seen it bound together in a tight bun, but now it was open and he realized their hair was fairly long, now pooling around their head like a puddle of calm water. He had trouble putting a name to the colour - it was a mix between grey and almost a dark steely black.

Cullen was feeling progressively calmer, and realized how tired he actually was. They looked so warm and comfortable, and he longed for his own bed. Maybe he could just allow himself to doze off, just for a moment...

He must have closed his eyes without noticing, because they shot open again as he heard a rustle that seemed to rip the leaden silence in the tent apart like the shattering of glass.

In front of him, the rather large frame of the Qunari was moving as they rolled over to the other side, lifting their head and with a low grumbling sound in their chest, they threw some of the furs off the bed, then let their head fall down again, now facing him. Their muscular arms were now exposed, and he saw several cuts and blue and dark red bruises running along them.

A linen shirt covered their chest, while their hair flowed down beside their jaw from behind their neck. Their eyebrows were knit in a deep scowl, but they seemed to be very much asleep. Cullen stared down at them, realizing he must have jumped up from the chair and now held onto it for dear life with one hand. What if they had woken up just now? What in the Maker's sweet graces was he doing here?

His cheeks were burning as he turned from their bedside and hastily groped his way through the tent and outside. The low light out there blinded him with a searing pain behind his eyes, but he staggered away from the tent and hastened toward his own.

Chapter Text

Cullen had to suppress a yawn. This meeting was wearing him out quicker than he'd like today. He would need to leave, and soon, before he fell off his chair. The others had no strength for fighting left, but still they went on, listless even in their flaring tempers.

Josephine wore a deep scowl perpetually now, and it seemed very out of place on her usually bright face; there was no smirk or friendly warmth accompanying it. Everyone was at their wits' end.

Cassandra and Leliana were studying a large map they had looked at a hundred times now, and he himself was leafing through some others, looking for something, anything that might give them a clue of what to do next. The tendons in his neck were stiff as steel rods and every muscle in his back was tense and aching.

Please, Maker, I cannot go on like this. Give us a sign, a hint...anything.

He rubbed his neck and stretched his aching muscles, cracking several vertebrae in the process. How long had they been in there? Time seemed to stand still in this tent.

"...gone over this. This pass is too dangerous. - Because we do not know how steep this actually slopes down and how stable the ground is! ...Well, because these ancient maps are garbage!"

Cassandra was in a foul mood today and he could not even fault her for it. It was entirely hopeless.

They would need to pick a path before the day after tomorrow, as there was absolutely no time left. This was it. They had failed spectacularly, this mission to save them had doomed them all in the end. Gloom spread over Cullen, and he dropped the papers into his lap.

"Because the crevasses in the glacier are unpredictable, Cassandra! You cannot map them! And they - oh, what in blazes is that noise about?!"

Leliana stopped talking abruptly, and Cullen looked up to see that all three women were looking at the tent's entrance in silence. There was indeed some kind of commotion happening outside. Blood rushed to his head and the fatigue was gone in an instant.

He stood quickly and grabbed the hilt of his sword, while Cassandra and Leliana were hastening outside already. Would they never have a moment's peace on this cursed rock?

Cullen held the tent's flaps open for Josephine who wrapped herself in a large bearskin, sensible but still not thrilled as he could see. The two others were moving toward a crowd that was gathered outside where some people were yelling, while others were huddled in hushed whispers.

The hair on his neck stood up as Cassandra's voice boomed over the people, "Make way, everyone!" and they pushed past the people.

The four of them stepped through the crowd which was now silent as a grave and gave way to reveal the centre of all this agitation. There, a few paces from where he was standing, a tall grey-skinned person was swaying on their legs like an unsteady golem, propped up outside the infirmary tent on a staff and looking around bewildered with loose hair flying in the harsh wind that was tugging at their thin garments.

The eyes in their pale face appeared unfocused as they squinted first at the mountains surrounding them, then at the people who stood there, looking back at the Qunari in quiet amazement. Everyone was stunned into silence and stared dumbly like sheep. With a hoarse, breaking voice, they croaked out the shaky words everyone seemed to be waiting for with bated breath:

"Where in hell and fuck are we?!"

In an instant, everyone was thrown out of their stupor. A nurse rushed over to the Herald and wrapped them in a blanket. Josephine flew past Cullen and added her bearskin on their shoulders, leaving her with nothing but her silks again.

Everyone moved around some way or another yelling, laughing, leaving Cullen like a statue frozen in place in the midst of it, his eyes fixed on the Herald, not believing what he saw and definitely not knowing what to do.

People tried to push the Herald back into the tent, but they relented for some reason. He could not hear their words over the tumult of voices around him, but they resisted with obstinance.

While Adan was fussing over them, their gaze wandered up over the crowd and landed squarely on Cullen, who was the only one who did not seem to run around like a headless chicken. Their eyes were burning into his skin like fire and he felt like a fool, recalling how just the night before, he'd watched them sleep, and embarrassed by his inaction and incompetence now.

His face burning and with trembling hands and knees soft like butter, he turned and pushed past the people, away from them.

"And I am telling you I'm fine! I just need some air, stop shoving me!"

Adaar tried to shake off the people who seemed to be clinging onto them for dear life while around them, everything was chaos. Adan was fussing over a cut and finally they held out their arm relenting, seeing as a bandage had come off of it and blood was trickling down in a steady stream.

Where in hell and fuck indeed?

They looked around again, confused and impatient - would someone maybe tell them what the hell was happening? There were mountains all around them which they did not recognize, and tents strung up. The smell of horses and fire and unwashed masses made Adaar's stomach churn.

There were so many people. All of them bustling around now, yelling something at each other. Further to the back something caught their eye - a person was standing still in the midst of all this, like a pole in turbulent water - simply staring at them.

They squinted at the outline and could vaguely make out bright blond hair and a large fur coat. The Commander, no doubt. He was standing in the chaotic mess of people, and just - stared...at them for a moment with a blank expression it seemed, though Adaar had difficulty seeing, all in all. Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Adan was now pulling at their arm and insisting they go sit down, so Adaar threw their hands up and relented.

"Alright fine! I'll come. Calm down, I just couldn't breathe in there. Yes, yes, I'm coming!"

Sitting on the cot in the hot, stuffy tent, Adaar looked around the room they had just stumbled out of and felt like they were in the passenger seat in their own life, just riding along. Josephine was bubbling on about how they had saved everyone and the mountains, oh Maker, the mountains, over and over again. She seemed not too fond of them.

Oh, and everyone was just so happy they were alright, and alive and back and on and on it went until Adan was scowling so hard they were afraid someone might get hurt, so Adaar sent everyone out but the Healers, who were busy prodding and tugging and treating their body with some poultice or another.

They endured it, since everyone seemed to be so very happy to be able to do it, and everybody looked tired as hell. Well almost everyone, they thought, and anger rose up within them. What was the Commander's problem? The way he had looked at them from across the whole platform, scowling and steely as ever, confused and almost angry, and then he had just...rushed off?

Way to welcome me back. He didn’t seem too happy to see me.

After everyone had finally left, they tried to sleep, lying in the humid tent as people had instructed them to do, to get ready for the journey ahead as Solas had a plan apparently, but the complete silence mixed with the steady breathing of the other patients and the multiple smells of incense and medicine was enough to drive them nearly mad soon.

So Adaar threw on the robes the Healer had left for them and headed out again, dizzy, but glad to have some fresh air. They had been lying around for far too long, and their body was feeling it. Stiff in the joints and with a dull ache in their head from the blood that struggled to circulate again after this period of doing nothing, they moved through camp where people were hiding in their tents from the cold for the most part already.

Stars were out, blinking down on them through the smoke that still rose from several fires, and the few people who were out stared and greeted them or simply gawked in quiet awe.

Back from the dead, Adaar thought; see the Herald perform another one of their accidental miracles.

This was just what they needed, a reason to be alienated even further from everyone. Maybe some mingling with the troops tomorrow before they started off would help.

They hoped to get an update from Josephine or Leliana; Cassandra would be fast asleep already, they knew, as she was always the one who was up the earliest. But which one of these tents was whose? Adaar guessed that the larger ones must belong to someone important, and headed towards one of them, carefully placing their aching feet down with every step so as not to make a spectacle of the Herald keeling over in the dark and swearing in front of everyone.

Might make me more approachable though. Maybe. Might also just stress everybody out even more, so I better keep it together.

Having arrived in front of a large tent with two soldiers placed in front of it (who seemed miserable and cold as could be), they mused about how in all hells they were supposed to knock on a piece of fabric, but then decided to just enter if the guards said it was alright to do so.

The two young soldiers straightened their backs with a look of surprise and almost horror when Adaar stood before them, and saluted with stiff fingers.

"W-what can we do for you, Herald of Andraste?"

One of them barely had any hair on upper their lip yet and the other was so short she barely reached Adaar's navel, and they looked more like children than grown soldiers. Both were fiddling with their weapons nervously and looked up at them like puppies that had just opened their eyes for the first time. Wonderful protection, indeed.

"I need to see the Ambassador - is this the right tent?"

Adaar stepped closer and the two looked ready to soil themselves.

"Y-yes, Herald, I mean, Worship! I will announce you ASAP!"

Adaar had to suppress a laugh, because that would have been too cruel.

The way this greener-than-green recruit had actually spelled out the individual letters ASAP melted their heart in a way they were not used to with humans. They really were like puppies sometimes.

"Easy now, soldier. I don't need anyone announcing me, I can do that by myself. Just try not to freeze off your buns out here, will you? And make sure you are relieved soon!"

With a swift movement, Adaar lightly pushed aside the boy's arm and ducked into the tent, leaving them standing outside bewildered and in stunned silence.

Inside, a lively fire was burning and two people seemed engrossed in a conversation. Now Adaar knew why they needed to announce visitors, because these two did not seem to register anything going on outside their talk.

"But what if they cannot make it? This seems like a huge risk, Ambassador."

The woman was talking fast in reply and used her hands a lot to illustrate her points; a feature Adaar had come to find very dear and charming.

"We do not really have a choice, Commander. I have every bit of faith that the Herald can-"

The tall, broad-shouldered man cut her off suddenly, and waved his hands in front of her in brisk gestures, clumsy compared to her airy mannerisms, and he was nowhere as refined in speech and tone as the Ambassador.

"I do too, of course, but I'm simply worried - I do not fully trust that this individual has all the right motives in working for the Inquisition as they claim."

Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, a rare moment of lapse in decorum for her.

She must be dead tired.

"Not this again, please Commander. It is late. We will just have to trust and -"

Adaar stepped closer and cleared their throat, causing the two to whirl around and stare at them wide-eyed.

"So – who is it that we don't trust around here?"

Adaar felt a bit bad for having listened in for so long, but they were also glad to have heard this - the Advisors usually never shared things like these with them. The Commander didn't say a thing and simply stared at them with his mouth in a thin, hard line, and a healthy pink color creeping up his neck and cheeks.

Josephine snapped out of her gloomy mood immediately after the first moment of surprise had passed and ran over, patting Adaar's hand and showering them in multitudes of exuberant phrases underlining how happy she was to see them recovered and well.

Nice try, Adaar thought.

You could easily get lost in the praise and pleasantness Josephine doused you with, and completely forget what you originally wanted, so charming and enchanting was this woman. However, he effect was somehow dimmed by the Commander standing next to her, rubbing his neck and looking like a dog that had been caught chewing on something he was not supposed to.

"Yes, I am feeling quite well, thank you. Now might I ask what you were talking about? Sounded important."

Josephine seemed a bit let down that her charm had not been enough to derail their line of thought, and the Commander looked frankly panicked now, which made Adaar want to know what was going on even more.

"Commander? Care to fill me in?"

The man's breath visibly caught in his chest and he swallowed hard, his eyes glued to Adaars', but somehow he seemed unable to speak. Adaar furrowed their brows and stepped closer.

"What…is going on?"

At this, he took a step back, barely visible, but Adaar caught it and it totally threw them off. Bewildered, they looked at the man, whose face was now stone hard as he seemed to be trying to suppress his anger.

"It is nothing."

With that, he rushed past the both of them and outside the tent. Confused, Adaar stepped aside unwittingly, and stared after him in a stupor.

What the hell.

Back in their tent, Adaar's head was stuffed full of information that they barely knew what to do with. It seemed they had come back from their comatose state just in time, as they desperately needed to leave this encampment.

There was also good news though, because Solas indeed knew a way forward, toward some kind of fortress, Skyfall or something, and they would all leave first thing in the morning, which Adaar already knew.

What they didn't still know was who the untrustworthy party in their midst was, whom the Commander and Ambassador had been discussing, and not for the first time it seemed. All Josephine would tell them was "He still has troubles trusting mages sometimes", and that was no big help.

Then it hit them, and everything was clear. The untrustworthy party was them. Adaar. Me.

He was not happy they were back because he'd thought they would not make it. Wouldn't that solve a lot of problems? Feverishly, they recalled all the disapproving looks, the endless silences, and disdain in his voice all those times before.

Their heart pounded in their chest harder and faster. Adaar felt like such a fool. Used. Again, their stupid heart had decided to trust someone and look where it had gotten them. All this bullshit about how he was only here to serve, how he was loyal and not a Templar anymore, just so he could use them to throw at the gaping mouth of darkness and fire, and Adaar had fallen for it.

And now he was apparently trying to get rid of them.

Well too bad, because this ox doesn't go down that easily.

Cullen was packing up and the whole camp was chaos. That elf, Solas, had appeared out of nowhere and apparently told the Herald about an ancient fortress somewhere in these mountains, which for some reason was not on any of the similarly ancient maps they possessed.

But since they had absolutely no other choice, they decided to follow this lead and people were getting in gear fast, if a little uncoordinated. He had given the soldiers clear instructions, but most too were tired to function and they had to move a lot of people.

He sighed deeply and packed his papers tightly into a bundle, wrapping them in a leather belt. Owning few belongings and having taken even fewer from Haven, he was done rather quickly, and soon Cullen was hoisting his tent and his other possessions onto his horse.

The day was still very young and only a glimmer of light was visible along the horizon, promising sun and only little snowfall if they were lucky. He resolved to fit in some time to pray and give thanks for the safe return of the Herald to life, and to all of them. There was a quiet space around a wall of stone that he liked to seek solitude in, and he started off toward it in the cold morning air.

He had fashioned a small shrine out of some rocks there, and now cleared the snow off of them before he placed his small statuette of Andraste on them. Kneeling down, he tried to get his multitude of thoughts in order and recited the words that were part of him like of his own flesh.

O Creator, see me kneel
For I walk only where You would bid me
Stand only in places You have blessed
Sing only the words You place in my throat

My Creator, judge me whole
Find me well within Your Grace
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed
Tell me I have sung to Your approval

Prayer had always helped him feel much calmer, and he was glad he had found the time today. The sun was now slowly rising over the lowest crags in the distance and it would soon be time to leave. The cold started to creep up his joints and so Cullen slowly rose from his kneeling position, stretching his shoulders and back in the morning mist. Everything still ached, but since yesterday things appeared a little easier altogether.

Like a mirage, their hero had appeared before them, bruised but miraculously alive, seemingly come back from the dead, and they had all been there to witness it. He recalled how the late sunlight had glinted in their steel-coloured hair, like a weapon doused in fire, their skin underneath it icy grey and with a marvellous, almost blue sheen to it that not even the numerous bruises and cuts could mar.

A formidable sight indeed. He had always quietly admired Qunari for their stature and energy, they were ferocious and strong in a way that was so foreign to him. They were also built like mountains somehow, without ever seeming to put too much effort behind it - even the mages.

The Herald was no exception, and he recalled how in awe everyone had been when they had first arrived at Haven, including him. Their first conversation had been a bit of a disaster, and he knew he was to blame for it. Everyone in Redcliffe had told him the Qunari could not be talked to on a civilized basis, let alone be reasoned with - that they were just one rung above animals, really.

He felt hot searing shame creep up in him, for he knew he had believed it, and to no small part. How unworthy of him, how absolutely shameful. He knew better now, but that did not excuse his prejudice in the first place.

Cullen also felt reproach for how foolish he had acted in the past days. Sometimes he felt like all his training and expertise abandoned him, his nerves completely getting the better of him and making him act like a recruit fresh from the farms.

Somehow, this was only ever the case when it came to the Herald. He had no problem leading an army, delegating even the most delicate strategic tasks or keeping calm in the face of danger. But when this mage looked at him with their steely blue eyes that seemed colder than deepest winter and harder than any rock, all of this experience and talent was useless all of a sudden.

He had tried to put his finger on it, to find out where this uneasiness came from. He trusted them completely, of course, and it wasn't so much that he was afraid, but their eyes somehow seemed to look right into his soul and to say, I see every last failure and flaw in you, every weakness is laid bare in front of me and I see that you are a fraud.

He knew rationally this wasn't true; the Herald respected him and trusted Cullen with his military advice and technical expertise, but as a person, he felt he had nowhere to hide when the Herald was near, and all his shortcomings were laid bare clear as day.

It was no wonder really, because who would not fall short before such a formidable person as the Herald of Andraste?

He sighed deeply and rubbed the muscles in his aching neck. Cullen couldn't wait to sleep in a real bed again, and he hoped to the Maker that this Skyhold place would have some. It seemed that the fortress was ancient, and could be in very rough shape.

First they needed to get there though, and it seemed as if this was going to be accomplished by a two-day march, if the weather was favourable. Cullen felt somewhat uneasy placing the sensitive task of navigating them through the mountains on the elf; he seemed too fleeting and detached from reality to be trusted with such an endeavour, but everyone else appeared reasonably assured by his ability to lead them.

The Herald would take the lead with him of course, and he hoped they were ready for it. It seemed a bit rushed, to have them take on such a march just after they had woken up, but they really had no other choice but to start today, if they wanted to ensure the safety of their people.

As he was lost in thought like this, walking back through the outer lines of the camp where people were packing up and extinguishing fires, brushing down horses and swaddling their children in carts, a million things that still needed to be done, he heard boisterous laughter from one of the groups and inadvertently turned his head towards it.

There hadn't been a lot of laughter at camp the last couple of days and he was glad to hear it again from his troops. Several soldiers and civilians were grouped together and sniggered about something.

Though he was glad they had found their spirits again, this was no time to slack off, and so he straightened his shoulders and got ready to give the orders to help pack up. When one of the soldiers spied him though, they stopped whatever conversation they were engrossed in, dispersed or saluted him briefly and fled like a flock of birds, off to their duties, hopefully.

What was left of the group was the enigmatic centre the people had been gathered around, and that person turned to face him now.

Well that's just fucking perfect.

Always ready to destroy whatever morale people had left, always close and ready to ruin your day. Adaar turned to see the cause of the soldiers' hasty departure, and it was, of course, the Commander.

Looking steely and stiff as a broom as ever, with a strange scowl on his face that turned into mild surprise and confusion as he was face to face with them. Adaar crossed their arms in front of their chest, and this seemed to put him off even more.

Good.

"Herald. Good morning."

He bowed towards Adaar slightly and saluted.

Fuck, I hate it when he does that. Such a bullshit Templar rite.

They could still see it in him, the ingrained movement, jerky and soulless like an automaton, even if it wasn't the proper Templar salute but a more general gesture of respect, there was still Chantry fucker written all over it.

"I am glad to see you well again."

Adaar tuned out when he spoke almost immediately, but told themself every bit of information is important. Listen to every word and you will understand your enemy in ways they don't even understand themselves.

Sure you are. So very glad.

When they did not reply, he started to fiddle with the pommel of his sword, a terrible nervous tic he had that grated on their nerves. Adaar sighed and raised their eyebrows at him - was there anything else he wanted to add to this charade?

The man seemed at a loss for words, one of his most frequent weak points that emerged now.

"Are...are you ready to travel? I have made all the arrangements with the troops, we just need to get the people ready and then we are set to leave."

His voice was thin somehow and though he was trying to sound commanding and in charge, there was a tinge of uncertainty in it.

Did they make him nervous? Probably, come back from the dead as they had done, in their weird mage-y oxman way.

Even better.

Adaar straightened their back and gave him the iciest stare they could muster, looking down on him with a mixture of boredom and detached annoyance.

"Sure."

They thought they saw a faint quiver on his mouth and a tiny smirk crept up the corner of their mouth.

Traitor. I know what you really are. Don't try and get me to warm up to you now.

The Commander shifted back and forth on his feet a bit - it was truly miraculous how incapable this man was when it came to anything interpersonal that didn't involve troop movements or technical skills, or anything to do with a sword. Why was he so nervous?

Adaar knew the answer to that, and their scowl deepened.

"Ah, well, then I shall - hm. I will get everything ready then."

Adaar raised an eyebrow at him with a look of disinterest that had the desired effect almost immediately, as the man faltered visibly before them. He bowed again, turned on his heel and almost rushed away, off to do whatever. Adaar didn't really care.

As he was pacing away, the hardness left Adaar's face and upper body and they were left with a feeling of emptiness. Sure, they had shown him whatever efforts to deceive them had been in vain, and they would not be fooled by him now, but at the same time Adaar still felt his hand on their back as they were crying into his fur coat, and the smell of it still lingered with them - a smoky and familiar, calm aroma of fire and incense and soap and salt.

Tears of anger welled up in their eyes. How could they have been so stupid? That lapse in judgement would not be repeated, Adaar swore, and there would be a price to pay, for once their trust was broken there would be no getting it back.

Once a Templar always a Templar – you better remember that.

Chapter Text

The steady dripping was enough to drive anyone up the walls, but for a man as high strung as he was right now, it was pure torture. Skyhold’s barracks were old and the doors therefore creaky, with many windows broken and the roof above him leaking steadily.

Cullen had been given his own room, though under the circumstances he would have preferred to stay in the communal bedroom with his soldiers. His room was the highest up, and thus closest to the roof in the weathered tower, which provided shelter from the winds but not entirely from the rain or snow, and so there was a constant slow flow of water and sleet making its way into his chamber.

His bed was made of hard packed straw, which he usually wouldn't mind, but tonight he tossed and turned on it, unable to get a moment of sleep in. It was no use, he had to finally accept. There would be no sleep today.

Weary and with eyes that felt like they'd been grated with sandpaper, he stumbled outside where a cold and quiet darkness enveloped him.

The ramparts were a wonderful place to spend your insomniac nights, if there was such a thing nights like these. Skyhold was indeed all the elf had promised it would be - a giant, safe refuge from anyone who would dare to attack them now, which they all knew was bound to happen again.

Cullen allowed himself a few moments of letting his guard down every now and then, but as soon as he fell asleep, images of the burning arrows pouring down the mountainside invaded his dreams, together with the Herald wounded on the battlefield or dead in the snow.

So, he often spent his nights sleepless, and they were decidedly not as productive as he wished they could be, as he could only manage a few hours of concentrating before the headaches and tremors got too much.

During these nightly disruptions Cullen wandered the battlements of the fortress often, studying the outlines of the surrounding mountain ranges, familiarizing himself with their shapes and always scanning for any lights or movements. But none came. Not yet.

There were so many tasks waiting for him every day that he scarcely knew where to start, but he welcomed it, as the alternative was being alone with his thoughts, and that was usually neither constructive nor pleasant.

A strange turn of events had taken place after they had left the mountain camp, which now seemed to have been ages ago, though it was merely a few weeks past. Everyone around Skyhold was pleased with their collective efforts and with his delegating of the forces, save for one person.

The Herald had been shunning him since the Inquisition had arrived at Skyhold. The looks he received from them whenever he spoke in the war meetings were cold enough to freeze molten lava, and it was like a punch in the chest always. He did his best to change it - he worked the hardest he ever had, remained in good spirits and approachable as best he could, but try as he might, nothing ever satisfied the Inquisitor.

He knew he deserved it. Because of him, the Herald of Andraste had almost died, and they would not have the Inquisitor they have now. Still, when he saw the look of utter disappointment and irritation on their face, his heart felt ready to implode.

To make up for it, he put all his energy into leading and training their army the best he could, and he was receiving praise left and right for it, only not in the one place where it counted.

Cullen now found himself walking toward the large tower where the Main Hall was located, and, incidentally on its top, the Herald's quarters were situated. He stopped for a moment, looking up at the high stained-glass windows and found that the lights were still on. Should they still be up? It was incredibly late already. This was no time for someone as busy and important as them to be up still, and missing sleep.

He rubbed his neck and considered talking to Adan about his concerns, then discarded the thought immediately. The last thing the Herald needed now was for someone to get involved in their private matters, especially him. Still, he worried, and resolved to make sure whenever he made his nightly rounds to note whether or not the Herald was staying up this late often.

There were guards posted outside their doors at all times to keep the Inquisitor safe, but he could at least look after them in this way, even if he could not add to their life in any other way presently. This would be his lone nightly vigil, and he would include them in their prayers as usual, hoping it would at least have him atone for some of what he had done.

This was indeed a grand fortress, Adaar thought. Everyone had settled in rather quickly, relieved to be out of the mountains mainly, but also delighted with how well preserved Skyhold was. Reconstruction was underway already, with the skilled dwarf builders they had recruited going all in on the scaffolding and planning and restructuring everywhere.

A few towers and walls had collapsed already before the Inquisition arrived here, and needed rebuilding, and they needed to update some of the security measures, but all in all this place was everything Solas had said it would be.

Though the elf could usually be found studying something in his rotunda and not being very amenable as usual, Adaar was eternally grateful to have had his help in this. Without him, they would all still be stuck on that mountain, likely fallen into some hole or swallowed by an avalanche they'd set loose by accident.

Even if they were treacherous and full of hidden dangers, and had almost killed them not too long ago, Adaar still loved being in the mountains. This high up, the air was pure and fresh, and there were often strong winds and sudden weather changes, which meant storms and thunder, both of which Adaar adored.

They had been having trouble sleeping, but that was mostly due to the nightmares that ensued once they actually managed to fall asleep, so they often tossed and turned at night, then fell into a rough slumber, or staying up far too late to avoid any more dreams about Corypheus.

Once their mind was allowed some peace, the usual terrors began seeping in, only now with the added bonus of a burning hole in the sky out of which demons poured, together with a red lyrium demigod and its dragon.

They knew the others were not doing much better mentally; the past few weeks had been hard for all of them. At first, there had been so much to do that everyone was glad for any moment of quiet here and there, but now that things had been delegated somewhat, there was finally some time to process what had actually happened, and none of them were taking it very well.

Adaar often sat in the library with Dorian who was a notorious insomniac and day sleeper himself, and they talked about books and life and love, and Adaar had come to hold this man very dear to their heart.

Today they made their way over to his tower as well, as all the meetings of the day were concluded and they longed for some conversation that didn't include battle strategies or politics, of which they still knew less than nothing.

The Commander, in his infuriatingly incessant ways, talked about strategy and planning more than ever now, always shooting glances their way, to check in on whether Adaar was listening or not, they presumed, and it was maddening.

Or did he want praise for his work? He would not get it from them. Was this his way of trying to get back their trust? What a laughably clumsy way to try and fool them into a false sense of safety.

No, Commander. If someone crosses me, I do not forget. Ever.

As they climbed up the stairs, Adaar could hear the Tevinter argue with someone yet again. This man sure wasn't one for diplomacy. He spoke his mind, at any time and usually without anyone asking. That's exactly what Adaar liked about him.

This way they could at least be sure he wasn't buttering them up because they were the Herald - no, the Inquisitor.

That will take some getting used to.

The title felt far too grand for someone of their background, though, to be fair, Herald of Andraste had been almost worse. At least this was a tangible thing, something they could actually attempt to do. And it didn’t have quite as much to do with the Chantry…

Who knew what these human gods were up to, where their favors lay and what they meant? Still, it was unnerving to be placed squarely at the front of this now very large movement, and Adaar was glad for any distraction from it - which Dorian usually provided.

Rounding the last stone pillar, they spied the man gesturing wildly toward a pallid young mage, who seemed to be utterly lost in the conversation. She was holding a book which the other apparently disagreed with (as he did quite often, regarding many topics) and the poor woman was near tears. Adaar knew they had to intervene.

"Dorian! I see you are heckling the mage recruits again. Can you maybe…not?"

The man turned with a flourish and his dark eyes sparkled at Adaar.

"But your Worship, Herald Inquisitor! This collection of demented drivel contains more than seventy false mentions of spells which were supposedly popular in Arlathan in -5420 Ancient! Surely you cannot condone our youth being exposed to such blatant disregard for Elven history!"

Adaar shook their head and simply motioned for the confused and quaking young mage to leave while they can, which she hastily did, with a quick bow toward Adaar.

Dorian threw up his hands and scoffed.

"Is this how you convey your love for scientific accuracy to the people? You cannot tell me you don't have a problem with this library's collection!"

He was now pacing up and down in front of them and Adaar knew he wasn't really waiting for an answer, but they gave him one anyway.

"Look, Dorian, how about I allocate some more of the funds toward the literary quests of the Inquisition, and you - yes you, get to lead the project! You, together with Fiona, get to choose what goes into the library and what doesn't. How about it?"

He pivoted around in the exaggerated manner they knew he meant to seem mocking, but in reality, he was using it to hide his excitement.

"Oh, you would do that? I am honored beyond -"

Adaar quickly held up a hand and laughed weakly.

"Can we skip this part and just get to the one where you accept and do a great job, because otherwise I will revoke your privileges immediately?"

He thrust a hand in front of his mouth and nodded solemnly. Adaar scoffed, then their eyes widened.

"No smut, though, you hear!"

A look of horror on the Tevinter's face followed.

"But Worship, I would never -"

"Alright, look, let's just be realistic here. Not all of it can be smut, alright? At least try to hide it where the younger recruits won’t find it."

A grin and more exaggerated nodding followed from the Tevinter and Adaar laughed. They had needed this.

He seemed to be the only one with a tinge of humor in the whole bunch that called themselves the Inquisition, though Adaar could also see how it could get too much for people. Not for them though, not usually.

"So…what's the plan for today?"

Dorian pranced over to their side, linked arms with Adaar and turned them around so they both faced the stairs.

"Silent prayer, of course."

Adaar gasped and giggled, feeling more silly and light than they did with anyone else around.

"Oh goody!"

They looked over as the mage squeezed their arm and gave them a look that could've said everything from ‘thank you’ to ‘I want to take your clothes off’.

What a great man.

They paced along the castle grounds talking of inconsequential things while many a young woman shot them envious looks.

"...OK, this is not the chapel, Dorian, and I get it, but…seriously. What are we doing at the tavern?"

The Tevinter simply chuckled and motioned Adaar to go forward. With a sudden lump in their throat, they hesitantly stepped inside.

"This is not..."

But the man only shook his head and pushed them forward.

"There, look! Gang's all here. Inside you go!"

Adaar spied a long table toward the back of the tavern, where Bull was sitting together with the Chargers, Sera and a few soldiers, as well as Varric. They all seemed to be in fairly high spirits already, and roared when they saw the two of them. Adaar's limbs almost failed them, but they kept walking.

Lots of eyes on you. Just keep moving. Everything's great.

They both sat down at the table and Dorian had a serving girl ready instantly, who rushed off to get two pints for them. Adaar felt sweat appear on their forehead. This was not good, not good at all.

Sera punched them in the arm lightly (‘Great of you to join, Inky!’), and Bull told some kind of raucous joke while Adaar felt increasingly unable to move.

In an instant, the server was back, dumped two giant pitchers of beer on the table, and soon everyone was lifting some glass or bottle toward them, as Adaar's throat closed up completely.

What the fuck do you do now, you colossal idiot?

They could feel the blood drain from their face. With jittery hands, they slowly got up, mumbling out an eloquent apology along the lines of:

"Have to...outside. Back, yes."

And before the contents of their stomach could empty all over the table Adaar was out the door, leaving blank faces and murmurs behind, while the laughter slowly died down.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Outside, Adaar stopped and leant against the heavy wooden pillars of the tavern, panting and sweating profusely. With a clammy hand they wiped their forehead, then swallowed the hard lump in their dry throat. Out of the corner of their eye they saw someone exit the tavern and walk over to them.

"Inquisitor! Are you alright?"

Unable to speak for a moment, and with their stomach roiling again, they held up a hand and bent down, leaning on their knees. Dorian placed a careful hand on their shoulder and after an initial shock wave of panic, Adaar calmed down a bit.

"What's going on? What happened?!"

A familiar, though not wholly welcome voice joined in with Dorian's soothing words, and Adaar looked up to see the Commander standing before them, stiff as a post with bewilderment in his eyes.

Oh, please, not him, not right now.

Dorian must have said something to him, because he shook his head and barked out a few negating phrases, which prompted Dorian to become snarky in return, and the two started bickering back and forth in front of Adaar, making their head swim even further.

"Alright, that's enough you two! Hell, can I have one single breakdown to myself, where no one comes to interrupt me?"

Adaar stood up straight again and scowled at the two men who seemed wholly remorseful immediately. Dorian was the first to speak, of course, his hand now resting on their shoulder again.

"I am so sorry Adaar, was there something I am not aware of, which transpired just now?"

The Commander, meanwhile, just stared on dumbly, his hands balled into fists by his side. Adaar wanted to be sending him away, but they couldn't even be bothered right now.

"I...I can't. I'm sorry."

Dorian nodded slowly, but the Commander was of course still in the dark about it all and got more and more impatient.

"Did someone hurt or threaten you, Inquisitor? Just say the word and I will -"

Adaar looked at him and chuckled dryly. How was he so very thick? Fucking hell. Now they had to actually spell it out in front of both of them? Fine.

"I can't...I..."

More impatient and clueless looks from the Commander followed.

"I can't drink, alright! Not anymore! I don't want to!"

They almost shouted the last part and felt hot embarrassment creep up their neck immediately, while they buried their face in their hands. After the incident with the Templars in Haven where they almost lost their arm, a lifetime ago, Adaar had come to realize that it might be better not to let that particular demon in their life again, but they had not found a good moment to convey this news to anyone.

Fuck, I hope no one is watching this.

Both men were quiet for a while, which was even worse than them bickering, while Adaar felt their stares burning into their skin. Dorian was rubbing their arm lightly and stepped a bit closer. Adaar let him, and the tension left their body slightly where he touched them. Then they felt his arms envelop them in a soft embrace they immediately melted into.

He smelled lightly of several different perfumes, and very clean underneath - many exotic spices that blended into a wonderful bouquet. Adaar felt like crying. After a few heartbeats, he slowly let go and looked at them with a calm and serious manner they had not seen in him often.

"I am so sorry Adaar. If I'd known I would never have dragged you into that situation. What do you need right now?"

Adaar looked up and blinked a few times. How was he so wonderful? They touched his arm lightly which he responded to by leaning into the touch.

"I think - I would like to go back inside. I bet everybody is wondering what the hell is going on."

He looked at them for a while and nodded.

"If you are sure. There will be no expectations and I will make sure no one bothers you about it."

Adaar felt a wagon load of bricks fall of their shoulders, breathed heavily and nodded as well.

"Then let's go."

They swiftly turned, and almost ran straight into the Commander, whose pale, emotionless face was right before Adaar, his body so tense it seemed ready to snap like a dry twig.

"The fuck. What are you still doing here?!"

Adaar did not mean for the words to sound this harsh, but then reminded themself that's exactly what he deserved.

Then why does my chest constrict when he looks at me like that?

After a moment of stunned silence, the Commander swallowed and bowed stiffly, then turned and left without a word.

"Adaar – damn. That was...cold."

Dorian was still holding their arm and looked after the man, then at them. They only shook their head at the Tevinter with a dry smile and waved it off, but at the bottom of their stomach, a heavy weight slowly began to pull.

Chapter Text

"Sera, no. I can't let you do that! It -"

Adaar never got to finish their sentence, because the elf suddenly leaped at them, stopping only inches away from their face – or rather their chest, due to the significant size difference, with a mad look on her face.

“Come ooon, Inky, it will only take a minute, and it will be hysterical!”

She laughed maniacally and slapped her forehead, as if she’d just thought of the most genius thing ever. Adaar groaned inwardly.

“Look, I hate listening to their deadly boring tales about some cousin or aunt who I’ve never met as much as you do, but I can’t, simply can't let you draw boobs onto the dinner invitations for the visiting nobles; no, not even tiny, hidden ones – Josie will have my head, and yours, too!”

Sera gave them an exaggerated pout, then threw her hands up, turned on her heel and ran off cackling, shouting back at Adaar over her shoulder.

“You used to be fun, Inky! This thing has changed you...”

Adaar’s face turned crimson red, but before they could protest, the elf woman had already disappeared around a corner, leaving them standing in the cool shade behind the tavern alone and somewhat rattled.

She was right, however. ‘This thing’ had indeed changed them.

Adaar would usually dive head over heels into any and all ideas that would scandalize a dusty noble, but right now they simply could not afford to vex even the ponciest of them, lest they withdraw their much-needed monetary support from the Inquisition.

Conversations with Sera usually left them feeling a little less sane and a little more confused than before, and this one was no exception. With a weary sigh Adaar rolled their head back, which made their neck crack absurdly loud. 

These days, Adaar’s back and shoulders were stiff and ached constantly from all the stress. On particularly bad days, they could not turn their head all the way to the right anymore, after some nights ago, they had done so too abruptly and a sharp pain had immobilized it for a few moments.

This Inquisition is aging me a hundred years each damn day.

Adaar was under a ridiculous amount of pressure. To make matters worse, they were scheduled to meet the Commander in a bit, which they had been dreading all morning.

Usually, they avoided the man at all costs recently, save for the war meetings. But this time, he had asked for Adaar personally, and no one else would do. Apparently, a group of particularly dangerous blood mages had made camp somewhere in the Free Marches, and he seemingly had some information about their whereabouts.

Why this intelligence could not be contained in a nice, impersonal letter, however was beyond Adaar. With a weary sigh, they rounded the corner of the tavern and made their way over to the training grounds, where they were to meet with him.

As they walked down the large stone steps they could see that training sessions were in full swing already. Some of the recruits stopped mid-swing when they saw Adaar, and stared up at them with adoration and awe. They tried to ignore the gawking as best they could, and casually strolled over to the soldiers, seemingly not even taking notice of the prying eyes.

The worst were always the newly joined recruits, who sometimes had this glassy-eyed reverie in their gaze, which Adaar could feel burning holes into them from any distance and left them feeling like some kind of freakish attraction in a circus.

Where the hell is the Commander?

They surveyed the orderly chaos of the training fights, and the clamor of it made their ears ring. Adaar stood in the midst of them all, awkwardly looking around but there was no trace of the man.

Could we not have met in the library instead? How are we to have a conversation here?

After what felt like eons under the unconcealed looks of the soldiers, Adaar still could not spot the man they were supposed to meet here, which was odd, since he usually stood out quite well in his bearskin coat, shouting his silly little orders left and right.

Furthermore, punctuality had never been one of his weak points, so why did he choose now of all times to be late? Adaar cursed under their breath and started making their way through the masses.

As they passed through the crowd, many of the recruits stopped and saluted Adaar, and they had to stop and tell people to be at ease and continue their practice, which made it even harder to find anyone in this bustle. Finally, they spied a soldier who appeared to be in charge and not completely green, and Adaar briskly made their way toward her.

When she saw the Inquisitor turn her way, the woman straightened her back, and as Adaar was walking up to her, she saluted stiffly. Even the more seasoned fighters sometimes lost their cool when they saw Adaar, and they detested it.

Can I just get a normal greeting for once? It’s either ‘Filthy Oxman’ or ‘Your Worship’, and never anything in between.

Adaar’s patience was nearing an end, and they waved dismissively at the woman’s formal posturing.

“At ease, soldier. I am looking for the Commander. Do you know where I can find him?”

The young woman’s face changed to a slightly panicked expression, and it took all Adaar had in them to not roll their eyes, hard.

Oh great. Just great. What now?

“My apologies, Worship - the Commander has not been here all morning. He put me in charge at a very early hour, and I have not seen him since.”

Adaar blinked a few times, then stiffly thanked the woman and took their leave, to which she bowed, just a little bit deeper than necessary.

With a suppressed sigh, they walked away from the tumult, then turned from the crowd and pinched their eyes shut for a moment.

What the hell. He told me to meet him here – what now?!

The Commander seemingly never slept since they had arrived in Skyhold, and spent most of his time in the training grounds during the day, along with the soldiers. Where else could he be?

A thought materialized in Adaar’s head, and they felt their stomach constrict. Hesitantly, they looked up at the tower with the ruined roof overlooking the courtyard, where the Commander had his quarters. The windows to his rooms were shuttered, and Adaar groaned quietly at the sight.

Still, they did not know where else to look for him for the moment, and so Adaar made their way up the stairs again, thinking that maybe one of the guards posted outside his quarters would know where in blazes he was.

What a colossal waste of my time. Who does he think he is, ordering me around like this and then not even showing up?

By now, he was almost half an hour late, and Adaar was close to exploding. Didn’t everyone always stress how he was the epitome of punctuality and reliability? Of course he would not extend this courtesy their way.

As they scaled the steps up to the battlements, a group of soldiers passed Adaar, and they did their best to appear calm and collected, while they were boiling on the inside.

He will pay for this. Unbelievable.

When they finally reached the top of the stairs, a sense of uneasiness washed over them. The Commander could often be seen walking these ramparts, and the door to his quarters was visible further to the left. Adaar usually took great pains to avoid this part of the castle, and they breathed a slow breath, in and out.

Stay calm. Let’s just get this over with.

They passed some more Inquisition soldiers on their way over to the Commander’s rooms, and absently nodded at their salutations. The guard who was likely supposed to be stationed at the door to the Commander's quarters was wandering around listlessly some paces away from his post. When he saw Adaar, he walked over briskly.

“Greetings, your Worship! Can I assist with anything?”

Adaar shot a glance at the now fully unmanned, closed door some paces behind the guard, then met his eyes.

“I am looking for the Commander. Can you inform me of his whereabouts? I need to speak with him.”

The guard's eyes widened for a moment and Adaar could have screamed. They tried very hard not move any muscle that would betray their annoyance, but the soldier must have picked up on it anyhow.

“He, uh - he did not want to be disturbed, your Worship. I could take a message, if you-“

Adaar smiled a forced smile and the guard's mouth shut into a tight, pale line.

“He’s in his quarters, then? Thank you - you have been very helpful!”

The young man opened his mouth, then closed it again, and perhaps he meant to protest, but he did not. Neither did he try to stop them as Adaar shouldered past him, which they were extremely grateful for, as their patience was now hanging on by a thread that threatened to snap at any moment.

Oh that fucking - is this some kind of joke? First, he has me wait around and go looking for him all over, and now he tries to hide in his rooms behind this guard, thinking that would stop me?

Adaar did not run, but they took the largest strides they could muster while still keeping up some sense of normalcy and decorum as they stormed over to the entrance to the tower. As they were nearing the door, they noted with content that the guard had not followed.

Smart lad. This might get ugly.

They walked up to the heavy wooden gateway and felt ill at ease. These were the Commander’s personal quarters as well as his office, not a place they imagined ever stepping foot in, nor wanting to do so now. Adaar knocked once.

There was no answer.

Motherfucker.

In a swift motion, they opened the door and stepped inside, then closed it behind them before they could change their mind about the whole thing. At least he had not locked himself in.

Once inside, they knew something was extremely wrong immediately.

It was pitch black inside, and Adaar leaned with their back against the door for a moment, waiting for their eyes to adjust. Had they taken a wrong turn somewhere? There was no way these were actually the Commander’s quarters.

There was a vile stench hanging in the room which took Adaar's breath away momentarily, and they pulled part of their tunic up to cover their nose, trying not to gag audibly, their thoughts racing. Soft clanging  was audible from the training grounds below, and some muffled conversations, but not much else.

After a while, they could make out the outline of a window to their left, and slowly made their way over with their back against the wall, groping along the cold stone in the dark.

The hairs on the back of their neck stood up and ice crystals had started forming in their left hand already, ready to strike, because from the other side of the room, there now came a noise like from some dying animal.

Raspy, irregular breaths were the only sound present in the room, and Adaar dared not make any of their own besides the low shuffling of their feet on the hard rock underneath them.

When they had finally reached the window, they stopped for a moment to ready themself for what might show itself in the light. A shiver went down their spine as they turned to open the shutters, careful not to make any unnecessary noise.

What the hell is that? Maybe I should get help?

They decided against it, and with a quick motion, they opened the window and pushed its shutters open outward, then whirled back around, a large ice crystal fully formed in Adaar’s hand and ready to impale whatever was making that terrible sound.

They saw nothing – at least not anything they expected.

The room was in chaos; an overturned chair, loose papers, piles of books and clothing were strewn across the floor. On the far side of it, Adaar could see a large desk, and realized the noise was coming from behind it, a little more subdued now, but still definitely there.

Had the Commander been ambushed? It looked like someone had broken in to rob the place.

Slowly, they stepped away from the wall and into the room. The fresh air from the window made breathing a little more bearable in here, but that sour stench was still hanging in the oppressively stale air.

The raspy breathing was now accompanied by a grunting or groaning of some sort and Adaar dreaded what they would see behind the heavy wooden desk.

Only a few more steps –

Adaar rounded the corner of the table, giving it a wide berth so as not to be surprised by an attack from behind it, but nothing could have prepared them for what they saw when they'd finally gotten around it. 

With a dull crashing noise, they shattered the ice crystal in their hand, and their breath caught in their throat. Adaar let out a gasp.

Behind the big desk, on an equally large wooden chair, sat a pathetic figure - slouched over their knees, with their arms hanging listlessly by their sides. If not for the labored breathing, Adaar would have thought them dead.

It was the Commander, looking like a picture of misery. Next to him, on the floor, Adaar saw the source of the unbearable smell in the room – a bucket filled almost to the brim with vomit.

Now Adaar gagged, loudly, staggering a few paced back. The figure on the chair seemingly only now took notice of someone else's presence in the room and slowly lifted his head. He looked more like an old man and less like the infuriating person Adaar knew him to be. His eyes were sunken in, his sockets a deep, dark purple around them, skin the color of tallow, and his clothes were crusted in Gods know what.

Adaar wanted to be appalled, but he looked so entirely wretched that all they could do is feel pity for the man. All their previous anger had dissipated, and Adaar walked up to him again, then crouched down before him.

“Holy shit – Commander? Are you alright?!”

The human only groaned weakly, his eyes blinking at them slowly, and Adaar was not sure he recognized them at all.

“What happened?”

There was no reply from the man.

“Never mind – I will get a healer, hold on!”

As Adaar got up to leave, they suddenly felt something pull them back. They swiftly turned to see that the Commander had grabbed hold of their sleeve. This seemed to be a considerable effort for him, and they could see he was also trying to speak.

“No… don’t – no healer.”

His voice was scarcely more than a whisper. Adaar stared at him incredulously.

“What?! You’re delirious! Let go, I am getting help and –“

Frantically, they tried prying the Commander’s fingers off their clothing, but his grip was iron, even in this weakened state.

“No… healer.”

Adaar shook their head, panic rising in them – what the fuck was going on with him?

“Why the hell not?!”

The Commander swayed lightly from side to side and Adaar realized that they were sweating profusely under their clothing.

“No one…can see. Please…”

With that, he let go of Adaar, sunk back down forward, and began sliding off his seat slowly. Apparently, that gesture had taken all of his strength.

Adaar grabbed him by the shoulders just in time, pushing him back into the chair, but realized quickly that he could not stay upright anymore. He did smell atrocious, but Adaar slid their hands under his arms and lifted him up out of the chair nonetheless, letting him fall against their body, his head now hanging over their shoulder.

Please don’t puke on me, oh please don’t puke on me.

They were by no means weak by human standards, but Adaar still had considerable trouble dragging the limp Commander over to a couch on the other side of the room, which was covered in papers and books. For some reason he still wore his breastplate, and they realized that he himself was no lightweight, either.

With one arm, they swept everything off the seat and onto the floor, while they were desperately holding on to the human who began slipping out of their grip with the other.

Slowly, they lowered the man down onto the couch, then laid him on his back and lifted his legs up. He was barely moving and Adaar startled when they saw his waxy face again. His mouth was hanging open slightly with cracked lips, and there were deep lines in his face. He was completely dehydrated, Adaar realized.

They looked around frantically, then rushed across the room to a basin of water and brought a full pitcher over to the man. If they didn’t know he was alive, they would’ve thought he was gone already by the looks of him.

“Commander?”

Their voice seemed to be too loud in the oppressive silence of the room, even though they had made sure to speak very softly.

This seemed to rouse him, however.

His eyes cracked open, and his face took on panicked expression as he looked around feverishly, then seemingly recognized Adaar for the first time since they entered. His features softened a bit as he looked at them.

“Herald…Inquisitor. You should…not be here.”

Adaar stood there, dumbfounded. He appeared almost sad when he said this, and they indeed felt like they were intruding for a moment, then gathered their wits about them.

"Don’t be stupid – here...I have some water. You need to drink, alright?”

Adaar crouched down next to his face and held the pitcher up to his mouth, but he only stared at them.

 "Please leave. You can't be here."

They could barely make out his words as he croaked them out in a low whisper, and Adaar felt anger rise up inside them all of a sudden.

"What is wrong with you?! Tell me what the hell happened or shut your mouth, you idiot! Do you think I'm just going to leave you here like this?!"

The Commander seemingly did not expect such a verbal assault and sank back into the couch, taken aback by the Inquisitor's sudden change in tone.

"You need to drink something, now."

The man looked like he wanted to protest again for a moment, then thought better of it and complied, defeated. As Adaar lifted the pitcher to his mouth he drank slowly first, then grabbed the vessel himself and swallowed greedily, water running down his chin and spilling onto the furniture and floor.

"Whoa there – alright. Don't drown yourself! I see you have finally come to. Care to tell me what happened now?"

The Commander wiped at his mouth and appeared out of breath for a moment, as if even drinking proved too much of an effort to him currently. He cast his gaze away from Adaar and let himself fall onto his back with a dull thud wordlessly.

"Alright then. At least tell me what I can do to help you, then!"

Adaar wrung their hands and was very close to simply getting up and fetching Adan despite his protests, but the Commander looked at them with an expression of such utter sadness and defeat that they reconsidered and sat down on the floor before the human, at their wits end.

For a moment, there was silence between the two as the Commander stared at the ceiling with a feverish expression and Adaar could hear their own heartbeat drumming in their ears. Then the man suddenly drew in a shaky breath and slowly spoke, his eyes still fixed at the ceiling.

"I...will be fine. Can you...stay?"

Chapter Text

"Sit up straight, recruit! Your discipline is lacking at best, and an affront to Our Lady in the utmost degree. You won't amount to anything with this incessant softness in you. Iron bodies, iron minds, boy!" 

The Knight-Captain swung his right arm back in a wide arch, clutching the thin reed in his enormous, bulbous left hand, and with a smile on his grotesquely large face he whipped it down on the small, pink hands of the boy before him.

The pain shot through his entire body instantly, and it made him dizzy. An angry red streak appeared on the back of his hands, and a sluggish trickle of blood slowly made its way across his skin towards and over his wrist where it finally disappeared in the sleeve of his rough spun tunic. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to blink away hot tears, with little success. 

Sister Agnes would get very angry with him again later, he knew. 

She hated it when clothes got dirty, and blood was so very hard to get out, as she tirelessly reminded the boys in the convent. He felt tears welling up in his eyes again as he still held his shaky hands out in front of him, palms down, and his knees ached under him. His whole body ached. The man before him smirked and the sight sent a shiver down his spine.

It was cold in the cavernous hall he was in, but he barely felt it anymore. The pain took over everything, making it hard to focus on anything else. This was intended, he knew; only by cleansing their minds of any other thought could full focus be achieved, or so they told him, and it took rigorous and constant training to internalize this lesson.

"I'm sorry Ser, please don't hit me. I will do better. I can do better -" 

Cullen's vision blurred as another blow struck him, this time across his fingers. The reed came down on him so hard that he lost balance for a second, and toppled over forward. His joints were stiff and cold, and he had considerable trouble getting up again. For hours, he had remained motionless on his knees in the Chantry and the icy, hard stone floor had not been kind to him. 

As he looked up from his miserable position, his eyes fell on the sun-emblazoned silken banners overhead, streaming down from the high wooden ceiling like shimmering waterfalls. He thought about how seeing them usually brought him peace, but not in here - never in here.

He had learned to fear the sight of them, because they meant he was due for another endless night vigil by himself with no sleep, food or drink allowed to him and his tormentor was never far, always watching. 

Around him, incense was wafting across the floor in lazy streams, and the light from countless candles that surrounded the two humans reached his eyes like through a thick haze. He realized he had trouble breathing as he sucked in the warm, stale air with a gasp. 

Knight Captain Gowan growled, then reached down and grabbed him by the collar. Cullen whimpered and shut his eyes tightly. This would not end well. 

"You are utterly useless - you know that, right? A complete disgrace to your family. If they knew how you squander this gift that has been given to you, they would weep in disgust!" 

Cullen shook like a leaf and held back burning hot tears. 

He was entirely useless. 

He couldn't even do this right - a simple nightly vigil for the fallen, something a dog could do, but he failed at it consistently. Gowan continued screaming insults at Cullen's face and his visage slowly turned into a grotesque larger-than-life version of itself, looming over him.

Panic and fear gripped Cullen as the man shook his body like a doll, then discarded him with one swift motion of his enormous arm. He hit the hard, cold stone with a pained yelp. 

"You just earned yourself five more hours, you maggot! And when the sun is up, you will clean every single one of these candle holders, and I want them spotless! I want to be able to use the metal as a shaving mirror - until you finish that, you can forget about breakfast." 

Cullen's thoughts raced. Not another night without sleep, he couldn't do it. If he did not get rest tonight, how was he to survive training tomorrow morning? And no breakfast - there was no way he would be able to finish all of his duties in time before no more rations would be handed out. He felt close to passing out from exhaustion and despair. 

The Knight-Captain loved giving him impossible tasks, so that he could watch Cullen break on them. He loved it when little boys broke. Their will obliterated, their laughter silenced. He was truly an evil man, and it would be years before anyone in the Chantry would notice how he abused some of the children in his care. 

Wait.  

It had been years, yes. People had found out all the sordid details about how he misconducted himself around the wards in his care, and he had been removed from his post afterwards. So why was he still here in this Chantry with him, giving Cullen these futile tasks? 

"Do not trouble your mind with these silly questions. The only thing that matters is that you are utterly worthless, and you can never forget about that, little boy." 

Cullen shuddered. Where was that other voice coming from? It had gotten eerily quiet in the Chantry - even the Knight-Captain had suddenly disappeared, and all the candles seemed to have been snuffed out, yet he somehow could still see in the pitch black that surrounded him. He looked around frantically, but it seemed he was alone in the room that had gotten ice cold all of a sudden. 

"Don't you think you deserve to be treated like this? Don't you think you need to suffer for what you have done? Silly little boy, always so forgetful." 

Panic gripped his heart, clenching its cold, iron fist around it. Whose voice was that? He remembered the sound of it but only faintly, in the back of his mind, in a corner that seemed hidden from his view. 

"Are you scared, my darling?" 

The voice was now very close to his ear and an icy shiver ran down his spine. He tried to get up and run from it, but his legs would not move under him. It was like he was welded to the floor, and he was shaking uncontrollably. 

"You should be." 

All the air seemed to have left his lungs, and he knew he was going to suffocate in this cold, endless dark. Alone, left behind, discarded and forgotten. Unloved. 

"I've got you now, little morsel."

The voice giggled in the dark around him, everywhere at once it seemed, terrible and shrill in his ears. 

Gasping for air, he felt his pulse hammer in his head, his heart racing and pumping so hard in his chest that he could feel every beat. There was no escape. He would die in here, alone and - 

"Alone? Oh, no. Not alone, my darling." 

Cullen's eyes widened as suddenly, a row of teeth flashed before him in the dark. Long and sharp, like the fangs of a wolf, they glinted in the dark just inches before his face - but this was no mere animal. He tried to turn away but his whole body was immobilized, and so he could only watch as the fangs manifested out of the dark, entirely too close, and they snapped at him - he could feel the razor sharp edges tear into the flesh of his face and tried to scream, but no words would come out, his lungs emptied of all breath. 

In horror, he watched as out of the dark before him, the grim outline of a bony white face emerged around that horrible maw, with sunken cheeks and pale, thin lips that peeled back like on a weeks old corpse; paper thin white skin materializing out of nothing. And then he saw the eyes. 

Those eyes. They had no lids to them - always open, always watching, the terrible eyeballs gaped at him unblinking and he finally knew whose voice he had heard before. How did he forget? How could he ever forget? 

"How indeed, my sweet little Templar boy. We've been friends for so long now, it truly hurts that I could just slip out of your mind like that. Don't you remember – I will always a part of you." 

Cullen's stomach churned and he broke out in a cold sweat. No, no, no, no, no. Please Maker, no.  

"Oh but indeed, my dear boy - do you still not understand? Oh, you never were the brightest, were you? There is no escape." 

The awful head of the demon loomed over Cullen now and he felt like fainting. Now he remembered, of course. None of this was real. He had not been to the Chantry and gone through the Templar training in Ferelden in decades, not since he was a young lad. But he did visit it frequently nonetheless...in his dreams. 

He remembered it all now. The creature that plagued him was that hideous demon that had found him in the Ferelden Mage Tower all those years ago, when he’d still been a young optimistic Templar recruit. It seemed to him like that had been ages ago. 

The demon still tormented his waking - and especially sleeping hours to this day, replaying his darkest moments, his most reviled memories, the most painful parts of his past, over and over. 

"Now you've got it! You are such fun to play with, little boy. How could I ever get rid of you? No. I could never, not when you taste so good! " 

Cullen could not scream, but he heard his own voice in his head with maddening clarity now. His entire being was reduced to one sharp note of pain, completely and utterly all-encompassing. 

He felt hot blood streaming down his body in awful thick currents, gushing forth from countless wounds. Cullen writhed as the demon dug its claws and teeth into him over and over, nowhere and everywhere at once - ripping, tearing, feasting. 

He could not remember it going on for this long, ever. Usually at some point, the torment would stop – usually the demon relented when he could take no more, but only when he woke up. Why couldn't he – 

Cullen gasped and coughed violently. His eyes cracked open, but he did not see much at first. The light around him was blindingly bright and his head was a complete ruin of pain and confusion.

In fact, his entire body ached. He shut his eyes again and breathed in raggedly - once, twice. There was a terrible pounding in his ears and he felt as if he was going to throw up, while the world now seemed to turn and spin around him. 

His stomach was a miserable lump of cramps and pain and he sucked in another breath, cold sweat covering his entire body, his clothes sticking to him, making him feel trapped. 

Slowly, after some more controlled efforts, his breathing returned to a more normal rate and the spinning world finally came to a halt around him. He groaned inwardly and was afraid to move for a few heartbeats. 

Gingerly, he opened his eyes again and the daylight stabbed right through them all the way to the back of his head like a thousand sharp daggers. He wondered how long he had been out this time, and if anyone had noticed. 

Cullen groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking around him while his head pounded on with each heartbeat.

Maker's breath.  

The room was in an absolute state of chaos around him. Cullen had trouble remembering what had happened, and how he had come to be on the couch he was sprawled across. Usually, he didn’t make it this far away from his desk.  

Like a distant memory, like something that had happened to someone else, he recalled his latest violent thrashing - last night, was it? How long ago since he had sequestered himself to his room? He could only hope that the others had not come looking for him, yet. 

When he had felt the onset of his tremors, along with the all too familiar headache, he had hastily told everyone to leave him to work in his office for the day - he remembered it now.

Maker, I hope there's not too much damage this time.  

Cullen let out a weary sigh. 

It should be easier by now. Why isn’t it getting any easier?  

His throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper and he coughed miserably. Unfortunately, the motion made the room around him spin and he felt sick again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a pitcher on the floor beside the couch and prayed that there was still water in it. Cullen reached down hastily and froze in his motion, before his hand could reach the earthen jug. 

The pitcher was not the only thing on the floor beside him, as he now saw. Fairly close to the red velvet seat he was lying on, he saw the outline of a tall body bathed in the sunlight that streamed in through a window, present in his mind with complete clarity, yet he had trouble making sense of what he saw. 

On the floor beneath him, a person was resting on their side, so close to the couch that he could only see their back and the dark hair which spilled over the stony floor. Cullen followed the intricate pattern it drew there with his eyes and took in the way the morning sun shimmered on the long locks. He watched as their shoulders rose and fell with calm breaths – apparently, they were asleep. 

His eyes wandered along the curve of their arms. Under their blue tunic, he saw smooth grey skin over taught muscle. And of course, right there in the midst of their uncontained messy hair, the familiar outline of two curled horns twisted up, tangled in the dark locks. Panicked confusion rose in him as he felt incapable of moving a muscle. 

For a few endless moments he remained propped up on his arms in his elevated position, simply watching the Inquisitor breathe and utter small sighs in their sleep. He felt strangely at peace as he beheld the sight, though a slight uneasiness started to creep over him as his mind awakened more and more. 

What were they doing here? How long had they been here? Had they... seen him in his weakened state? He shuddered. 

Cullen found it hard to form a single coherent thought, and his head ached immensely. He felt how dehydrated he was, but he dared not move to reach for the water pitcher next to the Qunari on the floor. 

With a sigh, they rolled over onto their back, and Cullen's heart skipped a beat. A small muttering souund escaped their throat and Cullen held his breath as he watched them wide-eyed, limbs splayed out on the bare stone floor with one arm draped across their chest. 

They looked so very much at peace that he felt a small sting in his heart. The Inquisitor always seemed so busy - almost rushed at times, and this was a stark contrast to the state he usually saw them in. He mustered their face and marvelled at the calm expression on it. Their forehead was smooth for once, no worried knit in their eyebrows; their lips parted slightly, - a perfect picture of calm and serenity. 

Cullen was loathe to disturb them in their slumber. At the same time, he found it utterly impossible to tear his eyes away. Slowly, a shy little smile crept across his face. He had never seen them this relaxed and peaceful.

His eyes wandered across their body which was twisted into a position that looked strangely distorted, yet comfortable and uninhibited. He marvelled at the fact that they could sleep like this. On...his floor. 

Cullen was ripped out of his train of thought all of a sudden and felt his face turn a crimson red as he realized what he was doing. 

He wanted to turn away, to wake the Inquisitor and leave this situation that felt entirely too intimate to him, but he found himself unable to move…or look away. The Inquisitor looked so…magnificent. He told himself that he wanted to let them sleep, but if truth be told, he had more selfish reasons as well. They usually avoided him these days, and he relished this moment to take in their splendour. It made him feel entirely at peace.

Cullen watched some motes of dust dancing in a beam of sunlight next to them. It looked like tiny little flakes of gold were raining down on them. The entire scene felt to him like something he was not supposed to see but could also not turn away from, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Their head rolled from side to side lazily and their hand lightly brushed over their eyes after what felt like an eternity. The Inquisitor breathed in deeply - then opened their eyes. 

Cullen felt a crack of thunder go through him. 

From their position on the ground the Inquisitor was now looking up and right at him, their right arm languidly placed next to their head as they blinked a few times. For a few agonizing heartbeats neither of them moved a muscle. Cullen couldn't even say whether he had been breathing anymore. 

Slowly, they pushed themself up onto their left arm and rolled their head back a few times. When they looked up at Cullen again, he felt himself blush up to the roots of his hair. Heat was creeping up his neck and he felt as his he had been caught doing something entirely forbidden. 

"Well, hello there. How are you feeling?" 

The Inquisitor's voice ripped him out of his stupor and he finally shot up to a seated position, his back straight as a rod. He opened his mouth but could not think of anything to say. They seemingly were not quite awake yet, and looked at him a sleepy, soft expression.

"Well, you look like shit."  

The Qunari gave him a lopsided smile and Cullen turned an even deeper shade of red. 

"Inquisitor. I - ah."  

Maker's breath.  

His voice sounded like he'd been drinking for several days straight, and he felt like it, too. 

"Damn. You should have some water. Here, there's some left which you haven't managed to spill yet."  

Adaar grabbed the earthen jug and held it up in front of him. 

Surely this is all still part of my nightmare.  

Slowly and warily, he took the pitcher from them and drank from it in heavy gulps. It felt like he had never had water before in his life, and he drank it greedily. When he had emptied all of its contents, he lowered the pitcher and met the Inquisitor's gaze again. Apparently, they hadn’t looked away the entire time. Their expression was one he could not place for the life of him, and he felt his breath quicken. 

Maker, say something - anything!  

After another moment of excruciating silence, they slapped the floor next to them lightly with one hand, then pushed themself up to standing. Adaar was now towering over Cullen, who still could not find any words that did not seem ridiculous to him in this situation. 

"So - see you at the war table meeting? If you feel well enough?" 

The Inquisitor was looking down at him with a completely unreadable expression, and Cullen simply nodded briefly in response, unable to form any coherent thought. Adaar gave him a curt nod in reply themself, then left the room and Cullen finally felt like he could breathe again. 

Adaar stretched their back and suppressed a yawn. Sleeping on the floor was not as easy as it had been some years ago, they realized. Every muscle and bone hurt, and they ached for a hot bath. Still, this night’s sleep had been better than many of the ones before since they came to Skyhold, despite the fact that theirs was probably the most comfortable bed around.

During the entire meeting in the war room until now, the Commander had not met their eyes once. Whenever they had asked a question, he had either remained silent or answered in the most matter-of-fact, curt tone they had ever heard him use, and they prayed that the others did not pick up on the awkwardness in their stilted conversations. 

Mercifully no one had made any comments, and if anyone had noticed something out of the ordinary, they had pretended not to. Adaar was fidgeting under the table and could not wait for this to be over, their mind wandering unstoppably again and again. 

When Cassandra finally made a concluding statement, they could have kissed her. Everybody made their way outside already, but Adaar was the first out the door. 

I need to fit in a nap today somehow.  

Once again, they were eternally grateful to the Antivans for supplying them with coffee. Adaar made their way over to the tavern in long strides, ready for another fix. It would take a lot of the foreign brew to keep them going today. 

"Thank you, Flissa! You are a lifesaver, as usual."

Adaar congratulated themself again for reinstating the old innkeep - that moody dwarf first thing in the morning every day had been too much for them to bear. 

Their day consisted mostly of briefings from advisors and meetings with nobles, and by the evening, Adaar was about ready to fall into a year-long slumber. 

As they scaled the stairs to their quarters (who thought it was necessary for the Inquisitor to sleep in the highest tower we could find? I want them fired.), they realized how their feet were dragging behind them more and more with each step, and they were all too happy to round a corner where no one could see them anymore. 

Now I can fall apart. Finally. Just one more cursed flight of stairs, then another and then -  

After they had rounded the final corner before the door to their rooms became visible, Adaar stopped in their tracks and blinked. 

No way. Oh...come on, now.  

On the final set of stairs leading up to their quarters, they now saw a human sitting with their head lowered, seemingly lost in thought, surveying the stones between his feet. 

It was, of course, the Commander. 

Seven hells.  

When he heard Adaar approaching he raised his head, then stood up quickly, his arms hanging stiffly by his sides. 

Adaar thought about simply turning around and sleeping in a stable tonight, but the prospect of descending all those stairs again made them reconsider. Also, the Commander looked at them like some sort of sad, wet puppy and they inexplicably felt bad for him as he stood there all lost and alone. So they took a few more paces, then stopped some distance across from him, wary as to what might follow. 

He was blocking the path between Adaar and their bed and so they had to deal with him, for better or worse. 

The human did not move for some time, then started fidgeting with his gloves, still staring at Adaar silently. They took a deep breath and gathered their remaining wits, of which there was not a lot left today. 

"Commander. Hello."  

Their voice was brittle and a little bit colder than they had planned. He seemed to take note of it and lowered his gaze, still saying nothing. 

"Can I ask why you are keeping me from entering my quarters? Has something unspeakable happened? Has the rest of Skyhold imploded while I wasn't looking, perhaps?"  

Adaar did not mean for all this to sound so accusatory and harsh, but they were dead tired. 

He finally raised his eyes at them again and swallowed. 

"Inquisitor - ah, my deepest apologies. I...will let you rest. Forgive me, it's - of no great importance."

He started to walk towards them and clearly meant to simply shoulder past them to head down the stairs again. 

Oh no. You are not getting away that easily.  

Adaar took a step sideways so that they were now standing squarely in the middle of the hallway. The Commander saw that they were now blocking his path and stopped in his tracks. His face betrayed no emotion, but Adaar saw his left hand fiddle with the hilt of his sword slightly - a sign of nervousness, as they knew by now. 

Adaar drew in a breath and stepped forward, reducing the space between them and the Commander even further. He did not move a muscle. 

"What is it that you have come here to talk about? I'm sure if you made it all the way up here and waited around for me for…some time, as it seems, it can't be of no great importance, can it?" 

He seemed to consider saying something but remained silent, still. Adaar took another step towards him, so that they were now standing mere feet apart. He straightened his back and apparently finally found his voice again. 

"Inquisitor, I - I am truly sorry you had to see me in that state. Regretfully, I don't remember much of it, and I don't know how much of it you had to witness, but I...appreciate your discretion in this matter.

Be assured that if I could have prevented this from transpiring, I would have. I don’t want to take up any more of your time, but I would like to explain myself at some time in the future, once we are both better rested and -" 

Adaar held up a hand and he stopped talking at once. Where the words had poured out of his mouth like a waterfall before, he now shut his mouth into a tight line and stared at Adaar with a stony expression. 

"Commander, please. You don't need to explain anything - it is quite clear to me what happened last night, and I did see quite a bit of it. But do not concern yourself, I will not mention any of it to the others." 

He still looked at them with a questioning expression, and Adaar sighed. 

"Of course I don't know any details, and you don't have to give them to me, don't worry. But I... I know withdrawal when I see it." 

His eyes widened and he seemed to forget how to breathe for a moment. Adaar regretted their direct wording, but had no more social energy left to be dancing around the subject any more. 

"Listen. I don't care what it is, I really don't. All that matters is that you got through that night and you’re still standing. I assume you have your reasons not to tell anyone, so I will keep it between us, I promise. Now can I please go to bed?" 

Adaar motioned behind the man and he seemed to consider saying something for a moment, then apparently discarded the thought and stepped aside, making way for them to pass. 

They took their chance and went ahead, then stopped just as they had passed him, cursing inwardly. The Commander did not move and simply stood there, staring at the floor silently. 

Adaar recalled the dismal state they had found him in, and though they weren’t sure about just how much he remembered, they could only imagine how embarrassed he felt about the whole ordeal. They wrecked their brain for something to say, but could not find any more comforting words in their tired head, so they simply lifted a hand and placed it on the man's shoulder with a firm, but gentle grip. 

His head shot up and his eyes met Adaar's, with a confused and somewhat harried look in them. Adaar considered whether they really wanted to do this, but the sad puppy dog eyes of the man really left them little choice.

“Listen. Do you remember the other day, in front of the tavern?”

He seemed to think for a bit, then slowly nodded with a quizzical expression written across his face.

“…When I said I didn’t want to drink anymore?”

He nodded at Adaar gravely, with an almost conspiratorial undertone, as if the whole of Skyhold hadn’t been informed about their little outburst already.

“Well, I…I’ve been there. I did the whole ‘thrashing on the floor’ and the ‘looking for any excuse to drink again’, and I did it in private, as well. No one needs to see me like that.”

The Commander was listening intently, and Adaar thought they noticed his breathing quicken.

“You should be careful, though. That sort of thing can lead to situations which shouldn’t be taken lightly. Does anyone else know about this?”

He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment before he answered, and it likely took him a great deal of effort to say the next words, because he tensed visibly and barely opened his mouth when he spoke.

“Cassandra is informed. As leader of the Inquisition…you should know, as well.”

Adaar silently cursed themself for not simply going to bed when they had the chance, but there was no stopping him now.

“It’s… well... lyrium. Templars get addicted to it, if they use certain amounts. And I…have used a lot - during my time in Kirkwall, especially. The position demanded it.”

At the mention of his former appointment, Adaar’s shoulders tensed, and they tried not to imagine what that job had entailed in too much detail. Inevitably, their hand slowly withdrew from his shoulder. It seemed like he had anticipated it, but the Commander looked somewhat wounded for a moment before he continued, nonetheless.

“Those who are cut off - suffer. Some die, others go mad. I… I no longer take it.”

Though they had already sensed where this confession was going, part of it still took Adaar by surprise.

“Did you say…die?”

He nodded in affirmation, and his eyes were cast over by a sad, almost haunted look.

“Yes. It affects everyone differently. Most do not deal with it well.”

Adaar was stunned. They had honestly never considered what the effects of lyrium exposure would be for Templars, even though they were well aware of the repercussions for non-mages - humans who mined or handled it, for example.

To ingest it in quantities which the Order likely used could not be healthy for anyone. Adaar felt a slight tug of anger at the base of their stomach.

“So…why did you stop?”

The Commander frowned and cast his gaze down, as if the memory was painful to recall.

“After Meredith…I couldn’t. I will not be bound to the Order, or that life, any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.”

For a moment they both stood there unmoving, and the only sound was the wind that whistled through the arrow slits in the tower staircase. Outside, someone laughed heartily. It was a strange contrast to the somber mood inside, but it pulled them back into the here and now.

Adaar considered his words carefully – the Commander did not seem the deceitful sort, but they could hardly believe what they were hearing, nonetheless.

“How long ago?”

He jolted out of his own pondering and fidgeted with his glove for a moment.

“Since I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

Now Adaar really had trouble believing what he was saying. If it had been that long, how was he still getting withdrawal symptoms that severe? He seemed to guess what was on their mind and continued, without them having to say it out loud.

“Lyrium addiction is very long-lasting, Inquisitor, especially if you’ve been exposed for over a certain amount of time. I was in the Order for years – decades. There are days when it is worse, certainly, but altogether it is getting better.”

They could sense that that was somewhat removed from the truth, from the way he mumbled the last part and cast his gaze to the side. He really was a terrible liar.

Adaar had never had what you would call a formal education – that would have meant either a school, where they would have been the only child with horns on their head, and their parents thankfully spared them that experience, or a Mage Tower, and that had been out of the question altogether.

Their father was an apostate as well, and Adaar had learned pretty much everything they knew about magic from him, and books. What they had read on the matter hadn’t said much about Templar customs, however. Adaar mused that the Order likely kept details under close covers, and for good reason.

A thousand thoughts were swirling around in their head, a myriad of questions; of many, they were not sure they wanted to hear the answer to. Perhaps Dorian knew more about this topic. They would certainly stop by the library soon, to get more detailed information.

As they pondered this, Adaar noticed unease spreading over the Commander’s face, and his expression brought with it a grim realization.

“Wait. Does this mean…”

He sucked in a sharp breath and made a harsh gesture to underline his words.

“I would not put the Inquisition at risk. Cassandra has been instructed to watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

The Commander fidgeted some more, and the next words clearly were hard for him to express.

“What you saw…it has never been that bad, Inquisitor. I’m afraid I was exposed to more than I thought when the last lyrium shipment was brought in. It must have triggered the…well, what you witnessed. If…if you feel that I should…”

Adaar could not stop from scoffing in disbelief, and it cut him off in his rant. He looked at them like a baby deer that was about to be shot in the head by a hunter.

“You idiot.”

He clearly had not expected that, and it took him aback to such a degree that he took half a step back, before he recovered and searched Adaar’s face for clues frantically.

“That is not what I am talking about.”

More confused looks followed.

“Isn’t this dangerous?!”

Now he was stunned into silence completely. His eyes widened as he simply stood there, with arms hanging limply by his sides.

Adaar stepped closer and studied his face more intently. He shrunk back somewhat, but ultimately let them do as they pleased, looking somewhat defeated. There were deep lines on his face that they had never noticed before quite as prominently, and his eyes were sunken in somewhat.

“Are you in pain still?”

He clenched his jaw, then straightened his back, hand on his sword pommel.

“I can endure it.”

Adaar was starting to lose patience fast and furrowed their brows.

“Not what I asked, Commander.”

He seemed at a loss of what to say, so Adaar took the floor, now feeling angry and somewhat disgusted at the whole Templar Order bullshit. How could they do this? No wonder the Templars were behaving as cruelly as they did, if they were all basically indoctrinated addicts who depended on the Chantry to give them their next fix.

“Listen to me, carefully. This is no joking matter, you hear? This could be seriously dangerous, and I think you are taking it all a bit lightly.”

He tried to protest, but they cut him off with an impatient gesture.

“Don’t give me that ‘harder than iron’ bullshit, alright? They didn’t take away your ability to feel pain or suffer, I assume? There is nothing you need to prove here.”

When he still didn’t answer, and simply kept staring at them with that infuriatingly absent look that he had sometimes, when Adaar wasn’t sure whether he was listening or not, they felt like shaking him by the shoulders – and so they did.

“Cullen. You could die! Are you hearing me?!”

That seemed to bring him out of his stupor again, and he shook his head vehemently, while Adaar was still grabbing him with both hands. Their fingers dug into his thick fur coat, while his whole body seemed to have gone stiff as a board, but he finally found his voice again.

“Inquisitor! I will be fine – I am taking precautions, and Adan-“

Some more shaking followed; apparently, they were still not getting through to him fully.

“What kind of precautions were in place last night?! And are you talking about the same Adan that you wouldn’t let me call under any circumstances? Because that would have been a great help, actually!”

He kind of looked like he was about to descend into full-blown panic, so Adaar finally let go of him and started pacing up and down the corridor instead. He rubbed his right arm in bewilderment, but regained his composure after a few heartbeats. Adaar stopped squarely before him and tried to put as much emphasis into their words as they could without yelling at the man.

“Look, I don’t know enough about Templar practices to deal with this by myself, and you forbade me from calling anyone. And what if I hadn’t shown up? What if something had happened? I watched you sleep for hours! If you had died on me, I swear by everything that is holy to you, I would have brought you back so I could kill you again myself.”

He was seemingly overwhelmed by this verbal onslaught, but they weren’t done, yet.

“Cullen, I respect what you are doing, and I will support you as best as I can, but you absolutely can not do this on your own. That’s an order.”

He was still in shock, it seemed.

“Do you hear me?!”

They felt like grabbing him again, but he finally, finally came to his senses.

“Inquisitor. I apologize. I never meant to cause you-“

Adaar shook their head with barely concealed anger, with a look that said ‘don’t you start’. He apparently comprehended their meaning and skipped a few lines in the speech he no doubt had ready.

“I…understood, Inquisitor. I will handle this better.”

Adaar was feeling dead tired all of a sudden, and all they could do was groan in frustration before they dismissed him and turned on their heel, to finally go and fall into bed.

Chapter Text

Josephine’s head was brimming with a multitude of impressions and a great deal of new information as she walked across the castle greens, for once without any frost or ice cracking under her soft, thin-soled shoes.

The meeting with the Fereldan Lords and Ladies had gone surprisingly well – apparently, the whole country had a lot of love for the Inquisitor after they saved Redcliffe from a magical disaster, though they were not informed of all the moving parts, of course.

She had anticipated a much more strenuous discussion, and thus prepared a host of topics to talk about in advance, in order to appease the nobles with a show of respect regarding their traditions and customs, but two thirds of her notes had not been needed at all, which had been a refreshing surprise.

Inquisitor Adaar had been a most gracious host to them and managed to keep the visitors in high spirits throughout – apparently, they knew far more about Ferelden and its culture than they had led her to believe.

At first, she’d thought Adaar had done some research of their own, but some of the anecdotes they had peppered the conversation with could only have come from direct experience, from having spent considerable periods of time in the area.

They had mentioned that their family had lived around Ferelden as well as the Free Marches where they were born, of course, but never how long or where exactly, presumably to keep their family’s whereabouts private, as they usually preferred not to talk about them.

That had become painfully clear in her early conversations with them, and Josephine had done her best to respect these wishes, while Leliana had of course tried everything in her power to find out each last bit of information about them, rendering this exercise in courtesy on her part rather futile.

She shook her locks back and sighed into the calm night. Spring was in full bloom here at Skyhold, and she was looking forward to summer already, if there was such a thing in a place like this. The scent of many an unknown flower surrounded her, and for once, everything seemed too good to be true. Peaceful, even.

It was lovely here – considering the fact that they were staying in an old, run-down fortress which had holes in both the walls and the ceiling in several places, including her quarters. It still trumped Haven in almost any regard, however. That place had been truly dreadful - and then their journey through the mountains…

Josephine shook the thought from her mind, as despite the mild temperatures, a shiver now crept up her spine when she recalled the tent they had been forced to stay in after Haven had fallen.

Skyhold was no Antiva City, certainly, but she was all too happy they had finally arrived here. If only the weather were this agreeable more often.

Josephine passed a few soldiers who were on their way to the tavern and stopped to greet her most courteously. She nodded back with just the right amount of a bow as was appropriate, and considered joining Adaar and the others there for a moment, before she thought better of it.

There was simply too much to do after a day like this, and it would still be a number of hours before she could go to bed. There were many reports to be written; her notes from the meeting had to be put down in order while her memory was still fresh, and several preparations for the next steps could already be made tonight, so she might as well commence with them while the night was young.

As she climbed the steps to the Great Hall, she thought back to how well Adaar had handled the whole affair, again. She couldn’t have done it better herself, really.

Well, of course she would have phrased a few things differently, but the Fereldans had clearly been enjoying themselves, and they had ultimately agreed to a great deal more than what had originally been the plan in order to support the Inquisition, so she had little else to add in her mind.

Even Leliana had been favourably impressed, and that was not easily achieved. She had conveyed her admiration to Josephine after the meeting, and they had both agreed that it had gone exceedingly well, in large parts thanks to the Inquisitor.

Now, if only the same high praise could be awarded to the Commander.

Cullen Stanton Rutherford was a brilliant tactician – wonderfully skilled with the sword and in battle strategy alike, but he was helplessly lost in matters of conduct regarding diplomatic interlocution and negotiations.

During most of the talk, he had sat there straight as a rod and unmoving, next to the Inquisitor, only interjecting with counsel when asked directly or the opportunity was such that his advice would be called for specifically.

She sighed, bringing to mind the steely mannerism of the man, and how the Fereldans at least had not seemed to mind it very much, them not being too fond of long-winded speeches or the finesse of proceedings that came naturally to her themselves, or in taking any part in the Game, certainly. They actually appeared to prefer his matter-of-fact curt directness.

That had been lucky, because if she thought back to the time the Orlesian Baron and his entourage had visited Haven… No, she would rather not recall that particular conversation. Not when the evening had gone so remarkably well.

The hall was nearly empty tonight, with everyone engaged in hospitable festivities at the tavern, or enjoying the mild night outdoors.

Someone made a quip about how she worked too much – it was Varric, on his way out himself, and she waved him off politely, knowing that if she indulged in his jests he would try and rope her into abandoning her tasks for the night.

When Josephine closed the door to her quarters behind her, once no one could hear, she let out a sigh of relief. It could never be fully predicted how visiting dignitaries would react to the Inquisitor being a Qunari as well as a mage, and Adaar themself was known to let tempers flare in such cases much more often than was prudent.

Josephine sat down behind her desk and spread out the notes before her. It certainly wasn’t an easy feat, gaining the respect of nobles and others in power, but she would not shirk her duties even once.

This cause was worth supporting more than any she had put her weight behind at court, certainly, and though it was an endless uphill battle at times, she never tired of it.

A small smile crept over her lips when she recalled how the Inquisitor and Cullen both had wrapped these Lords around their finger, and without any of the training she had enjoyed, too.

It was good to see them working together again – some days their approach to each other was more strained, with no clear explanation as to what had set it off, but today had been an exceptionally good day.

She thought back to how stiffly he had sat by their side and suppressed a grin. Something must have happened a few days ago - she was not quite sure what it had been, but it made them deal with each other in a much more civil manner than had been the case in the previous weeks, ever since they had arrived at Skyhold.

It was a constant up and down with these two, and sometimes it made the Council meetings at the war table a real test of everyone’s patience.

Adaar usually had a rather detached stance when addressing the Commander, which sometimes veered into outright hostility, and he himself defaulted to cordial politeness at best, an effusive jumping to follow orders, sometimes before they were even given, at worst.

It certainly did not help that he was utterly and completely in love with Adaar.

Sometimes, Josephine wondered whether he recognized this fact, himself. At times, it seemed he was fully unaware of it, at others it appeared to her that it was so glaringly obvious that even someone as uninterested in the trappings of delicate interpersonal matters as him could not be oblivious to it.

According to Leliana, however, neither of them had a single clue. Josephine adjusted in her seat and folded her hands on top of her papers, forgetting for a moment how much work there was still to do.

Even as a little girl, she had always loved a good romance and tales of a great, unwavering love that can’t be squashed by even the darkest of times, the most unfortunate circumstances or the most terrible turns of fate.

However, these two seemed to be intent on not recognizing any part of it, both completely ignorant and at times outright stumbling in darkness when it came to each other – if the Spymaster was to be believed.

How this was possible was a mystery to her. Most everyone who knew them well enough,  seeing the way they talked to each other - the way he looked at them, picked up on it sooner or later, to some degree at least.

She of course would not engage in any such gossip outside the Advisor circle outright, especially about two of the most important people in the Inquisition, but she had to wonder if there were similar talks among the servants and soldiers already.

Anyone with eyes could see that he was falling over himself each time the two of them spoke to each other, and that the way he glanced at them when he thought no one was watching could not be anchored to any platonic explanation in her mind.

Now, how the Inquisitor felt about the whole ordeal was a much more complicated matter. Josephine liked to imagine they both were smitten with each other to a painful degree and simply did not recognize it themselves – anything else would be simply too tragic for her to consider.

But the Qunari was notoriously hard to read when they wanted to be, and Josephine at times had trouble looking through the icy façade they had built up, which was just as well, because that way, gossip about these two would perhaps not spread quite as rampantly.

She was startled out of her train of thought when a piece of paper that she was supposed to be working on caught on her sleeve and glid off the table.

Maker’s breath, enough of your childish daydreaming – get to work!

She burned many candles to a stub that night but went to bed feeling fulfilled and hopeful for the future.

“Andraste’s tits Dorian, you can’t say that about the Revered Mother, no matter how much you hate her.”

The man laughed Adaar off as he usually did, but they doubled down with their arms crossed and the most serious face they could muster while he strode around before them, still chuckling at his own joke.

Granted, his comment had unfortunately been awfully funny and wittier than they could presently admit, but there had to be limits to his shenanigans, especially when people were listening. And there was always someone listening at Skyhold. Especially around the library, which was full of people most of the time.

“It doesn’t matter if her ass could actually, physically do that, the point is-“

Adaar had lowered their voice to a whispering hiss, but he retorted just as loudly as he had started, which Adaar had to admire on one hand, wishing they could be as bold and unrestricted in their speech as him, on the other it irked them to no end.

“Leave it to you to blaspheme – while you reprimand me for blaspheming. That is exactly why I love you, my dear.”

He grabbed their arm in a playful gesture that made Adaar blush a crimson red. There were people listening! Had he no shame?

No, he indeed did not. The area around them had gone conspicuously quiet, and yet he rambled on as if they were the only two people in the world. The gossip mill would be churning tonight at the tavern, Adaar thought, somewhat exasperated.

But the look the mage gave them was so disarming that they could not be angry anymore in an instant.

Damn this man and his good looks! He knew exactly how to get what he wanted, and it worked like a charm on Adaar every time. Well, almost every time. This time, for sure.

“Alright, let’s just change the subject, shall we? Did you find anything?”

He looked at Adaar with mock indignation, and invited them to sit in one of the plush chairs by the window with a sweeping gesture.

“Have I found anything – about a topic that Fereldans like to talk about like no other? Of course I have. Was it easy with the mockery of intellectualism that is the Skyhold library? Certainly not. Have I prevailed nonetheless-“

Adaar cut him off with a wave of their hand.

“Dorian, please! What have you found?”

He paused and studied their face sternly, lowering the books he held in his hands into his lap.

“What has you so impatient to learn about Templar history all of a sudden, your Worship?”

Adaar hated it when he called them that, but was in no mood to debate this particular topic again. They also knew that if they indulged him in his teasing, this would only take that much longer, so they simply leaned back and folded their arms in front of their chest expectantly.

“Oh, alright, alright! No need to kill me with those stares, Inquisitor,” -another attempt to coax a reaction out of them, but Adaar was not falling for it and remained stoic.

“Well then! I am pleased to report I have found not one, not two, but – actually, just two of them were actually useful, but I do have four books here in total, that-“

Adaar leaned forward and grabbed all four out of his hands, then studied their titles hastily, while Dorian huffed across from them. The first one was bound in a dark red leather.

‘A History of Chantry Ritualism, as Occurring in the Manner of Fereldan and Antivan Custom, Performed and Recorded by the Sisters of Seleny, Under the Direction of the Revered Mothers, Through The Lens of –‘

Adaar was already at danger of entering a comatose state after reading halfway through that first book title, so they cast it aside. Dorian nodded gravely as they did so.

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t recommend that one, certainly. Now this next one, however…“

They paid him no mind and turned the second book over to inspect the spine. Its title, printed in silver letters across a green canvas bind was refreshingly short in comparison, but rather unhelpful sounding:

‘Brother Almonius’ Studies of Traditional Templar Garb Through Age 1:22 Divine into 2:36 Towers.’

Dorian almost took off from the edge of his seat, he was so excited about that one.

“Now, granted, that may seem strangely specific, but the man knew what he liked, you have to give him that.

There is a wonderful anecdote about Tevinter Chantry attire in there, which has some really humorous parts about the different varieties of copper clasps used, in contrast to the brass that came beforehand. Do you want me to read it to you?”

Though there was no reaction from Adaar, he went on undeterred.

“He is very thorough when it comes to listing and dating different techniques of flax rolling and linen weaving during this time period, as well - down to the month, actually.”

Adaar did not even look up at him and put that book aside as well.

The next one was called ‘Chantry Architecture in the Blessed Age’, so Adaar quickly discarded it, before Dorian could start talking about buttresses again – he loved talking about them, especially the flying kind, and not just because he liked saying the word.

The man knew entirely too much about truncated semicircular arches and bisecting angles, as they had learned the hard way.

Now there was only one book left, and its dark brown cover had just one word printed on it: ‘Heraldry’.

Adaar stared at the title for a moment, then lowered it into their lap again with an incredulous expression.

“That’s it?”

Dorian looked somewhat hurt for a moment, before he glossed it over with some quips about flax threshing that Adaar barely registered, which was maybe for the best.

“Now listen - it is not my fault that the selection in here stinks to the high heavens, Inquisitor. That was the best I could find. Is there nothing in there that would help?”

Adaar blinked at him in disbelief.

“Dorian, I am looking for information about Templars, not the thread count of ancient Chantry robes and how many stones there are in each cathedral. This is no help at all!”

Now he really did seem hurt. Dorian turned to face the window and pouted - a look that he usually used to tug at Adaar’s heartstrings, but right now, it actually seemed to be sincere.

“I’m sorry – it’s not your fault. Thank you for trying. It’s just…I was just looking for information on a more…practical topic. No, the ‘rituals’ book won’t help either, sorry.”

Adaar sighed wearily and considered the possibility of ordering more books about Chantry customs – maybe they could ask Leliana to find some…

“What exactly is it you were looking for, then?”

Dorian’s curiosity had taken over any feelings of injury to his librarian skills, and he was now leaning forward, staring at Adaar eagerly. They in turn sighed and slumped back in their chair.

“Ugh, I wanted to find out more about the lyrium use of Templars. I know very little about it, as I have learned.”

He chuckled and folded his hands in his lap triumphantly.

“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? I can tell you more about it. What do you want to know?”

Adaar was taken aback but had to laugh at themself inwardly. Of course he would know about something like this. Dorian had been raised and had studied at an actual Circle, after all. Though from what they’d heard, the Tevinter ones were radically different to the ones that had been active around here.

“I was just wondering – how does it work? I mean, how does the Chantry use lyrium? I have no clue, actually. How much is in the usual dose for a Templar, and what are the safety measures? That kind of thing.”

He nodded solemnly for a while, then knitted his brows in an expression that was far more serious than what Adaar was used to from him.

“Alright. The answer to your questions in chronological order is as follows: terribly; as often as is humanly possible; as much as a single person can ingest without keeling over or bleeding out of their eyes; and - there are none.”

Adaar blinked a few times. Surely this could not be the whole truth.

“You’re exaggerating, right? I need facts, Dorian, come on.”

He looked at Adaar sternly and thoroughly before he spoke again.

“I am afraid that is about the gist of the matter, my dear. Why do you wish to know this all of a sudden?”

Adaar groaned inwardly; they really didn’t want to discuss this with Dorian, and not around here for sure, but they lowered their voice far enough for him to still be able to hear them and told him anyway, since they were out of any other options.

“I talked to the Commander recently, and he made some remarks which I was wondering about. It made me realize how little I knew about the topic, and I…wanted to educate myself.”

Dorian absolutely did not buy this story, as was plain to see from his expression. With one eyebrow still raised, he looked at Adaar in a very serious, yet reproachful manner.

“And why, pray tell, couldn’t you simply ask our dear Commander about it? I am certain he of all people would be the most qualified to answer your questions. Instead, you come to this travesty of a library to ask a man who’s from another country entirely?”

When he put it like that, it did make Adaar sound pretty foolish, but they of course could not admit that, though judging by the heat that crept up their face now, the current color of their cheeks was admission enough.

“Well, I simply thought – I would not trouble him about it, not when he has so much to do, and…it is always nice talking to you. Besides-“

But they couldn’t really think of any ‘besides’ and instead trailed off, then stared out the window, sulking. It was a lovely day they were having, and they really wished they had taken more advantage of the weather instead of opting to be be grilled by this mage inside a library. Dorian sighed in exasperation across from them.

“Honestly, you two…”

Adaar turned to him and knitted their brows.

“Us two, what?”

They did not like the expression the mage was wearing, at all. It was a mix between chiding and pity, and they did not appreciate either of those. He pressed his lips together, then shook his head with a tut.

“Oh, nothing. Will you just try to get along with him even a little – for me?”

Adaar really hated how everyone repeatedly expressed a similar stance when it came to them and the Commander. They were doing the best they could, with what little he was giving them to work with!

But Adaar knew it was no use to discuss this with Dorian, and so they simply relented and made a vaguely affirmative gesture.

“Alright then. So you want to know about Templar lyrium use?”

Adaar nodded eagerly. Finally, they were getting somewhere!

“Alas, it is just as I already told you, only worse than you probably imagine, from what I’ve read and heard.

They start the recruits on lyrium as young as they can, to create a sort of dependency on the Order early on. If it wouldn’t kill them, this process would begin in infancy, and believe me, they have tried that.

As is the official stance, the first lyrium a recruit receives is given at their initiation – the ‘vigil’ – you may have heard of it. Though some tongues rumour that instances of administration beforehand have been observed.

No one knows for sure, as they keep it all very secluded and behind closed doors (No one but the Templars, of course. If only there was someone here we could ask to be sure…).”

Adaar punched his arm lightly and urged Dorian to go on with an impatient gesture. He rolled his eyes at them briefly, but continued.

“Over time, this becomes a sort of leash for the Templars, as they start getting addicted to it rather quickly – to lyrium itself and to the power it gives them.

Combine that with the daily indoctrination that you are following some holy calling, and presto – you have a military force aimed squarely at the mages. Something to keep a semblance of peace up, you know?

It doesn’t seem to bother anyone that Templars lose their memories to lyrium over time, and in very advanced stages, their mind deteriorates completely.

But at that point it has all already been worth it, because by then they have brutalized more people than anyone can count, and isn’t that the real meaning of benevolence and compassion?

It has the cushy side effect that Templars who want to desert – meaning leave the Order on their terms – get cut off from the supply and suffer horrible withdrawal as a consequence, making them that much more pliable and reliant on you, which really helps with the drop-out rate.”

He said all this with such an easy flourish and a broad smile on his face which flashed his pearly white teeth distractingly, that Adaar had even more trouble believing what they heard than they would already have had.

While Dorian talked, they sunk further down into their seat progressively, until Adaar was unsure whether they would ever be able to get up again. The Tevinter sure liked a monologue, but at some point, even he realized that Adaar’s expression was one of pure horror, and paused.

“Are…you alright there, Adaar?”

They closed their eyes for a second, because the room had started to become pretty blurry around them, and Dorian tried to get their attention some more, but they waved him off. When the nausea they felt had finally subsided somewhat, they drew in a shaky breath and looked at the man again.

He was bathed in the golden afternoon sunlight that flowed in through the stained glass window, and his dark hair shone like coals in a fire. The sight calmed them somewhat, and Adaar cleared their throat, sitting up straight again.

“I… had no idea. That is absolutely horrendous.”

Dorian appeared to be somewhat taken aback by this.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, Dorian, of course I knew they used lyrium and that it gave Templars their powers, but…this was news to me. How do you know all that?”

He clicked his tongue.

“The Circles I trained in had rather well-stocked archives, you see.”

He looked like he wanted to add something to the effect of ‘unlike this one’, but reconsidered when he saw Adaar’s face.

Though they mentioned none of this to Dorian, all they could think of was the Commander, writhing in pain and slumped on his chair, too weak to stand. He had said that night had been the worst, but was he trying to cover up more so they wouldn’t think him weak?

They recalled all the times he had been so awfully absent-minded, or appeared at a Council meeting looking as if someone had chewed him up and spit him out again.

All the times he had been so terribly irritable, and Adaar had given him a hard time for it – all that simply because he was trying to get away from the terrible fucking Order that had ruled his life up until now.

Maybe it had been his choice to join at some point, but could you really call being a Templar a decision based on free will, after a certain amount of time and lyrium?

And he had just taken their verbal abuse constantly, without trying to explain himself. Why?

Adaar resolved to be just a little more patient with the man, and pay attention to his moods more. They had, up until now, assumed that they had been directed at them, borne from his ire at an Inquisitor who was a magic user, and Adaar had to admit now that that had been a bit self-centered.

Dorian had meanwhile gone suspiciously quiet, and when they glanced over at him again, he was smirking at Adaar for some reason. When their eyes met, he suppressed it quite successfully and rather fast. Adaar paid it no mind, or tried to, at least.

“Well, that was depressing. Thank you, though. I think I need to go digest this with a walk – you in the mood?”

He beamed at that and held up his index finger for a moment.

“Yes, certainly. But - while we’re on the topic, I have read something fascinating the other day that I wanted to share-“

Adaar’s eyes narrowed at him.

“I swear, if the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with flying buttresses or, so help me, pulpits, I am getting up from this chair and I am leaving you here.”

He considered this for a moment.

“Of course. But might I note that-“

Adaar slapped their knees and pushed themself out of the chair; fleeing the scene before they could learn more about how elevation and formative woodcarvings both played a key role in the development of modern altars than was healthy for anyone.

Chapter Text

The night was clear, with many a star visible in the indigo cover that stretched above Skyhold like a samite blanket. A waning moon hung in their twinkling midst, a thin white crescent that would soon fade, making the light low but not unpleasantly so, and a gentle wind had picked up from the west.

Adaar recalled the time a Chantry Sister had told the story of how stars are little pincushion holes in the blanket the Maker had spread out over the world, letting His light shine through, and they had to chortle. Stars were, quite obviously, magical artifacts residing in a plane above Thedas – not unlike the Fade, but these people would take ‘The Maker did it’ over any and all scientific advances, regarding any topic.

This serene view would normally have sufficed to calm Adaar’s mind, no matter what tribulations the day had brought upon them, but as they stood on the broad stone balcony outside their quarters, it did little more than paint a pretty scene while the multitude of thoughts in their head were little impressed by it; only serving as a distraction for a brief time before other thoughts intruded again. Sleep would not come easy tonight, as they were well aware.

It was a shame, too, because Adaar could have used exactly that after the mess of a day they had had. At first, they had been delighted when Varric had told them of a good friend and potential ally who was coming to aid in the search for Corypheus – any leads and connections the dwarf had were usually exceedingly helpful and solid, but this one had brought with it more headaches than Adaar, or anyone for that matter, had anticipated.

His acquaintance had turned out to be none other than the Champion of Kirkwall – a rather eccentric mage woman, who had such a wealth of quips and sarcasm in her that they rivaled even Varric’s.

Adaar certainly had been pleasantly surprised by the acquisition of this new ally, in no small part due to the fact that Hawke had been something of a personal hero to them. The way she had supported the mage uprising and saved an entire city from certain ruin, and how exactly she managed this was something they still wanted to bring up with her, if circumstances would allow them some time for idle chit chat.

Her arrival at Skyhold had not had the same effect on everyone else, however. Leliana had scowled, taking a multitude of notes when Adaar had relayed the information they had gotten from her. The Spymaster had had a barrage of questions for Adaar at once, of which they were able to answer about a third, and they had asked Leliana to please talk to the Champion herself if she wanted more thorough intelligence – much of it had pertained to Hawke’s whereabouts starting with the Qunari siege, and then leading up to now. Leliana had given them more scowls in reply, before she finally relented.

Josephine had been the only one who had been just as thrilled to have the Champion at Skyhold as Varric and Adaar were, and had welcomed her most graciously, as one would have expected from her. She had been, however, drowned out somewhat by the opinions of the other Advisors.

The Commander on his part had not shown much interest in talking to Hawke at all, and his face had taken on a stony, somewhat harrowed expression upon meeting with her. He couldn’t get past the topic of her arrival fast enough at the debrief that followed. At the time, they had found it pretty rude, but not entirely out of character for him.

Now that Adaar thought it over again, they had an inkling as to what might have motivated this response. Whenever the topic of Kirkwall (or Qunari, for that matter) came up, his eyes darkened and though he tried his best to hide it, Adaar could see a deep well of pain open up behind them.

The Champion’s presence no doubt reminded him of those less than pleasant times, and the others had glossed over the topic nonchalantly, but in a manner that had seemed well-rehearsed and agreed upon beforehand to Adaar.

The one who had taken Hawke joining their efforts the absolute worst, however, had been the Seeker. On the afternoon of her arrival, as soon as the identity of their newest guest of honor had been revealed, all hell had broken loose on her part.

Varric had had a brief moment to greet the Champion and catch up, but when he had headed back to his quarters, Cassandra had intercepted and confronted him about the fact that he had hidden her whereabouts from the Inquisition all this time, and it had not been pleasant for anyone.

Thankfully, Adaar had been close by at the time, and thus able to interrupt their argument, because otherwise, Cassandra may very well have ripped the dwarf a new windpipe opening or two in her rage.

Adaar rubbed their aching neck and breathed out in a long sigh into the clear night air. Though they ‘d been able to calm tempers for the moment, the situation between the two was still more than tense, and they feared for what tomorrow would bring. Once the Seeker’s anger was provoked, there was little that could stop her in her tracks. Only time would tell if they could all work together. Just another fucking headache they did not need.

Only out of deference to Adaar’s new rank and perhaps the good relationship they had with her, Cassandra had agreed to leave Varric be for the day, and not to do anything rash. As it was, Adaar had little faith in the longevity of this truce.

Hawke had been very apologetic about the whole ordeal and acted most cooperatively up until now, but Cassandra would not be persuaded to talk to her all day afterwards, and her expression at the war table meeting had been scary to say the least. Sometimes it seemed to Adaar they were in charge of a host of cats, and their job was to herd them into a basin of ice-cold water each and every day.

I am so not cut out for this shit.

With a frustrated groan, they headed back inside, where they stood in the warmth and the dim candlelight for a moment. What was supposed to serve as a calming exercise had only made the onslaught of tangled thoughts in their head worse. It was often the case that their quarters were less of a refuge for Adaar, and rather another source of endless work instead.

They eyed their desk, which was covered in papers and letters to a nauseating degree, with disdain. There was no way they would be able to relax in here.

There was one place in Skyhold, however where there would be no envoys, no bedesmen or letters, no one to ask their opinion, no weighty decisions they had to make. Adaar considered the options for a moment – staying here to stare at the ceiling for hours, or taking a little walk even though they should really get some rest – then grabbed a long coat from their dresser and rushed out of their room, fleeing the endless correspondence that seemed to scream at them from their desk.

Though they were dead tired and exhausted from all the work that was being piled onto them without pause, there was also an inner restlessness driving them that would lead to a night spent tossing and sweating under the covers, and little to no sleep if they were to try and get some rest now, so they might as well spend the time enjoying the pleasant night.

There were a surprising number of people out and about at Skyhold despite the late hour. The arrival of the Champion of Kirkwall had undoubtedly made some fairly large waves all around.

Soldiers, as well as servants and high-ranking officials alike were chatting in small groups here and there. They stopped to greet the Inquisitor when they passed, soon resuming their animated whispering shortly afterwards.

For once, it seemed that all eyes were not squarely on Adaar, and no matter what other positive effects the Champion’s visit would no doubt have, they were grateful to be out of focus for once, already feeling a bit lighter than they had in their stuffy quarters.

When they came up to the tavern, Adaar was met with lively music from inside. The bard Maryden was a night owl herself and thus fitted nicely for the job of minstrel, though Adaar sometimes wondered how the woman did not lose her voice from singing to a large crowd almost every evening. Perhaps she was a mage after all?

A few soldiers saluted Adaar cheerfully, their faces flush with the glow of several pints of beer already. They waved back politely, hastening past the group before they could invite the Inquisitor to drink with them. Their goal was a different one entirely.

With a little bit of spring in their step now, they climbed the steps behind the tavern. The winds up on the battlements were picking up quickly with the air having cooled a bit, and they seemed to take some of the tribulations with them, as Adaar felt more and more at peace and in somewhat higher spirits when they had reached the stony top.

The door to the broken tower clicked shut behind them with a terrible creaking noise that Adaar hoped no one would hear, and after that, it was completely silent around them. Adaar relished the calm in their ears for a moment before they began their ascent.

The stony, uneven stairwell winding around the inside of the tower wall was almost as familiar to Adaar as their own room at this point, so often had they come here by now. The dilapidated building had become their little sanctuary whenever Adaar had trouble sleeping at night, and that was the case pretty often these days.

The well-tread steps under their shoes sloped downward in the middle somewhat, where the stone had become smooth and concave from the many feet that had walked up and down them through the centuries.

There were plans to restore this part of the fortress eventually, but this undertaking would blow the Inquisition’s budget as of now, which was lucky for Adaar, who was sorely missing the days where they didn’t have to talk to a hundred people, morn til nightfall.

At first, the run-down condition of the stairs had proven to be quite the treacherous obstacle in the dark confines of the tower, but at this point, Adaar could walk them in their sleep, which was ironic since that was the one thing they were unable to do, as per usual.

Only a few more steps and they would reach the top, where their favorite place in all of Skyhold as of now was located. The roof of the broken tower was the one spot they could get some peace and quiet when the tumult of the Inquisitor’s life became too much for them.

No one ever spent any amount of time here – the condition of the entire building was far too precarious and the dwarven builders Leliana had hired had explicitly forbidden anyone from entering, due to the unstable state the tower was in. That had never stopped Adaar from sneaking in and spending glorious hours of uninterrupted calm up here, of course.

Just the thought was enough to cheer Adaar up. The song they’d heard outside the tavern was still stuck in their head, and they hummed it first, then sang it under their breath as they climbed the last few steps: Empress of fire, in the reign of the lion-

Whoever had written that song deserved a medal for catchiest tune, Adaar thought to themself as they pushed open the wooden hatch that led up to the roof.

Eclipsed in the eye of….something something, we Orlesians…

The trap door fell back into its frame with a thump behind them once they had emerged, and Adaar considered bolting the latch, but decided against it since no one ever had come to disturb them up here before.

Best not to tempt the rust Gods tonight. I don’t want to get stuck up here, as nice as it is.

They turned around, more chipper than they’d felt in a long time and ready for some stargazing on the old wooden bench up here, as well as…

First, Adaar almost fell over backwards when they saw the pale face stare back at them out of the dark. Then, when they had gathered their wits about them again, disbelief settled in.

Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me.

When Cullen had heard someone move below, his breath had caught in his throat. Who could it be, at this hour? Had someone seen him? That would be less than ideal – the Commander of the Inquisition, skulking around in Skyhold’s broken tower late at night; not a good image to present…to anyone.

Even less desirable than that prospect was the fact that someone had found his place of refuge, because of those, there were not a lot to be found around here, and whoever was coming to find him likely had something they needed him to do or answer. He was in no mood to be asked for much of anything currently, and was inclined to tell whoever came up the stairs just that.

None of the scenarios he played through in his mind could have prepared him for who appeared when the wooden hatch opened. He was somewhat perplexed by the fact that whoever had followed him up here was apparently humming, no, singing a jaunty tune, and thus was likely someone who was not supposed to be up here, rather than a messenger looking for him, which was even less to his liking, at first.

Then he saw two very familiar curved horns peeking out of the opening, and out came a tall, stately built mage who appeared to be in an exceptionally good mood – but only up until they saw him.

The cheerful expression on the Inquisitor’s face died down in an instant, to be replaced by complete bewilderment as they involuntarily took a step back, startled out of their thoughts and clearly not expecting to find anyone else up here.

“Gah! What the – fucking hell!”

For a few agonizing heartbeats, no one said anything while the Qunari stood there frozen in place, apparently trying to collect their thoughts, and Cullen was at a complete loss, staring at them stupefied. Both of them looked very much like children that had been caught doing something forbidden.

After a while, the Qunari seemed to have regained some composure and shot Cullen a look that veered between annoyance and disappointment. He wasn’t sure which option he liked less, only that the expression stung like a splash of hot oil onto his chest.

“What in blazes are you doing up here? This area…is off limits! Didn’t you read the sign? There are…multiple signs!”

As he was sitting across from where the Inquisitor stood, having staggered back dangerously close to the ledge behind them, a dozen thoughts raced through his mind, with the one prevailing sentence in his head being ‘I could ask you the same thing.’

He of course did not express this, as it would have been unbecoming and most insolent, neither of which Cullen would allow himself to be when addressing the Inquisitor. He had to say something, though.

“Inquisitor. Well. Good evening to you.”

Cullen could have slapped himself, especially when he saw the Qunari’s face. Their expression now turned to pure irritation fast, and the sight made his throat constrict.

“That…didn’t really answer my question, Commander.”

It certainly hadn’t, and he had to admit as much to himself. Since the steely look of the Inquisitor made it increasingly hard to come up with any good excuse, he opted to answer as closely to the truth as he could without embarrassing himself.

“Right. Forgive me, it has been a long day. I – sometimes come here to clear my head, because no one else is ever up here…usually.”

That seemed to confuse the mage for a moment, and they scrutinized his face intently for a while before they spoke again.

“That’s – not quite true. I come here a lot, for the same reason, actually. How come I’ve never seen you?”

That caught him off guard. A lot? How often? When? Had they seen…? No, certainly not. The Inquisitor’s face spelled out a host of emotions, but nothing that made him think they had known of his nocturnal escapades.

“I…couldn’t say, Inquisitor. We must have missed each other up until now. I do apologize.”

The Qunari scowled at him from across the platform, their facial features highlighted by the ghostly moonlight and the dark shadows the night cast. Cullen forgot what he’d wanted to say for a moment, as he followed a few small strands of hair that had come loose from the tight knot behind their head and were now dancing around the frame of their face, in the wind which picked up around them with his eyes. Time seemed to stand still for a moment.

Their eyes glinted like new steel in the cold light, and the shadows around their flat, regal nose accentuated the sharp cheekbones, which jutted out above their broad jaw and were dotted with small freckles.

Cullen had noticed them before here and there, but for some reason, they stood out to him now especially – like little specks of pale copper. A long scar ran from their right collarbone almost up to their eye socket, and another diagonally across their left cheek. Part of their left eyebrow had suffered as well and was thus cleft in half. He shuddered to think what injury had caused them, as they were very thick in places.

He shook off his pondering when he saw impatience spread across their face, and the way their lips pressed together in annoyance.

Having been jolted back into the here and now, a feeling of unease spread in the pit of his stomach. It seemed as if they could look right into his soul again, and he tried his best to conceal his nervousness.

It would not do at all to have them find out that he sometimes spent his nights up here when he saw that the light in their windows was still on at a late hour, as the tower roof gave him a good view of those, and that that likely was the reason they hadn’t met here yet.

He often sat up here, worrying about the Inquisitor’s sleep habits, when his own were just as abysmal, but in nights where sleep would not come to him at all, he often found solace and rest only once he saw the lights being extinguished in their tower. They must have left a lamp on tonight before they headed out, as he realized with burning cheeks.

Of course, he could mention none of this to them, and he tried his best not to look in the direction of their quarters, hoping to Andraste that the thought of him watching the light in their window from here would not enter their head somehow. Judging by their expression, it did indeed not, as they still seemed confused, but thankfully appeared placated by this flimsy explanation.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll just…go then. You – you have a good night.”

The Inquisitor turned around on their heel to face the latch again, or at least to the spot where it was in their head, but they had miscalculated the distance somewhat and were now headed straight for the large hole in the battlement wall behind them. Cullen was on his feet in an instant.

The mage made a small, surprised noise that sounded more like it came from a newborn kitten and less from someone who stood a little over two metres tall and whose voice could be heard across the whole yard if they wanted it to be.

Before them, the wind whistled across the rough stone, and a steep drop that ended in a rocky plateau some forty fathoms below opened up like a gaping maw to their feet. The little strands of hair danced around their head still, as the mage swayed back and forth.

The Qunari’s toes were dangerously close to the edge, and one step further might have had them stumbling to their death right now. What kept them from it was Cullen’s iron grasp on their arm.

For a moment that seemed to last forever, they stared down into this abyss, before Cullen pulled them away from the cliff, with considerable effort. The Inquisitor staggered away from the ledge for a few paces before they found their footing again, and stopped right before him. Cullen’s heart felt like it was about to burst through his ribcage when their eyes met his, with a wild look in them.

“F-fuck. Thank you…”

The Inquisitor trailed off while he stared at them, removed from reality entirely. They could have said anything right now; it would not have made much of a difference to him. The two of them now stood mere inches apart, and Cullen could feel the heat coming off their taut body. For a moment, he saw it shattered on the rocks below with terrible clarity, smashed to bloody pieces across the grey and white motley of stone and snow.

The Qunari was breathing hard and fast, and Cullen could now see each single freckle on their face, the loose hairs around it so close that they could almost brush across his forehead. Their eyes were darting back and forth frantically, and he noticed how across the cold grey, dark blue specks were strewn in an irregular pattern in their irises.

When the mage finally came out of their shock, he was so far in his thoughts he barely registered their next words, but he very much felt their hand grab hold of his shoulder, their fingers clasping around his arm like the grasp of someone who is drowning. He realized suddenly that he was still firmly holding onto their arm just above the wrist and let go, bewildered.

The Qunari’s expression changed to one of embarrassment after a brief moment, as they almost sheepishly released his arm as well, and Cullen found himself able to think somewhat clearly again. He straightened his back and nodded at Adaar encouragingly, both of them still quite shaken.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?”

It could have been his imagination, but he thought he noticed a faint pink colour spread across their cheeks. It was hard to tell in the pale moonlight, but he could swear he saw it.

“I’m fine. Can we, uh…sit for a moment?”

There was nothing he would rather do in the world presently, and so he gladly obliged.

The two of them sat next to each other on the weathered wooden bench he had spent so many nights on by himself and stared into the night for a while, with a silence settling in that was not as unpleasant as before. He tried his best not to stare at the Inquisitor by his side as they were absorbed in taking in the stars above, while their breathing slowly returned to a calmer rhythm.

The broken seat they were both resting on was rather dilapidated and not very big, as he realized once they had sat down next to each other. Once again, their body was fairly close to his – a state he did not enjoy with anyone, in a context that did not involve his role as Commander, such as during training, and even then, it made him nervous whenever the sparring partner was the Inquisitor.

They had never spent this much idle time together, especially while not engaged in conversation, and he found himself wondering whether he should say something, but could not for the life of him think of anything that would have been appropriate.

Cullen mused that the Inquisitor looked exceedingly tired and felt a pang of guilt considering the fact that he had invaded their private time and space of refuge, even though he could not approve of them entering a building that was falling apart in so reckless a manner.

Now he was looking at them, and the Qunari apparently did not notice it, lost in thought. Cullen felt their warmth radiating toward him again and wondered about the fact that they did not appear to be cold at all – all they wore was a light coat, and the winds were quite harsh up here. He himself was wrapped in his bearskin cloak tightly and felt the cold creep in slowly.

Cullen considered offering his coat, but could not decide whether this would be appropriate or overstepping. He constructed several ways of asking them whether they would want it in his head, before his thoughts trailed off again.

The Inquisitor was sitting on the same level as he was, but they towered over him still, looking much more like a statue in the cold light of the moon than a person. If not for the fact that their chest was rising and falling with each breath, and their body heat, he could have imagined them to be some sort of monument to a hero of the tales he had liked to read as a boy.

A sigh from the mage broke his train of thought, and when the Inquisitor looked over and their expression took on a look of puzzlement, he realized he had been staring at them the entire time, the very thing he had been trying to avoid at all costs.

He quickly lowered his gaze, hoping to the Maker they would not notice the dark red colour on his cheeks and neck.

“…Are you alright?”

Cullen shot them a startled look. Now he was certain they would see the crimson blush on his face, and he felt exceedingly foolish.

Say something, damn it!

“Yes. Yes, I am fine. My apologies – like I said, it’s been a long day. My mind wanders at times, when I have read too many letters, especially.”

The Qunari scoffed lightly, but instead of disdain or mockery as he half expected, a small smile crept over their lips, which wasn’t unkind at all.

“Will you stop apologizing already, Commander? You’ve done nothing wrong. Well, maybe…but we are both technically trespassing, I suppose.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and sat up straighter again. They were entirely correct – what was he so nervous about?

“You don’t like her very much, do you?”

That took Cullen by surprise, and he had no idea who they were talking about for a moment, before they clarified.

“The Champion, I mean. You seemed…less than thrilled to see her today.”

Cullen drew in a shaky breath. Not this topic – anything but this topic. But as per usual, he found it impossible to refuse them anything, and so he obliged himself to their inquiry.

“That’s – not it, Inquisitor. She is a fine woman. I’ve met her before, in…Kirkwall. She is a hero.”

The Inquisitor studied his face so intently now that it was becoming uncomfortable for him fast.

“Right. I suppose you would have. I’m sorry – we don’t have to talk about this, if you don’t want to.”

Somehow, that made him more inclined to talk about it. His relationship with the Inquisitor had been fraught in the past to say the least, but was currently getting more cordial, almost amicable, and he found he wanted to do anything in his power to keep it that way.

“It’s alright. What…do you wish to know?”

That, of course, was a far more open question than he had wanted to put before them, but now there was no turning back. The Qunari pondered this for a moment, then turned on the bench so that their torso faced him as they spoke, with one leg placed down on the wooded surface between them. Cullen tried his best to pay it as little mind as possible, which proved to be difficult since it was almost touching his thigh at this point.

“Mainly…I wanted to ask about the Qunari, if I may.”

They could not have had a worse response. He felt his chest constrict, and his pulse quicken. There was little he wanted to talk about less than the Qunari at Kirkwall, but again, their curious and friendly expression directed at him made him comply.

“I…I see. Well, I did not meet a lot of them, nor their leader, in person. That was all the Champion’s effort. The attack on the city, however…I was present for that, if that is your question.”

The Inquisitor must have recognized the pained look on his face, or maybe he was just lucky, because that was decidedly not what they wanted to talk about.

“Oh, no. I have heard detailed reports about…all that, from Leliana. I am more interested in the soldiers, the people, personally. What are they like?”

He swallowed, hard. His right hand began to tremble, and he could do little to conceal it. Cullen recalled the soldiers in the streets, their unrelenting will to fight – the vicious attacks on civilians, and of course… their mages.

“Well. I am afraid I cannot say too much about them, Inquisitor. They seemed…loyal, certainly. Skilled fighters, and…”

Cullen could no longer focus on the situation he was in. An intense heat was creeping up his spine, and his pulse was now audible in his ears. He had to close his eyes for a moment, because the world started spinning around him.

He was squarely transported back to the burning city, with the screeching children running through the streets – one of them was on fire, having been unlucky enough to be in the path of a Saarebas’ spell. The boy’s skin was sloughing off in thick black pieces, like bark off a tree, and his thin voice, his dying screams echoed in Cullen’s ears, like they did so often in his nightmares.

The city guard next to him dropped his weapon and simply ran. He saw the face of the giant in the distance through the smoke and flame, the mouth sewn over and his eyes hidden by a mask, and he felt nauseous. Closer and closer, the Qunari moved in, and he tried his best to recall his Templar training, but all his wits failed him…

Something touched Cullen’s leg, and the sensation ripped him out of his trance. He stared ahead and into the face of the Inquisitor – apparently, they had been talking to him, but he could not make out any of the words. Slowly, the world started coming into view around him again – the stony roof they were both on, the stars above, the mountains in the distance, the Qunari’s grey eyes fixed on him…and their hand on his knee.

That is what his gaze lingered on for a moment as he pondered the strange sight, as well as the heat that seeped through his clothing and into his skin like he was sitting before a gentle fireplace. Their voice reached his ears muffled and very quiet, as if they’d been stuffed with cotton.

“Cullen! Are you alright?! What’s going on?”

He looked at them again – the same grey skin, the same tall build and horns on their head as the gigantic men that slaughtered so many innocents. But they were not them. Not at all.

“Forgive me, Inquisitor. I…do not recall that time fondly. May we speak of something else, perhaps?”

His voice cracked at the last few words, and he shook slightly, but he was present again. The Inquisitor’s expression was almost concerned, he thought, and their hand was still on his leg, anchoring him to reality. He thought that he never wanted to move again in his life.

“Shit – I am so sorry. Yes, of course. It’s just-“

They were apparently unsure whether they should continue, and did so only after he nodded at them, barely perceptible.

“I haven’t met many actual Qunari, you know. Only some Tal-Vashoth and Bull, but I’m not sure he’s such a good representation of their culture, somehow. I was simply curious, but I should’ve known better than to ask. No, no, don’t you start again. It’s alright, really.”

He felt a wave of relief wash over him, and focused on the sensation of their hand on his right knee, their grasp now tightening slightly, but still so very gentle for someone so huge. It had a soothing effect on him, even though physical touch usually left him feeling trapped. This was different, somehow.

“I am…very sorry.”, they added after a pause, and he gave them a puzzled look.

“About what? Asking? Please do not concern yourself-“

The mage waved him off.

“No – I mean, that too, but… I’m sorry you had to go through this. I…understand why you would feel similarly about me.”

That was not what he had expected. Cullen turned to face them fully in a quick, uncalculated motion that made him almost slip off the bench, and the Qunari withdrew their hand in surprise.

“No, Inquisitor – please, don’t ever think…”

He trailed off, thinking back to his first reaction to them, and felt a wave of shame wash over him.

“If I ever gave you the impression that I…thought less of you because of who you were – I am so sorry. I have come to know and respect you deeply, and there is not a sliver of doubt in my mind that you are a worthy leader of this cause. Please don’t ever think that my experience in Kirkwall could taint the high regard I hold you in for a moment.”

That had been a tad more than what he had planned to say, and they took a moment to consider it. He was beginning to fear he had said something foolish or rude again, when the tense lines around their eyes slowly softened.

“Well…thank you. I am – glad to hear it. I apologize, as well.”

Now Cullen had to protest, but they cut him off with a gesture.

“No, I mean it. I was pretty…hostile to you at times. I’m not well-disposed towards Templars, as I’m sure you know by now. I should have taken the time to get to know you better, first, before letting my experiences cloud my judgment. I am sorry.”

He still felt light-headed and did not quite know how to respond, so he defaulted to politeness, when in reality, he wanted to rejoice. But Cullen Rutherford did not rejoice as a general rule, and so he said, quite courteously:

“Thank you, Inquisitor. I appreciate it. Shall we return to our quarters? It is getting cold, is it not?”

Chapter Text

There was a knock at the door – at first somewhat timid, then again with more emphasis. Cassandra shot the stairs, which led down to where the ruckus was originating an impatient look. She was hoping the commotion would cease soon as she was certainly not in the mood to have that same dialogue she’d been reciting all week yet again, and thankfully, whoever was trying their luck today gave up rather quickly indeed.

A clattering sound, like metal hitting the floor, was audible outside – apparently, someone had left a meal tray in front of the door and setting it down rather aggressively. A bit early today, Cassandra thought. They’re getting impatient. She looked over to the massive bed in the room and could see that there was no need to get up and fetch the food just yet.

The Inquisitor was lying on top of the covers, and their face was turned away from her, either asleep or with their gaze directed somewhere outside the window vaguely. If the latter was the case, Cassandra had no need to see their expression; she could picture it very well, as it had not changed during their waking hours for days now.

Their eyes would be unfocused and glassy, staring in the distance and recognizing nothing, as if the Inquisitor weren’t even present behind the façade that was their pallid face, with deep lines between their brows, but no real discernible emotion in it all.

Adaar didn’t react to the noise outside the door (which came as no surprise to Cassandra), remaining fully motionless, as they had been doing for a considerable while now - not unlike a dead body. If not for the slow rise and fall of their shoulders, she might have thought herself watching a corpse.

Cassandra sighed inwardly. The day was already coming to an end, with the night approaching in giant strides and marking the fifth day that the Inquisitor hadn’t left their quarters. The people of Skyhold were getting restless and concerned, she knew, and Cassandra wondered how much longer the flimsy explanation of a serious illness befalling the Inquisitor would hold up.  

The situation certainly was less than ideal; people had of course started inquiring about them fairly soon, and Leliana, Josephine and Cullen had been busy coming up with a host of excuses as to why the Inquisitor was indisposed, but those had become less and less believable as time went on, so they all had soon settled on some mysterious sickness that was highly contagious.

As it was, no one but the Advisors along with everyone who had been in the Fade with them, as well as Adan, knew the actual reasons behind their extended absence. The last mission had started out so well, but then it all had turned to full scale disaster before anyone was any the wiser.

Adamant Fortress had been a hard-fought victory in itself, of course, but no one could have anticipated the turn this whole ordeal had taken.

At least the Wardens were on their side now, with a giant disaster narrowly avoided. Currently, they were settling in to Skyhold under instructions from Warden Alistair – a strange man whose antics Cassandra had little patience for, but he had since proven reliable and useful in a crisis. He was to leave for Weishaupt in a day or two, to relay everything that had occurred to the leaders there.

She still had trouble making sense of everything that had transpired after the fortress had been taken – the Fade; a being that might have been Her Holiness Divine Justinia V; the demon that had haunted them there and the Grey Wardens who were now possibly corrupted, but had joined the Inquisition by order of Inquisitor Adaar who would not hear of the potential dangers this posed.

Ever since they had come out of the Fade, Adaar’s condition had progressively worsened. At first, they simply had functioned rather absent-mindedly, delegating responsibility and informing the Advisors of their plans, but soon after they all had arrived back at Skyhold, the Inquisitor had retreated to their quarters, and they had not left them again since.

Cassandra had been at their side for nearly the entire time, taking breaks only to sleep and to attend meetings, constantly trying her best to convince the Qunari to get out of bed and perhaps even go outside, but it had been no use or any real consequence. Indeed, she had the feeling they could not even hear her in their present state, which was beyond worrying.

No one else knew exactly what they had seen or how the tragic outcome had come to be – except for Varric, who was currently avoiding Adaar and isolating himself for obvious reasons (which did nothing to help, as Cassandra had told him at first, but he had shut down rather quickly), and Blackwall, who had not said a whole lot since their return, himself. Whenever she had gone past his quarters in the stables, he had barely looked up from whatever it was he was carving incessantly, and he certainly didn’t want to talk to her about any of it.

Of course, the Advisors had been briefed about the foregone events, but they had not been there – they had not seen the monster that descended upon them; not even Cullen, who had been lucky enough to be spared a physical trip into the Fade, even though he had been very close to when the hole had opened up to swallow them all.

Tragically, they had ultimately lost the Champion of Kirkwall, who had heroically sacrificed her own life to enable their escape, and the Inquisitor had taken it harder than anyone. It had been their decision, technically, but there simply had been no good outcome to that situation, and they all knew it. Everyone except for Adaar, it seemed, who had turned to harsh self-flagellation before descending into a near catatonic state.

They were still in that state, days later now, and people kept pressuring Cassandra to try and make them snap out of it, even though they all knew very well that if there was anything the Inquisitor did not want to do, there was very little on the Maker’s green earth that could make them. How they all thought she was supposed to achieve this near impossible feat was beyond her.

The Qunari had allowed only her to stay, sending everyone else from their quarters, who had tried to help, at least at first. Not even Josephine had been able to get through to them, and she was a close friend to Adaar, as far as Cassandra could tell. Leliana had tried her best as well, but her words had fallen on deaf ears, which she had accepted just a little too quickly in Cassandra’s eyes. She had said something about ‘grieving in their own way’ afterward and that had been that.

The Commander had come  to try his luck as well, at the behest of the others, but all he had done really was stand in the room looking entirely lost, and when the Inquisitor had noticed him – which had her hopes up for an entire minute or so – they had seemed close to tears, but Adaar had sent him away as well before retreating even further into their shell. At least they had reacted to his presence; ever since his visit, there was scarcely any sign of life from the mage.

And so, it was solely up to Cassandra to try and get them to return to the living and come out of their detached state of mind. So far, she had had very little luck. Even getting them to eat had proven difficult.

She pushed herself up from the bench she had been sitting on for far too long now, and shot the Inquisitor another look – they still remained motionless in the same unchanged position on their bed. Cassandra sighed once more, this time very audibly, then descended the stairs and pushed the heavy wooden door at their bottom open.

Outside, a metal tray with various ripe fruits had been placed onto the floor. There was also some porridge, bread and water next to them, all very neatly arranged and fresh. Everything looked delicious, but she knew they would hardly pay attention to it all. As she bent down to retrieve the platter with her stomach starting to grumble, she heard a noise to her left.

Cassandra looked over with the tray now in hand and spotted the source of the sound. Sera had apparently been sitting on the floor a few paces away for some time. She jumped up rather quickly, then cracked her back several times before scampering over to Cassandra.

Sera kept her voice remarkably low, showing a sense of decorum and delicacy that Cassandra had not seen in the elf, well…ever.

“Hey there. How are...things?”

Cassandra bristled at the sight of her, but only inwardly. The woman somehow had a knack for always finding the tattiest, mismatched clothing she had ever seen, and today, they were not quite clean either. Her hair was mussed and knotted in places, as if she hadn’t taken a look in the mirror in a while. Cassandra also spotted dark circles under her eyes and a rather strained, worried expression, which softened her approach to the woman somewhat.

“Hello, Sera. Things…are unchanged. What are you doing here?”

She pondered this for a moment, her brow knit in a deep scowl. It appeared that she hadn’t slept a lot recently, as was indicated by not only the bags under her eyes but also her inability to focus, which was even more pronounced than usual.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here’? I wanted to see how they are. People are starting to talk, and I’m…worried. What’s going on in there?”

Sera craned her neck to sneak a peek behind her, and Cassandra took a deep breath. Why, oh why hadn’t the others briefed her on the situation? She was about the last person who wanted to fill Sera in on what was happening with the Inquisitor, and she generally loathed talking to the elf woman, as nine time out of ten, she managed to be about as well behaved and pleasant as a feral, unwashed dog. It seemed to her that this time would be no different.

“The Inquisitor is…in rather poor health and needs rest, Sera. I’m afraid this isn’t a good time to visit, so if you-“

She didn’t get much further, because now the elf’s scowl deepened even further, and she cut Cassandra off with an impatient, rather rude gesture that Cassandra had not seen before. She always found a way to surprise her, if not pleasantly.

“Bullshit. I don’t believe that crap about some illness or what have you. If that was true, people wouldn’t be so far up their ass about the whole thing, and avoiding eye contact whenever you mention their name. What happened at that Amaranth place – I thought we won?!”

Cassandra was losing patience with her fast, and considered simply slamming the door in her face.

“It’s Adamant fortress, Sera. And there are exacerbating circumstances, which…”

Sera suddenly leapt forward with the speed of lightning and flew past Cassandra, who involuntarily stepped aside, so as not to crash into the other woman.

“Exacer-bite this!”

While Cassandra wanted to reply that that sentence made no sense whatsoever, the insufferable elf was already rushing up the stairs, and so she had no choice but to follow her to try and mitigate the havoc she was about to wreak as much as possible. She heard a gasp from inside the Inquisitor’s quarters as she shut the door, then climbed the stairs herself and groaned inwardly.

Inside, Sera stood in the middle of the room rooted to the spot and staring at the Inquisitor, who still lay on their bed unmoving, apparently not having taken note of the woman somehow.

Before Cassandra could drag her outside again, Sera cupped her face in her hands, gasping again, and in an instant, she was at the Inquisitor’s bedside.

“Oh, Andraste’s sweet ass, are you alright, Inky?!”

She turned around to face Cassandra again, and her face had taken on a look of horror and confusion.

“Are they…dead?!”

She sighed, putting down the platter of food on a nearby table before walking over to the two. It was easy to see why Sera had reacted the way she did – if you didn’t know that they were alive in there somewhere, the Inquisitor currently looked very much like someone recently departed. Apparently, they had not heard or seen Sera yet, which was surprising since she was yelling so loudly that probably all of Skyhold had noticed as of now.

Cassandra walked over to shut the door to the large stone balcony, in case Sera was planning on screaming some more, then she stepped up to the foot of the bed, surveying Adaar with a concerned look. Their skin was pale and waxy, giving them the look of an exsanguinated corpse, while their eyes were glazed over as if they were running a high fever. If not for the regular slow blinking, they could have fooled even her into thinking they were no longer among the living.

“No, they are not dead. They are just…feeling under the weather currently, and will be up and about again soon, do not concern yourself.”

She had trouble sounding convincing, since she only half believed what she told the elf herself. The other woman stared up at her in disbelief, wit her neck twisted at an exaggerated and uncomfortable looking angle.

“Under the weather?! Are you kidding me? Look at them – can they even hear us? Adaar! Hey, are you in there, Inky?”

She threw herself onto the bed and grabbed the Inquisitor’s right arm, beginning to shake it rather violently. Cassandra leapt forward to try and stop her, but she had difficulty prying away the woman’s small and nimble fingers, which had the Qunari’s wrist in an iron grip.

“Stop that! Didn’t you hear me? They need rest!”

Sera shook her off and held up the Inquisitor’s arm, then let go. It fell back onto the bed limply, as if all life had left the mage’s body. They did not react to any of it, and Sera made a sound that could have come from some wild animal.

“Rest? Rest?! Are you serious? Have they been in here this entire time, like that? They probably have bedsores the size of a pig’s head at this point!”

Cassandra shook her head at the elf, and a throbbing pain started to spread near her temples, for the other woman was now screeching in near-hysterics. Still, none of this seemed to make any impression on the Inquisitor, whose gaze remained fixed on an invisible point somewhere between them and the mountains outside.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Adan is checking in twice a day, sometimes three times, and he says they need peace and quiet, as well as strict bed rest! The death of the Champion has hit them hard, and they need to work through it-“

Sera scoffed at her with an incredulous look, and something in her face made Cassandra so angry that she forgot what she wanted to say.

“How the fuck are they supposed to work through it – like that? How is this” – she gestured around the bed wildly – “supposed to make them feel any better?!”

The woman continued to illustrate in colourful language how wrong they all were, interspersed with insults directed at Cassandra and the other Advisors, as well as Adan and even Corypheus, and Cassandra retorted with curt, factual statements, which became more frustrated and less factual as her tone increased further and further.

She almost didn’t hear the small voice that cut through it all, nearly having forgotten there was another person in the room with them.

“…Can you two cut it out? You’re making me wish that fucking demon had gotten me, after all.”

Sera and Cassandra stared at the Inquisitor for a moment, who hadn’t moved an inch and was still facing the window. For a moment she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it, if it hadn’t been for the elf, whose eyes now widened before she bowed over the Qunari and spoke again, this time in a much softer tone of voice.

“Adaar! Hey there – are you...alright?”

There was silence for a moment again, and Cassandra was afraid that they had receded into their indifferent state, before they spoke up again, and her heart felt like it was about to drop to the floor.

“Yeah, I’m just freakin’ peachy. What…are you doing here?”

In a motion that clearly took considerable effort, the Qunari turned around to face Cassandra, then rolled over further to get a look at Sera. Cassandra gasped, clasping her hands before her mouth. That was more movement and speech than she had seen or heard from them in days.

“And…why the hell are you on my bed, Sera?”

Instead of answering, Sera made a terrible, high-pitched squealing noise before she threw herself over the Inquisitor and squeezed them in an exuberant hug. She let go again when the Qunari groaned in reply, sounding somewhat pained.

“Ugh. What the fuck is going on here? Cassandra, did you let her in?”

She wanted to reply, but was simply too excited to see them conscious and responsive again. While Cassandra was just as annoyed by the elf, she was also thankful for the reaction her presence had provoked. The wiry woman’s cheeks were flushed pink and a broad smile was plastered across her face.

“Inky! We were all so worried about you! What happened? Are you ok?”

They groaned again and propped themself up on their arms, rubbing their forehead with a pained expression. All of the Inquisitor’s movements were slowed to a snail’s pace, but they were moving. Cassandra walked over behind Sera and tugged at her shirt, so that she would give them some space. She did so unwillingly, but ultimately moved back a bit, still remaining seated on the Inquisitor’s bed, which Cassandra thought to be highly inappropriate still.

“Does it…look like I’m ok? Damn it, I’m really not in the mood for this. Can you both just...leave?”

Cassandra considered this for a moment, too caught up in the excitement of hearing them speak again to think about whether that would be prudent, but Sera was of course not about to comply; instead she did not react to what they said at all and bounced up and down on the covers like a child.

“It’s just so good to see you up again, Adaar! You had us all worried…“

The Inquisitor shot her an exasperated look.

“Well, you saw me. Can you just leave me be now?!”

Of course she couldn’t, and for once, Cassandra was glad for the elf’s complete lack of manners or regard for anyone’s opinion.

“Inky, you need to leave this room, ok? This is not good for you at all. I know you’re not feeling great, but-“

They cut her off again, now looking like they were about to lose their temper, and Cassandra was glad that she wasn’t the target of their ire, because their face took on a rather terrifying expression.

“Oh, why don’t you shove it. Not feeling great, huh? How do you suppose I should feel – I got the fucking Champion of Kirkwall killed, damn it!”

Sera remained unimpressed by this, crossing her arms before her narrow chest and looking into Adaar’s face defiantly.

“Yeah, and you saved everyone else by doing it. Why don’t you get over yourself already and get your shit together? Do you want to spend the rest of your life in here?”

Cassandra was baffled by the way the elf spoke to the Inquisitor, but it at least had an effect of some sort – their face took on a healthier colour already, and their breathing quickened. Even their eyes weren’t as unfocused as before anymore – still somewhat glassy, but they looked endlessly more present than before.

“And what if I do? What the hell is it to you?”

Sera was a very aggravating woman, it was true, and Cassandra did not appreciate either her mannerisms or way of expressing herself, but what happened next had her speechless. It had the same effect on the Inquisitor, if only for a moment. The elf didn’t respond so much as react, and slapped Adaar squarely across the face. Cassandra gasped audibly next to the two.

“What the fucking-“

The elf held up a flat outstretched hand, very close to their face, so that her palm almost touched their nose – her rudeness certainly had no boundaries, but strangely enough, it seemed to work on the Inquisitor.

“Alright, you shut up now, Inky. Do you remember what you are doing here? All the people that rely on you?”

The Qunari stared at her dumbly, still too perplex to speak, it seemed. No one had spoken to them like this in a long time, at least not anyone close to them.

“Good, you do, apparently. Then your brain isn’t as damaged as I thought! Do you have any idea what your being shut away in your little room is doing to everyone out there? They’re all scared shitless, thinking the one hope they had for getting through this nightmare has abandoned them all!”

There was still no reaction from the Inquisitor.

“Fucking hell, do you hear me? You're acting like some sort of poncy lord, hiding away in your fancy tower, while everyone else is losing their minds and giving up all hope!”

To Cassandra’s horror she lifted her arm, winding up to strike them again, but before Sera could do so, the Inquisitor caught it mid-air, looking very much like they were about to impale her on a pillar of ice. Sera did not even flinch, however, and instead started laughing.

“There you are! Man, I almost thought we’d lost you. Welcome back to the land of the living! I knew you were in there somewhere, Adaar.”

The Inquisitor stared at her for a while, and the expression in their face slowly changed form one of unbridled anger to a deep scowl and suddenly, tears started welling up in their eyes. Before long, choking sobs escaped their throat and Sera quickly pulled them in for another hug. This time, they did not resist.

“Oh, I know. I’m so, so sorry, Adaar. But you did what you had to do, ok?”

They cried into the elf woman’s shoulder for a few more heartbeats, while Cassandra stood next to the two and scarcely knew what to do with herself. Finally, they seemed to calm down somewhat, and Sera let go, more gently than she had ever thought her capable of. After a few more sniffles, they shot a look in Cassandra’s direction.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain. Thank you for being there, Cassandra. I appreciate it. I just…I couldn’t…”

Cassandra felt a tinge of frustration for a moment – after all, it had been her who had looked after the Inquisitor all this time, barely taking any time for herself while one visit from this elf had such a profound effect, but the look on their face made it impossible to remain angry and so she sat down next to the two, tired and exaspareted, but endlessly relieved.

“Any time, Inquisitor. Just not…any time soon, agreed?”

They smiled thinly in reply and nodded.

Cassandra found respect for Sera that she had never thought possible that day; it was dampened somewhat by the fact that the elf bragged about her miracle feat of reviving the Inquisitor to her for weeks afterward, but the feeling that there was more to her than meets the eye remained, nonetheless.

Chapter Text

“When I said I wanted you tenderfeet to give it your all, I did not mean I wanted to watch you all flailing about like a bunch of mewling kittens – this will not do at all, recruits!

Oh come now, my grandmother hits harder than that, soldier. And - you lot are still holding your broadswords with both hands instead of one, Maker’s breath! Have you been doing your strength training with day-old bread instead of steel?”

Cullen rubbed his temples and turned from the training grounds, the suppressed groans of frustration behind him mirroring his own exasperation. The recruits were not progressing nearly as fast or as well as he would have liked it, and there was precious little time remaining until the next phase of their plan was to begin.

If the Inquisition was to attend the Grand Duchess’ Ball in Orlais, and possibly stop an assassination on the Empress, they needed to be prepared for any and all eventualities.

One of the soldiers next to him dropped his shield on the ground with a clanging sound, and stammered an apology as he scrambled to retrieve it from the dirt - his eyes big, wet circles that darted back and forth frantically. Cullen did not have the stomach to watch this any further, nor did he have the time.

With an impatient gesture, he called over one of the more experienced fighters and instructed her to keep the training going well into the evening today. There were more groans audible from the recruits, and for a moment, he felt remorseful, before he reminded himself there were more important things at stake than being mindful of some sore bodies in this sea of inadequacy.

These greener-than-grass soldiers would need every hour of training, it seemed, but Cullen had to go and attend to other matters. He simply could not spend his entire day trying to drill some sense into these people again. Several stacks of paper were piled on his desk in an ever-growing number, as he was well aware, and there was a hefty stack of correspondence to respond to, all waiting for him in his quarters.

Truthfully, he would probably rather spend the day hacking away at a training dummy, himself, now that he called to mind the tasks that were waiting for him there, but it was no use. Sometimes, he wondered whether he was cut out for this leadership position after all, but people kept assuring him he was doing a wonderful job, so he had to be doing something right.

After the victory at Adamant, the Inquisition army had been reduced by nearly a quarter of their forces, even though the Inquisitor had done their absolute best to support the army wherever they could, no doubt preventing a much higher number of deaths. Nonetheless, if it were to come to full-out war, they all were woefully underprepared, even with the addition of the Grey Wardens, who Cullen still did not fully trust if he was being honest with himself.

The magical researchers and former Templars at their disposal had conducted a thorough investigation into the Warden ranks when they had joined the Inquisition Skyhold, and had apparently found no traces of corruption or blood magic - besides a few higher ranking people who had to be taken into custody for now, due to their involvement with Clarel, but even they had been miraculously peaceful.

And yet, whenever he saw a mage with the griffon crest on their armour walk by, a small involuntary shudder came over him. It all seemed to be just a little bit too convenient and easy for him to be true.

Be that as it may, the Warden forces had joined the training with the other soldiers about two weeks ago, after a quarantine period of nearly another fortnight, following their arrival at Skyhold. The Inquisitor had assured him multiple times that everything had gone smoothly, and that the Wardens were more than ready and very eager to support their new allies. Still, a lingering gnawing feeling remained in his stomach about the whole situation.

He was as grateful as anyone to the Wardens and their stopping the Blight, which Cullen recalled only reluctantly, but everyone around here was just a little too eager to forgive them their recent transgressions. Cullen was also aware that he would ruffle more than a few feathers with this opinion, which he was not shy to share if asked, but someone had to keep an eye on all the magic fizzing around Skyhold.

All in all, he was simply glad that the Inquisitor had broken their silent sequestration, if truth be told, and that the aftermath of what had transpired in the Fade seemed to finally have been overcome. It had taken several additional days, even after the Inquisitor had left their quarters again, for them to take part in the strategic war table meetings, and even then, they had remained stoically quiet with a gloomy air hanging over them for a while.

The Inquisitor’s mood had only started to lift after the Wardens had been integrated into their forces and had been allowed to walk the grounds freely. Seeing the Inquisitor out and about had done wonders for morale as well, naturally – him and the Advisors had already been making plans for the eventuality that they would not be able to fulfil their role as Inquisitor anymore – a chilling thought.

The death of the Champion of Kirkwall had unmistakably hit them extremely hard, and there was no doubt that the news of her passing had shaken all of Skyhold. The grief and shock everyone else had felt was unrivalled to what the Inquisitor had gone, or rather put themself through, however. In truth, no one was blaming them for the tragic outcome, but Adaar had not been the same ever since, and Cullen could see they were castigating themself about it each and every day.

The topic of the Champion and what had happened in the Fade was at this point being avoided in conversations with the Inquisitor present at all costs by just about anyone, lest they should withdraw again. If there was an unknowing visitor who brought the matter up, Adaar usually tensed up visibly, before changing the subject politely but quickly. It put a dagger through his heart each and every time, and Cullen wished he could lift this burden from their shoulders, but he was simply not gifted with eloquence enough to brave a task such as this.

A shadow hung over them still these days, and Cullen could not recall the last time he had heard them laugh in that loud, boisterous way of theirs, or make one of their little jests at his expense, which he began to miss at this point. Anything was better than the state they had been in when he’d seen them in their quarters – barely present and more dead than alive, it seemed.

It had cut him deeply to see them like this, though he had no idea how to help. Yet again, he was woefully unable to find the right words when faced with a delicate situation, and Cullen thus mainly remained quiet around the Inquisitor these days. It appeared to him that they were not taking it amiss, however, which was lucky for him indeed.

He and the rest of the Inquisition had gone half mad with concern when they’d heard that Adaar, together with Cassandra and Varric, as well as Hawke, Blackwall and Warden Alistair had all disappeared into some sort of Fade rift, and no one had known whether they would even reemerge.

When they finally had done so, Cullen and the others had been overjoyed at first, but as soon as he’d seen the look on all their faces, everyone at Adamant had known that something had gone terribly wrong.

He mourned the loss of the Champion as much as anyone, but selfishly, he had found himself so immensely relieved to see them alive, and at least physically well, that this fact had overshadowed his grief to this day. He would sometimes lie awake at night imagining what their situation would be like if they had lost the Inquisitor in the Fade, instead, and the thought robbed him of many a restful hour.

Knowing all too well that the Qunari was prone to putting others’ lives before their own, he mused that losing them this way – a noble sacrifice of some sort – was a possibility that was far more likely than he cared to admit, and the thought was almost too much to bear. Cullen was glad to consider them almost a friend, in addition to being his superior at this point, and that fragile friendship had been earned hard.

After Haven, he had felt the sting of it for the first time – the possibility that they would not return, and that had driven him close to madness. Each day that he knew them to be safe was a blessing from the Heavens, and he made sure to make time for prayer several times a week to ask the Maker to continue His watch over them.

Cullen looked up, suddenly interrupted in his thoughts when he heard some sort of commotion to his right. He had walked past the tavern already, lost in contemplation, as he realized with embarrassment. His feet found the way to his office in his sleep at this point, and he had scarcely taken notice of his surroundings.

A few feet away several mages were gathered, and Cullen noticed the silver Warden crest on of the shoulders of some immediately. They were animatedly speaking to some young mages in Inquisition gear, who listened to their words in rapt amazement.

“I am telling you, there was a dragon – bigger than a Chantry and ugly as sin, and it tried to devour Commander Clarel! It was a disgusting beast, with teeth longer than a greatsword, and a breath so foul you’d think you’d dived into a demon’s asshole…“

A young man with the same Warden uniform and pock scars scattered across his face cut her off by slapping her arm forcefully, causing the mage to flinch and cease her strongly worded narrative. She shot the lad a bewildered look.

“Ow, Finn! What the hell, man!”

The other Warden gave her shoulder another, this time lighter poke.

“Oh, you are so full of it! How could you have seen any of this? You were on the other side of the damned fortress at the time, Andraste’s mercy!”

The foul-mouthed mage crossed her arms before her chest with a pouting expression.

“Well, Lathier told me about it, and she was right there. It’s true! There absolutely was a dragon, and it-“

They went back and forth some more, bickering about the size – and smell of the beast, now drawing a sizeable crowd around them with the clamour they were causing. A trio of young recruits who Cullen had not seen at Skyhold before joined the heated discussion from the side, and a rather tall, fair-haired young man shouldered between the two arguing mages, stopping them in their argument.

“Hey you! Did you say you were at Adamant? Oh, shit. You – you’re Wardens, right?”

The two of them fell silent and nodded at him cautiously, eyeing the newcomer with apprehension.

“Awesome! So…you saw the Inquisitor fight those demons, huh? Is it true they singlehandedly killed that bastard of a Tevinter, saving all of your sorry hides?”

The mages bristled at that and made some vaguely affirmative noises, no doubt hoping he would be satisfied by this, but Cullen could tell he was not the type to be shaken off this easily. That boy had trouble written all over him, and he was just getting started.

“Oh man. I have to say, you guys are not as impressive as I’d heard, lemme tell you that. Pretty useless if there’s not a big scary ‘Blight’ around, huh?”

He said the word with somewhat mocking emphasis, waving his hands above his head dramatically and laughing derisively before he gave one of the mages a hard shove, which sent him scrambling back a few paces. When he had regained his footing, the Warden shot the blonde troublemaker a hateful look. The tall lad was still laughing, and pointed at the mage with a triumphant expression.

“Wow, what a bunch of losers you are! I thought you were supposed to be all tough and shit. But I guess that’s what you can expect from a bunch of fucking blood mages, huh? Say...is it true you lot killed the Champion of Kirkwall? She was a goddamn hero, you know! You should be-“

Cullen saw the face of the young mage who the boy had shoved turn to a stony expression. The magic in his hand started glowing faintly now, while the people around them began shouting agreements to either side wildly. Cullen started toward the group immediately, fearing he was too late already and cursed himself for standing by and watching this long.

“That’s enough.”

There were a few more expletives hurled toward both the mages and the newcomers alike from the crowd, then silence fell over the gathering. Cullen pushed a few onlookers aside, but even with all the people between him and the arguing parties, he could see what had made them lose their courage all of a sudden.

Towering over the assembly of mostly humans, with some elves in the mix, as well as a few dwarven onlookers stood Iron Bull, several heads taller than any of them, and the crowd was parting before him already. His face showed an expression Cullen had never seen on him, and he had to admit he was thankful for this fact. The Qunari looked like he was about to rip these kids’ heads off, and he was headed straight for the flaxen-haired instigator.

When the gigantic man stopped before him, the lad looked like he was about to wet himself. Bull stood very close to him, and the boy started stammering something Cullen could not make out. Everyone else had now retreated from the two, leaving a wide berth between them and the enraged Qunari.

“So, you think the Wardens are a bunch of losers, do you, boy? Say, have you ever stood face to face with a Darkspawn? No? How about a dragon then?”

The troublemaker, who was dressed in a simple linen shirt as well as ripped-off trousers that ended at the knee, had probably just arrived from some farm which he had spent his entire life on so far – likely come here to join the Inquisition army, and he was now quaking in his tattered boots. All he could do was shake his head in reply.

Cullen could see that this was probably the first time the boy had met a Qunari. He knew the look on his face all too well.

“I see. So…you’re just blowing smoke out of your ass then, are you? Talking about things you don’t have a clue about? How about you scram, skinny boy, and come back once you’ve seen the Blight an inch before your eyes, death and decay personified?

When you have felt the fear of that black tainted blood mixing in with yours, damning you to a certain, yet slow and very, very painful death, where you start shitting out your own organs out, and the skin starts to fall off your tiny little dick, leaving nothing but a bloody hole in your breeches; until your mind is gone so far that you would tear out your own mother’s throat – then we can talk about how useful the Wardens are or aren’t, what do you say?”

Cullen had to supress a smirk. The boy looked like he was currently considering running back to said mother, and tears were glinting in his eyes. He could not have been older than 15 – he probably had been young, and lucky enough to not have witnessed the Fifth Blight firsthand. Judging by his accent, he was likely from an area to the north where it had not raged quite as violently – or maybe it had never even reached his peaceful little hometown.

“I asked you a question, boy. Now what do you have to say, you waste of space and resources? Did you come here to start crap about things you don’t have a fucking clue about, or are you going to make your sorry ass useful for once in your life, and join the soldier training; because if you don’t, I will escort you out of here personally, you little shit, and I cannot guarantee that you will leave in one piece.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he straightened his back with his scrawny arms shaking violently at his sides.

“Y-yes, sir! I am s-sorry…”

Bull stepped even closer and put his massive index finger on the human’s forehead. At this point, the lad looked like he was about to faint.

“Don’t apologize to me, shit-stain.”

Bull placed his hand on, then turned the boy’s head to face the Warden mages whom he had previously insulted. They looked just as shocked as he did.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t – I didn’t know!”

Tears were now streaming down his face, and Cullen was afraid he was indeed going to soil his dusty, torn pants right there and then.

“Good! Now get the hell out of here and join the soldiers over there – go! Take your little friends with you.”

Cullen had seldom seen anyone run so fast. The boy took off as soon as Bull had stopped talking and let go of his head, scrambling toward the training grounds in a panic, with his compatriots following quietly. The crowd around the Qunari was still eerily quiet, until Bull addressed them as well.

“Alright, show’s over, everyone. If anyone else has any grievances to air concerning the Wardens, you’re welcome to come see me. Otherwise – return to your duties, for fuck’s sake.”

Several people’s eyes widened when Bull spoke to them directly and the throng of people finally dispersed every which way, with people whispering among themselves while hurrying to get away from the giant man. When some of them came past Cullen and took note of him, they cast their gaze downward and quickly scurried off.

Bull was left standing with the Wardens and a few of the other mages, all of whom eyed him with quiet reverie written across their faces. Several of them thanked him shyly before they too left in a hurry, and Bull suddenly noticed Cullen standing nearby as well. He gave him a nod and wandered over, rubbing his enormous neck.

“Commander. I...assume you saw all that.”

Cullen confirmed with a slight unease spreading at the back of his head. The Qunari had mostly calmed down, but he was still a terrifying sight to see, and Cullen made a mental note never to incur the man’s direct ire himself.

“Well. Sorry for the strong language there, but I felt like that loud-mouthed kid and anyone who shared his ideas had to be taught a little lesson in respect.”

He looked at Cullen somewhat sheepishly which was a strange sight to see, especially considering the Qunari’s disposition just moments before had been very different indeed.

“Oh, I believe you achieved that. He won’t be insulting the Wardens…or anyone for that matter again anytime soon, I’d wager, as will the others.

I have to say…your strong opinion on this matter was not something I had anticipated. Have you had any contact with the Blight, yourself?”

Bull shook his head with a sad expression that looked a little out of place on his stern face.

“I haven’t seen the Blight up close, personally. But we received many detailed reports about the whole shitshow among the Ben-Hassrath – pardon my language, Commander.

I read it all – how families were torn apart by it; hell, entire villages eradicated. Adaar and I have met some straggling Darkspawn here and there, and I cannot and don’t want to imagine a full-scale invasion of the ugly fuckers – uh, sorry again.

I have a lot of respect for the Wardens, as should anyone here.”

That took Cullen by surprise, though it made sense when he thought about it. Of course the Qunari and especially the Arishok would have an interest in the blight – should it ever reach their shores, they had better be prepared.

Cullen could recall with gut-wrenching clarity what the corruption of the Darkspawn had done to his homeland, though he would rather not think back to those times, for several reasons.

“I share your sentiment. I myself saw firsthand the havoc the Blight had wreaked upon Ferelden, and I am of course more than grateful that the Wardens exist.”

Bull studied his face for a moment, and Cullen felt increasingly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. It always seemed like the Qunari knew far more than he let on, and he found it extremely hard to read the man.

“But you don’t trust them, do you?”

He must have seen the surprise on Cullen’s face though he did his best to hide it, and Bull’s features softened a bit.

“I get it. No, really, I do. They fucked up big time, yeah, but you can trust our specialists, Cu- ah, Commander. The Wardens are being monitored at all times, and they are not at danger of corruption, not anymore. The Inquisitor agrees, as well.”

He gave Cullen a strange look as he said the last sentence, as if he was gauging his reaction. Cullen drew in a long breath and weighed his next words carefully, not entirely sure where the Qunari was going with this.

“Certainly. I do trust our mages and former Templars, of course. But it is also my job to make sure that our recruits are trained properly and that they are...reliable in an emergency. I am merely trying to, erm, consider all the options.”

The Qunari nodded slowly, with a small smile spreading across his face. It did not look the least bit malevolent, but it still made Cullen somewhat uncomfortable, as if the man knew more than he was sharing yet again.

“I get that. If I may offer some advice, though…just be careful not to overdo it. You can’t control everything, even if you are a leader to these people. You are already doing a stellar job leading the forces, and we can’t have you running yourself into the ground by trying to do everything perfectly at all times, alright?

It’s just not possible to consider all the possible outcomes constantly, you know. Sometimes – you just need to trust, Commander.”

Cullen was stunned into silence for a moment. Not only had he indeed not asked for this piece of advice, the man had also gone entirely too far in his familiarity for his taste. Where did he take the boldness to talk to him like this from?

He wasn’t Bull’s direct superior, certainly, but this was completely out of line. Cullen wasn’t sure what to say for a moment, and felt hot anger creep through his insides slowly. The Qunari apparently sensed that he may have gone too far, and rubbed the side of his face awkwardly, making an apologetic gesture.

“Hey, sorry. I did not mean to overstep. It’s just…I see you work yourself to the bone each and every day, and – there’s people who care about you, Commander.

Don’t be too hard on yourself, is all I’m saying. For your sake, as well as the Inquisi...tion’s. You’re doing your job extremely well, I would say pretty much perfectly, and I have a lot of admiration and respect for you. Sorry – if I went too far there.”

He went on to say several more kind things about Cullen, which he barely registered. All of his anger had vanished suddenly, and it was replaced by racing thoughts which drowned out the niceties of the Qunari. What did he mean? People who…care? Who was he talking about? The Advisors?

Certainly, they had all become rather close friends – as close as Cullen was capable of letting people in, anyway. But…this had sounded rather different, and he did not know what to make of it. Again, he felt like he was not being let in on everything the Qunari had to share.

“What are you saying?”

Cullen barely registered himself saying the words out loud, and when he realized he did, he felt a rush of blood to his head, his neck no doubt turning a lovely shade of pink. The Qunari stopped in his rambling and shot Cullen a surprised look, which turned into barely concealed enjoyment at his expense presently. Cullen could have slapped himself then and there, and he tried his best to look as composed and nonchalant as possible.

“Uh. Well. I am saying...that you are an important member of the Inquisition. To some – perhaps more than others, you know?”

Cullen did not know, and the conspiratorial tone of the Qunari rubbed him entirely the wrong way. He was reminded of his days as an initiate, when his fellow Templars would tease him about some boyish feelings he harboured for a certain mage in the Tower, the repercussions of which haunted him to this day.

He had tried his best to conceal his foolish infatuation from them then, but somehow, everyone else had known very soon and teased him about it relentlessly. That is, until they had all died, of course.

It had made it seem then that everyone knew more about his feelings than he did himself, and it had frustrated Cullen to no end. This was not unlike that situation – the other Templars had had the same infuriating look on their faces as the Qunari did now, with the decided difference that Cullen currently had no idea whatsoever what the man was even talking about.

“Oh! You – oh. OK. I mean, it could be my imagination, so... Hey, forget I said anything, alright? No, really, don’t – don’t worry about it. You have a good evening, Commander. Nice talkin’ to ya.”

Cullen tried to get a word in, but the Qunari waved him off with a plastered-on smile, and soon disappeared around a corner, leaving him standing by himself in the courtyard, with naught but the warmth of the setting sun on his back to keep him company, baffled and more confused than ever.

He turned to climb the stairs up to his office after a moment of considering going after Bull, but ultimately decided against it. Cullen got the distinct feeling that the man was simply saying these things to tease him – perhaps to get some sort of reaction.

He had heard of spies doing similar things as subtle interrogation techniques, but it all had gone over his head every single time Leliana had tried explaining it to him. He simply did not have the patience for any of it, which is why he did not have her job. That was best left to the Spymaster and her agents.

Cullen finally closed the door to his quarters behind himself with a relieved sigh, then eyed the papers on his desk with derision. He was far too tired to deal with any of them, but he dutifully made his way behind the heavy table, nonetheless. When he sat down to look through them, however, he found it nearly impossible to concentrate on any of the contents, his mind wandering again and again back to what the Qunari had said, even though that was the last thing he wanted to think about it right now.

He finally gave up after a few half-heartedly answered letters and leaned back in his chair with the flickering candlelight surrounding him. The darkness outside had put a quiet blanket over all of Skyhold, and lights were glimmering in the windows he could see from his tower.

What in the Maker’s graces had the man been talking about? Cullen had heard maids and washerwomen and even some Sisters snicker and giggle when he walked by sometimes, but his upbringing and training forbade him from paying it any mind. He would greet them cordially but never be so crass and tactless as to engage in this behaviour further in any way.

His position as Commander of the Inquisition forces brought some power gradients with it that some found quite attractive, he knew, but exactly because of these he never endorsed any advances, and besides, he had absolutely no interest in any of it. He had been raised to be a perfect gentleman toward women of any social standing, but that is where his engagement in such follies ended.

As young Templars, they had been trained to be aware of the potential allure a uniform as well as a certain degree of power and respect sometimes brought with them, and to never entertain these idle advances any further. He had taken those lessons to heart, unlike some other recruits.

But that could not have been what Bull was talking about, certainly. And that’s what troubled him. If there were someone who he was closer to personally, who had any such inclinations, that could lead to a rather awkward dynamic since he would of course not reciprocate. One by one, he went through the potential people Bull could have meant, and none of it made any sense to him.

Josephine had not shown any inclination to be interested in a romantic pursuit of any kind as far as he could tell – not that she would even have the time. If there was anyone who worked even more than he did, it was the Ambassador.

Leliana was certainly friendly toward him, but he knew there was no danger of any feelings being sparked there, as she had mentioned in passing that she was solely interested the fairer sex. The same went for Sera, and the Orlesian First Enchanter would likely sooner cut off her own foot than to be engaging with the likes of him in that regard.

Cassandra was about as romantic and tender as a Fereldan ram, though he had seen her read that absolute drivel Varric had written from time to time, when she thought no one was looking – Swords and Scabbards, or whatever the terrible title had been. Furthermore, she treated him more like a brother and colleague than anything else, so there was no trouble brewing here, either, he was certain.

Scout Harding had been nothing but professional in his presence, and he suspected her to be of the same persuasion as Leliana, since the Spymaster had been seen flirting with the woman from time to time, apparently. Not that he cared for such idle gossip, but word got around fast among the soldiers and staff, and sometimes it was hard not to hear the rumours they kept themselves busy with.

Then there was Dorian, of course, who made somewhat suggestive remarks aimed at Cullen now and again, but he could not be certain whether those were not made purely in jest. He certainly hoped they were – a Tevinter mage with an infatuation for him was the last thing he needed. But he had a feeling that the man was too smart to develop any real hopes in that direction. Besides, it had not escaped Cullen that he spoke to the Inquisitor in a similar fashion at times, so he hoped this was simply his glittering personality.

That did not leave many others!

He wrecked his brain and got closer and closer to the conclusion that the Qunari was simply messing with him. Bull had always had a somewhat questionable sense of humour, and he had been known to be needlessly crass, just like that second-in-command of his. Cullen tried his best to write the remarks off as just that – a joke.

But a small whisper at the back of his head, a completely shatterpated notion started scratching at his brain, and he was unable to fully shake it off. What if…the man had been talking about someone else entirely?

Cullen let out a groan in the empty confines of his room – was this really a productive use of his time? He had so much to do he scarcely knew where to start, and even though he knew damn well that this was further removed from possibility and truth than anything, the thought slowly solidified within his brain, nonetheless.

What if…?

Unable to stop himself, Cullen now recalled how when Adaar looked at him sometimes, it had awakened a strange sensation in him, though he did his best to push those feelings as far down as humanly possible. And yet, time and again, these indecorous thoughts started surfacing, like rotten apples that bobbed to the surface of a murky pond, no matter how much you tried to bury them in the ground underwater.

He was in no way kidding himself about the way they felt about him. The amicable truce they had worked out so hard was built upon shaky layers of distrust, even hatred at times. Cullen was more than happy that things were different now, but he was certain this was likely as good as it was going to get between them.

And yet, sometimes when they looked at him, he felt that sting again – something he had not felt since that cursed Ferelden Tower, a lifetime ago when he had still been a mere boy. And those feelings, naïve as they had been, had since been perverted into a mockery of themselves, by the demon that haunted his dreams still. This was precisely the reason he could not let himself even consider the possibility of any tender feelings – of whatever kind.

He had talked to many a magical researcher and they had all assured him that he was not at danger of corruption from the Desire demon due to his Templar training, as long as he stayed vigilant and observant, but his mind certainly had suffered from the ongoing abuse. And as if that hadn’t been enough, his dreams had been plagued by a mirrored feeling of late, directed at the Inquisitor, of all people.

Cullen knew that that was the demon’s work – it could manipulate the sleeping mind and bend it to its will, twisting any amicable notions about important people in his life into something else, since nothing was sacred to that beast. Lately, it seemed that these warped feelings of devotion had carried over into his waking hours, however, and he had tried his best to cast them off.

Maybe his wits were finally being eroded by the constant nightly assaults, or maybe that was simply how these demons worked. Never having had any real experience with love, he had no idea what it was supposed to feel like, and he distrusted any and all germination of similar feelings, since it could always come from demonic influence. Not that there had been many others beside this.

He must not be strong enough to fully resist the demon’s wiles, Cullen thought, and likely needed to steel his mind more. But no matter how hard he tried, when Adaar gave him any degree of attention and kindness, the wretched tug inside his chest returned, and it made him nauseous to think about it now.

Those big grey eyes, so cold and yet so very deep and full of gentle compassion. He saw them clearly now and knew his mind would start spinning the most fantastical tale out of a single look if he wasn’t careful.

What if?

He rolled the idea over in his head again and again in a momentary lapse of attention – what if it were to be them? What if instead of ire, they were to meet him with kindness. Instead of distrust, they could take his outstretched hand, to meet him halfway, to see the dedication he had to them, to their cause. And what if – he scarcely dared to finish the thought – they were to enjoy his company eventually?

Oh, he felt wretched at the notion. This was wholly unworthy, he knew, and he cursed Bull for planting the seed for this disgusting web of lies in his head, ready for the demon to spin further.

It was impossible, improbable, untoward and moreover, completely and utterly disrespectful. And yet, where he sat in his heavy oak chair now, the same one they had pulled him out of, that night he would rather die than speak of ever again, he felt a strange twinge within him.

It started in his intestines, deep down in his core, and made its way up his torso, constricting his chest and crawling up into his throat until he felt like he was going to choke. There, on the stony floor before him, he could still see their outline like an outstretched hand in the darkness, pulling him out of the cold waters he would otherwise drown in.

Where they had slept beside him, like an angelic saviour sent straight from Andraste’s endless mercy into his cold, dirty room where they had stayed the whole night, out of no other reason than the goodness of their heart. He saw with blinding clarity how their undone hair spilled across the rugged tile, how the sun had played in it – and it was more than he could stand.

Cullen got up from his chair a little bit too eagerly, sending it screeching across the floor behind him, and started toward the door across from where he sat. Not knowing himself where he was going exactly, he walked outside and across the bridge that connected his tower to the main building. Lights were flickering in almost all of the windows there – it was still early in the night, and there would be many people around still. Good.

I cannot be alone with these thoughts right now. Maybe someone will have questions about strategy, about our progress, anything. Anything’s better than this, Andraste have mercy on me.

He pulled the heavy wooden door that led to the Great Hall open almost violently, and slipped inside. Thankfully, the elf mage was not present in his quarters, and he hurried through them unhindered, toward the Throne Room. When he stepped through the door leading there, the warm air in the hall hit him with a thousand scents and noises, together with chatter from every corner, a crackling fire – even a lazy tune was being played by someone sitting in a corner who plucked at his lute.

Cullen felt calmer instantly. All the impressions in here, the light from multiple candles, the streaming blue curtains that hung from the newly renovated ceiling – it all took his mind out of his awful thought spiral. Several people greeted him cordially, though some were clearly surprised to see him here. Cullen rarely took the time to mingle or wander Skyhold’s grounds idly, especially at this hour.

So, this is what he was missing most nights when he sat hunched over his desk – animated conversation, smiling faces and a friendly, light atmosphere that permeated the large room. He could certainly see why people told him to socialize more, but most nights he did not have the energy or will to engage in any of it.

Even now, after but a few minutes in here, his head began to swim and he longed for the respite and calm of his office, but he knew full well that wasn’t what awaited him there at all. Instead of turning back, he meandered further to the front, thinking that maybe he could find the Ambassador working in her quarters, to go over a few topics with her. That would hopefully take his mind off…

Oh, you can’t be serious.

Cullen stopped in his tracks, frozen in place momentarily, just before he could reach Josephine’s quarters. He certainly was a pious man, but never paid signs or other such superstition much attention. It was hard to chalk this up to pure coincidence, however. Perhaps there was a malevolent force out to get him, he mused grimly. Something other than the demon, something bigger.

To his right, he heard laughter and lively chatter from some very familiar voices, and his eyes were drawn to the sound inadvertently. Near the tall iron throne with the Inquisition emblem stood Sera, and she was chatting excitedly about some baked goods, as far as he could tell from this distance.

He wasn’t really focused on her, anyway, and paid more mind to her conversational partner, who appeared to enjoy her jests and grimaces. And who else should it be, but Adaar, splendid as a vision in a dream. His vision zeroed in on them as if they were the only one in here.

Cullen’s eyes traced the Inquisitor’s face like he would study a map before battle – careful, thorough and with undivided focus. Their hair was half undone, hanging over their shoulder in a loose braid, and their fingers played with the ends absent-mindedly as they listened to the elf go on about whatever it was that she telling Adaar.

Their expression was soft and relaxed, something he had not seen in their face for a good while. Adaar laughed at another one of Sera’s terrible jokes (he could not hear this particular one, but all of them were), looking almost carefree, all their trouble and sorrow now replaced by a light, joyful mood.

It was of course good to see them happy like this, but something about the scene made his stomach churn, nonetheless. Cullen’s eyes wandered over to Sera, almost with disdain. The elf woman apparently enjoyed entertaining them immensely, because she kept putting more wood on the fire that was their laughter, with what were no doubt slightly tasteless anecdotes, but they appeared to work like a charm on Adaar.

Cullen wanted nothing more than to walk through the door to Josephine’s office and leave this scene, but for some reason, he could not tear himself away just yet.

As if she’d felt his piercing stare on her, Sera suddenly turned her head in his direction, and when she spied him, a sly smile slowly spread across her face. Cullen cursed every single event and action that had led to this situation, because now, she was beckoning him over with a wave.

The Inquisitor apparently had not spotted him yet and followed Sera’s gesture with a confused look. When their eyes met his the smile on their lips died, but their expression bore no irritation either.

Sera kept waving him over with more emphasis, and before he knew what was happening, he had started walking over toward the two. The closer he got to the Inquisitor, whose eyes were fixed on him the entire way, the hotter and more constricted he felt within his breastplate and heavy coat.

When he was but a few paces away from them, Cullen stopped and bowed, just a little too stiff and formal. He heard the elf snicker quietly, and then something that sounded like a hand smacking fabric. Cullen looked up and saw that Sera was grinning from ear to ear, while the Inquisitor withdrew their hand from her arm. Something in his chest withered and sank.

“Good…evening. Your Worship. ...Sera.”

The Qunari invited him to come closer, and he obliged, coming to a halt beside the Inquisitor but keeping a respectful distance still. He could see that Sera had no such inclinations, standing very close to Adaar and still grinning at him for some accursed reason.

“Hello, Commander. You’re still out and about? Is everything alright?”

His focus shifted onto the Inquisitor again, and he gave them a small bow with his head, mainly to conceal the nervousness that was written across his face.

He feared they could read in his face clear as day exactly what kinds of thoughts he had just entertained about them, and hated himself for walking over here. When he looked up again, his breath caught in his throat.

Adaar was now smiling at him – a small, polite expression with no meaning behind it whatsoever, and yet he felt his mouth go terribly dry.

“...Inquisitor. Yes, I am – it is. I was just on the way to see the Ambassador. We still had… have some tactics to discuss. I did not mean to interrupt.”

The Qunari’s brows knitted in confusion, and they shot a glance toward Josephine’s door.

“Oh, really? I thought she was on her way to Leliana’s office when I saw her. I don’t think she has been back, Commander.”

Cullen’s web of lies was constricting around him faster than he could think, and all the while the irksome elf woman’s grin only widened. Apparently, she delighted in seeing him squirm like a damned boy.

“Ah. I see, well maybe – I got the time wrong. It has been a long day. Forgive me.”

The Inquisitor seemed to buy this flimsy excuse, but Sera gave him a pitying look full of doubt when he looked over at her.

“Oh yes – I heard there was some row earlier involving some Grey Wardens and Bull? What was that all about, do you know?”

Being under the scrutiny of both the Inquisitor and the elf made it increasingly hard to focus for Cullen, and he wished he had some water nearby, as his throat felt dry as old parchment.

“It was nothing of great importance, only a new recruit who...well, said some disparaging things about the Wardens. Iron Bull…erm, corrected his beliefs.”

Sera snorted at this, and Cullen looked over at her with annoyance. She raised one eyebrow and made a sarcastic gesture in his direction.

“Yeah, you could call it that. You could also call it ripping him a new one, in front of all of bloody Skyhold. I wish I could have seen it! Apparently, the boy was close to pissing himself. I need to ask Bull about it tomorrow.”

She laughed raucously and the Inquisitor shook their head at her, but Cullen could see they were suppressing a smile.

“Well, I’m glad Bull was there to defend them. We should talk about integrating the Wardens better into Skyhold – especially the mages. What do you think, Cullen?”

He stared at the two for an agonizingly long moment, his thoughts racing back and forth. Had…the Inquisitor just called him by his first name, in front of everyone? This level of informality in public was not only highly uncomfortable for him, it also fanned the flames of his wretched imagination further. When he saw the way they looked at him, Cullen felt put somewhat at ease, however.

There was nothing in their face or tone that indicated anything but cordial, collegial friendliness, couched in genial but ultimately meaningless pleasantries. He did, however, note the way that Sera reacted to them addressing him this familiarly, as she looked at the Inquisitor, then over at Cullen and back at them with her eyes wide and glistening.

He could literally see the cogs turn in her head, and tried to get her mind off of this insignificant slip by deflecting with agreement to Adaar’s suggestion, presented in as a matter-of-fact, professional a tone as he could muster.

Adaar seemed to be pleased by his accordance, and started to excuse themself, stating that they still had some paperwork of their own that needed to be done. Cullen finally felt himself relax somewhat – at least until Sera spoke up.

“Alright Inky. Say, why don’t you go on ahead already?”

Ahead?

Cullen felt his jaw muscles tighten and his shoulders tense up. The Inquisitor gave her a questioning look, but then nodded and bid Cullen a good night, disappearing behind the door to their quarters not a moment later.

As he stood face to face with Sera, now alone with her in the relative quiet at the front of the long hall, he was unsure of what he felt, but it was not a pleasant sensation.

Sera folded her hands before her in a mock decorous gesture and gave Cullen a look that was hard to interpret. It was a mix between smug triumph and taunting insolence, and he liked neither option.

“Well, Commander. I should go as well. We need to do…some paperwork together, as the good Inquisitor has already stated.”

She seemed to gauge his reaction to this statement, and although he tried his best to keep his composure, the shock must have been written across his face plainly. Sera saw it with satisfaction – apparently, this was the reaction she had hoped for.

There were a hundred and one thoughts rushing through his head and yet, he could not speak, only stare at the elf in stupefaction. She revelled in his confusion for a few more heartbeats, then bid him farewell with an exaggerated gesture and started toward the door that led to the Inquisitor’s quarters.

Before she entered, the wiry woman turned to look at Cullen over her shoulder, and her face bore a sly, somewhat suggestive look.

“You snooze, you lose, Commander. ...Cullen.”

With that, she disappeared behind the smooth wooden surface as well, and the door fell shut with a bang that was ultimately muffled by all the commotion around him, but to Cullen it sounded like the fall of a hammer, and his head was the anvil.

Chapter Text

Sera woke up with her head feeling like a horse had stomped it flat several times over at night. Slowly and carefully, she rolled over in her plush assortment of pillows, on what could technically be called a bed if you so chose, and the sunlight hit her squarely in the face, since no one had bothered to close the curtains in the evening.

Well, it had been way past midnight when she had finally gone to bed, but you could call that evening if you wanted. Anything before your head hit the pillow was ‘evening’, if you thought about it.

Sera did not want to think about it – she would much rather have turned around and slept for another two to five hours, but judging by the sun’s position in the pale morning sky, if she were to do that now, Cassandra would probably have her head by lunchtime. And she did like lunchtime. Not a good time to die.

Her, Cassandra and Bull, as well as the Inquisitor and his weird little soldier friend Krem were set to train with the Wardens today, in an attempt to make things more lovey-peaceful at Skyhold, or so the plan went. Sera wasn’t convinced that this would have the effect they wanted, but the request had come from Adaar themself, and there was very little Sera wouldn’t do for that towser of a mage.

She sighed and threw herself across the colourful mass of pillows again. Last night had started so dreamy, so amazing – and yet, she had woken up in her own quarters again, by herself. She knew that this would probably not change anytime soon, though she would certainly keep trying to achieve just that.

Like an uninvited guest, the face of the Commander appeared in her head again, and although that was definitely annoying, she now had to laugh. The way he had been absolutely floored by the idea that she’d been invited to the Inquisitor’s quarters, this late at night – his expression had been a mix between confusion, scandalization and the sad eyes that puppies get when you take something they are not supposed to eat away from them.

It was pretty cruel to torture him like this, but Sera could not help herself. He really was completely hopeless when it came to matters of the heart, and even though it was plain to see that he had fallen for the mage, probably even harder than Sera had, he apparently either didn’t know what to do about it, or he was too thick to realize it himself, if some people were to be believed. She liked him well enough, but this was too frustrating (and funny) to simply watch and not tease him about.

Sera sat up on her bed and shook off the thought of that man by first tossing her hair overhead and then back again – this counted as combing as well as styling, she decided. There was little she wanted to think about less than Cullen Rutherford and his feelings for the Inquisitor right now, and so she wandered over to the window to put more pleasant things in her mind.

When she pushed the wooden frame with the colourful glass in it open to let the fresh spring air in, her mood improved already. Some birds were chirping in the trees near the tavern, and she could see several flowers blooming here and there – kinds she’d never seen before she came to Skyhold, like the little white ones that looked like stars and attracted moths in the night, or the droopy purple flowers that were so big a bumblebee could disappear in them completely.

Having grown up mainly in cities, Sera had never learned much about flowers or plants of any kind, except for the ones that made good poisons, and even then, she had usually only seen the dried ones that you could buy at markets, and paid more attention to how they could be stolen without getting a nasty rash.

Most of them you had to wrap in a cloth to avoid skin contact while you pocketed them, and that was hard, but Sera was good at what she did and had perfected that move. Now, she didn’t have to steal plants – or anything really anymore, but she did so anyway from time to time, so her skills wouldn’t get rusty.

She also found herself wanting to learn more about different kinds of plants now – the ones they had out here, for example. Maybe she would go to the library later, to look for anything that would help her learn their names.

She hoped the books she would find weren’t written too complicated, since she always lost focus and interest pretty quickly when that was the case. Maybe Dorian could help her find something; he was much more patient that she was.

Adaar had told her a little bit about the plants that grew around where they had grown up, and ever since, she had seen the world around her with different eyes. The way they spoke about ferns and trees and hell, even gross, smelly swamps with that twinkle in their eye, like a child that was describing a treat or maybe the toy they’d always wanted – it had made her want to impress the Qunari with some knowledge of her own if she could find it, since they had mentioned how they didn’t know a lot about the botanary of the mountains, yet.

If only she could get Adaar to look at her like they did when they talked about those bloody plants...

Sera recalled how amazingly thrilling it had been to be in their private quarters alone with the Qunari last night, how she had wanted to rifle through everything when they hadn’t been looking, but had kept it together admirably (though no one would thank her for that of course, as per usual).

She had had many ideas about last night and dreamt up wild, far-fetched scenarios about what would happen, and absolutely none of it had come to pass.

Piss.

All that had gotten done was paperwork, instead of her herself, as Sera had hoped. If she could spend several hours in the Inquisitor’s room, flirting with them fairly aggressively nonstop, and they still weren’t biting, then that was probably a lost cause, she reasoned.

It was a damn shame. They had looked so pretty in the candlelight that Sera had had trouble keeping her hands to herself, but again, she had pulled herself together amazingly and instead dropped compliments about Adaar and their room, their abilities and even their bloody clothes all throughout the evening, without them taking the bait even once.

When Sera thought about those muscly arms right next to hers; their warm, bare skin just inches away, her knees got weak. She sat down on the bench by the window and buried her head in her hands.

“Fuck! Why do you always pick the ones that are either too stupid to flirt, or have a negative amount of interest in you, you daft tit?!”

Why did they have to be so damn well fit, too? It had been extremely hard to keep her focus on the stinking papers that the two of them had been working on, ploughing through letter after letter without mercy, while Sera had thought her brain would melt. If they were any uglier, even a little, this would be so much easier…

She had even put on her best shirt last night – the one without any stains or (visible) mended holes. Had they even noticed? Probably not. Andraste, who knew that by saying ‘I need help with paperwork’, they actually meant doing real, actual fucking paperwork?!

And at the end of it all, they had politely, yet unmistakeably asked if Sera wanted to go to bed soon – in her own quarters, of course. It was completely hopeless.

She pushed herself off the seat by the window and looked down at herself, mustering her clothes. It was all still clean enough, so she would at least get some more use out of that shirt, even if there was no one to wear it for. She may have slept in it, but it was basically wrinkle-free, so it was fine, she decided.

Sera left her room to get some food in the tavern downstairs since her stomach was growling something fierce by now, and was hit with the chatter and buzz of people that were far too awake for her liking outside the door, whizzing past and going “Sorry”, and “Excuse me”, and “Watch out!”, until she was ready to turn around and go back to bed, her mood now extremely sour – Cassandra and the Wardens be damned.

It turned to a much sourer note still when she arrived at the bottom of the stairs and spied none other than the Commander, sitting by himself and looking very well-groomed as per usual, like he’d spent all night polishing his breastplate and combing his hair. He’d almost finished his breakfast already and was going over some paperwork while he ate, that freak of a man.

She considered turning on her heel and leaving straight for the kitchen to pocket some sweet rolls, but the innkeep had seen her already and waved Sera over. She sighed and plastered on a fake, exaggerated smile; then, on her way over to the bar, she stopped and in a momentary fit of madness, she sat down right next to Cullen.

Sera let herself plop down on the wooden bench next to him, which made it shake considerably. He looked up with a look of pure irritation in his eyes, ready to tear into whoever was disturbing his precious work time, of which he definitely had too little, in general. The expression on his face in itself lifted Sera’s mood a bit already.

When he realized who had interrupted his morning being-important-and-boring-time, his expression briefly changed to mild surprise, before his scowl deepened even further. He put the papers in his hand down, and mustered Sera from head to navel. She felt almost giddy with glee when she saw that familiar disapproval form on his face, and leaned back onto one hand casually while she grinned at him.

“How’s it going, Commander? Hard at work already? No rest for the wicked, amirite?”

She’d always wanted to say that, having only heard it from old folks and Chantry Sisters, in wildly different contexts; not entirely sure what it all meant, herself, but judging by the shock on the man’s face, the phrase had been a good choice.

“…Sera. A good morning to you, as well.”

She chuckled inwardly and enjoyed his visible discomfort.

“It is a good morning, innit? Didn’t get a whole lot of sleep myself, but it’s all good. I just got in, and thought I’d join you for breakfast.”

Sera had never had much trouble with, or concern about lying to people for any sort of reason – sometimes she just did it for fun, as was the case now. Something within the Commander died visibly after he realized what she was implying, and for a moment she felt bad, before she got right back to enjoying watching him squirm.

“How…nice. I am done eating already, however. May I finish my work, now? I do need to bring these to completion before the war table meeting.”

He tried to return to his letters, but she would not be stopped this easily. Not now, when it was just getting fun.

“Yeah… Adaar- I mean, the Inquisitor and I had to finish quite a bit of that, ourselves, last night. It was hard. Work. We stayed up well into the night. It was exhausting.”

That wasn’t even a lie, and it felt amazing. She stretched in an exaggerated manner and shot him a beaming smile. The man closed his eyes for a moment and apparently considered leaving, but his perfect manners of course wouldn’t allow it. For once, Sera was happy about them.

“Well done. I bet it was…productive. Now, I really need to get back to-“

Sera slapped his back, cutting him off rudely and moved in closer. He flinched and studied her again, this time with a bewildered look, and his eyes suddenly stopped somewhere around her midsection, then wandered up to her collar. At first, she wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but when the Commander turned a healthy shade of pink, she almost fell off the bench with giddiness.

I am so glad I wore that shirt again.

“Oh, yes. Forgive me, I haven’t had time to change yet, and-“

A voice interrupted her in her prattling, which was probably just as well, because Cullen’s face had turned from a light pink to a full-blown crimson blush that extended all the way down his muscly neck. Sera could see that maybe she had gone a tad too far, but the guilty feeling didn’t last very long.

“Good morning, Serah Sera.”

She looked up at whoever was speaking to her, but from the way the woman addressed her it was immediately clear who it was. Only the innkeep called her that; at first it had been a joke, and now it was something of a quip that had gone a bit too far to be stopped now, and the title had stuck.

“Oh Flissa! A wonderful, bright early morning to you as well, madame. How are you this fine-“

The woman cut her off and waved Sera off with a mild smile.

“I was just coming over to tell you that you are very late for breakfast, and the kitchen will start preparing lunch soon, so if you still want anything…now’s the time to order, darling.”

Whenever Flissa called her darling, which truthfully, she did almost everyone who wasn’t a raging asshole, Sera couldn’t help but blush, and it ripped her out of her heckling the Commander, who was himself apparently endlessly grateful for the intervention.

“Uhm, sure, I will take the usual, please. Sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I was up veeery late, doing some…paperwork.”

She looked over at the Commander, who now hid his reddened face by studying his papers intently, then up at Flissa again, who had a fairly stern expression on her face, which took Sera by surprise. The woman shot her a look that said, unmistakably, leave the poor man alone.

“I know, dear. I saw you come in – it wasn’t that late, was it? Maryden was still singing her closing songs. Anyway, I will be back soon with your food. Thank you, darling.”

She shot Sera another intent look and gave the Commander a smile, who registered it only because he had looked up in surprise when the innkeep had stopped talking. Sera felt all her efforts swim away, as he turned to face her again.

Oh piss, just as it was getting fun.

She shrugged at him innocently, and his will to live apparently returned somewhat. Even the flush in his cheeks that Sera had worked so hard for started to fade. Sera pouted and rolled her eyes at him, then mumbled something about Flissa not being able to keep track of everyone, but when she saw that her house of lies had started to crumble and fall, she sighed and waved him off, then went to sit down at another table.

“And while we’re on that topic, would you fill us in on the latest developments with the Wardens, Cullen?”

His head shot up when he heard his name, having been lost in thought for quite some time now, and he saw that everyone at the war table was looking at him in anticipation. It was Leliana who had addressed him, and she was the only one smiling his way patiently.

Cassandra was tapping her fingers on the wood in that nervous manner of hers, and the Inquisitor blinked at him with dark circles under their eyes. Josephine was the picture of patience and wore an expression that told him nothing of her thoughts – polite, but thoroughly unreadable.

If he hadn’t run into Sera and her terrible antics earlier, his morning would likely have been very different. As it was, his mood had improved considerably after meeting her, and he was glad to have suffered her teasing, because it had informed him that the Inquisitor was a person capable of making intelligent decisions still, and that their lack of sleep came from a noble, if not entirely healthy habit, instead of a terrible lapse in judgment.

Cullen chastised himself inwardly – this was not any of his concern, nor should he have any opinion on who the Inquisitor spent their time with, but he was glad that their relationship with Sera was still a professional one, nonetheless. That woman was insufferable to a fault-

He noticed that people were still staring at him, waiting for his reply, and he wondered once again whether the lack of lyrium now, after years of abuse, affected his mental capacities. Of late, there had been a considerable increase in his distractibility, and he found himself daydreaming at times, which had never been his penchant in the past. Maybe he should speak to Adan about this.

For now he apologized, citing a rather sleepless night of his own, which was always a good excuse since it was usually true, then gathered the paperwork before him. The Inquisitor started looking through their own documents, and the three women had their eyes fixed on him still. He tried not to read too much into their expressions, which varied from slight concern and impatience to irritation.

He went through his papers one by one, laying out a summary of the reports he had received from the various trainers around Skyhold, as well as some of Leliana’s spies concerning the Wardens, and he had to admit himself that it all sounded very positive indeed – there were few complaints and even fewer incidents where the Wardens had caused real offence, in none of which they had posed any danger to anyone.

All in all, it seemed they were integrating into Skyhold rather commendably. Cullen finished his report with a compliment directed at the Inquisitor – a polite, factual statement that congratulated them on their prudent decision of taking in the Wardens, as was appropriate for the setting.

When they heard their title, the Inquisitor looked up and their gaze landed on Cullen – he wasn’t sure they had been paying much attention to what he had said, but they looked somewhat irritated, which made Cullen think he had said something wrong. No matter their opinion, they were nodding, nonetheless.

“Thank you, Commander. I’m glad it all worked out so well. I am scheduled to meet with the Wardens later for training, and will be sure to include your high praise when I address them. Perhaps you could say a few inspiring words, as well? Morale has suffered somewhat after…Adamant, and we should give the troops all the motivation we can muster.”

He agreed, of course, but not without a sliver of caution about the whole ordeal remaining in his mind still. That was his role, after all – to ensure the troops were reliable and the safety at Skyhold was of the highest priority always.

They finished the meeting with some more reports from Josephine about several visiting dignitaries that were scheduled to arrive this week, who were planning to pledge their support to their cause, no doubt wanting to inspect the fabled Wardens themselves.

The Ambassador added that there were many wild rumours coursing around, about their fall from grace and their supposed involvement with all manner of demons, which they all should take pains to dispel at any chance they got.

When the meeting was concluded, before he headed to the training grounds, Cullen handed a hefty stack of papers to a courier, who was tasked with sorting through and bringing them to his office. From his position at the half-open door to the war room, he unintentionally overheard a hushed conversation inside.

“I don’t even know how to answer that, Leliana. How does he expect me to take any of this seriously? This is complete bullshit!”

Cullen knew that the polite and prudent thing would be to depart, and go about the many duties that awaited him, but for some Maker-forsaken reason, he found himself staying back.

The courier had since left, as had Josephine and the others; only Adaar and the Spymaster had lingered in the war room. The Qunari sounded upset and indignant, while Leliana’s tone was placating and calm.

“Well, you know how it is with nobility – honestly, it was only a matter of time before this happened. I’m actually a little surprised no one else has thought to further their station this way, so far.”

He heard the Inquisitor scoff inside and considered walking away again. But now he had already heard quite a bit, and the Inquisitor’s tone was somewhat worrying to him. Cullen looked down the hallway and saw that he was by himself out here, so he decided to stay a bit longer. This did sound serious, somehow.

“Is that supposed to be reassuring? Why did you even show this to me – can’t we just ignore this asshole? I’m not in the mood for any of this, Leliana.”

The woman said some appeasing words that Cullen couldn’t quite make out, then continued, a bit louder:

“Unfortunately, we cannot ignore this request completely, Adaar. The man is of fairly high rank, and we would do well to formulate a polite, but firm declination.”

The Qunari scoffed again, this time with an incredulous undertone.

“You bet your sweet bottom I will decline – he cannot seriously expect this to be successful, can he? Does this sort of thing happen often?! You seem awfully calm about the whole ordeal!”

Leliana’s voice was indeed calm, but also tinged with a bemusement that Cullen had difficulty making sense of. What in blazes was going on?

“Well, you see, your Worship – it is more or less expected that someone will do this, and if he hadn’t, there would be somebody else to try. In Orlais, this kind of proposal would be considered a great honour. Indeed, not to receive one would be the rude option.”

Cullen heard a choked gasp from within.

“Honor?! How the fuck is that considered an honor? And I told you I, hate it when you call me that, so cut it out – why are you laughing? This is horrible!”

Leliana chuckled quietly, before she apparently got a hold of herself, and Cullen was more at a loss the longer the conversation went on.

“Some would consider it quite a happy occasion – oh, don’t give me that look, now. It is only a request for your hand in marriage, not a declaration of war.”

Cullen almost fell over when he heard that and had to steady himself on the wall next to him.

What?!

“A request?! Have you read a different letter than I have? He is basically saying that if I refuse, I will be sorry, and that the Inquisition will be doomed to fail! It might as well be a declaration of war!”

Now Leliana laughed, and the sound made the hairs on Cullen’s arm stand up. He had great difficulty understanding what was so funny about this situation.

“Do not take this letter verbatim, Inquisitor. This is the usual way of addressing someone when the sender is of this high a social standing. It’s a business proposition, rather than a matter of the heart, and he is saying that you will regret letting this opportunity pass.

Oh, but it is good that you aren’t interested. This particular Comte is so…vile. He likes to eat onions morning, day and night, and it is near-impossible to hold a conversation with him face to face. You’re lucky he only sent a letter!”

She was laughing again, and the Inquisitor made an indignant sound, then groaned.

“You’re damn right I’m not interested! Leliana, I don’t know how to address these poncy Orlesian lords, can’t you or Josephine write a reply, that I will then sign?”

Leliana seemed to agree to that solution and said a few more reassuring things, before Cullen heard her voice get louder and sounding like it was coming closer, and suddenly panicked. Why hadn’t he left when he had the chance?!

He pushed himself off the wall just in time to see the Spymaster emerge, and she didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see him, for some reason. Cullen stood there like a little boy caught doing something forbidden, and all he could do when she nodded at him in passing was to lift a hand awkwardly, and open and close his mouth several times in silence.

Shortly after she had passed him, he heard a huff and another groan behind the wooden surface, and the Inquisitor appeared in the doorframe, suddenly startled when they saw him standing there, and blinking at Cullen in surprise for a moment.

“Commander? What are you doing here…?”

Cullen felt his face flush in an instant, and he knew he was beet red, which made the whole situation endlessly worse, but for some reason, the Inquisitor themself blushed a bit as well, only they looked more angry than embarrassed.

“Did you…hear the whole thing?”

The Qunari’s voice cracked somewhat when they posed the question, and Cullen found it hard to form a reasonable answer in his head.

“I…couldn’t say, Inquisitor – I realized I, uh, had forgotten some papers, and regrettably, I fear I may have heard some of it…”

The mage rolled their eyes back exasperatedly and took a forceful breath in. He feared their full wrath would unleash on him, but surprisingly, the look they gave him after a few heartbeats was almost sad.

“That…fucking asshole. I can’t believe the gall of that man. He wrote this letter, just casually proposing marriage, as if I was some piece of cattle he was acquiring. I’ve never even met him!”

Their breaths were coming hard and fast, and mercifully, their ire was not directed at him, for which he was eternally grateful. He also had the feeling that if the Comte in question were to be here, he would not exit the encounter with the mage unscathed.

The Inquisitor held up the letter, which looked like it had been crumpled up and unfolded again several times.

“Look! Here, this line – here it says I would be ‘a great addition to his court’. Leliana calls it a ‘business proposition’, but I say that’s a mail order inquiry for a piece of decoration he wants to own.

See, he even names a price at the bottom; 500 royals, which is about a thousand sovereigns, as Leliana has informed me. That’s quite the offer for a filthy oxman like me, wouldn’t you say?”

Cullen was stunned into silence. He did loathe to interact with Orlesian nobility at any and all occasions, but this was by far the most insolent thing he had heard in a while.

For a moment, he imagined the Inquisitor being married off to some man they’d never met, to spend their days tucked away at some castle, living more like some sort of pet than a spouse, and he shuddered.

“I am…very sorry, Inquisitor. That is unacceptable. I have my own qualms and difficulties dealing with Orlesian customs, but this takes the cake, I’m afraid.

There are arranged marriages in Ferelden, especially between noble houses, but that is absolutely appalling.”

The Qunari looked completely wretched, and his chest constricted at the sight.

“If you wish, we can send the reply back with an entourage of our army, to convey a clear message. …Maybe even a bouquet of slightly poisonous plants to deliver it in – nothing that will kill him, of course, but perhaps…a rash that lasts for several days?”

The Inquisitor blinked at him in bewilderment, and he feared he had gone a bit too far, before they finally broke out in raucous laughter, that gave him such a start that he nearly stumbled back a pace or two.

“Cullen! Are you serious?! I had no idea you had such an evil side – have you been spending time with Sera?”

He flinched again, and felt his face flushed anew, this time even worse. There it was again – his name. Out of their mouth it always sounded so unfamiliar and intimate that he felt rather bashful each time he heard it.

When the Qunari had regained composure again, they looked at the letter in their hands, and their expression turned somewhat sombre once more.

“I know I shouldn’t give it that much weight. Leliana doesn’t know this, but…I have been married before.”

Cullen’s heart sank into depths he had never thought it capable of reaching. His palms began to sweat, along with the rest of him, and there was that familiar buzz in his ears again. Had he just heard that right? Certainly not.

“Well, I should say…engaged, rather. That was years ago, and I probably should be over it by now, but I’m afraid that’s a wound that will never quite heal. It was – a terrible relationship.”

His breathing slowly returned to a more normal pace while a whole host of new emotions flooded over him. He had a myriad of questions swimming around in his head, but managed to ask not a single one of them, and instead only gave them a nod indicating he was listening. They barely registered it, apparently fully lost in thought.

“I was a different person then. It was the first real relationship I’d had after a few failed attempts in my youth, and she just…took my heart by storm, as soon as I’d met her.”

Again, his heart constricted, feeling like he was being stabbed by a white-hot blade. She? Somehow that felt worse than anything else they’d said.

“Unfortunately, soon after we got engaged, things turned sour, however. I suppose they had been pretty bad for a while beforehand, as well, but I was too blind and in love to see the signs.

I wasted years of my life on that person, and all I got in return in the end was abuse and some shitty memories to live with for the rest of my life.

She…forced me to some actions I was reluctant to engage in, saying I needed to prove to her that I loved her…”

Every word out of their mouth felt like another rock was being strapped to his legs and they were slowly but surely pulling him underwater. But he didn’t feel like he was drowning. All he felt was rage the like of which hadn’t entered his heart in a long time.

For a while, neither of them said anything, before the Inquisitor sucked in a breath and looked at him as if they’d been ripped out of some sort of trance.

“Oh, fuck. I…don’t know why I told you all of that. Look, I’m sorry – that was way too personal, and you didn’t ask for any of it. Forget I mentioned it…if you can?“

They chuckled briefly, putting on a nonchalant façade like he had seen them do at times, and it fanned the flames of his rage even further. Cullen breathed in slowly, then stepped up to them, and the fake smile on their lips faltered.

“Inquisitor. Listen to me, please. I know that you are an incredibly strong individual, and that we ask too much of you most of the time, but I am also sure you can handle it, because you are…exceptional.

Anyone who doesn’t make you feel like you are the capable, worthy, brilliant person you are is a lost cause, and not worth your time.

There will always be appalling lords and small-minded people of all kinds, who will see your light and try their best to dim it, because they cannot fathom anything so bright existing alongside their dull reality in the world.

And they will always fail.

I hope you know that my sword and my arm are yours fully, so should you ever require any deed that is…below you, know that I will stand behind you for all time – you need only ask.”

That was just a tad more than he had wanted to say, and the Qunari appeared to be so taken aback by it that they had to consider his words for a good while, until his body felt so tense that he feared would burst a vessel somewhere.

Part of him felt like he wanted to turn on his heel and leave, but he was rooted to the spot and so agitated that he scarcely felt the hot shame creeping up his neck.

“W-what? That…uh. I don’t know what to say to that.”

Cullen might have felt uncomfortable before, even foolish, but when he looked upon their incredulous face, eyes wide and glistening, all the nervousness and rage fell off him all at once and he felt a peace wash over him that was unrivalled by any feeling he had experienced before. It felt like in this moment, he was filled with a sense of clarity that overtook his whole being.

Whatever he had done in his life before, whatever he would do still, it had all led up to this. It seemed to him like he was a small spare nail that he didn’t know what to do with, only that there was some sort of purpose that he had been destined for, and now he knew that this was it.

He had finally found the space he was supposed to fill, and though it was a small part, only one of many nails that were holding together the massive construct that was lifting the Inquisitor up, he would fulfil his role with the utmost devotion.

While he pondered all of this, the Inquisitor appeared to be at a loss somewhat, so he stepped up to them further and gave them a reassuring smile. This seemed to catch them off guard, and they eyed him with perplexion.

“You need not say anything, but whenever you do, I will be at your side – without hesitation.”

He saw them blush a deep red, flashed the Qunari another smile, bowed deeply and left, feeling elation and a spring in his step that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.