Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inhuman. She was inhuman. The more she opposed the idea of a divine agent guiding her steps, the more she inspired faith into those that witnessed her strong will to survive. She had brought the mountains down and stepped out of the ordeal. He remembered the silence that devoured their camp that night after the survivors of Haven had settled out of danger.

They were lost and no member of the Inquisition dared tell them that the Herald was left behind. They had barely pushed the last in the line out of the tunnels when they felt the ground shake under them. It was done. If they had any power left they would have fought over going back or taking the people to safety. The Inquisition was responsible for the souls of many so instead they went on, not wishing to lose another life.

The camp wore the silence of a graveyard only disturbed by the pain of the wounded. Soldiers were running from one tent to another, providing the healers with what they needed. He would not forget that surreal moment. His ears were burning with the gravity of the chaos and yet it felt as if he could not hear a thing. He remembered seeing Cassandra freeze and her face paling. In the sea of moving bodies few would turn around and pay attention to one more wounded survivor.

A shaken step, a thrust forward. Her left arm was limp at her side; there was blood running down her temple and the loose dark hair, sticking to her neck and past her shoulder. From the darkness, this body pushed its limits and moved further into the camp. Each step was followed by a longer moment of pause before she could gather the strength and advance. Slowly, more and more would stop in recognition but she would acknowledge no one, as if there was no world outside her efforts. In the light of the fire she must have gripped her senses and realized she had reached shelter. He watched the beaten body relax and fall in the snow.

They thought her dead. And the certainty of that thought was only replaced by distress at the sight of her body. It was only the moment Solas looked up at them to let them know she would live, that the camp had grown loud again. It made him realize it had been a sense of guilt that had rendered him useless until that moment. And after that, the fighting began. With a nightmare lifted off their shoulders they could focus on their immediate problems.

He could not believe his eyes when the woman had stepped out of the tent in her condition and he could not believe his eyes now, as she was towering over the maps on the table, only hours away from her own death. Bruised jaw, her left shoulder was dislocated and her arm was kept to her chest with an improvised sling. He could only imagine how her torso was completely bound under the clothes. Her coat was only worn on one arm, the left sleeve hanging by her side, the collar brought up to protect her face from the cold.

Yet her eyes were piercing and unforgiving. There was conviction and determination in them. Those were not the eyes of someone injured; he didn’t want to stare but he could not look away. She was a remarkable sight.

She had returned to the camp with Solas, making everyone realize that they had not even noticed their absence. They had a plan; they spoke of a place where the Inquisition could relocate. She had left the mage to do the talking but when he would stop answering the questions she would take control. Those around the table would push for answers when it came to the apostate but no one dared to insist when the woman blocked their attempts.

It was not a matter of how but of when. Not how Solas knew of it or how they would find it. It was the urgency of their condition that mattered to her. And Cullen was glad to have a second voice on his side.

They were making plans, working with what they had.

“How many agents do we have out there?”

“We still have secured positions on the Storm Coasts and Fallow Mire. I have not received word from the outpost in the Hinterlands but I am sure news of what happened here will reach them first.”

“I should send ravens to the agents we have in the field.”

“Not yet.” The woman finally dropped into the conversation. “There is no need to send them on the move while we have not yet cleared a path.”

He watched her flinch and yet she did not shift position. He knew pain. He recognized the strength in her legs as defense against the aches of her body. He knew from Cassandra that she mastered the dual blades she was wearing to battle, but she had the constitution of a warrior. It was the dynamics of her body that set her apart. He was not a stranger to the sort of physical effort she was putting up with just by standing.

“We can’t risk sending any signals. Our disappearance in this chaos is the only advantage we have.”

They were about to venture into unknown territory. She was ultimately right. They had to make their own path. His only concern was that none of this was based on any facts. There was the chance that they could be chasing ghosts. How was he going to motivate his men into this?

The talks went on and they had yet to agree on their first step. For the most part she remained silent. The woman listened but she had fallen into her usual routine of scouting the maps with her eyes.

Cassandra raised her voice and her eye twitched; her jaw clenched. She did not appreciate the fight. After a long time she lifted her head and her attention went around the camp. She had her own thoughts forging new plans.

“Commander, if I may…”

His second in command was present but he usually spoke only when questioned. For the first time he stepped into the conversation.

“Speak, Rylen.”

“We have wounded with us; and there are elders; and children among the villagers we rescued. Not only will this road be difficult for them but it will make it twice as hard for us to move about.”

“Are you suggesting leaving them behind?” Leliana was revolted.

“Maker forbid, no! But we need to take them into consideration! It’s punishment for both sides to drag them into the mountains. We are not even certain where we are going.”

“We do not have the necessary supplies, that is completely true. And the wounded…”

Some of them would not even make it through the night. Cassandra didn’t need to finish her sentence. Everyone was well aware.

“What are our options?”

The man let out a not so dignified sound. Rylen was not shaped for politics or etiquette. He was a man of action and had no patience for in-betweens. The only reason he had been present at Haven during the attack was because Cullen trusted no one else in charge of the forces sent to close the breach. He was glad when the man had accepted his offer to join him and the Inquisition back in Kirkwall.

“I’m no Ferelden. Maybe ask someone who knows these places better.”

“There’s a small village not far from here. It’s not the best option – it’s old and in a poor state, but what options do we have? Unless we cut down towards the Hinterlands there are no settlements near Haven.” Leliana pointed out on the map.

“That would be half a day of walk. And maybe less than half a day to get back on track.”

There was silence. It gave everyone a chance but the people gathered around the table felt like they were playing with the lives of those left behind.

Trevelyan moved for the first time from her place and it looked as if a statue had come to life. She took one step closer to the maps.

“We’ll move North-East;” She traced her gloved finger across the map. “through the rocky passage out of the mountains. There is another village there, right before the roads descend into the valley. It’s built around a watchtower. They added fortified walls during the Blight and still kept them after. It’s both safe and well provided. We can even trade with them.”

“That’s hardly an option. It takes us two days off course and two more back. And even if that would not have been an issue, we know what sort of people live in that village. When we first arrived with Divine Justinia they refused to provide supplies or shelter for those travelling to the Conclave. They shut the gates in the faces of our agents.”

At first it seemed as though the woman was not going to react to Leliana’s protest. But then she looked up from the maps and turned toward the tents.

“Look around you. These people lost their homes because of us. We left behind a graveyard under snow and rocks. There are fathers that are not coming back and sons and daughters who picked their every-day tools and made weapons out of them for us. We’re not going to just give them shelter.” Her low voice was turned into a dangerous hiss. “We can’t bring back their families but we’ll find them a home. Those villagers will open their gates. I am not giving them a choice.”

With that she backed away.

“I need rest. We should move out as fast as we are able to.”

She did not offer a chance for debate but there was no need. No one present felt the necessity to bring another argument. She had the courage to voice the guilt that probably all of them had chosen to ignore.

Looking at the woman making her way to the tent, with her choppy walk but straight back, Cullen was staring to understand the resources of her strength. Out of the advisers, he had doubted her the most; disdainful, unpleasant, heathen. But maybe faith wasn’t what they needed. Maybe it didn’t matter what she believed in; her strength and will keeping her unmovable against their odds was enough to inspire faith in the people that could follow her.

He allowed himself to get lost in his own thoughts as he glanced at the unfolded maps. Maybe… it was something to discuss with the rest.

***

The people at the gates greeted them with hostility. The village had fortified wooden walls all around, the slope of the mountain as a wall protecting their back. It was truly well-guarded but, if the walls would be broken through, it could easily turn into a death trap for those inside.

There was only the wicket door opened, while the main gates were being kept shut. They had stopped at the entrance but the men by the walls refused to allow them access inside.

Rylen had tried to explain the events from Haven but he was slowly losing his patience at the stubbornness of these people. It was as if they didn’t care for anything that was happening outside their walls.

“We don’t take in outsiders. I can convince the townsfolk to offer some supplies for your injured but that’s all. And if you continue to push you won’t even see those.”

“Are you blind, man? Or are you simply an idiot? The only reason you are not swarmed by demons right now is because we stopped it.”

“That’s enough.” Cullen nodded at his second in command. They were looking for a solution, not another fight.

“Some of our men won’t make it and more will probably die without a warm bed and proper attention. Who is in charge of the village?"

“Look, we’re not unaware of what’s happening. We saw the hole in the sky close; we know you people from Haven had something to do with it. And we owe you. But no, means no. We learnt our lessons the hard way during the Blight. You get what we offer or you keep moving.”

“Is this guy for real?” Rylen spit through his teeth.

He felt a headache knocking at his temples. He did not need this now. Couldn’t Josephine just step in? Wasn’t this her job? Had anyone even considered calling her upfront? What if they would just break the gates and force them to take the people in? This was a ridiculous idea but in theory it was starting to sound good to him.

That’s when he felt another body pass right between him and his captain. He turned his head just to see the woman slip in line with them.

She looked up at the man on the wall and frowned. Her eyes scrutinized the walls and then she looked at the couple of villagers staring from the opened entrance. She went back to the same man.

“You! Send for Gavin.”

The man froze, shocked at the direct request. Apparently the name meant something. He eyed the woman suspiciously and then he looked down, at someone from the other side.

Cullen glanced her way. This he did not expect; he was willing to bet that neither were the men guarding the village. His eyes narrowed but before he could ask her anything someone else appeared on top of the walls. A bulky, bearded man climbed the ladder and approached the edge. In a way, he reminded Cullen of Blackwall. His small, hard eyes instantly fell on the woman in recognition. A snarl escaped his mouth as he slammed his big palms against the rail.

“Maker’s bloody balls!” He spit on the ground. “Either you really have no fucking respect for the dead or you are royally screwed in the head.” The man grinned, showing his teeth. “If you wouldn’t look as if someone already beat the dirt out of you I would have gladly jumped down to break your arm myself.”

There was no expression on her face; if anything, Cullen could read a slight annoyance in her impassive voice.

“Duly noted. You’ve already been told that we have children and elders with us; tell your men to clear the entrance; you know I am going to get these people inside, so should we get to it or do you feel like chatting me up first?”

For the longest time they stared at each other. Eventually the man let a low growl and shook his head.

“Open the gates.” It was a short bark as he unpinned himself from the edge. Before turning around to leave the walls he threw a look their way again.

“You’ll step in and take one of your men with you. No one sets a foot inside until I hear it from Bowen’s mouth.”

She rolled her eyes but an eyebrow arched expectantly as the gates started to unhinge. Instinctively she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.

“Commander?”

He nodded.

The men on the walls started to clear the curious villagers gathered at the entrance. When the gates were fully opened he followed her inside.

They reached the man whose name he had learnt was Gavin. For a moment he thought he would not move and instinctively checked for his sword. Judging by the glares he was throwing to the Trevelyan noble, tension was not just his imagination. But eventually, when she stopped near him, towering by half a head over the man, he gave one more displeased snarl and turned, instructing them to follow.

‘Not welcomed’ was an understatement. The villagers gathered by the road were pinning them down with hateful looks. He needed to be careful. He felt as if at any point one of them could just grab a rock and throw it their way. He was convinced that they were not kind or used to visitors at all, but it was clearly more than that. He looked at the woman by his side.

“You’ve been here before.”

“Yes.” The answer came out dryly.

“They don’t seem very fond of our presence. Of your presence in particular.”

His sentence made her glance away from the back of their guide for the first time to look around. Her eyes fell on the ground for a moment and her head shook lightly.

“That’s common reaction towards someone who burnt half of their village.”

“What?” He instantly hissed, clearly too loud as the man in front of them threw a despising look over his shoulder. He felt the ground disappear from under his feet and could not strategize the horrible situation in which he, along with the entire Inquisition, were thrown into.

The woman said nothing.

“And you considered coming here a wise option?”

“I considered it an option.”

But their whispered conversation was cut when their guide stopped in front of a house. He signaled them to wait while he stepped on the porch. Facing them he knocked heavily at the door and waited. His hand hung by the belt and his eyes did not leave Trevelyan for a moment.

Then the door opened and out stepped a woman, with a petite constitution but sharp, hardened features. She was wiping her hands on the worn out apron.

“We have visitors.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and she turned her attention to them for the first time. When her eyes fell on the woman to his left he had a feeling of deja-vu as the wrinkles on her face became more prominent, accompanied by a spiteful hiss.

“You have a lot of nerve to show your face here again.”

Cullen watched as the silence with which she treated the woman only added more tension. When it was clear to everyone that she would not answer, she turned to Gavin. “Why’d’ya even let her set foot in the village?”

“Not our decision to make so go grab Bowen…”

Reluctantly she eventually followed the man’s words but not without glaring at them one more time.

The moments that followed were spent in silence. The woman moved from her spot for the first time. She adjusted the sling around her neck and grabbed the empty sleeve, bending it inside the opened coat. She looked around the village and while her body remained tensed her eyes slightly softened.

“Care to give more explanations on what is happening?” He glanced back towards the gates where they left the convoy. Rylen was just outside, sizing up one of the villagers. Cullen really hoped he would not fling his fist in the man’s nose because clearly they were in no position to display authority. With renewed annoyance he turned to the woman next to him.

“I’m waiting.”

“We need to talk to Bowen; he’s the elder of the village. They don’t have a mayor but they will listen to him. All we need to do is convince him ” Her eyes met his. “I can handle this.”

But this was not what he wanted to hear. It was not an assurance he wanted from the woman but an explanation.

Her eyes skipped away and her attention was back on the wooden door. The woman returned, helping an old, weary man out on the porch and past the stairs. In the light of the sun Cullen could see past his white hair and gaunt figure. He instantly realized what had him holding his breath. The man’s eyes were almost completely white, his irises covered by thick cuticles. The woman whispered something in his ear before releasing his arm.

He felt the Trevelyan tense even more near him as the man was slowly making his way to them. He considered helping him out but the herald made no move and something in this scene kept him grounded to his spot.

He stopped in front of them and waved at the woman to bend to his level. She followed his instructions and both his hands started to map her face, his fingers finding every angle of her features.

Eventually, an unexpectedly strong voice left the man’s throat.

“Ah, life is a funny thing. Good to see you’ve ridden yourself of youthful anger.”

She straightened her back and shamelessly stared at him. A huffed, short laughter escaped her parted lips and just for a moment there was a peaceful smile on her lips.

“The years have not been kind to you. Does the sun still reach your eyes?”

A grunt left his throat.

“Don’t be rude, girl. After a certain age we are all slowly going to our graves. The day my sight will leave me for good will be the day I won’t get up from the bed.”

As if sensing his presence for the first time, the old man turned his attention to Cullen. He felt his foggy eyes on him and he could not believe that there was any sight left. And yet…

The man raised his arm at him and instinctively Cullen glanced at the woman. She nodded and he took one step closer, allowing the man to perform the same ritual. His palms were cold and calloused and there was a gentle tremble in his fingers.

“He’s with you?”

The woman spared a fugitive grin.

“More like I am with him. He’s the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. I… work for him.”

“He could be the Empress’s personal ass wiper, for all I care; titles mean nothing in my village.”

Her lips twisted in an effort to hide her amusement. His fingers went further down and followed his jawline.

“This one’s watching over you as well?”

Her smile dropped.

“In a way.”

Finally his hands left his face, the man satisfied now by his research.

“Huh… as if that did a lot of good last time. At least this one’s a man and not a fair-faced boy. He looks like he can at least try and put up a fight.”

The woman looked away and Cullen tried to get as much information as possible from the conversation.

“The reason why we’re here, old man?” it sounded as if she was demanding a change of subject.

“Of course…”

The man set space between them and started to walk at a slow pace. They followed.

“It’s no coincidence that the Breach closes with an explosion and shortly after travelers stop at our gates. It is even less of a coincidence that the mountains shook under our feet and here you are.”

“It’s a coincidence.” She said displeased.

The man huffed. “What is it that you want?”

“We have villagers from Haven; children, old people. The village was attacked and we have wounded with us. We plan on moving through the mountains and we can’t take them with us.”

“You know very well we don’t accept outsiders. And you are well aware of the reasons.”

“Haven was destroyed. These people need a home. Most of the villagers have decided to come with us but we can’t risk the lives of those that can’t put up with the journey.”

The man came to a stop and they had to do the same. His head was lowered and they could not see much past his bushy eyebrows. His teeth ground while he remained silent, with his thoughts.

“How many?”

Her eyes darted at Cullen.

“About a dozen? Haven was a small village... and even fewer survived.” It pained him to admit it, and her words at camp came back to haunt him. They were responsible for all of this. “And about 13 of our men. We have more wounded but most of them will make it with what we have.”

“This is not a small request.”

“It will make us even.” she cut mercilessly. She was not going to let this conversation turn.

The old man lifted his head and looked their way.

“On one condition. The men you leave behind; they will remain in our village and offer protection.”

Before Cullen could say anything the words left her mouth.

“Very well.”

“What? No!” He eyed the woman instantly. “That was not part of the deal.”

“Huh… it seems that there are some issues that you need to discuss with your patron.”

“He’s the commander of the Inquisition, not my pat-“ the woman exhaled irritated and Cullen felt a bit out of place but not enough to distract him from the situation. She looked at him. “What choice do we have? We both know not all of them will make it and if we take them with us they are all going to die on the road.” She took a step closer to him continuing in a whisper, not bothered at all that the man was still there, with them. “Those that survive can look over the villagers we brought in; and we can still keep an active reach in the area as well.”

In truth he was not against the idea itself. What bothered him was that it was never mentioned before, nor discussed. It was rushed and forced upon him. What really annoyed him was that this was not the first time the woman had pushed him to the edge of an action and compelled him to jump.

“We will talk about this later with the rest.”

A nod was the only answer he received before they turned back to the man.

“What will it be?”

“We agree to your terms.” He silenced her with his intervention. She clearly didn’t appreciate that but she had already done enough.

A crooked smile appeared on the elder’s lips and his next words were spoken loud enough to reach those near them.

“Gavin, tell the men to help carry the wounded and find rooms for the people we’re taking in.”

The old woman who until then stood silent by the porch made an attempt to protest.

“Bowen, you can’t seriously consider – ”

“The decision has been taken; those people need shelter and we have a debt to pay.”

The voice went dangerously low as the man finished his sentence and an unpleasant chill went down Cullen’s spine.

He excused himself and made his way to the gates, to his men, to deliver the news and instructions.

Rylen started organizing immediately. As he returned to the gates they watched the agents bringing forth injured on the improvised barrows. For a moment he stopped near Cullen and let out a short whistle.

“The Herald really works miracles. Paint me a believer.” There was a nuance of sarcasm in the man’s voice but he was genuinely impressed. Cullen, on the other hand remained silent, but he was starting to finally grasp how her miracles worked. At this point he would have not been surprised to find out that the woman had actually bargained her way out of the Fade through some shady means.

He moved away, back into the village to ensure that the refugees were getting the necessary care. He could not let the villagers do their work so he sent soldiers inside to help with what was needed.

At times his eyes would skip back to the woman. She had remained by the old man’s side, her back against the wall of a house and her head lowered. They were talking with her occasionally shaking her head and he could not stop from wandering over the words they were exchanging.

The more he advanced in the village, the more visible the changes caused by the fire became. He was looking for them in all honesty and he wondered if his mind would have made the connections without knowing of the story. There was a portion in the back of the village where the protective walls were made from a different type of wood, better preserved than the rest. There were new houses built in the far East and there were rocks touched by fire. He was starting to get used to the way the villagers were looking at them and for most of the time he was pushing it to the back of his mind. He looked up from two of his men carrying a wounded down the path, and he caught sight of a little girl hiding behind a house, peeking past the corner. He followed her eyes and found that her attention was on the Herald and the old man. He glanced back at the girl only to find her staring directly at him. For a moment his heart stopped. A sensation of nausea took over and before he could understand why, the girl darted around and disappeared behind the house.

He swallowed hard and too late he realized the reason for his reactions. He looked around before advancing toward the house. His jaw was clenched and his body protested with every step. And yet he moved forward. When he reached the corner and found the space empty his body relaxed and subconsciously he felt at ease. Deciding that it was for the best he turned around only to freeze in place. The girl had not been a figment of his imagination and neither were the horrible scars on her face. She was barely reaching his waist and two round orbs were looking up at him, piercing through the scorched skin. There was only her chin and right check as proof of her pale complexion, the rest of her face covered in burns. When she frowned the lack of eyebrows made the sight even harder to bear.

He wished he could say something but they shared the silence.

“You brought Firebreather?”

Her voice took him by surprise and the question itself made no sense in that moment.

“What?”

Her frown deepened and she stole a worried glance past him.

“The Firebreather! You brought her ba-”

“Elena!” A woman’s voice thundered from behind and the little girl was startled. “Get back in the house, girl.”

Before sprinting past him her eyes met his again.

“You’re no help.”

He turned to see her run past the opened door of the house. The woman stared at him.

“I am sorry she bothered you, sir.”

“No bother...” the words found their way automatically.

But the woman’s concern was purely out of politeness. The way she looked at him clearly let him know he was unwelcomed. “Your men are the other way in case you got lost.”

With that she turned and slammed the door after her. Cullen stood there for a while before he made his way back to the main road. He could understand the reasons why they were not welcomed. And yet, if this much damage had been caused, why would they open the gates at her command? He stepped on the road and while glancing at the Herald, the girl’s words were making more sense: firebreather… stories were never simple, were they? There were as many versions of the stories as there were witnesses.

He tried to push his attention back to their work so that they could be on their way. After things were settled, the woman must have felt it was time to retreat. She accompanied the man and they met Cullen at the crossroads in the village.

Rylen went past them and nodded his way, letting him know the Inquisition was ready to take its leave. Cullen looked at the elder and instinctively bowed shortly.

“Thank you for your help.”

The man nodded.

“A debt is a debt. We simply honored it. Consider us even now, girl.”

“We are.” She simply looked down the road.

“It is a peculiar way to waste a favour for people who are but strangers to you.”

The woman had no patience. It was clear that she wanted to be away from this place.

“Anything else, old man?"

He let out a long sigh.

“I hope this means you will not set foot here again. As of today we owe you nothing anymore.”

She nodded and Cullen wondered if the man was aware of it. He watched her prepare a question but he beat her to it.

“Do not worry, child. They are part of our villagers and will be treated as such. This is now home for the survivors. We are well aware that if the demons stopped dropping from the sky we have your Inquisition to thank.”

For a moment she looked up at Cullen and her eyes asked for them to depart.

“We shall be on our way.” he interjected and she turned her head to the road not to award him with the relief written on her face.

The old man nodded his goodbye in return and both of them started to make their way to the gates.

“No farewells?”

“Does it look to you as if they are wanted?”

He contemplated the woman’s words.

They had almost reached the gates when a high pitched voice made them stop in their tracks.

“Firebreather!”

She froze and spun on her heels. The little girl he had met sprinted to them, her chest going up and down in a mad rhythm before she calmed to speak again. Cullen saw the woman from earlier running after her and grabbing her arm, trying to pull her away.

“Elena, don’t do that! Come on child.”

“No, wait!”

“Stop that nonsense, she doesn’t even remember you; stop being stubborn.”

She started to drag her away but Trevelyan took a step forward.

“You were the baby in the stables… were caught under the burning wrecks when I found you.”

The grip on her arm went limp, allowing the girl to free herself. She returned to them and simply stared at her.

The older woman hanged her arms across her chest and let out a long sigh, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with any of the two while speaking up.

“Her eyesight is not that great because of the incident.”

The noble was almost petrified while taking in the state in which the girl was. For a moment Cullen thought that she was going to turn around and simply leave. Her eyebrows furrowed and he saw her losing her internal battle right there. Eventually she bent forward to be at the same eye level with the child.

The girl held her breath and studied her face for a long time.

He knew he should look away as it was not a matter of his concern but he simply couldn’t. He wondered what was going on in the woman’s head.

“You have scars too.” The girl’s words were almost breathed in. She was looking at the scar crossing her lips but kept her arms close to her body, hands hidden in the folds of her ragged dress.

“I do… quite a few.”

Then her tone changed.

“You brought new people here.”

“I did.”

“Did their village burn too?”

“Yes.”

The more monosyllabic the woman’s answers were the faster the girl was assaulting her with question. It was painful to watch and Cullen wished he could push the woman into engaging in a conversation with more words.

“Did you step through fire to save them too?”

And there was no answer. The woman tensed.

“I-ah…” she paused “I am afraid it was less heroic.”

“Oh…”

Was it, the man ended up asking himself. For whatever reasons, she had stayed behind, buying everyone the time they needed.

There was silence.

“You’re scary.”

The herald huffed for the first time a faint laughter.

“I’m scary too.”

He felt as if he had taken a blow to his chest.

The woman looked down and was ready to get herself up. She had no words to that.

“You’re not coming back, are you?”

Her eyes went past her shoulder, looking at the old man. Slowly her attention returned to the girl.

“No, I am not.”

Her small hands suddenly went up and before Trevelyan could grab them and stop the sudden movement, the girl had found her way to her hair and pinned a white, small, mountain flower behind her ear.

The woman was stunned for a moment but the girl pulled her hands away victorious.

“Less scary.”

She stared at the girl in front of her and opened her mouth. She tried again but nothing came out. Instead her gloved hand cupped the little one’s cheek and her plum lips gently pushed against her forehead, remaining there for the longest moment.

She got herself up and turned without a single word, strutting to the point of trying hard not to break into full run.

Cullen stole one more glance at the girl and watched the old woman get closer to her and rest both her hands on her shoulders.

The only thing left for him to do was to nod before leaving. What worlds could he have spared without feeling insufficient?

He was greeted by Rylen at the gates, who had been waiting for his command to depart. He confronted the man and his eyes started to search for the woman. She was far ahead, in a group close to Bull’s Chargers, furiously unfastening the bindings from around her neck and freeing her arm.

There was no point in lingering. His eyes fell on the snowy road and caught sight of the discarded flower. For a moment he considered picking it up out of instinct but he stopped himself. What was the point? His arm went up instead as he kneaded the back of his neck in a comforting gesture. Acceptance was a not an easy step to reach. He should know and he could not judge her no matter how heartless her reactions could seem. It was in the way her body tensed, the way her eye longed for the road ahead of them, the avoidance in looking directly at the consequences of her actions; it was in the way she could barely stop herself from running from all of this; he dwelt on his own mistakes and related to her struggles.

He was a stranger to her past, but he recognized the battle against guilt in the way she carried herself away from the place. She had no clean hands; that much she had admitted herself back in Haven. He didn't share that information with the rest and each day he was troubled by it. Until this day he couldn't justify why he had kept this just to himself. He needed proof, besides her words; and now that he had it... Cassandra had offered him a chance in spite of his past; in spite of the thin line he was currently walking. He needed to find out if the woman could be much more than her mistakes. It was a move he was taking without much thought and he hoped it was not just selfish, wishful thinking on his part. She disrespected everything she meant for the Inquisition and for those who had faith in them, and yet there she was, leading them. He wondered if she was aware of it. He knew for a fact that Josephine had started to nourish a blind faith in the woman since the night she had beaten death for the second time and returned to them. He recognized a victory from the ashes of Haven. The Inquisition could no longer function the same way. He was not blind to the most obvious outcome. There was a strange, dormant thrill that sent chills down his spine. And yet he recognized conflict; he had witnessed the rule of cold and calculated leaders; he was chained for life to the consequences of his silence under their orders. He would not see that happen again. He truly wished to be proven wrong. More than anything he needed to be proven wrong. He needed to be shown that damaged people were more than their wounds.

Chapter Text

The requisition carts were pulled up the narrow rocky path. Their convoy was spread for over a mile. When the decision to cross the first line of mountains was taken there had been no turning back. They could not stay grouped so they formed thinner lines to cover the distance through the mountains. The higher they reached the more difficulties the ground provided. They could have made a detour around the tops but if they were right, the road would take them in a low valley with less austere conditions where they could regroup and gather their strength. Past that point they had only one way to go: up. And it was going to be a trial of resistance. That was why they were currently betting on their strength. It was still the beginning and they had to make the most of it.

Cullen looked up. He guided himself after the tanking force sent forward. The path they were creating was getting narrower up ahead. Barely out of the thick woods, a winding slope awaited upfront. When the road took a left turn up the slope he was glad he could see the soldiers at the beginning of the line. They had a couple of alchemists with explosives sent with the warriors in case the two drufallos were not enough to clear the obstacles. The Bull was ahead as well with his Chargers, among most of his men. The herald was with them, walking dangerously close to the edge of the slope. She'd occasionally look to her right to check on those following.

Her recovery was impressive, making him consider the possibility of her pushing her limits. Once the bandages were off she had started to dress her arm back normally in the sleeve of her coat. From time to time he caught sight of her applying pressure with her right hand on the upper arm. It was still bothering her. She had refused any help from the healers, only asking for some attention from the apostate. He was not as trained as some of the mages they had in treating the wounds but the woman wouldn't have it any other way.

He stopped, allowing Rylen to pass him by. The man wouldn’t rest. He kept marching ahead and back, making sure that communication was still ensured and no incident would make things harder for them. He must have walked almost double than anyone there, save for the scouts sent from one end of the convoy to the other. Cullen suggested placing his men between groups but he refused, telling him that he was from The Marches. He'd put his family to shame if he were to let a Ferelden mountain wear him off.

He looked back before stepping up the slope. Most of their supplies were in the line behind him. Cassandra was with them, keeping the carts and the agents in check. The requisition wagons were at the back, just rolling in sight from the woods. He knew somewhere after them were the archers and mages, closing the convoy and keeping safe the civilians and clerics that had joined them.

Their formation was not ideal but it was the safest. He glanced up ahead. One of the soldiers kicked a dead log down the slope and with it, it took rocks down in its fall, reaching the caravans at the bottom. Some of the rocks and snow fell in a cart and the man holding the reins looked up swearing at the poor idiot. He was about to retort and yell back, the two clearly knowing each other, but Rylen slapped him over the head, silencing the man. The crest was abrupt above their heads from the left and they didn't want to take any risks with the heavy snow coming down.

His second in command trotted heavily back down the path. He watched him go to a couple of templars, exchange words and continue. He reached the herald who was in a conversation with Krem, the Charger's lieutenant. The man nodded shortly as he slipped past them. He knew that the two must have said something because as he marched down the path his gait became more relaxed and he shook his head, a wide grin on his face.

Cullen waited for the Starkhaven ex-templar to reach him and he knew he was intending to report. The man stopped as predicted and fell into step. He pulled the scarf loosely from his neck and wiped a palm of sweat from his nape.

“The news up ahead is not that grand; we'll probably have space to move about one cart at a time when we reach the gorge and that's gonna slow us down quite a bit. But they are in an awful good mood up there so at least we have that.”

“Unless they will bring the mountain on us I think you can loosen up. It's the first time their mood changed after Haven. What are they talking about there?”

Rylen let out a short laughter. “I doubt you'd want to know, commander. Things to keep themselves warm.”

Cullen smiled at the answer. Obviously.

Their walk was interrupted by an ear piercing yell echoing through the mountain. They froze and it took them a moment to realize that it was coming from behind, from the base of the slope. It was soon followed by new voices and shouts and by the time they turned, chaos had already been unleashed. Some of the horses had panicked and left the formation, making it hard to locate the source of the problems at first. Then Cullen saw it. A giant grey bear was advancing through their lines. Panic gripped him and everyone who was watching in horror as the beast charged through the people at the base of the mountain path.

“Rylen, line our men to break through back down. NOW!!!”

The animal thrust forward and grabbed one of the soldiers in its teeth, shredding through the cloths and skin. He recognized Cassandra's thundering voice somewhere below. Cullen scanned the men on his side. There was no way the soldiers would reach the scene in time, and yet Rylen pushed them harder. He cursed. They needed range attackers and all their mages and archers were nowhere in sight.

They had only a few scattered across the path.

“Archers, form a front line! Throw everything you have!” He felt powerless.

All he could do was watch with distress as Cassandra charged at the animal with her shield and sword. It was just enough to enrage it. She barely stood her ground when the bear let go of the man in its mouth to attacked again.

“Back away!” She yelled at the people nearby. A couple of soldiers formed a barrier, trying to shelter and grab the wounded but the animal rose on its legs and clawed through them. In the last moment the Seeker bashed to the side of its face and blocked its attack by barging her shield in its mouth. Two of the soldiers were caught under as Cassandra kept the beast’s mouth wide opened.

“Get them away from here” she barked an order through clenched teeth.

Arrows hit the animal but they did not stop its attacks. As the men were dragged away the shield started to give in under the pressure, bending.

He froze when he saw the awkward position of the Seeker's arm. It was trapped in the twisted metal of the shield.

He felt the archers tense again for an attack. They were waiting for his signal. His hand was clenched on the hilt of his sword. Rylen would not make it in time he kept repeating himself.

“Aim for the head!” He felt the arrows fly and for a time he didn't register everything. He only saw with the corner of his eyes rocks roll down the slope and it took him a second check to realize that a human body was skipping through them. He watched petrified as the herald was sliding vertiginously through the sharp edges of the mountain. Her long legs hit a cliff and she jumped in momentum over the falling rocks. Hitting the edge again, she killed the speed with her left side, using her forearm as a break.
When she reached the ground she rolled away in the snow as far as she could to avoid the following rocks. The woman rose in a cursive gesture, her body never stopping as she broke in full speed. Running past a fallen cart she grabbed a metal pole and skipped through the convoy towards Cassandra. Coming from behind the beast she clenched her fist in its fur and pulled forcefully, hurling herself up, on her feet on top of the animal. The grey bear felt the heavy presence and left a roaring growl, unable to free itself from the shield piercing its mouth. It took two steps back and prepared to rise to throw the woman off balance. Cassandra let out a sharp exhale of pain. But before the large animal could do any more damage the woman was right above its head, feet planted in its shoulder blades and arms up, above her. The air was filled with a thundering war cry that left the woman's lungs and the pike came down, piercing the animal's skull and disappearing almost halfway in. The scene died in complete silence. The animal had no time to shriek in pain, falling completely lifeless to the ground.

Cullen wasted not another moment. He let the men at ease and shoved most of them out of his way.

Rylen reached the scene and ordered two of his men to aid Cassandra free her arm from the destroyed shield.

The woman stood still for a while, her arms still gripping the pole, forehead against the cold metal, catching her breath.

The commotion must have reached the party still in the back as those nearby were speeding up to see what had happened.

The herald eventually let go of her support and jumped to the ground. Cullen would have gone straight to them but he needed to organize those still capable of gathering the scared animals and report the damages.

The Trevelyan finally looked up to meet Cassandra’s eyes. She nodded her silent question and glanced at the seeker's arm.

“Thank you. I'll be fine.” She tried to twist her wrist and knead her arm. “Doesn’t look broken.”

“That was way too risky, Cassandra.”

“And what would you have had me do? Sit and watch this thing make short work of our people?”

“Getting yourself killed instead doesn’t sound like a sound alternative either.”

“What can I say? You’re rubbing off on me.” Cassandra actually let out a joke and it was answered with tempered grin.

“How did this animal break through our lines unnoticed? I thought we had scouts in charge of the area.” Cullen finally made his way to them.

“It came out of nowhere. I was here with them and I was still not able to see it until it was too late.”

Rylen stationed near them, taking in the size of the animal.

“This is a monster.” He shook his head. “Should we regroup? We took quite a blow. Maybe we should reconsider this and make a stop before crossing the mountain chain.”

“No. Bears like this don't hunt on paths and they certainly don't venture this much outside their territory.” The woman took a few steps and tried to pierce the dark woods with her gaze. “Something must have driven her this far, and whatever makes an animal this size leave its usual hunting ground can only mean bad news. We need to push forward – we can't risk the dark finding us on this side of the mountains.”

Rylen instantly looked at Culln, awaiting orders. In exchange he glanced at the Seeker. She would not admit it but she was in pain. Her patience was too short to make decisions.

“Gather the men. We'll leave a group behind to clean the area and guide the rest up. I don't need curiosity to slow us down. Rylen, you'll take charge here."

The man nodded.

“We'll take the wounded with us. When the mages are here send some healers ahead.”

“I'm staying back as well.”

He turned towards the noble.

“There is no need to. Our men can handle it.”

She side-eyed him as if he had just insulted her.

“Who said I'm staying to help? I need to catch my breath and have Solas look at my wounds.”

The woman turned around and left the group without a word. Cullen felt guilt grip him. Seeing her previous display had left those present in awe and he had completely forgotten that Haven had been just days away, her body not even fully healed. Her rescue played a number on their minds and Cassandra seemed to be the only one not particularly impressed. He had little time to think of the woman’s almost suicidal slide down the mountain. His attention was needed on the consequences of the attack. By the time they were ready to move again he saw some of his men gathered around the dead animal. Two were by its side with ropes and one on top.

“What are you doing?”

“We're taking this thing with us, Sir. Meat and fur. Also wherever we're going its head will make a nice trophy. The bloody creature took down some of our friends and more of us would be dead if not for the Herald.”

Cullen considered their words. The animal was heavy but it was their right. He'd been not long ago one of them, of the many on the front line. He knew what losing a brother in arms felt like. When they spoke of the woman their voice was filled with bitter satisfaction. He knew then and there that what they had witnessed had seeded respect for her.

The man saddled on the animal got up and started to pull at the pole.

“Also Rylen ordered us to bring the pike back.”

The man pulled and he watched his fists clench and his face redden. The metal pole didn't flinch. He almost stumbled backwards.

“Andraste's tits! This thing is stuck.”

The two men on the ground made fun of him but Cullen furrowed his eyebrows. He remembered the woman's roar when she had thrust the pike into the animal's head. It was low and liberating. It was as if her strike came from her lungs. He watched as a second man climbed over and they were both pulling. If it had moved he could not say from where he stood, but he was going to bet it hadn't, judging by their troubled faces.

It must have gone right through the skull. He could not grasp the sort of strength one must have to accomplish such a thing. He could have credited Bull for something like this, but a human? And in only one strike? The area was almost clean now. He caught sight of the woman seated far away on a rock, facing the other way. That sort of strength was inhuman. He wondered if it could be a result of the mark, the same way he was starting to attribute her fast recovery to the magic of the Anchor.

It was time to go. Before taking his leave he made his way to the woman. As he approached her he noticed that she had her legs up, crossed and her arms resting on each of her thighs.

He considered making his presence known before reaching her but his words got caught in his throat when he noticed the constant trembling of her arms. The effort must have broken her control.

He stopped. Was she aware of his presence?

“You shouldn't stay behind. We'll have healers sent up to check on the wounded.”

The woman didn't answer. He had been right in assuming that she felt him approach. The troubling part was that she was set on ignoring him. He sighed and couldn't help but feel like an awkward fool. The only thing that kept him from turning around and taking his misplaced concern with him was the uncontrollable shake in her arms. For whatever reason, he stood there, only looking down once more at the woman before relaxing his eyes between the old trunks of the trees at the edge of the forest. He should get going, he repeated to himself as the woman continued to keep her eyes closed. He just wanted to make sure she was alright, as stupid as that sounded in his head. He justified his concern by stressing that she was the Herald and her wellbeing was a collective concern for everyone.

Suddenly the tremor died; her back relaxed and her eyelids parted slightly. It almost startled him when her head darted to him, wide citrine eyes pinning him down. In those bleak colors of the mountain it felt as if he was staring at two glowing gems and the expression on her face told him everything; she had not felt his presence, she had not heard him talk. The woman was in shock at finding out she had not been alone. It was as if she had just broken from a trance, aware again of her surroundings.

Slowly she turned her head. She didn’t ask him anything. There was a sharp shake of her left arm and she gripped her wrist with the other hand.

“What you did-”

“Was stupid.” She closed her eyes and breathed in. The shaking stopped again. “I overdid it; it’s just the muscles. Solas can calm the nerves and it will be fine.” The woman let her legs fall to the ground and got up. “This bloody mark is just making it worse.”

“Huh, I was actually thinking that the power of the mark helped.” He looked over his shoulder. “I have two men embarrassing themselves while trying to undo your work.”

She glanced at the scene and winced.

“I was hoping we wouldn’t need that anymore.”

“I think it’s one of the pikes we use on the main tent.”

They both watched in silence as the third man pulled out his sword and joined the two in an attempt to unstuck the metallic pole. Cullen furrowed his eyebrows. How hard could it be to get that blasted thing out?

The woman cleared her throat and looked away.

“Is there something you needed, Commander?”

He glanced back at her. “Just wanted to make sure everything is fine. Maker only knows how many lives we could have lost if it wasn’t for you and Seeker Pentaghast.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her short, solemn nod made a chortle escape his lips. At the sound her eyes were back on him with a stern expression.

“What is it that amuses you?”

The more serious she looked, the harder it was for him to keep a straight face. He’d interacted with lots of people in his lifetime, and yet he had never met someone as straightforward and confident as her. She was well aware of her force and did not take a compliment as flattery.

“Nothing important. Just a though. I should catch up with the chargers ahead before I start doubting the skills of our soldiers.” He chose to answer while slightly nodding towards the three recruits. At least they were persistent.

The woman stepped away and was about to reclaim her place on the cold stone.

“You are a very confusing man, Rutherford.” Her legs went up, the same way as before as her eyes closed again. “Don’t expect people to understand you if you don’t speak your mind.”

For a moment he didn’t move. Hearing his name stripped of the usual title was a surprise. Most people would only address him with ‘commander’ or ‘commander Cullen’ and he was used to it because it was stating his purpose. The name rolling off her tongue made him feel naked. He could not remember the last time someone had addressed him without adding a title – recruit, templar, knight-captain, commander.
He turned around and steadily made his way back to the path. His title had become part of who he was. What would his simple name makes of him? Why should he care? Thinking of a possible purpose for something else, outside the Inquisition, for something personal, was not an option he could dare think of in his current state.

Chapter Text

They managed to find a good place to set up camp not a moment too soon, before night came. The next day they would reach the valley where they could scout for some supplies. They had salvaged little from Haven but food had been the least of their concern back then. The narrow path through the mountains had worn everyone out. They had finally regrouped and had the chance to count the damages suffered that day. Few wounded after the attack but only one casualty. The poor unlucky lad who got grabbed by the bear on its first attack had stood no chance. The healers tried their best but couldn’t stop the bleeding. With the Maker’s mercy Cassandra had no broken bones. She was not thrilled at all that she was not going to be able to use her left arm for a while but he knew the Seeker well enough to read the relief through her façade.

The last to reach the camp was the small group they left behind. The fact that they arrived after the darkness settled didn’t help his mood. He had hoped that they would give up the idea of taking the dead animal with them but the recruits dragged the heavy corpse up the slope and through the mountains. He wished they were this resourceful when it came to more serious tasks as well. Nonetheless, they were greeted by the rest with whistles and cheers as they made a last push and brought the bear to the fire camp where they could get busy and turn it into pelt, dinner and trophies. Rylen had been at the end of the line, keeping a fair distance from the cheerful group. He was walking lazily by the Herald’s side, with Solas close by. The man was swinging a familiar metallic pole in his right arm, occasionally sticking it in the ground for support.

When they reached the camp Rylen nodded slightly at the woman and they parted. He went for the requisition tent and Cullen watched her approach a scout. Eventually she was pointed towards Cassandra’s tent and he could guess what her first concern had been.

Later that evening, after he was debriefed of the situation, he met with Leliana to plan the moves for the days to come. It was a late hour when he left the main tent. The air was biting at his skin and he adjusted his pauldron for protection. The camp was anything but silent. People were still sitting around the fires and the mood was far too spirited considering what they had been through. He looked at the mixed groups gathered around the warmth of the flames and remembered the fights he had to break back in Haven. Right now, no one seemed to care about who was a mage or a Templar, if they were elves or humans. He heard them laugh and joke and let a smile find its way to his lips. The disaster at the Conclave had scattered their differences away, but their survival brought them together. He took in the sight, fully aware that he won’t have the chance to see templars and mages sharing the same food and get along too often.

*

Rylen was seated on a log, leaning back on the tree behind him, and one of his legs resting on the improvised bench in front of him. He found the position beneficial as he could kick the back of one or two seated recruits when they were getting carried away with their bad humor.

He let out a yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth. Slipping one arm under the other he reached for his shoulder, trying to move his tensed muscles. The effort he had to put that day had been ridiculous. But he would rather have had the earth eat him instead of losing face in front of his recruits and the apostate who had been already watching him with amused eyes. He knew that his face must have reddened with effort but the damned pike was out, and his dignity intact. Sure, his muscles were sore but back then it felt like a price worth paying when he met the Herald’s impressed expression. In retrospective, pushing his limits seemed now like a stupid idea and he was convinced that whatever monstrous force the woman possessed, her inner circle was already used with it.

The people around the fire got louder and all he needed to understand what was going on was to hear Rion’s taunting voice. For a mage coming from the circle the boy really had no sense of self-preservation. He was amazed no one had put him in his place yet because of that cocky attitude of his. The boy had no idea how lucky he was to also have charisma working in his favour. Yet, he wished he could be within reach to slap a hand over his head; he didn’t like the fact that Belinda was the current target of his jokes. The young woman was a Templar from Starkhaven; she was sweet and always eager to help but she had problems integrating in a group. He was quite fond of the girl and Rion’s provoking remarks were the last thing she needed.

But there was a Maker. His thoughts were answered when a leather glove flew and hit Rion’s face with precision. Rylen winced, only imagining the smarting feeling. He grinned as the glove fell in the mage’s lap and he looked across the fire for the person he should be thankful to. His grin only got wider when the Herald stopped at the fire, threw a roll of bandages on an empty spot on one of the improvised benches and started to pull at her other glove as well.

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” She was paying attention to her work but she didn’t hide her own grin.

“Yeah, sure... no way to talk to a lady. I’ll remember that when I talk to one.”

The woman stopped and looked up at him with a dangerous smile on her face.

“Hit him for me, please.”

When the Templar realized the Herald was talking to her, her eyes grew wide.

“Who? Me? No!”

“Do it or I’ll do it and I won’t care that he looks as if wind can lift him from the ground.”

There was laughter around the fire and Rion frowned.

“Ladies don’t hit defenseless mages.” He tried to turn the joke.

“I’ll remember that when I’ll see one.”

Rylen watched as the mage turned to Belinda with big, pleading eyes.

“Be gentle.”

He rolled his eyes when the templar fell for it. She was too kind for her own good. He was convinced he barely felt anything when her fist brushed his arm.

The women shook her head and put a foot on the bench ready to cross and reach the seated mage.

“That is not how you hit a pri-”

“No, no – wait.” The man panicked. “I can hit myself, no need to come over.”

The woman stopped and grinned as the laughter around the fire intensified. Rylen had to give it to the kid. He had a way of talking himself out of danger. Fully dressed in embarrassment, but it was a gift.

The group fell back into the regular story-telling and unsavoury jokes, not bothered that the Herald was there with them. She was busy unbuttoning her shirt but she was listening to their stories, occasionally lifting the head to see who was talking, not shying away from showing her smile at their antics. When she took her coat down and let it fall on the bench Rylen had to grab the thick cloth of his wool jacket and press it against his skin not to shiver.

He grabbed the mug near him and brought it to his mouth. Whatever he had been drinking it was now cold and lacked any sort of taste. Her hands went for the sleeves of her tunic but her eyes looked up meeting his. 'Course she’d felt watched with the way he was blatantly staring. But he didn’t look away. Why do that anyway? Her lips lined up and the grin was back. You’re from Starkhaven? That had been her first question after he had jumped off the dead animal. Born an’ raised. Did the accent give me away? But she had simply turned around with the same particular grin on her face. Yes, the accent were the only words she returned as if they were meant to mean something more. Wasn’t she from the Free Marches as well? He found nothing impressive about it.

The woman continued to hold his gaze and he'd be damned if he’d look away. What was she about anyway because he was getting a weird tingling sensation in his legs and there wasn’t anything neither blessing nor holy about the way she made him feel. Instinctively his arm went back up again and brought the mug back to his lips, lower enough not to break the contact.
She continued to lift her sleeves unmoved by his daring stare and he stirred the liquid content in his mouth a few times before swallowing. He could not hold his grin anymore as he lowered the mug on his bent knee. He liked to think he was a man of simple needs. Give him an order and he’d see it done. He was pretty decent with rules as well. His pa’ used to tell him not to leave the working tools lying around so he always put them on top of the line of bricks; what if at times he’d forget them there? At least no one stepped on them and got injured. When he joined the Templars they told him that fraternizing was not allowed within the order – so he found himself a sweetheart… or two on his days off, with permit to leave the barracks. Right now he was in the Inquisition and Cullen had ordered him to keep an eye on the Herald – first as a prisoner and now to make sure that she didn't collect any more injuries. He was, as always, following orders. No one ever told him not to eye-fuck the woman, because there was a heavy amount of that happening right now and if anyone would happen to notice, he could, in his defense, at least say that he had not started it.

He did not however lose track of the conversations around the fire and breathed in, stretching the tension away. The woman lowered her eyes and reached for the discarded roll of bandages, pulling them by one end. They were back to the story of how the Herald had taken down the beast with one hit. They were enjoying the victory too much and he had no doubts than in a few days little of the truth would actually be spread by their mouths.

He joined with a laugh and let one foot slip and lazily hit the ground.

"And yet I had to get the pike out. For all the effort, I see no reward.”

The woman was fastening the bandages around her left hand and up, past her wrist.

“I was not aware there was a contest.”

“You say that now but you were quite entertained by the display my men put together.”

Those full lips parted slightly and found each other again in a coy smile.

“Well then, I am sorry to disappoint but the Trevelyan coffers, as full as they might be, are not open for me and the best blades that I had are now lost somewhere in the rubble of Haven. I am afraid that currently I have nothing to offer besides the clothes on me…" her gaze was back on him. “if you are interested.”

The laughter around the fire only intensified and a few jokes were passed between the men gathered there. He let out his own snigger and wondered if the woman cared at all if he’d get skinned alive by playing along.

“Doubt any of that would fit me and I don’t suppose it’d keep me warm at night.”

“Are we still talking about the clothes?”

Maker, he was prepared to let out a healthy, boisterous laughter for the woman was as subtle as a charging druffalo but the sight of Mother Giselle approaching them cut his drive. The cleric asked for the Herald’s attention and reluctantly the woman pushed herself away from the bench. He wasn’t going to gloat but she was in trouble. When the Revered Mother threw him a disapproving look he knew that his lecture would also come. But right now he’d rather enjoy the bravery with which the noble was dismissing the woman’s pieces of advice. There was word going around that the Herald was not an Andrastian; and it was obvious that she had little patience for the Chantry. His eyes went past the two women to check on his Commander. He had caught sight of him a while back when he left one of the tents. He had watched with amusement as Flissa, the young woman from the tavern in Haven, had stopped him and without hesitation grabbed the tall man, and shoved him at one of the tables near the tents where they kept the food and provisions. As tiny as she was compared to the Commander, she had not been intimidated at all by his protests and presented him with a plate of warm stew, a piece of bread and something to drink. Now he was alone, and looking rather grateful for the silence, if not a bit lost. Rylen stole one more glance at the Herald and his attention went back to the Commander. He put his other foot down and decided to go greet his superior. He was in no way trying to avoid a conversation with Mother Giselle since he was sure she would make time for him as well. But ‘later' seemed a better option than ‘now’.

He made his way to the tent and passed the back of his gloved hand along his chin.

“Commander.” He greeted and the man looked up. He let go of the piece of bread he had been turning between his fingers and returned the gesture, with honest surprise in the tone of his voice.

“Rylen.”

“The cook could have been more generous with the salt but I guess we can’t really complain.” He nodded at the empty plate and the man laughed.

“I didn’t realize I was hungry until I was mercilessly ordered to eat.”

Rylen grabbed a whetstone from the fire nearby and took his sword out. He rested one foot on a crate and started to tend to his weapon.

“Not a lot of people would dare to handle the Commander of the Inquisition the way Flissa did.” He joked, letting him know that he had witnessed the scene, “She certainly has a way of dealing with people. Guess it’s something that only an innkeeper can pull off. We’re lucky to have her around.”

The man nodded, his attention back to the plate in front of him.

“Word also goes that she has a soft spot for you, Ser.”

“Oh please, Rylen. The last thing I need is losing you to unseemly rumors as well.”

He grinned, content to have stirred a reaction from the man.

“So Commander, what are the plans?”

Cullen straightened his back.

“The next days should be easy. We discussed to take the convoy down in the valley. We’ll cover as much as possible from the distance that way and maybe find a village or two for supplies. Once we get back in the mountains there is no turning back and by the looks of it the ascension will not be kind. No one knows of any possible path through them so we either find it, if there is even one, or we make it ourselves.”

“I look forward to blowing holes into mountains.”

The commander frowned.

“I certainly hope it won’t come to that.”

There was a moment of silence which they shared before Cullen got up from the table. He stepped right outside of the tent and looked towards the campfires, concern keeping his eyebrows lined together.

“What was that earlier with Mother Giselle? Is everything alright?” Rylen looked up at the two women but didn’t really bother to stop from what he was doing; they were still at it.

“Yeah, nothing to sweat over.” He considered his choice of words and grinned. “Mother Giselle may be giving our Herald a hard time, but her intentions are good.”

He watched the man sigh.

“Well, it would help everyone if lady Trevelyan would be less acid towards the clerics.”

He glanced up at him and shook his head in amusement.

“I remember Sister Nightingale saying something similar about you, Ser.”

Cullen met his eyes.

“It was completely a different matter. Chancellor Roderick was a constant pain in our ribs. He only knew how to bark in disapproval.”

But they both stopped, remembering the man’s last deeds. If it hadn't been for him, they might not even have made it out of Haven. “And we were ignorant for tossing him around unnecessarily.” he continued.

Rylen let the man to his thoughts, none of the two feeling like chatting at the moment. It was easy to move on but they had yet to pay their respects and properly acknowledge those they had lost in the attack.

Eventually Cullen was the first to open a conversation.

“Rylen. I have been discussing certain matters with Seeker Cassandra this evening and I wanted your input as well, if possible.”

“On what, Commander?”

He tossed a look his way; a familiar way in which he used to warn him to drop the title when it was just the two of them. Cautiously he returned his attention ahead of him.

“What is your opinion on the Herald?”

The man stopped for a moment from what he was doing and after a moment more of consideration, thrust the stone on the length of the blade and blew the dust away.

“It depends on what version you’re interested in.”

The Commander frowned.

“That was not the sort of answer I was expecting.”

Rylen chuckled and got himself in a standing position.

“I guess… I am looking for an honest opinion? What do the men make of her?”

“Ah yes…” In a few strides he was by his superior’s side. Rylen himself was a tall man and yet he didn’t quite match the Commander’s height. He let his eyes roam in the same direction. “Things are simpler than you’d imagine.” He spun the hilt of the sword in his hand. “She’s the Herald and all that, and people gape at her miracles, yet all it needs is for the wind to blow in the other direction and she’s back to being a heretic. But our men… sure, they fight under the Inquisition's banner but I’ve been out with them enough to see what goes through their minds. The woman fought side by side with them; they saw a noble share the same food with them in the camps and a prophet do much more than preach; she crossed the Mires and fought her way to rescue some poor soldiers. I guess I have an idea or two of why you’re asking what you’re asking. These men read your orders and are ready to fight but I’ve noticed where their heads turn for acknowledgment. They saw her take hits for them and they are ready to do no less for her.”

Cullen didn’t say anything and Rylen was reminded of the reason why he had taken his offer and left the Order for the Inquisition. The ex-Templar was still young in age but that was about everything that was left of his youth. The price the man had had to pay to become the leader figure he was now had left visible scars, both physical and in the way he carried himself. His calculating eyes and thorough mind earned him the respect of people both older and more experienced than he was. Cullen had Rylen’s complete trust when it came to decisions but he doubted the man was aware of that.

“You should spend more time with them out there, Cullen. You’d see how comfortable they feel around her. Not everyone believes that she’s sent by the Maker. Faith comes and goes, but she has their trust. You want to know if they would follow her into battle? They already are.”

It was all they needed for a while. Cullen kept to his thoughts and Rylen looked back down at the weapon in his hands. He passed a finger down the blade, to feel the steel.

“Do you believe it?” But there was a shift in his voice and it only meant that the curiosity was past his interest as a commander. “That she could be holy?”

It all came back to faith, didn’t it? He cleared his throat as if something uncomfortable has clogged its way there.

“Are you still looking for an honest answer?”

Cullen was brought back from his distant thoughts and eyed his second in command with calculated doubt.

“What sort of question is that? Should I be concerned over where this conversation is going?”

“Not really.” He let out a short laughter. “You want to know what the general belief is about the entire ‘herald’ thing. I am simply not convinced my answer could be relevant to you in any way, Commander.”

Cullen sighed and returned his attention to the people gathered around the fires.

“Humor me.”

*

He was not sure if the commander had said that to offer him the possibility to freely speak his mind or if he had actually challenged him to do so. He questioned the level of maturity in both of them. So Rylen took the challenge.

“The woman says she has nothing to do with Andraste – not my place to tell her any different. The way I see it, whatever that mark on her hand is – divine intervention or a different sort of magic – it closes rifts and keeps demons from raining on us. I am happy with that; no need to go digging for headaches.”

But he was not done.

“Maybe she’s holy, what do I know? But with all due respect, there is nothing holy about the way that woman looks.”

Rylen would have laughed at how horrified the man suddenly looked as his arms dropped by his side and turned to him. But he knew better.

“I am sorry?”

“Should I repeat that, Commander?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“No, thank you. I heard it clearly.”

“You asked for an honest opinion.” Was his tacky excuse but they both knew he was not sorry.

Cullen frowned but there was a twist at the corner of his mouth.

“Sincerity appreciated.” His eyes measured the man whom he was also lucky to call a friend. “But at times you should consider using some filters when you express your opinions. There was certainly some information there that I could have perfectly lived without.”

Rylen breathed a laughter and his grin lingered.

“You are a decent guy, commander. But you are neither blind nor a fool. You can’t possibly tell me that you haven’t addressed her and, at least once, your mind didn’t wander lower than her eyes.”

“Maker, Rylen! Must I really spell it as an order to make you stop?”

He let out another huffed laughter and tilted his head to glance at the woman in the distance.

“I meant her lips. Nobles have this thing about them –they are taught to articulate words and speak properly and clearly. When she speaks, if you don’t focus on the words you start wondering what else those full lips can do.”

A wave of shame, that Cullen knew he should not feel responsible for, washed over him and more out of desperation than authority he raised his voice.

“Rylen! That is your Herald you are talking about, for Andraste’s sake!"

He had done it on purpose. Cullen was always acting too serious and it wasn’t all too healthy. Getting a powerful reaction out of the man was worth the price. With a shake of his head he returned his attention to the sword. He balanced it in his grip one more time before putting it back in its sheath.

“Yeah, and Andraste was the Maker’s bride. That didn’t stop her from physical activities… that’s all that I am saying.”

Rylen was in a way proud of himself. They needed that; with all the shit that they had been through, he needed to know that they hadn't been beaten up by it. If the Inquisition was ready for a change, he was ready for it. They needed a strong hand at the top, that much was obvious. It was risky, but victory rarely came to those who’d not push when presented with the chance.

He looked back up and wanted to announce his retreat for the night but his words died and out of respect he did his best not to laugh. Ah yes, he was proud of himself. The largest grin reached his mouth at the sight of the Commander’s red ears. He reminded him of his older brother when they were kids and he was caught peeping at the smith’s daughter taking a bath in the river. His mouth went ahead of his better judgment.

“You’re thinking it, aren’t you?”

The way Cullen glared at him would have burned a man alive. But it only sent his second in command into a fit of laughter.

He raised his hand and patted the man on the shoulder on his way to his tent.

“You’re welcome, Commander.”

*

Cullen grabbed the bridge of his nose and sighed away Rylen’s bad sense of humour. However, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling under his glove. The man had a mouth.

“I expect no complains the next time you will be dispatched to some Maker forgotten place.”

Without turning, Rylen offered his answer, loud enough to reach him.

“After the Mires, I think I am fine with anything.”

His bravery was unfortunately received as a challenge.

With a last shake of the head he took his time to get back to the table and grab the sword he had previously left against one of the wooden legs. He grabbed it by the leather sheath and considered how he’d soon need to talk to someone and have it replaced.

“Commander.”

He must have jumped or at the very least startled at the voice because as he turned, the Trevelyan just went past him, inside the opened tent, eyeing him suspiciously. He cursed for not feeling her approach.

“My lady Herald.” The man nodded and proceeded to strap the sword back by his belt.

She spun on her heels and searched for his eyes.

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” But she waited for no answer as she started to lift the lids from some crates, clearly looking for something in particular. “Out of curiosity, do you even know my given name?” Her arms reached out and grabbed a dark, dusty bottle.

He had read her name in Leliana’s reports on her back in Haven, of course. They had little information on her but seemed to cover up everything they needed.

“Jesebel.”

With interest he watched her tense and her eyebrows furrow. She focused back at him, deciding for a moment what to do of it. He could not blame her, as the name fell strange and heavy at the tip of his tongue. It made him feel uncomfortable.

“Lady Trevelyan should be fine from now on.”

Of course it would be Lady Trevelyan. Peculiarly enough he was relieved to have her agree on that. Notably, he remembered how he had been simply Rutherford for her earlier that day. And why the Maker was he fumbling over formalities in his own head? The other relevant question arose when she pulled the cork from the bottle and smelled the content.

“Is that wine?”

The woman grinned.

“At least it smells like it. It’s funny the things people grabbed in their hurry from Haven.”

He followed her as she placed the bottle on the table. The woman grabbed a metallic jug and went through some pouches, occasionally smelling or shaking them. She went even further into the back of the tent, pocking and digging through crates and sacks.

“What are you looking for?”

“Honey. I am sure they have some. I heard two of the villagers talking about our supplies.”

He said nothing. In fact he realized he had forgotten his intentions of leaving as he followed her around with his eyes. The woman disappeared behind a wall of those crates. Was she … humming? He had never pictured her as the type. His attention went to the bottle of wine on the table.

“What do you need these for?”

She emerged victorious and in two large jumps over some fallen sacks she was back with an almost empty jar of honey. He watched her pour wine in the jug and add a few spices.

“Dorian is one breath away from a cold. He’s almost high with herbal medicine but his throat still feels like he has been eating thistles. I’m making something to help with that; the man is more sensitive than a flower.” A huffed laughter escaped her lips. “I can’t believe he actually spent days on his own, camping around Ferelden.”

Cullen realized for the first time why he felt out of place. He could not remember the woman talking to him so relaxed and detached. Unrelated, he also noted her bare hands, only covered by bandages that were running up to her elbows.

“And wine will help him.” There was clear sarcasm in his voice and it was in the right amount.

“The herbs and honey will help. The wine is only a good combination.”

She took the lid from the honey jar and in an almost barbaric fashion she dug two of her fingers inside, making sure to gather everything from the inner walls and have it leak into the jug until there was nothing left. He opened his mouth to make an observation but his mind went blank when the woman shoved the two fingers past her lips, having them disappear almost completely. He felt the blood rise to his head as he couldn’t convince his eye to look away from her slow gesture and ignore the sound her plump lips made as they released the fingers.

He swallowed. And felt like a fool. This was only partially his fault. He thanked the Maker he controlled the urge to clear his throat as he turned, doing his best to feign interest in nothing in particular. Rylen was so lucky not to be there because he had half a mind to send him to keep guard for the rest of the night.

The woman grabbed the knife he had not used from the table and stirred until she was sure that the honey had melted. She stepped away to hang the jug on the hook above the fire just outside the tent. She looked past her shoulder at the man, thankfully unaware of his recent trail of thoughts. It was one thing to make jokes out of people's features but he felt guilty towards her. She tugged at the bandages on her palms while waiting for the wine.

“How are your arms?”

“Better. I had them wrapped to keep the muscles tensed and avoid unnecessary shaking.”

“You’re recovering fast. The fight from Haven is barely days away.”

“My everything still hurts like a bitch if that’s what you’re wondering. I just breathe most of it away.”

His eyes skipped up at her bruised jaw. Her dark skin was hiding most of the injuries. There was an old scar across her lips and a golden tattoo at the corner of her eye. He never paid special attention to it, but taking in her profile he noticed the tiny, caved scars that were under the tattoo. He knew there was another scar under her right eye, to which he could not have access from his current position. He also knew that occasionally the woman would pass her fingers over it. As if he could have summoned the gesture, she lifted her hand and absentmindedly wiped the scar with the side of her fingers.

“You’re in a good mood.” He announced his observation in an attempt to kill the awkward silence.

“I am…” He did not expect the woman to smile. “We’ll make it.”

He frowned. While it was true that they barely crossed paths occasionally, he wondered if there would be a day in which her reactions and words would stop finding him unprepared.

“And confident.”

The woman didn’t turn but glanced at him from the corner of her eye with an unreadable expression.

“Unwillingness doesn’t affect my confidence.” He waited for her to continue. “Do I wish to be somewhere else other than in this mess? Of course I do. But I don’t dwell on what ifs. I will have my answers.” She brought her left hand up. The mark was covered by the bandages and it was dormant. He could see the edge of what now could be mistaken for a scar.

“Aren’t you even a bit scared of all this?”

She sneered.

“It’s a bit too late to be scared. I know my enemy now. I know what Corypheus is and what he is not. It’s all I need to take him down.”

He looked at the woman and didn’t know if he should feel admiration or concern. He was concerned that he was hearing empty promises; he was concerned that he was ready to offer great power to someone he barely knew. She … was so much more that he had ever imagined from the day he learnt that there was a survivor of the disaster at the Conclave. The woman had walked out of the Fade! That alone should be all the evidence he needed.

The smell of mulled wine reached them and the woman turned towards the fire. He looked around for some sort of cloth she could use on the hot jug but remained petrified as the noble went bare hand for the metallic container. She grabbed the edge with her thumb and two fingers and darted towards a wooden mug. In one go she poured the wine and discarded the jug. She brought her fingers to her mouth and blew on them as if it was nothing.

“How – ”

She took the mug in her left hand and returned to him, waving her other hand to cool off. When she was next to him she smiled at his expression.

“It’s not that bad if you focus on it. It’s just a control trick.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Also, most of the nerves in my right hand are long fried.” Instead of using more words she extended her hand as an explanation.

He stepped closer to have a better look in the light that the nearby fire was offering. Because of the bandages he could only see the fingers and half of the palm but it was enough for him to notice the difference in tone. What unsettled him was that he could not find any of the usually small grooves that any palm had. The skin was perfectly smooth, looking as if a layer had been peeled off. The skin was stretched where the fingers met the hills of her palm and the space between her pointing and middle fingers looked as if it had been melted. He wondered how it would feel to the touch. The scars looked to be years old.

“How did it happen?”

Her smile didn’t leave and she sounded almost proud.

“Playing with fire would be too much of a bad joke?”

“Conventionally, yes.”

“I crossed some angry folks. People get very inventive with torture when they want answers.”

He failed to see the humorous part in her story. A dozen questions were at the tip of his tongue but he didn’t know which one he could ask; a question that the woman would answer without further evasion.

“For a noble, your life doesn’t sound that dull.”

“For a templar, you are quite observant.”

“Ex-templar.” He let those words out but he didn’t find any motivation to actually be bothered by her anymore. Her attacks were getting old and weren’t worth any effort.

“We need to work on your reactions, Commander. I was expecting more passion. You’re becoming quite dull.”

“Perfect; I was going for that.”

She retracted her hand with a fluid gesture.

“I don’t like you very much. You’re confusing me.”

However her words didn’t match the smile on her lips.

The woman stepped away. He was left there standing at the mouth of the tent. He begged to differ. For all that he knew all his life he had been quite a direct and predictable person. He refused to think that she had really meant that.

“For the sake of closure – about your story? Did these people get what they wanted?”

She started to make her way back to the campfire.

“Yes. The Qun can be extremely convincing. I am standing here now, am I not?”

He didn’t know how to feel about any of that information.

“That’s not how it ended, is it?”

The woman did not stop, but looked over her shoulder to meet his eyes.

“Of course not; I snapped their necks after.”

Her last words made him feel slightly uncomfortable but at the very least, they made more sense.

As he turned her story in his head, his eyes followed the woman absentmindedly. The noble found her way back to one of the campfires, behind the seated Tevinter mage. She slipped the mug in his hands and no words were exchanged, just secretive smiles. Before leaving for his tent, he glanced one last time at the towering woman and pushed aside from his mind the way in which her imposing figure was in perfect harmony with her tender gestures towards the mage.

Chapter Text

It was the second day spent in the valley. They were welcoming the good weather knowing it would not last once the road would get them back in the mountains. It came as a surprise to everyone finding this peaceful place protected by the mountains themselves. Unfortunately, the higher they had to go, the more they felt the loss of comfort. They needed supplies for the ascent. Some of the scouts had returned successful from hunting but they needed more blankets, steel, ropes. One of Leliana’s crows had returned with news from the scouts sent to investigate the surroundings. There was a village up ahead but they were instructed to tread carefully. The message had been short and mentioned that they would understand better once they got there.

The Herald, as always, was in the group ahead of them. With each day she was recovering at an alarming speed. People chose to see it as a sign that she was protected by Andraste herself, but Cullen chose to swim in unsettling skepticism. No magic that he was aware of could heal like this. And everyone seemed not to notice how her arms would still tremble at times; how she would stop repeatedly to change her bindings and discard the shirts tainted by blood. No one seemed to notice that she was not healing but becoming more immune to the pain. He wished he could push it to the back of his mind, dismiss it, but it felt too strange.

Since morning the convoy had not stopped once for a break. The path was getting rockier but there were clear signs of activity in the area. The sky was not clear and they feared rain would soon follow. 

There was a bit of a commotion ahead and Cullen hastened his steps. As he reached the first line he addressed one of the soldiers.

“Report.”

His eyes glanced at the herald who had stepped outside of the path, past some lone trees and was staring ahead, at the horizon. The mage from Tevinter followed her and they exchanged words.

“There’s fire up ahead, Sir.”

He wished he could have a confirmation but he lacked the eyesight of the scouts that had brought it to attention. 

“Source?”

“Not sure…” the man had as little information as he did. Apparently they were still too far to make an assumption.

“Not big. Haystack? Some old trees? The smoke is black but doesn’t seem threatening in size. Judging by the path, we will probably get close.” One of the scouts turned to them.

He frowned.

“Could someone be in danger?”

The men looked at each other.

“We can only say for sure once we reach it.”

“Then let’s not waste more time.”

Both stood straight and the signal was sent to everyone around.

As they went by, the Trevelyan noble and her companion moved as well, joining them back on the path.

He ensured that at least the first group quickened the pace. If there was trouble up ahead it was better to be dealt with before more could follow. Soon the smoke became visible to everyone and the closer they got, the more they could feel the bad omen.

Suddenly he felt the woman's footfalls becoming heavier as a swear escaped her lips. The mage let a sigh.

Before anything could be said the source of the smoke came in their line of sight. His jaw clenched as he took in the burning house, ahead, to the left of the path.

The woman pushed forward. She hooked her hand momentarily around the mage’s arm and he followed before Cullen could protest. He ordered his men to make a run for it and see if there was anyone caught inside. As his own legs covered the ground with haste he felt his guts twist. His worst fears became reality as the stench of burning flesh reached him. The woman came to a stop close to the incinerated corpses on the road, near the house. She stepped between them momentarily. The fire was almost gone and most of the house was now a smoldering deathtrap. She looked around for an entrance or a safe passage. Making her way around the house she was able to get a glimpse of what was inside and her struggle stopped. She took a step back and shook her head, a scornful expression on her face. She had given up and looked at the mage on the other side.

The message was sent.

“It’s always the same.” He heard the man hiss. “Here, in the Hinterlands. It’s all you see and smell. When will these people have enough? They don’t even need demons falling from the sky, they are doing a good job of killing each other just fine.”

The woman stepped aside through the soldiers, letting them figure out a way in.

Rylen had caught up with them. He approached Cullen, his eyes going from the soldiers smashing the door to the corpses by the house. With reluctance he glanced his way and a silent understanding was exchanged. The dead wore the Order’s insignia on their armor; rogue Templars.

When the door was removed one of the soldiers suddenly spun and covered his mouth and nose with his hand. The men in the doorway looked away in disgust.

“Maker’s breath, the smell…”

“Commander, there’s nothing alive left inside. Must we continue?”

He frowned at their reactions, but it was Rylen who interjected first.

“Pull yourself together, man. It’s not the first nor the last time you’ll have to witness death.”

They all froze when the woman approached them and stepped inside, past the scorched threshold. 

“I hope you will not mind if I wait for you out here.” The mage yelled after her.

*

Rylen rolled his eyes and followed. The sight inside was hard to digest. He had to pull the scarf up both to keep the smell out and to protect from the ashes. There were signs of a struggle. Two corpses were close to a boarded up window, near the desk. A metallic staff was discarded nearby…Mages he thought. Two other bodies were in the far side of the wide room, crouched in a corner: a man and a woman judging by what was left of them. They had died holding onto each other. Poor bastards must have spent their last moments in fear.

The woman turned around and approached the table. There was an open book, almost completely burnt. The pages turned to ashes as she flipped through them with her gloved hand. She covered her mouth with her arm and looked at the two corpses nearby before stepping over a fallen beam.

“These mages must have run inside to hide from the Templars. They locked themselves in and took with them the people living here.”

Rylen glanced back at the two figures in the corner, fire still burning on their remains, now renewed by the air passing through the opened door.

“Monsters! Couldn’t they just off each other and be done with it? What sort of mad man must you be to take innocent lives with you?”

The woman said nothing and refused to meet his eyes. She pulled the remains of a lid from a barrel.

“There are some grains in here; some sacks look intact. Maybe your men can find something else still useful around here.”

Rylen glared at the Trevelyan and while she must have felt it, she didn’t seem bothered by his judging eyes.

“The dead won’t need any of it anyway.”

The fact that she was right didn’t make it feel less disrespectful. But he could see her reasoning. He gestured to two of the men to step inside and look for anything that could be salvaged. The woman went further into the back of the room. When she approached the two corpses to loot them he had to look away. He didn’t know if he should admire her guts or be concerned by her lack of compassion.

After satisfying her curiosity she stepped away but her eyes kept following the ground. Something caught her attention and she stopped near the burnt down bed. She bent to pick up the remains of a rugged doll. Her fingers plunged through the damaged material and her whole body tensed. He caught sight of her almost reluctantly bending her body further until her eyes could pierce through the darkness of the space of what was still left of the bed.

This got his full attention and he turned to her with a frown.

“Found anything back there?”

When there was no reaction he considered making his way to the woman, but her body instantly responded to his movement and she got herself up slowly.

“No, nothing.” As if wanting to dissuade him from advancing, the woman threw whatever she had in her hand on a still smoldering fire and made her way back to him.

“Are we done?”

“Yes.”

She moved past him, not minding brushing against his body. But Rylen had not been born yesterday and he had good eyes. He glanced at the remnants of a burning rocking horse. He had noticed it a while ago, after stepping inside the house. His eyes went back to the bed and the place where the woman had stood – it made him storm out of the house. He considered letting Cullen know of what had happened, but what was the point? The man was focused on doing his job and keeping everyone in line as more of their people were approaching the scene. He could not bother him with things that would only upset him more. He knew he would care and anything he could not fix would weigh on his conscience. So he put the thought away, doing his part and nothing more.

They made sure the fire would not spread.

Eventually, as they were back on the road he decided on admiration; she had stepped in when nobody would; she had approached the dead when they preferred to look away; she spared his eyes the same way he had spared Cullen’s mind.

His commander was walking not far from the woman, and Rylen considered the contrast they made. The man wore his feelings on his sleeve, with everyone capable of reading him for who he was. The woman would not flinch, she would not give away any of her thoughts. And for all he cared, some stones were better left unturned.

*

Unfortunately, that proved to be only the first bad sign for the day. As they were approaching the village the sight that the path was offering was getting worse. By one of the old lamp posts, there was the body of a lifeless woman, hanged by the wooden hook.

Mother Giselle stopped to whisper a prayer. There was a notice around her neck, put on a piece of rope. They were starting to understand the warning in the scouts' message.

“It's gruesome what people can do to justify their anger and present it as justice.”

“Killing someone for that? Chances are she was stealing a piece of bread.”

“When alienated from civilization we tend to lose sight of what is right and wrong. These villagers are probably living after their own set of rules.”

The commander instructed some soldiers who had stopped to keep moving.

“I would like to avoid getting everyone to this… village.”

Leliana had made her way ahead and joined them.

“We have one of the scouts waiting up ahead at a crossroads. We can decide there.”

It was not long until they spotted another body by the side of the road. This was not just punishment. This was a warning. It was a young man, completely naked, his face covered by a similar notice pinned with a rusty knife to his forehead; Sodomy was badly scrawled on the blood-tainted paper.

Most of the people chose to look away. Some stared openly in shock and repulsion. Nobody wanted to talk about it but everyone was agitated.

“Could this world feel less fucked up?” Rylen watched the Sisters citing from the Chant. Like every other witness to this, he probably knew it was all that they could do but he could not see the purpose.

The herald came to a stop in front of the body and looked up, at the defamed corpse. Mother Giselle approached the woman.

“We are imperfect children.” If she was waiting for an answer, the woman denied her the conversation. “I know what you are thinking, but we should not temper with their ways. If you want to change things you must be wise; you must know patience until you are powerful enough not only to change rules, but to make them last.” She wanted to step away. “Come, there is nothing we can do for them; let the Maker receive them by His side.”

But as if challenged, determination hardened the woman's expression and in one step she was by the short fence. She got herself up on the wooden beam and reached for the knife, pulling it out and discarding the paper on the ground. She gripped the rope from above and forced the rusty blade against it until it cut through. She dropped the knife to catch the body with both arms and lifting it over her shoulder the woman jumped over the fence. All that everyone could do was stare at her as she put the dead man on the ground and reached for one of the pockets of her belt. She took out a small vial and spilled the contents over the body. With a match lit up against the edge of her blade holster she took a few steps backwards. When the match hit the body it was instantly swallowed by flames. After a while she stepped away and threw her legs over the fence to join the people on the road. She stopped shortly in front of the Revered Mother, staring right into her eyes, daring her to say something or to voice her disapproval at her actions. She was just waiting for a reason to attack. When the Chantry Mother simply smiled politely and avoided her eyes the woman stepped away confidently. Her jaw clenched in suppressed anger, but when she reached the Tevinter mage all that was needed was a gentle smile on his part and they both fell into a relaxed pace, side by side. He'd turn his head slightly for brief moments to glance at the woman and his smile would gain more confidence. She did not look back at him, but her tension was slowly melting away.

It did not take them long to reach the crossroads that Sister Nightingale mentioned. And, true to her words, one of the Inquisition's scouts was waiting for them. No one protested to the idea of splitting the convoy. Most of them would go ahead and find a place to set up camp and prepare for the heavy climb. Cullen was to take a small force with him and advance to the village for supplies. Mother Giselle offered to go with them. The presence of the Chantry could make the villagers pay less attention to the weapons they were carrying. An armed force was not always the most reassuring sight.

*

The Herald had tagged along, keeping to the sides with one of the scouts. The village was not much. A few scattered houses, typical for a settlement not far from the mountain tops. They split up, checking with the leatherworker and looking for villagers with whom they could trade for some food supplies. The smith seemed to have the workshop on one side of the tavern. People were not disturbed by their presence but they were curious at the heraldry they were displaying. What caught their attention was that they were not the only group of travelers. There were a few men around the square ― they were wearing armor and were not shy about exposing their weapons. The men were sizing them up and whispering occasionally. For the moment they looked as if they wanted nothing but to keep their distance. That alone, however, was not enough for Cullen to let his guard down. He had a bad feeling about the village and he preferred keeping his eyes open while staying prepared for anything.

“Might want to check the tavern. In small villages, if they don’t have local shops, they keep goods for trading inside the taverns.” His thoughts were interrupted by the Trevelyan's voice as she stopped nearby. He turned from her to exchange a look with his second-in-command.

“Usually the innkeeper is also one rotten bastard because he takes a good cut from the profit …” She continued while glancing at the two men “… but I guess that's no concern of ours.” The woman looked away as if they had offended her.  

“Well commander…?”

“Go have a look.” He nodded towards Rylen.

The Herald was already ahead. When the man was about to follow, Cullen felt the need to voice his concern.

“And Rylen… don't start anything. Check for rope, tools and anything that might come in handy. We want to be leave this place as fast as possible and catch up with the rest.”

*

“At your orders.”

He meant every word but his voice was clearly biting down on a joke. He turned around and matched the woman's steps. The tavern was at the front of a bigger house, with one level above. Probably the innkeeper was living in the rooms behind while some above were used for travelers. In the back of the house there must have been stables and the barns. It was by far the largest construction in the village, seeing as most of the houses were made of adobe and wood, with no more than one or two rooms. They passed by an improvised pigsty on their way to the entrance. The blacksmith's shop was on the side of the building, a kiln that hadn't seen use in a while, some tools hanging on chains and a sawbench just outside. Rylen went closer but there was no one around. He approached the table and reached for the round, jagged blade and pushed it. A system of sheaves and weights under the table kept the blade spinning.

“Smart mechanism.”

She said nothing but waited for him at the entrance. Once he got there, the woman pushed the door open, stepped in and he followed. For a short time they remained there, taking in the sight. Not a lot of people, inside; some of their agents were already there, easy to miss in the poorly lit hall. There was only one visible, and rather boisterous, group at one of the tables. They were definitely some of the travelers they had seen outside. Their attires and weapons screamed mercenaries and he could have sworn he felt the woman roll her eyes at their luck. One of them looked dangerous in particular ― tall, broad figure, and half of his face was covered in scars. Rylen had to wonder how the man fit through the door.

“Well… they don't seem to be locals.” He let out a low whistle, not wanting to attract any attention.

The corner of her mouth went up as she stole a glance his way.

“Why? Were you planning on asking for directions?”

“No, no. I'm good. I'm the less talking, more action sort of guy anyway.”

Her plump lips lined in a wicked smile as she slipped behind him to have a look around the place.

“My, isn't that a coincidence? Just the way I like them.”

Her deep whisper made him shake his head and breathe out a laugh. He got himself busy searching for what they could take along for the road. His best intentions were to keep himself preoccupied and at a distance. For the most part he managed to stay focused and cover for most of the requirements. The door of the tavern was open, letting more light in as soldiers from their side were coming and going. The mercenaries didn't look happy but at the sight of Mother Giselle and the Chantry Sisters she brought along, they decided to remain quiet. The innkeeper, on the other hand, seemed rather pleased by their stop. Not a lot of people would venture this far into the mountains to reach their remote village so any coin was well received. His eyebrows lined together and he grinned when he saw the Herald drying him up of information. She had her forearms pinned on the surface of the counter, her long legs crossed as she was standing with a mug in front of her and pointing at something behind the innkeeper with her head. The man left and disappeared in the storage room. Rylen had everything he needed. All in all, he was ready to go and report to Cullen and he could swear to the Maker that those had been his intentions when he started to move but he would have to come up with a good excuse as to why his feet had carried him to a spot next to the woman. Some people liked to gamble on small things like Wicked Grace; him? He liked to see how far he could bend rules without hearing them snap.

“What’s the word?” he leaned his hip against the counter and placed his elbow on the wooden surface.

She didn't look at him but continued to glance at various objects behind the bar.

“Apparently these mercenaries were taken in when the village started being attacked by demons.”

“Yeah, good thing they were around to offer their services.” He bit down on his sarcasm.

“We should just leave this place as fast as possible. I noticed them checking us out with the men they have outside. We are clearly not welcomed here.”

He turned fully around so as to keep their conversation private.

“They act as if they own the village.”

“At this point, maybe they actually do.”

“What if these people need help?”

“It was their choice. They let these guys in, they should deal with the consequences.”

“That's a rather harsh way of looking at things.”

“We've already lost enough people. Starting a fight now will not do anyone any good.”

Rylen remembered Cullen's words. No one liked what they saw in this village but they were both right. They were in no position to take matters into their own hands. He eyed the mug in front of her.

“Found time to get a drink?”

She glanced at him for the first time.

“You don't get much information out of a tavern unless you pay for something.”

“Hm.” He grabbed the mug and brought it to his nose.

For the longest time the woman just eyed him in silence. When he lowered the mug to his mouth she spoke again.

“I wouldn't drink that.”

But he had to satisfy his curiosity. He regretted it the moment he swallowed and coughed the rest back into the mug.

“Andraste's iron knickers! What is this piss?” His throat burned and the taste that was left in his mouth made him want to throw up.

“Could be just that; I was not curious enough to taste it myself.” She laughed at him and the man didn't want to know how he must have looked with that expression of pure disgust on his face. “It's never safe to drink what you are served in places like these unless you see with your own eyes where it came from. The man jerked off in these mugs for all that we know.”

He froze and glared at the woman. That only placed a generous grin on her lips.

“Thank you for that image. I think I am ready to vomit right now.”

She finally let a laughter and turned to him, leaning nonchalantly on only one elbow.

“It's not the worst thing I heard. At least you don't die of it.”

“Death by poison sounds more dignified at this point.”

She eyed him quietly and that alone was enough to make him suspicious. She brought her hand up to rest her chin on it, two of her fingers slipping over her plum lips and he swore it was no innocent gesture.

“Now I find that hard to believe. Never had someone sucking you dry and then kissing you with the same lips?”

His eyes grew wide and he needed a moment to actually grasp her words. He ended up with his mouth opened in half a laugh, half a cough. She looked straight into his eyes, no shame or coy avoidance and as shocking as he found her question he thought that her direct attitude deserved some healthy applause. He shook his head.

“Yeah, I'm not sure I am allowed to answer that. But that's a slightly different scenario.”

“If you think it's safer, you don't have to use words to satisfy my curiosity.”

“Andraste's ass, that would make a great story of how I could potentially lose my title.” His grin dropped as his eyes fell on something behind her.

The woman slightly turned only to be greeted by the sight of Mother Giselle, casually approaching them, a polite smile on her face, telling them everything that they needed to know. Rylen was starting to seriously wonder if her presence at the worst of moments was not, in fact, a divine sign that he should just mind his own business instead of playing with fire.

The Chantry Mother did not shy away from stating her disapproval.

“I must resemble a thorn in your plans and at the cost of irritating you even further, I would advise on a less frivolous attitude towards profane needs. Especially now, when so many are looking up to you for guidance, Lady Trevelyan.”

But as expected, she would have none of it.

“What does the Chantry have against these profane needs, Mother Giselle? Are you going to tell us now that Andraste never took a cock in her mouth?”

Rylen choked on his own air and had to turn around, to find support on the bar counter. The woman was unforgiving. If possible he thought he could hear the slap she threw at the Revered Mother. But the cleric simply sighed in defeat. The smile, even if just polite, still held some wisdom in spite of the masked insult.

“Your determination in testing my patience is remarkable but I think you'll need something other than small jabs. These ears have heard much more colorful indiscretions.”

When she answered, there was an unexpected lack of malicious, but simple humor.

“Good to hear. I will keep trying then.”

Mother Giselle shook her head dismissively and threw Rylen a self-explanatory glance before turning and leaving the tavern. A slender and shaky old man passed by her, almost tumbling inside.

The two turned and exchanged looks, neither of them in the mood to continue their previous discussion. They would have set for another topic if not for the commotion in the tavern. With discretion both looked over their shoulders at the set of tables occupied by the mercenaries. Just then one of the brutes shoved the man to the ground and he hit the empty chairs behind.

“Bloody bastards.” It was a simple curse that escaped Rylen's mouth.

“Fuck off, old man!” they laughed as the man was struggling to stand.

“Please… I just… need to see them…” from the floor, the poor man begged, his arms shaking and his eyes not lifting from the ground.

The woman probably sensed him tense up near her and just in time to stop him, she brought a hand up to his chest, blocking his move.

“Not our business.” She hissed, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

“Are you saying that we should just ignore this?”

“Look around. No one is doing anything. Everyone is avoiding the scene.”

And she had spoken the truth. The few villagers inside were averting their eyes or pretending that nothing was happening. They all knew; they were all aware and they were all involved.

“Whatever these people have gotten themselves into by hiring the mercenaries, they did this to themselves. We can't risk dragging our men in a pointless fight.”

The man frowned.

“This is not right.”

“Do you plan to take out the entire gang of mercenaries? Because this will not end well.”

He remained silent. As he eyed the mercenaries at the table he felt his blood boil in anger. The old man was begging at their feet and one of them kicked him away. He was brought back from his thoughts when something hit the counter next to them. The woman let her hand fall and Rylen turned to watch the innkeeper almost glaring at him from under his furrowed eyebrows.

“Are you lot going to pay for what you've taken?”

Rylen searched the woman and they both sensed it. Their interference was not welcomed.

“Sure. Name the price.”

The man nodded to the side, for him to follow at the end of the bar.

“Let me put everything on paper.”

He left the woman and wanted nothing more than to be done with this place. The sooner they would leave it, the better.

Rylen knew that the man was asking more than the value of what they took but he had no patience for bargaining. He gave what was asked for and looked at the noble.

“I'll be with you in a few.” He nodded at her words and left when the owner went back to the woman and pushed a small leather pouch on the counter. As the woman weighed the contents Rylen made his way out, not able to contain a growl when he passed by the mercenaries.

*

The woman took the pouch and shoved it in one of the pockets of her belt. She grabbed a sovereign and threw it on the wooden surface.

“And 50 silvers, woman. That was the deal.”

“The deal was for double the grams that you gave me. Don't push it, old man.”

He would have voiced his protest but as the tension from the tables was rising she read in his eyes the desire to have this new military force out of the village as soon as possible.

“I beg of you! I only want to see my daughters! To see that they are well. Please let me see them; they did not agree to any of this.” She heard the old man beg.

“Aren't you troubled by the mercenaries?”

“We all are. But our village got attacked by demons. No one else was willing to risk their lives for a small village. We're paying with the little we have.”

She eyed the man and he almost stepped back, wishing to put distance between them.

“I don't see you overwhelmed by your part of the payment.”

He sneered at her cold sarcasm.

“Mind your business traveler. Also, I hope you're gonna pay for the drink as well before leaving.”

She eyed the mug but her ears could not block the wailing and pleading coming from behind her. Her hand went back to the leather belt and she threw two more coppers before taking her leave. The man on the floor was a trembling mess and the burnt wood where his hands were scratching the surface of the floor did not escape her. His words were by now almost impossible to understand through his weak voice and desperate sobs.

“My daughters … they…. all I have… plea.. let me take them home.”

The mercenaries laughed then one on them spit on the ground.

The woman made it through the tables, eyes set on the opened door of the tavern.

The seated mercenary went for his mug and she felt his lecherous gaze move over her shapes as she made her way to the exit.

When she was near them he tilted his head to have a better view but in an instant everything went black and he seized up in pain. He was too shocked to yell; all he could do was stare with horrified eyes at the knife that had gone through his hand, pinning it to the wooden table.

The tall figure towered over him and slowly leaned in, a pair of golden eyes glaring down on him.

“The old man was talking to you.”

The hand she had on the handle turned and the knife twisted through his flesh. The pain washed over him and for the first time he gave in and a throaty scream left his mouth.

*

Cullen saw Rylen trotting to their men and helping them with the supplies. He frowned and knew that something was wrong. His second-in-command eventually approached him after some of the tension had left him.

“What is it Rylen?”

“This whole place is wrong.”

“That much I noticed. While you were inside we had some… divergences with the men outside. It seems they are hired mercenaries.”

“Yeah, that much we found out as well.” He didn't like the dark tone of the man. “We're ready to go, commander.”

“Did something happen?”

He paused and Cullen realized that was not a good sign.

“Nothing happened.” Which was probably why he was still angry, but he knew better than to involve the commander into the mess as well. The man furrowed his eyebrows and glanced past him, at the tavern.

“Where is Trevelyan?”

At that Rylen understood his sudden worry.

“Oh, she'll be here as well. She was right behind me.” He allowed himself a short laugh. “You know, all things considered, you might not be giving her enough credit. She's not as bad at following orders as you'd think.”

His words died when a piercing yell reached their ears. It was followed by a couple of sounds coming from the tavern, as if things were being thrown around. Both men froze and before any of them had the chance to say anything a body flew through the open door, landing in the mud, meters in front of the building.

Rylen's blood froze when he recognized the man as one of the mercenaries at the table. Unfortunately, his friends from outside the tavern recognized him as well and went into full alert.

The man stumbled in the dirt and tried to pick himself up. He threw his arm up, his shaking hand covered in blood.

“Get the fucking bitch! I want her head!”

From that moment neither needed any explanation as they both rushed towards the tavern. In a matter of moments a huge brute burst outside, the body of the woman crushed in his arms, feet up, kicking and struggling in hopes of freeing herself.

Cullen went for his sword and watched terrified as the wounded man got himself up and gripped a knife from his belt.

He cursed when a mercenary blocked his way. He glanced at Rylen who had already thrown one of his attackers to the ground with a well-placed helmet and was blocking a new attack.

The woman let out a growl as the arms around her tightened their grip. Cullen blocked the incoming sword with his left gauntlet and hit the man with the pommel of his own weapon. His eyes skipped back to the woman and he felt powerless. Maker, if anything would happen to her ….

The man was right in front of her.

“Hold her still. This cunt is mine!”

That’s when her struggle stopped. Her legs went high up. She hit the knife out of his hand and kicked his jaw. When he was about to stumble backwards she threw her legs past his shoulders and pulled the man until his neck was caught between her thighs. Her legs circled around his shoulders and the thighs tensed. With one powerful thrust, a cracking noise was heard and the man fell lifeless to the ground, his neck broken.

In the surprise of the moment, the grip on her loosened and she hit the man holding her with the back of her head. Her right arm twisted up and she fought for a grip on his face, her gloved fingers finding his eye and reaching in his eye socket. In pain the man dropped her and stepped back. It was enough for her to grab the knife from the dead mercenary and be back on her feet, elbowing one attacker and stabbing another in the armpit.

Cullen made his way through his own problems, focused on closing in on the woman. His men had long joined in the fight, trying to keep the villagers away from the bloodshed.

Through the bodies he had to push to the ground his eyes kept searching for the woman, not daring to think of the consequences if this fight was to end badly for them. She was fighting with fury but her moves were curt and unbalanced. She was not ready for a fight. Not in her condition; and the way in which her body was moving was showing it. That did not make her any less efficient in ending those that would launch at her.

He had no time to warn her. The moment he saw the brute back and steady for another attack a shield bashed against his back and he had to stand his ground. The mercenary had hoped to throw him off his feet but he turned and blocked the blade just in time. He did not have a shield with him; he was not prepared for this.

Through the hits he caught sight of the tall man hitting the woman on her left side, going for the ribs. He cursed when he saw her body lurch in pain and knew it was not the hit itself that had caused it but the damage she had taken throughout the past week. He must have hit her broken ribs.

The brute wasted not a moment and grabbed her by the hair. The woman was not expecting the contact and when she was pulled backwards she was thrown off balance. He pulled forcefully until she stumbled and started dragging her towards the blacksmith’s atelier.  She had lost the knife in the fight and was desperately trying to grasp at his arm with both her hands. The man was a mountain and her gloved fingers were slipping against his wrist.

Cullen watched horrified between blows as the huge mercenary stopped by the sawbench and started rotating the wheels of the mechanism, setting the weights into motion for the blade to spin at a proper velocity. 

“Maker!” he hissed as his sword plunged through the thin armor of a mercenary in front of him. “Rylen, push our men towards the Herald!”

The man was as terrified as his superior and he wished he could follow the order. But the men were already fighting their way through the mercenaries. He charged through them in hopes of giving aid ahead so that one of the agents could run to help her.

*

The saw was spinning at a maddening pace as the woman tried to kick her way up. But the man was shoving her to the ground and she hit her back against the bench. She coughed for air and when she felt the pull on her scalp her hands ceased to fight the grip away. They darted at her belt looking for weapons that were not there. She tried to catch sight of the brute’s belt and tensed. At the right moment she thrust past the pain for the knife at his back and plunged it into the back of his knee. The man let out a sharp yell but didn’t let go of her hair until she forced the blade out through the side, cutting his muscle. The mercenary looked for support on the bench and that was all she needed to get back on her feet. She pinned the knife into his shoulder to have him bend forward on his own. The moment she could tower over him she grabbed the man by the back of his head and started pushing his face dangerously close to the spinning blade.

“Where are the girls?”

The mercenary gargled on his own spit, in pain as he was still attempting to push the woman off him. He panicked when suddenly her hand weighed like a maul at the back of his head making him feel as if it could get crushed under the force.

“Where. are. the. girls?”

Her cold hiss sent chills down his spine.

Somewhere in the back he registered a man’s voice, shouting after the woman.

“In the barn. Back in the innkeeper’s barn. The keys are on Iacopo’s body.”

The sound of the fight was dying somewhere behind them and he waited for the weight to disappear.

“Herald, are you alright?”

But the hand pushed further, with inhuman strength and the atrocious yell of pain died as blood splattered over her face and clothes.

The soldiers behind them stood petrified and watched as the blade spun through the man’s face until it stopped, stuck in his skull.

Moments passed before the woman moved again, stepping away from the body.

Her head was down and her steps were fumbling.

When the fighting died, the Inquisition soldiers cornered and disarmed the last of the standing mercenaries.

Cullen approached her cautiously, not sure how to react. The woman in front of him had a haunted look and he was unsure of how she was going to react if he were to reach out for her.

He sheathed his sword and glanced at the scene around them. Mother Giselle together with the few sisters that she had brought along were already guiding civilians away from the ordeal with calming gestures and reassuring words.

A withered man came stumbling out of the tavern, half on his keens, launching at the body of one of the dead mercenaries, his shaking hands digging through the armor and clothes.

The sight brought the woman back as her eyes followed the man’s movement. But past the blood on her face, she wore no expression.

“Are you alright?” He muttered but it was such a ridiculous question. She looked the furthest from being alright. And yet, Cullen couldn’t understand if he was concerned for her or for everyone else around the woman.

It was at that time the innkeeper decided to speak, now in the doorframe, under the impulse of safety once the fighting had stopped.

“What have you done?!” the yell was dressed in both desperation and anger. “You monsters! Do you even have any idea what you’ve done! Everything we gave up – for nothing!”

It had been a mistake. Cullen sensed it before he actually registered the woman hurtling at the man like a rabid animal. He hit the wall instantly and so forcefully that the wooden door shook.

“And what did you give up, you parasite? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t cut your fucking throat.”

She dug her fingers deep into his throat and kept him pinned to the wall with her body.

“Enough!”

Cullen heard his own voice roaring with an authority he did not think himself capable of and wondered if he was justified in yelling at the woman. But by the Maker, was there any other way to make her see reason?

“Enough.” he continued in a lowered voice as he approached them. “Release the man now. These people have witnessed enough violence.”

Trevelyan didn’t follow his orders but to her credit she did not act on her threats either. It occurred to him to simply be honest with her. To simply tell her there were other options. He couldn’t claim to know what was happening entirely but he had seen and heard enough to understand and assume the worst of things.

“He’ll answer for whatever he’s done. Everyone who did will. I promise.” The word Herald almost slipped his tongue but he caught it before it made things worse.

Wanting to react according to his title, he did not breathe out in relief when the woman unclenched her hand and stepped away from the frightened man. He looked ready to make a run for it when Cullen placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, sending the message loud and clear. Until things were sorted out, the Inquisition was responsible for the outcome of this situation and he was more than keen on keeping his promise.

With the innkeeper silenced he looked for her eyes. For a moment he thought the frown softened as her attention returned to the desperate man on the ground, pulling at a chain of keys, trying to stand up and failing under his trembling legs.

Her rage was replaced by pity and Cullen was not fond of any of those expressions on her face.

She stepped closer to the old man, forcing him to look up.

“Give me the keys.”

There was hesitation as his fingers clenched tighter around them. “Come on old man, don't be stupid. There's nothing that you want to see there. Give. me. the keys.”

With a sigh that convulsed his entire body he extended both arms and Cullen came to help him up. As if it would have stopped her at all, the woman glanced at him for approval and he wondered if she really meant it or if she was just daring him to say no.

Instead he nodded curtly and turned to assess the situation. He wanted to join her but the clerics and their soldiers were already waiting expectantly for his instructions.

“Rylen, go with her. I don't want any more surprises.”

*

“Don’t have to say it twice, commander.”

He jogged right after the woman, reaching her not long after she had unlocked the heavy doors of the barn.

When he stepped inside he had to let his eyes adjust to the darkness and held his breath at the foul odor of horse shit and humid air. The animals became agitated at their presence.

The woman in front of him looked around until her eyes fell on the ladder leading to the attic. Noise came from upstairs and she lost not a moment crossing the remaining space as she hurled her body on the wooden ladder. He watched her flinch when she pulled herself up, clearly in pain over the aggravated wounds.

Once up, she took a moment and he waited patiently near the ladder.

“They are here.”

It was the sign he needed before following her. Rylen heard her whispered voice, waving between comforting words and calming hushes.

“It's alright. It's going to be alright. You're going back home.”

The man made it up just in time to hear the sound of chains rattling, discarded on the floor. He was about to step off when something... someone startled and pulled further into the pile of hay.

“Stay back, Rylen.” Were the only words addressed to him and he couldn't move even if he wanted to. In a split second, as his eyes adjusted to the shadows, he felt his blood run cold and rage paint everything in red.

He caught sight of two thin figures, two girls, their bodies barely covered by tattered tunics stained in dirt and blood, chains around their feet, like animals, holding onto each other like they were holding onto life. They couldn't be older than their sixteenth Andoralis.

He thought he heard his teeth grind.

“You're safe now. We're getting you back to your father.”

The woman's voice held no compassion or warmth but it radiated such reassurance and honesty that somehow it felt like if she were to promise to stop time then and there it would truly happen. So it came as no surprise when one of the girls latched onto her neck, looking for support to get up.

“The man over there will help you down the ladder, if you want to. If you don’t want him to touch you I promise you he won’t. Not even glance your way, if that’s what you need.”

His heart clenched and there was a lump in his throat. If those men weren't already dead he would have gladly finished the job.

The girl crawled towards him but then turned.

“My sister. She's ill and her leg is damaged.”

“We'll help her out.” He glanced at the woman wrapping a rough blanket around the girl - one previously used to keep the horses warm probably.

Rylen stepped aside to let the girl find her way down the ladder. He wanted to hold her, keep her steady but his hands were shaking and he kept his distance, only ready to catch her if she was going to fall. He felt a wave of relief when her bare feet touched the cold ground on their own.

“Can you stand?”

A small nod, hands gripping the ladder for support, and in the light coming through the open doors he saw her pale arms covered in bruises and the mud stuck in her unkempt hair. The man stood just a second longer taking in her damaged body before he went back up the ladder.

When he reached the attic again the woman was at the edge, waiting with the girl almost limp in her arms.

When he secured her to his chest with just one arm he panicked at how weightless she was.
But right before he could set his legs in motion something caught his eyes past the woman, on the other side of the attic.

“Is there someone e-...' He couldn’t finish his sentence when he caught the herald's eyes. She glanced behind, over her shoulder and just shook her head in response.

“Go. I'll follow shortly.” She got up and made her way into the back. Before he stepped down he took one last glance at the Trevelyan noble as she grabbed the remainder of a sheet to cover the corpse with it.

Not a moment too soon the ground appeared under his feet as nausea swept over him and the insides of his stomach turned. Humans didn't need demons and abominations to turn into monsters.

He held the girl in his arm as gently and steadily as he could and started making his way towards the doors. A few seconds later he felt two shy hands wrap around his arm and was surprised to find the other girl lean on him for support, but when he looked at her she was too preoccupied searching for the light coming from outside. He slowed his pace to match the girl's and gave her all the time she needed to adjust, wondering for how long they had been held between the walls of that barn.

As they reached the others it took their father just a moment to recognize them and run as best he could their way.

“Papa!”

The raspy yell that escaped the girl broke something inside of him. It didn’t bother him at all to almost hold the weight of all three of them as they laced into urgent embraces, between half muttered words, tears, hiccups and wailing cries.
He was no fool to deny what he was feeling and he couldn't care less when his own vision blurred and he held a sob in his throat.

“Mary? Where is Mary?”

“Oh pa! She - they wouldn’t stop. She didn't let them. Pa! They-”

But the man shushed her, not wanting the girl to have to say it or sparing his own ears from the painful words.

“You're safe! You're here. I am so sorry. Please forgive me for being so weak. You deserved a better father that could protect you. Not a coward.”

But his words died as the girls threw their arms around him.

Rylen averted his eyes and wished he could say something, something meaningful and helpful. But even if he had had the words he doubted his voice wouldn't have betrayed him. And what could he even say? That things would be alright? How could things ever be ok for the likes of them? Maybe the nightmare was over now but...

He caught Cullen's eyes and he did not blame him for the rage he found there. Had his arms not been holding the poor family he would have asked permission to kill each and every mercenary that was still breathing.

Instead he stepped aside, helping the girls and their father into the more capable arms of the Chantry’s sisters.

It was then that he caught sight of the woman marching back towards them. All it took was the sight of the innkeeper still in the Inquisition's hands to reignite the fire in her eyes.

Everyone knew what was happening behind those doors. Especially the man.

He should have made an attempt to stop her. It would have been what Cullen would have ordered him to do, if he had had the time to. But he didn't look at his commander and he didn't move a muscle as the woman stormed towards the man.

“No! Stop her! Don't let her touch me. I didn't do anything to the girls. I didn't touch them.”

Rylen watched as Cullen tried to keep control over the situation by stepping in front of her but everything that followed happened too fast and he only understood it after the terrified yell of a woman in the crowd pierced the sky.

*

“Stand down! That's an order!” But as Cullen stepped in front of her the woman perceived him only as an obstacle and with one raised elbow she hit him in the jaw sending him stumbling back in both pain and shock.

All too fast her left hand was on the man's throat. The mark was growing brighter as her fingers dug like iron claws and a moment later she was pulling with an inhuman strength that made the gesture seem as easy as pulling a bad weed out of the ground - her fist full of blood pulled the muscle of his tongue until his scream died and the body of the man skidded forward to the ground.

The world stood still with the exception of the spasming body on the ground. It was the yell from the crowd that woke everyone from the numbing scene and yet the woman stood still, her chest falling and rising with heavy breathing and Cullen found that he could not move; could not speak, petrified by the frenzy in her astonishing eyes.

In time her breathing got steadier and the muscles of her body started to relax. He waited; it was nerve-wracking watching the woman regain control from the peak of her fury. When she finally came back to her senses she dragged her legs towards the pigsty. There she stood, glancing down at the animals before discarding the man's organ over the fence.

Sidestepping she continued to look with empty eyes at the last struggles of the man. Someone moved from the crowd with the intent of getting closer when her low, dangerous voice was heard again.

“Anyone trying to help that bastard will end by its side.”

Those were her final words before she stepped away with the intent of leaving the area.
And no one stopped her. More so, the moment she walked towards the road the crowd parted in awe, in fear, cowering away as if she was the embodiment of plague.

Halfway through the path of people she paused and glanced up, searching their faces, taking in the way they were looking at her. She turned around as if wishing to memorize each and every one of them; as if she wanted to object to the accusations in their eyes.

Covered in blood and dirt the woman looked like a fury. She was a monster in the eyes of many. She looked ready to defend herself but instead her eyes hardened and she became their judge; of the cowards and the unworthy.

And with that she walked away, not ever looking back, down the road that led out of the village, until her silhouette was gone, leaving them to deal with the damage.

Cullen should have stopped her, sent people after her; he should have done anything but let the Herald out of sight. Instead he let her go, either for her own good or for the peace of the many.

The taste of metal reached his lips and when he brought his hand up he hissed in pain, for the first time acknowledging the hit he had taken. He stared down at the blood on his glove and wondered if he'd have to deal with the consequences of a broken nose as well. But when he met Mother Giselle's eyes he knew that that was the least of his concerns.

***

He kept his eyes up, scouting through the night as if it would give him an answer, as if it would at last spew her out so that his conscience could be put to rest.

Stepping out of the tent left him prey to the icy wind of the night. It pierced through his skin and the only good thing about it was that it was numbing the pain from his face. His hand went instinctively up, to the bridge of his nose and he hissed. It was an absent-minded gesture; something to remind him of his own thick-headedness. It hadn’t helped that when the hit came he had managed to bite his tongue like an idiot. But he had not seen it coming; he had not predicted it - he probably deserved it for underestimating the woman and her rage-fueled actions. Cullen should have known better; it was not like he had not witnessed the dangerous signs again and again. Couldn’t the woman just be fucking constant in how she acted? One moment she’s a savior, the second one she’s a firebrand. He wanted to build up his rage but it only got him as far as stopping in his tracks and releasing a heavy sigh. His eyes scrutinized the darkness, towards the edges of their camp –

- she was still missing.

She had not returned to the convoy of the Inquisition as he had believed she would. After the events of that day had been shared with the inner circle the decision had been made to keep moving forward towards a camping place for the night in spite of his vote against it. Leliana told him through tight lips and narrowed eyes that the Trevelyan will have to find them. Josephine was worried but did not oppose much and Cassandra at least had the decency to display disapproval against the decision even though she eventually agreed it was the right thing to do. It wasn’t worry that was holding him back but the feeling that it was an irrational choice. In part he felt it was his responsibility; he was the one that had let her walk away; it was his mistake.

After receiving a report on their current situation and planning the hold for the night he was instructed to take a rest. He was well aware that everything was under control and still, he found himself checking on the men on guard at that hour, maybe even as a distraction.

“Commander.”

“At ease.” He joined the soldiers standing in the snow, neither in the dark, nor in the light of the fires of their encampment. “Everything alright?”

“Yes, Sir. Scouts have reported wolves around the area but so far none have attempted to approach. It should be a quiet night, regardless.”

With a nod he acknowledged the news but he doubted it was a gesture visible enough to the soldier. He let his sight linger on the path they had made up to the place. It was too cold a night for snow to fall, so their tracks would remain visible.

“Any news on the Herald?”

“None so far, Sir.”

"Are you afraid she’s not coming back?” the apostate had casually asked him earlier that evening, while hunched over a table with herbs. He had not answered pretending to be too caught up in surveying the work of his men installing the tents. He knew he wasn’t fooling the elf but nevertheless he spared him the awkward conversation. “By now you should have figured she’s dedicated herself to the cause by her own reasons, personal or not. She doesn’t need the Inquisition’s eye towering over her at every step. Showing doubt only speaks ill of you, Commander.” His words made Cullen wonder if he truly doubted she would be walking away from them. He found himself surprised both by the thought itself and by the fact that he had not questioned her intentions at any point. Maybe he should have. But how could you harbour doubts about someone’s intentions after they face death for their cause? The memory of Haven made his jaw tense. It felt like hitting too close for comfort.

When he brought up the idea of organizing a search party only to have it debated and declined by Cassandra’s confidence in the woman’s ability to find them, it only made things worse for Cullen as he conveyed his frustration into diligently attributing tasks to the soldiers.

“She needs time.” Her Tevinter friend had breathed as he stepped next to him. He had been present at his quarrel with the rest, eager to see the outcome. “I would be the first one going out there after her if I would think differently – and that says a lot considering I’ve had enough of this damned weather. But if she isn’t here yet it’s because she’s not ready. I’m… glad I was not there, as dear as she is to me.” The pensive look on the man’s face was replaced by his typical jovial expression as he prepared his exit. “You can scold her all you want, or do whatever it is that you do under the authority of your title once she’s back. Maybe it’s for the best to have that conversation when both of you have a clear head, but I guess that’s a lesson you already learnt.” The mage didn’t bother to hide his grin as he pointed at his nose.

“Go get some sleep, Commander.” had been Josephine’s words, bathed in concern, before he had stepped outside the tent. She presumed he felt at fault for the Herald’s absence. He wished he could say he wasn’t, but it was the truth; it was his fault. What they couldn’t understand, however, was that it was twice he had made the same mistake; something he had promised to never repeat after leaving her behind at Haven. And yet…

At the very least, out here, this late, he had the silence needed for his own thoughts to find their place.

“Still on duty, Curly?”

Of course he was in the wrong. He frowned at the voice and, almost defeated, he turned knowing who was approaching him.

“Varric.” His stoic tone carried to the man. We watched him stop by his side, nod and then just... stand there, looking up ahead.

“It's not exactly the type of night you'd pick for an evening stroll.” He kept his eyes on the writer.

“No, it's not. But while most of us are already retreating to our tents or gathering around the fires, you're pacing the edges of the camp as if you're a mere recruit that drew the short straw on taking the watch.”

“Is this what I look like?”

“No, not really.” The man cleared his voice with just a tint of amusement to hide what could have otherwise passed as compassion. “You look like a caged animal, trapped inside the camp ready to make a run for it at any time.” The frown on his face deepened and the dwarf took a step closer so he could continue in a lower voice. “And you're making your men uncomfortable. Ruffles put effort into assuring everyone that there's no need to be concerned over Trevelyan's absence and you are not helping her case.”

Cullen wanted to retort but in all honesty he was just tired of people giving him their pieces of mind on the matter throughout the evening.

So he huffed his annoyance away, rested his hand on the hilt of the sword and focused on the furthest point he could perceive through the night.

“Thank you for your opinion.”

“Eh, that's not why I'm here. Just thought that since you'll be stubborn enough to stay awake until there's word of her, something to keep your throat warm might help.”

Then the man extended the tin mug he was holding and the smell of mulled wine reached him.

“I'm good.” he politely declined.

“ ‘Course you are. Now grab the damn thing before my hand falls off from the cold.”

It took a moment longer before Cullen accepted the mug and even if he wasn't going to admit it, he was already appreciating the warmth of the metal through his glove. His throat went dry before he could cautiously bring the mug to his lips.

“Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.”

The silence they shared while staring ahead was awkward to say the least. The dwarf did not make an attempt to leave after handing over his offering and Cullen wasn't really in the mood for company. Between sips he was hoping the man would retreat but he was nonchalantly standing there, hands under his armpits, occasionally hitting his boot against the snowy ground.

Eventually Cullen admitted defeat.

“Whatever you have to say, just be out with it, Varric.”

“Me? No, I'm good.”

That made him finally glance down at the dwarf.

“Really?”

“Yeah really.”

The Ferelden, true to his temper, just didn't have the patience for this game. He brought the mug back to his lips and did his very best to ignore the man’s presence.

And then, after Thetras probably decided enough silence had passed between them, it came.

There's probably close to nothing you could have done differently.”

“You weren't there.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He admitted pensively. “... it mustn’t have been pretty, but at least I'm glad those bastards got what they deserved.”

“Is this what you think happened there? Justice? We can't just go around using violence and calling it justice.”

“Oh really? That's rather hypocritical-with-a-flavor-of-funny coming from you. You see, I used to know this Templar asshole of a guy back in Kirkwall who didn’t shy away from administering violence if it lead to so-called justice and order.”

There was no maliciousness in Varric’s words but nonetheless Cullen couldn’t stop his reaction.
“That's not the same.”

“Oh? It isn't? How do you find it any different?”

He wanted to answer, he really did, but no coherent argument took shape. Instead he ended up with more questions as his mind went back to those days, when he had first arrived in Kirkwall. He had often done terrible things. He remembered forcing mages into compliance and he remembered the hate he'd had for those that were breaking the rules and putting innocent lives in danger. He remembered how terrifying and unbalanced it had made him feel.

Cullen found himself voicing his thoughts instead of answering the question at hand. “If you had seen the anger that possessed her… It was almost like she had lost all of her humanity.”

There was no need for Varric to say the words out loud, because he knew what he meant. He’d seen it all before in another place, in another time.

“Bah, my intentions are not to school you; and less so to bring back awful memories. So you're caught between being angry at her for her actions, being angry at yourself because you couldn’t keep the situation under control, and living with the guilt of leaving her behind after she took off Maker knows where. Is that it?”

When he didn't answer, the famous writer, now Inquisition valuable member, went on. “Thought so.” But just as abruptly as he had started, he stopped, leaving the subject hanging at the tip of their unspoken conversation.

“That's it? No witty words of advice? Not even a joke about how unnecessary it is?”

That’s when the dwarf surprised him again, when he turned and shared a stern and understanding look.

“Why would I joke about it? It's understandable, Curly. That's all there is to it. It’s your job to figure out where you stand in all of this because you won't be any good to anyone, especially to her, with one foot deep in reason and the other one in empathy.” The man probably sensed the troubled thoughts brewing in his head, because after a while, he continued. “She's going through a lot, no one can deny that; but she also doesn't get the whole concept of middle ground, at least not as far as I noticed. Who knows? I certainly don't plan on getting on her wrong side just to satisfy my curiosity.” It was his firm conclusion that ended with a shrug. 

Cullen returned his gaze to the dark line of the horizon. “Thanks for nothing, Varric.”

“Ah, said it before - don't mention it.” The dwarf finally seemed ready to leave his current place for a much warmer choice of location.

“You won’t be getting any medal or word of admiration and definitely no extra round of apologies if you spend your night freezing out here so... at the risk of repeating what others might have already said… at least do your body a service and try getting some sleep.”

With a nod they said their good-byes and it was not long after Varric's departure that Cullen left his spot as well.

One more round around the camp to make sure everything was alright he told himself. And then he could retreat to his tent; if he was going to continue torturing his mind at least it would be somewhere warm.

Not long after, he found himself back at the edge of the mountain road, something he realized only when the soldiers saluted, ready for a shift.

Varric was right. He should take his advice but... what good would he be if his decisions would not be his decisions at all? Where would the difference be if he'd just follow others' thoughts and apply their opinions where he hadn't made the effort of understanding and drawing his own conclusions?

He knew his worst enemy were his own doubts and insecurities all shaped by the nightmares, the pain and the weakness that were filling the void that his withdrawal was creating. If his way of doing things was wrong; if his attempts at understanding the woman were flawed, then he'd have to understand that to begin with. No more time to doubt our allies, Cassandra had told him. He remembered those words as something ahead sent him into high alert and his eyesight sharpened instinctively; it made him realize that everything he had seen and witnessed hadn’t made him doubt the woman, but his own reading of her.

His feet carried him into the darkness and he gestured to his men to keep at ease.

Cullen was starting to accept that he was constantly afraid of being mistaken about her. He thought back to the recommendation he had made to the others, but it was something he knew they were already thinking. The Inquisition was in need of a leader, and, should their journey to a new place to settle down prove victorious under the Trevelyan's lead, it was just a matter time before proposing the title of Inquisitor to her would be on everyone’s lips.

The events of the day made him wonder if he had spoken too soon.

He found himself pausing right outside the camp, listening to the sound of snow under her feet until she got close enough to be more than just a silhouette in the darkness.

And he knew his answer.

She stopped just a couple of steps from him, tall as she was, as her eyes locked onto his.

They shared silence, weighing their own thoughts. He had imagined this to be his opportunity to set things right; to make it clear to her that her actions were now reflecting on the entire Inquisition. He’d worked on this scenario a dozen times in his head: he'd imagined her furious and dismissive, yet in front of him, at that moment, there was no defiance, just someone tired. She stood straight and looked unflinching; but it was in her stained clothes, clinging to her body, not enough for the unforgiving mountain air; and it was in the damp locks of hair framing her face, and the drops of water still shining down her cheekbones and chin. There were still traces of blood on the collar of her tunic and in places that snow couldn't wash away, no matter how much someone would wipe. And if her body continued to be a force of its own through pain and cold, her eyes were tired under heavy eyelids.

She had tried to clean herself up and Maker knows if she had used fists of snow or the icy water of a river. Both options sent shivers down his spine.

“You must be freezing.” The words escaped before he could consider how that would completely change the tone of their conversation.

‘No medals, no words of appreciation’ Varric had said, he recalled, as her eyes looked focused for the first time, taking in his bearing. “You've been here all night?”

It was a simple question, no meaning behind the words other than realization. Then she nodded in his place, as the thought sank into her mind. And he realized he was fine with it. He didn’t need recognition or sympathy, less so sarcasm, and, the Maker was his witness, he had received that from each and every one of them that day. But acknowledgement… simple and clean… it seemed hard to get without one person or another adding his or her own opinions to it. In contrast, her reaction… felt leveling.

Yet there was tension between them and it was so frustrating not knowing how to send his point across without ruining the moment.

“I imagine you want to talk about today.” She cut right through.

“Do you?” his quick reaction came as a surprise even to himself.

“No.”

In spite of himself and the gravity of the situation he found himself laughing curtly. “Today was a mess.”

She said no word, which he took as an invitation. If he was not going to do it now, he doubted there would be another chance to clear the air.

“What was happening in the village was a nightmare and I am still trying to wrap my mind around it and understand how people can do that to each other.” After a short pause to allow her a reaction if she so wished he continued. “But we made it worse. I don’t even know how Mother Giselle managed to put everyone at ease, but something like that can’t happen again.”

When she continued to stare at him he held his ground even if he was so very tempted to avert his eyes. He knew he was right.

“I’m not going to apologize.” Her answer cut through the air.

“This is not what it is about. Not that you would know how, for that matter.”

Her jaw clenched and he cursed his tongue. When had he last been so impulsive in his life?

“I shouldn’t have lost control like that. I know.” She took a sharp breath and something instantly made her regret it; her injuries. “I stopped Rylen from starting a fight with those people just to drag everyone into a fight moments later. I’m not taking back what I did by killing those animals. My only regret is that you chose to stay behind and clean my mess.”

“It wasn’t a choice! This is exactly what I am trying to make you see.” He let out a long exhale. “It’s harsh to hear it and it feels pretentious of me to say it but you have to wake up to understand that it’s out of your hands. Whatever you do now, it won’t result in just repercussions for your actions. The world is more than eager to claim it as an act of the Inquisition. I’m sorry for you; I’m sorry if you feel robbed of your freedom but none of us are allowed to be selfish – unless we want to kill the only good chance we have at a fight against this chaos!”

He had not breathed once as the words rolled out of his mouth with an urgency that took both of them by surprise. But it was done. He had said what he had to. He waited for a retort; he expected this to not go down quietly. The aftermath never came though. Instead, the woman looked unsure in the silence that followed.

“Have you rehearsed all of that?” she just asked awkwardly, with no hidden meaning or attitude.

“Yes in fact, I have.” He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze but he was not going to let his embarrassment highjack the meaning of his words.

Another wave of silence passed and when he looked at her she avoided his eyes. With a couple of insecure gestures her entire body moved, her arms locked around her chest, hands sheltered under her armpits; she turned around, her eyes searching for nothing in particular through the night.

“Ever since I woke up in the cells under Haven I wanted nothing more than to run as far as my feet could carry me. I’ve been doing that all my life I like to think I turned it into a form of art. But I was always running towards something; and whatever happened it was of my own doing.” She took a moment. “Now, unfortunately, the answers seem to be here, in the middle of something I never wanted to be a part of. I have no agency and because of this stupid mark, no control.”

He wanted to say something kind to her uncharacteristicaly trusting voice but she didn’t give him the chance. The intensity behind her words grew with determination. “You people don’t even care what sort of person I am.” The words were followed by a small shake of the head. “What sort of person I was and the things I’ve done. I could be a heartless monster but it would matter too little so long as I possess the means to close the rifts and the strength to fight… Just because I’m capable, doesn’t mean I am right.”

He felt the hilt of the sword cold under his palm and was grateful they were not facing each other. He mimicked her gesture and let his eyes roam down the road as far as the night allowed. Those questions were something that him, along with Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra had marginally discussed. But it had been a subject easily dropped since her absence from the social life of the Trevelyan family offered little information. With the exception of the growing conflict between her, as the heir of the family name, and the rest of the relatives bickering for a part of the power, there was close to no information on the woman since the age of 13. So they had agreed with relying more on her deeds, on the facts they had clear in front of them, rather than her history. Cullen had often thought of the many reasons for which the woman would not be comfortable with the way she was being shepherded towards their cause, and the fact that she had no other option, was one of them. But it never occurred to him that one of the things she’d resent them for would be caused by her self-awareness. He could not contradict her words either; it would do them no favors in denying that the nature of her acts was far from ideal; some truths can’t be swept away, nor shadowed by others. He had learnt that your good deeds don’t negate the damage you caused; he was the living proof of that; and, in different ways, so was the woman, if the events of the day were to reflect on her. The thing that made him pause was realizing that it worked the other way around as well.

“In Haven… were you looking for the answers to your problem when you decided to buy everyone time to flee to safety?”

“You wouldn’t understand…”

“I make no such claim. I cannot truly understand what madness possessed you to face certain death, and what will guided your way out of it. But … you stayed behind…. You could have –” before he could finish his thoughts the image of her, held at a knife’s mercy that day, being dragged to the spinning saw, the image of her dying in front of him, under his watch, got the words stuck in his throat. While he could understand the horror of such an outcome, he could not comprehend the sentiment of anguish that shook him to the bone.

There was a point he wanted to prove, but it got lost somewhere in the muddy waters of his personal fears.

“When you walked back into camp that night I told myself I would not allow the events at Haven to happen again. I feel like today I could have done better about keeping my word.”

Nothing seemed to happen in the following moments. Probably his words were as much of a mess as the thoughts in his head, but they had been enough to dissipate the hostility in the woman’s bearing, making her face him again, searching for the pair of eyes that wouldn’t meet hers.

“Look at me.”

She waited, gave him time to collect his thoughts from the distant, shadowed landscape ahead. When their eyes met, she held his gaze in silence.

“You’re not responsible for me, Cullen.” It could have been the softness in her voice, or the novelty of his name delivered by her lips but her words felt personal.

Then she glanced away for just a split moment and when her gaze returned it was accompanied by a reserved smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Well, my well-being is not your responsibility. You’ve been very clear about the implications of my actions and in spite of the conflict, you are right in questioning them.” She continued as her back straightened. “You should know that I'm not holding it against you when you do so.”

“Is that true? Because last time it didn't go so well.” He could not say what possessed him to make that joke.

Her eyes hardened and instantly her attention fell to the injury she had caused earlier that day.

“It was not with intent.” She did her best not to look away with guilt and he knew this was going to be as close to an apology as he was going to get.

“I would assume so. I've seen what your intent looks like and a broken nose would be the last of my problems.” He continued but the tension did not leave her shoulders at his joke. It hadn't been a good one anyway.

What happened next left Cullen with a mixed feeling of surprise and anticipation. Her hand went up and almost cupped his cheek, before it cautiously lingered above his injured nose. Yet the touch never came. She stopped herself as her lips pressed together before dropping by her side.

“I can’t make promises that I won’t be able to keep along the road, and I won’t say that today won’t repeat in one way or another.” If anything he appreciated her honesty and awareness. “But you have my word I will get these people to safety. I will give the Inquisition a proper place in this fortress Solas has offered.”

“And what is going to happen after that?”

“After that?” She followed with a confident nod. “After that we go hunting for the bastard that started all of this.” She took a step towards the camp but held his gaze with a glimpse of amusement. “Or I go hunting while you find a way to keep the damage at a minimum. Not all hope is lost commander; we may still make a good team.”

With that she cautiously walked past him, in the light of the camp. He stood still, not yet sure what to make of everything that had transpired that night. But… he found faith. If she were to hold true to her words, it was a plan he could see himself putting some effort behind.

Cullen thought she was going to walk away, now that their conversation had come to an end. However the woman turned around and the only thing he could think of was the exhaustion in the way she was carrying herself.

“The watch is over Commander, wouldn’t you agree? Come, we both need to rest these bones if we want to make it through the journey.”

He did not object.