Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Commander had been trying to clear a path to the site of the blast for half a day when he first saw the women destined to save the world.

The explosion itself had been massive, and what had once been a series of tunnels and rooms carved into the mountain’s face was now a crater nearly the size of the entire Temple of Sacred Ashes, the area now a strange glossy black visible even from a distance, as if the ground had been melted and cooled in an instant. Everyone within had perished — every single one of the mages, Templars, clerics, servants, mercenaries, pilgrims… and Divine Justinia herself. 

In the wake of the blast, the sky had opened. 

This had been no mundane storm over described with flowery language — a huge green rent had split the air, amorphous and shimmering, the preternatural landscape beyond the Veil barely visible as it bent and swirled. Then, as Cullen had led squads of their forces toward the Breach, as they had begun to call it, they had found others — smaller rifts into the Fade, spilling shades and wisps into the world at an alarming rate, and the demons didn’t slow or stop. He’d had to position a forward and rear camp in addition to the bulk of their forces staying in Haven — there simply hadn’t been enough time to field them from the makeshift village, not when the situation was in constant flux. 

When they’d finally managed to push through to meet the forces that had been attempting to make their way back from the site of the blast, they had been met with two additional survivors — the only two survivors from inside the Temple itself. The reports from his soldiers had been that the human woman and the Qunari woman had fallen out of the Breach, battered and unconscious, while a glowing figure had still been visible from inside the Fade. The people that had seen it firsthand had claimed that Andraste herself had delivered them across the Veil.

It had been nonsense, of course. Oh, he’d had no doubt that they had fallen out of the Breach — he couldn’t imagine anyone surviving the blast in this world. All that had been left of everyone else were ghastly, withered husks, twisted into poses of terror. But Andraste herself shepherding them to safety? Hardly. The implications that they had been physically in the Fade were terrifying, but according to the Chant, it had been done once before. 

Of course, that was what made it so terrifying in the first place. The last time men had walked into the Fade, they’d brought the Blight back with them.

But neither of the survivors-quickly-turned-prisoners had shown any signs of that. The Qunari, dressed in fairly plain armor that was covered in the faded runes preferred by mercenaries in the Free Marches and looked very well lived in, had possessed a magical mark on her hand that pulsed and sparked along with the Breach itself and was surely connected in some way. The other woman, though, was… odd. 

He’d only had a brief glimpse of her as she’d been carried out on a makeshift stretcher alongside the other, and her clothes had looked positively unnatural. The dyes were too vibrant for how worn they appeared, and there had been strange symbols between more familiar letters that seemed oddly shiny emblazoned on the chest of the thin shirt she wore. It hardly covered anything, leaving her arms bare and exposing a sliver of her midriff. Her skirt didn’t even reach her knees, and he had certainly never seen the material it was made of, thick and rugged and dyed an unfamiliar shade of blue. He’d seen some armor with skirts that length, usually on rogues for ease of movement, but this was far too tight around her legs for that to be the case. She also had spectacles in an odd pointed shape, studded with tiny gems around the edges. It was a ridiculous extravagance, especially on a woman dressed more immodestly than any worker he’d ever seen at the Blooming Rose.  

Both women had looked battered by whatever they’d gone through, scraped and bruised and bloodied. The human had so much skin exposed, and nearly all of it was smeared with soot or blood. The Qunari had a few similar marks on her face, but her thick leathers — sensible clothes for traversing the mountains — had been enough to prevent superficial injuries. No, she was alarming because she groaned in her sleep as the mark on her hand tried to — he wasn’t sure what, but it felt wrong. The magic in it was unbelievably powerful, and it pulled at the Fade as if it could tear more rifts into the air. 

These two women were the closest thing they had to suspects for the attack on the Conclave. They were the only survivors of the blast, and they had been found at the very epicenter. So as soon as he’d been presented with them, laid out unconscious on makeshift litters, he’d ordered them to be taken back to Haven and put under lock and key. Sister Leliana and Seeker Cassandra could interrogate them once they had the current situation in hand.

How they were to do that, however, he couldn’t say. Despite being their Commander here, he was neither the Right nor Left Hand of the Divine, and he had no knowledge of how to actually stop the rifts. He wasn’t sure anyone did. So instead, he’d done what he could, what he knew. He had led his forces to secure the area to the best of their ability, attempting to prevent the holes in the Veil from overrunning them with demons.

And that first day, he’d been fairly successful. His soldiers had been fresh, and he’d drilled them well, though he had been preparing them for civil unrest, not a plague of demons. He’d had enough dedicated and eager-to-please recruits to rotate in as each squad eventually required relief, and even if precious few had been Templars, demons could be slain with steel and skill alone. And good thing, too, because at that point, his own Templar abilities were well and truly gone. He didn’t have enough lyrium left in his veins for even the weakest Smite. That didn’t stop his instincts from reaching for it, though, and every time the power failed him he’d had a moment of sheer panic, and then several more moments after he’d recovered from his shock that he could taste the lyrium on his tongue, feel the phantom thrumming of it in his veins, and the sheer want had been staggering, even months after his last dose. 

He’d felt like there was a traitor in his blood, whispering, You could end this foolishness. You know how. Why let it kill you? Why not allow yourself to be strong again?

It hadn’t seemed to be getting any more bearable as the day went on, but he’d known his chosen path would not be an easy one. He hadn’t chosen it because it was easy. He’d chosen it because he couldn’t bear to be leashed to the Order or the Chantry any longer, and when the Seeker had come to him with a real chance for redemption, he’d felt no hesitation. He’d have been a fool to refuse the opportunity to atone for the sins he’d committed in the Maker’s name, especially when that opportunity also came with an offer of help while he cast off the Chantry’s chains on him. On his own, attempting to quit lyrium made him a liability, but Cassandra would know what to watch for if he should become dangerous or unfit for duty. He’d be an even bigger fool if he threw away all the work he’d already put in — he had certainly not spent the entire boat ride from Kirkwall to Jader delirious from the withdrawal and seasickness to give in now. 

So he simply hadn’t. 

He had endured. 

At least, that is what he’d told himself when he’d laid unsleeping in his tent, sweating and shaking and cold and hot all at once. When he’d retched up his breakfast the next morning, pushing past the exhaustion of another sleepless night, he’d reminded himself that he chose this, and the alternative was a slow death, losing tiny pieces of himself until he was addled and insensate. When the dim dawn light glared too brightly off the snow and the world around him seemed to shimmer painfully, he’d remember that he chose this to rid himself of the chains that kept him tied to an institution and a life that he could no longer bear. 

And when the second night after the explosion had finally brought him sleep only to fill it with nightmares of screaming and blood and begging that went unanswered, he’d reminded himself that it was a just penance for what he had done, that the man he had been when he let his hatred and bigotry get the better of him deserved all of this and more besides. 

He had been so exhausted from the fighting and the lack of any real rest that when he next saw the woman they would come to name the Herald of Andraste, he could nearly believe that’s exactly what she was, despite the feral look in her eye as she charged into battle horns first. His squad had been decimated by a fresh wave of demons, unprepared to face the Terrors spilling from the rift they had been attempting to keep under control. They’d been losing ground, and he’d come to realize that their only hope would be relief from the forward camp so that they could safely retreat, though Maker knew when that might happen. They were spread too thin, too many of his and Leliana’s units in danger to even hope they would all make it out. He had run out of options and his sword arm was being fueled by sheer spite when he’d heard an unfamiliar battle cry ring out, and the Qunari woman that had fallen from the Breach — had it only been a couple days ago? It felt as if he’d been fighting for eons with no hope of an end to it — had launched herself at the spindly monstrosity before him, landing on its torso with two daggers digging into its flesh and hanging on with a laugh that made her revelry in the chaos of battle plain.

The next few minutes had honestly been a blur, though he remembered thinking he may be sick again when he felt the magic of her mark connect to the rift, join with it, and yank. The air around them filled with a strange, deafening sensation that seemed to worm its way into his ears to choke out all other sound, and then, for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, near perfect calm. The rift had simply gone, vanished as if the Veil had never been torn at all.

Somehow it had gotten out that she might be able to close the rifts, and while he had not let himself think on it before, now he was faced with the proof, right in front of him. 

He’d straightened up and addressed the woman they had taken prisoner, and who he had heard rumors of all over Haven.  He’d had no patience or energy for any sort of pleasantries as he greeted her with, “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

She’d answered with an odd expression, he thought, as if he’d said something even remotely humorous. Her reply had been just as odd. “You’re not the only one hoping that.”

Of everything he had expected that day, this particular flavor of gallows humor hadn’t occurred to him, so he spoke the only words he could think of. “We’ll see soon enough, won’t we.” Then he addressed the Seeker, a woman he had quickly gained rapport with in the few weeks prior to the explosion — that time seemed blessedly calm in comparison, simply too good to have ever been true. “The way to the temple should be clear, Cassandra. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

She’d nodded decisively. “Then we’d best move quickly. Give us time, Commander.”

Part of him had wanted to rage at her right there. What do you think I’ve been trying to do every Void-taken second since that bloody thing opened up in the sky?! But he had experienced enough moments where his emotions, now left to run rampant without the lyrium to stem them, tried to get the better of him, and he had not yet given in. Not in front of anyone else.

He would endure.

“Maker watch over you,” he’d said, “for all our sakes.”

With the position he had been holding now secured, he’d helped one of his more severely injured soldiers back to the forward camp where they could be tended to and he could regroup. He and everyone else there had stared in mute shock, horror, and hope when the Breach began to swell and glow, and then the bright flare of light that burst over them had several people crying out in terror. He had half convinced himself that the so-called Herald had failed, and they were watching their demise race toward them in a rush of force rippling out from the center of the crater.

But then, they didn’t die. He’d realized fairly quickly, because everything he’d ever been told about the afterlife had led him to believe it was supposed to be the end of pain, and every muscle, joint, and bone still ached with exertion and weariness while his head throbbed. Whatever Cassandra’s team had done at the site of the explosion had worked, because the Breach, though not gone, had retreated to hover ominously overhead, eerily quiet. 

He had rushed back, meeting Cassandra as she’d stumbled along with the Herald, half dragging her with the Qunari’s arm slung over her shoulders, and he quickly took the other arm and helped the Seeker bear the burden. They took their potential savior back to Haven, and for a moment, he wondered how precisely the Qunari went from locked up on suspicion of mass murder to fighting back-to-back with Cassandra — and also whether the other woman had yet woken, and if she had also been cleared of suspicion. He remembered her strange appearance and asked himself, Where is she from? Why is she here? 

Who is she?

Chapter Text

Earlier

Beth was rudely woken by a rough shove to her shoulder, and her eyes popped open with a start. She didn’t register her surroundings at first, softly smacking her tongue to the roof of her dry mouth. Shouldn’t have opened that last bottle. Ugh, my head…

Then she did register where she was — or really, where she wasn’t. 

She’d expected to wake up on the couch, beg a cup of coffee off of her aunt and uncle before they left for church, and then make the drive home miserably hungover. If she was very lucky, one of their dogs would come cuddle her for a few minutes before she really had to get up. In fact, that’s who she thought had shoved her. But instead of looking into the furry, droopy face of a Saint Bernard, a redhead with sharp but pretty features wearing a hood was looking at her with a completely impassive expression. 

“Tell me why you destroyed the Conclave.” She spoke in a soft, lightly accented voice. French, or maybe Quebecois?

Beth blinked several times, but the woman was still there. She looked quickly around the dim room — no, cell. The walls and door were made of bars and everything. And her hands were shackled together, weighed down by the heavy metal. There was another woman in the room with short-cropped black hair and a scar on her chin, looking pissed off with her arms crossed over her chest. Next to her was a bald man, very slight of stature, and with long, pointed ears. They all looked like they were headed to the Ren Faire.

She shook her head slightly and turned to the redhead again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Her voice tipped up at the end in confusion. “Are you guys LARPers or something? Why am I tied up?”

“There was an explosion at the Conclave last night,” the redhead said. “There were only two survivors — you, and her. You’ve both been unconscious most of the day.” She pointed to the side, and Beth followed her finger to another shape slumped on the floor. It was pretty large for a woman, but she couldn’t make out any other features in the darkness.

“Cool setup, I guess,” she muttered. Then, more clearly, “But, like, I’m not part of your game, okay? I don’t even know how I—”

A strangely familiar green light flared and crackled in the next cell, seeming to come from the person on the ground, and a dizzy, floaty sensation fell over her as

Running through a green landscape while things skitter behind them. She trips, and the person with her grabs a fistful of the back of her shirt and hauls her to her feet as easily as a mother cat with a clumsy kitten. Above, a bright light, a woman that beckons them forward. Have to run. Can’t stop. Run and run and climb and run and

She shook her head as she gained awareness of her surroundings again. “Jesus Christ.” It had been like a memory, but… not. Too precise, too real. 

The three conscious people in the room gave her an odd look. The redhead narrowed her eyes, but the man spoke with a delicate Welsh lilt to his words. “I sensed the Fade reaching out to her.” He crouched at her side and looked her in the eye, but she couldn’t take her gaze off of his ears. They looked…

“You — your ears — they’re not fake, are they?”

He tilted his head curiously, an amused smile quirking his mouth to one side. “They are not. Have you never met an elf before?”

“Elves aren’t real,” she whispered, despite the very obvious evidence in front of her.

His head tilted even further, and he spoke slowly and softly, as if to a confused child. “Do you have spells like that often? You appeared to be daydreaming some very unpleasant things.” 

She shook her head, still trying to make him fit in reality. Elves aren’t real. Maybe he’s just super in character? 

He continued speaking quietly, soothingly. “With your permission, I would like to use magic to examine you.”

“Magic’s not real, either.” She gasped when a blue-green glow appeared around his hand, and she tried to scamper back, but apparently her shackles were actually attached to the ground, because she couldn’t drag her hands with her. “Jesus fuck! That’s not — you’re not — who the Hell are you people?!”

“We are the Right and Left Hands of Divine Justinia, who was murdered in the blast that you survived,” the darker woman said. There was absolutely no placing her accent. If she wasn’t threatening as Hell, the lightly clipped tones might have actually been pleasant. “Who are you?”

“Beth Chisholm.” The man reached his hand toward her, and she tried to flinch back again, but there was nowhere to go. He waved the glow just over her skin, and it made her tingle slightly, like an extended shiver or a low-grade shock. It was Goddamn weird. “What in the actual fuck?” she whispered, unable to take her eyes off of it.

“Her connection to the Fade has been altered,” the man said. “Almost as if she were made Tranquil by a flawed application of the Rite.”

“So she is a mage,” the dark woman snapped.

“Not at all,” the man said. He spoke pleasantly, like they were discussing the weather instead of absolutely insane shit like whether or not she could do magic. “She cannot reach across the Veil, but it appears the other direction is impaired but operable.”

The redhead spoke up again. “Where are you from? Which delegation did you arrive with?”

Beth shook her head slowly, trying to keep up. “I’m from Iowa, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What do you know of the attack at the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

There was a sensation almost like falling, or like rushing wind, and suddenly she saw the dark-haired woman somewhere else, a place she’d never seen before.

“Someone, please! Help me!” The voice echoes, but not like speaking in a canyon or a well. It echoes before as well as after. All around, figures twisted and blackened, frozen in silent agony. Red crystals breaking through the stone around them. They feel… wrong. Something about them makes the air feel greasy and thick. Recognition dawns — “That was Divine Justinia’s voice!” But that can’t be, she died in the explosion…

She blinked rapidly, and now the dark woman was staring at her absolutely slack-jawed. “That did sound like Divine Justinia. And me.” She advanced on Beth, leaning down to get in her face. “If you were not at the conclave, how do you know what she sounded like? How could you mimic her so perfectly?”

Beth felt like she was drowning. She didn’t know where she was, or what was happening to her. And now she was surrounded by two people looking at her like she had three heads that they’d like to experiment on, and one of them getting more hostile by the second. “Please,” she whispered, “I just want to go home. Please let me go.”

“Not until we have answers!” The woman held her hands clenched at her sides as she yelled in Beth’s face, like she would take a swing at her, and oh Jesus, this chick had some serious guns and Beth had never been in a fight before and she was going to get her ass handed to her—

The French woman pulled the other one back with a stern look, and the larger one scoffed and stalked a few strides away, crossing her arms. The redhead spoke in a soft voice, saying, “We need to know more about what you just said, but once we are certain you were not involved in the explosion, you can go.”

The man interjected, “That may be easier said than done.” He looked up at the other two women. “I am fairly certain that she did not enter the Fade from anywhere in Thedas. The thread of magic that connects her across the Veil is like nothing I have ever seen. It is as if it was created, rather than incompletely severed.” He looked back at Beth, and gave her what she supposed was a smile to reassure her. It didn’t really work, since it was given by a person who shouldn’t exist with a power that shouldn’t exist. “Do you remember how you entered the Fade?”

“No? Is that the green place I saw?” She swallowed, eyes darting between all of them. “I don’t remember anything between falling asleep and waking up here.”

The redhead’s voice sounded sharp as a dagger. “Then how do you know the Fade was the ‘green place’?”

“I, um, saw it?” She licked her lips nervously. “Just now. There was someone with me, running from the huge spiders, and then there was this glowy woman who was trying to help us, I think?”

“A woman?” The redhead looked shocked, the first emotion she’d given away other than a general sense of intimidation. 

There was a groan from the next cell, and the shape on the ground began to right itself. The redhead turned to the man — or would he want to be called an elf? Did ‘man’ imply ‘human’? Why was she debating his preferred nouns right now? — and she said, “We will continue this later. The other prisoner is stirring.”

The three of them exited the cell, leaving her behind. They even shut and locked the door — which seemed a bit like overkill, considering she was literally chained to the floor — before they opened the next cell. The woman with the short, dark hair hauled the person in the next cell upright, and Beth realized that she was huge. She also had gray skin and horns. But Hell, there were elves here, so whatever that chick was called couldn’t be any more ridiculous.

The elf-man took hold of the other prisoner’s left hand, looking at it curiously as it continued to spark. The guy seemed nice enough, but there was something about how he looked at Beth and this other woman that reminded her of someone painstakingly pinning dead butterflies into perfect little poses. He waved his glowing hand over her, well, differently glowing hand, then he placed the palms together, and both glows shut away for a moment. He closed his eyes, and a few moments later he released her hand and the green light was dimmer, less frenetic. It continued to pulse though, with an occasional crackle. The woman still hadn’t completely woken.

“I should be able to keep the mark stable for now,” he said. “But I believe it is reacting to the Breach in the sky. The two are intertwined. She may even be able to control the mark, use it to close the rifts that have appeared.”

“Useful.” The redhead raised a nonplussed brow as the other woman scowled. “Can you wake her?”

“If she has not woken from the mark already, I doubt anything I can do would rouse her,” he said. 

The woman nodded at him, and led the way as the three of them left. 

Beth was left alone with the prisoner. The other prisoner , she mentally corrected herself. She was starting to hope the large woman would wake up properly, even if it was just so that there was someone to talk to as they waited in the dim lantern light. Somehow, she didn’t think the other woman was going to be a fan of their captors either. But there was no way to know when, or even if, she would wake up. Something magic appeared to have happened to her? Beth had no idea if magic was ‘okay’ here. Yeah, the elf-guy had done something that sure looked like magic, but the way the dark-haired woman had called her a mage made it sound distasteful. And apparently, even though she saw the future — or the past, or whatever that Fade place was — that wasn’t magic?

Okay, one more thing to look forward to when her roommate woke up — getting a few answers about where the Hell she was.

Beth wasn’t sure if she had actually fallen asleep — she didn’t think so — but she was dozing when the woman in the next cell started to stir. The woman groaned, attempting to lift her hands, and the heavy clank of metal sounded through the cells. Beth gave her a few moments to blink and look around before she spoke, a quiet, “Hey.”

The woman’s eyes snapped to her face, clearly assessing. She looked Beth up and down, then said, “Hey. Who the fuck are you, and why are we here?”

Beth snorted a laugh. It wasn’t actually funny, but what else could she do? It was either that or freak the fuck out. “I have the same exact questions for you.” She tried to get her giggles under control, not wanting to look completely insane. “I’m Beth Chisholm.”

“Herah Adaar.” The woman gave her a sharp nod. “I’d shake your hand, but…” She clanked her shackles a bit, and did a double-take at her glowing hand. “Well, that’s new,” she muttered.

“This is all new to me,” Beth offered. “So, uh, I don’t know how to say this without sounding rude, but you’re not a human, are you?” That was a really fucking weird question to ask.

The woman tilted her head slightly and said in mock astonishment, “Really? What gave it away?” She started a rueful laugh, which quickly petered out. “Oh, you’re serious. I’m Vashoth — a Qunari.”

“Cool, cool,” Beth said, trying to take it in stride. “I’m pretty sure I’m not from here, so I’ve got no clue what’s going on.”

“Yeah, I’m from the Marches myself.” She scoffed softly. “Not many people actually from the Frostbacks. I came as part of a security team with the Valo-kas.” She tilted her head slowly, not bothering to disguise that she was sizing Beth up. “What brought you to the Conclave?” 

Considering they were both chained up, this Herah chick was being pretty chill. Beth was sure she’d appreciate that later, when she wasn’t trying not to freak. For now, she fidgeted, trying not to chafe her wrists too badly in her restraints. “I don’t know. I just sort of… woke up here.”

Herah squinted at her a bit more, looking her up and down again. “Wait. I know you. We were somewhere — running. And a glowing woman guided us to a door.”

Beth nodded. “So that was you that I saw. There were some people in here questioning me earlier, and they fiddled with that thing on your hand,” she nodded toward it. “They said we were in the Fade? Is that like another dimension or something? It didn’t look… real.”

Herah’s scrutiny of her intensified. “Where are you from again?”

“Iowa.” Herah shook her head slightly when she heard it. “I’m, uh, pretty sure I’m really not from here,” Beth continued. “Like, not from your world.”

“That explains the getup,” Herah said mildly. “You don’t have Qunari in this Io-place?”

Beth shook her head. “Just humans.” Remembering the elf she’d met, she added, “No magic, either.”

“Ah. No wonder you’ve never heard of the Fade.” Herah shrugged. “I don’t know a lot about it myself, but I’m fairly certain magic comes from there. So I guess it makes sense that you wouldn’t have one without the other.” The woman was being way too casual about this, asking with what appeared to be honest curiosity, “Does that mean you don’t dream?”

That felt like a weird non sequitur. “No, I dream. Not much, but I do.”

“Weird,” Herah muttered, then shrugged. She raised her glowy hand as far as the shackles would let her. “So, did they tell you anything about…” The light emanating from her palm crackled a bit, and she hissed, leaning away from her own hand. 

Solas looks into her eyes as he says, “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.” 

Cassandra sounds hopeful as she guesses, “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

“Possibly.” Solas smiles and bows slightly to the Herald. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Beth was breathing a little too fast when she came back to herself, and saw that Herah had inched herself as far away as her bonds allowed. “What in the blighted Void was that?”

“Vision?” Beth said a little breathily, forcing herself to slow down. “Apparently it’s something I can do as of maybe a few hours ago. I was hoping somebody here would be able to explain how, but that’s seeming less and less likely the more of you see it.”

“Are you a mage? I thought you didn’t have magic where you’re from?” Herah asked with genuine confusion, or at least so it seemed.

“Apparently I’m not a mage. I have no idea why that doesn’t count. The people here before weren’t very chatty themselves, seemed more interested in getting me to talk.”

The door at the end of the room opened, and the two women came back in, minus the elf — Solas? Why did I think that name when I saw him in my head? The redhead started up the same questions to Herah, who apparently knew as little about the explosion as Beth did. Then the dark-haired woman got angry, and grabbed Herah’s marked hand, shaking it. “Explain this!”

“I can’t,” Herah spat back.

“What do you mean you can’t?” the woman demanded. 

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there.” Herah sounded like she was getting testy. To be fair, Beth was as well, and she wasn’t even the one being questioned right now.

The woman accused, “You’re lying!”

She tried to grab at Herah again, but the redhead stopped her. “We need her, Cassandra.”

Well, Beth had confirmation of her name, now. She wasn’t quite ready to trust everything she hallucinated, but it seemed like it got some things right at least. The redhead asked a few more questions before Cassandra said, “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

 Okay, she had names for everybody so far. Good luck remembering them.

“Hey,” Beth spoke up. Leliana ignored her, as did Cassandra, but Herah stopped in her tracks, forcing Cassandra to wait. 

“What about her? Are you just going to leave her here?” the Qunari asked. “Why doesn’t she come with us?”

“She does not have the mark,” Cassandra said. “She cannot close rifts.”

Herah’s eyes snapped to Beth for a moment. She already was starting to feel close to the Qunari — she had thought of her as the Herald. Why? Herald of what? Maybe it was just because they were both taken prisoner together, some sort of pseudo-Stockholm syndrome thing, but Beth didn’t want to be separated from her. It didn’t seem like either of them had much choice in the matter, though.

Herah asked tersely, “What happened out there? What rifts?”

Cassandra sighed, steering her out the door by her arm. “It will be easier to show you.”

Then they left Beth in the cell, this time actually alone. With no one to even talk to, after a few minutes, her exhaustion started catching up with her again. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to fall asleep in prison, but she was so tired. Before long her head began to nod onto her chest where she knelt on the hard floor, and her blinks became slower and longer, until her eyes fully closed, finally succumbing to sleep.

When she woke up again, Beth felt stiff everywhere and her sciatica was going into overdrive. She sat up and took stock of where she was. Still in the cell, and Herah — the Herald — the big lady was still gone. Beth tried to get to her knees again, and realized that her pinched nerve left her leg barely cooperative at all, and her shoulder felt like one big bruise from the hard floor. Fucking great.

She rolled onto her good hip to rub at the ache that started in her ass and ran nearly to her knee. What was she going to do? Where the Hell even was she? Somewhere that elves and magic and something called Qunari existed, so not fucking Earth. But apparently she was a suspect for what sounded an awful lot like a magical terrorist attack. 

Beth tried to do as many stretches as she could on the ground, working out the tension in her hip and trying to get a bit warmer in the cold cell. Thankfully she at least had good range of motion despite the ache and general weakness in her leg. She was seated and bent in half with her face in her knees and her hands on her feet when she heard footsteps coming toward her that stopped suddenly. “What are you doing?”

It was the voice of that dark-haired woman from before, Cassandra. Beth slowly sat up again — the last thing she wanted was to pass out and bean her head on the stone floor. God only knew when the last time she ate was, probably a day ago or more. “Stretching,” she said as she came up. The woman had an almost comically confused expression on her face. Leliana was with her, once again wearing that carefully blank expression. But there were two new people now. Another dark-haired woman who seemed to have a perpetual pleasant smile — it was surely just as much a mask as the redhead’s disinterested stare — and a scowling blonde man who towered over all of them. He looked almost impossibly huge, and Beth realized he was in armor. Like, old-school plate armor, and he had a big furry mantle as well. Looks warm, she thought enviously.

Actually, now that she got a good look, Leliana was in chain mail, too. So, vaguely medieval, with elves and magic. Jesus fucking Christ , she’d landed herself in Faerûn, only real. 

“Why?” Cassandra asked.

Beth made a vague gesture at the floor. “Not very comfortable.”

The blonde man spoke in what to her sounded like a posh British accent. “It’s a prison cell. It’s not meant to be comfortable.” He kept the scowl on his face and crossed his arms, feet shoulder-width apart. It reminded her of an animal trying to take up space to appear threatening. She looked him over again and noticed the sword at his belt, concluding that his attempt was working just fine. She was properly threatened, for sure. 

The other dark-haired woman stepped forward. Her clothes sounded like taffeta as they swished, loud even against the clanking and jingling armor of the others. She kept the same pleasant expression the entire time she spoke. “I am Josephine Montilyet, our Ambassador. This is Sister Leliana, our Seneschal, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, and the Commander of our forces, Cullen Rutherford.” 

At least now she had more names, and didn’t have to think of them like ‘the blonde, furry one’ any more. Though, from her knowledge of historical fiction and vaguely medieval fantasy games… wasn’t ‘Seneschal’ sometimes a euphemism for ‘Spymaster?’ 

No wonder the redhead was terrifying. 

“We have quite a few questions for you,” Josephine continued, oddly cheery, and she still had that too-perfectly-charming smile on her face.

So it was another interrogation, albeit a slightly more friendly one. Not like she had anything to lose really, so Beth rearranged her legs to sit more comfortably and swept an upturned palm toward Josephine. “Ask away.”

The Spymaster raised one eyebrow while the Commander scowled even more. “Just like that?” the Sister asked. Is she some sort of spy nun? Do they have nuns here?

Beth shrugged, rolling her sore shoulder some more as she answered. “I figure I’ve either gone insane or I’ve dropped into another universe. Either way, I’ve got nothing to hide.” She really ought to be more concerned about this, shouldn’t she? Never mind, one thing at a time, and right now it was getting through this questioning without making them distrust her any more than they already did.

“Yes,” Josephine said, “Our expert in the Fade mentioned something like that might be the case. Would you tell us again where you are from?”

“Iowa,” she repeated. “It’s in the United States, on planet Earth, third one out from the center of the Sol system of the Milky Way galaxy.” 

It really was funny how absolutely bewildered the Seeker looked while the rest of them were some flavor of either nonplussed or pissed. She suppressed the urge to giggle, since she didn’t want to look completely insane.

“I am afraid those are not places or names familiar to us,” the Ambassador said, actually sounding apologetic, like she had committed some faux pas by not knowing about another dimension. She motioned toward Beth’s chest. “May I ask you what the meanings of those symbols are?”

Beth looked down and realized she was in one of her nerd shirts and a not quite knee-length jean skirt. “Oh. It’s, um, a math joke.” She pointed at each piece as she explained. “The square root of negative one is the imaginary number i , two cubed is eight, sigma denotes a sum, and that’s pi. So, ‘I ate some pie, and it was delicious.’” 

The Commander was beginning to look less incredibly angry and more miffed and confused. 

Progress?

“I see,” Josephine said mildly. Either she didn’t get it, or she didn’t approve of the joke. “Are you a scholar, my lady?”

“Um, by your standards, maybe? I went to college for engineering. But I’m not a lady. I mean, I am ,” she gestured in the vicinity of her chest, “but not that way. No titles or anything. That’s not really a thing where I’m from.” 

The Commander shifted his weight between his feet, dropping one hand to the pommel of his sword and gripping it. Was he nervous? He definitely looked uncomfortable, and was keeping his gaze very firmly above her neck. Shit, she was probably showing way too much skin for this world. He probably thought she was a sex worker or something, and she doubted this place was very forward-thinking about that sort of thing.

The Spymaster spoke rapidly, like she was ticking off a list. “Clear skin with hardly any scars. Soft hands, only callused where one might hold a quill or play an instrument, and not heavily at that. And you can afford perfumed hair products as well as more than enough food.” 

Rude, but okay, Beth thought with a soft huff. 

“If you’re not a noble or a scholar, what are you?”

“Well, I do play some instruments, so you guessed that bit,” she said. “I used to have a gig doing that for a while. Now I mainly work a desk job doing billing.”

Josephine asked, “But you are trained in engineering?”

Beth fidgeted slightly. She didn’t really like talking about why she was a goddamn failure, but there wasn’t much of a way out of it. “Not a lot of jobs for biomedical where I live.”

“Medical — medicine? Are you a healer as well?” the Seeker asked, arms stubbornly crossed. Everything about how she stood, from the set of her shoulders to her tense jaw, screamed that she was closed off and was going to stay that way, but she’d sounded almost hopeful when she asked the question. Maybe the woman just had full body resting bitch face..

Beth frantically tried to think if there was any good way to explain it. She used to jokingly tell people she was studying to make cyborgs, but that wouldn’t fly here, she was pretty sure. “No no, nothing like that. That’s the sort of engineering I specialized in. I, uh, don’t know if you have anything like it here, really.”

The Commander finally spoke again. “Supposedly you’re not a mage, despite your strange connection to the Fade. Are you trained in any form of combat?”

“Not really? I used to fence, but I was shit at it, and that was in college, so it was ages ago.” He gave her a strange look, like he couldn’t make sense of what she’d said. “Fencing is a sport, meant to mimic sword fighting with a rapier or a cutlass.” That didn’t seem to clear anything up for him, but now she was at a loss of how else to put it, so she just shut up until someone asked another question.

It was apparently the Seeker’s turn again. “Earlier, you spoke in the voice of Divine Justinia and myself.” She stepped forward, coming only a few feet from the bars. “How did you know?”

Beth nervously fiddled with her fingers. “I saw it.”

“You saw it? How?” Her brows drew together as she asked. 

“I don’t know how,” Beth said quietly. “I felt weird, and then I saw a huge crater with burned, twisted people in it, and huge red crystals. And I heard a woman with a thick French accent, and you.”

They were all quiet for several seconds. The Spymaster slowly smiled, a predatory expression that showed one sharp, dainty canine. The Commander and Seeker looked troubled, but the Ambassador asked with confusion, “What is French?”

That’s what you get hung up on? Really? “Uh, it’s what they speak in, um, France? You know, bonjour, où est la bibliothèque, voulez-vous coucher avec moi?” she said in her moderately-awful French accent. She never did truly get the hang of that one. All the R sounds hurt her throat.

Leliana raised one thin brow, looking Beth over again, obviously drawing some sort of conclusion from the interaction. What that conclusion was, Beth had no fucking clue. 

Josephine tittered a bubbly little laugh that for some reason to Beth actually sounded genuine. It seemed not quite refined enough to be affected. “That would be Orlesian here, my lady. Oh, apologies, you said that is not the proper address. What shall we call you?”

“Beth? I guess if you really need an honorific, you could use Miss.” She thought she might actually have the Ambassador warming up to her, so she added, “Just, please God, not Ma’am. It makes me feel so old.”

Josephine nodded. “Very good, Miss Chisholm.” She turned to the rest of them. “Do we have any more questions for her at this time?”

The Commander spoke up again. “Did you have these visions before you entered the Fade?”

“No.” She chewed her lip. “Today — assuming it still is today — was the first time. I really don’t know why this is happening. I was kinda hoping maybe someone here would know.”

Leliana said, “We should bring her to Solas to be examined further.”

“Is that wise?” the Commander asked. “You don’t think she could be an enemy agent?”

“She isn’t.” The Spymaster looked at her critically. “She is telling us the truth — or she’s even better than I am. It appears that she dropped out of a rift from another world along with our Herald, and she may be of use in more than one way.”

Beth didn’t really like the sound of that. It did, however, remind her… “Where is the other person? Herah? Is she okay?”

The Spymaster gave her another calculating look. “You’ll see her shortly. Solas is with her now.” Her eyes narrowed some. “Why do you ask?”

Beth swallowed awkwardly. “I mean, I’m being held against my will. She was being held against her will. If you killed her, that wouldn’t be a real encouraging sign for me.” 

The Seeker said with a frown, “We did not kill her. She attempted to close the Breach, but the effort left her unconscious.”

“The Breach? What’s that?” She looked between the four of them as the silence stretched after her question.

The Spymaster spoke without answering her. “Cassandra, Cullen, escort her and place her under guard. I do not think she is a threat, but we shouldn’t leave her alone. If I am wrong, we will want her contained, and if I am right, she may need protection when word gets out of her abilities. The people are already uneasy about the Herald.”

Commander Cullen nodded. “Agreed.” He uncrossed his arms and dug in the folds of his mantle, producing a large key. He stepped forward, unlocked the door, and swung it open, then released her from her shackles and extended an arm brusquely toward the exit.

Beth took the hint and scrambled to her feet. As they walked, Cassandra in front and Cullen behind her, she swore she could feel his eyes burning holes in the back of her head.

They led her up a set of stairs and through something that looked sort of like a church, but without the pews. Also like a church, they apparently didn’t have the heat on during their off-hours, because it was unpleasantly chilly — enough that she really wished she had a cardigan or something. No wonder everybody else was dressed in layers. 

As they opened the large doors at the end of the hall, she was dazzled by an incredibly bright snowscape and a sudden blast of cold air that immediately made her skin break out in goosebumps. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing to try and create some friction. She was half-blind for the first few seconds as she followed Cassandra out, squinting and shivering, and when her eyes adjusted, she saw a huge green swirl in the sky.

“What the fuck is that?” she asked. She indicated with her head, not wanting to unfold her arms. It’s fucking June, where the Hell am I? Alaska?

“That is the Breach,” Cassandra answered. “It was created when the Conclave was attacked. You and the Herald are the only people to have survived its making.”

“But what is it? Is it a storm or something?” She didn’t think it was, but what else could it be?

The Commander said in a low voice, “It is a tear in the Veil.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, trying not to bite her tongue with her chattering teeth, “What’s the Veil?”

He sighed heavily, sounding annoyed. “Solas can answer your questions more thoroughly than I.” He frowned even more, seeming to just notice her shivering, and added quietly, “It’s not far.”

They walked through what looked like a newly constructed village to one of the cabins. Thankfully, it was a fair bit warmer inside, though it was still cold by Beth’s standards. The elf from earlier was in there — apparently he was Solas — and Herah was in the bed he was seated next to. 

Beth gasped when she saw her. Herah was pale, her gray skin taking on an even more ashen tone. She had bloodstains on her clothes, and she looked like she was in pain from whatever was going on with her hand — she was panting and sweat beaded on her face despite the chill. Even with the obvious agony she felt, she didn’t open her eyes. 

“Oh my God,” Beth said. “Is she okay?” She flailed a hand toward the woman. “What happened to her?” She probably sounded a little panicked. She was in actuality incredibly panicked. What had they made Herah do? What would they make Beth do?

Solas inclined his head slightly. “She is stable for now. Allow me a moment, please.” He placed the Herald’s left hand in both of his, covering the strange green flickering glow, and muttered a few words. The glow, which was sparking and fizzling again, dimmed considerably and got steadier, and he examined her palm with a satisfied nod. “A chair, if you would, Commander?”

There was a small table in the cabin with two seats at it, and Commander Cullen grabbed the back of a chair with one hand, plonking it down in front of Solas’s. Beth chewed her lip nervously as she sat when instructed, keeping half an eye on the Commander’s scowl.

Solas said, “I would like to use a few spells to determine if there are any other lasting effects from your trip through the Fade.”

Commander Cullen interjected, “She apparently sees visions.”

Solas nodded calmly. “I suspected as much. Past, present, or future?”

“Um,” she muttered, “All of the above, I think?” She flicked her eyes to Cassandra. “That is, if that weird crater with the awful crystals really was from the future?”

Cassandra nodded. “It was. From just before we attempted to seal the Breach.”

Beth took a deep breath. “Okay. Great. Okay. I can see the future now. That’s…”

“Remarkable,” Solas said. Cassandra made a disgusted noise again. “Though I can see why some would find it a bit unsettling,” he amended. 

“Yeah, I’ll fucking say,” Beth said with a slightly maniacal giggle. “I’m in some sort of medieval fantasy land, and now I have magic powers. It’s like the start of a Goddamn video game.”

Solas raised an eyebrow. “I would like to speak to you about your world later, but for now, I think we should make sure your ability is stable.” He raised a glowing hand, and she flinched. He smiled gently again, speaking quietly. “I will not hurt you. You should feel a mild tingling at most, though you may not feel anything at all.”

“O-okay,” she stammered, and he placed a hand over each of her temples, closing his eyes as she felt a gentle buzz between his fingertips and her skin. 

The Commander shifted his weight from foot to foot and cleared his throat after several seconds, as if anxious to be elsewhere. Cassandra’s voice was cool as she said, “Commander, perhaps you could assign the guard for her?”

He nodded stiffly and walked quickly from the room, letting in a gust of frigid air as the door closed. Beth shivered, and Solas opened his eyes, the glow fading from his fingers as he lowered his hands. “You must be cold,” he said. “I believe there are more blankets in that chest behind you.”

She turned and saw a large wooden container at the foot of the bed. Inside were several folded blankets that looked like wool. She grabbed a dark green one and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she muttered.

Solas nodded. “It appears that you do not have any natural connection to the Fade. How that can be, I’m not certain, since you are clearly not a Child of the Stone. But now, there is a small… thread, if you will. Energy can flow through that thread to you, but cannot flow back. This appears to be the source of your visions. You are receiving information from the Fade.”

Cassandra sounded amazed. “I have never heard of such a thing!”

“I have only seen it rarely in my own wanderings in the Fade,” Solas said. “Ancient Elves could communicate to each other in a similar way, though their connections went both ways.” He shook his head. “You must be connected to something that has great knowledge.”

Cassandra said darkly, “Is it a demon? Is she at risk of possession?”

“Oh God,” Beth said, eyes going wide. “Of course there are demons. Of course. Why wouldn’t there be?”

They ignored her mutterings for the moment as Solas answered. “I do not believe it is a demon or spirit. There are repositories of knowledge available in the Fade, though most mortals cannot comprehend them.”Turning back to Beth, he smiled. “You have a rare gift. I would like to work with you to find what triggers these visions. Do you have any ideas?”

She shook her head. “So, what now? Do I go back to the cell?” she asked Cassandra.

“No,” the woman frowned. “We will have a cot brought here, so that both you and the Herald can be protected in one place.” She gave Beth a once-over, and added, “Josephine will see about getting you some more appropriate attire.”

There was a perfunctory knock at the door just before it opened and the Commander entered again. “I’ve established a guard rotation. What else do we need?”

Cassandra walked toward him. “Come, we can speak of it on the way back to the Chantry.” He nodded, and followed her out.

Beth was alone with the elf and the Qunari. “Um, Solas, right?” He nodded patiently. “What now?”

“I suppose we wait. You must have many questions, and I’d imagine you are getting hungry as well.” He stood, saying, “I will get us both a meal, and then you can ask me whatever you like.”

“And you’ll answer me?” she asked incredulously. “Aren’t I a prisoner?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, but I am not your jailer. I have no qualms about giving you more information pertaining to this world.” He walked to the door as well. “I will return shortly.”

Beth sat in silence for several seconds, stunned, watching Herah’s chest steadily rise and fall as she slept.

Well, fuck me.

Cullen watched his soldiers training, occasionally stepping in to offer additional critique. Several of his captains were also wandering throughout the mostly organized melee. This was one of their largest batches of recruits yet, and it was taking nearly all of his officers to handle it. He might even need to promote a few more people to keep up with the workload — one of the few problems he didn’t mind having at the moment. They needed every able body they could get. He only wished the sunlight reflecting off the snow didn’t pierce his eyes so much, because it made his head positively throb.

He wasn’t sure if it was just the headache — he was afraid it likely wasn’t — but he had been having trouble keeping his focus today. It seemed that any time he had a moment that he wasn’t entirely absorbed in his task, his thoughts spun out to worry about anything and everything — primarily about the two women that had fallen out of the Fade.

One of those women was already being called the Herald of Andraste, despite being a Qunari, and had yet to wake after closing the Breach. The elven apostate, Solas, had confirmed that she had not given them a permanent solution, however. They would need her mark for some time to come, especially with reports of other rifts popping up all over Ferelden, and some even in Orlais. But even with her ability to fully seal the smaller rifts, new ones could simply open somewhere else. 

They could only hope she was amenable to joining them when she woke. They hadn’t exactly made a good first impression. 

He sighed and gripped the tense muscles at the back of his neck, tilting his head and vainly trying to loosen them. He’d had a fairly large hand in their hostile ‘welcome.’ At the time it had quite clearly been the correct thing to do. Two people had somehow survived an attack even more devastating than the one on the Chantry in Kirkwall, and they couldn’t possibly be left to roam if they were the orchestrators. It would have put Haven, Ferelden — all of Thedas in incredible peril.  

But there was no sense in worrying over it now. What was done was done. They would simply need to trust that the Herald could understand why and forgive them for their mistrust. 

Then there was the other woman that came through the rift, and he was of two minds about her. On the one hand, she had a strange ability to know things that she shouldn’t, which unsettled him. It was a magic that wasn’t taught in the Circle, and he wasn’t convinced it was safe, despite the reassurances of their Fade expert. He’d only seen beings from the Fade exhibit such power. On the other hand, she had been nothing but forthcoming with information. She had answered every question they asked, even if some of her answers were baffling, and she didn’t seem to have any particularly dangerous skills. When he’d last seen her, she had looked… lost. Helpless. Frightened. And no wonder, if she truly was from another world entirely. He could only imagine how disorienting and terrifying the entire experience must have been — must still be. 

He thought back to that moment before he’d left the cabin with Cassandra a few days ago. The woman, Miss Chisholm, had been sitting very still, her dark eyes wide and seeming to plead with everyone she looked at. Her dark curly hair was disheveled from the wind on their walk through Haven and she’d been shivering under a blanket that only Solas had thought to give her, making her look even more confused and overwhelmed. Even just thinking of it again gave him that same strange twisting sensation in his stomach that he’d had that day.

He briefly wondered if anyone had gotten her something warm to actually wear. Wherever she came from, it must have been incredibly warm and possibly as immodest as Rivain, because her arms and legs had both been exposed almost entirely. Her clothing was much too thin for the Frostbacks. The only person he’d ever seen wear less out in public had been the pirate that traveled about with the Champion, Hawke. But while Isabella had merely made him embarrassed for her — Maker’s sake, someone had to be, and it certainly wasn’t going to be Isabella herself — this woman, Miss Chisholm, instead set his mind to wondering all sorts of things. If that was how people typically dressed where she was from, what did she consider improper? Did she have anything warm to wear yet, or was she still huddled, shivering under a blanket? And perhaps most shamefully, he more than once found himself pondering just how far those freckles on her arms traveled.

He mentally shook himself, nipping that line of thought in the bud. Was that a new symptom of lyrium withdrawal as well? He hadn’t had any time for or real interest in entanglements since before the Blight, and he honestly didn’t have time for them now, either. But that hadn’t seemed to matter to his eyes when he first met Miss Chisholm. 

Surely it was only because she was dressed so scandalously. Surely anyone would have stared in that situation. 

Surely.

He rubbed in vain at the ache over his brow before calling out a correction to a few of the recruits nearby. The Divine’s former Council had yet to decide what was to be done with the strange woman, though they’d already agreed to wait until the Herald woke up to have that discussion. The two of them were clearly connected in some way, and they couldn’t in good conscience simply eject either of them. They needed the Herald’s mark, and the other woman could still be dangerous — though Josephine and Leliana seemed more focused on how she might be useful. 

But perhaps he was being overcautious. To his knowledge, Solas had been the only one to spend significant time with Miss Chisholm since her arrival, and knowing Leliana, she had several agents eavesdropping on the cabin. If Miss Chisholm had said or done anything concerning, their Spymaster would know. 

Though if he was truthful, he was just as worried for her as he was about her. She had very literally fallen into Thedas with no possessions and very little in the way of practical skills for surviving in the mountains. He trusted that Josephine had at least taken care of what she needed as far as basic necessities went — Maker knew she’d outfitted his tent with more than he ever would have ever thought to ask for. He wasn’t used to having much that actually belonged to him, and had been both abashed to need and thankful for her assistance. He was only now realizing how strangely sheltered his time in the Templar Order had kept certain portions of his life, leaving him woefully underprepared to live outside their walls — and he had even joined fairly late by their standards.

A runner hurried up to him and saluted. He gave her a nod, and she said, “Ser, you’re needed in the War Room. The Herald is awake.”

Maker’s Breath, this is it. “Very well. On your way.” 

She saluted again, and he followed her through the gates at a more sedate pace than her brisk scamper, losing sight of the runner almost immediately. All around him Haven was practically buzzing, half excitement and half anxiousness. Many of the people here believed the Herald was truly sent by Andraste, but there were also plenty who were suspicious of a Qunari mercenary with a magical mark that contained so much power. Thank Andraste that Miss Chisholm’s abilities hadn’t yet become common knowledge — just a few rumors of another person wearing strange clothing who had been marched through town and not seen again since. All the staff that had been allowed access to the cabin had been chosen for their discretion. It was hard enough to keep the peace as it was with one ostensibly holy figure in their midst. They did not need wild tales of some sort of otherworldly person floating about.

When he entered the War Room, he saw he was the last to arrive and that, unexpectedly, both mysterious women were already there. He watched them with a critical eye as introductions were made. The Qunari stood very near Miss Chisholm, and the two of them frequently glanced toward each other as the meeting began in earnest — it seemed in the short time she’d been awake, they’d struck up a rapport. 

Almost immediately though, things devolved into the familiar debate of Mage versus Templar yet again. It was a well-trod argument for the four of them that had been sworn to the Divine’s service. 

“I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well,” he reminded them. 

Cassandra said with annoyance, “We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so—”

Leliana interrupted as well. “Pure speculation.”

He attempted to reign in his temper, which was fraying at the edges. “ I was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

A new voice added itself to the argument from across the table. Miss Chisholm had an odd, vacant expression on her face as she spoke, voice modulating as if mimicking two distinct speakers.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!”

“Lies—your kind let her die.”

“Shut your mouth, mage!” There was a pause for a moment, then, “Knight-Commander!”

A chill went down Cullen’s spine as he heard an eerie mimicry of his own familiar tones coming from the woman standing across from him. It did not sound exactly like him, but the impression was uncanny enough to leave him entirely unsettled. 

“That is not my title,” said the voice that was not his. “We are not Templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition!”

Unknown magic. Dangerous. 

No, he would not allow himself to give in to blind suspicion. He was not that man any more. Solas had examined her several times and assured them that there was no danger in her connection to the Fade. Cullen realized with even more disquiet that he had felt no magic at all while she had her vision. The one Templar ability he actually wished would diminish had stubbornly stuck around after he’d stopped taking lyrium, so he should have been able to feel the Fade energy being manipulated if she was casting. Clearly, she wasn’t. She truly wasn’t any sort of mage. 

That’s somehow worse, actually.

He watched her blink rapidly before her eyes focused again, locking on his. She seemed as jarred as he was in the moment before Leliana spoke with an amused lilt. “Well said, Commander. We cannot let previous allegiances sway our judgment.”

He was about to round on her when Josephine skillfully steered the discussion back onto useful ground as she reminded them, “Unfortunately, neither group will speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition, and you, specifically,” she said to the Herald. She turned to Miss Chisholm next. “So far we have managed to keep rumors fairly quiet, and they know little to nothing of you at all. But it does not need to remain so.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Why would your church be interested in me?” Her eyes flicked between all of them as the Herald placed a protective hand on her shoulder, also watching all of them, though more carefully. 

“First,” Josephine said, “we should determine what both of you wish. I know we have not given either of you many choices before now, but you may go, if you wish.”

Cullen attempted to keep his expression neutral. They had most certainly not discussed letting either Adaar or Miss Chisholm go. He was fairly certain that their Ambassador was attempting to endear the Inquisition to them by pretending that they had more options than they did. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he was not the diplomat hand-picked by the Divine, so he would not interfere. 

Cassandra added, “Herah, you should know that while some believe you chosen, many still think you guilty. The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us.” She addressed Miss Chisholm next. “It will not be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend this has not changed you.”

The Herald and Miss Chisholm shared a look that Cullen couldn’t read. “I’m in. We’ll see how it goes,” the Qunari declared.

Cullen cleared his throat. “And you, Miss Chisholm?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I have nowhere else to go.” 

She was right, of course. Judging by what Solas had shared of their conversations, wherever she came from she had lived some sort of luxurious existence and would be lucky to even survive on her own here. But it still stuck in his gullet like a stone. It felt hardly a step away from enslavement, the insinuation that they’d take care of her so long as she stayed under their thumb. 

It felt like the Circles.

But then, she surprised him. “And even if I did, I don’t think I could.” He saw a fresh determination in her eyes when she opened them again. “I’ve seen what happens when a church grabs too much power and stops caring about its principles. I’ve heard a little about why you were founded, and I believe that your Inquisition can be a force for good — and that your world desperately needs people who actually give a shit.” She nodded to herself as she spoke. “I want to help however I can.”

“That is very gratifying to hear,” Josephine said with a smile and a small bow. “Now, to address your previous concern, I do not believe we will be able to keep your ability a secret indefinitely. However, we may be able to spin this to our advantage if we can maintain control of the narrative.”

Miss Chisholm narrowed her eyes slightly. “If you lie, you mean.”

Leliana waved a hand dismissively. “Only as much as is necessary. We will not be able to tell Thedas that you are from another world, so you will have to be an unlanded noble from a far-flung branch of a minor house. No claims of your own, but it will serve as an excuse for your seeming nobility.”

Her mouth twisted distastefully. “Do I really seem that prissy?”

Josephine let out a tinkling laugh, joined by a raucous peal from the Herald. It was jarring to see the Qunari so… relaxed. Then again, he’d only seen her conscious on the battlefield before, where she had been an incredibly deadly one-woman whirlwind with daggers in hand.

“No no,” Josephine assured the shorter woman. Maker’s Breath, she was rather small, wasn’t she? Did she even come up to his shoulder? “But you are far too well-educated to be of common birth, unless you were raised by the Chantry. And without an extensive knowledge of the Chant of Light, that would not be plausible.” Josephine paused, the look in her eye one Cullen had learned to be wary of, though for once he was not the one on the receiving end of it, thank Andraste. “Although, teaching you some basic passages might not be a bad idea…”

Miss Chisholm shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, your Andraste is a lot like our Christ. I may be a lapsed Catholic and Methodist, but I was always good at Biblical hermeneutics.” 

Well there was a word he hadn’t heard in years — perhaps more than a decade. Likely not since he was a young recruit being lectured on the accepted interpretations of The Chant  himself. Interesting…

Leliana cocked her head to one side. “You would rather pass yourself off as a Chantry scholar?”

“Maybe? Wait,” her brow furrowed. “Are they expected to be celibate?”

Cullen’s mind immediately fell straight into the gutter, and he felt his face burn while Cassandra unsubtly rolled her eyes across the table from him. Leliana and Josephine both darted sly glances his way at his overreaction, though thankfully he didn’t think Miss Chisholm herself caught it. By Andraste, why did she have to bring this sort of thing up every time he saw her? And why did it bother him so much? He’d spent half his life in barracks among soldiers. It’s not like anything she said was even half as bad as what he’d heard there. But for some reason he felt caught off-guard by it, just as he had the day they’d met.

Leliana answered, “Not necessarily. But we will have to work on your blasphemy.”

Miss Chisholm winced. “Sorry. Bad habit.”

“Oh, we don’t expect you to stop,” Josephine said with a grin. “Plenty of people in the Chantry use similar turns of phrase. But you will have to blaspheme in the appropriate manner.”

The Herald elbowed her new friend gently in the ribs. “I’ll teach you all the good curses.”

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen muttered, and the Herald excitedly pointed a finger at him.

“Exactly!” She gave him a huge grin, and Miss Chisholm smiled as well, though a bit more subdued. 

She has a nice smile. Rather pretty…

No. That way lay thoughts he would be mad to even entertain. She had accepted a role in the Inquisition, and now she was a colleague. It would be inappropriate even if she wasn’t supposedly ordained by the Maker’s Bride. Once Leliana and Josephine had done their jobs and made her existence known, it would be doubly so. 

Their meeting had done what it needed to, and despite himself, he found his eyes tracking Miss Chisholm as she left the room with the Herald, lingering on the shape and sway of — No. Absolutely not, he reminded himself, silently appalled at his own behavior as he kept his head down and headed back to the training field.  

Really, any dalliance he might have would be a hierarchical nightmare if they served in his forces, would likely have a frankly worrying power imbalance even if they didn’t, or could turn into — Maker forbid , he thought wryly — a political mess if he somehow ended up in bed with the wrong noble’s daughter. And that was only considering people he didn’t have to actually work with and who didn’t see the Void-taken future because they were rescued from the Fade by Andraste. 

No, better to simply keep to himself. Less trouble that way. He’d never bothered to court a girl — he’d been quite preoccupied with his duties while in the Order, when would he even have found the time for it? — so it’s not like he wasn’t used to his status as a confirmed bachelor. He’d also given up on less serious relationships shortly after being stationed at the Gallows. In his experience, it was simply too complicated for something so ultimately dissatisfying. He had fairly quickly determined that those sort of arrangements weren’t for him. 

Better to ignore any errant thoughts that Miss Chisholm conjured, too. Better to not even consider why she made him think these things when no one else did.

Better to stay alone.

Chapter Text

Beth had no idea how it had happened, but from the second Herah woke up, she’d managed to convince Beth that, yes, this was all real. She’d been dropped into another world with all sorts of crazy shit in it, and for the moment they were both entirely reliant on this Inquisition that had found them, saved them, and now clothed and housed and fed them. Herah probably less so than Beth, since she clearly had marketable skills in this world, but they were both very firmly tied here for the time being.

Beth also had no idea what she would have done on her own — probably have some sort of meltdown, to be honest — but Herah seemed to have taken Beth under her wing, in a sense. Jesus — or, no, Andraste — she definitely had the wingspan for it. She had to be, like, seven feet tall. Beth couldn’t deny it did make her feel a little better when they walked through Haven. Who the Hell — who in the Void — would mess with the Herald of Andraste?

God, she’d never get the hang of all the new names. She’d just have to resolve to curse secularly when in mixed company. But then, she’d only been at it about a day. It has to get easier, right?

The Qunari was quickly turning into a fast friend. Maybe because they’d been thrust into fairly similar roles and taken away from everyone else they knew, but Beth wasn’t about to question a good thing. Herah was in the middle of trying to convince her to head to the tavern when there was a knock at their door.

“I told you, I’m a lightweight,” Beth reminded her. “I don’t want to drink with so many strangers around.”

“Just a few pints. I know you loved listening to Maryden last night.” Herah batted her eyelashes playfully, then called out over her shoulder, “Come in!”

The door opened, and Solas strode in, satchel over his shoulder and arms full of large, very heavy looking books that he quickly deposited onto their table with a thud. “I have found a few tomes that may be of use in understanding your gift,” he said, as if he hadn’t brought like a hundred pounds of leather and vellum with him.

Herah made her way to the door, suddenly much more willing to go on without Beth. “And that’s my cue to go. Come find me at the Maiden later!”

Beth snorted a small laugh at her new friend’s uncanny ability to dodge anything she deemed ‘boring’ and tried to get a look at the titles on the spines of the tomes. “Anything particularly good?”

Solas shook his head with a small smile. “I don’t know yet. I have a few questions for you first.” He took the book from the top of the pile and opened it, thumbing through the pages. “When you have your visions, what does it feel like?”

She puffed out a breath, trying to form the confusing experiences into a coherent explanation. “It’s sort of like a dream, or maybe an incredibly vivid memory? Not quite real, but close enough to be unsettling.”

Solas nodded. “Interesting.” His eyes quickly skimmed the page he was on. “Do you know what triggers the visions?”

Beth shook her head. “No. I wish I did,” she said with some frustration.

Solas shut the book with a snap, then opened another where there had been a bookmark placed. “With your permission, I would like to attempt to trigger one now.”

She chewed on her lip, trying to suppress her nervousness. “If we find out how they’re triggered, do you think I could control them? I’d rather not be vacant and creepy with no warning if I can help it.” She ended with a wry smile.

Solas matched her expression. In the couple of days she’d spent with him as he kept Herah’s mark under control, she’d realized he did that a lot. He tended to mirror the people around him, almost like he was trying to learn how to be a person by mimicking them. Or perhaps it was to placate them.

“An understandable sentiment,” he said patiently. “We won’t know until we try.”

Beth nodded, taking a deep breath to prepare herself. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

It turned out that Solas had plenty of things to try. She was given several different teas, all of which were bitter and horrible and had no effect. They didn’t even help when he did a sorta lucid-dream guided-meditation thing in an attempt to get her in a ‘more pliable state of consciousness,’ which was a terrifying concept if she thought too hard about it. Then she was given several different crystals and runes to hold, again, with no response from any of them. She found herself getting frustrated, and though Solas was hard to read, she thought he might be getting there as well. The last thing they tried was some sort of enchanted candle which she held and looked into the flame, but again, nothing.

“I admit, I was not expecting immediate success, but I also didn’t expect you to have no reaction to anything at all. It is quite the puzzle.” Solas rubbed his chin, looking at her with a small squint. “Perhaps it is your unconventional relationship with the Fade. Traditional magic comes from the Fade, so traditional methods may not be as effective as I had hoped.” He bent forward to blow out the candle, the faint smell of smoke tickling her nose.

Horses screaming. People screaming. Soldiers running, buckets sloshing. Heat and fire and smoke. The horsemaster, Dennet, dashes into the barn, heedless of the blaze, but he emerges a few seconds later, coughing and wheezing with his hands on his knees. Satina, full and bright, crosses in front of the huge moon on the horizon, pierced by the crest of the Frostbacks.

Beth gasped, coming back to awareness of herself still sitting in her chair, the thin candle now broken in two from where she’d had a death grip on it. Solas was staring with huge eyes and a small smile, as if he was both surprised and enthralled. “Fascinating,” he said. “I believe the Council will be meeting shortly. We should tell them of this and hear what our Advisors think.”

She was still trying to ground herself back in this world, attempting to make her fingers unclench and her heart stop pounding. “Should we—” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat before starting again. “Should we drop in unannounced like that?” The introvert in her was absolutely horrified by the idea, but she also had no idea about the social conventions in Thedas.

Solas’s eyes crinkled as he smiled indulgently at her. “I believe we will be forgiven just this once.”

Sometimes he reminded her of a dad or a grandpa talking to little kids, which was weird, because he didn’t seem any older than her. But then, she also didn’t know if elves lived super long or anything. Maybe he was 300 years old, and there was some Tolkien-level fuckery with the non-humans’ lifespans here. Shit, she’d have to ask someone if ‘non-human’ was offensive. For all she knew, she might have just thought a racial slur.

Beth allowed herself to be whisked through the Chantry to stand outside the room they’d met in before, arms crossed awkwardly over her stomach, until Josephine exited her office across the way.

“Miss Chisholm, Solas, what can we do for you?” she asked pleasantly. She was always pleasant. Probably why she was their diplomat.

Solas stepped in to explain that it would be best to wait for everyone, so the three of them moved into the room, Beth’s gaze wandered over the huge map on the even bigger table, and in a few more minutes the other Advisors had also trickled in. Leliana was inscrutable as always, acknowledging her presence beside Solas with a barely visible nod of her head. While the Spymaster maintained a calm and blank exterior, the Ambassador had a perpetual smile and easy demeanor that was just as much a mask, Beth was sure of it. Both were cultivated to give nothing away that was not intended to be known.

The only one who didn’t seem to be hiding their nature was the Commander, and that was probably just because ‘terse, irritable, and blunt’ worked well for a general. He glowered when he saw her, making Beth take an instinctual step back as if he would lunge at her, but he said nothing and simply stalked through the door to take his place beside the table that was covered with a detailed map and dozens of tiny figures. He consulted the papers he carried with him and moved a few of the markers, not bothering with a second look at anyone.

Josephine cleared her throat, quill and paper at the ready as she had been nearly every time Beth had seen her. “Solas, Miss Chisholm, welcome. What brings you to see us today?” She greeted them as if they just hadn’t done this dance yesterday.

The elf took a step forward, hands folded neatly behind his back. “Beth has had another vision, and I believe I know how they are triggered. Beth, would you explain what you saw?”

She tried her best to make her story actually intelligible, but it had been such an overwhelming and chaotic sensation. Thankfully it was at least brief because as she recalled the terrifying scene, she almost thought she could still feel the heat on her skin and the smoke stinging her eyes and lungs again.

Solas picked up the explanation when she ended her description of the vision. “The way she described the moons, I believe I know when this occurs. This vision has not yet come to pass — the moons will make such a formation in a little over a month’s time.”

Josephine looked thoughtful, and Cullen had simply stared at the map the entire time. The man was absolutely undecipherable. Yesterday it seemed like he was trying to puzzle her out just by looking at her, but now he ignored her while she was in the same room? What gives?

Surprisingly, the Commander was the first to speak, though he didn’t raise his eyes from the map. “A fire in the stables could be disastrous. We don’t have many mounts now — we can’t afford to lose a single one. And if the Herald succeeds in convincing Horsemaster Dennet to join us, we’ll have some of the finest steeds in Ferelden here.” He nodded decisively. “I will station additional men in that area to keep an eye on things.” Beth’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he continued, not even noticing her expression. “I can spare them at the moment, and it would be foolish to do nothing at all.”

Solas interjected. “You may not be able to prevent the fire, Commander. From my research, Beth’s gift will nearly always show the inevitable.”

That made the Commander’s head whip around, and in a split-second his more general annoyance had heated to genuine anger, aimed right at Solas and herself. He looked like he was barely containing himself, so tense that Beth could actually see his muscles twitching with restraint where he was gripping the end of his sword. “What good is she then,” he spat, speaking to the other man instead of her, “if all she can tell us is what has already happened and what will happen no matter what we do?”

Beth could feel her temper beginning to boil, hands clenched into fists behind her back as her heart began to pound with adrenaline. I haven’t asked for any of this! It’s not my fault that their stupid world has fucked with my head! If they don’t want to hear about it, I’d happily give it back, but I Goddamn can’t!

But before she could open her mouth to answer, Solas came to her rescue, much calmer than she or the Commander. “You may not be able to prevent the fire itself, but you can be more prepared for the outcome. We can move as many of the horses as possible, for instance, and we can prepare to fight the blaze once it has begun.”

The Commander seemed to shrink some, no longer holding himself like a beast ready to strike. “Then we shall do as you suggest, Solas.” He spoke much more quietly than he had even before his outburst, and more slowly, with exaggerated calm. His eyes darted to hers and quickly away again, and for a moment before he steeled himself into his normal ‘stony Commander’ face, she thought she saw a flicker of alarm.

Leliana spoke then, her voice soft and lilting and not at all matching the shrewd words she spoke. “You said you know what triggers these visions. Can you do so reliably? Could we use this to our advantage?”

Beth shivered, though she tried to disguise it with some fidgeting. She’d much rather everyone else think she was antsy than afraid, because she did not like the sound of what Leliana was saying.

Solas shook his head. “Her gift is not so predictable. It seems to work much like memory does. In this instance, she smelled the smoke of an extinguished candle, and that triggered her vision of a fire. The previous visions also had to do with what was being discussed at the time.”

Beth couldn’t help her grumpy mumble. “So it could still happen at any time with no warning. Great. Let’s hope I’m not on the stairs next time.”

Solas gave her a sympathetic smile. Leliana continued as if she’d said nothing. “We can still use this.” She turned to the other woman, speaking as if Beth and the others were no longer there. “Josie, it’s time to start spreading word that the Inquisition has its own Seer as well as the Herald.”

The Ambassador delicately mouthed the end of her quill as she thought. “That may garner us more support from Antiva and Rivain.” She started scribbling her thoughts. “We will need to outfit her for the position as soon as possible. Her current wardrobe won’t do.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Beth interrupted. “Your world is ripping itself apart and the first thing on your to-do list is to play dress up with me?”

Commander Rutherford mumbled grumpily, “That’s what I said,” and at the looks he got from Leliana and Josephine his glower got even more intense. It was actually pretty impressive. If brooding was a sport, he’d take home the gold for sure.

Leliana was smirking as she turned to Beth to explain. “You are to be a woman of means and power. You must look the part. No one will take a Seer seriously if she has her visions in that,” she gestured with a pretty frown at Beth’s outfit.

Beth looked down at herself. She was in a soft wool dress that laced closed in the front with long sleeves. It was clean and warm and definitely suitable for what she did with her days, which at the moment was mostly sit around and try not to freeze to death. Admittedly, the colors were a bit drab, but she thought it wasn’t too bad. A hell of a lot warmer than the clothes she’d been wearing when she arrived. Still, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

The Ambassador smoothly launched into a lecture, sounding as if she’d had quite a few opportunities to make this particular speech. “We are making first impressions to all of Thedas, but especially to those in Haven. If you are to be given due respect, you cannot blend in with the rest of the populace.”

The Commander hmphed. Apparently, he disagreed. Rich, coming from the man with the huge fucking fur on his shoulders. Unless… had Josephine and Leliana chosen his ‘signature look?’ Were they why he always looked so hulking and commander-y?

She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. No, he came by the hulking and brooding honestly. The clothes did add to it, but he was intimidating and woof all on his own. He might be a frustrating ass, but she was willing to admit that at least he was easy on the eyes while he was infuriating her today.

Josephine continued, smoothing over the Commander’s rough edges. She’d probably had plenty of practice at it. “Miss Chisholm, I have some time after this meeting if you would like to wait for me in my office? We can also review your skills to see how else you might be of service to the Inquisition.”

That sounded like a dismissal to her, so Beth awkwardly bowed toward them all — should she be curtseying instead? Too late now — and turned to walk away. “Wait,” Solas said, and she turned back again, but did not step closer. He faced the advisors to address them. “Since her visions can be triggered by anything at any time, perhaps your new Seer should sit in on these meetings? A stray word could give you additional information that you wouldn’t otherwise have.”

God, no, Beth thought. Herah had thought most of the meeting yesterday was the most boring shit ever, and Beth was in full agreement there. Listening to other people stubbornly argue about things she knew nothing about was awful. She had never liked meetings at her old jobs, either. Though, here they didn’t have the excuse that the meeting should have been an email, so maybe they would be less mind-numbingly inane and useless. Or maybe it will make them worse. Ugh.

But Leliana was nodding, as was Josephine. The Spymaster spoke, eyes sharp and calculating in an otherwise disarmingly pleasant expression. Beth tried not to look like a deer caught in the hunter’s sights. “We should use whatever she can give us.”

The Commander grunted his disagreement. “I don’t like it. We don’t know the nature of her power, or how dangerous she could be.” He shot Solas a look. “We don’t even know if her visions are always trustworthy. She’s given us one accurate prediction — hardly enough to prove they are unerring.” God, they were speaking over her again, like she wasn’t standing right here. This guy was the dictionary definition of condescending, and Leliana seemed to regard everyone as beneath her notice half the time.

Solas spoke up, and Beth noted with a nearly inaudible huff that he wasn’t actually any better. “If you are worried about demonic possession, Commander, she is at no risk.” Commander Rutherford scoffed, but Solas continued. “I mean that quite literally. She has no connection back to the Fade, not unlike the dwarves. She does not go there when she sleeps, and so she cannot be accosted by beings of the Fade.”

Leliana cocked her head. “Do you not dream?”

Beth shrugged. “Not much. I rarely dreamed back home, apart from the occasional stress nightmare, so it didn’t seem that weird that I hadn’t done it here yet.” She frowned at Solas. “Are you saying I can’t dream while I’m here? Doesn’t that, like, drive people crazy or something?” She wasn’t sure if that was just an urban legend, but it made a certain amount of sense to her.

She noted that the Commander seemed like he wasn’t really listening, staring at a single point on the table again with his hands folded over the pommel of his sword. His fingers flexed slowly, likely an unconscious gesture. It seemed strange. Even when he was outwardly ignoring her earlier, he was obviously paying close attention to everyone else. He didn’t seem like the type to slack off and daydream, no matter how boring he found the conversation.

“Whatever manner of dreaming you did in your world will likely continue here, but you do not and cannot dream like those born in Thedas.” Solas’s gaze softened somewhat, looking wistful. “I am sorry. The Fade is a fascinating place, and you will not be able to experience it.”

Beth shrugged. “If it means I never have to face down a demon, I think I’m okay with it.”

The Commander grunted again quietly as he lifted his fist to his chin in thought, but didn’t follow that up with anything. Beth couldn’t tell if he agreed or if he was affronted by her opinion. She couldn’t quite see his face around his hand, but she wasn’t sure if there would be a difference in her assessment if she could.

Josephine nodded decisively. “Thank you, Solas. If you would please excuse us, I believe we have other matters to attend to.” She gave Beth an encouraging smile and nod, signaling that Beth should stay.

Solas gave Beth’s shoulder a small squeeze before he left. “If you have need of me, I’ll be in my cabin.”

Beth nervously turned her attention to the table as she heard the door click shut behind her. Commander Rutherford straightened his reports, tapping the many, many pages on the edge of the table, and said expectantly, “To work?”

God, these meetings were going to suck ass.

From the look of the light barely filtering into the church — chantry, she reminded herself, they sing the Chant here — the meeting didn’t let out until it was nearing sundown. She kinda wanted to find Herah for that drink after all, having had her mind utterly numbed with mundane, tiny concerns like ‘where to dig the next latrine,’ and huge things she didn’t understand a bit of, like ‘which noble houses do we approach that might give us an audience with the Templar Order?’ She had hardly understood any of it, and what little she did was just so boring. Necessary, yes, but that didn’t make it interesting in the slightest.

Josephine snagged her elbow, linking arms with her before she could escape the building. “Miss Chisholm, I believe you were going to meet with me now.”

“Oh, right,” Beth said. She’d forgotten already. That wasn’t very much like her. “Slipped my mind, sorry. What did you want to talk about?”

The Ambassador steered them into her office, closing the door behind them and gesturing for Beth to take a seat across the desk. “First, I did want to get to know you better. One of my duties is to find everyone’s fit within our Inquisition, and I am not yet sure where you belong.”

Beth felt her small frown of confusion wrinkle her forehead. “I thought I was your Seer?”

“You are,” Josephine agreed, “but it would be good for you to have something to do between visions, yes? And if it can benefit our cause while being something you are talented at, all the better!” she ended brightly. “I believe you mentioned that you play an instrument?”

“Yeah.” Beth was a friendly person, but at her core she was still an awkward nerd and really just wanted to go unnoticed a lot of the time. So she kinda hated that question, especially when she ought to answer it truthfully. “I sing, I play handbells, violin, viola, and bass guitar, I’ve dabbled in woodwinds and percussion, and I’m okay at keyboard and rhythm guitar.” She made a dismissive little fluttering gesture with one hand. “A smattering of others, but only enough to play a song or two passably.”

“Really?” Josephine kept smiling wider and wider. “I am not familiar with some of those. You said, keyboard? What is that?”

“Oh, you might call it…” She thought back to what little music history she learned in high school. “A piano-forte? Or maybe you have harpsichords here?”

“Both, yes,” she said excitedly, “but we do not have any in Haven. Too fragile and expensive to make the journey.” Josephine began to speak faster, making little notes on the paper in front of her. “Do you play the viola da gamba or the viola da braccio? And do you think your guitar is anything like a guitarra tevina?”

After a series of ostensibly clarifying questions where neither of them fully knew what the other was asking about, Josephine suggested that Beth meet with Maryden, their resident bard. “Oh,” Beth protested, “I’m not looking to barge in on anyone’s gig here.”

“She has actually been asking me if we might attract another musician to play with her on occasion, or to take a night or two at the Singing Maiden.” Josephine gave her a self-satisfied smirk. “The tavern’s name will be doubly appropriate with the two of you there.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about ‘maiden.’ I’m a bit old for that.”

“Nonsense,” Josephine said, then winked. “No one would dare to ask a Seer, especially one sent by Andraste, her age. Fail to correct them and you’ll easily pass for 25.”

Beth scoffed. “Right. Sure.”

Josephine’s brows rose with some surprise. “It’s true. It is rare that a lady would stay unmarried much longer than that, and you have taken very good care of your skin. A bit of cosmetics, and you could claim to be younger.” Cocking her head in appraisal, Josephine added, “The only thing that would be odd are your spectacles.”

“Oh, I’ve had these since I was 8 or so. My whole family needs them.” She made a face as she thought of them, screwing her lips to one side for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Josephine said, frowning prettily. How does somebody do that? She and Leliana both. It’s so weird. “You must miss them terribly. I miss my father and my siblings, and they are only in Antiva City. I can’t imagine…”

Beth shrugged. Should she miss her family more? Right now she didn’t feel much like she missed anyone in particular, though she did sometimes feel wistful at the memory of indoor heating and plumbing. “I miss a few of them, I suppose. Not really my parents, but I am — was? — am close to my aunt and uncle.” She sighed with a small smile. “We spend every Saturday together, and they have the best dogs.”

“Oh, do you enjoy dogs?” Josephine asked, a bit more animated. “You may wish to ask some of our Fereldan members about mabari. They are frightfully intelligent creatures, trained to fight alongside their humans.”

Beth couldn’t help smiling at that. “I love dogs. I haven’t seen any here, though.”

“No, unfortunately. There are a few cats, but they do not appear to belong to anyone.” That sounded like most cats. Josephine continued, “Now, I thought we might also go over some of the expectations that will be put upon you as Seer?”

Beth mentally winced, but tried to look neutral. “Sure. Like what?”

“Well, both you and the Herald may need to meet some of our noble guests, perhaps visit or dine with them on occasion. Quite soon, they will be coming here hoping to see you and Miss Adaar specifically.” Josephine made more notes on a fresh sheet of paper, her tone suggesting they were about to begin a makeover montage in a 90s romcom. “Remember that you were given to the Chantry in infancy, so you do not know any of your family. You became a Lay Sister, but never took official Chantry vows. Ah!” She remembered something, then opened a drawer of her desk and placed a thick leather-bound book in front of Beth. “The Chant of Light. You should know at least the most popular verses by heart. I have made note of a few already.” Beth opened the book, and saw a little list tucked neatly between the cover and the first page. “You will be expected to dress fairly simply but elegantly, as well. I will help you take care of that — we can get your measurements before you leave.”

Beth nodded, starting to feel a little overwhelmed. “Given to the Chantry in infancy, never took vows. Alright. What about after that?”

“Now, we blend your actual history with your assumed identity.” Josephine dipped her quill in her ink pot delicately. “The less you must embellish, the easier it is to remember.” She smiled, poised to write. “Please, tell me about your studies.”

Cullen rubbed a hand down his face, eyes moving over the report in front of him without actually reading. He let out a short, frustrated groan and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck and closing his eyes. He could feel that tell-tale pounding by his right ear, and everything was too bright, even in his dim tent. The glaring light of the sunset was filtered through heavy canvas, but it was still piercing every time the flap was brushed aside, coming in at exactly the wrong angle and aggravating his head. He sat like that for a few minutes before he heard a polite cough outside his tent. Not a soldier or a runner, they just tromped straight in, clattering noisily. The bastards.

He sighed at himself. That was uncharitable. He should do better. He’d already had a far too short fuse at their Council meeting today, and he could not let that continue.

“Enter,” he called, straightening his shoulders and dropping both hands to clasp on his desk. He held them together tightly to suppress the slight tremor building in them. It’s getting worse, a traitorous part of him thought.

Before he could travel too far down that line of thought, the tent flap was pushed open and the space was flooded with orange sunlight. He winced before he could school his expression, but it was merely a flicker. Josephine swooped in, the rustling of her clothes absolutely deafening, followed by Miss Chisholm. The ‘Seer.’ Maker’s Breath. He had already embarrassed himself in front of her today, and he didn’t wish to do so again.

“Cullen!” the Antivan began, and thank the Maker he had already frozen his face in a neutral expression, because her normally pleasant enough voice was particularly shrill. “I have been working with Miss Chisholm to find her skills to share with the Inquisition — other than Seer, of course — and I have discovered a rare talent that I think you will find very useful.” Josephine gesticulated excitedly as she explained, “As you know, in her own world, she went through schooling to become an engineer, and it seems she actually has a particular interest in siege implements. Apparently her home is very familiar with catapults, trebuchet, and ballistae.” Josephine’s face was lit up, her smile wide and toothy and exuberant. Cullen tried not to hate her for it. “I think you should show her our trebuchet plans and let her give you an assessment. See what you think.”

He considered them both for a moment, then quietly opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a few scrolls. “Very well.” Leliana hadn’t found anything to suggest Miss Chisholm was anyone but exactly who she said she was, and Josephine was a practically unerring judge of character. If the Ambassador was convinced their new arrival would be best put to work here, he’d give her a chance. Cullen kept his gaze fixed on the shorter woman as he pushed the scrolls across his desk toward her. “Have a seat.”

She gingerly perched on the chair on the other side of his desk and opened the first set of plans. He watched her dark brows furrow as her deep brown eyes flicked over the diagrams, tracing a few of the lines with one small finger. Cullen was a large man, and he was used to that disparity with most people, but Maker, she was tiny. Not thin and willowy, but small and compact. Sturdy enough to hold onto…

He gave himself a mental shake, derailing that thought. It was the withdrawal, surely. This headache had robbed him of his usual focus. Nothing more.

He studiously kept his gaze on her face, barely able to drag his eyes back up when she briefly licked her lips as she thought. Andraste preserve him, it wasn’t even a particularly sensual gesture. She was obviously just dry from the frigid air, the familiar red outline of chapped skin evident around her mouth, but it made something lurch within him. Control yourself, Rutherford. You’re supposed to be evaluating her for your forces. Concentrate on what matters — her mind, not her… anything else.

Perhaps it was best not to specify the ‘anything’ in question, just in case.

“You should check the figures for your counterweight,” she said suddenly. “You expect your payload to be 125 kilos, so your counterweight should be at least 12,500 kilos, not 1250.” She was still poring over the scrolls, all of them spread open before her now. Cullen realized he had been much too distracted, as he hadn’t even noticed her laying them all out. She continued, oblivious to his internal struggle, “Have you tried a lever arm ratio of 3.75 to 1 rather than 4 to 1? You can probably squeeze some extra efficiency out of them that way, and then control distance with the length of the sling.” She finally looked up at him, eyes bright, smile hesitant but eager.

He quickly looked down at the desk, raising a fist to his mouth and clearing his throat. He spun the relevant scroll to face him and examined the counterweight diagram, only to see that she was absolutely right. He’d done those calculations himself, and he’d missed an incredibly obvious mistake. She caught me, he thought. No one else had caught my mistake, but she caught me…

As unsettling as making such a simple error was, and as much as his pride rankled at the correction, he needed someone that knew what they were doing to manage their siege equipment. And if this error had taken this long to be found, where else was he lacking that they just hadn’t noticed yet? He was not so proud that he couldn’t admit siege weaponry was far beyond his expertise. He’d been muddling along so far based on a few books, but he knew enough to realize she was better than he was if she could rattle off corrections like that without even consulting a reference. He nodded once, satisfied that she knew what she was talking about.

He stood and extended a hand. She mirrored him, looking a little nervous and bewildered as she placed her small hand within his. He gripped carefully, hyper-aware of their disparity of strength and the fragile bones in her palm. “I believe we have found our new Maestra Tormentora.”

Josephine said something that was likely a happy exclamation, but he couldn’t make sense of the high-pitched sound through the sudden sharp pain in his skull it had caused. He shut his eyes for a moment as he felt a throb of agony behind them, and when he opened them again, his newest hire had her head tilted slightly and her eyes barely squinted, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking just past his shoulder. He watched her give her head a quick, almost imperceptible shake as she took her hand back from him. It headed toward the back of her neck before she lowered it to her side with a hastily aborted motion.

The traitorous little voice was back, and it was a bit disorienting that it wasn’t tempting him to give in to the lyrium’s sweet song this time. You recognize that. You do that. His own neck was a mess of tension right now, and he sorely wanted to rub it and pull at it in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure in his head. You could tell her. Maybe not all of it, but some. She would understand. It felt even more dangerous than the frankly inappropriate fantasies that had been catching him off guard lately.

No, she wouldn’t. He shut the argument with himself down as he rested both hands on the pommel of his sword, refocusing on the task at hand. “You will need combat training, though not as much as our typical recruits. If things go according to plan, you will be stationed far from the front lines, but we cannot send you out with no way to defend yourself at all.” He thought for a moment, then nodded decisively. “Knight-Captain Rylen can see to your training privately. I’ll let him know, and he’ll contact you to set up a time.”

She stood up straighter and hesitantly pressed her fist to her chest with a jerky little bow. “Yes, uh, Ser.” The pleasantries were obviously foreign to her, but it was clear they were meant with sincerity. It was also a bit adorable — No. No, it’s not.

“I’d like a copy of your plans to analyze and some paper to run some tests, if you don’t mind,” she asked tentatively.

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure what she meant with the second half. But for now, he would defer to her expertise in this. The worst she could do was waste her own time — there was no one else to do the work she was now assigned but himself, and Andraste’s Divine Arse, he had plenty of other things to spend his time on. “Of course. I’m afraid we do not yet have space set aside for the officers’ desks, so you will have to find somewhere to do your work.” He let out a short, exasperated sigh. “You are the only officer that will need a desk more than occasionally, so finding furniture hasn’t been a priority.”

She nodded quickly. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” She rolled her eyes and her mouth quirked to one side in lighthearted exasperation. “Herah will be out on the road soon, so I’ll be safe from her desperate attempts to get me to ‘loosen up’ if I just hunker down at a table in the tavern.”

Cullen barked a laugh, surprising everyone in the room, including himself. There was something he found incredibly amusing about the idea of Beth — Miss Chisholm, he mentally rebuked himself — trying to fend off the teasing of her friend, perhaps with a good-natured scolding. In fact, it was heart-warming that the two of them had hit it off so well so quickly, like sisters who had finally found one another.

Maker’s Breath, Rutherford, you’ve become an addled sap. Pull yourself together.

He tried to turn his laugh into a cough, and the extra pressure in his head that it caused made him want to retch. That certainly cut off his prior line of thought decisively. “Yes, well, perhaps it would be wise to choose somewhere with fewer eyes.” Having no idea how else to end the conversation gracefully, he attempted a polite dismissal. “I’m afraid I must get back to my own work.”

She tried a salute again and allowed Josephine to usher her out. “Thank you,” she called over her shoulder. Her smile was wide and bright, fierce and joyful. He found himself giving her an awkward half-smile in return, but the Ambassador had already steered her out of the tent, letting in enough light to make him wince.

He straightened up his desk, gathering the siege plans under one arm. He’d find someone to copy them and deliver them to Miss Chisholm’s quarters by the morning, and then he’d drink some tea and attempt to check the requisitions again until Rylen came by for their usual end-of-day debrief.

He would master himself, master this addiction. He may have been easily distracted, but the distraction was gone now, so surely he’d be able to focus again.

Surely.

Beth went to the Singing Maiden to find Herah, though she didn’t plan on drinking. She already had a headache and she was in a new place and surrounded by strangers, many of whom were large, combat-ready men. Getting shit-faced was definitely unwise. She’d always been painfully honest when she was drunk, too, especially about her own problems, and that didn’t seem like it would be a good idea. She was supposed to have a cover story here, for God’s sake. In vino veritas was not her friend right now.

She spotted Herah immediately — the horns really came in handy for that — and realized as she got closer that Herah was already sitting with someone else. She just hadn’t seen him since he was about half the Qunari’s height sitting down. He’d definitely be way less than that standing up.

“Hey,” Beth greeted, feeling a little awkward as she sat on Herah’s other side. Her friend laid a casual arm across the back of her chair. She didn’t know why, but she found how touchy Herah was very comforting. Beth’s family had never been demonstrative, and she was starting to realize that she’d been missing out.

“Hey, good of you to finally join us,” Herah said with a huge smile.

The man pretended to tip an imaginary cap in her direction. “Varric Tethras, at your service.”

“Nice to meet you,” she replied automatically, “I’m Beth”.

Herah leaned toward him and stage-whispered, “She’s the one I was telling you about.”

Varric made an exaggerated wink and tapped the side of his nose, sending Herah into a gale of giggles. Beth rolled her eyes. “So, how many deep are you?”

“Only three,” Herah said. Beth raised a brow. Unless the larger woman had an exceptionally low tolerance, even lower than her own, that wasn’t true. “Pitchers,” Herah amended. Beth giggled. That sounded more like it.

“Each,” Varric supplied helpfully, and then all three of them were laughing.

Beth realized this was the first real laugh she’d had since she got here, and it felt wonderful. She leaned up to whisper in Herah’s ear, and her friend helpfully bent down a bit to make it easier. “How well do you know this guy?”

Herah didn’t bother whispering back. “I met him at the same time that I met Solas. I like the dwarf better, though.”

Well, that answered one of Beth’s questions, since Varric didn’t seem put out by the term. Apparently dwarves, like the ‘live under the mountains’ kind, were a thing, too. Elves, dwarves, Qunari, mages, Templars — who were apparently quite a bit different than the Knights Hospitaller… It was a lot to learn in less than a week.

“He’s famous!” Herah interrupted her thoughts.

“What for?” Beth asked.

Varric looked a little surprised. Herah must not have told him everything if he thought Beth would know who he is. “I’m an author. My most popular work is The Tale of the Champion.”

“Oh,” Beth said mildly. “Good title.”

The man looked even more taken aback, then quickly added, “Hard in Hightown? Really? Maybe Swords and Shields?”

Beth squinted at him slightly. “Is Hard in Hightown about hardboiled detectives or a different sort of private dick?”

Varric positively guffawed, as did Herah. Thankfully, the migraine didn’t intensify too much during their outburst. She seemed to be lucking out a bit. “Oh, I like you,” Varric said, then finished his drink and hopped off of his chair. “Next round’s mine,” he declared. “You in, Specs?”

It took Beth a second to realize he was talking to her. “Oh! No, thank you.”

Herah caught her head in her arm to give her noogies — this might have actually been the first time Beth had the dubious honor — as Beth giggled. “Hey,” she protested with a smile, “What’s that for?”

“You think too much,” Herah declared. “I can tell — you’re one of those types. Just like the Commander.”

“Jesus, don’t say that,” Beth protested, trying in vain to smooth down her hair. “I can’t get a read on that guy. One minute, he’s inspecting me like I’m some sort of alien about to bite him, the next he practically growls at me, and then he actually goes and acts polite.” She huffed and crossed her arms. “What’s his deal?”

Varric was just getting back, and Beth got a better look at him now that he wasn’t mostly hidden by the table. He apparently had something against shirts. How he didn’t freeze his nipples off, she couldn’t fathom, unless maybe that chest hair was warmer than it looked.

“Curly?” he asked, “Our illustrious Commander? Got a stick up his ass a mile wide, and probably wouldn’t know a good time if it socked him in the nose, but he’s a good egg these days. I knew him in Kirkwall,” he elaborated when Herah squinted at him. “We were all going through a lot back then, so if you hear anything — just don’t hold it against him, alright? You probably aren’t getting the whole story.”

“Well, that sounds ominous,” Beth said with a little confusion. “Why did you call him Curly? And why Specs?”

“For the Commander… you’ll see eventually. For you, I thought you’d have figured that out right away. You seem pretty smart,” he added with a wink.

“Yeah, I got that,” she said, “but why not something less obvious?” She raised a brow at him. “You seem pretty smart, I didn’t think you’d settle for the easy way out,” she teased. It came out a little more bitey than she’d intended, but he took it as the joke it was meant to be.

“It’s a working title,” Varric said. “Once I get to know you better, I’ll find something more interesting.” He shrugged. “Or I won’t. ‘Specs’ has a nice ring to it.”

He and Herah started chit-chatting about their imminent departure from Haven, which had Beth feeling a little out of sorts. “Where are you guys going?” she asked. “How long will it take?”

“Hinterlands,” Herah said. “About… two weeks? Plus however long it takes us to find this Mother Giselle and sort out some stuff for the refugees there.”

Beth nodded thoughtfully, rubbing at the dull ache in her temple. She’d caught up a little bit on current events while Herah was out of it, enough to know that Thedas was very troubled right now. There seemed to be an almost global holy war of some sort happening, and on top of that their version of the Pope, the Divine, had died in that explosion she and Herah had first been suspected of. Herah had somehow cleared their names, but that left Beth in the thick of it, and Herah even more so.

“At least I won’t be bored,” Beth said ruefully. “The Commander just hired me to work on the siege weapons.” She snorted a humorless laugh. “I’ve never used my college education for my job before, so why not here, I guess?”

“Well, that sounds good, right?” Varric guessed.

Herah leaned down and gave Beth a big, squeezing, one-armed hug. “I’ll miss you, too,” she declared loudly.

“I’m getting that,” Beth said a little tightly, tapping out against the Qunari’s knee. “Right now, I miss air.”

Her friend laughed and didn’t let go, but did relax her hold a bit. She and Varric started reminiscing about the Free Marches, and Beth found herself studying the musician performing for the tavern. Maryden, she remembered. Beth had dabbled in guitar back home, and had even learned a bit of ukulele and mandolin, but Maryden’s instrument didn’t seem to match any of those tunings.

After a set of Beth watching very intently, Maryden approached her during a break, sitting across from her with a tankard. “So, what do you play?” the bard asked.

Beth smiled self-consciously. She’d been caught staring. “A few things,” she hedged. “I sing, I play violin and viola, and I play handbells, mostly. Sometimes I play bodhran or other percussion.”

Maryden took a long drink while Beth answered, and Varric said with raised brows, “That’s a lot of stuff, Specs.”

The bard steered the conversation to specifics. “I’ve not heard of the violin, though I do have a viol. And I’ve never heard anyone play handbells before. How does that work?”

In exchange for explaining a little bit more about her own instruments, Beth got a primer in Thedosian music over the next ten minutes. It turned out that musical notation and basic theory was the same as Earth, as she’d suspected from what she’d already heard. But the instruments themselves were vastly different than she was used to. That made a lot of sense, though — even in her world the instruments available were different in modern day versus the Medieval or Renaissance periods, and that wasn’t even accounting for different cultures. But she was hardly an expert in any of that, despite having plenty of very nerdy interests.

The bard set her tankard on the table firmly, now empty. “Come around tomorrow afternoon, and you can audition,” she declared.

Beth’s eyes lit up as she squeaked, “Really?” She loved music — she’d spent most of her life in one music group or another, and the prospect of picking it up again here actually gave her a flicker of jitters and excitement. “Thank you so much!”

Maryden smiled gently. “No guarantees, of course. But if you’re even half as good as your education, you shouldn’t have much to worry about. This isn’t an Orlesian salon, after all. I have a few instruments with me, I’ll bring them all and we’ll see what happens.”

Beth nodded enthusiastically. “Thank you,” she repeated. They shook hands and Maryden took up her lute to play her next set. Beth was practically vibrating with excitement, a huge grin plastered across her face. Herah and Varric laughed at her a little, but in the way of friends who have to rib you before they wish you well.

As Maryden started the first song of her next set, Beth suddenly got up from the table. “I want to get a good night’s sleep if I can. I should be well-rested for the audition.” Maybe it was all the excitement of getting the audition and meeting new people, but she was way too tired to stick around and keep pretending to be social. Plus, she should head out before she brought everyone down being the only sober person.

Herah grinned and pulled her in for another hug before she left. With a chorus of “Good luck!” Beth exited the tavern, surrounded by the frigid night air as she made her way to their cabin. Their fire had probably already gone out, and she shivered as she made the trek, wishing futilely that someone had developed central heating in Thedas. She looked up at the sky, trying to judge the time, but it was already dark and the fact that there were two moons up there — she should really find what passed for an astronomer or a cosmologist here and find out what differences that might make for this planet — didn’t help her any. She could see that there were plenty of folks already in their tents down where the soldiers bunked, but a lot of them still had candles or lanterns lit, so it was probably only a little early for bed.

She entered their cabin, and sure enough, had to stoke up the fire. She poked at it impatiently and added a few logs before it was starting to approach comfortable again.

As she changed and got ready to sleep, the laces on her dress snagged and knotted under her clumsy, frozen fingers. She felt a rush of frustration that came out of nowhere, and immediately stopped what she was doing. What was that about? She wasn’t usually so quick to get angry at something — she’d snark up a storm, sure, but rarely actually got mad.

She warmed her hands by the fire before she tried to loosen up the fucking Gordian knot she’d made, cursing softly whenever she pulled on the wrong loop and tightened it accidentally. These people have magic but can’t figure out zippers? Really? Shit, she wasn’t making any headway with it at all. If anything, she might have made the knot worse.

Beth looked around their tiny cabin quickly, but didn’t see any scissors or knives to cut the lacing free. Some rogue Herah was — shouldn’t they be tripping over daggers in here? In another surge of pique, she yanked and wriggled her way free, hurling her dress at the floor and barely preventing herself from bursting into tears. What is wrong with me?

She sat on her cot, hugging her sad, limp pillow to her chest, then pressed her face into it in case she completely lost it and started screaming. The last Goddamn thing she needed right now was an audience for her stupid tantrum. She was pretty sure that if she made too much noise, a passerby or guard or fuck, even the Commander would come bursting in here and catch her half-naked and apparently having a mental breakdown.

Alarmingly, though the urge to scream in frustration passed fairly quickly, she couldn’t stop herself from crying. Just a little, and not crying crying, but sort of leaking a handful of tears that she quickly wiped away. She started getting ready for bed to distract herself from the completely confounding experience, but as she thought more about it, the last few minutes started to make sense.

Fuck, she realized. I’ve been off my depression meds all week.

She took a deep shuddering breath, and pushed it to the back of her mind. She could white-knuckle this. Never mind that it had never fucking worked before, she’d make it happen now. She had to. She could at least control herself enough in public to keep anyone else from finding out.

But she couldn’t hide away from everyone. This was Herah’s cabin, too. Beth would need to figure out how to tell Herah what was going on.

She laid on her bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. She honestly wasn’t very fucking hopeful for Herah to understand. Any time she’d told people at home, it was a coin toss if they actually understood or if they tried to convince her she ‘didn’t have anything to be sad about.’ There was no way Thedas was any better, and it was probably a thousand times worse. What if they wanted to put her in an asylum? Or do some sort of magic lobotomy?

Herah would never, she convinced herself. Besides, you have no reason to think they’ll do any such thing. She was catastrophizing, that’s all this was. She’d feel better in the morning, and she’d tell Herah, and she’d figure out if there was anything she could do besides hide when she started blubbering for no Goddamn reason.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down, hoping sleep would find her soon for once in her life. That was about to get a Hell of a lot worse without medication, too. She really hoped she wasn’t an entire cunt to anyone while her moods attempted to level out again. She’d gone off her meds before, so she knew it would get worse before it got better. Not good, but better than it was about to be.

But first, it was going to be a really, really rough couple of weeks.

Chapter Text

Herah hung out in the cabin with Beth the next day, sharpening her daggers and doing… something with her armor. Oiling bits of it? Whatever it was took a whole lot of elbow grease, but Beth wasn’t paying very close attention because she was nose-deep in trebuchet plans. When Herah finished up, she sat across the tiny table from Beth, looking at the upside down plans. “How do you understand this?”

“Well, I look at them right side up to start with,” she snarked.

“Har. Har,” Herah replied. “But really, what blighted sort of maths is this?”

“Calculus,” Beth replied absently. “All physics is calculus, really. It’s not so hard. The tricky bit is making the stuff actually work in the real world.”

“Why do the maths if it doesn’t work?” Herah asked incredulously. “Seems like a lot of effort.”

“Because the math almost works. It does save a lot of time in the long run.” She sighed heavily, tucking some wayward, frizzy curls behind her ear before lifting the end of her hair into her view. Her attempts to brush it had mangled the ends, resulting in a ridiculous amount of poof, made even worse by the static it had developed in the dry mountain air. “Shit, I have that audition at lunch, and my hair is fucking terrible.”

Beth felt a prickle of tears in the corner of her eye. It’s just your lack of meds, you’re being emotional because you’re starting a depressive episode. Keep busy, she reminded herself.

“Let me at it,” Herah said playfully. “I used to braid my sisters’ hair.” She winked as she started coming her fingers through it. “And occasionally my brother’s.”

Beth put down the little stub of writing implement — she was pretty sure it wasn’t graphite, lead, or charcoal, but it kinda acted like them and seemed to pass for a pencil in Thedas. Josephine had also gotten her a slate and chalk, but she only used those for scratch-work. She wanted to make sure all the math was down in case the Commander had questions. She would not lose her first job as an engineer because she forgot to show her work.

“Hey, you’ll do great,” Herah reassured her. “At this siege stuff and with Maryden.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “You’ve never heard me play or sing, and you have no idea what I’m doing at this table.”

“True,” Herah admitted with a smile. “But I’ve heard you talk about all of them, and you love it. You aren’t the kind of person that’s bad at what they love to do.” Herah let Beth worry and gripe aloud for only a minute or so more before cutting back in with, “Okay, obsessing is done. Nothing but good thoughts now. You will blow Maryden out of the water, and then your trebuchet will blow something else up.”

Beth let her friend distract her as she played with her hair, the gentle tugging and combing reminding her of when she was a little girl. “What are you going to do with it?” Beth asked.

“I don’t know. We’ll find out together!” Herah said bombastically.

It turned out to be something that looked a lot like a set of reverse French braids that ran down her hairline and behind her ears to meet up in the back. Herah got the tiny mirror hanging on the wall and showed Beth proudly. “Do you like it?”

Beth nodded, almost speechless. “I do. It’s been years since anyone did this for me.” She smiled up at her friend, forcing down the emotional lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Herah brushed off, but she gave Beth a big hug before tossing one of their worn wool cloaks around Beth’s shoulders. “Go knock ‘em dead!” Then with a final wave goodbye, Beth hurried across the makeshift town to the Singing Maiden.

She stopped just outside the door, nervously patting down her hair and her skirts. Normally she’d wear her best to a job interview, but right now her best was just her cleanest dress. She didn’t mind not having pants yet, though she did need to figure something out if she was supposed to start training soon. She was still living in the hand-me-downs Josephine had first given her, which was a series of linen shifts, wool petticoats, and wool dresses with long sleeves — this particular one was a dusky purple with laces on the sides. She had at least managed to hem this one during the few days she was essentially on house arrest so that it wouldn’t drag in the mud and snow all day, so she was still relatively clean when she got there.

She took a deep breath, and walked into the tavern projecting as much confidence as she could muster.

The tavern was nearly as busy during the lunch hour as it was in the evening, with the main difference being that most people were paying more attention to their food than the entertainment. Thank God, maybe if I fuck up no one will notice.

Beth found Maryden at her normal place, and she had several instruments spread over a nearby table. “Greetings!” the bard said, inclining her head and continuing to strum her lute. “I have brought all of my instruments. Pick one and join me!”

Beth took a look at her options. She could tell which one was the viol right away, but it was such an awkward size compared to the instruments she was used to that she thought it better to leave for another day. Same with the spare lute — she was passable at rhythm guitar if you didn’t listen too closely, but she had no clue how a lute was normally tuned. She’d never learned accordion or concertina, so the little squeezebox was also out. There was a hammered dulcimer, but she was only just passable at that if she was following sheet music. That left percussion instruments. She decided to start with what looked like a fairly large bodhran — though, that was a very Celtic name, so the hand drum was probably called something else here — which had a wooden tipper with it. She made a few experimental motions, trying out a few hand positions within the drumhead and attempting a couple rolls. Not as familiar as the one she had back home, but it would do.

She nodded decisively to Maryden and stood next to her. She was just finishing up a ballad, which wasn’t really the place for a large drum like this, so Beth waited for her to finish out the ending and begin another song. Maryden gave her a wink and started up what sounded like a reel. Thank God I went to all those Saint Patrick’s Day festivals. If they stayed with reels and jigs and the like, she ought to be able to hang in there.

She bobbed her head and swayed a bit as she caught Maryden’s tempo, and then they were off.

Beth tried to ignore the audience — that was usually how she dealt with nerves. Forget all that ‘imagine them in their underwear’ stuff. She’d always found it much simpler to pretend they just weren’t there. It was a little difficult to do when nearly everyone in the tavern turned at the sound of a second instrument. Beth could feel the heat creeping over her cheeks, but she just smiled and kept playing, her gaze wandering over the heads of the tavern-goers. Before she knew it, they’d played half a dozen songs, each as lively as the last, and several people had started dancing in the small spaces between the tables.

Beth leaned into Maryden’s ear as the next song ended so that she could be heard over the applause. It was a little surprising that everyone was so enthusiastic, but she’d take it as a good sign. “It’s been a while since I’ve played for this long. My hand could use a break.”

Maryden nodded, smiling and bowing to their audience. “Take the rest of this set off, then, and I’ll pull out some sheet music for the next one.”

Beth placed the drum back on the table where she’d gotten it. “Sounds good, thanks.” She made her way over to the bar to grab a glass of water — she was parched. Even though the drum didn’t require a ton of movement, she always found it difficult to keep still when she performed, so she’d been sort of dancing in place for the last half hour or so.

Flissa was happy to oblige her, though Beth felt a little guilty that she couldn’t even leave her a tip since she hadn’t actually been paid by anyone yet. She was going to go sit near the front by the little dance area, but as she stepped away from the bar again she was blocked by a man in standard Inquisition armor with a wide grin on his face.

“Well hello, Lass,” he said. The man spoke in a thick Scottish brogue, and while he didn’t have an exceptionally attractive face, he did have several striking tattoos on his chin and down one side of his nose. He also had a cheery, bright smile. “It’s nice to see a new face ‘round here, and one so talented and bonny, too. A musician like yerself knows how to dance, aye?” He held out a hand in invitation.

Beth found herself a bit flustered. She’d never been flirted with so openly before — she’d dated some and been in a couple serious relationships, but she’d never actually been picked up at a bar. She held her water with both hands to avoid taking his for the moment. “I’m afraid I don’t know how. Where I’m from, we don’t have many opportunities for it.” Not quite the truth, but she didn’t think her usual semi-sorta-twerking would go over well here.

The man just kept smiling, not deterred in the slightest. “Then I’ll teach ye. I’m sure ye’ll pick it up in no time.”

Beth took a deep breath, then placed her mug down and decisively grasped his hand with hers. “Alright, show me what you’ve got.”

What was supposed to be a break turned into two straight songs of spinning and stomping and clapping, allowing the Starkhaven man — who’d absolutely belly laughed when she’d asked where he was from — to wheel her around the tiny dancing space until she was dizzy. She begged off when the third song began, retrieving her water again and having a seat on one of the long benches. Her dance partner came with to sit next to her, and they both caught their breath for a moment before he spoke again.

“I suppose I ought to introduce myself. The name is Rylen,” he said, quickly grabbing her hand to place a kiss on the back of it.

She tilted her head a bit, almost not noticing the gesture as she put pieces together. “Knight-Captain Rylen? You train the troops?”

His smile didn’t falter, though he did pause before answering. “Aye, that’s me. Where have ye heard that? Surely ye’re nae a soldier?”

“Well, not as such. But Commander Rutherford just made me… an officer, I suppose?”

Rylen straightened up a bit, still friendly but not giving off flirtatious vibes any more. “Oh, aye? This must be recent, I’ve nae seen ye before.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, “I didn’t give you my name. I’m Beth Chisholm.”

His eyes went wide. “Well then, I’ve certainly heard about ye, Lass. Word has it ye’ve got the gift of foresight, from Andraste herself, no less.”

She sighed and her mouth became a thin line. How the Hell do people already know? I thought Josephine was still coming up with a statement. “I suppose, but I’m far more excited to work on the trebuchet.”

He brightened at that. “We’ve been looking for a new siege master! Is that what Cullen has ye doing, Lass?”

“Yes, um, Commander Rutherford used the term ‘Maestra Tormentora,’ I believe? And he said you would handle my combat training.” She gave him a timid but hopeful smile.

He clapped her on the shoulder heartily, and she had to brace herself not to pitch forward. “I’d be happy to. Ye dance so well, I’m sure ye’ll pick up fighting in no time.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Great. Um, I could use something to train in, as well. I don’t know if we have some sort of uniform I could borrow for now?” She offered the man a hopeful smile. “Or pants? I’m afraid I came here just with the clothes on my back, and I’ve only been given a handful of dresses so far.”

Maryden was ending her set, and Rylen stood to let Beth go. “Dinnae fash, Lass, we’ll get ye sorted.” He winked, and Beth was glad to see that not all of his playfulness had disappeared. “I suppose I’ll have to muddle through with a much less charming dance partner while ye’re playing.”

Without thinking she gave him a playful little slap on the arm — far more painful for her, since the man was in armor — and thankfully he just laughed and bade her goodbye for now.

When Beth reconvened with the bard, Maryden had pulled out a handful of ballads and mid-tempo songs that she actually had sheet music for. “Sorry, but most of my repertoire is in my head,” she explained.

“Well, regardless of if I get the gig or not, I’d be happy to help you transcribe more, if you like. I’m actually pretty good at that,” she said with a somewhat sheepish grin. She never liked talking herself up too much, but she was actually good at transcribing lead sheets.

Maryden laughed, tipping her head back. “After your earlier performance, you certainly passed your audition. But I’m glad to hear that you’re happy to help off-stage as well. Now let’s try this one. I’ll sing the first verse, then pass it to you.”

Beth was able to sight-sing her way through it, and was even comfortable enough to harmonize a bit on the chorus, earning a fierce grin from the other musician. She was actually having fun, which she hadn’t really expected when she dropped into the elf-and-dwarf-and-magic-filled world the locals called Thedas.

It’s actually turning out to be a great day, she thought. She’d started what had once been her dream job, and playing with Maryden was sure to be a blast — she’d never actually had a steady gig at a bar before, but she’d always wanted one. She’d also met so, so many friendly and fun people already. She’d always been a ‘quality over quantity’ person when it came to friends, but even she had to admit that four had been a pretty fucking low number, especially when two of them were already family. Maybe Thedas could be… better?

Herah left to explore the Hinterlands, and she took Varric, Cassandra, and Solas with her. It left Beth severely lonely, so she buried herself in her new jobs. She spent mornings attending meetings with the advisors and calibrating the trebuchet — the small team that had been doing it until now seemed really relieved to have help, which was nice — afternoons training with Rylen and rehearsing with Maryden, and evenings performing at the tavern. It didn’t leave her any time to even think about how lonely she felt, or freak out about her looming unmedicated depression. She spent every moment she was awake busy — and with her steadily worsening insomnia, that was a lot of time to get shit done. Keeping busy was just what she needed to keep herself from spiraling into her own head.

Or so she thought, at least. At the meeting that morning, Leliana’s stare was especially piercing and Josephine had looked at her with open concern. The only person that didn’t act weird was Cullen. Well, no more weird than normal. He still tended to pretend she didn’t exist at these meetings, which felt extra strange after the fairly cordial discussion in his tent-office when she’d been officially hired. Hell, he’d even laughed then. With only these meetings to go by, you’d think he’d forgotten how to do anything but glower.

It had been another hour of mild bickering between the three while Beth stood by and simultaneously hoped for and dreaded getting a vision. She couldn’t really say she was sorry that, so far at least, she hadn’t had another one. They always made her feel weird and kinda floaty after, and, well, they were supernatural visions and therefore terrifying, but they were also the whole reason she was in the room. What really bothered her was how people looked at her like she was a freak when she had them.

Maybe that would go away with time, but she wouldn’t bet on it. Even the impeccably diplomatic Josephine struggled to hide how unnerved she was by the whole thing. She didn’t even mention the visions at all during most of their conversations, instead focusing on leveraging the influence that might be gained and cultivating Beth’s ‘image.’

And part of that was the wellbeing of the Seer herself, which the Ambassador was apparently determined to take care of now. Josephine cornered her as the other two left the room, signalling for Beth to wait as the door shut behind the others before she said, “Beth, are you alright? Are you sleeping well?”

Beth sighed. “Not really, no. I just get like this sometimes. I’ll catch up on my sleep in a few days, I’m sure.” What she meant was that she would work herself to exhaustion and then crash for twelve hours, but Josephine didn’t really need to know that. It would only worry her more.

“Are you certain?” The Ambassador frowned. “Perhaps you should see Adan and ask for a sleeping draught.”

Beth shook her head vehemently. “I hate taking stuff like that. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” Josephine did not sound convinced, but let it lie, pivoting to more exciting things with a smile. “I also wanted to give you your new wardrobe. It came in late yesterday.”

Beth had actually been looking forward to that, now that she’d had a chance to warm up to the idea. It also helped that Josephine hadn’t insisted on anything ridiculously poofy or frilly when they’d talked it over. Beth had been a little worried about that, considering what Josephine herself wore. “Oh, really? What did you get me?”

“Why don’t I meet you in your cabin and I can show you?” Josephine suggested.

“Deal.” Beth scurried off to try to make room in the small chest that held the handful of dresses she already had, and soon Josephine swanned in with a stack of packages wrapped up in thin paper, followed less exuberantly by one of the ever-present runners carrying an even bigger stack. They scampered off as soon as they’d dropped off their cargo.

“Here we are!” Josephine declared.

It. Was. Glorious.

Beth felt like something was caught in her throat as she was shown all of her new things. It was just so nice. Damn unstable emotions. She wasn’t normally a crier, but she certainly was when she was newly off her meds. She hated being so weepy about everything.

Josephine had gotten her a couple corsets and a bunch of dresses with long, billowing sleeves and low square necklines in some of Beth’s favorite colors — emerald green, deep crimson, black, dark and dusky purples… all her favorites, really. But perhaps even better, Beth also now had leather leggings, big billowy poet shirts, and boned bodices to go over them, in all sorts of fabrics. There were brocades and silks and what looked like some solid colored sturdy cotton as well. There were also two new cloaks, one entirely of wool and another lined in fur, both with hoods. And then, all the way at the bottom of the pile, a couple more plain wool dresses that were cut specifically to her measurements. Beth noticed that those, unlike the ones she already had, mostly had the same low necklines as the other nicer dresses.

She raised a brow at the ambassador. “Is there some rule that Seers need to show their tits off?”

Josephine laughed brightly. “No, but you should look your best, and they are one of your more striking features. If you are truly uncomfortable, letting a shift with some lace detailing show is perfectly in fashion for this style.” The Ambassador showed her that she’d bought a few of those as well. Beth thought they were pretty enough, but she suspected they’d be itchy as all get-out.

“Oh, I don’t mind letting the girls out a bit,” Beth said with a grin. “I just wasn’t sure if someone who was a Lay Sister would be expected to be more modest.”

“You were a Lay Sister,” Josephine reminded her. “Now, you are independent of the Chantry. Those who have left the institution have certainly done more scandalous things than wear a lowered neckline. But I have been thinking…” she started.

Oh no. Why do I feel like I’ll end up committed to doing more people-y stuff…

“You have a copy of the Chant of Light, but perhaps you would do well to study it with someone else?”

“I suppose,” Beth said. “I’m still just reading through it, but if it’s anything like the holy text from my home, it’s not really meant to be read front to back.”

“Exactly,” Josephine said with a bright grin. “I think you should speak to Commander Cullen about it.”

“Him?” Beth shook her head. “I feel like he can barely stand me.”

“The Commander can be a bit… prickly,” Josephine allowed, “but his training as a Templar has given him an extensive knowledge of the Chant. He may even like someone new to speak about it with. I’m sure you will have many questions that no one from Thedas would consider given your unique background.”

“I bet,” she muttered. She’d always been critical of the Bible when she was still going to church, and she had many similar questions about the Chant of Light. Like why didn’t more people revere Shartan? Why were men excluded from leadership positions in the clergy? That one struck particularly close to home given how sexist the options for leadership were in her own religion, and she wondered if men here were as frustrated with it as she had been when she was still Catholic. But then, maybe not, since they could be Templars and the male clerics did seem able to rise to all but the very highest leadership positions.

“Why don’t you see him now?” Josephine suggested. “You can set up a time for your studies before he gets out into the training yard.” She got up from her seat on the bed — the little cabin was sorely lacking in chairs — and smoothed the fabric of her outfit, making little swishy sounds. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning!”

“You, uh, aren’t coming with?” Beth asked nervously.

“I am sorry, I have several meetings today with some visiting nobility, and I really must prepare.” She did actually look apologetic, but Beth wasn’t sure how much of that was real. She had the distinct impression that she was being managed by the shrewd diplomat.

“Okay,” she said. She was pretty sure that if she called Josephine on any of that, she’d only deny it, and then probably get even better at hiding her intentions. “See you later, then.”

Josephine swished out of the cabin, and Beth scooped up her copy of the Chant, a thick, leather-bound tome with tissue-thin pages. “You can do this,” she muttered. “He was fine in his tent before. It will be fine.” Going alone to see a large, generally angry man on his turf wasn’t a bad idea at all. Of course not.

She sighed. As much as the Commander seemed surly and awful, everyone else seemed to have a lot of faith in him. Beth was sure he was good at his job — she’d seen him training the forces a few times now that she was allowed to roam Haven like any other refugee. He always looked very commander-like, and exuded a kind of ‘stern dad’ energy. It gave the impression that he might get loud when you do something stupid, but he’d help you fix it and give you a firm shove out the door again when he thought you were ready. She supposed that was better than the ‘alright, maggots’ style of leadership she’d expected, especially from a place that wasn’t always forward-thinking by her standards.

She put on one of her new cloaks — the wool one instead of the fur, since she didn’t want to look ostentatious just wandering around Haven — and made her way down to the training area. She stood outside of the Commander’s tent and tried not to sound nervous. Realizing a moment too late there was no way to knock on canvas, she tried to walk that fine line between shouting and failing to be noticed. “Commander, do you have a moment?”

She heard a very soft hiss of breath before he barked out an annoyed, “Yes, come in.”

Great, he’s already pissed about something.

Beth entered the tent to see the Commander sitting absolutely ramrod straight at his desk. His eyes had faint dark circles under them, and without the usual redness on his face from the cold he looked almost sallow. “What is it?” he asked gruffly.

Shit, this really wasn’t going to go well. Perhaps stupidly, she started talking anyway. “Josephine thought it would be a good idea — I mean, she said you were quite knowledgeable, since you were a Templar, though I’m not entirely sure what that means — anyway, she, uh, thought you might be able to…” She trailed off as his glower intensified, unable to focus enough to just spit it out. Yet another depression symptom rearing its ugly head — now was definitely not the time for brain fog, but there wasn’t much she’d be able to do about it. Stupid. Stupid idea, no clue what Josephine was thinking…

When she was silent for several seconds, he said a bit tersely, “What exactly does Josephine want from me?”

She held up her copy of the Chant between them tentatively. “Studying. She suggested we do that. Together.”

“Maker’s Breath,” he sighed, clenching his jaw and fidgeting one shoulder. He looked like he was trying not to make the stretch obvious, but that hadn’t really worked. “Did she give you a reason to ask me instead of one of the clerics?”

Well, he didn’t sound extra pissed, so maybe this wasn’t going so terribly after all? He seemed just normal annoyed-with-everything, and not especially annoyed at her. “I think she believed you might actually enjoy it? Fresh perspective and whatnot.” He squinted at her, and she quickly added, “But you’re definitely way too busy. This was stupid. I never should have let her talk me into this. I’ll go.”

She whirled on her heel before hearing a rough, “Wait.” She turned back to him, and he was taking a deep breath, slowly letting the tension out of his jaw. “I apologize. It has already been a stressful morning.” She nodded mutely, and he continued speaking very slowly. “Would you be available first thing tomorrow, before our usual advisory meeting?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Not like she was sleeping anyway. “You really don’t mind?” This was not how she had expected the conversation to end. For sure, she’d thought he’d make an excuse and brush her off. She’d been fully prepared for it, really.

“No.” His response was clipped, but not technically confrontational. He seemed to immediately refocus on the plethora of paperwork in front of him, concentrating so thoroughly on whatever was in front of him that Beth wouldn’t have been surprised if he could light it on fire with his stare. She wondered for a moment if that was how some people figured out they could do magic — literally instead of figuratively burning holes through things with their eyes.

She forced her mind back on track. Keep focused. Head down, get through the rest of this weirdly successful and yet still awkward conversation.

Beth decided that being moderately ignored was better than intense scrutiny, and that she should quit while she was ahead. “Great. See you then. Thank you.” Then she didn’t run out of his tent, not really.

She just walked very fast for her stubby little legs.

After Miss Chisholm fled his tent, Cullen rolled his shoulders with a groan and attempted to get his fingers under his left pauldron to press on the tense muscles there. Maferath’s ballsack, but the withdrawals were relentless today, and it wasn’t even noon. He felt like he’d been trampled by a horse — perhaps several horses — and then had his stomach filled with stones. But despite that, he needed to get himself under control. He had nearly bitten Miss Chisholm’s head off, and she was obviously afraid enough of him already. Not only was she a colleague, but she was now also an expert that he would need to rely on to keep his forces effective. He needed to have at least a decent working relationship with her.

You don’t want it to stop there, do you? He released a frustrated sound through his teeth. Perhaps the withdrawals had already started driving him mad.

Josephine had likely figured out that he would be unable to put Miss Chisholm at ease on his own and sent her to him for exactly that reason. He thought studying the Chant was a rather flimsy pretext, but it was necessary in order for their Seer’s cover to work. If she actually needed help, he would do his part for the Inquisition. He just wasn’t sure how effective it would be if she acted like a scared nug staring down a wolf every time he spoke.

And whose fault is that?

He sighed in defeat. He preferred when the errant thoughts in his head weren’t so astute. Easier to ignore them that way.

He hadn’t meant to alienate her, but he found her premonitions… unsettling. The first time he’d seen one, she’d done an uncanny mimicry of him that had set his teeth on edge. And while she was apparently getting this information from the Fade, he hadn’t been able to sense any magic, even during the event. He was always acutely aware of magic being used — as a Templar, it was an unavoidable fact of life — and counter to all logic, she wasn’t using any when she had her visions.

Add in that his symptoms were getting worse again, which made him as surly as a druffalo with a stone in its hoof, and the whole thing had been a recipe for disaster right from the beginning. But Josephine had given him a chance to make this right, so make it right he would. He wasn’t a complete boor. He could manage to at least stay cordial in her presence. Better if he didn’t get any more familiar than that, really. He was her superior officer now, and he didn’t need any more complications in his life. He had enough of those already.

With any luck, Rylen would be able to get through their evening debrief quickly so that Cullen could spend the rest of his night feeling miserable without an audience for it. Perhaps he’d be able to stomach something actually filling for supper, and if he was incredibly fortunate, he might manage to work out the majority of his aches before he futilely tossed and turned all night. That he was much less optimistic about, though. It seemed like he never had time for his own training any more, and he honestly couldn’t tell if it was the deskwork or the lyrium that made everything stiff and sore. It was probably both.

The plan more or less worked, and when he woke the next morning, by Andraste’s Grace his symptoms had calmed some. His headache today was merely a dull throb, and it was early enough in the morning that the light wouldn’t make it any worse for at least a few hours. His muscles and joints did hurt a bit, the worst of it in the shoulder of his shield arm as it always was, but it wasn’t any more uncomfortable than spending a full day training. He only wished he actually had. That would have been more pleasant than several hours of filling out requisitions. There was nothing changed about the tremors in his freezing fingers, but as long as he was gripping something, it would not be noticeable. At least, he hoped no one would notice. He had the suspicion that Leliana had noticed and analyzed every blighted mannerism he had, including all the ones he didn’t even realize he did, but she was their spymaster, so he should at least pretend her observant nature didn’t annoy him.

He quickly wiped off the layer of flop sweat he always woke covered with, then he ran his fingers over his jaw. He had a bit more growth than he liked, but he could barely feel his fingertips this morning and he was apt to slit his own throat if he tried to wield a razor right now. He could at least still keep his hair tamed, so he would be somewhat presentable.

He finished getting dressed around dawn — he hadn’t taken egregiously long to don his armor, but he was displeased and disquieted by how much his fingers fumbled with what should have been familiar motions. He had taken out his copy of the Chant and was thumbing through some of the more well-worn pages when he heard the soft crunching of snow outside his tent. “Commander?” It was slightly louder than a whisper, and he responded at similar volume, conscious of the soldiers still sleeping barely out of earshot.

“Come in.” He didn’t look up right away, debating how to even begin their discussion, but when he looked up and saw her standing by his desk, he thought he might choke on his tongue. She was wearing a style of clothes he’d never seen on her before. Her body was technically covered modestly enough, with not a single bit of skin showing save for at the neck and wrist, but her tight leathers and the incredibly snug bodice left hardly anything to the imagination about her shape. He again had the absurd impression that she was built pleasingly compact and sturdy, made to be handled.

He cleared his throat and quickly looked away again, gesturing at the chair on the other side of his desk without meeting her eyes. Get a grip, Rutherford. You’re her commanding officer, for Andraste’s sake. You simply cannot.

He hadn’t had a woman affect him like this in years, not since — well, a long time ago. It must have to do with the lyrium. It was fairly well known that Templars who’d gone off it were less able to control their emotions and impulses. But he’d expected issues with anger — which he had certainly had plenty of — or perhaps even fits of weeping. Not this, this… inappropriate obsession. He might prefer throwing tantrums instead.

He cleared his throat again and brought his gaze to her, keeping his eyes firmly above her chin and focused on her dark eyes, partially obscured behind the incongruously extravagant glasses perpetually perched on her nose. Apparently she had not been especially well-off before she arrived here, but that was hard to reconcile with the spectacles she wore. Not only that she had them, but that they were also ostentatiously adorned with tiny, sparkling stones embedded all over the strangely feline shape of the frame. Floundering for some beginning to the conversation, he asked, “What have you read so far?”

“Well, I basically started at the beginning and went straight through, since I don’t really know what’s what yet. I just finished the Canticle of Threnodies.” Her eyes darted away from his, resting on her own copy of the Chant in front of her.

“How much have you been reading?” he asked somewhat incredulously. She’d only been here a week, and the Chant was a massive and dense text when taken as a whole. Though most Andrastians could quote several verses and broadly knew the history it recounted, very few ever attempted to read the whole thing.

She fidgeted nervously. “Oh, just a bit before bed. A bit more on nights that I haven’t slept well.”

Either she reads at a voracious pace or she hasn’t been sleeping much at all. He eyed her face a little more critically. There was a soft line between her brows, and though it was difficult to see properly through her lenses and with the light coming from behind her, he thought he saw dark circles that just about rivaled his own.

He nearly asked after her health, then thought better of it. That would only open the door for the same questions aimed at him, and he did not want to discuss his lyrium use or lack thereof. It would also be overly familiar. If she was actually unwell, he trusted that at the very least Leliana would notice, so Josephine would be aware shortly if she wasn’t already.

Instead, he said, “Yes, well, Transfigurations would be next. It collects the sermons of Andraste and is arguably one of the most important Canticles. Perhaps you would read aloud, and ask any questions along the way?”

“Actually, I was wondering,” she said, lightly chewing her lower lip. His eyes tracked the motion without thinking. “I’ve heard people say that you sing the Chant, but do you actually? I’ve only ever heard it spoken.”

“Some verses have been put to music, and there are hymns as well, but it is usually spoken.” She made a small humming sound, as if she might ask another question, but instead she took a breath, opened her book to the relevant passage, and began to read.

He had always found the rhythm of the Chant soothing, and the beginning of Transfigurations was one of the most well known stanzas, so — perhaps foolishly, given where they’d been headed of late — he allowed his thoughts to wander some. Perhaps because the subject was sitting right in front of him, his thoughts drifted to the conversation he’d had with Rylen the day before. He tried to reconcile the woman before him now with the bright, joyful, funny girl that Rylen had described her as. He had seen a small amount of the joyful part when he’d given her the siege position, and certainly she was remarkably intelligent if her work with the trebuchet so far was anything to go by.

He had not checked in with her directly, preferring to let her work in peace and assuming she would want the same, but he had asked some of the more senior soldiers assisting with the siege weaponry what they thought. They had all been very impressed with how quickly she’d devised a more efficient method of calibration, cutting down the time required significantly. They’d also been pleasantly surprised that she didn’t mind doing the hands-on work, and had even been humble enough to ask for instruction in the weapon’s operation from those with more experience than her. And from the way Rylen had spoken, she ought to be fairly effervescent, yet right now she was much more subdued.

Was it because she hadn’t slept? Was she trying to maintain a professional distance? Was it him, specifically? Had he already terrified her so thoroughly that she was afraid to bring attention to herself with him nearby?

He considered that for a moment. He was far too familiar with the signs that someone was intimidated by his presence — some mages had been petrified from the first time they saw him, thoroughly cowed by the symbols of the Chantry on his armor — and he didn’t think that was what Beth was doing. She seemed able enough to speak up this morning, she just wasn’t very exuberant about it. Not that he could blame her, they were studying the Chant. Hardly riveting stuff by most standards, even the parts most people enjoyed.

She tilted her head and stopped, eyes flicking over the page again, and he forced his attention back to her. “Maleficar. I’ve heard that word a couple times, but I don’t really know what it is.”

He attempted to keep his voice level, though even hearing the word made his stomach twist. “Maleficarum are blood mages or demon summoners. Usually both. There are a few other forbidden schools of magic, but those two are the most common.”

“Well, that sounds… bad,” she said hesitantly. He wondered if he’d ever heard a more severe understatement. “Why would a mage do that? Wouldn’t the demon just kill them?”

He scoffed. “They’ll certainly try to. But the mage would attempt to bind the demon to their will before they did.”

“But,” she paused, chewing her lip again, eyes flicking quickly over the words on the page. He kept getting drawn back to how her teeth worried the same spot, but he forcibly turned his attention away each time.

“Go on,” he encouraged, careful to keep his voice calm and hopefully not too gruff. “I’ll answer to the best of my ability.” Inside, he was dreading any further questions about it, but she knew nothing about the dangers of this world. Ignorance could only do her ill.

“Why do it at all? I mean, can’t mages summon, like, lightning and fire and shit?” He suppressed a small flicker of a smirk at her irreverence. The subject was far too serious for such levity, and he should maintain a professional distance. Cordial, polite, not overly friendly.

“Some people will take power in whatever form they can get it just to have it, no matter the consequences. That’s hardly unique to mages,” he admitted, mouth twisting to one side with distaste. “And some believe they’ll outwit the demon they call — an incredibly dangerous example of extreme hubris.”

But that was far from a complete answer, and certainly did not account for the majority of Maleficarum that Cullen had run afoul of. Orsino had not become an abomination for power’s sake. Uldred had not slaughtered most of Kinloch Hold as a form of ‘academic curiosity,’ and he had certainly not convinced others with that line of reasoning, either.

When rounding up apostates in Darktown ended with hovels destroyed and dozens dead, the mages had the same reason, always. They were afraid, and their backs were up against the wall.

By the end of his tenure, he’d started to recognize the look they all shared when they saw the Templars had come for them. Every mage was afraid to go to the Circle, but the ones to really watch out for were terrified. The especially dangerous apostates had already spent time in the Gallows — and they would do anything to avoid going back. He didn’t think he’d ever truly understand the mindset of someone who gave up their soul for their freedom, but he understood better now than he had then.

He could think of no other way to introduce the most common reason, so he asked with hesitance, “What do you know of Templars?”

“You used to be one. They’re some kind of religious soldier. A lot of them really seem to hate mages, and vice versa.” She shrugged. “That’s about it. We had some people called Templars back home, but apart from being connected to the church, they don’t sound anything alike.”

He wasn’t sure the best way to say it without making them all sound like horrific beasts. Maybe there’s a reason for that. He decided to just stick to facts. “Templars have abilities that can specifically counter mages. Dispel their magic, purge mana, and the like. Because of that, if a mage must be tracked down, Templars are nearly always the ones to do it. Faced with a group of Templars that can nullify their power, some turn to blood magic and demons instead.”

Her brow furrowed much more than it had been. Her concentrated frown was rather adorable.

No. Stop it.

“But Templars don’t do magic?” she asked. “Their abilities don’t count?”

“No.” He thought another moment and admitted, “That’s not really a question I have a detailed answer for. To be fair, I haven’t considered it. Perhaps when Solas is back, he will be able to explain better. But the source of a Templar’s power is fundamentally different than a mage’s.”

She nodded, then went back to reading. A few verses later, the sounds of the camp starting to wake floated through the canvas surrounding them, and she looked up from the book and seemed quietly surprised that they’d been at this a while. They were no longer surrounded by the dull colors of dawn, but the full brightness of morning. Truthfully, Cullen thought the time had practically flown by.

“Oh,” she said, and reached into a pocket of her cloak. She pulled out a somewhat sad looking apple — but then, nearly all the produce in Haven left something to be desired. It’s not like they could grow any themselves. “Do you mind if I have breakfast? I figured I might not get time before we have to go.” She looked a bit sheepish as she brought out a second apple. “Would you like one? We have a bit of a saying back home, that if you’re going to eat you need to bring enough for the whole class.”

“No, you go ahead.” He wasn’t sure if he’d be eating anything today or if the nausea would stick around. “I’ll read the next bit while you eat, then. Stop me if you have more questions.”

He hardly even needed the book in front of him. He’d memorized these verses long ago. Instead, he found himself distracted by her again, this time by just how little she actually ate. She only got half way through the apple before she stopped, setting the fruit on the very edge of his desk. He had fully expected her to ask a question and then finish it, but she didn’t. Did she always eat so little? Was that why she was starting to look peaky? Without the Herald here, who was looking out for her?

Perhaps her Commander could take an interest…

That was nonsense. All of it. She was a grown woman, perfectly able to care for herself, he was certain.

Just like you take care of yourself so well?

He somewhat reluctantly reached the end of the stanza they were on and shut his copy of the chant, the bookish thump an unintended emphasis. “We should get to the chantry. Josephine and Leliana are likely on their way already.”

She nodded, snagging her half-eaten apple from the desk and standing. “Thank you, Commander. It was nice to have someone to answer questions as I went.”

He stood as well, gathering up the reports he would need. He hesitated just a moment and asked, “Would you… like to do this again, perhaps? I’m well aware that not everyone is up as early as I am, so perhaps—”

“I usually am.” She looked almost embarrassed. “Nearly every day.” She had a hand on his tent flap, though she hadn’t opened it yet, frowning slightly at it.

He watched her as he asked, “Tomorrow, then?”

She nodded once. “Tomorrow.” She seemed almost grim as she opened the tent flap, squinting slightly against the first bright streaks of morning light. She tilted and twisted her head to one side, stretching her neck, and he fought the urge to do all of those things as well. A small, hopeful part of him insisted — she would understand. But he wouldn’t do that to anyone else. Cassandra was aware of what he was doing. She would watch him, and for the moment that was enough.

Beth found Cullen very confusing. They’d had a few pre-dawn meetings to read the Chant and answer her questions, and there was a certain… not softness, but a humanity to him in those early morning hours, and each day it had almost entirely vanished by the time they reached the Chantry. Half the time, it did so as soon as he left his tent. He was the same gruff, direct, I’m-a-hammer-and-everything-else-is-a-nail Commander then, and he remained so until the next morning.

So when she finally had a night that she managed to fall asleep in the single-digit hours of the morning only to wake up still tired and she had completely missed their usual study time, she had expected to see his typical surly expression staring down at the map upon entering the room the Council used for meetings. And she did, but she had not been prepared for him to look up at her with a mixture of concern and something else — maybe relief?

They were the first two in, as they usually were, so they likely had a few moments to themselves. He looked her over carefully, so intensely that she started to feel embarrassed, especially because she knew she looked like a wreck. She was sure she exuded exhaustion, and had barely had the time to pull her hair back messily before just about running here. His dark circles weren’t much better than hers, though, so at least he didn’t have a leg to stand on there. But that didn’t actually seem to deter him any.

“Miss Chisholm, are you well?” The question was quiet, pitched not to carry outside the room. Most of their morning conversations were somewhat hushed, so it felt almost familiar. But something about hearing it here unsettled her. He was never nice in this room. It was decidedly weird, and for some reason it put a little spark of nervousness in her chest.

“I’m fine,” she said tensely. She paused a moment before adding, “I just overslept. Apologies, Commander.”

Then Josephine and Leliana arrived, and whatever moment there could have been was over. Not that she thought they were having a Moment. He was just being politely concerned because she’d missed a meeting with him, which so far had not been like her. Anyone would do the same thing.

“I have word from the Herald,” Leliana announced. “Mother Giselle is on her way here, with the names of clerics that could be swayed to our cause.”

Cullen let out a short, derisive snort. “I still say we give the Chantry too much credence.”

“We must gather more influence before we can approach the mages or the Templars,” Josephine reminded him. “This could be a good chance to do so.” She peered over Leliana’s shoulder. “What else does it say?”

“The Herald is going to go speak with Horsemaster Dennet next.”

Beth’s vision swam, the feeling of her surroundings tilting and fading away unfortunately familiar.

The man, Dennet, crosses his arms as he looks up at Herah, a defiant incredulousness in his voice. “I can’t just send a hundred of the finest horses in Ferelden down the road like you’d send a letter. Every bandit between here and Haven would be on them like flies on crap. You’ll have mounts once I know they won’t end up as a cold winter’s breakfast.” Then another man, standing among dozens of swords, explaining, “There are too many hills in these parts, good places for raiders and bandits to gather. I’ve marked good spots on the map. You set up watchtowers there, I’ll talk to the master.”

She took in a huge breath and blinked rapidly, trying to tamp down the lightheaded feeling that came along with the vision. It took her a second to catch on to the conversation that had started up again.

“That does sound like a reasonable request,” Josephine allowed. “I can get some of the local noble houses to help us build these towers.”

Cullen waved a hand. “Don’t bother. I have the men, and they can be there in six days if they leave before dark.” He firmly placed his marker on the map, then crossed his arms again. “As soon as the Horsemaster arrives, I’ll start assigning additional patrols by the stables. We need to mitigate any damage from the fire Miss Chisholm has foreseen.”

Beth spoke without thinking. “We should stash as many buckets as we can by the lake so that we can set up a line of them quickly. Given the distance, maybe twenty? Thirty? I can figure it out and get back to you.”

Cullen gave her an unreadable stare, while Leliana and Josephine looked surprised but pleased. “That is a very good idea. Let us know tomorrow, then,” Leliana said.

Beth took another steadying breath, giving the Spymaster a hesitant smile. That was pretty close to actually being useful, she thought. The meeting broke up shortly thereafter, and she headed off to continue her work with the trebuchet, calibrating them for what seemed like the thousandth time — damn green timber. But before she actually managed to leave the room, she heard a deep, smooth baritone call confidently, “Miss Chisholm? A word.” He spoke as if it was a given that she was going to do it just because he said so. It rankled, like when people told her to smile more. Actually, it was worse, because he was right and she absolutely was going to stop to talk to him.

She halted, letting Leliana and Josephine step around her and leave, then braced herself and faced Cullen again. “Yes, Commander?” she said as politely as possible.

He seemed to debate with himself for a few seconds before he said, “I will not ask what your illness is, but you should see the healers. They may be able to help.” Again, spoken as if he knew what was best for her. A lot of condescending assumptions for one man to make so early in the morning.

“I sincerely doubt it,” she said grimly. “Is that all?” Her tone left no doubt that she believed their conversation was more than finished.

He opened his mouth a few times before he finally said. “Yes.” He at least had the decency to look abashed.

“Good. Glad that’s settled, then,” she said acidly. “If you’ll excuse me, the trebuchet need calibrating again.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, petulantly slamming the door behind her as she left. The noise made her aware of the beginnings of another migraine stewing at the top of her neck. The past couple days she’d managed to work through them, but it was still the last fucking thing she needed now as she was getting ready to spend hours and hours trying to concentrate in the blinding snow.

Head down, keep at it, she reminded herself. This, too, shall pass.

Beth jogged her way to the training ring, getting her apologies ready for Rylen. “I’m so sorry, Rylen, those trebuchet just took forever, but I’m here now. No, wait, I have to get my leather jacket thingy from—”

The Knight-Captain snagged her by the upper arm before she could run off. “Whoa, slow down there, Lass. Ye’re fine as ye are today. It’ll be a while yet before ye’re ready for something that fights back, anyway. Ye can move fine in this?” He gestured at what she was wearing, a pair of leather leggings and a shirt with a lightly boned vest. It was flexible enough, and she might have liked a little more support before she started bouncing around on her feet, but it would do.

“Yes.” She sighed. “You know, I’ve tried to learn swordwork before, but I’ve always been fucking awful at it.”

Rylen simply grinned, handing her a practice sword. “Ye just didnae have the right teacher, I’m sure of it.”

They went through some simple footwork to start with, then began working on a choreographed sequence of blows with one of the training dummies. Each area to target was assigned a number, and Rylen would call them out, then Beth would aim a strike there. There was no way her wooden sword was nearly as heavy as the real thing, but just a few minutes in, Beth’s right arm was aching fiercely as the tip of her sword wavered. Rylen gestured to her to lower it, and he took it from her. She let out an exasperated huff of air, and he clapped her on the back. “It’s alright, Lass. Strength will come with time. That sword’s a bit large for ye as it is — I’ll make sure to find ye a shorter one again tomorrow.”

Rylen moved on to footwork, having her retreat and advance at random as he called it out. It felt like he was trying to get her to change direction more fluidly and quickly, but it didn’t feel like she was getting any better as the minutes ticked on. When her arm had had some time to rest, he gave her sword back and adopted the same stance they’d been working on, but across from her, raising his own practice weapon. “Aim at me, now, and I’ll parry. Ye need to get used to how it feels, or ye’ll drop yer sword the first time someone counters yer attack.” He called the numbers out to her again, and each time he batted it aside, she felt it reverberate all the way up to her elbow. It was just dumb luck that she didn’t drop her sword — she could hardly feel anything past her wrist after only a few parries.

Logically, Beth knew that drills were important, and that footwork was just as important as what you did with your blade — she wasn’t kidding, she had tried to learn before, though she just couldn’t seem to move fast enough to ever hit anyone else — but God, she was so bored of the same drills over and over, as well as frustrated with her complete lack of improvement. Rylen must have picked up on it, because he called for a water break and walked over to where there was a large bucket of clear water with a ladle. He took a long drink, then offered the ladle to her.

She had two scoops, almost too much for her stomach to handle and she felt it slosh uncomfortably. She pressed a hand to her middle and curled in on herself in an attempt to make it feel any better at all. “Dammit. Drank too fast,” she explained at Rylen’s sudden concerned expression.

“Ye had hardly any, Lass, are ye sure ye’re alright?” He had one hand on her shoulder in reassurance, and she gave him a shaky smile.

“You know I’m not from around here, right? Even if you haven’t been told, I don’t sound like any of the other humans here.”

Rylen nodded. “Aye, ye sound almost like a dwarf. Where are ye from then, Orzammar?” he asked with a grin.

She laughed, starting to straighten up, and they both dropped their hands back to their sides. “No idea where that is. No, I’m from an entirely different world. I’m not sure how much of that is going to be shared with the general public, but all the Advisors and the Herald’s team know.” She shrugged. “You’re Commander Rutherford’s second, right? I may as well tell you, too.”

“Huh.” He squinted at her slightly, cocking his head to one side. “Ye’re not joking, are ye?”

Beth shook her head. “Not at all. As far as I can tell, Thedas is a lot like my world was about six, seven hundred years ago, except we don’t have elves or mages or Qunari or dwarves or Templars. Well, actually…” Rylen already looked slightly glazed over, so she bailed on that thought. “Never mind, that’s too complicated, and it doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“No mages or Templars?” He gaped at her for several seconds. “But ye see the future!”

She shrugged. “That’s new since I got here, and it doesn’t seem to have much to do with magic anyway.”

He tapped his fist against his lips as he thought. “No mages… no magic at all?”

“No Fade, no demons, none of it,” she confirmed.

He considered for several more seconds. “No lyrium?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’m not even sure what that stuff does.”

“If only…” Rylen muttered. “Well, that does explain a bit,” he said thoughtfully. “And ye did drop out of a hole in the sky, so I shouldnae be surprised, really.”

She snorted a laugh. “I never did think of it like that. It’d almost be more weird if I wasn’t some sort of alien.”

His perpetual smirk started to return. Apparently he’d gotten used to the idea faster than she thought he would. But then, so had almost everyone else that knew. Maybe this world having magic helped make insane shit seem more possible?

“But, Lassie, what does that have to do with yer having a drink?”

That’s right, there was an actual point to telling him this now.

She frowned, looking past Rylen’s shoulder in thought. “Crap, I should probably tell this next bit to the Commander, too, since he’s my boss, sorta. I’m actually not clear on how that goes.”

“Well, are ye going to tell me or just talk around it all day?” Rylen had his hands on his hips as if he was exasperated with her, but he still had that grin on his face. She was pretty sure he just teased and flirted at anything that moved, but she chose to be flattered anyway and simply enjoy someone acting like a friend. Hell, maybe he kinda was one now.

“I’m not sure if this will make sense, but I’ll try.” She huffed a laugh. “Maybe if I practice with you, I won’t trip all over myself telling the Commander. God, he’s scary sometimes.” And infuriating at other times. And then weirdly normal for very brief periods before dawn.

Rylen waved a hand in front of his face dismissively. “Cullen? As long as ye havenae done anything awful, the man’s all bark. Aye, he can growl and scowl something frightful, but he’s just a big pussy cat.”

She had started to slowly sip another ladle of water and nearly spat it out. “Are we speaking about the same man? Ridiculously tall, blonde, rakish scar, and permanent five o’clock shadow?”

He laughed again. “Aye, Lass, the very same. Now quit stalling and out with it.”

“Well, in my world, I had what we call a gastric bypass.” She didn’t think there was really anything like it here at all, so she wasn’t sure how much Rylen was going to actually understand. “I couldn’t lose weight, so they did surgery and made my stomach smaller and changed how it connects up to everything. So now my stomach holds a bit more than this ladle, but not as much as two of them.” She sipped carefully before she spoke again. “It does mean I have to be careful about getting dehydrated, and I need to eat little bits at a time instead of having big meals. I’ve always got snacks with me so that I can nibble when I get hungry, since I’m running around so much more here.”

Rylen’s smile had finally fallen completely to a frown. He looked a lot older, and the angular lines of his tattoos certainly didn’t help in that regard, making his expression even more severe. “Lass, that sounds dangerous.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” She shrugged and tried to put him at ease. “I was in the hospital less than a week, and back on normal food a couple months later. Surgery isn’t as big a deal back home.”

He looked skeptical, but didn’t push that point. “Ye dinnae look like you need to lose any as it is, Lass.”

She scoffed at that. The flattery was nice, but she knew she was far from willowy and could definitely get rid of 20 pounds or so. “That’s because it worked. If it hadn’t, I’d still be — do you know what pounds are, or do you only get kilos?” She’d seen meters and kilograms on the trebuchet diagrams, but that was pretty common in the US as well, just because the math was easier.

He confirmed that apparently all Thedas was on the metric system, and Beth momentarily cursed herself for being born in one of the few countries on Earth that wasn’t. At least she still remembered most of the conversions. “Well, I was almost 300 pounds, which is… just over 135 kilos? Yeah, that sounds right.”

She’d never seen someone’s jaw drop before. She’d always thought it was a figure of speech, but Rylen went ahead and did it. “Nae,” he said, “ye’re shitting me!”

She couldn’t help it, the man looked so comical that she just had to laugh. Between giggles, she managed to choke out, “Trust me, you can tell just fine when I get my clothes off. Thank God for shapewear. Or I guess, corsetry here.”

His smile easily slid back on his face. “Ye shouldnae tease so, Lass. Another man might take ye up on the invitation.” He thought for a moment, nodding to himself. “Ye’re right, ye ought to tell the Commander. He needs to know these sorts of things before he sends ye out.” He gave her a cheeky grin, some of his usual joviality breaking through again. “I mean yer stomach, not the other bit. It might change what sorts of assignments he gives ye.”

She frowned. “Rylen, I don’t want to be treated differently. If I’m left out, I want it to be because I’m shit with a sword, not because I need to take a juice box with me.”

“As Maestra Tormentora, ye wonnae be on the front lines anyway.” She’d been told as much before, but it was still relieving to hear. “But if ye need something that most other soldiers dinnae, yer Commander needs to know.” He clapped her on the back again, leading them to the training ring with renewed cheer. “Come now, Lass, we’ve more work to do.”

Chapter Text

Cullen was regretting that Rylen had convinced him to come out to the tavern. The man’s insistence had been absolutely dogged, and eventually Cullen just gave in. Perhaps it would be easier to go than to keep making excuses, or so he reasoned with himself. And of course Rylen had insisted that it be tonight, the day that the Herald had returned, so the Singing Maiden was completely packed.

For a moment he considered leaving to save himself the too-warm press of bodies to wade through. He stood still at the door, waiting to see if any panic surfaced, but it did not. While he felt crowded and like he had no personal space, no one was bothering him on purpose, and the overall atmosphere was convivial enough to chase away the majority of his associations with more unpleasant things. It also helped that once people saw the mantle, they gave him a wide berth — as much as they could at any rate.

He didn’t typically enjoy that he had a reputation for being surly and ill-tempered, but when he wished to be left alone, it did come in handy.

He slowly worked his way toward the bar as he heard Maryden tuning her lute, just barely audible over the consistent ruckus. Even at his considerable height, he could hardly see through the crowd enough to find anyone familiar, though he wasn’t sure who he would be looking for. The Herald was easy to locate, as she was one of the few other people that could see over most other heads in the room, and her horns made her even easier to spot in a crowd that was predominantly made up of humans. He didn’t see Rylen, but Cullen had been out with him in Kirkwall before, and once the music started the man wasn’t going to sit down until it stopped. It hardly mattered where Cullen sat himself in the meantime — Rylen would find him when he wanted to.

He leaned against the bar as he waited for Flissa to return with his ale, then nodded his thanks and reached into his pocket to pay, but the woman waved him away as she batted her eyes at him. Cullen felt a bit uneasy at her attention, but not wanting to make things more uncomfortable, he raised his tankard in a brief salute of gratitude, then worked his way to a table by the wall. Hopefully Flissa was not offended but also not encouraged. He never knew how to react when he realized someone was attempting to flirt. He was fairly certain that point-blank telling them they were wasting their time would be rude, even if it was the truth.

He could just see the musicians from his chosen table. He frowned slightly, realizing there was a duet performing tonight. They only had one bard, so who was the other woman? He blinked several times as he recognized Beth, standing next to Maryden with a large drum held partly against her side. There was a small bubble of space around the musicians, giving them just enough room to move their arms. Without any preamble, the two shared a look and began to play. Maryden’s voice was strong and clear, cutting through the chatter.

“Empress of fire in the reign of the lion…” She’d started with a lively tune, and Beth bobbed and swayed as she beat what sounded to Cullen like a complicated pattern on the skin of her instrument. He was no patron of the arts, but he was impressed and thought she really was quite good. His current position gave him a view primarily of the inside of the drum and Beth’s back. She’d changed into a dress since he’d seen her earlier, the green fabric tight on her torso and flaring after her hips, the lacing following the subtle curve of her spine, and her skirt swishing around her ankles as she danced to the rhythm she played.

The dress showed off the rounded form of her backside particularly well, he noted, then banished the thought with another mouthful of ale — though perhaps it would be wise to slow down if that’s where his mind was already headed.

He sighed in defeat. It seemed that around her, such thoughts were inevitable. At least he hadn’t let his waking mind get beyond simply noticing things about her.

Beth and Maryden played a number of fast songs to start with, and Cullen found himself tapping his thumb on the surface of the table along with them. He smirked when he did indeed spy Rylen spinning a blonde woman around out on the dance floor. His second did have his type, though it had never stopped him from offering anyone else a dance, too. Sometimes, Cullen felt a bit jealous that it came to his friend so easily. The Starkhavener didn’t seem able to breathe without flirting. But skill in talking to women would be wasted on himself, anyway. His eyes found their way back to Beth, as they often did when he wasn’t paying attention. Still, it could be nice to be more at ease speaking to one in particular.

He frowned, staring down at his mug now. He spoke to her perfectly well when they met in the early mornings, but he had to admit, they didn’t really talk. She asked questions about the Chant, and he answered them. But it had easily become the most enjoyable part of his day.

A good ways into the hour the musicians began a ballad, and Beth let her drum hang to her side. He found himself disappointed. Was she not going to play this song at all? But then, she opened her mouth and sang, and Cullen’s heart stuttered. He was fairly certain it had actually skipped a beat at the sound.

He’d been told he had a pleasant voice, and all servants of the Chantry received enough musical instruction to be passing fair, but she… she was something else. He wasn’t even registering the words she sang — he was too absorbed in how her lower, more throaty notes danced alongside Maryden’s voice, blending in the air and seeming to float delicately to him. He remembered Beth asking about literally singing the Chant, and he thought that if he ever heard her do it he’d know what it was like to reside in the Golden City.

All too soon, the song was over, but then Maryden struck up a few rambunctious chords, and the two of them were off again. This time they threw the lyrics back and forth at each other, and the entire tavern was soon clapping and dancing as Beth belted out increasingly ribald words, bouncing on her feet and laughing when Maryden sang back to her. When the song reached its crescendo with the most tawdry verse of them all, he knew he’d gone crimson up to his ears because his face felt like it had caught fire. Which was utterly ridiculous, as it’s not like he’d never heard a bawdy song before, but for some reason hearing Beth sing it was infinitely worse than hearing it from anyone else.

At the end of the song, Maryden announced that they would take a short break, and Cullen shot to his feet amidst the applause and cheers, quickly making his way out before Beth could see him. He was fairly certain she found him only mildly tolerable, and assuredly didn’t like him well enough to run into at the tavern without things getting awkward. And even if that wasn’t the case, he felt strange enough after listening to her performance that he would surely do something that would ruin what little rapport they had.

He only realized how hot it had been in the tavern when he stepped out into the cold air and the sweat that had been collecting on his neck and brow went frigid. He found the sensation refreshing, but a few moments later Rylen exited the tavern as well, rubbing his arms to keep warm.

“Andraste’s Tits, are all ye Fereldans impervious tae cold?” Rylen was clearly at least a few drinks in, his accent broader than normal and his cheeks and nose slightly reddened.

Cullen snorted and raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Not my fault you Marchers have never seen a real Winter. Do you need to borrow my mantle?” he asked, his mouth curving up at the side at the last second.

The Starkhavener smacked his arm, immediately hissing as his knuckles hit silverite. “Only ye would wear plate tae a tavern, mate.”

Cullen shrugged. “I didn’t see a reason to change just for a quick drink.”

Rylen frowned. “Are ye leavin’ so soon? Ye wunnae stay a few more songs?” He leaned in and waggled his brows. “Dinnae ye want tae watch yer wee hen a bit longer?”

“My what?” He gave his friend a baffled look.

“Urnae ye makin’ the beast with two backs with her?” Rylen grinned salaciously, but Cullen was still terribly confused. It took him a minute to translate the thick brogue, furrowing his brow.

“I’m not involved with anyone,” he insisted. “Are there some sort of rumors going around? Who are they saying it is?”

Rylen stared at him a few seconds then seemed to sink into himself. “Ah, mate, I really thought ye were with our wee Seer.”

“What?!” He gulped and felt his face starting to flush bright red. “No. Certainly not. She’s a coworker. It would be highly inappropriate.” Completely taking leave of his senses, he asked, “Why, has she mentioned me?”

A slow smile spread over his friend’s face. “Well now. That is interestin’, aye. Though, if ye urnae with the lassie, why’s she been leavin’ yer tent so early of a morn?”

Cullen groaned and covered his face with a hand. “Maker’s Breath, I didn’t even think of that at all. It was the only time I could think of that we were both free…”

“But what are ye doin’ afore dawn with her in yer tent? Discussin’ the bloody Chant?” Rylen said with a snort.

Cullen mumbled, “Yes.”

Rylen gaped at him. “Please tell me it’s nae true. Ye urnae that much of a sad Chantry lad, are ye?”

“Apparently, I am.” Cullen sighed heavily.

Rylen nudged him with an elbow. “But ye have eyes, aye?”

Cullen scowled. “It would be highly inappropriate,” he reminded himself.

“Nae what I asked, pal.” The Knight-Captain waited expectantly.

Cullen let out a heavy sigh. “Yes. And ears. Maker’s Breath, her singing…”

“Och aye,” Rylen nodded with a laugh. “She’s a treasure, she is. Pure tidy. Ye’d better act quick, man.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Nothing can happen, Rylen. She’s my coworker and the Seer sent to us by Andraste.”

“Ah, ye dinnae truly believe that, do ye?” Rylen scrunched his nose comically. “Aye, she may be ‘sent’ in the sense that anyone can be, nae coincidences in the Maker’s plan and all that malarkey. But literally sent by the Maker’s Bride? I dinnae buy it.”

Cullen stared at his feet and muttered, “She still deserves better than a broken man.”

His friend frowned. “What makes ye think that, mate?” He glanced around and leaned close. “Is it the lyrium?”

Cullen stared at him for several seconds. “How in the blighted Void do you know? Is it that obvious?”

“Only if ye ken what tae look for,” Rylen assured him. They were both silent for a time. “How long?”

“Since we left Kirkwall.”

Rylen let out a low whistle. “An’ how bad is it, really?”

Cullen shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “The headaches are unbearable some days. My body aches like I’ve spent a week riding nonstop. My hands shake until they’re put to use, and even then sometimes.” He ground his teeth. “And the nightmares…” Rylen nodded in sympathy and he finished, “That’s not even considering the cravings themselves. In a word, it’s torture.”

“Aye, it sounds it.” He clapped a hand to Cullen’s shoulder. “But ye urnae broken, mate. Nae any more than she is, at any rate.”

Cullen threw him a sharp look. “Why do you say that?”

“I thought ye said ye had eyes. Have ye looked at the lassie lately? Really looked?” Cullen screwed up his mouth in frustration as Rylen went on. “She’s surely nae sleepin’, she’s nae eatin’ enough — especially to keep up with how much she’s drivin’ herself intae the ground — an’ her moods urnae right. She’s too chipper a-times, too subdued at others. Nothin’ in between.” Rylen shook his head slowly. “I dinnae think any of it’s actually real.”

Cullen huffed. “Well, you’re obviously close to her, why don’t you say something?”

“I’ve tried, mate. She’s as bad as ye are.” Cullen knocked him with his shoulder, sending his friend staggering to the side.

Then he frowned at the door to the tavern. “She seems well enough tonight.”

Rylen rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “She’s performin’. Who wants tae listen tae a mopey bard?” He shook his head and looked in the same direction as Cullen. “Nae, somethin’s off, or botherin’ her, or… I dinnae ken.” He smirked as the sounds of a lute being tuned drifted out to them. “Ah, but they’re startin’ up again in there. Are ye sure ye wunnae stay?”

Cullen shook his head. “I should at least attempt to sleep. Goodnight.”

Rylen gave him a jaunty little salute as he opened the door to the tavern, and the roar of celebration momentarily swelled before the door shut again. Cullen made the slow walk back to his tent with much to think about.

She is your charge, your responsibility. You should do something. He sighed. He would now at least admit to himself that he wished that could be true, but she wasn’t his at all, and he doubted she’d welcome any concern from him. The last — and only — time that he’d tried hadn’t gone well at all.

It seemed that the only times they could even remotely talk like two normal people were their morning discussions of the Chant, which he’d now either need to move to another, much more public location or give up altogether. He felt a tightness in his chest when he considered letting the most serene hour of his day go. It meant he wouldn’t hear her voice speaking softly to him any more, or see how her brows drew together and came down behind her glasses when she was about to ask a question, and he’d have hardly any reason to speak to her at all. It sounds horrid, he thought, then sighed again.

Maker’s Breath, he was in trouble.

Beth woke the morning after Herah’s return feeling like something had died in her mouth. Oh no. How much did I have to drink? She sighed as she realized she didn’t remember anything after the second set. Shit.

A small glass bottle was waved in her face, and she followed the arm holding it up to her Qunari friend who was looming over her with an apologetic expression. “So, uh, when you said you were a lightweight, you weren’t kidding.”

“No,” she groaned, “I wasn’t.” She clumsily took the bottle. “What’s this?”

“Hangover cure. It’s the least I can do.” Herah looked at her with concern as she downed the mixture. “Hey, Beth? Did something happen while I was gone?”

Beth shrugged. “Plenty of shit happened. Why?”

Herah twiddled her thumbs. “Because I had to carry you out of the tavern bawling. I managed to stealth us most of the way here, so I don’t think anyone but Varric and Rylen saw, but it wasn’t good.”

Beth chewed her lip. “What was I crying about?”

“I’m honestly not sure. You were slurring pretty bad by then.”

Beth rubbed her temples, glad that the hangover cure had taken her head from an eleven down to a three. “Look, that’s just what happens when I get really drunk. Well, that or I try to fuck everyone in reach. All things considered, the crying has less fallout.”

That got half a smile from her friend. “You’re sure it’s nothing, though? You looked like shit before the whiskey.”

Beth scoffed. “Rylen?”

“Yeah, he seemed to think you needed it.” Herah cocked her head and squinted. “You didn’t actually answer my question.”

“It’s not really nothing, but there’s nothing that can be done. I just get like this sometimes. If I keep working, eventually I’ll come out the other side and be okay again.” The Qunari looked skeptical, and Beth sighed again. “How bad do I look?”

“Bad.” Herah poked her in the ribs, digging a finger in and making Beth squirm away and get out of bed. “Maybe you should spend more time with your boyfriend actually sleeping.”

“My what now?” Beth looked at her in confusion.

“Aren’t you and Cullen together? That’s what Rylen seems to think, anyway,” Herah said with a smirk.

“The Commander? He can barely stand me unless we’re talking about the Chant of Light.” She waved a hand dismissively as she got out new clothes to wear that didn’t reek of booze.

Herah burst out laughing. “Really? Once a Templar always a Templar, I guess. So is that what you’re doing sneaking around with him? Discussing the Maker and Andraste?”

“We’re not sneaking,” Beth sulked, “We’re just both really busy.” She changed into one of her comfy wool dresses and quickly finger-combed her hair, then tied it back. “What time is it, anyway?”

“After noon. I don’t think Rylen expects you to show up today, and I made your excuses at Council already.”

Beth sighed. It was not a great impression to make on everyone, but she supposed one drunken night when nearly everyone in Haven had shown up at the tavern wasn’t too awful. “And you’re sure I didn’t make a complete ass of myself last night?”

Herah looked a bit guilty, crossing one arm over herself to hold onto the other by her elbow. “No, you just got a bit blubbery.”

Again, not a great impression to make, but better than it could have been. Beth chewed on her lip as she finished snugging up the laces on her dress. She didn’t think that Cullen was the type to lie or brag about ‘conquests,’ but she’d been wrong about men before. She gestured a hand down over herself. “Am I presentable? I should go find the Commander and fix this.”

Herah untied her hair and redid it into a quick and simple braid. “There. Good enough.”

“Thanks. See you at the tavern for dinner?” She swung a cloak onto her shoulders. “But absolutely no alcohol this time. Not for a week, minimum.”

“Agreed.” Herah smirked, “At least for you,” then sent her off with a wave.

Beth couldn’t stop obsessing in her head on the way there. Stupid. Should have thought about what it would look like. Absolute idiots, God, both of us. Hell, he should have known even better than me! He’s from this Godforsaken place! Lord only knows who the fuck might have seen us, or how far the rumor’s gotten.

She was practically stomping with anger by the time she reached the training grounds. Cullen looked every inch the Commander as he strode through the yard, armor shining and bright, standing tall and strong, his bearing demanding respect even at a glance. She could hear his voice ringing out as he pointed at various recruits and gave them some new order, and his captains would rush in to reinforce his instructions shortly after.

She waited until he hadn’t said anything for several seconds and hurried over to him, hands clenched in angry and nervous fists behind her back. She tried to speak at a volume that would only carry enough for him to hear, but over the clanging of shields and swords, that was still pretty loud. “Commander Rutherford, I must speak with you for a moment.”

He didn’t even turn to look at her, the insufferable bastard. And everyone thinks the two of us are banging? They must have a real fucking low opinion of me. “Miss Chisholm. I am rather busy, but what can I do for you?”

She took a sidling step closer and said a little more quietly. “I don’t know that your men should hear this.”

Ah, that got her a sidelong glance, if only for an instant. “We can speak in my tent.” He stiffened, which she hadn’t thought was even possible from his previous posture, and quickly amended, “Or we could walk just over here, by the lake.”

So, he knew what the two of them alone together looked like. The bastard knew. Apparently she’d been wrong — again. She was aware that he didn’t like her, but she hadn’t thought that he was so petty that he’d willingly let rumors like that go around.

He started walking without waiting for her response, and she hated how she needed to practically jog to keep up with his long strides. When he stopped and turned, she slipped in the snow trying not to run right into his stupid shiny breastplate. Even more infuriating, he reached out and steadied her with a hand on her arm for a second before he rested it again on the pommel of his sword.

She figured they were far enough away as long as no one started screaming, so she quietly but vehemently threw the accusation at him. “You knew.”

He had the audacity to pretend to be confused. “I… knew?”

“I’ve been seen leaving your tent at ungodly hours of the morning, and you knew what that would look like! Now everybody’s going to think I only have my position because I slept my way there!” Her voice dropped to an angry, hissing whisper, her fists trembling at her sides as she resisted the ridiculous urge to take a swing at him. “I knew you didn’t like me, but I had no idea you were so heartless.” She scoffed and crossed her arms, shrinking back from him and lowering her gaze. “I should have.” Apparently, she’d never fucking learn her lesson about men. Boys, really, just wanting to compare notches in their bedposts. Even if it’s all a lie.

She had expected anger, and as she had been whisper-yelling at him, she thought she saw a spark of rage carefully held behind a steely gaze. It was so intense that at first she fully expected this to devolve into a screaming match. But by the end of her short outburst, he couldn’t even look at her.

“I apologize.” He sounded… defeated. Small. Ashamed. He looked actually, genuinely sorry, and even acted like he was hurt and contrite, just staring at his feet and letting her take it out on him.

“You apologize?!” She was desperately holding on to her anger. He — he made her want to feel sorry for him, now? She didn’t even know if he was still manipulating her or not, but either way, he didn’t get to be like this. “You fucking bastard. I am going to speak with Josephine, and then you are going to speak with Josephine, and we are going to figure out how to fix this fucking mess.” She could feel her voice trembling, and her face was too hot, and she was pretty sure she hadn’t been able to hold in her tears, but fuck it. Let him see. If it made him feel more guilty, all the better. “I am not going to let this whole town think I’m whoring myself out for favors from you.”

She turned and left before she could start openly sobbing, furiously wiping the frustrated tears off of her face. She made her way to the Chantry, and as she passed Varric’s fire with her head down, she heard a hesitant, “Hey, Specs—”

“Not now, Varric,” she growled, not even slowing. She was sure every Mother and Sister and Brother in the building was staring at her, but she didn’t meet their gazes as she let herself into Josephine’s office.

Thank fucking God she didn’t have any visiting nobles in there, because Beth wasn’t sure if she could hold it together another second. The Ambassador looked up at her with alarm, and quickly rose from her desk to come to her side. “Beth, what is wrong?”

She broke into loud, messy tears as she choked out, “Everyone thinks I’m fucking Cullen!”

Josephine’s eyes went wide as her mouth dropped open with a small gasp. “No no, I’m sure that isn’t true. If it were, I would have heard it already. Leliana surely would have, and she has said nothing. What makes you think this?” She hesitantly reached her hand out to rub Beth’s arm.

“People saw us leaving his tent.” She shook her head as she tried to control herself. “But nothing was going on, I swear. I just… I don’t want everyone to think that’s all I’m good for, that I slept my way here.”

“Well, we will get to the bottom of this, and we will make certain there are no rumors or doubts.” She gave Beth a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. This is what I do, and I am very good at it.”

Cullen stared at his feet for a long time after Beth had left him at the lakeside. She was entirely justified in her anger — he ought to have known what it would look like with her leaving his tent so early. But he honestly hadn’t considered it. He had been an utter fool, and his foolishness had hurt her. Deeply. Surely the lyrium had riddled his mind with holes, because the few ashamed glimpses he’d caught of her as she’d cried angry tears at him, he’d thought she was still beautiful, despite it.

But what had utterly undone him was her assessment of him.

Heartless.

He was, wasn’t he? He had called for the Annulment of an entire Circle, had wielded the brand countless times, had dragged children from their homes and families to be thrust into the Fade and then struck down when they inevitably failed to resist the demons that waited for them there. He’d killed a number by his own hand. He’d thought it was his duty, given by the Maker. Once, he’d been proud to do so, and he hadn’t seen a single thing wrong with any of it.

Once, he had been a heartless monster. He should have known it would not be so easy to escape his past, that it would simply come back and haunt him further if he ever dared to believe he had.

His mind caught on another thing she’d said. That she should have known he was heartless. What had she heard? What did she know of his past? They had spoken broadly about Maleficar, Templars, and magic during their discussion of the Chant, and it sounded like she hadn’t had time to learn much about recent events, or she might have had more understanding. He knew there were plenty of people in Haven that would gladly tell her all about his time in Kirkwall, and while they weren’t entirely wrong, they did not know the whole truth, or what had driven him to it.

But did intention even matter, when he had done the things he had?

He decided he may as well see Josephine now. He wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else until he did, and these sorts of things were better dealt with as quickly as possible, anyway. But as he mounted the steps to the Chantry, he heard yelling.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!”

“Lies — your kind let her die.”

Maker’s Breath, would it never end?

He hurried his steps just as the Templar moved his hand to his sword. “Shut your mouth, mage!”

Cullen forcibly separated the two of them, still struggling to get at each other. He was infinitely grateful that the mage was smart enough not to cast, or this would escalate beyond his ability to contain quickly. When the Templar realized who was holding him back, he gasped, “Knight-Commander!”

His former title rankled — just another reminder of all the evil he’d done in the name of the Maker. Cullen sneered with a growl, “That is not my title. We are not Templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition!”

A shiver ran down his spine as he recognized the words. This was what Miss Chisholm had seen. It was happening exactly as he’d heard it. Until now he had somewhat blindly believed that her power was accurate based on what he’d heard from Cassandra, but it was another thing entirely to see the future she predicted unfold before his eyes, to be a part of it and still do exactly as she’d seen.

Of course, Chancellor Roderick chose that moment to stick his nose into things, but at least the bulk of the dissidents were dispersing. Cullen let the man rail at him as the Herald jauntily strutted up to them on her way to the Chantry, and she said, “Remind me why you’re allowing the Chancellor to stay?”

Roderick was the picture of entirely undeserved confidence. “Clearly your Templar knows where to draw the line.”

Cullen sneered at the Chancellor, “He’s toothless. There’s no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth.” He turned to the Herald and added, “The Chancellor’s a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however.”

She winked and added, “Well, let’s hope we find a solution, and not a cathedral full of chancellors.”

“The stuff of nightmares,” he said with contempt.

He would apparently need to delay his visit to Josephine as he let the Cleric remonstrate a while longer, but better that Cullen bear the brunt of it than someone that might be swayed to Roderick’s side. That of course did nothing for the headache that had been steadily growing behind his right eye, but he would survive. He had so far, at any rate.

Thankfully — or so he thought at first — Leliana interrupted several minutes later to beckon him into the Chantry, where she led him to a shadowy corner without anyone near to hear. On their way, he saw the Herald and Miss Chisholm walking out of the Chantry, the larger woman with her arm around her friend’s shoulders. He couldn’t see Beth’s face, but her posture looked more relaxed than he’d thought it would. The Herald leaned in and whispered something, and a sudden titter burst from Beth, bright and beautiful.

“And that, Commander, is what we must talk about.” Leliana was looking at him with narrowed eyes as he turned his attention back to the Spymaster. “She came to Josie with her concerns, and thankfully, there was no gossip to speak of. Rylen was the only one to actually see her leaving your tent, apart from a few of my agents. They, however, got close enough to determine what you were actually doing and did not jump to conclusions. But you must be much more careful in the future.”

“That won’t be a problem,” he grumbled. “I doubt she wishes to continue studying with me any longer.”

“That is immaterial.” She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. “You are both intelligent enough not to fall into that trap again. But you, Commander, need to stop wearing your emotions onto your face for anyone to see.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you talking about?”

She rolled her eyes. “I am talking about this.” She waved a hand from his feet to his head. “You have not an ounce of subterfuge in you. Normally, in your position, that would not be a problem. But you are developing an attachment that cannot be made common knowledge, at least not yet.”

He goggled at her. “I’m not — but how — oh, Andraste preserve me, how obvious is it?” He finally gave up his protests and sat on a nearby crate, hunched in on himself. He almost felt like this was a repeat of last night with Rylen.

“Very.” He winced as Leliana continued, “I suggest that you lean into your natural glower more. Something else is bothering you — and no, this I do not know the details of — but I suggest you let that show on your face more, to cover up anything else you may feel. You will still be the surly Commander, and no one will be any the wiser.”

He sighed heavily. “I always hated commanding officers like that. Always in a foul mood, impossible to talk to. I never wanted to become one myself.”

She shrugged. “Then don’t be that way around your men. Just exude surliness when you attend any other matters. It will appear as if you enjoy working with your soldiers and barely tolerate the other parts of your position.” She gave him a sly smile. “That isn’t too far from the truth, as it is.”

“True,” he sighed. “But is it really that easy?” He shook his head. “Just… glower, you said?” He was doubtful. He was also well aware that he had little practice at schooling his expression beyond simply freezing. There was a reason that Templars wore full-face helms — no one could tell what you were thinking even if you were as much of an open book as he was.

“Easy? No. Simple, yes.” At his hmph, she smirked and said playfully. “Don’t worry, Commander. You’re just as handsome when you’re brooding.”

Void take them all. “Nothing is going to happen at any rate.” Seeing as the only person around was their Spymaster, he allowed himself to sulk slightly. “I doubt she’ll be able to tolerate my presence for any longer than absolutely necessary.”

Leliana cocked her head slightly. Sometimes, she shares an eerie resemblance to her birds, he thought. “What makes you say that?”

He raised a hand to the back of his neck, trying to pull the tension out and perhaps ease the ache in his skull. “She yelled at me when she found out about Rylen’s assumption. Well, to be more accurate, she whispered very venomously, so hopefully the content of that conversation wasn’t overheard.”

“And what was your part of that conversation?” Leliana asked.

If he’d been told a year ago that he would be having a heart-to-heart with the Left Hand of the Divine, and about this of all things, he would have assumed the person telling him had gone mad. Yet here he was.

“I apologized.” Cullen sighed. “Then she hissed at me a bit more, started crying, and left.”

Leliana nodded as if she expected as much, while he remained baffled by the experience. “I think you should give her a little time, and then apologize again. Do make sure the words ‘I’m sorry’ are actually used. There’s nothing worse than an apology that isn’t one.”

“I will try to remember that,” he said. He stood from the crate he had been leaning on. “I should get back to it. Thank you.”

“Remember to scowl,” she said as he left.

With some chagrin, he realized that he already was. Perhaps following her advice would not be as difficult as he feared.

Beth couldn’t sleep. Her eyes felt so heavy, but she kept jerking awake moments after they shut. On top of that, if she did manage to close her eyes for more than a few minutes, she woke not long after drenched in sweat. She was still going through the effects of stopping her depression medication cold turkey rather than tapering, and it made her feel disgusting. She plucked at the now damp shift she’d worn to bed, stuck to her skin, and decided that if she couldn’t sleep she’d do something productive, at least.

She hadn’t been able to tend to the trebuchet today, what with her hangover and dealing with all that shit with Cullen, and, well, there was no time like the present. So she picked up her notes, threw on some leggings and a shirt, and wrapped a cloak around her shoulders before she tried to quietly stomp on a pair of boots. Herah wasn’t a particularly light sleeper, but it was common courtesy to at least try not to wake her up.

Her footfalls in the snow sounded deafening in the still night, and it was nearly as bright as day with the moons high in the sky reflecting off the white ground. Moons. Plural. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to that. They were also an uneasy reminder that the stable fire should be happening soon, maybe a week or so from now. Solas had seemed to have a good idea of exactly what day it would be — she should ask him to clarify for her.

When she got to the trebuchet she was sweating again, so she took off her cloak and draped it over a nearby crate. She sorted through her calculations and started making minute adjustments to the sling. She wouldn’t be able to fire off a test shot — too loud, and you really did need more than one person for it anyway — but she could make adjustments now that would save them time tomorrow.

She was so focused on what she was doing that she missed the sound of footsteps coming up behind her, only realizing she wasn’t alone when she heard his stupid smooth baritone. “Perhaps it’s not my place, but are you alright?”

She startled and tried to whip around, but she was almost waist deep in the siege engine and whacked her head on one of the support beams. “Shit,” she hissed, one hand at the back of her head as she more slowly pulled herself out of the machine. She squinted at the Commander through slightly watery eyes as he winced sympathetically. “Besides the head wound, I’m fine,” she grumped. “What do you care, anyway?”

He stared at his feet, and she realized that this might be the first time she’d seen him without his armor or mantle. He was only wearing a thin linen shirt on his upper half. Wasn’t he cold? Then again, she was pretty much dressed the same. But she had an excuse. She was withdrawing from a medication that didn’t even exist in Thedas and getting ridiculous hot flashes and night sweats because of it.

He spoke so quietly that she almost missed it. “I’d not see you hurt if it can be helped.”

She snorted. “Could have fooled me.” She made a small pained sound as her fingers probed the growing lump at the back of her head, and to her complete surprise, the Commander reached his hands toward her.

“May I?”

God damn it, of course the devastatingly handsome knight in shining armor had fucking impeccable puppy dog eyes. Clearly she was more emotionally volatile than she’d realized, because she actually felt guilty at the idea of saying no. Her anger was justified, thank you very much, and his apparently sincere contrition was very inconvenient, because it was making it more difficult to hang onto her grudge by the second.

She still tried to, even as she gave a tiny bit of ground. “Fine,” she mumbled, and tilted her head down.

She’d left her hair loose, and the frizzy, tangled curls fell around her face as he parted it to get to her scalp. His hands were so large, but surprisingly gentle, if a bit cold. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it,” he said as she stared at their boots. “What it would look like to others meeting with you so early. It has been a very long time since such things concerned me, but I should have realized…” He sighed as he very carefully touched the injury, barely laying any pressure on it.

He was being so, so careful, standing and moving as if he was trying very hard not to take up as much space as he did. She had never seen him out of his armor before, and was a little surprised that not as much of his bulk was plate and fur as she’d thought it would be. The shirt he was wearing did absolutely nothing to conceal that he was seriously built. She’d assumed that the mantle and pauldrons added breadth to his shoulders, and they did a little, but he was clearly plenty big all on his own — and it was definitely all strong, lean muscle. She reminded herself that she was still angry with him, and looking like a blonde Adonis didn’t change that.

“I am not asking you to forgive me, but I am sorry,” he continued quietly. “I hope we can still work together, at least.”

God damn it, why does he have to be so fucking reasonable?

He hesitated, and she felt an unexpected hand at the back of her neck. She gasped in a silent breath and told herself it was because his fingers were freezing. “Your head doesn’t appear too bad, but you’re burning up. Are you ill?”

She shook her head and took a step back, and he dropped his arms to his sides awkwardly. She swept her hair back from her face, arching and stretching her back a bit after being hunched, and Cullen made an odd expression before looking up at the sky and clearing his throat.

“It’ll go away in a week or two,” she said. “Mostly.”

He frowned and dropped his eyes to hers again, and she sighed. “Since you are sorta my boss with this stuff,” she waved a hand at the siege engine beside them, “you ought to know a few things, I guess.” She scrunched her nose distastefully. “Back home, I was on medication. Obviously, I can’t get it here, and it’s not the sort of thing that you ought to just stop taking all at once. So I’m going to go through withdrawals for a few weeks. It’s mostly hot flashes and night sweats. Uncomfortable, but nothing too serious.” She snorted softly and crossed her arms, leaning away and remembering that she was supposed to be angry at him. “So you don’t need to go worrying your pretty little head over it.”

His frown intensified, brows drawn together in an expression that looked vaguely annoyed. “Then why did you say ‘mostly’?”

Had to open your fucking mouth, didn’t you? She was silent for several seconds, and so was he. Finally, it got too awkward even for her, and she said, “I was on meds for a reason.” She hiked a thumb at the machine next to them. “That's why I’m out here in the middle of the night, doing this. Can’t sleep for shit.” She lifted her chin, trying to stare him down from nearly a foot lower. “What’s your excuse?”

He made a face like he’d tasted something fetid. “Not dissimilar to yours.” He clenched his jaw as he looked back to his tent, then nodded sharply. “I’ll leave you to it. Good night, Miss Chisholm.”

She watched him leave, filled with a confusing mix of thoughts and emotions. Almost everything she’d seen of him until now had shown her that he was an uncompromising man, a bulwark made human, unfalteringly dire and serious. She’d hardly ever seen him actually smile or laugh, or do anything but toil for the Inquisition. Even when he was easier to talk to during their little study sessions, he was still all facts, and that was also something that was meant to be helpful to their cause. Sure, he was handsome — and just ridiculously fit, enough to make an Abercrombie & Fitch model jealous — but she wasn’t some naive little girl that thought looking like a Disney prince actually meant anything about his personality.

But tonight, just now — and actually, when she had yelled at him, too — he had been different. Gentler? Sort of… deferential. Certainly more open, way more than he had been during their morning studies. He’d even apologized to her, twice, and he’d seemed genuinely concerned for her health.

She crawled back into the trebuchet mechanisms and continued her adjustments as she reasoned with herself. He could have just as easily been worried about her ability to do her job. But the way their conversation had ended… something was wrong with him. She’d seen glimpses of it before. She was fairly certain he got migraines, given how she’d seen him stretching his neck and squinting, but that wasn’t all of it. Migraines didn’t turn your hands ice cold, and unless they were near-constant they didn’t keep you awake to the point of developing purple marks under your eyes from lack of sleep.

She was beginning to realize that she had misjudged him, and not the way she’d first thought. Those apologies were actually sincere, not the sort that were more sorry about being caught than the actual offense. Her barbs seemed to actually hurt him, too. She wasn’t used to that. She thought he’d snip right back at her, but he didn’t. He’d just let her rail at him, as if he thought he deserved it.

She actually felt guilty now, and took a moment to sit and think without the distraction of her work. She’d called him heartless, and clearly he was anything but. He cared, and it seemed like he cared a lot.

But why? What did he want from her? Was he angling for something, or did he simply want to keep a decent engineer around so that he didn’t have to find another? What was the price of his concern? What did he expect from her in return for his kindness? And what the Hell did she have to give him, anyway? Knowledge, sure. Both her education and her ability to ‘see’ things were certainly valuable here.

That must be it. He was protecting an asset of the Inquisition. That made sense. It fit very nicely into the little box she’d made for him, too.

But what if you’re wrong?

She sighed and went back to adjusting the trebuchet. There was another one to do as well, and it would be dawn soon. She’d better get a move on.

Chapter Text

Apparently, the only person pleased about Herah heading to Val Royeaux was Josephine. Everyone else was some flavor of annoyed. The bickering between the three Advisors would have been amusing if Beth hadn’t heard it all at nearly every meeting dozens of times already. Though, now, a new point was being made.

“It is fairly common knowledge among the populace, but we should officially announce that we have a Seer in Haven before the Herald arrives at Val Royeaux,” Josephine said. “If we wait any longer, it will appear as if we are hiding something, attempting to forge alliances before putting all our cards on the table.”

“I agree,” Leliana said. “My agents report that your cover as a scholar is widely accepted in Haven. You play the part well,” she added with a little bow toward Beth.

“Yeah, well, you made my backstory that I’m a nerd with a complicated relationship with religion and no family. It wasn’t a huge stretch.” She asked with some trepidation, “What is making this official going to change?”

Herah said flippantly, “As far as I’m concerned, nothing.”

“That is partially true,” Josephine said. “To everyone here, there is no real change. But to the world at large, you become an equal to the rest of us. There will be attention on you.”

Beth wrung her fingers in front of her skirts. “But you can deal with most of that, right? The official correspondence and stuff? Like you do for Herah?”

“Of course,” Josephine assured her. “It would be useful if you were to meet with some of our noble guests on occasion. Nothing too time-consuming, just a few hellos.” Beth still didn’t actually like the sound of it, but if this is what their Ambassador thought would be best for the Inquisition, Beth would follow her lead.

“Your time with Maryden humanizes you,” Leliana said. “That will likely keep the people of Haven from treating you too differently, though you will be addressed as Madam Seer now.”

Beth screwed up her face. “Really? Madam? There go my hopes of ever feeling young again.”

Cassandra gave her a sympathetic look as Herah smirked and said, “I’ll be sure to bring you back a walking stick and a crystal ball from Val Royeaux. You’ll need to look the part.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Thanks. You’re so helpful.”

With that decided, after Herah and Cassandra left to pack for the trip, the three advisors still there turned to somewhat more mundane business. So Beth steeled herself to speak up as the meeting began to wind down.

“Out of curiosity,” she said, and was all at once uncomfortably aware of three pairs of eyes on her. “What are the chances that we find more sources of ore, lumber, or stone?”

The Commander was the one to answer. “Our resources are currently stretched thin, and until we can spread our influence, that isn’t likely to change.” He still had that perpetual scowl on, but his answer was more to-the-point than it was gruff or annoyed.

Leliana tipped her head to one side curiously. “Why do you ask?”

She took a breath and prepared herself for a shitstorm. “Our siege equipment is horrible.”

To her surprise, Josephine actually laughed. “Is that why you and Commander Cullen are always calibrating the trebuchet?”

Beth rolled her eyes, and she and the Commander opened their mouths at the same time, speaking over each other.

“Green lumber warps as it ages, and if we want to keep it in true—”

“New devices require constant adjustment until—”

Beth snapped her mouth shut again, and the Commander — was he blushing? While he scowled? Herah would be disappointed that she missed it.

The Herald seemed to have a new hobby of tormenting Cullen whenever she spoke to him, asking him questions that could be passed off as curiosity but that were definitely a bit too personal. Beth hadn’t seen the appeal in it before, but she had to admit, watching a man that commanded an army fidget and slowly turn pink up to his ears was pretty entertaining.

Josephine smirked with a knowing look at him, and he glowered back as he said, “See? Our siege expert agrees.”

“In any case, that isn’t the problem,” Beth said. “Not unless we can get hold of aged lumber that large. No, it’s the designs.” She briefly waved the papers she’d brought with her, then placed them on the table. “I’ve made some new plans, but until I can make smaller scale models, I don’t think I can take them much further. After it’s finalized, we could use many of the existing parts for the full sized version, but I don’t want to dismantle one of our siege engines just for testing.”

They were all staring at her again. This. This is why I don’t speak up at meetings. She hated having everyone looking at her — it was tolerable when there was music involved, but she didn’t think a verse of ‘The Two Magicians’ would go over well right now. It might make Cullen blush a bit more, though.

Leliana broke the silence this time, taking the plans and giving them a brief once-over. “You made these?”

“Yeah?” Her eyes darted between the others. “I mean, you made me your Master Tormenter-whatever, so that’s my job, right? Make sure we have the best siege weapons we can?”

“It is,” the Commander said. He had the faintest little half-smile on his face, his scar just barely lifting his lip. “Very few Siegemasters do more than tweak existing designs, however.” Oh Lord help her, the smile made him more handsome. That wasn’t fair.

She felt off-kilter and flustered, and as she usually did when she was nervous, she let her mouth get away from her. “I mean, I used the bones of what we already have. I mainly changed the lever-arm and the release pin, added a few more gears to make the arming crank easier to turn, put in a mechanism to change the sling length so that it can be adjusted on the fly, designed some metal bearings for the axle — our current trebuchet are taking way too much wear there, and I’d like to see if I can get roller bearings to work. The loads may be too high, though Harritt told me you have some unique metals here that might be able to handle it…” She petered off again as Cullen’s brows lifted with each word. The smile was gone and the glower hadn’t come back, but she couldn’t tell if he was surprised or just glazed over from the info dump.

“You can do all that?” Josephine asked excitedly. Beth knew that look — she was plotting something now.

Cullen held his hand out to Leliana and took the plans from her, looking much more closely at them than she had. As he perused, Beth answered Josephine. “Well, we won’t know how well the changes work until I can make one to test. Then there will be a bit of trial and error until we reach a final design.”

“Lady Seryl would be very interested in this. With the recent tensions in Orlais, she has been outfitting Jader with better siege capability. She would not want to fall behind the cutting edge,” Josephine said, writing furiously on her board. “And we would do well to endear ourselves to her, since she controls the nearest port. I must see what the going rate is for new designs…”

“Whatever it is, double it,” Cullen declared, still flipping through the pages. “Perhaps more. These plans… I’d be surprised if even the dwarves have anything this complex available. They are not just novel, they are remarkable.” He lifted his eyes to Beth at the last second, sounding almost awed and with a slowly widening grin. Shit, he was already too handsome when he was broody. The man was quickly approaching devastating now.

She felt a familiar — and unwelcome, she reminded herself — warmth and flutter from inside her ribcage, and she frowned and looked down at her hands. She’d just made sure no one thought she was sleeping her way up the ranks. It was asinine to think about throwing that away just because he was an exceptionally pretty man and he’d given her a compliment on her work. Besides, it probably wouldn’t be great for the Seer to have a fling with the Commander. She didn’t even know if the Seer would be allowed flings at all. She didn’t think Josephine or Leliana would actually expect her to be that goody-goody, but they might expect her to act like it in public and be all discrete and shit.

She pursed her lips and let out a little huff. Priorities. Trebuchet. Head down, keep moving. “Yeah, well, they aren’t worth anything unless they work, and we don’t have the resources to know yet.”

“I’ll make sure we get them,” Cullen said. He sounded so certain. One thing was for sure, he didn’t lack for confidence any. “Leliana, can we send scouts into the Hinterlands to find additional logging stands?” At her nod, he brought a fist to his chin in thought. “There’s plenty of iron there as well, but if we need any rarer materials, we may need to find someone to purchase it from instead. We hardly even have enough silverite to keep up with demands for new weapons and armor.”

“I’m sure we can,” Josephine said, making a few more notes. “I will reach out to my mining contacts. Perhaps Master Tethras could be of help, as well.”

As they spoke, Beth kept her eyes down, tensing her hands at her sides. She had spent four years and a ridiculous amount of money getting her engineering degree, and had never once been able to put it to use until now. Not only that, but the three of them were so damn excited about it. Even Leliana looked like the cat that got the cream. She wanted to hug them all, and burst into tears, and slap Cullen’s stupid handsome face for looking like that, looking at her like that. Like she was wonderful, even if it was just because of some stupid diagrams.

It was a lie, and she knew it, and it hurt. She wouldn’t be suckered by that again, though.

She needed to leave before she entirely lost it. She cleared her throat and quickly said, “Let me know how it goes,” before she fled the room.

Beth realized, in retrospect, that perhaps bursting into their little cabin nearly in tears could be alarming. But Herah just wrapped her up in a hug the second she saw her, and Beth let her. She’d had more hugs in the last month or so than she’d had in years and years back home, and she wasn’t about to spurn another one when she needed it. Beth took a few deep breaths until she didn’t feel like crying was inevitable any more, and then muttered a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Bad meeting?” Herah asked. “I know you said you were going to ask about stuff for your new designs. If our Commander gave you shit for it, I will personally box his ears,” she declared. Beth scoffed a little laugh, which seemed to be what her friend was going for. “So, not that bad at least?”

“No, it went great.” She gently extricated herself from the hug, and they both sat on the bed, Beth closest to the fireplace. She was usually the colder of the two, unless her lack of meds was fucking with her. She sighed and tried to put her thoughts in order, but that might have been a lost cause. “You ever think things are going too good?”

Herah rolled her eyes. “Of course. In my line of work, when things are going well, that just means they’re going to get even more fucked than you’d ever imagined.”

“Exactly,” Beth said. “I keep waiting for something bad to happen. Like, really, really bad. So far everything’s been going well with the siege work, and at the Maiden, and…” She trailed off, staring at her knees.

“And?” Herah prompted.

“How well do you know Commander Cullen?” Beth asked suddenly. “You’re usually good at reading people. What’s the vibe off him?”

“The vibe?” Herah asked with a raised brow.

“What sort of energy does he give off, what’s your general impression?”

Herah puffed out a breath. “Well, he’s a knight in shining armor. I’m certain that he really wants to do good.” She scoffed and added, “You know, I asked him why he became a Templar. He said he ‘could think of no better calling than to protect those in need.’ And so help me, the man actually meant it.”

“You really think so?” Beth asked. “Seems too good to be real.”

“I know!” Herah said, then grinned and nudged Beth’s knee with hers. “So, why are you asking about Cullen?”

“I just…” She sighed heavily. “Sometimes I feel like you’re right, that he really is what he appears to be. But no one is that good, right?”

Herah shrugged. “I didn’t say he’s perfect. I’ve heard he went through some real shit during the Blight, and in Kirkwall. Varric says he was a lot different back then. Even more of a stick up his ass, especially about mages. And he’s got no idea how to delegate. He’d rather kill himself working than let anyone help him. I’m not sure if he’s too proud or if he has some misguided notion that he has to do it all himself. Either way, he works way too much, and way too hard.” She leveled a look at Beth. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

“I have to work,” Beth insisted. “It keeps me going.”

“I really don’t think it does,” Herah argued. “But why are you asking me about Cullen now?”

“Because he’s too confusing,” Beth complained. “Sometimes he completely ignores me — most of the time, really — but then…” She sighed. “I ran into him last night. He apologized again, and he had the audacity to actually be good at it. Didn’t even ask me to forgive him, just said he was sorry.”

Herah rolled her eyes. “The bastard,” she drawled sarcastically.

Beth ignored her. “He’s almost creepily observant, though. He noticed I was kinda feverish—”

“Is that because of that medication thing?” Herah asked with concern.

“Yeah, but it’s just uncomfortable. No big deal,” she quickly assured. Herah’s worried frown lessened some. “But he noticed it, and then I ended up telling him about my medication, too, and… I think he actually gives a shit.”

Herah went back to her sarcastic mode. “Horrific.”

Beth stood up quickly and snatched her cloak off the wall. “Fine, if you’re going to be like this, I’ve got other things I can be doing.” She certainly didn’t need to let someone belittle her when she was trying to figure her shit out. She wouldn’t let herself be a doormat.

“Beth, I didn’t mean anything by it,” the Qunari started.

“Yes, you did, or you wouldn’t have said it,” Beth snapped. She slung her small satchel across her chest and stormed out the door without even saying goodbye, pulling her cloak tightly around her shoulders. She’d already messed with the trebuchet today, and she needed something to do until Rylen was ready to let her hit things with other, pointier things, so she stopped by the apothecary’s cabin, where there were always a billion tasks that he needed help with.

“And what in the Void do you want?” Adan opened with.

“Something to do. You still need elfroot? Anything else growing around here that’s useful?” She didn’t bother to moderate her tone. If anyone in Haven could take some ill-tempered sass, it was Adan.

“Just the elfroot. You wouldn’t be able to find anything else anyway,” he said in a dismissive tone, which she ignored.

“Right. I’ll be back, then.” He waved her off and she spun on her heel to head back out, through the town and out of the gates, then past the soldiers running drills and the empty cabin to where she knew there was a decent patch of elfroot from a few other forays when she and Herah were bored. They hadn’t picked it in a couple weeks, and since it was a little ways off, hopefully no one else had, either.

Of course, the whole spot was nearly stripped bare. She was torn between frustration and despondency, but they both made her want to cry, so she did. She fell to her knees in the snow and buried her face in her hands, trying to at least cry quietly if she was going to do it. She hated crying, even when there was no one around to see. It felt like weakness and failure. God, I hope this is still rebound from the withdrawals, she thought. She hadn’t been completely off her meds in years, and if this was what it was going to be like…

She was still slowly leaking tears and sniffling when she got back to her feet. Her knees were soaked through and cold from the snow, but she’d live. There was another patch of elfroot if she followed the edge of the lake, so she trudged that direction. She was determined not to come back empty handed, at the very least.

The plants at that patch were sorta spindly-looking, but she could harvest a bit more. She stewed quietly as she tucked the leaves into her satchel. She owed Herah an apology, and knowing that didn’t improve her mood any. Her friend’s irreverence was badly timed, but Beth had run off before Herah could finish what was probably going to be her own apology. She shivered and tried to rub some warmth into her now frozen legs that felt too stiff when she stood again. She squinted up at the sky and realized that she was going to be late to meet Rylen if she didn’t book it. That crying bender had lasted longer than she thought, apparently.

She tried to hurry back, cutting across an incredibly flat and open snowy area between small copses of trees. They’d had a few warm days recently, and the top of the snow had developed a thick, icy crust that slowed her progress, breaking every few steps to drop her a foot or more into the snowbank and starting to exhaust her within a couple minutes from constantly pulling herself back out. She’d already made it to the middle of the clearing, though, so it wouldn’t be any faster for her to turn around and retrace the more roundabout, winding route she’d taken out.

She felt hot, shameful tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision as her foot fell through the ice again, this time making her sink up to her hips into the drift below. “Fuck!” she hissed, trying to get enough leverage to pull herself out and only managing to break some more of the crust around her. She started to gasp in little hiccups of air as the crying started up again with a vengeance.

She tried to wiggle her foot out of the hole, and realized it was fucking stuck. There was something caught around it under the snow. She let out a frustrated scream and gave her foot a hard yank, but instead of finally coming free, pain lanced up her leg from her ankle, now trapped at an angle that it probably shouldn’t be in. Her vision swam with tears and her head felt suddenly too full of… she didn’t know what.

She holds on to Herah’s waist, trying to keep upright on an ankle barely able to hold her weight, because it’s either that or the broken leg. Herah tries to rub some warmth into her with the arm around her shoulders, stumbling and exhausted. The Qunari falls to her knees, taking Beth down with her. They have to keep going, but after a few attempts to stand again, they give up and wrap around each other on the ground. Herah’s larger form mostly covers hers, but she doesn’t know if it’s actually going to keep her any warmer. Her friend’s skin already feels like ice where Beth’s forehead is touching her neck.

She felt dizzy coming out of the vision, but that might have been the pain in her leg — the real, actual pain, not the phantom feeling left by the vision, though she was still aware of that, too, with a million other hurts as well. Shit, we’re going to get really fucked up by something. But in order to do that, Beth would have to survive this, first. So she swallowed her pride and sucked in a huge breath to yell, “Help! Help!”

“Commander!” Cullen looked up from his desk piled with reports and missives and requisitions to see Rylen coming through the flap of his tent. “When did ye last see Beth?”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “I’ve told you, nothing can come of it. Especially not now, and thank you for that,” he said testily.

“Nae, truly, when did ye last lay eyes on her? She’s near twenty minutes late for her training, and it’s nae like her.” Rylen looked worried, his frown twisting the lines of his tattoos into odd shapes.

“I saw her at Council this morning. Perhaps she’s trying to get some rest,” he guessed, but it sounded flimsy even to himself. He stood and rounded his desk, exiting the tent with Rylen right behind him. He would go to her cabin and check on her. If she was sleeping, she’d likely be upset with him — again, or rather, still — but he had a bad feeling about this.

As the door to the cabin came into sight, the Herald was leaving the residence they shared. “Herald!” he greeted.

Rylen jumped in, “Have ye seen Beth in the last hour or so?”

She stopped immediately, looking alarmed. “Isn’t she supposed to be with you right about now?”

“Aye, and she didnae show.”

“Shit,” Adaar muttered.

Cullen had a sense of dread slowly growing in his gut. “When did you see her last?”

She looked hard at Rylen, then at Cullen, and seemed to come to a decision, addressing the Commander. “She told you about her illness, right? Well, something was bothering her about the Council meeting, but I put my foot pretty far into my mouth, and she was very angry with me when she left.” The Herald sighed, crestfallen. “I thought she just needed some time to cool off, but if you haven’t seen her either…”

Cullen thought back on their last few interactions. She was likely still upset at him as well, which was not entirely undeserved. He wished there was some way he could put her at ease around him, but she seemed to get even more prickly if he was cordial with her. And after she had presented her new trebuchet plans, she’d practically run from the room rather than be in his presence. Josephine had pointedly asked him what he had done after Beth left, but he truly didn’t know why she was especially agitated that morning.

There had only been a few moments, as they’d caught each other awake in the middle of the night, when she’d actually been able to have a conversation with him. She had been a little testy, but at least he’d been given the chance to apologize. Andraste help him, when he closed his eyes, he could still smell her hair, feel it under his fingers, silky and soft, could still see her pushing the unruly tresses back and drawing her shirt tight over her breasts — no, best to put those thoughts from his mind. He knew that he would be lucky if she was one day pleasant to him again, much less engage in that.

After he’d apologized, she’d told him that she was going through a form of withdrawal and given him the perfect opening to tell her about his own difficulties… and he couldn’t. He was fairly certain she also had similar headaches to his, and obviously had trouble sleeping, so he knew he had no real reason to expect her to be anything but understanding about those same things in himself.

But he still couldn’t bear the idea of seeing pity in her eyes, and so he had said nothing. Like a coward.

“Do ye think she’s holed up somewhere?” Rylen asked.

Adaar shook her head. “I doubt it. She probably found something to do, to keep busy.”

“I already checked by the trebuchet — she’s nae there.”

Cullen called up to the small lookout tower by the gate. “Whitmore! Have you seen the Madam Seer recently?”

He could have cursed himself for wasting time when the guard replied, “Yes, Ser. She left Haven, headed toward that abandoned cabin about two, maybe three hours ago. I haven’t seen her come back yet.”

“We might be able to track her in the snow,” Adaar said. “Either of you any good at that?”

Cullen wasn’t, though Rylen said, “A little. We got another centimeter last night, so she should be easy enough to follow.”

They started in the direction the guard had indicated, and it turned out her tracks were clear enough that even Cullen had no trouble following her steps. He looked around the little group of trees for any signs, and noticed several bare elfroot plants. “Could she have been gathering herbs?”

The Herald cursed under her breath as she was examining a disturbed area of snow. “She probably was, she took her satchel with her. Shit, I should have realized that sooner.” She got to her feet, then gestured at the marks in the snow, one area trampled much more than the rest. “She definitely kept going from here, but I think she stopped for a while first.”

“Does that matter?” Cullen said, his frustration clear in his tone. “Let’s go after her.”

But as they followed her footprints she crossed an area where rams and druffalo tended to wander, and the field was a mess of tracks. He ran his hand through his hair nervously. Technically, they had no real reason to believe she was in trouble, but he didn’t think she would have blown off her training without sending word.

The three of them started combing the area for any indication of which way she’d gone. When Cullen judged that Rylen was far enough away, he spoke quietly to Adaar, saying, “Did she, uh, mention why she was… agitated?”

The Herald’s mouth twisted into a wry, mirthless smile. “I ran her off before she could explain properly, and I’m pretty sure I made it worse.” Then her eyes caught on something on the ground, and she started forward more quickly. He followed as she called loudly, “Beth?” Rylen caught up with them, also calling out for her, and Cullen’s heart stuttered and beat quicker when there was a faint answering sound from somewhere ahead of them. All three of them started to run, and they reached the edge of a vast, blank space of unbroken snow between groups of trees. In the center of it was a small figure whose arm reached up and fell back to its side, the exhaustion in the gesture achingly clear.

Thank Andraste, they’d found her. Now they only needed to get her home.

Beth was beginning to go hoarse as she continued to futilely call for someone, and she couldn’t stop shivering. The layer of sweat on her skin from the exertion of getting herself into this mess had gone cold, and the snow around her was melting and soaking into her clothes. Her ankle had at least gone numb enough that it was just a dull throb of pain. She squinted up at the sky — if she was reading the sun right, she had probably been out trying to gather herbs for at least an hour and might have already spent another hour stuck here, maybe even a bit more. That was definitely way too long to be just sitting out in the elements, but she was so tired that she couldn’t have worked up the will to worry about it even if she’d tried. That’s probably bad, isn’t it?

She bit down on her tongue and the insides of her cheeks, not enough to draw blood or anything, but trying to keep herself awake. At least, she tried not to draw blood, but she was shivering violently and might have bitten harder than she meant to. She was still aware enough to know that if she fell asleep, that would be really bad. She wondered if her tears would make it more likely for her to freeze to death. What sort of odds would Varric put on that? 3-to-1? She’d have to ask next time she went to stand by his bonfire. She was very, very jealous of him, that was for sure. What she wouldn’t give for a huge fire right now…

“Beth!”

“Madam Seer!”

God, she really hoped those distant voices were real and not some sort of hypothermia hallucination. She sobbed with relief and managed to croak out, “Here! I’m here!” She saw several figures emerge from the treeline ahead of her, and she tried to raise a hand and wave them down, but it was really more of a single flail. Still got the job done, she thought as they started coming toward her. There were three of them, one with horns, one that was mostly red and very large and vaguely furry, and another a bit smaller than that in the familiar drab green of their soldiers.

She thought she only closed her eyes for a second, but then someone had their hands under her armpits and was trying to pull her up, and she let out a shriek she hadn’t known she’d still had in her. She also hadn’t known she could still feel her ankle that well, but she certainly could, because now it was in full fucking agony. She was breathing too fast and too hard through the pain, but managed to gasp out, “My foot’s stuck.”

“So it is, Lass. Dinnae fash, we’ll have ye out in a jiffy,” came Rylen’s easy, rolling Scottish brogue.

“Not Scottish,” she mumbled. “Starkhaven.” Herah was digging with gloved hands next to her leg, and Beth thought she was lucky that her new best friend had such ginormous mitts. “Is there an Auld Stark-something?” she wondered aloud. She hissed when Herah moved her foot out from whatever was trapping it, and yelped when it was jostled while she was pulled up and out of the hole. She was swung up into someone’s arms, and realized her face was pressed to Cullen’s fur mantle.

“Stay awake,” his quiet baritone said, closer to her ear than she’d expected. She smelled leather and kinda wet fur and something almost flowery, or maybe herbal. She stubbornly blinked her eyes open again.

“Had a vision,” she said. She tried to speak clearly, but fuck, her face was too cold to feel, and she was having trouble controling her muscles over their shaking, breathing in shuddering little fits and spurts. “It’ll happen again.”

“What will?” Rylen asked. “Talk to us, Beth. Keep those bonnie peepers open, now.”

She smiled a little. “Just brown, not bonnie. I saw me, and Herah, lying in the snow. Don’t know when.” She tried to turn her head away from the fur so she wouldn’t be muffled so much, but she was shivering too much and could hardly move other than that. “Cold,” she complained, blinking heavily.

“Eyes open,” Cullen said softly. “Nearly there.” She made a distressed sound as she started losing the battle with her eyelids, and she thought Cullen sounded much less calm when he said, much more loudly, “Hey! Wake up!”

Somehow, she managed to open them again, looking up into a very anxious face, the lines around Cullen’s eyes especially prominent as he kept looking between her and where they were going. “You asked something before, about Starkhaven?” he prodded.

“Yeah… Is there a Starkhaven language? I always liked the sound of Auld Scots back home,” she mumbled. She hummed a little and started to sing, “She’s an awfu’ lassie, Jenny, no’ her like in a’ the toon, for her heid is fu’ o’ mischief, and her hair is hingin’ doon…”

Rylen laughed as he said, “Aye, that’d be it. I speak a bit of it. Me mam used to speak much more, an’ me granny.” He was carrying on the conversation like they were chit-chatting at the tavern, and while she knew it was probably weird, it was still nice of him. His accent broadened a bit when he talked about his family, which was pretty adorable, too. “That sounds like a good song. Ye should teach it to Maryden. Why dinnae ye sing us the rest of it, Lass? Remember all the words?”

“Those are words?” Herah asked as Beth tried to mumble her way through the second part of the verse.

“Herald, ye wound me so!”

Beth snorted a little laugh, fumbling the next bit pretty badly. “I ha’e tried to coort wee Jenny, but she’ll… she’ll…” She just didn’t have the energy to resist any more, vaguely aware of her head lolling back as she whispered, “‘M’sorry…”

“No no, don’t!”

“Beth!”

“Hey, Lassie, stay with us!”

She didn’t want to disappoint them, but she was pretty sure it was happening anyway.

There was something off about the size of the dark blot in the middle of the bright snow, and Adaar realized aloud, “Shit, she’s broken through and stuck.” She held her arms out as if to hold him and Rylen back. “We should follow her tracks out. We’ll be useless if we try to break through the snow and find something worse to fall into ourselves.”

“Aye,” Rylen said grimly. They followed her tracks that skirted along the edge of the trees, and Cullen could hardly remove his eyes from her to even watch where he was going. He had an absurd fear that if he wasn’t looking, she’d vanish and they’d never find her again.

As they neared, her quaking became more apparent, and as miserable as it made her look, Cullen let out a relieved sigh. “Thank the Maker, she’s still shivering.”

They were all breathing heavily as they followed her tracks out into the center of the field. It looked like she had managed to partially walk on top of the snow, but none of them had any such luck. The Herald stumbled slightly as she groused, “Fucking weird thing to be thankful for, Rutherford.”

Rylen gave him a look that said the same, and Cullen scoffed in annoyance. “Don’t you Marchers know anything about the cold? It’s not bad until they stop shivering. If she’s still shaking, she’s not in nearly as much danger.” He would have felt self-satisfied at how that shut them up if he wasn’t still so afraid for the woman trapped in the snow ahead of them.

As they finally reached her, Rylen said, “I think she’s unconscious.”

Cullen reached under her arms and tried to pull her out of the hole in the snow. He was about to tell them all that she needed to stay awake when she suddenly shrieked. The sound reminded him of a panicked nug caught in a snare as her eyes shot open again, and she gasped, “My foot’s stuck.”

Rylen reassured her as Adaar started digging through the snow next to her, and she mumbled fairly incoherently at them, something about Starkhaven. She made a few more pained sounds as her foot was freed and Cullen was able to finally pull her out, and she laid almost entirely limp in his arms apart from the violent shudders that still wracked through her. They followed their tracks back out, the way slightly easier for having been fully broken through once before.

“Stay awake,” Cullen half demanded and half begged. With what looked like enormous effort, her eyes opened again.

He only partially tracked what she and Rylen were saying back and forth, still almost unable to take his eyes off of her. He could see that she’d been sweating at one point, her hair stuck to her face near the edges and on her neck. Her cheeks had bright pink blotches burning on them, and he watched her blinking become slower, slower. “Cold,” she muttered, sounding so tired and defeated.

“Eyes open,” he reminded her. They reached the edge of the trees and started to move more quickly. “Nearly there.” She made another weak sound as she struggled to stay awake, and he jostled her roughly as his heart pounded. “Hey! Wake up!” Her eyes did slowly open again, thank the Maker. But she needed something to concentrate on. “You asked something before, about Starkhaven?”

His traitorous heart beat faster as she hummed and mumbled her way through a song that had Rylen grinning and utterly baffled the Herald, but it seemed to be doing its job. As long as she was still singing, she was still awake. He hardly listened to what it actually was, the words barely intelligible through both her tired muttering and the thick brogue the song was in.

Her voice was still enchanting, even as it wavered and began to slow. “I ha’e tried to… coort wee Jenny, but she’ll… she’ll…” She let out what sounded like a frustrated, defeated sigh. “‘M’sorry…”

“No no, don’t!” He tried to jostle her awake again, but her head lolled back alarmingly, completely limp in his arms. All three of them were talking frantically to her, trying to shake her or soothe her, and the Herald even gave her side a pinch. That was the only thing that made her stir slightly apart from the constant shuddering, but she still didn’t wake.

Get her home, keep her safe.

Cullen clawed the panic back from the forefront of his mind as he started to run, not caring if he left the others behind or not when his heavy footfalls hit firmly packed snow as they reached the outskirts of Haven.

Faster faster faster…

He didn’t leave them behind, though, and when all three of them burst into the tent that the healers had claimed, immediately one of the younger Sisters directed them to lay Beth down on a cot. He half-listened as Rylen and the Herald explained how she’d been found, instead sinking to the ground to kneel at her side.

Save her. Please.

Now that he wasn’t carrying her and had no ‘excuse’ for it, he felt the loss of her solid weight in his arms. He felt adrift without it, and he ached to hold and soothe, to comfort the both of them, to stroke her cheek and wrap her up tight and keep her warm and safe… But he was too cowardly, and he couldn’t bring himself to do anything of the sort. He couldn’t even bear to speak, all the words he might say catching in his throat.

Please…

An older woman joined them and started untying Beth’s cloak while the Sister began to unlace her clothing. The woman turned to them and said firmly, “We have her, Sers, Your Worship. Now, begging your pardon, but you need to go.”

His eyes darted between the healer and the unconscious woman before him, and he must have been a sight, because she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and spoke kindly but firmly. “We will take care of her, Commander. There is nothing more you can do here, and you are now in the way. You must leave so that we can do our jobs.”

Beth made another pained sound and for a moment he caught a glimpse of far too much skin. He quickly rose to his feet and turned away. He was certain he’d gone red to the tips of his ears, and hastily exited the tent, joining Rylen and the Herald outside. Adaar was pacing along the side of the tent with her arms crossed, exuding impatience and worry. Rylen laid a hand on Cullen’s arm and gave him a small shake, bringing Cullen’s focus more fully to him. “She’ll be alright, mate. She’s a strong one, our lassie, and we found her in plenty of time.”

Cullen swallowed as he nodded. “I know.” He resisted the urge to rub his hand to his chest and attempt to ease the tender spot there. He wouldn’t be able to feel it through his breastplate anyway. “We should…” He faltered, and Rylen addressed both him and the Herald.

“We should return to work, all of us. We wunnae be of any more use here.” Cullen reluctantly agreed, or at least a portion of him did. Another part demanded that he go back to her side and keep watch over her for the rest of his life.

It actually, physically hurt him to go back to his tent, like someone had punched a hole straight through him, and when he sat at his desk, he couldn’t focus on anything. He was preoccupied with the memory of how vulnerable she had looked, and at the same time, how achingly beautiful with her dark lashes fanned against her bright cheeks.

He would never let her leave Haven’s walls alone again. It was his duty to keep her safe — rather, to keep everyone in Haven safe, and he had failed. He couldn’t stop wondering if she was awake yet, if she was frightened, if anyone was looking after her now, who would make sure she stayed bundled up and got enough rest to fully recover, and a million other things that he logically knew were absolutely not his business to worry over.

But you want them to be.

He shook his head in an attempt to banish the thoughts, utterly confounded by how incredibly distracted he was. Beth — Miss Chisholm, he firmly corrected himself — was safe now, and knowing that, he should be able to concentrate. And yet try as he might, he simply couldn’t. Soon he’d frittered an entire afternoon away on conjecture and fretting without even realizing it, only getting done a fraction of what he should have. He’d probably need to work half the night to catch up, assuming he could actually manage to focus, which at the moment felt like a very large assumption, indeed.

He couldn’t afford this distraction. He had to regain mastery of himself, though how he’d lost it so thoroughly in the first place was baffling. Yes, he’d been quite worried when he’d realized Beth was missing, but they’d found her, and she was safe. Why did she still occupy his thoughts so?

What in Andraste’s name was happening to him?

Beth’s jaunt through the snow, while terrifying at the time, turned out to be more embarrassing than actually dangerous. Before the day was out, she had been declared fit to leave the tent they were using as an infirmary. She’d twisted her ankle pretty badly, but an awful-tasting potion put that to rights, and she was even warm again about an hour later after having sipped some tea and eaten what she could of a bowl of stew. She was given some dry clothes, and the healer guilted her a bit for going out into the snow alone, then she was told to go home and take it easy for a day or so, get plenty to eat, and above all, stay warm.

Beth didn’t think that was going to be a problem. She never wanted to be cold again in her life.

The moment she got back to her cabin, she had a very apologetic Qunari wrapped around her, pretty much refusing to let go.

“I didn’t mean to make fun, not really,” she was saying. “I’m so sorry, you can always talk to me, I won’t do it again!” Herah quickly looked her over, and started a series of rapid-fire questions. “Are you hungry? Are you cold? Can I get you anything? Here, sit in front of the fire. I can braid your hair if you want?”

Beth couldn’t help but laugh at how uncharacteristically worried Herah was acting as she fussed, and a tension that she hadn’t realized was there broke as Herah also realized what she had been doing and somewhat reluctantly laughed at herself. Beth giggled, “I should get lost in the snow more often if it gets you to wait on me hand and foot.”

“No, absolutely not,” Herah scolded. “Once was enough.”

Beth’s mood soured. “Unfortunately, no, it isn’t. I can’t remember how much I said before — the trip back was kind of a confusing blur — but I had another vision, of the two of us. We were in the snow, injured…” She swallowed, furrowing her brows. “Herah, it didn’t look good.”

She let Herah coax her to sit on the rug in front of their hearth, and the Qunari put herself behind Beth and started to work the knots from her hair with her fingers. Beth usually got touchy about people, well, touching her hair, but Herah had always felt comforting when she did. “Could you tell when? Or where we were?”

“No. I have no idea.” Beth sighed heavily. “Fat lot of good that vision is.”

She could practically hear Herah frowning behind her. “Then I don’t think you should tell the Council. If we can’t do anything to stop it, and you don’t even know when it will happen…”

“I agree,” she said sadly. A few tears fell down her face and her voice went all quavery as she said, “I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry I made you rescue me.”

Herah wrapped her arms around her from behind and let her cry, tucking the top of Beth’s head under her chin. “It’s okay. Just don’t make a habit of it, alright? The first one’s free, but next time I have to run to your rescue, it’ll cost you.” Beth laughed through her tears and hugged Herah’s arms. Her friend sounded more serious as she said, “I meant it when I said you can always talk to me. I guess I can’t really promise I won’t shove my foot in my mouth again, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know that now.” Beth sighed. “I don’t usually talk about my depression much, but I’ll try. Just… be patient, okay?”

“You have my word.” After another minute or so, Herah let go and started combing her fingers through Beth’s hair again. “Now, I’m thinking twin-tails today.”

“God, no!” Beth protested.

“You’re the one that hates being called ‘Madam.’ I bet you a sovereign that no one will while you’ve got your hair in twin-tails,” Herah said confidently, already parting Beth’s hair.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll take that bet. If I leave my hair in pigtails all day tomorrow and not one person calls me ‘Madam’ or ‘Ma’am,’ you win.”

Herah’s hand appeared in front of her to shake, sealing the deal. “I’ll collect my winnings when we get back from Val Royeaux.”

“Wake me up to say goodbye,” Beth demanded.

“What do you take me for, some sorta one night stand? Of course I will,” Herah scoffed.

“Good.” Beth was already getting sleepy from the constant soothing feeling of her hair being braided, and she didn’t even remember getting into bed that night.

Chapter Text

Cullen was unsurprised when he didn’t see Beth at Council the next morning, though that didn’t help his worry any. It had been very slightly assuaged earlier when Adaar caught him as she was readying to leave and assured him that Beth had been sound asleep as the Herald left their cabin just minutes before. He had attempted to keep his face impassive as she told him, all too aware that his infatuation was getting harder to hide each day. He was fairly certain he was due for another lecture soon — Leliana had made it perfectly clear that his burgeoning obsession could not be brought to light, and he’d gone and made a spectacle of himself yesterday at the healers.

As Adaar strutted off to the stables, she’d thrown over her shoulder, “And if any of you try to wake her up before she’s good and ready, the blighted town had better be on fire.”

That phrase was a bit too apt, however. According to their Seer’s vision, the stables would be ablaze soon — that very night, in fact. He let out a weary sigh on his way out of the Chantry after the usual morning advisor meeting, headed to the training field. A day or so without a potential crisis to get his head on straight again would have been nice, but there was nothing for it now. Cullen had the suspicion that he wouldn’t truly be able to relax until he saw Beth up and about with his own eyes, but barring that, there were enough preparations to complete today to keep him busy. Hopefully he could just bury himself in that and take his mind off his incessant worry.

He started a mental checklist as he waited for the troops to gather for drills. Their new mounts needed to be moved to the paddock, since it was the only secure place for them other than the barn itself. Cullen wished they had another location a bit further away, but if the fire was caught early enough they should still be safe. He had doubled the patrol in that area for today and tonight, hoping to catch any bad actors should they reveal themselves — but it was equally likely that the fire would be an accident. The barn was full of hay after all, liable to go up with a single spark. He also had to place soldiers with buckets by the lake later, ready to start quelling the blaze as soon as possible. Miss Chisholm had given them an estimate of how many would be required, which at least saved him needing to do that legwork himself.

He was still holding onto some hope that her vision would prove false, but that was unlikely. He had directly seen it for himself already — even knowing what she had seen, the words she’d predicted still came out of his mouth when he’d broken up that confrontation between the mages and Templars.

Cullen scowled at his boots, giving his head a short, sharp shake. He couldn’t let his thoughts linger on her, lest they head in an overly familiar direction. There was too much to get done to afford any distraction today. Not that he ought to be thinking about her any day — he absolutely shouldn’t. But lately, what he should and ought to do didn’t seem to matter much when it came down to it.

As if the Maker had some strange sense of humor and delighted in needling Cullen incessantly, Rylen jogged up to him and without even a greeting immediately asked, “Have ye seen our lass this morning?”

“No,” Cullen said tersely. “The Herald said she was still asleep when she left for Val Royeaux.” He eyed a few of the recruits as they filed in. “How is Kelling getting on? You were slated to run his group yesterday.”

“Better. He’ll get there.” He smirked, crossing his arms in a cocky stance as he watched Cullen from the corner of his eye. “His footwork’s still too clumsy, though. A certain little Seer could run circles around him.”

Cullen did not dignify that with a response, instead calling out to the soldiers that had assembled, “Form two lines! We’re starting with a run this morning!”

“Aw, mate, really?” Rylen practically deflated, and Cullen raised a brow. “I’d think ye’d be at least as tired as me, since ye were the one actually carrying the lassie.”

Cullen turned his back to the troops, aiming a glare at his second. “Leave it alone, Rylen.”

“What? I didnae say aught!” Cullen was nearly ready to turn his attention back to training when Rylen muttered, “If I were to say something, it’d be that ye should stop being such a dafty.”

Cullen took a long, slow breath. “I am attempting to respect her wishes. Visit her if you’re so inclined, but it’s not my place.” He turned to the troops and called, “Five kilometers. You know the route by now — you have half an hour.” With some faint grumbling the soldiers set off, and Cullen and Rylen took up the rear at an easy jog.

“Nae yer place?” Rylen questioned, keeping his voice down enough not to be overheard above everyone else’s ragged panting. Merciful Andraste, it seemed each new wave of recruits needed more conditioning than the last. “Could have fooled me yesterday. Ye damn near lost yer mind with worry.”

Cullen sullenly replied, “The Seer was missing, of course I was worried.”

“She wasnae missing last night when I came around for evening debrief,” Rylen insisted. Cullen stayed silent. “I dinnae ken what the holdup is.”

Cullen was attempting to keep his frustration in check, but there was only so much he could put up with. He stopped, grabbing Rylen by the arm and turning him with a shove so that they were face to face. “The holdup is that more often than not I’m hanging on by a thread, and even if that wasn’t true, she wants nothing to do with me!”

“What makes ye think our lassie—”

Cullen swiftly cut him off, Rylen’s little pet name for her needling him even further. Beth wasn’t ‘their’ anything. She never had been, and now she certainly never would be. “She heard your assumption at the tavern, and she mistook it for a widespread rumor. She was so distraught that people might think we were sleeping together that she came to me in tears to give me a very vehement dressing down where she made her opinion of me quite clear, and immediately went to Josephine after to make sure the supposed rumor was quelled.” He scoffed at himself. “She said she wasn’t going to let this whole town think she was — was whoring herself out to me.” He infuriatingly felt his face going red, barely able to even say it himself. “Frankly I’m amazed she even listened to my apology later. She certainly didn’t accept it, nor should she. I’ve been a complete idiot, and there’s no excuse for it.”

Rylen was momentarily struck speechless, and Cullen turned to catch up to the troops. It barely took a minute and Rylen was up next to him again. “I’m nae so sure ye’ve got the measure of her. We both made an honest mistake, and she doesnae strike me as the sort to hold it against us for long.”

Cullen sighed, recalling how she looked next to the lake with angry tears on her cheeks. “Rylen,” he said with quiet resignation, “you didn’t see how much my mistake hurt her.” He also recalled how confrontational she’d still been when he apologized, and how she’d fled after showing the Council her trebuchet plans, hardly even able to look at him. If anything, his attempts to compliment her work had made it worse. “She can barely even stand to be in the same room with me anymore.”

The Starkhavener had an oddly smug expression on his face. “Ye’re certain she’ll nae speak with ye?”

“Yes,” Cullen grumbled.

“So she wouldnae come to see ye of her own accord?”

“Certainly not.”

“Best nae look over there, then.”

Despite absolutely knowing he was falling for Rylen’s bait, Cullen whipped his head around, nearly tripping over his own feet as he caught sight of Beth standing off to the side of their path. Maker’s Breath, he was acting like a clumsy teenager with a ridiculous crush. He felt his cheeks flushing as he realized there was no possible way she hadn’t seen him stumble to a stop at the sight of her.

“Well, let’s go see what she has to say,” Rylen said, clamping a hand down on Cullen’s shoulder as he started walking in her direction. As they neared, Cullen saw that she was even more bundled up than usual. There was fur at the edges of her cloak, and she had the hood pulled up and drawn close around her face. Someone had even gotten her mittens, just barely visible where they poked out from her crossed arms. He couldn’t tell if she was standing like that because she was cold or if she was still out of sorts.

“Lassie! Good to see ye up and about,” Rylen called jovially. “And keeping warm, too.”

“Doctor’s orders,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on her feet. “I’m technically supposed to spend this morning indoors, but…”

Rylen raised an eyebrow at her, crossing his arms as well. “Do ye need to be forcibly escorted back, then?”

For just a moment, a smile flickered across her face — what Cullen could see of it, at any rate. “I’m headed to see Maryden, I just thought I, um, ought to thank you. Both of you.” She awkwardly scuffed her shoe in the snow, not quite able to meet the eyes of either of them. “So, yeah. Thank you for saving me from my own stupidity yesterday.”

Cullen bit back the immediate reply on his tongue — you’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I know. He doubted she wished to hear his opinion of her.

Rylen bowed, and Beth huffed something that was nearly a chuckle. “At yer service, milady.” As he rose, he unsubtly looked at Cullen and then gestured with his head toward Beth.

Cullen took a deep breath, bracing himself, and said, “There’s no need for thanks.”

She scoffed softly, speaking with more bite than before. “Just doing your job, right?”

Cullen couldn’t think of any response. In a sense that was what it had been, but it certainly hadn’t felt like he was ‘just doing his job.’ It had felt like he had been unable to breathe from the moment he realized she was missing until she was found, and like he’d been carrying a millstone around his neck until he knew she’d recovered. Seeing her doing well had eased a suffocating pressure that had settled in his chest, while at the same time the small barb that she threw flayed him open.

Maker’s Breath, he was being far too melodramatic about this. Beth — the Seer was fine, and he shouldn’t be obsessing over this.

Rylen’s jovial attitude slipped into something nearly serious, though he was still smiling as he put a hand on Beth’s arm. “We were all worried for ye, Lassie. So nae more wandering off by yerself, aye?”

She rolled her eyes. “Next time I throw a tantrum, I’ll take you with me, okay?”

“Well, it’s a start,” Rylen said with a wry smirk. “But what had ye so out of sorts?”

Beth glanced at Cullen, then quickly away again. “Nothing important. I over-reacted, honestly. It was a weird morning.”

Rylen looked over Cullen’s shoulder with a sigh. “We’ve got a few stragglers. I’ll sort them out.” He clapped Cullen on the arm and jogged off with a wave, which Beth hesitantly returned, raising one mittened hand before hugging herself and briskly rubbing her arms. She seemed to look everywhere but at Cullen as he fidgeted, left hand gripping his sword pommel repeatedly. Maker’s Breath, say something you dolt! They’d both apparently had enough of the awkward silence at exactly the same moment, unintentionally speaking over each other.

“I should—”

“I didn’t—”

They both abruptly stopped. She scuffed her foot in the snow, and Cullen cleared his throat and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he said, “go ahead.”

“It’s nothing,” she said quietly. “What were you going to say?”

“I, um,” he faltered, and it felt like something was squirming around in his stomach. “I hope you’re feeling better?”

It wasn’t what he’d intended to say at all, but now he couldn’t bring himself to ask if he’d caused offense yesterday. If he had, what then? Yet another useless apology?

She huffed softly, lowering her eyes as her lips became a thin line. “I’ll be back at Council and working on the trebuchet tomorrow. Shouldn’t have trouble catching up.”

He nodded, at a loss for what else to say. “That’s good to hear.” Several seconds of awkward silence hung between them, and he lamely offered, “I should get back to it. There’s much to prepare for tonight.”

She cocked her head to one side and squinted slightly, then it dawned on her, and she blinked a few times as she said, “Oh God, the fire is tonight. I — I should—” She paced agitatedly, and Cullen wished he could reach out and still her, or at least lend her reassurance somehow.

“We have it well in hand,” he said instead, hoping it would ease her mind. “I’ve already stationed additional security in the area, and we’ll move the horses this afternoon.”

“Good. That’s good,” she said, though she seemed distracted, like she was caught in her own thoughts and worries. “I have to, um — Maryden’s expecting me.” Then she hurried off, leaving Cullen slightly bewildered at how quickly the conversation ended.

He caught up with Rylen as the group was on its way back. Still apparently determined to meddle, his second asked, “So, did ye have a good talk?”

Cullen sighed. “Not particularly. I ended up reminding her what was happening tonight.” They were close enough to the troops that he didn’t want to risk any of them overhearing, unlikely as it was considering half of them were wheezing like old bellows. Rylen gave him a sympathetic wince as the first few of the troops reached the training field again, and Cullen told him, “Make sure you get enough rest to take over from me during the night. You’re leading the first relief shift.”

Rylen sighed. “Sometimes I regret coming with ye here. Mostly when ye ‘reward’ me with more work.”

“You’re the one that agreed to be second-in-command. You could have said no,” Cullen pointed out with a raised brow, a ghost of a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth.

“Ah, but who else could put up with ye?” Cullen bumped him heavily as he jogged ahead, and heard Rylen’s laugh behind him as Cullen called out, “Five minutes to get some water and ready your equipment! Then we pair up and work forms!”

“You forgot the last repeat,” Maryden said, tilting her head to one side and regarding Beth suspiciously. “Again.”

“Shit,” Beth muttered.

“This isn’t like you.” Maryden unslung her lute, placing it on a nearby table. “How about we take a break? You seem like there’s something on your mind today.” She gave Beth a little smirk, leaning in conspiratorially. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain dashing Commander carrying a helpless damsel into Haven yesterday, would it?”

Beth sighed, placing her drum down and practically melting into her seat at the table. “Does everybody know?”

“Pretty much,” Maryden confirmed. “It would make a lovely ballad.” Then to Beth’s absolute mortification, she sang a few bars. “He found his maid lying trapped in the snow, caught her up in his arms, and to home they did go…”

“God, no,” Beth moaned, burying her face in her hands.

Maryden shrugged. “It’s a work in progress.”

“It better not be!” Beth demanded, but Maryden just grinned at her. “You can’t! It’s so embarrassing!”

“Oh, you’re hardly the only person to be rescued from a snowbank,” Maryden said, waving off her concern. “At least you were lucky enough to be rescued by one of the most handsome men in the Inquisition.”

“Why did it have to be him…” Beth moaned. Maryden just gave her an inquisitive look. “He’s so frustrating! One second, he’s being a condescending ass, then he apologizes, and then he’s friendly when I’m still mad at him and I don’t know what he wants!”

“Why does he have to want anything? Maybe he’s just a nice person,” Maryden shrugged.

Beth leveled a look at her. “Commander Rutherford? Nice? Clearly you’ve never actually spoken to him.” She huffed out a frustrated breath. “Besides, ‘nice guys’ are a myth.”

“It does seem that way at times, doesn’t it?” Maryden laughed. “But he doesn’t seem so bad to me. A little gruff, to be sure, but from what I can tell he’s honest and straightforward.”

Herah had pretty much said the same, but Beth didn’t buy it. She twirled one of her braids around her fingers as she thought. “I can’t figure out what his angle is. I don’t like it.”

Maryden raised a brow. “Does he have to have an angle?”

“Everyone has an angle,” Beth insisted. “It’s not a bad thing, it just is. And once you figure out their angle, people start making a lot more sense. Right now, he doesn’t make any.”

“Maybe his angle is that he wants to do his job and keep Haven’s people safe.”

If that was true, he wouldn’t have put them in a position to be gossipped about.

True, it turned out there wasn’t really any widespread rumor going around, but there could have been, very easily. But then, he’d said it was a mistake. That didn’t seem to fit with his careful attention to detail everywhere else, though. The guy could be downright obsessive about those little map markers, for instance.

And every now and again, something about him seemed… off. Like he was hiding something. And for some reason, he seemed perfectly willing to let Beth tear him a new one when everything else about him said he should fight back. It seemed almost like he wanted to be yelled at, like maybe he had some sort of weird self-flagellation thing.

Worst of all, despite all that, he filled Beth’s stomach with butterflies when he smiled — and she had no idea why. He seemed just as capable of making her feel like a silly girl who read too many romance novels as he did making her spitting mad with his presumptiveness.

“Well,” Maryden said with a smug expression, “we should stop talking about frustrating Commanders and give your hair a break.”

Beth realized she’d started chewing on the end of a braid, and hastily pushed them both behind her back. Much to her chagrin, Herah’s plan to keep people from calling her ‘Ma’am’ seemed to be working. She was going to owe the Qunari some sovereigns when she got back. “Let’s give that last song one more shot,” Beth suggested.

“If you like,” Maryden said, getting up and slinging her lute across her shoulder. “Then I’ll meet you here again at eight for the evening rush?”

“Sounds good. I don’t think I can do more than a set today, but I’ll help out during lunch tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to,” Maryden assured her, “but if you’re sure, then I won’t turn down the help.” She strummed a few chords, then counted them in, and Beth tried to forget about infuriating men and that her creepy powers had predicted disaster tonight for just a little longer.

That evening, Cullen only noticed night had fallen when he looked up from his desk to see that the light coming in through his tent had diminished significantly. He let out a heavy, exhausted sigh as he lit a lamp to continue working — the day had been long already, and it was soon going to get even busier. He didn’t know precisely what hour, but all signs pointed to tonight being the moment Beth had seen the stables on fire. At least they did have forewarning. If she hadn’t seen it, they would have certainly been woefully underprepared for the event.

The thought of Beth started a pained pang in his chest, immediately reminding him of finding her stuck and shivering in the snow yesterday, but he attempted to shake the feeling off. She had completely recovered, and was back to all her normal duties now. There was no reason to worry. He’d even spoken to her briefly, and she appeared to be fine. There was absolutely no reason to worry… and yet he did. Not just about her health, either — he couldn’t seem to shake the unease he felt when he recalled their last few awkward interactions. He was under no illusions that Beth would ever have any interest in him. He’d utterly cocked that up, he was fairly certain. But it would be nice if he wasn’t so stilted and she wasn’t so prickly.

He stood, straightening his desk before he left his tent. He’d spent enough time wool-gathering that it was time to take his position for the evening so that he could personally direct the troops.

The Advisors had decided that it was best to keep the real reason for the additional security secret, so he’d told his soldiers that they would be running an emergency drill but had not specified what kind. They ran training operations like that every few weeks just to keep everyone prepared and on their toes, though they had not done so in the middle of the night before — hopefully they had all just assumed he was being particularly diligent and it hadn’t raised too much suspicion.

He strode decisively into the night, positioning himself near the top of the steps by Haven’s gates. Despite the distance, he could hear the ruckus from the Singing Maiden fairly well. Every time the door opened, the music and the low roar of the crowd would become clearer, muffling again as the door shut.

A few minutes later, the crowd sounded decidedly disappointed, and the music halted. The door to the tavern opened again, and he heard footfalls in the snow headed his way. He looked toward the tavern, and a woman in a dress and cloak was holding her skirt a few inches off the ground as she hurried toward the gate.

As she approached he could see the figure more clearly, though he had recognized her long before he could make out her features — there were only so many small women who would have caused that reaction in the tavern. It was Beth, of course, brows drawn together anxiously as she stood a short distance from him and stared intently at the stable, fidgeting with the ends of her braids and absently rubbing one over her mouth. She had two braids tonight, both pulled in front of her shoulders and reminding him of those ridiculous paintings of Fereldan milkmaids. It was rather cute on her, and he suppressed a sudden urge to smirk at the sight. Her eyes darted to him and saw that she was noticed, then she took half a step back, away from him.

Great job, Rutherford, you’ve alienated the poor woman again. Can’t stop bloody staring, can you? He ran a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Ah, Miss Chisholm,” he started, but then he couldn’t think of anything else to say that would actually put her at ease. I hope you’re staying warm after nearly freezing to death? I noticed you coming this way and thought you were beautiful in the moonlight? Nice night for an evening? Not helpful.

“Is everything ready?” she asked, not quite meeting his eyes.

“It is,” he assured her. Floundering for something to say, he offered, “How was the tavern tonight?” He had almost asked how she was, but she hadn’t taken kindly to it when he’d asked earlier.

She frowned. “Fine, Commander.”

He sighed. This was going about as poorly as he’d imagined it would, but he still had to try something. He just wanted to be able to talk to her, at least a little. “I don’t suppose you might call me Cullen? If only while I’m off-duty?” he asked.

At that she made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, and it sounded rather incredulous to his ears. “Are you ever?” she volleyed back, finally meeting his eyes. To his surprise, she may have had the barest little smile as she did.

He was aware he’d been beaten, but still wanted to put her more at ease. “I do sleep occasionally,” he said with a wry smirk of his own.

But while he’d hoped that might help her loosen up a bit more, instead she seemed to shrink in on herself. “Good for you,” she said with a sigh, gaze sliding away from him. Her focus went back to the stables. “Has anything happened?”

Cullen shook his head, turning his attention in that direction as well. “Not as of yet. But we have many eyes on the area, and the mounts have been secured outside the building. We are as prepared as we can be.”

They lapsed into silence, both waiting. He maintained a respectful distance, not wishing to unsettle her further. A few minutes later, she started fidgeting again, rubbing at her right eyebrow repeatedly.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently. He did the same when he was getting a headache, and he wondered if she was suffering now.

“Just tired,” she said, still applying pressure to her brow. “God, I wish you all had figured out caffeine here,” she muttered.

He chose to ignore the second remark, not sure what she meant and not wanting to get into a detailed discussion that would distract him from his watch. He simply nodded and let them lapse into silence again.

The two spent several minutes waiting quietly — it wasn’t precisely genial, but it also was not as uncomfortable as he’d feared it would be — when Beth suddenly sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?” she asked, already moving toward the stables.

Cullen sniffed a bit as well as he followed her. “No? What is it?”

“Either I’ve got a brain tumor or something’s burning.” She broke into a run, looking up to the hayloft, and that’s when Cullen smelled it, too. The scent of smoke and smoldering hay drifted to him just as he saw the first flames lick through the open windows of the building.

She was trying to hurry, but Cullen easily caught up to her with his much longer stride. He grabbed her by the upper arm to stop her and drag her away. “Beth, you can’t go running in. You’ll only get hurt.” She struggled for a moment, and then the barn lit up with a whomp as the dry straw within caught all at once. The heat hit them a second later, making Cullen’s face feel too tight until he managed to drag them far enough away, Beth stumbling after him but no longer fighting his grip.

He let go once they were no longer in immediate danger, and heard the Chantry bells already sounding the alarm as he made his way to the soldiers stationed nearby, rapidly barking orders. “The stables are ablaze! Collins! Ashford! Start drawing from the lake! Everyone else, form two lines toward the fire! This is not a training exercise — stay alert!”

There was a hasty scramble of activity as the recruits tripped over themselves to obey his commands. A few people were approaching at a dead sprint from the town, and one called out, “Commander! Sister Nightingale sent us. She said you could use some mages.”

Cullen could have kicked himself for not thinking of it before. It must have occurred to Leliana only recently as well, since this hadn’t been part of their plans. All of them were unused to having magic at their disposal — the Circle had mages aplenty, but they were never included in Templar operations. Clearly the Council would need to reconsider any existing emergency plans once the current crisis was over. He addressed the balding man that seemed to be leading the small group. “We need to put out a fire,” he said, pointing toward it. “What can you do?”

The man turned to the others. “You two are good at frost? Conjure as much as you can, concentrate at the base of the flames. The rest of us are on barrier duty.” He nodded at Cullen with a short salute, and they rushed to join the soldiers already dousing the fire. Cullen’s skin crawled as he felt them casting, the power leaving a heavy, greasy feeling in the air, but he was still glad for the help. They needed to take advantage of every able pair of hands available.

The next hour was a blur, but in the end they had a singed but still intact stable and had lost none of the mounts and none of the hostlers. The fire appeared to be out, but the Commander knew better from the razing of Kirkwall. There would be reignitions over the rest of the night, perhaps the whole next day, but he could leave the remainder of the work tonight to his second and the other officers.

He had sent one of the soldiers to find Rylen and started toward his tent, utterly exhausted, when he realized that he hadn’t seen Beth since the blaze had first begun. He scanned the area, but it wasn’t until he was passing by the gates that he finally caught sight of her. She was sitting by Varric’s banked bonfire, alone. She had her knees drawn up to her face, her arms wrapped around them, and he could just make out a faint shaking of her shoulders.

Cullen’s chest suddenly felt too tight, and his feet started moving before he’d managed to convince himself that this was an awful idea. He took a seat next to her, looking out toward the gates, one knee propping up an arm. She turned her face away from him, snuffling quietly and shivering. “Everyone made it,” he said softly. “Even the horses.”

“Good,” she said, voice tight. She wiped her face against her arm, then turned back to him, and when he met her eyes there was a strange mix of despair and fury in them. “Why me?”

He forced himself not to look away or flinch. “For what?”

“Any of this,” she said, sweeping one arm out, seeming to indicate the rest of Haven and the stables. But it was immediately clear she meant more than that. “Why did I get sucked into the Fade? Why am I the one with the visions? Why are you sitting next to me, doing whatever the Hell it is you’re doing?”

He took a breath and shook his head slightly. “I can’t even pretend to know why you’re here or why you have the power you do. I’m sure a good number of people will tell you it’s the Maker’s will, but I know how unhelpful that is.” He paused and swallowed. “As for why I’m here… you looked lonely, and I didn’t want you to be.”

She scoffed derisively. “Of course. Of course you’re…” She rolled her eyes and looked away, making a sound of disgust that would put Cassandra to shame. “God, I’m such a bitch.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he offered, and she made the sound again. He wanted to reassure her more, but a headache chose that moment to make itself known with a stab next to his ear. He closed his eyes with a badly-concealed grimace and gripped the back of his neck, stretching and rubbing and trying to rid himself of the excess tension there, but he felt the pressure building behind his eyes already. Maker’s Breath, tomorrow is sure to be one of the very bad days.

“You get migraines.” She said it as a statement, interrupting his thoughts. It wasn’t a question, but the term was unfamiliar to him.

“If that means headaches, yes.”

She snorted a laugh, though there was no mirth in it. “It’s much more than a headache. Do you get sensitive to light or sound? Sometimes the world seems to shimmer or it looks too clear?”

“Yes,” he admitted, opening his eyes again. He must have been correct when he’d thought she had some similar affliction — apparently even more similar than he’d guessed, because she had almost eerily described exactly what he usually felt. While it was encouraging that she might know better than he how to mitigate the pain, he also felt an odd, aching regret that she suffered so.

She sighed and unfolded herself to kneel next to him and held a hand out, palm up. “Give me your hand.”

He hesitated a moment, then put his gloved hand into hers. She tugged at the leather at his fingertips, quickly removing the glove, then pinched between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed firmly. He was a bit surprised at how hard she was pressing — her hands were so small that he wouldn’t have guessed she had that much strength in them. Her fingers were slightly cold but her palms were warm on the back of his hand. Maker’s Breath, her skin felt so soft, too — did all of it feel like that?

He attempted to shut down that dangerous line of thought as she explained, “This is only temporary, as long as you can keep it up. You really just need to shut yourself in a quiet, dark room and sleep it off if you can. Maybe take something for the pain, if Adan has anything decent. Then see if you can figure out your triggers, so you can avoid them as much as possible.” She wrinkled her nose in irritation for a moment, and he had the odd and incredibly inappropriate notion that it was rather cute, but he hurriedly buried that as well. “Mine are mainly stress and lack of sleep, so I’ve been pretty damn miserable lately. At least I haven’t had a super bad one yet.”

His eyes slowly widened as he realized that his headache had nearly gone, just a shadow of what it had been a moment before. “Maker’s Breath,” he muttered. “Now I know you were sent by Andraste, because that is miraculous.”

She snorted and smiled slightly, ducking her head and letting go of his hand. He only just managed to stop himself from reaching for her, though he desperately wanted her to continue. It had been so nice, and he felt so cold now. He didn’t just miss the literal warmth from her, either. Her touch felt like it had reached deeper than his skin, stirring a need for contact and comfort that had been absent before, a need that had been starved into silence but that had instantly reawoken given a tiny taste of her kindness and care.

She had a faint pink tinge to her cheeks that made her look even more adorably bashful as she awkwardly twirled one of her braids in her fingers, and he quickly looked away as well, afraid she might realize how pathetic he was being. The feeling of pressure in his skull was coming back, so he resumed the hand rubbing himself. “Thank you.”

She shrugged. “I know how much migraines suck. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”

“I don’t know, I’d like it if Roderick would shut himself away for a few hours,” he grumbled.

She stared at him in shock for several seconds, then let out a raucous laugh, clutching her chest and tipping her head back. She quickly tried to quiet herself, and gasped, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.” She kept huffing softly with her hand clapped over her mouth, and he found himself smiling back at her, feeling lighter than he had in years.

The flush on her cheeks deepened, and she quickly scrambled to her feet. He followed, a bit more slowly given that he was still in armor. “Take care of yourself,” she said. “It will help the migraines. Sleep, eat, you know, all that good stuff.”

“I’ll try,” he said. He bit back the impulse to ask that she do the same. She wasn’t his to worry over or to care for.

She’s worried about you, though. Would it be so awful to care for each other?

Not. His. Place.

She frowned slightly before she bid him goodnight, and hurried to her cabin. For a moment he considered offering to walk her back, but it was practically a stone’s throw away. He also wasn’t sure what he’d do if she said no… or yes.

Best not to.

He waited by the bonfire until she was safely inside, then began walking toward his tent. He knew she was right, that he ought to rest until his headache was gone, but there was never time for it. He was equally unlikely to get any more sleep than he had been — his nightmares had been relentless, regardless of how his other withdrawal symptoms may have felt that day.

At least there had been two bright spots that night. They had averted a potential disaster, and he had made Beth laugh. Perhaps the coming day wouldn’t be as horrible as he had feared.

Chapter Text

Leliana received word back from Val Royeaux and called them all to a meeting, and the report had definitely not been what Beth was expecting. Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, she wasn’t the only one.

“One of the Templars punched a nun?” she asked incredulously. “It’s like the setup of a bad joke.”

Josephine sighed heavily. “We did not expect the Chantry to change their minds, but it is still disheartening to hear that they have no interest in helping to close the Breach at all.”

Cullen still seemed stunned. “Have the Templars fully abandoned their senses? Surely there are still some in the Order who can see that this path is wrong.”

“I’m sure there are,” Beth said, “but do we have any way to contact them without this Lord Seeker finding out?”

“Officially, no,” Josephine said. Everyone turned to Leliana.

“Unofficially, yes,” she said.

“Good. We have few enough Templars here as it is. If the Herald truly means to bring more mages to Haven, we are woefully under-prepared.” Cullen’s fingers clutched frenetically at the pommel of his sword as he spoke. He looked too pale, a bit sweaty despite the cool air in the stone room. Beth wondered if he was having a migraine, or if he was actually getting sick. The man worked himself hard enough for it.

“What do you mean? Under-prepared for what?” she asked.

He clenched his jaw tight. “Complications. Demons. Maleficarum.”

Beth looked at the others in the room, suddenly nervous. “Herah would never bring dangerous people back here.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince them or herself. “If the mages in Redcliffe are too risky, she’ll find another way. We’ll find another way.”

“It is always a risk,” Cullen insisted. “It is foolish and dangerous not to be prepared for it. And with the Breach, that the Veil is weak here…” He clenched his jaw again. “We need to see how many Templars are willing to defect to our cause. I know a few of them — I’ll write to them personally and extend our invitation. Can we get those letters to them securely?”

“I will make sure of it,” Leliana said. Cullen nodded firmly and gripped his sword as if it was tethering him to reality.

Josephine pivoted, saying, “As we expected, the Chantry has now denounced the Seer as well as the Herald.”

“Great,” Beth muttered.

“We should arrange some meetings for you,” Josephine said. “You are still largely an unknown, which makes you easy to dismiss. Once you become known to the nobility and the clerics, you will be much harder to ignore and that will lend the Inquisition more strength.”

Beth was willing, but wary. “So how do we do that? Please tell me it’s not tea parties or salons or anything like that.”

“I think that you should make a trip to the Hinterlands,” Leliana said. There was a small choking sound from Cullen’s side of the table. “Aid in the relief efforts. You’ve shown that you don’t mind getting your hands dirty — do so outside of Haven, and it will further inspire the people.”

“Knight-Captain Rylen has not cleared her for field duty,” Cullen said gruffly.

“She will not be going as a soldier,” Josephine said. “She can travel with Mother Giselle under guard.”

“No,” Cullen insisted. “It would not be safe.”

Beth raised a brow at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember giving you any authority over where I go and what I do,” she said icily. She turned back to Josephine. “Set it up. I’m happy to help wherever I can.”

“As our siege expert, you fall under my—” Cullen began, and Beth quickly interrupted.

“Good think I’m not leaving to work on any trebuchet, then.”

He said through clenched teeth, “Then as Commander, the safety of everyone in the Inquisition is my responsibility. The roads are not yet safe, and there are still encampments of rogue mages and Templars all over the Hinterlands. I will not allow you to go.”

“You won’t allow me?” Beth said with an incredulous rage. “I don’t think you understand, Commander, that you have no say in my decisions. You are not my father or my husband, and even if you were, I would still tell you you’re being a chauvinist asshole and I’d go anyway.” She nodded to Josephine again. “We can talk after the meeting about what I should do while I’m there.”

Cullen didn’t speak again until the meeting finished, but she could feel the silent anger radiating off of him the entire time. Beth was leaving with Josephine when he ground out, “A word.”

She and Josephine shared a look, and Beth said, “I’ll catch up to you in a few minutes.”

The door clicked shut to leave the two of them alone in the room, and for several seconds Cullen did not look up or speak. The only sound was the creaking of the leather in his gloves as he clenched and unclenched his fingers.

“Well?” Beth said, carefully keeping her voice calm. “You wanted to say something to me?”

She braced herself to face the rage coming, but it didn’t happen. He still held himself incredibly tensely, like he was ready to snap, but when his eyes came up to hers they looked anxious. “The roads are too dangerous,” he said quietly. “I don’t have the manpower to send enough soldiers with you, and the Herald isn’t here to escort you.” He swallowed, hard. “I cannot keep you safe if you go.”

“But it’s safe enough for the clerics and healers to go back and forth?” she asked pointedly.

“They are not the Seer,” he insisted.

So that’s what it was. “I understand that your job is to keep us safe,” she said, “but it isn’t safe anywhere. You might have noticed, there’s a hole in reality, just over there.” She hiked her thumb over her shoulder.

“I know, but…” He let out a tense breath, looking down at the map and slowly rolling back his left shoulder. Beth was pretty sure she actually heard it crunch. “If you must go, then let me escort you. I can attend to some recruiting matters in the area while I’m there.”

“Cullen, you’re needed here,” she said with exasperation.

“So are you,” he said, speaking more quickly. “It will take a week to travel there and back by horse. A few days there to tend to any relevant matters, and call it two weeks away. My captains can take care of things for that long.” He huffed. “Rylen has been on me to start delegating more. This will give everyone a chance to try it.”

He looked at her with such a pleading, earnest expression that she couldn’t stay angry long. So she let most of it out with a sigh before asking, “Why?”

He shook his head slightly. “What?”

“Why?” she repeated. “I’m not any more important than Herah, or Josephine, and I don’t see you tripping all over yourself to follow them around.”

“I’m not—” He snapped his mouth shut and started over. “Herah is a mercenary. She can take care of any threats on her own. And Josephine doesn’t leave Haven,” he said with slightly narrowed eyes.

“That doesn’t tell me why,” she insisted.

His jaw and throat worked for several seconds. “I have to keep you safe. This is the only way I can think of to do it. If something happened to you again…”

Heart pounding, feet pounding. Maker, she’s so cold. Get her home, keep her safe, never let her wander alone again. Keep her awake, hold her tight, faster faster faster. Save her. Please.

Beth’s pulse was racing from the brief but overwhelming vision. She tried to make sense of it, but all she’d ‘seen’ was a brief impression of snow and trees rushing past and a mass of dark, curly hair. Instead, it had been focused on what the person in the vision felt, and they had been terrified. She looked up at Cullen, and she recognized it in his eyes, in the tense nervousness of his posture.

It had all happened so quickly that she didn’t think he’d even realized she’d had a vision. All the better — she wouldn’t have been able to explain it if she tried. “Okay,” she said quietly, then spoke more strongly as she started to calm down again. “Okay. We’ll both go to the Crossroads, spend a few days, then come back.”

He blinked several times, wary but relaxing a small fraction. “Okay?”

“Yes. You can come with me.” She pointed a finger at him as she said, “But you will be acting as an armed escort, not anything else. You do not get any say in what I do while we’re there, and I expect you to make yourself scarce while I do it. You said you have your own things to take care of, after all.”

He nodded quickly. “Agreed.”

She nodded as well. “Good. Now, I still have to go work things out with Josephine. I’ll let you know when I want to leave.” She exited the room before he could try to add any additional stipulations of his own, hoping she was doing the right thing.

Beth was still trying to figure out his angle. Sometimes, she was sure Cullen didn’t have one, that he was just genuinely a nice man. But other times, the way he looked at her… She wasn’t an idiot. She knew what she looked like, and she knew what he looked like. Tens don’t go after fours, not unless they want something else from them. She also knew he was a man very dedicated to his faith, regardless of his relationship to his church — Good Lord, could she understand that — and she had lost all of her own faith years ago. That alone would make them incredibly unlikely to be suited for each other.

But a part of her just wanted to let herself enjoy it. If he did want a romp, even if it wasn’t that great, he was really, really pretty. But she’d also had that weird vision that she was pretty sure was from his perspective. She’d felt how frightened and full of guilt he had been, and… she didn’t think that he was just looking to have a little fun. He didn’t seem like the type for ‘casual’ anyway.

And if she was really honest with herself, she’d liked their quiet mornings together studying the Chant, despite not being a believer. Then again, they had magic and demons and something called the Fade here. Maybe the Maker was real. Or had been. She wasn’t super solid on the lore there. But there had been something soothing about listening to him talk quietly in the near-dawn hours. She’d liked starting her day like that.

She was brooding over those thoughts as she lay, alone and completely sleepless, in her cabin. She’d been hoping for a night or two of decent rest before she left for the Hinterlands — nothing too extravagant, four hours or so in a row would do nicely — but she apparently wasn’t going to get it. She was overheated and sweaty from being off her meds, so in a desperate attempt to get comfortable, she slung a cloak on over her shift and walked out into the night.

She wandered down to the lake, laying out her cloak on the snow and sitting on it, letting the cold air soothe her. She really, really hoped the hot flashes wouldn’t be around much longer, but she’d never missed this many doses before. She had no idea how long it would take for it to fully clear her system. She picked up a handful of snow and slapped it to the back of her neck, letting out a loud groan as the chill hit her.

She heard a fit of coughing behind her, and leaned her head back to look upside-down at Cullen, standing with his arms crossed and only in a shirt and pants himself. He looked damp, like he’d been sweating, too, and his hair was getting wavy at the edges where it stuck to his skin. He also looked far too pale, the circles under his eyes standing out even worse than normal.

“I, er, wanted to make sure you were, uh, alright,” he stammered awkwardly. He was looking up at the sky and wrenching at his neck like he was going to tear the thing off.

“Migraine?” she asked quietly.

He let out a long sigh that seemed to leave him partially deflated. He was still looking up as he said. “Among other things.”

He really did look completely miserable. She knew the feeling well, and counted herself lucky that she’d only had some fairly mild migraines so far. ‘Mild’ was relative, but she’d been able to power through them, so they weren’t officially ‘bad.’

Her conscience kept clamoring at her to help him. He obviously was trying to just tough them out as well, and he was not doing great at it. “Well, if you want, I can try to help with at least the headache part.” She sat up and tucked her legs under her, sitting on her heels. “Come sit in front of me.”

He took one step, then hesitated. “Why?”

“Because I know a few tricks I can use on your head and neck, and you’re a big gangly giant. I’d never reach with you standing.” She patted the ground in front of her. “Sit.”

He thought a few seconds, then let out a sharp breath and quickly walked over. He dropped to the ground in front of her with his legs folded in front of him, leaning his elbows on them so that he was slightly bent forward. She had to get fully up onto her knees to reach comfortably, and as soon as she touched his shoulders, he tensed entirely.

She took her hands off of him, and asked, “Are you not okay with this? You seem uncomfortable.”

“No. I mean, yes. Yes I’m alright, no I’m not uncomfortable. Just… surprised.” He rolled his shoulders a little like he was trying to stretch. Jesus, even through his shirt she could see his muscles working, and God damn. She knew what she was doing as soon as she got back to her lonely cabin.

And she was about to spend two weeks with him on the road. That might actually be a form of torture.

This time he didn’t flinch when she slowly laid her palms on him, and she rubbed his shoulders with flat, broad pressure for a few moments before she started digging the sides of her hands into the knots. Really, he was just one big knot, but she’d do what she could. He didn’t react much aside from a few deep breaths when she hit a particularly bad spot. Then she moved on to his neck, again rubbing firmly a few times before working with deeper pressure, this time with her thumbs and the heels of her hands. When she got up to the base of his skull he grunted softly, letting his head sag forward a bit.

As soon as she got to his scalp, there could certainly be no question that the massage was working. She scraped her short nails through his hair and he shuddered, letting out a quiet but deep moan that seemed to rumble up from the center of his chest. She pressed at the base of his skull, then in little arcs behind his ears, finally reaching forward enough to make large sweeping motions over his forehead from the center out, and ending with gently rubbing his temples. All the while he was plenty vocal, though never actually loud, letting out a series of low moans and sighs.

Oh yeah. She for sure knew what she was doing the moment the cabin door closed behind her thirsty ass.

She combed her fingers through his hair one last time, smoothed her hands down his neck and pressed lightly on his shoulders. “Better?” she asked with a smirk.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Andraste’s Blessed Tits. Yes.”

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as she snorted a laugh. He turned his head to the side and watched her over his shoulder, his eyes still half-lidded as he smiled tentatively, a little unsure. A rusty-sounding chuckle worked its way out of his throat, like he hadn’t done it in a while and was trying to remember how it worked.

Their eyes locked and she sucked in a breath, taken aback by the sadness in his that somehow lived alongside a faint, tremulous glimmer of hopeful yearning. She cleared her throat awkwardly and stood. “Well, I hope you can get some sleep now. We’re leaving soon, and I doubt we’ll sleep any better while we’re away.”

She started to go and heard a rushed, “Wait!” that stopped her in her tracks. She slowly turned around as she heard the snow crunching under his boots, then he shook out her cloak, getting most of the snow off of it, and held it out to her. “I, um… thank you.”

She nodded as she tugged the cloak tightly around herself. “I should probably try to sleep myself. Goodnight.”

“Sleep well,” he replied quietly, and they went their separate ways again.

Cullen, Beth, and Mother Giselle left Haven with a wagon of supplies that had been scraped together to provide relief in the Hinterlands. They stopped in a few small towns on their way to and from the Crossroads for Cullen to look for hopeful recruits to the Inquisition, but other than that, his main duty was to drive the wagon and keep both women safe. Leliana had sent some of her people ahead of them to clear the way, so they shouldn’t run into any bandits, but it was always a possibility. They had mapped a route that would allow them to stay at inns until they reached the Crossroads, when they would stay in the Inquisition’s camp nearby. That at least eliminated the necessity of keeping watch at night, though it didn’t help Cullen sleep any.

When they arrived at the Crossroads, they had thankfully avoided anything more dangerous than a few dogs that had followed behind them for a short distance and then gone on to find something easier to scavenge. Though he desperately, vehemently did not wish to, he left Beth at the Crossroads with Mother Giselle and spent the remainder of his day catching up on paperwork at camp. Apparently, delegation was supposed to let other people handle portions of his work, but most reports still required his signature at the end despite it. He wasn’t sure he saw the point of delegating in the first place if he was just going to look over everything again.

The camp itself was rather picturesque, up on a ridge next to a large lake. It reminded him of home, and over the day he slowly realized that he missed Ferelden. He’d technically come back, but he was spending all his time in the Frostbacks. Now, they were actually not far from Honnleath — at least what was left of it after the Blight. If his family had still been there, he might have considered taking a day’s ride to visit, but he didn’t feel like there was any reason to with his siblings in South Reach now.

He really ought to write to Mia. Then again, she would track him down eventually. It seemed she always did.

When he fetched Beth to safely escort her back to camp for the evening, she seemed… off. He had seen her angry, and he had seen her professionally, icily cordial. He’d seen her raucous and rambunctious when she sang. He had also seen small glimpses of the woman he thought she really was at the core — smart, wickedly funny, and kind, all with a stubborn streak to rival his own. But he didn’t think he had ever seen her so despondent before. She had simply gone in her tent when they returned, avoiding everyone else without a word and not even emerging for supper.

He likely wouldn’t have been able to stay asleep for long anyway, but his worry for her kept clenching in his stomach, and eventually he gave up and decided to sit by the fire and look up at the stars. That sometimes helped him clear his head.

He caught sight of something moving at the edge of the firelight, and he stayed very still as he tracked it with only his eyes. It was a person, moving away from camp. It could well have been one of the lookouts making their rounds, but every instinct in him was clamoring to follow, so he did, which was how he found Beth sitting next to the water, humming quietly as she hugged her knees and watched the ripples that gently lapped up onto the shore. Feeling like he might be doing something very stupid, but very much hoping he wasn’t, he took a seat next to her.

“Pretty song,” he said quietly.

“I Am Weary.” The edge of her mouth curled for just a moment, barely moving at all. “Kinda on the nose right now, but that's what it's called.” She laid her head on her arms and closed her eyes, singing the words this time. “Kiss me, Mother, kiss your darlin.’ Lay my head upon your breast. Throw your loving arms around me. I am weary, let me rest.” She let out the last of her breath with a little sigh. “It’s better with the harmonies.”

“You still sang it beautifully.” He wondered for a moment where his boldness had come from.

“Thank you.” She whispered it so softly that he barely heard her, then she took in a shuddering breath. “It’s a song about dying. Peacefully, surrounded by people who love you.” A few tears started to collect on her lashes, and as he looked closer he saw the other tear tracks already on her face, the moisture glinting in the moonlight. “I wonder if anyone actually gets to do that.”

She still had her eyes closed, and he was glad for it. He didn’t think he’d have been able to look at her otherwise, and she was too achingly beautiful to turn away from now. He wished he had something more reassuring to say, but he still made an attempt. “I don’t know, but I hope so.”

She hugged her legs more tightly, her arms trembling slightly with the effort. “So many of the people here… they aren’t mages or Templars. They aren’t Chantry officials. They’re just regular folk. I don’t think they even care about the war, really. But their homes are gone… their husbands and wives are gone…” She finally let out a single sob into her knees, choking on the words, “Their children are gone…”

He felt that sob pierce his chest, and he didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. For a few moments she didn’t move, didn’t speak, and he started to wonder if his presence was too much of an intrusion.

“I know I came out here to represent the Inquisition,” she said softly, and hearing her voice after the heavy silence was a palpable relief. “Maybe I was being stupid, but I was hoping maybe people wouldn’t realize who I was? But once word got out that I’m the Seer…” She took in a shuddering breath, and her next words sounded so despairing that he instinctively held a hand out to her, but he hesitated before he made contact. “It gave them so much hope. I don’t even know why. It’s not like I did anything other than hand out blankets and bits of bread. But they…”

She didn’t seem inclined to finish the thought as they sat in silence for several seconds, Cullen’s hand awkwardly withdrawing to lie on the ground between them. “Is that so bad?” he asked. “People need hope, just as much as they need food and shelter.”

She shook her head as her trembling intensified. “Some of them asked me for Andraste’s blessing. I… I told them that Andraste kept them in her sight and wanted them to be kind to each other. I didn’t know what else to do, I couldn’t just say no, but I — I don’t even believe in my God any more, never mind yours.”

“It sounds to me like you did well,” he offered. “You gave people what they needed.”

She choked back a pained sound and turned her face fully away from him. “I’m a fraud,” she whispered.

“No,” he said just as quietly. “You’re doing the best you can. We all are.” He let out a small scoff. “Andraste surely knows that I’m making half of it up as I go along.” He took a risk, but he couldn’t just sit there and watch her cry. He lightly knocked her knee with his and said, “Why do you think I’m scowling all the time? I’ve had to use my brain instead of my brawn for the first time in my life. It’s bloody hard.”

He heard a soft snort, unsure if that was a good sound or not until she lifted her head and turned her teary gaze on him with a lightly trembling smile. “So all that surliness is you not intimidating your problems away? Could’ve fooled me.”

He replied dryly, “Yes, well, someone has to glower and brandish pointy objects for the rest of you.”

She stretched her legs out, releasing her knees as she pressed a hand to her mouth in an attempt to keep her laugh quiet, and ended up making a very loud sound through her nose that honestly sounded more like a barnyard animal than a laugh. He barked a startled “ha!” before clapping a hand over his own mouth as well, not wanting to alert anyone in camp.

She shoved weakly at his shoulder as she made a few much quieter snuffle-snorts, and his sides started to ache from holding it in. He managed to partially wheeze, “You sound like…”

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. “Are you about to call me a pig, Ser?” Her facade was almost immediately broken as she struggled not to smile.

As he began to catch his breath, he volleyed back, “At least I know who to call upon when I have a craving for truffles.”

She dramatically turned her nose up in the air. “Pigs are highly intelligent creatures, I’ll have you know. Smarter than muscle-bound blondes, that’s for sure.”

He pressed a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Madam.”

“Madam?!” She sniffed imperiously. “No truffles for you, clearly.”

His laughter petered out with a final sigh, though he was still grinning from ear to ear. When was the last time I laughed like that? Maker’s Breath, maybe… before the Blight? The direction of his thoughts sobered him some, though he didn’t want to entirely bring the conversation down. “From where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re doing a bang-up job. You give people hope in so many ways, Beth, with what you’re doing here and all your work back in Haven. But if you ever need help…” He took a deep breath and barreled forward before he could lose his nerve. “You can call on me. I’ll do whatever I can.”

She wore a gentle smile as she dropped her gaze, and he thought he saw a faint pink flush on her cheeks, though it was hard to tell by moonlight. Maker, she is so lovely…

She opened her mouth to reply, but as she turned her eyes up to him again her face fell and she stared through him rather than at him. Her breath quickened as her eyes darted around, unseeing, and he caught small snippets of a conversation that sounded incredibly frightening, all the more because he knew that was his voice coming from her mouth, alternating with another.

“Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…”

“I’m not letting you do this alone.”

“No. You have to come with us.”

“You would keep me from my duty, Commander?”

Someone is in danger. Who am I speaking to in her vision? He reached out and held her shoulders as she swayed, trying to search her face for answers, and her eyelids fluttered for a moment before she refocused on him.

“Beth, are you alright? Can you hear me?” She nodded and shook herself, pushing away from him, and he reluctantly dropped his hands to his sides. “What did you see? What’s going to happen?” His hands itched to touch her again. He could still feel her comforting warmth on his cold fingers.

“Something is coming for Haven.” She stood quickly, and he followed her up. “We need to make preparations to evacuate when we return. I think we have at least some time, because I saw Herah in the Chantry.” She shook her head a little and took a step away from him. He felt the distance acutely, like a growing hole in his heart.

He swallowed his pain and pride and attempted to assess the situation. “The Herald isn’t due back in Haven for at least another week. Was there anything else in the vision? Something that might help us pinpoint it?”

“Herah didn’t have Varric, Cassandra, or Solas with her when she went back out. She had three other people. I’ve never seen them before, so they must not be in the Inquisition yet.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “It was all so chaotic. We were all an inch away from panic, the people were completely panicked…” She rubbed the heel of her hand at her brow, then gave her head a hard shake. “Nothing else helpful, I don’t think. But I’ll go over it with you all again when we get back and meet with Leliana and Josephine.” Her shoulders slumped as she lowered her hand. “I should try to sleep, maybe I’ll recognize something else if I think about it when I’m not so exhausted.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” he said, trying not to let his reluctance for her to go into his voice. “I’ll walk you back.” He noticed that she didn’t protest or point out that they were about a minute’s walk from camp. Is she unsettled enough to appreciate it, or is she too preoccupied to argue? They walked in silence, and he paused in front of her tent to offer, “Good night.”

“‘Night, Cullen. See you tomorrow.”

She ducked inside, and he took a moment to look up at the sky, full of tiny, twinkling lights. “In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your Light remains,” he murmured.

It didn’t help as much as he wished it would.

Beth dreamed for the first time since entering Thedas, that night and several of the nights that followed, and of course it was unsettling stress dreams. The ones she could remember nearly always were.

It had been the same scenario, over and over with only slight variations. She was in the Chantry, leaving with Herah just as she had seen in her vision. Cullen grabbed her and looked into her eyes, absolutely gutted as he insisted that Beth come with him and the rest of the evacuation. Sometimes the dream made him angry about it, sometimes despairing, sometimes frantic. But she said the same thing each time, and watched the resignation and hurt take him over.

“You would keep me from my duty, Commander?”

The dream varied a bit after that as well. He didn’t always refuse to let go of her, and he didn’t always continue to plead. But the guilt was unwavering. She had the same queasy feeling when she thought about it as she did in the vision, felt the same grim knowledge that she was leaving to meet her death, and in doing so she would crush a piece of him that was fragile and new, and he might never be able to replace it. He might never even try to.

She was being quiet around Cullen, had been since that vision. Friendly enough when he spoke to her, but she was at war with herself about what the vision meant for the here and now. He, of all people, had been there when she needed a friend, and he’d even done a remarkably good job of it. She’d been surprised that he had any sense of humor at all, never mind all the sass, and if she hadn’t been laughing so hard herself she would have been transfixed by how boyish his grin had been. And his offer to help when she needed it had touched her more than she expected. Usually when people said, ‘I’m here if you need me,’ they meant they’d help if it was convenient for them.

She was pretty sure that’s not what he’d meant at all.

She wanted to rely on him. She wanted a friend. She had Herah, of course, and she and Varric were warming to each other as well, but she had a feeling with Cullen that he would be a different kind of friend. He could be a solid rock, a firm foundation. And perhaps more importantly, she was almost certain that he was searching for something similar. They could be solid for each other.

Which is why the vision made things complicated. It had shown her that she was destined to hurt him. She was going to tear that support out from under him when he needed it the most. Would it be easier if she let whatever was starting between them go before it truly began?

Probably. But she didn’t want to.

Selfish. Some holy figure you are.

She brooded on those thoughts as he escorted her and Mother Giselle to the Crossroads again on their final day there. He left them to attend to some other Inquisition business with the merchants there, and once he was gone she felt herself release the tension that she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying. Mother Giselle asked her, “Are you alright, Seer?”

“Fine,” she replied automatically. “Should we start with the infirmary again today?”

“Your spirit is disquieted, child,” Giselle said. “It has been since our first day here. If we are to give of ourselves to others, we must be sure to tend to our own needs first. Otherwise, there will be nothing left to give.”

The Mother had a, well, motherly air about her, or perhaps more grandmotherly, that put Beth more at ease than most. So she gave a vague but truthful answer. “I’m having a hard time making a decision,” she admitted. “It feels like a situation where no answer is right. I just need some more time to think about it.”

“You have been thinking about it for several days now,” Giselle pointed out, “and you seem no less unsure. Perhaps another point of view could help you see your problem in a new light?”

Beth wasn’t sure if the Mother was digging for dirt or genuinely trying to help, but she couldn’t deny that the cleric had a point, so she posed the question that had been bothering her. “Is it selfish to start a friendship if you know that it’s destined to end?”

“All friendships end,” Giselle said.

“Yeah, but what if you know this one is going to be really messy?” She thought about Cullen’s face in the vision, the mixture of denial and panic that burned in his eyes, and it made the persistent ache in her chest pang. “Is it better to not start at all if you know you’ll hurt them in the end?”

“Normally I would say that we cannot know such things, but I suspect you have good reason to think so.” Beth nodded reluctantly. “In that case, I will say that the friendship and comfort found with another can never be taken away. You will always have the happy moments you have shared, even if there are more painful moments later.”

“So, you think it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?” She backpedaled almost immediately. “Not that we’re talking about love, it’s — I read that in a book somewhere and it stuck with me.” Even Beth had to admit that sounded pretty flimsy.

“There are many kinds of love,” Giselle said. “Friendship is one of them. So to answer your question, yes, that is what I believe.”

Beth wasn’t sure if that made her decision easier or not, but it had definitely tipped the scales. “Thank you for your wise counsel,” she said formally. “I will consider it carefully.”

“It is the duty of the Chantry to ease suffering wherever it can,” she replied. “With that in mind, I believe the infirmary is an excellent place to start today.”

Nearly every task at the Crossroads was fairly depressing — they were attempting to help refugees after all, so it’s not like people were happy to be here — but Beth found the infirmary both the hardest and the most fulfilling. The healers did the majority of the work, though they had shown her how to do a few things, like change bandages and the Thedas equivalent of checking vitals. Mostly, she and the Mother were there to sit next to people, hold their hands, and help them eat soup. What made it hard was that those things didn’t ever feel like she’d done enough.

A few of the healers greeted her with a nod, though most just kept working. Beth took a look around and saw one of the ‘regulars’ still there, a young man named Emrys, so she decided to check up on him first.

“Good morning,” she said, offering him a smile as she knelt at the side of his bed. “How are you feeling today?”

“Not bad, Miss, all things considered.” He let out a small hiss of pain as he tried to sit up, and Beth immediately put a supporting hand under his back to help him. He smiled back gratefully. “It still smarts something fierce, though.”

‘It’ was several cracked ribs and some severely burned fingers. His chest had been tightly bandaged to keep the bones fairly immobile, and the bruising that peeked out from beneath them was now that weird yellow-green color that meant it was healing and fading. His hands were also thickly bandaged, resembling huge oven mitts.

Apparently it could have been the work of a few minutes to heal him up with magic, but none of the healers here right now were mages, and very few of the patients wanted anything to do with magic, anyway, even if it was to heal them. The Crossroads was also drastically under-supplied with elfroot and healing potions, and the delivery that the Inquisition had sent with Beth was almost entirely used up now. Emrys’s injuries were not actually life-threatening at this point, so he was only getting mundane healing. They needed to save the potions for people who were worse off, and there were plenty that arrived every day.

“Did you take your medicine yet this morning?” she asked.

“No, Miss,” he said guiltily. “I didn’t feel too bad when I woke, so I was hoping maybe I wouldn’t need it.”

“We’ve talked about this,” she gently chided him. “You need to take it before things start to really hurt. It works better that way, and pain hinders healing.” She took the dropper from the small crate being used as a table by his bed, and he opened his mouth, flushing slightly as she carefully dosed it out onto his tongue. He always seemed a little embarrassed that he needed so much help, but he could hardly do anything with his fingers bound up like they were. “I bet you haven’t done your exercises yet, either.” She carefully unwrapped his hands, examining them critically. They were still the pink of new skin, and seemed to be healing okay — no bleeding or signs of infection. They were completely covered in scar tissue though, and he needed to stretch it out regularly if he was going to keep it from tightening up. Otherwise, he might not ever regain full use of his hands.

“No, Miss,” he sighed.

“Well, you start those while I get some new bandages for you.” She hauled herself up onto her feet again and went to gather supplies.

While she was finding the ointment she’d need, one of the Sisters who was also getting some medicine asked her, “Have you considered becoming a healer, Madam Seer?”

“Once, but I don’t think it’s for me, really.” When she was younger she had thought she’d like to be a doctor, but between the requirements of medical school and her love of engineering, she ultimately hadn’t gone that direction with her life. “I focused on other scholarly pursuits instead.”

“Pity,” one of the healers nearby said, a fairly gruff man with a large beard. “You’re good at it, and tolerable to work with.”

She kept searching the supplies for what she needed as she grinned. From him, that was high praise. “Thank you, but being good at something isn’t always enough. I’m happy to help here while I can, but I don’t think I’m suited for this in the long run.”

The Sister smiled sadly, and patted her arm genially. “Sometimes, it is difficult to let go of the burdens we carry for them.”

“Exactly,” Beth said. The healer hmphed, and Beth rolled her eyes. “What, you disagree?”

“No. But you learn to do it anyway. We all did.” He and the Sister left to tend their patients, and Beth gathered up the last of her things to get back to Emrys.

Thankfully, the morning she spent working in the infirmary was pretty uneventful. She changed plenty of bandages, and a few people asked her to pray with them, which always made her uncomfortable, but she plastered on a serene expression and said a few words from the Chant anyway. She’d memorized a few verses that seemed generally applicable to just about any situation so that she wouldn’t be caught off guard any more when they did ask.

One of the last to want a prayer was an older woman who wheezed slightly with each breath, and Beth knelt at her side to hold her hand before reciting with all the confidence she could muster, “The deep dark before dawn’s first light seems eternal, but know that the sun always rises. Though the lands suffer a thousand wrongs, the Maker yet notices the smallest of deeds.” She gave the woman’s hand a squeeze. “Andraste be with you and guide you.”

“Thank you, Seer.” She struggled to get the words out, and Beth immediately felt guilty. She didn’t believe a word she was saying to them, but she also couldn’t deny them the comfort they asked for.

When she needed a breather a few minutes later, she was a bit surprised to see Cullen waiting not far away from the area cordoned off for the healers. She walked quickly to him, worriedly asking, “Commander? Is something wrong?”

He had an odd expression on his face, brows slightly pinched and mouth drawn into a line like he was in pain, but there was something soft in his eyes. “No, it’s nothing. I simply finished my task more quickly than I thought, so I, um, came to find you.” He cleared his throat and said with some hesitance, “I thought perhaps, since it is midday, you might be hungry?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. She saw that he had some little beads of sweat on his brow as well, but it was far from warm. “So, lunch?” She wanted to ask what was wrong with him, but it didn’t feel fair to demand his secrets when she was keeping so much from him. She hadn’t told him any more about the vision, and she wasn’t sure if she was going to.

As they walked back to their wagon, he offered, seeming almost timid, “I see your study of the Chant is paying off.”

“Yeah.” She chewed her bottom lip nervously and stared at her feet.

“You’re saying what they need to hear,” he assured her. “Giving them hope and strength.” She let out a little sigh, not feeling any better about it.

She hopped up onto the cart to have a seat. Cullen did the same, though there was much less hopping involved for him, and he put the pack with the rations they’d brought between them. She pulled out a smallish lump of cheese to nibble on.

“I’m sorry.” His expression was tight with worry in addition to pain now. “This trip has been very trying for you. I wish… Can I help you in any way?”

“I don’t think so,” she said honestly. Really, what could he do? She was unsettled by the suffering of so many innocent people, and she felt guilty that she was supposed to help bolster their faith when she had none. What was he going to do about any of that?

He stayed silent for several seconds, seeming to ponder his knees, then blurted, “Have I done something wrong?”

“What?” She blinked in confusion. “No? Why?”

“I suppose I thought we were developing a rapport, of sorts, but these last few days…” He drummed his fingers nervously on the wagon. “Did I overstep?”

She realized that he’d seen through her attempt at keeping distance, like Giselle had, and surmised that he was the problem. Technically not wrong, but not in the way he thought. “No, you didn’t. I’ve just been thinking, I guess.”

He asked quietly, “About?”

“My vision,” she said evasively. “What I should do.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “It sounded quite frightening.”

“It was. It is.” She hesitated, for a moment remembering the sheer terror of that moment. “I think we were all afraid.”

“I heard myself in it,” he said, his concerned eyes watching her carefully. “It sounded like I was arguing with someone.”

“You were.” She chewed thoughtfully. How much did she want to tell him? Was it fair to put that burden on him? She sighed, and offered an olive branch without answering his unspoken question. “I’ve been having nightmares about it.”

“I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “It’s more than just the headaches that keep me up at night. I know what it’s like when your dreams won’t leave you be.”

“Then I’m sorry, too. Do you want to talk about them?” It felt awkward to ask, like it was too personal, and she felt she needed to explain. “I’ve heard it’s supposed to help.”

He shook his head. “Not especially. You?”

“No.”

He let out that rusty little chuckle and said, “I’m afraid I have no idea where that leaves us, then.”

She swung her feet a bit as she sat and ate. “This is nice.”

“It is.” He smirked, and it made his scar pull up on that side. It also made him look even more handsome. “So, we sit here and don’t talk about our problems? I think I can do that.”

She huffed a breathy little laugh, “There isn’t any swinging your sword at things in this plan. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

His smile widened before he got a nervous little line between his brows. “Yes, though you may need to be patient with me. I’m very much out of my element.”

She felt a feathery flutter behind her ribs. “I think I can do that.”

Cullen had been in near-constant pain for days, and it had gotten much worse since they left the Crossroads. He was used to a certain base level of discomfort from lyrium withdrawal, and it certainly did get quite awful when there was a flareup, but he’d thought things were beginning to settle into a fairly predictable pattern after the Conclave. Instead, it had been escalating all week with no end in sight. The worst of it was certainly his head, but his joints had all started a dull roar, and the bumpy road under the wheels of the cart certainly wasn’t doing his back any favors. Neither was sleeping in unfamiliar beds. He was sullen and exhausted during the day, and just plain exhausted at night. Beth kept looking at him like she was trying to puzzle something out, but he still couldn’t bring himself to tell her what was wrong with him. The idea of admitting it felt shameful, and the emotion was yet too raw for examination.

On top of that, she was being particularly evasive when he asked about her latest vision. He knew she’d seen something more than what she’d told him, but she would only say that she’d go over it again as soon as they got back to Haven. He felt like it must be something terrible if she was so cagey about it, which only made him all the more worried, which seemed in turn to add more fuel to his withdrawal. It certainly seemed to get worse with stress, and he had that in abundance.

The last evening before they would be back in Haven, after he woke for the second time in a cold sweat and with the phantom taste of lyrium on his tongue, he gave up on sleep entirely, took up his sword, and headed down toward the inn’s stable. There had been a fairly large paddock there, with enough room to move. It would do for running drills.

He began slowly, hoping that movement would ease some of his body aches. It may have eventually, but he never actually got to find out, because barely a minute in his numb and shaking fingers lost their grip on his sword, and it fell to the ground with a clatter that worsened the throbbing in his skull a hundredfold. He somehow managed to stay on his feet, though he was nearly doubled over as he gripped his hair tightly with one hand — now the bloody thing works, of course — and the other braced against the fence of the paddock, likely the only thing keeping him up.

He could faintly hear the sweet siren song of the lyrium, and Maker take him, his first instinct was to search it out. He could follow the haunting melody into oblivion, and then maybe he’d finally get some blighted sleep.

If he thought it would do any good, he’d gladly spend hours on his knees praying that Andraste grant him mercy, give him even a single day of peace and quiet…

“Rough night?”

He startled and tried to whip around toward the speaker, but hadn’t moved more than a few inches when another bright lance of pain pierced his head, traveling behind one eye and down through his jaw and neck. He let out an involuntary groan as his grip faltered — again, damn it — and without the support of the fence, he fell heavily onto his hands and knees with another sharp, pained sound that he quickly cut off in his throat.

“Oh my God!” He barely managed to crack his eyes open, and Beth was knelt before him, leaning over to stay in his view. She murmured very softly, but it still thundered through his head. “Cullen, can you hear me? Can you speak?”

He sucked in a slow breath. Maker, even his lungs hurt. “Yes,” he hissed quietly.

“Okay. Do you think you can move?”

That was a very good question. He tentatively started to straighten up, and his vision swam, full of little shimmering lights that might have been very pretty under different circumstances. After that, he held as still as he could. He breathed out a defeated, “No.”

“Okay,” she said again.

No, it’s not. I shouldn’t be so weak. Perhaps it was a mercy that he was unable to speak the words aloud. At least he wouldn’t shame himself with his blathering as well as his infirmity.

“I’m going to try to help you.” She shuffled around him to his back, and gently laid her palm on the back of his neck. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yes.” He was confused, unsure quite what she meant. Was it okay that she wanted to help? It was lovely of her. Was it okay that she was touching him? That was much more than okay. But then her fingers started gently pressing against the base of his skull, two points of firm contact that as she pushed harder, seemed to lift a layer of fog from his brain. Her fingers slowly circled as they dug deeper, and it was as if something gave and melted under her hands, seeping into the muscles of his neck and over his skull. It wasn’t pleasurable per se, didn’t fill him with any warmth or tingling or anything like that. But it was a marked reduction in pain, and that was almost as good.

“Maker,” he sighed, and so help him he nearly whined when she removed her hands from him. Then she took hold of those little triangles of cartilage just in front of his ear canals, one in each hand, and pinched and rubbed, tugging gently. That was at first even more confusing, then he gave up trying to make sense of anything as it lifted another layer of agony from him.

She obviously knew what she was doing, so when she reached further forward to his face and pushed her thumbs up into the divots between the bridge of his nose and his eyes, he didn’t even mentally question it. Again her relentless pressing eased a bit more of his pain, and he could just about kiss her boots for it. Maybe he would once he could move again.

She ended with little pinches to his brows, slowly working from the center out. He had never thought of his eyebrows as a particularly pleasant thing to be touched, but unlike the other spots, this one made him shudder. He did it a few times, as well as let out a very low and breathy moan, much to his chagrin. But despite feeling oddly vulnerable about her massaging his eyebrows of all things, he couldn’t bring himself to regret a single moment of it.

“You…” He felt dazed and more than a bit stupid, almost like he was well and truly drunk. He was reminded why he didn’t drink that much any more — it never made him feel better, it just made things confusing and frustrating. He was certainly glad his head no longer felt like it was splitting open, but the odd little shimmers hadn’t gone and he still heard everything ten times louder than it ought to be. He also still ached down to his marrow. Maybe Beth knew what to do about that, too? Would that mean she’d touch him some more? It had been very nice.

Hmm. He felt like that train of thought should concern him more than it did, but he couldn’t remember why.

Cullen tried to speak again. “You… good hands,” he managed, the words too slow and slightly slurred.

He heard her stifle a giggle into one of the tiny piggy noises she’d made by the lake, and he felt a lazy smile on his face as he chuffed softly, making a few “huh” sounds that were just barely vocalized. “Truffles,” he mumbled.

“A lot of cheek you’ve got, being smart with your benefactor,” she said, but she didn’t sound angry. That was good, he hated making her angry. “Feel like you might be able to get up? Go slow,” she warned.

He didn’t think he could have moved quickly anyway. He reached for the fence beside him to pull himself up, but his fingers still weren’t obeying him, refusing to fully open or fully grip. He glared at the digits, then let out a frustrated huff tinged with a bit of a growl.

“It’s okay, Cullen.” Her gentle concern made him even more frustrated with his ineptitude.

“No,” he said, still glaring at his fingers. “‘S not okay.” He leaned his whole forearm on a section of the fence, hauling himself to his feet slowly, though not quite steadily, staggering a bit as he came up. He let out a groan as he did, and it felt like every muscle in his body protested the motion.

His vision swam as the song that had been quieter during the worst of his agony started to make itself known again. He felt it in the back of his teeth, a sickly sweet buzzing that made him salivate. He shook his head once, which was a bad decision, because he nearly lurched off his feet again.

“Steady,” Beth said, still pitching her voice low and quiet. She put one of his arms around her shoulders, letting him use her for balance. He hadn’t realized precisely how short she was before — her head barely cleared his shoulder, and she fit perfectly under his arm against his side. It might have been nice if he could just get that damned song to shut up.

“Let’s get you back up to your room, and you can try to sleep it off.” Beth had a pretty voice. Low, soothing. It was even nicer when she sang — much nicer than the buzzing, relentless blue crooning.

“Won’t sleep,” he said sadly. “Too loud.”

She slipped her arm around his waist as the other held his wrist near her shoulder. It was almost like a hug. When was the last time he’d had one of those? “I’m sorry, Cullen. I wish I could help.”

“Was trying… but you…” He let out another frustrated huff. He couldn’t get his thoughts to string together right, especially not while he was trying to keep upright enough to prevent himself from collapsing on top of her.

“You can tell me in the morning,” she said. “You need to take better care of yourself, though. You push yourself too hard, and I don’t think I’ve seen you actually eat in days.”

“I eat,” he grumbled.

“A single piece of hardtack isn’t really a meal,” she chided gently. She apparently didn’t understand the point of hardtack, but he wasn’t in a state to get into a debate about it now, so he just hmphed his disagreement. “And even if you can’t sleep, you need to rest. Spend a few minutes not working.”

“Work helps.” If he buried himself in enough external problems, he didn’t have the time to agonize over the lyrium cravings. He didn’t have the time to remember the things he’d done, either.

She sighed heavily. “I know, believe me. Herah bugs me to stop, but it doesn’t seem like you have anyone to bug you yet. So I guess that’ll be my job for now.”

That actually sounded nice. “Long as you want,” he promised. She gave him a sad little smile as they stopped at the door to his room for a moment, and she ducked out from under his arm. His side felt incomplete, like it was only whole when she was there.

“Cullen, you need to eat more and rest more, or this will keep happening.” He made a disgruntled sound, and she insisted, “Please, Cullen.”

“Fine,” he muttered. To be fair, he didn’t try to take poor care of himself. It just sort of… happened.

She squinted at him a moment, then gave him a nod before she opened the door and half-dragged him into the room with her grip on his upper arm.

“Jesus, the guns on you,” she muttered. He wasn’t sure if that was actually gibberish or if he just couldn’t make sense of anything any more over the insidious tones ringing in his ears. She steered him toward the bed and demanded, “Here, sit,” and he just about collapsed onto his back on the thin mattress. She furrowed her brow and scrunched her nose, seeming affronted as she asked, “Do you even fit on this bed?”

“No,” he said despondently. For some reason that made her laugh, and for just a moment her bright giggles pushed back the song. Maker’s Breath, those few seconds of peace were wonderful. He wished he knew what he’d said that was funny, then maybe he could make her do it again.

“Sorry,” she whispered after, “I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No, you’re better.” She gave him an odd look as he attempted to find a mostly comfortable position on the bed, his limbs currently hanging off the edges and his feet flat on the floor on either side. “Than the singing. Can still taste it.”

She knelt down next to the bed, working at his bootlaces. “You taste singing?”

“Loud tonight.” He frowned and lifted his head slightly to look at her. “Don’t… shouldn’t need to…”

She paused what she was doing, arching one brow on him. “Do you really want to sleep with your boots on? Sounds like a great way to get trench foot to me.”

He let his head fall back with a heavy, frustrated sigh. He wasn’t sure what ‘trench foot’ was supposed to be, but he’d seen the aftermath of not being able to dry out one’s feet for days or even weeks on end. “Right,” he admitted, and she went back to it, tugging his boot off with a small grunt of effort. “Don’t like it.”

She laughed again, this time a quiet chuckle that made him smile as something fluttered in his chest. She moved to the other side of the bed to take care of that boot as well. “You said the singing is loud? Like right now?”

“Mmm. But…” He struggled to push the words together. It felt very important in that moment that she knew. “You make it quiet again.” It was a foolish feeling, but he was fairly proud that he’d managed an entire sentence that time.

“I make the singing quiet?” She had the most adorable confused expression on her face, her dark brows almost entirely hidden behind the thick frame of her glasses and her head canted to one side.

He hummed quietly in agreement, wishing he could touch her face, her hair. She looked so soft. “You don’t sound blue,” he murmured by way of explanation.

She stood up, muttering, “Never met someone with synesthesia before.”

She was so smart. She knew so many words he didn’t. He wondered where she learned them all.

She carried the chair in the room over next to him as quietly as she could, setting it down gently as his head lolled over to watch her. “Do you think it would help you sleep if you didn’t hear anything blue for a while?”

He nodded. “Makes my veins itch. Like… like ants.”

She sat and leaned over him to take hold of his wrist, moving his hand away from the inside of his other arm. He hadn’t even realized that he’d started scratching, but there were pink marks from his nails traveling almost up to his elbow, all the more evident from the sallow, sickly pallor of his skin. He must look awful — he certainly felt awful. But he was very thoroughly distracted from the myriad unpleasant sensations all over his body as she moved her thumb in little circles over the back of his hand, and she started singing something he’d never heard before, soft and low.

“Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you,’ birds singing in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me…”

His exhaustion hit him all at once as the jittery feeling along his skin receded and the lyrium’s song went quiet, her gentle voice blocking anything else from invading his head. Just before he lost consciousness entirely, he thought, if I do dream of her, I hope it’s a good dream for once.

Chapter Text

Beth hadn’t slept much the night before, and from the look of the Commander, he had needed a lot more than what he’d gotten. She wasn’t sure how bad she looked, but he had to be worse. His eyes looked sunken, and the lines around them and at the sides of his mouth were plentiful and deep. Above all, he looked exhausted and in pain.

While she and Mother Giselle got breakfast from the innkeeper — the only thing available was porridge, so Beth ate what she could and decided she’d raid the last of their rations on the way — Cullen went to the stables to get their horse and cart ready. She was a bit peeved about that. She’d found him almost entirely incapacitated last night, and she thought she’d made it very clear that he needed to take better care of himself. He’d seemed lucid enough when he’d reluctantly agreed, but she wouldn’t take it out on him, just in case he hadn’t been. He definitely felt like shit if how he looked now was any indication. He was holding himself even more stiffly than normal, and he had tired marks under his eyes that looked far too dark on his overly pale skin.

She took her bowl that she’d hardly touched and went after him. She found him slowly leading the horse around the paddock, the same place that she’d found him last night, and for a moment her heart beat too quickly. It had been terrifying seeing him in such intense agony, and some of the things he’d said… Tasting blue singing? And ants crawling in his veins? If she didn’t know any better, she’d think she had caught him on a bad acid trip, but there was no way in Hell that Cullen would do that. Clearly the migraine was only a small part of whatever was wrong with him. He’d been so debilitated by whatever it was that at first she thought she’d have to find help to drag him back inside, and she was pretty sure that would have absolutely mortified him come morning. ‘Proud’ wasn’t even the half of it with him. How many times had she seen him up late, obviously suffering, only to put in a full day of work and be back out wandering in the dark again? Did he even know how to give himself a break? Probably not, because he was in obvious, dire need of one.

Despite all that, he hadn’t been too proud to let her help him last night. He had just barely tried to put up a fight when she took off his boots, and he hadn’t protested when she held his hand and sang him into a fitful sleep. He had definitely been out of it, though — she shouldn’t read too much into that. She wasn’t even sure how much of it he would remember.

“Hey, Cullen,” she called out, then raised the bowl toward him. “Breakfast?”

“No, thank you.” He kept his gaze down as he circled with the horse.

She let out a frustrated huff. “I’m sure the horse can wait two minutes while you eat.”

“We should get back as quickly as possible, so that you can relay your vision to everyone,” he insisted.

She watched him for several more seconds, quietly seething. This man would give her an ulcer, she was sure of it. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

Beth was several steps away when she heard the clopping of hooves stop. “Thank you, for…” He let out a sharp huff. “Thank you.”

She turned around to face him again. “You’re welcome. But you really ought to have something to eat if you don’t want it to happen again.” He frowned, then started walking the horse again. She tried to stare him down, but he still wouldn’t look at her. “Really, Cullen?”

He sounded sullen and pithy when he asked, “Will you leave portions of your vision out when you tell it to everyone else? Or will you only keep it a secret from me?”

She wanted so badly to stoop to his level, but instead she took a few deep breaths to keep her tone calm. “I’ll be sure to mention anything relevant.”

She left him alone then, and didn’t try to talk to him during the ride back. For one, it didn’t seem right to argue with him in front of Mother Giselle. She also didn’t want to talk about the vision, and she wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t bring it up again. So most of the ride was made in fairly tense silence, everyone studiously not looking at everyone else. Even Mother Giselle stayed quiet, though she somehow made staring out at the snow look contemplative and serene instead of socially awkward.

Or maybe only Beth found it tense. He certainly didn’t try to start any conversation, either. Other than letting them know when he was going to stop and let the horse have a water break, he hardly spoke until they got to Haven. As Beth hopped down from the cart, he said, “You should call the meeting. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Great,” she said, dripping with sarcasm. Not only had his mood gotten her in a mood, she was definitely not looking forward to describing this vision. She’d thought of very little else since she’d had it, and it still unsettled her.

Cullen was already in the meeting room by the time she arrived, which did give her at least a few minutes to talk to him alone as they waited for the others.

“You didn’t eat anything today,” she said quietly.

“No.” He frowned and drew his brows together more than that slight pinch of pain. “I haven’t been hungry.”

“You still have to, unless you want last night to keep happening.” She rummaged in the pockets of her cloak hanging on the wall, and turned back to him, placing a slightly mealy apple on the table between them. She’d seen Flissa to restock herself with snacks after talking to Herah in the tavern.

He just frowned at it, as if it had slighted him somehow. The least he could do is grab it, even if it’s only to shut me up. Instead, both his hands gripped his sword harder.

She sighed in exasperation. “Just take the damn fruit.”

The door clattered open, and she turned to see Josephine and Leliana chattering away as they came in, Herah and Cassandra following just behind them. When they took their places and she faced the table again, the apple was gone. She felt the tiniest smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

Cassandra looked between the two of them standing on opposite sides of the table, and bluntly asked, “What happened?”

That was a very loaded question, but Beth decided to go with the reason they were having the meeting. “I had another vision. Something is coming for Haven. We were all holed up in the Chantry, and the people were getting ready to evacuate.” She’d thought about this for the entire ride today. She was pretty sure Cullen knew there was more to it than that, but was it fair to put the knowledge of her and Herah’s impending demise on everyone else? As far as they knew, her visions couldn’t be changed. She and Herah would do what they could to make sure the people of Haven were safe, and whatever that was, they didn’t expect to come back from it alive. She didn’t even know if their desperate plan would work, just that it was a last-ditch Hail Mary at keeping everyone else alive.

Cullen kept his eyes trained on her as he said, “We should move what supplies we can to the Chantry to make the evacuation as quick and orderly as possible.” It felt like he was trying to eye-laser her into talking more, so Beth turned away and didn’t look at him again.

Josephine frowned. “We can’t let this information get out. There will be panic. Did the vision give you any indication when this would happen?”

“Not really. Herah was here, along with several people I didn’t recognize.” She counted off on her fingers. “Another Qunari, a mage with a frankly ridiculous mustache, and an elf wearing bright yellow plaid pants that are an assault on your eyeballs.”

Cassandra let out a little ‘ugh’ as Herah beamed. “That would be Sera. I picked her and a mage named Vivienne up in Val Royeaux.” She winked at Beth. “I think you’ll like Sera. I sure do,” she finished with a very satisfied grin.

Beth was too tired to hide any reactions, letting a sudden titter escape her. Of course Herah would find someone to fall into bed with while out on Inquisition business. To be fair, ‘Inquisition business’ was how she spent most of her days, so Beth wasn’t sure when else she’d pick a girl up.

Leliana kept looking at Beth and Cullen as Beth went over the specifics of her vision, minus the bit about her and Herah’s impending demise. Leliana knew something was up. Of course she did, she wasn’t their Spymaster for nothing. Beth wouldn’t tell her about what had happened the previous night, but she should probably at least tell her the whole vision.

But… could she do that to Cullen? Let someone else know while she still kept it secret from him? They were just starting to trust each other, and that trust was still fragile. This morning had certainly proved that.

She could tell he was going out on a limb trusting her at all — something in his past had kept him very lonely, but for some reason he had reached out to her specifically. She still couldn’t figure out why, but she was at least pretty sure he didn’t mean to use her or hurt her. They were having a bit of a spat now, sure, but he was obviously suffering especially badly these past few days and probably just lashing out because he hurt, like an animal in a trap trying to bite the person freeing it. Not that she had exactly taken the high road thus far, either. They were apparently equally stubborn and proud, which was sure to work out great.

All that only made what she knew she would do even worse. He had started opening up to her, and she was going to wound him, severely. If he was as stubborn as she thought, he might never open up again.

She listened to the rest of them argue about what could be done without causing a panic for several minutes until she said, “Do you know what a go bag is?” They all stopped talking to look at her. It was eerie how they always did that. “Get yourself a pack, and put what you’ll need in it. Whatever you’d take if you had to set out on foot right now. Blankets, clothes, rations, important documents, fire starters, medicine, weapons… whatever. Then you keep that bag someplace close, and when we have to go, that’s all you need to grab.” She looked around the room, and Herah and Leliana were nodding while Cassandra looked thoughtful. “We should get everyone in Herah’s team to do it as well. But I don’t think we can tell anyone else.”

Leliana nodded. “Agreed. Apart from the Herald’s inner circle, knowledge of this vision does not leave this room. Any other preparations will have to be made under another pretext — emergency preparedness, perhaps, in case of a sudden blizzard or an avalanche.” She raised a brow at the Ambassador. “I’m sure Josie and I can come up with something by morning.” Josephine nodded and scribbled her notes extra vehemently.

When they ended the meeting, she saw Cullen still watching her, pointedly. He wanted to speak with her, but she couldn’t have that conversation yet. So she spoke up and said, “Sister Nightingale, could I speak with you privately?”

Cullen glowered, but left the room with Josephine. Beth realized once everyone else was gone that she had never actually been alone with their Spymaster. She didn’t think Leliana was planning her demise, but if she was as good at her job as everyone said, then Beth wouldn’t think that, would she?

Better to just get this over with. “There was more to the vision. I think Cullen heard some of it when it happened, but I don’t think he fully understands what it meant.” Leliana simply waited for her to continue, her face giving away nothing. “Herah and I leave the Chantry again after the evacuation starts. I’m not sure exactly what we were doing, but we were heading for the trebuchet, and we didn’t expect to come back…” She swallowed the dread thick in her throat. “And everyone knew it.”

“I see.” Leliana kept her voice carefully level. “Why are you telling me this?”

Beth shrugged. “You were already suspicious. Someone should know, and you were going to figure it out in the end.”

Leliana smiled, showing just a few of her oddly sharp little teeth. “Yes, I would have. Thank you for saving me some time. Is that all?”

Beth raised a brow. “Was there something else you wanted to know?”

The Spymaster tilted her head. She reminded Beth of one of her ravens. “What is going on between you and Cullen?”

Beth hesitated, not wanting to break Cullen’s trust any further than she already had. “I’m not really sure.” She screwed up her nose. “He’s… nice to me. At first I was trying to figure out his angle, but he doesn’t have one, does he?”

Leliana scoffed affectionately. “No, he doesn’t. He is genuinely a good man, which is why I’m concerned.” The Spymaster’s gaze was piercing, weighing everything Beth did — or didn’t — say. Beth had never gotten a ‘what are you intentions toward my daughter’ speech, but she imagined it had to be something like this.

“I know he’s put a lot of trust in me, and I don’t want to hurt him,” she said, “but given what I saw, I think that’s inevitable.” She made sure to keep her eyes on Leliana’s despite the intense urge to look away. “When Herah and I are… gone… he’ll need people. I could see it in his eyes. What we need to do — it’s going to shatter him.”

Leliana nodded. “He will be in good hands. Do what you need to when the time comes.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t actually feel any better, but at least that was squared away.

As she left the Chantry, Beth saw Cullen waiting for her outside her cabin. Of course he wouldn’t let it go. She knew he was more stubborn than that. Despite herself, she started to smile when she realized he was carving slices out of the apple she’d given him with a small knife, and was somehow managing to chew broodily. It really was a talent.

“Commander,” she greeted with a nod.

“Madam Seer,” he replied once he’d swallowed the latest apple slice. His eyes darted around, making sure they were still alone enough. “You saw more than that in your vision. I heard myself, and I was speaking to someone else.”

She attempted to keep her face totally neutral, despite the nervousness that made her want to fidget. “I think you know what you need to. I told Leliana the rest — as our Spymaster, I trust her to keep it secret or divulge it, as necessary.” She turned toward her door, meaning to end the conversation there.

“No.” He grabbed her arm in an iron grip, keeping her from leaving. She caught a glimpse of the frustrated anger on his face before she turned her head quickly away, closing her eyes. “I heard my voice. You saw me.” He didn't shout, but he was pissed, speaking with that quiet ire that was even worse than yelling. “Tell me.”

Her heart raced as she started to shake, unable to control her trembling. She barely managed to breathe out, “Don’t. Please.” She kept her eyes squeezed shut, and a second later, he released her arm and she heard him step back. She took several steps away until her back hit the door to her cabin, hugging her arms tightly around herself.

“I…” Cullen sounded more confused than anything. She couldn’t blame him, really. “I’m sorry, I — I didn’t mean to…”

She’d known he was likely to be angry, and stupidly, she’d thought she was ready for it. She hated being so weak. She hated anyone seeing her like this, much less him. He’d probably treat her like some fragile, wilting flower now. “Please go.”

“Beth, I—”

“Go. Please.” She took a gasping breath. “I can’t — just — just go!”

She heard the creak of leather as he flexed his hands, and she shrank in on herself, flinching and hiding her face behind her arm, readying herself for a blow that she rationally knew wasn’t coming. Despite that, the meek, terrified reflex that she could usually keep locked away had been let out now, and it was convinced that anger meant pain, always. Instead, there was only a small whispered, “I’m sorry,” before she heard the clank of armor steadily putting distance between them.

Once she had taken back control of her legs again, she clumsily ducked into the empty cabin and counted each inhale and exhale until the trembling stopped. She just needed to get through this. Soon, none of it would matter. Head down, keep moving forward.

She could do that. So she took deep breaths, calmed herself down, and went about her business.

Apparently, while Beth had been away there had been quite a bit of correspondence that had built up for her. It must have been important stuff, because a few days after she’d returned — at least she’d been given some time to settle back in first — Josephine sent a runner to her. It seemed the Ambassador actually wanted to talk to her about it, even though Josephine usually took care of that stuff on her own. But as Beth approached the Ambassador’s office, she heard raised voices. One of them sounded like some sort of French dandy, overly pompous and prim.

“The Inquisition cannot remain, Ambassador, if you can’t prove it was founded on Justinia’s orders.”

Josephine must have had the patience of a saint to come back with, “This is an inopportune time, Marquis. More of the faithful flock here each day.” Her face brightened as Beth opened the door, and immediately Beth wished she’d just stayed out of it. “But allow me to introduce you to our most illustrious Seer. Miss Chisholm, this is the Marquis DuRellion, one of Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”

The man sniffed imperiously behind his mask. Why is he wearing a mask? Is he really badly scarred or something? Or is it a fashion statement? “And the rightful owner of Haven. My wife, Lady Machen of Denerim, has claim to Haven by ancient treaty with the monarchs of Ferelden.” That did sound very official and all, but she got the impression that practically no one was here before the Inquisition showed up, so they couldn't have cared that much about the land. “We were honored to lend its use to Divine Justinia for a pilgrimage. She is…” It was hard to tell without seeing his face, but he sounded much more somber as he corrected himself. “She was a woman of supreme merit. I will not let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds.”

Beth’s eyes darted between Josephine and the odd man. “Didn’t the Right and Left Hand of the Divine found the Inquisition?” Beth asked.

“I’ve seen no written records from Sister Leliana or Seeker Pentaghast that Justinia approved the Inquisition,” he scoffed, waving a hand flippantly.

Josephine shook her head slightly and turned to Beth. “If he won’t take her at her word, I’m afraid Seeker Pentaghast must challenge him to a duel.” Beth nodded along — she wasn’t sure if this was a play or not, but either way, best to side with the diplomat. Beth sure as Hell had no idea what to do about this. The man blubbered in astonishment as the Ambassador explained, “It is a matter of honor among the Nevarrans.” She gave the Marquis a dazzling smile. “Shall I arrange the bout for tonight?”

“No! No,” the man said quickly. Beth was pretty sure he was sweating under that mask. She was starting to realize the point of the thing — his intentions were difficult to be certain of with his expression hidden. “Perhaps my reaction to the Inquisition’s presence was somewhat hasty.”

Josephine softened some, addressing him patiently. “We face a dark time, Your Grace. Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem.”

Now apparently out of steam, he said, “I’ll think on it, Lady Montilyet.” In a desperate attempt to have the last word, he added, “The Inquisition might stay in the meanwhile,” before he beat a hasty retreat.

“Does he actually own Haven?” Beth asked. “That could be a problem, right?”

“His Grace’s position is not so strong as he presents it.” She moved to sit behind her desk, and Beth followed to the chair in front of it. “Despite their Fereldan relations, the DuRellions are Orlesian. If the marquis wishes to claim Haven, Empress Celene must negotiate with Ferelden on his behalf. Her current concerns are a bit larger than minor property disputes.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “They fucking should be, what with a giant hole in the sky.”

“It is more than that, unfortunately,” Josephine said, shaking her head slightly. “Orlais is in the midst of a civil war. Empress Celine is defending her claim to the throne from her cousin, Grand Duke Gaspard.”

“So she couldn’t care less about a tiny frozen corner of Ferelden right now.” Beth rolled her eyes. “He was bluffing.”

“Precisely,” Josephine smiled. “But even should he leave now, the marquis will share his thoughts on us upon his return to Val Royeaux. Every guest we receive — and we will receive them — will spread the Inquisition’s story. An ambassador should ensure the tale is as complimentary as possible.”

“Good thing you’re here, then. I can’t imagine Cullen handling anything like that — unless it did come down to a duel.”

Josephine laughed politely even as Beth felt a small pang of guilt. She had been avoiding Cullen outside of Council meetings since their ‘argument,’ for lack of a better term. For the first day or so, it was because she was afraid she’d have another bad reaction. But she’d seen him a few times as she walked around Haven at night, which would have been the perfect time to apologize, and she froze up each time. She’d completely fallen apart, and it had been so embarrassing. He couldn’t possibly see her the same way any more, and she didn’t want him to be walking on eggshells around her.

“He does sometimes remind me of the man with a hammer to whom everything is a nail,” Josephine admitted. “But he is doing a quite admirable job with our forces.” She grinned, “And I hear that the trebuchet have never been more fit for action.”

Beth rolled her eyes at the cheeky compliment — Josephine had ribbed her and Cullen both more than once on spending so much time fiddling with them. Then her heart sank. “Well, it seems we may need them soon.”

Josephine looked incredibly apologetic. “I did not mean to make light. I have actually heard some very good things about your work with our siege weapons, and everyone who has seen them has been very impressed with your plans.”

“God, how many people have you shown them to?” Beth asked, just slightly mortified. “They’re not even finished!”

“Only a few contacts in the Merchant Guild. They wished to see what we needed the extra resources for when I was negotiating for additional silverite. Though, if you were open to selling those plans…” she added with a hopeful, raised brow.

“Maybe when they’re done,” Beth said. “Wouldn’t it be an advantage if we’re the only ones to have them, though? If they’re supposed to be so great and all.”

“I would be very selective with their buyers,” Josephine assured her. “But that is not why I asked you here. In fact I was hoping to—” She was interrupted by a knock on the door, and she immediately brightened again. “Ah! And here she is. Come in!”

Herah ducked through the doorway — her horns made her about two inches too tall for most doors and tended to knock any lanterns hanging from the ceiling — and came over to perch on the end of Josephine’s desk. “Okay, Josie, what is it now?”

“Well, now that both of you are back in Haven, I thought it best to get a few things out of the way. Given that neither of you are Andrastian, it would be good to know some of your opinions, and what you want your official responses to be,” she said. She addressed Herah as she said, “As Tal-Vashoth, people have asked… you grew up outside the Qunari homeland, but…” She released a heavy sigh. “There is no easy way to ask your thoughts on the Qun.”

Herah shrugged. “I don’t think about it. I’ve never been a part of it, and my parents weren’t either. You probably know more about the Qun than I do.”

Josephine gave her a somewhat sad smile. “You must think about it, if these rumors — that you would convert us all to the Qun — continue. People ask how a Qunari could be Andraste’s Herald. It worries them if they believe it, and angers them if they do not. Convincing them of your good intentions will be tasking.”

“Maybe they’d go easier on the Qunari Herald if they knew of my winsome smile,” Herah suggested, flashing a huge grin.

Beth rolled her eyes as Josephine laughed politely. “I’ll be sure to add a flattering portrait to our correspondence,” she joked back. “Strangely, your mercenary work is not so inflammatory. People are fabricating extravagant tales of your heroics.”

“There wasn’t a group around that didn’t want my help when a tough assignment came up,” Herah said proudly. “If you needed it done, Adaar was at the top of the list.”

“I noticed. Leliana found a letter from the captain of your last company,” Josephine explained. “He had nothing but praise for your skill in battle, but doesn’t mention what part you played.”

Herah looked incredulous. “Captain Tully praised me? William ‘Iron-Ass’ Tully?”

Beth snorted. “Great name!”

Herah winked at Beth as Josephine said, “Your captain went so far as to say he’d have lost entire battles without you.”

“Really?” Herah crossed her arms petulantly. “That miser deducted five gold from my pay the day I left! For ‘poor morale.’”

“You?” Beth asked. “But you’re great for morale.”

“I know!” Herah said, waving her hands emphatically.

Josephine steered them back. “Well, your captain still held your skills in high regard. Especially after your last engagement.”

Herah got a bit of a wistful look on her face. “A friend of a friend got us a barrel of gaatlok powder. Explosive stuff. The bandits we were fighting found that out when their reinforcements tried to cross over the bridge.”

“How… exciting?” Josephine said carefully. “I hope life in Haven doesn’t bore you compared to such exploits.”

“The giant pulsing tear in the sky does keep things lively,” Herah said.

“So do the arguments in the war room,” Beth muttered.

“Yes,” Josephine said, sighing. “We do all seem to enjoy a spirited debate.”

Beth gestured a hand toward the Ambassador as Herah rolled her eyes. “And that’s why you’re the diplomat. Tactfully put.”

Josephine looked overjoyed. “Thank you. But you, Miss Chisholm—”

“For the love of God, Beth, please,” Beth said for the millionth time at least.

“Beth,” Josephine corrected. “Your past has been reported as that of a Chantry scholar, but it occurs to me that I do not actually know your history outside of your schooling.”

Beth shrugged. “Nothing too special by my standards. I went to college, got a fairly menial job, paid my rent. I had some family nearby, but I was only close with a few of them.”

“And what of your history with the… Church, I believe you called it? You said it was similar to the Chantry?”

Beth took a deep breath. “Complicated. But the short version is that I left. Twice. And I’m pretty sure it stuck the second time.” She scoffed. “I’m sure as Hell not likely to go back now.”

Herah gave her a concerned look. “Broken faith is a tricky thing. Most people don’t go back at all.”

“Technically, I didn’t go back to the exact same one. But I mainly joined again because I moved halfway across the country, and I needed people. The folks in my second church became like a family, and I dove in headfirst.” Beth smiled a little. “I was in just about every music group possible, and some of the other musicians are still good friends. Or… were, I guess. I even led one of those groups for a while.”

Josephine’s mouth fell open into a little O. “You were a leader in your church?”

“Sorta? I chose all the music, rehearsed the band, led prayer sometimes. But then the church changed, and I left.” She shrugged, twisting her fingers in her lap. “It wasn’t easy, but I had to.”

“I apologise for bringing up something so difficult,” Josephine said. Beth had no idea if she really meant it, or if it was just another version of ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ — just things you say when people are broken. “Given all of that, I’d imagine you may have an interesting perspective on the Chantry. Both of you,” Josephine said, including Herah again.

Herah scoffed. “Until now, I left them alone as long as they left me alone. I still basically feel that way. I’ve got a job to do, you know? Somebody has to save the world,” she said with a grin. “As far as I’m concerned, Andraste has nothing to do with it.”

Josephine looked at Beth, who said, “The Chantry has done some awful shit. So did my first religion. But faith is something else entirely.” At the two confused expressions she received, Beth elaborated, “A religion is a bunch of people with probably too much power trying to make decisions for everyone else. Half the time, a religion barely follows the faith it says it does at all. It never seems to end well. But faith is personal. Faith rarely hurts anyone.” She frowned. “I’m deeply uncomfortable with supposedly being connected to a savior that I don’t believe in, but if it’s what people need to think to get through this, I’m not going to take that away from them. Faith can help people keep going when nothing else does.”

Herah murmured, “I’d not really thought of it that way.” She turned to Josephine. “Do you have the information you need?”

“Yes, I believe I do. I thank you both for your time,” she said with a little seated bow.

“Great!” Herah said, bouncing up off the desk and pulling Beth up by the arm. “That was too depressing for this early in the morning. Let’s go to the tavern!”

Beth rolled her eyes as Herah dragged her through the Chantry, eventually shrugging her off to follow on her own. “It is, as you just said, too early in the morning.”

“Never too early for Diamondback!” Herah called loudly as they passed the bonfire in the middle of town. “Coming, Varric?”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” he said, falling in step with them. “What are the stakes?”

Herah thought for a long moment. “If we can get Sera in on it, I say we make it immunity in the next round of pranks.”

“Deal,” Varric and Beth both said.

Cullen spent most nights wandering Haven, trying to remind himself that he was doing the right thing giving up lyrium. He hadn’t had another attack as bad as the one on the return trip from the Hinterlands, but the aches in his head and his muscles and bones were relentless. He’d seen Beth a few times during those nights, but he didn’t dare approach her. How could he? The last time he tried, he’d terrified her, and she had not left any chance for them to be alone in the same room together since. He truly couldn’t blame her for that.

He hadn’t meant to frighten her, but he wasn’t sure that his intent mattered. They had been slowly beginning some sort of tentative friendship, and she had even taken care of him that awful night at the paddock — he was somewhat embarrassed that she’d seen him like that at all, but he didn’t think he’d have gotten through it without her. Then he had shattered it all to pieces because of one moment when he couldn’t control his temper.

That had been happening more and more lately. He could blame the lyrium withdrawal all he liked, but he knew that he was lashing out primarily because he was frustrated with himself for not having better control. It was a vicious cycle, where every time he lost his temper he became even more short and curt with everyone. He was fairly certain he’d heard the runners drawing straws to see who would bring him his correspondence, not wanting to get caught in one of his tantrums. And that was honestly what they were — he was throwing fits like a child. He knew it, and what’s worse, he felt powerless to stop himself. He’d spoken to Cassandra a few times, and she had always chalked it up to stress, suggested he spend more time in prayer and meditation, and ultimately declared that he wasn’t doing any worse than anyone else was.

He wasn’t so sure.

Cullen was entirely unable to focus on his work that night. He kept tasting lyrium on the back of his tongue, hearing its insidious song in his head. In a desperate attempt to hear anything else, he went to the tavern for the first time since Rylen had dragged him there weeks ago. He didn’t actually go in — his men deserved a place they could go and relax without worrying about his judgment. He’d always felt so awkward when Knight-Commander Greagoir showed up at the Spoiled Princess, and he didn’t want to subject his men to that any more than necessary.

But he could at least hear the music as he leaned mostly out of sight against the wall of the building, and could just make out the words. It helped, some. He smirked as Maryden led the tavern in a rousing recitation of ‘Andraste’s Mabari,’ and he even sang some of it under his breath with them.

Several songs later, he recognized Beth’s voice, and he felt a sense of peace as he listened to her clear tones float through the air. Just like that night at the inn, her voice drowned out the worst of the cravings, making them so much easier to bear. Most of that night was a blur, and he couldn’t even remember precisely what she’d sung, but he could easily recall the feeling of serenity and relief it had given him.

At first, he didn’t pay much attention to exactly what she was singing now, but then a few of the words caught his interest, and he listened more closely.

I’m still standin’ better than I ever did
Lookin’ like a true survivor, feelin’ like a little kid
And I’m still standin’ after all this time
Pickin’ up the pieces of my life without you on my mind

She must have sung this one before, because the whole tavern joined in on the next part. The song felt oddly upbeat for the subject, but perhaps that was the point. Against his better judgment, he crept into the tavern, staying near the door for a quick escape again should the crowd prove too much for him. But he had to see her while she sang, at least for a little while.

He wasn’t sure if he was glad that he’d gone in or not. She had a smile on her face as she sang about being hurt by someone in her past, and he knew that they couldn’t just be words to her. When he’d lost his temper at her, she had reacted almost like a frightened animal, like a dog that knew a kick was coming — like many of the mages had around the Templars. That sort of thing was learned by experience, he knew that much.

But the chorus of the song, which made up the remainder of it now, was decidedly hopeful — defiant, even. He watched the determination on her features as she declared that she wouldn’t let the pain of her past control her any more. He wanted to feel that brash audacity for himself, but he couldn’t find it. His scars ran too deep, and the wounds still felt too fresh. Perhaps he was still standing, and he was certainly attempting to pick up the pieces left to him after leaving the Order, but was he any better than he’d been before?

He didn’t know. He suspected he wasn’t.

He saw the moment she realized he was there. Her voice didn’t falter, but she locked her gaze on him and her eyes went from surprise to… he wasn’t sure. It didn’t appear to be fear, but whatever it was she clearly felt it quite strongly. Her focus on him didn’t waver even as Maryden played the last chords, and he felt frozen in place, pinned there until the other bard announced a short break and someone walked between them on their way to the bar, breaking line of sight.

He ducked quickly out of the tavern and had nearly made it to the gates when he heard, “Cullen, wait!”

He almost didn’t stop. He wasn’t sure if he could face her. But if she wanted a confrontation, he at least owed her that.

He stared at his hands as she closed the distance to him, panting softly from her brief run when she reached him. “I think I owe you an apology,” she said, scuffing her boot nervously in the snow.

He shook his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

She scoffed softly. “I know you’re not stupid, Cullen. You’ve caught on by now that I’ve been avoiding you.” She frowned, fiddling with her fingers. “I shouldn’t have. It’s childish.”

“I don’t think so.” He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, wishing he was better with words. The ones he could find were almost never what he really meant, and better ones would always come to him much too late. But for now he settled on, “I frightened you.”

She chewed her lip, a nervous habit he’d noticed before, and he resisted the urge to reach out and pull her lip free with his thumb. But Maker, how he wanted to.

“You did,” she said. “I don’t react well when people get angry. But you have every right to be angry with me.”

“I still shouldn’t…” He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, starting over. “I have not been doing well lately, but it’s a poor excuse.” He sighed, and she reached a hand up to his face. Her palm smoothed over his stubble as he stayed carefully still, his heartbeats tripping over each other.

“When’s the last time you ate something? Or slept?” she asked quietly.

“I can’t recall,” he answered truthfully.

He felt a shiver travel up her arm to the hand still on his cheek, and he frowned, realizing that she’d run out of the tavern without her cloak. “You’re cold. Here.” He quickly removed his mantle and settled it over her shoulders. He was somewhat disappointed to lose her touch when she held the edges with both hands to keep the overlarge thing on her small shoulders, but he also felt a small jolt at the sight of her in it. “You were always hot before,” he noted. “Is your illness doing better?”

“Sort of.” She shrugged, though he could barely tell under the huge fur. “I’m over the withdrawals, anyway.”

“But you still don’t sleep,” he pointed out. He’d seen her out at night often enough to be sure of that.

“I crash every few days. I’ll probably crash tonight.”

He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t enough, that she ought to take better care of herself, but that would be hypocritical — and besides that, it wasn’t his place. Instead, he sighed. “I wish I could say the same.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked hesitantly.

That was a complicated question that he wasn’t sure how to answer. “No… and yes.” He made another frustrated sound in the back of his throat as he looked away from her. “My nightmares are about memories that I’d rather not dwell on right now. They’re… exceptionally unpleasant.”

She stood next to him to look out on the lake, bumping him softly with her hip. “But you’re still standing,” she said with a small smirk.

He smiled the smallest bit as he finished the song’s refrain. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

She let out a breathy little laugh, and his heart soared.

He’d thought he’d ruined things between them, and yet by some miracle, he hadn’t. He resolved then that if all she could ever offer him was friendship, he would take it and be grateful. He wasn’t worth the trouble for even that, but something in him had changed minutely every time he’d spoken to her, molded to fit the shape of her, and when she wasn’t there, that place in his heart felt empty. He’d been content with his loneliness before, but now…

They stood silently in the cold, still night, and he felt more at peace than he could possibly deserve.

Their morning meeting was nearly concluded when Leliana said, “There is one other matter. Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared. Ordinarily I wouldn’t even consider the idea they’re involved in all this, but the timing is… curious.”

Beth held up her palm. “Hold up. What are Grey Wardens?”

Cassandra answered. “They are an ancient order that has existed to fight darkspawn invasions since the First Blight, many Ages ago.”

Beth huffed. “That leaves me with more questions than answers.” Herah snorted a small laugh at her miffed expression.

Josephine tapped her quill to her lips. “They are an incredibly secretive order and typically stay politically neutral. The Fifth Blight in Ferelden was a marked exception.”

Cullen scowled, and for a moment he didn’t seem like he was looking at the map, or at anything at all. “Those were… strange times,” he said quietly.

“Indeed,” Leliana agreed. “But it is difficult to remain neutral when the only remaining heir to the throne is a Warden, as is his betrothed.”

The world started to do that pulse-shimmer thing, the edges darkening like a vignette in an old silent film, and Beth firmly planted her hands on the table as she felt the vision begin.

Urthemiel, dark and twisted, screams and beats its wings atop the tower. Below, the city of Denerim is burning, black, acrid smoke rising from the buildings. A woman in leather armor — soon to be the Hero and Queen of Ferelden — makes a running leap at the giant thing, climbing it as if its scales were meant to be hand-holds, as a man in full plate below is screaming. “Elissa! Maker, no!” The man who will be king roars and also attacks the beast, but is beaten back by a lazy swing of its claw. Leliana, Sister but not yet Nightingale, fires arrow after arrow as a dwarf stumbles through the massive creature’s legs, making it unclear if he wields the huge maul in his hands or it wields him. The Hero deals the death blow with her daggers, sinking them into the back of its neck and twisting, dark, ichorous blood oozing from the wound as if it is already a corpse. She unleashes a triumphant battle cry as the Archdemon collapses to the ground.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Beth exclaimed as the room came back into focus around her. Her eyes shot to their Spymaster. “You killed a demon dragon god thing? Fucking Hell…”

Leliana tilted her head in consideration, an amused little expression curling the corner of her lips. “I suppose I did.” She shrugged. “I had help.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Beth said, shaking her head to try to focus herself again. “But they’re gone, the Wardens? All of them?”

“Not quite all,” Leliana said. “Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall.” She turned to Herah. “If you have the opportunity, please seek him out.” Maybe Beth was imagining it, but that ‘please’ didn’t just sound like something said out of courtesy. “Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.” Was their Spymaster actually worried?

Herah lifted a brow. “And if he can’t?”

“Then there is more going on than we thought.”

“Fair enough.” The Qunari nodded. “Is that it then?” When there were no protests, people began to file out and she tilted her head questioningly at Beth, who nodded and fell into step next to her. “Have time for a meal before your next thing?”

“I think so. Normally I’d be headed back to the trebuchet, but we got them done in record time today,” she said with a proud grin. Her team was really working well together, and as they got more practice at it, those calibrations were less and less taxing to take care of.

“Good!” Herah said, matching her enthusiasm and leading the way out of the meeting room. As they exited the chantry, there was a young man waiting just outside, in armor but certainly not something given out by the Inquisition.

“Excuse me,” he said in a voice somehow both gruff and light, “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition. But I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

Beth and Herah shared a look. “You can tell me,” Beth said. “I’ll make sure it gets to the right people.”

He gave her a deferential nod. “Thank you, Miss. I’m Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers. Mercenary company. We work mostly out of Orlais and Nevarra.” The way he straightened up to attention reminded Beth of some ex-military people she used to know, and she was half-tempted to tell him ‘at ease’ just to see what he would do. “We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.” He delivered the whole thing very confidently, giving Beth the distinct impression that he thought it would be a mistake if they didn’t go.

“What should we know about this Iron Bull?” Herah asked.

“He’s a Qunari, like you. He’s big, he’s got the horns, all of it,” Cremisius said, and he quickly listed off the next several points. “He leads us from the front, he pays well, and he’s a lot smarter than the last bastard I worked for. Best of all, he’s professional. We accept contracts with whoever makes the first real offer.” He looked over the two of them for a moment, sizing them up, but he looked mostly curious, not confrontational. “You’re the first time he’s gone out of his way to pick a side.”

“And why is that?” Herah prompted. For the moment, her normally expressive face remained impassive.

“Iron Bull wants to work for the Inquisition. He thinks you’re doing good work,” Cremisius said plainly.

Beth looked at Herah, who looked back. In the fairly short time they’d known each other, they’d come to understand one another exceptionally well. Beth’s raised brow said ‘I think you ought to go, but your call.’ Herah’s slightly narrowed eyes and the tilt of her lips said back, ‘This is going to be fun.’

They both turned their attention back to the mercenary. “Thank you,” Beth said. “We’ll make sure the Inquisition considers your offer.”

He gave them a salute. “I appreciate it.” Then his bearing relaxed, and he aimed a toothy grin at Beth and gave her a wink. “See you around.”

Beth blinked at him a moment, waiting until he was out of earshot to lean toward Herah. “Was he hitting on me?”

“He was,” her friend confirmed. “At least we know he has good taste.”

Beth aimed a shove at her, barely rocking the Qunari back even an inch as she laughed.

“Come on,” Herah said. “If we don’t hurry, Flissa will be out of eggs.”

Much to Herah’s amusement, Beth’s stomach gurgled. From behind them, she heard a familiar smooth Fereldan baritone. “Apparently negotiating works up an appetite?”

Cullen pushed off of the wall he’d been leaning on with crossed arms. Before Beth could retaliate with her own quip, he got to business. “I’ve heard of these Bull’s Chargers,” he said. “All good things, so far. If they’re coming to us, I think we ought to hear them out.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Herah said. “I’ve only made first contact on a job a few times in my career, and it was always because I thought it was worth doing, regardless.” She winked at Beth. “Still took the pay, of course.”

“Of course,” Beth laughed. Cullen just barely smiled, a slow, peaceful thing that made her feel warmed from the inside out. “We were just going to claim some breakfast at the Maiden. Coming with?” Beth offered.

Cullen dropped a hand to the pommel of his sword, gripping reflexively. “Oh, I, uh, wouldn’t wish to intrude. And I really should get to the training grounds. New recruits this week, and they need all the help they can get,” he ended with a wry smirk.

Beth squinted slightly as she cocked her head to one side. He had been looking too thin in the cheeks lately, and any time she’d asked after him, he’d skipped at least one meal. “I’ll bring you something when we’re through.”

“That’s not necessary,” he started, but Beth cut him off.

“I’m bringing it anyway.” She raised a brow, daring him to protest again.

He looked at his feet a moment, barely holding back another smile. “As you say, Madam Seer.” He nodded to both of them, then strode off toward the training grounds.

Herah was smirking at her. “What?” Beth asked. “The man’s obviously incapable of feeding himself. Someone’s got to do it.”

“As you say, Madam Seer,” Herah said in an absurdly low voice, then switched to a childish sing-song. “He likes you.”

Beth scoffed as they walked to the tavern. “Like Hell he does. We’re becoming pretty good friends, but I have no illusions that it’s anything else.”

“But you want it to be,” Herah teased.

“Duh,” Beth rolled her eyes. “But I’m not about to make it weird by propositioning him. This ain’t my first rodeo. You make friends with a guy, start to think ‘hey, we get along really well, I wouldn’t mind boning him,’ and then when you make a move, you get the dreaded ‘I think of you as a sister’ speech. Or worse, ‘you’re just like one of the guys.’ Ugh.” She shuddered dramatically. “Not making myself go through that again, no thank you.”

Herah gave her a confused look, pulling her head back and scrunching her brows together. “That’s happened to you a lot?”

“Only every time I’ve ever made a move,” Beth grumbled.

“Not to be too blunt,” Herah started.

“But you’re about to be really blunt,” Beth finished.

“Was this before you lost all that weight?” When Beth was stubbornly silent, Herah raised a brow at her. “Not that you wouldn’t have been pretty back then, but I guarantee you those guys wouldn’t say that now. And if they did, it’s probably because they just don’t like women.” She held an imperious hand to her chest. “Trust me, I am rather a connoisseur of the fairer sex.”

Beth snorted at that. “Connoisseur implies that you’re selective. We both know you’re anything but.”

“More like anything tits,” Herah corrected. “Is it so bad that I see the unique beauty in every woman?”

“Every woman, like…” Beth pretended to ponder, “a certain archer with questionable fashion sense?”

Herah shot her a huge grin. “She’s feisty! And you should hear some of the stuff she wants to do with bees. Mad genius!”

“I’m a little afraid to ask,” Beth said, “but does she want to do this stuff on the battlefield or in bed? Or just in general?”

Herah let out a smitten sigh. “I can’t wait to find out.”

Chapter Text

Cullen watched the Herald’s newest addition, a Grey Warden named Blackwall, trade blows with one of his captains. He had a good mastery of his chosen weapon, as one would expect from a Warden, and the man was polite enough, but Cullen couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t telling them everything.

He mentally scoffed at himself. Of course that was true, Wardens were a notoriously secretive bunch. On top of that, many Wardens were criminals before they were conscripted. Blackwall could have any sort of colorful past imaginable.

Cullen let out a steady breath, hands folded on the end of his sword as he continued to track the match. He should not judge Blackwall by anything but his current deeds. It’s how Cullen wished others to see himself, after all. To do any less would be hypocritical and unfair.

As if you’ve never been those things before.

He ignored the thought and raised a brow as the Warden managed to trap the captain’s sword in a lock with his own, then Blackwall drew back his shield arm to aim the metal edge at his opponent’s face. He pulled the blow before it connected, giving the other man a light tap on the chin.

“Point to you,” the captain said wearily. “Where did you learn that?”

“Around.” Blackwall shrugged. “You pick up a lot in the Wardens, especially when you spend your time roaming and recruiting.”

“Still impressive,” Cullen said, approaching the makeshift ring drawn in the snow.

Blackwall nodded. “Thank you, Ser.”

As the captain cleared the ring, Cullen allowed himself a smirk. “Care for another bout?”

He thought the Warden grinned, though it was slightly difficult to tell under all that facial hair. “It would be an honor, Knight-Commander.”

Cullen cleared his throat as he selected a training weapon and shield. “That is not my title any longer, Warden. I left the Order when I answered Divine Justinia’s call.”

“Apologies. I didn’t know.” Cullen nodded his acceptance, and Blackwall added gruffly, “From what I’ve heard, there isn’t much of an Order to leave any more.”

“Unfortunately true,” Cullen said. He hefted the shield a time or two, then spun the sword in his hand. They would do. “First touch?”

The Warden nodded, brows drawing down in concentration. They each held their swords out to tap in salute, then sank back into a ready stance.

They began to slowly circle around the ring as Cullen was content to wait and receive the first attack. The blow was fairly easy to parry, obviously not Blackwall’s best work. But this early in the match, they were simply feeling each other out. Cullen offered a riposte, also easily blocked, taken on the Warden’s shield. They each stepped back, reassessing for the next clash, which came faster than Cullen had expected. Blackwall rushed in with a shield bash, forcing Cullen to dodge toward his sword arm or leave the ring. As he dodged, he kept his sword in an active guard, catching the follow-up blow and then pushing his own shield at the Warden, taking advantage of Blackwall’s currently lowered arm, not yet recovered from the starting maneuver.

The Warden had the room to dodge straight back, evading the blow with a deep chuckle. “Good one, Commander.”

Cullen’s only answer was a fierce grin as he advanced after his opponent, giving himself more room behind him.

“Aye, caught me with that one a time or two, he has!” Rylen called to them. Cullen’s second must have arrived not long ago. Isn’t he supposed to be training… A quick flick of the eyes, careful to keep Blackwall still in his field of view, and he saw Beth standing next to Rylen in a set of Inquisition leathers, her own training sword and shield held at her sides. Her eyes were wide with amazement and her mouth was hanging open as her gaze darted between the two warriors.

But Cullen couldn’t allow any more distractions. He wasn’t about to lose this bout. He of course had gone in intending to win, but now that he had a small audience, he was all the more determined. He’d never hear the end of it if Rylen saw him lose a match, after all.

You just want to show off for her. Prideful.

He ignored that thought, too, refocusing on his opponent. He did so just in time as Blackwall started another exchange of blows, a flurry that Cullen blocked and parried almost entirely by instinct, not having the time to strategize. But at the end of the exchange, the Warden’s final strike brought his sword too low, and that was Cullen’s chance. He stomped on the flat of the blade, wrenching it from his opponent’s hand as he came in with his finishing blow, lightly touching his sword to Blackwall’s neck. They were both panting heavily and grinning, and the Warden let out a hearty laugh.

Cullen heard a small and incredulous, “Can I learn to do that?”

“Nae yet, Lassie,” Rylen laughed.

Cullen lowered the training blade, then transferred it to his shield arm and offered Blackwall a hand. The other man shook it with a firm grip. “Did they teach you that in the Order?” the Warden asked, still grinning.

“Most certainly not,” Cullen chuckled. He echoed a variation of Blackwall’s earlier sentiment, “But when your recruits come in from every corner of Thedas, a few are bound to teach you new tricks.” He nodded and added, “Good match. I haven’t had a challenge like that in a while.”

“I’ll bet. We should do it again some time.” Blackwall tilted his head toward where Rylen and Beth were. “But I should let you address your fans.”

Cullen felt his cheeks heating, and couldn’t think of a single thing to rejoin with, so he simply let the other man walk off before putting his equipment back and then doing exactly as he’d said. Rylen greeted him with crossed arms and a mock scowl. “Ye’re putting ideas in the lassie’s head, ye are.”

Cullen shrugged, still riding the high of the fight and the win. “If you won’t teach it to her, maybe I should.”

To his surprise, that was met with a vehement rejection from the woman in question. “No no no. So far, Rylen is the only one who knows how bad I am at this, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Cullen furrowed his brows, smile only fading slightly. “Surely you can’t be that bad, at least for someone with only two months of training.”

Rylen squinted and wobbled one hand in the air in a see-saw gesture, and almost without looking Beth whacked a hand into his chest in retaliation. “Argh, ye see the abuse I have to endure with this’un?” he complained with a smile. “She leaves me black and blue every day.”

Cullen scoffed as Beth rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’re the one with the bruises. Sure.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Cullen found himself scowling at his second. Minor injuries were just part of training, and he knew it well. But the idea of anyone causing harm to Beth immediately had him nearly in a lather. Rylen and Beth were too busy bantering to notice, and he managed to get the majority of the expression off of his face quickly. What in the Maker’s name was that?

“Aye, well, perhaps if the lassie would learn to hold her shield up, she’d block some of those blows.” Rylen winked at her. “Ye’re the one that sees the future, shouldn’t ye see them coming?”

“Doesn’t work like that,” she grumbled. She looked like she wanted to cross her arms, but her hands were full of sword and shield, so she aborted that motion and put her fists on her hips in irritation instead.

Rylen tapped his tattooed chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would be good for ye to have some outside instruction.” He winked at Cullen. “What do ye think, are ye up to the task?”

Cullen felt his face flaming again, and desperately hoped it could be passed off as flush from exertion. Not blighted likely, you stopped the bout minutes ago. But then that led his mind down a path of seeing Beth in such a state, cheeks pink, hair mussed and strands coming out of her braid to stick to her sweat-slick skin…

He cleared his throat and gripped the pommel of his sword tightly. “I may be up to the task, if the lady is agreeable to it.”

She aimed a calculating look up at him. And it really was up, making her tilt her head back to properly look him in the eye. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll agree, but I have a condition.”

Cullen cocked a brow at her. “And what would that be?”

“You, Ser, will eat breakfast every day for a week.” She was giving him a defiant little smile as Rylen laughed, and Maker help him, she was far too adorable to deny.

“Fine,” he said. “You shall have your price, Madam Seer.” She huffed and rolled her eyes, and he gave her a low chuckle.

“Why did it have to be fucking ‘Madam’?” she lamented, then immediately relented with, “At least it’s not ‘Ma’am,’ I guess.” Beth gestured behind her with her head. “I’ve got to get going if I’m going to make it to rehearsal with Maryden.” She removed her shield, and Cullen took it from her, holding his hand out for the sword as well.

“I’ll take care of those for you,” he offered.

She gave him a bright smile as she handed it over, and he instantly grinned back. “Thanks, Cullen! See you guys later.”

His eyes followed her as she left in the direction of her cabin, only to snap to Rylen as he said, “Och, ye have it bad, mate.” Cullen scowled as he returned her equipment, and Rylen continued, “Ye gonna ask her, or what?”

“And what, pray tell, would I be asking?” he said with a surly huff.

“If she fancies ye,” Rylen asked, rolling his eyes. “Though, from how she watched yer bout, I’m about certain the lassie does. And it’s not like ye have any trouble talking to her.”

Cullen frowned harder. “Actually, I do. I… I’ve wanted to tell her for ages about… you know.” He didn’t dare say it out loud in public lest it become the talk of Haven that the Commander was turning into a drooling idiot with lyrium madness.

Rylen’s eyes widened. “Really? What’s stopping ye, then?”

Cullen let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t precisely know. She’s already seen some of my spells. One of the worst ones, even. But every time I think I should tell her, I just… can’t.” He ran his very slightly shaking fingers through his hair — another reminder of his weakness. “What if it makes her think less of me?” He thought back to the day he lost his temper, dread sinking in his gut like a stone. “Maker’s Breath, what if it makes her afraid of me? I don’t think I could bear it.”

His second shook his head in confusion. “Why would she be afraid of ye?”

Cullen hung his head in shame. “A couple weeks ago, I snapped at her. Yelled in her face.” Rylen winced in sympathy before Cullen added, “I frightened her so badly that she reacted as if she thought I was going to strike her. I wasn’t,” he quickly added. “But I was rather… heated.”

Rylen wore a deep frown. “Poor lassie. But she’s forgiven ye, aye? She seems alright now.”

“Of course she forgave me,” Cullen said, casting his gaze to the heavens. “She’s the epitome of patience and understanding.”

“Our hen? Patient?” Rylen snorted. “Ye’re off yer heid.”

Cullen smirked as he recalled some of her more exasperated outbursts at the war table. “I know. But for some reason, it doesn’t seem to matter how often or how badly I think I’ve ruined things, she’s always ready to forgive me soon after.” He let out a resigned sigh. “Maker’s Breath, even when I frightened her so, she asked me to forgive her for overreacting!”

Rylen crossed his arms to stare pointedly at Cullen. “Sounds like she’s about perfect. So, what’s the holdup?”

“She’s too good for me, Rylen. It’s a blessing from Andraste that she’s even willing to be my friend. I can’t risk ruining that.” He spoke quietly, heart aching. “Just the thought of losing her completely — all because, what, I’d like a tumble? It’s not worth it.”

Rylen laid a hand on his shoulder. “I ken ye. It’s nae that. If that was all ye were after, half of Haven would be happy to oblige,” he said with a wry smile and a roll of his eyes. “Lucky bastard.” At Cullen’s self-deprecating scoff, he continued, “Ye care about her, mate. If ye lay it all out for her, she wouldnae reject ye. And if by some bloody awful luck she did, I ken she’d still be yer friend. She’s not that fickle, our lass.”

“If there’s even a chance she says no—”

“And if there’s a chance she says aye?” Rylen insisted. “And ye never ask?”

“I can’t,” Cullen whispered.

Rylen patted his shoulder and finally dropped his arm to his side again. “Suit yerself, then. But ye’re fooling nobody, making those moony eyes at her.” He raised a brow and smirked. “Or watching her leave with such rapt attention. Not that I can blame ye, I’m sore tempted myself a-times.” At Cullen’s glare, he raised both hands in surrender. “Hey, ye aren’t the only one in Haven what’s noticed she’s a catch! She’ll be snapped up soon if ye urnae careful.”

Cullen scowled down at his boots. He wanted, so very, very badly, but she deserved better than him. “If they’re worthy of her, then I’ll wish them all the best.”

Rylen shook his head. “Ye’re hopeless, mate.”

Cullen nodded, sadly. “I know.”

Herah was still out in the Storm Coast meeting with that mercenary company, and Beth hadn’t slept properly in nearly a week. Usually it didn’t go that long, but she’d been especially on edge. It sure sounded like this Iron Bull was one of the people in her vision, which meant there was only one other person to recruit before her vision could actually happen. There was no telling if it would be a day later, a week, a month… But even now, knowing that it couldn’t happen yet but also that it absolutely would, she felt like crawling out of her skin some days.

She decided to go sit by the lake and contemplate while she couldn’t sleep, thinking that maybe it would settle her mind. She didn’t have a lot of hope for it, but that was a better plan than just staring at the ceiling of her cabin for the next five hours, so she got redressed and took her cloak with her into the night. As she slipped out of the gate, she saw someone at Cassandra’s usual haunt by the training dummies. Judging by the height, breadth, and blondeness of them, it could only be one person. So she slowly walked up and waited for a little lull in his routine before saying, “Hey, Cullen.”

She was glad she hadn’t startled him this time. It hadn’t gone so well for him before. He was breathing deeply and gave her a nod in greeting. His shirt was sticking to him in a few places, already damp with sweat. “Good evening, Madam Seer,” he teased. He’d been loosening up more and more since they’d gotten over her embarrassing freakout, and it seemed the Commander was a cheeky bastard when he was in a good mood. She should have guessed, seeing as he got along with Rylen so well.

She aimed a lazy eye roll at him. “I’m too tired for your sass tonight, Ser.” She tried to soften it with a little smile, realizing that she’d sorta sounded bitchy as she said it. She hadn’t meant to, but she sure as Hell wasn’t lying, either.

His face immediately fell into a concerned frown. “I’m fairly certain you’ve been sleeping even less than I have. Are you alright?”

“Oh, peachy,” she grumbled. “Learning about what looks like an unstoppable threat to all of Haven weeks in advance has done wonders for my mental well-being.” She hugged her arms around herself under her cloak sullenly.

He leaned his sword against the dummy and walked closer, reaching out to put a hand on her arm. His steady grip would have left her in a happy puddle if she wasn’t a ball of nerves already. “Are you still dreaming about it?”

“Not much. I just can’t stop thinking about it the rest of the time.” Her breath hitched silently as his thumb rubbed tiny circles, just barely felt through the cloak and her clothes.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “What can I do to help?”

She huffed a soft breath, almost afraid to speak in case he stopped. His hand felt huge and comforting, and for a moment she thought about telling him that he could just keep touching her forever, but she was pretty sure that would send him into a fit of blushing and stammering. Adorable, but not very helpful for either of them — and worst of all, it would just about guarantee that he stopped. “Unless you know a way to shut my brain off, I’m not sure.”

He smiled slightly. “You know, I might. At least, I know what sometimes works for me.” He took his hand away to hike his thumb at the training dummy. “It’s much more effective with a partner, too.”

She dutifully ignored the obviously unintended double entendre. “I really am awful with a sword. I’m pretty sure Rylen’s just trying not to crush me when he says otherwise.”

“Rylen isn’t one to lie when it comes to competency,” he said. He strode over to the weapon rack, choosing one of the smaller swords and holding it out to her, hilt first. She took it, gripping a few times until it started to feel right in her hand, then grabbed the smallest shield there as Cullen continued, “If he was, he wouldn’t be training anyone.” Cullen smirked as he picked up his own sword and shield. “And he definitely wouldn’t be my second in command if he coddled our recruits.” He bowed and made a sweeping gesture to the ring beside them. “Shall we, Madam Seer?”

“Here goes fucking nothing,” she mumbled under her breath.

“It’s rather unhelpful if you convince yourself that you’re going to do poorly before you even begin,” he said with a tiny sigh. “Are you more comfortable with attacking or defending?”

“Defending, maybe?” She shrugged. “At least, I’ve been leaving practice with less bruises lately.”

Something flickered over his face for a moment, a tension in his forehead that disappeared almost as quickly as it came. “We’ll start with that, then. Build your confidence. I’ll begin slowly.”

True to his word, he did start very slowly, almost comically so. He increased speed so gradually that she didn’t notice it happening, but before long he got a tap on her left shoulder. He smirked and said, “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

“Yeah, shield up,” she said with exasperation.

“So, if you know, why aren’t you doing it?” he asked calmly.

Something about how patient he was completely rubbed her the wrong way, and she snapped, “I’ve got no fucking idea, or I would do it, wouldn’t I? Maybe it’s my fucking noodle arms, I don’t know!”

“Hey,” he said gently, and that concerned furrow of his brows was back. “It’s alright. Everyone has trouble remembering their shield at first. I did, too.” She almost wanted to scream, she was so frustrated and he was so infuriatingly calm. He took a few steps toward her, and held the edges of her shield, bringing it up into position. “Just hold it there for a bit. We’re going to try something.”

“What?” she grumped, and let out a huge sigh, trying to get her outburst under control again.

“We’re going to see if the problem really is arm strength. Then if it is, you can do some additional drills to improve it.”

She screwed her mouth shut, took another deep breath, and nearly growled, “You’re too Goddamn reasonable, you know that?”

He let out a huge laugh, smiling wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that’s a large part of why I was given this job, actually.”

Her shield started to sway a bit in the air, and he gently pressed on the top edge to have her lower it. “So what’s the verdict?” she asked glumly. “This is one of the lightest shields we have, and I’m still too weak for it, aren’t I?”

“At the moment, yes.” He ran a hand firmly up and down her bicep, and she had to admit that it actually felt really good to get the achy muscle rubbed. “But soon, you won’t be. Do your drills and eat plenty, and you’ll get stronger.”

She rolled her eyes. “Easier said than done. You’ve seen me eat.” She covered her face with her other hand, groaning softly. “Fuck, I just realized I told Rylen I’d talk to you about this weeks ago, and I completely fucking forgot.”

“You’re telling me now, aren’t you? So what is it?” he asked.

“Well, first of all, I used to be twice this size.” He looked her up and down quickly and seemed skeptical. “You’ll just have to trust me. Not like I can show you any pictures. Anyway, I couldn’t lose weight, so I had surgery to change my stomach.” He already looked like he had questions, so she sighed and gestured to him to go on.

“That sounds dangerous,” he said, the downturn of his mouth and slight narrowing of his eyes making him look worried and a little confused. He didn’t seem to realize that he was still holding onto her arm, but she wasn’t about to stop him. “You did that to be thinner?”

“Jesus, I’m not that vain,” she grumbled indignantly. “I did it because I was incredibly unhealthy, thank you very much. I couldn’t do a single flight of stairs without getting sweaty and gasping. Everything hurt — I didn’t even realize how badly until I’d lost most of the weight. My life was miserable.”

“Oh. I — I didn’t realize.” He looked like he’d been chastised, which wasn’t quite what she’d been going for, but it also served him right for assuming. “It still seems like an extreme measure,” he said carefully.

“It was, but not as much as it would be here. I was out of the hospital in less than a week. I had to be on liquids for a while after, and then really soft food, but I can eat almost anything now.” She sighed at his anxious look. “I can tell you want to ask something. Just come out with it.”

For an all too brief moment, his scar ticked up in a flicker of a smile. “Almost anything? What can’t you have?”

She rattled the list off quickly. “Anything that’s way too dry or too gummy. I can only have tiny bits of sugar, and shouldn’t have many carbs — like bread and potatoes and stuff — at all. I need to prioritize meat and cheese and eggs above everything else, because if I don’t it’s easy to start losing the little muscle I’ve got. And if I get dehydrated, it’s incredibly difficult to get back to normal, because I can’t really drink more than a cup or so at a time.” He stared at her quietly for a few seconds before she remembered, “Oh, and alcohol hits hard and fast. Like I start to get tipsy after one glass of wine kind of fast.”

“Good to know,” he said slowly, obviously still thinking it all over. His hand slowed, but he didn’t stop touching her. “So, no bottles of finely-aged malt for your nameday? Rylen will be devastated,” he said dryly.

She snorted a little laugh. “If you can figure out when it should be, go ahead. I could always share.”

He tilted his head again, seeming to consider something. “I never was much of a drinker beyond an ale or two with a meal, though Rylen did introduce me to good whiskey. But I generally don’t enjoy being very drunk, so I always stop pretty quickly.”

“At least you can,” she lamented. “I like being a tiny bit tipsy, but then my judgment flies out the window, and the next thing I know I’m waking up with a headache to rival a fucking aneurysm. Most of the time, it’s easier to just not start.”

“I can certainly understand that,” he said quietly. He seemed deep in thought a few moments more before he blinked as he looked at his hand. He cleared his throat and snatched his hand back from where it had still been slowly rubbing her arm, blushing a bit as he gripped the back of his neck and stretched, rolling his shoulder as well.

“Headache?” she asked knowingly.

He gave her a sheepish expression. “Partly. It’s not what woke me up, but it hasn’t helped me get back to sleep, either.”

“You want some help?” She started putting back her sword and shield as he tried to politely refuse for likely some stupid chivalrous reason.

“You truly don’t need to. It’s not so bad, and I’m certain I didn’t actually help with your problem at all,” he said with a little self-deprecating scowl.

She shrugged. “Not your fault I got moody and derailed us with a hissy fit.”

His frown deepened and he argued, “You hardly did that.”

“Cullen, I wanted to rip your head off because you were being a reasonable person,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You barely even raised your voice,” he pointed out. “I’ve had much worse.”

“Fine, whatever,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. She was starting to get wound up again, so she tried to steer them away from a stupid argument about whether or not they were having an argument. “Are you going to let me help you or not?”

He was very obviously worried as he looked her over, and she was about an instant from just walking off when he said, “Alright. Where would you like me?”

“Let’s take this to a chair. If I remember right, you have at least two of those.” She started to walk toward his tent, and he followed.

“Are you sure you want to — I could bring a chair outside, if you like.” If his brows pinched any further together, he was going to end up with only one of the fuckers.

“We can do that if you want.” She stopped at the front of his tent, and he stepped in front of her.

“I’m not… you weren’t very happy with the outcome the last time we were seen leaving together in the early hours.” He lowered his eyes for a moment with a twitch of a smile. “Speaking of, I do actually miss that time with you. It was… peaceful.” He brought his gaze back up, something timid and vulnerable there, looking so out of place on the typically severe and stern man. “Perhaps we might start spending time together like that again? Somewhere a bit more public this time, of course.”

All the irritation that had been building in her melted and poofed out of existence at once, leaving her with a tender despondence in its place, a tiny kernel of warmth at the center of it. This man was so earnest and good. She didn’t understand how the world hadn’t just chewed him to pieces yet. “I liked it, too,” she said quietly.

That slow, bright smile worked over his face, like watching the sun rise. It made him look so much younger. “Good.” He seemed to suddenly realize that he’d just been looking at her and grinning for a while, and he awkwardly gripped the side of his neck again, tilting his head away in another attempt at a stretch. “I, uh… let me get that chair.”

It only took him a moment to duck inside and get it, coming out and planting it as evenly as he could on the snowy ground before he sat facing away from her. He leaned forward just slightly, lowering his head and giving her more room along his back. When she placed her hands on the backs of his shoulders, he tensed for just a moment before slowly relaxing again. She was glad he was facing away, because she was pretty sure she was straight up ogling him as she smoothed her palms over his firm muscles, feeling just mildly guilty for enjoying the massage about as much as he probably would by the end.

“I meant to ask,” he said as she started working his shoulders and the bottom of his neck. “The night that you found me… what was it that you did? It was nothing short of miraculous.”

“Those are pressure points. There are some others for migraines, too, but those are the ones that always work the best for me.” She tried to loosen the muscle that connected his neck and shoulder, but it was especially bad on his left side. He let out a little grunt as she pressed a bit harder. “Let me know if it gets too bad. Your left side is a fucking mess.”

He huffed a soft chuckle. “I’m not surprised. Keeping that shield up takes quite a bit of work, you know.” He was just dripping with sarcasm, and she found herself smiling at his dry humor.

“Such disrespect.” She slowly felt the little crunchies in the soft tissue melting under her fingers. She always thought it felt kinda like crushing Rice Krispies to dust. Homesickness hit her hard for the first time in weeks as she remembered that no one here knew what Rice Krispies were, and she would never eat them again.

She didn’t realize that her hands had slowed and stopped until Cullen asked, “Beth?” He turned his head a bit, trying to catch her in the corner of his vision. “Is everything alright?”

She took a deep breath, not wanting to give in to that tense, hot feeling at the top of her throat and behind her eyes. Despite that, she didn’t really want to lie, either. She was doing enough of that by omission already. So instead she put her hands back in motion, moving on to his neck. “Not really. But it’s not anything new.”

He let out a few not quite vocalized sounds, more heavy breaths than anything, as the force of her hands rocked his head slightly. “I’ll listen, if you wish to speak of it,” he said eventually. He was talking slowly, like it took effort to piece the words together, and some even sounded mumbly. “You’re turning my head to mush, so I’ll not be talking back much anyway.”

She waited for her voice to be steady enough again as she worked her thumbs up and down the corded muscles of his neck. “I remembered something from home, and I realized that I’m the only person in the world that will ever understand it now.”

He hummed softly when she moved to the base of his skull, taking a few more seconds before he said, “I have wondered more and more lately if sharing the things that one carries alone eases their weight any, or if it just makes more of a burden for someone else to toil under.” After a heavy moment, he spoke again, hesitant and halting but achingly hopeful. “If you think it might help you, I’d be willing to give it a try.”

Jesus, he was going to make her cry anyway. Cullen was too sweet to be real.

“It’s nothing really important. Just a silly thought that hit harder than it should have.” She moved on to his scalp, fairly certain that he’d be done talking for a while now. She let out a breathless little giggle, a little too tremulous, when he started a low, creaky purring sound, barely rumbling in his throat. “I was thinking,” she said, trying to silence her little sniffles and keep the wavers out of her voice, “that your shoulders felt like they were full of this crunchy little food we have back home. I hardly ever ate it — it was far from my favorite — but I think I’d suck a dick for some right now.”

Cullen jerked and started coughing, choking on seemingly nothing. “Maker’s Breath!”

Her fingers stopped for a second as she bent over his back and laughed so hard it was nearly silent apart from some gasping breaths and a couple wheezes. “It’s just — an expression!” she managed to get out. As she caught her breath, she added, “One that I’ll be using a lot more now, because I just have to see your face next time you make that sound.”

She started working her fingers on his scalp again and he sighed. Wouldn’t mind seeing his face for these noises, either, but I’ll take what I can get. She figured they were already in ‘possibly overly personal questions’ territory, so she didn’t have much to lose. “I’ve been wondering something, myself. From when I found you by the stable.” He made a humming noise that didn’t sound like it was objecting. “You talked about tasting and hearing a blue song. Can you usually do that? Hear colors and stuff?”

He heaved another little sigh, taking a while to answer. “No. Just that. And only when it’s especially bad.”

“Does it get that bad a lot?” She moved her hands around to his forehead, smoothing over it from side to side and slowly working down.

“Sometimes.” He let out a long breath and added, “It had been a few months since the last time it was that severe.”

She finished up with little pinches over his eyebrows, and suppressed another giggle when he choked off a noise in his throat and visibly shuddered. She was hoping he’d do that again. It had been entirely inappropriate at the time since he’d been nearly incapacitated, but she’d thought it was really cute the last time he’d done it, too. “There. I think that will do.” Cullen took another few moments to collect himself before he straightened up and rolled his shoulders and neck with a sound like a badly coordinated regiment of riflemen. “Jesus Christ!” she giggled, and he stood and turned toward her, one brow lifted.

“By now I’d think you wouldn’t be surprised,” he said, picking up the chair to bring back into his tent. She snickered at a couple more pops that were coaxed out by the movement. “You say that a lot,” he said from inside the tent. “What does it mean?”

“What? Oh, Jesus Christ?” She thought for a moment about how to put it. “The religion that I used to follow, that’s sort of their Andraste. He’s God’s son, and also God…” She paused and decided that was a bit much for the simple explanation. “Look, the trinity is a weird concept. But basically, he was tortured to death by crucifixion and a bunch of other demeaning shit so that mankind’s sins could be forgiven.”

“Grim,” Cullen said, apparently still situating things in his living space, “but then, Andraste was put on the pyre, so I suppose we don’t have a leg to stand on, there.”

“You really don’t.” She fiddled with her fingers a bit, and again figured she had nothing to lose. “I did have one more question, though.”

“Yes?” He opened the tent flap again and stood before her, arms crossed loosely and head tilted as he waited. Dang, but the guy got just devastatingly hunky when he was actually relaxed.

She looked up at the sky for strength, or luck, or something, keeping her gaze averted as she asked, “Does my singing really drown out whatever that noise is?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she flicked her eyes to him, and saw him looking just about anywhere but her as his cheeks flamed red. “Blessed Maker and His Holy Bride,” he muttered, before he let out a heavy sigh, dropping his arms to his sides, then fidgeting and putting his hands behind his back. “Yes. Technically, most music helps some, but…” He trailed off, closing his eyes for a moment. “So far, you’re the best thing I’ve found.”

He means your voice. Don’t read into it. She fidgeted with her cloak, picking at the fabric with her fingernail. “So, it helped that night?” she asked quietly.

He swallowed hard and said, very softly, “More than you could ever know.”

She nodded once. “Good. Then I’m glad.” She chewed her lip and finally said, “I wouldn’t mind singing for you when you need it.” She smiled a little at the joke that she knew he wouldn’t get as she quoted, “If you need me, call me, no matter where you are, no matter how far.”

“I, uh…” Cullen shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, bringing his hands forward again and playing nervously with his fingers. “Thank you. It’s… I…” He heaved a huge sigh and blurted very quickly, “That’s actually why I was at the tavern the other night. I — I thought I’d completely scared you off, but I just needed a few minutes of peace, so I, um, went to listen to you.” She grinned at him, and he looked confused at her expression. “You’re not — that isn’t — odd?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t really care if it is or not.” She grinned wider and waggled her eyebrows at him, to which he blinked several times. “I’ve never had a groupie before, but I’m pretty sure you’ll make a decent one.” She let out a slightly incredulous giggle. “Next thing you know, you’ll be trying to get backstage claiming you’re ‘with the band.’ Then I’ll know I’ve really made it in the entertainment biz.”

He smiled, though the confused look didn’t entirely leave him. “The Singing Maiden doesn’t have a stage.”

Beth waved her hand. “Details. You’re enterprising, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

He laughed, shaking his head slightly. At least she knew now that she’d gotten his neck loose enough for sure. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? It’s actually a bit terrifying that you, the Herald, and that Sera girl get on so well. I truly never know what to expect from you all.”

“I’d think you’d be glad that we’re friends. Can you imagine if we were enemies?” She gave him an evil laugh — she was actually a little proud of it since she thought she had a good one, all low and sinister and kinda sultry. It did its job, because his smile faltered a little as his eyes widened. “God help anyone that gets caught in the crossfire.”

“Maker’s Breath,” he murmured. “Though… Do you know why Sera wants bees? The Herald refuses to say.”

“I honestly don’t, and I’m a little scared to ask.”

Cullen blanched. “Andraste watch over us all, then, because my men are bringing the hives back next week.”