Chapter One: Of Maps and Change


Everyone always said that endings were hard, if only because they were endings. They marked where change began, and change was something to be feared after death, giant spiders, and darkspawn (almost always in that exact order). The face and fate of Thedas reflected that: little had changed since the time of Andraste. Slavery existed under different forms and names, magic was still something to be in awe of, and the Maker still cared nothing for his children. It was why most in Thedas viewed endings as something to be feared. Even the end of the Fifth Blight was something people still weren't all that comfortable with.

But Cullen disagreed. Endings were easy because they only marked the start of change. Beginnings were hard. Beginnings meant that it was now time to start putting in effort toward that change. With beginnings, no longer could change be some far off thought never realized, but the actual work that came with making sure change happened. It required time, sacrifice, hard work and determination.

And he had had many beginnings in his life to be sure of this fact. Endings were easy; they were as simple as closing a book and putting it on a shelf. Beginnings were hard; they required time and forethought and resources, and that was just to make the shelf that a book would eventually rest on. And he had yet to shy away from a beginning or a challenge yet.

The Inquisition was that challenge, that beginning. He had his doubts about it, like most people had them after buying new armor and wondered if the fit will ever be right. And just when Cullen thought he might have found that right fit, finally, happenstance threw them all out of their new comfort.

The Conclave failed. Thousands dead. A hole in the sky. A single survivor.

And the tavern bards finally had a new song to sing: a prisoner who would be Andraste's Herald.

He had shared only a few brief conversations with her before she left for the Hinterlands to expand the influence of the Inquisition. And he found her to be like many other circle mages he had known: naïve with childlike wonder and a curiosity that could never quite be sated. Yet, unlike others, she had a directness about her and a way of speaking that reminded him of lesser, humbler nobles in Kirkwall.

For the first time in a while, he found himself curious about a mage. He wondered if it was a test of his own commitment to a new beginning, as whenever he found himself curious about a mage, it never worked out well, for him or the world, really. But maybe, just maybe, it would be different. It was the work of two women mages that set the world on this path, perhaps it would need another to fix it.

He had his chance for a real conversation beyond just getting to know each other (and fluster him, though he refused to dwell on why she needed to know whether or not he had taken celibacy vows) when she and her companions rode in on the only horses Dennet would part with at the moment and a few new agents to join Mother Giselle.

The initial briefing lasted a few hours before Leliana and Josephine walked out to inspect and bring the new agents up to speed, and Cassandra to likely take out her frustrations at the Herald's actions on the training ground. Cullen could not help but note that this was the first time since meeting her that the two of them were actually and truly alone.

She smiled at him over the large map of Southern Thedas, the candlelight playing on her face in ways he wished he didn't notice. He cleared his throat, causing her to look away. "About those guard towers Dennet wanted…"

"Of course," she said. Like most of her other movements, words and actions, she barely hesitated when she reached into her leather duster and produced a carefully folded parchment. She unfolded it, gently running her fingertips along the creases before gesturing him to come closer.

When he joined her on the other side of the table, he was close enough to smell the fresh air and horseflesh she had not had the time to clean off her body. It was a decidedly homesick smell for him. One he could not and would not dwell on.

Instead, it was her fingers that grabbed his attention next. Long, slender, delicate. He could almost imagine the ink stains upon them, as hers were the kind of fingers best suited to tables and ledgers, not battles and bladed staffs. But he had no doubt they were just as precise no matter their occupation.

"Here, here, and here." She was precise in pointing out three marks on the parchment, and he noticed for the first time that it was actually a map. While they had all received rather basic maps from the scouts, pointing out water sources and camps (and a dragon nest, of all things), hers was more precise. The kind of map he was used to seeing from Templar scouts.

When her fingers pulled away, his took over. It had been a long time since he had seen such familiar marks that he couldn't help touching them. A quarry here, landmark there, outlines of abandoned fortresses, cave markers… "Where did you learn how to do this?" He hoped his question didn't sound as accusatory to her as it did to him.

She smiled again, this time a touch fonder than before. "When the Ostwick Circle fell…not all Templars abandoned their duty. Myself and a few of the younger ones had been protected and led away from the fighting by a few of the older Templars. I learned what I could from them before our ways ended up parting." And he watched as that tender smile became one colored with sadness. "Apparently, it was one of the only things they taught that I was really good at."

"They taught you well then," he said. He liked to tell the truth straight and direct, less room for misunderstandings. For the first time in their limited history of conversations, it was she ducking her head in shyness, trying to hide her flushed cheeks instead of the other way around. "Do you mind if I keep this one? For the men, that is. I hate sending anyone in blind, even if the majority of the threat has been taken care of."

"Actually," she drawled. "I have to head back out soon and close the last few rifts in the area… You will be sending out men to construct the watchtowers in the morning, yes?" He nodded. "Before they leave, I will have a copy for you to give them."

"All right." He watched her fold her map back up and tuck it away in her leather again. "Perhaps I should have you sit down with the scouts one day and teach them how to do maps."

It was the first time he heard her chuckle. "Perhaps, but then I wouldn't have the honor of making them for you." She smiled and pushed off from the table. "Commander."

He knew he didn't mistake that cheeky flirtatious tone in her voice as she said that and walked away. He heaved a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Maker's breath. She's going to be the death of me."


This fic will be glimpses into, I suppose, little behind-the-scenes what-ifs behind the relationship between a femquisitor mage and Cullen. All will be canon-compliant, and yes, there will be spoilers. I'll do my best to warn for the really, really big ones. But as a new game, this entire fic is pretty much a spoiler. I won't include a lot of in-game conversations and scenes, as this is more the ones that didn't happen. The ones behind a lot of the war table missions, the aftermath of trips. Little things that never really got explained, like why don't the scouts actually fill out more of your maps/mark more things of note and it's up to the PC to do it?

Don't hesitate to let me know if anything seems off or wrong in anything!