It's been a long time since I've written outside of rping, be gentle!
This is un-beta'd, and I'm definitely on the lookout for someone willing to help with that.

ANYWAY, for reference, my Inquis is Evelyn Trevelyan, and she's a rogue.
The beginning of this deals with her choosing the mountain path over the charge.

Thank you for reading and enjoy~

Cullen had been furious. Leliana made him understand, but even her calm, quiet tones couldn't quell the anger. This prisoner had cost so many lives, made him send so many trusting soldiers to their deaths for her. Maker have mercy on their souls, he prayed it was worth it. That she was worth it. By the time he was to finally meet her, now his leader, the anger had still not subsided.

And then she walked into the room. At first, half hidden by Cassandra, but even the glimpse had Cullen push his shoulders back and stand a little straighter. It was the soldier in him. He still wanted to make his feelings known, but he was standing before the woman who would be sending him his orders; some respect was in order. More than he first thought, he realised. There was a small red mark on her cheek, something he paid little attention to. It was only a small wound, something anyone could get in a fall. But there was another on her lips; a gash above and below that made his brow furrow with sympathetic pain just at the sight of it. While her cheek healed easily, this was still bright and sore. She got it that day, he guessed. The mark on her hand wouldn't be the only souvenir from that day. He would know. The commander's hand tightened around the pommel of his sword, an action to stop him from touching his own scarred lip. They would mirror each other.

By the time introductions were made, their situation explained, and their plan made, he no longer wanted to shout. He'd make it known how much the loss of life distressed him, but now he could wait. He had a face to put behind the orders, and it was that of a scarred (if somehow still soft and beautiful) soldier. If it weren't for the mark, she would have been one of the men under his command. It was a thought that eased the earlier orders, and ones like it he expected to come.

And they came fast. They seemed to go from one small issue to protecting the masses on a whim. Cullen didn't argue; it was his job. When the Herald came to him with plans and locations for watchtowers, he was all too ready to comply. She was worn and battered, it didn't take someone with his experience to see. When she wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek, he put a tentative hand on her shoulder and told her it would be done while she rested; a not so subtle hint that almost made her smile. Almost.

She sighed softly, said her thanks and brushed stray hairs out of her face before leaving him. That was when his attention was finally drawn to her hair. It had always been braided and tied in a tight bun, but now she was pulling it down and easing it out. For the first time he could see it was made of very familiar looking curls. She disappeared from view but his interest was piqued; he found himself wondering how far it would fall when it was free, how tight those curls were, whether they were smooth or fluffy.

The curious eye of a sister nudged him back to work, even if the curiosity didn't quite leave him yet.