"How is she? Cullen asked the stoic elven woman standing guard outside the Inquisitor's chamber as he approached. The moonlight creeping in through the cracks in the tower kept to the less decorated half of her tattooed face, creating an even starker, more intimidating contrast.

"Silent," Silrani answered.
Cullen waited in concerned silence for the woman to elaborate but, when no additional detail was forthcoming, he breathed a mixed sigh of frustration and relief. He was quite familiar with the elf's untalkative nature around humans, doubly so with templars, both of which could be applied to himself. It didn't matter that he was no longer a part of the Order, or that he was the last person who would ever wish harm upon the Lady Inquisitor. Silrani had given him the stinkeye when they first met at Haven, and it'd only gotten worse from then on.

"Well, at least I can trust she's unharmed with you guarding her door." Silrani had been the Inquisitor's clanmate, both hailing from the Dalish clan Lavellan in the Free Marches, and Cullen knew the two were close. She had come as Mhila's bodyguard for the Conclave, and followed her when she ended up joining the Inquisition.

"Quite." Cullen could've sworn her apathetic gaze was gleaming with deadly intent, one that grew stronger with every second he lingered.

"Would it be alright if I talked to her for a moment?" It had been days since anyone had seen the Inquisitor out of her room and, for a time, the castle courtyard had echoed with the sound of broken cries coming from the top of the tower. People were naturally worried about their leader's well-being; Cullen most of all.

"No," was the immediate response.

Cullen was hurt but unshaken. He would not be leaving without a peace of mind. "I'm afraid I must insist."
Silrani looked unfazed and showed no signs of moving. As she spoke, however, her tone was that of pure contempt; "Insist all you want, shemlen. Your "Inquisitor" is grieving, and vulnerable. I will not allow your presence, or anyone else's while she recovers, unless explicitly requested by Mhila herself!"

"But we need her!" Cullen began feeling heated, frustrated by his inability to console his beloved or reason with the stubborn woman in front of him. "She's been locked in there for days! The Inquisition can't properly act if its leader is absent! Has she even eaten!?"

"You do not get to make demands of my friend," Silrani all but screamed in the ex-templar's face, her own contorted by a sudden and violent anger. "Mhila has already sacrificed enough for you and this godsforsaken Inquisition, and now our entire clan is dead! Dead; because of self-absorbed humans like you, and because she believed they could be appealed to!"

"Don't pin this on me!" Now Cullen was truly angry and proceeded to shout back at his verbal opponent. "I argued to go there in force and beat the Marchers into submission if necessary! I wanted what was best for your people; for Mhila!"
The two glared at each other in volatile silence, as if stares alone could win battles, Silrani's hand gripping her longsword with restrained force. As muffled sobs started coming from the door behind them, they slowly withdrew their eyes, and Silrani removed her hand from her blade before returning to her position by the door, the seeping moonlight taking its original place on her visage.

"I wanted what was best," Cullen continued with a sombre voice. "But I didn't argue for it hard enough. Like a lovestruck fool I trusted the Inquisitor's decision, believing she was always right, no matter what. I couldn't see that she needed my guidance as much as I did hers, and now your clan has payed not only for her mistake but for mine..."
Silrani said nothing. With arms crossed and no expression, she merely accepted the confession with a judging gaze, like a jailor watching a repentant murderer. And with that, Cullen turned to leave, the muffled sobs making his departure difficult.

As the heavy footsteps grew distant, Mhila's sobs slowly died out. She stared absentmindedly at her hands as they crumpled into fists on the tear-soaked floor. For a while she sat there, kneeling, watching her fists open and close, occasionally nudging or softly striking the stone underneath. She had heard the entire shouting match that occurred outside her door, and now something felt different.
For gods-know-how-long she had felt nothing but sorrow; immense grief and mental anguish had dominated her mind for so long, it almost felt like she had never experienced anything else in her lifetime. But now, as the stinging of stiff knees was replaced by the grinding of teeth, she felt a new sensation.
Walking back to her desk, she ran her eyes across the cursed letter;

slew most of the elves
all of the Dalish clan
willing to meet
rebelled
TRAGIC MISUNDERSTANDING

For the first time in her life, Mhila could feel the tight embrace of pure hatred. As she destroyed the crumpled paper with hellfire called from her palm, her entire body trembling with rage, she growled to herself;
"Once my task is done, Corypheus will have been the least of your problems!"