Welcome! Thank you for taking a look at my story! As my first publish, I will probably rewrite things often, but I will keep the main outline and mostly just elaborate on the details. I do hope I keep the soul of the characters as best as I can. Reviews are appreciated but not required! I am grateful for any feedback!
Preface: This is told primarily from Cullen's perspective. Cullen harbors a soft spot for the Inquisitor, who appears to be in a relationship with the Warden Blackwall, and is doing his best to deal with the increasingly dangerous effects of Lyrium withdrawal.
Note: I don't condone adultery, however there will be a tone of it within the beginnings of this story.
This will eventually contain cannon story spoilers.
Please enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own DA:I or the characters. Artistic liberties and such.
Cullen had never been a man of great romance.
Sure, he had known women, some even captured his attentions throughout his life, but he had never been active in the realm of… seduction. Maker, even that term made his cheek redden. That's not to say Cullen was inept, but certainly dearly afraid. His interest in Templar studies began at a tender age, and growing up "Chantry" did not instil a great amount of suave in one's character; the negative effect, one of chastity, would likely be preferred in his profession.
His duties, first to the Order at Kinloch; then under the command of Meredith in Kirkwall; now dedicated to the Inquisition, kept him from pursuing the softer art of courting. Even though he was not familiar with the concept, it was not for a lack of interest. There was something in the way a woman would glow when she was presented with a token of affection that Cullen grew a mild fascination with as he became of age. And as he aged to manhood he realized it was hard to be locked within the Tower. Sure, there were female Templars within the ranks that would tempt the idea of an off-duty romp, But there were also many mages in close proximity. As a result Cullen would eventually feel an inclination towards one of his charges.
The first to capture his eye had been Lady Amell at the Circle - she had been shy and beautiful, soft spoken and polite. They had spoken at times, always in hushed tones, sat together at prayer. He would catch her looking at him and she would not shy away but hold his gaze, with an intensity he had not believed could be rivaled.
Always shy smiles, and meaningful glances.
Always at a safe distance, like most things in his life.
Unfortunately, she had perished during her Harrowing - an event he was not pleased to have attended. During the descent into the Fade she had fidgeted and whined, a tremble shook within her body that had infected him as well as time stretched on. Trying to steel himself he had grasped at the hilt of his sword, twisting his fingers around the pommel and flexing his hold until his hands felt foreign, forming a nervous habit that maintained years later. Whatever had transpired had proved that lovely girl was not strong enough, that magic could corrupt even the most innocent. When the abomination emerged and he struck the final blow, he could feel it reverberate within him; the distrust, the first bricks of the first wall he would create were laid within himself in that moment.
Months later, when the circle collapsed, he had been tormented, punished. He had never considered the mages friends, it was against the job description, but he had considered them upstanding and cordial. They shared the same halls, the same foods, he had watched some of them grow into outstanding mages. Perhaps his involvement and good nature was what provoked them to spare him when they rebelled, if that's what you could call being spared.
They had provoked images of her - brought back to life, but not without the marks he had laid upon her body with the cold steel. Images of her, whole, and welcoming. Visions of her laid bare before him that would transmute into a voracious abomination with the sheer intent to torture and maim him. When the Wardens found him he was broken, distrustful, and full of hate. Some small part of him had told him he was brash and thoughtless, cruel and callous, but his heart won out and all its wounds demanded justice for transgressions brought upon him.
But she did not listen.
Instead she managed to save the mages from themselves, something he and his brothers were unable to do. She was an unknown; some small Dalish that appeared far too small to wield the axe and shield she carried. In other circumstance he might like to trade tactics with her, but he was of no mind for idle conversation. When she overtook the Circle he most likely would have admired her ability for diplomacy under stress, if it were not for the overwhelming betrayal he felt.
Blind rage.
Seething, he was retired from the Circle. Templar forces were decimated, there was no strong arm to guide the mages away from their own temptations. The mage forces that remained were conscripted into the Warden's army against the Blight. Kinloch was no place to remain for a torn man. The great spire was crumpled, covered in the remains of brother and foe alike. Instead, Cullen was retired to the chantry at Greenfell where he could heal.
Revisiting the teachings of the Chant of Light, he found some peace after some time. He learned to control his distrust, and most of all he had finally learned how to let go of the pain he felt from cutting down Lady Amell. A simple dairymaid by the name of Lila had helped him forget his sorrows, even if just for the night. Even though he had never intended it to be a serious endeavor, and the maid seemed to hold the same sentiment of their time together. It had ended a quickly as it had started and held even less meaning for him, save for the momentary distraction.
After a time, he had felt a return to his duties was necessary, and took a position within Kirkwall's ranks. A change of pace and scenery would do well, as Kinloch was the last thing he ever wanted to see again. However, Meredith was a loose cannon, grasping tightly to a position of power that was slowly slipping out of her grasp, and Cullen found himself wishing he had not returned so eagerly on more than one occasion.
Lady Hawke had been a beautiful woman, of that there was no doubt. Hawke saw through Meredith from the beginning, and in the end put the poor creature out of her misery. She had successfully resolved the mage rebellion - an issue that occurred most commonly when he was involved, it seemed. It was a foolish soul that would not admire the woman's tenacity, strength, and wit - if that was what you could call the dry humor that seemed to drip from her lips at all times and on all subjects. But even if he had felt anything for her, the tall dark elf that stood forever as a sentinel at her side seemed to challenge him and anyone else who would think to make a move. The river of emotion seemed to run deep between those two, and he was sure that if they were not romantically involved they should be. No, she was a beautiful and formidable creature, but she was not meant to be more than an ally to him. Not to mention that Hawke had a knack for frustrating him to his wit's end.
But she - she was something different.
She literally fell out of the sky and into his life, an unknown, an enigma. She had proven herself to be a force to be rivaled with from the first moment he met her; an arrow breezing by his head to extinguish the existence of a demon that had almost gotten the better of him. It was believed that he would never forget the moment, her bow raised and taut, hair gleaming in the sun, a reflection of the fire burning in her eyes. She amazed him again with her diplomacy, readily agreeing to assist the very force that had placed her in chains; the eagerness she had to push head first into harm's way to save the world time and again.
She had come to him many times in Haven, simply to talk, check on the troops, or ask about their companions. First he regarded her as a curious girl, she was several summers his junior. It was natural she would wonder about a full blown military force she had just become a major component of. He realized he considered her more of a friend when she had fallen into an extended sleep after closing the breech in the sky, having more concern for her than expected, but not more than was appropriate. He reminded himself and Cassandra several times of that fact.
But again she challenged the Maker when she chose to defend Haven, offering to give the rest of them time to flee in exchange for her own life.
There was a rumble, thousands of feet moving in unison, their steps reverberating off the mountain walls. Reports came in, only one lookout had made it back, raving about an archdemon, with five thousand mages at his heels. The bells rang out, their cries shrill and insistent. In a moment everyone was on their feet. Items that had been used now lay discarded and forgotten around the chantry as soldiers called to arms.
The battle was brutal, and every small victory was met with more loss. He knew, strategically, it was the best option, to give one's life to save thousands. Practically, it was a different story.
"What about it Cullen, will it work?" She turned to him, desperate for a way out of the incoming flood. She intended to distract Corypheus, decimate his forces.
"Possibly," he considered, "if he shows us the path. But what of your escape?" He questioned her hopefully, expecting a plan for retrieval. When she did not respond with words, but rather turned her head away from him, he knew that she was not expecting to come back. Trying to hide the shock from his features, he could do no more than offer little reassurance. "Perhaps you will surprise it. Find a way." He realized later that he had meant the last part as more of a demand, that she had no option but to make her way back to him.
He focused everything on getting the people of Haven away from the fighting.
Solas shot a fireball towards the sky as they emerged from the tunnels out of the chantry.
The fateful rumbling of rock hitting the mountain side signalled she had accomplished what she set out to do.
As the snow settled, the town that had been occupied now lay in rubble, smothered into the frost, absorbed back into the mountains. Cullen and a small contingent stayed behind while the rest forged ahead, intent on greeting the small group as they returned from confronting the Magister. An agonizing length of time passed before there was motion, and the Iron Bull emerged from the tunnel, grasping a limping Sera, with Dorian following several paces behind. Moments lingered into ages, and they allowed some time before several of them agreed that she would not be coming.
They made their way a small way into the mountain pass over the next two days, erecting temporary camps as they went. Each night, Cullen took a shift as look out, in hopes they would see her rise victorious over the crest of the mountain. No one mentioned that he tended to linger for several extra hours, "just to keep an extra eye," as was the common excuse, though no one was willing to question the commander.
When finally they saw a shape emerge from the snow drift, they first thought it the beginnings of Corypheus's army, pushing on to finish it's quarry. When she collapsed to her knees, he knew it was the Herald, and instantly sprang to his feet, calling out to the others that she was safe at last.
Solas had told her about a fortress in the mountains, one that he saw on no map, but the elf knew exactly how to reach. Though, he couldn't be upset with the mage. It was a strategic point. High on a mountain with little chance of a successful attack, and a large area in a lower valley to house the bulk of their forces and the ever growing number of people that joined their group.
He was overjoyed when the group determined she should be the Inquisitor. A decision he fully endorsed. Even more so when she came to talk to him shortly after, and the first thing she asked about was if the troops made it out of Haven safely.
He almost professed his feelings at that time. Damned it all, he should have. He chickened out at the last moment and simply pledged that he would never let something like Haven happen again. One morning he had decided he would just talk to her, let her know just how much it had affected him when she was lost at Haven, and see if something would come of it. He went to step out of his office and onto the battlements when he heard her voice.
She was speaking to Blackwall, the Warden. He'd always considered the man a bootlicker, but benign. Eager to please with a worship complex for Lady Trevelyan. But what he heard made him realize that maybe he had been wrong about their relationship the whole time.
"You can't afford to think I'm special."
"I'm fond of you, it's true, but this can't go any further."
"Whatever this is that you want, it's impossible."
Blackwall's words to the Inquisitor cut him. First, that she would even say something that would elicit that response from him. Second, that if she ever professed her love for someone that they would tear her down in such a fashion.
Cullen realized that her attentions were somewhere else, but he could not help but to feel that they were not returned in kind. Blackwall seemed to pull her in and push her back constantly. He was a conundrum, but he was a Warden, and they were an honorable group.
He had gone through so much, and so many losses, just to find the woman who made his heart race was chasing someone else.
