The Living Memory
What I imagine could happen when you meet you meet Warden-Commander Amell in game and how it matters to Military Advisor Cullen.
The Inquisitor nervously tugs on her robes, pulling out the wrinkles as best she can while waiting for the Senior Grey Warden to make a show of herself. Her first thought is to apologize for insisting she attend the strategy meeting personally. The Commander sent a message earlier saying she regretfully would make her attendance unintentionally tardy, seeing as how her and her men were pulled away from the fort and into combat with the infamous Red Templars.
She closes her eyes, heaving a deep sigh, hating how she might have already strained relations with the Wardens for insisting all over the place. "Josephine," she asks the empty meeting room. "What would you do to fix this mess?"
"Immediately apologize."
"Gah!" the Inquisitor is startled out of her self pity by that always familiar Antivan accent. "Andraste's blood, Josephine!"
The young woman's professional poker face hides her smirk perfectly, as she makes her way gracefully to the strategy table with a stack of books. "Assuming there is a problem to begin with, Your Eminence."
"I hope not..." her thoughts trail off to the worst that could happen.
"If there is such a problem, Inquisitor," Josephine says as a reassuring aside, blowing the dust off of a particularly old volume. "It should be handled with fancy foods and light conversation about frivolous topics."
Her nearly permanent scowl flips into a wide smile. "You always know just what to say."
She gives a slight bow of self appreciation. "Such is what I'm here for, Your Eminence."
"You should relax, Inquisitor," Leliana suggests coolly and evenly, her footsteps mimicking her tone. "I have it on very good authority that the Warden-Commander of this fortress is a natural diplomat. She likely won't make unnecessary fuss over such a small detail."
The Inquisitor feels her headache coming back from yesterday. "I worry too much, don't I?" She massages her temples until the feeling subsides.
"If you worried any less, Your Eminence, nothing would be done about our current situation," her Tactical Advisor points out rightly, arriving to set-out the updated maps.
The Inquisitor shrugs her shoulders. "I suppose we'll just have to see what type of person the Warden-Commander is."
An elf in full Grey Warden armor keeps stride at the Senior Warden's side, feeding her important information about whom they are proceeding to make a deal with. "Remember, Commander, they are working for the Divine directly, not the Chantry, so they may err more on the side of sense than religion."
"That's the first good news I've heard since this whole 'End of the World' war started," the Senior Warden comments, almost relieved at the revelation. "The local Chantry and zealous Templars don't have their fingers in all the pies it seems."
He laughs to himself, organizing his notes for the meeting. Her elven assistant points to the great open doors indicating that as their destination.
"Let's hope they want to talk about ordering us out, and not just order, Lieutenant."
"I'll pray to Andraste for it, Commander," he murmurs, trying to be as stoic and "Grey Warden-like" as possible for their guests.
The Warden-Commander and her assistant stride in confidently, waiting for the Inquisition's representatives to make the first move.
Looking up from his writing, Knight-Captain Cullen quietly gasps, spilling an ink well over the top corner of the world map. He mutters a curse under his breath.
Josephine clears her throat to redirect attention from his frantic wiping of the expanding pool of black ink. "Inquisitor," she announces proudly. "This is the leader of the Grey Wardens of this outpost. Warden-Commander Amell."
"I-"
Proving that wiping soggy parchment with a leather glove isn't a good idea, the stained corner of the map rips away with a very loud tearing noise.
Advisor Cullen swallows hard, replacing the corner stone over the name "Anderfels", in an attempt to cover most of the tear. The nervous Templar keeps his chin down and his eyes on other documents strewn about the tabletop.
"I beg your pardon, Warden-Commander," the Inquisitor says ignoring her advisor's strange behavior. "If someone had told me you were in the frey earlier, I wouldn't have requested your presence at all."
"Please, think nothing of it." She holds up her hand to stop the sudden apology cold. "I've always preferred to handle things of this nature personally, as a rule."
"We also welcome the Inquisition to the fortress," her elven assistant cautiously adds, eying the room.
"And we are honored to be welcomed," The Inquisition's diplomat returns with genuine sincerity.
"Shall we begin," The Inquisitor suggests, as those present huddle around the map for a better overall view.
Hours of debate turn the sun a bright yellow high in the sky to a deep orange sitting at the cusp of the reddish horizon, always offset by the almost neon green of the ever-expanding Breach.
"So we are all in agreement, Warden-Commander," asks the Inquisitor, seemingly satisfied with their arrangement.
"Completely. Since our forces are to leave for the Antivan border soon, your forces have free use of the fortress until we return."
"Then I will arrange to have some of my people here post haste, Warden-Commander," Leliana interjects.
She nods an affirmative, opening the leather-bound book in her hands.
"When will your forces arrive, Knight-Captain," the assistant Grey Warden asks as his Senior writes some closing notes in her journal.
"I will have a platoon here within a week, Grey Warden." He keeps his line of sight between his parchments and the map, never daring to stray from them.
"Well," the Diplomatic Advisor cuts the closing questions short. "If there aren't any last minute requests of either party, I would like to bring this meeting to a close by saying we are grateful to your Order for their service and the use of their outpost."
"And our Order is grateful to the Inquisition for their services as well," Warden-Commander Amell says as cheerfully as she can muster without sounding insincere.
"Commander," the elf Warden interrupts. "Your other meeting is about to begin, we must leave."
"The other...oh right!" She bows out hastily, after collecting her notes.
The Knight-Captain lets out a long shaky breath, leaning heavily against the table as she scurries off.
"She forgot her journal," the Inquisitor says, holding up the small leather book. She hurries after the already out-of-sight Wardens, leaving her advisors to their own devices.
Leliana and Josephine proceed to gang up on the only man in the room, both with the same intent on their minds. Standing at either side of the now recuperated advisor, one with hands squarely placed on hips, and the other folded behind herself, the women give him looks of silent demanding.
Cullen shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, keeping his mind on his map rolling.
"Ahem!" the little Antivan woman whips at the red fluff poking out from his shoulders.
He heaves a slightly annoyed sigh. "Yes, Lady Josephine," Cullen finally acknowledges, gathering a stack of papers.
"We must talk about your behavior." She waves her finger at him, sternly. "It was very strange, to say the least. Not at all like you."
"Spilling the ink was an accident, and I apologize," he curtly responds, hoping they might take the hint from his tone.
"I noticed you had a hard time looking her in the eye," Leliana thoughtfully adds. "And when her hand came close to yours during strategic deliberation, you immediately moved it far away."
He clenches his jaw, furrowing his brow in silent repose.
The Diplomatic Advisor gets a mischievous look in her cool, grey eye. "Did you know each other before?" She picks up her feather pen tapping thoughtfully at her chin. "You must have if you're reacting in such a way."
Leliana peeks over his right shoulder. "Were you in the same tower perhaps? You have a Templar title and she is a Circle mage."
He holds his tongue, tying his bundle of scrolls together and placing them under his arm.
"In diplomacy, Knight-Captain, no answer can be an answer," Josephine wryly points out. "Or an affirmation."
"If this is true..." the spy nonchalantly toys with both the emblem markers strewn about the table and his flustered brain. "...Then you must have been the cute, awkward Templar she mentioned in her travels."
The hard-nosed Military Advisor bites his lower lip, flushing a deep red. The giddy responses of his female counterparts only make his blush worse.
"A templar in love with a mage?" The diplomat's mind races with a million wondrously romantic possibilities. "The ultimate forbidden love, I see."
"Is he still 'love sick' for a woman once forbidden to him I wonder," the spy adds.
"Are you still in love with her?" Josephine hugs his elbow, a twinkle in her eye. "You must tell her if you are!"
He slams a hand down on the tabletop to silence their commentary. "Must you both prod me with your innate questions?!" He pulls his elbow from her in a huff, storming out of the meeting room, and blindly walking chest-plate first into the Warden-Commander.
"Oof!" The Warden mage side steps. "Forgive me, it was my fault, Messere-"
"C-Commander..." His stomach begins to tie itself into slow knots as soon as he realizes whom he's bumped into.
"Oh! You're the tactician," she realizes, smiling as she remembers his antics. "Again, I beg your pardon." Commander Amell bows out gracefully, making a bee-line for the strategy table.
"Your Inquisitor gave me the wrong journal," she announces to the room holding it up. "I very much need that journal."
She roots around under the table as Leliana and Josephine search amongst the papers and books. "That Tactician," she nonchalantly mentions, looking at the now empty doorway from under the table. "Is he usually the 'creepily strong, silent' type?"
"Only sometimes," the Infiltration Advisor tells her under the table. "Why do you ask?"
"I could have sworn he looks like somebody I use to know, but I suppose not." Amell stands, dusting her robes off. "This is infuriating, I never lost my journal in Ferelden."
"Do not worry, Warden, I'm sure it will turn up in an unlikely place sometime later," Leliana assures her, giving a nearly imperceptible signal to the woman at her left.
Josephine bites back a smile, nodding her understanding.
The Warden frowns, eyeballing the room one last time. "I never let that book out of my sight, how could I have forgotten where I put it?"
"Perhaps it was dropped in transit," the diplomat suggests.
"Probably," she gives the stone walls of the Warden fortress a dirty look. "There are just too many corners to drop things in." After a moment, her frown immediately softens as she meets the eye of her old friend. "But besides that, you and I should catch up sometime, Leliana, it's been ten years. Oh! You're from Antiva, correct," she asks, looking over at Josephine.
"Proudly, in fact, Warden-Commander."
"Could I pick your brain about Antivan culture sometime? In a non-official capacity of course," she quickly adds.
"How about we all have a nice dinner tonight," Leliana suggests. "And I shall tell you of the exploits of the Inquisition."
She laughs. "You still have that knack for telling stories, Leliana?"
"I never lost it."
The Knight-Captain slams the door of his room embarrassed by the display of awkwardness at the Strategy Meeting. "How could I allow myself to be in such a state in front of everyone?!" He removes his armor piece by piece, chastising himself. As he goes for the buckles of his breastplate, a leather book slips out from the folds of his tunic. The Templar picks it up off the floor, frowning. "Serah Leliana." He tosses the mysterious book onto his desk. "Why she insists on using my tunic as an over-sized pocket, I'll never know." He heaves his last piece of armor to the floor, getting to work on tomorrow's points of interest for the Inquisitor and her agents to investigate.
A sweet, light scent pulls him from his work. "That smell." He follows his nose to the discarded book on his desk. Taking the dog-eared dairy in hand, Cullen holds it close to his nose. "Warm milk and honey," he mumbles, closing his eyes as his mind places the perfume immediately. "It's hers."
The now curious Templar opens it, finding coded scribbled notes and hand-drawn maps for nearby regions. "Major trading routes, Warden army camps, newly found entrances to infested Deep Roads tunnels..." He revels at the finely detailed maps bound in the pages of this book. "I could-"
A sharp knock at his door startles him out of his deep thought. He hides the book under another, crossing to open the door. "Yes?"
"Message for you," the elf on the other side of the door hands him a note then trots off down the hall.
He unfolds the parchment and reads:
We are all having dinner tonight as a formal courtesy. I hope you decide to join us.
Josephine
The Knight-Captain frowns, knowing exactly what that means. "Come to dinner or else." He crumples the note, throwing it off to the side. "Blighted diplomacy." The Templar carefully contemplates whether or not he should go to dinner. "What if...no..." Instead of coming to a conclusion, he decides to take a walk to clear his head and read more of the journal's maps.
Pulling his thoughts from the sweet-smelling pages, he follows the faintly familiar giggle of Amell standing under a candelabra reading an apparently very funny book. "Uh, Warden-Commander," he calls out to her.
Commander Amell looks up from her reading. "Yes?"
He hurries to her. "Could I have a moment of your time?"
"I believe I may have a free one lurking about somewhere." A slightly confused expression from the advisor makes her sigh. "What is it you need, Knight-Captain?"
"Well..."
The Commander grows wide-eyed, stealing the book in his hands away. "My journal! Where did you find this?!"
"Um-near the entrance of the meeting room."
"I knew it! Blighted giant doors. Everywhere." The lady emphasizes the last word with her eyebrows, tucking both of her books under her arm.
"A-also, if it's not too bold of me, Warden-Commander, I would like to ask if you've already been invited to dinner?"
Amell smiles. "You work very fast, Knight-Captain, I hardly know you."
"I mean...well...you are...but this is just to-"
The way he's awkwardly floundering with a single sentence makes her apologize immediately. "I'm sorry, Knight-Captain, my humor is very...abstract. Or course I would be honored to share dinner with you and your fellows."
"Right, or course..." he catches his breath, smiling.
"Now I know how Alistair feels when he makes a joke," she mumbles under her breath.
Caving to the gentle cohersion of the Inquisitor, the Warden-Commander changes from her old-fashioned Grey Warden robes to a light, fitted evening dress. After her habitual checks on her men, she finds her way to the private dining room, seeing only a fidgety Knight-Captain staring out an open window, and a candle lit table set only for two.
Amell enters with a warm smile in her borrowed dress. "Good evening, Knight-Captain." She curtseys with a very natural ease and grace. "It is an honor to share your table this night."
"Warden-Commander." He musters a deep, respectful bow. "The pleasure is all mine."
She looks at the finely set table, in awe of the silver goblets and porcelain plates. "It's been a while since I've eaten and drank off of things so fine." Cullen hurries over to pull out the chair she reaches for. "Oh! Thank you, Knight-Captain."
Her sudden reaction to a simple courtesy cements his suspicions. She's kept all her grace and poise, but hasn't been treated to such niceties herself.
Looking about the room in as subtle a fashion as she possibly can, the Warden searches for any sign of a servant bring in extra place settings for the others assumed to have arrive already, but they only bring drink and food. "I was lead to believe that the Inquisitor and her other advisors would be joining us, Ser."
He takes the seat across from her. "I had been informed not a moment prior to your arrival that an important matter had arisen, and it required their immediate attention."
"I see..." She furrows her brow. "Should we wait for them to return?" She thanks the servant pouring her drink.
"Her Eminence insisted we begin without them."
"Oh..." She thanks the servant for her food. Her brow wrinkles in sudden deep contemplation. "Why does this feel like a set-up?"
The Templar takes a sip of wine, quickly changing the subject. "I see you've changed from Warden's robes to an evening dress for dinner."
"Oh!" She snaps out of her mood. "You noticed? Your Inquisitor was kind enough to have a dress sent away for at the trading outpost not far from here. Vaguely Orlesian I believe." She resists the urge to scratch an itch down the front of her uncomfortably tight bodice with her salad fork.
"I find the cut of the dress drapes beautifully on your form." He blushes, realizing what he said. "I-I mean that as a strictly platonic observation, of course."
"I swear he reminds me of someone," Amell thinks, laughing quietly.
Her dinner partner swallows uncomfortably, tapping a nervous finger on the tabletop. "I suppose it was an embarrassing comment."
"Actually, Knight-Captain, I'm laughing with you," she manages in between giggles. "Thank you for the compliment."
Cullen smirks discreetly. "Then you wouldn't mind if I asked you to call me just Cullen, Lady Amell?"
She straightens up in her seat giving an excited gasp. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere! Templar Cullen from the Ferelden Circle Tower! You look different without your armor on."
The way his name rolls off her tongue reminds him of the way things once were between them; sweet and innocent. "Her beauty hasn't wither with time at all," he says only in his head, remembering back to days long since forgotten.
For the rest of the evening, both Amell and Cullen find the conversation easy, the food delicious, and the drink never-ending. They laugh, tell stories, and find themselves enraptured with each others exciting lives.
After dinner, they take a walk on the outer patio of the Grey Warden stronghold, the green light of The Breach on the distant horizon adding to the mystique of the nighttime sky.
"I have just come to a realization." She feints interest in his clothing, hoping to liven up the mood of their slow excursion. "In all the years we were both at the Tower, I don't believe I have ever seen you publicly wear trousers."
He looks down at his legs, frowning at the sudden feeling of immodesty. "It's a...recent change in uniform preference, considering...well...many things."
"It makes you look taller."
"Really?" He stands up a little straighter.
"And, your hair is blonde." The mage emphasizes her words with a wave of her finger. "I remember it being a sort of auburn color. Or maybe ginger?"
Well..." he runs his hand over his slicked back locks. "Its a long story involving a fight with an apostate blood mage."
She flinches, hating the immediate conclusion her mind drew. "Blonde suits you I think. Better than auburn. And your eyes are such a pretty shade of blue." She cocks her head thoughtfully. "Maybe I should change my eye color."
Even though she meant nothing remotely romantic about the comment, his feelings still turn his face a light shade of red. "I think your eyes are lovely the way they are."
Amell scoffs stopping at an archway to stare at the slightly ominous sky. "My eyes are a boring dark brown."
He stops at a respectable distance, resisting the urge to stand closer. "But the brilliant shine makes them sparkle like finely polished gemstones."
The mage's cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink, clearly defined by her tanned skin. "You flatter me, Cullen, but I'm a Grey Warden, and off duty brown-nosing isn't going to get you a bigger fort you know." She waggles her finger in his direction, smiling.
"I was merely-"
She huffs a quiet sigh. "It's all in jest, Knight-Captain, please calm down."
"She hides behind dry humor just to face all the ugliness the world throws at her," he thinks, mulling over the moment. "How long has it been since someone treated her as a proper woman and not as 'Warden-Commander'?"
Amell notices his concern. "But don't mind my terribly timed humor, Ser Cullen, I'm told its usually in poor taste." She folds her arms in a thoughtful manner, pretending to contemplate the gaping green hole in the sky.
An awkward silence fills the air between them as the Templar fumbles to find an interesting topic of conversation to avoid the inevitable thought on his mind. "It's called The Breach. It leads to the Fade."
"Interesting."
"It's...very green..." He grimaces, realizing how pointless the comment was.
Amell waits politely for him to finish his thought, but after more awkward silence, she fishes for something else to say. "I heard your Inquisitor can close them."
"Yes." He zealously nods his head.
There's another uncomfortable silence as she stares at the sky. "It looks big."
"They continuously expand."
"I see..." The lady mage calmly keeps her eyes forward and her face neutral.
Cullen does the same, letting his thoughts drift to things more peaceful that the lurking, imminent doom high above.
That incessant itch from her ill-fitting bodice returns. She covertly tries to scratch her ribs outside of the article, but it gives her no relief. "Maker, I wish I had a fork," she blurts out, resisting the overwhelming urge to reach down her own dress and scratch.
"Why?"
"I'm so itchy in this..." She slaps her hand over her mouth, catching the faux paus too late. "Oops..."
The advisor smirks sheepishly, biting back a laugh.
"That was very un-lady-like. Please hurry and change the subject," she gently implores.
As amusing as her behavior is, his need for the perfect moment finally comes. "I'm...in love with you, Lady Amell."
Her usually contemplative brain suddenly stills, in shock from his sudden confession. For many heartbeats following, she stays silent, hoping he'd make some indication that he was joking in poor taste as well. He doesn't.
"That's a terrible joke." She giggles out of nerves. "I can't find the punchline."
"It wasn't meant as one." The Templar's expression and tone don't waver an instant.
Her youthful smiles fades, as she finds her shoes suddenly more interesting than the outside world. "It's been almost eleven years, Knight-Captain. We're both too old to waste our time with the misplaced desires of our younger selves."
He concentrates his thoughts into simple tactics to combat her resistant attitude. "Execute a frontal assault."
Cullen takes a deep breath, setting her scornful comment aside. "Do you remember my...'infatuation' with you at the Ferelden Circle Tower?"
Her eyes and voice turn as icy cold as a Primal Mage's spell, aimed directly at him. "As far as I'm concerned, there was no 'infatuation'. Stop being so childish."
"I want to apologize for the way I treated you then. I realize now I wasn't ashamed of my love for you, I was ashamed of my own weakness." A pained expression washes across his face. "Those...demons...tempted me with...illusions...of the one thing I cherished, then be-spoiled them with vulgar, carnal desire." He ignores the ache forming in his chest. "They were so real," He brushes the hair from her face caressing her cheek. "I touched them, and wanted nothing else."
Amell turns her face away, a look of utter despair on her lovely features. "Why don't we talk about more pleasant things, like chess. I like talking about chess." She fixates on a random point outside the window.
"She's amassed a considerable defense," he mentally notes, finding his resolve.
"Now who's being childish?" He stonewalls her resistance. "I refuse to let the subject drop until I've said what must be said between us."
The mage's discerning eyes narrow in suspicion at the insistent tactician. "So what is it you think you can get from me then," she wonders out loud, her voice still frosty and cutting. "Once you've finally made this 'grand gesture' of saying what you think needs to be said, what are you going to want in return?" The young woman postures the same as when negotiating her position at the Strategy Meeting; arms folded resolutely, feet planted firmly on the ground.
"Change tactics. Out maneuver her."
He digs in his heels, sharpening the edge of his voice to meet her head on. "Then if my intentions do not appeal to you, I will give up this charade."
"Good, Knight-Captain, now we're speaking plainly." Her stance softens slightly. "Tell me what you want of me, in as few words as possible."
"Throw her defense into chaos."
Taking a deep breath, he redirects the argument. "The knots of your corset are too tight."
"What?" She self-consciously covers her torso.
"Your itching will become worse the longer you wear it," he teases in a serious tone.
"You're-you're making that up." She distracts herself with tugging at the lacing of her garment, trying to resist scratching once more.
"Find an opening. Strike quickly."
She lets out a girlish squeal as he slips his arms around her waist, pulling her close.
"You pervert!" the lady mage attempts to wiggle her way out of his muscular arms, but to no avail. "I am Warden Commander-MMPH!"
He presses a long-awaited, deeply passionate kiss to her frowning lips.
The Warden's facade of ice melts against the smoldering passion of the Military Advisor. Her own bewilderment suddenly causes her to become lightheaded.
Templar Cullen reluctantly withdrawals from her inviting lips. "I've waited eleven years to ask you this."
She cradles her forehead, feeling the blood rush to her head. "Cullen I-"
"Please don't speak, I may loose my nerve," he quietly implores stepping back to take her hand in his. The Knight-Captain clears his throat making his tone as serious as possible. "Lady Amell, I would like to ask for your hand in-OOF!"
The sudden weight of an unconscious woman in his arms throws him off balance. He stumbles back two steps, feeling her limp body slowly sinking to the floor. "Maker's breath, she's heavier than she looks."