The Haven chantry was a respite from the world outside; the glare of the sun on the ice and snow, the high mountain chill and biting wind. The stone it was built from trapped whatever heat it could, and the torches guttering against the pillars cast warm pools of light into the dark. It was late, now, and the few remaining Chantry sisters had withdrawn for the night, leaving the hall empty.
The Herald sat, in half darkness, on a pew that had been pushed to the very back of the room. Her arms rested on her knees and her hands were clasped tightly together.
"I thought I might find you here."
She looked up, startled. "Commander. I'm sorry, have you been looking for me?"
"Uh – yes, Lady Trevelyan. I-"
"Elspeth," she said.
"Lady Elspeth," he began.
She smiled weakly. "Just Elspeth. Please. When you don't have to, at least." She'd learned a long time ago the trick of making even the most forced smile seem genuine - just a tightening of the muscles around the eyes - but it didn't seem to work any more.
He was frowning, and she realised he'd said something.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Could you repeat that, please?"
"I said, in that case it's Cullen. Would you mind if I sat down?"
She shook her head.
He lowered himself into the pew next to her. "I understand you're to begin the journey to the Hinterlands tomorrow at first light," he said. "It's - after midnight."
She could see snowflakes on the fur around his shoulders slowly starting to melt. "Yes," she said. "I should retire shortly."
His gaze was measuring, evaluating, and she couldn't hold it.
"Cassandra told me you once met the Hero of Ferelden," she said.
The abrupt subject change had startled him. "That's – true," he admitted. "Although the circumstances under which we met were-" he paused. "Difficult. To be honest, I don't remember as much as I should." His shoulders were tense; his jaw set.
"What do you remember?" she asked.
He sighed. "She was quiet," he said. "Calm. She was – gentler than she had to be, as well. I'll never forget that."
"Sorry," she said. "If this is difficult for you. I shouldn't have asked."
"It isn't," he said, hesitantly. "It shouldn't be. She saved my life. I – I never thanked her for it."
"Do you think she minds?"
He looked up at her. "I doubt it," he said. "She has far more important things to bother with now, after all."
Elspeth looked down at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't mean to make it sound like Cassandra and I were gossiping about you. She keeps telling me stories - to inspire me, I think."
"I have some difficulty imagining Cassandra gossiping," Cullen said dryly.
Elspeth smiled, without looking up.
"And are you feeling inspired?" he continued. "You have - a lot to deal with, at the moment."
The smile slowly faded from her face. "Herald of Andraste," she said, quietly. She spread her hands in a shrug, but the mark on her hand flared bright green and she quickly balled her fist again, pulling it close to her chest. "I can't say it's a title that sits easily."
"I did question the decision to encourage people to call you that," he said. "It pulls in a lot of early support, yes, but it's made some enemies as well. And, of course, it's always risky to pin something like that on someone who isn't actually conscious."
"Encouraged," she repeated.
"I'll be honest, yes," he said. "It was encouraged rather than just 'not discouraged'."
"So this is a show, then," she said, her throat constricting. "We're just straight up putting on a show."
"That depends on you," he said carefully. "Who you are. What you believe."
"What do you think I am?" She almost didn't want to hear his answer.
"I think it's unusually fortuitous that someone with the ability to close rifts in the Fade showed up at the exact same time that a large number of these rifts showed up and started spilling out demons," he said. "That's really as far as I'm willing to go right now."
She closed her eyes. "It's - foolish," she said. "I know what the Chantry says about the Maker speaking to us, but - I keep coming to the temple here because I expect something to happen. A sign. Something. Andraste had visions. I have - Cassandra's determination." She sighed. "Which is substantial, I'll admit."
"You want it to be true."
She shifted uncomfortably. "If it's not true then it's blasphemy. 'Those who bear false witness' and so forth."
"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide." He glanced sideways at her. "If you walk in the Maker's light, you will not falter. And, for what it's worth, I have no doubt we are."
She bowed her head. "Thank you," she said. "That's - helpful. To do nothing, under these circumstances, would be far worse."
"I didn't know you were so devout," he said.
It seemed like a challenge. "The Chantry has been important to my family for generations," she said. "I followed in the road laid out for me. I-" she hesitated, lowering her voice. "I liked the stories. Chantry history. The people behind the myths. It - seems foolish now."
"I'm sorry you got caught up in this," he said. "For what it's worth."
"I'd rather not think about my other options," said Elspeth. "As I'm not sure I have any. This seems to be the only road worth following at the moment."
"I'm glad to hear it," he said.
She leaned her head on her hand. "I hope I shall not live to disappoint."
If Cullen noticed her choice of words, he didn't say anything. "I - did want to say something to you," he said, after a moment.
She looked up uneasily, bracing herself for the words to come.
"The first time we met - on the mountain." He shook his head. "I said something to Cassandra, when you were there. Something like-" he shrugged a shoulder. "'I hope she's worth it, we've lost a lot of men getting her to this point'." He turned towards her. "And the look on your face - I just-" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I hadn't considered how that would sound after being told you're the only survivor of the Conclave. I apologise."
Whatever she had been preparing herself for, it wasn't this. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. "I don't remember anything of that day," she said, trying to keep her voice level. "Mercifully, perhaps."
"In that case, I'm sorry for bringing it up again," he said. "I only wanted to assure you that it was not my intention to add to your burden. It - has been weighing on my mind for some time."
She focused on his frown, the concerned furrow between his eyebrows. "Thank you," she said, a little stiffly. "This has been - I'm not really sure how to even begin-"
"Whatever else happens," he said. "I hope you realise that this isn't your fault. And it's not your fault that you're the only survivor, either."
She stood up, turning her face into the shadow. "I fear I'm a poor trade for Justinia," she said. "Or, indeed, most of those attending the Conclave. Goodnight, Commander." She paused. "Cullen. I should retire - as you suggested - so I may leave in the morning."
"Of course." He stood, and inclined his head.
She nodded back, and walked away, pushing open the chantry door. Snowflakes were still falling from the sky. The village of Haven looked almost frozen in time, silent and still.
She stopped for a moment at the door, looking up at the swirling green vortex of the Breach, moving in a slow spiral into the sky. She looked back, once, inside the Chantry, with the warm lights burning low and the stained glass windows glinting gently, before closing the door behind her and retreating to the room she had been given.