Chapter 2

"Moving out?" Leliana asked, her eyebrows meeting in the middle. A slender, ivory finger pointed to the scattered books, papers and leather sack sitting on the wood table.

A nervous laugh escaped him. "More like moving in."

"Right, you moved Lady Trevelyan into your cabin." Josephine joined the conversation, eyeing him.

"She deserved more than a prison cell — she has helped us. That's enough to prove her innocence."

The two women were stunned by his answer. Commander Cullen had always proven himself to be a man of order and rules — strictly following the limitations and restrictions presented to him. This judgment was almost completely out of character.

"I agree." Leliana nodded firmly. "That was very generous Commander. But where will you stay?"

With a huff, Cullen started gathering his belongings onto the corner of the wood table. "I'll find an extra tent — pitch it with my soldiers."

"Actually..." Josephine's voice trailed off. "We've run out of our field tents. I have sent out a requisition for more but it has yet to be completed."

"Oh." Cullen pursed his lips together as he realized he was now completely bedless.

"There's plenty of space in the Council's room. We'll just move some things around — it will be fine." Josephine did not even wait for him to reply before she ran into the main hall, waving at a couple passing servants.

"That's really not necessary!" He stumbled over his words and feet as he chased after her. Sharing a room with his fellow female companions was not something Cullen was so eager to do. "There's room out on the field—" The words stopped coming out of his mouth when he walked into the bedroom.

A bed and night table had been moved into the corner, a screen set beside them for privacy. Two young women were stretching fresh sheets over the mattress and fluffing pillows. While on the other side, two men were carrying over the furniture and ornaments for Josephine and Leliana.

"See? No problem at all." She smirked, flicking her black hair out of her eyes before continuing to inform the man that the painting over her bed was slightly crooked.

His eyes widened with shock — how did she do this so fast? With a polite smile to the women who finished making his bed, Cullen sat at the foot of it — the mattress sinking under his weight.

The room smelled of lilies and berries, it was lit with warm candles and had pillows of fine silks and colours. It was no place for a Commander — at least not for this Commander. Cullen let out a sigh, before falling back onto the mattress. He placed his folded hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

It had been many years since he had shared a room with a woman. The last would have been his sister when they were children. He had hated it as much then as he did now. He had always liked his moments alone and usually, his bed was one of them. But his sister was always determined to keep him up until the wee hours of the morning or bother him with her lotions and perfumes. He believed that Josephine and Leliana would be no different.

"Ooo Josie look," Leliana grabbed onto a leather journal waving it in the air. Cullen let out disgruntled noise as he sat up to see what it was. "The Commander keeps a journal."

"That is private." He snapped, snatching the book out of Leliana's pale fingers.

The two women giggled and whispered as he tucked it under his armpit, before turning on his heels and leaving. "Andraste preserve me." He grunted as he marched back into the war room.


Crisp white sheets laid on top of Cullen's bare chest. His forehead was covered in a sticky, cold sweat. His eyes fluttering as he woke from his dream. Sitting up, he wiped his brow attempting to shake his mind of the awful images that were playing in his mind.

The room around him was dimly lit by a flickering candle stump. His eyes flickered to the other two beds in the room. Josephine's back was to Cullen, her ivory, silk sheets hugging the curves of her torso and legs. Leliana's bed was, unsurprisingly, empty. Sliding the sheets off of him, he swung his legs off the bed, his bare feet hitting the floor.

Cullen yanked on his worn leather boots, cuffing his trousers around the tops. He had been too uncomfortable to take them off last night — still not accustomed to sharing a bedroom with two women. After pulling on his top and fur cloak, Cullen tipped toed out of the room. The door shut behind him with a soft click, as the Commander found himself standing in the Chantry hallway.

Sunlight had just begun to trickle through the thinly framed windows, dust particles floating through the air lazily. Wrapping his cloak around his body tighter, Cullen left the chantry, embracing the chilly morning. Few people were up this early — the blacksmith was wandering out to his shop, a couple of hungover men being kicked out of the tavern.

Cullen's footsteps crunched in the snow as he walked towards the main gates, ready to wake up his soldiers and begin another day of training. But the sight of his old cabin made him stop in his tracks. There was no sign of movement in the cabin — no lights shining through the windows or even fresh tracks on the path that led to the house. A frown came across his face. Will she ever wake up? The mystery of Ashlyn Trevelyan was getting to him.

He had found himself thinking about her as he laid in bed the night before, unable to fall asleep in his new foreign room. His mind was replaying the details of her face, the first time he saw her down in the prison cells. The Commander had to admit, he thought she was quite beautiful. But he had yet to see her eyes. What colour would they be?

Letting out a sigh, Cullen began to march through the snow again leaving the cabin behind him.


The softness of cotton and fur on skin. The kiss of a hearth on cheeks and neck. The sturdy strength of a bed. Bed? Ashlyn's eyes opened with a flash. Light poured into her eyes, causing her to blink. She looked around the room in fright, her hands clenching the fur blanket on top of her body.

Looking down at herself, she realized she was not in her own clothes. She was wearing a simple tunic and brown trousers. They hung off of her loosely. She frowned, thinking of who put them onto her.

It was a man's room. Or a woman's, with bizarrely large feet. Big leather boots sat under the desk that was piled high with maps, and books. Squinting, she read one of the titles: Tactical Training. It had many pages folded, dog-eared for later. Pelts lined the cabin walls, a cold breeze flickering in through the open window.

Ashlyn could not remember the last time she had laid in a bed. She had been spending the season pitching a tent every night. Furrowing her brows, she attempted to remember what tavern she could possibly be in, but none came to mind. Perhaps, she had drunk too much ale and gone home with some poor lad. It wouldn't be the first time, she grimaced.

Moving to sit up, a burning sensation flared up through her left hand. "Agh." She let out a grunt, as she fell back into the bed. Suddenly, a memory appeared in her head. Ashlyn pulled up the sleeves of her blouse, revealing her wrists. They were rubbed raw, a glaring pink from handcuffs. Moving her fingers to her forehead, she tenderly felt the small gash and bruising - remembering being struck there.

"What the -" She stopped at the sound of a creaking door. Her right hand automatically went to her thigh, reaching for the dagger that was usually tucked into a garter. But her fingers grasped at nothing. White knuckles loosened as she watched as a thin boy with dark, wispy hair enter the room.

"Oh!" The young boy dropped the wooden box, glass shattering on the floor. He looked at the mess, then back up to Ashlyn - his eyes wide. "I didn't know you were awake. I swear!"

She was more careful sitting up this time. Keeping her voice composed, she said "Don't worry about it. I only -"

He fell onto his wobbly knees, bowing his head at her. "I beg your forgiveness. And your blessing. I am but a humble servant." She could see his hands trembling, holding onto the red rug.

Ashlyn remained silent, watching the lad. It was all coming back to her now — the Conclave, a woman with short black hair, the tear in the sky, her hand...

"You are back in Haven, m'lady." The boy recognized her confusion. "They say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand."

The mark on Ashyln's hand flared up green — as if it had heard it being mentioned.

"It's all anyone's talked about for three days." Three days? She couldn't believe she had been out that long. What did this mark do to her?

Pressing her full lips together, she looked up tenderly to the boy. "Then the danger is over."

"The breach is still in the sky... But that it was they say." He had begun ringing his hands, "I am certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you've waken. She said at once."

"And where is she?" Ashlyn raised a dark brow. Cassandra — that had been the woman she fought with.

He had already begun racing for the door,"In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. At once she said!" The door slammed shut, leaving Ashlyn alone in the mysterious cabin again.

Her mind was racing. Eyeing the desk chair, she noticed her emerald scarf draped over the arm. She wrapped it around her, large pieces of her dark brown hair falling out of it. A sound of delight let out of her when she found her worn, black books tucked safely under the chair as well. She slipped them on effortlessly, the boots were molded to her feet perfectly.

Alright, the chantry. Just find the chantry. She had never felt so naked in her entire life. The only things she recognized as her own were her grungy old boots and the wool scarf she had, unforgivably, looted off of a corpse. Without the familiar tick of her dagger on her thigh or scrunch of her leather trousers - Ashlyn felt extremely vulnerable as she walked into this unknown Haven.

Biting her lip, she opened the wooden door and stepped out into the snow. Ashlyn's pupils dilated as the glaring sun bounced off of the snow into her eyes. Even though her eyes were now adjusted, it took her a moment to take in what she saw. Soldiers were just two steps out of the door, stationed there as guards. They turned around when they heard the door close, saluting her with a fist on their shoulders. Ashlyn furrowed her eyebrows. Weren't the same dressed guards just pointing their swords at her not too long ago?

She shuffled forward, looking down at her feet as she was careful not to slip down the snow-covered stairs. When she looked up again, she was in a runway of people. At least thirty people were on either side of her, awestruck looks on their faces as she walked between them. She heard whispers and murmurs as she slipped past, "That's her. The Herald of Andraste." As a mercenary, Ashlyn had found herself in several interesting predicaments — but this was by far the weirdest one yet. "They said that when she came out of the fade, Andraste herself was watching over her."

Ashlyn flashed her grey eyes at the man just as the woman left to him spoke up. "Hush. We shouldn't disturb her."

Without another look behind her, Ashlyn rushed up the snow-covered steps — the stoned walled Chantry now in view. She quickened her pace as she noticed more people standing in the cover of the brown tents. "That's her. She stopped the breach from getting any bigger."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a red-head dwarf fold her arms. "I heard she was supposed to close it entirely." Shrugging it off she spoke again. "Still, it's more than anyone else has done. Demons would have had us otherwise."

As she approached the large entrance, Ashlyn looked up the sky. It was still grey, pieces of blue peeking through. But the swirling green Breach still hung over like an ominous cloud. Pushing the heavy ornate doors open, the warmth from inside hugged her cold body. Rubbing her hands together, she looked around the grand hall, lined with flickering candles and a lush green rug. A single door on the North wall beaconed her forwards. But as she neared it voices from inside passed through the stone walls.

"Have you gone completely mad?!" It was a man's voice. Familiar to Ashlyn for some bizarre reason. "She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine!"

"I do not believe she is guilty." That was Cassandra, her tone very firm.

"The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky, for all you know, she intended it this way." The man attempted to reason with her.

"I do not believe that." Cassandra's tone remained strong.

"That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry."

"My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours."

Of course, it's the Chancellor — that sniveling twat. Ashlyn thought as she neared the door. She reached for the doorknob.

The door opened dramatically, giving Ashlyn quite the entrance. "Chain her!" Ashlyn had barely been two steps into the room before the Chancellor pointed his finger at her. "I want her prepared to travel to the capital for trial!"

"Disregard that." She glared at the Chancellor as the guards backed off. Clearly, they knew who was really in command here. "And leave us." The guards saluted her, before leaving the room with a march.

"You walk a dangerous line Seeker." He scowled.

Ashlyn gave the Chancellor a twisted smile, moving further into the room.


"Yes! Good. Now do that a thousand more times, and you'll have it perfected." The Commander boomed as he walked through the lines of soldiers. His second in command followed closely behind him, attempting to mimic the Commander's strict posture and composure.

"Here." Cullen stopped in front of a young man. Grabbing his thin shoulders, he readjusted the boy's stance making it wider. "Plant your feet. Shield up, like this." Cullen bent forward, raising an imaginary shield up across his chest.

The young man nodded fast. "Right, th-thank you, Commander."

Cullen returned the nod sternly, before continuing to walk through the rest of his soldiers. A figure in the distance caught his eye. It was marching up the white hill, heading west. Snow swirled around the character wrapped in a dark cloak. Squinting his eyes, Cullen saw the smallest flicker of brown hair before the figure vanished into the treeline.

Brown hair, that's all he saw. Brown hair. "Excuse me." Cullen blurted, moving past the Captain.

"Commander, what about training!" They asked, eyes wide.

"You continue without me. I won't be long!" Cullen shouted back, his cloak wiping at his feet as he trudged back to the gates of Haven. Pushing the gates open, he slipped past them hurrying up the snow-covered stairs. Giving a quick wave to Varric, the Commander hustled towards the Chantry. By the time he had made it to the Council's chambers, he was huffing and puffing.

The doors to the room were already open as Cullen marched in. "Was anybody going to tell me that the Herald was awake?"

The three women sitting around the large, oak table stopped what they are doing and looked up at the irritated Commander. Josephine softly placed her quill down, "I assumed you knew when I came to inform you of our decision of establishing the Inquisition."

"As did I. I apologize, Commander, I forgot that nominal detail," Cassandra spoke, unfolding her arms from around her.

"Nominal detail? She is the Herald for Maker's sakes! I am a member of the Council am I not? The Commander of the Inquisition. Should I not be aware of her consciousness, if I need her?" Cullen was baffled at their behaviour.

Bewildered by his reaction, Leliana asked, "And what is it exactly you need the Herald for?"

"Um," Cullen paused. He had not really thought about that. Seeing her marching up the hill had sparked something in him and next, he knew he was standing in front of his peers complaining about it. That's it. "Well. I saw her, heading West — away from Haven."

"Away from Haven?" Josephine asked, her mouth forming a pout. Cullen nodded in response.

"I'm sure she is exploring. Or perhaps someone asked her to help them with something. She is with us — she will not abandon us. Ashlyn gave me her word." Cassandra attempted to comfort them.

"Right, well her word means nothing to me as I have never met her." He scowled. "Well, I am not going anywhere until she returns. The Herald is part of the Inquisition now, and I am due to speak with her."

"I agree, Commander. Perhaps you would like to go discuss your soldier's requisitions while we wait for Lady Trevelyan to return." Josephine offered, waving to the empty chair next to her.

With a sigh Cullen sat in the chair, using his elbow as a resting spot as he listened to Josephine's neatly organized — but never-ending lists.