"Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will keep no terms with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share my wretchedness. "
"Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject slavery. I will revenge my injuries: if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear,"
-Mary Shelley

...

He would never have predicted the first thing that Trevelyan was to teach him.

About two months after her return from the Storm Coast, Cullen found himself alone with her in the war room. Josephine was, yet again, dealing with Chancellor Roderick's melodrama- something she was fast becoming well practiced at. Regardless, this time was taking longer than usual so Leliana had gone to investigate, leaving Trevelyan and Cullen alone in a profoundly awkward silence.

Deciding he could only fiddle with troop markers for so long, he eventually remarked- just to end the infernal quiet- that her riding had improved impressively. The blush colouring her cheeks was just as surprising as it had been that day in the attic. She thanked him again, more warmly than she had done previously. He felt a small tingle of pride when she remarked that she had a good teacher. He found himself assuring her that it had been no trouble, though this was not strictly true, and her arched brow said plainly that she saw through him. The biggest smile he had seen from her (though still small) softened her features as she told him, stumbling a little over her words, that she was in his debt. He would never be sure whether the streak of boldness was due to divine intervention, sheer idiocy or the surreal situation he was in, but he found himself smiling broadly in return and saying that he was certain they could find something she could teach him in payment. She opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment the chamber door burst open to reveal a fuming Josephine, ruffles askew, muttering furiously in Antivan. The moment of... Whatever it had been, dissipated instantly, leaving him a little uncertain that it had happened at all.

Some weeks later, Cullen found himself at a loose end- a most uncomfortable predicament. A furious blizzard had engulfed Haven making his planned training sessions impossible. The extra time this yielded made short shrift of his paper work and Josephine had flat out refused to invent new work for him, telling him to 'enjoy his afternoon off'. He skulked back to his room and proceeded to consider ideas for troop movements and operations. He took them to Josephine who simply ordered him out of her office. He tried Cassandra instead, but she insisted she was very busy and practically fled from him, a book pressed tightly to her chest. Wandering aimlessly through the halls of the Chantry, he stopped in front of the Herald's chamber. Perhaps she would be interested in his ideas; he certainly couldn't face the thought of staring at the wall at his chambers for the rest of the day or pitifully attempting to play chess against himself- again.

He knocked cautiously, wary of catching her in one of her more difficult moods- though he'd hesitantly say that these were becoming less frequent. Trevelyan called for him to enter, standing quickly up from her desk when he did so, as if he was the last person in Thedas she would have expected to call on her- which was perhaps fair enough. He had begun to explain his presence when he noticed a collection of paper... Figures crowding her desk. His sentence left unfinished, he stepped closer in curiosity. Following his gaze, the Herald let out a startled 'Oh!', quickly telling him to ignore them; that they were just the products of idle procrastination. Intrigued, Cullen carefully picked one up, making sure to ask permission first and receiving a nod in response. It was indeed fashioned from paper and was shaped into the image of a bird a little like a swan. Surveying the others on her desk, he identified flowers, ships, butterflies, stars and many more equally impressive creations. 'How in Andraste's name did you manage to make these?' He asked quietly, picking up a paper lotus blossom and turning it carefully. The Herald looked down at her feet and rubbed her the back of her neck as she explained that it was simply folded paper, something she had learnt from a governess when she was young and continued to do -'childishly', she insisted- when taken to the circle. Yet again, he was overcome by a boldness he could not explain; pulling an additional chair over to her desk and taking a seat. When she cocked her head slightly in confusion, he simply said that it seemed they had found something she could teach him and that he was calling in her debt. She stared at him for a moment and he held eye contact even as he began to think that he had made a terrible mistake. But the Herald simply made a faintly bemused noise and took her seat next to him.

Cullen did not pick up the art as quickly as Trevelyan had taken to riding. His hands were too large and clumsy, used to swinging a sword and not any work of intricacy, but the Herald was uncharacteristically patient with him, though she did laugh a little as he fumbled with even the simplest shapes. He reminded her wryly that he had never once laughed at her as she learnt to ride; she smiled a little sadly and said she had 'never claimed to be a good person'. When he reminded her that there were a few dozen refugees in the Hinterlands that would beg to differ, she brushed off the compliment with a 'hmph' as she always did, never seeming to think them genuine. After a while, Cullen realised that the paper they were using was covered in The handwriting of both Josephine and himself- reports and missives they had sent her. Trevelyan hurriedly insisted that they were all old papers no longer needed and that she didn't want to waste Inquisition resources with fresh sheets. They could, he said, easily justify the expense if it maintained The Herald of Andraste's mental well being. She laughed at that, admitting that she supposed it did. He huffed in frustration as he accidentally tore another sheet. Trevelyan arched an eyebrow, waiting to see if he would surrender, but Cullen would not be beaten and grabbed another piece. He would get it eventually, she insisted, adding that she had an abundance of time in which to practice over the years. Carefully, he probed for further details of her life in the Ostwick Circle and was surprised when she obliged him.

After the... incident in which her powers first manifested, her family had panicked; her siblings ran from her in fear and her parents, insensible at the prospect of having a Mage for a child, had immediately sent for the Templars. For four years, her Grandparents visited once a month, sometimes bringing short notes from her parents that could not have taken more than five minutes to write. Her grandmother's brother, now deceased, had also been a Mage and she and her husband had none of the prejudices or fear that so many others did. Smiling wistfully for the briefest of moments, the Herald explained that she had lived for those visits, counting down the days each month and asking eagerly for news of her parents and siblings, though they showed no interest in her. And then one day, she raced down to the visiting chamber and found ther grandparents weren't there. They had never missed a visit; every month for four years at least one of them, usually both, had been there. It was entirely unfathomable to her. She returned to the chamber each month for half a year before she eventually learnt, through a chance encounter with another visiting family, that her Grandmother had succumbed suddenly to a sleeping sickness and just three days after her death, her husband had followed though no physical problem was apparent.

For weeks she had been inconsolable, until at last her grief had suddenly given way to an icy clarity as she for the first time realised that the rest of her family had not thought to tell her about her grandparents' passing. Running back to the apprentice chambers, she pulled her parents' scribbled notes from their hiding place under her mattress. She had kept them all, treasuring them and reading them over and over. But that day, she read them as though for the first time, finally seeing the cold, distracted nature of the brief words; as though the miles between them and the years without meeting were not distance enough. She had set the letters alight there and then, overcome by grief, despair and, increasingly, anger. The other apprentices had screamed and run from the room as the flames spread to bedding and curtains, just as her siblings had done years before. The next thing she knew, she was being dragged by Templars to a chamber used for the confinement of troublesome charges. She was unsure how long she had been kept there, but when she returned the other inhabitants of the Ostwick Circle had been much changed in their attitudes to her. Her fellow apprentices avoided her, the senior mages were at best pitiful, and the Templars... The Templars treated her with constant suspicion, punishing her disproportionately for innocent mistakes. On one occasion she had tripped in the dining hall, sending her plate flying. The Knight Captain- who was particularly cruel by her account- had slapped her across the face there and then. When Trevelyan had dared to talk back, the Templar drew her sword, shouting for back up to restrain her. The Herald was rushed into her harrowing shortly after, although the Grand Enchanter insisted she was not yet ready. It was clear that they wanted her to fail, to be rid of her for good. But of course, she did not.

It was customary in the Ostwick Circle for Mages who had passed their harrowing to be given their own quarters- a change she relished. The Templars continued to find any possible excuse to punish her, often locking her in her chamber for extended periods. It was in these times of isolation that she began to realise that the attitudes of those around her arose, fundamentally, from fear. They certainly all dealt with that fear differently; the majority of the mages avoided her whilst the Templars punished and even abused her. But all of this happened because they were afraid. It seemed to her that there was nothing she could do to change that fear and so, miserable, angry and, above all, alone, she resolved to accept it. If they insisted on fearing her without cause, then she would give them one.

Trevelyan stared down at the desk as she continued her admission, and Cullen was glad; if she looked at him he was unsure what she would see playing across his face. The ache of familiarity he felt as she insisted that she was not, proud of the hostile way she had behaved during those years was simply too strong. But for the Maker's grace, he could have, perhaps would have, been one of those Templars. He had often wondered what had happened to make The Herald so defensive and it seemed that the answer was people like him. He felt sick.

She explained that she had been able to find some comfort in spending time with the Circle's youngest residents. The new children that arrived over the years had not learned to fear her, though some had their minds changed as they grew older. She was also unafraid to stand up for the children against Templars and older mages- they hated her anyway. The Grand Enchanter granted her a position teaching simple magical theory to child apprentices, but this kindness was soon taken away by the Knight Commander who claimed that she was 'a poisonous influence' over young minds. She missed them, and spent more and more time alone in her chambers, studying the limited texts she was permitted and making countless paper creations which she gave to the children when permitted.

When she was in her seventeenth year at the circle, at age 24, she had her first visitor in thirteen years; her younger sister. When she was taken to the Circle her sister had been just five years old, but Trevelyan was just about able to recognise her as she asked how she had been as though mere weeks had passed. Stunned almost to silence, she had asked why she was visiting after all this time. Her sister had explained that things had changed for her, that she had developed a different perspective. Two years previously, she had married a successful Antivan merchant whom she was very much in love with. A year after that, she had given birth to a son. Motherhood, she claimed, had shown her just how wrong their conduct towards the Herald had been; she could not imagine ever abandoning her son as their family had abandoned her- she loved him unconditionally.

Upon reflection, Trevelyan said, she wished she had taken this olive branch and used it to reconnect with her, genuinely contrite, sister. But she had not. She had been incensed by the way her sister seemed to think she could slip back into her life so easily after so long. Moreover, she admitted with clear shame, she had been jealous. Though she had not realised until that moment, she wanted a family and those things her sister had that she never could. It was just so unfair. The realisation was so sudden- she joked bitterly that she never saw anything until it was right in front of her- that she fled the room in tears, leaving her sister shouting after her in confusion. Her visitor tried to visit twice more, but the Herald refused to see her, partly due to anger and partly to shame. She'd had little to do with the child apprentices for a long time after that. It simply hurt too much. Eventually she had written an apology to her sister, only to realise that she had no idea where to send it. The final years leading up to the rebellion had been quiet but then... well, she said, he knew the rest.

The Herald fell silent with a sigh, finishing the paper lotus she was working on. Cullen did not know what to say and was clearly quiet for too long; she apologised for 'rambling on' and said she didn't know where her 'hideously self-indulgent outpouring' had come from. Hurriedly, but quietly, he told her that she had no need to be sorry and that he hoped she did not regret telling him. With a small smile, she said that it was too early to tell and he chuckled. At last, he presented a paper bird for inspection and earned a wider smile. She looked at him as though as asking permission and gently took it from him when he nodded. With a wry smile, she asked him 'not to freak out' and, to his credit, he did not flinch when she enchanted it to flutter slowly around the room- he even laughed after his initial sharp inhale. Trevelyan regarded him shrewdly as the bird landed back on the desk and observed that he did not seem to be 'a typical Templar'. At that his smile failed him. He could not keep the melancholy nor the shame from his voice as he told her that he had been once, but he hoped he had changed.

A feeling he could not place rose from somewhere in his stomach as they held each other's gaze for what could have been seconds or minutes until she suddenly looked away and cleared her throat. Cullen felt himself flushing as he rubbed the back of his neck. He thanked her for her time and shuffled awkwardly to the door, pausing in the threshold to look back at her where she sat, straight backed against the tide of her memories. The Herald looked up from her desk after a moment and seemed surprised to find him still in her doorway. Embarrassed to have been caught staring, he mumbled a goodnight and hurried out of Trevelyan's chambers, wondering what in the Maker's name had passed between them that evening.

...