"Chapter Two"

Tatiana bounded into the parlor, her red taffeta skirts rustling as she swept through the doorway, calling, "Mama, Papa! They're here, and he's handsome!"

Evelyn smiled, and took Cullen's broad hand within her own.

"For once, I am entirely inclined to agree with her. Shall we?"

The corner of Cullen's lips rose, and he kissed her knuckles.

"After you, Lady Trevelyan."

The room was much the same as Evelyn remembered it: two overstuffed if slightly shabby couches taking up the lion's share of the space, three high windows looking out towards the Vimmark Mountains to the north, and her father in a chair nearby, nose in a book.

"Evelyn!"

And there was her mother, hands cupping Evelyn's cheeks and her mother's eyes, which had once been so bright blue, had now gone slightly grey with age, fluttering over her face.

"Dear girl, I'm so glad you were able to come. Was the journey difficult? Have you been eating enough? You're so thin! Oh, you must meet Ricardis, and I've heard the Prince of Starkhaven is unmarried- oh, and-"

"Mother. Let her breathe," came a calmer voice and Evelyn's eldest sister approached, a babe in her arms and a little girl trailing behind.

"Cosette, it is wonderful to see you," Evelyn said, kissing her cheek before stooping down to make eye contact with the blonde-haired child peeking out from behind sky blue silks of her mother's skirts, "and my, how you've grown, Emilie. Your hair is almost as golden as your mother's, now!"

Cosette laid a hand atop her daughter's head, "Emilie, what do you say?"

The child spoke around the thumb she kept lodged firmly in her mouth. "Thank you, Aunt Evelyn."

Emilie looked up and, finding her mother engaged with the baby, whispered dramatically, "Mama says you have a hole in your hand that shoots green fireworks."

"Emilie!"

Evelyn laughed.

"No, dear. I did once, but it is gone now. See?" She waggled her fingers, and Emilie nodded, apparently satisfied, before running across the room to her father.

"Papa! Her hand isn't funny! It's just like mine!"

Evelyn's father approached, book tucked under his arm.

"Hello, little one," and he smiled, "though not so little anymore. Give this old man a hug."

Evelyn did, and her father still smelled as she remembered, of sunshine and book parchment and the gardens, and she tried not to feel sad at how much older he seemed to have grown, at how much sharper the knobs of his spine felt beneath her hands.

"Hello, Papa."

And Tatiana coughed, holding Emilie on her hip.

"Enough of that, Evie! Are you going to introduce us to your dashing companion?"

Evelyn's cheeks flared with heat, and she stepped out of her father's embrace to clasp Cullen's hand again. Thankfully he didn't seem too overwhelmed at present, and for that, she was extraordinarily grateful.

"Everyone, this is Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, the leader of the Inquisition's armies. Cullen, this is my father, Bann Erich Trevelyan, my mother, Lady Lisbeth Trevelyan, my sister, Cosette, her husband, Ser Martin of Starkhaven, Emilie and Antony, their children, and of course, my sister, Tatiana."

Cullen swept a bow and murmured, "A pleasure to meet you all. Evelyn has told me so much about you."

Tatiana rolled her eyes. "Evelyn, he's hardly just the Commander of the Inquisition's Armies. Let's not forget that a few minutes ago in the hallway you were-"

"Discussing how excited we were to be here?" said Cullen, meeting Evelyn's eyes, "yes. Evelyn has been able to talk of little else for weeks."

She squeezed his hand in gratitude before asking "where is Marie? Rolf?"

Evelyn's mother tutted softly. "She's not feeling well, so she is resting at present, but she will be joining us for tea. Rolf had to stay in Kirkwall, unfortunately. The mages are making a fuss, and the Chantry is still rebuilding. Couldn't get away, I suppose," she said, though she sighed heavily, and Evelyn noted that an odd expression flickered across Cosette's face before she smoothed it away, leaving her lovely features placid as an undisturbed pond.

Turning back to Cullen, Evelyn looped her arm through his and murmured, "Marie's husband is a Templar in Kirkwall, but he has only been there for a year or so."

Seeing her family's inquisitive expressions, Cullen supplied, "I was once a Templar. Immediately after the Kirkwall Rebellion I had to take over from Knight-Commander Meredith, and I had too many soldiers to be as closely acquainted with them as I would prefer. It is possible that we might have met, but unfortunately I can't be sure."

"No matter," said Evelyn's mother, taking baby Antony from Cosette's arms, "he might arrive in time for the wedding on Summersday. So, tell me, Commander Rutherford-"

Jean rapped on the doorframe, sticking her head into the room without ceremony.

"Ser, Milady, Teryn Ricardis and his son are pulling up to the gate." Her lips pursed in displeasure. "Half an hour early."

Lady Trevelyan said, "oh wonderful," at the same time that Tatiana squealed, "Carl is here?!" and the baby started crying. And then Tatiana and Evelyn's mother were rushing out the door in a flurry of silk and taffeta, and Emilie was running behind them, shouting, "I want to see the Teryn! Mama says he has a castle!"

Cosette linked an arm with her husband and they proceeded out in a stately fashion, leaving Cullen, Evelyn and her father standing alone in the parlor. The Inquisitor's lover looked more than slightly shell shocked, and Bann Trevelyan smiled beatifically.

"The trappings of nobility, my dear boy…never much cared for it, myself."

He set his worn book down on the coffee table and straightened, tucking Evelyn's hand in the crook of his elbow.

"Now, surely you won't begrudge an old man like myself a lovely lady to escort him to tea?"

"Of course not, Bann Trevelyan."

"Psh. Erich will do just fine, son, though not when my wife, Lisbeth's about. Let's go; I think Cook made lemon cookies!"


By the time Cullen, Evelyn and her father entered the study, Jean was already passing around tea cups for a second round, and Emilie had found a picture book that Marie, paler than Evelyn remembered, was reading to her. The conversation flowered and faded in its usual way for perhaps half an hour, after introductions to the Teryn and his son, Carl, were out of the way, and Evelyn found some of her anxiety regarding Tatiana's marriage soothed. She and Carl were no great love story, perhaps, but they seemed matched well enough, and with time, even love could grow, or at least healthy admiration…or so it seemed to go among the nobility much of the time.

"So what is it that your family does, Commander Rutherford?" Cosette's voice was chocolate smooth, and only the lift of one impeccably arched eyebrow betrayed her true curiosity as she lifted her full teacup to her mouth.

Cullen swallowed and set down his glass. "My father was a farmer, milady, but he perished in the Blight. My eldest sister still lives on our family farm."

Tatiana looked ready to speak, but Evelyn shot her a glare fit to curdle milk, and the woman's painted lips snapped shut. At that moment, Evelyn's father, who had almost immediately fallen asleep after eating a half dozen cookies, snorted awake in his armchair. "What's this? A farmer, you say? Fascinating! Now, lad, tell me-"

"Oh, dear, I'm sure we can find better things to discuss than farming," Evelyn's mother cut in, shooting an apologetic look to Teryn Ricardis, who didn't seem to be paying the slightest bit of attention, absorbed instead with the chess match that he and Cosette's husband, Martin, were playing under the watch of Tatiana's fiancé. Her mother went on, "let us discuss the-"

Her father stood. "Nonsense, Lisbeth, what is more interesting, more vital than the production of the food we eat? The Free Marches are the breadbasket of all Thedas, after all! You see, Cullen, I myself am quite an avid gardener, though mostly of flowers and fruit trees. Why, just this past winter I had subterranean irrigation added to the courtyard. Most complicated, indeed. Now let me show you this incredible book on vine grafting I bought in Orlais…"

"Papa-"Evelyn made to stand, but in doing so jostled her nephew, sleeping in her arms, and Antony squalled, pink fist coming loose from his blanket and waving angrily. Stricken, she sat down again, tucking his soft, tiny hand back beneath the cloth and whispering "shhh" in his ear. Cullen's expression was beautifully tender when he met her eyes.

"Now, now, Evelyn," her father said, winking, "don't you worry. I won't monopolize too much of your Commander's time."

Taking Cullen's elbow, her father walked them both to the bookcase at the edge of the room, his other hand gesticulating wildly as he described with great intensity the trouble he was having keeping his Fereldan climbing roses alive.

"The climate here is much hotter than in Ferelden, as I'm sure you've noticed. But, ah! Better we see the roses, yes? The book will keep. Come, come, I will show you the courtyard!"

Cullen's tormented look back over his shoulder was matched only by the intensely apologetic one that Evelyn was sure she wore, though she herself would rather be discussing farming than the options for the wedding luncheon.

"A farmer, Evelyn," her mother sighed, passing Tatiana the plate of fancy Orlesian pastries, "with the wealth of the Inquisition we could find you-"

"One more word, Mother, and I am leaving," Evelyn hissed, grateful for once that her mother was close enough for her to reply without drawing the attention of the others, "Cullen is the Commander of the Inquisition's Army, not a farmer, and even if he were, it would be no business of yours. If you desire my presence at this wedding which, may I remind you, I helped bankroll through the funds acquired through the Inquisition, you will stop this at once. You gave up any right you had to decide on my marriage when you gave me to the Chantry."

Her mother's eyes widened. "Dear, I-"

"No!"

That had been louder than she intended, and her mother's teacup rattled against its china saucer. Cosette and Tatiana were listening now. Evelyn picked up her own cup.

"If you wish to discuss it further, Mother, we will do so privately. Now, Tatiana, you are serving a marzipan cake at the wedding?"

"Antivan Vanilla," her sister said, taking up the cue with the ease of many an etiquette lesson, "it's Carl's favorite. Though we will also have fresh fruit and plenty of smaller pastries. Remind me, Cosette, what did you have at your wedding?"

And with all the smooth precision of clockwork, the conversation shifted onto the merits of various types of dessert. Evelyn couldn't bring herself to meet her mother's eyes.

So after handing off Antony, who had begun mouthing at her neck in search of food, she went in search of Cullen. He wasn't in the courtyard, so she headed for the kitchens; her father's enthusiasm might have led them to the small plot of herbs on the side of the house. Walking through, the cook waved a wooden spoon in her direction by way of greeting, calling, "welcome back, Lady Evelyn," before she went back to stirring some almost black concoction in a large bowl.

"The men are out there, probably tromping all over my seasonings," she groused, gesturing out to the garden with a tilt of her head before holding out her utensil, "here, taste."

Evelyn swept a fingertip through the batter and popped it into her mouth, tongue curling in pleasure. "It's delicious! What is it?"

"Tevinter chocolate torte. The Teryn's partial to it, so your mother's ordered the ingredients up special. Now, go fetch your father and your man before I'll be left without a single leaf of elfroot."

Cullen and Evelyn's father were bent over some tiny, withered plant in the dirt, and her father had the brown leaves cupped in his wizened hands. The strains of their conversation drifted across the narrow strip of soil as Evelyn picked her way through the orderly rows of green shoots.

"…perhaps planted too early…"

"…can't keep the weevils off…"

Leaning on a fence post, she whistled, high and clear, calling, "Papa, now if I recall, you said you weren't going to monopolize too much of Cullen's time!"

"Ah! Evelyn, there you are! Did you know that some Ferelden farmers keep toads in their gardens to eat pests? Fascinating! Look at you, dear, bringing someone with practical knowledge to our home; no wonder your mother's all up in a tizzy!"

Cullen's cheeks flushed, and Evelyn slipped her arm around his waist, murmuring, "Please tell me he hasn't bored you half to death," her eyes landing affectionately on her father pottering about, inspecting the Andraste's Grace.

"Of course not, my love. Is tea over?"

Sighing, Evelyn rested her head against his shoulder, "no, I came looking for you. Didn't want you dying of boredom, or me committing matricide on my first day back."

He chuckled.

"That bad?"

"If my mother mentions marrying me off to the Prince of Starkhaven one more time, I might stab her with a butter knife."

"Who's stabbing who now?" Her father asked from where he crouched in the dirt, chewing thoughtfully on a sprig Dawn Lotus.

"Nothing, Papa. Shall we go back inside?"

"You go ahead, dear. I'm going to weed these. Thank you for your advice on the garden, Cullen."

"Of course, Erich."

"And remember to have your sister send me some seeds!"

As Evelyn and Cullen re-entered the house and walked past the still furiously stirring cook, she giggled and whispered, "You know he's going to go buy Ferelden toads, and my mother will have a fit."

"She may, but your father will have the best herb garden in all of Ostwick," he replied, fingers twining between her own.

"So," he mused as they reached the intersection of the kitchen entrance and a hallway, "which way back to tea?"

An idea sparked quick as candleflame, and Evelyn pulled him back in the opposite direction, towards the pantry.

"Evelyn, what are you-"

"Shh," she hissed, easing the door open and pushing him into the dark, narrow space which smelled of dried herbs and canvas bags full of dried footstuffs.

Evelyn followed him in and spun them, hard, pressing Cullen up against the door. Her lips slanted over his stubbled jaw in the dark, kissing a line to the corner, licking into the heat of his mouth. Quickly she slipped a hand beneath the seam of his shirt, scraping her blunted fingernails up the taut expanse of his stomach, around the curving ridges his ribs. Despite his surprise, Cullen's hands quickly found and cupped her breasts through the light silk of her dress as she ground herself against his hip, seeking friction and relief for the ache building between her thighs.

"Love," he gasped when she released his mouth to press her lips against his thundering pulse, to scrape her teeth over the warm thump of his heartbeat, "we shouldn't, we're-"

"In a pantry, I know," she murmured, arcing her spine to drive her breasts further into his hands, "but according to Iris, Jean's apparently been ordered to serve as our chaperone, and it's been three weeks since we did more than kiss. I might combust if I don't get you in my mouth, right now."

"Maker's breath, woman," he shuddered, nails scraping against the rough wood of the door panel as Evelyn's fingers went to his belt, undoing the buckle with lightning fast precision.

"I need you," she moaned breathily into his ear, kissing the hollow of his throat as her hands pushed his trousers and smalls down to his knees. Cullen was already hard and hot as she wrapped a hand around his length, sliding her digits down until they met his honey dark hair. His breath was labored as she slid her fingers from base to the tip, thumb flicking over the bead of pearly liquid there, and Cullen shuddered, golden head falling against her shoulder as he panted hot, moist streams into the hollow of her neck.

Evelyn gathered up her skirts in one hand and sank to her knees, careful to keep the fabric pooled around her, rather than between her body and the floor where it would get suspiciously dirty.

"I need you, Cullen," she repeated, one hand curling around his hipbone, fingers splayed across his burning skin. She could only barely make out the shape of him in the dark, a thin blade of light filtering under the door as she let her breath ghost over his cock. He hissed lowly between his teeth, a hand shooting out to grip a shelf full of coffee beans and tea leaves.

And her mouth was on his length, trailing wet kisses from the base of his cock down his heavy, hot length until her lips wrapped around the tip, tongue dipping into the slit at the head to catch up the slickness there. Evelyn twirled her tongue around his thick crown, lips parting to allow him further into her heat as she sank, her fingers wrapping around the broad base of his need. Withdrawing, her hand followed behind, moving slickly but feather-light over his heated skin until her lips only just pressed against his tip.

Cullen's voice was strained. "Take mercy, my love."

She did, taking him far enough into her mouth that the broad crown of his cock pressed against her throat, and she hummed, teasing, as the fingers of Cullen's left hand curled tightly in her hair. In the dark she couldn't see his expression, but she could hear his gasping breath as she bobbed, the hand at his hip pushing him even further into her waiting mouth. She kept going, repeating the motion as his voice broke on the sounds of her name.

Evelyn's whole body throbbed with hot desire and tightly coiled need as his length swelled even further between her lips, fingers pulling at her unbound hair almost to the point of pain and then he hissed, "Love, I'm-"

And he was coming, gulping down lungfuls of air as Evelyn's mouth was flooded with the faintly bitter taste of his seed spurting hard from his length. Swallowing greedily, she sank as far down onto him as she could, until her nose just barely touched the curls at the base.

Slowly withdrawing, Evelyn licked him clean as she leaned back, pressing a kiss to the tip of his rapidly-softening cock as his fingers in her auburn hair loosened, tracing the curve of her cheekbone before cupping her chin. As she tucked him back within his trousers and fastened his belt, Cullen's lips worked lazily against her throat, tongue darting out to taste her skin.

"You'll have to let me return to favor," he murmured, fingertips darting below the low neckline of her gown to trace an aching, stiff peak.

"Mmm," Evelyn hummed low in her throat, ready to say "Maker take the dinner" and let Cullen fuck her in the pantry, bent over a crate of dried beans from Antiva, but suddenly her ear caught two voices approaching, growing louder, and she stilled, pressing her fingers against Cullen's lips to silence him.

"…Ferelden…very handsome…where they've gotten off to…"

"Cosette," she whispered against his throat.

"She seems very happy…clearly adores her…need to find them soon…Jean will throw a tantrum…" came the lower voice, and Evelyn murmured "Marie," as the conversation grew fainter, her sisters' footfalls fading as they continued towards to the herb garden.

"Well," she murmured as Cullen withdrew his hand from her breast, "I suppose that means we should get out of here before Cook comes looking for some ingredient or other for tonight's dinner."

"There are other, nearer morsels I'd prefer to eat," he whispered, and she could feel his lips curve in a smile against her fingertips.

"Don't tempt me, Rutherford. I'll leave first and make sure the coast is clear. If I knock against the door once, wait a moment and exit."

He kissed her digits where they pressed against his lips, and could feel the very faintest hint of his tongue against the ridges and valleys of her fingerprints.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

She sighed, delicately wiping a bit of his seed from the corner of her lips and sucking the finger clean, which made Cullen's breathing hitch. Smoothing her skirts, Evelyn pecked his cheek, reaching behind him to grab the door handle and whispering, "Now I promised I'd go into town for a bit with Marie, and then…dinner with the family and the Teryn. Kill me now."

He chuckled lowly, shifting further into the shadows of the pantry as she prepared to leave.

"Not a chance."


"So, Cullen is…" Marie began, from her seat beside Evelyn in the carriage approaching Ostwick's market district.

"Gorgeous," breathed Tatiana, giggling, "I mean, Carl is fine and good, and his father is the Teryn, but Cullen's hands!"

"I was going to say 'kind'," murmured Marie, turning towards Tatiana, "he seems very kind."

"He is. He is a very compassionate and capable man, a good commander, a kind brother…"

"A good kisser?" supplied Tatiana, squealing as Evelyn kicked her in the ankle.

"Mother said you weren't feeling well," Evelyn said, patting Marie's thin hand with her own where it lay between them on the damask cushion, "are you well?"

Marie's finely-shaped brows furrowed and she sighed, "oh, you know how Mother worries. I am just feeling a bit tired. Nothing too serious."

"And Rolf? He couldn't get away?"

"He's very busy helping in the rebuilding of the Kirkwall Chantry, and the new Viscount's hold on power there is tenuous at best, even after your commander spent significant time recruiting new Templars and rebuilding. I suppose Rolf didn't feel comfortable leaving for a full week. He should be here for the wedding, however."

Marie sighed, pulling her hand from beneath Evelyn's palm, "Rolf works too hard. Doesn't come home until after dark some nights…he asked me to pick up a sword he had repaired here; apparently the blacksmith he liked left Kirkwall after the rebellion and moved here, on the same street as the Orlesian confectioner. Ah, here we are…"

The carriage shuddered to a halt and Tatiana was already out and running, skirts held high as she dodged puddles and a pile of horse droppings, chasing the syrupy sweet scent of treacle floating on the air.

"I'll meet you back at the carriage," she called over her shoulder, "I'm going to go buy some candies!"

Evelyn grinned. "Some things never change."

"No, I suppose not," Marie replied, stepping gingerly onto the cobblestones, "she's always had an obsession with sweets."

"And Orlesians! Remember, she wanted to move to Val Royeaux when she was nine?"

"You wanted to go with her, if I recall correctly. Father found you both hiding in a shipping crate. I think Mama was secretly proud."

As they walked, Evelyn was able to get a better look at her middle sister. Marie's hair, just a shade or two darker than her own, a gift from their father's side, was coiled in braids at the base of her neck, making a stark contrast against her pale skin. Even now Evelyn could see the faintest hints of blue-green veins beneath the porcelain expanse of her neck. She seemed thinner.

"Do you like Kirkwall?" she asked, trailing a hand along the stones, following the iron tang of the smithy's shop on the air.

"It is…alright. The city is strange, hard. The signs of the rebellion remain everywhere; many people left and still have not returned. Rolf feels very strongly about it."

Evelyn rapped her knuckles against the wooden door embossed with an anvil.

"'It'?"

"The city. He grew up there, you know, before being stationed in the Chantry at Wildervale. I think he misses Kirkwall as it used to be. He spends a lot of time walking the city, seeing the damage. It must be difficult."

Evelyn knocked again and replied, "Cullen doesn't talk about it very much."

The wooden door to the smithy swung inwards and an old man peered out, one good eye winking white in the sooty darkness, "yes?"

"Good evening, ser. I am Rolf Harkness's wife, Marie Harkness, formerly Trevelyan. I am supposed to pick up his sword?"

The old man grinned toothlessly, "yes, yes, come on in, got it in back" and it was only then that Evelyn heard the scraping of stone against stone, and as a pebble swished past her feet to bounce against the street, she screamed, "move," pushing Marie into the dark interior of the shop, her own body falling hard in a sprawl of limbs atop of her sister and the smithy.

And Marie gasped as a massive marble cornice stone shattered hard, flying apart against the paving, where only a moment before, she and Evelyn had stood.


Comments, constructive criticism, questions always welcome!