Red Hart

There was a stirring through Haven as the Red Hart was delivered. Despite all the unbelievable occurrences over the past few weeks the sight of one of the Halla's kin was still something supernatural to common folk. They clambered over each other to get a look at the beast. Deer were a common enough sight but a stag like this? Suddenly no one bothered to look up at the gaping hole in the sky. Cullen's soldiers halted their drills to peer at the beast as it was led up the mountainside. Blacksmiths stopped hammering and several merchants all but ignored their wares.

Naturally the Hart panicked.

To be fair, the best had been agitated its whole journey. Cullen could see that in the way the animal moved, ears down, steps clipped and heavier than necessary. It was making a stance that was going unnoticed. Hot breath left angry steam in the cold air. One of Josephine's people who had been instructed to retrieve the Hart was at her wits end. She pulled the leash, encouraging the stag to walk in step with her own horse. The Hart dug in its hooves and thrashed, massive antlers sawing the air. Everything happened at once. Cullen saw the panic settling into the rider, the way she clutched to her reigns and searched for help as the Hart arched its neck and –

How in all of the Maker's holy wisdom had he allowed a creature to sound so horrifying?

The Hart screeched. It was like an elk, or a dawkspawn version of one. Several of Cullen's men faltered on their way to assist and the beast started bucking. Hooves and antlers thrashed. The rider was pulled from her mount and her horse added her pale whinny to the chaos, yanked about by the stag she was tethered to.

Cullen ordered his men back, some removed physically to make space for the animal to calm. He didn't want to risk one of his men getting bludgeoned or skewered but this was getting out of hand. The horse kept wailing, kicking now and terrified. It was an ugly sound and so similar to the noises he knew men made in cages.

Thinking of Kinloch and Kirkwall was not a luxury Cullen could entertain. Nor did he want to. They'd stolen and painted so much of his life. He wanted to give them no more of himself but horror stained the air.

Sword unsheathed, Cullen stepped forward with a prayer of protection at his lips when he spotted her; the Harold. Lavellan was sprinting down the steps, a flurry of snow at her heels. The cowl she wore in chilled air of Haven blew off her head. Both she ignored, foxing through gaps in the crowd to the two beasts. She cut the horse loose with a quick flick of a skinning blade.

"Commander, the mare," she told him and Cullen moved. The horse flailed, eyes all whites as she bolted. Cullen only just grabbed the reigns, coaxing the mare to him as he helped control her panic. When he was satisfied she wouldn't jerk away again he shot a look over his shoulder.

Lavellan was bowing. To the stag. From the waist. Her neck was bore to the beast, her palms up and her posture relaxed like she was sunbathing. Cullen had seen elves and mages bowing all his life but he'd never seen one so. . .appreciative before.

Her bow would never do in Orlais – too unrefined. Or Ferelden – too giving. Despite that it was plain to see the genuine respect in the action.

He'd never seen her bow before. The action wasn't one he liked, for an odd reason. Perhaps it was because she was the Harold, one who should bow before the Maker and no one else. Especially not a half wild animal. Whatever the reason didn't matter because it worked.

The stag stilled. Its stance was ridged as ever but the ears were straight up, attentive instead of defensive. It tilted its head, watching the Harold from the side dead on for its eyes. All the commotion around them hushed and soon only the wind made noise. Lavellan spoke in elvahn, quiet, sacred sounding words Cullen couldn't begin to make sense of. When at last the mare calmed the stag bowed its own head, all but kissing the ground. Both Lavellan and the Hart rose and the Harold crossed the rest of the way and embraced it like a lost friend, wrapping her arms around the plush fur of its neck.

Another moment later and Lavellan was ushering the Hart forward like any other mount. Cullen barked at his men to get back to work. Lavellan took the reins of the mare from him with a nod and marched both back to the stables. The smiths went back to hammering and the rest of Haven filtered back to the jobs preparing for a world where demons fell out of the sky.

. . .

"How is the Hart settling in?" Cullen asked when he had time to spare. Lavellan perched on the fence of the stable's paddock. Though there were few mounts they were already pushed for space, thanks to the ones that had been gifted to the Inquisition like the Hart. Lavellan was wrapped in a thick coat, her hood pulled tight and gloves over her hands. She offered meal to the Hart but the animal wasn't interested, more preoccupied with taunting the Charger the next stable over. Without its armor on, the Charger hardly looked like the same animal, tail cropped short and almost gamily looking. And of course it wanted no part of the Hart's mischief.

"I think he'll do fine," Lavellan replied. She pushed off the fence and tossed the meal into the paddock. If the Hart didn't want it, birds would. "How are your men?"

"Leliana stresses that they are our soldiers."

"With how much you dote on them?" Was that humor in her voice? "Leliana has her secret force. Those soldiers are yours and they know it."

Cullen tried to quell the flash of pride that brought him. He kept his smile tight to cover it. "Before, when you calmed the Hart. . .what was it you said to it?"

It almost felt like a spell. He'd heard Dalish would communicate with halla but he'd never seen it firsthand.

Then he looked up and saw the expression Lavellan was giving him. Her head was tilted, watching him, and the emotion in her eyes was one he couldn't read. It was hardly fair. Her eyes were narrow to begin with but when she squinted like that he couldn't make out much but the color of them, white-green like fade-fire.

"Sorry, was that rude? You don't have to answer that. Wait – you don't have to answer that either." Maker take him now.

Since Varric's reveals, one that Lavellan had been exiled from her clan and two, she found him attractive (which had never been an issue in the past. Cullen knew many found qualities about him attractive. He couldn't understand why it made his chest tight and his heart lurch now, with her) Cullen hadn't seen much of the Harold.

Traveling to the Hinterlands wasn't an easy jot into the countryside, despite the roads they'd forged through the Frostback. Since her return Lavellan hadn't found time to study with him and Cullen focused his attention on keeping the peace amongst the templars and clerics in their camp. She'd be heading for Val Royeaux in the morning so this was his one chance to take a moment of her time.

He didn't want to fuddle that up.

"No harm taken, Commander." Lavellan brushed off her hands. "It wasn't anything special. I apologized for any unkindness done to him in his travels and hoped he'd get a meal before leaving. Playing the role of good hostess to a weary friend." She glanced back at the Hart and grinned. "He's decided to stay."

Cullen blinked. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"And it's going to stay."

"We have good food."

Cullen laughed and to his astonishment, so did she. It wasn't any sort of mystifying sound, just a snort of air that has her covering her face for shear embarrassment. Cullen snorted at that and had to look away, feeling just as foolish. It left Cullen feeling warm down in his gut, knowing she made this sound because of him.

The Hart interrupted them, craning its neck out to nip at Lavellan and make that awful sound again. She kept laughing as she reached out to scratch the anima's jaw.

There were so many other things he wanted to ask her. What did her marking mean? Why did she not pray to the elvan gods? Was she truly Andraste's Harold? Did she have any belief in the Maker at all?

But watching her, his cheeks still flushed, the smile still lingering on his lips, he knew this was not the time. He also knew, watching her in the fading light, why she made him so uncomfortable.

She was Solona and Meredith wrapped in one. Apparently ripping open the sky wasn't enough for the Maker.