Rules, routine, and ritual had been part of Cullen's life for over two decades. Since the tragedy of the Conclave and as more and more people arrived to join the Inquisition, he believed it was important to maintain as many of the three as possible both for himself and for the forces at Haven. He led an Andrastrian prayer before the morning hike into the hills or around the lake. After breakfast with the troops, he would spend an hour with Josephine and Leliana, discussing whatever Inquisition business needed to be addressed that day. Then he took a walk to the practice yard, to lead, join, or simply watch the drills with blunted weapons. After a solitary lunch during which he would handle as much paperwork as he could stand, he would try to leave his door open for his people. Some of them asked for help writing letters home or to sweethearts. Some just needed to be reminded of the reasons for fighting through prayer or story. Others just wanted him to listen. After taking a final meal with the soldiers, he'd have a meeting with his lieutenants to discuss matters of discipline and morale and to issue orders as needed.
At twilight, he tried to carve out some time for practice for himself. Usually one of his seconds was up for a bout with swords and shields. A couple of the Templars who'd joined their cause would also sometimes agree to a quick exercise. He'd even been approached by one of the apostates who had trickled into Haven and found the older man skilled, knowledgeable, and Blighted-hard to beat. An hour or two spent working his muscles and testing his mettle and abilities against someone else left him ready to face more reports before finding his bed.
It was late at night, when most of Haven was sleeping, that Cullen found rules, routine, and ritual no bulwark against the nightmares.
It always began with pretty young Renee, the elven apprentice formerly of a Ferelden alienage who had been one of his charges at the Lake Calenhad Circle. She'd had a short cap of hopeless raven's wing hair and the largest, brownest eyes Cullen had ever seen. She also had a mouth on her. Snarky comebacks, witty one liners, even the occasional snide remark were wont to pass her pretty mouth. And she could curse like a pirate.
At only nineteen, young, naive, and newly appointed to the Circle, Cullen was instantly infatuated with her. She had loved to tease him, loved to make him turn red to his ears with her sly innuendo, the way she would linger near him, her tall, reed-slender body angled just so, her long, elegant fingers on his sleeve. Raised on discipline, committed to his cause, he'd buried his feelings for her deep, grateful his duties kept him mostly away from her. Cullen had limited experience of women before Calenhad. He'd had only a handful of tumbles, all with a fellow Templar trainee, a woman whom he knew and trusted. While there had been great affection between them, there had been no future in it, no love between them except for the Order. Because of that limited experience the desire for Renee lingered, took on the impossible breathlessness of forbidden fruit.
In his more lucid moments, he knew his infatuation with her would have died a natural death. Renee had little use for anyone or anything which didn't flatter or seduce her and Cullen knew, now, with the experience of time, that he would have tired of her lack of substance. Too, when he'd been chosen to stand vigil at her Harrowing, he'd understood he would have to be a Templar before he was a man. Perhaps her memory wouldn't continue to linger if she had not been one of the first taken by Uldred.
Every night, no matter how many prayers Cullen said to the Maker and his Bride, he was back in the cage with the Desire demon that wore the body of the woman he couldn't have and yet desperately wanted.
"Cuuuulllleeeennnn." Her voice, husky velvet, that sing-song way she'd said his name when she wanted something. He attempted to twist away from her in the dream, attempted to say the words that would send her away. She was always stronger in his dreams, always more wily, always able to slip past his waning defenses. This time she slipped through the wards around him, came close enough so he could smell Renee's scent, roses and musk, see the panic of the girl he'd cared for flicker and then disappear into the burning purple eyes of the Desire demon which held her body in thrall.
"My handsome Templar. We know what you like. We know what you crave." Renee's touch down his arm, no armor in the dream though he'd been wearing it in the Tower. Lust flared to life, unbidden, and a shudder wracked his big frame both in the Fade and where he lay sleeping. The demon always knew his darkest desires, the hidden pockets of himself that ached to forgo honor for the glide of her tongue on his skin, her nails down his back, the sweet release of orgasm between her thighs.
A butterfly kiss to his skin. A slow stroke of long, slender fingers down his neck. The promise of power and violence in the way she pressed him back, the way she slung an impossibly long leg over his hips, the quick nip of her teeth on his ear. Even knowing what she was, even knowing it was the demon who rode him, Cullen strained beneath her, turned to capture her full, ripe mouth in a desperate, hungry kiss.
He was powerless in her hands, unable to resist the tug and pull of desire, the dangerous need for her. From one breath until they next, they were writhing on the floor of his cage, his hands on her hips, hers busy between them, stroking him, electric shocks up and down his turgid flesh. He rolled them over, vying for control, his teeth at her throat, his soul crying out that this is wrong, no, he knew what came next, the horrible things he did and said to her, for her, when the nightmare turned to blood.
"It's a dream, Cullen." Not Renee's voice, not the demon, no, softer, gentle, the crisp consonants of a newer voice.
The Herald's voice.
Shocked into stillness, he stared down into eyes as green as spring leaves, small, capable hands stroking his back, her softer, curvier body shifting beneath him, sweetness and light and a gentler, waiting sort of need. Meera moved beneath him, over him, her hair a waterfall of autumn leaves around them, protecting their lovemaking from prying eyes. As she took him in, as they took each other, she murmured into his ear, "Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm."
Cullen woke in his tent in Haven hours before dawn, drenched in sweat, hard and aching, the imagined ripe berry taste of her lips still lingering on his. As he rose, knowing more sleep would be impossible, he knelt next to the bed and murmured, "I shall endure."
oOo
oOo
"Did I do the right thing?"
Meera paused, stiffened, then turned to face the Seeker who was using the practice dummies for their intended purpose. It was early morning in Haven, the sun just peeking over the horizon. Solas's last words from the day before had lingered, and she'd stayed awake longer than she should. After a restless night, Meera had woken feeling vaguely unsettled, as if she'd had a dream she needed to remember. It was lost to her, however.
Cassandra's voice roused Meera from the vague memory of hungry lips on her skin.
"What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered for my entire life."
As the Seeker turned to her, regarded her thoughtfully, critically, Meera felt exposed. They had been out in the field protecting each other's lives and yet it was the first personal conversation either of them had initiated. Silence stretched for long moments between them, before finally Meera sighed and spread her hands, palm up, in a gesture of peace.
"I don't know what answer you think I can give."
After another moment, Cassandra turned back to the dummies and crouched, sword in a ready stance.
"Always I have been too brash, too bold, too sure of my own path." The sword slashed down, leaving a gash from shoulder to hip on the straw man. "We must close the Breach. I am sure we are the only ones who can. Others will stand in the fire and declare it too hot."
The next swing caused only a glancing blow to the dummy as Meera murmured quietly and with feeling, thinking of Solas again, "It is too hot."
"You are joking." It was said as a firm statement of fact but the Seeker's dark eyes asked a question.
Meera hesitated, and then stepped closer to the dummy wearing the most grievous injuries. She held Cassandra's gaze as she touched a fingertip to his forehead. With an audible pop just at the edge of hearing, the dummy drifted away into ash.
"There are reasons, good ones, that the Circle trained me as a healer and a scholar and not as a battle mage."
"The Circle stifled you. With your father's blessing, from what I understand."
Meera couldn't hide her shock at the flat statement, especially as it aligned so closely with Solas's judgment of her past life.
Cassandra's lips quirked. "Your skills in the field are impressive, Herald. Whatever the Circle tried to make you, you are more."
When Meera did not answer, face uncertain and surprised, Cassandra sighed and whacked half-heartedly at another of the practice dummies with her sword. "I do not lie to increase your confidence. If you needed to be trained, I would train you myself." Another slash at the dummy which caused its head to tilt dangerously to one side. "No matter the mark on your hand, I would not send you into the field if I did not believe in your skill. And your skill grows with each new challenge we … you … face."
For another long moment, the silence stretched between them, broken only by the sounds of Haven stirring around them, going about the early morning business of running the Inquisition. As Cassandra started to turn away, obviously feeling her attempt at conversation was unwelcome, Meera reached out and grasped the edge of her sleeve. "Seeker...Cassandra. Wait."
They both looked startled at the physical contact but neither pulled away. Meera squeezed her eyes closed briefly, took a deep breath, and her courage in her hands. When they opened, Cassandra was surprised to see a wistfulness there. This girl, this Herald, reminded Cassandra of herself, so closed. Perhaps it was why she sought her out now. The Seeker waited patiently until Meera said, quietly,
"Always, I have been too careful, too serious, bound to walk the path others set for me."
Cassandra nodded, recognizing the echo of her own worry over personal failings. "Yes. But that is what you have known. Now, you can choose to know something different. The Mage Rebellion has given you that."
"So has the Inquisition."
Rolling her shoulders, Cassandra returned to her ready stance, dislodging Meera's fingers. The Herald said what she knew, what she felt in her heart: "You had no choice, Cassandra, but to do what you did. The Inquisition was needed."
"There are always choices." Cassandra tested the weight of the sword in her hand as they both weighed her words. "But you are correct. And if there is a price to be paid, then I will pay it. I just hope it is not too high."
"For what it's worth, Cassandra, I believe in the Maker and that we're doing his work here." At Cassandra's raised eyebrows, Meera smiled, a little. "If there is a price, Cassandra, you will not pay it alone." It was a promise, an opening, a tentative foray into friendship. "Perhaps you would like to break your fast with me this morning? Since we're in Haven rather than the field, I am usually lucky enough to have warm oats instead of cold biscuits."
"I would like that, Herald."