Azalea is having trouble coping with being forced to kill for the first time.

This is set after the inquisitor has spoken to Mother Giselle but is yet to choose a side in the mage/Templar war.

Azalea awoke with a gasp, her body coated in a cold sweat, still seeing the phantoms in the dark crowding around her. It was a dream. It was just a dream, her rational mind kept repeating like its own prayer but, despite that, she couldn't get the images out of her mind. Throwing back the covers she stood and paced around the room, a hand gesture lighting the torches and lamps as she went, bathing the one roomed cabin she called her own in light. It would get easier, logic said it would. After all, soldiers killed all the time and if they were wracked with nightmares every night then they would be tired all the time and end up getting killed themselves.

It wasn't enough. She felt trapped in her room, trapped in a way that she hadn't since Cassandra had captured her believing her to have killed the Divine. Throwing on a pair of pants and a loose shirt, not even bothering with a breast band or in tying up her hair, Azalea left the cabin. She was immediately struck by the cold - there was a biting wind and it was snowing again - but instead of causing her to retreat back inside, it seemed to revitalize her. For a moment or two she simply stood there, eyes closed, face turned up, feeling the wind whip through her clothing as though she were naked. She could very well be, she had forgotten to pull on boots. Instead of going back inside to get some though, she turned and trudged barefoot up the hill towards the chantry, the painful cold helping to keep her grounded. Haven was practically deserted at this time of night, well past midnight. There were only a few campfires around with some soldiers sitting by them. Most only spared her a passing glance before going back to whatever they were doing. Azalea didn't even spare them that. She was focussed entirely on the icy sensations whipping her body and getting to the chantry. It was all in her head, she knew, but she could have sworn that the wind had changed to icy fingers stroking her cheek and she was grateful to open the large wooden doors to the Chantry and slip inside.

It was still cold inside, but, to Azalea's cold skin, it felt almost painfully warm and her feet were stinging as they carried her across the red carpet towards the large statue of Andraste. She took a seat in front of the statue and brought her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. History had taught her that Haven used to be inhabited by cultists who believed that a dragon was Andraste, until the Hero of Feralden had driven them away and found the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Azalea wondered if the Hero of Ferelden had ever felt as she did now, lost, like she was a fraud and soon everyone would be able to tell, haunted by those she had killed. Hugging her knees tighter, Azalea stared up at the serene statue before her, the statue of who she was supposed to be a herald for. How? How was she supposed to be a goddess's avatar? The Maker had never spoken to her, nor had Andraste. She couldn't remember what had happened in the breach; surely if she was saved by Andraste it would be something she would remember. And surely Andraste would not have supported in her killing others who just happened to believe different things to what she did.

"Trevelyan?"

Azalea started at the voice and looked over her shoulder. It was Commander Cullen. Feeling a blush rise at being caught so she turned back to the statue before her, hoping he would leave. Part of her was nervous at being alone and unarmed around another templar. She didn't think Cullen was the type to hate mages on principal and want to destroy her, if only because she was useful to the inquisition, but then she didn't think Derrek would try to kill her the very night after they had shared a bed together either. It just proved how terrible she was at reading people.

She heard footsteps approach and hunched her shoulders, as though trying to hide from the commander. Without a staff she had no defence against him should he try anything but maybe-

Azalea flinched when Cullen rested a hand on her shoulder, but nothing more came of it, no deadening of her magic, no force, no attack.

"Maker, you're freezing! Your toes are blue," he said. Azalea glanced at her feet. That her toes were blue was a bit of an exaggeration but her toe nails were definitely a bruised blue colour. She gave an uncaring shrug but the commander unpinned his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. Instinctively, she tugged it about herself. It smelled of him, she realized with a touch of embarrassment, a kind of masculine tang, leather, and over it all that unique spice of lyrium that all templars smelled like. Cullen had moved around in front of her and had knelt down, cupping one of her feet in both his hands, rubbing to get some warmth into them. "What's possessed you to come out so late, and without any shoes for Maker's sake?" he asked.

Azalea considered saying nothing, she had to keep up the façade, she knew that, she had to appear in control, sure of her actions. Meeting with Mother Giselle had proved that to her. Even though she wasn't the leader of the Inquisition, if anyone was it was Cassandra in Azalea's mind, people still looked up to her for guidance as the Herald. Commander Cullen was the leader of all their military forces, if he saw her as weak it would leak into all their forces and that would be the end of it. But, looking up a little and seeing what looked to her like genuine concern in his eyes, made her reconsider. Who else would understand better than him? He had been in Circles, he knew how sheltered some of the mages in them were. He also had to keep up appearances for the moral of the troops he led. And he no doubt had gone through the killing for the first time thing.

"Nightmares," she eventually said, though she looked down, still feeling somewhat ashamed to have had to admit it.

The commander gave a grunt. "That is something I know all too well," he said, his voice deep. He let go of the foot he had been rubbing, letting it rest on his knee as he took the other one and began rubbing it as well. It hurt at first, as sudden heat to a cold limb always did, but it soon felt good as well. And the warm comfort of his cloak was also something that she found made her feel safe. Like how templars used to make her feel, safe, warm, and protected to carry out her research in peace. "Do you want to talk about it? I understand if you don't but sometimes speaking it aloud can make it seem less real."

"Do you talk about yours?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he said. "Usually just to myself, or in prayer though." Satisfied that her feet were warm once again, he returned them to where they had been on the pew and flicked his cloak over them before sitting down next to her.

"I kept seeing the... Faces of those I had killed yesterday. Pointing and accusing at me. And their families mourning and blaming me and blaming the inquisition. I had tried to keep track of them, tried to at least count them so I could light candles for them when I returned, but I couldn't, there were too many," Azalea said, her throat constricting at the last and she lowered her forehead to her knees, hiding her face and her shame.

There was silence for a minute or so, but when Cullen spoke, there was a touch of surprise in his voice. "Have you never killed anyone before yesterday?" he asked.

Azalea shook her head.

"Not even when you left the circle?"

She shook her head again. "In the circle I used ice to lock their feet in place and ran, and when my magic was severed I used a staff to deflect any attacks but I was knocked out fairly quickly. And yesterday..." She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, still not looking up even as the words poured out of her. "For the most part I tried to support those who were with me, I cast barrier spells and ice traps and things that made it easier for them to do the killing. But then I got separated from the others, they were fighting some templars, but mages came up behind us. I tried telling them not to fight us, to stand down, that the inquisition could give them something worth fighting for, but it was as though they didn't hear me and they attacked. The others were too far away to help in time and I couldn't just be defensive, I would tire too quickly. I had to attack and my normal immobilizing tactics wouldn't work because they would just continue attacking me from where they stood. I... I froze them, and they shattered. Bloody icy shards going everywhere. And it was easy. It was done, threat gone and I could focus on helping my friends again. I told myself that I would remember how I had killed those three men, I would light a candle and let their families know if I could. But there was so much fighting going on, no one was willing to listen, and I killed more and more and I lost count. I try to remember some, but there must be some I've forgotten, and what crueller thing is there, than to simply forget who you have stolen the life from?" Azalea stopped suddenly, her throat catching. At some point the commander had put his arm around her shoulders and his thumb was moving up and down, trying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I wish I could say that it will get better, but it won't. Just know that you did the right thing, you did what you had to do."

"How can you say that? I've killed people, their life is over, they have no chance now to atone for what they may have done, no chance to say goodbye to loved ones, no chance to make the world better."

"You're right," he said. "They cannot do any more. But it also means they won't do any more harm. Had they lived, they might have done better. But they might have made everything worse as well. We can't know. What we do know is what we're presented with, an attacking, unreasonable force trying to harm those we hold dear. And so we defend them in whatever way we can. They are doing the same. It is the way of war Trevelyan, surely you would know that from your brothers at least."

"It's one thing to know the theory of it. It's another thing entirely to be on one side, killing the other," she said quietly.

The commander gave a bark of laughter. "That is is," he said.

They sat in silence for a time, Azalea thinking over what the commander told her. It was true, she knew that. If she hadn't killed those people she didn't know what they may have done. But more than that, she would have tired even faster and then been unable to protect those who were with her.

"Do the others know?" Cullen asked into the silence.

Azalea raised her face, resting her chin this time on her knees, staring at the statue of Andraste. "Varrik suspects," she said. "I think he could tell something was wrong, he asked if I was alright and then kept looking at me funny after I assured him I was fine. I don't think Cassandra or Solas noticed, or if they did they didn't care. One more thing to worry about in a world gone mad. You won't tell them will you? About this or any of it?" she asked, turning her head to the side to see him, suddenly worried he would do just that.

He wasn't looking at her though as he shook his head. "I wont mention it if you don't want me to."

"Thank you," she said, returning her gaze to the statue.

Once more they lapsed into silence. Azalea allowed herself to breath slowly and deeply, filling her lungs until they felt as though they were bursting, then letting it out slowly. Such breathing exercises had always relaxed her and calmed her mind while in the circle, it was a wonder she hadn't thought to use it before now. She could feel herself growing tired but, not wanting to make the trek back to her cabin, she simply rested her forehead on her knees and closed her eyes, intending to meditate a little, certainly not intending to fall asleep, leaning against the commander as she did.

Cullen glanced sideways when he felt Trevelyan lean against him and was only mildly surprised to find she had fallen asleep. Instead of waking her though, he let her stay where she was for now and merely returned to his own thoughts. This was the first time they had spoken for any length of time and part of him was glad that they had even if he wasn't glad about the circumstances that had brought it about. He felt as though he had gotten to know Trevelyan a lot more just through this talk than he could have by reading Lelliana's dry impersonal reports. She seemed a lot more like a person with all the hopes and fears that went along with it rather than a know-it-all mage who happened to have a unique mark on her hand. He was beginning to see that the distance she kept from everyone was her way of dealing with what was happening.

They sat there for an hour or so, with the sun just peaking up over the mountains and the candles on the altar burning low before Cullen thought to move. He didn't want to wake Trevelyan though, nor take her out into the snow once more. Instead he gently lifted her and carried her to his own room. It wasn't like he would be getting any more sleep tonight anyway. Leaving his cloak around her, he added a blanket and left her to sleep, closing the door quietly behind him. Once outside though and without any chance of waking her he started pacing.

What Trevelyan had said was unexpected; all of them had assumed she would have no problems in the Hinterlands, both physically able to defend herself - which she did naturally - but also with killing those who needed to. It seemed they were wrong on at least one part of that. They had assumed that she had killed before, that she would be able to handle it. But it seemed that all their assumptions had caused this very problem. They had assumed and not asked. And Cullen blamed himself more than any one else. He should have known, should have guessed. She came from a noble family, she never had to fight to survive, and as soon as her powers manifested she was sent to a Circle, and a peaceful one at that. He knew that most mages lived a sheltered life, very few even aware of what was going on in the world around them, let alone partake in any of it. With a few exceptions, circles were often worlds of their own, completely apart from the rest of society. He knew this, and yet it never occurred to him to think that perhaps Trevelyan was unready for what the Hinterlands offered.

By their reports when they returned though, it seemed they had done well. The crossroads were secure, Trevelyan had spoken with Mother Giselle who genuinely seemed willing to help them get the chantry off their backs, and they were well on their way to securing horses for the Inquisition. But that only meant that Trevelyan had pushed what she was feeling aside until she felt safe enough to feel it, obviously when they all returned to Haven. He would have to alert Lelliana and Josephine to this, quietly of course, and see if they couldn't come up with a way for her to get used to taking such charge and the effects that it would bring in a gentler way. Perhaps dealing with the mages and templars would be best. They needed at least one of them, preferably both on their side to have any hope in closing the breach, maybe dealing with them would be a good way to harden Trevelyan, get her used to the demands that would be needed of her. At the very least, if this attempt was successful, she was one of the most powerful living mages and, as a key member of the inquisition, would have a strong say in how to move forward with the mages. She had to be ready for that and not let it break her. And he would ensure that she was ready.