Nearly three weeks passed before the Inquisition heard anything from the party in the Hinterlands. Cullen was running drills with his men when a runner asked him to report to the War Room at Lady Nightingale's request. He turned the training over to a lieutenant and made his way briskly to the Chantry. It was unlike Leliana to summon him in the middle of exercises, so he could only assume the matter was important.
"Commander, we've received word from Cassandra and from the Herald. I assume you are interested in reading their reports right away?" Leliana indicated to two scrolls on the table.
"Thank you. I am most anxious to know how they fare," Cullen replied, reaching for one of the documents.
He instantly recognized Cassandra's strong and elegant handwriting. Most of the report contained bad news; the Hinterlands sounded like absolute mayhem. But they had managed to make contact with Mother Giselle and he was surprised to learn that she'd advocated that the Harold go to Val Royeaux to confront the leaders of the Chantry directly. He approved of such a straightforward approach, but couldn't help wonder if the Mother's suggestion was a little naïve. Towards the end of her summary, Cassandra provided an assessment of the Harold's combat and leadership abilities, which Cullen read with interest.
The Herald is an interesting companion in battle. She is clearly more trained in offensive than defensive spells, making her a useful ally, but vulnerable if separated from the group. Her physical combat training seems to be non-existent. I was afraid we were going to lose her once when we engaged with the rogue templars at their camp. One of them broke past me and attacked her, and she clearly had no idea how to protect herself without relying on magic, which of course the templar nullified. Luckily, Varric intervened and she was able to get out of harm's way, but not before taking a heavy blow to her ribs. Solas healed her injuries but it was a frightening moment for everyone. I suggest Commander Cullen arrange some basic defense lessons for her when we return.
I am pleased to note that she has made a very good impression on the people at the Crossroads. She understands the value of humanitarian missions and has been willing to go out of her way to help the refugees on more than one occasion. Her sense of humor puts others at ease, although sometimes I worry that she is too glib. She is decisive and quick-minded on the field, helpful qualities in a chaotic mess such as this. Overall, I am pleasantly surprised by her leadership potential and increasingly grateful that the Maker sent her to us.
We leave tomorrow for Redcliffe Farms. I will send more information when I have it.
Cassandra
Cullen set the Seeker's report aside and looked curiously at Leliana, who was smiling and shaking her head as she read Trevelyan's scroll.
"Oh, you're going to hate this, Cullen," she laughed. "It reads like a letter. She obviously did not take your 'Rules for Proper Reports' to heart."
"I gave her no such rules! I merely made some suggestions," Cullen replied stiffly. Perhaps Leliana was the puppet-master behind that little jest, and Cassandra her unknowing accomplice. It seemed far more like her.
"Maybe you should have! Here." She handed him the parchment and picked up Cassandra's. "How fares our Lady Seeker?"
"Hanging in there," he replied absently as he began to read the Harold's report. Her handwriting was neat and lady-like, although he noticed that it degenerated quite a bit towards the bottom of the scroll. Perhaps she caught a cramp.
Advisors –
Well, here we are at the Crossroads. The situation in the Hinterlands is a complete thrash, I must say. We barely took two steps beyond Scout Harding's camp when we encountered a skirmish between mages and templars. Both groups were completely insensible, ignored our hails, and attacked on sight. It's utter insanity – I can't imagine what they are thinking! Of course, once they attacked us, we had to engage, and luckily, as each side was weakened from fighting each other, we prevailed. I have never before used a spell against another person with intent to kill, and it was both terrible and sort of thrilling. I'm not sure what that says about me. So now, in addition to herald, heretic, and lunatic, you can add "killer" to my list of epithets. I have to say, I am glad Commander Cullen is not here; as we are so close to Kinloch Hold, I can only imagine he may know some of the mages and templars that are terrorizing the area, and that would be awful. It's awful anyway.
We were able to meet with Mother Giselle, and she has this completely bonkers idea that I should just waltz into Val Royeaux and explain to whoever is running the Chantry right now that I'm a really aces person and the Inquisition is the bees' knees, and we should just put aside all of this petty squabbling and deal with more pressing matters, such as the Breach. Which, certainly I agree with the sentiment, but it seems a little too easy, doesn't it? I almost wonder if she's setting a trap, but I assume Leliana will deal with it if she is. I hope she's sincere, as she's a nice lady, if a little daft. But not scared of mages, which I appreciate.
She went on in the same manner to describe their attempts to secure the area by wiping out a templar camp that had been menacing travelers on the road and controlling the bridge to the farms (conveniently leaving out the part where she nearly got herself killed), and ended with a promise to find Redcliffe's horsemaster and get "ponies for everyone! Wintersend's come early!" Cullen laughed in spite of himself. He had no idea what Trevelyan took away from their little meeting, but clearly his message did not get across. Josephine, who had come in late but had apparently already read Trevelyan's report, loved it and declared it much more readable than Cassandra's dry missive, which was both true and beside the point.
"I will endeavor to explain, again, the purpose of these documents and try to steer her in a more appropriate direction," he sighed.
"Oh, don't make her be boring!" Josie pouted.
"I hardly think I could do that," Cullen said with a smile.
"No, she's not boring," Leliana agreed. "I believe I should look into Mother Giselle a little more. I am concerned about her suggestion to confront the Chantry."
"Do you really think it so unreasonable? Sometimes the direct approach is the best approach," Cullen said.
"Sometimes," Leliana replied with a small, knowing smile. "But going in with a little more information can't hurt, can it?"
Cullen readily agreed that no, it could not, and then excused himself to return to training exercises. As he reviewed ranged defense techniques with his men, he wondered how he could correct the Harold without offending her. Perhaps he could send her a proper report as an example – the one detailing the acquisition of the Ostwick templars would do, as surely she would be interested. And then he could also include a letter – just a short one – to clearly demonstrate the difference between military documents and personal correspondence. Yes, that seemed like a kind way to handle it. After all she was quite new to all of this. He couldn't expect her to get it perfectly on the first try.
...
"Report for you, ser!"
"What is it?" Anya asked the officer stationed at their camp near Redcliffe Farms.
"It's from Commander Cullen, ser."
Anya felt a little flutter of pleasure in her belly as she accepted the scroll and sat down to read it. The first page, to her surprise, appeared to be a letter to her.
Lady Trevelyan,
We received your report on the situation in Redcliffe and it was quite informative, if also a little informal. A less conversational tone might be more appropriate for those kinds of documents, although I must admit we were all completely charmed by your flair for language. I can only imagine that you must make a delightful correspondent for your friends.
Speaking of friends, I have some news that I believe will be of interest to you. Please proceed now to the attached report. The rest of this letter can wait.
Go on!
Anya laughed and set aside the letter, although she was a bit annoyed that he didn't like her report. Cassandra had all but guaranteed he would complain about it, but Anya rather hoped that her enthusiasm would win him over. Bollocks. The second page of the scroll contained a record of the appearance of – Ostwick's templars and mages! Anya's heart began to thump as she eagerly read the (rather dry, totally by-the-book) account of the circumstances surrounding Ser Robart's arrival. Her stomach twisted when she realized that a dozen templars, six mages, and one tranquil was all that were left of the Ostwick Circle. Everyone else was dead or missing. It was such a tragedy. She also noticed with impatience that other than Ser Robart, the report did not name the individuals in his party, leaving her to wonder which of the mages survived, and if the tranquil was Declaine. She didn't know whether she hoped so, or not. Another thought troubled her – the templars are killing children – but that stirred a coiling dragon of grief and dread that she couldn't afford to wake, so she put the fear from her mind and resolved not to think on it. When she reached the end of the scroll, she set it aside and stared pensively across a small pond for a few minutes, trying to sort out her feelings. Sorrow, relief, anxiety about the tranquil… oh Maker, she wondered if Ser Robart had told Cullen about her sordid past? It was probably foolish to think he didn't know, if not from the templar then from the spymaster, especially if Declaine was in Haven now. Still, she hoped not. Maker only knew what he would think of all of that, and his rather adorable priggishness would become un-adorable in a flash if she felt he was judging her youthful mistakes. She had already paid plenty for her poor decisions. Feeling sort of oddly defensive, she returned to his letter.
Assuming you actually read the report (which was written correctly, if you don't mind me saying so - or even if you do), I can imagine you are both relieved to know that some of your friends are safe with us in Haven, and sorry that so many are not. Allow me to extend my condolences to you for your great losses, both at the Conclave and at Ostwick. It is something I should have said much sooner, which I realized with shame when I read your report. You were very kind to spare a thought for me and for those I knew at Kinloch Hold. In truth, there was an incident at the Circle Tower shortly before I left that resulted in the deaths of most of the mages and many of the templars, so it's entirely possible that I do not know the people you encountered (I rather hope not), but your compassion does you credit. It is a certainty that you have lost many people close to you in the past two months, and while you have borne up admirably under the circumstances, it must be painful for you. I am sorry.
Other than the exciting arrival of your fellow Ostwickans, the situation at Haven remains much as it was before you left. Ser Robart is looking forward to seeing you, as are the mages, who I believe are called Bronwyn and Tyson. I have hardly spoken with them, as my duties have increased of late, but they seem to be doing an estimable job of educating the apprentices (who are but children and I have not yet learned their names). The tranquil is a fellow named Carlisle and he has made himself indispensable to our alchemist, so I rarely see him. I won't list off all the templars for you, but rest assured they are all glad you survived and look forward to your return, as do we all.
Cassandra mentioned in her report that you had a close call with a group of templars when you routed their camp. (Excellent work, by the way – that a Templar "Order" would sow such chaos, especially in farms and villages full of innocent people, is utterly reprehensible and I cannot abide the thought of it!) Certainly in any Circle I've ever known, mages are not encouraged to learn very much in the way of physical combat skills, as we assume there will always be templars nearby to protect you. Alas, times have changed. It would probably be wise to teach you some basic defense moves as I can only imagine you will see more violence before this is all through. Come see me when you return to Haven and I will arrange some lessons for you.
You mentioned that you had never used magic to kill before. I am glad to hear it, and sorry that had to change. I hope the burdens of war are not weighing too heavily on you. It is difficult to take a life, even when necessary. Cassandra certainly understands, if you need a sympathetic ear. As do I, of course, but distance makes me a poor sounding board at the moment.
Take care, Lady Trevelyan. We are proud of your efforts on behalf of the Inquisition and we are keeping all of you in our prayers. Maker be with you.
Commander Cullen
Well! Anya set the letter down, totally flummoxed. She felt she would need to read it at least a dozen more times before she knew what to think about it. Oh it was a very nice letter, of course, it made her feel quite warm and fuzzy towards the Commander, by why on earth had he written it? Obviously, he wanted to demonstrate the difference between a letter and a report, that much was clear. And it was kind of him to get word to her right away of what had happened at Ostwick, as well as to provide her with the names of the surviving mages. Bronwyn and Enchanter Tyson – neither were particularly close friends of hers, but of course she knew them, and as they were all that was left of her Circle, she couldn't help but feel a kinship with them now. As for the tranquil – not Declaine. She supposed he was probably dead. That hurt, but then, the whole thing hurt. She wasn't ready to think about him yet, but she was relieved he was not at Haven, even if she hated the thought of anything happening to him. Perhaps he had escaped somehow.
"Cassandra, what in blazes did you tell Commander Cullen about me?" Anya asked suddenly. "He makes it sound like that templar nearly killed me!"
"He did, Herald, although perhaps you don't realize it," Solas said gently. "If Varric hadn't put a bolt through his eye, his next swing would have taken off your head."
"Oh, it wasn't that close!" Anya protested. All three of her companions goggled at her in disbelief. "All right, it was close! But why did you tattle to Cullen?"
"I didn't tattle, Herald. I observed, and made a training recommendation. What are you reading, anyway? Did the Commander send a report?"
"Hmm? Oh yes, it looks like a few of the templars and mages from my Circle have joined the Inquisition." Anya handed the scroll to her and then began to re-read Cullen's letter.
"What's that?" Cassandra pointed at the parchment in her hand.
Anya didn't really want to tell her that Cullen had written to her personally, but she couldn't see any way around it. "Cullen wrote me a note. I think he is trying to demonstrate the appropriate, ah, tone, for a military report by providing a counter-example. As you predicted, he feels my initial attempt was too informal."
Cassandra harrumphed. "It was. And I told you he would find fault. He is very picky about his documents. What does his letter say?"
Anya shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Nothing important. Conveying some well-wishes from my Ostwick friends, condolences for what happened at our Circle, and telling me he'll make sure I get some combat lessons so I don't get beaten to a pulp next time."
"Good," Cassandra replied. She finished reading the report and looked up. "I am sorry, too, for what happened to your friends. This war is terrible."
"Thanks, Cassandra," Anya said. "We have all suffered, and I'm afraid there's more to come. I'm glad to be doing something about it."
"Agreed." Cassandra stood up and brushed her hands off on her thighs. "Should we go find Master Dennet? He must live in one of these houses."
"Yes, let's," Anya agreed, relieved that no one seemed inclined to ask any more about Cullen's letter.
...
Or so she thought. Later that evening, they returned to camp after trying and failing to persuade Dennett to lend his aid to the Inquisition. It seemed they would have to do more to secure the area before the horsemaster would consider their cause. It had been a frustrating day and Cassandra was in a bad mood, so she retired to her tent shortly after dinner. Solas did the same, no doubt eager to explore a new area in the Fade. Varric and Anya sat together by the fire, mostly in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
"Soooo," the dwarf piped up, and Anya just knew from his sly tone that he wanted to talk about the letter. "The Commander is writing to you now? That's interesting."
Anya laughed awkwardly. "Don't make something out of nothing, Varric. He was just trying to prove a point."
"Can I read it?"
"What? No! It's personal!" Anya was astonished he had asked.
"Mmmhmmmm." Varric conveyed a lot in a knowing hum.
"Maker's balls, not like that. Regular personal, not … juicy personal. Do you just let other people read letters that were written only to you?"
He shrugged. "Depends on the content. If it's perfectly innocuous and I don't believe the sender would mind, then sure. If it's got secrets, or if it's particularly personal, or if it's naughty – "
"It's not naughty!" Anya blushed furiously.
Varric laughed. "Well, I don't mean to pry. I'm just a little surprised he wrote to you is all. Are you going to write him back?"
Anya had been considering the question all evening. "I don't know. I don't know if he wants me to."
"If you let me read his letter, I'll tell you."
"You're terrible!" Anya laughed. "How will you know?"
"Well, for one, I am a master of the written word, able to suss out meaning that lesser minds will overlook. No offense." She narrowed her eyes at him and he grinned. "And for two, I have at this point spent a considerable amount of time around Cullen and I think I've gotten pretty good at figuring out what he's saying – and what he's not saying. Just let me have a look. I won't tell anyone, I promise."
Anya was torn. It seemed immature and almost vulgar to share the letter, but then again if it were from anyone else she would have handed it over without a thought. It was only her budding attraction to the Commander that made the note somehow seem more significant and private, and, as she was sure that her attraction was entirely one-sided, it seemed silly to make so much out of nothing. It was also this attraction that made her so desperately want to write him back, but she hesitated, afraid she would seem foolish. The fact that Varric had devilishly pressed that point made Anya wonder if he realized that her feelings were a little more complicated that she was trying to let on. Which both was embarrassing, and a terrific reason to tell him no and just go to bed. Instead, she handed him the parchment.
Varric leaned close to the fire and perused the letter, chuckling softly. "Pretty smooth, Curly. He's being coy, but he definitely wants you to write him back."
"How do you know that?" Anya asked in spite of herself.
"Easy. He sets it up at the beginning, when he says he thinks you'd be a delightful correspondent." He imitated Cullen rather accurately, making her laugh. "And closes it at the end when he indirectly offers to be your sounding board. See, he's acting like he's pointing you to Cassandra to talk to, but what he really wants is for you to talk to him. He wants a nice long letter from you, unburdening all your thoughts and feelings about being at war and having to kill people. If there's one thing that man loves, it's talking about war."
Anya raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I think he's just trying to be nice."
"Trust me, Lucky, he wants a letter back. He just doesn't want to come out and ask for it. I swear, for all his pretensions of plainspoken forthrightness, when it comes to talking to women, he's practically Orlesian." Varric laughed and shook his head, reading the note again.
"He's talking to a colleague, not a woman." Despite her denial, Anya hoped Varric was right.
"Sure, a 'colleague.' Who also happens to be a pretty woman."
"Now I think you're chatting me up!" she teased.
"You wish, sweetcheeks. Anyway, final analysis: he wants to be pen pals. Go for it." He handed the letter to her and stood up, stretching. "Well, I guess I'll turn in."
"Not a word of this to anyone!" she warned him, stuffing the scroll in her robes.
"My lips are sealed. Goodnight, Herald."
...
"You've received a letter, ser!" The courier popped up next to Cullen as he supervised sparring drills. He glanced down at the envelope and believed he recognized the handwriting, which made his pulse quicken a little. He tucked it inside his coat, rather disappointed that he didn't have time to read it straight away. That little bit of paper was going to burn a hole in his pocket all day.
He refused to let himself think any more about it until he had retired for the night, wanting the chance to savor it while he was alone. He realized he was behaving like a puppy, and it embarrassed him, but pleasures were few and far between lately and he wanted to enjoy this one. He removed his armor, stripped down to his small clothes, bathed as best he could with a wet cloth and a warm bowl of water, and then dressed again in comfortable trousers and sat down on his bunk. Reclining against his pillows to make the most of the lamp light, he pulled the missive from its envelope and began to read.
Commander Cullen –
First let me thank you for your sweet letter and all its considerations. I appreciate your courtesy in telling me of what befell Ostwick and your kindness in telling me how my friends fare at Haven. You are quite right, it is bittersweet news, but at least there is something to be glad about. I have to say that even though I can hardly wait to reunite with my Circle brethren, I'm oddly grateful to be out in the world right now. Seeing the enormity of the suffering that is happening due to this stupid war and the chaos of the Conclave makes my own losses seem, if not small, then at least common, and that is a strange comfort. We all grieve, and none of us is alone.
So, now that I've been nice, and acknowledged that you're also nice, let me be salty with you for a moment. Was my report regarding Redcliffe Crossroads really that bad? Cassandra warned me that your standards were more exacting than I could imagine, and you proved her right! Well, duly noted, Commander! From now on my reports will be factual, impersonal, and dry as the desert. Maybe I'll send a more colorful version to Josephine, as I imagine that at least she agrees with me that if you have to read something, it ought not to be dull. If it makes you feel better, when I showed what I had written to Cassandra, not only did she promise me you would hate it, but she confessed she hated it too. "The word 'bonkers' has no business in a formal Inquisition document," she said. I would argue that it was the perfect word and conveyed my meaning quite clearly, but next time I'll try harder to bore the stuffing out of everyone.
You mentioned that I may be struggling with the burden of taking lives. In truth: I am, and am not. I am, because of course I am, and I'm not, because I try not to think about it. Cassandra is sympathetic, but she is carried completely by her training and her faith, and I find that I struggle to relate to her rather austere philosophy. Solas, on the other hand, encourages me to reflect on the lives we take to such an extent that I fear I will become paralyzed to act. Varric, like me, prefers not to talk about it at all. How do you handle such matters? I feel like I must come to an answer that isn't "total denial," but it's difficult to balance the necessary with the evil. I admit this is a position I never expected to be in. Ostwick is a peaceful state, and with the Blight behind us, it seemed absolutely unlikely that I would ever find myself in actual combat. I did learn several offensive spells as part of my required "just in case" military reserve training, but I never expected to use them – I just picked them because they were fun to cast! Apparently I should have perhaps practiced my defense instead? I didn't realize how thoroughly I alarmed everyone with my close call with that templar, and while ignorance is bliss, I don't want to be vulnerable to unexpected beheadings. Or expected beheadings, for that matter. Therefore I intend to take you up on your offer for combat lessons, although I do maintain that I've acquitted myself rather well so far. And I swear I could have taken that templar if Varric hadn't gotten to him first.
I would love to hear more of what's happening at Haven, even small matters. I think we are all a bit "homesick," even though none of us calls Haven home. I guess that is another unexpected benefit of the awful fate of the Ostwick Circle – there's no point in me wishing I could go back, since there's nothing to go back to. Do you miss Kirkwall?
Thank you for writing to me. I know you were trying to make a point, and point taken, ser. But I enjoyed your letter just the same.
Anya Trevelyan
Cullen laid the parchment on his chest and sighed, a small smile on his lips. He was going to have to write her back, of course, if only to set her straight on the matter of his rebuke (which had been inordinately restrained). And of course, it wouldn't hurt to give her news of Haven, and he really ought to counsel her on how to resolve her emotions regarding violence. Plus he could think of a few questions he had for her, now that it was clear she wished to continue exchanging letters. He hadn't intended to write her again after he sent his first note; he was quite sure that his only aim had been to tactfully correct her missteps in her report. But he had hoped, foolishly, that she might write back, and now that she had, he saw no reason not to reply. She was, after all, a delightful correspondent.
...
Long after she was sure everyone else in the camp had gone to sleep, Anya produced a small glowing ball of light in her tent and carefully, quietly unfolded the letter that she had hidden in her satchel. One personal note from the Commander might have largely escaped remarks, but a second would certainly invite some speculation.
Lady Trevelyan,
When I was first stationed at Kinloch Hold, I was assigned to escort phylacteries to Denerim, as well as to occasionally collect young mages who were willingly surrendered to the Circle. Thus, I required a horse, and the first one issued to me was an Amaranthine Charger, a beautiful little mare named Mischa. Unfortunately, Mischa was extremely temperamental. She took offense to even the mildest tug on the reins or pressure from the heel, and her sensitivity to correction made her nearly unrideable. Under different circumstances, I probably could have come to an accord with her, for she was certainly intelligent, but we were always pressed for time. To my regret, it became clear that pretty Mischa was just not suited for military life, so my Knight-Captain sold her and replaced her with a solid, dependable Fereldan Forder. I think, had selling her not been an option, that she would had to have learned to tolerate a little gentle correction and guidance, or else cause unnecessary misery to both of us.
As to your assertion that required reading should not be dull, I agree wholeheartedly! In fact, I believe I spent nearly an hour with you in the Chantry providing several examples of reports that were both suitable and interesting. That was you in the Chantry with me that night, was it not? You seem to have retained exactly nothing of our conversation, but I'd swear on my life we discussed it at length. Allow me to propose that there is a wide range of expression between "dry as a desert" and "bonkers," and I am merely suggesting some boundaries within that range to ensure that our records do our organization credit. If you're clever (you are) and industrious (we'll see), you should be able to conform to some standards without putting us all to sleep, but if you're unwilling to expend the effort, I would prefer boring over inappropriate. And that's all I have to say on this matter.
Now I've probably made you angry, but if you haven't crumpled this parchment in a huff, or tossed it into the fire, or donated it to the latrine, let me make it up to you by thanking you for your charming letter, and addressing some of the questions you asked. Such as, do I miss Kirkwall? In a word, no. My years there were a formative experience, to be sure. I arrived angry, bitter, mistrustful of mages, and thoroughly convinced that the only way to protect innocents from the evils of magic was to restrict its practice with a heavy hand. I left disappointed, disillusioned, mistrustful of everyone, and thoroughly convinced that whatever the answers are, I don't have them. Working with the Inquisition has helped me recover my sense of purpose and for that I will always be grateful to Cassandra, for it was she who recruited me in Kirkwall. I have no desire to go back. Or to be heavy-handed with mages, if that worried you.
You also asked me how I balance the necessary and the evil of warfare (elegantly stated, I'm borrowing that). Forgive me if this is difficult to read, but most of the people I've had the displeasure of killing have been mages, either maleficarum or abominations. With the abominations, it was easy, because they look as monstrous as they are, and I can only imagine that the mage they once were would never want to exist in such a state, and so the killing feels like both justice and mercy. Killing blood mages was a little tougher, but I always told myself that their choices forced my hand. The penalty for blood magic is death, and while I don't make the rules, I do enforce them. And that rule is one that I believe should be enforced, even if executions are unpleasant. Now, how you come to terms with your own violence depends on you, of course. Like me, you could rationalize it. If my outlook is too "austere" for your taste, perhaps it helps to look at the bigger picture? After all, it's not as if you are striding about the Hinterlands, lighting people on fire for the fun of it. What you do, you do on behalf of the Inquisition, and what we do, we do on behalf of the people. Think of all those refugees, chased from their homes by rampaging mages and templars. Think of the innocent people going hungry in their villages because bandits have made the roads too dangerous for trade. Those people need you, and the work you do on their behalf – even if it involves killing – is righteous. Perhaps if you can restore some order and safety, the people who have been driven by desperation to brigandry will resume an honest living? At very least, they will fear to prey on any settlement that flies the banner of the Inquisition, and I can only think that's a good thing.
Something you said struck my curiosity – what do you mean by "required military reserve training"? I have never heard of such a thing. Ser Robart mentioned you were quite serious about your academic pursuits at the Circle. I admit I don't picture you as the studious type, but I suppose I really don't know you very well. What did you study?
Let's see… you asked me for news of Haven. Our forces are small, but growing every day and I'm pleased with our training schedule – Maker, you don't want to hear about this. What interests Lady Trevelyan? If you want to hear about love affairs, you might write to Josephine, as she tells me that our alchemist Adan is attempting to court our archivist Minaeve. And if you want to hear about secret love affairs, write to Leliana, for she mentioned that she thinks your friend Bronwyn may have struck up a romance with Ser Rylen, my second-in-command. (It's absolutely none of my business, so I can tell you nothing of it.) If you want to hear of those matters, write to the ladies, but if you want to hear about anything else, I hope you'll write back to me.
Maker keep you safe,
Commander Cullen
Anya slowly folded the letter back into a neat square, tucked it into her pack, and extinguished the magelight. She stretched out on her back on the bedroll, staring sightlessly into the pitch black of the tent, and listened to her heart beating.
"Dear Commander Cullen," she whispered softly in the dark. "If you keep sending me letters like that, I'm going to kiss you. And if you keep comparing me to your horse, I'm going to slap you. Unrideable, indeed! Yours, Anya."
She let loose a shuddering sigh and closed her eyes, but it was a long time before she fell asleep.