See the blazing Yule before us,
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!
Strike the harp and join the chorus!
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!
Follow me in merry measure
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!
As I tell of Yule tide treasure!
Merry Christmas all! Finally got around to edit this chapter thoroughly, just in time for the holidays. It contains a bit of merriment I just had to dedicate some writing to. Have a nice holiday! :)
VII. Barefoot Maiden
Behind every stupid idea, there is a moron claiming pure intentions. I try to avoid such delusions. Besides, can you imagine a predicament where my dashing smile wouldn't save the day? Because I can't.
Dorian
On the fourth day, the one before the scheduled arrival at Halamshiral, Cullen called a halt to the procession early in the evening. Everyone needed a good night's rest and a little downtime before they faced the arduous task of appeasing nobles and averting disasters, Shenlira in particular. She'd become increasingly twitchy and nervous as they neared the Winter Palace, although she tried so hard to hide it that her face had started looking pinched.
The Inquisiton made camp on the outskirts of Chilenne, a sizeable village that prospered from the closeness to Halamshiral and the considerable trade that came with it. Tents were set up and the carts secured, horses sent for a good brushing and fine golden grain to feast on, for they had worked hard to cover the distance. Everything had to be presentable when they arrived at court and at the same time the soldiers needed to be alert, prepared for any sinister plot that might be going on during the negotiations. Especially the youngest recruits, who had a tendency to get carried away by delusions of grandeur whenever they were assigned to the Inquisitor's party directly. Therefore, Cullen dismissed them and implored the captain to make sure they would all be at their best tomorrow. He paged through some reports and talked to Harding and Felia, his two most trusted frontline scouts. Interestingly, they were both dwarves.
When he took a walk through the camp and checked once more if everything was in order, he passed clumps of soldiers sitting around campfires. There was a crackle of anticipation in the air, like the charged aura before a storm. He was a little disappointed that he didn't cross paths with either Cassandra or Leliana, much less Shenlira, until a solemn Blackwall informed him that they went to the village tavern to escape the monotone rations and have a proper meal. It sounded like a very good idea and Cullen enjoyed the short walk in the invigorating cold as he resolved to join them. Unmistakably the grandest building in the village, the tavern stood out as a tall, wide brick construction with a gilded sign in the shape of a charging bull. The sounds of a lute drifted through the closed windows, mingled with singing voices and laughter.
Inquisition soldiers had almost overrun the place, making it very crowded and boisterous inside – the owner probably rubbed his hands with glee for the profit he would make. Cullen glimpsed the Iron Bull and Varric in heated conversation, cards laid out before them. Dorian stood close by, humming to the tune of a merry tavern song that Shenlira was singing, while the bard accompanied her on the lute. Many of the soldiers joined in and Cullen even saw one bold recruit ask her to dance. The lad blushed wildly when she allowed him to spin her around once. She turned and glanced at him as she sang, smiling and winking playfully. It felt good to see that she had the opportunity for a bit of relaxation and simple enjoyment. Her habit of performing together with the tavern bard was a thing well-established at Skyhold and when his duties allowed it, he made a point to watch. Those events always had an audience and usually ended with Varric or the Bull completely drunk, extorting some love ballad from her, or in the event that she refused, chanting some bawdy tune themselves.
Cullen returned her smile and shook his head warningly with a stern stare at the recruit, who immediately fled, crestfallen. Shenlira looked as though she wanted to join him, but people seemed determined for her to go through a whole repertoire of songs – which was basically endless, and so Cullen decided not to intrude on her entertainment, instead seeking a table to sit down at. He found only one vacant place in the far corner of the packed room, where the last person he'd expected here was seated, alone. Solas caught his eye when he pushed through the people, as always with an unfathomable expression. Cullen could think of no cordial way to just turn around and leave once the man had noticed him. Somehow, the mage's measured voice managed to carry over the tavern noises.
"Commander. Please feel free to join me.", Solas said politely, pointing at a free bench opposite him. Cullen felt awkward under the elf's unnerving gaze as he sat down. "For some reason, people don't seem to be comfortable sitting with me. That chair has been empty for at least an hour, what a pity.", he remarked then.
"To be honest, I would not have expected you to be in such a crowded, noisy place. You seem more like you enjoy a quiet, midnight stroll of contemplation rather than such a… merriment.", Cullen tried to keep his voice neutral, but he realized the comment might sound sarcastic. He searched for some way to salvage the situation when Solas suddenly smiled, almost unnoticeably.
"And you would be mostly right. But sometimes I find it enjoyable to watch the people who work so hard for this cause take a small measure of gratification for themselves. It is a contagious thing. The very air is filled with their cheer.", he explained. Cullen's eyebrows went up.
"Cheer?", he asked doubtfully, to which Solas gave a tired sort of sigh.
"Ah, yes. Varric fondly calls me 'Chuckles', and Dorian asked me once if I have a stick up my… Well, you know the expression. I see why most would think I am a too serious person to be around.", he conceded without scorn.
"That doesn't offend you?", Cullen asked curiously. He knew the feeling all too well.
"Does it offend you? I have heard people call you similar things. You are a man of duty and I suspect there was not much room for merriment in the severe life of a templar, even one who has not seen a rebellion rise in his time, like you have.", Solas spoke with a strange hint of respect that baffled him. The elf didn't miss the way Cullen's gaze flickered to Shenlira, who had paused her singing to converse with Dorian.
"I imagine that you have no love lost for templar.", he didn't mean that in an accusing way – just voicing his surprise. Solas regarded him for a long moment before he answered.
"As before, you would be mostly right. Mostly. Magic is a part of the world just like a tree or a mountain is. To suppress it is… strangely twisted. Hard to understand for someone who has walked the Fade for many years. If magic means pulling the Fade into this world, you do the exact opposite. You make reality go steady around you, and the Fade cannot intrude upon that space. Peculiar. But forgive me, I didn't invite you here to discuss such controversial matters. Despite all that, you are not like most templar, just as Shenlira is not like most Dalish. And she speaks very highly of you.", Solas said earnestly.
Cullen didn't know how to reply to that, so he managed a thank you, in a clumsy way. He always felt inadequate around the enigmatic mage who had come from seemingly nowhere, but Cullen knew Solas had earned Shenlira's trust. She often requested him to join her party when she set out, and Cassandra reported their long discussions about elven culture as 'endless and half of it incomprehensible – but the songs are a fine distraction'.
"I'm glad to hear that.", Cullen added when his silence had lengthened.
"Indeed? Because you look rather uncomfortable than glad. I hoped to put your mind at ease. Shenlira and I spend most of our time together in lively discourse about the culture of our people. She argues the Dalish view of the world, but always in a reasonable manner and very liberally. We usually end up telling stories. She knows so many legends of the wilds, tales of the hunt, and I tell her about the things I have seen in the Fade. I have great respect for her knowledge of lore and songs – I, well, value her friendship.", Solas met his eyes directly and Cullen suddenly realized that the man was trying, in a very convoluted and discreet way, to explain to him that he had no romantic interest in Shenlira.
Two weeks ago, when he had planned the design for her white quiver, he'd happened upon her and Solas in his circular study. She'd been teaching him an elven song. Cullen had left them alone then, not wanting to impose on their private conversations – although he'd indeed been a little jealous. But if he knew one thing it was that he trusted her, and never wished to chain her down with petty jealousy. This friendship with Solas was important to her, a tie she cherished, and it had never occurred to him to limit that. Cullen wondered if the elf had noticed his presence on that day and now aimed to disperse any false suspicions he might have gotten from that scene. The attempt felt both courteous and awkward.
"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Solas. I didn't even assume…", his words trailed away. "But it was a nice sentiment. Thank you.", he finally said. Solas seemed to sense his discomfort and freed him by turning his thorough gaze to something else.
"It needed to be said, at least this once. Now that we cleared this obstinate issue up, I confess that I came here in hope to hear Shenlira sing one of my favourite songs. It is called Forests I Walk, Shining Roads, a ballad about a hunter who seeks to escape from an enchanted forest. He is trapped there by his lover, a mage who died and turned into a spirit of woe. A sad theme… and yet so beautiful. But the mood is not right for such a song right now, maybe later in the evening.", his fingers drummed lightly to the buoyant rhythm of the current song.
"May I ask you something? You said before that Shenlira was not like most Dalish. Could you explain to me how?", Cullen accepted a mug of ale from the maid, who filled Solas' empty cup from a carafe of wine.
"You are digging your own grave by asking me about the Dalish, Commander.", Solas barked a very un-elf-like laugh.
"Just Cullen.", he corrected the other man, who nodded, an almost companionable look in his eyes.
"Cullen, then… The first thing you have to know about the Dalish is that their vast majority does not care for humans, or any other race for that matter, often to the point that you'd be attacked on sight if you trespass on their camp sites. They hoard their secrets and all they think they know about their own culture jealously, while carefully cultivating elven superiority and narrow-minded faith.", he shook his head in a gesture of disappointment. "The clan Shenlira comes from, Lavellan, is different in the sense that they don't share the animosity against humans, are even open to trade and studying human culture, politics… This is mostly facilitated by Keeper Deshanna, a woman of wisdom and their leader. Also by Faleera, the Alaslin who preceded Shenlira – I heard she was a force to be reckoned with. But the current Alaslin Lavellan – Inquisitor will never sound less strange to me -, she is different still. Where the Dalish are narrow-minded, she is open to profound views, where they are antagonistic, she is tolerant and kind. She believes things gone wrong deserve a chance to be made right, and she doesn't care if you are human, dwarven or Qunari. There is a deep presence of mind in such an attitude. Yet… I fear that her clan might be ostracized from the whole of the Dalish exactly because of those views. Free spirits always walk precarious paths."
That, they do, Cullen agreed whole-heartedly. This was the longest he had heard the mage speak in one sitting and the insight Solas' explanation brought was a valuable thing. He wanted to inquire about the problems caused by Shenlira's 'free spirit', but another voice interrupted.
"Andraste's tits, here are the two dreariest people I know, come together at last. Everyone takes a split from duty to relax, and you two have nothing better to do than discuss elven politics and paint gloomy pictures.", said Varric, shaking his head in discontent. They had been so immersed in their conversation that they had not noticed the dwarf's approach.
"Tethras, colourful greeting as always. Not that it would interest you, but Cullen asked me about Dalish culture. I was merely…", Solas began, but Varric finished his sentence for him.
"You were merely launching into one of your famous monologues to an unsuspecting Commander. Everyone knows you don't ask Chuckles about the Dalish. Your handsome blonde head will turn grey before you hear the end of it." Solas made a sound of disdain to this, but his gaze was distinctly flickering with amusement. Cullen knew that the two were simply needling each other about personality quirks, neither would ever cross the lines to cruelty or real insult.
"Can I help you with something, Varric?", he inquired with a bit of a drawl and was immediately suspicious when the dwarf started grinning.
"Ah, now I remember why I came over here. I took the liberty of requesting a song in your name, Cullen.", Varric stated matter-of-factly. Oh no…
"What?!", Cullen exclaimed, aghast, "Which one?" He had a very bad feeling this would not end well for his reputation. And he was proven right.
"The Barefoot Maiden." The Commander went pale and his face fell when he heard that title. Solas, who was unfamiliar with the song, looked at both of them blankly.
"Let me explain, Chuckles.", Varric said in the voice of a great story-teller, while the bard announced the song and strummed her lute. "The Barefoot Maiden has a long history in Cullen's homeland. No wedding is held without playing it at least once. When it's played, every man of red Ferelden blood is compelled to ask his sweetheart to dance. If he fails to do so before the first verse is sung, she is free to choose a different partner, and that is considered very bad luck, for who would choose a man who made his sweetheart wait?" He paused dramatically as Cullen gave a defeated groan, then spoke again toward Solas. "The Commander is a man of reputation. Honour demands that he adheres to the tradition, unless he wishes to leave the dancing to one of the recruits…", the words were left unfinished meaningfully. The first tunes began to play and Cullen squared his shoulders, knowing that he had been very smartly hoodwinked. He stood and sought Shenlira's dark red mane, but not before giving Varric a withering stare.
"Excuse me. I'll make sure they feed your pony a cleansing potion for this. Well played, Tethras." They watched him walk away and Solas shook his head in disbelief.
"You are some overbearing dwarf, do you know that? To meddle in their affairs like that.", the elf mused, but Varric was unfazed, even snorted dismissively.
"They deserve a little fun in all this shit and they are too dutiful to take it on their own. You know it. Besides, remind me again who helped him design the white quiver?", the other man queried in an innocent tone.
"A point taken, friend.", Solas conceded solemnly.
Shenlira was awed by Dorian telling her the story how he'd scandalized a Tevinter noble woman and had gotten escorted off the premises for it when she noticed the two recruits hovering close by. Curiously, she turned to face them and identified one as the young man Cullen had reprimanded some weeks ago – Marten was his name. The other was unfamiliar, but they were both shifting on their feet like nervous yearlings and looking at her dreamily. The bard had struck up a melody brimming with vim, and she thought she had heard it before, but the memory was hazy…
"Oh, look. You have two puppies with stomach-aches following you. They would be cute if they didn't look like they might wet themselves at any minute.", Dorian remarked to her under his breath.
"Dorian!", Shenlira chided him. At that moment, Marten seemed to find his courage to speak.
"Your Worship, we… ah, were wondering if… That is, if you would…", he swallowed as though he had something stuck in his throat, "Could we have this dance? One of us, I mean-", but then suddenly his eyes went wide with shock.
"Only in your wildest dreams, young Marten.", this was Cullen's voice from behind her, a sort of well-meant rebuke ringing in it. Shenlira turned to see his tall figure close in on them. He gave her a warm smile, before his expression changed to one of harsh command he liked to use when young soldiers did some stupidly reckless thing. "Where are your manners, asking another's sweetheart to dance the Barefoot Maiden before the first verse? Find somewhere else to be.", he warned them thoroughly.
"S…Sir.", they both went rigid and almost tripped over themselves in their hurry to flee.
"Cullen! Did you have to be so strict with them?", Shenlira reproached him, her smooth brow furrowed. "And what's this about a Barefoot Maiden?" Cullen smiled again and she was momentarily side-tracked by the realization that he still managed to make her lose her train of thought sometimes.
"First of all… May I have this dance, my lady?", he held out his hand and bowed courteously, baffling her into silence. Merriment danced in his dark eyes as they surveyed the stunned look on her face. Finally, she nodded, mystified. He pulled her close and began to move in the lively rhythm of the song, one hand settling at the small of her back and guiding her with subtle pressure. It took a few moments until her surprise faded and she eased into it, skipping and bouncing, letting him twirl her around. Others joined the dance and the bard's voice lifted vivaciously, singing about a maiden whose boots were so worn she had to walk barefoot in the cold, until a brave warrior gave her new ones – gaining her favour with his kindness. The tune lilted playfully and all of a sudden, Shenlira's feet lost solid ground as Cullen lifted her high into the air, spinning her around in a full circle. She saw the whole tavern in a whirl of colour and a swooping giddiness in her stomach made her laugh with exhilaration. He set her on her feet again and she felt his uncontained joy when his lips brushed over her cheek fleetingly. You claim to be dull, and yet nothing could be farther from the truth, Sajnalin…, she mused silently.
"Is this finally a song I know and you don't? The Barefoot Maiden is an old Ferelden tradition. A man has to dance with his sweetheart to it, or suffer insult to his honour.", he said in a muted voice at her ear. For the whole length of the dance, Shenlira forgot the crowded tavern around them and simply revelled in the verve of his steps, the perfect synergy between lute and bard's voice that created the magic of music, and the sharing of such a simple enjoyment with the man of her heart. She wished it would never end and felt a peculiar sadness when it did. But the smile lingered on Cullen's face and that cheered her considerably. His obvious happiness caused her to experience a rush of childish glee.
"I thought you didn't dance.", she pointed out, a little out of breath from the vigorous exertion. He kept one gloved hand at the small of her back as he led her a little apart from the crowd.
"Usually, I don't. I make an exception for you, though. You are my sweetheart and it is tradition. Besides, I could not leave you to the pups. What would that do to my reputation?", he sounded distinctly amused and Shenlira's brows shot up in surprise.
"Your reputation is flawless, Sajnalin.", she argued, misunderstanding him.
"Not my military reputation, Lira.", he dropped his voice and saw a rosy tint creep to her face, her grey eyes widening. That he could fluster a woman who faced down dragons was so endearing, he had to battle the urge to kiss her in front of the whole tavern. Ah, why resist? What harm could it do?, he thought. It would be walking a slippery slope – he never quite knew if he'd manage to stop once he'd started.
"Cullen." By the Maker's eternal damnation!, he wanted to curse at the voice that detained him at that exact moment. As always, Leliana moved silently and unseen, even in a well-lit tavern full of people. Cullen and Shenlira both snapped out of their revelry and turned when she approached. "I'm sorry to disturb your reprieve, but I had an important scout report I wanted to discuss with you." He gave a defeated sigh.
"Now?", he couldn't quite hide the note of frustration in his tone.
"I'm afraid it can't wait, but it shouldn't take longer than an hour or two. Oh, no, not you.", Leliana stopped her when Shenlira straightened into alertness. She gave the spymaster a baffled look. "Most of us will have at least some downtime during the ball itself, but I doubt you will. You should really take a breather as long as it's possible. Tomorrow you need all your strength. We'll handle this quickly." Shenlira's expression was a mix of disappointment and gratitude. She did not want him to leave, but knew that he had to. Cullen leaned in and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
"I'll find you later.", he whispered apologetically, before he left and followed Leliana to the tavern exit.
The spymaster had been liberal when she'd spoken the words 'an hour' and 'quickly'. They discussed a troubling report of villagers sighting strange people on their settlement outskirts. The scouts said some of them even claimed to recognize the emblem on their armor, a crimson skyward sword, burning. Red templar, so close to Halamshiral? That couldn't be, it must be a mistake, but if it wasn't, they had to be prepared for the possibility. Somewhere around midnight, Leliana had mercy and finally let him go. Cullen stepped from the tent and stretched to disperse the tension in his neck and shoulders. He was surprised to find Varric waiting for him outside, an almost abashed look on his face – which was novelty, since the man seldom knew shame about anything.
"We may have done something… stupid. I think we need your help, even though I'd like to skip the lecture that will come with it as surely as the sun rises in the morning…", the dwarf said, making Cullen frown. That didn't bode well.
"What is it?", he demanded curtly. Varric exhaled and instead of answering, motioned him to follow. Cullen obeyed and they walked to the edge of the camp, back towards the village, where the tavern merriment was still in progress, even though people were slowly starting to retreat to their beds. Varric took a turn then, leading him down a narrow pathway to the back of the building. Pitiful moans were coming from the direction they headed, reminding him of sounds a wounded animal made when caught in a snare. They mingled with muted, apologetic voices. Cullen and Varric rounded the corner to find Dorian standing a little way apart, while the broad silhouette of the Bull watched over a miserable heap of a person on the ground. Shenlira was draped over the stump of a tree, half-sitting, her wild hair an utter mess around her, head swaying. She looked like a drenched cloak hung up to dry. Solas kneeled beside her, his hand placed soothingly on her back. Cullen stopped short.
"What in the Maker's name goes on here?!", he demanded of nobody in particular, horrified.
"It's not as bad as it looks. She's just drunk. Well, foxed out of her wits is probably a better assessment.", Dorian answered him. Shenlira made a pathetic noise, an unsettling sound that usually preceded retching. Solas threw him a meaningful look.
"I don't know what these dimwits gave her, but our kind usually is not susceptible to this sort of… inebriation. Whatever it was hit her hard. She's insensible.", the elf explained when Cullen briskly closed in and kneeled on her other side.
"What a rude thing to say!", this from Shenlira, her voice slurred and cut short by a hiccup, mistaking the comment as an insult. Cullen took off his gloves and brushed the locks away from her face, which was pale with an unhealthy greenish tint. Her head rested on one arm, deep crinkles around her eyes as she squeezed them shut tightly.
"You poisoned me! And after we have slain dragons together! Oh, the betrayal!", she lamented out of nowhere, "Everything… is spinning… Where's Sh… Saj… Cullen. That other word is too hard."
"I'm right here.", he tried to reassure her, but she didn't react, groaning again. "What on earth did you give her?", Cullen asked in outrage.
"Bess'dracis. Qunari Dragon Fire. Ah, Boss, it'll be alright. You just need a good long nap and some strong black tea in the morning.", the Iron Bull answered, his tone apologetic.
"It's a wonder she's still conscious at all. I drank Bess'dracis once and it laid me flat on my back for two days.", Varric commented from the side-lines. Cullen glared at him and he fell silent. The fools.
"Why did you even get her drunk in the first place? She never drinks any liquor other than spiced wine, you idiots." The companions at least had the decency to look contrite.
"We thought it would relax her. She's been more clamped-up about the ball than an orleisian noble maiden on her wedding night. Ah, wait… That metaphor just went somewhere terrible.", this from Dorian.
"Certainly, because you believe all the world's problems can be solved by drinking until senseless.", Solas interjected in a scathing voice.
"Stop fighting, you guys. I hate it when you fight. Juss leave me here to my m… misery and get Cullen…", Shenlira spoke again with a longing undertone. He leaned in close and laid a hand to her nape, exciting a sort of pressure she'd once shown him calmed animals in distress.
"I'm already here, Lira. Look at me.", he cajoled. She did open one eye, just a small grey slit that regarded him balefully. Then a relieved sort of sigh rose from her. The taut muscles relaxed a bit beneath his touch.
"She refused to move until we fetched you… Stubborn woman. I doubt she'll move now.", Varric explained, but as if to contradict him out of spite, Shenlira lifted heavily from the stump and shook her head as though trying to clear her vision. She swayed for a moment and he used the opportunity to pull her against his solid chest.
"Oh… I thought I smelled something good." She inhaled audibly and Cullen itched to punch Dorian for his barely suppressed laugh. "Cullen… tell these guys I'm not mad at them, they keep apologizing. It's… psh… annoying.", here she paused for a moment and added, in an unmistakably sultry voice, "And then take me to bed, vhenan." To bed. Clearly, she was too intoxicated to know what she was saying, but the comment carried such an obvious meaning that he felt his face burn and the breath caught in his throat. Thoroughly embarrassed now, he heard Varric cough politely and the Bull let out a low whistle. Dorian snickered. Cullen would have happily pummelled them all. The only one who kept a straight face was Solas, throwing him a look of compassion as he let his hand hover over Shenlira. He invoked some sort of magic, although it felt so unusual that Cullen could not place its purpose. Whatever it was, it made her relax and her head lolled a little before she went quite limp in his arms.
"This should help with the nausea.", the mage said quietly. "I look forward to seeing your vengeance on them about this."
"Well, now I can say I have seen everything. Magister aspiring to godhood, archdemon from hell… Blushing Commander…", Dorian commented and Cullen couldn't hold back an angry growl at the jibe. Its effect was completely thwarted by Shenlira's sudden giggle.
"You should probably heed her wish and… take her to bed. To sleep.", Solas managed to say in a serious tone. He thanked the elf earnestly and did as suggested, picking Shenlira up from the ground. The Bull made little move as if to help him, nedlessly. She didn't protest and her weight was neglectable.
"Will you manage her on your own?", the Qunari still seemed compelled to ask. Cullen nodded grudgingly.
"It's fine. I know you care about her welfare, but every time you try to 'help' I seem to end up neck-deep in the collateral damage of your so-called 'good will'. A little warning, perhaps, the next time you plan such charity?", he grumbled in a sullen tone, and the Bull let out a booming laugh.
"You're all right, Cullen. She'll be fine, you'll see. She's a lot tougher than she looks.", the other man gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder that nearly levelled him to the ground and then turned away. "Dorian! Tell me again about that Tevinter lecher who liked women to spank his a-"
"Bull, shut your filthy trap! You're in the presence of a lady!", the mage interrupted him, but he was only half-serious. As they walked back to the tavern together, Cullen heard the Qunari bark another laugh.
"Oh, she can't hear me. The Boss is too busy sniffing Cullen, probably dreaming up her own lewd story…"
"Maker help me.", the Commander whispered under his breath, gifting Varric with a scowl and Solas with a respectful nod before he walked off towards the camp, Shenlira in his arms. She burrowed closer to him and since he'd shed the armour before the tavern visit, he felt her warmth and softness even more intensely. Her face nuzzled to the hollow of his throat, a hot rush of breath tickling along his skin. Somehow that small, intimate gesture brimmed with sensuality, making him shudder.
"How can you smell this good after four days of riding and travel?", Shenlira wondered absent-mindedly. Cullen swallowed hard. One of her small hands was bunched up in the fabric of his tunic as though she needed the grip to keep her grounded. He suspected the world was still spinning around her.
"I make a point to wash in a stream or pond every morning, or if possible at a tavern.", he explained, concentrating on the shadowed path before them. Then his tone turned worried, "Oh my Lira, what did they do to you? Have you ever even been drunk before? Do you feel like being sick? Dizzy?"
"Too many questions! Don't be mad at them, please? I agreed to it so… it was my fault…", Shenlira sighed in a tired sort of way before a hiccup interrupted her. "'S fine… I think. But so weird! Why do people even want this? I couldn't aim a bow to save my life right now. Ssh, did you hear that?", she rambled, but Cullen had not heard a thing, pretty certain it was all in her inebriated head. "Oh you know that sound! Sssshhhhshhhsss.", she went on, copying it with unusual prowess.
"The bushes where you bathe must be rustling all the time, crowded with women hiding to take a peek at your firm b-"
"Lira!", he hushed her before she could finish that thought, utterly mortified, for they had just passed the edge of the camp into earshot of Scout Harding. The dwarven woman had overheard Shenlira's comment and regarded the strange scene of their arrival with unveiled puzzlement. Cullen gave her a look that begged her not to ask, which she answered by discreetly turning the other way. It didn't take long to find the Inquisitor's tent, its canvas as always marked with colourful stitching.
"Why does the issue of other women keep coming up from you? I don't even notice and you know I don't care about their attentions." Cullen entered the tent silently after making sure nobody saw them, not wanting to attract any curious gazes. Someone had left a lantern burning and a peculiar pan with smokeless, glowing embers warmed the inside against the chill of the night. Something magically imbued, he suspected, templar senses tingling. A makeshift bed of thick blankets had been set for Shenlira, some few personal items gathered around it. There was an intricate chest too, its top serving as depot for reports, missives and other correspondence. One lone chair stood beside it. Bow and quiver had been laid onto her meticulously folded leather armour next to the pillows. He had not expected any reply to his last remark, but when he settled her down onto the blankets, she heaved a sigh that somehow felt like she was trying to tell him that he should know better by now.
"Of course you don't notice. Ah, I'm just teasing you, vhenan, and you make it too easy. You know neither vanity nor selfishness. It is one of the most wonderful things about you.", she spoke those words clearly, almost as if sober, but couldn't seem to refrain from adding in a nasty undertone, "The bush-women on the other hand… They simply like looking at your face." Then she suddenly let out a breath as if admitting some grave weakness. "Between you and me, I can't blame them. It's such a handsome face." Shenlira flashed him an angelic smile that momentarily rendered him speechless. He shook his head in disbelief and found his voice again.
"You're drunk, woman. You should be babbling incoherently, not saying things that make me want to kiss you and not stop.", he chided her. The words called her to alertness and while he peeled the jacket off her, she tried to distract him by stretching for his lips every chance she got. It was both delightful and vexing, for he had a very hard time readying her for sleep like this.
"Why don't you? You can't make claims like that and leave them unproven!", Shenlira taunted him playfully, but when he left her chemise untouched and pulled her nightshirt from the chest, she made a sound of disappointment. "Wait, you want to put clothes on me? Disgraceful!" Oh, if you had any idea, alluring creature… If she knew how he had to fight the temptation of her closeness, her warm, fragrant skin, her lush quirky lips, every step of the way – she'd have eaten her words. His jaw felt stiff from clenching it for too long, and certain other parts of his body disobeyed his command completely, springing to life with eager anticipation. Get a hold of yourself! Cullen draped the shirt over her head dutifully and lifted her wayward hair from beneath the collar. She pouted at him, invinting and coquettish. Decent sense made an attempt to exit, and he barely kept it from doing so.
"Don't tempt me, Lira. It's already hard enough, believe me. But I would be taking advantage of your intoxicated state and that would be dishonourable.", he argued gently. Yet he couldn't stop himself from giving her an affectionate kiss, keeping a tight leash of control. Of course, Shenlira made it anything but easy, leaning into the touch passionately, with no reservations, until he had to pull away lest he forget himself. After the moment it took to collect his wits, he smiled faintly.
"Besides… I doubt that Bess'dracis will let you remember most of this night. You would miss out on all the interesting parts.", he said this in a tantalizing voice that held a wicked promise. At least a little pay-back for the sweet torture he endured for several weeks now. Although he couldn't rightly blame her for his own wicked thoughts… Shenlira eyed him with a distinctly intrigued expression, but after a long moment of contemplation, she bent her head and concurred.
"Ah, I don't like it when you're right.", she teased even so. Cullen watched her lids flutter for a moment and knew that despite their flirtatious banter, she wasn't in a good state. Solas may have dampened the nausea with his spell, but the effect of the strong spirit was still rampaging around in her mind and body. She looked paler than usual, her clear, intelligent eyes glazed. He imagined the world was still spiralling out of focus around her. She needed to sleep it off. But even so, he wheedled her to drink a whole cup of water against the headache that was sure to come and even managed to make her eat a little bread. Afterwards, she leaned back into the pillows with a massive yawn and he pulled the blankets closely around her.
Suddenly, her slender hand came up and closed around his urgently, as though she was afraid he would disappear. She met his eyes and the look she gave him was one of trepidation, of woe laid bare.
"Don't leave me.", she spoke in a heart-breaking voice. I never would, why do you even think such a thing?!, Cullen wanted to tell her. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and he had to swallow down the knot that formed in his throat at the sight. Although the sudden instability of emotion was likely amplified by her intoxication, he understood then how much she truly dreaded the things to come. Gathering Shenlira to his side, he gently wiped the few stray tears from her cheeks, let his fingers tangle into her hair and held her close while he assured her of course, he won't leave.
"I can't fail. I can't. Not tomorrow, not ever. Too much is at stake.", she whispered and he rocked her softly as one would soothe a frightened child.
"You won't. You came so far, it will be alright. Oh, don't cry, Lira… Maker, I can't bear it." It took some time, but he kept murmuring to her, sensing that it didn't even much matter what he said. She just wanted the comforting timbre of his voice, slowly calming at its deep resonance, face slack in an expression of ancient weariness. Her eyes fell shut and she sighed, close to falling asleep but not quite there yet. So Cullen started telling her a story, knowing how she loved listening to tales about his time before the Inquisition.
There had once been a notorious thief in Kirkwall by the name of Smiling Eldon – he'd gotten that name because of the grinning fox mask he wore to hide his face. At the same time, Marla, one of the younger Kirkwall Circle mages, started wandering off on her own and eluding templar supervision every chance she got. The Knight-Commander was very suspicious, thinking the two incidents might be linked, since Eldon's more extravagant coups, like the stealing of a giant landscape painting from noble-man's residence in Hightown, reeked of magical involvement. Cullen and one of his templar brothers were assigned to investigate both events. The most unusual task he'd ever gotten – templars did not normally scour dark alleys in plain clothing, blades concealed, trying to catch a thief in the act.
Many times, they followed Marla in the hope to find Eldon, or, more outrageous yet, maybe find that Marla was Eldon. One night, they got lucky, or the young mage apprentice had simply gotten careless. They happened upon her – and Eldon – on the third floor of a tavern in a very compromising position, the whole room clouded in a gaudy illusion spell. It turned out they were lovers and Eldon an undiscovered mage. His abilities were so subtle and unique, the Circle had not noticed his existence and so he'd never been trained. Smiling Eldon was an illusionist of such calibre, he could even fool templars – for a little while.
A heated pursuit ensued that rivalled Varric's novels of Hard in Hightown. They caught him, eventually, and brought him to the Circle without the need for violence. After being examined by the healers and Chantry priests, it became known that his thievery wasn't even voluntary, but a compulsion he couldn't seem to fight, created by some sort of childhood trauma.
Halfway through the story, Shenlira had started smiling in her light snooze. She listened with rapt attention as long as she managed, but Cullen's soothing voice was like a very insistent lullaby, and so she felt herself be pulled over the edge of sleep, enclosed in his arms, surrounded by a sense of utter safety. Her fingers, so tightly holding on before, went limp around his and her breathing deepened. He refrained from telling her that both Eldon and Marla disappeared during the first days of the rebellion, their fates after that unknown. It was a sad ending that made him, once more, realize how this war had torn so many lives apart, and telling her would only cause her even more distress. Cullen straightened and sighed, when he suddenly felt the presence of someone else in the tent. Scout Harding stood at the entrance, holding an assortment of items, including his templar sword, cloak and one of his own blankets.
"Sir – Forgive me, I… didn't mean to pry, just thought you'd… like to have your personal things. I assumed you might not return to your tent for them.", the dwarf kept her voice low as she spoke, awkwardly shifting on her feet.
"Bold move, Harding. But you were right. I appreciate it.", Cullen answered quietly. Harding arranged his belongings around the room with swift precision. Shenlira tossed and turned restlessly in her sleep, as though she couldn't find a comfortable position. He frowned, wondering how he could put her at ease further. Was she always this agitated during the nights? No wonder she looked exhausted most of the time… His lips pressed into a firm line.
"The winter ram.", the scout suddenly said. Seeing the confused look on the Commander's face, she pointed at a white patch set close to the pillows. Cullen picked it up. A pelt? It was soft and dense and remarkably well-preserved, like touching the fur of a living thing. When he gave it to Shenlira to hold, her hand immediately buried in the thick fur and she curled it to her chest instinctively, going still.
"In the field, she sleeps better holding that. I don't know why… But once, she forgot to bring it to the Coast, and the surliness in the mornings was disconcerting…", Harding remarked further, dumbstruck when the Commander smiled, as if to some private joke. It was a side of him she'd never suspected, a side reserved for the person he kept his keen vigil over. She couldn't have felt more intrusive if she'd barged in on them embracing passionately.
"I imagine if you touched a young wolf's pelt, they would feel exactly alike.", Cullen said, drawing the blanket up to Shenlira's shoulders. He threw Harding a quick glance that told her she was forgiven for her brazenness of intruding, before he returned his attention to the sleeping woman.
"Thank you, Harding.", he told her with a polite finality, and the scout, having worked with the Commander for many weeks by now, knew herself to be dismissed. As she turned to leave, she heard Shenlira draw a shivering breath.
"Cub…", she whispered longingly, and Cullen answered her in a soft voice.
"Run with your wolf in your dreams tonight, Lira. I will watch over you both."
Shenlira woke with a parched mouth and drilling headache the next morning, knowing two things: First, never ever to accept any sort of beverage from either Dorian or the Bull. Second, and this came slowly, just as hazy memories of the night before came back to her in shreds: She loved Cullen. It wasn't unexpected, more like an inevitable thing, after all they had shared with each other. But when she looked at him sitting on the lone chair in the lightening darkness of the tent, his head leaned onto one hand, the lines of his face softened by sleep, she felt for the first time the inexplicable urge to blurt this out to him. He had carried her to the tent so gently and taken care of her although she must have been terribly annoying… Bits of her embarrassing behaviour flashed across her mind and the pounding in her head intensified. No, now is definitely not the right time to tell him. Not while a flock of woodpeckers hammered away at her eyesockets. The pain made her groan – Cullen was instantly awake and by her side with a cup of water that she gulped down thirstily.
It took several hours until she had gathered her senses sufficiently to conduct a coherent conversation with anyone. That they had to break camp early to reach the Winter Palace with a little time to spare made things no more helpful, at all. Riding had never made her feel nauseated, and now was the worst time for that to start.
Yet, the companions who had brought about this unfortunate event seemed to be plagued by guilt and therefore assisted her any way they could. Varric brewed some dwarven herbal tea that dampened the headache and Dorian invigorated her with a magic spell that was perhaps a little strong, since her legs kept constantly twitching for action, making Ash nervous. The Bull insisted on letting her hit him with a stick, but she refused vigorously and instead accepted his sincere promise never to mention Bess'dracis or any embarrassing thing she had blurted out in her intoxicated state ever again. Cullen did not speak much during these last hours of the ride as Halamshiral slowly drew nearer in the distance, but Shenlira felt his watchful gaze like a comforting cloak. Still, he seemed in deep thought, and she wondered if she had said or done something stupid during the night. It was all a blur. He'd carried her to her tent, then a lengthy blank spot, then only hazy pieces and… a story about a mage thief in Kirkwall? Was that right? Damn it all. As through the greater part of the journey, they rode side by side silently while she contemplated the dire consequences of drinking. Knowing that upon their arrival, there wouldn't be time for a private talk for a good while, she cleared her throat and turned to him.
"Cullen…", she began tentatively, but it seemed he chose that exact moment to speak to her himself.
"Did you dream of wolves last night?", he suddenly asked. Such a question completely out of context baffled her. More unexpected still was that she'd had a dream about wolves. "I gave you the white ram fur to hold… Although I don't take credit for the idea, because Harding told me to. It reminds you of Cub, doesn't it?", Cullen elaborated. Shenlira hadn't thought that anyone had noticed this childlike habit and she felt a little abashed.
"In the wilderness, during long journeys, we used to huddle together in the night for warmth. For the better part of a decade I slept with my hand on his neck. There's this whirl of elaborate guard hairs, and then the thick fur covering it. I got so used to it…" Her throat suddenly constricted and she stopped short. She didn't know which emotions her face showed then, but Cullen's voice was soft beside her, his gaze honest, kind.
"I know you miss him... Why not have him brought to Skyhold? We'll just get rid of the dogs… And maybe the chickens need a sturdy pen.", he tried to lighten her mood, not having intended to sadden her.
"I… I'd like that… But then my father would be all alone. Ah, I don't know.", she sounded at odds with herself.
"We are making good progress in the Western Approach. After we finish this arduous noble's gathering and clear the Venatori stronghold, you should take some time and visit the clan.", he suggested.
"I don't know… Dorian and Solas are worried about strange magic in the Still Ruins… I might have to make more trips…", she contemplated, but he threw her an imploring look.
"Alright, Sajnalin. It is likely useless to argue with you. And maybe you have a point. Would you accompany me if I visit my clan?", she conceded, saying the last in a hopeful undertone. The invitation caught him off guard and he found Shenlira looking at him expectantly.
"Of course, Lira. I hadn't thought… I mean… If that is what you wish, I'll make the time." This seemed to considerably lighten her mood, and she even began humming the melody of the Barefoot Maiden as they rode. Only too soon, the hill sloped upwards and on it, the gates of Halamshiral loomed before their procession. The Winter Palace rose above the city like a gleaming sentinel in golden armour, set aflame by the afternoon sun. Shenlira felt trepidation rise inside her as water bubbling forth from a spring and she hoped very much that all the hours of hard work and studying court etiquette would help her not to get torn to pieces by the Orlais elite. It wouldn't have been the first time somebody lost their head in the great Game.
