Chapter Ten: To All Swift Things

Summary: Cassandra is delighted to receive a very expensive gift, kills a dragon with it; Cullen teaches Sera a trick, engages in a power struggle.

"To all swift things for swiftness did I sue;

Clung to the whistling mane of every wind.

But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,

The long savannahs of the blue;

Or whether, Thunder-driven,

They clanged his chariot 'thwart a heaven,

Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o' their feet:—

Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue."

–Francis Thompson, "The Hound of Heaven"

Dear Cullen, Cassandra wrote.

Ten minutes later, she still hadn't thought of another word. She stared off angrily into the campfire, aware that she was crushing her pen between her fingers.

"Having trouble there, Seeker?"

Hearing Varric's gravelly chuckle, she covered her letter hurriedly with her hand.

"I could probably spare you some help," he said, sitting down beside her. "Seeing as you've been so appreciative of my writing in the past."

Maker, she was never going to hear the end of this. "Thank you, Varric, but no," she said curtly. When he'd gone away – strangely, looking a little hurt, and stranger still, she knew she'd apologize to him later – she continued:

The Inquisition is working to build our presence in the Emerald Graves. Varric is getting on my nerves, as usual.

She resisted the urge to scratch the lines out, insipid as they were. She didn't actually intend on sending the letter, after all. The others wrote back to Skyhold sometimes – Iron Bull, Solas, and of course, the Inquisitor – but every piece of mail took effort to deliver, and she didn't want to create more work for someone else, not without a good reason. Besides, Leliana and Josephine were sure to read every letter, and they knew enough about her and Cullen as it was.

I miss you. I love you.

Even worse, she thought dismissively. Even though it was entirely true.

On his own, Cullen continued to battle the lyrium withdrawal. Some days, the physical symptoms were the worse – nausea, migraines, deep fatigue. Other days, he felt helplessly tossed about by his emotions – manic highs, abject lows, and everything in between.

During one episode, afraid to be by himself, he went to see Mother Giselle. For several hours, he opened up to her about his struggles, without mentioning the lyrium or Cassandra's name specifically. It must have been a rambling and confusing account, but she did not press him for more details. "I don't know how much longer I can hold on," he said. "My faith is so feeble."

"It is not great faith you need, just faith in something greater," Mother Giselle told him. "Faith is like a window. It matters not whether the window is large or small; what matters is that you look through it to see the Maker. You need but remember that, and humbly persist in seeking."

"Thank you, Mother Giselle," he murmured.

"Put self-pity aside, child," she counseled. "And do not grow weary of doing good."

Work helped. Struck by how thoroughly Cassandra kept up with what the other advisers were doing, he began stopping by to talk with them more often.

From Josephine: The Thibaults were gaining strength in Orlais. Unrest still brewed in Serault. Their scholars' inquiries into the Well of Sorrows in Minrathous's archives had been very promising so far.

From Leliana: Red lyrium smugglers had been apprehended at Lake Celestine. Venatori spies were moving in Val Chevin. No news from the Hero of Ferelden, nor did she expect any in the foreseeable future.

Things had improved among them, he decided. Josephine was always pleased to have another listening ear. Leliana was more reserved, but she didn't seem to despise him anymore, at least, and if he ever made a nuisance of himself, he knew she wouldn't hesitate to let him know.

Emboldened, one afternoon when they were in the War Room, he surprised them with two boxes chocolate-centered caramels his sisters had sent him from Ferelden. "I did think there was one thing I hadn't properly apologized for," he said, with what he hoped was a winsome smile. "Interrupting an important meeting, once upon a midnight."

It worked. Perhaps too well. "Hmph," Josephine said, after exchanging a look with Leliana. "Quite right. But seeing as that was virtually an unpardonable offense, I suppose it would only be fair for you to continue offering such apologies, now and then."

"It brings me happiness to know you will find a good use for them," he said, testing his luck. "Albeit a completely secret one."

And if he wasn't mistaken, that earned him a twinkle of approval in Leliana's eyes.

Company helped, too. Though in Cassandra's absence, he realized guiltily, there were few others at Skyhold with whom he was particularly close.

So he set up times to play chess with Dorian and Blackwall. He sparred with Iron Bull, and had a few drinks with Varric. He even sat on the roof with Sera and threw cookies at Vivienne and Solas, ducking as they looked around for the culprits. "Maybe you're not so bad," Sera said, when they'd shimmied down a drainpipe and landed in the garden, crushing a patch of the Inquisitor's lovingly tended Crystal Grace. "Decent shot, at least. Are you good at anything else?"

Was he? He looked around and saw a cherry tree. "I can knot a cherry stem in my mouth," he said lamely.

"Eeewww! You can keep that to yourself. Whatever that means."

"It means what it says, Sera. You've never heard of it?"

When she shook her head, he grabbed a handful of cherries and showed her. Soon he found himself giving demonstrations to a small crowd, including most of the inner circle. Sera cackled, watching them contort their faces and stick out their tongues. "I must master this," Dorian said, making one undignified expression after another. "If only because it's so fiendishly difficult."

"Everyone in Honnleath learned it growing up," Cullen said, to be modest.

Sera rolled her eyes. "Yeah, the rest of us had better things to do. Still. You're okay, right."

He remembered what he'd said to Cassandra – it was true that he was better off having something to do. Already he was assisting Cassandra with finding the remaining Seekers, since the Inquisitor had exposed Lord Seeker Lucius at Caer Oswin. Cullen, along with the Inquisitor and the other advisors, had unanimously urged Cassandra to rebuild her old Order. He had been glad to be there to comfort her, though the sight of her tears again broke his heart, and he was glad now to be aiding in her research, directing their troops where needed.

But even that wasn't enough. He started looked for more to occupy himself with outside of his regular duties. Useful work, preferably. But it would be strange, even disconcerting, for the Commander of the Inquisition to be seen performing tasks that would have been allocated to others.

Finally he hit upon the idea to try the stables. He knew the horse master, Herbert, from their discussions of mounts for the soldiers. Herbert was a widower from Honnleath, and claimed to remember Cullen as a boy. In any case, he didn't stand on ceremony. "There's always stalls to be mucked out and hay to be stacked," he said, and so Cullen carried out any tasks Herbert had for him. If the handler thought it odd, he didn't comment. Perhaps he was used to oddness, Cullen thought, as he fed the Inquisitor's nuggalope. It was very much like her – it brought out the oddness in others, being cheerfully aware of its own.

Herbert stepped out one afternoon to negotiate with merchants over a new shipment of horses. He came back in looking unhappy.

"What is it? Not what you were expecting?" Cullen asked.

"They're acceptable. Maker knows we can't afford to be choosy." He shook his head. "But there's this one fool boy with them, dragging around a good horse in bad shape. A Nevarran Shrewdblood, if I'm not mistaken. He's running it down to the ground."

Cullen perked up. "A Nevarran horse, you said?"

"War horse. Powerful charger. Exceptional agility." He grunted. "No one within a thousand miles is going to be able to take it off his hands. I hate to see a jewel like that go by, but we haven't got the coin."

"I might be interested," Cullen said casually. "If it would be all right to stable the horse here."

Herbert gave him a suspicious look. "We have the space, but a horse like that needs more than the usual rations. You'd need to spring for that too."

"But it's a good horse?" Herbert nodded, and Cullen said, "Then I'd like to consider it."

Herbert brightened. "It's turning out to be a good day after all. Wait just a moment, then."

After longer than he anticipated, Herbert returned, huffing with satisfaction. "I got her down to a fair price for you," he said.

He named the figure, and Cullen almost choked.

"You must be joking," Cullen said, when he found his voice again.

Herbert looked deeply offended. "A Nevarran Shrewdblood is a queen among horses. They don't come cheap." He cracked his knuckles. "What do you say? Still in?"

I've spent all my money on horses and women, Cullen thought ruefully. "Still in, Herbert."

Herbert had been right. Even ungroomed and malnourished, the horse was still something extraordinary. Her coat was white and her mane and tail, though dusty and knotted, were a pure obsidian black. After a few days under Herbert's care, she practically glowed.

It was too bad that she was the meanest horse Cullen had ever encountered. He'd never had trouble around horses before, but this one simply refused to warm up to him. She dug in her heels when he tried to lead her outside, sneered at him when he attempted to tack her up, and crunched the ripe apples he gave her with a grudging look.

Even something as simple as moving her so that he could sweep out her stall could turn into a contest of wills. "Come on, princess," he muttered, the word slipping out of his mouth to his surprise. His father had used to call his sisters that, whenever they were being particularly vexing.

Cassandra would really hate having a horse named Princess, he thought, unable to suppress a grin. No matter. She could name it what she liked; until then, Princess would be what he called it.

"Yes, Princess, that's you," he said. He'd hoped to get some kind of a rise out of her – some kind of outraged whinny, perhaps – but she gave him only a silent look of disdain.

Had he really expected to have a conversation with a horse? This was low, even for him. "Ingrate," he added. If she was going to be his nemesis, he at least got to insult her.

A week later, Cullen couldn't believe he was still engaged in a power struggle with a horse. She'd keep fidgeting as he attempted saddle her, shooting him haughty looks. Finally he'd given up, and still that wasn't enough for her – on his way out, she kicked him in the shins.

"She doesn't like people," he said to Herbert, who'd been enjoying the show.

Herbert snorted. "Certainly doesn't like you." He stepped around Cullen and easily unsaddled the horse, leading her back to her stall. "There's no hiding from horses," he said fondly. "You have to be completely yourself around them. Bring anyone near a horse and you'll see if they're comfortable with themselves or not."

Princess threw Cullen a look of smug contempt as she clip-clopped out.

It was enough to make him consider not gifting the horse to Cassandra after all. Princess was so disagreeable that he couldn't imagine them getting along.

On the other hand, it was stupid to keep a horse cooped up that no one besides he and Herbert knew about. At the very least, Cassandra might appreciate seeing that he'd had done something to keep himself busy.

When she'd returned from the Emerald Graves and had a day to settle back in, he asked her if she'd mind taking a look at some of the Inquisition's new acquisitions. She made a disgusted noise as he led her into the stables. "Not more demented animals. If the Inquisitor has corralled some kind of…" Her expression changed. "Oh!"

Her reaction caught him off guard. To Cullen, it was just a horse – a horse that had been a pain in his side for two weeks now – but Cassandra was staring it as if were an angel of light. That will change when she gets to know its personality, he thought with an inward sigh.

To Cullen's surprise, the horse took one look at Cassandra and whinnied prettily. She seemed to stand taller, flicking her long black mane and raising one hoof slightly. Cassandra walked around it, marveling at it from every angle. "You are beautiful," she breathed.

The horse preened.

Turning to Cullen, Cassandra said eagerly, "This breed is rare. Only certain Nevarran handlers have them. How did the Inquisition… May I…?"

Barely taking note of his answer – how could it be anything but yes? – Cassandra saddled up Princess, whom Cullen hadn't even attempted to get ready for riding. He couldn't believe how easily Cassandra managed it now. She grasped the reins, said something in Nevarran, and the horse took off majestically. Always a graceful rider, Cassandra seemed to take to the horse by instinct. Her form had never been better, Cullen thought admiringly, as they flowed as one creature into the distance.

He heard a low whistle. It was Herbert, watching their progress. He caught Cullen's eyes and gave him a sly wink. "I should tell the lads. That'll inspire them to do their chores."

Cullen shrugged, unable to keep a grin off his face.

The handler slipped out discreetly when Cassandra returned, leaving the two of them together. Dismounting, she gushed, "She's perfect. Truly a mount fit for the Inquisitor. I will be glad to see her replace that preposterous nuggalope."

"Actually, I bought the horse for you," he said. "Would you like her?"

The look that crossed her face was priceless. "Maker, yes!" she exclaimed, eyes shining. "I don't know how to thank you, Cullen. She must have cost a fortune."

"Not a fortune," he said. "I didn't have very much money."

Immediately he wished he hadn't said that. Her eyes widened. "Is that a request for a pay raise, Commander?

He shook his head, face growing hot.

She raised an eyebrow. "You had a good salary at Kirkwall, and no major expenses or debts. Of course, I have not been monitoring your finances since you joined the Inquisition, but…"

Suddenly she narrowed her eyes.

"We'll discuss this later," she said, mounting the horse again in one smooth motion. They galloped off and Cullen watched, beaming. Herbert chuckled as he stacked the hay.

"I'm still amazed you gave the Inquisition so much of your money," she said later, as they made out in the back of the stables, not for the first time.

"At the time, I didn't think I would need it for anyone else," he said, smiling.

"An oversight on your part. Suppose only your riches could make me happy. What if I wanted twelve Nevarran horses?"

"Then you would have to find me eleven more positions in the Inquisition."

"I'm afraid, Commander, that the Inquisition is not quite so in need of your services." Leaning closer, she whispered, "But I can think of at least eleven more positions I'd like to see you in."

Maker preserve him. "You have a dirty mind, Cassandra," he said, kissing her passionately.

"Show me what you think of it," she replied, kissing him back.

Later, when Cassandra had left (after feeding the horse three apples, which it accepted joyfully), he found himself still talking to her horse. A silly habit, but one he could probably live with. "I'm all right, aren't I?" he said, patting the horse's side. He was not unaware of how pathetic he sounded. "See, I was taking good care of you. I was getting you in shape for the best woman in Thedas. Can't we be friends now?"

The horse made a disgusted noise.

The next week, Cullen was proud to see Cassandra ride out with the Inquisitor's party on the horse, which she'd named Fleet. He missed her terribly, but he was glad to think that she and Fleet might take care of each other while she was away. For his part, he kept up his duties, feeling the lyrium addiction hold less and less sway over him. He counted off the days until it would be a month without a trace of lyrium crossing his lips.

Then the day came, and there was no one to celebrate with him. He'd thought Cassandra would be back by now. He looked up from his desk at lunchtime to see Josephine enter.

"A letter came from Cassandra," she said, holding out an envelope. "It seemed important."

He took it from her, resisting the urge to tear it open right away. "Do you know when they'll return?"

She shrugged. "It's hard to say. Another week, perhaps. Longer if they meet with resistance. Or if things go well."

She gave him a look of sympathy.

"You are used to being the soldier abroad," she said. "It must be difficult to be the one who waits at home instead."

"As the Maker wills it, I hope I choose to bear it more graciously," he replied, but he started tearing open the letter even before Josephine was out the door in a manner that was far from gracious. It was short, but it made him laugh and ache for Cassandra like never before.

Dear Cullen,

The Inquisition advances. We have made progress closing rifts and restoring order in Emprise du Lion. Fleet and I are well. We slayed a high dragon yesterday in Etienne's Ring. I am anxious to return to you and it was in my way.

Yours with all my love,

Cassandra

A/N: Wouldn't it be funny if there were more adviser-to-adviser War Table operations? "Apologize to Leliana and Josephine…" Skyhold drama is so much more diverting than stopping Corypheus. :P

Mother Giselle's counsel borrows heavily from N.T. Wright's writings on Luke 17:1-10 in Luke for Everyone.

Just hours after I realized that Seekers are immune to red lyrium, I found this compilation of unused lines (YouTube: DA: Inquisition. Party comments [Cassandra]) that includes "I never said I was frightened of horses. They just have such large teeth." I don't buy that a Pentaghast would be afraid of horses, but still, somehow I managed to get everything wrong in this story…