TEN

South Reach might have been a large town once, but with so many refugees crammed inside its boundaries, it felt suffocating. The streets were packed, the shops hectic and chaotic. Cullen seemed to brood more each time some stranger brushed past him, bumping his arms or shoulders, paying little mind to it at all. Morrigan and Sten bristled just as much, and I recommended that Sten go look for somewhere outside town to make camp while Morrigan restocked our supplies. Morrigan begrudgingly followed my recommendation, scowling as Zevran decided to join her, winking at me as he followed her retreating form. Cullen and I were left to fend for ourselves, Wolf clinging to my side so tightly that he tripped me more than a few times. After about the sixth stumble, Cullen grabbed my elbow and threaded my arm through his, keeping me steady and helping me to weave through the crowds. The refugees that couldn't get rooms in taverns were sent to the Chantry, we learned from a talkative beggar. Cullen shook his head slightly when I gave the man three silver, telling me quietly that there were endless amounts of people who needed the coin and I couldn't hand all our money away. I waved away his words, pointing out the large building in the center of town instead.

"Is that the Chantry?" I asked him, knowing he would surely recognize one before I would. He nodded, tugging my arm to lead me to it.

The Chantry was crowded, but slightly more organized. The large building was structures similarly to churches back home, the ceiling rising and falling in steeples. Stained glass accentuated accents and windows, decorating the insides with colored strips of light. Makeshift stands ordered people into lines, passing out blankets and rations.A flustered, sweating man sat at a small table, scrawling frantically on sheets of parchment, hastily going back and forth with a group of people who seemed rather frantic. My chest ached in sympathy for the people here, the realization that these were people forced from their homes sinking in. The air oozed heavy with the smell of fear and sweat, the despair and desperation seeping into my skin.

"You aren't refugees."

It was a statement of fact, not a question. The voice was hard, tired, and feminine, bringing my eyes to the source. It was an elven woman, arms wrapped around a barrel that sloshed as she adjusted her grip. Her silvery hair was falling out of its braids, dangling in front of her face as her eyes measured us up.

"No," Cullen agreed, dipping his head in gentle acknowledgement."We were hoping to locate some people here."

A sharp look crossed her face, the corners of her mouth slipping downward in distaste as she regarded him, eyes honing in on the sword emblem on the center of his chestplate. "Now, listen, ser, I understand your organization an' all, but these people here are in need of help, not some big burly tryin' to assert dominance on 'em."

Cullen's eyes narrowed at the elf, mouth opening to no doubt put her in her place for speaking out of turn. I hastily moved forward, stepping between the two and diverting attention onto myself. "We're looking for his family," I clarified quickly, holding up my hands. "They were supposed to have come here from Honnleath."

The woman relaxed slightly, shoving the barrel against Cullen's chest, who quickly caught it in his arms, eyes flying wide and shocked. "Gerald's the one sorting the refugees," she told us, spinning on her heel and waving us to follow. "He can help you out. Get in line, an' I'll take that back now." She waved us to the back of the crowd surrounding the sweating man frantically trying to keep up with the people begging with him to look for certain names. She held her hands out to Cullen, who awkwardly passed the barrel back into her skinny arms. She gave a short nod, spinning on her heel once more and moving through the throngs of people, forcing pathways for herself.

"She was quite insolent," Cullen muttered as we stood in what could barely be described as a line. It was more like a crowded circle, growing more and more with each passing moment, causing redness to rise in the face of the poor man as he tried to keep up with the demands.

I shook my head, smiling wryly up at him. "She was protecting the people," I contradicted lightly. He glowered down at me, causing small lines to crease around his mouth and brow.

"She stood in this Chantry under the eyes of the Maker with complete disrespect for the very order that was created to carry out his demands," he objected, ever dutiful and faithful. I sighed lightly, tilting my head to the side and letting my eyes drift around the building, settling on a statue upon a small platform in the center of the building. Andraste, I assumed.

"You're making more of this than it is," I told him, shrugging. "Let it be what it is. People are scared, she didn't want them more scared." I gave him a sideways glance. He was staring hard at me, his face unreadable. He sighed after a few moments, letting his shoulders drop. I took it as a small victory, standing up a bit straighter, only to stumble back as someone shoved their way passed me.

Gloved, strong hands caught my shoulders, holding me in place. I looked at at Cullen, who shook his head, glowering at the crowd around us.

"This is getting us nowhere," he started, waving a hand at the people who had cut in front. "There is no order to this."

I opened my mouth to object, but he was already pushing his way through the people, who recoiled away from him when they saw what he was. It shocked me a bit to find the subtle signs of discontent, even now, years before the small dissatisfactions would come to a boiling point. I followed behind the path he made, ducking my head down and not making eye contact with the weary faces that stared at us. Cullen's hand slammed onto the makeshift table, making the nervous Gerald jump in his seat, eyes darting up to the templar before him, face paling.

"Can I h-help you, ser?" his voice shakily croaked out, hand darting up to swipe some moisture from his heavy brow.

"Is there anyone here with the name Rutherford?" Cullen demanded, voice resembling that of the commander he would become.

Gerald's hands fiddled quickly with the parchments, shuffling through them. A heavy silence had fallen over his table, everyone that had once clambered for the man's attention now watch Cullen. "Ah, yes, h-here you are," Gerald began, tracing his fingers across the dark scrawl. "Three. Two women, one young man. Th-they're across the town, in the little red house. An elderly w-woman took them in."

"Thank you," Cullen muttered, whipping around and moving to retreat, but only succeeding in barrelling into me. His hands caught me for the umpteenth time and he wordlessly spun me around, leading me out of the crowded building, weaving through the people with more ease this time.

"You could have been a bit kinder about that," I chided over my shoulder as he walked quietly behind me.

"We wouldn't have made any progress."

"Still."

He didn't answer, just setting his jaw and taking the lead, eyes scanning for our destination.

"OH, YOU SODDED STUPID CHILD!"

Her voice roared out of her petite body, her copper hair bouncing around her face as she leapt at Cullen, flinging her arms around his neck. Cullen's eyes flew wide at the gesture, but he caught her nonetheless. Even though her hands beat relentless against his back, he let out a fond chuckle and nestled his face into her hair briefly before letting her down and letting the small smile linger on his lips. It was the closest I'd seen him to the man I knew from a stupid video game, but it still made my gut fill with a relentless fluttery feeling.

"How hard is it to bloody write a letter every now and then?!" she demanded, breaking away from him completely and circling him, seeming to examine him as she circled. "You had us worried sick you stupid, stupid man!"

"Enough, Mia," he chided, though he seemed to be recoiling from her a bit, making her chin tilt higher in authority. "Where are the others?"

"Oh, Branson is out back fixing the gate for Miss MacWallace, but he'll be just tickled pink that you've come," Mia continued, still glaring up at him. A slightly devious spark entered his eye at the mention of his younger brother. I couldn't do anything but watch the scene unfolding before me, enraptured by this less guarded side of him. He seemed years younger in the moment, like a boy ready to wreak havoc on his siblings. Maybe he was. "Rosalie was taking a nap last I saw- let me- ROSIE!"

She marched into the red cabin, off on another mission, possibly to throttle the youngest of the Rutherfords awake to greet Cullen. It didn't even occur to me that I hadn't been acknowledged in the commotion, I had been too caught up in staring at the templar who had now turned his delighted face towards me. His cheeks colored a bit as he seemed to remember my presence and he cleared his throat, grin slipping away and his usual serious, guarded expression returning. I tried hard to ignore my disappointment.

"My apologies," he began, somewhat awkwardly. "Mia is quite unbearable at times, but there's really no stopping her when she gets going, so it's best to just let her- no, sorry, it was rude, I should make proper introductions." He made to turn to retrieve her but I should my head, holding up a hand to stop him.

"Its alright, Cullen," I assured him, leaning back a bit. "It's your family, I should let you spend some time with them anyhow."

He began to say something, but he was cut off by Mia bursting out of the cabin once more, hauling a head of curly blonde hair with her. "Got her!" she called triumphantly, but her voice sounded faraway, like it was underwater.

Long, spiralling tendrils of hair slightly shadowed the bright golden eyes, but they were there, wide and slightly dull with a sleepy haze. She was dressed in a drab commoners gown from this world, but her mouth held the same quirking upwards in the corners they always did, her high cheekbones only accentuating the ever present smile.

"Drew," I breathed out, not realizing it as my legs had me stumbling forwards. "Drew?" I repeated, louder this time and more questioning as her eyes landed on me, confused and holding no signs of recognition. "Its me, Arissa," I tried, to no avail. A hand landed on my arm and I turned, searching Cullen's face for why he had stopped me from reuniting with my friend.

"Arissa, this is my baby sister, Rosalie," he stated, face drawn with slight concern. I swallowed and nodded, stumbling backwards a few steps. Of course it couldn't be her. The resemblance was striking, practically exact- but she also heavily resembled Cullen. The same golden curls, the same amber eyes. She wasn't my friend, no. She was a stranger, a ghost of another life that was no longer mine.

"Sorry," I let out, turning away. "Sorry. I'm gonna go- I'll catch up with Morrigan, make sure she hasn't turned anyone into a toad and all." It was numb and hollow, but Cullen offered nothing to stop me, his sisters watching the scene with unabashed bewilderment as I retreated, Wolf right at my heels.

Tracking Morrigan down was as simple as following the sounds of arguing, all clues leading back to a very offended merchant who was absolutely refusing to trade a single item with her and demanding she leave. I was quick to usher her away, profusely apologizing to the man, who muttered and grunted with displeasure as we retreated. She expressed a bit of distaste towards me as I hauled her off. She was rather huffy at times, but I disregarded her, finding a secluded spot to stop and sit down, burying my face in my hands.

"I hope you do not expect me to drabble on comforts and ask about your woes," she stated icily, eyes narrowing at me. I sighed shaking my head.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Morrigan," I retorted blandly. "I just wanted to get away from the crowds."

She relaxed a bit, eyes losing the slight hostility. "Of that, I can agree. How can anyone stand the reek of those dirty people?"

I didn't offer any sort of answer, choosing not to try and reason with her in any way either. Morrigan wouldn't have understood if I had tried to muster any sympathy for the people from her and I had to admit that a part of me agreed. I was hardly able to stand the must for any longer. I slided my gaze up at her, raising a brow.

"Hey, where did Zevran go?" I questioned. She blinked at me, seeming bored with the question. "Wasn't he with you?"

"The elf found himself a pretty girl that was infatuated with him to bed," she stated simply, as though it was obvious. I nodded. I should have figured. The silence lingered on between us once more, and to my surprise, she was the one to break it this time. "I have been reading my mother's grimoire."

I rose a brow at her.

"Aedan informed me that you were the one to find it in the tower," she continued, not looking at me. "For that, I must thank you."

"You don't need to, but you're welcome," I responded quietly, suspecting what this was leading up to.

Just as I suspected, she propositioned me to help her kill Flemeth. I agreed, stating simply that I would confer with Aedan about it when we joined back up. She thanked me once more, which was a bit unsettling to be honest. I figured it made since to do it when traveling from Denerim to Orzammar. Even though it was quite a detour, it wasn't backtracking like it would be now. Soon enough, I decided we should all regroup and beckoned her to accompany me in tracking down Sten and Zevran.

I feel like I'm stuttering a bit on the buildup to my plot. I need to develop character relationships more before I can get into it, but I struggle a bit in writing Morrigan, who is rather important to my plot. I might have to do a few side projects to get more into her character. I find that I miss Aedan, Alistair, and Leliana a lot, as they had an easier dynamic with Arissa in my head. They will reunite, sooner rather than later, and the groups will shuffle a bit again, but I wanted to give Cullen some room and reason to break out of his broody state first.

His standoffish-ness is inspired by dialogue with him in Inquisition, in which he states that the torture he endured in the tower changed him for the worse and how it took Meredith and the events at Kirkwall to break him from that. I'm not one for the whole "love saved me from myself" deal, as I'm a strong believer in "only you can fix yourself" and you shouldn't ever take that credit away from yourself, so I want him to have time with his family to "soften" him so to speak.

To be clear, I also have no intentions of bringing Drew into the story in any way other than Arissa's subconscious. Arissa is the only person from our world that will be in this story. Drew is merely the person that Arissa misses the most, so she keeps cropping up.

Anyway, that's enough of my rambling. I'm going to get to work on fleshing out the next chapter now, as I'm not entirely pleased with this one, but we're trucking along.