Chapter 10 - Solas

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the… the…"

Cullen stumbled and muttered a curse at the tail end of his prayer. He knelt at the idol of Andraste that stood almost hidden in a small room of Skyhold. More candles burned than normal as almost every member of the Inquisition lit a flame for the ones they loved before the final battle. Cullen thought of his family in South Reach, living a normal life against all odds, but his mind always returned to her. Rhysa Evelyn Trevelyan. She had survived the Conclave, Halamshiral, Adamant… but this last battle was different. She would face Corypheus for the first time since Haven, and she had only barely survived then. He shook his head to clear his mind once more and began the prayer again.

"Does it help?" Cullen turned, startled at the additional voice as a moment before he was certain he was alone. Solas smiled from the door. "My apologies. I was just passing by and I heard you… Curiosity got the better of me, I suppose."

Cullen's guard instinctively went up after being caught off guard. "What are you doing here? You don't usually sped time in this part of Skyhold." He eyed the elf carefully. "Are you Andrastian?"

Solas quirked an eyebrow. "Do I have to be in order to enjoy a nice garden?"

The commander's face reddened slightly. "I didn't mean to imply…"

"I know what you meant." Solas took a seat on one of the weathered pews scattered in the room and Cullen rose from his kneeling position to join him. "You're typically found in your office or the training grounds." He smiled somewhat kindly. "It seems we're both searching for new sources of comfort on the eve of battle. You didn't answer my question, though: Does it help?"

He looked at the other man quizzically. "Praying?"

"I don't mean to be intrusive, but as you've already noted we are of differing religions. I'm very curious. Does repeating the Chant of Light truly help you?"

Cullen looked up at the smoothly carved face of Andraste and sighed. "It depends what you mean by help. It can help you keep your sanity if you're stuck on a dull patrol. And, yes, sometimes thinking about the bigger picture of the world makes your problems seem less… daunting."

"But the Inquisition's problems are anything but; Corypheus and the Breach are a threat to everything we know!"

Cullen shut his eyes and looked away from the face of the idol. "Perhaps that's why my prayers aren't helping right now." Seeking to steer the conversation away from his own fears and disillusionment he asked, "What about you? Elves have many gods, right? Does it help when you pray to them?"

Solas seemed very amused at this and chuckled to himself. "The Elvhen gods are… different. To me, trying to speak with them feels like talking to shadows. They may be there, but are they really listening?"

"But how do you know they're there?"

"How do you know the Maker exists?"

Cullen grew silent for a moment. "I wouldn't still be here if he didn't."

"That's a good point," Solas acknowledged as his expression grew heavy with thought. "You survived the Blight and Kirkwall, and now your commander of the forces that will end the Breach. The three biggest events to occur in the last decade and you had a place in all of them. It does sound like someone is keeping you in this story. But who? And why?"

"Perhaps it's fate," Cullen suggested quietly. "Leliana once told me that all good stories involve fate."

Solas shook his head dismissively as if Cullen had offered an incorrect solution to a math problem he was desperately trying to solve. "Fate is a man-made construct. It implies that everything happens simply because they were supposed to, but who decides what was supposed to happen? The world is not set in stone; it can be influenced and changed! But only by those with the willpower and tenacity to do so."

"Like the Inquisitor?"

Solas's face fell and a strange stillness came over the small room in which the two men sat. Suddenly the firelight flickering on the many candles before them lost its warmth. "Yes," Solas said slowly. "Like the Inquisitor. She is a remarkable thing, isn't she? The exact right person at the exact right place and time." A small smile crossed his thin lips once more as he looked at the Commander. "Perhaps it is fate, after all."

Cullen leaned back in his seat and relaxed slightly. "That helps more than praying."

"How so?"

"All those events I survived – she survived – they weren't chance. We didn't just get lucky; we were meant to get this far. And you're right; she's the right person at the time and far too remarkable to not make it through this next fight." He turned his face toward Solas but looked sideways at the floor. "Even if I'm not entirely convinced that's true… it does ease my mind a little. And that's all I came here looking for."

Solas frowned as he watched the Commander stand and leave him alone with the candles that represented desperate prayers and the statue of a woman symbolizing hope for so many. He furrowed his brow and set his jaw as he mumbled towards Cullen's exit, "I'm glad I could help."