Cullen worried at the scar on his lip with his tongue as he paced impatiently around the small clearing that the Inquisition used as their Crossroads headquarters. The plan to overtake Redcliffe seemed no sounder now than it had when it had initially been proposed, but he had to admit that they had no better options, either for securing the mages or for approaching the templars at Therinfal Redoubt. His attempts to contact the Order had yet to yield fruit, and he certainly empathized with Anya's desperation to rescue the children from the Tevinter magister. In the face of her obvious heartbreak, how could he put his fears ahead of her own? He dreaded the horrors the mages might unleash, but she faced the potential enslavement of her only daughter. There was no contest. He couldn't help but wonder what it would mean for them all if Anya's child joined them at Haven. He supposed it didn't matter – once she gained the cooperation of the mages, she only had one task left to accomplish. After she closed the Breach, what happened to her and her child would depend upon the Chantry, he imagined. Although he hoped to see the Circles restored, it was a political quagmire in which he wished to take no active role. He was done with managing mages. Well, almost done.
Leliana and her agents had gone ahead, filtering slowly into Redcliffe Village over the course of a few days so as not to attract notice. Their flashy Tevinter "ally" had gone with her, to Cullen's relief. Anya seemed quite taken with that Dorian fellow, but Cullen was still suspicious of his intentions. If he turned on her during this mission, Cullen would not rest until he personally put the viper to the sword. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. He knew he shouldn't have said as much to the Harold, but he was terribly worried for her safety, and he struggled with the idea of letting her face Alexius with only Cassandra and Varric at her side. So many things could go wrong.
"Commander!" As if summoned by his thoughts, the Seeker marched up the small hill where he stood with Anya and Varric on her heels. "It's almost time. Are we all clear on the plans?"
Cullen nodded. "I will wait outside the keep with the templars. As soon as the situation in the castle is secure, we will join you and escort the mages back to Haven. And Harold," he turned to Anya, "do not let Alexius separate you from your companions. I'm sure he will try to insist that you meet him alone, but you must refuse. It's entirely too dangerous and –"
"Commander," Anya interrupted, gently but firmly. "I'll stick to the plan." She smiled at him. "Don't look so worried. I just have to keep his attention long enough for Leliana's forces to slit some throats. Dorian primed me on several subjects that might pique the magister's interest, and I'm sure my sparkling conversation will buy us the time we need. Besides, once he realizes a complement of templars waits outside his gates, he won't even imagine an assault from within. "
"Just be careful, all of you," Cullen said grimly, not reassured by Anya's brash confidence in the slightest. "Leliana's people should be in place by now. Shall we be off?"
The Harold walked ahead of him on the way to the village, with Varric at her side, and they seemed to be having quite the conversation. She waved her hands about animatedly as she talked to him, and the dwarf's shoulders shook with mirth. Anya had traded her long mage robes for leather leggings and a snug vest over a cotton shirt, and Cullen couldn't help but observe that the breeches fit her very well. He felt like a lecher for checking out her arse, but it really wasn't his fault – from this vantage point, he'd have to be blind not to notice. As he watched her laugh with Varric, it boggled Cullen's mind that she could be so carefree on the cusp of such a dangerous venture, especially considering how upset she'd been when she'd first learned that the mages had children with them. He supposed that actually doing something about it had turned her mood around, and in that, he could relate. He also much preferred action to idleness, which was partly why this entire scheme had him on edge. He did not relish the thought of cooling his heels outside the castle gates while he waited for news.
When they reached the keep, Cullen called for his men to halt before the bridge to the gates. "We'd better wait here," he said. "I don't want Alexius to mistake your escort for an attack."
"Agreed," Anya replied. She held out her hand for him to shake. "Wish me luck, Commander."
He shook her hand firmly, wanting to pull her close and warn her at least a dozen more times to be careful, stick close to Cassandra, and not trust a word Alexius said, but he mastered the impulse and simply asked the Maker to guide her. He repeated the gesture with Cassandra and Varric, his heart in his throat as he watched the trio cross the bridge and gain entrance to the castle. It felt like he was sending them all to their deaths, but he knew he needed to have faith and patience.
There was nothing left to do but wait. The templars kept perfect formation as they stood on the road before the bridge, and Cullen stood with them, his spine as straight as an arrow. His back ached from the lyrium withdrawal – all the time, these days – but he didn't let it affect his posture. If any Tevinter scouts reported back to Alexius (and he was sure one would), he wanted his unit to seem imposing enough to be a threat, but neutral enough not to provoke immediate action. With any luck, Anya was correct that the magister would assume the templars were the true danger and would not anticipate Leliana's sneak attack.
After some time – Cullen couldn't say exactly how long – a scout ran up to him.
"Commander! The queen's army approaches to retake Redcliffe!"
Wonderful, Cullen moaned inwardly. This could either be a blessing or a disaster, depending upon how Queen Anora received the news that the Inquisition had already infiltrated the castle. He sighed, wishing suddenly that Josephine were with him. She would handle this deftly, but in her absence, Cullen could only hope that the queen appreciated plain speech. He ordered his men to move off the road and reform their lines, and then waited for the army to approach.
"Hail, Your Majesty," he said, crossing his arm across his chest and dropping to one knee, when the queen rode up on her white horse. A man with reddish hair and a stern expression rode beside her.
"Rise, Ser, and explain your business." The queen was appropriately imperious, but she didn't sound angry.
"I am Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition's forces. We have come to Redcliffe to seek the aid of the rebel mages in closing the Breach in the sky. The Herald of Andraste is in the castle now, negotiating with, ah… well, with a Tevinter magister, unfortunately." He dare not say more where others could overhear.
"Oh yes, I am well-aware of this magister," the gentleman said. He did sound angry. "I am Teagan Guerrin, Arl of Redcliffe. Alexius appropriated my castle for his own use, upon threat of violence to the villagers if I did not cede to his demands. We have returned to evacuate the village and recover the keep by force."
Cullen walked over to them, standing between their horses so he might speak quietly. "That may not be necessary, Arl Teagan. We have sent agents into the castle to deal with this Alexius. I apologize deeply, Your majesty, for the intrusion upon your sovereignty," he said, bowing to Queen Anora, "but we require immediate assistance with closing the Breach, and we have reason to believe the magister intended to use the rebel mages as a lure to capture the Herald of Andraste. We couldn't let her approach him unaided, but neither can we afford to tarry in dealing with the Breach." He turned to Teagan. "I assure you, my Lord, that we have no designs on your castle, other than ejecting the Tevinter invaders and securing the mages."
Teagan and Anora exchanged glances and then dismounted. Cullen stepped back as they conferred quietly, then joined him.
"How did your agents get into the castle?" Teagan asked.
"Through the escape tunnel for the family," Cullen replied immediately. "One of our leaders, Sister Leliana, used it to access the castle during the Blight with the Hero of Ferelden."
"Of course. I had forgotten Lady Nightingale knew about the tunnel. That all seems so long ago." Teagan frowned. "I can't say I'm pleased that the Inquisition moved against my own keep without involving me, but if you can oust the occupation and are willing to leave peacefully, I suppose there is no need to escalate tensions. Although if you plan to assume responsibility for these mages, you can expect to hear from me again. They have done great harm in Redcliffe."
"Of course," Cullen replied. "We want no trouble with you, and I'm sure our ambassador will be willing to discuss appropriate compensation for the damage our… allies have caused." Maker's breath, they weren't even officially under his command yet, and already the mages were costing the Inquisition money. What a farce!
"When do you expect the castle to be secured?"
"Soon." Cullen frowned. "It's difficult to know how long it will take our agents to overwhelm Alexius' guard, and there is always the possibility that our plans will fail. If we haven't received word from the castle by midday, perhaps you will have to take the keep by force, after all."
They did not have to wait so long. Within the hour, the gates opened and Inquisition soldiers motioned for Cullen to approach. The queen's army went in first, followed by the templars, then Cullen, Teagan, and Anora. Both Anya and a wretched-looking mage whom Cullen could only assume was Grand Enchanter Fiona seemed astonished to see the Fereldan monarch.
As Cullen looked over the Inquisition's envoy, he immediately realized that something was wrong. Anya looked exhausted. Her hair was slipping out of its braids, her clothes were wet and ripped, and she had a scorch mark through her sleeve that revealed a livid burn on her arm. She looked like she had survived a tough battle, as did the Tevinter peacock, but Cassandra and Varric looked no worse for the wear. Had they been separated? What had happened?
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a diminutive presence appear at his elbow. Leliana. Upon seeing her, Anya looked as though she might burst into tears. Her expression turned first to surprise, then joy, then naked relief.
"What's going on?" Cullen whispered to the spymaster.
"I'm not sure," Leliana whispered back. "Anya and Dorian disappeared for a few minutes, and then reappeared and Alexius surrendered. It was very, very strange."
"What do you mean, disappeared?" Cullen asked, but Leliana shushed him, as the queen was addressing the mages.
Queen Anora was both caustic and succinct as she issued a scathing summary of the mages' recent misdeeds, and then summarily revoked their safe harbor in Redcliffe – or any other hold in her dominion. Cullen watched with satisfaction as Grand Enchanter Fiona wilted in dismay. Effectively deported from Ferelden, the mages would surely agree to cooperate with the Inquisition in return for their protection. Perhaps this alliance would be easier and safer than he predicted.
"Where will we go?" Fiona whined, wringing her hands.
Cullen realized that Anya was nearly shaking with fury, her eyes bright and blazing as she glared at the Grand Enchanter. He had to admit, he saw nothing particularly grand about Fiona – she seemed to be a weak-willed woman, looking to others to solve the problems she herself had caused. Anya's lip curled up a little bit, but she kept her voice even.
"You'll come with us," she said firmly. "The Inquisition needs the mages' help closing the Breach, and we can offer you sanctuary."
"I see," Fiona said. She lifted an eyebrow. "And what are the terms of this arrangement?"
"Not slavery to the Tevinter Imperium," Anya snapped, "and therefore better than your last deal."
Fiona frowned angrily and didn't even have the grace to look ashamed. Anya's hatred for the woman was obvious, and Cullen could hardly blame her for it. He watched as the Harold took a deep breath and flexed her glowing hand, clearly struggling to master her temper.
"The mages will enlist as our conscripts. Harrowed mages will join our military forces under the authority of Commander Cullen, and the apprentices will continue their training under the supervision of enchanters and templars." At the last part, Fiona's eyes narrowed and the group of mages behind her began murmuring. Anya held up her hand, tossing a worried glance his way, before squaring her shoulders and facing the mages again. "Unless!"
Cullen's pulse quickened. What else could she offer them? That was as fair a deal as they could possibly expect.
"Unless you agree to step down as leader of the mages, Fiona." The crowd gasped, and the Grand Enchanter looked furious. "If you step down, the Inquisition will accept the mages as full allies under their own command. You can elect a new leader once we return to Haven."
"What?" Cullen snarled. "Harold, you can't be serious!"
Leliana gripped his arm in warning as he took a step forward. This was madness! How could she even think of it? How on earth could he keep the people of Haven safe, with a giant tear in the Veil and unsupervised mages running about?
"Do not trust her, my friends," Fiona sneered. "It's already obvious that she offers you a false promise –her templar clearly has no intention of respecting our rights. She simply wants me out of the way so she can stuff us back into our Chantry prisons."
Cullen clenched his teeth and stepped back. Damn Fiona, damn Anya, damn them all! He knew he could say no more in front of the crowd without compromising the Inquisition's position, but as soon as they were alone, he was going to have strong words for the Harold.
"The Inquisition stands as one," Cullen said stiffly. "I will respect whatever arrangement you make."
Anya threw him a grateful look, and he narrowed his eyes at her. She tipped her head, a brief and apologetic expression crossing her face, before she cleared her throat and continued.
"Fiona had already abused your trust by selling you to Tevinter. Nothing I could do to you would be worse, even if I did intend to reinstate the Circles – which I do not. Our only goal is to close the Breach. Right now you have nowhere to go, no friends, and no protection. The templars amass at Therinfal Redoubt, and I have heard from Lord Seeker Lucius' own lips that their goal is to exterminate all mages everywhere." The crowd of mages buzzed angrily at this news. Anya nodded and forged on with her speech. "The Inquisition's templars are friends to mages, seeking to support and protect us, not to cage or kill us. You can trust me – I am one of you, and I will not lie to you, nor put you to any use that I would not be willing to do myself. You will be safe among us, either as our conscripts or our allies. The question is: do you believe you can govern yourselves? And if you can, are you willing to seize the opportunity to do so?"
The Grand Enchanter turned around to confer with her followers, and the noise in the room roared to a din as the mages argued over the proposal. Cassandra stepped forward and whispered urgently in the Harold's ear, but Anya's expression hardened and she shook her head. Cullen had no doubt that the Seeker was as concerned about this offer as he was, but by announcing it in front of everyone without discussing it with the council first, Anya had effectively tied their hands. Finally, Fiona turned around and stepped forward. Her ears drooped in defeat as she glared resentfully at Anya.
"The mages wish to accept your offer of an alliance. I will step down."
"You made the right choice," Anya said with a wide smile. "I will assume command of the mages until we return to Haven, at which point you will choose a new leader. Welcome to the Inquisition, free mages of the south!"
The mages cheered, although their ebullience was muted by the circumstances of their recruitment. Cullen glared at Anya, his head aching as he began to mentally catalogue strategies for combating all the dangers the mages presented. He had never seen her vengeful streak before, and prior to today, he would have wagered she didn't have one. Clearly, he didn't know the Harold as well as he thought. Her vendetta against Fiona had blinded her to the true danger of recruiting the mages, and in enacting her revenge, she had effectively neutered him as commander. How could she have done it without even speaking to him first? How long had she planned this nonsensical act of retaliation? He would not have predicted himself capable of feeling so furious with her.
"Former Grand Enchanter Fiona!" Anya wasn't through yet. "You must answer for your crimes."
"My crimes?" Fiona cried angrily. "What crimes?"
"You made an illegal contract with Tevinter." At that, Anya glanced at Queen Anora, who nodded vigorously to indicate that the deal was, in fact, illegal. "You pledged lives to Tevinter servitude that were not yours to pledge, including those of children not yet Harrowed. You allowed a hostile foreign power to unlawfully occupy a Fereldan hold. You permitted Magister Alexius to displace the rightful residents of Redcliffe. You allowed the entire world to fall under the dominion of…"
Anya paused and shook her head. "No, not that. Not yet," she said, seemingly to herself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "You have proven yourself to be an enemy of Ferelden and all of mage-kind, and you will pay for it!"
The Harold was enjoying Fiona's humiliation, and took no care to hide it. Cullen was disappointed in her short-sightedness – Fiona was a problem, yes, but she was a problem the Inquisition could have controlled, had the mages been conscripted under his command. He would have happily put the Grand Enchanter on latrine duty for the rest of her life, if it would have pleased the Harold, and at least he would have had a prayer of dealing with any abominations that sprung up among the other mages.
"Your Majesty," Anya turned to Queen Anora. "Fiona has wronged Ferelden greatly. Do you wish to judge her for her crimes, or do you prefer that the Inquisition assume that responsibility?"
Anora frowned, and consulted with Teagan. They spoke briefly, and then she turned back to Anya. "Ferelden appreciates the Inquisition's acknowledgement of the crimes perpetrated against our people. It seems you have the situation well in hand, and as we have no wish for further involvement with the mages at all, we choose to allow the Inquisition to judge the prisoner."
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Anya said with a bow. "Templars, take Fiona and Alexius into custody."
So she was ordering his templars about now? Perhaps Cullen should just stand aside and let Commander Anya control the army! He reflexively balled his hands into fists and then very determinedly relaxed them, not wanting to betray the depths of his anger with her in front of so many people. Anya conferred with the mages, and after for several minutes, the rebels exited the Great Hall en masse. The Harold turned and approached Queen Anora, sinking to one knee and crossing her arm over her chest. Cullen couldn't hear what she said, but it seemed to please the queen and Arl Teagan. Both of them nodded in agreement as Anya spoke, her hands flying about her face as she gesticulated emphatically. Eventually, Anora smiled and Teagan let out a loud bark of laughter, as Anya shrugged and spread her hands. The queen made a friendly but dismissive gesture and Anya bowed deeply, then turned around to face her council.
"Let's adjourn to the village," she said quickly. "Arl Teagan offered us the use of the Chantry as our temporary headquarters until we are ready to return to Haven. I promised him that would happen in very short order, but he understands we need some time to organize." She didn't meet his eye as she spoke, and it made Cullen even angrier. At least she could have the decency to acknowledge what she'd done to him.
"We need to know what happened today, Herald," Cassandra said. "Nothing makes sense right now."
"It hardly makes any sense to me," Anya admitted, "and I would prefer to speak in private. Let's go."
They followed her out of the castle, and Cullen rather savagely refused not to admire her body as she walked. His eyes roved insolently over the lean muscles of her thighs, the delicious curve of her arse, the provocative sway of her hips. This was why he hadn't kissed her when she'd wanted him to – because for him, passion and rage were bound together in a vicious, punishing lust that would be wrong to unleash on anyone, even the most infuriating woman in all of Thedas. Cullen hated feeling this way, especially in his waking life. The nightmares were bad enough, but to consciously experience this toxic combination of fury and desire was intolerable, and yet also nearly irresistible. He could so easily imagine pushing her up against a wall, kissing her until she trembled, compelling her submission with his strength and his will and his hands and his tongue –
Stop it!
He forced his eyes away from her and began to recite the Chant in his head, willing himself to repress his violent appetence. Not that he would ever act on his impulses – he wasn't an animal, after all – but he was disgusted and disturbed by them nonetheless.
In the Chantry, the sisters escorted them to a private room for their conference. It was smaller than the war room in Haven, but it accommodated their party well enough. They dragged chairs around to form a circle, Cullen sitting with Cassandra to his left and Leliana to his right. They made a perverted mirror image of the sunburst throne; Dorian should be in his spot, sitting in for the Black Divine. He shook his head, wondering where such a blasphemous thought had come from. The Tevinter mage was actually seated next to Anya, and they were sitting rather close. He noticed that she reached out and took his hand whenever she reached a particularly frightening or emotional point in her story, and it made something ugly twist in his gut. Varric sat on her other side, and Cullen noticed the dwarf spent more time looking at him than at Anya. Irritated by his stare, he glowered at him, but Varric simply responded with a smirk and a shrug. Cullen clenched his jaw and turned his eyes back to the Harold.
Her story was incredible – she spoke of being cast forward in time an entire year, with Dorian at her side. They'd found themselves in a bleak future in which Alexius had prevailed, but the true enemy was revealed to be his master, the so-called "Elder One." He had raised a demon army, murdered the Empress of Orlais, and subjugated all of the people in Thedas to his brutal will. Anya spoke emotionally of the horrors her compatriots had suffered – particularly Leliana – and their courage in making a final stand so that Dorian could reverse the time-magic Alexius had wrought and bring them back to the moment of their initial confrontation.
"If I did not know it before, I know it now," Anya said fiercely. "We cannot fail. The future this Elder One intends for us is ghastly beyond measure. We must close the Breach and disrupt his ascension, and we must do it soon. He's already gaining power among the Venatori – we can't let him take any more."
Dorian rubbed her back and she leaned into him slightly, while Cullen gritted his teeth.
"And what of the mages?" he asked her sharply.
"What of them?" Anya asked. Her tone was confrontational, but at least she didn't feign innocence.
"Well, there will be abominations, for one. How do you expect me to deal with that?"
"I disagree that abominations are inevitable," Anya replied. "But if it happens, I expect you to deal with it as you are trained to do. Just because the mages are not under your command does not mean they are free to host demons. I'm sure the unpossessed mages will join you in containing any such events."
"Are you? I've seen templars balk at putting down a mage they've grown close to. Do you really think other mages will be able to execute their own friends?" His voice was cold, but he was incensed by her total ignorance of the matter. She had no idea how hard it was to deal with possession.
"If they've become an abomination, then yes," Anya said firmly. "As long as you're not falsely accusing innocent mages of hosting demons as an excuse to get your sword wet, I don't imagine anyone will question you if you are confronted with an actual abomination."
Her implication offended him, and reminded him of Solas' condemnation of his violent nature. It stung, particularly because at the moment he was in no place to deny it – he would dearly love to shake her by the shoulders until her teeth rattled, if it would put some sense into her head.
"You have no idea what could happen, Harold," Cullen said lowly. "We barely have enough templars to contain cooperative mages. I'm certainly not looking for excuses to punish innocents – I think you know me better than that. But there are many more innocent lives than just the mages' at stake here. An abomination could level Haven in a matter of hours, if we don't stop it."
"So we'll stop it!"
"What if we don't have enough men? You can't possibly – "
"Commander, I'm sure you're not the only one who would like to upbraid me for my decision," Anya interrupted. "I'd rather defend myself once to a dozen, than a dozen times to each. We'll call a meeting back in Haven and everyone can have their say. In the meantime, I suggest you think about what it will take to make you comfortable having free mages among us. I assure you I'll do everything in my power to make it happen – I'm personally invested in the success of this alliance."
Cullen stared at her, astonished. Her time in the future seemed to have awoken the latent general within her, and while part of him recognized that as a good thing, the larger part of him was unenthusiastic about the idea of battling the Harold for control. He said no more on the subject of the mages, but merely nodded curtly and sat back in his chair.
The rest of the meeting focused on the details of the Elder One's plans that Anya and Dorian had been able to glean from their time in the future. In a way, Alexius had granted them quite the boon by mucking around with time-magic. The Inquisition had a much better understanding of what they faced, and the specter of such a dark future had certainly galvanized the Harold. Cullen took deep breaths and tried to focus on the positive outcomes of the mission, even as his stomach roiled with anxiety over all of the things that could go wrong. When the council concluded their business, Cullen stormed out of the Chantry and strode down to the docks. He stared out across the water at the barely visible spire of Kinloch Hold, a faint black line in the distance.
The first mage to transform before his eyes during Ulred's rebellion had been a young man named Conrad. Cullen had attended his Harrowing, and it had been a long one. Greagoir had been nearly ready to call for his execution when the boy had returned from the Fade, gasping and shaken but unpossessed. Perhaps they had allowed him too much time. Cullen still shuddered at the memory of Conrad's body twisting and ballooning, his skin splitting as he morphed into a hulking abomination, tenfold more powerful than the timid mage had ever been. It had taken three templars nearly an hour to put the thing down, and Ser Michas had lost his life in the process.
From there, it only got worse as more and more mages succumbed to the inexorable will of the demons. Although the core of Uldred's rebellion consisted of a group of mages Cullen had never particularly liked – for obvious reasons, he supposed – they were not the only ones drawn into the cyclone of horror and violence as the demons breached the Veil. Bright mages, gentle mages, devout mages, strong mages – so many of them seemed to suddenly shrink and quail before the power of demonic influence. And then they would grow and loom, with only trace evidence of the good people they once were straining in the monstrous faces of the abominations. It was awful, and it had filled Cullen with rage and despair. He had become convinced, then, of the inherent weakness of mages, and nothing that happened in Kirkwall later had given him any reason to change his mind.
Not that he believed mages ought to be oppressed – on the contrary, he understood now that their essential vulnerability demanded as much gentleness and care as could possibly be afforded. But beneath velvet gloves, a templar must have hands of steel, willing to do the necessary in the event that a mage's fragile nature overwhelmed him. It was a brutal, sorrowful duty, but a sacred one. That was why he was so angry with the Harold. She accused him of wanting to use his sword, when all he wanted to do was ensure he didn't have to. There were so many safeguards he could put in place to protect the mages from themselves and from the dangers of the Breach, but now he must ask rather than order. And as they were not his charges, they would be well within their rights to reject his suggestions – he had no doubt they would confuse any recommendations he offered with an overbearing need to control. It made his gut twist with anger against Anya. She said she trusted him! Why would she even want the mages to retain their own command? She knew he would treat them fairly, and impose no more restrictions than he thought necessary for the safety of all. Or perhaps she didn't. Perhaps her sweet declarations of faith in him had been nothing more than an attempt to manipulate him into… bah. He had no idea.
Cullen shook his head impatiently. His thoughts were taking a dark turn for the paranoid, and it would serve him no good. The situation at hand was difficult enough; he need not twist it further by assigning ambiguously nefarious motives to the Harold's actions. She probably just believed the mages deserved freedom. Was that not what they all believed?
He stared pensively across the lake, trying to put his thoughts in order, and was startled when Leliana appeared next to him.
"It seems the Harold has traded her mage robes for bossy britches!" the spymaster laughed. She looped her arm through his, leaning against him affectionately. "Are you all right, Cullen?"
He was surprised by her warmth. Lady Nightingale was difficult to gauge, especially lately, but sometimes she treated him like a valued friend, perhaps when she most suspected he needed one.
"I was thinking about Uldred's rebellion at Kinloch Hold. Do you think about it?" he asked her.
"Sometimes, although I prefer not to. But I could never forget those days." Leliana squeezed his arm. "You were so brave, Cullen."
"Don't coddle me, Leliana," he said impatiently. "I was terrified, half-mad from torture and anger and fear. I said things to you – to all of you – that I wish the Maker would let me retract. I was weak."
She sighed. "You were human, Cullen, and so very young. Everything you said and did was understandable. You have been through more in the past ten years than most people will experience in a lifetime. Be gentle with yourself."
"I cannot afford to be gentle!" he said harshly. "I'm already taking a risk, abstaining from lyrium. With unbound mages joining us, it seems unconscionable." He took a deep breath. "Do you think I should start taking it again?"
Leliana leaned her head against his arm and was silent for a long moment. "I can't answer that," she said finally.
"I can." The Seeker's voice sounded from behind him, and then she stepped forward and stood on his other side. "There is no need for you to take the lyrium, Cullen. We have enough templars to manage the mages. And I'm inclined to believe they can manage themselves."
"Even after all you've seen as a Seeker?" he asked incredulously.
"Even so," Cassandra affirmed. To his surprise, she also looped her arm through his. "You do not need lyrium to see you through this trial, my friend. You need faith. Faith in the Maker, faith in the Herald, faith in the mages, and faith in yourself. Only faith will see you through."
"I don't have faith in the mages – or myself," he confessed.
"Faith is not something you have, it's something you choose." Cassandra sounded so utterly sure of herself that it both comforted and irritated him. "The very point of faith is believing in something, even when you have no evidence, no proof. Forget everything you've seen and known of mages, and start again, for our allies' sake and for your own."
"How can I do that? How can I forget, when forgetting could lead to the death of us all?"
"Don't forget, then, but move on. Choose. Believe. Don't you think the Herald is special? Don't you think she is a harbinger of a new day? The Maker can't have chosen a mage by accident."
Cullen sighed. "She is something special. But I'm afraid of what could happen. I'm afraid we could fail."
"We could fail," Cassandra acknowledged, "but we won't. Don't let your fears overwhelm the possibilities for much-needed change."
"And we are with you, Cullen," Leliana added. "You are never alone. This is not only your burden."
Cullen stood silently, chewing over their words of faith and support. His heart was overwhelmed with emotion – fear, gratitude, affection, hope – and he sighed, hugging their arms to his sides.
"If you two keep on like this, I'm going to fall desperately in love with the both of you," he joked.
Cassandra harrumphed, and Leliana arched a knowing eyebrow.
"Oh, I don't think you're in any danger of falling in love with either one of us."
Cullen heard her implication but chose to ignore it. He withdrew from their arms and kissed their cheeks – first Cassandra (who drew back in surprise) and then Leliana (who met him amiably).
"Thank you, ladies, for indulging your wretched commander." He paused and let the humor drop from his face. "I would be lost without your guidance and your friendship. The Maker truly smiled upon me, the day he put me in the Hands of the Divine." Cassandra nodded sweetly, and Leliana offered him an affectionate smile. He bowed and then headed up the hill to the Chantry, where the Inquisition army would spend the night.
Just before he entered the Chantry, Cullen happened to look to his left. In a small alcove, he saw a pair of lovers standing close. For a moment, he smiled indulgently, pleased that some people could find happiness together amidst all this turmoil, but then he realized the silhouettes looked familiar.
It was Anya and Dorian. He recognized her profile, backlit so romantically against the brilliant sunset. He recognized Dorian too – who else could it be? He knew he shouldn't linger, but he watched as they stood close together, their hips nearly touching. Anya leaned back and her head bobbed urgently as she spoke, but for once her hands didn't gesticulate wildly – they were still, clasped in Dorian's, lover-like. Dorian bent his head towards her, and then Anya leaned in and he gathered her to his chest. Cullen's own arms twitched jealously – he wished he could hold her, even though he knew it was impossible. If he held her in his arms, he'd want to kiss her, take her to bed – and then he might hurt her.
Cullen knew he shouldn't watch them, but he couldn't seem to tear himself away. Anya stood, cuddled against Dorian's chest for a few minutes, before she pulled away and looked up at the mage. She said something, and Dorian brought his hands up to her face, cupping her cheeks tenderly. It seemed impossible that the next step wouldn't be a kiss – and Cullen couldn't bear to see that – so he pushed his way into the Chantry, heartsick and seething with jealousy, even though he knew he had no right to care.
He was in no position to offer Anya anything, and therefore in no position to deny her anything but himself. It was absurd to resent her for falling for that debonair Tevinter mage, for whether she did or she didn't, he had no intention of changing his relationship with her. If she wanted affection, sex, love, whatever – she deserved it, and he shouldn't care whom she got it from, if he wasn't willing to offer it to her himself.
But he did care. He felt ill. He wanted her to want him and only him, even if he knew he couldn't give her what she needed. It was an egotistical, immature impulse, and he was ashamed by how strongly it gripped him, by how sick he felt at the thought of her in Dorian's arms. How could he be so selfish, to expect her to… what? Be faithful to a fruitless flirtation? He didn't expect it. He didn't even want it. He just didn't want her to find anyone else, at least not yet.
The Revered Mother had offered the Inquisition the use of her office for their administrative needs, so Cullen sat down at her desk to write a detailed summary of all that had happened that day. The escritoire was small and feminine, and his knees bumped uncomfortably against the underside of the desktop as he hunched over the dainty piece of furniture, scribbling furiously on page after page of parchment. He'd hoped this would be just the sort of all-consuming task that would take his mind off of his anger and envy, but the queasy feeling in his belly persisted no matter where his attention was focused. As he painstakingly recorded the details of the Harold's deal with the mages, he felt his fury rising all over again. It was all he could do not to editorialize: "The Inquisition observed as the Herald snipped the Commander's balls off and handed them to the mages with a smile."
He knew he wasn't being fair. Certainly, Anya's decision had been made for personal reasons, but those reasons had nothing to do with him. Perhaps that was part of his anger? Perhaps he was upset that she hadn't considered him, that she seemed not to have spared a thought for him at all? If she had fallen for that Dorian gasbag, she might have been concerned what would impress him when she made the offer to the mages – with no mind at all towards the needs of the Inquisition, nor the difficulties of command, nor Cullen's feelings on the matter. He sighed and shook his head.
Jealousy was making him unreasonable. He had no cause to assume that Anya would base the vital decisions she made on behalf of the Inquisition on an impulse to impress whichever man had caught her fancy at the moment. She had plenty of personal reasons to go around, her daughter first and foremost. No doubt she wanted her child – if the girl was even among the mages at all – to have a chance to live a life of freedom and self-governance. For a second, an awful thought crossed Cullen's mind: What if Anya's daughter is here, and she becomes overwhelmed by the Breach and transforms? He could hardly imagine a more catastrophic event – it would devastate not only Haven, but Anya, the Inquisition, and the fragile alliance with the mages. He must not let anything like that happen. He would have to find a way to safeguard their new associates, even if he had to beg them on his knees to accept his precautions.
Rubbing his face tiredly, he glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after midnight, and the men had bedded down hours ago. The Inquisition's leaders were staying at the inn, but Cullen planned to bunk in the Chantry with his soldiers. He told himself it was where he belonged, but he also knew that if he saw Dorian and Anya go into or pop out of a private room together, he would probably punch something. Preferably Dorian. And then he would throw Anya over his shoulder like an Avaar, toss her onto a bed, and show her what she really needed.
Ugh. What nonsense.
Dropping onto a pallet set up on the Chantry floor, he pulled a thin blanket over his shoulders and sighed. This whole situation was his own doing, and he had no one but himself to blame. Well. Himself, Uldred, Meredith, desire demons, abominations, ten years of nightmares, and lyrium withdrawal. Perhaps the blame could rightly be spread around, but none of it to Anya, and yet she was the focus of his anger. Poor Harold. A few innocent flirtations on her part had earned her nothing but madness from him. Cullen decided to avoid her until he could master his emotions. He closed his eyes and began to recite the Chant, hoping to fall asleep quickly.
But when he dreamed, Anya was there, and so was Dorian. His screams woke the soldiers before dawn.
