A very carefully written letter from Seeker Pentaghast to Inquisitor Trevelyan:
Inquisitor:
I regret that you are currently reading this letter, but Leliana insisted on sending Scout Harding to ensure that you were well. I talked her out of a larger unit of soldiers and told her that a simple letter from me would be sufficient to prompt your return.
I also told Leliana that you were exhausted after the events at Adamant, and needed a few days to yourself, but she informed me that we only have one member of the Inquisition capable of closing rifts, and the Commander's plan to drag you off to a lake in Ferelden was selfish and irresponsible. Leliana has grown…harder recently, Inquisitor, more cold. Perhaps when you return you can speak to her. Additionally, Josephine is well at work on the preparations for the masquerade at the Winter Palace, and apparently needs you and Cullen for fittings. So, on behalf of the Inquisition and its Seneschal and Ambassador, I respectfully ask that you and Cullen return immediately to Skyhold.
On behalf of myself, however, I must say that this sounds terribly romantic. He took you to a lake? Did he read you poetry? Did he pledge his everlasting devotion to you? I shall hold my breath in anticipation until you return. I hope you will tell me everything.
Cassandra
A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Seeker Pentaghast:
Cassandra:
The Commander and I will be returning to Skyhold tomorrow morning, accompanied by the contingent of troops who went into Ferelden for supplies.
I will return this message with Scout Harding, and the Commander and I will remain under the watchful eye of the fellow "travelers" who have conveniently camped on the opposite side of the lake. One of whom, I might note, decided he was going to scout our camp for Leliana early this morning and was tossed into the lake after receiving a series of severe electrical shocks from one of several warding glyphs and runes I've placed about the camp to ward off bears.
Luckily the mage accompanying the unit was able to heal her companion, so I hope there is no permanent damage to our spy. The mage and I had an interesting discussion afterwards, and I taught her a spell, which is my personal adaptation of a glyph of repulsion and a lightning bolt—it repels physically along with an electrical shock. You've seen me placing them around camp before, but nothing's ever been stupid enough to wander into one, which is a shame because watching one go off is quite spectacular, if I do say so myself. I didn't know Leliana had embedded mages with her spies—it is really an excellent idea in some cases, and I have some strategic suggestions for her when we return.
Cullen is, of course, livid about the entire affair, and wants to storm back to Skyhold to yell at Leliana, which, it appears to me, would only accomplish her goal of getting us to return as soon as possible. But I do not understand why a delay of just another day is so unacceptable.
As for myself, I need just another day to relax, Cassandra. You were there, you know what happened in the Fade, and you know that if I keep pushing myself, I am going to break. Just let me take a moment, and then I will go back to being the Inquisitor. I need this, and between you and me, I think Cullen does too. When he overextends himself, he suffers more acutely the effects of lyrium withdrawal, and before we left, I observed some potential symptoms of this.
Earlier this morning, after Cullen was grumbling about going back to Skyhold, he mentioned that he has some intelligence about Samson's source of red lyrium in Emprise du Lion. When I return to Skyhold, I will want to make arrangements to go investigate this, so could you and Leliana please begin to look into it?
And that is all the work I am going to do today, Cassandra. It was terribly romantic before Leliana's spy created an explosion and was thrown into the lake, and I promise to tell you all about it when I get back.
Evelyn
From Inquisitor Trevelyan's personal journal:
After I sent a suitably mortified Scout Harding off with my letter, I attempted to play a game of chess with Cullen, the board balanced on a stump, but he was distracted and irritable. I initially thought he might still be angry about the interruption, but after he began to squint in the late morning sunlight, I was worried it was something else.
"Cullen, do you have a headache?"
"I am fine, truly." He sighed and shifted his weight where he sat on the ground. "I work like this all the time. It is not severe."
I stood up and headed for my knapsack.
"I will make you some tea."
"Really, that's not necessary." He looked at me, wincing in the sun.
"Well, Ser, maybe it's not necessary for you, but it will make me feel better." I pulled out my book and began to check some entries. "I spend so little time at Skyhold, and I worry that you don't take care of yourself. Let me?"
"All right," he rolled his eyes, "I will allow you to…fuss."
I smiled at his choice of words, and he allowed me to lead him into his tent, with only one foul look at the camp across the lake. He lay down on his bedroll, with an arm flung across his eyes, while I worked at the table. He let out a large sigh.
"I know it's not perfect, mon chou, but it's not ruined," I said, swirling my finger around in a mug of herbs and water until it was almost boiling. "We can still spend the day together."
He shifted his arm and pried open one eye.
"What did you call me?"
I sat next to him, and laughed. "Technically, I just called you 'my cabbage."
"I didn't know you spoke Orlesian," he grumbled, "and I am not a cabbage."
"I don't speak Orlesian, actually, although I can read it quite well for research purposes." I swirled the tea a bit more. "And I didn't say you were a cabbage, I said you were my cabbage. Sit up so you can drink this."
He sat up, wincing, and took the mug from me.
"What is this?" he asked, giving it a suspicious glare. "It doesn't smell…terrible."
"Elfroot and willowbark to help with your headache, and something from Orlais called mélisse, but it might have another name; I'd have to look it up. It should help you relax."
He sipped at his tea and did not seem displeased.
"So why am I your cabbage, then?"
"I can think of many reasons why you are my cabbage, but I'm not sharing, since I'm obviously never going to call you that again." I was embarrassing myself. "My grandmother," I explained, "was the daughter of an Orlesian duke. It's a form of endearment we used in my family, like…'my sweet' or 'dearest' or…well, you get the idea." I rolled my eyes. "Drink your tea."
"Oh," he said. "well, that's…nice, then." He reached out and threaded his fingers through mine, and slowly finished his mug.
He put it to the side, then began to lay back, holding tight to my hand and attempting to pull me with him.
"You have a headache," I protested.
"Yes," he agreed with a smirk, the scar at the corner of his mouth twitching, "but I'm not dead."
A few minutes later, and I lay next to him, my shirt unfastened, his tunic gone, our hands all over each other. He'd pulled my knee up so my leg was draped over his waist, and he was pressed against me in an extremely…intimate way. When he broke off a very long and, in my opinion, very satisfying kiss, he shifted his weight, grabbed my knee, and rolled me so I was straddling him. I put my hands on his chest and bent down to kiss him again, but as his head hit the pillow, I saw him wince at just that slight impact, and I stopped.
"You," I panted, "still have a headache."
"Don't care," he ground out, moved his hips quite convincingly, and tried to pull me back down.
"Well, I do," I gasped as he moved against me again, and realized that I was not in a good position to make my argument because what he was doing was making my eyes roll back in my head, so I slid off of him and lay on my back, breathing hard. "You need to rest."
He groaned and started to reach for me again, so I snapped, "You're sick-behave yourself!" and pushed him until he lay on his side, away from me. It seemed the least troublesome way for him to be facing, as most of the parts I found to be tempting were on the opposite side. He started to laugh as he complied, but it turned into a hiss and he brought his hand up to the side of his head.
"Ugh, Maker…maybe you are right."
"Of course I am right," I said, and reached down and pulled the blanket over both of us. I hesitated for a second, then said, "Cullen, I'd like to do something that I think might help, but it involves magic."
He was quiet for just a moment, then asked, "What is it?"
"I'd like to make my hand cold and put it on the back of your neck, but I don't want to…touch you with magic without your permission."
Another pause, then he said, "If you think it will help, then I would appreciate it."
"Thank you," I said, kissed him on the shoulder, and pressed a frosty hand to the back of his neck. I could feel his entire body tense, but after a few minutes, he slowly began to relax.
"That feels…nice," he said sleepily.
"Good," I said, and moved closer to him, pressing as much of myself to his back as I could. I had grown accustomed to the sympathetic vibrations of the lyrium in his blood, and…enjoyed the way his body sang to mine, but at that moment, I hated it, and what they had done to him.
He was sick with withdrawal symptoms for the rest of the day, shivering and sweating, retching up half of the tea I managed to get into him, until he fell into a deep sleep around dusk and slept until early that morning. I lay next to him, holding him when I could. When he awoke before dawn, he kissed me, got up and put on his armor, and wrote in his journal for a while. Then he walked out and stood alone at the end of the dock, staring out at the lake.
I left him alone, packing up what pieces of the camp I could by myself. When I saw he had turned to look at me, I walked out and joined him, taking his hand.
"Evelyn—" he began, but I interrupted him.
"It was wonderful, Cullen. Everything was perfect." We held hands on the dock for a few more minutes, then he turned to me.
"Thank you for coming with me," he said, and kissed my hand. "Shall I help you pack the tents?"
"Of course," I said, and we walked back together.