Part II.
Chapter 19.
There was a message on his desk when he came down to his office in the morning. Their morning war council meeting was cancelled by Ashara's request. A flicker of concern strangled him for half a moment—was she alright? Had their conversation the evening before upset her so much that she'd somehow relapsed?
He twisted the message into a short rope of worry, the paper and his leather gloves squeaking in anxious harmony.
There was much to be done, much to discuss. He wanted to clear troop movements with her, and ensure the proper supplies were being moved to the Emprise in preparation for the attack on Suledin Keep. Leliana had been receiving messages from all over Orlais with potential clues as to Corypheus's plots. Several of her companions had submitted requests or suggestions as well. And certainly Josephine had messages from some noble or other that might prove useful nuisances.
Ashara was not the type to blow off responsibilities. Silly as she may behave at times, she was dedicated to their cause, to a point others might consider obsessive or unhealthy. Could she have finally had her fill after his revelations to her?
But she would have said something.
He grunted and tossed the ruined paper onto the desk. There was no use over-thinking it. There was work to be done, and he could manage without her input on some things.
For a short time, at least. She would need to sign off on the relocation of their war engines and the bulk of their active forces from Adamant. And he wanted her opinion on assigning additional troops to the southern regions where reports indicated increased Venatori presence. And then there were Rylen's recent dispatches from Griffon Wing.
Just like you to need your superior's approval on everything. Soldier up, Rutherford. You're the Commander!
…But she's the Inquisitor…
And he worried about her.
He buried himself in paperwork, documenting and cross-checking everything, filing duplicates as necessary, marking areas of interest on his master map.
Things were almost silent in the Hinterlands now, he realized, much to his relief. The Inquisitor had closed all known rifts and settled the mage-Templar conflict early enough that locals were expecting a usual harvesting schedule this year. Perhaps with better yields, he thought with disgust. All the blood spilled on Fereldan's already-rich soil might make for especially good growing. A ghastly fertilizer, to be sure.
This also meant it would be perfectly safe for the two of them to venture down the mountains to Honnleath, perhaps even without any additional guards.
Assuming he ever asked her. Where was she? Should he go look for her?
The quartermaster's reports were reassuring: they had more supplies than they could ever use thanks to donations and the resourcefulness of the Inquisition's people in the field. He made a note to consider strategic reallocations of some of their food stores come winter—an excellent way to secure further support should they still be hunting Corypheus in a few months' time.
Maker, he hoped they would be done by winter. But to think that the Inquisition might manage to complete its mission in only a single year? Laughable. In his experience, nothing was ever simple, quick, or bloodless.
Except loving her. The thought came unbidden. He smiled despite himself. She was an incredible woman. She deserved a break. Maybe that's all she was doing—sleeping in and giving herself the time she needed to recover.
But wouldn't she have said so? She was usually completely forthright with him. To a fault, even. …The way she'd bared herself to him in Haven, long before he expected her to feel so comfortable with him…
"Cullen?" Her voice, soft and uncertain, broke into his thoughts.
He looked up and found her standing only a few feet from him, dressed simply in soft leather breeks and a loose, Rivaini-style tunic, the thin fabric and open laces revealing a lack of corselet or breastband. Her bare arms drew his eyes away from the obvious; they were beginning to recover the impressive muscle tone she'd displayed before… her injuries.
He stumbled to his feet. "There you are!" he exhaled.
"Oh! Were you waiting for me?" Her smile grew uncertain, as though she was trying to remember if she'd forgotten something.
"Yes," he blurted out, too excited to see her bright eyes and glowing cheeks.
Down, boy.
"I mean, no."
"Oh good," she drawled, a smirk replacing the nervous grin. "I've kept, and not kept, you waiting…"
He sighed in frustration with himself. At least her teasing was good-humored. Or so he hoped. He searched for clues in her eyes, which held nothing but affection for him. "Let me start over?" he begged.
"By all means," she assented, shifting her weight and cocking her hips distractingly.
Maker, how he wanted to grip those inviting swells of feminine flesh in his hands, pull her close to him…
He shook the inviting image from his mind fast enough (he hoped) to not disrupt their conversation.
"We have some dealings in Ferelden. I was hoping you might accompany me." He couldn't keep the hopefulness out of his voice. "When you can spare the time, of course," he added quickly.
Her posture straightened, flirtation shifting immediately to alertness. "Is something wrong?"
"What? No!" Damnit, Rutherford. "I would rather explain there." He cast hopeful eyes on hers. "I-if you wish to go?"
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, a smile—this time curious—playing on her lips. "I believe there's time now," she said, eyebrows raised.
He couldn't help the huge grin that leapt onto his face then erupted in full bloom when he saw her own delighted response to his happiness.
"I—I will make the necessary arrangements," he responded, scarcely believing his luck.
She was coming! She said she would join him! She actually wanted to be with him outside of Skyhold and the Inquisition and everything…
And slow down, Rutherford.
"Should I… prepare anything?"
"Oh! Yes, ah… We'll be gone for… perhaps a fortnight? So… Clothes? No armor! Unless you wish to wear your armor, of course. But, I mean… There won't be any need. Things have calmed down in Ferelden, and where we're going… Well…" A blush rose on his cheeks. "We're not heading into a battle or anything, is what I mean. This is more of a… social call, you might say. So, yes. Clothes and any… lady's things you might need."
She gazed at him with amusement. "Alright. I'll go pack. Ferelden-appropriate clothes, my 'lady's things', and no armor." She turned to go. "But I am bringing my sword, Commander," she shot over her shoulder with a smile as she left.
He smiled so big it turned into a chuckle and rapped his knuckles on his desk. Right then. Preparations.
"Are you sure it's alright for us to be away for so long?" she asked again. "I know I'm practically useless for a while yet, but what if something happens and they need us?" She worried at her lip, which was beginning to look especially plump from all the nervous nibbling she'd been doing.
Maybe we should turn back. What are you thinking, Rutherford, taking the Inquisitor on holiday in the middle of a war?
"I'm sorry," she blurted out before he could respond. "I'm having a hard time with the whole powerlessness thing, not being able to fight, not being able to… be there. It's tough. And I keep… obsessing over these little things…. Like, what if a message arrives at Skyhold while we're gone? What if we find Corypheus? What if… What if!" She let out a sound of mixed disgust and frustration. "I hate this, Cullen!"
He wasn't sure how to respond. He could express empathy with the feelings of powerlessness, but then would that be presumptuous and patronizing, pretending that what he felt cooped up in his tower and always well behind the frontlines was anything like what she must be feeling? He could tell her to stop worrying, that all would be fine, but that… that was just dishonest and condescending to her intelligence and was too dismissive of the threat they faced. The threat that she was expected to single-handedly defeat in defense of the entirety of Thedas.
"I—I don't mean… this." She nodded her head toward him, indicating their time alone. "I just…" She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I'm itching to get back in the field, but Surgeon, Grim, Lord Chancer, even Leliana… They all say I'm not ready to return to the field. But, damn it, Cullen, I need to be out there. I need to do… something!"
He pulled back on his reins, bringing his mount to a halt. She brought her mount in line with his and looked at him, questioning their stop and something existentially deeper.
"Ashara." He spoke in a soothing tone. "You cannot fight until you are strong again. That time will come soon enough."
She sighed in reluctant agreement, averting her eyes. He reached out for her hand, squeezing it, trying to press confidence into her.
"Let yourself heal. Your army is out there right now hunting down every clue to Corypheus's whereabouts. We have our reach into every city and village in southern Thedas, and allies in Nevarra, Antiva, the Marches, and now Rivain. Everything that can be done, is being done. And when you're ready, you will return to the field and join your soldiers, and you will defeat Corypheus."
He forced her to make eye contact, making certain his words hit home. "For now, love, you rest."
The corner of her mouth turned upward just a tinge.
"Besides, would I take you away from duty?"
The sparkle came back to her eyes and he let a sheepish grin take hold. "Thank you, Cull."
"Now, let's ride. Ser Noodles looks like he could use a good gallop. Think you can manage a little race?"
She quirked her brows. "I might be able to hold on for a while. But are you sure you can keep up with a Trevelyan protégé, Ser Cullen? I don't think you know what you're up against…"
He'd only ever seen her riding in or out of base but knew her—and her famous family's—equestrian reputation and had admired how easy she seemed in the saddle.
"How about a sprint? We have a base camp near Haven—"
"—Or what remains of it," she intoned grimly.
Arse. He should have known better than to bring that up…
"I know the spot," she continued in a much lighter voice. "We often stay there when riding through this part of Ferelden. And I'm going to beat you there!"
He didn't even notice her spurring her mount, but she was already well clear of him before he realized what happened. The rest of the 'race' was completely futile between her head start and admittedly better horsemanship. By the time he reached the camp, she was already brushing down the Forder, a wide smile plastered on her beautifully flushed face.
"You cheated," he panted, swinging down from his saddle.
"Me?" she sang. "Never. You didn't declare any rules. How can I cheat if there were no rules to cheat on?"
He wanted to kiss the smug grin off of her face.
He tried, but the smile only grew and was contagious.
"Fine. But generally speaking—"
"Nope!" She giggled, swatting him playfully with the curry comb. " 'Generally speaking', nothing! I won." She stuck her tongue out at him and handed him the tool.
He looked at her and shook his head, unable to control the chuckle rising from his throat. "How did you get his saddle off so quickly, anyway?"
"Quickly? What do you mean 'quickly'? Must be a relative term. I've been waiting for ages."
A familiar-looking Inquisition scout emerged from behind a tent where Ashara's fine leather saddle had apparently just been racked, and was heading for Cullen's own horse.
"Ages, hm? Or maybe you had help?"
"Maybe a little…" She winked and turned to the young elven woman. "Thank you, Lavinia. Could you see to the rest of the horses' needs? The Commander and I have some business to discuss."
"O-of course, I-Inquisitor, your worship! Whatever you need!" She bowed repeatedly to both of them, her face turning a deeper red with every breath.
"And stop bowing! I thought we discussed this months ago. This isn't Orlais and I'm not an aristocrat!" Ashara squirmed under the weight of adulation far more than she did under the weight of command.
The camp was quiet, only a few soldiers on assignment there. Enough to maintain a presence in the remote area and provide the Inquisition's strike force a place to rest while on the road. Yet it was well-appointed and well-maintained. A small stream ran along the edge, providing fresh, clean water and a relaxing atmosphere. It was certainly different from the last camp settlement he'd slept in back in the Western Approach.
Ashara knelt down by the stream and splashed her face, washing off the dust and sweat of their ride. As he stood up from his own ablutions, she stepped closer, bringing her body nearly flush with his. Her heat throbbed against his skin through the thin leather and linen between them.
"Ashara, someone might see—"
She cut his words off with a scorching kiss, catching him off guard. The kiss felt not only passionate, but loaded with unspoken emotion.
When they separated, she gripped the open neck of his jerkin in tight fists. "Thank you, Cullen."
"You're… you're welcome," he managed. "But for what?"
Her eyes twinkled and she brought one hand to his jaw. "For… everything? But especially for… for this. Your support, your thoughtfulness. This time away." She kissed him again, lightly this time. "For reminding me that I can be a normal person."
He held her face between his hands and brushed his thumbs along her cheekbones. "I love you," he wanted to say. But instead, he kissed her one more time.
She inhaled slowly then shattered the moment.
"C'mon," she chirped, releasing him and straightening her collar and gloves. "Soup's on."
She dropped her voice and leaned in. "And we keep things very casual in this camp. I don't think they know we've… taken up as… lovers. Yet. But you'll get titles but little else. It's not like Skyhold here. Except Lavinia. I can't get her to stop with the bowing and scraping…"
She pulled away and jerked her head toward the heart of the camp where a pot of something was, indeed, steaming and bubbling near a growing bonfire.
He followed her into camp, head spinning. He hadn't seen Ashara's silly side in months and there was something strange about seeing her amongst their recruits like this. Was she always so chipper and comradely with them, or was it a side effect of her happiness at being up and about?
Judging by the barracks banter he walked into at the fire, her title meant little more than that they trusted her to make decisions. A dwarven scout was finishing one of the dirtiest jokes he'd ever heard—much to Ashara's delight—as he caught up.
"What the hell are you doing out here anyway?" A lanky, older man with burn scars on one side of his face interrupted. "We got the bird from Commander Cullen that you two would be stopping by on your way into Ferelden, but no details. Is there something happening? I haven't heard anything from Collier about rifts or anything…"
Ashara turned toward Cullen then, expectant. "I don't know all the details. Cullen?" There was a teasing glint in her eyes. Either she was setting him up for embarrassment or she was trying to get details out of him that he'd refused to share so far.
"Classified, I'm afraid," he responded in a stern voice, though returning her playful look. "Inquisition business. Top level secrecy."
The camp deflated a little, impressed expressions quickly turning away from him with deference.
"Oh. Sorry, Commander, Ser," the soldier responded. "I was not aware of the… seriousness of this mission, Ser. Is there… anything I can do for you, Ser?"
Not his intended effect, though Ashara seemed to be amused.
"No, soldier. Nothing right now. I'd just… ah… I'll have some dinner, and then the Inquisitor and I will need to speak. Alone."
"Yes, Ser. Alone, Ser. I'll prepare a tent for the two of you. To have some privacy, Ser."
He couldn't tell, but he thought maybe the man was making fun.
"Thank you, Brian." She pat his shoulder companionably. "That will be all for this evening. Feel free to go about your regular business."
The man saluted them with his fist over his heart and bowed his head before leaving the two of them alone by the fire.
"Maker's breath," Cullen groaned, hopefully drowned out by Ashara's giggles. "I didn't mean to…"
She nudged him with her hip. "It's alright, Cull. They're laughing about your awkwardness already. And I think they're now all terrified of you as well."
This time she was biting her lip to keep from laughing, not out of anxiety. He struggled with the temptation to bite it himself.
"I would thank you to keep me from sticking my foot in my mouth like that again," he murmured, still staring at her lips.
"I think it's best then if you just don't talk then," she snorted, eyes twinkling with reflected firelight. "Your sense of humor doesn't exactly carry to those who don't know you well. So, you know… No one but Cassandra and I know how charming you really are."
She bumped him again before helping herself to a brimming ladleful of the savory-smelling stew. He took his own portion and followed her to a low bench where she had settled. She grinned over the hunk of bread she was using to bring the steaming meat and gravy to her mouth and he felt his heart stuttering.
This was an Ashara he'd not seen much of, not since Haven. It occurred to him then that she had an entire life outside the walls of Skyhold, a life where she was more than figurehead, Herald, or boss. This was a world where she was fully human, a person rather than a symbol. He had inadvertently taken her back to the world she probably missed desperately while lying in her sick bed in a remote castle. Where he'd worried that stopping at the camp might bring her unpleasant memories of battle and terror, she was completely at ease, laughing and joking with the scattering of Inquisition forces stationed there. This was her family, almost as much as the small band of warriors with whom she usually travelled were.
"I don't want to be a hero, Cullen! I don't want to be the Herald of Andraste. I just want to be Ashara and live a normal life and fall in love and be at peace!"
He watched her face between scooping up his own stew. She was at home here in a way she hadn't seemed in Skyhold. There was a freedom to her energy. She was the happy young woman he'd seen at the Herald's Rest with Hawke and her friends. It was as simple as this—a camp in the wilderness, surrounded by those she knew, whose loyalty was forged in battle. The camp was a safe place for her—maybe the first safe place she would experience as she returned from the field with every campaign.
"Why are you staring at me, Cullen?"
"What? I… I don't mean to stare, love. You just.. look so happy. It's enchanting."
She might have blushed, but the fading evening light masked it. "I am happy, Cullen." She placed her hand on his knee. "Thank you." A light squeeze, and her hand returned to its task, plucking a bit of hard cheese from the brim of her plate.
"You should try this." She held the cheese out to him. "Brian's family has been making it for years, ages it in caves not far from here. They sell the stuff for good coin in Orlais."
The older man heard his name, looked up and nodded a smile toward her. "But the Inquisition will always have plenty of it, my lady, and for free. We owe you our lives and livelihood."
She cast her eyes down and nodded. "We are happy you are all well now, Brian. And that you stand at our side." She looked up again. "And I'm personally happy that you give me the best cheese in all of Ferelden. Even King Alistair hasn't had such good cheese!"
The cheese was damned good, and Cullen couldn't help but to say so.
"Thank you, Ser," Brian responded flatly, head bowed, before turning back to his own dinner.
"I don't think they like me here," Cullen whispered.
Ashara chuckled. "Nah. They're just fucking with you. Besides, they're Fereldans. Not exactly a gregarious people." She winked.
"Ha ha," he droned in response.
She slid closer to him. "They're also happy to look the other way if the Inquisitor and her Commander disappear alone into a tent. Which they've set up just for us. To talk, you know." She winked and rose from the bench, handing her plate off to Lavinia who reacted as though the Inquisitor had handed her the newborn Trevelyan heir.
He wasn't sure if he'd prefer the over-familiarity of Brian and the dwarf or the worshipful genuflecting of the elven woman. Neither was ideal in his eyes, yet somehow this was her setting.
He let Lavinia take his own empty plate and followed after Ashara to join her in the tent.