Cullen woke to an empty bed. He reached across to touch the cool mattress, finding confirmation he didn't need. No one had slept there. Solana had spent the night somewhere else.
He tried to ignore the pain in his chest as he readied himself for the day ahead. He dressed methodically, but snagged himself with the razor while shaving. A foolish error. One he hadn't made in years. As he dabbed at his cheek, his control slipped and his mind started presenting scenarios. One, she didn't want to sleep beside him. That seemed the most likely. He remembered the way she'd looked at him when she'd asked about Anders accompanying them, the expression on her face when she'd found him in Max's office, the way her eyes had darted from his the previous night. She must have gone and rented her own room because she had no desire to be near him. But as much as that hurt, there were alternative scenarios and they were worse. Halamshiral had been abuzz with rumours that she was involved with the Inquisitor. What if the gossiping nobles had picked up on something that was really there? What if they'd fallen drunkenly into bed together? Or, a third scenario, that something terrible had happened in the tavern while he'd been asleep. They'd been taken by bandits or something equally… ridiculous. He stared at himself in the small mirror above the basin. Or, something less ridiculous, she'd run ahead. She'd decided to go to Kinloch without him.
It was this thought that drove him downstairs, ready to demand the owner disclose her whereabouts. But as he came down the stairs, he saw a cluster of people gathered in the centre of the main room.
A flash of red hair sent his heart into his throat. One of the men moved aside, and there she was, shoulder-to-shoulder with Varric and giggling at her hand of cards.
"You stayed up all night playing cards?" Cullen asked, aghast.
Solana startled, eyes going wide. Her hair had half fallen out of its bun, and the top two buttons of her robe were undone. Maker's breath!
Varric waved. "Morning, Commander."
"I… were you drinking?"
He ignored the looks of the other patrons. Solana shouldn't have been drinking. Not while she was still nursing the…
"Where's the baby?" Ice shot through his veins. If she got drunk and forgot her -
Varric stood, waving both of his hands now. "Shh shh, you'll wake them."
"Wake the-"
A movement on one of the tables against the far wall drew his attention. Trevelyan sat up slowly and yelped when he hit his head on a windowsill. The baby was nestled in his arms, but her eyes snapped open and her little fists shot outwards at his exclamation.
Cullen closed the distance between them in three strides, seizing the baby from him. She gave a whinge of protest as he hugged her to his chest, possibly a little too tightly. He had no words, all he could do was glare at the Inquisitor.
"Eh, morning, Commander." Trevelyan rubbed his head.
"Cullen, it's all right," Solana was moving towards him, her voice sweet. She reached out a hand to touch him, but he stumbled away. "I'm not drunk. You've seen me drunk enough times to know that. Varric was teaching me how to play Wicked Grace."
"You could already play Wicked Grace." They'd played on the way to Halamshiral.
Varric chuckled. "No, she really couldn't."
"You played all night?" It wasn't really a question, so much as a demand for an explanation.
Solana blinked slowly. "I honestly didn't realise the time."
"With our baby."
"Well, I didn't play cards with our baby. She's still a little young." Solana smiled and Varric chuckled again.
The dwarf stepped forward and patted Cullen's arm. "Look, Curly, baby's what? Three weeks old? Four? She's happy so long as she has milk to drink and a soft place to sleep. Your babysitter did a good job with the latter part and your lady was here for the rest. No harm done. Why don't you have some breakfast while they go wash up? I'll wake Hawke and we'll hit the road, alright?"
Cullen ignored the urge to correct Varric by reminding him that his daughter couldn't technically feel happiness. He was too overwhelmed. Everyone was staring at him as if he was the strange one. Was it really so outlandish to be upset about this?
"I was worried about you," he said to Solana.
The smile melted from her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend for that."
"No. I don't imagine it crossed your mind."
Hawke looked more hung over than Max by the time he arrived downstairs. Anders trailed him like a shadow.
The early morning light was already pouring in through the grimy windows and it was now apparent just just how dusty the place was. Every movement sent sprays of dust motes into the sun beams where they danced and glittered.
Cullen had been pacing nervously near the bar, and Solana had hidden in a corner to give the baby her breakfast. The rest of the party was scattered around the place, seeing to their own business.
"We need to talk," Hawke said.
Cullen spun to face him and even though he didn't say it, Solana saw what he was thinking from his expression. Another disruption to his carefully laid plans.
Hawke took a deep breath, and Solana tried to catch a glimpse of Anders's face, but she couldn't. She hurried to dress herself.
"Very well," Cullen said stiffly. "Would you like to step outside, or…?"
"No, here's fine." He ran a hand through his hair and settled into the chair that Solana had occupied for most of the night. Anders stood behind him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Solana slipped out from her corner. "Are you all right?"
Everyone else was now paying rapt attention too. Hawke offered a shaky smile. "Here's the thing. I don't know how many of you know this, but I'm originally from Lothering."
Lothering. The very first town Solana had visited with Alistair and Morrigan, straight after the tragedy at Ostagar.
"I had to flee during the Blight," Hawke said. "At first, when you said we'd be taking the Imperial Highway, I didn't know how to feel about that. You probably know that it passes right by Lothering. I've been… frightened, I guess. Of seeing what became of it. But, I think I need closure. I think I need to see it for myself."
"Lothering…" Cullen repeated slowly. "I'm sorry, Lothering was…"
"Lost to the Blight, I know," Hawke said.
"I mean only that it might not be safe to camp there. The Blight can remain in an area long after -"
Hawke nodded. "I know, but we have three Grey Wardens with us." He glanced at the baby. "Practically four."
"You wish for them to scout ahead?" Cullen guessed.
"They'll be able to tell us if it's safe for the rest of us. If it's not, we pass by. I just… I don't want to miss this opportunity." Anders squeezed his shoulder.
Solana was surprised when Cullen's gaze moved to her. "Well? What do you think?"
She blinked. Of course, she was the senior Grey Warden. Why wouldn't he ask her? Even if he was still quietly seething about her actions.
"We still need some supplies. We could go ahead while you stock up. If it's still unsafe, we'll meet you on the road."
"She is immune?" Cullen asked, eyeing the baby.
Solana nodded. "Yes, she'll be fine."
Cullen tried his best not to worry as they took to the road. He concentrated on the details. The Highway was a wonder, white stone gleaming, lancet arches marching further into the distance than his eyes could see. He tried to concentrate on the pleasant sensation of the fresh Ferelden air on his cheek and not on the thrumming of his heart.
Solana could handle herself in battle if it came to that, if set upon by vagrants, or highwaymen, or wild animals…
He swallowed down bitter bile. Wild animals like the bear that came so close to ending her life.
Anders was with her now, as he had been with her then. And they had the other mage, Cassey. He had nothing to be frightened of.
Still, it was a relief when the rooftops of the village came into view and there had been no sign of the Wardens. That must mean it was safe, and they were somewhere within.
Hawke was the first to dismount. His jaw was set as he lead his steed off the highway. Trevelyan and Varric followed, and Cullen brought up the rear.
The sun was low in the sky and shadows clustered around the spiked palisade that bordered the village. Time or, more likely, multiple darkspawn incursions, had pulled it down in places and it was no trouble finding a gap to step through.
"It's so quiet," Hawke said. His voice was a mere whisper, yet it was easy to hear. There was no sound at all. Not even birdsong. Doubt crept up Cullen's spine. Lothering was shrouded in foreboding silence. What if something had happened to Solana after all? What if the Blight was still here -
A shadow darted across one of the walls and Cullen pulled out his sword automatically. But it was not darkspawn, or a bandit, that came running between the buildings. It was a horse, short its rider.
For a single moment his stomach was lead as a dozen scenarios for what had become of the rider chased through his mind. Then he saw her. Solana. Running around a building and after the horse. She managed to snatch the bridle. Laughing, panting, hair streaming behind her in a fiery mane, she was red-cheeked but unharmed.
Then she saw him and all trace of joy left her face. She went still, her back erect.
He sheathed his sword. "All's well?"
"Yes. Fire's going. The horse was spooked by the flame." She patted its nose. "No trace of Blight, but I suppose no one's dared come here to check. The village is deserted." It was as if she was one of his men, giving a status report.
"They did," Hawke said. At Cullen's curious look, he added, "They did come here to check. They tried to rebuild a few years ago but found the ground was poisoned. Nothing would grow."
He moved forward as if in a dream, holding out a hand to brush the building. Cullen followed.
They'd set it up camp in front of the local chantry. Even in such a small village, the building was something to behold. The spiked archway was reminiscent of the sunburst, and that same emblem was echoed upon the steeple. Cullen imagined that at certain times of year, the sun shone right through as it set, casting the archway in flaming hues of red and gold.
It was not the camp that Hawke moved towards, however. He veered off to the right, walking over a wide stone bridge. Ahead of them the sky was orange and an old broken mill stood as a shadowy silhouette against it. Solana trotted after them, pulling the horse with her. No one spoke. There was no need. Cullen knew where Hawke must have been heading, and he supposed that Solana did too.
As they entered the village proper, Solana whispered an incantation and her staff glowed, brightening the way. Hawke crossed the square, passed an old well and stopped outside an old cottage on the edge of town. The thatch was partly sunken in, partly burned. One wall had collapsed. The wooden door hung off his hinges. He swallowed.
"I should get Anders," Solana said.
"Why?" Hawke asked. "No need for a healer."
"Hawke…"
"Solana. You need to be here. It's your… your family too."
He stepped over the threshold.
Solana pressed the horse's reins into Cullen's hand and moved past him without saying anything. The brush of her skin as he took the reins, the scent of rose petals as she crossed so close. He shut his eyes and breathed in the moment.
"Cullen!" Hawke's voice came from within the shadowy recesses of the ruined entrance hall. "Yours too, come on."
Cullen gave a start at the mention of his name. Yours too. He'd never thought of it that way, that he was now related to the Amells, to Hawke, through marriage.
He secured the horse to one of the remaining columns that held up the roof and followed them in.
Hawke was standing in the middle of what had once been a living room. Now the floorboards were rotten, some sparrows had nested in the rafters and there was a hole in the roof at least double the size of the one above his office.
"Looted, as I suspected," Hawke said. He took a deep breath, shoulders moving upward as his lungs filled, then down again as he let out a rush of air.
"They didn't take everything." Solana had picked up a shattered picture frame. The etching inside was damp around the edges, and the ink had run, but she passed it to Hawke.
"Oh," he said. He stared at it and Cullen was certain, even in the dim light, that he paled.
"Who is it?"
He tried for a smile. It wobbled then collapsed into a frown as he handed the image back to her. "It's my brother and sister. The twins."
"Carver's a Grey Warden," Cullen recalled, leaning to get a look at the picture.
"Yes. In the Anderfels. He got as far away from me as possible at the first opportunity."
The etching showed two children of equal height, both with Hawke's messy black hair, posed for a portrait.
"And the girl?" Cullen asked.
"Bethany. She, uh, didn't make it to Kirkwall."
Cullen's eyes snapped to Hawke's, but there was no doubting the implication of the words. "I'm… I'm so sorry."
The watery smile returned to Hawke's mouth. "As am I. She was the best sibling anyone could have asked for. We'd train together, out there." He pointed out a broken window to an overgrown garden with a high stone wall. "My father taught us how to control our powers. We'd duel. She beat me almost every time."
"I too used to train with my siblings," Cullen said, for lack of something better. "Some of my fondest memories." Solana was watching him curiously, and he felt suddenly self conscious. "Sorry, you don't want to hear about my - we should look around, see if we can find anything else of sentimental value that may have been passed over by the looters."
Hawke went down a hallway that must have lead to the bedchambers and Cullen headed for what had once been the kitchen but was now no more than an alcove with an overflowing cauldron and some broken cutlery, open to the sky.
To his surprise, Solana followed him. "You used to train with your siblings? They seem so domestic." She was amused, her mouth quirked at his expense.
He busied himself checking through flooded drawers. "Yes, you can ask them about it tomorrow if you desire. Rosalie is particularly fond of regaling how I'd force her to play the apostate."
A stiff drawer came suddenly free as he tugged on it, sloshing water across his boots. He lept back, an oath on his tongue. By the time he'd gathered his wits again, Solana was gone.
