The journey across the Waking Sea and back to my homeland of Ferelden is one I'm trying to quickly forget. I neglected to even look at this journal as the words on the page had swirled around with the motion of the ship on what I was told, were relatively calm waters. On the little of what I remember about the journey, I quickly came to three key decisions:

1. No food - nothing - helps with seasickness. Or maybe that's because there is nothing left inside to throw up.

2. Staying above deck does help with the nausea somewhat. That is unless a certain Mr Tethras insists on keeping you company just to spite you.

3. As it's abundantly clear I will never get my sea legs, I can safely say that I am never, ever going on a ship again. Even if a Blight hits Ferelden. I'll accept my fate.

- An extract from Commander Cullen Rutherford's personal journal

2. Cullen

A table. A chair. A trunk. A half-empty goblet of water. The smell of campfires. The melody of the early morning birdsong.

Cullen woke in his cot inside the small tent on the outskirts of Haven. Once more his dreams had been… uncomfortable, and it took a moment for him to remember where he was. Here, in Ferelden. I'm from Ferelden. I haven't been here for almost ten years, he thought.

It was still very early but he preferred to begin his day when others were still sleeping - less disturbances that way, and there was something invigorating about getting work done when others were still wondering the fade, oblivious that a new day has started. So after a splash of cool water of his face and neck, he put on each piece of his armour - inspecting them in turn, still getting accustomed to his new attire that was not the Templar uniform he had been so familiar with, like an extension of his body; an extra limb, perhaps. Finally he pulled on his fur mantle - his very Ferelden fur mantle - and checked the small looking glass by his bedside. He ran a hand through his hair, ensuring his curls were neatly flattened to a smart wave and nodded to himself. As always, before leaving the tent, he hesitated and stood by the flap, took a deep breath and flexed his fingers. Today was another new day. And he was here, alive.

The early morning sun greeted him pleasantly and he paused for a moment to drink it in as it peered over the mountain tops. Looking around the small camp outside the village, most of his troops were still asleep, with their first drill not for another hour or so. A couple of messengers chatted quietly by the gates, their voices a low hum underneath the birdsong.

With a confident gait, he strode through the gates, fresh snow crunching under his boots. The village would be filling up fast as the last of the travellers arrived today before heading up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes for the start of the Conclave. He took the path up to the Chantry, avoiding the inn, and soon found himself in the cool and sparse interior, empty save for a few Chantry sisters sleeping on bedrolls in alcoves. Later that day the Chantry would be completely empty, save for one or two lay sisters. Honestly, he couldn't wait for the small little village to be as sleepy as it was when he arrived a few weeks ago.

Pushing open the council chamber door, he paused as he spotted the ambassador, Lady Josephine Montilyet chatting to a dwarf by her office. The dwarf in question had dark skin and a stamp of the Carta on her cheek, along with a strange pair of spectacles on her head. She caught him staring and nodded to the ambassador, taking her leave.

Josephine Montilyet looked after the dwarf before approaching Cullen with a sigh. "I had hoped nobody would see that," she admitted.

"What are the Carta doing here?" he asked, holding the door open for her.

The Antivan woman sighed again, tapping her quill on her ledger. "It's… complicated Commander. The Carta and the dwarves in general have shown a great interest in the Conclave, knowing that decisions made could and probably will affect them."

"And they're working with the Chantry?"

"Not precisely," Josephine said, avoiding his gaze. "If things turn sour, we may need a separate source of lyrium for any recruits who may wish to potentially join us."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Even hearing the word 'lyrium' sent a small shock through him, like someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water all over him. He hoped the ambassador did not notice. Instead he cleared his throat.

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

She nodded. "Let us hope."

They worked in silence until Leliana joined them a little later and shared some reports with them. Cassandra appeared an hour or so after with a book clutched to her chest.

"The Divine is heading up to the Temple now," she announced. "Although the talks don't start until this afternoon, she wants to be one of the first there."

Cullen looked between Cassandra and Leliana. "And you're to remain here?"

"We'll go up later today, once most of the mages and Templars have arrived," Leliana explained.

"Has the Divine already left? I can send some of my recruits with her as an honour guard."

"No need," Leliana interjected before Cassandra could reply. "Some of my agents are with her now, but dressed as soldiers."

Cullen bristled at not being informed but let it slide and simply nodded. Leliana had been used to working solo, using her own initiative and making her own plans without the need of discussion before. He exchanged a look with Josephine who raised a brow, and appeared to be thinking the same thing. In order for them to work together, they couldn't keep each other in the dark, despite their different roles.

Around noon, they took a break for lunch, and with a bunch of reports in his hands, Cullen headed through the village and back towards his tent. He took the longer path back to ensure he avoided the tavern, which would no doubt be overflowing with patrons seeking a bite to eat and drink before heading up to the Temple. He wound his way through the growing crowds and finally saw his tent, but his path was blocked by his second-in-command, Rylen.

"Ah Cullen, been looking for you," he said, his Starkhaven accent so strong, Cullen had to repeat the sentence over in his mind before he could answer.

"Well I'm here; what is it?" Cullen asked, glancing impatiently at his tent and the solitude it will no doubt offer away from the crowds that swarmed around him.

"Message from Harritt - he says your commission is ready...?"

Instantly his mood lifted and he made his way to the Blacksmithy, where the moustached smith welcomed him.

"Commander!" Harritt greeted. "Come, come…"

He guided Cullen to the workroom where a few assistants were busy finishing weapon requisitions. By Harritt's desk sat a large shield with the Inquisition insignia.

"Made from silverite and the same spec as Seeker Pentaghast's," Harritt explained, handing the shield to him. "Size has been tailored from the Templar shields, but the leather straps on the back make it much lighter and versatile."

Cullen took the shield in his hands and placed it on his left arm, fiddling with the straps. He held it up, then down, feeling the weight - it was certainly different than his old Templar issue, but it's not an unwelcome change.

"It's going to take some getting used to," he commented.

Harritt shrugged. "That's the truth. Here, try the sword"

He passed Cullen the long-sword who inspected it closely. For the first time ever, he would have a sword which was his own, not a standard issue. He held it aloft, feeling the balance and noted the same Inquisition insignia. Where as the shield felt new and heavy, the sword instantly felt right - a true extension of his arm. He could almost feel a rare smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

"A fine blade," Harritt stated and Cullen nodded.

"You've outdone yourself."

The blacksmith waved a hand. "It was nothing. To improve a Templar issue sword wasn't a difficult challenge - those old swords couldn't cut butter half the time."

Cullen stayed and politely chatted with the man for as long as was necessary, even though he was itching to be away from the swelling crowds and find a straw dummy to practice on with his new sword and shield. Finally, another customer arrived to see Harritt, and Cullen excused himself, strapping his shield to his back, noting how light and secure it felt, and sheathed his sword in the new scabbard at his hip and carefully rested his hand on the pommel, satisfied with the security that little nuance gave him.

He lifted his eyes to the training field, hoping to spot Rylen or someone else to perhaps train with until later that afternoon when he would make his way up to the Temple with the remainder of his men and women. But the throngs of people had grown considerably and Cullen was reminded of the bustling market square in Kirkwall's Hightown or-

"Oof!"

Somebody had collided with him but unfortunately for them, they had bounced off his armour and fallen to the ground. Initially angry, it was replaced by a wave of guilt when he saw that the person on the receiving end of his armour's ricochet was a young Chantry Sister.

"Forgive me, Sister," he apologised, holding out his hand to help her up. "I did not see you."

"Nor I you," she replied, brushing her robes down once she stood. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going. Well, I was trying to but there are so many people here and I can't find my sister - my real sister that is, not a Chantry Sister…" she trailed off and Cullen noted how young she was, perhaps around the same age as his youngest sister, Rosalie.

"I'm sorry, I'm babbling, aren't I?" she said, laughing nervously. "My mother always told me to slow down and not chat so much, but… um… yes anyway, sorry again…"

"Wait, Sister…?"

She paused and finally looked up at him. "Cecelia. Sister Cecelia."

"Sister Cecelia," he repeated, offering her a small smile. "You said you were looking for someone?"

Cecelia smiled nervously in return and Cullen had to wonder at her hesitance. That was until he saw her looking at his vambrace, where the flaming Templar insignia was engraved.

"Err, yes I was, I mean I am," she stammered. "My sister, my real sister."

"Alright, well let me help you find this 'real sister' of yours."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh! Oh no, you don't have to do that, Ser… umm…?"

"Cullen," he supplied. "And I'm the one that just knocked over a Chantry Sister - the least I can do to apologise for it is to help her," he said, hoping his attempts to ease her had worked.

"I… Well, thank you. I don't want to attend the conclave without her, especially as we come all this way together."

They started walking slowly towards the gates of Haven, going against the flow of people who were now heading out of the village to head to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He peered down at the young woman next to him and noted her buck teeth, her round face etched in apprehension as she scanned each person they passed. Truly, she was remarkably similar to how he imagined his younger sister who he hadn't seen in…

Maker, how many years? He thought, almost stopping in his tracks to count. But the peeling of the Chantry bells noting the mid-afternoon convinced him otherwise, and that he should probably make haste in helping Cecelia find her sister and then head on up to the conclave himself.

"Have you seen her?" he asked, also looking at the faces they passed, although not knowing the face of the person they were looking for.

Sister Cecelia slumped her shoulders. "No, she's not where I thought she would be."

Cullen rubbed his chin and then pointed to the tavern. "Perhaps she went to freshen up, or get some food?"

The Sister looked doubtful but nodded politely. "I suppose she could have…"

They made their way to The Singing Maiden and once inside it was surprisingly quiet, as most people had now made their way up the mountain to the conclave. Cullen pointed to the inn keep Flissa, and suggested Cecelia ask her. As she did, Cullen spotted a small group of recruits grinning and joking over a few tankards of ale.

He glared at them, knowing full well that they were under orders to prepare to depart. Soon, one of the soldier's sixth sense kicked in and she looked up, her face paling when she saw him staring at them with what he could imagine was a look of utter contempt. He didn't even need to say anything as the soldier stood abruptly, saluted to him, then hurried out, the other doing the exact same and following in her wake.

Satisfied, Cullen turned to see Cecelia next to him, looking wary. She had obviously seen the whole exchange.

"Any luck?" he asked, deciding to ignore her trepidation.

Another sign. "She may have seen her. She's usually good with faces, she was telling me, but it's been so busy that my sister could've passed through almost unseen."

"But she's not here now. Perhaps the Chantry?" he suggested. "She could very well be looking for you and when I was in the Chantry this morning, it was full of Sisters and Clerics."

"I suppose you're right," Cecelia eyed his vambraces again and then back at the empty table where the slacking soldiers had sat moments before. "But I mustn't take up any more of your time, Ser Cullen. I'm sure you have more important matters to attend to," she said. It was such a polite way of saying she didn't want his help or company anymore, that Cullen was sure that she must've come from some noble family. In his experience, only nobles skirted around the truth in such an ambiguously polite way.

He decided to ignore the slight. "I'm heading up to the Chantry anyway," he lied, thinking he could perhaps check in with Cassandra whilst he was up there.

Once again, Sister Cecelia's green eyes refused to meet his own and she nodded meekly. "Oh, sure, of course. You're very kind, Ser."

He knew it was insincere, but again she had been polite about it anyway. He was young, so he tried not to take offence.

During the short time they had been in the tavern, the village had emptied considerably. "You don't suppose your sister might've gone with everyone else?" he suggested.

A vicious shake of her head let loose a few strands of auburn hair fall from her hood. "She promised we would go together and my sister always keeps her promises," he replied in such a voice and tone that warranted no further discussion.

They walked the rest of the way in silence until Cecelia gasped: "There! By the doors! That's her, my sister!" she pointed.

Cullen followed her pointed finger and saw a tall woman, perhaps only an inch or so shorter than him, leaning against the stone by the Chantry doors. Her arms were folded across her chest and her ankles crossed in a very relaxed fashion. Her clothes were worn, her boots and breeches crusted with mud and slightly damp from what Cullen guessed was from trudging through the snow. Her face was tilted towards the low winter sun, a wry smile on her lips and her olive skin glowing. He wasn't sure why he found himself studying her so closely, but perhaps with everyone usually rushing around with no time to spare, to see someone look fairly relaxed despite it all was perhaps what he found most and usual, and perhaps it also helped that she was quite pleasing on the eye; what with her chestnut hair shining in the sun, her curiously long neck and -

Her eyes snapped to his - misty grey surrounded by dark, thick lashes. Her frank look almost left him breathless but then he saw the staff slung over her back and her eyes had rested on his Templar vambraces.

"Elsie! Elsie! Over here!" Sister Cecelia called from beside him, obviously unaware that her elder sister had already clocked him. The faint, wry smile that had touched her lips had all but disappeared and the look she was giving him now was so plain and expressionless that Cullen had to wonder if he had imagined it. Finally she looked at Cecelia.

"There you are," she said in a warm, almost melodic voice." I thought perhaps you had found Evelyn and gone up without me."

"Is Evelyn another sister you're looking for?" Cullen jokes aloud, but his smile faltered under Cecelia's sister's steely cool gaze, when she replied: "Yes, actually."

Cecelia looked between them and coughed. "Elsie, this is Ser Cullen - he was kind enough to help me look for you."

Cullen held out his hand to shake hers. "It's Commander Cullen, actually," he said lightly, trying to ease the strange tension between them. "It's nice to finally meet you, my lady."

Elsie looked down at his outstretched hand and then back to his face, making no move to shake it. Finally she said; "I was not aware that 'commander' was indeed a rank within the Templars," she said casually, examining her gloved fingertips. "But then I am merely a mage and not privy to the details of Templar hierarchy."

Cullen started at her with his mouth open. Not since he'd met a particular Champion of Kirkwall had someone spoken to him in such a… condescending way. He bit back a retort, refusing to take her bait.

"Ordinarily, you would be right," he ground out as calmly as he could. "But I am not a Templar anymore."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Indeed," she said. "I may not be part of a Circle anymore, but that doesn't stop me being a mage now, does it?"

He opened his mouth then quickly shut it, unusually at a loss for words. She has an excellent point, he thought to himself.

She took his silence as confirmation. "As I thought." Elsie kicked herself off the wall and wrapped an arm around her younger sister's shoulders. "Well, as enlightening as this has been, we really ought to be off. We're going to be late."

Sister Cecelia nodded and once again glanced between her elder sister and Cullen. "Thank you again for your help, Commander Cullen."

He inclined his head. "The least I could do," he replied, earning himself a glare from the mage. Cecelia noticed and decided to avoid another tense conversation, so steered herself out of her sister's grip and headed down the path, leaving Elsie no choice but to follow, without another word to him.

"A pleasure to meet you too, Lady Elsie," he said, loud enough for the mage to hear, but not for Sister Cecelia. Elsie paused in her step then continued without sparing him a backward glance - something that Cullen couldn't help but grin smugly about. He always loved having the last word.

Around two hours later, he and Cassandra rounded up any stragglers and began to make their way up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, bringing up the rear.

And then the sky exploded.

It's funny how one remembers the small details when the world is ending.

The smell of the air on a crisp spring morning. The taste of freshly picked summer strawberries. The sound of silence. The piercing look of those misty grey eyes.

Those very eyes that slid to meet Cullen's over the next wave of demons that spawned from the rift. He had little time to acknowledge her, as he swung his sword into the limb of a sprouting demon. It screeched in anger so he swung again, successfully decapitating it. After three solid days of fighting the blighted things, he had to bitterly admit that he was becoming well versed in how to kill the demons so once they were down, they stayed down.

Cullen was vaguely aware of Cassandra fighting beside him, her swordsmanship techniques similar to his own, so they made quite a deadly duo when working in unison against their common enemy. They ducked and slashed together and then he felt hot fire obscure his senses.

"Watch out Curly!" Varric Tethras called, and Cullen spun to see a looming terror demon grab his ankle and pull him down to the ground. He fell squarely on his chin, making his jaw jut. Groaning, he rolled onto his back, his grip on his sword still tight despite his fall. He swung it in an arch above him, but the demon dodged, and he barely made a mark on it and only seemed to antagonise it further.

There was a sudden wave of heat, and a roar of an inferno that made him blink and squint at the intensity around him. The fire avoided him, and instead channelled around him, like water around a rock in a river. Instead the intense flames licked up the demon, wrapping it in a blazing embrace. It perished above him and Cullen stared at the now empty space where the demon had leered over him moments ago and saw an outstretched hand. He looked up to see her - the mage from Haven - holding her gloved hand out to him, her eyes darting around to ensure no demons would attack them unaware.

He hesitated only for a moment but then grasped her wrist and let her help him to his feet. And in that moment that they touched, Cullen could feel an electric heat course through his veins. What terrified him was that he knew isn't wasn't just because of her magic. There was something more. But he had no time to process the peculiar feeling and sensation.

"You can thank me later," she muttered before spinning her staff in her other hand and channelling through it to hit another demon with a ball of fire that was approaching Cassandra a few feet away. Without a backwards glance, she cast a ward over him.

He pushed their encounter from his mind as another blasted wave of demons poured through the rift. This time he did not let his guard down and fought with renewed vigour. He realised that he felt stronger, possibly because of a rejuvenating spell she had cast. The irony of it was not lost on him.

"The rift is sealed! The conclave rift is sealed!" A soldier ran past, crying the words through the mountains, his face bright with joy, sharing the news with all who he passed. Those who heard him turned to one another and shared hugs and words of encouragement. For the first time since the explosion three days prior, people were starting to smile.

Cullen was crouched by an injured soldier when he finally saw the runner. He stood abruptly, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword out of habit.

"Soldier!" he called out. Reluctantly, the young man skidded to a halt before Cullen and saluted.

"Commander!" he panted, his eyes wide, but still smiling.

"Report," Cullen ordered.

"Yes Ser," the young man replied, composing himself. "It's true - I've come from the Temple myself - she - that is the mage prisoner - sealed the rift and slew the demon inside - with minimal casualties."

"And where is the prisoner now?"

"She collapsed when the rift was sealed: she used the magic on her hand - I saw it with my own eyes, Ser. It was incredible." He grinned from ear to ear, wanting to be the hero of the moment, to deliver the news to all. Cullen waited a moment, trying not to fall for the infectious joy of the soldier.

"The others who were there - are they injured?" Cullen finally asked, thinking of Cassandra and Varric.

"No Ser. Sister Leliana and Seeker Pentaghast are well and unscathed, and are personally carrying the stretcher of the Herald, who has not awoken."

"Herald?" he repeated, blinking.

"The Herald of Andraste, Ser - she saved us all by closing the rift, thanks to Andraste's blessing."

"Maker preserve us," Cullen mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "Very well, you're dismissed to… spread the news."

The soldier saluted and ran off before Cullen could change his mind.

The Herald who has not woken. Cullen repeated the messenger's words in his mind. A strange sensation washed over him, which he assumed was simply relief. Relief that this ordeal was over for the moment and that no more lives would be lost. And if she has saved us all, then she will surely become a martyr if she dies.

A pit opened in his gut at the thought of her dying, after all that. He shook his head and blamed his peculiar feelings on the withdrawal of lyrium or perhaps the anxiety of what would come next. Unsure, Cullen looked up - there was still a hole in the sky but the demons were no longer spawning and the Breach seemed stable. The worst was over, for the moment at least.

As Cullen stared into the open void, he quietly hoped that she would survive, this Herald of Andraste… Elsie.

Thanks for reading - I would love to hear your thoughts, so please do comment! :)