"An-dah-ren." Josephine's soft voice barely made it through the door. "An-deh-ran."

The ambassador groaned, whispering a few swift curses that would have made a dock worker blush. Cullen smiled. It was good to know even her patience had its limits.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but over the past few days he'd grown tired of being left in the dark. He knew the Herald was back in Haven. He knew her broken nose wasn't a demon's doing. From Varric he'd managed to find out Ellaria hadn't even gone within a hundred feet of a demon. Solas had given him a more ominous answer. She summoned the Rift. He'd muttered, as if that explained everything. Then he'd locked himself inside his cabin, coming out only once to put in a request for various books on magic and portals. Cassandra had devoted herself entirely to her training, and Leliana…

Leliana was busy doing something, he imagined. He had no doubt she knew what had happened in Redcliffe, but he also knew better than to press her for answers. Her mood had only grown worse over the last few days.

"Josephine? It's me, Cullen."

"Cullen?" A book slammed shut and a few seconds later, she was in the doorway. Dark hair was strewn across her face and her chocolate skin glistened; it took a lot of focus to keep his thoughts professional.

"Hey." He swallowed. "Mind if I come in?"

"Not at all." She shifted to let him in. A blast of warmth enveloped him as he stepped inside, bringing with it the scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Candles lit up every corner of the room, even perched precariously close to bookshelves and papers. The walls were decorated with heraldry, some of which he recognized. There was the sigil of Redcliffe, a gray tower resting atop a red hill. The green gates of the South Reach, where his family moved to after the Blight. And of course, in the center of the display was the blue-green wreath of House Cousland. As Cullen slid into the seat that didn't smell so strongly of Josephine's perfume, he spotted a book hastily stuffed underneath a stack of papers.

"Tea?"

"I'd love that. Thank you, Ambassador."

"How do you like it?"

"I'd like it in its liquid form, please."

She rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Orlesian it is then."She put a kettle on the fire and knelt beside it to stoke the flames.

"I saw a Marquis come in here the other day." Cullen remarked, hoping he didn't sound too nosy. "Must have gotten lost on his way to a ball, the way he was dressed."

Josephine giggled, something she only ever did in front of him. If she did that a bit more often, I wonder what people would do for her. At the very least, Kingdoms would change hands just to keep her laughing.

"And some think the Herald is dressed inappropriately." She sighed. "No, unfortunately even the Marquis doesn't have time for a ball."

"Now you know the world is truly ending."

"Not if our Herald has anything to say about it." She turned her back to him to search for ingredients. Cullen took his chance, leaning over to yank the book out from its hiding place.

The Dalish- Language, History and Traditions. The words were written in glittering gold, but the rest of the book looked ready to fall apart at any second. A closer inspection revealed that many of its pages were loose of their binding; he carefully pried the book open and landed on a random page. A surprisingly detailed and labelled drawing of a Halla looked up at him.

"It was a gift." Cullen jumped, and the book fell out of his hands. He scooped it back up and gave it a quick once-over. It was sturdier than it looked. He offered it to Josephine and received his tea in return.

"Thank you." He raised the cup in her direction before taking a sip.

"Minaeve gave it to me."

"I thought the Dalish didn't write down their history?"

"They don't." She seemed surprised by his question. "But this book was written by a human."

"Must be rare then."

"Very. Minaeve said there was only one copy in her Circle's library." She ran a finger across the cover. "It will be very helpful for learning Dalish customs."

"I don't think pronunciation was the problem with the Herald, Josephine."

The Ambassador's eyes narrowed.

"You were listening."

"I didn't mean to."

"But you were. In Antiva you could be executed for that."

Cullen stared at her, unsure what to make of that. The corner of her lips twitched ever so slightly upwards. Then she laughed, and the tension in the room disappeared in an instant.

"The Herald's back in Haven." He leaned back and took a sip of his tea. It was bitter, with only a faint hint of sweetness to make it drinkable. He managed to swallow most of it without throwing up.

"I know. She's had a rough time."

"We've all had a rough time." He blurted out, suddenly angry. Why did everyone have to tiptoe around her? "I know plenty of soldiers who'd give their lives up in an instant if it meant closing the Rifts."

"It's a lot to ask from someone, Cullen. Nobody should be forced to take on such a responsibility." Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose and swallowed her tea in one gulp. "Atleast your soldiers would have a choice. She didn't get one."

"We're not asking her to go die. We're not asking her to do everything alone. She just won't ask for help."

A sad smile appeared on Josephine's lips.

"Cullen, I spend my hours in here, arguing and pleading and begging nobles to give us just one extra solider or two more bags of rice. I don't want to have to argue with you too." Cullen opened his mouth to speak but she shushed him with a raised hand. "Just think about this. How have you really tried to help her?"

"She won't give me a chance! You've seen what she's like."

"Alright then." Josephine pulled open a drawer and handed him a letter. "Here's your chance."

"What's this?"

"A letter, for the Inquisitor. It's from her clan." Despite her best attempt, Josephine couldn't hide her excitement. Not from him. "They sent us a Hart."

"A heart?" Cullen's stomach churned at the thought. Josephine frowned.

"A hart. Like a deer, only larger."

"Really?" He glanced at the letter. "That's quite the gift."

"I've asked the stablehands to keep it in the woods for now. It's meant to be a surprise."

Cullen's heart sank.

"And you want me to deliver it."

"Cullen." He was already turning away. "Cullen, listen. You said you were willing to help her."

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Josephine. I'm not the right person for this." He weighed the letter in his hand. "I'll hand this off to Solas or Varric."

"I know you're a compassionate man, Cullen. No matter how much you try to pretend otherwise, I know you care for her."

"You don't know, Ambassador." He smirked. "I don't even think she knows my name."

"Be sure to tell it to her when you give her this letter."

"Have you read it?"

She recoiled.

"It's a letter for the Inquisitor. Of course I haven't read it." She tapped on the unbroken seal. "It's for her eyes only."

"I'll be sure to let Solas know."

"Cullen…"

"I'm not doing it, Josephine."

He was doing it. It wasn't his fault, really. Andraste and the Maker had come together to conspire against him. It started with the small crowd gathered around the forge.

Another fight. Having former Templars and former Circle mages inside the same walls was a mistake, one he'd repeatedly asked Leliana to fix. There was plenty of space outside the walls, and he knew from experience that a leaking fur tent would still be a step up from most Templar barracks. But the Spymaster insisted on keeping the former enemies together within the walls, while the regular soldiers camped outside. Keep friends close and enemies closer. She'd answer cryptically, whenever he brought the issue up.

Shoving his way past the onlookers, he reached the front of the crowd fully expecting to see blood already in the snow. What he found was the Herald of Andraste, kneeling in front of the forge. A thin sheen of sweat covered her body as she worked, droplets flying with every strike of the hammer. The blacksmith and his apprentice watched from a few feet away.

"What's going on here?"

The blacksmith didn't even turn to acknowledge him. The apprentice was the one to speak up.

"The Herald asked us for materials and the forge."

"And you just gave it to her?" Cullen couldn't decide who annoyed him more. The Herald, who seemed to think she could do whatever she wanted, or the Blacksmith for letting her.

"She's the Herald." The blacksmith answered, as if that answered everything.

"Out of my way." He moved towards the Herald, knowing he wanted to say something but unsure of what it was. His hand went to the letter in his pocket.

"I need a hammer." Cullen blinked and the Herald was in front of him, green eyes meeting his. Her bandages were gone, revealing a deep, purple cut running across the bridge of her nose.

"What?" He took a step back as she reached past him, picking a tool off the bench he'd been blocking. "What are you making?"

"A bow." She answered curtly. On the anvil in front of her was a bow frame, along with a few nails and an assortment of bowstrings. Wood shavings littered the floor, along with snapped strings and bent nails.

"Is there any reason you needed the whole forge to make your bow?"

The tips of Ellaria's ears turned pink. She didn't look away from the anvil when she spoke.

"I just asked for strings." She muttered. "Not the forge."

"Then is it alright if I tell the Blacksmith to get back to work?" Cullen attempted a smile. "He's not due for a break until next week."

She snorted and gave him a small wave, never looking away from her work. He was going to take that as a yes.

A chorus of gasps broke out from the Herald's audience.

"What is that!"

"It's a deer!"

"It's too big to be a deer."

Without looking behind, Cullen knew the trap had been set. He'd underestimated Josephine. Ellaria put down her tools and rose to her feet, mouth open. And when Cullen finally turned around, his jaw dropped too.

Whatever his expectations had been, they hadn't come anywhere near describing the creature making its way towards them. For one, it was as large as his horse. When Josephine had told him about the Hart, he'd already started to picture it in his head. A bizarre cross between a horse and a deer, about as tall as a pony. He imagined it would be the perfect fit for the Herald, who would need a boost up to ride even the smallest of their horses. But even he would have trouble trying to get on this creature's back.

The Hart snorted and pulled at the reins, its swaying antlers dispersing the crowd with ease. A tuft of pale fur covered its nose and throat, juxtaposed against the deep red of its coat. People hung back and watched as the Hart was marched right up to the Herald.

"It's for you." Cullen confirmed, as the elf stepped forward to take the reins. Her eyes met his for a second, then they returned to the Hart. He held his breath as the Herald reached out, her arm trembling. She let out a small gasp when the Hart leaned forward and her hand brushed against the fur on its nose. The surprise quickly turned to giddy excitement, lighting up every inch of the Herald's face. She moved over to the Hart's flank then paused. The creatures back was a few inches above her head. With no saddle and stirrups, there was no way she was getting on there.

"I'll help you up."

She gave him a nod and allowed him to hoist her up by the waist; Cullen saw a flash of fear flit across her face when he let go, leaving her to balance herself on the Hart's back. She latched onto its neck, whispering softly. Her bare feet dug into its flank, and it took a cautious step forward.

The crowd cheered and clapped, and Cullen had to admit it was an impressive sight. Their Herald, perched atop a majestic creature of the forest, looked proud and regal. He'd never admit it to Josephine, but he was glad he hadn't missed the display. Once news of this hit the taverns, morale would skyrocket.

Ellaria raised a shaky hand to wave, putting on a brave face. Her other hand dug deep into the Hart's mane, keeping her steady. She could feel its powerful muscles coiling under her, hooves skittering in the snow. It wanted to be free, to run back to the forests where it belonged. Ellaria felt a swell of sorrow rise in her heart.

"We'll both see our forests soon enough." She whispered, readying herself. The gates of Haven were wide open. Her heart beat as one with her mount. They both wanted the same thing. Freedom. She dug her knees into the Hart's flank and wrapped her arms around its neck. Take us home.

The Hart reared up, hooves flying in all directions. Ellaria's eyes went wide as the creature began to buck and kick. She held on for dear life as the Hart began to rampage through the crowd. As people dove for cover, Cullen rushed forward to drag Ellaria off the mount. A near-miss from a wild hoof forced him to keep his distance, and he watched in horror as the elf lost her grip on its neck and crashed to the ground. The Hart cantered away without a thought for its fallen rider. The Herald lay unmoving in the mud.

To his great relief, the elf was fine. She was breathing hard and staring up at the sky, but as far as he could tell she wasn't injured. As the crowd's murmurs rose to a low roar, Cullen decided it was time to get her out of here. He knelt to pick her up.

"Get away!" Ellaria screamed. She slapped his hand away before swiping at the tears running down her cheek.

"Let me help you up." Cullen insisted. He took a snowball to the face for his persistence, the foul-smelling combination of mud and ice slid down his cheek to soak into his clothes. The Herald clambered to her feet, shoved him back into the snow, then headed off towards Solas' cabin.

A few soldiers broke free of the crowd to help him up, wiping the dirt and snow off his Commander's insignia.

"Crazy elf."

"We're doomed, aren't we?"

"We're not doomed." Cullen's voice cut above the rest. "As long as we have her and the Maker by our side, we'll be fine."

His words sounded empty; they felt empty. He could see his own men already shaking their heads. They'd just seen the Herald fall off her mount, then sling mud like a little child. If their hopes rested in her hands, then they might as well not have hope at all. Cullen had a feeling the atmosphere in the tavern tonight would be far grimmer than he'd hoped.

His fingers found the letter in his pocket. I know you're a compassionate man, Cullen.

You don't know the half of it, Josephine.

He found the Herald outside Solas' cabin, teeth chattering and arms trembling. He was carrying her fur coat, the one she'd tossed aside in favor of the forge's heat. He held it out towards her, leaning back to make sure his jugular was out of biting range. She snatched the coat out of his hands only to toss it into the snow. Her hands were still shaking, although Cullen couldn't tell if it was from the cold or if she was seething with rage.

"I'm sorry that happened." He offered. What else could he say?

We don't have time for this. Stop acting like a child.

"Go." She turned away from him, casting a sidelong glance at Solas' door.

"I need you to focus a little, Ellaria." She was gazing up at the sky, pointedly ignoring him. "Whatever happened in Redcliffe, you can't let it stop you. The future of humans and elves rests in the palm of your hand."

Green lightning crackled briefly on her palm. She spun around and he could almost see the same lightning flashing in her green eyes. There was hate there, but also something more. Fear? Hopelessness?

"Back off, shem." She spat. Her hands were curling into fists and yet she looked more vulnerable than ever. She swiped angrily at her leaking nose, irritating it into a deeper shade of red. A fresh batch of tears threatened to spill onto her cheek.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen spotted a weapon stand. An idea popped into his head. Sure, he couldn't do anything to relieve the mounting burden on her shoulders. But he could do what he was trained to do.

He backed away from Ellaria, who watched him through narrowed eyes. The swords on the stand were well-worn from over-use. Chipped blades and bent grips; these were the forge rejects that even the new recruits avoided. He finally settled on a short blade that was in better condition than most. He headed back to where the Herald stood, her teeth still chattering, and tossed the sword on the ground. Then he took up his position, five feet away from her. Ellaria's eyes went from the sword on the ground to him, then back to the sword.

"Make me." Cullen unsheathed his sword and levelled it at her.

The Herald glanced at the sword again. Something clicked inside her, and she scooped the weapon off the ground. She held it in a shaky, two-handed grip, her face contorted by anger and frustration. When she stepped towards him, there was a murderous glint in her eyes.

Her first swing was wild, a vertical slash that would have missed him entirely. Cullen parried it anyways and allowed her momentum to carry her to the ground. She rose immediately, sword raised. Her next swing was better, a horizontal strike aimed at his head. It was a vicious attack, one that no reasonable training partner would try when using real swords. But Cullen was expecting it, and Ellaria hit the snow for a second time. Once again, she was up and swinging in moments.

Cullen deflected a jab aimed at his heart and parried a sideways cut that came dangerously close to his jugular. After dodging a few swings, he sent her tumbling to the ground again. And after every tumble, she got back up more determined than ever. He focused entirely on survival, using years of instinct to predict and disarm her attacks. They'd both lost track of time, and the sun was well on its way to the horizon by the time Ellaria showed signs of slowing down. After she hit the ground for the twenty-fifth time, the sword clattered out of her hands.

Cullen clutched his knees, breathing hard. The Herald's chest heaved and her eyes fluttered, but she seemed perfectly comfortable with her bed in the snow. Her sword lay beside her, now looking just as abused as the other training weapons.

"It's…" He took in a deep breath. "It's harder than it looks, isn't it?"

The elf met his eye, and he was relieved to see she was smiling. It was a subtle smile; one she probably wasn't even aware of.

"If I had my bow…" She panted "you'd be dead."

"You nearly killed me with your sword." He chuckled in between breaths. "I'm sure I wouldn't have stood a chance against your bow."

Whether she detected the flattery or not, Ellaria seemed satisfied by his answer. She rose to her knees, wiping snow off her stomach. The exercise had left her feeling warm, but as the sun sank lower the cold would begin to seep in. Cullen stepped in to offer her the fur coat again.

"Thanks." She muttered, after a short pause. She pulled the coat tight around her body.

"You're welcome." Cullen shrugged. "If you'd like to train again, just let me know."

"Tomorrow?" Her response came faster than he'd expected. "In the morning."

"Sure. On one condition."

Ellaria cocked her head to one side, waiting.

"You have to stop trying to kill me."

Her awkward half-smile sent his heart racing again. She nodded.

"I'll try."

"You'd better. Or else you'll be fighting practice dummies."

The Herald nodded again. She offered him a small wave before turning to leave.

The letter.

"Wait!" The elf froze in her tracks and turned back towards him. "I have something for you."

Her eyebrow rose as he approached her. It rose even further when he handed her the letter.

"It's for you. From your Keeper."

All traces of weariness disappeared as her face lit up with excitement. She tore open the envelope and clutched the paper tightly, as if she was afraid he'd try and snatch it away from her. Cullen wondered if he was being rude; he turned to give her some privacy.

The first strums of music were filtering out of the tavern, signaling the start of the evening. Soldiers would be packing the tables soon, eager to discuss the events of the day. Ellaria's fall would be on the tip of everyone's tongue by tomorrow. The fall itself wasn't news; it could have happened to anyone. He knew plenty of experienced riders who wouldn't have gone anywhere near the Hart. What was important was who had fallen. Faith in the Herald had been waning even before she'd come back with a broken nose. Rumors about how she was afraid of demons or that she might not even have any powers were already circulating. To many, the elf Herald falling off her elven mount would be a clear sign of the Maker's disfavor. If something didn't change soon…

A gentle tug on his arm pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned to find Ellaria standing in front of him, letter in hand.

"You want me to have it?" Cullen asked, wishing he could see her face. The Herald was staring at her feet, shuffling from side-to-side. She shook her head.

"Then read it. It's from your clan."

She shook her head harder and thrust the letter into his hands. Remembering Josephine's words, he was careful not to look at it.

"This is for you." He insisted, trying to hand it back to her. "Take it."

"R-Read it." She whispered. Cullen had to lean close to hear her.

"I can't-" The truth dawned on him, late as usual. "You can't read."

Ellaria kept her face hidden but the tips of her ears went bright red. He knew the Dalish didn't write things down very often, but he'd never considered she wouldn't know how to read.

"You sure?"

She nodded. He took a deep breath and cracked open the parchment, peeking at its contents from arm's length as if they might explode at any moment.

Dearest Ellaria,

My heart sings with joy to know you are safe and among friends. I pray everyday that Mythal will keep you safe during your journey. I fear I might make you homesick by telling you this, but Adhlea has given birth to a young faun. Many in the Clan wanted to name it after you but the Hahren, who always knows your heart best, has asked that we wait for your return.

As proud as I am that a daughter of my clan has been given such an important task, I also weep that I cannot share your burden. You have been asked to do something that must seem far beyond you; I ask you to remember your namesake, who was asked to do the same during the Blight. Though I would never have wished such a responsibility on you, I also know that it couldn't have fallen into more capable hands. Know that the prayers and wishes of Clan Lavellan are with you.

By the time Cullen finished, Ellaria was grinning from ear to ear.

"Thank you." Her smile chased away the evening chill. Before he could give her back the letter, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. Cullen froze, his stupid heart beating faster than it had in years. Her hair smelled like jasmine and smoke.

"T-There's more written here." He mumbled, after she'd pulled away. He swallowed hard, hoping he still remembered how to speak.

She's just like-

No. Focus.

To Madame Josephine.

I've also sent a gift with your Inquisition messengers, as a token of friendship. This Hart was found roaming in the Brecilian forest. Like Ellaria, it is a wild creature that is not easily tamed. I have no doubt that she will have use for a mount, and this creature will serve her well, in time.

I must also request that you have someone read this letter out loud to Ellaria, as she cannot read.

Regards,

Keeper Istimaethoriel

Although Ellaria's face fell briefly when the letter mentioned the Hart, her grin had returned before he'd finished reading. When he handed her the letter, she plucked it gingerly out of his hands and tucked it away inside her coat. She opened her mouth, then hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Cullen, right? Your name?" She pronounced it Cah-len, her tongue having trouble with the unfamiliar word. She couldn't have heard the name more than once, and yet she'd managed to remember it was his.

"Yeah."

"Thank you. I owe you."

He knelt on the ground and nodded in response.

Big mistake. Cullen grinned as the Herald turned her back on him.

"Hey Ellaria!" He cried. The Herald whirled around just in time to catch a fistful of snow to the face. She cried out in surprise, stumbling backwards until she tripped over a snowbank and crashed to the ground again. Cullen couldn't help but laugh at the look of shock and indignation she gave him.

"Now, Herald." He shouted while backing away. "Now we're even."