Bait and Switch
Cullen ducks, dodging aside as Blackwall's practice sword whistles over his head. His own waster jabs up sharply and Blackwall scurries back, faster on his feet than one might expect for a man his size. They pause, studying each other as they settle into guard positions.
It is hot in the sun today, so Cullen had forgone his heavy plate armour, wearing only a loose shirt instead. Even so, he is flushed with exertion and he blows up into his face to dislodge the hair that sticks uncomfortably to his brow. Four days it has been since Cassandra left with the Scouts. Four long, agonising days of trying to keep his mind busy and his body exhausted, else he would not get a wink of sleep at night; lying in the dark with all the worst images his mind can conjure.
"You're keen for more punishment." Bull had said when he'd approached him for another round of sparring on the second day.
"Just trying to keep sharp." Cullen had lied, unable to share with him the real reason for his agitation. Blackwall had joined them on the third day, always ready for a sword match.
"Honestly getting a bit restless with no demons to fight." The former Chevalier had grumbled.
"Hrrrn, thought our Lady Ambassador was keeping you busy, Rainier?" Bull needled and Blackwall bristled.
"I'll ask you to keep a civil tongue when you talk about Josephine," he warned the Qunari and Bull chortled.
"He's all yours, Commander." Bull waved his hands dismissively as he bowed out of their planned match. "You've both got some issues to work out."
Now Blackwall comes at him again, feinting at his neck and their swords clash as Cullen anticipates the sudden thrust down toward his thigh.
"There's a very pretty girl in the kitchens who'd be happy to spar with you too, Commander." Bull suggests, looking quite comfortable as he lounges on the grass in the shade. Cullen grits his teeth and ignores Bull's taunts. The last thing Cullen is looking for is an ill-advised dalliance with some girl infatuated with his rank.
It is not just the heat of the day or the physical exertion that makes Cullen flushed. A small posse of spectators has gathered together, watching from a discreet distance. They whisper and giggle amongst themselves as the warriors spar. Their attention is embarrassment enough, without Bull's crude barbs. Cullen has had to spend far too much of his precious time at Skyhold actively discouraging the attentions of the female population and now Bull was riling them up again.
"No?" Bull asks, as Blackwall and Cullen dance around each other, exchanging a flurry of blows. "Thought you had a bit of a thing for them pointy ears," Bull prods. The mercenary liked to make a show of being a big oaf, but he was too damn perceptive for Cullen's liking. It is as incisive a blow as the taunt at Blackwall about Josephine. Cullen's body tenses with anger and indignation, his focus thrown.
Blackwall sees the opportunity as he parries, closing in past Cullen's guard. He wraps his free arm around Cullen's, locking his sword and kicks Cullen's heels out from under him. Cullen hits the ground hard, the air blasting out of his lungs on impact.
"Where's your head today, Commander?" Blackwall chides, panting as he helps Cullen back to his feet. Cullen leans on his waster and waves away Blackwall's concern. Blackwall steps out of the training circle to join Bull in the shade.
"Your turn, Bull. These old bones need a rest." The gruff warrior plonks down on the grass beside Bull, wiping the sweat from his brow. Bull offers him a drink from the tankard he has been nursing and Blackwall waves it away; face contorting at the acrid smell of it. Cullen straightens with a groan, his body protesting the torture he is putting it through.
He hobbles to a nearby rain barrel and dips a bucket inside, scooping up the water. He upends it over his head, the cool water providing sweet relief as it splashes over his face and neck, trickling down his torso. Cullen flicks the water from his hair and wipes his face with the hem of his shirt. Ignoring the twittering gasps from his audience, he rubs his hands against his trousers, trying to dry the slick mix of water and sweat. Cullen readies his practice blade as he steps back into the training circle and waves Bull over.
"Nah, I'm exhausted just looking at you." Bull remarks. "Gotta be a better way to work your stress out, Cullen. Or is that not a form of beating the Chantry approves of?"
"Ugh, Maker give me strength." Cullen mutters in quiet exasperation. Bull snickers and turns to Blackwall.
"What's the Warden- sorry, my mistake… the Chevalier stance on polishing your blade?"
"Nothing worse than a rusty blade." Blackwall retorts, earning a hearty guffaw from Bull. A commotion begins at the Main Gate and the three seasoned fighters start, their senses honed to anticipate trouble.
"The Scouts have returned." They hear a guardsman remark, watching from the overlook near the Inn. Bull and Blackwall relax when they realise there is no immediate threat but Cullen turns, haphazardly tossing his practice blade onto the arms rack.
"To the Kitchens!" Bull hollers after him, as Cullen strides down the stairs toward the main courtyard.
A crowd is growing, watching the Scouts' return with interest. They chatter amongst themselves, speculating as to what has been brought back in the wagon parked beneath the far wall. Harding dismisses her team as Cullen reaches the bottom of the stairs and they peel away, seeking well earned rest. One of the scouts brushes past him, bounding up the stairs toward the Keep. Harding joins Cassandra, where the Seeker stands guard by the wagon. Cullen spies the ominous pile in the back of it, covered over with a sheet of burlap.
The whole world tilts and his vision narrows, tunnel-like focus closing in til all he can see is that ragged lump. All sound fades away as he rapidly approaches it, though he is not conscious of his legs moving.
Lani… Maker no… no, no. He hits a wall, a force is keeping him from her and he wrestles with the obstacle. He hears something, muffled and unintelligible, but it registers somewhere in his brain, bringing him back to his senses.
"It's not her." Cassandra is holding him at bay. "It's not her, Cullen." She repeats firmly and he blinks at her, slowly processing her words. He shudders, his relief overwhelming him as a strangled cry escapes his throat. Harding is watching him with wide-eyed shock and he covers his face with his hand, fighting to compose himself. Cassandra steps beside him, hiding him from the crowd that still stands gawking.
"Who?" Cullen grates out, his tremors slowly dissipating as he gets a grip on himself.
"I'm not sure who they are, I'm hoping Leliana or Josephine might be able to identify them." Cassandra squeezes his arm and steps away.
"Thank the Maker," he exhales.
"Everyone please, return to your business. Let's have some respect for the dead." Cassandra instructs the curious onlookers and they disperse slowly.
Dorian suddenly bursts from the Rotunda entrance and falters, paralysed on the walkway as he spies the wagon. The mage turns ashen, his eyes frantic and he raises his fist to his mouth, biting down to silence a cry of horror. Cassandra waves her arms to get his attention and she shakes her head - No. When Dorian sees her he clutches his chest and falls to his knees in relief. Cullen wonders if he looked that crushed mere moments ago and is relieved he isn't the only one making a spectacle of himself.
Josephine and Leliana have come down with Harding's messenger and approach the wagon. Their faces are grim as they stand beside the cart. Cassandra discreetly lifts the burlap so they can inspect the contents.
"Oh…" Josephine turns away quickly, overwhelmed by the sight of the broken corpses. A man and a woman from what Cullen can make out. The man appears to be missing his trousers and the rest of their clothes are torn - either by the mountain or animals he cannot say - but they look to have been quite fine. Leliana's face is neutral except for a single quirked eyebrow.
"Well, that solves that mystery," she muses. "Lord Valery and Marquise Lysette, their servants were trying to keep it quiet." Josephine gasps, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. "They assumed they ran off together for a brief dalliance and hoped they would return home in short order with no-one the wiser."
"How tragic," Josephine murmurs sadly.
"Maker's breath," Cullen exclaims. "What do we tell their families? Won't they blame us for allowing them to fall drunk from the parapets?"
"Not if they want to keep the affair quiet." Leliana nods toward the wagon. "Quite the scandal."
"The good news is, we found no evidence of the Inquisitor," Harding interjects.
"Yes, thank you, Harding. We appreciate your discretion in that regard. Can you find someone to prepare these remains to be returned to their families?" Leliana asks and Harding nods, departing.
"So, what's next?" Cullen asks.
"Perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere more private." Josephine suggests as she looks around the open Courtyard.
"I'm sorry but, I think people might suspect something is wrong after my… um…" Cullen didn't quite know how to describe his behaviour. Josephine and Leliana look at him curiously, questioning what exactly he means.
"It's alright Cullen, I can't imagine any of us not being equally devastated if we thought Lani were under here." Cullen knows Cassandra is trying to be kind, but he winces at her choice of words, deeply embarrassed.
"I doubt we will be able to keep it a secret for much longer in any case." Josephine allows. "Shall we then?" She sweeps her hand toward the Keep and the four of them make their way to the War Room.
Council Room, Cullen corrects himself, as Leliana insists they now refer to it. The war was over after all.