Cullen had stayed in the war room for the better part of the night. He'd both hoped to avoid directly encountering Amell, not entirely sure how to approach her yet, and needed to review his marching orders. He couldn't make a mistake now and lose any of the ground they'd made. The breach was stable but unpredictable. He couldn't risk the off chance it decided to rupture.
The ache of a headache halted his progress through the scattered reports before he could get to them all. It struck quicker than those before it and left him slightly dazed. They were getting worse fast, not good.
Frustration tore a growl from him, and a hand came down onto the table a bit too hard as he pushed himself away from it. Sleep wouldn't come for him any time soon, but it was useless to try and keep going now. Some early morning tea and a good stretch of exercise with the training dummies might help. He hoped it would.
Haven was almost dead silent as Cullen left the Chantry. Some early risers, or late nighters, stumbled around the camp, but most still slumbered. It made Cullen relax slightly. The fewer people to see his weakness, the better. He was their commander. Their strength. The last thing he needed or wanted was for them to lose faith. Their power was in their cohesion. To lose that would be to lose the inquisition. He couldn't risk it. At the moment, they were all he had.
The clash of a sword on leather caught his attention as Cullen passed out of the lower gates of Haven. At first, he was startled. He'd never been beaten to the range before. His nightmares were a pretty good wake-up alarm, and few could match his insomnia. Then his eyes came to rest on the small figure that the noises of practice came from. Once he saw who it was, he was no longer surprised. He should have expected it, really. Some strategist he was not to consider it.
Amell struck the training dummy with the larger of her two swords. An impressive-looking thing that had seen years of use but been carefully cared for. Cullen took the time to appraise her form, a habit he'd picked up from years of leadership.
She was a small woman, well built, but short. He noted that even though she showed promise, she was slightly off-balance in her stance, possibly the sword's fault. It was a bit longer than it should have been for her height. Her movements spoke of some training. Likely rushed, as she held the proper posture, but not the proper footing. The right press of a shield or swing of the blade would send her tumbling. It was a typical mistake he'd seen trainees make for years. It was something he could easily correct if she were willing.
He hesitated at the thought. Should he offer? He wasn't sure. She was a mage, something he had tried not to think about. Even if she wore a trainees garb and held a sword, she was still a mage. He'd managed to let go of most animosity over the years, but he still had a hard time when it came to letting one have a weapon around him.
Cullen shook the thoughts away. She was a hero. One who had joined their cause with little hesitation if you were to ignore Leliana dragging her around. She'd proven time, and again she was for the people. He couldn't say he fully agreed with her path, but there was little he could do about it.
The sounds of her sword tearing leather fell silent, and Cullen looked back at the small figure by the dummies.
She was standing on the balls of her feet, examining the scratches in the leather. It was an odd thing, and he couldn't help but be curious about the sight. What in the fade was she doing?
One thin finger was raised to poke a tear near the dummies left arm. She muttered something, too low to hear from his distance, and dragged her finger to a spot closer to the chest's middle. She tapped it once. Then did the same with the dummies head. Poking first at the eye socket, then dragging it down to the mouth. She had been conversing with herself the entire time. Finally, she took her sword up once more and began to strike at the new locations she'd pointed to.
He watched for a moment more, unsure if he wanted to offer his aid or walk away and forget he'd been watching her like a creep from the stairs. He had to admit; it was tempting to join her. Her magic aside, she was still as compelling as he remembered. Even if she had changed, there was something that called to him.
A loud tearing noise and a solid string of curses made Cullen jump. He'd lost focus on Amell, and when he regained it, he found her standing dumbfounded over the head of the now headless dummy. He furrowed his brow; he'd not thought her capable of enough strength. Then, with a sharp cry of frustration, Amell drew back her foot and punted the head hard enough to send it to the bank of the frozen lake. Cullen chuckled lightly as she huffed and stomped off after it.
Perhaps she hadn't changed that much at all.
Confidence made his feet take him forward. He was the commander now. A man responsible for the entire army that stood between everyone and the breach. He couldn't let one woman give him pause, mage or no. Besides, he needed to see what had her in such an agitated state. A rogue mage was dangerous. A rogue mage with as much power as her was apocalyptic. They already had one breach on their hands; they didn't need another.
"Amell," he called to her with as much authority as he could muster in direct contact with her.
She stopped, her head snapped up, and Cullen froze in his approach. Wide brown eyes looked at him with confusion and guilt. Well-formed lips, chapped by the cold and wear of weather, parted like an excuse was going to fall from them. A firm, and heart aching, reaction that was a perfect replica of a younger her. A reaction she gave every time he or another Templar had caught her in her mischief.
Amell took in a breath, closed her eyes, and shook her head. When she opened them again, it was like she was another person. Tired and cold and not entirely awake. It helped calm the thump of Cullen's heart. That was until she started to laugh.
"A-are you alright," He stammered out in confusion.
With a small sigh, Amell wiped her eyes and looked up at him, and nodded. She placed her sword in its sheath and laid it, along with the dummy's head, with a small satchel nearby before making her way closer to him.
"I'm sorry, Ser Cullen," she began and ran a hand through her somewhat windswept hair. "The way you said my name made me think Greagoir had come back from retirement to yell at me one last time."
"Maker, surely I haven't gotten to Greagoir levels yet."
It wasn't a bad thing. Greagoir has been a great Templar in his time, respectable. He'd been a man Cullen had resented for a time, thinking him blind to trust mages, but had come to understand in the years to follow. No, the comparison wasn't bad; Cullen didn't want Amell to picture him as she had Gregoir. A man who'd been like a stern father to many at the tower.
A mischievous smile flickered across Amell's lips. "Well, that and the look on your face. You have the same, 'I'm about to scold you,' face he always had." Her smile faltered, though, and she once again looked tired and nervous. "I am sorry about the dummy. It didn't deserve that."
"It'll give the trainees practice on repair," Cullen said. He didn't care about the dummy. "Might I ask why it received such a beating, though? I uh- saw some of your sparrings. It was a bit too impassioned for just practice."
A troubled look overtook Amell, and for a moment, Cullen thought she wouldn't answer. She let out a snort a few seconds later and shook her head.
"It's nothing more than my irritation at not being able to tell Liliana no. Trouble follows me; the last thing I want is to bring it here too."
It was now his turn to laugh. Maker, she wasn't serious, was she?
"You have a knack for finding trouble, but you are more good luck to those around you than bad. Imagine where I'd be if you hadn't shown up? For what it is worth, I feel a lot safer knowing you're here now, Amell."
She smiled then, "thank you, Cullen. I will try and think of it in that light."
An awkward silence fell between the two. Amell fidgety at how close he stood, and Cullen fidgety for the same reason.
"You uh- you are talented with the sword. Do you practice often?" A change of subject had to happen. She'd probably leave if he didn't. He wasn't quite ready to let her go now that he'd approached her.
"Yes, I took it up during the blight after I found an ancient elven discipline. I like to know I could use the sword without my magic, though. The discipline is all about bolstering physical strength, so the more I practice without magic, the better I am with it." Amell's eyes lit up as she grasped the change in subject with enthusiasm.
"Would you um- like to spar? You don't have to! I, you know, wanted to offer. I can help correct your footwork. Not that it's bad, it could just um- be a little better." The jumble of words was rushed as Cullen made himself extend the offer.
"I would like that; it has been some time since I faced a human opponent. Dark spawn fight with little tactic." Amell gave him a gentle smile and retrieved her sword. "I promise I'll go easier on you than I did the dummy."
Cullen laughed and returned her smile. "And I thank you for it."