Chapter Six
Patience
"If I can't have you right now, I'll wait, dear."
—"Patience," Chris Cornell
Skyhold was a ruin. Walls were crumbling and ceilings had caved in, windows were broken, and birds nested in the rafters. But it was secure and dry (for the most part). Katerina felt safe for the first time since facing the Elder One and his dragon. Yes, they were still in tents until the masons could begin work, but that didn't matter.
Josephine had already secured supplies and masons to join them, leveraging her extensive contacts and Varric's connections to find people to repair the ancient fortress. A selection of clothes, tailored to fit her perfectly, had also appeared in the tent—a nice change from the leather armor and single night shirt she'd been wearing since awakening in her cottage in Haven. It seemed everyone of note had received similar gifts. It was a fresh start for the Inquisition, designed to give them the security they dearly needed and properly outfit them for the high-level meetings the future would hold.
She assumed everyone had received those same gifts, at any rate. She hadn't spoken alone with Cullen since they were interrupted in the mountains. He'd exchanged friendly nods during meetings with Cassandra and the other advisors, but he always found an excuse to avoid her after. She could only assume she'd made him uncomfortable, either with her teasing or with her vulnerability. It stung a little to realize that her attraction was one-sided despite his blushes and flustered fidgeting. How had she misread the situation so thoroughly? No matter, she had misread it and had made the man uncomfortable enough to avoid her. Knowing she'd done that to him smarted.
It was briefly put out of her mind when Cassandra waved her over to join them in the courtyard one afternoon after arriving. The repairs weren't yet underway on the exterior, but Katerina didn't care. She happily soaked it in as she made her way through all the activity to join the four leaders of their cause.
Cassandra stood at attention as she approached and the others peeled away, leaving the two women alone. It was strange—the mage couldn't shake the itch between her shoulders that something was amiss. Their knowing glances and secretive smiles didn't assuage her concerns.
"They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage." The Seeker jerked her chin to the surrounding them, watching the soldiers scurry about as they rushed to set up their new base before turning up the stairs to the upper courtyard. "If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated."
Katerina could only listen as the Seeker spoke, listening for any indication of what was going on. She kept pace with the taller woman, turning at the crest of the stairs to take in the magnificent wreckage that was their new home.
"But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you," Cassandra continued.
They were finally getting to it, it seemed. Maybe this was the part where Katerina was told she was a liability to everyone—if the Elder One could sense the anchor, or if he had the philter she'd had to leave behind in Ostwick to track her, it was only a matter of time before she led him here.
"He came for this." She held up her hand as it sparked and glowed, the burning pain now a constant hum. "And now it's useless to him, so he wants me dead. That's it."
"The anchor has power, but it's not why you're still standing here." The Seeker moved past the mage, leaving her to follow again. "Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are that creature's rival because of what you did. And we know it, all of us."
They began mounting the stairs to the main hall as Cassandra spoke only to find Leliana standing there with a highly decorated broadsword held before her. The mage frowned at the scene, uncertain what to make of it. Her stomach lurched as the sun glinted off the bright blade, her belly tightening when she noticed the crowd of onlookers gathering below.
"The Inquisition requires a leader," Cassandra was saying as she came to rest beside the fox-faced woman, hoisting the gleaming weapon with ease. "The one who has already been leading it. You."
Katerina stared down at the sea of faces watching her, their expressions hopeful and their lives in her hands. A few familiar faces were mixed in—Cullen and Josephine standing to the side with tiny smiles lighting their faces; Blackwall and Solas leaning in the shade to watch the spectacle, and the Chargers and Sera quiet under the eaves of the tavern. Her heart was racing, she realized absently as she watched these people watching her.
"It's unanimous?" she heard herself asking, turning to the two women beside her. "You all have that much confidence in me?"
"All of these people have their lives because of you," the warrior answered kindly. Even she was fighting a smile. "They will follow."
"That wasn't the question," she replied, shaking her head like that would wake her from this bizarre dream.
"I will not lie," Cassandra said, drawing herself up to her full height and gesturing towards the spymaster. "Handing this power to anyone is troubling, but I have to believe this is meant to be. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you lead: That must be yours to decide."
With a final glance as the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, pausing for any final objections or a chance to wake up, Katerina grasped the heavy sword. She examined it briefly, allowing herself to adjust to the weight of it—so unlike a mage's staff. A dragon twined about the hilt, its serpentine body cool to the touch.
"Corypheus will never let me live in peace. He made that clear." Half of her face was reflected in the polished blade, distorted and frowning back at her. "He intends to be a god, to rule over us all. Corypheus must be stopped."
"Wherever you lead us," Cassandra intoned as she and Leliana moved to flank the mage. "Have our people been told?"
"They have. And soon the world," Josephine called back through her bright smile.
"Commander, will they follow?" the Seeker shouted down to their general.
Instead of responding directly, Cullen wrenched himself away from the sight of the Herald looking proud and victorious, sword firmly in hand, to address the troops. He paced among them, crying, "Inquisition! Will you follow?"
There was no hesitation in their cries of support, fists flying skyward as they shouted their loyalty to the cause, to the Herald.
"Will you fight?" Cullen asked, his voice carrying over their shouts with a practiced ease.
The yells were louder this time, echoing about the stone walls surrounding them and startling a family of birds from their nest. His heart swelled to hear the soldiers' loyalty to her. They didn't know her, only that she could save them all—that she already had—and they loved her for it.
"Will we triumph?"
The cries were nearly deafening this time. Katerina was moved by their excitement and devotion. She wasn't sure she'd earned it, but tears pricked the corners of her eyes as the cheers reverberated around her.
"Your leader!" Cullen shouted over them all. When he turned to face her, his sword drawn and pointing her way, his face practically glowed with pride. "Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!"
The crowd went mad, cheering with everything they had and filling the mountains with their enthusiasm. Swallowing a watery chuckle, she thrust the decorative blade toward the sky, somehow pulling an even louder roar from the people surrounding her.
Even the two women by her sides were moved to share small smiles. She held the sword up as long as she could, though her arm trembled with the effort. Leliana noticed and quickly took it back with a nod and Cassandra easily sent everyone back to work with a renewed sense of purpose. Cullen and Josephine shared words with the soldiers below, nodding and smiling as they made their way up to join the other three.
"Congratulations, Inquisitor," Josephine said, embracing the mage and bussing her cheeks.
Then she was face to face with the general and he had nowhere to run. Cullen shot her a smile and stuck his hand out for her to shake. Her smaller hand nearly disappeared in his larger one and her heart skipped a beat or three at the touch. Why, oh why couldn't he look past her magic and simply see her?
"Inquisitor," he said in that warm voice, like he was sharing a secret or talking her clothes off. "Kat."
It was only a moment, but her pulse raced when he squeezed her hand tighter before releasing his hold. She shook herself free of those thoughts and turned to lead the way into the main hall. It was a mess. Piles of rubble lined the main hall, including a felled iron chandelier, and some areas were completely inaccessible. Dust motes danced in the sunlight filtering in through the filthy and broken windows. She could almost swear she heard a family of vermin scurrying about in the wreckage.
"So this is where it begins," Cullen breathed, circling to stare at the high ceiling. Some sections had caved in, letting in the sun and snow.
"It began in the courtyard," Leliana said, all seriousness. "This is where we turn that promise into action."
"But what do we do?" Josephine asked, ever pragmatic in her questions. The light of her candle bobbed along, doing little to pierce the dim hall. "We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark."
Katerina stopped in her tracks before the filthy stained-glass windows, staring at green sparking and spitting in her palm. What did she actually know about next steps and fighting would-be gods? Nothing. Nothing had prepared her for this. All she could do was ask for information and hope to make the right decision.
"Corypheus wants to restore Tevinter," she said at length, turning to face her advisors. It was odd to stand before them and know their positions had shifted just moments before. "Is this a prelude to war with the Imperium?"
"I get the feeling we're dealing with extremists, not the vanguard of a true invasion," Cullen told her, shaking his head in the weak light.
"Tevinter is not the Imperium of a thousand years ago," Josephine added. "What Corypheus yearns to 'restore' no longer exists… Though they would shed no tears if the south fell to chaos, I'm certain."
"Corypheus said he wanted to enter the Black City, that this would make him a god." Katerina shifted before them, forcing the memories of that night behind a steel door in her mind.
"He's willing to tear this world apart to reach the next. It won't matter if he's wrong," Leliana said, shaking her head. The words she left unsaid hung heavy in the air.
"What if he's not wrong?" Cullen asked, challenging the spymaster though not unkindly. "If he finds some other way into the Fade…"
"Then he gains the power he seeks or unleashes catastrophe on us all." The redhead shrugged as if to say, 'Catastrophe already walks among us; whether the Elder One speaks true matters not.'
"Could his dragon really be an Archdemon?" The thought sickened her and threatened to tear holes in her carefully constructed walls. "What would that mean?"
"It would mean the beginning of another Blight." The notion seemed to shake even the stoic Leliana. The fox-faced spymaster had lived through one Blight already, had fought to end it. It was easy to forget that sometimes with her crisp accent and stoic demeanor.
"We've seen no darkspawn other than Corypheus himself," Josephine said to soothe the obvious nerves of the other two women. "Perhaps it's not an Archdemon at all, but something different?"
"Whatever it is, it's dangerous," the general interjected, turning to meet the mage's gaze. "Commanding such a creature gives Corypheus an advantage we can't ignore."
There were no hard answers to be had, it seemed. She couldn't do anything without more. It bothered her how little they knew—not that it was anyone's fault. Katerina just hated being in the dark. If this were the Circle, she'd ensconce herself in the library and hunt through every tome and cross-reference every clue until she knew more about her subject than it did. But this wasn't the Circle, and she couldn't bury herself in books. She knew the answers existed, somewhere, and she needed to find them. Still, she made a mental note to research defensive measures that may work against a dragon.
"Someone out there must know something about Corypheus," she said, agitation coloring her voice. This was the real sticking point: Answers were out there somewhere, they simply had to be. She just didn't know where to start, and the whole rest of the world was the library she had to search through.
Cullen's frown cut her short as he shook his head. "Unless they saw him on the field, most will not believe he even exists."
"We do have one advantage," Leliana said with a sly glance between the general and the mage. It was unlike the Commander to use such a soft tone in a briefing, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. But that was for later. "We know what Corypheus intends to do next. In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated."
"Imagine the chaos her death would cause," the ambassador said, eyes wide as she pictured the consequences of such an act. "With his army…"
"An army he'll bolster with a massive force of demons, or so the future tells us," Cullen added, mouth tight at the thought of that coming to pass. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of Kat falling, their lone bulwark against that dark fate.
"Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas, god or no god," Josephine finished, moving to stand beside her friend.
The spymaster sighed, exchanging a loaded look with the Antivan. "I'd feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with."
"I know someone who can help with that." Heavy footsteps moved through the destitute hall towards the leaders of the Inquisition, interrupting their meeting. Varric's rough voice echoed about the stone walls as he neared. "Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend. She's crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he's doing. She can help."
"I'm always looking for new allies," Katerina said, ignoring Leliana's frown and the look she shared with the ambassador behind the mage's back. "Introduce us."
"Parading about might cause a fuss," Varric said, looking about for any eavesdroppers. "It's better for you to meet privately. On the battlements—I'll let you know when. Trust me, it's complicated."
Leliana and Josephine shared another loaded look as silence fell at the dwarf's departure. It was heavy in a way that the Inquisitor didn't fully understand. She was missing something and turned to her advisors for a hint.
"Well, then," Josephine said, scribbling notes on her little board. "We stand ready to move on both of their concerns."
"On your order, Inquisitor," the general added, shifting as her curiosity grew more palpable by the second.
"I know one thing," Leliana said in that cool, clipped way of hers. "If Varric has contacted who I think he has, Cassandra is going to kill him."
With a secretive smile and a series of shrugs, the advisors went on their way. They each had an endless list of tasks to see to, people to organize, and information to review. It was overwhelming to think that she would soon be the recipient of all that information, the decider. If anything went wrong from here on, it was on her.
One person hung back, hovering just behind her until the others had left. "Inquisitor, is it true?"
She flew around to face Josephine, her heart lodged in her throat and eyes wide. She hadn't noticed the other woman there. Katerina noted the frown marring the Antivan's delicate features just as the former bard noted the mage's too-wide eyes and clenched hands.
"Is what true?" Katerina asked, forcing herself to breathe evenly.
"Is the mark on your hand magic cast by Corypheus?"
"He claimed it was a spell gone wrong," she replied with a shrug. It was there now, and it seemed there was no removing it.
Josephine's face fell then, even her quill stilling with her disappointment. "I wanted to think it was a blessing, a sign the Maker was returning to his creation. How credulous of me."
Guilt flooded her at the other woman's self-chastisement, as if she could somehow save the Antivan's faith with a few kind words—a faith she didn't even share. But that didn't mean she had to be unkind. "Perhaps the Maker set these events in motion so long ago we can no longer see his hand in them."
"It would be fitting if that were true." She spoke slowly, but her quill spun once, signaling her rallying spirits. "Does it… hurt? The 'anchor,' that is?"
"Only when I laugh," Katerina deadpanned, inviting the ambassador to laugh. She didn't need to know about the flares of pain in the night or the constant thrumming burn in the mage's hand. She didn't need to know how closing rifts left lightning lancing through her nerves or the way her fingers went numb or twitched uncontrollably afterwards.
The joke was rewarded with a soft chuckle. "Very good, Inquisitor. I'll let you be on your way."
"Please let me know if there's anything you need from me," Katerina said before the ambassador turned for her office. A kind nod was the only response she received, and she quickly fled back out into the fresh air and afternoon sunshine.
The yard was busy with people unloading the supplies and the clack of practice swords, cries of direction and pain converging into a lively atmosphere. Scaffolding already covered the façade of the fortress while tents for the wounded were set up at safe distances from all the activity. It was a strange patchwork of activity, but the mood felt lighter than it had been in weeks.
She followed the stairs down, seeing that Cullen had set up his workspace in the heart of it all and already had messengers milling about for directives. It had been mere minutes since he left her in the hall, and he was already back at work. Shaking her head, Katerina slowly approached so as not to draw anyone's attention or interrupt.
"—need to know what's out there," he was saying as she drew closer.
Two of the scouts disappeared with a salute, though they were quickly replaced with another young man delivering his report. Cullen barked at him, sending the messenger fleeing as if he'd seen a ghost. Only when no one else swooped in to take his place, did Katerina dare approach.
The aide noticed her first, tapping the general's shoulder and alerting him to her presence. Cullen turned, drawing himself up to his full height as he faced her.
"We set up as best we could at Haven," he started as he gazed about at the people under his command. "But could never prepare for an Archdemon—or whatever it was. With some warning we might have…"
"Do you ever sleep?" she asked with a light chuckle, shaking her head at his red rimmed eyes.
"If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw," Cullen said, staring at his papers like she hadn't said anything. He forced himself to avoid looking at her, to avoid the huff of amusement he wanted to let out. He couldn't get close to her. He just… couldn't. "I wouldn't want to. We must be ready. Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor."
"How many were lost?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer. Her dreams were dark enough as it was. The shudder that ran down her spine did not go unnoticed.
"Most of our people made it here. It could have been worse." He rose to look at her again, noting the way her raven curls shone in the sun. He'd avoided her these last days, except for the meetings where he was certain not to be alone with her—even now his aide stood by, watching and hanging on to every word. "Morale was low but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor."
"Everyone has so much faith in my leadership—I just… I hope I'm ready," Katerina confessed, watching him as she chewed the inside of her lip.
It was an insecurity she so rarely let show that Cullen couldn't help softening towards her. He shifted closer then, folding his hands atop his sword hilt to stop himself from reaching out to hold her. There was something almost vulnerable in her manner then, something he wanted to protect from the world.
"You won't have to carry the Inquisition alone, although it must feel like it." He felt the aide's gaze on the back of his neck and forced himself to take a stauncher tone lest rumors begin to fly. "We needed a leader; you have proven yourself."
"Thank you, Cullen." He smiled at that, certain he'd never get used to hearing his name on her tongue. Katerina tore her gaze away, unable to look at him as the next words tumbled forth. "Our escape from Haven… it was close. I'm relieved that you—that so many made it out."
The slip didn't go unnoticed, nor did her clumsy recovery. She was nervous, he realized. She was nervous around him. He softened at that, though he stayed stock still. Any movement, he feared, would shatter the moment.
"As am I," he replied softly before dropping his gaze. The Inquisitor watched him, hoping for something more—he could sense the anticipation rolling off her in waves, but he couldn't do it. He just… couldn't.
It grew to be unbearable. Katerina regretted her slip, regretted exposing that sensitive nerve to the air. It stung more than she could say to watch him shutting her down before anything had even started. She turned away as the silence stretched between them, almost insurmountable. It was better to leave now and save what pride she had left—
He grabbed her wrist, turning her back towards him. His brow was furrowed and his eyes tight when he said, "You stayed behind. You could have… I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word."
"Cullen… I—did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?" She watched him from under her lashes as his touch seared through the leather of her shirt.
"No, I made few friends there, and my family is in Ferelden." He couldn't stop his rogue thumb from tracing the seam of the glove she wore to hide the mark. Was she really asking—?
"No one… special caught your interest?" Kat had to know, she needed to know if there was a chance he could reciprocate whatever this was or if she needed to sever her hopes now.
"Not in Kirkwall."
Hope blossomed in her body, a fluttering, giddy swarm of wings unleashed all at once to flood through her. He meant here—her. She knew it as surely as she knew the sky was blue. The heat in his amber eyes, the tilt of his head her way—it told her everything she needed to know. Whatever his reasons were for avoiding her these last days had nothing to do with a lack of interest. Maybe it was duty, maybe he was uncertain of her interest in him. But now she knew, and liquid heat rushed through her veins at the sheer possibility.
"Good." It was all she could say without giving away the quiet thrill she was failing to bottle up in her breast.
With that final, quiet word, he stepped away from her and began barking orders with a renewed zeal. It was a clear end to their conversation, but butterflies still swarmed in her stomach. The way he'd spoken to her, soft and fervent, the way he'd watched her so intently was enough to break her heart and leave her body thrumming. She liked the way he looked at her, enjoyed his rare touches and rarer smiles. She walked away from him then, confusion swirling with relief and an aching tenderness in her breast, to continue the exploration of her new home.
She quickly found herself in the tavern with Iron Bull, Varric, and Dorian. The trio called her over eagerly, shifting to make room for her at the bar. The Bull procured another flagon for her and poured a thick finger of some dark liquid from a half-empty bottle before him. Kat sniffed the stuff and reeled back wincing. It smelled foul, like pure alcohol and fruit left out on a hot summer's day.
"To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!" the Bull cried, raising his own glass in a toast.
The dwarf and the Tevinter raised their glasses in a cheer before downing their own glasses with a wince. Varric nearly wretched at the stuff, his features wrinkling as his tongue darted out like that would rid him of the taste. Dorian, for his part, sputtered a bit before setting his flagon down. The Inquisitor watched this with trepidation.
"What exactly am I supposed to be drinking?" she asked warily, peering down at the dark drink sloshing in her cup.
"Maraas-lok," Iron Bull said simply.
"What does that mean?"
"It means drink!" He pounded his cup to hers and downed the stuff.
Kat shrugged and followed suit. She immediately fell into a coughing fit as the stuff seared its way down her throat. Eyes bulging, it was all she could do not to topple off her stool.
"I know, right?" Bull clapped her on the back as she recovered. "Put some chest on your chest. That little gurgle right before it spat fire? And that roar. What I wouldn't give to roar like that! The way the ground shook when it landed, the smell of fires burning… Taarsidath-an halsaam."
Dorian leaned against the mage then, resting his head on her shoulder as the warrior talked. His fingers played with the ends of her curls, eyes rapt on the Bull. The way the horned man was talking was nearly reverent, fascinating the northern mage as the metal eye patch flashed in the low lighting of the pub.
"Tiny here is going to put me out of a job," Varric muttered, shaking his head.
"You know Qunari hold dragons sacred?" Bull cast a look at his drinking companions before staring back at his cup and fingering the neck of the bottle. "Well, as much as we hold anything sacred. Here, your turn."
He poured another draught for everyone, watching the Inquisitor in anticipation.
"That thing you just said… Taarsidath… You shouted it during the fight, too." Kat shook her head, already feeling lightheaded from the potent drink. "What does it mean?"
"Taarsidath-an halsaam?" The warrior sent her a wicked grin, though his gaze quickly slid to the man curled about her. "Closest translation would be, 'I will bring myself sexual pleasure later while thinking about this with great respect.'"
Kat snorted with laughter while Dorian buried his face in her shoulder to stifle his own guffaws. "You shouted that while it was breathing fire at us!"
"I know, right?" The Bull grunted and laughed at himself.
Even Varric was cackling with glee. "This is so going in my next book."
They clinked their flagons together before downing another round. It didn't burn as much, but that meant she could taste it—it was too sweet and too strong, like apples left sitting in the sun muddled with the illegal brews found in the woods of Ferelden. Still, she found herself coughing to disrupt the flavor of it.
"Yeah!" the warrior said encouragingly. "The second cup's easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first one."
"This is wretched stuff," Dorian sniffed, entirely unbothered by the drink.
"But it gets the job done," Varric added. His gaze was glassy as he looked at his companions. "Tell us more about the Qun and dragons, Tiny."
"Atashi. 'The glorious ones.' That's our word for them." The Bull closed his eyes and grinned, swaying slightly as he singsonged, "Ataaaaaaaasheeeeee."
"Why do you think the Qunari think of dragons that way?" Kat prodded. She nudged him with her toes while Dorian hummed quietly against her. However uninterested he was pretending to be, she knew he was hanging on to every word. The academic in him wouldn't allow it any other way.
"Well, you know how we have horns? We kind of look more… dragony than most people. Maybe it's that." Bull shrugged and shot them a conspiratorial grin. "But the Ben-Hassrath have this crazy old theory. See, the tamassrans control who we mate with. They breed us for jobs like you'd breed dogs or horses. What if they mixed in some dragon a long time ago? Maybe drinking the blood, maybe magic. I don't know. But something in the dragon we killed… it spoke to me."
Varric muttered, shifting beside her. "Now that's a series that would sell…"
But Kat was fixated on the warrior, recalling the heat of the dragon's flames, the thunderous flapping of its wings, and the way its cries reverberated through her. It truly was a majestic creature. Her heart panged at the final cry as its body failed it, right before it crumpled to the ground.
"It's a shame we had to kill the dragon."
"Damn good fight, though," Dorian muttered so that only she and Bull could hear.
"Dragons are the embodiment of raw power. But it's all uncontrolled, savage…" Bull poured another draught, his own gray cheeks flushed a warm lilac with the drink and he smiled kindly at the two mage's sparkling eyes and pinkened skin. "So they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild, order out of chaos. Here, have another drink."
Kat did as he ordered and gasped for air as the foul stuff went down.
Iron Bull laughed gleefully at her reaction before raising his own glass. "Nice! To dragons!"
"To the Iron Bull!" Dorian cried, raising his own cup in an unsteady hand. His face darkened with heat when he realized his slip. "This stuff is damned strong…"
"To the ass-kicking Inquisitor," the Bull said with a knowing grin at the Tevinter.
The mage wandered off after that, dragging the dwarf with him, and both barely managed to stumble out of the way when the tavern door slammed open to reveal Cullen and Cassandra. Kat had slumped against Bull's shoulder and waved jauntily at them. The room was spinning at a leisurely pace and she couldn't stop the wide grin from breaking over her face at the Commander's appearance.
"Cullen!" she cried gleefully from her spot against the Bull. "Taarsidath-an halsaam!"
The warrior beside her guffawed, his fist pounding against the bar top shaking it dangerously. The drink remaining in his bottle sloshed dangerously. Even Varric and Dorian collapsed against the wall to laugh at their Inquisitor's cheerful cry.
"How much has she had?" the Commander sighed, ignoring the foreign words that had caused such an outbreak.
"Three," the Bull shrugged, still chuckling.
The mage against him grinned proudly. "It's awful, but I've learned so much. Did you know that Bull is part dragon?"
"Maker," the Seeker sighed, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. "She'll be useless in the ring right now. Cullen, see the Inquisitor back to her tent. I don't want the soldiers seeing her like this."
Kat nearly purred when the Commander scooped her up in his arms, waving at her friends as he carried her away. She shot them an exaggerated wink, her grin spreading as they devolved into cackles once more.
She was sent to Crestwood next to search for Hawke's Grey Warden contact, and Cullen couldn't sleep. She'd been gone for weeks with the only word coming from reports delivered by ravens. Undead, bandits, red templars, and demons ran amok. A massive rift sent the undead crawling out of a lake, and there was also a dragon. Nothing was ever simple, it seemed.
He burned through so many candles that Josephine had taken to simply sending him boxes of them each week. Between the old nightmares of desire demons and blood mages, new ones took root. He saw her captured and tormented by red templars and blood mages, saw her turn into an abomination—dreamed she never made it out of Haven.
It made the lyrium craving worse. The dreams were harsher, more vivid. More than once, he shot awake from those nightmares to empty his stomach. If he could just take the lyrium, maybe he could sleep. But he refused to give in. He'd come too far. Tired of waking up in a cold sweat, Cullen began working through the night and falling asleep at his desk when the sky began lightening. His sore neck and screaming muscles only added to his sour mood. Recruits jumped to attention when he passed and scurried away at his glower. Training sessions were unforgiving.
Another raven arrived, alerting the advisors to a change of plans. Instead of returning to Skyhold, the Inquisitor was moving further west. The Grey Wardens were all hearing the Calling, and she believed Corypheus was behind it. She was intent upon chasing this lead into the Western Approach. Blood magic, Tevinter rituals, and demons—it was stuff out straight out of his nightmares, and he had to excuse himself to a quiet stretch of the battlements to calm his violent tremors.
Leliana tried reminding him of the good the Inquisitor was doing: They'd gained several new footholds in the regions she visited, enjoyed increased trade and a steadily improving reputation among the people of Thedas. New recruits were arriving in droves with supplies and new agents began sending word to the spymaster. They were thriving.
That didn't mean he liked sending Katerina out with her small party and little back up. There were certain things that only she could do. He knew that. But what could he do except work himself to the bone, pace, and find ways to distract himself? Cassandra was with the Inquisitor in the west, so his usual sparring partner was painfully absent. Despite his efforts to hide the worst of his symptoms, people took notice of his foul mood. Only one person was bold enough to approach him then.
"I know you southerners are pale by nature, but you take it to an extreme," a northern accent drawled from beside Cullen's worktable.
"Dorian," he greeted, biting back a snarl at being unceremoniously interrupted.
"Charming." The man was clearly unimpressed by the general's bark. "Yes, I finally understand what our Inquisitor sees in you—between that pasty visage and unfriendly demeanor, you must have the ladies lining up!"
That had his head jerking up, though it did nothing to erase his scowl. "Did you want something, Dorian?"
"Yes, actually." The mage swaggered closer to peer at the papers littering the makeshift desk. "I require a partner."
"You—what?" Cullen nearly choked at that, shooting the other man a wary glance. While he knew such arrangements weren't unheard of, he wasn't interested. He didn't know how those things worked in Tevinter, but southerners were usually more circumspect about it.
"Don't look so surprised, Commander." Dorian's face lit with a wicked grin. "I awoke this morning yearning for invigorating company but found myself sadly lacking. Thus, I came to find you. You seem like the obliging type."
The general sputtered at the other man, blinking wildly as if that would help him wake up from this disconcerting dream. "What, exactly, are you proposing?"
"Chess, of course." The mage blinked at him innocently, as if he hadn't just been chasing the Commander around the table with innuendo. "Katerina isn't here, and she usually plays with me. I want you to fill the void."
The unusual request caught his attention, and Cullen had to admit that he was intrigued. He hadn't played the game in some time despite his fondness for it. It was a game he associated with happier times and was pleased to incorporate it back into his routine. That was how he and the Tevinter fell into the habit of playing chess almost every evening. The weather inside the fortress walls was unusually mild, so they took to the gardens to play after the day's services ended.
Cullen found he actually enjoyed playing with the man. The mage was sharp, aggressive, and easily teased the general—something precious few cared to do. It was refreshing. The sun was setting over the fortress walls as they played, exchanging banter as the pieces moved about the board. Cullen fell into silence as he stared at the table, calculating his next move.
"You know, I've been doing some research that might interest you," the mage started, examining his cuticles as he broke the silence.
The general simply hummed in response, his ebony bishop clicking against the checkered board.
"You could sound more interested than that," Dorian tsked, narrowing his bright eyes at the fairer man. "I'm doing you a favor, after all."
"O Dorian, the great and magnanimous—" The general barked a laugh at that, shaking his head as the mage pursed his lips to hide a grin.
"That was more like it. I rather like being begged—it makes me feel so very tall." His pearly teeth flashed in a smirk, mustache twitching while he examined the board. "Aren't you at all curious, or do I need a refresher on mystery and intrigue?"
"I find we can all use a tutorial from time to time." Cullen shrugged, allowing his own answering smirk to spread across his lips. It may have been his imagination, but he thought he saw the mage's eyes flicker over his scar before refocusing on his pieces.
"You cut me to the quick."
He grinned again at the wry tone. "Alright, Dorian. What have you been researching?"
"Aids for lyrium addiction." The ivory tower clicked loudly against the board, the sound punctuating the weight behind the mage's simple words.
Cullen's breath caught in his throat. "You—what?"
"Now he's interested," Dorian said, not unkindly. "While there's nothing I can find in the way of a cure or addressing lyrium specifically, I've found some promising documentation of karnak addicts in the Imperium that I believe can translate to your case."
When the general only continued to stare at him as if in a daze, the mage continued. "Their drug of choice is derived from lotuses—black lotuses, specifically—and it causes a sense lethargy, detachment, and causes pleasant hallucinations under the right circumstances. Under the wrong ones, you'll be pissing yourself in a back alley cornered by a hungry horde of imaginary deepstalkers."
He shuddered delicately at that, lost in a shadow of a memory before plowing on with his explanation. "Nonetheless, the side effects of withdrawal are not exactly the same as lyrium, but there are parallels. I've requested additional tomes and have written to an expert in treating addicts in Minrathous."
"Dorian, I-I don't know what to say," Cullen breathed. "How did you know about—?"
"Ah sweet Commander, I am wise in the ways of the world—far wiser than one so young should be," the mage teased. Something unreadable flashed through his quicksilver eyes though his kind smile never faltered. "But a 'thank you' wouldn't be amiss."
"Thank you," he said, injecting the simple words with as much gratitude as he could. It was an unexpected kindness, the sort that he was wholly unaccustomed to. For the first time, Cullen felt a flicker of hope that he might actually be free of his leach—truly free.
A messenger appeared at Cullen's elbow then, shifting nervously as he said, "Sister Nightingale requests you in the courtyard, ser. There are some new arrivals—"
Cullen frowned down at the board, unable to focus on his next move with the mage's revelations. He spoke slowly as he moved his knight to capture one of Dorian's towers. "Leliana is perfectly capable of sending someone to settle them in."
"But, ser, they're templars—"
His head shot up at that, attention no longer on the game. "Templars? Where did they come from?"
"They said they traveled by way of Montsimmard."
That had Cullen springing to his feet, knocking several of the pieces over in his haste. "Did you get any of their names?"
"No, ser—"
He didn't stick around long enough to hear the end of that sentence, nor did he bother acknowledging the miffed mage he left behind. Dorian sprawled in his chair and idly knocked over the general's king. The clatter drew the young man's attention and a confused glance between the dark-haired man and the game piece rolling on its side.
"That counts as a forfeit, and you're my witness," he drawled to the messenger before rising with a sinuous stretch. "Come, let's see what has our illustrious general so excited."
He followed the blond man out to the courtyard to find it overrun with bedraggled men and women covered with mud and the muck of the road. The weary lot were on edge, shifting and eyeing the curious onlookers. Even with their cloaks pulled tightly about them, Dorian knew instantly that they were armed. It was in the way they carried themselves: Shoulders straight, feet shoulder-width apart, and heads on a constant swivel. Had he not heard the message, the mage still would have known them as templars on sight.
There was just something too proud about them, too do-gooder. Dorian shuddered delicately, certain this meant a damper on his revelries with the Iron Bull and Chargers at the tavern.
"I am Commander Cullen, general of the Inquisition's army," the blond man was saying, addressing the templars in a manner that had them standing somehow straighter. "Who speaks for you?"
The newcomers shifted at that before one shouldered his way to the front. Sun-darkened skin was red and chapped with the cold, his dark curls defying the clean-cut mold of his brethren. The boy—the man—was tall and broad, the type who could swing a sword with ease.
Dorian allowed himself to notice all of this but shoved aside the instinct to appreciate it for later. 'After he's had a bath; who knows what truly lies under the dust and grime?'
"I suppose I speak for us," the young man said, his accent clean and familiar. "I am Aidan Trevelyan, Knight-Lieutenant of the Montsimmard Circle. We come here on the Herald of Andraste's invitation."
That sent a wave of murmurs through the crowd. A mage had invited a band of templars into their safe fortress after the destruction of Haven? Maybe they shared the same surname, but how could they trust the templars again after they'd allied with the Elder One?
"Welcome, my lord," Cullen said, purposely ignoring the young man's rank. "There are no templars here, only the Inquisition. The Order deserted you, renounced its purpose, and you've escaped their corruption at the hands of the Elder One. If you chose to stay, you will drop the trappings of templars and live as soldiers of the Inquisition. But you do have a choice."
The young lord shared a look with his band of followers, unwilling to make the decision for all of them. The templar life was a hard one to leave behind, Cullen knew, especially when it was all you'd known, something you'd given everything else up for. And these people hadn't left it behind so much as they'd avoided the Order's perversion in a bid for self-preservation.
"Think about it," he said, saving them from being put on the spot. He noticed Josephine fast approaching, two aides in tow. She was a tornado of blue and gold, and Cullen stepped out of her way.
"Welcome to the Inquisition," she said as she neared. She must have recognized the lordling for she dipped a respectful bow to him. "My lord, the Inquisitor is away but due to return within the week."
That had Cullen's head whipping around so fast that the onlooking mage winced, his own neck twinging in sympathy. It did nothing to curb his amusement. Seeing the gruff general turn to a boyish mess was quickly becoming a favorite pastime of his. His obvious infatuation with the Inquisitor was sure to be a wellspring of entertainment, and Dorian was looking forward to the pair being within the same walls once more. He was practically brimming with ideas to make mischief at the general's expense.
"I know that she would insist we extend you every possible courtesy after your long journey," the ambassador continued, gesturing for the soldiers to follow her. "Rooms are being prepared for you now, though I'm afraid your people may have to share…"
"The barracks are fine with us," the lordling was saying as the ambassador politely waved them away.
Their voices faded out as they disappeared up the stairs and the courtyard seemed to breathe easier once more. Unknown templars were in the fortress. From the frowns and agitation, it was clearly thought of as akin to letting the fennec loose in the chicken coop. Only the soldiers, their general, and the mage seemed unbothered. Skilled fighters and a personal relation of the Inquisitor—it wasn't a bad combination. Except these templars had just left the Order, they hadn't faced down their brethren at Haven, and hadn't survived the frigid trek through the mountains.
"At least you had a good reason for forfeiting the game," the mage said as he approached the general.
The blond shot him an exasperated glance as he waved off questions, unable to offer hard answers at this time. "I didn't forfeit."
"Really? Then why do I have a witness who will say otherwise?" He shot the Commander a taunting smirk, his bright eyes calculating. "Our newest visitors seemed a little jumpy—perhaps they're not so ready to leave behind the Order as some."
"Then we'll send those visitors on their way after a hot meal and one night's rest." Cullen began moving then, leading the way towards the main hall. "I've no interest in retaining those who would sow dissent. We can't afford it, not now."
"And if the young Lord Trevelyan is one of them?" He waited until they were safely inside to ask the question, certain it would do no good to verbalize it around the people not in the know.
That was the crux of it, and they both knew it. The general heaved a sigh and made his way up to their steadily growing library. The musty scent of ancient tomes, warm wood, and aging parchment hit them as they rounded the corner. Both men relaxed as they walked the circular room, finding a nook safely away from the mages doing quiet research. Dorian settled into a plush chair, elegantly crossing his legs before he warded their corner against eavesdroppers.
"If he wishes to leave, I won't stop him," Cullen said at length. He forced his tension down at the casual tug at the Fade. "The Inquisitor may disagree, but I'd hope she would come to understand."
Dorian watched the play of emotions on the other man's face; tension gave way to fondness which in turn ceded to a stoic resignation. It was clear to any fool with eyes that the Commander carried a tender spot for their leader. Anyone who knew her did. She armed herself with a dry humor and girded herself with a cheery outlook. But it was all hollow, her best effort to project strength without giving in to anger or going mad with the weight of it all.
"She would," Dorian intoned softly. One foot jiggled a bit, the only indication of his troubled thoughts. "It would break her heart, but she would understand and bear it."
"How do you know?" Cullen asked, shooting the mage a questioning look. "You haven't been with us long, but you seem to know more about her than the others."
He tilted his head at the soldier in an approximation of a shrug. "We talk and often. Come by sometime, and you'll likely find us debating the finer points of Circles and allowing mages power. Being the only people to remember that nightmarish future tends to forge a bond few understand. I don't recommend it as a team building exercise despite its effectiveness in bringing people together."
Right, Dorian had been there. The man wore nonchalance like a cloak, making it easy to forget his role in subverting that dark future and foiling his old friend's plans. It was difficult to reconcile the man lounging and inspecting his cuticles with that sort of haunting memory.
"Have you seen Alexius since the events in Redcliffe?" Cullen asked softly.
The mage stilled at the question, only for a moment, before springing to his feet and pretending to peruse the tomes lining the tall bookshelf. "No. I haven't been able to bring myself to face him. Not yet. It is fitting she gave him in service to the mages—poetic, really. The Alexius I knew would have appreciated such creativity."
"I understand," he replied. The man shifted slightly from foot to foot, his shoulders taut. "You said he was a mentor of yours?"
"He was my patron," Dorian corrected. "He sponsored me to the higher levels of the Circle of Magi, and, in return, my successes were his. I had a lot of successes, naturally. Alexius was most pleased."
He slid one book free, thick and bound with cracked, aging leather, and turned back to the Commander. "We used to talk over brandy about the corruption in the magisterium, how we could one day make real change in the Imperium. And then he… he gave up. He stopped trying."
"What happened?"
"On a journey to Hossberg, a darkspawn raid killed his wife and sickened his son, Felix." He flipped through the front of the book, one elegant finger tracing the table of contents. "I remember hearing the news. He hadn't been there, you see. Alexius was convinced he could have protected them. The guilt tore him up. I helped him with his research for a while, and then we… drifted apart."
"Research into the time magic?" Cullen asked, brow furrowed as he tried to understand the magister's motivations, tried to understand what could possibly drive someone into the arms of a monster like Corypheus.
"Among other things." Paper rustled as the mage thumbed through the delicate pages. "He was desperate for a cure. He'd lost his wife and was doomed to watch his son die a slow, agonizing death. When we couldn't find a cure, he turned to time magic. Alexius thought that if he could just go back, if he could be with them, that he could save them both."
"His obsession was driven by love." Cullen scrubbed a hand over his stubble as the realization dawned on him.
"It was borne of love but driven by desperation and pride. The Imperium is a different place, Commander. Careful breeding allows our parents to curate the 'ideal' child—attractive, intelligent, magical. Losing such progeny is enough to drive anyone to grief. The thought of losing his only son, so carefully bred and educated, drove Alexius to madness." The Tevinter mage finally looked up at the general, his lips pursed with distaste and eyes tight under a furrowed brow. It was a challenge, Cullen realized, to say anything against him, his homeland, and his former mentor's actions.
"Kat seems to think that Alexius truly loves Felix, that he was motivated by more than pride," Cullen said instead. His slip-up did not go unnoticed and he suppressed a groan when the mage's brows quirked.
"She's an astute creature," Dorian murmured, shaking his head. "And she's right. Felix accepted his own mortality from a young age, despite his father's protestations and experiments. He's a dear boy, and a dear friend." Shifting uncomfortably, the mage shot the other man a sly glance. "'Kat,' hm?"
"I-I meant 'the Inquisitor.'" Cullen began silently cursing his blasted infatuation with the woman. How could he have been so careless as to address her so informally?
"Yes, I'm sure. Does 'the Inquisitor' know how you blush and squirm when pressed about her?" A wicked grin lit his face at the other man's flush and wide eyes. "I'm sure she'd be charmed. You should use that to your advantage—whisper her name, steal a few touches, and then utterly ravish her."
"What?" the soldier squawked, shooting to his feet at the thought of doing… that to the Inquisitor. He'd only ever dreamed about touching her like that, of feeling her silken skin against his fingers. Not that he'd ever admit to it. Cullen tried to push those thoughts aside, convinced that he would debase her with such imaginings.
"I'm waiting for you fools to admit this to yourselves," Dorian continued as if he were discussing the weather. "Frankly, all the furtive glances and precious blushes are so passé. Might I suggest acting on your mutual attraction?"
"I-I… This is inappropriate," Cullen sputtered, feeling his face heat at the mage's words. "You should speak of her with more respect."
Dorian shot the man a wicked grin, his previous melancholy chased away by the impish glee he got from teasing the straightlaced general. "I have the utmost respect for 'Kat.' It's why I want her to be plowed happily and well."
"This is inappropriate," he repeated before hurrying away with a harried "excuse me."
The mage just chuckled at his newest toy and continued thumbing through the heavy tome. He hadn't expected the Commander to actually flee—but that made it all the better. He'd been looking for more ways to occupy his time, and this was just too good to ignore.
"Andraste's ass!" she exclaimed as they dismounted near the newly repaired stables. "Anything the size of a mabari cannot be rightly classified as merely a 'bug.'"
"But it was a spider, boss," the Iron Bull said, stretching his sore muscles out. "Spiders are bugs."
"Nightmare fueled monsters, you mean," Katerina insisted with a delicate shudder. She stroked the nose of her favored mount as Dennet led the beast away. "If I ever see a spider that size again, I'll quit and never leave Skyhold again."
Cassandra shook her head at the Inquisitor's antics though her dark eyes glittered with amusement. "I am fairly certain the Iron Bull could carry you off like a sack of potatoes."
"That would just be rude!" She tried to glower at her two chuckling companions but couldn't hide the smile fighting through. "Blackwall—you wouldn't let that happen, would you?"
The Warden moved closer from where he'd been chopping firewood, his expression unreadable under his bushy beard. "I have no qualms with the Bull doing what he must to see the task done, even if that means carting you about like that."
"I'm surrounded by traitors," she muttered, leading the little pack towards the upper courtyard. All she wanted were fresh clothes and a bath. Her skin still itched and peeled from their time in the Western Approach. "Cassandra, do you think there's time to freshen up before we report back?"
"I certainly hope so," the Seeker sighed, ignoring the spirit boy as he appeared at her side. "If I never see sand again, it will be too soon. What is it, Cole?"
He didn't flinch at her brusque question, his unnerving gaze centered on the Warden. "Golden, graceful, glittering, but not gaudy. Voice delicate and delectable."
Blackwall stiffened before the young man, turning around with a sidelong look at the Inquisitor. She wasn't paying him any mind, engrossed in conversation with the others. "What are you talking about, Cole?"
"Sweet, soft, and silky. Her dress, but also under her dress. Are you going to talk to Josephine?"
"Maker's balls!" the man huffed, frowning down at his dusty boots. "Get out of my head, would you? You make me sound like a dirty, old bastard."
"Do you want to hear what she thinks of you?"
"No," Blackwall bit out, his thick brow furrowed at the spirit boy's rambling. He stole another glance at the mage walking behind him, a resigned, bitter taste filling his mouth as she grinned at something the Iron Bull had said. Was it wrong for him to imagine another when she was so far out of reach?
"You should," Cole said before disappearing like he'd never been there.
It was disconcerting, especially when the ambassador was waiting for everyone in the upper courtyard. Her dark hair shone in the sunlight, her golden skin radiant against the blue of her dress. Blackwall's skin itched as heat rose under his thick beard—had she heard what the boy was saying? And what did the spirit mean to imply about her thoughts of him? He brushed it all away, excusing himself with a scowl.
Katerina watched him go, befuddled at his sudden shift, but she shook it off to greet the ambassador. She had overheard Cole's words and was tickled by the Warden's apparent attraction to Josephine. They'd make a handsome couple, she thought, if the man could lower his walls long enough for the charming Antivan to climb them. But that wasn't what they were gathered for. No, there was a world at stake, lives and futures that they had to save.
What good was living without these moments of connection, though? She didn't relish the thought of a future without the rush of romance or the contentment of waking in a lover's arms. Maybe that was girlish, but she was still a young woman under all the titles and responsibilities.
She shook herself out of it and focused on the woman sent to greet them. Josephine had been busy while they were away. The fortress had been repaired to the point that it was habitable again and work on the outer walls was underway. She'd even secured beds for everyone, the first real luxury Katerina had enjoyed since leaving Ostwick.
"What about baths?" the mage had asked eagerly. She was disappointed to learn that she needed to trek all the way down to the spring beneath the fortress or request the water and tub be lugged up to her rooms.
"The masons are installing plumbing, it will just take more time to be of any use," Josephine assured her.
Still, she had a real bed again. Upon discovering the solid, canopied monstrosity in her room, the mage had allowed herself a squeal before launching herself onto the soft mattress. Muscles she hadn't even realized were tired sighed as she relaxed. It wasn't a cot or a bedroll on a forest floor. No, this was a real bed. She had to do something nice for the ambassador now—something to show her appreciation for this gift. Maybe she could arrange an outing for Josephine and Blackwall to examine horseflesh or something that was just the two of them.
After washing away the desert and dust, she settled back to catch up on her correspondence while her hair dried in the brisk cross breeze. Simple leather pants, wool socks, and her favorite cotton shirt were all she wore, utterly at her leisure for the first time in weeks.
Reports and letters were stacked neatly on her desk, and Katerina dove in. A distant cousin, Alphonse, had been making trouble, it seemed. She vaguely remembered the cousin in question, a prig even as a child. He'd been afraid of a few grass stains and insisted their servants prepare juice at the table so he could ensure its freshness. Katerina had put beetles in his bed.
News about her family was littered throughout the letters, though she'd yet to receive word directly from them. She'd hoped to at least hear from her father or her sister, Helena. But there was nothing. Perhaps if she just wrote them again, assuring them she'd survived Haven, maybe they'd write back.
She couldn't bring herself to pick up the quill to try, and a timely knock at the door saved her from further strain. Cullen entered then wearing a small smile. It made her heart flip.
"Inquisi—Kat," he corrected, unaware of the way her stomach lurched delightfully at his nickname for her. "I'm glad you've returned."
He took a moment to look her over and immediately regretted it. She was wearing his shirt, the one Cassandra had requisitioned from him after the Temple of Sacred Ashes. And it was wet, nearly transparent in places where her hair had dripped. His body flooded with heat, and Cullen had to stifle a groan of discomfort.
"Cullen, are you alright?" she asked, face drawn with concern as she rounded her desk to check on him.
"Fine, yes. Fine," he said, injecting a false sense of levity into his voice. "I'd heard you arrived, and I-I wanted to see you before the meeting."
"Well, here I am in all my glory," she joked. Kat laughed and perched on the edge of her desk as he stepped closer, drawn in by the way the late afternoon sunshine lent her a glow. "How was Skyhold while I was away? I saw that it's still standing."
"A little fuller than when you left, actually," he said. His grin spread, turning genuine at the news she clearly hadn't heard yet. "Some former templars arrived a week ago; they've spurned the Order—most of them anyway. Those that didn't wish to join anyone left quietly of their own accord."
"Templars?" She latched on to that detail eagerly, like a child would a sweet. "Did they bring any word of my brother?"
"They brought a lot of interesting news," he hedged, knowing that he needed to tell her but that the rest of his words would fall on deaf ears if he said anything now. "With their assistance, I've found where the red templars came from: Therinfal Redoubt. The knights were fed red lyrium until they turned into monsters. Samson took over after their corruption was complete."
"How do you know Samson?" Kat asked, watching the man pace the length of her rug. "I recall you recognizing him at Haven."
"He was a templar in Kirkwall until he was expelled from the Order." Cullen ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a few strands, as he turned back to look out one of her massive windows. The fresh, sharp wind hit his face, reminding him that he was somewhere safe. "I knew he was an addict, but this… Red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium given by the Chantry. Its power comes with a terrible madness."
"The red templars swarming Haven were proof enough of that," she sighed. She moved to stand beside him then, looking out over the snowy valleys and tiny specks of trees below.
The wind teased her damp curls, running its icy fingers through the dark locks and toying, playing, and twisting them about. Kat crossed her arms with a shiver, and the general realized then just how small she was. Under the billowy shirt hid her narrow shoulders and a trim waist that gave way to a pert bottom and matching breasts—he had to stop himself. She was cold and he was a gentleman. He would not reduce her to her physical assets, not when she had so much more to recommend her.
With that rebuke in mind, he moved away to grab a blanket loose from her bed. Katerina watched him go, her pulse quickening at the sight of him tearing the bed apart. There was something so delightful about it, the way he paid the tucked corners no heed and used those strong arms to wrench the duvet loose before carrying it back to her.
"Here," he said, wrapping her in the thick, down blanket. "I won't have you catching sick."
Cullen shot her one of his shy, lopsided grins as his hands lingered on the folds of the blanket. He couldn't resist the touch, offering her some shelter from the cold and stealing just a moment where he could pretend he'd wrapped her in his arms instead of a duvet.
Katerina's heart pounded like hooves on cobblestone at his tender gesture, at his nearness. She almost hoped he'd lean down and…
"We cannot allow the red templars to gain strength," he said, right back to business. "They still require lyrium. If we find their source, we can weaken them and their leader."
Her little fantasy was thoroughly shattered, and she shook it away. He was right, there were far more important things to tend to. The fierce set of his brows told her that it maybe wasn't just business for him.
"Are you angrier at Corypheus or Samson?" Kat asked gently. She blinked at him, wondering how someone so gentle could bear so much resentment without losing the tenderness he so easily extended to her.
"I don't know," he admitted, the sharp edges of his words softening as he looked down at her. "Samson, at least, should know better. Caravans of red lyrium are being smuggled along trade roads. Investigating them could lead to where it's being mined."
"Add it to the map and we can discuss it further at the briefing." She snaked a hand up to rub at the bridge of her nose. Not even half a day back at Skyhold, and she could already feel the pressure rising. "I want to do this—I will do this, but we also need to discuss the Wardens. I want the others' input before moving forward."
"I understand." He noticed the gesture and frowned, guilt gnawing at his belly for laying that at her feet so soon after returning. "There is one more piece of news."
"Has Corypheus written with his regards?" the mage teased wryly, still staring out the window.
"No, I regret to inform you." He allowed himself a chuckle at her joke and toyed with the seam of his glove to stop himself from reaching out to touch her again.
"How terribly rude of him," she sniffed. "It's only right that an archnemesis at least send a note to ensure our rivalry continues."
"You should tell that to Josephine. I'm sure she could find a way to get a letter to the Elder One if you truly desired." Cullen snickered at the thought of good, kind Josephine drafting a note to that damnable creature.
"No, it would be improper." Katerina finally sent a glance his way, her mischievous grin inviting his own in answer. "Everyone knows that, in the case of a stalemate, it is the would-be god's burden to initiate the first contact."
"You sound like an etiquette instructor," he laughed.
"Oh good, my mother didn't waste all that money after all. What's the news, Cullen?"
"It's about your brother—he's here."
She stood stock-still for a beat, her ears ringing as her mind churned to process his words. Aidan. Aidan was here—he was actually here. No sooner had the thought registered than she'd flown to her wardrobe, the loose shirt she'd been wearing tossed carelessly on her bed.
Cullen watched, dumbstruck, as her creamy back was exposed to him. He could see the ridge of her spine and the scars from the red templars marring one shoulder while the her tattoo winked at him from the other. The ivory expanse was only disrupted by the thin fabric of her breast band as she dug through for a different shirt. She shrugged into it, a simple blue thing that closed in the front and turned to him as she clasped it shut.
"Maker," he breathed.
He could very nearly see every detail of her breasts through the thin fabric that restrained but concealed little. The rosy peaks were just barely obscured by the nearly sheer material, and he had to swallow down another groan. She was testing the limits of his restraint—Cullen was very nearly ready to whirl around for the garret above his office to relieve this new tension.
"Where is Aidan?" Katerina asked, either unaware or uncaring of her general's predicament. She was too busy lacing up her boots to dwell on him.
He coughed before speaking, not trusting his own voice not to betray the spike of desire shooting through him. "His rooms are in the guest quarters."
"Can you show me?"
"O-of course. Kat—"
Cullen cut himself off from any spur of the moment confessions. He desired her, that much was inescapable. But she needed to see her brother now. He couldn't allow himself to be so selfish as to make this moment about himself. Besides, there was still so much that she needed to know. Even if they could make anything work—'you're only thinking this because you very nearly saw her chest'—even if she didn't reject him outright, there was still the obstacle of their ranks and power dynamic to consider. No, it was right to stay silent on this.
Instead of saying anything, Cullen bit his tongue and showed her down to the guest quarters. A few servants moved about, cleaning the floors and dusting the sconces, but it was otherwise abandoned. No one looked twice at the pair as they passed. He took her to the right door, and she stood poised to knock.
Katerina stood frozen, her raised fist in the air. She hadn't seen her brother in ages, and so much had changed. No longer would he be the chubby-cheeked boy still waiting for his voice to stop cracking. Now he was a templar without an Order and she… She was an apostate with a strange new title and an even stranger mark. What would he make of her, she wondered?
There was only one way to find out.
With a steadying breath, she knocked on the thick wooden door and waited.
What was really only a few seconds stretched into an eternity. Every heartbeat pounded in her ears and she balled her hands into fists at her sides to stop their trembling. She didn't know what he would make of her, but that didn't mean she was without her pride. Katerina's chin rose a tick and Cullen couldn't hide the small quirk of his lips at her stubbornness even when he knew she must be scared.
The door swung open, and then—"Rina?"
He didn't know who launched at the other first, but the pair were soon grasping at each other in a desperate hug, wordless laughter mingling with tears. Their joy was overflowing, suffocating even, so much so that the Commander thought himself no longer needed. He turned, fully intent upon quietly heading back to his office, when a hand reached out to grasp his arm.
"Cullen, this is my brother, Aidan," the Inquisitor said with a watery chuckle. She scrubbed at her tear-stained cheeks with her free hand, the other still firmly holding him in place. "Aidan, I'm sure you've met Commander Cullen, our general."
"I have," said the young man with the same impish chin as his sister. "Thank you for bringing her down here. Maker, Rina, you truly have set all the fennecs loose, haven't you?"