ACT I
"You know what the Dalish say to their dogs? 'Take the Dread Wolf by the ear if he comes.'"
Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford of the Inquisition, previously templar and Knight-Captain, then Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, had always disliked Solas.
Being a mage—an apostate—aside, he had just not liked the elven man ever since they first came across each other after the utter devastation of the Divine Conclave and a giant hole had been ripped open in the sky. No, seriously—it wasn't just because he was a mage. Cullen's disinclination toward magic users had changed, little by little, throughout the years. It had started already during the conflicts in Kirkwall, when he witnessed what Hawke had done for the city, despite being a mercenary apostate. But the sovereign hadn't truly dropped until he encountered the Inquisitor.
An elven female of short black hair, piercing violet eyes and all the natural grace and elegance her people were known for. A woman who was as strong as she was strong-willed, a fact made so obviously clear one evening soon after the initial unification of the Inquisition's inner circle. People had crowded the Herald's Rest in celebration of another victory and the Iron Bull challenged everyone, from fresh recruit to veterans, to a test of might in return for drinks.
While Cullen, Blackwall, members of the Bull's Chargers and a few brave souls of the Inquisition's troops had stepped up to the task, they had all resigned after an arm wrestle or two, causing the rest of the tavern's occupants to resign as a matter of fact. All but the Inquisitor, who despite being a mug or two in too much, seemed strangely confident. Even though the Iron Bull made fun of her slight frame, she had taken his taunts in dignified stride and countered the three or maybe four-times larger Qunari with a challenge of her own: if he could shoot one single arrow, even a misfire, from her personal bow, she would supply him with all the redheads and sovereigns in southern Thedas.
"Are you quite serious, boss?" Iron bull asked, an amused curve to his lips.
"I am... quite serious," the Inquisitor said, wearing a smile that was more drunken than Cullen believed she wanted it to be.
"All the redheads?"
"All… of them who are willing. Though, who wouldn't… be willing to be with the person who bested Andraste's very Herald?"
There was a sliver of venom toward the end of her sentence, but Cullen doubted very many people heard it over the booming laughter of the Bull.
"You seem confident, boss," the enormous Qunari said, grinning widely. "I probably shouldn't ask this but since it seems like tonight is the night where the impossible might be possible, I'm going to anyway. Instead of any redheads, would you be willing to offer yourself?"
At this, a deathly silence descended over the Herald's Rest in an instant. Everyone stared, Cullen too; too breathless and shocked at the Bull's audacity to speak or think anything. Or well, two thoughts surfaced in his mind. The first notion was that he was glad Solas considered himself above visiting the Herald's Rest.
The second was that Iron Bull was a braver man than Cullen could ever be.
The tavern patrons all waited in anticipation for the Inquisitor's reaction. Cullen imagined she would strike the Iron Bull and walk out of the Herald's Rest in well-deserved indignity.
But she didn't. Instead, the Inquisitor smiled nearly from one elongated elven ear to another.
"Why not?" the Inquisitor said and drained her tankard, throwing it over her shoulder. It landed on the bar perfectly. "Let me just grab my bow from my quarters."
This caused Bull to release a booming laugh and slap his knee so loudly, Cullen thought Krem would slap his chief out of irritation. The sudden noise, paired with the realization that the Inquisitor had agreed to the ludicrous deal, broke everyone out of their petrified state. A searing hot betting match among the tavern crowd ignited. Money exchanged hands as freely as drinks as the Inquisitor walked—or rather, wobbled—out of the Herald's Rest.
Everyone had seemed certain that the Iron Bull would outclass his boss. But Cullen hadn't been so sure. His suspicion was confirmed when Varric, a skilled businessman if any, placed his bets discreetly. In the rowdiness of the tavern as people transitioned from betting into slowly trailing out to watch the match, nobody but Cullen seemed to notice.
Still, Cullen was doubtful of the rogue storyteller. He personally had rarely been out on the field with the Inquisitor and the others. But Cullen had seen enough of her and the Bull to be able to accurately judge their individual strength. Even if he hadn't, a child would be able to tell the difference in sheer might between a female elf and a male Qunari.
Even a child would have been able to tell that the knot inside Cullen's stomach was rooted in something entirely different than mere professional concern for his and everybody else's leader.
"I hope this isn't some elaborate scheme to get me into bed, boss."
The Iron Bull and the Inquisitor positioned themselves in the upper courtyard of Skyhold, by the stairs leading up to the main castle unit. Their target was on the other side of the courtyard: one of the training dummies that Cassandra loved to abuse.
The quite sizable audience gawked at Iron Bull's continued shamelessness as they gathered around. Although everyone was far deeper into their cups than perhaps usual, the Bull could probably drink a literal bull under the table. He wasn't exactly known for shying away from subjects of a sexual nature, but Cullen had never heard him act so blatantly, especially toward the Inquisitor. Perhaps he really was drunk.
Or perhaps things on the field had developed their relationship toward… something untoward.
Cullen stood in the far back. Partly because he had been a beat too slow in his failed attempt to reach Varric and ask the dwarf about his bet. Partly because he hadn't wanted anyone to see how often he looked toward the main body of the fortress, hoping and praying to Maker that a certain bald elf wouldn't be annoyed by the rowdy crowd outside and decide to steal a glance outside his strange study.
If the knot in Cullen's stomach was any indication, Solas had a reason for a far more justified reaction.
"I didn't take you for a shy woman," the Iron Bull continued. "If you wanted me so badly, you could have just asked."
"Don't flatter yourself yet, Bull," the Inquisitor had said, a wolfish smile on her lips. "Gotta win first."
"You can still back out, boss."
"Back at you," she said, tossing him her unstrung recurve bow and a bowstring. "Be careful not to pull one of your precious muscles on your precious rack. I would hate for our little challenge to ruin your very impressive physique."
Bull chuckled and started to wind the string around one of the bow tips. "Like that would happen. If your puny little stature can handle it, I'm more than…"
His voice trailed away. As did the general murmur in the crowd surrounding them.
Because the enormously burly Qunari had not been able to string the Inquisitor's bow.
Cullen felt like he was witnessing a miracle. Something even more wondrous and humanly—or well, elvenly—impossible than when he saw the Inquisitor step out of the rift in Adamant Fortress after pursuing the corruption among the Wardens.
Because where Iron Bull, the strongest fighter of them all, failed to even string the Inquisitor's bow, the much smaller elven woman had no trouble stringing the bow and releasing a shot in one smooth movement.
The arrow burrowed into the training dummy with enough power to rip open the canvas, exposing the straw and wood underneath. Cullen was glad that Cassandra was too busy reading to not be in the present gathering either. When she inevitably found out, however, she would surely be dismayed. Unless he was able to fix it beforehand.
For a moment, the crowd stood still. But then a burst of surprised laughter and cheerful shouts erupted, filling the courtyard with noise. Money exchanged hands one more. Cullen didn't miss the enormous pouch Varric sneakily placed underneath his coat. Blackwall also seemed to have bet on the Inquisitor, though not entirely as much as Varric had, receiving a handful of silvers and coppers from all of the Bull's Chargers, Dorian and Sera.
The Inquisitor, smiling triumphantly at her win, pushed her hair behind one ear and shifted her amusement onto the Iron Bull. The Qunari stared, slack-jawed, at the elf.
"How about that, Bull?" she chirped.
"This must be some scheme," Iron Bull said, frowning despite the good-natured glint in his eyes. "Give me one more try, boss."
The Inquisitor shrugged. "Very well."
She unstrung the bow and allowed the Iron Bull one more try. Perhaps because he had observed the Inquisitor with his Ben-Hassrath skills, he was able to mount the bowstring and bend the wood more swiftly. But he was unable to fully string the bow, even after a third, then a fourth time.
The Inquisitor, who had by then strung and fired her bow three times, each arrow splitting the previous one nailed into the training dummy, didn't wear a single sweat drop on her brow. The Iron Bull's grey skin was flushed from exertion when he finally voiced his defeat in the most dejected voice Cullen had ever heard.
A hooray coursed through the crowd. Most of them probably hadn't ever seen their elven leader's skill with a bow and looked at her with admiration for more than the Mark for once. Ellana gave a dramatic bow in all directions, grinning as the lit torches and moonlight caught her brilliant violet eyes. She turned to the Iron Bull with poorly disguised amusement.
"Are you really that disappointed you lost?" she asked, tilting her head. "I didn't take you for a shy man, Bull. If you wanted me so badly, you could have just asked."
For a moment, the Iron Bull seemed stunned. But then the corners of his lips lifted, and he roared with laughter.
"Well played, boss," he said when he had calmed down. "Very well played. I've said this before, but you could really be a Qunari."
"Thank you."
"You were never going to let me win, right boss?"
"With egg-head breathin' down her pretty neck? Think not."
It was Sera, of course. People laughed like it had been a good joke. But Cullen could sense the underlying relief and curiosity that someone foolish—or perhaps brave enough—voiced what everybody else had considered once or twice already.
Rumors had simmered already back in Haven that the aloof elven apostate, who willingly decided to remain in presence of templars and Chantry-believers, stayed due to more than just charity, albeit regarding the end of the world. Especially when he had been seen conversing with the Inquisitor almost exclusively.
Of course, there had always been the possibility that he talked to her merely because of the mysterious Mark. After all, they never touched in public or were seen with each other save for outside Solas' abode and when they were out on the field. Even if the two had been able to hide their affections throughout their travels, Leliana always had more than a dozen eyes and ears trained on the Inquisitor at all times. Cullen didn't doubt the cheerful, young elf, but nobody was better at digging up things than Leliana. And since things had seemed innocuous on all fronts, Cullen had dismissed all the hearsay as merely that—hearsay. And for that, Ambassador Montilyet had advised to let the gossiping be.
The Inquisitor herself had always denied it, retorting quickly and humorously whenever the topic was brought up by one of her companions. Solas hadn't even deigned to answer any comments, giving everyone, even the Inquisitor herself, cold glares at the mere joking suggestion.
That's why there had always been a tiny part in Cullen that had hoped. That had wished, Maker be damned, that there maybe, just maybe, was a chance for him to, one day perhaps, confess that there was a knot in his stomach whenever he thought of her with another. Whenever she touched another man, even brushed shoulders with a soldier or servant while squeezing through one of the smaller corridors in Skyhold. Whenever she smiled and laughed at something Dorian said, a Tevinter mage who seemed to enjoy her company unusually much despite his inclination.
But at that moment in the courtyard, with Ellana basking in her win against the Iron Bull, Cullen realized there wasn't any room in the Inquisitor's heart for him.
Maybe it had been all the ale. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the competition. Maybe it was the crisp night air and the suddenness of the suggestion. Maybe it was all three. But for the first time, Cullen saw the elven woman, stronger than Bull and more strong-willed than any person he had ever met, blush.
It wasn't obvious. It was just something her closest companions and advisors would have noticed, if even them. Since everyone there was drunk, they might have just disregarded it as a flush of the cold outside or the buzz of far too much ale. But Cullen was it for what it was.
His first instinct was to deny it, which he did. But then he and only he glanced up toward the castle proper. There, he spotted a slender, unmistakably elven figure standing on the stone landing outside the door leading into the atrium from the outside of the great edifice. It was too dark for Cullen to discern any features, but the proud stance and eyeless, watchful stare was distinct enough.
And Cullen knew that he had lost.
"Don't be silly, Sera," the Inquisitor had said, her voice sounding muffled in his ears. "Now, who wants another round!"
"I'll drink you penniless, you forest fox!"
The Iron Bull roared as he threw the Inquisitor over his shoulder like she was weightless, causing her to flap her arms and legs in all directions, laughing. The cheer nearly drowned out Cullen's thoughts as the crowd gathered around Iron Bull and the Inquisitor, following them back toward Herald's Rest. Cullen didn't join them, declining Blackwall's invitation to another pint. Instead, he headed back to the battlements, toward the tower where his office and resting area was installed. He was tipsy but not nearly drunk enough to handle the evening's revelation, which was why Cullen grabbed a bottle of his strongest before he climbed up the ladder.
Even if Cullen managed to drown his memories in spirits that night, he wouldn't have been able to continue drinking himself into oblivion throughout the rest of the year of the Inquisition. Especially not since he was off lyrium for the first time in many years. It would have made his mental state too labile, too explosive.
Too honest.
Because as the year passed and the Inquisitor managed to thwart foe after foe, seal rift after rift, her relationship with Solas intensified. Cullen wasn't sure how many noticed, but he was certain that Leliana, Cassandra and Varric knew, even if they didn't say anything. He was rather sure that the Iron Bull also knew, Tal-Vashoth as he later became. The jokes and suggestions surrounding Solas and the Inquisitor gradually died completely, which made Cullen fairly sure that even Cole was aware of the elven couple.
It… hurt. Immensely in the beginning, more so when it continued.
But it didn't last.
The state of the Inquisitor and Solas' relationship appeared more tightly intertwined than ever when suddenly, the mood changed between them. Cullen doubted that he was the first to know. The battle against Corypheus had been closer than ever, and he had been too busy losing sleep—and hair—fretting over battle tactics and his troops to see the Inquisitor and her companions. In fact, he had not noticed himself; it had been Leliana who shared the elves' sudden separation.
For the first time in months, Cullen had allowed himself to hope again. And this hope grew when the Inquisitor approached him and spent many hours with him in the war room, planning until late in the night. She seemed her usual strong self, laughing and joking while simultaneously never losing focus. He even discovered her asleep in her chair a few times when he returned after a quick trip to the kitchens for some food. Every time, Cullen carried her back to her quarters, tempted to wake her on more than one occasion. To confess.
To tell her that he cared for her very much and wondered if she might care for him too.
He hadn't, of course. Coward as he was, he couldn't bear to burden her with his desires. After all, she was the Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste. He was her commander. There had been enough gossip circulating when she and Solas had been an item; he no doubted there would be even more if people suspected him of sharing her bed. Especially when outside forces already were doing their best to undermine their organization.
So, no. He couldn't stay. He couldn't tell her.
He couldn't be with her.
But Cullen still hoped. There would come a time when the Inquisition wouldn't be needed anymore. When the Inquisitor no longer would be "the Inquisitor".
When she no longer murmured Solas' name whenever he carried her back to bed after one too long evening of planning.
Cullen thought that the opportunity would arise after Corypheus's defeat. After the greatest evil and threat against Thedas in modern times had been vanquished. Maybe then, Cullen would be able to admit his feelings for her. Maybe then, enough time and turmoil had passed for him to find purchase somewhere in the Inquisitor's heart.
But when Solas disappeared after that fateful battle with Corypheus, Cullen realized that he had been holding onto fool's hope. Everyone had been upset at Solas for his vanishing act. Everyone had felt betrayed that he wouldn't deign to stay even a minute for the celebration. Everyone knew that despite what had maybe been, or not been, between the apostate and the Inquisitor, he only remained for that orb. The relationships people had formed with him, what brittle bridges of friendship they had managed to establish, they'd all meant nothing.
Everyone knew. The Inquisitor too. But contrary to everybody else, Cullen didn't hear her speak ill of Solas even once. She moved on quicker than anyone too, returning to her straightforward attitude and confident smiles within a day.
But Cullen had caught her once or twice when she lost that guise. When she did, she just looked… sad.
Whatever the Inquisitor saw in the haughty, disloyal elf who removed the Dalish tattoos on her countenance, was something that nobody else could see. She saw something in the elven apostate that Cullen could not discern no matter how many times he tried. No matter how many times he tried to place himself in her shoes, underneath the banner and weight of being the Inquisitor, Cullen couldn't possibly understand.
But he remained by her side anyway. Partly because she believed the Inquisition wasn't fully done weeding out the Venatori agents in the south and he believed in her intuition. Partly because his stupid, stupid sense of hope would not go away. His heart didn't care that it hurt; it still wanted, still yearned.
So, Cullen remained one more year with the Inquisition. The organization managed to stabilize the lands, and he watched the Inquisitor's sadness fade. Upon the second year, it was gone completely, and she appeared just as she had when she beat the Iron Bull in a match of strength. When it finally came for the Inquisition to visit Orlais and the new Divine in a political meeting that had been without its like ever since the Divine Conclave, Cullen felt like he was riding next to the same strong, strong-willed elven woman who he had met back when the Inquisition first formed. Before the Mark started to grow and hurt after two years of dormancy. Before their old companions welcomed them with ale, open arms and a wrinkle extra or two in the premises of the Winter Palace. Before the Inquisitor discovered the Qunari plot to overthrow the leaders of the biggest factions in southern Thedas.
Before the Inquisitor—no, Ellana Lavellan returned from beyond the mysterious, grand mirrors known as eluvians, wearing nothing but chasmic, nightmarish agony on her bare elven features.
Cullen had been there when she returned to the Winter Palace, delayed from her other three companions. With a missing arm, he and the others rushed to Ellana's side, nauseous with concern over her health. But then they realized that she wasn't injured. The skin and flesh had fused and healed, unmarred and impossibly perfect where her left arm should have been. There wasn't even a single drop of blood on her equipment as she collapsed in Cullen's arms, more exhausted than anything.
No, despite the loss of a limb Ellana had been whole. Whole but hollow. For Cullen had quickly realized that the pain on her face, in her streaming violet eyes, was something else.
None of the companions that had emerged before her asked what had happened. Dorian and Varric both shut their mouth for once, and Cassandra had regarded Ellana with enough sympathy that Cullen almost expected the hardened, Nevarran Seeker to let out a tear herself.
"It… it's a long story, Curly."
Of course, Varric broke the silence first. But at least he had the courtesy to wait until Ellana fell unconscious.
Cullen cradled Ellana to his chest. Partly to keep her off the cold, marble floor and partly because he needed reassurance that she really was fine. He raised a hand toward Varric; he didn't need to hear it to know. He recognized Ellana's pain for what it was.
Heartbreak.
After carrying her back to her quarters, Cullen was perhaps the only one who remained firmly seated when Dorian, Varric and Cassandra retold their excursion into the eluvians and finally revealed the Qunari plot before the Exalted Council and Leliana, the new divine. He clenched his fists together when they said that treacherous elven apostate's name, declaring his reascension and true nature as an elven god.
Fen'Harel—the Dread Wolf.
Their revelations sparked a wild debate in the great meeting hall. Fereldens and Orlesians shouted over each other, and members of the Inquisition also seemed to have difficulty remaining still. Cassandra tried to maintain some rapport but soon lost it and joined the fiery discussion on the worth and damage of the Inquisition and, consequently, its leader. Even the famously cold Nightingale was scowling visibly in her seat between the national representatives, eyeing everyone in the room as she tried to exert order. But the pandemonium only continued devolving.
Just before Cullen feared he might have to defend Ambassador Montilyet with his sword, the great wooden doors in the far back of the meeting hall slammed open. Cullen feared for who it might be, not wanting the nobles from either side to see her pain for what it was, to take advantage of her like vultures upon rotted corpses.
But to his surprise, Ellana appeared strong, stronger than ever as she strode into the center of the room. All eyes darted to her. Sounds died out as swiftly as a candlelight in a draft. The attention must have been searing, yet Cullen noticed not even a hint of hesitation, fear or any of her earlier pain when Ellana lifted a familiar tome over her head.
"I announce the Inquisition disbanded!"
Anger crackled in her voice, frustration poisoning her announcement. But also, Cullen heard more determination than ever, which was saying a lot. He knew that despite what Ellana told everyone in the chaotic aftermath that followed, contrary to what she told Blackwall—now Thom Rainier—the Iron Bull, Cole, Sera, Varric, Dorian and Vivienne, even him, she had a plan. She hadn't ended the organization because she had wanted to retire, perhaps return to her clan. She hadn't ended the organization because she was tired of fighting, tired of the burden of responsibility.
She had ended it because she was starting something new. Despite what Cullen's reason told him, despite being proven foolish and wrong time after time, his heart still refused to give up.
He still had hope.
"No."
Ellana might as well have slapped him. That word, that instant rejection, hurt far more than anything he could have anticipated.
"W-why?" Cullen managed, trying to recover from the sharp response. "I know you aren't done—"
Abruptly, Ellana pulled him through the small door opening leading into her chambers. While it wasn't wholly appropriate, Cullen couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration through his body when Ellana pressed close. Not because she wanted to embrace him—no, she tried to peer past him into the lavishly decorated corridor outside.
Although she was smaller than him, Cullen couldn't help but feel insignificant. Ellana was such a force of power, be it when she smiled, frowned, laughed or cried. Her violet eyes sparkled in the light of the wall candles next to the door as she looked up at him and shut the door. There was a slightly accusatory frown on her brows.
"Have you forgotten yourself?" she demanded. "We're in the Winter Palace. There are more eyes and ears around us right here than anywhere else on Thedas."
"I-I apologize," Cullen said, unable to formulate anything more eloquent with the former Inquisitor so close to him. "I forgot myself. I do apologize, Inquis—"
He cut himself off. Ellana smiled at him, finally taking a step back. Cullen wanted to stop her, wanted to pull her closer, but he couldn't bring himself to.
He was a coward.
"You finally don't have an excuse to hide behind," she said teasingly. "Do you even know my name, Cullen?"
Thousand times over, he wanted to say. He didn't.
"Of course… Ellana."
She tilted her head to the side, glancing curiously at him.
"You don't sound very sure."
"I am," he said, clearing his throat. "I mean, I do know your name. It's Ellana. That's why I said it."
Inwardly, Cullen wanted to smack his head into the door frame. Outwardly, he did his best to not appear flustered when Ellana laughed.
"No need to sound so formal," she said, amusement lingering on her lips like morning dew on grass. "I'm a one-armed cripple now. I can't even bow according to the customs in this country anymore."
"There are far too many regulations and rules among the Orlesian nobility," Cullen replied with a slight smile of his own. "I don't think they know half of them themselves, and the other half is probably just made up as they go."
"Ah, the Grand Game," Ellana had said in agreement, letting her eyes drift away. "I'd rather fight Corypheus again than attend an Orlesian formal again."
"Agreed," Cullen said, shuddering.
Ellana laughed again. Cullen was transfixed. He couldn't wrap his head around how she could laugh so easily after wearing an expression so devastated, Cullen had thought Ellana would never smile again.
If that had happened, Cullen would have tracked down Solas—no, this Fen'Harel himself and dealt with him. No matter the price.
"But to continue where we left off before you forgot our location…"
Cullen watched Ellana sink into one of two obnoxiously ornate armchairs before the brightly burning fireplace in the room. She gestured at the other. He took the hint and sat down carefully.
"Yes," Cullen said, feeling his smile evaporate when Ellana's features hardened. "I know you're not done. I know you're going to try and stop him."
Him. Ellana might have thought that Cullen wouldn't notice, but he did. There was no denying the agony in her eyes, the open rupture in her chest. She wasn't bleeding, but that didn't mean she hadn't been wounded.
She had. Maybe mortally so.
"I guess there's no hiding from someone who's been one of my advisors for so long."
"No," Cullen said in a neutral tone, hoping she wouldn't be able to discern the pain in his voice. "I'm here because I'm willing to aid you with whatever you, the Seeker and Divine Victoria have planned."
Ellana raised a brow. "You're far more sharp-eyed than Dorian ever gave you credit for. And that man gave you a lot."
Cullen grimaced. "I hope you informed Magister Pavus that I'm not interested. Never was."
"He was never interested in you either," Ellana said, eyes glittering with mirth. "You're just too… templar-y. He found you appealing to look at, that is all. As do many, I hear."
Cullen sighed, even though her final comment made his heart beat a little quicker.
"Yes, well," he said. "I know you're merely trying to change subject… Ellana. Please, let us return to the topic at hand. What the three of you have in mind, it… it has to with him, doesn't it? It's the reason you ended the Inquisition."
Ellana's glee vanished, like rogue clouds on a sunny summer afternoon.
"It does," she admitted slowly. "The Inquisition was simply too large. Too cumbersome. Too easily corrupted." She paused briefly, focus vanishing, before fixing his gaze with hers. "A smaller, more confined unit will prove far more successful, in my opinion."
"Then I want in," Cullen said, sitting straighter. "You'll need all the help you can get. And I'm sure I've proven my loyalty, if not capability, over the last three years."
Ellana inspected his face. Cullen started to feel self-conscious by the time she spoke.
"Yes, Cullen. But…"
Cullen's heart stopped beating. "But…?"
Ellana rested her head in the palm of her hand, letting out a long exhale as her violet eyes drifted toward the crackling hearth.
"You're a good man, Cullen. Better than most."
"I-I wouldn't precisely say that-" he started.
"You are. It is good to be humble, but self-knowledge is not a poor quality. Since you don't appear to think so yourself, I'm here to remind you that you are a good man. Very much so, in fact."
"I…"
Cullen swallowed when Ellana arched an eyebrow in his direction. He cleared his throat.
"Thank you," he said.
Ellana smiled faintly. "There you go. Wasn't that hard, was it?"
"No," Cullen lied.
Ellana chuckled, completely seeing through him once more. But her humor faded quickly as she continued.
"Truth is, Cullen, we know nothing about… him. And after tonight, we'll be a three-manned system, if even that. Leliana is the Divine—she cannot be running around the countryside, digging up elfroot for potions and gathering precious minerals for the smithy. She needs to unite the Chantry and stand as its leader as Divine Victoria demands. And while I'm sure she may be able to employ Scout Harding and maybe a few of hers, our sphere of influence and power won't be anywhere near as expansive and significant as the Inquisition. It… it will be very hard, for all of us."
"So," Cullen had said, furrowing his brows. "Hardships come and go."
Ellana made a face. "Yes, but I don't believe we'll be able to do much in a while. Even though I try to be optimistic—I mean, it was my choice to end the organization so I'd better be content with what we're capable of now, as little as it may be—I cannot lie to you. Cass and Leliana both agreed to pursue this, despite the difficulties. We're dedicated and—"
"Are you saying I cannot be?" Cullen interrupted, feeling insulted. "Am I not as trustworthy as them?"
"It's really not that, Cullen."
Ellana grimaced. "You've been through so much over the years. Ever since the Heroine of Ferelden's time, you have been affected by the changes in the world. I'm not quite saying that you're old but—"
"But you are saying I'm old," Cullen stated dryly.
She snorted. "Hey, at least you've still got both of your arms."
Cullen sighed, for once not charmed by Ellana's sometimes questionable sense of humor. "With all due respect, Ellana—"
"Be happy."
Cullen stared at her. "What?"
Ellana gave him a weary smile that didn't quite fit with her elven, still youthful features.
"I've gotten this feeling throughout the years," she began quietly, "that you were never quite satisfied with your life in the Inquisition. That feeling got stronger the more time we spent together, and although I wanted to ask you, I was always too afraid. You're a good man and a former templar, so you wouldn't have abandoned your sense of duty when the sky threatened to pour legions of demons upon our world. But now that that ordeal is over, you're free to do what you want. I don't want you to feel obligated to follow me through an even bigger ordeal out of loyalty."
It's not out of loyalty, Cullen thought. It's out of—
"You mentioned that you never made any vows to abstain from marriage."
Cullen's breath caught in the back of his throat. He coughed, blushing when Ellana watched him recover in not so mild amusement.
"Y-yes," he said, hoping he wasn't blushing as terribly as it felt like he was. "Indeed, I didn't. Nor of…"
"Celibacy. I remember."
Cullen was unable to look Ellana in the eyes at that point. Embarrassed, he stared far off to the side, doing his best to assume a calm veneer. He didn't notice Ellana until she placed a hand on his shoulder.
Cullen stiffened from head to toe. He didn't know what to think. What to expect.
"Be happy, Cullen. You've already served Thedas well and any templar would be proud of their order, knowing you were once part of it. Knowing you managed to wean off lyrium all on your own."
Wrong, Cullen thought. I was so close to relapsing when you found me at my desk with the tools. When you told me to not do it, I couldn't deny it. I couldn't deny you.
"You're an inspiration to so many, my former Commander."
Ellana wore a tender smile as she looked down at Cullen with all the sincerity in the world. "You deserve to rest. A wife lucky enough to marry you and children who will all be as shy and well-mannered and loyal as you. That mabari outside seems like a good starting point; I heard they only choose one master and listen to him or her only. You seem to already share a bond."
"Ellana, I—"
"Cullen," Ellana interjected sharply before her expression softened. "You deserve more. Don't waste your chance at happiness to chase mine."
Cullen opened his mouth to protest, but Ellana didn't allow him to. She bent down and pressed a quick peck on his cheek before she headed toward the doors. Cullen watched her leave, knowing that she drifted further from his reach with each step. He wanted to rise, to follow her and grab her by the wrists. He wanted to turn her around and tell her how he felt about her, how he had always felt about her. How chasing her happiness was his happiness too.
How she, everything about her, with her, was his happiness.
But Cullen did not rise. He sat petrified in the armchair, lost to the sparks and snaps of the burning hearth.
Ellana didn't want to drag him into her personal business. She didn't want any of her companions to follow her chase after the Dread Wolf. She wanted to shoulder as much of that responsibility herself.
Cullen Stanton Rutherford, formerly Commander of the Inquisition, previously templar and Knight-Captain, then Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, had always disliked Solas. That dislike slowly, throughout the months that passed as Cullen tried to find his place in the world, away from Ellana and everybody from the Inquisition, morphed into pure hatred.
Yes, Cullen grew to hate Solas. Solas had scarred Ellana, the very epitome of strength and grace, beyond the point of return. And that meant she would always forever remain his, even though he had shattered her heart. Nobody else would ever have room in her thoughts.
Yet still, Cullen could not stop the bright flame of hope that burst to life within him when he woke up to his mabari barking at the door in the middle of a stormy night—and he opened the door to his cabin to find Ellana Lavellan outside.