Chapter Two

Commander Cullen Rutherford was a man who demanded respect everywhere he went. When he gave orders, he expected them to be followed without question and without delay. His soldiers knew it. The refugees knew it. Even the other members of the council knew it. He didn't abuse his power, nor did he command his troops with an iron fist, yet he wasn't soft on them either.

With the threat of the breach looming over them all, the destruction of the war between mages and templars wreaking havoc all over Thedas, and the most recent explosion at the Conclave, there was no time for dalliances. There was work to do, and if there was any chance for the young Inquisition to gain any kind of respect and power, everyone had to play their part. They didn't have to like each other, but for the sake of their organization, they certainly had to get along.

Despite that, there was one person in particular who seemed to make a habit out of getting on his every nerve.

The so-called Herald of Andraste. A mage from the Free Marches. A distant noble, of all things. A noble who clearly believed her title was enough to set her on a pedestal as she paraded through Haven as though she were royalty. She walked with confidence—straight shouldered and head held high as though she were infallible. While there was nothing inherently wrong with that, it was her response to everyone that ticked him off.

Or rather, her lack of response.

When greeted with "Good morning," or "How are you?", she'd give a casual wave. When congratulated on stopping the breach from growing, she'd give a dip of her head. Small acknowledgements, yet never once so much as a thank you. Even in the war room when they'd had a very brief meeting, she hadn't said a word as everyone introduced themselves. Instead, she'd merely nodded and given the slightest of bows.

It was beyond rude, and it irked him to no end. Of course, it was a grave time for them all, but lacking even the most basic manners allowed him to quickly decide he did not like the Herald. Appreciated her assistance in sealing the breach, sure, but that's as far as it went. He didn't have to speak to everyone who sought to join the Inquisition, but if she were going to be a vital member—as the people and other members of the council insisted she would be—the very least she could do was make it easier for them all.

Instead, she seemed dead set on going about her arrogant way of treating them all as though they weren't worthy of her time.

It was infuriating far more than it should have been.

With an annoyed shake of his head, he strolled up the stairs and headed for the chantry. His goal was to study the map spread on the war room table, as he'd done dozens of times in the past few days. They were getting ready to dispatch the Herald and several trained soldiers to the Hinterlands to meet with Mother Giselle. According to that apostate mage, Solas, it was going to take a lot of power to help the Herald seal the breach for good.

They'd spent days arguing over whether or not to side with the templars or the mages, but the one thing they could all agree on was that they needed more influence to be seen as a true force to be reckoned with.

As he rounded the courtyard where a few tents had been set up, he spotted the Herald leaving the chantry. Her head was lowered, reading over some paper as she walked.

"Herald," he called, his tone curt. "There's a requisition I'd like you to look into when you reach the Hinterlands."

The Herald stopped, peering up to look at him with bleak interest. She flashed him the paper she'd been reading, showing him that she'd already gotten word.

His annoyance spiked. "Very good then. Also, if you happen upon any elfroot, it will be beneficial if you could collect as many as you can."

Instead of responding, she nodded and gave a tiny wave as she continued past him. He watched her go for a few moments, his jaw clenched. He wasn't unnecessarily violent, but he imagined tossing a book at the back of her head. Perhaps that would knock some sort of dignity into her.

With an irritated grunt, he strode through the chantry doors. Instead of making for the war room as he'd intended, he aimed for Josephine's office. With a sharp knock, he waited for her to bid him entrance before opening the door and stepping inside.

He was surprised to find Cassandra and Leliana both standing around their ambassador, but he wasn't disappointed. The conversation he needed to have was addressed to all of them, Cassandra more so since she'd been the one to enlist the Herald as their ally rather than their prisoner. "Ah, good. You're all here."

"Is everything alright, Commander?" Josephine queried. "You look…troubled."

He closed the door behind himself and crossed his arms. "The Herald. What is her problem?"

Josephine raised her eyebrows in confusion. "Her problem? What do you mean?"

"Is it too much to ask that she at least pretends she wants to be here? How hard is it to say yes or no? Every day she walks around as though she's the empress herself. Even when we have our meetings, there's no need for her to be there if she isn't going to contribute."

"Commander—"

When Josephine attempted to cut in, he continued, speaking over her. "No offense to you, Lady Montilyet, but I would have thought nobles had at least a shred of dignity. The people say good morning, and what does she say in response? Nothing."

"Commander, she—"

That time, Leliana tried to speak, but he was too caught up in his annoyance to stop now. "We send her on a mission and are courteous enough to ask her opinion on a matter, and what does she say? Nothing. Just nods or shrugs. I know she's needed to close the breach, but if she truly doesn't want to be here then she needs to—"

"Cullen," Cassandra cut in, more firmly. She cut a sharp look at Leliana and Josephine before returning her attention to him. "The Herald isn't being rude. She's a mute. She can't speak."

"She…what?"

The other two women nodded, and in an instant, all of Cullen's anger shifted to humiliation. He stood there dumbfounded for several seconds while they made poor attempts at controlling their amusement.

She's mute. He was never in her presence for very long, yet he'd been speculating from a distance. Judging, more like. He'd seen a woman who had refused to speak, thinking her quite petty and bad-mannered, yet not once had it crossed his mind that she didn't speak because she couldn't. "Are you sure?" he asked, feeling foolish for even resorting to complaining about something so trivial.

"Quite sure," Josephine said, her lips twitching as she fought to keep from laughing. "Have you really not noticed all this time? The hand signals she uses didn't seem odd to you?"

He felt his cheeks heat, which caused him further embarrassment. "Er… You know what? I suddenly remember I have somewhere to be." Without giving them the opportunity to respond, he was shoving the door open and pacing toward the war room, though he didn't miss the muffled laughter from one or all of them.

Once hidden from prying eyes, he leaned against the door and covered his face with his hands. Maker's breath. Mute. That's why she'd never said anything. That's why she'd only nod or employ some kind of hand movement whenever someone spoke to her.

What was worse, instead of confronting her directly, he'd voiced his complaints behind her back like some gossipmonger. Nearly two weeks of bubbling frustration and loathing her from a distance for nothing.

He felt like such a fool. He'd always been analytical, always seeing a situation from every angle before making a decision, yet he'd been so quick to misjudge the Herald without even thinking she was…

He owed her an apology, but what could he possibly say? It wasn't like he'd directly accused her of being a stuck-up noble arse, yet he'd spent weeks treating her coldly simply because he'd assumed as much. He'd thought rude things about her when he hadn't taken the liberty of trying to understand.

"Idiot," he muttered to himself and pushed away from the door. Maker only knew what she would think of him if she found out.

…

…

The last two weeks had been…strange, to say the least. Evelyn had sealed the breach and apparently fallen unconscious for three days. When she'd awakened, she'd learned that she'd somehow received a brand-new title—the Herald of Andraste. Not only that, but it seemed some of the people around Haven were convinced she was some chosen one blessed with divine powers.

She would have voiced her displeasure and quickly denied all claims had she been able to speak, but even as she'd scrambled to write a note for Cassandra and the others to tell the people she wasn't what they thought, the Seeker had only shook her head and insisted that she accept the title. Even if they made a public announcement, so many had seen with their own eyes what she and her new powers were capable of.

It was all just so peculiar. She wasn't used to receiving so much attention, and she certainly didn't like it. She would have preferred to be thought of as a prisoner. At least then she would have been in familiar territory. Being cursed and looked down upon were the norm for her, not treated as though she was some holy figure.

Still, she'd decided to just roll with it. She'd been given the option to leave if she wanted, but where could she go? The war was spread across Thedas, and the breach was a threat the entire world faced. Nowhere was safe.

Then again, she was used to feeling that way, wasn't she?

Before the memories of her dark past came roaring to life, she smiled with mild humor at Cassandra's words. "He didn't know?" she signed toward Solas, who translated the question for her.

The Seeker snorted as she walked next to her. "No, the commander was certain you were simply being impolite. He hadn't the slightest clue that you were mute. You should have seen the look on his face when we told him."

Evelyn shook her head, amused at the notion. In the last two weeks, she hadn't had the time to have one-on-one conversations with many people. The signed language she used wasn't one many knew. She'd been able to speak to both Leliana and Solas with ease, as they both were fluent in it. Most of the time she'd had to resort to pointing or carrying a quill and notepad around to write down anything she wanted to say.

With Cullen, the esteemed commander of the Inquisition troops, she'd taken notice in the beginning that he'd had a particularly distrustful disposition toward her, yet they were never in each other's company long enough for her to learn why. She'd assumed it was because he was suspicious of her, even after she'd managed to clear her name. It didn't take much to look at him and realize he was once a templar. She'd wondered if that, too, played a part in him disliking her for being a mage, a thought that had been understandable. Hadn't she bore witness to the brutal hatred between mages and templars?

Now, however, after hearing Cassandra tell her exactly why the oh-so-serious commander had been so short with her in their meetings and when she'd passed him by, she couldn't help but to laugh. "Do I owe him an apology?"

Cassandra listened to Solas before shaking her head. "Of course not. To be fair, I don't recall any of us actually telling him. I can see why he would make that assumption."

"I wonder how much longer it would have taken him to realize it," Varric commented from behind her.

Evelyn gave a helpless shrug, still thinking it over. She made a mental note to try and make herself seem friendlier when she returned to Haven. She didn't expect everyone to like her, but she at least wanted to have a mutual level of respect if they were going to be working together.

Somewhere along the rocky slopes above them, a scout announced that they were approaching the Inquisition encampment that had been set up. The roads were starting to show signs of the battle between templars and mages. Burned marks lined the ground, cargo wagons had been overturned and abandoned, and every so often she'd spot drying blood or lifeless bodies along the grass. It was a sad sight to see, yet she steeled herself, for she knew the worst had yet to come.

Find and speak to Mother Giselle. Gather herbs. Fulfill Cullen's requisition. Though it sounded simple enough, there was a distant stench of burning wood, and even farther off, quiet sounds of explosions and screaming. She'd been a fighter for years, so heading into battle was nothing new to her. However, even knowing bloodshed would be inevitable, she just hoped the loss would be minimal.