Chapter Three

The trip to the Hinterlands shouldn't have taken as long as it did, and yet it had been three and a half weeks before the Herald and her entourage returned.

A distant horn blew, signaling the Herald's arrival. Cullen let out a sigh of relief. Though reports had assured him the dispatched group had suffered only minor injuries and no casualties, a part of him would always worry of an ambush. He knew firsthand what type of damage rogue templars and mages were capable of when they saw everyone as the enemy. The Inquisition needed any and everyone at arms to support their cause. Even knowing some might not make it out alive, it was always a relief when a mission was complete with absolute success.

And according to reports, the Herald had more than exceeded his expectations. Not only had she been able to speak to the revered mother, she'd lingered long enough to help the refugees in the Crossroads, managed to recruit horsemaster Dennet to their cause, and successfully located both the mage and the templar secret hideouts. Though the war was far from over, she'd landed a damaging blow to both sides.

As he stood near the training area where several soldiers were sparring, movement from the corners of his eyes had him tilting his head. Riding atop a beautiful Ferelden steed, the Herald led the others toward the small village. A cloak was thrown over her shoulders with the hood drawn, and even from the distance he could tell something was wrong.

Her shoulders were slumped forward, and her head was hanging low, as though exhausted. When they walked past him and the soldiers, he caught a glimpse of her golden skin looking paler than it should have been.

A flicker of concern had him following the line of horses toward the stables. Cassandra and Solas dismounted, though it was the elf who held his arms out to Evelyn to help her slide from her mount. When her feet touched the ground, her knees buckled. Solas slid an arm around her waist to keep her from falling, supporting her weight as she leaned into him.

"Lady Cassandra," Cullen hailed with a frown. "What's wrong with the Herald? There was nothing in the report to suggest she'd been injured."

In all the years he'd known Cassandra, he'd learned she was terrible at hiding her emotions. As it was, she shifted uncomfortably and watched as Solas led the other woman toward the grand doors, presumably to her cabin.

"The Herald will recover," she said to him, though she still wrung her hands nervously.

Cullen narrowed his eyes. "That isn't what I asked."

He had no illusion that he in anyway frightened her, but the Herald was the key needed to seal the breach. If something had happened, he needed to know.

Cassandra shook her head. "Perhaps it would be best if Josephine and Leliana were here. It would be better to tell you all at once."

Those solemn words had alarm bells going off in Cullen's mind. He wanted nothing more than to wring the truth out of her, but he conceded to her suggestion with a stiff nod. "Very well."

The two of them walked side-by-side toward the Chantry. When they passed by the Herald's cabin, the door was just closing, so he couldn't get a look at her.

Cullen waited patiently in the war room while Cassandra left to round up the other two women, just barely resisting the urge to pace. So, when all three entered the room minutes later and closed the door firmly, he almost sighed. Such angst did nothing to soothe the constant agitation he experienced due to his withdrawal.

"What's this about?" Leliana asked, taking in Cassandra's tension.

"I couldn't risk sending a messenger and having this information leaked," she replied, moving to stand near the table. She placed her hands on the wood and sighed. "The Herald is on borrowed time."

"How do you mean?"

"According to Solas, each use of the mark will continue to weaken her."

"I thought sealing the breach stopped the mark from spreading," Josephine commented, worry etched in her tone.

"Indeed," Leliana said. "He told Cassandra and me that she was in excellent health."

Cassandra gave a grave nod. "That was the original assumption, but we've encountered a few rifts in the Hinterlands. Though the Herald managed to close them, it took a toll on her body. At the moment, resting will allow her to heal and regain her strength, but…" She sighed once more. "She's fallen so ill just from closing the smaller ones."

"So, you're saying attempting to seal the big one will likely kill her," Cullen stated, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Maker's breath. Does she know?"

"She figured it out on her own. Solas only confirmed her suspicion when she asked him."

"Does this mean she plans on leaving?" Josephine asked, placing a dainty hand to her heart.

Cassandra grunted. "One would think performing such a suicidal challenge would send them running in the other direction, but no. She's made it clear that she's willing to do whatever it takes to close the breach, even at the expense of her own life."

The room fell into silent contemplation. Cullen didn't know what was going through everyone else's mind, but he could guess. The Herald knew what would become of her should she go through with closing the breach for good, yet the fact that she was still determined to risk her life to save them all was nothing short of admirable. How many others had he met who would so easily cast aside their lives to save millions? He couldn't begin to comprehend how she must feel. To wake up as a prisoner, accused of murder and treason, and baring a strange mark that would drain her very life, only to be asked to risk herself for the greater good.

"It was good that you didn't relay this by message," Leliana murmured, breaking the tense silence. "Should anyone find out about Evelyn's weakness, they would be quick to exploit it."

"What about the women who assisted Solas in cleaning her?" Cassandra asked the spymaster. "Were you able to speak with them?"

Leliana nodded. "Rest assured they will not be saying a word."

Cullen frowned between the two of them. "A word about what?"

"A sensitive matter," Leliana countered smoothly. Though her expression revealed nothing, Cullen knew she was lying, though he dropped the matter, deciding if it was anything of importance, they would share it with him.

They concluded the meeting with a plan to regroup the following day to go over their next move. Mother Giselle had requested they make a trip to Val Royeaux to speak with the grand clerics, though they still couldn't agree on whether or not to send the Herald. Well, the others agreed, yet Cullen was reluctant for the simple fact that he knew sending her would not only prove dangerous, but they could very well take her prisoner. A good many out there were still convinced that she'd been the reason the Conclave was destroyed, and even if they didn't, they would be quick to use her as a scapegoat.

On his way back to his private cabin, it was already late in the evening, the sun having set little over an hour ago. Cullen found his feet disobeying his commands as they carried him toward the Herald. He'd somehow managed to convince himself that despite Solas' assurance that she would be fine by morning, he simply wanted to apologize for his behavior toward her weeks ago. It had absolutely nothing at all to do with the fact that ever since learning of her impending death, he'd grown concerned with her wellbeing because he cared. Such a notion was just…ridiculous. He didn't know a thing about her.

After only a moment's hesitation, he gave a soft knock, expecting her to be asleep. However, he was surprised when he heard a soft whistle, which he took as her bidding him entrance.

Drawing in a deep breath of cool air, he stepped inside to be met with a wave of warmth from the fireplace.

The Herald was sitting up on the bed with a fur blanket drawn over her shoulders as she read from some book. Her eyes widened with surprise upon seeing him, and her lips parted slightly. Then, she gave a faint smile of greeting.

"My apologies for disturbing you," he stated, resisting the urge to run a hand across the back of his neck.

She waved that aside, beckoning for him to take a seat in the chair across from her bed. It was on the tip of his tongue to decline, but when he met the warm depths of the emerald gaze, he found himself unable to tell her no. He took the seat. "I, er… How are you feeling?"

Her smile didn't waver, yet it didn't quite reach her eyes. She made a movement with her hands, but at his confused look, she pursed her lips and reached for the notepad on her nightstand. After scrawling something out, she showed him. "I'm being coddled like a baby."

That hadn't been the reply he'd thought he would receive, yet the pout on her lips was rather amusing. "Solas says you need rest to regain your strength."

She rolled her eyes at that, making him take note of the dark shadows beneath them. "He made me drink a potion that tastes like nug shit." After reading, she pointed at the empty vial occupying the nightstand.

Cullen nodded in sympathy, able to imagine just how bitter the liquid was. "I'm sure he means well. It can't be all that bad." She fixed him with a dry look.

When the humor faded and an odd silence descended between them, she wrote out another note. "I'm sorry if I've seemed disrespectful to you before."

Cullen's face flared with heat, making him shift in the chair with discomfort. "Ah, no, don't apologize. I'm the one who…" he trailed off and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Did Lady Cassandra tell you that?"

Instead of responding, Evelyn gave a secretive smile, an impish twinkle in her eyes as she shrugged. He grunted in embarrassment and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course she did. Maker's breath. Honestly, I had no idea you were… That you…"

She cocked an amused brow at his stammering, further making him uncomfortable. "This is not the way I intended for this conversation to go."

Taking a few moments to study him, she tapped the quill against her chin in thought before scrawling out another note. "If it makes you feel better, I hadn't realized you were being cold until Cassandra mentioned it. I just assumed you were naturally grumpy."

Cullen regarded her with an incredulous stare, unsure whether or not he should be offended. However, going by her sly smile, he realized she was taunting him. He relaxed and snorted with humor. "Most would argue that I am. Now that we've gotten that embarrassing blunder out of the way, how are you really feeling? I can't imagine any of this is easy for you."

Unlike the first time he'd asked, her smile fell, and her gaze darted to the side. For a while, he feared she wouldn't answer. But then, she began to write another note. As she did, he took the time to study her.

She was…exceptionally beautiful. Of course, he'd noticed that upon first meeting her, but he'd been so caught up in everything around him that he'd never taken the time to really look at her. She looked vaguely familiar, but damn him if he could determine where and how. He'd come across so many names and faces in his life that it was near impossible to remember them all.

Her hair was short, barely stopping at her shoulders, and it was such a deep shade of black that it had a glossy sheen to it in the firelight. Almond shaped eyes tilted at a sultry slant were framed by thick dark lashes, making the stark emerald color of her eyes stand out.

Her skin wasn't perfect, for a jagged scar ran through her left eyebrow down to the curve of her cheekbone, yet it was so faded and hidden under the shadow of her loose hair that it was almost unnoticeable unless one was scrutinizing her the way he was. Her nose was a fine noble swoop, her lips full and wide and oh so sinful when they curved into that wicked smile that revealed a mischievous side to her.

As pretty as she was, it was still evident that despite her joking manner, she wasn't feeling well. Where her skin had first held a healthy, tanned glow that was common in the Free Marches, it was pale in comparison, and her cheeks were stained red from a possible fever. Even her gaze was half-lidded, as if keeping her eyes open took more effort than it should.

Cassandra had been right. The Herald was ill, and the thought itself was enough to make him feel a twitch of concern on her behalf.

Evelyn finally turned her notepad to him, though she didn't quite meet his gaze. Instead, she focused on a spot somewhere on his forehead. "I'd rather people stop asking me that. I can't answer it without lying."

He gave a solemn nod, glancing away. Of course there was no easy way for responding to such a loaded question. "I can respect that. Forgive me." He stood, feeling as though he'd intruded enough by interrupting her sleep. "I'm sure you'd like to get some rest now. Goodnight."

He turned away with the intention of leaving her to her peace. There was the sound of scrambling behind him, and before he could turn to see, something hard smacked into the back of his armor.

Stunned, he half-turned to spot a thin book laying on the ground. Then he glanced up at the Herald. Still positioned on the bed, she was sitting up on her knees, her arm extended. "Did…did you just throw a book at me?"

Her shoulders shook on a silent laugh, and he found himself mesmerized by the wide smile she gave him. She scrambled to her feet and rushed toward him, writing on her notepad in the process. "Had to get your attention." She flipped the page and scrawled another note.

Standing before him, he realized that the gown she wore covered her from neck to ankle, though it was slim fitting, revealing a curvaceous figure that had his cheeks flooding with heat. The thoughts that filled his mind were far too improper, making him want to shove handfuls of snow against his face. Then, he'd escape to the Chantry and repent for the unholy images flashing through his mind.

Impervious to his sudden blast of desire, she flashed him the new note. "It was kind of you to check on me. Thank you."

Oh, she would be so quick to take those words back if she knew just what had crossed his mind moments ago. Doing his best to banish the sinful thoughts, he gave a courteous dip of his head. "Goodnight, Herald."

He turned away but was once again stopped when she tugged on his cloak. "Evelyn," she quickly wrote out. The look she gave him was intended to make him understand that she wanted him to call her by her name rather than her title.

With another small smile, he corrected himself. "Goodnight, Evelyn."

…

…

Yet another night terror had haunted Evelyn's sleep, memories of a past she longed to forget. Dozens of bodies strewn across the ground, sacks of flesh lining the walls, screams of agony echoing through the halls, and blood… Maker, there was so much blood.

More than ten years later and she still relived those haunting memories as though it had just been yesterday. She still saw the tormented faces of people she'd called friends as their bodies were transformed into horribly disfigured creatures. She still heard the cries of the templars as they were mutilated and tortured until the bitter end. She still smelled the stench of sulfur as veins of flesh grew like weeds along the walls. She still felt the jabs of sharp rocks tearing into her legs and hands as she crawled through the storage caves for a place to hide, only to be surrounded by the very creatures she'd sought to escape from.

And then, the fire started. Scorching white-hot flames that erupted from her hands and engulfed everything in its path. Abominations, demons, and everything else nearby…any and every living creature unfortunate enough to have been in the vicinity of her uncontrollable blast of power…all reduced to charred bones.

Bolting upright, Evelyn clenched her fingers around the hilt of a dagger she'd kept tucked under her pillow, sweat causing her gown to stick to her skin as she surveyed the room. Instead of chains and damp stone walls, there was wood decorated in jewels and paintings. The fireplace had died to low embers, providing just enough light to see that she was no longer back in that nightmare. She was in Haven, a frightening event in itself, yet one that paled in comparison to her past.

Loosening her grip on her dagger, she heaved a deep sigh and scrubbed her hands over her face, hoping it would help in wiping away those dark memories. It didn't. The mark on her left hand flared with green light, an occurrence that happened whenever she was either near a fade rift or her emotions spiked.

She glanced out the nearest window. It was dark, still an hour or so before the sun would rise, but there was no way she'd be able to drift back off to sleep. Her nerves were racing on end, her heart pounding like the bass of a drum. She needed to relax before the meeting started, but not here. She needed some fresh air, something the icy Frostback Mountains surrounding Haven had plenty to offer.

Tossing back her bedsheets, she changed into a pair of leather trousers, knee-high boots, and a simple blouse. When she peered at herself in the full-length mirror hanging on one wall, she twisted her lips in distaste when she was able to spot an ugly scar resting over her collarbone. She threw on a high collar overcoat and used a belt to fasten it in place, making sure to conceal the unsightly blemish. Satisfied, she pulled on a pair of elbow-length gloves, reached for her staff, and slipped out of her cabin.

As expected, all of Haven was deathly silent, the inhabitants still tucked away in their tents or cabins, sleeping soundly. Good, she thought, moving toward the outer gates. She'd be able to get in some much-needed meditation and breathing practice before the hustle and bustle began. Perhaps that would help clear her head and allow her to focus on whatever was planned for today.

The massive wooden doors were closed. They weren't locked, but any attempt to open the heavy oak would cause an echoing groan loud enough to risk waking others prematurely. She resorted to climbing onto the statue and scaling the stone wall. Leaping over, she landed in a crouch, only a small crunch of snow beneath her boots able to be heard. As a child, she used to sneak away from her family's estate to wander through the woods, climbing trees and pretending to be one of the Dalish. She was pleased that her once frowned upon agility and stealth skills were still clearly intact.

Moving with light steps, she edged around the line of tents where the soldiers slept and moved toward the path that would lead her to the frozen lake. With the sun still hiding beneath the horizon and the green glow of the breach not quite enough to illuminate her way, she conjured a small flame to settle at the top end of her staff for both warmth and light.

When she made it to the snow-covered shore, she used her staff to test the strength of the ice. Sure that it wouldn't break under her weight, she took a tentative step forward. Then another, and another, and several more until she was near the middle. She tapped at the ice, able to see that it was far too thick to so much as crack.

Content, she stretched her arms, popped a few bones, and shook her limbs out, as though preparing for a run. The thought made her snort, for her practices required absolutely no physical labor whatsoever. She sat cross-legged on the ice and laid her staff in her lap, careful in keeping the fire away from both the ice and her clothing. Closing her eyes, she focused on steadying her breathing, a basic exercise that had been taught at the very beginning when she'd been transferred to her first Circle Tower.

Deep breath in, hold it…release. Deep breath in, hold it…release. Over and over again she worked on getting her breath under control, clearing all thoughts of abominations and death from her mind. It took longer than usual, a result of just how burdened she'd felt lately.

Deep breath in… Hold it… And—

"Herald!" came a sharp bark from off to her side. "What in the Maker's name are you doing?"

Jumping in surprise, she turned her head to spot Cullen standing on the shore with a torch in one hand. His face was pinched with concern, though his annoyance was unmistakable as he glared at her. She tossed a casual wave of greeting in his direction.

"Do not wave at me. Get off the lake right now. It's too dangerous."

Tilting her head to one side, Evelyn felt her lips twitch in amusement. He looked and sounded very much like a disapproving father. Their conversation last night had revealed he wasn't quite as hard-boiled as he portrayed himself to be. Oh, he was still rather intimidating. There was no doubt he was a man who demanded respect everywhere he went, and he had a sort of perpetual scowl that made him seem unapproachable. Courtesy of his past as a high-ranking Templar, no doubt.

However, she'd seen a slightly gentler side of him as he'd reacted to her teasing in good humor. It was clear he wasn't someone who allowed himself to relax very often. Neither was she most times, but his austerity was far worse than hers.

Standing, she held his gaze as she jumped.

Though it was hard to tell from the distance, she could have sworn his face turned a smidge paler. "Be careful, Herald," he scolded. "If the ice cracks..."

She snorted with humor, though she didn't follow his command. Instead, she leapt over to first the left, then the right. Then, she twirled.

"Don't make me come over there," he growled, both annoyance and concern etched in his harsh tone. It was actually…kind of cute.

She realized she probably looked like a troublesome child refusing to heed his warning, but she was beginning to realize that taunting the stern commander was far too much fun. And Maker, it had been so very long since she'd felt anything more than apprehension and caution toward everyone.

She spread her arms out wide, challenging him to act on his threat.

As expected, he hesitated, clearly not trusting the ice to support his bulky weight. However, he surprised her by taking a careful step toward her. All the while, he muttered under his breath, cursing her for her insolence, no doubt.

When he actually made it within arms' reach of her, she smirked at the thunderous look on his face. He stretched his arm out for her, but she stepped out of reach, silently chuckling as she moved farther onto the lake. He blanched. "Herald, stop these games at once. If you fall in, you'll fall ill, or worse."

Grinning, she stuck her tongue out at him, making him curl his lip in anger. "Are you a child?"

For several more minutes, he tried and failed to detain her, his legs wobbling with each step. He was terrified of breaking the ice, and she should have felt sorry for making him take such extreme measures over her childishness. However, the sight of such a proud, headstrong warrior walking like a newborn fawn as he chased after her was just too amusing.

Once again, she let him get close enough to her to catch her, and when she jumped out of reach at the last moment, her foot slipped on the ice, making her land on her back with a pained 'oomph'. Her clumsiness gave Cullen just enough time to take her wrist in a stern grip as he pulled her to her feet.

"See there? It would not have happened had you listened to me in the first place."

She tried to laugh, but falling had knocked the wind from her lungs. Instead, she let the commander drag her back to the shore. When they were safely away from the ice, he released her and fixed her with a menacing glare. "Don't think just because you're the Herald, you can go around disobeying direct commands."

She signed a sarcastic response, but when she realized he had no idea what she was trying to say, she sighed and smacked her own forehead before crossing her arms in petulance.

"What were you even doing there? And at such an early hour. You're supposed to be resting."

She was annoyed that she hadn't brought her quill and notepad, yet it was so early in the morning that she hadn't expected anyone to be awake. Using the most basic signs she could think of to get her message across, she made a sleeping motion and shrugged.

"You…couldn't sleep?" he asked. When she nodded, he frowned. "Bad dreams, I take it?" She nodded again, and his tense shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. "I get that. That still doesn't explain why you were out there."

Evelyn cocked a sarcastic eyebrow and made another simple hand motion.

His frown deepened. "I don't under… Exercising?" She shook her head and tried again. "Meditating? Oh, you were meditating." He looked past her at the lake, still not comprehending her meaning. She tried once more. "No…eyes? Ah, no one would see you. You wanted privacy."

She nodded on a sigh, wishing Solas was there to translate. It was so much easier to have someone relay her words than to try and act everything out.

"That… That's understandable, I suppose," he conceded, his anger seeming to dissipate. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Still, there are other places you can go without risking your life. What if the ice had broken? You could have drowned or frozen to death and no one would have known."

That's still preferable to being ripped apart when I try to close the breach, she thought, though she didn't try to convey her words. Instead, she just watched him with a blank stare before gesturing to him and the rest of their surroundings.

"What am I doing here?" he asked. At her confirmation, he looked away from her. "I couldn't sleep either. I'm usually awake this early anyway, and when I stepped outside for some air, I saw you sneaking around."

She gave him a sheepish smile. It wasn't lost on her as his gaze briefly flickered to her lips and an endearing color of pink crawled up his cheeks. Somehow, that tiny little gesture seemed…familiar. She sized up the commander, wondering if they'd ever met before, or if she'd seen him somewhere. The scar running through his lip didn't ring any bells, nor did she believe she would have forgotten such a handsome man. Then again, there was a gray area in her past that she'd done everything to try not to remember.

Perhaps he'd been…

No, she wouldn't dwell on it. In truth, she didn't really want to know the answer to the question that popped in her mind. She wanted nothing at all to do with that reminder, nor did she want to get close enough to Cullen or anyone else for them to go digging into her past. If any of them learned the truth of what she'd done, of the monstrous bit of history she'd undergone all those years ago, she didn't doubt for one moment they'd cease to want her as a member of the Inquisition. Andraste was a woman revered for her purity among other things. As her Herald—willing to accept the title or not—it would raise much controversy that could damage the Inquisition's growing reputation. She was always a cautious person, always tiptoeing around developing anything more than mere acquaintanceship with anyone.

She smiled and spoke when it was necessary, but that had more to do with her desire to appear normal. Over the years, she'd learned that if one were too quiet, they were hiding something, and if they were too loud, they were hiding something even bigger. She'd found that if one were perfectly balanced in the middle, they were almost always overlooked. A nameless face in the crowd, all but invisible.

For everyone's sake and for hers, she'd keep her distance. She didn't have the best track record with friendships, for death and destruction seemed to follow her everywhere she went. If she didn't get close to anyone, no one had to be hurt.

It was better that way.