Chapter Ten

It was early in the morning when Evelyn and her company arrived at Skyhold after being away for months. The journey had been exceedingly long and hot, albeit worth it. On top of obtaining several goods from defeating the high dragon and raiding a forgotten temple, they'd claimed a new keep in the west, stopped the Venatori from getting their hands on a powerful source of magic, uncovered information regarding Corypheus' plans to build a demon army, and several other things that would benefit their cause.

The trip had been victorious, and while there was much more planning to do especially with the distant, yet upcoming Halamshiral Ball, she was pleased at least that she'd have a few weeks of general peace until then. And a bath! Maker's breath, did she look forward to that bath. She'd had very few opportunities to clean herself in all that time, having had to go days covered in sweat, sand, and blood until they could come across an oasis in the desert. The small watering holes were scarce, and not once had she been able to simply relax in the waters and enjoy it.

While none of the rooms in Skyhold had private baths, hers had a large basin she could drag from the closet and fill with hot water. She longed to have a deep soak, to sink into the steamy, soapy water until it ran cold and her skin turned to prunes. It was that very thought that had made the trip back less agonizing than when she'd been going to the desert.

Well, that and a part of her had been eager to see Cullen. It was becoming alarming how much she thought of him, but it couldn't be helped. Even after he'd apologized upon the first few weeks of finding Skyhold, the two of them hardly ever conversed alone unless it was in passing. Even then it was a quick 'Hello' or 'Farewell'.

It made her realize that her feelings toward the commander were much stronger than his, which was precisely why she'd never sought him out to pursue anything more. She didn't wish to overstep the professional line drawn between them, even if she longed to get to know him more. It made her think of those months back in Haven when she'd fallen ill and he'd come to see her in her cabin. Or even the following day when she'd taunted him by dancing around the lake and having him chase her.

While she was still reluctant to let anyone close enough to truly discover what she'd been through in Kinloch, she no longer felt it necessary to treat them all like strangers. She'd built relationships with each of her companions, and while not all of them were those of a 'close friendship', they were her friends, nonetheless. Her feelings for Solas were still odd and confusing, but he continued to treat her as he always had—a bit distant, yet still openly willing to share his stories and discuss any questions she had.

With her advisors, she was amicable and trusting of them. She'd let Josephine talk her ear off a few times with gossip, though she didn't mind. And while Leliana was always cool-headed and stoic, there'd been moments where the two of them would sit down and discuss Divine Justinia, a topic of conversation that always managed to lighten the spymaster's mood before they went back to their separate duties.

Cullen, however, was the only one she couldn't quite get to open up. Most of the time she could never catch him alone. Either she was too busy doing something or away from Skyhold, or he was. In the very few, very brief times she'd managed to catch up to him, the language barrier between them always presented an issue. When she'd be in the middle of writing a response, a soldier or one of the lieutenants would interrupt them with business that would steer Cullen's attention away. It had gotten to the point where she'd conceded that fate simply did not want them to be any closer than what they currently were.

Well, not that she even dared to hope they could be more, but she was still interested in getting to know the commander. He didn't seem like he had very many friends—if any at all—and she knew all too well how lonely that had to be. At least with the relationships she had with her companions, there were times where they could laugh or vent or interact with each other. Cullen was always so busy with work that it was a wonder if he ever even had time to sleep.

Sighing, she decided she'd try again to speak with him—after she had her much-desired bath, of course. At the very least she could greet him. He'd given her a list of tasks he'd wanted to her see to in the west, so that would give her a plausible reason for meeting with him.

As she poured another bucket of water into the basin, just a few inches away from overfilling it, she went to work using her magic to heat the chilly water. When steam began to rise and the scent of the salts she'd tossed inside filled the air, she disrobed and tossed her clothes and armor aside. She slipped first one foot inside, then the other before sinking down until the water was up to her shoulders.

With a sigh of contentment, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

…

…

Evelyn wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed when she stepped out of the basin and pulled on her venture outfit, but she assumed it had been quite a few hours judging by the time candle on top of the fireplace. Whatever work had built up in that time frame, she didn't mind as she felt more relaxed and rejuvenated than she had in months.

She'd washed her hair, too, and upon freeing it from the high bun she'd had it in the whole time spent in the west, she decided to leave it loose. Maker knew her scalp could use the fresh air. Pulling on the last glove to complete her attire, she set off to find Cullen.

As she walked through the throne room, no one tried to stop her with inquiries, though several workers and nobles greeted her as she passed. She entered Solas' area, though she was surprised to find he wasn't there. He'd usually be there from sunup to sundown, always reading a book or studying some kind of magical artifact. She wondered if he'd retired to his quarters for some much-needed relaxation, just as she'd done.

Continuing, she strolled across the bridge connecting the rotunda to Cullen's office. She knocked, but when she didn't receive an answer, she pursed her lips in thought. If he wasn't in his office, the next best place to check would be the courtyard, though a quick glance down showed her wasn't there either. She wondered if he was in the war room, or if not there, then he'd be down the mountain where the soldiers had tents lining the bank of the river.

Just as she turned to make for the throne room, she caught sight of a soldier walking toward her, his gaze focused on a paper he was reading. When he saw her, he gave a formal dip of his head. "Good afternoon, Inquisitor."

She returned the gesture and pointed at Cullen's door. He must have understood her silent question for he said, "If you're looking for the commander, he left for the Hinterlands a fortnight ago. He should be returning within the next few days."

She gave a nod of thanks as the man continued on his way. She pouted, feeling disappointment slide through her. Yes, that only further convinced her that some unknown force out there was determined to keep her from getting to know her commander.

Deflated, she considered paying a visit to Josephine to see what matters required Evelyn's attention, but she remembered she still had to drop off the letter of completion on Cullen's desk. With that thought in mind, she entered his office.

The door echoed behind her as it closed shut. The only light in the room came from the windows behind his desk. A desk that was littered with dust, books, and more than two dozen scrolls that would need his attention upon returning.

She frowned and hesitated over adding to his paperwork. Everything was already so disorganized as it sat in a pile of disarray, so much so that several papers had rolled onto the floor in scatters. It could be days before he got to hers.

She glanced around the rest of the room and noticed hardly anything about it had been touched since he'd moved in. Besides the books on the shelves and a practice dummy, those same wooden boards littered one corner. The same couch with a white sheet thrown over it took up another corner. Dirt and dust coated the floor and even a quick glance up revealed the hole in the ceiling above his bed still hadn't been patched.

While the workers and cleaning crew should have a regular routine, it appeared as though they hadn't made one attempt to touch Cullen's office. What's more, she had a strong suspicion that it was because he'd told them not to. She doubted he enjoyed living in a pigsty, so she could only assume he'd refused them because he felt it unnecessary that they spend their time in his office when other places in Skyhold needed tending to.

She shook her head. He had a noble heart, at least. Still, with all the dust and the holes letting in cold air constantly, she was surprised he had yet to get sick.

And she decided right then and there that she was going to fix that. That man would never put his comfort above his work, but she'd be damned if she let him continue living as though he wasn't one of the highest-ranking members of the Inquisition. She'd tried to turn down her quarters, instead wanting something smaller and simpler, yet he'd been one of the first to stress the importance of her being treated as her titled demanded. Well, she was going to turn those words around right back at him.

The soldier had told her Cullen would return in a few days. As she glanced around at the volume of cleaning she'd have to do, she noted that it would take more than that amount of time if she were to do it alone.

The thought made her smile to herself as she pulled out a ribbon and tied her hair back. Challenge accepted.

…

…

As Cullen dismounted and let a stable hand lead his horse away, he blew out a deep breath and stretched to get the kinks out of his lower back. The sun was bright and sunny, a deceptively peaceful looking day for he knew what awaited him as he strolled toward his office. He almost dreaded the amount of work that had piled up in his absence. He'd already had so much to do before he'd left, yet it seemed every hour more reports would be added to the pile.

He'd heard that Evelyn and her party had returned days prior, and as much as he wished to see her and show off his newfound understanding of her language, he simply did not have the time. He at least needed to get somewhat caught up before he'd fall behind even more. Signatures and responses that should have been sent off weeks ago needed his attention right away.

Shaking his head in annoyance, he climbed the battlements and pushed through his office door.

He was immediately hit with a new scent—something with a hint of lemon. As he glanced around, his jaw went slack upon seeing everything had been cleaned from top to bottom. The couch he'd yet to uncover was angled in one corner, along with a side table holding an unlit candle for reading. The pile of wood was gone, and even the bookshelves had been rearranged in order. Instead of being piled with dozens of scrolls and papers, his desk was neat to the point where he could actually see the surface. And while the reports were all there and waiting for him, someone had organized them and placed them into small boxes, all with labels based on urgency.

As he walked forward, he realized there was no longer a draft. He went up the ladder and saw that all of the holes in his ceiling had been patched with the spare wood. His bed was centered and made up, the two red rugs were straightened, and the wooden floor panels had been scrubbed clean.

He descended once more and scratched his head in wonder. While he'd given out strict orders that no one was to touch his office unless he gave them permission, it appeared someone hadn't gotten the memo.

However, he admitted that the room certainly held a more comforting appeal. And the fact that he wouldn't have to dig through the paperwork to pick up where he'd left off was a huge relief.

Who knew that a fresh environment could change his entire mood?

Just then, the door across from him opened and Evelyn pushed inside, a fur blanket thrown over one shoulder while she dragged in a rolled rug that was longer than the entire length of her body. She seemed to be struggling, but she went still when she caught sight of him standing there.

Her cheeks were red with color, though he wondered if that was due to her being caught red-handed or the exertion it took to drag the huge rug inside. She gave a small smile and waved.

"Did… Did you do all this?" he asked, indicating his office.

Her smile turned sheepish as she gave a stiff shrug.

He frowned in return. "By yourself?"

She dropped the rug and signed something, though she must have remembered he didn't know her language. However, just as she reached for the notepad at her belt, he said, "No, I don't hate it. I'm just…surprised."

She froze and peered at him with raised eyebrows. It was his turn to give a sheepish smile. "Josephine and I took lessons with Leliana while you were away," he explained.

Her lips parted in surprise. "Why?"

"I—er, we wanted to be able to communicate with you better. Never mind that. Why did you go through all this trouble? I'd told everyone to—"

She signed something, but he frowned. "Could you repeat that a bit slower? I'm not that skilled just yet."

With a snort, she did as requested. "I wanted you to be comfortable in here."

It took him a few moments to mentally translate, and when he did, he felt his shoulders relax and a small smile formed. "You did not have to do that. By yourself, at that. I can't imagine it was easy."

She gave an easy shrug as if to say it wasn't, but he knew better. The mess he'd refused to touch had been far too much for one person to handle alone.

"What about my ceiling?" he asked in suspicion. "Please tell me you didn't…" He trailed off when she glanced to the side and began an innocent whistle. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying damn hard not to envision her sitting on top of the roof, hammering in boards. If she had fallen or injured herself when no one else was around, he would have never forgiven himself. Even if he hadn't known what she'd been up to.

Maker's breath, she was going to be the death of him.

When he met her gaze again, she looked like someone had kicked her puppy. "Are you mad at me?"

He sighed and moved across the room toward her. It was bloody ridiculous how that little pout could have such a vast impact on him. "No, Evelyn, I'm not mad. I…thank you." He gave her a genuine smile. "My office certainly looks better than I ever thought it could."

She beamed up at him, and it melted his heart to see that bright smile. He adored it. She pulled the blanket off her shoulder and laid it over the arm of the couch. Then, she gestured toward the rug. Chuckling, he grabbed one end and pulled it toward the middle of the room. She made a halting motion, so he dropped it. Gently, she went on her haunches to unroll the massive length.

It was mostly red, though it had intricate black and yellow designs stitched into it, the colors similar to the ones in his bedroom and on his cloak. He wondered if she'd found a random one laying around, or if she'd gone out of her way to find one specifically to match his décor.

With her back to him, he noticed that her hair was left loose, though it was longer than he remembered. Back in Haven, it had been short, stopping just at her shoulders. Since then she'd always kept it tied away from her face in a tight bun. Free from any confines, it was a mass of loose waves falling to the middle of her back. He wondered if he'd truly gone all this time not paying attention, or if she'd simply done well with keeping it bound. It shouldn't matter either way, but the former left him feeling disappointed.

Not only in himself, but in the fact that almost a year had passed since the explosion at the Conclave, yet in that time, he and Evelyn were still nothing short of acquaintances. So much time had passed, and they were both always busy that they hardly ever saw each other outside the war room meetings. It was depressing, to be honest.

Standing, Evelyn dusted her hands off and smiled down at her handiwork. "Something's missing."

He snorted with humor. "Please, a chandelier is not needed."

She gave a silent chuckle and shook her head. She took his arm and pulled him toward his desk chair. Though the move had to have been casual on her end, she would never know how such a simple touch sent heat rushing through his veins, making him wish the contact had been made skin to skin.

Maker, he was pathetic.

Cullen took a seat, and when she raised her eyebrows in question, he realized the cushion in his chair had been replaced with something much softer. He leaned back, testing it out before smiling. "If there is anything I can do to repay you, you—"

She was shaking her head before he even finished. "This was not a favor," she signed. "Consider it a gift."

He wanted to argue, but the challenging look on her face had him biting his tongue. Instead, he held her gaze, silently contemplating all the ways he could show her his appreciation. She wasn't materialistic, so jewelry was out of the question. Besides, even that might come across as romantic, and as much as a part of him longed to be able to draw her in his arms and finally see how soft those lips would feel against his, he refused to embarrass either of them by overstepping the boundaries between them.

While he continued to figure exactly what it was he could do for her, she gave him a small wave before turning to leave. Before she left completely, she stopped at the door and signed, "Don't work yourself too hard." With that, she slipped away.

…

…

It was a rare occurrence whenever Leliana couldn't be found in her tower above the library. As it were, though it was late enough that many of Skyhold's occupants had already retired to their private quarters, it was still early by her standards. She leaned back in a chair, one ankle crossed over her knee while her chin rested in her palm in thought. The caged crows around her cawed every so often, though they were much quieter as if they, too, were preparing to settle in for a night of sleep.

As she sat unmoving in her corner, she mentally calculated whether or not she'd have enough time to respond to one final letter before setting out to find her own bed. In the end, duty won as she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and dipped her quill in the inkpot. Just as she finished and set the paper off to the side to dry, she turned her attention toward the stairs.

Though her scout was silent as he ascended—courtesy of her stern rogue training—her senses had become so acute over the years that very few things escaped her notice.

She hid her surprise as she straightened upon recognizing the scout. She hadn't seen him in months, shortly after arriving at Skyhold, in fact. The mission she'd sent him on was incredibly delicate and required the utmost secrecy, so much so that she'd given him orders to not even risk sending a message bird to communicate with her over the distance.

"Bran," she greeted, her tone careful and low. "I trust your assignment was successful?"

The man grunted and gave a small bow before reaching beneath his cloak for a rolled paper, sealed tight with a ribbon. "If only, milady."

"What is this?" Even as she asked while untying the ribbon, she began reading. It didn't take long, for it was only a single sheet with half the page filled with writing.

"The documents from Ostwick you requested."

Leliana scanned the paper with a narrowed gaze. She scoffed. "This is all you found?" She glanced at the time stamp in one corner. "It only dates back a few years. Where is the rest?"

"Exactly why I said 'if only'. I ran into a mage at the circle tower—a woman who knew of the Inquisitor before the rebellion."

At his hesitation, she looked up from the paper to stab him with a look of impatience. "Something is wrong." It was a statement, not a question, yet Bran still nodded.

"This mage did not know Lady Trevelyan personally, as she'd been mute and kept to herself. However, from what she knew, the Inquisitor had been a transfer from another circle."

Leliana leaned back in her chair, making sure to keep her surprise hidden. She'd known Evelyn had been hiding something—everyone was, after all. The Circles all kept documents on every mage to enter and leave the towers, and while Leliana's intentions weren't to expose the Inquisitor's secrets for malicious intent, she wanted to keep the enemy or anyone else who would see the Inquisition fail from getting their hands on any dirt about Evelyn. "Well, which one?"

Bran stepped closer, lowering his voice even more. "No one knows for sure, but the woman had said there were rumors." He glanced all around them before leaning forward. On a soft, barely audible whisper, he said, "Kinloch."

It was the answer Leliana had feared, yet suspected for months. She'd been there at Ferelden's Circle Tower ten years ago, traveling and fighting alongside the Hero of Ferelden and a handful of other companions. She'd witnessed the damage the tower had undergone as it had become overrun with demons and Abominations, only to be later purged by the Templars.

Frowning to herself, she tried to think back all those years ago. She didn't know how old the other woman was, truthfully. Evelyn had a young face, giving one the impression that she was in her early twenties, yet only those who truly had a talent for speculation would see that her eyes were so much older.

There had been less than a dozen survivors to make it out alive—all but three of them templars. The only mages to make it out had been two young boys and an even younger elf girl. Warden Amell had made a terribly aching decision to side with the templars, helping them execute the Right of Annulment. The only mages they'd come across had been either Tranquils or blood mages, the latter having been met with swift deaths.

Leliana thought about Evelyn's scars. She was willing to bet every item she owned that Evelyn had undergone the same manner of torture as Cullen. Around the same time, no less.

Was it possible the Inquisitor had managed to escape before Leliana and her friends had reached the tower? Or had they somehow overlooked her? If she'd been one of the many, many bodies lying on the floor, bleeding and unmoving, it was likely they'd assumed her dead and continued onward. But if that were the case, how had she managed to survive the templars stepping in to purge the tower?

There'd been a confusing portion in time when she and her companions had become separated, lost and wandering in their own minds when a powerful sloth demon had managed to get inside their heads. If they'd been there at the same time, if Evelyn had been suffering and they'd simply not been able to save her, then they hadn't been half as successful as they'd thought way back then. It left Leliana feeling raw and disgusted with herself. There were far too many questions running through her head, and the more she dwelled on it, the worse a feeling of dread and sickness churned in her gut.

Giving her noggin a slight shake to clear it, she glanced up at Bran, who watched her with a calm stare, awaiting her next orders. "Bran—"

"I know what you are going to ask of me," he interrupted. "And for the Inquisitor, I am willing. However, the tower was burned to the ground ten years ago before it was reconstructed. It's likely I won't find anything useful."

Leliana nodded in agreement. "Yes, but not looking is a risk we cannot take. Rumor or not, for Evelyn's sake, we must do any and everything we can to ensure no one finds out about this. Not one soul. "

Bran placed his fist over his heart and bowed. "On your orders. I will leave before dawn."

"You're a good man," she commended. "What of her phylactery?"

"The one in Ostwick was properly disposed. I'll see if I can locate one in Kinloch as well."

"Very good. May the Maker watch over you."

While she stood to stroll over to the fireplace, she sensed the man retreating downstairs. Without a moment's hesitation, she tossed Ostwick's document into the flames, not blinking once until the paper was nothing more than floating chars.

Kinloch Hold had been an absolute nightmare, one that still made Leliana wince with discomfort every time she thought about it. She'd been fortunate in only seeing the aftermath of the damages that had been done. However, Cullen and those other survivors had been there to witness the before, during, and after. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much the sights and sounds must have tormented them. To this day, Cullen refused to talk about it, though his eyes would darken with pain and fear every time the subject arose in passing conversation.

She remembered finding him locked away in that magical bubble, a young man with blood covering every stretch of skin while his voice had been hoarse from all the screaming. His fellow templars had lain lifeless around him, further tormenting him of his fate had they not arrived in time. As far as she'd known, he'd been the only one to undergo such vicious torture. As if mutilating his body hadn't been enough, in his frenzied panic, he'd revealed that the demons had snuck into the hidden crevices of his mind and found his secret love for Amell.

But if the rumors Bran had relayed were true, if Evelyn had been there as well, if her scars were from the same brutal attacks…

Leliana flinched at the feeling of something wet on her face. She touched her cheek and peered at the single drop of water on her fingertips. Maker, was that…a tear? She swiftly wiped at her eyes, doing her best to keep more from falling. It was proof that she wasn't quite as jaded as she'd believed herself to be all these years.

Still, she couldn't stop thinking about Evelyn. The timeline matched up far too perfectly for it not to be just a rumor. Solas had said it was possible that some past trauma had rendered Evelyn speechless. It was true that Kinloch Hold had been an absolute living nightmare, but it made her wonder just how old Evelyn had been during the blight.

More than that, however, she felt a bitter, relentless need to dig further into the past for the full truth. Why did Evelyn's registration from Ostwick only date back the last five years? The papers should have included every bit of information about her, including the date she'd first arrived at the Circle—which should have been as a child when her abilities first came to light. Instead, it was only five years ago. Where had she been before then? Her powers and knowledge were far too advanced to have been developed in such a short amount of time, so she had to have studied elsewhere. If such was the case, then where?

If she'd been attending Ferelden's Circle ten years ago, there was still a five-year gap between when Kinloch had fallen and when she'd arrived at Ostwick. What had she been doing in the time between? If she'd been tortured, it was likely she'd been recovering from her wounds, but where?

And if she truly had been at Kinloch Hold, why had she been there for any amount of time instead of spending all her life in Ostwick, which was much, much closer to her family home? Hell, there had even been a few other Circles that would have been closer. The Trevelyans were Free Marchers with proud roots dating back endless generations. Why send their daughter all the way to Ferelden?

Something was not right, and Leliana was determined to find out. Whatever Evelyn had been through had to have been horrific, yet she just couldn't shake the feeling that her own family had had something to do with it. Her suspicions grew as she recalled Evelyn's swift reluctance to accept whatever alliance the Trevelyans had offered. It just did not add up.

And if there was anything in the world Leliana excelled at, it was finding all the lost pieces of a puzzle. Evelyn would tell her to let it go should she find out, but Leliana just could not let it slide. She had suffered a fate far worse than death, and no matter how long it took or what punishment would befall her, she would ensure Evelyn got the justice she deserved.