Uncensored version found at: *AO3*/works/28044180/chapters/69100011
TRIGGER WARNING! References to murders and PTSD.
It was a Tuesday that refused to be mundane.
The dusk had transformed the sky above Haven into an expensive Tevene wine that leisurely swirled around in a decanter, reflecting hundreds of different colors that dissolved together in harmony. The soldiers had long since finished their training and had retired to their tents or to the tavern. There would no doubt be many thickheaded recruits tomorrow.
Cullen regretted his decision to let them off so early, though he couldn't help it. His mind was racing as his brain convulsed painfully.
The darkness encroached rapidly in his tent. A vial filled with translucent blue liquid sat on his desk. The Commander had been glaring at it for quite some time. Sitting on the edge of his seat, he leaned forward in intense concentration. As he did, its hums became deafening and his tormented mind screamed in their wake. He needed to take it, but he didn't want to take it.
With no warning, the tent flapped open and in walked the Herald, beaming. "Good evening, Commander. I wanted to…" The man stopped in his tracks and stared at the vial. His voice shook. "Cullen, is that…?"
Cullen jumped forward to hide the vial.
"Get out!"
The Commander was surprised at the sharpness of his own voice. He did not mean to snarl at the Herald; that was the last thing he wanted. But his body was beyond his control and it came out as a rebuke. Tharin held his hands up and exited the tent wordlessly, but there were no footsteps to be heard afterward.
The disruption caused by Tharin's unexpected appearance helped Cullen quiet his mind. He still had to nurse a splitting headache, but at least his brain stopped spinning feelings of imminent doom. The thirst was still there, but manageable. He put the vial back into the kit, closed it, and locked it in the bottom drawer.
When he came out to check if Tharin had left, he found the young man sitting on the ground next to the tent. He gazed up to look at Cullen and murmured a soft hello. There was a crease in his brow, filled with concern.
Cullen's cheeks grew hot. He crossed his arms, as if to ready himself for a confrontation. It took him a few seconds to greet in an unnecessarily curt voice, "…Your worship."
The concern instantly gave way to an expression of genuine contrition. "Forgive me. I know it's late and I shouldn't have disturbed you. I just wanted to ask how the recruit training was coming along and… to see how you were. We didn't get a chance to talk after returning from the Hinterlands."
Cullen absentmindedly reached for the back of his neck and rubbed. His gaze was now firmly planted on his feet. "No, please. I should be the one apologizing. It was unworthy of me to act that way."
Tharin warily grinned. "No need." He stood up, dusted his seat, and stretched. "I will come by tomorrow. And I promise, I will announce my arrival very loudly before entering next time." He squeezed the Commander's shoulder before walking away.
The Commander's heart thumped heavily. He did want to talk to Tharin. He needed him to know everything. The man deserved to know everything. "Ah, wait. Please. We should talk…" Realizing he might be perceived as impertinent, he quickly added, "That is, only if you still want to."
The young man spun around and nodded enthusiastically. His eagerness comforted Cullen.
It was ostensibly spring, but the icy claws of winter firmly held onto the Frostbacks. A snow flurry began to descend upon the hamlet and Haven, betraying its namesake, was not much of a sanctuary to the huddled masses. Yet Cullen was grateful as he watched his breath dissipate into the night. The bracing cold helped with the headache. He might actually sound eloquent while he conveyed his horrifying past. Fantastic.
The two men settled at the bottom of the steps that led to a row of military tents and the chantry. He saw two gossiping Chantry sisters at the top of stairs who seemed to never leave their spot. Varric stood farther away, warming his hands by a campfire.
Cullen would have preferred a more secluded spot. But with low-hanging clouds rolling in to obscure the rising moons, there was no other well-lit and reasonably private place to have a long and difficult conversation. He would have to speak quietly so the onlookers, including the dwarf who always carried parchment and a quill with him, would not be tempted to listen in.
Cullen began cautiously, "You may feel like a conscript, and maybe some of us do treat you like one, but I've come to think of you as the de facto leader of the Inquisition." Tharin obviously wanted to protest that conclusion, but the Commander did not give him an opening. "As such, you deserve to know my past. I leave up to you the judgment of my capacity to command the Inquisition's forces."
Tharin's reaction carried clear apprehension. "Cullen, I have no such right. You do not need to tell me anything you don't want me to know."
Cullen replied with a weary grin. "I appreciate your sympathy, my lord. But I do want you to know." He then shifted his eyes to Tharin and waited. The young man nodded, looking determined yet still nervous about what was to come.
It was like exhaling jagged pieces of glass as he spoke. He started with the Circle Tower.
"I started my career as a templar at Kinloch Hold. As a young initiate, all I wanted to do was help people, to defend the weak and vanquish the evil. But Kinloch was… something else altogether.
"There was no trust between templars and mages there. The hatred between the two was palpable, and before long I was part of it all. I came to regard mages as troublemakers, who could not be entrusted with the safety of themselves let alone the lives of people with no magical abilities.
"I suppose… It helped me to think that way. To think of mages as a flock of sheep, to be herded and caged, because I was responsible for executing those who failed their Harrowing. I didn't want to admit it, but if I started to think of them as people, my conscience wouldn't have been able to take it.
"It was as if we were all on edge, waiting for one of our charges to turn into an abomination. I only found out later when I arrived in Kirkwall that the mistrust ran more deeply than I previously thought. The Order… No, I helped create a world where mages and templars are eternally battling against each other, for no reason other than the fact that we couldn't trust each other to respect the humanity in us all."
The young man remained quiet, but the shock was apparent. Just like Cullen, the Herald used to be a templar in his previous life. Tharin had to have heard about the incident at the Ferelden Circle. Cullen had to face away when the young man's brow creased in concern. The Commander decided that it would be easier to think of this as a soliloquy.
"I think the mistrust helped Uldred take over the Circle. If we had only treated mages as they should have been, if we actually listened to their concerns instead of forcing our rules on them, I don't think quite so many would have joined him.
"Once Uldred seized control, he unleashed abominations and demons on the templars, and they forced me to…" Cullen had to stop. He could feel a hot mass rising from his throat. "I was forced to watch my friends and comrades being tortured and murdered."
A warm hand reached across and landed on Cullen's shoulder. His stomach began to burn as soon as he felt the hand, but he knew Tharin only wanted to comfort him.
After a moment of pause, Cullen let forth a hollow laugh. "I suppose I should consider myself lucky… In his absolute cruelty, Uldred let me live to fully experience the death around me. I do not know how he found out, but he knew of my responsibility at the Circle and probably thought it was an appropriate punishment.
"I was stuck in the prison he had conjured, and I soon gave up yelling for him to stop. But I never turned away. I was going to watch the demons twist my friends into unimaginable horrors before they gleefully finish them off. One by one. I made sure that someone was with them in their last moments, even if it was… just me, utterly helpless.
"When the demons ran out of bodies to mutilate, they… finally came for me." Cullen's hands balled up and he began to tremble ever so faintly, but whether it was in fury or in fear, even he was not sure.
"The demons… They… They did things… that…" Cullen struggled to continue. Tharin could not have reached him even if he wanted to. The Commander was being pulled into his worst nightmare.
"I… I saw things like… blood mages plunging daggers into my body, draining me and using my blood to gain more power. And worse things. I couldn't tell you how much time had passed, but I was soon numbed. I actually felt my mind breaking down, and I welcomed it."
Tharin began to plead, "Cullen, I beg you…" But the man was far from done.
"When fear and despair demons could no longer feed off me, they… They projected scenes in which… I was… used. Men, women, human, elves, dwarves, whatever else… It didn't matter, and I could only sense them. I couldn't actually recognize their faces, but… Every time they added another figure to… use me, I felt my fear increase exponentially. I suppose the demons got what they wanted."
Cullen turned to look at Tharin to let him know the hardest part was said but was startled when he saw the young man staring down at the snow-covered steps with his arms tightly huddled around the chest. His eyes were wide.
"I… I must apologize, your worship. I didn't tell you these things to upset you. I shouldn't have gone into such detail."
Before Cullen was finished with the apologies, Tharin shook his head fiercely. "No, Cullen. It's just that… I don't know if I am worthy of your confidence, but… If I can do anything to make things better for you. If I can do anything at all, I…"
The young man trailed off and clamped his eyes shut. After a long while, he gulped the cold night air and finished in a calmer voice, "I didn't mean to interrupt you, Commander. Forgive me."
Cullen hesitated momentarily before starting again, "The Warden saved me. When he and I reached Knight-Commander Greagoir, I insisted that we… invoke the Right of Annulment. I just wanted all of that to be over, to be rid of everything that was… magical. But the Warden prevailed, and he convinced the Knight-Commander that there were innocents who needed to be saved. I was so angry. I was sure that they had made a terrible mistake.
"Once I was well enough to perform my duties again, Greagoir sent me to Kirkwall. There, I found a place that was exactly like Kinloch before Uldred. There was no trust, no mutual respect, just fear and oppression. Knight-Commander… No… She doesn't deserve that title. Meredith made sure of it. I couldn't take it, but I couldn't leave it either. I had nowhere else to go. I couldn't go back to my family so broken.
"I first started reading to escape myself, to go to places where I wasn't a templar. Where I wasn't… me. I could be a chevalier in Halamshiral whose life was filled only with adventures and romance. Or a peasant girl in Nevarra who found her true love in the arms of a young local lord."
Despite the gravity of his memories, Cullen felt his mouth curl upward. He described a dream within a nightmare, a keepsake that helped him to keep living in those dark times. "It sounds juvenile. I felt juvenile for reading that soppy trash even then, but in those days nothing else could make me feel better. I went through them like we go through missives and dispatches.
"And then I moved on to philosophy. I had to know whether there was any purpose to my suffering. I… still believe that there is a higher being, the Maker if you will, who presides over all of us. But… I no longer believe with certainty.
"Great philosophers forced me to think about where my loyalty should lie, why the world's the way it is, and taught me to accept uncertainty in life. It terrified me at first, but now I realize it made me a better man. It opened new opportunities, helped me think for myself. I wasn't going to be the Chantry's mindless follower anymore.
"Still, I was bitter. I didn't hate mages like I did right after… Kinloch, but I kept on blustering. I actually told the Champion of Kirkwall that we cannot treat mages like people. I told her that her kind could not be trusted to handle their powers; that they needed to be locked up. I knew she considered me a friend, and I hurt her. Deliberately.
"I felt worthless and driving her away seemed so much easier than confronting my past. I didn't seek out forgiveness because I knew I didn't deserve it, but Hawke still gave it to me unconditionally. In the end, she gave me the courage to stand up to Meredith and her draconian measures."
Cullen continued with a regretful sigh, "Frankly, it was too little too late. I let my subordinates bully and persecute Kirkwall mages, to render them tranquil, while I sulked and licked my wounds. And I will never be able to clear my conscience of all those lives that I had a hand in ruining." He then furiously rubbed his eyes. It was exhausting to recount tales of how he betrayed and failed people over and over.
"I was glad to let Hawke and her companions escape the city. I was sad I couldn't offer more for her unwavering friendship." He reminisced, longing for the friend who helped him recover his humanity and free himself from the shackles of hatred.
"After a rebel mage blew up Kirkwall's chantry and Hawke took down Meredith, I was done with the Order. I only stayed to help with recovery efforts, and when Cassandra asked me to join her in the Inquisition I did not waver. The Maker was showing me a new path and I had to take it. The Inquisition gave me a home and the power to… correct some of the wrongs I'd committed."
When the Commander turned, he was met with a look of reverence. He had expected pity, maybe contempt, but not this. It made him feel all scratchy inside. It was the kind of look that should have been reserved for someone who was… well, better than him.
"Cullen… I had no idea. I can't thank you enough for your confidence in me."
An awkward grin floated on Cullen's scarred lips. "I know it was long and difficult, and I appreciate your listening to everything. But… there's more."
The Commander observed another look of surprise laced with dread on Tharin and felt considerably guilty. "All this was a preamble to tell you that I've stopped taking lyrium for good. I did not want to be leashed by the templars or the Chantry anymore, and quitting lyrium was the first step. I have not had it since leaving Kirkwall."
Tharin gasped. "Did I see you…?"
Cullen could sense his face lighting up from shame. "Yes, you did. I am, however, very grateful that you walked in on me. I didn't want to take it."
"Maker… Are you going to be okay?" It was an inane question. As a former templar himself, the young man was certainly no stranger to symptoms of lyrium withdrawal.
He simply nodded, "I am still here, aren't I?"
It was only then Cullen again became conscious of the world beyond their little huddle and looked around to catch any eavesdroppers. Varric was staring at him and the Chantry sisters were blatantly gawking at the Herald, but he was sure they were out of earshot. Now came the Inquisition business.
"I realize now that I was doing you a disservice by keeping my condition secret. As you know, lyrium withdrawal can cause paranoia, madness, and… death. So far, I've only had to contend with infrequent cravings and headaches. But should more serious symptoms come to pass… I've asked Cassandra to watch me. If she judges me unfit, she will relieve me from duty and recommend another candidate.
"And now that you know, you should think about whether you want me to continue commanding the Inquisition's army. I may not be able to give you my all without lyrium.
"It certainly feels like I'm withholding by not taking lyrium. My brain seems to operate better with it in me," Cullen exhaled wearily.
"I swore to Cassandra that I would not give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry, and I swear to you now. Maker knows, it is the only way I can ever start to amend for my failures to mages of Ferelden and Kirkwall. But my personal issues should not interfere with the operation of the Inquisition. I will accept any decision you make regarding my position and responsibilities."
A shadow of despair dyed Cullen's mind pitch black, but he soldiered on. "If you think it necessary, I will gladly go back to taking lyrium. Or… knowing what I've done and how I'd acted in the past, you may decide that my presence is no longer welcome in the Inquisition."
A series of deep inhales and exhales allowed the Commander to reassert control over his face and he hoped it would not betray the gnawing anxiety. The next words out of the young man's mouth would determine his future. One way or another, things were going to change.
Thankfully, the suspense did not last. Tharin's voice had the tiniest note of an irregular vibration underneath the bass. It hit Cullen that the man was worried about giving him the wrong answer.
"Cullen, you aren't just your past. I can tell that you certainly aren't willing to let it drag you down. And you are needed. The Inquisition is infinitely better with you in it, and you already give more than enough without lyrium. You give all you can because you are free of lyrium. You are brave, honorable, and generous. I admire you for going through everything and still coming out a better man than any of us."
Cullen felt the tension leave at once and his clutched hands began to quake. He huffed in relief and blinked slowly. It kept the tears at bay. This was far more than he thought he ever deserved.
"You've always been kind to me, even when everyone else saw me with suspicion. For that, you have my heartfelt gratitude. And you have been nothing but exceptional in carrying out your duties. You helped save many lives in Ferelden! You deserve no less than official commendations for your achievements.
"I have neither the authority nor the right, but as long as I am with the Inquisition you will have a home. If anyone questions your place here, that person will have to deal with me first. That is my judgment, and it is final," Tharin concluded with finality of a judicial ruling.
Cullen's heart swelled. He could not believe his good fortune, that the first person he confessed everything to, the person who he wanted most to prove himself to, would accept him so completely. Would Hawke have remained a friend if she knew all about the extent of his treachery at the Gallows and the anguish from his past? Wouldn't she have steered clear, hoping not to catch whatever he had? Wouldn't Cassandra? Wouldn't anyone?
Yet here he was, with Tharin, who not only thought him brave, honorable, and generous, but most importantly thought him worthy enough to contribute to the great cause without the crutch offered by the sweet poison.
The time was nowhere near the uncertain later he had envisioned, but the feelings he had carefully tucked away were bursting out and he could barely contain them. They were not just alive but thriving and no longer miniscule enough for him to ignore.
But he did not want to be pitied. The Inquisition had to be the priority. With a barely subdued voice, he ventured, "My lord… You must put the needs of the Inquisition first. If this is because you feel bad for me…"
The look of admiration was back, but this time he did not feel the cloying heat of self-doubt. It assured him of the young man's acceptance, and he was glad.
"No, Cullen. If anything, I think we need more people like you in the Inquisition. You are resolute; otherwise, you wouldn't have been able to quit lyrium all by yourself. You constantly reexamine your ability to tell the right apart from the wrong, and you take responsibility for your actions.
"These are all good qualities in a leader, and the Inquisition's forces could not be in better hands. And I am beyond honored that you would consider me… your confidant. I can only pray that I am worthy of your trust."
Cullen could not look directly at the other man's eyes. In his steadily blurring peripheral vision, he could see Tharin beam with kindness.
"I… sincerely thank you."
He wanted to bury his face in the wide expanse of Tharin's chest, to put a physical lid on all the emotions that were seeping out. Yet he had to make do with sitting side by side in the warm glow of affirmation.
The freezing air howled as it rushed past them. The night was well underway, and Haven's residents were heading home one by one. The two men could hear bawdy singing spilling out every time the tavern door swung open. Soon they would be crowded by soldiers making their ways back to their bedrolls.
The Commander tried to sniff back the tears. After a couple tries, he was grateful he could finally piece back his stoic exterior. Blubbering would be hardly conducive to optimal execution of his duties. "Well… It's getting late. I will see you in the morning. We mustn't slack off in your training."
The reverent look was gone, to be replaced by friendly warmth. "Bold of you to say so, Cullen. If I recall correctly, I was probably the one training you." A hand reached across once again, but the touch now elicited only happiness.
Cullen found himself able to reply with his eyes crinkled. "I doubt that very much."
Tharin woke up with a bloated face, a physical remnant from an emotionally charged evening that led to a night of stifling his cries with a pillow. Granted, he was prone to tears, but the enormity of Cullen's confession was simply overwhelming.
The Commander looked fragile as he recounted his past and the young man did all he could do to stop himself from lunging forward to embrace the man. In fact, Tharin was intensely feeling so many different emotions that reminded him of… that particular state of being that he was definitely not ready to find himself in again.
Even in the afternoon the temperature stayed below freezing. The young man secretly prayed for a brief spell of a blizzard so that any outdoor activities, including walking from his cabin to the chantry building for the semiweekly war council, would be deemed too hazardous.
But Haven's weather, which was reliably awful, betrayed him in his hour of need. The snow flurry from last night had all but ceased by the time he trained with Cullen. The sun was out and brighter than ever. Some of the accumulated precipitation was actually melting. It was hopeless.
Tharin traipsed into the war room with puffy eyes and a red nose, which drew a sympathetic look from Cullen, making him feel even more embarrassed, and curious glances from the other advisors. He tersely grunted approvals and disapprovals at choices presented by Josephine and Leliana, and he adjourned the meeting as quickly as possible.
Cullen looked like he wanted to talk, but Lady Montilyet, known to be relentlessly diligent, intercepted and whisked him away to be tormented with complaints from Fereldan nobles irked by the Inquisition soldiers in their backyards. And then Cassandra happened to Tharin.
Happened really was an apt term to describe how Cassandra approached Tharin. The Seeker pounced the Herald as soon as the others vacated the room. She grabbed his forearm and dragged him to the far corner of the room. With a severe face, she brusquely pushed him onto an old chair. Tharin half expected the rickety thing to collapse from the combined force of his weight and the woman's push.
"Talk," she intoned firmly.
"Seeker, I am not feeling well. Could we do this later?" Tharin felt a déjà vu as he tried to deflect Cassandra's probing.
"There is obviously something troubling you. You must tell me." A wooden mallet on the head would be a gentler treatment compared to an interrogation by her.
"Cassandra…"
"Talk," she repeated, more firmly than before. Tharin wondered how that was even possible.
"I am not sure whether I am allowed to tell you." Which was true. But it was also a convenient excuse to get Cassandra off his back. It didn't work.
"Do not be coy. It won't get you anywhere."
"All right, fine." Still, Tharin dilly-dallied until the woman began to rotate her hand and sigh impatiently. He wet his lips and began, "Cullen and I talked last night… about his past."
It stopped Cassandra dead in her tracks. She now looked stunned. It was refreshing to see that the woman, as formidable as she was, could still make such a face. She questioned, "How much did he tell you?"
"Everything."
"Kinloch?"
"Yes."
"Kirkwall? And Meredith?"
"Yes."
"…Lyrium?"
"Yes."
Cassandra looked amazed, but a moment later a quizzical expression took over.
"What about you? Are you still taking lyrium? I don't believe I've ever seen your name on the requisition requests."
"No, Seeker. I do not." And let us leave it at that, all right? Tharin crossed his arms and stared at Cassandra, unblinking, hoping to communicate his intent clearly. Thankfully, the woman did not press further. Instead, she offered her hand to lift him from the chair. Tharin warily accepted. If he didn't know better, he would have guessed that the Seeker was sorry for her earlier actions.
An awkward silence reigned in the war room until the woman began to speak in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "It is good to know Cullen's found someone to confide in. He needs a person who understands him, who can accept him and his past."
"Are you implying you don't accept his past? Because I find that hard to believe. You may be many things, Seeker, but heartless isn't one of them. I should know, I've encountered your bleeding heart at least once before. Otherwise my head would be mounted on a pike by now."
Cassandra chortled knowingly, "Yes, of course I do. But he has never been comfortable around me, and I didn't think my probing would help the matter." Funny, she never seemed reluctant to interrogate Tharin. "It means a lot that he could tell you everything. He didn't disclose most of the details even to me, but I assume he did to you?"
"Yes, everything." At least, the magnitude of the information he had received from Cullen made it difficult to imagine the man had held anything back. "Every single thing."
The Seeker looked concerned as she said, "I hope you were kind to him."
Tharin sighed. "I hope I was, too."
Tharin was walking down Haven's thoroughfare when Varric Tethras approached.
"Hey, do you have a minute?"
Now that he was done with the Seeker, it was Varric's turn. Of course.
The Herald observed with some irony that Cullen was right about his being the de facto leader of the Inquisition. Now everybody wanted to speak to him about something, and his time had become a commodity that caused heated competitions. He begrudgingly recognized that the unwanted position of leadership has already been foisted upon him and it left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.
"Of course, my friend. What can I do for you this fine afternoon?" It took some effort to put up a front for Varric's sake. The dwarf was not an easy person to fool and he knew that. But it didn't hurt to try, did it?
Yet Varric dawdled. Even from his limited interactions with the man, Tharin knew he was not one to hesitate before speaking. Thus, whatever that was coming had to be important, or at the very least incredibly uncomfortable to bring up.
"I saw you talking to Curly… uh, I mean, Commander Cullen last night. And… I think I heard some things about Kirkwall mentioned?"
Tharin felt his face crumble. Of course, the one time he needed to keep a secret tightly bottled up, the secret was already on a walkabout all on its own.
"Look, it's obvious things were said in confidence, so I won't pry – as much as I would love to. You should know though that things got real dark for Curly in Kirkwall." Then, Varric's booming baritone softened to a low murmur. "Shit, it got real dark for all mages and templars. That's got to leave some lasting damage."
The alpine wind sent a chill down Tharin's spine. Here was someone who knew of Cullen's past and perhaps judged him for his deeds. The young man did not have the courage to confront directly, so he asked meekly, "So… You think the Commander doesn't deserve to stay?"
Varric's eyes widened. "Oh. No, I didn't mean to imply that he's unsuited to lead the troops. I just meant that you should be careful around him. Not to infantilize the guy, but he's got to be fragile." The man sighed and threw his hands up. "Aw, forget it. Just be a good friend to him. He can certainly use a good friend."
Tharin felt his muscles relax. He wasn't aware of how tense his shoulders were. "You mean, like you and the Champion of Kirkwall?"
"Sure, why not. If you want to use that as an example." Varric shrugged, but the young man was sure he saw the dwarf's eyes turn soft and wistful.
"All right, that's enough sentimental crap from me today." Varric gulped the cold air and stretched. "I'm an open book. Well, not literally, but you get the gist. Come by when you're free and I can tell you about the Champion and whatever else you are curious about."
As usual, the Inquisition soldiers were hard at training as their Commander watched.
"All right, find your sparring partner and practice the defensive stance," he shouted, but his mind was somewhat preoccupied.
Andraste preserve him, what had gotten into him last night? After seeing the Herald at morning training and the war council, Cullen felt more than a little ludicrous for having dumped all his problems on a fresh-faced, innocent young man. He had no doubt traumatized Tharin with his stories. It would have been easy enough to just mention that he had stopped taking lyrium and leave it at that.
Yet there was something so inviting about the Herald. His youthful optimism and his easy charm, everything that the Commander lacked, comforted him more than he had ever expected. It convinced him that this time things were different, that he was fighting the right battle for the right cause with the right people.
It did feel good to tell Tharin everything. He knew it was a self-centered thing to do, but it eased the burden of his past more than a little bit. At least one person in this harsh world accepted him unreservedly and it made his heart soar. He felt like he could accomplish anything and everything. It was an exhilarating sensation he had not felt since before Kinloch Hold.
"Ser, a package for you from his worship."
A courier interrupted his train of thought. Cullen unfolded his arms and took the pack. It was a cuboid object, wrapped artlessly with stationery paper, his name carefully written out in a rounded handwriting.
When he tore open the wrapping, he found a book with a picture of two lovers on the cover. One was a woman in templar armor, the other was a man in a mage robe. A note fell from its pages.
My dear Cullen,
This book reminded me of you. You mentioned that you used to enjoy this type of literature, and I hope you still do. Because otherwise this is a terrible gift, which would make me a bad gift giver.
Josephine assigned it to me last week. She said it was the latest novella to hit the salon scene in Orlais and ordered me to read it in preparation for my interactions with the noble ladies of the court.
I am a tad worried she has plans for me that involve a decked out duchess, me stuffed into a garish suit, and a grandiose wedding ceremony followed by a revoltingly gargantuan reception, but I've found I am more than capable of dodging unwanted responsibilities.
An assignment this is not, at least for you. I promise, it isn't all just fluffy drivel. The author presents some intriguing arguments on the concept of divine intervention. I hope you enjoy it. I did, surprisingly enough.
Always yours,
Tharin
Cullen's scarred lips curled upward despite himself. His heart sped up as he pictured Tharin thinking of him throughout the day, agonizing over the gift and the note. He addressed him my dear Cullen and finished the message with always yours. Even if it was out of pity, Cullen felt hope. The note was undeniable proof that he was no longer alone. Someone cared.
Tharin had turned on the light in Cullen, brightening even the darkest, most haunted recesses in the attic of his memory. It was the kind of light that burned too radiantly to suppress, and Cullen knew he was done trying.
It had already grown into love, his very first.
Is this (really) love that Cullen's feeling? Next up, the Herald's past.
Your thoughts and feedback are always welcome! Thank you for reading!