The morning came and the enormity of what they had embarked upon was still sinking in.
Tharin and Cullen both kept mum about their osculation the night before. As though they had conspired in advance, neither man attempted to initiate any conversation on their walk to the clearing.
The cool morning air warbled, carrying with it stray petals of plum blossoms that little by little dotted them with spots of tender pink. Neither man took notice nor moved to brush them off.
Without liquid courage and the comforting embrace of darkness, Tharin was feeling too vulnerable, too afraid that if he talked in the harsh daylight it may expose things that he wanted Cullen to overlook. It was not that he wanted to conceal the more unsavory aspects of his person, but he was insecure enough about this new courtship that he was quick to fall back on obscurant impulses.
Yet predictably their budding relationship was the only thing he could think of. In any case, they had already revealed too much of themselves to trick each other, and Tharin knew this at least on the subconscious level.
The Herald sparred half-heartedly, and the Commander matched it with his own sluggishness. The clang of practice swords seemed to resound and stretch longer. Each man managed to hit the opponent with the sword point more than five times, which was unprecedented. Even with the armor, their torsos were sore from all the thrusts they endured.
It was obvious that Tharin and Cullen were both distracted. Acknowledging that any further time spent on training that morning was meaningless, they packed it in and headed back to the hamlet.
On their way back from the clearing, Tharin stuck close to the Commander. Eventually, the young man gathered enough courage to clasp Cullen's left hand, which resulted in the other man blushing and flashing a shy smile.
Every time Cullen smiled like that, Tharin had to wonder how this beautiful man came to be so utterly alone. Anyone else with his looks and his personality would not want for company, but it was like the Commander welcomed seclusion. Did he view it as some sort of penance for his sins? He was an enigma, for sure.
Isolation in itself would not be so bad since Cullen was the type to relish his own company, but loneliness inevitably followed in its tow and that was something far more pernicious. Like rust or a slow death of consumption, loneliness ate away at one's sense of worth until there was only a husk of individuality left. The Commander may have validly deserved some of the punishments he meted out on himself, but he certainly did not deserve this.
Under the efflorescing branches Tharin twined their fingers and brought the man's left hand to his lips, firmly planting a kiss on the back. He wanted to doubly remind Cullen of his presence, that without a shred of doubt he was Cullen's.
But ever the troublemaker, he also wanted to see the Commander's blush take on a deeper shade of red, which he knew was inevitable after such a provocative touch. When Tharin turned, however, he only saw a whole plum blossom stuck amid the Commander's soft blond curls.
He laughed the kind of laugh that leaves one short of breath and reached to extricate the errant flower from the man's hair. Holding it out to Cullen, he asked jokingly, "Want to make a wish?"
He saw Cullen swallow hard. Positively beet red and absolutely unable to meet Tharin's eyes directly, the Commander whispered, "I don't need it. It's yours… if you want."
The sheepish proclamation all but wiped the mischievous smile off Tharin's face. Cullen was too genuine, too pure for the kind of teasing he would have unleashed given the chance. Feeling unduly serious, he stopped in his tracks and tossed the blossom behind him. He susurrated, "It's all superstitions anyway." He saw Cullen's right hand holding on to the sheathed sword loosen.
"I suppose you are correct," the Commander's voice was steady and deep. The profound flush remained entrenched on the man's face, but he was finally able to look Tharin in the eyes evidently. There was an unmistakable glint in those wildflower-honey eyes and the soft grin was authentic. An unwarranted shudder passed through the young man's solid body and he hoped the reverberating tremor was not noticed by the Commander.
When they passed the blacksmith's and closed in on the gate, however, the concurrently awkward and engrossing intimacy vanished. The Commander tensed and hastily withdrew his hand. Tharin had fully expected it given the man's private nature, but part of him still felt rebuffed.
No matter. When the young man turned, he saw Cullen's furrowed brows and apologetic eyes and knew that one day Cullen would be confident enough to hold hands with him anywhere. Someday soon. He was sure of it.
Once they were inside the gate, they were confronted by a throng of soldiers and pilgrims leaving the chantry after the early morning service. It was remarkable to think that the same scene was being played out all over the world. The Maker could look down and expect to see chantrygoers file out after a service at the same hour every day, everywhere. From a tiny fishing village in Rivain to the grandest of castle towns in Orlais.
The simple truth of this Theodosian commonality invoked for Tharin a strong sense of déjà vu. He was back in Hasmal, back to being a sullen half-elven templar with an unruly mop of hair who was in love with a Circle mage. A mage who he couldn't save.
Except, this time he was Andraste's Chosen One, and he could marshal the Inquisition resources to protect all people of Thedas, including Cullen. He suddenly appreciated what his glowing left hand could do for him.
Unfortunately, that knowledge was not sufficient to soothe Tharin's apprehensive heart. Its beats were quick and shallow, as though it knew Cullen was to be stolen from him like Kyr was. Tharin had to make certain that the Commander was alive, that death was not stalking them.
The young man knew what he was about to do was selfish, but the need overtook his body. He abruptly seized the Commander's arm and pulled him into a little nook by a wooden hut. Hidden from the chantrygoers by a tall stack of firewood, Tharin whispered, "Forgive me," and pulled Cullen in for a deep kiss.
The Commander froze at first, but soon relented and even drew him closer. There was nothing chaste about the kiss, but there was no lust either. It was desperate. Tharin was like a starving hunter chasing down a halla.
As the Herald ascertained Cullen's existence before him, the anxiety gradually died down. When he opened his eyes, he saw a pair of warm eyes filled with worry. The young man embraced the Commander and apologized. "I am so sorry. It's silly, but I needed to make sure that you are here… with me. And that we are together."
"Ah. I–I don't mind. Are you all right?"
Tharin leaned away, feeling so full of affection for this man. Unable to contain it, he reached out and gently stroked Cullen's cheek. The Commander closed his eyes and nudged against the warm hand. The scarred face lit up with happy satisfaction. His rough fingers felt the prickles of Cullen's stubble and the contact shot electricity through Tharin's body.
"I am, thanks to you…" Another kiss, this time just a peck. "I will see you later in the war room."
"Y, yes, your wors– Tharin."
The first person the Herald saw as he left a confounded Cullen behind was Varric, who looked smug like a cat with a fresh kill dangling from its mouth. He whistled and clapped slowly as he watched Tharin make his way across the thoroughfare.
"So… Mind telling me how that happened?" An unnatural glimmer in his eyes let Tharin know that Varric had witnessed everything. The absconding, the kiss, and the touch – really, the whole package. There was no point in denying.
Tharin hoped the blush on his face was not too telling as he tried to sound indifferent. "I don't believe it's a matter that requires your attention, Master Tethras." He curtly nodded and walked away at a brisk pace.
Not a moment later, he heard Varric snicker and shout, "That's okay. I will just ask Curly."
Cassandra seemed oblivious, confused, and aggravated even, but Josephine and Leliana were decidedly none of those. Something had developed between the Herald and the Commander, and it upset the flow of the meeting. Tharin was too distracted by smiling and staring at Cullen, and in turn Cullen was so nervous that he was barely coherent when reporting.
The two women exchanged knowing looks as Cullen blundered through the after action report from the Fallow Mire.
"Ah… Um… Fortunately, with the local Avvar allies aiding our soldiers, they managed to establish a new supply depot in the northeast… Uh… Pardon me, I meant, in the northwest corner of the marsh near a rift Lord Trevelyan closed during his first expedition to the… Um… The, the Fallow Mire."
It was excruciating to watch the Commander flip through the pages back and forth, stuttering endlessly. Cassandra was pressing her fingers on the bridge of her nose, trying to contain the irritation rising like a yeasted dough.
Cullen simpered uncomfortably and cleared his throat as he wildly flipped through the pages once again. "I shall now summarize the action report from the Crossroads and the surrounding area, which should be… uh… Please bear with me… Should be here somewhere…"
The Seeker exploded.
"Oh, for Maker's sake, Cullen. What has gotten into you!?"
Tharin promptly shot a reproachful look and sharply intoned, "Seeker Pentaghast, do please be respectful to the Commander."
"But Tharin, he is clearly not prepared–"
The young man put on his authoritative expression, which Josephine and Leliana thought still needed some finessing. "I am certain the Commander is prepared. He just seems hesitant about the information because he's not the one who went on the expedition. You cannot castigate him for that."
Cassandra was staring at Tharin, agape. Cullen's entire face reddened as his shoulders drooped and the report in his hands landed on the map table with a small thud. Josephine tried her hardest to suppress the giggles rising in the back of her throat.
Now back to his benevolent self, Tharin spoke tenderly, "I believe it would only be appropriate for me to explain the situations in the Fallow Mire and the Crossroads. I will do so at the end of the meeting. Now, I'd like to hear from Lady Montilyet about tracking down the rebel mages."
The Diplomat did not expect to be called upon so soon and her suppressed titter morphed into a coughing fit that lasted for a good half minute. With her throat raw and eyes tearing up, Josephine began to speak in a strained voice.
"Ah, yes, my lord. I've contacted the diplomatic communities in Orlais and Ferelden, and it appears that…"
Leliana scanned the room. Predictably enough, Cassandra was silently fuming with her arms folded. The practice dummies of Haven should expect severe thrashings today. Cullen was staring into an empty spot on the map of Ferelden – maybe Lake Calenhad, which according to him looked like a bunny –, obviously hating himself and not paying attention to Josephine. And the Herald was back to gazing at the Commander, though now with a worried look in his visage instead.
The Spymaster sighed in annoyance. She'd hoped the workload today would be light but much to her dismay, luck was not on her side.
After the meeting, Cullen could not exit the room fast enough. He even ignored Tharin calling after him. He finally came to a stop in the courtyard outside the chantry and exhaled loudly. A sudden pat on his shoulder startled him.
"Commnder, may I take a moment of your time?"
There stood Leliana, managing to look intimidating in her tiny frame as usual. Though unnerved by the sudden appearance of the Spymaster, Cullen kept on an impassive face to match her naturally expressionless state. "Of course. What can I do for you?"
The woman was quiet for a brief moment. "I think it would be best if we had this chat in a more private setting." Without waiting for a response, she started walking and motioned Cullen to follow her.
After they walked away from staring onlookers who no doubt would appreciate a very public verbal match between the Inquisition's Spymaster and its Commander, Leliana guided her colleague to a secluded spot behind the chantry building. She leaned against the stone wall and exhaled softly.
"I can tell there is something happening, and I'd like to be kept in the loop."
"If this is about my display in the war room, I apologize. It will not happen again."
"Oh, Commander, you shouldn't try to be mysterious. You've no talent for it. Since I will find out eventually – and believe me, I will find out –, let us cut to the chase. What is going on between you and the Herald?"
"Leliana, I honestly have no idea what you are talking about."
The Spymaster tilted her head either in frustration or amusement, it was unclear to Cullen since her face remained terrifyingly still. She crossed her arms as if she were readying herself for an interrogation of a hostile agent.
"Very well then… I shall reveal my hand." She sighed and smoothed a strand of stray hair before continuing, "It's been clear from my agents' reports, and my own eyes and ears that the Herald cares for you. I gathered he is interested in you romantically. But I didn't realize that you were interested in him or how far the things have developed."
"Wait, you have agents stationed here? Watching us?"
Leliana frowned ever so slightly, "Of course. You knew I would."
After scoffing at how unfazed she was, Cullen followed his instinctual recourse, which was to obfuscate. "You might need to have your mind-reading ability checked. Your assessment is quite off the mark actually."
The carefully constructed veneer of the Spymaster crumbled to reveal a twisted smirk that could have churned the stomach of Andraste herself. She had him in her palm and she knew it. "Come now, I've had my telepathic third eye looked at last week and it's working perfectly. I assure you I know what I am talking about." She stared intently into Cullen's eyes, unblinking, her icy blue irises peering into his soul. Cullen felt naked.
After a seemingly everlasting moment of a silent stare, Leliana turned away. Cullen breathed in relief, though not too loudly. The redhead's voice lost its edge, now sounding almost wistful.
"What do you know about the Hero of Ferelden?"
"Only that he died slaying the Archdemon and ended the Fifth Blight. And that you fought beside him."
"That's only half the story. I… killed the Warden."
Cullen blinked. "Come again?"
"Before the final battle, a sorceress in our party suggested that she perform a ritual to save the Warden. It involved him laying with her to create a child that would absorb the soul of the Old God from the Archdemon. Instead of killing the Warden, the soul would be safely entombed in the child. At least that's what she asserted.
"I watched as the Warden refused her without a second thought and the witch left us. I wailed, asking him why he had turned her down. He said he refused because he loved me and that he did not want a child to be born burdened with something that none of us even understood, let alone control."
When Leliana turned to look at Cullen he could see a tiny sliver of anguish reflected in her eyes.
"And he died. It was a meaningless waste of a worthy life. For years I've thought about what I should have done differently. I shouldn't have let the witch get away. Regardless of the consequence for the child, I should have forced the Warden to follow through with the ritual. I don't know if any of it would have made a difference… But I believe his love for me was what drove him to choose death over life. So yes… I am the one responsible for the Warden's death."
The Commander started reaching out but stopped midway. He knew the woman would not take it well. "Leliana, I am so sorry for your loss. But I don't quite follow why you are telling me this."
"The resemblance should be obvious to you. The Warden and the Herald?"
Cullen was sharp in his own way. It did not take long for something to click in his head. "You mean…"
"For his sake and for your sake, you need to end things with him." The trace of emotion in her voice was long gone and Leliana stated it as if she were listing off chores. Cullen imagined: pick up two loaves of bread and a cheese wedge from the market, and make sure to clean the fireplace. Oh, and don't forget to break off with the Herald of Andraste on your way back.
Cullen grasped for any possible pretext he could use to ignore her dictate, anything to convince himself that her motive was suspect. "Is this because the Herald and I are both… men?"
The stomach-churning smirk was back, and Cullen's heart did flips. "Oh, Commander. Give me some credit. I hardly care whether the Herald chooses a man or a woman or an undead mage in a disguise of a bronto as his lover. What I am concerned about is the fact that his feelings for you may cloud his judgment."
His anger was like a wildfire, it ignited without warning and burned everything in its path. He clenched his fists. "Just what right do you have to dictate the terms of our private lives? Who do you think you are?"
"I am you, and you are me. We are both bit players in the stage set for heroes, yet we gain the power to destroy them through romantic entanglements."
"I do not intend to harm the Herald in any way. I would rather end my life before anything like that happens." The Commander could hear the volume of his voice increasing, but he did not care. He wanted her to know just how angry he was.
"That's the catch, you see. It's never what you intend, but it happens anyway. You will become a burden to him. And this time things will be worse for the Herald because he'd already lost someone. He will do anything to protect you and along the way he will make choices that harm our cause because of you. Choices that will get him killed."
"…I am not a burden." Cullen added with a strained voice, mostly because he had a sinking feeling that it was true. Tharin had already given him so much and he gave back nothing. What would it be like in a month's time? In a year? In a lifetime?
Regardless of Cullen's fury, Leliana seemed determined to drive the point home. "No, you are not. Yet. Which is why I am telling you now. Stand aside, don't let yourself become the reason he deviates from his destined path. His legacy is just beginning."
Whereas mine is winding down, Cullen filled in the blanks and grimaced at the thought.
Leliana's gaze softened slightly. She murmured in probably her most considerate voice, "You must know that all I want is for the Inquisition to succeed, for the Herald to succeed. I desire nothing else."
She was right, but nevertheless Cullen was pained. The anger had burned itself out and in his clenched fists were just ashes of despair. He reached for his nape before becoming conscious of the habit and dropped his hand.
"What do you need me to do?"
He lifted his face to find Leliana with a look of genuine pity. He was not sure why, but her expression of sympathy was more terrifying than her smirk.
"First, you need to stop training with the Herald every morning. You may tell him that getting the troops ready for the upcoming expedition to the Breach must take precedence and that you have become too busy, which is not untrue. You will find a skilled templar to replace you as the training partner.
"Second, you must tell him in no uncertain terms that you do not want to pursue the relationship any further. You will not fraternize with the Herald outside the war room or other strategy meetings. You shouldn't avoid him, but do not seek him out either. It will only make it harder for you to let go of the bond.
"Finally, you are not to go out into the field with him anymore. It is simply too time-consuming and dangerous for you, and he will become even more dependent on your company."
Every item on the list hit Cullen deeply, but it was when the Spymaster added with a forlorn tone that he felt a part of him – the part that nurtured his love for Tharin and perked up every time he thought about the young man – fall silent. "You and I are both damaged goods. We have seen and done too many things that are evil and unnecessarily violent. The Herald still has a chance to avoid our fate and become a champion who deserves people's affections."
Cullen wanted to reciprocate the pain Leliana was inflicting on him. He bitingly retorted, "Like the Hero of Ferelden?"
"…Yes… Like him."
He turned away and spat, "Thank you, Sister. I will report back to you with the result post haste."
"Thank you."
The Commander did not dare look at the Spymaster's face. He started to walk away but stopped. He then whispered in a faint voice, "Forgive me for mentioning the Warden. It was unworthy of me."
She gave him no answer.
The Herald's cabin beckoned Cullen and he dragged his tired shell toward it. The place he'd spent two weeks making a home – that was where he wanted to be. The candlelight radiating from the peephole let him know that The Herald was inside.
That soft glow was tempting, inviting, and he knew that if he were to open the door Tharin would welcome him in and make him feel truly good about himself for the first time since he became a templar. The young man's kind heart accepted and cared for Cullen along with all the sad, unfixable memories of the past. But it was precisely that past which rendered him undeserving of the Herald's attention.
Happiness was just a feeling. Ephemeral, illusory. That knowledge was never far from his mind. It was just that he had forgotten he wasn't worthy of even a momentary respite from life's battles, not after he screamed for the Right of Annulment in Kinloch and certainly not after the Gallows. And remembering it hurt badly.
The young warrior would always be the people's Herald of Andraste, never Cullen Rutherford's Haretharin. He had to accept that. As Leliana said, he was a damaged good and did not deserve the man anyway.
The Commander turned away from the front door. The darkness enveloped him as it did Haven.
End Notes:
Oh, Cullen... What are you planning to do?
Next up, the abyss.
Since the next chapter is long, as in longer than 11k words, I've decided to update in two waves again - once on Saturday, January 23 at 2 pm EST, and another on Sunday, January 24 at 2 pm EST.
Your thoughts, feedback, and critiques are always welcome! Thank you for reading!