Letters from Mia
Cullen,
"Dear Mia, I'm still alive. Your loving brother, Cullen"
Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead. Again. If not for your friend, Josephine, who was considerate enough to send us word, we would still be worried thinking that you were at the Conclave.
I cannot believe what's become of the templars. We heard about rogue templars ransacking villages near us, and we still get news from time to time about mages and templars fighting each other to death.
Don't worry, we are quite out of harm's way, but I am not sorry you left them. I thought your resignation was implied when you joined Seeker Pentaghast, but you meant something more, didn't you?
It's a fool's errand asking you to stay safe, but please try.
Your loving sister, (see how easy this is?)
Mia,
Lady Josephine Montilyet is not my friend. She is the Inquisition's Ambassador and a member of the Antivan nobility, and as such deserves the same respect you would accord any Fereldan bann, arlessa, or teyrna.
That said, I am glad she sent word. But you should know that a friend and I have been chatting about our families recently. It reminded me of you, so you would have gotten a letter regardless of her intervention.
You need not worry about me. The Inquisition is led by a capable, kind man who wants to do good. I am certain he is the key to our salvation. Sometimes it surprises me how often I think about the future now in spite of the Breach, but it should tell you how optimistic we all are.
I will write again soon.
Cullen
Little Brother,
I don't believe for a second you actually care about the titles – lady this and lord that. When we were kids, you were the most ill-mannered and messiest out of all of us; I doubt that has changed only because you are now the Commander.
I'm glad you found a home in the Inquisition. If this is a new path, I hope it will lead to something that will make you happy. You've earned that.
The Herald of Andraste has been on everyone's lips, and I would not believe half the things said about the man if not for your glowing assessment. Maker, it will be a relief to know that you are answering to a person who actually deserves your loyalty.
But don't forget to think for yourself, too. You, Cullen Stanton Rutherford, are a good man, and I know your conscience won't lead you astray.
As always, I beg you to write more. The family is eager for any news.
With love,
Mia
Mia,
A friend ordered me to write you (during a game of chess no less – do you still play?), so I am sending you updates.
Haven is gone. We lost many good men and women, and it is my fault. I almost abandoned my post prematurely, and I should have been more meticulous in my planning of the town's defense. But I assure you, I won't make the same mistake twice.
The Herald – now also the Lord Inquisitor – is safe. We nearly lost him too, but he made out just barely. I only thank the Maker that I can still prove my worth to him. He deserves much, much more than what I can give, and yet I can offer no more. My utter ineptitude disappoints me.
We are now based in Skyhold in the Frostbacks. Post your letters there.
P.S. I know I am your little brother. You do not need to remind me.
Cullen
My precious little brother (who will remain my little brother despite his position),
Please thank this "friend" of yours for us. Is this someone special we should know about? Who is this "friend" you always mention? Or do you actually have more than one friend who pesters you about familial obligations?
On that note, you really don't need to write me about how the Inquisition is faring. I am quite capable of sorting through the rumors from travelers to pick up news. And I should tell you, there are many rumors.
What I am concerned about is what is going on with you. I don't like that you are blaming yourself. For what it's worth, the Inquisition is still intact, the Herald is alive, and you are safe. I know it's no consolation coming from me, but I would say it's a job well done. And I know you always try your hardest, so don't think for a moment that you haven't done enough. You have.
Branson's here; his son insists I add "Ello Cul" to this letter. He also insists it be "Ello" and not "Hello." Your nephew is stubborn – how very familiar.
With all my love,
Mia
Mia,
The Inquisitor
The Herald
Tharin
Lord Inquisitor is the friend in my letters, but there is nothing going on. There is no "special" friend.
I will write you a longer reply when there's time. Stop prying.
Cullen
Cullen,
Oh, my darling little brother, you underestimate my power of deduction. You also overestimate your ability to keep secrets. Say hello to your not-so-special friend for us.
Everyone here is doing well, so we just worry about you. I'm sure you and your not-so-special friend will find enough danger to last for four lifetimes. You always do. Is it worth warning either of you to be careful?
I will expect to read more about your friend in your next letter. You could at least tell us what his favorite color is. That shouldn't be too difficult to manage.
Love,
Mia
Cullen,
It's been months since your last letter, and I am extremely worried.
Firstly, I got the news about your "friend" and his engagement to some princess in Orlais. How dare he? How could he hurt you like this?
Secondly, I've been hearing things about your friend. Bad things. Something about lyrium that templars take? You failed to mention that your friend is a former templar, Cullen Stanton Rutherford! What's more, I hear that your friend has gone and murdered a bunch of people who did not deserve to die? Are these rumors all true?
If they are, I can't in good conscience support your relationship with him. In fact, I ask you to reconsider working for this man. You haven't told me much about Kirkwall, or Ferelden for that matter, but the updates coming out of the Inquisition are starting to sound too similar to the bad news from Ferelden and Kirkwall.
Remember what I told you. Let your conscience guide you. If the Inquisition is no longer a place for you, then you should come straight home. We are always here for you.
I'm including a packet of shortbread biscuits so you will remember how much we love and cherish you. I know you still like them. I am hoping the Inquisition messengers are conscientious and do not snoop through packages.
You better let me know how you enjoyed them, seeing as I had to swat away Branson's hands at least five times as I made them.
Write back. Please. I will be waiting anxiously for any news from you.
Mia
Mia had apparently not received the latest news that the Inquisitor had hit rock bottom and was now in the process of coming back up to the surface. Cullen sighed and folded the letter. He then walked over to his well-appointed bookcase and took out The Dialectics on the Divinity of Elven Gods and Dalish Cultural Construction. One of the scouts managed to dig it out of the ruins of Haven and he was pleased that it found its way back to him, none the worse for wear.
Not only did the book remind him of happier times with Tharin, but his personal correspondences, including all letters from South Reach, were tucked away in its pages. He opened the book to a chapter on literary Elvish phrases and inserted the new letter among its predecessors.
When he tried to write a response, nothing came to him. No, that was not true. Everything came to him. It would make for quite a letter, a deluge of unprocessed emotions that would rightly horrify his older sister:
Dearest Mia,
Everything you have heard is true. Tharin is engaged to marry an Orlesian princess, he is addicted to lyrium, and he killed people he should not have.
And I started it all.
I, along with the other advisors, pushed Tharin to this arrangement. In despair, he picked up lyrium again, and spiraled out of control. Tharin was reacting to the suffering I inflicted on him.
To tell you the truth, I care for Tharin more than anything in this world. More than even my own life, I think. And yet the only thing I can do is to watch him from afar, since I ruined any chance we may have had. Thrice.
So no, Mia. You need not worry about my relationship with Tharin. He has never been my special friend. He will never be mine, I think.
One piece of good news is that Tharin recently quit lyrium again. You wouldn't know what that means, because I didn't want you to worry and so I never mentioned any of this, but templars are forced to take lyrium to maintain their abilities. But it kills you. Before that, you lose your mind. My love tried to hurt himself, and I didn't do anything. I stood by helplessly as he poisoned himself.
It's all right. Your brother has been free of lyrium for nearly two years now. As long as I am alive, I will never again imbibe it. But it worries me that I can't be sure about Tharin's intention. Inquisition responsibilities and a marriage of convenience weigh heavily on his shoulders, and I just can't be sure if he does not intend to harm himself again. I wish he would open himself up to me like he did before Skyhold. I miss Haven. I miss our adventures out in the world.
I pray to the Maker that the Inquisition does not take him away from me. I know it's selfish but knowing what fate had befallen the Hero of Ferelden, I would rather have a coward in Tharin than a dead brave man. But I also know he would choose death without hesitation if it's to protect his people. My heart aches every time I think of him leaving Skyhold for some unknown danger.
You say the news out of the Inquisition are starting to resemble those from Kirkwall. Nevertheless, I have complete faith that the Inquisition is a force for good, run by good people. With Tharin free of lyrium's influence, things will only improve further. And my work here is far from done. Until the day the Elder One falls, I shall not return to you. I am sorry.
Love,
Cullen
The Commander crumpled up the stationery. He had not actually written down any of his thoughts, but it felt like the intensity of his emotions had somehow polluted the paper. Better to make a fresh start, write some empty fluff on a brand-new sheet of parchment to misdirect Mia. He was certainly well-versed at misinformation, no matter what his sister asserted.
The package that contained the biscuits was glued shut tightly. He thought back to what Mia wrote about the messengers. He was glad his position guaranteed the delivery of his mails unmolested by some nosy runners. It was possibly the only perk of his status that he actually appreciated.
When Cullen opened the package, the familiar aroma of butter and honey hit his nostrils. He did have a weakness for shortbread biscuits and had been deprived of them for far too long.
While Skyhold had become a lively center of commerce and things like butter, sugar, and honey were no longer considered luxury items, biscuits and confections were still a rare sight. Pressed to feed hundreds of Inquisition personnel three times every single day, cooks refused to make baked goods more complicated than a loaf of bread. The only exception was for the Ambassador who had to greet and entertain nobles.
Hence, no rich, buttery biscuits in the Skyhold kitchens and no treats for the Commander. Might as well. If he had a regular access to them, his belly would certainly be rounder and filled out. His days on the battlefield would be over.
Cullen thought for a second. The Inquisitor was bedridden today too. By now, he must have taken his simple lunch of broth and a couple triangles of toast with jam in his quarters.
Feeling excited about presenting Tharin with a rare treat, Cullen ran all the way from his tower to the great hall but tried to smooth out his breathing once he arrived at the door leading up to the loft.
Cullen knocked on the door and entered. After ascending the stairs, he found Tharin curled up and trembling in his bed. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was contorted in obvious pain. On the sofa next to the bed sat his lunch, uneaten.
The dainty tableware holding the clear broth was already cold to the touch. Cullen sighed as he placed the pack of biscuits next to the tray and approached the bed.
It was heartbreaking to watch the young man, all muscles and sinews, reduced to a shivering mess. He sat next to Tharin on the bed, took off his gloves, and laid his palm flat against the man's forehead. It was hot and clammy.
"Tharin," susurrated the Commander with the gentlest voice he could summon.
The young man opened his eyes and found Cullen. His face brightened momentarily, but it was once again overtaken by agony. He intoned, "Cul."
"You skipped your meal again." Cullen immediately chided himself for sounding too accusatory.
With great effort, Tharin got the words out. "I… can't… My head… hurts too much."
"What do you need?"
"Hold my hands," Tharin wheezed, "please."
Cullen answered the appeal. He did his best to unfasten and take off the cumbersome armor as quickly as possible. Then the boots. Now in his white shirt and trousers, Cullen lay next to Tharin and grasped the young man's hands.
Tharin began to burrow into Cullen's bosom. It was unexpected, but Cullen let him. Soon, Cullen could feel the uneven breaths heating up the middle of his chest. He lifted his right hand and tenderly stroked Tharin's head.
"I got a letter from Mia."
In a muffled voice, Tharin asked, "…How is she?"
"She's well." Cullen did not think it wise to append what Mia actually wrote in the letter. So, he changed the topic. "She also sent a packet of shortbread. Do you like shortbread?"
Tharin weakly nodded.
"Once you feel better, you should have them."
A huff emanated from Tharin. "But… they're yours."
"Shh, it's all right. You can have them all." As he continued to caress Tharin's head, Cullen reassured, "You can have them all."
For whatever it was worth, Tharin had stopped shivering. Worn out by the day's ordeal, the young man gradually slid into slumber. And Cullen stayed that way, holding the man in a protective embrace for a long, long while.
Letters from Renée
Dear Commander Cullen,
I have written you three times already, yet I find your replies to be always lacking. Just as I do not bore you with frivolous gossips of the town, which there are indeed many, you should strive to be more forthcoming. For example, what does your daily routine look like?
Not to fault you for your previous letters. You must be occupied with varied Inquisition responsibilities that I do not share at all and do not fully understand. Nevertheless, I long for any news from you.
On a side note, my illustrious father has been busy searching for adequate husband material for me. I dread the day when he finds one, for I shall have no say whatsoever in who would populate my drawing room and feast in my dining room for the rest of my life.
My only brother has now passed infancy and is healthy as can be, which I am very much relieved about. My worth as the potential inheritor of my father's business, however, has concurrently depreciated to nil. My usefulness shall only extend to the kind of match my father can make. I suppose it will be some marriage of convenience involving a baron or a comte of a place no one has ever heard of.
Please pardon my ramblings. My father has declared his intention to marry me off by the end of this year last evening, and I am still reeling from the announcement. I hope you have more uplifting news than I.
With much respect and admiration,
Renée
Lady Renée,
Please accept my sincerest apology for subpar responses. In my defense, I always try my hardest to entertain you through my letters.
My daily routine consists of simple things. I wake up, I train with my soldiers, I direct troop movements, and I organize large-scale military campaigns. I cannot imagine you would find any part of it interesting.
As for your upcoming nuptial, I do empathize with your plight. I am familiar enough with arranged matches. Unfortunately, I can only offer encouraging words. Please forgive my devastating uselessness.
Sincerely,
Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition's Forces
Dear Cullen:
I accept your apology. And I assure you that I will find your daily routine beyond interesting. If it was not clear before, I shall make so now: I would like to know more about you.
Nonetheless, I am fairly cross with you for not offering actual words of encouragement. I do plan on resisting my father's wishes, seeing as I harbor someone else in my heart. I could use the support, and I hope you are up to the task.
P.S. Let us drop formalities and address each other by the names our parents gave us from now on, shall we?
Yours sincerely,
Renée
Renée:
I appreciate your accepting my apology.
Many unforeseen events compete for my attention, and I must cut this message short.
I promise I will write a longer reply. In the meantime, do tell me about your daily routine as well.
Cullen
Dear Cullen,
I understand. You are, after all, Commander of the Inquisition's forces first and foremost.
My daily routine involves helping out at my father's business. He is the leading vintner in Val Royeaux, and the volume of business he must handle far exceeds his limit. Since my mother is disinterested in all things business, my father has taught me early on to assist.
I have learned basic accounting, inventory management, and sales tactics, and I thoroughly enjoy every aspect of them. I can confidently say that I am my father's best employee. And so long as I remain unwed and under my father's tutelage, I will continue to work.
Speaking of marriage, my father has informed me that I am to betroth Guillaume, the second son of Duc Henri de Val Foret. In exchange for a significant portion of my father's wealth, the duke will divide his demesne and confer a barony upon Guillaume. Primogeniture is the rule of the land, yet the ongoing turmoil has made many impossible things possible. My father, of course, is overjoyed that I am to wear a coronet. I can scarcely bring myself to care for a man I have yet to meet.
My other worry is that my father seems to have gotten himself deeply involved in politics somehow. Apparently, being elected the chairman of a Val Royeaux social club is not as innocent as it appears. He does not explain things to my satisfaction, but I am petrified for my family and my family's business should my father make a wrong move during this volatile period.
I apologize. I have rambled on once again. I shall bore you no longer, then.
Renée
Renée,
Under NO circumstances are you to wed Guillaume de Val Foret! Please find a way out of this arrangement.
Your friend,
Cullen
Cullen,
You command me to circumvent my upcoming matrimony as though it were the issue of changing my mind about what to have for supper, yet you offer no good explanation for why I must do so.
Are you willing to help me? Are you perhaps saying what I hope you are saying?
Confused and anxious,
Renée
Cullen groaned as he roughly rubbed his face. The new scar on his left cheek still felt strange to his touch. He should have known that continuing correspondence with Lady Renée would only lead to more headaches.
Still, knowing what Guillaume de Val Foret was like and what kind of husband the flighty man would make for Renée, Cullen could not just sit silently by. After all, he liked her quite a bit.
He retrieved several pages of unused parchment from the bottom desk drawer and began to write frantically.
Renée,
I see now that my recommendation has come as a shock to you. I shall explain my reasoning presently.
Guillaume exclusively favors the company of men. I have seen with my own eyes…
Cullen halted. This was not good. How would he explain what happened without exposing the Inquisition and the Inquisitor to ridicule and scandal the world over? Cullen did not trust Renée with the ugly reality of the Inquisitor's arranged marriage, which included that seedy affair in the grassy meadow of Val Royeaux. He must under no circumstances breathe a word about what transpired between Guillaume and the Inquisitor.
An alternative – admittedly a horrendous one – occurred to him all of a sudden. Perhaps it would be a good deed for him to save Lady Renée from a marriage of convenience by marrying her himself. After all, Renée had been dropping hints all over the place that she was interested in him, enough for even Cullen to see. If it came to be, however, his marriage to the young woman would be a sham. Cullen did not love Renée. He loved Tharin and Tharin only.
In fact, Tharin needed Cullen now more than ever. He could not leave his side, much less legally bind himself to another person.
Cullen cleared his mind as he wiped the quill, carefully sharpened its nib with a penknife, and unfurled another sheet of parchment in front of him. With the freshly inked quill in midair, Cullen thought, What must I write now?
The Commander of the Inquisition's forces, undoubtedly the least politically astute of all the advisors, thought long and hard to come up with an answer that would appeal to the political sensibilities of someone like Renée's calculating father. Various random ideas gradually, too slowly came together to form a workable solution within him.
Having decided, Cullen began to write with deliberate strokes.
END NOTE
As Josephine's mentioned before, Cullen doesn't do subtle.
Thank you so much for sticking through the hiatuses, both expected and unexpected. This marks the end of Part III: Autumn. The next chapter, which sets in motion the events of Part IV: Winter, will be posted two months from today on Sunday, February 13, 2022. In the meantime, I will probably go cry about the fact that this fic has been ongoing for a year (12/13 is the first anniversary) and is still far from being done... *Sigh*
While Honor and Will is going into a hiatus, Where the Waves Crest (波の上り詰める所) series has had a lot of exciting new developments! The main fic - archiveofourownDOTorg/works/31047788 is complete, and there are three new sequel fics for you to check out at your leisure: The Folly Upon the Sea (海の上の大愚) - archiveofourownDOTorg/works/35274067, Jarikki (자리끼) - archiveofourownDOTorg/works/35529043, and Where We Want To Be - fanfictionDOTnet/s/14004042/1/Where-We-Want-to-Be, my very first holiday fic. Please give them a try!