Incorruptible

by super ginger

Alduin is dead. Purpose and duty fulfilled.Uthreida, Dragon Born, Yesimir of the North, is ready to return, But Tsun's shout is redirected, and finds herself in a land that is similar yet so very different from her home. Commander Cullen is hopeful for the future of the Inquisition. Until an unknown Dragon Slayer falls under his Command that makes him question everything he knows.

10. Chapter 10

A/N: Fight me.

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Uthreida was beaming as she walked into Cullen's office to give her check-in for the day. Cullen looked up and smirked at her good mood. "Good Morrow."

"Blessings." She stated with a wide grin, holding the books she had cross-referenced for the last few days. Proof she was on Nirn. But honestly, needed a sounding party. And no one pokes holes in logic like the Commander. She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.

"You were in the rings this morning." He stated quickly as if to cut her off.

She looked at him with confusion. That's a weird topic. Well, it's not that weird, it's his job. "Aye?" She lowered the books that were held to her chest down to her unarmored thighs.

"I ah" he stood from his desk with an awkward smirk. "I noticed you stopped wearing your little cape…thing."

She chuckled and rubbed her neck in embarrassment. "It got in the way." She stated humbly. It was large, heavy, and honestly, burdensome trying to figure out how to get the large fabric to drape over her armor.

He smirked, but she noticed that it was more of an internal joke than one she knew. "Have you, perchance, considered wearing it differently?"

She lowered a brow, unsure of what he was getting at. Or why he was bringing it up. Especially when she had a more riveting conversation planned. "Such as?"

He smirked as he approached her. She kept her skeptical look as he appeared to be in a good mood. Why is he in a good mood? "I can agree with Inquisitor Royoc. It's good to see you show a commitment to the Inquisition. But the article you chose doesn't, how shall I say, reflect you? Your style or method, that is." She eyed him quickly. Where is he going with this? He gave a polite smile. "If I may suggest," he walked behind her to the couch and lifted a thin sheet that was laid there with a belt. "Your armor isn't fitted for a cape and the banner you chose has the wrong cut for it to be made into a cowl. And I think it's obvious that you aren't trained to wear it like you were." She looked at his hands with mild offense at his words as he offered her the sheet and belt. "I'd like to suggest an alternative."

"Why?"

His smile turned into a mischievous grin. "Reasons. Will you indulge me?"

She looked him over and shrugged. He was in a good mood, why spoil it. "Sure."

He gave a thankful nod. "If I may," he held the items in his hands to show her his intentions. She looked confused at the custom. He slung the belt over his shoulder and took the sheet. He opened it up and folded it on itself until it was like a triangle of the same dimensions as the banner. "This is about right." He muttered and smiled at her. "I would like to suggest a battle skirt. The fabric will cover the gapping in your leg armor and hide the weaknesses of it. Here." He moved the sheet around her waist, the fold coming up to her bust. "Fold it here" he moved his hands so the fabric didn't completely cover her hips, but rather left an opening to reveal her crotch. The folds of the excess fabric falling to the exact middle of her thighs. Her inner hips and thighs exposed. He folded it over again so none of the excess fabric extended the line he created. He took her hand to hold it in place so he could work the other side. All she felt was his warm gloved hands pressed to her core. She was stern enough to not let the heat show on her face at his closeness in the sunlight. She noticed there was a detail in his eye as he focused on the fabric. She had seen Templars walking around like this. Was he training her? Why was his nearness and mischievous smile making her excited? What was he planning? "Hold here." He placed her second hand to hold the other side of the fabric so he could cinch the belt around her hips. "Then fold it over." He took the fabric and folded what was up to her breasts over the belt and tightened it again at her waist. He took a step back as if to admire his work.

She looked down at herself. The fabric was shaped like the banner she had stolen. She arched a brow with a thin line on her lips. "If I wear it like this, I'll have the Inquisition symbol on me arse. Is that going to create a problem?"

He held a hand to his chin in thought. "You could cant it to one side. Give it a spin."

She hooked her thumbs into the belt and spun it so the point of the triangle was over the outside of her leg. She sighed. Her tassett would cover up the symbol. She spun it more and let the point hang over the middle of her leg. She gave a tired look. She often thought the Templars were idiots for wearing skirts like this. She shot him a quick look of skepticism and decided to humor him. And maybe, figure out why the Templars wore the restricting skirts.

She knelt down and noticed the opening in the skirt allowed maneuverability even at its length. She widened her stance like battle and was impressed that her movements weren't restricted like other dresses. The gap in the fabric allowed freedom she wasn't expecting. She looked at the opening, knowing she could still mount a horse if needed if she kept it to one side. Her hands went to her hips to find a fault and noticed that the fabric, while thinner than the banner, would offer extra padding to her hips. But still a fire hazard against dragons. And fire mages. And would slow her down in the water. But still kind of worth it. Shore's Bones, how much would it anger the Inquisitor if he saw her actually use the banner in the field. The thought made her smirk. At the very least, she could use it for travel and remove it for battle.

She looked up and noticed Cullen held the same smile she did. "Why do you smile like that?" His one-sided smirk spread to both sides. "Eager to dress me like one of your Templars?" She mocked him. "That's sacrilegious, Cullen."

He shook his head in playful mirth. "I think we both know that's not going to happen."

She arched her brow at his words but kept smiling at him. "Then why are you teaching me this?"

He chuffed a laugh and stepped closer. "Because it will anger Royoc," he whispered so others may not hear.

"Not really," she said with a frown, still looking at the pleating and skirting, "he's the one that wants this."

"He hates Templars."

Uthreida slowly turned her head to look at him. She smiled fully at him. His enemy was his supervisor who she was watching closely for greed. Another dragon. She looked him over in wonder. What did Royoc do? Or worse, what did Cullen do now? She placed her hands on her canted hips towards him. "Well, that explains a dynamic." His look teased a deeper conversation. A grin breaking her face. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as if considering her proposal. But the soft contemplation in his eyes stopped him. She gave a knowing look. "A man lives a half-life if he cannot share his whole heart with a friend."

He looked down at her with a knowing smirk. "Not the argument I was expecting."

Her look of playful met his insight. She pointed a finger, ready to remind him she was his wife and was just as eager for gossip as anyone else. He chuckled from his chest. Adverting his eyes for a moment and it filled her with a sense of completion. Which was weird. The warmth of her core making her question if she drank too much this morning or ate something that wasn't sitting right.

She met his soft smirk when he looked at her again. "Anyways," he waved a hand to her skirt, "it's merely a suggestion. You don't have to use it if-"

"Oh, I will now." She watched as he averted his eyes as he hid his laughter behind a hand. She smiled more and questioned why. "Sometimes." She corrected. "It's just impractical in some situations."

"I hope it works for you. But you didn't get the idea from me." He gave a soft warning look at her when he stood taller.

"Eh, Uthreida," she said as if having a conversation with someone else, "interesting idea, where did you get it. Not the commander." She gave a playful smile at her imagination then a dull look at him.

"Just say Templars." He said with a smirk. "If you please." He held his hand out as if to receive the sheet and belt from her.

She took a step, her hands back on her hips. Her brows waggling to persuade him to speak with a cute smile. He only smirked at her. His hand still held out for the sheet. She doubled down and shimmied her shoulders hoping to get him to talk. His smirk grew but he didn't move. "No."

Uthreida pouted but let it go. She huffed and passed his sheet and belt back. He folded them over his arms haphazardly and threw them back on the couch. "Before I ask why you're excited this morning," she gave a small victory dance. She was excited about the proof. He chuckled again and turned away from her. Cullen took a breath. "Let's try this again." He smirked as he reached for parchment on his desk. "Another dragon has been sighted. It is blocking Inquisition supply lines, and is endangering the locals."

She shot a spirited look at him. "Just to clarify, I can't save it?"

"It's a high dragon," he said with a smile a knowing tilt to his head. "You're welcome to try."

She shook her head in shame at him, her smile returning. It's been a quiet few weeks in the hold with the Inquisitor out. "Where's it at?"

"Crestwood. It's in the northeast of Ferelden. Pack heavy. Crossing the country usually takes about thirty days, but we've secured passage on a raft that can cross Lake Calenhad that should shorten your trip by ten days. While you will be traveling for twenty, you are expected to stay in Crestwood for the remainder of the month to oversight the harvesting of the dragon."

He lifted a book and handed it to her confused face. "Ha?" She took the book and opened it to read the title page. Dragons and their Makings by Brother Ulteriume Pentaghaust.

Cullen scratched his head. "Apparently, leaving the beasts in the field and taking their skulls is frowned upon as it leaves the remains to rot. Our previous buyer only paid so much because dragon scales and bones are in short supply. With you now evening out the already dwindled economy, we will have to do everything we can to try and make as much coin from your hunts. That said," he pointed to the book in her hands, "you will have that book memorized before arriving in Crestwood." He circled his desk and picked up another parchment as she opened the book to read a few passages and saw diagrams on how to stretch dragon leather using grounding rods and ratchets. Recipes on tanning, and how to age the meat to remove the acidic toxins in the blood. Oh wow, even how to bleach a skull. "You will be traveling with a full guard as well as a few blacksmiths and butchers who will be processing the dragon for future sale. You will be housed in Cesar Bronach until the processing is completed or until twenty-eight days have passed since you left Skyhold."

He looked at her with a deep breath. "You're on a tight schedule here. The winter ball is in seven weeks and we are expecting your return in five so you can leave for Halamshiral with the main party. Don't dawdle." He said with a pointing gesture. "Your blades are the only thing we know that can pierce dragon hide. And while I'd love to hear why we don't have the time. This afternoon, you are to report to Lady Josephine for your fitting with some" he waved a dismissive hand at the situation, "Court Fashion, person, who will be sewing your gown. You'll have one day to pack. You are to leave the day after for Crestwood. In short, you leave in three days, be prepared for a month of traveling and at least one week in Cear Bronach. What are your questions?"

She looked at the book and saw an anatomical representation of the dragons from blood vessels to organs.

"Excellent. While you may be the main attraction, Knight-Captain Ameriline is your commanding officer, understood?"

"Aye" she said passive, along with in the detailed drawings.

"Utha." He said sharper, grabbing her attention. She looked up to meet his eyes. "Do as she says. No questions."

She made a board face at him. He sighed, knowing she would question if she needed to. He rubbed his neck in stress. "My logisticians have gone through a lot of effort to see that everything you need to preserve the dragon will meet you on sight. I can't stress enough. The area is still untamed and teething with Red Templars and Bandits. If they see you saving a dragon," he shook his head. "Utha," he took a step to be closer to make his point softly. "You have to kill this one. Understood?"

"I got it."

"Do you?" He clenched his jaw with a small shake. "The nobles question you. You know that, right? They question if you're a dragon slayer or a dragon priest."

Whatever mood she was in before, lowered to resentment instantly. She's not Miraak. "I'm no priest"

"But they don't know that. All they know is that you saved one."

"Out of three."

He lowered his head. "The point still stands." He sighed heavily at her, his brows furrowed in compassion. "You're aware that Royoc has it out for you?" She shot an annoyed brow but let it slide given his own conflicted expression. He heaved a sigh. "If we are to present you to Empress Celene, you need to clean your record. You have to do this the right way. He has more pull with the courts than you do."

She took a breath, her eyes going to a diagram of a dragon's heart. She slammed the book shut. "I know." She stated lamely. "If I can't drive it off, I'll kill it."

"Thank you. "He stood taller with his chest out. "Now, on to more serious matters." He stated with a stern expression. She looked perplexed at his change. But he smiled. "Why are you in a good mood?"

She jumped at the realization that it was her turn and picked up her books. She looked at him with an excited smile but something about his expression made her stop. He was giving a socially painful brow but his eyes and smile were soft as if he was enjoying something. "I'd like your insight. If you don't mind. That is."

His smile grew, but so did his skepticism. "Of course." He approached her again. "What do you need me to do?"

She smirked at a teasing thought. "Listen." He took the prod, but let it slide. "I was reading about the stars and I found this line," she opened the older book and found her reference. "I found a line that said Thedosian star maps aren't drawn from our perspective," she said, lifting her hands over her to indicate the sky. "But rather, from the Makers perspective." She moved her hands down as if seeing the ground. "Which is both confusing and idiotic but" Cullen grunted and crossed his arms. "That would mean that your star maps are inverted to what we would see. That would mean," she opened the second book to show the star map of Thedas for him to see, "your maps are inversed. So what's written as west on the map is actually east. Which confused me about the ship constellation since I got here. But," she flipped forward in the book to show the consolation she was after. "Your consolation of Draconis. Aye," she pointed to the image of a dragon that had predominate points to show the stars. Cullen arched a brow as he took in the image. "A dragon, aye," she smiled as she turned the page to show her heavy ink spots and accurate star map. She tapped the book. "Hang onto that image, aye." She flipped the pages to the full night sky. "Draconis is to the northeast, aye. Here's where it's interesting. This" she flipped the pages back to the dragon consolation, "when flipped and inverted" she turned the book for his perspective, "creates the Lord constellation in Tamriel that appears in the southwest." She raised her arms in victory. She had proof. Undeniable proof that this was Nirn and her home was northeast of Thedas. She smiled wider at her findings than at him.

Cullen arched a brow as he looked at her then the book. Blinking silently. He scratched his head as he looked at the images. He nodded slowly. He looked at her quickly and faked a smile. He cleared his throat. "And?"

"And," she retorted with heat. "I just found proof that this is Nirn, that I know where my home is, and you respond with 'and'?"

He raised a finger to quiet her. "Don't raise your voice, raise your argument. Now" he flipped the book to the star map of the Sky, "you have proof of our map, where's yours?"

She opened her hands in frustration. "I don't, have one."

He made a slow nod. "So your proof is a bunch of dots in the night sky that you can force to fit whatever you like?" Uthreida formed a thin line on her lips. He gave a heavy sigh. "Look, I know your land exists. However, you're going to need something more for them." He held a vague hand to the main hall of the keep. "So, let's make a better argument, shall we? Why does this mean something to you?"

She frowned. "The Lord constellation represents Akatosh, the God of Time. The dragon of time. That is represented here, in Thedas, as a dragon." She thrusted her hands to him as if she didn't need any more explanation.

Cullen arched a single brow and sniffed at her argument. "Based purely on your word."

She shook her head at him. "When have you ever known me to lie?"

He offered a patient look. "It's not about me, it's about them." His eyes cut to the main hall again for her clarification. "The stars move depending on the time of the year. Do these constellations even appear at the same time?"

She looked away in thought. "The Lord rises with Akatosh. So it's seen in the spring during First seed."

Cullen looked confused for a moment but let it go. "Draconis rises in the first month of autumn in Draconis." He tilted his chin to make a connection for her.

Uthreida took a deep breath to calm her frustration at the man. "No, it makes sense. If Thedas is in the southern hemisphere and Tamriel is in the northern hemisphere, our seasons would be flipped. I left for Sovngarde in the spring and arrived in Thedas in autumn. Your people kept the seasonal notions when they traveled here from Tamriel in the event they had to return."

Cullen looked down at her in utter confusion. Taking a few moments to try to make sense of her words. "What?"

Uthreida rolled her eyes. She flipped open the book of the constellations and showed him the constellation of Peraquialus or the voyager. "This." She handed it to him. "Look at how the ship is made. That is an ancient Atamorian ship. A langskip was a warship that had a mounted, carved head on the prow." She pointed to the image in the book that showed the carved head of the ship. "Whenever the humans came to this land" she opened the second older book to show him, "they used these ships. Atamorian ships." She flipped through until she found the image she was looking for. It was an archeological dig that showed the ship's likeness in the Free Marches. Cullen arched a brow at the resemblance. "These ships were the fastest at the time. Even faster than the Empires." She flipped the pages forward to show another picture of a ship that looked relatively the same but lacked a carved head. Rather, like a swirl on the aft. "This shop was discovered in Tevinter. The bireme was part of the naval force of the Empire of Cryodiil. The ships have had some economical changes over the centuries, but these are the same." She bent forward to catch his eyes as she spoke. "Our ancestors are the same, Cullen."

He shot a skeptical look at her then the ancient book. "Where did you get this?"

Uthreida ran a hand over her face in annoyance. Of course, he cares more about the book than the damn information. "Look, I don't know when my people came here or why, all I know is that you have evidence of ancient Atamorian, Cryodiilic, and Yukudan ships in your history. Either by the will of Julianos or some mind-meld method, our ships look the exact same. Or, hear me out, my people came here for some reason. And never told anyone or ever returned."

Cullen looked at the book again then back at her. "You're suggesting a mass migration that occurred over, what, four thousand years ago?" He held a look of worried concern for her. "No records go back that far and thusly, it's assumed that humans have always been in Thedas."

"Your records don't." She took a breath as she looked at him. "Four thousand?" She scrunched her brows in thought. "two hundred and four plus" she ran through the eras to try and figure out what era the migration occurred. "That would be in the first era." She looked at him with wide eyes. "Around the Alessian Rebellion." She smiled, taking it all in. She took a step back with a smile. Pure understanding running across her face and soul as she understood why and how this land came to be inhabited. Her heart swelled in hope. She ran a hand through her hair as she understood. She knew now. "That explains so much." She looked at him with a smile that warmed her heart even if he looked skeptical. "They ran here to avoid the war. The Ayleids. The Alessian doctrine. To avoid the unification of the gods. That's why you have dragon priests. Because they came from Atamora and Skyrim." She ran a hand over her face still smiling at the conquest before her. She squealed in delight as she hugged him at the waist. "You're the best." She released him quickly and held her hands in thought to her chin. "So, if they left during the rebellion," her eyes searched the ground for answers. Her mind blanked. There was no proof of such a migration from Tamriel aside from ships that were documented in Thedas books.

Cullen closed the book and handed it back to her. "Right." She looked at him and noticed a skeptical look. "Interesting theory, but you have no proof." She frowned at him but was still delighted that at least she knew the answer. "Aside from" he rolled his hand vaguely, "whatever you just said, there is no evidence that there are other lands outside of Thedas. So, you're going to need something more material to prove it."

She snapped quickly. "The Avvar. You said that my language is relative to-"

He chuckled lowly. "Yes, that's a font of trust and well-being right there." His sarcastic tone didn't escape her.

Uthreida pursed her lips at him. "From what I understand from them, our cultures aren't that farrrrrr-" she terried as her mind went back to Solstheim. The garb the Avvar wear. To Frea of the Skaal. The Nords who called at a god she never heard of. Their god. She reached forward to grab him by the arms and smiled wide. "They returned." She noticed his look of confusion at her eagerness. "I think. The Avvar returned to Tamriel. Well, Solstheim. I think." She held up excited fists. "Their god. The Maker. Uh" she hit her head a few times to remember. "All Maker. The All Maker. Hermaeus Mora wanted the secrets of the Skall. Their history. Cullen," she grabbed his upper arms again and shook him in her excitement. "Do you know what this means?" She dropped her eyes as she realized what it meant. Hermaeus Mora wanted the secrets of their home. Of Thedas.

He held his excited fists up to mimic her with a happy grin. "That you still have the same lack of evidence as you did two seconds ago?"

She dropped her excitement to look at him with annoyance. He dropped his act and arched a brow at her. She took a quick breath. "Look, "she held her hands out to make a point. "At some point, after the start of the Chantry, the Avvar went back. They colonized Solstheim. There's a connection. You can't deny it."

He rubbed his neck. "Actually," he said forlornly.

She crossed her arms at him, but she lowered her defense. Actually, Solstheim was created because of Miraak and his guardian. The Skaal remained. The dragon wars were before Alessia. That wouldn't make sense. Even then, to have the Avvar be from the Skaal who then returned to Atamorian totem religion and forego the Maker when they reached Thedas didn't make sense either.

He dropped his head for a moment as if in apology. "You have a heading." He nodded. "It's a start."

She took the book back with a grunt. She was right. She knew it. Odahviing proved it. But she had to prove it to them. But if she's right about the Skaal, Hermaeus Mora isn't too far behind her. "I'm right." She stated defiantly at him.

"I don't doubt your belief of your truth." He said with a calming hand and a sarcastic smirk. "But if you intend to convince the king, you're going to need something more. He won't send his navy into the abyss on a hunch. You'll need something more definitive than stars and a book written in Revani to prove it."

She lowered a brow at the book. "Is it Revani?"

"It is." He stated then paused. "I think." He cut his eyes away in thought but shrugged as if to let it go. She took the book with lowered brows. Still unsure of why she could translate these books and the desire to prove to the mortals of this land. "You seem to have an odd collection of knowledge." She met his eyes as he smirked. "If this is your home…world. How would the map look?"

She opened his mouth to tell him what Odahviing had shown her but realized who she was speaking to. "Already planning your invasion then, Commander?" She asked with a sly smile, hiding her resentment. Hiding the fear that Hermaeus Mora knew where Thedas was and started to feel the trickle of fear run up her spine if the God of Fate sent her here and not Tsun.

He laughed it off. "Consider me curious." He crossed his arms as he rested his backside against his desk. "How would the map look?"

If Hermaeus Mora was behind this, Cullen would need to know to protect his people. She clenched her jaw, still uncertain if he would protect them. Who else could she trust here with this information? She smiled at the man. "If I had to guess," she stated slowly, remembering the map the dragon gave, "to the north is Yukuda. Though, I would suggest not visiting as it fell into the ocean. To the northeast is Tamriel. To the east is Pyandonea, do not go there." She stated quickly to show the danger of the Maormer without actually speaking of them. "To the North West is the Sload, don't go. Further North West is Akavir, don't do it. And very, very north is Atmora."

"Let me guess," he stated with a chuckle, "don't?"

"Wise." She stated with a wink.

He laughed lowly. "So our homes are the only lands that are hospitable?"

"They're the only ones where you won't be killed on sight, aye."

He nodded slowly. "Of course."

"Besides," she took a step forward with a malicious smile. "Given what I've seen, I doubt you could even understand what's going on in these lands." Cullen tilted his head at her as if to condescend. "Oh please, you'd make an arse of yourself if you ever saw a Khajiit or an Argonian. You'd grab your blade if you ever saw a Dunmer."

He made a look of confusion as she spoke. "Feel free to warn me then."

She arched a knowing brow. "Don't stare. You might give them a reason to pluck out your pretty eyes." She wrinkled her nose with a smile at her warning. He kept her gaze for a moment before looking away, a smile crossing his features. He cleared his throat and she realized that she had complimented him in a way that made him fluster. She was torn between doing it again or stopping now.

"Implying that they look different than the usual citizens of Thedas."

She smiled for a moment and realized how she saw Bull as a larger, horned Dunmer. "Dunmer you might understand. Orsimer then. Don't stare." She warned with a single finger.

"Got it." He stretched his back quickly as he turned to pick up a parchment from his desk. "I ask because I'm curious if you've ever seen this symbol before."

He handed it to her. She arched a brow at the parchment. She looked at him. "Why are you asking?"

"You claim to know the world. Let's see if we can put it to use." He tilted his head at the parchment.

She looked him over carefully but saw the symbol he was referring to. The upside-down triangle with two waved lines running through it. "The inverted triangle symbolizes water in alchemy. The two lines could mean a lot of water. A sea or an ocean."

She looked up to see him nodding. "Good guess. They claim to be from 'Those Across the Sea.' Any idea what that means?"

She looked down at the parchment with confusion as she read over the letter. 'Our intention was to watch.' She lowered her brows. 'Corypheus threatens us all.' She clenched her jaw as she looked at the name. The Executors. Executive or executing? Orders or people?

She looked up and saw the owl bas that was hung above his desk in thought. No one knew that Thedas existed. Who would know or even care if it fell? The writing was ominous as she looked at it. 'Thedas's best hope.' Meaning if Corypheus was not contained, someone else could stop him. 'For the moment, we are not your enemy.' The Maormer would have reason to care. But they only care for reclaiming the Summerset Isles and slaughtering the Altmer. Not this. If Hermaeus Mora, no. That would mean he'd have agents in the field. He's a god, of what use would they be. Even then, lurkers would be spotted quickly.

She tilted her head at the symbol again. They, whoever they are, know something. Seen something of the future.

"Psijics?" She whispered to herself. No, they see all. They watch all. Why have agents in Thedas?

Cullen said something but she missed it as her eyes turned to her hands. The second veil. If the second veil is thicker and makes it harder to pull magic, the Psijics may not have full sight in Thedas. That's why they would need agents in Thedas. But Thedas has never left Thedas. In the last thousand years at least. They don't know what lies beyond. How would the Psijics be able to communicate without communications in Thedas?

"Utha." She looked at him with focused eyes. He held a concerned look. "What are segic?"

She shook her hand. "It doesn't make sense." She gave a dismissive hand to him. "This isn't how they work." She thought again of the College and the only monk she ever met. Then again, it might. If the order can't see, they could have agents on the ground that execute their orders. These agents could be a smaller splinter of the order.

"Who are they?"

She read the note over again and passed it back. It couldn't be Hermaeus Mora. Even then, the Deadric should be recovering from his loss. She lowered a brow. What if it was Miraak? Trying to break out again? It would explain the green fade rifts that reminded her of Apocrypha. Based on what everyone kept talking about. So would the Eye of Magnus. She needed the Staff of Magnus to close such rifts. Royoc said that Corypheus carried a small orb. What if it was a smaller eye? A node of Magnus. Kynes breath. There are too many similarities for this to simply be a coincidence.

"Utha" he said again, softer.

She met his gaze and felt the consequences of her actions in Winterhold and Solstheim bite her. Did she start this? Are their lands more connected than she gave them credit for?

Cullen's eyes became concerned in her silence. She rolled her slumped shoulders back and held up her chin. It's the Psijics. It has to be. They are allies in this war. "Don't worry about it."

"No," he said with a stern voice, "what do you think?"

She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "I think you have nothing to worry about. That your efforts should be focused on Corypheus."

He took the parchment with a stern expression. "While normally, I'd love to agree, your body language shows you know something. What is it?"

She gave a soft groan at the man. "Don't worry about-" he stood quickly to silence her. His expression turning dark as he looked down at her. She stood her ground and tilted her head to remind him of who she was. She didn't flinch as he brought a hand into her line of vision. "Speak."

She blinked slowly with an arched brow. "Ask nicely." She seethed.

He shook his head at her. "If they are as dangerous as they portray, if they are as knowledgeable as-"

"They are."

Cullen looked at her wide-eyed, his jaw agape slightly as he looked her over. He shook his head again as if to rid the emotion. "Who are they?" He asked calmed, quieter.

She clenched her jaw at his plea. "If I'm right, which is a long shot, and a true grasping at straws, you have nothing to fear. The Order moves to guide the world for balance and proper change for the good. Not evil. They despise such actions."

He looked at her with a simmering impatience. "But who are they?"

She took another breath. She looked at the man before her, knowing his past and usual actions. She had to be cautious on how she moved forward. "They are an order that watches the world to make sure balance is maintained."

Cullen made a forced expression of confusion. "What kind of balance? And who are they to decide?"

She took a breath. How was she supposed to tell him that a guild of superior, highly trained, very powerful, very old, secluded mages watch over the world from their disappearing island who have the Eye of Magnus with them, and use the same magic that he pretends he doesn't have. "They watch, and guide people to make the right choices-"

"Whose 'right'?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." She said with an exasperated sigh. "Look," she rubbed her neck, "their guardians, aye? You have nothing to fear."

"I'll be the judge."

"And executioner?" She asked with a bland tone. She chuffed at him. They would eat him alive. "Don't worry. The fact that their interested means Corypheus is a much bigger threat than any of us thought. That I may have underestimated." She stated sheepishly. "All will be well. They stand with us."

"But who are they?"

She made a face of pained truth. "Even if I told you, would you know it? Even if I did say, what could you possibly do with that information?"

"Try me."

She chuffed at his arrogance. And for a moment, she wanted to. "Cullen" she warned softly, "I've met one." She shook her head at him. "You wouldn't even know where to start. There is a reason why they seclude themselves. Their power," she took a breath. "Be careful."

He lowered his brows at her. "You fear them?"

"I respect them."

"Why?"

She took a breath as she looked at him. "Because they follow the old ways. They dedicate their lives to protecting people. Their will is unfathomable. And their connection to the world is required. And when they reach their hands to you, you better take it."

She noticed his breathing was slower but deeper as he showed nothing on his face as he looked down at her with crossed arms. "Give me a name."

He was intent to die, it seemed. "The Psijic Order."

"Where are they?"

She smiled at him. "No one knows."

He lowered his brows at her. "That's impossible."

"Not exactly." She gave a shrug. "They are located off the Summerset Isles. But their island" she shrugged, "disappears. For centuries at a time."

A look of realization crossed his features as he looked down at her. He looked away in thought. "What's the name of their island?" She looked away to remember, but nothing came to mind. "Par Ladi?"

She shook her head. "That's not very elven, Cullen. No, it's got a" she rolled her hand as if to think of it, but it wasn't coming to her. She sighed in frustration. "I can't remember."

"You said you met one." He stated quickly, "What did they look like?"

She took a deep breath thinking back. "Altmer."

"What does that mean?"

She made a dramatic shrug. "Big eyes, golden skin, tall, blue and yellow robes."

"Mage?"

"Uhh" she paused to figure out how to make this work in her favor only for him to give an intimidating look. She smiled at him. "Our terms for mages is vast and full of minor-"

"Uthreida."

"Aye. They're mages."

"Makers" he ran a hand through his hair to wrap his head around the idea. "Disappearing, powerful mages are watching us?"

"They watch everyone, so" she shrugged nonchalantly, "it's not like they're doing it because they're bored."

"Still" he ranted, "if they're so powerful, why don't they fix it."

"Because it's not their job."

"But they have the means."

"And?" He looked her down with a heated glair. She met it with a brow. "They separate themselves from society to maintain an unbiased perspective. To maintain neutrality. If the Psijic Order stepped in every time the world was going to end, which, they usually do indirectly. If they take a direct approach, these powerful mages would be seen as gods. Is that the world you want?"

"I-" he delayed slightly looking at his own war. "No, but-"

"If they stepped in and saved everyone every time, would anyone have any kind of strength to face any kind of adversity?"

He took a breath. "No." He stated lamely.

"They protect by guiding." She stated softly. "They cannot act directly or lose their focus in change for the betterment of the people. Cullen," she clenched her hands, unsure of how to convince him. "They guide the wheel. Aye, it turns no matter what we try, but they are the ones who guide the remains. With their insight, that wheel isn't as crushing as it could've been." She took a breath in thought. "They ensure that what is created is for the good of all people. And the only way they can do that is to not be part of it."

He arched a brow and looked at her. "Is that what you're doing?"

She looked him over quickly. "Ha?"

"You said you won't step in and take out the armies because we have to do this on our own. Is that why?"

She tilted her head in consideration. "Amongst other reasons." She gave a sigh. She looked him over and smiled. "Ysgramor, the king of Atamora, once ruled during a time of famine. He watched as his people starved. He picked up his bow and proclaimed to his Karl's that he was going to get food and that he was not going to return until he did. So for two weeks, he scouted the forests to hunt. And one day, he found a lonely stag in the forest who had stopped to drink from the river. Ysgramor drew his bow," she tapped her chest like a racing heartbeat, "he lined up his shot," she tapped her chest faster, "and missed his target. The stag ran deeper into the forest and the king cursed, threw his bow and just stamping about, aye." She followed the same enthusiasm but slowed when she noticed his odd expression of amusement. "The stag ran south' called a small voice. Ysgramor looked but couldn't see anyone. 'If you run, you can catch it.' The king looked down and saw a wee rabbit by his foot. The king looked at the rabbit, the rabbit looked at him, he looked confused at the rabbit, and the rabbit twitched an ear.

"He looks at it and says, 'how do you know where the stag went?'

"And the rabbit says, 'I can hear everything in the forest. With my long ears, I can hear the stag, the flock of birds to the east, even the fish in the river.'

"The king smirks and says, 'I wish I had ears like that.'

"The rabbit looked at him and smiles. 'Is that what you want?' The rabbit asked.

"'Aye,' said the King, 'ears like that would help my people so they could eat. So they can live.'

"And the rabbit winks and says, 'if that is your wish.

"The king felt his ears grow longer and longer. He could hear the forest all around him. He could hear the bird's song clearly, he could hear the amble of the river as it passed. But a fox jumped from the bushes and grabbed the rabbit. Ripping out its throat and ending the spell.

"The king's ears grew smaller, and he could no longer hear the forest. He looked to the fox, rage on his tongue as the fox looked at him.

"'King Ysgramor,' the fox said, 'do not believe the lies of the rabbit. For that was Herma-Mora. You must find wisdom in your own way. Your people must survive in your own way. Your people must hunt as humans do. Not as the mer do. You must find your own strength. You must save your own people.'

"The fox bounded back through the forest, and Ysgramor paused, knowing he had spoken to Shore. He took the gods advice, and picked up his bow, and finished his hunt as all mortals should."

Uthreida finished the story and looked at Cullen who seemed to listen with a bored expression. He blinked slowly with a brow so high up, it threatened to go into his hair. "That didn't answer anything." He stated lowly.

Uthreida rolled her eyes. "We must do things in our own way, in our own time. I will not take the land because it is not mine. I would force changes that are not yours. The Psijics will not help because it is not their place. They will not stop this because then they will become the creature that they are sworn to protect against. Do you understand?" He still looked at her with skeptic. "We all must find our own way. We must each walk our own path. Some will help, some will hurt. Some hurt so much that it helps to make us stronger, and some help so much that it hurts us by making us weaker. But the path must be taken. The wheel must turn. And our adversities make us stronger for the journey."

He clenched his jaw at the woman. "To embrace the struggle." He stated with a deadpan tone. He looked away towards his office with his arms crossed. He rolled his eyes. "They know Corypheus is a threat, and do nothing."

She shrugged. "Your Maker knows Corypheus is a threat and does nothing." Cullen looked at her with brewing resentment. He held his arms wide to indicate the hold of the Inquisition. She looked amused as he referred to those acting on behalf of the Maker. "So the Maker acts indirectly?"

He grunted but let it go as he breathed. "I suppose you have a point." He gave a sigh as he looked at his office. A silence befell the two. She looked away and noticed the smell of oakmoss in the air. Uthreida noticed his hand shook slightly as he wiped his face. The bags under his eyes were lighter today. But the hollow of his cheeks was thinner. "How are you?"

Cullen looked at her quickly with a confused gaze. "Fine." He stated quickly.

She dropped her gaze but tucked her thumbs into her belt. "I ask because Seeker Cassandra keeps asking. As if I'd know. Can I tell her something today other than," she made a grandiose shrug that made him smile.

"I'm fine."

There was a hitch to his voice and a nervous blink that made her squint at him. "Are you sure?"

"Quite."

She crossed her arms and looked him over. She stood silently and waited on his next lie. He met her resolve with his usual stance of one hand on the tang, one wrist resting on the pommel of his weapon. A brow cocked at her. Uthreida rolled her eyes. "If your fine, then why is she concerned? Daily?"

He chuckled from his chest. "Are you just now realizing that Cassandra is the Inquisitions mother hen?"

"Still, humor me." He didn't speak but looked her over with an amused expression. A smile crested over her lips as she thought of the Tinvaak shout. "Cullen, how are you? Where does it hurt?" She curled a shoulder as she took a predatory step closer. He pulled back, his smile dropping at her approach. "Why does she ask this? Daily." His hand clenched tighter on his weapon. "Why are you in a good mood?" She watched him as he took measured breaths.

"What are you doing?"

She smiled at his cold question. "Looking into the wellbeing of my husband, of course. Is it the withdrawals? Is that why she asks? Now that I think of it," she pulled back, realizing her error. She looked at him and the desire to control dissipated. "I never did ask about it. How are you?"

"Fine." His terse response made her purse her lips.

She gave a sigh but held her hands up in surrender. "It's not like I'm from another land that could possibly help you with an outside perspective or anything. But keep hiding like a child. After all, if you say you're fine, three times, might I add, then it must be true."

"I'm fine." He bit.

"Four times." She removed the fake smile and sighed hard. "So be it." She took a step back and looked at him with disappointment. "I will happily inform Seeker Cassandra that you said you were fine. Even if your handshakes slightly, you're getting thinner, but seem to be in a decent mood." Her eyes drew to his desk where a tray of food was left. All of it. It was midmorning. She lowered her brows to it. If he didn't eat breakfast, he wouldn't order it. She looked at him quickly. "You're not eating?"

He scowled at her, but she must have had an emotion on her face because he relented. His hand went from the pommel to his neck. "I'm nauseous this morning. That's why I didn't eat."

She looked concerned at him. "How often?" He looked away from her as if to remember. Or think of a lie. "You're getting thinner. I thought the honey helped."

"It did. I-" he sighed as he looked at his vacant office. "Honey is an expensive ingredient."

"And?" He shot her a dark look. "What I mean is-"

"It's out of season." He stated quickly. "It's hard to come by right now. And to find it now is rather expensive."

She took a deep breath. She knew she had over a thousand gold in her room now and would be receiving more after her hunt. "I'll cover it."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

He pulled his head back slightly. "Why?"

She lifted a hand in her own confusion. "I could make an argument of sworn oaths. But," she sighed as she crossed her arms, adverting her gaze. "You're the Commander. You're obviously incapable of taking care of yourself. So, if it means your health, I'll help." He lowered a brow slightly in suspicion. "Look, the sweetness of the honey soothes your stomach and offered regenerative properties. You need honey comb." He rolled away with a darted expression. "You need to start taking better care of yourself. This self-flagellation will only work if you're in a position to take it."

"Not at all how penitence works, but alright."

She poked his breast plate to emphasize the point. "Eat. The damn. Honey."

He lowered his lids at her prodding, but let it go. "Thank you, I guess. But you're aware it's a temporary solution?"

She shrugged. "Even so. Send me the bill."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"But you're not."

"Still-"

"If you're feeling sick, why are you in a good mood?"

He rolled his eyes at her forced change in topic but gave her a fake smile. "Every day I see you is a good day, my love."

She met his smile and raised a knowing look. "I imagine your dreams must be quite entertaining if you're in such a good mood, youvon." She gave her own menacing smile at the pet name.

He lowered his brows quickly. "I don't think that word translates."

She smiled wider. "It doesn't?" She made a sarcastic sigh knowing dovahzul didn't.

"What's it mean?"

"That's irrelevant. Why are you in a good mood?"

He smiled wickedly at her. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

She jutted her jaw at his playful antics as a heat filled her core. A smile curling the corners of her lips. "Commander," she took a step closer and raised her hand to take the bend of his closest arm. "What exactly are you implying?" His eyes dropped to her hand with a slight smirk. "Show you mine." She waited until he met her gaze before jutting her chest out at him to catch his attention.

He looked away, using his free hand to pull her hand off of him. "Never mind."

She doubled down and held his arm with both hands. "No, you need to work on this."

"Why?" His tone was dubious as he looked at her.

"Because the nobles will eat you alive at your weaknesses. Now, try again."

He frowned at her. "Are you…training me to flirt?"

"Aye."

"Why?"

"I just said. Now from the top-"

"No no, why is this important to you?"

She made an aggravated sound. "Because, when we go to Halamshiral, the wolves will scent out any weakness. And yours is," she waved a hand at him that he looked annoyed at. She grabbed his bicep from under his armor. "You're so strong, Commander." Her smile was fake as she blinked rapidly at him.

"Maker, grant me patience." He sighed but kept his eyes adverted. "Do you have any idea what I endure for you?"

"I can assure you, being my husband is very enduring." He growled at the entendre. She chuckled in her chest as she met his face again. "Come come. You're so strong." She tried again to see how he would respond.

He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before looking at her with a deep exhale. A smirk slowly growing. The look of annoyance on his face making her giddy. "Strong enough to pick you up and throw you into the wall." Uthreida had to physically walk away from him to laugh before rejoining him. The double meaning of a fight or passion making her smile. Well, he's got the backwards talk down. "What's the matter, dear? Was that too hard for you?" The slight snarl to emphasize the words made her warm. He kept his hands on his weapon as if he was unperturbed by his actions.

She canted a hip at his brazen display. He smirked at her move. And while she would love to continue and watch him bleed, it's supposed to be training. Bleeding is training. She took a step closer and he stood his ground. "Aye, throwing is one thing, but how long can you hold me there?"

An awkward smile covered his mouth as his eyes looked away in thought for a moment. He canted a hip towards her and leaned in. "Until you can no longer stand." She bit her lips at the idea of a fight but had to look away to hide her smile. "Cat got your tongue, dear?" His chiding making her smile more.

"Promises mean nothing without commitment, Commander."

"Not entirely. At this point, it's really a matter of leverage." His tone became more casual but the smirk was dark. She smiled at the monster she had made. He arched a brow indicating it was her turn. She looked away with a guilty grin. "I not completely inept. I do understand social cues." He stated in victory, removing her hands from him. "I just choose not to engage."

She crossed her arms quickly. "The fact that you know me doesn't help."

"It helps quite a bit, actually." He stated with a chuckle, his hand rubbing his throat over his shadowed beard. He looked down at her with a smile. A slight tinge of pink dusting his cheeks and ears. He allowed the awkwardness of the situation to overcome him now that the 'dual' was over.

Uthreida refused to be beaten so easily and changed the rules. "Step two, rebuff. Your so strong." She put her hands back over his arm.

"Please stop touching me."

"Perfect. Now we just need to work on your initiation." She looked at him with wide eyes and fighting a smile.

He smirked at her and said with a dry tone. "Are you fishing for compliments or just happy to see me?"

She pulled away in a laugh at his wit. She pinched his cheeks. "What a good little monster I've made."

He took her hands and removed them with patience. "Desist." He dropped her hands and huffed his chest quickly to gain some control. "Uthreida," he paused with a scrunched face in thought, " I don't wish to be rude but, Uh, you have some toxic tendencies that you need to work through. Now, if you don't mind," he stated quickly as he replaced his hands on his weapon, "I do have work to do."

Uthreida blinked slowly at him, her jaw open as she looked at him. "What did you just say to me?"

He squinted at her confused. "I have work to do."

"Before that. Did you call me toxic?"

"Uh" he cleared his throat while scratching it as if to protect it from her teeth. "Tendencies, dear, tendencies."

She looked him over in silence with a look of disgust. "What the fuck?"

Cullen held his hands as if to explain. "You shouldn't get…excited" he cleared his throat again, "at the idea of physical" Uthreida ticked her jaw with an annoyed look as he looked for a word. "Assault." She tilted her head to let him get his thoughts out with a judgmental look. "It's…it's not healthy." She blinked slowly at him, letting him dig his own grave. He took a deep breath and looked away from her, his hands showing a narrow path. "It shouldn't be about fighting it should be about-" he bit his lips and looked down at her as he refused to speak.

"Finish it." He snorted and looked away. "First of all, it's about comfort level, aye? You and me, we have a shield pact, a suicide pact. So us flirting about fighting, we're okay with that." She shook her head to emphasize the point. "Blackwall," she jutted her thumb behind her, "bit deeper." She smiled at the phrasing, holding her cheeks as she smiled at memories of his graveled tone. He knows what he's doing. "Oof. Anyways"

Cullen laughed into his chest holding his head. "Wow, that Uh, wow. That stung a bit."

"Shut up. Second of all, the" she coughed and cleared her throat several times with a look of forced polite frowning to indicate his usual demure registering the subject of anything remotely related to intimacy. Cullen looked annoyed at her mocking impression of him. "We, I, you" she waved a hand between them but kept her brows lowered in conflict, "the idea of consummating our false marriage is both dangerous and, well," she took a breath. This was honestly something she didn't think of before this very moment. "A lie. And, believe it or not, I do try not to follow Mephala. That said, Uh" she looked at him and saw his look of utter confusion and genetic markers as a strong male. Strong chin, blond hair, dark beard, strong build, golden eyes, Dibella's bosom. Damnit. She looked away with an awkward look. "So, Uh, no thank you?" She gave a pained shrug at the man.

He blinked silently for a moment. "I have no idea what you just said, but" he looked away and smirked, "now I just want to prove you wrong."

Uthreida threw her head back in a laugh. "That's toxic."

"I know." He laughed with her, hiding his face. Uthreida looked at him again but didn't feel anything for him aside from a bond of a dutiful spouse or a loose friendship. She had already assumed a life of Chasity in Thedas so she could focus on what she needed to get home. He cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the east wall before finding his voice. "Right. I have work and you have an appointment."

"Aye, aye." She waved a dismissive hand as she walked away to collect her books.

"Utha." His tone was sharp and authoritative.

She looked over her shoulder and scowled. "What?" She bit back.

She caught his smirk for a second. "Is that sashay new or is there something you need?" He punctuated the last word with a brow.

She tried to frown deeper at her monster, but the smile won over. She overextended her hips more as she looked at him. "Oh, it's new." She took three steps to watch him with a wink only to see him maintain eye contact.

She ran into the door frame and cursed. Cullen snorted behind her. "That's a wall." She righted herself with a sneer and exited without a second look.

Xxxxx

Cullen stamped his feet around the 'throne room' muttering about stairs and meetings and pushed the door open to the war room. He was looking for Liliana to question why she ordered the Soldiers out of Cesar Bronach for her men to take over the fort with only a quarter of the Soldiers necessary to hold it. Neglecting the fact they are at war and need a stable place for resupply.

When the door opened, he was rewarded with a sight not common for the war room. There were three men in Orlesian masks with bolts of fabrics leaned against the walls, samples around the floor, a changing panel on one corner, and Liliana, Madam De Fer, and Josephine looking over paperwork. Vivienne was the first to notice him. "Ah see, speak and it shall come." She waved a hand to him causing the others to look at his presence. Oh, right, the fittings. That was a thing they were doing today.

His eyes set to Liliana first, but seeing Josephine made him soften slightly at her presence. He was always concerned to lose his temper in her presence as if she was a child. He should know better, but she had that effect on him.

"It's a good thing you arrived when you did, dear. We are at a standstill about Halamshiral." Vivienne walked to his side showing him pictures of dresses from, what he assumed, was the designer in the corner. Each image had a bolt of fabric each and long ruffles, and laces. The images of dresses so tight he wondered if the women would be able to fight effectively and, Oh dear maker. She wanted the men to wear that? Vivienne gave a laugh at his facial expression of future embarrassment and distaste for the designs. "You're so Ferelden, Commander. These styles are all the rage in Orlais."

"They can stay in Orlais."

Under the high Mage's false smile was a simmering resentment. "Is it the feathers, dear?"

Cullen arched a brow at the ruffled collars that extended beyond three feet, stiff, the ballooning trousers, stockings, high heels, and, of course, the feathers. "Yes. It's the feathers that make it a bit too much."

Josephine gave a soft laugh behind her hand. "Would you prefer fur, Commander?"

He took a deep breath at the obvious butt of her joke. The fur of his mantle rising with his breathing. "First, I'm still for the idea of uniforms." The three women gave a groan of disappointment. "We are going to represent the Inquisition as a whole. It's important that we show we are all-"

"We know, Cullen," Liliana said over him as if to calm him down. "We need to show that as a unified force, that our uniforms reflect the same goals and interests of the force. We know. But it just sounds so…boring."

"Suck it in." a female voice in an accent said from behind the changing screen.

"You tell me to suck it in one more time, I'm going to show you your lungs." Cullen rolled his eyes at the owner of that harsh accent.

He jutted his thumb over his shoulder at the changing screen with a look at the women that pressed annoyance. They just smiled. At lease Josephine had the audacity to look a little guilty about it. He looked at the images again, then at the women. "Are you ladies having 'fun'?" he asked pointedly.

"Fashion is not 'fun', Commander," Vivienne started but was quickly ignored by the man.

Liliana smirked at his usual distaste for 'finer things.' She once tried to blame it on the Honnleath weed stew she once had, to his militaristic upbringing. "Yes." She stated finality as she walked to his side. "Lady Utherida has volunteered to assist in this matter."

"Wish you would have told me-"her voice was cut off by the sound of her lungs being forced out of its air. "Ow. No. Get this blasted thing off."

"Fashion is pain, dear," Vivienne said exhausted as if she had been saying it all afternoon.

"No this-" she shouted then calmed, "What's it called?"

"Corset." Her assistant said sheepishly.

"Corset is a torture device that I will not consent to! I can't pray to Kyne if I can't breathe. And I need both."

"But, my lady" the assistant tried.

"I'll shove it up your aesthetic."

Cullen could only hide the laugh, not the smile at the image of the sentence. The designer looked to Vivienne who waved a hand at him. He rushed to his rack of dresses and pulled one off to set beside the chair next to the screen.

"Mon petite." He instructed to the assistant.

Cullen shook his head and looked at the ladies again. With a clearing breath, he looked to Liliana. "Can I speak with you?" She gave a nod, removing herself from the other women, and sauntered to his side.

"Yes?"

He looked at the room and decided to lower his voice for her to keep it civil. "Why are my men being instructed to vacate Cesar Bronach?"

She lowered her brows with a happy smile. "One more time?"

"Cesar Bronach." He stated in its traditional pronunciation.

"I love your Feraldan accent."

He took another breath to check his tone but heard it was still sharp. "Why are my men being ordered to vacate?"

"We talked about this." She said calmly. "The fort is to be a halfway point for my men's activities. It will act as a stronghold for us."

"And the soldiers will make it stronger."

"And more susceptible to seizing."

Cullen showed a narrow path with his hands to make a point, "Which will have more fortifications from the Soldiers to maintain-"

"Commander Cullen." She stated quickly as if to end the conversation. He snapped his head at her. "We agreed that Crestwood had little to no need for a full fort of Soldiers as there are other places in the Bannor and coastlines where they are needed. The Fort is to act as a waypoint, not a station. The area is secured enough without all of our Soldiers in the fort. We cannot fortify every fort we come across, packed to the brim with Soldiers. It will send a negative image to the nobles."

He rolled his eyes. "If the king wants it so bad, why hasn't he sent his men to take it over again?"

"I'm glad you can see the point of this conversation, Cullen." He bristled at the backhanded compliment. "If the King's men see that the fort is heavily fortified with our troops, he would have to siege. But if it's held by a small number of our men. My spies. It can be easily handed over back into his possession. Not through force, but through diplomacy."

"Oh, I like this one," Uthreida said over them as if to inform the women.

"So what are my men supposed to do?" Cullen pressed on.

"They can resupply from Cesar Bronach," she mimicked his pronunciation in jest, "stay for a few days, but they have to leave. We can't have a whole encampment in the area. The soldiers that are already in the area are acting as perimeter and roving patrol to prevent bandits from returning to the area."

Cullen took a moment to consider it. He didn't like the idea of the spies being so easily overrun as they were the hardest and longest to train. But he did see her point of view on the topic as well. "Fine." He muttered. "I don't like it. But fine."

She gave a polite curl of her lips. "As you have stated before."

He took a heavy breath. "How is the area? The Inquisitor has been there for a few weeks now."

"Better. Trade is flowing easier than it did before. But the dragon is still in the way. Crestwood is in a better place thanks to the Inquisition. Just keep your supply routes in mind, and they should be flourishing in due time."

"Any luck on finding the Mayor?" He asked, keeping the bitter taste of poison out of his tone. The man was Fereldan. It should've been him to find the Mayor.

"He's been smoked out. He should be at Skyhold by the end of the month."

There was an 'Ohh' from Josephine that made both turn their attention. Uthreida had stepped from behind the changing screen and wearing a Fereldan dress. The light blue of the brocade fabric laid beautifully and sent a slight sheen against the sunlight from the windows. The bits of rabbit fur curled up from the low collar and around her neck. The sheer thin white fabric from the low cut front that covered most of her chest up to her throat created the modesty that was synonymous of Fereldan garb. The darker blue fabric under her bust gave the impression of larger breasts. The sleeves, bellowing out between the sheer fabric and the blue made her look otherworldly. A queen. Though he had never seen a queen. Her red hair was down, falling in loose curls down to the small of her back.

Josephine seemed so excited to see her dressed up and was excited for her. Uthreida gave a blushing smile at the woman as she circled Uthreida in praise.

"No." Vivienne stated flatly. Both women turned to look at her in dismay. Uthreida was a bit more animated about it. "Your…décolletage." Vivienne waved her fingers across her own chest causing both to look at Uthreida. And, to his shame, Cullen's eyes were also gravitated, before pulling away. He saw the way Josephine covered her own chest as she looked at Uthreidas. Her tattoos. They wouldn't be allowed at court. She wouldn't be allowed at court.

The designer pulled some blue gloves and moved to pass them to Uthreida to try on. She reached a hand out to try them, but stopped herself. Even in the light of the sun, he could make out the symbol of her universe. The three triangles. She seemed to catch the same symbol in her eyes before waving them off.

"Forgive me, I had forgotten," Uthreida said, looking down at herself. "I forgot that I am not of your people, but my own." She met the designer's eyes. "Move the lacing to the sides, get rid of this" she pulled at the sheer fabric, "you may remove the fur as well. Make the sleeves tighter. I can't be expected to draw a blade with these. And make it any color other than blue, and you will have my gold."

He said something in Orlesian and his assistant spoke in Common, "Why move the lacing to the sides? Side lacing is for…peasants." the man's accent was thick and Cullen began to question if the designer even needed the translator.

"To have the lacing at the sides is a sign of humility. It means I can dress meself and do not need nor pay for the services of others for such a menial task. Besides, it will allow freedom of the shoulders should I need to don my armor."

The designer pulled out a fresh piece of paper and coloring ink.

"Thoughts?" Liliana asked as she leaned her shoulder into his arm.

Cullen saw all the women's eyes turned to him for his approval. Uthreida held her shoulder back as her face became blank of all emotions. She was shielding against his verbal blows. His eyes didn't even register the dress as he looked at her. The scar that bisected her left eye, the scars, and tattoos on her chest. She was danger dressed in clothes that required refinement and delicate touches. This wasn't her. This wasn't even close to her. She looked better in armor. She looked more comfortable in armor. But now, told her body was defiled from her victories and culture, wasn't her. She was a sham in a beautiful dress. Did she know this? Is that why she was defensive of his thoughts? She arched a brow waiting on his response. He crossed his arms to keep himself from looking like a fool because when his eyes did drift down to the dress she was wearing. She wore it well. "You look lovely in anything, dear." He was proud of himself for hitting the nonchalance in his tone. Her faced faded slowly into amusement, but she smiled as she looked away from him to her feet. He looked at Liliana. "Uniforms."

"Inquisitor Royoc agreed. They have been paid for."

He arched a brow. "What's all this then?"

"She supplied the designer with the dragon scales and you said she didn't have any clothes. The Sir Connrea has agreed to send her a new wardrobe as a thank you through Vivienne. Also, she will be attending Halamshiral as an envoy of Skyrim, not the Inquisition. She will not be wearing the Inquisition uniform. What did you think this was?" There was an innocent cant to her head as she smirked at him.

Cullen shook his head, throwing his hand up in defeat as he made his exit.

"A moment." Cullen heard the soft rustling of skirts and the patter of unshoed feet. Uthreida crossed the war room to grab him by the arm. "You're not getting out of this that easily." She whispered, pulling his arm back to the room. "Sir," she waved an arm to the designer as she pulled him into the center of the room.

Cullen wanted to lock his knees and drive his heels into the ground to stop what she was about to do. "What are you doing?" he growled lowly, his eyes going wide as the designer grew closer. He felt the heat rise on his neck as Josephine smiled behind her hand.

Uthreida interlocked their arms, and gently pulled him to his death as if it was a courtly dance. "You can't compliment a lady then walk away, Cullen. You're a part of this now." She whispered back until he was standing in the middle of the room. The Designer looking him over in appreciation. Makers breath. "Sir," she said again. "I would also like to request a few things for my husband as well."

Cullen cut his eyes to Josephine and Vivienne. Both held a look of amusement and a smile of dramatic intrigue. Cullen looked ahead, the full flush now apparent on his face. He looked directly out the window and forced all discipline to not correct Uthreida or the women's thoughts.

"As you can tell, he is Fereldan, militaristic, and wide." Cullen looked at her in distaste at the last comment. But her blue eyes were reading his body, not him. "Do you have anything in black, high collar, golden embroidery?"

Cullen groaned. "You just described your armor." He waved his free hand as she still clutched his other arm. Held to her chest. The light blue brocade and the sheer fabric of his angle matched her eyes perfectly. Any sense of irritation faltered at that moment as she touched him. He felt his throat tighten as he looked at her.

She made a face of mild annoyance. "Black and silver then."

He had to look away if he wanted to talk without stuttering like an adolescent. "How about something less ostentatious of Tevinter."

"White and red with gold embroidery," Liliana added. Cullen shot her a dark look that demanded that she not help. His clan colors. How deep did she do her research? Fereldan tartans were outlawed since the occupation.

"Purple?" Uthreida asked.

His mind was taken back to the formal vestments of the Templar orders of the purple and gold coats under their armor in Fereldan. "No," he stated quickly.

She sighed. "Commander, you need a darker color to offset your hair." He looked at her annoyed. "And skin."

He looked her dress over with a tilt to see her complexly, tilting his head for color ideas. He did like the dark blue belt at her bust and hips. "Blue."

"No." she quickly retorted.

Cullen rolled his eyes. "Green." Everyone in the room gave a sound of disgust. "We're running out of colors." He waved a hand. "Orange." He was just throwing out random colors at this point. "Pink, I don't care."

"Black" Vivienne stated, walking to where the designer stood. His eyes going wide as Cullen kept changing the colors and his poor assistance had to keep scribbling out the previous color from the last. Her stance and eye contact severed the argument where it stood. She held a hand to her chin, gaging him. But the smirk on her lips was as if she had been choosing his entire new wardrobe since she arrived. "With silver embroidery at the collar and lapel with white at the cuffs and seams. Black velveteen along the shoulders on his back. Matching trousers. A fencing doublet with padded pipping. Ruby embellishments upon the buttoning. As for the Jerkin," Vivienne looked at him with pursed lips as her dark eyes only met his. The designer said something with a tone of mild excitement but she arched a distasteful brow. "It's a bit much for our commander, dear. No," she looked at Cullen again with a soft smirk. "White, with black pipping and the same silver embroidery. High-low collar. Ruby lacing."

"And boots," Uthreida added emphasis. Cullen shot her an annoyed look that she gave a knowing smirk to. "Your welcome." She looked at the designer. "Something more practical but battle efficient than those." She pointed to his feet. Vivienne placed a hand to her heart as if thankful that someone said it. "Preferably a one to two-inch heel."

"One inch" Josephine stated as she met Vivienne before him. "But low on the leg."

Vivienne scoffed. "No, dear. The height is perfect as they are. Though" she tapped the designer in a friendly manner, "tighter" she whispered louder.

Cullen shook his head. "How long have you four been planning this?"

"Three minutes," Uthreida stated with a smile.

"Five months." The others said louder.

Cullen looked at Uthreida who only smiled at his misfortune. He groaned. "This is ridiculous." He pulled her arm off of him but she only held his hand in hers, still not letting him run. He took a step away and felt it. Her hand was shaking. He looked at her hands, then at her with concern. She gave a forced smile at him. He let the women before him have their minor arguments over color and style while he looked her over. She's uncomfortable here. Either in the light or she's having withdrawals from alcohol. But she wanted him to stay. Why? He shot her a worried look, but she only smiled again to hide whatever she was feeling. He had learned that smile. She was under duress. He looked her over, the dress and her face. This wasn't her. And she knew it. This wasn't her idea. And he knew it. She used her second hand to cover his, silently pleading he stayed to keep her from the other women's ideals of beauty in his land. And her purse, if he had to guess. Cullen rolled his eyes. This was his wife, he supposed. He did swear to protect her. He sighed softly, relenting his advance for retreat.

She pulled his hand closer to her as she leaned against his shoulder in silent thanks. He watched her smile to herself, trying to hide her face from him. He shook his head. This woman, he thought. Then she looked at him with a beaming smile. He felt himself return a smaller one. He tilted his head to see her fully again. He lifted his hand to see her slightly model the dress for him. He let his eyes take in the light blue, the sheer fabric of her chest, the black tattoos, the drapery of the sleeves.

He lowered his brows. She was missing something. He raised his free hand to his chest to indicate her necklace. She looked behind her to the changing screen. He shot her a concerned look. But finally, cut his eyes and jutted his chin to the screen for her to retrieve it. She looked at the room casually, then at him. He didn't understand the motion but when she looked at him again, she gave a sharp look of order, looking him over, and his feet. He smirked. She made it clear that he had better be there when she returned.

He gave an false annoyed sigh but nodded at her request. She smiled, lifting the skirts slightly, and went to retrieve her pagan necklace. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked ahead. Until he couldn't. He tried to see her from the corner of his eye, but had to turn his head. His head naturally tilted to see over the pauldron and fur on his shoulders to watch her walk away. Maker, that dress did fit her well.

He heard the soft titter behind him only to realize there were other people in the room. He felt a guilty smirk start on his lips. Cullen softly cleared his throat and set his face to reveal nothing as he looked ahead, not looking at any of the other women. His jaw clenched. Heat rose on his neck and face as he dared a look at Josephine who gave a bashful smile as she looked away from him. Maker preserve him. Yes, his wife, she can, does, fill out a dress. Maker. He took a cleansing breath and looked ahead. His wrist resting on the pommel while he tucked a thumb into his belt.

He heard her return and saw the flash of red as she lifted her loose hair to go under the braided leather strap of her necklace. The way she made it look so casual as she walked set his stomach aflame. He looked ahead again. He swallowed hard as she rejoined him in the middle of the room. He looked her over again as she stood beside him. She didn't reach for his hand and for some reason, his heart shrunk at the loss of her need for him. But when he looked at her, he noticed the necklace drew his eye to her breasts. He looked away, his eyes on the trees outside of the windows, missing the entire conversation between Vivienne and the designer. It took every ounce of discipline not to look at her. To not see the curve of her hips from this angle.

The women turned to look at him and smiled viciously. Cullen felt his hand go to the pommel for a draw. The designer moved his hands to his own chest. Cullen arched a brow at what the man said in Orlesian.

"Monsieur," the interpreter spoke, "We need your measurements to proceed."

Cullen cliched his jaw and felt the distaste form on his lips. A random stranger was about to touch him and demanded he gets out of his armor for it.

"These measurements would be for your uniform as well," Liliana stated kindly. She placed a hand on his shoulder gently. "Perhaps the commander would like to use the changing screen?"

Cullen looked at her with little amusement, then at Uthreida who smirked. "Sixty one, forty-eight," she said, her eyes going lower, "thirty-six, thirty eight." She looked at his throat and smirked. "Seventeen. No." she looked at him more scrupled as he looked confused. "Eighteen. No." He squinted at her as she looked at him in thought. "Seventeen neck, twenty bicep."

He slackened his jaw to her. "Did you just, guess my measurements?"

"Aye."She looked him over with a playful smirk. "I know the measure of a man in armor." She winked at him but smiled to the women. "Place your bets."

He groaned, but noticed something in her eye. A cunning knowledge. Was she protecting him from being touched? The war room opened and Cullen turned to see Dorian, Cole, and Varric enter. Oh, thank the Maker, males. Varric gave a chuckle. Dorian smirked when he saw Uthrieda and was quick to walk to her. Varric gave a quick wolf whistle and she clicked her tounge at him with a wink. "Varric, don't be so blaise." Dorian stated with a wave of his hand. He stood before her, his hand on his chin as he drank her in.

Varric chuckled again. "Cole, doesn't the dragon slayer look beautiful?" The dwarf patted the young man's back.

The wide hat tilted towards her. "Hates the color. The Eye. The bear King. The blood that seeps into the blue. The ruined sky as it's circled in flames as the black wings arch forward in destruction. " Cullen arched a brow at the boy but saw Uthreida straightened her back at Cole. The wide hat turned to her. "You look beautiful Utha," he said in a higher, dream-like tone, "blue is becoming of you."

Cullen saw her jaw tighten as she smiled for him. "Thank you, Cole. You always know just what to say."

The wide hat tilted in question as Cole leaned down to Varric, "Did I mess up? Can I try again?" Varric held a hand to him with a patient smile.

"Right," Dorian stated quickly to sever the awkward moment. Dorian reached a hand for her to lift as he took in the dress.

She took it and Dorian moved as if to spin her around. "I do love this color on you. Except for" his smile turned down as he looked at her chest, 'whatever that is. Is that a Fereldan thing? It's a Fereldan thing, isn't it?" he asked Cullen in passing. "You southerners are just so" he smirked at a word as he took her in. "She needs caplets on her shoulders." He waved a dismissive hand to the dress then at the designer. "Add it."

"No," Vivienne stated darker to the designer who looked at her with more fear than the Tevinter.

Cullen looked down at Uthreida who look smiled politely at the Tevinter but looked at him with confused concern. Cullen smirked at her, watching her be out of her element but present if she needed him. Dorian reached a hand down to her skirt and Cullen reached his hand to stop him. Though they didn't touch, and he knew Dorian wouldn't do anything to her, he didn't know why he stopped him. While Cullen knew Dorian preferred the company of men, the way he looked at his wife sent a shiver of jealousy through him. The small snake that coiled in his stomach. Dorian looked at him with passing confusion, then smirked. He could see from his peripheral that everyone, including her, was looking at him. The heat rose in his stomach again. He protected her from…nothing. He just.. Didn't want anyone to touch her. And judging from the smirk on Dorian's face, if he didn't give an excuse now, Dorian would happily supply one. "You have ink on your hands," Cullen stated lamely as if it answered anything.

Dorian met his gaze with a quick furrow to see his plan. Cullen arched a begging brow but kept his face neutral, please don't say anything. Doran inspected his hand and smirked. "You're quite right, commander." He stated with a knowing smile. Cullen swallowed, realizing that Dorians' hands were clean. "My apologies." The mage moved and rubbed his hand against the furs of his mantle, rubbing his hands to get the fake ink off and onto Cullen's furs. Cullen looked annoyed at the mage but was content as he hid the lie from Uthreida.

Small blessings, he thought.

Dorian smirked as he looked between the two. "Please tell me you two are getting matching outfits."

"No," Cullen stated dryly. He noticed that the assistant was still glowering at him to remove his armor for measurement. Cullen shot a look at Uthreida who was smiling and having a calming conversation with Dorian. Unsure of himself, he stepped away and retreated to an area where he could remove his armor quickly. He undid his belt and placed the weapon on the wall as he listened to the conversations, but didn't participate. He removed his vambrace, his eyes naturally finding the blue of her dress as he forced himself to breathe. It's still just Uthreida. She's still the annoying headache of a dragon slayer. What difference did the dress make?

"So, Monsieur," Dorian asked with a flagrant waive, he asked a question in Orlesian that made Cullen lower a brow. He knew little next to none of the foreign language, but watched passively as he removed his mantle to see the designer hand the Tevinter a colored parchment. Dorian held it up for his inspection as Cullen started to work the buckles of his neckpiece. He watched as Dorian made a face. "Who picked this?" he asked as if he was ready to give a tongue lashing.

Cullen smirked as Josephine cleared her throat, a smile on her face. "The Inquisitor did."

Dorian dropped the paper slightly to look at her, a dirty scowl as he looked the Antivian up and down. "I'm not going." Everyone but the designer smiled at the man's dramatics. Dorian looked at Lady Vivienne for confirmation who only flicked her wrist in polite conversation. She stated something else in Orlesian that made Dorian grunt in distaste. Cullen noticed, that while the designer wore a mask, he could see the scowl start to form on his face. Cullen looked away as he pulled at the buckles on his breastplate.

"All I'm saying is," Dorian started, "if she gets to wear that, why can't we choose what we want? Commander, why do I get the feeling this is all your fault."

Cullen looked at the mage, with dead eyes. "I'll take the blame for that." He remarked coldly, moving to the pauldron on his left side, his eyes finding the blue of her skirt again.

Dorian huffed as he turned back to the group. "Besides," Josephine stated, "Lady Uthreida will be attending by Empresses Celene's invitation."

Finally free of the straps, he bent over, letting the armor fall off his body and catching it before it hit the ground, keeping most of it still attached. He set it down. He adjusted his doublet to that had ridden up and started on the second belt for his lower bracings. As he bent over, his eyes caught the blue skirt again, and he forced his eyes away. Intentionally missing the conversations in the room as he worked.

When free, he turned to see Dorian holding her hands. Uthreida smiled at the mage with soft patience as they started to move. Cullen arched a brow and smirked. Shaking his head, he walked to the designer now and took a deep breath. The designer told him to turn around, and he did so slowly. He didn't want to watch her. He didn't want to look at her knowing he wouldn't be able to pull away. He would've preferred to stare directly into the sun that was outside the window.

He turned, seeing everyone else in the room either having their own private conversations or watching the spectacle Dorian was making. He held her hand to his shoulder and moved with her like he was dancing. He was counting and Uthreida was watching her feet. He smirked as he realized she was uncomfortable and had no idea what she was doing. The woman can slay dragons without blinking, drink warriors under the table, sing with the bards, but had no idea how to dance.

The designer slipped a ribbon over his shoulders to measure him. His assistant started to repeat his words to ensure they were cataloged properly. "Sixty-three." She made a face of approval as she worked. The designer touched his arms to raise them as he moved the ribbon over his chest. Cullen watched as Dorian chastised the Slayer's horrible dancing and she slapped him in the chest. "Forty-Eight." The assistant stated with a smirk. "You're wife knows you quite well."

Cullen arched a brow at the comment and felt a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth. He lowered his eyes from the assistant. The designer lowered the ribbon to his waist and measured tightly. Cullen shot him an annoyed look and tried to stick out his stomach to make him change his mind. When the designer didn't, he grunted, watching Dorian lift his hand for Uthreida to spin. "Thirty Six." The ribbon dropped to his hips. "Forty."

He ignored them as he watched Uthreida spin in a circle as Dorian kept a hand raised for her. He watched her smile with humility as Josephine was motioning to lift the skirts.

It all happened so quickly.

Her foot was caught in a skirt and she tripped over, landing away from Dorian and falling to her face on the stone floor. There was an air of silence in the room as Dorian moved to cover his face with his hands. "Ashata kaffas. I'm so sorry" the Teveinter stated.

Cullen took a step forward, but Josephine and Dorian were already around her, helping her to stand. She stood halfway up and blood spluttered from her nose to her dress and down her chest. She covered her nose with a hand, staining the sleeve of the dress. Josephine took a step back. Careful not to get the fluid on herself. Dorian pulled a kerchief from a pocket and Cullen stood there like a fool unable to move to help his wife. She looked down at herself, the light blue fabric slashed and ruined by the red blood. She took Dorian's kerchief and chuckled. "And this is why I wear black." The room smiled as she made light of the situation. Her eyes met his for a second but looked at the designer behind him. "I'll take it." She made a pained sound and moved the kerchief to her nose and leaned her head back. Dorian, now fretting and apologizing, and Cullen felt ashamed that he didn't do anything. Uthreida bowed to Josephine, asking for her assistance out of the dress. The ambassador spluttered and followed her to the changing screen.

Cullen dropped his eyes as everyone looked at him in their own subverted ways. He didn't move. He didn't protect her. He didn't defend her. He just stood there and watched her fall. Even when she silently begged him to stay. And he walked away feeling inadequate in the group. When she looked at him, he didn't speak. She didn't even look at him as she fixed the situation for herself. He was useless, still. He rolled his hand to the designer who was seconds from cursing at the ruined dress to get him to hurry up and finish the measurements.

Cullen stood there, in silence as the room started to have hushed conversations between one another. His hands clenched as he could feel eyes on him and his failure, again. He thought of a way that he could make it up. He needed to apologize for his inaction. He noticed the dress was placed on the back of a chair meaning she was about done. Cullen jumped when the designer took his inseam and had to force himself to remain calm. Garnering a laugh from a few of the patrons in the room.

He was finally released and quickly walked back to his armor trying not to shake off the concept of touching that just happened. He lifted his lower armor and started to strap it to himself when Uthreida appeared from behind the screen. Josephine carried the dress to the designer and apologized, he assumed, in Orlesian. She passed the rag back to Dorian who was, again, apologizing and teasing her on her dancing. She met Cullen's eyes quickly and excused herself as Varric was getting his measurements for the designer.

She approached and Cullen stood tall for her. She slapped his chest playfully with a look that demanded to know where he was and why he didn't save her. He smiled apologetically if sheepishly down at her, pulling a kerchief from his own pocket. He licked the corner. He wiped off a bit of blood that was missed by Josephine. She made an annoyed face but crossed her arms. He touched her nose to make sure it wasn't broken. While she winced, it wasn't broken. He looked around the room, his eyes falling to the dress. "It's a beautiful dress." He stated softly and only for her. He adverted his eyes the second she looked at him.

She turned to look at it with a sigh of regret. "Aye, now I get to figure out how to dye it black to hide the blood."

Cullen took a breath and looked over the light blue brocade. "I'll pay for it. How much is it?"

"Ninety-eight."

Cullen raised his brows at her and had to control his voice. "Royals?"

She met his look with social confusion. "Is that a lot?"

He cleared his throat to stop himself from telling her that a family could eat like kings for several months with ninety-eight royals. "Yes," he stated quietly, "It's quite a bit" he looked at the dress, knowing his ten royal stipend a month would never be enough to cover it. Cullen bit back the bile of knowing he was about to work for free for the next year. He gave a slow nod. "I'll take care of it."

Uthreida sighed and crossed her arms. "You don't have to, it was an accident" she said lower to not draw attention. They watched the room as someone procured wine and was passing it out.

"I want to." He said whispering into her. She held a concerned look, but he smirked and leaned in closer. "Maybe I want you to wear for me again." She punched his chest playfully, a slight pink forming on her cheeks. "Bloodstain and all." He knew his lop-sided grin was working when she gave a warning look at him. Barely able to hide her smile as her eyes darted to the room to show there were people present. He found himself smiling more. That's how you make her demure. Heavy flirtations in a room full of people who she has to either respect or talk to. He tilted his head to the designer. "Go get the dress." He whispered with a husk.

Her eyes grew wide at the order and smiled, knowing what he was suggesting. "Will you stop it?" Maker, this was delightful to see her like this, blushing and out of her element. Oh, when it's just the two of them, she was bombastic, but in a room full of people, and she was wet clay. Doing her best to control the situation before her.

Cullen smirked but quickly surveyed the room around them. Liliana and Josephine both were smirking at their display. Neither happy but merely observing. "Do you want to leave?" he asked, picking up his cloak and mantle from the stack of armor still on the ground.

She took a deep breath. "Aye, but-"

"Let's go." He passed the furs to her and carried the armor in his left hand, casually holding his right arm for her to take. "I've got a million things to do and don't have time for this social gathering."

She looked at his arm quickly but passed his furs back. "I think I should stay. This proves I have no idea what I'm going against at the ball and that I should learn something while everyone is here. Gain some more insight."

He looked around the room as he stashed his furs in the armor. "Good idea," he said, feeling the darkness pool in his stomach again at her dismissal. "No more than three glasses of wine. Understood?"

She chuckled at the order. "Aye."

He looked at the room again and shook his head. "Let me pay for the dress-"

"You can't afford-"

"Not the point."

"Oh, so you'll buy me a dress, but you can't afford honey? For your own health?"

Cullen opened his jaw to argue but snapped it shut. "Fine." He bit, "But this isn't over."

"Why would it?" she asked with a victorious smirk.

Cullen surveyed the room quickly and noticed that Liliana and Vivienne dropped their eyes from them. "Wear it tonight." He said with a grin.

"Ha?" she made an exhausted sound and placed a hand over her face. "Will you just get back to work already?"

He gave a quick chuckle as he figured out how to make her taste her own medicine. "Of course, my love."

She made a groan at the pet name that he smiled at as he exited the room. He waited a moment after the door was closed before resting on the stones beside. They felt so cool. He didn't even register that he was warm. Or hot. Given the giggles that emanated, they knew. He rubbed his hands across his face to his ears and felt the heat. Yeah, they knew. All he could do was smirk at himself at the embarrassment of the situation. Maker, how much a fool he must truly look. He could only imagine a beet red Templar, former Templar, shamelessly flirting with her in a room full of people. His wife, grant it, but. Him.

He gave a chuckle to himself as he picked himself up and walked down the hall. He passed the people waiting in Josephine's office. All waiting to give reports he imagined. He did some breathing exercises he was taught early on to lower his blood pressure and find focus on the day. He breathed through the throne room as he crossed. Trying to get the image of her standing in the sunlight in that color that reflected her eyes out of his head.

Breathe. He scolded himself.

He passed through the rotunda. He should be working. Find a solution to all of this. He found some peace on the ramparts. His eyes moving to the stacks of lumber that were purchased at some point but never used. His eyes moved to the huge hole in the outer wall with pursed lips. Maybe they were purchased to fix that? His eyes moved down to the horse stalls.

He ran a hand over his face and let the cool air kiss his skin. Maker, this is getting out of hand.

Xxxx

Uthreida sat on the crest of the hill with the slight rain of Crestwood pelting her. She looked over the valley and saw the dragon. Sleeping. In the middle of the road. Three dead carcasses surrounded it. It was curled into a ball like a cat but had the low down turned horns, a purple head that faded into ruddy brown, and a black and white striped tail.

Uthreida canted a brow. Not much for camouflage. But it is a dragon so, maybe it's not needed.

She flipped open the book Cullen had given her, affectionately calling it her 'Thedosian dragons hip pocket guide' and flipped it to known dragons. Head size and coloration, this one was a Northern Hunter. According to the guide, they are predominate in the north. Which raises some questions. Also says veracious eaters, explains the carcasses, and use electric based thu'ums. If she remembered anything from the Mire, she's going to need spirit damage.

Uthreida took a breath.

"Oi" Sera called to her, "we came here for a show. Get a move on, yea." Uthreida looked down at her with a smirk as Blackwall hid his face behind a hand of exhaustion. The other solders, smiths, and butchers followed to start work while the meat was fresh but made movements as if in agreement.

"Aye, aye." She dismounted Ragnar and checked her blades quickly. She fished a soul gem from her pack. "Keep your distance." She called. She walked away from the group and tapped the gem to Dragon Bane's hilt. The greater soul in the gem dissipated into the sword as the gem's color started to drain. Then the soul transferred, it cracked and shattered in her hand. She fished out an electric resistance potion and downed it quickly. Uthreida let it drop as she placed the helmet over her head. She took a breath as she crossed the low lands. "Earn your mead, earn your seat. Victory or Sovngarde.

The dragon lifted its head slightly and slowly turned to face her. It jumped quickly and took a step back. And growled. Uthreida knew she was far enough away from the onlookers to not be heard.

"Zu'u dovikiin Uthredda." She shouted to it. The dragon paused but lowered its head. Uthreida pressed on. "Lossie ko dii miiraad."She warned the dragon. Keeping her approach. The dragon gave a snarl at her. "Bo gut." She warned again as he drew her Akaviri blade and axe.

"Dii golt." It growled. "Hi bo."

Uthreida shook her head at it. Not following its command to leave her grounds. The dragon opened her mouth and drew a breath. "Wuld nah kest." Uthreida sprinted, appearing at its side. She lifted her blade and got to work.

Her sword struck the soft underbelly of the beast and her overhead axe weakened the side armor. She repeated in the same spot then moved her next attack of her axe to the dragon rear leg. The dragon moved quickly, forcing distance. "Hi bo." It called to her, before lifting her rear leg to push Uthreida back.

She dodged, moving so she was under the dragon's hips as it kicked. Her sword moved to the interior of the same rear leg. He stabbed at the softer under scales and ripped. She spun her axe and used the pick to rip open the flesh and used her body weight to pull down. The dragon bellowed in pain as the blood pooled on the ground. She hit the vain. She kept pulling the axe like skinning a deer.

The dragon jumped, its useless rear leg hit her as the dragon hovered to her distance.

The dragon moved twelve feet from her and opened her wings. "Joor zah frul." She will not take flight. She felt her blood pump and rush in her ears as the white mist shut the dragon's wings. It gave a pained cry and all Uthreida could do was smile. She ran at the dragon, keeping to her sides as she struck at the same sides. The dragon was unable to call its thu'um making her an easy target. Uthreida's blades moved, hitting the ribs, causing superficial wounds but enough pain to keep her engaged. She changed the grip on her blade and cut up against the weakened scales on its abdomen. The blood escaped the cut. She flipped the axe and ducked while she had time. She ran under the dragon. She shoved the pick into the wound and pulled under the dragon. Its stomach was ripped open. The scales and skin rendered useless as she pulled with everything to get under it.

The abdominal sack started to descend from the one foot wound. The smell of blood and acid from the dragon drove her instincts and she kept pulling. Wanting the ground covered in blood.

Her axe slipped from the wound and she looked over to see the mist dissipate.

The dragon stood to roar and she stabbed the other rear leg.

The dragon fell back down with a pained whimper and knocked Uthreida down.

She used the axe to slam into the wounded foot and cause the dragon to try and run again. It circled her, keeping itself curled as Uthreida rose. Shaking the fall off and feeling the healing from her axe and helmet cover her. She walked to the dragon, a snarl ripping across its face as she approached. The dragon's maw was open as it looked at her. And Uthreida saw the lightning in its throat as it was preparing its attack. It's snarled with all of ties teeth showing. It's head low to get the attack.

"Fos ro dah."

The dragon's head was pushed lower, its thu'um canceled and she pressed her advance.

She moved to the side it was offering as it curled its weakened side from her. She kept her attacks focused on the rear of the beast. Weakening her hips, weakening her ability to fly. Her sword getting under the leg again and the dragon moved to kick her back. She dodged but wasn't quick enough as two of the rear claws pushed her back six feet from the dragon.

She turned, her maw open as she stood above Uthreida who was on her back.

"Hi bo" it said softly, and Uthreida could swear it was smiling. Fear overtook her as the dragon reared its head. Her hand took the sword and prepared to shove it into it's mouth when it tried to bite down.

A whistle slammed into the dragon and Uthreida had enough time to realize that an arrow had hit it in the eye. The dragon screamed in pain. Uthreida rolled quickly to get out of the line and continue her advance. The sound of metal on metal beating like a quick drum distracted it as Blackwall was running over the side the of the hill. Taunting the dragon as he approached. The dragon was distracted. Uthreida rushed in, her axe slamming into the tail and causing another wail from the dragon. She moved, sliding both weapons into the soft tendon of the rear leg and watched as the dragon buckled. It lifted its leg to push her off again. She moved, working the front leg this time. Her sword poised to strike.

"Uthreida" Blackwall called. She didn't have time. She needed to end this.

Electricity filled her and she was frozen in place for a moment. Her helmet and axe healing, the potion reducing the attack, but it was like her mind couldn't tell her body to run. She fell to her knees, trying to remember how to breathe.

The dragon stepped away from her.

She heard movement and shook her head. A shadow overcast her and she looked up with axe ready to see Blackwall defending her. The dragon moved, her jaw wide. Blackwall dug his rear leg ready for the strike. At the last moment, bashed the dragon and slashed at her.

The dragon pulled back at his insolence and another whistle slammed into her wounded side.

"Get up" he yelled at her over his shoulder. He readied for another attack. Uthreida was slow to her feet, shaking her head to get the right of the world. Blackwall buckled and she swore she saw two guarding spirits stand beside him. She was hit harder than she thought.

"Run." She yelled at him. The dragon reared for another attack. Half an idea crossed her mind and she had one shot. "Get low."

Blackwall braced lower and she took a few steps back.

Its open maw pointed at him. Uthreida ran. She jumped, using Blackwall as a step, and jumped towards the dragon as it advanced. "Su grah dun." She shouted in midflight.

She landed in the dragon's head. It reared and she used the beard of her axe on the dragon's horns to keep her balance. End this. She swung her sword at the beast's neck and spine with everything she had. She kept swinging, kept striking, kept stabbing unit she hit the bone. An opening. The dragon shook its body to throw her and she got low to keep herself righted. She changed the grip and the sword and stabbed into the beast's neck. She shoved with everything to get between the bones. Uthreida gave a vicious wrench at the sound of forced gapping of the spine and heard the sickening snap that made her blood run cold.

Its legs gave out, its head fell and Uthreida had seconds to jump from the beast as it fell. She rolled off, her sword and axe in hand as she took her stance. Ready to end this.

Uthreida breathed deeply, keeping to the back of its head as she recovered. It made a sound. The last breath.

She watched as the orange and silver souls of the dragon started to circle it, then her.

Uthreida took a deep breath, letting the soul meld with hers. Feeling the strength of this beast come into her. "Strunaha" the dragons name. Storm hunter.

She took another breath and looked at her left hand holding the Akaviri blade. Or what was left of it. Rage and fear consumed her as she looked at the damaged weapon. "Shit."

She had no enchantment against dragons now. She had nothing that would set her above par. She growled at the body, knowing the other half of her weapon was lodged in its neck. As was the enchantment. That she didn't have a single clue how to recreate. Fuck.

She heard the sound of metal on metal and turned to see Blackwall sheath his weapon. "You alright?" He asked slightly out of breath. He took a few steps closer, but his eyes were still hesitant.

Uthreida sheathed what was left of her weapons and removed her helm. She couldn't show that she just lost her only advantage. She couldn't show the shaking in her knees from the fear of being eaten again or the electricity. She smiled to herself as if to feign a good mood. She turned to Blackwall. He took half a step back as she approached. "Did you SEE THAT!" She playfully punched his breast plate with a wide smile. "You took on a dragon and just" she mimicked his actions of bash and attack of it. "That was amazing. And then held a line. It was" she looked at him with a wide smile of excitement to see his concerned smirk. "Let's go hunting." She said with the same exuberance.

He gave a cautious chuckle. "I'll pass." He looked her over quickly. "Are you alright though?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "You, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He stated slowly, still breathing heaver. "Might need a new pair of trousers, but I'm good."

She laughed at his humor and took in his blue eyes. A part of her wanted to hug him. To kiss him. But with the arrangement, with their history-

He cleared his throat quickly and looked away. "We should call in the others." He said quickly. "And you need a bath." Uthreida looked down at her armor and hands that were covered in the blood of a dragon. She felt his hands and saw his confused brow but proud smile. "You jumped on its head."

She looked at the said dragon with puffed cheeks. "Seemed efficient." She looked back at him and saw his lowered brows. As if he was disappointed. "What?"

"I'm concerned." He crossed his arms after waiving the hill down. "Do you have no care for your own life?"

She gave a dramatic show of confusion at the older man. "My concern was your life."

"My life is nothing."

"So is mine."

He opened his mouth to retort but snapped it shut. He made a sigh of disappointment and scratched his beard in thought. He held up a hand to surrender but walked off to greet the others coming down the hill.

"Oi," Sera called from the group. "I get a piece of the action, yea?"

Uthreida looked at the elf with a smirk. She followed Blackwall to the group but approached the elf, ignoring the quaking in her knees and the heaviness of her breath. "Was that you?" She jutted a thumb to the carcass.

She pfft. "Yea, who else would it be?"

Uthreida looked at the dragon and saw the arrow protruding its eye. "That's some trick shot. Even at that distance." She pointed tin the crest of the hill.

Sera waved it off. "Nothin doin'. So, what's my cut?"

Uthreida arched a brow at the bosmer . Technically, she's not on contract and Uthreida didn't ask for assistance. But without Sera, she's be in its gut. Uthreida conceded. "Your weight in ale."

Sera pffted again. "Make it your weight and you got a deal."

"You calling me fat?"

"Callin' you as I see it. Your armored weight, yea?"

Uthreida smiled at the elf and her banter. "Done."

"Fuck yea." Sera gave a victory fist that Uthreida smiled at.

"Ladies," Blackwall called to get their attention. Both women turned to the warden but shared a knowing look with one another as they approached.

Uthreida took a deep breath. Phase two, leading the cleanup crew. "First things, we need to start skinning it. Cesar Bronach has the cleaning vats, but we need to cut the leather to fit the racks at the fort. As the skin is pulled back, butchers, get to work. Anything inside of the throat or chest cavity is not consumable for people. The awful will have to be thrown away or used for something else. Given the area, Soldiers, set up feeding piles for the crows and wolves so they don't get too close. This should keep the vermin back without losing too much. Once the butchers are complete, smiths, we need to start harvesting the bones." She took a breath and looked at the group that still had dropped jaws or listening with a board expression. "We got a few hours of daylight left. Let's make the most that we can. Butchers, soldiers, I'll need half of you to go get the carts from the hold. Blackwall, will you walk with them?"

He gave a quick nod.

"Butchers, gather your crates and supplies. The blood is acidic and needs to be drained before we can store it. Smiths and tanners, with me." She turned from the group and headed back to the dragon. "Sera" she called. The elf perked at her name. "Will you keep an eye out with the Soldiers. Make sure no one comes in or out of the harvest."

She gave an awkward thumbs up but shrugged.

Uthreida drew her axe. To work.

Xxxx

Uthreida stood on the battlements of Cesar Bronach overlooking the Wyvern Watch. She clenched a note in her hand from Cullen. This isn't right.

She had written, well, asked Blackwall, to write to him. Informing him of her arrival, the slain dragon, and the progress of the harvesting of the dragon. It was done in the stereotypical Nordic fashion akin to whaling expeditions. Nothing was wasted, and everything was harvested. She had informed him that since she had arrived early and processing was being completed on time, she requested to weed out the other bandits that were still in the area. Also, if he could procure her something that was akin to her ebony.

Cullen's reply was dry, numbered, and highly amusing.

Uthreida Storm-Blade,

1. Tell Blackwall he is forgiven for your lewd and semi-competent letter. The only thing that was of any sensibility was the opening of 'to my darling detested,' We'll work on your official correspondence.

2. I'm ecstatic to hear you arrived earlier than anticipated. I'll inform my logisticians to set up a permanent contract for travel by ferry across Lake Calenhad. I'm sure your excitement for a dragon and double-timed march to said dragon invigorated the soldiers to the point of exhaustion.

3. Harvesting was expected to take a week, and according to your calculations, unsure of where they come from, should only last a few days. The leathers, bones, and other bits are to remain at Cesar Bronach until a buyer is found or until completion of tanning or preserving. That said, if you require these building materials, you are allowed to take what you can carry. What you take will be pulled from your pay. I am amused at the thought of you taunting dragons as either a wolf in sheep's clothing or as you shout at them your armor is their mother.

4. As I'm certain your going trip was due to excitement, I'm sure your return trip will be at a slower pace. You will not have time to take out the bandits in the area. I'm working with the Captain to see that it gets resolved. You are the dragon slayer, not fix-everything-just-because-it's-there. I don't need you being mortally wounded before Halamshiral.

5. The Inquisition has obsidian that you may use. Within reason. With payment.

6. You will be traveling back to Skyhold with Blackwall and Sera under Knight-Captain Ameriline utilizing the same path. Do not deviate. You will be transporting back supplies that should be en route. Continue oversight of the harvest. Because it will be completed quickly, I expect an inventory and cost to market listing for the items collected if possible.

7. Makers breath, do not act irrationally and stay safe.

8. Stop riding dragons.

Cullen Rutherford

Commander

It would appear that Knight-Captain Amerilinenhad already sent her report before she did.

There was a threat in the area that was more dangerous than the dragon. Those bandits will not stop. And, as she heard from some reports, were still Venatori in the area. Was that not their enemy?

Her eyes flicked back to the report. She's not here to fix anything. Even though she can. That's the Inquisitor's job. Who left it half-finished. Took a hold, and walked off. She shook her head at the farce. But sighed. Commander had a point. Choose your battles.

Still wrong.

"Not my land, not my problem. Not my land, not my problem." She chanted to herself.

She looked at the letter. How was she supposed to inventory this? She apparently had three days to do nothing. Even then, she needed to find a way to fix her Akaviri blade. And she knew nothing in how they made their folded steel. Even if she did take the dragon bones for building to make a new one, she didn't know how to metal work dragon bones. Joanes the smith tried to explain, but Uthreida was more of the hands-on, needs to fail to succeed, kind of learner. If dragons are more abundant here, maybe there's a book somewhere or someone that can show her. Harrett, maybe?

Now all she needed was a damn enchantment for dragons. She sighed, let's hope the same logic applies.

Her eyes dropped to her ebony blade. She noticed that the smiths here weren't tied to tradition when it came to smithing. They used dwemer metals to make all weapons of all shapes and sizes. Maybe, she can do the same. Dragon bone blade in the shape of her ebony blade. She still didn't know how to work dragon bone though. Her eyes were drawn the bones that were piled on the sides of the hold. Each waiting for their turn at bleaching and hardening in the fire. How much will it take for her to learn? Kill a dragon just to master its own armor? Seemed fitting. And would keep her out of trouble.

"Oi" Sera called from the lower level. Uthreida looked down at her to see Blackwall smirking and two Lieutenants who were trying to keep Sera quiet. "We're heading to the village. Wanna go?"

Uthreida folded her letter and placed it in a pocket. "Aye." Maybe if they get drunk, she can sneak out and kill some bandits. A smile curling on her lips. "I'll be right down." She grabbed her bow and arrows before taking the ladder down.

Sera shot her an odd look at her choice of weapons but shrugged it off. "Let's go." The five started for the door. "No drinking, boys," Sera called as if to catch the attention of the Captain, "we got the responsible, Lady Command'a with us tonight."

Uthreida shot her questionable look. "I'm almost offended."

"Don't want her to tell her Cully-Wully, now do we?"

"Now I'm offended."

Sera cackled as she pushed Uthreida through the gatehouse.

Xxxx

Cullen stood at the window. His jaw clenched as he looked at the northern corner of the ramparts in thought.

He watched with a mild sneer as he looked at Royoc speaking to the older Warden. Cullen couldn't believe the Inquisitor choose the Ban Hassrath over the Chargers. For what? An uneasy alliance? An alliance that went against the Chantry itself? They are the Inquisition, of the Chantry, of Orlais. How was that a good trade off?

He took a breath, fighting the resentment as his eyes flicked to the Warden. Cullen realized he was nothing compared to the Warden that was passing through for resupply before heading to the Western Approach. A Warden that stood to gain and lose everything and stood so close and so far. How could he ever compete with him?

"What are you doing?"

Cullen bit back a scream of surprise and grabbed his heart as it kept in his throat. He turned viciously to see his dutiful wife, with arms above her head ready to pounce and grinned in victory's "Makers breath, woman. Are you trying to kill me?" Her grin turned small but upturned to the point where her eyes squinted in knowing delight. He grunted and huffed his chest quickly at her overly dramatic antics. "What?"

"What are you starting at?"

"Nothing." He stated as he turned to get back to his desk.

Uthreida looked out the window to try and see what he was looking at. "What was it?"

"Drop it." He ordered quickly. "I'm still mad at you."

"Again or still?"

He grunted as he looked her over. "I told you not to engage with the bandits in Crestwood."

She gave a sly smirk as she canted her head. "Whose to say I did? I thought you ordered your men to deal with the problem."

"I did. And when they reached the hideout, all the bandits in the caves were dead."

She paused with a small smile. "Quite the miracle from the Maker of you ask me." She waved a theatrical hand and smiled.

"I know it was you."

"How so."

"Head shots. In the dark? From arrows." She gave a guiding shrug. Her small smile quirked in pride. "Accuracy from a sneak thief or an assassin."

She nodded twice slowly. "It does fit."

"Confess" he roared, taking a step closer.

"To what?"

"Killing those bandits."

"I mean," she shrugged softly, "I certainly won't deny helping the people of Fereldan from the plagues of its lands, even if it is a false confession. But, you know I refuse to lie. So what evidence do you have that would push me into the direction of a lie?"

Cullen snorted at her calm tone. Usually, she would fight, but she's being logical meaning she did do it but he had no evidence save her usual motivations for doing anything to expand her own ego. Cullen scoffed at the woman. "It's your motivation. I told you not to and you didn't it anyways."

She frowned playfully. "How can I slaughter- how many bandits?"

Cullen jutted his jaw. She was stroking her own hubris. "Fifteen."

"Fifteen, wow. How can I slaughter fifteen bandits if I was oversighting the harvest and taking inventory of the dragon's remains?"

"The shafts matched what you carry."

She chuckled. "No, they didn't."

"Oh," he laughed, crossing his arms at her, "and how do you know that?" He's got her.

"Because I had my arrows on me the whole time. And seeing as how I was instructed not to engage with the bandits, I can assure you, my arrows were not used." She smirked at him.

"Whose arrows did you steal then?"

She looked away for a moment, the smirk still present on her smug face. "You're free to check my quarters, Commander. I have only my arrows."

"You stole arrows from someone else."

"Has anyone reported missing arrows?"

Cullen clenched his jaw at the woman. No. No, they have not. And she knew it. The only persons who wouldn't report would be, "You stole Sera's arrows?"

"Such defamation, Commander. I should be shocked, but-" she tilted her head at him.

He snorted. "I refuse to believe that Sera did this."

"I don't see why not? She's quite the skilled archer and a sneak thief. However, I too would doubt it as well." She gave a quick nod to him as she both praised and offended the elven woman.

"Do not play me like a fool. You obviously took Sera's arrows, used them, and then gave them back."

"If I used Sera's arrows, as you suggest, and then gave them back to the point where she wouldn't notice missing arrows, how do you have shafts to prove that my arrows were used in this slaughter?"

Cullen jut his jaw at the woman who only tilted her head in feigned innocence. "It was you." He stated lowly.

"Then convict me. With no proof, no evidence, to witnesses, save your own preconceived notions."

Cullen snarled his nose at her. He was trying to keep her safe. Did she not see that? And by all rights, he can't as he lacked proof. "It was you."

She smiled in victory at him showing her teeth. "I appreciate your confidence in me."

"My men could've handled it."

She lifted a weak hand to the ceiling. "Gods be good for such mysterious miracles. Thank you, Kyne, for protecting the men."

Cullen scowled deeper. "I know it was you."

"By all means," she took a breath and smirked, "tell your men what you like. But those who question will not believe you."

Cullen popped his knuckles as he looked the woman over. She looked too damn smug in her black undercoat, maroon trousers, and single black blade in her hip. "What do you want?"

She looked at him with an arched brow and canted hip. Even without her armor, she looked ready to kill him. "Tone."

"What tone?"

"That one" she stated with a theatrical flick of her wrist.

"Maker take you." Cullen kept his eyes on the east wall to the banner above the door and took a breath. "Yes, darling?" He plastered on a fake smile for her that she saw through. He rolled his eyes. "And to think, I was getting used to the quiet." He mused to himself. "What?"

"You either get in a better mood, or I do. And you don't like what I do." She smiled wickedly at him. He crossed his arms at her. She took the challenge and skipped, skipped, across his office and jumped to his side. She had a full grin on her face as she leaned into him. Cullen leaned back. She took a deep breath, her eyes closing slightly. "You smell even better awake." She stated in a loud whisper.

His eyes widened at the woman and took two large steps back from her. At a safe distance, he allowed himself to smile at her awkward intimacy. Slowly turning into a chuckle. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stifle the laugh. He looked back at her to see her holding her hands behind her back as she approached again. "I forgot, I'm supposed to steal your tooth." Her eyes lowered to his lips. "I can already imagine what it's going to taste like when I run my tongue over it." It took everything in him not to smile at her threatening compliments. Even as she ran her tongue over her teeth in anticipation. "You have such pretty eyes, Commander." The threat barely vailed as she grinned at him.

He looked away as if to hide her prize. He cleared his throat weakly. "You just want gossip."

"And?" She stated dramatically, throwing her hands up in question.

He shook his head in shame but smiled. "Maker, what am I going to do with you?"

"Ideally," she made a motion of stabbing herself in the heart, grunted, then looked like she was dying quickly. "But until then," she leaned in closer to him. "What were you looking at?"

He sighed at her. "Your relentless."

"Thank you."

"Not a complement."

"Don't care." She smiled again.

He sighed in defeat. "You're in a good mood."

"I scared the commander. Of course I'm in a good mood."

Cullen grunted. Annoyed at the fact that her mood was infectious. He walked back to the corner and she followed. "Do you see that Grey Warden over there?"

She tilted her head to see his line of sight. "Aye."

"That's Loghain Mac Tir. The Hero of River Dane. He was a general for the Ferelden Army for thirty years. He and King Maric pushed out and ended the Orlesian occupation back in 9:0 Dragon. He's…a hero…to some."

"To you?" She asked innocently, her wide eyes meeting his.

He rubbed the back of his neck quickly. Even though he was Fereldan, grew up in Ferelden, he devoted his life to the Chantry. He started to not consider himself Ferelden. Except for when his manners came into question. "He's the Traitorous Teyrn. He started the Fereldan civil war during the blight. Some say he was a tactician who left the field to save his men from the slaughter of the dark spawn in Ostagar. Others say he was a coward who let King Calin be killed so he could take the throne."

"What do you think?"

Cullen licked his lips. Honestly, he had a feeling that Royoc was talking to Cullen's replacement when he became too lyrium addled. The thought making his teeth ache for a taste. "I think it no longer matters." She looked up at him to listen. "He's a warden now. Per king Alistair and Queen Anora, Maker rest her soul."

Cullen looked at the older man who was nodding with Royoc. Who pointed to his office. Cullen stepped back from the window, pulling Uthreida by the belt with him. Whatever they were talking about was about him. Maker, he was being replaced by a better leader. A proven hero who didn't have ties to lyrium or the Chantry.

Cullen paced his office for a second and felt her eyes on him. He looked at the north door and puffed his cheeks. "Was there something you needed?"

"Morning check-in." She stated with a smile. "I have yet to run off."

"Noted." He met her smile. "I'm sure there are other things you would rather do than-"

"I do, actually. And, I have a gift." She scampered to the other side of the office and collected a bag. She picked up a nug leather drawstring bag and handed it to him. The sloshing of liquid told him what it was. He pulled out the bottle and smiled. Double Laurel scotch. 9:10 Dragon. Thirty-year-old scotch. This was a part of the Highever liberty collection. With an unbroken seal. These are rare and expensive. "It's your favorite, right."

His jaw dropped slightly. This was either a hundred royal bottle to four hundred. He looked at her smile then at the bottle again. Gratitude warmed his stomach, but a warning voice stopped it from overflowing him. "Don't think this forgives you for your slaughtering the bandits."

"Good because" she gave a vague shrug.

He arched a knowing brow at her. She can't lie. "Say you didn't."

"You didn't."

He grunted. "You know what I meant."

"Do I? That would imply that I know anything about you."

Cullen lifted the bottle so it was in her line of sight. She looked at the bottle of his favorite drink, then smiled guiltily. "Did you kill those bandits?"

"I've killed many bandits. Though, the specifics of such endeavors may be difficult for me to remember."

He gave a defeated sigh at her coy game. "You're lucky it was bandits and I don't particularly care."

"Then why keep bringing it up?" She asked with humor.

"You disobeyed a direct order."

She canted her head ina knowing look. "I do believe we've met before, Commander."

He looked at her with a grunt. "I didn't want you to get needlessly hurt."

She gave a flirtatious bashful look with a smile. "Aww, you do care."

"You're an expensive asset-" she winked and touched her nose. Cullen grunted at the gesture. He looked away, unable of his dissuade her assumption based on his own actions. He looked at the bottle again. Thrity-year-old scotch. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to."

"Why?"

She shrugged quickly. "Saw it and thought of you. So I got it. Besides," she chuckled quickly making his heart skip a beat, "it was either this or a pair of decent boots that didn't fit. So, I went with accuracy."

He looked at the bottle then at her. "This is expensive. I have no way to pay you back."

She pouted her lips in thought. "You could be nicer."

He smirked. Placing the bottle on his desk and leaned I to her. "I could but- wait, why? What did you do?"

"Nothing" she whined. "Today." Her added comment made him glower at her. She laughed it off with surrendering hands. "Nothing that I know of. Or, at the very least, has been brought to my attention."

He shot her a suspicious look but picked up the bottle again. She wanted nothing in return. He wasn't buying it, but still, good scotch for free. He was still fairly certain this was to distract him from punishing her for going against his orders. "This is for me?"

"Aye." Her own look of awkwardness coloring her features at him.

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes with a smile. "You're over-stressed and overworked. You need to relax. Besides, you have to deal with me every day, it's worthy of a drink."

"Won't argue that." She laughed off his dry, good humor making him relax his shoulders. "Thank you." He met her smile and noticed a softness shift in her eyes. "What shall we drink to?"

She looked away in thought. "You might want to hide that."

"Why?"

"Because your hero is walking this way."

Panic rose up to his shoulders and he forced himself to breathe and hid the bottle in a drawer. "How do I look?"

She chuckled quickly. "You look fine. I can give you another scar if you like." He frowned at her. "Nothing says grizzled veteran like another scar. Yours just screams vanity." He cocked a one-sided grin at her. He ran a thumb down his cheek to indicate her facial scar. "Mine says humility." She said as she drew her own thumb down the scar. "Yours says, look here" she waved her fingers to her lips to draw his attention, "imagine…things"

He played off rolling his head to pop his neck. "Are you done?"

"Aye, but you should probably get that smile off your face in three…two,"

Cullen quickly popped his jaw to remove the smile and stood taller at her presence and crossed his arms.

The north doors opened and both turned to see a dark-haired, older Warden taking up the space.

"Anyways" Uthreida stated with a grin. "And that's how I killed the dragon in Crest wood." She placed her hands on her hips. "In conclusion, that's why I deserve a pay raise."

Cullen arched an unamused brow at the woman. "That'll be all." He stated emotionless.

"Aye, Commander." she took a step back and gave a proper salute with bowed head to him. Wait, did she know how to properly salute the whole time? She gave a head bow to Loghain and exited from the south door.

Cullen turned to the older commander with a deep breath. The man looked him over with a curious brow. "You must be Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir."

He held a hand to stop him. "Loghain, Senior Grey Warden is my title these days."

"Of course," Cullen gave a quick nod. "My apologies. I am Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition Forces." He offered a smile. "Is this an unofficial inspection?"

The man gave a weathered sigh. "I have no idea what this is if I'm being honest." He stepped further into the room as if to size Cullen up. "Your Inquisitor asked me to speak with you but was vague over what he meant or why. But it does raise questions."

Cullen looked away in thought and felt the anger well as he knew damn well why. "I see." Royoc's passive-aggressive defamation working wonders on his standards. "I'm going to assume this has nothing to do with requesting the forges to make warden armor."

"I wouldn't know," Loghain stated lowly. His face was hard to read for expression.

"Professional inquiry it is." He waved a hand to the sitting area with an invitation. The older warden gave a nod and started for the chairs. "May I offer a cup of tea?"

"Please. Embrium, if you have it." The man stated taking a slow seat.

Cullen opened his herb box and realized he didn't have any. "I have sage, rosemary, splindleweed, and thistle."

"Spindle weed and sage then. Thank you." Cullen nodded, smirking at the 'old man' recipe. "Laugh it up, boy," Loghain said but he could hear the smile. "This is you in twenty years. Feeling the impending rain in your knees." He lifted a leg to prove a point. "It's hard to imagine I was ever once as young as you are."

Cullen lit the flame for the candle and joined him at the sitting area. He crossed a leg over his knees, unsure of where to start. Apparently, neither did the warden. Loghain took in the office for a moment then him. "Let's get started." Loghain sat in the chair more comfortably mimicking Cullen's position. He noticed the man's eyes flick to his vambraces. "Where did you get your knighthood?"

"I receive my knighting at West Hill Chantry when I took my Templar vows."

His body seemed to pause. "You're a Templar?"

"Was. I turned my back on the order for the Inquisition."

"No pitched or open field battles then?"

"No. But I was a part of the Kirkwall incident two years ago."

He arched a single brow as if to print Cullen on. "No other field battles?"

"No."

He looked away quickly. "What experience do you have in movements, tactics, and logistics?"

"I was the Knight Captain in Kirkwall for seven years and Knight Commander for two."

Loghain sat silently. "You didn't answer my question."

Cullen smiled awkwardly. "I was charged with oversight of the training of our Templar recruits and Lieutenants. Movement and tactics were derived from hunting and apprehending apostates in the city-state of Kirkwall as well as logistics for supply for those movements."

"How large were the units?"

"Anywhere between three to ten Templars at any given time."

"Around a city-state of the Free Marches?"

"Correct."

"How many outposts?"

"Six in the state."

"And you over sought their supplies as well?"

"I over sought the requisition requests and approval for contracts."

"And manning those posts. Was that you or the Chantry?"

"Both. Requests for reinforcements were sent up to us at the circle. If our manning was spent, we would request the other circles to fill the requirement. If it couldn't be handled in the Free Marches, it was sent higher to the chantry that would pull from another country. Given our location, we generally pulled from Antiva, Nevvarra, or Ferelden. Depending on urgency."

"And you relinquished your commission to join the Inquisition?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Cullen took a deep breath and tried to make his answer as small as possible. "The people." He arched a dark brow and Cullen realized that it sounded like he joined the Inquisition to increase his command. "I witnessed the citizens of Kirkwall without a Viscount or caring mother. The Templars and guards did what we could for the destitute, but when the circles formally disbanded, and chaos ran amuck, the Inquisition seems like the best method to bring peace back to the people."

"Then why did you leave Kirkwall?"

Cullen reviewed his answer this time. "The Templaric vows aren't specific to any one nation. But rather the Chantry as a whole. I witnessed the chantry fail the citizens of Kirkwall three times. I didn't want to be part of that. I choose the higher calling of the Inquisition."

Loghain took a breath. "So, no longer having a title or job with the Templars when the chantry fell, you joined the Inquisition to keep the gold flowing into your pockets."

Cullen scoffed with humor at the idea. He could see why someone would make that assumption. "I receive twenty percent the pay here than I did as a Knight Commander."

"I'm sure the benefits work out."

"They really don't." He stated quickly, thinking of his headache of a wife.

"Where are you from?"

"Honnleath."

Loghain lowered his brows. "You're Fereldan?"

"Yes."

He chuckled for a moment. "I'm amazed your talking to me."

Cullen raised a hand in a mild shrug. "Some of our soldiers were in the Ferelden military while you commanded. They say you're the best commander they ever had."

He shook his head but his expression was hard. "Large shoes."

"For a pup." Cullen added with a smirk. "Though I hear the shadow has been shortened these days."

Loghain dark eyes flitted to his face and Cullen kept his facial expression. Seeing how he would respond. Not backing down from the fight. If he can fight Uthreida and Royoc, he can do this.

Loghain smirked at him quickly. "I suppose that's correct. Are you nobility?"

"No. My father was a trapper and my mother ran the small farm hold."

The older man gave a small hmm as he looked Cullen over. "You were stationed in Kirkwall under the Mad Meredith. How has that affected your leadership?"

Cullen took a breath. He teased too hard. He should've seen that question coming. He was thrown slightly at it. He leaned forward to rest on the arm of the chair. "Uh" he bit his lip as he looked about. "I can understand…her position. Some of the choices she made. I can even agree with some of the policies." He took a breath and held it. Loghain dark eyes watching him intensely. With a hand to his chin. The man stood against the emperor of Orlais and didn't flinch. He had been the hope of all poor children that with hard work and determination, they would also rise through the ranks and seek glory. A man that started with nothing and saved his homeland from invaders. The man was a general even if he wore the humble blue. Cullen folded his hands and looked away. "I question it constantly. If I'm making the same mistakes. If I'm becoming her." He shifted uncomfortably. "The standards I have for training is above Templar requirements because of the requirements we had to meet in Kirkwall. A part of me wants to train the Inquisition soldiers harder because I fear that I trained some of the Red Templars in the field. But I also know that a high level of discipline can weaken our men and may cause them to desert. I fear that my guilt in training the Templars and their connection to the Venitori may cause me to become her." He met the general's eyes with a serious expression. "To become so paranoid to the point of madness. That's not who I want to be. That's not the kind of leader I want to be." He dropped his eyes again. "I was under Knight Commander Greagior while in the Ferelden circle. I didn't appreciate his leadership strategy until I was much older."

"Which was?" He asked over his hand.

"Servitude." Loghain arched a brow at his response. "He was at the service of the Templars under his command but saw the mages as equals. He ruled the tower with a firm hand, but a soft heart. He was consistent with everyone."

"And you try to emulate this?"

"I try."

"You'll fail."

Cullen paused, his eyes falling to his chest and his heart. "It's worth it."

"Not in your position." Loghain dropped his hand to his lap. "Knight Commander Greagior was in charge of a circle of inmates. Treating them with dignity and respect was out of self-preservation, not control. That style will not transfer well in the military field."

"I disagree."

Loghain raised his chin to him. "You'll kill your men just to prove me wrong?" Cullen dropped his eyes again. "It's all well and good when you're a noble, but you can't treat your citizens like your military. And you can't treat your military like the citizens. Your guilt is not a motivation for leadership. If anything, it's a weakness. And it will get your men killed. As it will get you killed." Loghain shifted so his feet were planted on the floor. "A man in your position needs to treat your men like soldiers, like numbers, so you can focus on the mission."

"That's not the kind of leader I want to be."

"The kind of leader you want to be is currently in the field and not in this office." Loghain retorted. Cullen clicked his jaw shut. "Your position means you can't be concerned with the ones and two. Your overall success and failures result in thousands. When you command an army, you have to be close enough to know what your risking but far enough away to see them as tools that might need to be thrown away. You can't burden yourself with the details of the life going on of Dave's or Jim's. You have to look at the mission success of the entire element under Lieutenants what's-his name and the unit under Captain over-there. If you intend to know the name of each solder, good on you, but it'll only be helpful when you give their eulogy."

Cullen swallowed at the harsh comment. "Seems a bit cold-hearted."

"It's necessary, as is everything else a Soldier is required to do. You can't allow your conscience to get in the way of what needs to happen. You need to move with decisiveness." He gave a heard breath and leaned forward. "I'm glad you fear becoming Meredith. However, high standards are required for any military. But you cannot let your fear guide you. Your objective is the mission. And the mission is the vision. If one of these creates counter-accountability, do not engage. Do what is necessary to maintain manpower, gold, and diplomacy."

Cullen paused. "What about honor?"

He chuffed. "Honor is only bestowed to the victor. Everyone else is dead and has no use for it."

"Our fight is an honorable one. We-"

"Every battle is honorable to the eyes of those who fight. The problem is, you have to convince everyone else. And that takes the gold. Gold that the coffers can't fill. As I said, the honor goes to the victor. Is it honorable to heal the wounded enemy combatants? Yes. Is it practical? No. The healers and potions aren't free and require payment at some point. Even if you did, you're now concerned with creating splinter cells in your own organization once the enemy combatants have healed. Is it also honorable to offer mercy killing? Yes. Cheaper too. Is it honorable to set up men outside a castle to draw out the fire to form a hammer and anvil for the victory? Sacrificing a few for the many? Yes. There is no place for honor in war. It's only found after the fact or sympathizers to the cause."

Cullen popped his knuckles in silence. His mind was taken back to the several debates between him, Uthreida, and Liliana. "I disagree."

"I would imagine. Is the tea done?"

Cullen checked the kettle and saw the water was hot enough.

"What are your concerns?" Loghain asked from his seat.

Cullen filled the two tin cups and passed the older man one. "Our men need honor less they move and act like thugs."

"That's not what I said," Loghain stated as he lifted his cup and place it back down as if he checked the heat. "They need your high standards for honor so they don't move like thugs and know their actions have consequences when not in the field of battle. Their discipline reflects you. The men need honor and discipline when not engaged with the enemy. You must carry the standard. But, decisive actions in the battle cannot be driven by honor. Those decisions must be based on assets, capabilities, maneuverability, and overall mission objective. Safety and security of the people. There is no place for honor or glory in battle. But a high need in general soldiering."

Cullen reflected in his cup at his words. He was right. History is written by the victors.

"Your concern about training the men too hard is ill-founded as well." Cullen looked up at him. "Yes, there is a line between discipline and brutality. To demonize your enemy while not becoming it. To allow your officers the freedom of thought without being constantly concerned with reprimand. But if you, as the commander, feel as though it is required, you must make that requirement. Reiterate to your junior officers your vision and mission should allow them to see where your values are. And to take corrective actions where required. If your officers know where your values and morals are, they can take these corrective actions for you."

Cullen gave a slow nod as he allowed it to flow through him. Finding his flaws in thought as listened.

"How often do you feel like a dog chasing its tail?"

Cullen gave a laugh. "Every day."

"I can tell." The man's eyes flicked to his desk top. Cullen knew it was stacked with responsibilities. "How much authority do you centralize?"

Cullen took a deep breath. "I oversight every aspect of the military function of the Inquisition."

He arched a dark brow again. "You didn't answer my question."

Cullen took a hard breath. "Everything filtered through me."

"Your avoiding the question." The older general took a breath. "What are your advisors' positions?" When Cullen didn't respond, he asked again, "What position do your advisors hold?"

"Um" Cullen swallowed back.

"You might want to get a pen," Loghain stated slowly taking a drink of his tea. Cullen gave a sheepish expression as he stood. "Those books" Loghain called to him as he crossed the office, "are an excellent source of information regarding tactics and strategy. The problem is, historians tend to leave out the advisors to kings and generals. Referring to them as 'war council' often without names."

Cullen resumed his seat before Loghain with pen and fresh parchment. Loghain sat his cup on the table and leaned back. "You need a logistics officer for current assets and required requisitions, personnel officer for current manning and recruitment efforts, a master at arms in the event of required specialized training, information officer or spy network, horse master for calvary or dogs if you have them, and anyone else to feel is required. Having these specific officers allows you to redirect the letters and missives to them and loosens your schedule for other requirements. They then inform you of updates in your weekly meetings."

Cullen looked up with confusion. He's currently required biweekly. "Weekly?"

"I would assume given the size and locations of your men." He stated lower to make the point. "Any longer between meetings would tire your advisors and overload you with 'new' information. Given the size, mission, and constraints, weekly would be best. Though maybe not all at the same time."

Cullen considered it. It would allow him to stay in the loop if he passed everything off. He clenched his jaw that the idea. He shirked his duties for too long, he can't do it again. "My position is to direct the forces-"

"I'm going to guess the largest complaint is the lack of information that is coming down to your men."

Cullen snapped his jaw shut. It was.

"Centralization if information garners no one. Centralization of authority harms everyone. A leader's measure isn't in their victories, but rather their ability to competently delegate. Your men in the field shouldn't come to you for more elfroot. It should go your logistician's. When three horses get spooked by some bear at night and they can't find them, shouldn't come to you. It should go to your horse master and let them and the logisticians work to replace. Let them work. You making every decision cripples them to where they can't think for themselves in the field. You cannot do all of this alone. They will inform you of changes of status during the meetings. If it's something they can't fix or solve, then they come to you. An open door lets them know they can come to you with problems. But don't allow their incompetence to become your problem. Help them solve so you can get back in the fight. Guide them, but let your officers lead. Let them take care of the missives. Let them take care of the minor things at the lowest level. They will use your mission objectives, your vision, and morals to decide. Whether it's elfroot or insubordination of a solder. Not everything needs to come through you. Delegate where you can so you can lead. You'll thank me later." He took another drink of his tea and made a face.

Cullen looked at the notes and was already starting to fill people in slots in his head based on their current duties.

"Is that how Meredith lead? Controlled everything from a central point?"

Cullen took a breath. She tasked him with the daily goings but ultimately, "yes."

He gave a slow nod. "You need a proper mentor."

Cullen chuckled, scratching his head. "Are you offering?"

Loghain gave a humorless laugh. "Considering the fact I'm an outlaw in my own home, I don't think it's wise. No," he took a breath and looked across the room, "you need someone younger. And all the generals I know either retired or died." He took a breath in thought. "I would suggest speaking to some of the nobles. One or two of them can't be complete idiots. And can help you. Offer an outside opinion. Most Fereldan nobility is trained in war simply because of our history."

Cullen shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the idea. Nobles were not exactly his forte and most of them rubbed him the wrong way.

Loghain noticed and smirked. "I was like you once."

Cullen looked up and saw his eyes were distant. A smile slowly spreading over his face. "Celia, my late wife, was pregnant with Anora. Maker rest their souls." Cullen mimicked the blessing. "I got a letter from King Maric requesting my presence in Denerim for some meeting with the nobles. My wife, heavy with child, I didn't want to leave. A few weeks after Anora was born, a runner came in telling me a king's procession was marching to Gwaren." He smiled quickly. "My wife had a week to prepare for a king's convoy while recovering from birthing. The king arrived, and I wanted to punch my friend for bringing all these people into my home." He gave a laugh at the memory but sobered. "After a few heated words, he informed me that I was to spend at least three months a year in Denerim because a measure of the army is the measure of its general." His dark eyes taking in Cullen. "Say what you like about squabbles of nobles, they can be your greatest ally or your greatest enemy. Learning diplomacy and politics can assist you in making strategical plans rather than just tactical ones. You can still lose a war after every tactical victory if you don't have a single strategy. And often times, that strategy requires noble aide."

Cullen sighed into his hand. "The nobles see me as a serious, religious zealot who's incapable of smiling."

Loghain chuckled. "How do you think they saw me? All they saw was a sarcastic pig farmer that came from nothing and only saw nationalism." He grinned, "But, they learned that my stoicism reflected in my men. They were serious in battle and restrained in peace. Thru king of Antiva once told me that he both feared and revered the Ferelden army after two meetings with me." He lifted his cup to drink but sat it down again. "But you need a mentor. I would suggest Fergus Cousland. Bruce was brilliant back in the war. His son seems to have inherited it."

"Teryn Fergus Cousland?"

"Yes. He's a bit closer to your age and has field experience."

Cullen cleared his throat and looked at the man in silence. Even Cullen knew enough to know that the Teryn wouldn't speak to him on behalf of the man who befriended Howe that murdered the Cousland family.

Loghain seemed to notice the silence and gave a humbling smile. "Fereldan generals won't speak to you on my behalf. And If you're looking for Orlesian generals, I'm afraid I can't help you. I know a few Warden Commanders, but I'd be wary of them at this time."

Cullen took a breath. He'll have to find his own way in. He'll have to have meetings with Josephine after this. He'll need a decent shirt. "Any advice, for the nobles?"

He arched a single brow. "They know when someone is being disingenuous. Be honest in all your dealings. Whatever morals or honor you want your men to carry, show it."

Cullen nodded slowly. He's going to have to play nice.

"Do you play chess?" Loghain asked passively.

Cullen smiled at the man. Was that an offer? "Yes. I do."

"Are you any good?"

Cullen chuckled humbly. "I like to think so." He accented the false show with a scratch to his head.

"Good." The warden nodded. "Nobles seem to think that chess and war are in equal, when in fact they're not. You don't get the full shadow of war in chess. They seem to think that just because they beat a general in chess they should be given the title of strategist." He scoffed with a smirk. "Most generals I know bluntly refuse to play. I being one. Don't confuse the game with actual combat like they do. It's a means for conversation. It's a diplomatic maneuver. If you can confuse a few idiot nobles that you know what you're doing, you could save a few lives in the field for the mock game. In those situations, it's more adventurous to lose so they underestimate your capabilities. It's also quite entertaining watching two generals use the same logic." Cullen smirked into his cup as the Warden basically ripped apart from each little thing he thought he was getting right of his command. His advice held merit but he started to question if he was making him think and second guess himself, or if it was actually sound advice.

"I don't mean to be rude," Loghain said with his same flat tone, "but do you have anything stiffer than this?" He held up the cup for Cullen's inspection.

Cullen looked at his desk and smiled. "I just got a bottle of scotch. If you want." He waved an inviting hand to him.

His eyes went distant for a moment. "I do miss a good Fereldan scotch."

Cullen gave a smile that he met. He collected his new gift and presented it to Loghain. A smile curled on his lips. "Good year." He commented.

Cullen filled both of the empty cups a quarter of the way and corked the bottle. His eyes lingering on the label with a smile as he thanked Uthreida for bringing it home.

Loghain made a sound of appreciation and Cullen took a sip of the drink. The smoky tone of the peat mixed with the heather sweetness coated his tongue. He made the same appreciative sound as he swallowed. Tasting the fruity elegance of the fig that was native to Highever. The aging of the whiskey allowed the smoothness of the flavors to coalesce allowing the under tones of the wood and grass and salt from the sea to come forth. Maker that's good scotch.

"Mmm, that's good scotch."

Cullen tilted his head appreciatively. "Agreed."

"You have good taste, Commander."

Cullen chuckled. In truth, he favored the Meadow Lark brewery from the Bannor simply because of price. He could never afford this kind of brewery as a Knight-Captain or Lieutenants. And now, Uthreida has spoiled him. "My, Uh, wife, picked it up."

Loghain frowned in approval. "The brew master of Double Laurel has always been good friends with the Couslands. In fact, Double Laurel is the only kind of whisky they keep in their cellars as it's named after their family crest. Is your wife from Highever?"

He smiled. "No."

"I will eat my boot if you say she's Orlesian. Only a proper Ferelden woman would know good scotch."

Cullen hid his face to laugh quietly. "For ease of conversation, let's just say she's Avvar." Loghain eyes grew wide at him, then flicked to his flaming sword vambraces, then away awkwardly. "It's a long story."

Loghain shook his head softly with a smile. "You've got some bravery in you, Commander. I'll give you that."

Cullen chuckled as he wondered how brave he would be if he told the story of how his wife was a dragon slayer from foreign lands. The beauty he saw not twenty minutes ago.

He lowered his brows. Beauty? Maker, he must be drunk. Cullen took a sip of his scotch and tried not to moan at the complex flavors.

"Kids?"

"No." He stated with a slight horror only to chuckle. "How do I put this, Uh" he bit his lip to come up with an explanation without revealing too much. "I'd love to, someday. But with everything right now-"

"Now's not the time." Loghain assisted.

"Yes."

He nodded slowly as he looked at the cup. "I highly recommend. Parenting, that is. It's" he paused. Looking to the ceiling. "It's a worthwhile endeavor. To watch them go from helpless babes to terrorizing kids to fully autonomous adults. You blink and you miss it." His voice was distant as he spoke. Cullen watched as this grizzled warden general closed his eyes as if in memory. "I can still hear her at times. The way she would call me papa as I tucked her into bed. I can hear her childhood laughter in the winds." Loghain took a breath and turned his face to his cup.

Cullen watched as a single brow twitched in pain. "She was a good queen." He offered softly.

Loghain nodded slowly. "That she was. Born for the position, or so she would tell you." He gave a sigh and took a drink. "She had an endurance. Like none I had ever seen before. She endured Cailan for so long. I half expected Alistair, King Alistair, to rule like his brother. I am pleasantly surprised by how well he's learned from her. With her."

Cullen sat in the silence of the man. Everyone he's known as either died or turned against him. He was alone in a land he tried to save. "Gus an coinnich sinn a-rithist" he stated with a lifted cup. The older language of Fereldan before the dwarven trade tongue was spoken.

Loghain looked at him with a smirk. He lifted his cup to him. "Gus an coinnich sinn a-rithist." He lifted his cup higher to the ceiling for his fallen family, friends, and comrades. They both took a drink. "You know," Loghain smirked, "if Anora was alive, I fear she and Lady Josephine would become fast friends. Or frightening enemies." He chuckled. "The world would never stood a chance." Loghain met Cullens gaze. "If she ever needs a job, I hear my cousin needs some help."

Cullen lowered a brow. "You've met Lady Josephine?"

"For about ten minutes. Woman's remarkable. Even if she is Antivan. Glad to see Sister Liliana has grown up since the last time I saw her. Absolutely frightening. No doubt still blames me for the hero's death. Rightly so."

Cullen drew his brows. He took a breath. He had almost forgotten the man was a traitor in his own time. That the entire collapse of Fereldan would have been his fault. And he's sharing a drink with him. Taking his advice. He withdrew from the King, sowed the seeds of rebellion for Uldred, started a civil war, and watched as Sam sacrificed herself to end the blight. That entire year of chaos was his fault and the country is still recovering from it.

"Did you forget who you were speaking to, Commander?" His tone flat.

Cullen kept his eyes on his cup, swirling the scotch absently. "I did." He admitted quietly. Cullen met his gaze with a hardened look. "Can I ask a question?"

Loghain sighed then siped. "No, I don't feel regret for letting Cailan die in Ostagar nor for retreating."

"Why did Sam, the hero, let you live?"

The old man looked at him with weary eyes. He turned his cup as if the check the consistency of the drink. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. I assumed she let me live after the Lands Meet because she needed a general and the Ferelden Wardens were lacking. But then she force pushed me back from the final blow." His eyes were distant as he spoke. "I think she wanted me to find atonement. To lead the wardens after her demise. Only to have the First Warden move me to Orlais. Fate has an ironic sense of humor, it seems." He took a drink and sighed. "Poetic justice, I believe is the phrase."

Cullen tightened his jaw as he looked at the man who he could blame for his nightmares. For his torture. "What did you say to Uldred in Ostagar that would convince him to come to your side?"

Loghain held his gaze in silence. The older man took a deep breath. "Funny thing about atonement, you never know when it's going to rear its head. Again." His eyes flicked to Cullen's vambraces then his eyes. "If it's any consolation, I forgot who I was speaking to as well. Uldred." He said as if to jog a memory. "I humored him in Ostagar. He was a mage, without a Templar, who wondered into a meeting. He thought it would be best for mages to engage in the combat rather than light the signal fire at the Tower of Ishal. I had a mind to agree. He started to speak of mage freedoms. I humored him. But I started to listen. The tower pays no taxes to the kingdom, the 'military' they provide is primarily healers. The enchantments they sell, the taxes are gathered to the Chantry, not the kingdom. The contracts for their food and wellbeing are sent to Orlais for payment leaving shop keeps and farmers eight months without pay. Rightfully, the tower is a waste of resources in the kingdom. A ruminant of the occupation that we couldn't touch. Under the Nevvarran accords, we are required to have one. If mages were given freedom from the chantry, the circle could, theoretically, fall under the king's rule. Fereldan taxes would pay for keep and well-being of the mages and, in turn, Fereldan would have access to the greatest weapon in the lands."

"Weaponizing the mages is illegal," Cullen stated defiantly. It's why the circles were nonpolitical.

"Be that as it may, the mages were useful during the blight in Denerim. Although casting fireballs in the market did more damage than it should have."

Cullen shook his head at Loghain's short sight. "Weaponization would only be adventitious until another nation did it as well. Both mages and Templars are non-political for that reason. It creates unnecessary collateral damage."

"Yes." Loghain nodded. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "When I was with the Wardens, I fought alongside mages. Their power has changed the battles for us." The man took a breath and relented. "But your right. It was an effort that should only be used in desperation. Desperation the Wardens are using now. Knowing what Uldred did after the fact, in my name," he sighed again. "It was never my intent."

Hate pooled in Collen's stomach like a coiled snake. Was he supposed to forgive simply because slaughter wasn't the intention? "I watched my friends, my brothers," he spat the venom at the man, "get butchered and possessed when the tower fell. All because Uldred believes your lies."

Loghain gave a scoff. "Go on, get it out of your system. If you're going to punch me, can I at least stand first?"

Cullen felt his nose curl at the man's smug retort. Disgust filled him as he looked at the old man. Ten years. Ten years of sleepless nights. Ten years of anxiety attacks. Ten years of feeling those demon's claws in his back. Losing his post because of his distrust. Watching mages turn to blood in Kirkwall. Believing Meredith because of Uldred. Ten years of torture will follow him for the rest of his life. His blood was boiling as he looked down at the old man. "Why?" He asked with clenched teeth. "Why did you lie to him?"

Loghain shot back the rest of his drink and placed the cup on the table. He stood slowly, checking his weapon. "Because it was necessary at the time."

Cullen dropped his eyes to his cup. That was the same excuse he had given Uthreida. He now understood her look of disgust at him. Her look of betrayal. Her distrust.

"Take what you've learned today. Knowledge is wasted if not used. And knowledge, no matter the source, can be used for good." He took a deep breath. "It doesn't get any easier, Commander. I would suggest you find solace for your commands through religion rather than drink." He adjusted a glove as he spoke. "Your wife won't understand the necessities required for command." He took a heavy breath. "I hope your commands come easier for you, Commander Cullen."

Cullen let the old man leave in silence. He sat back in his chair and drank. His mind blank again as he let the fear and hatred fill him.

He felt nothing as he sat in the silence of his office. No longer tasting the notes of the whiskey.

His mind was taken back to when Uthreida had discovered his past. You are their demon.

Letting the surreal realization hit him that he just drank with a version of his future self. A man weighed down by his decisions due to the fear that the Orlesians were attacking again. How long until Cullen saw blood mages in every corner? Until he used tactic and strategy as an excuse for poor decisions and behavior. He started to make connections in his life to Loghain. Seeing the civil war like he did with the Templar mage rebellion. Saw the rising of the blight like Corypheus. Selling innocent elves into slavery like how he made tranquil. Turned traitor as he turned from the Templar order.

Maker, that's his future. The humbling blue.

His eyes turned to his desk. The blue.

He was weighed down. Tired. He needed a clear focus to keep going. He needed to do the right things. He needed-

He found himself looking at the closed lyrium box. Smelling the pine of the promise within. He closed his eyes and swallowed. A taste would calm his beating heart. A single drop would calm his mind.

He slammed the drawer closed. "Blessed are the peacekeepers. The champions of then just. Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter. For those who stand, receive the crown of life for the Maker has promised to those who love him."

His hands fisted on the desktop. "I am stronger than my chains." He affirmed to himself. "For the Maker walks beside us. ForiIn the Makers light there is no darkness." He stood straighter, feeling the weight of his armor against his shoulders. Cullen rolled his eyes to the ceiling of the wood panels. "Maker, grant me the serenity to-" he clenched his jaw, to what? Let go? Cullen bowed his head. "Maker, I'm lost." He said silently. "I know you have a path, but I can't see it." His eyes turned to the door Loghain exited. "Is that the road I should not take, or the one I am destined to?" He swallowed back his fear. "I want to do right by you, by the people. I wish to be worthy of your love once more. I want to wash my sins, but keep the scars to remember them so not to be tempted again. Please maker," he closed his eyes as he looked up again. "Guide me."

His eyes opened to the bottle on the table across the room. If that was a sign, it was a horrible one.

Cullen sighed as he crossed the room to put the bottle up. His eyes caught his notes from his conversation. Even if he was a traitor, his insight on running an army was one he needed. He lifted the parchment to read the notes. Cullen looked at the north door, then sighed. Information is wasted if not used. And this was the closest he had to running a decent army. He took a breath and got to work.