"I do not recall asking if you were busy." Cassandra called into Cullen's command tent. She ducked her head inside and shot him a pointed glare.

Cullen rolled his eyes. He knew that he had already lost the fight. There wasn't any point in dragging it out from here, it would only delay the inevitable. He grumbled a few complaints as he withdrew from the desk and made his way out of the tent to see the Seeker. He stretched, trying to shake out the ache of too many hours hunched over the desk. "What's this now?" Cullen asked, tone dour and expression no more enthusiastic.

"Come, we have been invited to the tavern." Cassandra said, taking off in that direction now that she saw him successfully out from behind the desk.

"Wait, why?" Cullen called after her, vaguely alarmed as he jogged to catch up. "By whom?"

Cassandra let out a short laugh. "You sound like Leliana, so skeptical. Warden Blackwall has invited some of us to come gather at the tavern." She led them up the steps into Haven and proceeded towards the Singing Maiden.

Cullen didn't reply, but his expression didn't lighten. He didn't typically mingle in Haven after dark, and very rarely had been into the tavern. The idea of a gathering seemed... Uncomfortable. He did not like to be in social situations where he was expected to maintain a positive, outgoing affect. It was exhausting. Not the way he'd choose to relax, given the time to do so. Maybe some chess, or a book. Those would be better. As he followed alongside Cassandra, though, he reminded himself that it wasn't worth the fight to try getting away now.

Before they rounded the corner to approach the open door of the tavern, Cassandra offered a weary smile in his direction. "You do not have to stay until last call, but I have heard the bard is doing some sort of performance. It should be… Nice." He couldn't help but return her companiable smile. It was so disarming when Cassandra was trying to be friendly.

He did enjoy music. Perhaps this outing would be better than another night of solitude, even if he did have to submit himself to a crowd.

And a crowd it was. Cassandra led him to a table where Warden Blackwall and Varric already sat with Leliana. They had been playing cards at some point, but they didn't seem engaged in the game now. They were rather engaged in some (undoubtedly raunchy) story that Varric shared.

When Cassandra and Cullen joined the others, there were warm greetings and Varric redoubled his enthusiasm as he finished the story, earning Leliana's uproarious laughter and Blackwall dropping and shaking his head with a low chortle.

The room was a blur of light, smells, and sounds. It was too many things to focus on at once. Cullen found himself withdrawing from the group, just trying to retain some amount of focus and calm inside his own head. He made a bargain with himself for how long he could submit himself to the torture of the hot, crowded room.

The next hour passed in a blur, as Cullen functioned only as much as he was expected to engage and spent the rest of his time laughing or groaning in the appropriate parts of conversation.

The ambient noise of the tavern seemed to die down all at once, like a silent shroud had fallen over them. Cullen snapped up, eyes searching intensely for the source of the disruption. His heart hammered in his ears, suddenly alert and scanning for threats.

It did not take long to identify the source of the disruption- there was a new guest to the tavern. The guest wore the mask of a white fennec, and their hair was wrapped in some sort of Orlesian turban. She wore a very simple but flattering dress. She also wore fingerless gloves that seemed to contrast with the formal outfit, but when he saw the fiddle she carried it made a bit more sense. Gloves would have been impossible.

He watched as she made her way across the room to the hearth where Bard Maryden stood. She seemed to move stiffly, across the room. Was she nervous? She seemed ready to flee at any moment, checking anxiously around the room with her instrument clutched tightly to her chest. She was shorter than the Orlesian bard, and stooped into a careful, low curtsy when she reached her. Flissa approached with a crate, set it beside the bard and offered a tentative smile to the new arrival.

Cullen did not relax yet. Surely everyone was thinking how exciting and mysterious this was, but he was intent on how dangerous it could be. His jaw stayed clenched tight as he tried to examine the guest for any identifying details. He turned with a start when someone touched his arm.

Leliana had reached across the table to get his attention. She offered a gentle smile and a wink. It was enough to communicate her message- she knew who this was, she knew it was safe. He could stop formulating plans to subdue the potential assassin. Reluctantly, he nodded and let out his held breath.

His eyes returned to the newcomer and saw that she had steadied herself. Her posture was poised and seemed more centered. Calm. She brought her instrument up to rest under her chin. The fiddle was nothing fancy from what he could see, in fact it seemed quite plain in contrast to the rest of her intriguing appearance. The Orlesian bard with the sitar spoke clearly to the captive audience.

"The Masked Muse has joined us and brought her gift of song! I will be singing with her the song that she has prepared for us. Please join me in welcoming her to our humble tavern, and we hope you enjoy."

The silence in the room seemed heavier somehow, Cullen could almost feel it pulling at him. Drawing him in. Just when he thought he could no longer bear it, the fiddle player took a shaky breath and drew her bow. The notes felt so… direct. It was like hearing someone speak your name and snapping to attention. It was melodic and beautiful. It felt like the start of a journey. He felt moved, he wanted to go to her side…Then Maryden began to sing:

I feel sun

Through the ashes in the sky.

Where's the one

Who'll guide us into the night?

What's begun

Is the war that will force this divide…

What's to come

Is fire and the end of time.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as a chill shot down his spine. It was a very unnerving feeling to be hearing a song that could easily become part of history. Not just that, it was very clearly about the present day. The very things they were experiencing right now would be recorded for future generations to study, and this song might be passed on for years to come. It seemed profound. He listened closer, trying to process each line and consider it carefully.

I am the one

Who can recount what we've lost.

I am the one

Who will live on.

In his state of intently focusing on the song, trying to dedicate it to memory, he was caught off guard by the sudden images of the Herald of Andraste that flooded his mind's eye. Without question, she was the subject of the ballad. Seyna Lavellan, bright eyes and long white braid. With her jokes and laughter. Features that reminded him of mischievous fey, especially when she grinned and flashed those eyes at him.

Just the thought of her caused his body to tense, his heart to migrate to his throat and accelerate. He swore he could feel the pull of her, her magnetic power beckoning to him. And he wanted to go to her… He knew that he should not, and that she would not welcome him anyway. He was nothing to her, could never be anything to her. He focused on the movements of the fiddler, trying in vain to push away the images of Seyna's intense gaze and the effect it had on him.

I have run

Through the fields of pain and sighs.

I have fought

To see the other side.

Yes, undoubtedly, she was the subject of this song. How fitting that here in Haven they would begin to spread songs of the Herald's journey. He tried to push away the vivid thoughts of her again, focusing on the fiddler as her body ebbed and flowed with the emotion of the melody. She didn't just play the instrument, it seemed to play her as well. Every draw of the bow across the strings brought her chest to rise, and her shoulders to pull back. She felt the music in every fiber of her being. It was hypnotizing to watch the music flow through her and fill the room.

I am the one

Who can recount what we've lost.

I am the one

Who will live on.