Tomorrow would finally be the day that the Inquisition would assemble with its recruited mages and the Herald to try to close the Breach. Everyone's nerves were a bit on edge with the pending challenge ahead, which of course meant the tavern in Haven was as full as it had ever been.

Cullen was squeezed into a corner, surrounded by the people he was coming to recognize as his friends. Leliana and Josephine laughed a bit too loudly over their goblets across the table, Varric next to them. Dorian was seated next to Cullen, arguing passionately with Varric over something that almost certainly did not warrant it. The Commander was certainly distracted, his mind cycling through each of the steps of tomorrow's plan, and the contingencies should something go wrong. It was easier to do this than try to be present in this room with its crowd, and its many sights, smells, sounds…

The Tevinter mage to his left bumped shoulders with him, startling him back into the present moment. "You know, I've heard that too much thinking will straighten out your hair. And that would certainly be a shame." He pushed a drink in front of Cullen, who begrudgingly took it and rolled his eyes. "There we go, that's a bit better. Next, try to look a little bit less like a grumpy statue of yourself." This prompted a small chuckle from Cullen, despite his attempt to scowl.

Leliana leaned around Josephine to address Varric and the others. "You know, I have heard a rumor that the Muse will be debuting a new song tonight…" Eyebrows shot up around the table.

"Oh, sod off it, Nightingale. If you 'heard a rumor' then you've already had the information cross-checked and vetted. So… she'll really be back again?" Varric said in reply. Leliana rolled her eyes but shrugged innocently and sat back.

Cullen's stomach turned over. He didn't know the Muse was returning tonight, that was a welcome surprise. The way that she played had always stirred Cullen's emotions. It was so personal and expressive. There were times he was sure he felt her pain through her bowings. Her past few songs had been topical, but not as personal as her debut.

He had been growing curious about the identity of the Muse as time carried on. Whoever she was, she did always tend to write songs from the perspective of the Herald. The Herald who spent a generous amount of time writing in her journals and observing everything around her... She was Cullen's running theory, and everyone loved to argue over who it could be. He kept his idea to himself, though. He didn't want to insult or embarrass the Herald if she did hear that he thought it had been her. Things were difficult enough between them already.

Well, difficult in the way that he couldn't seem to string his words together properly whenever she gave him a certain look. Or when she teased him, or when she laughed.

The night carried on and the crowd grew steadily more closely packed and restless as they awaited the rumored appearance of the Muse. The door to the tavern had been thrown wide, and the crowd huddled around the door out there, as well.

All at once, a wave of quiet came over the crowd. This was a familiar turn of events. Cullen's body tensed with anticipation. Bodies shuffled apart, letting the fennec-masked musician reach Maryden. The musicians held each other's gaze for a moment, then nodded. The Muse stepped up onto the crate that had once again been brought over, and Cullen had to remind himself to breathe.

The room grew quieter still, and the first notes reached his ears. They were melancholy, but also intense. It drew him in like a spell.

Find me still searching

For someone to lead me.

He found himself smiling into the mug he drew to his mouth. Already his suspicion the song would be from the Herald seemed likely.

Can you guide me,

To the revolt inside me?

Around the table, the party craned their necks to see Maryden as she sang and the fiddler as she played. Her voice was so pleading, but it was nothing to the fiddle's woeful harmony. The song posed an interesting question… What internal revolt had the Herald been struggling with?

Promise

Surviving

The Breach

Cullen felt his insides twist around the feeling of despair that came over him. He had suspected for a while now that the Herald feared she would not survive the next day. He thought she was afraid they were leading her to certain death. And who of them could reassure her? Who of them could guarantee her safety? The despair that gripped him left him feeling powerless. In his bones, he knew he wanted to promise he could keep her safe. He wanted to promise her the world. And he also knew that he could not promise those things.

Promise

Surviving

The Breach

In the sky

He couldn't promise she would survive, but he could promise that he would do everything in his power to help her. To protect her. He would be there by her side. They would survive together or perish together, and on the other side of the Breach they would stand to face the next threat. A fierce sense of loyalty and admiration brought his inner turmoil back to a low roar. Of course, he supported her as their Herald, their leader. This had nothing to do with misplaced personal feelings.

The song continued, as the fiddler urged them into the next verse with an intense fervor and passion.

Templar

Igniting

Fire inside me

Wait, what? Oh, sweet Maker's breath.

Well, that certainly couldn't mean what he thought he heard it to mean at first. Besides, it wasn't even necessarily about the Herald, right? Even if it was, that could mean anything.

Glancing around the table Cullen realized that all of them were eying him with raised brows. Varric gave him an exaggerated wink and a nod. What did they think that had meant?

Again, he reassured himself that the line could certainly mean anything. Songs and poems were rarely what they appeared to be at face value. He pretended not to notice their questioning stares and focused on the performance with a nervous cough.

For the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to dream. What if Lavellan was the muse, and she had written that about a passion she held for him? The idea was so tempting, so dangerous. He could not let fantasy distract him from harsh reality. Actionable, actual reality.

Maker

Remind me

Gone are the days

Of our peace

And Maker, wasn't that the truth? He did find himself at times forgetting that they were on the cusp of a war. There were times he had been distracted from that fact by how engaging the present had become when in the company of… The Inquisition.

Now we reside

In the great divide

No promise

Surviving

The Breach

In the sky.