A/N: Thank you to 0wallie0 on tumblr for beta reading, and to everyone who reads!
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Cullen massaged his temples slowly as he sat in their command tent. Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra were with him.
As usual, Finley had led the way toward the keep that Solas swore would be visible in the next day or so. Dorian had joined her with her two favorite rogues, and it had been amusing to watch their occasional outbursts happen in the distance. There had been three snowball fights, and twice all four of them had disappeared after falling into the snow. Once Dorian had even conjured a ridiculous amount of fire.
They had not been overly appreciative of the ice slick that had formed in its wake. Somehow, it had fallen to Cullen to corner the mage and demand he not be so reckless, for the sake of those following. Dorian had seemed quite indignant, but he'd promised to take more care with his spells in the future.
However, the day had been almost lighthearted.
That was, until Finley had come to them and quietly explained that her name was not actually her name.
Or rather she'd accidentally told them all.
Cassandra and Cullen had been heading into the tent to discuss some of the successes regarding a few hunts that had brought in a decent pull that would keep them going at least a little longer with Josephine and Leliana. As Cullen had opened the tent flap and held it up or Cassandra to pass in ahead of him, he'd heard Finley's voice and had been pleasantly surprised, drawn in by the soft cadence she used.
Even as he'd considered that it would be nice to be able to talk to her for a little while after they'd gone over everything—Maker willing they'd have time, of course—what she was saying had hit him.
Finley wasn't Finley.
She'd spoken as they came in, too late to change the subject or catch herself before she could tell all four of them. The look she'd given Cassandra and him…it had been one he was well acquainted with at this point, though it still stung when she sent it his way.
Had he not proved that she needn't fear him so?
What more did he need to do to show her that he wouldn't hurt her?
He enjoyed her company, and that she still seemed so frightened by his… It felt like it hurt more than it should. After all, someone had told the newcomer mages that he was the former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, and they also cast fearful glances his way when they weren't making a point of disappearing whenever he drew too close. Their fears were not without reason, but somehow it was different with Herald Finley.
He couldn't explain it.
"Who were you before Finley?" Cullen had asked, brow furrowed, that familiar exasperation making all his aches more pronounced. His head had hurt.
"I've never really had a proper name. I just went with whatever people felt like calling me at the time," she'd replied.
That had been all they'd been able to get out of her on the matter, and she'd eventually excused herself to go speak with Solas, who had come by to talk about their travel plans for the morrow. It was oddly convenient that he'd come during the night, instead of the morning as he usually did.
Not that Cullen could prove they'd somehow set that up as a way for her to get out of being questioned, of course.
Cassandra had thought she'd seen something—someone—with them as they'd walked off, but she couldn't quite remember. Cullen wasn't particularly thrilled with that. More and more, he was getting reports of a young man traveling with them, which in itself wouldn't have been much cause for concern—there were a lot of young men in the Inquisition. However, this was a young man who people could not quite remember by the time they'd finished their reports or mentions of him.
If they remembered him at all.
Cullen was fairly certain the young man wasn't one of the mages who'd come to assist them, for the reports of his presence had started well before the mages had shown up.
There was clearly magic involved, however, and seeing as it affected the mind, it was the kind most wanted to avoid. Cassandra had mentioned it to the Finley once, and the way she'd danced around the topic had all but confirmed that she knew something about it. They would need to try to talk with their Herald about not letting whoever he was stay near them, when they had more time, when they weren't in such a dire situation.
When they could remember to bring it up to her.
As it was, a disappearing boy slipped the mind with surprising ease.
And there were more immediate problems.
Supplies were running low. The cold was getting to everyone, even with the frost ward. The cold ate through what the mages cast, and the mages were quickly expending their magic to try to keep it going. People were grateful for the magic, but Cullen had a feeling that gratitude might turn to contempt if the mages spread themselves too thin and found themselves unable to keep the casting up.
People would say they were withholding it.
And with things as they were, they couldn't afford a riot.
While they were moving ahead, albeit slowly, the defeat at Haven still hung over everyone's heads, made worse with each passing day that they trudged through the snow and cold, seemingly lost.
"When I could find so little on her, I had assumed she had given a fake name," Leliana mused, finally breaking the silence that had settled over the four, and pulling the others from their thoughts. "It has made learning of her past somewhat of a pain. Thus far, I cannot find any stories of a mage matching her description within the Wilds. If I could locate where she's originally from, I can make sure there's nothing damning in her history."
"Or perhaps we should focus on making contact with whoever she stayed with in the Wilds? I hear the Avvar are more welcoming of magic. Perhaps she has a clan she lived with?" Josephine asked. When they all looked at her, she shrugged, "Mages come into their magic young. She could not have lived in the Wilds on her own."
"True," Leliana nodded, considering it. "To have been adopted by an Avvar clan does make the most sense." She sat back in her chair, crossing her legs and drumming her fingers against her knee. "I knew she was holding back about someone…some people. I had assumed other mages, but… Perhaps it was her clan? With the way relations can vary so drastically, this clan might not be on friendly terms with Ferelden or Orlais."
"Regardless of names, the mark on her hand is what makes her the Herald," Cassandra finally spoke up. She sounded exhausted. "Even if it was created by that creature, I still believe it was put there, on her, for a reason. Of all the people at the Conclave, and she was the one to interrupt this Corypheus' plot? Perhaps the Maker guided her steps."
The rest of them fell to silence. Cullen would like to believe that, though with everything that had happened, it was frightening. To think that a thousand-year-old magister could be the one who had destroyed the Conclave, to have killed the Divine.
How could they expect to fight against that?
And now their Herald wasn't even really…
Rising to his feet, he excused himself as quietly as he could. He was the commander. He'd lead the soldiers wherever the others decided, so long as it wasn't straight into the void. He wandered the camp until he found himself in front of Herald Finley's tent. The fact that they'd been able to grab as little as they had had been a miracle, but he'd made certain that she could have her own space.
Even if she hadn't bothered to give them a proper name…
Maker, but it made his mind reel. One moment it seemed like they were starting to understand one another, to be…friends—Maker help him. He had so few friends as it was. To be able to count her as one would be nice.
Yet how could they be, when he knew next to nothing about her at all?
Though, did it honestly matter so much? Names and pasts… It seemed her current actions spoke more to her character than not having a formal name. After all, she'd saved them. All of them.
She had, hadn't she? Regardless of whether she was chosen by the Maker's Bride or not.
Maker, if she really was just some simple apostate who'd stood her ground alone against such a monster…
"Herald?" he called out, just as a burst of laughter erupted from inside the tent. Sera, Finley, Varric and…Dorian? Lovely. He was fairly certain that the three of them had other places to sleep, though they'd made themselves at home with the Herald.
The tent flap opened and Varric blinked up at him. His expression was serious a moment before he grinned at Cullen, motioning him inside. "Curly, come on in. You could use a smile." As Cullen stooped into the tent to see the four of them were huddled near the center, blankets and the like wrapped around them and cards both in hand and spread out on someone's bed roll between them, Varric pointed to him, shuffling back over to take a seat. He and Dorian scooted to the side a bit to give Cullen room to sit with them. "You probably don't know so much, Sparkler, but Curly here has a long history of frowning. He needs to lighten up a bit." Varric looked back at Cullen, patting the ground beside him. "Want me to deal you in, next hand?"
Finley was shuffling her cards slowly, inspecting each one with great care before moving on to the next. Sera leaned toward her a little, gaze not quite focused on her hand. Finley's gaze never left her cards. "If you cheat, I'm telling."
With a scowl and an eye roll, Sera sat back.
"Come now, Commander," Dorian encouraged. "You've little to lose. We're not playing for money, as it seems our Finley hasn't any."
"I've no need for coin," Finley murmured, still inspecting her cards with that same care. "Tis the product of a world that needs to assign value to everything, when value cannot be so easily—"
"Yes, yes, you love trees and like to skip through meadows with wyvern, we know," Dorian patted her arm. He looked pointedly at Cullen. "Do say you'll join?"
Coughing into his hand, Cullen found himself taking a seat, despite himself. "What are you playing for, then?"
"Stories," Dorian said, eyes lighting up. "And there've been some good ones, so far."
"How's that work, then? Loser tells a story?" Cullen asked, eyeing the cards and then Finley.
"That's the look of a man with a plan," Varric snickered. "And yes. The loser has to tell a story, of the winner's choosing." He pointed to Sera and then to Dorian. "So if Sera wins, she can ask Dorian—"
"Why am I the loser in this scenario?" Dorian objected, feigning indignation.
"Someone has to be." With an eye roll, Varric resumed his explanation, "So if Sera wins, she can ask Dorian to tell a specific kind of story, like—"
"Like a dirty one," Sera chipped in, smirking. She cackled. "It's been fun, yeah? So only join if you can lighten up a little."
Cullen had noticed that Sera didn't seem particularly fond of him, especially after the red templar had first hurt Herald Finley. He'd found burrs in his socks twice while he was at Haven, put against the cloth to form little frowning faces, so that he couldn't mistake them for an accident. There had been other little things, as well. He'd come back to his room one night to find his bed had been remade—or just turned—so that the pillows were where he usually had his feet. Another time, he'd come into the war room to find the war table had a different leg wobbling instead of the original one he'd been struggling to fix for weeks.
Little things that had no clear perpetrator. Yet whenever he'd find one of these things, within five minutes, he'd see Sera watching him, eyes narrowed.
And Leliana had said she knew Sera was responsible for one or two of the…pranks.
If he were more 'fun', he'd probably try to get her back. However, there was too much to do.
In the end, he'd just dragged Finley to the side and asked her to have a word or two with Sera. That had been a few days before Sera had found them sleeping together.
The pranks had let up, though, Cullen wasn't sure if it was because of their talk or because of what Sera had seen. Or perhaps…
Perhaps he didn't know what went through that elf's head.
They'd actually gotten along decently until the retreat from Haven.
Her fury at leaving her friend behind had been…
He was half surprised she hadn't thrown anything at him yet. While they may have found Herald Finley, Sera had yet to forgive him for 'losing' her to begin with.
Cullen blinked when he realized the four were watching him and scratched at the back of his neck. "I don't suppose I could sit in and watch? I've never been one for cards."
"I don't mind." Finley shrugged. Her gaze darted from her cards to him and—as soon as she realized he'd caught her staring—back.
He wondered if this lot knew her secret, too.
"Prig's got to tell a story every once in a while, if he wants to stay," Sera objected. "Nothing's free."
"Oh, definitely," Varric grinned, finally playing a card. As Sera examined her own cards, he looked over at Cullen. "How about you go while we finish this hand? You can choose the type, but it has to be something light and fun." Varric's smile slipped as he shook his head, pausing to look around and see whose turn it was. "We've all had enough dreary for a while."
"More like forever," Sera muttered. Finley and Dorian nodded, most solemn.
Scratching his chin, Cullen considered the proposition before finally nodding. He'd come to talk to Finley, but that could wait an hour or so, surely.
And it did feel like it had been ages since he'd had something to smile about. "Alright. I think I have one. Back when I was training to be a templar, when I was around fifteen, I got into a fight with a fellow trainee over whether or not witches were real…"