Cullen knew the children were there well before he saw them, mostly because of the way Finley's body language changed. She'd been relaxing in a chair beside him, leaning so that their shoulders touched as he went over a report with her, when rather abruptly she was rigid as a board, her breath escaping her in a slow, soft hiss.
And then she was leaning back in her seat a little too casually, one arm slung across the back of it so that she was angled so that most of her was nearer to Cullen than anywhere else in the room.
While he'd thought it was templars the first few times this had happened, he'd always been baffled to look up and see that it was little ones entering the room or hall or…wherever, rather than men with swords.
Not that he felt she should be terrified of templars when they worked for her, but…it seemed a more reasonable fear than children.
"We did what you said!" One of the children, a little boy Cullen had seen around before though he couldn't say where. He could feel magic curling in the child, though, so he guessed he'd likely seen him around the other mages.
There was magic in all of them, actually.
Finley appraised them with an expression that was hard to read—Cullen guessed she was going for casual, though it was far too stiff to be that—and then motioned toward them, the movement a bit too abrupt and snappy. "Where is it you are supposed to be right now?"
"I told you she'd be mad," one of the little ones in the back whispered.
At that, Finley flinched a little. Taking in a breath, she tried again. "I am not mad. It is just that I know you are very likely supposed to be elsewhere, and I wonder what will happen when the people looking after you find you missing." She hesitated before adding, "I don't doubt they will be displeased with you being places you are not supposed to be."
"Commander Rutherford said I could come here if it was important," one of them piped up. "And this is really important." Cullen's gaze snapped toward the child, and he tried to remember when he would have said that. While it was true that if someone found something important—an assassination plot, stolen goods, etc.—that he would want them to come see him, regardless of who they were or how old, but he didn't remember talking to this little mage.
"You will not be in trouble for being here?" Finley clarified.
A chorus of 'no's answered her, cheerful and sweet. Finley shifted around in her chair a little grumpily, and then motioned to them. "Well then, what is it I've said that you've done?"
Taking that as an invitation, one of the other children—Maker, but they were their own little herd, with at least seven of them crowding into the doorway leading to the rotunda from Cullen's office—darted forward and presented what looked like a flower crown made of leaves. The reds and oranges and yellows were quite lovely, all things considered.
Shifting a little closer to Cullen as the child drew nearer, Finley eyed her. "You didn't pick those off the trees, I hope? I have said—"
"If you pick them, they die," that chorus of little voices responded.
Cullen was fairly certain that Finley stopped breathing for a moment. He leaned against his hand so that he could cover his mouth and keep from laughing, though quickly shifted back toward her when she looked back at him like he was abandoning her. A few of the children paused to eye him, but their attention quickly refocused on Finley when they decided he wasn't interesting.
The young girl marched up to their dear Inquisitor and presented her with the crown. "We made it for you."
There was a tentative silence before Finley slowly reached out and took the crown from the child, holding it up with care, her gaze constantly flickering from the crown to its presenter. After what could have been an eternity, Finley held it back out to the child. "It is very well made."
"You gotta wear it," one of the other children demanded from near the door.
Finley's fingers drummed very lightly against the base of the leaf crown. As Cullen inspected it more carefully, he realized that the stems were long enough to have been woven together the way he'd expected. There were faint traces of magic on the leaves.
"I was lectured just this morning by Ambassador Montilyet. She is not fond of me having leaves in my hair," Finley murmured. However, she had taken to inspecting the leaves with more care. "This is very lovely, though." Again she held it out to the child.
The one who had first spoken rocked on his feet, looking desperately like he was trying not to fidget. "But you said, 'The only crown I'll ever wear, is a circlet of leaves strewn through my hair."
It took a great deal of self-control for Cullen to keep from asking if she'd really rhymed what she'd told them.
"'Twas a joke," Finley protested, again holding the crown out to the nearest child. "The only people who wear leaf crowns are witches and fairies."
The pride that had been on their faces earlier was falling away by inches. The one who'd given her the crown shifted her feet, distraught. "But that's what you said. We heard you."
Even as Cullen tried to think of a gentle persuasion to get either Finley to try on the crown to appease the children, or get the children to understand that they were very busy, Finley's gaze wandered the lot of them, seeming to debate something quite visibly in her head.
Finally, Finley held herself a little taller for a second before sighing and setting the gift onto her head. A cheer swept through the children, a few of the smaller ones jumping up and down. The closest one hugged her before spinning away, oblivious to the way Finley went rigid again as she was touched.
Finley seemed stunned a moment before finally muttering, loud enough for them to hear, "Thank you for the leaf crown."
Even as they turned to go, they were all looking back again and shouting 'you're welcome's before hurrying back across the way to the library where they were no doubt supposed to be studying.
As soon as the last of them had closed the door, Finley reached up to take off the crown. Cullen eyed her as she debated what to do with the crown before carefully setting it away from her, on the corner of his desk. "I think you made their day."
"Yes, well," Finley started, shifting in her seat so that she wasn't so close to him. "'Twas a harmless request. No reason to break their hearts. There will be plenty of things to do that later."
At that, Cullen carefully rose from his chair and reached out to retrieve the crown before settling back in his seat, inspecting it. It really was magic that had gotten the leaves to stick together. Such a simple use for the arcane… "Such cynicism for a leaf crown."
With a scowl, Finley picked up one of the reports on Cullen's desk and busied herself with reading it by herself. After a few minutes, she let her gaze wander back to meet his. "You know damned well how horrible this world can be. Might as well let them be happy for a little while."
"You know that's probably why you're their hero, and why they seek you out," Cullen offered, watching her as she went back to the report, curling her legs up in her seat so that she was so compact. He didn't think it was out of fear or anything now, but she had been so nervous when the children had shown up…
"It's not my fault they made poor life choices."
"I think they're pretty smart to have you as a hero, myself." Cullen set the crown down on the desk again and leaned over to read over her shoulder. Almost instantly she slouched against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He thought about telling her that she was his hero, too, but didn't know how well that would be received. Instead, he slipped an arm around her as best he could with the damned chairs making it hard to be too close—part of why they used two when they were working in the office—and rested his head against hers. "So then, as I was saying. We're going to need to reroute supplies from…."
She seemed to calm down, just listening to his voice, and he couldn't bring himself to mind when he had to repeat himself a few times.
A week later, he came back from inspections in the valley to find two leaf crowns sitting on his desk, with a small note.
Sorry we forgot you last time.