She is leaving the armory after some much-needed repairs and is just passing the training grounds when she spots him. His back is to her, the sun glinting off his golden hair and armor. From here he looks like a hero from a story of old.
Darling, you're in one of those stories.
That thought gives her pause and she adjusts the staff on her back to lean against a fence post. A recruit has missed a key point in his sword training and Cullen is waving him aside to call Barris over to demonstrate. The resulting clang of metal against metal rings loudly in her ears, making her wince. The seasoned templars are unbelievably fast despite their pounds of armor and heavy weaponry.
And Cullen is quite a sight to behold, especially when he slips past his opponent's defenses to slam an armored elbow to the back of his head, sending the man stumbling forward. He manages to right himself and turn but the Commander is already there, sword raised. There is a series of quick clashes until Ser Barris's sword goes flying to skid to a stop at Evelyn's feet.
Cullen's eyes meet hers and she catches a small wince before he is all Commander again.
"Inquisitor," he greets and sets the tip of the sword in the grass before him, both his hands resting loosely against the pommel. "Is there something you need?"
"No, just observing."
He frowns slightly at that before giving her a curt nod to return to his duties.
His efficiency with a blade should give her pause, but it doesn't. He is good at this, she thinks, watching him move among the soldiers, correcting their movements, showing them the proper grip, and how to maneuver a shield.
The memory of a large hand at her throat, pinning her against a broad chest flashes up in her mind, bringing with it a flush of awareness as her eyes are drawn to his hands.
Why did I enjoy that?
She glances at some of the other men in the area, her eyes falling back to Ser Barris. He is a fairly attractive fellow and has so far seemed the decent sort, treating her and any other mage with respect.
But she immediately feels the old panic well up in her chest when she thinks about his hand at her throat instead of Cullen's and she recoils, taking quick steps back to put space between herself and the training grounds. Feeling her face flush out of embarrassment for such a visceral reaction, she turns and walks away.
Maker, what does that mean?
She is crossing the garden when she spots Cole studying the flowers in quiet repose. The not-boy makes her uneasy but she senses no malice and whatever he may be, he is one of her people now.
"Hello, Cole. How are you?"
His blank eyes stare forward. "He dreams of violet fire and blue chains but it's the skin that burns. What he wants so different from what he deserves, but she lets him near. He doesn't know why. And like a flower to the sun, he follows." White lids flutter and he looks up from his cross-legged position on the bench. "You're too bright. Like counting birds against the sun. And the mark makes you more. All the hopes you carry, fears you fight. The weight of it all on you. It must be very hard. I hope I help."
Evelyn manages a strained smile. "Thank you, Cole. You do. Mind if I join you?"
He says nothing more and she sits with him, watching the clouds pass overhead as she ponders her thoughts and Cole's words. She hopes to sort it out before she returns from the Storm Coast.
She does not return with good news from the Wardens. She does, however, return with-
"A Ben-Hassrath agent and his band of mercenaries?" asks Cullen, incredulous.
"In addition to being a very able fighter, the Iron Bull can get us information from Ben-Hassrath-" begins Evelyn defensively before deflating, "but he said he is to pass on what he can of the Breach to his people. "
Leliana frowns. "Not a very clandestine spy, then."
"No, but we need allies."
"Though allying with the Quanari is likely to alienate any fledgling Chantry support," says Josie with a frown.
Evelyn scoffs, "That was shot the moment I fell out the Fade."
Josie waves her hand crisply in the air once as if to say 'moving on', and pulls out a scroll to set on the table, flowery Orlesian script flowing over the page. "In other news, we have verified credence to the plot to assassinate Empress Celene and both warring factions have reached out. Thwarting or supporting the attempt could gain us the military backing of the victor, assuming we choose correctly, of course."
"How do we decide?"
"There is a summit in Halamshiral, under the cover of a masquerade ball. We have been invited to attend. I'm sure the Emperess and Gaspard de Chalons will make their respective arguments at that time."
Drawing back from the war table, Evelyn frowns. "A ball? With Orlais royalty? I've been locked in a circle for the past fifteen years. This will be a disaster."
"You're a noble," counters Josie, "I'm sure you training will come back to you. Regardless, a few refreshers would not be amis."
Huffing out a disgruntled breath, she nods her consent. They need the Orlesian army. "Fine. Anything else?"
Cullen clears his throat. "Yes, Inquisitor. We have a new arrival at Skyhold..."
When Evelyn meets Marian Hawke, several descriptors come to mind (powerful, beautiful, terrifying) but the one that screams out to her is 'feral'. The woman has a wild, snapping energy about her that pulls as much as it repels.
"Come, Inquisitor," says the Apostate, "Varric says you have grown much more comfortable in a fight but still stay too far back."
Evelyn blinks and starts after the woman who is already marching across the open training grounds. "But... that's where a mage is supposed to be in battle. It's a sound strategy."
The smirk Hawke tosses over her shoulder is practically predatory. "The people who told you that are the ones with the swords and shields."
Evelyn frowns. "Well, there is one thing I've been working on. Enchanter Vivienne has-"
"Great. Show me while we spar."
"What?"
Hawke leads her out the bridge to Skyhold into a small flat plain beyond. "This will do."
A flurry of distant hoofbeats has Hawke grinning over Evelyn's shoulder.
"Oh, an audience!" she says, waggling her eyebrows.
Leliana and Cullen are in the front of the small grouping moving briskly in their direction, the spymaster with her bow strapped to her back and the Commander with his hand tightly gripping the reins of his horse.
"What is the meaning of this?" snaps Leliana as she dismounts.
"Ah, yes, Sister, good of you to join us." She turns to look up at Cullen and grins. "Hello, Curly. Varric tells me your Herald needs some training up."
"She has Knight Enchanter Vivienne and Captaine Helaine for combat training," replies the Commander. "Forgive me Hawke, but you are not exactly a bastion of restraint. This is unwise."
"Is Corypheus's army not made up almost entirely of red templars and abominations?" asks the mage, throwing her arms wide. "Those things are practically my specialty if you recall. Seriously, name another mage better equipped with practical experience to teach her. You can't. Because it's me, love."
Evelyn watches alarmed as the Commander's ears actually turn pink.
"She has a point," concedes Leliana, "I should try to reach Solona again. So few mages have extensive combat experience. Her input could be invaluable."
"Until then, though... what do you say, Inquisitor?" smirks the Apostate in an obvious challenge.
Commander Cullen is pinching the bridge of his nose as if he has just been assaulted by the worst headache. "For the record, I am against this."
"I won't break her, Curly. She can handle it."
The face each across the field, the tattered pieces of cloth on Hawke's wicked-looking staff fluttering in the breeze. Cloaking herself in a barrier, it barely solidifies when Hawke sends a barrage her way, a series of lightening wisps that Evelyn dissolves with her own but the ground rattles as the apostate slams her weapon down and the rocks beneath her feet rocket upward.
But Evelyn has engaged her fade cloak, and while weak due to her lack of mastery, it manages to stay long enough for her to avoid the blast before resuming a solid-state. Lightning crackles from the end of her staff, searing the air before it hisses against Hawke's barrier, dissolving it. Her satisfied grin is gone almost as quickly as it started because the Apostate is spinning her staff, a flurry of magic sending Eveyln stumbling back to counter.
She's barely got her footing when a wall of flame rises up to rush in her direction, and Evenly throws up a barrier of ice in desperation. There is a hiss of steam and she is blinded, stepping back from the heat. A heavy shadow breaks the fog and she moves on instinct, rolling just in time to avoid the downward swing of Hawke's staff, her own being knocked from her hand in the process.
Hawke is an absolute menace with that thing and Evelyn can only scramble backward, twisting and turning to avoid her blows. Then there is a misstep and one clips her shoulder, the pain from the strike and the burn of flame melding into one as she falls to the ground. A glance tells her the head of the staff has already moved on, its momentum going up over Hawke's head in preparation to swing it down.
Evelyn pulls the empty hilt at her side and conjures her spirit blade, the bright yellow beam hissing into existence in time to catch the incoming attack.
The apostate's eyes widen and she smiles over their interlocked weapons, looking positively delighted.
Evelyn, on the other hand, is positively pissed and, using some dirty moves learned courtesy of Sera, slams her foot into the outer corner of the other woman's knee while pushing her staff to the side with the crossguards on her hilt. It's not much but it allows her enough breathing room to get back to her feet and renew her barrier just in time for Hawke to resume her advance.
Sparks of yellow and blue drip around them as they connect again and again and Evelyn is just starting to feel her confidence return when the back of Hawke's staff dips suddenly low, catching her at the back of her feet. The world upends as she is thrown to her back, knocking the wind from her lungs while her spirit blade sputters and dies.
And then Marian Hawke stands over her, her short black hair ruffling in the breeze. "I can work with this.," she says appreciatively and extends her hand down to pull Evelyn to her feet. "Again?"
Evelyn nods, still too winded for words, and retrieves her staff, pointedly avoiding the Commander's thunderous scowl.
They continue for hours until Evelyn's exhaustion is so profound, she is unable to block a simple fireball spell Hawke had meant only as misdirection. In the resulting distraction, she is not braced for the full swing of Hawke's staff to her gut, the force of which drops her to her knees.
"Enough!" shouts someone in the distance, "Maker take it, this is done."
Through her sputtering gasps where she braces her palms against the scorched grass, she sees Solas, Cullen, and Leliana run-up to her, the mage's hand already glowing with healing light.
"Here, drink this," says Leliana, kneeling at her side to press a vial of Lyrium to her lips. Evelyn pulls a face at the smell but she's turned herself inside out by using up so much magic, so she drinks it anyway while others yell in the background.
"What...did...restraint!?"
"Fine. Red... won't be..."
"You sho..."
"It's... for her!"
Her hearing returns as she drains the contents of the bottle, but the heated conversation is over, and she lowers it in time to see Varric pushing a sneering Hawke away from Cullen who looks like he is about to follow them. Despite the hostility, neither has their weapons drawn.
"Commander!" shouts Solas, "Help us get her to a horse. Her mana reserves are dangerously low and she needs to rest."
"No, really, I can wal-"
But then he is lifting her and the world is spinning. She slams her eyes shut and presses her cheek to the cool, cold metal of his cuirass, his steps feeling far more jarring than they actually are.
"Here," she eventually hears Leliana's soft lilt somewhere above her, "Pass her up to me."
There is a pause followed by a light scoff. "I am capable of keeping her from falling off the horse for the short distance to the Hold. The stairs to her quarters, however, are all yours, Commander."