CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was early Tuesday morning and Cullen knocked on the door to Fennec's room. "Fennec?"

"Come in, Commander. She's almost ready."

That's Myra's voice. He opened the door, confused. The foster mother was braiding her daughter's hair. Fennec was already dressed for the day, wearing a plaidweave tunic and cotton trousers.

"Inquisitor," Cullen stammered. "I thought you had already left for the Western Approach."

"Plans change." The elf finished her braid and wrapped it in a stiff bun at the back of the Fennec's head. Something seemed flat about her expressions when she talked. "There, that should keep it out of your way for your training."

"Cullen, look! My hair matches Myra's!" she cried, running to the Commander. He scooped her up and took a better look at the Inquisitor's handiwork.

He chuckled. The buns were different, but it was the sentiment that mattered. "You're right. It's a bun, just like hers."

Fennec grinned. "Myra says she'll take me to class today. You'll come too, right?"

"I, erm, don't think that will be necess—"

"I'd welcome your company," Myra said. She grabbed the fur coat she'd made for Fennec along with the small satchel the child kept her school supplies in. "You almost forgot these, darling." She kissed her cheek. Cullen blushed at her proximity.

"I…suppose since I was going to anyways…"

And so he began his walk with the Inquisitor to the Chantry, taking "their" daughter to class.

"Are you her mother?" One of the newer pilgrims greeted them.

"Yes," Myra answered. She reached out her hand to pull Fennec closer, only for the child to run out of her grasp to tackle one of her friends.

"She's got a warrior's spirit. I can certainly tell she's his child, but your hair…" The mother pilgrim touched her hair. Myra shirked. "I can tell she's your daughter by your hair," the pilgrim said.

The pilgrim looked at Myra as if seeing her for the first time. "I'm afraid I've never seen you before."

"I'm out a lot, I'm afraid," Myra said.

"I'm so glad your husband takes such good care of her."

"Husband?" Cullen flushed. "N-no, I'm not her husband!"

"Oh, you two aren't married?" the pilgrim asked.

"No, we're—" Cullen began.

"Don't worry, about it darling, I have a sister like that. You'll have no judgement coming from me."

The pilgrim waved goodbye to the two, leaving them positively dumbfounded.

"I-I…" Myra stammered.

Cullen fluffed up his coat, trying to hide his blush. "I…"

They were silent for a few moments. Oh Maker, what do I do? I have to tell her how I feel. But she wasn't his to claim anymore. Solas…

Cullen had never particularly cared for the elven wander, but they at least seemed to have a mutual respect for each other. She's a beautiful woman, if Solas treats her right, who am I to—

"That was weird," Myra stammered.

"Yes," Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Very strange…"

They said their goodbyes to Fennec and Cullen got a very thorough scolding from her instructor Monsieur Bordeaux before they left the gardens and returned to the throne room.

"That was, uh…" Myra moved out of the way for a servant. "Very weird."

"You're telling me." Cullen looked over at Myra. The same flat expression had returned to her features, and Cullen could see the dark circles under her eyes that her tattoos only helped to hide. "You look exhausted."

"I've been sleeping less than usual." Myra said, stepping away.

"Might I ask why?"

Myra kept his back to her, but he could see her shoulders fall. "I…It might be best not to speak of it." She folded her arms.

"Inquisitor…" Cullen touched her shoulder. "If you need to talk…"

She shirked his hand off and said nothing.

Cullen sighed. "You don't look well, and I'm worried. Have you eaten?"

"No, I wasn't hungry."

"We can't afford to have our Inquisitor skipping meals." Cullen started walking to the kitchen, motioning for Myra to follow. "Come on, food might help."

She was slow, but eventually, she did start to follow behind the Commander.

He led her down to the kitchen. As she drew closer to him, he realized she reeked of smoke. He said nothing, not wanting to pry. Cullen grabbed some sausages and flapjacks whereas Myra went for oatmeal. She stirred her spoon in her bowl distractedly as they found a spot to sit outside. Blackwall waved to Myra from the stables, but she didn't notice him, still staring glumly into her oatmeal. Blackwall dropped his hand and nodded to Commander Cullen before returning to whittle away at some wood.

Cullen felt rather self-conscious digging into his meal. Myra eventually began to eat, which relieved him. He was right in suggesting she eat; the food seemed to help her mood.

"I'm sorry," she said as the dark cloud lifted off of her.

"Don't be," Cullen said. "Whatever happened must have shaken you."

"It did." Myra set her bowl of oatmeal down after finishing. "I…encountered my deceased husband in the Fade yesterday."

Cullen's eyes widened. "What?"

"It was a Despair Demon. It's been trailing me since he died."

This new information made Cullen's head spin. "You were married?"

"Bonded, the Dalish call it." Myra twisted her betrothal ring. "Suffice it to say I am bonded no more."

"I'm…so sorry to hear—"

"It has been six years, yet sometimes I still reach for his side of the bed, only to find it cold…" Myra nodded slowly. "That is why I'm grateful for Solas. He sees that, and doesn't blame me for it. 'It is hard to let go of what is lost,' he told me. He is wise, and he keeps the other side of the bed warm."

Cullen's heart cracked a little with each word, but he still managed to fake a smile for her. "You seem happy with him."

"I am," Myra said.

"I'm glad," Cullen said. "What did you do when you encountered the demon?"

"I forced myself to wake up." Myra hugged her knees. "I have not slept because I know it will tempt me down dark roads I do not wish to follow."

"Then don't follow them," Cullen turned towards her, passion overcoming him. "Inquisitor, you are stronger than you believe. I can hardly believe you would ever fall prey to a demon."

"My despair is great, it trails me everywhere I go."

"Then vanquish it," Cullen said. "I know you have it in you."

Myra chuckled a bit and smirked at him. "Commander, I never knew you thought so highly of me."

Cullen flushed and reeled back. "Everyone does."

Myra laughed a bit. "Thank you for the talk, Commander. I appreciate your support."

Cullen stood up after her. "Yes, well, you'll be picking up Fennec after school?"

"I will."

"Then, perhaps I'll see you for Fennec's training?" Cullen tried.

"Yes, perhaps you will," Myra said, smiling coyly.

She left him by the kitchen. Cullen stared dumbly after her.

Myra stood on her balcony, overlooking the moonlit Frostbacks. Earlier that day, she'd returned from the Western Approach and learned the fate of the Grey Wardens.

"Mages bound to Corypheus's will…" She shuddered, remembering the blood magic rituals the Warden mages had cast, their ungifted comrades used as sacrifices for a demon army.

"Vhenan," a familiar voice said.

Myra turned to see Solas step beside her. He draped the fur blankets of Myra's bed around his shoulders. As a chill wind blew, he drew them closer.

"The hour is late," Solas said.

Myra puffed smoke from her pipe. "Ir abelas, vhenan. Did the smell awaken you?"

"No, the smell does not bother me; your side of the bed was cold."

Myra frowned and looked away, staring from her balcony into the starry horizon. Her mind wandered in dark places. She took another drag from her pipe and exhaled a plume of smoke.

It was Darrell's pipe she used, and she held it in the same hand she wore Trewyn's betrothal ring. All these mementos she kept of the ones she lost…

"How is Fennec?" Solas asked.

"She was sleeping soundly by the time I finished her bedtime story."

"The story tonight took longer than usual," Solas said.

"She's asking for a different story now."

"Which story?"

"She enjoys hearing of Asha'bellenar, oddly enough. Perhaps the thought of justice to those who have wronged her comforts her."

"Perhaps…"

They stood in silence for a few moments, Myra taking long drags from her pipe. She occasionally puffed out perfect smoke o's, the same way Darrell used to. She wondered what had become of him now, learning what she had about the fate of the Grey Wardens. Would he be lucky enough to escape the clutches of The Calling? Stroud had sensed something awry, after all, and had become a renegade to discover the source of the mysterious beckoning to the Deep Roads. But with Darrell's affinity to self-sacrifice for the greater good, would he be so quick to shun his proclaimed duty: to forfeit his life to supposedly vanquish the archdemon? Her mind spun with questions with no answers in sight.

"Your spirit leaks with sorrow, vhenan," Solas said.

"Ir abelas," she replied.

"Din'dirthera ma abelas," he said quickly. "I merely wish to dress the wound, da'len."

Myra said nothing. The bowl neared its end and she knew she would have to pack another.

"You need not fear me, vhenan," he said. "I am without malice towards you. In fact, I am quite fond of you."

Myra sighed at herself. "You'd think I'd stop blushing by now."

"I hope you never do," Solas twirled a loose strand of her long black hair in his finger. Her hand reached for the spindleweed, then twitched and stopped. It remained inches from it for long moments, and Myra could feel the tears sting her eyes. She looked down at her pipe and clutched it in her hands. Darrell, his name engraved on the side, painstakingly and precisely carved by herself, so she'd always remember. Darrell…

The tears flowed slowly at first. One trickle, then two. Then she clutched the pipe tightly in her hand. Pivoting on her heel, she returned to her quarters, Solas following. Before, she'd only allowed the Keeper to see her weakness, and despite their current relationship, she remained unsure if showing the scars of her heart would benefit her.

"I'm… scared." She admitted that, but nothing more.

"We've seen very troubling events recently." Solas shook his head. "I cannot believe the foolishness of the Grey Wardens."

"We'll stop them," Myra said. She looked down at the engraved pipe still clenched in her hand. "Their actions sicken me."

"Then we are in agreement," Solas brushed his hands along her arm, fingertips trailing in the darkness until they found her hands. He grabbed her pipe and placed it on the desk. "Come, vhenan, we should rest."

Myra shook her head. "Fear Demons will prey upon me. I'd best stay awake."

Solas pulled her to the bed gently. "I will protect you."

Myra could not resist him. She allowed him to guide her to bed and pull her into his arms. She curled into his chest and found as she laid in bed, that she was indeed exhausted. As the stimulation of the spindleweed wore off, she found herself slipping into slumber.

And when she arrived in the Fade, she found Spirits of Hope had already cleared out any trace of the demons that might have preyed upon her, and Solas watched over them, merely waiting for her.