Cullen made it his mission over the next few days to go into Cumberland and gauge the mood of the city. He'd spent time walking through the streets and alleys - always with a shadow guard, he noticed, either his own men or the prince's - but he'd mostly been using his battlefield eyes. They found weak points, positions of strength, where the population would gather in an invasion. He'd given up trying to see any new place as anything but a potential war site long ago, and at this point he categorized his memories by assault positions. Lothering Palace, well-fortified against standard sieges, but vulnerable to swarming. Antiva City, too many boltholes for in-city fighting, and its water location difficult to starve out, but ideal for sabotage from within. Cumberland, fighters on every corner, but open and clean so mounted warfare would be an easy business.
So he was well-versed in the city's layout, but less so with its people. Beyond the overheard mutterings as he passed taverns, and one trip to the market where he'd, to his own irritation, purchased something for Cassandra, he'd interacted with very few outside of the palace. But if Dmitri was correct that the Mortalitasi were changing the power structure of the country, those with the least power always felt the pain first. And if Dmitri was lying to manipulate Cassandra into staying, well, that would be even better to know.
The trouble was, he wasn't certain where to begin. His looks marked him as a foreigner, but Cumberland was a port city so he at least could pretend to be no one special without much question. But how did you talk to people without talking about war? He wandered through public squares and parks, looking for any kind of opening.
His chance finally came when he found a group of people playing chess under an open rotunda, with tables already inset with the familiar grid. Cullen grinned. Business and pleasure.
While the players had some good-natured ribbing for the slow intellect of Fereldans, Cullen acquitted himself fairly well. There were a few peerless players, including a man who made his own moves so quickly that it seemed impossible he was strategizing at all until he was smiling in victory, but most were around his own skill level. Namely, they knew enough to win, but not enough to make anyone else afraid.
Cullen had settled on a persona of a hired sword for a merchant ship, and it surprised him how quickly the Nevarrans opened up to him. Cassandra was so private as to be blank slate, at least outside of the minutes she was commanding the world into the shape she desired, and Dmitri was the same problem in the opposite direction - a man of so many faces that none of them seemed true. But they were royalty and had grown up in danger. Nevarra was a prosperous country, as far as that went, and they'd never seen the Blight and hadn't fought a war with anyone but themselves in a century. The citizenry grumbled a little about the things all people grumbled about, but they had no fear of strangers. Cullen had always thought Nevarrans stayed in their country because they hated the rest of the world. It was a bit of a shock to learn that they did it because they were too content to leave.
However, they did talk about their own deaths more than any group of people he'd ever met that wasn't under siege. Each member seemed to know in exacting detail the funeral wishes of the others, and Cullen listened in fascination as they discussed incense and colors and seating orders of their relatives and friends in the stalls. The last seemed to be much debated, and clearly represented some kind of approval code that was more complicated than any of the Nightingale's ciphers.
When they asked about his own plans, he didn't have the heart to tell them he'd always just hoped he'd be recognizable after he fell to whatever enemy was faster than he could be. Instead he used it as an opportunity to steer the conversation. "In Ferelden, we're not encouraged to discuss these things," he said, ignoring all of the times his mother had emphasized who was to get her silver tea service after she was gone. "We don't have people like the Mortalitasi to keep us focused on our transition to the next world."
Thank you for the lesson, Dmitri, Cullen thought as the people around him nodded in appreciation. But one man, the fast player, frowned. "If that's all they're doing," he said.
"Oh no, the conspiracy theories again," said the woman next to him, and much of the group laughed.
Cullen raised his eyebrows in question, which led to an intense and illuminating argument. Some, the skeptical man included, insisted that the Mortalitasi were demanding more and more deference and gifts for performing the death rites. The full service had always been reserved for the nobility, as no one wanted to go to the highest plane of the Veil without the opportunity to reach those heights in the next exchange of spirits, but even they were having trouble receiving their due. The rest said the mages were only being paid fairly for their services, and a man who wasn't prepared to pay for his death showed a lack of consideration for his own soul.
As they debated, he pulled the original man aside, a swarthy giant who probably did belong on a ship, and asked him if what he'd said was true. "Oh yes," he said. "My aunt in Nevarra City was called to the mausoleum she'd selected to be told she'd lose her place unless she repaid her fee. The greed hasn't reached here yet, but it's coming. The Mortalitasi live like kings and the kings will live like paupers. Mark my words."
"Surely Grand Prince Dmitri will never allow that in Cumberland," said Cullen.
The man spit on the ground. "He's a fine ruler, as rulers go, but no one stands against the death mages," he said. He leaned in to speak in low tones. "I've heard that they killed his brothers. It wasn't the Pentaghasts, like was said. But don't go repeating that. If they hear it on your lips, the Mortalitasi take you underground and kill you where your spirit can't find the Veil. Might not mind you, foreigner as you are, but no Nevarran deserves that."
He shuddered. "To be trapped here, alone, with no body to return to and no other plane to roam. It's a terrible fate. The prince won't risk it. He's bound for something better."
"Then what can be done to stop them, if what you say is true?"
"When the king is released from his pain, the new ruler will put a stop to it. Kings are divine. Their souls are untouchable. And that won't be long now, from what they say," he said. He raised a speculative eyebrow. "Could be a Queen, maybe. I heard there's one around. Pentaghast. Inquisition leader. You ever met up with the Inquisition?"
Cullen coughed. "A couple of times."
"They ride on dragons into battle, you know. And the leader, she's the spirit of Andraste finally reborn. When she looks at a man, she reads all his sins with a glance," said the man. Cullen smiled wryly. Maybe the man was just a dreamer.
"That would be a lot of reading in your case," said a woman from the group, which had finished their argument and was packing up. "Sorry you had to listen to us all yammer on."
"Not at all, I enjoyed it," said Cullen. "I've never been to Nevarra before."
"Well then, I hope you come back, sailor," she said, winking. Cullen blushed, which made her laugh.
"I'm sure he will," said a cultured voice behind them, and Cullen turned to see Dmitri in rough clothes, arms crossed and watching. Besides his voice, there was little royal about him. "Can I interest you in a drink, my friend?"
Dmitri seemed to be a regular in a nearby tavern, though his name in the place was Max. They greeted him eagerly but allowed him to take Cullen into a private, partitioned area without question and left them with a large bottle and a smile.
"They don't know who you are?" asked Cullen quietly once they were alone.
The prince shrugged. "Why should they? My face is not so distinctive, and it's seen only at a distance by most. Perhaps some suspect, but my people are loyal."
"For now. If the threat is real, there might be money in the knowledge that Cumberland's ruler is in the city alone and unprotected. Loyalty can be bought."
"It is real," said Dmitri. "Surely your wanderings have shown you."
Cullen drummed his fingers on the table and took a drink. "They showed me rumors," he said. He leveled his gaze at the other man. "Did they really kill your family?"
Dmitri stiffened and looked away. "There's no proof. But yes," he said.
"How do you know?"
"From the very best information. Cassandra told me."
"What would Cassandra know about it?" asked Cullen warily.
Dmitri sighed and toyed with his glass. "When I was fourteen, two months before Anthony died, my brothers went out riding. To work their horses, they said, but it was really to meet two women in an outlying village who'd expressed an interest in a more intimate relationship. They were at the perfect age to believe without consideration, and on the road they were slaughtered." He said it matter-of-factly, like a man discussing an event so far in history that even the bards couldn't remember it, but his face belied his tone.
"I'm sorry," said Cullen.
"As was I," said Dmitri. "I named the women, which I'd learned from my usual pastime of spying on my siblings, and under questioning they claimed they'd been paid by the Pentaghasts to lure them to their deaths." He looked down at his hands, clenched into fists. "Cassandra and Anthony were visiting, and my parents wanted them executed. I helped them both escape into their uncle's care."
Cullen stared at him. "Why? If you thought they'd killed your own brothers?"
"They were never the accused. They were children," he said sharply. "My parents were grief-stricken and desired retaliation. They would have regretted their actions. But not more than I, because I loved Cassandra with all of my heart. I wished to marry her, as I'm sure you overheard."
Cullen reddened and mumbled acknowledgment. The prince smiled in a way that didn't meet his eyes. "That was obviously put to rest in the eyes of everyone, save myself, after the events. And while I don't regret the lives I saved, I did not understand what I was doing when I delivered them to Vestalus. Cassandra knew perhaps slightly more, but she always kept her own counsel very well, and she, too, saw there was no choice for them both."
High and bright laughter floated around the partition, and both men winced at the invasion. Nevarra was a place of joy, but there was no joy in this. Dmitri continued his story after a brief pause. "Anthony died. Cassandra's suspicions of Vestalus were complete, and she bolted for the Seekers. I still believed her family responsible, even if she was not, and when she ran to the Seekers instead of to me…" He laughed wryly. "I don't know what I expected. I was still a child myself. But it was hard to let go of a world where I was not her place of safety. Where she would be with me every minute. I'd wanted it so deeply."
"I understand," said Cullen, then cleared his throat to rid himself of the emotion trapped inside it.
"I imagine you do. Better than you know, do I imagine," said Dmitri. "She'd run to the Seekers to escape, but also because they did seek the truth, and Cassandra burned for that more than anything. After she was joined to them, she used their resources to find out what she could. Vestalus's betrayal of Anthony, her own parents, and also of my brothers - all of it came to light. The Mortalitasi would rise, and he had cleared the path."
Dmitri's fingers gripped his tankard hard enough to be white. "She came to me several years ago, back into Nevarra. I knew she'd traveled here before, always in secret, but she'd never sought me out, and I was too slow to catch her when I tried. Those visits had awakened hard suspicions with me. I thought she must have been guilty after all, and perhaps was working against my family on behalf of the Pentaghasts once more."
Cullen's eyes widened. "You believed that of her?"
"No. But that was easier than admitting she didn't care," said Dmitri. "But she did, just in her own way. When she finally found me, she brought no weapons and simply begged to speak. I let her, because I could do nothing else, and she laid all she had learned in front of me. I wanted to doubt, but she left me no option." He smiled. "Cassandra is not easily denied, though she does not own that fact."
Dmitri's eyes ranged across the past. "I wish you could have seen her, Cullen. She was magnificent in her bearing, a glory a man rarely sees. I wasn't equal to her. When she was finished, I was lost once more. I asked her again to marry me. To stay with me always," he said. He came back to the present and focused on Cullen's face. "She told me she was going to re-form the Inquisition, that mages would be controlled once more. That she would finally have the power to set things to rights here as well. She said she wished to choose the sword over the marriage bed for her justice.
"But she's a terrible liar, as I'm sure you know, and it didn't take much to learn the deeper truth. There was a man. One she'd met in Kirkwall, and one she wouldn't leave."
Cullen's heart squeezed painfully, happily, but Dmitri's face was a dangerous blank and he didn't dare show it. The prince had never seemed less affected in his manner. He'd never seemed more true. "It took little effort to discover who you were. It took even less to know that you didn't love her and never had," he said. "I wonder if you have any conception of how much I hated you. A man who had everything I wanted and appreciated none of it. But still she chose the hope of you over the reality of me."
Silence. Cullen didn't know what to say. An apology was churlish and false, but to be grateful was no better At least Cullen's own jealousies had been of circumstance, not feeling. Not true feeling, at the least. There was no victory in causing pain. At last he settled on the truth. "I didn't appreciate it, not nearly soon enough."
Dmitri relaxed slightly. "No. And while I have endeavored to continue my hatred, it's difficult to ignore what she sees in you. The first night at the ball, when I saw you feared for her heart, I imagined I would charm her and make her mine. I'd hoped to injure you into rash action and show her how unworthy you are. You never broke. When you forced your invitation to Nevarra, I hoped again, and was again denied. Cassandra said you were honorable. She said you loved her more than the world itself. It seems she was right, and though I will not apologize to you for anything, I will admit at least that much."
Cullen let a little of his own anger slip, then. "But you asked her to marry you anyway," he said.
"I did," said Dmitri. "I re-offered her the path that isn't the sword. She only pretended interest in marriage to gain access to the country for her delayed justice, but there need be no pretension. I admit I still hoped of her heart. But though I've set that aside, the path still remains, and you could walk it with her."
"If you're suggesting that I stay here as some kind of consort while she marries you, that's out of the question," said Cullen. And it was. His very soul rebelled against it.
The prince sighed. "You would be comfortable. You would be with her. She would be doing good in the world."
"Would you ask her to bear children for you?" asked Cullen. Only silence, and that was answer enough.
"All of those benefits were true where we already were," Cullen said. He stood and finished his drink. "Cassandra will choose what she will, for her own reasons, but if she chooses this, there's no place for me in it. Don't use me as a lure to make your offer more attractive."
He strode through the tavern and into the streets, trying desperately to hide how afraid he was. Please, Solas, he thought. Find a way to save Ellana. And me.
He should have known Dmitri wasn't finished.
By the time he made it back to the palace, with a few false turns along the way, the prince was already in the training courtyard. Cassandra was with him. Most of the other fighters had stopped to watch them. Even in the equality of the yard, some were still more equal than others.
Cullen circled lightly around the crowd, trying to stay out of their sightlines. They were sparring as Nevarrans did, which meant with sticks and little else. Dmitri's chest gleamed with sweat, and Cassandra wore a sleeveless tunic that clung to her powerful figure. He fought to keep his mouth from watering, and he focused his attention on their weapons and their techniques. They were warriors, not people, and his arousal had no place here.
After awhile, it became easier to only watch the fight. Dmitri was stronger, but Cassandra was fast, and she danced out of the way of his attacks more than once. The prince growled frequently in frustration, and Cassandra used each moment of irritation to score a blow he wasn't expecting.
Eventually the prince's power and training won out, and he shoved her backwards with force. He hooked the stick around her legs, dumping her on her back. Cassandra cried out, in shock instead of pain, and the group around them gasped and then applauded as she stood. Dmitri asked her something, and she shook her head. They bowed formally, and Cullen held his breath, waiting for one or both to signal their willingness to extend the exertions into the annex. The prince was clearly focused on her, a hungry and desperate look underneath the regal face. And Cassandra was edgy, dancing from foot to foot in a way that was all-too familiar.
He supposed he had only himself to blame. He'd hardly been subtle in his own frustration over the last few days.
But neither gave the gesture he feared, and Cullen relaxed. Briefly. Until Dmitri's voice called out, "Commander Rutherford! Perhaps you would show us your own skill?"
The crowd parted to allow him through, but Cullen only glared at the prince. "My skill is far beneath yours, Grand Prince."
"Oh, not with me. I am in no shape to continue. But Princess Cassandra told me how much she's missed sparring with you," he said.
Cullen folded his arms. "I'm even farther beneath her skill."
Cassandra smiled then, and Cullen couldn't help himself from meeting her eyes. She wanted to fight him. She had energy to work off and frustrations to burn. Her uncle was still there, Solas was still at work, and they were waiting, waiting for something to happen. And Cullen couldn't deny her anything that she truly wanted. Not when it cost so little to give.
"Very well," he said, walking forward. Dmitri offered him his weapon, but he waved it away. "Armor, Princess. If we fight, we fight as the Inquisition."
Dmitri smiled and turned away, and Cullen and Cassandra both selected practice gear and weapons. When he walked behind her to fasten her breastplate, he whispered, "Don't go easy on me."
She laughed and returned the favor with practiced fingers. "But it is unkind to embarrass a guest."
He growled at her playfully, and she answered with her own smirk. When they settled into the ring, facing each other with swords and shields as they'd done so many times, it was like being home. Even in the battle blankness that settled over her features, he saw buried happiness. He didn't even try to hide his smile.
Dmitri gave the signal, and they battled. After so many weeks alternating between the new sticks and his usual weapons with unfamiliar opponents, it was a relief to finally let go and be in a moment he understood. He took advantage of her exhaustion from the earlier bout and struck early, judging correctly that she'd take some time to adjust back to the weight of the armor. She fell away but was still quick enough to doge, and most of his blows glanced harmlessly off her shield. After several assaults he stepped back carefully, circling.
She went on the offensive, then, despite her heavy breathing, and he noticed with amusement she went after his left side. She always was trying to teach him lessons, even when she was supposed to be winning. He let her, protecting it even more than usual, allowing a weakness to become more weak and the exasperation to show in her eyes until he broke away unexpectedly and struck savagely across her side. He took care to hit her armor, and not any joins in it. The crowd around them shouted and groaned, depending on the leanings of the bettors.
"One for you," she said, panting, and they both stepped back to start again. He couldn't resist a triumphant smile, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. His grin only widened, and he cocked his head and beckoned her with the index finger of his sword hand.
Cassandra moved, water in the air, but with a decided thump of her shield that didn't feel at all liquid. Cullen staggered and ducked as she pivoted to follow, and he lost his balance briefly. Before he could recover, she'd snaked her sword under his guard to score a hit of her own.
"One for me." There was laughter in her voice, and he shrugged at the answering laughter around them.
They continued awhile longer, dodging and feinting, making the crowd around them gasp with their speed. Only when the sweat was dripping into his eyes and her own steps were that hairsbreadth slower that said she was losing focus did he hold up his hand to end their match. She'd ended up in points, as usual, and he likely could have scored off of her exhaustion, but their bouts weren't meant to be competitive in that way. Not to the end of endurance.
Usually she would have agreed easily - Cassandra trusted him to find her limits, as she never admitted to having any at all - and she did stop, but there was anger in her lines. He echoed it inside himself. Just because their bodies couldn't handle more didn't mean that their minds were finished with their frustration, but he wouldn't endanger either of them to satisfy it.
She stepped back and dropped her sword, ready to bow to end their sparring, and Cullen saw Dmitri looking at him intently. A message on his face, something Cullen was supposed to understand, and he didn't at all.
Until he did. The thought burst across his mind like a firework, terrible and bright and forbidden. But once it lived it wouldn't die, and Cullen wasn't strong enough to resist.
"Wait," he said, voice cracking from dehydration. She raised her eyebrow in question, and he tried to keep his voice light. "Now that we're exhausted, I want to try the sticks. We'll only bruise each other, at least."
Cassandra nodded slow agreement and turned back to the crowd, where Dmitri handed her a weapon and a flask of water. Cullen grabbed the same from a helpful bystander with a grunt of thanks. He removed his armor quickly with shaking fingers, then closed his eyes and breathed as he stripped his own shirt off once again.
When he turned around, Cassandra was staring at him with wide eyes. Cullen didn't smile at her, not even an inch, and his gaze never wavered from her until her own wandered down his form. He followed it, and he finally did smile when he reached the line of his breeches. He'd never tightened his belt, and they were riding as low as they ever had. Low enough to reveal an expanse of hard muscle and the light trail of his hair before it vanished. Low enough that he knew exactly what she was seeing with her mind's eye.
And it was just what he wanted her to see. He took another swallow of water and handed it behind him without looking. The crowd murmured, and he heard them, but the sound was muted and distant. There was only Cassandra, and her dark, darkening, darkest eyes that burned across his flesh. She shrugged out of her armor as well, and her sweat-dampened shirt clung to her even more tightly than it already had. He stepped forward with his weapon in guard position, but he wasn't looking at the set of her feet when she did the same.
"Fight me," he whispered, and she obliged.
It wasn't much of a match from a skill perspective, he imagined, but the strength of his arms fended off most of her blows. Her speed was more easily diminished with tiredness than his strength, of course, but she also wasn't trying. Well, not trying to win. She was trying to force him into close combat, to make him use his body against her while she watched hungrily. And after ten minutes of brutal, agonizing, tempting moves, she finally hooked his legs and felled him, dropping him directly on his back.
His arousal had returned long ago, pounding through his veins and his heart while she slid around him. When she stood over him in grave triumph, he begged her with his eyes, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. Cullen rolled to his feet and faced her, bowing the polite distance as the vanquished opponent. He'd barely straightened when her hand was moving beautifully, as complicated of a dance with her fingers as they'd just performed with their feet. He answered quickly and before the crowd could settle another bet, she dragged him away to the mythical double doors that held their prize.