Cullen stood on the battlements in the early dawn watching the distant caravan travel up the mountain pass. Fereldan, the scouts had told him, and he could almost feel the cold gaze of its sovereigns sweeping across the stone beneath his feet. He hadn't told them anything, but Darren almost certainly had, and Cullen hadn't made any moves to contain him. There'd been enough walls erected between the Inquisition and the rest of the world already. If Alistair and Elissa had trusted them earlier, or even him alone, there might not have needed to be a spy at all. Solas might have been reasoned with. There might have been another way to save Ellana.
No, secrets and divides had done enough damage. Leliana hadn't liked his laxity, but he made the final decisions now.
As the group made another turn, Cole walked softly up the steps and stood beside him. "Hello, Cole," he said. He nodded down to the wagons. "What are they thinking? Do you know?"
The spirit answered a different question. "She's quiet again."
Snow and cold and mountain air found the space to live inside him. He looked up at the balcony above them instinctively, daring Ellana to be there once again, watching them all and planning her new changes to all of their lives.
But of course she wasn't, and he tore his eyes away. "Maybe she's sleeping."
"No," said Cole. "I helped her. In the night the fears came, and I made her forget. Happy times only, and all of the faces that smiled for her. She wasn't a mistake. She was a gift. I told her, and she wasn't sad anymore. Lovely lanterns, leading to the light. And now Arlathan for them both, floating in the Fade."
Cullen gripped the stone in front of him with bruising force. "Did you help her in the end?"
The spirit looked guilty, and Cullen growled. "No," said Cole quickly. "Not her. But Solas. So much loneliness, crushing his soul against the rocks of the world."
So they were both gone, then. "How long?"
How long ago, is what he meant, but Cole found the real question. "How long does it take to step across a brook? How long to love? A moment. One breath. And the rest of time."
When Cullen reached the top of the winding stairs that had never seemed so steep, Leliana was waiting in wordless grief. They clasped hands like children in the oldest stories and stared at the bed where two figures lay entwined. Cole had been careful in his help, and both could have easily been asleep, if not for the pale stillness of their hands across each other. There was no more glowing anchor. The power was finally gone.
Cullen had seen death. Too much death to count, really, easy and hard and everywhere in between, but never a death with such peace inside it. And while this death was as ugly as any other, beauty lost inside the folds of anger that it ever had to be, he found a small seed of comfort that they'd had each other in the end. A lonely boy and a frightened girl, a little less alone and afraid for having each other.
"What do you think the Maker will say of them?" he asked.
"He will say that they are His," she said firmly.
He hoped so. A brief prayer rose on his lips, and Leliana joined him in her own quiet, accented voice.
"Cassandra was here," she added, when they were done.
He nodded at the message, but he didn't leave. "What will we do now?"
"Now we lay them to rest. In the Chantry garden, by the spreading tree, where she went at night when she couldn't find rest. Skyhold will be their marker," she said. Her eyes tightened. "And then the world will come to mourn a woman they never knew at all, and we will see what can be done."
He passed Varric and Sera on the way back down, making their own long pilgrimage to the silent quarters, though their grief made them invisible to one another. Cullen had only one destination, and he knew exactly where she would be.
Cassandra was impossible to miss in the yard. Her sword flashed and spun with terrifying speed around the dummy, a wild display that had the few other denizens of the early morning field picking targets well-away from her silver arcs. Cullen was in armor, but the decorative sort, the kind meant for meeting kings, so he circled carefully around in front of her and waited patiently for her to notice.
It took a long time.
At last she gasped exhaustion and met his eyes, and he brought her a flask of water from the nearest table. She had no breath to thank him, but it didn't matter. He took her sword and shield without a word and held them as she drank and stretched. She was sweat-drenched and trembling, her hair matted down and dripping across her mail-clad shoulders. Those dark eyes were wild, and she resembled nothing so much as a terrified horse finally run itself out. He kept his distance, waiting.
"It is safe," she said eventually, briefly touching the metal over her midsection.
"I trust you."
She looked back across the yard, up the stone steps into the unwitting Hall. "I have no more patience for this life. I am not made for sitting quietly. I wish to act," she said.
"I know."
"What can I do?"
"Nothing," he said softly. "She's gone."
"I didn't mean that. I want to fight. Send me somewhere, Inquisitor."
He caught her demanding gaze easily and returned it with a gentle look. "There are no more wars to be fought. Peace is a hard time to be the Commander."
She huffed a breath. "There is always a war. The Qunari. Venatori we haven't yet found. Bandit skirmishes in the Marches. I can fight them," she said.
Cullen said nothing, and Cassandra clenched her fists. "Grief without reprisal has no point," she said. "I refuse to give it a home. I refuse it categorically." But her face broke and wavered at the end, and he felt his own heart clench as she struggled back to angry blankness. It rested there, just for a minute, and then it was gone for good.
He dropped her weapons to give her his ungloved hands, cursing the armor that made true comfort impossible. But perhaps that was for the best, given the wild look still in her eyes. She squeezed them painfully, pressing the shape of her fingers into his skin, and he bit his lip against the bruises.
She noticed and loosened her grip. "I'm sorry."
"Me too," he said.
When she seemed under control again, he leaned down to retrieve her weapons, then handed them to her and drew his own sword. He stepped to the neighboring dummy and gave her an expectant look. She sighed and threw her shield behind the dummy as she turned to face it. Before he could begin his own swings she held up her free hand to stop him.
He obeyed, and she brought the hand down to her stomach once more. "Ellana," she said.
Cullen's throat tightened, but he nodded agreement. He moved back towards her and covered her hand with his own. "Anthony."
Her tears spilled over when she smiled, and this time she was the one to kiss him in the middle of the yard. Once she was satisfied, he took a long step back again. They fought beside each other, mindless but not lost, until a messenger came to tell him the rulers of Ferelden were waiting for an audience.
He'd expected a furious pair of rulers and possibly a spitting-mad witch. But he should have known Elissa would never be so obvious. When he strode into the Hall to meet their delegation, instead of drawn brows and formal manners, there were smiles and children.
And Rutherfords. He'd barely had time to register the unexpected youth in the room before Mia and Alice were flying at him with open arms. They hadn't spent enough time around soldiers to be wary, and Cullen saw Alistair run a hand over his mouth as they crashed into the metal of his armor. Cullen was more annoyed that the guards hadn't moved. "So you let people simply run at the Inquisitor, then?" he asked sharply. Had they protected Ellana this poorly the whole time? Under his watch?
"Sorry, sir," said the nearest one, saluting. "But I'd prefer to keep my breeches in place."
"They remember me!" said Alice with a broad grin.
Cullen sighed in resignation. "Find Darren, please. You know where he's likely to be. And knock this time, for all our sakes." He turned back to his sisters as a runner complied. "Why are you here?"
"A fine welcome," said Mia. She put her hands on her hips in her most mother-like way. "Their Highnesses wrote us that Darren was injured and offered to bring us along with them on their visit. Very gracious of them."
"Very gracious," he echoed in an even voice. Without ceremony, he turned to Elissa and Alistair. "And why are you here, Your Majesties?"
"Cullen, your manners!" hissed Mia. She obviously wanted to smack him, but his height and metal casing gave her few openings, thank the Maker.
Elissa smiled in tight amusement. "The family wanted a holiday," she said. She gestured sharply and her whispering children stopped immediately and arranged themselves in a line. "Ser Rutherford, may I present Crown Princess Eleanor, Prince Duncan and Princess Olivia."
All three greeted him with varying levels of gravity, and he tried his best to return it without rancor. "Your Highnesses," he said, bowing slightly.
"You're a knight?" asked Eleanor. "Have you fought a lot of men?"
Almost at the same moment, Duncan asked, "Is Leliana here?"
And rounding out the chorus, Olivia added, "Can I sit on that throne?"
Cullen blinked. "Yes," he said, looking at all of them in turn.
All three children exploded in whispers once more before Olivia ran to clamber on Skyhold's massive throne. The others followed, pushing each other out of the way and giggling, and Elissa jerked her head to Alistair. He sketched an exaggerated bow before joining his children. Within seconds all four were fighting a fierce competition to be Lord of the Throne.
The Queen ignored them and stepped closer. "We've also come for justice," she said in low tones.
Morrigan slid into view behind her, cold and dangerous, and Cullen tried not to shiver. "Justice has already been dispensed, by the Inquisitor herself. You and your family are welcome in Skyhold as friends, but don't expect our hospitality to extend farther."
"My man was injured, Commander," said Elissa. "I received no notice of any kind. Is this friendship?"
"It's Inquisitor, now," said Cullen with a snarl, fiercely pleased at the startled look in her eyes. So Darren hadn't told all that he could have. "Not enough spies to ferret that out?" He moved only a breath away from her, and he saw Alistair stand abruptly, no longer merry. "I don't appreciate my family being used as leverage against me, Your Majesty. Don't pretend you brought them for any reason but to remind me of your power over them."
He pitched his voice low enough that only Elissa and Morrigan could hear, though no one would miss the violence in his lines. The tension in the Hall was ratcheting up to unbearable levels, and he wondered vaguely if he'd just started a war. The anger churning inside him was out of control, completely off the leash, and all he could see were the still figures still laying above him. The world had gotten its Blighted justice already. How dare she threaten innocents to get more? He would burn them if he had to.
Then Cassandra stepped into the frame of the door, and his vision swiftly changed to her shielding a child as Ferelden marched.
His purpose collapsed under the image. What was he doing?
To his surprise Elissa stepped back and essayed a small curtsy. "My apologies, Inquisitor. I didn't mean to imply a threat. I thought Darren would appreciate his family near him," she said. She looked at him meaningfully. "I brought my own family as a promise of their safety."
So he hadn't been wrong about the message, but he'd read the wrong one. Cullen sighed and tried to get himself under control. "I'm the one who should apologize. I had no right."
"The Inquisitor has all rights," said Elissa, and his stomach twisted under the weight of that truth.
Alistair hadn't sat back down, but he looked less likely to attack someone as he moved back to his wife's side. Morrigan was clearly frustrated, water on a fast boil, but she fell back at Elissa signal. Mia and Alice were very still next to them, and he tried to smile reassuringly, with limited success. He hoped Josephine would show up soon. So far he hadn't done very well at being only decoration.
But when Cassandra moved to flank him as well, his own support, Mia's eyes narrowed as she looked at their hands. "You're married," she said accusingly. "Why didn't I know about this?"
It was very older-sister of her, and it broke the tension in a way nothing else could have. Alistair choked back a laugh as Mia advanced on him, and Cullen stepped back instinctively. "There wasn't time."
"No time to write a quick note to your family to let you know you were getting married?" she asked dangerously. She turned to Cassandra with another glare. "I'm glad you finally came to your senses, anyway. Or was it his promotion that decided you? Was he finally important enough for you?"
Cassandra's eyes took on a hunted look. "No! No, he was… he has always been…" She trailed off and looked at him pleadingly.
He tried to bring them back to sanity. "It was a misunderstanding, Mia. There's no need to be angry with her. Or me," he said. "Even if I'd sent a letter, you would have already been on the road. You wouldn't have gotten it."
"You didn't know that!" she said with her hands on her hips. "I'm your sister."
"But Darren didn't tell you either!" he protested, and regretted it immediately. Maker's breath. He was the Inquisitor, in the Great Hall, meeting royalty, and he'd resorted to bickering with his siblings. At least the guests were smiling. Even Morrigan looked a little amused.
Mia wasn't. "He is injured."
"Only a bee sting," called a voice behind him, and he turned to see Darren striding into the room with most of his old power, trailed a little nervously by Dorian. "But it did stop me from holding a quill, of course."
Cullen's heart sank. It was obvious from the happiness on his face that Dorian didn't know. Cassandra gripped his hand, and he squeezed it in acknowledgment, but what could he do from here?
His sister finally abandoned her interrogation, pulling Alice behind her as they both tackled Darren. Mia clucked over his bandage in motherly concern while Alice teased Dorian into a very uncharacteristic blush. At her persistent urging, Darren gave the mage an exaggerating, smacking kiss before he could dodge away.
"I thought he hit a pillar," said Elissa quietly.
Cullen started. She'd stepped beside him so quietly he hadn't even sensed it. Instinctively, he checked her hand for a weapon and was relieved to find it empty. "He did. There was another fight. Another injury."
"During the dispensation of your justice?"
He nodded, but Morrigan joined them, unsatisfied. "Where is Mythal?" she demanded. "She destroyed the future of my son and the past of my mother, such as she was. I will not have her escape me again."
No Leliana. No Josephine. No advice from anyone, but Cassandra pressed her palm into his once more. She told the truth. She was honest. He knew what she would do. "She's in the Fade. Ellana saw to it," he said. "So is Fen'Harel. They won't return."
"The former Inquisitor could yet open it anew and release them," said Morrigan.
"No," he said. The denial boomed through the Hall, and he lowered his voice. "She can't."
Dorian looked up at the anger in his voice, just in time to see Varric, Sera and Josephine step out of the Inquisitor's quarters. Josephine looked calm, to strangers, but the puffiness of her eyes was obvious to Cullen. It must have been to Dorian as well, because the color drained from his face as understanding bloomed. He shook himself free of the Rutherfords and ran for the door. Varric blocked him, stopped him, and murmured something too low to hear. Dorian nodded and handed over his staff before he disappeared.
Cullen cleared his throat and blinked away emotion once more. "Darren, please take Mia and Alice to the quartermaster. He'll find them a room. Your Majesties, I'll show you to yours myself."
His family looked confused, and Cassandra didn't wait for him to ask before moving to talk to them. Elissa only nodded, and the Theirins followed him out of the room. Cassandra watched them as they left, and he tried to summon a cordial expression for her sake.
"I'm sorry," said Alistair on the stairs. He sounded sincere, though Cullen thought sourly that they'd likely nominated him to say it because he was the only one of them who could. "She seemed to be a good sort of person."
Cullen's blood would have boiled over at the casual, meaningless words if he hadn't seen the self-awareness on the King's face. Alistair hadn't known her, and he knew it. At least this platitude was offered with full awareness. "Thank you. She was the best sort of person."
The royal family flowed into the guest suite when they arrived, with Morrigan in a nearby room, but the Queen held Cullen in the hall. "So," she said, voice still even. "Inquisitor. A curious decision from your advisors. I have to admit I wouldn't have put such power in your hands."
"I didn't ask for it."
"Precisely. Nothing is more dangerous than absolute power in the hands of a person eager to give it away."
He flushed. "It seems that the only thing more dangerous is that power in the hands of those who want to keep it," he said bitterly.
If anything he would have expected anger, but there was none. Her eyes studied him gravely. "Can I be frank with you, Cullen?"
"I'd be amazed if you weren't."
"You don't seem to recognize your position. The Inquisitor holds more power than anyone in Thedas outside of the Divine, presuming you can hold your followers together. You're married to the woman who commands your forces and the loyalty of the Templars. Your brother is the lover of the future Archon, a powerful mage in his own right. And your child will be a potential heir to the Nevarran throne, a nation poised only to rise in power with the your elimination of their greatest threat. Prince Van Markham isn't one to sit idle, and he favors your Pentaghast wife."
Cullen only stared. She shrugged slightly. "The political situation is obvious. And I recognized the terrified look in Cassandra's eyes from my own mirror," she said. "You've gathered power and a potential dynasty to yourself. If you don't understand what you're holding, it will shatter."
"I just want to keep the world together," he said. This was reminding him far too much of Josephine's campaign to secure their own connections, but this time centered on him. "I don't want a dynasty."
"You might not get to choose."
He scowled. "Why are you telling me this? For all you know, I want to be the King of Ferelden, too."
"Just try it," she said coldly, and he shivered a little. Her expression slid back to neutrality far too quickly for comfort. "I never trusted Ellana Lavellan. She was brave and well-intentioned, but she was a bad judge of people. She trusted easily. Solas should never have gotten so close."
He didn't rise to the bait. "And I'm better?"
"No," she said. "You might be worse. But I know you, at least, and you have experience with failure she didn't. Most importantly, you're not holy. For all the things you are, you're a mortal man in the eyes of the world. Ellana had to keep her power. You have more choices." She sighed. "All I ask is that, when you give your power away, and I know you will, you think about what you're doing. And you do it well."
"And I should trust your advice?" He tried to sound world-wise and calculating, and she gave him a pitying smile.
"Ask Cassandra, if you need. In that area, at least, you judged very well."
There was no time to ask Cassandra much of anything, and he had little inclination to talk politics in any case. It seemed cruel that those most grieved should be the ones planning the memorial, particularly a memorial with so many security concerns, but they were. He and Josephine were occupied with invitations while Cassandra and Leliana argued over how many guards were needed. Tempers were high and frayed, and more than one session ended with a stony apology from a participant at the instruction of another. By the time he and Cassandra fell into bed at night, they didn't even have the energy for love, much less conversation.
The Fereldan delegation ended up being more consoling than he expected. They weren't touched by the tragedy, and they spoke normally around him when they ate their formal dinners. Alistair was the only one who could coax a smile out of Leliana, and even Cullen felt his spirits lightening.
"Do you want to be the Inquisitor?" he asked once, ignoring the exasperated look from Elissa. "You'd be good at getting everyone to get along."
Alistair shook his head emphatically. "I'm good at the dinner table. And the ballroom. When it comes to making friends with entire nations, I'm hopeless."
"Perhaps you could dance with every man and woman in Tevinter in turn," suggested Leliana.
Dorian let the comment go by without reply, and Darren rubbed his shoulder as the banter continued. Cullen's mind turned towards the next day. The memorial would take weeks to come together. But tomorrow they would have the funeral.
Eleven souls stood in the Chantry garden under the streaming sunlight. Cullen and Bull had spent their morning digging a grave as close to the tree as they dared, and the play of light through the leaves branded their skins in mottled, waving patterns. Guards kept the rest of Skyhold at bay, and the inner circle, complete no more, was finally alone.
Vivienne said the words of the Maker, and Bull said the words of the Dalish, or at least the ones he claimed he knew. Ellana would have laughed at the attempt, and that more than anything made it okay. Dorian, to Cullen's surprise, finished with a ritual of the Mortalitasi he'd learned, with Cassandra supplying their own words. When the mage saw his raised eyebrows, he only said, "A necromancer shouldn't be cavalier about the end of life," he said. "The Nevarrans were right about that at least."
They all looked to Cullen at the end for something more to say, and he had very little to offer. "Ellana Lavellan was our prisoner, then our hope, then our leader, then our friend. She saved us all. She made us family." He choked a little, and Cassandra pressed herself to his side. "If she'd done nothing else, I would praise the Maker for that. But she did so much more. Too much for words. We all know what she was."
He had no words for Solas, a man who'd been ally but never friend. Cole stepped forward and spoke softly. "Solas thought Fen'Harel was what he deserved. He was wrong, but I could never help him. Closed, clutching claws at his mind. But Ellana opened them. She was his compassion, and helped him remember. And he was her pride, and made her live."
Then there was nothing else to say, and each member trickled dirt down into the grave, onto the two bodies still holding one another. As the earth covered them, one shovelful at a time, Cullen looked away and saw the birds watching from the trees. With a tear-filled laugh, he began to sing the song they'd sung so long ago, when Haven was gone and their hopes were lowest. Leliana joined, and soon they all were in ragged, aching chorus. The birds took to the sky, and the Herald of Andraste, the host of Mythal, and the only Inquisitor they'd needed, flew with them. And, Cullen knew with a fierce certainty, she carried them all alongside.