Note: ... For the HORDE...err... CULLENITES! 3 3

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Lord Trevelyan died on a windy and cool afternoon, Isabeau having silently pressed his hand against her cheek as the life in her father slipped away like the tides outside the chamber's window. His final Will and Testament had been dictated through pained whispers, Isabeau and he signing it, officiating her ascension as head of the House Trevelyan.

In the few days since, Katlein and Isabeau had swallowed their grief, too consumed with various funeral arrangements; announcements and invitations dominating most of their efforts. Isabeau had been grateful of Cullen's presence, his assistance with the process having lessened their load. As they had worked their way down Lady Trevelyan's expansive list, a particular name had given Isabeau pause; a quick prayer sent to the Maker as she wickedly hoped the raven would be shot down before its delivery could be completed.

Unfortunately for Isabeau, the invitation had arrived. As she stood watching the last bit of fuel placed in her father's ship pyre, her eyes briefly caught Sebastian Vael's; Isabeau ashamed as she ripped her gaze away from his. There was a sadness in his cerulean blue orbs that touched Isabeau in an unwelcomed way, memories of their time together returning with an awkward force. Her grip tightened on the bow she held in front of her, willing her aim to remain true through the nerves, as she solemnly stepped towards the large brazier.

With a great but gentle shove, various men of loyalty to House Trevelyan pushed the funeral boat into the current. Isabeau took a deep breath, searching the crowd of attendees for Cullen's face as she held her arrow into the flames. At the nod of Cullen's head, Isabeau pulled back and stepped towards the edge of the dais she stood upon, nimbly pulling back the bow string as she waited on the wind to still. The second it did, her inflamed arrow swiftly released, arching high in the air before coming down upon the edge of her father's pyre. The flames began to lick higher, Isabeau's arm slowly lowering the bow to her side as she stood back and watched her father turn to ash on the sea.

"Come, treasure... Let us manage the guests," Katlein gently soothed as she came up beside Isabeau, her hands gently squeezing her daughter's arms. The Inquisitor held her gaze upon the now roaring flames before sighing, turning to follow her mother; the pair at the head of the procession as the large gathering made its way into the Villa's largest atrium. As she made the grueling rounds visiting and thanking the various and many guests, Isabeau finally grabbed a goblet of wine and made her way over to her companions. Solas gave an encouraging squeeze of her shoulder as she came up beside him, Varric offering his own condolences as Cullen smiled at her sadly.

"I'm alright... just need to get through this," she assured them, absently waving at the throng of people crowding the atrium. A flash of pearly white armor caught her eye as it gleamed through the bodies of the gathering, Isabeau swallowing her wine in several deep gulps as Sebastian Vael made his way over to her, shaking his head in bewilderment as his eyes found Cullen and Varric at her side.

"Knight-Commander Cullen and Varric Tethras...? You keep an eclectic collection of companions, Lady Trevelyan," he said as he nodded at the other men in greeting, turning to grasp Isabeau's hand to plant a soft kiss on her knuckles. "You also have my deepest condolences, my lady. Your father was a good man and always a true friend to Starkhaven."

With a deep swallow, Isabeau vaguely acknowledged Cullen fidget as she bowed gracefully to the Prince before her. "You are... very kind to say so, Sebastian." She straightened up, cocking one hip to the side as she shifted her weight to one leg, "I did not think you would be available to attend. How fares your siege of Starkhaven?"

"The city is well fortified, but my forces have punched through the outer wall; I anticipate being behind the inner walls within a fortnight."

Isabeau awkwardly cleared her throat as she rocked on the balls of her feet, "Well, I bid you good luck in that endeavor, My Lord." She inwardly groaned at the forced conversation, trying to not outwardly trip over her words and thoughts. Just play the Game...

Sebastian smiled ruefully as he finished another sip of his wine, "Lady Trevelyan, I respect you are grieving but I had hoped we would have a chance to speak... more privately. I am afraid I am guilty of harboring ulterior motives behind my condolences."

And boom goes the gaatlok.

"If it is assistance from the Inquisition, I am afraid you are speaking to the wrong person," Isabeau reached behind and gestured Cullen forward, the knight rubbing at the back of his neck before straightening to attention at her side. "Ser Cullen is the Marshall of my forces. If you wish to speak of... aide in your engagements, he is fit to discuss any troop allocations."

Extending his hand, Sebastian surprised Isabeau as he reached to clasp Cullen's in his, shaking it respectfully, "While I do not doubt the Commander capable, it is not the Inquisition I seek aide from." He turned and levelled his gaze evenly with Isabeau's, "It is the Trevelyan's of Hercinia of which I seek. May we?" he gestured towards a set of stairs, the Villa's sprawling gardens extending beyond the archway of the terrace.

Shooting a desperate glare at Cullen, Isabeau solemnly nodded as she took Sebastian's extended arm, letting him lead her out onto the balcony and down its many stairs to the fountain below. The pair walked slowly and silently, Isabeau's chest aching as she tried to distract herself with the sight of the setting sun, its rays bursting through the gaps of leaves on the trees around them. When Sebastian slowed and came to a stop before a marble bench, he gently assisted her in sitting down, Isabeau cursing his chivalry; her temper steadily rising the longer she was in the man's presence.

"Forgive my candor, but I would ask you speak quickly. This has been... a long and difficult day for me," she breathed, a hand rising to nervously rest at her throat. Isabeau was too emotionally exhausted to invest the fortitude required in dealing with her ex-lover, the agony of loss and ever present weight of her existence precariously perched upon the brink. The last month had been one long nightmare for Isabeau; effects of her trials at Andoral's Reach still plaguing her with visions of torture, death and dragon fire. There was blessed little comfort Isabeau could find in her last days with her father, his death rattling her to the core as she increasingly felt smaller and smaller in the face of her enterprise.

"Isabeau..."

"Lady Trevelyan," she quickly corrected.

Sebastian looked pained as he swallowed his informality and sat next to her, "I thought I had sent you to your death, my lady. I have... regretted what happened between us. And my rash decisions."

Isabeau stood suddenly to pace before him, "No, I forbid this. Speak to me of your war, of demons and mages, of the cataclysm that befalls Thedas..." She arched her arms as she gestured to the sky, turning then to stare at him imploringly, "But of that we shall not speak."

"I was a fool, Isabeau. In my shame and impulsiveness I inevitably cursed you to carry the burden of the Inquisition," Sebastian shot up himself, quickly striding to clasp her hands in his. "I have heard the reports and I have ached at them all, I dishonored you and sent you to your... mutilation," he breathed as he raised her marked hand, staring at it in pained curiosity.

With a resounding SMACK Isabeau ripped her hands away and slapped the stunned man, "You were warned. I will not reward you with a relieved conscience, Sebastian. You do not get to speak of my mutilation, as you call it; if you deign to seek only this route of discussion, it ends here."

She watched as he swallowed thickly, Sebastian's eyes and nostrils flaring as he chewed at the inside of his cheek. Isabeau watched as the fiery man clearly collected his temper, the Inquisitor bracing in preparation of the incoming onslaught. To her surprise, Sebastian seemed to shrink, a long and deep sigh escaping his lips as he absently rubbed at his reddening cheek.

"I deigned to deliver the apology the lady deserves. I do not deny I was a cad," he said slowly as he turned to face her again. "You have every right to be furious with me; my actions were less than honorable. I've always known you were stubborn but I come to you with honest intentions, Isabeau; let us not reduce this to dramatics and abuse."

Something snapped and broke inside Isabeau, discombobulating her center as she tried to stifle her chagrin at Sebastian's words. Isabeau may be a dangerous person but she was never vicious, an infuriating sense of shame welling in the pit of her stomach as she chewed on her regret for hitting the tormented Prince. Sinking back onto the bench, Isabeau buried her face in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut as she fought to stem the tide of emotions battering at the fringes of her composure.

"For striking you... I am sorry, Sebastian," she sighed as she looked up at him through the strands of her hair. "For my anger at your audacity, I cannot say the same."

Sebastian came to kneel before her, reaching for her hands again before he hesitated, awkwardly pulling them back, "I... accept both. I understand you are under a great amount of duress, my lady... and I do not add to it casually." He cautiously raised a hand to tuck several strands of her ashen hair behind her ear, frowning worriedly as he came to discover the maimed appendage, "You have never been far from my thoughts, not since I sent you away. With... the loss of your father, I could not miss the opportunity to see you again."

Isabeau's patience was at an end, "What... do you want, Sebastian?"

His hand cupped the side of her head as he dared to inch his face closer to hers, "A second chance... and a consolidation of our stations."

With a gasp Isabeau yanked back, cocking an eyebrow incredulously as she gaped at Sebastian's stony features. "You... are you proposing?!" Nearly falling off the back of the bench, Isabeau pulled herself away from the man, angrily stomping her way back towards the Villa to escape his lunacy. Just as she noticed Cullen watching from the veranda, Sebastian caught her arm and turned her to face him instead.

"Once I retake Starkhaven I can provide you with legions of men, Isabeau. I am aware of how thin the Inquisition's forces are currently stretched; meaning your enemies are as well." Sebastian gulped in a breath as he searched her eyes imploringly, his grip on her arm tightening as he moved himself closer beside her, "As husband and wife, a Vael-Trevelyan alliance could exponentially improve your organizations standing and offer you a greater modicum of security."

Before Isabeau could sputter a reply in her shock, Cullen had made his way down the stairs and strode through the gardens towards them. As he came to stop at Isabeau's side, he looked down at Sebastian's hand still clutching her arm, sternly turning his gaze to the Prince.

"You will remove that hand, Lord Vael."

"This does not concern you, templar."

Cullen folded his arms across his chest as he and Sebastian's eyes locked, "You are manhandling my Inquisitor. It very much concerns me, good Prince." His hand went down to rest upon the pommel of the sword on his hip, "Shall I do it for you?"

"Stop it," Isabeau suddenly breathed as she pulled away from Sebastian's grasp, stepping back and away from the two men before her. She groaned inwardly as the awkwardness of the scene consumed her, in no way desiring the exchange to end bloodily. "Your... request is one I cannot currently abide, Prince Sebastian. Abandon this folly and retake your city. Once you are firmly seated upon its throne, I may consider a future alliance... of sorts. That day is not today, however."

With a deep bow and an even deeper scowl, Sebastian fluidly bowed, "Very well, Lady Trevelyan. Ser Cullen."

Isabeau watched as he marched angrily back towards the Villa, tilting her head back once he was out of sight to erupt with a great cry of frustration at the darkening sky.

"What did he want?"

She turned to face Cullen, not entirely sure how she felt about his interruption of her and Sebastian's meeting. "He... he apologised."

The knight nodded knowingly, "An... honorable gesture."

"He proposed, too."

Watching Cullen visibly stiffen, Isabeau sighed and made her way back towards the Villa, Cullen silently following as she steered them away from the busy atrium. As they walked through the various hallways towards Isabeau's own bed chambers, Cullen's silence continued to unsettle her, its weight heavy between them as she beckoned him into her room. A sense of guilt added itself to her myriad of emotions as she rued abandoning her mother to the throng.

"Sebastian tried to make amends... before he proceeded in his attempts to persuade me with armies for the Inquisition." She paused as she turned to pointedly stare at Cullen, "What say you?" she finally asked her Marhsall as she meandered over to her decanters of wine, forgoing a goblet to bring the neck of the glass vessel to her lips. As she drank, she watched Cullen's face darken in thought, her paramour crossing his arms as he shifted his weight and considered his answer.

"The... Organization could use the bolster to its numbers," he began slowly, carefully raising his eyes to meet Isabeau's awaiting gaze, "Though I confess to desiring the acquisition through... different methods."

"That would make two of us," Isabeau groaned as she took a final swig before setting the decanter back down, her hand lingering on the table top as she idly traced the grooves of the wood with her fingertips. "The reality is an assured reliance with Starkhaven would allot us a significant amount of men. Ostwick and Markham would follow not far behind in the wake of... a Vael marrying a Trevelyan."

"You're... considering it?"

Isabeau cringed at the astonishment behind Cullen's voice, "I'm... not sure I'm doing anything of the sort. I merely am admitting the possible advantages... and benefits to both the Inquisition and, as a result, Thedas." She turned to lean back against the table's edge, pressing her behind into it to steady her slanting figure as she hugged herself tightly, "I... cannot deny it is from a sense of selfish bitterness that I hesitate. The logic behind his intentions is not... wrong."

"It is," Cullen urged as he stepped towards her, his hands gently gripping her shoulders, "You are under a great deal of pressure and have had little rest from the onslaught. I'm begging you to not be hasty; we may yet win Starkhaven's forces once calmer heads prevail."

Averting her gaze from his, Isabeau stared at the rushes upon the floor as her face heated. "I am the Inquisitor... but I am a noble first, Cullen. This is the reality of both my stations; one I regrettably knew would complicate what we... what we have." Desperately her eyes rose to search his as she felt herself slipping further into her melancholy, "Do I deny Thedas a fighting chance against the abyss... because my pride and silly heart could not relinquish their affections for you?"

The templar sniffed in derision as he pulled away from her, moving to her side to pour himself a drink. Rather than wine, he clutched an ornate bottle of Hercinian rum above his glass, reaching and knocking back the dark spirit in one great gulp. After taking several steadying breaths, Cullen moved to sink into one of the chairs in the middle of the room.

"Is it so silly?" he asked, Isabeau's chest aching at the smallness of his voice.

She moved to the chair he sat upon as Cullen buried his face in his hands, his fingers raking against his hair line as Isabeau lowered herself into his lap, "I do not say it mockingly... nor lightly, love. I have... been presented with an opportunity we, as the Inquisition, cannot turn away casually. Speak to me... as my advisor, for it's what I need to hear right now."

Cullen looked up at her from beneath his brow, a shaky breath working its way out as his arms came to wrap around Isabeau's waist, "On this... I cannot advise you, Isabeau. I will not risk disrespecting you with my petulance; I will trust and accept... whatever you decide."

Isabeau planted a soft kiss to his forehead, desperately wanting to placate her beleaguered knight through the torrent of other emotions and anxieties. "There is still time... I still yet need to grieve my father and arrange the care of the Trevelyan household in my absence. I meant what I said to Sebastian; this... is not a decision to be made until he has secured his throne."

Gently pushing Isabeau off of him, Cullen rose and made his way for the chamber door, turning to nod silently at Isabeau before he quickly ventured from the room. A great gasp of agony overtook Isabeau the instant he was out of sight, panic searing through her as she slowly sank down to the floor and clutched herself tightly. The gasping breaths shook through her as she curled up into a tight ball amongst the rushes, her hands furiously wiping at the unending tears that infuriatingly plagued her swollen and red cheeks. The weight of her quest, the loss of her father, and the ugly remainders of her torture at Ser Karras' hands threatened to suffocate Isabeau; an all-encompassing terror trapping her as she considered what surrendering her affections for Cullen would mean.

At the thought of Cullen, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she rolled onto her back and clutched at her chest, her breathing finally slowing as she tried to calm her rampant insecurities. Despite the love they once shared and the potential benefits to her combined forces, Isabeau did not look upon potential nuptials with the Prince of Starkhaven warmly. Marriage had been something so incredibly far from Isabeau's mind, that even with the growing intimacy between her and Cullen, it had simply not been an option to consider. She may be a poor example for a noble, but she had been raised under the laws of the social construct, its expectations not lost on her as she was now forced to face them. If, by some miracle, Isabeau was able to rally greater numbers to her cause, she would not even flirt with considering Sebastian's proposal.

Except the Inquisition is bleeding across the map.

Given the current state of her forces, she found herself at an agonizing impasse. Perhaps even now, Cullen was in his own chambers considering an amputation from yet another thing he held dear. At that painful thought, she dragged herself off the floor, running both hands through her hair as she scoffed at her emotional dramatics, vaguely cursing the volatility to her temperament as of late. Once she'd stripped off her mourning wear, she climbed into her bed, turning her head to gaze out at the ocean through her window across the way. Missing the feel of Cullen next to her, she shut her eyes as she slipped into a reverie where it was not Sebastian on his knees before her, but a knight with a great lion for his mantle.

Maker... why couldn't it have been him?