"Having the Herald address the Chantry eventually is not… an unsound idea."

Cullen scoffed loudly as he waved Josephine's suggestion dismissively away, "You can't be serious?"

It had scantly been an hour since everyone had returned from the ruins of the Temple, Isabeau feeling incredibly sick and drained - more than she dared confess - after the toll stabilizing the Breach had taken upon her mark. Immediately she and Cassandra had made for Haven's Chantry, not surprised to find Cullen, Leliana and Josephine already waiting patiently for their arrival; none willing to hesitate in considering their next move.

Spear heading the discussion was their diplomat; Josephine passionately advocating talks with the Chantry, revealing to the others various examples of respected Mothers rallying to the Inquisition's cause. One in particular seemed to pique both Josephine's and Leliana's interests, a Mother camped in the Hinterland's near Redcliffe doing relief work in the wake of the Rebellion. From what Isabeau could gather, as she silently listened to the others debate, the woman sounded like a potential ally the more Josephine revealed of their correspondence.

Tapping the tip of her quill to her lips now, Josephine thoughtfully regarded the stoic Commander across from her. "Mother Giselle isn't wrong; the only strength the Chantry has is they are united in their opinion. Once Lady Trevelyan has reached Giselle in the Hinterlands to flesh out the details, we can determine how to proceed. Until then, I still feel it is our best course of action."

"The lands surrounding Redcliffe are being torn apart by the Templars and Mages, Ambassador. Reaching this Mother Giselle means quelling the chaos surrounding her, something we barely have the resources for. What you propose will be quite the undertaking for both the Inquisition and the Herald herself," Cullen argued, gesturing to the numerous markers currently crowding where Redcliffe appeared on the map before them.

Leliana shifted uneasily on the balls of her heels, "The Hinterlands aside, Orlais will prove just as trying; are we to just ignore the danger to the Herald?"

"Let's ask her," Josephine retorted succinctly.

Isabeau sucked in a steadying breath as she felt their gazes settle weightily upon her, leaning forward to plant the palms of her hands upon the table's surface as she stared at Fereldan's geography. The shock of her harrowing charge up the Temple's cliffs remained fresh behind her eyes, the enormous and terrifying Pride demon still causing a persistent tremor in her hands. To Isabeau, it felt as if each passing minute promised increasingly worse odds for her survival; her only hope remaining in the bizarre key she now held. While she could admit she was frightened, at least she knew she could do something about the madness surrounding her.

Isabeau looked up from the map beneath her and met Josephine's expectant stare, "I want to help, Lady Montilyet… I'm just concerned it won't actually solve any problems. I think the Chantry has left no room for doubt; why waste the effort?"

Cullen nodded earnestly, "I agree. It just lends credence to the idea we should give a damn what the Chantry thinks."

Cassandra stepped forward to stand at Isabeau's side, "I will go with her. Perhaps it is not something we need to prioritize now… but I cannot disagree with at least trying to negotiate. Mother Giselle provided us with names; use them."

With an impetuous glare, Leliana shook her head at the Seeker, "But why? This is nothing but a –"

"What choice do we have, Leliana?" Cassandra retorted, the strain to her voice revealing the stress the fierce woman was keeping at bay. "Right now, we cannot approach anyone for help with the Breach. We must compromise here; take the time to make our connections, use what influence we can collect… and then, when prepared, we can meet with those who remain in Val Royeaux. I will ensure the Herald returns unharmed."

Holding Cassandra's stare, Cullen finally nodded his head in acceptance as he turned to look at Josephine; the beautiful Antivan failing to suppress her triumphant smirk as she elegantly began scribbling at the parchment board in her arms.

"For now, we should all rest. We will need the energy if we are to prepare our next steps tomorrow," Cullen tiredly advised as he rubbed at his eyes, his hand pulling away as his amber green met Isabeau's silvery grey. Her breath caught briefly when Cullen suddenly looked to Leliana, "Spymaster, if we may speak privately about this business in the Hinterlands…"

"Of course, Commander."

Cullen and Leliana both offered shallow bows in farewell, the pair striding from the small council room as Josephine followed closely behind them. With a final glance at the large table before her, Cassandra turned and crossed her arms at Isabeau.

"There is a cabin for you, not far from the front gates. You are welcome to it," she explained as she gestured Isabeau forwards, the two walking silently as they made their way to the yard outside the Chantry's massive wooden doors. The Seeker raised her arm and pointed towards a cluster of small hutches at the bottom of the small hill, "You will find it there; see that you get some sleep. There will be a feast this evening, if you are up to attending – it will be here in the Chantry's hall."

"Thank you, Cassandra; I would like that. I… will see you there, then."

With a curt nod of her head, the grim Seeker turned and made her way back into the Chantry, leaving Isabeau to spend her early morn navigating her way around the eerily still village. Once she found herself facing the threshold of the modest hutch assigned to her, the door's hinges screeched in protest as its opening revealed the only two things Isabeau desperately desired: a roaring hearth and a proper bed.

Dropping her pack with a loud clatter to the floor, Isabeau darted and fell flat on her back atop the bed, the straw and wood erupting in various groans from the strain. Given the discomfort of the last ten or so hours of her life, the tiny frame and thin, lumpy mattress felt on par to Isabeau's bed back in Hercinia.

Not quite… but I'll take it. Chuckling, Isabeau lazily toed off her filth covered boots, the pair thunking loudly upon the floor as she bent her legs and curled up onto her side. Too exhausted to bother with all of her gear, Isabeau's eyelids grew unbearably heavy as she slowly worked at the buckles and laces of her shoulder guards. With one final tug, she wiggled out of her pauldrons, the armor unceremoniously shoved away before she shimmied until her head rested on the pillow. With a final inspection of the thatched ceiling above where she lay, her eyes closed a final time, delivering her to a troubled sleep.

CRASH!

Leaping from the bed, Isabeau dashed for a corner in the room, eyes wide and darting as panic mercilessly gripped her chest. Her vision was stained red with blood and fire, images of the disturbing nightmare she had roused from intrusively persisting even in her wakefulness. With her back leaning heavily against the rickety wooden walls behind her, she slowly slid to kneel on the floor, willing her erratic breath and heart to slow. As her center came back to focus, the traumatized woman swallowed thickly, her eyes dejectedly falling upon the crumpled pauldrons on the stone floor nearby.

"Maker's breath…" she moaned miserably, lamenting the interruption to her precious slumber. The nightmare was disconcerting, but not unusual; it was merely a part of sleeping. While its vividness mildly concerned her, Isabeau felt irritatingly foolish over the fright her armor had given her. She obstinately buried what visions remained of the dream deep into the recesses of her mind, shrugging off the concern as she came to gaze out one of the hutch's small windows.

Though feeling she had only just lain to rest, the sun's position at least confirmed Isabeau had managed several hours of sleep, the supposed Herald turning to rummage through a dresser's drawers for something other than her soiled armor to wear. With a triumphant shout, she pulled out a rather fine pair of black leather breeches and jacket, speedily removing her remaining clothing before yanking on the new items. While the breeches were a bit more form-fitting than Isabeau was entirely comfortable with, the jacket fit smartly over her chemise, cinching her waist with a wide sash for a belt. She twirled on a fur-trimmed clock that hung by the cabin's front door, pulling the wide hood up and over her head before her hand paused on the door's handle.

The dinner Cassandra had invited her to likely would not be prepared for another hour or so, provided Isabeau had not completely lost touch with time. Deciding it was best to be safe rather than sorry, she briskly made her way back to the Chantry, soon pushing open one of the wide doors to reveal rows of tables now populating the long hall. Servants scurried about, adding various items and utensils to the tables as Isabeau strode for Josephine's office.

Not knowing when exactly Cullen, Leliana or the others intended to reconvene, Isabeau entered the Diplomat's small work space, opting to first speak with the elf Minaeve before moving to sit before Josephine's desk. Following a pleasant chat with the intriguing diplomat, and assurances her family in the Free Marches would be notified of her survival, Isabeau had decided to follow the graceful Antivan's advice and acquaint herself with her new constituents.

The first half of her morning had been a flurry of introductions following her exit of Josephine's office; Isabeau appreciating the ebb and flow of the small but populated village, impressed by the dedication of those surrounding her with each person she spoke with. There was no denying the quality of those who had committed to the Inquisition, Solas proving particularly curious after their fascinating talk of the Fade and its Spirits. However, the memory of her shackled wrists lingered, still too fresh for Isabeau's taste – remaining to help would at least allow her the opportunity to determine her next steps.

If she were to be honest, there was a cautious but eager voice within her that truly wanted to believe the Inquisition could make a difference; the bizarre mark on her hand only reinforcing the convictions to see through whatever role she had to play. When she and the others had descended from the Temple's ruins, the Breach calmed but not sealed, faces previously twisted with scorn were suddenly open in praise. With the first critical hurdle over, Isabeau was having a difficult time wrestling with the confusing mix of relieved indignation.

Not my preferred way to wake up but I'll take it over the dungeon.

"You there! There's a shield in your hand; block with it!"

A symphony of metallic clashes now echoed in the chilly open air, ringing through Isabeau's ears as she tentatively approached the imposing man stalking between groups of sparring soldiers. She had briefly encountered the Commander on the battle field, their meeting curt and swift in the turmoil surrounding them, but had had little opportunity since to properly introduce herself. Though amidst his company in the war room mere hours previous, the topic at hand had stunted whatever opportunity may have arisen for them to speak further.

With a shake of her head, Isabeau weaved carefully around the chaos of action surrounding her, coming to stand at Cullen's side as he finished with his orders to the awaiting Lieutenant next to him. He turned to smile kindly in welcome, Isabeau surreptitiously admiring the vibrant amber glint to his hazel eyes in the setting sunlight.

"Ah, Lady Trevelyan, I trust you have settled in alright?"

"Yes, thank you, Ser Cullen… You're kind to ask –"

He raised his hand to interrupt her, "Just… 'Cullen', if you would, my lady."

Isabeau frowned, "Are you not a Knight, Ser?"

The broad Commander seemed to fidget as he released a rueful chuckle, his hand now moving to rub at his shoulder as he gazed into the distance and away from Isabeau's inquisitive eyes. "I am no longer a member of the Templar Order, my lady; my duty lies with the Inquisition now." He paused, briefly chewing on his bottom lip before continuing, "Is there… anything of concern?"

Isabeau smiled demurely as she crossed her arms over her chest, rocking on the balls of her heels as she looked at the soldiers around them appreciatively. "No, Commander – I'm only trying to get situated. We… didn't really get a proper introduction."

There was a redness tinting the Commanders cheeks as he chuckled, "You're quite right. I apologize for that, my lady. I suppose we shall be working together from now on..."

"I've… had some time to think about that, actually."

Cullen appeared puzzled, "Y-you have?"

"If there is to be a place for me, I would see it be here," Isabeau offered, brushing some rogue strands of ashen hair from her face before she shrugged casually at Cullen. "I am well-trained and have served in both mercenary companies and Starkhaven's elite forces. I'm more than proficient with sword and shield and have studied under a number of excellent tacticians. If you'll have me, I can put my expertise to work for you."

Cullen's eyes blinked in mild surprise as he crossed his arms and mirrored Isabeau's stance, the fur on his pauldrons ruffling in the mountain breeze with the movement. He frowned thoughtfully as he seemed to evaluate the woman before him, "Indeed? I had harbored some… curiosity after our meeting on the battle field, but I saw enough, my lady Herald. You need not provide a resume to me, but if there is something –"

"Isabeau."

It was the Commander's turn to falter at the interruption, "P-pardons, my lady?"

Chuckling softly as she averted her eyes, a heat rose in Isabeau's chest and cheeks as she watched her boldness stagger the stoic Commander. She flashed him an apologetic smile, "I would… prefer we be quite sparse with this 'Herald' business, Commander – at least amongst ourselves. Please, it's just… 'Isabeau'."

With an amused sigh, the Inquisition's Marshall appeared to soften as he flashed her a guarded smile. "Very well, Lady Isabeau…" Cullen gently acquiesced, his eyes narrowing slightly in either scrutiny or embarrassment; Isabeau wasn't entirely sure. He then turned his head to look back towards the Chantry, a now tired sigh escaping his lips before he spoke, "I'm afraid this… ability of yours may warrant a position more unique than what I can offer under my command. We shall have to speak with the others, but it is… certainly something to consider."

Isabeau smiled kindly, "I appreciate that, Cullen. I did, however, have some questions… if that's alright?" At the nod of Cullen's head she continued, "I was wondering what you can tell me of the Inquisition's forces?"

He politely gestured them forwards, the pair walking now between long rows of tents as Cullen spoke, "So far we've received an assortment of locals and pilgrims. Some Templars also comprise a portion of my men; mainly my officers – a number of which joined from Kirkwall when I stepped down as Knight-Commander. They have proven invaluable in training the recruits," Cullen explained as he seemed to settle, coming to a stop before turning his head to perk his eyebrows at her in jest. "None made quite the entrance you did."

"At… least I got everyone's attention?" Isabeau quipped, the Knight chuckling at her glib in turn.

"That you did," he agreed evenly, the smirk from his laughter remaining to tease at the corner of his eyes. "I myself was recruited back in Kirkwall, shortly following the Mage Uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused. Cassandra sought a solution and when she came to recruit me, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now, I fear we face something… far worse."

"It's chaos… and no one is trying to fix it."

"Which is exactly why we're needed," Cullen implored. "The Chantry has lost its control over both the Mages and the Templars. Now they bicker over a new Divine like petulant siblings do a new toy. Meanwhile the Breach remains, unresolved." An endearing eagerness permeated the tone of Cullen's voice as he continued passionately, "The Inquisition can act when the Chantry cannot. If we manage to seal the Breach and maintain order? Our followers could be a part of that. There's so much we –"

He suddenly stopped himself with a bashful shake of his head, "Forgive me, my lady. I doubt you came here for a lecture."

Isabeau latched onto her ill-advised candor once more, "No, but if you have one prepared, I'm all ears."

A flash of red visibly stained Cullen's ears at her words, the Commander turning to look anywhere but at Isabeau as he laughed shyly. "Ah… heh. P-perhaps… another time."

When he finally returned his gaze to hers, Isabeau smiled awkwardly, internally berating herself for harassing her potential superior. Maker's breath, what is the matter with you?

"I, uh…" Cullen's thick eyebrows furrowed sheepishly as he cleared his throat and looked up and away again. "There's still a lot of work ahead…"

An armored lieutenant abruptly jogged up to the timid pair, conveniently relieving them of their sheepish floundering, "Commander! Captain Rylen's report on our supply lines has arrived."

"As I was saying…" With a small bow in parting, Cullen nodded at Isabeau and approached the awaiting soldier before turning to call back to her. "I shall see you at the feast shortly, Herald."

"As you say, Ser."

With a final smirk, Cullen turned and followed the young lieutenant, the two pouring over the report held in the Commander's hand as they walked further away. Tapping her fingertips absently to her lips, Isabeau made her way out of the cluster of tents and headed for the stairs back into the village's center. As she came to the top of the final steps in her path, Isabeau moseyed over to where Varric was crouched before a camp fire, the dwarf turning his head at her approach.

"So… now that Cassandra's out of earshot, you settling in okay?" he asked, rising from his place in front of the fire to stand patiently before her, his brows quirked disbelievingly. "I mean, you go from the most wanted criminal in Thedas to suddenly joining an army of the Faithful. Most people would have… spread that out over more than one day."

"None of this shit should have happened," Isabeau unabashedly confessed, shaking her head wearily as Varric chuckled in agreement.

"You don't know the half of it. For days now, we've been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what-the-fuck fall out of it." He let out a low whistle, "'Bad for morale' would be putting it lightly – still can't believe anyone was in there and lived, though."

Isabeau turned her back to look up and behind her, the distant sight of the swirling and ominous Breach dropping a heavy weight into the pit of her stomach. "The Breach needs to be sealed. The sooner we accomplish that, the better."

"Right… if it even can be sealed," Varric retorted as he moved to sit down atop a bedroll at his feet. "You might want to consider getting out of here at your first opportunity. I've written enough tragedies to see where this is going."

"I'm not going anywhere," Isabeau firmly insisted.

"Right. Heroes are everywhere, I've seen that – I'm not doubting yours or the other's… commitment. But that hole in the sky? That's beyond heroes; we're gonna need a damn miracle to fix that."

"Not one for optimism, are you?"

He let out a cynical snort, "I'm just a realist, Isabeau… Hey, you going to the feast tonight?" At the nod of Isabeau's head, Varric stood and waved for her to follow him. "Perfect; I can get a decent bite to eat without the suffering alone part."

Laughing as she kept pace beside the dwarf's brisk strides, Isabeau tucked her hands under her arms in an attempt to warm them from the chilly air. "You… do not like our comrades?"

"I think you have that a bit backwards," Varric quipped as they marched up one of the village's main paths, the sounds from the tavern floating through the air as they made their way past it. "Solas and Josephine can be alright, I guess. Being at the center of the mage uprising in Kirkwall didn't exactly put me in the other's best graces, though."

"Ouch," Isabeau admitted as she tautened her neck with a cringe.

"Yeah, and I don't have some handy trick to sway their opinions," Varric said as he winked at her. "No pun intended, of course."

"Of course."

As the two shared a comfortable laugh together, they soon approached the doors to the Chantry, Varric reaching to push and hold open the door for Isabeau. Stepping inside, the smells filling the tall ceilings of the hall wafted pleasantly around her, Isabeau's stomach audibly grumbling as her eyes fell upon the impressively stocked tables.

Already a large number of the Inquisition's forces were seated and excitedly eating, Isabeau even recognizing a few faces from her earlier visit to the training grounds. With a tug from Varric, she followed her new friend over to where more familiar faces greeted her. For all that Varric gave the impression of a loner, she was impressed by the ease in which he approached them.

"Lady Trevelyan, you have… interesting taste in escorts," Josephine playfully teased, her warm and welcoming smile betraying her true intentions with the jab.

"He can be very… persuasive."

Seating herself on the bench across from the diplomat and between Solas and Varric, Isabeau looked down the table to nod in respectful greeting at Cassandra and Leliana. Following the other's lead, she raised her goblet in a toast before bringing it to her lips, drinking deeply as the hall erupted in cheer. Once her trencher was piled high with roasted ram and butter slathered potatoes, Isabeau began to quietly eat as those around her idly chatted.

"Ah, Commander… you managed to pull yourself away from the trebuchets, I see."

At the Ambassador's words, Isabeau looked up to see Cullen sit down across from her, the ex-Templar looking particularly drained as he reached for a decanter of wine.

"Nothing wrong with some extra calibrations, Lady Montilyet," he retorted as he filled his goblet, bringing it to his lips to drink deeply before beginning to fill his trencher.

Josephine chortled her amusement before returning her attentions to her meal, Cullen bringing a greasy piece of the charred ram to his lips just as his eyes met Isabeau's. After a courteous nod in salutation, his gaze slipped elsewhere as he slowly chewed at the meat, the sight of his jaw rhythmically working at the gristle enough to heat Isabeau's chest.

Earnestly snatching her goblet, Isabeau took a rather large gulp of her wine, inwardly scoffing at her ogling of the Commander. Andraste's knickers, are you twelve? Stifling the chiding voice, Isabeau dove back into her trencher of food, the feast continuing in guarded revelry around her. With the immediate danger over, those filling the Chantry's hall were clear in their relief, but the subdued celebrations gave credence to the threat that yet remained over their heads.

As the evening carried on, her new companions chatted, feasted and openly strategized around her; a strange detachment falling over Isabeau as she absently listened but rarely participated. It wasn't until Cullen's voice grew to an audible growl over a suggestion from Leliana that she snapped back to full attention.

"This is a discussion for the war room. If it pleases you, I would have my meal in peace."

Pushing from her seat, Leliana cursed in Orlesian, "You are too stubborn, Cullen. There is not always going to be a direct approach available to us. How many would die to satisfy your honor?"

"Leliana…" Cassandra softly cautioned just as Cullen also rose from his seat on the bench, Isabeau quickly snatching her goblet as it nearly toppled from the force of the Commander's movement. Numerous faces in the hall had turned to watch the exchange, a hush falling over those who gathered as the tension grew.

"There are those of us who value what precious sleep they get, Sister Nightengale… I will not sacrifice what solace I have left in the interest of haste," Cullen countered before marching from the hall and out the Chantry's main doors. Leliana seemed unfazed as she silently turned and made her way towards the nearby dormitories, Isabeau and the others left to stew in the wake of the advisor's public disagreement.

"Like an old married couple…" Varric airily quipped, breaking the silence around them.

After all who remained hummed their shared sentiments, Isabeau hurriedly gathered various items from her trencher and wrapped them in her napkin. After tucking the food away into one of her jacket's deep pockets, she awkwardly cleared her throat and rose from her seat.

"I'm… quite tired. I think I will retire for the night, with your leave."

Her new companions all nodded without protest, kindly bidding Isabeau their good night's before she turned and made her way out of the Chantry. As she bounced down the haphazard steps leading to the outer walls of the small village, a familiar fur mantle appeared in the distance, the Commander slowly making his way on the same path as she.

Stealthily quickening her pace, Isabeau fell silently into stride beside the stoic man, Cullen jolting as he turned to find her next to him. His hand immediately shot to hover over the grip of his sword.

"Maker's breath," he breathed as he appeared to relax, the hand poised by his sword dropping to hang at his side, another reaching to idly rub at the back of his neck. "You… gave me a fright, my lady."

Isabeau chuckled, "Consider it another demonstration of my resume."

"I would quite prefer you refrain from such exercises, especially when I tread a path alone… in the dark."

Caught off-guard by the Commander's stern request, Isabeau grew contrite over her misguided antics, "You have my apologies, Ser Cullen… I meant no harm."

Cullen's eyes softened slightly before he cleared his throat, his jaw clenching as he seemed to consider his next words, "There is… no harm done, Lady Trevelyan. Admittedly, I should be apologizing to you for…for my behavior at dinner."

"You are both suffering under a great deal of pressure, you need not offer me an explanation…" Isabeau countered gently as she comfortably walked alongside the powerfully built Knight, shooting furtive side glances his way as she appreciated the man's stature. Cullen was not unusually tall, but his broad back and shoulders had clearly been shaped by the imposing Templar armor he'd donned over the years. While the armor he now wore was no less impressive, only the bracers on his forearms had the flaming sword of the Order embossed on their surface; Isabeau noting nothing more of Cullen's current armor reflecting his previous career.

"You're kind to say so, but it was unbecoming of me; I should not let my temper rise so easily. I will speak with Leliana later and be sure to offer my apologies," Cullen explained, his voice distant as if his words were directed to himself as much as Isabeau.

Seeing the pair had come to the fork that would send them in their opposite directions, Isabeau pointed over to her small cabin, smiling invitingly at the Commander as she did so. "You hardly ate anything at all tonight, Ser. At least join me for an evening drink," she offered, smiling kindly as she reached into her pocket to reveal her bounty from the feast.

Chuckling at the sight, Cullen appeared to hesitate as he considered her offer. "I had some reports to finish before retiring…" he trailed off at the admonishing quirk of Isabeau's brow, sighing with a soft laugh in capitulation as he began to follow her towards the humble abode. "One cup of wine and perhaps some more of that ram, then I truly should bid you good night, my lady."

"A fair agreement," Isabeau smiled in return as she pushed open the creaking door for him to enter, pulling off her cloak to hang it back on the wall beside the entrance. The heavy thudding of the Commander's steps mingled with the crackles and pops coming from the nearby hearth, Isabeau warmly gesturing towards a small set of chairs for Cullen to sit.

"I am pleased you have such… cozy quarters," he idly admitted, his armor clanking as he settled into a seat before the fire. Barking out a laugh, Isabeau hurriedly prepared a wooden platter of the food she'd scrounged and brought it over to Cullen, handing him a rather full goblet of wine as well.

"It certainly is an improvement from the Chantry's dungeons," she teased before turning back to the nearby table to fill her own goblet. Turning to see Cullen had immediately began to inhale the food she'd provided, Isabeau sat across from him in the adjacent chair, idly swirling her wine as she watched the man eat.

Pausing as he felt her stare, Cullen swallowed the mouthful of food he'd been working on with an audible gulp, hastily washing it down with wine before flashing Isabeau a timid smile. "If I am honest, I - ah… haven't been feeling well as of late, my lady. I'm afraid my appetite has inconveniently returned after its abandonment at the feast."

"Well, I'm pleased my foresight benefited someone. Otherwise, I would have hoarded over it alone, left to revel in my surreptitious gluttony," Isabeau jested in self-deprecation before her curiosity got the better of her. "You… said you are not feeling well. Are you quite alright, Ser?"

Red yet again tinted the Commanders cheeks as his gaze darkened, Cullen shaking his head dismissively at the Herald's concern. "I am… managing a stubborn illness, but you need not worry yourself, my lady. It… will pass soon enough."

Not wanting to pry further, Isabeau sipped silently at her goblet as Cullen quickly cleared the platter in his lap, a welcomed quiet settling over the two as the ambient sounds of the cabin filled Isabeau's ears. Slapping the crumbs from his hands suddenly, Cullen rose from his seat and moved to return the wooden plate back to where Isabeau originally found it, the Commander then tucking his hands behind his back as he smiled at her in thanks.

"It was… fine of you to share, my lady. However, now that I've robbed you of your evening snack… I fear my duties must be seen to before I can finally rest for the night."

A part of her was disappointed at the thought of their brief interlude ending, Isabeau deciding to push her luck, seeing if she might learn more of the stoic Commander before he could retreat to his tent. "May I ask you something before you leave, Ser?"

He quickly looked to the door - almost as if evaluating whether he could reach it before more words tumbled from Isabeau's lips - when he surprised her as he shifted his stance and nodded agreeably. "If… you'd like, there is yet time. What would you have of me?"

"There's just… one curiosity I've always harbored when it came to Templars. If you can forgive my candor, I'd ask if it is true members of the Order… take vows?" When Cullen frowned in bewilderment, Isabeau hastily back tracked. "I have overstepped. Forgive my thoughtless demand of your time, Commander. If –"

Interrupting her with a clearing of his throat, Isabeau was relieved when her eyes met Cullen's amber gaze and found it heavily lidded in warm regard, "It's quite alright, my lady. I'm sure you're… not alone in that curiosity." Moving to lean a shoulder against the wall by the cabin's door, Cullen crossed his arms and continued with what seemed a practiced patience. "I'm afraid the reality is much less exciting than you'd imagine. There is a vigil first, and while you are expected to be at peace during that time, your life is about to change dramatically."

"What happens after?"

"When it's over, you've officially given yourself to a life of service. That's when you're given a philter – your first draught of Lyrium… and its power," a grave tone fell over Cullen's voice then as he looked away distractedly, the flickering light from the hearth making the tired lines under his eyes seem more prominent. "As Templars, we are not to seek any form of wealth or acknowledgment; our lives belong to the Marker… and the path we have chosen."

Isabeau nodded slowly in respectful understanding, daring a few more steps towards the handsome man before coming to a stop in front of him. The words she wished to speak sat uncomfortably in the middle of her throat, Isabeau wondering if the wine was to blame for her sudden daring or something else she felt foolish facing.

"A… life of service and sacrifice. Are Templars also expected to give up… physical temptations?"

A flash of something crossed behind Cullen's eyes, his brows furrowing in obvious awkwardness as he appeared to choke on the implication behind Isabeau's query. "Physical? Why –" he hastily cleared his throat, his voice dropping an obvious octave. "Why would you…? T-that's… not required. I suppose Templars can marry, but The Order must grant permission and there are a great deal of restrictions and conditions involved. Some may choose to give up… more to prove their devotion, but it's, um… not required."

"Have you?"

He blinked, "Me? I, ah… um… N-no, I have taken no such vows." With a heavy sigh that added a pleasing breathiness to Cullen's rolling accent, he shook his head in playful defeat at her. "Maker's breath… can we discuss something else?"

If Isabeau had any doubts she was toeing the line with her gutsy inquisitiveness, the brilliant red currently staining Cullen's face served to clear them up. While a small part of her cringed with shameful guilt for her risqué behavior, another part found a clandestine succor in the harmless and fun interaction.

"I have tormented you enough with my inane questions, Commander… I apologize for any discomfort I have caused," she confessed with a rueful chuckle, admittedly feeling her own cheeks warm at the sight of the flustered Knight. "I appreciate you sparing the time to chat with me, all the same."

Cullen's eyes narrowed in gentleness, meeting Isabeau's own gaze as he moved to step in front of her, the bulk she had previously appreciated at a distance that much more striking once up close. The scent of sword oil, leather and something else pleasingly filled Isabeau's nostrils just as she felt a large, gloved hand take hers. Caught off guard by the gesture, Isabeau managed to only stutter as Cullen gave her hand a chivalrous kiss.

He pulled back, the corner of his mouth twitching with the hint of a smile, "The Inquisition is blessed to have you, Isabeau Trevelyan. I thank you again for the generosity of not only your feast fare… but also of your company."

Isabeau perked her eyebrow, touched by the charm in the Commander's unexpected break of character. "And yet you cry, 'I am no Knight!'" she teased carefully, delighted with the opportunity to persist in their unspoken Game.

Cullen cocked a thick eyebrow at her almost competitively, pointedly staring at her marked hand before he evenly retorted, "And yet you cry… 'I am no Herald!'."

"Goodnight, Ser Cullen…" Isabeau trailed off with a soft laugh, following behind the Commander as he made to open the door.

Just as his hand rested on the latch, the door explosively blew inwards, great, raging flames engulfing Cullen as they swept into the small cabin. Screaming in horror, Isabeau dove into the flames like waters on the ocean, desperately searching where the Commander had previously stood. Crying in agony from the searing heat and the loss of her love, Isabeau hurled herself through a weakened wall at the side of the burning hutch. She crashed through to the other side, painfully colliding with a wall and several stacks of fire wood, before rolling in the snow to snuff out the last flames scorching her skin. Sucking in a desperate gasp of air, she weakly rose to her feet and began to run for help.

As she stumbled to the front of her cottage, Isabeau dropped to her knees as she saw Haven burning all around her. Screams of agony and panic echoed terribly throughout the atmosphere, tears staining Isabeau's cheeks as she took in the horrific sight before her. The Chantry no longer stood, the village's few buildings already half burned to the ground where crisp, black bodies dotted the earth around them. Isabeau could not save them; all around her burned like Andraste on the pyre, the Inquisitor unaware the anguished wailing assaulting her ears was her own.

The only clear thought that pierced her panicked mind was to run for the trebuchets nearby. Willing her protesting legs to work, she rose from the cold earth beneath her, barreling through the chaos of shadowy figures, bodies and flames surrounding her. Lungs burning in protest, Isabeau shut her eyes with a scream as her charred, bloodied companions lined her path – each one erupting in gruesomely magnificent flames as she barreled past them. When the trebuchets appeared over the crest of the hill, Isabeau slid to an abrupt halt as Cullen's patient eyes greeted her, the Knight stoically waiting for her flames to consume him, too.

"No!" She cried mournfully, bringing a hand to cup her mouth as she shook her head in tortured denial. Suddenly, a bone-chilling roar screeched across the sky above Isabeau, the Inquisitor cracking her neck to look up to see the Breach had opened above Skyhold. Instead of its usual swirls of green, red of the deepest and most bloody hue now stained the sky, an uncontrollable shaking overtaking Isabeau at the sight of swirling energy.

Turning to find herself surrounded by the crumbled ruins of Skyhold's walls and towers, Isabeau screamed when she felt Cullen's hand at her back; the Commander solidly pushing her off the precipice of the Keep's mountain perch, Isabeau shutting her eyes tightly as she rushed towards the bloody Breach. Up she fell, another terrifying howl erupting to ring painfully in her ears when a cold, snarling voice suddenly BOOMED in joining.

"I HAVE SEEN THE THRONE OF THE GODS, AND IT… WAS… EMPTY!"

Isabeau's eyes shot open to see the Inquisition's eye had replaced the red and gaping Breach, flames of blue light blinding her as she instinctively outstretched her hand. Warm tears cascaded down her cheeks as only the sight of her desperately reaching fingertips filled her vision…

"ISABEAU!"

Like an achor being dropped at sea, Isabeau was suddenly yanked downwards, her body twisting to fall gently into Solas' awaiting arms.

Her eyes finally opened.

"Isabeau? Isabeau!" Solas' voice was drained and panicked, the eleven mage desperately clinging to her as they both sat on the floor of her tent. As her eyesight blearily returned to focus, Isabeau sucked in a shuddering breath; Cassandra and Varric anxiously looking down at her crumpled form cradled in Solas' arms.

Slowing her panting breaths, Isabeau could not stop the shivering that overtook her body. "W-what… what happened?"

"I'm not sure, but somehow you… I think you were in the Fade," Solas attempted to explain, Cassandra moving to help the elf in getting Isabeau back atop the nearby cot.

"You were screaming, thrashing wildly while your mark erupted with energy… I could not wake you," the Seeker shakily explained. "I ran for Solas and he immediately began the ritual."

"In the Fade…? That's not possible," Isabeau breathed, about to speak further when violent waves of nausea wracked her body, the Inquisitor forced to unashamedly vomit at the side of her small bed. With a pained groan, she rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, laying weakly back on the cot as she looked to Solas. "You found me, though… was it not just a dream?"

With a concerned glance at Varric and Cassandra, Solas quickly soaked a bunching of cloth in Isabeau's wash basin before returning to pat the cooled fabric to her forehead. "If it was, I fear your mark's connection to the Breach… could be altering the connection."

Frightened by the concern that deeply furrowed her comrade's brows, Isabeau's stomach threatened to expunge the last of its contents as she levelled her alarmed gaze with the mage. "What does that mean, Solas?"

"It means… so long as the Breach remains unsealed, this will only get worse."

"…And?"

Solas suddenly reached to pull up the cloth of her sleeve, revealing the forearm of her marked hand was now lined with what looked like angry, black and green cracks. Swallowing thickly, he sank onto a stool at the side of her bed, Isabeau furious at the sorrow in the elf's enigmatic orbs as he met her searching stare.

"And it… is killing you."