A big thanks to all who stopped by to read my first chapter! Rox Malone, I really appreciate you taking the time to review! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much!
Cullen had slept poorly. Placing his hand over his forehead, he rubbed at his temples trying to ease the oncoming headache. His slumber had been invaded by nightmares reminding him of the horrors he had witnessed and the torment he had been subjected to at Kinloch Tower. It seemed the longer he kept himself from his lyrium, the worse his nightmares were and the more sleepless his nights became.
Trying to ignore the furious pounding of his head, Cullen rose from his tent. His aching eyes were met by the blindingly brilliant sun reflecting off of the glistening, white snow making the world seem entirely too bright for his liking. What he wouldn't give for a bit of cloud cover at this moment.
Since breakfast was definitely not an option for his unsettled stomach, he decided he would make his way to the Chantry. The lighting was relatively dim within its walls, and he could sit uninterrupted at the war table under the pretense of planning missions for the Inquisition's troops until his headache subsided. He pushed his way through the tall, wooden gates, now intent on his destination, but before he had managed a few steps up the path to the Chantry, he heard a voice call out to him.
It was the dwarf, Varric. He was standing alone by a blazing bonfire that was across the way from Seggrit's modest merchant's stall. Cullen huffed a sigh of annoyance as the barrel-chested dwarf waved him over. Against his better judgement, he found his feet carrying him toward the bonfire.
"Hey Curly!" Varric called out flippantly to the approaching man, a mischievous glint behind his eyes that Cullen was not sure he , lowering his voice as the Commander moved closer he asked, "Was that you I saw coming out of the Herald's hut last night? Pretty bold of you, don't you think?"
"Already trying to start rumors, I see, Varric," Cullen retorted, hoping his tone made it clear that he was not in the mood for the dwarf's antics. "I'd suggest against slandering the lady's good name. I imagine she wouldn't thank you for that."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Commander," the dwarf replied smoothly, with an almost imperceptible wink, "but you gotta admit, the Herald of Andraste and the Commander of the Inquisition's forces tangled in a forbidden romance amidst the ravages of war. Could make for a good story."
"Forbidden romance?" snorted Cullen at the absurd idea. "If there were to be a hypothetical dalliance between Lady Trevelyan and myself, it would be far from forbidden. I mean who is there to forbid it? I'm sure it would set many tongues wagging and could possibly be met with some disapproval, but I think forbidden is taking it a bit far."
"That's why it's called a story, Curly," Varric stated teasingly, his eyes twinkling as a knowing smirk formed on his mouth. "Seems like someone might actually be thinking about it as a little bit more?"
"Of course not," the Commander replied curtly as his head gave a particularly nasty throb. He wasn't sure if it was the obnoxious dwarf or the pungent smell of smoke that was making his headache worse. Standing so close to the raging heat of the fire definitely wasn't helping either.
"Lighten up, Cullen. You spend entirely too much time with a serious expression on your face. It's bad for your health. You could stand a bit of fun...or dare I say...romance?"
"I think I'd prefer it if you minded your own business in regards to my expressions," Cullen remarked coldly. He needed to get out from beneath the sun's dazzling rays soon. He was starting to feel dizzy as the throbbing in the front of his head continued in full force now. He could feel the light sheen of sweat that was starting to form upon his forehead as he swallowed back his nausea.
"All right, Curly, but you're not the only one making puppy dog eyes, just so you know. I think she likes you too. I even heard her call out your name in her sleep the other night after we'd made camp in the Hinterlands," Varric whispered conspiratorially. Cullen froze at these words. He could feel his eyes widen in surprise, before they narrowed again in suspicion as he remembered that it was Varric sharing this information.
"I imagine you misheard her, then, provided you're not making up more stories," he bit out, annoyed at the dwarf's insistence in teasing him on the matter. Was he really so obvious in his infatuation that even Varric had noticed? If Varric had his suspicions, then who else could he expect taunting from? Leliana had no doubt caught onto him as well, then. Nothing slipped passed her.
"Think whatever you want, Commander. I've spent plenty of time out there with her. Her ferocity is...frightening. She's unyielding, unstoppable. She wouldn't rest until we had done all we could to assist the refugees at the Crossroads. Plus, she has this uncanny ability to inspire people even without words. I'm fairly certain she could convince the mages and the Templars to be best friends if we gave her enough time. It's no wonder we rally around her. Even I forget sometimes that she's just a person. But, I've seen her when she speaks to you, and she's different. Softer...less...intimidating. I think I actually saw her smile."
Cullen let out a sharp bark of laughter at the dwarf's words. Less intimidating? The Herald of Andraste? Cullen was certain there was no person more intimidating in the whole of existence. Amell had been pretty daunting in her own right, but the knowledge that his infatuation was an impossible dream made it somehow safe. When it came to the Herald, well he'd almost prefer to try his luck with the abominations back in Kinloch Tower once more; the temptations they offered were much less appealing, and the worst they could inflict was death. As it stood now, a fluttering of her long, dark eyelashes, the right whispered words from her lips, and he would be on his knees begging to lick the mud from her boots. But that was a path that, if followed, could lead to a great many things that were so much worse than something so simple as dying.
He groaned inwardly. He barely even knew this woman, had maybe spoken to her a total of three or four times, and already his thoughts were running away with him completely. It was so reminiscent of his ridiculous fascination with the Hero of Ferelden, except now there were no rules that would prevent him from pursuing a relationship with the woman he desired. Just as with Amell, he knew almost nothing of the Lady Trevelyan except that she was a beautiful woman. What was wrong with him? Was he really so shallow that beauty was all that mattered to him? And, why did Varric feel he had the right to pry, anyway? His headache was now reaching unbearable heights. He needed to get away quickly before he collapsed.
"Yes well, I have duties to attend to," Cullen said dismissively with a small nod of his head. "If you'll excuse me."
It took everything Cullen had not to sprint the rest of the way to Haven's Chantry. He ignored everyone he passed, the solitude the war table would bring clear in his mind as he threw open the Chantry doors, allowing them to slam closed behind him. He regretted allowing the noise immediately, not only because of the extra pain it caused his head, but also because many of the Chantry-goers were now staring in his direction. The room seemed to swim hazily before him as his eyes struggled to focus, but continued on his way to the large doors at the end of the room, trying his best to remain steady on his clumsy feet. Maker! If the headaches were going to continue on this badly, maybe he ought to just go back to his lyrium leash.
He felt his gloved hand make contact with the wooden door, and he pushed it open, slipping inside the dimly lit room as soon as it was opened wide enough. He let it fall shut behind him as he leaned back again the neighboring door, panting as sweat dripped from his forehead.
"Commander Cullen!" a familiar voice gasped, and he cursed mentally. Not her. Anyone but her. He didn't want her to see him like this. "Are...Are you feeling alright?"
'What?" he asked, wishing he could wipe the back of his hand across his dewy forehead but realizing that it would be a futile effort while wearing leather gloves. "Oh, yes. I was just out sparring with the troops, and I must admit I'm still a bit winded."
It took every ounce of effort he had to stand completely upright. His amber eyes would not quite focus upon her gray ones, but he hoped it at least appeared as though he were looking her in the eyes. He attempted what he prayed was a charming smile, but he felt as if it had come out as more of a grimace. He could not afford to be weak right now. The Herald needed to believe that the Commander of the Inquisition's forces was strong and capable. She needed to know he could be relied upon. He did not want to give anyone reason to doubt his abilities so early on in the Inquisition's endeavors, but he especially did not want to disappoint her.
"You look pale," Brynn stated somewhat bluntly, but the tone of her voice was soft, and her words were full of concern "Are you sure you're feeling well? I can go and fetch Adan if you need.."
"I assure you, Lady Trevelyan, I am fine," he replied, his voice sounding much stronger than he felt. It was relieving to know at least that faculty had not betrayed him. "I went without breaking my fast this morning. I am sure that is the reason for my pale complexion."
"So you make certain I mind my mealtimes, when you can't even manage to do the same yourself?" she queried in a playful tone. Cullen wished he could discern her expression clearly. He could imagine the graceful arch of her eyebrow quirked in a mock expression of amused disbelief that he was sure rested upon her features at this very moment.
"Well, it's important for the Herald of Andraste to keep her strength up as she is the one running around all of Thedas slaying demons and closing rifts in the fade," he answered cheekily, his headache momentarily forgotten as he wondered for what felt like the hundredth time since meeting her if she was truly was flirting with him. Maybe there had been a bit of truth in Varric's words after all. "Not to mention, you accomplish all this while spreading word of the Inquisition and recruiting people to our cause. I'm just training the army you've earned us."
"And leading it," she quipped back at him. "So maybe there are a few less fade rifts in your job description, but you still have to prove yourself worthy of commanding to the men serving underneath you, which is no mean feat. The Inquisition needs you much more than they need me, especially since the Templars have abandoned the Chantry. The people need soldiers to protect them, to make them feel safe again. I just got to be the lucky one with the strange glowing hand that can close tears in the sky."
"I am not the beacon of hope that you are, Herald. The Inquisition grows every day, its ranks swelling with those who wish to follow you, not me," Cullen stated earnestly. He moved toward the war table, trying to discover what it was the Herald had been considering, before he had interrupted her.
"Yes, well, just imagine if all those people actually knew me, and how I felt about all this 'Herald of Andraste' nonsense. I'm not a...what was it that you said?...a beacon of hope?...by choice," she retorted with a sardonic chuckle. She gave him a wry smile before sighing heavily. "Honestly, I don't want any part of this. I'm just a spoiled noble brat who had everything handed to me and never appreciated any of it. I'm fair with a pair of daggers or a stubborn lock, but I'm no hero or champion. This...Herald business...I'm going to screw it all up, like everything else I've ever done. How am I supposed to know if I should choose to side with the mages or the Templars to close the breach? What if I choose wrong? But, eventually, I'm going to have to choose, because...because I have this...this thing," she thrust her glowing hand out under his nose as she said the words, "whatever it is, embedded in my flesh. I don't even know how it happened, how it came to be there. I just know that it's too much! I don't...I can't…," she trailed off, holding her face in her hands. The image of how small and fragile her hand looked as she held it out for him stuck in his mind, and he could no longer fathom how he had ever viewed her as intimidating.
At seeing the Lady Trevelyan so vulnerable, Cullen was seized by the overwhelming desire to reach out to comfort her, to pull her against his chest and hold there until her worries faded. He was surprised that she was showing him, of all people, the cracks in the veneer of unwavering tenacity with which she faced the world at large. But, despite the thick leather armor and menacing daggers she wielded with remarkable skill, she was still a woman, a woman who now held the weight of the entire world upon her shoulders.
"My lady, I…," he stammered, but he could find no words with which to comfort her. His head was still pounding nastily, but he could see the Lady Trevelyan more clearly than he could before. She had exposed herself to him, showed him a glimpse of her flaws and insecurities, proven that there was more hiding behind the normally tough and self-assured exterior.
Then, her back straightened, and her hands moved away from her face. The expression it wore was now vague and emotionless. Her full lips were pressed together in a tight line and something had hardened behind her eyes. The mask was back, the troubled woman hiding behind it now gone from view.
"Forgive me, Commander. I am not usually, so...weak," she remarked, distaste dripping from the last word. "I hope I did not make you uncomfortable or cause you to doubt my commitment to the Inquisition."
"You are not weak, my Lady!" Cullen declared a little more fervently than he intended. He cleared his throat, an embarrassed flush was now clawing its way up his neck, and placed his hands upon the table, looking down at the space between them as he started again. "Having doubts and reservations about the overwhelming decisions that must be made does not make you weak. I am proud to work alongside someone who is so concerned about doing what is right for the people of Thedas. Do not feel as though you cannot confide in me. I will not think you any less capable just because you have a few qualms about what is to be done."
He brought his gaze up to meet hers and saw that her face had softened in surprise. She seemed to be giving him an appraising sort of look. Her eyes flickered back and forth between his as though she was searching for the truth of his words within them. As if she had found what she was looking for, Brynn reached her hand across the war table and allowed it to rest on top of his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Suddenly Cullen found himself wishing that he hadn't pulled his gloves on when he had dressed that morning.
"Cullen," she murmured softly, her slate grey eyes still locked upon his amber ones. She had not yet pulled her hand away from his. He felt his pulse quicken under her scrutiny, his headache all but forgotten. The door creaked open, and she pulled her hand away from his abruptly as he turned to glare at whoever had intruded upon their private moment.
"Your Worship, I am glad you are here," came a familiar Orlesian accent. Leliana entered the room entirely too silently for a person clad in chain mail. "And Commander Cullen," she added in greeting with a note of amusement hidden in the lilt of her voice. "There was something I wanted to discuss with you, my Lady."
"Of course. Would you mind walking with me? I think our Commander wanted to look over some troop movements, and I've kept him from his task long enough," was the Herald's reply. Her mask was locked firmly back into place as she left with Leliana, who was sharing her concerns about the absence of Gray Wardens in the aftermath of the breach, but her eyes sought his out one final time before the door closed behind her. Cullen knew then and there that he was firmly on that path that led to a great many more complications than he was truly certain he wanted. And yet, though, the Herald had not truly done anything to make his heart so hopeful, to hint that she was interested in anything more than his friendship, he knew he would be left unsatisfied if friendship was all that she desired of him.