It had been days since the Herald last spoke to Commander Cullen. Still, the memories of their short conversations were ingrained in her mind. She didn't know what it was about him, but he was so intriguing. Obviously, there was the physical aspect; the Commander was nothing short of gorgeous. He was clearly strong, but didn't overtly show it. His pauldrons covered what Victoria knew were defined muscles. She found him to be a more than competent fighter, as well. Then, of course, was his face. Maker, she'd never seen a more perfect face. Charming smile, stubble across his chin, and a deep look in his eyes, like he held secrets; ones that the Herald was far too eager to learn. The most intriguing feature on his otherwise perfect face was a scar that ran along his upper lip. She wondered if there was a story behind it, and if he would share it with her. She also wondered what it would be like to kiss it. Actually, she could embarrassingly admit that she pictured the scene, as well as kissing the rest of the ex-Templar, far too frequently.
Victoria had just returned from the Hinterlands with Cassandra, Solas and Varric; they had recruited Revered Mother Giselle to the Inquisition's cause. The Herald's eyes searched vigorously for the Commander, but he wasn't training the recruits as usual. She tried to hide her disappointed expression as she continued to look for the one person she wanted to see.
The Herald wished to continue her search, but was distracted by sounds of shouting coming from just outside the Chantry. She rushed to the location only to find mages and templars causing the commotion.
"Your kind killed the Most Holy!" an enraged templar shouted.
"Lies," one of the mages countered, "your kind let her die!"
Just as the fight was about to become physical, a familiar face stepped in. Commander Cullen put himself between the two parties and shouted, "Enough!"
"Knight Captain-"
"That's not my title," Cullen interrupted. "We are not templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition."
Victoria admired the scene in front of her. Cullen's clear show of bravery was not lost on her. She admired his passion, his dedication to the Inquisition, and his indiscriminate handling of the situation. She knew how he felt about the mages-he had made that clear in their first War Room meeting-but even so, he handled them respectfully.
She sauntered over to the Commander, who managed to disperse the crowd but was now accompanied by none other than Chancellor Roderick. Despite the Chancellor's direct disapproval of the Inquisition, Victoria could not hold a grudge against the man. However, his glibness was enough to drive her insane sometimes.
"Mages and templars were already at war. Now they're blaming each other for the Divine's death," she heard Cullen argue.
"Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order," the Chancellor countered, antagonistic as usual.
"Who, you? Random Clerics who weren't important enough to be at the Conclave?" Victoria had to admit, seeing him so passionate made her stomach flutter.
"The rebel Inquisition and its so-called 'Herald of Andraste'? I think not."
Victoria decided it was her turn to interrupt. "I don't know," she began, "the Inquisition seems about as functional as any young family." If the Chancellor wanted to antagonize, she would surely oblige. She was almost positive that when she spoke a blush ran up Cullen's cheeks.
"How many families are on the verge of splitting into open warfare themselves?" Ouch, the Chancellor had a point there; she wouldn't tip her hat though.
"Yes, because that would never happen to the Chantry," Cullen persisted.
"Centuries of tradition will guide us. We are not the upstart, eager to overturn every apple cart."
"Remind me why you're allowing the Chancellor to stay?" Victoria turned to Cullen then, and lost her concentration for a minute.
"Clearly your templar knows where to draw the line."
Cullen visibly winced when Chancellor Roderick called him a templar, but straightened up and said, "He's toothless. There's no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth. The Chancellor's a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however."
Cullen was so right. By the time the Herald returned from Val Royeaux, she was exhausted. Revered Mother Hevara, during their meeting, was knocked out by a templar. Then-the leader, Lord Seeker Lucius-denounced the Inquisition and the Chantry. Two good things came out of it though-new recruits; Sera, who was a part of the group the Friends of Red Jenny, and Vivienne, the Enchanter to the Imperial Court in Orlais. Now that she was back at Haven, all she wanted was to rest. Sadly, that could not be done. She had to search the perimeter for a logging stand and for an old alchemist's notes.
Cullen was training recruits, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure marching into the woods. His curiosity got the better of him, and he turned around to see none other than the Herald.
Before he could think he was running towards her, shouting, "Herald! I-where are you going?" She turned around and acknowledged his presence as calmly as she usually did.
"Oh, hello Commander. I'm going to run a few errands for the people of Haven. I need to find a logging stand and some notes." She pushed her hair back behind her ear-a small gesture which was becoming one of his favorites-and smiled.
Cullen knew he couldn't let this opportunity pass. Feigning bravery, he took a deep breath and responded, "I see. May I accompany you? You shouldn't go alone."
When Trevelyan looked away, his stomach dropped. He had pushed it too far; she had barely given any indication that she was interested, and he was too bold. But as his thoughts were racing she looked back up at him, smirked, and said, "As long as I can take this time to get to know you better."
Cullen had to fight the blush that was rising to his cheeks. There was no way he could resist an offer like that, so he started walking alongside her, and chuckled, "Alright, what do you want to know?"
"I'd like to know more about the templars."
Ordinarily, Cullen would attempt to avoid all conversations about life as a templar. It was all far too scarring for him to bring up. But looking into Trevelyan's eyes and seeing her genuine interest, he had to just suck it up and answer whatever she wanted to ask. "If you need insight into what the Order is doing now, I'm afraid I can't offer more than you already know," he started, "Anything else I will answer as best I can."
"Hmm, where to begin…" she pondered as they entered an old building not far from camp. "Why did you join the Order?"
As he was helping her sift through papers on the desk, he explained, "I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need. I used to beg the templars at our local Chantry to teach me. At first they merely humored me, but I must have shown promise. Or at least a willingness to learn. The Knight-Captain spoke to my parents on my behalf. They agreed to send me for training. I was thirteen when I left home."
When he broke from looking for the papers, Trevelyan was looking right at him, listening intently. She was genuinely interested in what he had to say, about a subject that should be of little interest to her. He took in her features as he did all he could to gather his thoughts. She had beautiful olive skin, littered with freckles across her cheeks and nose. He got to examine her lips closer now; they were a supple pink, and plump. They looked so soft, that Cullen couldn't help but wonder how they would feel pressed against his.
The silence broke in the form of papers scattering. Trevelyan bent down and shouted, "Oh, Maker's breath! I'm so clumsy." She even sounded virtuous when she was swearing off the Maker, which brought a smile to Cullen's face. "Ah, here they are!" she beamed, "Now we don't need to clean up the rest of the papers!" She stuffed the papers in her bag and Cullen followed her out the door.
"So, thirteen-that's still so young," she continued when they started on their path to the logging stand.
"I wasn't the youngest there," Cullen elaborated. "Some children are promised to the Order at infancy. Still, I didn't take on full responsibilities until I was eighteen. The Order sees you trained and educated first."
"What about your family-did you miss them?" she inquired, barely skipping a beat.
"Of course. But there were many my age who felt the same. We learned to look out for one another."
"Well, that's good," she countered. "Do templars take vows? 'I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages'-that sort of thing?"
Her animation when she was reciting her example elicited a chuckle from him. "There's a Vigil first. You're meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it's over, you give yourself to a life of service. That's when you're given a philter-your first draught of lyrium-and its power." He grew somewhat quiet when he thought of the lyrium, but if he was going to talk to anyone about all this, he wanted it to be her. "As templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen."
Trevelyan and Cullen located the logging stand and she marked it on her map, placing a beacon there so others could find it. She took a thoughtful pause before she answered. "A life of service and sacrifice," she pondered, "Are templars also expected to give up...physical temptations?"
Now that caught him off guard. He ended up tripping on a snow drift, and he brought Trevelyan down on top of him. Making no effort to move, he stuttered, "Physical? Why..." he cleared his throat and continued, "Why would you...That's not expected. Templars can marry-although there are rules around it and the Order must grant permission...Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion, but it's, um, not required."
She persisted, all of her weight resting on top of him, "Have you?"
Cullen barely stopped his eyes from popping out of their sockets before replying, "Me? I...um...no. I've taken no such vows. Maker's breath, can we speak of something else?"
He finally made eye contact with her, only to see her smiling uncontrollably. She was reveling in his embarrassment! She thought she had won their little exchange, but he didn't want her to take her victory to heart. He swallowed and reached his hand up to the stray hairs above him, slowly placing them behind her ear for her. He saw her expression change from victory to shock, and then to a tender smile. She placed her hand on the scar above his lip, tracing it, and he flipped her over so he now sat on top of her.
"I think I won, don't y-" His gloating was interrupted with a snowball to his face, pushing him backwards and allowing Trevelyan to get back up. He gathered his own mound of snow and threw it at her as she tried to goad him into chasing her. He obliged, and they threw snowballs at each other all the way back to the main camp at Haven.
They were laughing uncontrollably until they were greeted by none other than Cassandra. She looked at them with furrowed eyebrows. "What are you two doing?" she demanded.
Trevelyan looked at him with a smirk and responded, "Oh, nothing Cassandra. I'm going to get cleaned off. I'll see you later, Cullen." She knew the answer wouldn't satisfy the curious Seeker, and she winked at him before setting off to her quarters.
He would have gladly watched her saunter off, but he reluctantly fixed his gaze on the Seeker, who asserted, "Don't distract the Herald, Commander." He heard Trevelyan laugh so loud that it echoed through the complex.