Cullen;

"Advisors? What do I so desperately need advice on, Cassandra? How to chew my food perhaps, or wipe my ass?" The barb wasn't directed at him especially but it certainly didn't escape his notice, even though it was only whispered it carried from outside the door. The dwarf had to leave the room in its wake as he had begun to scoff. The reverence of the situation was utterly ruined before the Inquisitor had even entered the room. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, don't be so sour Cass."

'We can use all the help we can get, Inquisitor." Cullen wondered if they were aware the door was open and himself, Leliana and Josephine- introduced to each other only minutes before- could hear every word they were saying.

"I said I was kidding, look, I even dressed formally for the occasion. What is wrong with you?" The Inquisitor, to her credit, did seem generally concerned for her flustered companion.

"Nothing, I only wish this to go well, please, do not offend them. No nudity. No cursing. Prove my opinion of your political finesse wrong, use whatever hidden talents you possess. Honestly, Inquisitor, just do everything you did not do in front of the Divine. You've declined any information about them, at least try to act like you care that they've given up their time to be here."

"I am offended. I am a delight, Cassandra. And the meeting with the Divine was an ambush, you know that." The doors opened with a confident slam, revealing a woman that did not match the voice, nor the reputation that preceded her. She was undressing as she entered, pulling a scarf from around her head that she had evidently been using as protection from the sun and sand around Skyhold, either that or it was a disguise. She wore a burgundy strip of cloth fastened about one of her wrists that she now used to pull her hair into a messy ponytail, and a loose fitted white lined top that opened wide at the front above a pair of figure-hugging dark breeches. She had evidently been lying when she had said she dressed formally and he got the sense the shirt was not her own. She was shorter than the Seeker, but wore heeled boots that evened the gap. Yet it was her appearance that contrasted her title so fiercely.

She moved about the war-table, introducing herself as Raen Trevelyan and delicately shaking the hand of each advisor in turn, himself last. She paused as she viewed his face; a flicker of something akin to recognition crossed her own. He did not know her; he would not have easily forgotten that face. It was startling, in passing it seemed beautiful, full lips and a nose that rounded and turned down slightly at the tip, suggesting she was not a Fereldan or Marcher, as did her complexion. Yet her hair was golden, darkly so, as were her eyes. Yet the more you stared at her, the more you saw, the obvious scars- twin jagged lines across her right cheekbone and one upon her top lip- the freckles and the less obvious scars that covered, judging from her mostly-bare chest, most of her body, though it was generally hard to tell as she was covered in dust. "I apologise for my appearance, I don't usually look quite so dishevelled when conducting business on behalf of the Inquisition." She then turned and smiled endearingly at the Seeker, "I look forward to working with you and appreciate your support in matters of espionage, diplomacy and military strategy in which I confess I lack experience. Please, make yourselves at home and do not hesitate to ask for anything, the Seeker will inform you of your duties and show you to your private quarters." With an inclination of her head, she turned on her heel and strutted from the room, raising an eyebrow at Cassandra as she passed before the Seeker stepped forward to take her place. Josephine was the first to speak, "She speaks well. It would seem I have the easiest job here."

Skyhold's Chantry was not small, but it was in a state of what could be most kindly labelled disrepair. He did not expect to see anyone inside it, let alone the Inquisitor herself. She was not praying, simply wandering the pews, trailing her hands along statues and stained glass, showered in dappled light.

"I did not think you were an Andrastian." He did not think she would mind the informal tone, she did not seem the type to care, even though she spoke as one who did.

"I am not. Even when I was a child I could only watch the nobles enter the Chantry, one by one in their finery, I would sit atop the roof and count them, they had one in the Circle as well but I've never been introspective enough to pray." She turned on him, almost predatorily circling by the altar to stand in front of where he stood in the centre of the aisle, and gestured for him to sit before she joined him, leaving a wide distance between them. "You reminded me of someone I once knew, he appreciated places like this, more than I ever could." She breathed quickly on the last few words, a sad sort of stifled laugh.

"I see. People appreciate things in different ways." It was an awful attempt at small talk; he was never any good at that. Trevelyan was a noble name, but he had been told she was a bastard by Josephine, who knew noble family names like an alphabet.

"I apologise, it seems I have ambushed you in a Chantry. Cassandra will have my head." She laughed; it was a pretty thing, girlish almost. She moved to go, but did not get far before she turned and asked "You were in Ferelden, or Kirkwall, weren't you? They wouldn't have hired you just on military capability, I told them to hire a Templar, a Commander who was present for the worst of the uprisings and has experience with demons firsthand, to make up for what I lack."

"Both. I was at the Circle Tower in Ferelden during the Blight and in Kirkwall when the Champion sided with the Templars against the mages. She saved a lot of lives with that decision. I do not mean to be presumptuous but, you are a mage, aren't you?" As a Templar he had felt the surge of energy emanating from her even from across the room.

"Yes. I understand your compassion also saved a lot of lives, Knight-Commander Cullen." He blinked in surprise; she knew more than she let on. "Varric likes to tell stories."

She was rubbing the dirt from her neck as she continued, "Mages and Templars have stood together in every major crisis in Thedas since the first Blight. That fact, and that fact alone, has kept tensions from boiling over, on both sides of the conflict. Every time the mages in the Circles get especially annoyed, there is a crisis and the mages are granted a longer leash. That will not happen this time. Perhaps the examples the Inquisition sets will help reinforce the importance of the Circle, if the Templars keep their oaths to protect."

"You wish the Circles to continue?" he was surprised, to say the least.

"I wish Thedosians would appreciate that the world has bigger problems than the complaints of people with clothes on their backs and food in their stomachs. If a mage truly wants to be free of the Circle, let them fight, if they are not willing to help themselves, they do not deserve my help. Those who are not strong enough to fight, to pass the Harrowing, perhaps they are better off. Please, do not misinterpret my meaning; I would burn every Circle from here to Tevinter if I thought that would prevent innocent lives being lost, on either side of this conflict."

"The Chant of Light says that the Maker guides the hand of the righteous, not the strong." He didn't wholly disagree with what she was saying, but the point was there to be made.

"Yet the world will always be the same, Ser, those with weaknesses get killed by those who lack them." She seemed vaguely annoyed. "I hope I am wrong, and your Maker will hear the prayers of all who think they suffer and fight for their freedom, but he never fought for mine." And with that, she turned on her heel, and marched out of the Chantry, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

"Maker turn his gaze on you, Inquisitor."