An Understanding
"They're calling you the Herald of Andraste. What do you make of that?"
She looked so different out of battle. The soothing energy she's given on the field was erased by a stoic expression to rival Cassandra's that would give way to levity and humor in odd moments. Her magic was different, too. Understated, like scent of a dried herb that lost its potency. She'd walked past more than a few ex-templars who didn't react to her magic at all. Either her skills were severely underdeveloped or she was very good at concealing her abilities.
Either case was dangerous.
Aside from that, physically she was different from how he remembered her. Her tattoos were dark, yes, but hard to make out from a distance. And the narrowness of her eyes made her whole face look dark and closed off, though she smiled and had laughter to her voice that put others at ease as soon as she spoke. If you didn't know who she was, she slipped into a crowd and went unnoticed. He supposed that was why she'd been originally sent as a spy to investigate the conclave. He couldn't imagine any other reason to send a Dalish mage into the heart of Andrastian territory.
"I don't know what to make of it."
Well, that was neither here nor there. He supposed he must applaud her for her caution but undefined answers irritated him. It was easier to understand how a person thought when they gave clear signs.
"What about in relation to your gods?" Josephine asked, her smile pleasant but her eyes sharp. Cullen made a note never to underestimate an Antivan politician. "Many will talk about the fact you are Dalish. It will help if we know your official stance."
Lavellan shifted, her boots scuffing the floor. Cullen had a bizarre thought that she might be uncomfortable. Dalish walked around without shoes. That's what all the stories said in any case. By the crop of her hair and the tan on her cheeks, Cullen estimated her home to be somewhere in the Northern Marches with a hot, muggy climate. What impression did she have of Ferelden, aside from cold and dark?
After the Blight and now the Conclave, Cullen doubted anyone would count Ferelden as a destination hot spot.
Lavellan shrugged and her tone was becoming wary. "I don't know. I believe the old gods existed. How else do you account for our history? Our world? But I've never been one to pray to them."
"Oh?" If Josephine was trying to keep the curiosity out of her voice she'd failed utterly.
"I'd rather focus on what needs to be done."
"I…I didn't mean to insult-"
"No, Lady Montilyait? Was it? No insult taken. As you can imagine, my belief wins me few friends in any circle. But I do think our focus can be better spent on what we need to accomplish for the Inquisition."
A quick pause. Leliana watched the Harold, no doubt her mind working how she would pry the information from her. Josephine still looked uncomfortable but Cullen couldn't help but admire the woman's practicality. They all needed to focus on what had to be done.
"In any case," he began. "We have assignments we would like you to look into, ways of gaining recognition for our cause."
"Alright, what are they?"
Cullen offered his stack of papers, Josephine carefully putting her own into place. Lavellan stared at them to a point that became awkward before accepting the papers. Josephine watched between the two of them as Lavellan started to read. Another long pause. Cullen noticed that Lavellan's eyes traced the page but flitted about. She wasn't actually reading.
". . .Is there a problem?"
Her eyes flicked to his and at first he thought she was angry, with how narrow her stare was, but he realized by the faint color of her cheeks she was embarrassed.
"I can't read. Not common. Not well enough." Her tone was direct but flat.
Oh. Oh how dimwitted of him. In the circle all mages and templars were taught to read. Even before joining the order, Cullen came from a well enough family that taught him at a young age. He knew it was a privilege. Half his own soldiers couldn't read. That was why art was so important in the Chantry. But somehow he'd never imagined someone so important as the Harold of Andraste being unable to read.
"A simple solution, then," Lileana spoke up. "We will explain the assignments to you and you can reference them later at your own pace."
She nodded once, her cheer from earlier gone. Her gaze was hard as she stared at the papers before setting them aside.
"I would be happy to teach you," Cullen said. The girls looked between each other but Cullen focused on the Harold. "In your off hours. I've helped recruits learn as part of my training in the Order. I'm sure we can scrounge up a few books if you don't want to stare at those papers all day."
"That would be helpful." Her voice was breathless, far from the confidence she'd had moments ago. She looked so young. In battle she'd felt ageless. Cullen felt a pang of something at that but he wasn't sure what. Lelianan coughed to regain their attention before explaining her own reports. Lavellan's stance gained her usual poise and this time Cullen would make sure he wasn't blindly ignorant again.
. . .
"Hey Commander, taking a break any time soon?" Cullen recognized Varric's voice and the weariness of it. He turned from his men, breaking their drills as instructed as sunset turned the snow around them gold. Wind and ice blew together in bothersome swirls. It was going to be a cold night, like the one before it and the one before that. The rift in the sky stole any cloud cover so nights were colder than they'd been before. And Ferelden was always freezing, even further north.
Cullen was thankful for the coat Leliana had commissioned for him. Its original purpose was to add bulk to him so the Commander of the Inquisition wouldn't be so gaunt. When Cassandra found him he was deep into withdrawal and weighed all of a hundred ponds. The months following Meredith's incomplete Annulment of the Circle were hard on everyone. Most of the templars were dead, more gone to follow war. What mages remained in Kirkwall were old or injured, more terrified of life outside their established home than any of the horrors within it. He wasn't sure which option was more pitiful.
He stopped taking lyrium almost at once. Whenever he wavered on that decision he would look at Meredith's frozen horror and his tremors would stop. He would not allow himself to become that. By will alone if he had to, he would endure the pain. Too much he'd survived to let that become his end.
Between withdrawal, working without rest to rebuild the Circle and the shambles of Kirkwall, giving his rations to those who needed it more, Cullen lost most of his muscle mass and all of his fat. It had been won back in the months leading to when the Inquisition was officially announced but the hunger pains never quite went away.
Some days looked back at the wraith of a man he'd been then and couldn't believe Cassandra had chosen him to lead. When he asked she said it was something about his eyes. Despite how dark they were, he was the only one in Kirkwall with hope still left. Cullen believed in a better day. He had to.
"Guess it's been way over break time if it takes you this long to answer," Varric teased, calling Cullen from his thoughts to face the dwarf.
"My apologies. Was there something specific you wanted?" After training, Cullen went over his notes for the next day with the war room. After everything was in order, sometime after dinner was served for the men, Lavellan would come to his office and they practiced her reading.
She was making progress, though not as fast as she wanted. Twice he'd had to have her leave early because of the nervous energy she radiated while struggling with the texts. Ordinarily the mage was calm and far more collected than anyone else in Haven. She saw a task that needed to be done and accomplished it without fanfare.
For the first few days she was doing the tasks of a servant because no one realized she was the Harold and Lavellan didn't think herself too big for any job. Cassandra found her cleaning chamber pots and screamed herself horse at the staff. Leliana had to escort her out and Josephine spoke with everyone involved about racial assumptions. It was a nightmare and they were entirely lucky Cullen hadn't been there. He took Lavellan aside the moment he saw her and demanded to know if anyone else had been mistreating her. She was relentlessly vague but he recognized from himself when someone was shouldering an issue.
He decided not to press it and focus on her reading, the one activity Lavellan had no patience for. Not for the first time he wished she'd been found by a Chantry so that she could have the basic training Circle Mages were required.
But, of course, then she might have been one of the Rebel Mages they were fighting in The Hinterlands.
The Maker intended it to be this way. Cullen had to stop snagging on 'what if' and put his energy into the present, Varric Tethras included.
The dwarf had his eyebrows raised at him. "Varric's just fine. I hear Tethras and start checking over my shoulder for the family. Thought we could get a drink together. Catch up."
Catch up? He'd never thought of them as more than acquaintances.
Wait. . .wait was he being flirted with? Cullen had always been clumsy with this.
No, it was better not to think about. Besides, if Tethras. . .Varric was with anyone, he would be with Hawke.
"I make it a priority not to go to the tavern." He tried not to sound like he was whining.
"Oh, it'll be fun. Loosen up some, Commander. Music, drink, fine women. . .Okay, mostly peasant girls but peasant girls are more enthusiastic than city girls anyway."
No. He didn't want to talk about this. Oh, this was uncomfortable. "I make it a priority so that my men can enjoy themselves. I would imagine they would find it difficult to relax with their Commander skulking about."
"Hmm, not skulking so much as looming. Like a predator about to strike."
He eyed the dwarf. "Regardless, you see my point."
Varric scratched at his neck. "Okay, yeah. How about your place then? Or, hell, right here."
Cullen's cheeks were not heated. Not at all.
"I . . . No, sorry. I'm not, uh, interested. I would prefer we stayed friends."
"Stay. . .? Oh, Andraste's Deaf Uncle, no! Not what I meant. Besides, I'm pretty sure you've already caught someone else's eye. No I just wanted to talk. Listen, this came out wrong, but I've never been this far from Kirkwall before and well. . ."
Ah. "You're homesick."
Varric glared. "Yeah, I suppose you could call it that." He took a breath and tried again. "I'm gonna be sticking around for a while. The Harold and I already talked about me staying and I just want to know the main players better. This whole end of the world thing is easier to handle when I know the people around me."
"Forgive me for my unkindness," Cullen said at once. "I've had to leave my homeland due to wretched circumstance. It's a pain that isn't easy to understand unless you've expierenced it."
"Like the whole world is wrong," Varric muttered. "Seems stupid to be thinking about that when so many people died but damn it, I miss the Hanged Man. Had a room there and a tap. Never intended to but I spent most of a decade in that room."
Cullen laughed. "That's the tavern in Lowtown, yes? Had to fetch recruits from there all the time, sloshed over a table."
"They were terrible at cards! Our friends rang them out for all their coin every time but they still came back." Varric glowed as he talked, pulling Cullen into one of his stories about misbehaving templar recruits. Neither of them mentioned how most of those men were dead now, bones being picked over in a field. Neither did they talk about the Qunari invasion or the end of Kirkwall. They focused on the putrid smell of the docks, how static the weather always was, and how you could get someone to play Wicked Grace with you no matter their class status.
They moved to Varric's fire in the village, laughing well into the night. Cassandra came by at one point but didn't bother interrupting, both men in an undeniable giggle fit. Cullen hadn't felt this light in weeks. Years. Ever? Had he ever had this much fun? He wasn't even drunk, though Varric had a bottle of something foul smelling. All at once Cullen wished Lavellan was here, that she could enjoy this.
"She has such a serious expression," Cullen sighed, kicking snow aside. His legs were aching and he wanted to sit but he wasn't about to lay in the ice.
"Who? The Seeker."
"No. Well, yes, her too. The Herald, Lavellan. She's always frowning."
"Who? Pol?" Right. Lavellan's first name. It was hard for him to remember. Hardly sounded like a name at all. "Are you sure we're talking about the same woman? Pol's always smiles and jokes with me."
Huh. "Is she really?" Maybe she didn't like humans. Well that was a shame. At least they could still work together professionally. "One of Hawke's friend is Dalish, yes?"
"Daisy? I think the vallaslin on her face would be a giveaway."
Vallaslin? "Is that was the tattoos are called. I'm afraid I don't know much about the Dalish. Elves in the tower were city born. Now and again a rogue Dalish was sent from their clan or a child was found but they never did well."
A memory fell on him, of a girl, no older than Cullen's youngest sister when he left to join the Order, screaming in his arms. She babbled in a language he didn't understand and her cries were so broken that they hurt right through his chest. She refused to eat, screaming, 'Mamae! Mame Mamae!' till one of the tranquil took her.
"Well, you've got a Dalish right here that you see on a regular basis. Why don't you just ask her."
Cullen eyed him like he'd said something lewd. "Because I'd rather not blunder through conversations insulting her."
"Just give her that earnest face you've got right now. No one can be offended by that face."
Varric was drunk. He should give his good night and head back to his office. There was work to be done but the dwarf had information Cullen needed. Apparently Pol. . .Lavellan joked with him. He couldn't talk about this is any of the advisors. His gut coiled at the thought of what Lileana would do with this information. And Cassandra was too blunt for this kind of conversation. Varric had been friends with a Dalish for seven years. He must know something that could help him.
"I don't want to be indelicate in regards to her culture. I was hoping your friendship with this Daisy could help me understand better."
"Well, for starters, there no such thing as a typical Dalish. And secondly, Daisy isn't a good candient to compare other Dalish to. She got kicked out of her clan. Like Pol was."
Varric sobered as soon as the words were out. He and Cullen stared at each other across the fire and knew at once he wasn't supposed to have known that.
She was kicked out of her clan? Before, when she spoke of her faith, was that the reason? She didn't pray to their gods so they sent her away? Or was it another reason, perhaps because of her magic?
"Shit. Shit. You didn't hear that from me. Lileana told you. I'm sure she knows, anyway. Doubt there's much that woman doesn't know."
"What does Lileana know?" Lavella asked, jumping down to their level. Varric visibly jumped and Cullen breathed hard through his nose.
How much of that had she heard?
In the glow of the firelight, Lavellan's markings had an ethereal quality to them. She wore a hood, her noose red from the cold. Her fingers were vibrating from shivering but she didn't look miserable as he'd expect from one shaking so much. She was happy. There was a bubble of joy about her as she warmed her hands by the fire. Varric made room for her and cleared his throat.
"We were talking about how Lileana knows the cliff hanger ending to my newest novel. See, with mysteries you write the ending first to know where it all leads and our dear Sister Nightingale caught a peek at my blueprints. Now I'll have to write a whole new story."
"Aw, such a shame," Lavellan cooed back. "At least you were just at the blueprint stage."
"Hey, it was going to be a great book."
"It still could be. I can talking to Lileana about keeping that secret hushed."
"Nah, don't trouble yourself. It'll be better with the re-write anyway."
Cullen tried not to stare but they were making it hard. There she was, smiling and laughing and he couldn't understand what he'd done wrong. Why were things so different with them? Why could he never find anything to say?
Lavellan caught his eye across the fire and it was the same look she'd been giving him for more than a week.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen. We have an early morning upon us. Varric, I suggest you get some shut eye. It will take a few days to get to the Hinterlands and you'll want to make sure everything is packed."
"Yeah, yeah, see you in the morning, Warrior." She laughed again and was gone.
Varric sighed and stared at the fire like he wanted to hop into it.
"See? Like that. She frowned at me."
"Pff. Curly, that's not frowning." When Varric didn't elaborate further Cullen gathered himself to leave. Varric took another big slog of his drink and said, "She's undressing you with her eyes. Congratulation Commander, the Herald of Andraste finds you attractive."