Apostate

If there was one truth about apostates it was that like attracted like. Pol returned from Redcliff with a Trevinter run-away and half a dozen of the Rebel Mages best. They had equal partnership. Equal. The thought had Cullen in knots. Meredith's rule was not a successful model on how to deal with magic. He knew that and would give his own bitter testimony to any who claimed otherwise. But these mages were no hypothetical or an abstract theory. There were criminals and terrorists. And when he met the group at the gates of Haven one recognized him.

The man stopped dead in his march, body stiff like he'd been petrified. Another mage mumbled into him but the first didn't move. Terror consumed his eyes. Though dressed in singed, dirty robes that were attractive in a distant life, the black feather pinned to his breast marked him. He was one of Anders'.

Several things happened at once. The mages drew his stave and sharp blue light gathered, hot and bright like an explosion. Cullen pulled his nearest man behind him and drew a blade. It started a chain that had all the soldiers at arms, the mages reacting in kind. Cullen was surging forward to strike the mages nearest Pol when he realized how utterly foolish he was being. Cullen stopped. He was playing right into the mage's narrative. They were expecting an attack from a templar, especially one who used to serve Meredith. But he was not that man anymore. And he was no longer bound to the order. His command came from the Maker, Andraste and her Herald.

Sheathing his sword, Cullen turned his attention to Pol. He prayed the mages had sense enough to back down.

Weary and worse off than the Rebel mages, Pol smiled for him. It was a small gesture; all but lost in the harshness of her face but Cullen saw it.

"Commander," she said, managing to look noble while stained in blood and dirt from her travels.

"Inquisitor," he returned and gestured for her to join him into Haven. They had much to discuss. Arrangements to be made for the mages joining them and putting an end to the breach.

. . .

That night he found her in the Chantry, close to a hearth. Red light and black shadows took their turns dancing over her with the flicker of the flame. She was squinting hard at the book in her hands. He wasn't sure if that was because of the lighting or subject matter. Most of Haven was asleep. Now and again you'd hear a cough or an echoed whisper but in all it was quiet. Cullen felt like he was back in the Circle and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

Pol noticed him and gestured for him to come forward. Cullen couldn't refuse. He should have, should have gone back down to the barracks where his men were sleeping. He should have turned in for sleep hours ago because tomorrow Pol was setting out with the mages to seal the breach. Being on the eve of such a day had him wanting to be on his feet, training or fighting or some manner of action.

Cullen took the chair across from Pol and sat. Breath rushed out of him and he didn't realize how tired he was until then. Pol said nothing. She nodded to him and continued reading.

"Looks like you're got a knack for it now. The reading, that is."

His voice sounded loud and harsh in the stillness of the Chantry. Pol's eyes flit from the page to him and he could see that she was amused. It had taken him a few weeks of working alongside her but Cullen could read her features now.

"Yes, and you to thank for that. I'm afraid I won't need your tutoring anymore."

"Good." Her eyebrows flashed up and he felt like an idiot. "I mean not good. I mean – good that you know how to read now but –"

Why was he so troubled with articulating his thoughts?

"I understand," Pol cut him off and he saw that she was still amused. He felt his blush staining his nose. "You're a good teacher."

"Hush." He waved that notion off. "I've had experience and you were willing to learn."

Why did that sound like he meant something else? Maker have pity on him, why was he so bad at this? Discussing the Inquisition was easy. Teaching her was easy. He'd been doing it for weeks. Speaking to her in normal conversation was like prying the wings off a living bee. If he was too cautious he wouldn't get anywhere and if he put too much effort into it he wound up stung. The whole business was messy and uncomfortable.

"All the same then, thank you."

She returned to her book and Cullen to his thoughts. When they weren't talking, when they simply shared the same space like this, his anxieties drained out of him. Was it because of her barrier magic? Since the day she'd bolstered him with it he'd felt caught in her energy. Perhaps Varric was right. He trusted her. And tomorrow she would seal the Breech. Only the Maker knew what would become of her then.

"Humor me," he began, sitting straighter. "After all this, what is it you plan on doing."

"Oh," she said with a sigh. "Going to bed. I should already be in it but I couldn't keep my eyes closed long enough. I haven't been this anxious for morning since the day I received my Vallaslin."

"No I – ehm. I meant after you seal the breech, should we succeed in that endeavor."

Her eyes went alit with surprise for a time before a careful mask hooded them. He recognized the expression from when she was in her lessons with Vivienne or speaking with dignitaries. Seeing it now, when calm had just settled left him feeling jarred.

"That would be dependent upon what becomes of the Inquisition."

"I'm sorry…?"

"Mother Giselle said the original Inquisition knew when to put down their swords. So they did and they became the Templar Order. When do you think the end of the Inquisition will come? Not immediately, not after we seal the breech. But when the demons stop terrorizing villagers they'll want Haven back, then the land we've claimed. Without a proper home the Inquisition will come into scrutiny and disassembled, most likely by the Orlesians. And at the end of the day a mage is still a mage. As lovely a picture Vivienne paints of her gilded cage, I have little interest in it."

". . .You intend to run."

She closed her book and watched him. He felt bare in that gaze. His hands balled and if he was jarred before he was reeling now. Somehow he'd never imagined the Inquisition falling to pieces like that. Abominations running loose with the addition of the Rebel Mages, yes, and an eventual war; but not torn apart and told to stand down like that. Josephine would never allow it. Leliana would find a solution. The Inquisition was his home. Cullen didn't want to lose it. Not again. Never again.

"Cullen, you have been exceedingly kind with me and more helpful than you know. I can't imagine anyone being our Commander. And I find myself wanting to be honest in a way I know is foolish." Her smile was bitter now and he hated seeing it. He matched it and hoped she understood he knew that foolishness all too well. She looked away and shifted in her seat. The intensity of the moment was gone. "Did you know I was exiled from my clan?"

Her laughter was unkind. He winced hearing it. "I'm not used to staying in one place for long. Being an apostate makes it difficult to set roots. Hiding will be a trifle more difficult now, with the Herald of Andraste becoming so well known but I expect in a few months and some alterations to my looks, I'll just another unrecognizable nobody."

The idea was absurd. "I doubt anyone in Thedas could say you're a nobody."

And she smiled. Like he'd said something sweet. "All the more reason to leave, then. Being famous and elvan isn't a good thing. Doubly so for apostates."

But you're not an apostate, he found himself wanting to say. She was the Herald. Their Herald. She said she couldn't imagine anyone else leading their men but he couldn't imagine the Inquisition without her. Half their recruits were men she'd rescued in the field.
"You're wrong, you know. About the Inquisition falling to pieces."

"Oh? Do share what gives you such confidence, Commander."

"Third time's the charm." He would not lose his home again.

". . .I didn't take you for a man of luck, Commander." Cullen grit his teeth when he smiled, the coin in his pocket feeling heavier than ever.

"It's a human idiom. Born from stubbornness and hope."

"Well, the Inquisition could use both."

They fell silent again after that, watching the fire as it started to die. Down the hall, one of the sisters was coughing like something cold crawled into her chest. Pol started to fidget. No doubt she wanted to help but the sister was being taken care of already. There was little she could do but wait for the morning.

"How soon will you leave?" he asked because he had to. Not out of formality or because of his role as an advisor but because he was a mortal man.

Pol wasn't looking at him when she answered. "Soon. I can't give you the day. Can I ask you a favor?" Her eyes were sharp and green like fire from nightmares. Cullen's breath stole from him. "Don't come after me. Don't send anyone after me. Let me slip away."

It sounded like he was sending her to death. And perhaps he was. They had no idea what would happen when they sealed the Breech. Perhaps what the Fade had spared it would take back.

"Are you taking anyone with you? Is that why you chose the Rebel Mages?"

She was glaring now. He only asked because he didn't like the thought of her alone. The world was a dangerous one and unkind to lonely women.

"I fought to save the village of Redcliff. The Mages were a welcome addition. If the Templars would come they would be welcome too but they made their choice. Besides, one mage can hide easier."

Ah. So that was it. He'd hoped Solas or even that Tervinter – Dorian? Might go with her but Pol was set on spiriting herself into the night alone. Cullen stared at his hands. They were fists in his lap.

"The Inquisition will miss you, if this is to be goodbye."

"No, after tomorrow there will be no need for the Herald of Andraste. Not when the sky is clear."

"I didn't mean the Herald of Andraste. I meant you, Pol." He looked up and she turned to him, surprised and still. She looked so much younger then. She always did when her face wasn't the stern one she used for politics. "From the Storm Coast to the Fallow Mire, Ferelden owes itself to what you have done for it. Not because of that mark on your hand but because of your efforts and sacrifice. We have members of the Inquisition who were recruited by your own hand, men and women who plead alliance to you because you rescued them from death. There isn't a farmer in Ferelden or noble in Orlais who doesn't know your name. Not because you are the Herald but because you helped shape the Inquisition, more than any of us. You are our face to the common folk and royal alike. And it will be a sad day to see you go."

With that he stood and bid her goodnight. Pol's eyes followed him. He could feel them at his back. These days Cullen's faith in the Maker was strained but he prayed that Pol would reconsider. Her place was here, just as much as his was. And that aside. . . he would miss their debate and conversations.