A/N: Last update for the day, guys! This was a pain to write, so please give it some reviewing love!
Cullen shut the door, and Killeen found herself standing on the walkway, with no idea of where to go. Her quarters, to sit alone, to try not to think about Cullen and the Inquisitor — no. The mess-hall? The tavern? Rylen and the others would have spread the gossip by now, and Killeen did not think she could listen to whatever ribald speculation or romantic fancies would be running through Skyhold right now.
Aware she was stopped dead in full view of anyone passing and no doubt making a spectacle of herself, Killeen took a step, took another, kept walking without any thought of where her feet took her.
Found herself standing before the statue of Andraste in the chapel off the garden.
"I don't know why everyone feels so sorry for you," she said aloud to the indifferent stone face. "He loved you."
"To be loved does not heal all life's hurts," a gentle voice said behind her. Killeen turned, feeling herself blush a little, to see Mother Giselle standing by the door, hands folded before her, regarding Killeen with kindness. "Most especially, I sometimes think, in Andraste's case."
"I'm sorry," Killeen mumbled. "I didn't mean to — I'm sorry. I know she … died and everything."
"We all die," Mother Giselle said, coming to Killeen's side and looking up at Andraste thoughtfully. "That was not what I meant. I have wondered, from time to time, if the Maker's love, even for his Bride, is of the same kind as the love so many seek."
Feeling out of her depth, Killeen ventured: "It's supposed to be better, isn't it?"
"Is it?" Mother Giselle asked. "Would you trade the love you so long for, if it was yours, for something different?"
"I don't —" Killeen started, but Mother Giselle's eyes were kind and very, very wise. "No. No, I wouldn't."
"I wonder if Andraste longed for the same kind of love as mortal men and women know, a love that finds its roots in our shared fragility, a love that is a defiance of the limits upon us, rather than their absence." Mother Giselle sighed, and stooped to adjust a candle that was beginning to gutter. "Perhaps she would understand what you feel, all too well, no? If that were the case."
"Please don't tell anyone," Killeen said, low and desperate over the threat of tears. "I couldn't stand it if …"
"Of course not, my child," Mother Giselle assured her. She held out her hand to Killeen. "My knees are not what they used to be. Can I prevail on you to assist me to kneel?"
"Of course." Killeen took the dark fingers, the old woman's papery skin soft against the callouses on her own palm, and carefully balanced her as the Reverend Mother sank to her knees. Then, because it seemed beyond impolite to either remain standing or leave Mother Giselle to try to get up on her own, she sank down on one knee before the statue herself.
"Oh Maker, hear my cry," Mother Giselle said quietly. "Guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, make me to rest in the warmest places." She paused. "Do you know this one?"
"Not all of it," Killeen had to admit in embarrassment. "I, um. Probably don't … as much as I should." Or at all.
"Go on with what you know, then."
Clearing her throat, Killeen began self-consciously: "My Creator, judge me whole: find me well within Your grace, touch me with fire that I be cleansed. Tell me I have sung to Your approval — for You are the fire at the heart of the world, and comfort is only Yours to give."
"Why did that verse stick in your memory?" Mother Giselle asked softly. "Of all of them."
Killeen glanced at her. "I don't know, it just did."
The other woman reached up one finger and gently touched the scar that bisected Killeen's eyebrow and skipped down to her cheekbone to join the others there. "Do you think this makes you no longer whole?"
"I — perhaps." Killeen said.
"The mages who work with the healers could remove it, you know."
"I know," Killeen said.
"But you do not ask them to." Mother Giselle paused. "Because if you did, perhaps, and this man you wish to love you still did not, you would no longer have a reason to hide behind."
"I know he still wouldn't," Killeen said. "That's not — it's —" She groped for the words. "It's my face. An abomination tried to rip my face off, nearly managed it. I thought I'd lost the eye. I still managed to get my sword up and spit it like a chicken. I earned this face, ugly as it is."
"Is that what you think?" Mother Giselle asked.
"That I earned it? Maker's blood, yes."
"That you are ugly."
Killeen laughed, and it was small harsh sound in the chapel's hush. "Look at the Inquisitor, and look at me. Look at Pavus, and look at me. Look at —" Cullen. She fell silent.
"You are scarred," Mother Giselle said, "by the wounds you have taken, and survived. Your hands are calloused from wielding weapons, day after day, your body shaped by the work you do defending the innocent. What else can I call that, but beauty?"
"You see things differently to other people, then," Killeen said.
"Perhaps," Mother Giselle said. "Perhaps not. Listen, now, and I will teach you the verse you have forgotten." Her voice lifted almost in song. "My Maker, know my heart. Take from me a life of sorrow, lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of Your endless pride."
Killeen repeated the words, over and over again until Mother Giselle was satisfied she had got them right. Know my heart … judge me worthy. When the tears filled her eyes, she had to admit to herself that it was not the Maker to whom she addressed that plea.
A boot scraped the threshold behind her and Killeen blinked hard, and turned. A messenger stood there, and to her surprise the sky behind him was softening into the velvet blue of pre-dawn light.
"Apologies," the messenger said. "I wouldn't have interrupted you here, but —"
Thoughts flying to any one of a dozen possible emergencies, Killeen stood, helped Mother Giselle to rise. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure, just that you're needed at the stables, right away."
Maker, a horse foundered? An outbreak of stable rot? Andraste's tits, we can't afford to be understrength on mounts, not with half our forces leaving for Emprise Du Lion at first light.
"Mother, please excuse me, I must —"
"Go," Mother Giselle bade her gently. "Perhaps I will see you here again, another time."
"Perhaps," Killeen temporised, and went.
She could see quite a crowd around the stable-yard as she turned the corner from the stairs. Striding forward, she forced her way through it, relaxing a little as their faces and bearing told her that, whatever had their attention, it wasn't causing alarm.
Spotting Cullen leaning on the stable-yard rail, she pushed in beside him, realising too late that he had been standing beside the Inquisitor and now Killeen was between them. For a heartbeat she considered stepping back, going around to his other side, but there was no way to do so casually and it will probably just make this even more awkward.
"What's going on?" she said instead.
"See for yourself," Cullen said with a jerk of his chin.
Killeen looked. Master Dennet was working a horse on a long rein, not an unusual sight, a glossy bay mare with a stride like silk, and a spring in her step that said clear as words enough of this nonsense, I want to run.
He told her, Killeen thought, he told her about the beautiful bay mare and of course, she wanted her.
It was ridiculous to feel betrayed. She could never have even dreamed of having that mare for herself, she had lost nothing.
Except the memory of those quiet moments in the stable in Halamshiral, that had belonged to her and Cullen alone.
"She's a beauty," the Inquisitor said happily. "Took no harm from the journey, Dennet says."
"I'm glad," Killeen said.
"Do you want to try her?" Cullen said.
Killeen waited for the Inquisitor to answer, and then realised Cullen was looking at her. Her stomach turned. Did he really not know how much I loved her? I can read every flicker of expression on his face, the tightening of his eyes that says he has a headache, the twitch that says he wants to laugh but doesn't think it would be proper … and he knows me not at all.
Or simply doesn't think to care.
"No," she said.
Cullen's face fell. "Oh," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, ah. I suppose it's better to let her rest a little before … yes."
"I think," the Inquisitor said, and there was amusement in her voice, "that Kill doesn't want to ride someone else's horse."
"Oh." Cullen said in a completely different tone. "Yes. That would be a terrible idea." He grinned. "I'd never suggest that. But I do think it's an excellent idea for Kill to try out her own horse."
Killeen gaped at him as he becked Master Dennet over, and the horse-master slowed the mare, gathered in the rein and led her towards them.
"My horse?" Killeen asked.
"Her name, apparently, is Firefly," Cullen said as the mare nosed his pockets through the fence, and then butted him in the chest, betraying the fact that he'd obviously been speeding their acquaintance along with food. Cullen laughed, and reached up to scratch the mare's ears. "There, now, beautiful girl," he said tenderly, "there now, my darling."
"My horse?" Killeen heard herself repeat. This is a dream. It's a lovely dream, and I don't want to wake up from it, but it has to be a dream. Yet surely no dream would have included the pungent odour of manure, or the fact that the Inquisitor had ink under one fingernail, or the tiny scar, unseen in the dim light of Halamshiral stables, on the back of Firefly's left ear.
"Your horse," the Inquisitor confirmed. "She's no charger, but she'll speed you on any errands you need to run, and if I recall correctly you prefer to fight afoot anyway." She smiled. "As do I. Much more sensible, in my opinion."
Killeen reached out one hand tentatively, felt warm, solid horseflesh beneath her fingers. "She's —"
"Beautiful," Cullen said softly, as the mare turned her head and began to investigate this new person for possible tidbits.
"Oh, yes," Killeen said, feeling her eyes fill with tears and not caring. "She's perfect. She's perfect."
One of Master Dennet's boys brought a saddle and Killeen noted that Firefly stood quietly while they tacked her up, no tricks or bad habits.
"She's not too tired, is she?" she asked the horse-master. "I can wait, if she is."
"She's come up slow all the way," Master Dennet assured her. "We'll give her a few days pasture after this, and don't be putting her over any fences, but she's sound."
He held the mare's head himself as Killeen slipped through the fence, set her foot in the stirrup and swung up to Firefly's back. "Hello, girl," she said quietly, and ears swivelled to catch her voice. "Shall we walk a little?"
Firefly was willing to walk, but wanted to run, and at Master Dennet's nod, Killeen loosened the reins a little and let the mare pick up the pace, sending her around the inside of the fence and then through figures of eight. I was right, she thought, it is like riding on air. The mare answered the slightest touch to the reins, the lightest pressure of her heels, precise in her turns, easy in her gait.
She slowed Firefly to a walk well before either of them wanted to stop, but she would not risk this horse, not even slightly. Dismounting, she sought and received Dennet's permission to stable and care for the mare herself, and led the mare over to Cullen and the Inquisitor once more.
"Thank you," she said to the Inquisitor.
"Thank Cullen," the Inquisitor said. "It was his idea. I just …" She wiggled her fingers. "Facilitated. In an Inquisitorial sort of manner."
Cullen looked at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. "It seemed, ah. We can't have my second-in-command without a worthy mount."
"Worthy," Killeen said fervently. "I'll try to be worthy of her."
"Don't sell yourself short," the Inquisitor said, laughing. "Come on, Cullen. Kill wants to be alone with her horse — and I want breakfast."
With a last glance at Firefly, the Commander obeyed, and turned to go. Killeen watched them make their way through the crowd, then led the mare back to the stable. She still could not quite believe it was real, that Firefly was hers, to ride whenever she liked, this gorgeous, graceful creature who responded so willingly and perfectly to every signal of her rider. It was inconceivable that the Inquisitor would have spent so freely on a horse for a mere Lieutenant to ride.
She stopped, until a nudge from Firefly's nose got her moving again. Inconceivable, except of course, to please Cullen. Because she feels for him what he feels for her.
And Cullen, knowing how much Killeen had yearned for the mare when she had seen her, knowing too that as he and the Inquisitor grew closer, he and Killeen would inevitably grow apart, and being a good man, a good friend — wanting to give her this one thing.
To say thank you, for everything.
To say good-bye.
Firefly nuzzled her again, looking for treats. Killeen patted her nose, and then flung her arms around the glossy neck.
"My darling," she whispered, and the mare's ears flicked to listen although she stood like a rock. "My heart, my beautiful, glorious man. Thank you. Be happy. Please, be happy."
Firefly turned to nose Killeen's shoulder, snorting at the dampness on her neck.
Killeen sniffed, blinked, and wiped her face on her sleeve. "Sorry," she told the mare. "That was a bit silly of me, wasn't it? I promise, I'm not like this normally. From now on — "
She couldn't finish, the future suddenly yawning in front of her, a future of watching Cullen with the Inquisitor, hearing about Cullen and the Inquisitor, no doubt attending the wedding of Cullen and the Inquisitor.
Killeen swallowed. "From now on," she said firmly, "you, Firefly, will have no competition for my attention."