Killeen stood before the heavy double doors of the War Room and took a quick inventory of herself. Boots, polished; hair, combed; shirt, clean and with no patches that showed; armour, in good order. Remembering that the Spymaster was Orlesian, she had bathed in the wash-house that morning.
Delay isn't going to make this any easier.
Killeen took a deep breath, raised a hand to push open the doors, and walked in as if she belonged there.
It was a slight anti-climax to discover the room was empty. Well, I am a half-glass early. She moved to the table. Previously, she had only glimpsed it when an urgent errand had brought her to retrieve Cullen from a conference; now she had the opportunity to study it in detail. Markers littered the huge map, showing the location of troops, allies, and enemies. She spotted the red-painted one that must indicate Samson, set on a location marked Shrine of Dumat; another that could only be Corypheus, near Arbor Wilds.
"You are punctual," a voice said behind her, and Killeen spun to find Lady Cassandra watching her, unsmiling. "That is a quality I appreciate."
"I have last night's reports," Killeen said, raising the parchments in demonstration.
A hooded figure slipped through the door behind Cassandra, and the Spymaster's incongruously sweet voice said: "Excellent. Let's see what we have."
They were both terrifying women, in their different ways, but Killeen was relieved to find they did not seem to regard her as an interloper. A sub-standard substitute, perhaps, she thought as she scrambled to keep up with their rapid-fire questions and suggestions, exchanged in a short-hand that spoke of long familiarity, but not an interloper. And Lady Montilyet was charming, and polite, never directly disagreeing with anyone — and always got her own way.
After an hour, Killeen was beginning to think that Josephine Montilyet was the most dangerous of the three.
She was drenched with sweat by the time the meeting was over.
And, Maker, I have to do that every day!
"Lieutenant," the Spymaster said as they both walked back toward the Great Hall, "I wish to thank you. I know this cannot be easy for you, but Lady Cassandra cannot simply step into Commander Cullen's shoes."
"She's very capable," Killeen said.
"She would hardly have been the Right Hand of the Divine if she were not," the Spymaster said.
"No, ser," Killeen said.
"But she travels often with the Inquisitor. She does not have the familiarity with the details of our military operations that Cullen has. That you do."
"Happy to serve, ser," Killeen said stolidly as they passed through Lady Montilyet's office and through the doors to the Great Hall.
"We are all happy to serve," the Spymaster said. "But our service brings different degrees of difficulty, and reward."
"Ser," Killeen said, having learnt long ago that minimal agreement being best when one had no idea what a senior officer was getting at.
"You must be concerned for Commander Cullen's safety," the Spymaster said. She paused, and said too softly to be overheard. "Do you still sleep in his quarters when he is not here?"
Killeen felt her face flame at the implication. "It's not —" like that. "I don't — we aren't —"
"I am not … unaware of the Commander's difficulties," Leliana said, little more than a murmur. "Or the support you have given him."
Killeen met her icy grey eyes, so very pretty, so very cold. It took more courage than she would have expected to say: "You'd have to ask Commander Cullen about that. Ser."
Leliana smiled. "Very good," she said. "I meant only to thank you. Commander Cullen is critical to the Inquisition's success."
"Ser," Killeen said.
The Spymaster turned, turned back. "I believe that Michel de Chevin is paying court to you?"
"I'm not sure that's quite true," Killeen said.
"He is quite sure that it is true," Leliana said. "I wish you well, Lieutenant, in making the … right choices."
She turned and left, leaving Killeen to make her way back to Cullen's office, mind whirling. Paying court to me?
The right choices? Is she trying to tell me Cullen is right about de Chevin?
And — if I make the wrong choices, is the Spymaster going to have me killed?
Probably not.
Maybe not.
Possibly not.
Life was much easier, Killeen reflected as she made her way back to Cullen's office, when the high muckety-mucks didn't know you existed.
Over the next days, she settled into a new routine. She slept in her own quarters, but still met Fel for breakfast and a discussion of the day's work in Cullen's office. Although more of the decisions were hers alone, she had no responsibility for grand strategic planning, and by leaning more heavily on the squad leaders (sending Fel to check on their progress unexpectedly did wonders for reliability) Killeen found the work manageable.
And so she managed it.
Still, the sense she was missing something plagued her — some detail, some crucial point. Some nights, she woke in a cold sweat, knowing something's wrong, but unable to bring to mind what it was, despite the most exhaustive mental review.
It was a strong enough feeling for her to mention it, casually, at one morning's conference in the War Room. Very common on taking on increased responsibility, Lady Montilyet assured her. I felt very much the same when I became Head of my house.
Killeen did her best to put it out of her mind. It was easier to ignore when she was busy, with work, or with —
Michel de Chevin extended further invitations: to dinner; for a ride; for a walk along the walls. Killeen hesitated over the first an unconscionable time, Cullen's warning in her ears, but then accepted it.
The dinners were an enjoyable distraction, the rides a welcome escape from Cullen's desk. De Chevin's mount was no Steelheart, nor a match for Firefly's speed, but still, a good horse bearing a skilled rider. De Chevin had training and experience in fighting while mounted and taught Killeen some of the beginner's tricks of it – how to brace against the shock of impact, how to move in the saddle to dodge and block without losing either your own balance or your mount's. Firefly was sensitive and responsive and Killeen was pleased that de Chevin praised the mare extensively, although he agreed that Firefly was too mature to likely ever be inured to battle.
Once, he joined Killeen with the Skyhold urchins in the yard playing kick-about keep-away. He had less understanding of the rules than the children, but he learnt quickly, playing with enjoyment and enthusiasm. Later, as they both poured water from the horse trough over their heads, he explained that noble children had no chance for such games. In a small and restricted social circle, there were few opportunities, and of course it would not be done to play with the children of servants.
"It sounds lonely," Killeen said, thinking of her own childhood, long afternoons spent in rambling gangs of children, games starting spontaneously, arguments breaking out to be adjudicated by the general consensus, and a united front against any adult interference.
"Yes," de Chevin said. "Not what I would want for my own children, I think. Although my circumstances make such an elevated upbringing unlikely for my heirs."
It was the first time he had mentioned his situation, and Killeen waited for him to press her on the assistance Cullen had said he wanted.
But de Chevin didn't. He tossed his dripping hair back from his face, kissed her hand, and took his leave.
"She could build an empire if she chose," Cole said, right by Killeen's elbow.
Killeen was startled enough to lose her balance and sit down, abruptly, in the water trough.
"Cole!" she snapped, hauling herself out.
"It sings," Cole said, looking straight at her with his intense, pale eyes. "It sings."
"What —?"
But he was gone.
"Kill!" Fel called shrilly from the steps, and waved her arms frantically.
Killeen crossed to the steps at a jog, took them two at a time. "What is it?"
"Ser Dorian Pavus wants you."
Killeen nodded. "Thank you. Have you washed your hands and face?"
"Yes," Fel said shiftily.
Killeen sighed, starting up the stairs to the upper courtyard and thence the library. "Did you really wash them or just sort of?"
"I meant to wash them," Fel said. "But then you were talking to Ser de Chien so I couldn't."
"Ser de Chevin," Killeen corrected. "And why couldn't you?"
"To make sure he didn't do anything," Fel said as if it was obvious.
Killeen decided to table that discussion for later consideration. "Go now, then, before dinner."
"Are you going to talk to Ser de Chien again?" Fel asked suspiciously.
"I'm going to talk to Pavus," Killeen said. "You're going to wash your hands."
Dorian was waiting for her in the library — somewhat to her surprise, Varric was there as well.
He gave her a nod. "Killer."
"My lovely lady Lieutenant," Dorian said. "We've been discussing lyrium. Specifically, red lyrium."
"Sparkler said you though there'd be a cure," Varric said.
"Well, if it's a poison —" Killeen said, but Varric shook his head.
"It's a poison the same way the sun is a lamp," he said. "I've put out some feelers, asked some people to look into it who are smarter about this stuff than me, but don't get your hopes up. I've heard nothing so far."
Killeen nodded. "Well, thanks," she said. "I appreciate you looking into it. It's just — you get the feeling from the reports from Emprise Du Lion that not everyone exactly volunteered." She paused. "Thank you for telling me. I should get back."
She turned to leave, and stopped as Dorian said casually: "So. How's the gorgeous chevalier?"
Killeen counted to three before turning. "Who do you mean?" she asked, equally casually.
"Don't be coy, lovely Lieutenant, it doesn't suit you at all. Ser Michel, he of the golden hair and deliciously broad shoulders."
"He's very well, I believe," Killeen said.
"Yes, but how is he?" Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow. "One does hear such delightful stories about Orlesians, but unfortunately I never had the chance to test them thoroughly."
Killeen looked at him, then at Varric, who shrugged. "Just looking for material for my next book, Killer."
"I'm afraid I can't help you," Killeen said. "Ser Michel and I —"
"Oh, still dancing?" Dorian said. "Such a delightful stage, unless overly prolonged. Then it simply becomes tedious."
"I understand that's not a problem you and the Iron Bull are likely to have," Killeen shot back.
Dorian flung back his head with a shout of laughter. "No. Did poor Cullen ever recover his sight?"
"I cannot move my legs," Killeen said.
"I can't believe I missed it," Varric grumbled. "The Seeker's face alone … no one does a good impersonation of her."
"Cullen's was pretty good, too," Killeen said. She flinched back, raising a hand defensively, eyes averted. "I'm … so. Sorry."
"It was almost worth the interruption," Dorian mused. "Tell me, dear lovely lady lieutenant, what does Commander Cullen think of this Orlesian liaison of yours?"
"You'd have to ask Commander Cullen," Killeen said evenly, ignored Dorian's raised eyebrow, and took her leave.
Still, the question lingered, even as she combed her hair and changed her shirt before meeting de Chevin for a stroll along the walls, and with it, a vague sense of unease that she attributed to Cullen's obvious distrust of the chevalier.
Was Cullen right? Is he a better judge of character than I, with my head turned by flowers and compliments?
The first sight of de Chevin waiting for her dispelled her doubts. Surely his smile could not but be genuine, the interest he showed in her stories anything but sincere.
He offered her his arm with a slight bow, and she noted he always manoeuvred them so he, and not she, was on the windy side.
Still, no doubt they teach such things in Orlais.
Impulsively, Killeen stopped walking, and de Chevin perforce stopped as well. "Ser Michel — I know you have certain … that is, I can't help with — if that's why you —"
She had hoped for denial, braced herself against an admission.
She was in no way prepared when he tipped her chin up with two gentle fingers and kissed her on the lips.
It was a brief kiss, little more than a touch, and then he drew away, and bowed. "Forgive me if I have presumed. I could not resist."
"I — no, you —" Killeen stammered.
"If my attentions are unwelcome, then do not come to dinner tomorrow," de Chevin said. "But if I have not offended you, I would be delighted if you would join me."
And, with that, he bowed, and left her, leaving Killeen still trying to frame a response.
She walked slowly back along the walls. The kiss had been … pleasant, yes. Not more than that. As her previous kisses and encounters had been pleasant.
Perhaps that is what it is like.
Perhaps if I had been blond and slight and a mage and Cullen had … perhaps I would have found that pleasant, too.
But the thrill of heat that ran through her at the thought of Cullen's fingers beneath her jaw, Cullen's lips on hers suggested that pleasant was an entirely inadequate word for what that experience would be.