Chapter 25

Elena pounded the last stake into the ground and looped the bit of rope she had in her mouth around it, finally finishing her tent. Fabien hadn't had them put up tents yet to save on travel time, but tonight it looked like rain and he didn't want his men or Elena catching their death of colds. Honestly, she was glad for the physical labor, light as it was. Fabien had been stoically silent on the matter at hand for a couple of days now, simply urging his men to move quickly. The other soldiers didn't complain. They were a hardy bunch even after being marched across the countryside, into battle, and then back across the same countryside only a day later. She also assumed that not having to muck around in a gigantic caravan helped their morale. Elena figured that if they weren't complaining, neither should she.

Fabien walked over and eyed her tent critically. He bent down and tightened a support line. "I'll be staying just there." He pointed at his tent across from hers. "Don't go getting any funny ideas. I've placed a special watch on your tent tonight."

Elena rolled her eyes. "You don't have to do that."

Fabien let out a derisive laugh, "Before I would have believed you, but now you've lost all credibility."

"That's not fair! I wasn't trying to—, "He held up a hand, cutting her off.

"I don't want to hear it, Lane. What you did was insubordinate and reckless. You are in the wrong and you have to face the consequences of that. You can't talk your way out of this one." He sighed, standing up and stretching his back. "I'm sorry that one of the consequences is a loss of trust in matters like these, I know that's hard for you."

"You don't trust me?"

He raised one hand, wobbling the fingers up and down in the 'more or less' sign, "Not entirely." He dropped his hand and hooked his thumb into his weapons belt. "It's more localized to military dealings for me." Seeing her confused expression he clarified, "You haven't betrayed my personal trust."

"Are we still friends, Fabien?" Elena asked in a small voice, still unsure of what he meant.

Impulsively, he reached out and pulled her into his chest. He tightened his arms around her shoulders and spoke into her hair, "We are still friends, Lane… but we are not brothers in arms." He pushed her away from him, "You're confined to your tent until the morning. I'll have Juniper bring your dinner when it's ready." He moved off to check on the rest of the men.

Elena watched Fabien retreat away from her, feeling pensive. She had placed him and the other men in her life in a delicate position. She wasn't sure what Erik or Cullen would do about it, but Fabien had made up his mind. He wasn't going to forsake her, but neither was he going to defend her. He was merely going to stand to the side to see where the chips fell before making a move with any certainty. What more could she hope for? His embrace, while brief had been a balm to her heavy heart. Everything seemed so surreal and unsure at the moment, and yet, when he held her… that at least was still the same. A skip in her heart beat at the unexpectedness of it, and then, the scent of crushed pine that always lingered about him, the feel of his beard catching at the top of her head as he curled around her, the strength in his corded arms, the firmness of his body against hers—she cut off the thought. It wouldn't do to dwell on Fabien's virile, reassuring presence. It felt like sometimes he was reawakening in her that teenage girl whose heart he had broken so long ago. Thinking back to those days in Ostwick, had he ever really given her a reason to doubt his loyalty to her? No, but he did break my heart.

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Elena gratefully dismounted from her horse. The familiar stable yard in Skyhold bustled with their party's return. Fabien didn't waste time. He gathered Juniper and Branson to his side and then Elena. He guided them out of the stable yard and up to her room as quickly as he could. He left Juniper guarding the door into the main hall and he set Branson outside of her door. He shuffled Elena inside her bedroom, cracking the door behind them.

"I am to take any weapons out with me." He explained, looking around at the furnishings. "Where do you keep them?" Elena pointed to the trunk at the foot of her bed. Fabien clapped his hands together and hoisted it up off the ground. He placed it outside and returned to her. "I'm borrowing your chair for Branson. He'll be out there for a bit before I find a replacement for him and Juniper." He picked up the one, spindly chair in her room and took it out with him. "Mind your manners and don't leave this room unaccompanied." He told her before closing the door and leaving her to her own devices.

She undressed and splashed water from a pitcher over her body, using her soiled shirt as a means to wipe away the dust and grime of travel. It wasn't perfect, but she felt better for doing it. She slipped into her bed, burrowing under the covers to block out the daylight, and went almost immediately to sleep.

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Elena stood in the wings of the main hall, waiting for her judgment. On one side of her stood Porteur and Reeves, they had made their way to the hall for her sentencing. Fabien and Juniper had been assigned to bring her before the Inquisitor. They stood on either side of her in their full armor, arms crossed over their chests, looking to the world as unaffected as the stone statues of ravens surrounding them.

Presently, Erik stepped out of his quarters and seated himself on his Ferelden throne. The massive chair took up most of the central dais and practically swallowed him up. He settled himself in, leaning casually back into the furs draped over the seat. When it was apparent he was ready, Cullen stepped up to the dais. Elena swallowed, was he going to read her sentence? She had thought Josephine would. The thought sent a thrill of panic through her where there previously had only been bored impatience.

As he came to a stop on the middle tier of the dais he began, "Forgive me, Inquisitor. For personal interest, I have relieved Josephine as you might expect." His tone was formal and polite. He continued on, "Knight-Templar Samson, general to Corypheus, traitor of the order. The blood on his hands cannot be measured."

Elena's heart froze in her chest. She stared with wide eyes as two soldiers moved into the middle of the hall, shoving Samson before them to the foot of the dais. Standing in front of the entire Inquisition, his red Lyrium armor gleaming darkly in the bright sunlight coming through the massive stained glass windows at the back of the throne was the man who had tortured her. The red Lyrium crystals embedded into his armor which had once been a blazing, bright red were now muted and dull. His sallow face which had been pinched and drawn when she had last seen him, had taken on the appearance of a man on his death-bed. She shuddered remembering the feel of his gauntleted hands as they beat her mercilessly.

Cullen was still talking, his smooth, refined voice carrying easily across the hall. "His head is too valuable to take. Kirkwall, Orlais: many would see him suffer. I can't say I'm not one of them."

Erik leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees, "Too valuable to kill? That's a lot of ill will." He smirked at Samson. "You won't find any less of it here, I'm afraid."

Samson straightened up, his rough voice rasping across to Elena's ears. She felt her body start to shake, anticipating some form of pain. "The red Lyrium will steal your vengeance. You know what it does. Corypheus only delayed my corruption." He seemed grossly satisfied by the knowledge.

Cullen cut in, his tone filled with incredulous outrage. "Are you still loyal to that thing? He poisoned the Order, used them to kill thousands!"

Samson shook his head, chuckling at Cullen, "Templars have always been used. How many were left to rot, like I was, after the Chantry burned away their minds?" he demanded, and then spat to the side, "Piss on it! I followed him so Templars could at least die at their best!" He took a deep breath, "Same lie as the Chantry. The Prophet just isn't as pretty."

Erik sat up, pushing himself fully to the back of the throne, crossing one leg over the knee of the other. "You led them to their deaths, but did a good job." He accused his voice stony, "That's your defense?"

"I'm not offering a defense! What I did was a mercy for Templars already lost." Samson replied.

"You were always weak and your leadership proves it." Cullen hissed at him, his voice dripping with disdain.

Samson turned his head to address Cullen more directly. "They were always going to die. I saw what Corypheus was doing, so yes, I fed them hope instead of despair. I made them believe their pain had purpose… just like the Chantry does. Right, Commander?" He hung his head, "It ended as well as anything else I've done. Corypheus would kill me on sight. I'll tell your people what they want. Everything I cared about is destroyed."

"That only accounts for your actions against Thedas and the Templar order. It doesn't account for the capture and torture of my sister." Erik paused, flicking his eyes over to Elena. She could still feel herself shaking, literally quaking in her boots despite herself. Samson elicited a visceral response from her and she could hardly stand in his presence without feeling she was going to go to pieces. "What defense do you have for that?"

Samson turned to see her. His blood-shot eyes traveled slowly over her body. A wicked smile spread slowly across his face, "Oh, that? That was to get information. When it became apparent she didn't have any, it turned into practice for when we eventually caught someone more… useful. She's very resilient, you know. It made the work quite fun." Samson chuckled maliciously in the back of his throat. Elena felt Fabien stiffen next to her, saw his hand drop to his mace for a split second before he shoved it into his arm pit. Across the hall she could see Cullen gripping his sword hilt and Erik seemed as if he were about to launch himself from the throne and onto Samson's throat. His knuckles were white on his knees; he was pitched so far forward she was pretty sure he would fall over soon.

When he spoke, his voice was cold and hard as taut as a bow string. "I've been told I cannot execute you, though nothing would give me greater pleasure than to wrap my hands about your throat and steal your last breath myself." He let out an unsteady breath as he gathered himself back together. "I'm sick of looking at you. There is no hole deep enough. Samson, you will spend your remaining days rotting in a cell. Cullen will handle your affairs, and my arcanist will learn what she can from you and your armor. When we have gleaned all we can from you… and you are utterly useless, you will be left cold and alone in that cell until the Lyrium or time takes you. Now, get him out of here."

"Do as you will, Inquisitor. Your kind always does." Samson intoned plainly, clearly his sentence did not faze him in the slightest, letting the soldiers lead him away and back to the dungeon to serve out his sentence. The hall was silent until Samson had exited.

"Now, for judgment this day as well, Inquisitor, I must present Captain Elena Trevelyan." Cullen explained. Fabien and Juniper flanked her. Elena stood rooted to the spot. She hadn't expected to see Samson, much less be present as his trial. Fabien nodded to Juniper and they placed their hands on her upper arms, guiding her to the same spot where Samson had just stood. "Her crimes… well, you're aware of them. You must decide what to do with her."

Elena felt Fabien and Juniper release her. She peered up at her brother and Cullen on the dais above her from beneath her lashes, too ashamed to look at them fully.

"Lady Trevelyan." Erik began, his tone stern, but not wholly unkind, "You are accused of being away from your assigned post without leave, sneaking into an active military operation, placing yourself and your fellow soldiers in danger, and disobeying direct orders from me and Commander Rutherford. What do you have to say for this gross insubordination?"

Elena took a deep breath and let it out slowly before beginning, her voice still trembled, "I've spent the time travelling back here and waiting on this day in deep thought on that exact point." She cleared her throat, picking her head up some more to look at Erik, trying not to catch sight of Cullen in her peripheral, "I don't have anything to say for myself. I've acted in a selfish and childish manner. It's not something I'm proud of, but I did do as you just described."

Erik rolled his eyes, "Yes, I know that. What I want to know is why."

"I'm sorry, Inquisitor, but I don't have a reason I think you'll accept."

"I would like to hear your reasons regardless."

She took a large breath and began, "Inquisitor, I did not put any of my fellow soldiers in danger on the battlefield. I saved Lieutenant Shaw's life. If I had not been there, he would be coming back to Skyhold on his shield!" She stamped her foot, "You said I couldn't fight because I was still too weak. You didn't account for the two weeks to get to the Arbor Wilds. You didn't account for me. You know me. You know… you know," her voice was breaking, tears pooling in her eyes split Erik into pieces like looking through leaded glass, "You know I have never liked being told what I can and cannot do. I went through hell at the hands of Samson and survived for this Inquisition, my soldiers, and you. Surely you think more highly of me than to make me nursemaid to Skyhold at the slightest sign of danger." She paused, swallowing hard, trying to get a grip on herself and failing, "You had to know I would do something like this! What other choice did you give me?" She demanded angrily, the tears were falling down her face now.

Erik got off the throne and stepped down to her. He tenderly wiped a tear from her face; she jerked her face from his hand, "Elena… sister." He breathed out, resting his hands on her shoulders. They were warm and heavy, filled with the responsibility of his position as both the Inquisitor and her older brother, "Look me in the eyes." She slowly met his cornflower blue eyes with her own, "I hear you, but I don't understand. Tell me plainly. Why did you do this?"

She sniffed and whispered the hard, simple truth… the truth that had driven her choices since she had left her father's house, "I did it to prove that I am capable of being in your army."

He shook his head, stepping back from her, "I never doubted that," He let out a heavy sigh as he started back up the dais from her, "but now it is clear what I must do." He turned and reseated himself in his throne. He pointed his finger at her authoritatively, "Elena Trevelyan." Her name rung through her head with the sepulchral reverberations of a death bell, "I strip you of your rank in my army and cast you dishonorably out of it. You will return to Ostwick to rejoin the house of our father. He will decide what to do with you from there." He waved for her to be dismissed, "Now, go; make your preparations." He sat stoically in front of her, an unmoving statue with an unfeeling face, his blue eyes icy, the set of his jaw and body determined. No longer was he her brother, this was the Inquisitor. A man who was merciful but unyielding… a man she did not know.

Elena felt the world pull out from under her. Desperately, she leapt forward onto the steps of the dais, "You can't send me back to Ostwick!" She shouted at him in outrage, "You know what they'll do! Erik! You can't! I won't go!" She leapt up the steps to the middle tier as she continued her tirade. "Please, don't do this to me!" Elena caught Cullen moving towards her out of the corner of her eye, but before he could reach her, Fabien grabbed her from behind, hoisting her off her feet. She kicked and hit at him as wildly as her bound limbs allowed her to, trying to slip from his grasp. His arms encircled her like an iron cage, keeping her aloft and crushing her to him. "I won't go back!" Fabien swung around and carried her from the hall. "Erik!" She cried over Fabien's shoulders as he strode swiftly along the length of the room, "Please! Don't send me back there!" Juniper dashed past to get the door and Fabien threw her bodily into the garden. She landed on the grass; the force of her impact caused her to roll a few times until she came to a halt. She grunted and got to her feet as quickly as she could. She started back to the hall, but Fabien intercepted her. His bulk was an impressive blockade. She tried to juke around him and back into the hall.

"Elena!" He shouted, gripping her shoulders and shaking her roughly. His face was a hairsbreadth away from hers. His hold on her shocked her into stillness. "You need to stop this now. It's unseemly. Even Samson had more dignity than you!" He scolded her, the deep timbre of his voice rumbling like thunder.

She was silent for a minute. "I can't go back to Ostwick, Fabien. I just can't." She told him in a small voice.

He stood up straight and snatched her hands into his. He worked on the knots of her binding, frustration in every line of him, "You made your bed. Now it's time for you to lie in it."

Elena watched him as he worked, his large hands were delicate on the complex knots, "If I go back, Mother and Father will marry me off. They'll probably have a suitor waiting for me at the Chantry when I arrive."

Fabien shrugged, "Marriage might do you good… it might settle you down."

"I don't want to marry someone my parents picked out."

"Who would?" He pursed his lips, and then let out an irritated kind of snort, "For the love of the Maker, you're nobility! That's the way it is for a noble lady. Isn't it time you got used to the idea of an arranged marriage?"

"You don't believe that. You don't believe it is right to marry me to some man just for politics."

Fabien was silent for a while. Finally, when he was finished removing the binding from her wrists he spoke, tossing the rope to the side, "It isn't right. You should be allowed to marry someone who loves you and whom you love in return." He placed a hand on her cheek, "Elena… I've always helped you avoid arranged marriages, haven't I?" She nodded, staring deep into his soft, liquid forest green eyes. He stepped in closer to her, his hand slipping down to her chin, guiding her to look further up into his face. She shivered, feeling the familiar bulk of him looming over her. Would she ever move beyond the girl who yearned so viscerally for this closeness with him? "I must confess I was purely selfish in my motivations to do so." He brushed his thumb over her cheek, wiping away the remaining moisture from her tears.

"I know." She stated plainly. She had never disliked him being near to her or the feeling of his rough hands on her skin. She stood still, neither returning his gentle attention nor rebuffing it. Fabien's eyes softened around the corners and he bent his head ever-so-slightly towards her. Elena felt her breath hitch in her throat, felt herself rise a little on her toes towards him. The raw edges of her emotions ached for a balm to soothe them and he was offering one that had always been hard for her to resist.

"Ahem." Elena jumped at the sound of Cullen clearing his throat. Fabien took a large, quick step back from her, shooting the Commander an innocent, wide smile. Elena felt the cold mountain air fill the space between them and it was as if she woke up from a dream. She sank back onto her flat feet, feeling her face flush in embarrassment. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

Fabien chortled, "Oh, no. I was just helping Elena calm down. She took her sentence rather hard, you know."

Cullen nodded, pressing his lips together into a frown, his hard amber eyes sliding smoothly over Fabien to settle on her pink, tear-streaked face, "Yes, I was there."

Elena stepped towards Cullen, pushing her guilt down and tried to make her voice calm and steady. "I'm glad you're here. We haven't had a chance to talk since… well since… everything. Would you like to go to my room?" She gently reached for his hand, but seeing his frown deepen she added on, "Or we could stay here?" She let her hand fall back to her side.

Cullen's eyes were hard and accusing when he replied in clipped, civil tones, "I rather think that's best." He looked at Fabien and bowed his head slightly, "Lieutenant, if you wouldn't mind giving the lady and me some privacy?"

Fabien nodded, side stepping away from them quickly, clearly pleased to have been released. "Yes, sir, right away, sir." Cullen and Elena watched him leave in silence. Even after he was gone, the silence remained. Elena rubbed her arms nervously.

"You're leaving for Ostwick tomorrow at midday." Cullen informed her calmly without making eye contact. He stood as if he were giving a report to Erik, straight-backed and unaffected by what he had said.

"That's… so soon." She said slowly, moving to sit on a bench. He followed her, but remained standing before her. The silence stretched between them again. She watched him. He refused to look at her directly, but she could tell that he was paying attention to her regardless. "I'm sorry."

He met her eyes and held them. She offered a small smile, which he did not return. His eyes were stony amber as they bore into her, "Yes, well, that doesn't exactly fix the mess you've made, does it?" His voice was cold and precise, falling on her ears like a slap on the cheek.

"What can I do then?" She whispered desolately.

"You can do as you're told!" He snapped at her, "You had better be glad that the Inquisitor is your brother and that I—." He stopped himself, shaking his head and sinking his face into a palm. "Maker's breath."

Elena stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers sank into the soft fur of his mantle, "Cullen—"

He jerked his shoulder from beneath her hand, "Don't call me that."

She blinked, taken aback, "Don't call you by your name?" This was a big shift. She felt her chest contract painfully around her heart.

He nodded, stepping away from her. "No." He looked up at the sky, breathing deeply in through his nose, "Andraste help me." He glanced over at her and then quickly turned his back to her, pressing his hands against his hips. "When I was boy I wanted nothing more than to be a Templar. I managed to spend most of my life up until just recently as one. I made terrible mistakes during that time that I will never be able to fully atone for." His voice caught and he cleared his throat, "I'm not proud of the man I was. The Inquisition offered me a chance to start over new, to prove I'd learned from those mistakes, to become someone better than I am."

"What are you trying to say?"

He looked over his shoulder at her, "Please, don't interrupt me." He breathed in deeply and continued on, "Everything I have done with the army here, I have done with utmost integrity and respect not only for the Inquisition, its mission, my men, myself, but for the good of Thedas. The only thing I ignored my better judgment on was you." He turned and gripped her hands, bringing them up to chest level. Elena winced at the strength in his fingers as they pressed into her own. He looked earnestly into her eyes. The hardness that turned them into amber had gone, leaving them their usual warm golden brown. It flattered her to hear this confession. "You struck some chord deep inside of me, arousing feelings I thought I would never fully experience. You made me uneasy, painfully aware of all of my many flaws. I don't know how you don't see them." He shook his head, letting out a single breath of disbelieving laughter, "You heard everyone's objections to our being together, but you didn't care. You saw me as the man I am today, not as I once was." The words were flowing out of him as if a dam had burst, as if they were scorching his very tongue and lips as they fell from them, "I fell in love with you. I tried to tell you so many times…." He paused, searching her face with desperation as if he were trying to memorize it. "Then, as soon as I manage to tell you I love you, you go and—" He let go of her hands with force, sending them swinging back to her in exasperation. "And you do this!" He swung his arms wide indicating the breadth of her recent follies. He spun to face away from her letting out a groan of frustration, "What's more? Before I even have a chance to discuss the matter with you, I find Shaw moving in on you like a great, looming vulture! And you're just standing there letting it happen!"

"What?" Elena was baffled. Where was he taking this monologue? "Fabien and I are just friends. What's that got to do with the Arbor Wilds?"

He whipped back around to face her, "Don't think I don't see how you look at each other. Don't think I don't know what happened on the way back here. Don't sit here and insult me like that. I'm not stupid, Elena." He turned away from her, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Excuse me? Nothing happened on the way back here." She moved around to his front, but he spun, avoiding her, "Fabien drove us like a mad man. He kept me confined to my tent, my horse, and my rooms. He never so much as took a watch over me. What is this really about, Cullen?"

"It's Commander to you." He told her tersely.

She shook her head, clenching her fists at her side to get a grip on herself before speaking, "'Commander' now is it?" She was searching for the words she needed, "That's—that's the way it is, then? There's nothing between us but rank now?" She could feel her heart hammering in her chest; she struggled to breathe around its frantic tempo. She didn't even have a rank anymore. What was he doing? Picking a fight out in the open like this was highly out of character. "What is going on with you?" She asked him. Every part of her wanted to go and grip onto him. Grab his collar and force him to look at her and say what he came to say already. The suspense was agonizing. She felt as if she knew where this conversation was leading, but she couldn't be sure. The wait was hard, but the knowing would be harder.

Cullen tugged on his armor and cloak, "There's only so much a man can take." He said and cleared his throat, "And I—I've had enough." He tried to deliver the last sentence with finality, but his voice cracked, belying his true feelings.

Elena stood her ground, feeling angrier at this than anything else that day, "I don't believe you." She told him firmly. Her body felt like stone but her heart kept its rapid beat going as if, if it beat hard enough, it could keep the end from coming.

He cocked his head at her, "It doesn't matter what you believe. You're leaving tomorrow, and I will be staying here. Thank the Maker." He turned and left her standing there in the sunlit garden. He took the warmth and brightness of the day with him, leaving her cold and alone, too angry to even cry.