raflesia65

[raflesia65]

- "Diana Please...!"

- "Don't worry my love, this time i'm not going anywhere!"

Soon, I will be able to play DAV, but Diana my inquisitor will live happily in the arms of her love.

[raflesia65]

Dear Commander - Chapter 23: From Ferelden, With Love

Cullen x Trevelyan

AO3 MASTERLIST

The Inquisitor and Cullen are on opposite sides of Ferelden but still on each other's minds.

Full chapter below:

Sera stopped me at first. I was making my way to the old tavern where I had a bedroll ready. In hindsight, I should have ran. Maybe then I could string together some semblance of a cohesive thought.

Maybe if we had just stood still, things would be different. But she followed me as I walked down the steps and in her jumble of curses and pessimism, she made some sense. I listened, that’s what the Inquisitor should do, right? She's scared like the rest of us. She just expresses it in a much more colourful way.

Then I heard his voice. Firm and authoritative. It was far too late in the darkness of the courtyard but he was working by candlelight. I sometimes worry that he pushes himself too far.

I tried to avoid him, to resist the temptation to approach, but Sera would not stop talking. Over and over. She must have found a dozen or so creative ways to say the name Corypheus without actually saying it. I shouldn't blame her, this is my mess and mine alone.

Then he looked up and it was too late to turn back. Sera left and I was standing there alone with no excuse. He appeared startled for a moment, then he looked away, throwing himself back into whatever it was that seemed a far greater priority than a decent night’s sleep. I was already there, his scouts looking at me as though I deserved his attention, looking back to him for some response. I didn’t know what to say, I just stood there like an idiot and then he just started telling me things. He didn’t say ‘hello’ or anything; instead, he rattled off all the things that he’s done and all the ways he’s keeping Skyhold secure. It felt so strange, almost dehumanizing. As though I am no more than an authoritative figure that expects military summaries in place of normal conversation. I froze, I didn’t know how to respond to that. So I laughed, because if I’m laughing, then nobody can be laughing at me. But I should never have poked fun at him for taking his role so seriously. It was shamefully unbecoming of me but I didn’t know what else to do. He clearly hadn’t been taking breaks or time for himself, but I said it anyway—the silly question: ��Do you ever sleep?’ Of course he sleeps, at some point…at least I hope.

I hope he knows that I was joking and that I actually do believe he sleeps, because he didn’t say anything about it. He just turned back to what he was doing and attempted to justify his caution, saying that he couldn’t let anything happen. He was taking it so seriously that, for a moment, I could have sworn I saw him begin to shake. He was leaning all his weight into that little makeshift desk, it was starting to worry me. He turned to face me and he gave me the most piercing look that left me breathless. “We will not run from here, Inquisitor.” - is what he said and he meant every word.

Then it dawned on me that perhaps this is how he rests. He said it with so much pride. He doesn’t seem the type to sit by and let things happen. Maybe he’s more at ease planning and taking control than he could ever be if he were tucked up in bed.

I love really admire that about him. He's honorable and hard-working. The fact that he’s handsome is a nice bonus. Ugh, it hurts to even admit that. And that's the problem.

I find myself thinking of him all the time, far more than I did before. I feel like I’m starting to lose my mind. Even now as I sit here writing this, I wonder if he’s on his way back to Skyhold. I don’t doubt that I’ll receive word soon. For once, a mission report that I’d take joy in reading.

Oh, but my mind keeps wandering back to that night in the courtyard. I tried to keep my wits about me, to maintain composure and act in an appropriate manner. When he looks at me like that and speaks in that softer voice, my brain just stops. I tried to tell him that I appreciate all his hard work, offer my gratitude for rescuing me in the avalanche, and, more importantly, that I’m glad he survived—but I couldn’t find the words. I stumbled over my thoughts, cowering mid-sentence into some meaningless, vague statement that implied he was no more important to me than a random villager.

He looked away and whatever progress I thought we were making vanished just like that. It was so incredibly awkward that I just wanted to run away. I might have rolled my eyes at some point, I don’t even know. Then he stopped me. He touched me, grabbed my arm to stop me from walking away and promised that he wouldn’t allow the events at Haven to happen again.

“You have my word.”

He promised and it felt like that promise was just for me. The way he spoke, the intensity in his eyes - all for me.

Not because I’m The Inquisitor or The Herald of Andraste, but because I am me.

What if I’m wrong? If I let myself believe this…

“Inquisitor!”

The officer’s voice startled Juliette, making her flinch and drop her quill. Her heart raced as she took a deep breath, pressing her hand over her chest to calm her nerves. She had become a little too lost in thought, for a moment forgetting the attention that her duty demanded.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” she called, slamming the journal shut, the ink likely smearing before it had a chance to dry. She tucked it securely into her bedroll, her hands trembling slightly as she wondered how likely it would be that someone could happen upon it.

With one last glance at the journal, she stepped outside of her tent, greeted by the persistent drizzle of rain and the unmistakable stench of the bog that clung to the air. A crack of thunder rumbled above, as if to remind her that nothing—least of all her secrets—were safe here.

She scrunched her face in a dramatic manner just in case anyone had missed how much she hated this place. The dampness clung to her skin, the ever-present gloom made the world feel suffocating, even during the day. How anyone could call this home was beyond her understanding. The few days spent in the Fallow Mire were already far too many.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of a group approaching their camp -several scouts in Inquisition armor, one in particular that she had been eager to speak with.

“Harding!” Juliette called enthusiastically, weaving her way past the smoldering campfire. A few of the officers shot her curious glances as they rested, weary from the trip.

“Inquisitor,” Harding replied with a slight nod as Juliette approached. The rain pelted against her face, soaking her hair and cloak, but she barely flinched, her focus entirely on the Inquisitor. The other scouts moved ahead, sensing the need for privacy.

“What is it?” Juliette asked in a gasp, catching her breath from her sudden dash across the camp. “Did you find them?”

Harding’s expression darkened. “Not yet, Inquisitor. But we did find one who had escaped.” She passed Juliette a note with a regretful look. “Aubrey. He was a good man.” “Was?” Juliette asked, her voice wavering in sorrow as she pulled the note underneath her scarf to protect it. She motioned towards the tents with a tilt of her head, eager to get out of the rain.

As they reached the annex, where a loosely propped canvas offered little more than minimal shelter, Juliette unfurled the thin sheet of paper. She skimmed it swiftly, her attention flickering between the text and Harding’s words.

“We found his body in a cave. He likely passed away from his injuries.”

“Maker rest his soul,” Juliette replied, bowing her head in respect. “I’ll see that Aubrey is honored for his bravery.”

Harding gave a short nod. “He tried to warn you not to come here, but his letter never made it out of The Mire.”

Juliette glanced up from the letter, brow furrowed in confusion. “The Avvar want to challenge me to win favour with their gods…” Her voice trailed off, rising at the end as if she were still trying to make sense of it. “Because I’m the Herald of Andraste. That’s it? They think this will somehow disprove Andraste’s existence and... what?” She pressed her palm to her forehead, shaking her head. “This makes no sense.”

“Personally, I think their leader’s just a boastful little prick that wants to brag he killed you,” Harding said bluntly. ”Well,” Juliette said with a mirthless chuckle. “That’s fame for you.”

“They’re holed up in a castle called Hargrave Keep—what’s left of it, anyway. We’ll lead the way once you’re ready to depart.”

“Thank you, Harding,” Juliette said, casting a quick glance over her shoulder. “We need to move soon, once we’ve resupplied.”

“Getting to the troops won’t be easy. You’ll have to fight your way through undead,” Harding said, gesturing towards the murky water. Juliette shuddered at the thought. “Wait—you're not squeamish about undead, are you?” Harding teased.

“No, no, not at all,” Juliette replied, her voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Right at the top of my list of favourite monsters.”

“You’ll want to stay out of the water, then,” Harding said.

“If you can even call it water,” Juliette replied, wrinkling her nose. “It’s quite the smell.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Harding chuckled.

“I’ll make sure to let Josephine know that you need a raise once we’re back at Skyhold.”

“I might just hold you to that” Harding smiled. “Maker willing, The Inquisition’s people are still alive.”

“I am not letting the Avvar butcher our people,” Juliette said with determination.

“I appreciate it,” Harding smiled, nodding respectfully as she began to walk away.

Juliette hesitated, wrestling with the decision to bring up the operation at Denerim Palace. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her scarf as she stepped back into the rain.

“Harding, wait!” she called, quickly closing the distance with a few quick steps.

Harding turned, watching curiously. “Yes?”

Juliette smiled awkwardly, tugging her scarf tighter over her head to shield herself from the rain. “You wouldn’t happen to know how far it is from Skyhold to Denerim, would you?”

“That depends,” Harding said, her voice wavering slightly, as though she could sense there was more to the question. “Are you talking distance measured or days traveled?”

“Days traveled. For a small army,” Juliette replied, tilting her head slightly, her thoughts already drifting elsewhere.

Harding considered this, squinting as though she could already see the journey laid out before them. “Maybe two weeks, horseback,” she shrugged. “It would depend on injuries, how many times they’d stop for supplies, that sort of thing.”

“Two weeks,” Juliette whispered to herself, nodding as she stared into the distance. He departed four days before me, seven for the mountain trail, another three for Redcliffe…

“Uh…is everything all right, Inquisitor?” Harding asked cautiously.

Juliette blinked and forced a smile. “Oh, yes,” she said, straightening her posture. “I just… like to keep track of where our people are, and what they’re… doing. It doesn’t matter.” Juliette began to quickly walk away, her head lowered and eyes focused on her feet. “We should hurry along,” Juliette added, her voice slightly more urgent now. “We have a big day ahead of ourselves.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Harding replied, though her gaze lingered on Juliette for a moment, still puzzled.

The next day they made steady progress as the Inquisition scouts moved farther ahead through the marshy bog of the Fallow Mire. Nearing Hargrave Keep, The Inquisitor and her party took a moment to rest after defeating a horde of undead. The scouts, seizing the moment of rest, moved ahead to assess the path before them.

The distant rumble of thunder filled the air and sparse rain drops made heavy splashing noises as they fell in the nearby lake. There was an eerie sense of calm while they waited for the scouts , until Cole decided to speak.

“Juliette?” His voice held a certain innocence, as if her title didn’t matter at all.

"Inquisitor," Cassandra snapped, her tone sharp enough to make him flinch.

"No, it’s fine," Juliette said, stepping closer to him. Her voice softened. "He can call me Juliette. I rather like it—it makes me feel like a person again."

Cassandra folded her arms tightly, her eyes narrowing as she watched Cole, as if measuring every word he spoke. Cole blinked up at Juliette, rising from his crouch. His oversized hat wobbled as he moved.

“But you are a person,” he said, sounding baffled.

Juliette sighed, her boot kicking at the dirt beneath her. "Sometimes... it doesn’t feel that way." She met his eyes with a forced smile. "Did you have a question, Cole?”

"Why do you hide your words underneath your pillow?"

“Oh!” Dorian gasped dramatically, his eyes lighting up as he swiftly crossed the space to Juliette. “Did I hear that correctly? Our lovely lady Inquisitor has a secret journal?” He grinned widely, clearly enjoying the moment as he waited for her reaction. Juliette sighed, shaking her head as she lowered it, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Dorian leaned in closer, trying to get a better look at her expression, his teasing grin only widening. “I packed so lightly for this trip, you know. I was hoping we’d stumble across something interesting for me to read.”

Juliette glared up at him, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t suppose there’s much point in hiding it now that Cole has announced it to the entire party,” she mumbled, rubbing her temples in frustration.

“But why, Juliette?” Cole asked, his voice genuinely curious. “You understand the meaning of the words, but you don’t know what they mean.”

She dropped her head into her hands, groaning. “Please don’t say anything else that will embarrass me, Cole.”

With a tilt of his head he replied, “But how will I know that it embarrasses you if I don’t say it?”

“He’s got you there,” Dorian chimed in, highly amused by the situation.

Juliette scoffed, walking briskly towards the water’s edge. “I’ll burn the book as soon as we return to camp,” she muttered, half to herself.

“Pages burn, yet words remain,” Cole spoke solemnly, his gaze lingering on her.

Juliette crossed her arms and shot Dorian one last, pointed glare. “Let’s just move on, shall we?”

Cassandra stood opposite Cole, her distrusting stare intense. “If you are to fight alongside us, Cole, I expect you to follow orders. The Inquisitor believes you wish to help…”

Juliette wandered ahead, hugging herself tightly as the rain began to fall a little heavier. She looked up at the sky, black clouds stirring above as though they were there to taunt her too. She rolled her eyes when she heard footsteps approaching.

“Dear diary,” Dorian said in a mocking tone. “Too many Templars. Too little time.”

Juliette sighed. “Maker give me strength.”

Inquisitor, Our forces were able to prov  

Cullen’s quill slipped, smudging ink across the carefully written words. With a heavy sigh, he crumpled the parchment and tossed it aside, starting over.

Inquisitor, Our

Again, the ink smeared beneath his trembling hand. He clenched his jaw and exhaled through his teeth, snatching another piece of fresh vellum.

This can’t keep happening. I’m wasting resources, he thought, frustration tightening his chest. His gaze lingered on his fingers, as though he could somehow will them to cooperate.

He paused, staring at the blank page, his hand shaking as it hovered over the ink. With a sharp exhale, Cullen removed his gloves, hoping that could give him a better grip and steady his erratic movements. One hand carefully spread the vellum over the crate that he used as a makeshift desk, while the other gripped the quill tightly. Holding his breath, he lowered the quill to the page.

Inquisitor, Our forces were able to provide assistance to Queen Anora

The first stroke was unsteady, the ink bleeding into the vellum before he could finish the letter. His brow furrowed as he concentrated, but each new letter came out shaky and crooked. His grip on the quill tightened, knuckles turning white, but the tremors only worsened.

Every movement was deliberate, yet his hand refused to obey. The letters began to lose their form, sliding and shifting into scribbles. His handwriting, normally precise and carefully penned, now appeared a jagged mess, almost as disorderly as his thoughts.

Frustration consumed him as he shoved the quill aside with a growl. He snatched the ink pot and hurled it at a pile of crates, splattering ink into the air, the faint scent of the dye lingering. He stood for a moment, chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

Nearby soldiers, alerted by the noise, glanced over in surprise. Cullen clenched his fists, turning away and forcing his shoulders back, trying his best to appear composed despite the fury raging inside him.

He hated this.

If I cannot complete a task as simple as writing a letter, how am I to command an army? What use am I like this?

Each breath came ragged, and he felt as though his head were spinning. The withdrawals hadn’t been this bad in months. He walked over to a barrel and slowly splashed cool water against his face, the shock of the cold momentarily pulling him from the fog in his mind.

He leaned against the barrel, tightly closing his eyes. It’s been days. How much longer until it passes? He took a slow, deep breath. I vowed to be better than this. To give more. His hands still trembled, and there wasn’t a muscle in his body free from aching. The Inquisition, the soldiers… Juliette — I can’t let them down.

He stood there for a while, gathering what little strength he had left. The soldiers would be waiting, the new recruits among them. He couldn’t afford to let them see him like this.

With a long, steadying breath, he rolled his shoulders, wiped his face dry with the back of his hand, and turned towards the camp. Each step felt heavy, but he pushed forward, determined not to break.

The sun was bright. It’s always too bright. Cullen squinted, shielding his eyes with a hand as he walked to the edge of the perimeter where messengers were stationed.

“Any word from the Fallow Mire?” Cullen asked as he approached.

“Still nothing, Ser,” the messenger replied, a formality to his voice.

“When you do hear something, anything at all, I'd like to be notified immediately,” Cullen instructed.

“Yes, Commander,” the messenger nodded. “Would you like us to send a message to The Inquisitor?”

"No," Cullen said sharply, turning to walk away. "I’m sure they’re just busy." He forced the words out through clenched teeth, the sunlight magnifying his headache, while his mind raced anew.

They should have been there by now. Each day without an update brought on more worry, more stress. With the constant travel, the steady influx of new recruits, and the lingering grip of withdrawal, Cullen barely had room to breathe, let alone manage the mounting stress of The Inquisitor’s whereabouts.

He gritted his teeth, his ink stained fingers twitching as the possibilities swirled in his mind, each scenario worse than the last. He couldn’t grasp one before another took its place—what if she was in danger? What if they had failed? If only he could write to her—just one letter, one reply to ease his mind.

Cullen turned back to the messenger, drawing in a sharp breath before speaking. “Perhaps write to the scouts. Harding should be able to inform us of their progress. She may know if the soldiers have been located…and if the Inquisitor has safely arrived.”

“Right away, Commander,” the messenger nodded with a fist raised to his chest. He scurried away, leaving Cullen alone with his thoughts—but only for a moment.

“Commander!” an officer called out, approaching at a brisk pace, a serious expression on his face. Cullen exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his patience before turning to face the officer.

“The bandits have been cleared, Commander. Giving ‘em swords... wasn’t such a bad call after all.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “The Sutherland lad that turned up at Skyhold?”

“That’s the one. Drove the bandits off, our patrols are clear,” the officer said proudly.

“He may have potential yet,” Cullen replied, folding his arms. His gaze drifted over the barren plains surrounding their camp, the dry earth stretching endlessly beneath the pale sky.

The officer stood at attention, waiting, but a silence fell between them as Cullen stared ahead in contemplation. The officer relaxed slightly, his gaze following Cullen’s before he spoke again. “Hard to believe this was all green once,” he muttered, sadness in his voice.

Cullen looked across, his arms still folded tightly. There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “You’re from Lothering?”

The officer’s eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, he seemed lost in the past. “Until the Blight,” he said quietly. “My family and I were lucky to make it out.” He pointed towards the west, his hand lingering on the air. “The village is out that way. Or what’s left of it, anyway.”

“I suppose Honnleath is much the same,” Cullen said quietly.

The officer nodded slowly, his gaze now distant. “Just a name on a map these days.” He sighed heavily. “I best keep moving. More recruits will arrive soon.”

“Well, with luck they'll know which end to grip a sword by,” Cullen muttered sarcastically. The officer chuckled, walking back into the camp.

Once more alone with his thoughts, Cullen looked over at the dry, empty fields that were once thriving farmlands. He often found himself wondering just how damaged his childhood home had become. Did it still stand, left abandoned all these years? He couldn’t help but think of his family. Memories of warm August afternoons by the lake. He could almost hear his siblings laughter as they tried to throw each other in the water. What he’d give to go back to those days. Simpler, happier times. It had been seventeen years since he left to join the Templar order. Most of his life spent away from home. It felt like another lifetime ago. Cullen looked down at his sword, the Inquisition emblem glistening on the hilt. His siblings had likely heard of Haven, everyone in Denerim seemed to know after all. No doubt he’d return to Skyhold with an angry letter from his sister waiting. He didn’t feel ready to face his past, nor consider a future beyond this. He drew in a long, deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs. His hand rested against the pommel of the sword and the tremors eased. A habit he’d grown into over time, a strange sense of comfort. He had a duty now, and no matter the cost, he would not falter.

Juliette slowly pulled herself to her feet. The ringing in her ears was almost suffocating, a harsh, high-pitched sound that blurred her thoughts. Her vision swirled, three green glowing palms waved before her face, splattered in blood. Her blood, she realized, her stomach twisting. She coughed, the wind knocked from her chest, and forced herself to stay upright. Cassandra’s battle raged nearby, her sword flashing as she clashed with three Avvar warriors. The sound of steel meeting steel was accompanied by Cassandra’s grunts, each strike an explosion of power, but it was the crackling buzz of electricity nearby that seized Juliette’s attention.

Dorian stood just out of her reach, his hands crackling with magic. The Avvar warrior nearest to him was writhing on the ground, his body spasming from the brutal electrical shocks coursing through him. His sadistic laughter rang out, a sickening chill. Hand of Korth, he called himself, taking pleasure in his own suffering, each crackling surge of magic seeming to delight him. It was as though each strike against him was a moment of defiance against Andraste. Juliette shuddered at the thought. He could stay there, writhing in agony, a little longer.

Juliette raised her hands to the sky, the staff in her grip flaring with searing flames. With a wave, she conjured a barrier of fire that encircled the battlefield, flames crackling and swirling in a wall of blazing heat. Cassandra retreated, her enemies igniting in the inferno. Their screams echoed in the air, but Juliette's focus quickly shifted.

Her heart skipped a beat as her gaze fell on Cole, motionless on the ground, his daggers still tightly clutched in his hands.

“Hold on, Cole!” she yelled, racing towards him. As she kneeled before his limp body, a wave of confusion washed over Juliette. Does he heal? Will a potion... Her heart raced, her thoughts clouded with panic. “Cole!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how to heal you!”

With trembling hands, she pulled a vial of healing potion from her belt, her fingers fumbling as she tore the cork from the bottle. She held it under his nose, her breath frantic. Can he drink?

“Cassandra!” Dorian yelled, just seconds before the deafening crash of the overhang collapsing echoed through the air. Juliette scrambled to her feet, the healing vial slipping from her fingers and shattering against the ground. She froze, her eyes wide in horror as she watched Dorian rush to clear the rubble from where Cassandra lay trapped beneath. Did…did my fire do that?

Juliette struggled for breath, screaming out “Is she all ri—”

“Finish him!” Dorian shouted, fierce urgency in his voice with a glare over his shoulder. Juliette’s eyes darted to the Avvar, that so-called Hand of Korth crawling towards her with a twisted grin. She grabbed her staff, her breath quick and ragged. Too close, too close for fire. What do I do?

She stepped backwards, desperate to create some distance, to find enough space for her fire to rage without consuming her as well. Before she could react, he grabbed her ankle, yanking her to the ground. Her staff clattered against the stone as it fell beside her. A frightened squeal escaped her as the Avvar dragged her across the rough stone, his cruel laughter echoing in her ears as he muttered, “Weak. Weak is Andratse’s Herald.” Juliette snatched for her staff, her fingertips barely gripping it as she fumbled it into place. She raised it, hoping to smash it against his face, but his reflexes were too fast. In an instant, he grabbed the staff and bent the iron in half, a terrifying display of strength.

He laughed, shaking his head. Before Juliette could defend herself, his hands were wrapped around her neck, squeezing and choking while she clawed at his fingers, feeling herself slip away.

Suddenly, his grip loosened. A vacant expression crossed his face, followed by a slicing sound as he collapsed forward, falling beside her. Juliette sat there, eyes wide in shock, her breath shallow. Her fingers trembled as they instinctively moved to her neck, feeling the bruises forming beneath her skin. Cole stood before her, expressionless, blood-soaked daggers gripped tightly in his hands.

The walk back to camp was tense, the silence broken only by the steady rainfall, occasional thunder, and the distant groans of the undead. The Mire had mostly been cleared of danger by now, thanks to the closure of rifts and a reduced Avvar presence.

"Cassandra’s angry," Dorian observed loudly.

"I’m not angry—" she tried to object, but Dorian cut her off.

"Juliette’s angry." There was a pause, and the Inquisitor didn’t say a word.

"Tell me, Cole. What’s on your mind?" Dorian asked, his voice carrying a teasing lilt that went unnoticed by Cole.

"Relieved. Safe now. The Herald came for us, I knew she would!" Cole responded, his voice full of praise, mirroring the gratitude of the rescued soldiers.

"Yes, yes, she always takes all the credit," Dorian muttered sarcastically.

Juliette groaned, her boots thudding against the muddy ground as she stomped ahead, finally reaching the camp.

The Inquisition’s presence had nearly doubled in size during their absence. More soldiers, scouts, and officers swarmed the campsite, some planning, others preparing, and a few resting.

“What’s going on?” Juliette asked, her expression unusually stern as she moved into the center of the camp.

“Inquisitor!” an officer greeted her, bowing slightly. “Reinforcements were sent from Skyhold, your worship.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice laced with confusion. “There’s no need. We’re clearing out of here.”

“Commander Cullen sent us,” he explained cautiously, sensing her irritation.

“Well, it’s a little too late for that,” she snapped, throwing her ruined staff to the ground with a sharp clang and placing her hand on her hips. Her frustration flared as she let out a heavy sigh, her gaze shifting back to the officer. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… I’m just—” She faltered for a moment, stress getting the better of her. “Apologies, but you need to leave.”

Her eyes scanned the camp, and with a raised voice, she added, “You all need to leave. We’ve found the soldiers. Let’s just get out of this horrid bog of a—” She scoffed, shaking her head in frustration. Without another word, she beelined for her tent, the urgency of her steps mirroring her desire to escape the watchful eyes of the Inquisition. Dorian strolled into the camp, one arm supporting Cassandra as she limped beside him. Juliette glanced over her shoulder. That must be driving her crazy. Maker, she must hate me right now.

“This arrived for you, Inquisitor!” The requisition officer stepped in front of Juliette, holding a burlap-wrapped package.

“What is that?” Juliette asked, her expression softening slightly as she looked at the package with a flicker of curiosity.

“The soldiers brought this down from the Commander,” she explained. Juliette hesitated for a moment before extending her hand, taking the package with a quiet sigh, unsure of what to expect. Her breath caught for a split second, a fleeting warmth in her chest. She quickly masked the reaction, hiding the heat creeping along her cheeks, forcing her face to remain neutral. That was until she heard Dorians voice, in which she hung her head with a defeated sigh.

“A gift?” Dorian asked dramatically, stepping closer to Juliette. “From Commander Cullen?” he whispered, but his voice was far too loud, carrying more than Juliette would have liked.

Juliette clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the package. “Thank you,” she said curtly to the officer, her voice strained as she dismissed her with a stiff nod.

“Whatever could it be?” Dorian wondered aloud, his tone far too gleeful for Juliette’s liking. She ignored him, ripping open the package with growing impatience.

“Flowers?” Dorian suggested with a dramatic tilt of his head.

“Flowers?” Juliette echoed, her nose scrunching at the absurdity of it.

“Jewelry? …Ah, a book.” He paused, looking at the item in her hands with a theatrical sigh. “How predictably dull.”

“Would you stop?” Juliette snapped. “You’ve been particularly irritating today.”

“Oh, I’ve hit a nerve,” Dorian teased, his hands raised defensively. “Don’t drop a building on me!” Juliette scowled, brushing past him with a sharp movement, her steps quick as she neared her tent. “You could at least tell me what the book is?”

“You wanted something to read?” she snapped, spinning back to face him. “Take it!” She threw the book at him and stormed off.

Dorian caught the book easily, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Tale of The Champion?” he read aloud. “I don’t think I’ll bother… Oh, a note.”

“What?” Cassandra shrieked from across the camp. With a limp she hobbled over quickly, anger flaring in her eyes. Juliette stepped forward and snatched the note that fell from the book from Dorian’s hands. She glanced down at the paper, skimming the words as Cassandra’s voice grew louder with fury.

“That bastard! I knew it!”

“What?” Juliette said, confused. “What did Cullen —”

“Not Cullen, Varric!” Cassandra snarled, her grip tightening on the book as she ripped it from Dorian’s hands, her gaze fiery.

Juliette looked back down at the note.

Inquisitor, Varric is up to something and if Leliana’s suspicions are correct, you should know what you’re in for. While I can’t say that the story is true in it’s entirety, the events mentioned are accurate where it matters. Ignore any mention of me, he was exaggerating I’ve marked the sections that are relevant. If Hawke is indeed making his way to Skyhold, then this may give you some insight, if not a fair warning. Cullen

Juliette looked up, meeting Dorian’s watchful gaze and Cassandra’s piercing stare. "Well," Juliette said, her voice uncertain, unsure of what else to say.

Cullen sat by the fire at the camp on the outskirts of Redcliffe. The soft crackle of the fire was a welcoming sound among the loud bustle of the camp. He held Juliette’s letter, his hands far steadier today.

Cullen, There’s nothing like some light reading amid the ambience of torrential rain, suffocating darkness and the persistent groaning of undead. I beg you, never send me here again. Not that the mission was a complete waste of time, however. I’m happy to report that we have managed to free our soldiers. All but one are accounted for and are in good health, a little shaken, but I consider it a victory. Interestingly, not all the Avvar were hostile - just the few dozen that wanted me dead. The challenger has been dealt with. There is no reason for The Inquisition to return here. Please don’t send any more of us here. With love, from the most miserable bog of Southern Ferelden, Inquisitor Trevelyan p.s Your attitude sounded foul, but Varric’s description of your hair was glorious.

Cullen let out an exasperated sigh. “I should have just tore out the pages,” he mumbled to himself. His eyes wandered back over her handwriting. With love. She’s being dramatically sarcastic. A small smirk tugged at his lips. I tried to warn her not to go there, he thought, his fingers tracing the edges of the letter. He could almost hear her voice, that mix of dry humor and underlying defiance. I’m certain she’ll have plenty to say once we’re both back at Skyhold.

[raflesia65]

The Chains We Break

Part 3 of The Unbreaking Series

Relationships: Original Female Character/Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Rutherford/Female Surana, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Rutherford/Mage(s) Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Solas (Dragon Age), Dragon Age: Inquisition Ensemble, Dragon Age: Origins Ensemble, Dragon Age II Ensemble, Cullen Rutherford's Family, Lavellan Clan (Dragon Age), Non-Inquisitor MC, Female Lavellan (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: No Smut, Implied Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Lyrium Withdrawal, Lyrium Addiction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, No Profanity, Romance, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Canon-Typical Behavior, Sided with Mages & Templars, Canon Compliant But Also Some Divergence, Dreamers (Dragon Age), Fade Spirits, The Fade (Dragon Age), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Fix-It of Sorts, Andrastians, Dalish Elven Culture & Customs (Dragon Age), Attempting to Fix Cullen’s “Redemption” Arc

Chapter 11: Suledin (Excerpt)

WARNINGS: Mature (18+); Violence and gore

Chapter 10 | Chapter 12 | AO3

……………………CULLEN………………….

The cold of her blade kissed my throat, but instead of the pain I expected, it merely stayed. Pressed against my skin, but not breaking it, not drawing blood. The light dissipated, my vision blurred. The pressure eased, gentle fingers replacing the cold metal.   I blinked furiously, she finally coming into focus. Meira seemed to almost glow from within as I looked at her, her silver eyes incandescing against the night sky like two brilliant stars, her mana positively singing. She dropped to her knees, time seeming to halt as tears spilt down her cheeks. She smiled gently at me and opened her mouth, but I swallowed her words as I claimed her lips with my own. I relished the gasp she let out, burying my fingers in her hair as I unleashed all of my passion into the kiss.   “I love you.”

“And I you,” she breathed.

“Well, I hate to interrupt this little lover’s reunion,” Imshael’s voice echoed across the courtyard as it drew its talons from the unmoving body of Ghilani, “but you still haven’t given me an answer, Fadewalker.”

I stood and offered her a hand. “Together?”

She placed her delicate fingers in my gloved palm and I pulled her up. She gave a nod. “Together.”

  We turned to face our enemy. In the wake of Meira wresting herself from the jaws of the shadow that had been haunting her, magical energy had burst forth from her. It had knocked everyone down, but they were quickly recovering. Destroying the lyrium overhead had freed the mages of its poisonous effects, but it had done nothing to dampen Samson or the Red Templars. The elves that had been thrall to Imshael were, thankfully, still frozen.   But as he rose, Samson met my glare and gave a haughty smirk in response. He stepped forward, a fist hitting the chunk of red lyrium set into his cuirass. The lyrium blazed to life once more, a great surge radiating out. Samson’s eyes glowed crimson at it, the other pieces of red lyrium set within his armor answering in kind. He drew his blade—Meredith’s blade—and lifted it into the air.

“Templars! The Inquisition stands for the Chantry and its false god. They come to stand against us, against the Elder One, to bring us to heel or to kill us if we do not submit. Let us show them what the templars of a true god can do!”

Roars sounded in a rallying cry before the courtyard was once more bathed in crimson. The Red Templars rushed forward.

“Inquisition!” I shouted, drawing my own blade, “For Skyhold!”

The battalion and soldiers ran to meet the corrupted templars, magic and the white light of templar abilities trying to push back the garish crimson. Meira and I made to join them, but she stopped in her tracks.

“Mamae,” a small voice spoke.

Meira began shaking. “You—You’re not real.”

I came to stand beside her. Before us stood a child. She was beautiful with her golden curls and brilliant jade eyes. I knew instantly this was the illusion Meira had seen at Solasan. Imshael was betting she’d give into temptation again when faced directly with it.

“Lieutenant,” I murmured.

  The battalion and the Red Templars were facing off. Samson’s armor was granting him devastating power, the red lyrium still potent to any who got too near. The mages kept their distance, freezing or burning the corrupted enemy. Our templars kept them from gaining on the mages as they slowly whittled the enemy down.   But Samson could not be stopped or slowed. He swung his blade, the force killing any too close and knocking others back. He was like Meredith had been that fateful night when I’d stood with Hawke against her—nearly invincible. What was worse: Samson seemed unaffected by the lyrium. He was carving a path to the mages and if he got to them, we wouldn’t stand a chance. A few of the Red Templars noticed us and charged.

“Lieutenant-Comander,” I barked, more forcefully, readying my weapons.

  Solana was trying to get to Samson, a beacon of flame amongst the flashes of magic and crimson light of the corrupted templars, but his underlings kept cutting her off. Until she melted them: lyrium, flesh and bone. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought her a rage demon.   I looked to Imshael, its gaze locked on Meira. The creature smiled, its eyes now blood-red—not the crimson of the corrupted lyrium, but the deep scarlet of actual blood—as demons manifested from the blood magic on the air. The child began crying; the pitiful wails of a babe, of another child, echoing. Meira let out a bitter sob, her arms cradling herself.   Imshael cackled. Our people were faltering. The Red Templars roared. Samson and Solana came face to face.

We were out of time.

“Come on, Fadewalker,” Imshael goaded, “Look around you. All that surrounds you is death! All that awaits you is death! Take what I have to offer!”

“Be strong, beloved,” I commanded.

Meira looked to me and the sorrow, the grief, in her eyes broke my heart. “Cullen, I…can’t. I…need you.”

“And you have me,” I promised, “I’m right here. But I cannot do this for you. You must resist to break the hold. You had your time with them, but now…you must let go.”

Meira searched my face, understanding coloring her own, before nodding. She reached a hand out to the illusion, caressing the child’s cheek with the touch and care only a mother knew. “Ar lath ma, da’vhenans. Melava somniar, ” she breathed, her voice shaking with grief. At her touch, light bloomed across the illusion. The child held Meira’s wrist, nuzzling her cheek into Meira’s palm. A contented sigh before a happy smile as her eyes closed. The cries of a babe quieted, calmed coos on the air.

“Ar lath ma, Mamae. Suledin.” The light grew bright before the illusion winked out. The temperature around Meira began to plummet. Meira’s eyes snapped to Imshael, full of a blazing wrath. “I refuse your offer, demon, and I shall send you back to the Void.”

“Oh for…Choice! Spirit!” Imshael snarled before letting out an inhuman screech. The creature folded in on itself. Grotesque sounds of bones breaking and flesh bursting clawing at my ears.

“Cullen, you need to help the others,” she spoke, her voice strangely echoing.

“You cannot do this alone!”

“I must,” she said calmly. The Red Templars that had nearly reached us screamed as they froze solid, toppled and shattered  upon the stone. “Imshael is more than simply a demon. It is something older, stronger and beyond the rest of you.” She met my gaze, her pupils and irises gone. Instead, her eyes were alight with magic. “You helped me already,” she assured, “And besides,” she laughed. “I am not alone.”

A great gust of wind blew through the courtyard, warm and full of a song I couldn’t quite hear. In its wake, the spirits connected to her armor manifested once more. Their faces familiar as I’d seen them around Skyhold. Except I noticed Purpose and Embrace were missing. I looked again and realized one of the spirits was unfamiliar, a young man that looked like—

“Assurance, mortal,” the spirit spoke as it’s different colored eyes met my own. “I am here to provide certainty where there was once doubt.”

I looked to Meira. She gave me a sad, but brilliant smile. “It’s you Samson wants. I need you to buy me enough time to wipe this thing from the face of Thedas. I must concentrate on Imshael. If Samson reaches me, I will not have the strength to defeat it. Get to Solana. Aid her. And if you can, tell her I am sorry.”

I swallowed down my protests. She was right. They were matched in power, but Samson’s armor would drain her mana. Just as it was doing to Solana, her flames guttering. She needed aid.

“Trust me,” she urged, once more bringing the runes upon my armor to life with a touch.

“With all I have,” I vowed before gripping my sword, raising my shield and charging into the fray. Maker, hear my cry.

…

……………………………….MEIRA…………………………………

I watched as my heart charged into battle, fierce and determined. I did not know if any of us would make it out of this alive. Samson was too strong, his armor negating any magic that came near and bolstering his brute strength. I hoped that Solana would be able to distract him just long enough. Imshael was something unknown, but its power was surging as it changed before me. The hum began again, but with the armor in place and I no longer at war within myself, I could drown it out. But how do I defeat the creature?

”You have the power of eight spirits with you,” Assurance spoke, drawing a blade from his sheath. “And your abilities are fully in your control. Do not doubt and do not be afraid. We are with you.”

A furious roar sounded before that darkness burst into flames. A rage demon, stronger than most, but still rage. Still fire. Gripping my swords, I waited for it to come to me as I called a blizzard into being. Frigid wind and biting snow swirling about us. Ice lacerated Imshael, drawing hateful shouts from it. Its baleful eyes glared, molten fire dripping upon the stones as it slid toward me. With a menacing laugh, I watched as the demon grew in height, its heat nearly blistering even at a distance. I felt my magic shift slightly and looked towards the source: Amelia, Laren, Asaala and Michel were running towards us.

”No! You cannot—“

”Shut up,” Asaala barked as she cut through one of the demons Imshael had summoned. Her normally purple eyes now burned with lyrium. “Our abilities are the strongest as we’re the newest templars. They are useless against the Red Templars. You need us.”

��And I have a vow to keep,” Michel countered, shielded by Laren, “You will not stop me.”

”So you dare face me again, Michel? After your last blunder?” Imshael goaded.

Laren rushed forward, sword and shield alight with her templar abilities—her eyes were glowing with the lyrium she’d just ingested. She was fast. When I thought she’d be hit by the ice storm, Ardor appeared, blocking my magic with a fiery shield. Asaala ran parallel to Laren, her giant sword in her hands, Perseverance defending her. Amelia drew her bow, Joy at her side. Michel ran down the middle, Prudence enveloping him in a barrier. Imshael growled in frustration. I had to find a way to immobilize him.

”Your blade is not just a blade, Fadewalker,” Assurance spoke, “If you will it, it will become a staff.” He turned to the others and gestured for them to follow him as he charged Imshael. 

  I looked to my Fade-smithed blade. With a thought, it became a staff. The dragons elongated, their eyes brilliant and the diamond dazzling as magic flowed into it. I pulled everything I could into the staff and Fade-stepped towards Imshael. I popped into existence before it, the creature distracted by Laren and Asaala’s blades that drew ferocious screams from it. Amelia’s arrows kept hitting it in the eyes causing it to swat blindly, flinging molten fire everywhere. Michel stayed back, the heat too much without lyrium granting him immunity.   I swung the staff, concentrating everything I’d gathered into it. Runes spread down it before I slammed the end onto the ground. Ice burst from beneath Imshael, freezing it in its jaws. Michel took his opening and thrust his blade into Imshael.   The ice cracked and then shattered, liquid fire raining down. I conjured a massive ice wall to protect us all. Imshael bellowed before spewing fire. I threw my staff up, another wall of ice erupting, but this time impaling Imshael. The creature exploded, hurling us all back. The spirits caught us before we were sent too far back, righting us.

”Why do you fight me, Laren? All you’ve ever known is rage. Lay down your blade and—“

”Fenedhis lasa, ir emah’la shal! Na din’an shalin! Ir bellanaris din’an heem, harellen!”  Laren snarled.

”I’ll take that as a no, then,” Imshael sighed.

Laren screamed in defiance as she swung her blade in a wide arc and severed one of Imshael’s arms from its body. The creature howled before that sentient dark returned. It disappeared a moment and then reemerged in a new form: Pride. Electricity crackled down its craggy skin, its many eyes staring down Michel. “What about you, Michel? Give up this pretense at honor. We both know you have none. But I could give you some. Restore your honor. Even reunite you with your precious empress.”

“I saw what you did to that elven clan,” Michel spit, “You know nothing of honor.”

”And you care so much for elves, do you? You who cannot even accept—“

  As they’d argued, I willed my staff back into a blade. The fire of it blazing white with heat. Laren and Asaala readied themselves to perform the Wrath of Heaven. The spirits rushed forward to strike as one. With a grunt, I swung my sword into the creature’s leg. Feeling all of the spirits bolstering the magic of my blades, they sliced through and severed the leg. Imshael bellowed as he began to topple.   I felt the air charge with the Wrath and Fade-stepped away. A mighty pillar of light slammed down from above, engulfing everything. The spirits disappeared a moment, my blizzard dissipated, the Veil grew thick. As the Wrath dispersed, we found Imshael gone.

“Is it over?” Amelia questioned. As soon as the words left her mouth, darkness engulfed her. Engulfed them all. 

“Enough!” Imshael’s voice demanded, “Enough of all this! I am not the enemy! I made you a generous offer and you refused, so if you won’t be smart, be afraid!” 

From the sentient darkness a creature of unspeakable horror emerged. An amalgamation of something arachnid, corpse and arcane horror. I realized the spider-like appendages that sprouted from its back had been what stopped my attacks before, they’d just been hidden beyond the Veil. They lifted Imshael up until its feet no longer touched the ground and then it…began to levitate. “What in the Maker’s name is that?”

”Imshael is in essence desire,” Intent spoke from my side, “but far more than that. It believes it is a spirit of choice. Therefore, it has the choice to be whatever it chooses. Now? It is Fear.”

Imshael let out a horrid screech, flinging its hands out. Assurance rushed to stand before me, letting out a war cry as he shielded me. “Have faith, Fadewalker! Imshael means to subdue you all with your greatest fears! It will feed off the terror! You must help the others!”

Imshael was claiming the others, capturing them in the darkness. The Red Templars cut those within reach and rendered helpless down. Samson commanded his men to let him deal with Solana and Cullen himself. They’re going to die! They’re all going to die!

”The armor, Fadewalker,” Prudence spoke as Imshael cackled gleefully, the gap between us nearly closed, the pain of its nearness threatening to overwhelm me. “It is time.”

Taking in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and pulled on the Fade. I felt as the magical armor crawled into being across my skin. Every piece spreading and connecting, the Fade-born metal swirling as I opened my eyes. In my right hand, the new sword burned impossibly hotter; a blazing fire of brightest, purest white. In my left hand my spectral blade sang into being. Lastly, the helm spread from my brow to meet the rest. As it did, I felt the Veil thin around me; whispers on the air with my every movement. My mana replenished and then overflowed; surging and surging until I thought it would overwhelm me. 

“Do not be afraid,” Assurance spoke as he appeared beside me, “And do not doubt. You are Hope. Fear cannot abide Hope.”

  With little more than a thought, I reached across the Veil to find the fearlings, demons serving Imshael, weaving webs of fears within the minds of those who still lived. I felt their fear, saw what Imshael fed upon. Each one, I called to, turning a fear into a hope. The fear of death into the hope of sacrifice. The fear of failure into the hope of success. I rallied them all, burning away the dark.   I reached Solana. There was so much fear within her. The fear that she had betrayed me; the fear that Samson was beyond saving; the fear that she was going to die. I touched her mind within the Fade. 

“Forgive me, Sol. It was wrong to hurt you. I understand what it is to love. I forgive you. Try, Sol, for there is always hope.”

My mind returned to my body just as Imshael pulled back its taloned hand to slash my jugular. The others let out a war cry. Cullen bellowed that animalistic roar. Amelia, Laren, Asaala and Michel tumbled out of the darkness. Amelia came to a knee and shot arrow after arrow. Laren, Asaala and Michel’s blade sliced off the demon’s arachnid legs. One impaled Michel in the chest. 

”Xebenkeck! Gaxkang! Give me strength!” Imshael cried as his power surged.

The magic of the Fade poured into me like a raging river slamming into a dam. Flames licked across my body, pure white and blistering hot though they did not burn me. The very air rippled as the heat devoured the cold. Snow turned to rain. The ground beneath me became scorched. A torrid wind howled as I poured as much mana as I dared into a great spell. “Get out of here!” I screamed at the others.

Imshael swiped, I thrust my blades into its chest. My barrier burst, encasing much of Imshael in ice. The claws sank into me, the pain of the contact beyond imagining, yet unlike that of a normal demon. My mana reached its peak and I drew all of it to me.

”Really? Really? Now you’re just overreacting,” Imshael hissed.

With a cry, I unleashed the firestorm. A massive pillar of flame slammed down from the heavens, engulfing everything around me. It swirled, the roar of the fiery gale deafening. Red Templars tried to rush to Imshael’s aid as Samson commanded them to rush me, but they screamed as they melted upon the stone as if they were made of wax instead of lyrium. Imshael’s flesh bubbled and charred as it screeched.   With a final roar, the firestorm consumed the demon before dissipating. The creature gone, the song too disappeared, releasing the elves. I unfroze them. Those still alive recovered swiftly, shaking their heads to dispel the daze, before they rushed into the fray. 

Before I could take a moment to breathe, Laren shouted as she pointed towards where the rest of the battle was taking place, “Lieutenant! The Commander!”

  Solana stood before Samson, only he and a few Red Templars remained. Her fire was gone, his armor negating her magic. Behind her was Cullen. Solana put her hand out to Samson, pleading.   The only tell was a tightening of his jaw.   I Fade-stepped, but it wouldn’t be fast enough. With his shield, he bashed Solana out of the way, sending her crashing into a nearby stone wall. She fell to the ground in a heap, unmoving. Samson raised his blade, crimson eyes full of bitter hatred staring down at Cullen. Cullen made for his sword, it and his shield some distance from him. Samson stomped on Cullen’s wrist, breaking it. Cullen let out an angry noise of pain.   I tumbled out of my Fade-step, Samson’s armor like a solid wall when I got to its perimeter of effect. I held my armor in place, but it took all the mana I had left. A Red Templar swung at me. I dipped and brought one of my metal blades up to behead the creature.   The others were still fighting. Laren, Asaala, Amelia, Barris, Henry and Wilhelm were all trying to get to Cullen, but were caught by more Red Templars. Samson picked Cullen up by the throat.

”You once thought yourself above me, Dog Lord,” Samson spit. “Now, I have power you can’t even imagine. You won’t stop me. I’m going to kill you and everyone you ever loved. Starting with that pretty elf. Her magic can’t save her. Not from me. Neither can you.”

Maker! Andraste! What do I do?! It was as if time slowed to a creeping halt. I saw the blade moving, the tip coming closer and closer to Cullen. His eyes found mine.

”Mana purge!” He commanded.

  I’d never done it before, but recalled the theory. I felt the magic of the Fade still slamming against the dam that was me, waiting to be unleashed, replenishing quickly because of the armor.   Help me!   Together, the spirits broke the dam—ripping the armor off and forcing that raging river to course through and out of me. A great boom sounded, the force too great. I let out a cry as all the built up mana whooshed out of me. Everyone was blown backwards. Cullen kicked off of Samson in his moment of distraction before the purge hurtled Samson away.   Cullen landed, but before relief could find me, the ground beneath our feet gave way, the force of my strike having cracked the very earth. We hung, suspended in midair a moment before my bones felt as if they would come out of my skin. Alain and the other remaining earth mages did what they could to catch us, but we were falling too fast.   I reached for the armor, but the purging of mana left me far weaker than I had been. I felt the weight of the power, my mortal body too tired to bear it. I pushed past the exhaustion and the pain, my mind slipping into the Fade. I felt the others, reached for them, before letting out a grunt of effort as I willed a massive barrier into place around us all and above us. Just in time as we hit the ground beneath.   The battle was far from over as the earth above us buckled, falling into the crevice. My head was pounding, blackness on the edges of my vision. I heard voices shouting, but all my attention was focused on the debris falling that would crush us all beneath it.   Maker. Andraste. Give me strength!   With that prayer, I threw my hands up, pulling on every last drop of mana afforded to me by the armor. My barrier caught the weight of the earth crashing down on us, I nearly buckling at the heaviness. I felt the warmth of blood flowing from my nose, my ears, my eyes as my heart beat madly. I couldn’t stop until I was certain the debris had stopped falling. My bones strained with the weight, my barrier thinning. Just when I thought I’d break, an earthen barrier crashed into place beneath my own, thick enough to defend us. The last of my strength leaving me, I collapsed, unconscious. 

xxx

Read the rest on AO3!

[raflesia65]

Diplomaties Duties - Chapter VII

Summary: Inquisitor Uriell Trevelyan and Cullen still have a bit of trouble processing the events of the night before and are unable to focus. Uriell had been thinking of a new outfit for the ball for her Commander but she needs his measurements to carry through her project. Finally, eternally awkward around one another and way too focused on the weight of their titles, Uriell invites Cullen for a walk and a talk, to hopefully get to see eye to eye. Until it leads to an unexpected bath.

[raflesia65]

Drew Cullen as a warm up sketch

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And yet I'm still here

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Here's some Cullen for the weekend. Really like how this one turned out.

[raflesia65]

- "Diana Please...!"

- "Don't worry my love, this time i'm not going anywhere!"

Soon, I will be able to play DAV, but Diana my inquisitor will live happily in the arms of her love.

[raflesia65]

Happy, with someone that cares for you.

[raflesia65]

Sanguine

is a loosely canonical chronicle of the events of Dragon Age: Origins with an F!Amell/Alistair pairing featuring a canon-bending Warden, which results in some familiar situations resolved in unfamiliar ways.

It is fully pre-written (by myself, over the course of the past seven years) and fully illustrated (by the exceptional @vjatoch), and is being published in a serial format with weekly updates.

CHAPTER 14

in which Moira is unexpectedly forced to deal with figures from her past.

Read chapter 14 on AO3!

(Yes, it’s technically chapter 17 on AO3 because chapters 1, 8, and 13 are covers… but don’t mind that!)

Start from the beginning!

Sign up for the tag list by commenting below to get tagged on weekly update posts on tumblr! Alternatively, you can follow the tag #ssfp sanguine!

Ping List:

❀ @warpedlegacy @rakshadow @rosella-writes @bluewren @breninarthur

❀ @ar-lath-ma-cully @dreadfutures @ir0n-angel @inquisimer @crackinglamb

❀ @theluckywizard @oxygenforthewicked @exalted-dawn-drabbles @melisusthewee @blarrghe

❀ @agentkatie @delicatefade @leggywillow @plisuu @hekaerges

❀ @skinwalkingxana @queenaeducan @raflesia65 @gflscer

[raflesia65]

flutter

— (mannon & alistair)

.

"i picked it in lothering. i remember thinking, 'how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?'"

[raflesia65]

I'm feverish, super tired, spoons almost finished, so to recharge my batteries a little bit I went on a wedding dress tangent and made some studies for Ankh's lol

I still need to finalize the design and figure out the elements in a more accurate way, but at least now I have something I can work with. Some deets from the hamster that lives in my brain:

Her dress can't be white, and it can't be la trapunta de me nona I saw in game, so I went for desaturated greens (my beloved <3) and a few symbols that belong to the couple

The final choice was between B and D because they're more coherent with her wardrobe I guess? Also I checked out her silhouettes and proportions, I realized that A and C don't really follow her curves in a flattering way << D was the best choice in that sense so I went with that. Also I like that there's a darker color, it's more loyal to her personality even if um, it's A Choice(TM)

I think everything needs to be a little longer yeah, I'll ponder and wonder once I'm in a better state lol

Also bonus notes for Strudel + old art for inspo, because they need to match, absolutely u-u and I've been deconstructing his outfit in my head for a while before putting it on paper. I'm not convinced entirely tho. It's still way too "recent" than I'd like, but we'll get there Strudel, I prommy <3

[raflesia65]

WIP not WEDNESDAY

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@shanaraharlyah Thank you for the tag🥰❤️

Garnet

Crackling firesides. Autumnal forests. Deep conversations.

Your soul is garnet: a profound blend of passion, resilience, and timeless elegance. You move through life with a dignified and powerful presence, exuding a warmth and depth like the rich hues of garnet stones. Your spirit is both invigorating and grounding, offering strength and comfort in equal measure. In your presence, there's a sense of profound depth and enduring wisdom, akin to the embers of a fire that burns steadily, providing both light and warmth. You embody the courage to face life's challenges with a steady heart and the grace to emerge with wisdom and dignity. Your approach to life is both heartfelt and thoughtful, inspiring others to embrace their deepest convictions and to live with a sense of purpose and authenticity.

Tagging: @pookydraws @greypetrel @ndostairlyrium @tessa1972 and anyone who wants to participate.

I'm moss (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡ what's yours?

I laughed a bit at the barefoot on grass, it's itching me to get somewhere to just walk like that ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

@sparrowfleet @spirit-of-the-hollow @negatywka @lobobathory @ohdeerfully

[raflesia65]

Chapter 2 is live, we have a Kevin and some bad, bad ideas.

(But considering papa went out of home for his own very bad idea at 13, she is good. Waited two whole years more, that's good, no?)

Small doodle on my sketchbook with the children. I tried to colour it but either the markers or the paper was BAD or they don't get along, it's BAD. Have the black and white instead.

[raflesia65]

Seasonal gloom time means writing something extra indulgent and cheesy, purely out of self comfort and

It should have been one chapter following this old post, it became three because little pyromaniac blorbo took her space like the child spoiled rotten that she is. So now it's 3 (brief!) chapters.

[raflesia65]

Dear Commander - Chapter 22: On Your Order

Cullen x Trevelyan

AO3 MASTERLIST

There's romantic tension in the air during The Inquisitor's first war council at Skyhold.

Full chapter below:

Juliette stared into the distance, the vibrant colours of orange leaves and golden sunlight blurring before her eyes. A gentle breeze caressed her skin, icy at it’s touch, a refreshing sensation that grounded her in reality. Without it, she wondered how far her mind could have drifted.

It was all too much. An unexpected honour she had never considered. She glanced down at the sword in her hand. It glistened in the light, the gold embellishment of a dragon on the hilt. It was exquisite, though somewhat impractical. She wondered for a moment if it was a true sword, one that was intended for actual use, or if instead it was simply ceremonial. Either way, it was heavy and it tugged at her wrist awkwardly as she held it. Every time, she thought to herself. There’s nothing like holding a sword to feel inadequate.

Her eyes swept across the courtyard. Soldiers, scouts, civilians—scurrying back to their duties, the ceremony ending as swiftly as it had begun. They had chosen her. Of all the potential leaders. Her. Cassandra had said it wasn’t just because of the mark on her hand, it was because of what she had achieved, her selfless sacrifice that had led to their escape. It did little to soothe the nagging feeling within her, that she wasn’t quite deserving.

Selfless sacrifice. The phrase echoed in her mind. Juliette had never truly considered the choice to face Corypheus, to stall the attack—she had acted because it was the only option left. There hadn’t been time to question it, no room to consider the consequences. She simply did what needed to be done. Now, in the stillness of the courtyard, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the decision had never been fully hers.

The Elder One’s words slithered through her thoughts like a serpent, poisoning her self-worth. An accident, he had said. Just a product of magic beyond understanding. She tried to brush it away, but the more she thought about it, the more it gnawed at her, questioning her very purpose.

She extended her palm, eyes drifting over the soft green glow that pulsed from her hand. The mark of The Herald. The power she never asked for, never fully understood. She had somehow stumbled into it, into this mess, and even now it felt foreign, wrong.

All those eyes on her, watching, waiting, as she held the sword skyward. Waiting for me to falter.

Juliette was pulled from her silent contemplation with the sound of the door rattling and Cullen grunting as he slammed his shoulder into it. Leliana sighed, loud and exaggerated.

“Are you certain that is the right way? Does it need to be pulled instead of pushed, or perhaps crashed into like a battering ram?” she asked, voice dripping with impatience.

Cullen scoffed, stepping back with a glare, his lips curling into a frown. “Do you think so little of me? That I can’t open a door?”

“Only when bashing it in isn't an option,” Leliana quipped.

Juliette couldn’t help but smile. At least among all the madness, her advisors were being their usual selves.

Josephine tried to interject politely. “Perhaps it might be best to ask Ser Morris for assistance. He is quite good with—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Cullen muttered, tugging at the lock in frustration. “I opened it earlier.”

Leliana stepped forward, barely glancing at him as she smoothly knelt before the stubborn lock, producing a slender lock pick from her pocket. Juliette’s fingers rested against her lips, hiding her grin as she watched the exchange. Her eyes lingered on Cullen for a moment longer than necessary, catching the way he tore off his gloves and sighed in exasperation. From the corner of her eye, Juliette noticed Josephine watching her intently, a raised eyebrow and a knowing glint in her eye. Caught, Juliette quickly dropped her hand from her lips, her grin turning into a smirk that mirrored Josie’s.

Cullen folded his arms, grumbling, “I’ll just ask Morris to commission a—”

A faint click echoed and the door swung open as though it had been waiting for Leliana’s touch all along. “—a lock that is not so easily broken into,” Cullen finished, the words more resigned than triumphant.

Leliana rose with a sly smile. “If it had been that easy, you would’ve had it on the first try, Commander.”

“Okay,” Juliette laughed awkwardly, stepping closer to the door. “Maybe we should build a war room before we start trading death threats with one another.”

“We have a war room,” Cullen said proudly. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

Juliette turned over her shoulder, a smile still playing on her lips as she asked, “Really?”

There was something in the way Cullen looked at her—something that made her pause. His gaze softened for a moment, but there was hesitation in his eyes. She felt a flutter of unease in her chest. Was it something she had said? Something she had done? Juliette thought back to when she woke up in the infirmary. She could almost feel the embarrassment lingering inside of her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so untidy, so lethargic. The way she had rushed out of there, too eager to put distance between them. Had that offended him?

Cullen cleared his throat, the sound barely audible as he looked away, shifting his stance as though an attempt to regain some control . He raised his hand towards the door, eyes focusing on the ground. “Take a look, Inquisitor,” he said, his voice firm but noticeably more gentle than before.

Her eyes lingered on him for a second or two, not quite sure what to make of the strange tension she could feel between them. With a quiet inhale, she placed her hand on the large wooden door and pushed it further open, all sense of unease giving way to wonder as she took in the sight of Skyhold’s main hall.

Soft light filtered through the massive stained glass windows, casting delicate patterns on the floor. Tiny particles of dust danced in the air, settling gently onto the stone . It almost reminded Juliette of the Circle—something familiar and oddly comforting about the beauty of dust and disrepair in a hall so grand.

As Juliette stepped further inside, she noticed the shadows cast onto the ground before her. Her own silhouette, accompanied by those of her advisors as they followed closely behind. There was a sense of reassurance, seeing them walk alongside her. It had felt like her power, though overwhelming at times, wouldn’t be so easily displaced. She could see, a tangible sight, that she wasn’t alone. For now, at least.

She wandered slowly into the hall, sidestepping piles of broken furniture and toppled chandeliers. She observed the ceiling, noting the places where slats had fallen, the result of years of neglect and exposure to the elements. The cool mountain wind whispered through the gaps, filling the room with a fresh gust of air, while sunlight glistened across the fractured floor. For a moment, she appeared mesmerized, deep in concentration, until Cullen’s voice gently nudged her back to awareness.

“So this is where it begins.”

Juliette slowly turned, her eyes following Cullen as he pushed aside large planks of wood, clearing a path.

“It began in the courtyard,” Leliana spoke gravely. “This is where we turn that promise into action.”

“But what do we do?” Josephine asked, with her brow furrowed. “We know nothing about this Corypheus, except that he wanted your mark.” She tilted her head at Juliette, motioning to her hand.

Juliette held her hand out in front of her, squeezing her fingers in time with the pulse of green light. She sighed deeply. “He’s going to come looking for me.” Dropping her hand, she turned her gaze to the ceiling. “Are we safe here?” she asked, her voice tight with concern. “I don’t want to risk more lives by luring him to us.”

“Skyhold has the bones to withstand Corypheus,” Cullen answered with conviction. Juliette glanced in his direction, quickly and cautiously, careful not to appear too obvious. He stood with his arms folded, his expression stoic. The way he spoke gave her a sense of reassurance—she believed him.

Juliette’s eyes drifted to the ceiling once more , and without realising, she waved the sword as she spoke. “And what of the building? It won’t collapse on us?”

“Our Quartermaster has been working tirelessly to ensure the structural integrity of the building. The upper floors are yet to be…” Josephine’s voice faded into the background as Juliette became distracted by the sudden, gentle tug at her wrist.

Cullen carefully took the sword from her hand, his fingers grazing hers lightly. Juliette’s heart fluttered, feeling a sudden rush of warmth at his unexpected touch.

“Oh”, she gasped softly, their eyes meeting for just a second before he moved near the door to the side of the room. “Thank you,” she whispered, although she thought that he likely hadn’t heard her.

She turned her attention back to Josephine, inhaling quietly through her nose, acutely aware of the heat blooming in her cheeks. “That’s…that is wonderful. It is great to know we have so many people working to restore the building.”

Josephine sighed. “Foundation cracks. Nesting animals. And miles from any center of civilization.” Softly, she placed her hand on Juliette’s back, guiding her towards the door that both Leliana and Cullen had walked through. “The staff must make it presentable if we’re to receive any visitors of distinction.”

“Visitors? I…” Juliette let out a soft chuckle of disbelief, shaking her head. “I’m just trying to make it through the day without facing another… dragon attack.” Her voice trailed off in confusion as they stepped into the next room. The warmth from the fireplace wrapped around her like a cozy embrace. The room was tidy, no sign of dust or disrepair. A neat little space, accentuated with a rug , a well-organized desk and an opulent chair - beautifully upholstered in red velvet.

This was clearly Josephine’s new office, a room that exuded both comfort and sophistication. The flickering firelight cast gentle shadows on the walls, adding a sense of intimacy to the atmosphere. Juliette paused, unsure of what to say, her focus drifting across the space.

“You’re now in charge of decorating my quarters, Josephine,” Juliette said quietly, a hint of admiration in her voice.

An airy laugh escaped Cullen, an unintentional exhale, as if the humour had caught him off guard. "That is your first order as Inquisitor?" he asked, shaking his head with a grin. He reached for the door handle, his expression still amused, and pulled it open to reveal the next room. Leliana, a step behind, followed closely before they both moved into next hallway.

Juliette watched as they left the room, pressing her lips together tightly, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She stepped closer to the fireplace, extending her hands before the flames in an effort to appear preoccupied, though the subtle blush in her cheeks betrayed her.

“While it’s true our safety is a concern,” Josephine began to speak, standing next to Juliette by the fireplace. “It will serve us well to make Skyhold presentable. We’ve only just now convinced everyone we are precisely what Thedas requires…”

Cullen pulled open the massive doors to Skyhold’s war room, the creaking sound echoing through the hall. He stepped aside, allowing Leliana to walk in first. With a smug grin, she slowly clapped her hands as she strolled past him.

He sighed heavily and muttered, “I would have opened the first door, had you not intervened.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Commander,” Leliana replied with a playful flick of her wrist, brushing her hand along the war table as she continued her casual stride. “If only our new Inquisitor weren’t so distracting.” There was a gleam of mischief in her eyes as she looked back at him, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Cullen’s eyes widened for just a moment, a brief stammer escaping his lips, “I…uh, no.” He cleared his throat and moved to the edge of the room where the sword rack stood. “The lock was stuck, the Inquisitor had nothing to do with it. I’m not…” Cullen paused when he looked over to Leliana, his words faltering as he noticed the smirk on her face. “…not having this conversation.” He turned his back to her, carefully resting The Inquisitor’s sword in place.

“Of course.”

Juliette’s eyes softened as she listened to Josephine. With a slight tilt of her head, she leaned in closer, her voice a near whisper. “Do you not feel safe here?”

Josephine bowed her head, her hands twisting in her lap. “I’ve had… difficulty forgetting Corypheus’ attack on Haven.”

Juliette nodded, understandingly. After a pause, she asked with a slight tremble to her voice, “Can I confess something?”

Josephine met her eyes, nodding. “Of course.”

Juliette’s gaze dropped for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, before she spoke with quiet intensity. “Josie, I’m terrified. Every time I close my eyes, I see his horrendous face. If he comes here, if he kills more people just to get to me… I…” She swallowed hard, her voice breaking.

Josephine gently interrupted, “But you’re the one who led us to safety. Without your efforts, we wouldn’t be here now to speak of it.”

Juliette looked at her with an intensity that took Josephine by surprise. “And I’ll do it again,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

Josephine placed a hand gently on Juliette’s shoulder, her voice soft. “That is why you are The Inquisitor.”

Cullen slowly unpacked the chest that sat on top of the war table, taking his time to retrieve maps and tactical markers. A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the almost irritating rhythm of Leliana's finger tapping against the table's surface. A sense of relief washed over him as the door began to grate and creak open, signaling the end of this tedious moment. Soon, he'd be back in the yard, where he could work in peace, free from the pressure of having his every move analyzed.

When Juliette walked into the room, Cullen straightened slightly, mindful of his posture and the expression on his face. How does Leliana know? Is it that obvious? It felt as though his heart skipped a beat, as if she could read him like a book—every glance, every subtle shift of his body, giving him away. Juliette’s excited gasp shattered the tension in the room, her eyes immediately drawn to the chandelier above. “Wow!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with delight. Cullen couldn’t help but feel a surge of anticipation, a quiet satisfaction that she was impressed—exactly as he’d hoped. When he had first seen the war room, he’d imagined this moment, knowing she would appreciate its beauty.

He stole a glance at her, his gaze flickering between Juliette’s face and Leliana, who seemed too composed, as though she were waiting for him to slip. His eyes darted back to the floor. Was it his paranoia, or did Leliana’s judgmental gaze still hover over him? He needed to remain in control, to support Juliette, to be her advisor. He couldn’t afford this distraction.

“Isn’t it magnificent?” Josephine said admirably. “It’s incredible to think a place this beautiful has stood the test of time for so many years.”

“It is incredible,” Juliette affirmed, rushing to the war table. “Look at this!” her fingers lightly traced the carvings along the table’s surface. “To have repurposed a tree stump as the table’s support. Who built this?”

“We don’t kn—”

“It seems —”

Cullen and Leliana’s voices collided, and for a moment, silence hung between them. Juliette’s eyes flicked back and forth, curiously. Cullen awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes, his attention focusing on the scrolls in his hands.

Leliana smiled, a graceful movement as she stepped forward. “It seems that whoever built the table left carvings,” she explained. “Did you notice, Inquisitor? They’ve marked roads and towns. It’s rather outdated, perhaps centuries old.”

Juliette nodded, quietly appreciating the craftsmanship. Cullen drew in a deep breath before speaking.

“Thankfully, one of my soldiers was a cartographer before joining The Inquisition,” he said, stepping closer to the war table. He unrolled the map across its surface, the edges creasing slightly as he smoothed it out. Reaching for a stack of books to weigh down the corners, Cullen continued, “He was able to commit most of this to memory. It’s not perfect, but it will serve us well enough until we’re properly set up.”

Juliette carefully held down the corner closest to her, her fingers light as she glanced up at him. She extended her hand in a silent request for the book.

“Oh, thank you,” Cullen murmured, his eyes fixed on the ink markings of the map as his fingers hesitated for a moment. Without looking up, he handed her the book, his focus still on the map.

Juliette set the book in place with a soft thud, her fingers lingering on the cover as she returned her eyes to Cullen. He seemed entirely absorbed in the map before him, his brow furrowed. She couldn’t help but notice how stiff his posture had become, how he avoided looking directly at her.

Silence stretched throughout the room, though the thoughts in Juliette's mind were loud. She shifted her weight, forcing a small smile, but it felt awkward on her lips. This feels strange, like I don't belong here, in his presence. She wondered what had changed. They seemed to be getting along remarkably well, at least in contrast to their earlier days in Haven. She wasn't sure what to make of it.

She pulled away, moving towards the windows, as if to distract herself from her worries. Quietly she drew in a breath, her fingers delicately running along the panes of glass. “This view is nice,” she spoke casually, feeling the need to break the silence.

“Is it not majestic, Inquisitor?”

Her breath hitched upon hearing Cullen’s remark. She smiled, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. Maybe I’ve been overthinking, she thought, his casual reference to their inside joke offering some reassurance, easing the knot in her chest.

Slowly she glanced over her shoulder, her smile now more subdued than before. He was focused on arranging markers in place, his eyes fixed on the task before him. She turned back, her smile growing wider.

“Not quite, Commander,” Juliette said, the lightest hint of amusement in her voice. “Ugh, but this room…” She spun around, her eyes catching Josephine’s with a smile.

"Warden Blackwall carved these markers for our war councils," Josephine explained, handing Juliette one of Leliana’s pieces as she returned to the table. "Since we left much behind in Haven."

Juliette turned the carved figure over in her hands, studying the intricate details of the wooden bird. A soft laugh escaped Leliana.

“How thoughtful of him,” Leliana remarked, her tone teasing, much like the way she’d spoken to Cullen earlier.

“Yes, it was very kind,” Josephine replied quickly, the words almost a little too eager. She gave Leliana a pointed look, as if guiding the conversation away from something too personal. That subtle shift went completely unnoticed by Juliette.

“So...?” she asked, setting the marker down in front of her. “While I've been resting, you all have been setting this up?”

“There are many people dedicated to your cause, my lady,” Josephine said proudly.

“And many eager to see Corypheus defeated,” Leliana added solemnly, determination in her voice.

Juliette folded her arms, looking across the map spread on table before her. “Myself included,” she replied.

“The only question now is, where to begin?” Cullen asked, with a dutiful tone.

Juliette looked up at the sound of his voice, their eyes meeting across the table. He held her gaze for a moment, his arm resting on the pommel of his sword. She swallowed quietly, this time it was her who averted her gaze. Her eyes dropped to her hands as she tugged at the hems of her sleeves, then flicked back up, only to realize it wasn’t just Cullen watching her expectantly.

“Oh,” she gasped softly. “Me? You’re asking me?” Juliette paused a moment, an awkward silence lingering as she considered a response.

“May I suggest we pick up from where we left off?” Leliana interjected smoothly. “Josie, do you have the documents?”

“Yes,” Josephine replied quickly, reaching for a pile of reports that sat before her on the table. “I managed to grab some of our correspondence before we fled Haven,” she explained, handing them to Juliette. She flicked through the papers, noting the seals and signatures with a quick glance.

Cullen sighed, his tone growing more urgent. “Whatever we were dealing with before can wait. We need to—”

“This can absolutely wait,” Juliette interrupted, her voice sharp with disgust as she tossed one of the letters onto the table. “My family and their petty squabbles are the least of our concerns.” She sighed heavily, pressing her palm into her forehead. “My apologies, Josephine. I trust that you can handle whatever rumours they’re spreading this time. Do what you need.”

“Certainly, Inquisitor,” Josephine replied, her voice gracious, as she gently picked the paper back up from the table.

Juliette paused, her expression grave. “How can we ensure the safety of our people?” she asked quietly. “That dragon…”

“Could be an Archdemon,” Leliana suggested, slight concern in her voice. “It would mean the beginning of another Blight.”

Josephine shook her head slowly. “We’ve seen no darkspawn other than Corypheus himself. Perhaps it’s not an Archdemon at all, but something else entirely?”

“Whatever it is, it’s dangerous,” Cullen said, his voice firm. “Commanding such a creature gives Corypheus an advantage we can’t afford to ignore.”

“And if it attacks us here…” Juliette’s voice trailed off, worry creeping in.

“We can hold our ground here,” Cullen replied, his voice steady and confident. “We’re in a much stronger position than before. Skyhold needs further fortification, but that’s within our reach. We just need trebuchets, ballistas... and time.”

Juliette paused, her finger pointing at Cullen, a quiet chuckle escaping behind her lips. She couldn't help but admire him for that—he always seemed to have a plan when it came to matters like this. She remembered that night in the Chantry when he’d been reading military strategy books, as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. This is where Cullen shines.

“I’ll leave that to you, Commander,” she said, her tone a mix of humour and respect.

“That will require funds and resources,” Josephine interjected, her tone more cautious than Cullen’s.

Juliette turned to Josephine, her smile softening. “I’m certain that you’ll find a way, Josie.”

Josephine glanced up briefly, scribbling something on her clipboard. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“And we should also consider compensating the families of those we’ve lost,” Cullen added, his expression more somber now.

Josephine nodded, her voice heavy. “Indeed.”

“What about Haven? Could there be survivors that we missed?” Juliette asked.

“I have agents positioned in the area,” Leliana answered softly, her tone shifting as the conversation took a more serious turn. “There have been no reports of survivors so far.”

“Krem offered to send the Chargers back to Haven,” Cullen said, breaking the silence. “They could uncover supplies, perhaps find any stragglers still making their way here.”

Juliette nodded, her eyes moving between Cullen and Leliana, weighing the options.

“There’s another matter, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, handing her a report. “You may recall that Cullen sent soldiers to the Fallow Mire in search of their missing comrades.” Juliette accepted the paper gently, glancing briefly at Cullen before beginning to read. His posture stiffened, and his expression grew more guarded.

“They’ve been captured,” Cullen said bluntly, before Juliette had a chance to finish the report. “By a group of crazed Avvar who want to meet with you.”

“With me?” she asked, surprised. “Have they indicated what they want with me exactly?”

“Does it matter?” Cullen replied quickly, irritation in his voice. “It’s a demand that won’t be met. We must find another way to free our soldiers. Perhaps we could send —”

“It does matter if people are captured because of me,” Juliette interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended.

“No, that’s not what I mean…” Cullen sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “This is an obvious trap. We need to get our soldiers back, but I’m not willing to risk your life. There has to be a better way.”

Josephine’s voice softened with caution. “Chances of reasoning with the Avvar are little to none, I’m afraid, Inquisitor.”

“If they want to meet The Herald of Andraste, then they shall,” Leliana said, her voice taking on a dangerous lilt. “I have agents that can be one step ahead, Inquisitor. Harding has a team there already scouting the area.”

Cullen folded his arms, looking at Juliette with a resigned shake of his head. “You’re going to do this, aren’t you?”

Juliette moved closer to the table, her hand brushing against its surface as she spoke. “Cullen, I have to—” Her words faltered for a moment as she saw the tension in his face. She dropped her gaze to the table, her fingers tracing circles along its edge. “We need to deal with this.”

Cullen let out a long, defeated sigh. “Very well. But I’ll be sending forces with you. You’ll be well-guarded.”

Juliette’s lips curved into a grin. “And Cassandra. I need Cassandra.”

Her gaze flicked to Cullen, and for a moment, the noise in the room seemed to fade. The voices of Josephine and Leliana discussing their next steps grew distant, muffled, as their eyes locked. His expression softened slightly, and for just a second, Juliette thought she saw him smile at her.

Why is he so tense about this? she wondered, her mind racing. I’ve been thrown into danger more times than I can count, often at his request.

She blinked slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze still fixed on her. She let her eyes fall to the map below her before she looked back up at him. He was still watching , his gaze not once wavering.

It caught her by surprise, she had thought he was avoiding her before, but now…it was as though he couldn’t look away. His eyes were stormy, his brow furrowed, a deep crease forming as he studied her with an intensity that left her breathless. She felt exposed, yet somehow protected. A blur of feelings that was far too overwhelming to give a second thought to, here of all places.

Is this duty? The thought slipped into her mind. His insistence on keeping me out of danger, because I’m the Herald, the Inquisitor?

As she stood there, with his gaze still firmly locked on hers, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but... Could he care for me beyond duty?

Josephine’s voice pulled Juliette from her thoughts. “Well, that settles it. We have Blackwall’s treaties, and we have cause.”

Blinking repeatedly, Juliette quickly shifted her eyes to the floor, her face flushing slightly in embarrassment. She had completely missed the conversation, her mind still caught on the moment with Cullen.

“We need to bolster our forces. Let me conscript more soldiers,” Cullen said firmly.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana's voice cut through, her tone soft but with a hint of curiosity as she turned to Juliette, waiting for a response.

Juliette raised her eyes, hoping she didn’t look as dazed as she felt. She tried to gather her thoughts with subtlety, taking a quiet breath. “You all know what must be done. Protect our people, build our forces, and gain influence where we can. All of you, you’ve done so well to get us here.” She paused, almost too aware of her uncertainty. “It feels strange to grant permission for a job that you have excelled in thus far.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Inquisitor. Truly,” Josephine said graciously, her words soft and respectful.

Juliette looked down at the floor again, her mind clouded. Is that okay? To delegate? Her throat tightened as she tried to push the question away. I have no idea what I’m doing. Can they even trust me to lead them?

Silence stretched for a moment until Leliana spoke, her voice softer than before. “We’ll keep you informed, if you wish for us to take initiative.”

“Yes, that would suit me well. I’ll go wherever I’m needed, and do what must be done,” Juliette said with honest determination. “I trust your counsel.” She paused, the weight of the declaration sinking in, feeling more like a promise than a statement.

“Well, then,” Josephine said, setting down her clipboard with a sense of finality to her voice. “We stand ready to move on all of these concerns.”

“On your order, Inquisitor,” Cullen said with pride, a hint of softness to his voice as he spoke.

Juliette looked at him, her heart skipping a beat. She felt her shoulders drop, her posture relaxing in response to the warmth in his voice. The way he spoke to her was both comforting and frightening all at once. Inquisitor. It had barely been an hour since that decision was made, since that title had been bestowed upon her. It sounded so strange, so formal. Distant. It had only been recently that she’d heard him say her first name, when things had felt more... personal. That small connection seemed to have slipped away now.

Her gaze faltered. She felt completely out of her depth here. The leader of The Inquisition - all these lives in her hands. What a terrifying concept. Yet as she looked at Cullen, standing so purposeful, so certain - she felt like it wouldn’t be impossible. When he looked her way, she felt respected. A quiet sense of admiration. I could do this. She had to. There was no way she could let them down, not after surviving this far. Not after all they had fought through together. It wasn’t just the weight of the Inquisition she feared. It was him. She couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Cullen, not when his respect meant so much to her. The idea of failing in his eyes...

She dipped her head, a meek smile spreading across her lips. With a nod of acknowledgement Juliette turned, making her way to the door.

Maker guide me, she thought to herself. There’s no turning back now.