#now that i think about it seeker really suits her well

[savingsallow]

— what got val smiling like that?

[technicallyfriendly]

This is for my friend @godofstory, but I invite everyone to share their ideas and opinions in the comments or rebloggs whichever you prefer!

Hogwarts!AU, let's go! Before I start, however, I want to clarify that most of the adults in my headcanon work at the ministry. Only Daemon, Alys, Laena, and Viserys work at the school.

Daemon is the teacher for defence because i think it'd be really funny, the students are either afraid of him or absolutely in awe of him no in between. Alys is the potions professor who sometimes tries her newest concoctions on Daemon, who seems to have a strangely high immunity to poisons. Laena is the flight instructor and former professional quidditch player because I think it'd be cool, and Viserys is the headmaster who took over after he retired as minister of magic. Rhaenyra is the new minister of magic, obviously, and Otto is forever salty about being her under secretary because I like to see him suffer.

For house placement, I'm going with the idea of what each one valued the most at the time of sorting, similar to Canon Harry Potter and I'll start with the eldest, Aegon.

Aegon is sorted into Slytherin because he didn't want to disappoint anyone. It was kinda Targaryan tradition since Aegon the First himself was sorted into said house. He absolutely does not fit the type, but he tries. He really does. Politics is just so tedious, and there is just so much more fun to be had, like flying, for example. Why should he lead the house like his mother keeps telling him to when he could just become quidditch captain one day instead.

Helaena is sorted into Hufflepuff because she does not care one bit about her mother's expectations. She loves care of magical creatures and possesses all of Scamander's books (original and signed, of course). Sure, she has a gift for divination, but she hates it and rather spends her time in the forbidden forest, despite it being, well, forbidden, and she somehow despite never having witnessed anyone die managed to befriend the Thestrals.

Aemond, like Aegon, ended up in Slytherin, too, of course, which suits him much better than his older brother. He idolises his defence professor, uncle, and former Auror Daemon Targaryan and has a slight crush on Alys Rivers, the potion professor. Though nothing trumps his obsession with his nephew, who, in a bout of accidental magic, took out his eye. Aemond himself was not completely blameless in the incident, having forced his nephew into a corner, but that knowledge does not cool his anger one bit. Though, is it really hatred that motivates his obsession? Or is it an emotion of a much more possessive nature? Whatever it is, Aemond certainly is not ready to explore it further as of now.

Jace and Baela both got sorted into Gryffindor. They and Rhaena started their time at Hogwarts at the same time, and as best friends were over joyed to be in the same house. Both brave and bold, benefiting leaders they would turn out to be some day. Unfortunately, the gossipers of wizard high society took this in Jace's case as another confirmation of his status as a bastard son, but they were silenced over time as Jace rose through the student roster and even became head boy of Hogwarts later on. Baela took after her mother and made her name as the best quidditch captain the house of Gryffindor has ever seen. Though, she did not only have a talent for quidditch but also for duelling, and she often demonstrated that skill to defend her girlfriend Helaena from bullies. Cementing quickly that messing with her would be a certain mistake. Jace himself, much to his own consternation, fell for Slytherin's seeker, who turned out to be quite different from all the mean-spirited rumours spread about him.

Rhaena was sorted, surprising absolutely no one, into Ravenclaw. While quiet and unassuming, she would one day shock everyone and become Head girl of Hogwarts. Eventually graduating with the highest honour starting a career under Unspeakable Jeyne Arryn herself. Despite her not being the troublemaker her siblings and cousins turned out to be, she was quite adept with spell work, and people out to bully her learned their lesson rather quickly.

Daeron, much like Rhaena being an often forgotten child in the mix of the Targaryan and Valeryon children, was also sorted into Ravenclaw. He even rose to the position of Ravenclaw quidditch captain and would have turned out to be the Baela's greatest obstacle in winning the inter-house quidditch cup if it wasn't for Aegon being a surprisingly competent seeker for house Slytherin.

Lucerys valuing loyalty the most gets sorted into Hufflepuff. This just pours more gasoline onto the already burning rumour mill until they witness him first throw down with his uncle Aemond, who is trying to make Lucerys' life at Hogwarts difficult. Their monthly spats become one of Hogwarts' greatest entertainments for the next few years until Aemond graduates. That is until Daemon, of all people, catches them making out in a broom closet. Not that their fights subside, but now they often end in the privacy of the Room of Requirements after Daemon got sick of trying to kill Aemond every time he caught them.

Joffrey, much like his eldest brother, would later get sorted into Gryffindor, while Aegon the Third, Viserys the Second and little Visenya would get sorted into Slytherin to cause havoc long after their elder siblings had graduated.

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

I see you've talked about how the Hounds view the Altruists, but how do the our fellow Altruists view the Hounds? :)

Dion

Vantage - The biggest threat by far. Precognitive abilities are already dangerous, and doubly so in the hands of a competent leader.

Surpass - Feels he has her number psychologically to an extent, but also aware that she's now got a real chip on her shoulder about him. Still, hotheads are hotheads.

Enfilade - Competent and professional, not somebody to underestimate.

Portrait - A lesser priority. Shouldn't be ignored, but he's not a heavy hitter and there's no reason to treat him as such.

Arcade - Similar to Surpass, a hothead. His power is also hard-countered by Dion's so yeah.

Phalanx - A good fighter with a versatile power, and importantly has a good grasp on it too. Dangerous.

Mal

Vantage - Precogs gonna precog. Sometimes you can work around those kinds of powers, but it'd be stupid not to take her seriously.

Surpass - Nothing worse than a meathead with super strength. (Thinks considerably worse of her if she hurt Dime)

Enfilade - Honestly don't get why a person like this leaves the DPR. Soldier mentality isn't for independent heroes.

Portrait - Gotta love a trier.

Arcade - Must suck to be the corporate-mandated prettyboy. Always fun to mess with guys like this.

Phalanx - You're dressed up as a knight, fighting people in spandex: why are you taking yourself so seriously?

Wil

Vantage - Respects the guts of going maskless, wary of her capabilities. Harbours some resentment: she's the leader, so she's the reason that downtown got blown up.

Surpass - Kind of scary. That powerset is no joke.

Enfilade - Weirdly reminds them of some of their older punk friends? Which doesn't even make that much sense but oh well.

Portrait - Fond intuitively of artists, but feels that the guy represents lip service to the Hounds helping the wider community.

Arcade - Ugh. Spandex. Really?

Phalanx - The eye to aesthetics would be great if the whole, suit of armour thing didn't completely nullify their power. Hopes not to run into her in a 1v1.

Kay

Vantage - Reallly not comfortable with the idea that her actions can be predicted. Pretty glad that Dime fought her and she didn't have to deal with that.

Surpass - Tough! Really tough! Kind of incredulous that she can handle her even a little.

Enfilade - Who the heck thought it was a good idea to give a superhero a freaking harpoon gun!?

Portrait - He walks the walk more than the others with heroing that isn't just hitting people.

Arcade - Sort of... fun? Getting to banter makes things feel less serious. Interaction between their powers is kinda cool.

Phalanx - Intimidating.

Teddie

Vantage - Know it all.

Surpass - Talks too much.

Enfilade - Tough fighter.

Portrait - Attention seeker.

Arcade - Twink.

Phalanx - Hits like a truck.

[carewyncromwell]

Day 1 (Quidditch) for @hphm-ship-week

x~x~x~x

"Can you give me one reason why You'd ever let me down? I won't believe it baby, but I'll try -- The truth's gonna come around...

The sky is the limit now! We can hit it on the nail, And when we do, I'll think about you..."

~"Skies the Limit" by Fleetwood Mac

x~x~x~x

In the Quidditch world, a person who can play more than one position well is a valuable thing. Oftentimes that player would be really good in their primary position while still being capable in that secondary position. Ethan Parkin, for instance, was best as a Beater, but he once took over as his team's Keeper after the first one was knocked out with a Bludger half-way through the game. In fact, all Parkins grew up learning about all four positions, even if they ultimately chose one over all the others.

A true triple- or quadruple-act in Quidditch, though -- someone who could play three or even all four positions well -- was incredibly rare. But hey, there's a reason people call Orion Amari a Quidditch prodigy.

Although on the Slytherin team, Orion played as Chaser (and from fourth year on, served as Captain), he was so adaptable and talented at Quidditch that he managed to master the other three positions as well by the time he was thirteen. This helped him with training new players as well as his more seasoned teammates. His extensive knowledge of flying and the different positions also resulted in him creating several brand-new Quidditch techniques while he was still at school -- Tossing the Torch, where a Beater threw their bat to a teammate to protect themselves from a Bludger; the Wronkski Fake-Out, a variation of the Wronkski Feint where a Seeker leads the enemy Seeker on a wild goose chase thinking they saw the Snitch to distract them and wear down their stamina; and of course his signature move, Inspired Broom-Surfing. A lot of these techniques took center stage when Orion engaged in Quidditch friendlies.

Unlike his teammate and friend Skye Parkin, Orion wasn't particular about who he played with in friendly matches, and thanks to his talent in all four positions, he also wasn't particular about which position he played. One of his favorite people to play with, however, was a person who'd once been on the Slytherin team and Orion dearly hoped would someday return to it -- Hogwarts's infamous "Cursebreaker," Carewyn Cromwell.

When Orion first met Carewyn, he'd assessed that she'd had the body type suited to a Seeker, but she quickly turned out to be a Chaser through and through. She flew in only one official match -- the first in Orion's fourth year, against Hufflepuff -- but she left a lasting impact on the team and on Orion in particular, and even with her departure after a falling out with Skye, Orion left the door open for Carewyn to rejoin his Quidditch "family" whenever she wished. Fortunately, although Carewyn was preoccupied with dealing with the Cursed Vaults and finding her lost brother, she would still try hard to make some time to play in friendlies alongside her Quidditch friends, Gryffindor Seeker Charlie Weasley and Ravenclaw Keeper and Reserve Seeker Andre Egwu. And, as you can expect, this also allowed her to fly again alongside and even sometimes against her team's Captain.

x~x~x~x

The first time Orion and Carewyn flew in a friendly match together, they were on opposing teams.

Carewyn had come with her new friend and fellow fourth year Charlie, so they joined the same friendly team. And as luck would have it, Orion ended up on the other team as their Star Chaser.

Orion's team ended up taking the lead early. Carewyn had been so startled and happy to see Orion that he took advantage of her lack of focus and -- with a broad, delighted smile -- stole the Quaffle out from under her and her fellow Chasers to score twenty points against the Keeper in the span of just five minutes. Carewyn pretty quickly got her head into the game and immediately set about taking Orion head-on. Soon they were chasing each other all around the field. Carewyn would try and fail to disturb Orion's balance, only to predict his move and block his goal before it could fly past her Keeper. Orion would try and fail to block Carewyn, only to silently sneak up beside her and swipe the Quaffle out from under her arm.

The game ended 200-100, thanks to Charlie catching the Snitch.

"Your focus has improved," Orion told Carewyn after the fact.

Carewyn gave an irritable huff. "Hardly! You outscored me by fifty points."

"Success can be proportional, Carewyn Cromwell," said Orion calmly. "It's unsurprising that a formidable Chaser would be less of a threat when playing alongside less experienced teammates."

He smiled.

"You did very well today."

Carewyn, still clearly not happy with herself, nonetheless felt the corner of her lips turning up slightly.

"...Mm, not nearly as good as you. But thank you."

x~x~x~x

The next time Carewyn and Orion collided at a Quidditch friendly that year, they were on the same team. This time, though, all the positions but one had been filled by the time Orion strolled in, so he ended up playing as Beater.

Carewyn honestly wasn't sure how Orion would do in the position. He was such a pacifistic personality, it was kind of hard to imagine him acting aggressively. But to her immense surprise, Orion showed an astounding amount of both strength and control while wielding the Beater bat. Rather than smack the balls at other players indiscriminately to knock them off their brooms, he took a very measured approach. He'd lie in wait like a wild cat and then lash out, hitting a Bludger into another player at just the right angle to hit their arm and make them drop the Quaffle. Other times he'd redirect a Bludger mid-flight and send it careening into the opposing Keeper, forcing them to dodge and in the process let the Quaffle in. The most notable moment of that friendly match came, though, when Carewyn was just about to score and Orion -- appearing seemingly out of nowhere -- flew up in front of her to whack a Bludger right back at the rival Beater who'd initially smacked it toward her. The Bludger hit the opposing Beater squarely in the chest and winded him so badly that he nearly fell off his broom as Carewyn scored.

"Score!" cried McNully from somewhere in the stands. "Ten points!"

Carewyn flew up alongside Orion, exhaling in relief.

"Are you all right?" Orion asked.

His face was calm, but his black eyes grazed her frame quickly.

Carewyn nodded. "Mm-hmm. Thanks to you."

Orion's features softened.

"Anemones sting as part of their nature," he said. "But that doesn't mean they aren't happy to know that their nature can protect the clownfish they call their friend."

Carewyn grinned amusedly. "I think that bloke's going to do a bit more than just sting, after how hard you hit him with that Bludger."

"I shall deliver a proper apology and some Wiggenweld Potion after our victory," Orion said coolly.

x~x~x~x

The seventh time Orion and Carewyn collided during a friendly -- which was also the first time in Carewyn's fifth and Orion's sixth years -- the two ended up on opposing sides again: this time with Carewyn playing support to her boyfriend Andre Egwu as Chaser and Orion opposing them both as Keeper.

Carewyn had always been a perfectionist. It's something she and Andre had in common, and when the two had been dating, this feeling was only magnified in them, as they wanted to do perfectly both for their own sake and so as to look good in front of their partner. This made it so that when Orion effectively blocked every single goal Carewyn threw at him in those first thirty minutes of the friendly match, both she and Andre were absolutely beside themselves.

"I thought," Andre huffed in exasperation after blocking his tenth goal in the span of ten minutes, "that Amari was supposed to be a Chaser!"

"Orion is many things," Carewyn said tiredly.

"Well, right now, what he is is getting on my nerves," Andre fumed.

Orion seemed to have sensed he'd gotten under his opponents' skin. He was standing in mid-air on his broom in front of the hoops, balancing on one foot and crossing his arms as he smiled wryly.

"Don't lose your center of balance, Carewyn Cromwell!" he called over, his voice almost frustratingly casual. "A Snidget can't fly as well without it."

"'Center of balance,' honestly..." Andre muttered sourly, "let me knock you off your broom and we'll see how well you can balance -- "

Carewyn, however, didn't respond -- she was too irritated to speak coherently. Instead she flew right back out onto the pitch, prepared to go up against Orion again. The Slytherin Captain watched her with a calm, nonchalant expression, not moving even as she again swept through all three of the other Chasers. She ducked and weaved, before finally getting up onto her broom herself and surfing on the back of it.

The use of his signature move made Orion beam. It threw off the other Chasers, and Carewyn moved with direct focus, right toward Orion. She feinted left and then shot right --

And Orion caught the Quaffle in one hand.

With a smile, he tossed the Quaffle off to the left, right toward his closest Chaser. Carewyn, expecting this, swerved out in front, using her feet to swing her broom around and smack the Quaffle right back at him.

It soared through the right-most hoop.

"Score!" McNully's voice rang out in the distance.

Somewhere behind them, Andre was cheering.

"YEAH! GO, CURSEBREAKER! SHOW HIM WHO'S BOSS!"

Carewyn, however, could only breathe heavily. Orion looked at the hoop and then over at Carewyn, his smile broadening.

"Well done," he said.

But Carewyn was unable to accept the praise. She glanced back over her shoulder at Andre and then at the scoreboard.

"The match isn't over yet," she said tersely.

And she flew away, leaving Orion with less of a smile than before.

Despite her best efforts, Carewyn didn't manage to score any more goals against Orion that day. The match ended with a score of 190-10, with Carewyn leaving early, unable to face Andre or her friendly teammates with how terrible she felt her performance had been.

The next day Carewyn found a short note hidden inside her schoolbag, written in very messy, loopy handwriting.

I know yesterday was unhappy for you, but please know that you made your team proud. I only wish that the team you made proud had been mine -- perhaps then my pride in you would've been easier to see. You are a brilliant player, Carewyn Cromwell. Do not be discouraged. Orion

x~x~x~x

The last time Carewyn and Orion collided at Hogwarts's Quidditch friendlies that year was right after Carewyn's OWLs. Just about all of the Slytherin team had been there that week. They'd been knocked out of the running very early on due to Orion being knocked off his broom by one of Erika Rath's Bludgers and needing time to recover. Now that they'd finished some soul-searching and team-bonding, the Slytherin team wanted to practice in preparation for the next season. As part of a training exercise for the whole team, Orion assigned his teammates (and himself) to play different positions in the next few friendly matches. The previous day Skye had done admirably playing as a Beater for her friendly team, and this day Orion ended up as Seeker, alongside Carewyn as Chaser and opposing Gryffindor's Star Seeker, Charlie.

Charlie had always been a brilliant Seeker. He'd scored the position back in his second year just as Orion had earned his own position as Slytherin Chaser in his, and thanks to Charlie, Gryffindor had won every match in the last four years excluding their finals against Ravenclaw, where Erika Rath would take Charlie out with her well-aimed Bludgers. Carewyn suspected that this may have been why Orion wanted to go head-to-head against Charlie -- if he and the Slytherin team had any hope of beating Gryffindor and winning the Quidditch Cup, he had to get a good look at Charlie and the way he played. And Orion did do a lot of observation -- not just of the Snitch, but of Charlie. He made very good use of the Wronkski Fake-Out throughout the friendly match, taking note of Charlie's agility and focus. To his credit, Charlie kept up with Orion very well, and ended up sussing out his ruse a few times when he looked around and saw nothing for Orion to be focused on. The Gryffindor even ended up ducking a Bludger Orion had smacked away from him and at Charlie thanks to his Beater "Tossing the Torch" to him with a grin akin to a Cheshire Cat's.

As Charlie and Orion played their silent game of game-worthy wits, though, Carewyn ended up noticing something they didn't. A flare of gold beside the left goal hoop.

Not wanting to alert Charlie, she instead snatched up the Quaffle, flying back toward the goal hoops. Racking her brain for an idea, she settled upon the weird one.

"If you want me, you can find me Left of center, off of the strip!"

Just about everyone was bewildered by Carewyn singing out of nowhere. Both Charlie and Orion looked at her, the first bewildered and the second merely startled.

Carewyn tried not to blink as she flew right past Orion, her eyes flitting back over his shoulder. She was desperate not to look directly at the Snitch herself, for fear of tipping off Charlie.

"In the outskirts and in the fringes -- In the corner -- out of the grip!"

Orion miraculously seemed to catch on. Unfortunately when he glanced over his shoulder, Charlie seemed to regain his focus, and within seconds, he'd spotted the Snitch too. Both of them took off like a shot from opposite sides of the pitch, right for the tiny golden ball fluttering on the far end.

Both Orion and Charlie's teammates tried to run interference. Charlie's Beaters hit Bludgers at Orion, which he dodged; Orion's Chasers, including Carewyn, tried to block Charlie, but he was just too fast. Ultimately the two ended up shoulder to shoulder as they pursued the Snitch -- they dived, ducked, and spiraled, both trying to shake the other off and catch the Snitch first.

Orion pretty soon got up onto the back of his broom and surfed through the air, up and over Charlie to try to overtake him. It seemed to work at first -- but just as Orion was about to snatch the Snitch out of the air, Charlie did something perfectly mad. Keeping the bottom of his broom under his legs so as to avoid a foul, the second-eldest Weasley grabbed onto one of the nearby banners in one hand and swung around the pillar, right in front of Orion. Orion had to quickly course-correct to avoid colliding with Charlie and falling off his broom -- and in that moment he needed to withdraw, Charlie managed to snatch the Golden Snitch himself.

Just about everyone watching swarmed around Charlie afterward to praise him for the amazing catch. Orion was gracious enough to shake Charlie's hand too, though he did exhale heavily through his smile once Charlie rushed over to talk to Andre.

"You were brilliant, Orion," Carewyn murmured. "You deserved to win that time."

Orion gave a shrug.

"Charlie Weasley is a formidable opponent," he said quietly. "He always has been."

Carewyn nodded grimly. Orion glanced at her with a small smile.

"But still, this loss has some benefits."

Carewyn looked at him curiously. "Did you figure out something useful about Charlie's flying?"

Orion's black eyes twinkled wryly. "Indeed. Our opponent has taken a leaf out of my book, in finding creative ways to subvert us. But he can still be distracted from his goal -- your singing was more than enough proof of that. We just need to consider how best to take advantage of this fact."

Carewyn smiled. "If there's anyone creative enough to figure out a way to do it, it's you, Orion."

Orion's lips spread into a smile too. Bringing his broom up and over his head so that he could rest it along his shoulders, he began to stroll off the pitch, Carewyn on his other side.

"If you don't mind, Carewyn Cromwell," he said leisurely, "how does the rest of that song go?"

Carewyn's smile spread into a fuller grin and obliged.

"When they ask me, 'What are you looking at?' I always answer, 'Nothing much -- not much -- ' I think they know that I'm looking at them; I think they think I must be out of touch,

But I'm only in the outskirts and in the fringes, On the edge and off the avenue, And if you want me, you can find me Left of center, wondering about you...

I think that somehow, somewhere inside of us, We must be similar, if not the same, So I continue to be wanting you, Left of center, against the grain...

And if you want me, you can find me Left of center, off of the strip -- In the outskirts and in the fringes -- In the corner, out of the grip..."

Years later, in the midst of the Second Wizarding War, Orion would hear the full song playing on a Muggle radio, and it sparked the first smile his face had known in months.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

The Embrace

I woke up in what I thought was another lodge house until I saw the rust and the metal. It was a ruin of the Old Ones, and the inside of All-Mother mountain. 

Once I found my gear and the killer’s Focus, I scanned it and found an image of a woman. My mother? She has to be. 

The killers were after me. I thought so. I saw them pointing, motioning their men towards me. The others were just collateral damage. When I first noticed their Focuses, I thought that might be the reason—wanting to keep that power and information for themselves? It's flimsy...

I think it’s because I look like this woman. When Olin saw me, something matched my image to hers.

Teersa explained where I was and took me to the altar of All-Mother. A door. I could see the mechanism with my Focus—a hatch, a metal wall so thick that nothing could get through. But it saw me when I stood atop it—because of my Focus? The door—the goddess, whatever it is—didn’t recognise me, some sort of data corruption. But the image of that woman appeared again, connecting us. 

If she really is my mother, and if she's inside, I’ll have to repair whatever’s broken before I can meet her.

Clearly the door can open. It opened when someone left me outside as an infant. Is it possible that it’s opened at other times, that people have come and gone? The entrance to the mountain is so heavily guarded, I doubt it’s possible. Then was I cast out of my real home as well? Why?

Teersa seems to think it was to fulfil some form of holy purpose. Her belief suits me just fine if it’ll help me find answers.

She didn’t manage to convince Lansra, but Teersa and Jezza made me a Seeker. Now I can go wherever I want without repercussions. Brilliant. The sacred mark they painted on my face is…a little much. Itches under the eyes. There's even an outfit to go with it, apparently. A bit too reminiscent of a Matriarch for my liking, but it's warm and moveable.

Jezza led the Nora in 'the Hymn of Atonement', as if what happened were some punishment doled out by All-Mother. They don't care why it really happened, don't want to search for answers—it's like they'd rather be helpless. No matter what happens, it was willed, and so they do nothing and wait for the world to turn around them.

A machine I’d never seen before—a Corrupter—stormed the gates of Mother’s Watch. It brought with it a herd of crazed Striders, dripping with red grime and oil that burnt away at metal and flesh like acid.

The gate was destroyed, but I took down the machines before they could make it up the hill to the mountain. Did the killers send them to target me?

Once the Corrupter was down, I stripped the corrupting component from its carcass. My Focus analysed it, offering more data than it normally would with machines. It’s like they were compatible…almost recognised each other. 

I strapped the override component to the end of my spear for easy access. According to the data, proximity and activation is all that’s required. Foolproof.

I journeyed back along a route I knew well, now changed. On Teersa’s orders, the tribe buried Rost’s remains and left a carved headstone on the place, laid fresh flowers. Not treatment fit for an outcast, but an honoured Brave. Teersa still won’t tell me why he was cast out to begin with.

I sat with him a while. Talked. I’m not sure why. About as useful as the stone and the flowers, but somehow, taken together, the ritual made a difference. I felt like near to him.

I won’t use the house.

Overrode a Strider! The repaired Corrupter module seemed to sooth the machine rather than enrage it. 

I met with Karst. One touch of normalcy in this place at least. He didn’t treat me any different. I might even miss him. 

I stopped by Mother's Cradle. It was the first time I'd ever walked through the centre of the village without being turned away. Some of the Nora even praised me for my efforts at the Proving massacre. I don't know if I'll ever get used to this. Good thing I'm leaving.

Everyone's scared, passing rumours. Mourning.

I’ll make Olin pay for what he did. To me, or to the Nora? Either way, he’s my only lead. 

Rode to the gates of the Embrace and met a Brave named Varl, Corrupter felled at his feet. He asked me to search for the War Chief. The real War Chief, not Resh. A convenient excuse to get back at him, but more importantly, Sona led a party of Braves after the killers from the Proving. I can find out more about them and why they targeted me.

It was late afternoon when I rode out. Some way from the gates I met an injured Nora man called Cren who told me about a nearby hunting ground. Sounded perfect. I need to work myself back to strength as these injuries settle into new, permanent aches and scars. I met the grounds keeper, a Nora outlaw who travelled to Carja territory. He told me a little of Meridian. 

Ran a couple of trials. Won their highest mark for all three first try. Guess they’ll need to make a higher one. It felt good hunting again just for the thrill, without fear.

Slept by the fire. I’m sick of soft beds. It’s good to be back in the wilds—the true wilds, this time, with no walls to bar them. 

[myrachondria]

The Durmstrang Champion - Chapter 1

(Ominis Gaunt x f!OC, Sebastian Sallow x f!MC)

◇my bookcase!◇

☆Layla's Character Sheet☆

Summary - The Triwizard Tournament is introduced, and our silver trio meets some interesting new characters

Warnings - suggestive comment

Notes - all characters are of legal age and have been for at least 2 years

Word Count - 2.8K

Sebastian, Ominis, Imelda, Anne, and Emily gathered around the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, engrossed in a lively discussion about their final year at Hogwarts. Imelda, feeling the weight of responsibility as the Quidditch captain, fretted over the urgent task of finding a worthy seeker to replace the one who had graduated the previous year.

Sebastian leaned forward and offered a solution, "Imelda, what if I gave the seeker position a shot? I mean, I could really give it my all."

Imelda stared at Sebastian. "Oh, Sallow, you're better suited as a beater. I don't think switching positions would be wise," she replied firmly.

Emily, discreetly stealing a glance at Sebastian, found herself captivated by the transformation he had undergone in the past couple years. The boyish charm he once possessed had matured into an undeniable manliness, evident in his well-built physique that strained against his uniform. A blush crept onto her cheeks, and she caught Sebastian smirking mischievously, fully aware of her silent admiration.

Ominis chimed in, suggesting an alternative, "Imelda, if you're looking for someone smaller, perhaps you should encourage the second and third years to try out. They might surprise you."

Imelda let out a groan, feeling frustrated by the limited options before her.

As the four friends continue to discuss their options, Headmaster Black takes his spot at the podium and goes on and on about the school rules and warnings. Then he says something which makes all four houses’ tables silent and pay attention to him.

“This castle will not only be your home this year but home to some very special guests as well. You see, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event: The Triwizard Tournament. This momentous occasion brings together three prestigious schools for a series of exhilarating magical contests. From each institution, a single student will be chosen to represent their school in these extraordinary trials. Let me emphasize this: if selected, you will stand alone. And believe me when I say that these challenges are not for the faint-hearted. Rest assured, we will provide further details on the Triwizard Tournament in due course," he proclaimed, his voice carrying a mixture of excitement and caution. "But for now, let us welcome your fellow classmates for the academic year. Allow me to introduce the esteemed students from Beauxbatons," Headmaster Black announced, his hand gracefully gesturing toward the towering double doors at the far end of the Great Hall.

As the grand double doors swung open, a tall, lanky figure emerged, his stern countenance commanding the attention of all present. Leading a procession of students dressed in elegant pale blue uniforms, he strode down the aisle with unwavering determination. All eyes followed his every step, captivated by his presence. Yet, it was the Beauxbatons students trailing behind him who truly stole the show. Gracefully gliding down the aisle, their movements seemed almost ethereal. On the outer edges of their formation, some students released doves from their sleeves, adding an enchanting touch to their entrance.

Sebastian, Anne, and Emily watched in awe, their gazes fixed on the captivating display. Ominis, his wand held aloft, its tip pulsating with a vibrant red light, skillfully tracked the students' elegant procession. Finally, the Headmaster and his entourage reached the front of the Great Hall, taking their seats on the far side, opposite the Slytherin table, with a graceful bow.

"That was quite the entrance, wouldn't you agree?" Ominis grinned, thoroughly entertained by the performance.

"I'll say..." Sebastian mumbled, his voice filled with admiration.

Expressing his gratitude, Headmaster Black addressed the distinguished figure before him, "Thank you for that extraordinary entrance, Headmaster Delacroix."

In response, Headmaster Delacroix nodded respectfully to Headmaster Black, radiating a sense of authority and dignity. His silvered hair and impeccably maintained beard were testament to his unwavering commitment to tradition and the pursuit of magical excellence. Known for his progressive mindset, he skillfully blended centuries-old values with the demands of the modern world, making Beauxbatons one of the most forward-thinking magical institutions.

"And now," Headmaster Black announced, his voice resounding with anticipation, "it is my pleasure to introduce the brilliant students of Durmstrang and their equally brilliant Headmaster!"

The grand double doors swung open once more, revealing a short, elderly woman with an air of sternness about her. Her thin lips were tightly pursed, displaying her disapproval. However, the attention swiftly shifted as the first Durmstrang student emerged behind her. With long, dark hair cascading down her back, the girl exuded confidence, her expression stoic and unreadable. Her striking, dark eyes captivated all who laid eyes upon her, and she donned a striking short red dress that accentuated her presence.

Sebastian couldn't help but gasp, his reaction escaping him involuntarily.

"What? What happened?" Ominis asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"N-nothing," Emily stammered, her gaze fixated on the Durmstrang girl. "It's just...she's very beautiful. The girl at the front."

Behind the alluring Durmstrang girl, two more students followed, wielding canes that emitted mesmerizing red sparks upon striking the floor. Behind them, the remaining Durmstrang students marched with impassive expressions, displaying an apparent lack of interest unlike their Beauxbatons counterparts. Upon reaching Headmaster Black, the two students wielding canes lifted their wands to their lips and exhaled a fiery breath. From their enchanting exhales, birds composed of dancing flames emerged, elegantly circling the ceiling before vanishing into thin air. The mesmerizing display left the entire Great Hall in awe.

“Ah, Headmaster Petrova,” Headmaster Black greeted the Durmstrang Headmaster. She held her hand out and he kissed it. She then led all of her students to the other side of where the Beauxbaton students were sitting, right next to the Slytherin table.

Amara, Ominis' new girlfriend, dashed over from her table to join him at the Slytherin table, brimming with excitement. "Wow, wasn't that absolutely amazing? We should definitely go say hello!"

Ominis smiledin agreement. "Sure thing."

"Count me in too!" Emily exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "Their table isn't too far from ours, so we can sneak over in no time."

Amara, Ominis, Emily, and Sebastian ventured towards the Durmstrang students' table. As they drew closer to the group of four girls sitting in close proximity, snippets of their conversation reached their ears.

"That was so nerve-wracking. My hands are still shaking and my heart is pounding," the girl seated on the left of the long-haired girl confessed.

"You didn't even do anything. You just walked at the back," the girl who had been wielding the cane retorted, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, I know. But still, my hands are still shaking and my heart is pounding so fast," the first girl replied. She then took the long-haired girl's hand and placed it on her left breast.

The long-haired girl's eyes widened, and she quickly pulled her hand back. "Sonia, that's not where your heart is," she scolded her.

"Yeah, it is. Feel," the first girl insisted, seizing the long-haired girl's hand and guiding it back.

Once again, the long-haired girl swiftly withdrew her hand. "Stop it," she hissed. "Your heart is here, stupid," she pointed to her own heart.

Meanwhile, the girl who had been in possession of the cane watched the exchange, barely suppressing her laughter. "Just ignore her, Sonia has no shame," she stifled a giggle.

Sebastian approached the group of girls with effortless charm, his voice smooth as he greeted them. "Hello there," he said with a friendly smile. "We wanted to extend a warm welcome and introduce ourselves." One by one, Ominis, Amara, Emily, and Sebastian introduced themselves to the four girls.

"My name is Cassie," beamed a short, curly-haired blonde. "It's lovely to meet all of you. Are you all as excited about the tournament as we are?"

"I'm Rani," declared the girl who had been holding the cane, firmly shaking everyone's hand. With her straight black hair and tall stature, she exuded a sense of strength and confidence.

"And I'm Sonia," chimed in the girl who had expressed her nervousness earlier. She rose from her seat and extended her hand towards Sebastian. "It's a pleasure to meet you all," she continued, her gaze fixed solely on Sebastian. Sebastian reciprocated with a warm smile, shaking her hand as their eyes locked momentarily.

"Wow, you have quite the firm handshake. Do you happen to play Quidditch?" Sonia flirtatiously inquired, still holding onto Sebastian's hand.

"Yes, actually. I'm a beater," Sebastian replied, seizing the opportunity to showcase his athleticism.

As Sonia and Sebastian engaged in playful banter, Emily started to get more and more annoyed.

After a few moments, Amara turned to the long-haired girl. Blushing slightly, she complimented, "I'm sorry for staring, but you're very beautiful." The girl smiled warmly in response. "Thank you. You're beautiful too," she replied.

Amara's blush deepened. "No, you're absolutely stunning."

"That's enough before her ego inflates," Rani interjected, rolling her eyes.

In that moment, Emily realized that the long-haired girl had never introduced herself. She had remained observant, silently watching the interactions unfold. "I apologize if I missed it, but I don't believe I caught your name," Emily inquired politely.

"Layla," came the girl's response, her voice soft and melodic. There was a mysterious aura about her.

Just as the conversation unfolded, a familiar face approached them. It was the boy who had walked alongside Rani during the Durmstrang entrance, holding the other cane. He approached the group of eight, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. "Layla, Headmaster Petrova wishes to speak with you."

With a graceful gesture, Layla rose from her seat and made her way toward Headmaster Petrova. Rani seized the opportunity to introduce her twin brother to the Hogwarts students. "Everyone, this is Raj," she said. "Raj, meet Sebastian, Ominis, Amara, and Emily."

As the conversation paused momentarily, all eyes were drawn to Layla's departure. Anticipation filled the air as they wondered what the Headmaster wanted. When Layla returned, Rani's curiosity got the better of her. "What did the Headmaster want?" she inquired eagerly.

Layla's response, delivered in a soft voice, left them intrigued. "We can discuss it later," she murmured, her eyes glancing briefly at Emily, who was very interested to know more as well.

Ominis broke the silence, suggesting they make their way back to their seats in preparation for the feast. "It was truly delightful meeting all of you," he said, flashing a warm smile. With that, Ominis led the way, and Sebastian, Amara, and Emily followed suit.

As Emily was leaving, she heard Sonia whisper, “That boy is very cute. His face is too pretty to not be between my legs.” Emily turned back around to glare at Sonia’s words, but accidentally made eye contact with Layla. Layla shot her an apologetic look and mouthed, “Sorry.”

As the students delved into the feast, the grandeur of the Great Hall resonated with an air of anticipation. Headmaster Black, conjured a magnificent goblet in the center of the room, capturing everyone's attention. Flames erupted from within, casting a fiery glow that danced against the night.

Gesturing towards the goblet, Headmaster Black unveiled the rules of the prestigious Triwizard Tournament. The ethereal white ring encircling the goblet served as an impenetrable barrier, allowing only seventh-year students to participate in the competition. It was a daunting yet exhilarating prospect.

If any student wished to represent their school and become a Triwizard Champion, they would need to write their name on a piece of paper and drop it into the goblet. If the name was accepted, the fire would momentarily flash blue, before turning to back a bright red. Students interested had two weeks to enter their names into the goblet. The night following the two weeks, the selected champions from each of the three schools would be announced.

Headmaster Black's voice resounded through the hall, his words a solemn reminder of the gravity of the competition. He cautioned the students once more, emphasizing the binding nature of the magical contract once their names entered the goblet's realm. Dropping out was not an option once fate had been sealed. The champions would face their trials alone, save for the guidance of a mentor from their respective schools. It was a formidable test, and Headmaster Black's next words reminded the students of the seriousness of the competition. He reminded everyone that not only the champions, but also some spectators, in the past have lost their lives due to the tournament.

"I don't know who would be foolish enough to enter their name," Ominis said, clearly trying to deter his friend.

Sebastian leaned back, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Oh, come on, Ominis. There are plenty of reasons someone might want to throw their name into the ring," he retorted, a smirk playing on his lips. His gaze shifted toward the Durmstrang table, where Layla sat. Their eyes locked, and a fleeting smile passed between them, sending Sebastian's heart into a flutter.

"Count me in with Ominis on this one. After the chaos we experienced in our fifth year, I've had my fair share of excitement for a lifetime," Emily chimed in.

After the feast, the trio set off toward their common room. Suddenly, a voice called out Emily's name, causing her to turn around. It was Layla, waving her over. "You guys go ahead. I'll catch up with you," Emily said, signaling Sebastian and Ominis to proceed without her. She approached Layla, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

“Yes?”  Emily asked, unsure of the purpose of this unexpected encounter.

“I just wanted to apologize for Sonia’s behavior. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she stays away from your boyfriend.” Layla said, a hint of sincerity lacing her words.

Emily's gaze locked with Layla's, searching for any sign of hidden intentions. Moments stretched in silence between them. Finally, Emily spoke. “It’s fine, he’s not my boyfriend anyway. He can do whatever he wants,” trying to hide feelings.

Layla took a couple more steps and closed the distance between them. She held Emily's gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "Regardless, I'll keep my word," Layla assured, her voice carrying softness.

Emily found herself drawn to Layla's face, her features captivating and magnetic. It was a gaze she didn't want to break, entangled in the enigmatic allure before her.

Layla reached out and twirled a strand of Emily's hair, her touch featherlight. "You have beautiful hair," she complimented, her smile radiating warmth.

Emily felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Th-thank you," she stammered.

Moments lingered, time seemingly suspended, until a voice broke the spell. "Layla," Raj, the boy who had wielded the cane, called out from across the hall.

"Such a shame..." Layla whispered under her breath, her gaze lingering on Emily for a fleeting moment. With that, she turned and walked down the corridor, making her way to Raj's side.

Emily was left standing there, her mind awash with unanswered questions.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Under the cloak of night, while the rest of the castle slumbered, the goblet stood at the center of the resplendent Great Hall. Its vibrant red flame cast an enchanting glow, illuminating the room with an air of anticipation. Suddenly, the grand double doors swung open, revealing Layla and Rani, accompanied by a trembling Durmstrang girl they had forcefully brought along.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" the girl pleaded, her voice quivering.

Ignoring her pleas, Layla and Rani pulled her into the pristine white circle encircling the goblet. Layla snatched a piece of parchment and thrust it into the girl's trembling grasp. With an iron grip, they hoisted her hand over the blazing fire.

"Please..." the girl choked out, her voice choked with fear and desperation.

Layla, unyielding, pried open the girl's hand, allowing the parchment to slip from her grasp and fall into the searing flames. A momentary blue shimmer danced across the fire, signifying the acceptance of the entry, before fading back to its fiery red hue.

Releasing their grip, Layla and Rani let the girl crumple to the floor, overcome with sobs. Crouching down to her level, Layla's gaze locked with the girl's tear-filled eyes. "Don't ever cross me again," she whispered with a chilling undertone. The girl nodded, her acceptance of Layla's warning evident in her trembling form. With great effort, she rose to her feet, her broken spirit evident as she stumbled out of the Great Hall and made her way back to the Durmstrang Common Room.

As they watched the redheaded girl disappear from sight, Rani turned to Layla. "While we're here, do you want to enter your name?" she inquired.

Layla's eyes remained fixed on the retreating figure, her mind deep in thought. "No," she replied, her voice calm and determined. "Headmaster Petrova made it clear. I'll enter tomorrow, at breakfast."

Chapter 2 here!

[nevis-the-skeleton]

What if TFP Airachnid reminds Autobot Starscream, that he destroyed Cliffjumper + is hiding the truth from Arcee... Airachnid tells Starscream that he’s still no better than Megatron or Airachnid herself (since she destroyed Tailgate, Arcee’s other partner)... Starscream then cries in guilt/shame, because he thinks that Airachnid is right + Airachnid happily drinks Starscream’s tears! :’( 

Oh… angst… :') who's going to cry again? It's me (TvT)… Thanks for your request sweety anon ^^!

~~~

Starscream had pursued Arcee, after the latter went after Airachnid. The motorbike was still impulsive, and the Seeker wondered if it would kill her to call for reinforcements.

The jet had ended up losing sight of them through the trees, and had to continue on foot. He used his energon radar to track them down, and stopped in front of a cave. Of course it had to be a cave!

The flyer lowered his wings, and thought about the fact that he might call for reinforcements. It was then that Starscream detected a large dose of energon in the cavern, and easily recognized Arcee's signal.

The Seeker sent coordinates to Optimus, before heading deeper into the cave, putting aside his claustrophobia. The jet went as fast as he could, before drawing his blasters, ready to take down that damned spider.

The flyer froze when he saw Arcee lying on the ground, with a huge gash on her side. There was no doubt that it was the work of Airachnid. Starscream swore, then knelt beside her, before compressing the wound as best he could.

The motorbike was barely conscious, and couldn't hide a certain surprise when she saw the Seeker. She wanted to say something, but the jet stopped her, saying:

“No, save your energy.

- N- No… stammered the warrior. Behind you…"

The flyer's radar suddenly activated, sounding like an alarm in his head. Starscream grabbed Arcee, and narrowly dodged a blow from one of the Techno-organic's sharp paws.

The Seeker fired a blaster at the spider, which avoided the attack. The two ended up facing each other, and the jet was wings high and defensive. He put the motorbike on the ground, and stood in front of her, in a protective position.

The cave was shrouded in darkness, the only glow being Arcee's energon on the flyer and Airachnid. The Triple-changer was hidden in the dark, but that was no problem for Starscream, who activated his night vision.

He stopped an attack from the spider just in time, and retaliated by kicking her in the plexus, sending her flying into a wall. The Techno-organic soon got to her feet, laughing. She gave the Seeker a slightly disdainful look, as if she had already won, then said:

“Come on, move. My target is Arcee, not you."

The jet scowled, and didn't move, staying in front of the warrior. Airachnid tilted her head, looking curious, before mocking:

"Oh? You protect her? You?

- Go away! Or I'll kick your aft! threatened the flyer.

- Hmm… I'd be surprised, but hey… It's funny, I thought you'd be the type to kill her, now that she's on the ground.

- I'm not like you!"

The Triple Changer shrugged amusedly, then asked:

"Tell me, do you think Arcee and the other Autobots would do the same for you?"

- …?

- Would protect you if you were in danger I mean.

- Much more than the Decepticons…!

- Do you think they would, if they knew what you did?

- …?!

- Hm… Really, I'm curious.

- What are you playing at?!"

Starscream couldn't hide his anger, failing to see where Airachnid was trying to get to, or what were her intentions behind those questions.

"Hey, do you know why Arcee hates me so much?

- …

- No wait! First question! Do you know who Tailgate is?"

Why was she telling him about this robot all of a sudden? He was supposed to know him? He really didn't tell him anything. But hey, really, he didn't care. Let Airachnid waste time with riddles if it suited her, reinforcements were coming soon!

“Given your expression, I would say no. Well, no more guessing, I tell you! It was Arcee's old partner!

- …?!

- You don't see where I'm coming from, do you?

- …

- I've known you more insightful."

Starscream was really tired of this conversation… When were the reinforcements going to decide to come?! Now that would be perfect, really!

"Okay, I'm telling you! Airachnid smiled wickedly. If she hates me so much, it's because I killed Tailgate!"

The Seeker couldn't hide his shock, but he, like the Techno-organic, knew it wasn't the act of killing someone that horrified him so much. It was the fact that...

“So, are you really different from me?!" laughed the spider.

Airachnid took the opportunity to web the jet against one of the cave walls, away from Arcee. The flyer cried out in surprise, and spat in pain, from the impact. Starscream was slightly stunned, and didn't see the spider coming towards him, before she completely invaded his personal space.

"You killed someone dear to her, like me! Oooh, poor Cliffjumper. He must be mad, seeing you befriending the Autobots after what you did to him!

- S- Shut up! cried out the Seeker.

- How do you think Arcee would react, if she learned the truth? Do you think she would still like you? You lie to them shamelessly, as you are so good at doing. I wonder which of us is the worst.

- Shut up!!

- Even if you do everything possible for not being like him, you look a lot like Megatron I think. Say, did you enjoy killing him? When you felt his Spark go out between your claws, did you laugh?

- …”

The view of the jet blurred, without his understanding its origin. Arcee's energon on his hands suddenly became so bright, and the smell was so strong that he wanted to purge.

“You are a monster, like us! No one will say otherwise! Airachnid scoffed. As soon as they find out what you did, they'll get rid of you!"

Starscream couldn't hold back his tears any longer, as the Techno-Organic's words hit him like a dagger, soaked in the poison of truth.

“You'll never have anywhere to go, because there's no place for monsters. Try telling them the truth to see, I'm curious. Who do you think will kill you first? Will they do it at the same time, like the family they are, and you'll never be a part of? Or one by one? If so, I think they'll leave that privilege to Arcee."

Airachnid grabbed the Seeker's chin to look at her, gloating, and hissed:

“The only person who will mourn you is yourself, and no one else. Nobody cries for robots like you, no, they laugh, they dance. When the death you deserve comes for you they will be happy to finally be rid of you!"

The spider released the jet, which lowered his head in shame and grief.

"You killed someone dear to them! A friend, a member of their family! How can you think you deserve to be with them?! You don't deserve anything! Monster!"

The airman made no reply to all this, knowing that he would never be able to deny Airachnid's words. She was right… she was right and it hurt horribly to know… Starscream realized that he had been misguided for too long, enjoying something he didn't deserve, never deserved.

Footsteps were heard in the cave, and the two knew perfectly well that it was the Autobots. The Techno-organic released Starscream from her webs, and gave her an evil smile, before declaring:

"What do you think they'll think when they see you with injured Arcee?

- …!

- They'll think you tried to kill her! Because that's what a monster would do! Look, you already have his energon on your hands, why not have his death on your conscience?!"

The spider began to wander off into the darkness, and scoffed:

"You can't fool them forever!"

Airachnid disappeared from Starscream's vision as he dug a hole in the ground, but the Seeker could still hear her laughter, and her razor-sharp words tearing at his Spark.

The jet froze in fear as he faced the others, who were horrified upon seeing Arcee's condition. Everyone ended up looking at the flyer, who was simply unable to see the concern in their eyes, seeing only hatred and contempt.

"What happened?!" Bulkhead exclaimed, stepping closer as Bumblebee called Ratchet for a ground bridge.

Starscream suddenly stood up, wings high and optics wide in fear, before suddenly fleeing, much to the surprise of the others. The Seeker knew he had nowhere to run, but he couldn't help but try. He didn't want to receive the punishment he deserved.

The jet couldn't suppress a cry of fear when he felt a firm grip on his arm, and struggled as best he could, before seeing that he was being held back by the waist. Even in the dark he recognized Optimus' color scheme, which heightened his panic.

"No! No! I'm sorry!"

The Prime released his grip on the flyer, who fell to the ground, before putting his arms out in front of him for protection. He ventilated erratically, then looked at the Autobots leader, who had his hands raised, indicating no hostility.

“It's alright, Starscream, we're here now. tried to reassure Optimus.

- A- Arcee, she…!

- She'll be fine, don't worry."

He knelt in front of the Seeker, and held out his arms towards him, before hugging him. The jet couldn't hold back his tears, as the Prime's sweet words burned like acid on his wounded Spark. Starscream closed his optics hard, cursing himself for being so weak, and taking advantage of the Autobots' goodness...

"Come on, let's go home.

- …”

The Seeker followed Optimus with lowered wings, knowing full well that where he was going was not at all home. He was doomed to wear a mask until the end of his days, to hide the monster behind… He didn't deserve to live among them… He didn't deserve to live anywhere… In fact, the jet realized that he just didn't deserve to live... Starscream knew Airachnid was right, and it hurt terribly...

[onespacedown]

A couple of my longstanding headcanons for The Host. I'm curious what y'all in the fandom think:

"The Seeker" is the Seeker's actual name. Not sure if this one is already common consensus or not, but Souls seem to usually take names based on their experiences, and this is the Seeker's first world. She doesn't have many of those experiences to reference, and it probably feels awkward to reference those of her mother. She could take the name of her host, but she's terrified of humans and of losing herself to her host. So what does she have? Her whole existence has been Seeking. She is the Seeker. No one else ever uses any other name for her because she has no other name.

The world of the See-Weeds orbits Proxima Centauri. I always felt like this was the intended implication. It's stated to be approximately a decade's round trip. If we're assuming that Soul ships travel at or near the speed of light, that means it's about 5 light years away. (I realize that relativity probably makes this funky, but I don't think that Meyer was considering that when she wrote it, so neither will I. Besides, if superluminal travel is in play, then it's probably assumed that they have a way around that.) Proxima Centauri is a little over four light years away, and the barycenter of the Alpha Centauri system is a bit further. Now, if we're assuming they're traveling at subluminal but extremely hyperrelativistic speeds, then the math just about checks out perfectly. In addition, the planet of the See-Weeds is stated to orbit a trinary stellar system. Now, Proxima Centauri wouldn't be meaningfully visible from a planet orbiting Alpha Centauri A or B, but both stars would be noticeably bright from a planet orbiting Proxima.

And, just for fun, a third headcanon I held for a long time, but now concede doesn't really stand up to scrutiny:

3. The Origin is a gas dwarf, probably a mini-Neptune. We know that the Origin is noted for it's colorful cloud bands, which is a phenomenon iconic to gas giants. The original hosts were capable of flight, which would be a necessity on a gaseous planet. We can also infer from the existence of the cryotanks that the Origin is significantly colder than Earth, though that's less clear -- the point of the cold could be cryogenic cryptobiosis.

Still, this isn't especially likely, for the simple reason that Souls themselves are not flight capable. The pressures that would be required to let them swim through the atmosphere would probably necessitate higher temperatures than they're implied to be suited for, as well. It's still conceivable that this could be true if there were floating masses of vegetation in the atmosphere to serve as something like a surface, but it's far more likely the Origin is a terrestrial world, alas.

[thechroniclesofhriddick]

Imperfections

What is one thing you dislike about yourself that your lover likes?

A'kiva has been pondering on this question for a long while since it was posed to him days before in preparation he assumes for Saint Valentoine's Day the coming moon.

And.. how does one answer that? Is it physical? Is it a skill? Is it a trait?

He supposes it really wouldn't matter as its just one thing as opposed to every little thing, but then the question still stands:

What does Svan like about him that A'kiva doesn't?

Kiva refuses to believe its how he is. For many reasons but ultimately - he wants to improve. He's going to improve and while he has a sort of understanding that Svan liking who he is now doesn't mean he doesn't want A'kiva to improve or that he would hate the miqo'te improving... he feels its best for him to not think too hard on it.

He also quickly dismisses all of his traits because again tied in with improvements that he doesn't want to think about right now.

So physical.

Well he likes his hair. Its the last thing he has of his sire and brothers after all. His eyes aren't his favorite attribute but he doesn't hate them either. Sort of... neutral to them. His pupils are Seeker normal. His ears and tail-

He pauses in thought. His tail... was something he definitely didn't like. At all. It was too short. No one else in his tribe had one as short as his into adulthood. And he was teased endlessly by it, always being called a child.

Svan though... Svan never saw it that way. He pets it at times, marveling at how it moves. Likes when it curls against his hand or against him. In fact, he would claim its Svan's favorite feature of his if he didn't know what actually was: his eyes. And not the colour of them either.

He glances down at his tail as it flicks, almost to say hi to him. He thinks he could learn to like it. Svan already does.

And what is one thing your lover dislikes about them self that you like?

A'kiva... doesn't think there is a shortage of things, but then Svan has mostly accepted the way he is. He doesn't like how cumbersome his prosthetic is, but he doesn't hate having one or having lost his arm...

But... there are things that other people don't like about his mate: the fact he has a tail, has dark hair. He and Svenja take pride in their black hair and Svenja loves the fact her father has a tail (and wishes she too inherited it) but he could see how Svan, a younger Svan, could have hated looking different like he does currently.

He does like Svan's tail. Its cute and fluffy. He's pretty sure he wouldn't care what color hair his mate could have had, but the glossy black with his emerald eyes suits him too well for him to see him any other way.

But if A'kiva had to choose, and strictly going off of other people because he's pretty sure Svan doesn't care what others think about his looks anymore, he would say his mate's nose.

An odd choice, sure, but he loves the fact its slightly hooked. It makes for interesting nuzzles. And the imprint of it against his face is so distinct from any one else's he knows immediately its his mate. He also likes the little dark hairs on it. They're more than visible enough to give what most others would think is an odd discolouration but also soft like his tail and ears that A'kiva just adores.

He stands from his place by the river and heads towards their tent. Thinking about the older male has made him miss his presence. If he isn't there, at least he can smell him until he gets home.

((Originally the questions were going to be:

Name one imperfection about yourself that your lover likes

Name one imperfection about your lover that you like

Buuut the questions I used I think fit A'kiva's mind better.

Happy Saint Valentoine's Event while I'm at work... that I should be asleep for but ain't!))

[hymnofshadows-archive]

@immy-ooc @sins-of-the-sea (Yells at tumblr for not letting me tag your main blog)

'aight so, might as well do all of the Seven because I have So Many Thoughts about this.

Option A:

The Seven are Drowned. They exist solely in service to the Lord of the Whorl, Leviathan. Like any who has been claimed by primals, their loyalty to him is unwavering and knows no end. Their continued existence is only to strengthen their god and to summon him unto the world.

They work closely with the Sahagin and the Reavers - plundering supplies as they can, but naturally prioritizing capturing people to sacrifice to him and crystals with which to summon him.

Option B:

The Seven are just another pirate crew in Limsa Lominsa. On the surface, things seem perfectly legal - they have their privateering license and will gladly assure you that the wares they're trying to sell you was, in fact, stolen from a Garlean ship, thank you very much.

But any pirate crew knows how to manage their reputation, doesn't it? Keep a low profile. Stick to the code when you can so you don't draw the attention of the Rogue's Guild. You can get away with almost anything in a nation like this, can't you?

The Crew:

Captain Josep Frascona Race: Midlander Hyur Nationality: Lominsan Classes: Marauder>Warrior, Rogue>Ninja

Marauder and Rogue are both classes that start in Limsa Lominsa - both with a long history connected to piracy, making them easy choices.

Marauders have long had places on ships, their greataxes useful for both combat and felling the masts of other ships. And, as he is the Sin of Wrath... the Job upgrade into Warrior makes sense. He can have a bit of berserker rage, as a treat.

The Rogues are a covert group who serves to enforce the Pirate Code and police the city-state under cover of darkness. So Josep's canon shadowy stealth skills from his fog form can be translated into him having learned from them. I see the Ninja upgrade as something he picks up during a trip to the Far East - noticing similarities in the fighting styles and adapting it into his own.

Abena Frascona

Race: Seeker of the Sun Miqo'te Nationality: Ul'dahn Classes: Musketeer (non-playable), Machinist, Alchemist

Musketeer was a planned musket-wielding class that never got added (but there's still references to it in game so it exists it just can't be you).

Machinist, added in the Heavensward expansion, however, is a gun wielding Job... and the poor guildmaster will hand out guns like candy trying to convince people they're viable weapons.

Alchemist is a crafting class... that I really don't think I have to explain, let Abena make fucked up little potions to her heart's content.

Rashid al-Qadar

Race: Hellsguard Roegadyn (listen. him big i don't make the rules) Nationality: Thavnairian Classes: Gladiator>Paladin, Arcanist>Summoner

Paladin is your classic sword/shield class. And I know this is absolutely a case of me projecting here but I feel like that suits him somehow.

I choose Arcanist because, well. His ability to summon simulacra in canon I feel translates fairly well to the summoning of carbuncles and egis.

Wang Ruixiong

Race: Raen Au Ra (he's a lizard now sorry i just like the scaley guys) Nationality: Doman Classes: Pugilist>Monk, Lancer>Dragoon

"Adept at martial arts" his bio says. Say no more! I give him the power of punch real good. Open your chakras.

Okay so Lancer is a more strenuous one and I'm putting it on the list because of one glamour item you can get: the Eastern Journey Staff. Become fantasy Sun Wukong.

Guy Duchamp

Race: Woodwight Elezen Nationality: (New) Sharlayan Classes: Thaumaturge/Black Mage, Red Mage, Weaver

GG ez, give the guy with fire powers the class/Job with fire spells. Black Mage is an obvious choice.

Red Mage, as in many Final Fantasy games, is a combination of Black and White Magics... but also they fence. He's got magic. He's got a sword. He'll do a fancy french backflip and you'll like it.

It's hard to give some of these guys crafting/gathering classes but... I dunno, maybe the fashionable man knows how to keep his clothes looking good even after so long at sea.

Phoebus Duchamp

Race: Woodwight Elezen Nationality: (New) Sharlayan Classes: Arcanist>Scholar, Carpenter, Botanist

Okay so, like Rashid, it's a case of "give the guy with summons a summoning class" but Phi goes into Scholar because he's assigned healer of the crew. And tbh I feel like nothing says Sloth quite like summoning a fairy to heal your friends instead of doing it yourself. That MP is better used elsewhere he promises.

Botanist is another easy one. Phi has gardening knowledge? He can grow and harvest plants for Gio and Abi.

Carpenter... I just picked that cause it felt the closest to sculpture to me, I mean wood carving is a thing. Plus having someone who knows how to work with wood on your Pirate crew is useful so like. Bonus points.

Giovanni Vespucci

Race: Midlander Hyur Nationality: Ishgardian Classes: Archer>Bard, Pugilist>Monk, Culinarian

Gio's good with music... so let him use the music. Inspire your allies! Buff your friends! Rain arrows on your opponents!

I've kinda been avoiding duplicate classes where I can but Rui teaching Gio is a sweet enough idea that I'll allow it. He's obviously not as high leveled in it as Rui is though.

Culinarian... listen that's the "cooking" crafting class I literally do not need to justify any further. He would weaponize his frying pan like Julyan Manderville if you commit enough food crimes though.

[mageister]

Dorian looks to him as though he were a particularly bad pup. It'd be strange to scold him, however, considering his whole 'saving the world' business wasn't his naughtiest handiwork. Really, it's not like he'd chewed on his loafers and went clawing at the furniture with a love for topiary. However, the strain is deepening, every hour and every shadow sat whittling in his face. It's a damning weight to shoulder beneath the piling reports and the hemorrhage in their sky. That Maxell at all collapses was but a long time coming, and stood beside the tub, the Tevinter watches carefully as those eyes find the water. How dare you, he imagines, so valiantly working to save the bloody world. I've been keeping correspondence with your bedsheets, you know! You've really ought to see to them. They're feeling positively jilted!

No, Dorian's not his mother, and what the Herald commands of him could be ornamented brilliantly among the stars. Quietly, Maxwell stirs at the water, the chamber all about them drip-drip-echoing. He won't suggest he knows better and start demanding their hero to catch his breath; however, if ever he sways just a bit in the way he does now -- well, sticking a foot out, Dorian will quite literally keep him steady.

"As opposed to letting our Seeker lead us in your untimely demise? Were I after glares that suggested untold amounts of disappointment, Inquisitor, I would have simply spent my evenings with my mother."

This is new, he thinks. Exceptionally new. A peculiar sort of new like an too-big suit. He isn't used to tenderness or moments of vulnerability that'd work him like a pretzel. He's heard all manner of gossip, naturally, and even rumors that'd make a sister clutch in terror to her pearls, but to chance on sincerity not endeavoring for his favor? It's peculiar. Laying down the unwrapped soap, he focuses pointedly on its fragrance.

I'm glad you would rescue me...

"There. Now, do try to be a little less airheaded, would you? You'll go floating off, and I quite like having you where I can reach you."

Maxwell wants to protest, to say that he's fallen asleep in the bath before several times and he'd yet to drown in any of those instances, but as he's listening to ( and watching ) Dorian talk he starts to get the distinct feeling that bringing up his bath time naps would be the best option at this point. If he were to be fair to himself which was admittedly something he was very poor at doing, but if he were to attempt to be, he would have to admit that he had absolutely no idea what a good option would be.

The thought is almost circular, a bad option, a good option, a bad option, only bad options, always bad options.

Maxwell finds himself leaning forward a little more and more with each change in sentence as the other man speaks, and when it seems like he might tip over entirely the Inquisitor decides to finally just kneel on the floor besides the basin, leaving heavy against it with the metal lip of the tub tucked under his arms. It's almost uncomfortable. Actually, it was uncomfortable, but when he follows through with the urge to slip his left hand under those warming waters the discomfort suddenly doesn't seem to matter.

A different ache is soothed, that otherworldly glow dimming yet never quite vanishing. It makes the water look... Like a dream, the color shifting tones and shakes as he moves his hand through it. Dorians tone changed. Oh there was a question in there wasn't here?

When Maxwell looks up he does his best to keep that sheepish ' i drifted away' look off of his face and fails miserably, mind catching up and managing to decipher the offered scents and a remark of soap that was absolutely dripping with sarcasm.

Of course he knew about soap.

" Lavender. "

His tone is softer than it had been even moments before, and it's only after the answer sits unadorned between them that Maxwell realizes he hadn't said please, or even responded to the rest of what Dorian had said.

" -- Please... And I'm glad you would rescue me, even from my own stupidity. "

[ddoxhan]

gray ashes

i'm sorry.

word count : 0.7k words

genre : angst, when you realize love isn't a road full of flowers; fem!reader

tw : profanities, degradation (kids, don't look down on people)

a/n : wrote this while I was really obsessed with 'anti-romantic' and I could relate so much to the lyrics :3 enjoy !!

"do you believe in love at first sight?"

"i do actually, ironically."

"why would you say that?"

"well, i don't believe in love."

"oh, that does sound odd."

"the former was me back then and the latter would be me now."

"i just don't anymore."

it dates back to my high school life. there was this one girl i liked a lot, you could say i actually loved her. but whatever, i don't really know whether i did.

"minjeong-ah, here's some water."

"thanks."

"you're doing great! you were really cool back there!"

"yeah, sure."

and i just stuck around her almost every day in school whenever i could and even after school. she hated me and i thought maybe, i could change her mind one day.

"i like you minjeong!"

"..."

"i'm sorry. i don't want to give you false hope."

"i-it's okay, sunbae! m-maybe you-"

"i won't change my mind."

"give me a chance! you won't know if you don't let me try."

"suit yourself."

but that never happened.

i did everything i could, every day for a whole year. but she never lost her stance. and i lost myself.

i truly believed that i could get her to reciprocate my feelings for her. i really did. the hope-driven me. though she never gave them to me.

when she would finish training, I'd prepare warm water as she hated having cold drinks after, saying it's bad for the body. when she loved strawberry-filled bread and almond milk, i would run to the store to get them because they run out real quick.

can't believe i still remember the details about her. i guess i really did love her then. don't you think she was a little dull to not push me away when she saw how much i liked her? however, it wasn't her fault in the first place.

i bet you're just thinking how foolish it was for me to keep pestering someone who clearly rejected me. well, i guess that's the charm of falling in love. nothing can come in the way of your love. except for the person you love.

i was really selfish. i only saw myself throughout that journey. how i felt, how i thought, how i could be her soulmate. but never once then about how she felt, how she thought, how things were tough for her. because of me.

all i ever wanted was receive a small bit of what she gave her. even if it was just the attention to what i say. even if it was just her eyes on me. even if it was just her.

i knew she just dated her to get me off of her. i was determined, way too hella determined. things went on for some time. she still kept her and i still stuck on her. maybe she grew impatient, perhaps even annoyed, perhaps those feelings turned into hatred. even i would have, thinking back, to be honest.

she bursted. whatever mean things she could think of, she spat all of them at me. attention-seeker, dumb b*tch, leech. how i ruined her high school life, how she hated to come to school because of me, how she attracted such an ugly piece of shit.

i think that was what was needed. both her and i. she was done with me and i lost myself amidst the love. after that day, i stopped. stopped following her, stopped contacting her, stopped anything that had to do with her.

but i know best that it shouldn't have even started. the moment she rejected me, i should have just put these feelings aside and call it a day.

though, i thank her a lot. for letting me know how much of a fool i've been and how love wasn't worth it. and it still isn't. which is why i don't believe in love anymore.

it is pure bliss and cotton candy clouds until you take the wrong path down the lane.

this is something I look back at and just smile. a bittersweet smile yet relieved, that we both weren't suffering anymore and going on with our lives. i wonder how she's doing, and wishing her all the best sincerely. i would like to borrow this time to send her a message.

the same words she last said to me on that day.

"i'm sorry."

[woodsfae]

Babylon 5 s01e15: Grail First Previous

ToC

Never gonna be over how ridiculously soothing it is to see these dated graphics.

MINBARI AND DELENN HOORAY. Who is this human they venerate so highly?

Jinxo! What a great name. Deuce, suits this blackmailing dick.

Deuce has a Centauri Murder Accomplice? Or is the trauma literally being touched by their Tummy Sex Tentacles?

Wtf, Kosh ALSO has tummy tentacles that look exactly like Centauri Tummy Tentacles and helps lowlifes keep their thumb on their blackmailees? That’s a … choice.

🫠

lmao I love this beleaguered judge trying to rule on century-old alien abductions on earthlings.

Aldous Gajic is the personage Lennier and Delenn are so honored to meet. And he knows he’s a bit of a personage, too. Seeking the Holy Grail! There is so much mysticism in Babylon 5 and it always sideswipes me a bit when it crops up without notice. What else is real? The shroud of christ? Is the tree that Buddha gained enlightenment underneath in some alien’s arboretum? edit: I am now re-aware of the fact that the Bodhi tree Siddhartha sat beneath is still alive! The exact same tree, or at least one that's old enough and in the right spot to be the exact tree. Trees be ANCIENT!

“How sad. He is a holy man. A true seeker. Among my people, a true seeker is treated with the utmost reverence and respect. It doesn’t matter that his Grail may or may not exist. What matters is that he strives for the perfection of his soul and the salvation of his race. And that he has never wavered or lost faith.”

This reminds me very much of the Creepy Murderous Shak Tot speech from s01e02:

“Not all. Only the special ones. Leaders, thinkers, poets, dreamers, blessed lunatics. [...] We enshrine them, we worship them, talk to them, listen to them. We learn.”

No wonder the Shak Tot are drawn to the Minbari. They cultivate and celebrate dreamers, blessed lunatics, etc.

Interesting exchange between Delenn and Sinclair. Again. All their exchanges are so laden with double meaning and hidden meaning and intrigue that I suspect Delenn is on the show so relatively little compared to Londo/G’Kar to preserve the impact she always has.

Sinclair: “I wish [Aldous Gajic] luck. He’s probably the only true seeker we have.” Delenn: “Then perhaps you do not know yourself as well as you think.”

The fondness in their eyes when they look at each other is unbearable! If I didn’t suspect from seeing gifsets that Delenn ends up with someone not-yet-on-the-show (John Sheridan, I believe. Been waiting for him to appear) I’d be frothing at the mouth at their clear, deep affection for each other.

Nothing says I can’t froth over it regardless, but it does put a damper on parts of my foaming.

Ah, Mirriam Runningdear (a fantastic name) is only mindwiped, not dead. Kosh has mindwiping abilities. Yikes. And the Vorlon are freaked out about telepaths? What in the fuck.

Perhaps Talia could reprogram Mirriam with basic knowledge and human functions instead of going the long way ‘round by painstakingly teaching her absolutely everything starting with muscle control?!

Michael Garibaldi. Why do you have to keep being such a damn cop? Violently cleaning out the slums isn’t in any way conducive to solving poverty, crime, or ending the human drive to migrate in search of a better life.

Probably safer for Jinxo’s (Thomas Jordan) health and safety to leave, but he’s frantic to stay, for unknown reasons. He’s a highly skilled space station builder and worked on all 5 Babylons. What does he know? What safety function is he providing or think that he’s providing? (he has lovely green eyes)

Desmond Muzychenko. Much better name than Deuce, really.

Jinxo firmly believes that if leaves Babylon 5, it’ll be destroyed like all the other Babylons.

“I don’t have the curse, I am the curse.”

dun dun dunn!!! I typo’ed ‘fun’ four times trying to write ‘dun,’ and I think it deserves to be written if it tried so hard to be immortalized. Fun!

Babylon 1 was destroyed by sabotage right after he took a leave. Same for Babylon 2. B3 blew up after he took leave, hence the nickname Jinxo. B4, he didn’t take leave. Left once it was done, and he watched the station wrinkle “twisted like putty, then just disappeared. The minute I left.”

Aldous: “I’d say that you have the wrong nickname. They should have called you “Lucky.” […] To have escaped the worst each time - that’s a blessing. You’re a very lucky man. Perhaps each time you were exactly where you were meant to be.” Jinxo: “I never thought of it like that.” Aldous: “We never do.”

He seems to be a very kind man.

Na’ka’leen feeder is a critter the Centauri discovered during their colonization empire stage that can mindwipe people. Is Kosh (or a mystery Vorlon, I guess) running around with a highly illegal Crime Pet? What does this mean for Centauri Tummy Tentacles?

Londo seems seriously and genuinely disturbed about one perhaps being on Babylon 5.

The Minbari are so intense about helping a Seeker. Well, the religious half of them. When the warriors agree with the religious “it is a terrible thing, a terrible power, as recent events have shown us. Let us hope it never again happens in our lifetime.”

Well that’s unnerving. And now I expect it to happen again at least once a season.

Written words cannot express how freaky the non-Kosh voice coming out of this Vorlon-esque encounter suit is. I’m guessing it is a na’ka’leen and they’re highly predatory, and unfortunately sentient.

Where did Deuce get a Vorlon encounter suit??

Why WHY are there so many tentacles lately. Did tentacle porn spike in popularity in 1994? Don’t answer that.

Third pronunciation of Gajic so far. I have a lot of sympathy for this guy. I get about the same rate of novel pronunciations per introduction ratio for my name.

Vir is one-upping the Minbari is what he’s doing. Londo would care more if he was one-upping G’Kar, of course.

Panaceas and mystical methods of healing are a big theme in this season so far. Going to be interesting to see if/when they have a breakthrough that sticks.

Aldous is a fantastic staff fighter. And so earnest about cultivating Thomas “Jinxo” Jordan as a Seeker and blessed lunatic the Shak Tot would risk their lives to collect.

That didn’t really sound like Kosh. Feeder?

Tazer to the back > staff skillz

It really must be terrifying, thinking there’s a rogue Vorlon doing the bidding of the rising Boss Thug of the underworld.

Aldous is probably the most mystical thing to happen in the show so far. Ordering a bizarre, brain sucking Dalek-alike around successfully!

Aaaand it’s escaping. Bad news for sentients everywhere. idk if it’s going to eat Aldous, or die in his arms but I’d bet on one of the two.

hm, neither. But a Holy Mission being passed on to Thomas Jordan as Aldous dies is both fitting and spooky.

“[Aldous] found what he was looking for. What we’re all looking for: a reason. […] [a reason for] Everything, Commander. Everything.”

I do hope Garibaldi loses some sleep over the Curse, though.

[Thomas’ ship jumps away] Garibaldi: “No boom?” Sinclair: “No boom.” Ivanova: “No boom today, boom tomorrow. There’s always a boom tomorrow…what? Look, someone’s got to have some damn perspective around here! Boom. Sooner or later,”

Please can I have some Talia/Susan content. Just a touch. Even a glance! I'm dying, I'm starving!

Onwards!

[silkling]

Of Lessons and Losses

Of Moments of Life AU

———————————————————————————————————

Arguing drew Dreadwing’s attention away from the datapad he was reading–which contained an uncomfortable degree of Autobot propaganda and censoring about the start of the War–and to the doorway of the lounge area, where Blades and Dani were entering from the smaller room that contained the elevators.

“We’ve done that maneuver a hundred times, Blades! You shouldn’t still be messing it up! It’s easy !” Dani scolded the rotary, her tone frustrated and stiff.

“No it’s not !” Blades argued, the faintest note of hysteria underlying his voice that Dreadwing doubted human ears were able to pick up on. “I know you think it is, Dani, and that’s you’ve done it with Earth copters before, but you’re not the one doing the actual flying!”

“So what? You’re even better than an Earth copter, it should be a cakewalk for you!”

“I’m not a sparked flyer!” The mechling all but wailed. “There’s so much sensory data to take in when you’re that high up, especially above the ocean, and it’s hard to process it all and pull of complicated maneuvers at the same time!”

“Blades, I don’t know what that means, and I don’t know what it has to do with-“

Dreadwing moved in, cutting off the argument before it could devolve. “That’s enough.” he stated.

Dani snapped her head over to him, blinking rapidly. “Dreadwing! What do you mean?”

“It does no good to berate Blades for something he cannot help. He is right, regardless. Flyers have a much more advanced sensor-net. For one who was not sparked for the skies, the learning curve to understand such data would be immense.”

Dani just blinked, looking more confused. He sighed. “Go ask Boulder about a Cybertronian sensor suite, and ask him to explain the difference between the sensors of a grounder and those of a flyer. Once you understand, perhaps it will be easier for you to comprehend Blades’s difficulties in the air.” he paused. “Also, be sure to ask Boulder about grounders and sky-terror.” When he didn’t elaborate, the human sighed and nodded, trudging off and grumbling to herself.

The seeker turned to the young rotary, humming. Blades was looking at him, and shifted on his pedes. “…sky-terror?” He asked.

The larger bot nodded. “Yes. It is very common for ground frames to have an innate fear of the sky. It is in their very coding, and difficult to ignore. Grounders are meant to be on the ground, after all. They are not meant to be in the air, and thus it makes them more nervous when they cannot put wheels or pedes to the floor.”

“So…it’s not weird that I’m scared of flying?”

“Not at all. Your frame and processor remember that only a short time ago, you possessed wheels rather than rotors. Even with the fear coding no longer present in your systems, your processor still is not yet used to flight. Give it time. You are doing remarkably well, little one.” he soothed.

Blades looked up from where he was twisting his digits together, servos pressed tight to his canopy. “…really?”

“Really.” He assured. “You will overcome the instinctive fear in time. Until then, you must work on the technical aspects of flight. Improve upon your foundations, and when the time comes that you no longer fear the open skies you can begin more complicated maneuvers.”

Blades sighed. “That’s just it, Dreadwing. I don’t know the foundations. Dani does, but she doesn’t really explain. She learned them ages ago, and I think she expects me to already know them cause I’m well…I’m a flyer.” he said helplessly.

Ah. Now he understood the problem. The young rotary needed to learn the most basic principles of flight, but his partner was an experienced pilot and assumed the young bot already knew them when he in fact did not. She was not cruel in her actions then, but it seemed she simply did not understand the full scope of the young mech’s unique position.

“In that case,” he tilted his helm, gaze sharp. “Perhaps you would like some lessons? I am not a rotary , but I have known many. And even if I did not, many of the basic principles are the same. I can at the very least help in that regard.”

Blades looked up, grinning. “Really?” he said eagerly.

“Indeed. Let us go to the nearby island, then, so we will not be seen by locals.”

“Wayward Island?” Blades blinked, then shrugged. “Okay. Sure.” he agreed, though he looked nervous.

“Is…there a problem, youngling?”

“Well, no. It’s just. Weird stuff happens on that island.” He explained.

Dreadwing hummed. “Would you prefer to practice elsewhere?” He did not care where, as long as it was out of sight.

“No, Wayward Island is fine.” Blades said hurriedly. “It’s the best place, really.” There was a pause, and he looked down at his pedes. “Even if it is terrifying.” He mumbled under his breath.

Dreadwing nodded, deciding not to comment on the last statement. Blades would learn, and he would adjust. The Seeker would not let anything happen to him besides. He strode to the platform lift that would take them to the room. “Then let us be on our way.” he heard the soft scuff of smaller pedes following him, and when they were both on the lift he activated it to bring them up.

Blades transformed and took off first, and then Dreadwing followed suit, and soon they were on their way. They stayed low enough to not get caught in the bigger drafts of wind, and it wasn’t long before they arrived on the shore. As Blades went to land, Dreadwing swooped under him to cut him off.

“Stay in the air, youngling. These are flying lessons.” he reminded.

The young helo whined a complaint, but didn’t try to land again. “So…what’s lesson one?” he asked, seemingly nervous.

Dreadwing hummed. “Gaining altitude. I want you to fly as high as you can, straight up. Concentrate on how the air changes around your frame as you climb higher.” he instructed.

“What good does that do?” Blades squeaked, clearly nervous.

“Spatial awareness. You focus too much on your nerves and fear when you fly. If you wish to improve, you must start understanding how the air and wind moves around you when you are in the sky.” Dreadwing explained patiently. His voice softened marginally for his next words. “Worry not, young one. I will be right below you. If you fall, I am more than capable of catching you.”

Blades gulped audibly, and after a moment he nodded and started to climb higher.

“Talk to me.” Dreadwing instructed. “Tell me what you’re feeling, and what your sensors are telling you.” He said, following the youngling up.

Blades hummed, sounding nervous. “Um….pressure is decreasing as I get higher. Temperature too.” He came to a sudden stop as he broke the cloud layer, a nervous sound leaving him. “I…don’t think I should go higher.”

“Explain.” Dreadwing said patiently. He knew why, but he wanted the youngling to grasp the answer on his own.

“I have a bad feeling. It’s pretty cold up here, and I’m not sure my rotors can take it if I go too high. They’re already starting to feel numb at the tips.”

“Good.” Dreadwing said, prompting a noise of surprise from the youngling. “You’re in tune enough with your new frame and coding to understand its limits. You are correct. If a rotary such as yourself flies too high, you risk causing your rotors to freeze and you will drop from the sky.” he said bluntly. His words made Blades squeak and drop a few feet before he caught himself.

“You need not worry about that. You are a strong flyer for such a new one. You have good instincts.”

That seemed to surprise the youngling. “I….do? But I can’t ever seem to fly right.”

The Seeker hummed with amusement. “Allow me to rephrase. You have good instincts, when you use them. ” he said, a hint of a tease in his tone.

It was enough to make Blades laugh softly, as the youngling seemingly began to calm. “Thanks, I think.”

“You are welcome.” Dreadwing said dryly. “But keep talking. Tell me what you are feeling and sensing.”

“Oh.” Blades hummed. “Um…the air is chilly on my rotors here. And the pressure difference is weird, but not uncomfortable. I feel the wind moving the most over my tail…” he trailed off, making a soft noise.

“Youngling?” Dreadwing prompted.

“It changed. The wind, I mean. It’s flowing differently. What does that mean?”

“It could mean many things. Let us go below the clouds.” he said, moving down and hearing the copter follow. “Wind changes are common in the air. If you wish to master flight, you must always be aware of the changes. Sometimes, the changes occur for no reason. Other times, because it signifies an oncoming change in weather. Cast out with your sensors. What are they telling you?”

Blades hummed and then made a surprised noise. “Oh. There’s something on the edge of my sensors. It feels…like a charge of some sort?”

Oh?

Dreading cast out with his own sensors, picking up on what Blades was talking about. He huffed through his vents. “What do you think that is?” He asked.

The youngling hummed again, obviously in thought. “Well…it feels…like a strong static charge. It’s chilly, but like… wet chilly. So….a storm?” He guessed.

“You’d be correct.” Dreadwing stated. “And it is coming fast. Come. I saw a cave on the island. The storm is approaching quicker, being pushed by a headwind. We will not have time to return to Griffin Rock, and you are not ready for a flying lesson on storm flight.”

Blades squeaked with fear, and hurried to follow as the Seeker let the way to the cave he’d seen in the cliff face. They landed just as the first rain drops started to fall, and the youngling darted to the back of the cave at the first clap of thunder. Dreadwing followed more sedately, setting next to the Rescue Bot where he was tucked into the back corner of the cave.

They sat in silence, staring towards the entrance of the cave as the storm began to pick up. After a moment, Dreadwing heard Blades reset his vocalizer.

“…Dreadwing?”

“Hm?” He looked to the smaller mech out of the corner of his optic.

“Does it ever stop hurting?” he said softly.

“Pardon?” He suspected he knew what the mechling was talking about, but he didn’t want to assume.

His suspicion was proven correct when Blades pressed a servo to his chest, over the Rescue Bot emblem where his spark pulsed beneath the metal. “The bond.” he whispered. “Does…does it ever get better?”

And Primus, but the pained, aching hope in the youngling’s voice made Dreadwing’s own spark ache with something sharp and visceral. “…no.” He admitted, and made no protest when Blades released a wounded noise and abruptly threw himself self into the Seeker’s lap.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around him, extending his EM field to blanket the shaking frame and try to soothe the raw pain in the immature field meeting his own. His optics went dim and distant, remembering the agony and grief he’d experienced in the wake of Skyquake’s death. The pain that had very nearly dragged him after his brother to the Well. Some days, even now, he wished it had.

“The pain never fades, Blades. It will remain sharp and clear and agonizing, every day for the rest of your existence. It gets easier to manage in time, it’s weight easier to bear, but it never fades.” A wounded keen was released against his cockpit, and Dreadwing sighed heavily, tightening his grip around the youngling in his arms.

“But you must not give up hope.” he said gently, moving one of his servos to instead tip Blades’s face up to his. “Your brothers may yet still live. I know the bond aches, I know your spark reaches desperately for connections that are faded, for other sparks that it cannot find. I know it is painful, that sometimes it hurts enough to make getting out of the berth in the morning feel as daunting as facing a Predacon. I know how it feels like a burn in your spark, sharp enough to send you to your knees at its worst. I know there is a part of you, buried somewhere deep and dark, that wants to give in, that wishes the pain would overwhelm you so you can join the Well and be reunited with the sparks that sing the same song as your own.” There was an aching tone to his voice, his armor shaking faintly with grief and longing and pain.

His words made Blades sob, pulling back enough to free his face before he shoved back against his cockpit. Dreadwing could feel the cool, wet tears of coolant that spilled from Blades’s optics, an attempt by his frame to cool him in addition to heaving vents as the grief and stress made him run the risk of overheating. He didn’t tell him to stop, or try to get the young rotary to calm down. There were no words he could say, no assurances he could give that would soothe the pain and the fear. Instead, he raised a servo and gently cupped the back of his helm, one large thumb rubbing a twitching audial fin. His action had Blades freezing for a moment, and then the youngling was sobbing harder, his grip growing tighter as he pressed desperately in the warmth and comfort his newly acquired caretaker was giving.

It made Dreadwing’s spark ache anew, but he let Blades weep into his chest. Outside, the storm raged on, the winds howling and thunder crashing, but even that wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of the mechling’s grief. Lightning lit up the mouth of the cave in one brief flash, but then they were cast back into semi-darkness.

Dreadwing did not speak for several minutes, not until the sound of Blades’s sobs died down, though the shaking of his frame never ceased. When he was more sure he’d be heard, he spoke again. “I know you are scared.” he murmured. “But you have hope, little one.” At that, Blades’s helm tilted just enough to bare one dim, watery optic. “Your brothers are separated from you, but they may very well still live. I know the uncertainty is an entirely different form of frightening to you, but in that uncertainty there is also hope. You must not give up that hope, Blades. As bleak as it may seem, you may one day see them again. If you lose hope, then you lose everything.” he said somberly. “As long as you still have hope, your spark will burn strong for long enough to learn the fates of your brothers. I cannot promise that news will be good, but if Primus is watching over you, then you will see them again.”

“And is He?”

“Hm?”

He looked down, two ruby optics needing a dull emerald one.

“Is He watching over me? Over us?”

Dreadwing sighed. “Maybe.” he said softly. “His reach is far lessened, so far from His frame. His influence was already weak before the war, when all His children called Cybertron home. Now, with our planet in ruins and our people scattered to the stars, He has even less influence. But He loves us, for all I believe He may loathe our conflict. I do not think He ever stopped watching, even if He cannot influence our paths how He once could.” The Seeker rumbled.

Blades swallowed. “Do you….do you think He’ll guide my brothers to me? Or me to them?”

“I think He will try, little one. I think He will try his very hardest to see you reunited with those your spark longs for. Whether He succeeds, we can leave up only to time.”

“So…we can only hope.” Blades rasped softly, frame shaking as he continued to cry even now.

“We can only hope.” Dreadwing agreed somberly.

Blades released a massive, shuddering ex-vent of air. His optics dimmed further, and he turned his face back into Dreadwing’s chest. The Seeker sighed, his thumb still rubbing a twitching finial, and his over servo pressing the youngling further into his chest and rubbing his back between his rotor blades.

“Rest, little one. You’ve had a stressful day. You’re young yet, and this much excitement will exhaust you. I will stay here. When the storm breaks, I will wake you and we will return to the firehouse.” he rumbled.

He heard an assenting mumble from his chest, and soon enough the whirring of Blades’s systems quieted as he slipped into recharge. Dreadwing sighed heavily, and looked back out at the storm.

Thunder crashed, and the youngling in his hold shifted, but a gentle stroke down his back settled and stilled him once more. The sky had grown dim and overcast with the storm by now, and the lack of light meant that the rain stood stark against the black clouds that cast shadows and darkness on the earth below. In the distance, his sensitive audials picked up the sound of the ocean, the waves crashing into the shore of the island as the winds screamed above the surface of the roiling water.

His processor wandered, optics unseeing as he stared at the mouth of the cave let himself think about his brother for the first time since he’d learned of Skyquake’s true fate.

Dreadwing knew that Primus did indeed love all His creations, but the Seeker could not help but think that fate, perhaps, was cruel. Their Creator would not have allowed such a sacred bond to be severed so horribly, had He the power to influence the matter. He was sure of that. So he could only determine that He had not had the power to do anything about it. It made him wonder if He had to power to return Blades’s brothers to him, if the other younglings were indeed even still alive.

His gaze slid down to the recharging flier in his lap, his face wet with drying tears, and for the first time since before Vos fell Dreadwing found himself praying to a Creator he was not even sure could still hear him.

And for the first time since the bond in his spark snapped and shattered like the finest filigree, coolant slid down his own faceplates as he wept and allowed himself to grieve over a loss he had not yet had the chance the mourn.

———————————————————————————————————

So that was that! How’d you all like it? Let me know what you thought. This piece was pretty personal too, so it’d really mean a lot to hear your thoughts on it and the rest of the series.

But the good news! Next time it’s time for Blades to start on the path towards proper closure. What that means precisely, I will not say.

Anyway, I’m out for now!

Until next time, folks!

[mothbait]

How would you rate each episode of HB that’s currently out?

Sorry this took so long, I rewatched episodes to remember them better! Also I really like your username

This was originally done like an essay but that was long and boring to read and write, so you get highlights and low points for each episode and an overall score!

Pilot - 3/10

Favorite part: Oh Millie, it’s the only Helluva song I remember the lyrics for

Least favorite part: Using the R word. The jokes about them hurting kids is a close second

Murder Family - 5/10

Favorite part: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre-esq family was fun

Least favorite part: This one’s just a personal thing but the brief shot of sex in the “you’re a hero” thing. It’s far from the worst part of the episode but actually showing sex in shows and movies always squicks me out

Loo Loo Land - 6/10

Favorite part: Octavia! She’s probably my favorite character thus far and is for sure the one I can relate to the most.

Least favorite part: Stolas going on a father daughter day and then spending a majority of it being horny over Blitz

Spring Broken - 6/10 (take away my least favorite part and it’s a 7)

Favorite part: The incubus with the Slenderman symbol on his shirt (Ace I think), the design of the whole crew is good though. The trans guy in the concert crowd was also nice when they remembered to add the top scars lol

Least favorite part: The joke about Verosika and co. assaulting Moxxie 😐

CHERUB - 1/10

Favorite part: I gotta be honest with you I’ve been struggling with a favorite part on this one. I guess Mox and Mil in the cat suits??

Least favorite part: The jokes in this one felt a lot crueler than they usually do, normally at their worst I wince but I felt the need to skip over a couple sections

The Harvest Moon Festival- 5/10

Favorite part: Millie’s family. I’m a little iffy on the trans rep but honestly we’ve gotten so little for the girls in this show I’ll take what development I can get

Least favorite part: The way they frame Striker knocking out Moxxie. Another part I feel uncomfortable watching.

Truth Seekers - 6/10

Favorite part: The fight with Millie and Loona against the agents or Stolas showing up near the end

Least favorite part: IDK how to word this but, just the whole plot. The most frustrating part to me is the agents gave Blitz and Mox truth serum then didn’t ask questions. Did they know truth serum was gonna act like drugs? What was the point of it?

Ozzie’s - 8/10 (the character designs were fun enough that I’m overlooking most of my problems with it)

Favorite part: Background character designs. It’s my favorite part a lot of the time but those goat girls? I love their colors 100/10

Least favorite part: This is the first time (that stands out to me at least) where they tried to give Stolas and Blitz more depth and try to make you sympathize with them, they’ve both been assholes for almost the entire show and now we should feel bad for them??

The Circus- 3/10

Favorite part: Bird demon designs, the shadowy forms Paimon takes are cool as well

Least favorite part: They did Stella so so dirty. I know they did in the rest of the show too but they really could’ve written her so much better here. Also Stolas and Blitz’s relationship in this episode is gross

[qvid-pro-qvo]

tales from the war room

the monster of a dragon age: inquisition fic that i've been working on that almost no one asked for. special thanks to @hotchseyebrows for being a beta and an encouragement, and to FluffyNinjaLlama on YouTube for an excellent playlist i used as a resource.

a female!inquisitor x cullen rutherford fic. verdanna, the inquisitor, is a dalish mage.

word count: 24,397

rating: mature, for the slow build and burn of something greater than themselves (warnings that apply also apply to the game - canon-typical violence, implied sexual content, as well as a healthy mixture of angst and fluff).

link to the fic on AO3.

-

A familiar face enters the room with Cassandra, and it is here Cullen properly meets the Herald of Andraste.

It was quick, the first time he met her, but the impression was immediate. A commander is nothing without his soldiers, after all, and she did her part in saving the ones with him at the Temple that fateful day.

“You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra confirms, nodding to him. He meets her gaze before shifting to look at the elven woman in front of him.

“It was only for a moment on the battlefield. I’m pleased you survived,” he offers.

Josephine and Leliana introduce and reintroduce themselves, offering themselves as ambassador and spymaster. But the pleasantries are over quickly, as war looms on the horizon. Thus the war room becomes such, and the first meeting begins.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra tells the Herald.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana answers, too quickly for Cullen’s liking.

“And I still disagree,” he responds, turning to face her, brow furrowed. The Herald’s gaze follows them both. “The templars could serve just as well.”

“We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into the mark -” Cassandra offers, but Cullen just straightens his spine.

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so -”

“Pure speculation.”

The dismissal is clear, and Cullen finds himself defensive. “I was a templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

Josephine lifts a hand and turns to the Herald, her tone firm. “Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us, yet. The chantry has denounced the Inquisition. And you, specifically.”

“Didn’t take long at all for them to find an excuse to hate an elf,” she responds, voice dry.

“That’s not the entirety of it any longer,” Josephine clarifies. She holds her scroll with all of her newfound authority and hardwon knowledge. “Some are calling you - a Dalish mage - the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you. It limits our options. Approaching the templars or mages for help is currently out of the question.”

Cullen can’t help the way his mouth feels glued shut at the revelation. Disparaging the mages, as a former templar, in front of an elven mage - clearly a misstep. But when he looks at the woman before him, there appears no ill will. Simply observation, curiosity. A glint of humor in her eye.

“And how am I the Herald of Andraste?”

The question is a fair one. One Cassandra answers easily, stating the facts - a woman coming from a hole in the sky with a woman silhouetted behind her. But even as the Seeker explains, the logic in her mind clear, it is obvious that the Herald doesn’t quite see the connection. Her face pinches a little.

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading -”

“Which we have not.” Cassandra interrupts Leliana, eyes narrowed at her, but Left Hand simply lifts her chin.

“The point is everyone is talking about you.”

At this point Cullen feels inclined to step in. His focus on the Herald has revealed just what he suspected - the word the Inquisition has created seems to weigh on her mind, judging by the way her brow is now furrowed, her jaw clenched.

“It’s quite a title, isn’t it?” he offers. Tilts his head. “How do you feel about that?”

It’s an olive branch, he supposes. One for his misstep earlier, so hastily disregarding the Herald’s own kind. It seems to catch her by surprise as she looks at him.

“It’s… a little unsettling,” she admits.

He can’t help his chuckle, and smiles as she does, a little quirk of her lips. “I’m sure the Chantry would agree.”

But no matter how she feels, Leliana and Josephine make it clear. The hope she inspires is equal to the fear she instills.

“So if I wasn’t with the Inquisition?”

Cullen stops that train of thought with a head shake and the simple truth. “Let’s be honest: they would have censured us no matter what.”

The next steps are decided. Leliana tells of Mother Giselle, a Chantrywoman willing to speak with and hear out the cause of the Inquisition - even if the face is one of a declared heretic, elven mage or otherwise. Cullen offers his own advice, to expand the influence of the Inquisition where she can, while she is in the Hinterlands and wherever she travels. And Josephine is clear in telling her that the more agents they recruit, the more their reach spreads, hopefully for the betterment of Ferelden and beyond.

Thus concludes the first meeting of the Herald and her advisors, and the war room christened. Cullen moves to follow Leliana and Josephine as they leave with Cassandra, but what stops him is the stillness of the Herald, her eyes following him closely.

“Do you need something?” he asks.

“No, no,” she says, but her gaze dips. He sees the light shine on her tattoos, the gentle glow almost making the red markings fade into her skin. There’s something… fiery about them, and just as he thinks it, the supernatural shine seems to dim. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”

Curiosity hits him again. He takes a step toward her. “About?”

She still seems hesitant, just as she did before. But there is a beat less before she answers, a sign Cullen takes as positive. “No one… really asked me how I was doing. I suppose I was just shocked it was the Templar who would be the first.”

His brows lift in surprise, before understanding sinks in. The irony isn’t lost on him, as well as the reality. The title she was given overwhelms all else - even her feelings on the title in the first place. With a little hum, he shrugs.

“I simply know if I was straddled with the hope of Andraste and her followers, especially as someone not of the faith… well. I perhaps would be feeling the pressure of that title, too. The good thing is that the people you have met are here to help moving forward, including myself,” he tells her, offering what he hopes is reassurance.

Her pinched brow seems to release, and her features smooth. It suits her, the relief, release. “Thank you, Commander.” She turns from him, moves to leave the War Room.

“Of course, Herald.” And then something rather embarrassing hits him. Even he is not immune to the hyperbole surrounding the face of their cause. He coughs, swallowing, and when she looks back with a raised brow, he smiles again. His face feels warm. “I regret to say that’s the only title I know you by - so perhaps some of the pressure could be relieved if more knew your name.”

Both of her brows lift, but then she’s smiling, a big grin that makes him feel stunned to his spot. She turns to him, gives a small bow, and nods to him. “Verdanna, of the Clan Lavellan. And as I said before, it’s a pleasure, Commander.”

“Verdanna,” he repeats, with a smile he can’t help. He bows back, and hears her little chuckle. “Cullen Rutherford. And the pleasure is mine.”

She goes, then. Leaves with a grace in her step, an ease to her movement. Something otherworldly, something magical. It seems cliche, considering the rumors about her, but for a moment he fully believes them all. Blessed by Andraste seems right. Fair.

He’s glad to be serving the cause, and glad that she is the one leading it.

(With further pressure, he might admit, even if she wasn’t the Herald, she would be one he wouldn’t soon forget, that smile in his thoughts more than he’d care to say.)

-

The Herald returns with Cassandra beside her, her steps into the Chantry still hesitant, uncertain. Whether because of the religious banners on the wall or the weight of her title, it’s uncertain, but Josephine meets her regardless, urgent.

“It’s good you’ve returned,” she greets them, as Cullen and Leliana strut towards the travelers. “We… heard of your encounter.”

Cassandra is mystified, the Herald similarly so. “You heard?”

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course,” Leliana says simply, Cullen close behind.

Cullen’s voice is strong as he looks at them both. His gaze fixes on the Herald. “It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.” For a moment, he’s grateful that neither have any clear injuries or signs of weariness, but the urgency of the meeting doesn’t fade.

The Herald meets his eyes and nods, the standard greeting between the two of them. She starts to move past him, her shoulder brushing his arm. “At least we know how to approach the mages and templars now,” she says to them. Perhaps even to him, as they all fall in step.

“Do we?” Cassandra says, voice weary. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.” Cullen can’t help but think the same, the report from Val Royeaux troubling in more ways than one. Striking a Sister? Abandoning the city, the Chantry, all together?

“He has taken the Order somewhere,” Leliana says, pensive, “but to do what? My reports have been… very odd.”

A sudden rush of defensiveness floods Cullen. He finds himself addressing Leliana and the Herald, as if to stand up for his former brothers in front of them. In front of her. “We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.”

But it’s Josephine he doesn’t expect, and her suggestion comes in a calm dissent. “Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead.”

Cullen whirls on her, walking backwards for a moment before the steps, eyes narrowed. His years of training, the Templar influence, shades his words before he can soften them. “You think the mage rebellion is more united?” he asks, voice sharp. “It could be ten times worse!”

But the Herald, a mage herself, disagrees. She steps forward, the face of their mission, and looks to them all. “I could at least find out what the mages want.”

If anything Cassandra looks even more exhausted. “No doubt what they’ve always wanted. Support for their cause.” But Josephine’s voice echoes the Herald’s sentiment, and even with Cassandra’s warning, the Herald doesn’t hesitate.

“So it’ll be dangerous,” she states, “but I’ve been in danger since I’ve walked out of the Fade.”

A… very fair point. Cullen holds his tongue for a moment more because of it.

“If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave--” Cassandra starts.

Josephine is quick to rebut. “The same thing could be said about the Templars.”

Cullen’s eyes follow the discussion, before he lets out a little sigh. The ambassador had a point, whether or not he wanted to admit it. “That’s true enough. But right now, I’m not certain we have enough influence to even approach the Order safely.”

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places,” Cassandra relents, turns to the elven woman still shoulder to shoulder with her. “That’s something you can help with.”

The Herald seems to pause. It’s as if Cassandra’s suggestion has taken her by surprise, but she lifts her chin to appraise the room. “A Dalish mage, spreading the good word of the Inquisition,” she hums. “And we’re sure this won’t make us seem… desperate? Or worse?”

The tone is light, but there’s a valid concern there, and Cullen finds himself watching the Herald’s eyes. She doesn’t turn to face him, but he doesn’t miss the way her brow furrows, nor the shift in her feet. Nerves, from her, seem so foreign, already her legend larger than life.

“Not at all,” Leliana counters. “But you are the face of our cause. There is no one better placed to convince those around us of the value of the Inquisition. And the more people we get on our side, the quicker we can truly begin the fight to close the Breach.”

“But surely there are others?” she tries. The red of her tattoos shine in the torchlight, and Cullen sees every line of them, the focus on the forehead. “To help the people see the value.”

“That is what we are here for, as your advisors,” Cullen says. And when she looks up, his voice softens. He sees the concern. The fear. The hesitance. “But you, Herald… you can give this… organization a voice. A name. An understanding to the people, a cause. As the Herald of Andraste, your voice has merit and value. More than the rest of us.”

Cullen is shocked by how much he means what he says. It’s earnest, firm. But that doesn’t discount the way the reality of the situation settles over them all. An elven mage, called the Herald of Andraste by the people, and the Herald is the first to laugh. When Cullen looks over, her eyes meet his. If he blinked, he would’ve missed the little wink.

But he doesn’t blink at all, and so his cheeks pinken at the motion.

“Your Maker help us all, then, Commander.”

-

Cullen can’t help the way his jaw twitches. His days with the Templars, with the Circle, sits heavy in his head, and as he looks at Cassandra, he feels… betrayed. How can they all not see the risk?

“Never mind the problem of the mages,” he finally relents, holding his arm tight against him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes don’t look towards the Herald, but he sees the way she stiffens. “But the truth of the matter is we don’t have the manpower to take the castle, anyway. Either we find another way in, or we give up this nonsense and go get the Templars.”

He has tried his best, truly, to watch his tongue when talking about mages. He’s told her himself - there were plenty of mages he judged without cause, and plenty more who walk the world without incident. But he can’t help the way it slips out, the problem of the mages… even in front of her, a mage in her own right, and a brilliant one at that.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister,” Cassandra shoots back, and Cullen’s jaw tightens further. “That cannot be allowed to stand.”

Josephine pipes up. The letter from Alexius spread on the table before them all. “He asks for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s an obvious trap.”

The next sound is laughter. A little chuckle. Cullen lifts his gaze to the Herald who is very carefully avoiding his eyes now. “Isn’t that kind of him. And what does Alexius say about me?”

There is no humor in Leliana’s voice. “He is so complimentary that we are certain he wants to kill you.”

“Not this again,” Josephine sighs out, but Cullen can’t help reemphasizing his point.

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults.” When he turns back to the Herald, his face softens. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts.” His voice matches it, and when it does, he finally gets her to look up at him. “I won’t allow it.”

She looks back at him, steady. Eyes narrowed at him. He feels the weight of his stance on the mages, what he knows to be true, hit him with all the force of Cassandra’s shield. As well as something else. His determination to protect her from death, as well as the cause. But she doesn’t seem moved by his urging, simply lifts her chin as Leliana steps in. “And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

Josephine brushes it off with a wave of her quill. Leliana’s eyes narrow at her, but she does not back down. “Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught. An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden? It would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

“But the magister -” Cassandra tries.

Cullen stops her before she begins. His eyes are narrowed now. “Has outplayed us,” Cullen tells them all. It echoes in the empty space.

The final tally is three for, two against. But Cullen and Josephine’s words settle over the room like a shroud. Energy ripped away from the three of them. Bitterness and frustration in his and Josephine’s words. It’s the first time Cullen feels out of step with the Herald. The first time he feels… uncertain.

And then the Herald speaks. And she does it with fierce determination, a glint in her eye, her mage’s staff on her back. Cullen finds him just as aware of it as he is her. He’s always so aware of her.

“We can’t just give up. There has to be something we can do,” she insists.

“We cannot accept defeat now,” Cassandra agrees, looking around the room. “There must be a solution.”

The Herald pushes on. Cullen finds himself ready to interrupt before she fixes him with a glare. It is meant to silence him, and it succeeds. “Other than the main gate, there’s got to be another way into the castle. A sewer? A water course? Something.”

There’s a brief pause. From everyone in the room. Cullen can’t help the furrow to his brow - the Herald hasn’t ceased her glaring, and he feels the need to shift in his boots. “There’s nothing that I know of that would work,” he tells her, voice less antagonistic. Placating. She doesn’t seem swayed. His previous words leave a sour taste in his own mouth.

Then. Leliana speaks. “Wait.” The whole war room turns to face her, and Cullen can breathe again. “There is a secret passage into the castle. An escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send our agents through.”

“Too risky,” Cullen counters, sighing. “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction,” Leliana responds easily, addressing the Herald. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly.”

It all clicks for Cullen, then. “While they’re focused on Lavellan, we break the magister’s defenses. It could work, but… it’s a huge risk.”

“Fortunately. You’ll have help.”

A new voice is heard, a surprise to all. Smug, cocky…and distinctly Northern. It makes Cullen’s jaw clench as the doors open, a tall Tevinter stepping forward, mustache curled, hair coiffed.

The dislike settles instantaneously in the commander’s soul. But even the disdain pointed at him from Cullen and Cassandra doesn't stop his stride into the room, the agent with him informing them of his presence.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help,” the Tevinter tells them, and his eyes fall onto the Herald with ease. Cullen’s chin lifts. Does he know who he approaches? “So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

The presence of the Tevinter. Journeying into Redcliffe, surrounded by enemy mages, a man who has studied the craft for decades. The commander feels his whole body tense, glances around the room before turning to the Herald. “The plan puts you in the most danger,” he tells her. “We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.”

It isn’t even a moment later she responds. Voice firm. “Bold of you to assume you can order me at all, but I understand the point.” The Herald’s smirk is clear, and she looks toward the mage like she knows him. It’s almost… warm. “We’ll go to Redcliffe. Cassandra and Vivienne will join me and Dorian.”

Dorian. So she knows the man. It doesn’t ease Cullen’s suspicions - if anything it’s too convenient.

“That’s the plan?” Cullen asks, trying to help her see reason. He wants to turn to the other advisors for backup, assistance, but her eyes are already on the mage again before he can ask further.

“I, for one, can’t wait,” Pavus says. He looks to the Herald with an expectation. “What excursion could be more delightful than going to stop a Tevinter cult?”

And she, much to the commander’s surprise, laughs. It’s boisterous, and loud, and Pavus’s smirk is almost as quick as hers. “Well, then. Let’s get you some armor, Dorian.”

“What? I’ll have you know I’m wearing the finest the North has to offer.”

“How long has it been since the North has seen Southern lands? Come on. Let’s get you something that will actually hold up to a sword.”

Dorian’s laugh matches the Herald’s, and the two of them walk out together - there is more laughter down the hall as they talk.

“Tevinter cult?” Cassandra says, and her jaw twitches with her forlorn anticipation. “The Herald certainly knows how to pick her battles.”

“And her companions,” Leliana offers as well, though there is a hidden joy in her tone.

“His name is Dorian Pavus,” Cassandra fills them in, “and it seems that is… how he is all the time.”

“Our work with the Imperium is minimal,” Josephine says, “but I recognize the surname. Another Pavus is a part of the Magisterium in Tevinter. The house itself is quite powerful.”

Mage. Tevinter. Connected. A recipe for the disaster. Cullen feels his shoulders lift, almost to help his gaze follow the elf down the long stretch of hall to the rest of Haven. “Pavus,” he murmurs, voice bitter. “We must keep an eye on him.”

“If anything, the Inquisitor certainly will,” Leliana intrudes again. There is nothing to miss in her tone and this time it’s enough for Cullen to scowl. He turns his head downward to the map, to hide it, but he can’t help the feeling that Leliana’s keen eyes are on him anyway.

-

“It’s not a matter for debate,” Cullen tells the gathered council, eyes narrowed. “There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared.”

Josephine cuts in, tilting her chin up at him. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.”

It’s then the Herald approaches. Before he can stop himself, their eyes meeting prompts his anger. “What were you thinking? Turning the mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!”

The Herald’s voice stays steady, even as Cullen’s grows louder. “We need them to close the Breach. It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them.”

“I know we need them for the Breach, but they could do just as much damage as the demons themselves!” He can’t help his indignance, but his memories of the Circle seem to cloud his vision, his mind. He can barely think of anything else.

“Don’t you think I would know that?” Her voice seems to echo around him, clearing his thoughts. He doesn’t shake with it but feels buffeted by the sudden force, and is reminded suddenly and clearly how much of a mage the Herald truly is.

No one else seems to notice. Cassandra pushes on, her hand reaching to gently touch Cullen’s elbow as she turns to him. “I may not agree with the decision, but I support it. The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks,” the Tevinter Pavus interrupts, appearing in his sudden, loud manner. “And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Cullen can’t help how his eyes roll in response, in part because his anger still simmered beneath the surface. Fresh and hot and vibrant, even as he reels from the Herald’s voice in his head.

Cassandra turns, slowly to face the mage, voice bordering on that same frustration and anger as Cullen at the interruption. “Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

The quiet agreement from the Herald settles in all of them. “I got a taste of the consequences if we fail. Let’s make sure we don’t.”

Solemn. Haunted. That is the Herald Verdanna’s response. Cullen finds himself turning to her. Not even Cassandra’s confidence seems to sway her, and he sees the way that her eyes drop as Leliana takes over.

“We should look into the things you saw in this ‘dark future,’” the spymaster urges. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

Pavus sounds as unbothered as ever, even joking. But it seems to bring a smile to the Herald’s lips, something that Cullen feels a hit of something about. Something he doesn’t have time to process. Not fully, but Leliana’s words from last time settle in his head as the Tevinter speaks. “Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone.”

Already Cullen sees the way Pavus is wooing her, and it makes jaw ache with tightness. It comes out in his response. Eager to please, reaching out to her, desperate to pull her back to the side of the Inquisition, not the Imperium. “One battle at a time. It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the War Room. Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

But when she jokes, it’s not toward him. She smiles at Pavus, instead, and it feels quite like getting slapped. “And I hoped to sit out the assault on the Breach. Take a nap. Maybe go for a walk.”

“What is it they say? ‘No rest for the wicked’?” Cullen attempts again. He can’t help the way he tries, perhaps his smirk too wide with it.

Fortunately, it’s the right thing to say, judging by the way her lip curls up for a moment. Unfortunately, it’s fleeting, and once again Pavus interrupts, unwelcome. “I’ll skip the war council. But I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

No matter what his joke got, Dorian’s words get an even bigger smile from Verdanna. “Then you’re… staying.”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

She grins at that, warm. Heartfelt. Cullen wonders what happened in the future, what’s happening now. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.”

Pavus matches her enthusiasm. “Excellent choice. But let’s not get stranded again anytime soon.”

Their back and forth sets the commander’s teeth on edge, and Cullen has to interrupt at some point, to preserve himself. But it earns him a look from the Herald as he does. “I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

“I’ll assist,” Cassandra says.

“At least there’s progress,” Leliana offers, turning to the War Room, but when she looks at Verdanna, her eyes are not met. “Herald?”

There’s a pause. “Before we meet, I think I will take that walk. In a moment, Ambassador. Lady Leliana. Commander.”

“Meet us there when you’re ready,” Josephine says with understanding, and then the Herald is gone into the dusk.

The day ends and the next begins, and Cullen finds himself anxious. He supposes that he should expect days of preparation before an attempt at the Breach, but the way her eyes regarded him at their last meeting - his stomach churns with the implications.

Never mind the fact that when he did see her yesterday, it was with Pavus at her side. Joking together, if her laughter was to be believed. Avoiding Cullen’s own gaze as they walked from fire to fire, the Thedas natives avoiding the Dalish Mage and her Tevinter like the plague.

But this is the next day, and Cullen has not seen the Herald once. He finds himself walking throughout the makeshift stronghold to soothe his mind, but as he approaches the bridges with the remnants of that first battle, he finds himself looking at Verdanna.

Her eyes gaze out over the frozen lake, hair braided back to keep it from whipping in her face with the cold. Her clothes seem too thin for the weather, but he sees the fur lining just peek out over the top of her collar as he approaches.

The sun sets. Even more chill ready to settle in their bones. And yet he finds himself no longer moving, stopping at the sight of her profile.

“Commander,” she eventually calls out to him, when the tension between them grows too thick. “I suppose you found me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he tells her, taking a step back. “If it’s better for me to go--”

“No.” Her voice is a command, and he stops from turning toward Haven once more. “Stay. It’s all right. The view isn’t mine to hoard. I was just… thinking.”

He doesn’t take another step back, instead going back to neutral. Taking a step towards her seems too daring, but he does manage one toward the stone railing, leaning against it as he does, hand at his side. “There has been… a lot to think about.”

Her chuckle is dull. “Oh, Commander. You have no idea.”

There’s a new look in her eyes. As if already she has seen too much. It doesn’t take too many leaps in logic to realize what’s haunting her, especially as she fiddles with the amulet around her neck. Another pendant in her thoughts.

A few minutes pass. Silent between them. Eventually, his guilt from the day prior overwhelms him, and he stands up straight to bow his head to her. “Herald, I sincerely apologize if what I said at our last meeting offended you. Even though I left the Templars, I still - I still remember every moment of my time with them. If my disagreement upset you --”

“I appreciate you saying what you mean, Commander,” she tells him. “And I don’t mind opinions. But don’t you think that explaining the dangers of magic to a mage seems a bit… unnecessary?”

He finds himself lifting his chin. Defensive as he steps closer to where she stands against the rail. “No offense, Herald, but I believe you just came from a situation where a mage didn’t fully reckon with the dangers of his magic.”

“You know what I mean,” Verdanna snaps. Her tone is sharp, but not nearly as biting as he’s sure it could be. The exhaustion seems to undercut it. “The elves have had magic for a long time. We know how to handle it.”

“You know how to handle it,” he counters.

“I meant ‘we,’” she growls out. Pushing off of the stone wall she was leaning against. “My clan has managed it just fine for as long as I’ve been around.”

He sighs, moving to take another step towards her. “And your clan has been around for longer than you’ve been around, Lady Lavellan. But I don’t want to argue with you. Not when you’re obviously…” He pauses to find a gentle word, but finds himself spurred to speech by her glare. “Hurting. From your journey.”

Moments stretch again between them. A standoff. But instead of pushing past him, she simply sinks back against the gray stone, sighing and gazing out again over the frozen lake.

“It was… horrible, Cullen,” Verdanna finally whispers. Her head drops, and one hand lifts to cradle her face. Pushing at her brows, rubbing at her nose. “All of the people around me, withering away. Turning into red lyrium. Going mad. All because I abandoned them. I abandoned all of you.”

All of you. It echoes in his head. “Did you see me?” Cullen can’t help but ask it as he stares out over the rest of Haven with the Inquisitor. “In that future?”

“No… but it wasn’t hard to imagine what happened to the commander of the Inquisition’s forces.” Her voice is hollow, as she stares out over the tents and buildings below the Chantry. His gaze follows hers, but he doesn’t see what fascinates her about the horizon. A few heartbeats pass. “Why do you hate the mages so much?” she finally whispers, and Cullen’s gaze whips toward her.

The question catches him by surprise, though he considers that it shouldn’t. The way he’s acted - he finds himself only able to focus on the great doors to Haven. “I don’t hate the mages. I know it seems I do, but it’s not the mages themselves, but what magic can bring with it. I’ve seen too much destruction to turn a blind eye.”

She lets out a small hum. “So why am I different? You didn’t hesitate to lead the forces of the Inquisition. Behind a Dalish mage as your Herald.”

There are so many reasons, Cullen thinks, looking at her. The light of the sun meets the light of the Breach, the sickly green glow colliding with the warm orange light. It makes the markings on her forehead shine. Her eyes that disarming vibrant green. The Anchor. Andraste herself. The Rifts across the country, the inspiration she brings. So many reasons why Verdanna is different, and yet he finds himself fighting warmth in his face. “You’re in control,” he settles on, voice soft. “And I know what it looks like when someone… isn’t.”

Her laugh is hollow as she runs her hand along her staff. Her thin fingers send sparks along the grip, crackles of purple that makes the hairs on Cullen’s arm stand on end under his metal armor. “I suppose I understand that,” she hums. “But the future of a whole group of people can’t be dependent on how you’re feeling day-to-day, Commander. I need to know that you’ll treat these people with kindness… abominations or no.” But any and all frustration seems to wither in her throat, and she simply sighs. Rolls her jaw. “At any rate… these people are in our camp now, and I’m going to ensure they’re taken care of. I expect my advisors to want the same.”

“I would expect no less of you,” Cullen responds, turning to face her. And when her eyes meet his in mild surprise, he can’t help the way his face flushes. “Or the Inquisition. You’ve started this journey by showing a lot of kindness to all you meet. That won’t be lost on the mages, or the rest of our forces. You show a grace that many don’t possess, including myself, and that’s -- you’re…”

There’s a pause. A small pause, but heavy. Awkward, now, thanks to Cullen’s ever so quick tongue. He tries to rectify it, but the words come out stuttering. “I’m - ahem. Blast, I’m sorry, Your Worship. For what I said before and… the mess I’m making of things now.”

She can barely look at him as she stands straight once more, but speaks anyway, interrupting. “Don’t be… I appreciate the words. I just - I saw what happens if we fail, Cullen. Who I lose. And in that future, mage or apostate, Templar or bandit, it doesn’t matter. It all crumbles before this… ‘Elder One’.”

He follows her lead. Lifts up from the stone. But instead of pulling away, letting her walk towards the Chantry alone, he finds himself reaching for her hand. Catching it. The one the mark rests in.

“I - I meant what I said in there,” he tells her. Watches as those brilliant green eyes lift to meet his. But his grip doesn’t falter with her gaze, and he makes sure she’s listening. “None of this matters without your mark. Without you. There’s more than one reason you’re in the War Room with us, Verdanna. You are more than your mark.”

There it is. Her little smile. The curl of her lips, the scar on them that almost, if he goes a little mad with it, matches his own. He wonders how she got it. Wonders how many more she has, how many more she’ll get on this journey.

But for now, he gets her smile, which slowly grows to a grin. The squeeze of her fingers, the warmth of her hand and the mark.

“Thank you, Cullen.” Her hand drops from his (too soon, his traitorous mind shouts), but he savors the memory of warmth while he can. And before she turns to walk away, she chuckles. “More than one reason.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

“Well, you said there’s a reason I’m in the room where it all happens,” she offers, grin teasing now. “I figured it was just because of my pretty face, but with the Mark and my presence --”

Cullen’s eyes widen, and his mouth falls open. “I - I did say -- but I didn’t mean to imply --”

That earns him a laugh. Low and warm, the same warmth of the Anchor, of her hand in his. The same warmth that seems to settle low in his belly as he looks at her face holding such joy. “I was hoping you implied, Commander.” And with a wink, she turns away, and he feels the color of his face surge as he watches her stroll towards the chantry. “See you back in the War Room, yes?”

At first he is simply left behind. He watches as she waves her hand, and she is suddenly pushed across the bridge toward the edge, all that closer to Haven. Another blink, and she is gone. He, however, stands on the bridge toward the Breach, with his mouth a little agape.

The chantry. Oh, Maker. He’ll have to sprint to make it…

With another few curses under his breath, he begins the hike.

Back in the War Room, indeed.

-

He stands with the other advisors, all of their gazes turned towards one mark on the table. One mark. One focus. The Breach.

“It’s time,” Cassandra says, looking amongst them. Looking lastly at the Herald. She stands next to her, close, eyes narrowed as she leans forward to press her palms on the table. “Are you prepared?”

“Our army is strong. Sound,” Verdanna murmurs. She seems to squint at the Breach, and Cullen watches as she clenches and unclenches her hand. He wonders if it aches. “I just wonder -”

Leliana lifts her hand. “The scouts have already searched ahead. What they see is reassuring, and the Breach awaits your arrival. Closing it now is the right way to go.”

“The best of the mages are ready, Herald. The best of our soldiers are ready. But you must be sure you’re ready for the assault on the Breach,” Cullen says to her, tilting his head as she looks up at him. He clears his throat for a moment, gesturing toward the map once more. “We cannot know how you’ll be affected.”

At last, Verdanna nods. Something seems to be hidden in her eyes, something Cullen wants to squint at himself. But when she stands, her shoulders pull back, and she steps back to twirl her staff, once, then twice. “All right. I’ll get Dorian, and the Bull. We’ll go before the sun sets… arrive when it’s dark.”

Everyone nods. Cassandra gestures to the door, and Verdanna looks up at her. There’s a silent moment, and then the Herald shakes her head.

“In a moment, Cassandra. I’ll come gather you all when we’re about to leave.”

She nods. Cullen blinks, and the two of them are alone, the War Room deathly quiet.

He takes a step around the table. Starts to move toward the door himself while she looks at the map. He figures it’s another moment where she prefers to be alone, a moment where she should tackle it herself. There’s drills to run, things to prepare on his end. After a moment, though, he hears her clear her throat, turns and sees her looking at him with that same narrowed, pinched gaze.

And then he realizes.

She’s nervous.

He pauses, at the door. Still reaches for where he can push. “If you want, Verdanna, I can give you some time. The Inquisition can. We don’t need to go today. We can… wait.”

“Would you wait?” she asks, standing up straight, crossing her arms over her chest. When he pauses again, she smirks. “That’s a no.”

“I think the sooner we close the Breach, the better. However we can,” he tells her. “With whoever we can.”

That earns him a little smile. It makes his heart stop, with how bright it suddenly is. She laughs a little too, and he realizes a bit too late that it makes him stand straighter. “You mean me,” she responds.

“I certainly don’t mean anyone else.”

“I’ll tell Cassandra. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled about being discredited so easily,” she teases him, and he feels his cheeks go pink. It seems to always happen with her. She laughs, and he laughs, and for a moment her pinched brows relax. She looks at ease when she does that, and the freckles from her sunned features suddenly stand out on her tanned skin. But as soon as it disappears, it comes back, and he suddenly has the urge to lift a hand, push her brows back with his thumb -

“Cullen?” she says. He realizes Verdanna’s been asking him something, and he finds his cheeks once more flushing. Always around her. Why is it always around her? “Is everything all right?”

“I apologize, Herald,” he says back. Blinks a couple of times to look at her more clearly. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you think we’re ready.” He has a feeling the “we” is hypothetical, as it probably was the first time she asked him.

“I do,” he tells her, firmly. Moves closer to stand next to her. “I think you’re more than ready. I think now is the time, and with you there, we have as great a chance as we’ll ever have.”

“I said we,” she tells him, a little quirk of her lips.

He reaches to squeeze her anchor as it’s flat on the table. The briefest of touches. “I know. But I said you, Herald, and I mean it.”

She lifts up fully. Faces him. It feels the closest they’ve ever stood, especially with her discerning eyes. They seem to rake him over the coals, seem to burn him with how deep they look into his heart, and just like that, the feeling is gone. He wonders if he’s been bewitched, knows the answer to that question even as he asks it. Perhaps she is bewitching… but it’s just because she’s Verdanna. “I’ll have you behind me, won’t I, Commander?” she finally asks.

“Always,” he responds immediately. He doesn’t know why that of all things seems to ease her, but… then again, maybe he does.

“Then,” she murmurs, turning to the War Room door with ease, chin lifting as her hand brushes her braid back behind her ear, “what are we waiting for? To arms, Cullen.”

“To arms, Herald,” he whispers, and just like that, she is gone again, in the blink of an eye.

-

There is joy, there is laughter. There is dancing, and singing and everything that can be praised about Verdanna is. There is hyperbole, and teasing, and suddenly everyone seems to be smiling. Even Cassandra has something akin to a smirk on her face, one that Varric does not hesitate to point out.

At Haven, the delight only grows, as those who were there fill in those who were not. The tavern is full of those taking a drink or two or many, many more, and Cullen walks through them with a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt since this all started. But with every step, there’s one face he seeks, one he doesn’t find, not in the chaos of the hold.

He hopes she is celebrating. Thinks that she deserves it, along with the best rest she can get. If he finds her, he plans to convince her of that. But there’s a sadness in him, a selfish one. One that wonders if after this, Verdanna will need his counsel at all. Wonders if she’ll want it, or if those… feelings he’s been harboring for too long will simply need the universal remedy of time.

And then the horns blow. The bells ring. Any other thoughts vanish as he whips his head around to the sources. Some yelling from beyond the walls. A scout rushes to him.

“Ser, there’s an enemy force approachin’!” she yells over the noise. “It’s coming right for us! More than our numbers, and with monsters in their midst, and no banners to report!”

“No banners?” he asks her, eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“I triple asked, Commander.” Her voice is slightly panicked, and he swallows.

“All right. Report to Leliana, go!” With a turn towards those below, he gestures toward the trebuchets. “To arms!” he yells out to his men. “To arms, brethren, prepare yourselves!”

“Cullen?” he hears behind him, whips his head around. It’s Verdanna, and he knows the rest he hopes for her won’t come just yet.

“One watchguard reporting,” he says quickly, turning to her and then Cassandra. “It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asks, but Cullen just shakes his head.

“None.”

Suddenly the door is slammed upon. Cullen draws his sword, but the panicked voice behind it insists it won’t come in. He wants to reach out to stop Verdanna, but she moves forward to open it just as he steps out to stop her.

It’s a massacre outside, a dozen bodies dead in front of the gates. All with armor Cullen recognizes, as if he sees it through a fog. So familiar, and yet…

“I’m Cole, and I came to warn you,” a voice says. Cullen blinks, and before him and Verdanna a young man stands. His hat covers his eyes, and Cullen lifts his sword as he approaches the Herald. “To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

“What is this?” Verdanna asks, lifting her hand to stop Cullen. “What’s going on?”

“The templars come to kill you” is the only answer. A sudden rage fills the commander, indignation as he looks to Verdanna with bewilderment. The armor is seen more clearly now, a defiled Templar’s garb.

“Templars? Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?” he shouts, and the Herald shakes her head in shock.

“I don’t -”

The man called Cole simply shakes his head, and Cullen sees eyes paler than moonlight peek out at him. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One.” He whirls to Verdanna, who takes a step back. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.”

“His mages?” Her voice seems to shake with something like frustration, but Cole shakes his head again and points up and out.

“There.”

Suddenly fog at the top lifts. Cullen squints to the peak of a ridge, and sees a man he knows all too well. It makes his stomach churn for a moment, eyes that seem so hollow, and behind him, the fog collects to form… someone… something.

“I know that man,” Cullen tells them both, voice soft. “But this Elder One -”

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole warns.

The forces are clear now. Cullen sees what the scout saw, thousands of soldiers marching towards them in formation. No banners to be seen, simply red detailing that glows with an unholy light. One that makes his blood chill in his veins.

Verdanna’s voice brings his gaze back to the two in front of him. “Cullen! Give me a plan to help the people of Haven! Anything you have!”

He looks out toward the forces again, and feels his jaw click as he rolls it. “Haven - it’s no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster - him - then we must control the battle. Use the trebuchets, hit that force with everything you absolutely can.”

She nods. Her gaze sharpens, and he hears the sound of people running up behind him. Soldiers, mages, the team around Verdanna as she stands at the ready.

“Mages!” he calls out, no hesitation as he looks toward the forces below. “Protect the people! You have sanction to engage them! That man will not make it easy, but this is for your lives!”

There’s shouting. There’s yelling. Cullen wields his sword again, and points it forward. “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives, for all of us! To arms! Attack!”

But it’s not enough. Cullen watches the trebuchets rocket off their loads, watches an avalanche swarm the soldiers below. But from above, there’s a new fight, a damned dragon circling their heads and blowing its breath at their forces.

In the end, they slam the gates closed, and Cullen begins leading people away from the entryway. “We need everyone back to the Chantry. It’s the only building that will hold against that beast. At this point just make them work for it.”

“I’m going to clear the camp!” Verdanna calls to him, and when he whirls to face her, his eyes are wide.

“Herald -”

But there’s no fear in her eyes. Only resolution. “Keep leading the others, I’m going to clear the camp,” she states again, voice firm. Dorian nods behind her, along with the Bull and Cassandra. A sudden flash of light comes from her staff and surrounds the party she brings with her. “Go, Cullen! While there’s still time!”

“Be safe,” he says immediately, but her nod does not reassure him.

“Go, commander.”

There’s moments that pass him by next. Dragging a soldier through the doors with his screams of pain in his ear. The sound of swords hitting against his own. Whimpers from people in the depths of the stone walls, echoing around. It’s only when Cullen breaks out of it to the first floor, to see Verdanna once more through the doors, that time seems to slow.

“Herald!” he calls out, rushing towards her. He scans her body, sees no injuries, and manages a breath of relief for that small mercy. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that,” the strange boy says, eyes up at Cullen and Verdanna.

Cullen feels frustration overwhelm him once again. “I don’t care what it looks like,” he snaps. “It has cut a path for that damned army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

But once again the boy speaks, and the commander turns to him with a glare. His words are anything but quaint - these strike fear at the heart of him. “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

“If you know why he wants me, just say it!” Verdanna tells him, eyes narrowed. But the boy simply turns to Roderick, who gazes at them with pained eyes.

“I don’t. He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters. But he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t… like him.”

It’s bizarre, and disorienting. “You don’t like-?!” It makes Cullen’s hands clench in fury as he looks at him before turning back to the Herald. The truth is plain in only his face, and he feels his throat close up with it. “Verdanna… there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide -”

Verdanna just stares at him. He sees the dots connect in her head as well, watches as she takes a brief shuddering breath. “Cullen. We’re overrun. To hit this enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

“I know.” His hands reach for hers. Hold them tightly in his grip. “But we’re dying. We can decide, here and now, how we fall. Many don’t get that choice.”

She just stares at him. Not breaking eye contact. There’s something there, something that travels through the both of them as he grips her fingers. He opens his mouth, to say anything else, but she just shakes her head, and in that moment he knows she feels it, too.

“Commander -”

Then, the faintest sound from the boy cuts through their thoughts, as if it’s meant to. He turns to face the back of the Chantry, then to face the chancellor again. “Yes, that. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Their eyes turn to face the man. He stares up at both of them, eyes distant even as he looks at their faces. “There… is a path… You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made - made the summer pilgrimage. As I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me - Andraste must have shown me so I could... tell you.”

“What are you on about, Roderick?” she asks him. Their hands are still gripping each other by their fingers, clinging for the moment to what they can.

“It was whim that I walked the path… I did not mean to start - it was overgrown. Now with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… Herald...”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen whispers. Verdanna adjusts to face him again, eyes wide.

“If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident,” Roderick finally gasps out. His eyes open once more, now seeing, it seems, the woman before him. Cullen’s eyes widen, as Verdanna’s fingers squeeze in shock, one hand dropping from his, as Roderick stares with something beyond his hatred. “You could be more.”

“Cullen,” she murmurs. Turns to him, her commander. “What about it? Could it - will it work?”

“Possibly, if he - if he shows us the path.” But then a new thought takes hold, and he pulls her closer, voice softening. “What of your escape?”

In horror, he watches as she does not answer.

Her fingers drop from his. He takes a step towards her as she looks at the doors to the Chantry. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” he murmurs. But she does not face him again.

“Inquisition. Commander. Follow Chancellor Roderick through the chantry,” she calls to those behind her. And at Cullen’s reluctant nod, they answer, moving with haste.

“I could go with you,” he says faintly, but her head shakes.

“No. No, you couldn’t.”

He doesn’t hear what Roderick says to the Herald, barely sees him as he watches her movements. Dorian, the Bull, and Cassandra step forward once more, and Cullen realizes with horror what waits for them as well. What waits for all of them.

There’s not much he can do. He orders a few men, but they’re more than willing to go with her as well. It’s something, to watch their devotion, something that both stirs his heart and makes his stomach turn with the knowledge that they will not be returning to his command. Will not be returning at all.

And her… the Lady Lavellan, the woman of the Inquisition. She looks at him one last time, nods in thanks for the men.

“They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line,” he tells her.

“How will I know?” she asks, and he nods toward where the chancellor and the others are going.

“We’ll send a signal up. Towards the sky.”

But when he looks back, she is gone. The doors to the chantry are open, and she stands silhouetted in reddened moonlight. There is a rush of clouds above her head, and he watches her and Dorian lift their staffs to the sky, a storm brewing between the both of them.

“Let that thing hear you, Verdanna,” he insists, as she takes her step forward. When she looks back, he has to blink. Her eyes seem to shine. “If we are to have a chance, if you are, you have to let the Archdemon hear you.”

But it seems only he knows what he truly asks her. Because as she leaves his final request goes unspoken. Let me hear you. At least one last time.

The doors close with a final thud, one that shakes the place. Cullen turns to see his men, before pointing towards the path that Roderick has begun to carve out for them. “Go!” he shouts, and they sprint away.

He manages one last look toward the doors. A last ditch effort to see her turn back. But he knows even as he does that she would never do such a thing… and knows himself enough to know that he would never disobey her orders.

-

The wind howls. And with it, a voice. It’s so faint it seems to be beyond their reach, but the breeze carries it to eager ears.

“... Leliana…”

Cullen stops. There are footsteps that crunch in the snow, alongside his own, but he lifts a hand.

“... Pavus. Pavus, do you hear that?”

Others stop, too. The wind continues to roar.

“What, Commander?” Pavus asks Cullen. “What is it?”

Again. And again. Cullen lifts his hand higher. “Quiet! Everyone!”

“Josephine… Solas… p-please…”

“That. In the wind. Is that a… a voice, Cassandra?” he asks, but the faces around him simply stare.

“Commander,” Cassandra whispers. The chill sinks into their bones bit by bit.

“D-Duh-Dorian… the Iron B-Bull… B-Buh-Blackwall…”

“There! That! Do you hear it? Coming from the pass!” His eyes whip around wildly in the direction, and he swears if he squints, he sees the faintest glow from… from a familiar staff...

“C-Cullen… Cullen, please.” It’s so clear now, so clear that he’s sure it’s coming from above. And there, stumbling forward, singed and aching, clutching her arms to her chest -

“There, Cassandra! Look, it’s the Herald!”

“Thank Andraste… thank the Maker!” Cassandra stumbles forward for a second up, before looking towards the commander and turning back. “Go, Cullen -”

His feet carry him forward, and through the snow he stomps, strides as long as he can manage. There she is, there she is. “I’m going! Go back to the camp, get a healer! Maker preserve her, just a little while longer.”

It has to be the Maker. How else does he arrive at her side so fast? “Gods… Cullen… Cullen?” she asks, and he nods frantically before he can manage to speak.

“It’s me! It’s me, Herald, I’m here. Dorian, a potion, anything.” The mage lifts his hand, produces a flame, and the warmth seems to make her shiver harder as she squints at the sudden brightness.

“D-Dorian… Cullen? Can you hear me?” the Herald whispers. He hears her voice again, as clear as day, and one hand lifts to cup her face. A pinched brow, one he smooths aside with his thumb.

“I hear you, Verdanna,” he whispers back, and feels tears drip down his nose and into his furs as he gazes at her. In a sudden movement, he sweeps her ever closer, kisses her forehead at the center of her tattoos, and presses his nose to her skin. She is alive. She is alive and in his arms, and all he can do is thank the Maker above. “Thank the Maker, I’m here. I hear you.”

-

There’s no table to stand in front of, and so they gather in front of a haphazard tent, the wind from the hells whipping through camp. In fact, there is no War Room at all, their solace in Haven left buried beneath snow and rock and ice, the Inquisition as refugees among the northernmost wilderness.

Every night, Cullen’s dreams haunt him. But now, new scenes flash in his mind. Their foe, named and armed and ready, his army stretching across the lands. Row after row of corrupted soldiers, mind after mind turned toward Corypheus’s will.

The Herald’s eyes bright and vibrant - up until she is buried in snow.

He isn’t sure he’ll ever tell Verdanna what their escape looked like. How trudging through the cold was always lengthened a few hours more so he could bring a struggling few with him to search. He’ll certainly never say how finding her slumped in the cold was a prayer answered.

But now, there is no Herald either. She sleeps, as she should, to rest and recover, while the advisors begin the newest battle.

Arguments.

He can’t help the way his voice rings out, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra’s so-called advice making his frustration mount. “What would you have me tell them?” he says to them, hands lifted in question. “This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

Cassandra’s eyes flash in the fire, though Cullen suspects there is much more behind the look she throws his way. “We cannot simply ignore this,” she retorts, voice sharp. “We must find a way.”

“And who put you in charge?” he fires back. Certainly not the Herald, motionless in her tent. Recovering, as she needs. Because Cullen couldn’t - the Inquisition couldn’t - protect her. “Without a consensus we have nothing.”

Josephine’s pleading cuts through their voices, looking between the both of them. “Please, we must use reason. WIthout the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled!”

Like the ruin of Haven didn’t do that already. Cullen brushes her off. “That can’t come from nowhere!”

Leliana rises to Josephine’s defense, and Cullen can’t help his step back as Leliana pushes forward to meet his anger. “She didn’t say it could!”

But it’s Cassandra who silences them, voice tight. “Enough! This is getting us nowhere!”

Cullen’s scoff leaves his mouth without a second to lose. “Well. We’re agreed on that much.” He doesn’t wait to see the looks on their faces, simply ducks his head and curses to himself.

This is how it is without her, he can’t help but think. Four people, too stubborn in their own ways to see the way out. The commander pulls back from them, turns away, letting his furs shield him from the howl of the wind, the chill it brings him. Hours upon hours of fighting, bickering, biting... Nothing gets done. The world around them crumbles.

But her. When she stands with them… they see where they need to go. What needs to happen. Who needs to fall. Who shall stand with them against the powers of the breach.

When Verdanna speaks, the world listens.

Cullen listens.

He looks up at the unfamiliar sky. Pushes a hand through his hair. Is this what the Maker wants to reduce them to? Is this the future of the Inquisition? Infighting and arguing until they wear themselves out. His weariness is shared by Cassandra, huddled over her map, by Josephine and Leliana, leaning against each other in the cold.

And then… he hears it. Mother Giselle’s voice, low and clear and sweet.

Shadows fall, and hope has fled

Steel your heart, the dawn will come

If the camp could fall more still, it does. Eyes lift. Ears prick. Hearts open.

The night is long, and the path is dark

Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.

Leliana’s voice is next. A sweet, high lilt, vulnerable to the world all at once. More bodies stand to rise, and soon, a guard beside Cullen himself is singing with the two women.

The shepherd’s lost, and his home is far

Keep to the stars, the dawn will come.

Voices lift and raise. The song ascends to the heavens. Soon Cullen’s voice joins in, but he can barely hear his own sound over the unison, unity of them all.

The night is long, and the path is dark

Look to the sky, for one day soon

The dawn will come

Templars. Mages. Soldiers. Spies. Orlais. Ferelden. All for one thing. All for one woman. The final verse comes as one begins to kneel, and another, and another.

Bare your blade, and raise it high

Stand your ground, the dawn will come

The night is long, and the path is dark

Look to the sky, for one day soon

The dawn will come

The dawn will come

The shift is not subtle. The eerie silence over the camp shatters, the laughter of the people echoing around him. Cullen sees smiles on faces, hands clasped together in reunion and joy.

It’s the wind that carries the words to him. Mother Giselle to the Herald.

“An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause.”

He lifts his eyes, and he sees Verdanna, her name more in his thoughts than her title, stand in the flickering light of the flame. Sees the crowd gather round her, look at her, kneel before her. And then, her eyes meet his. The truth washes over him like a rising tide, and he is powerless to it.

He is her blade. She is his cause. And if the dawn does come, and if the world they live in is reborn… it will be her doing.

He lifts his arm to her. Crosses it over his chest, bows his head. And when he lifts his gaze once more, her eyes pierce him to his core.

“An army needs a cause. An Inquisition is no different,” he tells Cassandra, as the dawn does indeed rise. “Our cause is hers, is it not? She is our Inquisitor.”

“Because of her decisions. What she has done,” the Seeker agrees. Voice low. “She leads.”

Cullen nods. Thinks to himself once more. Sees her face clear as day, even as she turns away to face the crowd, to walk among them.

Finds his mind wandering as much as his heart. As to what it means… to be her commander. Realizing that he’s hers… in more ways than one.

She is our Inquisitor. She leads. And I follow.

-

Verda -

No.

The Inquisitor calls them to the new war room in Skyhold.

In a formal setting it’s required. A new rule for himself after the lines seemed to blur. But he can’t seem to help it, even in the place where their plans are made. It took so long to bring it together, and still piles of bricks impede their journey to this new war room, but no ceremony seems to insist upon her title. Not when she smiles so brightly at the use of her name.

He made the same mistake in a letter to his sister. Her name so easily on his lips that putting it to paper was nothing. And Mia, quick on the take, caught it instantly. Any reassurance of his survival brushed aside in favor of his slip, curious about why he would toss aside formality for this… woman.

But the fact of the matter is he can’t help it. It’s just so easy to resort to the ease and friendliness, the way he wants to say her name and kiss his off of her lips as a greeting. The kissing is the newest part of the revelation, one that makes his collar tight every time he thinks it. Ever since finding her body in the mountains, watching her collapse into the snow, something has shifted between the two of them, and he can’t help the way he stands at full attention when the door to the war room opens.

“Inquisitor.” Cullen can’t help the way his voice sounds so upbeat, her presence immediately lifting his spirits. He does his best to pretend like it’s simply the inspiration of her valor, her courage, her spirit! “We were…”

Josephine’s retort is immediate. “Eagerly awaiting your presence. Some of us, more than others.”

His face can’t help the way it flushes a deep red. “I wasn’t - I mean, I was…” His sigh is, and he can’t help the way his eyes fall upon her. Glancing up from the statuettes on the table. “We have work to do.”

It’s almost a plea, and surely they all hear it. He can tell that the twitch of Leliana’s lips is a meager attempt to hide her delight at Josephine’s words.

“We sure do,” Verdanna teases, and he can’t help but avoid her gaze as she grins. “To work.”

The weight of the war table settles over them shortly after - unfortunately much lightheartedness gets pushed aside with the knowledge of red lyrium sources looming over them. But he can’t help the way that he lingers over the table, bends over to spread the map out flat at the corners as he hears Josephine and Leliana’s laughter echo down the hallway, as his focus shifts to the way that Verdanna stands with her arms across her chest.

“You’re quite cute when you blush, Commander,” she tells him, a little smile and tilt of her head. He ducks his head with the words.

“I try not to make a habit of it,” he returns, lifting one hand to rub it over the back of his neck. Her chuckle makes his chest warm. “Doesn’t exactly inspire courage and confidence.”

“A shame.” He sees her legs through the multitude of figurines, watches as she walks along the edge of the table until she stands beside him. Leans on the dark wood, her arm brushing his. “Were you? Eagerly awaiting my arrival, that is.”

“Of course,” he answers, and the ease of it surprises him. He looks up at her, green of her gaze hitting him alongside the sudden clarity. And her little laugh after he says it, bright and joyful, immediately puts a smile on his face. “I always… enjoy our time together. Fleeting though it may be.”

He can’t help but wonder if it’s a blush on her cheeks, that travels up to the tips of her ears. But no matter what it is, she radiates warmth and it’s because of him.

“I do, too, Commander,” Verdanna replies, and for a moment he settles into the touch at his side, smiles and bites his lower lip before glancing toward the door once more.

She seems nervous. It’s strange, because ever since Haven’s demise her steps have been so assured. And yet she fidgets before him, fingers fiddling with her belt.

“Verdanna,” he says, but she’s quick to interrupt.

“I never thanked you, Commander,” she says in a rush, and he blinks at the sudden ferocity. “I mean - I realized that, this morning, as I assessed what we managed to save from Haven.”

He blinks again, taken aback. “For what, my lady?”

Once again her inability to meet his eyes startles him. There’s no more stammering, but she still seems nervous. “For saving me. At the pass. At Haven. You… heard me. Somehow, at least, that’s what Dorian said.”

That makes his cheeks blush. Pavus was there, when they found the Inquisitor in the snow. He realizes then, that the magister saw the whole display, and his cheeks are matching hers in their… pinkness. “Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.”

“It was -” he starts, but there’s so much to say and he doesn’t know how to say it. How to even speak, in that moment. It was nothing, but at the same time… wasn’t it everything? After a moment to clear his throat, he starts again. “I told you that I’d be there for you,” he eventually gets out. “Behind you, always. That didn’t stop after the Breach closed. And it… it won’t ever stop, if I have anything to say about it.”

She looks up at him, then, green eyes so wide they remind him of the dinner plates that Josephine lays out for the visiting dignitaries. She seems shocked by what he says, but he means every word. More than perhaps any other vow he’s spoken. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t thank you. You all saved my life, Cullen. You did.”

He remembers how tightly they clung to each other before she went to face the person they now know as Corypheus, remembers how their fingers intertwined as the world around them seemed to shatter. Now, with the world holding together, at least for a moment he craves that touch once more.

So he takes the leap. Reaches forward, to grab her fingers, and as he does she immediately responds. Grips his hand, squeezes it tight, and he feels what he felt before. An understanding. A knowledge.

Dammit, he feels her.

“I’d do it all again,” he murmurs. “In a heartbeat. And if I were in your place -”

“I’d do the same,” she whispers, and his eyes widen like hers did before.

Suddenly she smiles. Drops his hand, but keeps the touch lingering. “Don’t look so surprised, Cullen,” she says. “Do you really doubt my willingness?”

“Not at all,” he insists, horrified. But then she starts laughing, and he realizes that her tone is teasing. He blushes, lifts a hand to scratch at his neck, and ducks his gaze. “We must - I-I mean, I must be going. There are… things to attend to.”

“Of course,” she says. “But… we’ll see each other again.”

“Whenever you would like.”

She chuckles again, low and warm. It makes the hairs on his arms raise at the rush it gives him. “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you later today, Commander. If you’ll let me.”

And in that moment, there’s not a single reason on his mind for him to ever say no to something like that.

“My time is yours, Lady Inquisitor. And whenever you need me… I’m yours, too.”

-

Skyhold offers more than just a new place to lay Cullen’s head. It offers a new beginning.

Seeing Verdanna later means more than just another passing chess game. Means more than glances across the courtyard, or banter in the war room. It means her coming to his quarters with a purpose, and finally a damned kiss on the battlements. It means stolen moments once the doors close, finally kissing those smirks off of her face, lingering doubt being pushed aside in favor of lingering touches.

But even as the Inquisition grows with every passing day, the truth of the matter is that Skyhold, and its relative safety, still has a threat that looms. Cullen sees the way that Redcliffe haunts her, moments of peace interrupted by a sudden grip on a bannister, a fierce conversation around the roundtable. She reminds them all what looms, the overwhelming threat of an empire crumbling to pieces, and soon (too soon, too damned soon), they’re once again in the war room.

“We’re all in agreement, Inquisitor. We have to reach the empress before Corypheus. The only question is: how?” Cullen tells Verdanna as she struts in, hand gripping her staff.

Josephine glances toward Cullen. “We know how. I have our way in. The real question is: where is our enemy hiding?” The commander doesn’t miss the fond look that Leliana gives the ambassador, pride clear on her features. He also doesn’t miss the confidence that seems to fill Josephine. This is her element. “At the urging of Grand Duchess Florianne, the Empress is holding a ball. Absolutely everyone will be there. During the festivities, Celene will be meeting for peace talks with the usurper Duke Gaspard and the Ambassador Briala.”

“The assassin must be hiding within one of these factions,” Leliana tells them all, and the wheels start turning.

They discuss all the players. Gaspard. Briala. Celene herself. Ideas and conspiracies whirling around them, the reality settling on top of them all like a cloud.

“What better place for an assassin to hide than the empress’s own household?” Leliana finally sighs out, her brow pinched.

Too many people to name float into the picture. The elves with Briala, the soldiers with Gaspard, and the throne all for Celene. Cullen watches as Verdanna lets out a sigh of exasperation, unable to help leaning forward as she rubs at her own forehead.

“Do we need to go to the peace talks? The empress must have a personal guard. We could just warn her that she’s in danger.”

“We’ve made the attempt, but…” Josephine’s eyes dart to Leliana, who scowls.

“It seems that our messages never reached her. Someone intercepted them,” the spymaster admits, and Verdanna gives a short nod. The disappointment isn’t lost - usually Leliana can do the next to impossible.

Cullen speaks up, to remind, reassure. He leans forward on the table again, meeting Verdanna’s eyes with his own. “It is better that we don’t leave this to chance. If Orlais falls to Corypheus, nowhere is safe.”

There’s a beat, and then a small sigh. “We shouldn’t waste any time, then,” Verdanna mutters. “Let’s go to the Winter Palace.”

And with that it’s decided. But Cullen watches the choice do little to ease the Inquisitor’s worry. Josephine and Leliana help her figure out some of the logistics, who to bring, who to leave home (“my lady, if you must insist on Sera, we can figure out… other arrangements for her”), and some early lessons on what to expect at the grand Winter Palace. Figurines are moved around, messages written out for the allies who will be in attendance. There's a plan to follow, though, and then the whirlwind of activity leaves behind an exhausted Inquisitor and fresh worry lines on Cullen’s features.

“You don’t seem reassured by their crash course,” he tells her, as Josephine and Leliana leave the space that he is quick to fill beside her. “Not eager to mingle with the nobility?”

“I don’t think the nobility is particularly eager to mingle with me,” Verdanna counters, sighing as she pushes away from the table and moves to the back of the room. Her eyes gaze out the tall windows. “But, to answer the question, not in the slightest.”

Their privacy allows him to take the opportunity to comfort. Wrapping an arm around her waist already feels like second nature, and he leans in to kiss her cheek, chaste. “Well, we’re on the same page on that point. I don’t think I have a jacket that fits well enough for an Orlesian party.”

Her hum seems to echo in the empty room, and her lips twitch upward. But it falters, and Cullen can’t help his little frown as she turns from him. “You’re telling me. I don’t think anything I wear would gain me any sort of approval given the natural accessories.”

At first, Cullen considers her tattoos. The deep red coloring is warm against the cool brightness of her eyes. He finds himself reaching for them without thinking, tracing her forehead. But when she shakes her head, the self-flagellation clicks, and his fingers drop.

“Your ears,” he murmurs. Heart shattering at her worn look towards him.

“Among other things. Josephine was very clear,” Verdanna tells him. “I’m already starting off on the wrong foot because of my heritage. Being Dalish, an elf, and a mage simply ensures that I’m going to be clawing my way upward in their eyes.” Her laugh is hollow. “Even as the Inquisitor I’m going to get called knife-ear. Potentially to my face.”

A sudden surge of anger fills Cullen at that prospect. Feels himself scowling at the thought. “Oh, no. They’ll simply whisper it. And wish they hadn’t,” he mutters. Her laughter dissipates it quickly, however, especially as her hand lifts to settle on his arm.

“Down, boy. No need to defend anyone’s honor and spark a whole new war. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, but I wish you didn’t have to be.” He turns to face her completely, suddenly hit with the danger. “There will be assassins. Enemies on all sides, posing as friends. And there’s nothing we can do but run towards the danger and hope.”

Her gaze softens a bit. “I know it feels counterintuitive. But we’re doing the right thing. And you will be there, Commander, along with other friends.” After a moment of letting him mull over that good news, she seems to not be able to help a smile.

“What is it?” Cullen asks, voice pitched low. A bit of concern still seeps through, unable to be helped, but that quickly fades at her fingers gently tug on his furs.

“Well, there is a plus side to all of this,” she finally says, turning back to the window and leaning against his shoulder, watching the sun crawl between clouds.

“And what is that?”

“I do think that I’ll enjoy seeing what formal wear Josephine can scrounge up for you. Perhaps something with… strong shoulders.”

Cullen’s eyes narrow, but there’s something playful in his tone. Playful. In the war room. Who is he becoming? “Oh, don’t think for a moment you’re getting out of anything. Our dear ambassador wants us to match.”

Her laugh echoes, and he feels her fingers scratch at the back of his neck. It makes him shiver. “Just us two? Isn’t that a little on the nose?”

“And fuel for egregious gossip,” Cullen confirms, but his voice goes a little… strained. “Not to worry, though. The whole landing party will be fitted in the finest Antivan tailoring. A proper uniform.”

There’s a sudden moment, when he’s very aware of how close she really is. How her breath is now hot on his ear, and her lips barely brush the edge of his cheek. “Well, I’ll be delighted to see you in a proper uniform, Commander.”

And just like that, she turns away from him. He whips to face her, but her fingers are waving in a cheerful goodbye, a look over her shoulder simply dastardly.

“See you in Halamshiral!” she sings, and then with a flourish of her hand, the door opens and closes behind her.

When he can breathe again, his next stop is his quarters.

-

The teasing does not unfortunately come out of nowhere. Cullen has seen the just short of gleeful looks Leliana has shot him as he passes her in the stronghold, the whispers of his impression on Halamshiral from visiting nobles with Josephine. It makes his jaw clench every time it’s mentioned, especially when he found so many creative ways to refuse the guests at the Winter Palace, out of worry for Verdanna and utter disdain for their company.

So when Josephine mentions it in passing during a Council meeting, their heads bent over a map as they decide how to allocate the resources of the Inquisition, Cullen automatically scowls.

“I have requests for information on your lineage from a few interested parties at the Winter Palace.” He can hear the shuffle of papers, and it seems to hit a particularly sharp point in his head. A headache brews.

“Andraste preserve me,” he scoffs, shaking his head. He doesn’t bother looking up from moving his pieces to a spot in the center of Orlais. “Feel free to use those requests as kindling.”

Leliana’s response is swift. “No! I shall take them. I want to know who pines for our commander. We can use this to our advantage.”

That gets his full attention, feels even more disdain settle in his soul. He stands up fully, looking up to see Leliana’s grin. She reaches for Josephine’s hand while moving to her side, leaning over her shoulder to read the list of names.“I am not bait!” he says to her. .

“Oh, hush.” Leliana’s hand waves him off, immediately reaching for the… not inconsequential stack of requests in Josephine’s hand. “Just look pretty, Commander. Now, where can we send a few regiments to sway our hand?”

The ambassador doesn’t hesitate. “The Marquis of Mont de Glace both took a liking to him -- perhaps another trip to the surrounding settlements to pique interest?”

“And three nobility from Ghislain alone.”

“I did hear tale the Templar connection of our commander struck up some noise at Arlesans,” Josephine adds, and her pitch has soared upward, excitement clear as she holds her pen to her chest, pushes up on her toes.

“Hold on just a moment --” Cullen starts, but the two of them are on a roll.

“And here, the protecteur of Val Royeaux showed interest in… trading strategy?” Josephine reads out, voice pitching upward as she finishes the line. Dawning slowly appears, however, and Cullen finds himself blushing deeply. “Oh. Well. Perhaps that one can indeed go in the kindling.

“I really don’t think --”

“Perhaps the strategy is not just answering one, but answering them all,” Leliana teases. It makes Josephine giggle. Their laughter echoes in the big empty room. High and bright. Cullen’s fingers lift to pinch the bridge of his nose. “A tournament for the honor of the commander, to see who in the end wins his hand --”

“I think we’re done here.”

The dismissal is sudden, and Cullen realizes then how silent Verdanna has been. Her eyes on the table as his have been, never moving, fingers gripping the edge of the map with a strength that he’s afraid will tear the paper. But there’s something more in her voice. The deadpan tone a mask over another emotion.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine says immediately, but she wipes at tears that have started falling from the corners of her eyes. “My apologies. We will continue.”

“No apologies needed, Josephine,” Verdanna answers, eyes narrowed as she stands up straight. “It’s simply clear we’re finished. Everyone’s distracted, and a break… seems necessary.”

Leliana straightens, too, eyes narrowed at her. There’s a dangerous glint in her eyes. A hidden delight. “Are you sure, my lady?” Her voice is carefully neutral, but her gaze flickers to Josephine, who straightens her spine. Peers down at Verdanna’s hands.

“Positive.” Verdanna suddenly stands, and that’s when Cullen sees the tightness in her smile, close-lipped. “Let’s take a break. Reconvene.”

And then it clicks for them all - Leliana, then Josephine, then finally Cullen. The realization moves like a ripple amongst the advisors, who all turn to look for understanding in the others’ gazes, Josephine and Leliana with matching smirks that make Cullen cross his arms over his chest and duck his head to hide his own little smile.

“I simply think it’ll do us all good,” Verdanna says to counter no one but the stretch of silence.

“Well. If that’s the only reason,” Leliana laughs.

It happens then, clear as day. The sun through the glass windows illuminates it beautifully. The Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor herself, Cullen’s beloved Verdanna Lavellan... blushes. It’s an incredible sight, one that Cullen savors seeing, one that makes him smile despite his previous embarrassment.

“It is,” she replies. The slightest waver to her tone, a betrayal from her own voice. “It’s always good to take breaks.”

Josephine titters behind her quill. “Of course, Your Worship. We’ll reconvene, then, in an hour. Perhaps the commander needs a break as well. To read through the proposals.”

“Or some privacy with the Inquisitor. To find the perfect match, of course, Josie.”

“Oh, of course.”

There’s a growing delight in Cullen, one from the way that Verdanna’s eyes widen, blush grows brighter, and sudden stammer she develops. “I - I don’t need privacy! We don’t - I don’t know what you’re implying, Josephine -”

“Of course you do, Inquisitor,” Leliana teases, nodding as she links arms with Josephine and begins to walk towards the door. “After all, I’m sure you’ll be able to help him figure out what royal he’ll be best suited for. Or perhaps not a royal at all.”

“Perhaps the both of you could go to Orlais,” Josephine calls out as the War Room door opens. “Announce a potential engagement.”

“One that would surely shock the world,” Leliana says as they depart. “And leave a lot of disappointed fans of the commander. Think about it, Inquisitor.”

The door then shuts behind them both with a solid thud. Verdanna’s eyes don’t leave where Josephine and Leliana left from, and Cullen finds himself covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He still gets a glare, however, when Verdanna turns and sees his raised brows.

“Cullen…”

“Are you, then?” he asks, before he can stop himself. “Jealous?”

“I don’t - I just don’t want the commander of the Inquisition to be used as folly for the games of my spymaster and my ambassador.” It’s a shoddy cover up, especially considering that her eyes can barely look Cullen in the face.

“You are.” His voice is a little awed, a little honored, and he takes a step around the table towards her, smiling.

“I am not!” Her voice is sharp, but she doesn’t step back as Cullen steps toward her. “Not at all.”

“Not even a little bit?” he asks, hand reaching for hers, holding it gently to pull her close. There’s a play of a smile across her lips as he does, and he can’t help the way it makes him grin. “The tiniest fraction, perhaps?”

When she looks up at him, that smile is warm, especially as he pulls her against him. “Never,” she confirms. “After all, none of those suitors got the honor of dancing with Commander Rutherford at the Winter Palace.”

“That is true,” he confirms, laughing, “but there seems to be a little something more there.”

“If there is, you’ll never find out.”

Perhaps there’s an ulterior motive in what Cullen prepares to propose. But he can’t help his curiosity, nor the way that her potential jealousy makes his mind… work. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offers, pushing her braid back behind her ear. “Tell you what. If I admit something to you, you admit something to me.”

It gets her attention, that’s for sure. Her brow raises at him as she looks up, weighing her options. “Something?”

“Something about… our feelings. And jealousy.”

He sees his own desire mirrored, then. Her eyes scan him from head to toe, fingers squeezing his hand for a moment before she smiles. “All right, Commander. I’ll bite. When have you been jealous?”

There’s the briefest hesitation, and he can’t help the way he has to clear his throat, drop his gaze to the war table for a moment to gather his courage. “There might have been a moment,” he finally states, “when he settled in Haven, that I was jealous of… you and the mage Dorian Pavus.”

“Dorian?” Her voice is delighted, and he feels a small drop of horror dawn as he realizes that she will not be the only one to know this particular secret.

“I know I’ll never live it down,” he says, sighing. “But, yes. Pavus, when he first arrived, held a lot of your time, and I was - I was jealous of the attention he got. The trust. Not something I’m proud of to be sure, but. It happened.”

Her laughter soon echoes around the room. It’s big and bold and hiccups a time or two, especially as she leans forward in her jest to press her forehead to his neck. “That is incredible. Jealous of Dorian.”

Cullen can’t help his indignance, straightening up. “I will simply say he was very good at being on your side, and the two of you were very fond of each other very quickly. He was also a mage. Traveling in time with you! And unfortunately, he is not… unattractive, so those were the dots I connected.”

It’s a moment before her laughter dissolves into giggles, and soon she is letting out a long sigh of delight. “I’m not saying your reasoning is flawed, Cullen. You don’t need to defend yourself. It’s just… it’s very cute. You’re very, very cute.”

It’s his turn to blush, though he looks down at Verdanna with a raised brow. “So were there grounds?”

Her giggle starts up again, briefly. “Hah, no, Commander. Nothing happened between me and Dorian Pavus. There’s nothing to be jealous about, Commander. Dorian is a confidante and a friend, and that’s all he is.” Verdanna’s hand reaches up to fiddle with the fur lining of Cullen’s armor before cupping his cheek, thumb stroking along his stubble in a brilliant, warm touch. “All he ever was.”

“A confidante, for sure, as I have a feeling I will be hearing this over our next game of chess.” His dry tone makes Verdanna laugh again, a sound he will always cherish. There’s a kiss shared, chaste and gentle. But when Cullen pulls back, there’s something playful he can’t help but show in his smile. “Well? Now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Admit it. You were a bit jealous at the thought of those nobility clamoring for my attention.”

“I -” Verdanna starts, but at the look she gets from the commander her eyes roll fondly. “Alright, alright. Fine. At the mention of people… desperate for your hand in marriage, I might’ve gotten… a little bit jealous.”

“Only a little bit?” he asks, and her laugh is warm as she pinches his cheek.

“Don’t push it, Commander. But, yes. I was jealous. Happy?”

It’s an ego boost in more ways than one. It makes his heart pound, his blood sing, at the thought of Verdanna coveting his time as much as he covets hers. Jealous of endless faces and names who fight for his attention just as he is the innumerable patrons who seek out the Inquisitor. It makes him desperate for another kiss, one that has one hand gripping hers and the other pulling at the buttons on her coat.

“Only so I can reassure you,” he murmurs, “as you did for me. There is no one in his hold nor in the known or unknown worlds around us that matters to me as much as you, Verdanna. And no one who you need to be jealous about. There is only you and me, no one else.” And then he has to smile. “After all… I do believe only one person got to dance with me at Halamshiral.”

A beat passes. Verdanna looks up at Cullen with softened eyes, a push on her toes to press her forehead to his. “A reassurance indeed,” she murmurs.

There’s a beat that passes as he meets her touch, holding both of her hands now and lifting them to his lips. As he does, however, the familiar light in her eyes is back, bright and vibrant and certainly plotting.

“You know… Josephine and Leliana said an hour,” she tells him. “Whatever could we do to pass the time, Commander?” Cullen feels a warmth flood his body, better than the sun on his skin.

“I bet we could come up with some ideas, Inquisitor,” he murmurs back before crashing his lips into hers with fervor.

-

Cullen’s eyes scan the map once more. There’s only one way forward, and his hand lifts to rub at his chin as he studies it. He considers shaving, as well, but it’s a distant thought. Verdanna tends to enjoy his stubble.

Not the time.

He has to shake his head to clear thoughts of her. To focus on the task at hand. It’s a luxury he shouldn’t allow, especially considering the danger ahead. But he can’t help it, especially as he hears the creak of the door as Verdanna strides in, fresh from her journey to the Forbidden Oasis and looking every title she claims. Her chin lifts in greeting to the room and she smiles, but for the moment, he considers it just for him. And then he remembers there are others in the room as Leliana speaks, clearing his head with her introduction.

“Adamant Fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight,” she states, looking at the Inquisitor.

Cullen, ever eager, jumps in. “Fortunately for us, that means that it was built before the age of modern siege equipment. A good trebuchet will do major damage to those ancient walls. And thanks to our lady ambassador…”

He turns to Josephine, who smiles graciously. “Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers. They’ve already delivered the trebuchets,” she informs them. All the pieces falling into place.

Leliana smiles, too, but it’s tempered. “That is the good news, Lady Inquisitor.”

“And the bad news?” Verdanna’s voice sounds a little worn, and Cullen understands why. Always bad with the good, it seems.

Leliana continues. “Erimond called the ritual at the Western Approach a test. He may already be raising his army of demons in the fortress.”

“The Inquisition forces can breach the gate,” Cullen reassures them all. He trained them well. “But if the Wardens already have their demons…”

Leliana lifts her hand to cut him off. “I found records of Adamant’s construction. There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle.”

Cullen can smile at that, turns to look at Verdanna. “That’s good. We may not be able to defeat them outright, but, if we cut out reinforcements, we can carve you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel.”

Verdanna snorts, and Cullen raises a brow at her. “So our plan is to lay siege to a legendary fortress filled with demons?” It gets a chuckle out of him, but he leans forward to look at Adamant on the map once more. Narrows his gaze. The threat continues to hover, and he feels solemnity settle on his shoulders.

“It’ll be hard fought,” he admits. “There’s no way around it, but we’ll get that gate open.”

Josephine, ever the optimist, pipes in as well. “It’s also possible that some Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause.”

Leliana agrees, at least partially. “The warriors may be willing to listen to reason, though I doubt they’ll turn against Clarel directly. The mages, however, are slaves to Corypheus. They’ll fight to the death.”

“No matter which way the Wardens go, we’ve built the siege engines and readied our forces, Inquisitor,” Cullen tells her. There is no smile now, the knowledge of another battle looming over all of them. “Give the word, and we march on Adamant.”

“I’ll need some time to prepare,” Verdanna says to the room, “but when it’s time, I’ll let you all know.” With a few nods, looks to each other, the four of them stand tall, Verdanna’s voice clear. “All right. Dismissed.”

Josephine and Leliana leave first, their murmurs for each other and each other alone. Cullen doesn’t mind, as it gives him the chance to walk around to Verdanna’s side of the table, look with her at Adamant’s position on the map. “We have the ability,” he finds himself saying, reassurance for her. “The numbers. Soon, it will be in the Maker’s hands.”

“I find myself unwilling to leave it all up to the Maker,” she murmurs back, sighing as she pushes one of the figurines forward. Cullen’s symbol, the Inquisition’s forces, pushing in towards the fortress.

He nods. Reaches up to push her braid back behind her ear, moves his hand down her back. “It’s a good thing we have you, then,” he whispers. A kiss on her cheek. “Maker or no, we have you.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Commander,” she says, but he can see the small flush on her cheeks. It makes him eager to kiss her again, but he restrains himself. Especially as her lips curl, unsatisfied by something she sees. “You will be there. At Adamant,” she says. It seems to be a dawning realization.

“Right by your side, for as long as I am able,” he promises. “Just like I was at Haven.”

If anything that deepens her frown, and she stands up straight again, takes a step back from him and the table. “I don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks for me. I don’t want the Commander of our forces by my side if that’s not his place on the field. I know you know the strategy, what we’ll need to do, but -”

But he doesn’t let her dart away, push him back. Not now. Not when he can hold her instead. A wonder he’ll never take for granted. “Watching you fight, being alongside you… it’s more than simply wielding my sword while you cast your spells.My place will be with my soldiers. But it also means that I am here,” he murmurs, placing a hand on her heart, “wherever you go.”

As he does so, he feels a raised portion over her sternum. The feeling is… odd against his fingers, until he looks up and sees her gentle smile. “With me in more ways than one,” she whispers. Her fingers lift, and she tugs at an amulet to display for him.

But it’s not an amulet, or at least, not one he’s seen before. There’s no magic coming from the piece of jewelry, and yet as he watches it dangle in the light from the windows, he feels a warmth through his body stronger than potion could give him.

“Is that…” he whispers. Awestruck.

“Your coin,” she confirms. “Luck wherever I go. And you.”

“When did you do this?”

“When we got back from Honnleath,” she murmurs to him. “I can’t go and lose the luck you gave me.”

In that moment he knows. Knows something that he is still afraid to say. Cannot speak, regardless, overwhelmed by what he sees in Verdanna. He reaches for her, pulls her close, against his body.

“Cullen,” she gasps out, surprised. But he can’t help the way he buries his face into her neck.

“Verdanna,” he whispers back, and feels her fingers lift and curl into his hair.

-

There’s a lingering horror that is felt after the siege. Cullen says goodbye to Verdanna at the gates, and later finds out how close he was to losing her forever. She goes in with the Champion of Kirkwall, and leaves without him. A decision she had to make. She comes out mourning, with even more horrors held close to the chest, and in that moment he feels so helpless to her destiny.

What will become of the famed Inquisitor? If the Champion could be lost so easily, what would become of Verdanna? Would she, too, be reduced to a title in the annals of history? The thought of that turns his stomach, the realization that so many will hear her name, her title and not know who she really is.

Needless to say, it’s not the last time he feels his coin against her skin. Not even close. Especially after Adamant.

It seems the coin holds something, if not luck. Something special, that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end when he thinks about it. Every so often, he finds himself drifting off, gaze dropping to her collarbone, thinking about what’s hidden beneath her attire. His coin. His.

(He does limit it eventually, when Josephine’s words blur behind him in favor of remembering where that coin is, what it means for them, and being caught by the ambassador. The blush to his cheeks seems almost fluorescent when she comments on it, and Verdanna and Leliana can’t stop their giggles for far too long.)

But as the days pass, the weeks, the months, it’s clear that Adamant was simply a battle, but that the war continues on.

He watches as the weight on Verdanna’s shoulders causes her to stumble. He watches as more and more places around Thedas call to the Inquisition for help. Ferelden and Orlais crumbling with threats of darkspawn, demons, Red Templars, Venatori, rogue apostates. He watches as people within their camp stumble, too, with her expected to pick up the pieces, Blackwall’s lie sending echoes only he hears in the dead of night, when she wakes with a start about being too late to save him. He watches her fight to control the Rifts and her own magic, and the Anchor become more of a burden than a blessing.

And, on top of all that, Corypheus is on the move.

It is clear the state of the world is in the balance. But what Cullen also realizes, through all of this, is that the Inquisition is not only beloved, but ready. That Verdanna takes all of these struggles through stumble and stride and plans to keep going. And that he, despite every fear, every uncertainty, is ready to follow her.

And so, the War Room beckons.

“It’s time to plan our next attack. What’s the state of the Inquisition?” Verdanna’s voice is strong as she looks among her people.

Josephine’s enthusiasm is not missed. “We’re well-loved in Orlais. Say the word, and the Empire will send her support.”

Cullen has his own excitement. A pride that fills him as he looks at the Inquisitor Lavellan. “And your actions at Adamant denied Corypheus his army of pet demons. With Orlais’ support, our numbers match his.” He straightens his spine, lifts his chin with a small smile. “Corypheus’s followers must be panicking.”

“My agents agree,” Leliana adds.” Our victories have shaken his disciples.”

“Perhaps they’ll rethink following the darkspawn magister from the dawn of time,” Verdanna says. It earns her a small chuckle, but the collective focus is not shaken. “Where is Corypheus now?”

“After Adamant, Corypheus uprooted his major strongholds and sent them marching south to the Arbor Wilds,” Cullen says. “His army clearly wasn’t prepared to flee. Our victories have them on the defensive.”

Suddenly, Verdanna’s eyes narrow with determination. Cullen feels a rush at the sight. “And that’s where we’ll keep them. Unable to flee. If he’s hiding in the Arbor Wilds, that’s where we'll finish him.”

“But what is Corypheus doing in such a remote area?” Josephine murmurs, almost a question to herself more than the room.

Leliana answers. “His people have been ransacking elven ruins since Haven,” she says, which makes Verdanna’s mouth purse. “We believe he seeks more. What he hopes to find, however, continues to elude us.”

“Which should surprise no one, but fortunately I can assist.”

The voice comes from behind Verdanna, and Cullen watches with a raised brow as Lady Morrigan steps forward. He knows of her, aware of her since she joined the Inquisition after Halamshiral. He watches as her keen eyes scan the room, landing on each advisor in turn. Verdanna brings her attention back to the topic, however, with a little bow of her head.

“You have my attention, Lady Morrigan.”

Morrigan’s low tone lilts across the room, and soon her focus is only on Verdanna. It’s unnerving, that singular focus, especially considering what seems to hide behind those eyes of hers. “What Corypheus seeks in those forgotten words is as ancient as it is dangerous. It’s best if I show you.”

There’s a brief pause. Cullen glances at Morrigan and takes a step around the table, but immediately he is trapped by her gaze.

“Not you, Commander. Only the Inquisitor.”

There’s a small, shocked silence in the room. Leliana speaks first. “What?”

“What will be revealed to her she will share with all of you. But as of now, the information I hold would be better suited for someone who knows the elves as I do… as well as the woman who holds the power of the Fade.”

“But you are taking her somewhere,” Josephine says, voice tight. “If you need safe passage to a location --”

“Where we are going, no others will be able to follow.”

There’s a hitch in Cullen’s breath, and he feels his jaw click as it clenches. “So you’re taking her… Without any other observers or people to verify your intentions. Just you and Verdanna?” he asks, her name slipping from his lips instead of her title. It earns him a look from the Inquisitor herself, as well as a raised brow from Morrigan.

“You doubt my intentions, Cullen Rutherford?” the witch asks him, voice low. He dares another step around the table. “Do you doubt your Inquisitor?”

“My concern is protecting the Inquisitor… and the Inquisition,” he states plainly, though the undercurrent of frustration peaks through. He can’t help it. There’s a part of him that dreads the idea of Verdanna losing herself, her life, because he trusted someone who shouldn’t be on their side. Blackwall’s betrayal sings in his head as he looks at Morrigan, her journey to the fade and the loss of Hawke clear in his mind -- but it’s Verdanna who stops his thoughts in his tracks.

“Lady Morrigan’s services were offered to the Inquisition. I believe she offers her knowledge to help, not to hurt,” she says. Cullen knows the brunt of this statement is directed at him, to drop his guard. “But the truth is that we need as much as we can get on Corypheus to beat him. If this offers us a leg up, we need to take it.”

“Unfortunately, Lady Lavellan is right. The longer we sit and bicker, the longer Corypheus has to find what he seeks.”

There’s a brief moment when his eyes meet Verdanna’s. Communication between them silent. After a pause, her hand lifts to her chest, where his coin rests, lifting and pulling her shoulders back.

Understanding fills him. I’m always with her. And while he reaches to settle his hand on the hilt of his sword, he looks toward Morrigan with a nod.

“Very well, Lady Morrigan. We will be here when you return.”

The waiting, however, is torturous. Cullen finds himself pacing back and forth, driving Leliana and Josephine from the room to Josephine’s desk for a short time as he moves throughout the space. But soon, Morrigan and his Inquisitor return, and indeed Verdanna tells them all what she saw. Testimony of a mirror, magicked to become a portal to what she and Morrigan call the Crossroads. If Corypheus acquires one, and learns how to use it, he will have access to pathways all across Thedas and the Fade.

“What happens when Corypheus enters the Fade?” Cullen asks them, both, eyes a little wide with the implications.

“Why, he will gain his heart’s desire, and take the power of a god,” Morrigan responds. “Or -- and this is more likely -- the lunatic will unleash forces that will tear the world apart.”

It’s shocking, the realization, but not surprising. If anything it’s a confirmation - in the end, all of them could have reached that eventual conclusion. But there’s a difference between suspecting and knowing. Verdanna echoes that precise sentiment as she looks among all standing there. “In Redcliffe, I saw the future Corypheus built. We can’t have that,” she tells them, and there is no argument.

Morrigan’s voice is sharp. “‘Twas always so, was it not? The madman would bury us all.”

“Pardon me, but -- but does this mean that everything, everything, is lost unless we get to the eluvian in time?” Josephine asks. Her eyes meet Cullen’s, and her question cuts to the heart of him.

He can’t help the way he speaks first. Eyes scanning the map as he spreads the corners with his fingers. “Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our forces move,” he murmurs, looking at all the pieces.

Josephine cuts in, voice firm. “We should gather our allies before we march.”

“Can we wait for them?” Leliana counters, and her fingers move to hold one of her statuettes. “We should send our spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds.”

But Cullen’s voice raises over hers for a moment. “Without support from the soldiers? You’d lose half of them.”

Josephine cuts across him next. “Then what should we do, Commander? Let Corypheus outrun us?” The tension in the room seems to approach a dangerous tipping point, all of the advisors looking at each other for the answer none of them have. But, as always, it is the Inquisitor who leads them, and Verdanna takes her step forward to place her hand firmly on the war table.

“I advise you all work together instead of arguing,” she says fiercely. “Now is not the time for that.” For a second, her eyes scan the board, and then she raises upright once more, her voice clear, confident, commanding. “Josephine, have our allies send scouts to meet us in the Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’s army until Cullen’s soldiers arrive.”

For another moment there is silence, this of a different kind -- respectful. Even Morrigan seems to appraise Verdanna with a greater understanding. This is their leader, and this will be their champion, for the betterment of all of Thedas.

Cullen can’t help the way he gazes at her, mouth a little open as warmth slowly overtakes him. Verdanna… his pride in her has him close to bursting, has him smiling despite what he knows now about Corypheus’s plan. Has him wondering if, despite Verdanna’s own unbelief on the matter, the Maker truly had a hand in bringing Verdanna to them. To him. The thought makes his cheeks a shade of red the light in the room is unafraid to illuminate, one that earns him a fond, loving look from her even as Morrigan brings them down to earth.

“Such confidence,” she says, a little smirk on her lips, “but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors. Old elven magic lingers in those woods. Beyond your understanding or mine, Lady Lavellan.”

Josephine chimes in, as always, with diplomacy on her mind. “We’d be remiss not to take advantage of your knowledge, Lady Morrigan. Please, lend us your expertise.”

Morrigan seems to not be able to help a small chuckle. “‘Tis why I came here. Although it is good to see its value recognized.”

Leliana’s eyes narrow at Morrigan for a moment, but any comment from her is interrupted by Cullen’s quick tongue. He speaks to Verdanna as the leader of her armies,, as her friend, as hers. “Any further instructions, Inquisitor?” Whatever she needs, he is hers to command.

But instead of a simple dismissal, she clears her throat. Cullen watches as she seems to think, brow furrowed, before looking towards her advisors in turn. First, Leliana, with a gentle smile. “The Inquisition began as a handful of soldiers.” She turns to Josephine next, eyes bright as she nods towards her. “Thanks to you, we’re now a force that will topple a self-proclaimed god.” Lastly, she looks at Cullen, and her smile is now a grin, her hand at her side once more reaching up towards her heart. “I could ask for no finer council, and no better guidance. No better friends.”

Cullen’s voice doesn’t waver as he mimics her motion, hand on his chest. “I speak for all of us when I answer: we could ask for no finer cause.”

No finer Inquisitor, he muses, watching as she begins to adjust the figurines with her other two advisors. A way forward, thanks to Morrigan. Resources thanks to Josephine. Infiltration, thanks to Leliana. Trained soldiers, thanks to Cullen. But belief… hope… a plan, all thanks to Verdanna.

No finer woman, Cullen thinks as well, watching her nod after a moment and look towards Morrigan. They begin to talk to themselves while Josephine and Leliana begin to plot the course her agents should take, and Cullen watches Verdanna’s head bow to Morrigan as she leaves. Always willing to respect the knowledge of those around her, fighting to understand those most would push aside -- Verdanna’s willingness to see her own limitations and turn to those who would help her overcome it is more than who she is as the Inquisitor - it’s who Cullen sees everyday. He thinks of Cole, of Sera, of Thom Rainier, of Iron Bull, of Dorian, all people pushed aside because of one reason or another… and yet brought into the arms of the Inquisition because Verdanna saw something great in them.

And as he reaches for his own figures, he brushes her fingers with his own, finds himself looking into her eyes and seeing something there that makes the world around them fade away. Sees his own struggles, so often at the surface, for a moment seem so small. Feels the constant itch for lyrium, clamoring for his attention, be pushed aside, her magic swirling in his chest, a soothe to his ache for a few seconds before she pulls away to reach for a few papers from Josephine.

These are the last moments of distraction he allows himself before focusing on the issue at hand, but he can’t help the way his thoughts turn once more to her, only her. There is no one like her, and yet the Maker saw fit for Cullen to be so lucky, to put him in her path to legend. The finest woman, the greatest Inquisitor, and as he watches her, he knows.

The truest love.

-

There’s a moment, in the Arbor Wilds, where Cullen sees her.

It’s a brief flash, really. He has soldiers behind him, pushing them forward, closer and closer to the main camp of red templars where Corypheus seems to be. His heart pounds in his ears, and he downs too many men he knows and a surprising amount he doesn’t. There are demons and Venatori and turned Grey Wardens and perhaps even a darkspawn or two. It is chaos and the ringing of battle as they go from camp to camp.

And then he sees Verdanna.

Feels her, really. In a flash of heat at his back, her magefire erupting and disintegrating a demon before it could slice through Cullen’s plate armor. It seems to scorch the back of his neck, and in a whirl of moment he turns to find the source. She stands with Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian, her staff spinning in her hand, and in a blaze of light a wall of fire ignites the forest floor, downing more spirits in its wake.

There is no moment to go to her, not now. Not when the fighting is so thick. But he finds himself drawn to her anyways, feeling a magical barrier surround him, watching the way her lightning is summoned in a moment’s notice. Another flash of purple, this one igniting head after head of soldiers, and then the dust settles, if only for a moment.

There is not much to say, even then. There is still so much fighting, and they both lead the charge, but he sees her, and for now, that is enough. She is safe, and her eyes are alight with her magic as they pass each other, fingertips brushing, hers dancing with prepared spells.

“Be safe, Cullen,” she tells him, and he feels one last barrier form around him. Another wave of demons approaches.

“Inquisitor,” he calls back to her as she turns, Cassandra taking the lead and Sera the rear. “Be well, friends. For the Inquisition!”

His men, like him, are delighted to see her. Energized, eager to fight. Ready to win. It’s long-fought, the journey to push the forces back, but in the end, they manage. And then…

Quiet.

The aftermath. The mourning of those lost, the celebration of victories won. There are certainly things to discuss, but for now he savors seeing you safe.

The journey back home is a long journey north. There’s lots to talk about, some of it serious, and other bits less so.

“Why can’t we have a big flying thing on our side, Quizzy? Not an demon, course, but something else,” Sera calls to Verdanna as she walks alongside the steeds, much preferring the ground. Dorian lets out a little snort.

“If you want to risk life and limb to attempt to train a dragon to fly for the Inquisition, dear Sera, be our guest.”

Leliana’s eyes narrow a little, playful as she glances back at Dorian. “You know, Qunari revere the dragon. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to bring the Iron Bull on an adventure like that, if someone wanted his favor.”

Dorian’s reddened cheeks are quite obvious, making Cullen raise his brow. “Well, I - certainly the Iron Bull’s approval simply emphasizes that it’s a terrible idea. Can never trust those Qunari to know common sense.”

But Sera’s voice shouts louder than the rest, especially as she elbows Blackwall beside her and speaks in the loudest whisper she can manage. “Something tells me we’re gonna be fighting a dragon soon.”

In the end, it gives Cullen and Verdanna a chance to laugh together as they banter, and he feels the comradery settle in his bones. Just as laying next to Verdanna settles, too, warming him from the inside out. Able to be in the same bed once more, able to claim his place beside her as he strokes her hair, watching her ever watchful gaze grow tired against his chest.

When Skyhold’s structure greets them in the distance, Verdanna turns to him, gentle smile as she reaches for his hand. Their steeds ride beside each other, and he glances behind them before entangling her fingers in his and squeezing them. “I’m going to call a meeting of the War Council,” she tells him, voice low. “There are… new developments to discuss.”

“As always, we’re at your service,” he says, voice strong.

Skyhold beckons. Soon their steeds are clopping through the front gate, and Cullen manages a smile through his exhaustion. That smile lingers in the War Room, pride lifting his chin and his chest as he looks over each representative. “I’m pleased to report we won the battle, Inquisitor. When you went through that mirror, Corypheus and his Archdemon fled the field. I’m not sure why.”

Morrigan’s voice is matter-of-fact, but there’s something underneath it that sends a shiver down Cullen’s spine. He does his best to avoid her gaze. “What he wanted was no longer within the temple.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, humming. “After all, he spent so long trying to get into the Temple, he probably couldn’t have helped his forces at that point.”

Josephine’s answering hum pitches up. “Then Corypheus is finished,” the ambassador says, and Morrigan and Leliana turn to her with serious eyes. Almost nod.

“If he is wise, he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again,” Leiliana says, reaching for a little statuette.

Morrigan immediately shakes her head. “No. He will not hide.”

“Meaning he will attack us directly, at Skyhold.” Verdanna turns to Cullen, and he has a flashback to their conversation at Haven, the way hellfire rained down on them at the place they started to build with the Inquisition. It makes his chest tighten.

Yet Morrigan hums, again, quite quickly. “Not necessarily, but neither will he remain idle.”

Leliana frowns. “And how could you have such insight into his plans?” Her suspicion is echoed by Cullen’s own thoughts, who simply shoots the Lady Morrigan a sharp look.

“The Well of Sorrows held many voices, and they speak to me now across the ages,” she replies. “They hold wisdom, secrets I never deemed possible. But even they fear what Corypheus has become.”

“But he’s not a god, yet,” Verdanna counters.

“Not yet,” Morrigan answers with a nod to the Inquisitor. “He is powerful and immortal, but… he has a weakness. The dragon he calls is not truly an Archdemon. It is a dragon, in which Corypheus has invested a part of his being. He doubtless did so out of pride to emulate the gods of old, which can be exploited.” Her hands spread, the answer laid out before them as she speaks. “Kill the dragon, and his ability to leap into other bodies is disrupted. He can be slain.”

Cullen knows Verdanna can’t help her little huff. It makes him smile, a quick one, as he glances toward her. “Just kill his dragon. Why didn’t we think of that before?”

Morrigan chuckles a little as well, and she turns to face Verdanna as she does. “There is a way to defeat the dragon, Inquisitor, and to match Corypheus in his power. The Well whispers it to me now. Your help will be required, Inquisitor.”

Verdanna nods. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard when I’m ready to embark,” she says, but Morrigan’s low laugh once again echoes in the room.

“No journey necessary. Simply… practice.”

Though ominous, there’s a reassurance to Morrigan’s confidence. “I’ll see to Skyhold’s defenses in the meantime,” Cullen says to Verdanna and the rest. “It can’t hurt to bolster what we have and make new what we don’t.”

“And Leliana and I will ensure that our allies know what occurred at the Arbor Wilds. News of Corypheus’ defeat will certainly help reassure those who still fear his forces,” Josephine says.

The plan falls into place, and Verdanna approves with a nod. “Then it’s settled,” she says. “For now, everyone rest. Our journey was nothing if not tedious and tiring, and there are still wounded to attend to and work to be done.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” they all say, and with that, it is a dismissal.

She goes to all of them, eventually. Discusses with Josephine and Leliana what will be said and what will be omitted. Visits Morrigan in the courtyard. But she ends with Cullen, as he hopes, his finger tracking the words on a report from one of his men.

“How are the defenses, Commander?” Her voice cuts through his thoughts, and his head lifts to look at her with a smile as she leans against one of the walls.

“There… is good news,” he reports, sighing as he stands straight. “When we came, the decay of Skyhold had not spread to the foundations of the walls. Our boundaries are sturdy. However, walls are not always enough.” As Verdanna steps forward, he sits in his chair, leaning back with a press of his fingers against his temple.

Her steps carry her to his side, one hand on his shoulder as she looks over what he’s written. “At least there’s a place to start,” she says, voice quieter now that she’s next to him. After a moment, she perches on the armrest of the seat, letting one of her hands rub at his shoulder. “Tell me what you need, and we’ll send parties out to find it.”

“Understood,” he says, eyes on her eyes, the shape of her nose, the curve of her lips. “What’s next for you and Morrigan?”

At the mention, Verdanna simply chuckles, and he can hear her disbelief.

“Are you that worried?” he asks immediately. She shakes her head.

“No, simply that… astonished,” she says. “It’s a very complex piece of magic, with a lot of parts.”

“What does the spell do?” he asks, but again, she chuckles. Lifting a hand then lowering it once more.

“I - I don’t think I really know. It’s nothing I’ve seen, though she swears that the origin itself is Dalish in nature. And I don’t think I could describe it in a way that gives it justice,.” She smirks, then, and Cullen groans. “Or at least in words that are less than --”

“I regret ever telling you that,” he says with a wave of his hand, cutting her off as he stands and she begins laughing once more. There’s a flood of color to his cheeks. “More each moment.”

“Don’t be sour,” Verdanna giggles, which only makes his brow furrow more, makes his lips twist. “Cullen. I’m teasing.”

“You know, I told you that in confidentiality, so I surely hope I am the only one who has heard jokes of that nature,” he tells her, and her hand moves to his chest next before she leans down to kiss him .

“I know, vhe’nan,” she tells him. And as always, he believes her, especially as her lips peck against his and then a few more times on his cheek. “Better?”

“Much,” he says with a grin.

“You’re very smart,” she reassures him, hands lifting to cup his cheeks right over the color. “And incredibly brave. And distractingly handsome.”

“Distractingly?” That’s a new one, one that makes his smile only grow. It’s her turn to look bashful, simply turning away as she asks him.

“It can be hard to focus. But while we’re gone, I’ll be thankful for a distraction, I’m sure of it.”

A sudden stab of panic moves through him. He glances toward the door, looking at the way the sun seems to sit in the sky. “Are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Now, actually,” she admits, sighing. “We need Morrigan’s supplies. I came to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you back here, at the fortress.”

“So quickly?” It seems like too little, too late, this little goodbye, one he’s giving a thousand times before. But this journey with Morrigan feels different. Aches in his chest as he watches Verdanna stand and reach for his hand so he’ll stand with her. He complies, and she kisses him sweetly as he does.

“We need these components,” she whispers. “I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important.”

“I know, my darling,” he whispers back. “I know.”

He hugs her tightly, and his eyes close as he buries his face in her neck, thankful for how she stays close to him as long as he holds her. He pulls back only when he thinks he’s memorized the sweet smell of her hair and the way her fingers feel gripping his sleeve.

“... walk with me?” she finally asks, after what feels like minutes of holding onto each other. There is a battle coming, part of a bigger war, and she looks nervous, even doing her best to push it down for his sake.

“Of course,” he answers, kissing her cheek. “Anywhere’d you like.”

It hits him as they walk down the battlements together, every so often his hands pulling her close for another kiss. It hits again as he watches the big doors open for her and Morrigan to leave, and once more as her figure disappears into the snowdrifts.

This is the endgame. But in war, there are always casualties. All he can do now is pray that what they have is stronger than Corypheus, turn to the Maker and his guidance, to Andraste and hers. But what’s stopping Verdanna’s body from arriving at their home, wrapped up tight in linens for the world to mourn her over and over again?

The answer, then and there, he realizes, is nothing.

And nothing scares him more.

-

The waiting kills him. Slowly and surely, inching through his veins like the craving for lyrium, compounding on each other until his pacing seems to run tracks into the wood beneath his feet.

“They’ll return,” Josephine tries to soothe him, “and soon. We’re almost to the end.”

But her words don’t help, and Cullen doesn’t know how to describe why. Doesn’t know how to admit that it’s the end he’s so frightened of.

What happens when Verdanna faces Corypheus for the last time? What happens when she reveals herself to him, shows her true colors to face his? What happens when she returns, when the war is over and won?

What happens if she doesn’t?

Any joy in each other’s company is soured by the impending end. The very real possibility that one of them won’t return from battle seems to be the only thing that he can think of, the thing keeping him up most nights. A world without Verdanna seems to have no color, no light, no life to it at all, and he worries that is the future that faces them.

And even now, he waits. Waits for her to return, waits for Morrigan to return, waits and waits and waits. The time ticks slowly by and he can’t help but wonder how much time he has left, even as he stands around the war table with Leliana and Josephine.

Those thoughts continue to linger, even as the doors to the war room push open. Verdanna enters with Morrigan close behind, and Cullen finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from the one who has his heart.

“Did you find what you need, Morrigan?” Leliana asks them, and the self-satisfaction in the woman is clear. She lifts her chin.

“I can match the darkspawn magister’s dragon, yes,” Morrigan hums. “As for matching Corypheus… that is up to you, Inquisitor.”

“We don’t even know where he is,” Verdanna says with a sigh, looking around the room. When she looks at Cullen, he manages the smallest of smiles.

“Then all that remains is to find Corypheus before he comes to us,” he tells her, letting himself huff out a laugh. “Simple.”

There’s a gentle sigh from the spymaster. “We’ve been looking for his base since all this began, with no success,” Leliana admits, clenching her jaw.

“Well, his dragon must come and go from somewhere.”

“What about the Deep Roads? We could send word to Orzammar, hire envoys to --”

The light hits them, before the sound. A blast of sickly green energy that shakes the hold to its foundation, and then the sound of thunder all around them. The green is answered by Verdanna’s own hand, the anchor glowing and pulling her forward, and with a shout she falls forward.

“Verdanna!” Cullen shouts, rushing to her side. His hand rests on her shoulder, but when she looks up, all he sees is the tight furrow between her brows, the determination in her gaze.

“It seems Corypheus is not content to wait,” Morrigan murmurs to them all.

Rising to her feet, leaning on Cullen ever so slightly, Verdanna gapes as she looks toward the window. “He’s in the Valley of Sacred Ashes?”

For once, Morrigan’s voice is solemn, not sly. The wisdom beyond her years ripples through her words. “You either close the Breach once more, or it swallows the world.”

Josephine’s gasp is an echo of them all as they gaze at Morrigan. “But that’s madness! Wouldn’t it kill him as well?”

The realization sets in all at once, and he finds himself looking between his compatriots -- from Josephine, to Leliana, and back to Verdanna once more. Finds himself forcing down the terror as he scans her face, the reality of their situation like a gut punch. “Inquisitor,” he says, voice still so stoic. “We have no forces to send with you -- we must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds.”

Verdanna meets his eyes, then, and there’s a sadness to them. But she looks past him once more to the storm brewing in the distance. “Just as Corypheus expects, I suppose.”

“We can rally the troops that are left,” Leliana tells the room. Her own gaze turns to Josie, who meets her eyes with a few quick blinks. And our friends will help us, but…”

“It’s you and the magister, Verdanna Lavellan,” Morrigan tells her. “What we do now is up to you.”

There’s another crash of thunder, a flash of green. Josephine ducks with a little gasp, and the whole group moves back from the windows, the foundation of Skyhold shaking itself.

“I know what I have to do,” Verdanna tells the room. “Keep each other safe.”

“Let’s find you shelter,” Leliana tells Josephine, grabbing her hand. With a look towards Verdanna, she nods her chin, deeply. “Good luck, Inquisitor. Maker be with you.”

“Andraste guide you, Verdanna,” Josephine tells her, voice still warm even through the low tremor. And with a final embrace for her ambassador, Cullen and Verdanna watch the two women move deeper into the hold.

Morrigan lifts her chin again. Looks to Verdanna with narrowed eyes and a toothy smile. Something flashes in her, something that makes Cullen tense, but as soon as it’s there, it’s lost in the lights dancing in the Valley of Sacred Ashes. “I will see you in battle, Lady Inquisitor,” the witch hums lowly, and with a turn she is gone almost as quickly as she arrived.

All that is left is the two of them. There is another crack of lightning, one that seems to reach for Verdanna herself. Her Anchor erupts and drops her to one knee in pain. Cullen feels his stomach roll as he watches her gasp out before reaching for her shoulders.

“Verdanna --” he starts, voice fighting to be heard over the magic brewing in the distance, but her head shakes.

“I’m all right, Cullen,” she tells him. “I’m okay.” His hands roam her body, but while no injuries are clear he can’t help the way he clings to her. Lifts her to her feet.

Always strong. For the good of the Inquisition. For the good of the world. But what about her? What if she --

“I have no forces to send with you,” he whispers. It hits him all at once. He is horrified, aghast, and his hands fall into hers, even with the Anchor burning so bright. His words had echoed over the war table, but now they shake and tremble. “No army. Almost no one. I have nothing to send with you --”

“I thought you knew me better than that, Commander,” she tells him. Urges him. “I have everything I need. Sera will stand behind me, Cassandra beside me, Dorian around me… all of our friends on the field below.”

“Let me come with you,” he all but yells over the madness outside. His voice growing evermore broken. His hands grip her arms, yank her close to terror and wrap around her without any thought of releasing. “Let me fight by your side! I will not lose you to that damned demon, do you understand? I will not lose you to him. I won’t -- I-I can’t, Verdanna. I love you.”

“Oh, gods, Cullen,” she gasps into his shoulder, and he hears the shakiness of her voice. “Don’t you realize? You are always with me.” Her hand reaches for his. Guides it up to her chest. She presses it flat, and he feels the etchings through her shirt, no armor blocking him from feeling the coin around her neck.

“Maker above,” he mutters, kissing her temple. And when she pulls back, the green of her eyes is swallowed by sickly emerald light, even more distorted by the faint shine of tears.

“I have our friends. Our family. And I have you, do you understand?”

He presses his forehead to hers. He imagines he feels every etching of her tattoos against his own skin, lifts a hand to tangle in her hair and breathe her in. One final prayer. One final plea.

“Maker guide you. Andraste guide you,” he whispers. The thundering of Corypheus’ presence looms. “Mythal guide you. Back home to me.”

Her last gesture is a kiss, firm against his lips, gripping his hands tight. “What did you say before? In front of Andraste herself? I will be back, Commander. And so will you. That is our destiny.”

With that, she unleashes herself upon the world. Turning from him with that beautiful smile, hair flying back from her face, steps confident and certain as she steps toward the doors of the War Room.

She is fearsome.

She is brilliant.

She is Elven, Dalish, magic, and he has the honor to be hers.

“You will be back,” Cullen whispers yet again, a prayer and a plea, and the wind carries it to her ears. Her back straightens, and with a nod, she pushes through the doors of the War Room, vanishes as the entrance slams to a close behind her.

-

It’s over. All is said, and done, and it’s over.

It feels too good to be true. For a moment, as Corypheus fell, Cullen feared the worst, felt bile in his throat. And yet there was nothing to doubt when he found himself arriving at the Inquisitor’s side, his eyes wide at the heap of precious metal on the ground, Verdanna standing above the burnt corpse of Corypheus.

It’s over.

All in all, the final celebration is nothing more than a party, and yet nothing less. The last party they dared to throw, Corypheus revealed himself, arrived with his army on Haven’s doorstep. Now, the threat is gone, and Cullen gazes over smiling faces and raucous laughter and drinks lifted to Andraste without worry that Skyhold will cave in.

And then she appears. At his side, like a warm summer breeze, gently touching his arm as she speaks. “Commander. What a… pleasure.”

When he turns to face her, he is glad to see her changed out of the armor she donned for the fight.. For the first time in ages, there is no furrow between her brows.

He grins. “Am I imagining it, or do we have a moment to breathe?”

There’s a hint of disbelief in her, too. She lets out a little huff. “We happen to have a moment.”

He can’t help his little chuckle, hand falling to his side as he manages to take in the sight of the great hall. “I think you’re right.”

The laughter fades, however. So does everyone else in the room. The light flickers on Verdanna’s face, and he can’t help but feel his hand twitch. To reach out to her face, brush his thumb along her cheek. How close he was to losing her. Losing this moment, this victory. It surges through him all at once, and he finds himself speaking to her from the depths of himself. “You brought us here. You are proof that the Inquisition has made a difference. That we will continue to do so.”

Her hand reaches for his. Their respectful distance no longer respectful, but Cullen can’t find it in himself to care. The night is young, the dawn will come, and she’s still standing in front of him, eyes bright in the firelight, not a scratch. It’s… all he’s prayed for.

“Our soldiers put their trust in you, Cullen,” she tells him in response. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for the Inquisition. For me.”

It takes him aback. He finds a ferocity in his voice as he squeezes her hand, an urgency. “I should be thanking you. You gave me a chance to… to prove myself. In your place, I’m not sure I would have done the same.” But just as soon as the energy has come, it fades. Eyes start to drift towards them, towards her, and he finds himself relinquishing his hold on her. Just for a little moment more. “I should let you mingle. I’m sure everyone desires your attention, as much as I might want it for myself.”

She nods. Steps away. But he doesn’t dare to miss the way her hand reaches to push her hair back, a mimic of his own action, the way she turns to face him even as she walks toward the other heroes.

The rest of the night seems to crawl at a snail’s pace. Cullen watches Verdanna move with ease amongst the crowd, from friend to friend. It seems all of Thedas is drawn to her, eager to make her laugh, praise her name, thank her for all she’s done. He watches as Varric promises one last game of Wicked Grace, as Iron Bull drinks to her name, as Sera teases and pokes her side and Dorian sends a wink in his direction. But even as his eyes flicker away for moments of praise for himself, for laughter and a moment with Josephine and Leliana, nothing stops him from watching her quietly slip towards the War Room.

It doesn’t take much after all. A whisper to the guard, a little look and smile. “We won,” Cullen hears her say, “relax for just a moment.” Her words are like sugar, and he imagines her lips as sweet, glancing behind him once more to take in the music before the wooden door closes with a clang.

“You managed to slip away,” he calls out to her. Her strides slow as she steps through Josephine’s space, and she turns to face him, chin lifted as the moon shines on her features, smile wide, devious.

“As did you, Commander,” she laughs, waiting for him to approach. It’s when they’re in step that she walks again, purposeful movements toward the far door, the creak drowned out by the laughter in the other rooms of the hold.

It closes behind them with a loud thud. The War Room shines with the stars in the sky, the only light from the window and the moon that shows itself, big and brilliant. The little figurines seem to glisten, and Cullen takes Verdanna’s hand as he walks toward them in the center.

“I thought I might claim more of your attention after all,” he admits when he turns to face her, his own hip pressed against the wood of the table.

“I’m glad you did,” Verdanna tells him, and he can feel the heart behind every word.

He can touch her now, but something holds him back. Perhaps it’s the ethereal light of the room, the faintest green glow of the Anchor on his hand. Perhaps it’s the fear that he will wake from a brilliant dream, and the world and the Fade will crumble around him. Something makes him falter, and as always, she is there to pick him up.

Her hand reaches for his, squeezes tight. “Now, Commander, what did we say?” she teases him. Her voice is quiet, and yet Cullen feels it reverberate down his spine.

“You mean what did I order?” he responds, and it’s with the lowest chuckle, eyes on her. “I said you would be back, Verdanna Lavellan.”

“And look where I am,” she whispers, and her other hand presses to his front, flat and warm, even through the metal of his armor. “I’m right here, Cullen Rutherford. Right… here.”

Right here. The symbol of their fight beside them, all of Thedas on the verge of war, and yet, here she stands. Brillant. And beautiful. And above all, his.

His hand slashes out. With a quick motion, he pushes aside all of the figurines, Josephine’s, Leliana’s, all of his even to the side. They fall to the ground with a clatter, some of them snapping under the drop, others under the weight of his boots as he crowds her against the war table.

“Destroying the property of the Inquisition,” Verdanna laughs, her body pressed against the edge. Cullen lifts her with ease so she sits atop the wood, over Skyhold’s representation on the map. Her Dalish markings seem to glow.

“All to please the Inquisitor,” he breathes. And with a yank forward, he is kissing her, enraptured, enlightened. Her fingers move up to his hair, his hands spread her knees wide.

There is nothing stopping them now. No self-control, no fear of discovery. All that Cullen can think is that in this moment he has her, and she has him, and somehow they have both made it to the other side.

Fuck the sanctity of the table, of the war room and their games of chess. Corypheus is dead. The war is won. Their lives have just begun.

-

i posted this on this blog for more exposure, and to keep my fics all in one place! but for more dragon age: inquisition content and shitposting, follow @inqvisitor.

thanks for reading. <3