#only if you recruit the templars otherwise you get Dorian’s snark

[companionquest]

The fact that Cassandra reads Swords and Shields out loud to Cole is so important to me.

[eirlithad]

Calling on Song//Chapter Thirty

Rating: M (subject to change)

Relationship: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan

Summary: Kasde Rhiannon Trevelyan was promised to the Chantry. Fate found her at the Conclave. The Maker saw her through it. As the world falls down around her, she decides to take a stand. With a little determination, and a fair amount of snark, she just might make a difference.

// Previous // Next //

Chapter Thirty: Short Tempers, Long Threads

          If there had been even the smallest chance that bellyaching would get her out of a meeting, Kasde would have pounced on it. Unbecoming as it was, nothing filled her with more anxious dread that standing in a room full of people that hated her, shouting criticisms down her throat. Again. That alone made her uncomfortable, not to mention a certain someone’s cold, dead eyes still floated at the forefront of her memory.

           Groaning, she rubbed at her temples. She had been pacing the width of the Chantry hall for far longer than was strictly acceptable, trying to keep her frayed wits from snapping. Maker, she prayed, give me the serenity to accept what I cannot change. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

          Patience, however, was not one Kasde Trevelyan’s better traits.

          Almost immediately, Cassandra’s eyes shot to her, and she nearly fled right then. She had expected the Seeker’s wrath, but had clearly underestimated the frightening power of a pointed glare. To her merit, Cassandra neither moved nor spoke, likely awaiting an adequate explanation.

          The spymaster and ambassador tittered quietly to one another at the far end of the table, the latter casting nervous glances about the room. Whatever Josephine’s stance on the matter, she was evidently more concerned about bloodshed in the war room. Leliana, on the other hand, was nonplussed, lightly fingering a lose thread on the embroidery of her glove.

          Kasde swallowed the growing lump in her throat awkwardly. She began to turn – began to look – but jerked her chin forward and cleared her throat. Serenity, she reminded herself. Serenity, serenity, patience…

          “I’m sure you’ve all heard the news,” she started, slowly. “The rebel mages have agreed to an alliance, and to help us seal the Breach. Josephine?”

          “First Enchanter Fiona has been most grateful,” the Antivan replied. “Likely, she sees this arrangement as an opportunity to redeem the mages in a…rather public display.”

          Kasde snorted wryly. “She can have all the ulterior motives she likes, so long as she helps.”

          “And if her motivation is less than innocent?” Leliana pried. “What then?”

          “I will deal with it, when it comes to it.”

          Cassandra made a disgusted sound. “That is exactly the sort of narrow thinking that put us in this situation to begin with!” she shouted. “Your lack of foresight cost us any chance at an alliance with the Templars!”

          “My sort of thinking kept a Tevinter magister off our doorstep!” the Herald fired back. “Or had you forgotten that discussion? Foreign power, potential disaster, send the Herald… Am I ringing any bells?”

          The Seeker’s lip curled. “Regardless, your actions have put the Inquisition in a very trying position. We tipped our hand sending you to Redcliffe. Clearly, you were not ready.”

          “Now, that’s hardly polite.”

          Dorian leaned his shoulder casually against the doorframe, observing the argument with an expression of dry amusement. The smile, however was an obvious lie.

          Cullen’s voice boomed in the small room. “You,” he barked. “You have no business here. Get out.”

          “Is this the kind of treatment the Inquisition offers its mage allies?” Kasde snapped. “Helluva start, Commander.”

          He flushed. “He has failed to prove his loyalty either way!”

          “He proved it to me! In Redcliffe! Satisfied?”

          “No!”

          “Tough!” Kasde squared off with the tall Ferelden, who – despite his distinct height advantage – seemed to shrink under her gaze.

          Jospehine cleared her throat politely, as though scolding two children, rather than the Herald of Andraste and the Commander of the Inquisition. Silently, she made a note on her clipboard. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance,” she stated, “it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst. We must make do with what we have.”

          Cullen ignored her and plowed ever forward. “What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!”

          “They’re people, not farm animals, you ass!” Kasde thundered. “If you have a problem with my judgement, we can settle this in the training yard. Otherwise, keep your opinions to yourself.”

          “I wouldn’t be much of an advisor if I did that, now would I?” Cullen sneered.

          “You’re not an advisor!” she bellowed, shoving against his breastplate. “You’re a bigoted ex-Templar with a mage complex!”

          “Herald!”

          The last thread of her patience gave way, and Kasde launched herself at the Commander. Dorian, for all his preening and bravado, was quicker than a spooked nug. He caught the Herald about the waist, and her fist cut through empty air, just short of Cullen’s nose.

          “Now, now, solira,” he crooned. “We don’t want to hit the nice Commander now, do we?”

          “Yes, we do!” she growled. “We really do!” She thrashed in his tight grip, fingers clawing at exposed skin to break his hold.

          Dorian clapped a hand over her mouth, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. Smiling brightly at the others, he said, “Excuse us a moment,” and hauled the Herald bodily from the war room.

          His palm muffled her enraged cries, but did nothing to stop them. Furious grunts and high-pitched, angry squeals echoed through the main hall, which was blessedly empty. Dodging wild limbs, Dorian toed the door to the advisor’s quarters open, and deposited his load within.

          Once his hand left her mouth, Kasde’s ranting resumed in full. “—dog-humping bastard!” she roared. “Fereldens!” She kicked over a nearby stool with a disgusted shriek. “Uncultured, undereducated backwater…jackboot! Too busy waving his sword around like a Chasind lunatic to see what’s in front of him! I swear if I had one—”

          The mage let out a loud, defeated sigh. “One day, you’ll thank me for this.”

          His hand cracked across her cheek with enough force to daze her momentarily, effectively ending her verbal onslaught. Kasde blinked rapidly, as though waking from a deep, deep sleep.

          Dorian observed her curiously. “Better?”

          “Better,” she agreed, still somewhat stunned. “Thanks for that.” She dragged a hand across her face. “What am I doing, Dorian? How do I even fix this?”

          “I hear apologies are all the rage of late. You might try that,” he offered thoughtfully.

          “Apologize. Right. I can do that.” She let out a pitiful whimper. “I don’t think I can do that.”

          Chuckling quietly to himself, Dorian took her by the shoulders and angled her at the door. “Oh,” he said, “I think you can. The trick is to avoid eye contact. That way, no one can tell you’re embarrassed.”

          “You seem quite the expert.”

          “Quiet, you. Now, chin up, and off you go.”

          Kasde whined.

          “None of that. Shoo.”

          It proved agonizingly difficult to keep her eyes off the floor. Her noble birth did nothing to curb the shame in her belly. Nobles felt shame; they were merely experts at hiding it.

          The war room was silent. Kasde would have preferred shouting and ridicule. The only sound was that of creaking leather as Cullen wrung his hand about the hilt of his blade. She met his eyes briefly.

He was very, very angry.

          “I apologize for my temper,” she began, voice calm and diplomatic. “What I said to you, Cullen, was completely out of line, and I am deeply sorry for it.”

          He blinked, startled by her humility. “Apology accepted,” he grumbled.

          Lifting her head, the Herald continued on, “I will not, however, apologize for my decisions. None of you were there, and none of you know what happened inside the castle.” Josephine moved to ask, but she raised her hand for silence. “And I will not tell you. For me – for Dorian – the horrors witnessed are still too fresh. I’ll not have them paraded before you to soothe your sore feelings.”

          Leliana nodded. “That is fair.”

          “The situation at Redcliffe was already tenuous,” Kasde stated. “I could not have predicted that Alexius would throw me into the future – none of us could have. But we can use it to our advantage.” She turned to Josephine. “Send word to Empress Celene. In the future, the Elder One had her assassinated. Say whatever you have to, but make her listen.”

          “A vague warning from an upstart organ—”

          Kasde slapped her palm against the table. “Try!” she barked. “You’re giving up before even starting. How can you expect the people to have faith in us, when we don’t have it in ourselves?”

Josephine nodded primly. “It will be done.”

          “I will inform my scouts to keep their eyes and ears open,” Leliana purred, a bit too cheerfully. “If there is a plot to kill the Empress, I will know it.”

          “Cullen, how many Templars do we have effectively?”

          He scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. “Several dozen, by my last count, more than half of which were green recruits when they left the Order.”

          “Spread them out,” Kasde ordered. “I want all of our men trained and ready to combat demons.”

          “Demons?”

          She nodded. “The Elder Once swept across Thedas with an army of them. No one fights a demon quite like a Templar. You know them best; make it so.”

          “As you command.” With a bow, he moved to leave.

          “Not so fast,” Kasde said, stopping him with a hand on his chest. “I need you to work with the mages.”

          Cullen bristled visibly, a tight snarl tugging severely at his scarred lip. Varric’s words came back to her, that he hated mages. She had a moment to wonder – to doubt – but his reluctant nod stilled her.

          “Not you personally,” Kasde explained, “but they may have insight standard Templar training does not. Strengths, weaknesses, something we can exploit.”

          “Understood.”

          “My mark makes me resilient somehow, and allows me to close rifts. Our soldiers don’t have that luxury. I need to know they are prepared to hold until I can reach them.”

          A light chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrating up her arm and toward completely unrelated areas. “As I said, it shall be done. I have your leave?”

          She started. “You do.”

          As he left, Kasde found her eyes following him. He was a baffling man, prone to quick anger and even quicker forgiveness. A man of conviction and loyalty, but also filled with fear and doubt. Some small thread in her was connected to him, and the further away he moved, the more it tugged at her to follow. She wondered, idly, if it had always been there, or if she, herself, had tied the knot during her time in the future. Was this feeling, so jarring and new, tainted by what she had seen? If not tainted, molded? More frighteningly, was it something she even wanted?

          She shook her head, certain she looked quite the fool. What kind of woman – what kind of leader – allowed herself such idle distractions?

          “Leliana, give me your reports on any recent rift activity,” she snapped. “I need to hit something.”

          The spymaster shook her head, tutting disapprovingly. “Not until a healer has seen to you.”

          Before the Herald could fabricate a believable excuse, Dorian was tugging at her shoulders, saying, “I take full responsibility. Healing’s not exactly an artform in Tevinter, but I know a thing or two. I’ll have your Herald back in fighting shape in no time.”

          Despite Josephine’s panicked sputtering – or, likely, in spite of it – they made for the door, Kasde mouthing a silent ‘thank you.’

// Previous // Next //