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spainkitty · 2 years ago

Text

There Isn't

Part II / III / IV

Takes place a year after the end of the main game, after Solas has ~mysteriously~ disappeared, and a year before Trespasser. Both Descent and JoH take place after the end of the main game in this 'verse.

tw: pretty heavy discussion & break up BUT there is a planned happy ending and it's almost finished 😀 Also, this is a hella long post. my bad?

Lanil's Pieces Masterlist

Sigrid Gulsdotten is a very, shall we say, interesting choice of recruit, Inquisitor. Commander Cullen has had a great deal to say on the matter. Still, we've had interest from scholars and mages beside themselves at the chance to speak with a "stable" abomination. (Especially since the Chantry is too weak to forbid it with any force.) I believe that Gulsdotten, with a guide and some guards for her own protection, would be a valuable guest to send to select lectures and salons.

Ambassador Montilyet

You cannot be serious.

Commander Cullen

"This is a great idea, Ambassador!" Lanil walked, well, more like ran, into the war room on her first morning back from the Frostback Basin.

She was definitely not thinking of the conversation she'd had with Dorian about him leaving soon. Or that Varric hadn't even come back to Skyhold with them, instead heading straight to Amaranthine to catch a ship to the Free Marches. Or that the Iron Bull, Cole, and Cassandra were the last ones of her close-knit friend group still in Skyhold since Sera went off to Nevarra to meet with the newest Red Jenny, someone named Johi, to help 'kick arseholes in their holes'.

No, of course not. She was only and entirely excited by the missive in her hand that she'd almost forgotten about in the hectic mess of finding Ameridan and stopping yet another god-dragon-creature from stirring up shit. If only Solas could be here to see that people were beginning to care, to ask questions, about the Fade and Spirits! She herself couldn't wait to sit with Sigrid and get to know her and her teacher.

"My Lady?" Josephine startled in place, nearly dropping her writing tablet.

Cullen and Leliana also did a double-take at her sudden appearance, but Lanil didn't bother looking at them. Her attention was solely on Josephine. She slapped the paper down on the table and leaned across it towards Josephine.

"You're serious about this? The lectures and salons and universities?" Lanil demanded.

"Oh! You mean about Lady Gulsdotten. Enchanter Sigrid?"

"No, I don't think either of those work. You can ask later. But yes, about her and her teacher!"

"Her teacher?" Cullen repeated.

His tone sounded... off, but Josephine was riffling through papers and handing them over to Lanil. She snatched them and read through the invitations and requests eagerly.

"They've been pouring in since I sent out a few... discreet messages to a few more renowned professors and Enchanters," Josephine said with a strained smile. She glanced towards Cullen, who was suddenly standing at his full height, arms crossed over his chest, a frown slowly growing darker and heavier on his face. "We all assumed you didn't like the idea when you didn't reply."

"It wasn't exactly an emergency or a priority. The god-possessed dragon was a bit more pressing at the time. But this is a great idea! I'll ask Sigrid myself how she feels about it--"

"You cannot really be serious," Cullen interrupted.

Lanil finally noticed his expression and her eyes began to narrow. "Is there a problem, Commander?"

"A problem?! You used the words 'god possessed dragon' in the same breath as offering to send a possessed mage around Orlais for, what, tea and demon summoning?" Cullen snapped.

"If you noticed, she's not a dragon nor is she trying to be a god or summon demons," Lanil retorted. "She's a mage, an Avvar mage, and the Spirit is her teacher. This is a chance for people to understand Spirits and the Fade better. A chance that most mages across Thedas would never have otherwise."

"Unless they decide to use blood magic and possess themselves or others," Cullen said sharply. Lanil bared her teeth, ready to bite out something caustic.

"Excuse me, Inquisitor, Commander, we don't even know if she'll agree. Perhaps we could wait--" Josephine tried to interrupt, her voice gentle and soothing.

"It shouldn't be an option at all!" Cullen slapped his open palm on the table. "This is madness. If you must, have this Avvar abomination meet with our own scholars. In a small room. Far from anything. With a templar present."

Leliana's eyes closed. Josephine inhaled sharply. Lanil, however, slammed both her hands on the table and leaned across it, eyes burning silver.

"She is not an abomination."

"She is possessed. Of course she is. Don't be naive, Inquisitor."

"By your Chantry terms. Your Chantry rules," Lanil snarled. "In Avvar culture she is a mage. Her Spirit is her friend, her family."

"My Chantry? Did you forget you're part of the Inquisition? A Chantry organization?"

"Barely a Chantry organization! And I'm Dalish!"

"You were raised in a Circle!"

"And they were going to cut my soul in half! I'm Inquisitor because you broke the Chantry rules!"

Cullen threw up his hands and backed away from the table. "This is not the same."

"Josie, maybe we should--" Leliana murmured.

"No, we're not done here," Lanil snapped. "Ambassador, how soon can you organize this tour?"

"Oh, um, only a few--" Josephine stammered.

"You can't do this. I won't allow it." Cullen ordered firmly.

"You won't allow it?" Lanil hissed.

"As your Commander, I have to think about the safety of the people. Maybe you don't think she's dangerous, but I knew a mage who allowed a Spirit to possess him, and he blew up Kirkwall."

"Maybe he was right!" Lanil shouted. Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine all reared back. "Maybe it had nothing to do with the Spirit, maybe it did, but if you hadn't noticed, the world is always on the verge of exploding! If I had stayed there, if I had lived through the utter bullshit of the Gallows, it was called the Gallows, Commander, maybe I would've helped!"

"You can't possibly mean that," Cullen managed to force out, sounding strangled.

For a moment, Lanil wanted to stick to it. To plant both feet and stand firm. But it had been obstinacy more than belief that had her spitting out those words. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at a far wall.

"I... I don't know..." Lanil said, barely more calmly, her control in tatters. "Maybe not. I knew Anders, too. He was my friend once. I believe that he believed it was the only path he had. Maybe Justice pushed that in him, maybe they... they sickened each other. But some of what I've done here has been just as bloody, and I have as high a body count, if not higher. I didn't need to be possessed to do it."

"This was a war that you didn't start, it's not the same," Cullen argued, shaking his head. "And what of Varric? He knew Anders in Kirkwall. What did he think of your decision to bring Gulsdotten here?"

Lanil scowled fiercely. And was silent.

"Exactly. It's dangerous. It stops here, at Skyhold, where we can make sure--"

"No." Lanil tipped up her chin and met Cullen's gaze. "No. Ambassador, make the arrangements."

"Lanil--!"

"If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility. A single person gets hurt, and you'll have yourself a new Inquisitor when I leave to take accountability for it. I hope that assuages any misgivings, Commander." Lanil turned on her heel and left.

"Void take it, Lanil!"

Josephine and Leliana watched as Cullen followed right on her heels. Slowly, Josephine met Leliana's eyes. Leliana rubbed her temples and sighed.

"I really don't know what to do here. I didn't think it would turn out like this," Josephine said, rather unnerved and rattled.

"It was bound to happen eventually. You're going have to choose by yourself now."

"What?!"

"Who do you want to anger more, the Commander or the Inquisitor?" Leliana asked with a humorless smirk.

"Oh, dear Maker," Josephine whispered.

...

Lanil stormed towards the main doors. She was going to go and find Sigrid. Or Dorian. She paused. Sigrid was probably in the mage tower, but Dorian prefered the library in the Rotunda. Actually, Sigrid might be there, too. She turned abruptly left and headed that way.

A hand grabbed her elbow.

"Lanil, we were not done--"

"Yes, yes, we were."

Lanil yanked her arm away and glared up the foot of difference in height. She had never seen Cullen this angry, his frown a snarl that almost matched her own. The closest he'd been was when he'd told her about Samson, or anything to do with Samson. Which had her blood immediately boiling--not very difficult when she was already furious.

"You can't just walk out of a meeting and consider it closed."

"And yet, I did." Lanil jabbed her finger in the middle of his chest. "You pushed me there. Not allow? Not allow me, Cullen? I am not a child."

"I..." He stopped mid-word and looked around. There weren't many guests or visitors a year after Corypheus' defeat, but every single one of them was obviously hanging onto every word they said. "We should speak privately?"

"Fine." Lanil snapped and began walking towards the door to the Undercroft.

"My office would--"

"No. It's not private enough and you're not coming to my room." She ugly-snorted and shook her head. "That's right, my room. More than a year later."

"Lanil, you're not going to derail this conversation with that," Cullen muttered under his breath as they stomped their way down the stairs.

"Screw you, Cullen."

"Damn it, Lanil."

She glared at him hotly. He shouldered his way through the bottom door, scowling just as darkly.

"Commander! And the Inquisitor, too! Uh oh..." Dagna set down the tools and wiped off her hands on her leather apron. "Something is not right in the state of the world again."

"Another darkspawn god coming down on our heads, Inquisitor?" Herrit asked, mostly confused but a little concerned despite himself.

"Nothing like that. This is rude, but could you two get out. Until we're done..." she glanced at Cullen and then back at them, "discussing."

"You got it, boss. C'mon, Herrit, let's go enjoy the sunshine."

"There's sunshine coming through that big hole there."

"Okay, let's go enjoy it anywhere not here." Dagna shoved and pushed Herrit past the angrily seething couple, then up the stairs and out the door.

The moment it closed, Cullen dragged both hands through his hair, wincing when it caught on his gauntlets. Lanil crossed her arms, her stance wide, and glared silently. Furiously. Somewhere in the back of her head, deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt it coming.

Mythal, let her be wrong. ...little odd praying to Mythal after meeting her in person...

Cullen finally spoke, "Let's get the easy thing out of the way--" Lanil snorted and barely kept from tossing her head like a horse, too. "I said I wanted our relationship private, and you agreed. Moving into your room is not private."

"That was over a year ago. Everyone in the Inquisition knows by now, so who cares?"

"I do!" Cullen inhaled sharply. "It's one thing for our people to know, but it's another for... for everyone else. Rumors and gossip, fine, but it's not gossip anymore when a dozen nosy nobles see me follow you up to your private rooms every night."

"But you do sleep up there almost every night! You just sneak in like a damned thief instead of my lover."

"You're the Inquisitor! You need to be above reproach--"

"So you'll fuck me, but won't publicly stand beside me," Lanil retorted dryly.

"Don't talk about us like that. It is not like that and you know it," Cullen snapped.

"Do I? Do I really? Sure feels like you're ashamed of us being an us," Lanil said through gritted teeth. "Are you scared your Templar friends will judge you, or your precious Chantry?"

"Lanil, now you're being an ass."

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm pissed."

"We can talk like adults--"

"Argue. We are arguing like adults. And I, for one, am an angry adult who doesn't like being patronized."

"Then, stop throwing my faith in my face like it's something that makes me less, or like it makes me love you any less!"

"Your faith has drilled into your brain that me, and all my people, not ours, my people can't be trusted. That Spirits can only be evil, awful, destructive things! You know that's wrong! But every time, every time this comes up, you're suspicious and close-minded first!"

"Because every time it ends badly!"

"That's obviously a lie since the Avvar have been doing things their way for hundreds or thousands of years, Cullen! Sigrid and her teacher are not violent. They aren't sickened. They choose to be together, to work and learn together, they are family and they keep each other safe, and they keep others safe. They know things and understand things about Spirits and the Fade in a way Circles and Dalish don't."

"You said yourself she was supposed to get rid of the Spirit and she left because she refused to. She's bucking the very tradition you're defending."

"The augur said that some mages never lose their Spirits. The same kind of mages that your Chantry brands with lyrium! Maddox, and people like Maddox, like Anders' Karl, they didn't have to be Tranquils. They didn't have to die. If we had lived with Spirits like the Avvar--"

"You can't be serious," Cullen scoffed, turning away and rubbing his face.

"Say that one fucking more time, Cullen, I swear!" Lanil dug her hands in her hair and growled. "Yes, I am serious! Me and Solas used to talk about it. What kind of world would it be if there was no Veil, if the Fade was like... like a state of being, like the weather, always around us. What would it take for Spirits to live among us peacefully. I used to imagine it, all the things he'd tell me, all the places and Spirits he'd seen. I want that world, Cullen. A world with less fear and more magic, more wonder. Learning from the Avvar, living a little more like they do, we could get closer to that."

"Worshipping Spirits as gods and sticking them in dragons to destroy us all?" Cullen asked tightly.

"That was one clan. Fen'Harel's bloody teeth, Cullen, some Templars rape mages, but you don't see me calling you a rapist."

"For fuck's sake, Lanil." Cullen punched the nearest bench and Dagna's tools rattled. "That is out of line."

"No, it's not. Or you wouldn't be so damned angry about it."

"How much of this sudden crusade to make the world more like the Fade is because of Gulsdotten, and how much of it is you hoping Solas is going to come back?"

Lanil froze, eyes wide and mouth dropping open. "What?" she wheezed.

"I know you miss him, but he left," Cullen said, his voice softer, his gaze heavy. As if he was being gentle. As if his words were fair. "He left, he didn't say good-bye, and he's not coming back. Making friends with every Spirit and abomination you meet isn't going to bring him back."

Her rage was no longer a fire. It was lightning. A storm. It raged and howled and thundered through every nerve ending. Solas once said her magic felt overwhelming, that if he listened, it drowned out everything else. She understood what he meant now.

The next thing that came out of her mouth was going to shatter something fundamental. Break it perhaps beyond repair. She felt the words burning her throat, her tongue, scraping at the back of her teeth.

"How much are you worried about another Kirkwall, and how much are you terrified of me?" she asked.

Cullen stepped back, his face a picture of bewildered shock. "What, I'm not--"

"What if I meet the right Spirit, Commander? What if I meet a teacher like Sigrid's who promises to show me the Fade in a way I can't see it alone? What if it promises to teach me lost Elvehn magic? What if one night, while you're sleeping next me, I say yes?"

Cullen turned white.

"That's what you're scared of. You're scared that Sigrid is an excuse for me to try it. You're terrified I'll become an abomination. That you'll make up one morning and a demon will be lying beside you. You don't trust me."

"Lanil, that isn't true. Of course I trust you," Cullen said. He was shaking his head, but his skin was too pale, too sweaty, his gaze nowhere near hers.

"You can't even look at me." Cullen's shoulders went tight. "You will always be scared of that part of me. Cullen, we can't work if you hate what I am."

His head snapped up and he stepped towards her, paused, and then crossed the short distance in long, determined strides. Gently, he cupped her face in both his hands, something he'd done a thousand times. His hands were shaking like the last leaves on a tree in winter. But his thumbs traced along the lines of her vallaslin. Gentle. Loving. Her chest cracked down the middle.

"This is--I do not and can never hate you, Lanil. This has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

"A part of me is of the Fade and the Fade is in me. My soul and whatever Spirits are made of... we're like... like cousins. Family. And you hate it. You'll never trust it. So you'll never fully trust me."

"Lanil. Don't do this."

"We're over."

His forehead bumped hers and she felt wooden. Empty. Like maybe she'd already carved out where he fit inside her. A hole in her chest where she'd kept him.

Vhenan. How many times had that words slipped past her lips to brand his?

"I'm the Inquisitor," she forced past numb lips that ached for the shape of different words.

"Lane."

"You're the Commander."

She gently took his hands. Pulled them away. Thanked the Creators that he wore gloves so his skin, his pulse, were hidden under leather and metal.

"Lanil. Don't. We can still talk about this."

"Don't worry, Commander," she smiled, a useless emotionless thing, as she met Cullen's too-wide eyes, "you don't have to worry about my reputation now."

She dropped his hands and it didn't feel like her fingers, her hands, her arms were moving. Someone else's feet encased in leather boots scraped over stone. Someone else's legs moved, carried someone else's body up the stairs.

"Lanil, there has to be..."

He couldn't even finish it. Because how could he? There has to be a compromise? A middle ground?

"There isn't."

She closed the door before he could make another sound. Her footsteps echoed. One after another. One more. And then another. The sounds in the main hall rang weirdly through her ears. Like trying to listen through thick glass. She didn't remember how she made it through, or how long it took to get to the doors. She didn't remember crossing the courtyard down to the stables.

But she saw Faith. Shining white and silver and beautiful. Cloven hooves picking their way delicately over grass and dirt to stand in front of her.

"Could we run, my friend? Could you take me anywhere but here?" she asked. Her lips still felt numb. Her skin icy. Faith lowered herself enough for Lanil to slip onto her back. "Ma serannas, falon. Ma ghilana mir atish'an."

When Faith ran, it felt like flying. The halla leapt with a grace and strength that belied her tiny frame and slender legs. They rushed past the guards so fast, they didn't have enough time to see Lanil's face let alone salute. She tucked herself as low and close as possible on Faith's back, her face whipped by the soft white hair stinging and sharp against Lanil's eyelids. Down her cheeks.

She gritted her teeth and let the halla guide her. Mountain air, the smell of wild heather and gorse crushed under hoof, the cries of wild birds; she thought of nothing else. No words. No broken expressions and brown eyes too dark and too bright. Just Skyhold's mountains and Faith.

It wasn't quite dinner time when Lanil returned. She gave Faith a few carrot and dried apple pieces from Dennet's secret stash. With a gentle rub of her bony chin to Lanil's head, mussing her already tangled hair, Faith went into the barn. Probably to ruin a bale of hay to lay indolently over it like a queen. Lanil had heard Dennet curse about it plenty of times. Finally, Lanil went on her way. There was someone, a few someones, she needed to speak with.

...

"Lady Lavellan? Lady Montilyet told me... My lady?!" Therilla gasped, eyes wide and mouth dropping open.

Lanil grunted, kicked the bed's headboard, and then cursed.

"Yes, I asked her to send you. Would you mind helping me pack for a long journey? In those bags there?" Lanil waved at the tattered and weather-beaten saddlebags in question.

"Um. Of course, but. Why are you stripping the bed? And moving the furniture?

Lanil huffed. All her sheets and blankets had been thrown onto the balcony. Her bureau and desk had switched places. The bed was halfway across the room, where Lanil was now standing.

"I realized I have that whole... um... loft? Indoor balcony? Up there. And I'm going to put my bed there. Make room for some sofas and a table. A little sitting room for guests, like what Vivienne did for her room when she was here."

"That sounds like a lovely idea. Perhaps I could go ask for some help?"

"No need." Lanil raised both her hands, scowled, and then hefted the entire bed up onto the loft area with a loud thud as her hands glowed blue. "I just wanted the right angle for it. Didn't want to accidentally break a leg. The bed's leg, not mine."

"I see. And the bedclothes?"

"I was half hoping the wind would take them. You can give them away." Lanil shrugged and started up the ladder. "I'm going to Val Royeaux to shop with Vivienne."

"Shop. You're going shopping with Madame de Fer?"

"Yup. It'll all be sent here. Make sure they make it look nice, won't you? I trust your taste better than mine. If Josephine wants to help, I don't mind, either, but I think Leliana will officially be in Val Royeaux as Divine by then. Any day now, she said."

"You won't do that yourself? The arranging?" Therilla asked. She slowly opened the saddlebags. Everything Lanil owned could probably fit inside.

"Nope. After Val Royeaux, I'm going around with Sigrid Gulsdotten to sit in on some of her salons. Dorian wanted to see a few of the lectures himself, so it works out great. Then, Dorian, the Iron Bull, and I are going to meet up with Varric in Amaranthine and we're going to the Free Marches together. We already sent him a raven, so he should wait for us, or he'll meet us in Kirkwall and show us around. After that, I'll escort Dorian to the border, I want a glimpse of Tevinter, but that's it. Then, I'm going to Wycome to make sure everything really is stable, visit where my clan..." She broke off slightly, hands freezing mid-air where she held a stack of books, then continued with that same overly perky voice, "Of course, since I'll be travelling, I should go to Nevarra to visit the Enchanters' College they're rebuilding, help out a bit. I'll probably stop at a few of our holdings and keeps around Orlais and Ferelden, too, make sure everyone is satisfied and doing well. Check out any rumors of rifts or demons or darkspawn. I'm pretty excited about it."

The entire time, Lanil was pushing and shoving her bed into the perfect position. Then, came down to start throwing clothes in the bags while Therilla rushed to fold and pack them neatly. She paced to and fro, grabbing books from the shelf, her portable writing desk, more clothes. Barely stopping to breathe, all the while with a fixed and crooked smile on her face. Flitting about like a bird branch to branch.

Therilla huffed and a frizz of hair fluttered over her nose. She was surrounded by clothes and books and a strange number of knives for a mage. Perhaps she cut a lot of herbs?

"What brought this on, my lady? It seems like you're planning to be gone years! Is the Comman--"

"A year at most. Before I forget." Lanil went into her closet and came back out with a large satchel. It was mostly empty, but it felt like it weighed more than a trunk filled with bricks of gold.

A pair of gloves. A handful of styluses worn down to the nub. A tin filled with a solution of elderflower and oakmoss that he swore to everyone else he didn’t use. Papers covered in bold, too-heavy handwriting not her own. Books with feathers or ribbons or dried elfroot for bookmarks, whatever had been nearby. Letters from South Reach carefully kept in their envelopes to preserve them as long as possible. The coin they passed back and forth. Slipped into a pocket or under a pillow or in a boot.

He'd laughed that time. He hadn't been able to figure out how she'd managed to get in it there while he was wearing it.

The satchel dropped with a sad little rattle and thwap.

She was not going to morbidly and symbolically compare it to the past eighteen months.

"That should be returned to the Commander's office. Maybe at dinner or before breakfast, when no one notices."

"Oh. Oh." Therilla's brown eyes glistened and her hand covered her mouth.

"It's nothing. I have a journey to finish packing for." Lanil grinned and spun on her heel. "Do you know what the weather is like in Val Royeaux?"

"Sunny, my lady. The weather should hold for a few weeks yet," Therilla murmured.

"Excellent."

...

Lanil hefted the saddlebags a little higher and shoved through the door into the main hall. Therilla had offered to help carry, but Lanil was more than capable of doing it alone. They weren't even full. Early dawn light trickled through the high stained-glass windows. Soon enough, the hall would be filled with so much sunlight it'd be impossible to walk through without squinting. But for now, the stone beneath her feet took on an unearthly quality, a pearly sheen that reminded Lanil of the Fade.

Dorian met her at the door and raised an eyebrow at her armful.

"You realize you have paid servants to do that for you?"

Lanil scowled at him. With an exasperated sigh, he took hold of the wide strap nearest him. She scowled a little harder, but they walked out the front doors with the saddlebags hanging between them. Funnily enough, even at this early hour, there was a large crowd forming at the front gates. By the time they got close enough to hear the words, Lanil also picked out a familiar voice. And then she saw his blond hair, curlier than ever, and dark fur ruff in the middle of the crowd.

She was surprised dust didn't rise around her boots, she reined herself to a stop so fast. Dorian jerked to a startled halt beside her.

"Lane, what--" He stopped, concern creasing his forehead deeply. She was staring at him, mute and ashen-faced, lips pressed into a thin, white line. He turned back to the crowd and saw Cullen bracing his hands on his hips and arguing heatedly with an Avvar stranger.

"I need to--stables. Go to the stables," Lanil said hoarsely.

"I knew this sudden plan to travel like a migrating goose was rushed and odd. Darling, you can't just run off after a fight," Dorian scolded. She didn't even bother frowning. Just stared at him. Slowly, the vague niggles of amusement ebbed. "Lanil, it wasn't just a fight, was it?"

Still nothing.

"Inquisitor!"

Lanil flinched, then drew herself up straight and square-shouldered so fast Dorian almost missed the first, involuntary motion. He turned to see Cullen striding towards them as suspicions mounted. Seeing the untamed curls and too dark circles in Cullen's wan and weary face more than confirmed them. The way both of them resolutely met eyes with entirely blank expressions, facades as perfectly painted as any Orlesian mask, made Dorian want to sigh. Or cuff them both 'round the head. Or shake what happened out of them.

Of course Lanil was running. Of course Cullen would say nothing.

"Commander," Lanil greeted blandly.

"Care to explain why--" Cullen stopped mid-sentence and stared at the bags hanging between Dorian and Lanil. "What are you doing?"

Dorian rolled his eyes skyward. Of course Lanil was running and hadn't warned Cullen.

"Leaving."

"Andraste's ass, Lane," Dorian whispered. He cleared his throat, though Cullen couldn't tear his eyes from the saddlebags. "We're accompanying Gulsdotten for the start of her tour before heading to the Free Marches. I will be going on to Tevinter after that."

"I said I'd take responsibility. The least I could do if be there to take the blast if Sigrid loses control," Lanil stated. Inflection still flat. Tightly and completely controlled. Cullen frowned darkly, but Dorian could see his hands shaking before he crossed his arms over his chest.

"No one likes a matyr, darling. Stop being so dramatic. We'll all be fine," Dorian said smoothly.

"We're going to be late," Lanil retorted, turning again towards the stables.

"What about the bear?" Cullen gritted out.

Lanil's facade broke as her head tilted. "The bear?"

"That man over there brought a bear and claims you know all about it," he said, waving towards the Avvar man.

Dorian couldn't help smirking at the bare-chested, fur-wearing man amid all the armored and multi-layered soldiers. For all their oddities, at least the Avvar knew how to appreciate the male chest. It was too early for the courtiers to be out & about, which was both disappointing for the scandalized twittering he was surely missing out on, but very fortunate for Lanil and Cullen's sake. Who, despite their carefully dull expressions and monitered voices, were as obvious as the Breach-made scar in the sky.

Suddenly Lanil's eyes lit up as the Avvar man neared them and she almost smiled.

"Storvacker!" she exclaimed.

Dorian couldn't quite repress his grin. "They actually sent Storvacker here?"

"You knew about this?" Cullen demanded. "Both of you?"

"Of course." Lanil tilted up her chin, mulish and stubborn. "I made the judgement. Storvacker is your agent now, Commander. Treat her with all due respect."

Cullen sputtered. The Avvar nodded to Lanil and grinned, all wide and toothsome and handsome. Alas that the only Avvar in Tevinter were those ne'er-do-wells causing mayhem with the goat-throwing Movran.

"Augur, it is a pleasure to see you again," the Avvar greeted.

Alas that this one only had eyes for women, it seemed.

Lanil nodded and then paused, head tilting again as she squinted.

"I know you. You were the first one up the wall at the Fortress."

"Tommar, augur. It's not often lowlanders tell us apart," Tommar said, obviously looking her up and down.

"You did an impressive job. Of course I remember. Where is Storvacker?" Lanil asked without a pause. Not noticing either Tommar's sudden prideful posturing or Cullen burying his face in his hand.

"Could this morning get any worse," Cullen whispered hoarsely.

Dorian's heart went out to him.

"She's down at the river, augur. She'll come up whenever she's ready," Tommar said. "I could take you to her now? I volunteered to come visit your Sky's Hold and offer you my services."

Dorian would not laugh. He caught the look on Cullen's face and, no, he really wouldn't laugh. Cullen met Dorian's eyes. Dorian hadn't seen him look like that since he'd watched Lanil training to face spiders again while she was slowly overwhelmed by her own panic.

Heartbroken and unable to say a thing.

"I'm about to leave Skyhold for the foreseeable future, Tommar, but you're welcome to the Inquisition. Commander Rutherford here is the leader of our forces, you should speak with him. About joining and Storvacker." She waved a hand at Cullen.

Tommar sized Cullen up, arms crossed. Cullen raised an eyebrow.

"My services were to you alone, augur. I'll return to Stone-Bear Hold once Storvacker is settled."

Lanil blinked. "All right." Her eyes suddenly widened. "Faith!" She shoved her saddlebags into Dorian's arms. He oofed loudly. She pointed at Tommar and ordered briskly, "You, with me. Dorian, I'll meet you by the river."

She ran past without a single glance back. Tommar shrugged with a grin and jogged after her. What was left of the crowd watched her leave before slowly dispersing, all muttering and whispering and carefully not looking at Cullen. He stood too still in the courtyard, hand clenching and unclenching and clenching into fists at his sides. Dorian hefted the saddlebags over a shoulder and approached him.

"Whatever it was, she'll come back," Dorian said quietly. Cullen startled, as if he had forgotten anyone else was around. "She'll come back and then you two can figure things out."

"No," Cullen whispered. "I don't think we will."

"If I may ask--" Dorian tried to ask without sounding like he prying. He didn't get far.

"You may not."

Dorian sighed. "I suppose this is our farewell, Commander. You are a good man and I am glad I got to know you, I hope you know that."

"I do now. Thank you." Cullen closed his eyes and his head lowered. "Please, watch out for her. As much as she'll allow."

"For as long as I'm able," Dorian agreed. He reached out to grip Cullen's shoulder. "She's the best friend I ever had, and that means... more than I can describe."

"Good. I..." Cullen broke off. His voice too thick and low. "Good. Safe travels, Dorian."

"Commander... Cullen, you are also are a good friend. Quite unexpectedly."

Cullen's shoulders tightened briefly, then he abruptly marched away. Dorian's hand left hanging in mid-air. Dorian frowned at his broad back, wishing there was any way, any words he could say, to help. In the end, he could only turn towards the stables and get started on those safe travels.

Part II

#so i should just post it on ao3 at this point #sigh #Lanil's Pieces #dai ficlet #dai cullen rutherford #dai lavellan #cullen x lavellan #Break Up fic #BUT THERE IS A HAPPY ENDING #... eventually uhhh #it was supposed to be 3 parts #it is NOT #also lanil is a petty asshole #and cullen has trauma/indoctrination he needs to stop ignoring...

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