Chapter Text
Fires were burning in several places, warm and inviting and sheltered even in this forsaken wind. The Commander of the Inquisition’s forces stood near none of them.
Cassandra had ventured into the cold to bring him back, but he would not go. Not only would he rather be alone, but he couldn’t bear to let anyone else see him this way. Pain was etched in every line of his weary face and he had not the strength to mask it.
By now, his knees were soaked through his tough trousers, the snow biting into his skin like a blade. He couldn’t stand, so the suffering was unavoidable.
To anyone who asked, he said he was waiting. She would return, she had to. Any moment now, she’d come running over the hill, jog to a panting stop, and pull back her hood. She’d give him some form of smile designed to keep worry at bay, and she’d say some smart comment about how the Elder One had turned out to actually be disappointing.
But no one arrived over the hill, least of all a hero.
Such thoughts were felt in his heart like sharp arrows, launched from the bows of Fate and Fortune. Someone must be having a laugh up there. Wasn’t it funny? The only hope, the end-all, be-all of this cause was struck down because of his idea. Hilarious.
Maker preserve him, he’d doomed them all. She should have been the one to lead the people out. A military commander was essentially replaceable, but what were the odds of a second Herald being sent? They couldn’t even take care of one, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Andraste just left them to their own devices at this point.
She had trusted him so completely. She wasn’t a military leader, had never planned to be. The first sign of trouble, she’d placed her faith in him. “Cullen, give me a plan, anything!”
She had needed his guidance, and he’d sent her off alone.
It was tactical, strategic, the way he’d been taught. That didn’t make it any sort of right.
So many people were at his back, barely curbing their fears of what was to come. He couldn’t face them, but he could either return to camp, or slowly freeze to death. Guilty as he felt, it would do no good to cost the Inquisition two of its leaders. When the night was at its darkest, he turned in.
. . .
“A storm is on its way,” Leliana reported grimly. “We must find better shelter, or the Inquisition is finished at the hands of nature.”
The other advisers looked at her, tension in their faces. “Can we not hold off for another day?” Cullen asked weakly.
There was a twist to the sister’s mouth that warned of coming thunder. “Would you like for whatever is left of us to freeze to death in the vain hope that a miracle will arrive?” she snapped. Josephine reached out to her, but it was as though Leliana didn’t see. She stepped forward, causing Cullen to secretly tremble. She was one of the few people able to do such a thing. “We move forward now, or we never move forward again. Gather your supplies, Commander, and make haste.”
He gritted his teeth, but gave a short nod and left the tent. Once out in the cold again, he rubbed his calloused fingers over his face and wondered just how any mortal could be expected to handle this.
“I take it we have no good news,” said a throaty voice from his right.
He looked to Cassandra, his feeling of desperation now familiar. “We have to move on, we can’t wait anymore. We’ve lost our only chance at victory.”
Cassandra stiffened and he realized that, once again, he’d stuck his foot in his mouth. “That is not all she was,” she said, her anger coming out much more quietly than Leliana’s. Her arms folded over her chest in a rarely-seen gesture of low confidence. She was looking beyond Cullen, at the white expanse devoid of any life. “A person gave her life for us, and do we mourn her? No, we grieve for a broken symbol and wallow in self pity.” She shook her head in disgust, and Cullen felt another twinge of guilt. “I thought you would have acted differently.”
He looked down at his hands. “It’s better… that I don’t.” It was easier to remember Trevelyan the Herald rather than Trevelyan the Charmer. She had been thrown into this madness with no idea what she was doing, and instead of surrendering herself to a constant state of panic, she’d been all smiles and jokes.
“I didn’t mean to start lecturing you.”
“I don’t mind getting lectured.” Wink.
He still blushed when he thought about it.
“Any vows of celibacy?”
Maker’s breath, had that question really come from her mouth? And after what had been such a pleasant conversation about the Order. He hadn’t been able to look at her in the war room after that.
And now… now, he wouldn’t look at her again. It was better to pretend he’d only ever seen her from a distance than remember how she used to make him catch fire at the drop of a hat.
“Cullen, give me a plan, anything!”
He almost cringed at the memory. At second thought, perhaps her faith in him didn’t merely stem from inexperience.
Cassandra was still standing there, though her expression had softened as she looked at him in the long silence. “I’m sorry. Maybe you do understand.”
He looked at her, jaw feeling tight. “It would be better not to,” he said before walking away to round up his men.
. . .
He couldn’t help but feel like they were leaving something behind. They were miles from Haven now, tucked into a snug valley that kept the worst of the wind and snow away. The snow underfoot had already become packed and glassy with their treading. But it was only temporary, only until they found new lodgings.
Or until they all perished.
Despite the distance and the worries, Cullen still watched. He would stand with the patrols at the entrance to their camp, pretending he was at the ready for an attack while he watched for a grey hood against the white snow.
Presently, he felt someone at his side, far closer than any of his soldiers were comfortable getting. He glanced over, then down to see a dwarf with crossbow in hand. “Ah,” he said, just because he felt like he had to say something.
Varric glanced up, then set his eyes back on the horizon. “I’m not sweet on ya, Curly, don’t go getting any ideas.”
“I wasn’t.”
The dwarf shrugged one shoulder, as though trying to get rid of an ache. “I just thought, y’know, another archer in case of an attack wouldn’t hurt.”
Cullen looked down at him again, seeing the worry lines set deep in Varric’s face. This was about more than guard duty. “Then you’re welcome here,” he said simply before resuming his vigil. He’d be damned if he was about to discuss his muddled thoughts with Varric Tethras. The way his luck was going, his words would end up in some terrible best-seller in the Free Marches.
As usual, however, it was Varric who let his mouth run away. He was a storyteller, and words were usually his only comfort, provided a bottle of good alcohol was first nowhere to be found. “She reminded me a lot of Hawke.”
Cullen’s brow furrowed. “The upstart Champion of Kirkwall? Are we remembering the same Hawke?”
That drew a short chuckle from the dwarf. “Trevelyan’s a bit of an upstart, too. Couldn’t swing a dead nug without hitting someone who wanted to pick a fight, and she wasn’t one to say no. Should have seen her in Val Royeaux, telling those Chantry clerks to shut the hell up like she was running the place.” His laughter faded, and he cleared his throat. “But, y’know, Hawke was just kind of the mom of the group.”
“Are you certain we're speaking of the same Hawke?”
“If you’d been there, you’d agree,” Varric said. “Always running around doing stuff for her friends, making sure everybody was okay, picking up presents while we trekked all over the damn city. Once she got the house, everybody was free to just waltz in any time they liked. I saw the same stuff in Trevelyan. Lady-turned-Herald, stuck halfway across Thedas in the blighted mountains, and she never once told anybody ‘no.’” He scowled for a moment, then shook his head. “Should’ve helped her practice that a little more,” he added in a mutter.
Cullen wanted him to stop talking. The more people humanized Trevelyan, the harder it was to accept she was gone. Every moment she didn’t appear felt like a moment closer to when she would, regardless of how much time had been spent standing in the cold.
“Y’know, I think I can almost see her.”
“Enough, Varric,” he said, rubbing a hand over his brow.
“No, Curly, look. Over there by those pines.”
His head shot up and he looked, really looked through the snow. It could have been the dark of night, or the flakes falling all around, or even just a damned hallucination, but he thought he saw something moving beyond their perimeter.
Something was moving, and as it neared, it was clearly someone. Stumbling slightly, dragging their long legs, coat flapping in the wind. “Maker’s breath,” he whispered, the soft expression torn from his lungs as though he was looking upon the Creator Himself. “It’s her!” He was dashing out through the snow before another thought could register. She seemed to see him, stopping her advance and then teetering dangerously. He caught her as she collapsed, holding her gingerly even as he wanted to crush her against himself. She was freezing. Maker, how had she survived all the way here?
He realized Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, and several scouts were around him now, and someone pulled back Trevelyan’s hood to confirm that yes, this was the Herald and yes, she still breathed. He shifted his hold, putting one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, and he carried her into their little tent village to recover.
. . .
Everything had happened so quickly, Cullen wondered when he even found time to breathe. Between finding Trevelyan (and with her, their hope), travelling to Skyhold, and getting everything settled, time to eat or sleep had begun to get lost in the shuffle. A nervous sort of energy kept everyone going, not to mention their messiah’s claim to the title of Inquisitor. People not only had to go without rest, but they felt like they could and were willing.
While Josephine worried what it would do to the strength of all workers, Cullen was going right along with the other sleepless soldiers. In time, things would slow down, but for right now, everything was madness and it was almost wonderful. There was time to act and to plan, but not to think too much about the enemy or the losses. Their new arrangements were far superior to those in Haven, and the secluded nature of the fortress made everyone feel that much more free, more independent. The Inquisition surely was a body all its own, and that was worth losing a night of sleep or a meal here and there.
Someone else had noticed the bad habits beginning to form, however. The “mom of the group,” as Varric had put it, was pleased with everyone’s efforts, but had drafted an announcement that if everyone wasn’t in bed that night by curfew, she’d throw the lot of them into the recently-discovered dungeons for a day. In her opinion, exactly the same amount of work would be done there as it would if they spent another night burning the midnight oil.
Cullen, as commander, obviously thought he was exempt from this.
“We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an Archdemon,” he admitted to the Inquisitor standing at his elbow. Distance was easier if he submerged himself in work.
“Do you ever sleep?” she asked with slight amusement.
“If Corypheus strikes again, we need to be ready-”
“Commander,” she said, tone more insistent. He glanced up, seeing her eyebrow cocked with slight annoyance. In her hand was a plate full of food.
“Ah…. Inquisitor, you shouldn’t have.”
She dropped the plate on top of the maps and charts he was studying. “I’ve already sent Cassandra to her chambers, don’t make me shame you in front of your recruits.”
The image was both hilarious and humiliating, so he sighed and dropped the pencil he was holding. “Thank you,” he said.
She nearly smirked. “Was that so hard?”
“If you want to know the truth, that felt like dropping the world on its head,” he said lightly. Then some of his gravity returned. “Of course, you probably know exactly how that is. I know it seems like a lot resting on your shoulders, but morale has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor. You’ve proven yourself a worthy leader with Haven.”
The smile she gave him seemed tight, and she looked away for a moment.
Cullen had kept himself back this time, advising from a distance as he should have done before. That, coupled with the flurry of recent activity, had left him blind to how much Haven had affected her. She still made smart comments, was still ready to put her boot up the ass of any naysayer, but the lightness was gone. She might have thought herself dead more than anyone else had.
“I’m glad that you - that so many made it out of there,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “Of course, I’m glad you’re here. You do so much work, I’m afraid things would fall apart without you.”
He gave a slight laugh and felt his cheeks glowing again, and then he chanced a look at her. His heart gave a strange stutter at the sight of her brown eyes, suddenly unfocused and so filled with the worry she tried so hard to hide. It was ridiculous to think so much was expected of a single being.
She began to turn away, and words started pouring unbidden from his mouth. “What you did was a miracle in itself. You stayed behind. You could have-” He stopped. They both knew what could have happened. His mouth tightened and he forced himself to filter. “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”
She looked at him, and for once, she didn’t hide the heaviness in her eyes. Maybe she believed he was sincere, but she didn’t believe he had the power to uphold this promise. He wasn’t sure he did, either. “Thank you, Commander,” she said, almost stiffly. Then her humor began to creep back into her face. “But if you think nice words will get you out of a sentencing, you’re wrong. In bed by the bell, or you sleep in the dungeons.”
He exhaled as she walked away, reeling from the heated moment. He really did need sleep. He turned back to the food on the table, which was probably cold by now, and did his best to stop thinking about the Inquisitor so much.