Chapter Text
A headache was a constant companion. Cullen had learned this over the last three months, and made as much peace as he was willing with the bitter truth of it. The headache could be persuaded to become smaller, something manageable, lurking at the backs of his eyes. There were times he fancied himself almost free of the pain, with a potion freshly downed and the weight of a sword and shield in his hands. But like a lover, it crawled back into his embrace each night, binding the Commander with the golden leash he’d once allowed to tug him along so obediently.
Cullen cracked his neck for the fourth time since the sun had climbed over Skyhold’s walls, earning a look mixed with mild disgust and pity from the captain at his left. His jaw felt tight, the skin at the nape of his neck practically rubbed raw from his fingers seeking out a knot to prod at– desperate for something to ease the clench of his muscles that kept him from much needed rest. He thought mournfully of the alchemist. There had been nothing left of Master Adan in his cabin after the templars’ fire met with the jars he’d prepared for their assault on the Breach. It was at least comforting to think the man hadn’t felt any pain at the moment of his death. Only the ghost of an outline on the blackened floorboards of the leveled cabin suggested he’d been sleeping when the explosion set off– drunk, most likely. Maker, what Cullen wouldn’t do for a drink right now.
“Ser!” Another soldier shouted, far too loudly. He was naught but a foot away from the Commander, on the opposite end of what passed for a command station set up in the courtyard.
“The order was sent?” Cullen asked, resisting the urge to embarrass the clueless boy into silence. He was stopped only by the presence of the two captains flanking his sides, watching how the Commander would handle such a green recruit.
“Yes, Commander.”
“Send men to scout the area.” Cullen ordered, glancing back down at the maps under his splayed hands. “We need to know what’s out there.”
“Yes, ser!” The soldier responded, saluting as he backed away, nearly toppling over an unsuspecting merchant laden with scrolls. The Commander hid his chuckle behind the pretense of clearing his throat. He would be shaming himself to reprimand the soldiers when they were merely eager, and for good reason. It wasn’t every day one bore witness to what they’d seen just half an hour ago. Thedas had an Inquisitor again, the first in over eight-hundred years.
Cullen thought it more likely that nugs would fly before Ashara stopped taking his breath away. She’d been wreathed by golden light breaking through the red of the trees at her back, raising that sword into the sky as if it could pierce the place where the Breach had once hung. He could have plunged into battle then and there, sure that those under his command felt the same way. The adrenaline in his blood was wasted on this faffing about, battling instead with maps of the largely uncharted area around their fortress and the task of finding stations for their troops.
“Commander.” Another soldier, faceless, as Cullen kept his eyes down on the latest report dropped in front of him. “Soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters.”
“Very good.” Cullen responded with relief. Finally. “I’ll need an update on the armory as well.”
He waited for the sound of their boots scraping away, and when the shadow over his desk lingered, he at last looked up. The soldier picked at a scab below their eye, the beginnings of a scar earned during the escape from Haven, no doubt. Cullen drummed his fingers against the desk sharply.
“Now.”
“Oh!” The soldier jumped, straightening and growing practically three whole inches. “Yes, ser! Right away, ser!”
Cullen slumped ever so slightly, wondering if he was being tested; whether by the Maker or their spymaster, he couldn’t say. Dismissing his captains, Cullen waited until they’d blended into the passersby among the courtyard to let out his breath. He traced the grooves in the wood of the desk, eyes sluggishly dragging along the inked lines of the map they’d assembled.
“Do you ever sleep?”
Now he was sure he was being tested. His fingers ceased their aimless movement, unsure of where to lay that appeared most natural. Ashara was perched on the steps just beside his outdoor office, leaning over the stone railing with an amused look on her pretty face. The cut below her brow was healing well, he noted; the scar pink and smooth. Cullen realized he was staring, and broke into a breathy laugh.
“I do sleep. Standing up, like a horse.” He joked, turning back to his papers. He heard Ashara descending the stairs, felt the air heating as she approached. Cullen had often marveled at how she seemed to carry an inner glow of energy with her; one that he’d denied himself ever since that night in the tent.
“Careful. You’ll give Varric fodder for teasing if you say things like that.” Ashara giggled. She was close now, far too close. She leaned against the desk, his hand in danger of skimming along the side of her hip if he moved. It would be easy to brush it off as an accident, blamed on the close quarters. He brought the itching hand instead to his chin, rubbing as if thinking deeply.
“Cullen,” Ashara said lightly. “Is everything… all right?”
He went to lie, to spout off the same answer he’d given Cassandra and Josephine that morning in turn. Cullen raised his head to look at her, gaze naked with longing that he was terrified she would see. The lie died on his lips, though all other words went with it. She tilted her head in confusion, pursing her split lip in concern. She would taste like blood right now if he kissed her. Copper and salt. He wet his own lips, speaking at last before she would think him bereft of all sense.
“We set up as best we could at Haven, but we never could prepare for an Archdemon– or whatever it was.” He said wearily. “With some warning, we might have…”
She had inched herself closer to him without his notice. Cullen trailed off with a sigh, digging his knuckles once again into the stubborn knots in his neck.
“We were all shaken by what happened.” Ashara said. “None of us are to blame.”
“If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw.” Cullen admitted. “And I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready. Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”
Ashara bit her swollen lip– Maker, he wished she wouldn’t– as she fixed him with a quizzical look.
“You’re speaking to me like I came over here for a report.” She said pointedly. “Did I… did I do something?”
“What?” Cullen panicked. “No! No, of course not. I mean– you’ve done everything. For all of us. I merely wish to give you the respect you’ve earned.”
She huffed out a breath, sounding very much like Mayfair when the horse was denied an extra carrot. Cullen decided not to share the endearing comparison with the woman currently glaring daggers at him.
“I’m the Inquisitor, Cullen, not the bloody Viscount of Ostwick. I wasn’t looking for another title, so please don’t start treating me like I’m… like we’re not friends.”
“Maker, no! That isn’t–” Cullen sighed, once again rubbing at his chin. He was an idiot. “Whatever happens, no matter where we go from here, you will always have my friendship. And you have my counsel, as the leader of your army. I will give you no less than my best as your Commander, even if it makes me sound like a fool.”
Ashara’s eyes widened momentarily, realizing the implication of what he’d said. Her army. She shrank into herself, leaning more heavily against the desk.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… Everyone has so much faith in my leadership. I just hope I’m ready.”
Cullen wanted to reach for her. He would have done, before. Without even thinking, he would have laid a hand on her shoulder or tilted her chin up to look at him properly. He’d known the feeling of her skin before he ever thought to memorize it, as if he’d have all his life to touch her. What a blighted fool he’d been. Even now, his fingers twitched, torn between grabbing hold of his quill or her waist.
“You won’t have to carry the Inquisition alone. Although it must feel like it.” He said softly. A ghost of a smile flitted across her face and Cullen cursed the absurdly proud feeling blooming in his chest that followed.
“Inquisitor Trevelyan.” She said slowly, sounding out each syllable. “It sounds odd, don’t you think?”
“Not at all.”
“Is that the official response?” She pressed, smirking at him. He laughed breathily.
“I suppose it is. But it’s the truth.” A silence stretched between them, or rather, around them. Cullen felt it pushing him to draw nearer to her upturned lips, to fill the hush with action instead of words. He needed to think of something else to say, quickly, before his pain-addled brain let go of his control and he did something they’d both regret. Mercifully, Ashara spoke first.
“You report to me now?” She remarked, a question that needn’t be answered. “Will that be a problem?”
“P-problem?” He heard himself say.
“I’ve learned a lot since the Conclave,” She went on. “But I’m not a strategist by any means.”
Cullen could have kicked himself. Of course she hadn’t meant what he’d thought. He decided he would kick himself later, or ask to spar with The Iron Bull. Then perhaps some sense would be knocked into him.
“I was brought on to oversee the Inquisition’s forces and offer military advice. That hasn’t changed.” Cullen responded. “Whatever you need of me regarding our troops, our movements, you have only but to ask. We needed a leader, and you have more than proven yourself.”
She looked at him with something akin to doubt. He wondered if he’d failed in the past to make it clear just how highly he thought of her– as a leader, an archer, a key part of their organization since the day she’d served, even bound in chains.
“Thank you, Cullen.” She said, still looking directly at him. “Our escape from Haven… it was close. I’m relieved that you– that so many made it out.”
“As am I.” He breathed. Even though they’d had that precious time together after the avalanche had rocked the foundations of their plans, they hadn’t yet discussed this. The threat of death that had nearly taken her from him. Had she feared for him, too?
“You stayed behind. You could have…”
He was speaking out of turn, his mind far behind the sprinting of his mouth. The night in the tent could have been only seconds ago, stripped of their facades and the masks of their titles; wrapped in heat and words spoken with no barriers. Cullen had felt the weight of her life in his arms, had despaired every night since that his arms were now empty. He’d told himself it was better to stay away, to create a distance that would remind him firmly of his place. What a selfish thing to do, when she needed him now more than ever.
“I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”
Ashara appeared shocked into silence, her reddened lips parted in surprise. Cullen took advantage of the moment, letting his eyes trace over her wounds. Bruises scattered along her skin in various stages of healing. Her posture told him she still favored her weight onto her good foot. There was a weariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before the Breach was closed, a shadow of dark circles that told him sleep had evaded her last few nights. He would have taken all of her pain, even if it meant a headache that could never be dulled. She was still looking at him intently, raising a hand slowly to his face. He nearly flinched, but stood his ground. Cullen had told himself he wouldn’t touch her anymore, wouldn’t force on her the notion that he thought of her as anything more than a close friend– but he hadn’t said she couldn’t touch him, had he?
Her hand hovered over his cheek, barely brushing against his skin. Slowly, she laid her thumb over the scar stretching out from his lip. A jagged, ugly thing. He’d been reckless, mouthing off at the wrong person in a tavern in Kirkwall, long before the prideful templar had been humbled in his youth. He’d been too ashamed to seek out a healer until it was too late to save the wound from scarring. Yet Ashara traced the remnant of the knife wound as if it were new; as though if she pressed too hard, old blood would come running back to the surface.
“Scout Harding.” She said suddenly, withdrawing her hand. “She makes tea that helps me when I can’t sleep. You should ask her– or I could! I’ll go right now, actually.”
Cullen was still standing dumbstruck, leaned against his desk, when Ashara could no longer be seen. She slipped into the milling bands of refugees and soldiers overflowing the courtyard, leaving only the lingering feeling of her skin on his. He shouldn’t have let himself give in to desire– stupid, stupid thing to do. Didn’t he know better? He’d kept his distance the entire hike up the Maker-forsaken mountains, only allowing himself to watch her when he knew she wouldn’t spot him amongst the crowd. He’d stayed in his tent at night, pointedly not thinking of how she’d looked up at him, lying on the floor in the low light. Cullen denied himself the thoughts of her looking at him like that with no blankets between them, until he gave in to his most sinful urges with his own hand and his teeth clenched down around a pillow. It was despicable what he wanted from her. He could love her from afar, without knowing all of her. He would ask her to suffer no more of him than she already did.
“He is quiet, behind the noise. The little bottle makes him shake, but he tests the chains. She loosens them.”
“Maker’s breath!” Cullen half-shouted, ready to simply collapse onto the desk out of sheer exhaustion. The boy slunk out from the shadows in the archway below the stairs, silent as a wraith. “Dammit, Cole! You need to give warning before you appear!”
“You’re afraid of me?” Cole asked. If he was hurt, he didn’t show it. His face was as expressionless as ever. Cullen dropped his chin to his chest, pressing the knuckle of his thumb into the spot just below his brow, where he could almost touch the headache.
“I’m not afraid, Cole. I’ve told you.” He said in a low voice. “But you have to understand, you come out of nowhere and– say things like that. Just… a hello would be nice, once in a while.”
“Hello.”
“Not now.” Cullen groaned. He turned back to face the desk, assembling the maps and reports into a perfectly even stack as the boy wandered closer.
“Why do you stop yourself?” Cole asked, with all the innocence of a child. “You want to close the door, but you always leave it open, just a crack. For her. Letting the light in.”
“I don’t have to answer that.” Cullen snapped. He’d long since learned the boy couldn’t be offended. Not by him, at the least. Oftentimes it felt as if Cullen was the only one that could even see him, following their trail as they trekked through the mountains. Whatever Cole was, he certainly wasn’t human.
“But it hurts you. Like the empty bottles, the box in your drawer.”
“Cole. You’re prying again.”
“She found the hearth. The promise of warmth and coming home. You stoke the fires and wait to welcome her back. She chose to go home.”
Cullen glanced over, letting loose an annoyed sound when Cole wasn’t standing where he’d last seen him. “What are you talking about now?”
“She was so cold, and tired. Despair found her, and she didn’t fight back. But the fires guided her path. She said you were home, but you’re the one that called her home.”
Now his voice rasped from somewhere above Cullen’s head, and the Commander looked up to find the boy sitting precariously on the ledge. His long legs dangled over the edge, the wide brim of his hat blocking out the winking of the sun's light through the clouds.
“Did you… did you find Ashara? That night?” Cullen asked, aware of the tremble in his voice as he pieced together Cole’s cryptic words. The boy blinked at him, nodding quickly.
“You disguised yourself?” Cullen asked further. Now Cole looked surprised, possibly for the first time in his life– or whatever it was he had.
“I can’t do that.” He said simply. “I’m only me. She saw what she needed to survive, and I heard what she wanted me to say. It was easy. She loves him very much. The pieces of him left on the mountain were sad when he died, but he saw her before he left. He was smiling.”
Cullen felt his heart flipping uneasily in the cavity of his chest. He had half a mind to tear up the stairs and throttle Cole where he sat. How dare he deceive her– and Cullen had almost believed it could be real; that Ashara’s brother had somehow found his way back to her across the Fade. He’d never been so disappointed to be right about something in his life. But, if what Cole said was true, then he was the reason Ashara had stood in this exact spot only moments ago.
“Thank you.” Cullen said, not meeting the unnervingly blue eyes. “I can’t begin to thank you enough– for bringing her back.”
The boy was quiet, but Cullen thought he caught the barest glimpse of a smile under the brim of the hat. He was determined to watch, to catch him this time when he disappeared. But Cole was gone in the instant Cullen blinked against the brightness of the midday sky, not a trace of green in sight.
—
“Where did you learn to paint like this?”
Solas didn’t turn back to look at Ash when he answered, a brush in his hand, delicately poised against the rough stone wall of the rotunda he’d chosen for his study. His floor of residence was set just off the main hall of the keep, where Ash was expected to meet with the advisors after the momentous morning. Her advisors, she supposed. She’d arrived too early, fidgeting uncomfortably as she waited in the dark and drafty hall. The scaffolding set against the walls begged to be climbed, providing a perch for watching the comings and goings of those that would one day bustle about this hall. But as it was now, one would be in danger of tripping over the crumbling stone and many crates of building materials. There was hardly any bustle to be sufficiently distracted with, and seeking out company, Ash wandered into the elf’s private chamber. He answered her question with a light smile, one that she could only hear in his voice, with his face turned away.
“There are countless spirits of passion, learning, purpose… all willing to share a number of skills worthy of pursuing. I was lucky enough to strike an acquaintance with one that had studied the holdings of great kings and greater artisans. In time, I took up the brush to put to solid reality what the Fade had taught me.”
“And what is it you paint?” Ash asked, sitting upon the mahogany desk in the middle of the circular room. The elf had raised a singular eyebrow at her most unladylike position, but had yet to request she move. He turned to her now, lowering the brush and wiping the back of his free hand along his brow. A light sheen of sweat had gathered there, and Ash could see why. They’d only taken up residence in Skyhold for three days, and already a quarter of the rounded wall in Solas’s room was covered in striking shapes and vibrant colors.
“I paint to remember, Inquisitor.” Solas said. Ash knew he would say no more, even if pressed, and sat quietly admiring his work. The panel he’d finished clearly depicted the explosion at the Conclave, though more beautifully than she’d imagined the real thing had looked. A beam of light shot up in a pillar from the dark shapes of the mountains and the blood red of the sky. Meeting a half-circle of sickening green, the beam burst out in rays, as if raining down upon the Frostbacks. Hanging above the grisly scene was the Black City, lording over all as the beam attempted to claim it. And all around the city in its domain were eyes, painted in red and of various shapes and sizes, each one piercing into the gaze of the viewer. Ash shivered, unsure if she was affected by the art or the draft drifting down from the upper floors of the tower. Leliana’s ravens could be heard squawking in a cacophonous medley in the rafters. Ash wondered if Solas had truly weighed all his options when choosing this tower to make his space, and just what he’d do when the droppings rained down inevitably from above. She nearly laughed at the imagery of her eloquent friend covered in bird’s waste, and opted not to share what had her giggling under her breath. Something told her Solas wouldn’t find it nearly as funny.
She excused herself with some small regret, knowing it may be a good deal of time before she’d be able to steal away like this again. Only hours ago she’d accepted the role of Inquisitor, with a sense of responsibility she’d quite honestly been unsure she possessed until the sword lay in her hands. It wasn’t doubt alone that kept her from rising to her new duties with the confidence she’d seen her eldest brother shoulder– since Augustin was twelve, he’d been privy to all matters of state and consequence that her father shared from his councils. He was to be heir one day, and there was not a moment to waste to ensure he would be ready for the weight of what that meant. Ash thought herself jealous as a little girl, watching her brother always at her father’s side. But she quickly found out Augustin didn’t get to roll down the grassy knolls behind their estate; racing Irina and Quentin along the shoreline, digging for shells in the wet sand and splashing their surprisingly tolerant governess’s skirts until they were soaked. These were luxuries unknown to those with power, and until Lady Trevelyan first broached the subject of marriage with her youngest daughter, Ash thought herself quite lucky.
Lucky. She supposed she was lucky, after all. She’d cheated death twice, whether or not it had been her intention to do so. And though she hadn’t seen her family in almost six months, she was surrounded by a new kind of family– people who loved her and wanted to see her succeed. She couldn’t let them down.
Stepping into the great hall, Ash picked out the shadows cast against the walls as Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen entered from the main doors with the sun at their backs. She padded out quietly to meet them, lacing her fingers together behind her waist. Josephine was chattering away, half in her own mind as Leliana smiled fondly at their ambassador, and Cullen rubbed his eyes, darkened with clear fatigue. Ash twisted her fingers together out of sight, unable to quell the rise of embarrassment that heated her neck. She’d run away like a mabari with its tail tucked between its legs after their short conversation earlier. All she’d meant to do was find out why Cullen had been avoiding her, or rather if he’d been doing so at all. She’d barely been able to scrape together more than two minutes with him in their camps before he’d find some matter to attend to, and she’d lose him in the throngs of soldiers marching up the mountain. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was working himself to the bone, even now, after escaping death– perhaps not quite as narrowly as she’d done. But none would begrudge the Commander a few hours of rest. Ash had felt the hard line of his jaw beneath her hand; saw the shadows ghosted below his eyes. And all she could think to say in that moment was another woman’s name. The shame may as well come back to haunt her dreams that very night.
“Inquisitor!” Josephine exclaimed, turning on her heel sharply as Ash approached. The Ambassador’s warm smile sent her way soothed the tension in her tightly wound shoulders, lulling her into what may have been a false sense of security. It was no less comforting. “Congratulations again, my Lady.”
“Thank you, Josephine.” Ash accepted. “I’m humbled by your trust in me.”
The Ambassador winked as she curtsied, any hint of exhaustion behind her smile well hidden by a woman who’d learned to don her own sort of mask over the years. Ash bobbed a half curtsy back, turning her attention to their other companions with what she hoped was well-concealed eagerness. Cullen was turning in a slow circle, gazing around at the vast hall. The windows capping the far end were of stained glass, stretching the height of four stories and allowing shafts of colored sunlight to catch in the floating dust motes. Despite the rubble and cracked marble, Ash could see the vision Josephine had described– with much gusto– to their remaining builders. This was to be a stately place to host visitors one day, if their expert on Orlesian nobility had anything to say about it.
“So, this is where it begins.” Cullen remarked quietly, as if not to disturb the phantoms of past armies and leaders who’d surely harbored their own ambitions in this very hall.
“It began in the courtyard.” Leliana corrected him. “This is where we turn that promise into action.”
“And that’s precisely what we need to discuss.” Josephine said brightly, adjusting her board of parchments in her arms. Ash was glad to see the contraption had survived, the signature red candle within its holder casting a flattering light over Josephine’s face. “What do we do? We know nothing about this ‘Corypheus’ except that he wanted your mark.”
Ash bit her lip, immediately regretting the familiar bad habit. The skin had split somewhere in the commotion of escaping the templars, and she’d hardly allowed it to heal with her worrying teeth. She caught Cullen watching her with an unreadable expression, and released her lip with a light sigh and an attempt to answer Josephine’s question.
“Corypheus said he wants to enter the Black City, that this would make him a god. But can he really do that?” The question was nothing she hadn’t already posed to Leliana and Cassandra, but one that had remained unanswered in their unease. The Spymaster scowled at her side.
“He is willing to tear this world apart to reach the next. It won’t matter if he’s wrong.”
“What if he’s not wrong?” Cullen asked, voicing what Ash had silently been thinking. “If he finds some other way into the Fade…”
Leliana granted the Commander a look with none of her usual sly confidence. “Then he gains the power he seeks, or unleashes catastrophe on us all.” She replied morosely.
Ash dug back through a haze of pained memory, caught by the gaze of the Elder One’s bloodshot eyes. He’d spoken of power– her anchor, the orb in his hand, and what Solas said was an elven artifact– but the true length of his reach was achieved by the dragon under his command. It had taken only an hour to raze Haven to the ground in rising flames, outdone only by the weight of a mountaintop crashing down to smother the remains of the carnage.
“Could his dragon really be an Archdemon?” Ash questioned, meeting Leliana’s eyes directly. The blue appeared almost violet in the colored light of the windows. “What would that mean?”
“It would mean the beginning of another Blight.” The woman answered. There was silence in the seconds after, thick and stifling as a tarp thrown over their heads. Josephine sighed shakily, upsetting the flame on her candle. Her smile had already faded.
“There have been no reports of any darkspawn, other than Corypheus.” She reasoned. “Perhaps it’s not an Archdemon at all, but something else?”
“Whatever it is, it’s dangerous.” Cullen said with finality. “Commanding such a creature gives him an advantage we can’t ignore.”
“We do have one advantage of our own.” Leliana said, placing a hand lightly just above Ash’s elbow. “In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated.”
“Imagine the chaos her death would cause!” Josephine fretted, gasping as if she’d forgotten that particular detail, shared when Ash returned from Redcliffe. Ash had tried to forget that future every day since, with barely a night of dreamless sleep to show for it. Cullen scowled at the reminder, shaking his head as he spoke.
“Chaos that would feed his army. One that he’ll bolster with a massive force of demons, or so the future tells us.”
“Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas, god or no god…” Josephine added, flipping through her papers rapidly as if she’d find some neatly labeled plan to stop him within. Ash marked the faces of her advisors, the fear tugging at their tired eyes. She boiled within, rekindling the anger she’d molded into strength in that dark future.
“He hasn’t yet.” She said, not attempting to hold back the hard edge in her voice. “If we can’t find him, then we find his followers. We can go after them.”
Leliana nodded slowly, yet the doubt she clearly held within did not wither away with Ash’s proposal. “My scouts are combing through anything they can find. I’d just feel better if we knew more about what we’re dealing with.”
“I know someone that can help with that.”
All heads turned in what must have looked like a stage play, in perfect timing and with matching expressions of surprise. The dwarf ambled over the broken chunks of a pillar strewn over the floor, approaching with a sheepish sort of grin that looked out of place on his face.
“Varric?” Ash hurried to meet him, the footsteps of her advisors echoing in the mostly empty hall at her heels. Varric ran his meaty hand through his hair, not meeting the Inquisitor’s eyes.
“Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend.” He said. “He’s crossed paths with Corypheus before, and may know more about what he’s doing. He can help.”
It seemed almost too good to be true, coupled with Varric’s stoic appraisal of the floor as he spoke. Ash crossed her arms, unsure whether to feel amused or worried.
“I’m always looking for more allies.” She said lightly. “I’d be happy to be introduced to this friend of yours.”
Varric gave her a small glance of appreciation, letting his hand fall at last from his now thoroughly tousled hair to his side. “Parading around might cause a fuss. It’s better if you meet privately. On the battlements.”
“You shouldn’t meet with anyone we don’t know without a guard, Inquisitor.” Cullen cut in, his eyes narrowed at the dwarf. Varric sighed with thinly veiled exasperation.
“Trust me, Curly. It’s complicated, but not dangerous. Besides, you’ll get a lot out of this, and it’s probably overdue.”
“I’ll be fine, Cullen.” Ash said lightly, stepping between the two men. “Varric wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. And we need all the help we can get.”
It was decided Varric would arrange the meeting for just before sundown, calling his friend up from the camps arranged around the keep where they’d taken up temporary residence. Cullen was only mollified once Ash agreed to allow a guard in the nearby watchtower, close enough to react to an attack but far enough to allow the privacy Varric urged was necessary. She watched the Commander tense his hands in his gloves, stretching his fingers to draw them back into curled fists. The scratching of Josephine’s quill on her parchments cut through the tense quiet as Varric took his exit.
“Well then,” She began, her spirits evidently raised with the beginnings of a plan. “We stand ready to move on both of these concerns. I shall find some way to reach our allies in Orlais, and the Inquisitor will address this… friend of Varric’s.”
“On your order, my Lady Inquisitor.” Cullen agreed, nodding at Ash even as the vein in his temple bulged. Josephine glanced between them, catching Leliana’s eye with a raised brow. Leliana tapped her finger against her crossed arms, letting out a laugh with no humor as she and the Ambassador spoke with no words.
“I know one thing.” She said aloud with a half smile. “If Varric has brought who I think he has, Cassandra is going to kill him.”
Cassandra’s murderous intent against Varric would surely have been exaggerated, or at least, that was what Ash hoped. True, the Seeker and the dwarf had valiantly kept up their private war for as long as Ash had personally known them. But Varric offered help when it was desperately needed, and even Cassandra would not turn away another ally in their cause.
“This ‘friend’ had better not be who I think it is.” Cassandra snarled, swinging her sword in a wide and shining arc to meet the side of a suspiciously short target dummy. “I will wring that little bastard’s neck!”
Ash winced, leaned against the wall of their requisition tower. She’d taken the time to meet with the Inquisition’s new quartermaster; a man who’d claimed he was the point of all connections in a web of his family’s influence, and who seemed to spare no grief for the fallen Quartermaster Threnn. The woman had taken out three red templars before she succumbed to her wounds. Exiting the tower, Ash had been pleased to find the Seeker engaged in a mock battle just outside. Now, she was beginning to regret having said anything at all about the planned meeting, taking place in less than half an hour.
“Why? Who do you think it is?” Ash asked, half-afraid of the answer. Cassandra grunted as she lunged, the sword meeting the thickly padded flank of the dummy, only stopped from slicing through the canvas by its intentionally blunted edge.
“Someone Varric claimed he could not contact.” Cassandra huffed, drawing back from her target. “Someone the Inquisition– indeed, all of Thedas– desperately needed.”
The Seeker appraised the dummy, raising her sword again and examining where to come at it from a new angle. Ash wondered if, in Cassandra’s eyes, the target had suddenly sprouted chest hair of russet ginger.
“This was before the Breach?” Ash questioned. Cassandra did not turn to her, but nodded before performing a frankly baffling maneuver with the blade that knocked the dummy’s head from its straw shoulders. The woman was panting when she’d finished, plunging the sword into the unseasonably pliant grass and beginning to remove her gloves.
“I’ll reserve judgement until I know for certain.” Cassandra said tightly. “No need to have that rogue screaming ‘persecution’ yet again.”
Ash chuckled despite herself, pushing away from the wall and glancing up at the sky. Sundown was imminent, the tinge of gold sweeping through the clouds signaling it was time she began climbing to the ramparts above. A small part of her worried Cassandra might follow, ready to lunge out at Varric with claws bared once the truth was revealed. It was a good thing the Seeker was not exactly the lightest on her feet.
“I’ll find you later, Cassandra.” Ash promised, reaching out to grasp her friend’s firmly calloused hand. The Seeker tensed, relaxing enough to squeeze back in a short, quick motion. She seemed to have gotten used to Ash’s tendency to express her affection for those she cared about with touch, though begrudgingly, and noticeably after Ash had come so close to death.
“Take care, my Lady.” The Seeker replied graciously.
Ash turned to begin ascending the nearest stairwell leading to the northern battlement, one of many surrounding the keep on all sides. From here, the mountains stretched across the horizon like an endless sea. It was almost hard to believe they’d picked their way through such a harsh landscape less than a week ago. From this viewpoint, Ash imagined they must’ve looked like ants. Thankful she’d never been particularly afraid of heights, Ash crossed the ramparts with quick steps, watching out for a sign of Varric’s red hair ablaze with the sunset’s light. She nodded at the guard, stood at attention within the northern watchtower, stepping out into the last of the fading sun. Varric was found leaned against the half-walled ledge, Bianca freshly waxed and polished at his feet. Beside him stood a man, clearly tall even next to the dwarf. Dark hair and an unkempt beard framed a hardened, but kindly face– if not smeared with what looked unsettlingly like blood across the bridge of his nose.
Their quiet conversation was interrupted, Varric turning at the sound of Ash’s arrival as she allowed her feet to fall more audibly against the stone walkway. He smiled with an ease that he’d lost in the great hall, gesturing for their guest to step forward.
“Inquisitor, meet Hawke: the Champion of Kirkwall.” Varric announced jovially.
The man thrust out a large hand, the bronze of his thick plate and leather armor gleaming in the last leak of light now falling behind the mountains’ peaks.
“Though I don’t use that title much, anymore.” He said, side-eyeing Varric with a friendly sort of annoyance. “Garrett Hawke, Inquisitor.”
They shook hands firmly, Ash resisting the childish urge to rise up on her toes to meet up to Hawke’s chin. “The pleasure is mine, Hawke. You’re very welcome here.”
“I figured you might have some useful advice about Corypheus.” Varric said, hoisting Bianca into his arms and striding over to join them in the middle of the walkway. “You and I did fight him, after all.”
“You want my advice?” Hawke asked, as if baffled. Ash wondered how much Varric had truly shared with the man before he’d brought him all this way. “Did you hear what happened to Kirkwall? My advice nearly tore the city apart.”
“Would you rather it have been someone else’s decision?” Ash posed the question as she neared the ledge, laying her hand on its edge so that the mark glowed unmistakably in the descending dusk.
“Starting the mage rebellion, breaking the Circles. You realize that was my doing?” Hawke went on, moving to stand beside Ash and leaning on his thick forearms against the ledge. His eyes flicked to her mark only once, staring back out into the gathering dark settling over Skyhold and the lights beginning to pop up in the many windows.
“All of that would be better on someone else’s head?” She asked. Hawke was quiet for several seconds before answering.
“No.”
“That’s why I want your advice; why Varric brought you here. You did the best you could with an impossible situation.” Ash said gently, recalling all that she’d read in the book. Varric had made the hero out to be much more of the humorous sort than he appeared– even at the most inopportune of times. Ash wondered if that humor was lost in the years following the rebellion, or if it had never existed; a flourish added by the author to make the main character more likeable. She wondered if Hawke had ever read the book himself.
“Fair enough, I’ll tell you whatever you think will help.” He said suddenly, breaking her thoughts. She smiled, turning her hand over so that the green was trapped between her palm and the cold stone of the ledge.
It was well after dusk when Ash finished interrogating Hawke, the man’s unexpectedly patient attitude welcome in the wake of the destruction Corypheus had wrought upon both their lives. The Champion of Kirkwall was forthcoming with much information, no matter how concrete he thought it may be– though the uncertain nature of Hawke’s news did not mask the distressing possibilities that followed. The Grey Wardens were in danger of corruption, and Hawke estimated the tangled threads of his investigation may lead back to their quarry, or at least those working for him. It was a path to follow that Ash couldn’t have found herself, and she was grateful for the suggestion. They planned to meet in Crestwood, a little over four days’ ride from Skyhold, to seek out a friend of Hawke’s in the Wardens’ order. He was on the run, it was explained, and could well be the key to the locked doors of their trail before it could go cold.
“Corypheus is my responsibility.” Hawke had said before traipsing off into the night. “I thought I’d killed him before. This time, I’ll make sure of it.”
He and Varric had fallen into another conversation, one that was hurried and exchanged in half whispers. Ash stood back to allow them a moment together. Evidently Hawke sought out drink and refreshment in their newly established tavern, ignoring Varric’s pleas for subtlety. In acquiescence, he pulled his brown hood over his face, raising his hand in a wave to Varric and the Inquisitor as he made his way down the northern ramparts. Ash half expected Varric to follow, but the dwarf turned back to her with a sigh, leaning heavily against the ledge. He looked as though he’d aged ten years since approaching the Inquisition’s leaders in the great hall.
“So, Corypheus is back… well, shit.”
Ash crossed over to him, sitting clumsily with an unceremonious sinking to her bottom to provide her ankle some relief from the long day’s activity. Her head rested against the stone half-wall, tipping over to lean against Varric’s elbow.
“You said he was a darkspawn… or a magister. What is he really?” She asked.
“I’m not sure.” Varric answered gruffly. “I don’t think Corypheus really knows either. He’s definitely a darkspawn, but… when we found him, it was pretty obvious he hadn’t heard that before. He thinks he’s a magister– a priest of Dumat, in fact. And he says he broke into the Golden City, like in the Chantry tale.”
Ash remembered the rancid heat of Corypheus’s breath, the conviction woven into his every word. Dead whispers.
“Better to deal with an ancient darkspawn and his pet Archdemon than a hole in the sky. At least you can kill darkspawn.” Ash supplied, rather unhelpfully. It got a chuckle out of Varric at the very least.
“You going to join up with the Wardens, Inquisitor?” He teased. “I hear their recruits’ survival rate is under fifty-fifty. Better odds than you’ve had since you woke up with that mark.”
Ash nudged him clumsily with her shoulder. She looked up at Varric, for once above her, as she sat with her ass steadily growing numb on the stone ground.
“We’ll talk to this Warden friend of Hawke’s and draft a plan to kill this darkspawn. If you and Hawke thought you defeated him once, we can do it again.”
Varric groaned wearily, sinking down to join Ash. “We didn’t just think Corypheus was dead. He was dead. No pulse! No breath! Full of stab wounds. There wasn’t a lot of room for doubt.”
Ash was quiet, letting Varric think aloud. He mumbled to himself before speaking up again.
“It makes me wonder… I thought the Wardens imprisoned Corypheus to use him. Maybe they did it because he can’t be killed.”
The skin of her exposed neck prickled, and Ash knew it had nothing to do with the cold. She glanced over at Varric, his eyes fixed on a point in the sky with no stars.
“There has to be a way to defeat Corypheus.” She urged. “We’ll find it, don’t worry.”
“I hope you’re right.” He sighed. “Maker’s breath, what have I let loose?”
Ash felt her brows drawing together, turning awkwardly to face Varric fully. He didn’t look at her, still held hostage by the dark of the night and the shackles of guilt he’d chained himself with.
“You had nothing to do with this, Varric.” She insisted. A muscle in his cheek twitched, but he still avoided her eyes.
“I was the one who led Hawke to Corypheus.” Varric said stiffly. “If I hadn’t tracked the Carta to that ruin…”
“Forget the past.” Ash interrupted him, clenching her left hand closed almost painfully tight. “It makes no difference what Corypheus is or how he got loose. We’re putting an end to him.”
“I wish I had your confidence, Whispers.” Varric muttered, at last giving her a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “You’ve got more important things to do than listen to me worry. Just let me know when you want something shot full of bolts. Then, I’m your guy.”
She left Varric at his request for time alone, all too understanding of his plea, despite the nagging in her mind that told her what he truly needed now was a friend. Perhaps he’d seek out Hawke himself before the night was through. The idea quieted her guilt at leaving him, enough to allow her to walk along the ramparts without rushing back. She wandered aimlessly, the details of their plan buzzing like angry bees darting around her head. Sera had pestered Ash only yesterday about her latest “invention”. A jar of bees, riled up and thrown at their enemy in the heat of battle. It was almost a good idea, until the elf had attempted to demonstrate the use of her handmade grenades. Ash was lucky to have gotten away with only a few stings, though Sera was still smarting in the infirmary, scribbling away madly in her notebook with “adjustments”.
Wild and half-thought out her friend’s plan may have been, it was heartening to watch those that had walked away from Haven already working with a fire lit beneath their feet. Ash could feel it in the way they grasped at her hands as she passed, the way the soldiers stood straighter on their watch when they saw her coming. Corypheus thought himself untouchable, their Inquisition unthreatening as children with play swords. They would all show him he was wrong to doubt their ardor. But Ash knew no matter how many stood behind her, it began and ended with her alone. However the orb had granted her this power, whatever facet of fate had decided she was the one to bear their collective suffering and desire for revenge, she could question it no longer.
The near silent padding of her feet bore her along without thought, Ash only noticing the increase in the number of soldiers along the walkways as she drew nearer to a square tower with a large wooden door set into the nearest face. Two guards flanked the door, watching her approach with equal amounts of excitement and curiosity.
“Inquisitor! Good evening!” One of the two barked out. “Do you have need of the Commander?”
Cullen? This must be his tower, Ash mused. She stepped forward with false confidence, addressing the guards as if she were Augustin.
“I might. Is he in tonight?”
“Yes, ser!” The guard answered eagerly. “The Ambassador’s courier just left, in fact.”
Then he was still accepting visitors, Ash reasoned to herself. It would do well to inform Cullen of all she’d learned, even if the information was better shared with everyone over their first meeting around the new war table come the morrow. Still, she eyed the crack of the door and the light weakly trickling out. He was just inside, only feet away.
“Leave us, then. Please.” She added hastily. Very Inquisitorial of her. “I would speak with him alone.”
“At your word, Inquisitor.” The guards stepped away from the door, beginning what was most likely a patrol heading towards the gatehouse of the keep. Ash raised a hand to knock, unsure if she truly needed to. She was the Inquisitor. Did that mean she could come and go as she pleased? The thought frightened her as much as it excited her. Unable to ignore twenty years of good habits, Ash let her fist fall against the wood, rapping lightly. The Commander’s response from beyond was short, but firm, and she grasped the handle with an uneasy clench, pushing the door in.
Cullen leaned over a desk that took up nearly a third of the far wall. Ash recognized it as the one he’d been working at in the courtyard that afternoon. It must have taken the strength of at least five men to lift it up the stairs and ferry it into his office. She closed the door quietly behind her, shutting out the cold that attempted to creep in at her heels. The room was warm, with a low fire burning within the inlaid fireplace to her right. Cullen hadn’t yet lifted his head, still gazing down at something on his desk– a wooden box, Ash noted with mild confusion. He looked up when she didn’t say anything, still hung back warily at his doorway. The surprise flashing across his face was evident, and he began to fumble the box closed.
“I let myself in, I’m sorry.” Ash began, stuttering slightly now that she was faced with the consequences of her boldness. “Is this a bad time?”
“No!” Cullen said in a half-shout. “Not at all, please– actually, it may be best that you’re here.”
“Oh?”
“I… as leader of the Inquisition, you–” He sighed heavily, placing the box back down in the center of the desk. Cullen flipped the clasp open, allowing the lid to fall back against the desktop with a sharp snap. He raised his eyes to Ash, a pale blonde curl falling loose against his forehead.
“There’s something I must tell you.”