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He moved the rook on the chessboard without much thought. His mind was neither here nor there, caught in the unusual sunny morning in the courtyard of Skyhold and the attack plans he'd left on the war table.
The Inquisition was on everyone’s lips and they were gathering supporters and allies as fast as they were making enemies. Sometimes he could not believe how massive they had become and he was both confident and concerned by the power they were wielding. By the power she was wielding. By all means she was doing an impressive job, in spite of the fact that they were not often seeing eye to eye.
A long sigh escaped his lips. A lot was happening at the moment. A lot of open conflicts and paths that seemed to lead to nowhere. And on top of everything, the Champion of Kirkwall was roaming the halls of Skyhold these days. It brought him back to dark places of his mind and to this day he was finding himself incapable of looking Hawke in the eye without guilt tugging at him.
The cold pieces of chess stared back at him and all his thoughts were once again scattered. He had to return to the war plans, go over them again, make sure that there was nothing unpredictable that could slip through… He’d been trying all morning to collect himself to no avail. He had hoped that a walk around Skyhold at early hours could help but it was proving to be just a waste of time. Among the papers on his desk there laid a letter discarded…
“An unusual time for a game of chess, Commander.”
Her low, unexpected voice worked like iron on his numb thoughts and he was brought back to his surroundings. Peculiarly, he had grown thankful for it. His head darted up at the tall woman approaching from under one of the stone arches. Skyhold was still waking up so the presence of someone else in the courtyard took him by surprise. All dressed in dark leathers tailored to her shapes, with the tight braided hair and sharp features, she looked as menacing and imposing as her title made her be. He would have thought that by now he had gotten used to her presence but it was always difficult to take his eyes off her, at times for reasons he felt ashamed to name. He put the blame on the early morning and the various rumors that kept making their way to him.
“Inquisitor.” He started to raise up from the chair to greet her properly. She dismissed it with a hand gesture while her body relaxed to help him past the formalities.
“Dorian won’t be joining you anytime soon. Last night has been an interesting night at the tavern.”
Of course there was reason to celebrate. Not long ago they had returned victorious from Crestwood, closing the rift in the lake and claiming the land under the protection of the Inquisition. And… old faces had joined with renewed forces. Varric of them all was the happiest while Cassandra, after a bit of a struggle, had been more hopeful than ever.
“So I’ve heard. From across the grounds, even.”
A short polite grin adorned her face. But then her eyes narrowed into a studying look. It had been two days since their last argument.
“You seem troubled, Commander… more so than usual.” She continued to let her intent known.
“I presume your inquiry is not out of concern.” His eyes went back on the chessboard.
“You are head of the Inquisition’s army. If your mind is not in the right place, I believe I should be aware of it.”
To think that when all of this started she had made her collaboration almost impossible, and here she was, making demands as if every personal thought they had belonged to her now. But he knew her game. She still despised the position she had. She despised all of them for forcing it unto her, and she was going to take any chance she had to make them regret it. It was a strange morning indeed because he found her attitude almost endearing.
“Mind joining me for a game?” he looked up at her and answered instead.
For all the differences of opinion, there were a couple of things that he liked to believe they worked formidably well together. For instance, she’d never dismiss any of his proposals when it came to strategizing their attacks and often trusted his plans with her own life. Then there were the small things. He enjoyed sparring with her, but then again who didn’t? A little envious, he had to admit, that there was nothing more entertaining in Skyhold than her sparring sessions with the Iron Bull. They’d spent time together helping the rehabilitation of this stronghold, shoulder to shoulder, and she never shied away from manual labor - an extremely pleasant surprise for someone belonging to a prestigious noble family. And then there were the occasional chess games. She was not as versed as Dorian but she always brought a good challenge to the table. and a good distraction.
With no voiced answer she took a seat opposite of him and they both prepared the pieces for a new game.
She seemed relaxed across from him and the morning light looked good on her; must have had a good sleep.
The game began.
“I haven’t congratulated you yet for the events at Crestwood, I believe.”
Amused by his words the woman just stole a glance from under her eyelashes.
“It has been chaotic as of late, it’s true. And I am old news these days anyway.” She pushed forward her knight.
“Hawke’s presence is good for people’s morale. Everyone loves the stories of the Champion of Kirkwall.” Yet even to him his voice seemed empty.
“You say that…”
He should have known better than to bring up a subject he wished not to discuss.
“I wouldn’t call Hawke a friend but she’s been a reliable acquaintance through it all. And… well… it was a lot.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Cullen. I did not ask.”
They continued in silence.
“The Mayor of Crestwood…” it was a subject he had meant to ask. “It was an unlikely decision for you to leave him to someone else’s judgment.”
“We can’t be the law in everything. It would be a waste of energy.” The Trevelyan leaned back waiting for him to make a move, and he knew her eyes were roaming over his frame. It would happen at times and he wasn’t sure if she was daring him to look up and read her expression or if she was freely doing it because she knew he wouldn’t meet her eyes in moments like these. He wasn’t even sure what her gesture meant or how it made him feel; often uncomfortable; other times flattered; most times it was a combination of both. He moved his piece.
“Besides, I believe the King of Ferelden will be more than capable of delivering a just sentence to the man.” There it was again, the unexpected softness in her voice that would come and go for no reason he could figure.
“I wonder if Dedrick truly believed that sacrificing all those lives was worth it…”
“No person should have a say over someone else’s life. But that’s not how the world works, is it?” it was yet again another attack at the ungrateful position she was in.
… and that’s how usually it happened; when there was no tension between them, they would fall into that pleasant pattern of their conversations, that, while at times was getting dangerously close to flirting with disagreements, brought a certain peace and contentment over both of them. It felt good to voice his opinion or incoherent thoughts and not be held accountable for them. And with her, it was easy to know when it was safe to do so.
“Terrifying…” he whispered mindlessly.
“But it’s not the weight of the world that makes your shoulders sink more than usual this morning, is it Commander?” The woman returned to the table to take his pawn.
It made him look up, and to her willing expression he just smiled weakly. He was learning… the meaning behind her words. While they weren’t coming out of a place of concern, they were offering him the chance to speak freely.
“Where did you learn to play chess?” It was technically a question but she understood it was his answer.
“My tutor. He was an old Antivan scribe.” Cullen could easily read the fondness in her voice.
“You’ve never studied with the Chantry?” he had not thought of it before but… all things considered, it wasn’t difficult to believe it.
“No. Until my 15th year Gregorio was the only one in charge of my education.”
“What happened after?” he realized the raw curiosity in his voice.
“He passed away. And I continued on my own.”
The man looked up as he made the next move. She didn’t look sad or affected. If anything, it felt like the memory of the scribe put her in a good mood. The only thing he wished in these moments was for her to talk more than the short answers to his questions. He found himself wanting to know what memories she was revisiting, hear her talk about the things that made her smile.
“Is this about your sister?” her question caught him off guard. He thought he could slowly lead the discussion and build up to the things that had kept him restless during the morning. He should have known better; there was no playing around with her quick mind. He’d once confessed how he had learnt chess just to beat his older sister – of course she read right through his words.
“Yes. No...” He just lost his bishop to her. “It’s about my family.”
“Are they alright?”
“I… things… my sister is as relentless as always and sends letters, letting me know how things are, asking how we are doing…”
“And you never answer?” it was meant to be a question but it sounded nothing like.
She made an attempt at his queen. Maybe he could just let her do the talking since apparently she had him all figured out.
“I tell myself I never find the time, that there are other things that have priority.” She had to move her rook or she was going to lose it. “But the truth is I am just avoiding it. I’ve started many letters yet I never seem to find the right words.”
The game was starting to shift in her favor.
“Something clearly changed now. You seemed to be doing fine with the easy way out. Bad news?”
“My sister writes to me of her newborn baby…my nephew. They are fine but it seems with the current though time his health is not great, and they are worried about not having the means to fight it if it gets worse.”
“Any way the Inquisition could help?”
He almost startled in defense at her wrong conclusion. “That’s not what I meant by it! I would never ask to use the Inquisition’s resources for personal matters.”
The woman didn’t flinch nor did she look up. “I know. That’s why I am offering.”
He disliked the idea of the woman thinking so lowly of him, asking for favours.
“No. Please. Don’t put me in this position.”
He caught her mistake on the board between them.
“You are right. It was presumptuous of me.”
Cullen paused and went for his move.
“Thank you.”
The next rounds went in a pleasant silence. Skyhold was getting busy with the low hum of early work.
“I should write to them. At the very least to put my sister at ease but… it’s been long since I reached out.” The tension left his shoulders as his confession slipped through. “I am not the boy they knew when I left home.”
Her hand reached out, gently placing her knight in chess.
“They wouldn’t expect you to be.”
He froze and looked up at her - really seeing her, focused on the game, her eyes calculating her options, not aware in any way of how, with just a few words, she had lifted the fog from his thoughts.
“Your move, Cullen.” When he didn’t answer she directed her attention at him, trying to understand what was happening just to be greeted by his eyes locked on her. He was getting terribly comfortable with hearing his name roll off her lips and by the Maker he hated it.
“Maybe I could start from there.”
She nodded and relaxed in her chair. “I don’t pretend to know anything about your family, but it seems as good a place as any.”
The man kept his eyes on her long enough to change the meaning of his stare. And she held his gaze. In the end his eyes went back to the board as he pushed the bishop across the table.
“I believe this game is mine, Inquisitor.”
She looked down pensively.
“Well done.” With that she leaned back, crossing her well-toned legs and placing her palms one on top of the other on her thigh. She looked like if she were to ask him that moment to get on his knees for her he would eagerly obey.
An elf was checking the herbs across the garden, and there was slight movement he could see from the corner of his eyes. Their intimate moment was coming to an end but before things would take their natural pace across Skyhold he held the woman in his gaze a little longer. And she allowed it.
*
Three months had passed since he had sent his first letter from Skyhold to his family. And now an answer rested unfolded on his desk under the light of the candles he kept late at night. The man placed the wrapped up papers on the shelves behind and leaned his shoulder on the wall, relaxing his eyes into the darkness outside his window.
Things were far from good; the Inquisitor was far, on Orlesian lands, planning an attack against the Wardens in the Western Approach. But he had recently gotten word from his sister, telling him how happy she was to hear from him and how proud she was of him. She talked about his younger sister and brother and she told him how surprised she was when an Inquisition delegation stopped for shelter on their way to The Coastlands at their humble door; how the herbalist lady in the party, a demanding but extremely capable elf, offered to have a look at his nephew and left them with a few recipes to cure his childhood ailments… how the Maker has strange ways of answering their prayers.
Cullen shook his head and pushed his tired body straight. He enjoyed every piece of irony in those last words. He was starting to sound more like the woman he so loved to disagree with but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of hearing him admit that the Maker had nothing to do with it.
He killed the fire in the candles and made his way up the stairs to the cold bed. He found himself smiling. How peculiar she was, this woman that kept finding her way into his thoughts – bathing in the blood of ruthless battles, and still she would take the time think two steps ahead of his pain.