Chapter Text
It was almost the first thing she noticed about him and she wasn’t sure if she should have been ashamed of that or not. Noticing someone’s flaws first wasn’t polite, but it wasn’t really a flaw. If anything, it made him more attractive and that made him dangerous. Well, more dangerous. It was clear that Commander Cullen knew what he was doing with that sword and he wasn’t afraid to use it.
“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift. Well done.”
“Do not congratulate me, Commander. This was the prisoner’s doing.”
Startled eyes looked at her and she felt her mouth twitch into a half-smile she didn’t feel as she faced him. “Is it?” he said, trying to mask his surprise. “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot people to get you here.”
Her stomach clenched as something seemed horribly familiar about him but she couldn’t put her finger on it. And what an excellent reminder of how much was riding on her. “You’re not the only one hoping that,” she pushed out, trying to swallow her dread.
He’d eyed her for a moment and that’s when she’d noticed it. The light of the Breach had caught on it, making her eyes stick for longer than they should. She’d promptly forgotten about it since she’d had bigger things on her mind namely sealing the Breach, and then of course she’d passed out for a few days. Again.
She’d felt bad for the elf who had walked in to check on her and had been startled by her actually being awake. Spooked might have been a better word, like she had seen a ghost. But then she had been told to go to the Chantry, to speak with the woman that had detained her, that had threatened to kill her, that had demanded her help in sealing the Breach. She had done as she’d been told because she couldn’t think of anything better to do and then she had met him again.
The light in the war room hadn’t been that great and she hadn’t wanted to stare but she’d noticed it again. She’d even found one of her hands lifting to rub her mouth in the same spot that it was on him without her realising. A part of her had prayed that no one had really noticed or that they’d attributed it to her being nervous. Somehow she’d made it through, had even retained that they wanted to send her to the Hinterlands to find a Chantry mother who wanted to help them. She didn’t remember much more than that though.
Sitting on a low wall, Elora slowly swung her legs back and forth as she stared out at the scenery surrounding Haven. She wasn’t a fan of the cold, would rather be curled up in front of a fire with a full cup of tea and a novel she hadn’t read yet. Instead she was sitting in the middle of the Frostback Mountains, munching on a dried strip of meat and without any feeling in her toes.
Of course, she could have been inside, could have been curled up under her blankets but she had chosen to go outside. She had chosen to expose herself to the elements. Maker only knew why.
“That’s a shield in your hand! Use it!”
Oh, the Maker knew why she was out here and it would probably get her a one way trip to the Void.
Chewing slowly, she let her gaze go back to where the soldiers were training under the watchful eye of their commander. He had his back to her as he walked between the rows of recruits, his hands usually clasped behind him except when he was demonstrating a technique. That didn’t matter, she knew what his front looked like.
Elora gently ran her thumb over her mouth, following the path that his scar cut on his upper lip. It was an odd thing to get focused on, but it was easier to focus on a small part rather than the man as a whole. Because if she did that, she would be in trouble.
But she couldn’t help wondering how he had gotten it. It seemed a strange place to have a scar. Why hadn’t whatever he’d been caught with continued up, marking the entire side of his face? Or had he pulled back quick enough that it had stopped where it did? Had he already been in the process of killing his attacker and that’s why they hadn’t marked him further? Or why they’d been able to get him in the first place?
Not knowing was killing her but she had more tact than to just walk up to the man and ask him. No matter how much she wanted to. But she was making up for it by coming up with ridiculous scenarios in her head about how he got it. She even had a favourite.
It started with a woman who had been madly in love with him for as long as she could remember but he, ever the polite one, hadn’t followed through on her advances. Might not have even seen them. She would have tried for years to get his attention, trying to sway him with her womanly wiles, before her self-proclaimed love had turned to brittle lust and hot anger. One day it had all boiled over when she saw him smile politely at another woman and she lost control. She already knew all his routines, knew all of the places he went so it was easy enough to find him alone. Going in for a kiss, wanting to taste his lips only once before this was over. But he wouldn’t kiss her. Her hands caught gently in his, confusion marring his face as he said he didn’t understand what she was about. Anger, so much anger, why hadn’t he ever seen her? Finally spurred into action, she had yanked the knife from his belt, breaking free of his hold. Her aim wasn’t good, but if she couldn’t kiss him, then no one could.
Elora’s nose wrinkled. Maker, she was writing horrible romance stories about the commander in her head. What was wrong with her? She barely knew the man and yet she was getting all worked up over a scar on his lip. She had problems. Serious, serious problems that went beyond the ones that had been dumped in her lap.
“Herald of Andraste,” she muttered, her mood souring The title sounded ridiculous to her. A mage? The Herald of Andraste? That went against everything she had ever been taught as a child about magic. Magic served man and yet they were saying that she was some kind of divine prophet of the Maker’s Bride? That she had been chosen to save all of them? It was no wonder the Chantry wanted her dead.
Pushing a hand into her hair, she grimaced as it got caught on a snarl before dropping it to look back at the commander and his troops. He was facing her again but was too far away for her to truly see anything. Propping her elbows on her knees, she stopped kicking her feet as she let her chin rest in her hands. She had never thought that she’d be interested in watching soldiers train yet here she was. A captive audience they didn’t even know they had.
But her real attention was on the commander, her mind turning over what she knew about him. It wasn’t much, to be honest, and she was more than a little nervous about talking to him again. Especially after that bumbling attempt of a first conversation she had had with him after the introductions at the war table.
“I was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.”
Elora was unwilling to admit how badly those two sentences had unnerved her. She knew why he had said it, suppressing the Breach and closing it for good, but it had continually rung in her ears, cementing why he had seemed familiar but not. A Templar. Ex-Templar, if she wanted to get specific. He had made the clear distinction when he had stepped into a fight prompted by a Templar. She’d been startled to hear the title ‘Knight-Commander’ before she had realised why his name had rung so many bells in her head.
Kirkwall. He had been in Kirkwall.
She had only overheard whispers in Ostwick about what had happened, about the Knight-Commander going insane and everything going to shit. But no one had really wanted to talk to her about it when she had asked. The joys of having the Trevelyan name in the Circle. Varric had spoken briefly about it, waving his hand and saying it was in his book. She had made a point of tracking The Tale of the Champion down but she hadn’t had a chance to read it yet. The next time she was forced to traipse out to the Hinterlands, however, she was taking the book with her. She doubted it would give her more insight into Commander Cullen, but it might help her figure out how to approach him. Without offending him.
He was polite enough when they spoke in the war room, even going so far as to join her simple banter while Chancellor Roderick had called for her head. She had been surprised to realise that even though his posture was relaxed and he called the man toothless, the commander was more than willing to defend her if anyone actually threatened her. Including the chancellor. It was a not so subtle reminder that he was a warrior and that he had spent his life in armour with sword in hand. That if he had to, he would put her down himself.
Her nose scrunched and she looked away. The mountains were pretty too and they wouldn’t kill her for being a mage. Although that was unfair. He’d given her no indication that he would kill her because she was a mage. He might kill her if the mark on her hand exploded and tried to swallow them all whole but it wouldn’t be because she was a mage. She was letting her past experiences with Templars colour her vision of all of them. Of course, watching at least half of them in the Tower turn on the mages housed there would do that to a person.
Ostwick hadn’t even voted for or against the rebellion. They’d remained neutral but their Templars hadn’t cared. A mage was a mage, no matter who they sided with and all of the ones in the Tower had become fair game.
Elora’s hand went to her throat as she remembered the crushing feel of smites and silences flooding the floors of the Tower. It hadn’t mattered if they weren’t fighting back, every mage in that Tower was an enemy. Even the children.
Her stomach heaved as she remembered the smell of death as it hung heavy in the air, screams filling her ears as her friends were cut down around her. She flinched, feeling a spray of blood hit her face as the mage in front of her had been sliced open by a Templar’s blade. She had stumbled back, shock filling her before her hand had lifted automatically, reaching for the magic that thrummed through her veins. She hadn’t been hit with anything that would drain her mana yet and it became a short match to see who was faster on the draw.
She had stumbled again but she had still been the quicker.
The edges of everything around her got fuzzy as the world began to shrink. Elora fought against the pull of memories, fought to keep herself in the present. But there were Templars among the soldiers, helping to train, watching the mages that had survived the blast, filling the air with the sharp tang that always preceded their arrival. A sharp gasp left her when she felt her balance completely desert her before the world toppled in no less than six directions.
The gasp became a moan as she landed hard on something even harder and pain flared through her back in time with the stars in front of her eyes. Maker, had she just fallen off of the wall?
“Herald!”
Oh, shit. Blinking rapidly, she tried to clear her eyes, desperately searching for the balance she had just spectacularly lost. She couldn’t find it. Apparently it was hiding wherever her dignity had gotten off to. Of all the people that would witness her stupidity, that would come running, it had to be him. Her eyes still weren’t focusing properly but it was easy enough to see him leaning over her, mostly because he was blocking out the sun. “Ow,” she muttered, feeling even more of a fool.
“Are you alright?”
Well, her toes and fingers could wiggle so that was a good sign. “Nothing damaged but my dignity,” she sighed. “Which I barely have any left so huzzah me.”
He was finally in focus and she wished he wasn’t. His brow was usually furrowed with some intense emotion but it was with concern this time as he looked down at her. “What happened?” he asked, offering her a hand to help her up.
Elora’s mouth clamped together as the memories surged again. He was too close. He didn’t feel exactly like the other Templars but it was still enough. Somehow she shrank a little deeper into the snow, wanting to get away from him.
Something shifted in his eyes, like he could sense her fear, and the scar pulled on his cheek as his lips flattened. “Shall I send for someone else?” he asked, his voice gentler than his expression.
Maker, what was she doing? Cullen had never given her any indication that he would hurt her. He wasn’t a Templar anymore and he was offering help. Not everyone coated their lies with a sweet smile. “No!” she blurted quickly, trying to relax and wincing at how harsh the word came out. “No, I’m sorry. Bad memories. Sorry.” Shit, she was babbling.
His expression relaxed slightly and she realised his hand was still extended to her. She started to reach out with her left hand before the mark on it throbbed slightly and she quickly switched to her right. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.
Elora felt positively tiny as Cullen’s hand swallowed hers and he easily pulled her to her feet. She dusted off her clothes, her cheeks hot as she knew he was still watching her. “Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your help.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked. “That wall isn’t overly high but you landed hard.”
Because she truly needed to be reminded of that. “I’m pretty sure I’m fine but I’ll go talk to Adan and make sure. Probably the worst I’ll have is a rock shaped bruise on my ass,” she added under her breath.
She was not prepared for the soft snort that left the commander and her face got even hotter as she realised he had heard her. “If you like, I could accompany you.”
Her gaze whipped around to him. “To what? See if I have a bruise on my ass?” she said, her voice squeaky.
His eyes widened slightly as he took a step back from her. “Maker, no! I meant, I’m going that way. I could walk with you! Not that I want to…I would never suggest that!”
“More’s the pity, Cullen,” a voice called. “Boss has got a nice ass.”
“Bull!” Elora shouted, rounding on the qunari. She hadn’t missed the way Cullen’s cheeks had grown red and she was probably no better.
“What? I’ve followed you around long enough to know that simple fact.”
She stared at him. “You just joined the Inquisition!” she protested.
He looked at her with a half smirk curling his mouth. “And all I needed was five minutes to figure that out.”
She needed the ground to open up and swallow her whole. Now. She settled for glaring at Bull’s back as he walked away after throwing her a grin. She had raided the Storm Coast with him and thought she’d been used to his sense of humour. Apparently she wasn’t. Or rather she wasn’t used to it being directed at her.
“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered and she nearly jumped as she realised he was still standing with her. “Is he always like that?”
“I…yes. From what I can tell.” She glanced at him and saw that while his cheeks had returned to normal, the tips of his ears were still red. “Sorry.”
He shook his head. “My offer still stands, Herald,” he said, surprising her again.
Somehow she was able to focus on something other than the scar, but his eyes weren’t any better. “I…would like that,” Elora said honestly. “Thank you.”
He gave her a small smile and her eyes darted down to see how it pulled at the scar. Bad. Idea. “Are you cold?”
“What?” she asked dumbly, looking back up.
“You shivered?”
Maker preserve her. “Uhm, no. I’m fine. We should…go. Yes?”
Little lines crinkled at the corner of his eyes and she could have sworn he was laughing at her. “Of course, Herald,” he said politely, taking a step back so she could lead the way.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to, not with Bull’s comment rolling through her mind. But Cullen was far more the decent sort and…wouldn’t comment if he was staring at her ass. She glanced once at him before hurrying away from the spot where she had fallen. “So, Commander,” she said, hoping that if she was talking to him he’d catch up to her side and not stay behind her. “You mentioned that you spent a lot of time in Kirkwall and Varric’s from that city. Did you two know each other?”
There was a brief pause like he hadn’t expected her to speak, before she heard the snow crunch and he was walking beside her. “I knew he was friends with the Champion of Kirkwall, but little else,” he admitted. “We’ve spoken more since I joined the Inquisition. Largely at Varric’s insistence. Apparently I spend too much time with a serious expression on my face and it’s bad for my health.”
“And I thought I had no tact,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“Then you agree with him?”
Elora stumbled and made a noise as his hand latched onto her arm to help her keep her balance. “Thanks,” she mumbled and tried to tell herself that his hand didn’t linger on her.
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“Define too often,” she countered.
He let out a long sigh and she saw him rub the back of his neck out of the corner of her eye. He looked like he wanted to say something but he stayed quiet.
“I think,” she said quietly as they started up the stairs past the gate, “that you take your role as Commander seriously and it isn’t an easy job by any stretch. Does that mean that you look serious too often in Varric’s books? Probably. Does it mean the same thing to any of your soldiers? Definitely not. Whether or not it’s bad for your health, I don’t think Varric or myself are really the people to be making calls on that one.”
He was quiet for a long time as they walked through the village. It wasn’t until they were passing the tavern that he spoke again. “You still didn’t answer the question,” he said quietly. “Do you think I spend too much time with a serious expression on my face?”
Damn it! “Well, you don’t smile nearly as often as you should,” Elora teased gently, “but that’s probably a good thing.”
“Why would that be a good thing?” he asked in confusion.
They were almost at Adan’s door. If she said what she wanted to, she could make a clean escape. Glancing at him, she saw that he looked puzzled and she couldn’t stop herself. “You’re a handsome man without the smile, Commander,” she said lightly as she put her hand on the door, “but with it? Utterly. Devastating.”
The startled noise made her turn back and she almost giggled as she saw his ears were red again while he rubbed his neck. Well, those were the Commander’s tells if she ever saw them and she needed to make a getaway before he said something or she put her foot in her mouth.
“Until later, Commander,” she murmured, slipping into the building and grinning as she heard him stammer through a good bye.