Chapter Text
i.
The first time he sees her, she’s unconscious.
Cullen follows behind Leliana quietly, nodding back as his soldiers salute him when he passes. Leliana motions towards the door towards the prison where the woman they’d found emerged from the fade was being kept. Cullen steps forward to yank open the heavy wooden door, the soldiers stationed inside jumping at the sudden noise, then stilling as they see their Commander.
Leliana steps in after him, standing with her hands clasped at the threshold of the door, lips pursed as her eyes rake over the prisoner. Cullen’s jaw clenches as his eyes sweep over the woman’s form. She’s strung from the ceiling by heavy chains, head dipped forward onto her chest as she breathes harshly.
“She’s been asleep for two days now, Solas has been studying her – studying the mark, but hasn’t found anything yet.” Leliana speaks, her voice echoing throughout the dank chamber. Cullen hums, curiosity piquing as he steps closer to her, seeing the bright emerald mark glittering against her palm.
He’s finally close enough to see her face, his eyes scanning over her sharp features as a blush rises up onto his cheeks. She’s absolutely lovely, her long eyelashes fluttering across high cheekbones as she dreams, plump lips pursing as she mutters through her sleep, her long nose scrunching as a burst of pain flickers from her palm. His eyes meet the long jagged scar that cuts across her cheek and down to her jaw bone, its deep and he knows by the matching scar along her long, sloped neck that it caused her a large amount of pain.
Another flash bursts from her palm, the emerald hue lighting up the room. She whimpers in pain, her eyes fluttering open ever so slightly to reveal ice blue eyes, tinged with darker shades of blue. He feels his heart clench at her pain, he knows what it is to be trapped, to have pain be all that is felt, the only thing you know for days on end.
He turns to Leliana, watching as her eyebrow rises at his pink cheeks. “Take her down, keep the shackles on, but it’s doing no good for her condition to string her up like a butchered hog.” He says, motioning towards the soldiers standing against the back wall. A knowing smirk curves up on Leliana’s lips, but he merely scoffs at her antics and waves her off.
The soldiers immediately step forward, loosening the chains around the woman’s wrists. She’s lowered to the floor, body crumpling in a heap as her arms are relieved of the strain of holding up her body weight. He winces as the shackles move, revealing wrists rubbed raw by the iron.
With a sigh he kneels down beside her, moving a lock of auburn hair away from her eyes, watching closely as her eyelids flutter again. He huffs, punishing himself inwardly for being such a fool around a pretty woman, she was a prisoner for makers sake!
He pushes himself up to stand, brushing past Leliana, who’s still smirking with her arms crossed.
Blasted Spymaster and her keen eyes.
ii.
The second time he sees her is in the heat of battle, one moment he’s fending off a groaning shade, blood spattered across his shield and his cheeks, chest heaving with the exertion of endless battle. The next the shade he’s fighting is thrown away from him by a massive fireball. He flinches at the magic, his eyes instantly snapping up to meet hers.
His heart leaps into his chest when he sees her.
Her auburn hair has been piled atop her head, a few stray curls hanging against her cheeks as she whirls, staff spinning effortlessly as she throws another fireball towards the shade he’s fighting off. The fire swaths her in radiant light, her hair glowing bright, like a halo around her stunning blue eyes, narrowed in concentration as she forces the shade back, growling as it advances on her.
She blocks its hits quickly, grunting with exertion as its hands wrap around her staff. She grits her teeth, using her strength to fling it to the side, spinning her staff to catch the shade with the sharp blade on the end of her staff.
Hot blood sprays from the wound, spattering across her face in a bright crimson swath of gore. She winces at the feeling and wipes her hand across her forehead. He turns as another shade advances on him, growling as he runs forward, bashing his shield into the demon and throwing it away.
He misses the rift snapping closed behind him, only turns at the sound of the tear snapping closed again, the resounding crack echoing through his ears. Relief floods his body, and he begins to hope for an end to this madness.
“You closed it!” He calls to Cassandra, who turns and strides to him, a wry look written over her face.
“Actually, the prisoner closed it.” Cassandra gestures behind her towards the tall auburn haired woman, staring at him in trepidation. “Commander Cullen, meet Ellandra Trevelyan.” He tries to keep the blush off his face as he reaches his hand out, her smaller one extending towards him.
A crackling shot of magic darts between them as their hands connect, and he feels the magic pulsing through her body. What little of the Templar in him remains instantly bristles, feeling his pull towards the Lyrium. Her hand instantly snaps back as if she’s been burnt, eyes turning harsh and cold as she glares at him, they each know what the other is, polar opposites on a battlefield as wide as Thedas, he feels his hope crumble as she narrows her eyes at him, her words already turning harsh.
Cassandra throws him an apologetic glance, and he nods resolutely, refusing to let something so small compromise his ability to lead, to be the Commander the Inquisition deserves. He watches her go, the steady set of her shoulders, as if the entire weight of the world had bowed down upon her, and she had caught it, holding it above her with a grace he’d never seen in any human before.
He was intrigued, he had been since he’d seen her hanging in the dungeons, the scars across her cheek and neck spoke of unimaginable torture, and he was willing to bet that her body was riddled with them. She was a circle mage, it was the whole reason she’d recoiled – she knew the feeling of a Templar’s power hidden beneath the skin.
He sighs, turning to grab a soldier who’s limping, throwing his arm around his shoulder without too much effort, nodding when the man smiles gratefully up at him.
iii.
The third time he sees her it’s barely a glance.
He knows it’s her by the long fiery curls that lay over Cassandra’s arm, almost hitting the ground as Cassandra carries her limp body through Haven. His heart sinks into his chest, thinking that they’d lost the only hope of survival, so soon after she’d saved them all and stabilised the breach.
Cassandra calls out for a healer, and he breathes a sigh of relief, feeling lighter than he has in a while. She’s merely unconscious, as she was the first time, the mark on her hand pulling every ounce of energy and mana she has from her body, leaving her limp.
He makes to go after Cassandra, to take Ellandra’s exhausted body from her, but the image of her untrusting, narrowed eyes flashes in his mind and he stops, resigning himself to simply watch from afar as the healers rush out to take her body.
Her hand slips from her stomach as they take her, hanging limp in the frigid air. He watches, entranced at the glowing of the mark upon her palm, imagining salvation at last.