Chapter Text
She’d recognize him anywhere. Remembers him like it was yesterday. He’s different now of course, and despite of the millions of ways she had ever pictured him none of them seemed to do him justice now. Everything about him is different and there is a real chance that it’s not him at all. But that doesn’t stop her heart from trying to escape her chest as she does think of the very last time she had seen him. It had to be him.
Blonde unruly curls and bright brown eager eyes; he had been tall for his age the last time she had seen him. It was forever ago but he had never left her thoughts for long. The last time she had seen him, they had been lying beneath a tree in a meadow just outside of Honnleath. They had spent the whole morning dazed and staring up through the branches of large tree that sat directly in the middle of the field, with Drufflo and wind being the only sounds beyond the occasional words. It had been that day that Cullen had told her he wanted to become a Templar. The last day she had seen him he had told her of his future dreams and she had laughed carefree with him without knowing or caring that fate would twist them both.
Cullen had been a respite from all things dealing with her family. No matter how she tried she wasn’t fit for noble life like her brothers. She had known for as long as she could remember that she would be promised to the Chantry when she came of age, just as her brothers would become Templars themselves. She wasn’t ‘fit’ for marriage to a noble. She was far too independent, too far strong willed.
She had joked with Cullen, that if he became a Templar then who would sweep in and rescue her from the Chantry with promises of babies and marriage. She knew it wasn’t possible regardless—her mother would never allow her to marry a commoner. As it was she was livid when she disappeared to spend the day with a farmer’s son, but it had been that joke that an adorable eight year old Cullen assured her that he would come for her. Promised in a tiny high and mighty voice that he would save her from her woes and had given her the only thing he currently had in his possession. A simple silver Ferelden coin, but that had not stopped her from tucking it away into her pocket with a smile before her eldest brother came to collect her as he always did.
That was the last time she had seen him. Days after something far more overwhelming than the Chantry or her noble blood decidedly ripped them apart. Her brothers later admitted that Cullen probably never knew what happened to her. To him their family just picked up and moved to Ostwick, a city where nobles belonged rather than some small famer’s village. The truth as always when it came to her was far more difficult—complicated.
Because the day Cullen Rutherford choose to become a Templar, was the same night Inara Trevelyan’s magic manifested.
“What’s this one then?” Cullen sighed roughly, glaring down at the paperwork in his hands as another one of Leliana’s scouts handed him yet another report.
“The report on the… Herald sir.” Cullen frowned, eyes scanning over the paper as he continued to trudge uphill towards Haven’s Chantry. He had barely gotten a good look at the girl—woman. With the rift hanging over their heads and demons continuing to fall from the sky he hadn’t even had time to get acquainted with her name. But it would take too long to read over this report, seeing as he was on his way to meet with the newly named ‘Herald of Andraste’ herself. She had been unconscious since her attempt to close the rift, though she had barely managed to seal the thing before she passed out.
“Give me the overview. Where did she come from, age, name…” He handed the report back to the scout, who floundered for a moment before scanning over the material himself.
“Let’s see. She came from Ostwick… the Cirlce apparently.” Cullen simply grunted at that. Of course she would be a mage. The only person capable of closing the rift would be entirely too vulnerable to demon possession. The scout continued regardless. “She’s twenty-nine. Last name being Trevelyan…” Cullen halted at that. The scout bounced off his back and winced as he whirled around to face him. “Sorry sir… I didn’t mean—“
“What’s her name?” Cullen cut him off shortly. The last name was more than familiar to him—he could remember all the Trevelyans that had once lived in Honnleath. The girl with bright blue eyes and the dark chocolate brown hair that was always braided down her left shoulder…
“Trevelyan sir. Uhm…” The scout looked back to the paperwork, but Cullen ripped it from his grasp and let his eyes travel over the report once again. Twenty-nine, two brothers, family still were living in Ostwick. Given to the Circle at the age of seven… Cullen swallowed thickly. It had been hard on him, when the Trevelyans had disappeared from his life. He had friends amongst others in the village but Inara… he had been especially close with her. But she hadn’t been a mage—couldn’t have been—couldn’t be one now. But as his eyes scanned over the document, the name came into view and his heart dropped. Abruptly he shoved the report back at the scout.
“This is incorrect information. Inara Trevelyan was not a mage.” The scout gapped at him quite like a fish for a moment, but Cullen didn’t bother to wait for him. Instead he continued up the pathway to the Chantry. Rumor was the woman was awake and he could set Leliana correctly that this woman wasn’t the same girl he had grown up with. Although ‘grown up with’ was also a rather fine line. They had been friends for a grand total of three years. He had met her on his fifth birthday—had gotten him into all sorts of trouble that day too if he remembered correctly. Shoving the doors open to the Chantry, Cullen wasted no time to reach the war room. Inside both Leliana and Josephine were already in wait, but no sign of Cassandra or the Herald.
“Leliana I believe your report on the Herald is inaccurate.” The spymaster raised an eyebrow at him, but before she could say anything the door to the war room swung open once again. Cassandra entered first, followed by the Herald. Unlike on the battlefield of demons, Cullen took her in—really took her in. She wasn’t terribly tall; her nose perhaps reached his shoulders. She wasn’t overly thin either—lithe he supposed fit her. Like there was a natural grace to her and her body simply mimicked the notion. There was no sign of scars and her skin was pale—the life of the Circle never really gave mages much time in the sun.
“You’ve already met Commander Cullen.” The woman before him seemed to go rigid as her eyes landed on him. Bright blue eyes widening a fraction at his name, the long dark plaited hair that fell across her left shoulder… recognition seeming to fill her entire being as she stared right back at him.
“Maker’s breath…” Were the only words he could mutter in return.