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It was over.
The Breach. Corypheus. Dragon’s Breath. The damned Exalted Council…
It was all over.
Maker, Rhea wished it was fucking over.
But it wasn’t. And it never would be, would it? No, the events of the failed Conclave all those years ago had forever changed her. It had changed all of Thedas, truly.
Orlais, despite having nearly shattered, was rebuilding itself yet again under the progressive but fierce grip of Empress Celene. The Exalted Plains burned less fiercely as troops retreated and refugees relocated. Keeper Hawen and his clan were able to slowly but surely restore some of the Plains’ greenery, spreading outward from their encampment.
Farmers and merchants trickled their way back down to the Hinterlands, aided by Arl Teagan’s reconstruction efforts in and around Redcliffe. There, and across the rest of Ferelden, citizens adjusted to life without templars kicking down the doors of any alleged mage sympathizers – and without mages succumbing to possession in a desperate gamble to escape said templars.
Kirkwall, now an entire decade past the destruction of its Chantry and subsequent rebellion, had been (almost) restored to its former glory under the care of Varric and Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen. Better yet, Rhea was able to convince her parents and some other relatives back in Ostwick to pledge support in the form of finances and raw labor, which created more jobs for citizens of both city-states.
And yet… the world was still shit. What was it Varric had said to Cassandra long ago about Kirkwall’s impressive recovery?
“What you're talking about are the buildings, and even that will take years. People don't recover so easily.”
A large presence loomed behind Rhea, and she instinctively grabbed the sharpest object she could find: a quill still dripping with ink. But just as she twisted around, a calloused hand gently grabbed her wrist.
As the fire left her eyes, Cullen plucked the quill from her grasp to lay it back down on her desk, then he laced his fingers through hers and rubbed his thumb along hers in soothing circles. A strangled mix between a sigh and a groan escaped Rhea’s lips, and she closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her husband merely cupped her cheek with his free hand and bent down to kiss her. When he pulled away, she finally looked him in the eyes, jade meeting hazel.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Cullen said quietly and tried for a smile, but Rhea honestly had no patience for false peace. She withdrew from him and turned to her desk, burning a hole into it with her glare before she finally scoffed and snapped her quill in two.
“This is pointless,” she growled and stood. Cullen reached out to steady her but immediately realized his mistake. “I’m not going to fall, dammit! I don’t need two hands to walk.” Nevertheless, she steadied herself against her chair, gripping the wooden back tightly.
“Ray,” Cullen began.
“For fuck’s sake, he couldn’t have taken my other arm?!”
Rhea pushed off the chair and paced around, holding her hand in front of her like it was burning. Like it still had that Maker-forsaken mark…
“Why did he have to take it at all? If he’s oh-so-powerful, couldn’t he have just removed the Anchor without cutting my entire fucking arm off? And of course, I just had to walk into the wrong place at the wrong time and catch a stupid fucking relic with my left hand instead of my right. Now I, former Inquisitor Trevelyan, an accomplished diplomat, strategist, and combatant—” Rhea snatched an ink-stained page from the desk, waving it around to show off the childish scrawling all over it. “…have to relearn how to fucking write! I used to be able to draft entire treaties in one night without a single word misspelled, Cullen. My skills rivaled Josephine’s!”
Her husband stared back at her, holding a pain that she had seen in her own reflection every single day for three years now. The pain she had seen in his eyes after every nightmare, his own body and mind warring against him just as hers warred against her now. Defeated, Rhea tossed the page back onto the desk and ran her hand through her hair, which she’d finally cut to her shoulders just a couple months ago. It was easier to neglect now that there wasn’t much left.
“We bonded over that,” she continued, but her voice had quieted considerably. Cullen took her hand and guided her over to sit on their bed as she talked. “We would spend hours workshopping new ideas together. Now? Now, she’s thriving as head of her household in Antiva and I’m…”
Rhea settled against Cullen’s side, his large arms holding her close and secure. His blonde hair, which he’d grown out a bit and was finally letting his natural curls return to, brushed softly against her cheek as he tucked her head into his shoulder. This was, unfortunately, routine for them by now. She knew that it was her fault that they only really cuddled when she was upset and, by the Maker, she was trying her hardest to work through this so that they could have the peace they both so desperately wanted and deserved.
“Cassandra’s done good work with the Seekers. And with helping Leliana,” Rhea said quietly. “Leliana’s been making incredible change within the Chantry, moving us back to the mercy and acceptance that Andraste intended.
Cullen hummed in agreement.
“Dorian says his work with the Lucerni faction has made significant progress in the Magisterium. He and Bull have been weeding out the remainders of the Venatori.”
“They’ve been doing well, yes. It’s good to hear of possible improvements in the Imperium.”
“And Kirkwall. Varric’s been taking great care of it.”
“He has.”
“Vivienne’s… Vivienne.”
“That she is…”
“Blackwall’s been helping replenish the Wardens’ numbers. Weisshaupt is almost bursting with recruits.”
“It’s good to see redemption for both him and the Wardens in general.”
“I do miss Cole, though.”
Cullen lifted his head to look down at Rhea, but she could barely meet his eyes. Finally, tears clouded her vision. They’d been begging for her to let them fall for what felt like eons now, and she mistakenly thought she’d done a decent job of suppressing them until now.
A strangled sob ripped out of her chest, and she buried her face in Cullen’s shirt. Her husband rubbed slow circles along her back as she released years of pain.
“I thought he was my friend, Cullen,” she managed to choke out, gripping her husband tightly.
“I know, love,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“I laughed with him. Mourned with him. Fought for him. Risked my life for him. For a year! And he just… It was all a lie. Everything.” Rhea then groaned and sniffled before she pulled back a bit to wipe her eyes and nose, her cheeks pink from tears and embarrassment.
“We’ll find him,” Cullen eventually said and lifted her chin, “We will stop him, and he will answer for what he’s done. I swear it.” Rhea laughed mirthlessly and shook her head.
“Honestly? I hope we don’t.”
Her husband’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to protest as she shifted away from him. She shrugged off her overshirt and kicked off her boots, then she pulled back the covers of their bed. Cullen’s stare was palpable, so she turned on her side, curled up, and closed her eyes.
“It seems only destruction and death will satisfy him… So be it. He can have his demons and his rituals. If the Maker has any mercy left, they’ll be his doom. And if they’re not? If he succeeds? Well… Then, I guess I’ll finally get the rest I earned the first two times I saved the entire fucking world.”
“Rhea…”
“I hope he wins. Then, all the suffering his anchor caused won’t have been for nothing. I can die knowing at least one of us got a happy ending.”