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“You know, these aren’t chess pieces. Though it would make all this simpler if they were.”
A low chuckle reverberates through the room as calloused fingers brush against hers, pulling the cold, metal raven-shaped marker gently from her grasp.
She wonders if he’ll comment on how damp it is—how clammy her hands have become.
But ever the gentleman, he says nothing. Instead, he places the marker in its rightful spot on the map, the click of metal against wood breaking the silence.
“Apologies. My mind was... elsewhere.” Her voice is quiet, her wandering hands finding some reprieve in gripping the jagged edge of the war table. She hesitates, the words pressing against her lips, restless and insistent. For a moment, she considers swallowing them down, but they spill of their own accord.
“It would be nice, though, wouldn’t it?”
“Inquisitor?”
“If... this all was just a game.” Her gaze lingers on the war table, unfocused. “It would’ve been nice.”
Cullen studies her for a moment, the familiar crease forming between his brows. It’s not the look of a commander weighing a strategy or a soldier sizing up an opponent. No, this is different. Warmer, softer. The kind of look reserved for when his armor feels heavier than usual, and he lets himself feel human.
“It’s not a game,” he says at last, his voice steady but quiet. “But that’s precisely why you’ll win it.”
Her laugh is light but hollow, spilling from her lips before she can stop it. “Win?” She shakes her head, the faintest tremble in her hand as she releases her grip on the table. “I wonder what that would even look like. I wonder if I’ll even be here to see it.”
His expression hardens, but not out of anger. She knows the look—an instinct to fix, to reassure, to shoulder burdens that aren’t his to carry.
“You’re tired,” he offers, his voice low and steady. “It’s late. Perhaps—”
“It’s not the hour, Cullen.” Her words cut him off gently but firmly. She exhales, her shoulders sinking under a weight she feels but can’t see. “It’s this.” She gestures vaguely at her hand, at the mark flickering faintly against her skin like a fire on its last embers. “This thing. It’s burning me alive. I can feel it, even when it’s quiet. Even when it doesn’t hurt.”
Her voice softens, like a thread fraying under too much tension. “I think it’s killing me.”
Cullen doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens, his gaze flickering to the mark as though he could will it away by sheer force. “You’ve survived so much already. The Breach, Haven... You’ve done what no one else could.”
“Exactly.” Her voice sharpens. “Cullen—you didn’t know me before all of this. You don’t know who I was. I was—I am, ordinary. I’ve been pushed into these circumstances entirely against my will. I mean—” Her voice cracks, the words spilling faster now, tumbling over one another. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about running? Just leaving it all behind, finding some hole to die in? Quietly, peacefully?”
She pauses, her gaze fixed on his face, searching for something, anything—some emotion to betray the impassive mask he always wore.
His jaw tightens further, the only answer she receives.
“Right. No, I—” Her laugh is bitter, mirthless. “I’m the Inquisitor. A beacon of strength, a symbol. I’m just an object. A distant, hollow thought to help people feel safe.” Her voice wavers, then steadies, her hands curling into fists against the table. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I know, nobody else did either, but everyone acts like I’m in some lofty, dreamlike position. Like this is a gift.”
Her cold hands drag down her face as a sigh escapes from her ribs.
“I’m—I apologize, Commander. This is…not your burden to bear. To hear. I’m just feeling existential, I suppose. I know it’s insensitive of me to say all this. I’m sure you had your own set of plans outside of…” She makes a vague motion with her hands. “…all this. Perhaps you’re right—maybe I’m just tired.”
“You’re rather easy to read.”
“I—pardon?” Her eyebrow arches sharply, surprise flickering across her face. From the endless possibilities of what he might have said, that was not one of them.
“You call me ‘Commander’ when you’re trying to keep your distance. Trying to end the conversation, so to speak.” His tone is measured, but there’s a hint of something else—a teasing warmth that feels at odds with the tension of the moment.
Her lips part, but no words come immediately. She closes them again, her brow furrowing as she searches for a retort. “I—well. It’s your title, is it not?”
“It is,” he concedes, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “But you don’t use it when you’re being candid with me. Not like this.”
Her fingers hover just above the table, her composure slipping slightly as his words settle between them. “I wasn’t aware you paid such close attention.”
“Of course I do.” He says it simply, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You carry the weight of the Inquisition on your shoulders. If no one pays attention, who ensures that weight doesn’t crush you?”
She exhales a shaky laugh, her head tilting downward as a curtain of hair falls over her face. “Goodness, Comm--Cullen. I--you don't need to worry about me.”
He steps closer, and she feels the warmth of his presence even before she looks up. “I don't. Because I know you'll succeed. But I don’t say anything I don’t mean. And you shouldn’t apologize for how you feel. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
Her chest tightens, but not in the suffocating way the mark sometimes makes her feel. This is different—something fragile and bittersweet. “You make it sound so simple. Me succeeding.”
“It’s not.” His voice softens, his gaze steady and unwavering. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
For a moment, neither of them speaks. The crackle of the fire fills the room, and in the quiet, she realizes how close he’s standing, how the space between them feels smaller than it should. Her hand itches to reach out, but she doesn’t. Not yet.
“Thank you,” she murmurs instead, her voice barely above a whisper. “For listening-- for.. for thinking a good outcome is possible. I-- I need someone to believe it. Truly believe it.”
“Always,” he replies. And in the way he says it, so certain and unflinching, that, just for a moment, just for a moment...
She believes him.