Chapter Text
Ever since Herah Adaar had woken up with a glowing green hand, it had ached.
Sometimes the pain was a dull throbbing that she almost forgot about when she went about her daily tasks; sometimes it was a sparking electric pain that radiated from her palm to her fingertips to her elbows; sometimes it hurt so badly that she could do nothing but down a potion she knew wouldn’t help, grit her teeth, and try to be the Inquisitor that everybody was expecting her to be.
The only person Herah had told at first was Cassandra; she and Leliana agreed that keeping this as secret as possible would be the best course of action. Even when Herah was just the Herald of Andraste, any weakness wouldn’t look good. She was already a Qunari mage; if she admitted the mark on her hand felt like a ticking time bomb, Ferelden and Orlais would certainly cast the Inquisition aside and try to solve their problems on their own, or worse, pretend their problems didn’t exist.
For the first few days, being the Herald felt like an impossible task. Since then, though, she’d eased into wearing a mask wherever she went. In a way, it was familiar; she’d gotten used to smiling when slurs were hurled her way by the same nobles that paid for her services.
If anybody else had noticed her demeanor shift, they didn’t say anything. Herah told herself it was no different to what the type of acting she’d faced every day as part of the Valo-Kas, the big gun they sometimes brought in for interrogations to scare the shit out of the petty thieves they caught, and she convinced herself of the fact. The stakes were just higher now.
She had reminded herself, in the moment, that a Qunari seen committing any form of violence, however small, would be bad for their cause. Herah already heard the whispers of “ox-woman” as she walked past, the unabashed stares, even after they’d lost Haven and she’d been appointed as their Inquisitor.
But she was managing. She was good at that.
There was too much work for them to do to stop now, and as long as they could pull together enough to stop Corypheus and succumb to infighting, it would be fine.
So, the pain stayed secret - at least as secret as she could manage.
Solas was constantly hovering around her, theorizing on what was causing the pain and other possible solutions, and Cassandra had even shot her a few pitying looks when she could hardly hold her staff. But the one person who hadn’t cornered her and asked if she was okay, even once, was Cullen. He’d just watched from afar, she could tell, his gaze lingering on her shoulders for moments at a time. Maybe it was because he had been a Templar, and she was a mage; maybe he disliked her and didn’t want to broach such a personal topic, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to ask and accidentally dredge up anything touchy. They still had a cordial, even friendly, relationship otherwise; it was just… unnerving for him to seem like he was picking apart her every mannerism from afar.
If Herah was being honest, the staring had unnerved her enough that she had started avoiding Cullen when she could. She was afraid he disliked her, and her very presence could make his dislike turn into hatred or something worse. She was unwilling to lose him as an ally simply because she was a Qunari, or a mage, or a combination of the two.
Herah had been reading through documents on the Inquisition’s resource-gathering efforts, humming slightly, her left hand absently drumming the desk as she skimmed the mountains of paper.
There was a knock at the door to her quarters and she looked up. She hadn’t been expecting anybody; Bull was too busy coercing Cassandra to train with him and the Chargers, and Solas had left to research something about the Fade.
“Come in,” she called, loud as she could, knowing the high ceiling would throw her voice. Herah’s eyes widened when Cullen appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a few rolls of parchment in one of his hands.
“These are for you, Inquisitor,” he said, walking over and handing them to Herah.
“Thank you, Commander,” she said, and had to search for a moment to find a place to put them on her mess of a desk. “You could’ve sent a runner, though. I wouldn’t expect anybody to want to walk up that many stairs.”
“I, ah, actually… I wanted to talk to you about something.” He paused and Herah sat back in her chair for a moment, studying his face. He was nervous. The former Templar was nervous?
Gone was the careful mask of indifference that was usually on his face when they discussed anything Inquisition-related. His forehead creased and he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the next, seemingly unsure what to say next.
Feeling a flutter of panic, Herah did the first thing that came to mind and pushed her chair back and stood up, opening the doors to the balcony. “The view from here is stunning, you should see it.”
They leaned on the railing, observing both the camp below and the mountain beyond, when Cullen broke the silence.
“I haven’t told you I’ve sworn off Lyrium.”
Herah looked over at Cullen, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that supposed to kill Templars? Don’t they need Lyrium for their abilities?”
Cullen nodded. “It’s what they all say, and I fully expected it to kill me, but… I’m still alive. I’ve been off of the stuff for about a month, but every day…” He sighed, turning to look at the people mingling about in the courtyard below. “It’s like a disease, Inquisitor. I can’t get my mind off the stuff no matter the time of day, or what I’m doing. Not to mention, half the time my body aches from missing it so much.”
“Well, I commend you for staying strong for this long, Cullen.”
“Thank you. That… means a lot.” He met Herah’s eyes, then looked down at the mark on her hand. “I, ah… this was a long winded way of saying that Cassandra told me about the pain the Anchor causes you. I thought it might help to know that I at least have an idea what that feels like.”
A peace offering, then. A small smile crept up the edges of Herah’s mouth. “Thanks, Cullen. Is this what all the staring was about? Trying to figure out what you were going to say to me?”
“Oh, Maker, I apologize,” he said, then muttered a string of things Herah didn’t catch. “Yes, that is the reason why. I, ah, was unsure how to bring this up. I was just… making sure you weren’t being affected too badly.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve noticed a few things. On bad days, your eyebrow creases even when you’re not doing much. You hold your hand a little differently. And your reports have come in with different handwriting. But unless somebody had a clue something was going on, I doubt they would know.”
“Well, you’d be right about the handwriting. I’ve been working on writing with my other hand, since sometimes the pain is so bad. It’s slow going though,” she mused. “I… I’ll admit, I don’t know what to say. I’m not used to being this closely watched.”
“It must be my Templar training kicking in with all these mages around,” Cullen said, then sighed. “Truly, had I known I made you uncomfortable, I would’ve apologized much earlier. I am sorry, and I will do my best to… not watch you as closely in the future.”
A small smile came to Herah’s face and she shrugged. “You know, if it’s coming from you, I don’t really mind. At least you have good intentions.”
If she had been watching Cullen more closely, she would’ve sworn he had blushed. Herah smiled a little, turning back to stare at the soldiers hitting the mannequins out on the yard.
“I used to be pretty anonymous, as anonymous as a Qunari could get,” Herah said, and shrugged. “Hard to hide the horns, but at least people didn’t know my name or immediately start bowing whenever I entered a room.”
“Would you wish to go back to that time, or do you prefer this?”
“I don’t know. It certainly is… stressful to have so many people relying on me. I never feel like I’m making the right decisions, or that I’m even qualified to make the decisions in the first place. But somebody has to do it. I’m just glad it’s me and not somebody who’s… less scrupulous with others’ lives.”
Cullen smiled. “I’m grateful it’s been you at the helm. In the past, when I’ve been in charge, I…” he paused. “It’s impossible to tell the future, but even if the worst does happen, we can say we led with all of the mercy at our disposal.”
A small smile came to Herah’s lips. “Except for when we kill Corypheus.”
“Absolutely.”