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Cullen Rutherford was, unfortunately, very good at ‘going with the flow’; like a loyal mabari he would follow orders without much thought until something inevitably blew up, figuratively or literally. He would grind his teeth nervously if he thought too much about his past in the Circle of Magi or Kirkwall, how staunchly he’d obeyed the Templars to the detriment of a lot of innocent people. Leaving them, going with Cassandra, Leliana, and a loudly complaining Varric down to Haven for the Conclave was meant to be a fresh start for him, and then the temple exploded and ripped open the sky. He’d say he was shocked at the time, but he was exhausted and jaded, he’d seen too many explosions in his career, he just wished there’d been a little more time between the last and current ones.
The sky had broken open to spill the fade and demons out, the temple had exploded, the Divine was dead, and it was just another day for him in Thedas. Going from Knight-Captain of the Templars, to Commander of the newly established Inquisition, he decided to just nod along with the women in the war room and focus on making it through the war. Wars, plural. He considered the Templar-Mage war and the Breach two separate wars.
The only survivor of the Conclave was a shock as well, a Dalish elf who wasn’t supposed to be there, and certainly shouldn’t have survived, not that he wanted that, but what were the odds that one single person would survive, and that it would be her? He’d have better odds winning the Orlesian lottery, or the mages and templars kissing and making up.
Fen-Vali’then Lavellan -a tongue twister of a name- was a strange woman. He wouldn’t say he disliked her by any means, she was a kind woman, but by the Maker she could be frustrating to speak to. She was like Vivienne but without the faux kindness, no ‘my dear’ or pleasantries, just very calm, polite, and serious words, as though everything she spoke was a simple fact. He’d asked her an awkward and embarrassing question the first time they’d met eye to eye at the war table, and she’d kind of brushed him off with a non answer, but there wasn’t any frustration, she was just calm, but it was still odd to him because other people didn’t speak like her, she stood out.
Standing around the map stretched out across the table, Cullen placed down another piece on the board, some political conflict in Orlais that Josephine had successfully negotiated around, giving them some much needed gold. Josephine reached out with her fountain pen to slightly nudge another piece by just an inch, centering it over the shape of a town. Leliana was sitting on a table to the side, one knee up to rest her arm on, and Cassandra was standing by the door, spine straight and expression stern. They were waiting for the Herald herself to arrive, Cassandra had announced the meeting with her commanding voice that had two nearby templars jumping to attention before realising she hadn’t meant them, but the elven woman was still missing, and they couldn’t do the meeting without her.
“Can’t we just do this meeting without her?” Cullen asked, looking over some reports he’d been given by a messenger.
“You’re not a fan of her, I take it?” Josephine asks.
“Not worshipping the Herald, how blasphemous.” Leliana chimes in sarcastically.
“I don't dislike her.” He defends, setting the papers down on the table, coincidentally near the village that had sent them originally. “She's just… strange.”
He settles on that as an explanation, hoping they'd understand. They'd all spoken with Vali'then too, she asked too many questions, misunderstood some slang and expressions, and was quite staunch in her belief that she wasn't the Herald of Andraste, not that anyone would stop believing that now.
“She's a Dalish elf, isn't it obvious she's different to us?”
Cassandra points out.
“Of course it’s obvious.” He defends. “But she’s hard to talk to. It’s like she thinks we’re crazy and she’s the only sane one.”
“We’re the ones who made her a martyr for our religion against her choice.” Leliana says, standing up from her position and stretching out her stiff limbs. The other two women nod in agreement, but he thought it was hypocritical of them to even mention and agree with that point when they were going to continue calling the elf a Herald. He would too, Maker be damned, because it was all they had. A shattered sky, and a woman with a matching gash on her palm that had the potential to fix that shatter, stitch it shut.
“And you should go find her so we can start this meeting and get it over with.” Leliana said again, turning to face Cullen.
He balked.
“What? Why me?”
“Because, ‘nose goes’.” Leliana said, raising her hand to her face and pressing her index finger to the side of her nose, a children’s game very unbefitting of professionals. He quickly raised his own hand to his nose, but Cassandra and Josephine were faster, and he lost. He suddenly knew how Branson felt, he’d always been the last when it came to their games as kids.
“Fine.” He said curtly, turning on his heel, his fur collar swooping. He stomps out of the war room, through the Chantry hall and out of the chapel, and into the village of Haven.
He asked a few different people as he passed by, and each led him to someone else. Vivienne pointed him to Threnn, who Vali’then worked with collecting requisitions, but she’d quickly left her and hopped off the ledge to talk to Varric, from him to all over the small village, Cullen went to every person he could name. Seggrit, Sera, Flissa, Iron Bull, Blackwall, Dennet, Harrit, Krem, Lysette, Korpin, and finally, Solas, who always looked like he was either about to go to bed, or was just waking up.
The sleepy elf pointed him to Adan, the alchemist and grudging healer. He was the one who had cared for Vali’then after she’d closed the rift at the temple, watching over her for three days as she recovered. He hadn’t seen her proper during her long rest, just peeked once through a crack in the door, behind Cassandra’s shoulder as she and Varric elbowed each other out of the way. The elf had looked worse for wear, clammy and pale, trembling and unsettled, like she was trapped in a nightmare. He could empathise with her, he suffered the same shakes, sweats and night terrors, even if the cause wasn’t the same.
She wasn’t in the alchemist’s either, frustratingly. Adan had sent her off to go fetch some papers from an oddly placed house just outside the village.
Outside the walls of Haven, he could just see the shack through the trees and down a dirt path. It sat nestled in the woods in peaceful solitude; a small wooden shack close to the lake and hidden away from the village but still close enough to walk to every day, to Cullen it sounded perfect, if only it wasn’t in the coldest place he could imagine.
There was a small fireplace, lit and warming the room despite the biting cold outside. In front of it on the stone floor was a spread of herbs and wildflowers, the one he recognised most was elfroot, the large, light green leaves were visibly wet and drying on the floor.
He found her staff nearby. A long, gnarled, twisting, heavy wooden staff with a clear crystal at the top, and the bottom pointed into a spear that she used to manoeuvre herself around the world with her limited vision. He would admit, it made him a little nervous to see her always carrying it, always armed, but he also understood how it was more than just a weapon to her, it was her eyes. He wouldn’t ask her to stop using it.
Her bag was nearby too, a leather knapsack that seemed full and heavy. He knew she picked up things that Threnn told her to, but Cassandra mentioned once in passing that the woman could empty her bag of all the things on her list and the bag would still be full to bursting, she collected interesting looking rocks, carried food and drinks, picked up discarded books and trinkets, and even had an aid kit full of salves and bandages; fully prepared for any disaster that came, except for the one disaster that happened.
On the bed, tossed onto the tangled and bunched up blankets, was a thick, brown, bound leather book, spine rigid and stitched with black thread. The front was bare, but the inside of the cover had her name written inside, in small printed lettering. The first page after that was a large drawing of an elfroot plant, with labels written around it.
He paused, realising he’d picked up what was most likely her journal and just opened it up like any other book, invading her privacy without a second thought. That wasn’t becoming of him.
He glanced at the elfroot again, looking over the artwork. It looked like it was drawn originally in pencil, maybe charcoal, and then painted over to colour it in properly, a dark green stem and lighter green leaves. The writing around it listed various properties, how to identify it via touch, not to mistake it for a similar feeling plant, what it could do and how to cut it correctly. He flipped to the next page out of curiosity and found the next was on blood lotus, and the one after that was rashvine, all very common alchemical ingredients that could be found just about anywhere on Thedas. The art for the other two plants were the same as the elfroot, sketched first and then painted over, the long spindly stem of the blood lotus that grew into large closed off buds, only a slight pink inside visible, and the tangling brown and bright red strips of rashvine that grew from moist cracks in walls. That page featured another drawing, of a hand covered in a large grey rash and white blotching blisters, the infamous mark of picking the vines barehanded, a warning.
The blankets suddenly shifted, a lump moving around like it was trying to escape containment, and Cullen stepped back, dropping the journal back down on the bed and putting one hand on the hilt of his sword out of habit. The moving lump was too small to be a person, the still missing Herald or even someone shorter, like a dwarf, and he watched quietly and guarded as the creature struggled inside the tangled covers until it finally freed itself and wiggled itself out from under the covers.
A nug. A fat hairless rodent with large bunny ears and a curly pig tail. Cullen barely reacted, remaining stoic except for a single raised eyebrow as the creature looked up at him, with its beady little black eyes, giant snuffling snout, and uncannily humanlike paws, fingernails included. Nugs were indigenous to Ferelden; and the rest of Thedas and probably beyond, too; but not to cold areas like the Frostback Mountains, their lack of fur meant they were more sensitive to temperature and couldn’t keep themselves warm in the snow, so seeing one up in the mountains was a surprise. It snorted loudly at him, in what was either a greeting or a defense, and he couldn’t help but smile at it, amused.
“How did you get here, huh?” He asked the little rat thing, but the most it did was snort in reply.
The flapping of wings alerted him to the window, a simple small rectangle that closed via a pair of shutters, but had been left open. A large black bird flew towards it, headfirst until it got closer, and then it turned, diving feet first to land on the sill, claws holding onto it. He wasn’t sure if it was a crow or a raven, he tried to compare it to one of Leliana’s ravens, but without one in front of him he couldn’t gauge the size, and hers were bred specifically to be large, fast, and tough, not just any old raven could be one of Leliana’s messengers.
It looked at him, with hazy eyes and a sprig of elfroot in its beak, then hopped down from the sill and bounced across the floor towards the fire, where it dropped the root by the others, and then used its beak to check which ones were dry. He knew animals, some animals, probably not the nug who was chewing on the blanket, were intelligent, but he’d never seen one do something as specific as collect herbs to dry them out. It was eerily sentient.
“Is this your friend?”
He asked the nug, simply because he’d already started speaking to it and it had replied once, in its own way, but he was instead staggered and taken aback when something replied back in Common.
“Yes, he is.”
The bird spoke in perfectly clear Common, not in the way certain birds could mimic human language with a cawing accent, but perfectly comprehensible and human in its dialect and pronunciation. The voice and accent as well were clear, precise, and familiar to him. He turned slowly, with wide eyes and rigid spine, to face the bird as it stood by the fire, head tilted up to face him.
“No.” He said, aghast at the thought.
She proved his concern right by transforming right in front of him, a large plume of smoke puffing out and enveloping the bird body, just enough to not fully see her, but still see a silhouette as the body stretches out; claws became long, lean legs with pointed toes, wings became willowy arms with gentle hands and long nails, her body stretched out in an almost lewd way that had him looking back at the nug out of politeness, and her neck rolled in a deep stretch as her body came together, long hair flying out behind her. The smoke dissipated, and she was standing there, skin tawny brown, hair onyx black with that stark white parting at the front, eyes the same hazy white, the tattoo of the bird on her forehead. (Was that why she transformed into a bird?)
He was surprised she was clothed, he thought maybe shapeshifting involved disrobing lest the clothes shrink with the body or fall right off.
“By the Maker, you’re…” He struggled to find the word. He knew she was a mage, obviously, but he’d never seen a mage who could turn into an animal. He knew it was something they could do, but it wasn’t something he’d personally seen, at least not from what he could remember. From how it looked, he assumed it was something complicated, a high level spell only the brightest of mages could perform, and he was suddenly thinking of more questions to ask her.
“Are you a bird on purpose or did you not get to choose?”
He blurted out, and she gave him the same look she usually did when people asked her questions, a slight head tilt and an ear wiggle as she comprehended the question, and then a nod.
“I chose my form when I started training, yes. Small animals are the easiest as a starter.”
She brushed past him, the back of her hand gliding against his chest as she approached the bed with some dried out herbs, holding them out to the nug. The rodent eagerly lunged forward, bulbous snout first, and started eating from her hands like it was starved, snorting and squeaking through crunching dry leaves.
“I’m surprised to see a nug so far up here, they’re not built for this kind of weather.”
He said, just to fill the almost silence, the nug still snorting quietly.
“I was too.” She agreed, smiling when the leaves were gone and the rodent began licking at her fingers with its tongue. “I found him just outside when I was walking up. I don’t know if he stumbled up here by accident or if he’s someone’s pet.”
He didn’t look like a pet, Cullen thought, more like a wild nug. Pet nugs were usually fatter, and most wore collars or bandanas, some way to identify them. He recalled Leliana owned nugs back home, once a single gift from the Hero of Ferelden, Schmooples the nug had gone on to sire a litter, and over the years had grandfathered over a hundred nugs. -Nugglings? Nuggets? He wasn’t sure what the babies were called-. Schmooples the first had long since passed away, but his legacy lived on in those fat little creatures.
“He looks wild to me.” He settled on. “Too skinny, and I don’t think anyone would bring their pet to an environment they’re not suited towards.”
“I hope he’s wild.” She admitted. “Because I want to keep him. I already have a name for him.”
“Oh?” He said, hoping that would prompt her to say it, and she did.
“Nugmare.”
He gave her a knowing, disappointed look.
“That’s awful.”
She smiled, pulling a scarf from around her neck and wrapping around the nug, swaddling him up like a baby and lifting him up into her arms to cradle him against her chest with one hand, while the other packed her journal back into her bag and pulled the strap onto her shoulder. When her hand was free she held it out and the staff was pulled towards her with magic, flying into her palm.
He realised she was packing up to head out, back to Haven, and wanted to help her. Her hands were occupied with her staff and new pet, so he decided to pick up the basket of herbs.
“I’ll carry your basket.” He told her, making sure she was aware of the situation. He knew she was blind, that had been the first thing he’d asked her, embarrassingly, but she’d also made it clear she could see something, but hadn’t explained what exactly that was. She could be infuriating sometimes, in the way she was vague, not entirely and deliberately, but she was still withholding things until someone asked the right question, and he just didn’t know what those right questions were.
“Thank you.” She said, nodding her head in a quick bow before she headed out of the cabin, back into the snow with the nug held protectively against her and the tip of her staff tapping against the solid dirt below.
They walked side by side down the dirt path back to Haven, passing the training ground where some soldiers saluted them. A scout ran up to Cullen, carrying a satchel on his shoulder and a thick set of papers in his hands, and Cullen felt a headache coming on.
“Commander, you've got another report from some Templars up near the Storm Coast.”
The pair stopped for the scout to hand over the papers, all crumpled and out of order, and Cullen gave him a tired glance.
“Thank you.” He said with gritted teeth.
“My Herald.” The scout bowed at Vali'then, either ignoring or not noticing the annoyance on the Commander's face, and then headed off again, satchel full with other post to hand out.
“Well, let's get back to the Chantry, my Herald.” He nudged her shoulder with his as a way to tell her to continue walking.
“Of course, my Commander.”
She said in a playful lilt, looking up at him from under those thick, fluttering lashes that made his chest feel tight and his stomach feel sick, a feeling he’d felt before and was well aware of what it was, but it was easier to ignore it lest something bad happen because of that weakness. Still, his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed a deep red, and his hand raised up to scratch the back of his head in his nervous tic. That was all embarrassing enough, but even worse was that they were passing by Varric at the time, and the dwarf had given him a look; a smug grin that he knew meant trouble. He just hoped that if Varric decided to write about the Inquisition, he’d omit this moment specifically, preferably he’d omit Cullen’s role entirely, but he’d read ‘The Tale of the Champion’ and cringed when he came upon himself in that book already, so hoping he would be conspicuously absent was asking too much.
They returned to the Chantry and the war table side by side, her shoulder brushing against his, until Leliana had whisked her away to coo over the nug in her arms and he returned to look over his papers. Despite the slightly ugly, yet slightly cute distraction, the five of them worked well together over the table, moving pieces, setting and taking jobs, and even managing to make lighthearted banter. And if his eyes happened to catch the Herald’s, well that was nice too.