Chapter Text
It was a beautiful morning. The summer sun was warm and up early, especially in this secluded area where Skyhold stood. The smells around the fortress were stronger than usual, the people livelier, the mood lighter. Birds were chirping louder. Especially the ones that nested on the roof right above Cullen’s bed. Everyone in Skyhold seemed to enjoy those brighter days, slipping a bit away from the usual gloomy atmosphere of an on-going war with a blighted Magister... Everyone, but Cullen.
He washed his face in the corner of his room and stared at the water at the bottom of the bowl. He missed the winter’s days when the water was icy cold and helped him clear his mind in the morning after restless nights full of nightmares and morning headaches. Now, it was worse. The bath was too warm to his liking, not slightly colder than the sweat clinging to his back. Cullen sighed. Pain flared behind his eyes and he pinched his nose bridge in hope to chase it away. What a great way to start the day.
The Commander struggled to put on his military attire. The headache was raging today, and the sweat made his leather pants really uncomfortable to slip in. He started regretting when he donned his armor, grimaced when he attached the clasps and tightened the fasting belts holding on his gauntlets, then spent a few minutes staring at his mantle. He definitely didn’t want to put it on, but he could already hear the voice of a certain dwarf making fun of him. He reluctantly put on the mantle, hissing when the strands of fur clung to his damp neck.
He was used to skip breakfast at this point of the year. While he forgot to eat sometimes, the heat sure didn’t help his appetite. The Commander went down the ladder from his bedroom to his office, glanced at the never-ending pile of work waiting for him, and went out on the battlements, hoping for fresh air. It was still early in the morning, and the courtyard was quiet, if not for those really loud birds… Cullen leant on the stone walls and enjoyed the moments of silence. He liked seeing Skyhold this calm, this empty. People tended to gather later and later at night in the tavern during the summer, which was not helping him concentrate at the end of his long, hard-working days. He often wished he could go too, to soothe his loneliness with a song and a cold pint of beer, but every single one of his attempts ended up with his recruits staring at him from afar, and feeling like he didn’t belong. It was better that way.
A single figure caught his attention. Somebody was strolling around the courtyard, very casually. Cullen finally recognized their features, it was Solas. The mage seemed to prefer the calm as well, and while he mostly stayed indoor during the day, it was not so unlikely to find him walking around at night or the early mornings.
“Ah—” Cullen grunted as the migraine flared again. He rubbed his closed eyes firmly and waited for the pain to go. When he opened them again, Solas had noticed his presence and was looking at him. The wise elf gave him a nod as a silent ‘Good Morning’ gesture. Now to think of it, maybe Solas knew how to cure his migraine better than the apothecary. Maybe spells, or potions…? Despite his distrust in magic, the pain just kept growing and he ended up convincing himself reluctantly it was worth inquiring. Cullen answered the mage’s greeting with a sign of his hand and made his way down the battlements to the courtyard. He might have grown too accustomed to his grimace of discomfort, as he did not understand at first why Solas’ eyes grew with worry when he got closer to him.
“Everything alright, Commander?” Solas stared at him with an inquisitive look.
“Is it that obvious?” growled Cullen while rubbing his temples. “Sorry, I… I was hoping you could help.”
Solas tilted his head in a more relaxed attitude. “Well, of course. What is bothering you?”
“I… It’s the headaches. The heat is probably not helping. It doesn’t go away, despite the embrium.”
“Mh.” Solas brought his hand to his chin, in a reflective stance. “I guess Elan couldn’t help you or you wouldn’t ask me?”
“Yes. The apothecary did her best but none of the last infusions worked.” Cullen breathed loudly. “I was hoping you knew of something else to help…? You did take care of the Herald back then.”
Cullen pinched his lips at the mention of the Inquisitor. He tried his best not to think about her as much as he could, as she was a… distraction to his thoughts that he desperately needed to quiet. He anxiously scanned the mage’s face; he did not seem to have noticed the slight change in the Commander’s attitude and a wave of relief washed over him.
“Well, it was a magic wound,” Solas stared into space. “But I am no particular healer. If the usual potions don’t work on you, it might be a more complicated matter. Ah—”
The mage’s eyes flickered as an idea seemed to cross his mind. Cullen inquired: “Yes? What are you thinking?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure,” Solas carefully picked his words, eyebrows furrowed as he was trying to remember “but there is an old abandoned library in the low levels of Skyhold, with very ancient books on many different subjects. I haven’t messed with them a lot so I am not so sure, but I think I’ve seen a few volumes on medicines and cures…” The elf raised his gaze to meet Cullen’s. “There might be something here that could help you, Commander. And if not, I’ve seen plenty of books that could make for a nice reading, maybe help you rest and distract you from the pain?”
Cullen sighed. An abandoned library? Old mysterious books? It reminded him too much of the Circle. How come nobody told him about this “library” before? “Well, it looks like this place is full of surprises,” he grumbled. “Mh, thank you, Solas. May I ask you where it is exactly?”
The place might not have a book to cure his condition, but it felt like it was his duty to check on this “library” and make sure nothing dangerous was stored there. Solas gave him quite an explanation to find it, according to the mage, the library was only accessible by people who were openly looking for it, or needed it. It sounded more and more magic to him and he grew wary by the second. He thanked the mage in the most neutral tone he could muster and headed immediately to Skyhold.
A few people had started having breakfast in the great hall, and conversations were still quite low as the guests were slowly waking up. That’s when he saw her, sitting at the main table; hair perfectly done, official attire on, legs crossed, drinking absent-mindedly her favorite Antivan beverage. The Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, Lady Uriell Trevelyan. The lights from the stainglass fell gracefully upon her, painting her pale skin and blonde mane in vivid colors. While Skyhold’s usual temperature helped Cullen cool down from the summer heat, her sight was both refreshing and warm at the same time.
He didn’t expect to run into her. He actually did his best to avoid being in her presence; unless she came directly to his office to bring reports from the field, or if they had to attend a war meeting. The lady had captured his attention since the moment they had first talked in Haven, once she had proven her good faith and will to close the Breach. This… attention grew stronger and stronger with every moment spent in her vicinity, until it finally scared him. She was the Inquisitor after all. Above them, leading them, an image of purity and power which would save them all. Yet he couldn’t help but see the woman behind the symbol and… what a woman. The thoughts of her became more and more obsessive, distracting him from his work so many times, haunting his nights with bolder and bolder fantasies and—Maker’s breath, was he blushing?
Cullen realized he had stopped in his steps and was probably staring. Brought back to reality he noticed she had locked eyes with him, and she was smiling. A gentle, sweet smile, and Cullen gasped as his heart jolted in his chest. She waved shyly at him, before drinking the last drops from her cup. The vision of Cullen broadened and he saw she was flanked by Cassandra on one side, who was looking at him with an eyebrow cocked, probably wondering what he was doing there; and Varric on the other side, absorbed in papers laid in front of him. Cullen regained his composure, ignoring his quickened heartbeat and flushed cheeks, then gave a stiff nod to the Seeker and the Inquisitor before heading back to that cursed library.
He tried to chase away the thought of her smile while heading down in the stony belly of Skyhold, trying to remember Solas’ directions. But it was here, imprinted underneath his eyelids, getting more and more sensual and tantalizing by the second he was picturing her. His headache flared and brutally ended his fantasy. Cullen stumbled and had to reach for the wall to steady himself, pressing against his eyelids with his other hand. A grunt of pain escaped his lips, unsure if he was thankful for the interruption of his defiling thoughts or cursing the migraine for the very same reason. He took a few deep breaths and when he opened his eyes, he noticed the door.
Was it always here? Cullen couldn’t remember. But he could see it clear as day, a refined wooden door, not so far away from the cellar, inviting him to come in. Cullen grabbed his sword, and warily opened the door. High bookcases bordered the walls of the room, full of heavy dusty books and apparently house of a few spiders. Cullen noticed the candlesticks around the room, unlit. The candles on top of them were quite fresh, unburnt, somebody might have brought new ones lately. He waited for a few moments, scanning the dark room for anything suspicious while holding his breath. Nothing happened.
After a while he sheathed his sword and took the first candle in his reach that he lit up from the roaring torch in the corridor. He carefully used it to lit up the candlesticks until he didn’t have to squint to read the covers of the volumes sitting on the shelves. Well, at least the ones he could read. Many covers bore words in different languages, some he had never seen before. The dust in the room was thick, and he sneezed a few times by just walking around. Sometimes he noticed trails in the dust of the shelves, showing that somebody lately pulled down a few books from them. There was a desk as well, at the very end of the long room. It was as dirty and untouched than the rest of the place, but for a small patch at its corner, as if somebody used it to put paper or a pile of documents on it.
It took Cullen quite a while to inspect the library. He had carefully blocked the door open with a heavy volume, afraid that he might be trapped again. The whole place was reminiscent of his days at Kinloch Hold, and he had the hardest time keeping his cool.
“It’s okay, I’m in Skyhold,” he was muttering to himself. “I’m safe. Everything is okay. Solas knows I’m here. Nothing can happen to me. I’m awake. I’m…”
His words of self-reassurance turned into verses of the Chant of Light without him even noticing. He kept looking at the door, making sure it was still open. His breath was short, and while he had been first grateful for the cold of Skyhold’s underbelly, he was sweating profusely. When he started to wonder if he should not leave, after all his headache was nothing compared to this anxiety, he finally found the shelves treating of medicines, drugs and cures. He found a book written in old common, and a smaller one, study and thin, which was probably written in… elven? Nevertheless, when he opened the book, it was filled of plants cross-sections, annotations, illustrations of liquids and cataplasms with lists of what should be ingredients. If he couldn’t read it, at least the apothecary could. And if it was not about cures and potions, maybe she would still be interested in the book.
Cullen took both of them with him and hastily began blowing out the candles. When he was about to take off the last one near the exit, he noticed something. In front of him, on the shelf, was a book that was different from the others. It was new. It was barely even a book actually, it was a stack of paper, hold together by some cheap leather binding, and no title on its spine. His interest picked, he reached for the book. There was no title on the cover, no name. He carefully opened it and was surprised to find in purple ink and elegant handwriting the words “Of Wars and Passions”.
The Commander stared at the words for a moment. What was that? Some kind of a manuscript? The leather was brand new, no sign of dust on the paper... Did somebody hide it here? He read the words again. That sounded stupid. He opened the book at a random page. Everything was handwritten. The paragraph he landed on was treating about tactics in war, and he was surprised to read the description of an official military maneuver. That was… odd. The content contrasted strongly with the thin letters and refined ink it was written in. He hesitated, and after a few minutes, he left the library with the potential recipe of his condition’s cure, and the manuscript he was curious to read.