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Trevelyan sighed softly to herself as she shut the door to Cullen’s office behind her. The memory of his lips against hers tingled on her flesh as a gentle blush caressed her freckled cheeks. Reaching up, she smoothed down the few black strands that had escaped from her bun and tried her best to walk in a manner befitting her station down the battlements towards the Herald’s Rest. There were times when it was all too tempting to keep her head down, brown eyes glued to the stone. Though, the last time she had attempted such, Trevelyan had collided with an unfortunate messenger and scattered his documents all over the ramparts. The soldiers on patrol all saluted her as she passed, though she, still not used to saluting offered her greetings instead to each person she saw. She tried not to smile, endeavored to look serious and solemn as the current state of the world demanded, but found she couldn’t when she left Cullen. It was something extraordinary, to think that despite Corypheus and the Mage-Templar war that she had found someone that she cared for and who seemed to care for her as well.

She hoped, anyway.

Truthfully, relationships were still very new to her; having grown up in the Circle for most of her life, she’d never had the opportunity for anything. Even then, she had not actually cared for them in that manner. Yet, she’d certainly snuck enough forbidden books into her room enough times to know that both people were supposed to be involved with the relationship. Yet, she had pursued Cullen and he’d let himself be caught by her. He said lovely things, of course. He’d told her at the Winter Palace that no one else’s attention mattered. He had even confided in her his struggle with his lyrium withdrawal symptoms. Yet, it was always Trevelyan who was going to his office and asking him for a moment of his time.

But, no, of course Cullen had feelings for her. Trevelyan chuckled a little and shook the thoughts from her head. She was being silly. Those trashy novels she’d read were in no way reminiscent of real life. After all, there wasn’t really a Knight-Captain with flame-red hair who fell in love with a guardsman and had glorious adventures and steamy sex every day of her life, despite what Varric’s novel said. Besides, Cullen had been through so much. Well, so had she but…well; ugh, flames. She exhaled through her teeth as doubt settled in her chest again. She’d looked through all of her books for some hint of anything to ease her doubts about Cullen. But, there weren’t any; all of her books were focused entirely on the process of the shy, naive girl getting the complicated, brooding man and, it wasn’t as if the other blossoming romances around Skyhold were much of help, either. Blackwall and Josephine were involved in some sort of courtly entanglement that Josephine had tried to explain to her, but Maker it was so Orlesian. She had smiled and nodded at her Ambassador, but inside she wanted to grab the woman by her shoulders and spout some ridiculously saccharine line about true love conquering all. Then there was Dorian and Bull, and Trevelyan wasn’t sure what was going on there. She’d had to fight back a grimace when Bull had mentioned ‘conquering’ Dorian, as Bull’s offhanded comment had hit her a little too close to home. Dorian, despite his easy-going nature with Trevelyan, wasn’t too eager to speak about his association with Bull. Trevelyan could respect that, even if it hindered her. She’d remembered the soft flirtations of two Inquisition soldiers back in Haven, but Trevelyan certainly didn’t know them well enough to talk to them. Who else could she ask? Cassandra was the one who’d recommended Varric’s book to her in the first place. Cole, well, he went without saying. She enjoyed her chats with Solas about the Fade and history and magic, but could never see herself asking him for relationship advice. Trevelyan knew that Leliana was in a relationship with the Hero of Ferelden and certainly didn’t want to add to the woman’s woes by making her miss the Warden even more. There was absolutely no way she was asking Sera. Vivienne was just as likely to roll her eyes as offer practical advice, plus she was so intimidating. Varric, well she supposed she could ask him, except that he’d been the one to write Swords and Shields and his relationship with Bianca was not one Trevelyan was eager to emulate. Hawke had already left for Weisshaupt. There was Morrigan, but Trevelyan didn’t feel comfortable asking about her son’s father again. The woman had mentioned him briefly, but after Adamant when Trevelyan had asked again, all Morrigan would give was a cold shoulder before disappearing for several hours. There was, quite simply, no one.

She pushed the door to the Herald’s Rest open and tried to ignore the way the Tavern stopped all motion for a moment as she entered. She still hadn’t grown used to the deference they displayed towards her and despite her telling everyone to treat her like any other person in Skyhold, it still hadn’t quite taken hold. She couldn’t help but notice the way Maryden held her head just a little higher and sang just a little bit louder as she walked by on her way to the bar.

“Inquisitor,” Cabot greeted as she perched on a stool.

“What’s the word, Cabot?”

“News all over Skyhold is that you and the Commander are together.” Heat swept across her face and she prayed she wasn’t blushing as she failed to maintain eye contact with the dwarven bartender. He harrumphed as he practically slammed a mug of ale down in front of her. The foamy head sloshed over the side of the flagon and down the side, staining the wooden bar a darker hue. “Not my business, Inquisitor. Though people are wondering how you have the time to save the world when you’re so preoccupied.”

“Oi, dwarf, she wasn’t too busy to march off to Adamant and tell the Wardens to shove off, was she? Well, ‘cept for Blackwall, but he’s a good’un. Need more like ‘im,” Sera interrupted, stealing Trevelyan’s mug off the table. Trevelyan flashed Sera a grateful smile. “Besides, Cullen’d never get distracted from his duties.”

“Of course not, Cullen’s a-”

“After all, he has to do everything you tell him,” Sera said over Trevelyan.

Trevelyan paused, blinked and looked at Sera. “What?”

Sera took another sip off of the ale and wiped the foam off of her upper lip with the back of her hand. “Yeah, I mean, you’re his boss right? The Inquisitor. I mean, you’re the one at the top of all of us, yeah? But him especially,” she said, Trevelyan’s title accompanied with wiggling, dramatic fingers. “So, he’s gotta do everything you say, right? So you tell ‘im-”

Trevelyan stopped listening to Sera as the words that had rattled around in her brain suddenly began to stick. Memories, long dead and buried burst forth from their graves, settling themselves in front of her mind’s eye. The ghosts of sensations, of silver in the light of the moon and the cold sting of a metal encased hand striking her face twisted and turned throughout her mind, like a giant chaotic firestorm. It was as if someone had suddenly deafened her. All sound in the room went out from her ears, as if the world had gone hollow. Black ebbed around her vision as her mind reeled suddenly and sharply. She could see Sera’s eyes narrow; her mouth moving but there was nothing. Trevelyan was weightless, drifting in the vast unknown open blackness of her mind. And suddenly, all the chaotic thoughts crystallize into one singular, tenacious voice echoing in her mind: ‘leave, leave, leave, leave.’

“I need to go,” Trevelyan muttered as she rose to her feet and ran from the tavern.

The heavy stone thudded underneath the soft soles of her boots as she ran up the stairs towards the main entrance to the fortress. Everything that she’d had with Cullen replayed back in her mind; with every step a new memory slid in front of her mind’s eye. Back in Haven, her asking him about his vows and if they included chastity, oh Maker; her smiling at him, which in turn only made him uncomfortable, oh no; when they got to Skyhold and he’d been so quick to rise to his feet when he had been playing chess with Dorian; and her awkwardly asking him if he’d ever like a mage. She shoved her way past the gossiping nobles, paying no attention to Varric’s humorous greeting about something in the castle being on fire. She was in such a dazed hurry she didn’t even notice Josephine struggling to get her attention. Trevelyan shoved the door to her chambers open with such force it echoed mightily throughout the hall. She cared little as she sprinted around the little walkway and up into the doors of her bedroom. The windows to the balcony and been left blessedly open, and the fresh air felt like magic in her lungs. She stood in the middle of the room, hunched over, hands on her knees and hyperventilated as even more memories danced in front of her eyes. The Winter Palace, he’d said hers was the only attention that mattered but he’d said it so softly as if afraid someone would overhear. At the end of the night he had danced with her, but only after she’d pestered him about it six times. Then after they’d gone to Adamant she’d gone to his office and-

Oh, no.

Oh, please Maker, no.

That was the night they’d been intimate, the first and only night she’d ever spent with a man and he only- because she was-

Oh, Maker.

A soft, traitorous voice inside her head murmured, ‘just like Him, the Templar.’

Trevelyan’s stomach clenched violently, as if the sides of the organ had suddenly slammed together. She slapped her hand against her mouth, eyes wild as she looked around. Panicking, she ran out on to the balcony and leaned over the railing before violently emptying the contents of her stomach. Hot, salty tears flowed steadily from her eyes as she sobbed. The movement made her groan, the muscles of her stomach aching from the force of her regurgitation. Once she was sure she had finished, she collapsed against the railing and let the cool mountain air wash over her. She brought her knees to her chest and sobbed mournfully as the memories ran across her mind. At the time, she’d thought it had been wonderful. Now that she knew though, knew that she was no better than the Void-damned Templars who’d made her life and the lives of all their charges miserable and humiliating and…she couldn’t think of words that could ever hope to measure up to the enormity of what they’d done. Now, she was that thing to Cullen. She tried to analyze every moment of that night in agonizing detail, but found her memories wanting. It had been her first time lying with a man, she had been a little distracted by everything that was going on to notice Cullen’s expression when he touched her. The sudden jolt of nausea as the memory of his touch relived itself across her skin made her gag immediately. She jumped to her feet and leaned over the rail again to vomit. She tried not to remember the soft way in which he’d said her-

Oh, Maker preserve her. Cullen had never once said her real name.

At Haven she’d been Herald or The Herald, at Skyhold it was always Inquisitor, how in the name of Andraste hadn’t she ever noticed? It had to end, that much was clear. It had to end and she would have to maintain a respectful distance from everyone in the Inquisition. Perhaps, she shouldn’t even be friendly towards them. Had they only been friendly with her because of her title? When they all sat down to play wicked grace, had she only been invited because she was The Inquisitor? Had they all seen her sitting there and groaned inwardly when she decided to play? She should send them all notes of apology and the promise that she’d never terrorize them again. Yet, what to say to Cullen? There wasn’t an apology in the world to make what she did all right.

“Inquisitor?”

Trevelyan looked up to see Josephine hovering in the doorway to the balcony. She reaffirmed her decision to her new way of treating the people of the Inquisition as she saw Josephine’s hesitation. “Yes, J-Ambassador Montilyet?”

The Ambassador blinked, surprise falling across her face. “I-uh, the spectators have gathered in the main hall and the guards are ready to bring Magister Erimond in for judgment.”

“Very well, thank you Ambassador. I shall be down shortly.”

Josephine’s eyes narrowed at Trevelyan. “As you say, Inquisitor.”

Trevelyan remained stationary until she heard the door shut behind Josephine. She heaved a heavy sigh and ignored the clench of her chest. It’s fine, she told herself, just like being back in the Circle.

She took a moment to right herself. There was tremendous pressure on her shoulders; she was the Inquisitor and a Mage, and as such she had to fit into a certain ideal. To please the non-mages, she had to show that she was above all suspicion of demonic possession and that she did not use the power at her fingertips to do anything other than save the world. The mages, however, would protest her having anything that could be perceived as a Templar or Chantry leash. She had to stand on her own, and prove to the world that mages were capable of holding leadership positions. Trevelyan may have been a bit naive or sheltered in the world outside the Circle, but she was no fool and the years during the war had been excellent teachers. She knew that above all, she’d have to work twice as hard to earn half the respect. The walk out of her chambers, across the dilapidated ramp, felt longer than she had remembered it. The perpetual murder of crows that stood guardian seemed more sinister than usual. Their inky black wings shone in the trailing light of the sun as they watched her with black eyes.

Nervously, she smoothed down her hair and wiped at her mouth. She’d spent ten minute rinsing and cleaning her mouth, but still felt dirty. Breathing five rapid breaths, she straightened her spine and held her head high as she pushed the door open and strode out into the main hall. She could hear the sounds of people milling about suddenly cease and whispers of ‘there’s the inquisitor!’ chorus through the hall.

Remember, just like the Circle.

She sat down on the great throne as she always had before, slightly perched on the edge as if afraid to touch it more than was required. Yet, as her gaze slid around the room and she saw all the fascinated eyes on herself, she relented and slid backwards in the seat until her back was fully pressed against it. Forcing her body to relax, she crossed her legs and rested her ankle on her knee and steepled her fingers in her lap. Keeping her face as cold as possible, she glanced to Josephine and nodded. The Ambassador blinked, unmasked surprise crossing her lovely features. The woman recovered swiftly, gracefully and gestured for the guards to bring the prisoner in.

Erimond was a worm. A sniveling, shit excuse for a mage and one more example to be used as justification for Templar control; the guards shoved Erimond to stand in front of her.

“Adamant’s influence continues, your Worship. I submit Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, who remains loyal to Corypheus,” Josephine said, her Antivan accented caressing the words delicately. “We found him alive, offering extreme resistance, likely because the Order will ask for his head, in more colorful terms. To say nothing of the justice you might personally require for what was suffered in the Fade.”

Trevelyan fought back a shiver as the unbidden image of Stroud running away from her and Hawke, raising his sword as they turned and fled for the rift suddenly slammed into her mind. She found herself squirming in her seat just a little and quickly tried to mask it as shifting her position out of boredom. The Inquisitor would never be nervous or scared. Erimond kept his eyes downcast and Trevelyan wanted nothing more than for him to look up at her and meet her gaze. It was easy to blame him for everything she was feeling. If he hadn’t journeyed to the Wardens, hadn’t shown them the blood ritual then perhaps her emotions wouldn’t have gotten the better of her. Perhaps, she wouldn’t have…forced herself on to Cullen. Then she wouldn’t…. No, it didn’t matter now. What had been was done.

“Many places felt the pain of Adamant. You will answer for a great deal,” she said, leaning forward to catch his gaze.

He took a step towards her and from behind him; Trevelyan could see her guards reaching for the blades. Surprisingly, she saw Cullen standing at the edge of the spectators, his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw. Seeing him sent a fresh wave of panic and pain through her. He met her gaze, eyes narrowing in…well, before she’d have thought it to be concern for her. Now, she didn’t rightly know. She ripped her gaze away from him and clenched her jaw while she stared down Erimond.

“I recognize none of this proceeding. You have no authority to judge me.”

“On the contrary,” Josephine interrupted. “Many officials have communicated that they will defer to the Inquisitor on this matter.”

He sneered. “Because they fear. Not just Corypheus, but Tevinter, rightful ruler of every piece of ground you’ve trod in your pathetic life.”

Coldness swept through her and she felt her lips twitching into a snarl. Her gaze unconsciously swept up to the balcony where she could see Dorian perched, watching the proceedings. She wondered what was going through his mind, hearing Erimond grandstanding.

“I served a living god. Bring down your blades and free me from the physical. Glory awaits me.”

Trevelyan sat back in her chair, tapping her steepled fingers together thoughtfully. Part of her wanted to make him tranquil, give him the worst punishment she could possibly think of. She forced herself to take a breath, calm the frantic thumping of her heart against her ribs. Overwrought anger wouldn’t help anyone, least of all the people wronged by Erimond. Her eyes flicked again to Cullen, his expression was soft, as if he pitied her. She swallowed and stole a glance to the rest of her companions she could see around the hall: Dorian looked as if he was going to be sick; Vivienne had an expression somewhere between outright disdain and curiosity draped across her features; Varric had his arms crossed over his chest, his face unreadable; she could see Iron Bull’s great horned head near the back of the room, but his face was obscured by the crowd; and somewhere to her left, Trevelyan could hear Cassandra grunting disgustedly. The weight of all the eyes in the room on her was almost palpable. She held her head up, doing the very best impression of the Knight-Commander of the Ostwick Circle when she’d delivered punishments.

“Lord Erimond, any protection you thought you had has apparently been withdrawn.”

A mantra asking the Maker for her voice and body to remain still and sure echoed through Trevelyan’s head as she passed her judgment:

“You will die,” she said firmly. There was a soft murmur through the crowd. Out of the corner of her vision she watched Cullen nod resolutely. He had performed all prior executions, despite it being custom for the Inquisitor to carry them out herself. She had been concerned about handling the great blade, being a mage and had asked if Cullen would act as her surrogate. Something heavy and solid clicked within her mind. She continued, her voice taking on a cold edge, “by my hand.”

She could hear a few soft gasps, including one from her Ambassador as the sentence was passed. Erimond, of course, had no idea of the fact that the Inquisitor had never put anyone to death herself and continued to bluster about his ascension and the truth of the next life. Trevelyan, however, paid him little attention as she rose wordlessly to her feet. As she was about to stride off to the gallows, she heard Josephine clear her throat. Trevelyan turned and saw that Leliana had appeared out of nowhere and was standing next to the Ambassador. Both women wore concern plainly on their faces. A half breath later, and she heard the familiar sound of Cullen’s armor approaching them. Her throat constricted and she willed herself to not look at him.

“Do we have a problem, Ambassador?” she asked, voice surprisingly steady.

“Err no, Inquisitor. It’s only that, well, are you sure you want to administer the sentence?”

Trevelyan cocked an eyebrow and finally looked over to Cullen. His brow was furrowed quizzically and the pain of looking into his eyes was worse than she’d imagined. She ripped her gaze away from his and settled it back on Josephine. Finally, she answered, trying to make her voice as cold as possible to bring her point home: “bring me my sword.”

An hour later found her grim faced and standing on the battlements outside of Cullen’s office. The sword hung heavy at her hip and part of he worried about climbing stairs while wearing it. Her staff didn’t weigh half of the sword and she hadn’t ever needed to carry anything heavier than that, ever. Erimond was on his knees, shackled and sneering at her on a dais. There was an electric murmur through the gathering crowd, spectators looking for a little blood thirst. She could see her advisors huddled together just off to the edge of the crowd, whispering to each other. Ignoring the twisting feeling in her gut, Trevelyan walked gingerly up the steps to the dais and took her place next to Erimond. The ringing of her sword being pulled from its scabbard echoed through the placid mountains. She breathed, lifted the sword above her head and swung it down with all her might. There was a cry, then silence. Trevelyan calmly sheathed the sword, turned around and walked away.

She ignored the diminishing crowd; attempted to make a clean break and head back to her quarters to let her mind recover. A sudden hand on her arm made her pause and whirl around. It was Cullen, staring down into her wide brown eyes with concern.

“Inquisitor?”

She forced herself to speak. “Yes, Commander?”

He blinked and she realized that she’d hardly ever called him Commander in public. She bit back a horrified groan at the thought of all her professional misconduct. Maker had she but realized! Cullen cleared his throat and leaned in a little closer to her. To her dismay, the scent of him - sweat, soft leather and the bitter smoke of chantry candles - wafted through the air and into her nostrils. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her thoughts focused. Before, she would have touched him and now the thought made her stomach crawl all over again.

He spoke softly, “will I be seeing you tonight?”

She pulled back a groan. The softness of his voice and the furrow of his brow, how could she not have seen it before? She looked away from him. “No, Commander. I-I- no, no you will not be seeing me tonight.”

“Is everything all right, Inquisitor?” His voice in her ear like the night they....

She swallowed and pushed Sera’s words through her mind: ‘After all, he has to do everything you tell him’. Unbidden thoughts of knights in shining silverite plate flashed through her mind’s eye. Suppressing a shudder, she willed her voice steady. “I would speak to you out of earshot, if I may.”

He blinked but nodded his accession. Trevelyan could feel her cheeks burning as she stepped away from the crowd. “I owe you an apology,” she said as she felt him draw near.

“For?”

“I’ve been taking adv- I mean, that is to say that I shouldn’t have-,” she stammered. Finally, she clenched her eyes shut and reminded herself that it was only her feelings in danger of being trampled. Cullen felt nothing for her, at best. At worst, he probably thought her a monster. She owed it to him to be strong. He’d have no use for her tears. “I shall no longer seek you out outside of a professional capacity.”

“Wait…what?”

“I have behaved wrongly towards you, Commander and I apologize for that. There are not sufficient enough words in the common language for me to express my remorse. I hope one day you can endeavor to forgive me,” she risked a glance at him and saw him gaping at her, hurt written all over his features. She should have known that her acknowledgement of the situation between them would cause his carefully masked misery to slide to the surface. Unable to bear it any longer she murmured a soft good bye, turned on her heel and fled.

Varric was waiting for her outside of the door to her chambers for her to come back. She nearly skidded to a halt to avoid running into him.

“Hey, Inquisitor, you up for a game of Wicked Grace tonight?” Inquisitor, he’d called her, not Trevelyan and certainly not her Maker-given first name. Not for the first time, she wondered if there was a soul at Skyhold who even knew her Andrastian name; a friend would have addressed her by it, instead of title. “It’s been kind of a rough day and we all need a break. What do you say? I think I can even convince Curly to join us tonight.”

The rejection of his offer was out of her mouth and hanging in the air between them before she’d even given it a thought. He looked a little taken back and she could only imagine that he’d expected her to intrude on them again. She gave him a soft nod as he made the cursory offer to seek her out next time, though she hoped he wouldn’t feel the need again. With that, she pushed past him and fled into her chambers. When the thud of the wood colliding into the frame hit her ears, she let out a breath. She collapsed against the hard wood and let her body slide slowly to the floor. Drawing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her shins, buried her face into the sharp twin kneecaps in front of her and began to cry.

* * *

Her fingers ran along the cracked spines of ancient tomes. The soft flesh of her fingertip became caked with dust, but she hardly noticed. Instead, her focus was directed on counting the number of books on the shelf just at her hip. When her finger hit the fifty-eighth volume, a smirk shifted across her lips. She’d received a note under her door that morning, telling her that a new book had been added to what the mages in Ostwick called The Forbidden Library. It was an elaborate network of meticulously crafted hiding placed throughout Ostwick’s renowned library. By the time of her harrowing, she’d already read the majority of the sanctioned literature. Now, whenever a new one was added to The Forbidden Library, it was like her Name day celebration had finally arrived.

Or, she assumed anyway. Name days weren’t celebrated in the Circle.

It wasn’t all scandalous literature, though there was far bit of that, some of the tomes were simply things like poetry or field guides to places she’d always dreamt of going. Some volumes were even pieces that had been constructed in the Circle itself, like the carefully worded arguments on why Templars were unnecessary to the daily care of mages. To be caught with a forbidden book was bad enough; she hated to think what would happen to the mage caught with one of those essays.

Carefully, she pulled the book out and glanced at the cover. ‘One Thousands Uses for the Common Nug’s bladder’. With a small grimace she opened up the tome and smiled to herself as she flipped to the three hundred and ninety-ninth page and found fifteen small sheets of parchment tucked inside. She grasped them and pulled them close to her chest, as if they were the greatest treasure in the world, and for a young mage without any friends and no family who’d pay any attention to them, the crisp sheets of parchment were as dear to her as anything.

“Find something good?” a voice murmured in her ear. She gasped loudly and tried to whirl around but two strong arms caught her about hips and held her in place. Her blood ran cold as the sensation of a cold metal gauntlet took a hold of her hand and gently pulled. “Let’s see what you have here.”

At that moment, she cared little if anyone saw the pages. All she wanted was for the Templar to stop touching her. But, he didn’t. Instead, he kept one arm securely around her waist, the palm of his gauntlet pressing against her soft belly. It was intimate, far too intimate. The Templar held the pages aloft with his other hand, so he could read over her shoulder. She prayed to the absent maker that she hadn’t picked up another collection of anti-Templar essays as she felt his fingers flex against her.

Instead, he chuckled low and deep in her ear. “You’re trembling, little mage. You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured. Suddenly, his lips were gliding across the side of her face. Her stomach rolled in disgust but her body remained frozen in fear. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, kept you safe from the others because you’re mine.”

“Ser, please,” she whispered.

“Shh,” he breathed as his lips closed around her earlobe. “It’s all right, you’re safe now.”

* * *

Life and the Inquisition had to go on, embarrassment and broken hearts besides. So it was, that Trevelyan found herself once again in the war room, staring at the map and willing herself to focus on the small metal markers instead of the blonde man standing on the other side. The air in the room was different, stiffer and Trevelyan couldn’t quite understand why Cull- The Commander was looking as if he’d lost his last friend. She wanted to ask him if his nightmares had troubled him, but forced herself to stop. Such questions were far too personal for his superior to ask.

“Inquisitor? Are you well?”

Leliana’s voice roused Trevelyan from her thoughts and she straightened up to look at the woman completely. “I’m fine, Seneschal,” she replied. Trevelyan tried not to notice the way that all of her advisors blinked and exchanged looks. Maker, had she really been so rude before? Willing her cheeks to not redden with her shame, she spoke again, “what’s the status of the scouting party in Emprise du Lion?”

Cullen cleared his throat and silently handed her a report, his eyes never quite meeting hers. She knew, of course, that it was precisely what she deserved. Still, that thought did little comfort the little glass slivers of pain that nicked her heart. Her eyes drifted over the report. Years spent in the Ostwick Circle’s library, attempting to read forbidden books before either the Senior Enchanters or Templars noticed had taught her to read quickly.

“I want to journey there as soon as possible. Seneschal Leliana, if you’d be so kind as to send a raven to inform Lead Scout Harding?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Leliana answered lightly.

“Good.” Trevelyan turned towards Josephine, “Ambassador Montilyet, are there any dignitaries visiting Skyhold?” The Antivan woman hesitated, but quickly glanced down at her writing desk before answering in the negative. Trevelyan nodded. “Very well, then if there is nothing else that requires my attention, I shall take my leave.”

Without waiting for the response, Trevelyan left the war room, her hands clenched in shaking fists at her sides and the image of Cullen’s face dancing through her mind.

* * *

A gleam of silver in the moonlight flashed across her small room. She kept her eyes narrowed to slits, willing her breath to remain deep and steady. If he just thought that she was asleep, then perhaps he’d leave. He’d lose interest in her and find another bed to warm. His armor clattered together as he strode across the length of her room. Now that he was closer, the etched sword of mercy on his breastplate became clearer, as did his scent; the smell of him was overbearing, linseed oil, chantry candles and that little bit of something that was simply him. She could remember reading forbidden books about romances and the way that a person’s scent, especially that little part of them that simply belonged to the person, was pleasurable.

They were wrong.

She felt the cold metal of his gauntlet against her cheek, caressing a soft circle in her delicate skin. He was testing her, he knew that she was really awake and now he’d push her, just to see how far she’d go before she broke. His knee pressed into the bed in front of her, causing the rope mattress to dip down. He felt heavy over her, like a great looming shadow pressing against her body. Still, she refused to move as her silent pleas to the Maker to strike down the templar in front of her went unanswered. Suddenly, she felt something soft and wet against her cheek…his lips, she realized.

“I’m going to make you want me,” he murmured in her ear.

He pressed a second soft, almost sweet kiss against the side of her face before he rose to his full height and walked out of the room.

* * *

That night, Trevelyan took her dinner in her room. Before, she would have found herself in the main hall with Josephine, Vivienne, Leliana and Cassandra or perhaps even inside the Herald’s Rest with Varric, Blackwall, Sera, Bull and occasionally Cullen; yet now, with no dignitaries visiting eating with her so-called inner circle felt inappropriate. The Herald’s Rest was far too informal; not only was it a place that was well below her newly-acquired station, but it felt as if the tavern belonged to them, the people of the Inquisition. It was a place that they could go and be away from their troubles for a while and as their leader, it wasn’t right for her to intrude there. She understood that now and yet, the main hall was too intimate without the need to impress visiting nobility. She needed to distance herself, as it was all too easy to fall into the temptation of trying to be friends with everyone. Perhaps if she stayed away long enough, the loneliness wouldn’t feel quite so burdensome.

She’d gotten used to being alone when she was in the Ostwick Circle. It had been foolish, she realized, to assume that now that she was free of the Circle, she could simply have friends.

A knock on her door interrupted her reverie. She looked towards the staircase leading up to her chambers. Deciding quickly that it must have been a servant come for her tray, she called for the person to enter as she picked up some of the scattered pieces of parchment on her desk in an effort to look busier than she actually was.

“So it’s true! You’re up here hiding like a little Chantry mouse! Really, Inquisitor it’s so unbecoming.”

She looked up and was horrified to see a very bemused Dorian standing in front of her desk, akimbo and smirking. Trevelyan swallowed and forced herself to look back down at her papers. “Something I can do for you, Altus Pavus?”

He snorted, “Altus Pavus, it’s now? Our beloved Spymaster said you were acting oddly, now I see she’s right.” He perched himself on the side of her desk, oblivious to the sharp looks she was sending his way. “So tell me, what’s troubling the lovely Inquisitor Trevelyan?”

“I’m really quite busy, if there’s nothing that you require, I’d prefer to return to my work.”

“Ah yes,” he began before he reached forward and snatched one of the papers off of Trevelyan’s desk. She lunged for it, but he held it out of reach. “You’re really quite busy with…a list of conversation topics for the Comte de Chanson.”

She sniffed. “Yes, the Comte is very particular. A good Inquisitor should be able to converse with individuals from all walks of life.”

Dorian chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Very well, Inquisitor. But tell me, does this have anything to do with why our Commander has been looking so downtrodden? I do remember your penchant for strapping young Templars.”

Trevelyan flinched and regretted it immediately. Trying to save some face, she rose from her seat and made her way to her flung-open balcony doors. “I thank you, Altus Pavus, for this visit. But if you do not mind, I really must return to my work. I have an expedition to Emprise du Lion to plan.”

She heard the creak of her desk, indicating that he had risen, but she kept her back to him. He swallowed and the sounds of his soft footsteps across the floor of her chambers hit her ears.

“Well, perhaps you can forgive the Commander in due time.”

His words were like a knife through her heart. She shut her eyes, willing her body to keep stock still until she heard the sound of the door closing behind him. Once it did, she let out shaky breath and let her body collapse in on itself. Didn’t he realize that she was the one who needed to be forgiven? Though she knew that was impossible. No one could ever forgive what she had done to Cullen.

The sudden, unbidden memory of cold silverite against her flesh made nausea once again roll through her body. She shook herself before reaching up and slapping herself across her sharp, freckled cheek. She blinked, suddenly righted and let herself breathe deeply, in and out, before she took the seat at her desk again. Maker willing, she’d find some sort of Inquisition business to keep her occupied.

* * *

He was in her room again. He’d come before lights out, before she had gone to sleep, so she couldn’t pretend that she didn’t notice him, not if she wanted to keep him from getting angry. He sat next to her on her bed. It was strangely close, too intimate. He was smiling at her and try as she might to mirror his expression, the muscles of her face just wouldn’t cooperate. So she stared at him, blankly, waiting for the worst to happen. He stroked her hair, softly pushing a long lock of black behind her ear, letting the length of it flow through his fingers.

“You have such lovely hair,” he murmured. He pulled the lock up to his nose and sniffed it. “It smells so nice too.”

“I use the same soaps as everyone else,” she replied. “I imagine all the mages hair smells like mine.”

He smiled and chuckled, as if what she had said was a joke instead of a suggestion that he find someone else to play this game. “I’d offer to bring you something special, but I can’t bear the thought of it smelling any different.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she looked away. She would not give him the satisfaction of crying. The following morning, she pulled her hair back, twisted it into a bun on top of her head, and never wore it down again.

* * *

A week inched past Trevelyan, every moment passing as if it had to be pulled along by an agonizingly slow beast of burden. Trevelyan spent most of her time in her chambers, emerging only for the awkward war room meetings and of course, when her presence was specifically requested. Her journey to Emprise du Lion loomed on the horizon, but never seemed to come any closer. Never before had she been so anxious to leave Skyhold. People seemed to walk on eggshells around her, though she had not had any other visitors to her chambers since Dorian. She couldn’t help but notice either that Cullen had looked even worse in the following days. Trevelyan recalled his pallid complexion, the dark circles under his eyes and fought off a shudder. Had it been like that for her, she wondered. When He had finally gone, had she not been so relieved that she took to her bed and slept for days on end? Yet, Cullen didn’t look like he’d been sleeping. If she could have left the Inquisition entirely, Trevelyan would have done so in an instant to help him heal. Instead, she was forced to remain. The anchor on her hand was far too valuable to the Inquisition for her to leave.

The only excitement that allowed her to appropriately interact with other people came when Arl Teagan Guerrin of Redcliffe came to visit Skyhold. Josephine had briefed her, telling her that the Arl was so grateful for the Inquisition’s role in securing his home that he wanted to thank the Inquisitor in person. It seemed an awfully long way to travel just to say thank you, Trevelyan thought, but if the man wanted to do it, she wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to have any conversation.

The path into Skyhold was far too treacherous for any carriage to make, so as per custom, Teagan and his entourage made the final leg of the journey on foot, as all penitents and tourists and dignitaries before him had done. As he was considered a high-ranking guest, due to his title and his relation to the King of Ferelden, it was only appropriate for Trevelyan to greet him in person. For the occasion, she decided to wear some of the finery that Vivienne and Josephine had procured for her during their stay in Orlais. She knew it would please the Ambassador and most likely many others in the Inquisition if she dressed in a manner appropriate to her station. It had taken three maids to help her dress, not because it was something that truly required assistance, but rather because Trevelyan just couldn’t figure the bloody thing out. She’d gone straight from dresses appropriate for little girls to mage robes when she’d come into her magic. That was until the War had caused her to switch to more practical clothing, however. Even though the maids tutted under their breath, she had been unwilling to compromise on was her hair. The thick black tresses remained locked up tight in their simple bun.

She regarded herself carefully in her looking glass when the maids had finished. Trevelyan ran her hands over the skirt of her gown, feeling the odd fullness of fabric in her hands. Though the construct was not entirely dissimilar to her mage robes it was, however, different. She looked shapely, womanly; had this body really been underneath her clothes the entire time? With a sigh, she picked up the blue skirt of her gown and made to leave her chambers before that dangerous train of thought made its way through her mind.

As she reached the door however, there was a soft knock on the wood. Without thinking, she opened the door immediately and came face to face with Cullen. She watched him blink in surprise before his gaze drifted down her body. His eyes widened as his lips parted gently.

“Maker’s breath,” he murmured. Suddenly embarrassed, Trevelyan looked away sharply. She chewed on the inside of her mouth and forced herself to look anywhere but at his face. He cleared his throat gently. “You look beautiful, Inquisitor.”

Still unable to meet his eye, Trevelyan stared pointedly at her reflection in his armor. “Thank you, Commander Rutherford.” Even not looking at him, Trevelyan saw him flinch at her words. She sighed and wondered why he had come to see her. Perhaps he had thought himself to be free of the agony of her presence, though from his flinch, she could tell that it was still painful for him.

“Josephine asked me to fetch you,” he said softly.

Seemingly no longer able to speak, Trevelyan nodded and gestured for him to lead the way. He fell into step beside her, much to her dismay. She wanted to tell him it was fine, that she understood and that he didn’t have to worry about her hurting him again and that she wasn’t going to remove him from his job. Yet, it felt hollow. She thought about Him. Had He said such things to her, she would never have believed them.

“You have been absent much lately,” he commented as he held the door to the main hall open for her, shattering her thoughts. “Are you, ah, unwell?”

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered, unable to raise her voice any higher. “I am not going to remove you from office or embarrass you in front of anyone. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I would never intentionally hurt you, other than what I’ve already-”

He stopped dead in his tracks. Surprised by the sudden change, she was unable to stop herself from looking up at him. His eyes were wide, alarmed and she knew she’d said too much. Luckily for her, the Maker had seen fit to send a very flustered Josephine at that exact moment.

“There you are! The Arl is arriving now.”

She allowed Josephine to grab her arm and haul her outside to the landing just below the stairs to the main hall of the great castle. She watched her advisors, including a very-stormy faced Cullen; take their spots in her peripheral vision. Remembering the scant etiquette lessons Vivienne and insisted she take before she’d gone to the Winter Palace, Trevelyan straightened her spine and clasped her hands in front of her. She held her face impassively and watched as a large party strode through the Skyhold gates. At the head was a man clad in rich finery and as he and his group ascended towards her, Trevelyan could see that he had a kind face. He smiled brightly at her as he neared and bowed deeply at the waist. In turn, Trevelyan dipped as gracefully as she could manage before holding out her hand for him to shake. He grasped it carefully, but instead of shaking it he brought it to his mouth and brushed his lips against her knuckles softly.

“Your worship, it is an honor to meet you at last,” he said as he straightened and let go of her hand. “I owe you a world of thanks for your aid in returning Redcliffe to me.”

“Arl Teagan, it is I who is honored,” she replied carefully.

“My lady, if you would indulge me,” he said as he gestured behind him. One of his entourage, a boy, stepped forward, a bouquet of flowers in hand. Her gaze flicked over the blossoms carefully, picking out each one. There were two yellow tulips; three stalks of asphodel and four pristine white lilies in the boy’s hand, a beautiful bouquet, even though she hated being given flowers. Wordlessly, the young squire handed the blooms to Trevelyan. She felt her breath quicken in her chest as she took the flowers from the boy. Her eyes slid back and forth, between him and the flowers. “I saw them growing along the path and I knew I had to gather some for you, though I see now that they are no rival for your beauty.”

There was a ripple of movement out of the corner of her eye from where her advisers were standing. She glanced over to see Cullen had crossed his arms over his chest and was glaring pointedly at Teagan. Ice traveled down her spine. Was even the thought of someone being kind to her too much for him to handle?

“You are too kind, Arl Teagan. Please, allow me to welcome you to Skyhold.”

* * *

“Kiss me,” he murmured.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to. I have work to do, please.”

He grabbed her roughly by the elbow and gave her a bone-rattling shake. “You know, after everything I do for you, I’d expect you to have a little fucking gratitude. I make sure that your letters come through, that you get the best food, the earlier bath time and my regard is keeping the other Templars off your back and what do I get in return? Nothing but a surly bitch attitude.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered as his gauntlet dug deep into the flesh of her arm. There was no way she wouldn’t be bruised in a few hours, though if he continued to shake her like he had, she’d be lucky to not break her neck. “It’s just that, I…w-want our first kiss to be special. You know, like in those stories. Here in my room is hardly fitting of…us, our relationship.”

His face lit up, “hey, yeah. That’s a good idea.”

He let her go as he rose to leave the room, saying he had plans to make. Once he had cleared the room, she buried her head in her arms and sobbed as she let out the torrent of emotion she’d been holding.

* * *

That evening, Trevelyan took her dinner in the main hall. Teagan’s presence would demand no less. As was custom, a large table had been set out in the front of the room on a raised dais with smaller tables positioned along the walls in the grand hall. As was expected, Trevelyan was placed at the head of the table; a small place card with Teagan’s name had been positioned on her right. The unexpected, however, came in the form of a certain Commander sans-his usual armor, striding into the hall to take his position at the head table. Other than the few times he ate inside the tavern, Cullen almost exclusively dined in his office. Trevelyan could remember bringing him his tray of food on more than one occasion. He bowed to her as she stared at him, mouth agape. He wore fine clothes: pressed black trousers and a delicate linen shirt underneath his usual coat. Trevelyan couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face he looked up at her. Maker, he looked so…wonderful. He was less imposing without the armor, but he was also warmer and softer. His eyes were deep, questioning and Trevelyan shook herself from the reverie. He wasn’t hers anymore- no, he’d never been hers.

She looked away quickly, hating herself for looking at him like that.

She sat at her position at the table and rose only when Teagan entered the room. She let him kiss her hand again and forced herself smile demurely.

“Your worship, you are looking radiant this evening.”

“Thank you, Arl Teagan,” she replied as she gestured for him to take his seat. Once they were settled and the servers were bringing out the first courses, she turned towards the Arl. “I trust your journey was not too taxing? It can be quite a trek up to Skyhold.”

He beamed at her, “not at all and I have wanted to see Skyhold since its discovery. I was devastated to hear about Haven.”

“Yes it was…awful,” she replied firmly, hoping that Teagan picked up on the hint that Haven was not a topic she wished to discuss.

“Though, I am pleased that made it out safely. A world without you in it would be a nightmare, indeed.”

Trevelyan picked up her wine glass and took a deep draw on it before answering, “Oh well luckily, we were able to close the Breach before Haven fell.”

A soft snort to her right pulled her attention. She locked eyes with Cullen as he sipped his wine. Her eyebrows rose questioningly and it was his turn to look away awkwardly. Teagan’s hand pressed into her arm, drawing her attention back to him. He spoke sweetly again about the Inquisition and its accomplishments, but Trevelyan found herself wondering how long it was until she could excuse herself from the room to retire for the evening. Teagan was a kind man, of course, but being near Cullen made her feel on edge and lonely and tingly all at once. It was awful, she was awful and, she was a fool, an absolute honest-to-Maker fool for thinking that she’d just be able to turn off her feelings for the Commander. If anything, the platitude about absence making feelings stronger was continuously being proven true. Perhaps He had had a bigger influence on her than she’d thought.

* * *

“I got you something,” he whispered before whipping out the arm he’d been hiding behind his back. Clenched in his hand was a small bouquet of flowers. Her eyes flicked over them carefully: marigolds, snowdrop anemones and monkshood.

She pointed at the monkshood, “that one’s toxic.”

She couldn’t fight the peals of laughter that bubbled from her lips at the thought of him giving her poisonous flowers. Even the sharp stinging pain of his metal-encased hand on her cheek and the soft, wet kisses of apology that followed didn’t keep her from finding the entire situation absurdly funny.

* * *

The following morning found Trevelyan sitting at her desk, sipping tea as she looked over the stack of papers Josephine had brought her the previous day. There was a soft knock on her door. She glanced quickly to the empty tray in front of her and towards the unmade bed to her right and assumed it had to be one of the housekeepers. Against her better judgment, she called for the person to enter. When the trio of bickering voices belonging to her advisors floated up the staircase, however, Trevelyan groaned and buried her head in her hands.

“Inquisitor! Are you unwell?”

“No, Ambassador,” Trevelyan sighed. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

“I have received word from Harding, they’re ready for you to make the journey to Emprise du Lion,” Leliana said. “However, the Commander-”

“Thinks its far too dangerous right now,” Cullen interrupted. “Harding’s report also indicated a large Red Templar population. If you go in there without proper support, it could be disastrous.”

“Perhaps you are right Commander,” Trevelyan said, mindlessly taking a sip on her teacup before placing it back into the saucer with a soft clatter. “It could spell disaster if the Mark is lost.”

“The Mark?” Cullen cried incredulously. “Is that all you really-”

He cut himself off with a groan and threw his arms up in the air before storming out of the room. Trevelyan watched sadly as his form disappeared behind the banister and she couldn’t fight the wince that rippled through her as he slammed the door to her chambers behind him. She let out a small breath and picked up her teacup in shaking hands, bring it to her lips for a sip though she hadn’t noticed that the cup was actually empty. Embarrassed, flustered and sad, she set the teacup down and glued her eyes to her desk.

Josephine cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, Inquisitor, if you are traveling then I will need to make the arrangements. Who shall you be taking with you?”

“Oh, well perhaps in the interest of safety I’ll take a company of soldiers, whatever the Commander can spare.”

“All right, and who else?”

Trevelyan blinked and finally looked up at her advisors. “What do you mean?”

“Who from your inner circle? Seeker Pentaghast, Iron Bull, Madame Vivienne, perhaps?”

“Oh, no I will be traveling alone. I hardly think it’s appropriate for me to bring anyone else. So, just the soldiers thank you Ambassador.” Josephine stared at Trevelyan as if she had just grown a second head. Trevelyan sighed irritably before continuing, “If that is all, Ambassador Montilyet?”

Obviously flustered, the Antivan woman glanced towards Leliana, as if looking for an answer in the Spymaster’s impassive face. Apparently finding none, Josephine made a note on her writing desk and left with Leliana in tow. Alone again, Trevelyan sighed and leaned back in her chair. She held her face in her hands and groaned loudly. Maker, but she did not understand these people. They had taken her, a mage who happened to be in the right place at the right time and who had been stupid enough to pick up some kind of ancient elven artifact without a second thought and elevated her to a position that was second only to the Maker himself. While the Inquisition had its allies, in truth, it was technically separate from the Chantry and separate from the Kings and Queens of Thedas. If anything, they were her peers. Yet, no one had ever bothered to see if she had any idea how to behave in such a station. After all, she’d been locked in a Circle from the time she came into her magic as a ten year-old girl until the Circles rebelled. If it hadn’t been for the saving grace of forbidden books, Trevelyan had little doubts that she’d have been able to function at all.

She was a mage and mages were meant to serve man and never rule over them. By taking the role of Inquisitor, was that not what she was doing? It went against every lesson the Circle and the Chantry had beat into her head. Until Sera had said anything, she had not even fully realized that she in a position of power over everyone else in Skyhold. The only other figures of power she’d ever been around had been the Templars and Andraste’s ass she was not going to be like them! Agitated, Trevelyan rose to her feet and stomped out to her balcony. She paced a little; murmuring to herself as her thoughts crisscrossed the span of her mind like rapidly loosed arrows. They had all treated her with deference, calling her by every name but her own and never seeking out her company. The Inquisition had elevated her to this kingly status, a station in life that she’d had absolutely no understanding of and yet now that she was finally acting appropriate, no one seemed satisfied. Trevelyan sighed. She always knew Cassandra would have been a better Inquisitor.

Feeling unspeakably restless and with pacing on her balcony no longer being exercise enough to satisfy her, Trevelyan decided to break her self-imposed exile for a quick tour of the grounds. Provided that she kept her eyes glued straight forward and refused to look at anyone else, Trevelyan was certain she could fight the urge to speak to others. Briefly, she toyed with the thought of going to the library. Perhaps the Tranquil Helisma had made a new breakthrough that she could read up on. Surely such behavior was considered appropriate for the Inquisitor? After all, she did have to fight these creatures in her quest to defeat Corypheus.

Nodding to herself, she jogged quickly down the stairs and out into the hall leading to her room. At the door to the main hall, she paused and smoothed down her clothes. Running her fingers quickly over her tightly pulled bun to ensure that no strands were out of place, she righted herself and prepared for the eyes of every gathered noble to fall on her. She pushed open the door and strode through the hall with her head held high, though inside she felt as small and scared as mouse.

She expected to see Solas sitting at his desk in the atrium, but instead, when she opened the door she came face to face with the Spymaster. The redheaded woman stood tall, arms crossed her chest and a single eyebrow rose defiantly. “Inquisitor, a word?”

“O-of course, Seneschal Leliana.”

“Good. Walk with me, if you would,” she said, gesturing towards the door to the ramparts.

Nervously, Trevelyan stepped outside. She hesitated at the door, unsure if she should wait for the Spymaster or not, but when the Spymaster motioned for her to follow, Trevelyan fell into step with her. Leliana’s gait was all confidence and grace and striding next to the woman made Trevelyan feel awkward, all arms and legs with very little sophistication.

“How are you adjusting to life outside the Circle, Inquisitor?”

“It’s…fine,” she said stupidly.

“You know the Hero of Ferelden was a Circle mage?” Trevelyan nodded as they came to a stop along the western ramparts. Leliana gripped the stone balustrade in leather-clad hands and rocked herself gently as a smile came across her lips. “My love spent all of her life in the Circle before she joined the Wardens.”

“We don’t have to- I mean, I know you miss her.”

“Of course, but I like talking about her. It brings her to the forefront of my thoughts,” the Spymaster said, her eyes sparkling as she stared off into the distance. “She had trouble adjusting to life outside the confines of the Circle. Like you, she carried the burden of saving a world that didn’t even trust her to live on her own. Though, as Inquisitor, you must carry the responsibility publicly.”

Trevelyan found herself nodding along to Leliana’s words, though she’d meant to remain passive. Silence fell between the two women and Trevelyan took the opportunity to watch Leliana carefully. It was a rare sight to see the usually guarded woman look so peaceful.

“Did you know that the Commander knew Surana from her Circle days?”

“Yes, he’s told me a little.”

“Apparently he was quite taken with her,” Leliana said, smiling. “It seems he has a type.”

“You mean mages?”

Leliana shook her head.

“No, Strong women. Women who aren’t afraid to save the world, even if the world doesn’t want them,” she corrected. Trevelyan scoffed. Leliana turned her gaze towards the Inquisitor, her head tilting gently to the side as she did. “You don’t think this is you? Are you not a mage, a woman, who endured the burden put on you by the Maker? Did you not wholeheartedly agree to aid the Inquisition even when everyone believed you had killed Justinia? Were you not also the one who went outside the chantry to distract Corypheus and his dragon while the rest of us escaped, even knowing that you were likely going to die? You did all of these things and you will continue to do more because of who you are.”

“I was never supposed to be here though,” Trevelyan argued.

“Oh? Says who? How are we to know that the Maker didn’t set you on this path from the beginning? Perhaps you were not standing in the fade with Andraste, but I don’t believe for a moment that you’re not the one the Maker meant to send us.”

“But, I don’t know what I’m doing. Mages aren’t allowed to hold titles or lead anyone.”

“Neither did King Alistair when he took the throne and now, he’s a beloved ruler in Ferelden.”

“But he’s the son of a King.”

“And a bastard who spent his childhood sleeping with the mabari in his guardian’s stables. You at least had the benefit of proper hygiene,” Leliana said, grinning. She sighed a little wistfully before adding, “I must return to my duties, but I am glad you were willing to speak with me. Just remember, Inquisitor, you have the love of everyone around you, for who you are not for what title you hold.”

Trevelyan felt as if her world had suddenly tilted to the side as she watched her Spymaster smile and nod her head in respect before departing. Trevelyan stood alone on the ramparts for a moment before she nodded resolutely and took off in a sprint towards her chambers; she had letters of apology to write.

* * *

“The Circles are rebelling!”

“What?”

“You heard me. We need to go, c’mon.”

He made to grab her arm, but she wrenched it out of his grasp. “Go?”

“I’m taking you away from here. We can hide out somewhere until all of this blows over. It’ll just be you and me, together.” She rose and jerked away from his grasping arms, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. He growled, “I’m not asking again. Let’s go, now. Or I’ll drag you out of here by your hair.”

Trevelyan scoffed and as he made to grab her again, she whirled around and pulled at the fade. Had he been a better Templar, let alone a better man, he would have been able to silence her, stop her from jutting her hands forward and shutting him tightly in an arcane prison. He was frozen, paralyzed but his eyes were blown wide with fear. The sight of his terror made her smile. She picked up her staff and for the first time in…well, ever, it didn’t feel as if it weighed a hundred pounds. It felt like an extension of her body, rather than a metaphorical shackle to a miserable life.

“You no longer have any power over me, Templar,” she spat as she brought the head of her staff down and slammed it against his head, rendering him unconscious.

* * *

Hours later, Trevelyan sat on her small chaise, fully engrossed in the one book she’d managed to find in her library that she had not already read. She flicked her long, loose hair behind her shoulder as she turned the page. Letters to her inner circle lay drying on her desk and though the gesture may have been unnecessary, it made Trevelyan feel better knowing that she had explained her trepidation to the people she relied on most of all and she hoped that they could repair the breach she had created in her fear.

The sound of her door opening and closing made her jump and sent the book flying across the room. Rolling to her knees on the settee, she peered over the banister and saw Cullen striding up the stairs. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest and she felt as if all the blood in her body had just suddenly froze. She leapt to her feet and smoothed down the front of her clothes. As he rounded the banister, he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw she was waiting for him.

“Your hair,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen it down before.”

Her eyes flicked to the long locks hanging in her eyes. “It was…a good decision, long overdue. I was letting something have an unnecessary hold on me.”

“It looks good- real good.”

“Cull-” she began, but caught herself. “Commander? Is there- is there something I can help you with?”

“I, ah, brought you something."

Her eyes widened. She’d never given Him anything other than what had been demanded of her. “What? Why?”

“I know you don’t care for flowers,” he murmured as he raised his arm. Clasped delicately in a leather-gloved hand was a large bunch of herbs. Hardy branches of rosemary; soft and velvety leaves of sage; tall and vibrant stalks of lavender; delicate sprigs of thyme; long, slender pinpricks of chive and bushy spindles of dill were wrapped tightly in a white ribbon. Trevelyan felt her heart stutter and lurch as she could do nothing but stare, open-mouthed at the proffered gift.

“You…you got me-” she stammered. “You got me…herbs, instead of flowers because…you know I don’t-”

Tears pricked at her eyes. She knew her lips were trembling as she reached out to take the bouquet from him. Immediately, she brought the bunch to her nose and breathed in deeply. It smelled heavenly. She smiled as the first salty droplet glided down her cheek. She moved to wipe it away with the back of her hand but the sensation of soft leather against her cheek made her pause. With the side of his thumb, Cullen carefully wiped the teardrop away.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she looked up at him.

Cullen nodded and let his hand fall. He swallowed and seemed to steel himself before he spoke, “I don’t wish to overstep my bounds, and if you truly feel that you and I should not be together then I will respect your wishes and I shall endure to be nothing more than the Commander of your forces, or if you wish it, your friend. However, my feelings for you are unchanged and if you did not look so unhappy, I would assume that yours had."

He paused, eyeing Trevelyan as she gaped at him. When it became clear that she was too shocked to interrupt, he continued, “Seeing Arl Teagan compliment you, court you has driven me to the brink of madness. Yet, you seem oblivious to his advances and it has given me the hope that perhaps I may be able to court you, myself.”

“You’re only afraid that I’m going to do something to you if you don’t return my affections.”

“But I do return your affections,” he argued, softly. “Why in the Maker’s name would you think that I don’t?”

She threw her hands up in the air and sighed exasperatedly. “What else am I to think? Every moment that we’ve spent together has been preceded by me chasing you down. I asked you to dance at the Winter Palace six times-”

“I had already resolved to dance with you after the first time, but could hardly change my answer in front of those…Orlesians. If they’d heard me accept you after you’d already asked me, I’d have never heard the end of it.”

“Oh,” she said, considering his point. “All right, I’ll give you that. Why then, did you say that my attention was the only that mattered in such a soft voice? As if you were scared of anyone overhearing you.”

“Because you and I had not discussed whether or not we wanted the world to know, yet and to announce it at Halamshiral, for all I know of courtly intrigue may have had potentially disastrous social effects on your approval at court. I did not wish to risk that and potentially violate your trust.” As she opened up her mouth to argue he quickly added, “and, I’m a private person. I would rather my personal life stay private. But, if it makes you happy to let the world know, if they don’t already, then I will gladly shout it from every rooftop in Thedas.”

Trevelyan groaned and buried her face in her free palm. “You don’t understand. You’ve never…never had someone hold such…power over you.”

“Power?” he repeated, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“I’m a mage, Cullen. I’ve lived my life at the Circle. You were in Kirkwall. Ostwick was not nearly as bad, but that doesn’t mean….”

As she trailed off and looked away, she heard Cullen’s breath hitch in his chest. “Did someone hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No, well…not really. I mean, he wanted- but I-” she stammered before she cleared her throat and held her head higher. “There was a Templar in the Circle, Ser Caulder, he fancied himself in love. If I didn’t go along with him and what he wanted, it was bad. Do you see the problem? The similarities between then and now?”

Her voice began to quaver as her bottom lip trembled. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she kept them at bay. “To think that I may have done that to you? I can’t, I can’t.”

Cullen gently took the herb bouquet from her and placed it on the settee next to them. He gently tugged at each finger of his leather gloves until they too were off and lying next to the herbs. He turned back to her and carefully laced their fingers together until their palms kissed. He held their entwined hands between them and gently pressed his lips to one of her exposed fingertips before he raised his gaze to stare deep into her eyes. She felt lost in the warm amber pool of his regard. The scent of him enveloped her, hugging her close and making her heart wriggle.

“If I have to spend every moment for the rest of my life proving that I love you more than anything else in the world, then I shall.”

A sob bubbled up from her chest and came tumbling out of her lips before she could stop it. She looked away sharply, not wanting him to see her crying. He continued, though Trevelyan could detect the note of pain in his voice. “I should never have been so passive, it’s only that I’m…unfamiliar with these situations. I have never felt this way about anyone before. If you will have me, then I shall never let you doubt again.”

“But-” she began. He silenced her by leaning down and pressing his lips solidly against hers. Her tears mingled with the contact of their flesh, causing their kiss to taste salty but she could hardly bring herself to care as her heart felt as if it would burst out of her chest. He had kissed her freely, without demand, without special circumstance, entirely of his own freewill. When his bare fingers entwined themselves in the raven locks of her hair, she felt warmth in her belly. No coldness, no sharp glass digging into her insides instead, the world was open, warm and soft as fur; she was all right and Cullen felt like home. He was safe and she was safe with him.

“You have never taken anything from me that was not freely given, Elisabet.”

She felt herself exhale as her lips slid upwards in a smile for the first time in what felt like years. “Say it again,” she whispered.

“What?”

“My name.”

He smiled and bent down until their lips were almost pressing together as he murmured:

“Elisabet.”

A small laugh bubbled up and out of her lips as her eyes began to water. His lips came crashing against hers as his arms slid around her body and cradled her to him. She threw her limbs about his neck and kissed him back with all the fervor she could muster. It wasn’t like her books and in that moment, Elisabet realized that it never would be. Yet, she was content with that idea. They’d navigate through the troubled seas of their age and the weather the storms that would inevitably arise, together. The then would always be there, but it was the now that belonged to them.