Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cullen,

I’m sorry. You deserve better than I can offer you. My life is… well, it’s complicated, and you’re a better man than that. I know that you believe in your own guilt, but you did the best you knew how. When the time came to stand up for what was right, you did that. Her sins are not yours, so stop thinking that they were.

I care for you, but I can’t stay. I have obligations that must be met. You’re doing good work here, and you’ll keep doing it. Maybe one day, you’ll look in the glass and see the good man that I see looking back at you. You are a good man, and I’ll miss you more than you can know.

Kit

The letter had been crumpled, flattened back out, and refolded many, many times since that morning.  Paper creases and oils from fingers now stained it. More than three years had passed, and Cullen still couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it. It wasn’t hope that made him keep it. He’d long ago abandoned the hope that he’d see her again.

He’d finally decided that he kept the letter because he wanted the assurance that someone thought he could change. It was the first time that anyone told him that the man he wanted to be wasn’t lost forever.

He looked out over the Waking Sea; toward the city he’d spend the last ten years in. Kirkwall. The wind and sails were carrying him across the water, back to the land of his birth. He made the decision to leave, not only Kirkwall and the Gallows, but the Order behind him. There was only one more thing left to do.

In his right hand, he held the last vial of lyrium in his possession. Without hesitation, he hurled it into the water, using all his strength to get it as far away from him as possible. He was going to make a clean break of it. If lyrium and the Templar Order had helped him hide from who he wished to be, then who he became depended on not using either as a crutch in the future. He might die, he may hope for death, but he believed that his salvation depended on him, and with Andraste’s help; and that of the Seeker, he’d find that man one way or another.

The ship lurched on the water, and Cullen was tossed against the railing. His stomach decided that now was the time to empty itself, and the vomited over the side.

He hoped it was seasickness and not an omen of things to come.

Chapter Text

Gianna Trevelyan dressed quickly in her leather armor. Her brown hair was braided neatly down the back of her head, then wrapped quickly into a bun at the nape of her neck.  She didn’t even pause to look at her reflection in the smudged looking glass hanging above a roughly hewn dresser. She didn’t need to. She was traveling. Comfort and utility were far more important than attractiveness to her.

It wasn’t the same way for her cousin Thea, dressing in the candlelit gloom of the early morning behind her. As a Chantry Sister, she presumed that her appearance indicated some sort of favor with Andraste. Her clothes were always spotless, her hair tidy, and her smile was insipidly benign.

That would have been her fate if things had been different. Her Aunt Francesca, who was currently the Grand Cleric in Starkhaven, had once had her career all planned out. In that plan, Gianna would have been the Trevelyan Divine. To her immense relief, those plans had been frustrated, and her aunt had yet to forgive her for it.

“We’re arriving at the Temple today, Gigi,” Thea crinkled her perfectly powdered nose at Gianni’s outfit. “You should dress more appropriately. You’re representing the Family, after all.”

“Shut it, Thea,” Gianna snapped, spinning to look at her cousin. “I’m not travelling in a fucking dress. I’m not going to trudge up a mountain in one, either.” Shaking her head in disgust, she continued. “You can if you like, that’s your choice. Andraste doesn’t give a shit one way or the other.”

“We’re on our way to a sacred site.” Thea’s hands flexed and her voice was brisk and impatient. “Can you try to keep from blaspheming every other sentence?” She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of her gown. “I don’t know why anyone thought sending YOU was a good idea.”

Gianna’s palm tingled with the desire to slap Thea senseless. “No one else wanted to waste their time, and I just wanted to leave Starkhaven.” She opened the door, took a step through, and then turned around. “The Divine gave me the excuse. It was a match made in the Void.

“Now, get your ass moving. We need to be in Haven by mid-day, or we’re hiking up to the Temple in the dark.” She finished going through the door, then turned. “Arriving at the Temple like pilgrims isn’t going to keep the Templars and Mages from trying to kill each other. Justinia is foolish for thinking it will.  They’ll just be trying to kill each other on the hike to the Temple.”  She closed the door behind her, waiting a minute, listening, as Thea said something vulgar at the door, the words and tone made her smile. Pissing off and scandalizing Chantry Sisters was among her favorite things in life; more so if they were related to her.  

It’s the simple pleasures, she thought, descending the stairs of the inn.

Several hours later, and Gianna was trapped in a carriage with Thea, wishing that propriety would allow her to ride alongside Leo and Rupert. During the trip, there were several arguments on the subject, and she lost every single one of them. She was reminded that she was considered the senior member of the Trevelyan delegation. How pompous did that sound, she thought, and since she was a woman, arriving to the Conclave astride a horse was considered bad form.

She’d spent the last two miserable weeks in the presence of Chantry adherents, and the lectures were long past getting old.  If only they’d find new material. To her cousins, she was only one step away from being a heretic. While she did believe in the Maker and was open to the possibility that Andraste was his Bride, she hated the Chantry with everything she had. In her opinion, it was disgusting in its Corruption, and the self-righteous piety of its servants made her itch.  Those in power served the Maker with their lips, but their hearts lay elsewhere.  As a member of a family that prided itself on devotion, she encountered those servants far more often than she liked. Here she was, traveling with three of them, and there wasn’t enough alcohol in Thedas to drown her annoyance.

“Rupert thinks you’re going to embarrass the family at the Conclave,” Thea remarked, not even looking up from her book.

Without even looking at her cousin Gianna replied, “Embarrass the family or embarrass him?”

“Is there a difference?” Thea challenged.

“Yes,” Gianna answered. “An exceptionally large difference, if you want the truth. To you and your brothers, doing anything but echoing the Chantry’s opinion like some sort of ventriloquist’s dummy is embarrassing. To my father, embarrassment takes a different form.

“Well, if wagers are being made, put money on me doing something embarrassing.” Gianna peeked out the curtains of the carriage, then tapped her fingers on the windowsill. “Someone other than me should profit from my misdeeds.” She stopped speaking and stared out the window for several minutes.

“I do wonder how a family that took the motto, ‘Modest in Temper; Bold In Deed’ has managed to produce so many people who are anything but bold.  Perhaps we should change it to “Insipid in Temper; Timid in Deed.”

“How dare…”

“Shut up, Thea, and listen.” Gianna snapped. She turned to face her cousin before she continued. “You’re angry that my father refused to use me to pay Grandpere’s imaginary debt to the Maker.” Thea opened her mouth to object and Gianna held up her finger to silence her. “I understand why you would be. It is, however, not my fault, and I cannot understand why you dislike me for it so much.  I also can’t bring myself to care.”

“If you’re not going to serve the Chantry, you should be married.” Thea huffed, expelling air from her lungs as if she were trying to extinguish a several candles at once. “Is there a reason why you can’t just do what you’re expected to?”

“I’ve seen the toll it takes, and the misery it causes. I’m not willing to do that.” She knew that Thea wouldn’t understand, but she felt the need to explain. “I refuse to be a tool for someone else’s gain. I refuse to be used so that someone else gets what they want.

“If I married Sebastian Vael, I’d be nothing more than a hole to fill or a brood mare, pushing out the requisite heir and a spare. I’d be miserable and I’d make him miserable.” Gianna smiled when Thea reacted to the vulgarity. “Look at your parents. They did what was expected of them, and they can’t stand to be in the same house. They’re only happy when they’re flinging arrows of spite at each other.”

If Gianna expected the light of understanding to appear in Thea’s eyes, she would have been disappointed. Gianna was a realist and didn’t expect that at all. It didn’t deter her, though. She pressed on, not for her cousin’s education, but to have the satisfaction of saying the words aloud.  “Francesca was given to the Chantry, and she hates her life. She hates everyone, Thea,” she insisted. “Her only pleasures in life are wine, whining, and forcing others to do what she wants them to. What’s worse than that is that you’re turning into her.

“I don’t want to become a bitter and hateful old woman because I didn’t have the courage to say no.” She was crying now, silent tears of frustration and rage streamed down her face. In the curtained carriage, she was finally being honest with someone that she knew couldn’t understand.

“I have the means to walk my own path, and I intend to do it.” She wiped the tears with the back of her hand, then looked Thea in the eye. “You don’t understand; you think I’m crazy or worse, but it doesn’t matter. What I want is more important than whether or not the next Prince of Starkhaven has Trevelyan blood.”

“So, you’re just selfish.” Thea accused.

“Fuck off, Thea.” A sigh followed. This is why she had argued for waiting to travel with Max and Gavin. Her cousins had the emotional depth of a dead carp.

“It’s about time you all learned that I’m not going to light myself on fire because you say you’re cold.”

It was useless. Though they both had the same grandparents, only one of them took after the fiery Tevinter grandmother that married the boring Marcher Lord. Gianna leaned her head back, exhaled slowly, and closed her eyes.

“I promised Aunt Frankie that I’d talk to you about Sebastian. He’s a good…”

Here we go again…

“Aunt Frankie needs to fuck off, too.” Gianna lifted her hands gloved in snoufleur leather and massaged her temples. They couldn’t get to Haven fast enough. The walk up the mountain in the bleeding cold would be idyllic compared to the time she’d spent with her extended family.

Blood is thicker than whisky, Mata used to say. Mentally, Gianna added that whisky was usually more pleasant than family as well.

Gianna looked at Thea and saw the look; the look that Francesca wore almost exclusively in the presence of her niece. It was pity, mixed with a touch of disgust and a profound sense of disappointment. What neither woman seemed to understand is that the Look had stopped having any effect by the time she turned 15. By then, she’d realized that her Aunt was basically toothless, and her disappointment meant nothing.

“He’s a good man,” Thea repeated. “It would be a good marriage for you, and for him. It would be good for the family, an alliance with the royal house of Starkhaven. You should at least think about it more.”

“I did think about it,” she countered. “I decided not to. He may be a good man, but he’s also a pretentious, poncey, overly pious princeling. We have nothing in common.”

Thea opened her mouth to speak but stopped at the look on her cousin’s face. Maybe something in Gianna’s visage made her realize that there wasn’t anything she could say that would convince her. More likely, it was a strategic retreat, taking time to frame the argument differently. It didn’t matter. That’s when the carriage lurched to a halt.

Gianna smiled at the reprieve.

The reprieve had the life span of a nug in a dragon’s nest. The door to the carriage opened, and she was met by the countenance of her cousin Leo. He extended his hand to help her down. After she got out, he did the same for his sister Thea.

Rupert, Leo, and Thea were the three youngest children of her uncle Mason and his wife Marnie. She was born into a family from Tantervale. Once married, they kept the Trevelyan family tradition alive, and rapidly brought 5 children into the world. Two were kept as the heir and spare, both bargaining chips in the marriage meat market, and the last three were given to the Chantry at the earliest possible moment. Marnie may have been willing to give birth to 5 children but raising them seriously impacted her social life. It also made it more difficult to maintain the maximum difference from her husband. After the children were grown, her aunt and uncle only interacted when they were forced to, and no one really wanted to be around when they did.

Neither cared about the collateral damage of their feuding.

It was quite different from Gianna’s own home life. That included parents that never learned to keep their hands off the other and the children that resulted from it. Her childhood home was often chaotic, but there was love.

“We can have your trunks opened if you want to change,” Leo said, cutting short her trip down memory lane. “I doubt you will. We must approach the Temple of Sacred Ashes on foot like pilgrims, so you’ll probably be better off as you are. Other ladies are wearing dresses, so I thought I’d offer.”

“No thank you, Leo,” she answered politely. “I have no intention of walking a couple of miles in a heavy skirt if I don’t have to.”

Leo smiled. He was the only one of her three cousins that she had anything in common with. He was a Templar, and usually Gianna disliked them on principle, but he was one that preferred being useful rather than decorative.  After the invalidation of the Nevarran Accord, Rupert went to Starkhaven, where Francesca was Grand Cleric, to shelter under her protection. Leo followed the example of Knight Captain Rylen, who would rather throw water on the fire than smite the ash.

Like Gianna, he was called to go to Divine Justinia V’s conclave. Rupert and Thea were chosen by Grand Cleric Francesca to represent the Starkhaven Chantry in the talks. Leo chose to go to represent Kirkwall, and the remaining Chantry members there. They’d met Gianna in Ostwick, accompanying her to Denerim, and then to Haven.

His green eyes met those of his cousin, and he raised a single eyebrow. “Rupert is going to demand you change.” Leo rolled his eyes. “He’s an idiot.

“You’ll be on your own on the climb,” he said, changing the subject. “Ru and I will be with the Templars, and Thea is walking with the Sisters. I’m sure there will be other nobles you can walk with if you want.”

Gianna grinned. “Thank you, Leo, but no. I’ll walk by myself. I’ll tell Thea that I want to contemplate Andraste as I walk.”

“That will make her happy.”

“Something I do should.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid that nothing I’ve done this trip has pleased her much.”

Leo’s larger frame and longer arms enveloped Gianna in a hug. “She means well, but she doesn’t see that you have to walk your own path.” He laughed a little then continued, “Literally in this case. You weren’t raised to do what you’re told. Mata saw to that.”

Her eyes grew misty. She didn’t realize until now that Leo understood as well as he did.

“Mata used to say that well behaved women don’t make history. Do you remember?” He still had her tucked under his arm as they strolled toward the gates leading to the path up the mountain. “It’s why she taught you like she did. It’s why she left you the money. You are supposed to make your own history, not follow ours.”

Before they reached the gates, Leo stopped and turned to face Gianna, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

“How did you get so smart?” Gianna quipped, getting on tiptoe to kiss her much taller cousin’s cheek.

“I read more than the Chant of Light and dull histories.” His face lit up in a conspiratorial smirk, then he handed her a paper wrapped parcel.  

“It’s Varric Tethris’ latest installment of Hard in Hightown.” Leo opened the pack he was carrying and tucked the book inside before arranging the shoulder bag on Gianna. “When Thea finds it, don’t tell her you got it from me.”

Leo turned and took several steps toward the group of Templars that was waiting for him. He turned to face Gianna and wave. “See you at the Temple!”

She waved back and headed toward the gate, ready to trudge up the mountain to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. As she went through the gate, her thoughts were not on Andraste, but how the Divine probably took a carriage to the top of the damn mountain.

Chapter Text

Cullen chose a terrible time to stop taking lyrium.

They’d reached Haven three days before. It was too late to make the ascent to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, even with the orders to use horses instead of making a Pilgrim’s approach. The path was wide and well-marked, but there were still loose stones and other obstacles that would be a danger. Leliana and the diplomat… her name escaped him at present, were both disappointed that they would miss some party or another, but it was agreed that joining the talks in the morning was the best course of action.

After a late supper with his new associates, he had taken a few moments to pray, when the explosion rocked the valley and town of Haven. As a description, the word explosion left something to be desired, eruption was a far better word. It leveled the mountain that the Temple of Sacred Ashes perched upon, strangely there was surprisingly little debris in the aftermath. In its place was a large green tear in the Veil, and demons falling from it like rain through dark clouds.

The fresh start he’d hoped for was looking a whole lot like the life he’d left behind.

After assessing the situation, the strategy was simple. Clear the path to the Temple of Ashes, or what was left of it, and keep the demons away from civilians as much as possible. He didn’t have the troops to accomplish more than that, and the troops that he did have were not trained for the task at hand.

Sometime during the first night of fighting, a report came in about a woman that had somehow survived the explosion. In more than one garbled account, witnesses claimed she fell or jumped from the Breach and that another woman was behind her at the time. The Commander found that difficult to believe, but he dispatched Knight Captain Rylen to recover the survivor and bring her under guard, to Haven. He was more than willing to leave the investigation to Leliana. His hands were full already.

According to his reckoning, he’d been fighting for three days and two nights. There was food, and a few hours of sleep pushed upon him by Cassandra and Rylen. The sleep was hardly restful, and the demons encountered in the Fade were far more resilient than the ones he met while awake. He much preferred to have a sword in hand when he faced the denizens of the Fade.

This was a losing fight. There were not enough skilled fighters, and the demons kept pouring from the Breach. New rifts were opening all over the mountain and in the valley. They were outnumbered, and the best they could hope for was to buy time for the non-combatants to escape. He urged the Ambassador to take all those who were incapable of fighting and make their way to Denerim, but she refused to leave.

Cullen made his way through the gates, barking orders for the sentries to notify him if any demons approached. He took a seat near the fire and ladled some tasteless grey stew into a bowl. The Seeker wanted a report by midday, but there was really no news to give. The situation was the same as it was yesterday, and the day before.

The survivor, or prisoner, had a mark on her hand that was somehow connected to the Breach. When the Breach convulsed and spat out more demons, the mark reacted and grew. An elven apostate had a theory is that it could be used to close the Breach, and the many rifts that had appeared around it. The prisoner was still unconscious though, and it was unclear if she would recover enough to help.

Finished with his meal, Cullen stood and handed the bowl to one of the scouts. He thought about trying to sleep, but quickly dismissed the idea. It wouldn’t help much, and the line was barely holding as it was. The troops needed him, and he needed something to do.

Gianna slowly came to consciousness on her knees. Before she was fully aware of her surroundings, she felt the cold iron manacles on her hands. Opening her eyes was almost painful, but when she did, she saw the four guards, swords drawn, surrounding her. She felt the searing pain in her left hand before the flash of green light, and the sound of her own scream startled her.

As she struggled to make sense of her situation, two women entered the room. One was in Seeker’s armor, short black hair in a braid around her head. The other wore a softer cape, a deep hood obscuring the view of her head and eyes.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now,” the Seeker growled. “The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended has died, yet you survive.”

Gianna was still trying to get her brain to function properly. A green haze, spiders, and a strange woman in chantry garb became jumbled together with the gloom of the cold stone and clanking of chains. Struggling to separate reality from the fade terrors, her response to the Seeker’s question was silence. Until she knew more about what happened, keeping her mouth shut seemed the best option available.  

Nevarran accent… Giana thought. She’s wearing the armor of a Seeker of Truth… Cassandra Pentaghast. Left hand of the Divine, Hero of Orlais, and according to all accounts, she’s a major hard ass… And she wants to kill me. Fucking Brilliant.

Cassandra reached down and grabbed her hand. “Explain this!” she barked in her prisoner’s ear.

Gianna saw the palm spark green only a moment before pain tore through her palm and shot up her arm. “The fuck is that?” she spat, while the pain subsided.

“You don’t know?” questioned the Seeker, her hand coming to rest on the hilt of her sword.

“Not a clue,” was the reply.

Without warning, Gianna was grabbed by the collar. The Seeker’s livid, screaming face was only inches away from her face. “You’re lying,” she accused.

“We need her, Cassandra,” the other woman said. She reached out and put a soft hand on the Seekers arm.

Orlesian accent, Gianna thought. Reddish hair… Leliana, Left hand of the Divine. She’s the dangerous one; she’s pulling the strings. This is what happens when you get involved with the fucking Chantry.

“Look,” Gianna began. “Before you kill me, can you explain what happened?”

The Right and Left Hands exchanged a look before Leliana took a step forward. “What do you remember?” she asked.

Gianna closed her eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the last memory she had. When she opened them, she found a pair of cunning blue eyes looking into hers.

Taking a deep breath, Gianna answered. “I remember falling. I looked back and saw spiders chasing me. I started to climb, and there was a woman in front of me, urging me on.”

“A woman?” Leliana queried.

“A woman,” Gianna repeated. “I couldn’t see her clearly, but she spoke.”

Cassandra leaned forward. “What did she say?”

Can she do anything that doesn’t seem menacing? Gianna asked herself before answering the question. “Something about hurrying, or to keep going.”

Gianna took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It’s hard to remember her exact words, but she was encouraging me. I can’t remember anything after that.”

The Nightingale stood up, and the mood in the room changed dramatically. With a nod, the soldiers guarding her filed out, and Gianna was left alone with the Right and Left Hands. Cassandra knelt to unshackle her hands, as she spoke.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to see if the Apostate was correct.”

Gianna was hauled roughly to her feet, and her hands bound with rope in front of her. It wasn’t freedom, but at least she wasn’t facing instant execution for whatever had happened. It seemed like progress.

“Seeker Pentaghast,” Gianna began. “Can I get something to eat before you throw me at whatever dangerous thing you plan on sacrificing me to?”

Cassandra spun around, almost toppling the bound Gianna with the force. “I beg your pardon? How dare you…”

“If I’m correct,” Gianna explained, “You’re planning to take me somewhere, and I’m going to be expected to do something. Correct?”

Cassandra was still sputtering in rage, so Leliana answered. “Yes, that sums it up.”

Gianna paused to think. She wanted to sound less demanding and more helpful. “I’m starving. If I’m going to be expected to get there on my own steam, and do something strenuous after that, getting something to eat first would only make sense.

“I’m more than willing to do whatever you ask.” Gianna grinned, or at least tried to. “Is food before probable death too much to ask?”

Leliana laughed. It was a tinkling sound, like bells. It shouldn’t sound as menacing as it did. But, Gianna thought, It is what it is.

“Is an apple and a glass of water acceptable?” Leliana lilted.

A genuine smile lit Gianna’s features. “An apple and a glass of water would be amazing.” She nodded at Leliana and the still scowling Cassandra. “Thank you.”  

Leliana disappeared into the darkened hallway. A few minutes later, an apple sailed through the air, heading toward Gianna’s head. Catching it nimbly, she immediately took a bite, a drop of juice dribbling down her chin. She closed her eyes and moaned a little with the pleasure of it.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and gave a sound of disgust that would make any Revered Mother envious. “Are you going to be through anytime soon? The sky is rent open, the world is filling with demons, and we’re here while you eat.”

“What?” Gianna almost choked.

“Come,” the Seeker said. “I’ll explain on the way.”

What the fuck did you get yourself into this time, Kit? Gianna asked herself, as she followed the older woman into the darkness. More importantly, how are you going to get yourself out of it?

Chapter Text

“Drop your weapons,” the Seeker snarled, her sword pointed at Kit’s throat.

Kit was pretty sure she could take her, but working with her was, at this point, probably the better way to go. Until she was sure about the situation she was in, cooperation was the go-to choice.

Kit rolled her eyes. “Sure, no problem.” She dropped the daggers and backed away from them. “I’ll just follow you, target on the palm of my hand, and wait for the demons to kill me…

“No worries…”

“Keep them,” Cassandra grumbled. “I cannot protect you.” She reached into a pouch at her belt and handed Kit some potions. “Take these as well. I should remember that you agreed to come willingly.”

“Thank you,” Kit answered. She accepted both the potions, and the sentiment, with gratitude. “I do want to help. Do you know anything about what caused this?” she asked.  “I know that I’m the only survivor, but is there any more information at all?”

“None at all.” Cassandra spat out the words. “Everyone is dead, you are our only lead, and you claim not to remember anything.” She stopped and turned sharply, causing Kit to skid to a halt. “I don’t know your name.”

She’d known this was coming and had given it some thought. The Trevelyan name could buy her some consideration. Her father and family were well connected, rich, and considered good children of the Chantry. As Gianna, there was a chance that she’d be treated better, and perhaps trusted more. Of course, her dislike of the Chantry was reasonably well known. Her views could make it easier for those that suspected her to use that against her.

If shit went sideways, and it had an alarming tendency to do that, who she was could also take her family down. They had enemies, every noble did, and once it became known that a Trevelyan was suspected in the death of the Divine Justinia V, things could get messy for more than just her.

“Kit,” she said, extending her hand to the Seeker. “I’m glad to meet you, Seeker. The circumstances we met under are garbage, mind you. Still, I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time.”  

Cassandra reached out and grasped Kit’s hand. “Maker, please tell me that it’s not because of the stories about me.”

“It is,” Kit giggled. “My aunt adored those stories. She used them to try and convince me to join the Chantry.”

“Really?” The single word was followed by that disgusted noise. “I should tell you that…”

“I know that they’re probably all overdone. It’s the way stories are.” Kit started ambling away, following something sparkling on the ground. Bending over, she picked up a statue of Maferath. “You’ll have to tell me what really happened sometime.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, looking askance at the woman in front of her.

“You’re trying to figure out if I’m fucking with you, right?” Kit joked. “I’m not. I love stories, but I don’t believe everything I hear.”

“I’ll tell you if I must,” she answered. “First, however, we have other things to do.”

Shoulders straight and with a purposeful stride, Cassandra began walking up a hill toward the sound of fighting. “Come, quickly. We must help them.”

“Who?” Kit asked, picking up the pace to a trot. “Who needs our help?

“You’ll see.”

The clash of swords and the sounds of lightening crackling became louder. Kit saw demons in the distance and fighting them were an elven mage and a dwarf with a crossbow. Picking up speed, Kit approached a drop, and leapt, drawing her daggers in one stroke, and landing on the back of something ugly, plunging the blades into what looked like the top of its head. There was a green… something in the sky nearby and, as she got closer, it pulled at her hand as if it had hooks in her skin.

Once the demons were dead, the elf grabbed her left hand and held it in the air, towards the green light. It felt her hand was hit by lightning as energy from the rift connected with the mark on her hand. What started as pins and needles quickly became a screaming agony of fire, and it felt like the rift was trying to pull her arm off. She screamed. As quickly as it started the connection was broken. The rift snapped shut, and her body went limp.

 She felt like a marionette with the strings cut.

The green hole was closed, though. The apostate dropped her hand and smiled at her.

“What did you do?” Kit asked him.

Still smiling blandly, he replied. “I did nothing. The credit is yours. I just showed you what needed to be done.”

After staring at her hand for a moment, Kit looked at the elf. “How did I close that… thing?”

The elf smiled, somewhat smugly in Kit’s opinion, but she tried not to judge harshly. It’s not like she had a single clue about what was happening right now.

“Whatever magic caused the Breach, also created the mark on your hand,” he explained.

Shartan’s dimpled ass, she thought. His voice is like syrup.

Despite her musings, he hadn’t stopped speaking. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”

Kit jumped when Cassandra spoke behind her. “Meaning it could close the Breach.”

“Possibly,” he replied. “Or not.”

“It seems,” he said, looking directly in her eyes, “That you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Isn’t that just peachy?” Kit deadpanned while thinking to herself, this just keeps getting worse.

“Good to know,” said a voice from her left. “Here I was thinking that we’d be ass deep in demons forever.”

Kit turned to see a ginger haired dwarf reloading an impressive crossbow. He looked up and grinned. “Varric Tethras,” he introduced himself, bowing slightly. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasional unwanted tag-along.”

Kit smiled and played along. She knew who he was, of course. Not only was he a famous author, but several of her brothers considered him a friend. She extended her hand to shake his. “Pleased to meet you,” she said. 

The tall elf behind her gave a wry chuckle. “Spend more time with him and you may reconsider that stance.”

Varric dramatically held his hand to his heart, as if wounded. “That hurts, you know.” He winked at Kit and continued. “Save an elf’s ass by skewering some demons, and this is how he thanks you.

“I’m technically a prisoner, like you…”

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine, Varric.” The Seeker put a very hard C on the end of his name. “That is clearly no longer necessary.”

“Yet,” he rejoined, “Here I am. Good thing, too. Bianca and I are going to be a big help when we get to the valley, Seeker.”

“No.” Cassandra wasn’t in the mood to brook and argument. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…”

“You been in the Valley lately?” Varric’s tone became serious. “Your men are not in control down there. You need me.” He winked at Kit. “This lovely lady needs me, too. I can’t turn down a damsel in distress.”

Cassandra grunted and rolled her eyes.

The elf grinned. “My name is Solas, if there are introductions.”

“Kit… Glad to meet you.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’.” Varric teased.

“Well then,” Kit stated. “That makes me doubly glad to meet you. Thank you for that. Good to know someone wanted me alive.”

“Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra snapped impatiently. “He is well versed in such things.”

“Technically speaking, Seeker,” Solas explained. “All mages are now apostates. You should know that the magic involved here is unlike any I’ve ever seen.” He took a quick glance over to Kit, and the resumed. “Even if the prisoner were a mage, and she is not, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

Nodding, she answered. “Understood. We need to get to the forward camp. Leliana is waiting, and the Breach still grows.”

Kit followed the rest and spent the next half hour slashing and stabbing her way through demons. It was gross, smelly, and time consuming, but not especially difficult. There was chatter, mostly questions from Varric who seemed to want to pin down where she was from, what she remembered, and why she was at the Conclave in the first place. The attacking demons seemed to be on her side, though, and whenever he’d get too pushy, they’d need to stop talking and kill shit.

It was a sign of how her day was going that Kit was almost thankful for being ass deep in demons.

After closing another rift, she found herself at the Forward Camp, and face to face with one of the most offensive and officious Chantry Fucks she’d ever met in her life. When she stopped to consider how many of those she’d met, she was mostly impressed. Chancellor Roderick, and men like him, were the worst of the worst as far as she was concerned.

“As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this prisoner to Val Royeaux for execution.” He declared.

“Wait,” Kit exploded. “No trial even? Just ‘off with her head?’ Fucking typical Chantry behavior.”

Leliana and Cassandra just stared, and Varric fought off a chuckle. “What?” Kit demanded. “Isn’t this crap one reason the Mages and Templars staged competing revolts? If not for this bullshit, none of us would be here… Or am I wrong?”

Varric stopped trying to control the laughter. “You’re not wrong. They just aren’t used to people saying that part out loud.”

“Oh, sorry.” Kit tried to look sheepish and failed completely. “Please though… Continue where you left off.”

The silence continued.

She sighed. “Val Royeaux… execution…Blah, blah, blah. Go on. I’m listening.” She gestured with her hands in a rolling motion that was meant to encourage.

Roderick broke the quiet first. “Call the retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” Cassandra insisted.

“Oh, great,” Kit tossed out. “Pompous and cowardly too boot.” She looked at Varric. “Could this get any worse?”

Green light lit the bridge like a sheet of lightning, and Kit’s knees hit the ground, a scream erupting from her open mouth. Cassandra bent down, hand out and ready to help. Kit slapped her hand aside and stood. “Enough of this shit,” she yelled.

She looked at Leliana. “What’s the fastest way to the Breach?”

“There is a mountain pass. It’s fast but indirect,” came the answer.

“There is a direct path to the temple. It’s faster, but not necessarily safer,” Cassandra responded.

Kit thought for a minute before making the decision. “We take the fastest route. This ends now.”

As soon as the decision was made, both Cassandra and Leliana started issuing orders. Leliana left to find more troops and rendezvous at the Temple. Cassandra ordered more healing potions to be brought, and word to be sent by raven to the summit.

As the trio set off, Roderick yelled. “On your head be the consequences!”

Cassandra simply sighed.

Kit responded by raising her right hand into the air, middle finger prominently displayed. “It always is, Asshole,” she shot back.

Only Varric heard her as she muttered, “Just like a Chantry Fuck to take a pass on personal responsibility.”

After his experiences with Hawke in Kirkwall, he couldn’t help but agree with her.

Chapter Text

Cullen had pulled the troops back. The strategy, if it could be called that, was to conserve energy, and only fight if the demons tried to escape the perimeter. He hated it, but they didn’t have the manpower to keep up a prolonged attack. They were outnumbered, exhausted, and running out of time.

Now, he was walking the line, chatting with his soldiers. He hoped his presence would lend them heart, but he knew from experience that it didn’t always work that way. There were a couple of Chantry Sisters tending the injured and making sure they were fed. One of them suggested a prayer service. He didn’t object to anyone praying, but he didn’t want anyone to think that prayer was the only option they had left.

As he made his way toward the center of the line, he received a message that Rylen needed to see him. Nodding, and thanking the messenger, he walked out of what was once a courtyard and toward the fire.

“The Nightingale sent a raven,” Rylen said as he beckoned Cullen closer to the tent that served as a command.

“Damn,” the Commander muttered, expecting the worst.

His second in command gave a dry chuckle. “This is good news, I think.” He handed Cullen the strip of paper. “The prisoner is awake. Seeker Pentaghast took her to a couple of the smaller rifts nearby, and it seems Solas was right.”

“The rifts closed?” Cullen felt hope for the first time in days.

“Aye,” Rylen answered. “They left the forward camp and are heading this way. Should be here soon.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, thinking through a mental list of what needed to be done. “We’ll need to clear a path.” He looked at Rylen. “How long do you think we have?”

“Dunno for sure.” Rylen paused, making calculations in his head. “Depending on how long it took for Leliana to send the Raven after they left, 20 minutes… at the most. Maybe less if we’re lucky.”

“I’ll ready the men for a push, we’ll clear the demons, hopefully get this rift closed and get a break for the men.”

“I could use a dram or five… And some sleep.” Rylen’s natural optimism had kicked in now. “So could you, from the look of it.”

“Let’s get out of this alive, and the first round is on me.” Cullen was less optimistic, and Rylen could see it. As Commander, he needed to keep hope alive for the troops, and that meant making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

“Come on. Let’s brief the men and get this done.”

He and Rylen marched in step toward the men. Each took a side, and walked slowly from the center, giving them the news, and preparing for the push. At the end of the line, Cullen waited until he saw Rylen, then he drew his sword and slowly advanced toward the rift. He reached the first one, a wisp, and with a quick slash he engaged.  

After the wisp came a shade, then another shade. Slowly they were making progress, and more hadn’t fallen from the rift. As he encountered another shade, he heard an arrow fly by his ear, and saw it embed itself in the demon’s side.

Not an arrow, but a bolt from a crossbow. It seemed that Cassandra had brought the Dwarf, Hawke’s friend, Varric with her. The prisoner had arrived, and he’d see for himself if keeping her alive had been worth it.

The rift burst to life and the first thing to drop out was a terror demon. Long limbed and able to move through the ground somehow, Cullen would have been caught in its claws if a blur hadn’t shoved him out of the way and disappeared, reappearing behind the thing and slashing at it downward from above. An ice bolt from a mage he didn’t know was on the field caught the demon, and the rogue attacked from the left flank, killing the demon before throwing daggers at a shade several feet away. As soon as the demons were dead, the woman lifted her hand toward the rift. As a bolt of green energy shot out of the rift and connected with her hand, she went rigid. Her neck tensed and she howled in pain, or effort.

Almost as quickly as it began, the rift popped out of existence, and the woman’s body went slack for a moment. Seeing Solas move to help her, Cullen turned his attention to Cassandra.  

“Well done, Lady Cassandra,” he said. “You managed to close the rift.”

“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” the Seeker admonished. “This is the prisoner’s doing.”

Cullen turned toward the prisoner, and saw a small woman, brown hair in a disheveled braid. He was a tall man, but she didn’t even reach his shoulder. Pink lips, parted in… surprise? Then he looked in her eyes…

Merciful Maker, he knew those eyes. It had been four years since he’d seen them in person, but since then he’d encountered them countless times in his dreams. He conjured them in the middle of sleepless nights to chase the demons that tormented him. He woke from fevered dreams needing to take himself in hand to relieve the longings that held him in their grip. Some nights he woke weeping, after being tormented with visions of the demons kill her.

His hand went to the place under his armor where he kept her letter. It was tucked inside a worn book of scripture given to him in training.

She was the prisoner.

“Pedicabo Ego,” she muttered.

“Is it?” Cullen stuttered, looking between Cassandra and Kit. “I hope Solas is right about you. We lost a lot of good people getting you here.”

It came out colder than he’d intended, but he couldn’t afford sentimentality right now. He had questions, things he wanted to say to her, but closing the Breach was the priority. Andraste willing, there would be time later.

“You’re not the only one that hopes that Commander.” Kit replied.

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” With more than a little effort, Cullen took his eyes off Kit turned to speak to Cassandra. “The way to the Temple should be clear. Leliana’s raven said that she’d meet you there.”

“Then we should be going,” she returned.

Cassandra approached the others and, resting her hand on Kit’s shoulder asked, “Are you ready?”

With a curt nod, Kit turned and began walking in the direction of the Breach itself. She heard Cullen yell, “Maker watch over you… For all our sakes,” and barked out a short, bitter laugh.

She briefly turned around to see him helping a soldier to safety, then refocused on the goal at hand. Keeping the world from coming to an end. If she lived through that, she’d find out if there was a way to rebuild the bridge that she torched four years ago. At the moment, she had bigger problems to deal with.

Walking through what was left of the Temple, the horror of it all hit Kit like a boot to the face. Burned bodies were everywhere. Heads with no bodies lay on the floor like stones. She stopped when she passed a corpse in full Templar armor. There was no identifying the body, all the flesh had been seared off, exposing bone. When she saw it, she thought of Leo; giving her a book she would never read.

She sprinted to the nearest wall and began to vomit. A hand on her back steadied and grounded her, and an open flask was pressed into her hand.

Looking up, she found Varric at the other end of the arm. “What’s this?” she asked.

“A little liquid courage won’t hurt.” He quipped with a wink. “I’m surprised you made it this far without emptying your stomach. I didn’t last that long.”

She took a sip, then another before answering. “Liar.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Usually, it’s a safe bet to assume that, but this time it’s the truth.”

She took another sip before capping the flask and handing it back to him. She looked around and saw the Seeker staring daggers at her. “Cassandra isn’t going to like you sharing your booze with me. I’m a prisoner, after all.”

“I’m a prisoner, too,” he stated. “And what pisses off the Seeker isn’t my concern. I’ve known her for weeks and I have yet to do something she approves of.” He gave Kit a hand and helped her to her feet.
“Why would I want to start now?”

“Good point.”

As they slowly walked over to where the Seeker stood, arms crossed and scowling, Kit asked. “Does she ever smile?”

Varric grinned. “I thought she did once. Turns out it was just gas.”

When they joined Solas and Cassandra, Kit still had a smile on her face. Cassandra scowled. “Can we continue, now?” She grumbled.

Kit stopped, put her hands on her hips and skewered the Seeker with a glare. “Do we have a problem, here?” she inquired. “Or is the stick you have shoved very far up your ass putting you in a bad mood?”

Solas stepped back, giving the two women room, and Varric suddenly became very interested in Bianca.

“I came with you willingly. I have done everything you asked, and here you are, standing there looking put out because I got sick looking at the carnage.”

Cassandra snapped. “The Divine Justinia is dead, as are many others, and you are the only suspect we have. We must close the Breach, and I have no time for your weaknesses to interfere.”

Kit sighed, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She took a long deep breath and opened her eyes. She stepped to within an inch of the Seeker. “Think whatever you want about me,” she shouted. “I don’t give a damn. But don’t stand there and act like you’re the only person that lost people in that fucking explosion.

“Three of my cousins were at the Conclave, you heartless cunt, and now they’re dead. I saw the burnt bodies and wondered if it was one of them, and it made me sick.”

Kit stepped back away from the older woman. Her fists were clenched at her side, and every line in her body was tense. She turned and took a few more steps away, then faced her adversary again. “Do not, for a single moment, take my grief as weakness, Seeker. I am not weak. I am, however, a person with feelings… and unlike you, I haven’t had several days to figure out how to deal with them. So, back the fuck off. I’m doing the best I can.”

Then Kit turned and stalked off toward the hole in the sky, tears of anger, pain, and grief forming lines in the grime on her face. Let’s get this shit over with, she thought. One thing at a time. I can deal with the Chantry Thug later.

She marched on, arms swinging, fingers clenched, and shoulders squared, until she reached a ledge. Ledge was, perhaps, the wrong word; it was more of a sheer drop where part of the building was sheared off, but the result was the same. The path to the floor of the temple was four feet down. It highlighted the fact that the Breach was very high compared to where she would be when she tried to close it.

“You’re here,” a lilting voice said from behind her. “Thank the Maker,” she heard as she turned to find that Leliana and some troops had arrived.

Cassandra immediately took command. “Leliana, have your men take up positions around the Temple. Be ready for anything.”

People were moving around here, but Kit just stood on the ledge, contemplating the Breach. It was weirdly beautiful, if she didn’t think about it destroying Thedas; and killing her in the process. It pulsed in time with her heart, or was it the other way around? With every beat was a slight itching in the palm of her hand. “That’s a long way up,” she murmured to herself. “How am I supposed to get up there?”

“No!” cried Solas. “It’s the first. We have to close it, it’s the key to everything.”

Turning to look at the distressed man, Kit tried to stay calm. “I understand that. If you haven’t noticed, I’m short. Once we get to the floor, it’s a long way up. Any ideas on how to get me up there?”

“I see,” he answered. “It should work like the others. Distance isn’t an object to making the connection.

“In theory, at least.”

“Let’s find our way down, then,” the Seeker interjected.

Kit neatly jumped off the ledge, and carefully picked her way through the rubble on the way down. She stopped at a small outcropping of shining red stone. “Get away from that,” Varric yelled.

She turned, and he was there beside her. “That’s Red Lyrium,” he cautioned. “It’s nasty shit.”

“Magic would have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple and corrupted it,” Solas lectured.

“Whatever happened, don’t touch it.” Varric was scared.

Now is the hour of our Victory

“What the…” Kit started.

Solas interrupted, “At a guess, the Fade is leaking into this place, and the voices reflect what happened here.”

Keep the sacrifice still

Above them, in the sickly, watery green light, a scene played out before them. A man, Kit thought it was a man at least, held a woman dressed in Chantry Robes in chains.

Someone help me

“That,” Cassandra gasped, “Is Divine Justinia’s voice.”

Someone help me

The sound of a door banging, and Kit saw herself in the rift above.

What’s going on here? Kit heard her voice say.

“This is seven kinds of fucked up,” she stuttered.

“That was your voice,” accused Cassandra. “Divine Justinia called out to you for help. But…”

Run while you can. Warn them

“What are we seeing?” Cassandra grabbed Kit’s arm, demanding answers that she couldn’t give.

We have an intruder… Kill her. NOW

Cassandra had both hands on Kit’s shoulders, shaking her as if that would bring the answers she sought. “You were there! Who attacked? Was this vision true? What happened?”

“This is but an echo of what happened here, Seeker,” he explained. “The Fade bleeds into this place.

“The rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily.” He spoke as if he were a teacher and Cassandra was a small child. “I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely.

“However,” he paused. “Opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons,” Cassandra shouted. Then she pulled her sword. “Stand ready!”

Leliana, and the archers she brought with her, nocked arrows into the bows and made ready to fire at the first sign of trouble. Everyone stood ready and looked at Kit, waiting for her to do whatever it was that she was supposed to do to open that damned thing.

She also had no real clue how to do that. Before she just held up her hand and it happened, but she didn’t know if opening the rift up worked the same way as closing the others. Stupid fucking mark didn’t come with any instructions, she thought.

Solas nodded at her, giving her permission or encouragement; she wasn’t sure which. Kit said a silent prayer to the Maker. Please let this work and stuck her hand up in the air.

Searing pain, like lightning, shot through her arm and into her body. She went limp for a moment, and when she became more aware of her surroundings, there was a huge demon staring at her.

Oh… Fuck, fuck, Fuckety… Fight now, panic later…

“Disrupt the rift,” Cassandra yelled.

“How do I do that?” Kit yelled back, slashing at a demon while she tried to figure it out.

She looked at the Seeker to see her eyes furrowed in either consternation or disgust. Cassandra quicky pointed to her hand and made a lifting motion, trying to signal Kit to lift her hand to the rift again.

Between fighting demons and running like crazy person from the huge one chasing her, Kit found the space to lift her hand and make another connection with the rift. After that, Solas froze the big demon solid, Cassandra whacked away at it for a while. Varric fired Bianca at any and all demons chasing Kit, giving her time to hold her hand up again when necessary.

The Demon finally died, and it was time for Kit to finally seal the rift. She took a deep breath and lifted her hand.

She passed out from the pain and effort long before she hit the ground.

Cullen arrived just in time to see the rift seal itself, and Kit crumple to the ground. Solas was there first, and his hands glowed blue while hovering over her prone body.

“She’s alive,” he said. “But only barely.

“She lacked the power to seal it permanently, but it is safe for now.” The elf stood, then looked at the rift. “I believe we can close it permanently after she recovers.”

Cullen knelt beside her, then gently lifted her, preparing to carry her to the wagon waiting for the injured. “We can talk about this back in Haven.”  There would be several things he would want to discuss once they were back in Haven.

For now, he thanked the Maker that she was still alive, so they could discuss them.  He wanted answers and… he wanted her to still be alive.  It had been four years… and he needed her to still be alive.

Chapter Text

Cullen’s head ached and his temper was becoming dangerously short. He’d spent hours shut into the closed and airless chamber in the Haven Chantry that had been designated as “the War Room.” The Inquisition had little to no information about their former prisoner and hadn’t had any luck finding anyone on the attendance and registration lists available who could be the former prisoner in question.  

Everyone present in the Temple itself had been required register in advance. The problem they had was that there was no mercenary named Kit listed as an attendee in any party.

“She’s not here,” Cullen groaned. He lowered his head and massaged his neck with his right hand. “We’ve gone over these list a dozen times. We’ve found nothing.”

Josephine Montilyet, the ambassador for the newly formed Inquisition sighed, then took a sip of her long cold cup of tea. “Either she gave us a false name, or she was unauthorized.”

“Neither bodes well,” Leliana warned. “I need information now, starting with her name.”

Cullen stood and began pacing. Being closed in the Chantry for so long was making him feel claustrophobic. He knew who she was, but he was at a loss on how to relay that information to the spymaster without pesky questions about how he knew what he did.

Until he could have a conversation with her, he wasn’t going to tell anyone about their time together in Kirkwall. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t know how to explain it. Ten days of dinners and walks through the city, and one very memorable night wasn’t easy to classify. Were they friends? Lovers? Exes?  Two lonely ships passing in the night?

Was it even possible to think of what they have in the present tense? It was adding to the headache from lyrium withdrawal, stacks of paper, and hours indoors.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. The latch clicked and the portal opened to admit Knight Captain Rylen. Cullen sighed loudly in relief, drawing a small smile from Leliana. They both knew that Cullen was hoping that his second in command was there to mount a rescue. Until they had the answers she needed, no one was going anywhere, and Rylen had just volunteered to be another set of eyes.

“There you are, Commander,” the new arrival said. “Have you been in here all afternoon?”

“We have indeed, Knight Captain,” Josie said. She stood to get him a cup of tea. “Have you come to help?”

“No,” he answered. “I came to find Cullen here.” He glanced at other man to see him sigh in relief. “What’s kept you all locked in all day?”

“We have a mystery on our hands,” trilled Leliana. “We can’t find the former prisoner on any of the attendee lists.”

He picked up one of the lists and looked at the names. “That’s because you’re looking in the wrong place.” Tossing the parchment down, he took the cup from the Ambassador and took a sip. “Thank you, My Lady. She wasn’t a mercenary; she was an attendee.”

Four exhausted persons stared at him like he’s suddenly turned into a nug. “What?” Rylen wondered if he had turned into a nug.

“You know who she is?” the Seeker demanded. “Why didn’t you say?

Rylen held out his hand with the thumb out. “One, I wasn’t aware that you didn’t know. You called her by name, so I thought you were aware.” He leaned back in his chair. “Two, you didn’t ask. If you all weren’t so Void bent on keeping secrets, I could have saved you all a lot of trouble.”

He sipped his tea again and reached for a biscuit. “Do you mind?” he asked Josephine.

Leliana rolled her eyes. “Well?”

“Ah…” Rylen grunted. “She’s a Trevelyan.”

“A…” Josie stuttered. “Oh, Merciful Maker…” Josie stuttered as she plopped, inelegantly, into her chair.

“How would you know?” Leliana asked. “You’re from Starkhaven. The Trevelyans are Ostwickian. I wasn’t aware that you’d traveled.”

The Knight Captain laughed. “Can’t swing a dead cat in the Starkhaven Chantry without hitting a Trevelyan, Sister.” He took another bite of biscuit. “The Grand Cleric is a Trevelyan if you’ll recall. They’re like flies on fish pie there; no way to avoid them, no matter how hard you try.

“Grand Cleric Francesca treats it as her own private demesne. Templars, Revered Mothers, Chantry Sisters… She prefers the ones related to her by blood.”

“So…” Cullen swallowed nervously. “She’s a Chantry Sister?”

Rylen snorted, covering his mouth quickly to keep from spewing tea and cookie crumbs everywhere. “Shit no. Her name is Gianna; better known as Kit. Her brothers occasionally call her Runty, but only if they want to get hit in the face.

“She doesn’t take shit, that one.” He smiled. “I don’t know her well; only met her twice, but she is formidable.”

“Gianna,” Leliana said softly, searching her memory for details. “Youngest child of Bann William, I believe. Though it’s hard to know. William and Annalise have so many of them.”

“How many children, exactly?” Cassandra wondered.

“Eight, I believe,” the Ambassador answered. “Or nine. I can’t remember, either. There may even be a tenth one in there somewhere.  I am acquainted with the family, through the Bann’s aunt. Her name is Lucille, and she’s been a friend of my parents for years.”

“Until recently,” Leliana cut in, “The younger members of the main branch always went into Chantry Service. Templars, Sisters, Chancellors… For some reason that I don’t know the tradition died out with the current Bann’s family. Only one of the Bann’s children chose service; a Templar by the name of Tristan.”

“That’s him,” Rylen said. “He’s a Knight Captain now, in charge of training recruits in Starkhaven.” He took a sip of tea and reached for another biscuit. “Damn good at his job, too. Trained me… if that means anything.”

“It does,” Cullen interjected. “You’re very good, you know.”

Rylen continued. “If I remember correctly, she was supposed to go into the Chantry. I don’t know why she didn’t.” He looked down at his hands trying to remember. “I only know that the Grand Cleric never stopped trying to convince her, and when she gave that up, she tried to marry her off.”

“She’s not married, either?” Cullen asked. A wave of relief washed over him.

“Not that I’m aware of.” He smiled again. “It’s not likely at least. She seemed incredibly determined to evade the lure of matrimony. Dead set against an arranged match, in fact.”

Leliana stood, arranging her hood over short red hair. “At least we know who we’re dealing with. Not a bad day’s work. We should be able to work with her; if she lives long enough.”

“Leliana!” Josephine was appalled.

The spymaster turned and arched an eyebrow. “We must face the reality that she may not survive, Josie.” She sipped her tea, then continued. “She is alive for now, and according to the last missive from Adan, she’s improving.

“She has yet to regain consciousness. She may not. It is a fact that we cannot ignore.”

It had not occurred to Cullen that she wouldn’t waken, and the news that she wasn’t who he thought she was disconcerted him more. Add the that the tons of paper that were, very likely, heaped on his desk, and he knew that rest would have to wait.

At least if he didn’t sleep, he couldn’t dream, and his nightmares had been brutal of late. According to Cassandra and Rylen, the lack of lyrium and bad memories were the reasons for sweat and terror filled nights. If they were right, and he had to agree with them, his sleep was always going to be troubled. He should just get used to it.

Conversation had gone on around him during his musings, but Rylen noticed his inattention. It was time to get the Commander to his quarters. He’d find a way to get him prone once he got him back to their shared cottage. A good hard knock on the head would probably have to be applied. Cullen could be amazingly stubborn when he put his mind to it.

“If you ladies do not mind,” Rylen said, rising to his feet. “I’m going to need our brave Commander to solve a problem for me.”

Cassandra looked at Cullen, then Rylen before answering. “Of course. We’ve kept him from his duties long enough.” Cullen rose stiffly and the Seeker went on. “Get some rest, Commander. You look terrible.”

“I’m fine, Cassandra.” He stretched slightly and headed for the door. “I just need to clear my head.” He took hold of the latch and turned slightly to bid the others “Good Evening,” then walked through the door, leaving it ajar for Rylen to follow. He didn’t see the look pass between the Seeker and his friend, nor did he see the small vial that Leliana surreptitiously pressed into the templar’s hand as he passed.

Rylen had his marching orders then. Like it or not, the stalwart commander was going to get some sleep tonight. Maker have mercy when he found out he’d been dosed.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, the Knight Captain thought as he followed Cullen out of the Chantry. I just hope he falls asleep close to the bed. He’s a heavy bastard.

Instead of turning toward their quarters, Cullen kept going, pausing in front of the Kit’s door briefly before knocking softly. A muffled response followed, and Cullen quickly opened the door and entered, turning to see if Rylen would follow.

Solas sat in one chair, reading, while Varric sat in another. The dwarf was making a show of cleaning the crossbow. It was obvious to Rylen that it was for show. Apparently, during the brief time he’d been in the Chantry, there had been another incident.

From somewhere the title of Herald of Andraste had been given to her, and there were at least a few that disapproved. Foremost among them was Chancellor Roderick. He’d have to be dealt with to keep her safe, but first things first.

“Varric,” Cullen said curtly. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I’m just keeping Chuckles here company,” he quipped amiably. “Besides, it’s warmer in here than it is out there. You know me. I just want to be comfortable.”

“Hmmm,” was the only reply he got as Cullen approached the bed.

Cullen stood silently for a moment, looking at the sleeping woman. Slowly he turned to face the elf sitting nearby. “Solas. How is she?”

Solas looked up from his book, then looked at the former templar. “Well enough, I think. Certainly, no worse.

“The mark on her hand is stable, if that’s your concern.”

“Do you know when she’ll wake?”

Solas approached the bed and stretched out his hand. A light blue light enveloped Kit, while Solas closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly to the right. It looked like he was listening to something, or maybe for something. Rylen couldn’t tell. It was magic, and while Rylen was comfortable with it, he didn’t understand how it worked.

The light disappeared and the mage lowered his hand. “Overall, Commander, her health is good. Trying to close the Breach without magic used more energy than she had.”

Cullen was testy now. “Yes, you’ve said that before. It doesn’t answer my question.”

Solas responded with equal testiness. “As I said before, I do expect her to wake, and for the damage to be minimal. She does seem to be more fitful, which I take as a good sign.”

“Why?”

“She’s finding her way out of the Fade, Commander. Or I believe she is.” Solas gracefully lowered himself into the chair and reached for his book. “I cannot say for certain, but my belief is that she should wake tomorrow. That is, however, merely speculation and nothing more.”

“Thank you, Solas.” Cullen fought the urge to reach out and move the lock of hair on her forehead. He wanted to order them all out and care for her himself, but that wasn’t possible. It would raise far too many questions that he didn’t want to answer, even if he could.

Cullen turned on his heel and faced Varric. “There was trouble, I take it.”

Varric smiled. “Nothing that Bianca and I couldn’t handle. No need to worry, Curly. She’s safe as a nug in a rug.”

“Hmmm,” Cullen intoned. “If you need guards, let Rylen know.”

“Will do.” Putting his rag on the table, Varric met Cullen’s eye. “You need a decent meal and some sleep, Curly. You’ll be no good to anyone when you fall face first into a snow drift.”

“That’s not your concern,” Cullen snapped, walking to the door. “You worry about keeping her safe… Please.”

Without even listening for an answer, he walked out, took the few stairs down the hill, and turned left to enter his own house. On the table near the door were a few sandwiches, freshly made, and a hot pot of tea.

Cullen removed his cape and hung it neatly on the hook near the door. “Handling me, Rylen.”

“You refuse to do it yourself, so someone has to.” This was familiar territory for the two. Since the Chantry explosion in Kirkwall, Cullen took almost no care for his own health, and Rylen arranged for food and drink for him to ignore or eat, depending on his mood.

It was a system that was going to make dosing him easier. “Get out of your armor, and I’ll pour some tea. The Seeker wasn’t wrong. You look a mess.”

“I have paperwork to do,” Cullen snapped.

“I know that you hate piles of reports, Cull,” Rylen joked. “It’s not a pitched battle. I doubt it will be fighting back.”

“You obviously don’t have much experience with paperwork,” Cullen snapped back.

There was sense in getting out of the armor, so Cullen began removing his gloves, followed by his vambraces. Boots and greaves followed, and by the time he got to the cuirass, the tea and sandwiches sat on his desk, along with a chunk of cheese and some fruit.  Like all Fereldans, he loved cheese.

He sat, rubbed his forehead, and started in on the nearest pile of parchment. His right hand found a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth while reading. He took up his quill and made a few marks on the report, then neatly put it back into the inkwell before taking the teacup in hand and drinking it down in one go. Half a sandwich, then some cheese, followed by another cup of tea, and he found himself getting very drowsy.

He was about to reach for the teacup again, and he noticed that Rylen was hovering.

“You bastard,” Cullen yawned, his eyes closing.

“You can yell tomorrow,” Rylen chuckled. “Let’s get you in bed.”

Chapter Text

They sat on the decks of a dilapidated dock. “You always wanted to be a Templar?” she asked, her voice low and melodious.

“For as long as I can remember,” he answered.

“Why? Didn’t you want a family, children?”

“My father ran the mill in Honnleath. We were considered well off, I suppose, but there didn’t ever seem to be any more than just enough for the four of us.” He laid back and looked at the sky. It was hard to remember that long ago. Time and tragedy had taken its toll; bad memories and dreams crowded out the good. He could barely remember his parents faces, much less those of his siblings.

He could walk past Mia on the street and not know her.

She nudged him on the shoulder with hers. “Where did you go?” She asked. “No fair going where I can’t follow.”

He turned onto his left side, propping his head on his hand, and looked at her profile. She turned her head slightly and he could see her eyes, the color of sea-glass, and framed by arched black eyebrows. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, and they tilted slightly upward in a small smile.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” She turned toward him more fully. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I wanted to help people. I thought that being a Templar would be the best way to do that.” He lay back and closed his eyes. “I was given leave before I took my vows, and I went home then. They all seemed so… different. Or maybe it was me.”

They lay on the dock for a few minutes, holding hands. He hadn’t felt peace in such a long time.

“Cullen!” he heard his mother calling. “Time to wash up for supper.” But that couldn’t be right because his mother was… “Cullen!”

He could see the woman next to him fading, her hand in his becoming less real with every heartbeat.

“Don’t worry,” said the whisper on the wind. “I’m not far now… Don’t be afraid.”

“Ser,” Jim urged. “Ser… I have a message from Ser Rylen.”

“What is it,” Cullen groaned.

“She’s awake, Ser.” Jim was excited. “Lady Seeker sent a message to Ser Rylen that the Herald is awake.”

“Unh…” He was finding it hard to wake up and shake the dream from his mind. I’m going to murder Rylen for this. 

“Where is Rylen?” Cullen sat up and his head swam. I hate poppy syrup. He thought bitterly.

“He’s on the training ground. He said to tell you that the Seeker would call you when she needs you.” Jim was out of breath. Cullen couldn’t tell if it was out of excitement, fear, or because he’d been running.

“Tell Rylen that I’m my way.”

“Yes, Ser,” Jim panted, already heading for the door. He barely got it open before he was through it, slamming it behind him.

When did sleep start to feel so bad? Cullen asked himself as he started to put on his cuirass. His arms were stiff and reaching up to work the buckles hurt more than they should. Did Rylen drop me on the way to the bed last night?

Half an hour later, he was approaching the training ground. Rylen was on the far side, correcting the stance of an archer. As irritating as he could sometimes be, Rylen was a damn good second in command, and a good friend. Turning, Rylen saw him, waved, and with a word or two left the man he was helping and jogged toward Cullen.

“At least you don’t like you’re about to fall over,” he said when he got close enough. “Leliana should be happy with that.”

Cullen looked at the shorter man without blinking. “Leliana…” he intoned.

“Her orders. She gave me the potion.” He waited a beat to let it sink in. “I was following orders.”

“Forgiven.” Cullen smiled. “Just once.

“So, the Herald is awake?”

“So, I’ve been told.” Rylen began walking toward the command tent. He lifted the flap and waited for Cullen to duck inside. Following he sat on the camp stool closest to the flap. The message from the Seeker only said that she was awake, and she’d meet with you and Lady Montilyet after meeting with her.

“Leliana seems to have some worries that she might be less than cooperative if the first meeting of the Inquisition was en masse.”

“That makes sense,” Cullen murmured as he scanned a report. He looked up to find Rylen looking like he was waiting for Cullen to say something else.

“What?”

To his credit, Rylen didn’t even blink in surprise. “Just waiting for you to tell me.”

“About…” Cullen responded, more playing for time than anything else. Rylen was observant, he knew something was up. He was going to have to ask. Even as a raw recruit, Cullen knew better than to volunteer information. It always led to disaster.  

“Don’t be an arse.” Pouring a cup of tea, Rylen handed the first to his superior, and kept the second for himself.

He was rewarded with raised eyebrows.

“It’s not dosed. Spymaster only gave me one.”

Cullen’s look was unbelieving.

“Want to trade? If it’s dosed, I don’t mind.” He plucked the cup out of the Commander’s hands and drank it to the dregs. “I could use a nap.”

They sat, quietly, looking at each other for a few minutes before Cullen started to laugh. It was good to work with someone that understood him, or at least accepted the situation.

Rylen plunged back in. “You’ve been acting odd since the Blessed, and rather attractive, Herald of Andraste closed the Breach. It’s not exhaustion, so…”

“It’s nothing.” Cullen paused, and looked offended when his friend raised his eyebrows. “Really, it’s just… The past is sometimes inconvenient.”

“Be that as it may, you can tell me now, or Leliana later.” The Knight Captain poured more tea. “Your choice.”

Cullen looked at his teacup with disgust and reached under the rickety table and pulled out a corked bottle. Pulling the cork out with his left hand, he poured a measure of the amber liquid in his own half empty cup and offered some to his second in command.

“How do you figure it’s one or the other?” he asked.

“Telling me will get it out, and less likely to show on your face when you’re with them.” Rylen grinned. “Simple.”

A sigh, and a sip from a cup too small for his large hands. “I met her… Kit, in Kirkwall. Not long after the Chantry exploded. We spent some time together.”

“Some time,” Rylen led. “Time as is naked time?”

Cullen blushed before answering. “Some, though not as much as you think.” Another long drink and he refilled the cup. “Most of the time was talking.

“We met in the evening. Walked through the city, sat on the wharf and tossed bread at the gulls. We talked our favorite books. She liked folktales and history.” He stopped short. It didn’t seem like it was four years ago.

“She said she was a mercenary, hired to protect a shipment of relief supplies.”

Rylen had the picture now. “You fell in love with her.”

“Yes,” was the answer. Spoken without thinking.

“And her?”

There was a moment or two of silence before Cullen answered bitterly. “Obviously not. She disappeared without a trace. Left me a note and I didn’t hear anything else.”

“There are other reasons she could have left.” Rylen’s voice was gentle, trying to heal the hurt in Cullen’s voice.

“She’s noble. I was obviously a diversion.” He stood, and Rylen followed. There was barely room in the tent for them both, and the table between them. “I’m going to the Chantry. Maybe Lady Montilyet has information.”

“I could go,” Rylen cut in.

“You just want to waste time flirting with the Ambassador.”

Rylen backed out and held the flap to allow Cullen egress. “I’d hardly call paying attention to a lovely lady a waste of time, Cull.”

Cullen was walking quickly toward the gate, the guards coming to attention at his approach.

“At least bid her good morning for me,” Rylen yelled at his commanding officer’s back.

He smiled as he watched the gates close and turned toward the training field. Damn idiots, he thought, Don’t even know what end to stick in the enemy.

Chantry sisters were giggling in the corner as Cullen entered the Chantry. He ignored them, as he always did, and strode purposefully in the direction of the Ambassador’s office. There were muffled voices coming from the door beyond, but he could pick out neither words nor the owners voices.

He could hear Chancellor Roderick in Josie’s office.

“She accused me of causing the explosion!” He yelled.

“I find that hard to believe, Chancellor.” Lady Montilyet’s voice was meant to soothe, but it seemed that all it did was fan the flames.

“Chancellor,” Cullen intoned as he entered the room.

“Ah, Knight Commander,” Roderick sniffed. Returning his attention to the Ambassador, his voice returned to the obnoxiously superior tone it usually had. “Perhaps your Templar will make you see reason.”

“I suppose you still want to have Lady Trevelyan executed,” Cullen snapped. “Well, so long as you’re willing to write Grand Cleric Francesca and advise her that you want to kill her niece, I have no objections.”

“Trevelyan?” Roderick gasped. “She is… Grand Cleric…” He was sputtering now, trying to regain his footing.

Josie saw momentary lack of balance and pressed the advantage Cullen had given her. “Did I not tell you? I mustn’t have had the opportunity yet. Our former prisoner is Lady Gianna Trevelyan, daughter of Bann William.

“Have you met them?” she asked, seemingly innocent. “Lovely family… Very devout. I believe that Lady Lucille contributed generously to the fund to rebuild Kirkwall’s chantry. Bann William was instrumental in leading the Free Marches' relief efforts four years ago.”

She smiled as she went in for the kill. “Divine Justinia was incredibly grateful if I recall correctly. He was awarded the Sunburst Medal for service to the people, wasn’t it?”

“I… Uhh…” the Chancellor sputtered.

“We can arrange for a Courier to carry your letter. If you require that, Chancellor.” Josie’s voice was syrupy sweet now. “It would be no trouble. Perhaps you’d like to borrow my desk and write it now?”

It took all of Roderick’s control to refrain from bolting toward the door. “No… thank you. I have plenty of paper in my rooms. I… I… I’ll bring it later.”

He walked, quickly, out the door while Cullen smirked at his back.

Josie squeezed his shoulder in thanks. “Well done, Commander. I didn’t know you had it in you to be so… devious.”

“I simply stated a fact, Josie.” He blushed, something that he was finding an all too frequent occurrence since his arrival in Haven. “Where he took it after that was all your doing.”

The door to the War Room slammed, and a moment later, Cassandra entered Josie’s office.

“Ugh,” she grunted, plopping inelegantly on the sofa near the door.

“Don’t tell me she didn’t agree,” Josie said.

“Oh, she did,” Cassandra answered. “Quite quickly, in fact.”

“Then…” Cullen started.

“She and Leliana are circling each other like the last two combatants in the Melee,” the Seeker grumbled. “It was making my head ache.

“In any case, she is with us, though I suspect that we will all regret it.” She leaned her head to rest it on the back of the couch. “She reminds me too much of Leliana to presume she will be anything other than difficult.”

“Oh, dear.” Josie thought for a moment. “I’ll call for refreshments before we go in.” She walked to the door and motioned to a runner. “I often find that food can serve as a way to smooth things over.”

“Whiskey could work,” Cullen said to himself. He was remembering an evening with Kit, too much whiskey, and more fun than he’d had before. Or since. She tried to teach him how to play Wicked Grace. She failed, but they both laughed while she did it.

“Oh, I should think not,” Josie said. “Some people become argumentative when they’re drinking.” She gave orders to the runner and walked back to her desk to get her clipboard. “Shall we go in now, or wait for the tea? I admit, I can’t wait to get to know her.”

“You can go if you like,” said the Seeker. “I’m going to wait. I’m not looking forward to the introductions.”

Josephine looked puzzled. “Why not? I know her Aunt Lucille quite well. She gives lovely garden parties. I’m sure that any difficulties can be worked through.”

“She has a foul mouth, blasphemes more than Varric, and seems to enjoy annoying people,” Cassandra listed. “Furthermore, she is secretive, shows nothing but contempt for the Chantry, and is quite possibly not even Andrastian.”

Cullen turned his back to hide the smirk on his face. Perhaps she hadn’t changed. Apart from the secretive part, the person Cassandra just described fit the woman he knew very well.  

Chapter Text

Standing in the so-called War Room, Kit gazed over her tea cup at the blond, brunette, and redhead across from her.  She knew all of them, but they didn’t know that.  She took a sip, wondering when the maniacal trio would let her have breakfast.  Cassandra still stood by her side, ignoring Kit’s growling stomach.

“This is Commander Cullen,” Cassandra intoned.  

Kit turned and smiled. “We’ve met.”

“Have you now?” Leliana’s voice held a lot of interest.

She glanced at Cullen and saw panic flash in his honey-colored eyes.

“Of course,” she answered. “At the temple. He was fighting one of those oozie demony things. He killed it, then a demon that looked like a tree branch tried to kill him. I killed it, then closed the rift thingy.”

“The first demon was a shade,” he said. “Followed by a terror demon.”

“I’m sorry,” Kit said, peevish. “I received a classical education. Identifying demons wasn’t a part of the curriculum.”

“What was?” Cullen asked, not without some scorn in his voice.

“Art, music, dancing, literature, languages, philosophy, logic, mathematics, history, and needlework.” Kit smiled. “Alas, lessons on demonology were lacking.” She looked at Cullen with a glint in her eye. “Have you any books you could loan me, or are you offering yourself as a tutor?”

“No to both, Herald,” he replied. “I am, however, relatively certain that you’ll be getting some field training before long.”

“Doesn’t that sound lovely?” This wasn’t the Cullen she remembered. It hurt a bit. She’d hoped for at least a conversation before he ripped her heart out.  Didn’t he care at all?

Cassandra’s voice interrupted her thoughts with another introduction. “This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition’s Ambassador.”

Josie stepped forward and took Kit’s hand. “I’ve heard so much,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you at last.”

“Montilyet,” Kit smiled. “Are you any relation to Yvette?”

“You’ve met my sister,” Josie said slowly.

“Last Autumn, I believe.” Kit thought for a moment. “She was at a soiree hosted by my brother and his wife. She was quite communicative.”

Josephine sighed. “That is Yvette, I’m afraid.” She paused, trying to keep the conversation going. “I’m surprised that we’ve never met at one of your great Aunt Lucille’s garden parties. They have always been so lovely.”

“Ahh…” Kit stalled for a bit of time. “I haven’t been invited for a long time. When I was 16, there was an incident with a punch bowl. After that, invitations to Lucille’s parties got thin on the ground.

“Lucille was very fond of that punch bowl.”

“A punch bowl…” Cassandra prompted.

“A young man decided to grab my breast. He then tripped, most likely because my fist hit the back of his head, and his face broke the punch bowl.”

“It was a very nice punch bowl,” Josephine insisted.

Cassandra and Leliana both laughed, Cullen looked slightly amused, and Josephine was very obviously sorry she asked.

The story wasn’t over yet though. “Lucille might have forgiven that, but then I broke his arm in three places and repeated stomped on his… groin while shouting obscenities.” Kit looked down, shook her head slowly, and failed at looking contrite.

“Lucille and his father were trying to convince me to marry him. My actions put a damper on the negotiations.” Kit looked thoughtful and reached for a biscuit. “To be honest, I think she was more pissed about the lost trade agreement, but the punch bowl took the blame.”

“Yes,” Josie stammered. “I can…” Her voice trailed off, leaving silence in its wake.

Cassandra resumed introductions with, “Of course you know Sister Leliana.”

“My position here requires a degree of…”

With a roll of the eyes, the Seeker interrupted. “She is our Spymaster.”

“Yes, Cassandra,” Leliana scowled. “Tactfully put.”

Kit rolled her eyes. “Did you think I didn’t figure that out already, Sister?” The two looked at each other, neither blinking. “You were the spymaster… oh I’m sorry, Left Hand of Divine Justinia. Not much difference between the two, but Mama constantly reminds me that the niceties should be observed. Am I to believe you suddenly changed jobs?

“When you put it that way,” Leliana answered.

“Speaking of which.” Kit was on a roll now. “I suppose I have you to thank for the Herald of Andraste bull shit I heard on my way here?”

Josie felt the need to intervene. “Some are calling you the Herald of Andraste, yes. It frightens the Chantry.”

“Imagine that…” Kit said dryly.

“The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we are heretics for harboring you.” She was trying to sound reasonable, but it was clear that this caused a problem for the Ambassador.

“Chancellor Roderick,” Kit and Cassandra said in unison.

“The Chantry being against us does limit our options,” Josie interjected, trying to get the conversation on more stable footing. “We can approach neither the Mages nor Templars for assistance in closing the Breach.”   

“How, by Elderath’s hairy ball sack, am I the Herald of Andraste?” Kit demanded.

“People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.” Cassandra stated blandly, and Leliana took over narration. “Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading–”

“Which we have not.” Cassandra interjected.

Kit followed the conversation back and forth, thinking, at least for a moment, that it was like watching some weird sort of ball game being played. Her life was the ball, and she’d had about enough.

Holding up her hand, Kit cut in. “Of course, you haven’t. Why would you try to stop something that your Spymaster went to so much trouble to start? That would be stupid.”

“I don’t understand.” Cullen looked at Kit with a confused expression.

Kit wasn’t sure if she was appalled or impressed by his lack of guile. “She didn’t know if I’d stay or not,” she said, pointing at Leliana. “And she needed a way to keep me here. Enter the Herald of Andraste. Half of Thedas is going to want me dead as a heretic, the other half will hail me as a religious hero. I’m going to need protection from them both, and if I decide to leave, she can use either side to find me again. I have to say, it’s actually brilliant, if diabolical.”

It seemed that the Commander still didn’t understand. “Are you saying that you believe Leliana set you up?”

Kit’s eyes rolled so far back in her head that she could see the day before yesterday. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she took a deep breath and looked up. “Yes. It makes perfect sense, it’s also not surprising. After all, here we are in a Chantry. Each and every one of you are connected to the Chantry or are a Chantry supporter. The Chantry is well known for just taking what it wants and saying ‘fuck it’ to what anyone else wants. Why would this be any different? Why give someone a choice and risk them saying no, when you can force them to help and eliminate that risk altogether?”

Everyone around the table had the good grace to look uncomfortable with what Kit said. Except for Leliana who looked positively smug. Kit calculated the odds of being able to stab the redheaded bitch and get away with it.

They were terrible, so she decided not to risk it… Yet. There would probably come a time when the odds were in her favor, but it wasn’t today.

Cullen broke the silence with something rather inane, but harmless. “Herald of Andraste is quite the title. How do you feel about that?”

“I,” she declared, “Am not the Herald of anyone, especially Andraste.” She leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “Thedas has a habit of setting its prophets on fire. Hard to imagine why I’d want to be one of those.”  

“People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, that’s you.” Leliana seemed rather proud of herself.

“Those people are idiots.” Kit was having none of it.

“For others, you’re the sign of everything that’s gone wrong,” Josephine added.

“Also, idiots… Fan-Fucking-tastic…” Kit snarled. “And the Breach?”

“They believe it’s a threat, but that we can do nothing about it.” Cassandra answered, her voice heavy with scorn.

“Are we certain that they are incorrect?” Kit asked. It didn’t matter, of course. They were going to have to try, but the question did need to be asked.

Leliana was the only one willing to meet her eyes, which surprised her. “Solas is.”

Kit dramatically wiped her brow feigning relief. “Well, that makes me feel better. Are there any concurring opinions, or is he alone in this?”

“He does seem to be the expert,” Josie posited.

Kit narrowed her eyes and looked incredulous. “That strikes no one as oddly fortuitous?” Looking around the table, she saw blank faces. “A big green hole opens up in the sky, and the one person in Thedas that has any clue what it might be just happens to be nearby? That’s not… Shit you people are gullible.”

Leliana smirked. “It may be odd, Herald,” she said, grinning when the Herald scowled at the title. “However, I’m not going to question the air if it’s all we have to breathe.”

Taking a deep breath, Kit closed her eyes and let the air out of her lungs slowly. “Fair enough. Where do we start?”

“A Chantry Cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you.” Leliana leaned forward and placed a small marker on the map. “She’s here, outside of Redcliffe. It’s not far, and she knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

“I supposedly murdered the Divine,” Kit said. “You are all heretics, and talking to a Revered Moth…

“Wait, did you say Giselle? Mother Giselle? The one from Jader?”

Josephine consulted her notes before answering. “I believe so. Does it make a difference?”

“Shit yeah,” Kit replied without thinking. “She got the Chantry to open its wallet wide enough to let the moths out during the Blight. Odds are decent that she’s not going to want to murder me as soon as she sees me.”

“Is that a worry for you?” Leliana quipped.

“As I’m sure you’ve informed the others,” the younger woman said, “My history with the Chantry is littered with, well let’s call it a bit of discontent.” She looked at the half full teacup and wished she had something stronger at hand. “I have no trouble believing in the Maker or Andraste. I do not believe, however, that the Chantry does the work of either.”

“Really?” Cassandra snapped, her tone bristling.

Kit took it as a challenge. Besides, best to get it out in the open now. “For Ages, the Chantry has been a dumping ground for young nobles used to pay their relatives perceived debts to the Maker. They force young women into miserable celibacy, at least they have to be so discreet that the world thinks they’re celibate, and the young men into lyrium addiction. Those without a true vocation become monsters, and a straight line can be drawn from that to the abuse of mages and elves in Thedas.”

Slamming her fist on the table, Cassandra yelled, “Divine Justinia wanted to change all that!”

“And failed,” Kit murmured. “You can’t undo ages of abuse in 5 years, Seeker, and that’s all she had.”

Kit finished her cold tea and set the cup gently back in the saucer. This, she thought, was going to get us nowhere. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. “Seeker, I’m tired. I’m hungry. If we stay at this table much longer, I’m going to get very, very bitchy.”

Josie took Kit’s admission and ran with it. “Let’s adjourn for the day. We can pick this up sometime tomorrow after everyone has had time to think.” She looked around the table, daring anyone to object. When no one did, she finished. “Good, then I’ll send a runner to let you know when to meet tomorrow.”

Before she was finished speaking, Kit was out the door, slamming it behind her.

“That could have gone better,” Cullen said to no one in particular.

Josie countered. “It also could have gone far worse. We’ve had days to get used to this. All things considered; she’s accepted the situation remarkably well.” Josephine busied herself tidying up the room, stacking papers, and putting teacups on a tray to be taken back into the kitchens. “We’ll give her time to think, and things will go more smoothly next time.”

“She believes that the Chantry is responsible for everything,” Cassandra grumbled.

“She’s hardly the only one, Cassandra.” Leliana said, pragmatically, as she followed the Seeker out the door. “The Mages and the Templars likely agree with her, though for different reasons. Perhaps that will work in our favor.”

The door closed behind them, and Cullen was left alone, contemplating the map in the center of the table. Right now, it was useless, doing nothing but showing the enormity of the task they faced. His head was pounding, his heart racing, and his body was screaming for the lyrium he denied it. He wanted to leave the Templars behind him, but by addicting him to lyrium, the Chantry made that all but impossible.

He straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked to the door. Before he opened it, he put on what Rylen called his “Commander face.” He tried to project all the calm and certainty that he didn’t feel and faced his people as the man he thought they needed.

There was only one problem. Right now, he agreed with Kit Trevelyan. This was all partly his fault, and he didn’t know how to live with that.

King Alistair once told Kit that in Ferelden, you could tell the lamb stew was done when it was a uniformly grey color and had turned into a lumpy mush. At the time, she’d laughed, thinking he was telling one of his jokes. Looking at the bowl in front of her, she knew that next time she saw him he was owed an apology.  She’d finally escaped the Inquisition’s leaders and this was what greeted her at the tavern.  Maker, it was depressing.

“What did you fall into this time,” she asked herself.

Haven was a small town. It wasn’t even a town, really. It had a Chantry that, apparently doubled as a jail, judging from the cells in the cellar. If one were in the mood to be charitable, the dwellings could be called cottages. There were no shops, really. A rude and offensive man named Segritt had a stall where he paid as little as possible for your things while charging a premium for his. He refused to haggle, which was inconvenient seeing as all her coin went up with the Temple.

It boasted a tavern called the Singing Maiden, where Kit sat at present, contemplating her unappetizing food, and trying to decide her next step. She had a few problems that needed to be addressed.

The first was a lack of funds. That was easily remedied if she could find a way to get a discreet message to Denerim. Of course, she couldn’t send it through the Ambassador. The Nightingale would be watching outgoing messages, and there was no telling how the message would be changed as it passed through her hands.

The second was to see if anything she had on her person was recovered when they found her. She wasn’t concerned about the purse. That was gone for good, and there hadn’t been much in it anyway. She would like to know if the leather bag containing Hard in Hightown and her embroidery survived the explosion. Finding that would require a conversation with the spymaster, and she wanted to stay as far away from her as possible. Not because she was afraid of her. Leliana had nothing on Mata, but because there was simply no point. The Left Hand gave nothing away if it didn’t gain her something.

Kit has no intention of playing that game until she had ammunition.

That brought her to the problem of Cullen Rutherford. That man was the most dangerous of the issues she faced. It was also her own damn fault, and she couldn’t fix it.

She’s the one that left him, still asleep after the best night of her life. It wasn’t just the sex, even though that was sublime. He was a good man; kind and gentle, intelligent, well read, and fun to talk to. Of course, she left him because, if William Trevelyan’s youngest child was good at anything, it was fucking up her own life.

At a soiree or ball, Lady Gianna was a force of nature. Her Tevinter grandmother and Marcher mother had taught her very well in the art of politics. She could juggle nobles like she juggled her daggers, and she could be brilliant. But any situation that bordered on the personal, and she fucked it up every single time.

So, of course she left him… In the middle of the night… With a stupid fucking note that probably only made things worse. He hadn’t known who she was, or why she was in Kirkwall in the first place. Now he knew she wasn’t a merc, and the Maker only knows what he thought of her.

Making up her mind quickly, she finished her stew, it was only moderately awful.  Then before she lost her nerve, got up and headed for the door.  She had a strapping Templar to visit.

A few minutes later, she stood at the door that one of the runners had indicated was his. She took a deep breath and knocked. If the Maker was kind, and she doubted that with every breath in her body, he wouldn’t be home. A moment later she had proof of the Maker’s disdain, because she heard steps inside, and the door opened to a scowling man.  She felt grey peas churning in her stomach.

“I thought we could…” she started.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her in, slamming the door behind him. “What do you want?” he growled, moving quickly to put distance between them. He didn’t trust himself alone with her. His head hurt and was pounding earlier had turned into what was akin to a vise, squeezing his skull with unrelenting pressure. His stomach was threatening to rebel, not that he’d eaten much that day, but he could taste the bile in the back of his throat.

He didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or turn her over his knee and spank her like a naughty child. Each scenario had its advantages, but mostly he just wanted to be alone and pray for death.

One thing he didn’t want to do is have this conversation right now. He’d only make a hash of it.

“Well,” he barked. “You’re here. What did you want?”

Kit took a step forward and stopped. Something wasn’t right. After years of judging people, and social situations, she just knew that there was something else going on here. She had no clue what it was, but until she figured it out, this conversation needed to wait.

“I’m sorry,” she said, backing slowly toward the door. “This is obviously not a good time, and it can wait.”

“You lied to me,” he accused, anger and hurt gaining the upper hand over his manners. “When you were in Kirkwall, you were what? Getting your boots dirty with the low borns?”

He felt the impact of her fist hitting his face. Blood ran as the pain radiated outward from his nose. He looked up in confusion and saw her walking calmly toward the door. Her hand reached for the knob and hesitated. Then she turned around to look him in the eye, her face a mask of bland indifference.

Her voice, when she spoke, was dripping with distain and scorn. “You needn’t worry, Commander. We will never speak of this again. It seems, however, that I’m not the only person who misrepresented themselves in Kirkwall.

“You are not the type of man I thought you were.” A small, cruel smile appeared on her lips. “Thank you for that. It will make things… simpler.”

With that, Kit Trevelyan calmly turned the latch on the door and strolled out. Cullen, usually not one given to obscenity uttered one word.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

She reached up and idly played with a blond curl that touched his ear.

“I need a haircut,” he said. “You don’t need to remind me.”

“I said nothing of the sort,” she said, smiling. She pulled the offending lock of hair out to its full length and giggled as it sprang back into place. “I happen to like your curls. They’re adorable.”

Catching her hand in his he commanded, “Stop that.” The effect spoiled by laughter, and he took the captured wrist and kissed the palm.

He turned to face her, and with his left hand, he cradled the back of her neck; supporting the weight of her head as he bent down for a kiss. He placed his right hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer.

He moaned into her mouth as his tongue sought hers.

“You taste of sweet wine and plums,” he said before kissing her again.

She relaxed into his arms, wanting nothing more than to stay there forever. It felt comfortable, which was as frightening as it was exhilarating.

“I need to get back,” he said, pulling away reluctantly. “Will I see you later?”

“I’ll be here,” she agreed. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll bring you a treat.”

Leaning down, he kissed her gently on the forehead. “You’re the only treat I need.”

Kit wandered up through layers of sleep only to find that her situation hadn’t changed. She was still in Haven, still the Herald of Andraste, and still wearing a long dead Chantry sister’s underwear.

The previously used state of the smalls wasn’t the problem. The size of the smalls were. The waist was only a bit too roomy, but the ass sagged halfway down her thighs. Someone looked at her ass, then looked at the knickers, and decided they were the same size.

Did her ass really look that big?

Yesterday, she agreed to join this Inquisition and pissed of the Right and Left Hand of the Divine. She’d made an enemy of Chancellor Roderick, though he was, admittedly, most of the way there already. She called the Quartermaster a fucking moron, made the Alchemist sorry he’d saved her life, and insulted the only shopkeeper Haven had.

Then she broke Cullen’s nose.

No one that knew her at all well would have been surprised that it had taken her only half a day to fuck it up royally. Max and Gavin would have been betting on less time than that. After all, this was about building relationships with people.

I suck at relationships with people, she thought.

Kit stood up and crossed the room, contemplating the small clothes situation. She could go without, “going Qunari” as her brothers would term it. Not a bad option except that the baby-shit brown pajamas that were left for her to wear were made of leather.

Leather on bare bits chafed, and things like, well hair, got caught in seams and could be uncomfortable. She was going to be spending the day with people that she wouldn’t be speaking to under normal circumstances, so uncomfortable wasn’t the best way to go.

On the other, well leg, the far too large underthings would like work its way up into her butt crack, and she’d not only be trying to negotiate with Chantry assholes, but she’d be doing it with a nasty wedgy and the urge to pull her unmentionables out of her lady bits.

The choice wasn’t an easy one. After a few minutes of deep thought, she went for the bare ass choice, and hoped that she wouldn’t be bald down there by the end of the day. Not that it would matter, mind you. She didn’t have a lover, and the only man she’d even consider was gushing blood out of his face the last time she saw him. It was safe to assume that she wasn’t getting laid anytime soon.

Apart from the Counsel meeting that was supposed to happen… well sometime that day, Kit had three appointments.

The first was with the Lady Montilyet. ‘Getting to know each other in an informal setting,’ the note said. Translation: The Ambassador wanted money and support from the Trevelyan family. Food was supposed to put her in a more agreeable mood.

It wasn’t going to work. Kit wasn’t going to work against her family’s best interest, and at present, the Inquisition wasn’t even close. Her father and Griffin would likely send some material support… quietly, but nothing public. Especially if Kit advised them not to, which she would. Until she had a better grasp of the lay of the land, she wanted her family far away from the shit storm.

Lady Josephine Montilyet wouldn’t like that, but Kit honestly didn’t give a damn.

The second was a meeting with Leliana. What did she even call her, anyway? Left Hand was decidedly… odd. Nightingale had possibilities, but it was very Orlesian sounding. Kit decided on Sister. Simple, down to earth, and decidedly less than intimidating.

The third was a spar with the Seeker after lunch. Phrased as a request for a demonstration of her ‘ability to protect herself,’ what Cassandra wanted was a training dummy that would fight back. That was something Kit could handle. Growing up and sparring with nine brothers fully prepared her for anything the Seeker could dish out on that score. She’d been knocking shields out of men’s hands since she was ten years old.

A spar would also burn off some of the excess energy that kept her mind spinning. That might help her sleep without the pesky dreams of revoltingly handsome blondes.

Lost in her own thoughts as she approached the Chanty, Kit almost fell on her ass when she ran into Rylen. His hand shot out to grab her elbow to steady her. When she once again had her feet firmly under her, Rylen gallantly took her right hand in his. He bent at the waist, lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed an inch above it.

“A bit courtly for a Templar,” Kit quipped, looking up at him. “I know you, don’t I?”

“Knight Captain Rylen, My Lady.” He smiled.

The fuck is it with hot Templars? Kit thought.

“Starkhaven,” she said aloud. “You know Tristan, don’t you?”

“I do,” he said. “How is he?”

“No idea. Last I knew he was still in Starkhaven, kissing Frankie’s ass.” She looked down at the hand he was still holding. “I’m going to need that later,” she said.

He let go and smiled. “Just checking to see if you injured it last night.” He took her hand in his and examined the knuckles. “It seems that someone taught you to properly throw a punch.”

Her left hand went to her forehead. Shit!

Rylen leaned closer. “I convinced him to see a healer,” he whispered. “He’s still as pretty as ever.”

Kit snatched her hand out of his, then met his eyes and glared. “I’m less concerned about his pretty face than I am about having to explain exactly why I punched him in the face.”

That damned smile again. “It’s the argument I used to convince him.”

She squared her shoulders. “Thanks, I think,” she said, maneuvering around him to go see Josie.

Stepping in front of her, he leaned in close. “I hope you won’t hold his momentary stupidity against him. He didn’t mean to insult you.”

Kit laughed. “You think that I punched him because he insinuated that I was a whore? Fuck. It’s a rare day that I don’t get called one three times before breakfast. I didn’t punch him because he insulted me, Knight Captain.”

Rylen looked confused. “Why then?” he asked.

Kit grinned broadly. She loved having the upper hand. “You’re a smart man, Knight Captain. You can figure it out.” Kit took two steps back and bowed her head slightly. “Good day, Ser.”

As she walked into the Chantry, she stared straight ahead, ignoring the gossiping Chantry sisters, and few nobles that hadn’t left Haven when the Temple exploded. Kit was surprised that there were any there at all. Nothing drives the rats out of a building faster that bigger rats, and demons did qualify as bigger rats. She’d always found that not making eye contact with Orlesians made it easier to avoid speaking to them.

The Ambassador’s door was already open. She stood inside talking to a man in gaudy clothes and a ridiculous mask. Orlesians, she thought. Worse than rats. More like lice… easy to catch, hard to get rid of.

Making a quick decision to be as offensive as possible, Kit strode into the room and plopped her ass on the sofa next to the door. Rudeness was Orlesian repellent, she only hoped it worked this time.

 “The Inquisition cannot remain, Ambassador, if you can’t prove it was founded on Justinia’s orders.”

“This is an…” began Josephine.

“So,” Kit interrupted. “You’re calling Seeker Pentaghast and the Nightingale both liars? I’ve heard that doing either is usually lethal.” Kit pulled out a small knife and began cleaning under her nails. “You’re either very brave or pathologically stupid.”

She grinned at Josie and rose. “I guess I should go find the nearest bookie to place my bet before the odds get set.” She reached the door and looked over her shoulder. “I think Leliana will get to him first. Thoughts, Ambassador?”

The Orlesian sputtered. “Who is this rude woman, Ambassador?”

“Marquis DuRellion, may I introduce Lady Gianna Trevelyan.” The smile on the Ambassador’s face seemed benign, but there was a twinkle in the eye. “She is the brave soul that risked her life to close the breach. Lady Gianna, may I present the Marquis DuRellion.”

The Marquis raised his hand and fluttered in the air, like he was batting away flies. “My wife, Lady Machen of Denerim, has claim to Haven by ancient treaty with the monarchs of Ferelden. We were honored to lend its use to Divine Justinia. She is… she was a woman of supreme merit. I will not let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds.”

“Wouldn’t the Empress have to negotiate that with the King, My Lord?” Kit questioned, a bland look on her face. “I’d think that with Gaspard hot on her heels, Celene have better things to do.”

“She will, of course, find time for…” DuRellion began.

“Of course,” Kit interrupted, as she sat down again, “The Left Hand of the Divine is friends with King Alistair and Queen Sofia. They fought the Fifth Blight, together, if I recall correctly. How do you think that’s going to play out?”

“Young woman…”

“If you survive the next couple of days, that is.” Kit finished, giving Josie a conspiratorial wink.

“If you won’t take her word for it, I’m afraid Seeker Pentaghast must challenge him to a duel.” Ambassador Montilyet looked at her clipboard. “It’s a matter of honor, you see. Shall I arrange the bout for tonight, Ser?”

“I… Uhhh…” the Marquis stuttered, mentally searching for a way out of the trap.

“I suppose… Perhaps my reaction to the Inquisition was a bit hasty. You may stay, while I think on it.” The Marquis was sweating profusely now, hoping that this would be enough to keep him alive until he could arrange passage out of Haven.

Without even taking his leave, the Marquis DuRellion made a hasty retreat, practically running once he was out of eyesight. His footsteps echoed down the nave, followed by a slammed door.

Kit began to giggle. “Well, that was fun.”

“Threatening dignitaries isn’t fun, Your Worship, nor is it helpful.” Josie sat at the desk. “It is my job to see that the stories told of us are complimentary. You made that difficult at best.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“I wasn’t thanking you,” Josie said, her lips in a tight line.

“You should be. I just made things a lot easier for you in the long run.” Kit rose and began pacing. “I set the odds and expectations a lot lower than they were. We’ll take the jumps with ease.”

“I beg your pardon?” Josie was aghast and confused. “You insulted the Marquis. He will return to Val Royeau and tell everyone of your rudeness. It’s a disaster.”

“No, it’s not. I just made myself the bad guy.” Kit thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain it. “I gave you a favorable position in the middle of the track, and you’ll be carrying less weight.”

Josie still looked confused.

“I’ll get Varric to explain handicapping a horse race to you. Trust me, I helped.” She sat in the chair opposite the desk and leaned forward. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” the Ambassador replied. “I’d like to reach out to your family for support.”

The answer was short. “No.”

Josie looked like she’d been hit with a dead nug. Kit almost laughed.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m considered a heretic, yes?” Kit asked.

“Yes, we all are.”

“I’m not pulling my family into that.” Kit explained. “You can write, if you like, and you probably already have, but they won’t help unless I ask, and I won’t ask.”

“We need support, Herald.” Josie lectured. “A family such as yours could help us raise that support. I simply don’t understand why you wouldn’t want that.”

Kit leaned back in the chair. “Ambassador, I want my family to survive.” She paused and looked Josie directly in the eye. “Chancellor Roderick wants me dead, and if he can’t get to me, I believe he will use the Chantry to get to them. I will not allow that to happen.”

“But…” Josie started.

“This is not a discussion, Ambassador,” Kit yelled. “Nor is it a negotiation. You will have no help from my family until I am certain that it will bring them no harm.”

Kit stood, turned on her heel, and strode toward the door. “Don’t ask again.”

Without waiting for a reply, she left, slamming the door behind her. As she left the Chantry, she was aware of the eyes on her.

This is going to get old really fast, she thought as she went to go find Leliana. Fight one went in her favor. Fight two was with a more formidable opponent.

When Kit entered the tent that the Spymaster used as an office, she found Leliana on her knees in prayer. “’Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.’ Is that what you want from us? Blood? To die so that your will is done? Is death your only blessing?”

Sensing the presence of another person, the older woman rose and turned toward Kit. “You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all of this? What’s His game?”

Kit held up her hands. “No, I don’t speak for Andraste. I never claimed to.” She moved around the tent keeping a wary eye on the Bard. “You people claim I’m the Herald, not me. Let’s not be confused about that.

“Secondly, I’m not entirely sure how this is a fucking game.”

“Do you see the sky?” Leliana demanded. “What about the temple ruins? The bones lying in the dust? Even if you didn’t support the Divine’s peace you wouldn’t call this right. Who could? So many innocent lives – the faithful murdered where the holiest of holies once stood. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game or a cruel joke?”

Kit thought before answering. She didn’t have a good answer, only an honest one. “Fate, maybe? Destiny? A means to an end? I have no answers for you, Sister. I wish I did.”

 “The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all. Our lives. Our deaths. Justinia gave Him everything she had, and He let her die!”

Kit reached out to touch Leliana on the shoulder, hoping to comfort her even a little. “I’m sorry for your loss.” A tear slid down Kit’s cheek when she remembered her cousins. “Three of my cousins were killed in the explosion, too.”

The Spymaster jerked away from Kit’s hand and spun to face her. “Not just me. All of us. She was the Divine. She led the faithful. She was their heart!” She glared at Kit. “How dare you compare the loss of your cousins to what Thedas lost?”

Narrowing her eyes, Kit’s lips drew themselves into a harsh line. “Well, I’m obviously not the right person to help you. Maybe a Chantry Sister? Someone who…”

Leliana laughed harshly. “So, I should let a priest comfort me? No, this is my burden. I regret that I even let you see me like this.”

 Kit turned to leave. “You and me both, Sister.” She took a few steps out of the tent, then turned back. “You loved the Divine, that’s clear. I loved my cousins. We could find something in common in that, but you would rather suffer in anger. I understand that more that you can imagine.”

As she turned to go, a hooded man ran into the tent, and whispered to the Spymaster. Kit, always on the lookout for information, leaned against the tent pole.

“Butler betrayed us,” the spymaster snarled.  “There were so many questions surrounding Farrier’s death. Did he think we wouldn’t notice? He’s killed Farrier. One of my best agents. And he knows where the others are. You know what must be done. Make it clean. Painless, if you can. We were friends once.”

Kit cleared her throat. “Is killing this man, Butler, really the best course of action?’

“He betrayed us. He murdered my agent.”

“So, you just kill him?”

“You find fault with my decision?”

Kit looked up, contemplating the tent pole. “I think it’s a tad… hasty.” She smiled slightly before continuing. “It’s likely that he has knowledge could use. Wouldn’t it be better to at least try to find out why? More information is better than less, don’t you think?”

 “He’s a loose end that could escape and get word to our enemies,” Leliana snapped. “Butler’s betrayal put our agents in danger. I condemn one man to save dozens. I may not like what I do, but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this.”

Kit nodded as if agreeing. “If you don’t like doing it, maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t do it. Besides, ideals are important. Ten years ago, would you have just ordered someone murdered?”

“Ten years ago was a different time, Herald.”

Shaking her head, Kit disagreed. “Not that different.”

“Very well.” Leliana stated with annoyance. “I will think of another way to deal with this man.” She turned to her agent and added, “Apprehend Butler, but see that he lives.”

“Now if you’re happy,” Leliana said, looking over her shoulder. “I have more work to do.”

“I wouldn’t use the word happy, but…” Kit stopped.  

“One thing, Sister. A question if you don’t mind.”

Leliana turned and raised an eyebrow.

“I assume,” Kit started, “That you have lists containing the names of all who were in Haven when it exploded?”

“Of course, why?” Leliana was curious.

“My brothers, Max and Gavin were supposed to join me.” Kit’s tone trembled a little. “I need to know if they’d arrived yet when…” Her words trailed off. Saying it made the possibility very real.

Leliana walked calmly to her makeshift desk and consulted her lists. “Assuming that they went through the proper protocols when arriving, then no. They weren’t at the temple.”

Kit gave a little sob of relief. Her brothers were alive. “Thank you, Leliana,” she said.

“I would prefer, Herald, that my outburst be forgotten. It’s not often that I’m caught off guard.” Leliana bent over to return to work. “I’m also very glad that your brothers are safe.’

“May I sit?” Cullen asked, waiting politely for an answer.   

“If you like, Commander,” Kit answered. She tore off a bit of bread and stuck it in mouth.  That gave her an excuse not to talk and kept her from saying things that would turn nearby ears red.

“I… uh…” Cullen stuttered. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to apologize for his terrible behavior, it’s that sitting in front of her, the carefully rehearsed speech didn’t come readily to his lips.

Kit put her fork down and looked at the man seated in front of her. She knew what he wanted to say, but she also knew him well enough that if she waited for him to spit it out, they’d be here all day. There was a part of her that wanted to do just that. It was, in part, because she wanted him to be uncomfortable, even if she knew it was unworthy. She also wanted to hope that if she spent time with him, the awkwardness and hurt would melt away, and they could get back some of what they had in Kirkwall. She missed the man she’d knew in Kirkwall.

She was a realist, knew that wouldn’t happen, and had things to do before they departed for the rural Ferelden backwater known as the Hinterlands.

“I see no reason for you to apologize, Commander.” She picked up her fork to spear a bit of sausage. “I am not offended. You spoke your mind, and I made my position clear. It’s over.”  Maker, those words hurt.

Putting the sausage in her mouth, she chewed for a moment, then swallowed before she continued. “If you feel the need to assuage the unnecessary guilt, consider yourself forgiven and be done with it.

“I have to meet the Seeker soon.” She picked up the tankard of ale and took a drink, washing the taste of the overcooked sausage with it. “She wants to make sure I can deal with actual enemies, whatever that means, and I’m supposed to spar with her. I can’t imagine being late to a date as her training dummy will endear myself to her, so I’d like to keep that from happening.”

She continued to eat while he sat there. There was much he wanted to say, but none of it fit the moment he found himself in.

She put down the fork and looked into his honey-colored eyes. Those beautiful eyes that she’d seen contempt and anger in too many times.  “Was there anything else you needed, Commander?” she asked, the edge in her voice sharper than she’d intended.

“No, of course,” he stuttered, his chair scraping the floor as he rose. “I’ll let you finish your meal.”

After he left, there was a Cullen sized hole in the room that she wished wasn’t there. She finished her lunch, though all the flavors had gone.

As she left the tavern, she waved to Flissa and shut the door softly. Kit made her way toward the gates, hoping to find Cassandra ready for a fight. She needed someone to vent her frustrations on. At least the Seeker carried a shield, which was more that Cullen did when she dismissed him so curtly.

All he had was a sad expression in his eyes. It was like kicking a puppy, and she hated herself for it. 

Training stopped when Cassandra and the Herald unsheathed their weapons and began to spar. Were he in charge of the matter, Cullen would have insisted on practice swords and daggers, but when he made the suggestion to the Seeker, her disgusted noise almost left a mark. “I assure you, Commander, that I am perfectly capable of controlling my weapon and ensuring that the Herald isn’t harmed badly.”

While that was certainly true, Cullen was more concerned about the Herald and her weapons. The only time he’d seen her in combat was at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and at the time he had other things on his mind. Namely, not dying from the demon attacks. He’d heard from sources that she had skills, but he found Varric’s word less than convincing.

Seeing her in action was mesmerizing. She was very skilled. She was fast, and she fought dirty. Dirtier than Hawke, and that was saying a lot.

Along with everyone else, Cullen and Rylen watched the show intently. Cassandra hadn’t managed to touch her, and for her part, Kit had taken Cassandra’s shield away from her twice.

He made a mental note to ask how she did that.

“Tristan said she was good,” Rylen said. “He never said how good.”

Cassandra lunged, Kit laughed as she nimbly stepped out of reach, whirled, and tapped Cassandra on the back with the hilt of her dagger.

Cullen nodded, not taking his eyes off the spar. “Cassandra is getting frustrated,” he said. “She’s going to start making mistakes soon.”  

“So,” Rylen said. “You insulted her, and she punched you in the face. That’s how your nose got broken.”

Cassandra spun around, ready with a shield bash, to find her opponent five feet away.  

“Is now the time for this?” Cullen questioned.

Cullen glanced at Rylen, and the Knight Captain looked back, one eyebrow higher than the other.

“Yes, and…” Cullen answered, trying to be non-committal.

Kit went on the attack, feinting to the left, going quickly into stealth, and attacking from the right. Cassandra was not fooled and raised her shield to block the Herald’s blades. Kit grinned and leapt backwards to avoid the Seeker’s follow up slash with the flat of her sword. There was a sprinkling of applause, and money changed hands.

“Do you feel better?”

Rylen wasn’t going to let go of this.

“She broke my nose.” Cullen answered.  

Rylen smirked. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Do you want her less now?”

Kit dodged low, sliding deftly under the Seeker’s raised shield, and a quick kick to the knee left Cassandra struggling to maintain balance.

Cullen sighed. This is not a conversation he wanted to have, and he certainly didn’t want to have it here.

 In front of everyone. “No.”  He retreated from the battlefield.

“Of course not.” Rylen said dryly. “You like women that don’t need you. Your entire history with women in Kirkwall is based solely on women you can walk away from without feeling guilty. If she’d cried and run away, you’d want her less. She didn’t do that, so now you have a broken nose and a hard on for the Herald of Andraste.”.

Cullen blanched.  We’re his feelings for Kit based on her not needing him?  No.  He liked strong women, but this was something else.  Hawke never needed him, Cassandra didn’t, and he didn’t find himself with a desire to woo them, much less pine for them.  Maybe with them, he wouldn’t find his greaves in his mouth all the time.  “That’s not what’s going on here.” He insisted.  

“Then what is?”  Rylen challenged.

Kit followed up the kick to the knee by smashing into Cassandra’s right shoulder with her left. The shield hit the ground first, and Cassandra sprawled inelegantly on top of it.

The fight was over, and Cullen turned to face his second in command. “How is this relevant to anything?” he asked.

“Cull.” He sighed. “If I noticed, so will everyone else. Do you really want Leliana or Josephine asking questions? I’m surprised half the Inquisition isn’t asking questions with the way you’re looking at her.”

“Shit.”

He looked over at Kit. His trainees saw the spar, so she wasn’t just the Herald of Andraste, but also the woman who bested the Hero of Orlais. Even Cassandra was smiling as people congratulated them both on a good spar.

His feelings were going to be a problem; one that he had no idea how to solve. If he even wanted to solve them, and he wasn’t sure if he did.

Life without lyrium was hard enough without adding being in love with Kit Trevelyan in the process.

He needed to talk to Cassandra.

Chapter Text

Kit thought the plan was to get on the road to the Hinterlands as early as possible, but instead she was sitting in the Ambassador’s office, getting a lecture about propriety and proper behavior.

Her mother had stopped giving her those by the time she was 10. Not just because Kit already knew how to behave, because she did. Mostly because giving those lectures usually just pissed off the lectured Kit, and almost guaranteed less than helpful behavior.

Maybe, Kit thought, it’s time to teach the Ambassador about that.

Josie leaned back and looked at the Herald primly. “Please remember… You can catch a lot more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

“Why do I want to catch flies, Ambassador?” Kit asked, eyes wide in innocence. “Have you spent any time in horse barns? Horse shit attracts a lot of flies.”

Josie simply stared. It wasn’t often that people argued with her about being nice.  Not even Leliana argued with her, she listened quietly and did what she wanted anyways.

Having found the target, Kit continued to press. “Flies also find bloated, rotting corpses attractive. So, if the object is to catch flies, I’d like to keep my options open. If you don’t mind.”

Josephine’s teacup stopped halfway to her lips. The ambassador looked over the rim, blinked twice, then set the cup back it the saucer, making only a little noise as the two pieces met. Kit found it to be a remarkable sign of considerable constraint.

Impressive.

Josie took a deep breath. “Herald,” she began. “I strongly urge you to take this seriously.” She folded her hands in her lap, looked Kit in the eye, and continued. “We need the support of others, and blundering about like a blind druffalo will only hurt our cause… And put your life in more danger than it already is.”

 “You, Ambassador, are making several incorrect assumptions,” Kit said through clenched teeth. “Let me set you straight on those.

“The support we need will not be found in the ass crack of Ferelden. No matter what I do there, I’m going to be heading into Val Royeaux relatively blind and without support from anyone, but my own team.”

“Really?” Josie asked.

“Orlesians are snobby, superior, and disdainful of anyone who is not one of them,” Kit scoffed. “The people I’m going to be seeing and helping in the Hinterlands are going to be looked upon as barbarians, as am I. I’m from the Free Marches, after all. It’s why you believe I need to be lectured. I too, am uncultured as to how the so-called civilized people behave.” She looked at Josie who had the good sense to cast her eyes downward.

“In Ferelden I need to close any rifts I find and be honest with Mother Giselle. If she’s the type of woman I think she is, she’ll smell bullshit coming from several miles away.” Kit smiled. “She won’t care if I don’t trust the Chantry to empty a chamber pot so long as she believes that I want to stop the fighting and close the Breach.

“Since that’s what I actually want to do, no worries there.” Kit smiled. “She and I will get along just fine, you’ll see. I’d worry more about me and the Seeker if I were you.”

“Why is that?” Josie asked, confused by the change of subject.

“I might feel the need to yank that broomstick out of her ass,” Kit said, standing up and walking slowly toward the door. “It could cause internal bleeding, especially if I beat her with it afterward. If we aren’t near a healer, she could bleed to death.”

Josie giggled. “Please don’t do that, Herald.” She lifted her teacup and took a sip. “The Orlesians are fond of their Hero. Killing her, however inadvertently, will not help the cause.”

Kit opened the door and stepped through. She turned and stuck her head back in. “I’ll keep that in mind, but no promises.” She stopped, looked at the Ambassador and said, “Don’t worry so much. It’ll be great. You’ll see.”

When the Herald closed the door, Josephine slumped ever so slightly in her seat. “From your lips to Andraste’s ears,” she whispered. Then she took up her pen and began writing a list of things she needed to get done that day.

With her saddlebags slung over her shoulder, Kit shut the door of her cabin behind her then turned to lock the door. The lock was for show. She already knew that before the day was out, either Leliana or one of her flunkies was going to go over the contents with a fine-toothed comb. There wasn’t anything to find, Kit made sure of that. She’d briefly toyed with the idea of hiding a letter detailing some nefarious plot, just to fuck with the spymaster, but decided against it.  

She walked quickly to the stable where the horses had already been saddled and were waiting to go.

“Which one is mine?” she asked the nearest stable hand.

“The black,” he replied. “The one with the star on her forehead, Milady.”

‘’Thank you,” she said, holding out the bag in her hand. “Do you mind holding this for a moment?”

“Course not, Serah,” he answered, taking the leather bags out of her hand.

She approached the horse from the front, making plenty of noise so that the mare could hear her coming. Once Kit had her attention, she held out her hand, let the horse get a good sniff, then gently put her hand on the horse’s nose. Running her hand down the horse’s nose, stopping quickly to test the bit.

Finding the bit a little too tight for her liking, she quickly loosened it, first on the left, then on the right, then tested it again. Moving along, she checked the saddle and blanket underneath. The blanket was set properly; without wrinkles that would make the horse uncomfortable once she gained the saddle. The girth strap was properly tightened, and the seams were intact.

Her hand moved to the mare’s front leg, testing the muscles for signs of injury. Leaning slightly into the leg, she put her hand on the front, under the knee, and the horse obediently lifted her hoof for inspection.

“Herald,” she heard Cullen say behind her. “I checked your mount myself. No need to do it again.”

Releasing the horse’s hoof, she straightened, and turned slowly. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Commander. I am a Trevelyan, and I check my own mount.”

“You haven’t time for…” he started.

“If time were so precious,” she snapped, “You should speak to your ambassador about wasting it on stupid shit.”

Kit felt guilty for taking her anger out on someone other than the person that earned it. Cullen wasn’t to blame for Josephine’s lectures. “I’m sorry, Commander.”

She sighed. “I slept badly, then I had to sit through a deportment lecture.” She smiled, hoping that it looked genuine, and not as forced as it felt. “It’s made me cross, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“I understand,” Cullen answered, and he did understand. With Haven being invaded by nobles daily, lectures from Josephine have been suffered by all who had to come in contact with them.

Kit didn’t doubt his sincerity. “I have never ridden a horse I didn’t personally check.” It was true. She’d learned to secure a saddle and look at hooves long before she even sat on her first pony. Her father had insisted on it.

“It won’t take long,” Kit promised. “I’m anxious to leave as well.” It took her only a moment to realize how that sounded. Fuck, she thought.

“Not that…” she stammered. “I’m just want to get this done. And…” she said after a pause. “I’d rather not get another lecture from Lady Montilyet. Even my grandmother wasn’t that boring or strict.”

Cullen smiled. He was finding it too easy to slip into the comfortable repartee they had years ago. “It is her job, I believe.”

Kit looked up at him, trying to decide if she should be serious or not. “Perhaps, but I’ve been doing this my entire life. I have no need to be schooled in propriety and etiquette.”

Cullen was unable to control the smirk at her comment. She’d spent the last several days like a druffalo in a shop full of glassware.

As if she knew what he was thinking, she smiled. “Knowing the rules and following them are two very different things, Commander. I know perfectly well what I’m doing. Ambassador Montilyet may not know that, but I do.”

“Stop flirting with Curly and let’s go,” Varric called from atop his pony.

“Suck a nug’s ass, Dwarf,” she yelled back, winking at Cullen.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Was that necessary, Herald?” she scolded.

With a gesture, Cullen offered to help her onto the horse. As he bent to help, she whispered, “If someone offers you odds on how long it takes me to punch the Seeker, go early and big.”

As he boosted her up, their eyes met, and she smiled.

“She lowers her guard on the left,” he whispered back.

She was giggling madly as he handed her the reins. He smiled broadly before he saw Cassandra’s scowl and Varric’s knowing grin. “Ride Safely, Herald,” he called as Kit kicked the horse into a trot.

She lifted her hand in acknowledgment of his farewell. She gave her horse a freer rein and began a brisk canter. Cassandra swore when she realized that the Herald of Andraste has every intention of slowing for no one.

When they disappeared from sight, he shook himself and began the walk to the makeshift training grounds. Haven already seemed emptier without her.

Chapter Text

Cullen supposed he should be grateful for the volunteers who had come to the aid of the Inquisition, but he was pretty sure he had the rejects who couldn’t even cut it as farmers.

“You’re holding a shield,” Cullen bellowed at one of the recruits who obviously thought he was fighting off crows with a hoe. “Block with it!”

He turned to find a runner holding a note. “From the Lady Leliana, Ser.”  The runner was breathing hard but stood at attention.

He took the note from the runner’s hand before asking, “Is she waiting for a reply?”

“No, Ser,” was the reply, the runner shaking his head. “Information only.”

“Thank you…” his voice trailed off. And he waited.

“Jim, Ser. M’name is Jim.”  The runner gave him a hopeful, almost pleading, look.  His hands raised and clasped at his chest for a moment before he remembered his decorum and stood at attention again.

“Thank you, Jim.” Cullen turned, the runner already forgotten, and broke the seal on the note.

Scouts report that the Herald’s party has been sighted. Her arrival expected this evening at the latest.

He crumpled the note before throwing it in a nearby fire. He’d been looking forward to the news as much as he’d been dreading it.

Cullen was doomed. He knew it. He’d known it the moment he saw Kit at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He wanted to deny it. He tried to deny it. He went so far as to insult her to keep it from becoming a reality.

He failed.  Today, Kit, No the Herald, he reminded himself ruthlessly, and her party were returning from the Hinterlands, and thoughts of her tormented him. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the dreams where the demons used her image to torture him, or the dreams where he held her body close and found bliss in her embrace.  

It wasn’t just her body, though Maker knew that he wanted that. No, he craved that.

He wanted to spend time with her. He enjoyed Kit’s company. In the long, endless dark he thought of conversations that he wanted to have; jokes he wanted to tell. He wanted to hear her laugh and listen to her thoughts.

In the last three weeks, he’d relived every moment with her countless times. It was driving him mad. He thought of the taste of her mouth; sweet wine and plum tarts from a stall in Lowtown. He remembered her laughter at the antics of gulls, swooping over the docks in search of fish. The act of picking up a book reminded him of an excursion to the bookseller in Hightown; her enthusiasm for folk stories and history rivaled his own.   

The Herald, he told himself again. She’s the Herald, not Kit.

Her irreverence and wit held him in thrall. Maker help him, he enjoyed her lack of acceptance to the authority wielded by others. Unlike him, she questioned everything; a trait he admired greatly, even if he couldn’t emulate it. His life was defined by the rules of the Chantry, the Order, and his place in it. She ignored or actively fought the rules that tried to tie her in place.

He could only wish for that kind of courage.

The weeks she’d been gone were like a torture. The days went by quickly enough because he was able to keep busy. There were recruits to train, endless paperwork, and of course the countless hours in the War Room, arguing with Josie and Leliana about meaningless things. The nights were endless because no matter what he tried, thoughts of her plagued him.

In a few hours she’d be back in Haven. His heart beat faster just thinking about it. If asked, he couldn’t have said if it was fear or excitement, so tied together were they. Fear that she would hate him; fear that she wouldn’t. He wasn’t nearly good enough for her, and he was acutely aware of it. It didn’t matter though. She was the Herald of Andraste, and his fate was tied to hers.

It was foolish to ask for more.

It was after midday when the party rode into Haven. She was just a figure in the distance when she dismounted, walking her horse the rest of the way into town. Cassandra, Solas, and Varric rode all the way in, got off their steeds, and handed the reins to stable hands. On reaching the makeshift horse shelter, she quickly began to unsaddle the horse. One of the hands came to take over, and she shooed him away.

“Trevelyans apparently care for their own horses,” Cassandra dryly explained when Cullen gave her a questioning look.

Varric’s voice startled him. “It pisses off the Seeker, too. I suspect that’s just a bonus, though.”

Cassandra turned to glare at the dwarf. “Varric.” She stated. The c at the end was as hard as granite.

“What?” Varric asked with both a shrug and a grin. “Though…” he continued, making eye contact with Cullen, “The list of what doesn’t piss the Seeker off is even shorter than you think.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “I suppose we’re wanted in the Chantry?” she asked Cullen.

“We are,” Cullen looked back at Kit. “Josephine seems particularly eager to speak with the Herald.”

Varric lounged against a fence post. “You two crazy kids go ahead. I’ll wait here and tell Lola that she needs to follow when she’s done.”

“Lola?” Cullen questioned, looking at Cassandra in confusion.  

Rolling her eyes, Cassandra answered. “He’s been calling her that for days. She refuses to ask why and it’s driving Varric mad.”

“I’m right here, Seeker.” Varric grinned. “And it’s not driving me mad. She’ll ask eventually. They always do. You just need to learn patience.”

Cassandra grunted again and turned, stepping off toward the gate like a woman who wanted to be anywhere but where she was. Cullen caught up in a few long strides.

“I read your reports,” he said. “Was it really that bad? You were successful, after all.”

Cassandra pauses briefly before climbing the stairs. “She defends herself quite well, and she closes rifts without fuss.” There was pause in the conversation as she gathered her thoughts. “She handled the Revered Mother and gained her help. She also went out of her way to help people at the Crossroads by insisting that we hunt for meat so they can eat. The Inquisition troops and scouts that we met on the road admire her a great deal, and I believe that she will be able to gain us the influence and recruits we need for success.”

She stopped at the door to the Chantry and faced Cullen before continuing to speak. “She also argues with me over everything, is irreverent to the point of blasphemy most of the time and, spends little time trying to endear herself to nobles or anyone of rank.” After a long intake of breath followed by a sigh, she continued. “She accomplished much during a very short time.

“For some reason, she seems to delight in annoying me personally.” The Seeker pinched the bridge of her nose, then moved her head to the left, stretching her neck muscles. The movement caused the bones in her neck to pop. She grimaced followed by a small smile. “That doesn’t take away from the good that she has done however personally bothersome it is.”

Cullen reached for the door, then stopped. “But you believe that she is the Herald of Andraste?” he asked.

Cassandra thinks for a long moment before answering. “She is who we need when we need her, so yes. I believe that the Maker and Andraste put her in our path. Why she was chosen escapes me, but there is purpose in her survival.”

Cassandra reached past Cullen and pulled the door open. “Perhaps I am being too harsh. Between the voyage from Kirkwall, the explosion, and the trip to the Hinterlands, sleep has been less than easy. When I am rested, I may be more forgiving of the Herald’s attitude.”

“Maybe Andraste has a sense of humor, and we’re not privy to the joke,” Cullen posited.

“If this is a joke, I’m not looking forward to the punchline,” Cassandra muttered.

The Council made small talk while waiting for the Herald to make her way to the chamber. As soon as the Herald’s party was sighted, Josie sent for tea. There were biscuits, of course, but she asked for bread, cheese, meat, and some sliced fruit as well. Experience with the Herald of Andraste taught her that food always made things go more smoothly.

A hungry Kit was a cranky Kit. She was prickly at the best of times. Tempering that ill humor with food was just good sense.

Cullen noticed that their Ambassador was clearly excited by something. It seemed to him that she was almost vibrating with something important. She refused to answer any questions about it, wanting the Herald’s presence before broaching the subject. He made himself a cup of tea with a dollop of milk and a single cube of sugar. He looked at the food, and he thought about a plate, but the lack of sleep, anxiety, and ever-present headache made eating a risky proposition.

The door banged open, and the Herald strode in. Without any sort of explanation for her lateness, she piled a plate with food, placed it on the table, and went back to fix herself a cup of tea. She piled cheese and fruit on a slice of bread and took a huge bite.

Now that everyone was there, Josie couldn’t contain herself any longer.  “Why didn’t you tell us of your betrothal?” Cullen’s stomach dropped to the floor. Of course, she was betrothed, he thought. She is young, beautiful, and wealthy.

Setting his cup noisily on the table, he sank to the chair behind him with a clatter of armor and leather. The only thing to be thankful for was that everyone’s attention was on Kit. The throbbing in his head got worse. Raising his hands to his face, he placed his hands over his eyes, blocking out the light that felt like shards of glass.

Let the blade pass through the flesh, he chanted to himself. Let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.

It took a few minutes for him to realize that no one was speaking. He took a risk, lowered his hands, and lifted his head to look around the room. Three women were staring at Kit, who was eating as if she hadn’t heard Josie at all. The silence in the room dragged on, and the more of the room it filled, the more Cullen wanted to scream.

Finally, Kit spoke, and it was like Andraste herself sang the Chant.

“I presume, that the question is for me?” she asked.

Josephine nodded.

“Well,” Kit said, taking a bite of meat and cheese. “I didn’t tell you that I was betrothed because I’m not betrothed.”

Cullen smiled, beamed in fact. His heart was lighter than air. He felt lighter than air and gripped the chair to keep himself from floating.  For a moment, he thought he heard birds singing.

Kit rose from her chair, and slowly approached the Ambassador. “Where in the absolute FUCK did you get such a Maker’s damned stupid…”

And she stopped. Her fists were clenched at her side. Her muscles were tight. It became very clear to everyone in the room that shit just went sideways. The Herald of Andraste was well and truly angry.

“You…” she said pointing at Josie and taking a menacing step forward. “I told you not to contact my family and you did it, anyway, didn’t you?”

“Francesca Trevelyan is the Grand Cleric of Starkhaven,” Josie stuttered. “I was writing to other clerics, and I sent a letter to her… As a courtesy… In her capacity as a member of the Chantry… I wasn’t…” The words trailed to a stop and the confident ambassador was replaced by a woman who looked like she’d rather be anywhere but where she was.

“She is the Grand Cleric of Starkhaven.” Josie persisted in the defense, unwilling to acknowledge that it wasn’t going to work.

Kit rubbed her temples and sighed. “She can be both at the same time, Lady Montilyet. Believe it or not, both my aunt and the Grand Cleric of Starkhaven have an agenda. It’s the same one, mind you, and you muddled the Inquisition in it.”

There was a decanter of wine on the sideboard. Crossing the room, she picked up the decanter and poured a large measure into the wine glass. She took a sip and grimaced.

“Can we at least get some decent wine in this room?” She asked.

“It’s an Orlesian Red from Montsimmard,” Leliana sniffed. “One of the Empress’s favorites.”

Kit rolled her eyes. “It tastes worse than Varric’s moldy socks smell.” She turned and headed back to her chair with the cup. “How anyone drinks this shit is beyond me.”

She sat and slugged the entire contents down in one gulp. “Shitty wine is better than no wine at all, I suppose.”

Kit leaned back in her chair and scratched her head. Her eyes made eye contact with Cullen and smiled briefly. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with any of them, but Josephine’s indiscretion made it necessary. “Ambassador, Frankie wants me to marry Sebastian Vael. I said no.”

“He is said to be quite handsome,” Cassandra inserted.

“He is,” Kit admitted wryly. “If you like brainless pretty boys that haven’t figured out that the ability to be an asshole isn’t a moral imperative.”

“Ouch,” Cullen muttered. Not that Cullen disagreed. He knew Sebastian Vael from Kirkwall. The man was insufferable then. Cullen shuddered to think what two years on a throne did to the prince.

“He also has a voice like honey dripping over a warm scone.” Kit continued. “Unless you listen to what he’s actually saying. At that point it’s like acid; always droning on about Andraste and the Maker. He blathers on and on, dully repeating whatever idiotic thing my aunt has poured into his ear.

“Not just my aunt, of course.” Kit rolled her eyes. “Any Chantry mother or sister could tell him that the Maker didn’t want him to take a shit on Thursdays, and he’d probably shove a cork up his ass.”  

Cullen laughed out loud at that and was rewarded by a grin from Kit. Josephine glowered.

“What?” he asked. “It was funny. Probably true, too.”

Kit rewarded him with a grin and a wink. Josie’s gaze hardened.

“I knew him in Kirkwall,” Cullen explained. “He was very… religious.”

“He’s an annoying asshole.” Kit stated, drawing Josie’s eye. “He’s a pulsating, pompous, pious, princely pustule on the posterior of Thedas.”

Kit saw Cullen grin before covering his face to hide it from the sharp eyes of the Ambassador. That was enough to encourage her to continue.

“He’s also a foolhardy, fatuous, fulminating, feckless fuckwit… a timid, tedious, techy, tepid twat…” She stopped for a moment to think. “A shitty, seething, suppurating, sanctimonious, septic scab of…”

“Please stop,” Josie moaned plaintively.

“So,” Cassandra snapped, arms crossed, her voice dripping with scorn. “You dislike him because he’s Andrastian?

Kit was beginning to think the lot of them were as thick as planks. “No Seeker,” she countered. “I dislike him because he’s a jerk. Varric is Andrastian, and I like him just fine. My family are all believers, and I don’t have any problems and I love most of them.”

“Most of them?” Leliana queried, the side of her mouth turning up in a smirk.

“My brothers at least, though the less said about Tristan the better.” Kit shrugged. “That’s not the point here.  Bash doesn’t understand that being an asshat and not acting like one is a good thing. His beliefs are like his cock.”

Josie made a choking sound at that. Cassandra made a disgusted noise, and Leliana snickered. Cullen reddened, looking down in embarrassment.

“Lots of people have dicks, Cassandra, and most of them are extremely impressed and proud of them. And that’s great. They can do that if they want.” Kit smiled. “However, if they take it out of their pants, wave it in my face, and demand that I think it’s as great as they do, I’m going to have a problem.”

Cassandra had the grace to look embarrassed. “Oh,” she muttered.

Kit looked around the room. Her head was beginning to pound, and all she wanted was to get out of here. “As lovely as it’s been talking about the Prince of Starkhaven, my feelings about him aren’t the point.”

“What is the point?” Leliana asked.

Lowering her eyebrows and narrowing her eyes, Kit answered. “I told her,” she said, jabbing a finger in Josie’s direction, “Not to contact my family. She ignored me.”

Josie opened her mouth to respond, and Kit held up a finger to stop her. “You may or may not have had good intentions, and I don’t care either way. What I care about is that now my fucking aunt is going to use your letter, and you, as leverage to try and get what she wants.”

“She may have done that anyway, Herald,” Leliana said.

“Oh, she was definitely going to do it anyway, but the Ambassador here just made it easier for her.”

Kit leaned forward, nose to nose with Cassandra. “Every day, when we were in the Hinterlands, you lectured me on how I needed to trust you. You bitched and moaned about how I didn’t and now you know why I didn’t.”  

Kit stood suddenly, the chair slamming against the wall. “Chantry fucks and nobles, that’s what you all are. You take without giving anything back, like you have the right to it. Then you make excuses for it when people don’t like it.”

She took two steps toward the door then turned back. “I did what you wanted. I tried to close the Breach, I let you call me Herald, I talked to that idiot Chantry Mother… I was even nice to her. All I asked was that you not contact my family… And you fucked that up.”

Kit opened the door. “I will contact my family when I know I can trust you, not before. Figure it out.”

She stormed out, turning to kick it closed, causing a loud thunderous reverberation throughout the chantry.

Cullen stood, not sure if he should go after her.  He didn’t want to talk to her, he wasn’t ready yet. They did have to work together, though. Some sort of conversation was necessary, and sooner would probably be better than later.

It was hard to forget someone when you were literally chasing after them.  Instead, he turned to Ambassador Josephine Montilyet.  “You really contacted her aunt, after she asked you not to talk to her family?”

“I…”  Josie had somehow lost her normal eloquence.  “I… well… it seemed…”

“Don’t contact my family,” Cullen’s voice was firm.

“Or mine,” Cassandra added.  “I… it’s just best you don’t.”

“Sweet Maker, this is a mess.”  Cullen reached for the wine and took a swig.  Kit was right, it was horrid.  The taste reminded him of the smell of his former comrades after a week’s hard march.  “Why would her aunt want her to marry Vael?  He would probably close his eyes and think of Andraste when he…”  He did not want to think of Sebastian Vael with Kit.  The thought made his ire and blood temperature rise and he didn’t want to think about his own reactions.

“Think of…”  Cassandra made a disgusted sound. “Really Cullen?”

“It’s an excellent match, for dynastic purposes at least,” Leliana explained, ignoring Cullen’s jealousy entirely. “Politically, the Trevelyans are powerful, and Vael’s seat on the throne is not as steady as he’d like it to appear. His cousin’s profligate spending and Sebastian’s own desire for the annexation of Kirkwall means that he’s basically broke. Her family does have a considerable fortune, and if you add in her personal fortune…

“Well, it’s a lot of money that he could use.”

“Her family line is distinguished,” Josie added. “They rose to prominence in the Steel Age, and though their fortunes have waxed and waned, their influence has only grown.”

“The current Bann, William, is the son of Lucas Trevelyan and Gianna Apis,” Leliana said, smoothly taking the narrative back. “She was the daughter of a very successful Tevinter merchant.” The spymaster consulted her notes. “At his death, she liquidated the assets and went to the Free Marches. There she met William. They married within months.”

“Her money and his title made the match advantageous for both.” Josie was determined to redeem herself in the eyes of her colleagues, at least. She did know what she was doing, even if she made missteps from time to time.

“They had seven children, I believe,” she continued. “The eldest daughter, Catherine, died of a fever shortly before she was to be married. Her twin, William became the heir, and his brother Mason was taken out of Templar training. The others took vows in the Chantry, as is the custom for Trevelyans.”

Cullen had lost all patience with the history lesson. “So, what you’re saying is that Vael deposed his cousin two years ago, and mucked it up so badly that he needs money and power to keep it?”

Leliana smiled. Leave it to Cullen to boil it down to basics. “Yes, exactly. He’s also going to need an heir, too, and soon. He needs to marry a rich, powerful woman; preferably one from the Free Marches. Gianna Trevelyan would be perfect.”

“Both families would gain a great deal.” Josie raised her quill, using it to tap her cheek lightly. “William seems disinclined to force the issue, and no one else has the leverage.”

“What does leverage…” Cullen began.

“Arranged marriages happen in two ways,” Cassandra explained. “The first is if both parties can be brought into agreement. The other is if any reluctant party can be brought to the altar with pressure; usually money is used. Loss of funding generally does the trick.” She’d seen this happen enough times in Nevarra to know. If she hadn’t joined the Seekers of Truth, it would have been her fate as well.

“She has her own money,” Josie explained. “Inherited from her Grandmother when she was twelve. It gives her choices. I just never imagined that she’d turn down a ruling prince.”

Leliana smiled as a piece of the puzzle that Kit presented fell into place for her.

“She’s here because she chooses to be, and it would behoove us to start remembering that,” she stated simply. “She can leave at any time. She has the money, and her family would likely support her choice. We have all underestimated her. We should stop.”

Cullen rubbed his face, exhaustion overtaking him. “How do you suggest we make that happen?”

Leliana pondered the problem for a few minutes, everyone looking at her for an answer she didn’t have. “We adjourn. We get some sleep, and we think before we act.”

She looked around the room at her friends. “We meet tomorrow and figure it out.”

Cullen stretched as he got up. He moved quickly toward the door, turning back as Leliana spoke again.  

“Remember, Josie, Discretion before Discourse.” Leliana quipped gently.

Josie laughed quietly as she hugged her friend, and Cullen headed back to his cabin to find Rylen. He needed to figure out his next move, and his friend was an annoying but good way to find that.

Chapter Text

Varric sat at a quietish table in the Singing Maiden. On his left was a pint of mediocre ale. In front of him was a piece of parchment with potential book titles on it. This was, in Varric’s opinion, the hardest part. Choosing the right title set the tone for the novel. A lot of authors waited until the end to sort out the title, but he preferred to get it out of the way in the beginning.

It helped keep him on track.

“The Sword and Dagger,” a voice behind him read scornfully. “Forbidden Fruits? Tempting the Templar? The Templar and the… I swear to the Maker, Varric, if I’m the Temptress in this idiotic title I will end you.”

Kit sat while Varric chuckled. Some days, his life sucked dragon balls, but today it wasn’t too bad. “You know, Lola, I’ll give you a sneak peek if you want one. It’s going to be a best seller.”

Varric winked at Flissa when she put a mug in front of Kit. “How do you know you are The Temptress ?”

“I’ve met you?” Kit took a sip of ale and grimaced at the taste. “This place needs better booze. I always liked Ferelden ale, but this shit is vile.”

The dwarf lifted his pint, made a toasting motion with his hand, and took a long draught. “It’s not that bad. It’s better than the swill Bartrand used to get from Orzammar. That tasted like it was strained through Solas’ footwraps.  I swear there was dirt in it.

“We’re not exactly on well-traveled trade routes here,” the Varric explained “We get the leftovers. Give me some time, and I can arrange deliveries of some better-quality goods.”

“That would be lovely.” She smiled, and Varric wanted to laugh at the small foam mustache on her upper lip.

He made a show of wiping his own upper lip, then chuckled when she sheepishly wiped her own.

“Need anything in particular, Lola?” he asked.

She thought for a few moments before saying, “Not really. We’re going to Val Royeaux soon, I expect. I can get what I need there. Except…” her voice trailed off, trying to figure out how to make a request.

“Except?” Varric asked.

“I was going to ask if I can get some help. I am, momentarily, short on coin.” She thought some more before continuing. “If I ask why you insist on calling me Lola, could you procure me a couple of bottles of, well, whatever will get me drunk the quickest? When we get to Orlais, I can get Peter to front me some cash and pay you back.”

“That, however, won’t get me through the next couple of days with any sanity.” Kit growled, looking at her now empty ale mug with disgust.

Varric caught Flissa’s eye and held up two fingers. “That bad?” he asked.

Kit’s large sigh said a lot more than her words. “I have this magical thing embedded in my hand. I have no money; my brothers are nowhere to be found. I’m surrounded by people who either think I’m a murderer or some sort of holy icon. I got dragged to the armpit of Ferelden, and when I got back, that idiot of an ambassador told everyone that I’m going to marry the Poncy Prince of Starkhaven.”

“You’re gonna marry Choir Boy?” Varric was incredulous. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m not going to,” Kit practically spat the answer. “But I told her not to write to my family, and she wrote to my aunt anyway. The letter back said that I was betrothed to the moron, and Lady Montilyet got overly excited at the prospect.

“It added to my problems.” Kit banged her head on the table. “I have no funds, no alcohol, and small clothes that are far too large. I don’t need her help fucking up my personal life. I’m already really good at that without anyone else’s help.”

She lifted her head and looked at Varric pathetically. “My life sucks.”

Flissa poured more ale into the mugs from a battered pitcher, and pocketed the silver that Varric laid on the table. “If you don’t mind, Lola, I’m going to skip right over the small clothes thing. There is some shit that I’m not qualified to discuss.”

Varric capped the inkpot he was using then pushed the ale mug in Kit’s direction. “I don’t mind buying you liquor, you know. I kept Hawke drunk for six years. A couple of bottles for you is a bargain.”

After banging her head on the table a couple of times, Kit said, “I don’t let people buy me things. They always end up thinking I owe them something. You will not believe the things men ask for if they buy me a lousy drink.”

“I live at a tavern called The Hanged Man, Lola,” Varric commiserated. “I get the picture. I’ll tell you what. Ask me why I call you Lola and answer one question I have, and we’re even.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” she conceded. “Why Lola?”

“In human literature,” he said, “Women named Lola have this mystical power to make men sweaty and do stupid things.”

“And that describes me?” Kit asked, sounding hurt.

Varric guffawed. “Oh yeah. That’s you.”

“It doesn’t sound like a compliment, you know.”

“It can be,” he said. “We’ll just have to see how this plays out to find out if it is or not.”

Kit shrugged. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. What’s the question?”

Varric thought for a moment trying to figure out the best way to ask. Finally, he just asked as simply as possible. “What’s the deal between you and Curly. It’s obvious that you’ve met, but neither of you want anyone to know.”

“How obvious?” she asked.

“Depends.” Varric took a good swig of ale and paused to think. “I watch people for a living, so to me it’s as plain as the curls on Cullen’s head. It’s a safe bet that Leliana has questions. Cassandra is oblivious, and Josie too. Especially if she thinks you and Choir Boy would be a good match.”

“Shit.” Kit rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Did I give it away, or was it him?”

“He did. He has tells all over the place.” Varric laughed. “I can’t wait to get him with some cards in his hand. You’re more secretive, and you send out signals that obscures the trail more than a little. Still, once he gave the game away, your tells are easier to spot.”

“Shitdamnfuck.” Another sigh. “I was in Kirkwall not long after the Chantry… exploded. It was a job. Then things got… complicated.”

“What was the job?”

“He was the job.” Kit saw no reason to lie about it. Besides, she thought, I have no one else to talk to. The worst thing that could happen is that he’d write a book about it. He was going to do that anyway so…

“The family was organizing relief supplies. We needed someone in the city to have keep an eye on things.” Kit took another drink. “Griff thought you’d be good, but you really were not in a good place to do that. You also knew Anders, which caused suspicion among the donors. Someone suggested Aveline, but there were concerns that she’d be so worried about making sure whoever got them needed or deserved them that nothing would be distributed.”

“She knew Anders, too!” Varric was aghast at the unfairness of it. Or pretended to be.

“Apparently, having a sword stuck up your ass covers a multitude of sins.” Kit shrugged. “Who knew?”

“Cassandra,” Varric deadpanned.

Kit took another drink. “Cullen’s ties to Meredith were problematic. So, it was my job to meet him, and assess if he could be trusted.” Kit looked at Varric, her eyes were melancholy. “I fucked up and…”

“Ahhh, I see.” And he did. The story sounded very familiar to Varric. It was the story of his life, after all.

“I lied to myself about why I kept seeing him, then ran when I realized the truth.” Kit was probably being more honest than she should have been, but she was tired. “I left him a note. Shitty, I know. I got emotionally involved and he got hurt.”

“It sounds like you didn’t escape unscathed either, Lola.” Varric was sympathetic. He understood how this kind of thing ended.

“It was my fault. Any injuries I have are self-inflicted.” Kit sighed loudly. “Have you ever heard the story of Daedalus and Icarus?” she asked.

Varric thought for a moment. “I don’t think so, but I’m usually the one telling the stories.”

Kit smiled. “It’s a Tevinter poem about an asshole named Daedalus. He did a lot of shitty things and got himself thrown into prison.

“Along with being an asshole, he was also a genius.” Kit took a long drink of ale and continued. “He built two sets of wings, made of wax, so that he and his son, Icarus, could fly to freedom.”

“The escape didn’t go well?” Varric asked.

Laughing, Kit answered, “Escapes never go as planned.

“Daedalus told Icarus not to fly too close to the water, because the moisture would weigh down the feathers. He said not to fly too close to the sun…”

“Because the wax would melt,” Varric finished. “So which way killed Icarus?”

Kit rolled her eyes. “Will you let me tell the story?”

She waited for Varric to nod and finished the story. “Icarus took to the sky and became dazzled by the sun. Higher and higher he flew. Daedalus tried to warn him; he went hoarse calling the warning to the winds, but in the end all he could do was watch as Icarus fell and was swallowed by the ocean.”

“Well, shit,” he murmured.

Kit looked at her hands, resisting the urge to pick at her nails. “I thought I was so smart. I wanted to spend time with him because he didn’t know who I really am. In my hubris I didn’t see the danger until I started to fall.”

“You could…” Varric paused, “Talk to him.”

Kit rubbed her eyes and barked a laugh. “Tried that. He called me a whore, then I broke his nose.”

“Damn.” Varric searched for something to say. The only thing he could think of was, “And I thought Hawke was shit at romance.”

Kit stood, walked to the other side of the table and gave the dwarf a quick hug. “I need to go. Cassandra will come looking for me soon, and I’m either too drunk or not drunk enough to deal with her.”

As if her name had summoned her, the door to the tavern opened and Cassandra strode through the door. Her eyes narrowed, she shut the door loudly, and began making her way toward Kit and Varric.

“Go,” Varric said. “I’ll cover your escape and have Flissa deliver your booze.”

“Oh, one more thing?” Kit asked.

“Can you explain to Josie how to handicap a horserace? I don’t have the patience.” Slipping quickly into stealth, Kit headed for the door.

As Cassandra passed, Varric reached out and grabbed her arm. “Care for a drink, Seeker?” he asked.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, then narrowed her eyes as she looked at Varric. “I need to speak with the Herald,” she snipped.

Varric leaned back in his chair and flashed a coin at the server. Then he held up two fingers. “You really don’t want to do that, Cassandra.”

“Because?”

One thing that Varric loved about winding Cassandra up is that the angrier she got, the fewer words she used. It was a tell, and it let him know exactly how close to the ‘she’s about to punch me’ line he was.

“She’s not in a good mood,” he explained. “Did Ruffles really think that Lola was going to marry Sebastian Vael?”

Cassandra sat just as the server arrived with two mugs of ale. She picked hers up and took a drink. “She did. You must admit, it’s an advantageous match for them both.”

Varric laughed. “Only if you don’t know Choir Boy. Lola would kill him in less than a day.

“If they made it to the altar,” Varric added. “Which I doubt.”

“I had forgotten that you know him.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the sticky table. “Is he really as bad as she said?”

“To be perfectly honest for once in my life?” Varric paused. “She was probably being charitable.

“He’s an asshole.” Varric closed his eyes, snippets of memories played in his mind. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, he can be charming and funny, if he puts his mind to it, but mostly he’s just religious. He’s so religious that he wears a carving of Andraste over his crotch.  People generally don’t have a problem with belief. But religion makes them twitchy.

Varric picked up his own mug of ale. “Choir Boy is all kinds of religious.”

“Josie is upset. She is also quite anxious about the way the Herald is disregarding her advice.” Cassandra thought for a moment. “The Herald is not very… diplomatic.”

Varric chuckled. Cullen strode into the Maiden, obviously looking for someone. Varric waved him over, and with gesture, ordered him a drink. “Curly, come have a seat. We’re discussing Lola’s perceived shortcomings.”

Cullen looked uncertain but sat anyway. “Shortcomings?” He queried.  

“Josie and Cassandra think that Lola can’t handle the nobles.” He used his fingers to indicate quotes around the last phrase. “I think she’s going to do fine. What do you think?”

“She’s a noble,” Cullen said, with a touch of bitterness. “Why would that be a problem?”

Varric pointed at Cullen and spoke to Cassandra. “See, that’s what I think. Let Lola do her thing.”

“Can I ask,” Cullen asked. “Why Lola?”

“The nickname is sacred, Curly.”

“But,” Cullen countered. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Varric grinned. “Lolas make men sweaty and willing to do stupid things.”

Cullen pondered that for a minute. “I can see that.”

Cassandra wore a baffled expression. “Seriously?”

Cullen shrugged. There was really nothing else to say on the subject. Kit was very capable of making him sweaty and willing to do stupid things. Recent history was evidence of that. Trying to convince anyone, including himself, was pointless.

Lola suited her.

Cullen barely registered Cassandra’s eye roll and grunt of displeasure. Varric found it hilarious.

“All that aside,” Cassandra said, taking another long drink of ale, “It does not change the fact that our ambassador has her hands full. Kit is doing nothing to assist her.

“Unless she thinks that giving her more to do is helping.”

“Politics is different in the Marches than it is in Orlais. It’s more like…” Varric stopped and snapped his fingers. “That’s why she wanted me to do that.” Things made more sense to him now.

“Asked what?” Cullen asked.

“She wanted me to explain horse racing and handicapping to Ruffles.” Varric leaned back. This was going to be more fun that needling Bartrand ever was.

 “See,” he began. “In the Free Marches, the Game is more like gambling than chess. The Trevelyans are masters at gambling.  She’s actually very good at this. Lola and Ruffles just aren’t playing the same game.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. Cullen just looked confused.  

Varric leaned back in his chair. “Think of it like horse racing. Ruffles thinks that her horse needs to finish first in every race. Lola is playing a long game. She’s manipulating the odds so that when she does run her horse all out, she wins easily.”

Making a disgusted noise, Cassandra said, “That makes no sense.”

“Sure, it does, Seeker. It’s a betting strategy.”

“Betting strategy?” Cullen wasn’t a gambler at all. Too many ways for it to go wrong. He was too responsible to take risks like that.

Cassandra took another drink and set the mug on the table. “How does that help the Inquisition?”

“In Ostwick, there is a series of five races,” he began. “All of them are important, but the biggest is the last one. It’s called the Teyrn’s Cup, and it’s a big deal; huge purse, and the betting pool is enormous. Are you with me so far?”

“Yes, Varric,” she snapped. “I’m not a child.”

“As big as the purse is, the real money is the betting. In order to win money at that, you need to raise the odds on your horse winning.” Varric explained. “So, the strategy is that you don’t win the first four races. The object is to place or show in those events, but not to win.”

“Not winning is winning?” Cassandra widened her eyes. “That is nonsensical.”

Cullen was fascinated. It had never occurred to him that there was a strategy in gambling. Kit’s behavior made so much more sense now.

“Not really,” Varric lectured. “By not winning the other races, others think that you can’t win.”

“How does that help?” Cullen was very curious now.

Varric smiled. “By lowering expectations, you raise the odds. Instead of even money, the odds of your horse winning are now higher. Five to one… ten to one… So, if you bet to win the last race, and you win, you get more money.”

Shaking her head Cassandra said, “I’m surprised that anyone wins the races then.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t work; your horse doesn’t win, or the odds don’t go up,” he said. “And winning all the races is very prestigious. If a horse can do that, you can breed them for a lot of money as well. The foals will bring a huge price, so it’s not something that can be done every year.”

“I see.” Cassandra’s brows furrowed in thought. “So how does this help the Inquisition? I just don’t see it.”

Varric leaned forward. Lowering his voice he said, “The odds are against Lola right now. She’s a Marcher, so the Orlesian nobles think she’s a rube. By letting them think that, when it comes to a point where she must win, she can do it easily. What they expect is for her to limp across the finish line, when she wins, we all look better.”

“So, by looking a little worse now, we all look a lot better later?” Cullen asked.

“You got it, Curly.”  Varric said proudly.

“How do you know that she’s doing this… odds thing, and that she’s not just terrible” Cassandra was still trying to wrap her head around it.

“The Trevelyans are a big political force in the Free Marches, Seeker. The word is that she was trained by her grandmother, who is a legend in Marcher politics. Lola is a lot like Red. She’s comfortable in the shadows, but she’s no idiot.

“Cassandra, Orlais is a place held together entirely by pretention and bullshit.” Varric was on a roll. “No matter what she does; how perfect she plays their game, the Orlesians are going to think she’s some Marcher upstart.”

“So, she plays to that,” Cullen stated. “What they think is a weakness becomes her strength.”

“Exactly. See, Curly gets it.” He wasn’t really surprised that Cullen got it before the Seeker. Despite her noble upbringing, or maybe because of it, Cassandra had blind spots that you could drive a mine cart through.

Cassandra considered for a few moments. “It’s like an ambush strategy, really. You let the enemy believe they are safe until…”

“They aren’t.” Varric grinned. “Exactly.”

He leaned back and lifted his mug. It was a pretty good night’s work, if he did say so himself. He bought a pretty girl a drink and showed how smart he and the pretty girl were.

Sometimes, the book writes itself. The writer is just a scribe.  If only he had a title for that book.

Chapter Text

Kit sat in her cabin, alternately swigging some alleged whisky from the bottle and sewing. The whole situation was frustrating. It wasn’t bad enough that she was in the coldest spot in Ferelden, but she was incarcerated with a bunch of Chantry fucks that thought her ass is huge.

Who knew that knickers were so complicated? Before you could alter them, you had to consider the shape. It wasn’t like taking in the seams, it was…

Frustrating. She threw the fabric down and picked up the bottle. She’d managed to fix one pair. Sort of. Almost. They didn’t sag as much, but still didn’t fit right around the waist. Well, she’d just wash them every day.

At some point, about a quarter of the way through the bottle, she realized that Miranda was right. Nice small clothes were important. She liked lacy panties that fit.

They didn’t need to be lacy. It’s not like she had anyone to impress with lace. Stupid blondes that say stupid things and beg to be punched in their stupid, handsome faces. Pretty Antivan ladies with their stupid rules and lectures. Sneaky redheads and their stupid, sneakiness.

Andraste wept, even the Chantry thug of a Seeker was drop dead gorgeous.

All of them, every single one, had on knickers that weren’t riding up their butts like their assholes had a saddle.

Kit flopped back on her bed, arms spread, and considered her life. She was stuck in the second worst place in Ferelden… Gwaren was far, far worse… helping to keep the world from ending with a group of people who saw her as varying degrees of incompetent and none of whom cared to help stop her saggy butt problem.

And Cullen Stanton Fucking Rutherford… The man she is, very likely, still in love with. And she punched him in the face… While wearing a dead Sister’s undies.

Varric is going to have to spring for more booze. I’ll pay him back somehow.

Cullen stood at the door to Kit’s cabin, hand raised, poised to knock. This is a bad idea, he thought.

Rylen did have a point, though. He’d faced down Blood Mages, Demons, and crazy Knight Commanders while Kirkwall Chantry's rubble still smoked in the distance. Was talking to one woman really harder than that?

He had a couple of healing potions in his pocket. A gift from Rylen. “Just in case she has a knife,” he’d said, joking. Possibly. Hopefully at least. If Cullen could keep from saying something monumentally stupid during the conversation they wouldn’t be needed.

There were too many ifs in this plan.

He knocked anyway. If he died, he’d die like a man. An ancient Tevinter general’s mother is reported to have said, “Come back with your shield or on it.” Words to live by. Or not.

From the other side of the door, he heard a long, impressive string of curse words. Some were clearly in Common. They were intermingled with a few in Orlesian; more in a language that he didn’t understand.

Maybe a strategic retreat was called for.

The door was flung wide by Kit, clad in only a pair of socks and a shirt. Instinctively, Cullen took a step backwards. “I… I can come back tomorrow. Tomorrow…” His brain was stuck on the word because contemplating entering a room with a bare legged Kit was inconceivable.

Kit rolled her eyes. “Get your ass in here. It’s cold and I want to close the door.”

Cullen was frozen in place. “I… Tomorrow.”

Another eye roll. “For the love of fuck, Cullen,” she spat. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me in less.”

No response from Cullen.

“I swear by Andraste’s knickers that your virtue is safe from me.” This was why Kit hated the Chantry. So much fucking propriety.

He still made no move, so Kit simply reached out, took his arm, and pulled him in. She slammed the door behind him.  “Sit,” she commanded, pointing at a chair. She turned without seeing if he sat and headed back to the bed.

Cullen couldn’t look away from her… backside. This was a very bad idea, and it was getting worse by the moment. Half-naked Kit, sitting cross legged on the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to think of a Chant verse that would help in this situation.

He drew a blank. Even if Andraste had once found herself in this position, her thoughts on the matter were not recorded for posterity. It was probably for the best.

He sat, and in a vain attempt to distract his thoughts from Kit, he looked around the cabin. The furnishings were sparse and utilitarian, but the Kit he once knew wouldn’t mind that. As his eyes traveled around the room, his eye caught a wad of fabric on the ground. He stood and picked them up, intending to put them… somewhere other than the floor. It was busy work, but something to do other than look at…

He was holding her… knickers.

Kit started giggling maniacally. “You weren’t that embarrassed the last time you had your hand on my panties,” she managed to gasp between laughs.

Cullen sat back down and watched as Kit dissolved into giggles again. This was the Kit he knew. “To be fair, at the time I was trying to get you out of them.”

“True that.” She reached over to the side table and grabbed the bottle there. As she extended her arm, her shirt gapped open and…

Though I am flesh, Your light is ever present, And those I have called… Screw it… Cullen thought. The Maker is not going to help.

She offered the bottle to him, and he shook his head. The last thing he needed was his mind befuddled by drink. Things were hard enough as it was. Sweet Maker, Kit would laugh at that pun.

“Can I ask you a question?” Kit blurted out.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

“Look at these,” she said, holding up a pair of smalls.

What is with her and… Cullen closed his eyes. Give me strength.

When he next opened his eyes, Kit was off the bed, half bent over with her shirt up above her backside.

“Now, look at my ass.”

Kill me now…

“Does my ass really look big enough to fit into those?” She was, thankfully, sitting on the bed holding up the small clothes again.

“No.” Cullen was frantically trying to think of a way to exit this conversation. Six years of Templar training… Almost eleven years in the Order, and nothing in his life had prepared him for a drunken Kit Trevelyan obsessing about the size of her ass.

“It was probably all they had,” he stammered. “Not a personal statement on the size of your... posterior regions.” Andraste, forgive me the blasphemy, but your husband is a cruel bastard.

Kit settled back on the bed. “So, why are you here? Not that I mind if you ogle my ass, but I’m assuming that it’s not the reason you’re here.”

Cullen closed his eyes. One… Two… Three… Breathe… He opened his eyes. “I wouldn’t have been able to see your… backside… if you were wearing clothes.”

“I wasn’t expecting visitors.” Kit got a wicked gleam in her eye. “I could shimmy my ass into some leather, if you’d prefer. You could watch.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Maker, no!” Cullen stood. “It’s nothing that can’t wait until…”

“I’m not drunk and playful?” She asked.

A sigh escaped her. “Fine,” she pouted. “I’ll be good. What did you need?”

How in the Void did she do that, just turn it off like that? He thought. Aloud he said, “I wanted to ask you something.”

She sighed again. Longer, harder, she sounded more tired. “I know what one of them is; Why did I leave? Yes?”

He nodded.

“What’s the rest?”

“Just one, for now.” He answered. “Why did you hit me? Rylen said that you indicated that it wasn’t… Maker, I don’t know what to say here.”

“You insinuated that I was a noble woman looking for a good time.” She snapped. “You were pretty and available, so I took advantage of that.”

“I’m not pretty,” he countered.

“You really are, but not the point.” She sighed again. “Which do you want me to answer first?” She raised her eyebrows and waited for the answer. Her hands were demurely folded in her lap. The only real indication of tension was the tight clenching of her hands into fists.

“The second,” he said.

She took a swig of whisky and took a deep breath before beginning. “I can live with people insulting me. Like I told Rylen at the time, I get called a whore on a regular basis. It… hurts, but it’s a hurt I can deal with.  It’s like I have really thick calluses over that part of me. If that makes sense.”

Another swig of whisky. “Even Tristan calls me that, and I don’t bother trying to correct him anymore. It’s a common insult, so I just usually ignore it.”

“Your brother, Tristan, says that about you?” Cullen was shocked.

Kit rubbed her forehead while she thought about how to put this. “Tristan and I are… complicated. He follows the rules. He needs the rules to make sense of life, I guess. In his opinion, I should have joined the Chantry because Grandpere committed me to it. Just like he joined the Templars… I should have done what was expected. He was… when I didn’t. He was angry that Papa didn’t insist on it.”

“That’s no excuse for…”

“I know,” she interrupted. “I’m not excusing him. I’m explaining why what you said about me wasn’t why I was angry.”

“I’m confused,” he admitted.

“When you said that I was using you, you also implied that you were not worthy of my time.” Dammit, she thought. Why couldn’t he have chosen a time when she wasn’t drunk. It’s so hard to think.

Then again, thinking around Cullen wasn’t ever easy. He had a way of muddling her thoughts just by being in the same room. The only thing that ever cut through the murk was anger, but she wasn’t angry at him. He did nothing wrong here. It was all her.

It was always just her, fucking up…

She put the bottle back on the table. She needed to finish this without more booze. He deserved better than a drunk woman seeking redemption. Not that she expected it; or deserved it for that matter. He was better than that.

“I meant what I said in the note.” Once she started, it got easier to say. “You’re a far better man than you give yourself credit for. You keep trying to define yourself by the worst things you’ve done. You are also the best things you’ve done. You sell yourself too cheaply. In the end, that’s why I punched you.” Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach for the bottle. “You insulted someone I happen to like. It pissed me off.

“Also, in fairness, I’d had a really shitty day.” She grinned humorlessly. “I was hurt and angry. Not my finest moment.”

Cullen smiled. “Truth be told, it wasn’t my finest moment either. I didn’t… I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I wasn’t feeling well, honestly. A headache and… well it doesn’t really matter. I knew it was wrong when I said it, but…”

“Bad time, best off forgotten.” Kit smiled back. “Stop worrying about it, please. I chose a bad time, and you overreacted.

“Which leads, rather awkwardly to the other question.” She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. “I was in Kirkwall to figure out if you could be trusted with oversight on the relief supplies we were sending. Your history, with Meredith Stannard, made it difficult to know if you would be reliable.”

Cullen thought about that. As much as it might have hurt, it also made sense for someone to be concerned about his loyalties. “Our meeting was…”

“Not an accident,” she interrupted. “I knew that you would be there, and I made sure we met.”

I can see that, Cullen thought. It makes a lot of sense. My loyalties would have caused concern. Truth be told, even I questioned his loyalty at times. But that doesn’t explain…

“Did you have to…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the rest.

As he waited, she exhaled loudly and closed her eyes to think.

Finally, she answered. “No, that part was all me.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I liked you. Really, really liked you. You were kind, funny, charming, smart… You were far too good looking for your own good; and mine, it turned out.

“You don’t even realize how good looking you really are, which is so different from any of the men that have ever paid attention to me.” Kit rolled her eyes. “Vain, foolish peacocks that trade on being handsome instead of decent people with redeeming qualities.”  

Her words started coming out in a rush. “I told myself that my judgment on you was clouded because I liked you. I told myself that I needed to see you again because I couldn’t trust my instincts where you were concerned. The truth is that I liked being with you.”

If she trusted her legs, she’d get up off the bed and bang her head against the wall a few times. It was far likelier that if she managed to walk anywhere, she’d actually go, sit astride him, and start kissing him for all she was worth. Where he was concerned, she no longer trusted herself.

It was problematic, and her alcohol muddled brain wasn’t up to the task.

“There’s something you need to understand,” she said, trying desperately to explain. “Being a noble woman in Thedas is like being invited to a magnificent banquet. Then, you realize that you’re the entremet… Like everyone else in Thedas, we’re here to be consumed by those in power. We just get to wear pretty clothes beforehand.

“You didn’t treat me like a walking pile of money, a bridge to influence, or a possible brood mare.” She was crying now. “There is something very… appealing about being seen for who I am, not just what I can do for them.”

The tears were starting to fall now, and Kit didn’t even try to stop them. What was the point? Why would she even try to look presentable now? It was over, she knew it. What matter was it if he found her disgusting? It was only the truth after all.

“Then we…” she stopped. What should she call it? Made love? You don’t make love to someone that doesn’t know who you are. Had sex? Fucked? The experience was more profound for her than that. “Slept together, and…”

Thinking was hard. Between the alcohol haze and the emotions burning through her body like an out-of-control prairie fire, it was impossible for her to be coherent.

“I woke up, and you were there. Holding me. Wrapped around me like a bandage on a wound I wasn’t aware I had. I got scared. I knew that if I was still there when you woke up, I’d have to explain everything, and explaining would change everything. You’d know who I was and why I was there.

“I was afraid you’d hate me.  Or afraid you wouldn’t hate me. I don’t even know.” There was snot running out of her nose. She reached over to the side table and picked up the smalls there. They were clean and they’d do the job. The only option was to use her shirt tail, but that was just…

Ugh… emotions. This is why she worked so hard to avoid them. They were messy. She didn’t really mind the mess, so long as she wasn’t the mess.

“I’m sorry, so sorry because you were hurt and that’s not what I wanted. I thought…” She wiped her nose again, but the knickers were simply not up to the task at hand. There was too much everything.

“Fuck it!” she yelled as she threw the offending cloth toward the trunk at the end of the bed.

“I had this conversation planned; you know.” Her shoulders were shaking, and her hands were fisted in a vain effort to control the sobs. “I was going to be logical; coherent even. Then I broke your nose because I’m shit at this. I’ve always been shit…”

Cullen silently handed her a handkerchief and went back to the chair. He was quiet and still. So still. Just waiting for her to finish. Trying to think of something to say that would make it better somehow. As hard as it was to hear, it wasn’t hard in the way he thought it would be.

In his imagination, she had waltzed away and lived a happy life after leaving him behind. Whatever he’d thought, this was worse. When he found out that she’d lied about everything in Kirkwall he was angry. Angry and hurt. As much as he still wanted Kit back, he had a hard time getting over the fact that she’d left him and hadn’t looked back.

It hadn’t occurred to him the reason for it hadn’t been him.  

Kit took a deep breath, well what passed for a deep breath with her nose clogged with snot and the Maker only knew what else. She wanted to finish this so he could just walk away and never look back. He deserved that, and she’d allow him to have it. Maker knows she’d done nothing but hurt him.

“I went to the inn where Griff was staying, and I told him everything. Max and Gavin were there, and they ganged up on me. They said I should talk to you, but I was too cowardly stubborn to listen.”

The handkerchief was balled in her fist. She was resisting the urge to pick it apart at the seams, but she refused to. She’d taken enough from him. She wouldn’t deprive him of a stupid piece of cloth. It seemed silly, even as the thought occurred to her. A small, white piece of cotton would be a small price to pay to get rid of her.

Cullen sat, unsure what to do. What he wanted was just to hold her as she cried, but he was almost certain that it was the wrong thing to do. She wasn’t in any shape to give any sort of consent, even to a good cuddle. If things weren’t so fraught between them, he might have risked it. Four years ago, he would have without question. While he understood clearly what she’d felt then, how she feels now was less clear.

So how does he offer comfort to someone who is in so much pain without presuming? That was the question that he couldn’t answer. Maker’s Breath, he wasn’t good at this.

He chose to kneel next to the bed and say her name. “Kit,” he said. “Please look at me.” He waited until she lifted her eyes. There was so much pain there, and fear, and panic. “That’s better.”

He smiled again, and the panic subsided slightly. “You made the right decision; not to tell me. The man I was then wouldn’t have listened. I was angry and hurt and… so much had happened, and the feeling of betrayal would have stopped me from…” he sighed. “Hearing you out. I can admit that, though not proudly.”

She lowered her eyes, a tear falling from her cheek to splash on the balled fist in her lap. Slowly, gently, he touched her chin with one finger; a slight pressure to encourage her to look up again. When her eyes met his, he continued.

“When I saw you at the temple, I was happy to see you. If the situation had been different, I’d have hugged you. You were the first good thing that happened since before I’d left Kirkwall.

“All I wanted was for you to wake up.”

“Things went to shit when I woke up,” she snorked.

“Hawke would say, ‘They usually do,’” he joked.

Kit lowered her eyes, unsure what to do next? What was the conversational protocol for after you get drunk and verbally vomit in someone’s lap? If Max and Gavin were here, they’d get into a puppy pile and sleep it off.

Cullen wasn’t Max or Gavin; inviting him to sleep in her bed was out of the question. She was tempted, but both of them were too emotionally raw for it to happen. She really didn’t want to be alone.

A thought occurred to her. “I’ve never been away from them this long before,” she whispered.

“What?” Cullen asked. “Who are…” He stopped when she looked up.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” She had a shy, sheepish smile on her face.

“Max and Gavin,” she replied. “Brothers… Max is my twin; Gavin is fifteen months older. They always travel with me.

“Griff calls them my emotional support siblings.” She snorted. “They keep me from stabbing too many stupid people and I bail them out of any trouble they get themselves into.

“To be fair, I’m usually the one getting them into trouble, so it’s only fair that I get them out of it.”

Cullen reached up and gently tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “How long has it been since you’ve seen them?” he asked.

“Three months,” she answered. “Maybe four? My concept of time has become somewhat muddled lately. Before I went to Starkhaven. Maker… I miss them so much.

“We were supposed to meet in Denerim and travel to the Conclave together.” She sobbed a bit before going on. “Thea was impatient and didn’t want to wait for them. They were… I don’t…” The sobbing began in earnest.

“I don’t even know if they made it before the place exploded.” Her hands covered her face as the tears fell.

“Kit, Love… You’ve reached the weepy part of drunk,” he murmured gently. He helped her settle and pulled the quilt over top of her. “You need to sleep. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Mmmkay,” she mumbled. “Being without Gavin and Max feels wrong…”

He bent and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. He placed a bucket near the bed, and one of the healing potions on the table next to it. He left the cabin, shutting the door carefully when he left.

A plan, like a seed, was planted in his mind. All he had to do now was convince a stubborn spymaster to go along with it.

Entremet: A French term used here as Orlesian. Historically they are small dishes served between courses in a meal. In a more modern sense, they are a specific type of dessert. While either definition works here, in this instance, Kit is referring to the more historical version.  

Chapter Text

“So, do you make a habit of picking women up off the streets?” she asked, grinning like a cat who’d been caught with her face in the pot of cream.

“Well,” Cullen blushed. “Only when they fall over in front of me.”

Kit giggled. “I’ll bet women fall for you all the time.”

“I doubt that.” Cullen was confused. Maker, was she flirting with him?

“I don’t.” She kept on grinning. “Most are just probably more subtle and don’t do it literally.”

“I did run into you, if I recall.” Cullen was confused.

“Fair enough.” She narrowed her eyes a bit and tilted her head. “I was headed to a tavern to get a bite and a pint. Wanna come with me? I’ll buy you dinner as recompense for getting in your way.”

“I should…” he began. She was definitely flirting. Cullen had no idea how to respond.

“C’mon,” she chided. “I’m new to town, flush with cash, and hungry. I heard about this place called The Hanged Man. We could go there?”

“Not there,” he said quickly. He hadn’t seen much of Hawke since the explosion, and he didn’t want to start now. “The Ball and Chain is closer and less…”  

“Disreputable… Grimy… Seedy…” she offered.

Cullen laughed. “All of the above?”

Kit laughed, taking his arm. “Great, we’ll do that. I’ll buy you dinner, and you can tell me about the city.”

He nodded before leading her away from the market stall that he’d planned to get a meat pie from. Aveline spent a lot of time telling him to ‘get a life.’ He’d have something to tell her tomorrow.

Cullen made his way through Haven to the tent where Leliana held court. She had an office in the cellar of the Chantry where she kept her documents under lock and key, but she had an official place in the courtyard in front of the Chantry itself. Josephine insisted on it, deeming it necessary so the Spymaster could be ‘approachable’ and ‘available.’ Not that anyone wanted to approach or avail themselves of her presence, but the Ambassador thought it was appropriate, Leliana acquiesced. Having people think she was watching was useful.  

“I need to send a letter to Denerim,” he said shortly.

Leliana didn’t even look up from her report. “You don’t need my permission,” she said absently.

Cullen shrugged. “You’re going to read it anyway. If you disapprove, I’d rather have the argument now rather than delay its departure.”

Leliana stuck out her hand and Cullen placed the sealed letter into it. “What is it?” she asked, without looking up.

“The… dossier on the Herald said that she has family in Denerim,” he said. “I’m writing to see if they can provide confirmation that her brothers are alive.”

Leliana tapped the corner of the letter between her lips. “She did say, very specifically, that we weren’t to contact her family.”

Cullen smiled. “She told Josie not to contact her family. I didn’t receive those instructions. It may have been implied, but never stated specifically.”

Leliana smiled proudly. “Well done,” she said. “And if she’s angry when she finds out?”

“When is she not angry?” Cullen deadpanned. “I think that if she gets good news, she’ll be inclined to…”

His words trailed off when he heard an argument nearby.

“Your kind killed the Divine!”

“Lies!” a mage yelled in reply. “Your kind let her die!”

“Shut your mouth, Mage,” the Templar shouted, reaching for his sword.

Cullen moved quickly to stand between the two combatants. A crowd was forming, and Roderick strolled up, smirking grotesquely. The Commander ignored him. “We are all the Inquisition now!”

“This,” Roderick pronounced, “Is what happens when the proper authority isn’t respected.”

“I suppose,” the Herald of Andraste said, “That you are the proper authority that needs to be respected?” She walked like she didn’t have a care in the world; the only tell-tale sign of tension was the fists at her sides.   “I have more respect for the mice that used to sneak into the pantry at  Ostwick’s Chantry.”

Roderick pointed at Kit, his finger shaking. “You should be bound in chains and on the way to Val Royeaux for trial and execution!” he bellowed.  

Kit looked at Cullen and lifted her eyebrows. “At least he wants to take me somewhere, before he takes me out.”

Cullen sighed and rubbed his neck.

Roderick decided to take the gesture for submission and pressed his claim. “This rebel Inquisition and heretic Herald of Andraste of yours isn’t the answer. Recognize the Chantry’s authority by sending this… woman to Val Royeaux. Authority will be restored, and we can put down this Mage Rebellion as it should be.”

Kit approached the Chancellor and stopped right in front of him. “First off, I never claimed that I was the Herald of Andraste; they did. I hate it as much as you do.

“Second, the so-called proper authority is the reason the mages and templars rebelled in the first fucking place. Doing the same stupid thing again isn’t the answer.” Kit was very tired of having to explain the idiocy of making the same mistakes over and over. Making new and exciting mistakes was the way to progress.

“Finally…” She paused and looked at Cullen. “Why is he still here, anyway? If he’s so important, why isn’t he in Val Royeaux where all the other important people are?”

Cullen chucked a little at that. Trust Kit to find the weak link in the armor of an opponent. “He’s toothless. There’s no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth. The Chancellor’s a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however.”

“If he is, I’m not likely to be stabbed, at least.” She turned quickly and moved forward, stopping about an arm’s length from Roderick.

In a fast, smooth movement, she had a dagger in her hand, and pressed its hilt in the hands of the Chancellor, then brought both to her neck, the blade against the soft skin near the artery. Roderick’s hand was shaking and pierced her flesh.

A drop of blood appeared under the blade. “Let’s make it simple, shall we?” Her eyes never left the gaze of the old man.

“You want me dead? Here’s your chance. Take the justice you believe is owed.

“The knife is sharp, and it doesn’t take much pressure to pierce human skin.” She smiled. “We’re fragile creatures…” With that, she closed her eyes, raised her arms to the side, and lifted her chin defiantly.

The dagger hit the ground with a clattering of metal.

“I didn’t think so.” Kit opened her eyes and lowered her arms. She looked at Roderick, really looked at him, and Roderick didn’t like what he saw reflected in her eyes. He looked small and pitiful.

“Men like you don’t want to get their soft hands dirty,” she accused. “They lurk in shadows, dripping venom into the ears of others; convincing them to commit the deeds you lack the courage to own. You think that Andraste and the Maker won’t know it was you that wields the weapons you make of others.”

Roderick stared for a moment, unable to grasp what had just happened. It crossed his mind that either the Herald was either crazy or stupidly brave. He was neither and he knew it.

“Go on now,” her voice said while making a vague shooing motion. “Go change your pants and do something useful.” She bent to pick up the discarded dagger. “Or go back to Orlais and find people who agree with you. I care not which.

“Just get out of my face.” She turned, then looked over her shoulder. “You’re worth no more of my time.”

Before Cullen knew it, she’d opened the door and strode quickly to the War Room.

Kit entered the so-called War Room with Leliana and Cullen hot on her heels. She’d bet hard coin that it wasn’t the last of she’d hear about the incident in front of the Chantry, but she didn’t want to deal with that shit now. Cullen would have an opinion, and once the Ambassador heard, Kit was positive there would be an ass chewing. She needed to calm down first. She was still angry at Rodrick, and her heart was still racing.

There was nothing like doing something, or dealing with someone, supremely stupid to get your day started. She’d be the first to admit that handing the Chancellor that knife was supremely stupid. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. Let people see that he was using their anger at the situation to his own advantage.  

Yeah, that would go great.

Josephine noticed Kit’s flushed face and the stormy look on Cullen’s. Something happened, she thought. It’s probably best if we don’t have an argument about it now.

These meetings never went smoothly. She decided to jump right in before things went awry. Not that it would really help. It was only a matter of time. Before the cart went wildly out of her control. At least she could, perhaps, delay it a little.

“Herald,” Josie began, “It seems that some distant relatives of yours are claiming a close relationship and are using that to threaten their enemies.”

“One of them threatened to have Inquisition forces attack an enemy for them,” Cullen continued, deciding that dealing with Kit’s absurd risk would have to wait until later.

“Which one?” Kit asked. “The relative, not the enemy.”

Josie looked at her clipboard. “Padriac Trevelyan.”

Kit rolled her eyes. “He’s barely a cousin. Four times removed or so. Suggestions?”

“We could promise future favors if they become more circumspect,” Josie suggested. 

“Which is what they want.” Kit answered brusquely. “Letting them profit from stupidity goes against my nature. Commander?”

“So now you decide that stupidity is bad?” he asked pointedly.

“Not. The. Time…” Kit growled.

Cullen sighed. “Openly denounce them,” he said, forcefully. “Make it clear from the start that the Inquisition is not to be trifled with.”

“Not a terrible idea,” the Herald responded. “They won’t listen because… well, some of them aren’t very bright, but it’s worth a try. Sister?”

Leliana thought for a moment before answering. “There are ways to indicate our displeasure without tipping our hand. We don’t have to send assassins, but the rumor of assassins could get their attention.”

“Why not just send assassins?” Kit asked. 

Josephine was appalled. “You cannot be serious!”

“Done,” Leliana nodded.

“NO!”  Josephine gasped.

“Why not?”

Josie took a deep breath. “They are your family, Herald.”

“There are a lot of Trevelyans in the world, Ambassador.” Kit didn’t even miss a beat. “No one would notice if there were a few less. They’re barely family anyway.”

Josie sputtered, unable to respond. Cullen tips his head down, hiding a small smile. He may not be certain if Kit were serious, and he may be furious about her careless risks. Her reaction to the problem, however, was typical for her.

“Fine,” Kit sulked. “Sister, just scare them. Let them find a dead nug on the pillow or something.”

Leliana gasped, amazed at the callousness of the Herald. “Not a nug, surely. A horse’ s head?”

Kit recoiled in horror. “Waste of a good horse; even a nag. They are Trevelyans, we want to scare them, not cause them to die of heart failure.

“Maybe a chicken. They’re ugly…” Leliana smirked.

“Wait,” Kit said, a big smile appearing on her face. “A fennec. Have them put a fennec head on the pillow. That will send the right message.”

“Herald,” Josie sputtered. “You can’t seriously be telling Leliana to have a fox killed and…”

“A fennec is a fox…” Cassandra blurted out.

“Yes…” Kit led, almost relieved that someone may have finally made the connection.

“A kit is a young fox.”

“Again, correct,” Kit congratulated.

Cassandra continued, “That’s why they call you…”

“Kit,” Cullen stated, another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

“A gold star for the Seeker,” Kit beamed. “You spent all that time demanding that Varric tell you why he calls me Lola, and it never occurred to ask why my name is Gianna and they call me Kit.”

“I may have underestimated you, Herald.” Leliana smirked and bowed her head slightly. “I’ll take care of it.”

Josephine couldn’t just let this happen. “Herald, you cannot do this. It’s…”

“Hush, Josie,” Leliana said. “Let it go.”

Josie stamped her foot in outrage. “I cannot stress enough how bad an idea this is!” she exclaimed. “To put an animal to death to send a… message like that.”

Kit rolled her eyes and spoke to the Spymaster. “Leliana, fennecs are notoriously suicidal.”

“They aren’t alone in that…” Cullen murmured.

Kit pointed her finger at him. “You shut up,” she said without venom. She then turned to Leliana. “They get hit by carts on the road all the time. Have your agents pick up some roadkill.”

Leliana inclined her head in agreement. “Next topic of conversation?”

Josie dropped the distasteful subject, fully planning to take it up with Leliana later. Putting dead animal heads on pillows; it was barbaric. That Leliana was actually planning to do it was outrageous. No matter how differently the Game may be played in the Free Marches, she needed to make Leliana see that it was crossing a line.

The Ambassador cleared her throat. “Moving on then,” she said. “The Herald’s trip to Val Royeaux…”

“About that,” Kit interjected. “I’m sure you have a rigorous itinerary planned, but you’ll need to add two days to that.

“Unscheduled…” Kit wasn’t asking, she was stating.

“May I ask why?” Josie queried.  

Kit thought for a moment before answering. “Personal reasons.”

“Herald,” Cassandra snapped. “This is not a pleasure trip. We do not have time for your silly games.”

Kit whirled around to face the Seeker. Her eyes narrowed; her eyebrows were one straight line across over her eyes. “I am not playing silly games, Seeker, and I have things that I need to do. I will be doing them. This is not a request, and we are not negotiating.”

“We do not have time…” Cassandra argued.

“Cassandra,” Cullen began, seeing exactly where this was going to lead. “I don’t think that a day or two is too much to ask. We have monopolized her time and made it impossible to do anything else. It will be that way for the foreseeable future. A couple of days now makes little difference on way or the other.”

Sweet Maker, he thought. Please let this work. I don’t think I can stand…

“Nonsense, Cullen,” the Seeker snapped.

Shit…

Cassandra was livid and turned her ire on Cullen. “The Mages and Templars are still at war. The sky is torn open, and demons run rampant throughout Thedas. We have no time for….”

“Do you know what these are, Seeker?” Kit asked calmly while reaching into her pocket.

Here we go, Cullen thought, backing slowly toward the wall. He lowered his head and covered his face with his hand. He wanted to hide the smirk on his face, but also, if he were being totally honest with himself, those smalls were a disgrace.

He peeked, because Andraste forgive him, but he really did need to see the look on Cassandra’s face. He wasn’t disappointed. For her part, Cassandra stood there with her mouth open, lips moving like a fish out of water. “I… I…” she sputtered.

Kit stood defiantly; the offending knickers held in full view with both hands. “These, Seeker, are one of the pairs of small clothes that I was expected to use after the explosion.”

Josie looked mortified. If Cassandra looked like a fish, the Ambassador looked like a Genlock just climbed on the war table and took a massive shit.

That didn’t deter Kit in the slightest. She turned around, bent slightly at the hips, and presented her backside to the room. “Ass,” she said before turning around to once again hold up the panties. “Knickers.

“Notice anything interesting, Seeker?” she demanded.

“I… I…” Cassandra looked at Cullen for assistance, only to find him holding in laughter. She made a disgusted noise.

“Every fucking morning, Seeker, I have to make a choice.” Kit raged. “I can either go without and end up bald by the end of the day, or I can put on these abominations, and walk around with them wedged uncomfortably up my ass.

“Is it any wonder that I’m never in the mood to put up with your shit?”

Kit, thankfully, stuffed the cloth back into her pocket. “Now, I have no clue who chose those… things. But I must ask who looked at my ass and thought that those saggy, asymmetrical violations of comfort would stay put?”

Cassandra had been rendered mute. Josephine was appalled at the turn the conversation took. Cullen’s face was a mixture of amusement, awe, and embarrassment.

Leliana was trying, almost in vain, to keep from laughing out loud. “You should have said something earlier, Herald. We could have procured something more… suited to your needs.”

Kit wasn’t going to be mollified. “You are all,” she pronounced, a pointed finger moving around the room, “Very lucky that Miranda isn’t here. She’d have used those monstrosities to garrote you all.”

Cullen pinched his nose. “I had nothing to do with them.”

Kit grinned. “I believe you.” With a short bow of the head she added, “You are forgiven.”

“My thanks, Herald,” he offered with a similar nod.

Having finally found the power of speech, Cassandra asked, “I beg your pardon. Who is this Miranda, and why would she care about your undergarments?”

“Miranda is one of my sisters-in-law,” replied Kit. “She has an unnatural fixation on my small clothes. Apparently, she believes that I should wear nicer smalls than Sister Benedicta.”

“Dare I ask,” Leliana ventured. “Who Sister Benedicta is? And how do you know so much about her small clothes?”

Kit took a breath. “She’s Mother Benedicta now, but when I was small, she was a Chantry Sister in Ostwick. Someone sneaked into the sister’s dormitory and stole a pair of lacy red smalls, then put them over the tacky red fire painted on an even tackier statue of Andraste.

“I was blamed for the crime.”

Cullen thought he knew the answer already, but he had to ask. “Did you commit the crime?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. I was six years old at the time. I did plan the crime and sent my brothers to commit it. I would have been caught.

“Plus, point of fact, I was the distraction.”

“I’m not going to ask how you distracted a Chantry full of Sisters.” Cullen stated.

“That’s probably for the best,” she answered with a small smile.

“How did you know they were Sister Benedicta’s smalls?” Josie wasn’t entirely certain she wanted the answer, but someone was going to ask. Might as well be her.

“She screamed loudly when she saw them.” Kit started to giggle. “It was hilarious.”

Cassandra was still confused. “That doesn’t answer why would Miranda care about your small clothes?”

“I suppose she thinks I should have dozens of lovers that tear them off with their teeth, then keep them as souvenirs.” Kit shrugged.

“Maker’s breath…” Cullen muttered under his breath.

“Whenever she shops for such things, she buys them for me as well.” Kit said, rolling her eyes. “I could cover the backsides of all the women in Denerim, but she keeps buying them.”

Josie closed her eyes and gently rubbed the spot between them. Why did every conversation with the Herald of Andraste end in either a fight or acute humiliation? I need a drink, she thought.

“I will schedule whatever time you believe you need into the travel plans, Herald,” she said benignly. “If there isn’t anything else we need to discuss at the moment, I suggest we adjourn.”

The ambassador didn’t wait for agreement before she headed for the door. She was so intent on finding the Antivan Brandy in the bottom desk drawer that she didn’t hear Leliana say, “Well, that was fun.”

Chapter Text

“Varric?” Kit asked. Her voice was pitched low enough so that her words didn’t carry to the other two members of the party. Not that they would have heard much anyway, as far away as they were.

Neither Cassandra nor Solas were very good on horseback. Kit knew this and used it ruthlessly to punish Cassandra for being annoying. She felt a little guilty for making Solas suffer, but he took it with as good a sense of humor as he did anything else. Meaning that he didn’t complain. Cassandra did, though; loudly and with much enthusiasm.

 It was a level of petty that didn’t make Kit especially proud, but she could live with the guilt. It was not like Cassandra wouldn’t have complained about something Kit did. There was always something Kit did that irritated the Seeker. This just made the complaints predictable.

Varric rode pillion. They didn’t have a pony that he could ride comfortably, and said pony would have slowed them down anyway. While Kit thought that he took perverse pleasure from clinging to Cassandra’s back, she knew that he preferred riding a pillion with her. She was the better rider, and the horse did not misbehave with her at the reins. Cassandra struggled at times to keep the horse under control. After trying to explain that loosening her grip on the reins would help, Kit gave up. If Seeker Pentaghast wanted to have a sore ass after a day in the saddle, it was her choice. Kit was under no obligation to stop it, though she did feel sorry for the horse.

The unfortunate horse didn’t deserve it.

They’d stopped to rest the horses and stretch their legs about an hour back. Val Royeaux was about six miles away. That wasn’t where they were going, though Cassandra didn’t realize that.

When she did come to that conclusion, the Seeker wouldn’t be happy. It didn’t matter to Kit at all, but it did leave her with a bit of a problem. Should she just do what she wanted and make Cassandra and Solas follow? Or should she take the time and have the argument now?

“Still here, Lola.” Varric answered.

Kit grinned. “I’m going to take a detour. You want me to stop and argue with Cassandra about it now, or should I just pick up the pace and make her follow me?”

“Troyes instead of Val Royeaux?” he asked. He laughed out loud when she turned to look at him. “The big green ribbons on the signs are hard to miss.”

“I’m supposed to meet someone there, in a seedy tavern with a disreputable clientele.” Kit grinned. “Think The Hanged Man with better bread and worse ale.”

“Well, shit. I never thought that Orlais could make me homesick.” Varric laughed at that. “If you stop to argue with her, we’ll still be here at nightfall. Just ride, Lola.”

“Thanks.”

“If we’re lucky, there will be a bar fight in progress, and the Seeker will be too busy gutting people to yell at you.”

Kit giggled. “From your lips to the Maker’s ears.”

Kit gave the horse a small tap to the flanks, and she picked up a little speed. Not enough to alarm Cassandra yet, she was going to turn the corner before doing that, but just enough to get a bit of distance between her and the Seeker. Behind her, she heard a feminine voice swear, which meant that it worked.

Kit took the left fork, clicked her tongue a few times, pressed her heels against the horse, and slackened the reins. The horse took off. Granted, had she been on a Trevelyan steed, the ride would be smoother, but under the circumstances she was happy to be flying on a horse again.

Alas, she could not let the horse gallop the entire way; she walked the horse the last quarter mile, reined in, and dismounted. After helping Varric out of the saddle, she handed the reins to a stable boy that looked very familiar. She gave instructions for her care, and was answered with, “Yes, Lady Kit.”

So… whoever was inside was family.

After making sure that Varric was following, Kit strode to the door and flung it open. The taproom wasn’t large, but it did have the requisite sticky bar and worn, scarred tables. It was surprisingly empty, for the time of day. Only a few patrons lingered at the tables, and they looked too well dressed to be comfortable in this type of establishment. There were two that actually looked like they belonged, both at the bar.

A man, about 40, leaned against the wall, a smile plastered on his handsome face.

One of the men from the bar stood and stepped in front of Kit. A greasy man, hair plastered against his skull. He reeked of sweat and ale, and of a long-forgotten meal rotting in his beard. He would have been pitiable if he wasn’t trying so hard to be menacing. Kit wasn’t impressed. “You’re in my way,” she snapped.

The grotesque grinned. “You’re a pretty thing, even if you think you’re worth more than you are.” He spat as he spoke, his eyes leered. “I think that we should spend some time together… you know. Get to know each other better.”

His hand reached out to touch her breast and she slapped it away. “You’re either too drunk to see reason, or too stupid to see that I’m better armed than you.”

She took two steps to the left and made to pass him. As soon as her back was turned, he grabbed her shoulder. “Not so fast, you uppity little whore.”

Cassandra had reached the door, and her hand went to the hilt of the sword at her hip. Her mission was to protect The Herald of Andraste. A blade through the offal’s guts and a bit of coin for the mess would take care of that. Then, she’d drag Kit out of this Maker’s forsaken tavern by the hair if she had to.

When she heard the vulgarity, Kit closed her eyes for just a moment. She balled her right hand into a fist, and moved it backwards quickly, ramming it into his groin. She opened her fist, grabbed him by the nut sack, and twisted viciously. Then, her hands still around his testicles, she pushed him into the wall, where he slid down, still screaming, and curled into a ball.

Kit walked over, put her boot on his face, and leaned in. “No means no, you fucking twat. Shartan’s nipple rings, you shitheads never learn, do you.”

The man leaning against the far wall laughed and clapped slowly. “Well done,” he said, reaching for his coin purse. Pulling a silver out, he tossed it to the woman behind the bar. “A bottle, for the brave lady and her companions. Clean glasses, mind you. And the good wine, not that shite that you give the drunkards.”

Kit grinned and strode to the man, wrapping him in a hug. “Fee,” she exclaimed. “Damn good to see you.” She kissed him on both cheeks and hugged him again. “What brings you to this lovely little hamlet? We could have met in Val Royeau.”

“And miss Marte’s Cassoulet and Ficelle? Perish the thought.” Fee headed for a table in the center of the room. The other patrons, the better-dressed and well-armed ones, relocated themselves to tables surrounding it. “Besides, you need coin and information before you enter the city. I have both.

“Before business,” he continued. “You should introduce me to your traveling companions. Don’t you think?”

Kit sighed. “Of course. This is Solas, he’s an apostate and is brilliant in matters of the Fade and spirits.” She looked at Solas and smiled. “He’s also trying to figure out how this thing on my hand works and has saved my ass more than a few times in a fight.”

Fee grinned as he extended his hand. “High praise from my cousin,” he said. “Good to meet you, Solas.”

Solas inclined his head in response.

“Next,” Kit continued, “Is renowned author and lover of Bianca, Varric Tethras.”

Fee put his hand to his chest and bowed. “Master Tethras, it is a very great honor to meet such a talented wordsmith. My poor offerings are as nothing when compared to yours.”

“Your poor offerings?” Varric asked. He looked at Kit. “Lola who…”

After rolling her eyes into the back of her head, she answered. “Just go with it.”

“Fee, this is Cassandra Pentaghast.”

He stepped forward, bowed with a flourish, and reached to kiss the Seeker’s hand. “Enchante, Mademoiselle. It is unfair that I wasn’t warned about how lovely you were. My sorry excuse for language is inadequate for the task of greeting one as bewitching as yourself.”

Cassandra blushed at his words, and then… Dear, Sweet, Holy Maker… She giggled.

Kit stepped between her cousin and the Seeker. “Everyone, this is my cousin, Philliam Trevelyan.”

Philliam refused to cede the attention. “I am, however, better known as Philliam, a Bard! The Trevelyan’s refused to see my brilliance, so I am forced to wander the world incognito.”

“Stop being so damn dramatic, Fee. We like you fine, and we acknowledge that you shine far brighter than Genetivi. It’s your mother that doesn’t want you to call yourself a part of the family.” Kit stopped and searched the table for something to drink. “Please, for the love of all that’s holy, tell me that you have some decent whiskey.”

Fee laughed. “Of course I do. I pilfered it from Griffon’s cellar personally.”

“I carried it across the Waking Sea, at great personal peril I might add, just to sweeten your disposition.” He winked at Cassandra. “The pirates were quite intent upon stealing it, you see. I sat awake nights protecting it.”

Cassandra giggled again at the wild exaggeration.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Fee,” Kit blurted out. “Griff booked you passage on a reputable ship. He assigned you guards. He always does. Busk for coin when I’m not tired, hungry, and irritable, or when I’m far too drunk to give a shit.”

“Fine,” he pouted. “Have it your way.”

They all sat at the center table. Philliam poured the wine as Kit reached for the lone bottle of whiskey on the table. “A toast,” he said.

Kit rolled her eye but nodded. Anything to get him to shut up.

Fee lifted his glass. “When the history of Thedas is written, probably by Genetivi that crumbly old fossil, it will read: ‘They tried to kill us, they failed, we went to the pub.’”

Kit cackled with glee. “I adore you, Fee. You know that, right?”

“You, my dearest, are the single most frustrating woman of my acquaintance, but I adore you, too.” Fee clinked his glass with hers. He waved his hand, and Marte brought a tureen of soup and a plateful of bread to the table.

“Down to business,” the Bard said as he ladled the cassoulet into bowls. “First, I have news you’ll want to hear. Max and Gavin are alive, and last I knew they were in Denerim.”

Kit’s tears fell freely, and she took deep, gulping breaths. Varric touched her back and she practically fell into his arms. After Leandra’s death, he knew how to do this. The number of nights he caught Hawke when she was falling was good preparation for this. At least Kit’s brothers were alive.

Fee paused for a moment, then continued. “Aiden had orders to keep them locked up until we knew about the situation. The seal on the letter sent to Ostwick had been tampered with. Your father wasn’t going to allow anyone else to get caught up anything without your say so.”

“Damn Leliana,” Kit swore. “I knew that she’d fuck with the letter.

“The one to Denerim got there without problems?” she asked.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Philliam looked shocked.

“I have coin. Both William and Griffon sent purses. They’ve also made sure that Peter has authorization to access accounts on your behalf. Mingon is getting together things she thinks you’ll need. It’s all at Peter’s estate in Val Royeau. You’re expected.”

 “The Ambassador has rooms at an inn reserved…” Cassandra interrupted. 

Fee put up a finger. “Which means that everyone in Val Royeau knows you’ll be there.”

“We’ll be safer at my brother’s estate,” Kit said. “I’m sure that Lady Montilyet will understand.”

“A few Templars stayed in the White Tower after the Accord went tits up, but most either went crazy or followed the Lord Seeker to the Maker only knows well. Rumor has it that there is a group of them camped outside the city.” Philliam said.

“Waiting for me, I presume,” Kit said between bites. “Do we know where they are, exactly?”

“Outside the Porte des Lionne.”

“Shit, that’s right along our planned route.” Kit took another bite of stew. “You were right about the Cassoulet, Fee. It really is good.”

“I shall pass along your compliments to Marte, of course,” he said with a wink.  “The next time we’re alone… and talking… that is.”

Kit made a face. “Ewww… I don’t really want to know about your entanglements, Fee. I know that your love life is complicated but spare me the details. Please? I have enough shit to deal with.”

“If you insist,” Philliam laughed. “As I understand it, you have entanglements…”

Kit noticed Cassandra taking interest. “Gonna stop you right there, Fee. My entanglements, real or imaginary, are not up for discussion.”

“So, you’re not marrying Sebastian Vael?” he asked.

“Fuck!” Kit shouted, slamming her fist on the table. “See, Cassandra? I told you that it would bite us in the ass. Stupid, fucking… How bad is it?”

“Nothing that can’t be dealt with. Griffin is irritated.” Philliam grinned. “But we should likely focus more on your problems than the political situation in the Marches.

“Agreed,” Cassandra cut in. “If we can’t go through the Porte des Lionne, Les Porte des ma Soeur is our best alternative.”

Kit shook her head. Honestly, she thought. How did one become such a bad ass Seeker and still have such terrible ideas?

 “Terrible idea,” Kit said aloud. “The Porte de Soeur takes us right past the Grand Cathedral. If there are any loyal Templars in the city, that’s where they’ll be. We can take the Arc de Jeshavis. From there, we’ll hit the Rue de Valmont and it’s a straight arrow shot to Peter’s.”

“That’s out of our way,” Cassandra snarled. “It will take us two extra hours that way.”

“Better longer in the saddle and less chance of ending in a Chantry cell, Seeker.” Varric explained to the Seeker. “You may be safe going past the Cathedral, but the Apostate, Chantry Prisoner, and the Herald of Andraste are not.”

Solas, who had been silent during the discussion, agreed. “Varric and the Herald are correct in this case. As much as I would rather spend less time on the back of a horse, it is better than being caught and locked up by overzealous Templars.”

Cassandra was likely considering a scathing response when Marte approached the table. “My Lady,” she said quietly. “We have a bathhouse out back. It’s small, but the water is hot. Philliam said that you’d probably enjoy a bath. It’s ready now, if you like.”

Kit grinned in answer. “Andraste’s painted toenails, a bath sounds wonderful.” She reached for one of the heavy coin purses that Fee gave her earlier.

“That’s not necessary, Madame,” Marte said with a smile. “Philliam has already paid. And he promised…” She took a sidelong glance at the Bard… “More, if you’re well pleased.”

“Dear Sweet Maker, please don’t tell me about what he promised. I don’t want to know.” Kit made a gagging noise. “I already know too much about Fee and his barter system.”

Kit stood and gathered her things.

“Philliam also brought you something to wear, Madame.” Marte bowed slightly.

“It’s in the bathhouse waiting for you.”

“Clothes, Fee?”

“Sent by Constance and your lady mother. They thought you’d prefer not to enter the city smelling too much of horse and, likely at least, blood; if not additional gore.”

“That’s sweet of them.” She leaned over and kissed her cousin on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

Cassandra rose, ready to follow Kit to the bath house when Philliam put his hand on hers. “Seeker,” he said quietly. “May I have a moment?”

“What is it,” she asked sharply.

“You can only push Kit so far before she starts to push back,” he stated. “Once that happens, things will become far more difficult for all concerned. Including her.” He sat back, seemingly relaxed, and reached for the wine goblet. “I’ve been in situations where she’s decided to be less than cooperative. It’s something to be avoided.”

“You think she’s being cooperative now?”

“Believe it or not, yes.”

He looked Cassandra in the eye, wanting her to understand what he was saying, but already knowing that his warning fell on deaf ears.

“I believe you underestimate the Herald, Ser,” Cassandra said brusquely.

With a bitter laugh, Philliam drained the cup of wine and leaned forward to pour himself more. “I’m afraid, My Lady Seeker, that you’re the one underestimating Kit, and her willingness to let the world burn.”

Cassoulet and Ficelle are stew and bread. The stew is usually made from beans, chicken, some sort of sausage, and pork. The exact meats can vary depending on location and what is available. While it is now considered haute cuisine, it was originally considered a French peasant dish. It’s what I imagine would be served in a roadside tavern. In my HC, places like this would be like a hole in the wall diner. They’d do one thing very well and stick to the classics.

Jeshavis was the first female chieftain of the Ciriane, and the wife of two of the Son’s of Betrayal. (As the sons of Maferath were known.) First Isorath, then Verald. She married Isorath first, then after the Grand Unification and the founding of Orlais, she conspired with Verald. Verald Killed Isorath, she married Verald, rebelled, then killed him. After the death of her second husband, she ruled alone for 42 years. She is considered the “Mother of Orlais,” and she gave Orlais the “great Game.” The codex in the game was written by Philliam, a Bard! To be honest, it’s why I used her name.

Chapter Text

They rested under a tree. Kit sat, her back against the willow. Cullen lay with his head on her lap. The clothes they wore were casual. Both had simple linen tunics. Kit wore wool trousers; Cullen’s were leather. Her hands combed gently through his curls, as they talked.

“I can almost understand why he did it,” Kit mused.

“Who did what?”

“Anders. I can almost get to the place where I understand why he caused the explosion.”

Cullen sat up, looking at her in shock. “You agree with what he did?”

Kit rolled her eyes. “Of course not, don’t be obtuse. What he did was wrong on so many levels. But, while his actions were undeniably terrible, his reasons were probably less so. We can’t stop bad shit from happening if we don’t understand why people do them.”

Cullen was stunned. “You cannot mean that!”

“Why can’t I?” she asked. “The Chantry is wrong. About the Circles, I mean.

“Templars are addicted to lyrium and locked up with people that they hate. Most of them don’t even choose to be there. They’re given to the Chantry by their rich, asshole parents to pay an imaginary debt to the Maker. They don’t want to be there, but they have no choice in the matter.”

Kit didn’t stop there. “They are denied families, love… This. The simple pleasures that make life a gift from the Maker. How can that be right?

As loathe as he was to admit it, Cullen had to agree. He’d seen that firsthand. The less choice the Templar had in their joining, the more likely they were to be cruel.

“Mages don’t choose it. They’re ripped away from families and raised by people that don’t want to take on that responsibility. They are hated and feared, and none of it is their fault, either. Tris says that it’s only a matter of time before they turn into abominations, even though most don’t.”

Kit paused. “It’s a shit system, Cullen. It was bound to fail. What Anders did was horrific, but there is a certain logic to it.”

Cullen awoke from the dream quickly. It hadn’t happened, they never had that conversation, but it was, without a doubt, something she would have said.

Rylen was snoring in the other bed. Did his friend and second in command have these kinds of thoughts? If he did, how could his sleep be so untroubled? How did he live with the knowledge that at the heart of their duty was such unfairness?

As he dressed, he thought of Alistair Therin, now the King of Ferelden. He was given to the Chantry at the age of ten. He was and still is an excellent warrior and a deeply moral man. He was conscripted into the Grey Wardens, but in all honesty, he hated the very idea of becoming a Templar. Would he have been one of those that took his frustrations out on mages?

Doubtful, considering the boy he was, but would lyrium and the press of duty have changed Alistair as it changed him? During his boyhood and training, Cullen had never seen himself as heartless and cruel yet look at what he’d become. He averted his gaze at too many things to call himself a good man.

Standing in front of the door, Cullen rubbed his face in his hands, then smoothed back his hair. He couldn’t walk out that door with these doubts. He wasn’t a kind, decent man, but he can’t let anyone else see it. His men needed to see a man willing to live and die for peace. Not the man that was willing to allow others to be hurt so he could keep his peace of mind.

Cullen was at his desk in the Command tent when Rylen strolled in. His mood hadn’t improved from his early morning mental workout. In addition to the dismal thoughts, a headache had formed behind his eyes, making the supply lists he was trying to decipher blurry.

“You’re late,” Cullen snapped.

“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Rylen drawled.

“If I’d gotten up on the other side, I’d have run into the wall,” Cullen muttered.

Rylen opened the camp stool and placed it in front of Cullen’s desk. “Oh ho,” he quipped. “The Commander makes a joke. I need to jot down the time and place for the history books.”

“Funny.” Cullen lifted his eyes from the reports. “Where were you, anyway? Don’t you have troops to train?”

Rylen poured some tea from the lukewarm pot. “I delegated that. The first team is filling the latrine pits and digging them in the spot we picked yesterday. Lysette is working with the second team. Maker knows that she has more patience with the idiot sods than I do.”

“Archers?” Cullen asked.

“Harding is in Haven to resupply.” Rylen grimaced at the temperature of the tea and made a mental note to have some hot tea delivered. “She and Galen are trying to teach them how to aim a bow without shooting each other in the arse.”

 “I suppose that you were wasting time in the Chantry,” Cullen said. “No doubt flirting with Josephine.”

Rylen sat up straighter. “Spending time with a pretty woman is never wasted, Cul.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “You should try it when the Herald gets back from Val Royeau. Maybe it will put you in a better mood.

“Besides, sometimes you get the chance to do favors for friends when you’re not where you’re supposed to be.”

Rylen tossed a packet onto Cullen’s desk. “Three letters. One from Cassandra, one from the Herald, and the third has the Trevelyan seal on it.” He stood, folded the stool and placed it against the desk. “Have fun reading.”

Several minutes passed before Cullen found the nerve to pick up the first letter. He chose Cassandra’s first, believing that it would be the least dangerous. He was unable to articulate, even to himself, what the danger was, but he was certain it was there.

Somewhere… lurking.

Cullen,

We are scheduled to leave Val Royeau in the morning. You asked me to write, and I am, but I am unsure about the reasons. You said that you wanted my impressions of the Herald as we travel. You wanted insights as to her character that might make things easier for us all to be a cohesive team. I do not know if I can do that, but I will try.

We were a day late arriving in the city itself. She took a detour toward Troyes. A seedy tavern with a clientele that is… disreputable. Her cousin Philliam met us there. You would know him as Philliam! A bard. I had no idea that he was a Trevelyan. He passed on some coin and information that proved useful. We were advised to change our route into the city to avoid rogue Templars. I resisted the idea at first, but in retrospect it was a good idea. Any other route would have been far riskier.

We stayed in the home of the Herald’s brother Peter and his wife Mignon. (nee Clairmont.) The home is large, spacious, and we were all treated as honored guests. I watched the Herald play in the garden with the children, pretending to be a dragon that needed to be slain, and she seemed… happy. At ease. Much different from the woman I’ve come to know.

The conversation at supper was fascinating. Questions were asked, particularly of Solas, about the children in Haven. I am ashamed to admit that living conditions never occurred to me. Peter and Mignon decided to engage teachers and caretakers, along with anything they might need, and send them to Haven as soon as possible. They wish to make certain that the children are cared for and educated by the Inquisition. All children, and any orphaned by the fighting are to be cared for as well. While the Bann may not be able to publicly support us at this time, the Trevelyan family is more than willing to help in any charitable ventures.

The Herald, for her part, asked that things like toys and simple sweets be included in the shipment. “Life is hard enough without something soft to hold when you’re afraid,” she said. It surprised me. I have the suspicion that there is something hidden in between the words of what she said, but I can’t figure it out. Perhaps you can.

I am sure that, by now, you have heard of the interactions between the Chantry Mothers and the Templars. The Herald handled the situation in the best way possible, under the circumstances. We have also recruited two new members. Vivienne, the First Enchanter of Montsimmard, and an elf named Sera, who claims to be a “Red Jenny.” (Whatever that may be.) They will be arriving in Haven on their own. Vivienne will be welcomed by Josephine, while Sera may prove to be more problematic. I will say that I don’t think that the Herald and Vivienne hold many opinions in common.

May the Maker guide you,

Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth

Cullen refolded the letter and placed it to the side of his desk. He took up the second letter, the one from Denerim, and broke the seal.

Commander Cullen Rutherford

Greetings,

I am Aiden Trevelyan. I could list all the crap that goes into these damned letters, but I suspect, considering the tone of the letter you sent to us, that you’d find it as tedious as I do. If I am incorrect, I apologize. We live in difficult times, and my concern for my sister is more important than diplomatic nonsense.

We have been under instruction, from my father and Kit, to restrict communication with the Inquisition leadership. This was due to the suspicion that messages may be tampered with en route. My apologies for that. I know that dealing with Kit is likely a nightmare of epic proportions, especially if she’s worried about Max and Gavin. Had I been able to write to any of you directly, some of that might have been avoided. The situation within the family is complicated. Many of our problems are because Kit is not directly involved in decision making. She is much more essential to the family than many would guess.

Max and Gavin are here, safe in Denerim. Under lock and key at the moment, but only because they keep trying to get to Kit. I don’t know if you have siblings, but I don’t recommend them. These two have been nothing but a pain in my arse since the Breach opened. Gavin is my twin, so you’d think I’d be able to handle him better, but alas. Such is not the case. Arrangements are being made to send them to Haven as soon as can be managed. Not because I want them gone, but because Kit will not rest easy until she sees them. If I’m being honest, it’s also because trying to keep my eyes on them is exhausting. Having all three of them all in one place is as much a blessing as it is a curse. Give my brothers something useful to do and bash them over the head with a club a few times a day. That should do the trick.

We will also be sending some supplies. While I’m sure that men and armaments would be appreciated, my instructions are to commit only to food, blankets, medicants, and other necessities of daily life that can be considered non-military aid. My father is planning military support, but those plans have not been finalized. I am sorry that I can’t do more at this point, but I will do what I can. If there is something that is needed immediately, send a courier with a list and I will obtain what I can.

On a personal note. Even in the best of times, Kit is not always easy to get along with. These are not the best of times. I ask only for patience and kindness. She will find her feet if given a chance.

Yours Sincerely,

Aiden Trevelyan

PS… My brothers will be bringing a dog. He, like my brothers, is a pain in the arse. Yappy and he gets into everything. Kit loves that damn dog, though. I have no clue why…

A.T.

Cullen chuckled as he refolded the letter. He already liked Kit’s brother, Aiden. While the military aid would have been wonderful, the food and blankets are just as needed. Haven had become a refugee camp as well as a military one. In this climate of fear, it would be easier to convince nobles to send swords and armor than food. If rifts were appearing around farms, hoarding resources will become an issue.

His observations about Kit were also useful. Cullen had no idea how to smooth the path forward, but there was hope that perhaps if she had family nearby things would be easier for all concerned.

He quickly opened the third letter. He briefly considered keeping it for later, but he decided against it. Leliana would ask questions about it.

 Cullen,

I’ve been told, by Varric, that I use the phrase ‘shit show’ far too often. He claims it lacks imagination. Considering the events of the past week, he may be overly optimistic. Sometimes, you just have to use words that fit.

You have probably heard about my unscheduled detour to Troyes. The Maker knows that I’ve heard about it from Cassandra. She never shuts up about it, in fact. If I’d discussed it with her in advance, she would have fought tooth and nail against it. I wouldn’t put it past her to try and shield bash me into submission. I figured that it’s just as easy to ask for forgiveness as it is to ask for permission. So, I did it anyway. Cassandra giggled when she met Fee. I wish I could say that the Seeker making calf eyes at my cousin was the weirdest thing that happened in Orlais this week, but I can’t.

We stayed with my brother. It seemed safer, and considering how things went, it was the better choice. Even Cassandra agreed, after the fact. So, if Josie is pissed, refer her to Cassandra. You can even tell her that Cassandra complimented me on not punching the Lord Seeker in the throat. The odds didn’t look good anyway. A couple of dozen Seekers and Templars, and only four of us? Varric is making odds on whether I shall have to “end Lucius” at some point. Cassandra says no, but I disagree. We haven’t seen the last of that bastard.

I met with a Red Jenny by the name of Sera. She’s scary good with a bow, and shitty with nobles. Josie is going to hate her. Leliana will adore her. She’ll cause all sorts of trouble, but sometimes you just need a distraction. Sera will be all kinds of distracting. I would be careful, though. She stole the britches off the guys that were trying to kill us. Not their weapons… their fucking pants. Who does that? I don’t know what kind of crazy she is, but I must admire her dedication to it.

For Josie, I’m bringing back Madame De Fer. Otherwise known as Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard, Royal Enchanter to Empress Celene Valmont, and Loyalist Mage. (Whatever in the Void that means.) She’s a real bitch, but she’s connected. I think that she actually used me to get back at someone who pissed her off. Seemed like a set up to me, at least. You may not believe this, and Josephine certainly won’t, but I do have experience with nobility.

Personally, I don’t like her. She’s a ghastly snob and likes to punch down. I have a feeling that things with her won’t be going smoothly, but I’ll figure out how to handle her. If nothing else, Josie can suck up to the nobility, and if they get out of line, Viv can whack them with her staff. I said that to Solas, and he laughed. Yes, I made him laugh. It’s a gift.

Speaking of gifts, I’m bringing you one. It’s only fair, isn’t it? Josephine is getting Viv and Leliana is getting Sera. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m playing favorites.

Yours is a book. Well, two books. Ferelden Folk Tales for Rainy Nights, both volumes. It’s the translation by Maynard. Fee would never forgive me if I bought anything translated by Genetivi. (I have to add, “that decaying old fossil” after Genetivi’s name. Out of fear of Fee. The rivalry between them is fierce.) I remember you saying once that your father read from them when you were a child. Before you say it, don’t. I like getting things for my friends. It makes me happy. At the same bookstore I also bought Cassandra a smutty romance novel. Varric got a book of crappy poetry, (for use when writing smutty romance novels,) and Solas got a book on Fade Auras, or some shit. I don’t understand it, but he likes it. That’s all that matters to me.

I also got some small clothes that fit. Huzzah!!! No more cloth wedged up my butt crack, thank you very much. I also have some comfy pajamas, so the next time you decide to show up late at night, my ass will be covered.

About that… I know that my behavior has been, well let’s call it terrible. I’ve made some bad decisions since I woke up in that cell with a green hand. That thing I did with Roderick. It was stupid. I’m not going to make excuses. I will apologize. I tried several times before I left Haven, but somehow the words didn’t make it out. I haven’t been at my best. I plan on apologizing to Leliana and Josephine when I get back.

I did find out that Max and Gavin never made it to Haven, so they are safe and sound. Driving Aiden insane, but there is nothing unusual about that.

Let me know if the seal on this letter was tampered with before you got it. I threatened Leliana's shoe collection, if you’re worried about collateral damage. The nugs will start dying only if there is a second offense. I’m not a monster.

I need to end this letter now. Cassandra has some correspondence that needs to go to Haven. She’s outside my door, tapping her foot loudly. It’s irritating. I hope that, when I get back, we can talk about shit that’s not about the Inquisition. Maybe books? Not smutty books, though. Cassandra’s taste in literature is atrocious.

Kit T…

PS. How does one end a letter like this. Warmest Regards sounds like I’m writing to one of my brothers. Love is too personal. Sincerely is just… Ugh… Great, now I’m making disgusted noises like Cassandra.

K

Cullen smiled as he refolded the letter and put it with the others. While the sense of danger didn’t dissipate completely, it faded into background noise. Maybe things will get easier.