Chapter Text
After less than one day of being forced to interact with her fiance, Casey started wearing masks again. She picked the ones with as much coverage as possible. They didn’t completely keep her out of trouble, but they hid most of the pained or disgusted facial expressions she couldn’t seem to keep off her face whenever Jean-Gaspard spoke. And boy did he speak.
He followed her everywhere, or at least he attempted to. Where he could not follow, Jean-Gaspard would attempt to force her to stay with him.
“It is most undignified for a lady of your standing to be seen in the tavern.”
“You should send your servant to find someone to handle that job for you. Once you are my wife, you will no longer have to abase yourself with manual labor.”
“I am sure you never learned this with your disadvantaged upbringing, my dearest, but you must let my experience be the guide for us both.”
Jean-Gaspard also tried to regale her with tales of his exploits on the battlefield, only to splutter when she asked why he wasn’t still on the battlefield. There was still a war, after all, she declared in the sickliest sweet voice she could manage. Despite the Inquisitor’s success at Halamshiral, there were bouts of fighting all throughout the Dales. Beyond that would be the cleanup. He mumbled something about an injury to his knee and never brought it up again. Quin insisted she keep things civil in order to avoid an incident, but Jean-Gaspard was beginning to wear on him as well.
At first he treated Quin in the same dismissive way that most upper class Orlesians treated elves, but when he realized that Casey was very fond of Quin, he turned cruel. He was smart enough, it seemed, to never be outright abusive or do anything that would cause harm, but he was nasty at every turn and sent Quin off to perform unpleasant tasks whenever possible.
It was inevitable that things would reach a boiling point eventually and Casey only hoped she had her ax in hand when it did. No place in Skyhold was safe from him, but she found that the most tolerable place was the Herald’s Rest.
She was hiding there from him one evening, wearing her favorite pair of butter soft leggings and a loose tunic in the hopes that she would blend in longer. Quin was out running interference by leading Jean-Gaspard on a wild goose chase for his mistress about the castle in order to buy her some precious time alone. Bull, who always seemed to be present in the tavern, gave her a nod when she arrived. After that, no one seemed to bother her at all, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he had something to do with it. Cabot ran the bar, but Bull ran the patrons.
“May I sit with you, my lady?” she heard as she stared moodily into her cup of ale.
She started, and looked up at the last person she expected to see in the tavern. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out what his angle was. That’s when Casey realized she had been spending too much time around Orlesians. She let out a heavy sigh and waved her hand at a chair.
To her surprise, Cullen didn’t take up the seat across from her, but instead sat right beside her, close enough she could feel the heat from his leg where it rested next to hers. He turned his body towards her, and their legs touched. She looked at it, then up at him, wondering what she had missed. Something was going on today and she was out of the loop. Cullen Rutherford was in a tavern. He was touching her leg to his. He was looking at her with an expression she hadn’t seen since they were kids.
She looked back down at her ale, and then up at Cabot with suspicion. She’d be watching that man from now on. Cullen took Casey’s silence to mean he should speak first. Considering where her mind had gone, that was probably for the best.
“How...how have you been?” he started lamely. He seemed to realize it too, if his neck-rubbing was any indication.
Casey just blinked at him for a moment. “Have you MET my future husband?” she said, then took a large swig of ale in response to her own question. Cullen’s face was a strange mixture of hard and contemplative.
“I have,” he said tightly. “He came into my office insisting that you be assigned a personal guard.”
“Please tell me you told him to sod off,” Casey said, some life finally creeping into her voice. “Or that you punched him. Oooh, Cullen, did you punch him?”
“I did not punch him,” Cullen said sternly. Did she detect a hint of regret? “I haven’t...I don’t understand…” Cullen let out a frustrated sigh and ran his hand through his hair. He leaned in closer and dropped his voice. “Acacia, why on earth are you marrying that man?”
Casey discovered in that moment that maybe she had already had too many ales for the day. Cullen’s face was very close to her own. She could feel his breath ghost across her cheek. She looked down at his lips and had to resist the urge to trace a scar there. She wondered why she hadn’t asked him how he got it yet.
She closed her eyes, as if not being able to see Cullen would render her immune to his proximity. It helped some. Not enough, but some. She opened her eyes again.
“If you hadn’t noticed, I came to Josie looking for help to do just that,” she said. “And I’m currently drinking the worst ale in Thedas hoping I can get a half hour today without him trying to grope me.”
Cullen turned a bit red at that, his sense of chivalry no doubt niggled. “I have seen the contract. It is ridiculous,” Cullen said, smacking a fist into his open hand. “You cannot be forced into marriage with that...with such a…”
“Maker-damned idiot? An ignoramus? A pompous Orlesian poppycock?”
“Exactly,” he said grimly. “You cannot be forced to marry him.”
“I mean, sure, I could run off, but then I’d be handing the estate to that asshat on a silver platter,” Casey said with exasperation.
“Why do you care?” Cullen said, no longer bothering to be quiet now that he wasn’t calling her by name. “Why would you want to be a noble of all things?”
“Why do you say that like it’s a dirty word, Cullen?” she said, pushing herself away slightly. “Sera has a thriving hobby of turning aristocrats into pincushions and she seems to think I’m alright but you…”
“But I what?” Cullen challenged.
“You’ve been avoiding me like the plague since you found out,” she said, unable to keep some of the hurt from leaking into her voice. They weren’t exactly being loud, but she knew that Bull and Sera were watching. There was no doubt this would spread like wildfire soon, at least through the gossipy inner circle of the Inquisitor’s friends. You might think they’d be too busy helping Inquisitor Lavellan save the world to get wrapped up in petty drama, but you’d be horribly wrong. They were the worst of the lot in Skyhold.
“Is it so bad--” she stopped and attempted to lower her voice. It was difficult to do when she was drunk. Her tongue felt a bit too heavy. “Is it so bad that I’m a noble? I’m still the same girl from Honnleath. I’m still ME.”
“It’s not...I’m not…” he stumbled, looking flustered and mildly ashamed. “I do not care if you are noble, you will always be my—I will always care for you.”
Warmth bloomed in Casey’s chest at his words, but she had to push forward, had to figure things out. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”
“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he said. “It is very hard to deal with your fiance, but it is even harder to see him with you.” He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, and he looked slightly pink.
Casey winced. “He is very forward,” she said. “I imagine it’s no fun for anyone to witness. So—are we good then?”
“We are,” Cullen said firmly. “But there is still the matter of your marriage. There are Inquisition camps all throughout Ferelden and Orlais. You could lay low at a camp for some time. Leliana may even be able to assist with crafting you a new identity.”
He seemed particularly excited by this plan. Casey looked at Cullen for moment, mouth agape.
“That’s…” she began. “Cullen, I think that’s the most underhanded thing I’ve ever heard you suggest. I absolutely hate that I have to turn the offer down, truly.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, frustration returning. “Why would you rather be that idiot’s wife than simply give up your title and go back to the way you used to live?”
The old Casey—which was really only the Casey from a few months ago—would have gotten angry at this point. But the Inquisition had taught her a lot, not least of which was that there was a glowing scar in the heavens and there was really no point in getting up in arms over every little thing. Cullen was making an effort to understand, he was even offering her an out. She would be patient.
“Cullen, if Leliana wrote up a contract promising you to an Orlesian in marriage, and all of the Inquisition’s soldiers would be forfeit if you didn’t go through with it, what would you do?”
Cullen drew up, his face confused and mildly upset. “I fail to see how that would ever happen,” he said.
“Just answer the hypothetical question, Cullen,” Casey ground out. She wasn’t a saint, after all. “Would you abandon your men and everything you have worked for the past year to save your own hide?”
“No,” he said, looking away from her. “I would not. But I fail to see how that is the same.”
“It may not be some grand military, but the people who work at Maison Detre are my responsibility. I have worked very hard to make their lives better and I’ll be damned if I give them over to the ridiculous decadence of some desensitized noble prick again!”
She may have shouted the last bit, she couldn’t be sure, but based on the look on Cullen’s face she figured she had finally gotten through.
“Is this man bothering you, my dear?” came a heavily accented voice from the door. Casey looked up and groaned at the silhouette of her fiance standing against the failing light that made it’s way through the tavern door. She resisted the urge to slam her head on the table—or perhaps slam his head on the table—but only just. Knowing her luck, the bastard would still attempt to marry her even if she was comatose. Best not to risk it.
“I am fine, Jean-Gaspard,” she said dismissively. “Just discussing the burdens of responsibility with the Commander.”
“A worthy topic, my darling bud,” Jean-Gaspard said, coming to stand in front of her. He looked down at the chair on her other side briefly before deciding he would not be sitting there. “Perhaps this is a fortuitous chance that brings you to be here, Commander. I wish to discuss a matter of security.”
“As I said before, the Inquisition’s soldiers are not for hire,” Cullen said. He glanced briefly back over his shoulder at the Chargers. “With a few exceptions. The Chargers are our only mercenary group. If you pay well enough, they may be enticed to assist with...whatever it is you need.”
“But I assure you, this would be Inquisition business,” Jean-Gaspard said with a slimy grin. “My lovely bride-to-be is an official member of the Inquisition, after all, as are some of her...underlings. It would seem my dearest’s manservant has found himself on the wrong side of a mage.”
Cullen stilled and turned to face the man. Casey likewise stopped trying to desperately shrink in on herself and turned to look at him with wide eyes.
“What do you mean? What’s happened?” she said, angry now at the slur in her voice. Of all the times to be drunk, she thought.
“Your servant was leading me to a bottle of wine he suggested you may care for in particular. We were separated and he ended up trapped. Of course, me and my men had to see to ourselves in such a dangerous situation,” he said with a sniff. “I have tried to tell you, my dear, that you need to dismiss him. He is more trouble than he is worth.”
“What do you mean he’s trapped?” Cullen said in alarm, standing up quickly and advancing on Jean-Gaspard, looming over the man. Jean-Gaspard was too dense to feel threatened, but his guards had the good sense to be intimidated by Cullen in full Commander mode. One of the guards spoke.
“She was blocking his way out of one of the store rooms,” he said tentatively, glancing at Jean-Gaspard to see if he would be upset that he dared to speak. When Jean-Gaspard waved him on, he continued. “She said she would make the elf love her by any means necessary.”
“Maker’s cock,” Cullen swore.
Casey started. She had never heard Cullen let lose with a real swear before. It hammered home the seriousness of the situation the way nothing else could have. He grabbed the man who had spoken and started to make his way to the tavern door. Casey scrambled to follow behind on wobbly feet.
“You’re going to take me to him,” he said to the guard. “This should have been reported to the nearest Templar immediately and instead you wasted time to find me specifically. If I find he has come to harm, I will hold your master personally responsible.”
Jean-Gaspard, who had been following along, squawked at this. “Really, Commander, I simply believed the situation demanded only the best,” he said. “It is surely more than the knife-ear deserves. But really, you cannot take one of my guards from me. There are many who would wish me dead.”
“Of that I have little doubt,” Cullen bit out. Casey’s heart gave a little flip. It was the hottest thing he’d ever said. He made eye contact with the Iron Bull.
“Bull, could you please keep an eye on our esteemed guest,” he said, his voice dripping with so much angry sarcasm that even Jean-Gaspard noticed.
“Sure, thing,” Bull said with a gracious nod. “I’ll keep two on him, if I find an extra one laying around.” Bull’s grin was more menacing than usual as he said this.
“Commander, you will not leave me with this...this brute!”
“That brute is the leader of the finest mercenary band that money can buy,” Casey said, losing patience she didn’t have to begin with. “You will sit here and let him protect your precious ass while the Commander does what a real man would have done in the first place and saves my best friend.”
Jean-Gaspard sat down with an offended grunt, and Casey turned to storm out of the building, leaving Cullen and Jean-Gaspard’s guardsman to follow behind. If she noticed Cullen looked ridiculously pleased with himself, she didn’t call it out. There were more important things that needed to be done.
Hang in there, Quin.