Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Will you write to me? While I’m gone?,” her voice drifted through his mind like a soft melody swept up in a gentle breeze. The raging roar of battle circled around him. Clashing swords, the boom of erupting flames. Dull cries of war, muffled and distorted, as though he were trapped inside a bubble.

The memory of her words came rushing back. The sun setting and the cool evening air. Her hair caught the light, picking up gently in the breeze as she turned to face him. Her eyes, deep brown and full of unspoken promises. A promise of a future beyond all of this, together. Her voice, soft and sweet, the words tumbling from her lips.

The grasp of terror took hold, like the nightmares. Grey Wardens, seasoned warriors, leapt to their death by choice of their own. Gone was their valor in the wake of her fire. An oath broken.

The fighting slowed, but the flames kept burning. He staggered backwards, a chance to catch his breath in the battle’s lull. He looked up from the carnage of the battlefield, the ramparts of Adamant Fortress ablaze in her fire , bodies cascading down alongside the embers.

Slowly, as though time itself had ceased, Cullen lifted the lion helm. Sweat trickled down his face, ash and dust clinging to his skin. His eyes, weary but focused, lifted upward and found her. Drawn to her.

Emerging from the flames, she stood at the edge of the battlements, unscathed by the inferno that raged around her. Screams of fallen soldiers were distant, yet no less haunting. Among it all, she stood. Powerful, untouchable… terrifying.

Once more, the memory of her standing on Skyhold’s battlements flashed into his mind. Her fingers twisting through her hair, coiling it tighter and tighter. Her eyes dropped to the ground, lost in thought, until his fingers laced with hers, gently easing her tension. She looked up at him, her smile unguarded.

“Of course I will write to you,” Cullen promised, the words as much a reassurance to himself as to her. Her expression softened in return. Gentle. Delicate. Genuine.

He gripped his sword tighter and swallowed hard. His heart pounded, adrenaline from battle coursing through his veins, but also, the sight of her. For all the hurt and fear her flames represented, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Beneath the terror and the power was the woman he had grown to care for so deeply. Strong, courageous, yet undeniably vulnerable. Human.

The thought of losing her was more terrifying than anything he had ever faced.

The flames raged around her, howling as their glow flickered violently in the night sky. Hissing and crackling, the fire swallowed everything, its roar drowning out her laboured breaths and the muffled shouts of soldiers.

She stepped forward, glaring over the edge of the battlements. Through the smoke, she glimpsed lights, flames reflecting off the plate armour of the Inquisition’s soldiers below. They were down there.

He was down there.

“Stay with my forces!” she screamed, her voice fiercer than she’d expected as she gave the order. If there was a reply, it was lost in the chaos. Her heart pounded in her ears, pulse hammering in her neck. The green glow of her hand flickered wildly, a searing burn as it cracked and flared. She had to put an end to this.

She turned back, facing the full scope of the destruction she had left behind. The scent of smoke and blood lingered in the air, the blackened ground and charred bodies of those who had been brave enough to stand against her. Her magic did this. And she’d do it again if need be.

There was no time to hesitate. What she had wrought, what was yet to come — none of it mattered if her people were not to survive this, if Cullen were to…

Power coursed through her veins, passion igniting with every heartbeat, driving her forward. Her hand glowed brighter with each step, stronger, pulsing with energy. The anchor’s sting brought her comfort, the reassurance that she could do this.

It hadn’t always been this way. Once this magic had felt like a curse. Once, she had begged to falter…

Chapter Text

Tears burnt as they rolled down her wind-kissed cheeks. It was safe inside her cabin, and warm. The howling winds of Haven rattled the door that she was leaning against, sending a cold chill down her back. Juliette’s breathing grew more rapid as she sank to the floor. She let herself sob. Everything was finally catching up with her.

The last few days were a haze of despair, drifting in and out of consciousness, her memory fragmented. Her vision was blurred with tears, her eyes stinging as they welled up, her breath shuddering between sobs. She felt disorientated, her situation feeling more like a cruel nightmare than reality. Each moment she was waiting, hoping, that a demon would just hurry up and snatch her from this misery.

The Conclave had felt like a lost cause from the start. Of course, she had been skeptical. Templars, the Chantry—how could she ever believe they’d treat someone like her as equal? The Maker has a lot to answer for.

She looked down at her hand as tears rolled down her neck, tickling her collarbone. It pulsed a steady green, each flicker of light mirroring her heartbeat. Anxiety consumed her the more she stared at it. It was frightening, how such magic could be embedded in her palm. Where did it come from? Why is it here? More importantly, how could she rid herself of it?

They wanted her for this mark. These strange zealots hobbled in the mountains. First, they locked her in chains, blaming her for the destruction of the Conclave, for the deaths of all those people... The Divine, too. She would never do such a thing! To be accused of something so sinister, spat at, dragged into battle. Her execution ordered by the Chantry in a fit of rage.

Now they needed her. Now they worshiped her.

Herald of Andraste, she thought bitterly. That’s absurd! How could they believe this of me? She felt hopeless, small. If I were to run now, how far could I go before they’d hunt me down?

At first, Juliette didn’t hear the knock on the door. The wind howled outside, and her head was buried against her knees. The shouting went unnoticed longer than she’d like to admit. She sat there alone, trying to block out the world.

“Hello? Herald? Can you hear me?”

The voice was sweet and feminine at first, but then grew louder, increasing with concern. “Your worship? I know you’re in there, please! Is everything all right?”

Juliette took a deep breath, pausing to gain some composure. She wasn’t ready to face them, not like this. She needed a moment before showing the world her tears. Yet, the voice continued, softer now. “Lady Trevelyan, I know it must be a lot to take in.”

The voice was calm and soothing, muffled against the door, yet something about it felt almost taunting in its kindness. People didn’t speak to her like this. It felt too good to be true. Juliette could hear a heavy sigh from the other side of the door.

“Honestly... I’m scared too. We’re all scared…” The voice trailed off as the door began to open. Juliette stood, her eyes puffy and red, an expression of both defeat and embarrassment on her face.

“My apologies,” Juliette murmured. “I needed a moment.”

“Of course.” The woman smiled sympathetically, a warm but guarded expression. She was pretty— a dwarven woman with a freckled face and vibrant red hair, neatly braided into a bun. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Herald of Andraste. I’ve heard the stories. We all have.”

Juliette nodded respectfully, forcing a smile so unnatural that she feared it would expose her even more. She hated this title and the expectations it carried. She didn’t want to be a symbol. She didn’t want people talking about her or holding their breath, waiting for her to be something she didn’t believe she could ever be. She wanted to run.

But where would I even go? There was no Circle, no home, no safe place for an apostate.

Sensing her discomfort, the dwarf moved towards introductions. “Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service.”

“Nice to meet you,” Juliette replied, forcing politeness through a tight smile. Inside, she longed to retreat to the safety of her cabin. Harding grinned awkwardly, as if unsure whether to press further.

“Welcome to Haven.”

Juliette was surprised by the number of people who had gathered in this little settlement. Workers, chantry sisters, pilgrims. All of them seemed to be watching her closely as she was led through The Inquisition's base. Their stares felt heavy, almost suffocating. Some looked at her with awe, whispers in hushed tones of ‘Andraste’s prophet’. Others were more suspicious, “A mage? There must be some kind of mistake.” Their murmurs were sharp and distrustful, as though they were waiting for her to fail. Waiting for her to betray them, to prove their darkest fears true.

She wondered at times if this was The Maker’s will, a cruel reminder of the Canticle of Transfigurations, and the lesson it carried.

Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him.

In moments like this, she would remember the day it all began...

Flames erupted, roaring as the estate’s horse stables were consumed by fire, the stench of burning wood and flesh filling the air. Eleven years old, Juliette stood frozen, her heart racing as horrified stable hands and servants stared in disbelief. The heat of the flames matched the fire in her chest, a consequence of her uncontrolled anger. She felt herself drowning in guilt, not understanding what any of it meant. Her father’s words would forever haunt her, ‘As far as I am concerned, my daughter perished in that stable along with the horses.’

Juliette’s attention fell to Haven’s snow-covered ground as she walked, not daring to meet the eyes of the spectators. She hadn’t noticed much about her boots until now; how the fur lining brushed against her ankles, how the roughly stitched sole had already begun to show signs of wear. They were so different from the delicate slippers mages wore in the Circle. Practical, sturdy, far more suited to the world she now found herself in. It was a welcome change to be out of those robes as well, though the leggings felt strange. They were light, and flexible, foreign against her skin. While sensible, it also left her feeling a bit like an imposter, dressed for a life she hadn’t yet learned to accept. She worried that maybe she should be wearing her robes, as though she’d find herself in trouble without them.

Her mind had drifted so far from Harding’s conversation that she almost missed the next words.

“Officer Charter recruited me, I was just happy to help the soldiers find their way through The Hinterlands. It can get a bit rough out there, but you’ll see soon enough for yourself…”

Juliette looked up slowly, feeling a little dazed as embarrassment washed over her. She could feel her cheeks flush when Harding’s words trailed off, caught not paying attention. For this she would typically be scolded.

“I.. uh..” Juliette tried to fill the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. Why is this so hard? she thought. She tugged at the hems of her sleeves, avoiding Harding’s gaze. She wasn’t sure what to say to someone who seemed so content with their surroundings, someone who had a place in this world. She had no idea where she fit anymore, and it terrified her.

"That’s something we can go over later,” Harding said reassuringly. “I’m departing for the field this afternoon, but I just wanted to see that you were set up first. Lady Cassandra had asked that I introduce you to our blacksmith and get you measured up.”

“Measured up?” Juliette asked cautiously, a waver on confusion in her voice.

“For your armour. You’ll need it out there. Ferelden can be dangerous,” Harding said, walking ahead.

Armour? Juliette thought to herself. Never had she considered a need to wear it. The thought sent a chill down her spine. She had always imagined armour to be something for someone else, someone stronger, someone more deserving. Not the daughter of a noble family, forever marked by the shame of her magic. Noticing Harding move ahead, Juliette quickly followed, her footsteps feeling a little heavier with this new revelation.

When Juliette was a child, she was taught that heroes wore armour. Late at night, her older sisters would sneak from their quarters into the library, where they would read romance novels by candlelight. The stories filled the room with wonder, each word painting a new world of chivalrous knights and damsels in distress. Sometimes, they let Juliette follow, though rarely could she read for herself. She would listen, wide-eyed, as they read aloud, performing each role in grand gestures, their nightgowns swirling like the flowing dresses of princesses, their shadows dancing along the walls. In those moments she was safe, free to imagine a life full of possibility.

When she found life troubling, as she often would in the Circle of Magi, Juliette would sometimes let her mind wander, thinking back to those stories. She dreamed of a hero of her own, a knight clad in armour to whisk her away and sweep her off her feet.

But knights don’t protect people like her. They guard them.

The idea of wearing armour for herself, to become her own hero, seemed almost as absurd as the storybooks.

"Harding? Was it?" Juliette asked, catching up to her pace.

"Yes, your worship. Lace Harding," she said, turning to face Juliette.

"I’m sorry. I’ve been having trouble staying focused," Juliette admitted, nervously tugging at the hems of her sleeves.

"Hey, if I woke up from an explosion with a mark from Andraste, I’d be somewhat out of sorts too," Harding chuckled, her voice light and airy.

Juliette looked at her hand again, feeling the steady pulse of the green light beneath her skin. "I… I don’t really believe it," Juliette mumbled, her voice almost a whisper. She gripped her sleeves tighter. "I mean... the mark, the title. I don’t feel like—" She sighed, letting her eyes fall to the ground again.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, only the noise of Haven surrounding them. The murmurs of gossip drifted through the air; soft whispers as if people were too afraid to speak plainly. Then, there was the breach in the sky above, ever glowing with an occasional boom of crackling thunder. Juliette looked up at it, the sight sending an eerie chill through her bones.

“Maybe we should keep going,” Harding suggested in a gentle voice. She glanced over her shoulder at Juliette, giving her an understanding look. “The smithy is this way.”

Outside the fortress, the soldiers were hard at work, training in the midst of the snowfall. Their swords clanged against one another with a sharp, ringing sound that echoed through the camp. She found herself wincing with every strike, her thoughts scattered by the harsh rhythm. She was amazed how the soldiers sparred in the snow, unfazed by the heavy wind that cut through their clothing, their breath visible in the cold air.

Harding laughed with a smile, noticing Juliette’s reaction. “You’ll get used to that sound soon enough.”

Juliette's eyes widened comically, her mouth parting in a disbelieving expression. She blinked, trying to process the idea. Get used to it? I can’t imagine how anyone could—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud, commanding voice that sliced through the chaotic noise of the soldiers' training.

“There’s a shield in your hand. Block with it! If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead.”

A strange sensation crossed over her, a passing memory, so quick she couldn’t grasp it. She turned slowly, listening curiously for the familiar voice.

Standing tall among the soldiers was a man in armour so bright that the sunlight glistened off its surface. A fur mantle draped over his shoulders. Brown, red, and black against the gleam of steel. His hair, golden in the sunlight. There was something so familiar about him, but it was fleeting, like a dream slipping from her mind. It wasn’t until his voice rose above the clatter a second time, issuing orders to his soldiers, that everything started to fall into place.

It was hard to discern dreams from reality, the past few days blending together in a haze. But this felt real. She could recall seeing him fight alongside her when she sealed a rift that day at the temple. While she grappled with the shock of veil-repairing magic streaming from her palm, she caught sight of him, valiantly battling demons as they charged towards her. She had just the tiniest flutter of admiration for him, but her thoughts had been focused more on survival than anything else.

Oh, now what was his name? General…Commander….

“Our soldiers train hard, huh?” Harding’s voice snapped Juliette out of her moment of reflection.

“Oh, yes,” she said, shaking her head slightly. Juliette’s smile widened as she looked down at Harding. “That man out there, with the soldiers. I… I think I know him.”

“Commander Cullen?” Harding asked. “You met at the temple, right?”

“Commander Cullen,” she whispered to herself, nodding. “Yes! That sounds right.” She looked back over the field where the soldiers trained, her smile growing. “I’m starting to remember…” Her voice trailed off as the memory became more clear.

He had thanked Cassandra for sealing the rift at first, looking like he was in disbelief when she explained that it had been Juliette’s doing. The prisoner, they called her. He gave her an intense, wildly distrustful glare when he spoke.

‘I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.’

Her smile faltered, and she turned her attention back to Harding. “I don’t think I made the best impression, actually,” she said, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her voice.

“The Commander is…” Harding began to explain before pausing, her attention snapping to the sound of the Commander’s voice ringing out above the sparring.

“Focus! Don't take your eyes off the enemy!” he yelled, his tone sharp. The soldier’s focus shifted, pulling their attention away from the nearby presence of The Herald of Andraste. Cullen glanced over his shoulder, fur mostly obscuring his face as he looked in the direction where Juliette and Harding stood.

Juliette quickly averted her eyes, bowing her head and turning her back as a pink blush spread across her cheeks. Her tangled hair fell forward, dark brown waves hiding her face. A small smirk tugged at Harding’s lips as she noticed how flustered the Herald had become.

“Commander Cullen can be a bit intimidating,” Harding explained. “Although, I’ve heard that he can be nice. He’s Ferelden, like me. He served with the Templars in Kirkwall, was a Knight Captain.”

A Templar, Juliette thought to herself. That explains the smoldering glare.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes drifting towards him once more. He spoke with large gestures, moving among the soldiers and directing their drills, his commands filled with authority and precision. Juliette quickly turned her focus back to the ground, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It felt greasy, dirty. The sudden realisation hit her—she hadn’t bathed since before the Conclave. To be seen like this, by so many people…

“We probably should keep moving,” Harding suggested, drawing out her words slowly. “I don’t want to know what happens if we disrupt his drills.”

Juliette nodded, walking alongside Harding as they moved along the path. “There wouldn’t be a bathhouse here by chance... would there?” Juliette asked hesitantly, already guessing the answer before she finished the question.

Harding chuckled cheerfully at first, but her laughter faltered when she realised Juliette wasn’t joking.

“A bathhouse? I don’t know what that is, but we have baths... in houses?” she said dubiously.

“Any bath would do,” Juliette laughed. “I’d give my left arm for a chance to freshen up.”

Harding’s eyes sparkled as she smiled up at Juliette. “Oh, hey, that’s funny,” she laughed. “Maybe hold on to that arm, though — we’re going to need it.”

Chapter Text

Leliana’s glare was as cold as the snow covered mountains that surrounded them. Cullen knew that he wasn’t going to win this easily.

“Pure speculation,” she said with a savage tone, shutting down any chance of a reasonable argument. He already had a headache, she was making it far worse.

Cullen gritted his teeth. “I was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of!” His rebuttal was cut short by Josephine’s soft snicker. “What?” Cullen snapped, impatiently.

“Oh, nothing, Commander,” Josephine replied, unfazed by his attitude, her eyes moving to Leliana. The sly smile they exchanged was far too deliberate to be missed. Cullen sighed deeply, his fingers tightening on the edge of the table. He could feel his patience stretching thin.

He’d never admit it to their faces, but Cullen secretly found comfort in their teasing. It reminded him of his family, his sisters and their playful jabs, and that in turn gave him a sense of purpose. The reminder of home was enough reassurance to keep fighting, to give his all to the Inquisition’s cause. He’d grown so accustomed to their lighthearted banter over the months that, in a way, he came to expect these moments at the war councils.

Nonetheless, the task at hand was clear. He needed to approach the Templars for support in sealing the breach. He wouldn’t back down, no matter how much they opposed him. When the time came, he’d make his case, when his colleagues were in a more professional state of mind. For now, he was eager to return to the barracks where he felt confident in his work , unopposed and not so outnumbered by strong-willed women.

“Can’t we get on with this? I have much to do,” he grumbled.

“Patience, Commander,” Josephine spoke in a melodic tone, not once taking her eyes off her clipboard. “We must greet our guest.”

“Guest?” he asked with exasperation. “She is either an enemy or an ally. There’ll be none of this pandering to nobility nonsense.”

“Nobility is a term used lightly in this case,” Josephine corrected. “Lady Trevelyan was a member of Ostwick’s Circle, a mage like any other. Still, it would serve us well to find favour with her family. Their influence is—”

“Irrelevant,” Cullen interrupted sharply. “Our focus should be on closing that rift before demons overrun Thedas.” He shook his head, hand tightening on the pommel of his sword. “When is this Lady Trevelyan coming anyway?”

“Herald,” Leliana corrected with a strong glare. “She is the Herald of Andraste.”

“Is she?” Cullen asked with a hint of sarcasm, leaning forward against the war table. “Well, when is the Herald of Andraste expected to make her appearance? I can’t keep waiting around.”

“Don’t rush her. Lady Juliette deserves to take her time bathing. We owe her that much,” Josephine reasoned, flashing a grin at Leliana when she caught Cullen rolling his eyes.

Leliana and Josephine shared a quiet laugh, the door to the room beginning to creak open. “Shh! Here they come. Don’t embarrass us, Commander,” Leliana teased.

“Me? Embarrass you?” Cullen muttered, shaking his head. “Maker’s breath!”

Cassandra stormed inside first. “Ugh! Sorry for being late, It’s my fault or rather it’s Varric’s.” She screwed her face up with disgust as she said his name.

“Oh, but that story was worth waiting for,” Juliette giggled. “It’s nice to meet an author.”

Cullen snorted out a laugh unexpectantly. “You’ll change your mind about that soon enough.” He lifted his eyes from the war table and when they met Juliette’s, he froze. He couldn’t quite explain it, the strange feeling that overcame him when he looked at her. His smug expression softened as they held eye contact, in a moment that seemed to linger longer than necessary.

He found her smile intriguing, lips closed together tightly and her cheeks flushed a soft pink. It was a timid smile, but it was warm and felt sincere. Her presence, days earlier a quiet threat, now felt oddly comforting. Like a mystery he was slowly beginning to unravel.

Juliette was the first to break the eye contact as she stepped closer behind Cassandra, who was moving towards the edge of the table. She absently readjusted her hairpin, dark strands of hair, freshly washed, slipping loose from the twisted bun at the nape of her neck. Her focus remained fixed on the floor, a quiet but deliberate gesture.

Oblivious to the interaction, Cassandra pressed ahead. “You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.” Juliette glanced up just as Cullen extended his hand.

“It was only for a moment on the field, but I’m pleased you survived,” he said earnestly. His words lingered in the air, softer than the usual command in his tone, reflecting the sincerity behind them.

Instinctively, Juliette held her left hand out, almost meeting Cullen’s handshake, but she stopped short and winced. Both she and Cullen stared at the eerie green glow that radiated from her palm. “Uh, maybe try this hand,” she said with a nervous laugh, quickly switching to her right. When their hands touched, Juliette looked up at him, and their eyes locked for a heartbeat. His stare was intense, a hint of golden colour in his eyes reflecting the light. She looked down at their hands, noticing the firmness of his handshake, his gloves brushing against her fingers as he pulled his hand away. She returned her eyes to Cullen’s in time to see him look down at the map on the table, both his hands resting on the pommel of his sword once more.

Cullen quietly cleared his throat before asking, “Does it hurt? Your hand?”

Juliette shook her head, slowly. “No, not that much,” she answered with a soft voice. It was a lie, of course. At times the mark felt like she was holding tight to a red hot fire iron. To admit pain at this moment felt wrong, almost as if she was ungrateful for surviving — which she was very much grateful for, considering everything.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet,” Cassandra continued. “Our Ambassador and Chief Diplomat.”

Josephine tilted her head gracefully, a warm smile on her lips. “I’ve heard much, it’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“And of course, you know Sister Leliana.”

“Pleased to meet you all,” Juliette said with a smile, though it felt more like a mask. She leaned back against the wall, her posture relaxed, but beneath the facade, a nervous energy rippled through her. Every moment, she half-expected them to change their minds, to return her to the chains as quickly as they had freed her.

Josephine spoke of the Chantry, her concern in obtaining allies to assist with the breach. Cullen found himself staring ahead at the war table, his eyes blurring as he focused on the lines marking Lake Calenhad. He always stood here at war councils, this position, looking down on the lake that was once both a home and a prison.

Trying to prove themselves to the Chantry was a notion so absurd to Cullen, he could scarcely wrap his mind around it. They should call upon the order, use some sense! he thought. They’re wasting time. Shouldn’t they be busy arguing over who’s going to become Divine? He folded his arms and sighed quietly, his eyes wandering up, catching sight of Juliette.

He noticed the way she was standing, fingers tightly gripping the hems of her sleeves, while she watched Josephine closely, nodding in quiet acknowledgment. He wondered how she felt about all of this , if she was truly innocent. Surely, this must be daunting for her.

Juliette’s eyes held a gentleness while she quietly stood there listening, until Josephine’s words caused a sudden shift in her expression. She furrowed her brow, fingers gripping her sleeves tighter. “Just how am I the Herald of Andraste?” she asked with frustration.

“That frightens the Chantry and the remaining clerics call it blasphemy, ” Josephine explained.

“It frightens me too if I’m to be honest!” Juliette admitted with a hint of defensiveness to her voice.

“People saw what you did at the temple,” Cassandra said. “How you stopped the breach from growing. They also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.”

“Even if we tried to stop their view from spreading,” Leliana began to add.

“Which we have not.” Cassandra spoke firmly and it was apparent that she found this rumor of the Herald beneficial.

Leliana nodded. “The point is that everyone is talking about you.”

Juliette clasped her fingers together, pressing them lightly to her mouth as she stood lost in thought, trying to make sense of what they were saying. She had heard people call her “The Herald of Andraste” before, knew the rumours and misconceptions surrounding her, but to hear it again, said so officially. It was a lot to take in.

Cullen’s voice caught Juliette’s attention, snapping her from her thoughts. “Quite the title, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes fixed on her. She looked up at him, her breath lost when their eyes connected again. “How do you feel about that?”

Scared. Horrified. Embarrassed…like I should run far away from here, The Chantry and anyone else who would use me for this stupid mark on my hand.

“I…” The words that flooded her mind died on her tongue when she looked at him, hesitating to speak at all. He was smiling at her, a kindness in his eyes that contradicted his armour, his defensive stance with a hand on his sword at the ready. Are Templars supposed to ask mages how they feel? Do they do things differently outside of Ostwick?

“I…don’t know,” she said slowly, a meekness in her answer.

Cullen’s smile faltered, slowly, his expression softened. “The Chantry has decided that for you, it seems.”

Juliette stared at him curiously. Is that a look of sympathy?

Cullen stood a little straighter, his posture becoming more rigid as she held his gaze. He could almost feel the silence between them, unsure of where to look or what to do with his hands. He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes falling back to the map of Ferelden before him.

Josephine broke the silence as she spoke, glumly. “Without the Chantry’s support , neither mages or Templars will speak with us.”

“Then let me talk to the Templars!” Cullen argued with frustration. He leaned forward, looking at Josephine with determination burning in his eyes. “I can get through to them!”

Juliette flinched at the sudden intensity of his voice, swallowing nervously as she fought the urge to shrink back.

“Commander!” Cassandra said firmly. “We’ve been through this! We need power, enough magic poured into that mark…”

“Might destroy us all!” Cullen snapped.

Leliana stepped forward so that she was standing between Cassandra and Cullen. “Must we go through this again?” she asked. “Now is not the time to be negotiating with Templars.”

“Mages can not be trusted!” Cullen yelled, slamming his fist onto the table.

The room fell silent.

In his anger, Cullen had realised that he had overstepped. The line had been crossed — not just between potential allied factions, but between him and Juliette, their ‘Herald of Andraste.’ Juliette, who stood there with all eyes on her, her body tense and eyes blinking rapidly. Cullen stood frozen, his chest heaving, a rush of regret flooding over him.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to —”

“No, I think you did mean it.” Juliette’s voice was bitter, a coldness that shocked even herself. Well, I was wrong. No kindness. No sympathy. A templar, through and through.

She looked back to her fingers, tightly pressing her thumb into her glowing palm. With a shaky breath, she tried to ignore the lump in her throat.

At least in The Circle there was an order to things. People knew what they were doing. Templars didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t. I knew my place.

She sighed heavily and turned for the war room’s door. This Inquisition might have released me from my chains, but I am still a prisoner.

When she turned her back, Cullen opened his mouth to speak, to stop her, to try to take back the words that he had never intended to say. He couldn’t find the right words, and instead stood frozen, his throat tight. His eyes moved briefly to Josephine and Leliana, their judgmental stares weighing him down.

Cassandra stepped forward, her voice urgent, almost pleading. “Wait!”

Juliette paused, her eyes fixed on her boots, fighting to keep back tears. She took a steadying breath before slowly lifting her eyes, finally meeting Cassandra. Cassandra’s stare was unbreakable, bold and serious.

Juliette swallowed hard before speaking, a slight shake to her voice. “When this is over, if  I seal the breach. Then what? Will The Circles be reinstated? Or will The Chantry have me executed?”

Cassandra simply looked at her. A moment of silence that spoke volumes. Then she sighed lightly, eyes glancing at the map of Thedas sprawled out on the table.

“I can’t speak on behalf of The Chantry,” Cassandra replied firmly. Juliette’s focus fell back to the ground, disappointment settling into her chest. “But what I can tell you is what I know.” Cassandra stepped closer, he voice softening. “I know in my heart that I heard The Divine’s voice at the temple. I know that you are innocent.”

A tear escaped Juliette’s eye, rolling slowly down her cheek despite her best effort to hold it back. She blinked quickly, Cassandra’s reassuring words breaking her facade. She needed to hear it. That someone, anyone, believed her. When she looked back up to Cassandra, tears flowed more freely, any chance of remaining composed now slipping away.

Cullen’s eyes widened, an expression of sadness and shame as he stood there, looking like a kicked puppy.

He made The Herald of Andraste cry.

“It may not be much of a home, but you have a place here with the Inquisition,” Cassandra said proudly, her voice firm but kind. “That is, if you’re willing to stay.”

“And if I refuse?” Juliette asked, her voice a cautious whisper. “If I fail to seal the breach?”

“Then we all die,” Leliana said bluntly.

Juliette looked to Leliana, then back to Cassandra, her expression softening as she considered the offer, not that she had a lot of choice. “Then I’ll do what I can to help,” she said, her voice thick with melancholy determination.

“And we all appreciate your assistance, Lady Juliette,” Josephine reassured with a warm smile. Cassandra and Leliana nodded in agreement, but Cullen stood wallowing in guilt.

“Oh…of course,” he stuttered, his voice unsure as he gave a hesitant nod. Juliette’s eyes snapped to him so quickly that she barely registered the look on his face before turning away.

She looked back to Cassandra and asked, “May I be excused? I’m still exhausted.”

Cassandra studied her for a moment, but before she could respond, Leliana spoke up. “Of course, my lady.”

Juliette gave a small nod, her voice soft as she whispered, “Thank you,” before quietly leaving the room.

As the door closed behind her, Josephine let out a soft sigh, lowering her clipboard. “That could have—” Her words trailed off as she noticed Cassandra moving towards the door, her expression hardening. Before she slammed the door shut behind her, Cassandra threw an angry glare over her shoulder in Cullen’s direction.

He hung his head, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. Once again, the room fell into an awkward silence.

“If looks could kill,” Leliana murmured as both her and Josephine walked out of the door, leaving Cullen alone in the war room.

He exhaled loudly, slamming his fists against the table. He looked to the ceiling and chuckled awkwardly. How am I going to fix this? He shook his head, hoping to rid himself of the guilt, and said, “Maker, why did you send us a mage?”

Chapter Text

A thick cloud of smoke and dust hung in the Ferelden air above the path that led to the Crossroads. A buzz of magical energy lingered , long after the immediate danger had passed. Coughs and groans were heard over the sound of crackling fire. Cassandra looked around with shaky breaths.

“Herald?” she called out with a croaky voice. “Where is she?”

“She can’t have gone too far, Seeker,” Varric observed. Visibility was low and the group relied on the familiarity of voice to orientate themselves.

“We can’t leaver her!” Cassandra yelled. It was a rare sight to see the Seeker panic this way, but the Herald’s wellbeing was a responsibility that she took pride in upholding. She was after all, imperative to their cause.

“Oh, I have a feeling that won’t be necessary,” Solas spoke so nonchalantly that it sent shivers down Cassandra’s spine. Unfazed, he looked in the direction of a bright green glow that illuminated the smoky surroundings.

A timely breeze swept away smoke and debris making entrance for the Herald of Andraste. There Juliette stood, hair disheveled and her clothing torn. With her hand reaching skyward, she let loose a savage scream that was surely heard throughout the village. Before her lay bodies of fallen Templars and apostate mages. As the radiant light from her palm dulled, she pulled her hand back towards her body and looked over to the group. The expression on the Herald’s face was of pure terror.

Juliette stepped forward, not realising that her boot had caught onto a shield of the fallen. She managed to stop herself from tripping but in an act of both frustration and shock, she kicked the shield with enough force to launch it through the air. With a rattle and clang, the shield landed before Varric,  blood-splattered Templar symbol facing upwards.

“Well that’s ominous,” he remarked casually.

“All these people?” Juliette whispered. “ I did this!” Panic began to surge over her and Juliette could feel her breath becoming rapid and frantic.

“No!” Cassandra said firmly. “These people were rebels and we were under attack. It’s better that they lay here than harm innocent villagers. We’re not doing…” she waved her hand towards Juliette, gesturing at her face. “This.” Cassandra turned and walked ahead swiftly, wasting no time. Varric and Solas followed behind her soon after. Left to herself, Juliette pushed back tears, trying to process what just happened. There was no time for weakness, no place for emotions. She drew in a deep breath and continued after them.

Upon realising that Juliette was within earshot, Varric turned over his shoulder and said with a wink; “Besides, you didn’t do all this. Give Bianca some credit.”

Wounded soldiers and vulnerable refugees were nothing new to Juliette. She had experienced this first hand when the circles fell. That didn’t make the sight any easier for her, however. As they walked through the war-torn village, Juliette witnessed the Inquisition’s own soldiers fighting for their lives in the aftermath of the attacks. She couldn’t help but wonder what would have become of her if she hadn’t been invited to The Conclave. She felt a slither of gratitude that she may never know the answer to that question.

As they approached the village’s center, people began to take notice.

“Thank the maker!” an exhausted looking man exclaimed . He looked to be a farmer or perhaps a merchant. In tattered clothing it was hard to tell what these people did for a living before fending off armies of rouge Templars. “They sent us warriors! They sent…” his sentence halted with the realisation of who had arrived. “Can it be? Are you her?” he asked , staring down Juliette with fascination. A woman came running over, barefoot and fanatical.

“It’s her! It’s the Herald of Andraste! I saw her! She rose from the ashes, just now! She’s here to save us!” The woman yelled at the top her lungs with great excitement. Murmurs and chattering filled the air as a crowd gathered around them.

“No. No, no!” Juliette began to worry and stepped backwards, shaking her head. “I’m not! I’m…”

Cassandra elbowed Juliette in the ribs, swiftly without remorse. “Just go with it,” she ordered beneath her breath. Clenching at her side, Juliette started to nod.

“Yes. Yes! I’m here to, uh… we are here to assist with aid and…” Juliette did her best to speak to the crowd and hold it all together. She was nervous and terrified, but could see in that moment that these people needed to believe in something. They didn’t need the runt of the Trevelyan family, an outcast mage. They wanted hope. A hero. They needed The Herald of Andraste! She wasn’t sure how to put on a convincing performance but she could try. It was the least that she could do.

A man was heard calling out from the crowd, “My wife is very ill and I need to get a message with my son!” This started a wave of requests, shouted in unison. When people starting yelling and pushing, two soldiers stepped forward, either side of Juliette. One gave her a customary nod while the other held out his hands and shouted orders for the gathering to retreat. They wore the Inquisition’s emblem proudly. Staring up at their flag while it soared in the wind, Juliette realised that all of this, The Inquisition, was bigger and more important than any one person could be. She wasn’t only speaking for herself. Blessed by Andraste or not, her next words would hold an important weight that could very well go down in history.

No pressure.

While the people watched her closely, eagerly awaiting her to speak, Juliette’s training in faith came rushing back. All those hours spent studying prayer in her youth weren’t for nothing after all. With a deep breath, Juliette closed her eyes and gathered composure. She spoke loud and with conviction.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.”

It felt strange to use that verse, something that most mages would associate with Templars, a negative connotation. But Juliette had hope. She believed that it could mean more, that maybe now, throughout this chaos, that there was a chance to bring about change.

Whispers and hums of approval could be heard around and a small smile grew on Juliette’s lips. It was working! “The Inquisition are here to help the people of Ferelden. We will provide aid and resources, we will protect and we will serve. It may take time and we need help - all the help that you can give. Please, help each other and help us help you.” Silence fell over the crowd and Juliette looked to her companions anxiously. She didn’t know what she was actually saying, words were just spewing out at this point. For a moment she feared that everything was going wrong until a soft applause could be heard. It caught on and soon the entire crowd was cheering.

Varric flashed Juliette a grin and she resisted a laugh of shock and awe. Surprised by what she could only imagine was a fluke, Juliette used the opportunity to waste no more time.

“Now can somebody take me to Mother Giselle?”

The snowfall in Haven began to ease and visibility of the mountains improved. Cullen was grateful for the change of conditions not only for the comfort of his soldiers, but it made observing any incoming troupe far easier. He spent the better part of his morning staring up at the pass, eagerly watching for any sign of movement.

The past few days had been rough for him. The withdrawal of Lyrium had proven more challenging than he anticipated and it was starting to wear him down. Sleepless nights and full body aches were the least of his concerns. The latest recruits to The Inquisition’s forces were a headache in their own right, their inexperience only adding to complications. Battling both migraines and nausea, Cullen struggled to oversee the routine drills, an uncharacteristic lack of focus for the former Templar Knight Captain. The Lieutenant appeared to be as unimpressed as Cullen was and the pair exchanged disapproving glances. “Don’t hold back,” he ordered the Lieutenant. “The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one!”

The Lieutenant raised his arm to his chest in acknowledgement and answered, “Yes, Commander!” Obeying orders, he marched forward and instructed the recruits using a boisterous voice that raised above the grunts and clashing swords.

Cullen stood alone staring at the mountain trail. “Nothing,” he muttered to himself. He pulled out a piece of parchment that was tucked inside his boot. The creases were worn and he took care to unfold it gently, as he had evidently done many times beforehand. He had the words committed to memory by now, yet still read over the message as though it were new.

Cullen,

We have arrived safely at The Crossroads and gave aid to our soldiers in clearing the threat. To our surprise both Templars and rebel mages were causing trouble. Both factions attacked us on sight.

The Herald is safe, please stop asking. Although her melee defense leaves much to be desired, she proves to hold her own in battle, thanks to the mark. Outside of combat she carries herself gracefully and has charmed the locals with her kindness and empathy. The townsfolk are racing to join us and I anticipate that many more recruits will be added to your ranks in the coming weeks. I’d be lying if I were to say that I wasn’t impressed.

Mother Giselle was easily convinced to aid The Inquisition and will be arriving in Haven alongside us soon.

No, we don’t know any more about the horses.

Cassandra.

 

He sighed impatiently. They were due back at any moment and waiting was driving him mad. There was so much work to be done and he was eager to dive in head first. A well placed distraction from his suffering. Of course, he was distracted by much more than a heavy workload.

Cullen hadn’t spoke to Juliette since their official meeting at the war council. Their last conversation replayed over and over in his head. He was deeply embarrassed by the way that he had spoke, even though his intentions were never to offend The Herald. He knew that he needed to apologise and had spent days rehearsing in his mind. He had to make it clear that despite their differences in background, he had nothing but respect for her and the work she was doing. Putting that into words without stumbling over himself was the challenge. As lost in thought Cullen was, the sounds of soldiers chattering snapped him back to reality.

“What now?” he huffed, frustrated that they would so easily drop their guard and relinquish the training. That was when he noticed the banner of The Inquisition flying proudly in front of a group of people descending the mountain trail. There were more of them than he expected, more recruits than Cassandra had led him to believe.

Mother Giselle was easy to spot in the distance. Her bright red Chantry attire contrasted against the white snow beautifully. As they moved closer, The Herald could be easily seen walking by her side. Her long black coat was unbuttoned all the way down, hardly practical given the biting wind that whirled around them. Her hair, dark and untamed, flew freely behind. The sight of her was chaotic, yet somehow elegant. He couldn’t help but watch, his thoughts a tangle of uncertainty.

The new recruits stood around , spectating as Juliette and Mother Giselle entered the outer gates to Haven’s fortress . Two of the newer recruits looked to be no older than twenty. Young enough to lack experience, old enough to know better. “That’s her , innit?” a young man asked with excitement. “Do ya think it’s true what they say? That she’s The Herald of Andraste?”

The man beside him smirked. “All I know is, Andraste blessed those tits!” They roared in laughter, too caught up in their immaturity to notice the Commander standing just behind them.

Contending with the pounding headache and the relentless call of the lyriums lure — Cullen’s patience snapped in an instant. Cullen didn’t speak at first. Instead, he lunged, grabbing the recruit by the scruff of his tunic and yanking him backwards with a force that left the young man gasping.

“You think that’s funny?” Cullen growled. “What would you think if someone spoke that way about your sister, or your wife? What about your mother?” His grip tightened, the collar of the recruit’s tunic digging into his throat. “You wouldn’t be laughing now, would you?”

“No, Commander, Ser,” he spat out between gasps.

Cullen leaned in close and scowled, “Let me make it clear, that under no circumstance, is it ever all right to speak disrespectfully toward anyone in the Inquisition. Least of all the Herald."

“Commander!” the Lieutenant interrupted.

Cullen released his grip and let the man drop into the snow. His jaw clenched and he blinked, the creases on his forehead deepening as his face scrunched with frustration, all his strength to push aside the withdrawal.

“May I? I’d like to handle this,” the Lieutenant began to explain,"this one’s been giving me grief all day.”

Cullen responded with a rough exhale and folded his arms. He didn’t speak, instead just gave the Lieutenant a nod and turned to face the mountain. His eyes were fixed on the gate in the distance. Where the Herald stood. Watching. Mother Giselle at her side.

“Maker!” Cullen groaned under his breath, his hand running through his hair. He turned his back, a slow shake of his head.

The young man had barely managed to push himself to his feet, his hands scrambling at the snow.

“Get up!” the lieutenant snapped. He grabbed the man and hurried away, clearing a line of sight between The Herald and Cullen. Dragging his hands down his face, Cullen drew in a deep breath.

She likely already thought him rude and abrasive. It probably looked worse now. A shining example of the broken Templar order.

“Good afternoon, Commander.”

To Cullen, her voice was like melting honey. Soft and sweet. A voice that didn’t belong out here among the clashing of swords and the training of recruits. He opened his mouth, but no words escaped. His thoughts were a tangle of overwhelm. All that preparation seemed useless now. Focus abandoned in favour of making it through the conversation.

With only the howl of wind and clash of sparring in the distance, she seemed to patiently await his response in the lack of words. Feeling the pressure of her eyes on him only made it worse. He stood frozen, painfully aware of the awkwardness that grew between them.

“Good afternoon, Commander,” she repeated, a warmth that would normally accompany a smile. The soft tone seemed to mock his inability to find his voice.

“Lady Trevelyan!” he said loudly, turning fast with a deep-set focus in his expression. He forced professionalism in his voice, but it was short lived upon realising he incorrectly addressed her. “I …uh…Herald, I meant to say. It’s your title. Forgive me.”

Juliette laughed, then covered her mouth with her hand in surprise. She cleared her throat and quietly whispered, “Sorry.”

Cullen blinked in confusion, caught off guard by the sound of her laughter. “What for?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Juliette shook her head awkwardly. “Never mind.” She began smoothing her windswept hair, eyes glancing down at the snow before her feet. “I don’t believe that I’m the Herald,” she said quietly, focused more on raking her fingers through knotted hair , as though that could somehow make her thoughts less chaotic. Pulling all of her hair to one side, she released her hands with a finality as she looked back up to him, a sharp exhale and an awkward smile. “That’s not to say that I won’t work as the Herald. I , well.” She stared at him for a moment, eyes widening in a confused expression. Cullen furrowed his brows, trying to figure out what was wrong. Juliette sighed heavily, looked to the ground then shook her head. With a nervous laugh she said “I completely forgot what I was going to say.” She looked back up, a slight blush to her cheeks. “Should we start over?”

Cullen smiled, feeling a surprising sense of relief that she was acting as awkwardly as he felt. Her rosy cheeks were now brightening, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was just as embarrassed by the situation as he was.

“How are you, Herald?” he asked, drawing out the title a little more than necessary.

“I’m well,” Juliette smiled. “I see the new recruits are keeping you busy.”

“Yes!” Cullen chuckled. “We’ve received a number of recruits. Locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made quite the entrance you did.”

Juliette smirked, a playful gleam in her eyes. “At least I got everyone’s attention.”

“That you did,” Cullen chuckled. He was curious if she knew just how much attention that she was attracting. He had hoped that people were more respectful out in the Hinterlands than the men were earlier.

Juliette shivered and pulled her coat tightly across herself. “I’m still adjusting to this colder climate,” she admitted.

“Of course. You travelled some distance to reach Haven. You’re from the circle in Ostwick?”

“I was. It’s nice to be away from there and be someplace new." She looked into the distance as though contemplating the events of the last few weeks. "Maybe that’s selfish, given what has happened.”

“No. It’s only fair I suppose,” Culled said, reassuringly. We are grateful for your assistance.”

She smiled politely and softly spoke, “Thank you.”

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you, Herald,” Cullen said firmly, almost too rigid.

“Oh?” she asked, watching him attentively.

“I want to apologise for what I said before, back at the war council,” Cullen continued, his hand gripping the back of his neck. “I never meant to imply that you can’t be trusted. That’s... that’s not what I meant.” His voice trailed off slightly, as if unsure how to make the apology sound right.

Juliette gave him a soft, understanding smile, the warmth in her expression making him feel a little less foolish. “I know,” she said quietly, her tone surprisingly gentle. “I owe you an apology too, in truth. I… overreacted.” She looked away for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “It’s hardly an excuse, but I was still in shock after, well, everything. It’s a lot to take in.” Her eyes returned to his, and there was a sincerity in them.

Cullen’s eyes softened in return as he looked at her, feeling a hint of sadness in her insistence to justify her emotions. She didn’t owe him anything.

“It’s as valid an excuse as any,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. “But I appreciate you saying it. I’m glad that we’re on the same page.”

“You know…” Juliette began, her voice light as she walked ahead. Cullen followed beside her, paying close attention to the way she spoke. He couldn’t help but notice how she looked up at the sky, her eyes wide with wonder, as if the snow were a mystery to her. Snowflakes drifted down, and she held out her hand, waiting patiently for them to settle on her fingers.

“Varric told me about your time in Kirkwall. That can’t have been easy, even on a typical day.”

“Typical?” Cullen said with a lighthearted scoff, her words so understated that they were almost humorous. “The last time I was in the Circle was right before it fell apart. Nothing was typical.”

Juliette nodded knowingly, her expression relaxing as she spoke. “A lot of people are hurting out there,” she said quietly. “There’s both good and bad souls caught up in it all. Everybody believes that theirs is the just cause. They’re scared.”

She looked up at him, and Cullen could see the emotion in her eyes. The pain. She wasn’t speaking from a position of distance. She had been out there, seen the war. She had seen the casualties firsthand. She experienced the horrors of The Circle for herself.

He looked at her sympathetically and said softly, “War in a nutshell.”

Juliette kicked her foot at the snow, her head lowered, her eyes focused on the ground. The light snowfall caught in her hair, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Hm,” she hummed quietly, clearly lost in thought. After a pause, she looked up at him, her eyes filled with a hint of doubt. “Do you really think that The Inquisition can help?”

“I do!” he replied with conviction. The words were out before he could even think about them, and they came with a genuine passion as he spoke. Juliette smiled , noting his enthusiasm. She had expected him to be more guarded. Less…involved. “The Inquisition could act when the Chantry could not!” He moved his hands expressively as he spoke. His eyes brightened, and in that moment, Juliette saw more than just a Commander in front of her. She saw someone who was driven by purpose, someone who wanted to make a real difference. It was a refreshing change from the power-hungry Templars she had known.

“Our followers would be part of that! There’s so much we can…” Cullen’s voice trailed off with the realisation that he was becoming a little too enthusiastic. He shook his head, stopping himself from getting carried away. “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

With a soft chuckle behind closed lips she looked to him, the corners of her eyes creasing with amusement. “No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.”

Cullen laughed softly. “Another time, perhaps.”

She smiled, lips gently closed together and her eyes sparkling as they caught the light. Warm and sincere, he couldn’t help but smile back. The look that Juliette gave him - captivating and unexpected , left him breathless.

The moment caught him off guard, leaving him flustered with scattered thoughts. “I…uh…” he stammered, pulling his eyes away as he felt a warmth creep into his face.

 Maker’s breath.

Somehow, with just a smile, she had managed to unravel him.

A voice called out, breaking through the haze of his thoughts. “Commander!”

Cullen blinked, his head snapping towards the sound, sharp focus returning. A messenger approached, holding a note. “Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines,” the messenger said, unaware of his much welcomed distraction.

“I have to —”

“Of course!” Juliette interrupted, her voice light and understanding. “I’ll let you get back to your work, Commander,” she said with a smile and a graceful nod.

Cullen gave a small, appreciative smile in return, his thoughts still lingering on her smile moments earlier. He nodded , cleared his throat, and spoke with a deep, professional tone. “Thank you, Herald.”

When she turned to walk away, Juliette couldn’t stop herself from grinning. She bit her lip and spoke without looking. “Commander?”

“Ah yes, Herald?” he asked.

She turned her head over her shoulder and with a cheeky smirk said, “Mother Giselle would like to meet you. When you’ve finished beating up our new recruits, that is.”

She walked away leaving behind a horrified looking Cullen and a very confused messenger.

Chapter Text

Everything was black. Pure darkness and a sense of dread.

Was this death?

Juliette believed it was her time to meet The Maker.

“I’m dead!” she tried screaming, but her voice was soft and barely audible. She could hear herself talking, yet she didn’t feel her lips move. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not dead,” a voice sighed with frustration. “Not yet anyway.” Rustling and grunts could be heard followed by a thump.

“No, I must be dead,” Juliette tried to reason. She didn’t understand. All she knew, all she could feel, was voices. “I can’t see!”

“You’re not dead, Lady,” a familiar voice chuckled. “You wouldn’t be talking if you were.”

“Varric?” she asked with confusion.

“Ya just took a little knock to head,” he explained.

“Can you squeeze my hand, Herald?” a woman spoke with a soothing voice. This person Juliette didn’t recognise.

A bright light began to fill her vision and soon Juliette could see. Blue sky and trees sat above her. Then her feeling came back: itchy grass, throbbing headache, hot prickling in her face! A sudden pain in her stomach that felt like sharp knives assaulted her senses and then followed a violent lurch. Juliette rolled to her side and began to retch. The heat in her face felt unbearable and her eyes stung as though they were filled with poison.

“There you go,” the soothing voice spoke and Juliette could feel a hand gather her hair away from her face. Through heavy eyes she looked up at the woman aiding her and recognised the uniform. They were back at camp with the healer. An unexpected crash of cold glass against her teeth made Juliette yelp in surprise.

“Drink!” Cassandra ordered.

After obediently gulping the liquid, Juliette was encouraged to lie back down by the healer. “Try to rest a while, Herald. You were out cold for some time.” She closed her eyes and listened as Cassandra had a meltdown.

“This is hard enough as it is without the constant stopping and reviving! She needs to go back to Haven!”

“Aw, don’t be like that Seeker. Aren’t you having fun?” Varric teased.

“No.” she replied coldly. “She needs to be trained.”

Solas shook his head. “She’s remarkably proficient at sealing the rifts. She can wield the mark, we need her.”

“What good is the mark if a Templar can slit her throat from behind?” Cassandra argued.

Solas chuckled, smugly, “They won’t. It must've been some time since the renegade Templars faced a mage of any real talent.”

“She’ll learn!” Varric added in Juliette’s defence. “I’ve seen it all before, trust me.”

Juliette sat up, wearily. “If I may interrupt?” she asked. Her companions turned to look at her. “I am trying my best. I’ll be more careful and I’ll watch my back.”

“No, Herald,” Cassandra sighed. “We need to work harder to protect you. A bit more communication on our part could be beneficial.” She glared at Varric and he shrugged. “Just rest, I’m sure Master Dennet won’t mind us camping on his property a while longer.” There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She began to pace back and forth, her frustration obvious. “But we do need to organise some training when we get back,” Cassandra added.

“Lady Pentaghast!” a messenger called out. Varric smirked when he noticed her predictable eye-roll. Cassandra hated when people called her that. “I have letters for you.” With a stern face she held out her hand to accept the stack of parchment. Her face screwed up with disgust when she recognised the seal. “All this? From Cullen?”

Juliette felt her heart skip a beat when she heard his name. She hated herself for feeling this way. For days, their last interaction had replayed over and over in her mind. The way he spoke so softly…his smile. Cullen seemed so eager to apologise to her, as though he genuinely cared that things were set right between them. No Templar in Ostwick would extend this courtesy to a mage, not even her own cousin. For Cullen to hold such a high rank in the order, yet be so approachable…something wasn’t right.

No, nothing about this is right.

They were at war and to have these thoughts, of a templar no less, was nothing short of foolish. Perhaps I am a little smitten, he is rather attractive after all. It will pass.

Cassandra tore open the letters with aggression. “Ugh!” she scrunched up the parchment and pegged it towards the ground. “The horses! My men need horses!” she mocked. She turned to the messenger and pointed a finger. “Just tell the Commander that I’m not writing back! I have more important matters that require my attention.”

The messenger nodded fearfully. “Yes, my lady.”

“And tell him that if he asks about the horses again…” Cassandra continued. “I will shove the horses so far up his --”

“I’ll do it!” Juliette yelled out. Everyone stopped to look at her interruption with surprise. She smiled cautiously, terrified that the blush she could feel in her cheeks would raise questions. “The letter I mean, I’ll write. I can handle any correspondence for you…not whatever that was going to be about shoving horses and , uh..” She stopped her sentence and chose to stop any accompanying thoughts. What am I doing?

Varric laughed out loud, “That’s something I would have paid to see.”

Cassandra sneered at Varric, as she often would. “Are you sure?” she asked the Herald. “Cullen is persistent, and also very annoying.”

“Yes. I’m sure that I can handle it.” Am I? Maker, why did I say that?

Juliette slowly began to stand, the healer reaching out her hand as though it would somehow steady Juliette if she were to lose her balance. Juliette walked over to Cassandra and picked up the scrunched ball of a letter. She concentrated on the crumpled paper in her hand for a moment before speaking.

“I’m not a great deal of help in combat, I can accept that. This is something that I am able to help with, though. Anything to take some of the pressure off you, Cassandra.” She looked to the messenger who was still standing by, waiting for instruction. “You’re dismissed, I’ll write to The Commander.”

The messenger exhaled a sigh of relief and nodded. “Thank you, Herald,” he spoke with an arm raised to his chest.

Juliette looked over her shoulder, glancing at the fields of Dennet’s farm, noticing the small house upon the hill. “I’ll go speak with Master Dennet. I’ll see about these horses,” Juliette smiled, a look of determination masking her jumble of thoughts. She turned, paper still in hand, and slowly began to wander away from the camp.

“Might I suggest that you rest a moment more, Herald?” the healer called out with worry.

“I'll be fine. Thank you!” Juliette called back, dismissively. She still felt a touch light headed, but figured the walk in fresh air could do her good, if not serve as an excuse to get out of that camp for a while.

Varric looked up at Cassandra, a playful smirk on his face. “Get her some puffy sleeves and we’ll have ourselves an on-road ambassador.”

Cassandra dropped her face into her palm. “Let’s hope her negotiation skills are better than her fighting.”

When Juliette approached the farmstead, a young woman came running towards her from the stables. “I saw you! Herald of Andraste! I saw it all!” she called out with excitement.

“Seanna?” Juliette spun around to greet her.

“Oh! You remembered my name?” Seanna asked with surprise.

“Of course,” Juliette smiled. “Are you looking for another race?”

“No,” Seanna laughed. “I learned my lesson yesterday. I was up on the hill earlier and saw you using that glow from your hand. I believed what people said about you but seeing it is a whole other story. You’re remarkable!”

Juliette smiled, “Thank you. Although I probably would have died if not for the help of The Inquisition.” She looked towards the camp where the others remained. Varric was sitting on the ground tending to his beloved crossbow and Cassandra stood beside him with her hands on her hips. So much for trying to alleviate her stress. A sense of sentiment washed over Juliette as she watched them from afar. She still had a lot to prove and didn’t exactly feel as though she could fit in. Nonetheless, she was enjoying the time spent travelling. It had been a while since she had the opportunity to meet new people. 

“Will you speak with my father?” Seanna asked. “He mentioned that you wanted his help for The Inquisition.”

“Yes, I’m heading there now actually.” Juliette smiled and continued to walk ahead.

“Before you go, I want to say that I’m sorry!” Seanna shouted. Juliette turned around and gave her a confused look. “I hope that you didn’t get in trouble yesterday when we were racing the horses. The woman travelling with you looked angry.”

“Oh no that’s Cassandra. That’s just how she looks,” Juliette said in a hushed voice, mockery thick in her tone .

“Oh, good,” Seanna replied. “ ‘Cause my father wasn’t impressed.”

“He wasn’t? Why?” Juliette worried. She needed to sway his favour so that The Inquisition could acquire horses. Perhaps it was selfishness that drove her—wanting to impress, wanting to be seen as more than just the mage with the mark. She knew it wasn't just about horses. It was about proving herself to Cassandra, to the Chancellor at Haven, to everyone who had ever doubted her. But deeper still, it was about Cullen. She couldn't embarrass herself with failure, not now that she agreed to write to him. Guilt gnawed at her with that realisation. This was serious and there she was, acting on foolish impulses because her priorities were shaped by what others may think of her.

“Well…” Seanna started to explain. “He actually did find your riding to be impressive and surprising, really. I didn’t know circle mages had riding experience.”

“Typically, they don’t," Juliette smiled proudly.  "I started to ride long before I was taken to The Circle. It’s a Trevelyan tradition, my family's that is,” Juliette explained. Her eyes came to life with excitement as she spoke and her smile grew wide. “It’s in my blood. I know that sounds so silly, but it just feels right. Riding horses was always a passion before my magic manifested.”

“I can tell, you’ve got some skill. However my father doesn’t think too highly of you, The Inquisition, wasting time on hobbies. He says that there’s a war and that we should be focusing on protecting our people.”

Juliette nodded. “We’re dedicated to helping, I can assure you.”

Seanna spoke with jittery laughter, “All well and good, but I’m not the one you need to convince.”

The orange glow of the setting sun crept through the the door to Juliette’s tent while she sat inside, letters neatly arranged before her. Correspondence from Josephine informing of Orlesian activity, various requests from the requisition officer and numerous other trivial information spread across the floor awaiting her reply. It was clear why Cassandra was so easily convinced to delegate this Juliette’s way. She gently picked up the letter from Cullen. Her lips soon grew a smile as she read over his message. She took great notice of the way that he wrote, his handwriting and choice of words.

“Oh, no!” she whispered. Juliette placed the letter on the ground, face over as though hiding it could achieve anything. She pushed her palm into her forehead and chuckled nervously. This is so silly. It’s just a letter.

Slowly she picked up his letter again, carefully turning it over. She read it over once more, softly whispering to herself “I can do this.”

Suddenly every word she considered in response sounded wrong. Is this too direct? Not direct enough? She scratched her head, squinting at the blank parchment in the hope that the words would just flow naturally if she stared enough. What would he think if I said—

“Excuse me, Herald?” a voice at the door frightened Juliette into a startled jump and papers went flying. Her cheeks turned red at the realisation that someone may have heard her whispering to herself like a crazed woman. She was starting that believe that perhaps she was a crazed woman.

“Um, yes?” she replied, flustered.

“Sorry to interrupt, my lady. There is someone here to see you. A man and a…” the Inquisition officer paused a moment, an amused look on his face. “A horse.” he added.

“A horse?” she asked, slowly. “Give me a moment and I’ll be out.”

“Yes, Herald,” he nodded and left her alone. Juliette scooped up the letters and sat them aside for later, thankful for the distraction.

When she stepped out of the tent, Master Dennet stood impatiently talking with Varric. Accompanying Dennet was a beautiful Ferelden Forder.

“Wow!” Juliette gushed with awe at the sight of the horse. “ Is this the horse that I was riding yesterday?” she asked when approaching Dennet.

“A keen eye! He is and a good evening to you, Inquisition,” the horsemaster nodded. Juliette gently placed her hand on the side of the Forder’s neck, smiling widely as she petted him. “My wife told me that you solved her problem with the wolves, demonic bastards! Seanna speaks highly of you also and I have come to consider your request from earlier. I present the Herald of Andraste with one horse.”

“One?” Cassandra shrieked. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Hardly,” Dennet replied with a stern expression. “I’m not willing to send a hundred horses to their death simply because you asked nicely.”

“Then perhaps we should ask less nicely,” sneered Cassandra.

“What of the watchtowers?” Juliette asked. “You said that you would provide our army the mounts they require.”

“Once the watchtowers are built, I will send horses. You have my word, providing that you uphold your end of the bargain.” Master Dennet stepped aside, allowing Juliette to move in front of the horse. “For now, one horse.”

“What’s his name?” Juliette asked, focused more on stroking the horse’s muzzle than making eye contact during conversation.

“He’s a horse! He doesn’t have a name,” Dennet spoke with an indifferent expression.

Varric chimed in with a grin, “Every great steed needs a name.” Cassandra raised an eyebrow before exchanging a look of mutual disinterest with Dennet.

Juliette pulled her eyes away from the horse for a moment. “Well, what’s his temperament?”

Dennet scratched the back of his head, seemingly confused as to why he would indulge such a juvenile conversation. “He’s healthy and strong. Should be all that matters.” His stern features softened when The Herald gave him a look of disappointment. Her brown eyes evoked a familiar tenderness that caused him to sigh in defeat. “You remind me of my bloody daughter.” With folded arms he continued, “He’s loyal and intelligent, perfectly suited to lead you and your army. He has been known to be stubborn at times, however.”

Cassandra snorted a laugh. “Perhaps we should call him Cullen.”

Juliette hid the small grin that tugged at her lips by resting her head against the horses’ muzzle. He huffed air from his nostrils in approval. “I think I’ll call him Romeo,” Juliette spoke softly.

“Romeo?” Varric cringed. “What could possibly go wrong?”

The lines of ink that represented Lake Calenhad began to blur through Cullen’s tired eyes. While he stared absently at the map of Ferelden, Josephine and Leliana engaged in discussion - planning, scheming and chattering. He moved his gaze to the Hinterlands and imagined what was happening there. He’d heard a number of rumours from returning soldiers, some good and others terrifying. Tales of The Inquisition’s triumph on the battlefield against the renegade Templars and fallen apostate camps swept throughout Haven. Refugees that arrived at Haven’s doorstep, dedicating their service to The Inquisition , spoke so highly of The Herald of Andraste that some would consider their words to be fanatical exaggeration. Whilst The Inquisition’s activity was on every Ferelden’s lips, official reports had become sparse. The lack of contact was beginning to trouble the Commander.

“Cullen?” Josephine asked, impatiently. He straightened his posture and inhaled sharply, snapping his attention back to the discussion.

“Hmm?” Cullen widened his eyes, looking dazed for just a moment. “I…er..yes!” he stammered. “Haven has limited space for our soldiers to train, perhaps we could set up something over here” he pointed towards the map. Leliana and Josephine exchanged a confused look.

“And what are you thoughts on the Chantry situation in Orlais?” Josephine asked.

“The topic of discussion,” Leliana added with a grin.

Cullen folded his arms and scoffed, “Oh, I don’t know. Send Chancellor Roderick for all I care. Our focus should remain here in Ferelden. ”

“That reminds me, Commander,” Josephine scratched her quill roughly against the clipboard that she is rarely seen without. Looking up from her notes, she eyed him with authority. “Could you try not to antagonise the chancellor, he came to speak with me and had plenty to say of your attitude.”

“If I offend the man so easily, perhaps he should try leaving me alone,” Cullen said defiantly.

“There will be many members of the Chantry staying with us, as well as some important political figures. It’s imperative that we are impressionable in the best possible way. We need to win their respect,” Josephine explained.

“You have been rather hot-headed lately, Cullen,” Leliana observed. “Is everything all right?”

Cullen furrowed his brows at the question. “Of course. I just need to be left to my work without random clerics antagonising me. The same goes for the two of you.”

“Thankfully Mother Giselle was able to accept your apology after your rather aggressive training session with our new recruits. The rest of the Chantry may not be so forgiving.” Josephine returned her focus to her notes , preparing for her next rant about Orlesian politics.

“I’m building an army, not running a nursery! If they want to be treated as men, then they should act as such.” He stood with folded arms and a frustrated expression. “The recruits should know, that under no circumstance, is it ever acceptable to speak in such a vulgar manner, regarding the Herald especially.”

Leliana raised her eyebrows and released a long, drawn-out “Oh.” She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing with amusement. She watched Cullen closely, tilting her head slightly. “So this is about the Herald?”

“No!” Cullen said, his voice rising in pitch. “It’s about speaking with respect and—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. “Don’t give me that look,” he snapped at Leliana, exasperated. “You would have had his tongue for less.”

Josephine looked up from her notes, silence stretching on in the room while her eyes flickered between Leliana and Cullen.

With a smirk, Leliana placed a letter on the table in front of Cullen. “It arrived this morning, from Cassandra.”

Cullen’s eyes darted to the letter, his stern expression faltered. He reached for it, as though it might hold some of the answers he’d been waiting for. There was eagerness in his movements, so quick and unguarded that it didn’t escape Leliana’s notice. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she watched him. “Well?” she asked, her voice light, almost teasing. “I trust Cassandra has good news?”

Cullen’s eyes flicked up for just a moment, then back to the letter as he quickly skimmed over it, one finger tracing lines while he read. A faint smile crossed his lips, just for a moment, before he quickly masked it, folding the letter in half and looking up. “They’re fine. They have horses.”

“That’s…good to hear,” Josephine said, unsure how to respond to Cullen’s vague summary.

“Yes, very good,” Leliana said with a suspicious smile. Once more the room fell into silence until Josephine decided to speak up.

“Let us continue. There’s much to cover.”

After a lengthy meeting with his fellow advisors, Cullen retreated to his tent by the barracks. He was thankful for the moment alone and the chance to finally read the letter in its entirety. Her elegant handwriting fascinated him. Most correspondence was written in haste, but hers was carefully crafted with intent.

Dear Commander,

It is now my duty to handle any correspondence on behalf of both Cassandra and our travelling party. I hope that you can forgive my lack of decorum, it has been some time since I have written a letter and I am not familiar with the correct manner in which to address a colleague, military-wise.

Cassandra has requested that you arrange training in combat defense for myself upon our return to Haven. I fear my skill in that regard is lacking and a run down of basics will be very beneficial.

With the aid of our soldiers, we have cleared the road to Redcliffe Village, however we will be returning to base for re-supply and will meet with the advisory council before proceeding.

I have personally negotiated with Master Dennet in regard to his supply of mounts for The Inquisition. He has promised many horses on the condition that your men arrange the construction of watchtowers in the vicinity of his farmlands. Whilst he was reluctant at first, I was able to convince Master Dennet to gift us one dozen horses for our return, a promise of good faith. Eleven of the twelve mounts will be available to your soldiers, the twelfth being my personal horse.

Sincerely,

Juliette

A quiet chuckle escaped him and he said to himself, “Nicely done, Lady Trevelyan.”

Chapter Text

Herald,

Using such terms of endearment is considered poor decorum, military-wise. I’ll forgive you - this time.

I have made arrangements with the lieutenant to provide you with any necessary training. I believe Cassandra will want to be involved. You or I likely won’t have a say in that matter.

I’m pleased to hear word of The Inquisition’s success and await your safe return.

All of the dozen horses will be accepted by my officers on arrival. There is no need for a personal horse at this time.

Commander Cullen

Juliette scrunched up the note and tucked it into the pocket of her coat. With one hand full of leather reins, the other raked hair away from her face. She cautiously looked behind her shoulder. Soldiers were sparring as per usual, she didn’t need to look to know that much. Juliette examined her surroundings, taking careful notice of who was and was not around to oppose her next move. With a cheeky grin she let her forehead press against the side of Romeo’s neck. “I see no Commander to take you away from me,” she spoke softly to the horse. “Our adventure awaits!”

Juliette led her horse to the small stable by the main gate. There was a older man standing by with rugged features, yet a warm smile. “Ah, I take it that you are the one they are calling The Herald of Andraste?” he asked upon greeting her.

Juliette returned a polite smile, “That is what they keep saying.” She almost began to explain how she doesn’t agree with the title, as she has done many times before. Tired and unwilling to protest, she let it be. The journey had been taxing, and she was eager to settle in and rest.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m the stable hand…I suppose,” he shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his stance so that he was leaning against the fence post.

“And you,” Juliette replied with a nod and a look that invited him to elaborate further.

“My knee’s buggered so I wasn’t able to go with The Commander’s construction crew to The Hinterlands. What’s left to do but shovel horse shit?” Realising his language, the stable hand quickly stood straight. “I’m sorry my lady, I mean no offence.”

“None taken,” Juliette laughed. After spending so much time around the Inquisition’s personnel she had quickly became accustomed to a wide array of colourful language. That’s without taking into account any time spent talking with Varric.

“The other horses will arrive shortly,” Juliette explained as she handed the reins to the stable hand. “This is Romeo,” she smiled proudly.

“You’re giving them names?” he chuckled.

“Just this one. He is to be my personal horse. The others are for military or what have you,” she waved her hand to the side. “Please make sure that nobody tries to take him.”

The stable hand nodded, “Yes, Herald.”

Juliette tilted her head in acknowledgement and began to walk towards the gate. She wondered if her instructions for the stable hand was to be considered an abuse of power. It was hard for her to truly feel guilty about it, she really wanted that horse!

To Juliette’s surprise, she was greeted by Josephine upon walking into the yard. It was unusual to see The Ambassador outside of the old chantry building. “Lady Trevelyan!” she called out with excitement.

“Josephine? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The Ambassador hurried down the stone steps with a hand full of letters and a gracious smile. A flurry of snow caught in her dark hair and she began to shiver as she approached The Herald.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Juliette fussed, placing a hand on the silk-ruffle sleeves that draped over her arm.

“Very,” Josephine nodded. “It matters none. I’ve been waiting to speak with you, have you a moment, Herald?”

“Of course,” Juliette replied.

“Truly? Because you only just got back and I would understand if you were tired —”

“Josephine. You came all this way to speak with me, how could I say no?” Juliette pointed to the envelopes. “I’m also very curious about what you have there.”

“Letters!” Josephine beamed. “From all over Thedas! So many letters!” Juliette extended her arm, gesturing for Josephine to walk beside her. “There is one in particular that you might find interesting.” She handed Juliette the envelope from the top of the stack.

“Lady Susannah Trevelyan?” Juliette asked with a suspicious tone. “Why use the family name? My sister is well into her thirties, I’d expect that she’d have been married off to some crusty old lord by now.”

“Oh, she is,” Josephine replied, pressing her lips together to stifle the smirk that was beginning to grow. 

With intrigue Juliette spoke, “It seems you know more of my family than I do.”

“Its all the talk in the Free Marches right now. Everybody wants to prove that they know The Herald of Andraste. All your sisters and their husbands have changed to the Trevelyan name.”

Juliette wrinkled her nose. “How lovely,” she spoke sarcastically. “I haven’t seen them since I was eleven.”

“They didn’t write to you while you were in the circle?” Josephine asked.

“Scarcely,” Juliette answered with an eye roll.

“So approaching them for their formal support of The Inquisition is out of the question?”

Juliette sighed and glanced at Josephine with tired eyes. “Do whatever you need. I couldn’t care less about my family.”

Josephine gave her an sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Herald. It must have been hard growing up in the circle alone.”

“I wasn’t entirely alone. I had a cousin there actually. We were close once.” Juliette paused, lowering her gaze to the ground. She smiled for a moment, reflecting on happier memories.  “He was similar in age, like a brother to me.”

“Was?” Josephine asked softly.

Juliette nodded, her smile faltering. “He was a Templar.”

Josephine replied with an awkward “Oh,” while Juliette stared at the snow that lightly settled before her feet. “Would you like to speak of something else?” she asked The Herald.

With a forced smile, Juliette slowly lifted her head. “Sure,” she spoke sweetly, her lips straightening as she caught a glimpse of people exiting the chantry. The Commander was unmistakable, clad in his usual armour that glistened in the sunlight.

“The tension rising in Val Royeaux is concerning, Herald,” Josephine spoke seriously. Juliette snapped her eyes back to Josephine and the ladies continued to walk. “We must address it and soon.”

“Mhmm,” Juliette hummed. She looked behind her shoulder, hoping to catch another glimpse of Cullen. He stood by the chantry door with folded arms, while clerics wandered past. Perhaps the most visited part of Haven’s base, the chantry was bustling with activity as workers and recruits moved about chatting. Cullen remained still amongst them all, standing tall and strong. Juliette couldn’t let her eyes linger lest she appeared suspicious. Or rude, Josephine was talking after all. She shook her head and had hoped in doing so that she could shake away this silly infatuation that plagued her thoughts. Her priorities were scattered, and she needed to regain composure. They were at war and her focus needed to be on survival, first and foremost.

Noticing Juliette’s movements, Josephine smirked. “Was that a shiver from the cold or a shudder at the thought of so many chantry leaders gathering at one place?”

“A bit of both!” Juliette chuckled “Can we go stand by a fireplace somewhere? I can’t wait until we find a better place to live than a bunch of hovels in the middle of an ice storm.”

Josephine laughed “Oh! It’s such a relief to hear someone else say that out loud!”

From where he was standing, Cullen had possibly the most strategic view of Haven’s stronghold, save from the mountain top. His focus was sharp while he scanned the walls of the settlement, taking note of every structure and every possible weakness. People were pouring into Haven daily to support The Inquisition and he feared that accommodating such a mass of civilians could soon become troublesome. Work on the trebuchets was too slow for his liking and he pondered alternative methods of defense.

“This arrived for you, Ser.” An officer stood beside Cullen, joining his observations after handing over the letter. “Sister Leliana is addressing the delay in messages as we speak. I trust she’ll resolve the issue.”

“I’m certain of it,” Cullen responded as he opened the letter.

Commander,

I look forward to an invigorating training session with your lieutenant.

I will be taking ownership of the chestnut Ferelden with the white stripe on his face.

Should you wish to claim this horse, you will need to dismount me yourself.

Lady Trevelyan

p.s Is this letter formal enough for you Commander, military-wise?

 

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen sighed. He pushed the glove-covered palms of his hands firmly against his forehead and exhaled loudly. For a small moment he held a tight grin that quickly was consumed by frustration. He needed to remain focused and couldn’t afford this distraction. He had been sure to remain occupied over the past week, training soldiers and overseeing the fortification of Haven. Every now and then his mind would wander as he anticipated another letter or pondered upon The Herald’s whereabouts. It terrified Cullen that these thoughts could so easily creep up on him and he feared such a distraction could interfere with his duty as Commander. If the past was any indication, ill-placed infatuation was a dangerous game to play. Time was a luxury that he could not spare and between the constant calls for advisory meetings, getting his own work done had become challenging. The last thing he needed was another woman to boss him around - Maker knows that Josephine and Leliana were antagonising enough!

“Could you oversee the arrival of the horses?” he asked the officer with an irritated tone.

“Yes, Commander.”

The shouting could be heard as far as Josephine’s office. The chaos was diffused well before Juliette could make her way to the door, though the aftermath was felt with every stare that fell upon her. Mages looked to her for guidance while soldiers, many of whom were still in templar armour, glared at her with disgust. As the large chantry door slammed shut behind her, Chancellor Roderick stormed towards Juliette pointing an accusatory finger.

“You!” he shouted. “The so called ‘Herald of Andraste’ and the rebel Inquisition.” His words dripped with venom. Juliette stood, dumbfounded, unsure of what she had just walked into. “You can’t guide them to order!” Roderick snapped, turning his attention back to Cullen, who stood behind him. “Your own men are on the verge of splitting into open warfare with themselves.” Cullen stood with folded arms and an steely expression. He watched the chancellor closely with narrow eyes.

Juliette had done well to slip into the building without the need to make eye contact with Cullen. Now outside once more, she stood before him unprepared and vulnerable. Regardless of what she felt and the intensity of her nerves around him, anger was rising to the forefront. Chancellor Roderick had, on numerous occasions, ordered Juliette’s execution. He was a threat to her, no less than that of a armed bandit or rift demon. He was unleashed to Haven and his words held far more power than he deserved. Juliette had witnessed too many of The Inquisition’s people die out there. Ordinary folk, men and women were giving their lives to this cause, and she’d be damned if she was going to stand there and let him take that away. She didn’t believe that the mark was gifted to her, but for the first time in her life she was starting to feel as though she had a purpose outside of being a “circle mage”.

“I don’t believe that I was sent by Andraste any more than you do!” Juliette growled. She swooped in front of the chancellor so that her back was to Cullen and her face firmly before Roderick’s. Through gritted teeth, Juliette snarled, “Say what you will of me, but don’t you dare soil The Inquisition’s name. Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Leliana operate in respect of The Divine, Maker rest her soul.”

“Justinia is dead!” Roderick yelled. His face was close enough to Juliette’s that she could feel his foul breath against her cheeks. “You have no leader! The Chantry is the only wa—”

Chancellor Roderick fell silent when a hand dropped onto Juliette’s shoulder. Her eyes snapped to the side, resting on the leather glove. Then she saw plate armour and a blur of fur. Cullen stepped in front of her and extended his arm, shielding Juliette. His glare was stern and unrelenting.

“Step back, Chancellor,” The Commander spoke firmly.

Juliette’s heart was pounding so hard that she could feel her pulse throbbing at her neck. Roderick had her seething with anger, yet Cullen was the one who made her tense up. All she could focus on was the fluttering feeling that consumed her body and the blaring thump of her heartbeat. With him standing so close to her, her thoughts were a swirl of regretful lust.

Does he know what he’s doing to me? The way he stands with such authority, so tall and strong? His voice sends shivers down my spine in the best possible way - this is ridiculous. He’s doing his job, our job! I must focus!

The order was for the chancellor, yet it was Juliette who stepped back. Three paces, a suitable distance from Cullen, but not this madness. She hung her head and inhaled a few shaky breaths. She needed to get herself together -and fast!

Chancellor Roderick huffed with anger. Juliette looked up and their eyes met once more. It was only a moment earlier that she felt fierce as she stood her ground against him. Now she felt like a scolded child, embarrassed and weak.

“Better ready yourself for the blame you will be rightly assigned,” Roderick spat out the words before turning his back and walking into the distance. Juliette buried her face into her hands, wallowing in defeat. She wondered how far that argument could have gone had Cullen not intervened. Such anger was uncharacteristic of her and after a chance to cool down, she was taken aback by her reaction.

Cullen looked around, noticing the onlookers of workers and soldiers. “Back to your duties!” he yelled. “All of you.” With knitted brows, Cullen shook his head and looked towards The Herald. He moved to her side and stood with folded arms.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His voice was soft and calm. Juliette’s blood flashed hot for a moment at the sound. She kept her focus on the ground and nodded. Silence fell between them, the only noises being that of the chattering of people in the distance and the crackling of energy that often thundered from the breach in the sky.

Juliette slowly let her eyes creep to the side of her, catching a glance of the Commander. His face held a stoic expression as he stared towards Haven’s gate. She let herself relax, looking ahead also. She took her time to gather enough nerve to speak.

“What happened out here?”

Cullen turned to face her and their eyes met for just a second. Juliette averted her gaze back towards the ground before she continued. “What was all that yelling?”

Cullen sighed, “With the influx of recruits it was only a matter of time before mages and Templars came to head."  He rolled his eyes. “They are already at war, now they’re blaming each other for The Divine’s death.”

Juliette hummed in agreeance. “Yet the Chantry stands idle, ready to throw the blame our way.” She pulled her windswept hair to the side and began to slowly comb her fingers through. Back in the circle she would be scolded for fidgeting with her hair, something she’d often find herself doing when nervous.

“They want to send you to Val Royeaux.” Cullen said, still holding his attention towards the gate. “Soon I’d expect.”

“Josephine said as much. Hopefully we’ll arrive to a solution and not a cathedral full of chancellors.”

Cullen chuckled, breaking his impassive demeanor. With a playful whisper he replied, “The stuff of nightmares!”

A unrestrained giggle escaped Juliette’s lips. She quickly held a hand over her mouth, surprised by Cullen’s remark and more so the loud squeak that she made in response. All that effort to appear composed was undone with a single comment. Naturally in the moment, they glanced at each other and smiled. That was the first time that Juliette took proper notice of the scar upon his upper lip. Somehow, she felt, it made him look more handsome. Cullen’s lingering grin faltered when she tore her eyes away and turned her head, cheeks burning in an aggressive blush. He cleared his throat and resumed his dutiful stance.

“As much as I hate to admit it, the chancellor has a point,” Cullen spoke, breaking the awkward silence. “Without a leader The Chantry may very well tear The Inquisition apart.” His attention was caught by Cassandra as she stormed towards them. With every stride her fury became more apparent.

“Both of you!” she snapped. “War table. Now!” Like a whirlwind , she tore past and disappeared into the chantry.

Juliette bit her lip and grinned before she spoke. “The Chantry doesn’t have a Cassandra.”

Chapter Text

Particles of dust look like magic in the sunlight. There is beauty here in the mundane. It is safe among the walls of tomes. No stories, but there is guidance.

“Congratulations, my dear cousin.”

He shouldn’t be here! They’ll be cross with him again. Why won’t he listen? Can he not hear me? The armour is cold against my face. Red sword is listening. They’ll find us! What is the cost of this embrace?

“Everyone knows about the harrowing. They’re all speaking of it.”

Why is he laughing? Run, now! His hazel eyes show no fear. Or were they green? How much time? Time is a circle.

My mouth is open. Run, Jon. Please! Swords are drawn, footsteps approaching! Her voice is echoing. Is she me? I am no longer her. Listen to her if not me!

“Cousin!” his voice is saying it over and over. A chant. A threat? Distorted Pleas!

His kind face now sinister. Jon’s eyes are red. Red like the sword.

My hands are burning! Blood? Why is there blood?

“Herald.”

How does he know? Jon can’t know.

“Wake up, Herald!”

Juliette sat up straight, eyes wide and breath heavy. Shadows from the trees outside swayed upon the walls of her tent. She exhaled a sigh of relief when she noticed Cassandra kneeling by her side. The seeker watched her closely while her face bore a look of deep concern.

Juliette let herself flop back onto the bedroll. “Was I doing it again?”

“What do you think?” Cassandra asked with heavy sarcasm. Her previous look of worry had quickly given way to her usual cold gaze of focus.

“I’m sorry,” Juliette wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands.

“This is the second night in a row.” Cassandra stood and looked down at The Herald with hands on her hips. “Do you do this often?”

Juliette shook her head, “ Nobody has ever said anything about it.”

“Did you have these nightmares in The Circle?”

“Cassandra,” Juliette sat up and gave her a serious look. “The Circle was the nightmare.”

Turning to exit, Cassandra grunted affirmatively. “Join us if you can’t sleep. We’re all awake.”

Once alone, Juliette rolled her eyes and threw down her arms with force. She silently berated herself for mentioning The Circle, in such a dramatic fashion no less! The more she spoke of it the more she was convinced that people didn’t believe her. Ostwick somehow had the reputation of being sedate. The nightmares were new, the constant memories were not. It was hard to think about the fall of the Circles of Magi without guilt. She made it out alive. She should be grateful.

Val Royeaux was a shit show -- Varric’s words, although Juliette whole-heartedly agreed. Instead of smoothing things over with The Chantry, they were met with a public display of power abuse by The Lord Seeker and his templars. An embarrassing blow for The Inquisition’s reputation. The ordeal had Cassandra fuming. Her temper was on show with less patience and far more aggression in her actions. The camp’s makeshift training dummy didn't stand a chance.

Juliette was met with the warm glow of a camp fire when she crawled out of her tent. Swirling embers, fragrant smoke and the hum of chatter lingered in the air. She wrapped a blanket over her shoulders and embraced the cool night breeze with a smile. This kind of freedom was something that she could get used to.

“Lady!” Varric sang out with a grin. “Can’t sleep?”

Cassandra stood up from the opposite side of the fire and walked over behind him. He expected as much, yet still flinched when her hand clipped him over the ear. “Have some respect,” she spat out before retreating to her own tent. Juliette stood watching with tired eyes, hardly surprised by what she had just seen.

“She’s in fine form,” Varric muttered sarcastically. “Have a seat?” he asked The Herald. With a soft smile she accepted and carefully huddled towards the log that he sat on, careful not to let her blanket drag on the ground. “So, nightmares huh?” he asked, reaching for a glass bottle beside him. “Want something to drink?”

“No,” Juliette shook her head quickly. “Thank you.”

“So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot. Are you holding up all right?” Varric asked between gulps of, whatever that horrid smelling drink was.

Juliette chuckled under her breath and shrugged. “It’s one of those situations where you either laugh or cry. Sometimes a bit of both.”

“Or squeal in your sleep loud enough for half of Thedas to hear.”

A faint smile and a sharp exhale was Juliette’s response. “Or that.” She sounded defeated.

“I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful.” Varric turned to Juliette and cocked an eyebrow. “Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

“Not bad for a girl who spent most of her life locked in a tower.” Juliette’s grin was an attempt at deflecting the less than amusing reality of her situation.

“I couldn’t write this shit.” Varric looked up at the stars and continued, “You know I’m from Kirkwall, right?”

“Yes, you may have mentioned it several times or so,” Juliette was amused with her sarcastic remark. Although she joked about Varric’s on-road storytelling, she loved every moment of it. She often wondered that if, when all this mess was over, she could someday read his novels.

“Well, get ready for the eighth. Mages and templars, and innocent people caught in the middle. Some things never change.” Varric sighed, “What happened there , that shit is hard to forget.”

“We heard about it in my circle. I thought it was all just silly rumours at first. We couldn’t see what was happening outside the walls.” Juliette looked down at her feet, glumly. “Until…”

“Yeah, you chantry kids are the very definition of traumatised.” Varric held up another bottle. “ Now you want to drink?”

“No,” Juliette laughed. “There’s a hole in the sky, yet that liquid scares me more.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” he took a swig and let out a satisfied “Ah.” There was a moment of silence while they sat, contemplating the weight of the conversation that hid behind jests and stifled laughter. “Cullen was there in Kirkwall,” Varric spoke with a hint of sympathy in his voice.

Juliette was caught off guard when she heard his name. For days she had tried to avoid thinking about him, and given that there was plenty else racing through her mind, she’d found some success. Being away helped, of course. All the progress that she thought she was making unraveled with the mention of his name. Juliette did well to conceal a nervous gulp before listening closely to what Varric had to say next.

“After all that happened it’s hardly a surprise that Curly spends so much time with a serious look on his face. You could almost forgive the brooding.” Varric paused when he noticed Juliette’s expression. “What’s that look for?”

Sporting an awkward grin, Juliette answered with, “nothing.” She was thankful for the questions that popped into her mind so that she could move the conversation along without lingering on the dumb way her face reacts at the thought of Cullen. “You call The Commander ‘Curly’? That’s funny.”

“He’s doing something weird with his hair, I don’t know. Catch him in the rain and I’m sure the curls will come back.”

Swiftly pushing the image of Cullen soaked in rain away from her mind, Juliette blinked a few times and continued. “You call Cassandra ‘Seeker’. And Solas…” she smirked and slowly asked “Chuckles?”

“That’s right,” Varric said proudly.

“Do I have a name?” she asked .

“Lady,” he replied with raised brows as though it was an obvious question.

“Oh, that’s underwhelming,” Juliette pouted.

“Is it not enough that people are calling you The Herald of Andraste?” he laughed.

“How about The Lady? It has much more flair.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You last a day without Bianca and I saving your ass, then maybe you’ll earn your title.”

Juliette nodded and playfully rolled her eyes. “I won’t go holding my breath.”

“We had your back you know,” Varric said seriously.

Juliette looked his way mid-yawn. “When?”

“In the plaza at Val Royeaux. The look on your face when the templars tried to drag you away said enough.” Varric’s voice softened, showing compassion. “If you’re shaken by all that’s happened, nobody would blame you.”

Juliette could feel her nose and cheeks tingle underneath her eyes as tears almost began to form. She looked forward and watched the flames of the campfire. Her blurry eyes saw swirls of orange while a lump of emotions formed in her throat. She swallowed before whispering, “Thank you, Varric.”

She couldn’t remember a time where someone had let her feel like it was ok to…feel. Since she was a small child, Juliette was taught to hide her emotions.

Modest in temper, bold in deed.

Lady Trevelyan often forgets her family’s motto, however not without guilt and shame.

“Anyway,” Varric broke the silence. “Cassandra would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

The Inquisition insignia glistened with every slash of the sword as sunlight and snow reflected from the steel. Skilled manoeuvres ensured a thrilling clash of blades in a sparring session that began to draw crowds from the tavern. Patrons watched with excitement as the men competed, exhibiting their strength and impressive ability. The clang of colliding metal and low grunts of exertion rang out through Haven’s grounds before a few gasps could be heard from those spectating. A well timed parry ensured that a sword fell to the ground, the snow catching its fall.

The scar tugged at Cullen’s lip when he smirked, “I think you’ve had enough.” Without protest, the lieutenant retrieved his sword, accustomed to the Commander’s smug victories. “You’re improving,” Cullen admitted, turning his back and averting his focus to the trebuchet site.

“I think you’re slowing down, Commander,” the lieutenant remarked with a grin. Surely he was mocking in the wake of defeat, yet his words stung more than he knew. It had been a few months now since Cullen had accepted Cassandra’s offer to join as The Inquisition’s Commander. He saw this as a chance to redeem himself, a new path shown to him by The Maker. Cullen chose to leave Kirkwall and in doing so he decided to break free of the templar order, including it’s Lyrium leash. The withdrawal had proven challenging, nevertheless Cullen persevered. He was confident that he had made the right decision, although insecurities made way for intrusive thoughts. He worried that he was losing strength, and more importantly, focus.

Ignoring the taunt, Cullen turned to the lieutenant. “Save your energy, The Herald is due back any moment now. I believe Seeker Pentaghast will want that training session sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, Commander,” the lieutenant nodded. “I’ve a brief plan for our session but is there anything specific you’d suggest?”

“No,” Cullen replied. “I trust you’ll have plenty of input from Cassandra and…” He noticed Leliana standing by the steps with folded arms. No words were needed, her glare spoke volumes. “Excuse me,” Cullen spoke and rushed away.

Leliana held notes in her hand and wasted no time with greetings. As soon as Cullen was close enough to hear, she began, “They were met with resistance, you should hear this.” She spoke while walking back towards the chantry, expecting that Cullen would follow.

“Are they alright?” he asked with worry.

Leliana simply replied, “Yes.”

“Well?” Cullen asked, sounding irritated.

“They’re descending the mountain as we speak. Come to the war table.”

Once inside, Cullen managed to get a less cryptic summary of what transpired in Val Royeaux. He shook his head and tugged at his hair in frustration. “You can’t be serious!”

“And in the middle of the market, no less,” Josephine said with an unimpressed tone.

“I told you this was a terrible idea!” With furrowed brows and a huff, Cullen held out his hand, gesturing for Josephine to pass back the report.

“We had to do something, Commander,” she glared, hoping that Leliana would come to her defence. Instead, the spymaster walked out of the room.

“The Lord seeker did what?” Cullen scoffed and slammed the report onto the table. “Just as well that Cassandra and Varric were able to step in when they did. This could have ended up a lot worse.”

“How would you have done things differently, then?” Josephine asked with folded arms.

“I wouldn’t have sent The Herald into an ambush for a start!” Cullen snapped.

“They’re back,”Leliana poked her head in the door, silencing the argument. Josephine rushed out the door leaving Cullen alone at the war table.

His headache intensified when he looked over the report in full. He had hoped that gathering support from the Templars would be simple, that it would make some sense. The Chantry was supposed step in and templars are supposed to protect. The possibility of allying with mages terrified him more than he was willing to admit. It baffled him that the others encouraged its consideration. The war was trying enough without any clear indication of who is the actual enemy. Politics and power were a looming shadow over everything he stood for. He needed The Inquisition to work. He needed to be a part of something better, something good. If not to atone for his past mistakes, perhaps to at least soften the screams of the memories that haunt him at night.

Through the open door he could hear conversation. Cassandra’s shocked voice echoed through the chantry when she learned from Josephine that they already knew what had happened. Leliana informed of her agents in the city and greeted The Herald graciously.

The Herald.

It was quite an ask to put his faith into a person he barely knew. Even as a devout Andrastian, the pragmatic in him longed for answers. Nonetheless, he realised the importance of her position. Her title held enough weight to benefit their cause and he had no trouble respecting that. What that meant for him on a personal level, he was unsure. Cullen had let too many thoughts slip into his mind and that lack of control was frightening. He couldn’t deny the attraction that he felt for her. He would often become frustrated with himself when he failed to resist a glance in her direction or the excitement that he would feel upon hearing of her achievements while she was away. Juliette had him curious in ways that made him feel almost grateful for their time apart. He wanted to get closer, to know more about her. He found himself wondering if, there wasn’t an impending doom upon the world, could he ever become close with a mage?

Cullen closed his eyes and sighed heavily. The world was falling a part and he had a job to do.

Mid-conversation, The Commander joined. “It’s a shame that the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.”

Juliette looked up at him with scornful eyes. “That’s what you Templars do best though, isn’t it?” Her gaze was cold as ice when she spoke further, “Turning a blind eye to corruption and abusing their strength.”

Cullen was shocked. The last time that he and The Herald had talked, she spoke softly and with kindness - to him at least. Her sweet giggle at his chancellor joke hadn’t gone unnoticed. Her shy smile and rosy cheeks were a startling contrast to the woman that now stood before him, bitter and resentful. Her words cut through him like a knife and the answer to the question that he asked himself in secrecy was clear. She couldn’t trust a templar.

He wrinkled his nose in anger. “Do not think for a moment that I condone The Lord Seeker’s actions, Herald. Or any other ill doing on a templar’s part in Val Royeaux."  Juliette looked to the floor with her arms folded tight. Cullen stared at her with a disappointed expression.

“We made contact and now we have options,” Josephine said with optimism, breaking the tension in the room with her words.

“Do we?” Cassandra asked, sarcastically.

“We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe - the mages may be worth the risk.” Josephine looked up from her clipboard, expecting a reaction from her statement.

“You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!” Cullen argued.

Juliette shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “I just got back and I’m not going to argue about this.” She turned towards the door and said “Now if you’ll excuse me I —”

“We need to discuss this,” Cassandra said with a stern voice. ”Properly and now.”

“Uh,” Juliette exhaled dramatically. “You people aren’t going to let me rest, are you?”

A few hours had passed and Juliette was exhausted. She huffed with slouched shoulders and blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. She glared ahead and grumpily muttered to herself, “No rest for The Herald.”

“Now,” the lieutenant began. “There’s apostates to the right, renegade templars approaching from the left.” He pointed towards the trebuchet construction site. “And over there is one of those…”

“Rifts,” Cassandra added with folded arms and watchful eyes.

“Right,” he nodded. “Demons are spewing out towards you, Herald.” He walked closer to where Juliette stood before asking, “What will you do?”

“Well, Lieutenant,” she began with a hint of snark in her voice. She folded her arms and looked towards the sky. Staring at the breach that thundered above could have given her inspiration, if not bought her time to make up an answer.

“The enemy is approaching, Herald!” the lieutenant yelled, startling Juliette. “Will you stand there or take action?”

“I…um…” she flinched as he moved closer towards her.

“What do you do, Herald?” he boomed.

“Hide behind Solas!” she shouted.

“Ugh,” Cassandra dropped her face into her palms. The lieutenant scrunched his brows and shook his head in confusion.

Juliette jumped at the noise of low sniggering behind her. She spun around with wide eyes, only to scoff when she was met with the sight of Cullen. “And The Commander has stabbed you in the back,” the lieutenant said with an arrogant grin.

“Very funny,” she rolled her eyes. “Was this the plan all along? To sneak up behind me?”

“I’m just on my way to the trebuchet, Herald.” He cleared his throat when his eyes met hers. She looked tired but less angry than earlier in the chantry. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to overstep, as entertaining as he thought this training session could be. “Good luck, you’ll need it,” he murmured towards the lieutenant when walking away.

Cassandra soon approached and hastily asked, “Can we move this along? There’s much to cover and little time.” While Cassandra and the lieutenant discussed strategy, Juliette watched Cullen from afar. He spoke with the men working on construction with expressive hands and paced the area carefully. He seemed to be completely engrossed with the building site, something Juliette didn’t understand. It was just piles of wood and complicated drawings to her.

Juliette knew that she should have felt ashamed for the way that she had spoke to Cullen earlier in the day. It wasn’t fair to take her anger out on him. While her behaviour was embarrassing, she didn’t regret it. Memories of Val Royeaux and the circle clashed together in her mind and her fear was becoming harder to ignore. She wondered, and worried, that if she were to wake and find that her mark had disappeared, would she still be here? Would the people turn on her? Would she be tossed aside by The Inquisition like the way that her father had denounced his daughter after the magic manifested? Would Cullen want her locked away, like the Templars that chased her from Ostwick?

Being around Cullen was harder than she anticipated. Her attraction towards him was undeniable, though hardly appropriate. She had no expectations, a life in the Circle had taught her that much. Yet working alongside him, trying not to let thoughts of him consume her mind - it was frustrating. He was frustrating. A representation of all she resented, no matter how many times he would say ‘I am no longer a Templar.’

She couldn’t shake the fear, the little voice nagging at her, that he’d send her back to a circle given the first opportunity. His rigid defiance, the way he tenses up when someone suggests approaching mages for support - his stance on the matter was clear. A shame, really. There was something about him that she found alluring, his smug smile and those moments at the war table where their eyes would accidently meet. It gave her butterflies. But it was far easier to be angry at him than to be infatuated from afar.

Juliette sighed heavily. Her hand itched and the edges where the green glow radiated stung like a sunburn. She held up her palm and stood still until both Cassandra and the lieutenant had noticed.

“I’d like my nap now.”

Chapter Text

Commander,

We have arrived at Redcliffe Village and have met with Grand Enchanter Fiona . There is much to discuss on this matter. I’ll explain further in my report.

We require more soldiers to maintain The Inquisition’s presence in the area . I fear that

 

Streams of black soaked the parchment as it slowly flowed from the toppled ink pot. Juliette hadn’t noticed her clumsy mistake, nor the stains on her hand that rested on the table.

“Uh, you might want to pick that up,” Varric suggested, watching Juliette closely with concern. The absent expression that she held was unfaltering while people spoke to her. Her gaze held steady across the tavern, fixated on a woman leaning against the wall.

The low chatter of patrons and the soft lull of music swirled around while her mind remained miles away. Her eyes saw in present time the ornate embroidery of the robes, her memory wallowed in their touch. Their heaviness while she ran through the halls, the laughter and girlish innocence in mild disobedience. It was as though she was back in her dormitory, the sound of the boar-bristle brush against her scalp, loud in her ears. The dim light of candles and the scent of rosewater, the memory so fresh it was almost real.

“Please can you talk to Jonathan?” pleading whispers echoed in Juliette’s ears.

“Not this again.” Juliette’s own voice so familiar that she almost felt it on her tongue.

“They share quarters! Perhaps Jon could slip a note to him or —”

“The templar with the black hair and blue eyes?”

“Yes!” Her guilty smile and rosy cheeks left Juliette without choice.

Reluctantly she agreed, “Are you crazy? If the senior enchanter finds out about this…”

Juliette stood slowly and looked down at the mess that she had absent-mindedly caused. She put the ink pot back in its upright position and used her coat to wipe her hand. Without a word to the others, she slowly began to walk across the room, as though mesmerised. Patrons danced and drank so nonchalantly that one could be forgiven for forgetting that this was a place of refuge. An intoxicated stumble triggered a painful memory when a man bumped into The Herald on her way past.

Piercing screams and cries rang out within the tower walls. The sickening slap as the girl was flogged for her disobedience, stirred panic within a young Juliette.

“Stop them!” she squealed. An Enchanter tugged at Juliette’s arm, ushering her away from the violent scene. “Why are they standing there? Do something!”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be young lady! Do not think that I’m unaware of your involvement in this.”

“No! Why aren’t the templars stopping him? They are supposed to—”

“They are supposed to ensure order. They are not to be bothered with foolish letters and childish games.”

The screaming was almost unbearable, until suddenly, the noise was no more. Silence.

Words that still haunt Juliette spoke of her friend’s fate. “When she wakes, see that she is made tranquil and end this madness.”

The Enchanter hurried her footsteps, dragging Juliette along “Hush, if they know you’re here —.”

“Enchanter?” His voice was chilling and dark. They had been caught.

“Yes Knight Commander?”, the Enchanter answered.

“Take that girl back to the apprentice quarters at once!” With a nod, the Enchanter obliged. “…And for the love of Andraste, keep your Trevelyan away from mine.”

With a deep breath and a shiver, Juliette shook free from the memory and continued towards the woman who had piqued her interest. Her eyes were set on The Herald, like a hawk watching her every move.

“You’ve been staring at me. Why?” Juliette asked with folded arms.

“Of course you don’t remember me. I’m Linnea?” she rolled her eyes. “I’m staring because you are The Herald of Andraste,” Linnea replied sarcastically. “Shouldn’t you be used to it by now?”

Cassandra stood from her seat, flinging her chair back roughly. The squeak of the chair’s legs caught Varric’s attention, his eyes were no longer fixated on his drink. She watched closely, observing The Herald. Trying to focus on her conversation was challenging with the thrum of the tavern. Between the patrons that continuously stumbled in her line of vision, Cassandra could see Juliette using large gestures with her hands while she spoke. Her fists clenched and her head shook. The Herald’s hostility was evident and Cassandra was ready to pounce.

“Something’s not right,” she muttered before stomping off.

“A little early for a bar fight, isn’t it?” Varric remained seated. He figured Cassandra had this one handled.

The mage that appeared to be arguing with Juliette glared with disdain. “Marked by Andraste, ordering templars about. Must be nice.”

“That’s not what —”

“We’re with Tevinter now!,” Linnea yelled. “Where people respect every mage.”

The argument was beginning to draw attention. All eyes were on The Inquisition from the start as they quietly retreated to a corner of the tavern. Now the people were listening.

“Surely you don’t believe that, Linnea! The Inquisition —”

“The Chantry says what they think will scare us, and your Inquisition is no better.”

“Will you stop interrupting me and let me speak?” Juliette spoke behind gritted teeth in a hushed voice.

“You haven’t changed,” Linnea scoffed. “You always got away with things because of your name, now you’re throwing around Andraste’s.”

“I’m on your side! I want to make sure that we’re never locked away in circle towers again!” Juliette shouted. She took a deep breath, ready to add to her statement. The words died on her tongue when Cassandra snatched her hand, pulling her backwards.

“Are you mad? “ Cassandra growled. “You might as well have just signed our alliance by yelling that out loud.”

“No, I had it handled,” Juliette whispered, trying to pull her hand free. “She thinks that Alexius will save them. She’s from my circle, perhaps I could try to convince her…”

“I think you’ve done enough, Herald.”

Varric jumped up from his seat when he noticed Cassandra dragging Juliette towards the door. She glanced at him on the way past and snarled, ”We’re leaving! Now!”

Cullen slammed his eyes shut tight. The sun was reflecting from the snow and the light felt like it was getting more intense by the moment. His head ached as though he wore a helm, getting tighter and tighter until it crushed his skull. He inhaled a shaky breath and pinched the back of his neck. His muscles were tight where he held tension. He wanted to lay face down in the snow.

“Commander, let me help,” a worker rushed to his side, grabbing hold of the cart that was loaded with building materials. Cullen had dragged it most of the way to its destination, only stopping momentarily.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, frustrated at showing signs of weakness. His strength wasn’t an issue, rather his ability to keep his eyes open long enough to see where his hands were. “Thank you,” Cullen added. He let the man help, realising that he may have sounded more annoyed than intended. Together they pulled at the cart’s edges, gaining traction.

“Many hands make light work. My mother always said,” the man spoke proudly.

“Horses would make for much lighter work,” Cullen replied. “These carts weren’t designed to pulled by people.”

“I can’t argue with that.” the worker laughed.

When the men arrived at the construction site, a messenger called Cullen aside. “Commander, a message from Sister Leliana.” He accepted the note and nodded to the messenger.

Cullen,

Leave the trebuchet construction to the workers and come to the chantry at once.

-L

“She couldn’t have told me herself?” he asked out loud and sighed.

When Cullen entered the war room, Leliana and Josephine were both deeply immersed in reading reports. “What is it?’ he asked impatiently.

“The Herald has sent news…It’s concerning to say the least.” Leliana handed the paper to Cullen as he took his usual place by the table, standing over Ferelden.

While Cullen skimmed over the report, Josephine remarked of the speed in which they had travelled.

“It’s because she took all of the bloody horses!” he complained. “Our men are out there carrying building materials by hand, all the way to the Hinterlands!”

“Each horse had a satchel I believe,” Josephine explained.

“They didn’t need all twelve!” He handed the report back to Leliana. “The sooner they finish those watchtowers, the better.”

“There’s more worrying matters at hand,” Leliana spoke with concern. “The Venatori are a threat not to be taken lightly. We can’t let the mages fall to their servitude.”

“All the more reason to disregard an alliance.” Cullen sighed in frustration. “It’s just one thing after another. We must bolster our defence and focus on sealing the breach before it kills us all.”

“We can’t just charge in unprepared, Commander,” Josephine argued. “We need more allies and support from across all of Thedas, not just Ferelden.”

Leliana folded her arms, “If we lose the mages to this magister, Alexius —”

“We don’t need the mages!” Cullen interrupted.

“We certainly don’t need them against us.” Leliana's words were ominous. Neither Cullen or Josephine could disagree. 

The next morning, Cullen woke with the sunrise, grateful for a somewhat decent night of rest. Though not without waking several times, he found that the moments where he did sleep were an improvement. Perhaps Adan’s peculiar remedies were working.

The recruits were improving drastically with each passing day. There were many matters relating to The Inquisition that irritated Cullen, but his soldiers were not one of them. He was incredibly proud of their progress and his confidence in himself was beginning to improve as a result.

“Wonderful,” he praised as he weaved between drills. “Remember to angle your shield towards the ground, that way you will be able to deflect debris from explosives or magic.”

“Commander, they’re descending the pass now!”

Cullen looked over his shoulder and smiled. The Inquisition’s bannerman was positioned behind The Herald , perfectly aligned so that he couldn’t be seen. Just her , atop a horse with hair blowing in the wind and The Inquisition’s flag soaring behind.  He thought that if an artist were to depict The Herald of Andraste, this would be the perfect moment to capture. She was the vision of power, strength and beauty.

Juliette listened closely as the officers talked. The return to Haven was surprisingly pleasant. She loved riding her horse steadily paced while chatting with her companions. For years, she could only dream of freedom such as this: to be allowed to move freely, protected, but unguarded.  There was  comfort in surrounding herself with the men and women that  served their travelling party , and she took great pride in hearing their tales while on the road. Most were Ferelden, former farmers and hunters that were trained fast enough to serve in a convoy for The Herald’s travels. It was nice to be around good people and in that moment,she felt truly happy.

Surprise took her when she noticed that The Commander was standing aside the path that led towards the base. He appeared to be waiting for their arrival which was unusual. Typically Cullen was busy elsewhere, over working himself in some capacity. As her horse approached at a trotting pace, she began to examine his posture. He stood with folded arms and an air of vigilance which seemed so very characteristic of Commander Cullen. This time however, his typical stoic expression was replaced with a dampened smile. Juliette’s hand hovered above Romeo’s reins, the temptation to slow her horse was strong. It felt like the polite thing to do, if he were indeed waiting to speak with her. She wasn’t looking forward to the discussions that would inevitably come regarding the potential alliance with Redcliffe’s mages. Cassandra was disappointed enough with Juliette’s willingness to make an agreement on first contact. Maker knows that Cullen would be less impressed. The options rattled through her head, each second her horse closing the gap between them. It seemed too late to pretend that she didn’t notice him standing there, but speaking with him wasn’t something she was prepared to do yet either. With a guilty smirk, Juliette tapped her foot against her horse and picked up speed.

“Herald, welc—”

“Commander,” Juliette greeted with a distant, formal voice as she galloped past leaving a haze of snow in the air. The soldiers and officers that accompanied increased their speed to keep up with their Herald. The thundering of hooves rapidly approaching made Cullen step back to avoid being trampled. Juliette glanced over her shoulder to witness The Commander standing alone with a crestfallen look on his face.

After reaching the entry to the base, Juliette remained saddled while she spoke with the officers that greeted her upon arrival. Her voice was calm and kind, her smile genuine. Juliette was mid sentence when she paused from the interruption of shouting.

“Herald!”

She turned her head and softly gasped at the sight of The Commander jogging towards her. His cheeks were flushed and his hair a little messy from the wind and snow. Juliette stared with wide eyes, wistfully watching his movements. She shuffled her thighs against the saddle and cleared her throat quietly. In her mind she prayed that the feelings of arousal stirring within would quickly dissipate.

“You’re back,” he said with a low, breathy voice.

“Cullen?” Juliette gave him a baffled look. “Did you just run after us?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “I mean…uh…yes.” He sighed heavily with a step forward before freezing at the sight of The Herald’s palm extended in an authoritative manner.

“Don’t come any closer!” she shrieked. Cullen looked around himself, trying to assess any danger. The soldiers watched her attentively, seemingly confused also. He glanced back up at her with questioning eyes. She held her hand out firmly and her serious glare softened into a smirk. “You’re here to knock me from my horse!”

“What?” Culled chuckled. The amusement in his laugh wavered when he realised that the soldiers and officers were eyeing him with suspicion. “No!” he yelled at them with a rising pitch to his voice, telling that he took offense to such allegations. “Maker’s breath, Lady Trevelyan! These are my men!”

She let out a victorious giggle and the soldiers relaxed. Cullen moved towards her, ignoring the request to stay away.
“They’ve given you far too much power,” he mumbled, extending his hand in gesture to help the Herald down from the horse. She hesitated for a moment, glaring at him with a wrinkled nose and a pout that couldn’t resist turning into a grin. Cullen released a deep chuckle from his throat when she finally surrendered and accepted his offer.

Although they both wore gloves, the feeling of Cullen’s hand firmly gripping hers made Juliette consciously aware of her quickening heartbeat. She paused for a moment, allowing her eyes to linger. His touch made her feel delicate, when she noted the size difference in their hands.

Trying her very best to dismount the horse elegantly, Juliette asked “Why are you here, Commander?” As soon as both feet were on the ground, she snatched away her hand and turned her back to him. Her face was rapidly growing red from his touch and she tried to hide by pulling the fur lined hood over her head.

Why? Cullen had asked himself the same question. It was an impulsive decision to approach Juliette , more so to chase after her. A greeting at the war table would have sufficed for a professional relationship, yet there he was. The image of her descending the mountain trail had left him with muddled intentions.

Cullen was grateful that she had turned her back because he was becoming flustered while he desperately thought of an answer to her question. “Some people think it is polite to greet a colleague,” he replied cautiously.

“Oh,” was her response. Juliette turned to the side slightly, her face mostly obstructed by fur in a pristine white. “Do you not think of me as polite, Commander?”

While Juliette handed the reins of her horse to the stablehand, Cullen stammered half a response of “No, I…I—”

“Well, this is a fascinating surprise!” a voice sang out rescuing Cullen from his lack of words. “And there I was thinking that the charm of chivalry was lost on Southerners.” 

Cullen stepped back with folded arms, “You must be Dorian.”

Juliette spun around so quickly that her hood fell back, revealing her tangled hair. “Yes!” she answered with exaggerated excitement. “Dorian, this Commander Cullen - he leads the Inquisition’s forces and helps ladies from horses,” she paused and pursed her lips at the realisation of her rhyming statement. “Apparently,” she giggled awkwardly, placing her hand on Dorian’s arm. Juliette’s nerves were still heightened from the earlier interaction and she felt embarrassed by the way that she carried herself - a silly girl, giggling like a fool. “Inside the gate you’ll find the main building. Ask for Josephine and she’ll see that you’ve had a meal and are shown to your quarters.”

As Dorian walked away he asked, “Tell me that your people serve more than soup and watered-down mead?”

“I wouldn’t have too many expectations going forward,” Juliette laughed, falling back on humour as a defence mechanism.

The moment that Dorian was out of sight, Cullen remarked with folded arms, “He’s a mage.”

“Oh, what gave it away? The big stick strapped to his back?”

Cullen sighed in frustration, “You never mentioned that he was staying with us in your report.”

“He’s staying with me not us,” Juliette clarified , walking away. “Dorian is a guest of mine, Commander.”

“It’s irrelevant how he was invited, Herald. I think that we should exercise some caution when letting mages into Haven unchecked,” Cullen replied, following after her.

Juliette stopped and turned slowly. “So that’s why you’re really here. To ask about the mages?”

“No, not entirely.”

“Don’t worry about Dorian, he’s got a good grasp on his magic if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Juliette folded her arms, subconsciously mimicking Cullen’s stance.

“That is …never mind,” he sighed. “We need safeguards in place to protect people against possession. For that, we need to be prepared ahead of time.”

“ Safeguards? You’d have us all guarded?” Juliette asked with a glare.

“No, that’s not what I meant! We need to be watchful, yes.” Cullen tried to explain although he was beginning to see that his words were falling upon deaf ears. Juliette scoffed and turned her back to him, ready to walk away.

“Next time, tell me when you’re planning on bringing a mage home.” His voice was firm and loud.

A shrill laugh escaped Juliette’s lips. “Is that a command?”

“Yes,” he affirmed. Cullen watched her with a heavy gaze, conveying a sense of authority.

Juliette shrugged her shoulders and replied with a sarcastic “Yes, Commander.”

“If there was just one abomination amongst us —”

“Oh would you give it a rest, Cullen!” Juliette snapped. “Save the anti-mage bullshit for the war room. Maker knows you’ll have plenty of opportunity to oppose me.” She stormed towards the gate, turning to glare at Cullen one last time. He squeezed the back of his neck and stared at the ground, unsure how to respond. Deciding that it was best not to say a word at all, he unleashed an aggressive sigh and walked away.

Chapter Text

The cool air of The Frostbacks filled Juliette’s lungs with a deep breath. She loved the way that it felt, almost like a burn in her chest. Everywhere that she looked was white. Snow covered the mountains and fields that surrounded her, and at the right moment she could see a glisten of sunlight when it reflected the snow. It looked like sparkles, like magic! She felt freedom there, alone in the mountains. Well, almost alone.

Romeo stood still, patiently waiting for his rider to finish rolling around on the snow covered grass. She looked up at the sky and smiled. Ice had piled around her ears and cheeks from where she nestled her head against it like a pillow. This was the first time in weeks that she was able to escape some kind of duty , mission or fight of some degree. Juliette finally had a chance to breathe!

Her eyes didn’t need to wander far to notice the breach in the sky. It’s glorious waves of green-lit energy pulsated amongst the clouds, occasionally filling the valley with a eerie rumble. Romeo released a long, drawn out whinny that made Juliette snort in laughter. “Don’t you start,” she teased, standing up. She dusted the snow from her coat and pushed back the loose hair that framed her face. It had become wet from the snow and was starting to curl into a frizzy mess.

She walked over to her horse and began to stroke his mane. “I know, I know,” she said softly. “The big scary hole is still in the sky and I need to fix it.” Juliette picked up the bunch of elfroot that she had gathered earlier before becoming distracted by playing in the snow. Gently, she packed it into the satchel that was equipped to Romeo’s saddle. Not before taking a sniff of the herb. She found it so fascinating how a plant can have an entirely different scent when freshly plucked from the wild. The elfroot that grew in the circle’s courtyard was not nearly as nice. She sighed so heavily that her breath turned into a haze of vapor against the icy air. “We best be off, I suppose.”

Cullen clenched his fists. “What do you mean, 'no'?”

“I’m sorry, Commander,” the stable hand explained. “Five of the horses are set to travel to Orlais. Well, four not counting The Herald’s.”

“It’s not her horse!” Cullen threw his hands up with frustration. “We need all the horses to pull the final carts to Redcliffe!”

“I’m sorry, these were the orders that I was given.”

“Now I’m giving you a new order. Load the carts!” Cullen commanded as he walked away.

“I’m afraid that I can’t, these were The Herald’s orders,” the stable hand called out. Cullen turned to look at him with a scowl.

“Who put her in charge?” he yelled.

The stable hand paused for a moment, as though he wondered if the question was rhetorical. When he realised that Cullen was watching him for a response he stood firm and spoke resolutely; “I believe that was Andraste, Ser.”

Cullen turned his back and exhaled through his teeth. He was furious and thought it best to walk away before his temper got the better of him. His condition was ever changing and there were times when he struggled to keep his anger in check amidst the muscle aches, migraines and visions that flashed into his memory. Those thoughts were haunting and relentless. He had to keep pushing forward.

It was as though The Maker himself was trying Cullen’s patience that day. There she was strolling towards the stable, leading the horse along as though they had all the time in world. She walked slowly, mindful of the way the snow flung into the air with each kick of her foot. She looked like she was in a daydream, smiling sweetly and humming to herself. To admit how gorgeous she was in that moment, was foolish. Her glares of distrust and loathing at the war table the day prior was a memory still fresh. It was as though there was two of Lady Trevelyan and lately, he only seemed to encounter the spiteful version.

Cullen stood with folded arms, watching Juliette for a while longer than he had hoped. She wasn’t paying the slightest attention to her surroundings and that made him all the more angry. He didn’t quite understand how she could be so remiss with everything that was happening. When she eventually looked his way, she froze, seemingly not expecting to see him standing by. Her lopsided grin gave her away. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Good, you’re here,” he said, charging towards her. “Give me the horse.”

Juliette blinked a few times before whispering, “What?”

Cullen held out his hand, aggressively gesturing towards the reins. “The horse. Give it to me, now.”

With a gasp, Juliette took a step back. “I beg your pardon!”

“I have men leaving for The Hinterlands today and every horse will be towing a cart. We must get these watchtowers completed so that Dennet sends the other horses and we can stop this nonsense once and for all!”

“I’m leaving for Orlais this afternoon. I won’t make it there on time by foot!” she argued.

Cullen scoffed, “For what? A tea party?”

“Salon,” she corrected. “And I was invited personally by Madame de Fer. It’s of great importance.”

“Then you better start walking now, because I’m taking this horse,” Cullen threatened as he stepped closer.

“No! Why are you being so…” Words escaped Juliette for a moment and she looked him up and down. With a scrunched up face she shuddered dramatically. “Argh!”

“With all due respect, Lady Trevelyan - this is not a game,” he lowered his head to meet her eyes. He was standing close to her, closer than was appropriate. All Juliette’s focus was on swallowing a nervous gulp without him noticing.

“With respect…” Braving eye contact, Juliette looked back up to meet his gaze. His stare was intense, intimidating. Dangerous. Had things been different, perhaps another time or place, that look could cause her to come undone. She quietly cleared her throat. “With respect, I’m not playing.”

They held their stare, neither of the two wavering. As the moment lingered, Juliette looked to the scar on his lip, then slowly back up to his eyes. The creases between Cullen’s brows relaxed and his expression began to falter. The tension was overwhelming as they stood with so little space between. Juliette closed her eyes. She drew in a breath, holding it in her ribs in fear of exhaling too loudly. Her fingers gripped the reins tighter. She needed him gone before her body language revealed the lust that she had so desperately tried to ignore.

That long held breath finally escaped with a soft gasp. Her eyes opened and followed as Cullen’s fingers lightly brushed against her hand that held the reins. He grabbed onto the reins, she submitted and gently let go.

“Fine,” she murmured. Juliette turned on her heel, sights set for the stable hand.

Cullen watched in surprise as she charged off, not expecting that she’d yield so easily. “Next time do as I say. We haven’t the time for this.”

Her breath was jittery and her voice cracked slightly. “I’m not…one of your soldiers!”, she called back. “You’re not my Commander.”

The stable hand had long abandoned his work and stood watching, grinning from ear to ear. Juliette didn’t want to think about that, what the argument had looked like to others. She wanted out of there, away from Cullen and the blur of emotions that clouded her judgement. “Can you please —”

The beginnings of her soft spoken request was halted by a roar of laughter. She looked over her shoulder to see what the stable hand had found so hilarious. Cullen shot him an aggravated look. “Good luck, Commander,” the stable hand shouted. “He’s a prick of horse, that one.”

Cullen rolled his eyes and tugged at the reins a third time. Romeo stood defiantly with flared nostrils. “Please,” Cullen whispered to the horse. He clicked his tongue and tried to lead once more. “Come, please. Don’t encourage her.”

“He doesn’t care for me much either!” the stable hand yelled with a laugh. Juliette began to smirk.

“He should be sent back to Master Dennet!” Cullen shouted. “We need trained horses, not pets!”

Juliette shrieked, “What?”

Romeo blew air from his nose in response to the noise and Cullen spoke softly to the horse, “I don’t mean it, really.”

Juliette stormed towards them, “Dare think of it and it will be the last thing that you do, Cullen!”

He turned his head to the side so that she couldn’t see him snickering at her outburst. Armed with the knowledge of how to rile her up in an instant, Cullen dropped the reins and stepped back.

She didn’t even have to make it all the way over for Romeo to start walking. Realising that he’d follow her to the stable, Juliette spun back around.

“How?” Cullen asked, astonished.

“I’m starting to develop a skill for handling stubborn males,” Juliette replied, looking over her shoulder to glare as she walked away. She looked to the stable hand once more. “Please board my horse and ensure that he and those assigned for my guards are ready to travel.”

With a grin and a dutiful nod he replied, “Yes, your worship.”

In the several days that passed , The Inquisition worked tirelessly at strengthening it’s influence across Thedas. Vivienne de Fer graciously offered her services, valued knowledge and counsel. Arriving at Haven shortly after The Herald, Madame de Fer was quick to quiz Juliette on her stance regarding The Chantry and the future of The Circle of Magi. Juliette was surprised by Vivienne’s rather traditional views on Circle politics and found their different experiences in the circle jarring, especially considering that Vivienne spent much of her life at Ostwick’s circle. While she respected Vivienne, Juliette couldn’t help but feel like an idiot whenever they spoke. She knew in her heart that mages deserved their freedom, yet after just one conversation with Vivienne, Juliette walked away questioning herself and a lifetime of resentment.

With each passing day more people arrived at Haven in support of The Inquisition and also refuge as The Hinterlands camps were becoming overcrowded. Cullen has strived to be accommodating, ensuring that his soldiers were prepared for any threat. Apostates were troubling enough, yet potential abominations? Cullen had far too few Templars under his command to ensure the safety of their people. Not a night had gone by without Cullen lying awake, his paranoia victorious while he imagined various scenarios wherein Haven would fall much like that of Kinloch Hold.

The red sash that tied around Juliette’s waist had a knot system far more complicated than anything that she had ever worn in The Circle. She fidgeted, trying to tighten and adjust the new armour that Harritt had so proudly made custom for her. Standing by Haven’s main gate she was oblivious to the buzz of activity around as the horses were being saddled for their next departure.

“Need a hand?”, Cassandra asked, carrying a bag of equipment.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Juliette replied without looking up. “I just need to get used to wearing armour. One of the many things I must learn.”

Cassandra put the bag down and leaned against the fence with folded arms. “Herald?” she asked.

Juliette frantically rummaged through her pouch pulling out withered sprigs of elfroot and various books. “I know there’s something here,” she muttered to herself.

“Herald?” Cassandra asked again, much firmer than the first time.

Juliette looked up. “Ribbon or twine or anything that I can tie up my hair with so it doesn’t catch on these…” She aggressively flicked her hair away from the spiked plates that sat atop her shoulders.

“You’re deflecting,” Cassandra said bluntly.

Juliette sighed and dropped her pouch to the ground. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.”

“I’m more concerned that you’ll stumble off the edge of a cliff mid daydream.”

“That…” Juliette pointed her finger. “That was a matter of loose footing, not a lack of focus. And it was the one time! Really, must you all keep at me about falling down a hill?”

“It was a cliff,” Cassandra said with the smallest hint of a smile.

“A rather steep hill, should it matter?” Juliette sighed.

“My point is that we are heading back out there and we do not not what dangers we may face. I need to be sure that you are all right, that you aren’t going to have some kind of breakdown mid sealing of a rift.”

“I promise that I won’t let my existential crisis interfere with my Herald duties,” Juliette said sarcastically, bending down to pick up her things.

Cassandra hesitated a moment, almost turning away before she asked, “You’ve said you don’t believe you’re chosen. Does that mean… you also don’t believe in the Maker?”

Juliette gave Cassandra an understanding look, realising that her constant denial of her title may seem unpious. She tugged at the armour’s stiff collar, squeezing her hand down to towards her chest. With a grimace she pulled forward a necklace, showcasing the gold pendant of The Chantry against her black glove. “When I was a young child, I grew up in the care of many chantry Sisters. I lived with my family in the manor, of course, though it was the Sisters who raised me. They gave me this and I wear it, always.”

Cassandra smiled with tight lips. “That’s… comforting. Surely the Maker put us both on this path for a reason.”

“I believe in The Maker, truly I do,” Juliette explained. “I just don’t see how I can live up to everyone’s expectations. I’m not good at fighting or training or channeling my pent up rage towards a target. I’ve never been allowed that freedom. It’s always been the way - be quiet, head down, work hard, lest you find yourself in trouble.”

“Perhaps that’s why The Maker sent you here,” Cassandra pondered out loud.

“I’ve no place else to be,” Juliette chuckled awkwardly. “Everyone here is working so hard and dealing with all this…just so…naturally.” Juliette hung her head and spoke, “I’m scared. You are so fierce and dedicated, Leliana and Josie are just so passionate and Cullen…” She waved her hand in the direction of the training soldiers. “Our Commander is just perfect at what he does. Me? I fumble over my words, trip over my own feet. I can’t even have a conversation with Cullen without starting a fight —”

“Is something the matter with you and Cullen?” Cassandra asked, seriously.

Juliette shook her head instantly with a very unconvincing “No.” She began to smirk. “Why? Will you beat him up for me?”

“I have much respect for Commander Cullen and I can not imagine that such measures would ever be necessary.”

“That wasn’t a ‘no’, Cassandra,” Juliette grinned.

“Hurry and pack your things, we’re leaving soon,” Cassandra replied trying her best to seem unamused. She turned her back to Juliette and stopped. Looking over her shoulder, she said; “I’m glad that you’re with us, Herald.”

Harritt hammered away at the sword, doing his best to ignore Dorian’s presence. ”Does the cold not bother any of you? Truly?”, he quipped, watching the blacksmith at work. Harritt glared up at Dorian, unimpressed.

“How are the swords coming along?” Cullen asked, walking up behind Harritt.

“Commander.” Harritt stepped away from his work, giving Cullen his full attention. “We’re doing the best we can given our resources. Should have them ready by the end of the week.”

“Good work,” Cullen said, picking up a finished sword from the bench and holding it up towards the light. He lowered it slowly, his attention focused in the distance. Juliette stood beside her horse, laughing at something Varric had said. The sunlight bounced off her armour, creating a radiant light that illuminated her face.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Harritt asked.

“Yes,” Cullen spoke softly, without much thought. “I mean…sorry, what?”

“The Herald’s armour. I made it look like dragon scales. It turned out brilliantly, if I do say so myself.”

“Of course,” Cullen said. “It’s…um, very well crafted. Well done, Harritt.”

Dorian smirked. “Let us hope that such beautiful armour will help us in our little game of Grey Warden hide and seek.”

Cullen scoffed. “Leliana is wasting her time. Even if they do manage to find this lone Grey Warden, what guarantee is there that he’ll help The Inquisition?”

“Don’t underestimate the persuasion of a pretty face, Commander,” Dorian teased as he started to walk away. “Mine, of course. Maybe The Herald can bat her eyelashes or something should I not succeed. A last resort, naturally.”

Chapter Text

The screams became distant and the explosions that echoed in the valley gave way to the sound of leaves crunching underfoot. Birds sang sweet melodies and trees rustled with a gentle breeze. It was incredible how untouched and peaceful this little pocket of land had remained amongst the chaos of war.

Dorian was the first to break the silence of the group as they trudged up the mountain. “I must admit, Cassandra, I've never heard of these ‘Seekers of Truth’."

“ Why would you?” Cassandra replied. She was walking a little further ahead of the others and didn’t bother to face Dorian when she spoke. “ They do not exist in Tevinter.”

“But what are they? Some manner of super-Templar? Is this one of those Southern secrets, like proper hygiene?” Dorian and Juliette exchanged a grin and they waited for Cassandra to react.

A faint grunt of frustration could be heard before she answered, “Once, we worked from the shadows, monitoring Templars and mages alike.”

“Ah. That clearly worked out well.”

“Dorian!”, Juliette said under her breath with a gasp. He just smiled, proudly.

“Your glibness does you no credit,” Cassandra muttered and began to walk faster. “The Mage Rebellion was beyond even our power to control.”

“Good job, Tevinter! Now she’s shot off even faster. I’m struggling to keep up as it is.” Juliette whined.

“You’ll live, Lady Herald,” he smirked.

“That’s it! I’m pulling the dwarf card,” Varric said, jogging ahead. “Hey, Seeker! Wanna slow it down for those of us with shorter legs?”

Juliette’s smile lingered while she watched Varric and Cassandra move further ahead. She faced Dorian, seeing a long awaited opportunity. “Dorian?” she spoke quietly.

“Ooh, hushed whispers,” he replied with excitement. “What, pray tell, secrets has our Herald to share?”

“None. I wanted to ask something of you?”

“I’m listening.”

“Could you, by chance, happen to help me… fight?” Juliette cringed, awkwardly.

“Aren’t you already training?”

“Yeah,” Juliette scoffed. “With one of Cullen’s friends. An ex-Templar teaching a mage combat? It’s just not right.”

“Cullen has friends?” Dorian asked dramatically. “You are correct, that is not right.”

Juliette playfully shoved his shoulder. “That’s not what I mean. “ She drew in a deep breath and continued walking ahead. “I just feel like I’ve been set up for failure. It’s magic that I should be fighting with. I tried asking Solas for advice…” She looked up at Dorian and a smile swept across her face. “Well, I stopped listening after a while.”

“Hmm,” he thought out loud, drawing out the humming noise.

“Oh, come on! I’ve seen how you…” She waved her hands around, mimicking his moves. “What you do with your staff - it’s mesmerising!”

“Brilliance just can’t be taught!”

“Oh, please Dorian!”

“Oh, those puppy eyes, Herald!” He mocked, stepping closer to her. He reached his hand to her head and gently pulled out a twig that was tangled in her hair. Juliette’s eyes widened with surprise when she noticed what he was doing. “You’re adorable. I was almost convinced to help you.”

Following the map that Leliana had marked, the group arrived at the top of the hill. Before them, a lake shimmered like a sheet of glass in the afternoon sun. The area seemed uninhabited , save for a small, run-down cabin just off the lake.

“I can hear voices,” Cassandra said, reaching for her sword. “This must be the spot.”

As they drew closer, they witnessed what seemed to be soldiers training.

“Remember how to carry your shield. You’re not hiding, you're holding.”

Cassandra looked to Juliette as though inviting her to act. She nodded to Cassandra and drew in a deep breath. “Blackwall!” she called out. “Warden Blackwall?”

The man spun around in an instant and charged towards Juliette, sword drawn. “You’re not…” he snapped hastily. He hesitated and lowered his sword once looking at her. “How do you know my —”

The sudden whistle of arrows soaring through the air halted his words and with precise movement, he lifted his shield, catching the arrows that narrowly missed the Herald’s face. Juliette released a high pitched gasp, startled by the noise. Emerging behind the trees were several men, archers and swordsmen alike.

“That’s it!” he yelled at her. “Help or get out! We’re dealing with these idiots first!”

Barely a moment had passed when Cassandra tore past them, out for blood. Juliette retreated , moving towards Dorian with her staff in hand. She watched in awe as Blackwall effortlessly cut men down with a single swing of his sword.

“I wasn’t here to fight!” he screamed out above the noise. Focusing on the outer edges of the battle zone, Juliette channeled weak bursts of flame from her staff.

“All right, I’ll oblige.” Dorian yelled to Juliette. “For a circle trained mage, you’re quite shit at magic aren’t you?”

“You don’t think I already know that?!” she called back to him, not once taking her eyes off the fight.

“Practice over theory. Follow my lead!” Dorian moved forward, crouching in a stealth position. With a sway to the left, he swung his staff into the back of the head of a mercenary. Before the man could react, Juliette attacked him, copying Dorian’s move perfectly. That second whack to the head had him out cold. She squealed in surprise, unable to believe what she had just done. “That’s it!” Dorian shouted. “Now, this!” He moved from side to side, twisting his staff at the wrists.

“It’s like dancing!” Juliette said, beaming with a smile. She was conjuring controlled fireballs with precise accuracy!

“But better, yes?” Dorian grinned. As their attacker’s clothing went up in flames, Dorian threw his head back and laughed manically. “I could do this all day!”

Emerging from the smoke, Blackwall pierced his sword into the ground and knelt beside the final man to fall. “Sorry Bastards.” Juliette quickly adjusted her coat and smoothed back her hair, sweeping off ash. She walked over just as Blackwall had finished dismissing the men that he was training. She heard the very last of his orders.

“Go back to your families - you’ve saved yourselves.”

Immediately, he turned his attention back to Juliette. “You’re no farmer. How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“I know your name because I’m an agent of The Inquisition.” She placed her hands on her hips, feeling a surge of confidence after the fight. Gaining control over her magic in such a way was exhilarating! “ I’m rather curious about the disappearance of the Wardens and how that could potentially coincide with the murder of The Divine.”

Blackwall began to pace back and forth while she talked. She couldn’t tell if he was nervous or just agitated. Either way, their sudden appearance had taken him by surprise.

“Makers balls!” he shouted with a gruff voice. His lack of formality was refreshing. “The Wardens and The Divine, that can’t …no.” He stared at Juliette with piercing eyes. They looked grey, with hints of blue and she thought that they were beautiful as much as they were intimidating. The lines around his eyes deepened as he inspected her closer. “No. You’re asking so you don’t really know.” He had called her bluff, yet she still stood with bravado. “We disappear , that’s what we do. Job done, gone, right?”

“You tell me. You’re The Warden,” she replied.

“No Warden killed The Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.”

“Slow down, I’m not accusing you…not yet anyway.” She looked around, grasping at straws mentally to plan her next move. “Where’s the rest of you?”

“I haven’t seen any Warden for months. I travel alone, recruiting.”

“Oh, alone.” Juliette looked over and Cassandra hoping for some kind of reassurance that she was handling this properly. Instead, The Seeker eyed Blackwall intensely, hand hovering above her sword. Juliette continued, “Seems a rather lonely place to be training conscripts.”

“There’s no blight, no need to properly train.”

“Then why bother. Why are you out here?”

Blackwall pointed to the bodies lying in the grass. “These idiots forced this fight, so I conscripted their victims. Next time, they won’t need me.”

“Rather heroic.” The sarcastic compliment bounced off him like sunlight to armour.

“Grey Wardens can inspire. Make you better than you think you are.”

Something clicked. The way he spoke about the wardens reminded her of an enchanter she once knew. Every word, so rehearsed, certain. It was almost as though he wanted to convince himself as much as he did her. Is he trying to prove his worth by clinging to heroism? 

Juliette hesitated a moment, weighing up her options and wondering if this new idea that flashed into her mind was worth the risk. She tilted her head to the side and lowered her voice. “Why haven’t you gone missing like the rest of them?”

“Well, maybe I was going to.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

He held his stare, steady, purposeful. At least, that's what she hoped for. Her lips twitched, hands restless, heart beating a little faster. She needed to at least look like she wasn’t second-guessing herself. 

“Do you go around interrogating all men that you find wandering Ferelden?” he asked her, his serious expression beginning to soften.

“Only the ones with impressive swordsmanship. Though I wonder, what could I do with you ?”  She delivered the line smoothly, shocking even herself. She turned, taking a few steps away while she let her expression break for just a moment. 

“My job was to recruit on my own. I planned to stay that way for months. Years.”

Juliette clasped her hands together, turning back to face him. “Well, thank you, Warden Blackwall.” She stepped closer, leaning in.  With little more than a whisper she asked, “now where does this leave us?”

Blackwall, With knitted brows, watched her walk away. “Inquisition!” he shouted. Juliette stopped and began to smirk. “Agent, did you say?”

She turned around and asked smugly, “Yes, Warden Blackwall?”

“Hold a moment!” He hurried towards her. “The Divine’s dead, the sky is torn…events like these…thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved.”

“You are absent though, are you not?”

“No. I don’t have to be. Maybe you need a Warden, maybe you need me.”

“You are but one Grey Warden. What could you do for me?” she folded her arms and smiled, awaiting his response.

“Save the fucking world if pressed.”

Her eyelids fluttered and she stifled laughter. If only he knew that he was speaking to 'The Herald of Andraste'. Perhaps, she was beginning to think, that he’d speak to her just the same if he had known.

“Maybe this isn’t a blight but it’s bloody well a disaster,” he added.

“As I am well aware. Tell me, have you any tales of mending fade rifts, fixing the sky?  Hundreds of demons slain heroically by your hand?” There was a playful glint in her eye when she spoke. “Is that something you’re experienced in?”

“No, but tell me who is?”

She laughed abruptly at the question. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She extended her unmarked hand. “Warden Blackwall, The Inquisition accepts your offer.”

“Good to hear.” He met her handshake before she turned to walk once again. “This Warden walks with the Inquisition.”

“And The Herald of Andraste, it seems.”

With his hands on his hips and a squint to his eyes, Master Dennet looked up at the breach in the sky. “Maker! It’s worse than I thought!” He turned back to Cullen, who was standing by him at the stable. “I hope you lot can close it.”

“As do I,” Cullen replied. “Aside from the breach, how are you finding Haven?”

“It’s groaning under the weight,” Dennet replied bluntly. “It wasn't built for this. But we'll make it serve.”

“That we will. I’ll see to it,” Cullen said, proudly. He looked to the horses. “These are a fine addition to our stables.”

“I hope it’s enough for The Herald.”

Cullen chuckled, “She’ll be pleased, I assure you.”

“After what she’s done for Ferelden, it’s an honor to be in her service.” Cullen smiled at Dennet’s remark. “Also, your men, Commander. I applaud their hard work on the watchtowers.”

“Thank you,” Cullen replied.

“It does feel good to be back at work,” Dennet said, picking up a bucket and resuming his duties. “I hope to speak with The Herald when she returns, to thank her myself.”

“I’ll send her your way at her earliest convenience,” Cullen nodded and began to walk away.

You’ll be seeing her here a lot, no doubt, Cullen thought to himself with a smile.

Towards the end of the afternoon’s drills, Cullen allowed his lieutenant to take over. He had already heard that the Herald and accompanying party were approaching and was ready to slip away to greet them. The sound of the lieutenant’s voice began to dull as Cullen’s focus drifted. A wistful smile tugged at his lips with the thought of Juliette’s reaction to seeing a full stable for the first time. She’d be so happy.

By the time that Cullen had started to approach The Herald at the gates, a small crowd had gathered to greet her. He froze in his tracks when he saw a man walk to the side of Juliette’s horse and offered her his hand, as Cullen had done himself just a week earlier.

Juliette shook her head and with a soft giggle said, “I’m quite capable of dismounting a horse, you know.”

Blackwall responded with rich laughter. “I know, believe me. Although I don’t want The Herald of Andraste to think that I’m no gentleman.”

Dorian stood beside Cullen, looking highly amused. “It appears that this time you are too late, Commander.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Cullen mumbled.

“No, of course not,” Dorian grinned. “Tell me. Have you read my report?”

Cullen groaned in frustration. “If you insist on playing along and pretending to write reports, could you at least try not to embellish the truth in official documents, Dorian?”

“Everything that I said was true, Commander. Including the part where our lovely Lady Herald’s doe eyes sparkled in the sunlight —”

“And the Warden fell to his knees?” Cullen let out a short, mirthless chuckle, his eyes rolling slightly as he shook his head. “I feared for a moment that your report somehow became mixed with Varric’s.”

“No, it did really happen! She just walked right up to him in the midst of battle.” Dorian smirked and spoke dramatically, “It was fascinating to watch!”

Cullen straightened his posture and quietly cleared his throat as Juliette walked towards them. “Good afternoon, Herald,” he said with a nod of his head.

Juliette smiled sweetly. Cullen was relieved to find her in a good mood for a change.

“Hello, Commander…Oh!” she gasped with wide eyes at the sight behind him. Cullen’s face lit up with a smile. Her reaction was just as he expected. He slowly waved his hand in the direction of the stables with a knowing smirk. She looked at him, her face aglow with excitement. “When?” she asked, her voice soft and breathy.

“Yesterday,” Cullen replied. “Master Dennet is eager to speak with you, I believe.”

“I shan't keep him waiting!” she exclaimed.

Cullen watched as she hurried towards the stables, dodging workers and pilgrims that stood in her path. His smile faltered when he noticed Dorian looking at him closely with folded arms and raised eyebrows.

“You can leave now,” Cullen muttered before walking away himself.

The wind was strong that night at Haven. From inside Juliette’s cabin, the sound was a constant low rumble causing the timber walls to creak with each gust. The slow burning flame of the fireplace flickered light across the room as Juliette thrashed about in the middle of a nightmare.

I can hear it. The clang of armour. Templars aren’t hard to miss.

“Jonathan?” my voice is croaky and faint. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you in the dining hall?”

He’s just standing and staring. It’s frightening me!

“Jon?”

He takes a seat on the bench beside me. I’m terrified that they’ll see us!

“I’m sorry,” his voice is sad and regretful.

“What do you mean?”

He grabs my hands and again his voice over and over “I’m sorry.”

I’m standing, stepping away. “Why are you sorry? What have you done?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Jonathan?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that!” Tears are falling and my nose is tingling. My mind is racing and my breath…it’s…

I can’t breathe!

Rustling in the corner, light shining through cracks in the wall! A boy is crouched.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” My voice is screeching, hurting my own ears.

He’s wearing a hat that is too big. Nobody wears hats here! His face is sunken, darkness under his eyes. He looks like death.

The stranger is scaring me!

“The pain in your eyes hurt him more than the blade.”

The boy has faded, his words still haunting.

The metallic rasp of a sword unsheathed. A cold blade against my neck.

“I’m sorry.”

Juliette woke to the sound of her own screams. Shaking, she brought her fingertips to her neck and traced a line where the blade once rested.

The next morning, Cullen stood still amongst the lively field of sparring recruits. His eyes caught a glimpse of Juliette leaving the gate. She dragged her feet through the snow and in her hand she carelessly hauled an Inquisition shield. Her head was down as she walked, her shoulders slumped.

She looked up, squinting and swatting snow from her eyes. Their gaze met for just a heartbeat before he turned away, leaving Cullen with lingering embarrassment. He didn’t mean to stare. She dropped the shield to the ground and made her way towards him.

When Cullen looked back up he noticed her weaving past the soldiers, almost falling over as she dodged their violent movements. His instinct was to lunge forward and grab her. Pull her out of harm’s way. Normally he’d reprimand anyone who’d walk into the training zone out of respect for his soldiers and the person endangering themself. He couldn’t speak that way to The Herald. He let her go.

It wasn’t long before she stood before him, her face blank of emotion. He wanted nothing more than to ask her if she was all right. Everything about her appearance suggested otherwise. He knew all too well the look of a person lacking sleep. He feared that when speaking to her he’d reveal too much. Dorian’s smug attitude the day prior had him acting cautiously.

“Is there anything I should know?” she asked flatly.

“Not at the present,” Cullen replied, a tone to match hers. They held eye contact as the buzz of sparring and wind circled around them. Juliette blinked then turned, stomping back to the shield that she had earlier tossed aside. “Another time then?” he muttered with a sigh.

The training session with the lieutenant didn’t last long that day. Juliette stumbled and groaned her way through the drills. Her attitude was starting to irritate both Cassandra and the lieutenant.

“You’re not even trying!” he snapped, shoving her backwards.

“I’m tired of running in circles!” she yelled. “It doesn’t make sense!”

“It’s about discipline, something they clearly don’t teach in Ostwick.”

“I’m done!” she growled. “Take your stupid sword!” she hurled it towards the ground.

“Pick it up!” he commanded.

“No, I’ve had enough. I’m not a soldier.”

“But you are, Herald,” he shouted. “You go out there and you fight! You need to know how to do it properly, lives are in your hands!”

“Then why are you insisting I use a sword?” she tugged at her hair in frustration. By this point, Cullen had heard the shouting and walked over to see what was happening. Cassandra glared with folded arms.

“Tell me, Lieutenant! When am I ever going to need to use one? For the love of Andraste, I’m a mage!” She turned to Cassandra and Cullen and yelled, “When will you people get that through your thick skulls? I’m not a Templar!”

“Herald!” Cassandra scolded.

Juliette ignored her and continued, ”I should be practicing with a staff and an experienced mage! Bring me Dorian or Solas! Oh, you know, you have probably the best Enchanter in all of Thedas sitting on her arse in the Chantry doing nothing!” He voice was begging to break and she was pushing back tears.

Cassandra looked to Cullen, “Do you want to step in?”

“Me?” he asked with confusion. “I…I doubt she’ll take orders from me.”

“Herald!” Cassandra shouted again. “You need to calm dow—”

Everyone froze at the sudden sound of flames erupting as they engulfed a nearby training dummy. Through blurry eyes, Juliette watched in shock while it fell apart , the fire extinguishing in a hiss as it crashed into the snow. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she massaged the fingers of her right hand with her thumb in disbelief. It had been a very long time since she had conjured fire without the aid of an instrument to channel it properly.

With rapid breaths, she turned around to witness the lieutenant and surrounding soldiers eyeing her suspiciously, swords in their hands at the ready. She looked to Cassandra who had stood gawking with her mouth open, and then, Cullen.

He was staring at her, intensely with narrow eyes. He gripped his sword tightly.

“Drop your weapons! Now!” Cassandra screamed. She aggressively threw her arm towards the tents and the lieutenant obeyed her gesture to leave. Juliette and Cullen held their gaze, both frozen in shock. “Commander!” Cassandra said firmly. He was the only person to still have his sword drawn.

Standing between the two, she first looked to Juliette, noticing the way that she shook with each breath. Both her and Cullen looked terrified. Cassandra slowly approached Cullen and gently placed her hand on the fur that sat atop his shoulder.

“Cullen,” she said, this time with a much more gentle tone to her voice. He didn’t respond, instead holding his unwavering gaze. Slowly, Cassandra pried the sword from his hand and stepped back. “There’s no danger,” she softly spoke.

His eyes snapped to Cassandra and he looked down to his sword that was now in her hands. Without saying a word, Cullen turned and walked away.

Chapter Text

Josephine let out a startled gasp when her office door aggressively swung open. Cullen stormed towards her desk. “I need a quill and something to write on,” he muttered in a rush.

“Commander! Do you mind?” Josephine asked in shock. She was standing in the corner of the room, chatting with a woman wrapped in furs and adorned with dazzling jewels. When he ignored her, she hurried to the desk and shoved blank parchment in his direction, then swiftly turned to her guest. “My apologies, Lady Drummond. As you can see we are all very busy at the moment. Maybe we can speak another time?”

“Oh of course! Perhaps over a game of cards this evening. What say you?” the woman asked with an air sophistication.

Josephine smiled awkwardly. “Perhaps. We can never tell what the night has planned for us.” When the noble woman closed the door behind her, Josephine scolded Cullen with a hiss “Have you gone completely mad? What were you thinking barging in like that? You are lucky that Lady Drummond already thinks highly of The Inquisition.”

Cullen focused on dipping the quill in ink and hunched over the desk, prepared to write. “I am beyond caring what noble women think,” he said coldly.

“And what’s worse…,” Josephine continued. “…Is that now I will probably have to waste my evening playing games with her!”

Cullen gave Josephine a glance of disinterest and began to write, murmuring his words as he went. “That could have been said in the report. You are wasting resources and you are wasting my time.”

“I feel as though I am talking to a brick wall,” Josephine said with a glare.

“I’m sorry, but there is a war and I need to make preparations! That should be our priority, not…” he shook the letter, roughly to emphasise his point. “…games.”

“Which is why I am doing my best to negotiate with allies. We need Lady Drummond’s resources!”

He handed her the paper. “See that she gets this please, Ambassador.”

“Who are you talking about?” Josephine asked with a hint of irritation to her voice.

“The Herald!” he grumbled and quickly walked out the door. Leliana stood in the doorway and stepped back to let him pass, with a curious smirk on her face.

“Wait!” Josephine shouted. “Commander you dropped…” her sentence tapered off once realising that he was gone. She picked the partially scrunched paper from the floor.

“What is it, Josie?” Leliana asked.

“This must be the letter that he was replying to.” She sighed in frustration, “Always in such a rush.”

“Let me see that,” Leliana said reaching for the letter. She began to read it out loud.

Commander,

I have completed a thoroughly detailed report on our operation at The Storm Coast (like a good little mage).

I’m writing to you as it should be made aware that I have negotiated with and as such recruited the Qunari leader of “The Bull’s Chargers”, the famed Iron Bull.

Now, I know that you had so sensibly requested that I inform you of any intention to lead a mage back to Haven. An elven apostate will be accompanying the leader, as well as several other members of his mercenary band. Fear not, the apostate claims to be a “backup archer” and nothing more. I’d hate for you to feel the need to pull a sword on her upon arrival.

Whilst The Iron Bull himself is no mage, I thought you may like to know that I have reason to believe he is carrying a rather large stick. Do with that information as you wish.

The Herald Of Andraste

 

“She’s willingly referring to herself as ‘The Herald of Andraste’ now?” Josephine asked, her voice wavering in confusion.

“And look. She’s drawn pretty stars next to where she signed her name. She’s taunting him!” An amused smile hovered behind Leliana’s lips and Josie began to giggle.

Several days later, The Inquisition’s plan to infiltrate Redcliffe Castle was underway. An unexpected turn of events left Juliette and Dorian grappling with reality.

Juliette looked down at the knee deep water with disgust. The feeling of wet socks made her ears itch and face scrunch up. The smell was nothing short of putrid, like what she could only assume was rotting flesh. She stared at the red lyrium until her eyes started to blur.

“Don’t even think about touching it,” Dorian warned.

“How stupid do you think I am?” she asked.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Ignoring his lighthearted insult, Juliette began to wade ahead. She stopped before the man that she had killed moments earlier, face down in the water. “Venatori?” she wondered out loud.

“Yes,” Dorian confirmed.

“So, let me wrap my head around this. You think that we’re still at the castle, just in another... time?” Juliette asked, her voice raising in pitch with the question.

“It would seem so, yes,” Dorian said, seemingly fascinated.

“I never really did pay attention to Ferelden history lessons…”

“That’s not at all surprising, Juliette.”

She closed her eyes and sighed at his interruption. “What I meant is that I don’t recall anything about Venatori occupying Redcliffe in the past. Don’t quote me on that though.”

“If it is not the past and we have indeed moved ahead in time, I worry to think how far.”

“It just seems so insane.” Juliette pressed her fingertips into her forehead as she tried to process what was happening.

“I don’t even want to think about what this will do to the fabric of the world,” Dorian said pessimistically. “We didn’t ‘travel’ through time so much as punch a hole through it and toss it in the privy.”

“That’s…that’s terrifying,” Juliette said anxiously.

Dorian placed a hand on her shoulder. “But don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

She looked at him, unsure how serious he was being. “What happens if we can’t get back?”

With a somber stare he said, “Then we get comfortable in our new present.”

As Dorian and Juliette tried to navigate their way through a time travel disaster, back at Haven, Leliana had called a war meeting.

“My agents have confirmed that they’ve arrived in Redcliffe. Operations should be underway as we speak,” Leliana announced.

Josephine exhaled loudly. “I hope that this doesn’t sour relations with Ferelden.”

“I hope that they don’t get themselves killed in this ridiculous plan!” Cullen added with folded arms and a grumpy face.

“While we’re being optimistic…,” Leliana said with sarcasm. “The spies have sighted several Venatori camps in the Hinterlands. The refugees could be at risk once more it seems.”

“Of course they have.” Cullen rolled his eyes. “We can’t take in more refugees, we haven’t the —”

“Resources?” Josephine asked with a smug smile.

“We’ve nowhere to put them! We need to drive back these cultists,” he looked to Leliana and sighed. “Where should I send the soldiers?”

“Here’s the map,” she said, passing him documents. “Harding will report back soon enough with more information. Perhaps we could get The Herald to assist after Alexius. With Luck, success there will deter them.”

“If they are as obsessed with The Herald as you say, I doubt they’ll just pack up and leave!” Cullen ran his fingers through his hair and blinked excessively. “They’re after her. I’ll prepare the soldiers. We need to send word to Corporal Vale, let him know what’s coming.” He began to march for the door. “Watch Redcliffe , they could ambush The Herald as she leaves.” He turned to look at Leliana. “Are you certain about this secret passageway?”

“Again, yes. I’ve travelled it myself.”

“All right,” he nodded, not entirely convinced, but accepting.

“Commander, before you go,” Leliana handed him a letter. He looked at the seal and clenched his jaw. This time, Juliette didn’t bother to address him or sign it.

Yet, you still reply.

 

“She makes a good argument,” Leliana whispered to Josephine.

Cullen scrunched the paper and scowled. “Have you been reading our letters?”

Leliana looked him dead in the eyes and with a straight face said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Josie slowly held her clipboard above her face to conceal her laughter and Cullen shook his head.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered to himself and walked out of the room.

Water dripped from the ceiling and the stench from the lower cells wafted through the hallway. Dorian strolled through door and casually remarked, “So wonderful to see old friends.”

Juliette stumbled behind him , her hair disheveled and her face smeared with blood and soot. “Friends?” she whispered in disbelief.

“Oh, of course not actual friends. Fellow countrymen. Fantastic work back there, by the way. You almost got by without my help.”

Juliette grunted in response. She looked around, horrified by the signs of torture and despair. The red lyrium alone was unnerving. “They’re monsters!” she spoke in a soft, quivering voice.

“Yes, they are,” Dorian said. “All the more reason to set the Venatori on fire.” He turned around to look at her and shook his head. “I sometimes see you and think how did she get through her Harrowing?”

She glared at him. “Those events are locked in the Ostwick Circle history book and shall never be spoken of.”

“It’s a story?” he asked with intrigue. “Now I must know!”

“You really must not know,” Juliette pushed past him and began to descend the stairs. “We should check these…” She stopped and gagged at the smell. “Cells.”

Covering his nose, Dorian begged, “Distract me, will you? I’m starting to think of what scandal has you so hush about it all.”

“It’s really not —”

“Did you flirt your way through?”

“No!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing against the stone walls.

“I assumed you must have. Much like the way you recruited Blackwall.”

“I didn’t flirt with…” she paused to think for a moment “Well, maybe I did. He was being difficult.”

“Oh, yes,” Dorian grinned. “Was it your nobility then, hm?”

“Dorian, can we speak of something else?” she asked, tired.

“Nobility it is!” There was an awkward silence as Juliette looked around. “Tell me, Herald. How—”

“You’re not done?” Juliette gave an exasperated sigh.

“Your little tantrum last week. Any thoughts?”

“There was no tantrum and I have nothing to say about that.”

“Really?” he asked with surprise. “Because you conjured one little puff of smoke and had every Templar in Haven shitting themselves. You’ve truly nothing to say?”

“Now’s really not the time, Dorian.” Juliette stopped before a door, bracing herself for what horrors could be waiting on the other side.

“On the contrary! We are not even certain what the time is!”

Soldiers gathered around the war table as maps and tactical charts covered its surface, illuminated by candlelight. Commander Cullen stood at the center of the table, hovering his hand over Ferelden on the map. His stern gaze swept over the assembled officers while they awaited his instruction. His voice cut through the room, commanding immediate attention from everyone present.

“Lieutenant , deploy your team to the north of The Crossroads. CorporaI Vale will assist in guarding the refugee camps. There are reports of cultist activity nearby, I want a full sweep of the area.”

The Lieutenant nodded and answered, “Yes, Commander.”

“Rylen and his men will remained stationed at Redcliffe monitoring the castle for activity. We’ll send support to stand by should he need it. Templars, you’ll move to the outskirts of the village. The mages remain neutral, for now. Our soldiers are protecting them from bandits, however if they turn hostile…” Cullen paused at the thought and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. With a slow blink he continued, “We must be prepared. Act on Rylen’s Command and only on his command.”

Cullen looked ahead and stepped backwards, addressing the room in its entirety. “My main…our main priority is to protect The Herald. Whilst these Venatori cultists remain, her life is at risk.” He looked down at the map, taking a moment to reflect on his words. “We will assemble a convoy to safely escort her back to Haven.”

Cullen looked up from the table at the sound of the door opening. He remained still with a questioning stare at the intrusion.

“Now this is a war room!” Bull mused with excitement. The room fell silent, watching the Qunari for an explanation. “Cullen,” he greeted with a tilt of his head. “How’s it goin’?”

“Iron Bull, I presume?,” Cullen spoke with a flat tone.

“The Iron Bull,” he corrected.

Cullen at first said nothing, instead shuffling papers in his hands. “That is all,” he then said aloud. “Await further instruction from your Lieutenant. You’re dismissed.” When the officers cleared out of the room, Cullen looked to Bull with a shrug of his shoulders, inviting him to speak.

“I saw your men piling in. I want in on the action,” Bull explained. “Who we killing?”

“We’re not killi—” Cullen abruptly stopped mid-sentence, considering his options. “Your Chargers? Will they eliminate Tevinter cultists at The Inquisition’s command?”

“Fuck yeah, they would!”

With weary eyes, Grand Enchanter Fiona stared at Dorian. He shuddered at the sound of Juliette violently throwing up in the corner of the room.

“Don’t take it personally, Fiona. Our Lady Herald has a weak stomach. When we got here she had to fight the urge to vomit at the first sight of a Ferelden tapestry.” Soon after he spoke, Juliette began to loudly cough and splutter as she gasped for air.

“Er, should someone be holding back her hair or something?” Varric asked, his distorted voice bouncing around the dungeon. “Seeker! You’ve got this, right?”

It wasn’t clear if Cassandra had ignored him or was too disturbed to hear in the first place. She stood with a stony expression, glaring towards an empty cell while a haze of red radiated from her chest.

Dorian quickly exhaled and composed himself, asking in a much more serious manner, “Can you tell us the date? It’s very important.”

Fiona lifted her head from the wall that she was resting against, slowly as not to move too much and cause the Lyrium crystals to further shift into her flesh. “Harvestmere…nine forty-two Dragon,” she answered with an eerily weakened voice.

“Nine forty-two?” Dorian exclaimed with shock. “Then we’ve missed an entire year.”

Juliette stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She sniffled and stumbled briefly as dizziness took her by surprise. “I promise, I will do everything in my…” She quickly turned her head away from Fiona. “Forgive me, I can’t look. I’ll set things right. We won’t let this happen.”

The image of red lyrium shards protruding from Fiona’s chest burnt into Juliette’s mind. She couldn’t begin to imagine the agony that she would have experienced as the lyrium grew from inside her. Just standing near the stuff made Juliette feel as though her skull was about to explode. She didn’t want to think about how close that Cassandra and Varric were to succumbing a similar fate. Everything about this was wrong! Disturbing and sickening. They had to stop it.

Dorian walked over to Juliette and put his hand on her shoulder. “Our only hope is to find the amulet that Alexius used to send us here.”

“Do you think that you can use it to re-open the rift?” she asked him, her eyes filling with tears.

“Maybe,” he answered softly.

“Good,” Fiona said with relief, overhearing their conversation.

“I said maybe,” he replied firmly, turning back to face her. “It might also turn us into paste.”

“You must try!” Fiona said, resting her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. “Your spymaster…Leliana…” she began to fade out of consciousness.

“Leliana?” Cassandra asked frantically, speaking for the first time since she was released from her cell. “She’s alive?”

“You must find her…”

The screams that rang out from the torture chambers were chilling. Varric walked ahead and turned over his shoulder to look at Juliette with concern. “If there’s anything left of your stomach, this might be a good time to hold onto to it.”

Juliette stared blankly ahead, her mind racing with various scenarios in which this reality could have unfolded. Widened eyes and trembling hands hinted at her unease. “If Leliana is here…” she wondered out loud. “Could there have been others?” She turned to Dorian as he walked next to her. “Do you think? Could Cullen have led soldiers here…could he?” She let out a soft gasp and with a shaky hand held it over her mouth.

Dorian leaned in closer and said under his breath, “None of this is real, Juliette. At least, it won't be. Remember that.”

Leliana refused to speak more than necessary. No one could say how long she had endured the chains and torture. People would often talk of how terrifying the spymaster could be. Juliette had known Leliana to be cold and calculating at times, but to see her withstand such torture only to break a man’s neck with her thighs moments later, was disturbing yet profoundly impressive.

Dorian was baffled by the way she moved promptly to action after Juliette had helped unchain her. Perplexed, he asked, “You…aren’t curious how we got here?”

Leliana sifted through a chest, searching for weapons. “No.”

“Alexius sent us into the future,” Dorian began to explain. “This was never meant to be.”

Cassandra stared at Leliana and said nothing. It was as though emotions were coursing through her body, only to be suppressed within by the red lyrium infection that was brewing inside of her. Juliette could see the pain in Cassandra’s eyes, although her posture remained stoic.

Leliana stood from the chest that she was crouched before and turned to face both Dorian and Juliette. With a hauntingly bitter tone she said “And mages always wonder why people fear them. No one should have this power.”

Juliette wasn’t offended, partly she agreed. She’d by lying if she were to admit that her own powers didn’t scare her at times. What she found jarring was, however, that Leliana’s words were a striking contrast to those that she spoke several days earlier regarding mages. “No man should be caged for what he could become.”

“It’s dangerous and unpredictable,” Dorian agreed prior to arguing, “Before the breach, nothing we did—”

“Enough!” Leliana snapped. “This is all pretend to you, some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.” She ran out the door, deranged and determined to end Alexius. Juliette stood with her head down, fighting back tears. Dorian looked at her and sighed, before chasing after Leliana.

“What happened while we were away?” he asked.

“Stop talking!” she snarled.

“I’m just asking for information,” he replied, offended.

“No. You’re talking to fill silence.”

Juliette followed behind them and asked softly, “What about Haven?”

Leliana stopped and froze at the question. Slowly she turned and said “Nothing happened that you want to hear.”

Juliette stood with a vacant expression and stilled posture. Varric and Cassandra followed after Leliana while Dorian remained by Juliette’s side. “It’s not real,” he whispered, trying to reassure her. She looked up at him, a storm of rage in her dark brown eyes.

She reached for her staff and charged towards the stairs. “I’ll kill Alexius myself.”

Chapter Text

Aside from the muffled voices of chantry sisters from the other side of the door, the war room was silent. The advisors were still, processing the report that Leliana had read out loud. After a tense pause, Josephine was the first to react. Her breath quickened, becoming loud enough that it drew concerned glances from Leliana. She frantically scribbled notes on her clipboard.

“Josie?” Leliana asked in a soft voice.

She looked up from her notes, “They were sent through time?” she asked in shock. “Empress Celene’s assassination and what happened to…” She cleared her throat. “How many mages is The Herald bringing?” Josephine asked with a faint undertone of stress to her voice.

“She didn’t indicate an exact number. The report mentions ‘hundreds’,” Leliana answered, bowing her head to the floor. She looked up at the sound of Cullen’s fists slamming onto the table.

“Excuse me,” Josephine said in a exhale, moving towards the door. “I have letters to write.”

Without saying a word, Cullen soon followed out of the room. All of the noise that surrounded him became a disorienting swirl of sound . The chatting chantry sisters, Mother Giselle’s prayers, workers camped outside of the chantry and the thundering crack of the breach in the sky. He found himself fighting a mess of disjointed thoughts, each one fading in and out of focus like a candle’s flame.

He stopped outside of the chantry’s door, looking over the settlement that The Inquisition had created. Inside of the gates people worked hard for their cause. Healers, clerics, cooks, merchants, blacksmiths - civilians offering what help they can in trade for refuge. Outside of the gates, tents lined the perimeter. Soldiers. His men. What danger could befall them at his command? Hundreds of mages.

“Commander!” the messenger called, running towards him. “Ser Rylen has an urgent message!”

Cullen looked at the note attached to the clipboard and handed it back. “Yes,” was his response. The messenger waited a moment, expecting that he might say more. When Cullen didn’t speak further, he nodded and was about to leave. “Send for my templars,” Cullen ordered.

“Yes, Commander,” the messenger replied.

“Turn them back, we need them here at once.”

News of the mage alliance had shook Haven into a frantic panic. Some were relieved while many others were terrified. As they awaited The Herald’s return, The Advisors worked strenuously to restore order. The morning of her arrival, the war council had well began before they made it to the table. Mother Giselle had ushered out any lingering Sisters so that they didn’t witness The Inquisition’s arguments in the middle of the chantry building.

“It’s not a matter for debate!,” Cullen argued. “There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared!” He shook his head in frustration. How can they not foresee this danger?

Cullen hadn’t slept the night prior , nor had he been able to rest since hearing the news. The thought of abominations loose in Haven played over and over in his mind. That sweet song of lyrium lured him closer day by day. Not a moment had gone by where he hadn’t imagined what it would be like to give in, to submit to the cravings. He had gone as far as to seek it out under the guise of checking supplies for his former templar recruits. He held the vial in his hand.

Standing there in the chantry, he could think of little else. Josephine’s voice became an indistinct hum while she disputed his concern. If he took the lyrium now, would it help him protect Haven? If he could sense the magic before it took over, he could stop it.

“…and the canvas will arrive. Do you have any idea how hard it was to arrange those items, Commander?” Josephine looked at him with sharp eyes, laced with impatience. “Food, shelter, clothing - I’ve arranged it all. It won’t be easy but I can make it happen. Thankfully I was able to keep Lady Drummond on side and her assistance will help us greatly.”

Cullen snapped out of his daze and looked at Josephine, softening his expression. “You’ve worked well, Ambassador.”

“Yes!” she agreed with a nod of her head. “I’ve worked very well and I won’t let you ruin that! If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes The Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst!”

“We need time to prepare both the troops and the mage recruits.” He sighed, “Let’s take this to the war room.”

“I’ll skip the war council,” a voice intruded on their discussion, causing them to turn around in surprise. Dorian stood by the door, leaning against a column. “But I would like to see this breach up close, if you don’t mind.” They watched him suspiciously, waiting for him to add more to his statement. “Oh yes,” he grinned. “Everyone’s favourite mage is here to stay!” Cullen glared at Dorian, inspiring the next comment. “Well, perhaps not your favourite.”

“You’re staying?” Juliette asked excitedly as she entered the door behind Dorian. Cassandra walked in with her, looking stressed and exhausted. Cullen’s eyes followed Juliette as she quickly leaped towards Leliana, crashing into a hug.

“Oh,” Leliana murmured in surprise.

“You are incredible,” Juliette whispered, the corners of her eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

Cassandra almost smiled. “Think yourself lucky that she willingly let you go,” she said to Leliana. “I had to pry her off me.”

Juliette stepped back, taking in the sight of Leliana’s face. The spymaster's expression was that of both amusement and confusion. They’ll never know what Juliette saw. Her written account could never capture the anguish and despair that she felt in that alternate reality, watching Cassandra, Varric and Leliana fight to the death and fall before her. The way they sacrificed their lives in order to save The Herald, Haven and all of Thedas from a doomed fate. Their actions were honourable and inspiring, a sentiment that Juliette would carry for the rest of her days.

“We both saw what could happen,” Dorian explained. “What this ‘Elder One’ and his cult are trying to do. It’s my duty to stand with you. That future will not come to pass.”

Juliette smiled at him with a sparkle of adoration in her eyes. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with. Past or present.”

The moment of tense silence was shattered by Cullen’s ridiculing scoff.

“Is this a joke?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing as he directed a fierce glare at Juliette. “You return with nothing but smiles and affection - have you any idea the chaos you’ve unleashed?” Juliette’s brows furrowed and she returned the glare. Although she had anticipated this response, she was still caught off guard by the harshness in his tone. “What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!” Cullen yelled.

“We need them to close the breach!” she snapped. “It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them!”

“I know we need them for the breach, but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves!”

“Here we go…” Juliette mumbled, dropping her head into the palm of her hand.

“You were there, Seeker! Why didn’t you intervene?”

Cassandra spoke firmly, “While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it.” She tilted her head towards Juliette and said “The sole point of The Herald’s mission was to gain the mage’s aid, and that was accomplished.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this!” Cullen muttered, shaking his head. “I…I can’t.” He began to storm towards the chantry door.

Juliette’s heart raced, she felt as though her blood was beginning to boil. What they went through to make it back was no easy feat and she wasn’t prepared to stand there and let him speak to her like that. Her fists tightened in anger, her face flushed as she hurried after him.

“No!” she yelled. “If you’ve something to say, then say it!”

He kept moving, slamming the door behind him. She ripped it open and followed Cullen outside. “You can’t just ignore this!”

“Ignore what?” he growled, turning to face her. “I’m not ignoring anything!”

“Me!” she yelled. “You’re ignoring me!”

“What’s left to say?” he asked. “You won’t listen, nobody ever does!”

"What’s the problem, Cullen?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “We seal the breach and then my job is done. I won’t be here to burden you any further and you can chase me and all the other apostates away!”

He recoiled slightly, scrunching his face at what she had said. “Do you honestly think that’s what I want?”

Juliette stood there, trembling with anger, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. As she looked at him, the memory of their war council prior to Redcliffe flashed into her mind.

She recalled the way her heart sank at his words. ‘If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts.’ The way he looked at her, sword drawn after she cast fire during training. A wound still fresh.

She met his eyes intensely. "What else am I supposed to think?" she retorted, her tone sharp and defensive. “I’m only good for one thing, right?” She held up her left palm, her eyes still locked onto his. Cullen shook his head and tried to walk away from her. “I don’t know what you want of me. To say sorry? To change my mind and call off the alliance?”

He stopped and turned back to face her once more. “It’s too late! You’ve already gone and made a selfish decision!”

“Selfish?” she screamed. “There’s nothing selfish about it!”

“You only did it because you see yourself in them. With no regard for the safety of everyone else!”

“What I went through…Cullen, the things I saw!”

“If only you had seen what I have!” he shot back, his voice trembling with frustration. “Don’t think that you’re the only one who’s ever suffered.”

She tilted her head slightly to one side, struggling to make sense of what he meant. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. The weight of his words were beginning to settle in, but before she could respond, the chantry door burst open.

Cassandra stormed through,  a whirl of determination, with Dorian slinking behind her. The sudden noise caused people outside the chantry to pause mid-step, their conversations frozen in surprise. The tension in the air thickened as people began to take notice of The Inquisition’s Commander and The Herald of Andraste arguing in the middle of the yard.

“Turn away,” Cassandra ordered to a group of officers that stood nearby. As the officers moved aside, Chancellor Roderick came into full view, standing with his arms folded. His face was set in an irritatingly smug expression, as if he relished the unfolding chaos. The corners of his mouth curled into a subtle, condescending smile, clearly pleased with the turmoil.

“This is what you have wrought, Seeker!” he loudly proclaimed. “Your Inquisition is tearing apart at its seams.”

Cullen hurried down the steps with his head bowed, his pace quick and determined. Juliette, refusing to let him slip away, followed closely.  Her voice rang through the air despite the onlooking crowd that was gathering.

“…I did what was right! They’re exiled from Ferelden now, they’ve no place left to go but here!” When Cullen didn’t respond she added, “Would you rather that they’re left to die?”

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the stairs and turned around . The sudden movement made Juliette lose her balance, nearly stumbling into him. “And if…” he began. “When there’s an abomination. How many do you think will die here?”

“You say it like becoming possessed is our favourite pastime!”

“It’s not something to lightly consider!” he yelled. “Not even you are immune, perhaps especially not you with that…thing.” He waved his hand, motioning towards the anchor on hers.

Juliette scoffed, her face flushing with offense at Cullen’s words. “Oh, so all these ‘precautions' are because of me?” she shot back, hurt. “You think that I’m a danger to everyone because of the power I wield?”

“That’s not the power I’m concerned about! It’s your influence, your position and the fact that you’re making decisions without as much as a thought of the consequences.”

“I’m doing what I believe is right, even if it’s difficult!” Juliette argued.

Cullen sighed, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “You didn’t even stop to consider it, did you?”

“Had I the time, I’d have wrote you a letter. Does that make you feel better? Do you feel special enough?”

“You made a decision based solely on naïve compassion!” Cullen exclaimed, his voice sharp with disbelief. “How you can think that everything will just fall into place is beyond me!”

“Because mages are people too, Cullen!” she screamed, clenching her fists.

“You don’t think that I know that?” he asked with a deep snarl, his voice low and seething with anger.

Varric pulled the bottle of ale away from his lips, his eyes widening in shock as he watched Juliette scream at Cullen in the distance. The heated exchange between them was impossible to ignore, as wrong as it felt to spectate.

He set the bottle down , his attention locked on the escalating argument. Juliette’s face was scrunched with anger, her voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd. Cullen’s own expression was a storm of frustration and distress, his body language tense. Cassandra, standing behind Juliette, was tugging at her arm in a desperate attempt to calm her down.

“Well, shit,” Varric muttered under his breath with concern.

“…I never got a choice! This just happened to me! But you. You chose to be a templar!” Juliette continued to follow after Cullen, slapping Cassandra’s hand away once more.

“Enough!” Cassandra roared, her voice echoing with authority. Her demand was ignored as Juliette’s anger remained unrestrained.

“I’ll be afflicted for the rest of my life. But you can stop being a templar!”

Cullen exhaled deeply, his hands gripping his head in bafflement. A hollow, humourless laugh escaped him. “You can’t just stop,” he said, his voice heavy with disbelief. “There are things…it doesn’t leave you.” He looked to the ground. “Just leave me be, Herald.”

Juliette crossed her arms tightly over her chest and shook her head. “Would it kill you to use my actual name?” she snapped. “Or is that another right you think mages aren’t deserving of?”

“Leave me alone, Lady Trevelyan!” he yelled, his voice booming with a force that startled her. Even so, she shook her head, defiant and unmoved by his command.

Juliette unleashed a shrill, scornful laugh. “There it is.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Lady Trevelyan,” she said with a mocking voice. “For as long as I can remember people have held that name against me, like I’m some stuck up, noble brat.”

“You just told me to use… argh!” Cullen threw up his hands in agitation. “It’s not about your name, it’s the way you carry yourself! I can assure you of that!”

Realising that Juliette wouldn’t listen, Cassandra turned to Cullen with a look of exasperation. “Just walk away!” she urged, fed up with them both.

Dorian gently placed his hand on Juliette’s arm, his tone calm but firm. “This is really quite embarrassing,” he said.

“Fuck off, Dorian!,” she snapped, snatching her arm back.

He stood with wide eyes and a bewildered smirk. “Vishante kaffas! Nobody can say I didn’t try.”

Cullen took a few steps away before turning back. “Talking to you is like walking on eggshells,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “I don’t know how to navigate your mood swings. I can’t have a conversation with you, professionally or otherwise.”

Juliette stared at him for a moment. Of all the things he had said, this one had stung the most. Visibly upset, her focus fell to the ground. 

“Why? Why do you have to be like this?” he pressed.

“Because!” she snapped, her voice breaking. She squeezed her eyes shut, irritated by her own inability to articulate her feelings. “It’s just easier.”

“Easier?” he repeated. He sounded both annoyed and confused. The simplicity of her answer only added to his frustration. “What makes you think that any of this is easier?”

Her eyes glistened with tears as she struggled to maintain her composure. She took a shaky breath, her voice soft.  “It just is.”

Cullen’s expression eased as he took in the raw emotion in her eyes. The intensity of the moment made him pause. “How?” he whispered.

She stepped closer, dropping her eyes to the ground and with softly spoken words, changed the subject. “What I saw in the future was horrific. Cullen, I beg you to listen.”

As their eyes met, the connection they shared with just a look, conveyed more than words ever could. The pain and urgency in her expression prompted a silent agreement from Cullen. His eyes softened, and he nodded slightly, acknowledging her plea without uttering a word.

“Cullen, you died. Everyone here died. I won’t let it happen,” Juliette said, her voice starting to break as she struggled to hold back tears. She turned her face to discreetly wipe them away, letting out a quiet sniffle before meeting his gaze once more. “So you’d better get used to apostates, because I don’t see any other option.”

Cullen looked at her for a moment, considering what she had said. Finally, he spoke, “It only takes one apostate.” His statement was as close to a confession of fear as he would ever come, the underlying anxiety evident in his voice.

Tears rolled down Juliette’s cheeks as she struggled to find the right words. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was worth revealing what she had kept to herself for so long.

“If it weren’t for just one apostate, I’d have died months ago.”

Cullen's eyes softened with empathy as he listened to her quivering voice.

“Templars dragged me by the hair and held me down,” she swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing. “They ordered my cousin, one of their own, to hold his sword to my throat. Had an apostate not intervened, they would have made him slaughter me like an animal.”

Cullen's expression was a mix of anger and sorrow. His focus remained steady, though there was anguish in his eyes. He took a deep breath, unable to find the right words to offer her.

Juliette wiped away her tears, her voice a whisper. “Maker, why am I telling you this?”

The look on his face only fueled her anger. She was embarrassed by her emotions and didn’t want his pity.

She didn’t want to see the goodness in him, the things that she found alluring. The warmth of his smile and the quiet chuckle that he does when she says something dumb at the war council. The way his eyes soften when she looks at him and that stupid, infuriatingly charming smirk when he thinks that he has a better idea. How gently he speaks to her on the rare occasion when they aren’t arguing. She needed to see him as the villain. She wanted to hate him.

It’s just easier.

Trying to compose herself she said with a bitter tone, “So don’t stand there and act like templars aren’t dangerous too.”

Cullen looked down, struggling to find the right words to bridge the gap that had suddenly widened between them. “I…I’m…”

Cassandra took the moment of calm as an opportunity to swoop in guide Cullen away. With her hand firmly pushing onto his breastplate, he accepted the gesture to turn around and move towards the gate. He paused for a moment, looking back at Juliette. She stood with her head lowered, her hands covering her face, an image of vulnerability and distress. The sight hit Cullen deeply, and he felt a pang of sadness and regret course through him.

Once the gate had closed behind them, Cassandra gave him a stern look of disappointment. “Whatever that was, whatever is going on between the two of you - it ends now!”

Chapter Text

Herald,

I’m writing to apologise, not by Josephine’s insistence, but because I truly am sorry for the pain that I caused you yesterday. The way that I spoke to you was far from professional - I will admit that.

While I still have my reservations regarding the recruited mages, I want you to know that I respect your decision. I acknowledge that your intentions were genuine and that you made the best choice given the circumstances at the time.

I hope that we can put our differences aside and continue to work together, with the best interests of the Inquisition in mind.

Cullen.

 

Juliette held the letter against the flames of the fireplace. The ink on the parchment smudged and bled as the edges began to curl and darken. Cullen’s words, once so carefully penned, surrendered to the fire, transforming into wisps of ash.

Her gaze was fixed on the flames, their flickering light throwing shadows as they danced and blurred before her tired eyes. She sighed heavily, savouring the quiet of her quarters. The solitude was brief, though. She knew it was only a matter of time before the knock on her door would shatter the moment of peace, bringing with it the demands and expectations of those who sought the Herald of Andraste.

Cullen squinted, his eyes barely able to adjust to the glare bouncing off the snow. The southern trebuchet, looming in the distance, stood ready for action. Around him, soldiers and workers buzzed with anticipation, their breath forming puffs of steam in the crisp air.

Today’s test was significant. Haven was about to fire the second trebuchet of the day. The atmosphere crackled with excitement, each person eager to see how the massive siege weapon would perform. Cullen scanned the faces of those around him, noting the mix of nerves and anticipation. It wasn’t just another test, it was a chance to prove their progress. Construction was finally complete. Haven, The Inquisition, was becoming a force to be reckoned with.

A proud smile grew on his face as he looked at his soldiers. Their dedication and hard work was beginning to show. It was moments like this, Cullen thought, that made the hardships of lyrium withdrawal worthwhile. This was his reassurance that he was doing the right thing, that his second chance to do good was paying off. That is, assuming this trebuchet doesn’t crash and burn.

He missed the first test, although not a person in Haven wouldn’t have heard the successful explosion in the distance. He managed to steal a glimpse of the action during the morning drills, taking his eyes off his work for just a few seconds. It was worth it.

“Commander Cullen!” a worker greeted with enthusiasm. “It’s good to see you made it. Our men are just making the final adjustments.” Cullen walked over with a courteous nod of his head. “The first one was a pleasant success. I assume you would have heard it?”

“Everyone would have heard it,” Cullen said with a smirk.

“We, ah… were blessed with the presence of the lovely Lady Ambassador and her…” the man hesitated and scrunched his face sarcastically. “Guests.”

Cullen chuckled. “Lucky you.”

He was relieved to avoid the formalities of greeting Josephine’s noble guests. Thankfully, none seemed to be around for this test. The atmosphere was of focus, unencumbered by the pomp and circumstance that usually accompanied Orlesian dignitaries.

“The Herald of Andraste was surprisingly less impressed than the toffs,” the worker admitted with an amused grin.

The Herald. Yet another person that Cullen was glad to avoid for the time being.

Cullen walked beside the man as they weaved through the crowd, drawing closer to the trebuchet site. The bustling activity around them seemed to fade as he focused on the task at hand. The rumble of preparations and the hum of anticipation filled the air, but Cullen's attention remained fixed on the conversation, his mind shifting between the immediate concerns of the test and the lingering thoughts about The Herald.

“And what did she have to say?” Cullen asked, folding his arms a little tighter. He tried to mask his curiosity with a casual tone, though he couldn't completely hide the subtle tension in his posture.

“Oh, many jests,” the man laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, she was—always is—lovely. Though the poor lass couldn’t hide her disinterest.” He glanced at Cullen with an amused smirk. “Said grown men shouldn’t be playing with toys.”

Cullen replied with a breathy chuckle, trying to hide the hint of amusement that the comment had sparked. “That does sound like something she’d say.”

Cullen’s smile faltered as he noticed Cassandra standing nearby, her eyes fixed on him with an intense glare. “Just a moment,” he said, excusing himself from the conversation and making his way towards her.

Cassandra didn’t say anything when Cullen first approached, instead allowing him to stand beside her in silence. They both looked up at the trebuchet, the intense sunlight, while warm, blurring the view in its glare. After a moment, Cassandra finally spoke. “About yesterday.”

“Don’t,” Cullen said firmly, cutting her off. “We don’t need to go there. It won’t happen again—you have my word.”

Cassandra folded her arms, her expression unyielding. “She made a decision when it needed to be made. She’s doing her best to—”

“I’m aware,” Cullen interrupted with a stern voice. “I’m ashamed of the way that I spoke to her. No more needs to be said on the matter.”

“Have you spoken with the Herald since?” Cassandra asked, her voice softening with a hint of concern.

Cullen scoffed and rolled his eyes at her insistence on continuing the discussion. “No,” he said, irritation evident in his tone. “I decided to give her some space, but I did write an apology.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose,” Cassandra replied, acknowledging his effort with a nod. She studied his face closely, searching for any hint of illness. “And is everything else all right?”

Cullen drew in a deep breath, calming his patience. “Yes,” he replied, glancing at her, his eyes and the dark circles underneath them revealing a glimpse of lingering fatigue. He sighed, realising that she wouldn’t be satisfied with such a vague answer. “I’m managing,” he explained in a defeated tone. “If anything should change I will be certain to consult you, as per our arrangement.”

“Good,” Cassandra replied, her voice firm yet caring.

“You don’t have to keep asking,” Cullen said. While annoyed, there was a light hint of amusement in his tone. “And that doesn’t mean to send others to check on me. I had to interrupt the drills twice this morning for your messengers.”

A smug grin grew on Cassandra’s face as she began to walk away. “It wouldn’t hurt to restart the drills now and then. Your soldiers need all the practice that they can get.”

“You’re more than welcome to take part in the drills, Seeker,” Cullen said, eyes fixed on the trebuchet.

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” Cassandra said, stopping to comment on his remark. “I better go before another mage finds me and starts to air their complaints,” She rolled her eyes and resumed walking.

“Better you than me,” Cullen called out with a laugh.

Adan groaned with frustration as the glass bottles and jars in the apothecary rattled from the tremors.

“Not this nonsense again,” he mumbled, lunging forward to hold up the shelving in fear of it collapsing. “They’d want to be careful firing those trebuchets. They’ll start a bloody avalanche!”

Juliette poked her head out the door, watching in the distance as a plume of snow and debris had erupted into the air, casting a flurry of white and grey in all directions. Faint murmurs and cheering could be heard, leaving Juliette puzzled by the fuss. She turned back to Adan and asked, “All this excitement for blowing things up. Is this a Ferelden thing?”

Adan steadied the shelving, irritation clear in his expression. The rattling bottles and jars had finally subsided, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He glanced over at Juliette, who was still peeking out the door, her curiosity evident.

“It’s not just a Ferelden thing,” Adan replied, shaking his head. “The first one I understand, but now I think they’re just having fun.”

“Oh, Maker forbid they have some fun,” Juliette teased with a dramatic voice. “It’s good to see that you’re not distracted from your work by this over the top military display, Adan. You are your usual cranky self.”

“And I’ll be even crankier if I lose any of my inventory to this shit,” he grumbled, moving back to unpack a sack of elfroot.

“Well, I won’t trouble you any further,” Juliette said picking up the tonic that she had specially requested.

“Just know, it’s not without side effects,” Adan warned, his voice softening with concern.

 Juliette furrowed her brows. “Should I be worried?”

“Not if you can handle a few strange dreams,” he answered, his focus remaining on the cluttered counter.

Juliette tilted her head, a hint of confusion in her eyes. “Strange dreams? I was hoping for something to help me stop waking up from nightmares.”

“Well, take a swig before bed and maybe you’ll fall right back asleep after your scary dreams then,” he muttered, unimpressed with her questioning.

Juliette raised an eyebrow, studying Adan’s face for a moment before nodding slowly. “So it’s not exactly the remedy I was hoping for.”

Adan finally looked up. “I’m afraid not. It’ll help you sleep, but the side effects are unpredictable. It might not help you stay asleep, and those dreams… well, they might be even more vivid.”

“Sounds fun,” Juliette said sarcastically. “I suppose falling asleep in the first place is half the battle. It will have to do.” She began to walk towards the door before stopping at Adan’s comment.

“The Commander seems happy with it. Had no complaints from him.”

Juliette’s eyes widened with suspicion. “You make this for Cullen?” she asked with concern. “It hasn’t got lyrium in it, does it?” She rushed towards Adan, trying to hand back the bottle. “No, I can’t take this! I don’t want to go poking around the fade anymore than I already do.” Her breathing became erratic and fear was evident in her expression. “I was there. I can’t…I —”

“Herald, It’s just —”

“I can’t make myself more vulnerable to possession, no.” She began pacing back and forth. “It’s too dangerous!”

“Lady Trevelyan!” Adan shouted, snapping her out of her panic. He stepped closer and gently placed the bottle in her hands. “They’re just herbs,” he said calmly. “It’s safe.”

Juliette gripped the glass bottle tightly, her fingers shaking slightly as she examined the liquid’s colour. The deep, burnt orange hue swirled within the bottle, glistening in the light with a warm, amber glow.

“Okay,” she whispered, still somewhat hesitant.

“You’re right?” Adan asked with concern.

Juliette took a shuddering breath, finally beginning to relax. She nodded, “Thank you, Adan. I appreciate it.”

When Juliette stepped out of the apothecary, she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure leaning against the wall of the adjacent building. Narrowing her eyes, she approached with a knowing smirk, and a playful flair to her voice.

“What do you think you’re doing, lurking in the shadows?” she called out, her tone teasing but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

Dorian straightened, an impish grin spreading across his face. “Staying out of the way. I’d hate for someone to shout obscenities at me.”

Juliette sighed deeply, her shoulders drooping as she dramatically dropped her head. “Yesterday was tough,” she admitted, her voice heavy with fatigue. “I lost my patience, and it showed.”

With a sharp laugh Dorian replied, “If that’s your idea of an apology, then I’d love to hear what you said to our dear Commander.”

Juliette bit her lip, dropping her eyes to the ground, clearly uncomfortable.

Dorian’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise as he continued, “Oh, so you haven’t apologised yet? Well, this should be interesting.”

“I will…” Juliette mumbled. “Eventually.”

“Look,” Dorian began, stepping into the sunlight and closer to Juliette. “I’m just relieved that you didn’t set anyone on fire this time. I remember how Alexius fared when he felt your wrath in that other reality.”

Juliette’s eyes filled with sorrow and she spoke softly, “I’m sorry, Dorian. I know you cared for him.”

He matched her gaze with a melancholy expression. “Once he was a man to whom I compared all others. Sad, isn’t it?”

Before Juliette could respond, her eyes were drawn to the sight of bulky armour gleaming in the sunlight, its polished surface reflecting light like a beacon announcing the warrior’s approach. Juliette’s mind raced, struggling to recall the woman's name and the reason behind the scowl of disgust directed at both herself and Dorian while she walked passed. Lysette, that’s it! But what did I ever do to her?

“Friend of yours?” Dorian asked with both curiosity and sarcasm.

Juliette shook her head, her eyes tracking Lysette until she disappeared from view. “Somehow, templar women are more intimidating than the men,” she remarked, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “I should probably go see how the mages are settling in,” Juliette said, starting to walk away.

“Juliette?” Dorian called out, halting her mid-step. She turned around, a tilt of her head to indicate that she was listening. “Why didn’t you kill Alexius? Not in the future, I mean. Or present. Now.”

“That’s not my decision to make,” she said softly.

Dorian raised his brows, eyeing her curiously. “You aren’t as bad at magic as you let on. Why are you pretending?”

“I’m…not,” she said, shaking her head with confusion.

Dorian studied her with skepticism for a moment, then shrugged. “How about after all this ‘sealing the breach’ mess is over with, you and I drink ourselves into a stupor and we reveal all the secrets that you’ve been hiding. What do you say?”

“Umm…” Juliette considered his question with both confusion and amusement. “How about ‘yes’ to the drinks, ‘no’ to the stupor and also ‘no’ to secrets and such…” Juliette trailed off, her cheeks beginning to blush. “You’re not flirting with me, are you?” she asked cautiously.

Dorian laughed, his face lighting up with a daring grin. “What if I was? Have your eyes on someone else?”

Juliette’s lips began to curve into a guilty smirk. She turned her face over her shoulder to hide from Dorian's view. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” She took a deep breath, composing herself then looked back to him. “Why, are you jealous?”

Dorian’s grin widened. “Not at all. Just curious.”

“And that’s how you’ll stay,” she said with playful shrug before turning back towards her path.

“I’ll find out the truth about your Harrowing!” Dorian called out. She laughed and shook her head, walking away. “Don’t set anyone on fire without me!”

Juliette lay in bed, her body tangled in blankets and her hair splayed out around her on the pillow, tousled from restless movements. Her face held a peaceful expression, illuminated by the moonlight that shone in from her window. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, a remnant of the warmth from her dreams, and her breathing slow and steady, contrasting with the storm’s fury outside.

The subtle aroma of aged wood and leather, laced with dust makes these books smell comforting. Almost nostalgic. I like the way this feels.

It’s cold in here. Why is the tower always so cold? Why can’t the library afford the same luxuries as the dining hall and Enchanter quarters? Are people not to be comfortable while they read?

Oh, no. That familiar clank of armour. Is a moment of peace to read alone too much to ask? Must we be guarded at all times?

“There you are.”

My blood is tingling and my heart racing. It can’t be? That voice, he…he shouldn’t be here. He was never here.

That’s templar armour, head to toe. Helm and everything. Surely this cannot be.

As I look down, I see myself in apprentice robes. This doesn’t add up.

“Cullen?”

My voice is echoing, like a whisper. It’s the strangest feeling, as though I’m listening to myself without speaking the words.

He’s just standing there. Perhaps this my final descent into madness. Perhaps it was never Cullen at all.

I’ll put the book away and turn my back. He’s just watching. Guarding. It will be okay. But why am I nervous? Why does my breath seem to dissolve before entering my lungs?

The book slid into place too quickly. I need more time!

“Oh!” My gasp of surprise fills the air. He’s closer now, impossibly close.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

There’s no longer any doubt. Only he can make my blood hum with that voice. This make no sense.

“What are you…no!” My words just disappear as though they were never spoken.

I can feel the cold stone wall pressing into my back, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of my robe. His armour is even colder, a barrier that feels both dangerous and intimate against my skin.

His hands are at my hips.

I can’t breathe.

His voice, low and smooth, flows from behind the helm. A dark, seductive murmur that seems to wrap around me, drawing me in despite the growing dread. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

I’m trapped in a storm of sensations—heat, pressure, and the confusing rise of arousal I’m desperate to ignore.

His hand moves to my lower back, pulling me in closer. A magnetic force that draws me against him. His other hand gently sweeps back my hair, his fingers grazing my neck with a soft, lingering caress.

This is wrong, so wrong. But it feels like…it feels…

A voice—strange yet eerily familiar—breaks through. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

The boy in the corner. His eyes obscured by that ridiculous hat. His blonde hair, shaggy and falling before his sickly face.

“Stop,” I beg, plead for an escape from this madness. None of this is real.

Cullen is still as if he’s become a statue. His hand, once pulling me in, now halts mid-motion, suspended in the air. The warmth that had been so insistent now feels like a cold, eerie stillness.

The sounds of my laboured breathing are almost deafening. I feel like I’m drowning, overwhelmed by waves of fear and confusion that crash over me, pulling me under with their force.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” My voice wavers, each word trembling as it escapes my lips.

The boy begins to fade, his form growing translucent as though he is being erased from my mind. As he disappears, his final words linger in the air. An ominous phrase.

“Templars are afraid too.”

There is only silence. So quiet that it hurts.

Cullen is still standing there, frozen at my command.

My hand hovers before his. The warmth of his hand beckons, yet still I hesitate. Would it be so bad if I were to touch? What would it mean if I closed the gap between us.

No.

This can’t be real.

My throat feels dry, tightening below my jaw. A gasp for air. A nervous swallow.

I gather the courage to place my hands on either side of his helm. Slowly I lift, pulling away his disguise.

A surge of horror rushes through me. The sounds of my screams reverberate, a suffocating sensation. The noise of the helm crashing against the floor, a jolt of shock.

Standing before me I see only myself, blood pouring from my eyes.

Juliette’s eyes tore open and she took what felt like her first breath in hours. Panting for air and her heart racing, she sat up in bed, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She clawed for the edge of the bed, clutching the sheets as if they were a lifeline, her breathing coming in ragged gasps. The fire had long burnt out, leaving the room scantily lit by moonlight and swallowed in cold darkness. Shadows stretched ominously across the walls, and the chill of the night seemed to seep into her bones.

With clumsy desperation, she fumbled for her nightstand, her fingers scrambling through the darkness in search of her necklace. The sudden sound of smashing glass startled her, and she let out a petrified squeal.

There goes what was left of that blasted potion. Good riddance.

She clutched at the pendant so tight that it began to hurt as the pointed edges of The Chantry’s sunburst dug into her skin.

“Maker, I’m sorry,” she whispered in sobs.

How long has it been since I prayed? Really prayed.

Juliette hurried to clasp the necklace around her neck, her fingers trembling with urgency. Once it was secure, she dropped back onto the bed, letting out a relieved exhale.

With shaky breaths she reflected on the nightmare, trying to make sense of it all. Fear struck her as she pondered the possibilities. Could she be haunted? Was it an attempt at possession? Perhaps she needed a stern word with Adan about his so called 'remedy'.

“I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade.” She whispered the verse, her fingers gently caressing the pendant. “For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's light and nothing that he has wrought shall be lost.”

She needed to do more, half spoken chants were not enough. Sleep would elude her tonight anyway.

Juliette rose from the bed, raking her fingers through her tangled brunette waves as she tried to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. With a deep sigh, she pulled on her boots and wrapped her coat tightly around herself. The coat, a gift from Josephine, felt comforting against her skin, adorned with delicate embroidery and soft, white fur at the collar. She took a moment to appreciate the warmth of the coat before venturing into the cold darkness beyond her cabin.

Stepping outside, Juliette was met with the wild embrace of Haven’s night. The snow storm roared around her, driven by a wind so fierce it felt as though it might lift her off her feet. Snowflakes whipped through the air, stinging her cheeks and obscuring her vision. The wind howled, grasping at her coat and making the fabric billow and flap. Each step was a struggle as she made her way towards the chantry. Tents struggled against the wind, their fabric flapping and straining as if trying to break free from their stakes. Pots and pans were tossed about like toys, clanging and rattling as they were carried off by the fierce gusts.

The position of the moon, high amidst the storm, suggested it was well past midnight. A ruckus drifted through the howling wind from the tavern, where the distant sounds of laughter, smashing glass, and rowdy voices cut through the storm’s roar. Juliette couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for poor Flissa. Having Sera around was challenging enough, she didn’t need to contend with unruly stragglers in such harsh conditions.

As the wind smashed against Juliette’s face, she squinted through the blur of snow and saw the unmistakable silhouette of The Iron Bull. Stumbling out of the tavern with boisterous laughter, he had his arms around not one, but two Chantry sisters!

“Sweet Andraste!” Juliette said out loud while snow pelted against her face. An amused grin tugged at her lips and she thought to herself, I should venture out at night more often it seems.

Chapter Text

A feeling of calm fell upon Juliette when the howl of the wind dropped to a muffled echo. She slowly pulled the heavy, wooden door closed, savouring the quiet ambience that she had walked into. It felt surreal to find the chantry empty. It was dark, save for the few candles that remained burning. It was warm. Though the building had fallen to a state of disrepair, the walls held enough heat to make this the perfect late night escape.

Juliette’s footsteps echoed softly as she took her first few steps along the stone floor. Her eyes wandered upward, drawn to the intricate craftsmanship of the stone arches and the statues that lined the aisle. She had never noticed before just how much detail adorned the chantry. Most visits required her attention elsewhere. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. With a release of a pent up breath, Juliette finally felt calm.

The sharp snap of a closed book jolted her eyes open. A gasp escaped her lips, and her blood ran cold with the sudden realisation that she wasn’t alone in the building. She whirled around, her coat and hair swirling with the sudden motion. The surprise left her breathless as she leapt towards the door, grappling with the shock of being caught off guard. Had she known someone was there, she would never have come. The embarrassment of being discovered in such a vulnerable moment consumed her. She felt her cheeks flush as she tried to steady herself, her mind racing with the awkwardness of the encounter.

Of all the people…

“You’re leaving?” he asked, his voice soft and velvety. To her, it sounded almost melty, warm and intoxicating.

She released a shaky breath, trying to ignore the tingling sensation that spread through her veins. Turning around, Juliette managed to say, “Commander?”

He was sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall in a manner so unexpectedly casual for him. One leg was bent, the other stretched out, and a blanket was loosely draped over his shoulders. His posture was relaxed, but his expression was both startled and intrigued as he stared at her intently.

“I... I didn’t see you,” Juliette said, her voice fading into a whisper.

Cullen smirked. “I think you might have.”

“I mean, I didn’t…” Juliette trailed off, her words faltering as she watched him rise from the ground. He wore a white linen shirt, untied at the collar, and his hair was the messiest she’d ever seen. Curls were beginning to form, and Varric’s nickname for him suddenly made more sense.

“I’ll go,” he spoke quietly and began to walk towards the door.

Juliette remained silent, stunned, as he walked past her. Just before he reached the door, she gathered the courage to speak.

“I didn’t recognise you without all the…” She gestured vaguely around her shoulders, hinting at the armour he usually wore. “Armour! That’s what I meant to say.”

He looked over his shoulder with an amused smile, quietly suppressing a laugh. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t sleep in a full set of armour.”

“Oh,” Juliette giggled awkwardly, her face flushing with embarrassment. “Hold on a moment,” she said, her eyes widening as she realised what he was suggesting. “You sleep here? In the Chantry?”

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I have a tent,” he explained. “Sometimes I come here when I can’t sleep.”

“Oh, of course,” she nervously chuckled. She felt silly for thinking otherwise.

“I should go, I didn’t expect that you… anyone would be here.” He gave a muted smile and, with a slight nod of his head, pulled open the door. A gust of wind rushed into the room, blowing Juliette’s hair back and caressing her face with its cool touch.

“Cullen!” she called, trying to get his attention. He turned back to her, his eyes watching curiously as his smile faded. Juliette’s eyes brightened when he turned back , a surge of nerves washing over her. She paused briefly, distracted as their eyes met, before speaking. “It’s terribly cold out there and I can’t imagine that lying awake in a tent would be nice on a night like this. I don’t mind if you stay a while longer.”

She tore away her eyes, worried that he might say ‘no’. In a softer voice she added. “If it pleases you?”

With a subtle smile, Cullen pushed the door closed. “All right,” he said gently.

Juliette looked around for a place to sit. Not a single pew was intact, the more structurally sound ones were used for storage rather than seating. Cullen, however, already knew where to find chairs. Late-night visits to the chantry were a common occurrence for him. He dragged two shabby-looking chairs against the wall and sat down, then gestured to the other chair, inviting Juliette to join him.

“Thank you,” Juliette said politely as she sat down, carefully adjusting the material of her coat to cover her legs. She rested her hands on her lap and cautiously glanced at Cullen. He pulled his chair a little closer to her. As he moved, the fabric of his shirt clung to his frame, outlining the defined muscles beneath. Juliette quickly averted her focus to the ceiling, worried that he might notice her blushing. She had assumed he was in good shape, given the nature of his work, and had thought about it more than she probably should have.

“Would you like a blanket?” he offered, preparing to stand and wrap it around her.

“No!” she replied quickly. “I have a coat, and you should…” She cleared her throat softly. “Cover up.” She thought to herself, before I say something I might regret.

He casually tossed the blanket over his shoulder, oblivious to her reaction, and settled back into his chair. They sat in silence, the only sound being the slow drip of water from a crack in the ceiling. The awkward tension seemed to stretch on endlessly.

“Why —”

“I —”

Their voices collided, each trying to cut through the thick layer of silence that had settled between them. For a brief moment, they both paused, staring at each other in mutual surprise. Juliette bit her lip, her cheeks blushing slightly as she struggled to find the right words. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, looking to the ground.

The persistent drip of water from the ceiling served as a rhythmic reminder of the tension that lingered between them. Each drop seemed to echo the awkwardness, marking time in their stalled conversation.

When they looked at each other again, their eyes met with sheepishness. The realisation of their fumbling seemed almost comical . The nervous tension began to lighten as they both started to laugh. The room, once heavy with hesitation, now felt a bit warmer, softened by the sound of their shared amusement.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with a gentle smile. “I did not mean to interrupt you.” He spoke with a softness that contrasted with their argument the day prior. “Go ahead,” he gestured for her to speak first.

“No, it’s fine,” Juliette said graciously. She tilted her head slightly, her curiosity taking the lead. “Why do you sleep in a tent?”

His smile widened as he leaned back in his chair, the blanket slipping a bit further off his shoulder. Juliette added, “Surely the Commander of The Inquisition should have been offered more suitable accommodation.”

“The offer was there,” Cullen admitted. “Although I’d prefer not to take the place of someone more vulnerable. We have a few elderly people here, not that they’d like to admit it. I’d much rather they have access to a proper bed and a roof over their heads.”

Juliette’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she flashed a cheeky grin. “Oh, so you’re roughing it to allow Chancellor Roderick a proper night’s rest?”

Cullen laughed, a sound rich of amusement.  “Perish the thought,” he said sarcastically. Happily, he sighed. “Soon enough, Haven will expand—or at least, that is the plan moving ahead.”

Juliette nodded, then lowered her eyes, her attention shifting to her hands resting in her lap. She fidgeted with the hems of her coat sleeves, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric. Cullen watched her for a moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. He drew in a breath, as though he was about to speak, but he hesitated. The quiet grew heavier, urging him to say something.

Then, finally he sighed, deciding to admit, “I sometimes don’t know how to talk to you.”

Juliette looked up at him, a crestfallen look spread across her face. She’d felt the same way—the uncomfortable tension, the awkwardness, and the fear of confrontation. The realisation that he was struggling with the same feelings made her feel a pang of guilt and shame. Why can’t I just be normal? she asked herself, her thoughts burdened with self-loathing.

She took a shaky breath and asked “Do you and I have a problem?”

“No!” he answered immediately, his voice a little too quick and loud, as though he was trying to deny any doubt. “Of course not!” Cullen gave her a look of genuine concern, his eyes searching hers for any sign of reassurance.

She furrowed her brows in reaction to his eagerness to answer, not entirely sure that he understood what she had meant. “You weren’t happy with how I brought in the mages.”

Cullen exhaled loudly, a sound of both frustration and defeat. He rubbed the back of his neck and and admitted, “No, I suppose I wasn’t.”

Juliette’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You definitely were not.” Cullen’s expression grew more serious, a hint of shame crossing his face. She looked at him with sad eyes and quietly asked, “Do you have a problem with me as well?”

Cullen sighed. “I have no intention of endangering your alliance, but I must ensure the safety of those here. That concern extends to you as well.” He dropped his focus to the ground and shifted his weight in the chair. “As I said in the letter —”

“I was meaning to reply to you,” Juliette interrupted with a look of guilt. “I just wasn’t sure what to say.” She paused for a moment and shrugged. “I’m to blame for escalating things yesterday. I’m sorry for that and , well, everything.”

Cullen smiled. “I appreciate that,” he said earnestly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened with your cousin. Nobody deserves that, especially not you.” The way he spoke seemed almost tender, each word carrying a weight of sincerity.

She glanced up at him, blinking away tears. “Thank you, Cullen,” she whispered. With a sigh, Juliette lowered her head and began to speak, emotion in her voice.  “I don’t know what ever became of him after that. I don’t think I could ever bring myself to find out.” She paused, taking a moment to gain composure and prevent herself from crying. “I still care for him, despite everything.” She looked up at Cullen, her eyes filled with concern. “That’s insane, right? He tried to kill me.”

“No, no. That’s not insane at all,” he said, trying his best to sound reassuring.

Juliette tightened the grip on her clasped hands until her knuckles began to turn white. She bowed her head slightly, her hair slipping free from where it had been neatly tucked behind her ears. She sat in silence, determined not to cry in front of Cullen, not after having done so more times than she cared to remember.

Cullen watched her intently, concern showing in his eyes. There was so much more that he wanted to say. He admired her strength, and aside from when they were arguing, he admired how gracefully she had handled her new found role as The Herald of Andraste. He yearned to offer her comfort, to hold her and let her lean on him. Of course, that would be inappropriate.

He parted his lips, as if to say something, but the words wouldn't come. “If you…” Cullen began, but his voice faltered, and he sighed quietly, frustration in his expression.  “If you’d like to talk about it…” He left the offer hanging, hoping it conveyed his willingness to listen.

Juliette shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t,” she said softly. “But thank you anyway.”

Cullen smiled meekly, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. Once more, they were faced with an awkward silence. Noticing how she was absently rubbing her fingers over the anchor on her palm, Cullen seized the opportunity to shift the conversation. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his voice gentle and sincere.

Juliette blinked, realising her hand was resting against her palm. She looked up at him, unaware that she was touching the anchor. It had become a habit as of late. She shook her head in response and tucked her hair back behind her ear. “The pain is tolerable most of the time.” She swallowed nervously, “What bothers me most is the mystery.”

Cullen nodded, understandingly. “I can imagine.”

She shuffled further back into her chair and confessed, “I hate it. I don’t understand the power or why I have it. Not knowing is troubling. And well…” Juliette let out a small, self-deprecating laugh, holding her palm up in front of her. She started at it closely and said. “It doesn’t help that it’s hideous.” Juliette’s eyes fixed on her hand as disgust crept across her face. Her fatigued eyes began to blur as she stared , making it seem almost as though it was no longer a part of her. A cruel reminder of a power that she could not comprehend.

At first she wondered if her mind was playing tricks , hearing things that should only belong in daydreams. “Nothing about you is hideous.”

Cullen spoke quietly, an unexpected softness that lingered long after the words had left his mouth. Juliette blinked, slowly meeting his gaze as though in disbelief by what she had heard. Her expression softened and she watched him closely with longing eyes.

A feeling of overwhelming warmth crept up Cullen’s neck, spreading across his cheeks. “I…um…” he began to stammer, averting his eyes to the ground, avoiding hers. He decided that it was best not to say any more on the matter, lest he reveal too much.

A smile grew on Juliette’s lips. She found it charming how bashful he could become at times. This was a side of Cullen that she wished she could see more of, however terrifying the thought was of how the conversation ended up here in the first place. A light shiver came over her. Certainly his words were a mere gesture of politeness, nothing more. With a slow blink she pushed aside her thoughts. 

 “May I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Cullen replied, sounding relieved as he welcomed the change of topic.

Juliette let go of her hands, allowing her arms to relax at her sides. “Why choose to become a templar?”

Cullen looked at her with curiosity, his demeanor easing as he considered the question.

With a hint of mockery in her voice, Juliette added, “What makes someone think, ‘Oh, that’s what I want in life’?”

Cullen replied with an amused scoff, “There’s a lot about being a templar that the Chantry keeps hidden as not to deter new recruits.”

“That figures,” Juliette said with an eye roll.

Cullen leaned forward in his chair, his eyes brightening with a spark of enthusiasm. A wide grin spread across his face as he began to speak. “I was eight when I decided that I wanted to be a templar.”

“Eight?” Juliette asked, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Goodness, making important life decisions at eight! Had I had that choice, I’d now be a queen with one hundred pet horses!”

Cullen snorted with laughter, shaking his head. “You’re not too far off.” He paused, noticing Juliette’s entertained expression. “I didn’t actually join the order until I was thirteen,” he clarified, the grin never leaving his face. “I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need.” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes reflecting the fondness of the memory. “I used to beg the templars at our local chantry to teach me. At first they merely humoured me, but I must have shown promise. Or at least a willingness to learn. The knight-captain spoke to my parents on my behalf. They agreed to send me for training.”

She smiled at him , unsure how to feel. His memory held a bittersweet edge. “I heard that the training is quite a lot. How did you fare?”

“I wanted to learn everything,” he spoke softly, an almost reverent whisper. “If I was giving my life to this, I would be the best templar I could.”

“Oh, so you were a model student?” Juliette smirked. “How surprising.”

Cullen laughed. “I wanted to be. I wasn’t always successful. Watching a candle burn down while reciting the Chant of Transfigurations wasn’t the most exciting task.” His lips curved into a crooked smile and he shrugged slightly. “ I admit, my mind sometimes wandered.”

Juliette cringed, wrinkling her nose. “I can’t say that I blame you for that,” she said in a playful whisper. “Templars take vows, yes? ‘I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages’ -that sort of thing?”

“There’s a vigil first,” Cullen explained. “When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service. That’s when you’re given a philter–your first draught of lyrium…” he froze at the thought, the memory assaulting his senses. The sharp, metallic taste of the lyrium, the burn as it coursed through his veins, and the overwhelming rush that had once felt like salvation.

Juliette watched him curiously, her eyes widening with concern as she noticed the vacant expression that had settled on his face. Realising that his recollections had left him momentarily adrift, Cullen looked towards the statue of Andraste that towered across from where they were sitting. “As templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement.” He spoke solemnly, “Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen.”

Juliette joined her gaze towards the statue, reflecting on his words. “It sounds a rather lonely life,” her voice laced with compassion. “Is it true that Templars must give up…physical temptations?”

Her question had caught him off guard. “Physical? Why…” Cullen cleared his throat and his fingers gripped the book in his hands a little tighter. “Why would you… that’s not expected,” he stammered, his voice wavering between confusion and a hint of awkwardness. “Templars can marry—although there are rules around it, and the Order must grant permission… Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion, but it’s, um, not required.”

With her eyes still fixed on the statue, Juliette asked, “Have you?” The moment the question escaped her lips, she felt a surge of panic. Her heart raced as she realised what she had just blurted out, the unintended intrusion into Cullen’s personal life leaving her blushing profusely. Why would you ask such a thing? You absolute fool!

“Me? I… um… no.” Cullen’s face turned a deep shade of red, his eyes widening as he struggled to process the unexpected question. “I’ve taken no such vows.” He fumbled with the book in his hands, his voice catching as he stammered, trying to find the right words.

Noticing his reaction, Juliette tried to hide her awkward, embarrassed grin by slowly raising her hands, clasped before her mouth, and resting her lips against the fabric of her sleeves.

“Makers breath,” he sighed, flustered by the topic. “Can we speak of something else?”

Grasping for a distraction, Juliette’s eyes lit up with sudden enthusiasm as she pointed towards the book in Cullen’s hands. “Your book?”

“My book!” Cullen exclaimed, his voice loud with relief at the sudden shift in subject. He straightened, visibly grateful for the change of topic, and his face began to lose its flush. He handed the book to Juliette and she gently took it from his hands.

Delicately opening the cover, she began to read the title on the front page under her breath. “Qun, Gurns and Steel…” She raised an eyebrow and gave an exaggerated sigh. She read the next words with her voice gradually growing louder and each word over pronounced. “Military Conflict in a Post-Blight Thedas. Commander!” She shoved the book back towards him and scolded, “You’re working!”

“Hardly,” he responded, smirking at her reaction.

Juliette folded her arms and feigned annoyance. “For a moment there, I thought that perhaps you might actually be normal!”

Cullen laughed, setting the book down on the floor beside him and sinking back into the chair with an amused sigh.

“Most people read for enjoyment, something interesting,” she pressed.

“I’m educating myself,” Cullen replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “That is an interest. I rather like reading of military strategies and matters relating to siege equipment.”

“This is what you do? This is your hobby?” she teased.

“I enjoy other hobbies that have no correlation to work!”

Juliette looked at him with an exaggerated arch of her eyebrows and a wry twist of her lips. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow in return, his smirk widening. “Well then, what of your interests? What does your superior taste in literature entail, hm?”

Juliette’s eyes sparkled with pride. “I’ll have you know that I’ve read some truly fascinating tales in my youth - pre circle, of course.”

Cullen waved his hands in a broad, inviting gesture. “Go on,” he said, urging her to elaborate.

“Well,” she said eagerly, leaning in closer, her excitement obvious as she prepared to tell him about the story. “It’s about a princess, like all great stories.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “A princess?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “She was set to marry a wealthy man, but her heart belonged to someone else—a commoner, a servant in the royal household.”

“Oh, no,” Cullen said dramatically, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Tale as old as time, I know,” she smiled, unfazed by his teasing. “She planned to run away with her lover and leave behind her family. But they found out and murdered him before they could enact their plan. Then a few weeks passed and she —”

“Wait a moment,” Cullen interrupted, his eyes widening in exaggerated disbelief. “This is a children’s story?”

“Yes, keep up,” Juliette said bluntly, continuing the tale. Cullen leaned back, shaking his head with a playful grin, clearly amused by the absurdity of her story.

“Long story short,” Juliette continued, “she enlisted the help of a necromancer, left Nevarra, and they lived—well, she lived, happily ever after. There was a beautiful illustration of her dress and…” Her words faltered as she noticed the look of shock on Cullen’s face.

“Nevarra, you say?” he asked cautiously. Juliette nodded, a hint of confusion on her face. “What was the name of this book?”

A fleeting look of guilt crossed Juliette’s face. She leaned in closer and whispered, “I never knew the title. I was not supposed to be reading such things. My eldest sister said it was rather frowned upon in Ostwick.”

“I think you were reading Orlesian propaganda.”

“No,” Juliette laughed, her eyes widening as realisation dawned. She gasped, “Her name was Princess Pentaghast!”

He brought his hand up to his forehead, rubbing it slowly. “Your favourite childhood story was slander against Cassandra’s family.”

“Oh, wow,” Juliette whispered behind her hand, her eyes wide with surprise. “You can’t tell her!”

“I think I might have to, Herald,” Cullen teased. “First thing in the morning.”

“No, Cullen! You can’t…” Her voice broke into laughter, her breath in high-pitched squeaks. “You just ruined my…” Juliette laughed so hard that her body shook with each breathless, hiccup-like giggle. “...childhood.” She covered her face with her hands, trying to contain her laughter.

Cullen’s lips twitched as he fought to keep his laughter in check. He turned his head to the side, his shoulders shaking slightly as he struggled to stay composed. But as Juliette’s giggling became more uncontrollable, his resolve crumbled.

“Sweet Maker,” he whispered, giving in to the amusement. Breathy chuckles escaped through his nose, each one sounding more like a soft snort than a full laugh. Gradually, his laughter, deep and hearty, blended with Juliette’s high-pitched squeaks.

As their laughter began to subside, the chantry grew quiet. The sound of dripping water, once a constant backdrop of awkward interruption, became noticeable again, now softened , as though the world around them had started to blur into a gentle haze.

Cullen and Juliette glanced at each other, still breathing in uneven gasps. Juliette’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with tears from intense giggles. Cullen’s gaze softened, his own laughter fading into a tender smile. They locked eyes, and for a few heartbeats, the air between them grew thick with an unspoken tension.

Juliette felt mesmerised, taking in every subtle shift in Cullen's expression. Her eyes lingered on his lips, that scar and the way it tugged at his upper lip so perfectly as though it was always supposed to be there. The imperfection added a rugged charm, making his smile all the more alluring. She took notice of the stubble highlighting his jawline. An unexpected, almost daring thought crossed her mind—how would it feel to have that stubble brushing against her lips, her cheek, trailing down her neck. Slowly, her focus returned to his eyes as he stared at her with an irresistible intensity. Those warm, brown—no, amber—eyes. They seemed to pull her in, capturing every bit of her attention. She could feel herself sinking into the moment and feeling as though she was melting under his gaze.

Cullen took a slow, deliberate breath, fighting the urge to close the distance between himself and Juliette. Her features, radiant from laughter, conveyed a vulnerability and warmth that made her even more enchanting. He was taken aback by the way her deep, brown eyes set his heart racing when she looked up through her eyelashes. As he took in the soft shape of her lips, the light pink of her cheeks against her porcelain skin, and the sparkle in her eyes -- Cullen felt an overwhelming sense of admiration. Affection.

Juliette blinked, feeling breathless by the intensity that his eyes held as they looked at her.  She tilted her head slightly, her lips parting as if she were about to speak, but the words seemed to escape her. Instead, she simply looked at him, her expression of curiosity and a look that was...hopeful.

Cullen swallowed, his resolve wavering as he struggled to keep his thoughts in check. The moment stretched between them, filled with the possibility of what could be, yet he remained still, his desire restrained. He offered her a small smile, his eyes lingering on hers for one last second before he gently pulled away, his heart still racing with a sense of longing.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor snapped Juliette out of her trance-like state and she flinched in surprise.

“I..uh,” Cullen stammered, standing up and hastily reaching for his book. “I should let you pray in peace,” he suggested. As he turned his back to her, his movements were quick and almost clumsy, dragging his chair back to its original position.

Juliette slowly nodded, her mind still reeling from the unexpected intimacy of the moment that just passed. “Of, course,” she spoke quietly.

“I have so much to do tomorrow, I should really uh…” he gestured towards the door, awkwardly. “I should try to sleep.”

Juliette nodded, her eyes watching him closely. There was a brief moment of silence as Cullen made his way towards the chantry door. Just before his hand reached for the handle he turned over his shoulder and said, “Goodnight, Herald.” He quickly turned back and pulled the door open without waiting for her response.

“Commander?” she said with a curious tone.

He paused at the sound of Juliette’s voice, turning slightly to acknowledge her with a respectful bow of his head as the cool air from outside rushed into the chantry. “Yes, Herald?” he replied.

Juliette smiled meekly, “The Inquisition is lucky to have you.”

Cullen’s expression softened, and he responded with a warm smile and a slight nod, a silent acknowledgment of her kind words. He then turned and stepped out, closing the door behind him, the howling wind coming to a sudden halt, and Juliette’s mind left swirling.

Chapter Text

“And when the breach in the sky has been sealed, tell me - what happens next?”

This was the question on everyone’s mind. For most, it was a matter of duty. What jobs lie ahead after the breach and any left over rifts were done away with? What to rebuild? Where to next? For others, it was far more dire. The looming uncertainty of where to live and what purpose to have. What need has The Inquisition of hundreds of mages?

Chancellor Roderick asked the question, not out of curiosity, but of provocation. His words dripped with sarcasm, laced with condescending questioning in an attempt to provoke a reaction. The Ambassador, with all her grace, remained unfazed by his mockery. Maintaining a courteous smile and speaking with a gentle voice, Josephine responded calmly and with poise. “The Inquisition has plenty more work in Thedas, Chancellor. I do hope that the Chantry will come to see that in due time.”

“I will see that Val Royeaux puts an end to this heretical movement —”

“Roderick,” Juliette interrupted as she walked into the chantry. “It’s so lovely to see that you are working hard to do your part,” she stood at Josephine’s side and folded her arms. The ladies exchanged a subtle glance before Juliette continued, “helping prepare to seal the breach and not getting in anyone’s way at all.” She smirked and with a sarcastic whisper added, “The Maker must be so proud.”

Roderick sneered with disgust. “Mock if you will. Your very presence is a blasphemous assault against all that is holy.”

Juliette's laugh burst forth abruptly, a harsh cackle that seemed more of a snort than a genuine response. "That's a tad dramatic, no?" Roderick glared at her crude reaction. “It’s funny you should say that though, Chancellor,” Juliette said smugly. “I was actually sent here by Mother Giselle to fetch you. I doubt she’d appreciate waiting too long.”

He screwed up his face with frustration and snapped, “that is not what I meant and you know it!” He swiftly turned and made his way towards the exit, leaving Josephine and Juliette behind with amused smiles.

“I’m most grateful for Mother Giselle’s timing.”

“Oh, I haven’t the faintest clue where Mother Giselle is or what she’s doing. I just wanted him out of my sight,” Juliette confessed with a proud grin.

“Oh,” Josie laughed. “Very nice work, Herald.”

Juliette tilted her head to the side as they began to walk towards the war room. “Can’t you just do your thing, Josie? You know, a whisper here, rumour there…” A mischievous grin grew on Juliette’s face. “Could you start a scandal, get him booted from the Chantry?”

“Very easily,” Josephine laughed. “Believe me, I’ve thought of it more than once.”

“You have far more patience than I,” Juliette laughed. She stopped and gave Josephine a warm smile. “You’re really good at this, you know?”

“That means a lot. Thank you, Herald,” Josephine replied graciously. “I’ll be a moment longer yet but the others will be in soon. I’ll see you in the war room shortly?”

Juliette's smile widened in an exaggerated show of cheerfulness. “Oh, I’ll be there,” she said, the forced brightness in her voice not quite masking her exhaustion.

When Juliette pushed open the door to the war room, her heart skipped a beat at the unexpected sight. Cullen was leaning over the table, the soft glow of candles warming the room, so peaceful and quiet. He glanced up once hearing the door open. Their eyes locked in that instant—an electric moment of recognition passing between them.

The air seemed to thicken with tension as Juliette stepped inside, her movement hesitant as though she contemplated turning to run away. She could feel the beginning of a blush in her cheeks, a nervous warmth spreading through her. Cullen’s expression revealed a hint of surprise, then, a softer look. He smiled at her, but just as quickly, he pulled away his eyes and cleared his throat. The silence that followed seemed to last forever. 

Juliette made her way to the end of the table, her fingers grazing the map where The Western Approach was marked. Cullen offered her an awkward smile in lieu of a proper greeting.

“Tell me you haven’t been here all morning,” she said, mustering her best bravado.

Cullen, his head bowed as he flicked through reports, replied without looking up, “I haven’t been here all morning.”

Juliette’s laugh was a mixture of amusement and challenge. “Now, look at me and tell me again without lying.”

He answered with a soft chuckle, slowly lifting his eyes to meet hers. Guilt spread across his face as he admitted, “Not all morning.”

She narrowed her eyes and shot him a playful smirk.

“There is still much to do, however. Perhaps I should have come here earlier.”

“It will be over soon,” she said softly, a hint of sympathy in her voice.

Cullen’s expression fell, his face taking on a crestfallen look. The lines of exhaustion on his face deepened, and his shoulders drooped just a touch, as though the thought of closing the breach meant more than he was letting on.

“There will be plenty more to do moving ahead, Herald,” Cullen spoke quietly, his words laced with a touch of sadness as he busied himself and avoided eye contact.

Juliette watched him closely. Just the night prior, she felt like something had shifted between them. At least, she did, before he left the chantry in a rush. Now, it seemed like he had barriers up, cold and distant, out of reach. She wanted to ask if everything was all right, but the words eluded her.

As she stood in silence she wondered if she had pushed too far, or if any of it was real in the first place, that moment she felt they had. Maybe it was just all a hallucination from Adan's potion.

She closed her eyes, and with a sigh, fell back on what she knows best - self depreciating humour.

“That’s a shame,” Juliette said with a forced grin. “I was hoping to take a really long nap after I saved the world.”

Cullen’s eyes slowly lifted from their downcast position, a glimmer of amusement flickering across his face. He allowed a small, playful smirk to break through, his eyes reflecting a spark of mischief. “What is it they say? ‘No rest for the wicked’?” His voice was gentle, soft, yet it carried a teasing edge. 

Juliette let out a sudden, high-pitched giggle that echoed through the room. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Cullen responded with a soft, breathy chuckle. Before he could speak, they were interrupted by the sound of Chancellor Roderick’s voice booming from behind the door.

“Where is she?” his voice reverberated throughout the chantry, showing his irritation.

“Where is who, Chancellor?” Josephine asked, feigning ignorance.

“Trevelyan! That lying little…”

Cullen waved his hand towards the door with an amused smirk on his face. “As I was saying…”

“Oh, lovely. He’s back already,” Juliette muttered under her breath, her earlier lightheartedness giving way to a resigned sigh.

“I’ll handle it,” Cullen said with a calm, dutiful tone. His smile suggested he was more amused than bothered by the interruption. He stepped out the door and called loudly, “Chancellor! Haven’t you done enough?”

Juliette listened to the bickering unfold from behind the closed door of the war room, with a soft giggle muffled behind her hand.

“Now, now, Chancellor. Let’s be civil,” Josephine chimed in, her voice carrying a slight patronising edge as she attempted to reason with the irate chancellor.

“I demand an answer, now!” Roderick yelled.

“Do not raise your voice at our Ambassador!” Cullen retorted, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “This is a place of worship.”

Roderick twisted his face in disgust. “Oh, don’t give me that garbage, Templar. You’re running your rebel Inquisition from here, corrupting Thedas under Andraste’s name. You should be ashamed.” He stepped closer to Cullen, his voice rising with urgency. “Now, let me through. I need a word with your so-called ‘Herald’!”

Cullen shook his head with defiance. “If you're looking for the Herald, consider trying the stables."

Roderick's eyes narrowed as he took in Cullen's response. His expression shifted from fiery resentment to a cold, calculating suspicion. The crease between his brows deepened, and his lips pressed into a thin line, revealing his doubt.

“Really now?” Roderick said, his tone dripping with skepticism. “The stables, you say?” Roderick shot Josephine a sharp look before returning his glare to Cullen. “Very well. I’ll check the stables,” he said as he turned on his heel with a brisk, almost exaggerated stride. “If this, too, is more deceit, you’ll be hearing of it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Cullen mumbled as Roderick slammed the chantry door shut with a resounding bang.

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension slowly dissipating. The door to the war room cracked open, revealing Juliette peeking out cautiously with a guilty grin on her face.

“Leliana should hurry herself, we need to get this war council underway before he comes back,” Cullen said, gently pushing past Juliette as he moved back into the war room. She froze, as though a bolt of electricity had shot through her when his gloved hand brushed against her arm.

Cullen, now focused on the scattered reports on the table, barely noticed the effect his touch had on her. “We’ve got work to do,” he said, his tone now practical , as he shifted his attention back to the documents.

Juliette blinked rapidly before shaking herself out of her daze. “Yes, absolutely,” she said, attempting to regain her composure as she followed him into the room. The light blush on her cheeks betrayed her efforts to appear poised.

The breach thundered and boomed far louder at the temple ruins, its noise competing against the howl of strong winds and the sickening song of the red lyrium crystals. The sky above was a tumultuous swirl of colour that seemed to mirror the chaos below.

Cullen looked down from the terrace by the temple entrance, or what was left of it. While his men assembled below as instructed, he watched with unease as debris and broken remnants of the temple’s structure floated in the air, suspended by the will of the lyrium’s force. He slowly glanced up to the sky, squinting at the light that shone down from above. Much like the breach, Cullen’s thoughts were a chaotic swirl of a mess.

Grand Enchanter Fiona led the mages into position, each group lining up along the crumbling parapets of the temple at various elevations. The explosion months earlier had left parts of the building exposed, in such a way that the structure now resembled an amphitheater.

The noise of the gathering crowd grew louder as more people arrived to fulfill their duties. All these people. If something were to go wrong...

Will the mages have sufficient control over their magic? What if the power overloads? Could it overwhelm her? What if—

Cullen’s thoughts splintered like broken glass, each shard a new worry. The crowd around him seemed to move in slow motion, their faces blurring into a backdrop of anxious noise. I should have asked her if she was ready. If she was feeling all right about all of this.

An officer stepped into his field of vision and greeted Cullen with a dutiful “Commander.”

Cullen flinched at the unexpected interruption, then forced a nod of acknowledgment as his soldiers marched past, heading to their designated positions within the temple. He shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts, but the pressure in his mind felt like a vice tightening with every passing moment.

Not that it would matter if she was ready. It has to happen now.

He stepped closer to the edge of the terrace, peering down at the rows of soldiers below. They stood in precise lines, their uniforms immaculate and their postures rigid. They look impressive, Cullen thought, his eyes scanning the disciplined ranks. Harritt’s done an excellent job commissioning those weapons.

The soldiers’ readiness seemed to contrast with the turmoil in Cullen’s mind.

But is it enough? Have I overlooked something? Are they truly prepared for what’s coming? They’ve yet to face demons. What else could escape that thing? How much power will it take to close - but what does she mean ‘It will be over soon’? There’s so much more we could — argh, that red lyrium!

Heat radiated from the lyrium crystals embedded in the walls at the entrance where Cullen stood waiting. The noise, a rhythmic, pulsing song, vibrated through his body like a heartbeat or a war drum, trying to exert its will over him. He took a few steps back, suddenly aware of the dryness in his mouth and the aches in his shoulders and legs.

Perhaps I should have said something earlier today. Did I seem too cold? I likely did. I’d hate for her to think that I wasn’t interested in speaking with her. I should have … what are they doing? Those will break!

“You there!” Cullen shouted over the howling wind, his voice barely cutting through the storm. He squinted against the stinging snow that lashed his face, the fur coat that sat atop his shoulders flapping wildly in the gale. Striding towards the nearby officer, he pointed urgently at the healers struggling with supplies down the stairs on the opposite side of the temple.

“Tell those healers to use both hands when carrying the crates, or better yet, send some men to assist them. We cannot afford to damage the supplies at a time like this!”

“At your order,” the officer said with a fist raised to his chest.

Cullen folded his arms and looked to the sky once more. Every swirl of green light and thunderous crack that boomed above felt like a grain of sand slipping through an hourglass, each moment amplifying his anxious anticipation for The Herald’s arrival.

I should have asked her if she was ready. I never asked. Is she feeling all right? She must be nervous.

A sudden jolt of pain seared through Cullen’s head, as though a sharp, electrifying bolt had pierced his skull. A wave of excruciating pain surged through him, immediate and overwhelming, making him clutch at his temples. Determined not to let the routine headaches blur his focus, he fixed his focus to the mages as they waited patiently for the ritual to begin.

That lyrium. The first thing we need to do is clear it out once this is …why did she say ‘It will be over soon’? Surely she cannot be thinking about leaving. Not now, not after —

Cullen’s eyes widened with alarm when he spotted someone veering off course. “Stop!” he shouted, his voice roaring above the chaos. “You’re going the wrong way! It’s not structurally sound—you must use the western staircase! Has your lieutenant not informed you?” His eyes were fierce, reflecting his frustration and urgency as he tried to correct the mistake before it could lead to disaster. He shook his head in disbelief.

I asked them to barricade that exit. What else could they have neglected? I should go down there, make sure everything’s in order before she arrives… No, I must wait for her. I need to talk to her—set things right. I’m distracted. I can’t let this, her, cloud my judgment. I can’t fail them. I must give—

Cullen’s thoughts abruptly halted as he caught sight of Juliette approaching the temple’s entrance. His focus snapped towards her, and for a heartbeat, everything else seemed to fade away. He felt breathless, his eyes locked onto her with an intensity that almost silenced the tumult in his mind.

With Cassandra by her side and Solas trailing close behind, the Herald laughed as a gust of wind swept in, embracing her with its wild energy. Her hair flew in a chaotic dance, and the fabric of her coat billowed around her. Reacting swiftly, she reached up to secure the scarf that had been draped loosely over her shoulders, her fingers gripping it tightly to prevent it from being whisked away by the gust. The scarf was green, the same hue as the fabric worn by the soldiers in their uniform. It was a vivid and symbolic of her role within The Inquisition.

She chose to wear that today. What could that mean?

Cullen’s stance relaxed and a hint of hope ignited within him, if only for a moment. The stern lines of his face softened, as he prepared himself to address her, his focus now solely on the figure that had captured his full attention.

“Herald,” he greeted in a firm, formal voice, his posture now rigid, arms folded across his chest.

As she stepped closer, he noticed the worried expression on her face. Her dark brown eyes gazed into his, revealing nerves that momentarily disarmed him. Cassandra, standing by her side, tapped her arm—a silent gesture of acknowledgment, signaling their readiness to move forward. With that, Cassandra and Solas began to descend the stairs, leaving Juliette behind to speak with the Commander.

As the wild wind roared around them, Juliette’s lopsided smile quickly gave way to a look of frustration, her face partially hidden by the billowing strands of her hair and the scarf she struggled to keep in place. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she squinted against the force of the wind.

“Are you all right? You look—” he began, but his words were swallowed by the howl of the wind. He grimaced as the wind tugged at his coat and hair, making it difficult to keep his posture steady.

“Pardon?” Juliette yelled, her voice nearly lost in the roar of the gusts. “I didn’t hear you!”

She quickly moved in closer to him, and he slightly lowered his head to make himself heard above the wind.

“Are you feeling all right—”

Before he could finish, another strong gust swept Juliette’s scarf from her shoulders, causing her to release a surprised squeak. Instinctively, Cullen lunged forward, his quick reflexes allowing him to catch the scarf mid-air.

He took a moment to steady himself before turning back to Juliette, his expression softening despite the harsh conditions. He extended the scarf towards her, their hands brushing as she reached for it.

The touch was brief but electric. Juliette's fingers lingered against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise.  Her heart skipped a beat as she met his eyes, feeling a swirl of unspoken attraction.

Whether he realised it or not, he returned that same look to her, a gentle softness in his amber eyes. He noticed the tremor in her touch and, without thinking, placed his hand over Juliette’s, as though to ensure her grip on the scarf was extra secure.

Juliette’s cheeks flushed deeply. She looked up at him. The contact was muted by gloves, yet warm nonetheless.  It sent a rush of heat through her. She quickly withdrew her hand, her heart racing as she fumbled to adjust the scarf around her neck. Even amid the wind’s chaos and the surrounding noise, the moment they shared felt strangely quiet and serene.

Cullen stepped back and moved around the corner of the entrance, finding a small nook that offered some shelter from the wind. He drew in a deep breath, his pulse racing , the feel of Juliette's touch still lingering.  She followed him, her gaze expectant, waiting for him to break the silence. Deciding to avoid the awkwardness of asking about her a third time, Cullen pressed forward with the conversation.

“The best of the mages are ready, Herald. Be certain that you are ready for the assault on the breach. We cannot know how you will be affected.”

“Well, that’s not exactly the reassurance I was hoping for, Cullen,” she said with a nervous laugh, glancing down at her hand. The glow from the mark was erratic, flashing and pulsating as she neared the breach. Cullen's attention fell to her hand, then slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet hers.  He offered her a soft, sympathetic look.

“Am I shaking?” she asked quietly, her voice jittery with nerves. “I’m shaking.” She exhaled deeply, the breath coming out in an exaggerated puff as she turned away from him. “Let’s do this before I change my mind,” she said with newfound determination.

As she moved towards the stairs, the wind hit her with a fierce gust, making her cry out in surprise. “This weather!” She glanced back at Cullen with a meek smile. “I'm looking forward to clear skies and warmer climates.”

“Good luck, Herald,” He shouted.

“Thank you, Commander!” she called back, her voice just barely reaching his ears as she descended the stairs.

Cullen stood at the top of the steps, his absent stare lingering on the spot where Juliette had vanished. A heavy, disheartening weight settled on his chest as he watched her disappear from view.

So she is leaving.

Chapter Text

At first, there was nothing. Emptiness. Darkness.

Then, a sudden wave of sound crashed over her. A high-pitched ringing, suffocating and disorienting. Flickers of light followed, bright green and blinding. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus as a chaotic blur of colour. Distorted shapes gradually took form. A sharp, jarring pain shot through her body, and a burning ache settled into her ribs, the air violently knocked from her lungs.

A surge of panic coursed through her veins as Juliette slowly pushed herself upright. She clutched her head, attempting to steady the swaying sensation and dull throb that pulsed through her skull. She managed to draw in a shaky breath as the air surrounding her crackled with magical energy. She glanced up at the sky, a mix of awe and relief washing over her.

It worked!

For all the people who had gathered, the temple was eerily silent. The air was thick with anticipation, broken only by the occasional murmur or gasp of shock. The crowd remained respectfully quiet, their collective breath held as they waited for the Herald’s next move.

Juliette’s attention sharpened as she picked up the sound of footsteps drawing closer. Turning her head, she saw Cassandra weaving frantically through the soldiers, her movements desperate and determined as she made her way closer.

When Cassandra drew near, Juliette tilted her head slightly, blinking in confusion as their eyes met. The Seeker’s stare was of astonishment, then relief. A breathless smile broke across Cassandra’s face, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Her tense demeanor relaxed, replaced by subdued joy. She exuded fierce protectiveness and gratitude, overwhelmed by the sight of the Herald of Andraste surviving the blast.

Cautiously, she reached her hand towards Juliette’s shoulder. A hesitant touch, just to be sure that her eyes weren’t deceiving her. She was truly alive and well.

“You did it!” Cassandra exclaimed softly, her voice trembling with overwhelming disbelief.

Stumbling slightly as she rose to her feet, Juliette slowly looked around. The moment she stood, an eruption of cheers and applause filled the air, sweeping over the temple like a tidal wave. Soldiers, mages, and healers alike. They celebrated her success with exuberant shouts and clapping. The sound was a deafening roar of triumph.

In a daze of astonishment, Juliette let out a delicate, airy chuckle. She looked back to the sky, now a cloudy swirl of energy, evidence of the breach that just moments before had boomed above. With her hand, still glowing from the mark, she shielded her eyes from the sunlight that bore down on her as she looked back towards the terrace where she had entered the temple. There, silhouetted against the haze of sunlight and smoke, Cullen was unmistakable, his distinctive armour gleaming brightly. Beside him stood a hooded figure, whose presence and silhouette made Juliette assume could only be Leliana watching.

A subtle smile grew on Juliette’s lips. As the cheering grew louder and more boisterous she turned back to Cassandra. A soft laugh escaped and her smile widened.

It’s finally over.

The roar of celebrations was muted by the closed doors of the chantry. Illuminated by candlelight, the building was warm and inviting. A modest gathering surrounded the statue of Andraste. Led by Mother Giselle, those yet to indulge in the revelry beyond the doors came together to express their gratitude to The Maker. Their voices, soft and earnest, filled the quiet space with a sense of peace.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood The Maker’s will is written.”

Juliette was always fascinated by the way that Mother Giselle would hold onto the hands of those she spoke to. With her hands clasped around Juliette’s, both firmly and tender, Mother Giselle’s voice was melodic, her words gracefully rolling off the tongue like delicate song.

“Thank you, Herald of Andraste. A task such as closing the Breach is a heavy burden. I’m glad that it wasn’t a burden that you had to carry alone.”

Juliette smiled politely. “So many good people made this possible, Revered Mother.”

Nodding in agreement, Mother Giselle said, “We remember Andraste, but Andraste did not carry the Chant of Light alone. She had generals, advisors… even her husband, for a time.”

“And The Inquisition, our supporters, you—without all of it, I would never have been able to achieve this.”

“Without you, Herald, we would have all perished long ago.” Mother Giselle’s gaze softened as she sensed Juliette’s lack of confidence. “I understand you may not believe yourself to be Andraste’s Herald. Whatever you believe, there remains a task to be done.”

Juliette looked at her with a hint of surprise, as if taken aback by how easily Mother Giselle could read her insecurities.

“Andraste forged her own path, guided as she was by her visions. Look to Andraste for guidance… but ultimately, that The Maker has made this your task to fulfill. The people remain divided and Thedas still looks to hope. The hope they place in you is a tool within your reach. What you choose to do with it is up to you.”

“I appreciate your insight, Mother Giselle.”

“But tonight is for celebration…” Mother Giselle’s voice trailed off as the chantry door creaked open. Officers entered, their footsteps echoing through the hall as they carried crates of supplies, their chatter filling the space with a lively commotion. Juliette’s attention was drawn to the interruption, and she noticed Cullen among the officers. Her attention lingered on him. Caught by surprise, there was no hiding the warm admiration in her eyes.

Gently pulling her hands away, Mother Giselle added, “We come together to count our blessings because of you. Enjoy it, Herald. You are deserving.”

“Thank you, Revered Mother,” Juliette said softly, offering a warm smile. However, as she glanced back up, a wave of disappointment washed over her when she saw that Cullen had already slipped through the door, vanishing from view.

The campfire crackled and popped, a warm glow setting over the gathering. Juliette held her hand against the flames, watching with a content smile as the fire’s heat warmed her fingers. She waved her fingers quickly, as not to cause pain, but just enough to feel the slightest tingle, a touch of power coursing through her fingertips. She sighed, happy and relieved.

The night air was filled with the lively hum of voices raised in song and laughter. People danced around her, an infectious energy as they sang and drank, raising their tankards in victory.

“Oh, so this is where you’ve been hiding?” Dorian’s voice drifted through the air, his sly smile matching the playful glint in his eyes as he approached her with a confident stride.

“In plain sight?” Juliette laughed, turning to face him with a warm smile.

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten our deal, Lady Herald.” He leaned in closer so that she could hear him above the ruckus of the celebration. “You owe me a drink.”

“What?” she shrieked with a laugh. “You never said that I was buying.”

With an amused scoff he asked, “You are their Herald of Andraste. One would think that your drinks are free, no?”

She looked around, confused, but smiling. “I saw bull down a barrel in one sitting. I don’t think anyone is keeping tabs.”

“Fantastic!” Dorian exclaimed, tugging at her arm with mock urgency. “Come along!”

Chancellor Roderick sauntered into the chantry, eyeing The Inquisition officers with disrespect. He shook his head, offended that not a single person seemed available to listen to his concerns. “You!” He shouted at a servant who tried to hurry past with a box of vegetables. “Where are they? Is truly no one in charge now?”

“If you're here to file more complaints…” a voice spoke melodically. Roderick turned around to see Leliana emerge from the shadows of the chantry arches. “Our Ambassador will soon be in her office. You could wait there for her.”

“I've had it up to here with these games!” He exclaimed, dramatically throwing up his arms. “Sending me here then upon there. I'm no fool, you see. I know —”

“Or you can stand here and complain. Either way, I've other matters to attend” she spoke indifferently. Without a backward glance, she walked away, unbothered.

With a huff, Roderick reluctantly made his way into Josephine's office, loudly slamming the door shut behind him.

More officers entered the chantry, their arms straining under the weight of bulky supply crates.

“‘Scuse me, Sister Leliana,” one of the men said, his voice rough from exertion as he shifted the crate on his shoulder. “Do you know where we are to put these?’”

A wicked smirk flickered across Leliana's face, a brief flash of mischief before she spoke inconspicuously, “against the door to The Ambassador's office.”

The man looked to the door with confusion, his brow furrowing, then back to Leliana with a nervous gulp. He hesitated, glancing at the door again as if it might offer an answer. “Uh… as you wish,” he finally managed.

“Oh and if you hear shouting from the other side of the door…” Leliana continued, dropping her head slightly, her hood casting ominous shadows on her face. “…no, you didn't.”

With petrified eyes the officer nodded, stammering, “Y…yes. Understood.”

Juliette’s laugh rang out loudly, contending with the noise of chatter and lively celebration. “You’re relentless!” Shaking her head, she smiled. “No matter how many times you ask - I will not tell you the horribly embarrassing circumstances of my harrowing!”

“That’s hardly fair!” Dorian protested, his voice almost a shout as he competed with the noise. “You can’t just preface a story with ‘horribly embarrassing’ then refuse to tell it.”

Just after Dorian spoke, Maryden began to play an upbeat and spirited tune, the lively notes swirling around them like a gust of wind. Juliette's laughter faltered as those around the campfire jumped up with excitement, their movements drunken and uncoordinated, yet charming nonetheless. She looked back at Dorian, her smile growing wider. “I can, and I will continue to do so.”

Juliette watched with intrigue as the deep red hue of the spiced wine swirled in the chalice she held. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled its rich, fruity aroma. But just as she slowly brought the wine to her lips, a sudden knock from behind sent the liquid splashing up her nose and the chalice crashing against her teeth. She let out a squeal of surprise, her nostrils burning from the accidental inhalation. With a cough, she wiped her nose with the back of her hand, stumbling towards the fire.

“Careful!” Dorian called, his voice rising with concern as he shot a wary glance at Adan, who swayed drunkenly beside her.

The suddenness of it all left Juliette momentarily stunned, but as she caught sight of the drunken culprit, laughter bubbled up. “Well, that was graceful!” she said, shaking her head and grinning.

“Oh! Sorry, love,” Adan slurred, placing a hand on her shoulder in a wobbly gesture.

“Love?” Juliette laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with our grumpy apothecary?”

With a sudden outburst of excessively loud laughter and clumsy applause, Adan revealed a much more cheerful version of himself. Juliette and Dorian exchanged glances, their smirks revealing their amusement.

When Juliette turned her focus back to Adan, she caught a glimpse of Cullen walking briskly past, a bundle of supplies tucked under one arm. He moved with purpose, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were on a mission. The soft glow of moonlight illuminated his features, highlighting the determined expression on his face. With a soft chuckle under her breath, Juliette recalled his earlier joke—“No rest for the wicked.”

For a moment, their eyes met. Despite his hurried pace, a flicker of recognition passed between them, accompanied by a brief smile that lit up his face. Her heart skipped a beat as she sensed the connection—an energy that made her feel a little lighter.

He seemed engrossed in his tasks, yet that smile lingered in her mind. It was just a fleeting moment, though it intrigued her, even if she didn’t dare hope it meant anything more.

As she returned her attention to Dorian and Adan, their chatter faded into the background, a comforting hum of laughter. Suddenly, Dorian’s voice cut through. “Isn’t that right, Juliette?”

“Sorry, what?” she asked, dazed and unsure of what they were discussing.

“To dance a… to victory and not… getting myself killed,” Adan slurred, his words tumbling out in a jumbled mess, laughter punctuating his attempts at coherence.

Juliette smiled politely, tilting her head slightly. “Thank you, but I must decline. Perhaps you should rest a while before dancing, Adan.”

With a mischievous grin, Dorian leaned closer, teasing, “I think she has her eyes set on another dance partner.”

“What?” Juliette shrieked, her high-pitched reaction betraying her denial.

“Oh, don’t be coy!” Dorian teased, a playful lilt in his voice. “Ha! Look! Now your face is all red.”

She quickly slapped her hands onto her cheeks and, with a mortified expression, screeched, “No, it’s not!”

A sudden, loud thud interrupted their banter. Juliette and Dorian turned to see Adan sprawled on the ground, his arms flailing as he laughed at himself.

“What an odd dance move,” Dorian quipped, bending down to help Adan to his feet. He flung Adan’s arm over his shoulder, stabilizing him with a grin. “Let’s get you out of here before you piss yourself in front of the Herald of Andraste.” He looked over to Juliette with a smirk, “Wouldn’t that be a tale for the grandchildren!”

Juliette chuckled, bringing what was left of her drink to her lips. As Adan was led away, he called out, “I never asked… how was the… what’s it?… sleep tonic?”

“It was entirely useless!” she shouted back, her voice rising above the chatter.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what the Commander said,” he slurred, waving his hand dismissively. Juliette’s jaw dropped in shock. She clearly remembered Adan saying the exact opposite days earlier.

After they had left, Juliette took a moment to retreat to the ledge overlooking the fire, settling into a brief and quiet reflection. She rested her hand on her cheek, as though searching for evidence of her embarrassment.

I must learn to stop blushing, she thought to herself.

Taking in the lull of music and the earthy scent of the fire, Juliette drew in a deep breath and looked up at the sky. The swirl of clouds that once was the breach lingered high above them. She remembered the first time she had seen it—her initial moments in Haven—and felt a swell of emotion. She had come so far since then.

Cullen stood by the stairs, his attention fixed on Juliette as she sat, watching the campfire. The flames flickered and danced, a warm, golden glow that illuminated her. His eyes were drawn to her lips, and the way that she smiled as she lost herself in thought.

He leaned against a wall, arms crossed, observing her with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She absorbed all that magic and somehow managed to pull through unscathed. And she just sits there calmly, as though it was nothing at all.

In that moment, the chatter and laughter of the gathering faded into the background, leaving only the soft crackle of the fire and the captivating presence of Juliette before him.

He felt an urge to approach her, to share in her reflection, yet he remained where he was, mesmerised by the beauty of the moment.

Cullen couldn’t shake the worry that she might soon choose to leave. He was concerned for her safety, and the thought of her facing the challenges ahead without the Inquisition’s support filled him with deep unease. She had gathered allies and built a significant following, but she had also amassed a growing roster of enemies. The Venatori would hunt her down. What if they succeed?

All things considered, with the weight of her future pressing down on him, what struck Cullen most as he watched her was the realisation that he might not be ready to say goodbye to Juliette. He needed more time.

Cullen took a deep breath, pushing off the wall as he stepped forward, his heart racing with a mix of hope and fear. Yet, uncertainty gripped him, anchoring him in place.

Running a hand through his hair, he slumped back against the wall, staring ahead as the firelight blurred in the distance. I can’t just tell her to stay—that’s her choice, not mine.

He reflected on all she had achieved: aiding refugees, clearing dangers in Ferelden, sealing rifts, and sending demons back to the Fade. The allies she had rallied—Master Dennet, Mother Giselle, and nearly every local in the Hinterlands willing to help. How she negotiated with, persuaded and tolerated nobles, The Chantry and that awful merchant, Seggrit. He smiled at the thought, how she wrinkles her nose and shudders when she hears Chancellor Roderick's voice.

Still staring ahead with a vacant expression, he thought back to earlier in the day, as he stood watching her close the breach. That powerful image of all those mages standing behind her, pouring their magic into the mark. He didn’t like to admit it, but recruiting them was useful. He looked to the ground and slouched his shoulders. He remembered what she had told him during their argument in the yard that day - ‘We seal the breach and then my job is done. I won’t be here to burden you any further and you can chase me and all the other apostates away!’

I’ve made her feel unwelcome. I need to set things right!

With a determined nod and a deep inhale, he stepped forward once more. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to ask her to stay, but she needs to know. I have to tell her that I want her to stay with The Inquisition.

Just as Cullen took a step forward, the voice of a soldier shattered his focus, calling out, “Commander!”

He halted, the word jolting him from his thoughts. The urgency in the soldier’s tone sent a ripple of apprehension through him. Cullen felt a prickling at the back of his neck, instinctively knowing something was wrong. He turned slowly, his brow furrowing, a silent question forming in his eyes. The soldier stood stiffly, as though every muscle was coiled, ready for action.

“Commander, there’s movement at the perimeter,” the soldier said, voice steady but urgent. “I think you need to see this.”

Cullen’s eyes sharpened, the weight of the soldier’s words settling heavily in the air. “How many?” he asked, his tone clipped.

“We can’t see. Just light in the distance.”

Cullen nodded, adrenaline surging through him. “Lead the way.”

Juliette looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching. With a kind smile, she set her drink down as Cassandra settled beside her.

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred, but calm,” Cassandra said, relief in her voice. Juliette nodded, exhaling slowly. “The breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering rifts and many questions remain, but this was a victory.”

With her head tossed back, Juliette chuckled softly. “About time we had some good news.”

Cassandra’s smile widened. “Word of your heroism has spread.”

Juliette tilted her head, a hint of modesty in her expression. “You know how many were involved. Luck just put me at the center.”

“A strange kind of luck,” Cassandra agreed. “Not sure if we need more or less of it. But you’re right—this was a victory of alliance.”

Juliette looked back up at the sky, the stars glimmering through the aftermath. “Aside from the demons, the war…” She smirked, rolling her eyes. “And the killing,” she added with an awkward laugh. “It’s been an honour working alongside you, Cassandra.”

As Juliette finished her thought, Cassandra’s gaze sharpened, concern crossing her features. “Don’t think that you’re going anywhere,” she said, her tone stern. “With the breach closed, that alliance will need new focus.”

Juliette let out a high-pitched laugh. “Back to being a prisoner? I don’t think so.” Cassandra glared, her expression momentarily breaking as Juliette flashed a cheeky grin. “I saw the way you ran towards me after the breach,” Juliette teased, her voice playful. With a twisted smirk and narrowed eyes, she added, “You care about me, Seeker Pentaghast.”

Cassandra scoffed, but a hint of warmth danced in her eyes. “Well, I’d rather you alive than dead.”

Juliette giggled, accepting the quip as a hidden admission. They sat in silence for a moment, the crisp night air swirling around them. Juliette sensed the lingering suspicion in Cassandra’s eyes and her grin widened. “Okay!” she laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving!”

Cassandra’s expression softened with fondness. “Good.”

“Besides, Josie just ordered me a new coat,” Juliette said with a nonchalant shrug.

Cassandra gently tugged at the sleeves of Juliette’s arm, concern threading through her voice. “You should be wearing something warmer. It’s freezing out tonight, you’ll end up sick.”

“All right, Mother!” Juliette teased, laughter erupting uncontrollably from her.

Cassandra pushed her shoulder playfully, a smile breaking through the seriousness before she stood. “I’m going, before—”

The sudden sound of bells rang out, slicing through the night air, loud and alarming. Both women froze at the noise, exchanging a glance of panic.

Quickly jumping up, Juliette turned her attention to the distant mountains. Flickering lights moved towards their base in a uniform manner, an indication of an approaching army. As the bells rang louder, the joyful celebrations shattered. People scattered in panic, voices rising in frantic cries. A tightness gripped Juliette’s chest, as if her ribs were being crushed. Her blood tingled with adrenaline, and she turned to Cassandra, fear in her eyes.

“What?” Cassandra gasped, her own focus drawn to the chaos beyond the walls.

Amid the rising panic, Cullen’s voice rang out loud from a distance. “Forces approaching! To arms!”

Cassandra drew her sword, her grip firm, and shook Juliette’s arm, pulling her from her stunned daze.

“We must get to the gates!”

Chapter Text

Juliette’s heart raced as the bells tolled, each clang reverberating through her chest like a drumbeat. The moon shone through a haze of clouds, forcing erratic shadows on the faces of the fleeing crowd. People pushed past her, their screams piercing the night as they collided, frantic and intoxicated.

“We’re under attack!” a voice shrieked, breaking through the disordered chaos. Juliette allowed Cassandra to lead her along by the arm, pushing past those that stood in their way. The joyous laughter from moments before felt like a distant memory, now swallowed by terror. Familiar faces, twisted in fear, blurred around her, leaving her feeling lost and helpless.

Suddenly, Juliette stopped, her breath faltering as Seggrit’s hand gripped her free arm. Panic flashed in his eyes. “You’re important! Go protect us!” he urged, his voice desperate.

Cassandra yanked Juliette away with a fierce grip. “Leave, now!” she ordered, urgency in her tone. “Everyone get to safety!”

Juliette’s eyes darted back to Seggrit, confusion swirling in her mind. She shook her head slightly. What did he mean? What did he expect of her? This wasn’t something her mark could fix.

Cassandra’s determination pulled her forward, throwing a fierce glare over her shoulder at Seggrit. “Coward,” she muttered, and Juliette felt a rush of guilt. She felt like she should be doing something, anything! But uncertainty had a hold on her, she wasn’t even sure what was happening.

With each step towards the gates, tension settled in the air like a thick fog, almost unbearable. Soldiers hustled past, their faces set in determination, but Juliette’s attention was locked on Cullen. He stood by the gate, a figure of calm amid the chaos, his posture strong and commanding.

When their eyes met, a spark of awareness surged between them. Juliette felt breathless, her heart pounding in her chest. He looked different in this moment—eyes sharp, focused, yet there was a hint of vulnerability.

“Cullen?” Cassandra asked with wary concern. His focus lingered on Juliette for a moment longer, their intense expressions colliding—his worry meeting hers.

He tore his eyes away from Juliette and looked towards the gate, gathering his composure in an instant. “One watchguard reporting,” he began, pointing a finger in the direction of the threat. “There’s a massive force - the bulk over the mountain.”

Josephine stepped towards him, desperate for answers. “Under what banner?”

“None,” he replied, leaving little room for elaboration.

“None?” she asked in disbelief.

Cullen turned to Cassandra, commanding, “Get everyone into the chantry—as many as you can!”

Without hesitation, Cassandra spun around, her voice ringing out. “Haven must evacuate to the chantry!”

Leliana placed her hands on Josephine’s shoulders, gently guiding her back as she stood frozen in shock. “Come, Josie, we’ve got to go.”

“Who could they be?” Josephine’s voice faded as she was led away. “We could come to a negotiation if only we knew who…what…”

Cullen glanced over his shoulder, double taking when he noticed Juliette still standing there. “Herald, go to the chantry!” he shouted with urgency.

She trusted his judgement, yet Juliette couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to stay, to help in some way. She wasn’t sure what use she could be, but she knew she couldn’t retreat. She felt immobilized, caught between his order and a powerful urge to intervene. Fear had her trembling, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her as her eyes remained fixed on Cullen.

Stepping towards the soldiers, Cullen pointed firmly. “Hold the gates until I’m ready.” With a heavy sigh, he turned back to Juliette, his tone softening, though his voice remained loud. “It’s not safe, I need you to go.”

Shaking her head, she replied, a hint of weakness in her voice, “I have to do something. I can’t just—”

“You can,” he interjected gently. “You’ve done enough. Keep yourself safe.”

Juliette gasped as a loud rattling echoed from the gate, jolting her from her thoughts and pulling her attention away from Cullen. She approached the gate as if in a trance, drawn closer by the sound of a familiar voice.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” the voice shouted, desperation ringing in every word. That voice. I know that voice!

“Herald! Don’t!” Cullen yelled, running after her.

“Open the gate,” she urged the soldier, her voice breathy and rushed. The soldier hesitated, looking at Cullen for direction. “Open the gate!” Juliette ordered again, her tone rising to a frantic scream. This time he obeyed her command.

As the gates creaked open, Juliette was startled by the sight of a Venatori warrior, towering before her with a menacing stride. Her heart raced, and instant regret washed over her as she feared not only for her own safety but for everyone behind the gate she had just ordered open. As a mix of fear and anticipation flooded her senses, his armour gleamed in the dim light. Suddenly, a sickening slicing sound echoed through the air, blood splattering as he stumbled forward.

Juliette’s expression was of horror, the world around her blurring as she struggled to comprehend what had just happened. As his battle axe fell to the snow with a muffled thud, the slicing noise continued, sending shivers along Juliette’s spine. The Venatori fell before her, revealing his killer, blade in hand.

Her heart raced, pounding against her ribs, and her lips parted in a silent gasp. A whirlwind of emotions swirled within —confusion, fear, and a glimmer of hope—as she struggled to comprehend the impossible reality before her. That boy! He’s real!

In her dismay, Juliette barely noticed Cullen pushing in front , sword drawn and ready to defend against the stranger.

“You,” Juliette whispered in a trembling voice. “This can’t be!” Her curiosity overwhelmed any sense of caution. She sidestepped Cullen, instinctively moving to reclaim her position at the forefront. Her eyes were locked on the figure who haunted her dreams. The memory of reoccurring nightmares flashed before her: the circle tower, the Templars, the boy crouched in the corner delivering cryptic messages.

He dipped his head, his oversized hat obscuring his face, and said, “I’m Cole. I came to warn you, to help!”

When he spoke, his voice was exactly as she remembered—chilling and haunting. A shiver raced down her spine as he reached out his hand, almost touching her.

In an instant, Cullen leaped forward, positioning himself between Juliette and Cole. “Step back!” he growled, authority in his voice. Cole flinched as the sword was pointed in his direction, obeying the order and taking a step back, cowering slightly at the sudden threat.

Juliette’s heart raced, her chest tightening with worry. “Cullen, wait!” she protested, clenching her fists at her sides. She instinctively shifted her weight forward, wanting to bridge the gap between them. “I know him! I…I think…”

Cullen’s eyes remained fixed on Cole, assessing him for any signs of danger. “You think?” he asked with a hint of skepticism in his voice. His stance was defensive, every muscle taut.

Juliette took a deep breath and gently placed her hand on Cullen’s arm. “Please,” her voice softer now. Cullen hesitated, his fierce expression faltering for just a moment as he felt her touch. With a reluctant sigh, he lowered his sword slightly, allowing her to slip past him. Juliette stepped forward, feeling the weight of Cullen’s protective glare on her back as she closed the distance between herself and Cole.

“You… you’re the boy from my nightmares,” she said, her voice quivering with curiosity and fear. The noise in the background began to blur—the ringing bells and the rustle of soldiers faded into a distant hum. Her breath came in shaky gasps, feeling unnatural, as though she were outside her own body, watching the scene unfold from a distance.

“Nightmares?” Cullen shouted in disbelief with widening eyes. He instinctively pulled Juliette back as the revelation hit him. “Get away from him! He could be a—”

“What is this?” she yelled at Cole, violently rolling her shoulder to break free from Cullen’s grip. “What’s going on?”

Cole stepped forward slightly, his voice low and haunting. “The templars come to kill you.”

Juliette jolted backwards, a gasp escaping her lips at his foreboding message, just as Cullen moved forward once more, sword drawn and aimed at Cole.

“Templars?” Cullen yelled in astonishment, his voice loud as the wind began to pick up, whipping through the field as though it carried an ominous warning. He held his ground, turning his head towards Juliette, his eyes blazing. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

His voice held as much anger as it did confusion, perhaps even more. He clenched his jaw, his fist tightening around the hilt of his sword.

Juliette slowly shook her head, bewilderment on her face. But as she met Cullen’s eyes, a flash of guilt took over. This is my fault.

The weight of her decision settled heavily on her shoulders, the fear of consequences coiling in her stomach. Caught between Cullen’s fury and the ominous warning from Cole, she felt the burden of responsibility crashing down on her.

Cole began to speak, both Juliette and Cullen snapping their focus towards him. “The Red Templars went to The Elder One. You know him, he knows you. You took his mages.” He turned, and their eyes followed as he pointed to the towering mountain in the distance. “There.”

Squinting, Juliette slowly brought her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the biting wind. Under the moonlight, she could make out two figures standing atop the ridge, looking down upon them. One was a man clad in armour, the glint of metal catching the light. Beside him loomed a monstrous figure, towering even higher. This must be the Elder One, she thought, a shiver running down her spine as dread settled in. “He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole explained with a low, haunting tone to his voice.

Juliette turned to Cullen, her eyes so dark they appeared almost black, pupils dilated wide with fear. His jaw dropped slightly, and for a moment, he seemed to forget his anger, the tension in his body slackening. He took a step back, instinctively tightening his grip on the sword as if to steady himself against the shock.

“I know that man… but this Elder One…” Cullen murmured, confusion clouding his expression as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“What?” Juliette asked, her voice a quiet whisper of shock.

Cullen glanced over his shoulder towards the gates, then exhaled sharply, his breath heavy with stress. He grabbed Juliette’s hand, guiding it to the hilt of his sword. She whimpered at the sudden movement, her grip tightening around the weapon as she looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. He leaned in close, his lips almost brushing against her ear, and instructed, “Take this and keep your eyes on him.”

Juliette felt her heart race, the closeness sending a jolt of heat through her despite the chill in the air. Fear clawed at her insides—not just of the looming threat but also of the sword she now held, heavy and foreign in her hand.

Her throat felt tight as she met his intense gaze. Doubt crept in. Why would he give her the sword? Could she really use it?

Beneath it all was the rush of feelings she dared not acknowledge. The way he was so close . His breath, warm on her skin, made her pulse quicken for entirely different reasons. She swallowed hard, torn between the desire to lean in and the fear of losing him to the battle that loomed ahead.

Without a word, Cullen swiftly turned and sprinted towards the gate, calling out to his soldiers. Juliette glanced down at her hand, feeling the sword’s weight pull at her wrist, her fingers tight around the hilt. Panic surged as she snapped her focus to Cole, raising the sword with a shaky movement.

Cole slowly took a step back, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. “I’m here to help! I won’t hurt you.”

Juliette kept her eyes locked on him, nodding quickly as her breath came in erratic bursts. She desperately wanted to believe him.

As Cullen neared the gate, he quickly tilted his head to signal a lieutenant forward. “Go to the mage camp!” he shouted, his voice carrying authority. “They have sanction to engage them. That is Samson - he will not make it easy!”

The lieutenant’s eyes widened at the revelation that Samson was out there, surprise crossing his face before he quickly masked it. His posture remained firm as he raised a fist to his chest, nodding respectfully. “Commander.”

“Cullen!” Juliette screamed, panic rising in her voice. He quickly ran back towards her. Keeping her eyes fixed on Cole, she pressed, “They’re getting closer! What do I do?”

He wrapped his hand around hers, gently easing the sword from her grip. Juliette turned to Cullen, her eyes silently pleading for guidance. “Give me a plan! Anything!”

He gave her a long, intense look, hesitating to issue orders. Deep down, he would have preferred to send her to safety, but he knew Juliette was too stubborn, too determined to turn away from the fight. With a resigned sigh, he looked to the ground, accepting that he needed to give her some kind of direction.

With a quick glance toward the soldiers, Cullen waved his hand, beckoning them to come closer. He looked back to Juliette, his focus intense, exuding a sense of authority. Yet, as he looked at her, that intensity softened, revealing a nurturing warmth beneath the amber of his eyes. There was a brief pause as their eyes locked, the reality of the situation passing between them. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice gentle. “You were shown how to fire the trebuchets, right? You can do that?”

She nodded, feigning confidence. In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure that she knew what she was doing, but she knew she had to try.

“All right,” he replied with a nod to match hers. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle,” he explained, pointing towards the northern trebuchet. “Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!”

With a nervous gulp and an excessive nod Juliette replied, “Right.”

Cole backed away, spinning with his daggers drawn as he hurried towards the approaching army. Cullen turned, moving for the gates just as Cassandra and Blackwall burst through, Dorian following closely behind. It was a much needed reprieve, easing his worry for Juliette, if only for a moment. Half a dozen soldiers approached, awaiting his command.

“Stay with the Herald and defend both trebuchets,” he ordered, turning back to Juliette. He hesitated for a second, concern in his eyes as they lingered on her before he called out, “I’ll guard the gates!” His voice carried in the air as he sprinted away. While Cullen passed Cassandra, he shouted, “Trebuchets—bury them!”

Cassandra drew her sword, her voice rising with fierce determination. “We will exact a heavy price! They will not take us easily!”

Juliette watched Cassandra run past, her bewildered expression shifting to relief when she spotted Dorian.

“There you are!” he shouted as he approached. Handing Juliette her staff, he added with an awkward grin, “I should have known you’d be out here, all doe-eyed and damsel-like.” Lost for words, Juliette looked at Dorian with wide eyes, a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips. “Now, what do I always say? ‘Try not to kill anyone without me!’”

The Inquisition soldiers had assembled at the gates just as the Templar army began to advance across the edge of the frozen lake that sprawled vastly before the Haven base. With his back to the trebuchet, Cullen addressed them, his voice ringing out loud and clear against the howl of the wind and the chaos surrounding them. “Soldiers!” he shouted, raising his sword skyward. “Gather the villagers! Fortify and watch for advance forces!” His words cut through the air, igniting a spark of courage. “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

The soldiers roared in response, their battle cry echoing across the field, a mix of determination and pride. But as Cullen turned, his expression fell.

The frozen surface of the lake collapsed beneath the templars' feet, steam billowing upward as their screams echoed in the air. One by one, they plunged into the depths, consumed by the lake that now blazed with a barrier of fire. Melting its icy surface, the fire led to cracks that chased those of the templars that chose to retreat, swallowing them up before they could escape.

With a ferocious glint in her eyes, Juliette raised her staff to the sky, conjuring barriers that radiated explosive fire upon impact with the Templars. Water bubbled and churned as it engulfed them, and in that moment, she was truly a force of nature.

Shock coursed through Cullen. Just moments earlier he feared for Juliette’s safety as she stood there with wide eyes, trembling with an awkward grip on the sword. Now, witnessing her unleashed magic, he felt a mix of awe and fear. The sheer power she wielded was both impressive and terrifying.

For just a moment, Cullen stood frozen, shock gripping him as if time had slowed. Around him, the battle erupted in a blur—soldiers rushing forward, weapons drawn, their shouts ringing out like echoes in a distant dream. Each movement felt exaggerated, like a scene from a nightmare, while he remained paralyzed, eyes fixed on the lake.

As flames erupted before him, a flash of memory crashed over Cullen—a vivid recollection of past horrors. He could almost hear the gut-wrenching screams of anguish from that harrowing chamber, the lifeless bodies of his peers haunting his mind, the faces of those lost to the demon assault in Kinloch Hold. He felt frozen, as if he were back in that place—trapped, tortured, and utterly helpless.

In just a few seconds of real time, he witnessed the downfall of the templars, dozens—perhaps a hundred or more—falling before his eyes.

He might have known them.

He could have been one of them.

Suddenly, Cullen took a sharp breath, the cold air stinging his chest and snapping him back to the present. The battle rushed back to him, sharp and urgent, filling his ears with the clang of swords and the explosions in the distance. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear the lingering fog of disbelief. In that instant, clarity washed over him—he was no longer a templar.

He pulled his shield forward, the Inquisition insignia catching the moonlight, symbolic of his true allegiance as he faced the templars approaching from the west.

It was hard to say how long the battle by the trebuchets raged on. It felt as though an endless onslaught of Templars and Venatori were determined to breach the base. With his back to The Herald, Dorian defended against attacks with rhythmic sways of his staff, enemies falling to his magic before they even had a chance to react.

Over his shoulder, he shouted, “You may want to ease up on the fire! We can’t be certain how many of these morons have a death wish. This fight could drag on, and you don’t want to over-exert yourself!”

With a nod that she wasn’t sure he had seen, Juliette pulled her staff to her side and ducked, hurrying towards the trebuchet platform. Arrows soared around her, whooshing as they struck their targets, templars stumbling in their wake as the arrows delivered their fatal blows. She didn’t need to see where they had come from, the manic giggling that floated in the air was telling enough.

Shit, Sera, Juliette thought, stepping over the fallen bodies. She actually is enjoying this.

As Juliette drew closer, a wave of panic surged through her, tightening her chest. The sight of the fallen soldier by the trebuchet crank sent a chill down her spine. I wasn’t fast enough!

Guilt gnawed at her. The urgency of the soldier’s voice echoed in her mind, mixed with the frantic thrum of the battle around her.

Smoke and the metallic scent of blood heightened her senses. Arrows whistled overhead, and the chaos of clashing steel surrounded her. Each step felt heavier, burdened by the weight of responsibility and regret.

‘Almost ready! Keep them off us!’

The soldier’s final words wrapped around Juliette, filling her with shame.

As she reached for the soldier’s body, her heart hammered against her ribcage, each beat a frantic plea. 'No, no, no!' The words spilled from her lips in denial as she knelt beside him. Her hands trembled as she inspected his injuries, desperately seeking a pulse.

“Get up!” she screamed, shaking him with all her strength. Panic surged through her, choking her thoughts. She pressed her fingers against his neck, praying for a pulse, for any sign that she hadn’t failed him. But as she felt the coldness of his skin, despair settled in her gut. She had failed.

The tumult of battle felt distant, swallowed by her grief and guilt, until a low growl snatched her attention. Juliette froze, eyes widening as a shadow fell over her. Her heart raced anew, this time with fear. Slowly, she turned her head to see a Red Templar knight looming just a few paces away, weapon raised, the glint of steel catching the moonlight.

Juliette crawled backwards, frantically scrambling for her staff. Her jaw dropped in shock at the horrific sight before her. The knight had become fused to his armor, his skin twisted and contorted with the metal. Red lyrium shards protruded from deep within his chest. His eyes glowed a sickening red. Bolstered by the lyrium’s power, his body appeared unnaturally strong. The chaos of battle faded as she struggled to comprehend the nightmare before her. Feeling like she couldn't breathe, she gulped nervously. She contemplated her options. He was too close to cast fire, and her staff felt like a useless tool of defense against such a monstrosity.

Suddenly, the Templar stumbled forward, clutching the back of his neck. Varric's voice called out, and a rush of relief washed over Juliette. Before the knight could steady his footing, Cassandra charged at him with violent force, knocking him to the ground and ending his life with a slash to the neck, right next to Varric’s bolt.

Catching her breath, Juliette looked around, blinking away her shock. Lightning and plumes of smoke rose from the mountains, proof of the mages engaging in battle. It had worked! Their assistance had slowed the flow of soldiers, creating a lull in the fighting. The Inquisition’s dominance was evident.

Cullen’s voice called out, clear and commanding. “Herald!”

Juliette looked towards the gates as smoke billowed, slowly clearing a line of vision. Beyond it, shapes began to emerge, hinting at what lay ahead.

Cullen fought as she watched on, panting for air.  The way he wielded his sword was both fierce and fluid, each movement precise and commanding. She was in awe. She blinked, trying to shake of the distraction as he took down the last few Templars, the adrenaline still pulsing through her veins. She shook her head slightly, forcing herself to focus on the fight. She pulled herself to her feet as Cullen yelled to her again.

Turning his head between slashes of his sword he ordered, “Now! Do it now!”

Stumbling to her feet, Juliette quickly spun around and hurled her staff aside. She grasped the lever and leaped, putting all of her body into pulling down the counterweight. The trebuchet groaned under the strain, and as the mechanism released, she quickly jumped from the platform, her eyes fixed on the mountains where the trebuchet was aimed.

Juliette’s eyes widened in disbelief as the trebuchets projectile collided with the mountainside. For a moment, time seemed to freeze, the world around her engulfed in an eerie silence. Then, the ground shook violently, and a thunderous roar echoed through the air as an avalanche cascaded down, suffocating the lights from the approaching forces.

A stunned expression crossed Juliette’s face as her eyes widened at the sight before her. She smiled, a breath of relief escaping her as her shoulders slumped forward. Cheers and cries of victory erupted from the soldiers surrounding her. Then the second trebuchet fired successfully, obliterating the remaining threat.

Juliette's smile grew into a wide grin, and a soft chuckle of disbelief escaped her lips. They did it!

Chapter Text

Panic filled the air as everyone scrambled for cover. The victory by the trebuchets had been short-lived. No one could have predicted a dragon would attack.

Red templars had breached the walls, and it seemed as though no building, except for the chantry, remained unscathed by the dragon’s fury. It screeched and roared, terrorising the settlement. The ground shook with each powerful beat of its wings, sending waves of fear rippling through the crowd.

In their desperate flight for the gates, Juliette was knocked down by a frightened stallion that burst from the stables. She crashed to the ground, a sharp pain coursing through her ribs, a remnant of the injury she’d sustained when the dragon’s initial burst of flame had obliterated the trebuchet. Blackwall had rushed to her aid, his strong hands pulling her to her feet, but he vanished at Juliette’s command. What if I put him in danger?

“We must find Master Dennet!” she had worried, glancing back at the stables as they lit up in flames. He had rushed into danger on her behalf, not once hesitating, leaving little room for argument. Regret washed over her as she fought her way to the chantry.

Cullen had informed Juliette that Dennet had safely evacuated, along with the stable hand. When she told Cullen, frantic and worried, that Blackwall had gone to the stables, he ordered soldiers to find him. His frustration and anger gave way only momentarily when he pulled her inside the gates, begging her to stay out of danger before running off to fight alongside his soldiers.

Now, she found herself beside Cassandra, the two of them working together to protect Lysette from an ambush of templars. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she faced the oncoming threat.

Juliette stepped back, a breath of relief escaping her when she noticed Blackwall slip through the gate. Cassandra and Lysette had the templars under control, and she felt at that time, that her magic was of little use.  Leaning forward, she pressed her hands into her ribs, catching her breath.

Amid her laboured breaths and the crackling of nearby flames, Juliette heard faint screams coming from the tavern. Her heart raced as she turned to see smoke escaping from the door.

"Flissa? Is that you?" she called out, panic rising in her chest. A weak, muffled voice was the only response.

Frantic to get inside, Juliette dashed towards the door, reaching out with shaking fingers. Just an inch away, she halted, the intense heat radiating from within the building. How do I get this open?

Her eyes swept the area, searching for anything she could use to force the door. She gasped when spotting an axe embedded in a nearby log. Without a second thought, she yanked the axe free and drew back, preparing to swing with all her strength.

“No! Stop!” Cullen’s voice sliced through her thoughts, his hand grabbing her wrist just before she could bring it down.

“What are you doing?” Juliette’s eyes widened in confusion.

“If you break down the door, it could explode!” he exclaimed, urgency expressed in his eyes.

“What? Well, how do I…someone is trapped in there!” Her voice was shaky, desperate as the words spilled out.

“I’ll try the window.” Cullen rushed to the side of the building, glancing at the smoke curling from the doorway. Juliette followed close behind, her mind racing.

As Cullen reached the window, he stopped, taking in the sight before him. The wooden frame, blackened and splintered at the edges, struggled against the relentless heat. Flames danced within, while thick smoke billowed out, twisting into the night sky. The glass panes were shattered, shards glittering among the charred remnants of the cabin’s interior.

He peered inside, heart pounding as his eyes adjusted to the flickering light. The fire crackled and roared, consuming furniture. He could see the flames swirling around, casting eerie shadows that made the scene even more dangerous.

Juliette’s gasp drew his attention. “There! Flissa!” she cried, her voice rising above the roar of the fire. She pointed into the smoke-filled room, her face pale with fear.

Cullen followed her gesture, spotting Flissa motionless on the ground, encircled by flames.

Without hesitation, Cullen stepped back, his foot connecting with the remaining shards of glass. He kicked them away, creating a larger opening. The sound of shattering glass rang out . Taking a steadying breath, he pulled himself through the window, vanishing into the smoke.

As Cullen disappeared into the burning tavern, Juliette began to panic. Her heart raced, and her hands quivered uncontrollably. She bit her nails, the sharp edges digging into her skin as she paced back and forth, each step fueled by a rising sense of dread. I can’t see! What if he’s now hurt? The thought twisted in her gut, and she pressed her palms against her thighs, trying to calm herself.

The heat of the fire crashed into her, stinging her cheeks and intensifying her fear. She could feel it creeping closer, a relentless warning of the danger within. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps. I should have stopped him from going in there!, she thought, guilt twisting her stomach.

Raising her palm to her forehead, she shielded her eyes from the intense heat. She stepped closer to the window and called out, “Cullen!”

Juliette wasn’t sure if he had yelled back because as she listened for a response, part of the ceiling began to collapse, crashing down with a loud, cracking thud.

“Shit!” she screamed, the sudden noise startling her. Her throat burned from the harshness of her voice and the thick smoke filling the air. “No, no, no!” she yelled in frustration, desperately trying to pull herself through the window. She made several clumsy attempts to lift her legs, each time just missing the ledge. She felt a rush of heat and fear, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. For a moment, she hesitated, her mind racing as she struggled to think clearly.

Then her eyes landed on a nearby crate. Relief and determination took over as she realised she could use it to boost herself up.

When Juliette finally made it inside, she gasped for air, her throat burning from the smoke. “Cullen!” she screamed, her voice hoarse and strained.

Amid the raging roar of the fire and the creaking of the building, she finally heard him. “Herald! Get down!”

Lowering herself to the floor, she began to crawl towards them just as Cullen pulled away the last of the debris trapping Flissa beneath.

Relief flooded through her as she spotted them both safe, but her heart sank when she noticed Flissa’s groggy state. Pulling at Flissa’s shoulders, Juliette tried desperately to get her up. “Flissa! Can you move?” she asked with concern.

“Herald of Andraste?” Flissa asked in disbelief. “I knew you’d come!” Her voice drifted as she struggled to hold her eyes open.

Suddenly, a loud crashing noise seized their attention as a rush of air surged into the room through the beaten-down door. Flames erupted, sending the Red Templars that broke in staggering back. Their entrance ignited a wild, uncontrollable fire that raged around Juliette, Flissa, and Cullen.

Cullen turned to Juliette, urgency in his expression. “Get out! Now!” he yelled, standing from his crouched position as he drew his sword. “I’ll hold them back! The window! Go! Move!”

Juliette felt as though she couldn't breathe as she watched the flames surge higher. For a brief moment, shock paralyzed her, her mind struggling to process the scene. But that hesitation was fleeting. The dry heat of the fire stung her eyes, and the air grew scarce—the danger igniting a surge of determination within her.

With a firm grip, she pulled Flissa to her feet, ducking beneath her arm for support. Through coughs and gasps for air, Juliette slowly guided Flissa towards the window, her determination unwavering despite the smoke swirling around them.

As they reached the window, Juliette spotted Cassandra and felt a weight lift from her chest.

“Herald! Thank the Maker!” Cassandra exclaimed, reaching her hands inside to help. As Cassandra reached through the window, she grasped Flissa’s arms, pulling with all her strength. Juliette joined in, boosting Flissa up, her hands shaking with adrenaline.

“Come on, Flissa! You can do it!” Juliette urged, her voice strained as the floor creaked. Each groan of the building felt like a warning, the sound of splintering wood booming around them.

Flames inched closer, their crackling roar colliding with the distant shouts of the Red Templars and clash of swords. The heat intensified behind her, urging them to hurry.

“Faster!” she cried, glancing back through the swirling smoke, trying to catch a glimpse of the fight behind her.

As Cassandra successfully pulled Flissa through the window, Juliette released her feet, but the moment Flissa was safe, her heart plummeted. She whipped around, dread tightening in her chest.

“Cullen!” she shouted, the sound of her voice suffocating to the roar of fire. Panic surged within her as she scanned the room, desperate to catch sight of him. The building creaked around her, each groan a reminder that time was slipping away.

“Where are you?” she whispered, anxiety clawing at her throat, knowing he was still in danger. She poked her head out the window, gasping for fresh air.

“Quickly!” Cassandra shouted, reaching towards Juliette.

“No! Cullen’s still in here!” Juliette yelled, her voice raw and hoarse. She shot Cassandra a look that reflected her fear and anguish, a silent plea for understanding.

Cassandra’s expression shifted, her eyes widening in alarm. With a swift movement, she took a few steps back and dashed away, disappearing from sight. Assuming she was making her way to the door, Juliette’s heart raced as she turned back into the suffocating heat of the fire.

Crouching low and pulling the fabric of her clothing over her face, Juliette caught sight of Cullen as the wind shifted, sending the towering flames racing through the hole in the ceiling. He was defending against two Red Templar knights, much like the one she had faced earlier in battle. The knights were monstrous, their bulky forms adorned with lyrium that pulsed ominously through their armor.

Cullen had done well to hold them back, given the conditions, but time was running out!

A sudden, sharp cracking noise snapped above and Juliette watched as the flames began to consume the beams supporting the ceiling. Gusts of wind tore through the cracks in the building, accelerating the flames and changing their direction on a whim.

Juliette’s vision began to blur as did her thoughts. She felt like her mind was suffocating as well as her body among the smoke and fire. Her eyes darted back to the Templars. They moved with such ease, as though the smoke had no effect. Are they even human?, she wondered, feared, as they showed no signs of slowing their assault.

Feeling utterly useless, she watched as Cullen dodged attacks, his movements increasingly laboured. Each time he parried a blow, he had to pause to cough, gasping for what little air was left in the smoke-filled room.

She no longer had any sense of time. Each second felt like an eternity and waiting for Cassandra to help from the other side of the building seemed too risky. Suddenly, another heavy beam fell, crashing to the ground with a deafening thud, sending a shower of embers into the air. Juliette snatched the staff from her back, almost instinctively, ready to cast magic. She paused. What use is more fire in an already burning building?

In that moment memories flooded her mind.

Musty tomes, late night lectures, templars watching.

Fireballs, scrolls, another friend lost to the The Rite of Tranquility.

The thud of a book slamming onto my desk, Enchanter glaring down at me.

“Pay attention Trevelyan!”

With wide eyes and a sharp gasp, Juliette snapped back to reality. “Wall of fire!” she whispered, inspiration igniting within her. If she could create a barrier, he’d have a chance to escape.

Blinking through the searing, dry heat of the fire she crouched closer and screamed out “Cullen! Fall back!”

When Cullen glanced over his shoulder, their eyes locked for just a heartbeat. His eyes were intense, brows furrowed with concentration. The sharp focus in his expression was as admirable as it was startling.

In that moment, Juliette understood the depth of his commitment—how, in the name of duty, he would risk everything, even his life, to protect her.

Her throat ached, a painful constriction echoing the dread in her chest. The chaos around them blurred; the crackling flames and the looming threat of the collapsing ceiling faded into the background. All she could think of was how desperately she needed him to notice her, to understand what she was trying to accomplish without the templars knowing.

If she couldn’t do this - she’d lose him. She felt a tingle behind her nose and her throat tightened at the thought. A cold shiver ran through her.

She couldn’t lose him.

“Trust me?” Juliette yelled, raising her staff high above her head. As the words escaped her lips, a strange sensation washed over her. She felt a flicker of uncertainty about her own abilities, but desperation had left her with little choice.

Cullen tore his eyes away, raising his sword in a sudden motion towards the approaching templar. Their blades collided with a sharp clang, locking in a tense bind. They wrestled for dominance, each straining against the other’s strength, the heat from the nearby flames crackling in the air around them.

Another beam collapsed, sending fiery debris into the air with a loud boom. Cullen released a fierce grunt, kicking the templar down with all his strength. As another templar charged at him, sword raised, Cullen dropped back, giving Juliette just a second to act. With a deep inhale, she raised both hands towards the ceiling in a controlled motion, summoning a wild, roaring wall of fire that flared to life just inches from Cullen’s face.

Cullen fell to the ground, eyes wide with terror at the inferno raging before him. He crawled backwards, blinking against the sting of the heat. Nearby, Juliette hunched over, coughing violently from the smoke that filled her lungs as she drew upon her magic. For a brief moment, Cullen’s eyes drifted to her, but the creaking ceiling quickly pulled his attention back.

“It’s going to fall! We have to get out! Now!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet and dashing towards her. With a gasp, Juliette turned to the window, making a frantic attempt to pull herself through. Without a moment to spare, Cullen scooped her into his arms and launched her through the opening. She squealed at the sudden movement before crashing onto the snow-covered ground outside.

When Juliette fell to the ground, a sharp pain shot through her, the icy sting of snow a shocking contrast to the fiery chaos she had just escaped. Her vision swirled, colours blending into a dizzying blur, and sounds muffled into a distant roar. Each breath felt like ice scraping her throat, unbearable dryness from the smoke she had inhaled.

As she lay there, the world around her began to sharpen into focus. The familiar sight of Cullen’s black and red fur coat hovered above her, framing her vision. He leaned over Juliette, his body shielding hers from the falling debris.

The unexpected closeness sent a jolt of electricity through her. The intimacy of their position took her by surprise, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still.

Their eyes locked, and a rush of emotions flooded between them—fear, relief, and an unspoken attraction that pulsed in the air. Both panting from their narrow escape, the chaos of the burning tavern faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in that moment.

“Are you all right?” Cullen’s voice was a low whisper, strained and breathless, each word escaping between rugged breaths.

Juliette nodded, the surrounding snow brushing against the sides of her face while she tried to process her shock.

The moment seemed to last an eternity as they lay on the ground, staring into each other’s eyes. Each heartbeat echoed with a magnetic pull, drawing them closer despite the danger that still raged around them. Juliette could feel the warmth radiating from Cullen, contrasting sharply with the icy ground beneath her. It wasn’t just the heat from his plate armour, it was the warmth of his body, so close to hers, that enveloped her like a protective shield.

That closeness stirred a deep sense of longing within her that had been lurking just beneath the surface, now ignited by their shared peril. The flickering light of the flames behind him illuminated the intensity in his gaze. She could see the way his breath quickened, the slight quiver in his lips as he tried to catch his breath.

Despite the noise and danger swirling around them, all Juliette could focus on was him.

As she lay there, looking up at him, Juliette took in the sight of Cullen. His hair was tousled and disheveled, the strands sticking together with sweat and ash from the fire. Her eyes drifted to a fresh cut near his hairline, a thin line of blood slowly trickling down the side of his face. Her heart clenched at the sight. In that moment, she felt a surge of concern for Cullen, a realisation of just how close she had come to losing him.

“You’re hurt!” she gasped, reaching her hand upward, stopping just short of touching him. She hesitated, her fingers hovering above the side of his face. Her eyes searched his, filled with worry, as she absorbed the vulnerability in his expression.

Time seemed to freeze in a brief pause, and then Cullen leaned into her hand, resting his face against her palm. He welcomed her touch, the warmth of his skin igniting a spark within her. With a shaky inhale, Juliette gently moved her thumb, caressing his cheek in a tender, comforting motion. Their eyes held  contact, a deep, intense gaze, the tension between them growing with each heartbeat.

The erratic pulsing of her mark cast a flashing green light across Cullen’s face as she softly moved her hand towards his injury. Her focus slowly pulled away from his eyes, trailing up to his hair, where she gently brushed aside the blonde strands, revealing the wound beneath.

He rested his hand over hers, intertwining their fingers as if inviting her touch. The warmth of his hand sent a shiver through her, replacing her concern with a fluttering excitement. As she looked up at him, her eyes softened, a blush creeping into her cheeks. A shy smile began to form, her lips slightly parted in surprise and wonder. In that moment, she felt a longing swell within her, turning her worry into something far more intoxicating—an undeniable attraction that left her breathless.

Cullen moved in closer, his eyes locked on hers, assessing her expression with caution. As he drew nearer, his breath slowed. He hesitated, lingering just a breath away, searching her eyes for any sign of encouragement.

She let her eyes close, surrendering to the moment, her heart racing in anticipation.

But the blissful silence shattered.  The piercing screech of the dragon overhead jolted her back to reality. Her eyes flew open just in time to catch the shift in Cullen’s expression, transforming from deep yearning to alarm, sudden awareness of where they were and the attack that threatened them.

“No!” he exclaimed, his voice raspy with shock as he pulled back. He quickly sprang to his feet, reaching down for her hand. “We’ve got to go!” he shouted over the dragon’s roar, his eyes darting to the sky. “To the Chantry. Now!”

A battle raged on outside the entrance to the chantry. There was crackle of magical energy in the air as Solas stalled the enemy’s advance, giving the Inquisition’s soldiers a chance to secure a safe passage to escort villagers into the chantry’s doors. Near the tavern’s entrance, Cassandra and Lysette fought valiantly, pushing back the relentless tide of Red Templar knights. It had become clear that their effort had slowed the attacks in the tavern, allowing for Cullen and Juliette’s escape.

Cullen sprinted to their aid, sword in one hand, while the other remained firmly wrapped around Juliette’s wrist, pulling her along with a blend of urgency and protectiveness. He released her grip as he charged forward, plunging into the battle.

Juliette quickly snatched the staff from her back, spinning it with newly-practiced grace. Drawing on her magic, she unleashed a torrent of fireballs that soared towards the Templars, lighting up the battlefield.

At the first opportunity for a break in the battle, Cassandra and Lysette charged forward, moving closer to the Chantry. Juliette paused to catch her breath, her attention drifting towards Cullen, worry reflected in her eyes. Just as she prepared to follow them, desperate screams pierced the air. She spun around, her heart racing as she spotted a plume of smoke rising from the direction of the apothecary.

Dorian arrived from the opposite side just as Juliette did, their eyes locking in a shared moment of panic. Without a word, they sprang into action, frantically tearing away at the debris and overturned pots that pinned both Adan and Minaeve beneath. Each piece they removed felt like a race against time, the sounds of battle fading into the background as they focused on the rescue.

“It’s going to explode! Help!” Minaeve screamed between sobs.

The dragon flew above , it’s enormous wings casting an eerie shadow over the top of them, it’s scream almost paralyzing. Dorian glanced up at the beast, then turned back to Juliette, urgency burning in his eyes. “We’re losing people! We need to hurry!”

Cullen burst through the Chantry doors, the shouts of battle still echoing in his ears. Officers and scouts swarmed him, voices overlapping in a frantic uproar, each demanding his attention. He felt a wave of disorientation wash over him, their desperate questions blurring into a haze.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he winced as his fingers brushed against the sting of the wound, reminding him of the fight still raging outside. The burn only heightened his awareness, sharpening his focus amidst the confusion.

“Can we get out of here?,” he asked, frustration breaking through his voice.

“They have the building surrounded, Commander,” a scout replied. “Even if we were to clear a path, that dragon…”

“Keep the civilians downstairs in the cells. It’s the safest place for now,” Cullen ordered.

“Yes, Commander,” the scout said, raising a fist to his chest in salute.

Cullen glanced back at the door, waiting anxiously for any sign that the others would make it through. The voice of an officer faded into a blur as he listed the supplies they had on hand.

“It will have to be enough, there’s nothing more we can do,” Cullen said, moving towards the war room. “We need to barricade the door to…” He paused, listening intently. He could have sworn he heard a banging noise. The ceiling of the Chantry rumbled. People gasped in shock. The dragon was once again perched on the roof.

Shaking his head with determination, Cullen pressed on. “We must block the door in the war room to prevent them from breaking…” He paused again, looking around. “I’m sorry, what is that noise?”

An officer gulped nervously, casting a guilty glance at Cullen. “The noise, Ser?”

“Yes, it sounds like banging on the—” Cullen turned and gasped at the sight of the crates stacked in front of Josephine’s door. Muffled shouts and banging from the other side could faintly be heard amid the bustle within the Chantry.

“Maker’s Breath!” Cullen shouted, rushing towards the crates to pull them aside. “What is this?”

As the crates fell away, the door to the ambassador's office flung open violently, Chancellor Roderick stumbling out. His face was flushed with anger as he cursed and caught his breath.

“Who is responsible for this?” Cullen yelled, glaring at the officers.

“It was… um…” one of them began, trailing off as the realisation dawned that they would much rather face Cullen’s wrath than Leliana’s.

Cullen scoffed, frustrated.  “It doesn’t matter, we need to—”

“What have you people done?” Roderick shouted, cutting him off yet again. “The Maker will turn His judgment upon you all!” Driven by anger and shock, he stormed towards the chantry door.

“Chancellor! No!” an officer called after him, chasing Roderick into the danger outside.

Cullen sighed, dropping his head into his palm. “The war table is massive—let’s get it in front of that door at the back of the war room,” he suggested. Officers sprang into action, moving towards the war room at his command. He turned to the man stationed by the door to the cells. “Is the Herald all right?”

“The Herald?” the man replied, confused. “She hasn’t come through here yet.”

“What?” Cullen yelled. With a heavy exhale, he drew his sword and marched towards the exit, determination hardening his expression.

Minaeve gasped and coughed as Dorian helped her to her feet. “Maker, thank you!” she exclaimed, looking at him with gratitude. “Thank you!”

“Run for the Chantry!” Dorian yelled, his voice nearly lost amid the dragon’s deafening screech.

“Herald? Herald!” Adan yelled to Juliette, shaking her arm. She stared at his leg with a vacant expression, shock consuming her while she looked at the wood that pierced through. The smell of smoke mixed with the metallic scent of blood carried in the air, the wind still blowing wildly through the night. “It’s too hot…” he slurred his words, fading in and out of consciousness.

“No, no!” Juliette whispered. “We can pull this out…free you from…” she looked up to Dorian as he crouched beside her. “Help me!” she begged, desperately turning to him for an answer.

“Juliette…” Dorian said slowly, a hint of sadness in his voice.

“We can move him inside. Heal him with a spell…right?”

“It’s hot, too hot!” Adan shouted, shaking violently.

“It’s okay, we’ll help you,” she soothed, her voice cracking as tears began to form. “Right? Dorian?”

Dorian met her eyes with a somber look. “Herald,” he whispered. “We’ve done all we can.”

“No, no!” she shook her head fiercely. “We will help!”

“Even if we do move him—” Dorian began, but the flap of wings intensified above them, the dragon drawing nearer. The air vibrated with a chilling roar, sending a tremor through the ground beneath their feet.

“We can’t leave him here!” she cried with desperation.

Adan’s body shook violently, the warmth slipping away from him like sand through her fingers. She cradled him, desperation rising in her chest. His eyes, once bright with life, began to dim, and a shuddering breath escaped his lips.

“Herald…” he gasped, his voice so weak she barely heard. “The pots…”

Her heart clenched at the weakness in his voice. “Adan, please—stay with me!” she pleaded, her voice cracking. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she felt his strength fading, the light in his eyes flickering like a dying flame.

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze turned distant, and with a final, shuddering breath, he slipped away, leaving her with nothing but the haunting echo of his last words. The world around her blurred as she clutched him tighter, anguish flooding her heart.

“The pots!” Dorian gasped. He jumped to his feet, pulling at Juliette’s shoulder. “Those were the pots by the trebuchet! They’re explosive!” he shouted.

“What?” Juliette whispered in shock, her eyes still focused on Adan.

The dragon circled back towards them, its massive wings casting a shadow that swallowed the ground. With a deafening roar, it flew closer, the ground rumbling beneath the force of its presence. Panic surged through her as she realised the danger looming above.

“Juliette, we need to move!” Dorian shouted.

Thanks to the Inquisition’s soldiers and their allies, the Red Templars had slowed their invasion at the front of the chantry. Chancellor Roderick stood by the door, leaning against it for support while he clutched at his stomach. As he held it open, the last of the soldiers rushed inside.

Cassandra sprinted towards Blackwall, her voice carrying the weight of relief. “They’re safe! They’re coming now!” she shouted, glancing back at the raging fire that engulfed the buildings by the apothecary. Smoke billowed into the night sky and the sharp crack of the explosion still rang in her ears.

“Move! Keep going!” Roderick urged, his voice wavering. “The chantry is your shelter!”

Cassandra paused as she began to run inside the doors, noticing the state that Chancellor Roderick was in. The grimace on his face showed the pain he was trying to mask, struggling to remain upright. Empathy wavered in her eyes, her brows relaxed for just a moment. She exhaled heavily, determination returning as she prepared herself for what lay ahead. There would be many more injured.

Cullen ascended the stairs leading from the cells, the chaotic sounds of panic below echoing in his ears. Villagers cried out in fear, their voices a mix of desperate prayers, frantic arguments, and the harsh reality of uncertainty. The air was thick with anxiety, punctuated by the cries of the injured. Each step felt heavier as he carried the weight of their fear and confusion on his shoulders.

He had already lost soldiers—men he had trained and fought beside—and the thought of their sacrifice weighed heavily on his heart, a silent ache that threatened to crack his stoic facade. He forced himself to remain calm, reminding himself that he had to be their leader, to guide them through this disaster.

In the back of his mind, a nagging worry clawed at him. Where was Juliette? He hadn’t seen her down there, and there was no sign of her outside. He needed to focus, to keep the villagers safe, but the fear for her safety loomed like a dark shadow.

As Cullen reached the chantry floor, his heart raced, a mix of relief and anxiety coursing through him. The chattering of soldiers faded momentarily as his eyes locked onto the doors just in time to see Juliette stumble through.

Juliette stood there, breathless and disheveled, her hair wild and tousled, strands sticking to her forehead. Ash smeared across her face, contrasted against her pale skin. Her eyes, red and irritated, darted around the room, but they lacked focus—a vacant, haunted expression that sent a chill through him.

“Herald!” he exclaimed with relief, running to her. As he neared, her attention snapped to him, sharp and alert for a moment before the dazed look returned. Cullen’s eyes softened momentarily, but the urgency of their situation pulled him back. He took a steadying breath, steeling himself. “Our position is not good,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle. He stepped closer, his tone shifting to one of authority, “That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

Juliette met Cullen’s eyes, a flash of understanding passing between them. The anguish in her dark brown eyes spoke volumes. She said nothing, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air, and turned her attention to Chancellor Roderick, who slumped in a chair, looking battered and defeated.

Juliette’s focus fell on Roderick. Despite their history—his disdainful words and the way he had treated her—she knelt before him, compassion flooding her heart as she assessed his injuries. The chancellor had never been kind to her, and yet here he was, vulnerable and in pain. In that moment, the true kindness of her nature shone through. Cullen watched her, struck by the depth of her empathy.

Cole stood by Roderick’s side, an eerie yet comforting presence. “He tried to stop a templar,” Cole explained, his eyes shifting to Juliette. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die,” he said nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather rather than the fate of a man before them.

Roderick coughed at the words, “What a charming boy.”

Juliette’s heart felt heavy, the familiar ache of loss settling in her chest. “There’s no chance for him?” she asked, numbly. Adan’s blood still settled in the cracks of her hands. She now understood, perhaps too well, that hope was a fragile thing have. She reached forward and held Roderick’s hand, a gesture of respect. She could offer little else.

Cullen’s eyes widened as she leaned forward, catching the sight of blood smeared down the side of her neck. “Herald!” he spoke with alarm. “You’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine,” she replied softly, her gaze unwavering as she focused on Roderick.

“No, you’re not,” Cullen insisted, his tone firm. He waved his arm, signaling for an officer to come over. “Fetch a healer. Now!”

“No,” Juliette said defiantly, her voice rising.

“Herald, you need to—”

“I said no!” she screamed, turning to him, anger blazing in her eyes.

Cullen was taken aback by her sudden outburst, his eyes widening in shock. The fierceness in her expression was startling, and a wave of guilt washed over him for pushing her too far. He hadn’t considered how fragile she might feel in that moment, her pain raw and close to the surface. 

Juliette’s anger quickly gave way, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m sorry... I...” she said, her breath trembling. “It’s not mine,” she added, her tone laced with trauma. She swiped her hand across her neck, as though to prove her point. “It’s not my blood.”

Cullen nodded, understandingly, sadness in his expression. Juliette looked up to the officer. “I…uh, I’ll take a healing potion if it’s not too much trouble. I might have a bruised rib or something.”

“Right away, your worship,” the officer replied with a respectful nod, hurrying to fulfill her request.

Juliette turned back to Cullen, determination burning in her eyes. “What are we going to do?”

Cullen shook his head in frustration. “There has been no communication, no demands. Only advance after advance.”

Dorian stepped forward, joining the conversation. “This Elder One takes what it wants. From what I gathered in Redcliffe, the Venatori and their obsession—” he paused, his expression darkening. “It marched all this way to take your Herald.”

Cullen’s jaw tightened at Dorian’s words, a glimpse of anger flashing across his face. Cole spoke with a haunting confirmation, “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

Juliette’s breath faltered at Cole’s words, a whirlwind of confusion and fear tightening in her chest. Frustration flared within her, and she felt her temper rising. She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing on Cole.

“If you know why he wants me, just say it,” she pressed, her voice taut with anger. The weight of uncertainty was unbearable, and she refused to be left in the dark any longer.

“I don’t,” Cole said with a quiver to his voice. He looked up at her, his eyes piercing and unsettling. “He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway.” He paused, a small sigh escaped his lips. “I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like…?” Culled began to ask, giving up halfway through with frustration at Cole’s ridiculous, nonchalant comments. 

“Herald,” Cullen said, turning to Juliette, his expression grave. “There are no tactics to make this survivable.” His voice was heavy with sadness and regret. “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

Juliette shook her head defiantly. “No, that’s…no!” She rose to her feet, her eyes wide with urgency. “We’re overrun, Cullen. To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven!”

Cullen met her gaze, a deep sorrow reflected in his eyes. He leaned in slightly, his voice low and regretful. “We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

“Well, that’s not acceptable!” Dorian shrieked, his frustration boiling over. “I didn’t race all the way here, spend weeks doing your dirty work, and endure this freezing hellhole, only to have you drop rocks on my head!”

Cullen snapped, anger and frustration coursing through him. “Should we submit? Let him kill us?” he shouted, his voice sharp.

Juliette lowered herself back to the floor and buried her face in her palms as their argument escalated. Emotions swelled within her, and she sniffled back tears, her hands trembling against her skin. She felt a gentle tug at her arm and lifted her head, tears welling up in her eyes.  Chancellor Roderick’s hand rested on her arm, as though he had something to say.

“Yes, that!” Cole perked up with inspiration. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Juliette looked back to Roderick, listening closely. With a soft, weakness to his voice he began, “There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage. As I have —”

Dorian’s shouting overpowered Roderick’s voice. “Dying is typically a last resort, not first! For a templar, you think like a blood mage!”

“For the love of The Maker, will you both shut up!” Juliette screamed, the harsh squeal of her voice stinging her throat. She turned to Roderick, urgency creeping into her tone. “What? What are you on about?” She pressed , her patience wearing thin.

“It was whim that I walked the path. I did not meant to start—it was overgrown. Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don’t know, Herald.” He grasped her hand firmly, looking into her eyes with unexpected intensity. “If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. You could be more.”

“A path?” Juliette asked, rising to her feet. She turned to Cullen, hope in her eyes. “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?”

“Possibly,” he shrugged. “If he shows us the path.”

Leliana shouted from the door of the war room, “It is done. The door is blocked, now we wait.”

Cullen turned to her and shouted back, “Good. Go to the cells with the others.”

“Are you joking?” Leliana asked, offended. “I will stay and fight, Commander. If they break through here you have as much time as I have arrows.”

You have as much time as I have arrows.

Those words sent a chill through Juliette and Dorian, echoing exactly what she had said in the alternate reality. They shared a look, a silent understanding passing between them. The memory flooded back: Leliana sacrificing herself for their escape—a brave and selfless act that haunted them both.

Juliette looked down at her hands. Behind the glow of green light, the creases in her palm were stained with crimson. Blood on her hands. Adan’s , Roderick’s, possibly even Cullen’s. She looked back up, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling loudly.

“This ends now,” she said, a darkness creeping into her tone. “If it is me they want, they can have me.”

Cullen’s eyes widened in disbelief. For a moment, he was speechless, taken aback by her words.

“I can distract them while you lead everyone to safety.”

“But what of your escape?” Cullen asked, their eyes locking in a charged silence. The intensity of the moment wrapped around them, and as Juliette averted her focus to the ground. She understood what her words meant—she likely wouldn’t escape.

Cullen’s heart sank, and a wave of despair washed over him. It was more than just concern, it was a revelation. Seeing her like this, so resolute yet vulnerable, struck him like a knife to the chest. He realised then just how deeply he cared for her—beyond duty, beyond friendship. She had become important to him, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing her. 

His expression softened.  As much as it hurt, he admired her, but he also knew he could not sway her determination. She was willing to sacrifice herself for the greater good, and the weight of that choice hung heavy in the air.

“Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” he said, trying to inject some semblance of hope into his voice, even as anguish churned within him.

An officer returned, approaching Juliette with a healing potion that she rushed to accept. Cullen moved towards his soldiers, his neck turning as he walked, not taking his eyes off her. He wasn’t ready to see her go.

“Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the chantry! Move!” Cullen ordered, the soldiers scrambling to obey his command.

Cole supported Roderick, guiding him with slow, deliberate steps. As the Chancellor stumbled forward, he glanced back at Juliette. “Herald… if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.”

Juliette’s expression was stern, a coldness that felt foreign compared to the usual warmth that sparkled in her eyes. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her heart pounding wildly as she was propelled by shock. Each beat sharpening her senses and fueling a fierce determination within her.

Cullen stepped closer, and her eyes fluttered to his, softening slightly amid the turmoil as soldiers rushed past her. His expression was stern and commanding as he explained in a serious tone, “They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the treeline.”

Juliette nodded, her attention caught as Cassandra tore towards her, Varric following closely behind. “I’m going with you,” Cassandra declared, her tone firm and leaving little room for argument.

Varric added with a nervous chuckle, “If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to get an asshole’s attention!”

Juliette watched them walk out of the chantry, surprise spread across her face. A small sense of comfort washed over her, knowing she wouldn’t be alone in this fight.

Dorian pulled his staff from his back and followed after them. As he brushed past Juliette, he said with a wry smile, “We need to be noticed? Happens to be a specialty of mine.”

She turned back to Cullen, her expression of wonder fading as she noticed the look on his face. His brow furrowed, and his eyes told of regret. There was a heaviness in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment that this could be their last moment together. His mouth tightened, as if he wanted to speak, to promise her safety, but he knew he couldn’t. It was his duty to stay and lead.

In that moment, Juliette saw the weight of his emotions mirrored in her own. An understanding passed between them, but the overwhelming situation left her speechless. She turned away, feeling the ache in her chest swell, wanting to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

Cullen reached out and grabbed her hand, halting her. His grip was firm, as if trying to steal a few more moments in her presence. “If we are to have a chance—if you are to have a chance—let that thing hear you,” he urged, his voice low and intense, filled with both fear and fierce hope.

Juliette’s eyes fell to their hands, the way his fingers wrapped around hers, the warmth of his touch grounding her. She looked back up to his eyes, and in that moment, a soft look of admiration and respect filled her expression. She saw the unyielding resolve to protect their people.

For a heartbeat, everything else faded away. The weight of his words wrapped around them, anchoring them in that moment. With a quiet nod, she placed her other hand on top of his, her touch gentle. Cullen looked down at their hands, swallowed hard, and then met her eyes again. Her eyes glistened and emotion trembled in her voice as she spoke, “Maker watch over you, Cullen.”

All he could do was nod as she pulled her hands away from his and turned, slipping out the door. Cullen watched her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering on his skin as he stood alone , staring at the door.

Chapter Text

Everything was a blur of white. The piercing whistle of the wind whipped against his ears, its howl competing with the distant calls of wolves. Ice pelted against his face, stinging his skin, a prickling sensation that kept him alert as he contended with fatigue. Each step forward was a challenge. He sank deeper into the snow with every movement. The sound of his breath, laboured and rasping , drove him onward. A rhythmic drumbeat pushing him forward.

Firelight flickered in the distance and a slight feeling of relief washed over Cullen. He had at least managed to find his way back to camp. The moment of relief, as fleeting as it was, soon gave way to a heavy sensation of guilt. It was as though a crushing weight had settled on his shoulders, each step towards the warmth and safety of the camp feeling like betrayal.

There was no sign of them. There was no sign of her.

The light from the camp fires flickered, casting an ominous glow on Cole’s face. He moved between the wounded, focusing his attention on those who needed him the most.

“I tried, but I can no longer. It’s deep, the wound,” words tumbled from Cole’s lips, an emotionless commentary on the souls surrounding him. “Gnawing weakness, I tried my best. It’s sharp, it’s biting.” He leaned forward, placing a steady hand on the wounded soldier’s arm. “I won’t, I can’t. I stayed strong for you, my love, for Ferelden.”

The soldier mustered enough strength to turn his head. Sorrow and confusion glossed over his eyes as he stared at Cole, baffled by the sounds of his own thoughts spoken aloud by another.

“Your wife and daughters survived because of you. They still have their home. You are a hero to them. You can let go, now,” Cole said, his voice a little softer this time, compassionate. “Forget.”

The soldier lowered his head against the cot, staring up at Cole, his stare distant, as if he looked through him to some faraway place. A hint of sorrow crossed his expression, haunted by memories. With a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes, releasing the weight of his guilt. Pain swept over him, cold and liberating, as he felt his energy slip away, leaving behind a fragile sense of peace. The tension in his muscles eased, and for the first time, he felt unburdened, unafraid to be by the Maker’s side.

Cole stood from his crouched position, giving one last glance to the dying soldier before turning away. He took a seat on a nearby log, overwhelmed by the storm of emotions that lingered in the air: fear, despair, determination, and grief.

In the distance, Cullen emerged, leading a small group of soldiers he had assembled as a search party. Each step was slow and deliberate, his boots dragging through the snow, kicking up flurries of ice that sparkled in the fading light. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his focus remained fixed to the ground, avoiding any eyes that might catch his own.

As he neared, Josephine rushed towards him, her expression of concern, with Leliana following closely behind. Cullen’s voice was loud above the camp’s hushed whispers as he spoke with exaggerated hand gestures, his pacing restless and frantic. Josephine shook her head, her usual poise slipping away, leaving her posture slumped and fragile.

From where he sat, Cole could feel the tension in the air as Cullen's frustration collided with Josephine's quiet sorrow.

“Well, what would you have me do? Sit and rest while she’s still out there? They’re all still out there!” Cullen’s voice rose, cracking with frustration.

“You have a head injury, Cullen! You will be no use to anyone if you, yourself, need to be rescued!”

He began to pace more aggressively, each step sharp and purposeful, his boots thudding against the ground. His hand gestures were forceful. His arms, slicing through the air, emphasising his agitation. The intensity of his words drowned out the crackle of the fire and the desperate coughs and murmurs of the injured.

“We can’t just leave them to die!”

Leliana stepped forward, crossing her arms defensively. “She never said you should!” Her voice was impatient, tone sharp with frustration as she glared at Cullen.

There was a sudden shift in Cullen’s body language. His fists unclenched, and he stepped past Leliana, a spark of hope igniting in his expression. Through the swirling snow, The Iron Bull and his chargers emerged, entering the camp with purposeful strides.

Cullen raced towards them, singling out Krem, desperate for information. “Did you see anything?” he asked, breathless with anticipation. Sadly, the answer he feared loomed in the silence—still no sign of The Herald and the others.

Cole stared ahead with a blank expression as he sat, observing. Once more, Cullen spoke with hand gestures, pointing in the direction from which Krem had arrived. Stress was evident in Cullen’s posture as he ran his fingers through his hair and began to pace back and forth again.

“I must keep going. Cold, it’s getting colder,” Cole spoke quietly, his voice haunting.

“No kidding. You can’t see shit out there,” Bull said, plonking himself down next to Cole. Cole flinched at the sudden noise of his voice.

Resuming his vacant stare, Cole continued, “Too long, it’s been too long. I need to hurry!” His breath quickened and the words tumbled out faster, matching the urgency of the words he spoke. “Fire, now ice. It’s dark, cold, I should not have let this happen!”

Bull slowly turned his head, observing Cole with confusion. “Okay,” he said slowly, not sure what to make of Cole’s frantic mumbling. “You good, kid?” he asked.

Cole turned to Bull, his expression serious. “Good? Yes. I want to be.”

Bull slowly turned away and said under his breath “Creepy.”

As though the interaction was nothing, Cole looked ahead and continued his mumbling. “Cold, so cold. Maker, don’t take her. I should have said it, not let go. She should have stayed. Please don’t let her be alone. Tears in her eyes, her hand on my face. Her smile, her lips tempting, luring me in. Heart skips a beat like the night in the Chantry.”

Bull quickly stood, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Hey, Krem!” he called out, starting to walk away. “Let’s get back out there and… uh, let’s get out of here.”

“Just re-supplying, Chief,” Krem replied, his tone light despite the severity of the situation.

Cullen turned to Bull with a stern expression, but his eyes widened slightly with a hint of relief. “Good,” he said as Bull approached. “We must keep searching! The weather isn’t easing up, and we’re running out of…”

Cullen’s voice trailed off as he squinted into the distance, his eyes sharpening. A spark of hope ignited within him, and he stepped forward, pointing. “There! Do you see that?”

Bull, Krem, and The Chargers turned, their eyes following Cullen’s gesture. “Lights! Yeah, I saw it too,” Bull said, enthusiasm creeping into his voice.

A fleeting smile crossed Cullen’s lips, so subtle it might have gone unnoticed. He exhaled a sigh of relief before his expression shifted, becoming focused and determined. “Go!” he commanded, pivoting to the soldiers behind him. “We need to move—now!”

A slow drip of water echoed through the stillness, each drop splattering softly on the frozen ground. The rhythm was hypnotic, a pulse that seemed to mirror her own heartbeat.

Juliette slowly opened her eyes, finding nothing but darkness around her, save for the throbbing green light of her mark. Her body felt both heavy and numb, her limbs encased in an unbearable cold. The weight of the snow above held her down, trapping her in a frozen embrace.

A dizzying sensation washed over her, a tingling that danced across her skin, while her eyelids felt heavy, struggling against the pull of exhaustion. Unable to summon the strength to stay awake, she drifted further into unconsciousness, the world fading away, leaving only the rhythmic drip of water and the distant glow of her mark.

The chill began to dissipate, as though by closing her eyes she had transported elsewhere. The freezing sting of ice beneath her now felt like stone, a familiar texture that she had become well accustomed to.

“Shhh!” whispers tingled her ears, sending shivers along her spine. The cold weight of the snow was now warm. Hands - old, worn and wise - pushing Juliette harder against the floor. “Stay down, lest they find you!”

A rush of panic flooded Juliette’s veins, anxiety forcing her eyes open. Yet again, she was met with darkness. Pain radiated throughout her entire body as she shuffled her position, trying to lift her head. Both her nostrils and throat burned with every inhale, the air cold, damp and heavy. It felt like shards of ice had settled within her lungs, slicing her apart with each breath she took. With a laboured exhale, Juliette let her head drop back to the ground, a cold sting of ice crashing against her scalp. The earthy scent of wet stone and the faint metallic tang of minerals was overwhelming.

Her eyes fell shut once more, her mind softly drifting to happier times.

She found herself enraptured by the memory of warm Bloomingtide air. The soothing sound of hooves trotting beneath her and the rich smell of leather from a new saddle. Just for her. It brought a smile to her face. Her cheeks ached from the joy of it all. Glancing across at the horse beside her, the world around them shimmered in sunlight, colours melting into a golden afternoon glow.

Her mother looked angelic, the sunlight illuminating the warmth of her auburn hair. Those deep brown eyes sparkled , enchanting—just like Juliette’s. The sound of her own giggles echoed, muffled and distorted, a reminder of her youthful innocence.

Her mother’s smile grew wider, comforting and proud. “Barely six years old and riding unassisted. You learn fast, my darling.”

A cloud swept over them, the golden sunshine dissolving into darkness. Juliette felt her heart pounding, each beat echoing in her ears, a rapid pulse that challenged her grasp on reality. Vague sensations of cold skin tingled at the edge of her consciousness, only to be overshadowed by another memory, looming over her like storm clouds.

Her mother’s cries echoed throughout the hall, her father’s footsteps thundering close behind.

“Please!” Juliette’s mother begged. “Don’t tell them! They don’t have to know about her!”

The sound of her beating heart thumped faster, harder, louder. With a gasp, Juliette woke, jolting herself up in shock. A sharp, excruciating pain stabbed at her ribs, causing her to roll to her side. At first, her scream was piercing, but as it traveled through the cold, damp air, it quickly became subdued, swallowed by the heavy silence. Clutching her sides with a whimper, Juliette focused on breathing. Each breath was shaky and jagged.

Where am I? Is this real?

As Juliette lay there, shivering and disoriented, she caught a glimpse of something through the darkness. A tiny sliver of moonlight through a crack in the stone wall. The pale light felt almost otherworldly, a shimmer of silver against the cold, damp stone.

A newfound sense of hope ignited within her. Drawing on every ounce of strength, Juliette pulled herself to her knees, a sharp wince escaping her lips as she clenched her teeth against the pain. Tingling sensations coursed through her limbs, making her movements shaky as she steadied herself.

She brought her hands forward, the green light from her palm flashing wildly, growing brighter and more erratic with each passing moment. Juliette stared at her hands, desperately trying to concentrate. Her breath came in ragged gasps while each inhale became more and more challenging.

Images flashed before her eyes as she made an attempt to conjure fire.

Warm, tingling crackle of fire. Laughter and cheering of celebration. The scent of smoke and spiced wine.

Nothing.

A sudden roar of flames erupting around her. Booming cracks of splintering wood. Screaming out Cullen’s name, only to have her voice consumed by raging fire.

Her hands shook violently. Still nothing.

Plumes of smoke drifting to the sky, spoiling an otherwise beautiful afternoon. The heavy scent of smoke and ash, she can almost taste it. Servants pulling her away, tears streaming down her face.

“I didn’t mean it, I swear!”

The stables crumbling before her eyes, consumed by the flames of her rage.

Juliette exhaled sharply, a huffed gasp as she dropped her hands. Why can’t I do it?

She quickly reached behind, thumbling for her staff before a searing pain radiated from her shoulder. A painful squeal escaped her and she fell forward, her face pressing against the ground.

Another vision, perhaps a hallucination, snapped through her senses. In one moment, she was here, trapped in darkness. Then in the next, she felt the crushing grip of fear as the memory surged forth. The feeling of her hair being torn at, dragged away.

She could hear the distant wails of mages, panicked and fleeing for their lives. Their screams seemed more than cries for help , they were echoes of Juliette’s own despair, a reflection of the fear within her. The memory was vivid, the templar’s growl in her ear “Get up!”

She slammed her hand down hard against the ice, desperate to ground herself in reality. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. I have to keep going.

Juliette clawed at the ground beneath her, slowly dragging herself towards the light. Pain sliced through her ribs, each movement feeling like a battle against the weight of her own body. With laboured grunts and whimpers of pain, she pulled herself along, the light illuminating her surroundings with increasing clarity as she neared.

The stone arches came into view, their structure partially obscured by mounds of snow and debris. Her arms shook, growing increasingly unsteady with each attempt to move forward, until she finally collapsed, rolling onto her back with a defeated gasp.

Through blurry eyes, she glanced up at the beams above. The old wood was worn and splintered. I must be in the tunnels, but how?

Her breathing slowed as she struggled to inhale deeply. She forced out a weak, quivering cry, “Help!” Desperation fueled her voice as she tried again, but it was no louder. “Cassandra?” she called, her voice cracking, little more than a whisper now. A sob escaped her lips, raw and aching. “Dorian?”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, stinging as they met the cold of her skin. She felt small and lost, enveloped by the silence that seemed to mock her cries. As tears burned in Juliette’s eyes, her vision blurred, pulling her back into memories she wished to forget. While she lay hopelessly in the snow, her past crashed into her present.

She remembered sitting in dread, awaiting her fate. The Knight Commander of Ostwicks Circle had slammed the door, his face a mask of rage. “You leave me with no choice!” he thundered, his voice echoing in her ears. “Have you not heard what happened to Ferelden?”

Sudden stillness. The First Enchanter’s calm demeanor was almost chilling. “If this gets out, we’ll lose everything! We need her. We need the Trevelyans on our side!” Her words echoed in the air, leaving Juliette feeling more like a pawn in a game than a confused, misguided adolescent.

The distorted sounds of sobbing pulled her deeper. Her parents were fighting again.

“What do you want of me, Evelyn?” her father roared, frustration blaring in his words. “To hide her here forever, an apostate?”

Breathe, breathe… Juliette felt the walls closing in, panic rising. “But she’s my daughter,” her mother whispered.

A flash of blood-soaked apprentice robes invaded her mind. “Juliette?” a voice echoed, whispers of shock and disgust. “What have you done?”

The screech of a dragon pierced the air, smoke swirling, blinding her. Dorian’s frantic voice reached her through the haze, “We need to move!” All she felt was Adan’s blood, warm and sticky on her hands.

Her cousin appeared before her, clad in templar armour, disgust flaring in his eyes. The realisation that he wasn’t on her side, that he was her enemy. It hit her, a physical blow, nearly suffocating.

Fire sizzling, snuffed out as it collides with snow in Haven’s training yard. Soldiers frozen still, weapons drawn in response to her magic. Fear in Cullen’s eyes when he looks at her.

A Sudden, familiar cracking noise smashed into her awareness like shattering glass. Juliette’s heart raced as a blinding flash of green light erupted from her palm. There was a rift nearby.

“Maker, no,” she whispered, her voice weak. Not demons. Not like this.

As Cullen moved through the relentless blizzard, the howling wind echoed his inner distress. Each step felt heavy with guilt, his thoughts consumed by worry for Juliette. The troubling thoughts swirled in his mind: survival, protecting the people of Haven, and his responsibilities as Commander. Among it all he realised that his feelings for Juliette ran deeper than he had ever acknowledged.

He had always been intrigued by her, but now that feeling had transformed into something more, something that clawed at his chest as he imagined her out there, lost and vulnerable in the storm. No longer could he pretend or lie to himself. The realisation that he was falling for her struck him , sharp and disorienting.

As they pushed forward, soldiers at his side, figures began to emerge through the snow, their outlines fading in and out of view. Cullen's heart raced, hope igniting within him. Perhaps Juliette was among them, perhaps she had found her way back to safety. As they drew closer, he scanned the shapes frantically, searching for that familiar light. The flicker of green. A sign that she was alive and well.

Yet as he approached, his heart sank. The figures became clearer: Cassandra, Varric, Dorian, and Blackwall, making their way through the blizzard with slow, weary strides.

His jog slowed, then faltered, his expression of shock and disappointment. He looked like a kicked puppy as despair settled in. “Where is she?” he asked with a heavy exhale, clinging to the smallest shred of hope that they might have an answer.

Cullen’s question was met with a telling silence, nothing but the sound of the snow storm whirling around them. Cassandra’s expression shifted as she stepped closer to him. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes darkened with regret. She looked down for a moment, as though she were ashamed, before meeting his eyes again. There was regret in her expression, a hint of sadness and sorrow. “We don’t know.”

“What…what do you mean?” Cullen asked, his voice wavering with disbelief. He took a half-step back and his brow knitted in confusion, eyes wide and searching hers for reassurance. The glimpse of hope that had ignited moments before was now fading, replaced by a cold knot of fear in his stomach. “You were with her!”

Cassandra looked away, and once more, Cullen's words were met with silence. Blackwall charged ahead towards the camp, his voice gruff as he called out, “Maybe it would take a miracle, but if she survived, then she could have gone around the mountain.”

Cullen shook his head in shock and disbelief. “If she—” he exhaled heavily, a mix of a sigh and a scoff. “So you left her? To face that thing alone?”

“Curly,” Varric said in a slow, deliberate tone, “The dragon shook the ground beneath us, and we fell into the tunnels! What could we have done?”

Cullen pressed his hand against his forehead, stress and worry coursing through him. Dorian stepped closer, anger flashing in his eyes.

“This was your idea!” Dorian’s voice rose above the wind as he shouted. “You told her to fire that trebuchet! It was you who caused the avalanche!”

Cullen flinched at Dorian's words, his stomach twisting with guilt as a wave of shame washed over him. He opened his mouth to respond, but the weight of his failure left him speechless. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. The memory of her slipping out of the Chantry door lingered in his mind, her determined expression as she bravely volunteered to use herself as bait for their escape.

It was as though he could see it vividly whenever he closed his eyes. He could almost hear her voice, “Maker watch over you, Cullen.”

“I know,” Cullen admitted, his voice low and defeated. “I must find her.”

Dorian's expression softened as he took in Cullen’s weary gaze, the tension in his shoulders easing. The anger that had flared moments before dimmed, replaced now with empathy.

“Juliette is my friend,” Dorian explained. “I’m not giving up either.” He began to walk away, turning his head over his shoulder to add, “I too will be going around the mountain, it seems.”

“We…soldiers are on the path, patrolling and searching for any sign of survivors. I’ve looked there myself!” Cullen sighed and tightly gripped the back of his neck, reflecting on his sense of defeat. Dorian said nothing and walked away.

“Look,” Varric began, his tone steady. “We need to stop and think about this, to take a moment to gather enough people to dig through those tunnels. I know that you…” His eyes shifted from Cullen to Cassandra. “…that neither of you will stop. I’ll work on arranging that. In the meantime, I’ll be at the camp if you need me.”

Cullen looked to Cassandra, fierce determination burning in her eyes. “There has to be more than one way out of those tunnels. If you all fell through, maybe she did too,” he said, a hint of optimism creeping into his voice.

“I’m going with you,” Cassandra replied, her determination unwavering. “I pray that she’s still alive.”

Cullen stepped forward, the soldiers following dutifully behind him. “To think anything else,” he said, “I can’t.”

A whirl of white surrounded Juliette. The wind howled, carrying heavy snow that swirled around her in a relentless assault of high-pitched whooshing. In the middle of the raging blizzard, Juliette knelt, staring at her palm. The glow of her mark began to fade into the whiteness, finally calming.

The blizzard raged on, a powerful force clawing at her skin, yet she felt nothing. Confusion and fear twisted in her mind. What happened back there?

The mark on her hand, once crackling and bursting with light like a beacon, slowly subdued—its glow the only calm among the snowstorm. Adrenaline had propelled her through the tunnel, but it was the mark that had truly fought for her. Somehow, she had commanded the magic thrumming through her palm, opening a void that sucked demons back into The Fade.

The chilling air settled in her lungs, making each breath feel like a struggle. She could feel the cold gnawing at her body, paralyzing what little of her strength remained. Time was running out. Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet, squinting as the snow pelted against her eyes. There was nothing to see. There was nowhere to go. Just white.

Her mind raced, and her breath came in ragged gasps. She had never felt so alone.

“Someone Help!” She attempted to scream, however her fragile voice was swallowed up by the wind. “Anyone?”

With a step forward, dizziness crashed over Juliette, causing her to stumble. A sudden wave of disorientation swept through her, and the white began to fade into black. She could feel her energy slipping , her arms and legs growing heavier, feeling as though she were drifting away.

She lowered herself back to the ground, pressing her palm against her forehead in a desperate attempt to stay conscious. The wind tore through her hair, the sound a loud whistle. The faint howling of wolves danced in the air, as if taunting her. Or perhaps, a warning.

Reaching for her neck, her fingers were so cold she barely felt them move. Fumbling around her neckline, she felt her heart plummet. Her necklace, adorned with the sunburst chantry pendant, was gone.

Could this be a sign? she wondered. Was it some cruel joke? Had the Maker turned away from her?

Paranoia crept into Juliette’s mind as she lay hopelessly in the snow.

This is it. This is how I die.

She could no longer feel her legs. Her arms, too, had lost nearly all sensation. Her pulse throbbed in her ears, each beat a reminder of her imminent death. Every breath was a struggle, and with each inhale, the pain in her ribs began to fade, swallowed by a cloud of dizziness that fogged her mind.

Sounds grew muffled as she drifted towards unconsciousness. It felt as if her head were underwater, drowning in a sea of panic and despair. Thoughts raced through her mind, yet her body stilled, making it nearly impossible to discern imagination from reality. Memories flickered like dulling embers, each image pulling her deeper into despair.

Her father's voice returned, laced with fury. “She is no child of mine!” The words echoed, sharp and painful.

Each beat of Juliette’s heart thumped loudly in her ears, gradually slowing as insecurities began to rise, making way for more memories to float into her mind.

The Knight Commander’s voice roared in her memory: “Enough! The girl deserves to die!”

The First Enchanter, eerily soothing yet untrustworthy just the same. “We’ll arrange the harrowing at once. Let’s put this behind us and keep her hidden, this will blow over Knight Commander, I assure you.”

Snow fell heavily, settling on Juliette’s body as she lay unconscious, slowly burying her with each passing moment.

A recollection of the moments after waking from her harrowing, the First Enchanter pulling her aside. “It is irrelevant whether I believe you or not. The templars have made up their minds. Stay quiet, stay down. Make no noise, Lady Trevelyan. Do not exceed the bare minimum. In this circle, you are a ghost, understood?”

Her father grabbed her mother’s arm aggressively. “Go look at the stables, Evelyn! She did that with a flick of her wrist! Are the dead horses not evidence enough?”

Fire blazed, smoke rising into the night sky. Haven under attack. The feeling of dread returned as she worried, silently praying for their escape. Sorrow and guilt for those she couldn’t save. Corypheus stalked closer, looming over her. “It is your fault, ‘Herald.’”

Her father’s words returned, haunting her once more: “The girl is a mistake!”

Juliette felt the heavy pull of misery, a whisper urging her to give up.

 They’re right. I should just let go.

She felt herself drift further away, deeper into the darkness. He breathing softened, her pulse slowed.

Gut wrenching screams in the distance struck Juliette like a bolt of lightening. Sheer panic and terror consumed her as she tried to hide with the other “apostates” the day the circle fell. She felt the tight pull in her throat, the memory of choking on tears while trembling. “Shut up!” they whispered.

“Don’t let them hear you.”

The sudden touch of Cullen’s hand, grabbing hers. It froze her in time. Back in the chantry, a jolt of fear flashed through her, then an unexpected warmth. Slowly, their eyes met, as though the world around them had stopped. His stare piercing and authoritative, yet tender underneath.

“Let that thing hear you.”

Juliette drifted through a fog of dreams. She felt weightless, as if suspended between two worlds, her thoughts swirling like the snow caught in the storm around her. The snow fell heavy, thick flurries of snowflakes settling in her hair and softly floating down upon her skin. Behind her closed eyes, deep within a dream, she could see sunlight. Golden rays embraced her face, gently stroking her cheeks and warming her skin.

A familiar scent lulled her into calmness—the sweetness of elderflower, light and airy. An earthier aroma grounded her, filling her with a sense of safety and strength. Mixed with the subtle smell of smoke, it lingered, familiar yet elusive, like rain on moss-covered stones.

Cullen knelt by Juliette’s side, a quiet sorrow settling over him as he looked at her body, limp and fragile against the snow. With one arm resting under her shoulders, he carefully lifted her from the ground, drawing her closer to him. Her hair draped over his arm, tangled with snowflakes, and with his other hand, he softly glided down the side of her face. Gently, he brushed the snow away from her soft yet icy skin, his heart aching at the sight of her.

Footsteps thundered behind him as the soldiers rushed towards them. Though he was aware of his surroundings, the murmurs of voices blurred into a distant hum as he leaned in closer to her. His cheek brushed against hers, and he listened intently, his own breath shaky with nerves.

Cassandra crashed to the ground on the other side of Juliette, frantic as she knelt in the snow. Cullen pulled his face away from Juliette’s, lightly shaking her. “Herald!” he called urgently, his voice loud yet gentle. He glanced across to Cassandra who watched closely with worry in her eyes. “She’s breathing,” he told her, a sense of relief in his voice.

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra exclaimed, reaching for Juliette’s hand while Cullen gently held her, softly trying to wake her.

“She’s so cold,” Cullen said, concern thick in his voice, a breathless whisper. “Juliette!” he called louder. He looked to Cassandra again, this time urgently. “Hold her,” he ordered in a rush.

Cassandra quickly wrapped her arms around Juliette, lifting her shoulders off the ground and gently cradling her head. Once Cullen let go, he began to tug at his fur mantle. Juliette stirred, her eyes fluttering as she began to wake.

Cullen paused, his breath lost in disbelief as he noticed her movement. A rush of emotions flooded through him: relief, hope, and an overwhelming sense of tenderness. He quickly leaned in closer, wrapping the fur around Juliette and cradling her in his arms once more. Cassandra let go and slowly stood, watching with a quiet sense of gratitude.

A faint hint of a smile broke through his serious demeanor as he caught a glimpse of her fluttering eyelids. For a moment, he felt frozen in place, as if the world around them had faded away.

The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by an instinctive need to protect her. He reached out, his hand hovering near her cheek. A voice, gentle with affection, he spoke her name. "Juliette."

“Cullen?” she whispered so faintly he barely could hear her.

“I’m here. You’re safe,” he replied softly. In that moment, he forgot everything else—where they were, what they were facing. All that mattered was her, finally safe and in his arms.

“We need to get her back to camp,” Cassandra said, jolting Cullen back to awareness. “We must keep her warm.”

“Right,” he said, looking up at Cassandra. Rising to his feet, he scooped Juliette into his arms, determination surging through him as he prepared to carry her to safety. He shifted her weight carefully, cradling her against his chest with one arm supporting her back and the other beneath her legs. He adjusted her position slightly, tucking her closer to him to shield her from the biting cold of the blizzard.

Juliette nestled against the warmth of the fur, her breath soft and shallow as she took in Cullen’s scent, now far more familiar that she was awake and aware. The world around her felt distant, muffled by the snow and the remnants of sleep, but the warmth of his embrace anchored her.

Cullen looked down at her, studying her face closely. Juliette lifted her eyes to meet his. Though weary, he saw warmth in the way she looked to him. Trust. Acceptance. The sight made his chest tighten, a protectiveness stirring within. “Stay with me,” he urged. “Keep talking, don’t fall asleep.”

She smiled weakly and with the beginnings of a chuckle, she coughed, struggling to draw in a breath.

“You people never let me nap,” she whispered, her voice a gentle tease that wrapped around Cullen like a warm embrace. A smile broke across his face, lifting the worry that had settled heavily on his shoulders. Despite her fragile state, nearing the edge of unconsciousness, her sense of humour remained intact, a spark of light in the darkness surrounding them.

In that moment, he felt a surge of hope. He knew then that she was going to be all right.

Chapter Text

There was a comforting hum of activity at the camp during those last few hours of darkness. Murmurs of villagers and the crackle of fire filled the air. The atmosphere had changed dramatically after The Herald's safe return. She had become a beacon of hope during Haven’s darkest hour.

Juliette lay quietly, wrapped in blankets and furs, her body weary from the avalanche’s brutal force. Despite the warmth of the fire nearby, she still felt the cold deep in her bones, as though the snow would never leave her. Mother Gisele stayed by her side, her voice a soft and consistent.

“You need to rest, Herald,” she reminded more than once, but resting felt impossible for Juliette. She had seen too much to allow herself the indulgence of sleep. Could Corypheus find them? Could her presence be the downfall of those who had survived the attack? What if he’d simply given us a head start? Could this be a game? Some cruel , sick hunt?

The people seemed to think otherwise. While she lay there at her weakest, they viewed her with reverence. She’d catch an odd glance or two as she pulled herself from the lull of sleep. Villagers, healers, wounded soldiers. They watched her as though she were some mystery, some supernatural thing. A miracle.

The singing still rang in her ears, the entire camp before her united in hymn. It was an experience so surreal that she didn’t think she’d ever forget it, as much as she wanted to.

Juliette had simply lost her faith. As the pendant fell from her neckline so too did her belief that she was anything more than a mere accident. Corypheus had said so himself. Yet Mother Giselle’s words had stayed with her, ‘Faith is made stronger by facing doubt.’

She rolled over in the cot, wincing at the sharp pain that lingered in her ribs. Her eyes fixed on the distant campfire, but the flames blurred before her, their flickering light doing little to ease the ache deep in her bones. Herald of Andraste or not, she wouldn’t give up. These people needed something to believe in, and if that something had to be her, so be it.

Juliette closed her eyes, the horrors of the night flooding her thoughts. Faces, screams, the crushing weight of snow. She opened them again, the images still lingering in the dark. Sleep was a distant hope now, slipping away every time she tried to grasp it.

She shuffled , pulling the blankets higher up to her neck. The cold still clung to her, no matter how tightly she wrapped herself. She looked up at the sky. Dawn was nearing, the first hints of light breaking across the horizon.

Would you look at that, she thought wryly. The dawn did come after all. A small, exhausted laugh bubbled in her chest, but it died as quickly as it began, caught by a sharp pain in her ribs. She scrunched her face in discomfort, thankful she hadn’t voiced the thought aloud.

Her eyes wandered to the campfire, where the orange warmth flickered. There, silhouetted by the flames, was Cullen. He sat, his face half-illuminated in the glow, warming his hands against the fire. His posture was relaxed, a rarity for him.

Of course he’s awake, Juliette thought. She had expected him to be up, but the sight of him so still and comfortable was strange. Cullen almost never stopped working, always a man of duty. Does he even sleep?

She watched him closely, taking notice of the way he stared into the flames, how his his fingers wriggled , a little crease between his brows as he concentrated. He seemed deep in thought, and for a moment, she wondered what was on his mind.

Then, suddenly, he pulled his hands away from the fire and leaned back, his focus shifting across the camp. He looked her way, their eyes catching unexpectedly.

Juliette felt a sudden warmth bloom in her chest, the kind that made her heart skip a beat. He smiled, a small smirk, subtle but it was there. She could feel the pull on her cheeks, she was smiling too, unaware. Was I smiling first? Oh.

She pulled the blankets higher, practically obscuring her face, and rolled onto her other side. A wave of sudden embarrassment washed over her, making her cheeks burn. She realised, with a jolt, just how exposed she was here in this camp. Not just to Cullen, but to everyone.

A rush of insecurities crashed over her. What if I make weird faces when I sleep? What if I look... ugly? Do I snore? Maker, please, tell me I don’t snore!

It felt so silly to be thinking about such meaningless things. Vanity was irrelevant at a time like this. I'm lucky to be alive!  It’s silly to…I was unconscious! What did I look like when I was unconscious? She groaned, annoyed at herself for thinking this way.

As she lay there, blanket still over her head, she reflected on the moment that she woke in the snow. She was so relieved to see Cullen. She heard his voice before her vision came in, it was nice. No, it was more than nice. There was no one she’d rather had seen in that moment. And the way he looked at her. She wondered if it was all in her head. She thought about the way he held her, it was so protective, she felt so safe with him. It was almost…intimate? No, protective. Heroic. That’s just Cullen. He’d have done the same for any of us.

Her smile widened into a grin at her own preposterous thought. Cullen carried her back to camp, would he do that for the others? Dorian? The thought made her giggle. Even stranger would be Cassandra. Oh, she’d hate that.

Juliette sighed, contemplating it. Maybe that was just for me. She rolled her eyes. Oh, but I’m The Herald of Andraste. His inner chantry boy would never let any harm come… she interrupted her thoughts with the memory of him singing. Chantry boy. She pressed her face into the pillow. The pain from the muted giggles was worth it. Ugh, I’m an idiot.

But he said my name. He never uses my actual name…

She rubbed her eyes, frustrated with herself. I should try to sleep, I’m losing my mind…but what was that at the tavern? It was definitely a moment. Was he going to? No, this is absurd.

People had died that night. There were injured still, that might not pull through. Juliette felt like she was being selfish and guilt settled in once more. Oh, Adan, she thought, remembering the pain in his eyes as he looked up at her during his last moments. Tears began to well in the corners of her eyes.

I'm so sorry.

Led by Solas, the Inquisition, battered and bruised, trudged through the treacherous terrain of the Frostback Mountains. Their journey north stretched on for days. The path was long and grueling, the snow unforgiving, but they had little choice. The promise of a keep that could offer shelter and safety pushed them forward, their spirit unbroken, despite the harsh conditions.

For Juliette, the journey took a brutal toll on her already fragile body. She pushed on, ignoring the burn in her lungs, convincing herself it was just the thin mountain air, not the lingering effects of hypothermia. The ache in her chest was constant, but she refused to acknowledge it. If she stopped, if she admitted weakness, the others might see it too.

So many eyes were on her. Not just those of the surviving pilgrims, but the healers and soldiers who felt responsible for her care. She hated it, the way they watched her every move, their concern a constant reminder of her weakness. She felt guilty for slowing them down, for calling for breaks, wasting precious daylight. She pushed herself, ignoring the signs of exhaustion, until the third day, when her body finally betrayed her. She collapsed without warning, fainting in the snow. It was then, with her vision fading, that she realised how badly she had underestimated her need for rest.

Squeezing the back of his neck in frustration, Cullen’s eyes drifted over the maps for what felt like the thousandth time. No matter how many times he looked, the maps didn’t offer any answers. The uncertainty was maddening, eating away at his every attempt to focus. Not knowing where they were or where they were going…he needed guidance, a clear path forward.

Solas seemed to know where he was leading them, though his vagueness provided little comfort. Worse, they still didn’t know where Corypheus was, or when he could strike next. In their current state, he couldn’t shake the fear that their vulnerability wouldn’t withstand another attack. They were fractured. Battered. There were too many injured in tow.

Cullen pressed his fingertips into his forehead. By this point, the headaches were routine, an expected burden, one of many for him to contend with as he attempted to concentrate. The coldness of his fingers added a small amount of relief while he continued his work, though his mind was no less jumbled. He had to focus, had to think clearly. He couldn’t afford to lose himself. Not now.

Cullen’s focus had splintered and try as he might, he couldn’t shake the thought of Juliette. He had no right to let his mind wander like this. Not when so many depended on him. Their fight for survival wasn’t over yet. The weight of that responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders, a constant pressure. Yet, the thought of her lingered, refusing to be ignored.

As sunlight broke through the clouds, a soft, golden light washed over the camp, and the murmur of voices seemed to fade. Cullen turned over his shoulder, momentarily distracted by the warmth. He squinted into the brightness, and in that moment, he saw her.

Juliette stood by the cliff, alone for the first time in days. The sight of her, so still and framed by the soft light, almost took his breath away. He froze, the maps still clenched in his hands. The weight of responsibility felt distant now, as though it could wait a moment longer. His heart thundered in his chest, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was so… untouchable in this moment, so quietly herself, and yet it pulled at him with an intensity he couldn’t explain.

It had been a while since he’d seen her like this, without a crowd around her, without someone to fuss over her wellbeing. There was something about her solitude, about the way she stood so still , that affected him deeper than it should have.

He wondered if she was all right, truly all right. He’d managed to ask her in passing conversation during breaks throughout the journey. She would smile, gracious and calm, and tell him she was fine, but it was never enough. The way she said it was so polished, so controlled. It left a knot in his chest. There was no space for a genuine answer, not with healers, Cassandra and Mother Giselle always hovering. He knew all too well what she was doing, he does the very same thing.

It would be hard for her to admit her struggles with so many people coddling her. Cullen put the maps down, exhaling a slow, heavy breath as he tried to push the thoughts aside. His focus lingered on the distant horizon. I can’t imagine what she’s going through after that…

His fingers raked through his hair, the tension in his neck a dull throb that only seemed to grow worse. He blinked, trying to force away the guilt that hovered like a shadow at the edges of his mind. The image of her facing that monster, of her putting herself on the line for their safety — It haunted him.

He almost lost her.

Cullen couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Juliette, and yet, every instinct told him to look away, to pull himself together. She was luring him in, unwillingly, effortlessly. But he was The Commander. His duty demanded every part of him. He couldn’t lose himself in… this.

He began to walk towards her, every step he took feeling like a betrayal of his duty. Yet still, he couldn’t stop himself. The quiet chance to talk was too tempting. He couldn’t let it slip away, not now.

Juliette turned her head, as if feeling his eyes on her. The wind tugged at her hair, sending a few loose strands whipping across her face. She squinted against the breeze, gently brushing aside her hair. Her attention moved slowly across the campfire, and for just a heartbeat, their eyes met.

For a moment, everything else faded. The weight of the journey. The uncertainty of their path. The looming threat of Corypheus. It was just the two of them.

Juliette smiled, shy yet unmistakably warm. She dipped her head slightly, tucking her hair behind her ear, and then turned back towards the cliff. The moment had slipped away as quickly as it had arrived, and although she had turned, he continued to move towards her, unsure but determined to say something.

With each step closer, the view before him unfolded into a stunning panorama of white, snow glistening in the sunlight. The mountain peaks were only just visible in the haze of mist and snow, so close to the sky, it felt almost otherworldly.

It was quiet up there on the cliffside. The only sounds were the light gusts of wind and the crunch of his boots against the ground. Cullen cleared his throat, trying to step a little heavier to avoid sneaking up on her too quietly.

He stood beside Juliette, staring into the horizon. The words collided in his mind, there was so much that he wanted to say to her, so many feelings he feared putting into words. She looked up at him and a soft, subdued smile formed on her lips. Cullen glanced at her briefly before turning his eyes back to the valley below. His throat tightened, and the words that formed in his head didn’t sound right: beautiful, spectacular, pretty…

“It’s a nice view,” he said, trying to make the words sound casual, but even as he said them, he could hear the way his voice wavered. Just a little too soft, just a little too uncertain. It felt weak. He immediately regretted it.

Juliette glanced up at him, her smile widening. She tilted her head, lips curling into a slight smirk. “It’s a majestic view,” she corrected with a hint of playfulness to her voice.

Cullen chuckled softly, dropping his focus to the ground, a slight blush creeping up his neck. He hadn’t expected her to challenge him with a smile that bright. His pulse quickened, and he swallowed hard, trying to gather himself. “So it is,” he agreed, the words slipping out with more ease now.

A long silence stretched between them, tension thickening with every passing second. A gentle breeze lifted the scent of pine and smoke from the campfire as it danced in the air. Cullen drew in a deep breath, calming his nerves just slightly. Words continued to jumble in his mind, he could almost hear them. Are you all right? You’ve been through so much, and I—

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to push the thought away. The question felt too loaded. Too personal. He didn’t want to seem eager or risk his body language betraying the way that he felt. He'd asked before and she’d answered. To ask again would be excessive, he thought. He tried to focus on the landscape, to avoid the way his heart beat faster every time he glanced at her.

He wanted to tell her that he was glad to see her alive, to thank her for what she’d done, but the fear of saying the wrong thing kept him silent. It’s been days. To say something now would be strange. I’ve lost my chance. Each breath seemed too loud in the stillness, too intrusive.

He caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. Juliette was standing with her back slightly turned, her fingers lightly pinching a section of her hair. She twisted it between her fingers, looping and tugging at the ends, coiling it tighter and tighter with every twist. He’d seen her do this before, usually during tense moments at the war table, when a plan had gone awry. He wondered if it was a mannerism that she subconsciously fell to when feeling stressed.

Cullen’s eyes lingered on her a little longer than he intended, his thoughts trailing off as he watched her movements. She bit her lip in concentration, her brow furrowing, her expression set in a deep focus. There was something about the way she stood there, in quiet contemplation, that made her seem troubled. He wished that there was something he could do to support her.

Before he could stop himself, he realised his gaze had lingered longer than it should. Just as he was about to look away, Juliette turned her head, meeting his eyes with an expression that caught him off guard. She looked at him for a moment, an awkward tension between them that had been building ever since the battle at Haven. He quickly averted his focus to the ground, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you all right, Cullen?”

Her voice was soft, genuine. He had expected to be the one asking that question. The vulnerability in her tone, the concern in her eyes. It took him by surprise.

“Yes,” he said quickly, perhaps too quickly.  It was a defensive response. He wanted to believe it, wanted to convince himself that he was fine, that he could still stand firm under the weight of everything that had happened. But it didn’t feel true, not in that moment.

Juliette shook her head, frustration in her eyes. She stepped closer to him, her movements deliberate, as if trying to close the gap between them. “No, what I meant was…” She sighed, releasing the tight coil of hair and letting her hands fall to her sides. “Are you okay? How are you feeling after everything that happened at Haven?” she asked, her words quieter now, but no less insistent.

He held eye contact longer than he intended, the intensity surprising even himself. His nerves had been gnawing at him since the moment she spoke, but still, he felt compelled to study her face more closely. He saw the way her eyes watched him, the flutter of her lashes as she waited, expectant yet patient. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, her skin flushed with the wind’s bite, but it only seemed to emphasise the quiet beauty that radiated from her despite everything. She looked exhausted, disheveled yet there was a strength in her posture, in the way she held herself.

Cullen wasn’t sure how to answer her question. To stop and think about it, it seemed like a luxury he could not afford. The truth was that nobody was truly fine after what had happened. They had little choice but to continue moving forward, propelled by the need for survival and their faith in The Maker. But she had asked him. Nobody else had, until now. Cassandra had checked on him, of course, asking about his withdrawal symptoms. That, however, was routine. Practical. It wasn’t this.

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice wavered slightly, the words feeling heavier than they should.

Juliette’s stare lingered a while before she tore away her eyes, shaking her head. She turned around and once more, focused on the view before her. Cullen felt like a fool. That was hardly convincing.

He hesitated, words lost for a moment, but he couldn’t let the silence stretch on any longer. With a quiet exhale, he seized the opportunity. “And what of you… Juliette?”

Her eyes darted to him. She blinked, a blank expression on her face. Then, she smiled. A soft smile. So quick that Cullen might have missed it had he not been looking at her just at that moment. She didn’t say anything at first, her lips pressed together as if she were holding something back.

Her focus returned to the horizon, but not before Cullen caught a hint of that smile fading. Her hand moved to the hem of her sleeve, fingers curling tightly around the fabric.

“I too am fine,” she said, her voice soft, equally as unconvincing as his.

A strong gust of wind picked up, tearing past them. Snow and stray twigs twirled into the air. Juliette turned towards him again, her hair lifted by the breeze as she blinked against the cold. The wind howled in the silence between them, filling the space with its icy presence.

“I want to stay here,” she confessed suddenly. Her eyes held a sense of sadness. Reluctance, perhaps. Cullen’s expression dropped at her words, his eyes softening with concern.

“Not here, exactly,” she clarified, her voice trailing off. “Just... in this moment. Not the past. Not the future.” She sighed, dropping her focus to the ground. “I’m not making sense,” she murmured in frustration.

She looked back up at him, searching his eyes for a sign, as though silently pleading for understanding. “Do you ever feel like life is just one horrible experience after another?”

Cullen couldn’t help but laugh, the sound a little rough around the edges. “More than you’d realise,” he replied with a wry smile. There was amusement in his tone, but at the same time, self -depreciation. He also had learned the weight of that feeling all too well.

“Right!” she said, the relief in her voice clear as she waved her hand towards him. A soft giggle escaped her lips, and she looked up at the sky. Cullen’s smile deepened as he watched her, feeling the tension between them start to ease with the sound of her laughter. He drew in a deep breath and sighed heavily, all those jumbled thoughts in his mind a little quieter now.

“Besides, it’s pretty here,” she added, wonder in her voice as her eyes followed a bird soaring overhead.

“It’s majestic,” Cullen corrected with a smirk, his words coming quickly, almost too smoothly. He had surprised even himself.

Juliette blinked in shock, her eyebrows lifting as she turned to face him fully. His response caught her off guard, and for a moment, her lips parted as if she was about to say something. She simply laughed, an impressed "Oh!" escaping her. “That. That was good, Cullen."

Varric placed Bianca down beside him and settled into his spot beside the campfire. The crackle of the flames contended with the harsh grating of the whetstone scraping along the edge of Cassandra’s sword. Her face was set in concentration, brows furrowed as she adjusted the angle, her focus hardened. The sword had been through enough battles to have its share of scars, but she made sure it would be ready for whatever came next.

Dorian sat nearby, dramatically hugging himself, his teeth chattering as he shivered. He’d spent the last few days complaining about the cold, and by this point, Varric had learned to drown him out.

Varric glanced towards the sunlight as it broke through the clouds, his eyes settling on the figures standing by the cliffside. His grin widened as his curiosity piqued. The way they were standing... too close. Too comfortable.

"Seeker?" Varric's voice snapped Cassandra from her focus. She glared at him, expecting some ridiculous remark to follow.

“What?” she muttered, still not fully pulling her attention away from her sword.

“I’ve got to ask," Varric began, leaning back on his elbow, "you were there when The Herald was rescued. What was the mood like?”

“Ugh,” Cassandra dropped the sword before her with a heavy sigh of disgust. “You’re not planning on writing a book about all of this, are you, dwarf?”

“I’m a storyteller, Seeker,” Varric chuckled, "I don’t have much of a knack for writing romances, but I’ve written enough to recognise the beginnings of one."

“Romance?” Cassandra’s expression softened, just for a moment, from stern to curious. “You… you write romance?”

“I’ve tried my hand at a few genres,” Varric replied.

Cassandra turned her focus back to sharpening her sword, picking it up again with an exaggerated eyeroll. “I don’t see what this has to do with The Herald.”

“Oh, come now, Seeker!” Varric’s voice took on a patronising tone. “You saw how distressed Curly was when she didn’t come back with us.”

“It was a very serious moment,” Cassandra said defensively. “Our Commander worked hard to ensure the safety of us all.”

“Mhmm,” Dorian hummed from behind his cup, sounding unconvinced.

Cassandra shot him a sharp glare before turning back to Varric. “You’re trying to make this into a story. Stop.”

"He carried her back to camp, Cassandra. Bridal style!" Varric leaned in, enjoying the effect of his words. There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"She was injured, Varric!" Cassandra said, rolling her eyes as she picked up the sword again, clearly exasperated. "Honestly, must you make everything into some... melodrama?”

“I don’t know,” Varric said, his eyes shifting back towards the cliffside. He noticed the way Juliette smiled up at Cullen, the tilt of her head when she laughed, the subtle sway from side to side as she spoke. Cullen had his head lowered as he listened, standing close. He was smiling back at her. Cullen, smiling. That should say it all.

Varric raised his eyebrows, looking back at Cassandra, his grin widening. “I think there’s something between them.”

Cassandra scoffed, rolling her eyes. There was a brief pause before she spoke, as though the idea hadn’t quite left her mind. “Ridiculous.”

Dorian laughed, watching Cassandra closely as she turned her attention towards the cliffside, the realisation slowly settling in.

“Truly fascinating!” Dorian quipped, unable to hide the smugness in his voice. “It’s almost as though I can hear the cogs turning in her mind.”

Cassandra’s expression faltered for a moment, her usually stern features now holding a hint of mischief. Without missing a beat, she reached down and picked up the whetstone, tossing it at Dorian with a snap of her wrist. Dorian barely dodged it, grinning broadly as the stone whizzed past his ear.

“Idiot,” she muttered, though she hid a smile.

“How ‘bout it, Sparkler?” Varric leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Ten Silvers those two end up together.”

Dorian leaned back dramatically, clutching his cup as if wounded. “Do you take me for a fool? A losing bet? I wouldn’t wager on them if you paid me in gold.”

Cullen’s voice drifted over to Juliette, pulling her attention back to him as he spoke. His voice was warm and amused.

“…and then traveled by ship to Kirkwall. I’d lived in the middle of a lake. I thought I was prepared for sea travel…” His voice trailed off, their eyes locked. A small smile formed on his lips.

It wasn’t until he paused that Juliette realised she was staring. The sudden awareness of his attention hit her all at once, and her heart gave a small leap. A flutter in her chest. A blush in her cheeks. She quickly pulled her eyes away, focusing instead on the distant view over the cliffside. She reached for her hair once more, twisting it between her fingers as she tried to regain her composure.

“You didn’t enjoy the journey?” she asked, her pulse still racing as she spoke, voice a little higher than usual.

Cullen chuckled, the sound low and breathy, and Juliette’s stomach fluttered in response. She quickly exhaled, wishing for the warmth in her chest to subside. That laugh. Every time she heard it, it sent a tingle through her.

"I can’t say that I did enjoy it, no," Cullen replied, a hint of humour that made her wonder for a moment if there was something deeper to his story than he was willing to let on.

“As horrible as it was…, “ Juliette began, locking her eyes with his once more. There was a small pause as she quietly drew in a breath, her smile growing as she braved eye contact. “It was nice to see the sea again. Of course, it would be a lot nicer without all the rain and …war,” she laughed nervously, looking to the ground.

“What was it you said at the temple? About clearer skies and warmer weather?” Cullen asked, his brow furrowing in thought. He was still smiling, but there was an intensity to his eyes now, one that made her pulse race.

Juliette’s smile faltered for a second, surprise flashing across her face. He remembers that?

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he asked. His voice was caring. Uncertain.

“I…” she hestitated a moment, lost for words. She noticed the way the light reflected his eyes, the golden colour sparkling in his iris. His voice was so soft, gentle. “I…no,” she said with a slow shake of her head.

He seemed worried for a moment, as though her reaction had made him feel unsure. She took a step back and pulled away her eyes, unable to resist the smirk growing on her lips.

 He wants me to stay.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she confirmed, slowly lifting her eyes back to his.

Cullen smiled, a genuine smile that made her heart skip a beat. “Good,” he replied before turning his back and walking away. “Enjoy the rest of your morning, Herald.”

Juliette stood there, speechless as she watched him walk away, her mind swirling with his words. She began to wonder.

Does he? No. I’m thinking too much.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun was warm, golden rays of light that illuminated the brickwork. That brickwork. Detailed, sturdy, and preserved in time. How long had this place stood abandoned?

Colours were vibrant here. In a desolate state, the courtyard was adorned in the bright orange of leaves. Even the buildings left to ruin held their beauty. A gentle breeze swept by, gliding along with it was a hum of footsteps and voices. The cool mountain air brushed against the stronghold’s grounds, once more alive with activity after lifetimes of dormancy.

 Cullen stood in the center of the yard, arms folded, staring up at the main hall in awe.

 A castle. Solas found us a castle. 

The words sounded strange, even in his own mind. This wasn’t just a place, it was a fortress. Something built to last centuries. A far cry from the shattered remnants of where they had lived at Haven, so easily crushed under the weight of their enemies.

He looked around, eyes searching the battlements with growing interest. Faded banners fluttered in the wind. A stronghold. This is everything that Haven should have been. His chest tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was hope or the bitter taste of loss. The memory of Haven, so full of promise and yet so quickly torn apart, weighed heavy in his mind. He clenched his jaw, forcing his thoughts forward. This place could be different. It has to be.

Around him, workers moved through the courtyard, hauling crates and supplies. Pilgrims filed in through the gatehouse, more each day. Word of Skyhold had spread. It had become a place of hope. A new beginning.

Cullen noticed a worker moving towards the room to the side of the gatehouse. A temporary infirmary had been set up on arrival, mostly serving as a stockroom for healing supplies with the limited space. The Herald had spent most of her time there, carefully monitored for lingering side effects of hypothermia while she rested by the fireplace. He’d barely spoke to her in the few days since they arrived, only catching glimpses of her moving about from afar, mostly overhearing updates of her health from chantry sisters that wandered past him.

He hadn’t seen her at all today, but her presence had been on his mind. He’d tried to distance himself, to give her the space she needed to recover, and perhaps, more selfishly, to give himself the space to make sense of his own feelings.

The night of the attack on Haven still haunted him. Failing in the one thing he promised to protect. Screams still echoed through the night. Those who were lost. Those who barely made it out alive.

If only I had been more focused, more alert.

Then, there was the fear of losing her.

When the camp had started singing that hymn, something changed. Clarity?

 She hadn’t failed. Any lingering doubt about her status as “The Herald” had vanished in that instant. It was a moment so powerful that he’d felt compelled to join in the singing, against all better judgment.

She wasn’t just a symbol. She was revered. Respected. More than just a leader—she was something greater than he could comprehend. It was hard not to put her on a pedestal.

What she did for them. Without her, no one would have survived.

It certainly hadn’t helped that the tune of the hymn had stuck in his mind, a relentless reminder, tormenting him with the idea that she was now even further beyond his reach.

Loud chatter from the courtyard broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. He blinked, shaking his head, trying to toss aside the distraction. His eyes landed on another worker carrying a crate of supplies towards the infirmary. The perfect opportunity had presented itself.

He took a breath, slow and steady, before calling out, “Are those healing supplies?”

“Yes, Commander,” the worker replied, pausing and glancing back at him. “This is almost the last of them, for today at least.”

Cullen nodded, his response was quick and firm. “I’ll take them.”

The worker handed over the crate, giving a nod before continuing on his way. Cullen’s hands were steady as he lifted the box, even though his mind was a jumbled swirl of thoughts.

He imagined what she might be doing at that moment. The image of her sitting by the fireplace, resting peacefully, bathed in an ethereal light… You’re doing it again, he scolded himself. He had to stop idealising her.

What would I say? He could feel the silence between them, gnawing at him with every thought. Perhaps he should have seen her earlier, but what if she thought he had been avoiding her? Or worse—What if she thinks I don’t care?

With each step towards the building, his mind raced. The idea of going in with supplies seemed practical enough, but the doubt kept creeping in. Would it look like I’m hiding behind duty? Would she see right through it? He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Not that it would matter. I’m sure she has more important things to think about. She was The Herald, after all. Her mind likely occupied with a thousand other things, none of which involved him.

As Cullen walked past the campfire where injured soldiers lay in recovery, the scent of burning wood and the warm glow of the flames reminded him of the night they had escaped the tavern in Haven, just moments before it collapsed. The flickering flames cast shadows over the soldiers, their faces fixed in exhaustion and pain. It should have been enough to ground him, to pull him out of his spiraling thoughts.

He just couldn’t shake the memory.

She had been beneath him, her body pressed into the cold snow. Wide brown eyes staring up at him in shock. It was the way she had looked at him, the way her body had felt so close. He had felt an undeniable pull. It should have terrified him, but in that moment, it hadn’t. It had felt right, even though it was wildly inappropriate. He almost kissed her. The temptation had been overwhelming, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

No. I was a fool. It was a line I should never have crossed.

“Good afternoon, Commander,” a healer greeted, pulling him from his thoughts.

He blinked, trying to focus. "Good afternoon," he muttered, his response automatic. A smile appeared on his face, stiff and awkward, before he turned away, walking past her with haste.

He despised himself for even thinking this way about Juliette, now, of all times. There had been so many casualties that night. Brave souls had lost their lives, and here he was, consumed with thoughts of her. An ill-placed, ill-timed infatuation. As he stood, surrounded by the injured, his soldiers no less — guilt hit him hard.

Yet as Cullen walked closer to the infirmary, he could almost feel her hand, her fingers gently brushing his cheek. Her touch was soft, fleeting. It had been a gesture so simple, and yet it had meant everything to him.

Almost two weeks had passed, and still, his mind replayed it over and over. The way her touch had been nurturing, almost inviting. Did she want me to kiss her?

Cullen slammed his eyes shut, balancing the crate in one hand so that the other could press into his forehead. This is ridiculous.

She couldn’t possibly see him as anything more than a templar. And rightfully so, he thought. He had lost his patience with her, made hurtful assumptions. He had been consumed by prejudice.

In his exhaustion upon arriving at Haven, he'd made up his mind before he had even met her.

Of course it’s a mage.

Of course a mage had caused the Conclave explosion.

Of course a mage had killed The Divine.

He saw the circle robes before he saw the woman wearing them. Despite his effort, his intentions to change. He was still a templar. Still, he is chained.

But now things are different. She’s terrifying, but different.

Even if by some miracle she were to feel the same, Cullen wondered what he could possibly offer. She’s a mage. What future could they have?

Irrelevant. These thoughts…I’m wasting my time.

He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her at all. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about anything beyond The Inquisition, beyond survival.

Cullen stood before the infirmary door, his hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, he hesitated. I’m her Commander, he reminded himself, as if it could somehow erase the turmoil inside him. 

Before his fingers had touched the handle, the door burst open, and a startled voice called out "Oh!”

Cullen instinctively stepped back, the sudden noise and movement causing his mind to race to his sword, ready to reach for it need be. He gripped the crate tightly, eyes sharp on the figure stepping out of the infirmary.

A chantry sister stepped out, cheeks blushed with colour, looking flustered. She quickly closed the door behind her and, lowering her voice, said, “Commander Cullen? You near frightened the life out of me!” She glanced back, her face softening as she spoke. “Are you here to see the Herald? I’m afraid she’s sleeping at the moment. Poor dear must still be exhausted from the journey.”

Cullen hesitated, his eyes darting towards the door for a split second before he quickly forced himself to focus. She’s resting. Just drop the crate and go…

"No," he replied, but there was a slight waver to his voice, a hesitation. He quickly added, "I’m just delivering supplies." The words were a little too firm, as if he were trying to convince both her and himself.

The sister didn’t seem to notice, nodding with a cheerful smile. “Oh, wonderful. You can take them inside, just be quiet. I need to see if the kitchen…” She trailed off, already turning away, muttering to herself.

Cullen stood for a moment, staring after her, his words replaying in his mind. He shook his head and stepped towards the door, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest.

Mindful of his steps he shifted the crate to one hand and gently closed the door behind him. The room was quiet, the air filled with the scent of herbs and a soft warmth from the hearth.

Cullen paused at the door, his focus immediately drawn to Juliette. She was asleep, but in the most graceless of positions. Her legs were tangled in the blankets, one arm thrown carelessly over her face, her hair a mess of knots and stray strands. For a moment, he simply stood there, watching her with a strange mixture of tenderness and uncertainty. She looked... human. Not The Herald of Andraste. Just her.

He smiled, and for a moment, all the worries, all the noise in his mind faded. The guilt. The doubts. The relentless weight of responsibility. It all drifted away.

He found it almost funny, the way she slept so peacefully yet so undignified for someone of such importance, of nobility. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but certainly not to see her so twisted, half on her stomach, face crinkled against the pillow. The position looked uncomfortable, and yet, she seemed so completely at ease. The way she looked stirred something inside him. He liked it. She was no less beautiful this way. In fact, it somehow made her more alluring.

It caught him by surprise. He didn't know how to feel. Warm? Affection? It was that realisation that made his smile falter. Feelings he shouldn't have and a sight he had no right to see. He had lingered too long and intruded on her privacy. He needed to leave.

With an effort, Cullen carefully placed the crate on the bench, wincing as his armor gave a slight squeak. Don’t wake her up, he silently begged himself. He moved as quietly as possible, stepping cautiously, distributing his weight to avoid creaking the floorboards. Every step was deliberate, strategic. Until he didn’t see the fire iron lying by the door.

The moment his foot caught the edge of the iron, the clatter was deafening. The sharp metal struck the floor with a sound that seemed to reverberate through the quiet room, far louder than he’d expected. Cullen froze, his eyes widening in horror as the noise rang in his ears. His face burned hot with embarrassment, and he held his breath, unwilling to tear his eyes away from the floor. Among the crackle of the fire, he heard the rustle of blankets, a soft murmur and…

He tore open the door with force, ready to run… anywhere. Anywhere but here.

“Cullen?”

He froze, a wave of dread washing over him. Her voice was soft and croaky, almost a whisper as though she were still half asleep. Maybe I can pretend I didn’t hear her, keep going as if…it’s too late. She knows.

He let out a nervous sigh. Slowly, painfully, he turned around.

Juliette sat up in bed, one hand clutching the blanket tightly to her chest, the other shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight blaring through the open door. She was disheveled, still wrapped in the warmth of sleep, yet he couldn't look away. She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the light, and that’s when he realised what he’d done.

With a sharp inhale, he stepped back inside, pulling the door closed to block the sunlight that irritated her.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“What time of day is it?” she asked, her voice soft and groggy.

“It’s afternoon, Herald. I—”

“Ugh,” she groaned, sinking back into the pillows, her palms rubbing her eyes. “I had hoped they’d wake me. There’s so much I should be helping with.”

Cullen stood frozen in place, his thoughts jumbled, caught somewhere between embarrassment, guilt, and disbelief. The words he’d meant to speak, the apology that should have come easily, stuck in his throat. Instead, he simply stood there, watching her, unsure of what to do next.

Juliette slowly sat up again, her expression dropping when she noticed the stillness in his posture. Her brow furrowed, curiosity creeping into her sleepy gaze as she focused fully on him. "Cullen?" she asked, her voice concerned. "Is something wrong?"

“No,” he answered quickly, shaking his head. His voice was rushed, and his words felt clumsy. “No… it’s fine.” He awkwardly gestured towards the bench. “I didn’t mean to disturb your rest. I’ll leave you be.”

He turned his back to her, his fingers brushing the door handle. Then she laughed. He paused. A sound , soft and airy.

“Oh, so now you’ll let me sleep,” she teased with a melodic voice.

He turned back, meeting her eyes. She was watching him with a playful smirk, her eyes bright with mischief. “All those times I had nap requests denied…”

Cullen couldn’t stop his smile from mirroring hers when their eyes connected. The embarrassment slowly faded, the tension soothing as he considered her words.

He took a slow step forward, fully turning towards her. Still wearing a smile, he bowed his head as he spoke, his voice warm and sincere.

“I think you’ve earned it, don’t you?”

Juliette said nothing,instead, she smiled at him. Her smile, lips closed together, cheeks rosy. It brightened her face, softening the weariness in her eyes. It felt genuine. His own smile lingered without any conscious thought, completely unaware how his words had sparked something in her.

Cullen tore his eyes away, forcing himself to turn his back. He tried to avoid getting caught in the moment, but the soft rustle of movement behind him made him glance over his shoulder. In that split second, he caught an accidental glimpse of her bare shoulders and legs before she quickly snatched her coat from the armchair, wrapping it tightly around her chemise. His focus snapped back forward, his heart racing as he silently chastised himself for looking.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingertips into his forehead. He’d seen too much, yet entirely not enough. He didn’t want to think about her that way—not here. Drawing in a deep breath, he prepared himself as he heard her footsteps approaching.

“What can I do to help, Cullen?” Her voice, serious and dutiful, broke through his thoughts. She pushed past him, reaching for her boots. “I can’t stay cooped up in here. I’m better now, truly.”

“Herald…” he began, bending down to grab the boots. He extended his arm, and she accepted them gently, her fingers touching his briefly as she straightened. She looked up at him , holding his gaze for a moment. There was a sincere, silent thank you in her smile.

“I’m not asking for permission,” she told him, slipping her feet into the boots. There was a light huff between her words as she focused on pulling the oversized coat tighter. She looked up, shoulders rolling back in preparation, redness in her cheeks. “What can I do? Unpacking supplies? Tending to the injured? Sweeping floors… it doesn’t bother me.”

“You don’t ha—”

“I’ll figure it out,” she sighed, moving past him with determination. She weaved her fingers through her hair, loosely pulling it into a side braid while walking out into the courtyard. Cullen followed behind her, a little stunned at her sudden departure.

“Herald!” he called out, forcing himself to act. “They’re setting up the kitchen. Maybe they could use an extra set of hands.”

She stopped suddenly, and spun around, hair flinging over her shoulder with the movement. A radiant smile spread across her face. “Of course. Thank you, Commander.”

When Juliette turned and walked away, Cullen hung his head, a heavy sigh escaping him. That had been uncomfortable.

He kicked his heel into the dirt, watching the dust settle before he threw his head back, squinting into the sunlight while he looked up at the sky. He squeezed the muscles at the back of his neck, hoping to press away the awkward tension that had been building ever since he’d decided to go to the infirmary. Everything feels different now.

The thought lingered, but he shook it off, letting the quiet moment settle in. His hands hung loosely at his sides, his thoughts a jumbled mess of self-doubt and confusion. He wondered why he bothered to see her in the first place. Wondered why it felt so difficult now, just being around her.

As he lowered his head, he caught a glimpse of Cassandra from the corner of his eye, striding towards him with purpose. He tensed, the unexpected sight of her pulling him from his quiet reflection. He hadn't known how much she had seen, and how that interaction might have looked to others.

“Cullen,” Cassandra said firmly as she approached.

“Cassandra,” he replied slowly, his tone more cautious than he’d intended.

She stopped before him, eyes narrowing as she glanced towards the direction Juliette had gone. “You’ve seen the Herald? She’s up and about, I take it?”

“It would appear so, yes,” Cullen answered. It took a great deal of effort to appear unbothered, as though he wasn't just completely blindsided by…whatever these feelings are.

“Good,” Cassandra’s eyes lingered on him, her voice serious. “Then I need to ask you something. What is your opinion of her?”

“The Herald? Why…” Cullen reached a hand to the back of his neck. He glanced at the ground, trying to buy himself a moment of thought. “Why would you ask...?”

“I know the two of you haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I need to know your honest opinion. Do you consider her a good leader?”

Cullen looked back at Cassandra, dropping his hand and relaxing at her question. This was easier to answer.

“A leader? Well —” He paused for a moment, considering the question. Much of what she’d achieved had happened outside of Haven, prior to the attack, but he had heard things, wonderful things. People spoke highly of her, her kindness, her compassion, her willingness to help those in need. “I suppose I do,” he said, a subtle hint of a smile crossing his face before he regained composure. “She hasn’t exactly had the odds stacked in her favour. But what she did for Haven, for all of us. That has to count for something.”

Cassandra regarded him for a moment. She didn’t smile, but there was a subtle shift in her posture, as if his words had reassured her more than she had expected.

“I’m glad you agree,” Cassandra said after a moment, her voice lowering. She tilted her head and motioned for him to walk with her.

As they moved across the courtyard, Cassandra gestured vaguely towards the people gathered around, some working, others talking in low murmurs. “If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One.”

Cullen shrugged, trying to ease the tension that still hovered in his neck and shoulders. “After what she did with one trebuchet, I’d bet against direct attack.”

Cassandra’s brow furrowed, her expression turning serious as she glanced around. “We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated.” She stopped abruptly, her focus on the distant ramparts where workers pulled down worn flags and banners. Cullen followed her line of sight, his arms folding as they both took in the view of the preparations. The keep was now free for a banner of their own.

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” Cassandra continued, her voice steadfast.

Cullen shot her a surprised look. “Are you saying that it should be Juliette... I mean, The Herald? Not you?”

Cassandra’s lips twitched slightly, as if amused by the suggestion. She shook her head, her eyes never leaving the flags flapping in the breeze. “No, it can't be me. I wouldn't want it to be me.”

She stood there for a moment, the wind tugging at the fabric of her armour, before she spoke again. “Mother Giselle is strong in advocating for The Herald. She says that we need someone who is not tied to the Chantry or its failings. Someone who stands outside of the politics, someone who can unite the people.”

Cullen didn’t respond immediately, his thoughts swirling as he considered the implication. He couldn’t agree more, she had already proven her ability to rally people to their cause. He understood that this needed to happen, that there was no one better suited to the role as Juliette. But that realisation was bittersweet. His heart tightened at the thought, the weight of it heavier than he cared to admit. They had a clear path forward now, a solid plan, and a greater chance of survival than they had ever imagined. For the Inquisition, for the people, it was a victory. Yet, it felt like a quiet loss to him.

All he had to do now was let her go.

Let her become the leader they needed, let her take her place at the head of the Inquisition, while he stood at her side. She was meant to lead them—she always had been—but in doing so, she would be further from him than ever before. Anything that might have been, anything that he could have hoped for, was now impossible. He had to be okay with that.

He glanced at Cassandra, her eyes watching him with expectation. “I couldn’t think of anyone more worthy.”

Cassandra's eyes softened , but her voice remained firm. “She will need guidance. We will all need to support her.”

“And she has my support,” Cullen replied earnestly. “Anything she needs.”

Chapter Text

Juliette stared into the distance, the vibrant colours of orange leaves and golden sunlight blurring before her eyes. A light breeze caressed her skin, icy at it’s touch, a refreshing sensation that grounded her in reality. Without it, she wondered how far her mind could have drifted.

It was all too much. An unexpected honour she had never considered. She glanced down at the sword in her hand. It glistened in the light, the gold embellishment of a dragon on the hilt. It was exquisite, though somewhat impractical. She wondered for a moment if it was a true sword, one that was intended for actual use, or if instead it was simply ceremonial. Either way, it was heavy and it tugged at her wrist awkwardly as she held it. Every time, she thought to herself. There’s nothing like holding a sword to feel inadequate.

Her eyes swept across the courtyard. Soldiers. Scouts. Civilians. Scurrying back to their duties, the ceremony had ended as swiftly as it had begun.

They had chosen her.

Of all the potential leaders. Her.

Cassandra had said it wasn’t just because of the mark on her hand, it was because of what she had achieved, her selfless sacrifice that had led to their escape. It did little to soothe the nagging feeling within her, that she wasn’t quite deserving.

Selfless sacrifice. The phrase echoed in her mind. Juliette had never truly considered the choice to face Corypheus, to stall the attack. She had acted because it was the only option left. There hadn’t been time to question it, no room to consider the consequences. She simply did what needed to be done. Now, in the stillness of the courtyard, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the decision had never been fully hers.

The Elder One’s words slithered through her thoughts like a serpent, poisoning her self-worth. An accident, he had said. Just a product of magic beyond understanding. She tried to brush it away, but the more she thought about it, the more it gnawed at her, questioning her very purpose.

She extended her palm, eyes drifting over the soft green glow that pulsed from her hand. The mark of The Herald. The power she never asked for, never fully understood. She had somehow stumbled into it, into this mess, and even now it felt foreign. Wrong.

All those eyes on her, watching, waiting, as she held the sword skyward. Waiting for me to falter.

Juliette was pulled from her silent contemplation with the sound of the door rattling and Cullen grunting as he slammed his shoulder into it. Leliana sighed, loud and exaggerated.

“Are you certain that is the right way? Does it need to be pulled instead of pushed, or perhaps crashed into like a battering ram?” she asked, unimpressed.

Cullen scoffed, stepping back with a glare. “Do you think so little of me? That I can’t open a door?”

“Only when bashing it in isn't an option,” Leliana quipped.

Juliette couldn’t help but smile. At least among all the madness, her advisors were being their usual selves.

Josephine tried to interject politely. “Perhaps it might be best to ask Ser Morris for assistance. He is quite good with—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Cullen muttered, tugging at the lock in frustration. “I opened it earlier.”

Leliana stepped forward, pushing past him as she smoothly knelt before the stubborn lock. From her pocket, she produced a lockpick, a gleam of light bouncing off metal as she twirled it between her fingers.

Juliette rested a finger against her lips, hiding her grin while she watched the exchange. Her eyes lingered on Cullen for a moment longer than necessary, catching the way he tore off his gloves and sighed in exasperation. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Josephine watching her intently, a curiously raised eyebrow. Caught, Juliette quickly dropped her hand from her lips, her grin turning into a smirk that mirrored Josie’s.

Cullen folded his arms, grumbling, “I’ll just ask Morris to commission a—”

A soft click echoed and the door swung open as though it had been waiting for Leliana’s touch all along.

“—a lock that is not so easily broken into,” Cullen finished, the words more resigned than triumphant.

Leliana rose with a sly smile. “If it had been that easy, you would’ve had it on the first try, Commander.”

“Right,” Juliette laughed awkwardly, stepping closer to the door. “Maybe we should build a war room before we start trading death threats with one another.”

“We have a war room,” Cullen said proudly. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

Juliette turned over her shoulder, a smile still worn on her lips as she asked, “Really?”

There was something in the way Cullen looked at her, something that made her pause. His gaze softened for a moment, but there was hesitation in his eyes. She felt a wave of unease in her chest. Was it something she had said? Something she had done? Juliette thought back to when she woke up in the infirmary. She could almost feel the embarrassment lingering inside of her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so untidy, so lethargic. The way she had rushed out of there, too eager to put distance between them. Had that offended him?

Cullen cleared his throat, the sound barely audible as he looked away, shifting his stance as though an attempt to regain some control . He raised his hand towards the door, eyes focusing on the ground. “Take a look, Inquisitor,” he said, his voice firm but noticeably more gentle than before.

Her eyes lingered on him for a second or two, not quite sure what to make of the strange tension she could feel between them. With a quiet inhale, she placed her hand on the large wooden door and pushed it further open, all sense of unease giving way to wonder as she took in the sight of Skyholds main hall.

A beautiful light, soft and dreamy, shone through the massive stained glass windows. The craftsmanship of the glass, all those details, cast intricate patterns on the floor in the daylight. Tiny particles of dust danced in the air, settling gently onto the stone . It almost reminded Juliette of the Circle. It was familiar and oddly comforting to see the beauty of dust and disrepair in a hall so grand.

As Juliette stepped further inside, she watched the shadows on the ground before her. Her own silhouette, accompanied by those of her advisors as they followed closely behind. There was a sense of reassurance, seeing them walk alongside her. It had felt like her power, though overwhelming at times, wouldn’t be so easily displaced. She could see, a tangible sight, that she wasn’t alone. For now, at least.

She wandered slowly into the hall, sidestepping piles of broken furniture and toppled chandeliers. She observed the ceiling, noting the places where slats had fallen, the result of years of neglect and exposure to the elements. The cool mountain wind pushed through the gaps, filling the room with a fresh gust of air. For a moment, she appeared mesmerised, deep in concentration, until Cullen’s voice gently nudged her back to awareness.

“So this is where it begins.”

Juliette slowly turned, her eyes following Cullen as he pushed aside large planks of wood, clearing a path.

“It began in the courtyard,” Leliana spoke gravely. “This is where we turn that promise into action.”

“But what do we do?” Josephine asked, with her brow furrowed. “We know nothing about this Corypheus, except that he wanted your mark.” She tilted her head at Juliette, motioning to her hand.

Juliette held her hand out in front of her, squeezing her fingers in time with the pulse of green light. She sighed deeply. “He’s going to come looking for me.” Dropping her hand, she turned her focus to the ceiling. “Are we safe here?” she asked with concern. “I don’t want to risk more lives by luring him to us.”

“Skyhold has the bones to withstand Corypheus,” Cullen answered with conviction. Juliette glanced in his direction, quickly and cautiously, careful not to appear too obvious. He stood with his arms folded, his expression stoic. The way he spoke gave her a sense of reassurance. She believed him.

Juliette’s eyes drifted to the ceiling once more , and without realising, she waved the sword as she spoke. “And what of the building? It won’t collapse on us?”

“Our Quartermaster has been working tirelessly to ensure the structural integrity of the building. The upper floors are yet to be…” Josephine’s voice faded into the background as Juliette became distracted by the sudden, gentle tug at her wrist.

Cullen carefully took the sword from her hand, his fingers grazing hers lightly. Juliette’s heart fluttered, feeling a sudden rush of warmth at his unexpected touch.

“Oh”, she gasped softly, their eyes meeting for just a second before he moved near the door to the side of the room. “Thank you,” she whispered, although she thought that he likely hadn’t heard her.

She turned her attention back to Josephine, inhaling quietly through her nose, acutely aware of the heat blooming in her cheeks. “That’s…that is wonderful. It is great to know we have so many people working to restore the building.”

Josephine sighed. “Foundation cracks. Nesting animals. And miles from any center of civilization.” Softly, she placed her hand on Juliette’s back, guiding her towards the door that both Leliana and Cullen had walked through. “The staff must make it presentable if we’re to receive any visitors of distinction.”

“Visitors? I —” Juliette let out a soft chuckle of disbelief, shaking her head. “I’m just trying to make it through the day without facing another… dragon attack.” Her voice trailed off in confusion as they stepped into the next room. The warmth from the fireplace wrapped around her like a cozy embrace. The room was tidy, no sign of dust or disrepair. A neat little space, accentuated with a rug , a well-organised desk and opulent chair, beautifully upholstered in red velvet.

This was clearly Josephine’s new office, a room that exuded both comfort and sophistication. Juliette paused, unsure of what to say, her focus drifting across the space.

“You’re now in charge of decorating my quarters, Josephine,” Juliette said quietly, light levity her voice.

An airy laugh escaped Cullen, an unintentional exhale, as if the humour had caught him by surprise. "That  is your first order as Inquisitor?" he asked, shaking his head with a grin. He reached for the door handle, his expression still amused, and pulled it open to reveal the next room. Leliana, a step behind, followed closely before they both moved into next hallway.

Juliette watched as they left the room, pressing her lips together tightly, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She stepped closer to the fireplace, extending her hands before the flames in an effort to appear preoccupied, though the subtle blush in her cheeks betrayed her.

“While it’s true our safety is a concern,” Josephine began to speak, standing next to Juliette by the fireplace. “It will serve us well to make Skyhold presentable. We’ve only just now convinced everyone we are precisely what Thedas requires…”

Cullen pulled open the massive doors to Skyhold’s war room, the creaking sound echoing through the hall. He stepped aside, allowing Leliana to walk in first. With a smug grin, she slowly clapped her hands as she strolled past him.

He sighed heavily and muttered, “I would have opened the first door, had you not intervened.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Commander,” Leliana replied with a playful flick of her wrist, brushing her hand along the war table as she continued her casual stride. “If only our new Inquisitor weren’t so distracting.” There was a gleam of mischief in her eyes as she looked back at him, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Cullen’s eyes widened for just a moment, a brief stammer escaping his lips, “I…uh, no.” He cleared his throat and moved to the edge of the room where the sword rack stood. “The lock was stuck, the Inquisitor had nothing to do with it. I’m not…” Cullen paused when he looked over to Leliana, his words faltering as he noticed the smirk on her face. “…not having this conversation.” He turned his back to her, carefully resting The Inquisitor’s sword in place.

“Of course.”

Juliette’s eyes softened as she listened to Josephine. With a slight tilt of her head, she leaned in closer, her voice a near whisper. “Do you not feel safe here?”

Josephine bowed her head, her hands twisting in her lap. “I’ve had… difficulty forgetting Corypheus’ attack on Haven.”

Juliette nodded, understandingly. After a pause, she asked with a slight waver to her voice, “Can I confess something?”

Josephine met her eyes, nodding. “Of course.”

Juliette’s lowered her eyes, gathering her thoughts, before she spoke with quiet intensity. “Josie, I’m terrified. Every time I close my eyes, I see his horrendous face. If he comes here, if he kills more people just to get to me… I…” She swallowed hard, her voice breaking.

Josephine gently interrupted, “But you’re the one who led us to safety. Without your efforts, we wouldn’t be here now to speak of it.”

Juliette looked at her with an intensity that took Josephine by surprise. “And I’ll do it again,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

Josephine placed a hand gently on Juliette’s shoulder, her voice soft. “That is why you are The Inquisitor.”

Cullen slowly unpacked the chest that sat on top of the war table, taking his time to retrieve maps and tactical markers. A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the almost irritating rhythm of Leliana's finger tapping against the table's surface. A sense of relief washed over him as the door began to grate and creak open, signaling the end of this tedious moment. Soon, he'd be back in the yard, where he could work in peace, free from the pressure of having his every move analysed.

When Juliette walked into the room, Cullen straightened, mindful of his posture and the expression on his face.

How does Leliana know? Is it that obvious?

It felt as though his heart skipped a beat, as if she could read him like a book. Every glance, every subtle shift of his body. It gave him away.

Juliette’s excited gasp shattered the tension in the room, her eyes immediately drawn to the chandelier above. “Wow!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with delight. Cullen couldn’t help but feel a surge of anticipation, a quiet satisfaction that she was impressed, exactly as he’d hoped. When he had first seen the war room, he’d imagined this moment, knowing she would appreciate its beauty.

He stole a glance at her, his eyes moving between Juliette’s face and Leliana, who seemed too composed, as though she were waiting for him to slip. His eyes darted back to the floor. Was it his paranoia, or did Leliana’s judgmental gaze still hover over him? He needed to remain in control, to support Juliette, to be her advisor. He couldn’t afford this distraction.

“Isn’t it magnificent?” Josephine said admirably. “It’s incredible to think a place this beautiful has stood the test of time for so many years.”

“It is incredible,” Juliette affirmed, rushing to the war table. “Look at this!” her fingers lightly traced the carvings along the table’s surface. “To have repurposed a tree stump as the table’s support. Who built this?”

“We don’t kn—”

“It seems —”

Cullen and Leliana’s voices collided, and for a moment, silence settled between them. Juliette’s eyes tore back and forth, curiously. Cullen awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes, his attention focusing on the scrolls in his hands.

Leliana smiled, a graceful movement as she stepped forward. “It seems that whoever built the table left carvings,” she explained. “Did you notice, Inquisitor? They’ve marked roads and towns. It’s rather outdated, perhaps centuries old.” Juliette nodded, quietly appreciating the craftsmanship.

Cullen drew in a deep breath before speaking. “Thankfully, one of my soldiers was a cartographer before joining The Inquisition,” he said, stepping closer to the war table. He unrolled the map across its surface, the edges creasing as he smoothed it out. Reaching for a stack of books to weigh down the corners, Cullen continued, “he was able to commit most of this to memory. It’s not perfect, but it will serve us well enough until we’re properly set up.”

Juliette carefully held down the corner closest to her. With a light touch on the map, she glanced up at him, then extended her hand in a silent request for the book.

“Oh, thank you,” Cullen murmured, his eyes fixed on the ink markings of the map as his fingers hesitated for a moment. Without looking up, he handed her the book, his focus still on the map.

Juliette set the book in place with a soft thud. Her fingers lingered on the cover as she returned her eyes to Cullen. He seemed entirely absorbed in the map before him, his brow furrowed. She couldn’t help but notice how stiff his posture had become, how he avoided looking directly at her.

Silence stretched throughout the room, though the thoughts in Juliette's mind were loud. She shifted her weight, forcing a small smile, but it felt awkward on her lips. This feels strange, like I don't belong here, in his presence. She wondered what had changed. They seemed to be getting along remarkably well, at least in contrast to their earlier days in Haven. She wasn't sure what to make of it.

She pulled away, moving towards the windows, as if to distract herself from her worries. Quietly she drew in a breath, fingers delicately running along the panes of glass. “This view is nice,” she spoke casually, feeling the need to break the silence.

“Is it not majestic, Inquisitor?”

Her breath seemed to disappear upon hearing Cullen’s remark. She smiled, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. Maybe I’ve been overthinking, she thought, his casual reference to their inside joke offering some reassurance, easing the knot in her chest.

Slowly she glanced over her shoulder, her smile now more subdued than before. He was focused on arranging markers in place, his eyes fixed on the task before him. She turned back, her smile growing wider.

“Not quite, Commander,” Juliette said, the lightest hint of amusement in her voice. “Oh, but this room…” She spun around, her eyes catching Josephine’s with a smile.

"Warden Blackwall carved these markers for our war councils," Josephine explained, handing Juliette one of Leliana’s pieces as she returned to the table. "Since we left much behind in Haven."

Juliette turned the carved figure over in her hands, studying the intricate details of the wooden bird. A soft laugh escaped Leliana.

“How thoughtful of him,” Leliana remarked, her tone teasing, much like the way she’d spoken to Cullen earlier.

“Yes, it was very kind,” Josephine replied quickly, the words almost a little too eager. She gave Leliana a pointed look, as if guiding the conversation away from something too personal. That subtle shift went completely unnoticed by Juliette.

“So...?” she asked, setting the marker down in front of her. “While I've been resting, you all have been setting this up?”

Josephine spoke proudly. “There are many people dedicated to your cause, my lady.”

“And many eager to see Corypheus defeated,” Leliana added solemnly.

Juliette folded her arms, looking across the map spread on table before her. “Myself included,” she replied.

“The only question now is, where to begin?” Cullen voice was dutiful. Determined.

Juliette looked up at the sound, their eyes meeting across the table. He held her gaze for a moment, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. She swallowed quietly, this time it was her who averted her focus. Her eyes dropped to her hands as she tugged at the hems of her sleeves, then, back up, only to realise it wasn’t just Cullen watching her expectantly.

“Oh,” she gasped softly. “Me? You’re asking me?” Juliette paused a moment, an awkward silence lingering as she considered a response.

“May I suggest we pick up from where we left off?” Leliana interjected smoothly. “Josie, do you have the documents?”

“Yes,” Josephine replied quickly, reaching for a pile of reports that sat before her on the table. “I managed to grab some of our correspondence before we fled Haven,” she explained, handing them to Juliette. She flicked through the papers, noting the seals and signatures with a quick glance.

Cullen sighed, his tone growing more urgent. “Whatever we were dealing with before can wait. We need to—”

“This can absolutely wait,” Juliette interrupted, her voice sharp with disgust as she tossed one of the letters onto the table. “My family and their petty squabbles are the least of our concerns.” She sighed heavily, pressing her palm into her forehead. “My apologies, Josephine. I trust that you can handle whatever rumours they’re spreading this time. Do what you need.”

“Certainly, Inquisitor,” Josephine replied, her voice gracious, as she gently picked the paper back up from the table.

Juliette paused, her expression grave. “How can we ensure the safety of our people?” she asked quietly. “That dragon…”

“Could be an Archdemon,” Leliana suggested, slight concern in her voice. “It would mean the beginning of another Blight.”

Josephine shook her head slowly. “We’ve seen no darkspawn other than Corypheus himself. Perhaps it’s not an Archdemon at all, but something else entirely?”

“Whatever it is, it’s dangerous,” Cullen said, his voice firm. “Commanding such a creature gives Corypheus an advantage we can’t afford to ignore.”

“And if it attacks us here…” Juliette’s voice trailed off, worry creeping in.

“We can hold our ground here,” Cullen replied with confidence. “We’re in a much stronger position than before. Skyhold needs further fortification, but that’s within our reach. We just need trebuchets, ballistas... and time.”

Juliette paused, her finger pointing at Cullen, a quiet chuckle escaping behind her lips. She couldn't help but admire him for that. He always seemed to have a plan when it came to matters like this. She remembered that night in the Chantry when he’d been reading military strategy books, as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. This is where Cullen shines.

“I’ll leave that to you, Commander,” she said with as much humour as she did respect.

“That will require funds and resources,” Josephine interjected, her tone more cautious than Cullen’s.

Juliette turned to Josephine, her smile softening. “I’m certain that you’ll find a way, Josie.”

Josephine glanced up briefly, scribbling something on her clipboard. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“And we should also consider compensating the families of those we’ve lost,” Cullen added, his expression more somber now.

Josephine nodded, her voice heavy. “Indeed.”

“What about Haven? Could there be survivors that we missed?” Juliette asked.

“I have agents positioned in the area,” Leliana answered softly, her tone shifting as the conversation took a more serious turn. “There have been no reports of survivors so far.”

“Krem offered to send the Chargers back to Haven,” Cullen said, breaking the silence. “They could uncover supplies, perhaps find any stragglers still making their way here.”

Juliette nodded, her eyes moving between Cullen and Leliana, weighing the options.

“There’s another matter, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, handing her a report. “You may recall that Cullen sent soldiers to the Fallow Mire in search of their missing comrades.”

Juliette accepted the paper gently, glancing briefly at Cullen before beginning to read. His posture stiffened, and his expression grew more guarded.

“They’ve been captured,” Cullen said bluntly, before Juliette had a chance to finish the report. “By a group of crazed Avvar who want to meet with you.”

“With me?” she asked, surprised. “Have they indicated what they want with me exactly?”

“Does it matter?” Cullen replied quickly, irritation in his voice. “It’s a demand that won’t be met. We must find another way to free our soldiers. Perhaps we could send —”

“It does matter if people are captured because of me,” Juliette interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended.

“No, that’s not what I mean…” Cullen sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “This is an obvious trap. We need to get our soldiers back, but I’m not willing to risk your life. There has to be a better way.”

Josephine’s voice softened with caution. “Chances of reasoning with the Avvar are little to none, I’m afraid, Inquisitor.”

“If they want to meet The Herald of Andraste, then they shall,” Leliana said, her voice taking on a dangerous lilt. “I have agents that can be one step ahead, Inquisitor. Harding has a team there already scouting the area.”

Cullen folded his arms, looking at Juliette with a resigned shake of his head. “You’re going to do this, aren’t you?”

Juliette moved closer to the table, her hand brushing against its surface as she spoke. “Cullen, I have to—” Her words faltered for a moment as she saw the tension in his face. She dropped her focus to the table, her fingers tracing circles along its edge. “We need to deal with this.”

Cullen let out a long, defeated sigh. “Very well. But I’ll be sending forces with you. You’ll be well-guarded.”

Juliette’s lips curved into a grin. “And Cassandra. I need Cassandra.”

She lifted her eyes to Cullen, and for a moment, the noise in the room seemed to fade. The voices of Josephine and Leliana discussing their next steps grew distant, muffled, as their eyes locked. His expression relaxed, and for just a second, Juliette thought she saw him smile at her.

Why is he so tense about this? she wondered, her mind racing. I’ve been thrown into danger more times than I can count, often at his request.

She blinked slowly, feeling the pressure of his gaze still fixed on her. She let her eyes fall to the map below her before she looked back up at him. He was still watching , his focus not once wavering.

It caught her by surprise, she had thought he was avoiding her before, but now…it was as though he couldn’t look away. His eyes were stormy, his brow furrowed, a deep crease forming as he studied her with an intensity that left her breathless. She felt exposed, yet somehow protected. A blur of feelings that was far too overwhelming to give a second thought to, here of all places.

Is this duty? The thought slipped into her mind. His insistence on keeping me out of danger, because I’m the Herald, the Inquisitor?

As she stood there, with his eyes still firmly locked on hers, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but... Could he care for me beyond duty?

Josephine’s voice pulled Juliette from her thoughts. “Well, that settles it. We have Blackwall’s treaties, and we have cause.”

Blinking repeatedly, Juliette quickly shifted her eyes to the floor, hiding a blush in embarrassment. She had completely missed the conversation, her mind still caught on the moment with Cullen.

“We need to bolster our forces. Let me conscript more soldiers,” Cullen said firmly.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana's voice grabbed attention, her tone soft but with a hint of curiosity as she turned to Juliette, awaiting a response.

Juliette raised her eyes, hoping she didn’t look as dazed as she felt. She tried to gather her thoughts with subtlety, taking a quiet breath. “You know what must be done. Protect our people, build our forces, and gain influence where we can. You’ve all done so well to get us here.” She paused, almost too aware of her uncertainty. “It feels strange to grant permission for a job that you have excelled in thus far.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Inquisitor. Truly,” Josephine said graciously, her words soft and respectful.

Juliette looked down at the floor again with a clouded mind.  Is that okay? To delegate? Her throat tightened as she tried to push the question away. I have no idea what I’m doing. Can they even trust me to lead them?

Silence stretched for a moment until Leliana spoke, her voice softer than before. “We’ll keep you informed, if you wish for us to take initiative.”

“Yes, that would suit me well. I’ll go wherever I’m needed, and do what must be done,” Juliette said with honest determination. “I trust your counsel.” She paused, the weight of the declaration sinking in, feeling more like a promise than a statement.

“Well, then,” Josephine said, setting down her clipboard with a sense of finality to her voice. “We stand ready to move on all of these concerns.”

“On your order, Inquisitor,” Cullen said with pride, a hint of softness to his voice as he spoke.

Juliette looked at him, her heart skipping a beat. She felt her shoulders drop, her posture relaxing in response to the warmth in his voice. The way he spoke to her was both comforting and frightening all at once. Inquisitor. It had barely been an hour since that decision was made, since that title had been bestowed upon her. It sounded so strange, so formal. Distant. It had only been recently that she’d heard him say her first name, when things had felt more... personal. That small connection seemed to have slipped away now.

She felt completely out of her depth here. The leader of The Inquisition. All these lives in her hands. What a terrifying concept. Yet as she looked at Cullen, standing so purposeful, so certain - she felt like it wouldn’t be impossible. When he looked her way, she felt respected. A quiet sense of admiration.

I could do this.

She had to. There was no way she could let them down, not after surviving this far. Not after all they had fought through together. It wasn’t just the weight of the Inquisition she feared. It was him. She couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Cullen, not when his respect meant so much to her. The idea of failing in his eyes...

She dipped her head, a meek smile spreading across her lips. With a nod of acknowledgement Juliette turned, making her way to the door.

Maker guide me, she thought to herself. There’s no turning back now.

Chapter Text

Sera stopped me at first. I was making my way to the old tavern where I had a bedroll ready. In hindsight, I should have ran. Maybe then I could string together some semblance of a cohesive thought.

Maybe if we had just stood still, things would be different. But she followed me as I walked down the steps and in her jumble of curses and pessimism, she made some sense. I listened, that’s what the Inquisitor should do, right? She's scared like the rest of us. She just expresses it in a much more colourful way.

Then I heard his voice. Firm and authoritative. It was far too late in the darkness of the courtyard but he was working by candlelight. I sometimes worry that he pushes himself too far.

I tried to avoid him, to resist the temptation to approach, but Sera would not stop talking. Over and over. She must have found a dozen or so creative ways to say the name Corypheus without actually saying it. I shouldn't blame her, this is my mess and mine alone.

Then he looked up and it was too late to turn back. Sera left and I was standing there alone with no excuse. He appeared startled for a moment, then he looked away, throwing himself back into whatever it was that seemed a far greater priority than a decent night’s sleep. I was already there, his scouts looking at me as though I deserved his attention, looking back to him for some response. I didn’t know what to say, I just stood there like an idiot and then he just started telling me things. He didn’t say ‘hello’ or anything. Instead, he rattled off all the things that he’s done and all the ways he’s keeping Skyhold secure. It felt so strange, almost dehumanising. As though I am no more than an authoritative figure that expects military summaries in place of normal conversation. I froze, I didn’t know how to respond to that. So I laughed, because if I’m laughing, then nobody can be laughing at me. But I should never have poked fun at him for taking his role so seriously. It was shamefully unbecoming of me but I didn’t know what else to do. He clearly hadn’t been taking breaks or time for himself, but I said it anyway—the silly question: ‘Do you ever sleep?’ Of course he sleeps, at some point…at least I hope.

I hope he knows that I was joking and that I actually do believe he sleeps, because he didn’t say anything about it. He just turned back to what he was doing and attempted to justify his caution, saying that he couldn’t let anything happen. He was taking it so seriously that, for a moment, I could have sworn I saw him begin to shake. He was leaning all his weight into that little makeshift desk, it was starting to worry me. He turned to face me and he gave me the most piercing look that left me breathless. “We will not run from here, Inquisitor.” - is what he said and he meant every word.

Then it dawned on me that perhaps this is how he rests. He said it with so much pride. He doesn’t seem the type to sit by and let things happen. Maybe he’s more at ease planning and taking control than he could ever be if he were tucked up in bed.

I love admire that about him. He's honourable and hard-working. The fact that he’s handsome is a nice bonus. Ugh, it hurts to even admit that. And that's the problem.

I find myself thinking of him all the time, far more than I did before. I feel like I’m starting to lose my mind. Even now as I sit here writing this, I wonder if he’s on his way back to Skyhold. I don’t doubt that I’ll receive word soon. For once, a mission report that I’d take joy in reading.

Oh, but my mind keeps wandering back to that night in the courtyard. I tried to keep my wits about me, to maintain composure and act in an appropriate manner. When he looks at me like that and speaks in that softer voice, my brain just stops. I tried to tell him that I appreciate all his hard work, offer my gratitude for rescuing me in the avalanche, and, more importantly, that I’m glad he survived—but I couldn’t find the words. I stumbled over my thoughts, cowering mid-sentence into some meaningless, vague statement that implied he was no more important to me than a random villager.

He looked away and whatever progress I thought we were making vanished just like that. It was so incredibly awkward that I just wanted to run away. I might have rolled my eyes at some point, I don’t even know. Then he stopped me. He touched me, grabbed my arm to stop me from walking away and promised that he wouldn’t allow the events at Haven to happen again.

“You have my word.”

He promised and it felt like that promise was just for me. The way he spoke, the intensity in his eyes - all for me.

Not because I’m The Inquisitor or The Herald of Andraste, but because I am me.

What if I’m wrong? If I let myself believe this…

 

“Inquisitor!”

The officer’s voice startled Juliette, making her flinch and drop her quill. Her heart raced as she took a deep breath, pressing her hand over her chest to calm her nerves. She had become a little too lost in thought, for a moment forgetting the attention that her duty demanded.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” she called, slamming the journal shut, the ink likely smearing before it had a chance to dry. She tucked it securely into her bedroll, her hands shaking as she wondered how likely it would be that someone could happen upon it.

With one last glance at the journal, she stepped outside of her tent, greeted by the persistent drizzle of rain and the unmistakable stench of the bog that clung to the air. A crack of thunder rumbled above, as if to remind her that nothing, least of all her secrets, were safe here.

She scrunched her face in a dramatic manner just in case anyone had missed how much she hated this place. The dampness clung to her skin, the ever-present gloom made the world feel suffocating, even during the day. How anyone could call this home was beyond her understanding. The few days spent in the Fallow Mire were already far too many.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of a group approaching their camp.Several scouts in Inquisition armor, one in particular that she had been eager to speak with.

“Harding!” Juliette called enthusiastically, weaving her way past the smoldering campfire. A few of the officers shot her curious glances as they rested, weary from the trip.

“Inquisitor,” Harding replied with a nod as Juliette approached. The rain pelted against her face, soaking her hair and cloak. Her focus remained disciplined, fixed on the Inquisitor. The other scouts moved ahead, sensing the need for privacy.

“What is it?” Juliette asked in a gasp, catching her breath from her sudden dash across the camp. “Did you find them?”

Harding’s expression darkened. “Not yet, Inquisitor. But we did find one who had escaped.” She passed Juliette a note with a regretful look. “Aubrey. He was a good man.”

“Was?” Juliette asked, her voice wavering in sorrow as she pulled the note underneath her scarf to protect it. She motioned towards the tents with a tilt of her head, eager to get out of the rain.

As they reached the annex, where a loosely propped canvas offered little more than minimal shelter, Juliette unfurled the thin sheet of paper. She skimmed it quickly, her attention hovering between the text and Harding’s words.

“We found his body in a cave. He likely passed away from his injuries.”

“Maker rest his soul,” Juliette replied, regretfully. “I’ll see that Aubrey is honoured for his bravery.”

Harding gave a short nod. “He tried to warn you not to come here, but his letter never made it out of The Mire.”

Juliette glanced up from the letter, brow furrowed in confusion. “The Avvar want to challenge me to win favour with their… gods…” Her voice trailed off, rising at the end as if she were still trying to make sense of it. “Because I’m the Herald of Andraste. That’s it? They think this will somehow disprove Andraste’s existence and... what?” She pressed her palm to her forehead, shaking her head. “This makes no sense.”

“Personally, I think their leader’s just a boastful little prick that wants to brag he killed you,” Harding said bluntly. ”Well,” Juliette said with a mirthless chuckle. “That’s fame for you.”

“They’re holed up in a castle called Hargrave Keep—what’s left of it, anyway. We’ll lead the way once you’re ready to depart.”

“Thank you, Harding,” Juliette said, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder. “We need to move soon, once we’ve resupplied.”

“Getting to the troops won’t be easy. You’ll have to fight your way through undead,” Harding said, gesturing towards the murky water. Juliette shuddered at the thought. “Wait. You're not squeamish about undead, are you?” Harding teased.

“No, no, not at all,” Juliette replied, her voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Right at the top of my list of favourite monsters.”

“You’ll want to stay out of the water, then.”

“If you can even call it water,” Juliette replied, wrinkling her nose. “It’s quite the smell.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Harding chuckled.

“I’ll make sure to let Josephine know that you need a raise once we’re back at Skyhold.”

“I might just hold you to that” Harding said. “Maker willing, The Inquisition’s people are still alive.”

“I am not letting the Avvar butcher our people,” Juliette said with determination.

“I appreciate it,” Harding smiled, nodding respectfully as she began to walk away.

Juliette hesitated, wrestling with the decision to bring up the operation at Denerim Palace. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her scarf as she stepped back into the rain.

“Harding, wait!” she called, quickly closing the distance with a few quick steps.

Harding turned, watching curiously. “Yes?”

Juliette smiled awkwardly, tugging her scarf tighter over her head to shield herself from the rain. “You wouldn’t happen to know how far it is from Skyhold to Denerim, would you?”

“That depends,” Harding said, her voice wavering slightly, as though she could sense there was more to the question. “Are you talking distance measured or days traveled?”

“Days traveled. For a small army,” Juliette replied, firmly and concise.

Harding considered this, squinting as though she could already see the journey laid out before them. “Maybe two weeks, horseback,” she shrugged. “It would depend on injuries, how many times they’d stop for supplies, that sort of thing.”

“Two weeks,” Juliette whispered to herself, nodding as she stared into the distance. He departed four days before me, seven for the mountain trail, another three for Redcliffe…

“Uh…is everything all right, Inquisitor?” Harding asked cautiously.

Juliette blinked and forced a smile. “Oh, yes,” she said, straightening her posture. “I just… like to keep track of where our people are, and what they’re… doing. It doesn’t matter.” Juliette began to quickly walk away, her head lowered and eyes focused on her feet. “We should hurry along,” Juliette added, her voice more urgent now. “We have a big day ahead of ourselves.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Harding replied, though her eyes lingered on Juliette for a moment, still puzzled.

The next day they made steady progress as the Inquisition scouts moved farther ahead through the marshy bog of the Fallow Mire. Nearing Hargrave Keep, The Inquisitor and her party took a moment to rest after defeating a horde of undead. The scouts, seizing the moment of rest, moved ahead to assess the path before them.

The distant rumble of thunder filled the air and sparse rain drops made heavy splashing noises as they fell in the nearby lake. There was an eerie sense of calm while they waited for the scouts , until Cole decided to speak.

“Juliette?” His voice held an innocence, as if her title didn’t matter at all.

"Inquisitor," Cassandra snapped, her tone harsh enough to make him flinch.

"No, it’s fine," Juliette said, stepping closer to him. Her voice softened. "He can call me Juliette. I rather like it—it makes me feel like a person again."

Cassandra folded her arms tightly, her eyes narrowing as she watched Cole, as if measuring every word he spoke. Cole blinked up at Juliette, rising from his crouch. His oversized hat wobbled as he moved.

“But you are a person,” he said, sounding baffled.

Juliette sighed, her boot kicking at the dirt beneath her. "Sometimes... it doesn’t feel that way." She met his eyes with a forced smile. "Did you have a question, Cole?”

"Why do you hide your words underneath your pillow?"

“Oh!” Dorian gasped dramatically, his eyes lighting up as he swiftly crossed the space to Juliette. “Did I hear that correctly? Our lovely lady Inquisitor has a secret journal?” He grinned widely, clearly amused as he waited for her reaction. Juliette sighed, shaking her head , a blush in her cheeks.

Dorian leaned in closer, trying to get a better look at her expression, his teasing grin only widening. “I packed so lightly for this trip, you know. I was hoping we’d stumble across something interesting for me to read.”

Juliette glared up at him, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t suppose there’s much point in hiding it now that Cole has announced it to the entire party,” she mumbled, rubbing her temples in frustration.

“But why, Juliette?” Cole asked, his voice genuinely curious. “You understand the meaning of the words, but you don’t know what they mean.”

She dropped her head into her hands, groaning. “Please don’t say anything else that will embarrass me, Cole.”

With a tilt of his head he replied, “But how will I know that it embarrasses you if I don’t say it?”

“He’s got you there,” Dorian chimed in, highly amused by the situation.

Juliette scoffed, walking briskly towards the water’s edge. “I’ll burn the book as soon as we return to camp,” she muttered, half to herself.

“Pages burn, yet words remain,” Cole spoke solemnly, his stare lingering on her.

Juliette crossed her arms and shot Dorian one last, pointed glare. “Let’s just move on, shall we?”

Cassandra stood opposite Cole, her distrusting stare intense. “If you are to fight alongside us, Cole, I expect you to follow orders. The Inquisitor believes you wish to help…”

Juliette wandered ahead, hugging herself tightly as the rain began to fall a little heavier. She looked up at the sky, black clouds stirring above as though they were there to taunt her too. She rolled her eyes when she heard footsteps approaching.

“Dear diary,” Dorian said in a mocking tone. “Too many Templars. Too little time.”

Juliette sighed. “Maker give me strength.”

Inquisitor,

Our forces were able to prov

 

Cullen’s quill slipped, smudging ink across the carefully written words. With a heavy sigh, he crumpled the parchment and tossed it aside, starting over.

Inquisitor,

Our

Again, the ink smeared beneath his trembling hand. He clenched his jaw and exhaled through his teeth, snatching another piece of fresh vellum.

This can’t keep happening. I’m wasting resources, he thought, frustration tightening his chest. His eyes focused on his fingers, as though he could somehow will them to cooperate.

He paused, staring at the blank page, hand shaking as it hovered over the ink. With a sharp exhale, Cullen removed his gloves, hoping that could give him a better grip and steady his erratic movements. One hand carefully spread the vellum over the crate that he used as a makeshift desk, while the other gripped the quill tightly. Holding his breath, he lowered the quill to the page.

Inquisitor,

Our forces were able to provide assistance to Queen Anora

The first stroke was unsteady, the ink bleeding into the vellum before he could finish the letter. His brow furrowed as he concentrated, but each new letter came out shaky and crooked. His grip on the quill tightened, knuckles turning white, but the tremors only worsened.

Every movement was deliberate, yet his hand refused to obey. The letters began to lose their form, sliding into scribbles. His handwriting, normally precise and carefully penned, now appeared a jagged mess, almost as disorderly as his thoughts.

Frustration consumed him as he shoved the quill aside with a growl. He snatched the ink pot and hurled it at a pile of crates, splattering ink into the air, the light scent of the dye remaining. He stood for a moment, chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

Nearby soldiers, alerted by the noise, glanced over in surprise. Cullen clenched his fists, turning away and forcing his shoulders back, trying his best to appear composed despite the fury raging inside him.

He hated this.

If I cannot complete a task as simple as writing a letter, how am I to command an army? What use am I like this?

Each breath came ragged, and he felt as though his head were spinning. The withdrawals hadn’t been this bad in months. He walked over to a barrel and slowly splashed cool water against his face, the shock of the cold momentarily pulling him from the fog in his mind.

He leaned against the barrel, tightly closing his eyes. It’s been days. How much longer until it passes? He took a slow, deep breath. I vowed to be better than this. To give more. His hands still shook, and there wasn’t a muscle in his body free from aching. The Inquisition, the soldiers… Juliette. I can’t let them down.

He stood there for a while, gathering what little strength he had left. The soldiers would be waiting, the new recruits among them. He couldn’t afford to let them see him like this.

With a long, deep breath, he rolled his shoulders, wiped his face dry with the back of his hand, and turned towards the camp. Each step felt heavy, but he pushed forward, determined not to break.

The sun was bright. It’s always too bright. Cullen squinted, shielding his eyes with a hand as he walked to the edge of the perimeter where messengers were stationed.

“Any word from the Fallow Mire?” Cullen asked as he approached.

“Still nothing, Ser,” the messenger replied, a formality to his voice.

“When you do hear something, anything at all, I'd like to be notified immediately,” Cullen instructed.

“Yes, Commander,” the messenger nodded. “Would you like us to send a message to The Inquisitor?”

"No," Cullen said sharply, turning to walk away. "I’m sure they’re just busy." He forced the words out through clenched teeth, the sunlight magnifying his headache, while his mind raced anew.

They should have been there by now. Each day without an update brought on more worry, more stress. With the constant travel, the steady influx of new recruits, and the persistant grip of withdrawal, Cullen barely had room to breathe, let alone manage the mounting stress of The Inquisitor’s whereabouts.

He gritted his teeth, his ink stained fingers twitching as the possibilities swirled in his mind, each scenario worse than the last. He couldn’t grasp one before another took its place. What if she was in danger? What if they had failed? If only he could write to her. Just one letter, one reply to ease his mind.

Cullen turned back to the messenger, a deep inhale before speaking. “Perhaps write to the scouts. Harding should be able to inform us of their progress. She may know if the soldiers have been located…and if the Inquisitor has safely arrived.”

“Right away, Commander,” the messenger nodded with a fist raised to his chest. He scurried away, leaving Cullen alone with his thoughts, but only for a moment.

“Commander!” an officer called out, approaching at a brisk pace, a serious expression on his face. Cullen exhaled a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his patience before turning to face the officer.

“The bandits have been cleared, Commander. Giving ‘em swords wasn’t such a bad call after all.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “The Sutherland lad that turned up at Skyhold?”

“That’s the one. Drove the bandits off, our patrols are clear,” the officer said proudly.

“He may have potential yet,” Cullen replied, folding his arms. His gaze drifted over the barren plains surrounding their camp, the dry earth stretching endlessly beneath the pale sky.

The officer stood at attention, waiting, but a silence fell between them as Cullen stared ahead in contemplation. The officer relaxed slightly, his eyes following Cullen’s before he spoke again. “Hard to believe this was all green once,” he muttered, sadness in his voice.

Cullen looked across, his arms still folded tightly. There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “You’re from Lothering?”

The officer’s eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, he seemed lost in the past. “Until the Blight,” he said quietly. “My family and I were lucky to make it out.” He pointed towards the west, his hand hovering in the air. “The village is out that way. Or what’s left of it, anyway.”

“I suppose Honnleath is much the same,” Cullen said quietly.

The officer nodded slowly, his stare now distant. “Just a name on a map these days.” He sighed heavily. “I best keep moving. More recruits will arrive soon.”

“Well, with luck they'll know which end to grip a sword by,” Cullen muttered sarcastically. The officer chuckled, walking back into the camp.

Once more alone with his thoughts, Cullen looked over at the dry, empty fields that were once thriving farmlands. He often found himself wondering just how damaged his childhood home had become. Did it still stand, left abandoned all these years? He couldn’t help but think of his family. Memories of late afternoons by the lake. He could almost hear his siblings laughter as they tried to throw each other in the water. What he’d give to go back to those days. Simpler, happier times. It had been seventeen years since he left to join the Templar order. Most of his life spent away from home. It felt like another lifetime ago.

Cullen looked down at his sword, the Inquisition insignia glistening on the hilt. His siblings had likely heard of Haven, everyone in Denerim seemed to know after all. No doubt he’d return to Skyhold with an angry letter from his sister waiting. He didn’t feel ready to face his past, nor consider a future beyond this. He drew in a long, deep breath, the air cool in his lungs. His hand rested against the pommel of the sword and the tremors eased. A habit he’d grown into over time, a strange sense of comfort. He had a duty now, and no matter the cost, he would not falter.

Juliette slowly pulled herself to her feet. The ringing in her ears was almost suffocating, a harsh, high-pitched sound that blurred her thoughts. Her vision swirled, three green glowing palms waved before her face, splattered in blood. Her blood, she realised. She coughed, the wind knocked from her chest, forcing herself to stay upright. Cassandra’s battle raged nearby, sword flashing as she clashed with three Avvar warriors. The sound of steel meeting steel was accompanied by Cassandra’s grunts, each strike an explosion of power. But it was the crackling buzz of electricity nearby that seized Juliette’s attention.

Dorian stood just out of her reach, his hands crackling with magic. The Avvar warrior nearest to him was writhing on the ground, his body spasming from the brutal electrical shocks coursing through him. His sadistic laughter rang out, a sickening chill. It was as though each strike against him was a moment of defiance against Andraste. Juliette shuddered at the thought. He could stay there, writhing in agony, a little longer.

Juliette raised her hands to the sky, the staff in her grip flaring with searing flames. With a wave, she conjured a barrier of fire that encircled the battlefield, flames crackling and swirling in a wall of blazing heat. Cassandra retreated, her enemies igniting in the inferno. Their screams echoed in the air, but Juliette's focus quickly shifted.

Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes fell on Cole, motionless on the ground, his daggers still tightly clutched in his hands.

“Hold on, Cole!” she yelled, racing towards him. As she kneeled before his limp body, a wave of confusion washed over Juliette. Does he heal? Will a potion... Her heart raced, her thoughts clouded with panic. “Cole!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how to heal you!”

With trembling hands, she pulled a vial of healing potion from her belt, her fingers fumbling as she tore the cork from the bottle. She held it under his nose, her breath frantic. Can he drink?

“Cassandra!” Dorian yelled, just seconds before the deafening crash of the overhang collapsing echoed through the air. Juliette scrambled to her feet, the healing vial slipping from her fingers and shattering against the ground. She froze, her eyes wide in horror as she watched Dorian rush to clear the rubble from where Cassandra lay trapped beneath. Did…did my fire do that?

Juliette struggled for breath, screaming out “Is she all ri—”

“Finish him!” Dorian shouted, fierce urgency in his voice with a glare over his shoulder. Juliette’s eyes darted to the Avvar, The Hand of Korth crawling towards her with a twisted grin.
She grabbed her staff, her breath quick and ragged. Too close, too close for fire. What do I do?

She stepped backwards, desperate to create some distance, to find enough space for her fire to rage without consuming her as well. Before she could react, he grabbed her ankle, yanking her to the ground. Her staff clattered against the stone as it fell beside her. A frightened squeal escaped as the Avvar dragged her across the rough stone, his cruel laughter echoing in her ears as he muttered, “Weak. Weak is Andratse’s Herald.”

Juliette snatched for her staff, her fingertips barely gripping it as she fumbled it into place. She raised it, hoping to smash it against his face, but his reflexes were too fast. In an instant, he grabbed the staff and bent the iron in half, a terrifying display of strength.

He laughed, shaking his head. Before Juliette could defend herself, his hands were wrapped around her neck, squeezing and choking while she clawed at his fingers, feeling herself slip away.

Suddenly, his grip loosened. A vacant expression crossed his face, followed by a slicing sound as he collapsed forward, falling beside her. Juliette sat there, eyes wide in shock, her breath shallow. Her fingers shook as they instinctively moved to her neck, feeling the ache beneath her skin. Cole stood before her, expressionless, blood-soaked daggers gripped tightly in his hands.

The walk back to camp was tense, the silence broken only by the steady rainfall, occasional thunder, and the distant groans of the undead. The Mire had mostly been cleared of danger by now, thanks to the closure of rifts and a reduced Avvar presence.

"Cassandra’s angry," Dorian observed loudly.

"I’m not angry—" she tried to object, but Dorian cut her off.

"Juliette’s angry." There was a pause, and the Inquisitor didn’t say a word.

"Tell me, Cole. What’s on your mind?" Dorian asked, a teasing lilt to his voice that went unnoticed by Cole.

"Relieved. Safe now. The Herald came for us, I knew she would!" Cole responded, his voice full of praise, mirroring the gratitude of the rescued soldiers.

"Yes, yes, she always takes all the credit," Dorian muttered sarcastically.

Juliette groaned, her boots thudding against the muddy ground as she stomped ahead, finally reaching the camp.

The Inquisition’s presence had nearly doubled in size during their absence. More soldiers, scouts, and officers swarmed the campsite, some planning, others preparing, and a few resting.

“What’s going on?” Juliette asked, her expression unusually stern as she moved into the center of the camp.

“Inquisitor!” an officer greeted her, bowing. “Reinforcements were sent from Skyhold, your worship.”

“Why?” she asked, confused. “There’s no need. We’re clearing out of here.”

“Commander Cullen sent us,” he explained cautiously, sensing her irritation.

“Well, it’s a little too late for that,” she snapped, throwing her ruined staff to the ground with a sharp clang. She placed her hand on her hips, frustration flaring as she let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… I’m just—” She faltered for a moment, stress getting the better of her. “Apologies, but you need to leave.”

Her eyes swept over the camp, and with a raised voice, she added, “You all need to leave. We’ve found the soldiers. Let’s just get out of this horrid bog of a—” She scoffed, shaking her head in frustration. Without another word, she beelined for her tent, the urgency of her steps mirroring her desire to escape the watchful eyes of the Inquisition.

Dorian strolled into the camp, one arm supporting Cassandra as she limped beside him. Juliette glanced over her shoulder. That must be driving her crazy. Maker, she must hate me right now.

“This arrived for you, Inquisitor!” The requisition officer stepped in front of Juliette, holding a burlap-wrapped package.

“What is that?” she asked, her expression softening as she looked at the package with curiosity.

“The soldiers brought this down from the Commander,” she explained. Juliette hesitated for a moment before extending her hand, taking the package with a quiet sigh. Her heartbeat felt a little heavier, a cautious warmth tingling in her face. She quickly masked the reaction,forcing her face to remain neutral. That was until she heard Dorians voice, in which she hung her head with a defeated sigh.

“A gift?” Dorian asked dramatically, stepping closer to Juliette. “From Commander Cullen?” he whispered, but his voice was far too loud, carrying more than Juliette would have liked.

Juliette clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the package. “Thank you,” she said curtly to the officer, her voice strained as she dismissed her with a stiff nod.

“Whatever could it be?” Dorian wondered aloud, his tone far too gleeful for Juliette’s liking. She ignored him, ripping open the package with growing impatience.

“Flowers?” Dorian suggested with a dramatic tilt of his head.

“Flowers?” Juliette echoed, her nose scrunching at the absurdity of it.

“Jewelry? …Ah, a book.” He paused, looking at the item in her hands with a theatrical sigh. “How predictably dull.”

“Would you stop?” Juliette snapped. “You’ve been particularly irritating today.”

“Oh, I’ve hit a nerve,” Dorian teased, his hands raised defensively. “Don’t drop a building on me!” Juliette scowled, brushing past him with a sharp movement, her steps quick as she neared her tent. “You could at least tell me what the book is?”

“You wanted something to read?” she snapped, spinning back to face him. “Take it!” She threw the book at him and stormed off.

Dorian caught the book easily, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Tale of The Champion?” he read aloud. “I don’t think I’ll bother… Oh, a note.”

“What?” Cassandra shrieked from across the camp. With a limp she hobbled over quickly, anger flaring in her eyes. Juliette stepped forward and snatched the note that fell from the book from Dorian’s hands. She glanced down at the paper, skimming the words as Cassandra’s voice grew louder with fury.

“That bastard! I knew it!”

“What?” Juliette said, confused. “What did Cullen —”

“Not Cullen, Varric!” Cassandra snarled, her grip tightening on the book as she ripped it from Dorian’s hands, her glare fiery.

Juliette looked back down at the note.

Inquisitor,

Varric is up to something and if Leliana’s suspicions are correct, you should know what you’re in for. While I can’t say that the story is true in it’s entirety, the events mentioned are accurate where it matters. Ignore any mention of me, he was exaggerating

I’ve marked the sections that are relevant. If Hawke is indeed making his way to Skyhold, then this may give you some insight, if not a fair warning.

Cullen

Juliette looked up, meeting Dorian’s anticipating gaze and Cassandra’s piercing stare. "Well," Juliette said, her voice uncertain, unsure of what else to say.

Cullen sat by the fire at the camp on the outskirts of Redcliffe. The soft crackle of the fire was a welcoming sound among the loud bustle of the camp. He held Juliette’s letter, his hands far steadier today.

Cullen,

There’s nothing like some light reading amid the ambience of torrential rain, suffocating darkness and the persistent groaning of undead.

I beg you, never send me here again.

Not that the mission was a complete waste of time, however. I’m happy to report that we have managed to free our soldiers. All but one are accounted for and are in good health, a little shaken, but I consider it a victory.

Interestingly, not all the Avvar were hostile - just the few dozen that wanted me dead. The challenger has been dealt with. There is no reason for The Inquisition to return here.

Please don’t send any more of us here.

With love, from the most miserable bog of Southern Ferelden,

Inquisitor Trevelyan

p.s Your attitude sounded foul, but Varric’s description of your hair was glorious.

Cullen let out an exasperated sigh. “I should have just tore out the pages,” he mumbled to himself. His eyes wandered back over her handwriting. 

With love.

She’s being dramatically sarcastic. A small smirk tugged at his lips. I tried to warn her not to go there, he thought, his fingers tracing the edges of the letter. He could almost hear her voice, that mix of dry humour and underlying defiance. I’m certain she’ll have plenty to say once we’re both back at Skyhold.

Chapter Text

Juliette didn’t expect to feel so strongly about her return to Skyhold. Perhaps it was the Fallow Mire, the stench of the bog that clung to her skin, no matter how many times she bathed in the rivers or beneath waterfalls. Or perhaps it was the view. The keep, standing proud against the vast snowy mountains. The sight stirred memories of the first time she had laid eyes upon it, a moment that had stolen her breath away. 

She smiled while her boots sank into the fresh snow. The mountain air was refreshing, a cool burn as it settled in her lungs. Strong gusts of wind lifted her hair, an icy careless that stung her face and cured her weariness in an instant.

No, she thought, it certainly had nothing to do with him. She rolled her eyes at her own lie. In truth, she couldn’t ignore the ache that had grown in her chest over the past month, a void left by the silence of a certain colleague. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks, and though she told herself it didn’t matter, her heart quietly disagreed.

Not once did he write. No replies. No reports. At least, not directly. It was a worrying change in behavior for her usually efficient Commander. What had changed, though, she wasn’t certain.

Halfway across the bridge she stopped, her hair wildly thrown about in the breeze as she turned over her shoulder. Dorian trailed close behind, dramatic teeth chattering and squinting against the wind. He was never too far away, and while Juliette would often pretend to be annoyed by his presence, she found comfort having him near. Maker knows he’s saved her more times than she would like to admit.

Casandra was further behind. Since the battle at The Mire, she moved a little slower, her leg injury not fully healed. Juliette frowned, that nagging guilt still lingering. She couldn’t help but sneak in glances, just to make sure that Cassandra was still doing okay. So stubborn. She shook her head. If she’d just rest, then perhaps … no, perhaps I should never had cast the fire that injured her in the first place.

Juliette turned back towards the gate, scrunching her nose as she berated herself further. She was determined to set things right, starting with the healers. Or maybe requesting training? Definitely ensuring that communication is more frequent. Is that selfish?

 Her pace accelerated, her thoughts racing as she offered absent-minded smiles and automatic nods to passing officers. He must be in contact more often - that’s not an unreasonable request. No, I’ll tell him so! As Inquisitor I’d like it known that I must be informed of mission progress. I shouldn’t have to go chasing scouts and messengers for updates. Josephine and Leliana kept in contact, so why couldn’t —

“Inquisitor!”

And just like that her thoughts unraveled. Any sense of authority she thought that she could muster fell away at the sound of Cullen’s voice.

Slowly, she looked up, the crease between her brows easing, her eyes softening. The hustle of guardsmen and the chatter of arriving pilgrims blurred into the background when she stepped through the gates. They moved aside as she walked, each step feeling heavier, her heart skipping a beat when her eyes caught sight of him.

Cullen jogged across the courtyard,effortless yet purposeful, drawing the eyes of those around him. His hair was golden in the sunlight, his amour gleaming too, almost as though the sun was shining just to show her that he was there. She couldn’t look away, even if she wanted to.

He was smiling at her, little creases at the corners of his eyes. He almost has a beard now, she thought. Her eyes were drawn to his lips , and that scar, as his smile grew wider. It felt like she was seeing him for the first time, mesmerised by the sight of him. It was almost as if he hadn’t been in her thoughts constantly for the past several weeks.

Suddenly, he was before her, and she couldn’t think. Everything blurred, her mind completely captured by his presence. She stood there, stunned, lips slightly parted, words lost in her throat.

“Inquisitor,” he said, softer this time, his voice warm and gentle. “Welcome back.”

“Cullmander!” she stammered, the word tumbling out—the wrong word.

Her face flushed instantly, the heat raging in her cheeks as her pulse thumped in her neck. She stood frozen, embarrassed, her own voice ringing in her ears. She met his gaze, and though his expression was gentle and soft, she could see the hint of surprise in his eyes.

Her throat tightened, feeling as though she were choking on air. “Commander,” she corrected herself, a voice so quiet it might as well have been a whisper.

Wow. Truly an inspirational leader.

A gasp, loud and unexpected rang loud in the air. Her own gasp. A flinch. Her heart raced and embarrassment drained what little sense of authority she had mustered. Dorian strolled past with a casual glance and a teasing smirk, utterly thrilled with himself for making the Inquistor jump at the lighest touch of his hand.

She couldn’t bear to look at Cullen, her eyes dropping to the stone ground, mortified. I must look like such a fool.

“There’s something I think you’d like to see,” Cullen said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his, taken aback by the grin spreading across his face. He seemed eager, almost as though he were holding back a laugh at the thought of whatever mystery lay ahead.

“I —" She cleared her throat quietly. "Lead the way, Commander."

Cullen walked ahead, weaving through Skyhold’s lively courtyard. Juliette trailed behind, desperately trying to regain her composure while his back was turned. He’d caught her off guard, meeting her at the gates like that. Had she some time to settle in, to recover from —

“Our workers have done a tremendous job restoring Skyhold while you were away, Inquisitor,” he said, proud and sincere.

She inhaled a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “Yes, I see that.”

“I was quite surprised myself when I returned.” Cullen stopped, turning to face her as she slowed her steps. He smiled and began walking beside her when she caught up.

“Have you been back for long?” Juliette’s voice wavered, the question sounding far softer aloud than it had in her mind.

There were so many thoughts rushing through her. Embarrassment at how she was handling herself, resentment for his lack of communication, and confusion over how nonchalant he seemed about it. Most of all, she was curious. Why hadn’t he written? He used to, when she was in The Hinterlands. So why not now?

Cullen shook his head, his voice dropping with a saddened tone. “I stopped by Haven on my return.”

“Oh,” she murmured, sorrow washing over her. She lowered her eyes, the memories of Haven’s downfall overwhelming. Suddenly, all her worries seemed trivial in comparison. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Thank you, Inquisitor,” Cullen replied earnestly. He sighed heavily, and Juliette looked back up at him. “Bull and his Chargers are still there now. Their work is commendable.”

Juliette nodded, her focus drifting to the repaired walls connecting to the main building. “Everyone helping deserves recognition. We should see to that, among other things.”

Cullen glanced around the courtyard, a lightness returning to his expression. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, a spark of amusement creeping into his voice. He stopped, folding his arms with a playful smirk. “Turn around.”

“What?” She tilted her head, confusion in her eyes, but then she saw it. Juliette’s eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Cullen chuckled at her reaction, unable to contain the smile that grew wider with each passing second.

“The stables have been fully restored,” he explained proudly. “Perhaps even better than they were originally.”

Juliette turned to Cullen, a blush in her cheeks as their eyes locked. His expression relaxed, attention drawn to the pure joy lighting up her face. Their eyes lingered, and a warm feeling of admiration passed between them.

Noticing the movement in the distance, she gasped for a second time. “And there’s horses?”

A laugh escaped Cullen, pure and unguarded. “Were you expecting giant nugs?”

“No! But…” her words trailed off, laughter faltering when she realised how easily she was reacting to his words. How effortless it was to be happy around him.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, eyeing her with a teasing grin. “I know you want to run straight over there.”

“I…” she folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, almost a pout if not for the smirk that gave her away. “Don’t presume to know what I want, Commander.” Juliette moved past him, her face breaking into a beaming smile once her back was turned.

Cullen stood still for a moment, fondly watching her walk to the stables. A small laugh left his lips, soft and genuine, as he noticed how hard she was trying to hide her excitement. He leaned against the barn wall, casually folding his arms, eager to see her reaction unfold further.

When Juliette neared the stables, she froze. It wasn’t until the horse turned his head, that soft snuffling noise he always made when she approached, that she noticed.

“Romeo?” she whispered in shock. She moved closer, her hand cautious as she reached out to touch him. Tears welled up in her eyes while she rested her forehead against his nose, overwhelmed by the unexpected reunion.

“Oh, good to see you’re back, Inquisition,” Dennet greeted. His familiar voice almost went unnoticed as she focused entirely on the horse she thought she’d lost forever.

“Told you she’d cry,” Blackwall remarked, watching her with a gruff chuckle. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears, and smiled back.

“I thought he was dragon food,” she said, wiping a stray tear away with the sleeve of her coat. “What a lovely surprise.”

“You’re lucky,” Dennet said, moving into the vacant stall beside Romeo. He leaned over the gate as he spoke. “We almost left the stubborn bastard behind. If not for The Commander insisting we bring him back, I would’ve.”

As the words sank in, Juliette's eyes widened slightly. With a surprised expression she spun around quickly. “Oh, Cullen! Thank —”

Juliette’s words faded when she noticed Cullen far in the distance, walking away. Her shoulders drooped, a wave of disappointment washing over her.

“So…” Blackwall’s voice hung in the air as she stared ahead, her eyes lingering in the place where Cullen last stood. “I hear that you’re fighting Avvar warriors now.”

The main hall was nothing short of glorious. The transformation went beyond mere repairs. Josephine’s influence was evident in every detail, turning the hall into a statement of power and opulence. Elegant drapery flowed from the ceiling, while luxurious tapestries bearing The Inquisition’s emblem adorned the area, greeting guests as they entered. The atmosphere was cozy and intimate, despite the crowd. The warm glow of braziers and chandeliers ensured a comforting reprieve from the cool air outside. The scent of roast pork and baked apples drifted through the air, enticing guests towards the dining tables, loaded with a delicious spread of fresh food.

For a moment, Juliette felt as though she had wandered into the wrong place. She entered the doors expecting quiet, a safe passage to Josephine’s office unnoticed. Instead, she found herself on display. All eyes were on her as she strolled along the stone floors, dazed by crowded space. Some warning would have been nice. I smell like horse and swamp water.

“Oh! Inquisitor!” Josephine’s voice floated through the room, sweet and melodic.

“Josie,” Juliette muttered, her voice low as she weaved past the nobility, striving to avoid further attention. “Who are all these people?”

Josephine’s eyes swept over the crowded hall before settling on Juliette with a soft, understanding smile. “Visiting dignitaries,” she explained. “I’ll be sure to introduce you at a more…” She trailed off, her attention catching the state of Juliette’s muddy boots and windswept hair, “…a more suitable time.”

Juliette’s eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a near whisper as she spoke through clenched teeth, “I’d prefer you introduce me to a bathtub. I must look like I’m blighted.” She gave a quick glance at her disheveled appearance, adding with a grimace, “I feel like I’m blighted.”

“Goodness,” Josephine spoke quietly and placed a gentle hand on Juliette’s arm, guiding her away from sight. “Then I’ve just the place to show you.”

Josephine spoke proudly as she ascended the staircase, her eyes focused on her clipboard. “Have you noticed the renovations?”

“It looks a little tidier around here,” Juliette remarked with a smirk, a playfully sarcastic edge to her voice.

“A little? Oh,” Josephine glanced back at Juliette and laughed softly. “Very good, Inquisitor.”

Juliette peered over the railing, her eyes catching the fallen scaffolding and the dusty debris scattered below. It was a long way down. I wonder if I could climb down there, to escape the Orlesians.

“Downstairs, we now have private bathing quarters,” Josephine continued, a note of triumph in her voice. “No more freezing ourselves with a bucket of tepid water and a sponge.”

“Thank The Maker,” Juliette said, a grateful sigh escaping her lips. “Though I do hope you know I was joking when I requested a marble bathtub.”

“Hm. It’s not the most lavish request that I’ve received as of late.” Josephine paused outside of the door for dramatic effect. “And here we are.”

With a deliberate slowness, she pushed the door open, letting it creak softly. The room beyond was bathed in soft blue hues as light shone through ornate stained glass windows. Juliette wandered inside, overcome by surprise.

“You certainly spared no expense,” Juliette murmured in wonder, her fingers gliding along the mantle of the fireplace. Slowly, she spun around, taking in the room’s opulent decor with enthusiasm.

“I hope it’s up to standard, your worship,” Josephine said courteously.

Juliette almost choked on air as a soft chuckle of disbelief escaped her lips. “It’s wonderful, Josie. Truly. Thank you.”

“You’ll find clothing in the dresser. I took the liberty of getting your measurements from the last tailor we ordered from.”

Juliette picked up a silk robe draped over the foot of her bed, fingers gently tracing the fabric. She lifted the garment with care, inspecting the quality with awe. “You had this made... for me?”

“If any adjustments are needed, I can arrange it. A seamstress will meet with you in the coming days for your ballgowns.”

“Ballgowns?” Juliette blinked in surprise.

“We have a very busy social calendar leading up to Empress Celene’s ball in Halamshiral. You can’t possibly wear the same dress twice.”

Juliette raised a hand to her forehead as though to steady herself. “This is all so sudden.”

“The court of Orlais moves quickly, Inquisitor. We must be faster,” Josephine replied with firm conviction. “I’ll allow you some time to settle in.”

“Thank you, Josephine,” Juliette smiled, still stunned by it all.

When the door closed and Juliette was left alone, for the first time in months, she was met with silence. The kind of silence that is so painfully quiet it's loud—a ringing in the ears, a suffocating sensation that forces you to breathe a little heavier, just to hear something. She couldn’t recall the last time she had been graced with this much privacy.

She moved across the room with a slow, almost delirious pace, her steps fatigued. She stood before the dressing table and slid her fingers over the newly-upholstered stool that accompanied it. She sat down cautiously, acting as though a firmer movement could shatter this illusion of comfort that had been gifted to her. When Juliette’s eyes met her reflection in the mirror, she scarcely recognised the face staring back.

She noticed the dark circles under her eyes first, how they made her eyes appear sunken. Slowly, she moved her fingers along her skin, so pale and sallow. A tear rolled down her cheek, falling against her dry lips. She hadn’t seen herself since the morning before sealing the breach, and it felt like she hadn’t known herself since then either.

Everything had changed.

In the circle she’d retreat to her quarters, shared with other mages, and hide behind books of botany and religion. None of which interested her, but it was an escape. It was safe. She did as she was instructed and kept herself quiet at the First Enchanter’s request. The rumours of blood magic and resentment for her family name soon drifted away as she embraced a life of loneliness and mediocracy.

Her chest tightened and her breath paused. More tears, stinging and hot, escaped her eyes as she sat there staring at herself.

It didn’t matter how well guarded Skyhold could become, how fortified and secure Cullen could make it. It didn’t matter that Leliana threw herself into her work, collecting intelligence, burying her guilt beneath an avalanche of tasks. It didn’t matter how lavish Josephine could make the keep, how impressionable they could appear among nobility. She would have to face Corypheus again. There was no hiding from this.

She didn’t choose to go to the conclave - she was forced. She hadn’t chosen to leave the Circle either.

Never was she given an option when facing attacks from renegade Templars and rebel mages. Fight or die was all she knew, and The Inquisition would not let her escape.

She woke with the anchor, no action of her own could prevent it.

Nothing in Juliette’s life was by choice of her own. Not even her magic, for who would want such a burden?

She'd seen the destruction, the carnage, and the faces of those lost. People starving, children left without homes, and now, she had the choice of several Orlesian soaps. That was the only decision she could make today.

Tomorrow... she could decide the fate of a nation.

Her reflection was an imposter, a stranger staring back at her. An image of someone who carried the weight of a world that wasn’t her own. The title "Herald of Andraste" felt suffocating, and she couldn't even bring herself to wear it with pride.

Inquisitor.

The faces of those lost haunted her, Corypheus's twisted face, the ruin he’d left in his wake. The burden of those lives, now in her hands.

And yet, when she thought of Cullen, the silence was less painful. He could make her smile without trying, perhaps without even knowing. In those moments, the weight of her troubles would fall away. She felt like herself again. The person she never got to be. The woman she’d dream of becoming as a child, before the circle, before the world told her what she was.

She didn’t understand it, how this infatuation could be such a welcoming distraction, how these feelings could so easily sweep her off her feet, leaving her breathless and confused. But there was guilt. An overwhelming, suffocating guilt.

To be so vulnerable at a time like this... it felt dangerous. The way her heart skipped a beat when he smiled at her, the way her thoughts scattered and became a blur in his presence. None of it felt like her choice. The very idea that she could be so undone, so exposed, when so much rested on her shoulders, made her feel weaker than she ever had before.

As she stared at her reflection, her eyes shadowed by exhaustion, Juliette realised something that made her stomach tighten, a truth she had feared for so long.

She had no control.

Not over her own heart, not over her life, and certainly not over the role she had been forced into.

Chapter Text

The subtle sound of voices could be heard behind the war room doors, muffled but distinct. Three voices, each speaking at once. Juliette sighed. They’re arguing again.

Her hand hovered in front of the door handle, hesitating as the cool metal pressed against her skin. Her breath was shaky, thoughts tangled and restless from a sleepless night. I can do this. A large, slow inhale lifted her shoulders as she prepared herself. Be firm. Authoritative. And for the love of Andraste, don’t look him in the eyes—that’s how he gets you.

“We simply don’t have the time! Tell them n—” Cullen’s voice halted as the creaking door echoed through the room. Juliette entered with her head bowed, eyes firmly glued to the floor. The room fell into silence, broken only by the tapping of her shoes as she moved quickly to Josephine’s side at the table.

Cullen’s eyes followed her, lingering on her dark, neatly brushed hair and how it fell over the sides of her face. Normally, she would toss it back or push it behind her ears, but today she wore it differently. Her hand rested against her forehead, an extra measure, it seemed, to ensure her face remained shielded from view.

“Apologies for being late to the war council,” Juliette said, her voice low and polished, as though she had rehearsed the words. She stood with her hands on her hips, eyes fixed on the map before her.

“Not a problem, Inquisitor. How was your rest? Is your room…” Josephine paused when Juliette looked up to meet her gaze, taken aback by the exhaustion in her eyes and the dark circles beneath them.

“It’s wonderful, thank you,” Juliette said with a dismissive nod, lowering her eyes once more.

“That’s good to hear.” Josephine quietly exchanged a glance with Leliana, who raised a brow in suspicion.

“Are these the reports?” Juliette asked, her hand extending towards the stack of papers neatly arranged in front of Josephine.

“Oh yes, here you are,” Josephine replied, swiftly passing them to her.

“The Denerim job is included?”

Cullen cleared his throat softly. “I have the full report, Inquisitor,” he said, sliding the papers across the table, his fingers stopping just short of Juliette’s hand.

Without glancing at him, she picked up the report and asked, “What happened? I only heard half the story from the scouts. I expected to hear from you.” Her voice held an unexpected coldness, emphasised by her refusal to meet his eyes.

“Messenger birds were few and far between once we reached the south, I’m afraid,” Cullen explained, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword as his eyes remained on Juliette, trying to gauge her mood.

Normally, when she entered a room, her presence carried a certain lightness. Today, however, she was like a storm. Cold and distant.

Cullen wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret the change in her demeanor, and judging by the awkward silence from both Leliana and Josephine, neither did they.

Juliette flicked through the reports, staring at the words without truly reading them. Sighing, she dropped the reports onto the table with a firmness that caused a sound. She turned to Leliana, her eyes serious. “We need birds in every camp. Communication must be open at all times.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Leliana said with a slight bow of her head. “I’ll see to it right away.”

“And mage healers,” Juliette added.

“Mage healers?” Cullen asked, a waver in his tone.

Juliette lifted her eyes, her glare locking onto Cullen’s for the first time that day. A storm of emotions flashed across her face—determination, frustration, and evident exhaustion. “Mage healers,” she repeated, sternly.

They held eye contact. Seconds that felt like an eternity, until Juliette broke away, her focus shifting back to the war table’s map. Her voice echoed in his mind, the way she had emphasised “mage” with a tone that carried a trace of disdain. He wondered if this had something to do with Varric’s book, if she read beyond the pages that he had marked for her. Of course she did. It was naive to think she wouldn’t.

His thoughts scattered when she spoke again, a severity to her voice that commanded his attention. “Nobody working for the Inquisition should suffer in pain for a lack of healing magic.” Juliette picked up the reports once more, flicking through them absently, just to have something to hold on to. “Even if they are too stubborn to admit that they need healing.”

“Oh, this is about Cassandra,” Leliana remarked with a subtle smirk.

Juliette's head snapped up, her voice rising. “It’s about anyone who may find themselves in danger by my order or by my hand.” She threw the reports down once more, the sound sharp against the table. Josephine snatched them away, quick and composed, before Juliette could reach for the reports again.

Cullen’s eyes softened as he noticed Juliette’s hand weave through her hair, coiling the ends around her finger. His tone gentler, he asked, “There were some discrepancies in the reports. What actually happened to Cassandra?”

With a quick, sharp breath Juliette snapped, “I lost control of my magic, all right?” Cullen blinked in response to her outburst, caught off guard by her sudden aggression. She shot him a brief, angry glance before looking away, her hand rising to her forehead. “It won’t happen again. I plan to ask Fiona for tuition,” she said, her words coming faster, her breath uneven. “These are mistakes we cannot afford.”

An awkward silence lingered in the air. Cullen's brow furrowed as he watched Juliette, and Leliana cast a wary glance between them. Josephine moved across the room, the sound of a chest opening loud against the quiet tension. She returned to her place beside Juliette and gently handed her a letter.

“This is from Queen Anora,” she said with a smile.

Juliette’s hand reached out for the letter, shaking lightly as she accepted it. “What is this?” she asked Josephine, her voice softer now, yet it carried a hint of sadness.

“It’s an apology of sorts. For the way she spoke to you in Redcliffe.”

Cullen scoffed. “We cleared the Venatori from her palace with as little much as a ‘thank you’. An apology is the least that she could manage.”

Leliana clicked her heel against the floor as she adjusted her stance. “Think yourself lucky to receive that much.”

Juliette focused on the letter, reading softly under her breath. Josephine glanced at Cullen and asked, “Did Warden Blackwall invoke the treaties while you were there, Cullen?”

A smug grin grew on his lips. “It wasn’t necessary. After we paraded our soldiers through the streets? People from all over Ferelden are rushing to join us.” With a breathy chuckle he added, “I dare say we gained more influence in that hour alone than in months of pandering to nobility.”

Josephine’s pen scratched against her clipboard, louder than usual in the quiet room. “Well," she began, an edge of unimpressed irritation in her voice. "I trust you won’t waste this opportunity, Commander. Nor the funds donated to our forces.”

“The timing couldn’t be better. With soldiers stationed in both Ostwick and White Spire, we were stretching thin.”

“Ostwick?” Juliette asked, lifting her head with curiosity. “What are they doing in Ostwick?”

“Aside from being harassed by your family?" Cullen said sarcastically with a hollow laugh. "They’re searching for your phylactery." He turned to Leliana and asked, “Have you heard anything about that from the Chantry? I’d suspect that they’d want to locate it too.”

“Nothing,” Leliana said. “Their focus remains in Val Royeaux for now.”

Juliette folded her arms. "There would be nothing left in Ostwick." Slowly, she shook her head.

"Some phylacteries were recovered from Ostwick's circle, but not yours," Cullen said with concern.

Juliette blinked, tiliting her head. “And White Spire? I had heard that the phylacteries there were destroy—"

"They were," Leliana spoke with a cold tone.

Cullen shifted his focus to Leliana's change in demeanor.

"The Chantry were fast in recovering what they could from fallen circles," Leliana continued. "Now that the Templars are no longer guarding the Spire…"

"They think that nobody will look there," Juliette whispered.

Leliana gave a quick nod. "That could be of benefit to us."

"While I don't agree with doing errands for the Chantry, our guards send a powerful message," Josephine said, eyes still hovering over letters.

Cullen moved his hand to the pommel of his sword, his expression hardening. “White Spire is almost impregnable and —"

"Almost," Leliana interrupted with what Juliette swore was a smirk for just a second.

Cullen cast her a slow, unimpressed glance before returning his eyes to Juliette. "It's as good as an armoury. Those vials are weapons. If the Venatori get their hands on the phylacteries of just a few powerful mages, who knows the chaos they could unleash with their blood magic.”

Juliette stared at Cullen from across the table, her eyes narrowing with a sharp intensity, her arms still tightly folded. “It’s blood taken from people, not tools to be utilised. People.”

“I am aware.” Cullen folded his arms in response, eyes not once wavering from hers. They held eye contact for a moment as Cullen wondered what had caused her sudden attitude. So she did stray from the marked pages. I should never have sent her that book.

Juliette raised an eyebrow before speaking. “We’ll have them all destroyed. Simple.”

“Simple?” Josephine asked in shock at the same time Cullen unleashed a condescending laugh.

“You must be joking,” he said, the creases between his brows deepening the more he considered what Juliette had suggested. “The Chantry would see that as an attack!”

“ I agree with The Commander,” Leliana said. “That cannot come to pass, Inquisitor. At least not now, not at a time like this.”

Juliette and Cullen still held their gaze from opposite sides of the room until Juliette pulled her eyes away, looking down at her feet as she spoke. “It seems a waste of time and resources.” She scrunched her face and awkwardly shifted her weight. “The circles are no longer, I can’t see why… a reason, practically or ethically why they should still exist.”

Cullen stepped forward, his armour creaking and his boots thudding against the stone floor as he moved around the table. The sound made Juliette glance up, surprise igniting in her eyes. “If you push for this , you will start a war with the Chantry,” he warned, firmness in his tone, but with an underlying concern that softened the edge of his words. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the tension between them relaxed. Juliette’s shoulders loosened as she listened to his words, her jarring defiance dulling under his persistence.

Sensing a chance to add her opinion, Josephine spoke softly, ”We have only just convinced them to cooperate with us, Inquisitor.”

“I will do what is required to protect you, whatever that takes. And I will serve The Inquisition,” Cullen said, his voice low and sure. His eyes locked firmly onto Juliette’s. “But I will not willingly partake in starting another war.”

Juliette lowered her head, feeling breathless as she swallowed hard. “Then do what you must,” she murmured with resignation. The usual spark in her tone had dimmed, replaced by a quiet defeat.

Cullen couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, concern showing in his expression. His brow furrowed, and his jaw tightened as he took in every subtle movement she made—the nervous way she touched her hair, the tension in her clenched fists, and the restless shuffle of her feet. Her discomfort was clear and a protective instinct rose within him. He wanted nothing more than to offer her comfort, to ease what burdens were weighing her down. Though the longer he looked at her, the more his thoughts betrayed him, worrying that he was the cause of her unease. The possibility that he might be the source of her hostility made his chest tighten with guilt.

Juliette sighed heavily. “That is all?” She asked, looking to Josephine.

“Yes,” Leliana said, her eyes moving between Cullen and Juliette. “I think we are done here.”

Juliette breathed deeply. “Very well, thank you.” She turned quickly, eyes on the floor as she rushed out of the room.

There was a silence after the door closed, tension still lingering in the air. “I know there must be more to it, but do you think her mood today had anything to do with her room?” Josephine asked, her attention focused on her clipboard. She looked up from her notes. “Perhaps importing a bed from The Free Marches wasn’t the best idea.”

Leliana laughed softly, shaking her head. “You worry too much, Josie. That had nothing to do with it.”

Cullen sighed and hurried to the door.

Juliette was just seconds away from opening the door to the main hall when Cullen’s voice stopped her.

“Inquisitor! Wait!”

Slowly, she turned, her heart skipping a beat. Her fingers twitched with hesitation, unsure where to place them, as she instinctively adjusted her hair. She avoided looking directly at him, instead focusing on the floor, her cheeks burning with heat. Every breath felt too loud as she tried to appear composed, but the nervous flutter in her chest was relentless. She cleared her throat, a weak attempt at regaining some control. “Yes, Commander?”

The words left her lips before she had fully gathered herself, and she began to regret not moving faster. She hated feeling this way. She wasn’t sure how to be, who to be. Her intentions were to exude assertive authority, to be the leader they needed. Instead, she felt like a fool. A brat. And now, Cullen was again threatening her control before she had even truly grasped it, simply by existing in her presence.

“I didn’t mean to challenge you back there about the phylacteries.” Cullen stood in the doorway near Josephine’s office, leaving a narrow corridor between them. “It was nothing personal. Not against you.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine,” Juliette replied, forcing a smile. “You were right. I was not.” She exhaled loudly and turned her back to him. “There’s no need to speak of it.”

“You seem upset,” he remarked, his arms folding across his chest as his eyes remained steady on her.

She spun back around, her jaw clenched tightly, and little crinkles formed between her brows. Her eyes flashed with anger and defiance. “Is this where you tell me I’m being unreasonable, that I’m acting like a child?”

“Do… do you want me to think that?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

She scoffed, “Forget it,” and turned back to the door.

“Because I wouldn’t dare presume to know what you want.”

Slowly, she faced him once more, surprised by his words. With slow, deliberate steps, he closed the distance between them.

“Hence why I asked.” Cullen smirked, and she felt the muscles in her face tug, the irresistible urge to smile. She scrunched her face upon realising it and yanked the door open.

Varric sat by the fireplace in the main hall, letters scattered across the table. The background chatter of nobility and dining guests had nothing on the raucous atmosphere of The Hanged Man Tavern, though it smelled a lot less like sour ale, vomit, and desperation.

While crumpling a letter from the Merchant’s Guild, Varric looked up as a familiar figure approached. Dorian wove his way towards the rotunda door, slipping between gossiping nobles, a bottle of wine in each hand.

“Don’t let Ruffles see that,” Varric warned, eyes narrowing as Dorian drew near.

“See what? My wit and charm? I have plenty of both,” Dorian replied with a smirk.

“Good luck out-charming the lady ambassador. She won’t hesitate to ban you from the wine cellar.”

“Speaking from experience, are we?”

“Not yet,” Varric said, tossing the scrunched-up letter into the fire. “Day’s still young.” Dorian was almost past the door when Varric called out again, “Hey!” Dorian stopped, poking his head back around the corner with a raised brow.

“Planning on settling that fifty crown debt anytime soon, Sparkler?”

“And if I don’t? Will you send tiny enforcers to strip me of my holdings?” Dorian quipped, his grin widening.

Varric’s eyes drifted across the hall as Juliette burst through the door. Her movements were hurried, her head down, and her cheeks flushed. Cullen followed closely behind, his smile hard to miss as he looked at her.

Varric glanced up at Dorian. “What if we made a bet to settle it all?”

Dorian let out an incredulous laugh. “I told you, I don’t take fool’s bets.”

Varric shook his head slowly. “What if we changed the terms?”

Cullen had caught up with Juliette, walking at her side as she exited the hall. “It doesn’t matter how much training you have, how hard you try. Disaster is inevitable.”

At the top of the steps, she paused, looking out over the courtyard. “I hope that’s not the speech you use to motivate our troops, Cullen.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing in defeat. “That sounded much better in my head.”

A small giggle escaped her, one she quickly muted behind closed lips. “I’d like to hope so,” she murmured.

“What I meant to say is… I—”

“I know what you meant to say,” she reassured him, her tone softer now, with a hint of warmth. “Mistakes happen.”

Cullen leaned against the wall with folded arms, their conversation falling quiet while people moved past them to enter the hall. Juliette glanced over her shoulder, their eyes meeting for just a second before she returned her to focus to the courtyard below. The morning sunlight bathed the yard in gold as workers and pilgrims wandered through. She let herself smile, just for a little while.

Once they found themselves alone again, Cullen stepped forward, standing next to her, his focus on the battlements in the distance. “If it brings you peace of mind, you can resume combat training. We have plenty of capable soldiers, some with experience in training recruits.”

“Oh, like yourself, you mean?” she teased, turning her face slightly to conceal the smile that she couldn’t seem to put away. So much for control.

“No, I’m not…” Cullen’s words trailed off as he chuckled, the sound light and airy. “I doubt you’d want to train with me.”

The thought sent a warm rush to Juliette’s cheeks, her blood still tingling from the sound of his voice. She bit back a grin, her smirk slipping through as she forced her voice, low and teasing. “There you go, making presumptions again.”

Cullen laughed, the sound near driving her mad. Juliette moved a hand to her face, hiding behind her palm as if it could shield her from the effect he had on her.

“Maker’s breath,” he said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re impossible today, do you know that?”

She looked at him with a playful glare, her lips betraying any attempt to seem offended. “Hmm,” was the only noise could manage.

“All right,” he said leaning in just a tad closer. “If not the lieutenant that, uh…attempted to train you at Haven…”

Juliette tilted her head, smirking as his words trailed off.

“Then tell me, Inquisitor,” Cullen’s eyes met Juliette’s, the gold in them reflecting the sunlight. Her breath was taken by the way he looked at her, so intense, so serious. “Who do you want?”

Oh don’t go asking that.

She tore her eyes away, a rush of heat in her cheeks. With a nervous swallow, she bowed her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I… um…” She inhaled quickly, almost gasping. “Briony!” she exclaimed. Straightening, she met his eyes again with forced conviction. “I want Knight Captain Briony.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “Briony?”

“Yes! I heard about her performance at the tourney—it was quite impressive!” she said in a rush, her words tumbling over themselves. “Her equestrian combat skills were remarkable. To achieve that and win the…” Her voice trailed off when she noticed the way Cullen was looking at her. “What?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.

Cullen’s smile widened, faint lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Nothing, Inquisitor,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t say that I’m surprised, but Knight Captain Briony is still in The Free Marches. You’ll have to settle for someone else.” Turning, he began descending the steps.

“Well, I’m certain that you’ll figure something out, Commander,” Juliette called after him.

He glanced back over his shoulder, a smirk lingering. “If there’s anything you need of me, I’ll be in my office.”

“Oh, they gave you an office too?” she teased with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Cullen looked back at her, one last time, grinning at her comment, before turning and walking away.

Juliette leaned against the balustrade, her fingers brushing idly along the cool stone. The other hand rested lightly against her lips, while her eyes followed Cullen across the courtyard below. There was an effortless confidence in the way he walked, a natural command in his presence. Officers stepped aside with quiet respect, and even the tavern patrons seemed to make way for him. The sunlight danced across his armour, catching its polished surface and making it almost impossible not to look. She was drawn to him, try as she might to convince herself otherwise.

That laugh of his echoed in her mind, light and unguarded, a sound she wasn’t willing to forget. The curve of his smile lingered, replaying over and over, each memory drawing a warmth to her cheeks. She sighed softly, her lips a smile behind her fingers.

A breeze swept across the courtyard, embracing her with its cool touch. It lifted her hair, the soft strands brushing against her cheeks, and sent the fabric of her dress fluttering against her legs. For a moment, her mind was carried away with it, adrift in a daydream she couldn’t resist.

Her fingers glided down her neck, absently landing on her collarbone. With light caresses, she moved her fingertips, her mind lost with thoughts of Cullen, and all the things that she wish she could tell him.

She wanted him to know. It was a dangerous thought, but she couldn’t keep deceiving herself. She played the moment out in her mind—how she’d say it, how he’d react in a perfect world. But of course, nothing about this was perfect, right, or appropriate. If there was nothing holding her back, no stakes, she’d tell him.

Had she the courage, she’d tell him that his smile makes her heart skip a beat, that when he is near her body tingles. Like magic. Powerful and forbidden. She would show him. That she wanted to feel his warmth against her skin, her lips pressed to his, his hands exploring her. Just one look from him could be enough to unravel her completely. And if he felt the same? If he craved her the way she craved him…

The quiet sound of someone clearing their throat snapped Juliette from her fantasy. She jolted, a sudden gasp escaping her lips as her cheeks blushed in mortified awareness.

“Have a thing for strapping young templars, I see.”

She spun around, her lips parted in shock, her heart racing. Dorian leaned casually against the wall near the hall’s entrance, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“What? I…”

He took a step closer, the bottles of wine in his arms clinking. “Care for a drink?” He extended an arm, wiggling one of the bottles enticingly.

Juliette shook her head, still wearing the shocked expression on her face. “What are you on about?” she asked, quickly turning her back to him to hide the blush in her cheeks.

“Oh, nothing,” he replied, his tone light and amused. “Just something I find rather adorable about you.”

“Puppies are adorable,” she shot back with an eye-roll. “This? This is not—” She sighed, cutting herself off.

“And yet,” he countered, his smirk widening, “you can’t deny it.” He raised the bottle to his lips, taking a casual swig

“I’m not—” she started, her voice defensive, but his expression silenced her. Narrowing her eyes, she crossed her arms. “Are you seriously going to drink that? Here? Now? Like that?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, her tone unconvincing.

“Oh, come now!” Dorian exclaimed, feigning outrage. “I heard what you said to him at the gates yesterday. Quite the hilarious little blunder.”

Juliette groaned, her hands flying to cover her face. “What are you trying to do?” she asked, her voice a harsh whisper as nobles and soldiers passed by. “Is this some kind of blackmail?”

“So it is true!” he said with a mock look of shock on his face.

“Ugh,” she groaned again, spinning on her heel and marching towards the hall. “I never said that! I—oh, Maker help me.”

Dorian’s laughter echoed as he followed her, his long strides easily keeping pace while Juliette fired forced smiles at the nobility she passed on her way to her quarters. “If you must talk to me, let it be another topic please,” she said behind gritted teeth.

“Anything? Truly? All right!” His tone brightened with mischief.

She stopped dead in her tracks, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “Oh, I’m going to regret this.”

“Your Harrowing,” he began dramatically, pointing a finger before she could interrupt. “Ah-ah! You said anything!”

Juliette folded her arms, her lips pulling into a sarcastic smile. “Come closer,” she said sweetly, “and I’ll tell you.”

Dorian’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really?”

“I will tell you,” she repeated, her voice low and secretive. She beckoned him closer with a small tilt of her head. The moment his ear was within reach, Juliette leaned in and whispered, “With. My. Dying. Breath.”

Before he could respond, Juliette spun abruptly, the fabric of her dress swaying as she moved towards her quarters. She ripped open the door, stepped inside, and slammed it firmly in his face.

Dorian stared at the closed door, blinking. “This is why I adore you so, Inquisitor!” he called out, his voice loud enough to draw stares from those gathering by the dining tables.

From the other side, Juliette leaned against the door, closing her eyes with a long, exasperated sigh.

Chapter Text

The noise around her rose into a chaotic blur. Laughter, chattering, instructions, commands. Voices overlapped in dissonance, pressing against her skull, growing louder with each passing moment. So many hands moved around her: pulling, pinching, measuring, writing, holding. Every gesture felt invasive, every touch unwelcome, threatening her composure.

Before, her room had felt too large, an overly indulgent space where every step echoed in deafening silence. Now, it all felt impossibly small. The walls seemed to close in with every rise and fall of her chest, each breath heavier than the last.

No matter where her eyes dared wander, her gaze would fall upon another face. Expectant, focused, looking to her with purpose, as though she were some project. They surrounded, waiting for her word, her decision, her approval. Their movements were dizzying, as though she would tumble over if her eyes lingered too long on their darting hands or their scurrying feet.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, her instincts screaming for something to grasp. She pressed her nails into her palms, just to feel, just to have some control.

“Don’t do that, dear!” the seamstress scolded, seizing Juliette’s hand and forcing her fingers open. “Each crease on your hand ages you, you know?”

The words hardly sank in. Others glanced in shock at the woman’s audacity, daring to speak in such a manner to The Inquisitor, but Juliette only stared absently at her palms. To others, those lines and creases marked signs of a life far removed from courtly grace. To Juliette, those lines told another story entirely.

Every groove dragged her back to Haven, to the chaos of Corypheus’ attack. Blood had seeped into her skin, into the lines of her palms, blood of the innocent, blood of those she couldn’t save.

She could still feel its warmth, still see the red streaks etched into her hands. The metallic scent of it clung to her memory, sharper now than the noise around her.

Even now, when the blood was long gone, she could feel it.

With every pinch and pull, every tightening of her corset, she felt a scream building in her chest. She imagined it. Again and again. A sharp, piercing cry that would cut through the madness around her. But that scream was reserved for her imagination. In reality, she stood quiet, compliant. Grounded only by the rhythm of her breath.

In the blur of chatter, Josephine’s voice was the only one Juliette recognised.

“The theme is blues and silvers,” Josephine mused aloud, her tone melodic yet focused, “but what if we chose to stand out?”

“How about white, my lady?” an assistant suggested timidly.

Josephine shook her head. “No, no, that’s a little too on the nose. We want to evoke the Herald of Andraste, not Andraste herself.”

“A letter from House De Montfort,” someone announced, holding up the missive.

“I’ll take that.” Josephine reached for the missive without looking up, glanced briefly at the seal, and discarded it onto the growing pile on Juliette’s desk. With her other hand, she sipped from a delicate teacup unbothered by the whirlwind around them.

Juliette’s focus dropped to the seamstress crouched by her feet, tugging at the fabric of her skirt with practiced precision. “Taupe is very in this season,” the woman muttered, her Orlesian accent muffled behind the pins balanced between her lips.

“Absolutely not taupe,” Josephine declared, setting her cup down with a soft clink.

All around, the room buzzed with energy. Tailoring assistants darted back and forth, laying out fabric samples, murmuring to each other as they worked. A loud clatter erupted as two young women collided—one dropping a box of pins, the other spilling tea down the front of her dress.

“Maker’s breath!”

“Forgive me! I’ll clean it!”

Juliette stood still, zoning out amongst the chatter of the room. Clinking cups, rustling parchment, soft footsteps, and bursts of snide laughter swirled around her.

“Will you be joining us for lunch today, Inquisitor?” a voice asked, close but indistinct.

“No,” Juliette murmured automatically, her voice distant, barely hers. “Thank you,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“The bodice is ready for stitching, ma’am.”

“…and Gaspard saw it himself! Can you believe?”

“Tell Leliana I will consult her on the shoes, obviously!”

More voices clashed. Scissors sliced through fabric. Chairs scraped against the floor. Pins clinked into a dish.

“Should we add embroidery to the neckline?”

“A letter from Lady Beatrix Trevelyan, Your Worship.”

“Mother Giselle has asked for—”

Juliette shuddered as a hand draped over her neckline, a young girl taking measurements. “Burn the letter,” she managed to speak above the noise. “It’s not…it’s…”

“…and the guest list has been finalised?”

“Yes, Ambassador.”

“More tea, my lady?”

“And Celene? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“It’s what I heard!”

Juliette’s pulse raced. Her fists clenched. Her breathing became shallow as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“A message from Commander Cullen, Your Worship.”

It was as if glass had shattered into a thousand pieces. Sudden awareness struck her with a force that left no room for hesitation. Juliette’s eyes snapped open, her focus narrowing to the messenger standing at the edge of the room, his stance rigid, as he awaited her response.

The noise around her softened, fading into a dull hum as a strange calm swept over her. Without thinking, she stepped forward, the skirts of her half-altered dress trailing behind. Gasps rippled through the room as pins dropped from the fabric, scattering like tiny shards of glass on the floor.

The seamstress stumbled back, clutching at her chest in disbelief. “Inquisitor Trevelyan! The dress! Please!”

She wasn’t fully aware of her movements, her body acting on instinct while her mind latched onto the distraction before her. Her focus was entirely on the messenger, his presence offering just a glimmer of escape. With each step, the vulnerability that had clung to her moments earlier, began to fall away, piece by piece.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice stronger than she felt.

The messenger straightened, his eyes snapping nervously to the seamstress before returning to Juliette. “The Commander has something he’d like to discuss with you, Your Worship,” he began. His tone lowered as he added, almost sheepishly, “he requests that you meet in his office, at your convenience. He wanted me to emphasise that last part. He doesn’t wish to rush you.”

A light blush crept to her cheeks as Juliette managed a nod. “Very well,” she whispered.

“Oh!” Josephine hurried towards Juliette, a rare sight to see her without a clipboard. Placing her hands gently on Juliette’s arms, she smiled. “If it’s at your convenience, then there’s no need to hurry. The Commander can wait.”

Juliette nodded towards the messenger, who acknowledged her with a respectful fist to his chest before retreating. As he descended the stairs, she turned back slowly, Josephine’s hands still resting lightly on her arms.

Josephine tilted her head, her eyes narrowing with concern. “Is everything all right, Inquisitor?”

“Yes,” Juliette answered softly, offering a gentle smile. “I just have a slight headache, and I’m a little tired. That’s all.”

Josephine studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. “We won’t take much more of your time. Shall we continue?”

“Of course,” Juliette replied, the smile remaining firmly in place.

As Josephine turned her attention back to the bustling room, Juliette allowed herself a moment to breathe. She drew in a slow, deep breath, steadying herself for what lay ahead. The noise returned, the chaos surrounding her once more, but this time, it felt just a little more bearable.

The only sound in Cullen’s office was the distant howl of the wind and the heavy sigh that slipped past his lips. With every second of silence, the lyrium’s song rang louder in his mind, relentless.

Scattered across his desk lay letters: reports from officers in the field, requests, negotiations. Yet his focus remained on the one in his hand. The words blurred slightly as he read them again, quiet turmoil stirring in his chest.

Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead. Again. If the Inquisition was not on everyone's lips, we would never have heard that their fine commander survived Haven.

With a tightened grip, he scrunched the letter into his fist and let his head drop forward, eyes squeezing shut as his heart pounded in his chest. I can’t. I’m not the brother she once knew.

He drew in a slow breath, fingers uncurled, the parchment loosening in his grasp. He stared down at it for a moment before carefully smoothing out the creases. Someday. But not today.

He opened the top drawer of his desk and placed the letter inside, face down. He closed the drawer, hoping that would be enough to put it out of mind.

He had expected this. His sister always found him, eventually. He should have written to her sooner. The thought had crossed his mind more times than he could count, especially during his recent travels through Ferelden.

When they passed through Lothering, still many days’ journey from their home, it was the closest he had been to his family in over a decade. That had felt like another lifetime ago.

Things had changed. He had changed.

Yet not enough.

He glanced at the door. Still nothing.

He had told the messenger to assure Juliette that there was no rush, though part of him wished she would hurry. The waiting only made it worse. He wanted to move past this, to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Sweeping the letters into a neat pile, he pushed them aside, leaving the surface of his desk bare. A restless energy stirred within him. Before he realised it, he was pacing, the silence of his office slowly sending him mad.

He couldn’t keep it from her any longer. She deserved to know.

The clank of the lock jolted him from his thoughts. He froze, his breath halting as he turned towards the door. The heavy wooden frame groaned when the door creaked open, sunlight rushing into the room. Cullen’s shoulders dropped, and he exhaled a heavy sigh. His brows furrowed as he shook his head, irritated at himself for reacting with such anticipation.

“Don’t look too happy to see me,” came a familiar voice, the accent unmistakable.

Cullen turned, already composing himself. “Rylen. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Moving to the bookshelf, he absently ran his fingers along the spines of the books, feigning interest in their order.

Rylen lingered in the doorway, his expression dour. “A lot of mages just showed up.”

Cullen cast him a glance. “That I was expecting.”

 “I hope they’re friendlies. Because if they’re not, we’re in trouble.”

Cullen’s hand dropped from the bookshelf, swinging at his side as he moved back to his desk. “They have little choice in the matter. The Inquisition is the safest place for them.”

“You’re remarkably calm about this,” Rylen observed.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Cullen muttered, his words quickly cut short as the door to the right swung open. He looked up, eyes wide with expectation, but as a runner hurried inside, his focus dropped to the floor.

Hm.

He had hoped his disappointment wasn’t too obvious. “Commander! Master Harritt asked that I deliver this to you at once,” the runner said, producing a small velvet pouch. Cullen stepped forward quickly to take it. He loosened the drawstrings and peered inside. Gold glistened in the light, but he kept the contents obscured.

The runner hesitated before adding, “He, uh… also wanted me to tell you not to bother him with trinkets like this again. Unless absolutely necessary.”

Cullen smirked. “Is that so?” Rolling the pouch closed between his fingers, he glanced at the young man. “You can tell Master Harritt that I won’t trouble him further. So long as his repairs are correct.”

“I…Yes, I will let him know right away, Commander.” The man stumbled back in his haste, nearly tripping over his own feet before slipping out the door, leaving it slightly ajar.

“Mages and trinkets,” Rylen said, shaking his head with a mirthless laugh. “World’s gone mad if you ask me.”

Cullen moved to the door that was left open and closed it firmly. “Thankfully no one was asking you.”

He returned to his desk, setting the pouch carefully inside the top drawer, alongside his sister’s letter. “Any luck with those leads?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.

“Aye. Steady progress, but nothing to crack open a keg over. We haven’t got the bastard yet.”

Cullen let out a low, amused breath. “If you find Samson, drinks are on me.”

“That’ll be the day,” Rylen said as he stepped out. “Nugs start flyin’.”

Juliette hurried through the hall with her head down, her feet scurrying as she weaved past the visiting nobility. She hated the way they gathered there, their watchful eyes tracking her every move.

In her hand, she clutched a bundle of letters—Josephine’s, meant for Cullen. She had been asked to deliver them when she saw him, and for that, she was grateful. At least she wouldn’t be arriving empty-handed. If silence stretched too long between them, the letters would serve as an excuse, something to break the ice should it be needed.

She pulled her hair over one shoulder as she walked, the adjustment a necessity, something to touch. Something to ground herself as her thoughts swirled.

When she had heard from the messenger earlier, she was relieved. She was excited. Meeting with Cullen was a clear escape from the dress fittings, etiquette lessons, and excruciating small talk with pompous Orlesians. Perhaps together, they could achieve something worthwhile, her and Cullen. Together, they could research red lyrium, plan where next to send soldiers, make progress in stopping Corypheus.

Together.

Her grip tightened around the letters.

What if he has a troubling report? What if he’s decided to argue against sheltering mages here? What if he—

What if he wants to discuss something more personal?

Oh, Maker. Am I being too obvious? Dorian figured it out, what if —

“Hello.”

Solas looked up from his book, offering a blatantly friendly greeting as Juliette stumbled into the rotunda, unaware. A soft gasp escaped her lips and a startled look washed over her face.

“Hello,” she replied softly.

Solas didn’t say anything further, returning to his book, his expression unremarkable. Juliette’s eyes swept over the room, taking in the the colours of the vivid scenes freshly frescoed on the walls. She almost spoke, her lips parting, but she hesitated. He seemed uninterested in conversation and she couldn’t keep stalling.

She kept moving, drawing in a deep breath to calm her thoughts.

The memory of their last conversation hadn’t escaped her mind. Cullen had looked at her then, not as the Inquisitor, but as Juliette. It unsettled her how much she had thought about it since.

She exhaled sharply, forcing her mind back to the task at hand. This meeting would surely be about The Inquisition, about mages or strategy and war. Not about the way his eyes softened when he listened to her, or how she sometimes caught herself looking at the scar on his lip longer than she should.

And even if he were to notice, if he somehow figured it all out — what then? Nothing would come of it.

Juliette stepped outside, the sunlight warm on her skin and the breeze light against her hair.

He’s The Commander. Disciplined, devoted to his duty and not to be distracted. And I’m, well…

Anyway, who’s to say the way he looks at me is anything but —

A sudden gasp left her lips when she collided with someone in a shocking smack. Letters scattered into the air and she stumbled backwards, blinking in surprise. A flash of polished steel gleamed in the sunlight, followed by the muted greens and browns of a uniform.

A low grunt of surprise met her ears, and before she could find her footing, a steady hand caught her arm. The touch of it startled her almost as much as the impact itself.

"Apologies, my lady," the man said smoothly, already kneeling to gather the fallen letters.

Still shaken, Juliette hurried to do the same, reaching out with slightly trembling fingers. "No, that was…I wasn’t looking where I was going," she admitted, her voice soft.

The man smirked. "No, you weren’t."

She was breathless for a moment, caught up in shock and embarrassment. Before she could manage a response, he paused, eyes dropping to her hand. His expression faltered. His eyebrows rose. His eyes zoned in on the dull green glow of her mark.

“Oh, shite! You’re her.” He straightened instantly, posture snapping to attention as if to make up for the casual tone he’d just used. Then, he extended his hand to help her up. "I beg your pardon, Inquisitor. Knight-Captain Rylen, at your service.” Juliette accepted his hand, slowly rising to her feet with a curious look in her eyes. She found herself momentarily distracted as she took in the tattoos on his face and the battle-worn scars on his warm olive skin.

“Thank you,” she said graciously, gently pulling her hand back to her side. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Inquisitor Trevelyan… you. You know that already.” She sighed, dropping her eyes to the ground with a dramatic shrug of her shoulders.

A small chuckle escaped Rylen before he cleared his throat, his posture remaining straight. “The pleasure is mine, Your Worship.”

“It has been one of those days,” she said with a small smile, a rosy blush to her cheeks. She stepped towards the edge of the battlements, resting her back against the stone as she faced Rylen once more. “You’re Cullen’s second in command, yes?” Hearing his name roll off her lips stirred a warmth in her chest, though she refused to let the thought linger.

“Aye,” Rylen replied with a nod. “I served with the templars in Starkhaven, until they all ran off to the hills barking at the moon.” A hint of sarcasm coloured his voice. “Commander Cullen offered me a job and I was glad to do anything to help stop all this madness.”

Juliette tilted her head, a warm smile on her lips. “Starkhaven. I thought I recognised that accent.”

“Hard to miss,” he replied.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should pry further. He likely had much to do, but curiosity got the better of her. “If you’re from Starkhaven, then how do you know Cullen?”

“After Kirkwall…” Rylen’s voice softened, undertones of sorrow in his words. “…exploded…Starkhaven sent aid. Rubble fell on much of the city. A lot of people were homeless or trapped in collapsed buildings. I coordinated rescue efforts and met Cullen while he was trying to command what was left of Kirkwall’s templars.”

With her hands clasped in front and her head lowered, Juliette listened, feeling a tingle in her face, emotion threatening to break when she noticed the change in his voice. Blinking at the thought, she said softly, “That must have been…horrific.” The words felt insufficient, knowing there was nothing she could say that would truly ease the weight of what they had endured.

"Whatever you're thinkin', it's far worse than that,” Rylen spoke with exhaustion in his voice as he moved next to Juliette. “Hundreds of people were injured, many others died. If your Inquisition can put a stop to this madness, to do better than the Chantry, then I’ll gladly lend my sword to the cause.”

Juliette looked up at him with a gentle smile, drawing in a quiet breath. "It's people like you who are the Inquisition," she said with heartfelt sincerity. "And I'm honoured to stand among you."

Rylen gave her a nod and a subtle smile in return. For a moment, the only sound between them was the distant chatter from the courtyard below.

"I should keep moving. Cullen… uh, the Commander, is waiting." Juliette pushed herself off the stone wall, brushing her hands lightly over the fabric of her dress.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Rylen replied.

"Keep up the good work," Juliette said with a parting smile before turning towards Cullen’s office.

Rylen nodded and took a step in the opposite direction before halting. Something about her, the way she carried herself, the slight hesitation before she corrected herself. It stirred a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. He turned back, a curious look crossing his face as he glanced at her once more.

Cullen carefully set the lyrium kit on his desk, his fingers brushing over it for a moment before moving restlessly to rearrange reports, candles, and empty glass bottles. Every so often, his eyes moved between the three doors, the anticipation tormenting him.

Then he noticed it. light shifted behind one of them, signs of a person standing. Hesitating. That has to be her.

He leaned over the desk, both hands pressed firmly into its surface and closed his eyes. She needs to know, he reminded himself.

Slowly, the door opened. Sunlight trickled in, bright against his face. Almost reluctantly, he glanced up to see Juliette enter. She had her head down as she quietly crept inside, her hair swept into a loose braid that swung over her shoulder as she turned to close the door behind her. She looked lovely, of course, a sweet smile on her face , looking around the room, eyes drawn to the ceiling above. He couldn’t let himself look at her for too long, lest she distract him, deter him from the conversation that needed to be had.

“You wanted to speak with me?” she said, her soft voice echoing in the room.

With his eyes focused on the desk, Cullen began, “As leader of the Inquisition, you…” He straightened his posture, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, a habit he rarely recognised doing. With a deep sigh, his eyes met hers. “There’s something I must tell you.”

Juliette’s smile faded under his steely gaze. “Should I be scared?” she asked in a soft murmur. 

“What? No!” he said shaking his head.

“You’re being especially serious today.” She folded her arms, a look of worry in her eyes.

Cullen sighed. “I know,” he said with a defeated tone. His eyes softened for a moment as he glanced her way. The look she gave him, it was too much. Sympathy and worry that he didn’t deserve, feelings he’d rather not inflict on her. He looked back down, leaning over the desk once more. “Lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well.”

Juliette stepped closer, her eyes drifting to the kit before him. She listened intently, noting every small waver in his voice.

“Those cut off suffer—some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the templars here. But I… no longer take it.”

Juliette’s eyes widened once hearing his words, her brows furrowing. He fingers slowly slid along the length of her braid and she moved a little closer to his desk. “Cullen…” she breathed, a shocked waver in her voice. “How? You…just stopped?”

It hurt him more than he expected. The fear in her voice, added stress she didn’t need. He understood, deep down, that this could never work. In that moment, it struck him with certainty. Her empathy couldn’t withstand this, if in some stroke of luck she were to return his feelings for her. His suffering would only cause her pain.

Cullen swallowed hard, refusing to meet her eyes. “When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

“Cullen, if this can kill you…”

“It hasn’t yet.”

Juliette let out a sharp, dismissive scoff.  She raised her hand to her mouth, her voice quivering with disbelief. “Yet?” she asked, a quiet whisper as she shook her head. “That’s not at all reassuring, Cullen!”

“After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t… I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer.” Slowly he looked up, daring to look at her as he spoke. “Whatever the suffering, I accept it.” His eyes held hers with a silent, unbreakable intensity. There was no doubt in her mind that he meant every word. Standing tall again, his posture became rigid, “But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to… watch me.”

Juliette clutched the letters a little tighter, her heart sinking as their eyes met. There was sadness in her expression while she quietly stood there, listening.

“If my ability to lead is compromised,” Cullen added with a deep sigh. Regret weaved into his words while he spoke, “I will be relieved from duty.”

She knew better than to doubt his commitment to his duty, it wasn’t just responsibility, it was the very core of who he was. She had seen it at Haven, how easily he’d thrown himself into danger to protect her, to protect everyone. She believed him, and she knew that nothing mattered more to him than the Inquisition. He’d work himself to the brink of exhaustion, perhaps beyond, to uphold his vow to their cause. This wasn’t a decision he’d make lightly.

Juliette exhaled softly, staring at the floor while she blinked, desperately fighting back tears. Now that she was hearing it, it all seemed so obvious looking back. How she missed the signs, all this time.

She looked back up to him, searching his eyes for some kind of reassurance, although she already knew the answer. “Are you in pain?”

His eyes remained firmly locked on hers, the intensity in the way he looked at her answering her question better than words ever could. “ I can endure it.”

She tore her eyes away, overwhelmed. Her fingers gripped the letters so tightly that the warmth from her fingers likely smudged the ink on the envelopes. With a heavy sigh she said, “I trust Cassandra. I know she’ll take this seriously.” She looked back up at him, a gentle expression, then asked, “but Cullen, if there’s anything that I can do…”

“I thought you had a right to know.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking as her eyes moved back to the floor.

“The Inquisition’s army must always take priority. Should anything happen… I will defer to Cassandra’s judgment.” He reached for the lyrium kit, lifting it from the desk. “That is all I wanted to discuss, Inquisitor.”

She looked at him once more, an awkward silence passing between them before she nodded and turned for the door. Her fingers lingered on the door handle for a moment, the need to say more, to offer some kind of support tearing at her. Before she could gather her thoughts, his voice stopped her.

“Inquisitor?”

Slowly, she turned to face him. “Yes?”

Still holding the lyrium kit in his hands, he looked at her, his eyes softer than before. With a tilt of his head, he asked, “Did you read the book? Tale of the Champion, I mean.”

Her hand lightly fell to her side, fingertips brushing against the door. She took a step further into the room. “Almost. I’ve just one chapter left.”

He placed the kit back down on the desk, moving his hand to the pommel of his sword, his eyes not once leaving her. It’s for the best that she knows what happened - the things I said, the things I turned a blind eye to under Meredith’s command.

“I see,” he managed to say, unsure what to make of her reaction. She simply stood, sadness in her eyes as she watched him. He stepped around his desk, his fingers gently pulling open the drawer as he moved past it. “If you think less of me, I understand.”

“I don’t,” she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion.

Cullen reached into the drawer for the pouch. “I’ve seen the suffering magic can inflict. I’ve treated mages with distrust because of it—at times without cause. That was unworthy of me, I realise that.”

“Cullen…,” Juliette tore her eyes away from him, blinking back tears.

His fingers released the pouch, his posture melting at the sight of her, the sadness in her voice feeling like a knife in the chest.

She swallowed hard and looked back up at him, a tear escaping. “When the circle fell in Ostwick, we hid in wardrobes.” With a shaky breath she continued. “Templars were killing mages on sight, simply because they could.”

She shook her head, pulling her eyes away. “Some mages were out of control, it’s true. Not all were innocent. They did murder our Senior Enchanter after all,” her voice was a soft murmur as she spoke. “But there were templars that abused their power, there were templars that ran away at the first chance they got.”

Juliette looked up at Cullen, her expression raw with emotion. “And there were templars that stayed and helped. Those who tried to protect the innocent, those who pulled bodies from rubble and fought for a greater cause, outside of the order.” She took a step forward, wiping her eye with the back of her hand.

“I know exactly what kind of man you are, Cullen.”

As Juliette’s words sank in, Cullen released his grip on the drawer’s edge. His eyes hovered over her face, searching, waiting for hesitation. Doubt. For her to change her mind. But there was none. No anger. No protest. Only kindness. Empathy. Understanding.

For a moment, all he could do was look at her. She stood before him, her emotions laid bare, and he wondered if this was some trick of the mind—an illusion that would shatter if he so much as moved, if he dared to look away. What she was offering, he wasn’t sure he could accept. He wasn’t sure he deserved it. Not from her.

His throat tightened. He averted his eyes, his fingers flexing at his sides before he forced them still.

He never saw her leave. When he finally heard her footsteps fade and the door click shut behind her, he looked up. His hands were shaking as he tore off his gloves, running them over his face, exhaling heavily through his teeth. He’d been so consumed by the fear that she would hate him. Hate him for the lyrium, for his past. He hadn’t expected her to react like this. It only complicated matters more.

Then the door burst open. Her footsteps echoed loudly against the stone as she stormed back into the room. Cullen dropped his hand onto the desk, eyes widening in shock as she moved towards him, determination set in her expression. She placed the bundle of letters on the desk and her hand fell down with them, landing on top of his.

The warmth of her touch against his skin sent a jolt through him, momentarily stealing his breath. She glanced down at their hands, then back up at him. Her cheeks a soft pink, lips parted, as if she had something to say. Her eyes drifted to his lips before returning to meet his, her eyelashes fluttering and a trace of longing in her deep brown eyes. She was so close now that he could smell her perfume, a sweet scent that he couldn’t place, an intoxicating blur of wistful lust.

“These belong to you,” she said, her voice so light and soft that her lips barely moved as she spoke. Her hand slowly slid away from his and she turned, as quickly as she came in, leaving him alone in a silent room.

Chapter Text

A book crashed at her feet with a dull thud, pages fanning wildly before settling into a splayed heap. Juliette stared down at it, then slowly lifted her eyes, unimpressed.

"How dare you!" she said, planting her hands on her hips as she glared at Dorian. He glanced over his shoulder, greeting her with an indifferent twist of his moustache. “I could have you publicly hanged for that, you know?” Juliette teased, strolling to the bookshelf beside him.

With an exaggerated scoff, Dorian carelessly flung another book over his shoulder. “And rid yourself of my wit and charm? Truly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Hmm,” she pondered aloud with a dramatic shake of her head. “No.”

“Say what you will — I know the truth. You wouldn’t have come scampering all this way if you didn’t enjoy my company.”

“I came to the library to find a book.” She shot him a glance, “Astonishing, I know.” With an expression of deep focus she moved her finger along the spines on the books, reading the titles softly under her breath.

“You have remarkably little here on early Tevinter history,” Dorian observed loudly with disgust. “All these ‘gifts’ to the Inquisition, and the best they can do is the Malefica Imperio? Trite propaganda.” Juliette smirked as she pulled a book from the shelf, quietly chuckling at Dorian. “But if you want twenty volumes on whether Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday, this is evidently the place to find it.”

“That’s precisely the level of detail I was hoping for,” she said dryly.

“And they’re not even in order!” he scoffed.

“I see. My library isn’t up to your exacting standards?”

“It’s alarmingly chaotic. I found a copy of the Aureballian in what seemed to be the Antivan Classics section!”

Juliette gasped dramatically, a hand on her chest and wide eyes. “How scandalous. Someone alert the Magisterium!”

“You laugh, but in some places there are punishments for that.”

Juliette snatched the book from Dorian’s hands before he could toss it onto the growing pile. Looking up at the unkempt bookshelf, she sighed.

Dorian eyed her curiously. “What could the Inquisitor be in such a rush to find, pray tell?”

“Well —”

“How to seduce a templar!” he proclaimed with a loud, overly-dramatic voice. “Chapter one: lyrium flavoured nipples.”

Juliette raised a closed book in her hands, threatening to bonk him over the head. “Will you keep your voice down?” she scowled. Dorian tossed his head back with unrepentant laughter. "You are disgusting. And anyway, Cullen is no longer a templar, so your joke is redundant,” she said in a hushed tone.

“You’re not even going to pretend anymore?” he asked, shock in his voice. "Pity. I quite enjoyed riling you up.”

She rolled her eyes, a slight blush rising in her cheeks as she tried her best to focus on the bookcase. “Moonlight on the Feast of Shadows, Dane and the Werewolf, The Noladar Anth—” Her focused whispers halted as she went back to the first book. Carefully, she pulled it from the shelf, her fingertips lightly tracing the cover illustration—armed men and women fighting monsters while a winged horse with a horn soared in the background against an enormous rainbow.

With pursed lips and a shrug, she set it aside. Perhaps later.

“Well, now there’s only one question that remains,” Dorian declared, watching Juliette closely with an expression of amusement.

“Whatever could that be?” she murmured, her eyes lighting up when she caught sight of a particular title. “Of Elfroot and Mead - A Guide to Traditional Ferelden Remedies.” A glimmer of excitement raised in her voice as she quietly read the title aloud.

Dorian gave her a look, part baffled and disgusted before shaking his head. “What are you going to do about our dear Commander Cullen?”

Without looking up from the book she answered, “nothing.”

“Nothing?” he asked with surprise. “That’s rather disappointing. You truly plan to just pretend that you’re not hopelessly infatuated, desperately pining from afar?”

She looked up from the book with a glare. “Yes, and again — keep your voice down!” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“All right,” he said with a shrug, returning his attention to the books.

Juliette sighed with an exasperated droop of her shoulders. “Why is every solution pickled eggs? Perhaps I should —” No. Asking around the infirmary would be reckless.

There had to be another way to understand the dangers of lyrium withdrawal, one that wouldn’t raise questions. She closed the book with finality, quickly taking a few steps away with it tightly in her clutches. “Good luck finding, whatever it is you are searching for,” she said to Dorian as she strode past him.

“Always a pleasure meddling in your affairs, Inquisitor.”

Juliette wandered through Skyhold’s garden, the lively chatter of its visitors blurring into a comfortable hum in the background as she breathed in the earthy scent of the grounds. She passed Elan, the apothecary, who was kneeling before a row of pots, carefully tending to the growing herbs. The two women exchanged pleasant smiles before Juliette continued towards the Chantry.

I wonder if Elan knows of herbal re— No, still not a good idea.

Her shoes made a soft tapping sound against the stone when she neared the chantry door. She stopped, hesitation pulling at her while she stared ahead.

She hadn’t stepped foot inside a chantry since Haven. Months had passed, and though the thought had crossed her mind more than once, she could never quite bring herself to pray.

Her faith had been lost that night.

To believe again, after everything she had seen. The death, the pain, the destruction. It all felt impossible.

Corypheus.

His words slithered through her mind, weaving fear and doubt, creeping in when she least expected it.

"I have seen the throne of gods, and it was empty."

She didn’t want to believe him. But he was real. A living, breathing danger she couldn’t escape.

It wasn’t a matter of if, but when.

Faith had little relevance now.

Juliette clenched her fists, mustering up determination before she inhaled deeply, tearing open the door. Her feet remained firmly planted on the stone outside, not daring to cross that threshold. She poked her head inside the door, peering into the chantry. It was a small room, smaller than she had expected. Hazy light shone in through the glass windows, grand as they were delicate, framing a statue of Andraste in divine light. Candlelight wavered against the stone walls, its warm glow catching on drifting specks of dust, floating in the air like embers after a fading spell.

She nodded and pulled back, gently closing the door.

And there. I’ve visited the chantry.

“Herald of Andraste.”

The soothing voice of Mother Giselle drifted in the air, gently nudging Juliette to awareness. She turned around, her expression of surprise softly warming into a smile.

“Revered Mother. Good afternoon.”

“And a good afternoon to you, Herald. Or Inquisitor, I should say?” she lightly bowed her head towards Juliette. “It has been some time since we’ve spoken. I was wondering when you might join us for a service.”

A hesitant smile tugged at Juliette’s lips as she stood speechless, searching for the right words. Then her smile faltered. “Mother Giselle, I’m afraid I’m long past the time for prayers.”

“We are never past the time for prayers, Inquisitor.”

Juliette lowered her gaze, a small shake of her head. “Whatever I may have believed, I felt no divine aid while Haven was destroyed.” She looked back up to Mother Giselle, sadness in her expression. “I want to believe Andraste is with me, but doubt is everywhere.”

Mother Giselle reached for Juliette’s hand, holding it gently. “Faith is made stronger by facing doubt. Untested, it is nothing.”

Juliette exhaled slowly, glancing over the gardens. “Mother Giselle, what advice would you give to someone who has walked away from something that once gave them strength and purpose, something they believed in, yet now it brings them pain?”

She held Juliette’s gaze, her question perceptive “Are we still speaking of you, Inquisitor, or somebody else?”

Behind closed lips, Juliette quietly scoffed with a shake of her head. “Still me, in a sense.”

“Then I would say to you that it takes great strength to admit when a path no longer serves you. Often to move forward, pain is required. In that pain, faith can carry us through and strength is restored, far greater than it ever was before.”

Juliette nodded slowly and Mother Giselle squeezed her hand firmly before letting go. “Whatever faith you fear is lost, you have the faith and support of everyone here. Never forget that.”

Juliette smiled. “Thank you, Revered Mother.”

“Be well, Inquisitor.”

Juliette stood alone for a moment, staring down at her feet and pulling at her fingers tightly. She always makes it sound easier than it is.

With a sigh, her eyes drifted upward, glancing across the garden. Her focus landed on Cullen as he stood on the other side of the yard. He was watching her. For how long she couldn’t say, but his eyes locked to hers, and his expression softened. His smile, unmistakable. It was automatic, the smile she returned to him, as though she had little say in the matter.

He began to move through the garden, his stride casual. It was a striking difference from his usual purposeful demeanour. She averted her eyes, quietly drawing in a breath as she prepared herself for his approach. When she sensed he was near, she looked up, their eyes meeting, smiles returning in sync.

“Hello,” he said, gentle and calm, his voice tingling her skin. When he spoke like that, looked at her with that smile—he was no longer the Inquisition’s Commander. He was simply Cullen, and she was Juliette.

“Hi,” she replied softly, carefully lowering her eyes to her fingers as he stood beside her. She swallowed, the sound quiet in the silence between them.

She looked across to him while he stood, watching as people moved about the garden, his hand resting firmly on the pommel of his sword. A small smile tugged at her lips. “Are you here for the chantry or…goat feed?”

Cullen laughed, the sound softening into a breathy chuckle as he shook his head. “So you heard about that, hm?”

Her smile brightened by the sound of his laughter. “I certainly did.”

"I’ve been quite vigilant, you know,” he began, stifling his laughter behind closed lips. “I've imagined dozens of scenarios in which we would need to be prepared. None of them involved an Avvar man hurling live goats at the walls.”

Juliette giggled, bringing a hand to her mouth, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

“And they were live too!” He added. “ Running along the battlements. Or well, at least they were. Don’t be surprised if goat’s on tonight’s menu.”

“Oh,” she laughed, an awkward collision of shock and empathy. “Those poor goats.”

Their eyes met, and Juliette felt the colour rising in her cheeks, her pulse quickening as she was momentarily lost in the warmth of those amber eyes. At this point she struggled to fight it, the way her body would react to his presence. He must have noticed, at least, that’s what she thought when he looked away, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“I…uh.” Cullen cleared his throat. “I was actually looking to speak with you.”

Her brows lifted slightly, surprise in her expression. “You were?”

Cullen parted his lips, hesitating as people passed by, filing into the Chantry. Then, without a word, he stepped down from the stone path into the gardens, tilting his head in a silent invitation. Juliette followed, watching him curiously.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said—about the training you requested,” he began. Cullen lowered his head slightly as he glanced at her. “Training with a sword and shield is standard. Templar standard. But I understand that isn’t the right fit for you.”

Juliette smiled, a lopsided smile as she considered what to say next. “You know, I don’t like to admit when I am wrong.”

Cullen smirked. “I noticed that.”

“Well,” Juliette laughed. “Thankfully it doesn’t happen very often.”

Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. Juliette looked up at him when she heard his laugh, her smile widening as a light blush crept into her cheeks. She looked back down at her feet as they walked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I said, back at Haven, that there was no need for me to learn how to use a sword, but that wasn’t entirely true.” Her smile dropped as she spoke. “There’s been times where it might have saved me some trouble.”

“Perhaps, but I think learning some basic self defence might be a good starting point. Circles don’t teach mages how to defend themselves without magic.”

“That is true. And when your staff is snapped in two and…” She wrapped her hands around her throat in an exaggerated gesture. “A big burly Avvar man has his hands around your neck…” she released her hands and tilted her head “And not in a good way.”

Cullen’s eyes widened, and he slowly turned his head away from her. “Maker’s breath,” he whispered. He blinked, flustered, and let out a laugh that was equal parts shock and amusement. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

Juliette laughed loudly at his reaction, a squeaking noise escaping her as she covered her mouth with her hand. “It’s probably best you don’t.”

He drew in a deep breath and attempted to compose himself, a smile still lingering as he spoke. “Well, what you would need to do in that situation, assuming that you don’t want to be…strangled.”

“Yes,” she said softly between laughter.

“If their hands are…” Cullen lifted his arms above his head, his armour creaking at the movement. “Hands are up here, then, depending on their armour, there’s nothing to protect them down there.”

“A swift kick in the groin is what you’re suggesting, Commander?”

“It could be the gut. I’m saying —you have legs. Use them.”

“Sound advice. I’ll try to remember that next time I find myself choked within an inch of my life.”

“Please. Do,” he said, his tone gentler now.

Juliette’s eyes lifted to meet his, the change in his tone luring her in. Their eyes lingered, and as she looked at him, an almost irresistible pull stirred within her. She wanted to be closer, to feel the warmth of his touch. Slowly, she averted her eyes, feeling the heat bloom in her chest, a tingle spreading through her body at the thought of him.

“Would Thursday suit you?” Cullen asked, his question jolting her to awareness.

“For what?” she asked, confusion flickering in her voice.

“Training,” he replied, his brows furrowing slightly at her response.

“Oh, of course,” she said softly, embarrassment colouring her cheeks. “That would be great.”

“Then I’ll make the necessary arrangements,” he said with a nod of his head, about to walk away.

“Cullen?” she called out, almost too quickly, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to look at her, curiosity in his eyes. “How are you feeling? I meant to ask earlier.”

He paused, lowering his head, his expression softening with a quiet sigh. “I’m fine, thank you, Inquisitor. There’s no need to concern yourself about me.”

“Okay,” she whispered with a nod. Cullen gave her a quick smile, before turning to walk away.

The next morning there was a bustle of activity in Cullen’s office. Knight Captain Rylen stood with his arms folded watching as Cullen juggled several conversations at once, becoming more and more exasperated by the minute.

“In the tavern?” Cullen asked in disbelief, the stress in his voice rising. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, Ser,” the scout said definitively. “He was wearing armour, not like that of any of us. Matches the description too. He started three fights and almost drank Cabot out of supply.”

Cullen sighed heavily. “That’s him.” He glanced at Rylen, folding his arms and shaking his head. “How did Hawke get into Skyhold without me noticing? First the goats, now this!” He raised a hand to his forehead. “Someone needs to inform the Inquisitor. And Leliana. How did this get past her?”

“It didn’t,” the scout replied. “She’s known for a while.”

“Why didn’t she tell me!” Cullen clenched his jaw, shaking his head. Rylen tried his best to keep a straight face. “If you have any information from Sister Leliana, I need to be notified at once, understood?”

“Yes, Commander,” the scout nodded with a fist raised to his chest. As he stepped back to leave the room, a messenger came into view standing idly with a bewildered look on her face. Cullen looked at her, doing a double take when he noticed her expression.

“I… I was just walking,” she murmured, blinking rapidly. “And then… the letter was just in my hand. I—I don’t know how.”

Cullen sighed, his shoulders drooping as he walked towards her. “I’ll take it,” he said with a hint of resignation in his voice.

“I don’t know who it’s from…it was just in my hand.”

“I know,” Cullen said, his tone almost automatic, as if he’d had this same conversation a hundred times before. “Take a break. Try not to think about it.”

“Th-thank you, Commander,” the messenger said with shock before hurrying out of the room.

Cullen’s eyes narrowed as he read the words, trying to make sense of them.

She sees red behind closed eyes .

He tossed the letter onto his desk with a frustrated sigh. “What am I meant to do with this? Who…what is this even referring to?”

Rylen smirked. “Your little friend with the hat?”

“You know about him?” Cullen muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s unnerving. And I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

Cullen reached for a map, rolling it out on top of his desk, weighing the edges down with glass bottles and books. “ Therinfal Redoubt is where they were. The Chargers went with our soldiers but —”

The door burst open, a messenger rushed inside. “A message from Sister Leliana, Commander.”

“What?” he asked, frustrated.

The messenger hesitated for a moment, a waver in his voice. “Sister Leliana is not going. She says you have to go. She fears that Josephine’s feelings will be hurt if you both refuse to attend the interlude next month.”

“Oh, for Andraste's sake! Enough with this 'interlude' business! It's a tea party! Which I simply do not have time for.”

“Ah... she's not... happy. She heard you were... scheming.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Cullen said, throwing up his arms, frustration clear in his expression.

“You lot should just gather in one big room. That way, you can shout at each other in person,” Rylen drawled.

“That will happen. Believe me,” Cullen muttered.

Rylen moved closer to the desk, focusing on the map. “What did they find at Therinfal?”

“Red lyrium. Dead templars. It was a mess,” Cullen said, his voice shifting to a more serious tone. “They’re monsters for what they did…what they’re doing. We need to find them.”

Cullen stared down at the map of Southern Thedas. He rubbed the back of his neck, his muscles stiff with tension. Then, once again, the door opened.

Rylen’s eyes landed on the messenger, another one. He looked across to Cullen, who stood with his eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched.

"A letter for you, Ser," the messenger said carefully, eyes flicking between Cullen and Rylen.

Cullen held out his hand without saying a word. The messenger passed him the letter, returning to his position by the door.

“Thank you,” Cullen murmured, tearing open the letter. He moved his finger along the parchment as he read, his eyes quickly skimming over the words. He sighed and scrunched the letter.

"Tell Vivienne," he began, looking to the messenger with exasperation. "Even if this were a circle, I would not be required to answer to her.”

The messenger swallowed hard. "I… um…"

“Oh, nevermind. I'll handle it.”

“This is enough to send a man batty,” Rylen observed as the messenger closed the door. “I can see why you need three doors.”

“It never ends,” Cullen said, leaning over the desk, trying to focus on the map. “Between the constant nagging from those women and the cryptic messages from Cole…” His forehead met his palm with a quiet groan. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“A key might solve half your problems.”

Cullen looked up with narrow eyes and a slow shake of his head. “They’d find another way in,” he muttered.

For a time, they were able to strategise undisturbed, mapping possible routes the Red Templars might have taken. “If we can track those caravans smuggling red lyrium, it could lead us to Samson,” Cullen said, determination in his voice. “Our soldiers must be careful.”

Then the door opened. Again.

Cullen looked up from the desk, a slow, frustrated exhale through his teeth as he waited, anticipating the nonsense that was to be presented to him.

“A letter, Commander.”

Cullen’s lips parted, his fists clenched as he was about to speak…

“From the Inquisitor, Ser.”

His irritation faded in an instant, tension slipping from his shoulders. Disregarding the task before him, he moved around the desk and approached the messenger. “Thank you,” Cullen said, his voice relaxed, far softer than before. Slowly he peeled open the seal, carefully reading over her words.

“I take it this one is important,” Rylen said, raising a tankard to his lips.

“Strangely, it’s the least urgent thing I’ve dealt with today,” Cullen replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

As Cullen folded the letter, Rylen asked, “I suppose this is another matter that requires your personal attention?”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. Cullen looked to Rylen as he stood watching closely for a reaction, then back to the messenger, patiently waiting. “Tell the Inquisitor that I’m busy,” Cullen said, moving back to his desk. “She can ask the author herself, he’s often loitering in the hall, not far from her quarters.”

“Yes, Commander,” the messenger nodded.

“Thank you,” Cullen called out as he opened the top drawer to his desk. He placed the letter inside and looked back up to Rylen. “Now, where were we?”

The atmosphere in Skyhold’s hall was lively and warm. Guests exchanged pleasantries over delicate pastries and fine imported wine. With dignitaries gathered from near and far for Josephine’s luncheon, the room was filled with laughter and conversation as the scent of fresh herbs and roasted meats wafted through the air, a promising feast fit for the occasion.

In the corner sat a man and woman, their Orlesian whispers and snide laughter hidden behind the noise of clinking silverware and soft music. The man cast a judgmental glance over the hall, catching sight of Inquisitor Trevelyan while guests moved out of view. She sat still at the table, contrasted by the lively gestures of those who conversed around her. Her eyes were fixed on the glassware before her, as though her thoughts had drifted far away.

“Sticks out like a sore thumb, doesn’t she?” he whispered, leaning into the table for his friend to hear.

“She’s a Free Marcher, darling. What more could one expect?”

They shared smug glances, low mocking laughter behind closed lips.

“I heard that she is Lucille Trevelyan’s great niece,” the woman said with a twist of her lips.

“She is! It’s true,” he replied before taking a sip from his glass. “Lucille could throw a party though.”

The woman laughed, a shrill and exaggerated sound. “This isn’t her doing. Did you see the lemon cake? This affair has ‘Antivan’ written all over it.”

He scoffed in response. “Be careful what you eat.”

She leaned in closer, a smug grin playing on her lips. “Be careful what you say. There could be assassins about.”

Their eyes drifted back to Juliette, watching closely as she absently smiled when people spoke to her.

“And what do we make of that gown?” the man asked.

"Understated,” the woman said flatly, unimpressed. “No embellishments, and the colour palate is last season’s at best. It’s like she’s not even trying.”

Their snickering subsided as a handsome man, impeccably dressed, approached the Inquisitor’s table, with Ambassador Montilyet guiding him forward. It seemed to be an introduction, judging by the way the man took Juliette’s hand gently and placed a light kiss upon the top of it—a display of refined chivalry. Juliette smiled, warm but brief, her hand retracting with deliberate care. As the man moved away, her smile faltered in an instant.

The gossiping nobles exchanged an amused glance. “Committed to independence, I hear.”

“Shame,” she replied.

“ Nary a word for anyone.”

“Shame,” she said again, her crooked grin brimming behind a glass of wine. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of activity across the room. Almost spilling her drink in a rush, she tapped on the man’s arm. “Strapping man in uniform!”

“Where?” he asked with excitement, twisting in his seat.

An Inquisition messenger wandered into the hall, looking out of place as his eyes scanned for Juliette. Once spotting her, he quickly moved to her side and for the first time during the event, she looked to be paying attention. He leaned in close, whispering in her ear and she nodded, offering a small polite smile that faltered as quickly as all the others. With a crestfallen look on her face, she reached for her drink.

“Disheartening news?” the woman suggested. “Whatever could it be?”

The man responded with a theatrical display. “Oh no! The tavern! It’s out of ale!”

They roared in laughter and the woman waved her hand dismissively. “You’re terrible!”

Icy water splashed across Cullen’s face. He exhaled sharply, blinking as beads of water trickled down his neck, sliding slowly over his bare skin. Another restless night.

Between the re-occurring nightmares he found himself lying awake, his mind drifting back to Juliette. When he closed his eyes, he could see her in his mind almost as clearly as he had seen her standing beside him in the garden the day before. He tried to push away the thoughts, to think of anything else. The sound of his breathing, the soft rustle of the blankets, the distant flicker of moonlight that shone down through the hole in his ceiling. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the memory of her smile from consuming his thoughts.

He caught himself smiling when he replayed conversations with her over and over in his mind. He could hear her voice, see the way she tugged at her sleeves when she was nervous, the subtle bite of her lip when she concentrated. It was all so vivid—every little movement, every glance. He could feel her eyes on him, those deep, brown doe eyes. It was almost enough to drive him mad. The way she looked at him, he’d thought about it all too much. Was it longing, curiosity or something else entirely? He was afraid to give it too much thought, afraid of where it might lead him.

It had been a long time since his mind had lingered on a woman like this.

He couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like. To be with her.

When he was near Juliette, his mind was pure chaos. His thoughts were torn between duty and desire, striving to keep his composure, to remain professional. Nothing could come of this, he reminded himself over and over. Yet, he was drawn to her.

Alone with his thoughts, in the privacy of his quarters, he gave in. He let himself imagine—a world where nothing stood in their way, where she felt the same. Where he was free to succumb to the temptation of her.

The memory of her scent lingered in his mind, stirring something deep within him. He could almost feel her presence, close enough to touch. The soft brush of her skin beneath his fingertips, the warmth of her body against his, the sweet scent of her perfume. He pictured the way she’d smile at him, the way she might look in the glow of candlelight, how he’d want her to feel—how he’d do anything to bring her pleasure.

And what she could do for him.

He wondered what she’d sound like, soft moans spilling from her lips. Would she say his name? What it would feel like to have her beneath him, writhing in pleasure at his touch.

Perhaps he needed another splash of water.

Cullen had wasted too much time, drifting in and out of light sleep and daydreams. He tossed and turned, somehow feeling more exhausted now than he had when he first got in bed. She would just not leave his mind.

It was a whole new kind of torture.

He moved past his desk, peering out the windows that overlooked Skyhold’s entrance. It was dawn now, and soon he’d be thrown into another day of gruelling drills, training and so much paperwork. He sighed, the stone cool against his skin as he leaned against the wall.

I shouldn’t have dismissed her letter so quickly.

In the silence of his office, clarity came easier. Perhaps it was because of Rylen? His questioning had hit a little too close to the truth. Or maybe it had simply been easier to push her aside, to bury himself in work rather than face what was unravelling inside him. Anything outside of duty felt dangerous, as though speaking with her on personal terms would cross a line.

She deserved more than he thought he could offer. Someone who could provide a future that didn’t carry the weight of a shameful past. But she didn’t deserve to be ignored.

He walked over to his desk, slowly opening the top drawer where he had stashed the letter for safekeeping. Perhaps, deep down, he had always known he would return to it.

As his fingers brushed the parchment, something else caught his eye. The velvet pouch. He’d nearly forgotten.

Carefully, he loosened the drawstrings and lifted out the necklace. Her necklace. The delicate gold chain draped over his fingers , the chantry pendant shiny as though new. Harritt , he thought with an eyeroll. Not only did he mend it, he polished it too. So much for not wanting to waste time on ‘trinkets.’

Cullen exhaled slowly, then returned the pendant to the pouch, tucking it safely away.

Today, I’ll return it. I’ll make the time.

He unrolled a scroll of vellum, preparing his quill. A cool breeze drifted in through the window, making him shiver. He barely noticed.

Determined, he began to write.

Inquisitor,

Forgive the late reply. Yesterday was… trying.

I can’t say whether First Enchanter Orsino truly transformed into a giant monster of corpses. I wasn’t there for that (thank the Maker), though it wouldn’t surprise me—I’ve seen worse where blood magic is involved.

It’s true, I fought alongside Donnic. My mind was more focused on stopping Meredith’s red lyrium-induced madness, mind you—but yes, I suppose he was desperate to reach Aveline, as any good husband would be. I don’t know them well enough to comment on their relationship… You do realise the book wasn’t about that, don’t you?

Which reminds me—has anyone told you that Hawke is in Skyhold? Apparently, he has been for some time, and Leliana thought not to inform me.

If you have more questions, I’ll try my best to answer.

Cullen

 

Fully dressed in his armour, Cullen made his way up the steps to Skyhold’s hall. There were just two guards by the main door at this hour, and the hall itself was presumably empty. He nodded to them in passing, knowing they’d assume he was headed for the war table or undercroft.

There was complete silence and not an Orlesian in sight. He much preferred it this way. His footsteps were loud against the stone floor when he moved closer to the throne, illuminated by the soft light breaking through the stained glass windows. He took a deep breath, turned to Juliette’s door, and carefully slid the letter beneath it.

Cullen hadn’t expected anyone else to be nearby. But as he turned, he nearly jolted at the sight of Blackwall standing in the middle of the room, watching him curiously.

“Uh…Warden Blackwall,” Cullen greeted him with a nervous rub of his neck.

“Cullen,” Blackwall said, slight amusement in his tone.

“I…It couldn’t wait,” Cullen explained, gesturing to the door where he just slid the letter. His eyes drifted to the bouquet of flowers that Blackwall held in his hand. He nodded awkwardly and quickly made his way for the exit. “Enjoy your morning,” Cullen said in a rush before moving out of sight.

“Same to you,” Blackwall replied, unsure what else to do but laugh.

Chapter Text

Footsteps scurried along the stone floor. The dimly lit corridor, with its cool, musty air offered reprieve, if only for a moment. She braced herself, knowing he’d be there, anticipating her arrival.

When she opened the door, sunlight assaulted her senses, a bright, blinding light that poured into Skyhold’s halls.

She’d barely found a chance to adjust her eyes as she stepped into the garden before he noticed her.

“Well, what did she have to say for herself?”

The messenger shielded her eyes with an arm, blinking profusely. With a wince, she answered, “Lady Josephine's answer is the same, my lord.”

Dorian folded his arms and slowly shook his head. “So I'm to be restricted from the wine cellar? That's outrageous!”

“She's also considering asking you to replace the fourteen bottles you took,” she replied, her expression almost sheepish as she delivered the news.

“Just fourteen?” Dorian asked with an impish grin. “Hmm. I should consider myself lucky.”

While the messenger stood, waiting, hoping that their conversation would soon conclude, Dorian’s eyes drifted across the gardens. A hint of mischief twinkled in them when he caught sight of Cullen moving along the path, head down and focused.

“Did you hear?” he shouted loudly, startling the messenger as she looked up at him with confusion. Just as Cullen moved passed them, Dorian continued. “The Inquisitor fell from the rotunda stairs! A gruesome sight. Broke her leg in three places!”

Cullen halted, turning to Dorian with a horrified look on his face. There was a moment of silence — Dorian holding his expression of concern, the messenger blinking in shock and Cullen staring with wide eyes and parted lips.

Dorian’s expression broke, transforming into a grin. “…Is what I would say if it were true.”

Cullen exhaled, his relief evident for just a second before he scrunched his face in disgust.

Still holding a grin, Dorian added, "Honestly, it's only a matter of time. Have you seen the way she moves about the place?"

Shaking his head, Cullen turned and began to walk away. “I don’t know why I even bother,” he muttered under his breath.

Impressed with himself, Dorian grinned, watching Cullen storm off. He sighed, satisfied, before his eyes fell back to the messenger. “Oh you can go now,” he said. “I’ll send for you once I’ve written a response to our lovely Lady Josephine. I’ll sway her yet. I can be quite charming.”

The messenger nodded, unsure how to respond. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, dipping her head before hurrying off, hoping her next assignment would have more purpose.

Dorian smiled to himself, leaning against the wall with folded arms. His eyes caught sight of something rather intriguing, a rendezvous that piqued his interest.

Across the gardens, Leliana sat at a table in the gazebo with what appeared to be a chessboard, set up and ready for a match. To Dorian's surprise, it was Cullen who had approached her, taking his seat opposite Leliana at the table.

With a finger lifted to his lip in contemplation, Dorian observed them, his mind brimming with ideas.

Late that afternoon, prior to a war council, Josephine sat at her desk, listening to yet another request from a member of the Inquisition.

She looked up from her notes, a curious look gleaming in her eyes.

"A book?" she asked, her voice rising with a questioning flourish.

Cullen tilted his head to the side. "It's not something I'd expect to find just sitting around a common library."

Josephine's eyes narrowed as she focused on Cullen, meeting his hopeful gaze with a hint of skepticism. His lips pulled into a slight smirk, as though caught in an act of mischief. While a telling heat rose to his cheeks, he pulled away his eyes.

"I'll add it to my list," she said, a subdued smile playing on her lips while she returned her focus to the notes.

Cullen lingered awkwardly, kicking his foot into the floor and stretching his head back to ease the tension in his neck. His eyes wandered Josephine's office until they landed on a familiar sight.

"How much of our budget goes into senseless decorating?" he wondered aloud, moving to the bouquet of flowers that were neatly arranged in an ornate vase.

"What do you mea—" Josephine looked up from her clipboard, surprise sweeping over her face when her eyes met Cullen's.

These flowers had lingered in Cullen's mind for most of the day. He was less concerned that he had been caught hovering around Juliette's door in the morning than he was about Blackwall being there too, flowers in hand. Now, seeing them proudly displayed on Josephine's desk, he had one less burden clouding his focus.

He pulled at a stem, slowly lifting a flower. Small droplets of water dripped onto the edge of the desk and Josephine gasped.

"Please, put that back," she scolded as politely as one could.

Cullen chuckled, obeying her request and slotting the flower back in the vase. Josephine's chair scraped along the floor as she abruptly stood. "Why would you do that?" she hurried to observe the mess he had made.

Cullen stepped back, allowing her to hover around the front of her desk and rearrange the flowers.

"I was just checking." Cullen's lips pressed together tightly to hold back a laugh.

"What could you have been checking for?" she replied with a hint of annoyance, eyes focused on the task before for.

"Flower's for the Inquisitor?"

Cullen drew in a sharp breath upon hearing Leliana's voice.

"Maker's breath! I didn't hear you enter!"

Leliana smirked with folded arms. "Might I suggest fresh flowers if you're attempting to woo Juliette."

"T…that's not what I —" Cullen stammered, suddenly aware of his facial expressions and body language. Try as he might, he could not hide his infatuation from Leliana and it drove him mad. He glanced across to her, frustrated by her knowing smirk and teasing glint in her eyes. He wondered just what she was willing to do with this knowledge, beyond playful banter. Would she tell Juliette? Had she told her?

Josephine turned to him with a smile. "Andraste's Grace is her favourite flower, Cullen. You'd do well to remember that."

Maker's sake! Now Josephine knows?

Cullen sighed heavily, eyes glued to the floor as he felt an aggressive heat bloom in his face. "That wasn't…" his muttering trailed off and he lifted his head, a smug smirk on his lips. Since we're revealing secrets.

"Those flowers look awfully familiar, Josephine."

"These flowers?" she asked Cullen, feigning ignorance.

"Yes. Those flowers. I could have sworn that I saw Blackwall carrying flowers just like that in here this morning."

There was a soft clinking noise as Josephine's pen dropped to the ground. She held eye contact with Cullen for just a moment, her expression blank. Cullen's smirk twisted, the scar pulling with his lips. Josephine quickly lowered herself to the floor, scrambling for the pen before rushing back to the chair at her desk.

"They are a common flower in this region I believe," Josephine said in a quiet voice.

"So common that you have Grey Wardens picking them for you every morning," Cullen chuckled.

Josephine looked up, a hint of retaliation in her eyes. "Would you care to ask Leliana for help tracking down the mysterious Nevarran romance novels that you've taken a sudden interest in?"

Cullen's face darkened a deeper shade of red and he looked back to the floor.

"Oh?" Leliana laughed. "Love really is in the air."

The sudden noise of a door creaking filled the room and Cullen's eyes shot up. He straightened his posture, desperately reaching for composure as Juliette entered.

"Inquisitor!" he said in surprise, his face still a little flushed, his voice carrying a forced hint of urgency.

Josephine and Leliana exchanged glances and soft giggles echoed.

Juliette wandered slowly towards the desk, caution in her steps as she sensed the awkward tension.

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm interrupting something?" she asked, a slight waver of amusement in her voice.

"You're not!" Cullen said quickly. His serious expression softened when Juliette lifted her eyes to meet his. "I…" Cullen sighed. "You're here now. To the war room?"

"By all means," Juliette laughed.

She stood smiling as Cullen promptly made for the door, his armor creaking with the sudden movement. Her eyes drifted along with him, subconsciously following his body.

He seemed to be flustered or perhaps agitated in some kind of way. His reaction to her entrance seemed jarring, as though she were intruding on something. Juliette was unsure how to feel around him. One moment, he was warm and alluring; the next, distant and awkward. A flutter of nervous energy settled in her chest as she anticipated the war council.

He had told her not to concern herself. She knew he wasn't likely to show his struggles, let alone admit to them. He'd be stubborn about this, she was certain, yet she was no less inclined to watch over him. If he was struggling with withdrawls, she needed to know.

Then of course, there was his letter. Too busy to speak with her one moment, then slipping notes underneath her door the next. Could this be about me rather than the lyrium?, She wondered, so deep in thought she'd barely noticed them leave the room where she had been left standing alone.

The war council dragged on well into the evening. Moonlight glistened through the war room's large windows, illuminating the stern look on Josephine's face, a sight uncommon where the usually calm ambassador was involved. She glared across the table in Cullen's direction.

"I gave you the measurements of my armor, I don't see the problem," Cullen said with little patience.

"You borrowed a measuring stick from Ser Morris!"

"Is it not accurate?" he argued.

"No!" Josephine exclaimed. "Cullen, you can't just hold a stick against your armor, you need to be fitted properly by a tailor!"

Juliette looked up from the reports that she was flicking through with an amused grin.

"I don't see why we need to bother ourselves with this nonsense. Commission ceremonial armor and be done with it. We're going to soothe political unrest, not to play dress-up."

"We need to win favour of the court."

"And that's precisely why we should be wearing armor! To show that we are a force of power, to present a united front!" Cullen leaned over the war table, his face scrunched in frustration. "We need to be discussing logistics, how we will get our soldiers in and out of there. Not…" He threw up his hands with annoyance. "This."

Josephine leaned back, running a hand along the table's surface as she straightened, a satisfied smirk on her lips. She scribbled a line across her clipboard and looked back up to him. "I'll arrange the fitting for the coming week. Now…" She turned to face Leliana while Cullen could be heard grumbling in the background. "The interlude is fast approaching. It is important that we all attend."

Leliana slowly moved her eyes from Josephine and exchanged a glance with Cullen. He looked less than impressed.

Josephine continued while Juliette reached for another pile of reports. "The interlude is for us to connect as colleagues and friends." She lifted her pen in the air after writing, with a dramatic gesture that she held while observing the shared look of disinterest that Cullen and Leliana traded amongst themselves. "Lest we lose sight of shared goals in the fog of petty differences."

Leliana glanced back to Josephine and sighed dramatically. "Have you at least brought the catalogue from Val Royeaux?"

"Oh, yes! It's right here," Josephine's perked up with enthusiasm as Leliana made her way closer.

Cullen stared at the map on the table, the lines marking Redcliffe Village blurring through his tired eyes. Lines and shapes lost focus the longer he stared, until there were three of Lake Calenhad.

"Is anyone actually reading through these reports?" Juliette asked. Her voice was feathery, like music to his ears. Softly, it nudged him from his dissociating stare.

He glanced to her while she absorbed herself in mission summaries with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. Cullen smiled as he watched her.

"The answers you're searching for are on page forty-seven," he spoke, his voice warm and gentle.

Juliette's attention lifted from the papers, an expression of surprise lighting up her face when their eyes met. A smile, small yet sweet, swept across her lips before she returned her focus to the reports.

"You've answered both my questions. Thank you, Commander."

Cullen chuckled, his voice a low, deep rumble, sending a shiver through Juliette. "Anytime, Inquisitor."

She glanced back up at him, quickly, almost to be missed had he not been paying attention. Though Cullen was paying attention. All his attention, on her.

She could feel his eyes on her. Her body tingled in response, words read over and over but not sinking in. The more she thought about it, the further distracted she had become. All of a sudden she was aware of her breath, the thumping of her heartbeat and the light prickling sensation that crept over her skin at the thought of him. From the corner of her eyes she could see movement. She could hear him walking around the table, his armor creaking to announce his arrival.

Her breath felt stuck in her throat as he stood beside her, conscious of how it might sound, how she might look by simply existing in his presence. An involuntary hum escaped her lips, awkward and uncontrolled. She could feel a flash of heat cross her face, leaving her momentarily dizzy.

Cullen quietly drew in a breath, leaning in close, he spoke in a low whisper. "It has come to my attention that you've been using some…"

She shifted her balance in response to him, both comfortable and uncomfortable at once. She wanted to be this close, closer even. But she also wanted to hide.

Juliette looked up at him, their eyes meeting in an electric moment, tension between them rising. Her lips parted slightly as she held eye contact, a warm blush in her cheeks.

Cullen cleared his throat softly before continuing, averting his eyes, but staying close, his lips hovering near her ear.

"I've heard that you have been using some unconventional methods of moving about Skyhold."

Juliette smirked, lowering her head as she gently placed the reports on the table. "And of what concern is that to you?" her voice was low and sultry as she looked up at him, their faces close. She had surprised even herself with such a poised reply, almost as though she were acting on instinct, thoughts pushed aside momentarily. Her focus fell to his neck, noticing where his stubble stopped, and the movement beneath his chin as he swallowed. Slowly, her eyes drifted upward, lingering on his lips for a second before returning to meet his gaze.

Cullen's lips twitched, as though hesitating before he returned her smug smirk. Although his complexion told otherwise, his voice carried an air of confidence.

"As your advisor, may I suggest that you use the stairs for their intended purpose?" His voice was a low murmur, a hushed tone that almost caused Juliette to give in. Yet she stood her ground, played along with a bite of her lip and looked back to the table. Are we…flirting?

The thought made her heart skip a beat. What a dangerous game to be playing, this close, here at the war table. Her eyes darted across the room, ensuring that Leliana and Josephine were still preoccupied. She looked back up to him, worried of the blush that was surely in her cheeks to betray her.

She caught a glimpse of his expression, a fleeting moment where he smiled at her in a way that defied sensibility. There was a softness in his eyes, an almost dream-like quality, different from the weary exhaustion that she'd come to expect. But it all happened so fast, she couldn't be sure. It seemed far too good to be true.

Her eyes must have given Cullen pause, because when her gaze returned to him, his face had hardened. He stepped back abruptly, creating distance while his posture straightened.

Juliette hoped she had masked her disappointment, had not given herself away. She exhaled softly, though shaky, as she reached forward for the reports once more. Eyes focused as she shuffled the papers in her hands, she said, "As my advisor, I hope you can respect my decision to descend staircases in what manner I see fit."

"So you do know what I'm referring to?," he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

She glanced across to him, noticing the smile pulling on his lips, the small creases in the corners of his eyes. He had since picked up reports to read for himself, though she wondered just how much attention he was paying to them.

"The Maker blessed me with the ability to jump, Cullen. It would be blasphemy to waste such talent."

Leliana and Josephine's chattering ceased as they looked up from the catalogues, their eyes snapping to Juliette and Cullen. Juliette slowly turned her head towards them, showing an awkward smile.

Leliana and Josephine swapped an amused glance before returning to their conversation.

Cullen cleared his throat with a chuckle. "Let me ask you this. How do you intend to ride a horse with two broken legs, Inquisitor?"

She looked at him, trying to resist a smirk. The smugness in his voice broke any chance she had of remaining composed. She glared playfully, her smirk widening.

"I will use the stairs for their intended purpose," she replied with an exaggerated defeat in her tone.

Cullen grinned dropping the reports to the table with finality. "As I expected," he said, wearing a smug expression while he returned to his initial spot at the table. Juliette snuck in a glance as he moved away, a coy smile on her lips.

A knock on the door halted the hushed conversation between Josephine and Leliana, silence falling over the room. Leliana swiftly made way for the door, speaking quietly as though she had anticipated the interruption.

Juliette lifted the chalice on the table before her, remnants of the sweet scent of spiced plum gracing her senses as she raised it to her mouth. She stopped, pulling away the cup with a twist to her lips as she swayed it side to side. A soft sigh escaped when she placed it back down, a fleeting moment of disappointment washing over her. Putting the empty chalice out of mind, she slowly wandered along the side of the war table, her fingers gliding over its map, lightly brushing against the lines that marked southern Ferelden.

Cullen’s eyes followed the movement of her hands, watching as her fingers gracefully slid along the surface, soft and delicate. It was unintended, he was certain, yet the sight teased him in ways he hadn't anticipated. He'd found himself lost in thought, her fingers moving down his body, just like that — more times than he'd care to admit.

He tore away his eyes, staring up at the ceiling with a deep exhale. Her voice was a soft murmur as she looked over letters with Josephine. Cullen closed his eyes for just a moment before gathering himself. As he opened his eyes, they landed on her drink, then moved to the half empty bottle of Antivan wine that sat on the far end of the table. Without a second thought he reached for her chalice, walking to the bottle quietly, unnoticed, as Juliette and Josie talked.

"And he's supporting this?" She asked, a little waver of surprise in her voice.

"Very much so," Josephine responded with intrigue.

"Well, if he's to cause no trouble then I say we do it!" Juliette proclaimed. Without looking he could hear her smiling by the tone of her voice. He couldn't help but smile himself.

"Top mine up too while you're at it," Leliana said loudly returning to the room. Cullen started ahead for a moment before shaking his head. "Right."

He grabbed the bottle once more, moving to where the women stood.

"We were just discussing Marquis DuRellion's letter," Juliette explained. She glanced over to Cullen with a smile. "He is delighted with the monument that your soldiers built in Haven."

"Delighted seems too light a word" Cullen muttered while pouring Leliana's drink.

"Ah-uh," Leliana raised her glass, motioning for Cullen to top it up further.

"You could pour your own next time," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Fill one, fill them all. I don't make the rules, Commander," Leliana grinned.

Cullen obliged , pouring more wine into Leliana's cup, while glancing back at Juliette. "Most of Haven is destroyed. Excavation was slow, as you can imagine," he said regretfully. "But I'm glad the Marquis has come to his senses in a time of crisis."

"He won't oppose us, if we were to hold a vigil," Juliette said hopefully.

Cullen placed the bottle down and looked back to her, his expression softening.

"That is if it's safe to do so?" she added with hesitation.

"We will make sure that it is safe," Leliana said, determined. "I'll have agents watching closely."

"With enough of our soldiers, we can ensure it. That is if you feel comfortable returning?" Cullen asked, his eyes lingering on her expression.

She held eye contact, nodding gently. "I would like to pay my respects to those that lost their lives fighting for us."

"A vigil is a fine idea, Inquisitor," he said softly. "I'll make sure that it happens."

Slowly Cullen raised a fist to his chest, all the while his eyes locked onto hers. It was a formal response, one she had grown accustomed to from many others, yet as Cullen performed the gesture, there was something deeper hidden within his movements. It was more gentle, deliberate. He didn't look at her the same as the others.

Deep within her contemplation, she dared to smile. Whether she had read too far into it or not, her reaction was genuine, acting on impulse. Then, he smiled back. A subtle lift in his lips, a warmth in his eyes, focused on her.

"I'll write to the neighbouring Banns." Josephine's voice was soothing as it blurred into the background.

Juliette felt as though she couldn't look away from Cullen. Their eyes lingered for what could have only been a few seconds, but to her, if felt like an eternity. Even as he pulled his eyes away, she could still feel the way he looked at her. The intensity of his gaze, the gentle concern in his eyes — it never left her.

Chapter Text

Thoughts of Cullen weaved in and out of her mind all through the night. It wasn't uncommon, in fact, she had come to expect her conscious to drift to him. Sometimes her thoughts would linger on something that he had said — a remark on a report that made her giggle or a blunt observation on Skyhold's progress. Sometimes it was a look, an unguarded smile or a smug smirk.

Things felt different now. The thoughts were more intense. The little things she noticed about him, more observant.

As Juliette strolled through the courtyard, the morning air dewy and fresh, she reflected on their moments together during the war council the evening prior.

He seemed well enough. He moved about fine and didn't appear to be in any pain.

She glanced up at the sun as it broke through the clouds, shielding her eyes with her hand.

He was in a decent mood too, aside from his stubborn arguments with Josie…I must remember to thank her for sending up pastries this morning, that was kind.

She chuckled to herself softly.

I can't believe he tried to measure his armor with a tool from the quartermaster.

The yard was filled with chattering, a peaceful communal atmosphere. She smiled and nodded her head as she moved past workers and guests.

He looked tired though. I hope that he's —

"Inquisitor!"

Juliette spun around at the sudden call of her title, snapping free from her rumination. A scout jogged after her.

"Inquisitor. We have confirmation that Ser Hawke departed for Crestwood this morning."

"Oh, wonderful."

"He…ah. He asked that I give you this," the scout smiled awkwardly.

Slowly Juliette held out her hand, accepting the note with a hesitant expression.

Inquisitor,

Don't worry. Helping people and killing people are what I'm best at .

Hawke

Juliette looked up at the scout with a raised eyebrow.

"Please tell me Varric went with him."

"He did, Your Worship."

"That eases me, if only a little," she said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. "Thank you," she dismissed the scout with a nod and he raised a first to his chest in acknowledgement. Her eyes followed his movements, paying close mind to his posture and expression. He didn't look her in the eyes. They never do.

She dawdled along the path, head down and lost in thought. The fresh, earthy scent of wet grass and soil embraced her as she moved near the infirmary camp.

Once Juliette drew closer, she was able to recognise some of the soldiers. One man rested on a bedroll by the fire, drifting in and out of consciousness. Slowly she approached, gently crouching down beside him. His skin was clammy and he murmured incoherently with eyes closed tightly as though trying to block out the light. Her eyes swept over him, her heart aching at the sight of the wound where his leg was amputated.

"Arran?" she asked softly. "Can you hear me?"

His eyes fluttered open, once a vibrant green and full of life, now glassy and distant. He winced, reaching for air in response to her voice.

"It's Juliette," she said gently. Then she paused, realizing that her name probably meant nothing to a man who had only known her for a short while. "…The Inquisitor," she clarified.

"You remembered…my name," he managed to ask in a breathless murmur.

"Of course," Juliette smiled, trying to keep her voice light and optimistic. She glanced around the camp, overwhelmed by the sight of the injuries. She returned her eyes to the soldier, her focus on his weary face. "You accompanied me on my return to Haven one time, I have not forgot. You have two sisters and a knack for wood carving, though I'm only taking your word for that. You could just be sweet talking to impress the ladies."

Arran coughed in an attempt to laugh. Juliette placed her hand on his arm, watching him closely with concern.

"Is it working?" he asked through a hoarse whisper.

Juliette laughed softly. "Perhaps. I'm certain you'll be up and about soon enough, ladies of Skyhold swooning by the allure of your…wood."

"Think the Maker has other plans for me."

Her heart sank at his words. She looked around once more, an immense sensation of unease washing over her. A variety of scent collided; the damp earth of the grounds, smoke from the fire, vinegar and herbs, blood and iron. Some patients were resting, motionlessly, with little spark of life. Others moved around, chatting, their lives untouched by the surrounding grief and pain. It's little wonder she found Cole here before, compassion drawn to such despair.

There seemed to be only one healer tending to the wounded, a thought that unsettled Juliette. Even in Haven there were many hands helping. It made no sense to lose that service now.

Juliette returned her attention to Arran, resting the back of her hand against his cheek.

"Oh, you're burning up," she said with worry. "What can I do to help ease your pain?"

His response was a haunting whisper. Hope lost.

"Kill me."

Juliette froze. Her hand shook beside his face, a chill sweeping over her. Her eyes, heavy with emotion, drifted to his leg. She braved another glance at the injury and swallowed hard. A tingle settled in her face, grasping for the strength to hold back tears.

"I can't. I can't do that," she said, a breathless response.

She pulled back, rising to her feet slowly. Her eyes darted around, desperate for something that she could use to help. Her attention landed on a bucket and a pile of linen. She reached for it, thankful for the ice water that she could use to wet the cloth with.

"There are more pressing issues ma'am," a woman's voice called out.

Juliette's eyes snapped up to the healer as she quickly approached. Ignoring her, Juliette continued to submerge the cloth into the water, wringing it out with her eyes focused on Arran.

"Hello? Did you not hear? We need to be boiling water to sanitise these bandages."

Juliette stood, casting a cold glare in the woman's direction before returning to Arran's side.

"I heard you well enough," Juliette replied, gently laying the cloth on Arran's forehead . She rose to her feet and stepped towards the healer. "Where are all the other healers? The chantry sisters and mages?"

"Oh," the woman replied. She stood with confidence, surprised but hardly impressed with Juliette. "You must be the Inquisitor."

"I am," Juliette said. "I don't believe we've met. I don't remember you from Haven."

"That’s because we haven't," the woman replied. "And I'm a surgeon, Your Worship, no chantry sister."

"And you're no mage," Juliette guessed, taking the initiative to tend to the pot by the fire. She crouched low and slowly waved her fingers over the water, a satisfied smile playing on her lips when it began to bubble.

"I am not," the woman remarked watching Juliette, unenthused. "Magic can’t cure everything, and we shouldn’t rely on it."

Juliette glanced over her shoulder, an apathetic expression in response to that statement.

"Good health isn’t magic. It’s diet, exercise, and a balance of the humors," the surgeon added.

"And what happens when there is no time left?" Juliette challenged. "Under distress, circumstances that don't allow the luxury of quality diet, exercise and …balance?"

"Simple. There's potions and poultices. I can set broken bones and perform amputations." She folded her arms, watching Juliette closely with a smug expression. "There's a reason the Commander chose to move me from the Hinterlands camp to here. I'm well versed in surgical practices."

Juliette felt her throat tighten, a jolt of recognition coursing through her.

This is Cullen's doing? He removed the mage healers? After I made it clear how important they are?

Juliette tore her eyes away, looking to the ground with scrunched brows and a glare. "There's your boiling water," she muttered before taking a few steps away.

"Science, Your Worship, is the way of the future." The surgeon stood watching Juliette with a hint of smirk, awaiting her response.

Juliette halted, exhaling sharply, her face overcome with anger. She spun around and looked to the surgeon with a darkness in her eyes.

"Where are your records?"

Cullen stared at the note, hoping that if he'd squint, perhaps the words would make more sense. But as the letters written in a shaky hand blurred before his eyes, he was none the wiser.

His pain was hers but her pain was the end of his.

Cullen sighed deeply, glancing up at the messenger that stood watching nervously. He pulled the next note from the pile, reading it under his breath.

"They didn't hang you there, you can walk away."

The messenger shrugged her shoulders. "There's several more, but…similar in tone. Shall I lea—"

The door to Cullen's office burst open with a loud creak, sunlight blaring into the dimly lit room.

Within the second it took for Cullen to look up, a book crashed onto his desk. Candles fell and bottles shattered as they hit the floor, wine and glass everywhere.

"Maker's breath!" Cullen shouted, jolting back, hand instinctively reaching for his sword. He took a breath, eyes darting around the room as he snatched the pile of documents from the desk, fanning them aggressively to extinguish the flames from the candles. With an exhale, his focus snapped to the door where Juliette stood, anger flaring in his eyes. "What has come over you?"

She stared him down, chest rising and falling with every furious breath, absolutely livid. Her attention snapped toward the messenger, her face a storm of emotion, eyes dark and unwavering.

The woman stepped back, consumed by shock. "I…I'll take my leave if it pleases you, Your Worship."

"Please," Juliette said, her voice almost a growl.

The messenger nodded quickly, scrambling to retreat. Once she closed the door behind her, Cullen returned his focus to Juliette. For a split second there was softness in his eyes, a melancholy expression. But it vanished just as quickly, his face contorting into a scowl.

"Have you lost your mind?"

His voice was heavy with irritation and she wondered, through her fury, if there was disappointment too.

Their eyes locked, intensity burning between them. Juliette's brows furrowed, her nose crinkling.

"Just as well I haven't!" She shrieked. "Do you know what the cure for that is?" Her shrill voice rose, echoing through the office. She stepped closer, her eyes remaining fixed on Cullen. "A hole drilled into my skull!"

"What?" Cullen exclaimed. He threw his hands up in defeat, baffled by her nonsense. "What are you talking about?"

Juliette pointed to the door, in the direction of the camp. "That woman you put in the infirmary is a lunatic! See for yourself!" She flicked her head in the direction of the book before folding her arms.

Cullen blinked, as though concealing an attempt at an eyeroll before moving to pick up the book.

"Not to mention she's arrogant, dangerously sure of herself."

"Well, we don't recruit people for their pleasant personalities. We recruit them for their skill, and integrity."

"Integrity," she whispered sarcastically, nodding her head.

Cullen lifted the book that Juliette had hurled towards him moments before, the leather-bound cover pinched between two fingers. Trickles of wine and shards of glass fell as he dangled it before himself. He glanced up at her, heavily unimpressed.

"I can't believe you." She spoke under her breath with disdain.

Cullen's expression faltered, a crestfallen look on his face by the tone of her voice.

"Even after I told you," Juliette's voice was low and seething. "You still went behind my back and got rid of the mage healers."

"I did not!" Cullen protested, slamming the book down onto his desk in a flash of anger. He glared at her intensely, creases deeping on his forehead. "You wanted mage healers in every Inquisition camp! You wanted them at every outpost!"

"I didn't say to remove them from here!" Juliette yelled. "Your soldiers are out there suffering, are you aware of that?"

Cullen recoiled, glass crunching underneath his boot as he stepped back. "Am I aware of that," he repeated, a low sarcastic tone in his voice. "Of course I'm aware!" he shouted. "You don't think I go down there every day? That I don't know the agony that they endure?"

Juliette narrowed her eyes, her lips pressed together tightly, fists clenched at her sides. She looked away for a moment, as though contemplating her next move before charging towards his desk, a sudden burst of movement.

"Ser Oswin. He was one of Rylen's, a former templar from Starkhaven," Cullen began to explain as she pushed past him, snatching the book and flicking through it with haste. "He passed away 3 nights ago."

Unaffected by his words, the slight waver of sorrow that broke through his hostile tone, she continued to search the book.

"Caedrica. She's recovering despite the odds. Had a tree branch protruding from her shoulder when she was thrown from a horse in an encounter with bandits."

Juliette turned to face him, closer than intended. She paused for a moment, taken aback by how he was standing so near to her. With a jagged inhale, she gathered her resolve, shoving the book into his hands, her finger lingering on the page where she wanted him to read.

"Arran, he's a farmer from Redcliffe," Cullen continued, following the lines where her finger rested. "He has—"

"Don't talk to me about Arran," Juliette said coldly.

Cullen looked up at her, their faces close. Their eyes met and she hesitated for a second, swallowing before continuing to speak.

"Arran asked me to end his suffering," she said, her words haunting, echoing through the room.

Cullen's expression softened, his eyes holding sorrow as he looked at her. She tore her eyes away, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. She was furious. But he looked at her like that.

"Look here," she said with haste, focusing on the book. His eyes remained fixed on her, still holding sorrow, watching her closely. He took in her movements, every averted gaze, every waver in her voice. He could sense that there was more to her anger, something deeper. She was hurting.

"See this? Amputation after amputation. Leeches. Bloodletting," Juliette said with disgust.

Cullen slowly pulled his eyes away from her, letting his attention fall to the book. When his finger traced beneath the lines he read, she pulled back, sending a jolt of disappointment through him as she retreated to the other side of the room.

"These…these are from back in Kingsway. She was treating at The Crossroads," Cullen spoke with concentration, his brows furrowing as he focused on the records.

"These procedures —"

"Are necessary. I don't see the problem here."

Juliette folded her arms and her face hardened. "Turn the page," her voice darkening.

Cullen looked across to her, a hint of surprise crossing his face before he returned to the book. He slowly shook his head as he skimmed over the details.

"It's grim, but this is the reality of war I'm afraid, Inquisitor," he explained, his voice laced with regret.

"Leather restraints and alcohol. For an amputation, Cullen. It seems inhumane," her voice broke as she pushed herself off the wall, her posture straightening. "Magic could have been —"

"Magic was not an option," he interjected.

"How can you say that?" she whispered in shock. "If magic can limit even half the pain that these people suffer, is it not worth it?"

"Because magic caused these injuries to start with!" he snapped. His eyes widened at the sound of his own voice, regret washing over him in an instant.

Juliette froze, blinking. Her arms crossed over her chest, tightly, less of a stance of aggression as before, now more a comfort.

"The burns described here," Cullen shook his head, placing the book down on his desk. He ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes, an attempt to push the thoughts aside. "This would have been apostates, before we had control of the Hinterlands."

The tightness in Juliette's jaw eased, her face relaxing. He carried himself with a quiet grief that was hard to ignore.

"What these records don't show is the treatment refused, Inquisitor. Not everyone will accept healing via mage."

"So what's the solution?" she asked, frustration returning to her expression. "Send them away, replace them with herbs and…" She shuddered. "Leeches?"

"I didn't…" Cullen began to argue, but he caught himself, shoulders drooping in a heavy sigh. He took a step closer, eyes locking to hers, a softness in the way he looked at her, as though the gold of his iris were speaking.

"I didn't send them away," he repeated, softer this time. Gentle.

Juliette looked to the ground. Slowly shaking her head, her anger still simmering beneath the surface with every pound of her heart.

"The Skyhold healers were needed at a camp just off the Imperial Highway," he explained. "Your order has exhausted our roster of mages proficient in healing, to my knowledge, but I'll go now and speak with Fiona if it will satisfy you."

She looked up at him, stunned by his sudden suggestion.

"Just like that?"

The sound of her voice felt as though it lingered in the air, her surprise, a soft gasp as their eyes connected.

"Well, what will you have of me?"

Juliette was astounded by the question. Part of her had an answer, many answers, in fact. There was plenty she could ask of Cullen. But here, in this moment, she was left speechless.

She expected a fight. She wanted a fight. For all her hurt, the suspicion of betrayal, she felt relief in those emotions. It was a way out. A coward's path, but an escape nonetheless.

If he were to be a templar, driven by his hatred for mages, she could allow herself to be angry. She could justify her frustration, the way her heart hammers in her chest when she looks at him. The way she wished she could slap that smug smirk off his face, drive some distance between them. She could let go.

But that wasn't Cullen.

He didn't hate her. He wasn't trying to oppose her. She had it wrong.

It took Juliette all too long to realize that she was staring. Lost in thought, a pained expression of confusion written on her face.

"I…" she whispered, words rolling off her lips without thought. "I don't know."

A lie.

She stumbled backwards , blinking rapidly, her hand shaking as she slowly raised it to her lip. She glanced up at him, noticing the way his body tensed, his expression of alarm as he watched her.

She was running out of excuses. The thought, once a quiet nagging, now screaming at her. She wasn't sure how much longer she could ignore this. She couldn't think clearly, couldn't even feel clearly around him. It was all a blur, an overwhelming whirl of embarrassment and regret.

Without a word, she raced for the door, footsteps quick, head down, desperate to remove herself from his sight.

"Ju—" His voice faltered, the sound of glass crunching beneath his feet as he took a step forward.

She stopped in the doorway, heart pounding, breath caught in her throat. Cautiously she glanced over her shoulder, catching his concerned expression before she pushed forward, closing the door behind her with a resounding bang.

The breeze was cool as she stepped outside, a refreshing caress that gently lifted her hair and rustled the fabric of her blouse. Her breath came in shallow pants as she moved along the battlements, fingers trailing over the cold stone. She blinked against the sunlight, its bright rays warming her face. Yet, she felt none of this.

Juliette was numb. Anxiety settled in her chest, her mind feeling clouded with rapid thoughts, each one more daunting than the last. She didn't know if she should cry or scream.

Just say it.

She choked on air, her throat feeling as though it were closing up. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Tell him. Tell him and get it all out. Confess, lay it all bare.

She slowly opened her eyes, blinking as she turned her head over the edge of the battlements. The mountains blurred into the distance, a soft haze of white snow.

Let him turn you down. Be over with it. Move past this.

She dropped her head into her hands. Her eyes fell closed, the darkness a place to hide, if only for a while.

You can't keep this up. You're neglecting your duty. You are the Inquisitor for Andraste's sake!

Grow Up!

A door burst open with a loud creak. She didn't realize at first, her body jolted to the sound, yet her mind continued to whirl. There was a gust of wind, howling as it circled the fortress. Distant chattering, so faint it was barely audible, drifted up from the courtyard below. Then there was a rythmic clank, a steady cadence, footsteps and armor.

She looked up slowly, flinching in surprise at the sight of Cullen. He never called out to her like he normally would. Instead, he moved quickly, his stride rigid and determined. His smouldering stare nearly stole her breath away. The way he looked at her, so serious and compelling, commanding her attention.

As he drew closer she resisted the urge to step away, holding her ground, frozen in place by his presence. He grabbed her hand, sending an unexpected spark through her. Her eyes pulled away from his, almost cautiously, drifting to where her fingers rested against his palm, as if she were afraid of what she might see, of what this might mean.

His fingers curled, pushing soft velvet against her hand. She almost dropped it, the small pouch that he passed to her. She lifted her gaze, eyes wide with wonder , lips slightly parted.

"I believe this belongs to you," he spoke, his voice calm, far too gentle for what she believed she deserved after the scene she caused in his office.

Cullen slowly withdrew his hand, his intense gaze focused on her. When she lifted the necklace, revealing the delicate gold chain, sunlight caught it, a glimmer vibrant before her eyes.

Juliette was speechless. The Chantry pendant held in her hand left her baffled. In silent prayer at night she had begged. Guidance, affirmation — she longed for a sign that her heart was not misled. Juliette never considered herself superstitious, but she had been instructed to wear that necklace—and for twenty-five long years, she did. Until the day it fell, she had held onto her faith.

Now, a physical manifestation in her hands, something tangible to grasp — she found her sign. Juliette knew in her heart that she was in the right place. The Inquisition, the anchor she'd bear — it was all meant to be.

She looked up at Cullen and her heart skipped a beat.

Cullen was …

His expression, steely and focused, now softened, waiting for her response.

"I…how did…" Juliette's voice was a soft murmur, words as scattered as her thoughts.

"I found it at Haven," Cullen spoke, his voice formal, his face returning to that intensity he held moments before. "I remember that you wore one similar and…" his voice drifted as his cheeks and ears began to deepen in colour. "This is yours, right?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed, rushing to ease his doubt. "I didn't think I'd ever see it again." She returned her eyes to the necklace, closely observing the clasp.

"I had Harritt mend it for you," he began to explain. She quickly looked up at him and his words faltered. "I…"

"Thank you, Cullen," she whispered, heartfelt sincerity both in her eyes and voice.

Cullen's lips twitched, almost hesitating before curling into a soft smile. That smile. Genuine, kind, bashful — how she'd love nothing more than to be the cause of such a smile, each and every morning.

"You're welcome."

His voice was gentle, almost as velvety as the pouch she held in her hand. Juliette's eyes drifted to his once more, her expression softening, a dream-like gaze.

"Allow me?" He offered, holding out his hand. A bold gesture, however chivalrous.

For a moment she was taken aback, unsure what he had meant. Then it dawned on her.

"Of course," she said softly, gently handing him the necklace before turning her back to him. She swept her hair to one side and inhaled a light, quivering breath.

Juliette closed her eyes. She could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck. Each breath felt too loud, too heavy. She held it in, fearing how it might sound, so hyper-aware of every sensation within her body. A tingling heat washed over her, almost dizzying.

She could feel his presence. His armor creaked with every movement. She heard his breath, the slight waver as he hesitated, fumbling with the clasp. A shiver tickled the back of her neck—not from the chill in the air, but from the slow, agonizing build of anticipation.

I could have done this three times over, she thought, fingers twitching with the urge to reach back and take over. For anyone else, she would have.

But this was Cullen.

For many months now she had longed for his touch. Making sense of the way he made her feel was daunting enough on its own—but putting it into words? To confess all that she desired, how her body ached for him and how her heart skipped whenever he was near, seemed impossible. The fear of rejection was far too fierce to consider, not when she couldn't hide from him, not when she had to face him every day.

So she savoured the moment. Every drawn-out second of awkward tension, worth it for his touch. However fleeting it may be.

The necklace ghosted over her skin, the metal cool, goosebumps raising when it dangled above her collar bone. It made her shiver, that cool contrast to the heat ever growing in her cheeks. When his fingers, touch muted by gloves, rested on her shoulder, she almost forgot how to breathe.

Cullen sighed, a heavy sound of frustration, so close to her that she could feel his breath against her neck. Her body tingled in response.

"Perhaps if I take these gloves off," he said with an awkward chuckle.

Juliette swallowed. "Perhaps," a timid response.

She released her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders, and held the necklace firmly against her décolletage. She raised her other hand back, gesturing for his gloves.

"T…thank you," he stuttered.

Does he feel this too?

Juliette blinked, feeling heat bloom in her cheeks and neck. She attempted a response, but instead an awkward noise, light and soft, tightened from her throat. Then, the gloves were placed in her hand, and before she could string together a coherent thought, his fingers swept her hair aside. It was like a jolt of electricity coursing through her.

Cullen's fingers brushed along the side of her neck. They felt rough, though his touch was feather-light and careful. Her entire body tingled in response, and when his fingertips roamed her skin, dusting lightly along her collarbone — his touch hardened her nipples, agonizing heat pooling in her core. Juliette froze, holding her breath, her body yearning for more.

"There." His voice was soft and hazy, Juliette meanwhile, blinking herself to awareness. Cullen's hands slowly withdrew and Juliette lifted her fingertips to her neck, just to reassure herself that it was over.

She could still feel his presence behind her, standing close. Slowly, she turned, her breath shallow, movements shaky. Their eyes met and to Juliette, it all felt like a blur. There was a magnetic pull between them, their bodies close, a lingering gaze.

Kiss me.

He could have stepped back. He could have looked away.

Kiss. Me.

He could have just handed her the necklace and returned to his duties. But he didn't.

Her eyes drifted to his lips, lingering on his scar. A gentle breeze swept across the battlements and his scent carried in the air. Juliette's eyes closed, the familiarity of the fragrance like a warm embrace. She'd noticed it before, at the war table, when he rescued her during the blizzard. Earthy, but sweet. She didn't know what it was, only that she liked it.

As the breeze settled, her eyes fluttered open. Cullen's focus was on her, an intense, smouldering gaze. A moment stretched between them, the air charged with anticipation.

Juliette blinked, tearing her eyes away from his. She stumbled back, clumsy, almost toppling over. Cullen reached his arm out, reflexes fast, and steadied her with a hand on the shoulder. She gasped, startled, and looked up at him. Their eyes locked again, lingering for a moment more. She could feel her face burning, cheeks flushed and pulse thrumming in her neck.

It was then, that she noticed the change in his expression. His eyes narrowed, alarm in his features. Whatever this was, whatever it could have been — she'd ruined it.

“Your gloves,” she breathed, her voice weak. She pressed them into his hands and stepped back. “Thank you… I— I have to go.”

"You're welcome," Cullen murmured, watching her retreat, his fingers tightening around the gloves.

Chapter Text

She had never seen rain like this before—icy, sharp, stinging as it collided with bare skin. Not quite raindrops, not quite snow. Sleet, she had heard people call it. All Juliette knew was that it felt exhilarating to run through it in the dark of night.

A dainty squeal escaped her, followed by a giggle as she raced across the garden, mud and puddles splashing against her ankles. Her slippers were surely ruined, little did it matter.

The white dress billowed around her with every swift movement, thin fabric clinging to wet skin. In a hasty dash for cover, one shoulder slipped free from its delicate strap, the soaked fabric sliding over her chest. Damp strands of hair clung to her face, but she hardly noticed. She was too caught up in the thrill of the moment.

When she stepped into the chantry, warmth wrapped around her like a loving embrace. The sound of wind and falling ice drifted away when she closed the door, met with the serene stillness of the empty room. Candlelight burned low and the moon shone a glistening silver through the grand windows, adorning the walls with delicate shadows.

Juliette shivered, holding herself, the goosebumps on her arms smoothing underneath the warmth of her hands. She readjusted the strap of her dress and flicked her hair behind her shoulders, tiny droplets of water flying into the air. Looking up at the statue of Andraste, she smiled.

A profound sense of comfort washed over Juliette as she stepped forward, a feeling of safety and guidance. Once haunted by the idea of returning to a chantry, she now felt as though she belonged. Her fingers softly slid down the delicate chain of her necklace, resting on the pendant. She closed her eyes, inhaling a deep, relaxed breath. Her lips twisted into a wistful smile as her fingers moved to her neck, lightly tracing over the places when Cullen had touched her.

A sudden creak of a door opening echoed throughout the room, a cold burst of air gushing in as Juliette whirled around. It was almost as though she had summoned him with her daydreams of longing.

Cullen stood in the doorway. He was simply dressed, much like the night in Haven when she had unintentionally stumbled upon his quiet retreat to the chantry. Without the excessive belts and buckles that accompanied his armour, he wore nothing more than trousers, boots and a loose fitted undershirt. Her eyes roamed over him, unable to look away. That white linen shirt, soaked from the rain, and how it clung to every sculpted line beneath. Yet what stunned her more than the sight of his magnificent physique was the way he looked at her.

His damp hair was tousled, beads of water trickling down his face, but it was his expression that stole her breath. Dark and unyielding, it was unlike anything she had ever seen from him. From anyone.

He turned to close the door, breaking Juliette's lingering gaze. She blinked, as though trying to will herself back to reality, to assure herself that this was real. Silence descended on the chantry once more, and suddenly, she felt exposed, however compelling his presence was. She swallowed hard, her eyes following him as he remained turned, the defined muscles of his back rippling beneath his shirt.

"We have to stop meeting like this, Commander." Her voice, though quiet, carried a forced confidence.

Cullen turned slowly , his eyes sweeping over her body as she stood there, the light fabric of her dress clinging to her figure. His focus lingered, tracing the lines of her legs, the curve of her hips, the way her dress clung to her chest. When his eyes finally met hers, Juliette felt a breathless flutter in her stomach.

"Do we?"

Cullen's steely expression remained, his eyes focused. His voice was low, firm in a serious tone that made no acknowledgment of her awkward quip. There was no humour, no entertaining her attempt at levity. Only an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

He stepped forward, his footsteps loud as they shattered the silence. Only Cullen and Juliette, alone, together, while the world blurred into the distance behind the closed door.

She slowly blinked, her eyes catching a glimpse of his broad shoulders and perfectly chiseled chest through the loosely tied shirt. She looked away, heat coursing through her body, lust radiating within her.

"If you want me to leave, Inquisitor, just say the word."

As he spoke, she glanced up, their eyes locking in a tense hold. Desire burned in the way they looked at each other.

"I don't," she said in a breathy whisper, words tumbling from her lips with little thought.

With his eyes still holding onto to her, Cullen took a step closer.

"So you're staying?"

"I am."

Closer again, he stood near, impossibly close. She recognised his scent, like before on the battlements: earthy, sensual, intoxicating.

Irresistible.

Her eyes drifted to his neck, all the places she longed to press her lips against, Down his chest. Underneath that shirt. Slowly, she looked up, her attention hovering on his lips before finally meeting his gaze—captivated by the deep amber of his eyes.

"Well, then what will you have of me?"

That question again. His voice was a low murmur, seductive, whether he realised it or not.

She couldn't answer him before, and still, the right words eluded her. How could she explain the things she longed for? Where she wanted his lips to explore, fingers tracing the most intimate places? How could she put into words the way her heart ached, desperate to be held in his strong arms.

But she couldn't let this question go unanswered, not again, not while he was this close.

And so, she reached out, brushing her fingers against his. A light touch, subtle, cautious in her movements. She watched as his fingers curled around hers, his grip firm, cold skin warming at her touch. Slowly, she looked back up to his face, her eyes widening with hope as he lowered his head. She felt breathless, his lips hovering just an inch away from hers.

"I think I know," he spoke softly, a quiet murmur. "Unless I'm mistaken?"

His question made her eyelashes flutter, his breath warm against her cheek.

"You're not," she whispered in a gasp.

She closed her eyes, heart pounding, a shiver of anticipation tightening her chest. Then he kissed her. Cullen’s lips crashed against hers, seizing the kiss with breath-stealing urgency.

The pulse hammering in her neck, the flutter in her chest, the flash of heat coursing through her veins—all melted into his kiss. Her limbs felt weightless, as if floating, lost in a surreal fantasy. Cullen let go of her hand, and his lips pulled away. Her eyes flickered open in a dreamy haze of lust, finding his searching hers, as though waiting, hoping for her approval. She surrendered to his allure, eyes shut as she leaned into him, their lips parting in a passionate kiss.

His hand slid around her waist, hooking her in, pulling her taut against him. The other tangled in her hair, fingertips weaving through the damp strands. Their breaths grew heavy, the kiss deepening with every passing second. She felt dizzy, lost in the taste of him, drinking in every moment, every touch, every brush of his lips. Utterly intoxicated.

Juliette felt like someone else in that moment, yet, at the same time, she was never more herself. The way her body responded to his was natural, as if they had done this a thousand times before. Everything about him, so familiar. Not long ago, she could barely meet his eyes. Now, her hands roamed freely, fingertips splayed across his back, tugging at his shirt as they traveled over his shoulders and down his chest.

She felt his lips lift into a smile as they broke from hers, a low, breathy chuckle ghosting against her skin while he trailed kisses down her neck. As Juliette's fingers slipped beneath his shirt, exploring his skin, tracing the contours of muscle, Cullen’s grip on her dress tightened, his hand roaming lower down her back.

She gasped against his ear when his mouth found the crook of her neck, lips catching the chain of her necklace before pulling away. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking in surprise at his sudden retreat. He had drawn back just enough for a breath, his heavy-lidded gaze lingering on her lips before meeting her eyes. His face dipped forward, nose brushing against hers, and the scar on his lip pulled into a smirk.

In one swift motion, he leaned back, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Juliette barely had a second to take in the sight of his bare chest before he swept her into an embrace, a delicate gasp escaping her. She giggled against his lips, her hands draping around his neck, their bodies pressed together.

Cullen’s hands gripped her hips, firm yet reverent, guiding her backwards with slow, unsteady steps. Candles that lined the alter toppled over by their movements, flames flickering out when they met the stone floor. The room dimmed, a little warmer. Intimate.

Her dress swayed with the motion, whispering against her skin. Before the dying embers could reach her, Cullen lifted Juliette, legs wrapping around his waist as he captured her lips with fervour. Her back met the statue of Andraste with a soft thud, eliciting a gasp as the cool stone grazed her heated skin.

With closed eyes and a shallow breath, she felt as though she had drifted away—sinking into him, into every touch, every soft gasp for air between kisses. Her legs slid down, feet finding the floor, though she barely noticed that she'd lost a shoe somewhere along the way.

Cullen held her face, fingers tangled in her hair, his body pressed firmly against hers.

Juliette’s fingertips traced over his skin, soft and teasing, gliding lower along his chest and down his abdomen. Cullen’s hand swept her hair aside, dragging the strap of her dress with it. He pressed heated kisses along her collarbone, sending a delightful shiver over her skin.

A light hum escaped Juliette's lips, soft and content, enthralled in every second of their embrace. Her fingers hovered above the laces of his pants, knuckles brushing against the trail of light blonde hair, tempted to follow lower.

A low, throaty moan, almost a growl,  broke from his lips. The sound sent a tingling heat throughout Juliette's entire body. Their eyes were drawn to each other, slowly. Their faces drifted closer together, warm shallow breaths, their lips brushing together in the lightest touch. Cullen dragged his mouth against her cheek, landing on her ear, a low whisper.

"Is this what you want?"

No words could be sufficient. Nothing she could say could express her need for him with grace. She couldn't possibly convey how her body ached for his touch, how the mere thought of him sent a shiver of desire through her. How she craved him. Every inch of him. Down to her very core.

She'd show him her answer.

A coy nod of her head. Fluttering lashes. Full lips parted in anticipation for his kiss.

She caught his hand at her hip, her eyes darkening as she held his gaze. With slow, sensual movements, she guided his hand along her thigh, gathering the fabric of her dress, exposing more of her skin beneath his calloused fingertips.

Cullen skipped a breath, a strained sound escaping his throat as he pressed himself firmly against her. His kiss was urgent, claiming her lips with wild intensity. As his hand trailed higher along her thigh, Juliette’s knee brushed between his legs, a teasing gesture that revealed just how eager he was for her too.

Her low, sultry giggle hummed against his lips, melting into their kiss and offering an invitation. Cullen groaned, the sound rough and deep as it rumbled from his chest. One hand braced against the stone beside her head, while the other swept higher, fingers tangling in the delicate lace of her undergarments. His lips ventured lower, searing kisses trailing down her neck as his fingertips gripped the softness of her skin with desperate intensity.

Juliette closed her eyes. Electricity pulsed through her veins. It was nothing like the magic she'd known before. This was something else, something untamed, something entirely his doing. A breathless sigh escaped her, her head tilting back as she offered herself to him. She hooked her leg around his waist, pulling him closer, craving more. Cullen rolled his hips, grinding against her with reckless need, his fingers roaming her curves and clenching her flesh.

Her hand gripped his back to anchor herself, the other caressing the length of him, feeling his arousal shift beneath the fabric of his trousers. Cullen exhaled a ragged breath against her neck, dangerously enticing. His hands skimmed up her body, fingertips pulling at the hemline of her bodice, teeth grazing the embroidered trim before burying his face in the softness of her cleavage, all the while rolling his hips into her touch. A soft gasp escaped her as she lowered her leg, fingers slipping into his hair, drawing him closer.

Juliette closed her eyes, a wistful moan escaping her lips, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Cullen lifted his head, his gaze dreamy, hair tousled from her gentle touch. He smiled, warmth in the way his lips moved, warmth in the way he looked at her. His hands cradled her face as he leaned in, his kiss soft and affectionate. Her lashes drifted open, meeting his eyes with a slight tilt to her lips, her expression sweet. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, then, in a slow and drawn-out moment, he traced his finger over her cheek and along her jawline. Juliette's eyes fell shut, her head tilting back, her breath shaky. His finger, light as a feather, drifted down the center of her neck, igniting a heat that burned deep within her.

She dipped her head forward, her lids heavy, lips parted in eager anticipation for another kiss. But to her surprise, Cullen wasn’t there. A soft gasp escaped as her eyes blinked open, watching while he sank to his knees. His hands slid slowly down her neck, over her breasts, tracing the curve of her waist, her hips, and her thighs. The touch of his hands were gentle, until they hovered just at the hem of the dress. His eyes never wandered from hers. Adoration, devotion—that's what she saw when he looked up at her, making Juliette’s heart flutter.

Then his hands began to gather the fabric of her dress, flicking through layers as he raised it higher. He shuffled his knees against the stone floor, eyes still focused on hers. Cullen leaned forward, silk and chiffon hanging above his head before her gasp ceased him.

Her hand landed softly on the side of his face, her eyes wide in disbelief.

"Here?" she asked, a hushed whisper that echoed throughout the chantry.

Cullen's expression faltered, releasing her dress, a light layer of chiffon dusting across his face as it fell.

"Should I stop?"

His voice was careful, measured. His brows furrowed, concern in his eyes as he gauged her expression.

Juliette blinked. Her breath shuddered. A hot shiver ran through her body.

In the chantry.

Then, in one breath, she answered him.

"Maker, no."

Cullen glanced above her, eyes set on Andraste as ethereal moonlight draped over her. He returned his focus to Juliette, his expression softening, longing in his amber eyes. The scar on his lip twisted into a smirk, smug as always, but this time was different. He was holding back a grin, the mystery of what thoughts he could be keeping to himself making her pulse race. She couldn't wait to find out.

"As you command, Inquisitor."

His low murmur echoed in her mind, teasing, tempting, promising. Before she could fully process his words, he tossed the fabric of her dress into the air. For just a second, soft white chiffon floated before her eyes, an elegant dance illuminated by moonlight. For just a second, Juliette felt like she was drifting, a soft, hazy moment of calm.

Then fire.

A startled gasp tore from her lips, her breath stolen by Cullen's hands, hands that were everywhere at once. Her hips, her thighs, fingertips clenching her cheeks with urgency while his hot breath teased her skin, stubble dragging along the inside of her thighs. Juliette's hands scrambled to clutch the fabric of the dress, seeking something—anything—to tether her to the moment. Her pulse raced, heat pooling between her legs, desperate for his touch. She bit down hard on her lower lip when his mouth pressed against the damp lace of her undergarments, a quivering breath, her body trembling. A whimper slipped free, the pulsing ache within her deepening.

A low chuckle rumbled from Cullen’s lips, the vibration sending a spark through her. She could feel his smile, undoubtedly proud of the disheveled state he had her in, as his kisses pressed against the most intimate parts of her, with nothing but a thin veil of lace between them.

He tugged at her undergarments with his teeth, his hot breath feeling like salvation in the agonising anticipation, undressing Juliette while savouring every second. Then his lips crashed into her, kissing her folds as he would her mouth, with unwavering devotion, reveling in every touch, indulging in each taste. Worship.

A soft cry spilled from her lips as she writhed against him. With heavy pants for air and desperate fingers, she tore at her dress, searching for him. Her legs shook, almost unable to stand in the haze of pleasure.

He grasped her hips, fingers pressing deep into her skin, anchoring her in place against the stone. Then, Cullen pushed his tongue deeper. Every flick, every swirl,lapping her up, setting her nerves alight.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at blonde strands as her body trembled, a violent quiver deep between her hips. Unbearable was the heat between her legs, a fire raging. She threw her head back, the sudden smack against the stone statue almost unnoticed, pain dissolving into pleasure. A moan released from her throat, raw and vivid, almost primal. Otherworldly, like she drifted beyond herself, entirely lost in him.

Cullen's fingers dug deeper, a groan rumbling , his lips closed against her. Every stroke of his tongue, each slow suck of his lips, was deliberate, with purpose and passion. He'd slow it down, strategic gasps for air while his teeth gently pulled at her most tender spots. Then his tongue would swirl, soothing her ache before his mouth tightened, dragging her deeper into pleasure, edging her closer and closer to climax.

A wild whimper spilled from her lips, his name tumbling out in breathless surrender as her fingers tangled in his hair, thighs tightening around his face. Each shallow gasp carried a delicate cry, pleasure unraveling her. Heat surged through her veins, blinding, overwhelming…

Behind eyes squeezed shut, light poured into her vision, warm, divine. Her body felt motionless, fading into a dreamy haze. Everything was quiet, everything still, until a cold drop splattered on her cheek, shattering her serene.

Juliette's eyes flew open, muted light taunting her eyes as she blinked into focus. Then again, a cold drop of icy water, soaring down, landing in her eye with a stinging splash.

"Maker!" she gasped, driving her palm against her eye to soothe the jolting sensation. The air was chilled, far too cold and it bit at her exposed skin with spite.

Slowly, between irritated blinks and tears, her vision came back and she was met with…

A tent?

With a wince through clenched teeth, Juliette rolled to her side narrowly missing the persistent drop of water. She groaned, sitting up, dazed and confused.

Somewhere between Skyhold and Haven, Juliette let her subconscious slip, her deepest desires clouding her mind.

A frustrated sigh rushed from her lips, enough force to blow back strands of hair as she flopped back down onto her bedroll. Her body ached, but not in pain, not from the cold that seeped into her skin. Everything she felt in that dream, it lingered still. The tension between her thighs, the searing heat, so intense it was agonising. The way her heart longed for Cullen, for him to look at her with such reverence and devotion.

She could hear the wind, gusts that swayed trees and rattled loose objects. She could hear low voices chattering from outside her tent. She could hear her breath, ragged, her pulse hammering away in her chest.

She almost hesitated, unwilling to accept what the dream had meant to her, but curiosity, perhaps more so, raw need, led her to reach her fingers down, sliding underneath her clothes.

Heat radiated from her core and her fingers slipped, warm and wet, her body betraying the sense she so desperately tried to instill in her mind.

She had never let it get this far. While her mind had wandered, little fantasies here and there, she'd always restrained herself from thinking of him while she sought her own pleasure. But she couldn't keep resisting.

She bit her lip, annoyed at herself as much as she was frustrated that she couldn't have more than salacious daydreams. Juliette's breath shuddered, trying to control the sounds that escaped her, to be discreet.

Oh… Maker, I hope I wasn't talking in my sleep.

For what little it mattered now.

Her finger moved in slow circles, muscles clenched, breath in uneven gasps. Her skin tingled, heat pricking her senses. But it wasn't enough. Her thoughts needed to push further, need him to push further.

She let herself fall back into the dream, eyes closed in a delirious wave of lust. She sank back into the warmth of the chantry, his mouth hot on her skin, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate strokes. She could almost feel him, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her open, where he belonged, meant to taste her. On his knees, each touch sacred, worshiping her with every fiber of his being. And yet, was that all there was to it?

His lips praised her like a prayer, but was his devotion for her, or the Herald of Andraste? Could she ever be Juliette, or would he only see her as untouchable?

Doubt stalked her mind. She clenched her teeth, squeezing her eyes closed tighter, as if that could will away the thoughts.

But what if the roles were reversed? What if she were the one kneeling before him, tasting him, making him unravel? Her full lips around him, her tongue sliding along his length, slow, indulgent, savouring every strained noise he released, every twitch of his hard cock in her mouth. She imagined his fingers tangled in her hair, sweeping strands away from her face as she took him deeper, every inch, his breath frantic pants for air. Her Commander, so rigid, so steadfast, utterly consumed by her, relenting to her touch, her name from his lips in incoherent murmurs.

Though could he really allow himself to be so vulnerable? With her? Or did some part of him, deep down, fear what she could become. The thought twisted inside her. Cullen, always watching her so carefully, always measured. Was it restraint? Or was it fear?

She swallowed back the nagging , the ache. Her fingers moved faster, harder, determined to push her mind beyond this.

Then she was in the war room. Tokens scattering on the ground, paperwork tearing beneath the friction. Her face pressed firmly onto the table, Cullen, with a fistful of her hair , rough, demanding. His body pressing her down, taking her without restraint, without caution. He fucked her hard, desperate, consumed by her. She let him take her, claim her, lose himself in her.

Oh Maker, she wanted that. Needed that.

The carvings of the map, lines marking the Hinterlands etched against her face with every dangerously delicious thrust into her. It felt selfish to be here, to throw everything aside for a moment of pleasure, so much at stake. But it only made her crave him more. She begged, whimpered, for more. Harder. Faster. Until she lost all sense of where she was. Who she was.

A frustrated groan slipped from Juliette's lips, biting her tongue to stifle the noises she made as she brought herself closer, all alone in that little tent.

Then, as her toes curled, fingers clenching the fur blanket, a daydream so pure reached out to her like a blessing.

There was no passion, no reckless abandon. Just…warmth.

Cullen holding her. No titles, no duty — just them. The weight of his strong arms draped around her waist, tender kisses on her cheek in the quiet light of morning. The slow, steady rise and fall of his breath, his body tangled with hers.

Calm. Safe. To be able to just, be.

Not because of need, not because of desperation, but because he wanted to be there. Because he wanted her.

A cracked whimper left her lips, her body tensing, pleasure coursing through her in a wave so intense it nearly left her shaking. She bit into her arm, hard, thoughts blurred, toes cramping. Her breath slowed, her arm fell to her side and she blinked herself back to awareness.

As the last tremors inside her faded, the euphoric bliss washing away, the ache in her chest returned.

Did he truly see her the same?

Not as the Inquisitor, but as her.

She sighed deeply, her fingers sliding from between her legs.

"Damn you, Cullen Rutherford," she whispered in frustration.

Not anger. Only hope…and a little fear.

Chapter Text

A strong inhale, eyes shut tight. A frosty bite in the air. Low murmurs, clattering of pans, scraping steel of sharpened swords. Slowly, Cullen opened his eyes, the bright orange of the setting sun sweeping over the campsite. He exhaled, deep, relief settling into his lungs.

This was the same spot they stayed, he was certain, on their first journey to Skyhold. The first moment of reprieve after their hasty retreat to the mountains. Pain. Anguish. Uncertainty.

Now, there was hope. Now they had strength.

Morale was high as he weaved his way through the camp. Crackling of fires, the soft thump of his boots heavy in the snow. He could smell supper, the hearty scent of vegetable stew wafting through the cool air. If ever there was a time to relax, it would be now. But this was Cullen.

He had been in contact with the forward camp long before he arrived at this one. Provisions were in place and along with scouts, the soldiers had a decent grasp on the mountain trail's safety. Word from Skyhold was promising, security measures that he had ensured before departing were enforced and there was no sign of danger. Leliana had assured him of her agent's activity, that Haven was well guarded, and she had been sure to relay this information to the Inquisitor who seemed eager for an update.

Of course she wants an update.

Juliette had been determined to set this vigil in motion, a sentiment that Cullen held in high regard. As he walked, head down and eyes firm on his feet, he could feel a smile begin to tug at his lips.

This was important to her. The memory of her smile, hopeful eyes watching him closely when she asked if it was safe, if a vigil could be possible. He'd think of it often.

It surprised him that she was willing to return to Haven, to face the grief of that night. It wasn't something he had considered.

For Cullen, loss was something to carry, to endure, a distraction that should be suppressed in the name of duty. To honour the dead meant to carry on in their name, to provide safety and strength to those who lived. To survive.

To dwell on the past felt foolish, dangerous even. How can you move forward when your mind is stuck in the past?

And yet, Juliette pushed for this vigil.

He had seen it in her eyes during war councils—the pain, the hesitation. The way her fingers coiled tightly in her hair when Haven was mentioned, the waver in her voice when she asked about the excavation efforts. He had noticed.

But as he watched her make preparations with Josephine, heard the soft murmurs of her voice when he caught the tail end of conversations as they entered the war room, he began to realise that this, the way she carries herself with grace during times of hardship, meant something to him. She felt the loss, the fear of returning, yet there she was, back where it started, not out of obligation, but because she believed that it mattered. All those lives mattered to her. It would have been easier to ignore Haven’s ruin, to push forward and leave the dead behind. But she wouldn’t. Juliette refused.

Cullen's eyes drifted across the campsite, a subtle glance until he caught sight of her. Wrapped tightly in a fur coat, Juliette sat by the fire, listening intently as Leliana spoke. The soft light of the setting sun was illuminating, a golden glow that embraced her skin, soft strands of hair that slipped free of her braid catching the light. This is the closest he had been to her in days, yet she was still so far.

He felt a pang in his chest, muscles in his fingers tightening , but before he could will himself to look away, she noticed him. Her soft smile faltered for just a moment, a flash of surprise in her expression. Then, she smiled again—bolder, more radiant, eyes bright, and cheeks rosy.

Heat rushed through him, and as though in a trance, he returned the smile, dipping his head while he walked past. It was only for a moment, but those few seconds lingered, something he held onto amid the endless demands of duty.

While Cullen had traveled alongside a contingent of soldiers and spent most of his idle time at the eastern camp, he had set up a space in an annex for coordinating missives and communicating with both Skyhold and the forward camp. As he stepped out of the light, the worn canvas blocking the sunset, he shook off the remnants of that smile and returned his focus to his role as Commander.

"Any word from Skyhold?" he asked, voice firm.

"Nothing new to report, Ser."

Cullen nodded, immediately sinking into work by reaching for missives. "And the forward camp? Haven village?" Cullen's eyes were focused on the scrolls in his hands, his index finger carefully gliding underneath the words as he read.

"Clear, Commander. No sign of danger."

"Good," he murmured, his attention set into the correspondence before him.

Soldiers outside the Grand Cathedral. That should quiet the clerics.

The rustling of papers and low chatter of the camp around him served as comforting backdrop. He much preferred this over the confined walls of his Skyhold office.

Under his breath he read, "…would like to thank the Inquisition for their continued presence following the closure of rifts in The Hinterlands."

"Meal for you, Ser?"

Cullen looked up, his focus shattered for just a moment.

"Oh, No. Thank you. See to the others first, I'll find something later."

"As you wish," the woman replied, carrying away the bowl of stew.

Cullen looked back down to the letters in his hands, his eyes catching a glimpse of the campfire.

Now Josephine's there. They've been inseparable lately.

The few times he'd seen Juliette since departing Skyhold had been from afar. Much like the first journey up the mountains, she was surrounded by officers or at the very least, Cassandra or Josie. He hadn't spoken to her since the day he returned the necklace, aside from written correspondence, which of course was formal.

He sighed, a slow shake of his head as he tried to resume his work.

Sutherland again? Why does Juliette insist…I'll allow it.

"Notify the Sutherland boy that he'll have minor sanction to request resources for patrols," Cullen ordered an officer.

"Yes, Commander."

"The Inquisitor seems to approve and, well, they could be useful freelancers."

"Right away, Commander," the officer nodded and made his way to the messengers.

Cullen flicked through the paperwork. Reports, requisition requests, letters from nobility that he'd rather Josephine dealt with — it all seemed trivial. Perhaps if he stayed behind, he could put his time to better use. Training soldiers, patrolling the keep, calibrating the trebuchets …why did I just stand there?

His mind kept drifting back to that necklace. Her necklace. Without the constant flow of meaningful work, his thoughts kept returning there. The way his fingers brushed against her skin, how they lingered a little too long. She seemed tentative. But she looked at me. Close. Unguarded.

He could almost see her, his memory taking them back to the battlements where she stood before him, eyes wide, voice soft. She was blushing.

Cullen wondered, and not for the first time, if she felt the same as he did. She hadn’t stepped back. She’d closed her eyes. Then she left.

What was I thinking, standing so close?

It was too close. Too good to be true. I crossed a line.

Cullen pressed his palm into his forehead, eyes closed, pushing out a heavy, frustrated breath. As he slowly inhaled, his fingers slid down his face, eyelids blinking until his blurred vision focused, only to be caught off guard by the sight before him.

Juliette hadn't moved from her place by the fire. No longer engaged in conversation, she sat still, her expression blank, eyes fixed directly on him. She seemed lost, swept up in thoughts. The breeze rustled the loose strands of hair that framed her face, her eyes dark, lips parted, fingertips resting against the side of her neck. People moved about chattering loudly around her, yet she remained still, constant, her absent gaze unyielding. The bright orange flame of the fire flickered, a haze of smoke dancing between them. Then their eyes connected.

She didn't look away.

Her eyes, firm, intense, sharper than any blade. It was no fleeting glance, nor was there a bashful retreat. She looked at him with intent. Curious. Bold. Certain.

Cullen felt frozen in place, yet warmer than he had been in days. There was a flutter in his chest, breath stolen by the sight of her. Everything surrounding him began to wane. The only awareness was of the silent challenge in her eyes and the soft ache in his heart.

Then she turned away, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and fixing her eyes on Josephine, smile wide and soft laughter — as though nothing had happened.

Cullen blinked. He snatched a report from the shabby desk that was slapped together with barrels and loose planks of wood. The words meant nothing, blurring together as though they were penned in a foreign language. Perhaps, he wondered, that nothing had happened at all. Perhaps, the full effect of withdrawal was finally settling in.

He could feel the burn in his face, neck and ears. He didn't know when this battle had begun, only that he was already losing.

Time had passed. How much, Cullen was unsure. He strove to focus on his tasks, reading over and over, head bowed, eyes fixed on the documents in his hands. The clatter of the camp, the wind snapping at the canvas walls—none of it could compete with the distraction of her.

"A message from Ser Rylen, Commander."

A brief moment of relief washed over him, just for a second. Something of importance to focus on. Then, apprehension. A dozen thoughts of what could go wrong, what could be happening back at Skyhold in his absence.

With silent urgency, Cullen accepted the letter, tearing it open without hesitation. He exhaled, all unease melting away as the concise message sank in. Everything was fine.

"Tell Rylen that I will arrange —"

Cullen's eyes drifted across the campsite, following Juliette as she wandered towards the messengers, her braid flinging over her shoulder.

He cleared his throat, "—immediate deployment of troops to secure a position in the Western Approach."

"Commander," the messenger nodded with a salute and moved to carry out his order.

Cullen glanced down at the report in his hands, then sighed and tossed it lightly onto the desk. He reached for the back of his neck, pressing his fingertips into the tight muscles. The ache subsided briefly, but the real strain was elsewhere—his mind, his restraint, the quiet war he waged against the urge to watch her.

He failed.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

Juliette looked at her feet as she walked. He did the same thing. Is she trying to avoid eye contact too?

"Inquisitor! Good evening!"

Distant voices, jovial and excited. It must be hard to be the center of attention.

Her smile was graceful, poised, practiced. Not like the one she’d given him earlier. Why was it different?

A shadow loomed beside him. Cullen blinked and inhaled, bringing himself back to awareness. A different messenger now stood at his side, holding an unsealed letter.

"From the Inquisitor, Commander."

Cullen swallowed hard, his posture shifting awkwardly. His eyes darted to the letter, then to messenger's face — neutral, unaware.

He glanced back to the fire. She was returning to her seat, slow, deliberate movements. Crossed legs, a subtle smirk. She balanced a board on her lap before dipping a quill into a pot of ink. Every movement effortless, taunting.

"Thank you," he said, throat tight, eyes still glued to Juliette. His hand absently reached for the letter. Slowly, Cullen looked over the message, parchment neat and without creases, ink fresh, curved handwriting elegant yet exaggerated.

I have more questions about Tale of the Champion. That is if you're not too busy to answer?

-J

 

Cullen glanced back over to her. She was watching with a twist of her lips, her attention returning to her writing once she was certain that he had noticed her.

Is this…this is a game?

This is time ill spent.

A waste of resources.

A distraction that we cannot…

Of course, Inquisitor.

What would you like to know?

-C

He hadn't noticed the quill between his fingers, one hand anchoring the letter down on the desk as he hunched over adding his response underneath her request. It happened without thought. Like a man compelled, he walked right into her trap.

"Return this to the Inquisitor, please."

"Right away, Commander."

Cullen knew that he could be putting his time to better use. Checking supplies, contacting outposts, even allowing himself to stop and eat a meal…anything could have been better then standing there like a fool. Yet, his eyes tracked the messenger as he moved across the camp.

Cullen stood in place, arms folded, posture rigid, maintaining the careful facade of control. But when she smiled, reading his words, everything he’d fought to contain unraveled.

Do you know that feeling when something is right there in your mind but you just can't grasp it? Words to a song or somebody's name?

Well, that's what I'm experiencing now, except it is the name of that tavern Varric often speaks of. Do you know which one I mean?

Hanged Rose?

Blooming Man?

It's right there, just on the tip on my tongue.

-J

In what felt like a blink of the eye, he held her reply in his hands. It took a great deal of control not to smile, he knew she was watching.

I'm familiar with the feeling, yes.

You are thinking of the Hanged Man Tavern.

The Blooming Rose is a br  something else entirely.

-C

The smirk she flashed him, so full of mischief it was almost maddening. There was no controlling his lips this time, his scar tugging as he looked down, suppressing a smile and the flush in his cheeks.

Oh, so you are familiar with the brothel. Good to know.

-J

 

Cullen read her words once. Then again. His jaw tightened, heat crept up the back of his neck as he reached his hand there, instinct. She was toying with him, and Maker help him, he was allowing it.

Slowly, cautiously, he lifted his eyes to where she sat by the fire.

Juliette was watching him, of course. Poised and composed, hands folded in her lap, her coy smile a mask of innocence. Their eyes locked. She held his stare, unflinching at first… but then her lips twitched. Subtle. She tore away her eyes, quickly, too quickly. With a bright smile she joined in with the conversation around her, but her hands didn't go unnoticed by Cullen.

Her expression was of confidence but the tugging and twisting of strands of hair, her braid unfurling, fingers coiling tighter. It betrayed her.

Caught you, Trevelyan.

A smirk broke through as Cullen penned his reply, a low chuckle behind closed lips. A small victory, but he'd take it.

What is the purpose of these messages? To antagonise me for your entertainment? Does it bring you joy, Inquisitor?

This time, just a glance. A smirk that came and went, her bravado beginning to crumble.

Yes.

But I was also curious if I could hear your sigh from over here.

 

One more question, if you'll allow me?

Cullen turned to the messenger, his smile quickly suppressed by professionalism.

"Forgive me. I understand that this is below your capabilities."

The man was stoic, his expression remaining neutral as he carried about his duty, however ridiculous it might have seemed to deliver messages between people within such close proximity.

"When we return to Skyhold you can take a weeks paid leave for your trouble."

"Thank you, Commander," he replied, accepting Cullen's note.

Go ahead.

Juliette wrote her response quickly, effortlessly, then placed her quill aside. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she capped the ink pot with a deliberate twist, then returned her gaze to Cullen. Slowly, a small smirk grew on her lips.

Can I tempt you with an impromptu war council?

Cullen lifted his eyes, landing on her, caught in her stare. He could feel the muscles pull in his face, the heat blooming in his chest as he failed to resist matching his smirk to hers. He shook his head with a quiet, breathy chuckle, his smile deepening, creases in the corner of his eyes. Dropping the letter to the desk, he turned to the messenger.

"That will be all, you're dismissed."

As the messenger saluted and returned to his post, Cullen kept his eyes on Juliette, moving through the annex and out into the open.

She nearly rose—just a shift in posture, quickly corrected. With coloured cheeks, she bit her lip, then eased back into her seat, smoothing her coat and flicking her hair behind her shoulder.

"Leliana!" Juliette shouted, loud enough to call her attention, yet soft and sweet to Cullen's ears just the same.

The sun had nearly vanished, softly illuminating the camp with firelight and the final moments of dusk. A cool breeze and the scent of smoke greeted Cullen as he found a place to sit on the log beside her, armour creaking with every movement he made. Close, but not too close.

She looked up at him and smiled, a smile that stole his breath. Her fingers lingered near her ear, where she’d tucked her hair away.

"I take it that your presence is a 'yes' to the war council?" Her voice was low, teasing, yet a hint of softness lingered in her words.

Cullen chuckled, the sound widening her smile more than he realised.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Chapter Text

The snow fell heavier in Haven now than it had before. Time had passed, seasons had changed, and yet it felt like only days since the Inquisition had first occupied the little village. The memories remained vivid—every flurry of snow, every loosed stone, every glimpse of the destroyed structures, wounds still fresh beneath the shadow of the mountains.

It felt surreal, standing there again. Quiet. Calm. Eerie.

The snow muted sound in a way she hadn’t heard since the avalanche. Footsteps were nearly silent, and the wind that so often tore through the valley had stilled.
It was as though the world had held its breath. A hushed whisper.

Juliette looked around. Large snowflakes settled in her hair as she stood still among it all. There were so many people here for the vigil—far more than she had expected. There must have been a thousand, maybe more. Who were they? Villagers? Nobility from neighbouring bannorns?

All these people, gathered in one place. Just like before.

She looked up at the sky. Thick, heavy clouds blanketed above, pale grey and white. It was natural, unlike the ominous green light that had once pulsed from the breach. Calm. Safe.

But then the screech of a dragon's roar sliced through her memory. Massive wings darkened the sky, shadows looming over the settlement.
All these people.
Gathered like lambs for slaughter.

Juliette blinked, her heart pounding hard against her ribs. One gloved hand pressed to the side of her neck, fingers absently searching for hair to grip, her pulse hammering beneath her touch.

This was a bad idea.

Her eyes searched the crowd, frantic, desperate to land on a familiar face.
Strangers. Everywhere.

In one fell swoop, this could be over.
If he were to come back…

“Juliette?”

A gentle voice, light as the snow that clung to their coats. Juliette spun around, a soft gasp escaping her lips, her breath misting in the cold air. She was met with kind eyes of both green and gold, a look of concern on Josephine's face.

"Are you all right?"

Juliette nodded, unsure what to say, her expression surely betraying her. Josephine regarded her with quiet worry for a moment before placing her hand on Juliette's arm.

"The Marquis would like to greet you."

Juliette cast one last look at the sky, searching for a threat that wasn't there.

"Where's Cullen?"

"He's waiting with the others," Josephine replied, a slight caution wavering in her voice as she took notice of Juliette's panicked expression. "Are you sure that you're okay, you look —"

"—Has he said anything? Does he seem agitated? Worried?"

"No more than usual," Josephine answered slowly.

"What of Leliana? She’d know if—"

Juliette stopped when she caught the growing concern in Josephine’s eyes.

There's no danger, you're only making a scene.

"Everything is well, Inquisitor," Josephine said with a reassuring smile, raising her voice just slightly.

All these eyes. Watching.

Juliette drew in a deep breath. With practiced poise, she forced a smile. Not genuine, not even close, but convincing. Panic still stirred in her chest, but to the onlookers, The Inquisitor stood composed, the leader they expected to see.

"I'm ready," Juliette declared with resolve. "Maker forbid we keep the Marquis waiting."

Marquis DuRellion handed Juliette a large wreath of flowers at the start of the ceremony — a gesture symbolic of forgiveness, acceptance, and appreciation. Or so Josephine had explained beforehand. Juliette could have lifted it from the ground herself and it would have meant just the same.

Her eyes drifted over the blooms as she held the wreath in her hands. A little voice in her head kicked in, identifying the plants with knowledge from her days in the Circle. For all its beauty, each flower carried meaning, carefully selected and woven together with ribbon and vine. The soft blue of Crystal Grace and the leafy petals of Embrium caught her attention, her fingers brushing over them with gentle reverence. The wreath was adorned with a white ribbon, delicately embroidered with the Chantry sunburst. It hung loose, lightly flapping in the breeze.

I can't stare at these flowers forever.

Juliette glanced up, tears already threatening to burst through her lashes. She drew in a deep breath, pressure building in her chest, her nose numb from the cold. Everyone was so quiet.

Slowly, she stepped forward. The path to the monument was lined with candles that flickered softly, illuminating the way. Moonlight stretched across the sky, just like it had that night. The air felt colder now.

Each candle. Every flame. A life lost.

She looked ahead at the monument, standing tall in the place that once marked the entrance to the village. Every side, the surface covered with names carved into stone.

Healers, soldiers, sisters, workers, mages.

So many mages.

Juliette couldn't see all the names from where she stood, frozen in place, but in her mind she could see faces. Soldiers that gave their life to hold off the Red Templars, lifeless bodies by the trebuchets.

If I had been a little faster…could there be less names?

The screech of the dragon. The sound of lyrium shards falling from the sky as it tore through the clouds above.

Music. Laughter. Cheering.

Bells.

Juliette could feel herself struggling for breath. Her pulse throbbed loud in her ears.

Blood. Fire.

"Congratulations Herald"

Screaming. Running.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Light pressure at the center of her back. Firm, yet gentle.

With a shaky breath, Juliette turned her head. Fur, lightly dusted with snow, met her eyes. Cullen stood beside her, his fingers tapping a slow, soothing rhythm through the fabric of her coat. His hand remained in place, a constant presence. His eyes were fixed on her, hints of gold catching the candlelight, quiet with concern.

She pulled her eyes from his, focus dropping to the wreath in her hands. Pressure prickled behind her nose, the urge to cry overwhelming. She swallowed hard, her throat tight. It felt like a lump of emotion hovered there, ready to break the fragile facade of bravery.

"You're not alone."

His whispered words were all it took.

Juliette’s lashes pressed together as tears streamed in silence, hot against the chill of her cheeks. Cullen’s hand pressed a little firmer into her back — a silent promise that he'd remain by her side.

She became aware of the light shifting around her as more figures stepped close. With a glance, she saw them: Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine, standing beside her in silent solidarity.

With a soft gasp, Juliette looked ahead, eyes stinging through tears and cold air. Candlelight blurred, people in the distance faceless as she focused on the monument before her and the hand resting on her back, guiding her through the grief.

What difference would it make if the Inquisitor were to cry?

Would it revoke alliances? Would it see us exiled from Ferelden?

Hardly.

Juliette swallowed hard and with a decisive blink, she stepped forward, just a moment away from laying the wreath before the monument.

For what little it matters… I've no control.

Closer to the stone monument now, names came into recognition with the flicker of candlelight. Ferelden names, Orlesian names, Marchers. In just a glimpse, there were names she knew, their memory heavy in her heart.

Juliette returned to her place, beside Cullen and Cassandra, head bowed quietly, hands folded neatly behind her back. He was no longer touching, yet his presence beside her was comforting just the same.

A moment of silence.

Juliette closed her eyes, swallowing back tears. Then the Chant for the Departed began.

The Light shall lead them safely
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.

Juliette kept her eyes fixed on the monument, focus blurred in the candlelight.

For those who trust in the Maker, fire is their water.

Her lips moved in rhythm with the words—committed to memory, though her voice remained soft, lost in the night air. Her eyes did not waver.

As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
They should see fire and go towards Light.

While Juliette's eyes grew weary and her mind trapped in the past, she could hear the voices around her. Leliana was the loudest, though she stood farthest away. Josephine's voice, quieter still, was barely heard. Cassandra spoke firmly, even through a hush.

And Cullen.

His voice undone every attempt at composure. Familiar. Constant. Devastating in its gentleness.

The Veil holds no uncertainty for them,
And they will know no fear of death, for the Maker
Shall be their beacon and their shield, their foundation and their sword.

When the last word left her lips, Juliette lowered her eyes to the ground. She sniffled quietly, embarrassed to be seen in such a fragile state, yet at the same time, relieved. A small sense of closure overcame her.

As the final verse of the Chant faded into the night, a brief silence settled over the gathering. Only the rustle of trees could be heard, branches heavy with snow, and the distant howl of wind in the mountains.

Then, as the vigil concluded, soft voices began to stir within the crowd—a whisper here, the shuffle of boots through snow there. Juliette lifted her focus from the ground, blinking through tears. Slowly, she turned her head and her eyes met his.

Cullen was watching her. He looked at her with an intensity that she had come to expect. Had she not known any better, she might have mistaken his expression for sternness. Yet in his gaze, Juliette could sense his concern.

With every second that passed, their eyes locked, moonlight illuminating his face — she could see the gentle care in the way he looked at her. It was steadying, even as it threatened to undo her all over again.

Juliette closed her eyes and sighed softly. She turned, brushing her fingers beneath her eyes before stepping away. With her focus lowered to the snow beneath her feet, she didn’t need to look back to know.

Cullen’s shadow followed close beside her.

The DuRellion family hosted a banquet following the vigil. Though Orlesian, they included a variety of Ferelden cuisine. Juliette counted forty-seven varieties of cheese. Forty-seven.

After enduring endless small talk with dignitaries, she finally managed to slip away, stealing a rare moment of solitude by a brazier. Her eyes swept over the hill, thick mounds of snow covering the grass, trees decorated with soft white that glistened in the moonlight. Then she caught sight of him.

Cullen sat alone, far away from the gathering, staring ahead at the old chantry ruins.

She found herself smiling, small and unguarded.

He seemed to look as out of place as she felt. Quiet. Reflective. Perfectly fine to fade in the shadows, unbothered by the grandeur around him. For a moment, she was content to simply watch.

He sat with slightly hunched shoulders, though with all that fur and armour, it was difficult to tell. Regardless, his posture seemed weary. Not broken. Just… tired.

She wondered what he was thinking.
Was he lost in memory, as she was?

Was he haunted too?

Her heart ached at the thought.

How much distance is safe?

Juliette tightened her arms around herself. Despite the thick layers of her coat, she could still feel the chill in the air. She was perfectly fine here, quiet and undisturbed, wrapped in a rare and precious calm. Yet her heart fluttered in her chest.

She was tired of perfectly fine. Tired of pretending she didn’t feel the pull towards him. Before she could lose her nerve, she reached for two tankards of ale from a passing servant's tray, offering the man a grateful smile.

A drink to say 'thank you'?

…or an excuse to say anything.

"Your eyes were stuck on his name."

Juliette whirled around, startled. Ale sloshed over the rim of the tankard as she turned.

"Cole! You frightened me!"

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to frighten you."

Juliette looked at him for a moment, his piercing eyes partially obscured by his over-sized hat. She sighed softly, the sudden tension in her shoulders easing as apprehension began to fade.

"It doesn't matter," she spoke quietly. "Can I do something for you, Cole?" Her voice was hushed, uncertain, afraid to make noise just in case others didn't notice him. She still wasn't entirely sure how Cole…worked.

"You're hurt. I can help you."

"I…I'm not sure that I know what you mean Cole. This is a vigil. People mourn."

"But your eyes stayed on his name."

"What are you…Cole, I…" Juliette sighed, patience wearing thin. "I'm exhausted, but thank you for your concern —"

"Chancellor Roderick hurt you."

"No," Juliette whispered, shaking her head. "No, he did not."

"Glaring, sneering, scheming behind my back. He wants me dead, executed for a crime I didn't —"

"It’s unkind to speak ill of the dead, Cole," Juliette interrupted, her voice sharp. She turned away, squeezing her eyes shut as if to ward off the weight of his words.

"The pain began before his death. Still there, twisted and tied, hidden behind jests and smiles. But Roderick was sorry. Like Jonathan."

A cold chill struck Juliette, not from the night air, but from the sense of dread that overcome her.

"What?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and haunted.

As she slowly turned, Cole continued, voice low and distant. "Pure. Voices in the Chantry. Years since I’d sung the song and felt it flowing through me, but this is real. This is real."

Juliette felt frozen, struck by a sudden wave of grief.

"And I fought her. Maker forgive me. I hope I did enough."

"Cole…" Juliette said, a tremor in her voice, threatening to break.

"Roderick was hurt. Red inside from the templar, but red outside from the templar, too. Jonathan felt red, like Roderick. Pain. Sorrow. Guilt. Blood on the floor, blood on her hands. Maker tell me she made it out."

Juliette's eyes were dark, her gaze distant. Her lip quivered as memories, nightmares she'd tried so very hard to ignore, all crashed into her at once.

Screams in the halls. Cold stone against her knees. Templars tearing at her robes, grabbing hair. A trail of blood, seeping into stone.

"Do it Trevelyan. Do it now!"

A command that went beyond her, meant for him, not her.

Fire roaring from the hallways. The smell of smoke. Cries of those she had hidden with. Jonathan standing before her, green eyes full of pain.

"Now, Trevelyan! Where does your loyalty lie?"

Her own screams, faded in memory but still raw inside her chest. Shaking. Squirming. Begging. "No — no, let me go!"

Steel scraping from its sheath. The sword, cold against her throat.

"Jonathan?"

A desperate whisper left unanswered.

A single tear slid down Juliette's cheek, tickling her neck, the only sensation she could feel as the memory left her stunned.

"You're hurting," Cole said with disappointment. "You don't have to cry, he didn't want to. He never would have —"

"Stop!" Juliette sobbed, raising a shaking hand to her mouth.

"I'm trying to help, to help you let go," Cole explained. "But it's tangled, buried deep. It's not working, it's…"

Juliette stumbled back, fear flashing across her face as Cole reached forward.

"Forget."

Juliette blinked. A hard, sharp exhale followed. She almost tried to wipe her eyes with her hand, an awkward jolt of her arm nearly spilling the drinks, as though she was unaware she were holding them in the first place.

She wasn't sure why she had been crying. Her emotions still wavered, unsettled, since the vigil’s end. She glanced around, her brow furrowing, silently berating herself for being so absent minded. With a heavy sigh, she turned from the fire and looked out into the night. She spotted Cullen sitting alone across the hill.

A small, soft smile broke across her face.

Her intention was never to sneak up on him — and thankfully so. Juliette made a clumsy climb up the hill where Cullen sat, almost toppling over and nearly losing the drinks in the process.

"Inquisitor!" Cullen exclaimed in surprise, jumping up at the sight of her.

"Oh no, don't feel the need to get up because of me, I'm —" A dainty squeal escaped her as she lost her balance, her boots sinking deep into the snow.

"You're going to end up injured," Cullen said with amusement, moving quickly towards her to assist. With one hand he took a tankard, the other hand grabbing hers. With a firm grip, he helped pull her up the last part of the hill.

"Oh, mighty Inquisitor!" Juliette laughed. "Twisting her ankle on the slightest incline!"

Cullen gently released her hand. She missed the contact almost instantly.

"Don't you normally injure yourself going down the hills?"

Juliette looked at him, a playful glare lighting up her eyes when she noticed his smirk.

"I do wish Cassandra would stop including things like that in her reports."

Cullen chuckled. "They all write about it, not just Cassandra."

Juliette dusted snow off her coat, shaking her head with mock annoyance. Cullen moved his hand forward, gesturing to return the drink to Juliette.

"They're not both for me," she said behind a laugh, a bright smile lingering as she looked up at him.

"Oh," he replied with surprise. "Thank you."

Cullen smiled at her, a slight nod to his head before his eyes widened with realisation. "Ah, let me…" He pulled at the twisted blanket that lay carelessly in the snow, straightening it out before waving his hand to invite her to sit.

"Thank you, Ser," Juliette replied graciously, a light tease in her voice.

She moved past him, holding her breath to ensure she lowered herself to the ground gracefully. Cullen stayed strangely quiet, and though she caught the slight hesitation in him, she brushed it off, focusing instead on settling herself properly.

Juliette stretched her legs out before her, carefully balancing the drink in her lap. She drew in a soft, slow breath while she waited for Cullen to sit.

The moonlight flickered as he sat beside her, his armour creaking under the strain. They sat close, just a hand’s width apart, closer than they ever had before.

For a moment, neither spoke. Silence fell between them, broken only by the distant chatter of guests and the gentle rustling of trees. Juliette lifted the tankard to her lips — the sharp, heavy scent of ale hit her at once. She crinkled her nose slightly, striving to hide her disgust. It smelled awful.

Still, determined, she took a quick swig of the Ferelden specialty. Cullen’s smirk widened as he watched her reaction: squinted eyes, stubborn pride, and all her efforts not to choke.

Her eyes watered. For a horrible moment, she thought some ale had poured from her nostrils. She turned her face into her arm, coughing, wishing she could disappear. She barely noticed when Cullen gently lifted the drink from her hand, his gloved fingers brushing hers in a soft, fleeting touch.

"Where are you from again, Ostwick?" he asked, though he already knew.

"Definitely not Ferelden," she rasped out, her voice high and squeaky.

"You don’t say," he chuckled, setting her drink carefully on the ground beside her.

Juliette dropped her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking as she half-laughed, half-soothed the tingling in her nose behind her gloves. Cullen took a sip of ale, watching her with amusement.

"Will you be all right, Inquisitor?" he asked, a low, teasing voice.

"I'm so embarrassed," she said, laughing weakly, almost sounding like she might cry.

"Your secret is safe with me," Cullen replied, warmth and humour in his promise.

She moved a finger just enough to sneak a timid glimpse at him. Cullen chuckled quietly, smiling with a small shake of his head, his breath misting in the icy air.

Juliette straightened her posture, letting out a sigh that was soft but exaggerated. She rested her hands in her lap and turned her full attention to him.

"Nobody can know about this," she said, her voice in a dramatic whisper.

With a smirk, he replied, "You have my word."

She rolled her eyes and looked away, focusing on the mountains. "I certainly hope so."

"It wouldn't bode well for everyone to know that the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, can't handle a simple ale."

"It still sounds strange," she admitted quietly.

"Which one?" he asked, his expression softening as he listened to her speak.

"Both, really. But Inquisitor Trevelyan. It sounds odd, don’t you think?"

"Not at all," he replied earnestly.

"Is that the official response?"

"I suppose it is. But it’s the truth," he said with a chuckle.

Cullen turned to face her, the awkward noise of his armour breaking the quiet of night. Juliette felt her blood tingle as he leaned in closer.

"We needed a leader. You have proven yourself."

She looked across to him, heat blooming in her cheeks as their eyes met.

"I just hope that I'm enough."

"You are." Cullen spoke with such a gentle tone, it almost made her heart skip a beat.

She pulled her eyes away from his, that familiar heat in her face, the flutter in her chest. Still, she found herself drawn back to him.

In the moonlight, Cullen seemed almost unrecognisable. His hair looked lighter, in the pale light, and the sharpness of his face was softened by the moon's glow. For a moment, he did not seem like the Commander at all but someone else entirely. Despite the fatigue around his eyes, he looked younger beneath the stars, at ease, simply a man.

"You're a remarkable woman, Inquisitor. And you're shaping up to be a fine leader."

She felt like she was melting under his steady gaze, the intensity in his eyes, sincerity of his words — she felt it all. It felt like nothing she had ever known before.

Words were lost in her throat as she tried to speak, lips parted, eyes wide, unsure how to react.

"Thank you, Cullen."

A soft whisper. Hardly what she had truly intended, there could have been so much more to say to him. But he smiled. Then she smiled in return. Perhaps the rest was better left unsaid, for the moment at least.

For a while, they said nothing. Just sitting quietly, side by side. Cullen took slow sips from his drink while Juliette looked up at the sky, her fingers tugging at the hems of her coat sleeves.

"I never thanked you," she spoke suddenly, resting her hands either side of her thighs. She turned to him as he set his drink down. "For earlier, during the vigil I…well —"

"It was nothing, really."

"It was, I…I appreciate your support."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

She let a few seconds pass before quietly laughing to herself. Cullen tilted his head, as if trying to understand what was so funny.

"You can call me Juliette, you know," she said, her voice quieter than she'd meant it to be. "I think perhaps we’re beyond formalities… at least…" She bit her lip, lowering her eyes to her hands. "At least in private."

She looked back up to him, holding on to a sliver of hope. The light was just enough to see the way his eyes softened, the corner of his lips raising with the scar.

"Then I will call you Juliette."

Her name on his lips, spoken softly and gentle — she wondered if she'd stop breathing.

Of course, he'd said her name before. But this time was different. This felt different. Her eyes seemed lost in his, a magnetic attraction. She felt a tug beneath her cheeks, a smile in return, undeniably sincere.

Cullen glanced up at the sky, and as his eyes returned to hers his smile widened. Then he looked away.

"The vigil was very dignified, Inquisitor… uh, I mean—"

Juliette turned to him, shaking her head with a playful glare.

"Juliette," he corrected quickly, raising a hand to the back of his neck. "It's a habit. Forgive me."

She hummed in response, folding her arms. "I'm glad we had an opportunity to pay our respects. Thank you for helping make it happen."

"Of course," he said, his voice softer now.

"So many people came back, I wasn't expecting it."

"They're not all nobility, don't be fooled. Locals made sacrifices for us, and I'm sure they appreciate what we're doing…what you have achieved. Many left behind families to serve the Inquisition. It's been quite the journey. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor."

Juliette looked back to the marquee where the banquet was held, smaller groups of guests conversing in the shadows. She often thought about the lives people had lived before the breach—lives that were now disrupted by the chaos of war. Moving about Skyhold, greeting guests in the halls, patrons at the tavern, and wounded soldiers at the infirmary, she’d seen a great deal of hardship. To those left behind, it must have been terrifying. Loved ones leaving for battle, some separated by weeks of travel, scattered across the continent.

Her eyes wandered across the field, lingering on the old chantry ruins for a moment, the sight stirring emotions she had done her best to keep in check. She returned her gaze to Cullen, watching as he looked up at the night sky.

She roamed the lines of his face with her eyes, the way his mouth curved when he smiled to himself. It made her wonder if he was thinking of someone far away, someone waiting for the war to end.

She almost spoke, catching the words on her tongue in a close to silent murmur. He lowered his eyes, sight set on her as she contemplated her next move.

"Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?

"No," he answered simply, seemingly unaware of the weight that hid beneath her words. "I fear I made few friends there, and my family’s in Ferelden."

Family and friends.

"No one special caught your interest?" she asked, a forced calm to her voice, innocent curiosity masking her intentions.

What if I had been mistaken? Misreading every glance, every word?

Cullen took too long to answer. Seconds that seemed to stretch an eternity. Juliette tore her eyes away from his, landing her focus on the chantry ahead. What little hope she had clung to feeling as shattered and ruined as the building in the distance.

"Not in Kirkwall."

Chapter Text

Grating, creaking metal echoed as the door swung open with force. Sunlight poured into the dark room, the stillness broken only by a slow drip of water and the thundering of boots heavy against the stone floor.

"We have the numbers," Commander Cullen said firmly. "See that they're deployed immediately."

"Right away, Commander."

Footsteps echoed—some steady, others rushed.

"A report from Sister Leliana for you, Ser."

"Good. See that she receives this in return."

There was a swift exchange of reports just as the next door swung open, officers and scouts filing onto Skyhold's battlements.

"Move at once," Cullen commanded. "Your lieutenant will advise further."

"Commander," voices in unison, uniform salutes. They dispersed, leaving just Cullen and Rylen behind.

"The orders were sent?" Cullen asked, head buried in reports, squinting as the sunlight blared too harshly across the page.

"Aye," Rylen answered. "Everything is in order."

Cullen looked up. The breeze tugged at the papers in his hands as his arm dropped to his side.

"We must act at once," he spoke with determination. "We could send more men, focus our efforts on securing the foothold in the Western Approach." He sighed, shaking his head. "I need to attend Halamshiral first. If it weren't for these bloody Orlesians."

"You could always join us. After you're done playing dress-up, that is," Rylen teased.

Cullen didn't respond, instead focusing his attention on Leliana's report.

"Scouts are reporting sightings of Red Templars in Crestwood. This can't be a coincidence." Cullen lifted his focus, staring ahead over the battlements. "Once the camp is established and the Inquisitor is…"

He stepped closer to the edge, hands resting against stone as he peered below.

"The Inquisitor is?" Rylen asked, eyeing Cullen curiously. His entire demeanor had shifted from rigid and focused, softening into a quiet calm.

Rylen stepped closer, tilting his head to see what had drawn Cullen’s attention. Below, near the gates of Skyhold, horses were being saddled and satchels packed for travel.

The Inquisitor stood at the center of the yard, her hair falling across her cheek as she fed a Ferelden Forder an apple. The horse nuzzled her hand, and she let out a quiet laugh, light and soft, but it reached even the battlements. Rylen's eyes lifted, landing on Cullen instead. His expression had softened, gaze fixed on her with quiet intensity.

"Ah. There she is."

Cullen was silent, the tension long held in his features easing in a way Rylen had never seen before. His lips almost curved into a smile, his guard dropping before inhaling suddenly, fingers gripping the stone of the battlements edge.

“Inquisitor!” he called out, his voice carrying clear across the courtyard. A moment passed before Cullen straightened, blinking quickly. His fingers recoiled from the stone as though it had burned him.

Juliette spun around, her eyes searching the yard before she looked upward. Romeo whinnied, perhaps in protest at her sudden distraction. She lifted a hand to her brow, shading her eyes against the sunlight. Then, as she noticed Cullen standing atop the battlements, her shoulders eased and her hand fell gently to her side. She smiled. Though at a distance, the smile was bold enough to be noticed, so much so that it seemed to give Cullen pause.

There was silence on the battlements, broken only by the wind tearing through the fortress. Then, the soft creak of leather and clink of plate as Cullen raised a hand to the back of his neck, a bashful smile sweeping across his face.

"Yes, Commander?" Juliette shouted in response, her voice drifting into the air like a melody. Around her, the murmurs and clatter of activity softened, fading as heads turned and those nearby paused to spectate.

Rylen watched as Cullen tensed, his posture stiffening under the weight of so many eyes upon him. Though his focus stayed locked on Juliette, Cullen's fingers tightened on the stone, knuckles likely whitening with the effort.

"You had a plan, I hope?" Rylen asked bluntly with folded arms, though Cullen couldn't see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Uh…" There was a pause of uncertainty, a moment that passed all too quickly. Then Cullen leaned forward a little further.

"Safe travels, Inquisitor!"

His voice lingered in the air, the moment heightened with expectation. She smiled. Then, lowering her head slightly, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with careful, almost deliberate slowness.

"Same to you, Commander," Juliette called back, seemingly unaware of the redundancy — there were no plans for Cullen to leave Skyhold.

She turned, swiftly mounting her horse and adjusting her position in the saddle.

A quiet chuckle escaped Cullen, the sound a breathy release from his nose. He began to smirk, creases appearing on his forehead and in the corner of his eyes. Slowly, watching her with fondness, he shook his head.

With a nurturing stroke of Romeo's mane, she gave a gentle nudge of her heels, eyes still fixed on the battlements above. A perfect pivot and a soft snuffle, the horse stirred beneath her, his hooves clopping softly on the ground when he regained Juliette's attention. They began to depart, but not before she cast one last, lingering glance over her shoulder in Cullen's direction, the late afternoon sunlight illuminating her in a golden glow.

Rylen cleared his throat, pulling Cullen from his trance.

"Maker, it's worse than I thought."

A crack of lightning broke the sky.

Eight Days .

Squelching mud beneath boots. Wind whipping through tall grass.

Booming thunder crashing over the mountains.

One Eighty — No. One Ninety Two hours.

No. That's …that's an absurd thing to track.

Screeching? Howling? Distant groans of undead.

Since we spoke? Not counting the courtyard. Nine days.

"Do you know what all this reminds me of?"

Dorian's voice sliced through the storm, and Juliette's wandering thoughts. Suddenly the rain that pelted against her face felt a littler colder, the sky, a little darker.

Varric scoffed. "Cold, miserable, like it might kill you if you hang around too long? You must be thinking of Cassandra."

"Ugh!" A groan from Cassandra. There'd be something amiss if she were to react any other way.

"I was going to say the Fallow Mire," Dorian said, light amusement breaking in his voice. "But now that you mention it."

Cassandra responded by increasing her pace, powerful legs trudging up the hill with ferocity.

"Now you've done it!" Blackwall laughed.

"Careful Seeker!" Varric called. "This place is riddled with nug traps!"

Proud of himself, Varric beamed quietly, his amused expression lingering. Walking at his side, Juliette cocked her head, unfazed by the banter she had come to expect.

"How long until we find this cave?" Juliette asked. "I worry Hawke's friend will die of starvation before those other Wardens find him."

"Don't worry, your Inquisitorialness. We'll have you back at Skyhold in no time."

"Inquisitorialness?" Juliette laughed. "I suppose I could do worse."

There was a delicate clink of porcelain and a soft crackle from the fireplace. Josephine sipped her tea while Leliana leaned against the bookcase, reading over missives.

"And he asked again." Josephine said with disbelief. "It is rather odd. What could he possibly want with a book of that nature?"

"Necromancy? Or necro —"

"I don't know!" Josephine said, flustered. "But he's awfully serious about it, set on tracking it down."

"Hm," Leliana hummed behind pursed lips. "A mystery for certain."

The door creaked as it opened, slightly less jarring than the other doors in Skyhold, likely Josephine's influence. Cullen entered the room, his pace brisk, his expression serious.

"What have you heard of Crestwood?"

"Good morning to you too, Commander," Leliana smirked.

Cullen sighed. "Yes, good morning. Is something the matter? This council was called on a whim."

"We've heard nothing of concern," Josephine assured. "There are other matters to discuss however." She lowered her pen and stood gracefully, her heavy ornate chair scraping along the floor. "Let us proceed to the war room."

"Let's," Leliana said with suspicious enthusiasm.

Cullen narrowed his eyes, arms folded, and watched the women walk ahead.

Following behind Leliana and Josephine, Cullen stepped inside the war room, eyes focused on the stack of reports in his hands. He looked up. Then he paused.

Several bouquets had taken over the war table, a harmony of colour and scent adorning the room. Pale blue, deep crimson and a stunning display of white and sunburst orange — Andraste's Grace, the focal of the arrangement, radiant in the morning light. They were, of course, just flowers. Beautiful, but otherwise pointless.

Leliana casually thumbed through missives, unbothered by the decorations as though the floral arrangements had always belonged there. Josephine, however, had that look in her eyes.

“What are these?” Cullen asked, arching a brow as he set the reports down on the war table.

“Flowers,” Leliana replied, flipping a page.

Cullen scoffed, shaking his head. He reached forward, letting the petals of Andraste’s Grace brush against the leather of his glove. “Fresh flowers,” he observed. “Good for you, Josephine.”

“Good for Juliette.”

The amusement drained from Cullen's face. Josephine glanced up from her clipboard. There was moment of challenge in her eyes, her lips curving ever so slightly as she took note of his expression.

Cullen cleared his throat and hastily gathered the reports he’d discarded. "And what's so good about it?" he dared to ask in a murmur.

“Well,” Josephine began, flipping through a stack of letters, “It’s one of several offers of courtship. These particular flowers are from Lord Beaufoy. He was quite taken with her after the recent luncheon.”

“What was it he said in the letter, Josie? Her poise?” Leliana asked indifferently.

“Everything, in fact. He wrote that Her Worship is a vision of both beauty and grace. An inspiration and—”

She paused at the long, exaggerated exhale from the other end of the table.

“Would you disagree, Commander?” Leliana asked, her eyes sharp, watching him over the parchment.

Cullen didn’t look up. He kept his focus on the reports, turning a page that didn’t need turning. “No. Not at all. Do continue.”

“It’s a shame,” Leliana added, plucking a flower from the bouquet, twirling it delicately between her fingers. “These will wilt before the Inquisitor returns.”

“Terrible shame,” Cullen muttered under his breath—dry, sarcastic, but not quiet enough.

Josephine and Leliana exchanged a knowing glance.

"We should respond on the Inquisitor's behalf at once," Josephine declared with a flourish of her pen as it glided along her clipboard. "These things are best handled in a timely manner."

"Matters of the heart always are," Leliana replied, the teasing tone in her voice evident as Cullen glanced up and caught her stare in his direction. His jaw tightened, fingers gripping the parchment more firmly before he lowered his eyes to his work once more.

"Of course, we won't deny the proposal outright. Such a union could be of benefit, she may wish to entertain it." Josephine set the letter aside, reaching for blank parchment in a slow, deliberate movement.

Cullen slammed the report onto the table, disgust in his expression as he folded his arms. "You cannot be serious."

"You don't approve?" Leliana asked him, the coy nature of her questioning barely concealed.

"Of course I don't approve!" Cullen snapped. "She is a person, not a political tool."

"And what if the Inquisitor did choose to entertain this courtship?Or one of the many others on offer? Would you…" Leliana stepped closer, eyes roaming his face, watching, waiting for the slightest crack in the Commander's facade. "…Still disapprove?"

Cullen met her eyes with conviction, not once wavering. His response was firm, almost bitter. "Yes."

"Truly?" Josephine asked, her shocked expression flawless, as though rehearsed.

"We are at war!" Cullen exclaimed, his hands tightly clenched at his sides. "Corypheus is still out there! As long as she bears that anchor, her life is in danger. There's an army of Red Templars waiting to strike and the Venatori are infiltrating the South of Thedas!" His voice rose to a shout, all his strength fighting to hold his composure while he caught his breath. With tension held in his face, Cullen shook his head, eyes dropping to the map of Ferelden on the war table. He exhaled, heavy, and with a note of regret, he spoke, gentler this time. "As Juliette's advisor, it is my duty to ensure that our focus lies where it matters. Now is not the time for…entanglements."

Silence filled the room, tension lingering in the air as Josephine and Leliana exchanged a look, concern this time hidden in their eyes.

"Whatever her decision, I will respect it." Cullen stood straighter, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. "But I won't pretend these kinds of distractions are wise."

"Sometimes," Josephine said softly, her voice light and gentle. "Those trying to protect everyone else…are the ones who need care the most."

Cullen looked up, his eyes softening, the hard lines of his expression easing as he held Josephine's gaze. "And I do care," he admitted, his voice not far off a whisper, sincerity woven into every word. "More than you know."

Josephine lowered her clipboard, slowly, wax from the candle dripping over the edge. Her eyes remained fixed on Cullen, empathy, perhaps even guilt washing over her.

Cullen turned, his footsteps loud against the stone, his armour clinking and creaking with every step. As he reached the door, he looked over his shoulder, fur brushing against his face. "That is all?" he asked, voice once more tightly restrained, controlled by duty.

"Yes, Commander," Leliana said gently. "That is all."

The door grated harshly against the stone, breaking the war room’s silence. With a resounding clang, Cullen had left, the door firmly shut behind him.

Josephine was the first to sigh, her shoulders drooping as she neatly set down her clipboard and pen.

Leliana folded her arms and glanced at Josephine. "I told you the flowers would do the trick."

"But was it too far?" Josephine worried.

"No," Leliana said, relaxing her posture and leaning both hands onto the table. "I think that was just enough."

At first, there wasn't any pain. For a moment there was only silence. Damp moss, the scent lingered in the air, along with something far less pleasant. There was a ringing in her ears, her breath knocked from her lungs. She felt hot, unbearably hot, as though she might vomit from the sudden flush of heat. Prickling sensations crawled across her skin.

Then, it all hit her at once. Sharp pain radiating through her knee, a strangled yelp of agony, dizziness almost blinding in its assault.

Juliette grit her teeth, clutching her leg as she tried to pull herself upright.

"Someone help!"

As the pain settled in and the shock began to subside, anger and frustration took its place.

Why aren't they doing anything about this?

Dorian poked at the damp pile of leaves with the end of his staff, revealing the hole Juliette had fallen into.

"Oh, would you look at that?" he observed, far more calmly than she would have liked.

Varric moved closer, shaking his head, while Blackwall jogged off towards Cassandra. Dorian peered into the hole, leaning slightly. Minimal effort.

"Did someone call for a hero?"

An unimpressed groan, almost a growl, came from below. "Yes, but I suppose you'll have to do."

"I'd leave her there for that," Varric laughed.

"Tempting," Dorian pondered aloud.

Juliette’s muffled shouts rose through the narrow opening. "You wouldn’t dare! Help me out of this Maker-forsaken hole, you absolute—"

"However," Dorian began, turning away from the hole, "I don’t want to be the one who has to go back to Skyhold and tell Cullen that we left the Inquisitor for dead in a nug trap."

"Oh, for the love of—" Juliette grumbled. "It’s not a nug trap! Stop saying—"

"Hold on, Inquisitor!" Varric called. "Sparkler’s got a point. We can’t leave you in a nug trap. Curly would kill us!"

"Stop calling it a nug trap!" Juliette screamed. "How? How is this a trap for nugs?! They burrow, do they not?! Just get me out of here!"

Wearing a mischievous smile, Varric crouched to peer down at her, mud-splattered and sitting in a slump, hair disheveled and clothes soiled.

"There is nug shit in there, right?" Varric asked.

Juliette’s eyes widened. Suddenly, that less than pleasant scent was identified.

"Cassandra!" she screeched, her voice hitting a pitch to rival a dragon.

Later that evening, there was a moment of calm in the Inquisition camp. The rain had finally let up. The fire crackled with welcome heat. There was a clink and scrape of bowls during supper, Juliette's stew left barely touched.

"Does it hurt?" Cassandra's question broke the silence. "Your leg?"

Juliette glanced up, unaware that she had been rubbing her knee while she sat there. Cassandra, though the farthest away of the companions, watched Juliette closely with concern.

"It mostly just aches now," Juliette said, moving her hands to her lap and correcting her posture. "The swelling seems to have gone and I can move much easier."

A subtle hint of a smile formed on Cassandra's lips, the firelight illuminating her sharp features. "There's something that can help with the ache," She said, standing up.

"That old bottle of Whiskey we found?" Blackwall said with a grin.

Cassandra shook her head as she started to walk across the camp. "No. I'll need that later for the inevitable headache."

A deep, hearty chuckle rumbled from Blackwall's chest in response.

Juliette sighed and glanced at Varric and Dorian, seated across the fire. Their figures blurred in the haze of the flames, bright orange glowing.

"None of this is to make it in the reports, you hear?"

All three of the men looked to Juliette, smug expressions on their faces in response to her bossy tone.

"Lady," Varric said condescendingly. "Why would you think that we'd do such a thing?"

"I know that you do such a thing." She folded her arms, leaning back into the log where she sat. She threw a glare at Blackwall. "All of you."

"Nah," Varric shook his head with a laugh.

Dorian leaned forward, a tilt of his head as he spoke. "Don't tell me that you spend your time reading over our mission reports when you get back to Skyhold. Actually, no. That sounds about —"

"I don't," She interrupted. "But Cullen does."

Blackwall laughed loudly, almost choking on his drink. "Of course he does."

A sparkle of mischief danced in Dorian's eyes and Juliette's expression faltered when their gaze met. "Anything else that you'd like to share, Inquisitor? What else has Commander Tattletale told you?"

A short laugh escaped Varric, a singular "Ha!" at Dorian's comment.

"No. The conversation is over," Juliette said shaking her head and folding her arms tighter. A moment of quiet fell over the camp once more before Juliette drew in a breath and sighed, "At least today wasn't a complete waste of time."

Varric smiled proudly. "Hawke came through. Told you he would."

"Took him long enough," Juliette teased.

"There's a lot caves around here, all right?" Varric said in defence with a slight edge of playfulness.

"Warden Alistair has useful information, I'll give him that," Juliette shrugged. For just a moment, she smiled softly, so quick it was almost missed. "Cullen will be pleased to hear more about the Western Approach. I believe he's sending soldiers there currently."

There was an awkward lack of response to her comment. She looked up, cautiously, and caught Varric watching her from across the fire, intrigue in his expression.

"You sure do talk about curly a lot."

Juliette felt her breath falter, as if it was stuck in her throat. Her heart seemed to feel like it was beating heavier, her face, a little warmer.

"I don't suppose I speak of him anymore than you do of Cassandra," she spat out, too fast, too defensive. She forced a smile—a poor, last-minute cover.

Dorian winced dramatically, as if she had just flipped off the Divine, and Blackwall laughed loudly. "You know what they say about playing with fire?" Blackwall barked with amusement.

Varric glanced at Blackwall, then back to Juliette. "Touchy."

He held her eye contact for a few seconds that seemed to last an entire age, then she pulled away her eyes, catching a glimpse of Dorian for just a moment.

"It's true though, isn't it? You and Cassandra?"

"What?" Varric choked out a laugh, turning to face Dorian. "No! why would you even ask that?"

"Look!" Dorian teased, tilting his head over his shoulder. "Here she comes. What are you waiting for?"

"Just because two people dislike each other doesn't mean they're about to kiss, Sparkler."

"Not according to your books," Dorian smirked before taking a sip of his drink.

"Don't mistake me for that hack who wrote Hard in Hightown II. I can spell."

Juliette looked up as Cassandra approached, tossing a small jar in her direction. Caught by surprise, Juliette snatched it clumsily, almost letting it slip through her fingers.

"This will help the pain," Cassandra explained.

"Thank you, Cassandra," Juliette smiled. "And thank you," she said with emphasis, "for helping me out of the hole earlier today. It's nice to know at least someone is watching my back."

"I'm certain the Commander is watching your —"

Dorian's words fell short when Juliette shot him an aggressive glare.

"Ugh," Cassandra grumbled. "I'm going to bed. Try not to be too disgusting," she warned, eyeing the men with a scowl before moving towards her tent.

"Good night"

"Night, Seeker."

Varric talked. And talked. His stories, a comforting sound against the backdrop of the fire's crackle and Dorian and Blackwall's voices.

While Juliette listened, her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

I didn't say that much about him. Did I? No. Varric is just being…it's obvious. Oh no. It's really that obvious.

She did try not to think about him. At least, not too much. She wanted to focus. She wanted to be sharp, alert.

Is it Cullen's fault that I fell into that trap? I suppose, I could blame him. Argh. I wish that I could just be angry at him again. It was so much easier to…

Sharp laughter snapped her thoughts, like twine pulled too taut. She blinked, then smiled, pretending as though she hadn't been thinking of Cullen for the forty-seventh time this past hour.

With a soft sigh, Juliette began to unlace her boot, still listening to Varric’s stories of Hawke and Isabela, and Maker knows whatever absurd situation they had wandered into this time.

"I like big boats, I cannot lie," Varric said flatly, a straight face with full sincerity.

"No," Blackwall laughed. "You're having me on. She didn't say that."

"Are you calling me an unreliable narrator?"

Juliette unscrewed the lid of the jar and carefully set it aside before rolling up the fabric of her pants to reveal her injured knee. She clenched her teeth as she straightened her leg, the muscles tight with every movement. Carefully, she dipped her fingers into the jar, the soothing salve melting between her fingertips. While she massaged the remedy into her skin, her tired eyes blurred and her mind wandered.

It didn't help, of course, that Varric kept speaking of his beloved city. For weeks now, Juliette had near driven herself to madness ruminating over it. Those three words.

Not in Kirkwall.

Slowly she blinked, her fingers pressing deeper into the aching muscles. Their chatter blurred, the night air cool on her exposed skin. The salve already began to tingle as it seeped its way in, offering relief.

Not. In. Kirkwall.

Not. This. Again.

She sighed. Deeper, heavier, louder than she should have.

He said it with a hard k in the middle. Didn't he? No, maybe he didn't. But his voice was softer. Why did he say it like that?

Not in Kirkwall.

If not Kirkwall, then where?

This is insane. What am I doing?

Laughter, loud, abrupt. Instinctively, she raised her hand to her face, a ladylike giggle behind closed lips.

That should be convincing enou—

wait.

Her eyes widened. Her nostrils flared. She snatched the jar, bringing it beneath her nose, inhaling the full scent of the salve.

So many memories crashed into her mind at once. His smile as he laughed, standing by Skyhold's war table. That smirk. Those lips. His eyes soft. Sad. Serious as he spoke of lyrium.

She had been researching for weeks. Months. Scouring Skyhold's library for every volume she could find on healing, be it herbal or of magic. Any way that she could, secretly learning how she could help him.

Elderflower. Oakmoss. He's in pain.

She couldn't quite place the scent. Until now.

Juliette didn't remember setting down the jar, or even if she had returned its lid.

It's not recent. This has been happening since…since the beginning.

Memories of snow, clashing of steel as soldiers sparred in the Haven's training yard. He'd lean in close as she raised her voice over the noise. Elderflower and Oakmoss.

And at the war table, way back then. The scent filled that dingy little room.

When he returned her necklace, standing so close as his fingers grazed her neck.

After the vigil as he grabbed her hand and pulled her up the hill.

When he helped her down from her horse those times she returned to Haven.

In the chantry, late at night, he leaned forward and handed her the book.

He gave her the scarf. Those wild gusts of wind before she entered the Temple of Sacred Ashes and sealed the breach.

And he sheltered her with his body as the tavern burned to the ground, moments after their escape. He leaned in. She touched his face. They almost…

"Not in Kirkwall."

Her blood flashed hot. Her stomach turned. She was stunned, shocked by sound of her own voice.

Did I just say that out loud?

Varric blinked is disbelief. "Yeah, in Kirkwall."

She wanted to say something. Anything. But instead, her throat made a strangled sound and she sat there blinking like a fool.

"You read Tale of the Champion. How'd you forget about the Arishok?" Varric asked. "That definitely happened. In Kirkwall."

"I…um…"

Juliette leaned forward and grabbed her boot, fingers tugging at the laces with urgency. "I…I think I have to go and…"

"Are you all right?" Dorian asked with concern. Juliette stood abruptly, slightly stumbling on her footing.

Not in Kirkwall.

She’d thought it a deflection. A dismissal.

But it wasn’t Kirkwall, was it?

It was Haven. Skyhold.

He’s been at her side all along. Close. Closer than a Commander needed to be. Closer than duty required.

Elderflower. Oakmoss.

It lingered on his skin. In her memory.

The hush between orders, the glances across the table. The space between a kiss that never happened.

He held back the pain.

What else was he holding back?

She looked across to Dorian, shock—and maybe fear—washing over her face. In a whisper, she said:

"I have to write a letter."

Chapter Text

12 Wintermarch, 9:42

Cullen,

If you're reading this, then you've likely already received my previous letter regarding Hawke and Warden Alistair. I haven’t anything new to report.

I'm writing because I need to ask you something, and I would appreciate your honesty.

I need to know that you’re coping. Not just managing in your role as Commander (that I trust, and I know you'd defer to Cassandra as arranged) but that you are truly all right.

You told me not to concern myself, but Cullen, I do. I must know.

Perhaps I’m overstepping. If so, I apologise for prying.

I care for you. And I can’t shake the feeling that you're in pain …and that you might be facing it alone. If there’s any way I can help, I would like to know.

Please write when you can,

Juliette

13 Wintermarch , 9:42

Juliette,

I received both letters at once, thank you for the update.

Leliana has positioned agents on the outskirts of the Western Approach. Warden Alistair's information seems correct and valuable. We will act at once.

Soldiers are on the move as I write this. Knight Captain Rylen will lead a march in the coming weeks, provided our supplies arrive in time. We are yet to gain a full scope of the area, though it is suspected that there are numerous Fade rifts that will soon require your attention. I'm sorry to be the one to break the news. I wouldn't wish that task on anyone, least of all you.

It is kind of you to show concern, but it isn't necessary. The pain comes and goes, though I will endure it.

Should anything happen, I will seek Cassandra’s counsel at once. I won't let my condition jeopardise the Inquisition's efforts or your safety.

You have my word.

Cullen

P.S. I heard about your leg, is it troubling you? Please be careful.

14 Wintermarch, 9:42

Cullen,

NO.

Don't do that.

Don't pretend that everything is fine and that I shouldn't worry.

Because I will worry, Cullen. Not a moment goes by where I haven't stopped worrying.

It's all well and good to trust in Cassandra, but what happens when you find yourself struggling and she's with me, days, perhaps even weeks away from Skyhold?

All I ask is that you consider your own well-being and that you don't let your stubbornness cloud your judgment. You don't have to be in pain. You're risking your life, your sanity, for this.

The Inquisition can't lose its Commander. And I can't lose you.

So promise me that you will see a healer, even if it's that batty woman at the infirmary camp, it doesn't matter. So long as someone is there to watch over your health, it's enough to put my mind at ease, if only for a while.

Also, how did you know about my leg?

Juliette

14 Wintermarch, 9:42

Cullen,

I apologise, that last letter was uncalled for and it's not my place to tell you what to do.

I trust you, and should you need her advice, I trust Cassandra also. I know in my heart that you're making the right decision. You don't have to tell me anything that you'd rather keep private.

I may have used up all my favours with you, but I must ask of one more.

Keep writing to me, even if there's nothing official to report. I'd like to hear about your day and what's happening at Skyhold in my absence. It will help pass the time and ease my worries.

Juliette.

16 Wintermarch, 9:42

Inquisitor,

We've received word of your effort in Crestwood. Well done. Securing Caer Bronach is a significant win for the Inquisition. Our scouts and agents will utilise the fort well.

I've sent reinforcements to help maintain the fort and also to provide aid to the village of Crestwood.

I'm certain the locals will be glad to see our banners.

What more can you tell me of the Red Templar encounter?

Commander Cullen

16 Wintermarch, 9:42

Juliette,

I promise you this: I will continue to write to you, so long as you continue to write to me.

You didn't answer my question about your leg. I trust you've healed?

I appreciate your concern.

Most mornings I find myself awake before dawn, haunted by the lyrium's song. It's been months and I still can hear it. I suppose that’s the first time I’ve admitted that aloud. Or in writing. You know what I mean. Knowing that I have your support makes those sleepless nights a little easier to bear. Thank you.

Everything is in order here, as well as it can be. Our newer recruits are improving rapidly and morale is at a high. Your trainer sends his regards. He mentioned something about plunging into ice water. I can't tell if the lad is serious or not. I'm leaning toward the latter.

Josephine postponed the interlude for a second time. I'm sorry you were unable to avoid it, as I'm sure Leliana will be when she's sent in my place.

I look forward to your next letter.

Cullen

17 Wintermarch, 9:42

Dear Commander,

I must admit that I was a little disappointed when I received only the one letter — the boring one.

My day improved significantly when we returned to Caer Bronach and I found that there was a second letter waiting for me. Although, I could have returned to forty-seven singing chancellors and an endless supply of Ferelden ale, and it still would have been preferable to what we found when we drained that lake.

I'm sure you'll be thrilled to know that I've written a detailed report on our work here and the dealings with the mayor. You likely already know that he has escaped the village. I believe Leliana's agents are searching as I write this. I hope that he can be brought to justice.

What I didn't include in the report is how heartbreaking it was to uncover the truth. I've seen some truly horrific things this past twelve months, but this one was one of the worst. The mayor is a coward and he had no right to act on the Maker's behalf. I'm unsure if I'm more furious or devastated. I can't imagine a fate worse than drowning like that. Those people deserved better.

On a far happier note, the rain has finally stopped! It's fascinating how it happened almost instantly after sealing the rift. I unfairly wrote off Crestwood, but now as I see it in the sunlight for the first time, it's beautiful.

I'm not sure what the scouts relayed regarding the Red Templar encounter. Did you receive the transcript of the note that mentioned Samson's order about the elven writing? Perhaps Solas will be able to assist us on that matter.

Cullen, the most incredible… and incredibly terrifying thing happened during the fight against the Red Templar Knights! I can't explain it, how it happened or how I gained control over it — but I was able to wield the anchor as a weapon, in a way that I never thought possible. For the first time, I felt like a valuable asset to the fight.

I saved Cassandra. Cassandra.

Then it's a deal, Commander. I will write to you and you will write to me.

No, I did not answer your question about my leg — but if I recall correctly, you never answered my question. How did you find out about the injury?

You're welcome, Cullen. I don't think that you realise how happy it makes me to know that I'm helping, even if it is in the smallest way.

Unfortunately, I fear my trainer is serious. Which means I simply won’t fail. When is Knight Captain Briony available again?

You do realise that Leliana will not hesitate to shiv you, right? Watch yourself. You are replaceable, Cullen Rutherford.

We'll depart at dawn. Hopefully the return to Skyhold is uneventful in the best possible way.

All the best,

Juliette.

 

18 Wintermarch, 9:42

Juliette,

I'm glad my letter helped brighten your day.

You really didn't like that ale, did you? I hope someday that you can find it in your heart to forgive Ferelden for its beverage-related transgressions.

You’ll be pleased to know it wasn’t Leliana’s agents, but my soldiers who apprehended Mayor Dedrick. There's a holding cell awaiting him here in Skyhold. You'll have your chance to see that justice is served.

We received quite the letter this morning from Sister Vaughn of Crestwood Village. She spoke nothing but praise of the Inquisition, of you in particular. I hope you're proud, Juliette. I know that I am. You've more than earned it.

Beautiful? Is Crestwood not majestic?

Yes, I received the transcript. If they are interested in elven ruins, then so are we. Whatever Samson is planning — I will uncover it.

I'd be lying if I were to say that what you described of the anchor didn't unsettle me, but it's good to hear that you felt of value. You are far more valuable than you realise.

I spoke with Solas briefly and he assured me that whatever it is that you're doing — this new power you've somehow managed to leverage — it will bring you no harm. I want to believe this, but I'm still leery of the thought. Please be careful.

You wouldn't believe it. You're not the only person nagging me for updates on my condition, Cassandra writes as well. She definitely is not concerned for your well-being and definitely did not tell me that you sprained your knee by falling into a nug trap.

Again, be careful.

It's funny that you mention it, Briony is due to arrive at Skyhold any day now. Are you really set on changing trainers? I heard that your training was going well, and that you hadn't set anyone on fire nor did you protest in a tantrum. How times have changed.

I thought you said that you can't lose me, yet you seem perfectly content with letting Leliana exact her revenge.

Warden Alistair has arrived in Skyhold, and judging by the noise from the tavern last night, so has Hawke. I hope your journey is as swift as theirs was.

Stay safe, Inquisitor.

Cullen.

P.S. Nugs burrow. That couldn't have been a trap. I'm willing to bet that you fell into a sinkhole. There's a lot of old mining tunnels in Crestwood.

19 Wintermarch, 9:42

Cullen,

Maybe I lied.

Juliette

20 Wintermarch, 9:42

Juliette,

Which time did you lie? When you said that I am replaceable or when you said that you can't lose me?

Cullen

20 Wintermarch, 9:42

Cullen,

This is our last camp for the journey. I should be back at Skyhold by tomorrow evening.

I'll speak with you then.

Juliette

Chapter Text

The warm air of the main hall dissolved into a chill, the lively sounds of chatter fading into an echo of low murmurs as he stepped into the rotunda. With heavy boots against the stone floor, the messenger nodded in the direction of Solas and the Inquisitor before making his way up the stairs.

Behind every thud of his footsteps he could hear fragments of conversation. Not that he was trying to listen, but when the Inquisitor—the Herald of Andraste—was discussing the magical phenomenon of her rift-sealing hand, it’s hard to ignore!

"Interesting," Solas, the man rumoured to be a Fade expert, marveled. "You seem to be drawing upon the raw substance of the Fade, likely using your mark as a catalyst. Only now, without the presence of a rift."

The Inquisitor's voice was softer, harder to hear as he reached the second floor. That Tevinter mage leaned over the railing, seemingly enjoying the conversation below, dramatic chuckles and scoffs escaping him. The messenger moved fast with his head down. The last thing he needed was to be roped into another foiled attempt at breaking into the wine cellar against the Lady Ambassador's wishes.

Once he reached the rookery where Sister Leliana was situated, the conversation had all but drifted away from his awareness. Now his focus was set on the spymaster, her cold demeanor chilling as he braced himself to deliver the news. With a quiet gulp, he spoke.

"Commander Cullen will not be attending tonight's interlude."

"What!" she shrieked, standing from the table where she sat with various scrolls, a chalice of wine and an oddly large collection of knives. "Tell him he must!"

The messenger blinked, unsure how to deliver the rest of Cullen's message.

Leliana began to walk to the edge of the railing. "I cannot be distracted at the moment and I don't want Josephine's feelings hurt!"

With a slight shake to his voice, he added, "He doesn't have time for a tea party."

"Stubborn Mule!" Leliana folded her arms, her eyes piercing as she glared at the messenger. "Fine! I will arrange —"

Solas' shouting echoed throughout the entirety of the rotunda. "Please speak up! I cannot hear you over your outfit!"

Dorian's laughter roared and the Inquisitor could be heard trying to intervene. The messenger stood waiting, nervous, as Leliana peered over the railing at the commotion below.

"Oh shush Inquisitor, be a good little thing and practice your chess skills like I asked, yes?"

"Why do you keep asking me to do that?"

Leliana slowly turned her eyes back to the messenger, a dangerous smirk sweeping over her face. She stepped forward and the messenger exerted all willpower not to step backwards.

"You can tell Commander Cullen that Lord Beaufoy is attending the interlude in person. He's very eager to discuss the Inquisitor's invitation to his estate, but not to worry." Sister Leliana's voice was eerily calm and cheerful. A smile lit up her face, contradicting the shadows of her hood. "I will advise her from a military perspective in his absence."

The messenger nodded. "Yes, Sister Leliana. I'll inform him right away."

"Good. Thank you," she replied, taking her seat at her desk as though the conversation had never happened.

Roaring laughter and shouts could be heard from the tavern, a soft hint of Maryden's melodies hidden among the ruckus. There was…smashing glass?

Tell me my soldiers aren't in there.

Cullen stood with his arms folded, leaning against a flagpole, eyes narrowing as he listened. A contrast of sound drifted from the hall above, obnoxious laughter while guests entered the doors. He clenched his jaw at the thought. There better not be nobility at this thing. The interlude made no sense to him.

Finally.

He pushed himself off the pole, his posture relaxing slightly when he caught sight of Briony making her way across the yard.

“You’re wearing your Knight-Captain’s regalia,” he said as she stepped into the torchlight.

“I… don’t own a ballgown. This is a formal affair, isn’t it?” She glanced down at her armour, then up at his. “Maker’s breath. Have I overdressed? What even is an interlude?”

“A trap,” Cullen muttered, shaking his head with frustration.

"But there's food, right?"

“Never mind that. You’re dressed appropriately. Let’s get this nonsense over with.”

Crammed into the corner of the hall sat two Orlesians, all mocking smiles and snide remarks. There was no shortage of things to critique at this so-called interlude—fashion, food, and an endless buffet of social and political connections. But their attention, of course, had settled on Inquisitor Trevelyan.

“Blends right in, does she?” the man whispered, voice just low enough for his companion to hear.

“Darling, she couldn’t stand out even with that vulgar light from her hand.”

They exchanged smug glances, their laughter low and ridiculing, as it so often was.

“This season’s colour palette. How predictably dull,” the woman remarked, taking a slow sip of wine.

“And the gold embroidery? I’m terribly tired of it. The Antivan again, I’d wager.”

She laughed. “Perhaps she needs a fashion advisor.”

He scoffed. “You’re not offering, are you?”

“Of course not. I haven’t the time for charity.”

Their eyes drifted back to Juliette, watching closely as she smiled and conversed with guests.

“That gown is far too overstated,” the man said with theatrical horror.

“Agreed,” the woman replied, unimpressed. “I can’t wait to hear about the atrocity she wears to Halamshiral.”

“You’re not going? Weren’t you—?”

“Oh, please. You know I host a Wintersend ball at my Lydes estate. With the preparations, there's no time to waste.”

“You’ll serve the good wine this time, yes?”

When Cullen stepped into the hall, he paused. People moved about in a blur. Extravagant outfits, masked faces and an overwhelming blend of chatter, laughter, and light music. He assessed the crowd swiftly, eyes narrowing as he took a deep breath. With a slow blink and clenched fists, he turned to Briony.

"Oh," she said upon observing the other guests. "We're underdressed. Good to know."

“This was supposed to be a meeting of colleagues over tea and scones, not… all this,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely. “We just need to find the Inquisitor, introduce you, and then we can…”

As Cullen's eyes swept over the gathering by the dining table, he almost looked straight past her. Laughing with a glass raised, she was perfectly poised. Her hair, normally worn down and tangled, was neatly piled into an updo. Luxurious fabric hung elegantly on her frame, effortless, as though part of her. As though she were someone else entirely.

Then she saw him standing by the door.

The smile she gave him — bright, radiant, so familiar and unmistakably her — stopped him in place. In that moment, she was no longer a stranger.
She was his Juliette.

All the chatter, all the noise, seemed to fade as their eyes met.
The tension he carried, the begrudging reluctance — it all melted away as he stood, utterly captivated by her smile.

Everything else fell away.

She looked down, her smile widening, then glanced back up at him. That was when he felt himself smile too, his exasperated expression softening by the second.

Then she stood.

Murmurs rose as she moved, heads turning while she swayed through the crowd, glass in hand, a train of embroidered silk trailing behind her.

Cullen blinked, trying to shake off the lingering smile and return to his dutiful composure. He stepped aside, clearing the doorway and gesturing for Briony to join him.

“You don’t have to pretend to enjoy yourself,” he smirked, noting her look of discontent.

“Thank the Maker,” she gasped. “I can throw a tourney, but I’m afraid that’s as far as my theatrics allow.”

Cullen chuckled. Briony raised an eyebrow at his sudden change in mood.

“We won’t be here long,” he assured her.

Cullen glanced up as Juliette approached, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sight of her. The soft pink of her cheeks, the mulberry colour of her lips, her necklace reflecting the candlelight drawing attention to her skin as the dress sat strategically off the shoulders. He felt warm suddenly, his eyes heavy as he returned his focus to her face.

"Commander."

Her voice was low, almost teasing as she addressed him. The sultry confidence in the way she spoke not quite matching the sweetness in her expression, her cheeks deepening in shade.

"Inquisitor," he replied. Gentle, warm, a hint of retaliation with the subtle smirk playing on his lips.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They held eye contact as whispers gave rise in the distance, Briony all the while standing awkwardly idle to the side. She adjusted her stance, her armour clanking just enough to snap the tension.

Cullen cleared his throat as he pulled his eyes from Juliette's.

"Right," he whispered to himself. Then louder, "Inquisitor, I'd like to introduce you to Knight Captain Briony."

Juliette smiled courteously, slowly glancing away from Cullen, her right hand extending as if by habit. Then her eyes widened with recognition.

“Oh!” she gasped, stepping forward. “You’re Briony! It’s lovely to meet you at last!”

Cullen’s smirk returned at her delight, and he forced himself to look away.

"It's an honour to meet you, Your Worship," Briony said earnestly with a bow.

"The honour is all mine!" Juliette beamed, still holding her hand. "I've read the reports and the letters. Your performance at Arl Teagan's tournament was quite impressive!"

"You flatter me, Your Worship."

"Please, Inquisitor is fine," Juliette smiled. "And the training, Cullen?" she asked, eyes wide and eager.

He turned back to face her, his smirk lingering as he looked at her with quiet admiration.

"Briony is ready to commence in the morning if it suits you?"

"Of course!" Juliette nodded. She glanced at Briony. "Have you eaten tonight? There's plenty of food and wine. Make yourself at home!"

"Thank you," Briony nodded with a smile at Juliette's enthusiasm. “I’ll take you up on that. If you’ll excuse me.”

"Go ahead," Cullen said with a chuckle behind closed lips.

Briony smiled and raised a fist to her chest in salute before slipping into the crowd.

Juliette glanced up at Cullen, her lips pressed together to contain a grin, cheeks warming.

“It feels like an age since I’ve seen you,” she said softly.

“That it does,” he replied, his voice gentler than usual.

“Are you well?”

“I’m fine.”

Juliette tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Are you really fine?”

“I am really well,” he said, holding back a laugh.

She bit her lip and smiled, shaking her head slightly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight. What happened to your little scheme? Does this mean you lost?”

“I did not lose.”

“Well, I see no Leliana here.”

“I chose to attend tonight,” Cullen said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Oh,” Juliette replied, suspicious, sipping her drink. “You lost. Shameful.”

Cullen leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. “If you must know, Inquisitor, I’m here to ensure you don’t go making any foolish decisions.”

She blinked slowly, giving him a mockingly sweet look. “And what decision might that be? The chicken or the fish?” A quiet giggle escaped her. “Were you planning to cut my food into tiny little squares too, Commander?”

Cullen gave her a blank look and with an unimpressed sigh, slowly shook his head. All poise abandoned, Juliette burst out laughing, a half-snort escaping before she could stop it. It was too loud. Too unguarded.

The whispers around them grew louder. A woman glided past, the puffy satin of her sleeves brushing Juliette’s bare shoulder, like veil lifted, sudden awareness. She didn’t stop—instead, simply cast a knowing glance towards Cullen, then at Juliette, slow and assessing.

Juliette's laughter faded, her expression hardening. She took a step back, away from Cullen, her hand clutching the glass of wine tighter as a cold shiver ran through her entire body.

And just like that, all warmth disappeared under the weight of watchful eyes.

“I thought this was supposed to be a small gathering of colleagues and friends,” Cullen murmured, his voice lower now, as though even that might be overheard.

Juliette glanced at him, her smile forced. “It seems we were both deceived. This feels an awful lot like a dress rehearsal, don’t you think?”

"Hm." He hummed in reply.

Juliette glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of Josephine on the other side of the room. With gracious smiles, the Ambassador was a perfect vision of warm and elegant hospitality. That is except for the second in which her mask slipped, a shocked blink in the direction of the Inquisitor and her Commander.

“Oops. She’s found you,” Juliette whispered, a taunting smile cracking through her composure. “And where is your tailored suit? Josie will be furious!”

“Let her be furious,” Cullen muttered. “I won’t be staying. She’s seen that I made an appearance. I introduced you to Briony, and…” He hesitated. “Is there no one bothering you tonight?”

“What?” Juliette asked, frowning. She gave him a puzzled look, inviting him to elaborate.

“You’re not being pressured? Or hassled?” he clarified quietly.

“No. Why…why would you think that?”

For a moment, a wave of disappointment washed over Cullen's expression until he forced a smile. "It doesn't matter."

Juliette nodded awkwardly and Cullen began to turn away.

"I should get back to my duties—"

“Wait.” Her voice was still hushed, but louder than it should have been. She glanced down at her hand as it rested on his arm, her fingertips gently resting on the worn metal of the vambrace. She quickly retracted her hand, as though she had touched a hot surface, dangerous and forbidden to feel.

Cullen looked at her curiously, his amber eyes intense and piercing. She swallowed before tilting her head to the side.

"Scoot to the left?"

He stared at her for a second or two, not sure what to make of her odd request. She sighed.

"Just step to the side, Cullen," she hissed underneath her breath. Reluctantly, he obliged and she swooped around him, obscuring herself from the view of onlookers. "You make an excellent shield. Now hold my drink, please," she said, fingers tugging at the neckline of her dress. He gently took her glass and his eyes fell to her movement before he tore them away at once.

"Maker's breath, Juliette!" Cullen gasped at the sight of her fingers slipping beneath her bodice. "What are you doing?"

He slammed his eyes shut, posture tense, heart pounding. A fierce blush burned across his face, neck, and ears as he struggled to think of anything but what lay beneath that dress.

Then, against his hand he felt her touch. His eyes opened and dropped to where she pressed a folded piece of parchment into his glove. When he looked up, her face was flushed, her eyes wide and uncertain, blushing just as furiously as he was.

"I don't know, really."

That was her answer to the question he almost forgot he had asked. He glanced back down as his fingers curled around the paper, brushing her hand while she gently slipped away.

"Even though we're now in the same vicinity, that doesn't mean we should stop our letters," Juliette whispered. Cullen's eyes drifted back to hers, watching her close. "…Does it?" she added with hopeful hesitancy.

Cullen slowly shook his head, his eyes locked to hers with intensity. "No," he replied softly. "No, it doesn't."

She nodded gently and softly took the glass from his hand, their gaze still held, not once wavering. "Good," the word tumbled from her lips sweetly. Quietly, she drew in a breath and stepped past him, her shoulder brushing against the cool metal plate of his armour.

"Enjoy your evening, Commander."

Across the room, behind his glass of wine, the gossiping noble grinned.

"Did you see that?"

His companion let out a low chuckle. "That look he gave the Inquisitor? I certainly did."

"That’s been simmering for some time, I hear," he whispered. "Hadn’t seen it for myself, until now."

"One doesn’t watch a lady walk away with eyes like that unless it’s serious."

"Our struggle may be young," the noble said with a smirk. "Rest assured, intrigue begets begetting."

His friend let out a shrill laugh. "You’re awful!"

"Oh, I know," he said smugly, raising his glass for another sip.

The candle burned low and the air had turned cool. It had been hours since the last guard passed his office — confirmation that he was, once again, working well into the evening. Since the interlude, it seemed all he could manage.

Yet through tired eyes, he read and re-read the same report. Soldiers injured en route to the Western Approach. Supplies urgently requisitioned.

Field reports, letters and various documents littered his desk but his mind was stuck on that one letter. The one still neatly folded in his pocket. Try as he might to focus, her smile consumed his thoughts. Soft, pale skin. Loose strands of hair teasing at her neckline. Taunting. Tempting.

He slammed his hand down onto the desk with a crack. A sharp inhale. Tightness in his jaw as he wrestled with the thought.

Just read it and get it over with.

He sighed, allowing himself this one indulgence, and slowly reached for her letter. As he carefully unfolded the parchment, a light trace of perfume lingered in the air, delicate and familiar. Cullen closed his eyes. Maker help me, it smells like her.

Cullen,

It strikes me as odd that you're so bothered by my distaste for the ale. It's not that I believe there are no decent beverages in Ferelden—I've spent my share of time here, I’ll have you remem

There's no point in replying to the entirety of your previous letter. Let's be honest, we're beyond that.

You asked which time I lied: When I said that I can't lose you or that you are replaceable.

Had you been paying attention, you would have your answer.

So I ask a counter question. Have you been paying attention, Commander?

Juliette

Cullen stood so suddenly his chair scraped the stone floor, candlelight flickering from the movement. He stared down at the letter on the desk. The scent of her still taunted him, almost as much as her words. His posture tensed and he stepped back.

He paced. Then stopped. Then sat again.

On his desk lay a confession disguised as a riddle. An invitation he didn’t believe he deserved.

And still, he considered it.

He looked to the door and, for just a second, imagined what might happen if he went to her now. If he could move unseen by the guards. If she were to answer her door at this hour. If he could find the words, all he wanted to say.

With a shaky breath, he reached for his quill and began to write.

Juliette,

I have been paying attention. That is the problem.

I wish that I was better at putting into writing how I feel. I wish that I was able to make sense of it.

You haven't gone unnoticed, if that is what you are wondering. It's quite the opposite.

When I'm with you, I find myself forgetting why I'm here in the first place. I forget myself, my past, the things I've done. I can't let myself forget. I can't lose my way again.

Yet when you are near, I can't take my eyes off you. When you are not near, my thoughts belong only to you.

There have been moments where I've let myself wonder what it might be like if things were different. If you weren't the Inquisitor, if we weren't at war. If I were a better man.

I think of you often. More than I mean to. More than I should.

Ink splattered across the desk as he dropped the quill and ran a hand down his face with a groan. He clenched his teeth and snatched the letter, slamming it into the top drawer of desk.

He picked up the report once again and tried to fool himself into thinking he could read it this time.

The crisp morning air felt like a lifeline after a sleepless night. Forcing alertness, Cullen moved beside Rylen as they descended the stone steps.

"The Inquisitor will depart Halamshiral Wintersend morning, Maker willing."

"Hangover be damned," Rylen remarked, dead serious.

Cullen stared ahead, eyes focusing in the distance.

"With the bandits cleared along the Imperial Highway and our forces in patrol, you should arrive sooner than…" Cullen halted, brows furrowing as he squinted. "Who is that woman wandering the stables?"

Rylen glanced at Cullen with with intrigue, then sharply turned his focus to where Cullen's gaze was fixed.

"I thought you were starry-eyed for the Inquisitor?"

Cullen cast a sideways glance but said nothing, already moving forward. Rylen stood behind, watching with folded arms.

Master Dennet greeted Cullen with a nod as he moved through the stables in pursuit of the woman who had caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks, watching as she looked up at the building—one hand shielding her eyes from the sun, the other lifting the hem of her dress just enough to keep it from the dirt.

There was something hauntingly familiar about her, though he couldn't place it. He was baffled. On one hand she looked as though she belonged, then at the same time so out of place it was jarring. He pressed forward, determined for an answer.

"Excuse me miss," Cullen called out. "Are you lost?"

The woman turned, her shocked expression softening into a smile.

"Well, not anymore."

Chapter Text

"Keep your voice down," Cullen whispered as he slowly approached the door to the main hall. He glanced over his shoulder. "And put your hood up."

Slowly she lifted the fabric of her hood over her head, then with folded arms she exhaled loudly.

"You're being awfully serious. Even for you."

He sighed at the defiant volume of her voice, then turned fully to face her. His expression softened as their eyes met.

“Juliette…”

“Cullen…”

“Just look out the door. Don’t let her see you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Let who see me?”

Josephine appeared in the doorway between her office and the corridor, pausing with a curious look. Cullen gave her a small shake of his head, then turned back to Juliette.

“The brunette in the blue dress. She’s… just see for yourself.”

Juliette raised a brow, but stepped forward and peeked through the door.

“All right,” she said, “there’s more than one brunette in a blue dress.”

“The tall one. No Orlesian mask.”

She watched carefully as the guests in the hall moved about the tables chatting. Sitting alone was the brunette in question, her back to the door, posture perfectly poised as she seemed to be patiently waiting for someone or something.

Juliette gently shut the door and stepped back.

“What’s happening?” Josephine asked.

Juliette laughed. “If I knew, I’d tell you."

“You really don’t see it?” Cullen asked, brow furrowing.

Josephine smiled sweetly. “An old flame perhaps?”

“Maker’s breath, no!” he hissed. “Don’t you have more important things to be doing?”

Josephine smirked and gave Juliette a knowing look before turning back to her office.

Cullen let out an exasperated sigh and glanced at Juliette again. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Her eyes widened, a hand flying to her cheek. “What? Is there dirt, or do I look—”

“No,” he said quickly, almost chuckling. “It’s not that. You look lovely, it’s just—”

His words halted abruptly. There was silence. Those few seconds felt like an eternity.

Juliette's hand slowly lowered from her cheek, fingertips brushing against her jaw, eyes wide, face flushed.

Cullen froze. He opened his mouth. Then closed it again. For a moment, he was lost for words as her gaze settled on him.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, a resigned breath.

“She’s your sister. At least, I think she is.”

Juliette’s smile widened in disbelief, as if at first she thought he might be joking. “No… no, that’s…”

“She has your eyes. Your hair. She even sounds like you.”

“Wait. You’ve talked to her?”

"No. Well, yes. I just sent her here so I could find you first. I thought you'd like to know," he said, already moving towards the stairway door. “If it were one of my sisters, I’d at least want the chance to pretend I was busy.”

“Thank you… I suppose,” Juliette blinked, still trying to process everything. Then her eyes lifted. “Cullen. Before you go…”

He stopped, hand hovering over the door handle.

“Did you read my letter?”

Slowly he lowered his hand and bowed his head. He took a moment to answer, drawing in a breath and pausing, carefully considering his words. Then he turned to face her.

"I have been paying attention."

Juliette’s eyes softened. Her fingers loosened, releasing the tight coils of hair she hadn’t realised she was twisting.

Cullen smiled with closed lips, offering her a gentle look.

"Go talk to your sister," was all he said before opening the door and walking away.

The sun was bright that morning, warming the stone walls of the battlements. Juliette hardly noticed. Her eyes stayed fixed on her newly reunited sister, tracing every movement, every small mannerism, while her fingers drifted along the edge of the parapet.

"It's a nice view up here, although the wind is dreadful."

Do I really sound like that?

"Tell me, what is that ghastly horse in the stables that you have? Terribly malnourished, it's deeply unsettling. I've never seen anything quite like it."

Juliette raised a hand to her forehead, unable to endure the small talk a moment longer. "Why are you here, Beatrix?"

Her sister looked to her, lips parted and a hand raised to her chest as though it was the most offensive question in the world.

"Well, you haven't replied to our letters."

"That's not true at all." Juliette shook her head, tearing her eyes away. Her heart felt as if it were beating faster, her thoughts muddled in the shock of everything.

"You haven't replied," Beatrix clarified. "We've heard plenty from Lady Montilyet but not from you."

Juliette scoffed. "What do you expect of me? I don't have time to write letters on a whim!"

She swallowed, her throat tight with emotion. She glanced to the door further down the ramparts. Vines and brightly coloured leaves framed the entry, a place she'd often pause to gather herself — now Cullen's office felt like a sanctuary.

"The least you could have done is let us know that you —"

"—That I what? That I'm the Herald of Andraste now?" Juliette snapped. "Come along family and bask in the glory!"

Beatrix gasped, momentarily at a loss for words. Then her expression hardened as she narrowed her eyes at Juliette’s sarcastic outburst.

"None of you were bothered to write to me before," Juliette said, her voice low, seething, daring to break. "Twelve years and not a single letter. What makes you think you deserve one now?"

"It's not that si—"

"No. Do you have any idea what it's like to be a child, sent away for something you couldn't control? To be alone. Scared. To have everything you'd ever known ripped away?"

Beatrix stepped forward, hands clasped, head lowered. "Do you know what it’s like? To be on the eve of womanhood, lying awake at night in fear that any day you'd be shipped off, betrothed to a man you'd be lucky to have met thrice! Knowing you’d have to bear his children without a say."

Juliette blinked. Her lips parted, a strangled sound caught in her throat.

"And do you know, little sister..." Beatrix continued, "that was the least of my concerns. I heard it all. Every night." Her voice cracked. With a sharp inhale, she turned to face the battlements’ edge. "I heard the templars take you away. The screams. Maker, I'll never forget it."

Juliette folded her arms, leaning against the stone, unsure where to let her eyes rest.

"Mother didn’t speak for weeks. Still, she sat at that dining table with false smiles and a straight back, wearing the bruises like a badge." Beatrix’s voice dropped to a haunted whisper. "Father had us all reprimanded at any mention of you. Juliette… we didn’t abandon you. You were taken from us."

Juliette said nothing. She turned, arms still folded, a vacant stare settling on her sister at last. It was a long moment, a searching look returned to Juliette as she stood still. Everything was quiet. Every second drawn out. Juliette's head tilted to the side, careful consideration, as though trying to see the truth behind Beatrix's words, and unsure if she could.

"Inquisitor!"

Juliette closed her eyes and exhaled. Silence shattered by duty. For once, a welcome interruption.

Turning her head, she slipped into her role with practiced ease. Her eyes sharpened, expectant.

"Lord Pavus requests your presence in the gardens, Your Worship. He says that it's urgent."

"What could possibly be —" She sighed. "Thank you," and with a nod, she dismissed the messenger. She turned back to Beatrix, who now looked as though her heart had just been torn from her chest. "I need to see to this, if you'll excuse me."

"Mother is ill, Juliette."

The words halted her mid-step. Tightness in her chest, unease in her stomach. Emotions she wasn't even sure she had a right to feel. Slowly, Juliette turned back. "You could have opened with that."

Beatrix stepped forward, a desperate plea written on her face. "She doesn't have long. The doctors say it could be months."

Juliette looked to the ground. "What…" Emotion was heavy in her voice until she swallowed it away. "What do you want of me? Is it money?"

"All we ask is that you come back home."

"Home? Are you —" Juliette scoffed, shaking her head. "You cannot be serious."

"She just wants to see you again," Beatrix said softly.

Juliette blinked, tears threatening her composure. Then she drew in a deep breath and faced her sister with resolve.

"I must go. Return to the hall an ask the guards to speak with Josephine. She'll see to your accommodation and —"

"At least tell me where I can find Jonathan."

"Jonathan?" Juliette whispered in shock.

"I'd rather speak with him first, I don't plan on staying here long."

Juliette felt as though she had been slapped in the face. Perhaps, she wondered, if Briony's training had been a little too rough and only now the concussion was settling in. That all this was the result of some head injury.

"Jonathan isn't here!" Juliette exclaimed, breathless.

"What do you mean?" Beatrix asked. "Didn't he follow you to the conclave? We all assumed that he was with the Inquisition."

With a hand over her eyes Juliette whispered, "I can't do this right now." She turned and began to walk away. "Go back to the hall," she yelled as she stormed towards the gardens.

The gardens were lively this time of day. People moved about after their morning tea, others tended to the plants. Most found peace and quiet near the benches, that is until the crowd grew too large and too loud. The Chantry drew many visitors as well, with Mother Giselle holding her late morning services inside the prayer room.

The noise of the garden softened into a low hum beneath the pavilion. Only the clack of chess pieces and the occasional creak of a chair broke the stillness — alongside Dorian's unrelenting taunts.

Cullen couldn't help but smirk.

"Gloat all you like. I have this one."

Dorian looked up from the board, a mocking expression. "Are you sassing me, Commander? I didn’t know you had it in you."

Cullen shook his head, smirk widening. "Why do I even—"

From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Juliette by the steps, staring blankly ahead.

"Inquisitor!" he exclaimed, abruptly standing, almost topping the table over in his haste.

Dorian bit back a grin.

Juliette blinked and released a shaky exhale. Her blood felt like it was tingling, pulse throbbing in her neck. The noise was too loud. The sun too bright.

That bastard set me up!

She considered turning away, hiding in her quarters, far away from everyone. Had Cullen not just seen her, she would have.

Cullen slowly sat back down, then he shot Dorian the most serious look. Juliette clenched her fists. Whatever Dorian just said to him, she'd rather not know.

She took a step forward, hesitating. I could just leave now while they're not —

"Grab a seat, Inquisitor! Join us!" Dorian shouted with exaggerated delight. His voice carried loudly enough through the garden that people began to look, some conversations fading mid-way through.

Juliette turned her head just in time to see Elan rise from her kneeling position by the herb garden, watching curiously.

With a heavy sigh, Juliette stepped closer to the chess game.

Cullen glanced up as Juliette approached. His expression was smug at first but quickly dropped when he noticed how tense she was. Her arms were tightly folded, her brows furrowed, and her eyes fixed in a hard glare.

"Are you all right?" He asked, a slight edge of apprehension in his voice.

"I'm fine, thank you, Cullen," she said softly before returning her focus to Dorian. Her next words were low and pointed. "That is assuming there's no matter that requires my urgent attention."

"Not yet," Dorian said with twist of his lips, turning in his chair to face Juliette. "Although you're just in time to witness my inevitable victory. "

Cullen stifled a chuckle and quirked an eyebrow at Dorian's remark. "Really? Because I just won." He leaned back in his chair, armour creaking, unable to contain his smirk.

Dorian glanced at the board, then stood. "Don't be smug. You haven't claimed victory over Juliette."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently nudged her towards his seat. She gasped, flustered, and awkwardly flopped into the chair.

Dorian’s grin grew wider. “…yet.”

Juliette looked across the table at Cullen, surprise—and what she was sure was a blush—plastered across her face. She cast a glance over her shoulder as Dorian sauntered away, then straightened up in her seat.

She met his eyes, those soft amber eyes, watching her with quiet attentiveness. Cullen was different here. Relaxed. Less serious than she was used to.

"We don't have to do this, you know?"

An array of emotions surged at once: hope, longing, excitement, fear and frustration. She was exhausted, and part of her wanted to take the out he was offering. But the way he looked at her…

She bit her lip and looked down at the board. He'd already set it up.

She couldn't lie to herself, either.

"No, I want to."

Her words were a little quieter than they should have been, but they were honest. And the way he smiled, she knew he understood.

They didn’t speak for a while, just quietly sat together as the game began. Juliette leaned closer, deep in contemplation. Absentmindedly, she reached over her shoulder to pull her braid forward.

That subtle motion didn’t go unnoticed by Cullen.

"Was I right?"

His question was spoken gently, all smugness from earlier giving way as he took in her distracted presence.

"Hm?"

"Is she your sister?"

Juliette looked up and blinked. "Oh. Yes. My eldest."

Cullen smiled and spoke fondly. "You're almost identical. I thought she was you at first." Then, that smirk came back. "As you can imagine, It was a shock to see another of you."

Her lips twitched. The faint trace of a smile swept over her face while he was looking down. "Cullen, she has a good seven years on me! Do I look that old?"

He looked back up. His eyes widened and his chair creaked as he leaned forward. "No! No, you look your age…younger even! You look lovely, that's not what I meant."

Juliette's composure waned for every second their eyes were connected. All pretense of feigned offense slipped away. With a lopsided smile and rosy cheeks she murmured, "that's twice today that you've said that."

"Said what?" he asked, moving his attention back to the board.

"That I look lovely."

He paused, hand suspended in the air just a second before moving his piece. He looked at her and smiled. Then, he moved his pawn, placing it down with a deliberate thud.

"You are lovely."

Heat rushed to Juliette's cheeks. She stared at him, breathless, trying to process what he’d just said. Even with his head bowed, eyes on the game, the smirk on his lips gave him away.

"Is this your plan?" she asked under her breath. "Distract me with sweet talk so I lose my place on the board?"

He leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands, grinning smugly. "I don’t need tricks to win a game of chess, Juliette. I’ll win because I’m good at this."

"Oh," she laughed, still breathless. "So the flirting is genuine?"

He nudged his head towards the board. "It’s your move, Inquisitor."

Juliette pressed her lips together, a poor attempt at hiding her smile. She reached forward, focused on her next move and with a sudden jolt, her hand clipped one of the pieces. It tumbled to the stone floor with a loud rattle. She quickly withdrew, eyes closing in defeat as she let out a long exhale, shoulders slumping.

“And my knight has fallen,” she muttered with self-loathing.

They both stood at the same time.

“I’ll get it,” Cullen said, already kneeling.

Juliette eased back into her seat, watching as he picked up the fallen piece. Their fingers brushed as he handed the knight to her. Their eyes lingered, just a moment longer than necessary.

"Thank you," she said softly. Cullen nodded and returned to his chair.

Another moment of silence fell over them, tension simmering in the air. Juliette parted her lips, almost speaking before hesitating. Then she quietly drew in a breath.

"You mentioned earlier that you have siblings?"

Cullen answered almost instantly, as though he too were eager to say something.

"Two sisters and a brother."

"Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should." He looked down. "Ah, it’s my turn."

"One of four, like me," Juliette noted, watching his move with interest. "Hm, let me guess. You can't be the eldest — you're not pretentious enough."

He raised a brow, amused. "Is that so?"

"Yes, but I don't see you being the youngest either. My guess …middle."

"Where in the middle?"

"Upper middle," she said confidently. "You're not completely free of being pretentious."

Cullen laughed. "And with that attitude I can only assume you are the youngest sibling."

"Ha!" she scoffed. "That's hardly fair. Leliana would have dug up a frightening amount of information on me while we were at Haven." Her eyes narrowed with playful accusation. "And you would have read every last word of it."

"We had more important worries than your birth order, let me assure you of that."

"I suppose you have a point."

He leaned back with folded arms. "You didn't tell me what your sister said."

Juliette paused for a moment. This was such a beautiful distraction that she almost forgot.

“Oh, where do I even begin?” she said with a breathy laugh. “They want me to return home.”

Cullen’s smile faded. “Really? Now?”

“My mother is ill… apparently. I… I don’t know what to think.” Her fingers moved along the length of her braid as she shifted in her seat. “But I can’t just leave! I’m the Inquisitor.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“I don’t know.” She exhaled. “And then she asked for Jonathan. She thinks he’s here.”

Cullen said nothing at first.

Juliette lowered her head, absently rubbing her thumb over the mark on her hand. Her voice was distant when she spoke again, eyes fixed on the gardens.

“If they haven’t heard from him, then he’s not in Ostwick. Then he—”

“He’s not.”

Her eyes snapped to Cullen. He was already watching her, his expression serious.

“I asked Leliana to look into him,” he said quietly. “When we first arrived here.”

Her breath caught. “What… do—do you know something?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything. I didn’t want to give you false hope.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “He wasn’t at Therinfal. That’s something, at least.”

Slowly, Cullen slid his hand across the table until his fingers came to rest over hers.

"We'll find him," he promised.

"You've been searching? All this time?"

"I had to try," he said gently.

She blinked back tears and whispered, "Thank you, Cullen."

He gave her a smile, warm and sincere. "Of course."

The sound of footsteps on stone made Dorian fold his arms with a smirk. He could already tell by the length of the shadow cast by the late morning sun who was approaching.

"What do you think you're doing, Sparkler?" Varric asked. His voice carried the weariness of a man used to nonsense, but unimpressed nonetheless.

"Enjoying the view. Glorious morning," Dorian replied, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. He turned to face Varric. "Wouldn’t you agree?"

Varric glanced towards the pavilion, where Cullen and Juliette sat just a little too close for casual conversation. Then he looked back to Dorian. "You're fixing the bet."

"You said they had to kiss by Wintersend. There were no clauses forbidding me from giving her my seat after the chess match."

Varric narrowed his eyes. "You remind me of an old friend from Kirkwall."

"Hard to believe anyone in Kirkwall was as handsome as me," Dorian said, hand to chest. "But I’ll take the compliment."

Juliette looked at the board. Slowly, she raised her eyes, lips parted in a questioning gaze.

"I believe this one is yours," Cullen said with a smile. "Well played."

She looked down again and lifted the back of her hand to her mouth, hiding her grin from view.

"I think we’ll need a rematch," she said, a giggle threatening to escape. "I can’t have the commander of our forces be so incompetent with strategy."

He blinked, then folded his arms with a smirk.

Juliette stood, her chair scraping across the stone floor. "We should spend more time together."

Cullen’s smirk softened into a surprised smile. "I would like that."

She lowered her head slightly, smiling. "Me too." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then turned to walk away.

"You said that," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

She bit her lip, furrowed her brows, and took a hesitant step forward.

Cullen stood abruptly, reaching for her arm. "Don’t go."

She froze, her eyes falling to where his hand gripped her arm. It was firm, but still gentle. Slowly, she looked up. He was close now. Her heart pounded.

Elderflower and oakmoss.

His expression was serious, but his eyes held a hint of sadness or perhaps something more vulnerable. Then he looked past her. She turned her head over her shoulder, her eyes following where he was focused. People were watching, as they often were, this time Mother Giselle's judgemental gaze in their direction.

But he never let go. Instead, he leaned in closer.

"Don't go to Lord Beaufoy's soirée," he said under his breath, desperation in his tone.

"What?" she whispered, startled.

"I’m not asking as your advisor. I’m asking as myself. Don’t go."

"What soirée?" she asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

"I know, Juliette. About the letters. The flowers. The invitation for—"

His words died on his tongue when he realised.

"Flowers?" she repeated quietly.

"There is no Lord Beaufoy, is there?" He let go of her arm and stepped back.

She exhaled a soft laugh. "I don’t know. You’re telling the story."

Cullen turned, reaching for the sword resting against his chair. With a long, tired sigh, he stepped past her.

"I need a word with Leliana and Josephine."

Furious footsteps thundered into the tavern, heads turning, chatter slowing.

"You!" Juliette growled.

Dorian grinned against the tankard that was raised to his lips.

"Hey, boss," Bull greeted, unfased by her anger.

She stepped between where Bull and Dorian sat, snatching the drink from Dorian's hands. "Oh how I'd like to give you a piece of my mind!"

"Well, I wouldn't like to take the last piece."

"Get outside, now!" she demanded with her voice low and threatening.

Juliette dragged Dorian into one of the lesser crowded spaces of the courtyard, hidden in the cold afternoon shadows by the stone walls.

"I can't believe you ambushed me!" She hissed once they were finally in private.

"I thought I was doing you a favour," he said glibly. "Doing all of us a favour. It was rather considerate, no?"

"Considerate?" she shrieked, then lowered her voice. "How about you consider this? I spent my morning in a grueling training session. Then, a surprise reunion with my sister before being thrown into a chess match that I somehow couldn't lose —"

"He let you win?" Dorian asked with enthusiastic shock.

"He didn't let me win!"

"He let you win," he repeated, amused. "Cullen never loses."

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head, gesturing for an explanation.

"He has Leliana for three. We've been trying for months, I didn't think he'd so blatantly throw the game. But then again, it is you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Dorian raised a hand to his forehead and scoffed. "You are an expensive friend, Juliette."

"You've wagered on this! You really are bastard, aren't you!"

"Just go and talk to him, will you? Put us all out of our misery," Dorian said, dropping all theatrics and beginning to walk away. "He's clearly enamoured with you."

"I've given him enough chances to make a move."

"You're an —" He stopped, then whispered to himself. "I can't believe I'm saying this." He turned back and stepped closer. "You are an intelligent woman, Inquisitor. I'm certain you'll figure it out."

She groaned, casting a resentful glare at the mark on her hand.

"Maker forbid the Commander of the Inquisition show interest in the Inquisitor." She laughed, sharp and humourless. "It’s exhausting, Dorian. This—" She gestured to herself, to the mark, to the fortress around them. "All of this. It's ruined everything. I can’t just be a person. Is it not enough to be a mage, and then this on top of that? ‘Blessed by Andraste’? It’s a curse!"

She looked to the ground and kicked her foot in the dirt. "I have no choice."

"You have choices," he said, almost reassuringly. "You chose to wear that…whatever that outfit is."

She hugged herself tighter, ignoring his quip. He stepped closer again.

"You're choosing to do the right thing by being here, you realise?" he said, sincerely. "I know you don't believe it, but you could have ran away. You could have just flopped yourself down in the dirt and lived as some Ferelden yokel. Worn gloves. Stayed hidden. You'd be good at that. But you didn't. You haven't."

She glanced up to him, a defeated expression on her face. "Then what do I do?"

"Ask him to dance at the ball," Dorian said before turning once more. As he walked away he said under his breath, "that should be hilarious."

Chapter Text

27 Wintermarch, 9:42

Inquisitor,

Our vanguard is stationed in Halamshiral awaiting your arrival. Patrols have been sent along the Imperial Highway to monitor for Venatori cultists. While passage to the palace should be clear, I would still advise you to remain alert — the Inquisition's attendance is far from a secret.

Please be careful.

Commander Cullen.

29 Wintermarch, 9:42

Commander,

Our arrival was uneventful, if somewhat dull. That is certainly the preferable outcome. I await your presence, along with the rest of our soldiers. Everything is set in motion from our end.

There’s much to consider. I trust you’ll be paying attention at tomorrow night’s ball.

Inquisitor Trevelyan

The air itself felt suffocating. An intolerable blend of polished marble, beeswax and obnoxious lavender perfume. He found himself lost in a sea of snide whispers and redundant conversation. Commander Cullen had faced his share of horrors in the past, some preferable to the ball at the Winter Palace.

He drew in a deep breath, that is, as deep as his jacket would allow. It was far too tight.

If they'd only stop talking, stop getting in the way.

Ladies and Lords in elaborate formal wear moved to and fro, their ornate masks catching glimpses of light from the many chandeliers. Every train of thought derailed by pestering questions and inappropriate remarks. His focus stayed locked across the ballroom, every ounce of attention pinned to the Inquisitor.

The ball was well underway, stretching on to the third hour. There was nothing to report, nor any news for him in return. The would-be assassin was prowling the palace and she was out of reach, far off in the distance, swept up in a game of political masquerade.

He hadn't spoken to her. Barely a glance in his direction, she was enthralled in keeping up appearances, paraded on Duke Gaspard's arm. She curtsied and smiled and moved with grace. Practiced. Prepared.

Had he not known better, not known her — he'd have thought she belonged there.

He needed to know what she had uncovered. What she had planned. If she were coping.

"Are you married, Commander?"

Cullen's eye twitched, yet his posture remained disciplined.

How many times tonight have I answered this? Four at least.

"Not yet," he replied, his voice straining to remain polite while his eyes tracked Juliette's movements across the ballroom. Her dress swayed around her as she made her way through the crowd, an elegant dance of silk. "But I am… already taken."

She waved her hand dismissively with a gracious smile. A gorgeous smile. The servant moved on, her rejected glass quickly snatched up by another eager guest.

Then, Juliette turned around, her eyes meeting Cullen's from across the room for the first time that evening.

She smiled.

He froze.

The first real interaction he'd had all night.

Though it was short-lived, as two women stood in front of him, ridiculous hats obscuring his view. When they had finally moved along — Juliette had disappeared.

"Can I get you a drink, Commander Cullen?"

The question hung in the air for a moment. Even though she was gone, that look lingered. He slowly turned, an absent glance at the noble. "No, thank you."

Juliette's smile faltered for a heartbeat. Caught between false pleasantries and compliments so exaggerated they were almost insulting, she allowed herself a moment to let her metaphorical mask slip — a longing glance over her shoulder from where she had seen Cullen.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan?"

Her back straightened, eyes swooping ahead, smile already in place. Before her stood a woman of opulence, her Orlesian accent somehow striking given their location.

"We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons."

Juliette curtsied , her voice warm, yet confident. "Is there something I can do for you, Your Grace?"

"Indeed you can." The Duchess moved to the railing in one flowing sweep of her dress. Juliette cast a curious glance, her suspicion held close. As Juliette stepped closer, Florianne spoke in a hushed tone. "It took great effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations. Yet one party would use this occasion for blackest treason.The security of the empire is at stake. Neither one of us wishes to see it fall."

Juliette bowed her head and whispered,"in times like these, it’s hard to tell friend from foe, is it not, Your Grace?"

The Duchess' lips twisted in a crooked smile. "I know you arrived here as a guest of my brother, Gaspard. And have been everywhere in the palace… You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor… and a matter of concern to some."

"Am I the curiosity or the concern to you, Your Grace?" Juliette tilted her head, eyes wide and smile bright. Grand Duchess Florianne's smile matched Juliette's.

Overstated. Calculated. Threatening.

She stepped forward, a whisper in Juliette's ear as she brushed past. "Welcome to my party, Inquisitor."

Leliana's smirk widened as she set down her wine glass, an expected shadow looming over her.

She turned, amusement hidden in the sparkle of her eyes when she looked up at Cullen, standing with folded arms. "Her back may be turned, but I assure you that Josephine will know you've left your post, Commander."

"What have you heard?" he asked with every bit of seriousness she'd predicted.

"It's not what you hear, but rather what you see," Leliana reached for another sip of her drink and Cullen sighed with waning patience. "Look at lady Cambienne’s slippers. Trimmed with pearls and emeralds? And those buckles! Toss her in the lake and she’ll sink right to the bottom. What a disaster."

Cullen shook his head. "Need I remind you there’s a Tevinter assassin on the loose?"

"Hardly," she smirked. "You can learn a great deal about a person from their clothing."

Cullen's jaw tightened. He threw a glance over his shoulder. The nobility were still gathered where he previously stood.

Unrelenting.

Reluctantly, he returned his focus to Leliana, an invitation to continue. She leaned a little closer over the table where she sat. "Gold and jewels on a dancing slipper?" Leliana whispered with intrigue. "A slipper easily lost. And finds itself in the dust and dirt."

Cullen exhaled slowly through his nose, allowing his eyes to close for a few seconds while Leliana rambled.

"She is unconcerned with the possibility of losing the shoe or soiling it. A vulgar display of wealth."

Cullen folded his arms a little tighter. Leliana continued proudly. "But Lady Cambienne’s family has recently lost most of its holdings. They have their title, but little else. So! How did Cambienne acquire such a grand shoe, hmm? What has she done? Who has she bedded? These are all useful questions, no?"

"No," Cullen replied flatly.

"Be ignorant all you like, Commander, but this is Halamshiral. This is the Imperial Court."

"You seem to be enjoying yourself, Leliana. This…" he waved a hand towards the empty bottle of wine. "This is the game?"

"Maybe it's both," she said before taking another sip.

"I didn't think you were capable of having fun."

Leliana almost choked. Cullen leaned against the wall, his smirk breaking through. She lowered her wine once more and met his smug gaze with a challenge in her eyes.

"The Inquisitor is beautiful tonight," she said with a sickly sweet smile.

Cullen leaned forward. "She's always beautiful. Try harder."

"Did you see her shoes? No, but of course your eyes were elsewhere."

Cullen pulled his eyes away and straightened his posture, quietly muttering "Maker's breath."

Victorious, Leliana giggled softly. "I thought for a moment that we'd need to scoop your jaw up from the tile when she walked into the vestibule."

Cullen turned to leave, tone clipped. "If you know anything, find me."

"Well, of course I know things."

He turned back around, his forehead crinkled in exasperation. "You could have said that to start with!"

Too much time had passed, and yet, the night seemed to slip away.

"You must dance with me, Commander! You can’t stand about all evening."

"I’m afraid not, thank you."

He'd relocated to a vantage point with a clear view of every door and the dance floor. He wouldn't put it past these Orlesians to murder mid-waltz.

Of course, he couldn't have a moment of peace.

"Commander, has anyone told you that you have the most remarkable eyes?"

"Several times this evening, in fact."

His patience was wearing thin, each deflection more clipped, his responses shorter.

He stepped forward, leaning over the gallery railing. He watched the ensemble, a soft lull of music in the air as guests danced. The infiltrator could be any one of these people.

The ballroom lights blurred. Someone stepped up beside him. Expecting his moment of solitude to be intruded on with another question, he shifted his eyes.

A rush of adrenaline.

A skipped breath.

"Inquisitor!"

Her lips, now closer he could see, they were just a shade darker than usual. They curved into a coy smile. Her eyes, soft as they settled on his.

"Commander."

He drew in a breath, his posture tensing. Then, without thought, he rushed a step forward, the sweetness of her perfume filling the air around them.

"Did you need something?" he asked. Too quickly. Too eagerly.

Juliette blinked and raised a hand to the back of her neck, her eyes dropping to the floor.

With a quick glance around, Cullen understood that he couldn't speak freely. Couldn't act freely. Not here.

He stepped back and with a lowered voice spoke, "The sooner we track down this infiltrator, the better."

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his. Her hands, once clasped, eased apart — the one bearing the anchor sliding along the railing, just slightly, in his direction.

Cullen's focus fell to her hand, then back up, lingering on her lips for just a heartbeat, before he looked her in the eyes once more.

"You've attracted a following," she said softly. "Who are all these people?" Her eyes wandered to the side where a cluster of nobility stood waiting. Watching. Whispering. But it wasn't her who captured their interest — Cullen was the target of their flirtatious smiles.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the rail, her brows heavy in a glare that she quickly averted.

"I don’t know," he whispered with frustration. "But they won’t leave me alone."

Her lips twitched and her focus fell to where his hands rested at his side, hovering over the absence of a sword. She stepped a little closer and asked, "Are you all right, Cullen?"

He took a moment to answer, his eyes captivated by her gentle expression, the tenderness in her voice. He exhaled. An exhausted breath of relief in an otherwise suffocating evening.

"I'll be —" He sighed. "It would be easier if people would stop talking to me." He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. "Other people," he corrected, then a whisper, "not you."

Her lips parted, a gasp light as a feather. Then she pulled her hands back towards her, clasped neatly with a warm smile behind closed lips.

The look she gave him next, never left him. Not that night. Not ever.

Then, she turned her face to the side. Only he could see the smile she failed to contain, the pink flush in her cheeks and the sparkle of lights reflecting in her eyes.

Softly, she cleared her throat and her shoulders raised with an inhale. "Did you see the painting of Andraste on the ceiling?" she asked.

He furrowed his brows, and titled his head to the side, his eyes trailing along her arm as she pointed upward.

"It's fascinating," she said, her voice a little louder as she swooped forward, her fingers still lingering in the air. Her lips, close to his ear.

His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, breathless as he held his posture with tension.

"Gaspard has threatened The Council of Heralds," she whispered, guiding his focus to the ceiling in the perfect ploy to get a little closer.

Cullen swallowed, one hand bracing against the railing. Her scent drifted around him. Subtle, intoxicating. Impossible to ignore.

"He admitted that he would see his …cousin... die tonight without regret."

Cullen turned to face her, his eyes locking with hers.

"Juliette…" he spoke in a whisper. He had heard the waver in her voice when she said the word cousin.

She blinked, then returned her eyes to the ceiling. "I'd sooner burn alive on my funeral pyre than see that man ascend the throne… but I don't believe he's our target tonight."

"He seems the best option," Cullen said quietly.

Her response was fast, a sharp whisper. "How can you say that? He'd wage war on Ferelden."

"Not if we ally with him," he reasoned. "We could keep him in line."

Juliette turned to face him, her gaze unyielding. "Is that worth the risk?"

Cullen didn’t answer. Instead, he offered a look, one that softened with each heartbeat their eyes lingered.

"Vintage from Val Royeaux. For you, Ser? Inquisitor?”

Cullen pulled his eyes away first, offering a small shake of his head. “No. Thank you.”

The servant glanced at Juliette expectantly. Her eyes still hovered on Cullen before she turned and smiled. “I’ll pass. Thank you.”

An awkward moment settled between them while the servant moved away, his voice carrying into the crowd as he offered wine elsewhere.

“I need more time. More evidence,” she said at last, her shoulder brushing against Cullen’s as she stepped forward.

He caught her arm, his grip firm, eyes fixed on her face. “Be careful,” he warned, almost a plea. But she was already slipping from his grasp, disappearing into the crowd.

Underneath the moonlight, in the crisp evening air, hidden behind the lush melodies of familiar songs with an Orlesian twist — the game was slightly more bearable in the courtyard. False smiles vanished more easily in the shadows. Sighs were harder to detect.

With clenched teeth and a glare, Juliette grabbed Dorian by the arm, pulling him into the shadows of an alcove.

"What do you have?" she asked under her breath.

"So far, this seems like harmless political intrigue," Dorian replied with a swirl of his glass. "A few murders arranged, some scandals contrived from nothing." He sighed dramatically. "Like a homecoming, honestly."

Juliette shook her head. "Uh…anything I can actually use would be great."

"Did you see what that marquise is wearing?" Dorian asked with a raised brow. "That suit is a greater crime than anything we’re looking for."

Juliette squeezed her nails into her palms, and scrunched her nose. She exhaled heavily. "I need more."

"Don’t wear yourself out mingling," he said with a twist of his mustache. "You'll need to dance with Cullen before this is all over."

She glared and with a slow shake of her head asked, "how much money are you set to lose if I don't dance with Cullen?"

"You can't put a price on friendship!" he said with mock offense.

"Oh, you're looking out for me!" Her smile was exaggerated, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You are getting good at this," he mused. "Try the spicy punch, provided it isn't as strong as it seems. You might even enjoy yourself for once."

"I don't have time for that." Reaching down at the layers of her skirt, she muttered, “I can’t climb in these.” With a grunt she tore off her shoes and kicked them aside.

"What are you —"

"Distract them, will you? I need to get up that trellis." She eyed the balcony above with determination.

One misstep and the entire mission could collapse.

"This should be fun." He took a long sip of his port and rolled back his shoulders.

"Don't lose my shoes. And try not to get too drunk while I'm gone," she hissed, moving into the darkest parts of the garden.

"You ask so much of me."

Josephine's hand shook as she raised it to her forehead. With every clamour of the bells, dread intensified.

She weaved her way through the ballroom quickly, her poise intact, though her mind raced.

"Tell me you have good news," Josephine said, exhaling heavily as she stepped beside Leliana and Cullen, overlooking the dancefloor from the gallery above. Her fingers tapped impatiently, hurried, along the polished stone of the balustrade while she looked ahead, feigning focus on everything but her fellow advisors.

"The Inquisitor's searching the servants quarters. She was granted access by Celene's —" Leliana paused, a frustrated glare that she shook off within a second. "Her 'Arcane Advisor,' or so she’s calling herself."

Cullen folded his arms tighter upon noticing Leliana's disdain for the apostate turned advisor.

"She needs to hurry back," Josephine worried. "This is the final bell, everyone will notice her missing."

Cullen slammed his fist against the balustrade, Josephine jolting to awareness and Leliana slowly glancing up.

"There is smoke billowing from the gardens," Cullen muttered, his eyes set on the grand windows across the room.

Leliana clutched her glass a little tighter. "Where there's smoke, there's fire. And where there's fire…"

"Juliette," Josephine whispered in horror. "Maker's breath. No amount of diplomacy can save us if she burns down this palace."

Cullen's hand reached for the hilt of his sword. Then, remembering he was unarmed, he flexed his fingers, clenching his fists at his sides.

"I'll get the soldiers into position," he said firmly, preparing to turn.

"Is that wise?"

He halted at Leliana's question, a slow exhale escaping his nose. "It's necessary," he answered, before charging off towards the exit.

Her shoes, those conveniently left atop a statue of some Orlesian noble whose name escaped her, clacked against the marble tile. Juliette raced along the  darkened halls of the palace, motes of dust floating in the air like wisps with every sweep of her dress. Each breath echoed in solitude.

Moving undetected past gossiping servants, she slipped into the vestibule where the bright, warm lights of chandeliers glistened against the gold embroidery of her gown once more. With a barely- concealed pant, she steeled herself for the court, preparing a strategic smile, a gracious twinkle in her eyes…

She stilled.

Caught in Cullen's dire stare, she was motionless.

Her blood still buzzed with adrenaline, the thrill of danger.

Her heart fluttered. Recognition. Want.

Lust.

And then, panic.

A quick, short breath. A straightened spine. She grasped for resolve when he moved her way.

"Thank the Maker you're back," he said, voice low, rough with worry. His gloved hand found her arm. Grounding. She tensed.

She watched the way his fingers curled around her wrist, wordlessly guiding her back a few steps. Then, slowly, she looked up and met his eyes.

Concern. Care. So open, so earnest, it made her heart ache.

"I saw the smoke, I thought…you're not hurt are you?"

She blinked in what felt like slow motion, so close yet so far.

Too close? Here? Now?

"I'm not," she forced the words, emotionless. 'The game' extended beyond nobility.

Their eyes lingered a moment more, then, his expression hardened.

"I have soldiers ready. What's out next move?"

"I found enough on all three of them, but I need more. Something that we can use for leverage."

She exhaled, then glanced over her shoulder towards the ballroom.

“I have to go back in.”

A servant passed, offering a silver tray of glasses. Without thinking, Juliette reached out and took one.

A sip. Then another. Rich wine, sweet and dark, cherry burning her throat.

The taste caught her off guard. So did the warmth.

“Thank you,” she murmured. The servant bowed and moved on.

She turned. Cullen was still watching. His eyes tracked the wine in her hand, then returned to her face.

“Dance with me,” she whispered.

The words escaped too easily. A slip.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh.”

She blinked. Her eyes dropped to the floor. Her face burned. The air suddenly thick.

“No! I didn’t mean to—”

His hand caught her shoulder gently. Regret already on his face.

"Maker’s breath! I’ve answered that question so many times I’m rejecting it automatically." He stepped closer while the taste of cherry lingered, her throat tight. Softly, he said "I’m not one for dancing. The templars never attended balls."

She gripped the glass firmly, then gave a short, nervous laugh. "Of course they didn't. Forget I said that." Juliette stepped back, meeting his eyes once again. "We'll talk later."

With a delayed nod, he whispered "I await your signal."

Every nerve in her body tingled at the sound of his voice. She inhaled a shaky breath, quiet through her nose, then smiled with closed lips. She turned for the door and glanced back.

He was, of course, watching her every move.

The scent of smoke and charred fabric settled in the air. Cassandra's footsteps were brisk beside Juliette's. Dorian trailed closely behind.

"Will it bother you?" Cassandra asked with concern, though her expression was set in hard determination.

Juliette raised her fingers to the wound behind her ear. The sting lingered well after the healing potion had kicked in. She pulled her hand forward. Dried blood. "It's fine."

"I can't believe you punched a Harlequin in the face," Dorian laughed, throwing his head back.

"He might not be the last," Juliette muttered, charging through the gardens, her dress swishing through the dirt.

Cassandra scowled. "We need to stop the Duchess. We can't let her get away with this!"

Juliette stopped, just short of entering the courtyard. Faint music could be heard in the distance, lanterns illuminating the path as they drew closer. "Cassandra, go ahead and tell Cullen." She turned to Dorian, eyes narrowed with focus. "I have to go back up to the second floor."

"Again?" Dorian asked, baffled. "Why? We know that Florianne is the one aligned with Corypheus. We have the mercenary. What more do you need?"

"If we want leverage on Gaspard, we need that knife. I’m not walking back in there empty-handed."

Cassandra eyed Juliette for a moment, her expression softening for just a second, before she nodded. "Be fast, Inquisitor. We're running out of time."

Cassandra departed, and Juliette and Dorian walked into the courtyard. Slowly they moved past groups of nobility, whispers and stares barely concealed as the night drew closer to a close.

"What was Gaspard thinking, inviting that fool?"

Juliette quietly cleared her throat, catching the tail end of gossip.

"Perhaps he thought the Inquisitor would make him look clever by comparison."

"Don't listen to that," Dorian whispered in her ear.

She looked up to him, weariness in her expression. “Just… keep them looking the other way. One last time.”

"I'm not sure how." He raised a hand to his chin in contemplation. "If you can find me ten silk scarves, I’ve got a dance that will really shock them."

Juliette sighed, dropping her face into her palm.

Snooty laughter caught her focus, two women standing nearby. "He's the commander of their forces, weren't you listening?"

"I don't care what he is. He's gorgeous."

"Don't bother, he won't dance with you. He won't dance with anyone."

"I can be very persuasive."

The ladies giggled, walking back inside the palace with a sway of their hips, their full skirts floating around them.

Juliette lowered her hand, reluctantly meeting Dorian's eyes.

"Did you ask him?"

She didn't answer. Instead, Juliette clenched her teeth and kicked off her shoes. He was left standing speechless when she stormed off towards the trellis, barefoot and plain in sight.

Loud gasps were heard through the courtyard as Juliette climbed to the balcony.

"Is that the Inquisitor? What is she doing?"

"She’s trampling the wisteria! Has she gone mad?"

When she reached the top she looked over the balustrade, several shocked onlookers watched from below. Dorian, standing there with a smirk on his face.

"Oh, admit it!" She yelled. "You were all thinking of doing the same! In every Orlesian romance, someone climbs a trellis." Then she disappeared into the darkness leaving behind a wave of horrified murmurs.

"Whatever I might have thought, I wouldn’t have done it…"

"How dreadful!"

Dorian reached for glass of wine, the server standing frozen with his mouth agape. "I'll take one of those, thank you." Dorian sipped slowly, eyes watching the gathering crowd of outraged Orlesians with amusement. "Vishante kaffas," he whispered to himself. "Josephine will kill her."

Every step was intentional. Uniform. Controlled. Yet it looked fluid. Natural.

One. Two. Three.

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. The lights of the ballroom blurred around him.

Then, from the corner of his eye — movement. Crowds dispersing. Soft gasps.

He held his breath.

She moved with fierce urgency. Not in panic. In defiance.

Their eyes met across the room. Hers were dark. Dangerous.

She swiped her hand across her chest, fingers brushing where her necklace would have hung.

He tensed. Then, silently, raised his hand to his own chest.

A signal.

The plan was in motion.

"Let all gathered attend! Her Imperial Majesty will now address the court!"

From the opposite end of the ballroom, the Inquisitor stood in the gallery, her half-empty glass of sparkling wine balanced on the balustrades edge.

She lifted the glass gently, raised to her lips in anticipation of the Empress' speech.

A presence beside her, familiar. Expected. A hint of cedar and leather.

His breath was warm against her ear when whispered, leaving her breathless, her heart skipping a beat.

"In position, Inquisitor."

She turned her face to the side, their eyes connected, just a breath away.

She smiled.

"What could possibly go wrong?"

A ruthless grunt tore through the night air.

Juliette snarled through gritted teeth, fingers white with pressure as she held Grand Duchess Florianne beneath the fountain’s freezing water.

“Inquisitor!”

Cassandra’s distant shout dissolved into the haze of Juliette’s fury. Her breath was ragged. Her knee pinned Florianne down, her hands squeezing the Duchess’s throat.

“We need her alive!”

With a strained gasp, Juliette pulled back. Her grip loosened, but her eyes didn’t waver. Dark. Threatening. Exhausted.

Florianne choked, coughing violently as she clawed for air. Inquisition soldiers surged forward, the clank of their armour a rhythm of reprieve.

In a shiver, wet hair clinging to her face, Juliette knelt back. The soldiers dragged the Duchess out of the fountain, her gown soaked, her limbs shaking.

"You'll never win, Inquisitor," Florianne spluttered weakly. "You are no match for Corypheus."

Juliette rose slowly, water cascading down her back, her expression blank.

“What do you think will happen now that Celene is dead?” the Duchess wheezed. “Orlais is not yours to rule. Gaspard won’t… he…”

“Commander Cullen ordered her capture, Your Worship. What should we do?” a soldier asked.

Juliette's eyes snapped to the soldier, then, they darkened as she stepped out of the fountain, sights set on the Duchess. Slowly, she walked forward, Florianne thrashing as two soldiers held her in place. Silently, Juliette seized Florianne by the jaw, ripping the mask from her face. As the women stared into each others eyes, the clang of a once luxurious mask, now worthless, crashed to the ground.

A moment of silence , shattered when Florianne spat in Juliette's face.

Juliette didn't flinch. She smiled.

Then, a breathy laugh.

“You can’t even play the game,” Florianne hissed. “How do you think Gaspard will obey you? A worthless mage. An accident.”

Juliette leaned in, her voice calm, but bitter.

"Take her to Skyhold."

She paused, one final breath, and whispered at Florianne’s ear.

"Welcome to my party."

Underneath the moonlight, just moments from midnight, there was calm for the first time that evening. The music had quieted in the distance, and the chill of Winter air was refreshing against Juliette's skin.

Before Gaspard's speech of victory, Josephine had insisted Juliette take a moment to recover. A last-minute attempt to tidy her appearance, re-securing damp, loosened strands of hair with an ornate Inquisition hairpin.

It caught the moonlight and glistened. A light in the dark.

The Inquisitor stood alone. Bruised, breathless, victorious. Celebrating an unconventional triumph like no other.

She poured herself a drink and let the silence settle. Then—

"There you are!"

Juliette set the bottle down, a shiver washing over her body at the sound of his voice. A small smile graced her lips.

Cullen stepped towards her, each movement thoughtful and attentive.

"Everyone’s been looking for you. Things have calmed down for the moment."

The way he spoke was almost maddening. His voice, so gentle. His eyes, full of unspoken affection masked with concern.

"Are you all right?"

Her lashes fluttered at his question. Her cheeks burned hot, partially from the alcohol, she was certain — but as she stood there caught in his tender gaze, her blush deepened against the cool air of the night.

She hadn't expected him to seek her out. There must have been a thousand things more important in that moment. Retrieving soldiers, assessing damage, securing…he's standing very close.

The music from the ballroom drifted softly in the air. A gentle breeze brought an icy Winter's chill, yet all she felt was warmth when she looked into his eyes.

Juliette glanced down at his arm that pressed against hers as he leaned over the balustrade. Then, her eyes met his once more. Laughter and cheering could be heard from inside the palace, a small break in the silence between Inquisitor and Commander. She hesitated for a moment, a second to catch her breath before looking ahead at the moonlit view.

"I hope I made the right decision," she said softly. Then, she smirked. "I don't think I can endure another one of these balls. "

Cullen laughed, loud and abrupt, as though he was caught off guard. "You and I both."

She turned her focus back to him, her smile bashful as she leaned her arm further against his until their shoulders touched. Cullen watched her with admiration, creases in the corners of his eyes as he smiled.

"Well, this ought to disgust you," she whispered playfully. "When I put this dress on earlier, I was excited to come here tonight."

He blinked slowly, and somehow his eyes managed to give her an even softer look. She was breathless for a moment, her lips parting before she returned her focus to the garden below. A breeze softly rustled the empty bottles of wine that rattled on the tiles beneath their feet.

"When I was a child I would dream of events such as this,"she fondly reminisced.

Cullen smirked. "Was it the whispering and backstabbing? The plotting and the murder?"

"And the tiny cakes" she added with a grin. Then she sighed heavily. "What a nightmare this evening was."

He moved his hand to her arm, his fingers resting in a comforting gesture. She glanced down as he spoke, "it's all over now."

Juliette swallowed quietly, and with a soft sigh, she replied,"no, it's not really though, is it?"

Cullen furrowed his brows, carefully observing her every mannerism, every expression.

"Gaspard is…," she murmured with what Cullen believed to be regret weaved into her voice. "Well…" She looked to the stars above, then softly she spoke. "A wanker."

Cullen snorted a suppressed laugh. "Are you…drunk?"

She turned to him quickly, wide eyed and serious. "Oh, no! I sobered up considerably after I strangled the Duchess in the water fountain."

He blinked, unsure how she said that with such a straight face. Then, he slowly shook his head. "Maker's breath, you're —"

"I'm what, Commander?" Juliette leaned in a little closer, a teasing lilt in her voice accompanying her playful glare.

He simply looked at her. No answer, just a gaze so intense it almost made her stumble backwards.

She was close enough to hear him breathe, a light exhale as he placed a hand on her shoulder. His eyes stayed on her. His touch, a soft glove against her exposed skin, memories of the day he helped fasten her necklace rushing back.

She shivered, though somehow it felt warm. Her breath slowed, her eyes feeling heavy as they fell to his lips. That scar. Then, back to his eyes, watching her still. Protective. Adoring.

"I was worried for you tonight."

He spoke the words softly. His voice was like melting honey. She felt like she was melting. Like she may faint if she held his eyes a moment longer.

Yet she couldn't look away.

She gripped the cold , polished stone of the balustrade so tightly her fingernails turned white. Her face felt hot, her mind a little hazy, the air cold against the back of her neck. Her heart fluttering like mad.

All she could do was blink, an uncontrolled "Uh," escaping her.

Then he smiled with closed lips, that scar tugging.

She felt loose strands of hair lift gently in the breeze and the scent of her own perfume carried in the air. He pulled away his eyes, glancing back towards the ballroom. He looked handsome in the moonlight, his jaw defined and…her thoughts got a little tangled as she wondered what the stubble would feel like against her lips.

Then his eyes snapped back to hers. Her heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught, a soft gasp.

"I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask." As he stepped back, Juliette gripped the balustrade with her other hand, holding herself upright, drawing in a shaky breath of anticipation.

Cullen bowed, his eyes locked onto her while he smiled. He offered his hand and asked, "May I have this dance, my lady?"

My lady.

She'd heard it many times that evening, but never had it sounded so good. Surely a formality like any other, but she couldn't resist the thought of being his.

There was no point in trying to subdue her smile. Had she wanted to, there was little chance she could. Juliette was lighter tonight — the wine, she supposed — but mostly, it was him.

Standing upright was an uncertainty in itself, yet without hesitation she reached for Cullen's hand, accepting his offer to dance.

Cullen pulled his eyes from hers for only a second, a curious glance down as her hand delicately slid into his grip. When he looked back to her, her smile, the way she eagerly glided closer to him — it ignited all that he tried to suppress. Every little glance, every touch. He wanted her more than anything in this world.

For just this moment, he had her. In his arms. Uninterrupted. Alone.

"I thought you didn't dance," her voice was a soft, sweet murmur against his ear. Every hair on his body stood at the sound, his grip on her lower back a little firmer, pulling her close.

He stared into her eyes, his mind racing to hold the pace of their steps. His body, fighting the urge to close every last gap between them.

"For you, I'll try."

The words escaped him without thought, all control of his heart slipping away for every second, every beat that he held her.

She felt so dainty in his hold, each of her steps an effortless sway against him. Her skin looked soft in the moonlight, her perfume almost driving him over the edge. It was that same scent, sandalwood and something sweeter, almost like a warm Summer's day. He'd picked it up on her letters, more so the one she handed him at the interlude. The letter that was as good as a confession.

The scent lingered in his mind at night, accompanying his deepest, most private thoughts of her.

Now, before her. Holding her. He prayed that the moment wouldn't end. That for tonight, they would remain Cullen and Juliette. Unburdened by duty and titles.

"I've learned two things about you tonight, Ser Rutherford."

The whisper against his ear. The doe-eyed gaze. The soft pout of her lips.

Maker, help me.

He lowered his head slightly, his face closer to hers. "And what have you learned?"

Her lips twisted into a smirk, her eyelashes fluttered. Warmth tingled in his chest.

"Other than the fact that you're full of surprises." She paused a moment, her fingers brushed the side of his neck as she adjusted her hand on his shoulder. That small movement stole the air from his lungs. He gripped her other hand a little tighter. "Your middle name is Stanton."

Quietly, he swallowed, then replied. "You were listening, Lady Juliette Evelyn Grace Trevelyan."

Her giggle was light, a fleeting breeze of joy. But to his ears it was a taunt, a test of restraint.

"You are paying attention."

His steps halted. The dance meeting an abrupt end as she stumbled forward, her nose brushing against his cheek.

"What?" She gasped, eyes widening with surprise when she looked up at him. As she blinked in shock he caught a glimpse of his reflection in her dark eyes, apprehension washing over him.

Cullen released his grip on her and a hand gently raised to her cheek. He swept aside a stray section of hair, a trickle of blood behind her ear came into focus in the moonlight.

"You're hurt," he spoke with concern.

She raised her hand to his, clasping her fingers over his glove that rested on the side of her neck. "It's nothing."

"Who did this?" He murmured, leaning in closer to inspect her wound. "Was it the Du--"

Then all apprehension and that flash of anger at whoever had hurt her — it faded into numbness.

Her lips brushed against his.

Not quite a kiss. 

Gentle enough to be mistaken for an accident.

No. It was...

Soft. Fleeting. Over before it truly began.

A test?

Her eyes blinked slowly. Long lashes and a soft, hopeful gaze. Her cheeks were red. He could feel the heat in them as the side of her face swiped against his.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't think.

He stood frozen like a fool and he felt her touch retreat. Her hand left his shoulder, his own hand falling along her neck as she stepped back.

She blinked. Her lips parted. A shaky breath.

Then she turned her face to the side. Her focus dropped to the floor. A trembling hand raised to her lips.

She couldn't bear to look at him.

Was she wrong?

Was this dance out of obligation? Guilt for turning me down earlier? I can't believe I just did that. He… he needs to say something. Anything. Maker, what have I—

She gasped.

Cullen’s fingers brushed her cheek, a light touch, tilting her face back towards him.

He was staring. Breath shallow. Shoulders rising and falling with quiet intensity.

His face was unreadable.

Still, he said nothing.

Then, on a single breath , he grabbed her.

One hand in her hair, the other at her jaw, pulling her forward in a kiss so fierce, so full of longing, it stole the air from her lungs.

Juliette tensed. A soft whimper against his lips. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her body melted against him.

And for a moment, she let herself fall.

Let herself want.

She let go.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, his breath ragged against her cheek as his lips pulled away. But he didn’t let her go.

Cullen held her tight, as though he had been waiting a lifetime for this. For her.

All restraint and hesitation faded away when he looked into her eyes, searching for more.

Juliette’s fingers twisted in the fabric of his jacket, a desperate attempt to steady her balance as she leaned into him.

Her lips found his again. His hand slid around her waist. He pulled her tight against his body, his kiss matching hers in its intensity.

A kiss hungry with repressed emotion. The scent of cedar clung to his skin, the taste of wine lingering on his mouth.

Smashing glass split the air.

They broke apart.

Breathless. Startled.

The moment shattered along with the wine glass.

Juliette’s heart pounded. Her lips tingled. Her vision blurred as she stood dazed, fingers still twisted in Cullen’s jacket.

His hands held her arms, steadying her, but his focus had already shifted, locked on the doorway.

Josephine was stunned.

What remained of her Antivan red wine seeped into the grout between marble tiles. Splinters of glass glistened at her feet, unnoticed.

Juliette slowly looked up at Cullen. Then, reluctantly, over her shoulder. He still stared ahead, silent.

Cullen cleared his throat. He stepped aside, his hands leaving her arms with hesitation so brief it ached.

"I... I found the Inquisitor," he mumbled, a hand rising awkwardly to the back of his neck before he brushed past Josephine.

Josie still hadn't moved. Just blinked, jaw slack, glass at her feet and the memory of the kiss lingering in the air.

Chapter Text

"No."

Two voices in unison, equally exasperated.

Leliana folded her arms. The early morning air carried a chill as they stood outside the Winter Palace. She narrowed her eyes at Cullen and Cassandra. Both were painfully stubborn, like two peas in a pod.

"I was born in a carriage," Cassandra said with disgust. "I refuse to die in one too."

Leliana quirked her brows, her lips showing a sly smile. "I never said you were going to die."

"I'm not waiting for a warning," Cassandra declared firmly. "I will return with the soldiers."

Leliana turned to face Cullen. Asking again seemed pointless, his answer would be clear. He strongly contested the idea of traveling to the palace via carriage with his fellow advisors, now would be no different. Still, she’d try. Josephine should come to expect this by now.

Then, she could see a shift in his expression. The hardened lines of his face, held tight with tension and weariness, softened. He had that look in his eyes, the one she'd seen him cast in the Inquisitor's direction several times that evening. Like a lovesick Mabari.

With a small turn of her head, Leliana caught sight of Juliette, far down the steps, walking towards the gilded carriage with Josephine at her side. The focus of his attention was hardly surprising.

Could he change his mind after all? All I'd have to do is dangle her in front of him.

Yet, almost as quickly as he noticed her, Cullen's face returned to a look of stern determination. He stepped back. He looked to Leliana with expectation and a barely-contained sigh.

With a slow blink, she smiled. "Commander."

Cullen gave a nod and reached for the reins of his horse. Without a word, he turned his back to her and moved into the shadows where the soldiers were gathered nearing departure.

Leliana chuckled softly to herself.

For every moment of delay, Juliette seemed to wilt further. Her shoulders slumped, her hand resting limply in her lap. Within the carriage, she no longer wore the Inquisitor's mask. All that remained was the tired face of a woman who hadn't stopped all evening. A woman who had drank a little too much, and perhaps, allowed herself to feel a little too much.

"Just a headache," Juliette had whispered before they boarded. But Josephine wasn’t fooled. Not after the way she’d looked across the ballroom. Not after what she had seen between her and Cullen.

Josephine adjusted the curtain slightly, letting the light fall away from Juliette’s face. Neither of the women spoke a word.

Her fingers rested against her lips. At first Josephine considered that she was reliving the kiss. It was quite the kiss after all. Yet something wasn't right.

The warmth in Juliette's voice vanished to a timid murmur, the colour in her cheeks drained, almost eerily.

Josephine straightened in her seat. "Are you well, Juliette?"

A shallow breath. A light groan. Her fingers pressed deeply against her forehead, as if trying to squeeze away the remnants of overindulgence.

"The sooner we leave the better," Juliette finally answered.

"Goodness, I'll find Leliana at once—"

Josephine lowered back to her seat as Leliana climbed into the carriage abruptly. "Stubborn mules," she muttered. "The both of them."

There was silence, save for the sound of the footman closing the carriage door with a courteous "My Lady." Leliana looked to Juliette curiously, her brow raising with suspicion. Then, finally she turned to Josephine, who seemed all to eager to speak.

"Cullen kissed Juliette!" Josephine blurted out in a single, uncontrolled breath.

Juliette lowered her hand, a tired glare in Josephine's direction.

With a hand slowly raised to her lips in shock, Josephine settled back into her seat.

Leliana smirked. "Well about time."

"Not about —" and with a defeated sigh Juliette abandoned all attempt to speak.

Leliana had a point.

They exchanged a glance, then, with smirk from Josie and a smug giggle from Leliana, Juliette clutched the fabric of her dress a little tighter.

"It couldn't have been that bad," Leliana said with amusement.

"It wasn't," Juliette murmured softly. She leaned forward, her face now resting against her palm, the other clutching her stomach.

Leliana's focus turned to Josephine, Josie's excited smile waning when she noticed the look of concern in Leliana's eyes. Leliana watched Juliette a moment more before her eyes widened with realisation. "Maker's breath! Don't tell me you're about to —"

At least forty minutes had passed since Josephine found Juliette in the villa garden outside her quarters. Hours earlier, she had been a frightening vision of power. Kneeling over one of the most powerful women in Orlais, her strength was unleashed in a violent display. Now, she was slumped over the stone edge of another fountain, strands of hair trailing into the icy water, shameful sobs and shallow gasps drifting into the night air.

With every retch , Josephine winced. Yet she stayed by her side, one hand gently rubbing Juliette's back, the other sweeping damp hair away from her face with care.

"You can leave, Josie," Juliette whispered hoarsely. "You don't have to do this."

"I know," Josephine replied softly. "But I couldn’t call myself your friend if I let you suffer alone."

Juliette turned her face from the water, each breath salvation as the nausea began to fade. She could still feel the tremor in her fingers, the bitter taste remaining, but the worst of it seemed to have passed. After wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she blinked away tears and managed a weak smile. “How often do you help Leliana from water fountains?”

Josephine chuckled, rising to her feet gracefully. “The need has yet to arise.”

Josie offered Juliette her hand, and after a moment of hesitation, she accepted the help to stand. She dared a glance back at the water that had caught the most unbecoming moments of her evening. Shame hovered somewhere in the tangle of emotions, the overwhelm itself almost enough to make her stomach turn anew.

With admirable patience and understanding, Josephine showed no sign of judgment, only care.

“Perhaps someday Leliana will speak of our more disastrous adventures,” Josephine added as they began the slow walk back towards the villa. “Run if you ever see her with a twine ball, a measuring stick, and a handkerchief.”

Juliette let out a short, tired laugh. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

The opulence of the villa where they stayed during the Inquisition’s time in Halamshiral was lost on Juliette. Ornate mirrors, embroidered silks, and polished floors meant little when her body ached and her mind swirled. A bed was a bed, and for tonight, that was all she could ask for.

She'd hoped a few silent prayers to the Maker were enough to settle her stomach, or at the very least ease the pounding in her skull. Perhaps, a moment of clarity to sort through her thoughts.

She sank into the soft mattress, arms and legs aching, head throbbing, eyes a blur. Face first in the pillow, dress tight and heavy, Juliette was too close to sleep to care a moment longer.

"Wouldn't you like to change —" Josephine sighed softly. "Never mind."

“You can go, Josie,” Juliette murmured, her face half-buried in the pillow. “You’ve had a long day.”

“So have you,” Josephine said politely, but with a firmness Juliette was too tired to defy.

Silence settled in the room, so quiet, it was almost irritating. Ringing in her ears, pounding in her head. Her breath slowed and her eyes drifted closed. Though her body fell into a calm lull, the memory lingered, vivid and loud.

Cullen.

His touch ignited feelings she had never known. Everything she had feared to admit, all she dared to hope for. He held her with such tenderness.

Every glance. Every breath. Every unspoken word.

She could feel it still.

The tension. The lust. His hands firm at her waist. The world around them vanishing at the taste of his lips. Even now, as she drifted to sleep, she could almost hear his voice. She could feel his breath, warm and close.

Josephine moved quietly to the chaise, the soft rustle of fabric as she settled, the only sound.

For a moment, she thought Juliette had finally allowed herself to sleep.

Then, softly , a whisper.

“I kissed him.”

Josephine glanced up. Juliette's words lingered in the air, a redundant confession, spoken in disbelief. Josephine smiled, pressing her lips together to conceal a laugh. “You certainly did.”

Juliette sat up, a slow movement. Unsure how to feel. Unsure how to…be. “I don’t… I don’t know what this means. How, if …”

Josie clasped her hands together in her lap. Though the room was cloaked in darkness, she could see the fatigue in Juliette's silhouette, shoulders slumped, hand against her forehead. Even now, in her quiet unraveling, the green light of the anchor flickered consistent.

With a fading smile, quietly, Josephine drew in a breath. "I think you —"

Two knocks at the door, clear and concise. In a breath, their eyes shifted to the entryway. Before further thought — a third knock, lighter this time, almost reluctant.

Standing in an instant, Josephine said, "I'll get it. Stay there."

Juliette's eyes darted across the room. The glow of moonlight crept through the curtains just enough to illuminate her staff resting against the wall. Her pulse thumped, blood tingled, a wave of apprehension washing over her. Josephine's words lost on Juliette, she leapt from the bed, stumbling as her feet touched the ground. "Wait, don't—"

Her panicked gasp fell to silence with a soft creak of the door.

Suspended in the moment, breath held, body tense.

"Oh, yes. Everything is fine." Josephine's voice was calm, light.

Juliette's fingers relaxed. Her shoulders dropped, a sigh of ease.

In the next breath, hope.

"It's just a guard," Josephine called over her shoulder.

Juliette froze. For just a moment she dared to imagine more. Now in the blur of her adrenaline easing, quiet devastation settled in its place.

In a murmur too low to reach Juliette's ears, Josephine added, “An overly protective guard.” Then, stepping outside and closing the door behind her, she hissed, “Have you lost your mind, coming here at this hour?”

Cullen didn't speak at first. He stood there, tense, fists clenched at his sides. The warm glow of braziers in the hallway draped him in a soft light. The reflection caught the anguished amber in his eyes , fixed intensely on the door, past Josephine as though she weren't standing there at all.

Then, he drew in a breath. With a slow blink, his eyes met Josephine's. The stern attention in his expression softened, colliding with her questioning gaze.

"I need to see her," he spoke in a low, desperate whisper.

Josephine's arms folded and she shook her head. "You cannot!" A short exhale and flash of hesitation crossed her expression before her eyes narrowed, her stance strengthened. "Have you any idea how this might look if someone were to see you? Knocking on the Inquisitor's door so few hours from dawn?"

Cullen eased at her question. His hands relaxed. A shaky exhale and furrowed brow.

"Beside that," Josephine continued, her voice softened, less scalding than before. "I couldn't let anyone see her in her current state. You, most of all."

He closed his eyes, and he turned his head to the side. A stressed exhale through his nose , Cullen pressed his fingers against his forehead. "I need to know that she's all right."

"She is," Josephine assured him. "She's just exhausted."

"What you saw…"

"No one needs to know." Josephine's softly spoken voice seemed to linger in the air. Cullen took a moment, a breath to acknowledge her reasoning, then he stepped back. His footsteps, rhythmic against the floor as he began to pace, the only sound in the dimly lit hallway. Josephine took a careful step towards him, her arm almost reaching out. "It could be scandalous, that is true, but with the right amount of discretion Leliana and I can —"

"It should never have happened!" He snapped in a gasp, control slipping, agitation showing in his movements, in his breathing.

Josephine's hand lowered slowly, a light quiver in her fingertips before she squeezed them into her palm. Her eyes tracked his movements with care, noting every mannerism, every hint of unraveling . Yet at the same time, her expression hardened, a warning beneath heavy brows.

Cullen's shoulders slumped, his hands thrown down with an exhale. "She was drinking and I… Maker, never mind the fact that she's the Inquisitor and —"

"Cullen." Josephine spoke firmly, stepping before him now without hesitation. The lines on his forehead eased when he noticed her, his hands resting at his sides.

“She may have over-indulged,” Josephine said gently, her voice softer now. “But she was perfectly aware. She kissed you first, might I add.”

He turned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maker, how long were you standing there?"

"Long enough to know this is no accident. You've been falling over each other for the better part of a year."

He turned back to face her, sharply. "That doesn't make it right. I can't hurt her, I won't—" He stopped. He closed his eyes, then shook his head. As Cullen began to walk away, he spoke quietly with devastation hidden behind his words, "I won't let this interfere with the Inquisition."

"You're no longer a templar, Cullen."

He halted. A shaky breath. Eyes firmly fixed to the floor.

"You're allowed to want things," Josephine said. "You are allowed happiness."

He lifted his eyes and drew in a breath. Without a word, Cullen waked away.

The sunlight felt like a slap in the face. She cringed, raising a hand to shield her brow, and stepped into the shadows beneath the vine-draped canopy.

Leliana observed her keenly, a tiny smirk on her lips as she spoke, "Good Morning, Inquisitor."

“Is it?” Juliette muttered wryly as she rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"How is the hangover?" Leliana asked simply, though it was clear she was amused.

"Hardly worth mentioning." Juliette squared her shoulders and drew in a deep breath. "What's the situation?"

Leliana turned, facing the gathering of Inquisition personnel in the villa courtyard. "Our work here is far from over yet. The Venatori found entry to the palace far too easily, wouldn't you agree?"

"Feels like they're always popping up where they're least wanted," Juliette mumbled. "Which is everywhere, to be clear."

"All correspondence will be double encrypted, we cannot allow vulnerability in our lines of communication." Leliana spoke with a cold tone, focus in her expression as she pulled her hood over her head. "Our support of Ambassador Briala has scandalised the nobility." Then, she turned to Juliette, a small smile hidden in the shadows that draped over her face. "I’m quite pleased, personally."

"And Gaspard?" Juliette asked, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

"My spies report that Celene’s loyalists are already causing trouble. Emperor Gaspard is employing harsh tactics. I would expect nothing less from him. We’ve gained a ruthless ally."

Juliette rolled her eyes, blinking slowly to hide the gesture. "Wonderful," she said sarcastically.

"I'm sure that —" Lelaina paused a moment, a telling silence before she spoke. "Cullen…will be eager to inform you of the activity in the Exalted Plains."

Juliette looked up at the sound of his name, a light shiver overcoming her, before she pulled her eyes away from Leliana's.

"Well, I best not waste anymore time," Juliette said dismissively, adjusting the clasps of her armour. "I've a long day of travel ahead and…" She looked up and offered Leliana a warm smile. "Happy Wintersend by the way. Will you spend it scheming and sharpening knives?"

Leliana exhaled a small laugh. "I'll be at the theater with Josie, in fact."

"Oh, Lovely," Juliette replied as she pulled her hair to the side.

"Vivienne mentioned a boutique that's renown for some of the most ridiculously luxurious shoes in all of Orlais. She was bragging, of course. They're very exclusive, but I'm certain I can change their mind."

"Well, you know what they say," Juliette said behind an amused chuckle. "Some shoes are to die fo—"

Her words faltered the instant her eyes connected with Cullen's across the courtyard. A strong, intense gaze. Juliette stood motionless, seconds passing before she blinked. When she finally gathered herself, she dropped her focus to the ground, her fingers weaving through the braid that rested over her shoulder.

"I should remind you," Leliana said in a hushed voice. "Your love letters to Cullen must be encrypted also. We can never be sure who might intercept them."

"Love?" Juliette echoed under her breath, as Leliana stepped away. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Maker’s breath.”

The low chatter in the courtyard and the rustle of trees in the Winter air softened the absence of words. There was so much to say. Countless nights of sleepless confessions, held close to her chest, a whisper on her tongue. Now, everything she felt, all that she needed him to know collided in her mind, lingering beneath a rapid pulse and a throbbing headache in the face of the morning sun.

Every second she stood before him was beautiful torture. The thrill of being close, the memory of his touch. Every breath, a tingle of anticipation waiting to hear him speak. And at the same time, it was terrifying, as if her heart were to give way at any moment.

If he were to regret it. Change his mind. I don't know that I could hide this.

"Inquisitor."

He broke the silence with a formality. It shouldn't have been a surprise, and yet, he spoke softly. Stern and serious, his typical demeanor nowhere to be seen. This wasn't the Commander. This was Cullen.

She lowered her eyes for a heartbeat, then lifted them to meet his once more. In a shallow breath she felt his gaze on her. Careful. Sincere. An intensity that was fast becoming familiar.

"Commander."

Quietly, she swallowed once the word had left her tongue, her voice carrying more confidence than she truly felt.

"How do you feel?" he asked her with a low, hushed tone.

She blinked. Her lips parted and her eyes hovered over him. He was still wearing his uniform from the evening prior, the tailored formal wear that Josephine said he complained of endlessly. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and even now as he looked at her she could sense his exhaustion.

"Tell me you slept last night." Still hushed, her voice was heavy with concern. "Or at all."

"Our work didn't end with the ball," he replied firmly. "But what of you?"

In a moment charged with tension, their eyes stayed locked. Then her eyes fell to his lips, the memory so vivid it assaulted her senses.

His fingers tangled in her hair. Stubble brushing against her skin. The light taste of wine on his lips.

She tore away her eyes, heat washing over her as she laughed softly. "Are you?" she began in a gasp. "Are you asking how I'm faring after a night of drinking?"

She returned her eyes to his. His posture shifted, folded arms relaxing. The tight lines on his forehead vanishing with the soft look he gave her. Then, in a whisper, she added "or something else?"

Cullen glanced over his shoulder. Soldiers and officers were standing idle, awaiting instruction to depart. Conversation was a distant blur, but prevalent nonetheless. He drew in a breath, fists clenched. Then, softly he exhaled, releasing his grip and leaning in closer with his head lowered.

"It was an eventful evening," he said softly, "and I wanted to know how you're holding up after…everything?"

A quiver of her lips and a flutter of her lashes , the sound of his voice made her look away. The question loaded with meaning. An answer that could change everything.

"Everything." She whispered so softly the word had barely left her lips. Looking back into his eyes, she spoke with her finger lightly tracing the rope of braided hair that draped over her shoulder. "Not everything happened as expected. But I have no regrets."

Not once did his eyes waver. He held her in his stare, his eyes saying more than words ever could.

"Do you?" she asked cautiously. "Regret?"

In an almost haunted whisper, Cullen replied, "things happened that shouldn't have." In just a second, his brows furrowed, his posture tensed. Her heart broke.

His hand moved to her shoulder and her breath faltered at his touch. She lowered her eyes to where his fingers rested. While still in uniform he'd forsaken his gloves somewhere along the way. She watched as his fingers slowly slid down her arm, lustrous cotton rippling beneath his touch. Hesitant to leave her despite his words. She blinked, breath held, thoughts abandoned until she heard her name.

"Juliette, I regret nothing."

A slow blink. A shaky breath. Juliette froze.

She believed him.

Cullen's hand left her arm, fingers lightly brushing hers as he moved his hand to the pommel of his sword. He never took his eyes off her.

He'd told Josephine that he wouldn't let this interfere. He told himself that he wouldn't let his feelings for Juliette compromise his control. And he meant it. Yet as he stood there, caught in her presence, he found himself tangled in her. The walls he fought so hard to maintain were starting to fracture.

In a voice low, words only for her, he spoke. "That moment we had, it was —"

"Commander!"

Cullen paused. He stared ahead, stunned at the realisation. Juliette raised a shaky hand to her lip, a soft gasp.

Swept up in it all, the illusion shattered around them. In a public courtyard, plain in sight. Duty remained.

Footsteps approached, the scout hurrying along the cobblestone with urgency. Juliette bit her lip, raising her hand, shielding her face and the intensifying blush that accompanied. Cullen scrunched his face, fists clenched, inhaling a frustrated breath.

"What?!" he growled , turning his back to Juliette. She took a step back, head down and thoughts racing.

Juliette's pulse thundered in her ears, the sun, still blaring too brightly. A rush of heat. Clouded thoughts.

It never stops.

The courtyard suddenly felt loud, louder than before. Her armour, heavier. She glanced down at her hand. The soft pulse of green light.

Always there.

Cullen shook his head, arms folded and expression tight. "Include it in the report and return it at once. This can't wait."

"How would you like us to proceed with Ser Rylen's request?"

"You can tell him —"

Cullen's thoughts stalled for just a moment as her presence brushed past. The scout looked up from his notes, eyes quickly darting back to his work as though it were forbidden to intrude any further. Juliette's hand swept across Cullen's vambrace, her fingertips lingering for just a heartbeat.

"We'll keep in touch, Commander." Her voice was low, formal. Infuriatingly casual.

"Ah…Yes, Inquisitor," he replied. "Travel safe."

That's when she glanced over her shoulder, a look in his direction, so fast he almost missed it. He raised a hand to the back of his neck and looked to the ground, heat rushing to his face. He could feel his lips twist, a smirk breaking through, but when he glanced back up she was almost out of sight. Lost to the never ending demands of the Inquisition.

He cleared his throat and the scout dared to look up.

There's work to do.

Chapter Text

9:41 Dragon

Steel on stone shattered the silence. Candlelight flickered violently as the sword crashed to the ground. A release of pent-up frustration, desperation and shame. The air carried an eerie chill, Cullen's shaky exhale the only sign of life in the chantry.

Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

Before he had even knelt at the altar, the chant escaped his lips. A hoarse whisper swallowed by the solitude of the stone walls. Each word heavy in his heart.

Foul and corrupt are they

Who have taken His gift

And turned it against His children.

He opened his eyes, held his breath. A fatigued glance upward, Andraste towered, her shadow cloaking him in darkness. He exhaled, the sound loud and sharp in his haze of duty-bound despair. He'd given his all. Every ounce of his faith tested time and time again.

The pain.

The noise.

The horrors.

Maker, the noise!

A gasp, painful and raw through clenched teeth. Like breathing again after a lifetime of suffocation. Every second that passed, seeing him farther and farther from the last taste of lyrium. A new path. He knew his time was done.

Cullen's eyes drifted shut, candlelight blurring to darkness, his hands clasped tighter. His voice, that of a stranger as he finished the prayer.

They shall be named Maleficar…

…accursed ones.

The chant was recited in a painful sob, quietly, emotion weighing heavy with every word spoken. Her fragile voice echoed in Ostwick's circle. These walls see no solitude, they see no mercy.

They shall find no rest in this world

Or beyond.

Loud murmurs and the clank of iron tore Juliette from her prayer. She turned her head and released a startled gasp. Flame of candlelight reflected in her eyes, heavy breaths as the templars on guard stepped outside of the chantry.

A wave of confusion swept over. They never leave her unattended.

All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands.

To abandon her prayer now would be a sin, an accusation she couldn't afford. Whatever was happening was none of her concern.

From the lowest slaves

To the highest kings.

Those who bring harm

Without provocation to the least of His children

Are—

A piercing scream in the distance. Templars shouting.

Juliette stood, her robes dragging along the floor, the closest flames snuffed out from the sudden movement.

"Halt!"

The Templars returned, she was guarded once more.

"Don't take another step!"

The slice of steel reverberated in the air. Swords drawn.

"What is happening out there?" she dared to ask in a timid voice.

Her question was left unanswered as they peered out the door. Rigid postures and tense grips on their weapons. They're afraid.

The ground shook, the undeniable crackle of energy in the air. There was magic. Mass amounts of magic. Poured into…a ritual? An attack?

"What's going on?" she asked louder this time, a terrified waver in her voice.

"Enough, mage," a Templar called back, his sword raised as he stepped into the hallway.

A shaky gasp, left in abandonment. They'd disappeared into a haze of smoke.

She'd heard whispers. For weeks, rumours of the Chantry's failings. An uprising, a rebellion on the horizon.

It's true.

The candles burned brighter in the chantry, every second that passed a surge of adrenaline. Fire raged in her mind as she contemplated her escape.

With one last glance at the altar, she completed the verse in her thoughts.

… hated and accursed by the Maker.

A sudden jolt. The screams grew louder. The smoke, a dense blanket of disorientation.

Her pulse raced. Blood rushed to her head. Her breath faltered.

Run!

A command in her own voice, though she spoke no words. Juliette fled for the doorway, each breath a frantic dash to safety. The clumsy sound of her shoes slapping against the ground was all she could focus on, every moment precious as she made way for the lowest floor. If they open the doors, only for a few seconds I might —

Like the slice of a knife, a sharp, sickening pressure radiated through her skull. She collapsed, cold stone smashing against her face. Her eyes squeezed against the blinding light, exhaustion pulling her senses, disoriented and threatened.

She scrambled to her knees, a frantic attempt at control. Her fire extinguished when he stepped closer.

Even in her delirium she knew those eyes. Green, familiar, painfully aware.

"Jonathan?"

The rounded edges of the Chantry sunburst rolled between her fingers. Every turn of the pendant was a moment of torment that mirrored the anxious rise and fall of her chest.

She hadn't had a proper night's rest since arriving at the Exalted Plains.

With a sigh so heavy, the exhale lifted strands of hair, Juliette released the necklace. She sat up, the rustling sound of her bedroll the only noise in the dead of night.
Her hand extended, a light spark of flame radiating from her palm, red burning brightly against the green anchor. Then, with a gasp she clenched her fist. Flame snuffed out between her fingers, the green light of the fade glowing ever strong.

Juliette closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Before she could change her mind, she waved her hand, swift and precise, igniting a candle.

14? Guardian, 9:42 Dragon What is the point?

Life is bigger. Bigger than you and I. Each day I am reminded of this.

I can't help but ponder on the weight of everything, here of all places, when I find myself out of the spotlight. Sometimes I pray with full knowledge that those prayers will fall upon deafened ears. Sometimes I recite the verses with bitter resentment. Then I pick myself up. Smile. And do it all over again.

If Andraste were to speak, I fear that I would not like what she might say. I tell myself that I'm not her prophet, nor am I her champion. Yet I walk through war-torn villages in the name of the Maker, without a say in how I might be perceived. They see me and see salvation. If I falter, so does their faith.

Ages of tragedy in the Maker's name has befallen this land, in honour of Andraste. Crimes and bloodshed unfathomable, a fate far worse than death. Would Andraste really have called for this?

Life was, and still is, greater than Andraste. Power and corruption endure, still, if my hand should sway. And they'd call it piety.

 

Then you.

 

You returned that damned necklace and every doubt I harboured every waver of my devotion, all thrown to uncertainty. I don't know what I saw in the fade. I don't know what I heard. What I do know, Cullen, is what I feel now.

I may be losing my faith in the Maker, but I've found faith in you.

It sounds foolish, even as it read it back in a whisper. Thankfully you will never see it. Everything I mustn't say, all lost to discretion and encryption, replays in my mind every waking hour.

When the parchment curls and the ink bleeds to flame, I'll sleep easier knowing I've admitted the truth that I've feared for so long.

I am falling in love with you.

The wind rustled dry grass, with it the sash that tied her armour, fluttering at her side. A thoughtless motion, she closed her eyes as particles of dirt and smoke carried in the air. When she opened them, the statue remained. Massive, though weathered to age, a bold statement of victory. Yet standing there, as the heat of the brazier's flames embraced her skin, Juliette felt nothing. Standing where the footsteps of Andraste's champions began their march —

Numb.

The longer I stand here, the more sure I become that I might be insane. Why does noise sound like I'm underwater when my focus wanes?

"Your Worship!"

Juliette turned slowly, her eyes fixed on the approaching messenger from their nearby camp. As she neared closer to Juliette, every stride full of purpose and dedication, Juliette squeezed her fingertips into her palms.

Worship. What flawed and fickle thing.

"A letter for you, Inquisitor."

She accepted it with a gentle hand and a forced smile. "The encryption remains unchanged?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Much appreciated, thank you."

As the messenger saluted and returned to her post, Juliette held the envelope, thumb tracing over the familiar seal. A warmth tingled in her chest, anticipation with an anxious edge.

For all the disassociated motions; every demon defeated, every vulgar pit of bodies set to flame, every question for the Maker left unanswered — this gave her hope. Something to hold, something to look forward to.

It's dangerous to put your faith in another.

Yet as the letter unfolded and the coded handwriting met her eyes, she smiled for the first time in days.

Inquisitor,

End table for orphans? Is that really your answer? Am I to believe that you "forgot" to instruct our men to puncture ventilation holes in the box that transported the Duchess to Skyhold? Since we are being barbaric, why not set her head on a pike?

That was a joke — do NOT ask for her head on a pike!

Unrelated (Maker willing), the head of the Imperial Army has requested assistance in patrolling roads due to the increased demon activity. A fine chance to solidify our alliance and prove ourselves their equal.

Point Agur has been repaired. It should simply be enough that the citadelle is once more accessible by road. Our builders work on speed and efficiency. There is nothing wrong with the bridge.

Oddly enough, we have seen no sign of activity from the army. Something to investigate further, perhaps?

Be careful. Please. I await your return to Skyhold.

Commander Cullen

In the solitude of her tent, Juliette bit back a grin. As the candle's flame flickered, she laughed softly, Cullen's letter dropping in her lap.

"Jokes, Commander," she whispered to herself behind a warm giggle. "Whatever has come over you?"

Gently, she reached for the letter again, her smile fading when she observed the handwriting more closely. Her finger lightly traced down the side of the page, noting each untidy blotch of ink. Some words were formed with heavier pressure, pauses of his hand evident with disconnected stokes.

He'd know the pattern of encryption — it's the Chant of Light in reverse. He wouldn't need to stop…

His writing became more unstable as the letter progressed, the final line of "be careful" slanted and darker than that of the start.

Juliette dropped the letter once more, her eyes focused on the candle's flame while an unsettled sadness weighed heavy on her shoulders.

Commander,

Thank you for addressing the matter of the bridge with swift action and professional diligence. I have nothing but endless gratitude for your efforts, I'll have you know. My comments on the structural integrity of the bridge came from a place of care for not only our soldiers, but those of our new and potential allies.

"Simple comforts can go a long way" — those are your words, not mine. I tend not to forget such details and strive to ensure that all who serve the Inquisition have the luxury of stepping on a solid foundation. I mean this quite literally, though I suppose the words can apply metaphorically also.

(How many times have you sighed thus far? I predict at least twice.)

If our letters are indeed intercepted, I hope they're as entertained as I am.

We make for the citadelle at dawn. I'll keep you informed.

I hope all is well at Skyhold. And you? How do fare after Halamshiral?

Inquisitor Trevelyan

p.s Should someone decipher this, I applaud their dedication. This is fast becoming tiresome.

The warmth of the afternoon sun was just enough to take the chill out of the air. With a relaxed sigh, Juliette kicked off her boots, aching feet finally free to stretch after a long day of battle. With the Imperial Army now merged at their campsite, finding a quiet moment was a struggle. Voices loud with chatter, planning, instructing — Juliette's own thoughts buried beneath the ruckus.

Carefully, she unfurled the letter, the one she had kept tucked inside her armour since the last visit to camp. She'd waited since dawn for a moment to open it, afraid to let his words cloud her focus lest her guard drop and a foolish mistake were made.

Not that she was free of thoughts of him entirely. Not at all.

Without much hope of a more suitable moment, she carefully read his words, almost hearing his voice as if he were by her side. She bit her lip, a nervous energy bouncing in her chest. The thrill of receiving a reply quietly slipping away while an unsettling feeling took over.

Inquisitor,

The encryption is bothersome, yes. Have you considered using less words?

Ser Arran has returned to the infirmary with a recurring wound. I thought you might appreciate knowing, you invested a great deal of interest in his initial recovery.

What can you tell me regarding the discrepancy in supply caches? Those unaccounted for can be replaced, though the Imperial Army have questions.

Your family have provided Leliana with leads to assist in our search for your cousin. I'll let you know if we uncover anything more.

Rylen awaits your arrival at the Approach. The journey won't be easy, please take caution.

Commander Cullen.

Cullen,

I'll do my best to remain concise for your sake as well as mine.

The "error" is my own. The army have sufficient aid. Now so do the Dalish.

Thank you for your update, I'll write to Arran and send him my best wishes.

We're soon departing for the Western Approach. I will keep you informed.

I would like to know how you are, Cullen. I see little reason in hiding behind formalities.

Juliette

Once more by candlelight she sat, accompanied only by her thoughts and the lingering ache that tugged at her heart. A shaky breath. A slow blink. A heavy sigh. Juliette began to write.

Cullen,

I feel a consistent push and pull. It's like there a two of me, one the real Juliette who feels sometimes too much. Then there's the other. The one people see. She rarely feels at all.

They liken me to Andraste, against my wishes, though I'm in no position to protest. Murals depict me in flowing white dresses, sword raised high. A mage, wielding a sword. More oddly, they refuse to believe my hair is anything but blonde.

The irony isn't lost on me. I don't doubt there are those who whisper comparisons best left unsaid. A leader and her commander. Vulgar words, hushed behind our backs.

How long has it been since you and I were free to speak without being listened to or watched? Was it Harvestmere, back in the Chantry at Haven? Or perhaps the day you spoke of your refusal to take lyrium, though anyone could have barged through the doors.

Despite our lack of contact, the distance between us — we're spoken of. Perhaps before either one of us knew ourselves.

And yet, we address each other by title and every time it feels like a knife to my chest.

I thought that I

I know what I felt. What I feel. That kiss was…undeniable. No one has ever looked at me with the sincerity that you do.

I don't want to write to you with encrypted words and dance around delicate questions. I know that you're hurting. I know that you're holding yourself back.

I want to be more.

I have visions of a life without burden. You and I free to live without restraint. Our past means nothing when we are together. I'm no threat to you, nor you to I. The world doesn't see us as a templar and a mage. The Inquisitor and the Commander.

But that is only a dream.

I don't know what we are, what we can be. All I know is that I care for you deeply. And that you might feel the same.

Tell me I'm not going mad, that this isn't imaginary.

Perhaps I've said too much, or maybe not nearly enough —

This one was harder to set alight. She sat with it for a moment, the words out in writing while she wrangled with the meaning of it all. It felt impossible, the temptation to just send the letter and defy all sensibility.

Juliette sighed, a hand running through her hair and an exhausted groan.

"A few more weeks," she told herself softly, hopelessness laced in every word.

Footsteps against stone in an empty hallway, the loud grating and creak of the door. The only sounds in the stillness of morning that proceeded dawn. Carefully balancing a candle in her hand, Leliana slipped into the war room, not speaking a word.

Cullen looked up, an exhausted expression of surprise worn on his face. In the soft flicker of candlelight hid most of his fatigue, the darkness under his eyes and a sallow complexion. He lowered the papers clutched tightly in his hands. In a weary motion, he straightened his posture, no longer leaning over the war table.

"Have you word? Ser Trevelyan?"

Leliana blinked, her brows furrowing. She glanced across the table. Scattered markers, others strategically placed. Empty bottles. Cullen's question rang in her ears, spoken in a voice both battered and desperate.

She looked back to him and held his gaze, her arms folding , eyes narrowing while he clung to what resolve he had left to remain upright.

"Maker's breath, Cullen," Leliana exhaled. There was a waver of pity in her voice, quickly corrected with outrage. "The sun has yet to rise. You've been here all night, no?"

"Those leads were —" He ran his palm down his face, a frustrated sigh behind clenched teeth. "What if all our answers are in the one place?"

Ignoring Leliana's concerned glare, he leaned forward tapping his finger against Val Foret on the map. "We've only allowed for small sweeps of the area." He looked up at Leliana, stern focus in his eyes. "What if Trevelyan followed the Imperial Highway? If he were among the Red Templars we —"

"That's the Trevelyan you're concerned about?"

Cullen cleared his throat. His posture tensed, hand resting on the pommel of his sword as Leliana's biting question shook him from his focus.

She stepped closer, watching him intently, eyes sharply fixed on his every movement. "You never wrote to her, did you?"

Cullen's expression hardened, his voice low and resentful. "Have you no shame?" His words settled in the silence of the room, for just a breath. "Still, you read our letters?"

"It is required of me, Commander."

"Is it?" he asked sarcastically. His hand lowered from the sword, pushing against the table with all his weight. "Is it a requirement to interfere in personal matters?"

"I won't pretend that I don't know what's happening," Leliana spoke coldly. Then, her posture shifted, her hand gently resting against the table as she moved closer. Quieter, she said, "what's happening to you."

"What would you have me say to her?" Cullen asked the question with frustration, an agitated scowl. "Until I have something that can help, I'd only bring her further burden. She needs answers, answers I cannot give."

"You think you're protecting her? She doesn't need protecting, not from the truth. You and I both know that."

Cullen shook his head, creases between his brows as his eyes dropped back to map. "If I can find —"

"You're hurting yourself as much as you're hurting her. Perhaps you're too stubborn to see it."

With those final words, Leliana turned for the door, exiting the room as the first rays of sunlight rose through Skyhold's windows.

Chapter Text

For the first time in weeks, there was no dirt beneath her fingernails. The sand too, was mostly gone. Freshly washed hair and skin scented of apricots, Juliette sat by the fireplace, her tired eyes blurring before the steady glow of the flames.

The heat kissed her skin, wrapping her in an embrace of warmth. A welcoming comfort after several weeks of endless travel. A homecoming that should have been savoured. Finally, the chance to sleep in her own bed.

She longed for this, it's true. Simple comforts that were a privilege she was grateful to have; a bath, fresh clothing, a roof over her head. Safety and security.

Yet as the familiar view of Skyhold emerged in the distance on her return home in the gentle glow of twilight, there was only one thing on her mind.

She closed her eyes. The heat of the fire tingled her skin, bright orange light surrounding her as she drew in a deep breath. Then she reached for the letters.

He kept his word. Though sometimes delayed and often clipped with formality, Cullen replied to every letter. Juliette would expect no less from a man who lives and breathes by duty and integrity.

Sometimes it was hard to put in words what exactly it was about him that she trusted, that made her feel safe in his presence. Perhaps it was exactly as it seemed — strong willed and stubborn to a fault, he was genuine in his actions. He'd pride himself in his work, forsaking his own needs to give everything to the cause he believed in. To the people he believed in.

And that's what terrified her the most.

She'd lost count of how much she read on the subject. Though published knowledge of lyrium withdrawal was seemingly taboo, she'd found enough in journals and archives to know how this could end. And in Cullen she could see the signs.

It was on the thirteenth that he wrote to inform of Arran's passing. His handwriting was far more steady on that day, with little hesitation. It was hard to say if it was his focused dedication or if the letter was one of several drafts that he'd written. In the warmth of the dim light she compared it to the eighteenth. That was the day they settled at their first camp on the long journey back to Skyhold. Cullen's response to Rylen's briefing of the Western Approach was exasperated at best, most strokes of his handwriting crooked with untidy blotches of ink. Her finger softly slid along the parchment, lightly tracing over the places where he abruptly lifted his quill.

Then there was the twenty-seventh. She could nearly see the sarcasm, the frustrated twist of his wrist as he left long slanted lines. Encryption be damned, he wrote plainly of his annoyance by the increased number of visiting chantry figures. That was also the day he stopped writing for a while, letting almost a week slip between replies.

In the pile she had kept Josephine's letters too. Neat and graceful, her response to Juliette's panicked plea was a calm reassurance — she would watch over Cullen, doing to her best to ensure he was eating and making time for rest. Subtly, of course.

Her fingers tapped restlessly against her neck, loosely catching the chain of her necklace. She tried to fix her eyes on the flames once more, but her thoughts raged brighter than fire could. Juliette stood with a heavy sigh, the letters still clutched between her fingers, a soft crinkle of parchment while her hand flopped at her side. Bare feet on cold stone, the soft sway of her silk gown, the icy embrace of the night air. She pulled at the glass door, dropping the letters to the shelf while she slowly wandered past.

Wrapping her hands around herself tightly she welcomed the jolt of temperature. Every lash of wind against her face, each moment under the night sky revitalising her senses. A feeling stirred within her stomach. Nerves. Anticipation.

Excitement?

A slow glance down at the hazy specks of torchlight was all it took to conjure the idea. Patrolling soldiers, a path illuminated by moonlight. She bit her lip, fingers hovering above the railing as though gripping it would be enough to anchor her in place. Sensible restraint from impulsive thoughts…her fingers never touched the stone.

It was almost alarming how easy the patterns were to predict. In the darkest corners of the battlements where the moonlight didn't dare touch, Juliette crouched with a racing heart, waiting until the glow of torches faded into the distance. Once alone in the night with nothing but the crisp Cloudreach air in her lungs and a tightly-wrapped coat of made of velveteen and fur, Juliette cautiously stood.

It was oddly quiet, standing there. Normally, even in solitude, it felt loud up on the ramparts. Wind and bright sunshine piercing the clouds — without it she felt somehow exposed. There was calm, free to feel every sensation: the cold against her ears from damp hair, the light haze of mist from her breath. The thundering of her pulse was like a stampede of wild horses, hooves hammering into the ground.

She took a hesitant step forward, sudden awareness of how personal this was. Dressed in a nightgown underneath that coat, she was hardly presented for public view.

Like that night in Haven’s chantry.

Was he dressed down too? Armour discarded for the day, nothing but a simple undershirt and tousled hair. Or maybe nothing at all?

Would he be sleeping? No. Does he ever sleep?

Her hand rested against the oak door, the bright colours of the vines that adorned the stone glistened as the frost caught the moonlight.

She closed her eyes.

Memories of their time together in Halamshiral weaved through her thoughts. The way he smelled of cedar and tasted of wine. His lips, his touch, his hands gripping her body. How she longed for that moment to last forever. Ached for another chance to be in his embrace.

Her hand lowered, slowly, fingertips grazing the splintered wood of the door.

She wanted to know what he thought, what he felt. Was he counting the days also? Does his body long for her the way she does for him? Does he, too, lie awake at night thinking of the kiss? And what more it could have been. What more they could be?

Juliette squeezed her eyes closed tight, head lowering to the palm of her hand.

What if he was in pain? Was he struggling? Is it wrong to want more of him when he's unwell?

I need to find out, at the very least.

She raised her hand to the door again, moonlight shifting behind clouds, steaks of light illuminating the back of her hand. She froze.

But what would I even say? 'Hello, I haven't seen you in several weeks but I'd like to kiss you now.' Or worse, 'Only me, checking you're not dead. Wonderful! Carry on.'

She groaned. Eyes closed.

There's no light from underneath his door and if he were at his desk there —

"Halt! Stay where you are!"

A rush of adrenaline coursed through Juliette's veins. Heat prickled her skin at the sound of approaching footsteps, weapons drawn and the glow of torchlight nearing.

"Who goes there?" a second soldier called as he drew closer. Footsteps rushed louder.

Juliette turned, her shaky breath misting in the air, a slight quiver as she raised her palm to identify herself. "It's only me," she spoke softly at first. Then she cleared her throat and forced her voice firmer, "Stand down!"

"…Inquisitor?" One of the soldiers asked in shock. She could have swore that she heard a low and relived "Maker's breath!" from the other. They sheathed their weapons, their faces coming into view in an orange glow when they stepped closer, torch in hand.

"Yes, I…" Juliette held her breath, startled, silently hoping that the noise of the guards wasn't enough to alert Cullen.

"Forgive us, Your Worship," a soldier said with a fist raised in salute. "We weren't informed that you would be walking the ramparts tonight."

"Should we get the Commander?" the other asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No!" she gasped abruptly, stepping forward with her palm raised. The soldiers looked to one another before squinting at her in the light. "That isn't necessary," she added in a flustered attempt at control.

A moment of silence passed, no sound except for the shuffling of feet and the soft crackle of the torch flame. Then, one of the men spoke cautiously. "Is there something we can do for you…Inquisitor?"

Juliette blinked, the burn in her cheeks hidden by the night. Her fingers tugged at the hems of her sleeves, mind racing with a hundred excuses, none worth mentioning. Then, without a second thought she blurted out, "The trebuchets need calibrating!"

A strangled noise rumbled in the throat of one soldier, the other furrowing his brow in confusion. Juliette bit her tongue, nails digging into her palms. Until, with clasped hands and a determined shrug of her shoulders, she stepped past them. "It can wait until the morning," she called as she distanced herself. "Please inform the Commander when he wakes."

The soldiers looked to each other once more, dumbfounded. "Uh…yes, Inquisitor." Their shadows stretched along the stone walls while they returned to their patrols. Laughter of disbelief was swallowed by the night air. "The trebuchets?"

Every time the sunlight met the polished steel of the Inquisition shields in the training yard, the light was directed to Cullen, an unbearable bright blast that stung his eyes. The creases between his brow deepened. Every clash of swords, each word spoken by those around him, loud. Distracting.

He tightened his grip on the fence, squinting as he tried to hold together a coherent conversation. "Tell her…ah…"

The crushing pressure in his skull, nothing new, but today it was worse than ever before.

Loud. So very loud was the song of lyrium.

"Tell the Inquisitor," he continued in a frustrated exhale. His voice rose, striving to overbear the noise in his head, and his head alone. "Tell her not to concern herself with the trebuchets. I have it under control."

"Yes, Commander."

Shadows moved around him, dark figures with slender bodies, distorted proportions. Every movement was chilling, snatching his focus, reminiscent of the nightmares. It's just the messengers. Spectators. Civilians. Recruits. There's too many people.

"No. Raise your shield higher!" he grumbled beneath the rising agitation. Leaning over the fence he instructed, "Higher to block and lower to deflect. You're sparring with a swordsman, not a mage."

Like a knife, a sharp pain sliced beneath his ribs. Cullen bit his tongue, slammed his eyes shut. All his focus was spent on leveraging control. All his energy to remain standing.

He fixed his eyes to the sparse turf where he stood, blurred vision desperate to focus on dried grass and scuffed dirt. Anything to soothe the noise.

If they’re not ready before Adamant…they will be. Pull from Ferelden, from Caer Bronach. No, the Grand Cathedral. Why would she ask? She knows I calibrate them. She was there when Josephine complained. She knows that …No. We can't afford to withdraw our men.

His weight pushed down heavier, wooden fence posts wobbling beneath the strain. The pain only grew stronger.

Is it to announce her arrival, like I didn't already know. Or does she think me incapable? Broken. A liability?

"Commander."

The greeting was left unanswered as Cullen returned his eyes to the recruits. Careful focus watching close, every step ,every flex of muscle, each grip of a weapon. It was almost as though the connection between his eyes and his mind was severed, what he was seeing barely registering in crowded thoughts. Clouds hid the sun for just a moment, welcomed reprieve from the harsh light, though he didn't notice it.

"Commander?"

She wouldn't think that…would she? I doubt, I don't…I don't know what to think.

His pulse raced, ringing in his ears. Hands trembling, breath heavy, a cold shiver sliding down his spine.

I can't…If I can't focus, then what use am —

"Cullen!"

Contact, sudden, foreign. A touch that felt invasive. Patronising. Weakness.

"What?!" he snared, turning abruptly to shake off the hand that rested on his shoulder. Briony stepped back, shock waving over her face.

"Commander, I apologise I didn't mean to startle you," she said respectfully, straightening her posture.

"You didn't, " he grumbled, keeping his eyes locked onto the sparring soldiers.

"Are you…," Briony hesitated for a moment, taking close note of his expression, the tightness in his jaw and the deep creases on his forehead. "Commander, are you well? You look —"

"I know how I look," he snapped, eyes turning to her with an intense glare. "Is there something you need, Knight-Captain?"

Briony blinked slowly, taking a second before answering. "I understand that the Inquisitor has returned to Skyhold. Are we to resume her training now that she's —"

"Maker's breath! She arrived not twelve hours ago! Give the woman a chance to…"

Cullen froze when he heard his voice, echoing back as though spoken from someone else. Muffled beneath the consistent nagging, the ever-present ringing of withdrawal. He was a stranger in his own body, a shell of the man he vowed to be.

She doesn't deserve this.

"Forgive me," he said softly. "You didn't deserve that. I…I —"

"Do you need me to cover for you? I can step in if you need a moment?" Briony spoke quietly, concealed concern in her lowered voice.

Cullen felt his shoulders rise and fall with each rapid breath, a wave of disorientation consuming him. He gripped the fence tighter, staring ahead until a figure moving in the distance caught his eye.

He tracked Cassandra's movement, swift and determined. She returned from the the training dummies and made her way towards the forge. With a loud and painful exhale, Cullen glanced down at his hands, gloves tightening as his fingers shook. He looked back to Briony, his panic reflected in her apprehensive eyes.

"Excuse me," he gasped, all space around him feeling closer, tight. The forge. He could see no other way forward.

Maryden's melodies drifted in the air. Warm laugher and muffled conversation. Then there was Krem, smiling awkwardly as he stood on a chair.

Harding chuckled quietly, dragging a chair along the floor to stand on herself.

"Give it a minute," Cabot said with an acknowledging nod. "Tethras is nearby, he'll want a word."

"Tethras has ears, you know?" Varric shouted from a nearby table. Hawke was slumped in a chair next to him, half asleep.

Harding turned and smiled, her notice pinned to the pillar as she climbed down to the floor.

"About that Archery contest tomorrow," Varric asked with a smirk.

"Sister Leliana said you and Bianca are not allowed."

"Ah, worth a shot," Varric shrugged reaching for his drink.

"What? Just like that?" Hawke asked, twisting his face with a raised brow.

"Just like that," Varric repeated with a sigh.

"There's still the Singquisition," Harding offered with an awkward lilt to her voice.

Hawke laughed into his drink. "The what?"

"I think I'll pass," Varric said with hesitation. He narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head. He watched as Harding moved to the bar, her drink of choice already poured by Cabot without a word. "I'd wager that you're glad to be back here and out of that shithole of a Western Approach."

Harding chuckled. "No kidding. I'm still finding sand in my…never mind." She smiled, looking down into the large tankard before noise snatched her attention. Suddenly turning in the direction of the door, Harding observed the shadows moving past, a clamour that moved by unexpectedly. She pursed her lips, setting her drink down on the bar with a thoughtful glance back towards Varric. "Seeker Cassandra was out there earlier, looking like a storm cloud. That’s just her face though, isn’t it?"

Varric laughed loudly and Hawke gave him a sideways glance. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded with a nod in Harding's direction. "I see why they hired you. You're perceptive."

Harding smirked at Varric's comment with a shrug, her fingers almost reaching for her drink once more. But she hesitated, her focus back to the doorway. "No, I think something is…" She stood, all eyes following her as she moved across the tavern floor. "Something is happening out there," she declared before nearing the exit. Varric followed soon after, shielding his vision with the back of his hand as the afternoon sun blared down. "People were clearing out of the Smithy," Harding observed. "This time of the day?"

Varric leaned against the door frame, Bianca held loosely in his grasp. "Last time Cassandra cleared that place out, she threw a table at me."

Harding looked at him with amusement, sunlight brightening the green in her eyes.

"If the inquisitor hadn't of stepped in, she would have killed me," Varric added.

"No, " Harding said in disbelief. "Well… maybe."

They stared at the door to the forge. A clear path, seemingly calm as Maryden strummed a tune in the tavern behind them. Then, the door burst open, rattling on its hinges from the force. As quickly as it opened it slammed shut. Boots heavy and fast along the ground, sunlight gleaming off armour.

"Commander Cullen?" Harding spoke softly in surprise.

"Ah shit," Varric muttered, rubbing his palm against his forehead. "This can't be good."

Tea, hours old, seeped into the stone floor. Tiny shards of porcelain scattered around wasted food. An offering under the guise of a kitchen surplus, no doubt Josephine's doing. Among the mess, broken glass and scattered documents.

Struggling to stand, Cullen gripped the edge of his desk, eyes sharp on the lyrium kit in the center. From his hands, glowing vials crashed to the ground. His breath, loud and erratic. The only noise in the room.

The look in her eyes. Like a knife to his chest.

For so long he tried to conceal the struggle. The pain, the noise, the horror.

The memories.

Visions.

Nightmares.

She knows.

He saw it in her eyes when she walked into that forge. The sadness. The disappointment.

Regret.

One taste could silence it all.

Juliette pushed past soldiers as she ran along the battlements, turning heads in surprise by her uncharacteristic haste. It wasn't until she reached his door, the same place she stood the evening prior, that she caught her breath. With her hand resting against the oak, she closed her eyes, shoulders rising and falling with a deep, steadying breath.

Numbness overcame her. A sudden jolt, her voice escaped in a startled squeal. Struck by a wooden box, hurled blindly across the room.

In the shock of it all she heard his voice, "Maker's breath, Juliette!" Panicked and distraught, a painful wince as he stumbled into her, pulling her tight against his body.

She blinked as her vision stilled, the sharp pain stinging when it settled where the box collided.

Elderflower and oakmoss, stronger than ever, the scent surrounding her as he held her face in his hands. A slow trickle of blood slid from the wound. His face, so close. Pain in his eyes. In every trembling breath he took.

"Cullen?" She gasped. "What —"

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you enter!" he mumbled, a frantic waver in his voice as he held her tighter. "Forgive me."

He tore at his gloves, fumbling to pull his hands free, every desperate gasp for air more strained and agitated.

"Cullen, I think you need…just take a moment."

She had never seen him so distraught. For all the stress, the pressure that comes with his role, the tragedy they've endured — he'd always remain calm. A soldier, disciplined and stoic in the face of adversity. Before her now, a man undone.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, seemingly unaware of the heartbreak residing in her eyes. Cullen pulled the door closed before reaching for her face again. His hands were like ice. A freezing touch, chilling. His eyes were almost as cold, distant as he focused on the tiny wound by her temple. His thumb pushed back a strand of hair, shaking, calloused fingertips grazing her skin.

"Cullen…" she whispered.

"I hurt you."

He pulled back, hands trembling, a horrified expression on his face. The sound of his voice, defeated and full of self-loathing.

Juliette stepped forward, her hand reaching for his. "It's all right, really—"

He turned from her, stumbling a step closer to his desk. "I swear I didn’t know you were—" Clutching at his side, Cullen groaned, eyes closed tight, his complexion a haunting paleness. He hunched over, every inhale loud and shallow, each exhale through grit teeth.

With his back turned he couldn't see the quiver of her lip, the horrified expression she wore, the heavy weight that settled in her chest as she watched him suffer. The hot tension beneath her eyes, the tingle in her nose — almost unbearable. Juliette clenched her fists, forcing it all into a painful scowl.

Steeling herself, she breathed deeply, cautiously stepping forward to meet his side. With a gentle hand resting on his back, softly, she asked, "Are you going to be all right?"

Cullen shook his head, less of an answer than it was an attempt to throw aside her question. With a determined grunt, he pushed forward for the chair, tossing a pile of books to the ground, clearing a space.

Juliette stood silent, redness in her nose and cheeks as she stared at him. She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked slowly. He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, motioning to sit in the chair. His touch was rough. Firm. Yet, tender beneath the frantic pull. The contradiction only making her heart ache.

"Cullen, you need to slow down and —" She lowered herself into the chair at his silent request, eyes wide and stunned as he continued to speak in a breathy gasp.

"I never meant for this to interfere." Cullen kneeled to the ground before Juliette, his eyes full of sorrow and shame as he looked at her. "…I never meant to hurt you."

"I know that," she said softly.

He tore his eyes away. A moment of silence passed between them, Cullen's eyes set on the stone floor. Juliette's attention swept over the room, broken glass and torn pages. Most alarming was the scattered vials of lyrium, realisation of just how close he had been to throwing it all away.

She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together tight. Then she looked to him once more, noting the way his body trembled, his face contorted with anguish. As she leaned forward, fingers gently moving towards him, Cullen looked up. His gaze was vacant at first, almost haunted until he blinked. Sadness. Concern. He reached forward again, a finger sweeping the side of her face. "You need a bandage, a dab of alcohol…" Frustrated, he shook his head. "Something."

Juliette chuckled, a half laugh in an awkward breath, choking back the threat of tears. "I've come out worse from falling into a blackberry bush." Their eyes connected for moment, contact broken as she lightly touched the side of her face, her fingers brushing over his. "I don't think it's bleeding any…" Her expression faltered when she saw the look in his eyes.

While he fretted over the smallest of cuts, she could barely breathe for the wounds he silently carried within himself.

"Cullen, I'm fine. Really."

"No," he whispered, voice wavering with emotion. "I should never have." He paused to swallow, pulling away his eyes. "I should never have let it get this far, for you to see."

She rested her hand on top of his and he pulled away. Fast, so fast as it were dangerous to touch. The pressure beneath her eyes felt more intense, her throat, dryer.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I hurt you."

"You didn't!"

"You're too close, Juliette. Too near, even when you're not. I promised. Promised myself that I wouldn't let this harm you. I can't —"

"You're not h—"

"I am. Can't you see? This is —"

"Cullen!"

Juliette's voice, loud and firm, bringing a new wave of silence over the cold, dimly-lit office. The heat in her face intensified as she stared into his crestfallen eyes, aching in her chest, her throat, her nose. "You are not hurting me," she whispered in a low breath.

With his eyes still locked to hers, Cullen swept his thumb along her cheek. The chill of his touch meeting the hot burn of a single tear that escaped her shattered restraint. He leaned back, her head dipping forward as his touch retreated. With a sombre whisper, Cullen spoke, "I wish I could believe that."

The quiet devastation in his voice struck her so hard she feared he'd rest on that conclusion, his mind never to be swayed.

Cullen stood, turning his back to Juliette as he began to pace, a hand gripping his neck anxiously. Juliette rose from the chair, one hand on the table, almost afraid to step after him in fear of pushing him further.

"I'm only worried about you," she said in a quiet voice, strained by the threat of spilling emotion. A moment passed without a word, before she added, "Cassandra too, we want what's best for you. Cullen, you haven't done any —"

"Don't!" he snapped, turning abruptly, his face set in anger. "You should be questioning what I’ve done."

Juliette blinked, her lips parting to speak, only to hesitate. Her expression hardened as he further unravelled, pacing to and fro, anxiously rambling about his lack of control. Each breath was sharp, jagged words, spoken fast with clenched fists.

She wanted to reach for him, soothe his pain, calm the storm that raged inside. But it was fragile. One misplaced touch, a step too far. The risk of him shutting her out completely. So she froze. Standing still as he unloaded a lifetime of trauma, cracks in his closely guarded facade tearing wide open.

"Did you know Ferelden’s Circle was taken over by abominations?" His question was loaded with pain, a chilling waver in his voice.

She nodded, slowly, silent. He barely glanced in her direction as he continued. "I was there. The templars—my friends—were slaughtered."

He told her of his torture, staring out the window, gasps for air between every word. Things he only spoke out loud in nightmares, thoughts pushed aside. But never forgotten.

Kirkwall. What he considered failure. She saw every movement, even with all the armour. Tensed muscles, aggravated shrugs of his shoulders. Panic radiated from him as he spoke.

And she just stood there.

Teeth bit down harder against her tongue, muscles tight in her face. Fear, for if she were to let go — she'd fail him. All her strength not to break. There was already too much noise.

Cullen needed quiet.

When it seemed he had nothing left to say, he turned to face her again. Lines of exhaustion deepened in his features. Absolute defeat, the look he gave her a plea more than a question. "Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?"

Her eyes softened, the tension she held so tightly, released. But before she could speak, he stepped closer, his gaze burning with intensity. "I swore myself to this cause… I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry."

In a sudden movement, he lunged forward, brushing past her shoulder to snatch a vial of lyrium from the desk. Juliette's eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

"I should be taking it," he said with a hollow whisper. A realisation? A declaration? She couldn't be certain. But he squeezed his fingers around the glass, a grimace, a growl. He slammed his fist into the bookcase. "I should be taking it!"

Juliette flinched. Her nails dug into her palms as she watched his chest heaving. That vial somehow still intact while he clenched it tightly.

Then she stepped forward. Gently, her fingers wrapped around his, easing his grip until he let go. The lyrium no longer within his reach.

Standing close he lifted his head and when their eyes met, sadness worn in his gaze, his breath slowed.

"You didn't fail the Chantry," Juliette said softly. His hand slid from the bookshelf, falling at his side. His eyes remained on her. "Cullen, the Chantry failed you."

His brow furrowed, jaw tight. "You said that the Inquisition can't lose its Commander."

"I also said that I can't lose you." Gently, she lifted her palm to his chest, resting against the cool metal of his armour. He exhaled a shaky breath. "Cullen…" she began with a painful swallow, throat tight, tears threatening once more. "Everything that I've read, all that I know is that you should be dead without lyrium. It's a miracle that you are standing here right now." She looked away, shaking her head. A humourless laugh escaped her. "That's you. Not the Chantry, not even the Maker." She looked to him again, her hand still firmly in place. "This isn't about the Inquisition. You are here because of who you are. Because you're you."

He slowly shook his head, eyes locked to hers, heavy with emotion.

"What do you want?" She asked him. "This choice is yours."

"These memories have always haunted me, Juliette—if they become worse, if I cannot endure this…"

She smiled and turned her face, a shocked chuckle hidden behind a gasp. Both her hands clasped around his. Cullen looked down, surprised, then back to her eyes. Bright and full of hope.

"If anyone can endure this, Cullen Rutherford — it's you."

The lines between his brows relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing. Yet, his pulse hammered in his chest, no feeling in his fingers, toes too, numb. The cold shiver remained, a skull-crushing headache, agonising pain…everywhere.

But the noise was a little softer than before.

"The most stubborn man in Thedas."

He heard her whisper. Quiet and soft. Nothing like her usual taunts, though somehow this felt…it felt right.

His eyes tracked her fingers, slowly as her hand moved to his shoulder. "Whatever you decide, you have my support."

Softness in her touch. In her voice. In her eyes.

He hadn't expected this, not now, not here.

How could this be possible? After everything?

He couldn't bring himself to look at her. He didn't know what to make of this. Of her.

Kindness and empathy. It was overwhelming.

He straightened his posture and drew in a steady breath. "You should see to that wound. Please, go to the infirmary."

She blinked, lips parted, her hand slowly sliding down his arm. For a heartbeat their eyes met again, her questioning gaze lingering on him long after he looked away. "Please," he said, more gentle as he turned back to the window.

"All right," she whispered, her tone indiscernible. She was getting good at this. "You know where to find me, should you need anything."

His hand rested against the stone, light from the window stinging his eyes. "Thank you," he said. A voice broken, but sincere nonetheless.

She didn't say a word.

When the door closed behind her, Juliette stepped forward. Three paces, that's all she could manage. Staring up at the Inquisition flag as it soared against the afternoon light, tears streamed down her cheeks. Her breath released in shaking sobs. All that she had feared, laid bare.