Force Is Feebleness

Tis a Tale of Thedas, lived in the Dragon Age, but begun before time much knew its own turning, by a force that is to timelessness as it is to time.

What could it be, this power that has a strength so strong mere force is feebleness? What could persist under all silences, and have no opposite in fear?

It moved advisors and companions, nobles and commoners, mages and Templars, dwarves, men, elves, kossith, too. None in the Inquisition would stand unstirred against it, few even wish to. That path negates creation itself.

Whether transcendent or terrible, it is the music that moves all creatures and the Maker too.

***

"Commander, Ser," said Ser Gervais, a Templar. "A message for you. From a mage, Ser."

"Thank you." Cullen took the note from the aid without looking up. He finished his calculation, then opened the note.

~~~

Curly!

Dammit man, it's good to see you, even if it's from half-way across the castle. Do your old friend a favor and bring your fine self and some food up to see me? I'm up top of the tavern, hiding from the Seeker.

Hawke

~~~

"Blimey!" Cullen said, then quickly dashed off one more note for the stonemasons before setting off for the Herald's Rest. Cabot, the new tavern keep, was more than happy to come up with some cold fare for the commander. Didn't even blink when he asked for enough for two meals. The bread, summer sausage, cheese, some dried fruits and ale were simple, and the best the castle could do right now. It was all they had managed to haul with them from Haven. Still, the scouts out hunting daily were able to bring back some fresh game. They had made some contacts with Orzammar for other supplies, and a merchant caravan was already heading up from Jader. Fresh supplies were mere days away, and the path down the mountain was being improved and - Cullen stopped himself from falling down that Fennic hole. He thanked Cabot and taking the basket up over his arm began the climb up through the Herald's Rest, the empty barracks, and out onto the battlements.

He was surprised at how happy he was to know Garrett was safe and at the castle. As he climbed the final stone steps, he saw the mage standing in the far corner of the interior tower. It was impossible to tell if the burly mage was hiding from or peeking down on the Seeker below him in the practice yard.

"You stood up to Knight-Commander Meredith in Kirkwall, but Cassandra has you hiding?" Cullen asked as he topped the stairs. "She is really a remarkable woman, the Seeker, once you get to know her. Great capacity for forgiveness and magnanimity."

Garrett smiled. "So you say, my friend, so you say."

Cullen crossed the tower top. "Really. The night before we left Kirkwall with the Inquisition, Varric bought me a shot of Ancestor's Stone. Wicked stuff, mostly for dwarves as it has lyrium in it -- kind of a last hurrah for me as far as lyrium and Kirkwall were concerned. Anyway, I was -- not myself after that. The Lady Seeker helped Varric get me to the ship for Jader before the tide, and apparently, I was a little inappropriate with her. After a period of embarrassed groveling, she forgave me."

Garrett looked skeptical. "When, exactly, did she forgive you?"

Cullen set the basket down in the crenel next to Hawke. "Last month, just before the Herald brought the mountain down in an avalanche," Cullen deadpanned.

Hawke boomed with laughter and hugged Cullen. "You will have to tell me more about that story later! Come now, Curly, it can't have been easy facing that Seeker and explaining why you relieved from duty, then killed your commanding officer and sided with a bunch of mages. I am sorry for that, by the way, running off. I hated to do it, to leave you and Varric holding the bag, as it were."

"We could take it, Hawke. And don't think we didn't know who was sending the supplies to Darktown and putting down the little skirmishes outside of our reach. Avaline was always helpful; she seemed uncomfortable allowing the guard to take credit for all of your good work." Cullen gestured to the nearby tower. "Let's find someplace out of the wind where we can sit and eat. I know just the place. And after we'll get you a bed in the mage's tower. Cassandra never goes there."

Garrett retrieved his staff from where it leaned on the parapet. "Show me the way. As an ordinary human, this wind is murder on my hair. Unlike some poncy, pomaded persons who always look perfect."

"How many times do I have to explain? It's Orlesian beeswax and some other stuff. And you don't have curly hair, so you know nothing about it. This stuff changed my life," Cullen teased as they walked to the tower and settled down at a table. Random debris and broken furniture still filled the space. "I'm sorry about the mess. I'm putting off having it cleaned out in favor of the more significant repairs needed elsewhere in the castle."

Garrett looked around the tower, at the cobwebs, the dust, the worn beds and other usable and unusable furniture. "Reminds me of my first place in Kirkwall. But it's out of the wind, so it's an improvement. Just don't try to get me to use that bees' whatever nonsense."

Cullen handed Garrett a small loaf from the basket. "Fenris likes it."

"Fenris only said that to make me jealous," Garrett crabbed.

Cullen snorted. "How do you think he gets his hair like -- his hair? Elven magic?"

"No. Really?" Garrett laughed.

"You'll have to ask him," Cullen's smile was smug. "Where is your better half anyway?"

"As I knew there might be trouble with the Right Hand, I left him home to prevent him from having to kill her for killing me. So he is moodily ensconced in his dilapidated mansion. He's promised to start repairs while I am gone -- at least to the outside so the neighbors stop some of the complaining," Garrett said as he used his dagger to slice the sausage. "I wanted him to move to my mansion, but he likes his own space."

Cullen picked up a slice of sausage. "Probably wise. One of the Herald's new companions is a Tevinter mage from a noble house. A good man, though. Saved the Herald's life in Redcliffe. But I know how Fenris is about mages. And nobles."

"You two are remarkably similar in those things my dear Cullen," Garrett said. "Anyway, I have business here with you and the Wardens. And Corypheus apparently." Garrett sounded tired. "I thought we killed him once already."

"Now he is all of our business, both the Inquisition's and the Herald's." Cullen frowned for a moment, wanting to ask more about Corypheus, but let his friend eat.

After finishing half the small loaf and most of the sausage, Garrett pulled the horn cups out of the basket and uncorked the ale. "What's she like, this Herald? Isn't she a Trevelyan of Ostwick? The youngest?"

"Yes. She was at the Conclave as the family representative, along with the Circle and Chantry delegations from Ostwick," Cullen paused.

"Did she really come out of the Rift at the hand of Andraste after the explosion?" Garrett asked.

"Yes," Cullen looked right into his friend's eyes. "It's all true; climbed right out of the Rift with the Mark of Andraste. It can close rifts or tears in the Fade. The Mark was fairly unstable at first, but Solas seems to have fixed that problem."

Garrett whistled. "Is she really as pretty as they say?"

"Haven't you met with her yet?"

"Not yet," Garret said. "She sent a message earlier that she would meet with me tomorrow, on the battlements, where you found me. Now tell me all about her -- the bit about her eyes. That can't be true."

"No, that's true too. She is very pretty, beautiful even. She's not fussy, like some women, about her appearance so I think most people don't notice at first. I only noticed the eyes the other night. Normally, they look a warm grey -- rather like Fenris' eyes. But in the moonlight, they glitter a little. They are like nothing I've ever seen. In total, she is like no one I have ever met before. She turned the ruins of the Conclave and the Chantry at Haven into a rally point for the Inquisition. Worked with us to build the reputation of the Inquisition and acted as a beacon to those who would join us and follow her example. Some of the fighting between mages and Templars in Ferelden had already been subdued, I might add, before she freed the mages from Corypheus' grasp through some complicated time-magic. And came back with intelligence. Then, with our new mage allies, she re-sealed the Breach so that instead of a hole spewing demons and spirits, we now have that faint green scar. The Inquisition was well on its way to restoring order, at least before Corypheus attacked Haven and the Herald dropped a mountain's worth of snow on the village to stop him from killing the people."

"Careful, Cullen, or I might think a flesh and blood man lived under that armor, instead of an aloof Templar. You're ruining my fantasies of you as the perfect, beautiful, frigid Knight-Commander."

Cullen gave Garrett a sad smile. "I hate to disappoint you, but I am no longer a Templar, no longer Knight-Commander, if I ever really was. I left the Order when I left Kirkwall." Cullen rubbed his neck. "Though I will not say that what you imply is completely untrue. But, if I am -- thawing -- it is your influence, so blame yourself."

"My influence? You jest! I have NEVER been accused of being a good influence on any kind of Templar before. Mostly I just infuriate them or confound them because they can't catch me.

Cullen grinned. "Joke if you must, but it

is

your fault. Your mastery of your magic, not to mention the love you share with that mage-hating warrior elf. You set an excellent example of a life well-lived." Cullen looked down, toyed with the crust of his own loaf. "Let me say this, Garrett. I have learned well it's better to say what you mean, when you can, or you might not get the chance later."

Garrett was speechless, but nodded to his friend.

"I watched you, listened to you, over the years. Compared you with the mages at the Gallows. Saw how happy you were, how fulfilled. Even the years Fenris pulled away from you. You were still together. Still brothers-in-arms. Still mostly happy. And not a demon in sight. Finding that, it seems worth a little defrosting. A little effort. Maybe even a little pain."

Garrett sat up straight. "If that is the case, I am honored to be your better spirit," he said, just nudging Cullen on the arm with his own. Then he let loose a belly laugh. "I know it's not really me, but I'll take the credit. Now tell me more about the enchanting creature that is stoking your long-dead fire."

Cullen sighed. Laughter was just Garrett's way. "It's not just banter, Garrett. I watched her close the hole in the sky seemingly with her bare hand. She was unlike any mage I have ever seen work. It was only partially magic -- I could feel it -- it was mostly her will. Sheer force of will. And the way she sent the civilians and troops from Haven and stood against that monster for us all. You've stood against him, you know what it is like."

Garrett sipped his drink. "Yes. And I had four of the most dangerous beings -- human or otherwise - in Kirkwall at my back; we still barely made it out alive."

"In that moment, as she strode away from me and toward that creature, I knew, I had to shake off Kirkwall, shake off my past," Cullen blew out a breath. "I had not seen it in myself before that moment. I was dead already. I had been ready to make the Red Templars work for our end, to be sure, but ready to fight and die well.

"The Herald made me see I had to find something more -- I had to be ready to fight and to live. Live to fight another day. And another day. And another day after that, if that were required."

"She brought you back to life, my friend," Garrett said.

"That she did," Cullen said. He rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Now I just have to figure out how to best use this castle and the forces of the Inquisition to keep her alive. To keep our cause alive."

"Well, Curly, as you are perfection itself, I'm sure you will have little trouble with your martial duties. And as she seems unlikely to be intimidated by a choice specimen like yourself, you will have ample opportunity to prove just how perfect you are, I am sure."

Garrett's knowing smile irritated and confused Cullen. "What are you talking about Garrett? She is the Herald of Andraste, I owe her my allegiance, my respect, my faith. More than that now -- she's going to be the flaming Inquisitor. It has been decided."

"Yes, yes, soldier-boy. Keep to the command structure, absolutely. May it be that she is the type to know exactly what to do with someone like you. Just be sure not to miss the dragon for the dragonlings though."

Garret's insouciance had never bothered Cullen before, but this time he found the teasing about the Herald of Andraste grating. Cullen narrowed his eyes at his friend.

Garrett's laugh boomed out into the tower room. "Never mind. Let's see if we can't get Varric up here with some cards so you can lose what is left of your pay to me."

"I haven't gotten paid, not since the Conclave."

"Even sadder. I'll get Varric to loan you some -- or we can work out a trade?" Garret gave Cullen a suggestive once over.

"Thank you, no," Cullen laughed. "I like the way I'm put together and will take no chances with your lyrium-infused lover. Can't we just drink too much and get Varric to tell us some totally untrue histories?"

Garret stroked his beard. "Your heart is better left in your chest, seeing as you might be needing to lose it to someone else soon. Perhaps you are right."

"I'm the Commander, I'm always right."

***

As the sun neared its zenith, Trevelyan closed the wooden door that would keep a tired and freshly washed Grim in the stall and left him to eat his hay. She had needed the ride to let go of some of her tension over her new title, and to think about the options laid out by her advisors the day before, and her upcoming meeting with Varric's contact.

She spoke briefly with Horsemaster Dennet about Grim's shoes, then walked into the barn proper. Blackwall was sitting in a chair whittling a piece of wood. Next to him on the table was the body of what would be a finely carved rocking griffon -- the symbol of the Grey Wardens.

"Thinking of a new career?" she asked.

"Just sumthin' to pass the time," he said. "The Inquisition seems to have more children around than I would have thought. Sumthin' to please 'em, since the world seems bent on causing 'em harm."

Trevelyan admired the workmanship as she passed her fingers over the wooden foreleg. "A talented hand and an admirable cause. This softer side is a pleasant surprise, Blackwall. Good to know you're not always duty and honor and sacrifice."

Blackwall smiled, "No, not always, but mostly. I have," he stopped. "I have a lot to live up to, with the Wardens, and present company."

"I'm not exactly in the same league as your ancient and venerable order. Wardens choose that life. I'm here because I was the least busy of all of my siblings."

"What's that now?" Blackwall asked. "You could make the world tremble, if you had a mind to do it."

Trevelyan leaned back on the table. "No, really. I was Ostwick's representative at the Conclave because I was the only one of my siblings who could spare the time. My sheep and goats had finished breeding; I have good stewards and seneschals, while my brothers have actual roles on the family estates and in the government. I am Herald and Inquisitor by happenstance."

Blackwall stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. "No. No you're not. You're Inquisitor because you inspire people to act, like convincing a solitary Warden recruiter to put his skills to better use. I know what it is to make people join up. Most of the Grey Wardens I recruited were seeking forgiveness or penance. Their choices are worthy, right? But yours are even more so. Your actions, and the people you move, aren't inspired by regret.

"Look at the Templars. Commander Cullen strikes me as a man who has seen too much, but I would be surprised if he joined them out of anything other than faith and a desire to help people. Now he gets up each day and works for your cause because he still has faith. I'd have him at my back anytime, and twice more than most. Take for example Madame de Fer," Blackwall sneered. "Our Vivienne, she is only here because she seeks power and influence, not because she believes in the cause. To her, restoring order means going back to the way it was, because she understands how to work that system."

"Hmm, yes." Trevelyan thought about the differences between Cullen and Vivienne. "As you say, Vivienne is well connected. It's why we needed her at the beginning of this, why we need her still, and why we will continue to need her for the foreseeable future. Orlais is a dangerous place to play the Game, especially the game of thrones, without allies. I need her - how do I say it?"

"In the tent pissing out?" Blackwall offered.

Trevelyan laughed whole-heartedly. "Exactly, yes. Thank you, Blackwall, for that bit of home wisdom. Sometimes I miss the Marches. We're so much more likely to cut through the bullshit than the rest of Thedas."

"Anytime, my lady," Blackwall said, and went back to his carving.

Trevelyan reflected on Blackwall's steady presence, here and on the battlefield. He rather reminded her of her brothers, especially her eldest brother. "Can I ask for your advice?" she queried, prompted by this happy association.

Blackwall nodded. "Of course; I almost never get asked these days."

"It isn't a slight. Cassandra and Bull have been great out in the field, however, both tend to scare people up close. I've been leaving you at the castle because for now I need you here with Cullen training the raw recruits. But given the drubbings we've taken as we start the Emprise campaign, I promise, I'll be calling on you more often. Like now. I'd like to tell you what my advisors and I talked about yesterday after they made me Inquisitor."

Blackwall blew the shavings off of the rocker he held in his hand. "I'm here," he said, looking up at her and smiling softly. "Whatever expertise I have is at your disposal."

She acknowledged his offer with a nod. "We think the Venatori are extremists, and that Tevinter isn't planning any sort of full scale invasion of the South. There would be more troop movements, more organizing, in Tevinter if it were, and Dorian says even the egos of the Magisters wouldn't get them into a war on two fronts. It's all they've been able to do to keep the Qunari at bay."

She took a deep breath, remembering Blackwall's haunted, red-lyrium corrupted features from the horrific future she and Dorian experienced in Redcliffe. Dorian's old mentor, Gereon Alexius, had come to Redcliffe at Corypheus's behest, in an effort to enslave the mages and use time magic to undo the mistake at the Conclave so that Corypheus could again try to claim the Mark for himself. "From the time-travel incident with Alexius, we know Corypheus plans to kill the Empress Celene and bolster his army with demons. We've gotten rid of the Venatori horrors haunting the ramparts and quieted the fighting on the Exalted Plains, though there are still skirmishes between the forces of Empress Celene and Duke Gaspard. Still, nothing like it was. We had originally planned to focus on Orlais first, but now," Trevelyan stopped.

"But now?"

"At the meeting Varric brought us some new information. Now Leliana is pressing us to find the Wardens again. She says they've been missing in Ferelden for some time, that you are the only trace we've had of them since before the Conclave. She had almost given up hope until Varric said he could put us in touch with someone who's got connections to the Wardens in the Marches. Apparently the contact may have a way of getting in touch with a Warden who'd been investigating corruption in their ranks. You wouldn't know anything else that might help, would you?"