Cullen looked up and smiled at her. Maker, he did have the most beautifully warm brown eyes. She looked away, squinting at the scaffolding already in place.
"Inquisitor. We capitalize on the resources of the valley and our allies, my lady. I've worked with Gatsi to make a plan for the repairs, according to severity and usefulness. We need only the materials." Cullen seemed to think better of his words almost immediately, adding "But, what you've already brought in is considerable. Haven was a pilgrimage village; it should have been a place of peace. You helped us set up as best we could, but Haven was no castle keep. And it was just dumb luck we had the trebuchets where we did - we were training on them just before Corypheus attacked. Even with preparation we could have done little against the archdemon, or whatever it was; what can you do against a dragon?"
"I'm not sure, to tell you the truth, but I have faith we'll figure it out," she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.
"Thank you, my lady. I have already set some of our people to do research on the subject. Leliana and Josephine have already reached out to other researchers across Thedas. Now that we have a seat of power like Skyhold, we can perhaps attract some new talent - we already have our eye on a renowned Arcanist. With training, repairs, and fortifications, Skyhold will be a keep of legend. The Inquisition will have no need to run from here - I will see it done, as a matter of honor."
"I have no doubt you will work to make it so, Commander," she said. "When I woke up after the avalanche, I focused on the idea of you, of all of you miles away, or at least beyond the reach of the Elder Mage. That fight was," she looked down, afraid to continue lest she burst into tears. "It was," she tried again after a few deep breaths. "Well, I was shaken, to my foundations. Humbled by the gift the soldiers that stayed with me gave the villagers, daunted by the responsibility you had taken on as you led them out of Haven. I felt so inadequate to the task, with so many people to protect."
Cullen looked away, letting his gaze linger on Cole and the young man at the surgeon's tents. "It never gets easier, losing people in battles," he said softly. For a moment, Trevelyan saw the beginnings of tears in the commander's eyes. "Still, sometimes a good death, a quick death, is an honor. And sometimes a mercy," Cullen gave a slight nod, then he frowned down at his desk and shifted some papers.
Trevelyan saw Cole move over the young man. Cole made eye contact with her and showed her his small dagger. The surgeon had told her his stomach wound was festering. The mages could do nothing now, the wound was too old; some of his intestines had already died. Trevelyan too, gave a small nod. Cole moved so quickly, she doubted the young man felt anything but release.Trevelyan squared her shoulders. "H-How many did we lose at Haven?" she asked, her voice almost calm.
Cullen looked over at her; he straightened up and crossed his arms. He studied her face. To Trevelyan it seemed he was judging whether she wanted the truth or not.
Finally he said, "There were losses. You saved Seggrit, but his burns became infected and he died of fever while you were lost. Threnn, the Quartermaster in Haven, she was injured severely, and will be returning to Gwaren, when we can arrange it. There were other injuries among the soldiers and villagers. But most of our people made it out of Haven. Lysette, a Templar, was especially grateful for your help getting out, and has pledged her active service to us, as has Mattrin. Morale was low while we were in the mountains, but has improved greatly since you found Skyhold and accepted the role of Inquisitor."
"I was astonished when they presented me with the sword," Trevelyan said. "But I've known since the night you found me in the mountains that I would be bound to the Inquisition. What's harder to take is the faith everyone seems to have in my leadership. It's a lot to live up to - I hope I am worthy."
"You have more than proven yourself, my lady. Cassandra was correct, you had already been leading us for quite some time."
Trevelyan waved a hand in embarrassment, then placed it on his arm. "Thank you Cullen, for the compliment. For the plan at Haven. For not fighting my choice to stay and getting the people out. Some men would have argued more - or forbidden it."
"I tried that once, with you," Cullen said with a wry tone. But looking at her, his face fell into serious lines. "I should never have doubted you. In doing so I risked offending our lady Andraste. Your return from Redcliffe chastised me. And gave me faith. I shall never doubt your return again. Your armies will protect you, ah, protect the Inquisition, without question, your Worship."
They met each other's gaze for a moment, before Trevelyan could see him collect himself. She moved away a little, to ease the awkwardness. "Thank you, Commander. I'm just glad that you got out, that you got so many of our people out before the avalanche."
Cullen saluted, fist to chest, but before he could say anything else, a booming laugh could be heard from the doors to the Great Hall, catching both their attention. Garrett Hawke and Varric were just coming out of the Great Hall with Dorian, the Iron Bull, and Crem in tow. They headed for the tavern.
Trevelyan observed Cullen, as he watched the group go by above them. She saw a look of what appeared to be genuine affection cross his face. She had seen the Commander and the man she now knew was Hawke together several times over the last day or so. It only took her a moment to remember that they would have been in Kirkwall together, these past few years at least. Given the Champion of Kirkwall's activities, and Cullen's position as a Templar officer, they must have known each other there. These thoughts prompted her to ask, "Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?"
Cullen shook his head, "Except for Varric and Garrett, and Garrett's boyfriend Fenris, no. Not really. I made few friends of any kind in Kirkwall." The men stopped for a moment, while it appeared Garrett finished telling a punch line. They all fell into loud laughter again, and continued down the steps and out of sight.
"How can that be? No one special enough to catch your interest?" Trevelyan said before she shut her mouth and blushed in embarrassment. This man and his deference, not to mention his pretty face and tantalizing form, seriously rattled her brain.
Cullen blushed, but for just a flash she thought he looked a little smug, before his face once again fell into his normal neutral facade. He simply said, "Well, not in Kirkwall."
"Oh," she whispered. They stood for a moment, not looking at each other, until Leliana stepped out of the Great Hall and waved to her from the steps.
Cullen cleared his throat. "It appears the Nightingale beckons; we are late for your first War Council here at Skyhold. After you, your Worship," he said, and gestured for her to head up the nearby stairs ahead of him.
Under the Nightingale's cool gaze, she turned and left for the council without a word, knowing he would be at her back.
***
It was well after midnight when Cullen finally made it back to his bedroll, now laid out on the stone floor of his office next to a small coal brazier. His command office had been cleaned out for a day or so, but there were repairs to his personal quarters that would have to wait, as wood was in short supply. He was impatient to get the barracks habitable so that the courtyards could be cleared of tents and the stonework begun in earnest. Skyhold's walls were in need of rebuilding and repointing in several key places. He could already hear his grandfather muttering about concrete and the rock type and the temperature of the mix, on and on.
Cullen was exhausted but hadn't relished sleep since he was a young Templar. Still, he knew rest was required if he was to be at his best. Be at his best for her, he thought. His heartbeat sped up a bit.
"Dammit, man. What are you thinking?" he whispered to himself as he struggled with his armor. "She'd no more think of you than she would a sword or a shield." And yet.
And yet she had often flirted with him in Haven. The questions about Templars and whether they took vows of celibacy alone had him glad of his armor that day and on several others when he'd watched her at the council table. Just a few days ago, the look on her face as they talked about the escape from Haven plucked at his chest. He'd wanted to take her in his arms and breathe in the scent of her hair until they both stopped trembling.
He fell into his rack heavily, suppositions on the Inquisitor's soap preferences floating him off to a fitful sleep.
~~~
Despite the hooded, grey velvet robe that prevented him from seeing a face, he could tell the apparition was a woman. The Grey Lady, he called her, as this entity had touched his dreams before. She first appeared not long after Ostagar, the very night after he was rescued from Kinloch Tower. Then again a few times when he was at Greenfell. He'd always wondered if she was a spirit or just an apparition from his dreams. Whatever she was, he'd never felt nervous about her intentions despite his Templar training, and she'd never tried to follow him or linger. Indeed, she hadn't talked to him much and never offered a bargain. He had always found her soothing, if exhausting. She was always making him think, making him relive hard memories. And yet, afterwards the pain of those memories seemed dulled -- if only enough to breathe. The Grey Lady was the only reason he'd been able to rest at all that first night, after he'd been rescued from Kinloch Tower. He'd fallen into a fitful sleep, helped along by a sleeping draft; she appeared. She asked him about Bevan and Farris, what had happened to Annalise. He'd heard her sobs as she watched his dream memory. She'd told him how sorry she was for him. Told him he was so brave, so loved. Told him to be strong. Promised him that he would be loved again, that she would watch over him. Bade him sleep even there in the Fade as she watched over him. When he'd woken he was still exhausted, but the night had been otherwise dreamless.
Blast it, Cullen thought when he saw the cloaked figure, even though she had not appeared since he sailed for Kirkwall. He didn't have time for one of the damn dreams tonight. He was already exhausted, mentally and physically.
"Come," she said as she held out her hand. He took it and they walked through the mists of the Fade. Fighting the dreams took energy he couldn't afford to expend at the moment. Soon he recognized the time and place.
The Harrowing that night had been unexpectedly difficult. The mage in question, Vereheren, had been predicted to pass easily, given his steady abilities and open, gentle temperament. The Templars and all the Enchanters expected his safe return from the Fade. Moreover, Vereheren had been a family friend from Honnleath, so when the soft-spoken mage had been overcome by a powerful Rage demon, the battle was both startling and grim, testing the faith and the skill of the young Templars the most. Cullen didn't need to call on deep memories of the battle; it was one that often came back in unwelcome detail.
"Not the battle, afterwards, in the baths," the grey-hooded lady nudged at Cullen's dream memory. At her suggestion, Cullen focused on the washroom in Kinloch's Circle Tower. It was something he hadn't thought about since his early days in Kirkwall.
Cullen remembered the baths as one of Kinloch's few absolute joys, enjoyed by Templars and Mages alike. His mind began to conjure the baths in his dream. Built into the very bedrock of the island, the baths had smooth stone basins that were always overflowing with water from an artesian well; the magical fires under the basins glowed warmly so that the air felt moist and warm on the skin and steam hung in the air. Some basins were raised so that the water fell over the sides as a shower. Others were waist height and a few were low tubs. One niche in particular was always steaming, and had deep carved stone benches around a hot spring pool where aches and strains could be soothed without magical relief. Templars could be very superstitious about magical healing.
He'd been slow cleaning himself up after that battle, as he did not feel much like the intense meditation that usually happened after a Harrowing. He watched himself stand naked under the falling water in the washroom afterwards, scrubbing congealed blood and other things from his neck, shoulder, and hair.
His hair had been much longer then. It curled in small waves to past his shoulders, kept from being too unruly by its own weight. The bright red burn that snaked from his collar bone up his neck and cheek, as well as the bruises on that same side, were making cleaning it difficult. He'd dropped his shield a little bit, and had taken the edge of a fire blast across his profile. He had some thoroughly singed hair and a searingly painful burn to show for his cockup, as well as tenderness that would become bruising on his shield side from the blast.
Tymper and Paulsen, the Templars who caught the full blast, were both lying atop funeral pyres already, waiting for the dawn. Cullen had counted himself lucky to have little other to show from the battle than some burns and bruising. The fresh lyrium still pumping through his veins dulled the pain, at least for the moment. He never liked to go to the healers until he was clean.
