Work Text:
The soft flicker of candlelight brought no illumination to her thoughts.
“Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me.” She bowed her head in prayer, hands clasped at the feet of Andraste’s likeness. The cold stone eyes looking down upon her brought little comfort; she did not feel the Maker by her side. “There are many who would wish to see us fail, and I cannot lead the Inquisition.” Her thoughts were laid bare on the stonework beneath her, alcove quiet except for the crackle of flame. “But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me.”
Cassandra squeezed her hands together tighter, an act of desperation. “It isn’t my place to question your methods, I know none better suited for the task. You chose a member of the Trevelyan family for a reason. That reason is not for me to understand. I am here to serve, and to follow your will, but that doesn’t mean I…don’t worry. ” She cleared her throat, murmuring familiarities into her knuckles. “O Creator, see me kneel: For I walk only where You would bid me, stand only in places You have blessed, sing only the words you place in my throat.”
“The Herald is a scholar first—he is no man of war. He can scarcely hold his own in a sparring match, let alone a battlefield. Our hopes hang on the precarious, and I am…unsure if he is up for the task. But then again, I have been fumbling through the dark since the beginning. I thought your Herald a fraud—those who bear false witness and work to deceive others, know this: there is but one Truth. All things are known to our Maker and He shall judge their lies.”
A sigh escaped, letting her prostrations fall into silence. She was thankfully, alone. Opening her eyes, she gazed upon the statue before her, the stone Andraste unmoving, unseeing. She felt very small beneath the monolith, insignificant except for her faith. In the end, that’s all that mattered, didn’t it? All she had was faith.
“I have been wrong before, and I will be wrong again. In this, I hope to be proven wrong. The Herald has surprised be once, perhaps he will again. Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder. O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places. Allow me to protect the Herald, to teach him what he may lack, and to champion his cause. For blessed are they who stand before the corrupt, and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.”
The soft scrape of shoes made her pause, instantly drawing her to her feet in alarm. The alcoves in the main hall were not the most private, but these were her worries that she would commend only to the Maker. There would be plenty time yet for people to learn just how human she was; let them keep their confidence in these dark hours.
She stood still, arming herself with suspicion, but the hall remained silent except for the squeak of mice. Must have been a servant then. She released her grip from the hilt of her blade, shaking her head at such foolishness. Next time, she’d be more careful. Whatever worries and fears she had she would continue to carry; such was her burden as one of the faithful.
But for now, she had other duties to attend to.
Maker willing, she would make a fighter out of the Herald yet.
As she pushed open the door, a blast of cold cut through her. The Frostbacks were a welcome change from the stuffy halls of Orlais. She shouldered the icy elements the best she could, and stepped out into the night.
She didn’t make it far before her fellow adviser made himself known—Cullen.
“To what do I owe the honor, Commander?” Such formalities were lost on the both of them, but it had earned her a small smile.
He nodded to her, in on the joke. It was good to see him in better spirits.“Lady Seeker Cassandra Allegra–”
And now she knew why. She gave him a hard shove, her expression sour, “Cullen Rutherford, there are many names in which I could call you that outmatch the pretentiousness of my many names. Should you mention this to anyone else—”
A chuckle escaped—a true rarity, “At ease Cassandra. I promise I won’t tell anyone else…not that I think they’d remember. Six names just wasn’t enough, was it?” He shook his head, “But I sought you out for an actual purpose.”
“Oh?” She let out a soft snort, “I’m glad to hear you didn’t seek me out solely to mock me.”
“If only. I’m actually looking for the Herald—he was supposed to meet with me so we could discuss what to do with the incoming faithful.”
That caught her by surprise. Their Herald may be weak and unskilled, but late he was not. “I haven’t seen him since our sparring match. We were supposed to have another after his meeting with you.”
Cullen’s eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. “Again? Cassandra, I realize the Herald needs training—”
“Desperately.” She crossed her arms; she would not sugarcoat the truth.
“–Fine, but he can’t keep up with this pace.”
“You could match my pace, Commander, easily.”
His brows knit together as if to object, but he remained silent.
Perhaps he needed more clarification, “He is the Herald. He will need to be more than both of us combined.”
“Divinely ordained or not, he is still human with human limitations.” Finally a defeated sigh escaped, weariness seeping back into his voice and face. “Do what you will, Cassandra.” He walked away rubbing at his temples. Whatever good mood he had garnered had gone as easily as it came.
It was a shame; the Commander deserved some peace of mind, fleeting though it may be. Perhaps she would speak with him further once they’d both spoken with the Herald—once she found him, at least.
It wouldn’t matter if the Herald was hand picked by the Maker if he tried to skip out on his sparring practices with her—not even Andraste herself would be able to save him from her wrath.
With a new sense of purpose she marched across the courtyard to the shabby dwelling where the Herald resided. She pounded on the door, the wood groaning under the might of her fist. “Herald, are you in there?”
She ceased her rapping, waiting for a response. When she received none, she let herself in. “Maker willing, if you’re still–”The words lost their heat, fizzling into silence at the sight before her.
There he was, stretched over the tiny bed that had been provided for him, out cold. If it hadn’t been for the gentle snores, she would have thought him dead. He hadn’t seemed to notice her arrival, so deep was his sleep. Much to her horror, his Worship seemed to have been caught in a state of undress. His shirt had been carelessly tossed by the door—to which she nudged the filthy thing further away with her boot—one foot had been left bare, while the other still had half a boot clinging to stay on.
Thank the Maker he still had pants. The Herald would have become a little too human for her then.
She shuddered, taking stock of the rest of the room, politely ignoring the comatose body. He hadn’t even made it under the sheets.
She hadn’t physically been in the Herald’s quarters before, and though she knew better, curiosity was eating away at her. Taking a quick glance behind her, she shut the door, edging closer to the desk. At least, what was left of the desk. The poor table was weighed down with books, plants—a sewing kit?—and Maker knows what else. She rounded the wash tub, still filled with water. From the look of the grime that coated the Herald and the clearness of the water, she guessed he hadn’t made it to the tub.
She took one last look at his sleeping form, to ensure there was no chance of him waking.
A loud snore answered her, as he rolled over. The pages from the desk were caught in her hands, but her eyes were glued to the sight before her. His bare back faced her now, skin mottled with the violent bloom of bruises. Cassandra has expected a few cuts and bruises, but this…
Cullen was right.
He’d been pummeled under her desperation and fear, the angry welts a physical manifestation of her guilt. She had been a fool. But why hadn’t he said anything? From the fading marks she knew he had endured her abuse for quite some time, weeks even, it would have given plenty of time to say something.
Had she been so transparent in her doubt? She rubbed at her temples, a sense of shame filling her.
“…Cass?” The voice was muffled and raw with sleep. The Herald had raised his head ever so slightly, eyes bleary with exhaustion. Yet his gaze was…fond, if not confused at her appearance.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Herald. Cullen was looking for you.” She adverted her eyes, partially for modesty, another from guilt.
The man struggled to sit up, fumbling for the other boot. Instead he managed to remove the existing boot with a curse.
“Herald–” She cleared her throat, hoping to gain his attention. When that failed, she hesitated, testing the name on her lips, “Ezra.”
What little attention he had to give, she had earned. Lines creased his face, highlighting the fat lip she’d given him earlier. In her haste she hadn’t noticed the odd curls and cowlicks that had resulted from his graceless position.
It was hard to see him as anything but human then.
“You need to rest.”
He shrugged, wincing. Were those stitches on his shoulder? “I’m fine. I said I would meet with you…” He trailed off, rubbing his eyes, wearily. “…Three times a day? And I will.” The words were nearly lost between a yawn and a mumble.
Cassandra crossed her arms then, furrowing her brow. “I know what you said, and I’m politely ignoring them. Bathe and go to sleep, for heaven’s sake. You’ve been working hard—harder than I’ve given you credit for.”
He stared up at her, pie-eyed, slowly nodding. It seemed he wouldn’t argue with her, though she had her suspicions that he wouldn’t even remember the conversation.
Ezra flopped—actually flopped—back down onto the bed, face buried into the pillows.
Her heart hammered in her chest, waiting for him to dismiss her. Instead, she was answered once more by a loud snore. Part of her was impressed how quickly he was able to drift off, and the other half was horrified at how easy it would be to kill him in his sleep. How he slept was not her concern—she was just thankful he’d fallen back asleep in the first place. Given the opportunity to escape, she wasted no time exiting, slamming the door behind her. In the hind sight should have been more careful, but she doubt even a bearcould wake him now.
As if her timing hadn’t been awkward enough, she was immediately greeted by Cullen, almost bumping noses with the Commander. They stared at one another a moment, bewildered.
“Cassandra.” He took a step back, offering her a way out in lieu of an explanation.
“Cullen.” Her fingers slipped from the knob, clearing her throat like she hadn’t been snooping in the Herald’s quarters. Before he could ask her any uncomfortable questions, she blurted out, “You were right. I…I was too hard on him.”
“Now those are words I thought I’d never hear.”
“Enjoy them all you like, but I will make you regret it.” Cassandra moved away from the door, and back to his side, in-sync.
“Of that I have no doubt. You’re not sparring with him after our meeting?”
“No, and I suggest you postpone whatever you have planned for tomorrow as well. He needs his rest.”
Cullen winced at the eruption of snores from behind the door. “Maker, is that him?”
Cassandra nodded solemnly, “Indeed. He is…all too human.”