Chapter Text
Haven could be considered picturesque.
Standing on the banks of the frozen lake, Evelyn Trevelyan watched the sun begin to set behind the peaks of the snow capped mountains. Ostwick hasn’t exactly been a tropical paradise, but it was certainly warmer than Ferelden. Still, she liked the snow. There was something soothing about a landscape covered in white, the frost coating every blemish like the promise of a fresh start.
This, however, was not the fresh start she’d had in mind.
Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with the crisp air and smiled at the peaceful feeling that washed over her. Standing outside the walls of the settlement as the sun went down was one of the few times she could sort her thoughts without interruption.
The green glow bleeding into the orange and pinks of the sky gave her pause. Sometimes it was simple to pretend the breach wasn’t there. When Evelyn was alone, a rare occurrence for the Herald of Andraste , she could almost fool herself into believing that she was just a normal person. Free to be who she wanted, to go where she wanted.
A novel concept for a mage. She hadn’t been truly free since she was nine. The designation marred her. She was pretty. She was accomplished. She was witty. For a mage.
Her new title felt like chains of a different kind.
She was fine. She was always fine.
The sound of boots crunching on the snow nearby made Evelyn jump from her thoughts, shoulders tensing when she turned to whoever was intruding on her solitude.
“Forgive me. I didn’t intend to scare you.”
Cullen Rutherford was intriguing to Evelyn. He stood a few paces away, hands up like he was ready to surrender. Their first meeting on a battlefield surrounded by demons was hardly ideal. He’d snapped at her, something about being worth the lives they had lost to get her there. In the war room of the chantry, after waking, he’d been kinder. Still serious, every inch of the man betrayed his training, but with softer eyes, the colour of dark honey that Evelyn found herself drawn to. He was certainly handsome and the scar on his lip only served to draw her eyes more than once.
She knew what he was. His wording, intentional or not, was curious to her.
“You didn’t scare me,” she says, frowning. “Did you expect to?”
The hesitation on his face told her he did. “I wouldn't blame your trepidation.”
Evelyn shook her head. “I was just... lost in thought, that’s all. Something I can help you with, Commander?”
Cullen shifted his weight, gripping the pommel of his sword with both hands like his life depended on it, only letting go when he noticed Evelyn’s eyes fall on his weapon.
Would he use it on her, given the chance? Every Templar was different and she hadn’t worked out what kind he was.
“Nothing specific. I just... thought I should check if you’re alright.”
“You want to know if I’m alright?”
He approached her like a wild animal, taking slow, deliberate steps until barely a stride away. In the twilight, she could see his face a little clearly. The dark circles under his eyes and a light layer of stubble betrayed how worn out Cullen was. She wondered if he ever rested more than a few hours at a time. It certainly didn’t look like it.
“I imagine it’s been a trying few days. Barely awake, and now you’re being declared a holy symbol. That’s enough to shake anyone.”
Evelyn laughed ruefully, crossing her arms against the cold. “The Maker has a sense of humour, but I’m fine.”
Cullen nodded stiffly, knowing what she’d alluded to. There were whispers about Evelyn and how a mage became the one chosen with the mark that could seal the breach. Some, like Chancellor Rodderik took pleasure in outright yelling their disapproval. Cullen, however, was pleasant, but she wondered how long it could last.
“Do you have opinions on it?”
“Why would I?” He asked, but she was sure he already knew the answer and was simply trying to hide his offence.
Evelyn turned to look at him properly, but without the judgement she was expected to feel. “You’re a Templar,” she said plainly, like it was obvious.
His shoulders rolled back, his brow creasing when he lifted his chin. Evelyn could swear he’d added an extra inch to his already imposing frame.
“Ex-Templar,” he replied automatically, no doubt having given the same answer time and time again. “I left the order when I joined the Inquisition.”
“Sorry.” Evelyn scrunched her nose, grimacing apologetically while she rubbed her hands together. “Yes, you told me that.”
She hoped the dying light hid the way her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Only that morning they’d stood by the tents and talked without the awkwardness she felt now. She’d asked about his Templar past, wanting to get her information from the source rather than make assumptions about his character. It would have been too easy for her to write him off in the way other mages had done to members of the order. The tension that rippled through Haven between the two factions was proof enough.
Now with the weight exhaustion fraying her nerves, she’d gone and done just that in the moment. It wasn’t who she was, and Cullen didn’t deserve it in her eyes.
“My brother is a Templar,” she blurted out, the sudden statement catching Cullen off guard if the way his brow raises was any indication. “Is? Was? I—I don’t know anymore; I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“Were you close?” He asked curiously, head tilted.
“We used to be,” Evelyn nods. “He was first stationed in Starkhaven, but when everyone was moved, we lost contact. He stopped writing, stopped replying.”
A soft look of understanding passed over Cullen’s face, leaving her oddly vulnerable. “That’s why you went to the conclave. You thought to see him again.”
The truth he spoke, figured out in moments, felt like someone pressing on a bruise. Maker, was she that transparent? The dull ache of it all made her suck in a breath and hold herself tighter.
“I suppose I did.”
Despite having every reason to be wary, Evelyn didn’t actually hate Templars. It was too strong a word and something her peers didn’t understand. Plenty abused their powers with bigoted views; that didn’t stop them from being victims of the chantry in their own ways, and those Evelyn couldn’t find empathy for—she at least felt pity. Cullen had agreed with her, although she’d seen his discomfort over the subject. The way he’d avoided eye contact and masterfully steered the conversation to strictly facts about his time serving.
“And now all your questions about the order make sense. I’ve never met a mage so interested,” he huffed a small laugh, puffs of warm air dancing against the cold.
“Andrew never told me anything when he’d write. Just that he wanted to help people like me. I used to hate the way he said it like that, but then I grew up. I understood he just...wanted to make things better.”
Even below the fur of the mantle he wore, Evelyn watched him relax, although his expression was still guarded. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it matters that you’re a mage.”
“You don’t?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I think it matters that you want to help. With that mark, you’re the only one who can.”
Ah, there it was. The mark on her hand, the strange pulsing thing on her palm that Solas thrust towards a rift and somehow had her close. The thing that had been killing her. His words made her stomach drop, a sudden disappointment that he saw her as the bearer of the mark and not a person, just like everyone else who’d salute her when she walked past. They didn’t use her name, only calling her herald with distant reverence.
“So it doesn’t matter who has the mark, just that the Inquisition can use it,” she said coolly, her words clipped.
Evelyn wasn’t the type to respond harshly unless pushed, but it was better than showing the disappointment she felt.
“No, that's—forgive me, that’s not what I meant,” he stammered, and Evelyn realised it was delightfully easy to fluster the Commander. “I meant that your character is what matters. Nothing else. So far, you’ve shown yourself to be someone of integrity.”
To find someone like him who would openly call a mage the ‘ Herald of Andraste’ felt strange, like a trap she could stumble into, but searching his face, Evelyn found no trace of dishonesty. She’d learnt early in meeting him that Cullen tended to wear his opinions openly. Even if he tried to hide something, there were tells. The muscles in his jaw would twitch, his brow would furrow, and his eyes were too expressive for his own good.
“Thank you, Cullen,” she smiled softly. “I mean that.”
“You’re welcome.” Cullen’s own smile was short lived, and that may have been a good thing.
If he was handsome at rest, a simple smile turned him into something out of a storybook. Hadn’t all those tales in the Circle library warned her about dashing men with honeyed words and charming smiles? Aside from a few brief flirtations, her experience was limited. That made Cullen more dangerous than any Templar instincts he possessed.
“It’s getting colder. You should head inside,” he added, gesturing back to Haven’s gate. “Aren’t you leaving for the Hinterlands in the morning?”
“I am. First light if Cassandra gets her way, and she will. She always does,” Evelyn replied. “Don’t tell, but I’m a little terrified of her.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he laughed, and she learnt she liked the sound.
As Evelyn walked back towards Haven, she made no effort to suppress her smile. Oh yes, Commander Cullen Rutherford was a dangerous man.
Coming back from the Hinterlands, they brought Mother Giselle's promise to the Inquisition, a new ally in the form of Warden Blackwall, and a terrible bruise on Evelyn's right cheek. It had been treated; nothing was broken, but the whole way back to Haven, Cassandra lectured about her fighting technique.
Or lack thereof.
“You show promise,” Cassandra said, a complement in her own blunt way. “But you lack the fundamentals. You have no footwork, no sense of distance, and clearly you’ve never been taught how to block.
“I thought you said I showed promise." Evelyn replied tartly.
Cassandra nodded. “You’re not afraid to take a hit. That’s one of the hardest steps to break in a recruit. The fear of pain.”
“Doesn’t mean I enjoy it,” she grumbles, gingerly poking at the purple and yellow tint on her face. “This is my only face; I’ve become quite attached to it.”
“All the more reason for you to train,” Damn. Trapped. “The apostates of the rebellion taught you how to be... scrappy. I will teach you the real art of combat.”
Evelyn grinned sweetly at the Seeker, leaning over slightly on her horse to flutter her lashes. “Why would I need that? I have you!”
“Perhaps I should ask the Commander to train you instead?”
Immediately, Evelyn stopped grinning, straightening in her saddle, and shaking her head. Her panic didn’t stem from fear, a thought she didn’t want to dwell on. “No!” She answered quickly.
For the first time, she saw something akin to surprise on Cassandra’s face. “Oh? You do not like Commander Cullen?”
“It’s not that—“
“If it is anything to do with his past as a Templar—“
“No! I swear , it’s not. He’s…fine. Very good at his job in an efficient and stern way,” Evelyn babbled awkwardly. “I’m sure he’s much too busy, that’s all.”
“I suppose his duties do keep him distracted,” Cassandra said slowly, her expression unconvinced. “If there were any reservations on your part—“
“There aren’t,” Evelyn spoke brusquely, reigning in the flash of her temper quickly. “Sorry, it’s just... I'm a little tired of others telling me who I should and shouldn't trust, as if I'm incapable of making my own decisions.”
Fidgeting with the reins in her hands, Evelyn wondered if she’d said too much, but Cassandra didn't press. That’s something the Seeker was good at—simply staying quiet and giving the other person enough silence to fill.
“I’ve just— I know the order has done some terrible things, but I still believe in people . I so wanted the conclave to work,” she shook her head, tutting at her own words. “Maybe that’s naive of me; I don’t know.”
She’d trusted before that peace could be an option. That talking would prevail. They just needed to have an open dialogue and to hear each other without judgement. That’s why she’d gone to the conclave, to see Andrew, to just try . Despite the fall of the Ostwick circle, Evelyn still believed in better. What other choice did she have?
“Trusting your instincts is something to be commended. The Inquisition needs someone like you,” Cassandra says. “Even if I admit, I am more cynical than I used to be.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,” Evelyn grins. “I bet under that armour is all soft and cuddly, like a little kitten.”
The glare she received was enough of a reward. “I’m sure the history books will reflect on your sense of humour.”
Returning over the crest of the hills to Haven was a welcome relief, the village becoming more homely each time she returned. Evelyn didn’t think of it as home per se; nowhere had ever felt as such, not since she was a child, but the warmth of the cabin she’d been given and the thought of a hot bath were enough to bring a smile to her face.
Handing her horse to the stable master, the smile persisted until she found the gathering outside the chantry doors. Mages on one side. Templars on the other. Both shouted insults and accusations, beginning with who was to blame for the death of the Divine but quickly turning to nothing but mud slinging and venom.
“Your kind killed the most holy!”
“Lies! Your kind let her die!”
“Shut your mouth, mage!”
The Templar grabbed for his sword, ready to draw, as Evelyn ran towards the group. Magic pulsed in her fingers, ready to throw up a barrier to stop bloodshed if need be. A crowd had begun to gather, shouting support for their chosen side or simply watching the spectacle unfold.
“Enough!”
The imposing shout made her pause, her heart picking up pace when Cullen ran out of chantry doors between the two men, pushing them apart while the crowd gasped and murmured. She knew the Commander was imposing, but in his anger, he was formidable as a giant.
“Knight-Captain?!”
“That is not my title!” Cullen hissed, scowling at the Templar who spoke, but he caught Evelyn’s eye as she approached. “We are no longer Templars. We are all part of the Inquisition.”
“And what does that mean exactly?”
The arrogant sneer of Chancellor Rodderik made Evelyn’s lip curl. She considered herself a forgiving person, to a fault at times, but even he pushed the limits of her good nature. He looked down his nose at her, judging her only on the magic in her blood and the convenience of blame. Never mind that she’d saved them at the risk of her own life, stopping the breach from growing further.
The way Cullen scowled mirrored her own. “Back already, chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”
“I’m curious, Commander, how your Inquisition and its Herald will restore order as promised?” Chancellor Rodderik drawled, full of self-importance, when he rounded on Evelyn, dramatically gesturing to the crowd like a bard in a play.
Evelyn had seen men like this before. Small and full of delusions of their own position. She hadn’t been around noble society since childhood, but the lessons of her mother still echoed in her ear.
Never let your head fall; nobody can make you feel inferior unless you allow them to
Evelyn lifted her chin defiantly, fixing her frosty blue eyes on the man with the coldest stare she could muster.
“Of course you are,” Cullen growled. “Back to your duties, all of you!” He ordered, dispersing the crowd with a single command.
“What’s happened?” Evelyn asked, brushing past the Chancellor as if he weren’t there.
“Mages and Templars were already at war, but now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death,” Cullen replied, arm crossed irritably.
“Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order!” Chancellor Rodderik interrupted, pushing his way back into the conversation.
“Who, you? A random cleric who wasn’t important enough to be at the conclave?”
Evelyn bit the inside of her cheek hard to fight the unladylike laugh threatening to break free. Behind Cullen’s well-spoken, civil demeanour, she could hear the acid in his tone. He clearly wasn’t the type to suffer fools gladly.
“The rebel Inquisition and the so-called ‘Herald of Andraste ’, I think not!”
The look he gave her was dismissive, drawing his eyes up and down her body and waving his hand like showing off a cow at market. Evelyn only glared, but Cullen scowled furiously at the blatant disrespect.
“Watch your tongue, Chancellor,” Cullen warned, low and dangerous.
“Commander, remind me why we’ve allowed the chancellor to abuse our hospitality." Evelyn asked, civil but edged with her own warning.
Cullen looked the smaller man up and down, just as the chancellor had done to Evelyn, contempt in his amber eyes and steel in his spine. Right there, for a fleeting moment, she saw the man who had been Knight-Captain, formidable and cold.
“Clearly your Templar knows where to draw the line.”
Evelyn bristled, unsure where the sudden surge of offence came from on her part. Cullen wasn’t a Templar; he’d made that clear. Something she was sure the chancellor was aware of. She scowled at the man, but Cullen spoke before she could.
“He’s toothless,” he shrugged dismissively. “No point turning him into a martyr because he runs at the mouth.”
Watching the chancellor flap in an undignified way was satisfying, Evelyn barely bothering to hide her amusement.
“Toothless, am I? We’ll see how amusing you find the reception you receive in Val Royeux!”
In a flurry of chantry robes, the edges sullied by the dirt and dust, Chancellor Rodderik stormed away from them, muttering what sounded like obscenities under his breath.
“Well, that’s not very devout of him,” Evelyn quipped, watching the man leave with Cullen until the Commander sighed.
“I should be used to hypocrisy from the chantry by this point,” he said, rolling his neck to try and relieve tension. “He claims they seek the truth for Justina’s loss, but really all they want is a scapegoat.”
“Me, I assume.”
He nodded, his jaw clenched with irritation. “Exactly. I won’t allow that to happen.”
Evelyn spoke before thinking. “You?”
“ We ,” he corrected quickly. “We won’t allow it.”
He avoided her eyes, and Evelyn was sure he was blushing, but then again, maybe it was the cold. That didn’t stop her feeling just a little giddy over the way he’d defended her, even if it was only the Commander doing his duty to keep the peace.
“I’m afraid there’s only so much you can do. You heard the Chancellor, Val Royeaux is going to be... difficult,” she said, shifting the subject to something more neutral as they walked into the chantry.
“I don’t disagree. It may all just be talk, but thanks to good friends like Rodderik out there, we’re already at a disadvantage.”
“Not to mention being a mage. It’s just adding insult to injury for them,” Evelyn added, trying her best not to sound bitter.
Reaching the war room doors, Cullen paused. “Our most crucial task is closing that breach. Everything else can be handled in due course.”
The warmth of the torches only enhanced the fair colour of his hair. Even with half his face cast in shadow, he still reminded her of those storybook knights. She shook her head, forcing a cheery smile to knock the idea to the back of her mind. He was her Commander, and this wasn’t some fairy tale story. There was too much riding on their success for her to lose focus over a pair of kind eyes.
C Rutherford
Val Royeaux was just as expected. The chantry is still denouncing me as a heretic (yes, my status as a mage was brought into the conversation) and calling the Inquisition into question. I doubt there was anything I could do to change minds while here.
As for your suggestion to seek out the Templars for help, that may also be a dead end. The display shown by Lord Seeker Lucían was every bit as disturbing as Cassandra described in her report to you. I’ll confess the whole scene has put me on edge. I could feel their presence before I saw them. i’ve been smited before and
Doesn’t matter.
Anyway, we’re going directly to the Hinterlands, then onto the Storm Coast to follow a few leads and messages. Cassandra will report in.
Sorry, I feel like this was just wasting your time.
E Trevelyan
E Trevelyan
I can assure you my time is in no way wasted hearing from you. I’m glad to hear you’re safe, even if Val Royeux was a disaster unpleasant. As for Cassandra’s report, I can’t speak to what the Templars are thinking now, acting as they did. I knew some were disillusioned with the Chantry, but this...
I don’t blame you for feeling tense given your history
Please take every precaution on your journey, and don’t hesitate to write to me. It’s far more pleasant than reading supply line reports and training schedules.
C Rutherford
C Rutherford
This place is miserable. Sea water and rain in abundance. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel warm, and I fear it’s making my mood sour, but can you blame me?! I’d sell Varric for a pair of dry boots right now.
We’ve made a new ally, The Iron Bull and his group. You should see this Qunari; he’s huge and swings a giant hammer like it weighs nothing. Cassandra was unimpressed by our joke that we wanted to see how far he could throw me (I guessed at least seven feet, but Varric thinks nine.)
Progress around Redcliffe is good. The mages and Templars there are still at each other's throats. They seemingly don’t care who is on whose side anymore; I feel like they just want to fight until whoever has the most anger wins. They certainly don’t want to hear reason, and I confess, I’m done trying on that front.
We’ll be back soon. I’m already dreaming of hot water.
Evelyn
Evelyn
Please don’t allow that qunari to throw you in any way. You’re a person, not a spear, and I would be upset concerned to know you’d been hurt for the sake of a ridiculous bet. I trust Cassandra is keeping a close eye on both of you.
I am sorry to hear of your hardships with the weather. I’ve been to the Storm Coast only a few times, and I can’t say I ever enjoyed it. Somehow, I can’t picture you in a sour mood. Ever since I met you, you’ve always been so bright optimistic; I don’t know how you do it, honestly.
You see the good in people
Be careful out there. Let Cassandra take point and don’t put yourself in danger; better yet stay behind that Iron Bull you spoke about She mentioned something about combat training.
Cullen
Cullen
Did she? No idea what that’s about. Nope. Please ignore.
And I’ll have you know I can be plenty moody when I want to be. I just... haven't wanted to be? Despite the circumstances, which sounds insane when I put it on paper. I suppose what I mean is that I wanted to help; I still want to help, even though all of this has happened to me by accident.
Maybe there are no accidents
By the time you get this, I’ll probably be near Haven. I look forward to bothering you in person again, preferably after a hot bath and dry clothes.
Evelyn