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"That's right, Mio, good," Cordelia tells the young mage, who's doing rather well at embroidering sigils for someone who hadn't ever drawn a sigil nor embroidered when they first met months ago. Tendrils of magic weave through their simple white thread and mingle with the fabric as they stab the needle through it once again. They blow a brown ringlet off their forehead, then stubbornly tuck it behind their ear when it falls right back in place.
Even beneath the shade of the alienage's vhenadahl, the summer heat creeps in. Both of them have their thick curls tied up… Mioluvun's is a great deal more… practical than Cordelia's, and they've refused all of Cordelia's offers to teach them more complex styles. It's a waste of their precious teenage time, of course. Their pair of hair sticks are sufficient for them.
"It's not going to be pretty," Mio says, vibrantly purple eyes flicking to Cordelia's elaborate piece: lilies of the valley embroidered into a shawl for Kiara… She wants to have it ready for her friend upon arrival, but the former Second and her companions—or advisors? Is that what she called them?—are due any day now.
"It doesn't have to be pretty, it just needs to be functional."
Mioluvun grumbles something unintelligible and shifts their seat before making a small, surprised noise and nudging Cordelia's leather-wrapped foot with their own. Cordelia looks up with a quirked brow and follows Mio's gaze.
Cullen should've walked away as soon as he saw the two elves beneath the large tree in the center of the alienage. But he didn't. Because the woman… her ochre hair is pulled into an elaborate braided style, her fair, freckled skin is slightly flushed from the heat of summer, her vallaslin stretch past her face, down and around her right arm and leg, her agile fingers adorned with an assortment of rings… and then she speaks—quick and light and lilting, her accent just like the Inquisitor's…
She is quite possibly the most beautiful person he's ever seen.
His predicament doesn't improve whatsoever when the young person she's with notices his presence, nor when she looks up from her detailed embroidery. Looks up at him. Her eyes are a deep, vibrant blue. It's a wonder they didn't notice him sooner; he's been standing here staring for what feels like a lifetime… or at least several minutes.
"Can I help you?" she asks. Polite, but wary. He would be too, if his people had been targeted relentlessly by human foes for months. The newly-established council suggests they have dealings with the humans who live here in Wycome, but he is decidedly not one of them, in his armour with a sheathed sword at his hip.
"Um, no. Forgive me, I seem to have lost my way," he says, then, rubbing the back of his neck, mumbles, "Josephine warned me about wandering."
"Are you looking for something? Someone?"
I didn't think so, but now I feel as though I've been looking for you all my life.
"No, no, just… killing time."
Her eyes narrow. "You're not from the city, are you?" Cullen shakes his head. "I thought so. If you were, you probably wouldn't have stumbled into the alienage to 'kill time'." She says the last two words as though she's never heard them put together in such a manner.
"I suppose not," he concedes sheepishly. "I'm sorry for interrupting." She makes a small sound as he bows his head and turns to go. Hopefully to find his lodgings, or at least someone he knows. If he were foolish, he might consider that the attention he can feel on him as he walks away is more than just a cautious observation.
At suppertime, Kiara drags Cullen and the other advisors to a circle of elves sitting on stools and cushions. Two of them look to be her parents, another is the Keeper, who greeted them when they arrived, and… the ginger-haired woman he encountered earlier in the afternoon. Is she—
His stare draws her gaze to meet his. Her brows shoot up in surprise, and she wets her lips as Kiara introduces her parents. Their names go in one ear and out the other. The woman twists one of her many rings around her finger.
"And finally, Cordelia, First of the clan." Kiara gestures to her, and she—Cordelia straightens with a smile and a small wave, gaze flicking over Josephine and Leliana before landing back on him. The Keeper's First. Kiara's closest friend, at least until the Conclave. He knows Kiara didn't write very often, even after they encouraged each other to write to their respective families. He always got the idea Kiara considered Cordelia to be as close as a sister. Has that changed for Cordelia? Then again, if Mia and Branson and Rosalie still consider him their brother after over a decade, he doubts that much has changed. Have they had a chance to catch up? Does Cordelia know what happened with Solas, why Kiara's face is bare of ink?
The look Cordelia directs at the Inquisitor when next she speaks suggests they haven't. Not in detail, anyhow. Josephine and Leliana answer questions about their travel, and Cullen can't keep his eyes off Cordelia and her nearly-bare thighs and her sweet round face.
Later, Cullen stands near an old tree—not the one he saw earlier, just a regular tree—at the edge of what he considers to be a party to celebrate the Inquisitor's survival and success. Kiara isn't exactly happy, not that he knows her well enough to tell all of her moods, but her expression is brighter, clearer, than it has been since the Arbor Wilds. Her clanmates—those around her age—beckon her into a dance. He expects to see Cordelia there with them, but she's conspicuously absent.
"So, you didn't stumble into the alienage," a lilting voice whispers to his right. He startles and turns to Cordelia, uncertain how she managed to sneak up on him. She's probably quiet-footed from growing up in the wilds, but he's been trained to be on alert.
"I never said I did."
"You didn't deny it," she challenges, lifting her chin as if that will make up for the large difference in height.
He sighs. "You—" seemed uncomfortable and I didn't want to press and make it worse because I know what your people have been through since the Conclave. You looked so beautiful I worried if I said anything else I would fumble my meaning and cost myself the chance to get to know you.
"I—?"
"You were occupied," he settles on. It's not untrue, even though there are more precise reasons he could give. "I was being impolite."
"How so?" She tilts her head to the side, all earnest curiosity.
Cullen's brows furrow. Is she—? Surely, she's messing with him. They both know he was intruding on whatever lesson she was teaching the child beside her.
"I... was staring."
"Oh, yes. That." Her lips twitch, and she looks away, her eyes flashing pink in the twilight that's descended upon them since supper. He's never quite gotten used to that quirk of elven eyes, but hers are rather pretty. She's rather pretty. Even as her lips turn down in a frown as she watches her people. "Is she… well?"
That's not what he expected her to say.
"The—Kiara?" She nods, then crosses her arms over her chest. He purses his lips and looks over again at the woman who saved them all with her tenacity and the glowing green mark on her hand. "She's… coping."
"Coping," Cordelia echoes. He nods slowly. "Is that the truth, Commander Cullen?" His name on her lips sends a tingle down his spine.
He meets her stare, which surprises her, if the way she straightens is any indication. "She's alive, and she's smiling more today than she has in at least two months." He doubts she did much smiling during the days she locked herself in her chambers with her work. "I'd say yes, she's coping." That she cannot be considered well goes unspoken.
"I see." She purses her pink lips, as though not fully satisfied.
"Forgive me, I am not privy to—we are not close friends, she and I. I know she is hurting. I know she is glad to be here. But I don't know her mind as some of her other companions may." If they were here, he'd give her suggestions, but they're back at Skyhold. To Dorian's dismay. Perhaps Josephine?
Cordelia's shoulders drop. "Thank you…"
They stand beside each other, watching the crowd, for several long moments during which it takes everything in Cullen's power not to watch her. He should think of something else to say. Except she seems content with the silence between them.
"On nydha, Cullen," she says as the music changes. She's slipped away before he can ask what the two little words mean.
"Coping is the way I would describe how Kiara is as well," Cordelia says as she strolls up to Cullen three days after they arrived. Her quiet-footedness continues to get the better of him.
He looks up from his work as she perches herself on the table, tucking one leather-wrapped foot under her other leg. Her robes today are a pretty teal colour that compliments her hair and its shiny metal adornments. His eyes are drawn to the slip of bare skin exposed by the shifting fabric. He blinks a few times to clear his thoughts.
"Ah," Cullen says dumbly.
"I wish she had… Did she ever talk about us?" She doesn't look down at him.
"Yes. We spoke a few times about my siblings. She mentioned you."
"What'd she say?"
"… That she missed you. That you would've known better what to do in one situation or another. She said…" He huffs a soft laugh. "She said she missed your voice in the moments she didn't want to be alone, because you're always so happy to fill the silence."
"She said that?"
He nods. "You may be better off questioning Josephine. We are not—"
"Close friends. I know, you said. But she's so… clean? And unlikely to betray Kiki's confidence, anyway."
"You've spoken to her enough to know that?" It's true enough, he supposes. One look at Josephine and you can tell where she comes from. One brief conversation and you know she's better at socializing than you've ever been or will ever be.
"And to Kiara about her, yes. It doesn't take much. She's still the same girl whose magic manifested in a thunderstorm and debated with me for months about what vallaslin she would take when it came time…" She trails off, a wistful look on the part of her face he can see.
A moment later, she shakes herself and finally fixes her eyes on him. "Which is to say, I know how she thinks and I know how she speaks."
"Then why talk to me about it?" he asks, without considering how it might sound. Maker, he doesn't want her to leave.
"Will you take offense if I say I find you less intimidating than Leliana?"
He snorts. "No. She's intimidating to me, too, though less so than she used to be." Ever since she and Kiara went to the Valence Cloister, the change has been even more noticeable. Kiara's hoping the clerics vote her for Divine this month.
"Because you changed, or she did?"
"Both, I suppose," he says, tilting his head thoughtfully. Cordelia's expression shifts, but he doesn't know her well enough to discern quite what it means. It's a good thing, he thinks. He hopes.
She opens her mouth, no doubt to make another query, but a younger, slightly indignant, voice shouts her name. It's the teenager he saw her with beneath what he now knows to be the vhenadahl—Mioluvun, or Mio, for short, according to Kiara. An elven mage from the alienage whose magic didn't manifest until after the Circles disbanded. Cordelia took them under her wing immediately, or so Kiara said when he inquired about them yesterday.
"Sparring! Fire! Remember?"
"Yes, Mio, I remember!" She rolls her eyes—and so does Mioluvun, though Cordelia misses it because she turns back to him. He fights a smile. "I have to go do mentorly activities. 'Ma serannas. For answering my questions."
He shakes his head. "Any time." She smiles at him, and his heart skips. Then she hops down from the table and hurries over to her retreating apprentice.
They spend a month in Wycome, and by the time they're preparing to leave, Cullen is certain he's a fool and that everyone is too kind to tell him they know. Because, Maker, he's grown terribly fond of Cordelia and her questions and quirks and the lilt of her voice and the curve of her smile and the brilliant blue of her eyes and her passion for her people and her love of learning. So fond that if he weren't already married to his work, to the Inquisition, he may have stayed behind.
But he can't do that.
Saying goodbye to her isn't weepy. Not that he is a weepy-goodbye sort of person, but he expects to feel some kind of sadness. Longing, he does feel… somehow though, he gets the sense this won't be goodbye forever, just goodbye for now. Not yet, maybe later. She smiles at him. He tucks the sight of it away for safekeeping.
It only takes him two days to decide he has to write to her. Only, when he pulls out a blank piece of parchment, he can't find the words. Not the first day, anyway. Nor the second. On the third, he forces himself to sit with the page longer than before.
"Dear Cordelia," is all he has written when he hears Kiara groan in an incredibly dramatic manner behind him. He arches a brow and turns to look at her.
"Fenedhis, Cullen, you need a hobby," she laments. "The report will be there in the morning."
He considers letting her believe that he's working, to avoid the questions the truth will no doubt incite. Kiara, perceptive as ever, figures it out before he can decide whether or not to tell her.
Eyes narrowed, she says, "That's not a report, is it?" He shakes his head slowly and she draws closer. "A letter, then? Certainly one way to utilize the bird Leliana gave you."
"I—Yes."
She peers over his shoulder, and he looks up to the sky, silently begging for mercy. Three nosy sisters—that's what the Inquisitor, Leliana, and Josephine are to him. He's closer to the other two than to Kiara, admittedly, but that doesn't stop her.
"Cordelia?" She chuckles, plopping herself down beside him at the fire. "Mythal'enaste, I knew you had it bad, but it's barely been a week."
His cheeks heat, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Is this really—?"
"You haven't gotten very far. Unsure what to say? Ask her some questions. Or say something she can ask you about. She's not difficult to get to know."
He must think highly of him, if she's encouraging him to remain in contact with her lifelong friend. "That's helpful. Thank you, Inquisitor."
She kicks him in the shin. "Don't turn me back into the Inquisitor when you don't like me meddling…" She rubs at her face, then looks down at her hands. "Solas did the same thing."
Cullen winces, studying her carefully. "Forgive me, Kiara. Force of habit." Her lips quirk, and she nods. It strikes him how much older she looks than the woman who survived the Conclave explosion. Without her vallaslin, one might think she would look younger, but no… there's a weariness in her eyes. He wonders if it will ever go away. He hopes it does. She deserves to move on from the man who hurt her and find something good, whether that's a person or a place or what-have-you.
They sit together in silence a few minutes longer before she sighs and gets to her feet. "She won't mind hearing from you. There's… a lot you can teach each other." She wrinkles her nose but makes no mention of what causes the expression of distaste. Instead, she bids him goodnight and retreats towards her tent.
19 August, 9:42 Dragon
Dear Cordelia,
I still don't know why the Inquisitor—Kiara insisted we travel over land, despite the journey back to Skyhold being shorter if we would have simply taken a boat directly from Wycome down to Jader. That said, I can't complain. Sea travel has never been pleasant for me. The cabins are cramped, and the motion makes me feel ill. Whether I would feel the same about travelling in an aravel remains to be seen. They certainly seem cozier, and drier, even in the rain. In all honesty, I don't think even a fancy sigil to keep out moisture would make a boat cabin any more comfortable for me. We will still have to take a short journey across the Waking Sea once we reach the coast, of course, but I'll we'll manage.
Kiara told me she'd never been on the sea before she made the crossing to attend the Conclave. I imagine it is the same for you—if not the entirety of your clan? As you might guess, I don't recommend it, but it is, unfortunately, a necessary part of travel between North and South. Unless you wish to walk all the way around the inner coast of Orlais if you ever desire to journey to the Dales. I would rather take the boat. I'm not sure if that says more about me and my opinion of Orlais or about the journey itself. I'd be happy to
Will you continue to study rift magic? Apart from Solas and Kiara's other trainer, there haven't been many to pick up the technique. I admit my knowledge of the theoreticals of magic is less than yours—Circle mages are much more limited in their areas of study and methods of wielding their magic. I am curious, however, if being a Dreamer makes rift magic easier to use? Kiara has the Anchor and Solas is a Dreamer, but Your Trainer was not a Dreamer. Solas was already familiar with the technique, and I remember reading a report on Kiara's training that expressed surprise at how easily Kiara took to the technique. There was some speculation on how the mark impacted that. I wonder if you'd have a similar ease of acquisition? You seemed to pick it up quick enough on the beach.
I believe I've rambled on quite enough by now. I enjoyed your company in Wycome. Should you feel similarly, I should like to be friends. If I've egregiously overstepped, please forgive me.
Sincerely,
Commander Cullen Rutherford
27 August, 9:42 Dragon
Cullen,
I'm not calling you by your title. Or whatever you consider "Commander" to be. I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, it just seems silly to do now, when we called each other by our names not two weeks ago.
Kiara chose to travel overland because she's perceptive and you clearly hate it. The full force of the Inquisition did not accompany her, simply a handful of advisors and scouts. Lady Josephine might complain, but she could have just as easily booked herself a sea voyage. Instead, they all travel on land for the majority of the journey. For your sake. I think that says a lot about how much they respect and value you, not only as the leader of the Inquisition's armies, but as a man and a friend. I will not deny my wariness of humans has grown since… well, you know what occurred as a result of my clan's connection to the Inquisition. But Kiara has placed great trust in you all, so I can do the same, though I have much less to offer. All of that to say, I will be your friend.
I haven't been on a proper boat, you're right. I do wish to visit the Dales someday. Regardless of your feelings about Orlais, I agree that travelling along the inner coast would be miserable, and I don't even know what the terrain is like. I've seen a map. I know how long that journey would take. Is it worth it for a pilgrimage to the land my People were given by your prophet? Some people might think so. I do not. Kiara told me it's rather beautiful there… except in the plains. I don't like that she had to experience that place alone, without me, without our clan. As you said, she isn't exactly well.
But we have more to talk about than Kiara. Like rift magic, which I must say I'm surprised has caught your interest. Do templars—even former ones—usually study magic? Or, I suppose you're not the one studying it, more…. observing the study? I never considered templars to be fundamentally curious, especially when it comes to magic. Are you unique in your curiosity, or is it common among your—former—peers? Yes, I would like to study it more when I have time. Mioluvun keeps me quite busy, as I'm sure you noticed. That said, if you like, I can keep you updated on any progress or discoveries I make. Perhaps I can even rope my apprentice into learning some of it as well. They're not a Dreamer either… something to consider. Do let me know.
Now, I think it's my turn to ask some questions. Is it true there's a hole in the roof of your tower in Skyhold? That seems unsafe, but Kiara also said there are excellent wards on the fortress. I imagine that… lover of hers told her because she's never been skilled with wards. I don't think she'd be able to tell. Anyway, if it's true, why haven't you had it repaired? Unless that's something incredibly personal and I'm entirely overstepping. Here, I'll ask something else. What do you do when you're not working and you don't have curly-haired elven mages badgering you with questions? Do you read? What do you like to read? Do you play games? I'm fond of backgammon, myself. I spend more time with an embroidery hoop in my hands or a skein of wool and knitting needles than anything else.
I'm also fond of drawing… you'll have to excuse the doodles below.
Dareth shiral,
Cordelia
P.S. That means 'travel safely'. I know you asked Kiara what 'on nydha' meant. You could have just asked me, but I'll forgive the infraction since you hardly knew me at the time.
7 Haring, 9:42 Dragon
Dear Cullen,
The Winter Solstice is coming, and I don't quite know how shemlen celebrate, but I thought it couldn't hurt to send a gift. Do NOT open it until the solstice. It's bad luck. Don't feel bad for not getting me anything, and I mean that sincerely. I've a habit of giving gifts at any opportunity that presents itself. Since we're friends, you're now included in the circle of people who will be routinely gifted things from me.
I can imagine the lion costume extremely vividly. You painted a brilliant picture for me. I'm sure you didn't look as "ridiculous" as you say. Josephine wouldn't allow it, surely? I hope you at least enjoyed yourself. What kind of sweet treats do you have for Satinalia? I'm picturing a lot of… apples. And candied fruits? I imagine there's alcohol as well. Not common among the Dalish—we don't really have the implements for it when travelling, but there are apparently several good taverns in Wycome, if I wanted to try. What about games? Chess doesn't sound like a very entertaining Feast Day activity, if I'm honest. Surely there were card games to be played? Or yard games? Sorry, lots of questions. You don't have to answer all of them.
Has it snowed yet? Wycome doesn't get very much snow. In winter, it's mainly just rain. Rather dreary, but sort of… calming if you're out by the shore. I have to admit that having sturdier roofs over our heads was nice last winter. The Free Marches are mild and our aravels repel what they can, but, well, a hearth is nice. My parents love it as well—we don't have to be quite as diligent in how we store ingredients. I used to have to regularly recharge the sigils that kept moisture out, and things like that. I can still sleep in the fresh air should I want to, which I don't think I could ever live without, but I can't help feeling it would be nice to settle here a while. With our Keeper on the city council, it seems as though we'll stay. We haven't stayed anywhere longer than a couple of years since I was a child. I've always wondered if it was my magic manifesting that required us to move more frequently. No one would ever tell me so, of course… Still, I wonder.
Forgive my melancholy, it's only that things have changed so greatly since we sent Kiara to the Conclave. Did you know I begged to go? I had just—Well, a few months prior, my lover of five years had ended things with me. I won't burden you with the details, but suffice to say, I was devastated. I begged Deshanna to send me. She refused. She said I was needed with the clan. So she sent Kiara instead. I was angry and I was sad and I'm not proud of the things I said to her—my Keeper—both before and after we heard tell of what happened at the temple. My closest friend was surrounded by humans, who, by all accounts, had no reason to trust her. I imagine the letter Deshanna sent made it clear how we felt. I wanted to go help, but… that wasn't my place. My place was here—not here, exactly, I mean with my clan. My place is still here. Sometimes I Mitigating troubles between the clan and the elves of Wycome kept me plenty busy though, leaving me little time to worry about Kiara once we took refuge within the city. I wonder about that mark on her hand… June'enaste, there I go again. I'm sorry.
Have a joyful solstice, Cullen.
Sule sal harthir,
Cordelia
22 Haring, 9:42 Dragon
Dear Cordelia,
Fear not, I exercised the utmost restraint with regard to the gift you sent. You should know, however, that Kiara is rather jealous of my sweater. Apparently, you haven't made her one in years and you're "lucky it didn't explode with the Temple of Sacred Ashes". I'm sure she'll express all this and more in her own letter to you, but I thought I would warn you in case you receive my letter first.
Regarding Satinalia, you're right in assuming chess is not a key part of the holiday. There were card games—though I'm hesitant to play any that involve gambling… that's a long story I don't think I want to embarrass myself by telling you. Yard games, too. Sera and Kiara are disconcertingly entertained by hijinks, so those also played a large role in the celebrations. Some more targeted than others… As for sweets, Josephine arranged for a rather decadent spread of various treats. I couldn't even tell you the names of most of them.
There is almost always snow at Skyhold, or at least outside its walls. It's grown cloudier as the days have grown shorter, which is… normal for winter. You know that already. Because you're a person who lives in this world. To more aptly answer your question, yes, it has snowed already in Skyhold. Sometime in Harvestmere. Even with the time I've spent with the Inquisition, I still find it difficult to imagine leading such a nomadic life. In early conversations I had with Kiara, I'm afraid I was rather ignorant. Surely you couldn't all be happy with such instability, I thought. She quickly made it clear why the Dalish live the way they do. I suppose I had known, but I'd met so few Dalish elves, I hadn't gotten a chance to learn from the source. I can't say I'm an expert now, not by any means. Still, I… understand how it must be strange to settle in a city. Are you—I'm not sure how to ask this, but are you afraid that you will lose aspects of your culture in living in Wycome? You don't have to answer that. I imagine it's quite personal.
As for how you felt about Kiara remaining here and working with the Inquisition… I've been torn between responsibility and family for so long, I can hardly picture a world in which I am not. During Templar training, I wrote as often as I could, and that continued once I took my vows, albeit with less frequency. However, what happened at Kinloch Hold—Ferelden's Circle of Magi—during the Blight… I was not myself. When my family finally tracked me down two years later, she was so I wasn't the boy my sister Mia had last written to. My parents were dead and my siblings were settled in South Reach after fleeing our childhood home. I felt guilty that I hadn't been there to protect them. I felt angry over what the Blight and the Circle had taken from us. I couldn't tell them about any of it, but we maintained correspondence nevertheless, spread out as my responses were. I don't know that I would've kept my sanity were it not for those letters they continued to send… they didn't know what had happened to me after Kirkwall until they heard about the Inquisition and its Commander. You can imagine their frustration, I'm sure.
That was a very long-winded, unnecessarily personal way to say that I know how you feel. You are always welcome to share your feelings with me, if you feel so inclined. It can be helpful to have someone on the outside, so to speak. I can be that person. I hope you had a happy solstice as well.
Your friend,
Cullen Rutherford
5 Guardian, 9:43 Dragon
Cordelia,
Has it grown any warmer in Wycome? We've just had another large snowstorm here. So much for winter ending—this is typical, however. Both in the mountains and across most of Ferelden. Winter lasts longer than we might like. The sweater you gifted me has proven useful on the rare days the cold is biting enough to get me. Those aren't the only times I wear it, I just mean… nevermind. The weather is likely of little importance to you, forgive me.
Varric gifted me a copy of Hard in Hightown for Wintersend in some kind of last ditch effort to get me to read one of his novels. I can't tell you how many times I told him I'm not interested. He tried first with Tale of the Champion, arguing that I should see how accurate his portrayal of me was. I heard quite enough about it from Cassandra, I don't need to read the book to know his portrayal of me was unfavourable. It's not as though I can blame him. I was rather… well, Varric would say I had a stick up my arse. I digress, Hard in Hightown is some kind of detective story; we actually had to foil a plot that involved a plagiarised version of the book and also murder… that's a long story. My point is, I have no desire to read this book, but now it's sitting on my shelf and staring at me. Would it be strange to say I feel like it is judging me? I wouldn't put it past Hawke to have put some sort of magic into the binding… That is definitely strange. Please disregard.
I'm pleased to hear of the progress you and Mioluvun have been making with your studies—all of them, not only the rift magic variety. With Kiara closing the few rifts that remain across Thedas after sealing the Breach, I've wondered if it would become more difficult to access. It seems that is not the case. For your sake, I'm glad of it. Some of the battlemages in our forces have expressed interest in learning the discipline as well, but… Kiara is—please, do not tell her I said this—not the most adept of teachers. Her trainer is considering it, however. Hopefully, we do not end up in another war that requires such skills, but as you've made clear to me, there is value in the learning itself, in expanding one's mind.
In a kinder world, perhaps that aspect of the Circles would have been more important. If Leliana can manage it, if people's opinions have shifted enough in light of a Dalish mage Inquisitor saving their world, maybe the replacement for the Circles will be places of true sanctuary and arcane knowledge. Whether or not that involves templars remains to be seen… I don't want harm to come to any young mage when their power manifests, but I am unsure how else they can be protected if not by templars. The Inquisition cannot last forever as much as I might wish it to. We will not always be here to support Leliana's reformation, not as an organization, anyhow.
That's quite enough politicking for one letter. Tell me something good that's happened to you recently.
Your friend,
Cullen Rutherford
22 Guardian, 9:43 Dragon
Dear Cullen,
It is warmer, but not sunnier. Please ask your Maker for sunshine, and I will implore my Creators to bring the same. I am, however, happy my gift is being used, no matter how rarely that may be. We can talk about the weather as much as you like. Has Kiara ever created a storm of her own over Skyhold? Or, more reasonably, on a battlefield? She used to love creating little ones. If she was angry with me for something, my pages of elven writing practice usually suffered the consequences, the water droplets muddying the ink. She was able to create larger and larger ones over the years, but she didn't often get a chance to use them. War may have changed that.
If it would help, I'm willing to read Hard in Hightown with you. I'll get my hands on a copy and read the first chapter. You're more than welcome to write about it in your next letter. I'm sure I'll have my own thoughts to share, so don't hold back… Is your copy signed? Surely, it's signed, no? It would be terrible of Varric to gift you an unsigned copy of his own novel. Regarding your strangeness, I won't hold it against you. Although, is Hawke even skilled in that kind of magic? Genuine question, I truly don't know enough about her or her magic to say if she could have charmed your copy of Hard in Hightown.
I do not know what will become of the Andrastian mages, nor the Templar Order. The Dalish have managed our mages well enough on our own for several ages. I think I would prefer to not be forced to hide from mage-hunting fanatics endorsed by the Chantry. Not that every templar was like that. I know for certain they were not. You are not the only example. Hence why I call them fanatics, but the Chantry allowed it all the same. Our magic is only one reason my people have stayed away from settlements—though, from what I heard at Arlathvhen, we tend to travel closer than most clans would dare… perhaps it was inevitable that we found ourselves in a city. I will not assimilate, no matter what the humans of this city may decide in time. Someday they might decide that having a Dalish mage and alienage elves on their city council is no longer something they can allow. Or that they can only allow it if we abandon our traditions. If that day comes, I will leave. Ir abelas, I've told you this already, haven't I? I hope your Leliana succeeds. Truly, I do. No one deserves to be locked up in a tower their entire lives. I suppose, if nothing else, she'll cease the Chantry's use of lyrium, yes? I can't imagine her wanting to continue leashing the Chantry's faithful that way.
Ah, right, something good, something good… Ah! Kiara sent an assortment of gifts—for Wintersend, I imagine? She must like your holidays—including a wonderfully beautiful variety of embroidery thread. Colours we've only been able to acquire through specialty merchants we crossed paths with, some I've never even seen in thread form! That was very, very good.
Your friend and reading partner,
Cordelia
Early Bloomingtide, 9:43 Dragon
Cullen stands over his chess table—little more than a tea table with a pair of chairs—rubbing his chin. He's playing against himself, as his decent chess partners have abandoned him… save the Iron Bull, he supposes, though he and the Chargers are out on a mission. Hence, solo chess, a game that tends to take days, if not weeks, because he only makes one move at a time before returning to his work.
He's just lifted the black knight to move it in place to protect the queen when one of his office doors clangs open. He straightens and turns swiftly to greet—
"Ah, good, I'm glad you're getting use out of that," Kiara says, gesturing to the table with a parchment-filled hand. She and Dorian were the ones who placed the order for the furniture through Josephine and subsequently set up the tidy little corner meant for leisure. It's only ever used for chess.
"Inquisitor," he says wryly.
"Aneth ara," she replies. "That one's a casual greeting."
He fights a frown. "I did know that one already." Someone had taught him when they'd been in Wycome last summer, though he can't remember who. Probably her, or Cordelia, both of whom have taken to teaching him little words and phrases here and there. Kiara never did so… before their trip.
"It never helps to be reminded, Commander." She holds up the parchment—or, more accurately, envelopes—in her hand. "Letters for you, direct from the rookery." He arches a brow. What moved her to do a runner's job? "From your siblings—yes, Mia and Rosalie both put their names on this one." Branson writes less frequently, but his letters are always full of life. "From Dorian, lucky you. And last, but never, ever least, Cordelia." Ah, that explains it.
Cullen plucks the envelopes from her grasp and turns to walk back to his desk. Kiara lingers, perceptive violet eyes boring into his back, and subsequently his face as he rounds the desk. He traces his finger across the swirls of Cordelia's name and the unadorned envelope. His affection for Clan Lavellan's First has only grown in the months they've been exchanging letters. His halfway finished copy of Hard in Hightown with each of her letters tucked in at their corresponding chapter makes that much painfully obvious, so he's taken to hiding the novel in the drawer of his nightstand… along with the rest of her letters.
Kiara hasn't left. His hand stills on the way to grab his letter opener.
"Was there something else you needed?" He tries not to sound irritated, but, as usual, it doesn't make much of a difference.
"Aren't you going to read them?"
He narrows his eyes. "Certainly not with you here to snoop around." She clicks her tongue in disapproval, approaching from across the room.
"Are you getting her anything for her birthday?"
"Am I—Who—" his eyes widen— "When is it?"
"Next month. The seventh, if you must know. I'm surprised she hasn't mentioned it… perhaps in that letter?" She looks pointedly at the envelope in his hand.
"I'm not going to read it in front of you," he reiterates.
"You should get her something."
"I—"
"She likes jewelry," Kiara continues, paying him no mind. "Josie can help. I can, too, I guess, but Josie's the one with the connections and catalogues. I just have a better idea of pieces Cordy would like."
"I'm quite certain Josephine has more important matters to address." His cheeks heat with a blush she's sure to notice.
"There's an interlude scheduled for tomorrow."
Cullen begged off the "interludes" more often when Corypheus was still alive and wreaking havoc. Since the magister's defeat, he's had far fewer reasons to do so. Evidently, Kiara isn't willing to let the matter drop.
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine, then. Ask her to bring these… catalogues." Kiara grins victoriously, and he wonders if he's just made a terrible mistake.
The small box has been sitting on the table staring at Cordelia for three days by the time she gets out of bed on her 29th birthday, eager to finally open the gift Cullen sent. She didn't expect anything from anyone, but least of all from him. That her birthday was coming up isn't something she mentioned to him in her recent letters, which leads her to believe that Kiara had some kind of hand in all this.
Cordelia is fond of him, she won't deny that, but she's not looking for anything more than a friendship. It's nothing against Cullen himself. She's certain he would be—Well, there's no use dwelling on how his lips might taste or how his stubble might feel under her fingertips. He's halfway across Thedas, and their responsibilities are too numerous to even consider it.
As she comes out of her bedroom and into the main living area, Cordelia sees her mamae by the fire, tending to the cooking hearth cakes while her babae drizzles the finished ones with honey. Fresh fruit sits cut up on the table already.
"On dhea, da'ise," her babae greets with a smile.
"On dhea." She wraps one arm around him and kisses his cheek. "All this for me?"
"Of course, it's your birthday," her mamae says, rising with the last of the hearth cakes on a plate. "Are you finally going to open that?" She nods towards the little box from Cullen.
"By the Creators, Mamae, I just got up," Cordelia says as she sits down at the small table. As though it wasn't the first thing she thought of when she woke. Her babae places the honeyed hearth cakes in front of her and shifts to tend to the steeping tea. "I don't want to dirty it with sticky fingers." She breaks off a piece of hearth cake and pops it in her mouth.
"After, then." Her mamae takes two cups of tea from the counter and sets one in front of Cordelia, keeping the other for herself. Cordelia nods her agreement to after and dives into her birthday breakfast.
She and her parents chat about their plans for the day as they eat. Cordelia wants to go down to the beach and swim for a while, and they remind her to wear the balm they made to protect skin from the sun. Her own burns all too easily—her father's too. She has a lesson with Mioluvun, more writing and language practice. Her mamae wants to work on her current embroidery project and her babae thinks the living space needs tidying—neither Cordelia nor her mamae argue that point, but it looks fine to them.
Her parents insist on cleaning up from their meal despite her attempts to help with the dishes.
"Open your gift from the Commander," her babae says as he sets the last of the utensils on the rack to dry.
"What's so special about this gift? Do you know something I don't?" Neither of them give her an answer.
Scoffing, Cordelia pulls the small gift box towards her and tugs at the blue ribbon tied into a bow. A small note sits on top of a cushion within.
I hope you'll find this gift is something you can use regularly. I might have opted for something more practical had my hand not been guided in the direction of such an item. The stone is apparently the birthstone for the month of Justinian… I can't deny its beauty, nor that it would look lovely with the other pieces you wear.
Happy birthday, Cordelia.
Your friend,
Cullen Rutherford
Cordelia smiles, thumbing over his signature at the bottom before setting the note aside to see what lay beneath it. On the end of a golden chain is a cool-toned, somewhat iridescent stone, in the shape of a triangle but with curved points. The light catches on shades of purple, blue, and green as she tilts the pendant around.
"Oh, da'len, that's very beautiful." It looks expensive, she wants to tell her mamae, but she has little concept of what gemstones are popular and rare. Her jewelry is made from crystals she's come across or bought from travelling merchants. The kinds of people who sell jewelry with such fine stones don't tend to travel around with their wares.
"Yes, it is," she says, and for a moment she wishes Cullen was here to put it on her. Which is foolish. She can put it on herself, so she does. It falls just below her collarbones, perfectly between the necklaces she's already wearing. So perfectly that she wonders, again, if Kiara gave him some kind of inside knowledge, because how could he remember what jewelry she wears everyday and how each piece lays on her body. Unless—No.
Thank the Creators she's going down to the secluded lagoon to swim; it'll help clear her head of this… of Cullen and his warm smiles and sweet words and kind eyes and generous gift.
17 Firstfall, 9:43 Dragon
Cullen,
I hate to open with this, but I need to know what's been going on with Kiara. Since the Inquisition defeated Corypheus, she's been much better about writing to us, but I haven't heard from her in nearly three months. Each of my letters go unanswered, as have Deshanna's. I assume she's not dead. You or someone else with the Inquisition would have informed us and we would have arranged to have her body transported here for burial and—Forgive me. I am concerned. With rumours of some kind of council convening next spring or summer, I simply want to know what she's thinking, how she's doing. What could have caused her to stop writing? As far as I am aware, no one has started another war. I understand if you do not know details, but, please, ask her to write to me.
It is little use trying to teach me the rules of chess. I can wrap my head around how the pieces move and little else. I regret I cannot aid in stimulating your mind in this way… I know it's been difficult for you having your friends leave Skyhold. Kiara seemed rather torn up over the Tevinter's departure, too. He must be something special if the both of you are so fond of him. Surely you can maintain chess matches with him and the Divine through letters, as you wish to do with me, can you not? You'd be much more successful with them, if you haven't already been doing that. Should I find another book for us to read together?
Mio has grown more patient since we first met. You'd be able to tell a difference if you visited. For someone who didn't grow up speaking the elven language, they've picked it up remarkably fast. Embroidery is a strictly practical activity for them, in that nothing they embroider is without magic. It must all have a purpose, even if it is also pleasant to look at. I can hardly stop them from stealing my thread when everything they make is helpful in some way. This week they copied the runes from a pair of my hair ribbons to make their own—why? Because the embroidered runes make the ribbons immune to being burnt. Handy for pyromancers with a taste for pretty things. For a long while, they weren't interested in such things as hair ribbons, but apparently they've decided they want a pop of colour.
I hope you are well, and that you are keeping warm in your little tower.
Mar falon,
Cordelia
5 Haring, 9:43 Dragon
Cordelia,
I'm sorry to hear that Kiara has not been in touch. I've spoken with her about doing so. Hopefully she listens. I believe the Anchor has been causing her more trouble than usual, so she's investigating how to potentially remove it. She's been unsuccessful thusfar, but is working with our resident arcanist to solve the problem. The one person who truly seemed to understand the mark was Solas, and, well… Let us hope they figure something out.
I would be more than happy to read another book with you. Forgive my fixation on chess… I was getting restless when last I wrote to you. Nothing to do with you! My own trouble. I hope to pay my siblings a visit for the new year. Getting out of this fortress may help, I think, much as it has become my home in a way I've never had before. I'm sure you understand going stir crazy when cooped up for too long—though I suppose you might not have experienced it until settling in Wycome? In any case, I'll have chess partners for however long I stay in South Reach.
Speaking of the rumours about the Exalted Council, Leliana has been trying to hold off Ferelden and Orlais, but they're growing increasingly adamant that something needs to be done about us. I haven't given it much thought, apart from the fact I'm not sure where all of our soldiers are going to go if they dismantle us. Home, yes, but to what? So many people who joined were refugees and people affected by the conflict between mages and templars or by Corypheus's own actions… It's something I need to prepare for. I need to decide how we can help our people continue to do good, even if we are no longer around. Perhaps that's an idealistic daydream, but we've made a difference and I would like it to last.
Josephine's already talking about getting us new dress uniforms. The last one I had was… They tailored it to be too tight, and I have no idea how to let it out. It's a bit suffocating. At the Winter Palace, between the uniform and the courtiers, I'm not sure how I kept my head. I am somewhat concerned the same will happen again. You're skilled with needle and thread—would you be able to teach me how to let out the seams and tailor the suit myself? I can't imagine it's easily explained without a visual demonstration, but I would be eternally grateful if you even attempted to aid me in this matter. It's like with boats. I mean, why I don't like travelling by boat. The rooms are too small. Not enough light, not enough air. A tight uniform feels much the same. Your help would be immensely appreciated.
Your friend,
Cullen
15 Solace, 9:44 Dragon
Dear Cordelia,
I'm sure you've heard by now that Kiara has disbanded the Inquisition. I hesitate to share any of the sensitive details of the Exalted Council, should she not have already told you. I'm sorry for the turmoil I don't wish to intrude on what may be a difficult time for you and the rest of Clan Lavellan, but I have arranged passage to Wycome following a visit to my siblings in South Reach. I am uncertain whether or not Kiara has made similar plans. She has been inconsolable having a difficult time.
I need a new purpose I would like to make myself useful, and you've mentioned renovations to the shabby buildings of the alienage. My actual training in construction is abundantly little, but surely I have enough brute strength to figure it out?
I leave South Reach just after my birthday. It shouldn't be too far into Harvestmere that I arrive in Wycome. If you wish to write me before then, you can send letters to the South Reach chantry… it won't be as quick as the Inquisition's messengers, but it should arrive all the same.
Until then, be well, Cordelia.
Yours,
Cullen
A letter, unsent and nearly illegible from being drawn over with elven motifs and tear stains blurring the ink.
Cullen,
Kiara came to tell us what she discovered, and then disappeared. She mentioned something about Kirkwall. Why would she go to Kirkwall? From everything I've heard, it doesn't sound like a place she would like to be? She couldn't or wouldn't stay here. With her people, with her family. Half her arm is gone! And that man—that… I don't think you can possibly understand the horror I feel at having failed to protect her from Fen'Harel. That is—One of a Keeper's primary duties is to protect the clan spiritually, protect the clan from Fen'Harel. Deshanna wears a ring inscribed with that promise. It's been passed down from Keeper to Keeper since the fall of the Dales. It is our duty and we failed. If what he said is true, which I have a difficult time accepting that it is, if it's true, then everything we've been taught is wrong. Everything I have been teaching Mioluvun was for nothing. I am frightened of what it all means.
I don't know why you are coming here. I don't know that I want you to see me, see us, in this state of turmoil. I'm not going to tell you to stay away, but I do not understand. My clan will not understand. They will not understand why a shemlen man has come to, what, to help us in our time of trouble? We do not need you to save us, Cullen. I do not want you to save us. This grief, this… Creators—no, not Creators, unless? What am I supposed to use now? June'enaste—June's blessing, the god my vallaslin honour… would he have… I can't even find the words to express what it is we are experiencing and I don't think I will be the same friend who you've been writing to for two years. Who am I if my culture is… broken?
Until this month, Cordelia didn't pay any mind to the cliffs overlooking the Wycome harbour. She prefers the ones overlooking the sea, with no boats marring her horizon. But Cullen told her that he'd be arriving in Harvestmere. So here she is with her feet hanging precariously over the cliffside, watching the ships as they come and go on a brisk autumn afternoon. A breeze off the water ruffles her hair and makes the fringe of her shawl swing to and fro.
She still doesn't understand why he's coming. Part of her—how large that part is depends on the day—wants him to stay away, to not burden her and her clan with his presence. Yet Kiara has not returned. And her people have not adjusted. They argue about the validity of the information almost nightly, usually not the same people arguing every day, but Cordelia hears them all. Part of her job is to listen. What will they think when Cullen arrives? What will they say? And will they say it only where she cannot hear? Will she have to hear from Mioluvun that her kin think her as strange as her dearest friend—with half an arm gone and a heart broken by the Dread Wolf?
Cordelia's eyes sting with tears, but she blinks them back. Some days she can't stop them, can't stop herself from bursting into tears. Some days she has to go down to the beach and just… scream. Some days she wishes she could live in denial, as some of her clanmates do, pretend that everything Kiara told them is some fantastical, cruel story. But she trusts Kiara and her judgement. If she didn't believe it's all true, she wouldn't have told them all about it, or would have framed it as a ridiculous story that her former lover told. If it isn't true, wouldn't Kiara have stayed?
Clutching the edge of the cliff in her hands, Cordelia takes a deep, steadying breath. Birds squawk, bells ring, waves crash. She exhales.
"Aneth ara, Cordelia."
The breath she just steadied catches in her throat. She does not turn around, but her hand rises to touch the precious stone hanging from her neck. "Don't say that to anyone else. You're not—they would not appreciate it. Kiara might be forthcoming with our language, but not everyone agrees with her."
"Forgive me, I thought—"
"I do not mind," she interrupts, clarifying. "We are friends, you are welcome to be… familiar." She wouldn't call him lethallin in her letters if she wasn't comfortable with his level of familiarity. Quite the opposite. She wants him to be—
"May I sit?" He's closer now, barely a few steps behind her. She turns her head just a little, glimpsing him—his brown leather boots, anyway—out of the corner of her eye. A nod.
He unbuckles his scabbard and lays it beside him as he takes a seat a polite distance away from her. Not so far that she can't touch him if she wants. Which she does want, even though she shouldn't. It's crossed her mind that it is… entirely possible he comes here for her. She doesn't know what to do with that. She can't… she isn't capable of giving him the time he deserves. That was made clear to her four years ago.
"Have you—When I asked—Mioluvun told me you've been up here watching the ships for days," Cullen says. Of course they did, meddling, blunt teenager that they are.
"You never said what the ship was called," she says dismissively. "I couldn't exactly check the schedule to see precisely when it would be arriving." He's looking over at her and if she's not mistaken, there's a soft, awestruck look in his warm amber eyes. She would like to observe him in return—it's been two years since she's seen him—but she's not certain she can face that look.
"So instead you watched."
"Yes."
He stares. She pulls her shawl tighter around her. Her fingers still toy with the triangular jewel, his first gift to her, apart from his friendship.
"Cordelia—"
"I can't," she whispers, looking at him, but not meeting his gaze. He's wearing something new—a deep red jacket, cropped so it falls just above the waistline of his trousers.
His brow creases with a frown. "… Can't, what?"
"Give you what you want."
"What is it that I want?" My heart. Though perhaps it is more accurate to say she cannot be what he wants, as she fears she may have already given him her heart, or at least part of it, not in its entirety, but the beginnings of it…
"I don't know."
"Then how—" He sighs and shakes his head. For a moment, he watches the harbour, then he says, "I am not—I don't—Maker, this sounded much better in my head."
"What did?" she asks, tracking his hand as it rubs the back of his neck.
"All I mean to say is that… I'm here to help, in whatever way I can. There's nothing—You don't owe me anything."
She knows that. Logically, she knows that. This is Cullen, her friend, earnest and kind and thoughtful and willing to adapt to whatever this world throws at him. But she… she doesn't want him to leave if he grows tired of waiting for her to be ready for something other than friendship, because she doesn't know if she'll ever be ready, but losing him would…
"Cordelia." His warm, gloved hand covers hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. Heat rises to her cheeks. At his gentle urging, she finally lifts her gaze to meet his. "I'm not going anywhere."
She exhales a heavy, shaky breath, eyes wide. His expression is almost unbearably tender. She wants desperately to believe him… so she does. And when she acquiesces with a nod, he smiles so sweetly at her that she nearly bursts into tears. She doesn't know what lies between them, or ahead of them, but it's not nothing. For now, that's enough.
