Preparations for the festival were well underway, and the commotion of merchants in the yard was threatening to put Cullen into a foul mood.
For weeks now, Skyhold had been welcoming travelers into the lands surrounding the keep. The decree had been sent out only a month ago, the ravens following the last of the winter storms to deliver the messages.
All were welcomed to Skyhold for a festival to celebrate the coming of spring.
The council had come to this decision with no shortage of arguments. Josephine was keen to improve relations between the Inquisition and nearby noble houses, arguing that the spring festival, a key staple of life in Thedas, was a perfect setting to begin forging valuable alliances as well as establish the legitimacy of the Inquisition in the minds of the common folk. Leliana saw this as an opportunity to expose plots against Ciara and the Inquisition. She actually seemed excited at the very real prospect of an assassination attempt and was looking forward to thwarting it with a strange sense of anticipation.
Cullen thought this was a disaster waiting to happen. The logistics involved with assuring the safety of the Inquisitor, and all of them for that matter, was no small task. He had barely slept in days, working tirelessly to train his men for every possible scenario…evacuation, frontal assault, even crowd control. Desperately trying to prepare for every eventuality was taking its toll on his good humor.
At least he was not alone is his disgruntlement. Ciara had opposed the scheme from the start. She and Cullen were both surprised to be on the same side of a debate, but her arguments were similar to his.
“Why would we open Skyhold up to such a threat? Was not its relative isolation one of the reasons we chose it as our base in the first place?” She paced through the council room, her long robe brushing against the stone floor as she walked.
Josephine answered. “Only partially. It is also a central point along all the major trade routes. With the roads now in working order, we can begin not only working to increase trade, but also to influence the people of Thedas in a more direct way. This festival will be a way to…advertise that fact.”
Cullen spoke up. “But we would also potentially expose our weaknesses. Once this becomes a major center for trade and whatever else you have in mind, we lose our edge in terms of operational freedom.”
Ciara agreed. “Commander Cullen is right. Leliana, you cannot possibly think this will help you in your more…delicate operations. How can your agents move in the relative secrecy they need if we do not maintain some isolation?”
Leliana shrugged. “You underestimate my methods, inquisitor. Opening up networks is a smart move for the long term, regardless of the difficulties. We need to stop hiding, to take a larger, more visible role in the land. This is a perfect way to start.”
Ciara crossed her arms, her dark brows furrowed as she thought about it. “It is a dangerous game. I do not like taking such bold risks for what seems relatively little gain.”
In the end, they were outvoted when Cassandra joined the argument and, to everyone’s surprise, sided with Leliana and Josephine. Citing the role of the Inquisition throughout history, it was fully expected that they integrate into the populace in this way. It gained alliances and forged trust amongst the very same people that the Inquisition sat in judgment upon. It was tradition.
Cullen sighed as made his way through the madness of the merchant caravans. The brightly colored silks fluttered in the breeze as he walked through them, his eyes searching for anything out of the ordinary. Sweaty men rolled out casks of mead and ale, while soldiers watched in jittery anticipation. Fire dancers practiced their art, their faces painted with yellows and blues, while children looked on and clapped their hands. Dwarves examined their displays, polishing trinkets and placing them on beds of crimson velvet, to the immediate cooing of nobles who were getting a head start on losing coin. Carts were being set up to hang sweetmeats and display fresh baked breads to keep the revelers full when the festivities began. Even confectioners from Orlais were present, eager to get the nobility of Thedas addicted to their sweet concoctions.
Cullen inspected everything, from carts to peasants to nobles to ale. In the midst of his work, he heard excited whispers and looked up, noting the carriage that was slowly making its way towards the keep.
At first, he assumed it was just another precession of nobles, on their way to Skyhold to introduce themselves to Ciara. They had been arriving in rapid succession over the past week, all personally invited to stay in the keep’s recently refurbished suites and partake in the festivities. Every time a new carriage arrived, the small folk would gather round and delight in the general splendor of their carriages and horses. He found it rather ridiculous, but it was, as both Josephine and Vivienne pointed out, how things were done.
When he noticed their sigul, his heart stopped. Two golden horses reared up against a field of green. The banner of house Trevelyan.
Cullen rushed to get to the keep before them, his heart hammering in his chest.
When he entered the great hall, Ciara was seated on her throne, a look of calm settled upon her features. She wore robes of deep blue velvet with the Inquisition sigil embroidered throughout in golden thread. Her hair was swept up, held in place by golden clips in the shape of butterflies, each wing tipped with a small sapphire. She seemed perfectly at ease, though Cullen noticed the way her fingers kept twirling around something in her hand. As he approached, he saw it was a short piece of yellow ribbon that she was continually knotting between her fingers.
When her eyes met his, she took a breath and motioned subtly for him to stand by her side.
He leaned down and whispered. “They have arrived.”
She nodded once, her face the same cool mask. Having known her for some time now, he knew that the more impassive she appeared, the more deeply troubled she was. It was only when she was relaxed that she allowed herself to show anger or joy. Cullen’s shoulders tensed, aware of how much this meeting must mean to her.
Only the council members knew of Ciara’s connection to that family. It was only by accident that they found out.
They were in Josephine’s quarters when it happened. Josephine had been reading off the guest list, her quill scratching against the paper as she made notes. Ciara appeared to be only half listening, staring out the window of the solar and drinking a glass of wine, only occasionally interrupting to ask the Antivan questions about the families. Leliana and Cullen were both busily sketching out plans for defensive measures, and neither noticed anything amiss until they heard the glass shatter.
Cullen and Leliana both looked up and Josephine stopped reading. They all stared at Ciara, who stood with her back to them. The wine puddled in the floor around her feet.
They waited for her to speak. When she did, her voice was cold, emotionless. “Do not invite them.”
Josephine looked taken aback at her tone. “But…they are an important family in the Free Marches, with strong ties to the Chantry. Their lands and horses may be important to our cause should we ever have need…”
Ciara interrupted her, her voice tinged with contempt. “If we need their horses, we will take them as suits our will. I do not need their friendship nor their goodwill. I need nothing from them.” She turned and strode from the room.
Josephine turned to Leliana. “What…”
Leliana rubbed her temple. “Maker preserve me. They must be…” She looked at Cullen. “Is it common for Circle mages to…remember?”
Josephine looked confused. “Can someone please explain to me what is going on?”
Cullen spoke quietly. “Mage children are usually turned over Chantry as soon as their powers are revealed…but it can happen at different ages. Some remember their families, some do not. Others have family that actually try to maintain a relationship with them, but that is rare. If they are her family, they have likely not seen her since she was a small child. Since she does not use her surname, it is very possible that they have no idea who she even is. And if they did, they would not want that information to become public knowledge.”
Josephine finally understood. “The Trevelyans are her natural family. I see. I will remove them from the list.”
Leliana crossed her arms. “It may not be as easy as that. To omit a single family will raise suspicion. Even if they are unaware, I am sure it is known that they once had a daughter. People could begin making that connection, which could be dangerous for them as well as her, given her present position.”
Josephine nodded. “Then we must convince her.”
Both women turned to Cullen, expectantly.
It was no secret that he and Ciara had become friends over the past few months. The more they got to know one another, the more they realized that, despite their many differences, they were very similar. They both valued caution over rashness. They both preferred quiet conversation to the loud, carefree ramblings of the others. Ciara had begun to trust him, or so it seemed, and he respected her. The two of them often shared meals in the common room, talking late into the evening about various topics. Of course, they were always benign topics. They rarely spoke of Circles and Templars and the only one who had mentioned anything about family had been him. He knew better than to open that old wound…it was never a topic any mage wished to discuss.
While he was glad that they were finally able to overcome their most obvious differences, he knew that their precarious friendship only existed because they avoided the most sensitive issues. He did not think this particular topic would be one she wished to discuss with him.
After no little cajoling from the two determined women, he left to seek out Ciara. His hope was that he could convince her to yield from a tactical standpoint rather than try to offer her advice on her emotional involvement with the Tervelyans. He wondered how she would receive him.
He found her about a mile from the keep. She was sitting alone next to a small pond, her horse grazing the newly exposed tufts of spring grass. He walked slowly towards her, watching as she skipped stones over the pond. He was impressed with her ability, until he realized she was using magic to make the stones skip along the water’s surface.
She sighed when she heard him approach. She spoke first, her back still towards him. “I must invite them, correct?”
Cullen joined her, sitting next to her and placing his arms on his bent knees. “I believe so.”
She continued skipping stones and he watched her in silence. As usual, her face betrayed nothing of her inner turmoil. After a time, she spoke. “This was the first bit of magic I ever performed.”
Cullen remained silent.
“My older brother, Cerwyn…he would carry me on his shoulders to the pond down the road from our stables. I remember that…the way he would lift me up and how high I felt perched upon his narrow shoulders. He was teaching me to skip stones. I remember him teaching me to fine the best ones…smooth and flat. It was a cool day, and the wind was high. I remember how difficult it was, even for him, to get the stones to skip over the rough water.”
She continued tossing stones, and Cullen could feel a subtle pull in the air around them. The stones soured, seeming to gain height with each hit on the water. She stopped, dropping the stone she held.
“I remember him grabbing my hands, screaming at me to stop, but I didn’t understand what he meant. I started to cry. I remember…reaching up to him. He smacked my hands away. Then…he turned and ran. He left me there, alone by the water’s edge. I was only four years old.”
She angrily wiped her cheek, though Cullen saw no tears. “I don’t remember much after that, just the sound of my mother crying behind a closed door. I was frightened. She would not open the door and I remember lying down in the hallway outside, confused and tired. My father was away at the time, I don’t know where. Within hours, the Templars were packing me up and taking me to the Circle. I never saw them again.”
She stopped speaking for a time, staring out over the water. “They never wrote. They never visited. But I remembered them, Cullen. I remember my brother and how he would swing me around in his arms. I remember how my father’s stubble scratched my cheek when he kissed me. I remember my mother singing in the gardens and taking me to see the horses. I tried with all my might to hold on to those memories through the years, so that I could have some connection to where I came from. So much effort to feel…a sense of belonging.”
Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off, standing. “They do not deserve it, Cullen. They do not deserve the room in my heart that I kept for them. They do not remember me.”
Cullen stood. “You don’t know that, Ciara.”
Her laugh was bitter. “They gave me away without saying goodbye. I know it well. They erased me from their lives. You know how it goes.”
Cullen was silent, unsure what to say. In his experience, she was correct. The Trevelyans were a powerful family in Ostwick, but Ciara had been placed in the northernmost circle of Ferelden. With their ties to the Chantry, Cullen guessed they had made that request. They probably had no idea that they were sending her to one of the most notoriously corrupt Circles in the land. They just wanted her far away from them, someplace outside the Free Marches, and their wish had been granted.
Finally, Ciara sighed. She looked up at him, her eyes calm. “Tell Josephine to invite them. They are strangers to me. It does not matter.”
Since that day, Cullen had been dreading the hour of their arrival. He stood stoically next to Ciara, curious what her reaction would be when they entered the hall. When they were announced, Cullen noticed that Ciara crumpled the ribbon into her hand. Her face remained impassive.
Through the doors strode a tall, proud man. His hair was grey and full, a grizzled beard hiding most of his face. Cullen held his breath when he noticed the man’s cool grey eyes. Ciara’s eyes. Like her, the man was tall and thin and he walked steadily to the throne. Behind him walked a younger man and woman with two small children trailing after them.
When they reached the throne, the man bowed deeply, and his family followed suit.
“Inquisitor. I am Almastuf Trevelyan. ” His voice was rough, but dignified, the cadence of the Free Marches evident in his voice. He seemed completely oblivious that he was addressing his own daughter.
“A pleasure to meet you sir. Your lands are renowned for its horses and your people their fairness and goodwill. I am honored to welcome you to Skyhold.” Ciara’s voice was pleasant and welcoming. Cullen was amazed at her capacity to remain so calm. She did not seem affected by this at all.
The man smiled. “This is my family. My eldest son, Cerwyn, and his wife Delilah. These are my grandchildren. We are humbled to have received your invitation.” He bowed again.
Ciara swallowed. “A fine family. Is your…wife not among your party, Almastuf?”
Cerwyn spoke for him. “My mother does not often leave our home, Inquisitor. She has a…fragile disposition that keeps her close to Ostwick. She sends you her warmest regards.”
Cullen noticed the Ciara clutched the ribbon in her hand tightly when she heard this, though her voice betrayed nothing. “I see. Please extend to her my sadness that she could not join us here. I hope that you and your family enjoy the festivities and…”
One of the children spoke up, excitedly. “Will there be fire dancers?”
“Hush, Alistair.” His mother scolded.
Ciara smiled at the young boy, motioning for him to step forward. “Alistair is it? A noble name indeed! Do you know you are named for our king?”
The little boy nodded. “Yes. My sister Ciara thinks it sounds stupid!”
Ciara inhaled sharply. Cerwyn spoke up, his face slightly crimsoning. “It appears both of my children are named after great leaders, Inquisitor, though the latter is a coincidence. My youngest is named after my sister. She died long ago.”
Ciara smiled, but it looked forced. She swallowed audibly before speaking, her words coming out in a rush. “I am sorry for your loss.” She looked back the young boy, regaining her composure. “I hope you enjoy the fire dancers, Alistair. You and your sister both.” She leaned forward. “I am sure you will protect you little sister, Alistair. That is what big brothers must always do.” She looked up at Cerwyn. “Is that not true, Cerwyn?”
He blinked rapidly, a strange look passing over his face. Before he could respond, Ciara leaned back. “My steward will show you to your chambers.” With that, she stood, the Trevelyns bowing as she left the hall.
Cullen followed her.
She walked steadily but quickly to the eastern exit, nodding at those she passed. When she reached one of the interior halls, her pace quickened and Cullen had to jog to keep up with her. At the end of the hall, she stopped at a narrow window. She placed her hand on the glass, bending slightly to catch her breath.
Cullen approached her cautiously, as one would a wounded creature. Her voice was full of pain. “Dead. I am dead.”
Before he could speak, she turned to him, her eyes brimming with tears. He did not think. He stepped towards her, reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand, catching the first of her tears with his thumb. He pulled her to him and held her as she struggled to calm herself, her tears falling silently against his shirt.
Cullen’s voice came out in a rough whisper. “You are more alive than anyone I’ve have ever known, Ciara.”
She grabbed his upper arms, her hands gripping the fabric as she rested her forehead against his chest. Her tears were silent, but she continued to take rapid breaths. Without thinking, he tilted his head down and rested his lips on the top of her head, breathing in the scent of lilacs.
She tilted her head back and he kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger against her warm skin. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, the sadness in her grey eyes burning though him. He gently brought both of his hands back to her face, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks and gently brush back the loose strands of hair that fell in her face. Her lips parted slightly and she watched him intently as he continued his gentle ministrations.
When his hands stopped their fussing and rested along her jaw, his eyes focused on hers. She trembled when he trailed his thumb along her bottom lip. He looked at in fascination, unable to quite grasp what he had just done and unsure how she would respond if he did what the burning in his chest was begging him to do.
In that moment, to kiss her felt as necessary to him as breathing.
He slowly leaned down, softly brushing his lips against hers. It was barely a kiss, but his whole body came alive at the touch.
He felt her hands loosen from their grip on his shirt. He thought she might pull away then, and he prepared himself for what she would say.
Instead, he felt her hands slide up his arms. When her hands reached his neck, he couldn’t hold back any longer.
He grasped her lips with his, tugging at them until she kissed him in return. Her response to him was unexpected, and he longed to make the moment last. He moved his hands up into her hair, his secret yearning to feel her silken locks too tempting to resist. She sighed against his lips and he placed his other hand on her lower back, pulling her closer to him. When her hands found their way into his hair, a soft moan escaped his lips.
Cullen felt like his body was made of wax. He could feel her molding into him, her hair soft in his hand, her body settling into his like it belonged there, like his frame had been created to hold her shape.
Her lips were soft and yielding, and Cullen was amazed at how warm she was. He had always likened her to the wind blowing in off an icy sea, breathtaking and alive, but the kind of wind that could freeze your bones if you stood in it for too long. To feel her warmth against him, her passion finally awakened towards him, filled Cullen with a strange sense of urgency. He did not want this to end.
Deepening their kiss, he tilted her head back slightly and let his tongue move along her lips. An aching sound of desire passed through her he felt her nails pass over his scalp, pulling him closer. He felt her tongue pass over his scar and his whole body filled with warmth.
His hands travelled through her hair and he felt on one of the golden clips fall loose, dropping to the floor. The sound startled them both and she pulled away, her face flushed, her grey eyes looking anywhere but his. Cullen wanted to grab her and kiss her again so badly that it was difficult for him to concentrate.
He stepped back to allow her room and she bent to grab the golden butterfly. She stood back up quickly, her hands fussing with her hair. She turned away from him and he watched in silence as she pinned her hair back into place. He was mesmerized by her, her long arms reaching up to her hair, the sunlight from the window highlighting her long, lithe shape. Cullen wanted nothing more than the pull her towards him, to feel her back press against him and run his hands down her sides, to place kisses on her graceful neck. But he stood still, aware that she needed space from him.
When she was finished, she dropped her hands to her sides and stared out the window, her back expanding and contracting as she brought her breathing back to normal.
Cullen watched her, unable to speak, yet terrified of the silence that was lingering between them. He cleared his throat, desperate to say something before she had a chance to. He did not speak quickly enough.
“This is not a good idea Cullen.” Her voice was a whisper, but the resolve in it filled Cullen with pain. He knew she was right, for so many reasons.
Cullen answered truthfully. “No, it isn’t.”
She nodded, taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders. Before she could turn, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. He felt her tremble at his touch. He dropped his face to her neck, letting his warmth breath settle against her skin. He placed a soft kiss in the crook of her neck and she whimpered, her head leaning back against his chest. He raised his head to whisper into her ear. “But I won’t let that stop us, Ciara.”
Before she could respond, Cullen heard footsteps in the corridor. He stepped away from her and turned, but the intruder had taken a different hallway, leaving the mage and templar in peace.
When he turned back towards her, all he caught was the edge of her blue robe disappearing around the corner.
I think the "I'm tough" arms folded looks is pretty awesome...(for some reason trying to explain my thoughts right now is really hard to do without swearing or using semi-swear words. not because I'm angry or anything...but because that pic is just so...*squeel* how do you explain the his attractiveness appropriately without any swear words? this is so rare for me, I normally don't have this problem...) his eyes are piercing enough, no need for sword holding... 
although I don't have the same mind-image as you do, so I'm sure adding a sword will only add to the BAMFness 
*fans self* I cannot wait for the finished product. You are amazing 
Retour en haut
So I never finished the questline and I don't know what happens!
