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[RoraM]

Author's Note: Content under constant revision. And yes, I am fully aware the title is vague and banal, but that's what comes of starting with a concept and writing in installments. Who knew what initially began as a romance depicted through a collection of character vignettes would evolve to include attempted assassination? Besides, I hate coming up with titles. I had the same problem when I started writing "Andraste's Grace", the story that precedes this one. I suppose it could have been worse; I could have entitled it "This Sh*t Is Even Weirder: The Inquisitor Trevelyan Story". Alternatively, this story may also be read via AO3. Warnings regarding sensitive subject matter will be in red. Text and dialogue found in-game will be in blue.)

“And why would Her Worship, the Herald of Andraste be coming here?” Gallana eyed her with suspicion and not a little envy.

“Because,” Mia patiently answered as she continued to knead the morning’s baking, “my brother, the Commander of the Inquisition, has invited her.” Mia was fiercely proud of Cullen.

“She’s a noble, you know. She lives in that castle in the mountains." Gallana always had a gift for stating the obvious.

“Well, Cullen tells me she’s not like other nobles. She lived most of her life in the Circle. They know what it’s like to do without.” Mia was a little less certain on this point. From what she had heard about Skyhold from Cullen, no expense had been spared on the Inquisitor’s quarters. Gallana sniffed.

“She doesn’t live in a Circle now, does she? Hmph. Still don’t know if I trust mages. One wrong look, then- lightning strike!” Mia grimly pounded down the dough. Thankfully, Gallana hadn’t visited while she had been making the pie crusts, otherwise the pastry would have ended tough as shoe leather. Gallana, sensing she had overstepped, sipped her tea and immediately became more solicitous with her questions.

“How long do they plan to visit?” Mia frowned.

“Cullen hasn’t said. They’ll be visiting the Chantry first. There’s to be a ceremony of some kind and a fête, but I know little else.”

“You mean they might stay here?” Gallana looked horrified.

“Nothing is certain. With Geralt away, the girls and I can share a room. She can have our bed and Cullen can take the loft. Of course,” she couldn’t resist adding, “they could always set up camp by the cow pond-” She laughed as Gallana’s eyes looked fit to pop out of her head. “Gallana! Really!” Gallana’s eyes retreated to their normal position.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help…” Mia had been waiting for Gallana to make an offer.

“You make the finest elderflower cordial I’ve ever tasted," she said, glancing up to see a gratified expression cross her neighbour's face before returning to her kneading. "Cullen tells me it’s one of her favourite things to drink.” Cullen had said no such thing, but it was true that Gallana’s cordial was excellent and Mia and the girls would enjoy it, even if the Herald did not.

Mia tried not to laugh as Gallana hurriedly took her leave, astir with the thought Her Worship, the Herald of Andraste would soon be sipping her cordial. Mia smiled, shaking her head. She looked around at their cottage. It was cosy and warm and they were happy there. But Gallana had been right. This was still a poky old farmhold and they were quite isolated. The woman had only said what she herself had thought when Cullen first told her of their intended visit. She sighed. She was just thankful Gallana had made no further attempts to examine Cullen’s motives for bringing the Herald there. Mia had her own suspicions, but those were best kept to herself.

Gallana was true to her word. Accompanying four precious bottles of elderflower cordial were two gleaming jars of elderflower jelly, along with a plate of elderberry tarts carefully dusted with sparkling sugar. Gallana, wearing the dress she usually wore to Chantry services, was visibly disappointed that the Herald had not been present when she brought her basket over that afternoon.

“I’m sorry Gallana, but I’ll pass on your regards to the Herald when they arrive. It should be any day.”

It was later that evening, in fact. She and the girls had been sitting at the table for the evening meal when they heard the knock at the door.

Ella was the first to the door. “What’s the password?” Mia was horrified they were keeping the Herald waiting. In the rain. They heard Cullen give a playful growl, then:

“Maferath’s bottom!” Ella giggled and unlatched the door. Cullen dropped the saddlebags he was carrying and strode towards them, looking much happier and more at peace than when she had seen him all those years ago back in Kirkwall.

“Well, you’ve finally come to see us,” she said, embracing him and kissing him on the cheek. He smiled boyishly, and she saw his eyes twinkle when she glanced questioningly in the direction of the cloaked figure behind him.

“Mia, may I present Her Worship, Lady Inquisitor Elissandra Trevelyan of Skyhold.” He had taken his companion's hand and drawn her forward. The Inquisitor drew back her cowl and Mia instantly saw the woman was beautiful. No wonder Cullen…she quickly regained her self-possession. Did one curtsey? Kneel? Kiss her hand? Drat her brother for not telling her. The woman made the decision for her. She swiftly stepped forward to close the distance between them and was now embracing her. The Herald of Andraste was embracing her. And giving her a kiss on each cheek.

“Please, Cullen. Forgive your brother, Mia. I am Elissandra. Shall we pretend we’re old friends? I find that usually helps overcome any initial awkwardness.” In that instant, Mia understood why her brother loved her. He had not told her yet, of course, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes.

“Won’t you sit down by the fire and dry off…Elissandra?” she said, trying out the name.

“Thank you and please, do not let us interrupt your meal.” Mia looked at the delicate hands now warming themselves near the fire and gasped to see the glowing green light emanating from the left palm. While Una had dutifully returned to eating, the older Ella had promptly and unabashedly taken hold of the Herald’s hand for a closer examination. Elissandra laughed.

“You, bold thing, must be Ella. That is my mark. It is what made me who I am today.”

“Don’t believe her, Ella,” Cullen said, gravely. “Elissandra has always been more than the mark you see on her hand. But I am grateful for that mark, nonetheless.”

“Did you really kill all those dragons?” Ella said, staring wide-eyed at the Herald.

“Yes, but not by myself…well, perhaps just the one. But she was very small and weak and most likely would have died on her own.” Cullen snorted and Mia saw him shake his head. “Did you know all high dragons are female? They spend most of their time eating and mating and every so often, laying eggs. They are fierce and glorious and I was sorry to kill them.”

“Then why did you?” Although Ella had asked the question, Mia was just as curious to hear the answer.

“Because as wondrous as dragons are, I had to make a choice. A choice to protect either people like you and your mother and sister, or the dragons, who do not understand us. Perhaps, one day, someone will find a better way. Which reminds me,” Elissandra turned to pull something from her cloak. “This,” she said, holding up a curved ivory object as long as her hand, “is the tooth of a baby dragon.” Mia shuddered to think what the tooth of a high dragon might look like.

“May I hold it?”

“You may have it. One day, when you visit us in Skyhold, your Uncle Cullen will show you the skull of a high dragon and you can sit in it.” The Herald’s use of the word “us” did not escape Mia.

“My neighbour, Gallana, would never forgive me if I didn’t offer you some of her elderflower cordial,” Mia said, pulling out a bottle, along with the elderberry tarts.

“Did Cullen tell you? I adore elderflower cordial!” Mia laughed. She had not lied, after all.

“I almost forgot,” Cullen reached into one of the saddlebags and pulled out several goblets. “Enchanted glass.” He tapped one firmly against the table. “Near unbreakable. A Qunari friend of Elissandra’s took a warhammer to one once and only managed to crack it.”

“Cullen, shall we show them what else we brought?” It may have been framed as a polite question, but it was clearly an order. Cullen laughed. Mia had not heard him laugh like that since…she couldn’t remember since. She wished their brother and sister could have been there to see him this way. Perhaps at his next visit, though Maker only knew when that might be.

There was a stuffed toy dragon for little Una made of some bright orange material Mia did not recognize, bolts of lustrous cotton and the softest loden wool she had ever touched, the hide of a bear so large, it could have covered their entire cottage roof, a set of wickedly sharp dragonbone knives, and…tears sprang to her eyes. He had remembered.

“Elissandra collected the stone herself,” Cullen said softly, seeing her tears. “And that really is dragon tooth.” Mia ran a hand over the smooth hexagonal board, which was precisely inlaid with six-sided slices of polished onyx, dragon tooth, and lazurite. The workmanship of the playing pieces was breathtaking; half had been intricately carved from dragon tooth, while the other half had been cast in silverite. Mia wiped her eyes.

“Thank you. Both of you. We had to leave our old set behind when we fled to South Reach.”

“It was missing a piece, anyway. Would you care for a game later?”

“Perhaps after I put the girls to bed, which should be soon,” she said, eyeing the incorrigible Ella. “When must you return to Skyhold?”

“Not immediately. I was hoping we might stay one more night, if you’ll have us. Then we travel to the Free Marches.”

“Maker’s breath…I don’t see you for nearly ten years, you bring with you the Herald of Andraste, Saviour of Southern Thedas, and you ask if I would have you stay one more night?” She turned to Elissandra, incredulous. “Is he always like this?” The Herald chuckled.

“He can be oblivious, yes.”

“Then, yes, Cullen. You may stay one more night.”

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

Lady Inquisitor Elissandra Trevelyan of Skyhold, formerly of the Ostwick Circle of Magi

 

 

[RoraM]

Author's note:  Distances were calculated assuming a 9-day total travel time between Kinloch Hold and Orzammar (c.f. Dagna, DA:O) at a loaded march speed of 6.4 km/h (4 mph) and a daily travel time of 12 hours.  Mounted travel time was calculated assuming average speed of 14.5 km/h (9 mph).  Travel by medieval merchant ship was estimated at 1 knot/h.

 

     Elissandra had retired for the evening, leaving Mia to finish her game with Cullen.

 

     “You love her.”  It was Cullen’s move.  He looked up from the board with a quietly bemused expression on his face.  She had found him out.  It was the same expression he wore as a boy when she and their siblings would find him, after discovering he had disappeared once again to his hiding place down by the river:  the look of someone pleased he had been missed, though he had not expected to be, and glad he had been found.  When she had finally tracked him down to Kirkwall after the Blight, he had been near-unrecognizable.  Thin.  Harrowed.  Seething.  She lambasted him in the street for not sending word of his whereabouts for two years.  When that bemused little smile appeared, if but briefly, only then did she realize that he had been lost, somehow, and had only wanted to be found.  There had been no river refuge at Kinloch Hold. 

 

     But that was behind them, now. 

 

     “Why bring her here?  You don’t need my permission or my blessing, though I’d give both freely.”

 

     “She wanted to meet you.  Here, not in Skyhold.  In Skyhold, she is always ‘Her Worship’, both feared and adored.  ‘Lissa wanted you to do neither.”  Mia saw him colour, after letting slip the name he used for her.   “She wants a handfasting.  I mean, we both do.”  Cullen let out a sigh.  “When I asked her to be my wife, she only had one condition:  that we have a simple handfasting with my family before the unavoidable spectacle.”  He had such a grim expression on his face, Mia could only laugh.

 

     “Oh, don’t tell me you’re not secretly pleased.  We both know how much you enjoy being the center of attention,” Mia teased.

 

     “You do, at that,” he grinned.  His expression became serious again.  “It’s a seven day journey to Amaranthine then over a fortnight on the ship to Ostwick.  We spend the month with her family before returning to South Reach.  If you could arrange it, we would like the handfasting then. Tell the others as little as possible.  The less anyone knows of our movements, the better.  I won’t feel easy until we’re back in Skyhold.”

 

     “It shall be as you ask, of course.  And when is to be the happy day?”

 

     “Our ambassador, Lady Montilyet, will know that better than I, and I’m sure the Trevelyans will have ideas of their own.  There is the availability of Her Most Holy to consider…”  Mia coughed, nearly choking.  Of course.  They would have to be married in the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux by the Divine.  The enormity of it was bewildering.  “To be honest, I’m glad I only have to show up clean and dressed.”

 

     “Would you have us there, Cullen?”  Mia asked quietly, conscious of the rough homespun apron she had just smoothed on her lap.  Cullen looked surprised.

 

     “Mia,” he said, taking her hand, his amber eyes looking earnestly into her own, “I did not mean to make you doubt your presence was wanted.  Both Elissandra and I would have you all there.  We would prepare you for the viper’s pit that is Val Royeaux, however.  I attended a royal ball there once and nearly got eaten alive.  As my family, you will be made a target, if you are not already.  Discuss it with Geralt.  Decide if you wish to make the journey to Skyhold.”

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

     “They arrive!”

 

     Lady Evelyn Trevelyan was nervous.  It’s only ‘Lissa, she told herself.  For half-sisters, they looked almost nothing alike.  For one thing, Elissandra’s mother, Bann Trevelyan’s second wife, had been Rivaini.  Evelyn, in contrast, had inherited her mother’s porcelain white complexion.  If one looked closely, one would see that the shape of their eyes was identical.  Prior to the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, their eyes had also been the same Trevelyan grey.  Evelyn was curious to see the change 'Lissa had described.  None of the other Trevelyans had green eyes.

 

     Lady Diana was walking hurriedly past her room.  “Evelyn,” she hissed, “your sister arrives.”  Evelyn smiled bemusedly.  Neither she nor Elissandra liked their father’s third wife.  Lady Diana was only three years older then she was.  She was also the reason Elissandra did not visit as often as she and Evelyn would have liked.  When Elissandra lived in the Circle, Lady Diana barely mentioned her name.  Now, it was, “my stepdaughter, Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan” this and “my stepdaughter, the Herald of Andraste” that.

 

     She saw, as her sister’s party approached the gates, that she traveled with surprisingly few men.  The only one of any distinction was the officer in the golden lion helmet who rode just behind her barded charger.  That must be Cullen.  Their normally jovial father was nervous about meeting the man, with good cause.  The military might of the Inquisition rivalled kingdoms and he was its Commander.  ‘Lissa had chosen wisely.  Had she brought more men, Lady Diana would have complained of the expense of housing them during their stay, while their father would have feared his future son-in-law might commandeer his keep.  As it was, Lady Diana would only sniff and say that she thought the Inquisitor would have been worthy of a larger entourage.  Evelyn wondered who occupied the carriage at the back of the procession.

 

     She went down to the courtyard.

 

     “Evelyn!”  ‘Lissa cried, embracing her.  She felt too thin.  Her eyes were decidedly green now and she had a bit of the look she had after her Harrowing, but she seemed happy.  Her sister now kissed her on both cheeks.

 

     “I’m starving!  Where are the cakes?” she heard her whisper. 

 

     “No cakes,” Evelyn whispered back. “Physic’s and Lady Diana’s orders.  Just fruit, fruit, and more fruit.  Don’t worry.  Come to my room later.”  Elissandra now gestured to the armoured man beside her.

 

     “May I present Ser Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition.”  He removed his helmet and Evelyn saw why her sister was looking so proudly at him.  He had strong, straight features, wavy blond hair, and kind amber eyes.  The scar down his right lip did not make him any less handsome.  He bowed.  She saw Lady Diana flutter her lashes at him.  The woman was impossible. 

 

     “May I also present Lady Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador of the Inquisition.”  Evelyn curtseyed and saw the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes upon.  She tried not to blush when Lady Montilyet addressed her. Her accent was Antivan.  The woman’s eyes were fascinating:  gold rimmed with sea green, like the lining of the prettiest seashells.  Her smooth skin was just a shade lighter than ‘Lissa’s and she had the loveliest lips, the colour of red sea coral.  She moved gracefully to take Bann Trevelyan’s arm.  Evelyn, who had never envied her father in her entire life, envied him now.

 

     Family protocol dictated that their father and stepmother would lead them to the dining hall, followed by Cullen and Lady Montilyet, as their guests, then herself, then Elissandra.  However, Lady Diana had insisted on following visiting dignitary protocol.  This was the reason their father now escorted Lady Montilyet and Elissandra while Cullen escorted Lady Diana.  Evelyn would follow them all.  She didn’t mind walking in last, only she knew it had been an excuse for her stepmother to hang on to Cullen’s arm.  If Elissandra had knowledge of their stepmother’s partiality for her lover, she did not betray it.  She gave Evelyn a droll wink before walking in with their father.

 

     Supper was an elaborate affair.  Every piece of silverware had been laid to celebrate ‘Lissa’s coming.  She noticed Cullen grimace at the array of forks before him.  Lady Josephine was more at ease with the dining arrangements.  Evelyn tried her best not to stare too long at the woman, who seemed to glow brighter than any candle in the room.

 

     “Lady Evelyn,” she heard her say and her heart skipped a beat.  “I understand you are an impressive warrior in your own right.”  Evelyn blushed.  She had trained to double-wield daggers since childhood.

 

     “Unfortunately, Lady Josephine, I have had cause to make use of my skills in recent years,” she said in the courtly language they were both trained to use.  “The mage-templar war brought great chaos to our lands.  I had intended to be present at the Divine’s conclave along with the rest of the Trevelyans.  I count myself fortunate the Maker had other plans for me.”

 

     “Lady Josephine,” she heard her stepmother call.  “Lady Josephine, we would be honoured if you joined us in the morning room tomorrow after breakfast to discuss betrothal proceedings and wedding arrangements.  I understand our Elissandra has placed her trust in your lovely and capable hands.  Now, won't you please join us in the main hall for some dancing?”  Evelyn didn’t know if she despised or adored her stepmother more in that moment.  On the one hand, she had interrupted the conversation she was having with the ambassador, on the other, she had arranged the evening's dancing, which would now give Evelyn the opportunity to hold one of those lovely and capable hands.

 

     She saw ‘Lissa whisper something to Cullen, then watched him walk stiffly up to Lady Diana and bow.  He looked like someone had stuck a poker up his backside.  Lady Diana didn’t seem to notice.  She flirtatiously tossed her white-blond curls over her shoulder and looked up at him with her large violet eyes, taking his hand and allowing herself to be led to the dance floor.  Evelyn shook her head.  It was clear Cullen only had eyes for ‘Lissa.  Besides their father, who would want to kiss that thin-lipped mouth with all its pointy little teeth?  It was why the woman smiled closed-lipped and flirted behind a fan, which was also useful for hiding that annoyingly weak little chin.  Now, Lady Montilyet had no need of a fan.

 

     Evelyn sat beside her sister, whispering, “Why didn’t you tell me you had invited Lady Montilyet?”  ‘Lissa smiled knowingly.

 

     “She’s lovely, isn’t she?  And so sweet…hardworking…dedicated…thoughtful…and she sings beautifully, too…”  ‘Lissa’s eyes were dancing.  “This wedding is going to be a nightmare to plan and Lady Josephine is incredibly capable.  I was hoping you might help her with the arrangements on this end of things.  I know as heir you have other responsibilities to the Keep, but someone has to keep an eye on Lady Diana.   I don’t want her convincing Josie it’s some Trevelyan family tradition to have doves fly out from under my skirts, or that Cullen and I need to be carried in on red velvet litters by elves.  Please, Evie.”  ‘Lissa could always twist her around her little finger, even as a baby.  Evelyn looked over at Lady Josephine.  She wouldn’t have to twist too hard this time.  Nevertheless, Evelyn couldn’t let her think she had gotten her way so easily.

 

     “You’re the Inquisitor!  You’ve faced a darkspawn magister, dragons, countless demons, and Maker knows what else and you can’t handle our stepmother?”

 

     “Well, I can’t very well call lightning down upon her or run her through, can I?  Besides, I thought you’d like working with Josie.  She’s quite single, you know.  But, if you’re too busy…”  ‘Lissa sighed, trying her best to look pitiful.   Evelyn rolled her eyes.  Neither of them was fooling the other.  She gently grasped 'Lissa's chin.

 

     “How can I refuse a face like this?  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some dancing to do.”  ‘Lissa laughed.

 

     “You enjoy dancing as much as Cullen does,” she said accusingly.  “Wait.  She has a sister named Yvette who writes poetry and paints.  And a brother named Antoine.  And she likes little cakes, too.  Speaking of which-"

 

     “In my room, top right drawer of my desk,” Evelyn said, with a kiss, “and save one for Lady Josephine!”

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

Author's note:  Hard as I’ve tried, referring to Cullen’s unnamed siblings as “the others”, “their brother/sister”, and “their siblings” has become unwieldy.  So, until the inimitable and brilliant Ms. Brianne Battye announces their names, I’m temporarily using the Irish names Bradan (“a salmon”; pronounced “braydawn”) and Cara (“a friend”) to refer to his brother and other sister.  I've also made them twins.  Interestingly, the name Cullen comes from the Irish cuileann (“holly tree”).  

 

UPDATE:  2015.05.04  It's official, the names of his siblings are Branson (Celtic/British for "son of the raven") and Rosalie (French version of Rosalia, the Roman ceremony of draping rose garlands on tombs)

 

     “Branson!  Honestly!”  Branson smiled sheepishly, seeing the disapproval in his twin sister’s amber eyes.

 

     “How was I to know she was married?” 

 

     “He was with her when they came to the stall!”

 

     “Well, she didn’t act like it,” he grinned, remembering the woman with relish.  “I thought he was her father."  He saw Rosalie raise an eyebrow.  "A much older brother, at the very least.”

 

     “I swear, if you’ve cost Geralt another commission…”

 

     “Don’t worry, Rosalie.  I don’t think the man knew it was me.  I climbed out of there right quick.”

 

     “Thank the Maker you don’t have your name stitched into your small clothes.”

 

     “That would be Cullen.  I was quite proud I was able to retrieve both socks, though,” he added reflectively.

 

     Branson couldn’t help himself.  He loved women.  It didn’t matter if they were small and curvy or tall and willowy, young (within reason) or old (within reason).  All he needed was one beautiful feature to catch his fancy…and every woman had at least one beautiful feature.  He couldn’t understand Cullen.  The man had made no vows of celibacy, yet lived like a monk.  But that all seemed to have changed with this woman, this Inquisitor.  He imagined her to be fierce-eyed and imperious.  What else would a dragon-killer and demon-slayer look like?  Trust Cullen to fall for a ball-buster. 

 

     “We’ve had word from Mia.  She would like us to come back with Geralt.  Cullen’s coming!”  Rosalie’s eyes were shining. 

 

     She hadn’t been there when he and Mia had found Cullen in Kirkwall.  He had sounded fanatical, his eyes burning with righteous anger.  Branson knew something terrible had happened at Kinloch hold, just not quite what.  He hadn’t known what to say to Cullen after Mia had torn a strip off him in the middle of the Kirkwall market.  Branson had been looking away, embarrassed, during her entire tirade.  He ended up just hugging his older brother and muttering, “Andraste watch over you and all that.  And good luck.”  A smile appeared on Cullen’s face and he pulled out the silver coin Branson had given him when he had first left for templar training.  For a moment, he was the boy from Honnleath.  Then he was Knight-Captain Cullen again, barking orders to the armed faithful.  The Inquisitor woman was a mage, too, if he recalled rightly.  He laughed.  Perhaps she had worked some form of magic mind control to get his brother laid.  How else could she have convinced Cullen to get into the bed of a mage?  He would have to ask him.

 

     “That woman’s back,” Rosalie warned, “And thank the Blessed Andraste, she’s alone.”  It turned out that she had returned with quite a large order.   Her husband’s hold had apparently been lacking in quality beef.

 

     “Admit it, Rosalie.  I'm good for business,”  he said, after the woman left.

 

     “You were lucky.  Just don’t let me catch you doing this again, or Maker help me…”

 

     “I promise.  You won’t catch me doing this again,” he grinned.  I’ll be much more careful, next time.

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

Author's note: Apparently, swords and alcoholic beverages play a role in Celtic handfastings. The handfasting described is very loosely based on those traditions.

“Don’t touch! Maker’s breath, you’re worse than the children!” Mia swatted at his hand, but not before Branson managed to steal a meat pasty, which he promptly devoured.

“Who do you imagine is going to eat all this food, Mia? He’s not bringing his army, is he?” He looked at the shelves of baking. There were beef pies, meat pasties, sausage rolls, as well as at least four different kinds of cake. Even Cullen couldn't eat four cakes in one sitting. They were to expect company, then. “Please tell me you haven’t invited Gallana. She still hasn’t forgiven me.”

“No, I haven’t invited Gallana. You should wash. He’ll be here within the hour. I ironed that good shirt of yours. It’s laying on the chair in my room.”

“Why? Cullen won’t care what shirt I wear.” Mia sighed.

“Please, Branson. For me.”

“I’ll do it for another one of your sublime meat pasties,” he said impishly.

“Fine,” she said, resigned. “Just don’t get your shirt dirty.” Branson finished eating and brushed the crumbs from his fingers before going into the next room. Mia had done an excellent job on his shirt, even mending the tiny tear at the collar. He smiled, remembering how he had earned that tear at the collar. The girl had been quite a delightful thing, with the most amazing tongue…He noticed hanging on the cupboard door a green silk dress. Mia had left all her silk dresses back in Honnleath when they had to flee. This one was clearly new. He went back into the kitchen.

“Mia, that dress…” She was checking the roast on the fire and tasting the stewed dumplings.

“It’s a gift. For Rosalie.”

“Our nameday isn’t for months.”

“It’s not for her nameday. It’s for today.”

“Careful," he grinned, "If you keep giving her silk dresses, Rosalie might send me away for ten years. Where is she, by the way?”

“She’s over at Gallana’s, picking flowers.”

“Unless that mage of his has done something to him, last we saw, Cullen was a man. All right. I'll bite. Why is Rosalie picking flowers?”

“Because the cows have either eaten or trampled all our flowers here.”

“That still doesn’t explain-” At that moment, Rosalie entered the cottage, her arms brimming full of Andraste’s grace. For a moment, Branson thought they were playing in the fields of Honnleath again. “I see.” Mia gave a little smile.

“Could you please help Rosalie put those in water?”

“I can’t,” he smiled roguishly, “I have to wash and change.”

***

It was well after midday when they heard the horses coming.

“Finally, he arrives!” Mia announced, excitedly. Everyone was dressed in their finest. The table was laden with food, nearly every candle in the house was lit, and every empty receptacle had been filled with the white, delicate star-like flowers of Andraste’s grace. If Branson hadn’t known better, he would have thought this was a-

“Cullen!” he heard Rosalie squeal as she threw her arms around their brother. Gone was that look of obsessive fervour. He looked untroubled. Happy. Perhaps the mage wasn’t such a harridan after all.

Branson walked up to his brother and embraced him. “For the record, I am wearing my best shirt to mark the occasion. Don’t say I never do anything for you.” Cullen smiled. He looked older than he was, but not as old as he had looked in Kirkwall.

“Elissandra is setting up the tent now.” Branson looked outside and saw a large white tent seemingly erect itself before his eyes around a figure in the distance.

“Her Worship is here with you?” Rosalie squealed again. Branson thought he would go deaf. His sister could bend metal with that squeal.

“She is. Give her a chance to get ready and I’ll introduce you.” He heard Mia tell Ella to bring flowers to the tent and not get herself dirty. Behind her followed Una, who was clutching a bright orange stuffed dragon.

Branson could hardly get in a word edgewise with Rosalie pumping Cullen for answers to her endless questions. Had he really seen an archdemon? How did he survive Haven? What was it like fighting the Grey Wardens? Did he get to see the Hero of Ferelden again? Where was the Champion of Kirkwall now?

They heard a light tap at the door and he saw Cullen’s face light up. “Everyone,” he said, “this is Elissandra.” Branson looked at the woman his brother now brought before them and for once was dumbfounded.

She was simply dressed in a long-sleeved dress of red silk. Her figure needed no other adornment. Her shoulders were bare. It could have been a trick of the candlelight, but the woman’s skin glowed like living gold. Long blue-black hair fell softly in waves nearly to her waist, held from her face by a golden diadem that drew attention to her eyes, which were the clear green of a summer river. The colour of her dress and the shimmering rubies delicately suspended in her long, gold filigree earrings brought out the red in her cheeks and lips. And her mouth. Her mouth was dimpled perfection. He was transfixed by that mouth. The goddess spoke.

“I’m so pleased to finally meet you.” This was the dragon-killer. This was the demon-slayer. The scheming mage that had beguiled his pious brother into her bed. Branson had been with many, many women. None had looked like her.

“It’s nearly sunset. Shall we do this now?” Branson heard Cullen say.

They followed them to the tent. Andraste’s grace had miraculously grown in a path leading from the house and its sweet scent filled their nostrils as they walked. A low table had been set up flanked by braziers that burned with a strange, heatless fire. Upon the table sat a large silver drinking horn filled with red wine, the figure of a gold dragon with glittering emerald eyes wound around it.

Cullen unsheathed his sword and dipped it in the wine, then knelt, laying it at Elissandra's feet. She stepped over the sword and knelt to join him, tilting his face up to hers in the gesture of acceptance. They stood together, raising palm to palm. They said the ancient, holy words of honour and promise, each binding their hands and wrists with white silk ribbon as they turned slowly in a circle, their eyes never leaving each other. Then Cullen, wrapping his arms around her, their right wrists still bound, kissed her forehead and mouth and the spell was lifted. Branson found himself breathing again, the everyday sounds of the world returning to his ears. Maker only knew how the children had managed to remain silent. He had just witnessed his brother’s handfasting.

The drinking horn was passed around. There was eating and singing and telling of stories and much laughter, followed by an invitation to Skyhold. Branson looked at his brother’s bride, her face animated as she recounted the hilarious story of her Harrowing, and thought that if there were more of where she came from, he would go to Skyhold in a heartbeat.

(To be continued…)

[RoraM]

Author's Note:  I was originally going to post it here, but decided it was too much of a digression from the main story.  I have since created a separate entry.

 

The True and Unabridged Account of Lady Trevelyan's Harrowing, by First Enchanter Wenselus, Ostwick Circle of Magi, 9:31 Dragon

 

(To be continued...)

[Nefi87]

I hope there will be a continue!!!

[RoraM]

     “Have I told you how lovely you looked tonight?” Cullen said as he kissed her.  They had just finished making love in their tent.

 

     “Mm.  You might have mentioned it once or twice,” she said, kissing him back.  A serious expression crossed her face.  “Your family is lovely.  Not that I would have expected any less.”

 

     “I don’t know if you caught it, but that look on my brother’s face when he saw you was priceless,” Cullen chuckled.

 

     “I was too busy noticing how strong the family resemblance was.  As you know, I look nothing like my sister.  All you Rutherfords, with your blonde hair and amber eyes,"  she said fondly, caressing his face.  "Evie and I only ever had each other.  I look forward to having two more sisters and a brother.  I’ve never had a brother.”

 

     “I’m afraid Branson was thinking less than brotherly thoughts tonight.  He could barely take his eyes off you.  I don’t blame him, of course,” he said grinning.

 

     “Will they come to Skyhold?”

 

     “Mia will come with the children.  Geralt will need to stay behind and look after the livestock.  Rosalie will come and you couldn’t keep Branson away if you tried.  I think he’s got it into his head to find an Inquisitor of his own,” Cullen said smiling, his head shaking.  “Josephine is going to have her hands full with him.”

 

     “Should we send warning to our people back in Skyhold to lock up their wives and daughters?”

 

     “It wouldn’t hurt,” he said, bending to kiss her nose.

 

(To be continued…)

[RoraM]

     Leliana was troubled.  She hadn’t heard from Béart.  He had been placed in the DesRosier household soon after the arranged marriage between young Celeste Thibeault and the much older lord had taken place.  The Inquisition had supported the marriage in hopes to neutralize the conflict between the two powerful families, each of whom would have positioned themselves against the Inquisition in order to gain dominance over the other. 

 

     Her agents established in the Leandre holdings had brought word that young Lord Jecin, the former betrothed of Celeste, had been moody of late, almost engaging in a duel over some trifling slight.  His family had been supportive of brokering the peace, understanding that the happiness of two young people was outweighed by the need to prevent bloodshed.  Jecin was known to possess a strong sense  of filial duty, but he also had a reputation for equanimity that his recent actions belied.  Further, Lady Richelieu, who had sought to elevate herself by taking credit for the peace as broker of the marriage, had been sadly disappointed when the Inquisition had not obliged her in emphasizing the role she had played.  Leliana wondered what that disappointment might lead her to do.  There was also the Comte de Poisson, who was as slippery as his name implied. The Inquisitor had foiled his attempt to seize the fertile Ylenn Basin when its lord fell to the civil war, securing it instead for the Inquisition. While he had proven to be a less skilled player of the Game than either the Inquisitor or Leliana, she would not completely discount him.  Did he have a role in Béart’s disappearance?

 

     Leliana knew the wedding between the Inquisitor and the Commander was a necessary undertaking.  Those who would have sought to ally with the Inquisition through the more traditional means of marriage had had their hopes dashed, but then the Inquisition could also not be faulted for favouring one noble family over another, allowing the current delicate balance among them to be maintained.  Not only did the marriage solidify the relationship the Inquisitor had with her army, one few would wish to oppose, there was their alignment with the Chantry to consider. 

 

     While looking askance at relations outside of the marriage bed, the Chantry did not look favourably upon the bearing of children outside of wedlock and, if Leliana's sources were correct, at the rate the Inquisitor and the Commander were going, a child would soon be on its way.  She chuckled. 

 

     She was happy for them both, but the wedding in Val Royaux posed great danger to them, the Inquisition, and the Divine, as real as any they had faced in battle.  There would be those with an axe to grind who would seek to take advantage of the nuptial events.  Everyone involved would have to be closely vetted from the lowest kitchen servant upwards.  Poison figured greatly in the Game, so anything that was to be in contact with the Herald, from dressmaker’s pins to the jewels she wore to the wine she drank would have to be thoroughly tested.  The same went for the Commander and both of their families.  There were contingency plans to be finalized, including should an attack take place in the Grand Cathedral itself.  Cullen might command their army, but on the battlefield of the Grand Game, Leliana was their general.

 

     She would send Miller to find out what happened to Béart.  The young agent had proven herself in Val Chevin.  There were but two months until the wedding.  Maker help them all.

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

     Rosalie had never met a dwarf before.  She did not know why she thought they would be dour and humourless.  This one was frankly adorable.

 

     “So, you just drop the runestone in your glass and it should neutralize most poisons.  If it encounters an unfamiliar one, it will turn blue,” Dagna said cheerfully.  “All your cutlery should have this mark on it.  Hold the runestone over the mark and it should glow.  If it doesn’t, don’t use it.  The silverware is enchanted like the runestone.  It will turn blue if it encounters a poison it can’t neutralize.”

 

     Rosalie looked over to Mia, who looked grim.  She could tell she was trying to decide whether she would leave the girls back in Skyhold in the care of strangers or forego making the trip to Val Royaux completely.  Obedient Una would not be a problem wherever she went.  Ella was another matter entirely. 

 

     Rosalie took the runestone from the Inquisition Arcanist.  It had been hung on a long chain, which she fastened around her neck.  She had been too star-struck with the Herald to realize what it had meant for Cullen to be the head of the Inquisition army.  When they arrived at Skyhold and saw the size of the place, the extensive barracks filled with troops, only then did she appreciate the power he and her new sister wielded.

 

     Branson had just decided Dagna would be the latest object of his affection.  Rosalie shook her head.  She and Mia would leave him to it.  Elissandra had invited them up to her quarters for tea.

 

     They passed the Herald’s throne on the way from the undercroft.  Flanked by soaring flames of sculpted metal sheathed in gold leaf, a stylized silver statue of the burning Andraste formed its back.  Braziers burning with sweet Chantry incense sat on each side.  Rosalie knew this was but one of the thrones Elissandra used.  She had seen the terrible dragon skull throne, the one the Inquisitor reserved for when severe judgments were to be handed down.  She shivered.

 

     She and Mia heard the low strains of music as they passed through the doors from the main hall.  The tune was beautiful and haunting.  They found Elissandra sitting, pulling a bow across a slender wooden instrument that sat between her knees, its long neck resting against her left shoulder as she fingered the strings.  The instrument's acoustic opening was intricately carved and depicted a pair of horses facing each other with front hooves raised, rising out of the sea.

 

     “That was lovely,” she said admiringly.  Elissandra laughed. 

 

     “You’re being kind, Rosalie.  It’s been forever since I’ve played the contra-bass and I’m afraid I'm out of practice.”

 

     “The tune you were playing.  It sounded familiar.”

 

     “Master Bard Inon Zur’s ‘Rise’.  I love it, but don’t play it often.  For some reason, it saddens your brother.  Shall we take tea on the balcony?  It's not so cold today, but I have braziers on hand, just in case.  I still have some of that elderflower jelly and our new baker makes excellent bread.” 

 

     Rosalie looked around.  On the floor lay luxuriously thick silk carpets bearing the insignia of the Inquisition.  A large four-poster bed dominated the middle of the room, draped in various silk brocades, their threads dyed in the strong colours favoured by the Free Marchers:  midnight blue, scarlet, and gold.  The stained glass windows were clearly meant to honour Ferelden with their Mabari motif.  Rosalie smiled.  By this time, she knew Elissandra did not make any choice lightly.  She wondered if Cullen had noticed what his beloved had done even before he had taken up residence in her quarters.

 

     “How did it go with Dagna?”

 

     “Quite well, I think,” Rosalie said, as Elissandra handed her a steaming cup and a plate with a thick slice of bread generously spread with fresh, white butter.  “Branson is still speaking with her.”  The balcony overlooked Skyhold's garden, where she saw flowers blooming that should not have been able to grow in a mountain climate.  She recalled the path of Andraste's grace that had sprung up within hours between the cottage and the tent and thought what a wondrous thing magic was.  She had only ever heard of its dangers before.

 

     “For brothers, they were always so different,” Mia mused, spooning jelly upon her slice, then sighed, “I suppose I was being quite naïve, Elissandra, but now that I’ve seen what it means to attend your wedding in Val Royaux, I’m not sure the children and I will go.”  She turned to Rosalie. “But that shouldn’t stop you from attending.  I would like it if at least one of us went so you might tell me and the girls all about it.”

 

     “There will be celebrations in Skyhold afterwards, as well, Mia,” Elissandra said sympathetically.  “Though there is no one I love more than your brother, we both know this wedding is a necessary political maneuver.  And a potentially dangerous one.  My family is used to this danger.  Yours is not.  We would not be slighted if you chose to remain in Skyhold.”

 

     Rosalie remained quiet a moment before speaking.  “I will go.  I will be careful.  Cullen could always use another set of eyes looking out for him.  Who knows?  He may be so entranced by your beauty, he may forget to place the runestone in his wine cup,” she said, smiling at Elissandra, who laughed.  

 

     “I'm glad.  Cullen and I may not have the chance to see each other once the ceremony is completed.  Fortunately, my sister has managed to convince our stepmother that six changes of clothing are unnecessary and I am now only to change three times. That should increase our odds considerably.  I shall need your help, all the same, Rosalie.  That Orlesian gown is a nightmare.  You should have seen the fit my stepmother threw when I almost refused to wear it.  She forgot, if she ever knew, that our family motto includes being 'modest in temper'.” 

 

     Rosalie smiled, knowing Elissandra’s taste for simplicity.  She remembered the unadorned red dress she had worn at the handfasting on the farmhold.  In contrast, the Orlesian wedding gown was an emerald green profusion of intricately draped silk, goldwork, and beaded embroidery.  There were one hundred fifty eyelets to fasten down the back alone.  The off-the-shoulder goldwork tulle sleeves would need to be hooked on separately, being too long and heavy to be sewn in place, as would the twenty-five foot embroidered ring velvet train.  Going to the privy would be an ordeal.  Rosalie hoped the Inquisitor had a bladder of steel.  Did mages even go to the privy?

 

     As if reading her mind, Elissandra continued.  “I’ve already had to go through the indignity of having to commission a special privy chair for my Inquisitorial bottom that won’t tip over.  Maker’s breath,” she muttered before turning to Rosalie. “Prepare yourself to see your new sister in a whole new inglorious light."  She sighed.  “I suppose I shouldn’t complain.  When I lived in the Circle, I could never have hoped to marry, let alone for love.  Now, the Chantry sanctions our union, while the Teyrn of Ostwick has pledged his support to the Inquisition and seeks my family’s favour.  My only regret in loving your brother is that both he and you have to be subjected to all of this.  Have I mentioned I hate politics?” she said, growling. 

 

     Rosalie and Mia laughed.  Elissandra had sounded like their brother just then.  Rosalie sobered upon looking down and seeing the runestone on its chain.  If she could help the two of them in her own small way, she would.

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

Author's Note:  The autocorrect function strikes again.  Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. 

 

To listen to, as you read:  Val Royeaux by Trevor Morris

 

     So this was the Imperial Palace.  Branson let out a low whistle.  And they were guests of the Empress of Orlais, no less.  Everything around him called out for his attention, from the heavy-scented hot house flowers arranged in cut crystal bowls balanced on alabaster pedestals, to the fantastical and fanciful imaginings of master artists gambolling across the vaulted ceilings, to the seductive sheen of the silk satin sheets on the gilded beds.  It was dizzying and mesmerizing.  His bedchamber adjoined Cullen’s and was twice as large as the cottage in South Reach, even without the marble bathing room.  That was a new concept for Branson.  From what he had heard from Cullen, nobles made a ritual of it. 

 

     And, of course, there were the women, speaking the common tongue in their adorable accents.  Skyhold had been a total wash and he suspected Cullen had had something to do with it.  Even sweet Dagna would not succumb to his charms.  But here, in Val Royeaux, the women did not hide their admiration, nor, indeed, did some of the men.  It had been too long since Branson had had a good tumble and he was looking forward to trying out those sheets.

 

***

 

     It had been a fantastic evening.  The dark-haired, doe-eyed elf woman had proven to be more than he could have hoped.  She was a handmaiden to the Marquise Briala, the one rumoured to be the Empress’ lover.  If all elves knew what this woman knew, it was no wonder the Empress preferred their company.  During their all-too-brief carriage ride back to the palace, she had spent nearly the entire time delighting him with her head in his lap and paying him the nicest compliments.  Branson couldn’t wait to get her back to his quarters.

 

     After navigating the maze of palace hallways, they managed to reach the guest wing.  Andraste’s t*ts.  They had somehow ended up in Cullen’s suite.  All the halls looked the same to him.  No matter.  He could reach his bedroom through Cullen's and, fortunately, the Commander was still out for the evening.  

 

     Cullen’s rooms had one thing his did not:  a ready supply of spirits, which was ironic, since Cullen himself rarely drank.  Branson poured two brandies, one for him and one for his elven lovely. 

 

     “To new friends,” he said softly.  He watched her slip a stone into her drink.  Maker’s breath.  He almost forgot.  He took the runestone from around his neck and placed it in his glass before drinking.  Suddenly, he felt a stabbing pain in his back, causing him to accidentally swallow the stone in his glass.  He turned and numerous sharp pains followed in his abdomen.  To his amazement, he saw his companion withdraw a number of knives from beneath her skirts and begin throwing them at his assailant.  Branson crumpled to the floor, his hands slick with his own blood.  The last thing he heard was Cullen frantically shouting his name.

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

     “Branson!”

 

     Cullen watched as the assassin went down under the expertly flung knives of Briala’s agent.  ‘Lissa dropped to Branson’s side.

 

     “He breathes!  Lay him flat!  Remove his clothes, quickly!”  ‘Lissa had grabbed his dagger and had swiftly split Branson’s tunic open.  Cullen had seen his friends rent limb from limb by abominations.  He had seen men crawling through the mud of battlefields, clutching their trailing insides to them.  In comparison, this was merely some blood and a few stab wounds; but this was also his brother and he felt his legs buckling beneath him.  ‘Lissa got him to apply pressure over the wounds using his jacket and his shaking hands while she started the healing process.

 

     Cullen thanked the Maker that not all of the knowledge of the hedge witches of Dairsmuid had been lost during the Annulment of the Rivaini Circle.  ‘Lissa carried with her the last precious remnants.  He only hoped she knew enough to save Branson.  He heard a gasp behind him.

 

     The seemingly uninjured agent now was pallid and had fallen to her knees.  “Poison!” she cried.  A guard examined her.

 

     “Commander, she’s been cut!  Poisoned dagger!”

 

     “Get her to a healer!  Now!”  he ordered, before turning his attention back to Branson.  They could not afford to divert ‘Lissa’s focus. 

 

     It took hours.  'Lissa normally did not require lyrium potions, but she drank them now.  Cullen saw perspiration forming on her brow as she continued to work the subtle magic.  He kept counting his brother’s breaths.  It kept him sane.  Miraculously, Branson continued to breathe.

 

     “I’ve done all I can.  The rest is up to him and the Maker.”  ‘Lissa sat back, looking exhausted, the sleeves and skirts of her blue silk gown steeped in his brother’s blood.  She wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, which left a small red streak across her face.  Cullen removed his hands and his now crumpled, blood-soaked jacket from Branson’s abdomen and saw that the skin had knitted underneath, forming a delicate, near-transparent layer over the ugly red wounds that had been there before.  “Keep him warm and comfortable.  He’ll need lots of water and regular doses of blood-poisoning tincture,” he heard her tell the healers, who had newly arrived with the returned guards.  "And under no circumstances are you to let those surgeons near him with their leeches."

 

     As they knelt side by side over his brother, Cullen leant wordlessly against her, his eyes burning.  Maker, help him.  Andraste watch over him.  Let what we’ve done tonight be enough.

 

***

 

     “She was supposed to protect him!”  Cullen growled, glaring at Empress Celene's spymaster, Marquise Briala.

 

     “She did, Commander," Briala replied coolly.  "She gave her life to protect your brother.  She did not know someone had sent an assassin after you.”

 

     “How did we miss this, Briala?  Leliana?”  ‘Lissa’s voice was quieter, but the icy tone in the Inquisitor’s voice told them she was no less angry.  Leliana spoke.

 

     “Someone knew when you would be on your way back to your quarters, Commander, someone who knew when the security sweeps would take place and knew of or recognized the magical wards.”

 

     “So,” ‘Lissa concluded, “someone at the diplomats' ball had to signal our departure in order for the assassin to avoid the security sweep and position himself in Cullen’s room in time for our arrival.  The assassin would have to have been either a mage or templar to undo my wards.  Or to have had one with him, but that seems less likely.  Have we finished examining the body?  Do we have any leads?”

 

     “We’re still determining if the man had any magical talent.  As to leads, so far, our sources have turned up nothing,” Briala replied.  Leliana also shook her head.

 

     “Of course they have,” ‘Lissa said bitterly.  “Briala, we’ll need a list of your most likely suspects and their movements, including any with close ties to Marquise Bouffon, Lady Lagaspe, the Comte de Poisson, and Vicomte Pontival.  And find out where Jecin Leandre was tonight.  Leliana, I know it’s a long shot, but see what that slippery Crassius Servis knows about mage assassins, particularly those from Tevinter.  With Calpernia gone, I doubt the Venatori are behind this, but as you both say, we have no leads. And did any of the Antivans present tonight have ties to the late Lord Enzo?”

 

     “No, but I’ll have my contacts in the Crows confirm. Servis will likely not be forthcoming, but I will do as you ask.”

 

     “Someone wants to stop this wedding,” the Inquisitor said grimly.  “We shall not oblige them.  Good evening to you both.”  The spymasters knew they had been dismissed.  ‘Lissa sat down wearily. She turned to him.

 

     “How are you holding up, beloved?”  she asked, looking at him with concern.  They were both tired.  Cullen walked over to her, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

 

     “I’ll be better when Branson wakes.”  His brother yet clung to life.  Rosalie had stayed by his side the length of an entire day, patiently and painstakingly dripping water into his mouth so that he might drink without choking.  They had finally sent her to bed with reassurances that Branson would be placed in capable hands.

 

     “I’m taking no more chances.  I’ll have Grand Enchanter Vivienne set the new wards herself.  After this, I don’t trust myself-"

 

     “This is not your fault, ‘Lissa.  We must leave it in the Maker’s hands and pray Branson pulls through,"  he said, rubbing her shoulders.  He heard her exhale slowly.

 

     “So let it be.”

 

(To be continued...)

[Nefi87]

What about u just write a book? Adventures of Lissa and Cullen. ))) Or BioWare should offer u a job. I think u would do great in DA4

[RoraM]

What about u just write a book? Adventures of Lissa and Cullen. ))) Or BioWare should offer u a job. I think u would do great in DA4

 

Thank you so much for the lovely compliments!  I'm glad you like what I write.  The next part's going to be a bit tricky plot-wise...I had no idea as to the form this story was going to take.  Now I've got a story arc and I still don't know who made the attempt on Cullen's life.  Shall we find out together?

[Nefi87]

Definitely!

[RoraM]

     Leliana sighed in frustration.  The Inquisitor would not be happy.  Every line of inquiry had come to a dead end.  After their defeat in the Gamordan Peaks, the nobility had been quick to dissolve and disavow any ties to Marquise Bouffon or Lady Lagaspe.  The Comte de Poisson had not made any discernible moves against the Inquisition, save for the odd denouncement, and Pontival, after being counseled by the Revered Mother Lucilla, no longer held Cullen responsible for the loss of his brother at Therinfal Redoubt.  Even Jecin Leandre’s strange behaviour could be explained by his most recent disappointment. 

 

     Celeste had, against all expectation, fallen in love with her husband.  From Agent Miller, Leliana learned that Jecin, while young, handsome, and passionate, had been a less considerate and skilled lover than the twice-older DesRosier and now no longer held the position of paramour.  After turning to drink, it was rumoured that Jecin’s behaviour had resulted in the departure of several once-loyal men in his service. 

 

     As for the man who had attacked Cullen’s brother, he had been no mage, but also no templar, which meant someone else had disrupted the wards that night.  And Béart could still not be traced.

 

     Someone had been quite clever.  

 

(To be continued...)

 

Author's Note:  Well it certainly wasn't me.  I'm still trying to figure out who did it.

[RoraM]

     Evelyn Trevelyan looked out the window of ‘Lissa’s room in the Imperial Palace.  The wedding had been timed to coincide with Wintersend, but snow still thickly covered the gardens and rooftops.  She turned to ‘Lissa who was pulling on the newly-arrived creamy peau-de-soie gown she was to wear for the wedding ball.  It was the latest in Orlesian style and quite daring because it was all in white.  While the bodice remained traditionally form-fitting, the dress continued to cling to the body just above the knees before flaring out in a feathered train like a fish’s tail.  The white feathers at the collar of the little flared jacket stood high and curving around her neck.  Evelyn fastened the jacket’s silk-covered buttons up the back while ‘Lissa drew on long white gloves and faced the mirror.  The gown’s thousands of cut crystal and silver beads caught and reflected the light, sending a myriad of rainbows bouncing off the walls.

 

     “I look like a chicken,”  ‘Lissa said.  “A sad, tired, sparkling chicken.”  Evelyn laughed.

 

     “You're supposed to be a swan.  Or is it a white peacock?  Anyway, it’s only because you don’t have your hair up.  I’m sure the whole effect will be quite stunning with the crystal bandeau and the earrings, here, see-"

 

     “A sad, tired, sparkling chicken…in a tiara.  And earrings,” she said pitifully to her reflection.  Evelyn laughed again. 

 

     “You just need sleep ‘Lissa.  Now that Branson’s out of danger, can you not rest?”

 

     “Thank the Maker he improves, but none of us are out of danger, Evie,” she said, quietly. “Especially not Cullen.”

 

     “There’s nothing more to be done.  You’ve increased security and moved Cullen and his family to the White Spire.”

 

     “It’s still a fortnight until the wedding.  Anything might happen.”

 

     “Let the Maker’s will be done, ‘Lissa,”  she said, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder.  In the mirror, she saw a look of mischief flash into 'Lissa's eyes.

 

     “I see someone else has had the Maker’s favour these past weeks.  Don’t pretend that’s not a new bracelet you’re wearing.  Or that it’s not Antivan.”  Evelyn blushed.  ‘Lissa laughed and turned to kiss her cheek before picking up her train and looping it around her wrist.  “I’m happy for you both.  I think it an excellent match.  Now dance with me, Lady Trevelyan.  This poultry needs practice if she’s to dance in this dress.”  Evelyn bowed.

 

     “With pleasure, my Lady Trevelyan.”  And they whirled around the room like they were little girls again.

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

     Rosalie did not want to leave Branson on his own.

 

     “I’ll be fine.  I have luck on my side.  Who knew that swallowing that runestone would help save my life?  The Formari here are writing me up as a case study,” he said proudly.

 

     “You’re just lucky it didn’t turn blue,” she said, but secretly, she was glad.  Branson was returning to his old self.  She remembered how he had looked when he found out Jacynthe had died defending him.  His smile hadn’t been quite the same since.

 

     “The operative word, you realize, being lucky.”  Branson got off the divan and gamely made his way to his waistcoat.  “Here.  Give Cullen this.  Tell him it’s for luck.”

 

     “It’s a button that you just took off your waistcoat.  How is that lucky?”

 

     “Well,” he said, grinning, “I would have given him my lucky runestone, but we all know where that’s been.  Besides, the Formari have it.  Just give it to him.  He’ll understand.”

 

     “You’re sure you don’t need me…”

 

     “There is no safer place than the White Spire.  Cullen needs you.  Elissandra needs you.  Go to the wedding.  Give him my gift.”  He said, holding both her arms before hugging her.  Rosalie sighed.

 

     “All right.”

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

     Snow, soft and light, fell as their carriage made its way to the Grand Cathedral.  Rosalie was nervous.  She clung to Branson’s button.

 

     Maker, let nothing go wrong.  Even as she said it, she was visualizing the cathedral exits.  Get down.  Nearest exit will be the right vestibule.  Down the stairs.  Rendez-vous in the vestry.  Just as we practiced.

 

     A footman helped her step down after Lady Evelyn and her parents had exited.  She and Evelyn wore simpler versions of Elissandra’s green dress, with far less voluminous skirts, almost no goldwork, except at the throat and hem, and modest beading.  Rosalie was grateful.  Goldwork was itchy and beadwork, heavy.  These facts, however, had not prevented the Lady Diana from wearing a golden dress that was abundant in both.  The extravagance of Elissandra's dress had necessitated her lone carriage ride.  

 

     Rosalie gasped.  The carpeted path to the entrance of the church was clear, the snow falling and swirling to either side of it, held back by an invisible archway.  Magic.  

 

    Within, it felt like spring.  She had wondered how they were going to walk into the church up all those stairs without spoiling their slippers.  As she stepped over the threshold of the Grand Cathedral, she became enveloped in absolute silence and with the silence came the feeling of being weighed and measured.  It happened again as they passed through the inner doors.  She saw Lady Evelyn shiver.  By this time, Rosalie had grown accustomed to passing through Lady Vivienne's scrutinizing wards.

 

     They entered the vestibule.  Through the intricately scrolled ironwork screens they could see most of the guests were already seated. Cullen stood near the altar, two rows of Inquisition soldiers, their armour polished mirror-bright, standing at the ready behind him. Beside him stood the imposing Divine Victoria, stately and towering in black, white, and gold.  Rosalie saw her brother shift restlessly and glance wistfully at his guards, as if he wished he were wearing armour, as well.

 

     Elissandra arrived.  Rosalie and Lady Evelyn carefully arranged the bride’s train behind her before each embraced her.

 

     “Branson sends his love and wishes he could be here.  This is for Cullen.”  She placed the small brass button in Elissandra’s hand and received a radiant smile in return.

 

     “I’ll see that he gets it,” the Inquisitor said with a kiss.

 

     Above them, the chorister had signalled the choir, who began singing the Chant of Light.  Rosalie had heard nothing like it.  The music resonated through her down to the bone, making her feel like more than herself, as if she were part of something far larger than she could comprehend.  Her heart swelled.  No harm could come to them here, no evil befall them.  Elissandra and her parents stepped forward.  Lady Evelyn followed and then it was Rosalie's turn. 

 

     As she walked behind them, she could see Cullen only had eyes for his bride.  His back straight and his eyes shining, he took Elissandra's hand.  She saw her mouth the words “From Branson” and watched her press the button into his palm.  He looked startled for a moment then his face broke open into a smile so wide, it brought tears to Rosalie’s eyes.  He placed it in the breast pocket overlying his heart, looked over to Rosalie, and patted his chest.

 

     Suddenly, a strange young man in a wide-brimmed hat appeared beside Elissandra and whispered something in her ear.  The Inquisitor whirled around, positioning herself between Cullen and a second young man, who had also just materialized.  She watched as Elissandra placed palm above palm and blasted the intruder with a jet of fire.  Still feeling the heat from the blast on her face, Rosalie heard his strangled, panicked cry as a shower of arrows punctured him like a pin cushion.  A gleeful shout came from the choir loft.

 

     “Bits up, face down!” 

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

     The guards hadn’t even had time to fully unsheathe their swords.  While Josephine attempted to calm the assemblage, Cullen knelt down to examine the man who had tried to take his life.  'Lissa's flashfire had burned his features beyond recognition.  Cullen searched the man and found a chain around his neck.  With one sharp tug he broke it, yanking it free.  Even without lyrium, he could sense it was a magical talisman.  He showed it to the Divine.

 

     “Demon magic.  It’s how he got past the Grand Enchanter’s wards.  And yours,” she said, turning to 'Lissa.  Leliana, who had also knelt beside the body, removed a ring from a finger.

 

     “The Leandre family crest.  This is Jecin Leandre.”

 

     “If he was possessed, there must be a demon nearby.”  Cullen turned to his men.  “Seal the doors then-”  He was interrupted by Cole, who shook his head.

 

     “He came alone.  ‘She took my love.  I will take hers.  Let her know my pain.’” 

 

     “Are you certain, Cole?” he heard ‘Lissa ask.

 

     “Yes.”

 

     “Do you know where the demon is now?”

 

     “They struck a bargain.  His men for the chance to hurt you.”

 

     "Then its feeding ground will be Keep Leandre.  Thank you for returning from the Fade to warn us."

 

     The Divine Victoria stood over the body.  “Maker take you, Jecin Leandre,” Cullen heard her say quietly as she made the sign of benediction over him.  She turned to the officer beside her.  “Knight-Commander. Wrap his body and place it in the chapel.  I will speak to the family.  Notify the Lord Seeker there is a demon at Keep Leandre and that you require his aid. This is the work of a high-level demon, likely Envy or Desire.  I would not send our templars to face it alone.  Maker guide you.”

 

     “At once, Most Holy.”  The Divine now turned to face them.

 

     “Commander.  Inquisitor.  It is up to you how we shall proceed."  She glanced at the crowd.  "I suggest you decide quickly.”  Cullen knew how he wished to proceed.  He caught ‘Lissa’s eye and nodded.  The Inquisitor spoke.

 

     “Most Holy, I would not go through all of this again for the world.  Marry us quickly and let us be done with it.”  The woman they had both known as Cassandra Pentaghast laughed at 'Lissa's unbridled asperity.

 

     “So let it be.”

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

Author's Note:  Scenes of a sexual nature to follow.  Those who suffer from emotional triggers should not continue reading.  You have been warned.

 

     ‘Lissa thought she had never smiled so much in her life as she and Cullen waved to the citizens who shivered in the streets of Val Royeaux eager to catch a glimpse of the Inquisitor with the Commander of the Inquisition in their splendid gilded carriage. 

 

     “If I had my way, those shades would be pulled down.  I had hoped for a moment alone with my wife.”  She loved hearing the note of pride in his voice when he said my wife.

 

     “Well, we have some time before tonight’s ball between gown changes.  I can’t wait to be out of this dress.”  Cullen chuckled.

 

     “After a fortnight without you in my bed, neither can I.  Leliana had something she wished to discuss with me, but then I’m yours.  Wait for me?”  She smiled at him provocatively.

 

     “For you? Always.”

 

     ‘Lissa had sent Rosalie back to the White Spire to look in on Branson.  The events at the wedding had clearly left her shaken and she needed the distraction.  Evie had stayed, helping her unhook the train and sleeves and step out of her petticoats.  They were only a third of the way through the eyelets down her back when they heard Cullen’s knock.  ‘Lissa saw Evie’s knowing smile as she let the Commander in, then silently exited out the opposite door.

 

     “There you are,” he said.

 

     “I hadn’t expected you so soon, but I'm glad you’re here,” she murmured.  She turned, lifting up the unbound portion of her hair to show him her partially exposed back.

 

     “I had hoped for a moment alone with my wife.”  A small frown briefly crossed ‘Lissa’s face.  “And it seems I'm just in time.”  He had unhooked but a few eyelets when she felt his lips at the nape of her neck, at once stealing away both thought and breath.  A fortnight was far too long to have been without his touch.  One hand moved tormentingly along the front of her bodice, while the other slid over her skirts, moving possessively between her legs.  Then he was under her skirt, his hand moving past her garters and up her thighs, seeking.  She moaned as he found what he was looking for, the pad of his thumb moving in maddening circles.  She leant into his hand.  She felt him brush aside her small clothes with his fingers to reach inside her, while he roughly pulled down the front of her gown, nearly tearing it.  Heavy with desire, she turned her head to meet his mouth…then leapt out of his embrace, fire forming in both hands. 

 

     “Who are you?” she asked, her eyes blazing.

 

     “Elissandra-" 

 

     “You are not Cullen.”

 

     ‘Lissa sent a blast of flame in the man’s direction.  She looked and he was no longer there.  The man reappeared, still wearing Cullen’s face, speaking in Cullen’s voice.  He sighed.

 

     “Cullen seemed like the type to enjoy a good bodice-ripping.  Or was it the kiss that gave me away?  I should have listened to Envy and observed him longer, but after that fool Jecin hired botched things, you made it very hard, and I’m afraid desire demons are not known for their patience.”  Maker, take them.  It was always demons.  ‘Lissa winced as he licked his fingers.  “Mm.  I fed on Cullen on my way here.  He was easy to find, practically brimming over with desire for you, though, I must say, I knew you would taste so much better.”  And now Cullen's amber eyes glowed yellow-bright.

 

     “Where is Cullen, or I cut you down where you stand!”

 

     “You cut me down and you’ll never find out if your love lives,” the demon said, sneering in Cullen's voice.

 

     “Your choice!”  She rained relentless fire and lightning upon the demon, letting him know her full fury.  The guards, who came rushing in the moment they had heard the thunderous blasts, stared awestruck and fearful at the Inquisitor who, to all appearances, was trying to kill her new husband.

 

     “Wait!  Wait!” howled the desire demon, sending the remaining crystal sconces in the room shattering.  “Envy!  Envy has Cullen!”  Two demons working together.  'Lissa finally understood.  “Spare me and I’ll bring you to them!”

 

     “He won’t be far.  And you should know,” she said grimly, the accumulating lightning crackling in her palms, “I don’t bargain with demons!”  In the next moment, like Imshael before him, the desire demon became little more than a permanent blast mark on the marble floor.

 

     Jecin Leandre may have been their way into this world, but there was no doubt in her mind that the envy demon, just like its predecessor at Therinfal Redoubt, had wanted her.  As Cullen, it would have had unlimited access to the Inquisitor, learning how to mimic her without risking discovery.  Once Envy had discarded them, Desire would then have fed on them both.

 

     She turned to the guards.  “You.  Send for Her Most Holy, Sister Leliana, and Marquise Briala. Now!”  ‘Lissa waited until they left before reaching for the nearest piece of furniture to support her so she wouldn’t collapse to the floor.  She felt numb.  She had just seen Cullen die at her hands.  No.  That was not Cullen.  Unable to maintain his glamour, Desire had flickered between forms just before dying.  She took a deep breath.  Focus.  Her Cullen, the real Cullen, was once more at the mercy of a demon.  She summoned her spirit blade and, in one pass, cut the dress from her.  She scrubbed herself clean of the demon’s touch before putting on her armour.

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

Author's Notes:  Scenes of a sexual nature to follow.  You have been warned.

 

     Cullen awakened, his head aching.  He was chained.  The dungeon smelled of old sick and stale urine.  He looked down.  His jacket was unbuttoned and his chest exposed.  At some point, he had been stripped and redressed.  Around him lay desiccated corpses, sucked dry of life, their faces fixed in expressions of horror.

 

     “He wakes.”  He heard a voice say, but its echoes resonated in his head, not his ears.

 

     “Tell me, Commander," the voice now whispered, sending echoing susurrations skittering into the darkness, "how does it feel, knowing that while you sit here, a desire demon ruts with your wife?”  A vision, unbidden, came before his eyes, and would not disappear even when he closed them.  He saw his beautiful ‘Lissa lying naked and glistening, the head of something that bore his face, but with strange yellow eyes and a snaking tongue, between her legs.  He could hear her moans, see her writhe and arch, call his name, while that disjointed thing mounted her.  The insidious whispering continued.  “What would you give to be there, with her, inside her?” 

 

     Cullen snarled.  “I know what you are.  I know your tricks.  Do not mistake me, demon.  I am no boy in a tower.”

 

     “You well know the susceptibility of mages, seen it with your own eyes times beyond counting,” the demon chuckled, “In your heart you know Desire will possess her and she will be lost to you forever.” 

 

     As he watched ‘Lissa climax, he saw her eyes change, clouding to pale grey, then darkening to deepest red before swelling and rupturing, tears of blackened blood spilling down her cheeks.  He watched her skin bubble, burst, and scar, the nails lengthen and curve to talons, while horns erupted bloody from her skull as she screamed in agony.  He saw her limbs lengthen and distort, sharp shafts of bone emerging at elbow, heel, knee and spine, while thick, scab-like scales grew along neck, down breast, forearm and shin.  

 

    She turned to face him.  The only things left recognizable of her were her lips.  He started as he saw a double-forked tongue suddenly dart out from between them.  He heard her voice, rasped and pleading.  “Kill me, Cullen. I cannot live like this.”  He suddenly found a sword in his hand.  “Kill me…kill me…kill me-”  The voice grew distorted until it was nothing more than a shriek, then razor talons came down to claw at his face-

 

     “No.”  Cullen said resolutely.  He began picturing her triumphs, one after another:  the battle at Haven, the siege at Adamant, the victory at Halamshiral.  “She is stronger than any mage, any woman, any man I have known.  The demon will not take her.”  He raised his head, a smile on his face.  She had made him stronger.  “You should fear her.  She has slain hundreds, if not thousands, of your kind.  She has brought a would-be god to his knees.  You are nothing.”  He laughed.  “And you have my pity.”  He felt the envy demon shrink from him.

 

     “You-” 

 

    Cullen heard voices, this time, unmistakably from outside of his head.  Someone was coming.

 

(To be continued...)

[Nefi87]

I hope there will be continue today yet

[RoraM]

     The sweep of the Imperial Palace proved clear, as expected.  Envy would have retreated to somewhere familiar, somewhere it felt safe:  Keep Leandre, where the seekers and templars had already been deployed.  To her surprise, ‘Lissa found them waiting.  The Knight-Commander saluted her. 

 

     “Inquisitor.  We just sent the raven.  Andraste must have guided you here.  You must see this for yourself.”  They led her down the stairs into the dank dungeons of Leandre Keep.  She had to hold up her sleeve to her nose for the smell.

 

     Through the small, barred opening in the door she saw, chained next to each other, two identical Cullens.  Her heart soared.  He had done it.  Cullen had broken free of Envy and in one final gambit, Envy had taken his form.  

 

     “We thought you had the best chance of identifying the Commander, given your intimate, ah…” the Knight-Commander’s voice trailed off.  'Lissa smiled wryly at the woman, who had turned red.

 

     “Are the men ready?”

 

     “Yes, your Worship.” 

 

     “Then let us proceed.”

 

     Both Cullens cried out to her the moment she entered.

 

     “’Lissa!”

 

     As she set the containment fields around each one, she spoke.

 

     “Beloved, this will soon be over, and know you this, Envy:  you have failed.”

 

     Of one thing she was certain:  Envy had not had time enough to perfect his disguise.  Whatever mistake he had made, she would find it.  She closely examined each one in turn, but the demon had been careful, meticulously replicating every scar, every line, every hair. Unlike Cole, the demon had known clothing could be removed and had cunningly reproduced both clothing and what existed underneath.  As to their voices, she could hear no discernible difference.  She would have known his scent, but the stench of the dungeon rendered it impossible to be sure.

 

     She interrogated them and each had a ready and correct answer:  the location of their first kiss, the sites of her various birthmarks, the words they had spoken by the river near Honnleath…

 

     A thought came to her.  She ran her hands again over each one and found what she was looking for.  She walked up to one Cullen.

 

     “Is it over, ‘Lissa?  Do you know me?” he asked.  He looked haggard, yet hopeful.

 

     “I do,” she said, caressing his face.  He smiled, his eyes glad with relief.  He turned his face to kiss her hand.  She leaned in close and whispered, “Good-bye, Envy,” as she ran her spirit blade through him, striking true.  The seekers and templars closed in and within minutes, it was over.

 

     With the demon dead and Cullen finally freed, she ran to him, kissing him repeatedly and shamelessly. 

 

     “You almost had me worried,” he murmured, between kisses.

 

     “With your luck?” she asked, her hand still clutching Branson’s brass button.

 

(To be continued…)