I'm getting to the end of resolving emotional conflict with Cullen / The Inquisitor. I'm heading off after this to Adamant, where Blackwall will address his own demons, and not alone.
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It happened just as Blackwall had expected.
They entered the throne hall from the back of the room, from the same door Blackwall had gone through to reach her. Most of the guests' backs were turned from them, toward the throne. It was common knowledge that Savala's personal quarters lay in that direction. They were not aware, however, that Skyhold's interior was a maze of corridors that led where one wished them to.
It was Sera that was the first to notice them, and her low whistle alerted everyone near her. The elf's fairy face beamed admiration (and something more, Blackwall was sure). The other faces that turned toward them lost, rather than gained, expressions. Laughter trickled into silence. Mouths that had been open in conversation with nearby partners remained that way, but no longer spoke. The change in atmosphere occurred in a rippling wave down the length of the room as they walked.
The Inquisitor's hand in the crook of Blackwall's arm was iron. He tucked it closer to his chest in case anyone in the sea of gossips saw how white her knuckles were. When the silence slowly broke into a susurration of disjointed words, including Commander, Cullen, and even the word queen, Blackwall felt Savala's fingernails dig into his arm.
He risked a glance her face, but it was stone, worthy of any Orlesian courtier. Part of him admired her composure, and the other part resented what her fame had wrought. Keeping his own face expressionless, and returned none of the many gazes that fell on him. He also refused to allow himself to let certain desires breathe life in his chest, such as this might have been his place. In the eyes of anyone at court, Blackwall knew The False Gray Warden had even less right to be at her side than the Commander.
When they reached the knot of individuals about the Inquisitor's throne, Blackwall saw Bann Trevelyan's expression betraying no hint that he felt her appearance was anything other than normal. He stretched out a hand to take hers, and spoke her name. To Blackwall's surprise, she did not react to it with anything more than a polite smile. Instead, she withdrew her hand from her escort's arm, turned slowly so that her back was to the throne, and took his hand instead. Then she dipped her head over it, and said in a clear voice: “Ser Blackwall.” Then the hand swept slightly to the side, near the arm of her throne. Her message was clear enough. She didn't want him to go. He felt a knot in his stomach as he shifted, taking up a position as far back to the left as possible so that he could still glimpse her face.
The Inquisitor then settled slowly onto the throne, smoothing her dress beneath. The blood red velvet upholstery, the wooden frame carved into well polished points reminiscent of blades, contrasted sharply with the pale woman in her blue and gold. She sat as straight, indeed, as a queen, her back not touching the seat. Only then did she turn her head to face the members of her family that stood at her right hand. Blackwall noticed that the comfortable familiarity they had displayed at her arrival had vanished.
“I welcome you to Skyhold, father.” Savala said, her hands moving to the arms of the chair, which was so large that the long sleeves of her gown were displayed as she spread her arms. Her face turned slightly to the woman at Bann Trevelyan's side. “Mother.”
Trevelyan's mouth opened silently for a moment before he found words. “Daughter. You are looking … well.” Blackwall felt compassion for the man, who had most likely expected nothing like this formal greeting. Confirming this, Trevelyan seemed to dismiss it, and reached for Savala's hand, which he bent and kissed. The smile he gave her was wide, and easily the smile of a man who loved his child, and was happy to see her.
“We all have much to be thankful for,” he said. Onlookers were beginning to crowd closer to the throne. Trevelyan glanced at them with a small frown, then back to his daughter. “I had hoped to have you to myself.”
Josephine had mentioned that she had meant only for this gathering in the main hall to be a mixture of refreshments and pleasantries. Trevelyan and his family should have met Savala at a banquet set up in a private room. The Inquisitor had plainly drawn a line in the sand.
Savala nodded shortly. “And you shall, before you go.”
With another glance at the throng, eerily silent as they hung upon every word, Trevelyan's face colored a bit. Then he said: “We've come a long way, with much to discuss, now that...”
“The Inquisition is far from over father. I have … obligations. I belong to Thedas.” This last she said loudly, and it sparked a flurry of voices from the guests of the night. Blackwall searched some of the faces (those not behind a mask), and he could see that delight in this game that The Inquisitor was playing.
Except it wasn't a game. Not to her. He knew that much.
The woman that was Savala's mother put her hand on her husband's arm. “My lord,” she said, “let us join our daughter in rejoicing in her victory. We have not had that chance.” Her face flashed a very convincing, very familiar smile, and then she too reached for Savala's hand. She bowed over it then, kissing it.
Trevelyan nodded stiffly, bobbing his head to the Inquisitor. “Indeed,” he said. He faced the gathering, and lifted a hand in a gesture to Savala, which he then swept to the onlookers. “Shall we celebrate together, then?”
The Inquisitor was facing down the throne hall, and the smile she managed was radiant, but Blackwall saw that it did not touch her eyes. She repeated her father's gesture, and the power of her suggestion was like magic. A frieze of nobility and other guests suddenly erupted into motion and talk. Servants streamed through the crowd, and empty glasses were transformed into full ones. Logs were thrown on the fires, and sparks leaped from the hearth. What was one knot of guests flowed as though through a sieve, and became many, heads bent in excited conversation.
Blackwall watched Bann Trevelyan's shoulders slump in what might have been relief as the tension seemed to ease, though it did not evaporate. Savala's mother, who he thought of instantly as graceful and beautiful like her daughter, touched the Inquisitor's arm. He was surprised then to see Lady Trevelyan's gray eyes meet his own.
“Introduce us, my love,” she said. “Is this your Commander?”
Blackwall ground his teeth together, and looked at the floor on impulse. He caught the gesture before it turned to anger on his face, and looked up to meet her eyes with a smile. Before he could reply, the Inquisitor motioned him closer. She stood herself now, shedding her stiff formality.
“Ser Blackwall,” she introduced him, as he took a few uncomfortable steps forward.
Lady Trevelyan's composure was remarkable, but Blackwall had more than enough experience with every nuance of recognition of his name. To her credit, Savala's mother affected not to have heard of his disgrace.
Bann Trevelyan was not so gracious. He snorted, and began to say “The man who...” but Savala interrupted him.
“The man who faced a would-be God by my side. And who was my shield against darkness.” Her brows slanted down at her father, and Blackwall's heart constricted. That steel face was the one he had fallen in love with: the one that dared to be defied, be it by nobles or demons. Maker, she was amazing. All the more reason he would never deserve her.
Lady Trevelyan stretched an arm across her husband, and with only a moment of off-guard hesitation, Blackwall took her hand and bent low to press his lips against her fingers. “My lady,” he said, finding his voice hoarse. After this, Bann Trevelyan took his cue, and bowed to Blackwall. “We thank you for your service to our daughter.”
“To Thedas,” Savala corrected him pointedly. It earned her a sharp glance from her father, but the man schooled his face into sage consideration and nodded.
My shield against darkness. Who was shielding whom, he wondered. For the hundredth time, Blackwall vowed with a burning urgency to be worthy of this. He would be a Gray Warden, or he'd die for it. There was only so long he could watch Savala hold his dignity together with her own reputation.
“While we are making introductions,” Trevelyan said stiffly, turning to snap his fingers at several men standing well behind him.
Savala's lips turned down sharply, and she paled for a moment before recovering her composure. Blackwall wondered if he was the only one who noticed until he happened to glance at her mother.
The men who approached were clearly of different station: a nobleman and two servants. The nobleman was quite tall, with brown hair that he wore long. An iron band circled a dusky forehead, and he regarded the Inquisitor with a plainly appraising gaze and a cocky half smile that made Blackwall's blood simmer.
“Lord Moren, Teryn of Ostwick,” Bann Trevelyan said. Before Savala could reply, the Teryn took her hand in his own, which was bedecked in jewel studded rings. He bowed low over it, and pressed it his lips for a much overlong moment. He let it go the moment Blackwall saw Savala's shoulder stiffen to pull it away.
“Savala,” he said, giving her a coy smile that indicated a Teryn had no need for her titles.
Her eyes widened at this. Blackwall knew she cared nothing for titles, but...
“It's Lady Trevelyan,” a new voice growled, and Blackwall turned his head to find Cullen standing behind him. “Or Her Worship, The Herald of Andraste.” The Commander's face was dark, his eyes narrowed to slits. He was garbed in the full regalia of his station, sword at his side. The great feathered crest of his armor made him seem almost as tall as Blackwall, and as much as Blackwall despised him, he had to admit the man managed to look quite intimidating. And had timed his entrance quite well.
Damn him.
Blackwall found himself forced to take a step to the side as Cullen drew closer. The Commander's eyes were on the Teryn, who raised an eyebrow at him, but looked not at all chastened. Arrogant ******.
Savala had gone completely white, but Cullen met her eyes then and his lips lifted in a very personal half smile. “My lady,” he said quietly. “I apologize for my delay.” Blackwall thought he saw a shimmer in Savala's eyes, and was sure of the color that returned to her face in a flushed pink.
She looked then between her parents, and finally the Teryn. “Cullen Rutherford,” she introduced him. “Commander of the Inquisition's forces.”
The Commander was received with more respect than had Blackwall by the Inquisitor's parents. Bann Trevelyan seemed quite pleased, shaking his hand vigorously as he commented on the impressive state of the Inquisition troops. Lady Trevelyan received his kiss upon her knuckles while giving her daughter a very undisguised look of interest, with both eyebrows raised. Savala turned her face abruptly away from that glance, and Blackwall saw the color flare in her cheeks. Her mother smiled at that, which he found curious, but by the time Cullen had straightened, she was all cool grace again.
The Teryn of Ostwick, however, had adopted an indifferent posture, hands clasped behind his back and chin tilted slightly upward. Blackwall wondered if the man had managed to remain aloof during his time in Skyhold, and didn't realize he faced his rival for the woman between them. There was ever so slight a crease between his eyebrows as Cullen neglected to offer his hand in greeting, choosing instead to grace him with only a slight nod and a smile of pure ice. He knew.
The Teryn turned away from Cullen then, looking again at Savala. “It has been rewarding to work with your father to secure this arrangement... your grace. I have already deeded estates to the families of your sisters, and given your father a most remarkable manor not far from my own, so that you may visit with your parents at your leisure.”
Blackwall felt his mouth fall open for the second time that night. So the bastard had come armed. He glanced at Cullen, wanting to feel smug at the Commander's clenched jaw, but he couldn't. The whisper of that feeling evaporated when he looked at Savala. He had never seen her with the fight gone out of her face like that. It bothered him so much that he almost intervened in this whole farce, but short of running the bastard through with a sword he didn't know what to do.
Lady Trevelyan was not as disarmed. She cleared her throat, and placed her hand on Teryn Moren's arm. “Perhaps we should give Lady Savala some time to think it through, my lord. She has much on her plate at this time. Perhaps...”
The Teryn gave the hand on his arm such a look as he might have an offending insect, which he then regaled Lady Trevelyan with until she abruptly withdrew it. “There is nothing to think through,” he snapped. “The deal has been struck. The price paid. She belongs to me.”
Blackwall knew what was about to happen before, perhaps, anyone else, because it was the same thing he would have done. Cullen took a step forward and his arm shot out like a viper striking. He would undoubtedly have struck the Teryn hard enough to fell him, but just as quickly, Savala's hand connected with the breastplate of his armor. Her battle hardened strength, and the surprise of it, was enough to stop what would have been a righteous mistake on the Commander's part.
Hot anger replaced despair on her face. “I am not a mare to be bought at auction,” she snapped at the Teryn. “I do not, and will not ever belong to you.”
The Teryn, surprisingly, did not seem perturbed by this statement. “You seem to have forgotten you are a woman, with all this traipsing about Thedas pretending to be a warrior.”
“You bastard ****.” The words came out of Blackwall's mouth. It earned him every pair of eyes in the exchange, and some that weren't, but he didn't care. What the hell did he have to lose? “You owe whatever estates and manors you have to give to her. You owe your life to her. She is ten times the warrior as anyone I've ever fought beside.”
Non-plussed, the Teryn actually laughed at Blackwall's vehement outburst. “Says the faux Gray Warden.”
Blackwall sucked in another breath to respond to that, feeling Cullen's eyes boring into him, but he was silenced by the Inquisitor.
“Stop it. All of you.” Her face was dark. She turned a furious gaze on her father. “I told you, I am not free.” Then, to the Teryn: “I will compensate you for what you have given to my family. But not with my person.”
He finally frowned. “Am I so repulsive?” It was the first show of uncertainty that he had shown.
Savala looked for a moment as though she might agree with this, lips drawn into a thin slash. Then she glanced at Cullen, who had looked away from all of it, into the distance of the hall. Likely to hide his expression.
“I am promised elsewhere,” she finally said. Cullen's head only tilted toward the floor. Blackwall wondered what he would have done in this situation. Would he have stood there and let a noble woman's family pay the price for their love, and say nothing? So he could have her?
Yes.
For the first time he felt compassion for Cullen Rutherford. Perhaps being loved by the Inquisitor was not as easy as it seemed.
The Teryn of Ostwick, still standing with his hands behind his back, inhaled very deeply, his face a mask of displeasure. He said nothing to Savala, but turned his sharp gaze on Bann Trevelyan, who had stood thus far silently, stunned at this turn of events. “You and I will seek redress at my pleasure,” he said, voice softly venomous. “For your subterfuge, and more.”
“It wasn't ...” Savala began, her voice pitched high, but the Teryn snapped his fingers at his servants and turned his back on her.
“My lord …” Bann Trevelyan began, taking a step after him, but Savala's mother caught his elbow.
“I told you,” she said sternly, earning a plaintive, frustrated look from her husband.
“Maker's breath,” Savala whispered, shoulders falling.
Her father turned that same look now on his daughter. “Savala, why... you're free of the Circle. This union would have bought our security for many future generations!”
Savala's fist clenched at her side, and her chest rose as she inhaled. The gold signets of the Inquisition flashed against her pale skin. “Security?” She spit the word out, brows slanting over her gray eyes. “I have already paid for the security of our future generations. I have paid with my blood, with the blood of others, with my peace of mind for the rest of my life. I will never sleep without nightmares again, for your security.”
Blackwall had never seen her this angry, and apparently none of the others close to her had either. Her mother attempted to touch her, whispering 'darling,' but Savala slashed her hand between them. Cullen was watching her with wide eyes, and a look Blackwall recognized well.
Her father made one more attempt to understand her position. “Shouldn't you be rewarded for it? Should you not see yourself as Lady of a fine holding, with lands, title?”
Savala at first only managed a strangled growl of frustration at this. “Lands?” she snapped. She waved a hand in no particular direction. “They conferred this castle on me. And all the lands it guards, so that I can serve as the bulwark between Orlais and Ferelden. You can have it, and all the blighted headache that goes with it, if that is what you need to feel secure. I want only one reward for what I have paid.”
Blackwall saw Lady Trevelyan's hand go to her mouth, to hide a smile, he though. Her head dipped, so he could not be sure.
“What reward is that?” Bann Trevelyan asked, his cool demeanor finally giving way to a heated tone that matched his daughter's.
There was no mistaking the shimmer of tears in Savala's eyes this time. Blackwall moved a hand to touch her, by instinct, but was snapped back into reality when he saw Cullen's hand touch her wrist first. It was a gesture, he thought, as automatic as his own had been.
She didn't look at the Commander. “I am bound to what has been set in motion by my role as Inquisitor. I will be until my life is forfeit. I look forward to none of it with joy, but it is my fate. And I will share it with the man I love. That is the price of my sacrifice.”
Before anyone could respond, Savala pulled her wrist out of Cullen's grip, and turned and brushed past between her mother and father without a glance. She walked swiftly across the short distance between the throne where they gathered, and the door of her quarters. It slammed behind her a moment later, leaving a knot of silence in the wake of that crack of wood against stone.
Blackwall stared at the door, and knew why she had gone. She might carry the same deep scars on her soul, the same regrets that haunted him at night, but like Blackwall himself, she would not let anyone see her hurt.
He turned his gaze slowly away, and caught the Commander's eyes. Before he walked away, as he no longer belonged here, he gave the other man a look that he hoped conveyed what he wanted it to.
You'd better be worth it.
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