"Cullen," she placed a hand on his forehead, "you're burning up, and your hands are like ice. Let me fetch Ilara or Dorian." The next morning, the former Templar had awoken with a fever most likely brought on by the stress of her leaving.
With a groan, he sat up squinting in the pale light of morning, "I'll be fine, it's just a withdrawal flare-up. Perhaps, I'll feel better once I force myself to eat something." Watching him intently, the mere mention of food seemed to make his stomach churn and his face green. For a few minutes he pressed a palm to his eyes and forehead trying to relieve some of the pressure.
"I really don't like the idea of leaving you when you're like this." The more she watched him, the more she cursed having to leave so early.
Getting dressed with the finesse of an elderly man, he walked wearily over to her and pressed a kiss on her head, "You must, and I'll be fine. As you're well aware, I have my good and bad days." Holding fast to him, they needed to say their goodbye while still in the privacy of her quarters. Cupping his stubbly face and finding the strength of his resolve still holding strong in his golden eyes, she pressed her lips to his. "Please take care, and do not put yourself in undue danger," he murmured into her mouth with his eyes shut tight.
"I'll be fine, my love." She parted slightly back, "I'm sorry I can't be here for you."
It was his turn to hold her face gently in his hands. Cullen thumbed the scar on her jaw, "It will pass. Each report letting me know you're safe will bolster my strength and spirits. And no dragons." She laughed, and he smirked back at hearing it, "Finally, a smile from you."
With one more lingering kiss, they hooked arms and left to meet the day together. Though he tried to hide a cringe of pain as they walked down the stairs, she caught it. Through breakfast and all the way up until she was checking the saddle on Nelson, guilt gnawed at her having to leave while he was suffering. He had tried to pretend that he was managing just fine with jokes or a strained smile, but Cullen wasn't fooling her.
Thankfully, Dorian had been on hand to see them off and immediately upon seeing Cullen knew without an explanation what was ailing him. "Fret not, he's in good hands. I'll personally see to it that he's feeling better in no time, Inquisitor." With the pretense gone, the Commander settled into a more sedate state while the two mages discussed his health.
Skulking by, no doubt seeing Varric off, Hawke added, "I'd feel the same way if I spent as much time with Trevelyan as you do, Rutherford." The two of them glared at his back, while Dorian simply looked on with a cocked eyebrow. "Once she's far, far away playing hero we'll all be feeling much better," Cullen growled, but his sorry state didn't allow him to be very intimidating. His watchful friend cleared his throat and held him back as Evelyn was already snapping at the heels of the Champion like a trained Mabari.
"Hawke, out of curiosity, does your arse ever get jealous of all the shit that spews from your mouth?" At the conclusion of her words, he stopped and turned, opening his mouth to say something, but she held a finger up, not wanting to spend her last few minutes bickering with him. "Enough. Need I remind you that you are in my keep and I can have you thrown out at my pleasure."
"Blaze, are you two really still going at it?" Varric questioned as he rode past towards the gate with a nod to his longtime friend. Evelyn wasn't sure how serious the dwarf took their squabbling, or rather knew the extent of it. She simply gave him a pointed look while placing her hands on her hips.
"A fact I have yet to forget, Your Worship," Garret exaggerated a courtly bow. Rising and walking off, he waved back at her, "Safe travels. I'm sure that fat arse of yours is good for long journeys." He gave a short gallop at the end to punctuate his point.
Shaking her head, she flicked her fiery fingers at him and spun back to the others. "Dorian, don't let Hawke near Cullen until he's feeling more himself."
The blonde Ferelden scoffed, "I'm more than capable of ignoring the imbecile."
Evelyn placed a finger on her chin, tilting her head forward, "Are you?" They both knew that was nearly impossible for Cullen to do.
"My sharp wit is at the Commander's disposal. It'll be like a ventriloquist show; Cullen scowls and I'll do all the talking from behind, surely no one would know the difference," the Altus joked, patting Cullen on the shoulder. "And I will make sure, after your departure, that he sees the lovely Enchanter Ilara." When he huffed at Dorian, making him balk back as if he had just been told his mustache looked like a caterpillar, Evelyn knew her love was about to get lectured. "Excuse me, Commander Sassy-pants, I believe you are to be tracking your health closely, not just for your own sake but for those who also wish to quit lyrium. It's all very academic, really."
Cullen looked at her like a sad lion cub, as she mounted her prized Ranger, "The Commander will follow your orders to the letter, is that understood?" When the Tevinter mage looked exceedingly too pleased, she amended her statement, "When it comes to his health, Dorian. No ventriloquist stunts."
"Well, there goes my fun. Very well, my dear, be safe, and don't worry about tall, blonde, and brooding here."
"Remember to send word back to Skyhold once you've reached camp. There's still a civil war going on in the countryside. Trust no one." She nodded to him, despite knowing that tidbit already, and he straightened grasping the pommel of his sword, "May Andraste guide you and keep you safe, Inquisitor." The two men gave a shallow bow in unison, all for a show of anyone watching the exchange.
Bull wheeled his mount around, "We'll look after the Boss. I trust you can keep my boys in line, Commander? When they get bored they tend to like roughing up the garrison troops."
"Krem and I can handle any unruliness."
"If not, I would suggest doing the dummy act. The boys always loved a cheap show." Bull gave a wink to Dorian.
"Cheap? I've been called many things, but never cheap! That'll cost you later, Bull!" The two shared an impish smirk as the Qunari spurred on his mount.
At last, when there was nothing more to say and her companions were already headed across the bridge, they shared one final gaze of solidarity before duty once again wedged itself between them. As she sped out the portcullis she yelled back, almost forgetting, "By the way, if there's screaming coming from the tavern, it's because I burnt Hawke's pants off!"
***
With Evelyn gone, Cullen's free nights were spent working himself to exhaustion or hopelessly gathering the courage to write to her father. In his sessions with Enchanter Ilara, as he recovered from a hard week of lyrium withdrawal, he found the courage to ask if she knew anything about the man. Her only insight came in the form of the old metaphor, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. One evening in particular, he sat at his desk besieged by failed letters he crumpled and tossed to the floor. Shaking his head in disgust that he even allowed himself to waste a whole bloody forest on his idiotic ramblings, he decided he needed a new strategy. Unfortunately, he also knew whose help he needed to elicit, he just dreaded doing it…
Hesitating before her door, Cullen forced himself to knock, trying not to draw attention to him from those milling around the Great Hall. He knew it was all in his head, but the guests bending to whisper to their neighbor had him blushing already as if they could read his thoughts and knew his secret purpose. Cullen was about to bolt when her Antivan lilt reached him from beyond the door, beckoning him inside. "Commander, what can I do for you?" As her eyes fell on the crumpled paper he clutched in his fist, she studied him intently, searching for clues.
"Um," he rubbed the back of his neck, slamming the door shut behind him, " I need assistance-- that is, I need your expertise in a... personal matter." Looking intrigued, she motioned for him to sit, but he refrained not wanting to be confined to the chair with his nervous energy. His eyes darted briefly to the slightly wilting arrangement of flowers on her desk and he reminded himself not to pry, especially when he had problems of his own.
"Cullen, whatever it is, I will do my utmost to help you, and keep it strictly confidential." While Josephine wore a trusting smile, he knew as soon as he gave her the parchment that promise would be hard to keep from a certain nug-loving Orlesian.
With a heavy resigning sigh, though not able to meet her eyes, he admitted, "I require assistance in writing a letter to Evelyn's father of my intentions." He braced for her to laugh or take on that diplomatic face when someone said something ludicrous about the Inquisition, but instead, it softened deeper with a lovelorn look. At this point, he might as well stop the pretense with them, despite how openly affectionate he was during the Ryker intervention. In fact, there was quite a number of their close friends who knew, yet thankfully aside from some veiled teasing, no one spoke of it. Knowing that, it suddenly became easier to breathe, and perhaps he owed their inner circle of friends more credit for their discretion.
The Ambassador spoke gently as if anything more would cause him to flee the room, "Of course. May I express my joy at hearing such news? Strictly confidential news, but I am happy that you both have found happiness in times such as these." Swallowing hard, he nodded, finally braving himself to look up and thank her awkwardly. Standing, Josephine rounded her desk to place a hand on his shoulder, "May I see what you have?" Begrudgingly, he surrendered the draft to her. Her gray eyes moved from him to the words, skimming through the cross-outs and margin notes. "Come," she waved with a hand gesturing for him to follow her around the desk.
"I fear my experience with writing is limited to military reports."
"To which you are exceedingly gifted, but this is quite a different type of request. We need to make it sound like you are in love with his daughter more, and less like you are requisitioning her like a Ranger from the Bann," she gave him a coy smile. "I think in this case, a bit more passion is needed." He immediately frowned as if he drank soured milk. "There is the Orlesian way where--"
"Absolutely not."
"But you haven't even heard what--"
He crossed his arms replying gruffly, "Anything that is done "the Orlesian way" can't be prudent in this case, nor in any other circumstance."
"Very well, though commissioning a bard to recite a poem or ballad of your declared love would have been romantic."
"To send to Evelyn or her father?" His incredulous tone rang throughout the room.
She scoffed politely, "Her parents, obviously."
Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes at the absurdity of sending her father a love ballad about his daughter. "Maker's breath, why don't I just send them fine wine and chocolates from Val Royeaux as well?"
"Her mother may enjoy those," he slapped a hand to his forehead, "but what of the Marcher way? It is similar to the Ferelden custom of treating it as a business transaction."
Though it certainly sounded more appropriate, the word business made him cringe. "Josephine, I have no assets to barter with. You know that." Sure, he had quite a sum of coin saved that could be used to purchase something, but he had yet to do anything with it. He suddenly became defensive as the shame of his inadequacy surfaced, "I have no title, no land, or income outside of the Inquisition. My family's farm in South Reach belongs to my siblings, so I cannot even boast of that to the Bann." His shoulders slumped, "Perhaps, I should just leave it be. Evelyn has already written to him, maybe I shouldn't push my luck for fear he'd truly understand how undeserving I am of his daughter."
The Ambassador sheathed her quill, turning to him from her plush high-back chair with a scolding look, "Cullen, that is extremely unfair to say about yourself. I am still receiving marriage proposals for you from several Orlesian houses that outstrip the Trevelyans twofold, and even more proposing to make you the household mistress…" She paused to allow him to pace, mutter curses, and throw his hands up at the very notion of any of it, all while trying to hide her amused smile.
While he refused to be handed a single one of those proposals, he gave her and Leliana leave to keep them for their own entertainment and leverage, so long as he didn't have to hear about it. On occasion, as he drifted through the Great Hall, Josephine would ask that he exchange pleasantries with a noble before tending to his business, and for the longest time, he wondered why, until he began to notice odd things appearing the same day: dropped monographed handkerchiefs in his path that he often had to kick off his boot, notes or sappy poetry slipped into his pocket, or the late-night dainty knocks on his locked office doors. When he confronted his two counterparts, barking at them that he was not bait for their political schemes and amusement, Leliana simply replied, 'Hush, and just look pretty.'
After a short tantrum, he grumbled, "I doubt my looks will be of any consequence to her father. Though I'm quite positive if you sent all those proposals to her mother she would quite readily accept me."
"That would certainly give her something to brag about at parties," she genuinely laughed. "Come, I think I have a way to play up your strengths while sounding genuine and reassuring." He nodded wearily and moved behind her chair to observe her wordplay:
Esteemed Bann Drexford Trevelyan,
I extend my sincerest gratitude once more for the invaluable aid lent by the gallant Trevelyan Calvary at Adamant Fortress. The steadfast protection rendered by your seasoned horsemen proved instrumental, ensuring the very foundation of our endeavor remained unshaken.
Yet, my purpose in scribing these words transcends mere expressions of gratitude. With your indulgence, I humbly implore your forgiveness for this audacious correspondence. As soldiers, we both hold dear the virtue of clarity over undue embellishment. It has come to my attention through the words of Evelyn, whom I hold in the highest regard, that you have bestowed your blessing upon our burgeoning courtship. Although decorum dictates that it should have been my pen that first ventured into this realm of discourse, Evelyn's spirited resolve often steers the course where it wills. Hence, I beseech your consent to undertake the pursuit of courting your daughter.
As we stand poised against the encroaching darkness of the Elder One, the future remains veiled in uncertainty, held within the hands of the Maker. That is why up to now, my thoughts have seldom strayed beyond the demands of our present struggle. Yet, recent moments have found me contemplating the prospect of life beyond the mantle of the Inquisition. Unexpectedly, it is Evelyn who has illuminated this path, revealing the possibility of love amidst the tumult of our times.
I solemnly pledge, upon my honor, that until I secure a suitable abode and means of livelihood beyond the confines of military service, I shall not press upon Evelyn for her hand in marriage. Her life and happiness are of paramount importance to me, and I consider it my duty to furnish her with every comfort and safeguard within my power to provide.
As a former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I bear knowledge of arcane arts that may serve to aid Evelyn should necessity demand. However, in all my years as a Templar, never have I encountered a mage so profoundly attuned to the intricacies of her mana as she. With the divine mark of Andraste yet adorning her palm, we do not know what challenges the future holds for us, yet we shall confront them as one.
In earnest anticipation of your response, esteemed sir, and the auspicious occasion of our eventual meeting, I remain.
With the utmost respect,
Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition
"Thank you, Josephine. I'm not sure I could've managed this without your help. At least now the Bann won't think I'm a knuckle-dragging ex-Templar with no refined skills… well, at least not until he meets me."
"Cullen," her countenance turned thoughtful, "if you apply the same vigorous attention you have towards your duty to your relationship, the Bann will be bound to see how deeply you care for her. We all do, at least those you've let in on the Inquisition's biggest secret."
"Yes, but no one is supposed to see it, remember?"
Cocking up an eyebrow with a conspiratorial smirk, she chided him, "Do you honestly doubt that Leliana and I couldn't arrange meetings with a suitable cover if they were to ever visit Skyhold? If so Commander, you have vastly underestimated our combined abilities."
"For the time being, let us hope we will not need such skills." He sighed looking at the carefully drafted letter in his hand, "Maker, it feels like just the other day we were back at Haven coordinating the arrival of the mages together for The Divine, before she was even The Herald. How long has it been?"
"Nearly a year now, " Josephine had a nostalgic and dreamy look as she listened to him.
"Who knew then where we'd be now? Can it happen that way? So quickly?" Cullen was too far gone lost in memories to hear himself babbling absently.
"Yes, very much so." Josephine gazed at her flowers, brushing a manicured finger along one of the delicate petals, causing some to fall. Her gray eyes turned thoughtful, and a sad smile graced her face, for it seemed she was missing Blackwall like he missed Evelyn.
"At what point then will Evelyn wake up and realize what she has condemned herself to?"
Shaking herself from her own musings, Josephine gave him a pointed stare, "Evie is many things, but she has always known her own mind and heart. The two are nearly the same, in fact. Is it she who you doubt, or yourself?"
The trance broke and his head snapped to her, "No, I…" The Ambassador's face was sympathetic and didn't make him so ashamed of speaking with his heart, "I've never been more sure."
"Then some advice," she placed a hand on his arm and her voice soothing, "allow no room for doubt to poison your affection. Evie will sense doubt, but she will blame herself for it." A numbing wave of truth washed over him as she was absolutely correct. "She is an intelligent woman, you should give her more credit for choosing to give her heart to you. Look at all she has accomplished, I'm sure she has weighed every option and thought through every scenario, and yet still she chooses you. We've entrusted her with the fate of Thedas, so trust her to know her own heart."
He met her gaze sheepishly, clearing his throat, "Thank you, Josephine. Truly."
The Antivan simply nodded with a warm smile as she walked back to her desk chair, "Take that straight to Leliana, I believe she's expecting it."
Cullen let go of a large breath as he opened the door, grumbling low, "Of course she is."
After a rather screwed and shady handoff of his letter to Leliana in her rookery involving no words at all just a conniving smirk, Cullen was feeling less anxious about the whole ritual around courting. His message was off soaring through the sky on its way to her father and nothing was to be done about it now. It was in the Maker's hands and with one problem solved, his mind roamed for something new to fixate on. The past month of only speaking to each other through reports gave him time to reflect on what she had at the time yelled at him for at Adamant, easing much of his uncertainty. If anything, he now looked at his situation in a completely new light.
Unlocking the hidden compartment of his old Templar chest in his room, he opened it revealing a large hefty draw-string coin purse. Cullen was frugal and practical, having been brought up in a household where coin was scarce and spent with purpose. After Mia told him she didn't need the coin, he had simply saved it all - for what, he knew not. He required little in terms of personal care, and the Inquisition was supplying him with weapons, armor, clothing, and food, so there wasn't much to spend it on. He wasn't a chronic gambler, with the wager he made pertaining to Cassandra and Owayne done mostly in jest. The amount he had won was nothing to scoff at however, and the more he stared at the substantial pile, the more the light glanced off the gold in the moonlight revealing a world of possibilities. A frightening and enticing prospect presented itself of a future after the Inquisition; a homestead, a family, a wife. Maker, how does one be a husband?
She had said she only wished to be with him, but as an avid chess player he knew one always needed to be several steps ahead of the game. He needed to anticipate her needs and wants, and though he truly believed she'd be happy with him whatever the situation, she deserved a good life - "they deserved a good life" he could almost hear her scolding him in his head.
His hand tightened on the worn bag, brooding now if he could afford to harbor such hope for a picturesque future with Evelyn. Was it too soon? What if they separated? What if she… died? Despite correcting everything she had said about his ability to provide, there was one glaringly obvious thing he lacked…
Hastily locking it all back up along with his doubts, he slid down the ladder and hopped into his chair to write one last letter.