Waking later than usual after sleeping like the dead, Evelyn was pleased to find various amenities had been left for her. The cold stove had noticeably pulsing out heat into her tent for an hour or two, chasing away the lingering chill. An enchanted rune stone used to keep water defrosted sat at the bottom of a bucket for washing. The brief warmth of the cloth against her grimy skin was luxurious after all this time. Soon the bucket was so murky she could no longer see the glowing stone as layers of dirt, dried sweat, and blood were removed. Afterwards, she grabbed some clean clothes from her field trunk and a hairbrush. Combing out the weeks' worth of knots that were making her hair look more like a bird's nest, her eyes fell on a pair of fur-lined leather gloves. A small smile pulled at her lips as she realized how they came to be in her tent. Cullen must've come to check on her during the night, leaving behind a pair of his gloves for her. The rich brown hue and rabbit fur poking out from the inside promised not only physical warmth, but the caress of his tender memory everywhere she went.
With her braids redone and feeling refreshed not having to wake up and prepare for a long day of fighting, she nearly skipped up the hill to the forward camp until she caught sight of Sorin. He was staring at her with a frown, leaning up against one of the town's crippled buildings. As a contingent of soldiers rushed between them on the main road through the camp, Evelyn shrugged at him asking a wordless, 'what?' Looking away annoyed, she saw his eyes fall upon one of the broken red lyrium crystals jutting up from the ground. She knew exactly what he was brooding about…
Pushing off the wall, the Marchers met at a nearby fire, still unused to the bitter cold. "After you retired yesterday, I had some time to think about what happened with the red lyrium," his downturned mouth softened, "I'm not sure, how-- I mean, this is… difficult for me…" At his distressed state - at least to her, anyone else would've thought he was simply put off by something - she waited patiently for him to find the words. With a resigned sigh, he glared her right in the eyes, "You scared me." Surprised, she blinked at him a few times feeling the guilt well up in her, as his pale blue eyes conveyed his deep concern. "You spoke of a future after all of this; a life away from Circles to live free. I know I'm bad at… talking about…" He made a sour face, "… feelings, but without you, I have no future. You're all I have."
His words made her heart melt even in this Maker-forsaken frozen wasteland. Impulsively, she hugged him tight to her. Evelyn had two extra inches on him, pressing his head to her shoulder. Sorin's arms hung by his side, and she could feel his warm exhale on the exposed skin on her neck as he tried to avoid the Commander's thick mantle.
"E," she broke their embrace, "no offense, but I feel like I'm hugging Cullen, and I just… it's weird." She laughed, finding humor in it unlike him. "Are you sure you want to wear that? People are going to talk?"
"Well, then they can fucking lend me their coat because mine's destroyed! That's the real and perfectly unromantic reason… though I don't mind the other perks." She gave the fur a smell, reveling in his lingering scent. "Gloves are his too," she winked.
"Fine, but if you borrow his helm we'll have issues-- rather, I'll have issues. I may not be able to look at you."
"You have nothing to fear there, I know what sweaty man smells like and I will gladly pass on that one. Come on, I'm headed to see the Commander now, but you can walk with me." Falling into stride with her, as they reached the outskirts of town, two soldiers followed them up the hill. Upon asking why they were following them, they replied that it was on the orders of the Commander that she be escorted.
"That's cute," Sorin grumbled lowly, "he's coddling you. As if you couldn't bloody well walk the short distance up the hill without incident."
"To be fair, it is me we're speaking of."
"Maybe he has more sense than I give him credit for. At least they'll keep you from the red lyrium."
"Quit it! I'm not addicted to it, I only meant to use it in case death was upon us, which it was!"
Recognizing Cullen's tent, the two stopped outside of it. Flicking a lock of hair out of his face, Sorin scowled at her, "So, do you plan on telling him about it?"
She shook her head about to give her answer, when his rich baritone rang out through the canvas, "Tell me what?"
Taking a menacing step close to Sorin, she growled, "Andraste's knickers, if you get me in trouble, I'll--"
"Inquisitor," Cullen's voice sounded slightly accusatory as if she was a misbehaving child. "You both may enter." Flicking Sorin's nose, the two entered with angry pouts on their face. Cullen was in the middle of shaving his strong jawline when they walked in, looking between the two of them in the reflection of his breastplate. He had yet to put on his armor but wore a heavy gambeson. A bandage was tied around his neck that sported light blotting of blood from the arrow that had grazed him.
"That seems hard to do," the Inquisitor tried to say as congenially as possible, referring to his current task.
"You get used to it, though I will say this armor polishes nicer than my set from the Order. Makes it substantially easier."
"It should, it might not be silverite, but it's the best ore our mines have produced, and shaped by the best smiths in Thedas. Herrit and Dagna are unmatched in their craft."
"I suppose that trade meeting months ago was worth it then." He gave her a sideways glance and a smirk at the memory of their first moment of intimacy.
"So it would seem." She smiled back brightly, while Sorin rolled his eyes.
The storm mage leaned toward her, whispering, "Must I suffer through this? Why do I need to be here?"
Wiping his blade on a linen having finished shaving, Cullen stood towering over them. Suddenly the tent felt smaller with him raised to full height. "Actually, I'm glad you're here for if she's keeping from me, it's probably something concerning." He flashed her a pointed look before turning back to him, "So, what is it? If it's important to her safety, you'll tell me."
Both she and the Commander crossed their arms as they waited for him to decide. Sorin's eyes were fixed on her, but just before he spoke, they flashed over to Cullen, "It is. She was going to take red lyrium right before you showed up with the reinforcements."
"You snitch!" Evelyn punched his arm.
Cullen was pinching his nose as if he had a nosebleed, musing on the implications of her taking such a risk. "Evelyn…"
"I didn't take it! No harm, no foul," she shrugged, watching the blonde's jaw muscle flex in warning of the lecture she was about to get.
"That's because I zapped it out of your hand," her fellow Marcher added cooly.
"Which, by the way, hurt! Not to mention, you could've gotten us all killed if Cullen hadn't arrived!"
"Evelyn," Cullen's voice was one of desperate anger and disappointment, "each time you've taken it, it's altered your mana. Maker's breath, you are too important to lose to take such a risk!"
"Hence, me saving all of our arses by taking it."
"No! Your duty is not to save us," Cullen gestured around the tent, though she knew he meant the Inquisition in whole, "your job is to use the anchor to close rifts and kill Corypheus. Something no one else in Thedas can do. None of our lives matter, we would all die in the line of duty to protect you, it's not the other way around. You know this!" Sorin nodding in agreement with him only served to help her recovering mana flare hotly.
As the heat rolled off her, a familiar polite voice called from outside, "Your Worship? I'm here to check on your wounds, my lady. I was told I'd find you here."
Evelyn kept her raptor-like gaze fixed on Cullen, who answered for her, "You may enter."
The same Orlesian healer who treated them yesterday stepped into the crowded tent, bowing slightly. "Good morning, Inquisitor, Commander, and—oh." She froze, her slender fingers fidgeting as her eyes fell on the young Knight-Enchanter.
"Sorin Cyrus, but you can call me Sorin," he introduced himself, a touch of vexation in his voice.
"Also known as 'Fine Ser,'" Evelyn added, still bitter that he ratted her out. She watched with satisfaction as her friend shot her a lethal glare.
The young woman glanced around nervously, no doubt sensing the palpable tension in the tent, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I could come back later if you'd prefer, Your Worship," she suggested, her voice uncertain.
"No, now is as good a time as any, Enchanter…" Evelyn paused and looked expectantly at the Orlesian.
"Senior Enchanter Miriam De Montfort of the Circle at Montsimmard, at your service." Despite the heavy navy robes she wore, Miriam managed a surprisingly graceful curtsy. Her white fur cowl lent her pale face more color, as did the cold causing her cheeks to turn bright pink.
The Marcher couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. The De Montfort family, also known as the Montfort dynasty, was one of the most influential noble families in Orlais, with blood ties to the late Empress Celene herself. They were also famous for their beautiful women, but it looked like this particular De Montfort didn't quite hit the genetic jackpot. Her small, deep-set, pale blue eyes, overly long face, and petite frame didn't conform to the dynasty's usual standards of gorgeous, full-figured ladies. To be honest, though, those features gave her a unique, almost quirky cuteness—kind of like the charm you find in a nug. Evelyn suspected however that it wasn't the lack of looks or impressive medical skills that got De Montfort chosen to be sent here. Gaspard wouldn't shed a tear if a member of the family who backed Celene ended up dead on the battlefield. The political intrigue in Orlais was always a twisted game, and most likely Miriam was just another pawn in it.
"A pleasure, Enchanter De Montfort. I appreciate you answering the call to aid the Inquisition. If you're from Montsimmard, you must know Vivienne."
Miriam nodded her head excitedly, her pale eyes brightening, "Yes, the First Enchanter is a good friend of mine! She speaks highly of the work of the Inquisition, sending news back of your adventures to the Circle in the hopes that more join her."
Evelyn smiled politely back, through her simmering anger, "She is truly an asset to us, as I'm sure your help will be here. As it happens, Madame Vivienne has been assisting our Ambassador more with wrangling the noble's support lately, rather than using her healing talents."
"Yes, she had always been good at that, if I may say so, Your Worship."
"Evelyn, please. 'Your Worship' makes me feel like an old Chantry relic." Miriam's face took on one of horror, Evelyn having forgotten that some people can't fathom calling her anything but a fancy title. "Or… you can keep calling me whatever you wish."
"Thank you, Herald, now if I may," the healer gestured to her hurt leg. Giving her a nod, Miriam began her examination while the others resumed their conversation.
"Look, Inquisitor," Cullen began back up, "I would be wasting my breath asking you to stay behind in camp while we push through to Samson's operation, so for the love of Andraste, just listen to us when we advise caution." Evelyn's lips formed a pout, knowing that he was right. "You are still recovering, so for now, leave matters to me. And stay away from the red lyrium! I'll have our dwarven allies clear as much of it as possible near our camps."
She crossed her arms, "Enchanter, how long until I can see action again?"
"I would say two days at the least, Inquisitor. Aside from injuries, all of you have been under extreme stress and run down. Your bodies need nourishment and rest to be fit for fighting."
"Understood," Evelyn looked to the Commander, reaching out to jab him with a finger, "you have two days to do as you please without me, then I'll be right beside you the rest of the way. Now, if you two would excuse us, the Commander and I have a matter to discuss in private." Sorin, eager to escape, bolted out of the tent followed by the flustered healer. Still looking angry with her, she sauntered over closer to him taking off the gifted gloves. She smiled up into his softening gaze, untucking his shirt to feel up his chest to his wound, where a soft bandage was wrapped around his chest. "How's the wounds?" She asked in a soft velvety voice.
Evelyn felt his heartbeat quicken a bit, and her hands marveled at how warm he was. "Both wounds were easily stitched."
"Stitched? But a healer such as Enchanter De Montfort could have completely healed them if it were so."
He sighed heavily, "I'm still… easing into having magic used on me. I did have her repair the muscles so I wouldn't be hindered by it, but I trust more in our surgeon than mages I have only just met. I would've gone to Solas but he too needs to recover."
Evelyn wasn't going to push the issue with him, relieved that he was intact. "I'm just glad you're alright, I was worried."
"You were worried?" Cullen chuckled harshly, "Eve, after reading your letter, Maker, you had me scared to death! Then upon my arrival, I find you surrounded by the enemy, you run out to break the ice, fall through it, and then get shot with an arrow! Now, I learn that you also almost took red lyrium," he cupped her face more so with his rough fingers than his gentle palms, "Andraste preserve me, what were you thinking?!"
"Which time?"
Watching his ire rise at the quip, she bit her lip finding herself funny, and rather than scold her, he swept her up in a desperate kiss. Evelyn's arms reach up around his broad shoulders, while his arms locked around her middle. She eagerly moved her lips against his in open-mouth kisses, wasting no time. She missed him dearly, the past week amplifying her longing just to be held.
Gently parting them, although still a breath away, his sweet honeyed eyes gazed down at her, "No. More. Rash. Actions." She nodded at his quiet but stern tone, still seeing stars. "You have the support of your army and of your Commander, so we strategize and plan. We do this together. Promise me?"
"Yes, my love." She nipped again at his lips, "I'm incredibly glad you're here."
"As am I," he bent as if to kiss her, but froze a hair breath away from her lips. Her eyes popped open as he spoke, "for I would appreciate having my coat back."
Evelyn pushed him playfully by the shoulders, careful not to touch his wound, "What am I to wear then? That was extremely warm." She pouted and he turned to his trunk, searching through it.
"Here, this is my old one. It'd suit you better in the field anyway. I don't want to have to worry about you setting all this fur on fire." She accepted the heavy leather and fur-lined jacket. Anything considered flammable was safely tucked inside the thick outer leather. The material of the arms down to the top of the chest was dark mahogany, and worn well in the usual places about the joints. Below it, the deep brown was replaced by a rich earthy red. Slipping it on, the weight recommended its warmth, though it'd be too big for her to use the fasteners, but she could belt it. "I also wouldn't want Samson mistaking you for me from afar. Everyone knows me by this," he held the mantle up between them and she couldn't deny the truth to his words.
It was his identifying marker, as much as the anchor was hers. Though parts of his armor had once been from his Templar days, slowly he had been letting go of that life piece by piece as it were. Each battle had seen some part of that armor ruined, and without remorse or nostalgia, he let it go. Though the scars from his service would remain, he was forging a way farther away from Knight-Commander Rutherford to simply Cullen.
"Where did that come from anyway? Did you buy it or you truly don't know?"
"Ros made it. She sent it to me when I was at Greenfell recovering. I… wanted nothing to do with it, or them at the time, so I packed it away. Never touched it or anything else they sent me until after I left Kirkwall. I found it again while packing to go to Haven and… well, it seemed the practical thing to do and not let her time go to waste."
"This is from Ros?!" Evelyn grinned a bright toothy smile, "That makes me love it even more!" He chuckled rolling his eyes at her sentimentality. "So all those times nobles have asked you about where you got it from, you've known?"
Cullen had always just answered the question with a 'I haven't the slightest' or a 'in my travels.' She had never directly asked about it until now, believing all those lies he told the nosey nobility. "And tell them my sister made it? It doesn't really do anything for the image."
Evelyn covered her mouth trying not to burst out laughing, "Image? My, my, are we vain! You won an epic victory at Adamant Fortress against Wardens, no less, and now you have an image, do you?"
"That is not what I meant," he scowled over at her teasing, "and you know it." He turned to finish armoring up when a loud explosion erupted from nearby. When she jumped and fire danced around her, she nearly burnt his tent down. The continuous fighting for days and being sensitive to every sound was taking its toll. Cullen tried to calm her quickly, "It's alright! Evelyn, it's alright!" Just the sound of his voice was enough to break the trance, and she dispelled her magic at his assurances. "It's Rocky and the other dwarves clearing the cave passage. He was eager to try his new powder concoction, believing it equal to Gaatlok. Bull's probably there too already, as it's a matter of pride for him."
Even after his explanation, she placed a hand on her heart attempting to halt its pounding. Swallowing hard she took some deep breaths watching Cullen frown with concern. Taking her hands, he enveloped her, helping her to shut out the world for a moment as she had done when he had seen the Hero of Ferelden back at Skyhold. The solitude paired with his presence brought her anxiety down and she pushed away conveying her thanks.
Watching her face contort in guilt and shame, she watched his golden eyes soften. "Eve, you're safe with me here. I won't let anything or anyone hurt you. You've been through a lot lately, so get some rest and in two days you can rejoin me. I will post ample security around you, and you have your companions. I'm sure Sorin won't stray far from your side." When another explosion shook the tent, he finished getting ready, by pulling on his returned mantle. Taking her head and pressing her forehead to his lips, he sweetly kissed her, "I love you. Just get some rest, I'll send messages to you of our progress as we go."
"Please do, and be safe my love."
The two exited the tent to find Sorin sitting outside by the forward camp's main fire. He was hunched over holding his head in his palm staring off, his wavy black locks hanging about his face. With him chatting away nervously was Miriam De Montfort. Her back was to Evelyn, and seemingly too distracted by her own story, Sorin picked his head up out of his hand and shrugged, mouthing something like, 'She won't leave me be.'
"Seems I have one more rescuing act to do before I rest, Commander. Maker watch over you."
"And you Inquisitor." With that, as he walked up the path, he was assaulted by several runners, reading the missives as he walked. It was a wonder he never tripped doing so.
Turning back to her fellow Knight-Enchanter, she watched as he stood all but shouldering the Senior Enchanter out of his way to get to Evelyn. "Oh, I-I suppose I'll see you later to check on that fracture, ser-- I mean, Sorin!" When she caught a glimpse of Sorin's scowl, Evelyn smiled and waved to the healer before the two walked back towards their tents, followed in tow by their faithful guards.
"Nice coat."
"Thanks. So, what's with you and Enchanter De Montfort?"
"She talks endlessly; I sit there mute; that's about it," he grumbled. The hard-packed snow crunched beneath their feet as they walked. The sloping landscape around them was blanketed in about three feet of snow. The Inquisition soldiers must've worked through the night clearing the paths in and out of their camps, for the accumulation under her boots hardly crested her toes.
"Miriam seems nice, maybe she doesn't have any friends here and she's finding it easier to speak to another Circle mage."
"Annoying people is no way to make friends."
"By annoying, you mean talking? I'm pretty sure that's the only way to begin an acquaintance."
Sorin exhaled forcefully, "I'm not here to make friends."
"Oh, lovers then?" His head snapped to hers with such a look of disturbed shock, she found herself biting back a laugh. "Well, if you're not here to make friends… I mean, she's cute, right?" As they stepped into camp, Sorin stomped away as if a storm cloud was riding him. With restoration efforts underway and the rest of her companions resting, Evelyn sought the solitude of her tent to catch up on work that had piled up over the weeks of neglect. Happy to do something other than fighting, she sat at the small table, lit her candle, and whispered to herself, "To work."