As night fell over the wilderness and the Inquisition came to a temporary halt, Cullen retreated to the confines of his tent. There, amidst the dim glow of a flickering lantern, he sat in contemplative solitude, engrossed in the myriad reports that sprawled across his makeshift desk. According to Solas, in a few days, they would arrive at an abandoned elven stronghold that could become their new base. Once again, the elf claimed that he had gleaned this knowledge from dreams. By now, the convenience of his revelations coming from the Fade had become undeniably suspicious, but at the moment, they had no means of verifying the truth of his claims. One certainty remained: Solas was helping them, and without him, the Inquisition wouldn't have come this far.
With a sigh, Cullen moved on to the next dispatch, envying the elf for his nights of adventure and discovery while his were filled with horrid nightmares.
The paper before him bore Lysette's name, an official request to become a fully-fledged Templar, with all the responsibilities and consequences that entail. Cullen's brow furrowed as he pondered this unexpected development. Until recently, there had been no indication that Lysette harbored any desire to climb the ranks, and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to change her mind. Such a decision had the power to split one's life into before and after, and while the Inquisition desperately needed more capable Knights, he was not inclined to allow her to join without making sure she fully understood the far-reaching consequences.
He rose from his seat and stepped out of his tent, addressing one of the soldiers stationed nearby, "Find Recruit Lysette. Tell her to come to me as soon as her duties allow."
With a crisp salute, the man hastened to carry out his commander's orders.
Returning to his desk, Cullen was about to immerse himself in his work once more when the tent flap was abruptly thrown open, and Hawke stormed in, wearing an enormous grin. He had grown accustomed to her somewhat unconventional manners and chose not to reproach her. "What brings you here?"
"I be here t' extend an offer ye can't refuse. A place at me weddin' tonight, matey!" the Champion announced with a smug look on her face, reminiscent of a predator who has finally cornered its elusive prey.
"Wait, what? Your wedding? Tonight?" he stammered perplexed.
Hawke rolled her eyes with an air of exasperation. "Aye, be I not speakin' in the common tongue?"
"But we are in the middle of nowhere!" he exclaimed incredulously.
She shrugged nonchalantly, "Aye, who gives a barnacle where we be? Me heart's on board, me mates be here, and the Mother is ready to bind us."
Cullen paused, taking a moment to process the unexpected news. "I suppose you're right. But wait, I, umm, I didn't know that Sebastian had forsaken his vows."
The Champion let out a hearty laugh. "He'd sooner walk the plank than abandon his devotion to the Maker. We're havin' ourselves a pure and chaste marriage, ye savvy?"
"Oh, I see," he muttered. While such unions were not commonplace, they were certainly not unheard of, particularly among the devout. He smiled warmly. "I'm genuinely happy for both of you. May the Maker's Bride bestow her blessings upon your bond."
Hawke returned his smile with a mischievous one of her own, "She'd best, or I'll give her a taste o' me boot, I will!"
He shook his head in mild disapproval, but said nothing. Just as their conversation began to settle, Lysette's voice intruded from outside the tent. "Commander, may I request entry?"
Hawke cast a glance at Cullen and then directed her gaze to the entrance. "I be takin' meself away, lettin' ye two be discussin' matters less thrillin'," she declared in a tone that conveyed a hint of boredom. "See ye later!"
With those words, she briskly exited the tent, leaving the flap ajar.
He watched her departure, his gaze lingering for a fleeting moment before returning his focus to the waiting Lysette. "Of course, do come inside," he offered, gesturing for her to enter.
The woman approached his desk, her posture formal as she saluted. "I have been informed that you wished to speak with me, Commander."
"I received your request to become a full-fledged Knight," Cullen acknowledged, his expression marked by concern. "It's a weighty decision, one that should not be made lightly."
"I assure you," Lysette replied with a hint of offense, "I am not taking it lightly. I understand that it implies much more responsibility and..."
"And sacrifices," he interjected, his tone tinged with bitterness, despite his efforts to conceal it. He let out a sigh. "I do not doubt that you are capable and dedicated, Lysette, but I must admit, this decision took me by surprise. What is the reason for your request?"
The woman's voice was determined as she spoke, "Before, I only had to defend the Herald from our enemies, and for that, my skills as a Templar Recruit were sufficient. But now, I realize that I also must protect her from the magic of the mark, if need be. I think that Templar's abilities are a better solution than a blow to the head."
Cullen nodded slowly, he couldn't deny that he would feel more at ease knowing that Lysette could intervene more efficiently if Miriam lost control once again. "It's a heavy burden you're willing to bear, and I appreciate your dedication." He studied the woman closely, his eyes on the lookout for any hint of uncertainty. "I just wonder if you fully understand the challenges and sacrifices that lyrium consumption will entail."
Lysette's countenance remained steadfast as she replied, "I do, and I made this choice with full awareness. The Herald dedicates her all to our mission, and as her protector and friend, I am committed to nothing less."
Listening to her firm reassurance reminded him of the fervor he had felt in his youth, the unshakable determination to become a Templar. He couldn't help but reminisce about the younger version of himself, a naive recruit eager to embrace the Order's calling.
He leaned back in his chair. "I remember," he began, a touch of nostalgia coloring his voice, "the day I first joined the Templar ranks. It was as if nothing else in the world mattered. My path was clear, and I thought I had it all figured out, so confident that I could handle it all". He returned his attention to Lysette, his tone grave. "But as the years have passed, I have come to realize that the constant battles to protect the people from the dangers of magic, the loneliness that comes with this calling, and the shackles of lyrium that bind you to this life... the burden of it all is far heavier than the idealized dreams of my youth could have ever imagined." A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "The cost, to body and soul alike, is immense, and more often than not, everything you give, everything you forfeit, is taken for granted." He paused, his voice lowering. "The decision is yours, just remember that the path you've chosen, is not an easy one. You'll need every ounce of that dedication you possess to weather the storm."
Lysette met his gaze with a resolute look. "As I said before, I understand the challenges, Commander, and I'm willing to bear them. For the Herald and for the Inquisition, I will endure whatever lies ahead."
Cullen nodded. "Your determination is your greatest asset. Just never forget that you have allies here, and if ever the burden feels too heavy, you need only to reach out." After a brief moment of reflection, he continued, "Very well, I will grant your request. Rylen will contact the officers of the Order to coordinate your vigil, though I suspect it won't be feasible until we reach our new base."
"I understand, and I'm truly grateful," Lysette replied, straightening up as she spoke.
"One more thing," Cullen pressed, leaning forward with a furrowed brow. "Does the Herald know of your petition?"
The woman's demeanor remained calm, though a trace of regret flickered in her eyes as she replied, "Yes, the Herald is aware of my decision. She expressed her dismay that I had concealed my intentions during our mission in Haven. So to prevent any further dissension, I have made my decision and the reasons for it known to her in no uncertain terms."
He considered her response and then posed another question, "And how did she respond to your revelation?"
"With understanding and acceptance," Lysette announced with visible relief on her face. "She even said that it will lightened her load."
"I see," he concluded in a thoughtful tone. "You may take your leave."
The woman saluted, then pivoted gracefully on her heels and exited the tent, leaving Cullen alone with his ruminations. He relaxed in his chair, his fingers tapping out a slow rhythm on the wooden surface of the table. The mark's unrestrained magic had, up to this point, only wreaked havoc upon their enemies; that was true. However, deep within his weary mind, a sense of foreboding had begun to grow. How long, he pondered, would their fortune hold? What if all this power were to turn against them? With that thought, the fear of relieving past tragedies began to consume him once more. In an attempt to fight the hold of such bleak speculation, his hand tightened into a fist. Anxiety would not serve him, nor would idle reflection. He needed to focus on the steps he could take to increase their chances of success. Miriam had expressed her yearning for his support and her belief that his friendship could serve as an empowering force. The concept of gaining strength through camaraderie and brotherhood was familiar to him, as it played a fundamental part in the life of the Templar. However, the idea of forming a friendship with a mage remained shrouded in uncertainty. Could he truly set aside the ghosts of his past and forge a genuine connection with someone who wielded magic? Then again, his personal reservations were irrelevant in the face of the Inquisition's mission. If there was even a remote chance that his support could make a difference, he would seize it without hesitation.
Cullen's exposure to weddings was exceedingly limited. In fact, he had only attended a single one in his entire life, and that solitary occasion had transpired well over a decade ago when his older sister Mia had wed Thomas. It had been a traditional and solemn affair, quite unlike the ceremony unfolding before him amidst the snowy mountains. He was sure that even seasoned wedding attendees would find this event to be a spectacle.
The night was dark, but the sky above was painted with countless stars that seemed to shine even brighter in the cold, crisp air. Torches were scattered around the area, casting flickering light across the snow-covered ground. A curious crowd had gathered, their breath forming small clouds of mist in the frigid air as they eagerly awaited the ceremony.
Brother Sebastian stood in the middle of the gathering, garbed in his unassuming Chantry robes, and though his nervousness was evident, it could not overshadow the radiance of his smile.
Facing him was Hawke, adorned not in traditional wedding dress but her usual armor. She practically vibrated with excitement, her anticipation evident in her every move.
At her side, Fenris, his countenance as enigmatic as ever, stood so close to the Champion that it could be unclear whether Sebastian was about to marry Hawke or the somber elf himself. Fenris's piercing gaze darted between the bride and the groom, as if he were a vigilant sentinel watching over them on this important day.
Mother Giselle, holding a ceremonial torch, began the service in a solemn voice, "We have gathered here to witness the chaste union between the Maker's servants, Marianne Hawke and Sebastian Vael..."
"Aye, I do!" Hawke blurted out, her eagerness bubbling over before the Mother could proceed.
Giselle, more amused than angered by the woman's enthusiasm, chuckled and shook her head. "Well, I suppose we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we?"
Laughter erupted from the crowd, and even Fenris couldn't help but crack a small, almost imperceptible smile, though he maintained his stern posture.
As the ceremony pressed on, Brother Sebastian, standing before the expectant crowd, exuded an aura of both anxiety and eagerness. His hands, trembling ever so slightly, grappled with a simple ring, a symbol of the union about to be forged.
At a pivotal moment, Brother's nervous fingers betrayed him, and the ring slipped from his grasp, tumbling towards the ground. However, just as the jewelry was about to be swallowed by the snow, it was deftly plucked from the air by none other than Fenris. The elven warrior let out a sigh of relief and proceeded to slide the ring on the finger of Hawke's outstretched hand. Gasps and murmurs swept through the assembly, a collective apprehension hanging in the air.
"Tradition dictates that it is the groom who should place the ring on the bride's finger," Mother Giselle murmured with a hint of disapproval.
"I be carin' not for tradition, Mother!" Hawke declared with a wide grin. "Nay, not at all."
With that, she gleefully seized both Sebastian and Fenris in a bear hug, laughter bubbling from her as if she couldn't contain her joy any longer. The tension instantly evaporated, replaced by a contagious sense of mirth, and the moment was met with a burst of hearty cheers and applause from the amused onlookers.
While Cullen watched this chaotic mess, he couldn't help but think that it suited Hawke and Sebastian perfectly. Their wedding, like their unique bond, was an unapologetic reflection of who they were as people and as a couple. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to muse about the possibility of having something similar in his own life. He envisioned a future filled with the warmth of love and laughter, a family of his own. However, he favored a more conventional path, one that reflected the traditional family he had seen in his parents or his sister Mia and her husband. Thomas... He hadn't witnessed his apparition since his last bout of delirium. It brought a measure of relief, but it was also a source of disquiet. When would those haunting visions return? Was his current state of stability merely the calm before yet another storm?
His contemplations were cut short as he noticed two familiar figures standing in the jubilant crowd. Lysette, her countenance etched with sadness, and her eyes reddened from what seemed like silent weeping and the Herald, who stood by her side, offering reassurance through a tight squeeze on her guard's shoulder. It was unusual to see Miriam outdoors without people flocking around her, seeking blessings and healing. However, ever since her mark had unleashed its emerald tendrils throughout her body, many appeared too intimidated to approach her. Their veneration for the mage remained, but it had evolved into adoration from afar rather than the close, personal interactions she had always enjoyed. Cullen couldn't help but observe the woman's own melancholy; he knew how much she cherished those moments of direct connection with her faithful followers. Perhaps, he thought, if he showed his willingness to accept her healing magic to help him through his lyrium withdrawal, it might lift her spirits.
With his mind set, he weaved his way through the festive throng until he stood in front of the two women. As soon as the Herald spotted him, her countenance brightened, and she eagerly moved in his direction. He gestured for them to follow him, well aware that the noisy crowd was hardly conducive to effective communication. The people seemed to part around them, allowing the three to gradually leave the celebration behind.
In the relative quietness of their retreat, Miriam turned her curious gaze to Cullen. "Is something the matter?"
He felt a sudden awkwardness settle upon him, but he cleared his throat and met her eyes. "I need to speak with you about some personal matters. Would you mind following me to my tent?"
The mage nodded in agreement, and together, they walked through the camp in silence, each lost in their contemplations. When they arrived at their destination, Miriam turned to Lysette and politely inquired, "Would you mind waiting outside for a moment?"
The Templar's expression relaxed visibly, it was evident she craved some time alone. "Of course, Herald," she replied, stepping away and finding a spot to stand guard.
Once inside the privacy of his tent, Cullen's gaze unwillingly drifted towards the mage's visage. The vivid green lines that now traced her complexion seemed to pulse with a life of their own, an arcane lattice that was impossible to ignore. After a few moments, he realized that the woman was looking at him expectantly, with a questioning look in her eyes. "Oh, umm, sorry," he finally spoke, gently tearing his gaze away. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm willing to explore the use of healing spells in my treatment."
Miriam clasped her hands in front of her, her eyes bright with excitement. "This is wonderful news! Not only will I find the best healer in the Inquisition, but I'll also make sure that it's a trustworthy and faithful follower of Andraste's teachings."
His brows furrowed. "I was hoping for your personal assistance."
Her face fell. "I would be glad to, but…" she hesitated, and then raised her faintly glowing palms before him "I know that this makes you uncomfortable."
Cullen ran a hand through his hair, his expression thoughtful. "I won't deny that it does, but, truthfully, among all the mages, you are the one I trust the most."
"Really?" Her tone held a glimmer of hope.
Cullen nodded, a slight smile touching his lips. "Yes, truly. If I'm to take this step, I want it to be with you," he replied, surprised at the sincerity of his own words. It was a simple, unadorned truth that he had somehow failed to realize until this moment. In all his years as a Knight, amidst countless encounters with mages, Miriam stood as an exception. The woman found comfort in his company, and had a deep respect for the Order - a sentiment that defied the established norms of mage and Templar relations. She also had a steadfast faith in the Maker and the teachings of Andraste, which resonated with his convictions as well.
And then there was her selfless dedication to his cause, despite her limited knowledge of his reasons for abandoning lyrium. She went above and beyond the call of a healer's duty, showing a genuine willingness to aid him in his struggle. For these reasons, despite the vivid green web on her skin, the idea of her being the one to cast healing spells on him was less daunting than the prospect of any other enchanter attempting the same.
She let out a long, heartfelt sigh, her shoulders relaxing as the weight of her anxieties seemed to lift. "It's such a comfort," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "To know that you trust me in this delicate matter... despite everything... thank you, my friend. Thank you."
As the words left her lips, Cullen felt the cracks appear in the walls of doubt and skepticism he had built around the notion of befriending a mage. It dawned on him that the pillars of friendship, such as trust and support, had been present in their relationship for some time, but he had been too blinded by the shadows of his past to see them. Suddenly it felt as if he could genuinely embrace the idea, without the need for pretense. A growing sense of relief washed over him, and at last, a genuine smile graced his face. "You're more than welcome," he said, his heart lighter. "So, when do we start?"