In the dimly lit tent, the air was saturated with the scent of healing potions and the lingering tang of sweat. Cullen sat solemnly beside the cot where Miriam lay senseless, the gauntlets of his armor removed, and his sword set aside with deliberate care. Two days had passed since she saved them with the harrowing spell that had nearly cost her life, and yet consciousness eluded her. Nevertheless, there were signs of improvement in her health. Her once deathly pale complexion now bore a faint return of color, and the ominous dark blue hue was gradually fading from her lips. Cullen couldn't shake the shudder that coursed through him as he recollected the moment the enchantment reverberated through the area. It was a disconcerting amalgamation of Miriam's healing magic, interwoven with something alien and potent. He couldn't pinpoint why he experienced it so deeply; perhaps it was his familiarity with her healing arts or the sheer power of the spell itself. Now, however, he understood Cassandra's earlier sentiments—this was unlike anything he had encountered before, and his seasoned experience with various forms of magic only accentuated the peculiarity of the mage's abilities. He clasped his hands as he recalled how the aftermath of the battle unfolded and how Miriam began to bleed from her eyes, ears, and nose—a morbid cascade of crimson threatening her very existence. Had it not been for the quick thinking of Lysette and Cassandra, both casting a Spell Purge on the mark, the mage would have succumbed to the dire consequences of her own formidable powers. All of this would have been disastrous for morale and even caused fear among the troops, especially the Templars, had it not been for the Emperor's swift proclamation that the blood shed by the Sword of the Faithful was a divine sign, a testament to the Maker's favor. According to him, she lay unconscious because she currently bathed in His light for her commendable deeds in the Fade. All of this, of course, was a fabrication, yet one couldn't dismiss Gaspard's prowess at weaving lies on the fly, a skill that this time worked in favor of the Inquisition.
In the quiet confines of the tent, Miriam stirred, whimpering something in her sleep, and a frown etched itself on her face. Instinctively, Cullen reached out, placing his palm gently on her forehead. With the pad of his thumb, he tenderly started to smooth the wrinkles that marred the tranquility of her brow. The moment, however, was abruptly disrupted when the guard stationed outside the tent announced the unexpected arrival of the Emperor of Orlais.
Cullen promptly withdrew his hand and stood up, ready to welcome Gaspard as he entered the tent. Without sparing even a fleeting glance at Miriam, the Emperor focused his attention on him. "Commander," he acknowledged briskly.
"Your Majesty," Cullen nodded. "What brings you here?" he inquired calmly, yet beneath his composed demeanor, he could already feel the tension spreading through his body.
"I had hoped for a brief conversation with you, and so I made my way to your post. Alas, your second-in-command informed me of your presence in the Inquisitor's tent." A smirk appeared at the corner of Garspard's lips. "It is indeed remarkable how you take the time to personally care for the woman when such a duty does not fall to you."
Vexation simmered within Cullen, prompting him to straighten his posture. "If I may ask, Your Majesty, what matter did you wish to discuss?" he retorted, resolutely choosing to ignore whatever the Emperor was trying to imply.
Gaspard, maintaining his smile, began to explain, "I have fulfilled the mission that the Maker revealed to me in my vision. It is now time for me to depart, for Orlais cannot be left without its ruler for long." With an air of regal nonchalance, he continued, "When the Inquisitor regains consciousness, give her this." He handed Cullen the perfumed envelope, the wax seal bearing the emblem of Orlais.
The temptation to crumple up the envelope and throw it right back in his face was an overwhelming one, yet, hiding his genuine sentiments beneath a façade of formal courtesy, he merely nodded. "Safe travels, Your Majesty," he said aloud, while his inner thoughts echoed with the added wish that said travels would take the man into the Void.
With a condescending tone, Gaspard concluded, "If the Maker is willing, the Inquisition will manage well in my absence. Until we meet again, Commander."
As Gaspard took his leave, Cullen sank back into his seat with a heavy sigh, seeking solace in the prospect of a respite from the man's presence. He turned the envelope between his fingers, scrutinizing it before his eyes, contemplating the maneuvers the Emperor was orchestrating. The missive could have been easily left next to the Inquisitor's bunk, yet Gaspard deliberately handed it to him. Was he trying to make some kind of statement with this? The more Cullen pondered it, the more his annoyance deepened. He wouldn't be truthful if he claimed he didn't feel the temptation to open the letter. After all, Leliana was scrutinizing every message that reached the Inquisitor. Would it be such a transgression if he were to open it first? His fingers reached towards the seal, but he halted abruptly. With a resolute shake of his head, he admonished himself for permitting the influence of Gaspard's sordid affairs to permeate his judgment. He carefully folded the letter and stowed it inside the pouch on his belt. He would deliver the letter to the Spymaster, and if she deemed it appropriate, she could then convey it to Miriam.
Lysette gracefully entered the Inquisitor's tent, her armor clinking softly with each step. Cullen looked up at the Templar and offered her a nod of acknowledgment.
"Commander," Lysette began with a respectful inclination of her head. "I wish to extend my gratitude for your watchful eye over the Inquisitor during my brief respite for sustenance."
Cullen gave her another brief nod and rose. He donned his gloves and secured the sword in its sheath, preparing to resume his duties. However, as a passing Templar took his place, he caught the resonant melody of lyrium emanating loudly and distinctly from Lysette. She vibrated with it; the dosage she had ingested was far exceeding the recommended amount. He felt the familiar longing, his mouth going dry; he could practically imagine the liquid, cool and invigorating, going down his throat. Yet he clenched his fists, pushing the tempting images away and redirecting his focus to the woman before him. Concern etched his features as he spoke, "I cannot help but notice that you are consuming a considerable amount of lyrium. It is a powerful substance that allows you to toil without much respite, but excessive consumption will lead to detrimental effects. You must take care of yourself as well. Perhaps I can find a trustworthy Templar to relieve you of your duty so you could rest properly."
Lysette's expression turned momentarily perplexed, but then she gave a small, understanding smile. "I assure you, I am not pushing myself out of a sense of duty alone. I genuinely wish to be the one caring for the Inquisitor, because I consider her to be my friend."
"I see," Cullen responded, his countenance softening into a more compassionate expression. "But still, take care not to overextend yourself."
Lysette, seemingly appreciating his counsel, nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Commander. I shall be mindful of your advice."
As Cullen left the tent, he felt comforted that Miriam had found in the vigilant Knight not only a reliable guard, but a friend who cared deeply for her.
While he strode through the makeshift camp near the destroyed mine, he couldn't shake off the nagging concern that the victory, while significant, hadn't yielded much in terms of information about Samson's whereabouts. They did find some documents on one of the Red Templars, but they were encrypted, a puzzle that only Leliana's keen mind could unravel. He hoped desperately that the hidden messages within those papers would finally unveil the location and intentions of the elusive corrupted Knight.
Lost in his thoughts, Cullen was abruptly pulled back to reality by a stern voice. Cassandra, her expression grave, approached him. "Commander," she greeted, "our scouts have just reported. A caravan laden with slaves for the mine is approaching. It seems the Elder One is still unaware of our success."
Cullen's jaw tightened as he processed the information. Not a single living soul was unearthed from the desolate depths of the mine, only the rotting remnants of decay. All previous slaves must have succumbed to the red lyrium or been consumed by the insatiable hunger of the Behemoth. Fortunately, the ignorance of the Elder One was about to allow them to save the lives of the poor people who were heading this way. He swiftly made a decision. "Gather the uninjured Templars and a squad of our soldiers," he instructed, a steely determination in his gaze. "Intercept the caravan, kill the guard, and free the slaves to lead them back to our camp. We will escort them to the nearest safe settlement."
Cassandra nodded, a grim resolve mirrored in her expression. "Yes, that would be the right thing to do." With that, she hurried off to carry out his orders.
Cullen had just sent a raven with a detailed report of their mission to Leliana and Josephine when a breathless messenger approached him, brimming with eagerness to deliver the news. "Commander," the man panted, "Lady Cassandra has returned."
Cullen wasted no time, swiftly making his way to meet the Seeker. He spotted her striding towards him, covered in grime and dust but remarkably uninjured. The lines of tension on his face eased as he approached her. "Lady Cassandra, report, please."
The woman came to a stop before him, her expression serious but triumphant. "With minimal casualties, we managed to rescue all the people from the caravan," she announced as she gestured behind her.
Cullen's shoulders sagged slightly in relief. "Thank the Maker," he murmured, his gaze flickering to the group of people, still looking shaken but surprisingly unharmed. Cullen's gaze lingered on them, a mix of relief and empathy in his eyes. "They're in good shape, considering," he observed.
The Seeker nodded. "Most were taken recently, it seems. They haven't endured the full extent of the Elder One's cruelty." After a brief pause, she added, "And Commander, there's something else. Almost all of the freed wanted to join the Inquisition. They seek retribution against the Elder One."
Cullen's spirits lifted even higher. "Good. We welcome them. Those who have witnessed the darkness and wish to stand against it are exactly what we need to bolster our cause. Let them know they're now part of the Inquisition, and we'll provide them with the support they require. Meanwhile, I will make the necessary arrangements for their integration."
Cassandra's smile broadened. "The fact that we couldn't save anyone in the mine weighed heavily on me, but this turn of events does offer some solace." She then turned to the rescued people and began addressing them.
Cullen listened for a moment to her impassioned speech and then headed back to his tent. There was still much work to be done.
In another few days, the camp near the destroyed mine bustled with activity as the Inquisition prepared to move out. Miriam had finally awakened, much to everyone's relief, and seemed strong enough for travel. But as Cullen approached, the first thing he noticed was the unsettling sight of the crimson stain enveloping the entire whites of her eyes, a jarring juxtaposition to her pale irises. Concern etched his features, and he approached her cautiously. "Inquisitor, are you sure you're feeling alright? Your eyes..."
Miriam offered a faint smile. "This?" She motioned toward her face. "It's merely a burst blood vessel, a consequence of the strain from the spell. It brings no pain. I tried to mend it, yet it seems the Maker has other plans. Time will be its remedy."
Cullen nodded, his unease tempered by her reassurance. They were ready to depart for Redcliffe, as some of the rescued folk had decided to stay in the village, hoping to find a measure of safety and purpose there.
The trek was uneventful, with no major incidents along the way. Cullen found solace in the thought that the worst of their recent challenges seemed to be behind them. Yet, as they settled into the rhythm of the journey, his gaze frequently found its way back to the mage. Despite her assurances, the crimson tint in her eyes remained unchanged. He approached her again, but her response stayed the same. The woman exhibited unmatched stubbornness. However, he couldn't complain, for he was just as obstinate when it came to admitting his own struggles.
As they arrived in Redcliffe, those of the rescued people who hadn't joined the Inquisition bid a tearful farewell to Cassandra and the Templars and dispersed among the villagers. But as the Inquisition prepared to move on, their path forward took an unexpected turn. The man in full battle armor, whom Cullen recognized as Bann Teagan, approached flanked by a formidable force. His announcement hung heavily in the air like an impending storm. "In the name of His Majesty King Alistair of Ferelden," Teagan declared, his stern voice resonating with authority, "the Inquisition is hereby declared a hostile organization. You have one week to depart Ferelden with all your forces. The presence of any agent of the organization within our borders after that time will be seen as a declaration of war." A collective hush fell over the Inquisition members as the weight of the Bann's words settled upon them. Cullen exchanged a tense glance with Cassandra, understanding the gravity of the situation. Bann Teagan continued, "We respect what you've done here, but Ferelden cannot condone an organization that operates without regard for the authority of the crown. By conducting an unauthorized joint military operation with the Orlesian Empire on His Majesty's land, you have overstepped your bounds."
Cullen observed Miriam clench her fists. "The Elder One remains a menace. Now is not the time for strife over mere political non—."She stopped abruptly as he laid his hand on her shoulder, giving her a pointed look.
Maintaining his composure, he then addressed the man, "The Inquisition never sought to defy Ferelden. Our goal is to combat the greater threat to all of Thedas. King Alistair's authority is not our target, the Elder One is. We only ask for a chance to explain and find a peaceful resolution."
The Bann's expression remained stern, unmoved by Cullen's words. "A week, Commander. Ensure the Inquisition leaves the King's lands by then, or face the consequences."
As the forces of the King dispersed, the murmurs of discontent among the Inquisition's soldiers became increasingly audible. They had risked their lives in the battle against the Red Templars and Venatori, only to be met with hostility and expulsion from Ferelden. Cullen recognized the need to address the growing tension before it escalated further. "Stand down," he commanded. "We will follow their orders. We have a week to leave, and we will do so peacefully." Though grumbles of dissatisfaction persisted, his directive calmed the immediate tension.
As they made their way through the village, Cullen took it upon himself to send ravens to Skyhold and all the Inquisition posts in Ferelden. His missives detailed King Alistair's declaration and the order for an urgent retreat from the kingdom. The news, undoubtedly, would spread like wildfire among their ranks. Now, Josephine's diplomatic prowess was their only hope in salvaging what they could of their relations with Ferelden.
After the tense journey through the kingdom, they finally crossed the border and arrived at Skyhold, which buzzed with activity as other returning forces from Ferelden joined them. Miriam, visibly exhausted from the journey, retreated to her chambers for much-needed rest, but Cullen, despite his weariness, felt a sense of duty urging him forward. There were documents and a letter that demanded immediate attention of the Spymaster.
Navigating the familiar halls, he made his way to the rookery, where Leliana usually held court. The Spymaster's presence was a constant in the quiet space, and as Cullen approached, he noted the grim determination etched on her face.
"Leliana," he greeted.
The woman's cold gaze met his. "Cullen."
"I trust you're already aware of the events involving the Emperor during our mission in Ferelden," he remarked, recognizing that the Spymaster's astute mind was already in motion.
"Be assured." Leliana's voice carried a steely resolve. "I shall unveil the traitor lurking within our midst. The Emperor of Orlais may think he's pulling strings unseen, but he underestimates me. His pawn will soon be exposed, and the consequences will be dire."
Cullen nodded. "I have full confidence in your abilities. However, there is more to address. I have encrypted documents recovered from a corrupted Knight in the red lyrium mine. I require your expertise to decipher them."
The Spymaster's demeanor shifted as she took the papers, scanning them briefly before placing them on the table. "I will find a way. Give me time."
Cullen then produced the sealed message that had been entrusted to him by the Emperor. He recounted to Leliana the backstory of the missive, and the woman promptly accepted it, breaking the seal with practiced precision. As she perused the letter, an air of tension seemed to intensify. "I expected this to happen, but not so soon," she remarked with concern in her voice. Observing his perplexed expression, she handed him the paper, which read:
Most Esteemed Inquisitor,
At this moment, I am compelled to cast aside the cold vestiges of authority and address you with the language of the heart. Amidst the trials of our mission, I have beheld the unwavering flame of your devotion, the steadfastness of your faith, and the divine power that courses through your veins. It is within this sacred context that a sentiment, akin to an unfurling blossom, has taken root—an emotion that dares to transcend the rigid confines of duty.
Miriam, Sword of the Faithful, I extend my hand to you, not as a command issued from the heights of my position, but as an earnest supplication. Consider a union that exceeds the mere boundaries of an alliance, let it ascend into the realm of shared destiny. Together, with hearts aflame and spirits fortified by the Maker's grace, we can lead the people of Thedas into an era of light and redemption.
May His splendor guide you as you think and reflect.
Yours in faith and sincerity,
Gaspard, Emperor of Orlais
Cullen's hands quivered ever so slightly as he clutched the parchment, the ambient glow of the flickering candle in the rookery casting shadows that danced in tandem with the disquiet within his chest. Suppressing the surge of anger and jealousy, he sought a cool head to analyze the situation. Gaspard's calculated maneuvers to win Miriam's favor were apparent since the day he witnessed her powers, but the unexpected proposal of marriage hinted at depths of ambition that unsettled him.
His mind, now a tempest of conflicting emotions, grappled with the implications of a union between the Emperor of Orlais and the Herald of Andraste. Such a coupling held the power to reshape Thedas, in the most literal sense. Amidst these considerations, he couldn't help but ponder Miriam's sentiments on the matter. Did she harbor affection for the man? Would she say yes to such a proposition? "If the Herald agrees to this marriage, what should we do? We can't allow it to happen. Gaspard would exploit her powers until her last breath, and even in death, she'd be bound to guide the faithful as his eternal consort."
Leliana's expression hardened. "Agreed. Allowing the Emperor to amass such power is unthinkable. His timing suggests he's seeking to secure this union to shield himself. If I unmask his plot, he'll need Miriam's loyalty, bound in matrimony, to ensure she stands by him. We must act swiftly. Expose his spy, force the confession, and unravel Gaspard's deceit before this proposal takes root. We cannot allow the Inquisition to be shackled to the Empire."
Cullen's jaw clenched in frustration. "I can't help but wonder, how do we stand against him when the blighted bastard has guaranteed we have no formidable allies outside his Empire?"
Leliana's eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing through the shadows. "True, our options are rather limited at present," she acknowledged, her tone measured. "However, we do not need to oppose him openly just yet. We will find proof of his lies and ensure that the Inquisitor is made aware of them so that she rejects his advances while maintaining the facade of alliance until we have dealt with the Elder One. Once that threat is eradicated, we shall confront the Emperor by means fair or foul."
Cullen shook his head. "Knowing the Herald," he affirmed with conviction, "the moment she learns of his blasphemous invocation of the Maker's name, the man will find himself engulfed in the inferno of her wrath. Our alliance, I fear, will be reduced to mere ashes, much like the Emperor."
Leliana pinched her chin thoughtfully, a moment of contemplation passing before she spoke. "That's true, her temper is not one suited for the Game." Her eyes then turned to Cullen, scrutinizing him with an intensity that made him uneasy. "There are two alternative courses of action," she continued, her voice measured and deliberate, "to thwart the Emperor's attempt to wed the Inquisitor."
"And what might those be?" he inquired, eagerness evident in his tone.
Leliana's gaze remained resolute as she replied, "The first involves disseminating throughout Orlais the fact that the Inquisitor is barren. If Gaspard's potential spouse cannot bestow heirs upon the throne, the matrimonial pursuit will encounter staunch opposition from both nobility and peasantry alike."
Cullen eyed her grimly. "No, something like this should not be common knowledge throughout the Empire. It's far too cruel."
"The only other solution I see then," Leliana continued, "is to ensure her union with someone else." She emphasized her words with a pointed look, directed squarely at him.
Cullen shifted uncomfortably, a flush creeping across his cheeks. The notion that Leliana might be alluding to him left him feeling exposed in a way he hadn't anticipated. "Are you implying..." he stammered, struggling to articulate his thoughts. "You shouldn't... I mean, this is not..."
"Why not?" she inquired, her eyebrow arching in curiosity. "Consider the Herald's regard for you. While I can't definitively declare her feelings romantic, there's undeniable potential there. As for your sentiments, well, I would dare to say that they go beyond mere camaraderie. So why not harness that dynamic for the greater good of the Inquisition?"
Cullen's indignation flared. "Our private affairs are just that, private," he retorted firmly. "They have no place in political schemes or power plays."
Leliana leaned back and studied him with a calculating gaze. "Cullen, I understand your reservations, but of all the options available to us to foil the Emperor's plans, this one seems the most likely to succeed and the most beneficial for the Inquisitor."
"It just feels... improper," he grumbled. "Besides, perhaps she will outright reject Gaspard, rendering our concerns moot."
"I will pray to the Maker that it is so," Leliana murmured solemnly as she deftly took the paper from his hands, folding it with meticulous care before sliding it back into the envelope. Her gaze, laden with concern, met his. "But if she doesn't..." she trailed off, her tone steady yet tinged with a somber weight. "Just know that you will have scant time to contemplate the path ahead. I hope you know that Gaspard is not one to entertain your hesitations. He will resort to any means necessary to realize his ambitions."
He knew, of course, he knew, but unveiling his feelings to Miriam was not within the realm of his intentions. Even if he were to entertain such a notion, it wouldn't be due to Gaspard's machinations. He refused to sully his pure sentiments with the filth of politics. A dull ache began to throb at his temples, signaling the onset of a headache. "I will leave you to your pressing duties," he uttered.
Leliana acknowledged his words with a solemn tilt of her head, her piercing gaze lingering for a moment before returning to her task.
As he turned away, a heavy sigh escaped him, and he began to make his way to his office.
Upon entering the sanctum of his duties, Cullen sank into the worn chair, his eyes drawn to the pile of documents that had accumulated in his absence. He tried to focus, to immerse himself in the matters at hand, but his thoughts drifted relentlessly to the mage. Closing his eyes briefly, he sought solace in whispered prayer. "Oh, Maker," he murmured his words a plaintive plea that echoed in the silent chamber. "Grant that Miriam refuses the Emperor. Spare her from the machinations of the Game, shield the purity of her heart from the corruption of power."
The gentle rap of knuckles against the office door interrupted his reverie, heralding the arrival of a messenger bearing reports and missives demanding his immediate attention. With a resigned sigh, Cullen reluctantly opened his eyes, facing the inevitable tide of responsibilities that awaited him.