Chapter Text
Dearest Leliana,
I wish that I had helpful information regarding Corypheus, but due to my own limited training during the Blight, I know less of ancient darkspawn lore than do most Wardens. I am engaged in a search of my own. All Grey Wardens who do not fall in battle eventually fall to something known as the Calling, a magic that preys upon our own connection to the Blight and the darkspawn. Rather than such foul magic eventually leading to my death, I have determined to find a way to negate this Calling and save all Wardens from its effects.
As I have little useful information to offer, please accept the accompanying gifts instead. If, in my quest, I find anything that may be of use to you in your fight against Corypheus, I will send it to you immediately.
Be well,
Raina
It might have seemed to many that he never left Skyhold.
That was not the case.
Of course he attended the ball at Halamshiral -- and of course, there was the Shrine of Dumat.
Few knew, however, of when he’d gone to find the Hero of Ferelden himself.
Inquisitor Lavellan had had little cause to question why Cullen would want to see the note; Leliana, though she’d given him more than one sidelong glance, had even refrained from looking too sly or smug in doing so.
He’d refrained from keeping the note and reading it until it was dust, but he had read it enough times to memorize it.
The language was so formal, so serious, and so devoid of… her.
As it happened, it was as he was trying to decode the subtext of her letter to Leliana when a messenger came with one for him.
Dear Cullen,
I hope you’ll forgive me for not writing sooner; I imagine you will, as I get the sense you aren’t the best at correspondence, and from what I understand, you’ve taken a position serving as the high commander for the Inquisition.
Congratulations, by the way – both on the Inquisition’s growing influence and reputation, and on leaving the Order. I feel something like pride in you, though obviously I’ve had no hand in your success. Even still, I shall enjoy these feelings because they are pleasant! I do hope the armor for your new position is sufficiently dashing, and perhaps has a bit more flair. The generic Templar armor was shiny enough, I suppose, but lacked panache. I’ve seen a portrait of you in an ensemble that makes you rather resemble a lion, fur mane about your shoulders and all. Quite smart! I do hope it’s not an exaggeration.
I have already written to the Inquisitor and Leliana with some rather useless information, but hopefully more useful gifts. Though I want to say that I am surprised to discover that Leliana is now the spymaster for the Inquistion, I certainly am not. But if you would, as a favor to me, please help her remember her own gentleness. The world is a hard, dark place, and although she possesses multitudes of magnificent attributes to contribute to the good in it, her heart is by far the most beautiful and valuable. Spycraft can be a ruthless business, but making difficult choices doesn’t mean we should become numb to them.
As for the Inquisitor, I do like her, Cullen, and not only because she is a Dalish mage (a demographic I have found to be one of the best in the world).
But on a personal note, I wanted to write you to – well, will you forgive me for being frank here? I suppose you must. Or if you don’t, it doesn’t matter. We’ve come so close to the end of the world so many times and great threats still loom on the horizon, so if there were ever a time to be forthright, now, with the benefit of innumerable leagues between us, seems as though it might be it, no?
In any case, I wanted to write to you because although I’m not sure if it would be entirely accurate to say we were ever friends, I can say with certainty that there was a time when you were a person who was very special and of great comfort to me, and I suspect that feeling was at reciprocated at least a bit.
That rather makes us sound as though we were wiping drool from each other’s chins in the tower, so let me rephrase, since I refuse to rewrite the first five paragraphs of this letter or cross out what has already been written. (Rewriting will undoubtedly cause my hand to cramp, and scratched out words are unnecessarily aesthetically offensive.)
What I should say, then, is that when I was but a silly young girl and you just a shy, awkward boy, what was between us, or at least, what could have been between us, remains in the realm of hypothesis due to the nature of things. So much time has passed since then, and so many things have happened; I know that I am quite different. I imagine you must be as well.
What I know is that despite what had happened in the past, in a crucial moment, you stood up for what is right; you fought against tyranny and injustice; you saved my life, even though once, you had pledged to end it if your duty demanded it. You left an Order whose purpose had become corrupted to become instrumental in the campaign of an elven, Dalish apostate to save the world. You've earned the trust and admiration of one of my dearest companions, who has quietly communicated these changes in you through the most nonchalant mentions in the correspondence we’ve shared over the years. (Our little Orlesian has always so loved to meddle!)
I know not when or if our paths will pass again, Cullen; the road before you, I can guess, is long, and mine continues to be as well. But I would have you know that I wish you well, and that I earnestly, fondly hope that you can still be made to blush so prettily.
Yours,
Raina
He was on the parapet outside his office, looking northward, into the mountains and who knew what else that separated them. All these years later, and he was still a boy at just the thought of her. This letter too was written in her hand, but unlike Leliana's, was in her voice, as well. He did not want to think too long on how it had pleased him or on what he felt at her teasing or her praise.
And yet.
“She’s going to Rivain, you know.”
“What?” he said, turning around. Leliana was standing in the doorway that led to his office and chambers. She moved forward.
“Raina,” she said, leaning against the parapet to face him.
He huffed a sigh.
“That’s quite a distance,” he said gruffly, looking back out over the peaks beyond them.
“It is,” Leliana agreed. “I am told she found a lead in Nevarra, and last I heard, meant to set out for Kirkwall; one of her companions has family business to attend to before the next leg of their journey.”
Carver Hawke. Still her constant companion, apparently. He ignored the tension that suddenly gripped his shoulders.
“It may be that her research into the Calling could give us some insight as to what made the Wardens so susceptible to the manipulation of the Venatori,” Leliana mused.
Cullen gave her a sidelong glance.
“Certainly one of your agents could ascertain this and report back,” he said.
“Hmm… I am not so sure. Raina does not trust quite so easily as she once did, no?” she said, tracing a hand along the stone.
He arched a brow.
“You don’t think she trusts you?” he asked.
“Oh, me? Of course! But an agent she does not know, has never met?”
She shook her head. Cullen looked at her.
“So you want to go to Kirkwall? Surely you don’t need my permission,” he said.
“Me?” Leliana shook her head with a smile. “I could not -- rerouting all the messages would be impossible. You, on the other hand, have a force heading toward Kirkwall presently to support Ser Aveline against an incursion by Prince Sebastian Vael, no?”
He cast her a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed.
“Hardly the best use of my time to lead troops into such a battle when Inquisition forces need leadership here.”
Leliana waved a hand airily. “I disagree! This is an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, is it not? You could be kept within reasonably easy contact with a rather simple magic charm. I am certain Dorian knows a trick…”
He turned to face her fully now.
“You want me to go?” he asked.
“Who better?” Leliana asked. “Your presence will bolster the troops, and who knows? It could serve as a diplomatic balm. Prince Sebastian well knows that you in no way support Anders’ actions.”
He arched a brow. “I have my doubts about that, as I do about Warden-Commander Surana sharing her secrets with me.”
Leliana shook her head. “The people she is most likely to trust are those she knew before she was Warden Commander, but alas, most of our companions are spread to the far corners of Thedas -- by the time we could even get a message to them, much less convince them to go out of their way for our cause…”
“I feel certain that there must be someone better than her former jailer.”
Leliana looked at him with what seemed very convincingly like genuine surprise.
“Is that all you were to her?” she asked. “How strange…”
His eyes narrowed. He knew Leliana well enough by now to recognize bait when he saw it, but it seemed he had little choice but to bite.
“Strange how?” he asked.
“Oh, I only meant that after she found you in the tower, she was just… very shaken.”
He could feel his pulse pick up; he took a breath.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Only that she was quite upset afterward,” she told him. “She did not seem to want to speak of it to Zevran or Alistair, but she and I were as sisters.”
He inhaled deeply, trying to find patience. He was certain Leliana was deriving at least some enjoyment from this.
“What did she say?” he asked.
Despite his suspicions, Leliana looked quite serious now, looking at him for a long time, measuring, almost, before she answered.
“She wept for the boy she knew,” she said quietly. “A boy who’d been gentle and kind. She wept for the pain you’d felt, for the fear that you’d never be that boy again; that your goodness would be crushed and buried. She truly cried herself to sleep.”
It was his turn to look at her now.
“That can’t be true,” he said.
Leliana arched a brow.
“I promise you that it is, Cullen,” she said. “I would not lie about such matters involving one whom I hold so dear.”
“In any case,” she said, looking out over the mountains, “I think there was a time when she did, indeed, trust you.”
He turned to stare off in the same direction.
“But I broke it,” he said quietly.
Leliana shrugged a shoulder.
“As she broke yours with Jowan, is it not so?” she asked. “But trust, like many things, is difficult, but not impossible, to repair.”
He had no answer for that. Instead he looked out over the mountains thinking about all the things they’d broken, but also, the things that seemed to remain.
She looked over at him, the slightest curve at the corners of her mouth.
“How did you come by that scar on your lip, anyway?”
“Blood of the Maker, Leliana,” he swore. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
Leliana gave him a smile, then.
“When it comes to my friends?” she asked. “As little as possible.”