Chapter Text
It was still unwise, he imagined. But something had shifted in her tone, and it seemed they both knew the conversation they were about to have was unlikely to put them at risk of ill-timed entanglement. Or whatever might be holding him back.
“It’s not really a chat suited to standing in the vestibule,” she said, undoing the clasp on her cloak. He nodded and followed her further into the manse.
Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana had retired for the evening; the pair of mabari’s heads rose almost in sync, and she approached them, knelt to pet the dogs, scratch behind their ears, and murmur something to them.
With a whine, Bujuju put his head back down. Dog, more stoically, snuffled and put his head down as well.
That done, she led him into the solar and took a seat on a settee, motioning to the chair across from it.
Once they were both seated, she canted her head to one side and gave him a smile.
“So, you had a question?” she asked.
“Indeed,” he said. “Leliana thought your research might have provided some insight about the Wardens that could explain why they’re susceptible to Corypheus or the Venatori’s manipulations.”
Her smile threatened to become a smirk, then, and she couldn’t suppress a chuckle.
“Oh, I don’t need research for that. Corypheus, from what I understand, is a rather advanced darkspawn.”
“I suppose,” Cullen said. “He carries the Taint, but… he’s intelligent. He speaks, he plans, he organizes.”
She inhaled a long breath and exhaled it slowly.
“Right. He wouldn’t be the first, though.”
Cullen arched a brow.
She gave him a wry grin.
“See all the things you missed by running off to Kirkwall to join Meredith?”
He opened his mouth to protest and she shook her head, putting her hand up.
“I yield, I yield,” she told him. “I’m sure these jokes make it seem as though I’m still bearing some subtle grudge, but I promise, it’s not the case. More than a bit of gallows humor has found its way into my repertoire over the last decade, I’m afraid.”
“It’s –” he looked down at his hands for a moment, then back at her.
“You would be right to bear a grudge for that,” he said quietly.
“It seems to me,” she said slowly, “that you’ve taken up as the Commander of an army that has offered sanctuary to mages in revolt against the Chantry and the Circles. Is that not so?”
“It is,” he acknowledged grimly. She half-smiled at him.
“And you’re not entirely comfortable with it.”
It was his turn to huff a breath. He dragged a hand through his hair. This was not the conversation he’d come to have with her, and his answer was not one that was likely to make her inclined to help him or the Inquisition. And yet.
“No,” he admitted finally, not looking away from her. She deserved at least that.
She smiled at him, and it was different from the sharp ones he’d received from her during the worst of things. It reached her eyes, and there was a gentleness to it that he wouldn’t have expected.
“No, of course not,” she said. “I have to say that when I’d heard that, with its military under your command, the Inquisition had accepted the rebel mages into its fold as equals, it was rather hard to believe. I kept expecting to hear stories of conscription or servitude, but that wasn’t apparently the case.”
“That was the Inquisitor’s doing, not mine,” he said stiffly.
She grinned.
“No, I imagine not,” she acknowledged. “In fact, I’m sure you made quite the case against it.”
His jaw set, he nodded.
“But that makes it rather more admirable, doesn’t it?” she said, sliding her slippers off, then pulling her legs up onto the settee, folding them, covering her feet with her gown, and leaning on the arm. He wasn’t sure if she was aware how much that posture recalled the girl in the tower she’d been, always curled up in alcoves or chairs, whether to chat with her fellow apprentices or working at her studies, but it was no less affecting either way.
Even so, he looked at her skeptically.
“Does it?”
“Of course,” she said. “You spent almost your entire life being told that mages are meant to be on a tight leash, and that a free mage is as dangerous as the Blight itself.”
He shook his head. He wondered if he could even speak of it.
“It wasn’t almost my entire life,” he said quietly. “Before… before Uldred, before the massacre, I…”
Another huff of breath; another rake of his hand through his hair.
“I didn’t look at mages as monsters,” he said. “You were people – not just you. That is, of course, you, but everyone at Kinloch. There is danger, you know that. But I believed that the Circles were the solution to contain the risks you face simply by nature of being what you are.”
Her gaze was unwavering as he spoke, and he wondered if he could bear it.
“After Uldred…” he shook his head.
“You wanted to work to ensure that nothing like that could ever happen again,” she said softly.
He smirked grimly.
“That had been the idea. But Meredith proved all too well that tightening the leash to a choking point produced no better results.”
She opened her mouth, but he shook his head.
“I still believe it’s unwise for mages to live entirely without structure. You cannot deny the increased danger your connection with the Fade presents in terms of possession, blood magic, and now these rifts…”
She opened her mouth again, he was sure to protest, but then she closed it. She huffed a sigh.
“Why is the argument always that we cannot live without structure? Who, exactly, is proposing that mages just run amok with no awareness of the dangers we face and could pose in this world and others?”
He gave her a dry look.
“Oh, I don’t know – Tevinter ?”
She threw her hands up.
“Oh come on!" she exclaimed, her exasperation palpable. "Tevinter has ever been an imperialist cesspool of corruption on all levels! You can’t blame magic for slavery and invasions and –”
“Blood magic and darkspawn?” he finished for her.
Her mouth opened.
“That is unfair.”
“Is it though?” he asked.
“All right, look, yes – the Magisterium is corrupt and the types of depravity they sanction in terms of blood magic is abominable, but you can’t tell me you truly believe that darkspawn exist because some mage managed to sneak into your god’s heaven and literally created evil, can you?”
He looked at her agape.
“Are you saying you don’t believe that’s what happened?”
She snorted.
“Of course I am, that’s absolute bollocks!”
He looked at her incredulously.
“All right, how do you explain it then?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’m hardly omniscient, but I will say I’m open to the idea that men are quite capable of figuring out how to be evil all on their own, and that it’s plausible that darkspawn came into being without your help, much like every other living thing in the world besides humans?”
He looked at her for a long moment. She looked back.
“All right then. Fine. Darkspawn origins aside, there is still blood magic, and Tevinter does still enslave non-mages – with a disproportionate number who are elves, by the way.”
She gave him a dry look.
“Cullen Rutherford, I hardly need you to explain to me the evils of the Tevinter Imperium. All I’m saying is that any negative outcomes of their unregulated use of magic are related to a larger issue within their systems, rather than the other way around.”
A frustrated sound escaped his throat.
“So then,” she pressed, “if unregulated magic is so terrible, why do you continue to lead the Inquisition’s forces, why do you continue to follow a Dalish apostate as your leader?”
He leveled a look at her.
“The Dalish have structures in place to ensure the safety of both their mages and the rest of their clans, as I’m sure you’re aware. The College of Enchanters, too, has structures and rules in place. It is possible for mages to have freedom while still having safeguards in place to protect both them and the general populace.”
She gave him a long, narrow look, then nodded. Then smiled.
“See? You’ve grown!”
He laughed, then. “Well, if I’ve grown, then so have you,” he said.
“Me?” she put a hand to her chest, straightening her back, looking affronted. “I’ll have you know I have not matured even one whit since Kinloch.”
He smirked. “Indeed; leading armies into battle, managing quite well to feign neutrality for the sake of your vows –”
Her jaw dropped.
“Feign ?” she demanded. “I’ll have you know I have always represented the Wardens with complete impartiality –”
He laughed then.
“Right, because you take off the uniform when you’re picking sides?”
She threw a pillow at him, which he neatly dodged.
“Those missions were classified!” she protested. His laughter continued.
“Classified because they were unsanctioned and in your own personal interest?”
She glared at him then, sitting up and setting her feet on the floor, back straight.
“The Wardens demand utter impartiality, but to choose impartiality in situations of oppression is to side with the oppressor.”
He sobered then, and after a moment, nodded.
“You’re right,” he said quietly. Her posture softened then, and she pulled her legs back up onto the settee, curling up comfortably.
“Give me back my pillow and I’ll tell you secrets,” she said with as much dignity as a woman who still looked half a girl curled up on a settee reaching out her hand for a pillow could. Which was more than he’d have thought, if he was being honest.
With a half-smile, he stood, picked the pillow up off the floor where it had fallen, and walked over to hand it to her with a bow.
“Why, thank you, good ser,” she said, and he was fairly certain she was trying to suppress a smile.
She never had been good at that.
“Still gallant as ever, I see,” she said.
He chuckled and went back to his seat.
“I’ve tried to avoid becoming a complete churl,” he said.
“Well done,” she said with a smile as she shifted to prop herself up a bit more with the pillow, settling in. “So, your question.”
“Right,” he said.
“I should say, I’m not sure how much Leliana has learned of the Warden connection to the darkspawn, but I imagine some of this she already at least suspects. And of course, it’s not something the Wardens would prefer be common knowledge, and so as I share this with you, I ask for your discretion, as well as the Inquisitor’s.”
She gave a half-smile. “I have a feeling I can still count on Leliana’s.”
He nodded soberly.
“On my honor,” he said. She smiled slightly, but warmly.
“Indeed.”
She sighed, tilting her head back.
“Well, what makes a Warden a Warden, I suppose, is surviving a ritual in which we are essentially infected with the Taint.”
His lips parted.
“You – what?” His hands balled into fists.
She laughed wryly.
“Well, it’s not as though they put it in the brochure,” she said. “Set out on a life of adventure! Take the poisoned corruption of the darkspawn into your veins! Die young (though not necessarily pretty, as you might get a bit veiny toward the end).”
He looked appalled.
“How can you joke about such things?”
She shrugged, huffing a dry chuckle.
“What else is there to do about them? It’s been ten years. I got through denial, anger, and bargaining years ago.”
He shook his head. “How are you still alive?”
She canted her head, looking thoughtful.
“I’m not exactly sure, to be honest,” she said. “I can only assume the ritual is rooted in blood magic, because although it does kill some instantly, clearly enough of us survive to be useful.”
“So that’s how,” he said. “Blood magic.”
“Well, blood magic and the Taint,” she said. “From what Leliana has described, it sounds as though Corypheus has managed somehow to mimic what we call The Calling, which basically is… well, it’s an early warning system to let us know that our time will soon be up, so it’s time to go to the Deep Roads and take as many darkspawn with us as we can when we go.”
He looked at her, something awful and tight curling in his gut.
“How does this system let you know this?” he asked, his voice tight.
She plucked an invisible piece of lint from the pillow.
“Oh, you know, the usual… nightmares, visions, creepy music and voices," she looked up at him from the pillow with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Fun stuff!”
The thing curling in his gut twisted sharply.
“How – did Irving know of this?” he demanded.
“Oh, I doubt it,” she said. “Irving knew so many things – I imagine he still does, if he’s survived all of this – but these are secrets the Wardens guard quite well. Tough to recruit people otherwise, as you can imagine.”
He shook his head.
“It’s not right,” he said. “They should have told you. You should have had a choice.”
She arched a brow at him.
“Are you forgetting the circumstances that caused Irving to permit my recruitment to the Wardens to begin with?” she asked wryly. “I’d rather die young as myself than old as Tranquil.”
He shook his head.
“No,” he said. “You would have been punished, but Irving would never have allowed that.”
“I don’t know that he would have had a choice,” she said. “Aiding and abetting a maleficar in destroying the only means the Circle has of tracking him is a rather dire offense.”
He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. His jaw was set. He was quiet.
“Did you know?” he finally asked.
She gave him a wry half-smile.
“Did you think I knew?”
He shook his head.
“I didn’t… I didn’t know what to think. At the time, I couldn’t… it didn’t make sense. I knew you wanted to be free, but you would never hurt anyone to get there, and I couldn’t imagine you helping anyone who would. But after Uldred…”
The ache in her expression as she shook her head caught him off-guard.
“Of course,” she said. “After that, I’m sure everyone was suspect. But no, I didn’t know anything about it. I just thought Jowan was in danger of being made Tranquil because he might not have the skill to pass his Harrowing, and so…”
She shrugged.
“I was quite a daft little nit back then,” she smirked.
“You were innocent,” he countered.
“Naïve,” she corrected.
A wry smile.
“There are worse crimes.” He sighed. “Not worthy of a death sentence, surely.”
“Certainly not!” she said brightly, crisply, straightening up a bit. “Which is why I am engaged in my current mission. But, in terms of your original question, I believe the Calling mimics what darkspawn experience during a Blight when the Archdemon calls to them to gather its forces.”
He looked at her, arching a brow.
“So Corypheus is –”
“An Archdemon? I should hope not!” she exclaimed, pulling a distressed face. “A bit soon for that. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t figure out a way to tap into the same connection, particularly if he was once a mage, particularly if he was once a blood mage.”
Cullen nodded, standing.
“I should get this information back to the Inquisitor at once,” he said. She rose as well.
“I suppose you should,” she agreed. “Hopefully it’s of some use.”
“It will be,” he told her as she slid her feet back into her slippers. “The Inquisition is in your debt.”
“Hardly,” she said, taking his arm and leading him from the solar. “But do give Leliana and Varric my love.” She looked up at him.
“And is it true that Morrigan is with you now?” she asked, eyes bright.
“It is,” he said with a nod. She beamed.
“Do give her a big hug for me!”
He arched a brow.
“I’ve not known the woman long, but I imagine that might not end well for me.”
She laughed fully then, the sound like bells or music or something else poetic.
“Oh, right – well, tell her I shall hug her thoroughly when next I see her, then!”
He gave her a half smile.
“So I shall,” he promised.
--
As they reached the door, he looked at her for a long moment with a lingering, if more subdued, smile.
“It has been good to see you, Raina Surana,” he said. She smiled back at him, then reached out to smooth the blue silk of his sash.
“It’s been good to see you, too, Cullen Rutherford,” she replied. “Even better out of all that plate. You’re quite fit under there, it seems.”
He blinked at her, giving her an odd look.
“Thank you?”
She shrugged. “It’s hard to tell, you know? All you Templars shuffling around in all that armor…”
“Shuffling? ” he echoed, incredulous.
“I mean let’s be honest, Cullen, the real reason you all needed lyrium was because the only thing we would have had to do to elude you otherwise would have been to walk at a quicker pace than the average aged goat.”
His smile faded, and he nodded, and he was withdrawn again. She tilted her head, looking at him.
“Really, Rutherford, I know it wasn’t one of my best, but I didn’t think the joke was that bad.”
He gave her a half-smile then.
“You are as entertaining as ever,” he told her. “It’s a story for another time.”
She squinted at him.
“Are you being cryptic?” she asked. “You’re not cryptic – you’re awkward, sometimes unnecessarily contentious –”
He rolled his eyes.
“—but cryptic? This is new.”
He gave her a wry smile.
“It appears I contain multitudes.”
This time when she laughed, and it burst out surprised and delighted.
“Oh, a sense of humor, too?” she shook her head. “When we survive all this, we’ll be having that drink, Cullen, count on that.”
He half-smiled. “Won’t your Wardens have something to say about that?”
Later, she would realize there was something in that question that she couldn’t quite place, but in the moment, she was quite oblivious to it as she waved her hand dismissively.
“If I manage to cure the Wardens of our underground burial alive under legions of darkspawn, they won’t care who I visit or how drunk I get,” she assured him.
He shook his head and chuckled.
“You always did have your own way of doing things,” he said. She scoffed.
“Of course!” she said. Then, deciding to follow impulse before wisdom got the better of her, closed the distance between them and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
When she stepped back, he was frozen, looking down at her in what seemed very much like surprise.
“All right,” she said sheepishly. “Don’t make it uncomfortable. It’s time for us to go, and we’ve progressed past manly, mutually respectful nodding, I think.”
“Right,” he said, then seemed like he might say something else – but he didn’t.
“All right, I’m going to open the door because this has taken a turn for the awkward…”
She turned to open the door, but his hand on her arm stopped her. She turned back toward him and he said,
“I’m glad.”
“Glad?” she echoed, very distracted by his hand – which was large, and his palm was rough, but not too rough, and his nails were neat and clean and well-tended, and it was perfectly shaped, and there were scars on it, and she shook her head and forced herself to look back up at him.
“Glad we’re past mutually respectful nodding,” he said quietly.
That made her smile.
“As am I,” she said, then gave his hand a squeeze before she opened the door.
“Good night, Cullen Rutherford,” she said to him.
“Good night, Raina Surana,” he replied, letting go of her arm and stepping through.
And then, once she’d locked the door behind her, she left her cloak on the bench in the vestibule, walked up to the guest room where Bujuju awaited her, and even managed to shut the door, she threw herself onto the bed and her face into a pillow and squealed like an absolutely smitten ninny.