Chapter Text
No matter how many times Evelyn left with her companions, it never got any easier for Marilyn to say goodbye. Farewells were always long, drawn out and emotional for her. Tears pricked her eyes as her sister mounted her pretty Ferelden steed and galloped through the gate, Cole, Blackwall and Varric following shortly on their own mounts. Some might say Marilyn was simply being dramatic, but every time Evelyn left, she prayed to the Maker it would not be the last time she saw her.
It was made even harder by the fact that Blackwall was going with them. Though Marilyn did not have any romantic feelings for the Warden still, she gained a new level of respect and even a fondness for the old goat, ever since Haven fell. She would remember that night for the rest of her life, seeing the army of mages and Tevinter marching down the hill, clinging to the Warden as they searched the village for her mother and youngest sister. Watching him get injured fighting off enemy attackers.
Her mother was quite fond of the man now too, as was Mirabelle. He had been the youngest Trevelyan’s steadfast protector the whole way to Skyhold, as Cullen was quite busy commanding the troops and keeping everyone calm and focused until her sister was found in the snow. This was the first time since Haven that Warden Blackwall should be leaving with their Herald, and Marilyn was surprised to find she would greatly miss his near constant, yet comforting presence.
He was so sweet too. He had taken to carving little trinkets out of wood for Mirabelle and the other children at Skyhold, who’d arrived with the pilgrims that flocked nearly every day. When the elder Lady Trevelyan misplaced her comb, Blackwall made one for her. Once some of the other ladies discovered the Warden had a talent for craftsmanship, they constantly pestered him with requests, and though it must’ve been aggravating, he was always so kind and patient with them.
He made something for Marilyn too, the day before they left, a little bird sitting on a branch, and when Marilyn asked what sort of bird it was, he grunted, “A songbird,” making her chuckle. She set the trinket on the window sill of her bedroom, in the sunshine, where it would have a nice pretty view of the garden just beyond. She would not say that Blackwall captured her heart. She would completely deny it when her mother noticed how she blushed around him, but yes, she was quite fond of him.
Skyhold was a dreadfully boring place without her older sister there to keep her occupied. Sister Leliana was far too busy as of late for them to resume their walks together. The Nightingale now spent most of her time at the top floor of the library tower, where she’d taken to roosting, no pun intended. She was constantly pouring over incoming reports of enemy activities, and she had little time to spare for idle relaxation. Marilyn was driven completely mad with nothing to do.
One afternoon, she could not stand taking one more route across the battlements where she would have nothing of interest to see but the same tiring view, and no one to talk to but soldiers, soldiers and more soldiers, so she decided to leave the castle and explore the surrounding area. Her mother could not be bothered to join her as she was quite busy at the moment helping Lady Josephine with deciding on decorations for the elaborate new room Evelyn was soon to have.
But Mirabelle was tired of playing with the other children and insisted on going exploring with her. The two stated repeatedly that they did not require an ‘escort’ when their mother suggested it, as the Inquisition’s forces kept the surrounding area well guarded and there were watchtowers all over the valley. When her mother fussed that the cold would surely make her ill, as it may be habitable inside the fortress, but the outside was quite frigid, Marilyn insisted the fresh air would do her some good.
Then the two younger Trevelyan sisters set off through the large iron gate that stood open. Their walk was quiet at first, Mirabelle simply running ahead every so often to stick her gloved hands into the snow, roll it into a ball and hurl it at the hillside. Marilyn wrapped her fur lined cloak tighter around her when she started to shiver. She would not admit that her mother might be right, and she might only catch another cold from this excursion. She was still recovering from the last.
But away from Skyhold, she was given room to breathe, and to allow Mirabelle’s antics in the snow to distract her from unpleasant thoughts of recent events. She wasn’t constantly faced with the reality that somewhere out there in the world, there was an evil creature that called himself Corypheus, who was bent on destroying everything they held dear. Out in the snow drifts, nothing whatsoever mattered. It was all pristine white, anywhere that soldiers and scouts had not recently patrolled.
That was, until Marilyn wasn’t paying attention and misstepped, then was sent tumbling down the hill. She let out a yelp when she fell, and Mirabelle turned at the sound, dropping the comically large chunk of snow she’d intended to drop on a nearby outcropping of stone. “Marilyn!” she shouted, running after her. The youngest sister stopped at the crest of the hill and looked down. At the bottom was a very disheveled Marilyn, covered in snow. It would’ve been funny, if she weren’t clutching her ankle.
Marilyn, now soaked down to the bone and shivering wildly, grimaced in pain as she tried to massage her inflamed joint, but even the barest of touches made the pain ten times worse. Given that she couldn’t rotate it either without causing the most wretched agony, she feared it might be broken. Oh to be a mage and have the ability to magically heal such things! As if in answer to an unspoken prayer, a figure appeared on the horizon, carrying an ornate looking staff.
“My, what have we here?” said a man with a very refined accent that indicated he was a northerner, and nobility at that. He was ever so tall, surprisingly well built for a mage, with olive skin and jet black hair that was perfectly coiffed on his head. He decorated his very handsome face with a stylish goatee. Were they in Ostwick, perhaps at one of her Great Aunt Lucille’s elaborate parties, this man would surely turn heads when he entered the room, and women would be lining up to dance with him.
He was dressed in a very fashionable mage robe that exposed one shoulder, and he looked very dashing in it. She could assume that the reason he wasn’t freezing to death while wearing it was all due to the magic in his blood keeping him warm. She vaguely recognized him as the Tevinter mage that tried to warn them of the attack on Haven. He could see that the woman he’d encountered was injured, so he approached to inspect her ankle.
“Please, allow me,” he said, conjuring blue light in his palm. She stared in amazement as he healed her injury. Not completely, as it still ached a little, but mostly, then he said, “My apologies that I cannot do more, but the healing arts were never my area of expertise.”
“It’s quite alright, sir,” she assured him bashfully, and he smiled at her.
She could get lost in those mesmerizing eyes of his. Words could not truly describe their beauty and she could scarcely express it, fearing she could never do them justice. But what might’ve been a truly magical moment between them when their eyes met was completely dashed by Mirabelle bouncing down the hill, miraculously without slipping, drawing his attention. Then she said, “You’re Mister Pavus, aren’t you?” Very loudly, and rather rudely interrupting them.
“Why yes, indeed I am!” he said brightly. “Dorian of House Pavus, at your service. And who might you be?” he asked them both.
Dorian.
The name thereafter would be a prayer on Marilyn Trevelyan’s lips.
It was Mirabelle who said proudly, “We’re the Inquisitor’s sisters!” For which Marilyn was grateful, as she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
“Delighted to meet you both,” he bowed. “Now, shall we see about returning you safely to Skyhold?” He offered his hand to assist Marilyn to her feet, which she gladly accepted, but she winced in pain, unable to put weight on her foot still. “Oh dear,” he quipped. “We shall have to carry you then.”
He scooped her into his arms to carry her back up the hill, and Marilyn would like to have died just then.
“What were you doing out here?” Mirabelle asked him.
"Don't be nosy, Mirabelle!" Marilyn scolded.
But Dorian only chuckled. Then, gaeily he said, "I was practicing some spells. It tends to make people nervous here in the south to see fire and lightning. One would swear they thought a Blight was coming."
"I want to see!" Mirabelle begged.
"Perhaps later," he offered. "For now, we must get your poor injured sister back to the Keep. You were very fortunate I happened to be here to come to your rescue, my dear."
"Fortunate indeed," Marilyn grinned.
A chance meeting with a handsome stranger coming to her rescue in such a heroic fashion?
Oh it had to be fate!
“Good to see you safe, Inquisitor,” Harding said when Evelyn approached, after she, Varric, Blackwall and Cole had finally arrived in Crestwood. “We’ve got trouble ahead.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing the Inquisition can’t handle,” Evelyn said confidently.
“Careful, Your Worship, that optimism might be catching,” Harding quipped with a frown.
“Are things that bad?” Evelyn asked.
Lace tilted her head toward the edge of camp. Evelyn followed her, so that they might speak more privately, and candidly about whatever the situation their Lead Scout had been monitoring. The camp was nestled beside a lake, and beyond the low wall that separated them from the waters below, Evelyn could spot a flash of green in the distance, peeking out from the chopping waves. A rift, it would appear, right in the middle of the lake. That surely didn’t bode well. “Oh,” Evelyn nodded.
“Crestwood was the site of a flood ten years ago, during the Blight,” Harding explained. “It’s not the only rift in the area, but after it appeared, corpses started walking out of the lake. You’ll have to fight through them to get to the cave where Hawke’s Grey Warden contact is hiding.”
“Have any undead attacked the camp?”
“We’ve had a few shamblers, but most head toward the village below. Maybe someone in Crestwood can tell you how to get to the rift in the lake. Maker knows they’ll want help. Good luck, and please be safe.”
Evelyn nodded, then rejoined the others while Harding left with the rest of the soaked scouts who’d been with her, awaiting the Inquisitor’s arrival. “We should get some rest,” she told her companions. “We’ll need it. We’re heading down to the town first thing in the morning.” Blackwall and Varric nodded. Cole had disappeared already, perhaps to explore the area and learn more about what they could expect, or to help someone who needed immediate saving.
They flopped down by the fire, resting their tired bones. They’d ridden hard without stopping to get to Crestwood. Admittedly, Evelyn might’ve been a bit agitated, so she’d hurried them along and made some excuse or other whenever one of them suggested they make camp. She’d been in a hurry to put some distance between them and Skyhold. But perhaps she’d overestimated her endurance, because she regretted it now. Worse still was that her mood had not improved at all.
She was a woman of her word, so she had not said anything to anyone about what was spoken of between her and Lucinda Hawke before parting ways. The evening after they spoke, she’d done her best to put it behind her, pretend it never happened, but those words were always in the back of her mind. When she’d attended the next war meeting with her advisors, Cullen didn’t mention Hawke at all, as if she didn’t exist, but Evelyn could hardly look at the man without thinking of her now.
She did her best to try to see things from Cullen’s perspective. He had been a Templar, and Hawke was a mage. Then the war kept them apart for the last four years, and Maker only knows what that must’ve been like for him. By the end of it, she’d talked herself into feeling nothing but sympathy for the Commander, and not one ounce of anger or betrayal at keeping his relationship with Hawke a secret from her. It was Lucinda Hawke that grated her skin.
She wasn’t sure why, but there was just something about the woman that unnerved her, for some reason. The way she latched onto Evelyn so readily made her suspicious of the woman. Perhaps she sensed a romantic rival in her, given that Cullen spoke so highly of the Inquisitor to Hawke, and maybe she thought befriending Evelyn would ease her worries somehow. Perhaps that was the sole reason for confiding in Evelyn. To stake her claim on Cullen before Evelyn acted on her own feelings.
She should thank Lucinda, honestly. In doing so, she prevented the Inquisitor from making a fool of herself and suffering Cullen’s rejection of her. But there were still so many things that bothered her about the conversation, in truth. Something about the whole situation just wasn’t right. Only she couldn’t say anything to anyone without breaking her promise. If she wished to set a good example for Cole on how important it was to not break promises, then she had to keep her own.
But naturally anyone would be curious, so as she sat next to the fire near Varric, she struck up conversation and asked, “So, Varric, what’s the history between Lucinda Hawke and Commander Cullen?”
As if sensing he was better served by keeping his mouth shut, Blackwall kept silent and steadily whittled away at whatever wooden object he was creating with his pocket knife.
“Heh, complicated,” Varric answered in short, lighting the pipe he always carried in his pocket. Then he elaborated. “Lucy’s always been a bit… delusional when it comes to Curly.”
“Delusional?” she repeated, heart skipping a beat. “How so?”
He sighed. “Well, she always likes to see the good in people, which isn’t a bad quality, mind you, but… where the Knight-Captain was concerned, she was totally blind to everything. She refused to believe he was anything but a saint, even when it cost her everything.”
“I don’t understand,” Evelyn shook her head. “In your book, you made him out to be a decent sort in the end. Isn’t Cullen serving the Inquisition proof of that?”
“Well, yes, but… I may have embellished Curly’s heroism at Lucy’s request,” he sheepishly answered. “She insisted that I only show the best parts of his developing character and leave out some of the more… distasteful bits, as she put it. She didn’t want all the Templars in the book to be characterized as evil bastards. The story needed more ‘nuance’, she said. But the truth is, Curly had a long way to go before he finally got to the ‘decent sort’ that you know him as.”
“Was he really so cruel?” Evelyn asked, shocked to hear this.
Varric shrugged. “I don’t think he meant to be. But he was paranoid of mages, completely convinced that none of them could be trusted and in his eyes, he was only doing the right thing by allowing Meredith to be so harsh in her treatment of them. It took Meredith threatening to kill Lucy for him to finally wake up to what was really going on in Kirkwall and stand up to her. But the Champion never saw it that way. She was convinced that deep down, he was always sympathetic of mages, on the inside at least.”
“But he wasn’t?” Evelyn questioned, and Varric shook his head.
“He only helped Lucy defeat Meredith to protect her,” Varric answered. “And Lucy was the only mage he ever really trusted. After Meredith turned into a statue, when he heard the mages really were planning to escape the Gallows, he ordered them to be stopped at whatever cost. Even when Lucy tried to talk him out of it, he wouldn’t listen. Of course, he wasn’t entirely in the wrong. When we got to the Gallows, there were demons everywhere and we found out the First Enchanter was a blood mage.”
Evelyn contemplated all of that. There was more she would’ve asked, but nothing she could say that wouldn’t ultimately break her promise. Oddly enough, she found that no part of their conversation had changed her feelings toward Cullen. He never hid anything from her, and back at Haven, during their conversations, he’d admitted to being mistrustful of mages and, in his own words, ‘treating them harshly because of it, at times without cause’. He was transparent with this.
If anything, it made her pity him more, that he should suffer the way he did, being separated from Hawke all these years, a woman he loved despite her being a mage, enough to stand up to his Knight-Commander, even when it conflicted with his beliefs. The poor man, having to endure all that he had. She did feel an ounce of sympathy for Hawke after that as well. Trying to see the good in people, even when others didn’t. It had to be difficult to be faced with the terrible truth.
But the fact that the two of them had reconciled their differences and still stuck by one another, despite all of that, it must’ve truly been a testament to the power of their love. How could Evelyn be angry or jealous, knowing that? Did she not tell her sister that real love could endure anything? That true love could weather any storm? And if what Lucinda Hawke and Commander Cullen felt for one another was no mere infatuation, but indeed real and lasting love, what right did Evelyn have to interfere?
Even if her own heart was breaking in the process?
She resolved that evening to give Hawke a chance, and to try to genuinely be a friend to the woman.
Even if it hurt beyond reason.
After all other matters in Crestwood had been dealt with, the town was saved from undead and demons, the lake was drained to seal the rift beneath it, and the nearby fortress had been secured as an Inquisition outpost, Evelyn and her companions searched for the smuggler’s cave where the missing Warden was hiding. Hawke was waiting for them outside, with a pleased expression. Although Evelyn dreaded seeing her again, she managed a smile and a friendly greeting before venturing inside.
The two heroines listened to all Stroud had to say about the rest of the Wardens and their recent disappearance, then Stroud bid them farewell, vowing to travel to the place in the Western Approach where the other Wardens were supposedly gathering, to spy on their activities. Hawke promised to join him later, but first she wanted to speak more at length with Evelyn, so she joined the Inquisitor as she and her companions headed for the nearest camp to rest up.
Lucinda Hawke was surprisingly cheerful, given the gravity of the information they’d just learned from Stroud. “You three go on ahead,” she said to Evelyn’s associates, “We’ll catch up.” Then she looped an arm in the Inquisitor’s like her sister Marilyn would often do when they went for walks. It was alien to be so informal with anyone that wasn’t family, but Evelyn endured it, remembering her vow to make the best of the situation and to at least try to be genuine friends with the Champion.
“So, Hawke, how have you been?” she asked, doing her best to imitate her mother’s airy tone of cordiality when around polite company.
“Oh, do please call me Lucy,” Hawke purred, squeezing her arm. “No need for titles among friends.”
“Then I insist that you call me Evelyn,” she offered, and Lucy’s smile widened.
“I’ve been well, all things considered,” she told the Inquisitor. “Though I don’t like being so far apart from Cullen, now that we’re back in each other’s lives. It’s a miracle I was able to survive being away from him so long. If not for my brother keeping me sane, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Ah, Carver, is it?” Evelyn inquired. Lucy nodded.
“He’s a Templar,” she commented. “He stayed behind in Kirkwall to take over when Cullen left to join the Inquisition. He was very excited to join the Order. He looks up to Cullen a great deal. I’m told you also have siblings? Two sisters, if I’m not mistaken?”
“I do, yes,” Evelyn nodded.
“I truly hope you and I will be like sisters one day. I feel as if I know you so well already. And we’re a lot alike, you know. Both of us are heroes in our own right. Only I was saving Kirkwall from itself. You seem to have the whole world on your shoulders. What a heavy burden that must be.”
“It is, sometimes,” Evelyn admitted.
“And to have no one to share that burden with,” the Champion sighed. “Well, no one special to you like Cullen is to me. It must be terribly lonely.”
If Evelyn’s jaw clenched tightly at those words, Lucy paid no notice to it. “It can be difficult,” Evelyn said through clenched teeth. But then she loosened her frame, remembering she was supposed to be feeling like she was spared a great deal of heartache by Cullen being spoken for already. “But I suppose it could be worse. If I had someone special I was thinking of, every time I left Skyhold, I don’t think it would be so easy to do what I do. Someone worrying for my safety every time I left. My family does enough of that.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Lucy nodded. Then she sighed wistfully again. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to have someone like you to talk to. Someone who understands, and someone I can share in my secret with. I could never tell anyone else about how I feel about Cullen. How happy he makes me. It’s so nice to just be honest with someone. You have no idea what it’s like to harbor feelings for someone that you can never tell a single soul about. It’s a truly terrible feeling to be so alone with such a burden.”
No idea what it’s like, eh? Evelyn thought ruefully. You’d be surprised.
“What doesn’t Cullen wish for you to tell anyone?” she chose to ask, and at such a question, Lucy ducked her head rather sheepishly.
“His family doesn’t exactly approve of me,” she admitted. “He never said precisely why they don’t like me, but of course it’s probably because I’m a mage. Oh don’t get me wrong, they’re pleasant people, but a bit… reserved, I would say.”
“You’ve met his family in South Reach?” Evelyn asked.
“No, I’ve never met them. But I’ve read Cullen’s letters from his oldest sister, Mia. She’s quite the worry wart, evidently. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s over protective when it comes to the woman in his life. I had thought of writing to her, to let her know how Cullen is doing. I saw her latest letter on his desk, and I noticed that he hasn’t written to her at length since joining the Inquisition. What do you think? Should I write a letter to her? I think you, of anyone, would give me the most sound advice.”
Evelyn would never ever do such a thing in Lucy’s place, no matter how much she cared about Cullen’s well-being where his family was concerned. She’d also spotted the unanswered letters on his desk, but never commented on them. It was certainly not any of her business, even if she was the Inquisitor now. If Cullen didn’t wish to speak to the Rutherfords, that was entirely his own choice to make. But clearly Lucy took no issue with nosing into Cullen’s personal affairs, which bothered Evelyn.
“Perhaps it’s not wise, if they truly don’t approve of you,” she advised.
“You might be right,” Lucy nodded. “I’m only hoping to endear myself to Mia somehow. Get her to like me more. I thought maybe if I told her how Cullen is doing, she would change her mind about me. You don’t suppose Cullen would be angry if I wrote to her without telling him, do you? And it could just be our little secret? Between you and me? I want to arrange for a visit. Maybe Mia could come to Skyhold. Or you could give Cullen some time off to go visit her? He does work very hard, you know.”
“I… think it would be best to leave that all up to Cullen,” Evelyn said. “That is, if you don’t want Mia finding out the two of you are together just yet.”
“Oh, you’re right, that’s a good point,” Lucy agreed. “I didn’t really think of it that way. See? I knew it would be a good idea to be friends with you.”
Lucy threw her arm around Evelyn’s shoulder and gave her a half-hug.
The Inquisitor truly wished she could agree with that sentiment.
Never, on the face of the earth, had a woman ever tested her patience quite like Lucinda Hawke.
