Sighing, Alistair slipped around the leather satchel dangling near his hip. He had to shove aside a few extra tunics and socks to pull out the bottle. It still pulsed a red, even more haunting in the shade of the leafy trees. "You can hate me, fine. That's normal. If I worried about everyone who wanted me dead I'd never... Look, I want Lanny back as much as you do." Cullen snorted at that and folded his arms. "99.999% as much, whatever. Point is, this is real. I didn't do anything to it. No one's touched it in...in years. So, if you believe in her, then believe in this."
The templar broke from his guarded stance and for a moment he reached for the phylactery, only a glance of his finger tracing against the bottle. He had to feel it, the call from her blood echoing across all of thedas. He probably felt it better than what Alistair could get, and just having it near his skin made his heart skip a beat, his head swim like he'd hung upside down too long. It was her, she was somewhere, somewhere reachable and they could bring her back.
Cullen shifted his jaw around a few times like he was grinding apart gravel, then he nodded. "I'm in. What do we do first?"
"We're heading to the Waking Sea," Alistair said as he slipped the phylactery into his safe place. "I know a person who can borrow us a ship as long as we promise to wipe our feet."
The templar sighed again, either unhappy with the idea of a sea voyage or coming to terms with this affair. He ruffled his dog's head, then nodded again. "Very well. I have taken care of my duties as best I could, and I am ready to head out now."
"Really? That quick?" Alistair expected it to take a few days of him doing soldiery things and barking orders in the rain.
"I would prefer to not wait," Cullen said.
"Okay," he shrugged. "I brought a couple horses to help us get down the mountain..." Alistair said as he stepped out of the gardens, but Cullen didn't follow.
The templar paused at the shrine to Lanny. Gently kissing two fingers, he touched them to the relief's face and a whisper of a prayer fell from his lips.
Great, like this wasn't awkward enough already, Alistair thought as he waited for the man to catch up. They still had a lot of thedas to travel around. Here's hoping they'd make it to her without killing each other first.
Chapter Three
Siren's Echo
9:44 Jader
Cullen clung tight to Honor's collar both of their eyes widening from the sights and sounds of the port in Jader. Honor's was more so due to the pile of fish carcasses barely inland off the dock, which he'd rather she not roll in. The mabari kept trying to use her beg and whine maneuver to convince him it was a wise idea she envelope her fur in rotting fish scent, but it wasn't taking against his iron will. It had been a trying week traveling up the western side of the frostbacks with the king of Ferelden. He was more talkative than Cullen thought possible, at times striking up a conversation with the mabari because the other human had no intentions of joining in.
Gulls screamed out of reach of the dockworkers aiming to smack them away with poles. When not whacking into the flying vermin, scattering white feathers across the choppy waves, the poles would knock into the bow of a ship to help guide it onto the docks. Nearly ten years in Kirkwall and being near the sea made Cullen's skin itch. Some people took to the water well, barely noticing the stomach churning swells and dips of the waves. He was not so lucky.
Whatever the king's plan was here, he hadn't felt the need to elucidate it beyond the occasional grunt. Leliana's warning bubbled through Cullen's mind each time the man would stop, point in a random direction, and insist they were on the right track. At least north was easy enough to find as they chased the last blush of summer, fall already twisting up the trees in Skyhold and...
He didn't think it would be easy to leave his old life, but it surprised him how not difficult it was. Cullen never considered himself invulnerable and kept his lieutenants tight enough in the loop they picked up the slack immediately. Only a few shot a questioning glance at their commander's sudden need to trek across the continent, but none voiced it. They trusted him. It was the Inquisitor he was uncertain about.
After knocking softly on the Inquisitor's door, Cullen questioned the madness of this plan. He knew nothing of king Alistair beyond a few whispers, rumors elucidated courtesy of Josephine, and a wrath he never thought Lana capable of. For all the man knew, the king was pulling an elaborate prank just because he could. Cullen was about to give up on the entire idea when the Inquisitor invited him inside to his study.
He looked better, thank the Maker. No one wanted to voice their greatest fear of what to do if the Herald fell, if they couldn't solve the anchor's attack and find a way to slow it. He and the Inquisitor never were close by any stretch, but Cullen respected him. For coming from an insular dalish clan, he navigated the shark infested waters better than any noble born could and that deserved accolades all on their own. And now, on the brink of almost losing everything, a grey pallor roamed the Inquisitor's face. It settled in after the qunari invasion began and hadn't lifted yet.
"Ah, Commander," he shifted in his seat at the desk, his fingers splayed out against parchment while his elbow rested upon the pile. "I heard the Divine followed our caravan and will be assisting with any matters in the transfer of power."
"That, uh, that isn't what I've come about." Cullen swallowed through his scratchy throat, struggling to piece together what he needed without revealing why. Despite not seeing eye to eye on some policies throughout their long campaign this was the only matter where they nearly came to a shouting match.
The Inquisitor placed down his quill and sat back in the chair. He'd taken to growing his hair out in the interim years, the strands falling like black curtains to shroud his face. Those cold grey eyes rarely lifted in mirth now and while Cullen knew there could be a dozen good reasons, he suspected that the real one was traveling back to Tevinter permanently. "What is it?" the elf asked. He moved to fold his arms together, but paused as the stump jostled against his forearm.
"I..." Cullen steadied himself and began again, "I would like to request a leave of absence."
"To see your family, of course. Once things are settled here, you can..."
"No, Sir. It would need to be now."
That caught the Inquisitor. The pallor slipped away, and his eyebrows twisted together in thought. "Now? For what purpose?"
"That is a...it is for personal reasons, but the matter must be solved quickly or the window could be lost," Cullen lied. Probably lied. He had no idea if there was an urgency beyond the one driving through his heart needing answers before he lost his tenuous grip.
"I see." The Inquisitor fell back upon his old idiom when he was surveying information. That 'I see' could humble the most powerful of nobility across southern thedas. Despite the pain, he staggered to his feet. He'd been on a strong dose of healing draughts since Solas took his arm and for good reason. Amputation could haunt a person long after the first shock subsided. Cullen tried to stop him, or help him, but he waved off both attempts as he stretched to the windows. Craning his head back, the Inquisitor watched the ribbon of green where the sky was forever scarred, where he saved the world. "Would this have anything to do with the king of Ferelden wandering around the hold?"
"Uh," Cullen knocked his shoe into the leg of the desk, the toe following its indentation. "Yes."
"You've done more for the Inquisition than anyone could have asked. Served faithfully beyond what was requested of you at the outset," the Inquisitor turned away from his vigil over the sky. His grey eyes burned with a longing that struck back at Cullen. He wasn't only in mourning for the loss of his arm. "Take whatever leave you require, Commander. I'm certain you can handle finding replacements to fill in for you, though Josephine would be willing to... No, she is going as well."
"I am uncertain how long it would take, but..." Cullen's sentence fell off. But what? If this succeeded, if they found Lana, then what? Would he return? Would she even want to? She had no place here. He dared not entertain the more obvi
ous outcome to this trip. Cullen was running on a single strand of faith, but he'd cling to it for as long as was possible.
The Inquisitor nodded his head as he shuffled to his mantle. Someone thought to place one of the halla statues from the Winter Palace upon it, someone who'd been at the dance and perhaps thought himself above Orlesian law. His fingers caressed the back of the halla following the smooth divot of the spine. "Take whatever time you need. The Inquisition is...will remain as long as it is necessary."
"Thank you," Cullen said. He bowed deep, deeper than he did to the Empress, to the Exalted Council. After everything the Inquisitor suffered without anyone caring, he deserved it.
With his back still turned, the Inquisitor spoke up, "I know we had our disagreements about it, but..." Now he turned fully, his grey eyes brimming in the weak candle light, "I hope you find what you are looking for and that I was wrong."
The raw words struck Cullen. While the Inquisitor was not without passion, he kept it shielded away save for the rarest of moments. "I...pray so as well."
"Prayer is good, too. Love is worth praying for."
With the blessing of the Inquisitor, the advice of the Divine, and a satchel stuffed with a few changes of clothes as well as some personal possessions, Cullen followed the king of Ferelden to the foulest smelling port in all of thedas. The docks in Kirkwall reeked of baking fish from the moment the sun rose until it set, allowing the night chill to waft the scent of feces through the salt strewn air. But Jader was something else. Perhaps it was the Orlesian way, but rather than have a blocked off area devoted for the fish waiting to be hauled off to market, they let them pile up beside each dock. Animals hunted through the free offerings, hoping to sneak away with dinner if they were quick enough. The howls of cats echoed above the creaking of ships, their eyes hungrily weighing to see how quickly they could slip one over on the incompetent humans.
And of course there was the noise. Cullen went from the peace of the farm known for stretches of quiet punctuated by a squealing or braying animal, to the solemnity of the chantry. His first few weeks in the circle tower proper, he feared he'd go deaf from the voices of mages shouting down stairs, shouting up stairs, screaming around corners, or just generally yelling for attention. The stones of the tower amplified the voices tenfold building upon his headache. Overtime, he learned to adjust to the exuberant apprentices, and also found leaving the helmet off helped greatly. He preferred the quiet when he could find it, yet could live with a few excited screams from time to time. But being upon a dock was like thrusting his head inside a metal drum, giving children a mallet, and letting them have a go at it.
Every manor of race in thedas screamed from one end to the other. Elves scattered about five to a single human, most chattering in a quick code Cullen couldn't track. The dwarven gruff bass line rumbled through the wooden dock rocking below his feet, while the handful of Qunari said nothing, though they continued to drop freight from terrifying heights. All he needed to add to this mess was...
Honor hopped up to her feet and barked deep in that barrel chest.
That. Cullen massaged his head, and in the process lost his grip upon her collar, but the dog wasn't headed towards the pile of fish. She'd spotted her newest friend skirting through the throngs finally returning to them. The king didn't explain beyond gesturing to the waves and saying he had to find someone. Cullen might have felt put out at being dumped by the side like garbage, but honestly it kept him away from the man for a few blissful hours. Now he was returning. Staggering to his feet, Cullen checked his scabbard instinctively and chased after Honor.
Parting the dock workers, most of whom decided shirts were optional, Cullen spotted Alistair fully bent over as both of his hands clawed up and down Honor's belly. Her leg paddled the air and her tongue lolled out as she slipped into dog euphoria. "You're going to spoil her," Cullen shouted to be heard over the throngs.
"Nah," the king waved away his concern, then his voice switched to the talking to babies and/or cute animals timbre, "they just need some love. And treats. And fetch. Love, treats, and fetch. And some bandits to bite into."
Honor rolled to her feet at the mention of bandits and woofed once, her posture ready for orders. Clicking his teeth twice, Cullen gave the release command and she slipped back to happy - a state which never seemed to be far from the dog or the king of Ferelden.
"Sorry that took so long," Alistair said, smoothing dog slobber through his hair. "Who knew there were so many ships?"
"On a port in Jader to the waking sea. It is truly astounding," Cullen tried to not sigh as he fell in behind the king.
"Point being, I found my friend and we're good to go. Her ship's just past the second to the left, or is that port? Sternum? Eh, over there somewhere. And...ah, here she is." Alistair paused in his recitation of what little he knew of maritime terminology and waved his hand furiously in the air. "Captain!"
Cullen spotted the hat first, massive and crimson as spilled blood with a white feather longer than his arm plucked in the brim. As it turned around, so did the familiar brown and salt crusted face of a woman who nearly set all of Kirkwall on fire. "Maker's breath, of course..." he sighed.
Isabela smiled, her white teeth glinting brighter juxtaposed against her sun burnt cheeks. "That's Admiral now, remember. I didn't take on that armada for the fun of it. Mostly not for the fun of it."
Alistair held his hand out to her and she shook it. "This is..."
"I know who it is," Cullen interrupted. "She was the one who had the tome of Koslun."
"I didn't have-have it. Damn thing didn't surface for years," Isabela interrupted.
"And that makes all the difference in thedas," Cullen gritted, his heart sinking. He'd seen Isabela in passing, usually on the Champion's arm or at least in her wake. They were often in Hightown attempting to buy hats together but somehow never succeeding. It became an odd running joke in Kirkwall to spot the pair dipping into every chapeau shop and never purchasing an item. A joke so popular even the shut in Knight-Captain heard it.
The pirate queen folded her arms tight against her dingy corset and she eyed up Cullen then turned to the king. "Well, wasn't expecting the grumpy one to show. From mage to templar, you sure do keep strange friends, Ali."
"Mage?" Cullen interjected, struggling to keep up with this man's jaded history. "I am no longer a templar."
"Don't worry about it," Alistair cut in to the rescue. "He's fine. No chantry involved. Right?"
"Andraste's tears, how would I get the chantry involved? Why would they even...?" Cullen stomped around the dock struggling to find sense where none existed. "I am sorry for being curt, and grumpy," he sighed. This anger had left him. It took work and time, but he'd discovered a peace in the light to the point people would remark upon his quieter nature. No one knew about his turns still taken in the dark when nightmares and his own jaded heart turned against him. Still, it was no reason to turn upon the woman they needed for help.
Nodding once at him, Isabela gestured in the direction of her ship, "She's off this way. A beauty too. Fastest ship in the Waking Sea."
"Second fastest last I heard," Alistair spoke up as they followed the Admiral past the same repeat of boats with their sails trussed up like roasts. Not for the first time, Cullen felt woefully ill prepared. He hated sailing, knew next to nothing about it, and on occasion grew queasy upon the waves. His only saving grace was he knew how to swim and was rather accomplished at it.
Isabela spun to face them but kept walking backwards, dockworkers scattering out of her wake. Her eyes glittered in the same kind of mischief Cullen came to expect from Sera over the years. "It's not the second fastest any longer, I made certain of that."
"You do keep busy," the king remarked shaking his head.
"There she is," pride beamed in every word as the Admiral paused to wave her bangled arms wide, "The Siren's Echo."
It was a ship. Very beautiful as far as ships went, probably - with three masts in the middle, crimson s
ails dangling limply off the sides in wait to raise up for action. Men, bronzed and burnt across their backs and foreheads, as well as women in slightly more clothing shuffled along the deck. Most were working, but a few had curled up on the wet wood to rattle dice around in a cup. Cullen may not know a thing about ships, but he knew criminals when he saw them. There was no uniform to the outfits scattered across the crew, no seals of port authorities upon the crates stacking the deck, and the flag stretched in the sea air bore no loyalty beyond that to its owner. He froze on the gangplank, Honor coming to a stop beside her master, while Isabela and the king continued on. Either sensing he was alone, or having enough sense to check, Alistair turned back and waved at Cullen to get over beside them.
"You need to get on ships in order to take them," he explained, but Cullen locked his feet in. "Give me a moment, I think someone's not used to this whole traveling by sea thing." Isabela nodded, off to talk to her crew or whatever it was she did before embarking, while Alistair slipped a foot on top of the railing and leaned over to glare at Cullen. "What are you doing? Not the best time to get cold feet."
"These are..." Cullen dropped his voice to a whisper, "they're pirates."
"I think they know they're pirates. You're not catching them off guard."
"By all that is holy, why are we traveling with pirates? Why areyou traveling with pirates? Why do you even know pirates?" Cullen tried to keep his voice steady, but it rose in volume with each sentence drawing some attention from said sea mauraders.
"Isabela's trustworthy. She's had my back before. She's obviously worked with the Champion, you seem to be aware of that," Alistair leaned across the gap towards the dock. Whatever the man knew of Isabela's involvement in the qunari attack must either have been told to him second hand by her or he was too dumb to understand the severity of her fault. The king twisted his head to the side then smiled at a pair of pirates sharpening their blades with a hunk of coral.
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