"I, uh..." Lana eased backwards trying to escape the mess she walked into, but Honor butted her head into her legs, trapping her. She had to jam her cane in a new position, the echo drawing all their attention to it. Accepting there was no way to play it off, she bowed her head, "Inquisitor."
"So your mission was a success after all," he said to Cullen who was struggling to jam his jaw shut. "In truth, I feared it had failed. We heard no word of the resurrection of the Hero of Ferelden and...your refusing to return to Skyhold made me grow concerned."
"You were worried about..." Cullen struggled, shaking his head. "It's a complicated and long story of why we chose..."
He waved his hand again, "I do not wish to pry. It is your life, not mine. But Commander, I do have one request."
"Yes?" he asked, his eyes darting towards Lana. She'd thrown on her cloak of command, dampening down her panic, but he could see glimmers of it breaking through the mask.
"May I have a moment to speak with Lady Amell in private?"
"Why?" he asked, his never far need to protect Lana rising awake. It was foolish, he trusted the Inquisitor. He wasn't the kind of man to lash out at someone.
"There is something we need to talk about, leader to leader."
Lana reached over and ran her fingers down Cullen's arm, "It's all right. We're not going to come to blows in here."
"I rather doubt either of us is capable of such a feat at the moment," the Inquisitor cut in, his eyes darting down to Lana's cane.
She drug it across the floor from the attention, but nodded. "Are you...?" Cullen asked, but she wrapped her arm around his side and pulled herself in for a half hug.
"It will be fine, you worry too much," she chuckled.
Gently parting his fingers over her hair, he sighed, "Yes, I do. Often for no reason."
"It's what made you an excellent Commander," the Inquisitor spoke up.
Bobbing his head, Cullen began to slide out towards the door. "If you're certain, then I'll...um," at their stern looks, he patted his thigh, "Come on, Honor. Let's go." She barked, happy to be doing anything with her favorite human. Trying to not look back at Lana with a strange fear in his heart, Cullen slid out of the office that was supposed to be his and shut the door.
Placing his forehead against it, he whispered to himself, "I'll just be out here, waiting to see if my world's about to fall apart."
It wasn't the panicking and jittery Lana from meeting Mia that watched Cullen close the door, though the sound of his murmurs did fault her sure steps. Summoning a decade's worth of playing the Arlessa, she washed herself clean of any self doubt and presented only certainty to the Inquisitor. He in turn watched her, his steel eyes darting up and down her wobbling body as she tried to balance on her cane.
"Would you like to take a seat, Warden Commander?" he said as if the office was his.
Lana blinked, aware that she'd already lost in showing weakness, but sitting was preferable to falling face first onto the floor. Nodding, she hobbled towards the one Cullen must have bolted out of, still sitting kitty corner to the desk. "I assume you are overburdened with questions for me, Inquisitor," she said leaning her cane against the desk.
The move drew his sharp eyes towards it. Pointing at it, he asked, "Is that also a staff?"
"No," Lana answered truthfully, "simply a cane. Any magic passed through it would most likely cause the wood to combust."
"I see," he nodded his head softly. "Dagna has been rather excited about crafting me various hand prosthesis. One involved a grappling hook to, as she put it, 'Help me scurry up and down walls like a friendly, local, spider Inquisitor.'"
Lana snickered at his impression of Dagna, "I never expected that young dwarven girl to rise to such heights."
He bobbed his head a moment before placing his hand upon the desk, "You've touched lives. I'm certain she would be ecstatic to design a staff cane for you. No doubt it would be three times as powerful as any normal staff and come coated in glitter."
"While it would be cherished, I'm afraid no. I cannot ask that of her," she shook her head, trying to find a comfortable spot on the chair. Maker, it was like sitting upon stone. How did Cullen not notice?
"Is that humility that binds your tongue or...?" he asked, a solitary eyebrow lifting. With lips pursed Lana only gave him a moment's glance before he sighed, "And now comes the crux of the matter. You do not wish others to know of your return." Her eyes darted towards the door, the thought wandering through her head if Cullen told him. Turning back to face it, a curious smile knotted up the Inquisitor's lips. "No, he did not say anything. I dare say he's been so tightlipped on the matter people were growing concerned about his seemingly forced exile."
"Like his sister," Lana sighed, digging into her shoulder with her hand.
A momentary snicker lifted the Inquisitor's lips before falling back in place, "Among others, though that is a woman who is difficult to say no to."
"It's no wonder they're related."
"Yes, quite. His continual non-answer responses grew so strange even I felt the need to investigate myself. Everyone who met with Cullen here said he seemed well at ease, perhaps even calmer than expected, which only drew forth greater rumors of blood magic or other foul play at work."
Lana tried to not grimace at the mention of blood magic. All her life the damn rumors trailed her, that she used it to end the blight, to claim Amaranthine, to direct the king to do her bidding. And the more she denied being a blood mage, the more people suspected her of it. It was a no win situation the moment the rumors began.
Sliding forward in his seat, the Inquisitor prodded a finger into the desk. "I see now it was a different kind of magic that lightened our...how did Varric phrase it? Moody Commander?"
"Commander Sullen is what I've heard," Lana said.
"Oh, that's much better," the Inquisitor tipped back his head and a breath rattled in his nose. Scrunching up his face, he prodded at his eyes with a finger before reaching inside his coat to draw the stump free. Slowly he began to itch up and down the limb, reaching for a hand no longer there. Realizing he was scratching empty air, he paused and a light blush lit up his cheeks, but Lana didn't call attention to it. She'd done enough amputations and been around so many people who'd faced them that phantom pains were background for her.
"It takes it from us," she spoke, not meaning it to be aloud, "not always physically but the toll, the sacrifice, it's not just in time but blood, body, sanity, soul."
He paused and stared down at his stump, slowly twisting it around as if he was reaching out a hand no longer there. "People do not want to see it that way."
"They'd rather we be stone, perfect statues who, after saving the world, they can put away in storage until another crisis arrives. Ignore the cracks long enough and the entire foundation crumbles to dust."
"Indeed," he nodded, gently wrapping his stump back up to hide it away from curious onlookers. People were aware that in saving them the Inquisitor lost a hand, but few knew much less understood. "You tried to warn me of what would come after."
"Did I?" Lana asked, shaking her head. Skyhold felt decades ago; she barely remembered much beyond losing her wardens and finding Cullen. "I fear I was being morbidly poetic. It happens from time to time."
The Inquisitor smirked, "I see, but, whether you meant it as a general observation or fact, I did not wish to hear it."
"You had a world to save, that's not the time to worry about what comes after," she waved it away. They'd both failed, both succeeded. No one was perfect, certainly no heroes.
Smiling, he cupped his fingers under his chin and gently rubbed the clean skin. "I don't know how I missed it before. It seems so obvious in retrospect."
"What?"
"Your love for the Commander, and his became crystal clear after..." he paused, Adamant hanging on his tongue.
Lana winced, glaring at the desk covered in his writings. People would probably expect the constant soldier once templar to have atrocious writi
ng in curt, blocky letters but in truth his flowed like a river. It wasn't proper calligraphy, and yet there was a gentleness in his hand that would surprise most. Running her finger over his dried words, she whispered, "Was it bad for him after?"
"Ah," the Inquisitor sat back in his chair blinking rapidly, "He is a very private man." Lana snorted at that and twisted her head back and forth - she was well aware. "And he seemed to prefer to bury his pain instead of admitting to it."
"It's as I feared," she sighed, shrinking further in. If she hadn't stayed behind, if she'd been smarter or faster then maybe, maybe she'd...
"I asked to speak with you not to uncover your secrets, or, Maker, return to our little battle for supremacy," the Inquisitor said.
"Pissing match of mythic legends was how Varric put it," Lana smiled.
"Of course he did," the Inquisitor shook his head, causing his braid to spill out of a hood. She didn't remember his hair being so long. "I need to offer to you my gratitude."
"No, it's..." Lana began, trying to wave it away, but the Inquisitor dove into something she began to suspect he'd prepared just in case.
"Many people have sacrificed themselves for me, in my name, for the cause itself. Too many," his head dropped a moment and those steel eyes weakened. "But you were the only one to make the choice, to give yourself when you had no good reason. You were not sworn to the cause and I gave you little reason to find me amenable. Yet, you stayed behind."
Lana shrugged, "You had to save the world, and I...I," she sighed, digging her fingers into her cheeks. A dozen different answers lurked in her brain for why she did it. To save Hawke. Because she'd already done the world saving once before. Because she'd been living on borrowed time anyway. All of them were valid, and yet none were right. "I did it because someone had to."
He laughed once at her simple answer, and his head dropped down to stare at the desk. "When I first received the anchor, Cassandra's and Leliana's intentions were to drag me to court and try me for the Divine's death. It seemed my only way out was in saving them from the breach, and in turn myself. There was a moment after, while the advisors were consumed with laying the bones for the Inquisition that I found myself alone, unwatched, staring out at the horizon. How easily I could have run, vanished into the forests as only a Dalish can, leaving the humans to pick up the pieces."
Pausing, he picked at a button upon his outfit bearing the eye of the Inquisition. Slowly, he turned it in the candlelight, watching it seeming to wink by the play of shadows. "I wondered to myself for months after why I never took that chance. Knowing what shemlan thought of my kind, and how they'd not only turn upon me if I failed, but all the other Dalish. Why did I stay? Why did I risk much? Why did I give them a chance?" Lifting his head, his eyes rolled through hers, "It is as you say. I did it because someone had to."
"We're not so much heroes as the custodians of thedas," Lana laughed. "No one else is going to pick up this trash, so I guess I will."
"And like the never praised street washer, we are the ones everyone turns to when the shit piles high upon the cobblestones."
She was shocked to hear the Inquisitor let fly a curse. Lana'd watched the Divine herself swear up a blue streak, even heard Cullen drop a few, but something in the careful and cautious turn of a man aware that every eye was always upon him letting himself swear in her presence lightened the mood. "We have to find our rewards where we can, our...hope to keep going," she said, nodding her head.
"True," he sighed, "and you have quite the prize there. We still receive interest in the Commander's hand, sometimes in the form of sonnets."
"Maker's breath, please don't tell me people show up to recite them," she gasped, tugging at her cheeks to try and hide the second hand embarrassment.
"A few," the Inquisitor admitted.
Shaking her head, Lana let a few chuckles escape before she smiled, "I am in more over my head than I ever imagined. And what of you, how is Dorian?"
She meant it to be light, but a cross look broke through the Inquisitor's set face. Shaking it off quickly, he threw on a small smile, "Well enough, in Tevinter."
"Oh, I didn't know..." she gasped, feeling the fool for wading in.
"He made his choice, and..." a crack of pain broke under the Inquisitor's armor, but he spackled over it fast, "and I cannot fault him for it. He is attempting to do what he must, what he thinks is right to make the world better."
Lana winced, thinking of Alistair and his choice. "You may not fault him, but you can still be angry that he made that decision, especially if it was without your input."
"That..." the Inquisitor paused and he sighed, "that is true. I take it by your response you had something similar occur?"
"What, you didn't get the rumors?" she said, shocked.
"I wasn't certain of their validity, many stories of the Hero of Ferelden seemed to be exaggerated."
"I can't imagine the ones of the Inquisitor are any less bombastic in nature," she chuckled, having overheard a few whispered between people she'd stumble behind. Elves in particular held him up as a beacon of hope, their own risen to heights unimaginable. Maker, if he'd died instead of losing his hand during the exalted council who knew what kind of rebellion that would have set off.
The Inquisitor traced a finger across the desk, scooting the vellum out of the way, "The tragic part is, the reality tends to trump the rumors in unbelievability tenfold."
"And yet no one will ever know," Lana said, leaning back with her arms crossed.
"Warden Commander," the Inquisitor sat up, his chin rising, "you need not concern yourself with anyone at Skyhold learning of your secret."
"I thank you for your prudence, but given the circumstances, perhaps you should call me Lana, Inquisitor."
A smile turned up his lips, and a soft flush curled up his icy pale cheeks. Nodding deeper he spoke, "Of course, and in return I ask that you refer to me as Gaerwn instead of my title."
"Gaerwn?" Lana repeated, realizing it was the first time she'd ever heard the Inquisitor's real name. But then, how many knew it was Solona who ended the blight, much less that she went by Lana? Heroes had titles not names.
He chuckled at her no doubt butchering tongue, "It is a very dalish name that tends to get caught up in human tongues, which is why most prefer to only use my title."
Lana rolled her eyes at that, "Most humans I meet can barely handle Solona. Gaerwn probably causes them to break out into a rash before leaping out a window."
"Yes, quite," he chuckled. "And unless you had something else, perhaps we should reconvene with the Commander before he wears a hole in the floor."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Lana mused to herself which earned another laugh from the Inq...Gaerwn. That was going to take some adjusting.
Hobbling to her feet, Lana cracked open the door. She no sooner got it open a few inches before Cullen's panicked head shot in, his eyes wide in fear. A thought flitted through her mind that she was grateful he'd never become a father because the anxiety was liable to kill him stone dead. Blushing from the implications, they hadn't talked about remaining intertwined for so long or what it would mean, Lana leaned back.
"Is it...are you...? Finished?" he gasped, glancing from the Inquisitor to the Warden Commander.
She couldn't stop a laugh at his panic. Placing her hand upon his cheek, Lana pulled him tight to her and whispered, "Yes, and you need not concern yourself. We wiped down most of the blood."
"And made certain the scars are not in easily viewed areas," Gaerwn said back, his wit dryer than Leliana's wine.
"That goes without saying," Lana nodded sagely. The panic didn't completely vanish from Cullen's eyes, but he calmed his twitching fingers and smiled at her.
"Glad to see you're both being considerate to the cleric I loaned this office from," Cullen said. She yearned to reach over and kiss him, but settled for squeezing his hand tight. When her thumb drifted over the back of it, Cullen's breathing returned to normal and a smile lifted up his lip
s.
"Well, I should leave you two to continue with Inquisition business," she said, sliding away.
"Actually, we, um, is there much to...?" Cullen glanced at the Inquisitor and then back to her.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and said, "Tell him the tale of your travels. And do whatever men do when left alone. Farting contests I assume."
"That, uh..." a tempting blush rose upon his cheeks as he glanced over at the Inquisitor who didn't blink from the mention of gas passing. "Lana, why did you come down to find me?"
"Oh, I nearly forgot," she dug into her front pocket and unearthed a letter. "I hoped you could get this in with the rest of your rotation."
Cullen accepted the envelope, "Is this bound for Kirkwall or," he swallowed and his voice imperceptibly grew rustier, "Denerim?"
"Antiva," she said, "and I'll explain why later. Good afternoon, Gaerwn," she said bobbing her head to the Inquisitor.
"And to you as well, Lana," he called out, waving from his spot.
Smiling, she turned to Cullen and gave in to her urges. Pecking softly upon his slack lips, she smiled, "I assume you'll be back in the apartment before nightfall."
"Uh, yes, probably...I think," he stuttered.
"I'll leave a candle lit for you," pulling her fingers away from him, she called to Honor and limped out of the door towards the staircase.
Behind her she heard Cullen gawping, "I can explain."
The Inquisitor laughed his solitary chuckle before speaking, "I certainly hope so, especially the parts with the King of Ferelden."
Chapter Eighteen
Holy Day
Snow drifted from the heavens like shavings of parmesan cheese, languid curls plopping from the sneering maître d's grater as the land kept asking for more. Lana snickered at that thought, she must still be hungry despite a giving meal. For once she didn't sit on the divan, but twisted one of the gilded armchairs around to watch what looked like the stars themselves plummeting from the sky. Against the cloudy black background, each pinprick of snow illuminated itself brighter than usual. Two years since she'd last watched the tumbling flakes build to pristine drifts to devour the dingy world. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the continual reminder this wasn't the fade.
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