My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "No," Zev shook his head in emphasis, "our dear Leliana told me, in no uncertain terms, to not find you. Of course, at the time I had no idea you were alive much less inside the city, while she seemed to be under a different impression."

  "I told her about the letter I was sending you and...how did you find me, then?" Lana began to slide back and forth on her exhausted legs, wishing she could pace to think.

  "Lania, please, give me some credit. I tracked that creature you let slobber in your lap, and when that didn't work, the mabari there."

  Before Cullen could groan or worse, Lana snapped open the veil and nipped a single spark across Zev's lips. He didn't leap back from her barely visible attack, but did try to lick the sting away. "Fair enough. It is my own fault for using the same joke twice."

  Twisting back, Lana rolled her eyes about Zev's antics at Cullen but he wasn't enjoying the elf's obvious attempts at lightening the mood. Something else was keeping his back straight and his eyes hunting around the room. What was...? Lana whipped back to Zevran, who was rubbing his lips with his palm from her sting, "You said Leliana told you to not find me. Why were you talking to her?"

  "Because, upon ending the assassin I was after I thought I'd use my free time to take a little peek through his belongings, see if there was any coin I could donate to the cause. And in the process I discovered who was on his list of targets."

  "Maker's breath," Lana groaned, catching on, "the bloody Crows were going to take out the Divine?"

  "Why did we never call ourselves the Bloody Crows? Is that, as they say, a bit too much on the nose? A murder of bloody crows...nah, it is cumbersome. Yes, it is as you guessed in your delightful Ferelden colloquialism. He was sent to murder the Divine and I thought she might like to be informed of that."

  "We must tell someone," Cullen roared, rising up at the risk laid out before them. Zev waved a hand getting a derisive snort from the Lion, "someone who has worth."

  "Ouch. Lania, I think I prefer the funnier version of before. Well, funnier is a relative term."

  "Not the time, Zev," she growled at him and for a moment regret drifted through his eyes. He knew of the first time Alistair hurt her but not the second. Perhaps it didn't matter.

  "We should contact the Inquisition," Cullen continued, the commander rising from its shallow grave. "They will have the means to provide a defense and protect the Divine, not to mention any other Mothers on the list."

  "Mothers..." Zev snorted, "who do you think hired him?"

  That drew a glare from the lifelong Andrastian, "You know this as fact?"

  Zev shrugged, "Not in particular, but if the vestment fits..."

  "Cullen," Lana whispered, trying to pull him away from his fervor.

  "The new spymaster doesn't have the skills of Leliana, but Charter's proven herself over the years. I think she-"

  "Cullen!"

  "What?" he ground to a halt and had to turn away from the support beam he was strangling to look at Lana.

  "If Leliana told Zevran not to tell me about this, then that means..."

  "She was well aware," he finished for her.

  "By the flames of Andraste," Cullen sagged, dragging his shoulders lower. He dug into his eyes and began to massage away a, no doubt, three year old headache.

  Reaching over, Lana rubbed up and down his arm, trying to bring some life back to him. "Was there anything else, Zev? Anything that in her 'telling you to not find me so you will' way did she add that she'd obliterate you from the face of thedas for informing me of?"

  "Ah..." his eyes darted around the room, taking in the multitude of shadows in his makeshift home.

  "Zevran Arini, we have known each other for over fourteen years. If you do not tell me now I can make your life...very uncomfortable," she leaned close to his face and cupped her fingers into a clenching vice.

  He gulped a few times before nodding, "Very well, I acquiesce, but when my bloated corpse washes up on the shores of the White River you shall have only yourself to blame."

  "I'll take that chance," Lana said folding her hand back into her coat.

  Taking a few more breaths, Zev steadied himself. He hunted through the shifting shadows one more time before diving full in. "Things are moving, more than the usual strife, even beyond what I'd expect given all the upheaval of late."

  "What's moving? What's going on?" Cullen interrupted, needing to find a problem he could hammer into place.

  Zev glared up at him for a moment before honing in on Lana, "If I knew that do you think I'd be playing cat and mouse in a dilapidated manor that will most likely give me some fashionable disease? Lania, there are rumblings of a group, a new order of templars forming somewhere in the south."

  "New templars, that's preposterous," Cullen scoffed. "No one would be willing to train them, barely any are left to form an army."

  "You assume they need and or want training to become templars." Zev sighed, "Upheaval upsets the natural order, leaving those once with unearned power useless. Some men are looking for a cause to give them an excuse to gather in clumps and rattle their sabers high, any will do. And, at this moment, attacking mages who dare to flaunt their magic in the open is a growing cause."

  Templars. No, not templars. Thugs dressed up in templar armor. It was as if someone took all the bad of templars, none of the good, and then amplified it by a thousand disenfranchised voices crying out because they never got their lot in life. They couldn't be stupid enough to attack the college openly. Not now, certainly not knowing how many battle hardened mages lived inside. But picking off a lone mage wandering the streets, it'd be as easy as predicting the sunrise. How many people would run to assist a mage's cry? How many would care to have another snuffed out?

  "How loud are these rumors?" Lana asked, glaring at him from below her brow.

  "Not above a whisper, yet. But..."

  "People aren't dismissing them outright. People are talking about how they might have some good points," she could see it all across every tavern. Scared citizens with too much mead in their blood slamming a fist into the bar and complaining about all they'd lost in the rebellions, in the war against Corypheus, due to nature itself. All of which could be blamed upon one of the old standbys.

  "Lania, I have a few contacts at my disposal. The less than savory type that would turn your bedmate's nose up, but they could..."

  "No."

  "Scusami?"

  "I can't," Lana screwed her eyes up tight trying to drown the pounding in her blood. The rebellions didn't solve anything, anyone with half a brain knew that. All it did was delay each problem isolated across thedas until the next fire grew into an all out war. She could fight it, rise back up and do her damnedest to carve a real change for mages. It began for a moment after the blight. For a short time all of thedas was grateful to a mage for saving them. Do it again, do it ten times over, a hundred, and maybe it'd finally stick.

  Biting her lip, she glanced over at Cullen. His face stricken wan, he narrowed his eyes and sneered. He knew too. Knew what it would take to change the world, how it was a calling not a life. And she already had her own Calling waiting at the end for her. "Keep your contacts to yourself, Zev," Lana said, patting him on the arm. "I...this is not my fight."

  "Lana," she felt Cullen's hands slide along her shoulders, his strong fingers digging into her weak body. "Are you...I wouldn't want to, these are your people."

  "Are they?" she swallowed, shaking her head, "No, it's...there comes a time when you have to know to step back, to let other people handle it. It's my time."

  "As you say, bella donna," Zevran bowed. "I should not have told you, please forgive me."

  "It's all right, Zev. I needed to know, and would have found out eventually. Maybe I can..." Lana shook her head to waft away the ill formed dreams. Smiling, she grabbed his hand, "I am glad you found me, I did write to you."

  "And I look forward to reading it. You always had such delightful letters," his eyes lingered across Cullen before he leaned for
ward to whisper, "I pray these will be just as graphic as prior." Then that Antivan leer drifted up and down the commander's body so obviously even Cullen staggered back from it. Absently, he dug at the back of his neck which only caused Zev to sigh at Lana, "You shall have a bounty placed on your head by all the maidens in Orlais. Be wary."

  Smiling smugly, she patted Zev's arm, "Good thing I know the best assassin in thedas. I figure he'll give me a heads up warning."

  "Naturally," he beamed, "unless one of them hires me, then it might be a conflict of interest. It was a joke," Zev shouted at Cullen's dour turn, "do not pout. Actually, do pout and maybe flex your arms a little."

  "Now there's the Zevran I remember," Lana laughed at the infamous libido. "With that settled, I say we sit for a time and talk about things other than assassins."

  "Or magic," Zev smiled, wrapping his hand around hers.

  "We could get away from this moldy mansion and head back to the plaza," Cullen suggested. He gestured out the door but paused, his eyes darting towards his biceps, which he promptly shuffled behind his back.

  "I shall have you know, I've cleaned out a lovely sitting room deeper inside. This debris is left to keep solicitors from bothering me. Come, Lania. You have much to tell me about how you escaped death itself. Please tell me there was a game of chess involved."

  "Not as such, no," Lana laughed, letting Zev lead her deeper into the house that warmed as they moved around the fallen beams. "And you must tell me of your exploits as well. A lot can happen in two years."

  His charming Antivan smile beamed the full force upon her, "You have no idea. Let's see, there was this dashing brunette..."

  Chapter Twenty

  Future

  "Commander," a head bobbed in his direction. He didn't catch the smile and wandering eyes until Cullen already passed the Sister. Fighting down the urge to whip around and glare, or stand rigid, he roughed up the fur on Honor's head. She dodged away after a moment, in no mood for his attention. Sighing, Cullen glanced fully down at his dog who was still trailing a small puddle of water all the way across the streets of Val Royeaux.

  "Do not blame me for your state, you chose to go diving in the river." In response, Honor barked once and stuck her chest out, proud of her accomplishment. Chuckling, he sighed, "Not every stick needs to be rescued. Some seem rather happy to keep floating on by. You'd do well to remember that." Petting her fur once more and trying to slick off the more pungent river water, Cullen spoke to himself, "As would I."

  "Afternoon, Commander," another person greeted him, this one of the rarer Brothers in the chantry.

  He tipped his chin at the man who didn't look much beyond the age of twenty, no doubt someone sold to the chantry at a young age or as a babe. It was rare for men to rise so far so fast unless they had a lifetime behind them. "Brother," Cullen answered, accepting that he had no way of knowing who that was.

  The man gestured at Honor, "May I?"

  "Of course, she'd love it," he folded his arms and watched the regal facade crack as the young man dropped to the ground to pet the mabari. She, in turn, played with him, leaping about and barking in joy.

  "Thank you," the Brother said as if Cullen just pulled him from the river. Bowing deep at the waist once more he said, "Commander," and then scuttled away.

  Three months in Val Royeaux and everyone in the Grand Cathedral was aware of his presence, that the Commander of the Inquisition graced their halls. Except, he wasn't that anymore. He'd given up his commission, turned in his metaphoric sword and shield - the Inquisitor insisted he keep his actual ones. And yet, that was all anyone knew to refer to him as, his rank. It had been his identity for so much of his life. Duty, orders, following the chain of command and then, Maker help him, leading it himself.

  And now, who was he? Lana'd been asking as of late if he had any pressing hobbies he'd always wanted to pick up but never had the chance. She'd make mention of a boat from time to time, as if that was the only way for a broken down soldier to retire. Threatening sea voyages were all in Cullen's past, if he could have his way. Even skimming across a lake put a dull knife in his gut, as if he was traversing Lake Calenhad again, heading out to the tower. He'd tried to suggest chess, but Lana scoffed at that as one, something that wouldn't take more than an afternoon's worth of time, and two, just more strategic planning. He had to have a life outside of war, but...

  What if he didn't? The last hobby Cullen could remember from before he became a templar involved knotting together the hair of Mia's dolls. Which was probably not what Lana was thinking of. So much of his life was devoted first to joining the templars, then honing his mind and body to be the best, and finally, picking up the pieces of the order. Now the remnants he could save reseted safely inside a box, what was left?

  "What am I going to do with my life?" he whispered at Honor.

  In response, she sat down and brought her teeth to her hindquarters, giving them all a good scratch. "Yes, well, that will at best finish off an hour for the attempt and a day and a half of recovery for me. I think I'll keep looking in the meantime."

  With a hand skimming along the railing, Cullen strode up the staircase to their apartments. How much longer would they be theirs? If Leliana had it her way, until Divine Victoria ascended to the Maker's side. She wasn't subtle about it either, now offering suggestions that they should offer up their own input for decorating. Though Cullen's suggestions to take the bed out back, douse it in holy water and then set it on fire with anointed flames, went ignored. He knew he should bring his concerns up with Lana, the depths of his soul telling him he didn't belong in Val Royeaux, but whenever the idea flitted through his mind he froze. What if she wanted to stay permanently? What would he do?

  "You're lucky your only concerns are rescuing sticks and thieving treats from the far too kind Mothers," Cullen whispered down at Honor. "Do not think I am unaware of your nightly prowling up and down the halls, and how many of the clergy find the poor starved dog unbearably tempting."

  Wagging her stump of a tail at the attention, Honor put on her begging eyes as if to say "Who me? I would never disobey an order." It didn't work well on the man who less than an hour earlier shouted at her to not get in the river, to not swim through the floating sewage, and then, to not shake said filthy river water across him. "Perhaps it is a good thing I've turned in my command. I can't even get a dog to obey my orders. I'm growing softer with each day."

  Cullen cracked open the door to their apartment when he heard a voice welling up through the gap. Sung in a high alto, the words were crisp and clear and the tune bouncy despite the key itself being morose.

  "When the swords lay silent

  The final cry sung

  What shall remain?

  Blood washing clear

  By tears in the rain."

  Edging inside without making too much noise, Cullen silently shut the door. He'd never heard Lana sing this tune before. She tended to hum under her breath and mostly chantry songs everyone knew. On occasion, a rather bawdy tavern song would tumble out, in particular if Leliana had recently been by to visit, as if Lana couldn't break it free from her ear. This one carried an edge in her voice he didn't expect.

  "Lion of the sky

  Hold firm against the end

  Breech comes for us all

  But you are left to stand."

  Cullen paused, his shoulders tightening as he realized two things about this song. One, he had heard it before, usually in Orlesian and two, it was blighted about him. Again. He'd tried to stamp the one out from before, a song that made liberal use of the easily reached sword innuendo, but his attempts only amplified its attention in what Josephine came to call the "Cullen Effect." Anything he railed against became an instant hit across thedas, in particular if it had anything to do with him.

  Somehow this song passed him by. He knew that other people referred to him as a lion, for varying reasons, but he never felt that proud roar of the beast, nor its unshakable dominion over its territory. Not
to mention he wasn't bloody Orlesian. If anything, he should be a mabari. Turning, he caught sight of Honor licking the walls.

  Perhaps not mabari either.

  "Empty, forlorn

  Final roar cries

  Victory for all

  In the lonesome hour

  Who answers the call?"

  As he turned the corner he spotted the singer's silhouette malformed by the oddly shaped glassware piled up on the table. Glass tubes twisted and bulged in angles, each of them dipping to form a funnel, of sorts, that had a slow drip of clear liquid plopping into what he recognized as a potion bottle. Unaware of her audience, Lana had her palm cupped under one of the fatter tubes. Her eyes were screwed tight as fire lapped from her fingers to boil at the liquid inside.

  "Lion of the sky

  Staring down alone

  Through the tears of heaven

  Awaiting an empty throne."

  The final word faded away through her voice, and she drew her fingers from the flask before twisting open a rubber stopper. Liquid poured out of one glass tube to another, steam rising up from her work to cloud the second flask. Humming under her breath the same tune, her beautiful eyes darted up from her work and she smiled at him. "You're back."

  "And you're...making a potion?" Cullen asked, sliding closer. He'd been around enough of the alchemists when they were in the full throes of work to know to never get too close. Fumes were dangerous, as could be any unanticipated explosions. One could always spot a well trained alchemist by the state of their eyebrows.

  "Yes," Lana smiled again, but he caught a hint of a blush rising up her cheeks. She didn't anticipate him catching her working. "It's, well, I don't want to give it away until it's finished. I admit, I was never a master distiller, certainly not of the skill of the tranquil. But this protocol was easy enough to follow," Lana gestured at a sheet of vellum she nailed to the wall for quick reading. Three green fingerprints circled around the edge. "The real challenge was in finding the right glassware. Seems a lot of it was broken during the rebellion, and no one bothers with specialized pieces anymore with the circles gone. Mostly gone."