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It was pure insanity.
Evelyn couldn't stop watching him. He was a damn Templar, wasn't he. He moved like it, fought like it, led like it.
Cullen wasn't like Jakobi, the Templar in Ostwick she'd had feelings for so many years ago. Jakobi was younger, for one, with that awkward kindness that made him a favorite of the mages, as well as the bulk and heft to protect them that deserved it. While they'd been nothing more than friends, Evelyn still thought of the bashful, brave knight with nothing but fondness.
Cullen reminded her of Jakobi. It was probably a touch of the awkwardness (alright, in certain circumstances it was more than just a touch), or the armor. Or Maker, those shoulders...
"You keep starin' at him like that, Bull's going to seduce him on principle," came Krem's calm observation from over her left shoulder. Evelyn was perched on a boulder near the Chargers' tents situated near the horse pens, her ankles crossed, enchanter's coat spilling down either side of her. Her hands were laced together in her lap, and the sudden commentary had the leather of her gloves creaking in protest as she tightened her grip on herself.
"He can try," was Evelyn's quick reply, feeling her round cheeks burn as she glanced at the mercenary. "I have it on good authority that Cullen likes women." Her cheeks burned a little harder upon saying that. "...shit."
Krem chuckled, the handsome young man's eyes warming with friendship as he squeezed her shoulder. "No fear, Evelyn. It's not so obvious to most. In fact, I think it's just me and Varric that know you like him, but it was Varric that pointed out that it's mutual."
"Well, it's good that I'm not broadcasting it without mea- ... hold on, he said what?" Evelyn's hands started to flap at Krem, the soldier laughing at the state of the woman. "No! No, no laughing, I need answers! Krem! Krem, what do you mean, 'mutual'? ...oy! Come back here!"
It surprised Cullen when Evelyn took his side on the Templars, enough so that he sought her out before she went to Therinfal.
The advisers and the mage all slept in the same large room, their beds arranged to fit. They made it work, but for Evelyn? It was just like home. Shared space, shared quarters, it made it easier to adjust to it all, honestly. Sleeping alone in the dungeons was impossible, but with Cullen snoring, Josephine's easy breathing, and Leliana's gentle strumming of her lute in the dark, Evelyn felt rested every morning.
This was where Cullen found her as she made preparations, going through what she'd wear should it be an 'event', as Josephine cautioned. Her mage gear was already packed, easily done after months of this kind of living. It was the actual issue of clothes that proved more complicated.
"Are you sure about this?" he spoke from the doorway, his hands on his pommel as he leaned against the doorframe. "I thought for a moment you would balk with how ... unsure you were, in the war-room."
"Unsure?" Evelyn laughed. "Don't you mean, 'completely terrified'?" She ran a hand through her curls, feeling her laughter hedge into the hysterical, choking on the snicker with a wince. "I ... no. No, Commander. I'm not sure at all. I'm not even convinced this is the right path to take." She looked now at her bare palm, the mark that cut into heel, glimmered when the Veil was thin. It was almost quiet now. She rubbed her other thumb over it, frowning in thought.
"No. I mean, no, I'm not convinced. But I am sure. This is magic that's gone wrong," she whispered. "We mages can heal flesh, knit bone. We can bring rain, rip open the skies with snow or lightning." Already, she was turning to lean against her bed, the mattresses too high for her to sit on the edge without great effort, moving without thinking. "Loose fireballs the size of wagons, if we need to. But this? A hole ripped straight through the sky to the Fade? It pains me to say it, but that takes something else, something I think you were right to remind me of."
There was warmth at her side. It surprised her to find him near, surprised her even more that he cradled her marked palm in his two hands and-
Her eyes shut when he stroked both thumbs along the edge of her mark, the sigh that left her lips bring with it a hard, deep-seated shudder. She didn't want to move, didn't want to scare him away, not with what he was doing to her hand. Her fingers twitched and spread but otherwise she stayed motionless.
"I was in Kirkwall when the circle there fell. Did you know what?" he said quietly, that velvet-and-gravel voice making her shiver anew, spoken so closely. "It's the second I've witnessed. Kirkwall, though, I expected. My transfer there was easy enough, I was welcomed and respected. But the mages ... the mages looked on me in fear, resentment, sometimes outright hatred. I didn't understand at first." His gentle massage of her palm stopped; he took a long, slow breath. "But eventually I did. I saw why they felt that way, I knew it was justified. There is no freedom for those at the mercy of them that are more powerful, with the ability to take it all away. The ability you need now."
Evelyn laughed; there was no humor at the sound, but her eyes opened to watch his fingers on her palm. "It makes sense to me, is all," she said softly. "Wild magic, out of control? What better way to end it than by Silencing it?"
His fingers stilled. Evelyn dared to look up at him.
It was the scar on his mouth her gaze was always drawn to first, she had to force herself to look at his eyes so he wouldn't think ...
....but Varric said it was mutual ...
"I know Ostwick was better than Kirkwall," he said quietly, searching her face. "In fact, I'm praying it was. I can't think ... I would hate to think..."
She knew what he spoke of. Most mages knew, heard things, that sometimes in other circles you didn't have to disobey to be 'punished'.
"No," she said quickly, the truth reassuring to both of them. "No, there was nothing like that at Ostwick," she promised, her hand turning to squeeze his even as her cheeks burned. "I felt safe there. I knew my purpose, and the Templars were our protectors, our friends. That isn't to say I don't understand why those things that happened in other circles ... why they evoked such a violent response. It was wrong of those that took advantage of their power, as wrong as it is of those mages that kill and maim in the name of 'freedom'."
Relief in his eyes was so immediate, so complete, that Evelyn almost reached out to embrace him. She didn't, but she wanted to. It touched her that he felt so much concern, over the possibility of pain that was never hers.
"Good. That's .... yes. That's good." He cleared his throat and let her loose, moving to stand. "Ah, I'll leave you to your preparations."
"Alright. And ... Cullen?" she said quietly, watching him pause at the door. "It ... means a lot to me. That you cared enough to ask."
Blue eyes lit up from within, that scarred mouth pulling up at one corner in a gentle half-smile as he nodded wordlessly.
Her arm was broken.
She knew it the moment she tried to move at the bottom of the mine shaft she'd fallen down. Stabbing pain, the whole limb shifted wrong and the horror of that messed with her far worse than any pain. Binding it was easy enough but slow going, her fingers wouldn't stop shaking as the adrenaline trickled through her nerves. It was slow going, the panic of spirits, the flare in her palm of the Veil pulling thin down in that mine. It should have surprised her but it didn't, any more than the shocking new ability to fray apart those from the Fade.
Panic. All of it was born of panic.
Through the snow she went, ice prickling at her skin in the beginning, but eventually it went numb like the rest of her. She had to watch her feet as she trekked through the snow and past the trees, remind her body it could do this without feeling her toes or her legs or her knees. The wind tugged at her sable curls, pulled at her coat and sometimes, a gale would catch the broad flat at the head of her staff and the unexpected tug would shoot fear through her.
Panic kept her alive, too.
Through the pass. To the pass. Then through it. Yes. Keep going, Evelyn, keep going, you just fought a Grayspawn God and his pet dragon, you will not die in the snows. You will not.
Those thoughts helped, they kept her moving. But soon, the cold began to eat at the edges of it all. Despair was creeping in and she was getting too tired to fight it.
The passing embers of a fire, the warmth a tickle against her fingertips. Not so cold. She was close.
"Maker help me," Evelyn whispered. One more step. Another.
Was that light in the distance?
Another step.
Shouting.
Relief spilled through her, as potent as it was through Cullen's eyes when he learned she'd never suffered as he'd seen mages do in the Kirkwall circle, and her legs folded under her.
Her name shouted and it was like she'd summoned him, his face swimming before her gaze. She touched his cheek to see if he was real; her fingers wouldn't move against his skin. His own hand, cupping her knuckles, burned with heat. He was speaking to her; his lips were moving but she couldn't make out the sounds. No, no she heard them but none of them made sense-
It was darker. Wait, no. It was getting darker...