Chapter Text
Several months had passed since the events at Haven and its subsequent destruction. Once the displaced Inquisition, and the refugees who fled with them, settled themselves in Skyhold, the rejuvenation of their new home, and cause, could begin.
The Inquisition set about making its collective power, influence, and, in some cases, affluence, apparent for all to see. The first few weeks alone were dedicated to strategically placing appropriate agents where they would be most effective; infiltrating points of interest, reviewing leads on potential allies to their cause, or simply keeping an eye on things the newly titled Inquisitor could not be seen to be directly interfering with, for fear of being accused of wielding the Inquisition's power inappropriately (while, in fact, doing exactly that).
The issue with the so-called 'Grand Game' was not of using your power against your enemies, Leliana and Josephine explained, but of being caught and, in so doing, losing face to the other ‘players’. Anyone would reasonably suspect the Inquisition of having a Spymaster and bards at its beck and call, after all, that's just how politics works amongst the Orlesian nobility. But there must be at least some plausible deniability for the Inquisitor, should such an accusation be made.
Infrastructure and supply lines were reviewed, and the contracts to support them agreed upon; favours of all sizes were redeemed where possible, and legions of specialists were recruited to address the ever-expanding list of things brought to the Inquisitor and her advisors' attention; no matter how tirelessly they completed tasks set before them, the work never seemed to end.
Day by day, the conferences in the War Room grew longer, until they effectively barricaded themselves in, drowning under a slew of paperwork and logistical reports.
Chairs were brought in, then food for meals, eventually the only breaks in conversation were when someone politely excused themselves to use the facilities when they could no longer defer going, or long after the sun had set below the surrounding mountains.
By this point either the Inquisitor, a member of her inner circle, or one of her advisors had passed out, leaning back in their chairs and gently snoring; or, in Sera's case, passed out face-first against the table snoring loudly.
The remainder of the group would mutually agree they were too exhausted to continue the work before them and nudge the offending sleeper awake, so they could all properly retire; at least for a time before coming back to do it all again a few hours later.
Once these frenetic negotiations and resulting groundwork had been laid, all their initial plans could be implemented; this finally left them freer to pursue their individual, everyday roles.
Commander Cullen returned to his (thankfully) straightforward responsibilities of overseeing the enrolment and training of new volunteers and recruits. He also continued to offer a Templars' perspective of how to manage their mage allies and remained diligent in managing the day-to-day protections of their new base of operations.
Leliana did as Spymasters do and threw herself into The Game, her avid enthusiasm darkening the sky above her loft at times as conspiracies of ravens came and went at her command. Her fingers were tied to multitudes of threads, each delicately pulling at strands connected to something of interest; like a spider biding her time at the centre of her web, ready to strike using what they had gathered from whispers and shadows.
Ambassador Montilyet, using a tongue that would put silver to shame, filled the gaps between the other advisors' expertise; politicking with persuasion and meaningful words when Cullen and Cassandra would refuse; and defusing tensions with coin or favours when Leliana would suggest a knife to the throat. Josephine and her team of agents made sure everything came together tidily by handling requisitions, trade and commerce, and in so doing, ensured the day-to-day functions of Skyhold run smoothly without complaint (or if there was a complaint, a complimentary gift basket may be sent to placate the offended person).
With everything at home taken care of, that left the Inquisitor to do what she did best: adventuring, halting some nefarious plot or another, or more generally, stopping things that tried to kill her, her friends, or the world with generous applications of magic and fists. She wasn't entirely sure that was what was expected of her, but that’s usually what the majority of her excursions devolved into.
The Hinterlands, for example, proved this point.
After several expeditions there, all her group had to show for it was an unusually antagonistic relationship with the flora and fauna of Ferelden. They were likely single-handedly responsible for the drop in the local bear population, though Cassandra specifically drew the brunt of that accusation.
They found their way back to Skyhold after a similar expedition to the Hissing Wastes (different location, comparable results). The Inquisitor dismissed her travelling companions and they returned to their usual haunts, keen to attend to their personal concerns; Aella found herself back in the War Room, debriefing her advisors on what had transpired during the excursion.
The meeting was brief and concise, which was an unusual if not unwelcome, relief. Most of the material brought to her attention were the results of several agreed operations set before she had left.
“As you may, or may not, be aware,” Leliana said. “The Bull’s Chargers have returned not long before you, Inquisitor; with a comprehensive report of what occurred at Therinfall Redoubt.”
“Truly? I would be most interested in reading this report,” Aella responded. “This information could shed some valuable context on what happened to the Templars there, and possibly explain their behaviour in Val Royeaux.”
“Indeed. That display appeared to be completely out of character, even for those who may have gone so far as to break from the Chantry...”
“Though to follow through on such a threat could have weakened them all,” Cullen interjected. “What they stood to gain from their actions is nothing if not a mystery.”
“Inquisitor,” Josephine offered. “Our scribes are duplicating the report as we speak; perhaps it would be better to reconvene to discuss this at length tomorrow after everyone has taken the opportunity to read the material?”
“A grand notion Josephine,” Aella nodded in agreement. “We can draw no further conclusion until we have thoroughly examined the evidence before us. With that settled, I would like to retire for the evening with a bath and a meal; I am starving and I stink of horse. Well, horse may not be the right description, but it’s easier than explaining what a dracolisk actually smells like after a week's hard ride,” Aella said, a wry smile on her face.
As she turned to leave, papers in hand, she abruptly turned back and pivoted on her heel to speak with one particular counsellor.
“Ah, Commander Cullen; if I might borrow just a moment of your time?”
“Uh...yes, of course,” Cullen stammered, nodding in confusion to the request.
Aella thought she saw Leliana flash, and quickly suppress, a knowing smile; both she and Josephine quickly made excuses as other things called for their attention. As they left, closing the door behind them, the Inquisitor stood a moment longer, listening to their footsteps (and what could have been muted laughing) retreating down the hallway. Once she felt they were far enough away to feel it was just the two of them here in the War Room, she moved to stand hesitantly in front of the Commander.
They both stood there, awkwardly and unspeaking, the only noise to be heard was the quiet shuffle of paper under her arm and the almost gentle clanking of his metal pauldrons as Cullen lifted his arm to nervously rub the back of his neck. Aella set aside the papers on the table and started to earnestly wring her hands together, as she struggled to put words from her mind into her mouth.
“Inquisitor Trevelyan-”
“Cullen, I-”
They both blurted out at the same time and stopped short, embarrassed, once they realised they were talking over one another. Aella chuckled lightly at the absurdity and Cullen smiled slightly, as he felt the tension ease slightly.
“Cullen, please, there’s no need to be so formal. I’ve told you before, my name is Aella and you are free to call me that instead of exclusively using my title.”
“Very well, in that case, Inquisitor Aella…”
Aella gave an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes as his mouth curled with a grin that she couldn’t help but reciprocate. Aella couldn't deny that she enjoyed his company, and whilst his dry wit and subtle humour didn't always hit the mark, she could hardly criticise.
Varric had called in a favour with Harritt, and, to this day, she still had that hand-crafted trophy on her desk for posterity; a tiny cup with the title “worst mastery of puns ever” inscribed on the base.
Though he may have made it as a joke, or even to shame her, she loved that little award.
“But back to the matter at hand Commander,” Aella intoned jokingly “All titles aside, I did wish to speak to you regarding a personal matter.”
“Oh, I uh… yes, of course,” Cullen stammered again, taken aback by her sudden candour. “Whatever did you need to discuss?”
With great effort, she forced herself to look him straight in the eye, but, like a coward, she couldn't hold it for long. How could she? When those amber eyes, so full of concern and uncertainty, caused her to look away all too soon. She exhaled slowly, taking a short pause before the words came tumbling out, and once she started she found she couldn’t stop.
“I’m not sure you recall, you may, but you were very busy at the time...” she said, wringing her hands so hard the skin blanched under the pressure. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t remember at all, or just put it out of your mind and forgot, I mean, I know I would have...”
The torrent of words poured out, almost babbling and nonsensical, but it just needed to be out.
“It must have been, what, a week... maybe two after Haven? You were doing your usual, charming routine of ordering people about and telling them where and when to go and what needed doing. We discussed the changes we'd implemented and how I was made Inquisitor.”
Ah. That conversation, Cullen thought.
Of course, he remembered, though mostly at the surprise she had approached him at all.
In the wake of Haven's destruction, she had seemingly and purposefully distanced herself from everyone, even those she was closest with before. He understood why, or he tried to; with his own traumatic experiences with losing places he had once called home... he at least had some point of reference to empathise with her withdrawal.
So, for her to suddenly appear, free of any obligations outside of meetings or the pretext of the War Council was something of a shock.
They had spoken briefly about this and that, from changes implemented, guard rotations and how morale had been affected after she “embraced” the title of Inquisitor.
Cullen could tell that although she had accepted the role placed upon her, unlike when he took up his mantle, it felt cumbersome to her; willing certainly was not the right word to use as she took up the ceremonial sword, but she would do what was expected of her.
Considering a grand portion of Thedas now looked to her influence, it was no small order to avoid disappointing people.
Especially when most people they attempted to help were more than happy to condemn them first and foremost (may Chancellor Roderick rest in peace).
They moved on to other topics and spoke of the losses at Haven and how it could have been much worse. He remembered as she spoke words of gratitude that he had survived the ordeal, most keenly the look of mild panic she tried to mask as she quickly changed her words to “so many of you”. Her apparent sense of anxiety was further compounded with confusion when he responded in kind.
“I do recall that exchange, yes,” Cullen said quietly, coming back to himself. “May I ask what this regards?”
“I must ask, do you remember what you said that day? That you swore that you would not allow the events at Haven to happen again.”
As she had turned away after they had discussed all that needed saying, he had turned the thought over in his head.
That she had stayed in Haven, his words of encouragement aside, knowing she felt it was an execution. She had stayed, despite all that.
And that he could not allow; not then, nor ever again.
“Again, yes, I do remember.” He stated it as simply as he could, lest something betray what he truly felt about that day. “What are you..?”
“I wanted to thank you,” Aella blurted, cutting Cullen off before he could ask more questions. “I wanted to thank you,” she repeated “as after what happened at Haven, I realised I pushed other people away, many of whom I considered friends. I was… ashamed of myself, who I was and what I had done. That I hadn’t done more to save as many as I could…”
“Inquisitor,” Cullen interjected.
“Don’t,” she snapped suddenly, though her expression quickly softened from frustration to almost melancholy. “Don’t,” she said again, almost pleading this time. “Don't... call me that, my name is Aella.”
As he quieted, she could feel her resolve starting to waver. Perhaps this was all a mistake, she should have left this well enough alone, but at this point, in for a copper in for a crown.
“For some time after all, well, that. When we spoke about it, you made me feel like... I had done better. After that utter failure, you sounded like you actually cared, that I might have…not come back.”
“Of course I care,” Cullen said, incredulous at her words. “We all do. You’re the Inquisitor; everyone here has nothing but your welfare in mind.”
She visibly flinched when he used her title, her face puckering with distaste as she heard his words. The wrenching guilt Cullen suddenly felt at her response, made him regret saying it almost immediately.
“I see,” Aella muttered softly, almost to herself. “Then you must forgive me for being so selfish and blind, that I could not see it.”
He foundered for something to say, to explain that: yes, it was true; he cared for her as everyone else truly cared for her, but that the feelings he felt were not so simple, or straightforward.
How could he explain to someone that meant something to almost the rest of the world, what she could mean to him?
He couldn't and the opportunity to try passed by in silence.