Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One loss in his book was too many, and they had lost more than a fair few in their attempt to speak with even one group of templars. As commander, Cullen should have better predicted what this renegade bunch of templars would do when the Inquisition came to talk, particularly since they'd placed Hawke at their helm. Nonetheless, he had hoped even a few templars had regained their wits to see the problem brewing on the horizon. 

Hawke hoped for the same. The annoyance twisting her carefree features into a frown was hard to ignore, a dig at him in each twitch that never made it to her lips. When their talk ended, a groan fell from her lips. “Well, I guess I can’t make fun of you for being paranoid this time,” Hawke said, hands settling on her hips. She sounded less concerned about their many losses than missing out on a chance to prod him. Given how many they'd lost in the past few weeks, he thought some of them were numb. They were lucky, he knew, the number hadn't been more in their last battle. The names flashed across his mind still. Hawke wasn’t like him in that regard—she remembered their people, but she kept one foot in front of the other and didn’t think about the what-ifs.

"I had hopes it wasn't necessary," he said tightly.

She made a noise and moved on. “So, we really can’t just remove the Lord Seeker whatever from the equation?”   

Josephine sighed. Most days, her practiced smile was easy, but like the rest of them, the strain of the past few weeks left her looking tired. When she spoke, however, her tone was still patient and still soft, like she could cover up every imperfection with words and force alone. “Yes, Inquisitor, even if we had a positive reception from these templars, it would only be a short-term solution to one problem.” 

"Andraste’s ass, you think they would want to stop fighting, too!” She directed her words Cullen. “How are the people holding up? I mean, this was a victory, so I hope they are living it up where they can.” 

He kept silent, pinching his nose. She wasn’t wrong, and he wouldn’t prod about something that was merely a difference in mindsets. The ice between them wasn’t thawed enough for a proper debate, and he was saving the inevitable showdown for something more pressing. The list of names on the paper drew his attention, and he forced himself to look elsewhere, the weight of them lingering on his shoulders still. 

“At the very least, our… fight with the templars allowed people to get more battle experience. If we are to face worse, the little bit of experience could help,” he supplied with forced optimism. Some were injured, and some were killed, but he wasn’t wrong. His soldiers were green, some more villagers than fighters. Once Rylen recovered properly, they would begin the arduous task of running down the line of men for those skilled enough to take over for the corporal they lost to the small templar band. 

Leliana cut through his thoughts, and Cullen forced himself to pay attention. His thoughts so enjoyed wandering these days. “We came out of this with more than enough. We have the mark back, and that will make it easier to put plans into motion,” she pointed out. “We do have to figure out what to do with her, though. Our reputation already took a hit letting her go the first time, we can’t have it happen again.” 

“Not turning her over to Val Royeaux will bring as much a problem on our heads as letting her escape,” Josephine countered, her feather quill hovering over parchment. Of all the women in the room, she unnerved him the most at times, her sharp intelligence obscured by her diplomacy. With a look, she could see through anyone and he had no wish to find out what she saw in him specifically. The other women in the room knew him at his worst already, and he didn’t want to add Josephine to the mix, least of all because it meant he failed. Cullen shook the thought off. 

Josephine was still talking. “We have some wiggle room. She is from Ostwick, they will require sending her there first and then to Orlais from there, and we could offer to hold her until such approvals are ready. We do not have many options in this regard, not many have acknowledged us.” 

Even Cullen found it unlikely people would wait. With Orlais in the middle of a war and the Chantry still scrambling to find their footing, they would push something like this to the forefront of their attention. A way to unify and settle things, no matter who or what got swept under the rug. 

“We have no idea who this woman is, we only have her word on it,” Leliana said, frowning. Her hand lifted to her hood, adjusting it over her red hair, the only sign she gave of her own weariness. None of them knew how to handle the situation, and she took the mage’s flight last month the hardest. “My agents haven’t discovered anything on the Ostwick Circle, but the few people we have from Ostwick confirmed there was a mage named Trevelyan there.”

“None have seen her?” Cullen asked. “We have several people from the Ostwick Circle, one of them must recognize her. I’ll find out from them what they know.” 

Leliana inclined her head. “Either way, we could hold her here until we know more. We can ensure everyone is silent, make sure no one knows we have her back again. By the time we know more or other’s learn the truth, we’ll have undoubtedly found a way to fix the breach.” 

Josephine and Leliana turned to him. Both had said their piece for the moment, and the suspiciously silent Hawke would prod them with more questions as necessary. It was his turn to say his piece, though as commander he couldn’t offer much beyond telling the Chantry to shove it as they did in the beginning and hold her until the breach was closed. As a prisoner, likely, given she might run again. 

He didn’t say anything, returning their gazes for a moment.

Of the people in the room, Cullen was the only one who had fought the templars and the only one to see the woman’s near miraculous arrival. Without her, they would have been overrun. Cullen had been in the process of sending Rylen away to ensure someone would live to help the Inquisition move forward when she stumbled into him. It was a close call, far too close. “We should hear what she has to say before we make a decision,” he said slowly, testing out the words. “Madame de Fer tells us the woman entered the room willing, and Sera tells us the woman saved her from a wraith.” 

He paused. When she bumped into him, he had only a second to respond before a wraith was flinging spells at him and he was forced to fight back. In the moments before turning away, he recalled the shade, falling back from lightning crackling on her palm. He remembered killing the wraith, and turning back to where he last saw her, feeling the shift in a telltale shift in the air, the kind where magic tried and failed to appear. More, he remembered the shade rearing back, and the panicked look on her face. The sudden shift as she chose the rift above her head over defending herself.

It didn’t feel like the actions of someone who had murdered an entire conclave. Cullen’s instincts were no longer trustworthy enough to voice this opinion, though. How many times had he thought himself right only to be proven horribly wrong? No, he would have to wait and see. 

Maker’s breath, he had to do the same with Meredith, too. Knowing how that ended didn’t make it easy, but this time… He didn’t know what to do, and for the thousandth time since Cassandra recommended him as their Commander, he still didn’t know if it was the wisest decision. 

“Well, geez, that means I’m the only person who hasn’t met her,” Hawke said after a lull, brows raised in his direction. “Bring her in then.” 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I believe she is still unconscious.” 

“It took five days to get here, how is she still asleep?” Hawke asked, aghast. 

“It sounds like the healers were overzealous, or the mark responded badly to the magic, we didn’t have Solas or Adan there and they were the only ones with experience on her condition,” Leliana added, sighing. “Solas checked with her earlier, she should be awake soon.” 

“Hopefully,” Hawke muttered, frowning. “I can’t make a decision without seeing her.” 

Leliana’s voice was steely. Perhaps the loss of the mark had weighed on her more heavily than he thought —indeed, he had beat himself up for several days after her departure for not thinking to station more watches around Haven. Her scouts were the ones who watched the roads in and out of Haven, and he wondered which poor fool had to deal with her wrath when no answers were forthcoming. “We might not have time to wait for her to wake.” 

“I’m the Inquisitor, I can take my time once in a while,” she protested. It cracked some of the tension in the room, and they all exchanged amused looks. Satisfied with the apparent victory, she regarded Josephine with quirking lips. “Now, tell me, where are we with allies then? You said Lord Whosit might be able to help?” 

Josephine, in a testament to her skill as an ambassador, didn’t roll her eyes or sigh at Hawke’s inability to recall a single nobleman’s name. Cullen shifted, settling himself for a long conversation about stuffy but necessary nobles. Across the table, Leliana grinned, a rare sight, before her face grew stoic once more. 

…

…

The meeting was dragging longer than usual. They had discussed the same topic three times and little had changed between each comment, but Hawke continued to carry on, perhaps hoping she could stall long enough for the woman with the mark to come waltzing into the room. If she did it now, they could figure out a couple things and be done for the night, but if she didn’t, they were once more left waiting, knowing any moment they could be called in for another meeting. 

He didn’t blame her. His head was pounding in the dimly lit room, and the only thing Cullen wanted to do was find a place to rest his head for a few minutes. Or to shove his face into a pile of snow until the ache receded so that he might get some work done. The latter would be more likely, he couldn’t picture escaping long enough to sleep nor did he really want to battle it out with his nightmares tonight.

“Well,” Hawke said, sighing, defeated. “I guess we’re--” 

The door opened without warning, and a figure stood in the doorway looking remarkably disheveled and tired for someone who had been sleeping for several days. Her dark hair was messy, falling around her shoulders, and her fingers were hard at work to tame the waves, trying to plait the strands with shaky fingers. Her round face was scrunched in concentration, pulling at the scar on her forehead. From her uneasy expression, she was not unaware of her audience. 

Cullen regarded her with some concern, lingering on the splotches of still healing bruises on her neck. It was the least of her injuries if none of the healers had fixed it up then. She had the types of eyes which made her look perpetually sad paired with a soft, heavy figure. From a glance, his only thought was... soft. Too soft, even, for what they would ask her to do. The ghastly marks on her russet skin was a reminder of how quickly things in the room had gotten out of hand. If she died, what hope was there for Thedas? 

Cullen wasn’t a fool. They had been sitting on their hands, looking for a way to close the breach more fully, but their only real hope was the woman showing up once more, or Solas having a breakthrough that he would share with them. Neither of which seemed like an option, least of all the one involving Solas, who took a distance with everyone in Haven except for Varric. For his part, Cullen didn’t blame him when half the camp regarded Solas with distrust. 

Still, their chances of closing the breach without her? Zero. What were their chances if someone else was involved with the breach? If it was possible for someone to do it once, Cullen just knew they could do it again, and he didn’t relish the idea of sending the only person capable of stopping it to the chopping block. 

He caught Hawke’s attention with a tilt of his chin, and an unspoken agreement flashed through them. Whatever the other two might think to do, they couldn’t allow the woman to be taken to the Chantry, not until things were settled fully. It was, perhaps, one of the first times he and Hawke had agreed on something. 

“Brilliant, you’re alive,” Hawke said with a laugh. Cullen wasn’t surprised; he thought the only time he had seen her truly serious were three horrid days in Kirkwall: him taking Bethany to the Circle, her mother’s terrible death, and Ander’s horrific choices. The others shifted, impassive but thoughtful. “When they carried you in, I thought you were close to death. Again, if what these guys say is true. Do you like to live with one foot in the grave?”

The woman bit down on her lips. Cullen couldn’t help thinking of her closing the rift and staring at him with a happiness few ever showed the likes of him. The upturn of her lips, and the relief on her face, as if she didn’t mind seeing them all one more time. Hello, she had said, her accent an incomprehensible mess from the wounds on her neck. 

It was a far cry from the discomfort in her bright green eyes now as she swept the room, lingering on the weapon at his hip and the greatsword on Hawke’s back. She bypassed Leliana and Josephine, lingering only on the red head for a moment before zeroing in on the two obvious threats. Not a woman of battle then, he thought, for overlooking Leliana was always a mistake.

She didn’t speak. Hawke continued as if it didn’t matter. “What’s your name?” 

The question broke her silence, and she blinked, looking younger with her confusion. He struggled to recall what little bits he knew about her history, though a glance at Leliana reminded him how little they truly knew. “Is that a trick question? Do you truly not know?” she asked, shaking her head and then halting with a pained grimace, dropping her hands from her hair with the plait half-finished. Head wound, perhaps. 

“I’ve heard what people have told me, but trust me, I’ve been on the other end of rumors and I don’t trust gossip. I want to hear it from you so I’ve got my facts straight.” Silence. Cullen would need to give Hawke more credit, she could be remarkably patient when she wanted, and she used it now, head tilted. She leaned forward, an easy smile on her face as she eyed the woman. “Here, it’s easy, I’m Hawke, and you’re…?” 

“Ophelia.” Hawke raised a brow, pressing for more. The woman stared, searching Hawke’s face for several long seconds. “Ophelia Trevelyan.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she said no more. 

“Well, I’m glad you decided to show your face around here, I was starting to think they were making you up,” Hawke said, jerking a thumb in the direction of the advisors. Her gaze locked with Cullen, wordlessly requesting something. Maker knew what, though, he couldn’t understand what the arch of her brows met without an enemy in front of them. Any other situation, that look could mean skewer whoever walked in next, or let her use his shield as a jumping board, or any other option that he would forever regard skeptically. Exasperation colored her voice. “Surprised you didn’t want to do your part in fixing things from the beginning.” 

“That seems hardly a fair comment, did we not have to bribe Varric into convincing you to hear us out?” he questioned, somewhat amused at the startled expression on her face. Less so when she became pleased, as if he had stepped right into one of her little jokes. 

“I was right then. You and Cassandra are still butt hurt I didn't show up in Kirkwall when you were first recruited."

“If you had been at the Conclave, I daresay the entire mountain would be missing,” he said without hesitation. The woman at the door winced, shrinking back against the door. He reviewed his words a moment, head tilted, but while they were hardly complimentary, they were undoubtedly true. Hawke had a habit of taking two non flammable things and turning them into a fire—he dreaded what she could do with two very flammable things. 

Hawke laughed, delighted. “Look at you being a bucket of optimism, I never thought I’d see the day. Mark it on my calendar, Josie, I want to remember this.” He had always remarked on her laughter being the sort that invited others to join, and it was no different right then. A faint grin was on his lips, and Josephine had an amused smile, and Leliana was watching, silent, only the corner of her rising.

When the woman relaxed a little at this show of humanity, it occurred to Cullen that the whole thing had been part of Hawke’s plan. 

“If we could return to the matter at hand,” Leliana said pointedly, no doubt coming to the same conclusion long before him. 

Hawke waved her hand. “Right, right. Do you know everyone here, Ophelia? I’d introduce you, but we don’t really have the time for it, so just stop one of us if you have important questions. I’d like to be done with this meeting before dinner is done.”

“I believe dinner concluded twenty minutes ago, Inquisitor,” Josephine said quietly.

She grimaced. “Soon as we can then. So, look, I wasn’t here when this mess first happened, give me a second to get the story straight.” She leaned a hip against the table, some of the mirth falling from her face, bringing out the lines of stress on her face. “You fell out of the breach, you close the breach a little. Then you flee in the middle of the night without a word? That’s insane.” 

The woman rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, not looking at any of them. “Was I supposed to stay here and wait for my imminent execution? I did what I could and almost died for it once.” 

“Your trial won’t be until the breach is fully closed,” Hawke said dismissively, decisively. A promise he wasn’t sure they could keep, truthfully. The advisors held their tongues, though he could see the way Leliana and Josephine exchanged quiet looks and knew this wasn’t the end of their talk. 

“The Chantry is fair. If you have nothing to hide, they won’t execute you,” Leliana said, quickest to recover. 

The woman snorted. “Because treating mages fairly is the norm in Thedas. I’m not the most observant person out there, but even I know when the odds are stacked against me.” For all her bravado, Cullen detected the unease in her voice. She shifted on her feet, fingers still rubbing together, as if she could find no better use for them while they discussed her fate. “I don’t want to die.” 

“It's a bit silly to run out on us then given we’re the only people willing to give you a shot,” Hawke said. Hawke, for all her attempts at setting the woman at ease, was jumping in for the kill. “I find it difficult to believe that you survived easily out there. How has the month treated you so far?”

“... It is very different from the circle,” she admitted, fingers stilling and reaching for her wrists, rubbing at wounds that were no longer there. He recalled the state of her robes and her appearance during the fighting, both of which were more messy than one would expect from how long she was in the room. Perhaps it hadn’t been from the fighting at all. In all their talks, he hadn’t questioned how the woman ended up with the templars. “How do I know I’ll be safer here, though?”

Hawke looked his way with a shrug. He jumped in, hand resting on the pommel of his blade to hide from the tremble starting to build. “Your hand is the only thing that can close rifts, we would be remiss to let you die on our watch. Our soldiers keep Haven safe, and you have more allies among them than you think —none of us have forgotten what you did with the rifts.” He shifted, falling into silence, unsure of the purpose of this conversation. Their words were intended to ease her mind, not to convince her. 

“Look, we aren’t sending you out to die. You saved my people in that stronghold, and I’ve read the reports. You’ve been trying to close rifts around the Hinterlands on your own. I don’t see someone guilty doing that unless they were, you know, actually feeling guilty about it. And the people who do something like blow up Conclaves with hundreds of innocent people aren’t going to feel guilty about anything.” Hawke’s voice grew serious. 

Images of Kirkwall rose to the forefront of his mind, and he wondered if she was thinking of another mage who appeared to feel no guilt for the lives taken. Worse thoughts came up, and Uldred’s voice rattled in his ears, loud enough that he spared a brief glance around the tiny room before he shook himself. Kirkwall was not Kinloch. Anders was not Uldred. Neither of them were the Inquisition.

“Why did you help?”

She looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I? I didn’t leave because I wanted the world to end, I just don’t… My family needs me, I can’t die yet. I need to find them, and I… I want to see them once.” Her fingers were curled into fists at her side, no longer content to jitter helplessly in front of her. Wearily, her body shifted, back pressed against the wall, the words taking away whatever strength had kept her standing.

Cullen watched her a moment longer. How long had it been since she ate or rested properly? This conversation wasn’t going to be helpful in getting answers, and he shifted, uncomfortably aware that her weariness was the exact reason they were doing this now.

All the better to catch her in a lie.

“With our resources and connections, Lady Trevelyan, it would be a simple matter to close the rifts. We are also uniquely equipped to help you find the proof of your innocence, as we are also on a quest to find answers,” Josephine said, sensing the imminent conclusion to the conversation. Cullen didn’t know if where it was going was right, but while he didn’t yet have faith in his ability to lead yet, or the Chantry in being impartial, he did believe in the Inquisition. He had faith in the three women in the room. 

His instincts might be wrong about other things, but they weren’t wrong about them. 

Her brows furrowed. “Are you offering to help me?” 

“For a price,” Leliana said simply. 

“Sounds like something a demon would say, and I don’t make deals,” she replied, worried.

Hawke and Leliana exchanged a silent look, debating who would say what. Then Hawke turned back to her, the smile on her face tinged with sadness. “This isn’t a deal, I’m afraid. We need you to close the rifts, and we need to get answers, and you are our best bet at both of them.” 

At once, she slackened, distress and fear chasing each other across her face. For a dreadful second, Cullen tensed, preparing to catch her before she collided with the table. It wasn’t sturdy enough to survive a full hit, nor did he think it would be a pleasant landing for her. His armor offered little help in that department, but better than-- 

She straightened, letting out a shaky breath. “I’m your prisoner then,” she stated slowly, looking ill. 

Josephine hid a wince very well. Cullen recognized the tightness in her voice too much from their few conversations to be fooled. “Unfortunately, yes.”

An awkward pause, all of them unsure where to go next or what to say. Hawke filled it in, barreling through the silence as she always did. “Look on the bright side? We aren’t going to execute you, and we aren’t going to put you in a cell, so you’re more of a guest than anything. A guest who can’t leave and will be heavily watched, but still a guest,” she said with optimism. 

… 

…

In the days following her return to the Inquisition, Cullen had little time to speak with her as their ranks slowly filled up. Some were ill-suited for battle, but he gave them a chance same as anyone else, working out the flaws in their technique and assigning them with another soldier. Rylen agreed with his decision to pair people up, experienced and inexperienced, and they made their rounds through the pairs, lifting where someone’s knowledge proved inadequate or someone’s teachings somewhat flawed. 

It wasn’t a perfect system, but it freed up a decent portion of his day, and he allowed himself a few moments to simply breath as he stood among the men. The sound of clashing swords wasn’t relaxing, but he much preferred it to the awful silence waiting for him later tonight. It made him regret setting up his tent further from the rest. Still, better to sleep a little uncomfortably than have the weight of everyone's attention on him when a nightmare inevitably brought him from his tent in the wee hours of the night.

Like the eyes he could feel on him now, lingering on him as they passed over the soldiers sparring around him. Cullen didn’t need to lift his head to know who it was. Their decision to keep the woman prisoner and ignore the Chantry’s equally inevitable threats had meant they could… somewhat let her wander, shadowed by two of their men: a pale and lanky man named Dara and a stout man with a bushy brown mustache named Tanner. Neither seemed pleased on the position, and argued for who would have far guard, only quelling their argument under Leliana's dark look. Now they followed her silently and he saw peeks of them often. 

Everywhere he turned, he thought he saw a flash of her colorful tunic. 

She watched everything and everyone, not speaking unless someone spoke to her directly, and Cullen wasn’t surprised that she watched him in particular. He was a templar once upon a time, and she was a mage, and it saddened him that he couldn’t escape that life even in the Inquisition. 

They watched him, and he watched them. Trying to change that seemed impossible, but when the men began to murmur, the sparring lulling in the wake of her quiet footsteps in the snow, he saw a chance to change it. Leliana suspected it was boredom that kept her moving, as her agent had reported the woman rarely did anything other than stitch up old clothes, collect elfroot, and attempt to talk the local healer, Adan, into letting her help.

Adan refused, according to Hawke, who had been more amused than annoyed.

“There's a shield in your hand. Block with it,” he called. The order to resume their business was unspoken, but heard nonetheless and the fighting continued. He opened his mouth to say something, but a lieutenant stood beside him and Cullen addressed him briskly. “Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

“How did the Inquisition find people? This valley is in the middle of nowhere,” she commented as his lieutenant saluted and disappeared. Cullen vaguely heard him calling from the other side, but he put the men momentarily out of his mind, content that Rylen and the rest would be able to handle it for a moment. For now, his focus lingered on her and gestured for her to walk with him. 

They had taken to calling her the Prisoner much in the same way some still called her the Herald. Cullen wasn’t sure what to call her when both of them seemed wrong, and even in his own head he couldn’t find a way to reference her without calling her the mage (something not in line with his attempts at distancing himself from his previous life), the woman (something that was true but also awkward in its entirety), or any of the other possibilities (which seemed wrong). 

He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing the silence had stretched a bit longer than he intended. “Some were locals from Haven or pilgrims, but the majority have come from wherever the Inquisition helps. We haven’t ventured too much beyond Ferelden at this point, however. The Chantry isn’t pleased with us.” 

“You’d think they would be. Aren’t Leliana and Cassandra the left and right hand of the Divine?” 

“They were, but it doesn’t change that the Inquisition steps on their toes. We aren’t willing to sit on our hands until they sort things out,” he explained, not mentioning the obvious. Her disappearance on their hands had given the Inquisition a hit they had struggled to break, and it was possibly the appearance of Hawke that had changed their momentum. 

“I suppose I didn’t help with that,” she said, thumb tapping against her ring finger absently, the motion catching his eye. A nervous tick, he assumed, and he didn’t question it more, not when his own were so glaringly obvious. He removed his hand from his neck, just recalling it was there. “I am sorry for the trouble it caused, I wasn’t thinking of anything beyond what I needed when I left.” 

Cullen’s steps faltered, but he tried not to let it show by letting their walk come to a stop.

 An apology wasn’t on the list of possible turns their conversation could take, and he wasn’t much sure how to respond to it. Her gaze stayed on him, biting her lip with a look of uncertainty on her face. How difficult it must have been to approach him and say it, and he couldn’t even think of a response. Instead he couldn’t help noticing how green they were. It wasn’t unlike looking at the breach, though much more pleasant and less demonic. Not a flattering description at all, he realized, sighing as he looked away.

“I don’t, erm… That is, you do not owe me an apology. You’re here now and that says much. Not that you had a choice, but… “ He ran a hand over his face, taking a breath. Maybe the lack of sleep wasn’t helping him. “I read the reports as much as Hawke. Perhaps more so. I’ve seen and heard the good you’ve done in the Hinterlands on your own, I’m inclined to think your force and ours will do something good.” 

She didn’t speak for a second, lips parted in thought, looking at him without quite looking at him. He fought the urge to look over his shoulders and see if she was searching for someone else. “You’re right, I guess… I guess I didn’t think about all the good the Inquisition could do if I would just help them,” she murmured, beginning to frown. “It was selfish to leave.” 

Cullen shrugged. “I will admit, I was quite angry at the time, and I still fear it may have done more harm than good,” he started, and a fissure of guilt welled up in him when she looked away, fingers pausing in their erratic tapping. He hurried to carry on, hoping the end of his words would bring more peace than the beginning. “I don’t know what matters prompted you to leave, or why you thought we would give you no chance to speak for yourself, but as I said before, you are here now. Sometimes the only thing you can do to make up for the past is the next right thing.”

Her tapping resumed, and Cullen was coming to believe that was just her way of moving while thinking. A smile broke across her face, small and sweet, and he blinked, surprised at the way his lips curved up in response. If Hawke’s laugh had the power to make someone laugh with her, then Ophelia’s was the ability to make someone smile.

Her smile continued, a touch of relief in her tone, as if his words had lifted a burden. “Thank you, Commander.” 

“Ah, you’re welcome.” He stopped himself from saying her name, swallowing hard. Everyone called her the prisoner, or the herald, and it made little sense that he found it easier to say her name. Cullen sought a subject change. “Are you prepared for the Hinterlands? You will have Varric and Cassandra accompanying you, alongside the Inquisitor.” 

“I would call it more of an escort, I think, in case I run off again,” she said casually, as if it were a normal conversation. For all their talks of her being a prisoner, they were fairly lax, knowing they could hardly bundle her up in a cell and leave her there. They required her to close the rifts, after all, and it was for this reason that Hawke had put off traveling for so long while they figured out how to handle Ophelia. It had taken hours for them to decide the only solution was to take her along, and withhold her staff until it was necessary for her to hold it. 

Trial and error, eh? Hawke had said with laugh in the war meaning earlier, announcing her decision to leave to the Hinterlands in a couple days. Cullen hoped it was enough, and half-thought they might be better off taking another person along with them, if only to compensate for the wild card that was Ophelia Trevelyan.

“Keeping you with the Inquisition is the goal, yes,” he admitted. “But they would have come along regardless, they’ve put the most work into restoring peace in that region. People will be familiar enough with them, and Hawke’s presence will go a long way in keeping people from bothering you. I am sure you have noticed, she is quite boisterous and she can silence any malcontent from the people who recognize you.”

Ophelia regarded him closely, eyebrows bunching together. The scar on her forehead was bigger than he first recalled, spreading across half of her forehead and far too old to be from her time in the Hinterlands. If he thought about it, he recalled seeing it in the brief moments he saw her in the field when she closed the breach. “Are we expecting trouble?” she asked, pulling at her fingers. 

Cullen raised his brow. “You are familiar with the conflict in the Hinterlands, I assume?”

Her cheeks reddened, and she kicked at the snow with a huff. “With some of it, but I wasn’t staying in the towns. I know things were a mess, but it calmed down, didn’t it?” 

“Hawke did her best. Closing the rifts will help, as will shutting down the mage and templar encampments,” he said, watching her closely. As expected, she didn’t look thrilled at the prospect, the redness fading from her face as quick as it appeared. “No one will let you come to harm during this.” He didn’t let the words sink in, not wanting to see what she would make of it. “Before you go, perhaps you can finish the report on what you recall during the conclave.”

She grimaced. “I think that requires remembering it, Commander. My memory hasn’t come back at all.” 

“The smallest thing you can remember is still a hint on where to go, or show us a pattern in the things missing from your memory. Leliana is best suited to finding the truth, take advantage of it,” Cullen suggested. He wasn’t sure what he believed yet, he hadn’t been the best judge of character in the past, but the sooner they found it out, the easier he would breathe. 

Her response was swallowed up as a scout rushed up to him, skidding in the snow. “Report, ser.” 

When he looked up, Ophelia was already walking away.