The Dawn Will Come

Anyone who didn’t know Alistair might think him to be stoic. His features were hardened, a face of a man who had done what he had to help protect Ferelden. But in reality, he wasn’t. Formalities aside, he stepped down the steps and toward the Inquisitor and her party. “I would never pass up an opportunity to meet you for more than five minutes. I’m quite intrigued by what you’ve done so far for the good of not only Ferelden but also Thedas. Thank you, but I can’t take the credit. The Hero of Ferelden was the one who guided me, I would have been lost without her.” 

He hesitated a few feet in front of her and finally smiled. 

“I’m sure you and your companions would like to clean up before we speak. I’ll have you shown to your quarters and we can meet in an hour.” 

A wave of his hand and a servant ushered forward, a smile on her face as she greeted the Inquisitor. “I’ll see you soon, Lady Trevelyan.” 

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Was it just her, or did the King sport a very contagious smile? Before she’d even really realized it, she’d allowed the corners of her lips to tug up at the honourable words he’d given her. She bowed her head to him, humbled. In all truth, this was the very first time that she’d been presented in front of a King. Sure, she’d had her good deals of Queens, Lords, Barons and Banns, but this was the very first time she was addressed by a King of such a large nation. During her time in the foreign continent, she’d found herself extremely fond of the Ferelden. They were the most down-to-Earth, hard working people she’d yet to meet.

“I wouldn’t deny such hospitality, your Grace,” she said with a small laugh. Only if he knew her urge to bounce around the walls, to roll around in joy at the thought of receiving a good soaking and clean clothes. All in truth, Éleanor found herself pleasantly surprised in the company of the King, even if it has only been mere minutes in his presence. When she’d prepared herself with Josephine and Leliana to face him, her dearest Nightingale had smiled and assured her of Alistair’s presence being easygoing. She’d initially found herself a little skeptical at that. An easygoing King? In what sort of Maker’s universe would that be possible?

“I’m looking forward to it.” She gave a firm nod at the King, her attention turning towards the servant afterwards. With that confirmation, she gave her followers a quick glance from over her shoulder, and they all moved to follow the servant through the Royal castle.

    A touch relieved that she had not been antagonized by the gentle PRODDING into her mental state, the commander huffed out an exhale heavier than intended–akin to a SIGH after holding his breath for nearly too long. Prompt, he nodded his agreement at her words–his understanding, rather–and when he felt the lingering of her eyes upon his face, he kept his own locked in what was now FEIGNED interest on the recruits. 

    Why it occasionally became DIFFICULT to hold eye contact with her was beyond him. Or perhaps within enough of a reach of his coherence to be alarming and therefore ignored. He was ever so hasty to prevent his thoughts from dwelling too long on the… SUSPICION.

    Distractions were dreadfully easy to come by.

    “I’ve… yes. I suppose I’ve rather WELCOMED any preoccupations. Were any of us to sit around with nothing beyond our THOUGHTS for any extended period of time… well, what I mean is–” A real sigh this time, as he smoothed a hand through his hair and let it rest upon his nape. His brows creasing delicately, Cullen gathered the courage to glance at her again.

    “Should you require anything… or would simply fare BETTER to, ah–Maker’s breath.” He shook his head. “I’d never turn away your company, were you to come looking for mine.”

There came that overwhelming feeling to bite down on her lip, just barely stopping herself from smiling like the goof she sometimes felt herself to be around him. The gesture of him rubbing his neck, followed by slight stuttering in his speech, were all qualities that Éleanor had often noticed about him. Never had she witnessed any sight of them during their time in the war-room, much less whenever he was in someone else’ company before noticing her. Was it her that made him that nervous? Yes, while she did find the quality to be something that always made her smile, there was also the slight dread that her title and position as the Inquisitor made him uneasy.

She didn’t want that sort of distance; she wanted a little bit more than that professional relationship.

For once, she met his eyes perfectly, her pale-greens capturing his honeyed ambers. Her smile was back, genuine and even relaxed. “I appreciate it, Cullen.” She reached out, and before thinking of it too much, she planted her hand upon his forearm. For a moment, she had to stop and think, for it may have been the first time they’d had contact when she’d been conscious. While it was still all blurry from the time amountain had fallen over Haven, she could vaguely remember him carrying her back into the camp upon discovering her in the snow.

And her smile was gone. Maker, she remembered just why she’d been a little shaky around him. There were subjects that they thought they’d buried in the snow with Haven, but it wasn’t going to be that simple.

Denerim.

The Capital of Ferelden, the revered holy city said to be the birthplace of Andraste. It was surely a sight for the eyes, for after having spent months from one ruins to a small village, then to more ruins, snow, and then even more ruins left for restoration, something so intact and old was welcome. To get used to the slightly stuffier air in the city, as opposite to the crisp mountain breeze and the thick woods surrounding their path through their journey, was one thing. Not that it was a challenge, so to say, but it was just very... different. Éleanor wasn’t quite sure which she preferred so far, for if she was completely honest. Their little party had been left as small as possible, specifically to see to the Inquisitor’s requests on drawing as little attention as possible. It was one thing to get nailed as a heretic by the Chantry for having gained a ‘prosperous’ title of Herald of Andraste by the people, but Maker help her if the inhabitants of the holy city were to catch a whiff of her. Éleanor didn’t know what to expect, especially when considered to how much she despised to be called a prophecy. As much as Josephine dissuaded her from speaking her mind out in such frank fashion, the truth was that she’d just been a woman at the wrong place, and at the wrong time.

And with shitloads of luck to boot.

    It had been slight, the endeavor to retain FACE and veil weakness so well practiced that the commander would have nearly MISSED it had his eyes not been lingering upon her. But she had been smiling from the start, and that which only came to WAVER in the very seconds of the shuffling of her feet. A cringe–a FLINCH that warped the humor once aglow in her eyes–and Cullen was alert to an entirely new problem. He barely permitted a BLINK before his attention abruptly shifted.

    Even when she casually attempted to EXCUSE herself.

    He first shook his head, DISMISSING her query of causing a disturbance, and his arms then dropped to his sides. “You’d never–” The way his words trailed off betrayed any sense of that being all he wanted to say, and yet he fell silent. Thoughtful. Mulling over his next approach before risking TRIPPING over his tongue in efforts to express himself.

    “I–how ARE you?” A broad question, and yet spoken with the desire to not make it too obvious that he had noticed her spell of discomfort. “All of this has happened so fast, and I’ve been–I haven’t had much of a chance to really… check on you.”

No such luck. Even if she was looking for a subtle way to back away from the situation that she’d brought herself upon – publicity – she couldn’t help but to give a little smile at Cullen’s words. He was a busy man as it was, and he never tended to lack the ability on coming across frank. Sure, she’d taken great notice on how his demeanor tended to stray a little in her presence. It intrigued her.

She couldn’t deny it by the slightest; she found his qualities adorable, at times.

Well, she supposed it was only inevitable for him to see right through her façade. Could she expect any less from the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces? Or as the rising name went; Lion of Ferelden. It’d be fruitless for her to try and lie her way about it. She didn’t wish to come off as stubborn (which she most certainly was), or even worse, a martyr. 

So, she gave a relenting sigh, the corner of her lips tugged up. “Recovering,” she admitted, her eyes straying over from the recruits back to Cullen’s features. Every once in a while, her gaze would slowly slide down from his gaze and to the scar over his upper-lip, tantalized. She tried her hardest to not to stare, but that proved out to be a task in on itself. 

    Rather unintentionally in SYNC with his companion, one of his own hands lifted from its refuge in the bend of his elbow, fingers curling gently in front of parted lips as he regarded the recruits still struggling to gather their footing again. A shake of his head, not in scorn, but near EXASPERATION at the display, but he was temporarily distracted by the words that rang out beside him. Attention flicked to her face, to the amusement crinkling her eyes, and perhaps it was what persuaded the faintest smile of his own.

    Again, he granted the fumbling newcomers a speculative look in light of Eleanor’s positive remark, his expression nothing short of THOUGHTFUL. Spirit, perhaps. Hardly enough to keep them alive, much less win any BATTLES, but her point was valid. At least such determination could be utilized to produce something MORE.

    Which was precisely where he came in.

    A short exhale through his nose, like a minuscule laugh, “I will do all I can to ensure your confidence in me is not misplaced.” Brows lifted to smooth out a countenance that had been briefly WARPED by the situation. “I–thank you, regardless.”

The smile she donned was truly hard to rid, no matter how much she tried to wipe the look off of her face in aim to create a small illusion of momentary professionalism. Ever since their group had arrived to Skyhold, she’d felt a certain form of... freedom in her breath, so to speak. While it was very true that the claws of expectation and pressure had taken an ever tighter grip around her throat, the recently granted title of Inquisitor unnerving more than she would be ever ready to admit, there was a huge deal of condolence in their new fortified home. They all had much to adjust into.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Commander,” Éleanor reassured, her smile returning momentarily. As she moved to shift her weight from one foot to another, she came to a brief halt, her features twisting into a grimaces. She hadn’t fully recovered yet from having a mountain collapsed upon her, not to even mention of the cursed demonic Magister, that had thrown her around like a rag doll. It was no good if the recruits saw her limping over herself. Her lips pursed together in thought, a small scowl creasing over her features.