#;_conversations

The elf offered a small smile, laughter dancing in her eyes, “You are most welcome, Sir Cullen. I apologize for any rude behavior I might have displayed earlier to you. I have been … stressed since joining the Inquisition. I am not used to this many eyes watching each other’s moves.” She inclined her head slightly.

“I hadn’t planned on telling my sister. She and I have never agreed on much to begin with. No sense in starting yet another argument when the Inquisitor needs her expertise as of now.”

The Commander politely nodded at her apologies: “There’s no need for this, Lady Alina.”

But that was interesting. Why two sisters with the same upbringing system disagreed?  He didn’t trust Morrigan as much as the witch despised him. Cullen knew eerie stories about her luring into the wilds Templars who never got out of there. Why should Alina have been different?

Ny’Ari shrugged limply. “Friends who kiss are often no longer friends afterwards. You can go forward, but you can’t go back as with many things in life.” She diverted her eyes to the ground and the tips of her ears followed. “At least from what I’ve observed, Commander.”

“I suppose your right, though I guess there are far worse things from which there’s no way back.”

Cullen took the opportunity to peek at her features closely as her gaze was wandering elsewhere. It was bemusing the way she could look wise and naive at once, like a forgotten creature in an unknown world.

“I do believe I would call Aurora my best friend, perhaps even my sister. She’s wonderful, really. Very kind and nurturing. Honestly, if you left your office for a minute or two, Commander, I think you’d have noticed how I spend quite a bit of time with her.

“To be blunt, Cullen, she’s amazing. After we lost… who we lost, I was a complete wreck but she was still going. True, she’ll probably kill herself with how she’ll heal until her body nearly gives out, but she always sees the good in people. I do suggest you get to know her, if you really want to know how great she is. Also, she’ll tell you as much as I do that you need to slow down before you burn out.”

Aida’s answering smile told only a little of her loss - her closest friends, people she had loved, had been taken from her with no warning, up until now they were the only Templars she’d ever come to trust, and lately she’d caught herself lapsing into daydreams of what could have been if Jaime and Alwyn had never been Templars, if they’d never gone to the conclave, if they’d never-

She shook the thoughts from her mind and instead turned to the commander, “I wish I had the same resolve,” she replied somewhat wanly, “But I’ll be honest - if one more Chantry sister tells me the Maker ‘has a plan for all of us’ I’m going to start hitting them,”

“Make sure to get a hammer strong enough, then. They only look soft and delicate.”

Of course, they would tell her He had plans, over and over, and maybe they would genuinely believe that. Cullen could not even exclude they might be right, eventually, but that wasn’t what Aida needed to be told right now. The Commander knew how she felt, she was very likely to wonder why she was still breathing and her friends were not. How could anyone, in that situation, think of a plan for good?

The Chantry would always try to tell them how to feel, act, think, but knowing the Maker’s work, Cullen thought, that was a whole different story.

He felt he owed his loyalty only to himself and to the people he was trying to protect, he would make amends for his sins only to the Maker Himself. No more mediators. People he loved became his religion, the memories of those he lost, the thought of those still living... They were his cause and his faith.

He hadn’t expected that reaction. It had almost been good-natured. Almost. He tried to not look intimidated and pretended to evaluate the man. “Hmm… dog lord single father? Is that the look you’re going for?”

It was seldom one could see Cullen laughing but the portrayal that Vahari made of him cracked the hearty laugh out of his chest. He had to admit that, albeit a bit overdone, he did not dislike that description. He pulled the glove off of his left hand and rubbed his forehead.