My Warden (COMPLETED)

Siren's Echo

9:44 Jader

Cullen clung tight to Honor's collar both of their eyes widening from the sights and sounds of the port in Jader. Honor's was more so due to the pile of fish carcasses barely inland off the dock, which he'd rather she not roll in. The mabari kept trying to use her beg and whine maneuver to convince him it was a wise idea she envelope her fur in rotting fish scent, but it wasn't taking against his iron will. It had been a trying week traveling up the western side of the frostbacks with the king of Ferelden. He was more talkative than Cullen thought possible, at times striking up a conversation with the mabari because the other human had no intentions of joining in.

Gulls screamed out of reach of the dockworkers aiming to smack them away with poles. When not whacking into the flying vermin, scattering white feathers across the choppy waves, the poles would knock into the bow of a ship to help guide it onto the docks. Nearly ten years in Kirkwall and being near the sea made Cullen's skin itch. Some people took to the water well, barely noticing the stomach churning swells and dips of the waves. He was not so lucky.

Whatever the king's plan was here, he hadn't felt the need to elucidate it beyond the occasional grunt. Leliana's warning bubbled through Cullen's mind each time the man would stop, point in a random direction, and insist they were on the right track. At least north was easy enough to find as they chased the last blush of summer, fall already twisting up the trees in Skyhold and...

He didn't think it would be easy to leave his old life, but it surprised him how not difficult it was. Cullen never considered himself invulnerable and kept his lieutenants tight enough in the loop they picked up the slack immediately. Only a few shot a questioning glance at their commander's sudden need to trek across the continent, but none voiced it. They trusted him. It was the Inquisitor he was uncertain about.

After knocking softly on the Inquisitor's door, Cullen questioned the madness of this plan. He knew nothing of king Alistair beyond a few whispers, rumors elucidated courtesy of Josephine, and a wrath he never thought Lana capable of. For all the man knew, the king was pulling an elaborate prank just because he could. Cullen was about to give up on the entire idea when the Inquisitor invited him inside to his study.

He looked better, thank the Maker. No one wanted to voice their greatest fear of what to do if the Herald fell, if they couldn't solve the anchor's attack and find a way to slow it. He and the Inquisitor never were close by any stretch, but Cullen respected him. For coming from an insular dalish clan, he navigated the shark infested waters better than any noble born could and that deserved accolades all on their own. And now, on the brink of almost losing everything, a grey pallor roamed the Inquisitor's face. It settled in after the qunari invasion began and hadn't lifted yet.

"Ah, Commander," he shifted in his seat at the desk, his fingers splayed out against parchment while his elbow rested upon the pile. "I heard the Divine followed our caravan and will be assisting with any matters in the transfer of power."

"That, uh, that isn't what I've come about." Cullen swallowed through his scratchy throat, struggling to piece together what he needed without revealing why. Despite not seeing eye to eye on some policies throughout their long campaign this was the only matter where they nearly came to a shouting match.

The Inquisitor placed down his quill and sat back in the chair. He'd taken to growing his hair out in the interim years, the strands falling like black curtains to shroud his face. Those cold grey eyes rarely lifted in mirth now and while Cullen knew there could be a dozen good reasons, he suspected that the real one was traveling back to Tevinter permanently. "What is it?" the elf asked. He moved to fold his arms together, but paused as the stump jostled against his forearm.