#def need the side quest where they go to par vollen to look for prester johanna tho lmao

[nirikeehan]

Happy DADWC! Let's have some Thalia/Cullen, with "Reunion x Defying prophecies" from your Fun Trope Combos list!

Hi Duchess!! Perfect prompt for some post-Battle of Haven early Thalia/Cullen character study, I think.

Also had to add these prompts from @breninarthur and @wolfs-dawn:

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1289

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Now that Lady Thalia Trevelyan had returned from the dead, Cullen did not know how to speak to her. 

It had been easy at first. The scrappy red-haired mage had looked to him for guidance those months in Haven. Uncertain of the moniker bestowed upon her by the masses, she had peppered him with questions — about leadership, philosophy, religion, and listened with earnest fervor to what he had to say about them. She was young, certainly, but Cullen had every confidence she could grow into the role presented to her. Had been flattered, even, to mold her for command. 

Then everything came crashing down, and Cullen, acting as her commander, sent Thalia off to die. 

He replayed the moves of the battle through his head as the stragglers that called themselves the Inquisition trudged through snow and mountain. The days were brutal and the nights were worse, with ice winds howling down into the narrow rocky passes, and Cullen thought he might freeze a thousand times over. Only the rage boiling in his gut keep his blood pumping, as he ran the plays again and again. In chess, there were times when one must sacrifice a piece, even an important one, but the risks so often outweighed the reward. Try as he might, he didn’t see an outcome that saved her from destruction. He would have to live with that for the rest of his days. 

Maker guide her, she went willingly.

The burden of the march had eased. The train moved with lighter steps, their Herald restored to them. They had a destination, a goal to picture in their minds. Still, Cullen found it difficult to approach her. It was he who had found her, on her knees in the snow. When her lips were blue, he cradled her fragile body to his chest, trying to bring some warmth back into her. He flushed with the memory, in turns frightened, relieved, and… something else. 

Tonight, the cook fires burned brighter, it seemed, after the skies had cleared. He saw her, sitting on the cot in the healer’s tent, where her condition was being monitored, nose in a book. Her hair, auburn and incredibly long, she had coiled around her head in one long plait. She seemed stronger, the color starting to come back to her oval face. For days she had been white as the snow around them, offset only by the spiked tattoo ringing one eye. An extra security measure, Cullen had learned, devised by templars at the Ostwick Circle. It made him vaguely uneasy to behold, but he often found other parts of her face more pleasing  — her bright blue eyes, for instance, or her heart-shaped lips. 

She looked up and spied him, and Cullen’s heart thudded. She smiled at him shyly over the rim of the book, and his feet moved toward her of their own accord. 

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said as he approached. 

Thalia glanced around the empty tent and back to him. “Oh, Commander, as you can see, there’s nothing to intrude upon. I’m alone.” 

“Yes, but you seemed so engrossed.” Cullen motioned to the book.

 Thalia cleared her throat and set it aside. “Just something Mother Giselle lent me. I guess she was conscientious enough to salvage several books from the Chantry before the evacuation of Haven. I wish I’d had that level of foresight.” 

Cullen glanced at the title. The Holy Mysteries of Andraste and Her Disciples. “Ah. I read that one in templar training.” 

“You did?” Thalia’s pale gaze was upon him. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold wind. “What did you think of it?” 

Cullen chuckled. “A touch… fanciful, perhaps.” 

“What? You don’t believe the story of Saint Sylvester slaying the dragon on New Year’s Eve?” The corner of Thalia’s mouth quirked upward. It was nice to see her smile again. 

“Some of the tales are apocryphal at best, if I recall,” Cullen said. Then, he blurted, “You look good.” 

Thalia blinked in surprise. 

“Better, I mean,” Cullen cried, backpedaling. “Healthier. When I saw you in the snow, I feared for the worst.”

Thalia ducked her head shyly. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to scare you then; I was just… very tired.” 

“No need to apologize,” Cullen said quickly, leaning on the hilt of his sword to regain some dignity. “I’m just relieved to see you on the road to recovery.” 

“After rising from the grave, you mean,” Thalia quipped. 

Cullen felt sheepish. “I don’t really believe—” 

“No, I know,” Thalia cut in, laughing nervously. “I already gave my report. It’s very unlikely I was truly dead at any point.” She sighed, glancing at the book. “I am not so sure that’s what the masses think. That’s why Mother Giselle lent me the book. She thought stories of other religious figures might… inspire me, I suppose.” 

“And do they?” Cullen asked softly. He could sense the conflict in her, but didn’t want to push her in one direction or another. Being looked to for leadership was an immense, painful thing, whatever the reason. 

Thalia shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re right, they sound like fictional characters, most of them. Do you think there’s truly been a secret Chantry in Par Vollen for centuries that no one has been able to find, run by an knight-errant Chantry mother?” 

“I suppose stranger things have happened,” Cullen conceded, “but no, I found the accounts of Prester Johanna far-fetched, as well.” 

“As far-fetched as being the Herald of Andraste,” Thalia huffed. “Is this how I’m going to be remembered in the history books? Some mythical figure no one can believe in?” 

“I think that may depend on you,” Cullen said carefully. “We have ways of crafting the narrative around you, but your own deeds and decrees, how you treat others… that’s as telling as the rest.” He smiled in spite of himself. “I think so far, most have wanted to follow you because you give them something to believe in. Your compassion and drive inspire them. Tales of defying death, or slaying dragons, that may come later, but… it’s who you are that makes the most impact.” 

Thalia was looking at him curiously as he spoke. Cullen cut himself off with an embarrassed sigh. “Forgive me, sometimes I do think I like to pontificate a touch too—” 

“No, no, it’s all right. I like listening to you.” Thalia chewed her bottom lip and looked down. “Thank you, Commander. That’s good food for thought.” 

“Right.” Why was Cullen’s heart thumping like that? She didn’t seem to think him a fool, though he certainly felt like one. “I’ll leave you to your convalescence.” 

“You could stay, if you like,” Thalia suggested brightly. “I could read to you. Saint Sylvester was just about to team up with two elven apostates to fight the dragon terrorizing Vyrantium.” 

Cullen hesitated. He had maps to pour over, losses to calculate, casualties to report to Knight-Captain Rylen. As of late, however, when it became difficult to concentrate, he dug through the trunk of his that had survived the Haven onslaught. He sat on the floor of his tent and, with trembling hands, contemplated the one vial of glowing cerulean that sang to him under tunics and greaves and letters from home. He’d been so parched lately, and no amount of mountain fresh ice water could quench it. 

“You’re busy,” Thalia decided, before he could answer. “I understand.” 

Cullen swallowed thickly. “Sometime soon, perhaps. Once we’ve reached this castle Solas has promised us.” 

“Of course.” The book was back in her lap, her eyes straying from his. “Have a good night, Commander.” 

“Yes.” He stifled a sigh, turning to leave. He felt more stupid than ever. “You as well, Lady Thalia.”