Breaking the Divide (remastered) - Cullen Rutherford

Chapter 20: Familiar Faces

Cullen couldn't stop walking past the armory. The glass panes were the perfect height for him to use the windows as a makeshift mirror as he admired the cut of his new clothes. He hadn't realized how much the armor had been wearing him down each day. Now, he strode about the courtyard, wrist resting idly on the pummel of his blade. Rylen would've mocked him if he'd been there—a silver lining to the man's absence. Cassandra, too.

Stop preening like a peacock in heat, she'd say.

He didn't care. He loved it. He'd never had such fine clothes. The fit and feel were both the definition of perfection. The clothes moved with him, stretched with him, becoming his second skin. Even the armor—which he'd only worn within his tower, feeling as though the armor bordered on the sacred—seemed to have been pulled directly from the Fade.

And it was all his.

"You're looking very nice," Josephine said as she descended into the courtyard. She lacked her usual board but made up for it with twice her usual smile. "I didn't think you'd ever give up that burnt mantle of yours."

Cullen grinned. He'd already made plans to convert the pieces he'd salvaged into a blanket for Branson's child. According to The Iron Bull, busying his hands with something creative would help distract his mind during the darker moments.

"It's rather smart, don't you think?" he asked, not quite twirling.

"It is. The Inquisitor was quite adamant that no expense be spared."

"Do you know when she'll return?"

It felt like a month had passed since he'd seen Kaitlyn in person. He'd yet to write to her. A mistake that twisted in his gut, sounding oddly of his sister's voice with its whispered It's rude not to thank someone for a gift, Stanny.

"She was meant to return last night," Josephine said. "Though, according to Cassandra, traveling with such a large group has slowed them down considerably."

"But they reached their checkpoints without trouble?"

She nodded.

"Thank the Maker for that." He turned to the portcullis as though his desire would magically summon the party to Skyhold. Glancing back to Josephine, he asked, "Was it truly Warden-Commander Surana in the Crestwood cave?"

"And Ser Theirin."

Cullen let out a low sigh. He hadn't seen Asalla since Kinloch Hold when he'd begged her for the Annulment. Maker's Breath, yet another thing Kaitlyn was going to learn about him. Even if she'd agreed to a fresh start, would she still feel that way if she discovered that he'd once begged to Annul Kinloch Hold even when he'd known there were children inside?

His earlier joy at his fine clothes evaporated. He'd known those children. He'd known their names. He'd watched Miya teach them. He'd fetched bandages when one girl scraped her knee. He'd guided a set of siblings through prayer, encouraging them to have faith.

"Commander?"

"What?" He blinked.

"Are you all right?" Josephine came over to him. "You look pale. Perhaps you should go see one of the healers."

"Yes," he murmured. "Perhaps I should."

Cullen trudged off, hearing Josephine speak without comprehending the words. He let his legs carry him forward, going to the clinic where he sat obediently under the healer's potions and leeches. All the while, he kept one eye on the gate. What would he tell her? He wanted her to know everything—his family, Kinloch, Kirkwall, what he'd wanted to be as a child, what he wanted to be now, his nightmares, his hopes, the things he didn't dare wish for even in his most private thoughts. And he wanted to know her—where her scars came from, her fears, her favorite book, if she liked to dance, what she'd be if she could pick anything in the world. How did a conversation like that even begin?