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Cullen was hunched over his desk, hair and papers both more ruffled than normal. His desk was covered with maps of the Western Approach, blue prints of Adamant, rosters of his soldiers, and supply inventories.
He was trying to come up with a solid plan of attack. No matter the costs, he had to ensure that Ev—the Inquisitor would be able to reach Clarel and Erimond, and also make sure she would be able to get back out alive. Of course, ensuring the latter was even more difficult than the former. It was a task further complicated by the fact that they couldn’t be certain what they would face. They couldn’t know how many demons would be waiting by the time their forces would arrive.
But he—Thedas needed her to make it through alive, so he would stay awake, revising battle plans until he could come up with something that would give her—them all the best odds of success.
“Silently shaking, seeking safety.”
“Maker’s Breath!” Cullen gasped, knocking his chair over as he jolted up and reached for his sword.
Cole stood still in front of his desk, not moving even as the commander’s sword was half-unsheathed. Instead, he continued staring down towards all of the half-formed siege plans, but probably only seeing all the worries they represented.
“What is it, Cole? As you can see, I’m busy,” Cullen said gruffly once his fright settled. He returned his weapon to its sheath and moved his chair back into place as Cole bounced from foot to foot silently, for a moment.
“Alone and afraid. Crowded and crushed,” the spirit-boy mumbled, echoing whatever mind he was hearing. “She is scared, but thinks she can’t let anyone else see,” he translated, sort of.
“So why are you talking to me, not whoever you’re listening to?” Cullen sighed, sitting back down to get to work. Maker he had a million things to do, none of which included gossiping with Cole.
“She doesn’t know I can hear. It’s hard, like counting birds against the sun, but lots of birds or large birds can block out the light, but if she knows I hear, she’ll hurt more.”
“‘She’ who?” Cullen finally asked, exasperated and annoyed.
“Evelyn.”
The quill in Cullen’s hand went still an inch from the inkwell, dripping bits of black on Josephine’s carefully-penned inventory of equipment borrowed from Orlesian nobles.
Why was Cole telling him and not Dorian or Bull? All of Skyhold knew that she was as thick as thieves with the two of them. Or Josephine, even? He’d caught them giggling and gossiping about something-or-another on more than one occasion on his way to war table meetings.
“Confident and careful, stoic and successful. She has to be a symbol to save them, but you want to save her, too,” Cole explained to Cullen’s unasked question. The former-Templar felt his face warm, hearing Cole say aloud what he had still been largely tip-toeing around even in his own mind. More than that, though, he remembered her clenched jaw and squared shoulders as she turned from him and light headed back into the cold darkness at Haven, marching out of the Chantry to give up her life in order to save everyone else. She didn’t ask anyone for help, and he only caught a slight glimpse of the surprise on her face when Dorian, Varric and Bull all followed her out. Then the doors shut behind her, and Cullen knew that he couldn’t follow.
He didn’t want to leave her feeling alone like that again.
He stood.
“Where is she?”
“Her room.”
Cullen looked down at his desk, glancing at all of the plans and scenarios he’d come up with before abandoning them for a chess board and pieces that resided in one of his drawers. He would work on it more in the morning. There was still some time.
Once in the main keep, he paused at her door for a moment, feeling suddenly awkward and indecisive. Maker, what was she going to think him? Him, coming to her room in the middle of the night? He’d never even seen her quarters before.
Alone and afraid, crowded and crushed.
He knocked.
Shuffling could be heard, and after a moment, a hoarse voice called out.
“Who is it?”
“Cullen,” he replied, suddenly worried he woke her. Light was showing from the crack beneath the door, but perhaps she had fallen asleep at her desk? Maker knew he’d done the same thing more than once, perhaps—
The door opened before he could apologize, but then he realized his guess was wrong. Her eyes were red and her hairline and stray hairs were wet, like she’d just splashed water on her face to try to be more presentable. She’d been crying.
He had to clench the box of chess pieces a little tighter to keep from reaching out to brush one damp lock away from her cheek.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, I just—I couldn’t sleep, and was planning assault options—your room was still light, and, well, you said before that we should. Um. Would you like to play a game of chess?” he managed finally as he gestured to the board in his hand, realizing belatedly that he would have worked out what he was going to say to her before arriving at her door.
The little, surprised smile she wore made his embarrassment worth it, though.
“I’d love to. Please, come in,” she said, holding the door open for him and brushing her hand against his as she took the box of chess pieces from him.
In some quiet corner of Skyhold, Cole smiled. He was glad he was able to help.