A Candle in the Darkness (A Dragon Age: Inquisition fanfiction)

Because You Put Her There

27 Firstfall, 9:41

The celebratory dinner after they had all returned to Skyhold from Adamant was in full swing. Antonia was happy to see everyone enjoying themselves—the ale and wine were flowing freely, the feast was everything a feast should have been.

But her smile felt forced, and she could only pick at her food. She felt guilty. The cooks had planned all the things they knew she liked the best, and she hated to have them think their efforts had gone to waste. If only she had an appetite.

If there was anyone enjoying the feast less than she was, it was Cullen. At least Antonia had a fake smile on her face; Cullen could barely look up from his food, which he was picking at rather than eating, except when one of his soldiers congratulated him. He looked more exhausted than she had ever seen him. So when a note was passed to her by one of the serving staff, written in the hasty but neat capitals she knew so well, she was a little surprised. "BATTLEMENTS. 10:00."

The time passed—slowly, but it passed, until it was close enough to 10:00 that she could excuse herself and slip away. She was sure Varric and Dorian were watching her as she left and had some idea of where she was going; they'd refrained from asking questions when Cullen had been so distant after they got out of Adamant, and had stuck close to her side all the way home. She was sure without their support that she would have created an embarrassing scene trying to get Cullen to talk to her, which wouldn't have been in anyone's best interests.

It was cool outside, refreshing after the heat in the main hall. Antonia moved across the courtyard. In her imagination, she'd been happy to go there, her heart light, knowing what waited for her. But now—whatever waited for her wasn't going to be good. That much was evident from Cullen's demeanor. Her legs moved slowly as she climbed the familiar steps to 'their' battlements.

"Cullen?"

"Inquisitor."

Antonia winced. She had thought they'd gotten past the name business, at least when they were alone. "What's on your mind?"

Cullen sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "I ... don't know how to say this."

"Maybe you shouldn't."

"You survived. Again. You went through the Fade. When they told me that, I was so relieved—I'd seen the tower fall, and I was sure you were— That I had—" His voice broke, and he had to stop and compose himself. "And then they said they thought you were in the Fade, with the others, and I couldn't believe it."

"Yes," Antonia said coolly, her fear at his distant behavior making her more sarcastic than possibly she should have been. "It was just like a vacation, only the weather wasn't beautiful and I didn't wish you were there. I was glad you were safe. Comparatively, at least."

"I wasn't. Glad, that is. I ... I should have been there, protecting you."

Antonia closed her eyes, trying to hold on to her temper. "This again? Cullen, I don't need you to protect me."

"It's my job!"

"No. Coordinating our forces is your job, and the men worked superbly. They did everything that could have been asked of them and more, and they did it for you. You were exactly where you needed to be—among them."

He didn't respond to that, turning away from her. "My point was, that you survived another unsurvivable situation. How many of those does one person have to go through before it becomes clear that they are—touched by the hand of the Maker?"

Antonia was silent, almost frightened of the white-hot anger that surged through her, fighting to keep hold of it. He knew how she felt about that nonsense.

Cullen kept talking rapidly, more to himself than to her, pacing up and down, with the result that Antonia only caught a few words and phrases: " ... and look at you, you're ... unbelievably ... any man in Thedas ... unworthy ... terrible distraction ... your work is the most important thing ..."

"Stop." Her voice was like an icicle.

He stopped, startled, and turned to look at her, his eyes wide and a little bit wild.

In the same freezing tone, Antonia continued, "Let me get this straight. You've decided that because of what happened at Adamant and in the Fade, you can now no longer believe I'm not somehow divine, and therefore you are not worthy of me?"

"I ... don't want to be a distraction from your work."

She leaned back against the edge of the battlement, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. "Just when you think you've gotten through to someone ... I thought you knew me better than that." Dropping her hands, she looked at him. "Perhaps we haven't been properly enough introduced. Let me rectify that. My name is Antonia Rosamund Trevelyan. I was born and raised on an estate outside Ostwick, in the Free Marches. One day, I went to a Chantry meeting in hopes that I could somehow be of use in ending the war between mages and Templars. Apparently, I opened a door I wasn't supposed to, stopped a thousand-year-old ... something from performing a ritual, and ended up on the ground with a glowing mark on my hand that closes rifts in the sky, which won't go away, possibly ever." She clenched her fist to hide the Anchor, its hateful glow mocking her. "Are you with me so far?"

Cullen was still pacing restlessly, but he didn't interrupt, and she went on.

"I found myself the leader of a major force in the attempt to bring peace to Thedas—a cause I support, and so I was willing to act as the figurehead for that force, even though I knew—I still know--that inside the Inquisitor is the same Antonia that I was the day I came to the Conclave. Do you know who it was who gave me the courage to take my part in the Inquisition, who made sure I knew what was going on, who gave me someone to talk to when everyone else seemed so forbidding? I think you've met him once or twice before." She gave him a sidelong glance. "If there's an Inquisitor at the head of this Inquisition, it's because you put her there."

"I ... it's not that simple."

"Well, yes, it is. But that's not all. Because you see, I know something I don't think anyone else in the leadership has figured out—and that's that without Antonia Rosamund Trevelyan inside her, the Inquisitor might as well be covered in stone and stood in the courtyard. What gives me the courage, and the patience, and the strength to go out there and fight the quillboars, and the phoenixes, and the bears, and the Red Templars, and the wolves, and the bandits, and the stupid sodding giants—is that the people I'm fighting for are just like me."

The party was breaking up down below; Antonia watched some of the revelers stagger across the courtyard to keep celebrating at the tavern.

"Those people down there," she gestured, "can call me the Herald of Andraste, and Inquisitor, because that's who they need me to be. But up here—with you—I need to be Antonia. I need to know that when someone, besides myself, looks at me, they see what I see. I thought that person was you, but maybe I was wrong."

"I'm sorry."

She turned on him. "You should be. Because, in addition to everything else, here we are fighting for the freedom of all of Thedas, and you seem to have forgotten the most basic freedom of all." The anger had faded, leaving her cold and trembling. "I have a right to my life, Cullen. Mine, not just the Inquisitor's. And if you can't see how important you are to that life, then maybe we weren't doing what I thought we were doing all along."

Leaving her words hanging in the air, she all but ran down the steps before she could feel guilty for being so harsh and go back to apologize.