Dragon Age: Inquisition | The Dawn Will Come Sung by Mother Giselle, Leliana, and Cullen.

I looked up Cullen’s family name and was intrigued when I learned about the motto of one of the actual Rutherford clans in the real world. It’s strangely befitting considering Cullen’s character and history. Cullen was thrust into a life of hardship and yet it was by his own choice; he is both a victim of the times and a catalyst for change. His life has, at times, spiraled out of control - and yet, despite the insecurities he might still harbor in Inquisition, it’s clear that he has remained profoundly in control of himself. If his writer did indeed consider this Rutherford family slogan when giving him his surname, I think she deserves a hefty round of applause.

     there go his shoulders — down, they drop,      and though his expression speaks for him      (the tiniest of smiles, so small, but it is something)      she is already doing her best to stop her own      grin at the little victory. she would be hard-pressed      to figure out if she would prefer this victory over      one of the tears; as it is, that is something best      kept to herself.

     "is it naiveté, commander?” 

     the question is proposed without much forethought,      and she soldiers on through it with a more gentle      smile, an encouraging note in her tone, even if      there’s a slight bristle of annoyance at being called      naive. even hypothetically. she is fully aware of the      weight that rests upon the Inquisition and its      successes. she knows of the rumors and the      dangers and the whispered doubts. but she is      choosing not to focus upon that. there are greater things      at hand.

     (and one greater thing is, apparently, coaxing the      commander into a stance more relaxed.)

     "a demonstration would do us all well. endless fighting      and planning and plotting will only get as far as our minds      and bodies can stretch,” she says, gaze flicking down to      the table and back up to him as if in a silent way of telling      him, that’s directed at you, ser. “i simply expect those      skilled around me to find morale where they can. if one      laughs at a wraith and the wraith laughs back, it is a small      battle won.” 

     she leans back, dropping her arms, an amused curve to her      lips.

     "we will still destroy it, of course." 

"My sincerest apologies, Lady Arivis - Inquisitor. I meant nothing by it." He swallows the slip with a soft clearing of his throat, words faltering on his tongue in a way that he'd not expected. Flustered, perhaps, was the most appropriate word for it, fumbling through the finer details of fraternizing on nothing but vague intuition. Cullen was, after all, no silver-tongued diplomat - above all things his duty was to command. A pity words could not be ordered and made to march in the same way. 

But perhaps her flicker of a smile said otherwise - and with it, a soft exhale of breath he'd not realized he'd been holding. Unfortunate for Arivis that Cullen took his duties as Commander with a note of utmost devotion. It was just as much a deeply personal sentiment of responsibility as it was a crutch, a means of distraction from idle hands and the personal demons that lingered therein.

The glance was not missed, and the one he returned verged on an earnest, unspoken apology. The Commander cleared his throat gently, placed his nervous hands out of sight behind his back.

"One should hope - for Thedas' sake, at least," he says, something just as wry curving at the edges of his mouth in reply. It felt a strange thing, this easy grin - like an undeserved (but nonetheless entirely welcome, to his own surprise) respite. "Perhaps you may just be on to something, although I'd expect no less from the Herald of Andraste -" and there's a sincere, playful note of humour lingering there, dancing at the corners of hid eyes "- and since you seem determined otherwise - shall we give the table a rest, then?"

"I - that is, if you'd like." Albeit, Cullen was not so sure the Breach could wait.

— The Chant of Light

             ”You don’t need to hover,” she tells him, trailing a finger down the spine of the closest book. It’s just a library, after all, and Cara’s certain that he has better, more important things to be doing in the war room. He’s not a babysitter, after all. “Either say what you want, or I’m sure there’s plenty for you to do back at your station.” 

"Forgive my intrusion," was the immediate reply, measured and airy, hands wringing behind his back somewhat uncertain of the ground upon which they stood. Could he say he expected anything else of this encounter, ? "I - was merely curious, I admit." The Commander hesitated, tongued dry lips before continuing with a cock of head. "About the Breach - and about you, Inquisitor. It's not every day the Veil tears itself open and spits someone out - and alive, no less - like some... divine effigy."

The expression on his face said a whole lot, Emer decided, and if today had been any other day then she certainly would have questioned him about it, or at least used it as a conversation point. She would’ve laughed it off, as well, even if it were to laugh off her own worries and insecurities of the whole thing. Still, it was slightly worrying that there wasn’t much time to save the world and she still had yet to get to grips with it all.

“Ah my advisor’s been turned to an errand boy, my apologies, Cullen I hope the same fate doesn’t befall Leliana or Josephine at any point,” she let out another half-hearted chuckle as she reached forward to take the letter, her face visibly lighting up. From her cousin? She could see the letter already, the questions about her duties, not as Inquisitor but as a daughter of the Trevelyan family. She probably wished to know of the dresses, the dashing noblemen, and the pomp of Orlais in comparison to Ostwick. “There’s nothing to forgive, thank you. You did a fine perhaps there’s a future in delivery for you yet.”

"Just me," he said, a repetition that bore some mild manner of amusement, that crooked grin lighting a genuine spark of amusement at the corners of his tired eyes. "Woe befall the Inquisition should the others become errand runners, I'm afraid - this whole operation would fall apart otherwise." The chuckle was shared, then. It was the smallest of jabs towards his own station, himself still entirely unsure if he possessed the merit of the title upon his shoulders.

"Perhaps when all this is over, and I find myself in need of another title -" there was something playfully thoughtful lingering in the edges, something coy, although it quickly faltered. "- if it ever does." Hard not to find oneself sobered by the crushing weight of the Breach and the egregious realities therein. Still, she thanked him, and he bowed his head in kind. "My pleasure, Lady Trevelyan. One last thing - a word of caution for your cousin - it may be wise to seek more confidential sending routes for correspondence. One can never be too careful with ties to the 'Herald of Andraste.'"

Josephines eyes wandered over to her colleague and friend. She knew what happened to him, what he experienced. The drama in the Fereldan circle, the begin of the Mage/Templar-War in Kirkwall… The corners of her mouth slowly went up to a smile, that was supposed to calm him down. She knew how to treat dangerous people.

"If I may add following to this matter, Cullen, we are different people. I do not know what gruesome things you experienced and I definitely cannot reenact your thinking process, but let me add this: I negotiated with far more dangerous people, but Tevinter bloodmages." Josephine was all serious now and the softness in her face was gone. Crossing her arms, she looked at the blond war advisor and continued talking. "I faced the dangerous Qunari from Par Vollen and the bloodthirsty nobles of Orlais. I encountered the Antivan Crows and the infamous pirates from the Eastern Seas nearly kidnapped my ship."

One step closer, she looked up to him. “Do not underestimate me. I am a diplomat for over 15 years now and those people, bloodmage or not, are precious allies.”

"You need not remind me," was the Commander's only tight-lipped reply, knowing full well they could hardly be more opposite in their experiences and feelings about mages. Where Cullen had come to begrudgingly understand, and perhaps even accept and respect magic as both necessary and unavoidable, there would always be an inherent (if easily masked, and perhaps gradually overcome) flinch towards it. Blood magic, on the other hand, could not be trusted.

The Qun, Orlais, Antivia - they could all be handled through tangible means, could be drawn and quartered by the sword or the spear or the axe. "You know how blood magic works, don't you, Ambassador?" he said after a slight pause, voice disarmingly soft and threateningly curious - she had stepped towards him, defiant, and in turn he would not flinch away, chin jutting stubbornly and hard stare lidded. "I wouldn't dream of underestimating you, my lady - but if not even a mage can deal with a demon and come away unscathed, than I worry for even a seasoned diplomat. Do not underestimate blood magic and its propensity for destruction. We are already fighting one impossible enemy -" Cullen crossed his own arms in an unconscious mirror, licked dry lips with a thin grimace of a smile. "- we don't need more."

The tapping of her fingers upon the surface seized, eyes focused on one spot and then with another muttered curse Renee dropped into the chair, resting her chin on folded arms.  She went still for a brief moment before pouring out a light confession the Commander did not need to hear but, sadly, he was there and she wanted to share musings with someone:

"I had a dream the other night and before you feel like receding in horror: I shall spare you the details, merely pointing out the main idea." Allowing herself a bracing deep sigh she continued: "Surely we may not win this war if we do not gain enough power and the influence of the wicked seems to be the best but it does come at the cost of innocent lives. If I secure their interests, in the end there might be no pure souls left either way as the wicked destroy them in process. So what is the point of it, I ask? I am saving this world for the men who ruined it with their vile actions in the first place… Just to leave it to anyone? Maker, might as well let the Elder One have its way…” Her expression appeared calm but notes of despair in the voice gave away the worry. “Seriously, Ser Cullen, how many people will suffer as we let this foul man continue his venture?”

"A dream," he's repeating before he can quite manage to help himself, something incredulous passing across his face, patience bleeding itself dry with every finger tap. He can't help the slight raise in pitch, the way lips purse skeptically. "Maker above, this is no time for dreams, my Lady -"

Above all else, Cullen understood the nature of sacrifice - how an ugly compromise was sometimes, strategically, a necessary evil that could not be avoided, no matter the circumstances. It was a bitter pill to swallow in his youth, and it tasted no better years later. With Renee's words, the Commander sighed once more, a hand raising to rub temples while he turned away, pensive and dissatisfied. "It's not ideal, that much is certain. Yet the nature of the Inquisition itself is one of a necessary evil - we must strike a balance in our concessions, or risk critical failure in crucial moments. If we strike him down now, whether permanently or temporarily, innocent people will bear the blunt of our decision - but if we leave him, the chain continues, and yet still more innocent people are made thralls. His apostate son is no guarantee, either - do we let a rogue mage take his father's place as Lord, assuming he even wants to - or do we let the Templars put him in chains, as is their right? Yet we need his Keeps' men, and we need his people's supplies."

"The point, Inquisitor, is that there is no easy decision, there is no clear path leading to right or wrong - only what is necessary. We must consider our actions elements of the greater good. I can provide my men, I can provide strategic council to the best of my abilities, but it all comes down to you. This is no time for moral dissonance." Choose wisely; the sentiment went unspoken.

old rivals meet again in INQUISITION

Put "I like the view" in my ask and my character will react to yours saying that after accidentally catching mine naked.