The Lady Inquisitor

They rode on in silence for a little while. Cullen knew the route by heart, though it had been years since he’d been to his hometown. He’d been out of Ferelden for over 10 years before the Inquisition had arrived at Haven, but you wouldn’t have known it with the ease with which he navigated it. He raised his eyes to the sky now and then, giving a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker and Andraste for the opportunity to take some time away from the Inquisition. A few times, he could be heard reciting parts of the Chant while they rode. It was a kind of meditation for him. Evie did not join in, but she rode silently next to him, glancing his way now and then. “I don’t know why we’ve never discussed it... “ Cullen looked over at her, “but do you pray?” Evie looked down at her hands, and rubbed her left, the home of the anchor. “No,” she said thoughtfully. “I did once, just before my Harrowing. But that was it.” She sounded sad. “Oh. Can I ask what you prayed?” She was quiet for a moment longer. “I asked the Maker to take my magic away. I wanted to go home, for there to be some mistake.” She looked back at him. “But there was no mistake.” He rubbed the back of his neck. How many times had he heard that before? Too many times to count. So many mages at Kinloch and Kirkwall had said something like that to him during his years. He’d come so far from those years of thinking they were right to be ashamed of themselves. “For what it’s worth, I am glad the Maker made you as you are.” He cast her a loving smile. “Heh, such as I am, I guess.” She gave a heartless half smile back. “My magic is the reason I was at the Conclave. Why I’ve been branded with this… This.” Evie threw her left hand up in the air and sighed. “I guess it can’t be all bad. It did lead me to you, after all.”

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