The Herald looked completely normal.

Cullen wasn't sure what exactly he had been expecting. This woman was the sole survivor of the Conclave. She had been chained, thrown in a dungeon, and accused of murdering The Most Holy. Yet she still graciously agreed to aid their cause. She had singlehandedly closed four rifts within minutes of waking up in said dungeon, she had slain a massive demon, and by all accounts, she was a powerful mage. Scars maybe? Yes, he decided, she should be covered in scars. And she should have an eye patch.

Yet here she was, walking into the war room at Cassandra's side, by all appearances a woman like any other. She did have one scar, a single white sliver that parted her left eyebrow. She wore her brown hair in a neat bun and dressed plainly. He noted that she held her hands behind her back, and her left hand, the one with the glowing green mark, was balled in a tight fist.

The Herald had already met Leliana, but Cassandra introduced Cullen and Josephine to her.

"Those are some impressive titles," she said with a degree of levity Cullen found inappropriate. "I am Lady Shane Trevelyan, Second Exorcist of Ostwick Circle."

The room grew still and quiet. An exorcist? In Cullen's experience, exorcism was a specialization that mages rarely undertook. Reaching into the Fade to pull possessed individuals from the clutches of demons was a risky endeavor that put the exorcist in significant danger of getting possessed herself.

If his companions' wide eyes were any indication, this was the first any of them had heard of her occupation as well.

"Actually, I suppose I'm First Exorcist now. Since the Conclave…" the rest of the Herald's words faded before being spoken, and she cast her gaze toward the table between them.

"Well, you are the Herald of Andraste now," said Josephine, getting back to business. "That is what the people of Haven have taken to calling you."

The Herald's eyes snapped back up.

"I was your prisoner," she said, her brow furrowed. "I fought some demons, I was unconscious for three days, and now I wake to find that I speak for Andraste herself?"

Josephine donned a devilish grin.

"Public opinion can be a fickle ally," Josephine said. "I suggest you push the advantage."

"To do what exactly?" The Herald's voice was hollow, and she narrowed her eyes. "I thought my job was to go out and close rifts, seeing as I'm the only person alive who can." Cullen could almost feel the suspicion radiating from her.

"Of course you will close rifts," said Leliana, "but while you're out there, you will be in a unique position to recruit agents to our cause. There is a Chantry Mother and a horsemaster in the Hinterlands we would like you to seek out."

"Oh yes, I can see now how terribly convenient that will be. I am sure that plugging holes with demons pouring out of them won't be nearly enough to keep me busy. Is there anything else you would like me to do while I'm out? Shall I restock your supply of mysterious cowls, puffy sleeves, and…" she gave Cullen an appraising glance, "hair wax?"

"We could also use some quarries," Cullen said. He felt an unexpected pride at having elicited glares from every woman in the room.

"Am I supposed to bloody walk to the Hinterlands?"

Cullen was on his way from the chantry to the practice fields when he found the Herald accosting Quartermaster Threnn. The quartermaster looked like she was internally debating the theological implications of punching a holy emissary in the jaw. Cullen quickened his pace.

"That," Cullen interjected, "is why you must convince the horsemaster to join us, Herald."

Threnn grumbled something vulgar and stomped away. The Herald withdrew her wrath from the quartermaster and turned to focus it on Cullen instead. Her nostrils flared, and Cullen could see the muscles in her jaw working.

"Harold," she said, her voice low and dangerous, "is a man's name."

Cullen felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Ah. Yes," he said, letting the smile bloom on his face and reaching past her to pick up a list of requisitions from Threnn's table, "and Herald is a title of honor befitting your place in the Inquisition." He perused the requisition list. What do we need so many deep mushrooms for?

She scoffed.

"My place. My place is closing rifts and throttling the things that fall out." She lowered her voice. "I can do those things."

Something in Cullen relaxed with the warmth of understanding. He put the list back down on the table, stepping closer to her as he did so.

"But you don't think you can accomplish all we're asking of you?" he questioned gently.

"Do you?" She fixed him with her piercing violet eyes. How had he not noticed them earlier? "You have only just met me. You have no idea what my talents are, and…" She lowered her voice and took a step closer to him, constricting what little distance was left before biting off her next words. "And I can tell you that communing with holy entities is not one of them."

Their conversation was hushed, but Cullen still found himself glancing about to see if anyone had overheard her admission.

"Come with me," he said. He lightly touched the small of her back then dropped his hand immediately. She seemed not to notice.

He led her out through the gates and down past the practice field. It was late in the day, and there weren't many people in the area. They walked in silence for a time. It was not uncomfortable, but he had a purpose beyond a companionable stroll.

"Do you not believe you're Andraste's chosen?" he asked her.

She sighed. "I believe the Maker preserved me for a reason," she said, looking down into the glowing green mark on her left palm, "but…"

"But?"

"I'm not convinced that makes me some sort of holy figure." He words came out curtly and quickly. "Josephine says the Chantry finds my new moniker blasphemous, and I'm inclined to agree."

They walked on over a rise in the land, their boots crunching on the thin layer of snow.

"Does the support of the Chantry mean a great deal to you?" he asked quietly.

She shrugged.

"The support of the Maker means a great deal to me. I know the Chantry is a construct of men, but I admit I'm having a hard time compartmentalizing. The Circle taught me the instructive benefits of skepticism, but my family was devout. On the chance that the Maker does hold the Chantry dear, I would rest easier if the clerics of Thedas weren't cursing me as a heretic."

They had turned onto a path that saw little use. Navigating the deeper snow and hidden ice served as a welcome excuse for a moment of reflection. She had spoken his own fears aloud, and his mind needed a minute to process the experience.

"I'm not sure if you know this, but I was a templar," he offered.

The Herald's eyes went wide, and Cullen grew suddenly aware of how isolated and alone they were.

"But you have nothing to fear from me," he added hastily.

A short, muted laugh swirled in the cold air in front of her mouth. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You just seemed…taken aback."

"I was. I did not know you were a templar. But it's a pleasant surprise."

Pleasant? "How so?"

"That the man leading the army that will end the war between mages and templars was a templar himself lends the whole thing some credibility."

"Yes," he coughed, "right."

"My brothers were templars," she said.

Cullen's stomach clenched in wary preparation. "Were?"

"The Conclave," she stated simply. Cullen didn't need further explanation, but he sought it anyway.

"You went with them?"

"No, I was there with close friends, a group of mages and templars from Ostwick Circle. But I saw my brothers there. I knew they would want to be involved in negotiating peace, and that is one of the reasons I attended. I was hoping to reconnect with them."

The Herald held her hands behind her back. The knuckles of her left hand were white, and Cullen could imagine her fingernails digging into the palm bearing the indelible mark. Before this conversation, he had not applied the empathy to appreciate how deeply the Conclave must have altered every aspect of the Herald's life, not just the skin of one hand.

"You lost touch with your family?" This was a circumstance Cullen could certainly empathize with, having not seen any of his relatives for nearly fifteen years and only maintaining the barest correspondence.

"I didn't want to make things harder on them. After the Circles fell, I became an apostate."

"And they were devout templars," Cullen concluded through gritted teeth. It was starting to feel like he uncovered more of the Order's failings every day.

"Don't misunderstand," she said. "They would never have done anything to hurt me. I'm sure of it. But harboring one of the fugitives they were expected to hunt? I didn't want to place that burden on them. So I just stayed away and continued to do what I do best. Follow rumors, seek demons, perform exorcisms. I'm hoping the Inquisition will come to realize these are my strengths and relegate charming horsemasters to someone else."

"Of all the tasks we have put to you, hunting demons bothers you the least?"

"Of course. It's what I was trained for."

"Well, even though you weren't trained to charm horse masters you may still have the talent for it."

She raised her eyebrows at him, and he pretended not to notice.

It was starting to get dark. The sunset had been imperceptible through the grey haze and green whorls in the sky.

"We should turn back to the gates, Herald."

She looked sideways at him.

"Can you call me something else? People used to just call me Exorcist. Or Shane."

"I don't think that would be appropriate. Your title could be important for the Inquisition. I should be encouraging its use."

"Of course."

On the short walk back, Cullen kept feeling like he should say something. But the Herald remained silent and continued forward, so he did the same.

At the gates, he gave her a quick nod.

"Good night, Herald."

"Good night, Commander."