[ That... certainly is a way. A short laugh escapes him, incredulous and devoid of mirth. Remember another Inquisitor. He almost stops her right there, almost, for speaking of the Herald as some manner of quirk, which might distort itself through recollections and time. He does not remember, but there is. Not another, but one, the one.

But she speaks on, and Cullen frowns. Aedan was indeed the man he knew, however briefly, yet such is hardly an impressive guess. Brennan Trevelyan is a stranger, save for the connections to Ostwick which the name invokes. A good name to please at least the local Chantry there, is that why it was evoked for this charade?

He balks at the words she uses so casually, at every detail of that meeting. Things etched into his mind like fire, things he can barely force past his lips. Few others are privy to even a glimpse, and if she thinks such knowledge would endear him to her or her story, then she is sorely mistaken. If she thinks he would be cowed by what she might drag from his past, then she is as well.

But there she moves on again, more names, convoluted. Marian Hawke, who is not his Champion, nor a close relation. A sister, dead, but not by that name. Carver mentioned. And finally she speaks no more.

Cullen would wonder if she might speak the truth, but where to begin? Another approach then: What could she possibly gain from such a lie? Not his trust, that much is certain. A story he can barely comprehend and scarcely believe. If it is a trick, then it is a poor one. If it is a game, then he doesn't know why or how it is player, let alone to what end.

And if it is the truth... ]

Different worlds. Different... versions of Thedas, events which change from one timeline to another? And they all bleed into each other here, is that your explanation?

[ A beat. ]

And if you are what Aedan Cousland was, how are you still alive?