Work Text:
They usually weren’t on the field together. As Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, Cullen had a mostly administrative position. As much as he would be down in the training fields, running the soldiers through drills, sparring, encouraging his troops to learn how to use their damn shields, he didn’t often leave Skyhold.
It was uncommon for him to take the field of combat, but not unheard of.
He had accompanied the group to Sahrina, to lend his sword and shield to the Inquisition in breaking the Red Templars’ hold on the quarry, to disrupt Samson’s easy supply of lyrium. It had been deeply satisfying, even if it did mean subjecting himself to the sickly sweet call of the tainted lyrium. And it called, leaving a deep throbbing pain between his temples, and a strong tremor to his hands. He hated it, but it was a suffering he would endure.
But then they’d met a handful of behemoths, and one had gotten in a good, lucky hit through Cassandra’s guard, and their Seeker had been rushed back to the nearest camp for healing. Broken limbs, cracked ribs, and a punctured lung, the healers were working round the clock to get her into stable condition. But the Inquisition couldn’t rest, and Michel de Chevin meant to confront the demon Imshael, one of the Forbidden Ones.
As if it was a matter of taking down a shade, or an abomination, and he remembered the devastation in Darktown when Hawke had faced down the creature Xebenkeck. The thought of the Inquisition facing down a demon of that caliber, without someone trained to nullify magic, to strike against these creatures, was unacceptable. And with Cassandra’s condition that left him.
Cullen hadn’t taken lyrium in over a year, that was true, but he had been a Knight Commander, and he could still throw a holy smite that would knock even the Grand Enchanter on her ass.
He might have wished, however, that the demon Imshael hadn’t taken up residence at the very top of Suledin Keep, filled with more Red Templars, and giants.
“Oh. Oh this is going to be fun.” A small mercy, that Devanna was at his side, body vibrating with excitement as they surveyed the doors of the Keep.
Kalros regarded her Hand, an indulgent smile on her face even as she fisted her hands on her hips. “Would you like to do the honors, then?”
“And it’s not even my nameday.” Devanna said it with such enthusiasm, swaggering up to the door.
She was a violent creature, this woman he loved, with the blood of dragons in her veins, and it was made all the more apparent by the way she led the charge into the Keep. A haze of bright, glowing red as she clawed deep furrows into the door, weakening it before kicking it down in a shower of splinters that left the few guards just inside looking on in astonishment.
“Hello lovies~” She sang, drawing her blade with a soft hiss. “Who’s ready to die?”
And the battle was joined.
It had been some time since Cullen had really fought. Not since the attack on Haven, and even then his duties had been more in organizing a suitable defense and getting as many people out as he could—not enough though, never enough. Still, any fears that he might be rusty, given his current companions, faded as he waded head first to join Devanna. The others stayed back, Varric taking the high ground to better aim with his crossbow as Dorian cast barriers and threw fire spells back and forth. They were content to let their warriors do the bulk of the work, well, all of them save Kalros, who used no staff, and wreathed herself in magic and using it to construct weapons of her very own, occasionally assisted by the chakri in her hands.
They fell into a sort of synergy, the reaver and himself, his defensive tactics well matched with her own reckless abandon. He knew that was the point, of course, the harder they hit her, the more she hurt, the stronger she became. And yet, he couldn’t help but cringe at every hard earned injury, couldn’t help but work to stay at her side.
“Archers!” He lunged forward, shield raising up in front of her, just in time to block a bolt that would have pinned her in the shoulder.
The elf stuttered slightly at the restraint on her shoulder, pupils widening from their slits in surprise and realization.
Realization that blossomed into a wide grin as she leaned in quick as a flash to place a blood smeared kiss to his cheek. “Thank you lover.”
And just like that she was ducking out of the protection of his shield, swinging that massive sword of hers and laughing at the spray of blood and death in her wake. Cullen noticed, with no small amount of unease, that the deeper they went into the fortress, the more potent the animus that clung to her. It manifested in a blood red mist, swirling and infecting any enemies that came within fifteen meters of her. Her attacks hit harder, and ideally it wasn’t a bad thing—it made putting down the Red Templars easier—but he could see her slipping.
The laughing gradually became less, replaced with wordless growls and snarls, her kills becoming messier. The danger of the dragon blood that ran through her veins; it was a source of power, but indulging too much could lead to madness as Cassandra hadn’t hesitated to point out.
He worried, a quick glance over at the Inquisitor showed a tightness of expression that indicated worry as well, but at least they were getting close to the end.
“Is that a bloody—“
“Kaffas, watch the swing!”
“Maker’s breath!” The giant staggered out of its cage with a swipe of its arms, a pulse of that sickening call running through Cullen as he focused on the clusters of red crystal sprouting from its skin.
And then he was dodging out of the way as it threw a chunk of stone at them, rolling away even as the crash left his ears ringing. He recovered in time to see Kalros reach out, frost blooming up her fingers even as thick ice shot up around the giant’s feet, holding it in place. Devanna was already dashing in to press the advantage it created, weaving between the giant’s fists to harry at its legs. Drawn in by her orbit, Cullen moved as well, creating as much of a distraction as he could even as he used his shield to deflect the blows thrown his way.
The fight might have lasted a few minutes of a few days, everything became a whirl of dodging and slashing, barriers shimmering over his skin as magic and crossbow bolts peppered the rough skin of the giant. They were wearing it down though, little by little, and Cullen hoped that it ended soon because he could feel the burn of exhaustion in his arms, shield hand starting to go a little numb.
Cullen couldn’t help but think at this point that maybe Cassandra had been lucky, even with the injuries she’d sustained.
There was a loud roar, and the sound of something hard colliding with something metal, causing Cullen’s heart to stop in his chest, his throat squeezed tight in a vice as he saw Devanna go sailing through the air. There was an indentation in the wall that she’d struck, sliding down with a smear of blood.
“Dev!” He wasn’t sure who yelled it first, Kalros or himself—possibly both—but Cullen instinctively jerked in her direction.
The kossith woman had positioned herself behind the giant, her face cast in a soft violet glow as she looped her lightning whip around its throat. It was by some design, some treatment like that which allowed a Tempest to sheathe themselves in the elements, that prevented her from getting electrocuted as she twisted the whip around her leg, catching it under her boot to pull the giant back. And it was a testament to her strength, both physical and arcane, that allowed her to restrain the beast even as she tried to choke the life from it.
A soft hiss of pain from behind him, an impatient noise, a growled fucker as Devanna climbed to her feet. Her sword was a few feet away, wedged into the frozen earth from where it’d been dropped, and instead of going to recover it she pulled out her long, aurum hunting knife.
She staggered a few steps, head swinging from side to side in her disorientation and she couldn’t mean to rejoin the battle.
But the elf righted herself, forcefully regaining her equilibrium and switching her grip on her knife.
“Cullen.” She snapped, her normally husky voice rough and deep, like shards of glass being scraped over stone. “Shield. Now.”
Panic gripped him, followed by confusion, as she made her way towards him, speed increasing. He remembered the last time he’d heard her say that, in the training grounds of Skyhold, a training session she’d insisted he watch because she wanted to show him something. He remembered the way Blackwall had taken a knee, shield braced to launch her.
And that was what she wanted him to do, to give her a step up to get to the giant’s vulnerable spots.
Bloody hell but was she always this reckless? Was this the sort of thing she did, on their excursions out into the field? How was she still alive?
His braced himself anyway, sword dropping and balance shifting as he gripped the shield tight with both arms. Her booted foot planted hard against the shield, but the weight of a fully armored warrior was nothing he wasn’t used to, and Cullen followed the change easily, rolling with it and pushing.
Some of her hair had fallen loose from its updo, strands of red flowing behind her as she flew through the air, teeth bared and a loud, inhuman snarl ripping from her throat. The knife plunged into the giant’s chest, a hand hold by the collarbone as she reached forward with her free hand, summoning the power in her blood and ripping into the creature with a spectral dragon’s claw.
It reached in, phasing through skin and bone and muscle directly through the sternum, and Cullen was forcefully reminded of Hawke’s companion, Fenris. Except, the way the blood hovered, the way he could visibly see the giant’s life force seep into Devanna, cuts and bruises healing before his very eyes, was in no way the same.
No, watching that sent a shudder of unease down his spine, and it was oh so dangerously close to blood magic. Except she was no mage, and her abilities had been forced on her, it was only fair that she use them to stay alive.
Finally the giant fell, first to its knees, and then backwards, Kalros letting the magic of the whip fade as she nimbly jumped out of the way. His first instinct was to check on Devanna, his feet taking him to his lover’s side, but as soon as he got close he felt… he felt the prod of something sharp, painful, buffeting at him. Foreign, a sort of ache that reached down into his soul and held it tight in a clawed grip.
“Cullen wait.” Kalros reached over, pulling him back. “It’s not safe.”
And that’s when he realized—the animus hadn’t faded, if anything the giant’s death had only fueled it farther. She had trouble coming down, letting go of the blood lust and calming the fire that burned within her, especially after particularly large battles. She needed help, she’d explained, someone who could bring her back to herself.
“She doesn’t recognize you.” The kossith continued, taking a step forward.
He didn’t hesitate, pulling himself out of Kalros’ grip and moving closer. “Devanna.”
The aura pushed back at the intrusion, sensing an enemy, and she tilted her head ever so slightly to regard him. Like she had when they’d first met, holding herself apart and unsure. But there was no recognition in those yellow eyes, pupils narrowed into thin slits. She treated him like a threat, an unknown, and while that cut deep into him Cullen reminded himself that this wasn’t her.
“Devanna.” He repeated, voice firm, as he continued his approach. “Love, the fight is over.”
It wasn’t completely over, he knew that Imshael still resided in the heart of the fortress, but if they challenged the demon like this, they would be at a disadvantage. More than that, he hated the way she quivered, body barely held in check despite the violence that held her coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. This was a part of her, he knew, but it wasn’t always healthy.
“Dev.” Her hand shot out like a blur, fisting in his mantle and effectively bringing him to a halt. “Love.”
It was a delicate situation. Devanna, he knew, could easily injure him if she so chose. Especially in this state, where her strength had increased tenfold. If he moved wrong, gave even the slightest indication that he was a threat, she would strike and at this distance not even the Inquisitor could stop her.
But he wasn’t afraid. If this day had shown him how powerfully aggressive his lover was, there were so many instances that he could call to mind of her gentleness. She loved him; though she didn’t say it he had felt it in so many small, potent ways and he trusted her.
So Cullen held himself perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as she watched him like a cat watching a mouse. He didn’t fight when she pulled him in close, lifting his chin in a show of surrender when she pressed her nose into his neck, inhaling deeply.
“Cull…” She murmured, the tension bleeding out of her frame as she moved in closer. “Shit that was…”
“I’ve got you. You’re good.” He assured her just as quietly, pulling her into a quick, rough embrace. “You didn’t lose yourself.”
“You could have gotten yourself killed.” Devanna pulled back, a frown on her face as she looked up at him. “You should have let Kal—“
“Maybe.” He agreed, cutting her off by carefully dragging his fingers down her cheek. “I didn’t though. We’ll discuss our mutual recklessness once we take the Keep.”
Her pupils dilated at that, just a fraction, picking up easily on the intent behind the words. There were many ways to cure battle lust, he knew, and there were many ways to calm his warrior.
“Right.” Devanna cleared her throat, head ducking as a flush covered his cheeks. “Well. Let’s go kill a demon, shall we?”