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Chapter Text

Haven, Ferelden; Matrinalis (August), 9:41 Dragon

Cullen could nearly taste the tension in the air, it was so thick.

The morning of the Conclave was crisp and cool, an early autumn snow the night before having blanketed the ground in shimmering white and leaving behind a significant chill that persisted into the following day. In response to the gentle prodding of nature, the trees began to shift their hues from shades of green to those of gold, russet, and crimson. It was a change that had, in all actuality, been approaching gradually, but after the snow, had appeared to come over the foliage of the valley overnight. The brilliant fire of these turning leaves contrasted beautifully with the lyrium-blue of the sky above, which was now marred only by streaks of feathery white clouds. A soft, fresh breeze fluttered through the fur of his collar and played with his meticulously-styled hair, bringing with it the scents of the forest around Haven.

He, Varric, Cassandra, and Leliana stood on the Penitents’ Crossing and watched as the last Grand Cleric to depart the village with her train of attendees disappeared behind the bend of the path to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It would not be long before the two Hands of the Divine joined them with Varric in tow, and the official proceedings would begin. Meanwhile, back in the village proper, the Commander’s recruits had halted all training exercises and, under Rylen’s command, were tasked with supervising the residents, mages, and Templars in an attempt to keep everyone calm and orderly while the Conclave was underway. At the Temple, the mercenary bands had gathered and were maintaining peace at the event itself. By all accounts, everything was running smoothly and as planned so far. Cullen could only hope things stayed that way.

But he sincerely doubted they would.

It had been a week since he had ceased taking the lyrium, and he had to admit that he already felt freer than he had in years just not having to look at that damned kit anymore. He was somewhat surprised that he had yet to suffer any symptoms from withdrawal, but he knew it took time for his body to purge every last bit of the stuff from his system. Once it did, the peace would be over. He just wondered which would hit him first, the headaches, the tremors, or the thirst…

At that moment, he heard footsteps to his left, and, glancing that way, he saw Grand Chancellor Roderick Asignon approaching them, hands behind his back and a half-smile on his aged face. But Cullen knew that the smile the man bore was not one of good cheer. Despite his usual closeness to the Divine, one that was borne of his particular station in the Chantry hierarchy, Roderick would not be attending the Conclave, and, in Cullen’s eyes, he seemed to be rather bitter about that fact. Stuck with managing the lower echelons of the Chantry in Haven, Roderick was not allowed to influence the Divine’s decisions in this situation. It was a reminder that his level of importance was not nearly as high as he would have liked it to be, and his resentment over such was evident in almost everything that had come out of his mouth since he had arrived in Haven from Val Royeaux a month ago.

“Looking forward to witnessing the proceedings, Seeker?” the Grand Chancellor ultimately asked as Cassandra followed Cullen’s gaze, his expression already betraying that he knew what her answer would be.

The Seeker snorted in reply. “Jumping for joy.”

“Oh, come on,” Varric prodded. “You get to hear my impeccable storytelling a second time!”

“Ugh.”

“I, for one, will be eager to hear the results of this Conclave,” Roderick continued. “It will be most pleasing to know when the Chantry finally reasserts itself as the true authority over both mages and Templars.”

“If it does,” Leliana remarked, raising a thin red eyebrow at the Chancellor. “There is no guarantee that the mages or the Templars will agree to peace, and even if they do, the terms of the treaty may not recognize either organization as part of the Chantry any longer.”

Suddenly there was a distant, echoing crack from the valley that sounded not unlike a tree being felled. Following it was a resounding boom that reverberated throughout the mountains. The very stones of the bridge trembled beneath their feet in answer, as though a hundred druffalo were stampeding under them, and the five looked one to the other with concern in each other’s eyes.

“What was-” Varric started, but then halted abruptly as a brilliant green burst of light illuminated the distant crags, chased by a dark and ominous cloud of debris and smoke that stretched upwards into the sky like wet ink spreading across parchment.

“Maker’s breath, the Temple!”

“The Divine!”

Memories of the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry flashed through Cullen’s mind – images of fragments of the bell tower tumbling through the streets and crushing the estates of Hightown. “The people! They must get to safety!”

But then his eyes widened as he saw a shockwave rippling through the landscape, pushing over the trees in the distance like the wind from a storm plowing through tall grass. It barreled towards them, spraying snow and debris, and he had barely enough time to push the others behind one of the gate towers before it struck the Penitents’ Crossing. They huddled together behind the thick stone, praying that it would hold whilst the whole structure trembled and the wind moaned around them. A whole wagon was lifted and dashed into the bridge, splinters and nails flying everywhere.

And then, once the shockwave had finally passed, a giant flaming boulder smashed into the tower above them and showered bricks atop them, causing them to lift their arms over their heads to shield themselves.

“What in Andraste’s name is going on!?” Roderick exclaimed, his tone a mixture of outrage and near panic.

“What do you think!” Varric shouted, “Someone blew up the damned Temple!”

It was then that Cassandra seized Cullen by the shoulders, looking directly into his eyes with ferocity flashing in her own. “Get back to Haven and get the people to shelter! Leliana and I will go to the Temple! Quickly!”

Knowing it was useless to protest regarding their safety, Cullen wordlessly nodded, swallowing hard and pressing his lips together in resolve. He spun, shrugging his shield onto his arm, and then grabbed Roderick, pulling the elder man with him while Varric followed on their heels. Sending a silent prayer to the Maker, he held the shield aloft over them as they ran across the bridge together, heading for the village. He could hear the distant panicked shouts of the people already, and he knew that he had to act fast.

“You there!” he bellowed to the nearest scout, who seemed almost frozen in her tracks on the town side of the bridge as she watched the debris cloud rise ever higher, her eyes like saucers. “Get the word to Captain Rylen to get the people to the Chantry for shelter, now!”

As if illustrating his point, a rock plummeted to the ground right next to his feet, spraying pebbles and snow against their legs.

“Y-yes, ser!” She turned and sprinted away faster than a deer, screaming for Rylen at the top of her lungs. The three men followed not far behind.

“This is a little bit too familiar for my liking, Curly!” Varric remarked.

“And mine!”

The Chancellor panted as he struggled to keep up with Cullen’s pace, being of significantly greater age, and when they drew up next to the stables, he waved the Commander and dwarf onwards. “Keep going without me! I’ll direct people to the Chantry as they come this way!”

A piece of jagged metal crashed into his shield just as Roderick ducked away, waving to members of the Grand Cleric’s entourage as they approached from the bridge. Leaving the Chancellor to handle them, Cullen’s eyes frantically searched for his soldiers and his second-in-command as he continued his mad dash for the gates, Varric close behind. The Templar and mage encampments outside the walls were in utter chaos, more than half of each group taking advantage of the pandemonium and fleeing into the passes beyond the town.

Damn them, anyway.

He and his men were not there to keep the rebels caged, only to protect everyone else from them. If they wanted to leave, let them.

“Ser!” One of his youngest soldiers scrambled up to him from the training area near the lake. “What do we do?”

“Get the people in the Chantry, now!” he ordered. “There’s debris falling from an explosion in the valley!”

The boy immediately obeyed, running as fast as his legs would carry him towards the gates and yelling like the scout before him. The wreckage was beginning to fall more regularly and in larger pieces, and the frightened screaming from the village was getting louder, blended with frequent shouts from his men.

It was then that the air itself seemed to tremble around him, and another brilliant green flash came from the valley. Glancing back towards the bridge, Cullen saw that the glow he had seen earlier was now a permanent fixture in the sky, floating in the distance like a shimmering wisp. It spun and flickered, sucking all of the clouds towards it like a maelstrom.

Not again…

His heart dropped into his stomach. A cold sweat beaded on his brow, and his breathing became ragged as he tasted bile on his tongue. These familiar sensations at such sights the lyrium had helped to numb, but he was a week without it now.

He shook his head fiercely to clear it. No. He couldn’t think of that. Wouldn’t think of that. Swallowing back the icy talons of dread and fear that clutched at his heart and constricted his throat, he charged towards the gates that his men held open, following the Templars, mages, citizens, and Chantry attendees that rushed through them and into the village beyond. Already he could hear Rylen bellowing orders from his perch on a makeshift watchtower, and he was thankful for the man’s presence there. Men and women scrambled to collect their children and grabbed the hands and arms of their loved ones as the soldiers herded them to the Chantry, holding shields above their heads to protect them.

“I’ll help spread the word!” Varric yelled at his side, sprinting towards the tavern-side of the town while Rylen scrambled down the wooden watch platform as he saw Cullen enter the settlement.

“What in the Void is going on, Commander?!”

“I’ll explain later, just help me get everyone in the Chantry!”

He and his soldiers fanned out, making sure all the buildings were evacuated and no stragglers had been caught by flying debris. Roderick brought up the rear of a group of fleeing scouts and attendees from beyond the Penitents’ Crossing, and once Cullen was certain that was the last of those close enough to Haven to reach shelter, they made a dash for the Chantry themselves, rocks and detritus pelting their shields and armor all the while. When the final soldier ducked inside, he and Rylen pulled the mighty Chantry doors closed with a resounding bang.

For a moment, they merely stood there, catching their breath as they looked around. All those who had been outside were now packed within the Chantry walls like fish in a barrel. Most of the Templars and mages who yet remained stood on the outer perimeter, pressed against the walls and lingering in the alcoves while the nobles, lay sisters and brothers, and villagers crowded in between, weeping and praying and hushing wailing children. Infants screamed, protesting the noise and sensing the fear in the air. Debris bombarded the building now, and every few seconds there would be a loud crash where a larger piece would strike the Chantry’s roof. Cullen hoped to the Maker that nothing would fall through onto someone’s head...

“Commander?” a voice asked from near one of the side alcoves. Glancing that way, he saw Ambassador Josephine looking at him with eyes wide and glittering in the firelight. Although she was attempting to keep her voice steady as she addressed him, it was obvious that she was both shaken and deeply concerned. “What has happened?”

A hush fell over the gathering and all eyes latched onto him. Inhaling slowly, he replied, “There has been an explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. We do not know the cause, and-”

“Bullshit,” a Templar interrupted, pointing an accusing armored finger. “The mages had their most powerful people at the Temple and ‘we don’t know’ what could cause an explosion of this magnitude?”

“Ha!” a mage retorted, his staff flashing at his words. “You lot are still being typical bastards even on the day of the Conclave. Ready to put this conflict behind you, my ass. Something bad happens and we’re automatically suspect, regardless of the truth! That will never change!”

“Oh, how easily you forget!” a noblewoman exclaimed, her lace fan fluttering at the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. “A mage destroyed the Chantry at Kirkwall! This could be no different!”

“You can’t trust any of them!” a villager cried. “Kill them all now and let’s be rid of the problem at last!”

“Enough!” Cullen shouted overtop them, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Let it be known here and now that I will not tolerate violence of any sort from anyone against anyone, mage, Templar, or otherwise. The first person who draws a blade or hurls a spell will find themselves clapped in irons and on a prison cart to Val Royeaux, is that understood?”

The soldiers, and what Templars served under Rylen, cast their eyes over the throng, gazes glittering in the shadows of their helms as they made ready to do as their Commander bade. The rabble immediately fell silent again. At that, he knew they understood that his words were not an empty threat. They had no reason to disbelieve him; the exact same thing had happened on Cassandra’s order to the rioters that had nearly burned down the town a few months ago.

Once he was sure they would listen to him, without interrupting him again, he crossed his arms and continued, “Despite what you may think, the truth of the matter is we don’t know what happened. And until I receive orders to do otherwise, it is my duty to keep you all safe from whatever calamity occurred at the Conclave. That means staying here, in the Chantry, together. And whether or not you like it is irrelevant.” After looking pointedly at both the mages and the Templars gathered, the sound of the debris shower filling the silence, he continued, “Now. Are there injured among you?”

“We’ve got a few light wounds over here, ser, but nothing too serious,” one of the lay sisters replied, raising a hand and waving it to get his attention.

“There are linens and poultices in the back rooms. Sister Margareta, can you show them?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Everyone else, make yourselves as comfortable as possible,” Rylen added.  “It looks like you may be here a while.”

At that, people began dragging crates and chairs out of the side rooms and offices, spreading out as much as space would possibly allow. He and Rylen made sure that their men kept sharp eyes on everyone and yet also attended to their needs, fetching food, bandages and blankets from the Chantry’s stores. Josephine, after calming the group of nobles in the rear of the building, picked her way up to the doors where Rylen and Cullen still stood and offered the latter a small smile of encouragement.

“You handled that well,” she remarked, tucking a loose lock of dark hair behind her ear.

Slowly, the sound of falling debris began to ebb, and the people began to talk more freely amongst themselves. The hum of their conversations grew louder as he replied, “Yes, well. The last thing we need right now is people trying to kill each other out of fear.”

“Agreed.” She nodded. Then, after a few moments, she asked, “Leliana and Lady Pentaghast went to the Temple, didn’t they?”

“Last I heard, yes.” Cullen, too, nodded in affirmation.

“No runners yet,” Rylen observed, glancing back at the door. “I’m starting to worry.”

Cullen pressed his lips together. “So am I.”

There were scouts and mercenaries farther into the valley. If they had survived, surely the two Hands would have sent them back to the village by now, either to get them to safety or send word or both…

As if on cue, shouting voices outside accompanied pounding fists on the Chantry door. Rylen and Cullen immediately turned around and opened them to find a whole group of mercenaries and scouts standing there, most of them severely wounded with blood running in rivulets down their armor. A few were carrying their unconscious comrades on their shoulders.

“Healers!” Josephine shouted, making a pathway for the injured through the throng of startled villagers.

“Commander!” One of the scouts pressed forward as the others were let into the Chantry to receive treatment for their wounds. His voice was shaking as he spoke. “Seeker Pentaghast has sent for you… she and the Nightingale are closer to the Temple. They’ve asked for reinforcements… there are demons!”

Cullen felt gooseflesh prickle on his arms, and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.

Maker’s breath…

“Demons?” he repeated. When the scout nodded emphatically, Cullen turned to Rylen. “Gather a contingent of Templars and have them ready to leave with me at the gates in five minutes. After, stay here and keep things together while I lead them to the Hands.”

“Right away, Commander!” Rylen saluted.

He started to sprint for his cabin, but he had not gone two steps when he saw the glowing light in the sky, pulsing brighter now and drawing more clouds towards it like a whirlpool. The whole sky above was turning an ominous grey, as if a storm was gathering.

The light was getting bigger.

The words of the Templar in the Chantry swam back to the forefront of his mind as he resumed his run for the cabin. The presence of demons naturally followed magical disasters and deaths of catastrophic proportions, and whatever it was in the sky was most certainly arcane in origin. It was undoubtedly related to the explosion in some way. What if the Templar was right? What if, yet again, a mage had attacked the Chantry?

Of all the times to quit the lyrium, Rutherford.

He burst into his cabin and headed straight for his armor stand. He did not wear the entire harness all the time, merely selective pieces for better comfort and ease of movement. The extra, more protective plates he now strapped onto himself, gloved fingers moving quickly from buckle to buckle. As soon as he had secured each piece to his person, he grabbed his helmet and jammed it onto his head, dashing back outside and not bothering to close the door behind him.

As he headed for the town gates, Cullen noted that the area was now littered with fallen rocks and shingles. He even thought he saw a Templar shield that had been rent in half. Most of the buildings looked to still be intact, although something had punched straight through the roof of the Singing Maiden. Upon reaching the gates, he was relieved to see that Rylen’s contingent was already there – a handful of Templars, three warriors and three archers.

“Your orders, ser!” one of them shouted as they saw him approach.

“Follow me, quickly!”

“Ser!”

His eyes focused beyond the fangs of his helm as he followed the trail out of the village at a jog, forcing himself to slow down. If the Hands had asked for reinforcements, then significant fighting was possible in the very near future, and they could not afford to exhaust themselves before they even reached them. Thus, he set a moderately brisk pace as he led them beyond the Penitents’ Crossing and into the valley beyond.

The farther they went, the larger the debris became. Massive logs blocked the path where whole trees had been uprooted by the blast, and they were forced to clamber over them to get to the path beyond. On top of that, enormous chunks of the roof of the Temple of Sacred Ashes peppered the mountainside, great golden adornments half-melted amongst twisted shingles in the snow.

“What in Andras… oh, Maker!”

He turned as one of the Templars retched and gestured to a chunk of misshapen and blackened armor where it lay on the damp earth not far from the path. Upon further inspection, it was an entirely unrecognizable bloody mass. There was nothing left to even suggest that it had once been a person.

Cullen felt his lip curl. “I am certain that we will have our vengeance for this in due time, but we must remain focused. There are demons ahead, and we have to keep them from reaching the village. Once that threat is eliminated, we will collect any bodies we find for a pyre. Let us press on.”

“Yes, ser.”

The sights – and smells – only worsened from there. The acrid stench of blood and smoke stung his nostrils, now. There must have been hundreds of bodies, in whole or in part, that lay amongst the rubble where they had been thrown like dolls. The swirling vortex in the sky was getting closer, looming ominously overhead, and he noticed that a faint spiraling tendril of green light extended from the brilliantly-bright center to somewhere on the ground in the distance. Still there was no sign of Leliana or Cassandra, and Cullen’s concern only grew with each step. They were fast approaching where the Temple of Sacred Ashes should have been, if memory served correctly…

Then, at last, he saw them. Cassandra stood toe-to-toe with a wraith on a rise while, at her side, Leliana rained deadly arrows at an unseen foe beyond. There were a handful of scouts and mercenaries with them – those who had been lucky enough not to have been caught in the blast or injured by the falling debris – embroiled in their own deadly duels with angry denizens from the Fade.

“Push them back!” Cullen roared, his blade singing as it sprang from his scabbard.

The Templars did not need to be told twice. Burning for revenge, they cried to the Maker for strength as they charged forward, pushing the demons away from the two Hands of the Divine. Swords shimmered, the air flickering with their power, and it took all of Cullen’s willpower to keep from doing the same and draining what little lyrium was left in his blood. Instead, he took advantage of the wraith’s preoccupation with Cassandra and rushed its flank, a single precise thrust of his sword rending the monster into a slimy detritus that smoked as it hit the ground.

“Commander! You made it!” she panted, the relief evident on her face as she beheld him.

“Just in time, it seems.”

The two watched, then, as the charge of the Templars pushed a good half-dozen demons back from the scouts. Between the new empowered foes and the arrows yet raining from above, the demons stood little chance, and it was only a few breaths more before the area finally fell still.

As the scouts and Templars whooped and hollered their victory, Leliana greeted Cullen with sadness in her eyes. “It’s gone.”

It was only then that he had time enough to notice what she meant. Looking around, he realized that the ridge they were standing on was the edge of a massive crater in which the entirety of the village of Haven could have been sat with room to spare. The earth had been pushed up in stony fingers all around them from the force of the blast, and at the heart of the caldera was only a few crumbling and blackened remnants of the foundation of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“Maker’s breath,” he whispered, floored by the extent of the destruction that lay around him. He could not imagine the sheer amount of force involved in an explosion of this scale, and despite his growing suspicions about the mages, he could only guess at the source. The Templars and scouts seemed to have been suddenly struck by the magnitude of the damage as well, as they, too, had fallen silent.

At last, after a few moments, he asked quietly, “Have there been any survivors?”

“None, other than those we sent back to Haven.” Was Cassandra’s solemn reply. “And we have not had the opportunity to explore the ruins themselves to search for more. But there is little chance that anyone survived… that.” She gestured the charred stones ahead. “If anyone did, it would be a miracle.”

“We have to see for ourselves,” Leliana said, pulling another arrow from her quiver and carefully moving forward, “We must know for certain. That there is… no one.”

Cullen knew from her tone what the Nightingale was hinting at. It was a very great and unfortunate possibility that, in addition to all the mage and Templar leaders and most of the Grand Clerics, Divine Justinia herself was dead. If so, a mighty blow had been dealt to not just the Chantry, but to the people of southern Thedas as a whole. The Divine was the leader of the Andrastian faithful across half the world. Her death would demoralize nations, and the world would plunge further into chaos than it already was.

But Leliana was right. They had to comb the ruins and know for sure.

“Soldiers, with me!” Cullen directed with sword aloft. “Stay on your guard and be watchful for survivors!”

With that, they began to follow Leliana further into the Temple ruins, picking their way over smoldering stones and corpses. Many a man and woman had been killed where they stood, their bodies now nothing more than charred masses of flesh and bone, jaws gaping open in silent screams. The sight caused a chill to run down Cullen’s spine, and dark memories once again threatened to claw their way to the forefront of his mind. An audible snarl escaped his lips as he forced them back and pressed on, eyes scanning every niche and shadow for potential enemies.

Pulsing green streaks of light that matched the glow in the sky above spiderwebbed across the bare earth and crackled with an unknown energy that set his nerves on edge. Scattered amongst the glowing rocks were humming scarlet crystals that looked suspiciously like the red lyrium that had overtaken Kirkwall’s gallows. The closer he came to these strangely warm and buzzing crystals, the more he feared that he was right; his stomach churned as he sensed a primal, savage rhythm that throbbed in his ears and in his veins in time with his heart…

At last, with great effort, he tore his eyes away from the altered environment and continued on into the depths of the crater after Leliana and Cassandra, keenly aware of every panting breath in his helm, every jingle of a buckle or clank of a scabbard against tassets.

And then, they found the source of the spiraling column of greenish light – a ribbon of that same eerie hue, hanging suspended in midair at the heart of the Temple, unearthly sounds emanating from it in roaring echoes. At once, the thing shuddered, and there emerged another handful of demons – more wraiths drawn into the world by death and destruction.

They leapt into the fray, not letting the demons get the chance to collect themselves. Swords flashed through green entities, sending them screaming back into the ribbon of light… and it was then that Cullen understood what it was.

When all was still once more, he pointed at the twisting green ribbon of power with his blade. “Cassandra, the Veil is torn! Whatever magic was performed here has ripped it open!”

“And what of that, then?” The Seeker looked up at the glowing vortex above.

Leliana and Cullen followed her gaze and watched as another shudder of the tear in the Veil sent a hair-raising shockwave up the spiraling connection to the sky…

…and the maelstrom widened just a bit more.

“A hole,” Leliana breathed. “A breach in the Veil that is getting larger and larger with time. Perhaps it is the result of the creation of this one. Or, perhaps it is the reverse.”

“Andraste preserve us,” Cullen slowly shook his head in disbelief. “This… if we can’t stop this…”

“More and more demons will come through,” Cassandra supplied grimly, looking back at the shining ribbon that marked the tear in the Veil. “We will be overwhelmed.”

He stared at the ribbon of light, as did the Templars and scouts and mercenaries, anticipating another wave of demons to come through at any moment. It was then that a raw determination filled him, steeling his heart. If this was the beginning of the end, then he would not go down without a fight. “Only if we let them,” he replied at length, gripping his sword tighter. “I, for one, have no intention of sitting and waiting to be killed. If a solution can be found, then we must hold back the tide while we search for it.”

“I agree that we should not sit and wait for death,” Cassandra remarked, yet her face bore an expression of skepticism, “but how will we stand against them in the meantime, Cullen? There are not enough armies in the world to stop the onslaught of demons if that ‘breach’ grows large enough, even if we could rally them all together. Time is against us, here, and almost all of the best arcane scholars we had were killed in the explosion.”

“We have to control the situation for as long as we can, and to do that, we need to keep the threat contained,” Cullen answered, gesturing around the perimeter of the crater. “We should station soldiers around the ruins, establish a forward camp as close as we can, and keep the pressure on these demons as they appear. We cannot afford to be pushed back while we search for a solution. Retreating is not an option.”

At that, he turned and addressed the scouts, mercenaries, and Templars. “All of you, move out! Once we arrive at the nearest bridge to the Temple, barricade the gates with whatever you can find and wait for reinforcements! We will hold this threat here!”

He then turned and marched out of the ruins with the others on his heels, the scorched pebbles crunching underfoot with the forcefulness of his steps.

Or die trying.

Chapter Text

They were leaving in droves.

Once news of what had occurred at the Conclave had been delivered to the people gathered at Haven’s Chantry, the place had emptied like a broken dam. Many of the nobles were the first to go, insisting that if they were going to die, then they would rather do it in the comfort of their own homes. They departed with their entourages in clouds of dust, urging their carriages forth with reckless speed. Unable or unwilling to help make a stand in Haven, a good portion of the native residents and most of the pilgrims who had come to witness the proceedings fled as refugees into the surrounding countryside, seeking shelter at other settlements under the banner of local nobility. On top of that, a good third of the soldiers, recruits, and mercenaries they had managed to gather together abandoned the village as well on the grounds that staying to help against apocalyptic sorcery was not part of their original contracts. Moreover, the surviving Grand Clerics – those who had managed to stumble their way back to the village after being scattered during the explosion – also fled Haven to return to Val Royeaux, desperate to restore order to the Chantry by immediately convening a Grand Consensus to elect a new Divine.

Never mind the fact that there was a great breach in the Veil, and if they were all going to die anyway, then a newly elected Divine overseeing the end of the world would hardly matter.

Cullen hadn’t slept; how could anyone honestly sleep with a giant hole to the Fade on their doorstep? As time passed, they became more and more certain that was indeed what the “Breach” was – it grew steadily with every hour, and each time it expanded, it deposited more demons into the world, just as he and Cassandra expected. Moreover, it had begun to levitate great boulders, so that they hung suspended in the air between the Breach and the ground, and mysterious bits of smoking flotsam from the Fade sporadically fell through along with the demons. Such a sight was unnerving to say the least. And yet, despite how unsettling it was during the day, it was even more terrifying at night, when the light of the sun faded and that of the Breach bathed the land in eerie green. It tested every man’s resolve, including his own.

There were times when trying to stop such a thing seemed almost pointless… when he could only wonder if it really was the end of the world and how they could dare stand against such. The Chant said that the Maker would return when his children proved themselves worthy of him once again. But what if he had decided they were hopeless? What if he was wiping the slate clean? Ridding himself of his wayward children once and for all?

If he was, then Cullen honestly couldn’t say he blamed him.

But no. If it was truly the end, then he would show the Maker naught but steadfastness in the face of adversity. He would not go meekly to his grave as a sheep to slaughter. And if it wasn’t the end… if this truly was stoppable… then he would see to it that the people were kept safe from this disaster and that justice was delivered to the monster that had created it.

This attitude was one that his fellow leaders shared with him, a fact that was not at all surprising. Cassandra and Leliana mourned the loss of the Divine along with everyone else, their grief plain on their faces, and they also feared what was to come. Yet, the two Hands were still driven to protect the people and propelled by a desire for justice, which overrode their overwhelming sorrow. Josephine, who had been offered the chance to leave along with the rest of the departing nobles, had also elected to stay for the same reasons. Even Varric, whose presence was no longer required by Cassandra, was not among those who had departed the village; instead the dwarf had remained, helping ferry supplies and accompanying patrols into the valley with his trusty crossbow.

Despite all those who had fled, there were a great many who chose to stay with them. Most of the villagers had lived in the area for their entire lives and refused to be driven out, even by demons. Men and women who had not yet enlisted vowed to pick up arms in the defense of their homes, moved to take up weapons against this direct threat. They equipped themselves with whatever they could find, assisted by a man named Harritt, who had arrived in Haven less than a day before the Conclave disaster. Now a volunteer smith for their soldiers, Harritt recruited a few young lads among them who had a knack for forge work and immediately set about managing repairs and sharpening weapons.

Even more surprising were the numbers of both rebel and loyalist Templars and mages who also offered their services against this threat, a force greater than their differences. One such person was Adan, apprentice to Master Taigen, who had, according to Adan himself, been among those who had perished at the Conclave. With Cassandra’s permission, Adan now helped the lay sisters with mixing poultices and salves and brewing restoratives from the herbs in the Chantry stores.

Few nobles stayed, but those who did promised money and soldiers, immediately penning orders to be sent via messenger to their home estates and helping Josephine to find more allies to stand with them. Furthermore, great numbers of lay brothers and sisters of the Chantry remained to offer comfort and prayers for the citizenry and rites for the dead. Grand Chancellor Roderick was deeply distressed about it all, torn between staying in Haven to assert his authority over the members of the Chantry there and fleeing back to Val Royeaux with the rest of his ilk.

As for Cullen, his first priority was ensuring the safety of the village, then establishing a forward camp, and then expanding their defenses from there. Haven already had an impressive stone wall, reinforced by a wooden palisade – fortifications that were likely originally put in place to fend off against bandit raids and even excursions by the Avvar barbarians. To reinforce these extant walls, he ordered the construction of more watch platforms manned by a handful of archers each and barricades for the gates that were guarded by both Templars and mages.

As soon as the village itself was as defensible as it could be, Cullen expanded operations to include a forward camp at the closest bridge to the Temple ruins. There he sent a hefty number of soldiers, Templars, mages, and healers to act as a first line of defense against whatever else came out of the Breach and the rift. At every bridge between Haven and the forward camp, Cullen ordered the setup of smaller outposts with more barricades, between which he set up regular rotating patrols.

Finally, once all these defenses had been well-established, Cullen sent small groups of volunteers to venture into the valley and collect the remains of the dead for the pyre that the Chantry sisters maintained outside of the town. In addition to giving the deceased the proper rest and rites they deserved, it was imperative that they prevent the possession of the corpses by the growing number of demons in the field. Not only was such an occurrence a heinous violation, but the denizens of the Fade were also much easier to combat in their raw forms. Cullen knew that demons, especially those that were still disoriented and not allowed enough time to adjust to the world, were somewhat predictable, and thus more vulnerable.

In short, it was as if Haven were an anthill that had been kicked by a petulant child. The village and surrounding areas were working alive with people who struggled to gain an advantage over this unexplainable magical threat that had taken over their lives in less than a day.

Twenty-four hours after the explosion, Cullen was still on his feet, making his rounds about the village to supervise his men and make sure they were prepared for anything. Runners came with messages every half hour, and with each message he would either send more orders or revise extant ones, depending upon the information he was given.

He did not even notice Cassandra until she was right upon him. When he finally saw her, he blinked at the sight. There the Seeker was before him, with one hand on her sword hilt and a chunk of dark bread in the other, chewing thoughtfully as she watched the Breach swirling in the sky behind him like a giant whirlpool.

When she met his gaze, her brows rose, and she immediately tore off a piece of the bread and extended it to him. “Here.”

His brow furrowed and he shook his head in refusal. “Cassandra, I can’t-”

“You must,” she insisted, pushing the bread at him. “I know you haven’t eaten or slept. I understand that it is difficult, but you know as well as I do that you need energy if you are to keep going. You’re going to collapse in the street if you do not take care of yourself.”

Amber eyes met brown and held each other’s gazes for several long moments. Then, finally, he sighed his resignation in an aggravated huff and quickly took the piece of bread, shoving it into his mouth for no other reason than to appease her. But as soon as the dry crust hit his tongue, he was struck with the hunger he had ignored for hours, the sensation so powerful it threatened to knock him over. The day-old bread suddenly tasted heavenly, and his empty stomach demanded more. He both tried to keep his chewing slow and measured and his discomfort hidden, but it was a nearly impossible feat.

Cassandra did not fail to notice his expression and jerked her thumb at the Singing Maiden. “There’s more at the tavern. Flissa’s not charging for anything right now. Best to get something while the situation is fairly quiet. Rylen and I can handle things in the meantime.”

He hesitated, but she put a hand on his armored shoulder and began pushing him in the direction of the tavern. “Go.”

“All right!” He swatted at her gloved fingers as he turned to obey.

He sounded irritated, but in reality, he was thankful. It wasn’t an order and he knew it; Cassandra was just honestly worried for his well-being. He realized that and appreciated it, and he also appreciated her assistance. He was grateful for both the Seeker and the Knight-Captain’s valiant efforts to ensure his orders were carried out to the letter. They only had a few hours of sleep more than he, at most.

He entered the tavern to find a handful of Leliana’s scouts there, eating in almost complete silence. The atmosphere here was the same as elsewhere in the village and a thousand times worse than before the Conclave blast – an oppressive blend of anxiety and fury, with crushing grief added to the mix. The smell of Flissa’s stew on the fire was no longer a comfort. Instead, it felt almost wrong, as though it were some forbidden temptation to experience in the midst of all this death and destruction.

Before the door had even closed behind him, Flissa leaned forward on the counter, a sort of desperateness in her eyes that stemmed from her overwhelming desire to help in some form or fashion. “Commander! Please… let me know what I can get you!”

“Stew, bread, and an ale, if you will.”

“Right away!”

He chose to wait at a table in the corner, nodding quietly in acknowledgement to Leliana’s men as he passed them by. As he took his seat, he bit his lip to suppress an audible groan as his knees first bent and then buckled, the clatter of his armor following as he practically fell into the rickety wooden chair. He hadn’t actually sat down in more than a day, and his joints protested the movement. Once he was settled, he was made fully aware of the throbbing of his feet in his boots and the weakness of his legs. He could hear Cassandra’s words of concern echoing in his mind, and he knew he needed to sleep, to rest, but it felt physically impossible. Every part of him ached with fatigue, and yet his mind was working like lightning, unable to shut down. Perhaps he would seek out Adan for something to help…

At that moment, Flissa appeared at his elbow with his food. “Here you are, ser!” She set everything before him quickly and neatly, and then stepped back. “Just let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” he replied wearily, and she smiled broadly in response, even though it was a nervous sort of smile, meant to comfort herself as well as him. He knew, then, that she needed some words of encouragement. In this situation, sometimes words were all that were needed to keep up morale… something they could not afford to lose. Thus, before she turned around completely to leave, he stopped her. “And Flissa?”

“Oh… yes?”

He caught her gaze and dipped his head a bit as he reassured, “You are helping. It may not seem like it, but you are.”

At that, her face appeared to light up a little, and he thought he saw tears of emotion flash in her eyes as she nodded to him. “Thank you, Commander.” Then she walked back to the bar, her back a little straighter.

Once she was gone, he removed his gauntlets and vambraces and began to eat. It took all his strength not to wolf down the food like a ravenous beast, his body craving fuel. It was delicious, without a doubt, but part of him felt he had no right to enjoy it. To be eating near the comfort of a roaring fire when there were dead, dying, and gravely injured pouring into Haven, and his men were battling creatures out of their worst nightmares out in the field, seemed downright sinful. The Divine was gone, one of the holiest sites of the Chantry destroyed, hundreds of men and women murdered less than a mile away, and on top of it all, a giant Breach in the sky was dumping demons on their heads and growing with every hour.

It is for the cause.

He could console himself only with that simple fact. He had to keep himself going for the rest of them.

Yet Cullen was not the only one who was running himself into the ground. As his thoughts wandered to his comrades, he recalled that Leliana and Josephine were still in the Chantry, desperately trying to find someone who could tell them anything about this Breach and how to close it. Between the two of them, they must have already penned a hundred letters. The last time he had seen the Ambassador, her hair was down, her jewelry was cast aside, and her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, a grim expression etched onto her face as her quill scratched across parchment at lightning speed.

Leliana had pulled all of her scouts in the mountains and surrounding foothills back to Haven, redirecting them to the area around the Breach. Only a select few she utilized for message delivery. The rest were reinforcements for their remaining mercenaries and soldiers. Though he frequently saw the Nightingale venture out from the Chantry, he had noticed that she had become much more withdrawn than usual. She was quiet, even more distant than before, as if some sort of dark shadow had cloaked her, and if he was honest with himself, he was more than a little concerned. He knew from her behavior after they had returned from the ruined temple that she had been emotionally close to Divine Justinia, perhaps even more so than Cassandra. Grief was etched on the faces of all, but it had carved itself most deeply into Leliana’s and had erased the spark of light from her eyes.

But though Cullen did not know Justinia personally, that did not mean that he was not affected by the Divine’s death as well. The Andrastian faith was more than the Chantry, true, but the murder of its head was a blow that was felt by all. It was as if it underscored the distance of the Maker from them all; the death of the Divine and so many faithful only emphasized the darkness of humanity and its innumerable failings, further justifying the reason for the Maker’s abandonment of them. It made the world feel colder, as if the light of hope had been all but extinguished.

And here they were, desperately trying to stoke the flames with but an ember.

Suddenly, as he finished the last bite of stew and wiped the bowl clean with the final bit of bread in his hand, the door of the tavern burst open. In entered Varric, his leather coat covered with demon detritus and Bianca on his back. From beyond the door, he could hear the sound of a noisy crowd gathering in the distance.

“Cullen! You need to come out here.”

He knew instantly that something serious was happening, namely from the dwarf’s distinct lack of usage of his nickname, but also from Varric’s overall demeanor. Somewhat alarmed, he rose from his seat. “What’s going on?”

The dwarf shook his head and gestured for the commander to follow him. “It’s best if I tell you outside.”

Brow furrowing, Cullen gathered his armor, nodding his thanks again to Flissa before heading out of the door. Once outside, Varric shut the door behind them and took Cullen aside, speaking quietly. “Your men got a prisoner near the Temple… they handed her off to Rylen who gave her to Cassandra. The Seeker’s taking her to the Chantry to keep an eye on her.”

Cullen’s brows rose, and he took a step back. “A prisoner? Where from?”

“That’s where it gets a little crazy, so bear with me. Your soldiers are saying she got dumped out of a new rift near the big one and then immediately fell unconscious, but that’s not even the strangest part of it. They’re saying they could see some woman behind her in the rift, making sure the prisoner got out all right, but wouldn’t come out herself. Descriptions vary, but they all say she was tall and glowy. A few of your men are already suggesting it was Andraste.”

“What?”

Varric snorted. “Yeah. And here’s something even weirder. She’s got a magical mark on her hand that matches the Breach in color, and it keeps smarting and sparking every time the hole in the sky grows. This prisoner is somehow connected to the Breach, for sure.”

“Then there is a possibility she is our perpetrator,” Cullen replied, casting his eyes between the buildings to see a group of soldiers carrying a limp figure into the Chantry. Cassandra and Rylen were not far behind them.

“And that’s why you’re needed.” Varric caught his attention again and gestured towards the gates, where a group of soldiers were arguing with each other and an audience was beginning to gather. “When people got sight of that mark on her hand, they started calling for her death before your men even got her past the bridge. She’s not even conscious, so she can’t defend herself yet,” he paused for a moment, and then added, “verbally or otherwise.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed. He knew the people were eager to see the Divine’s murderer brought to justice, but they couldn’t allow an innocent woman to pay the price to appease a mob. “However suspicious she looks right now, we can’t judge her before we know the truth,” he replied, crossing his arms.

“It’s not just you saying that,” Varric continued. “Those men who were convinced the glowy woman was Andraste? They’re saying the prisoner must have been sent through with the tool to close the Breach and are arguing for her protection. Word of the capture is spreading like wildfire all over, both sides are spreading rumors that are getting crazier by the second and, well…” he trailed and pointed at the growing crowd around the soldiers. “You see my point.”

“Right.” Cullen took in a breath, knowing very well what Varric was hinting at. “Go to Cassandra and ask her if there is anything I need to do. In the meantime, I’ll try to head off a riot.”

“Sure thing, Curly.”

With that, Cullen strode forward, one hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip and purpose in his steps as he headed for the crowd at the gates. As he unapologetically shoved his way through the throng gathered there, he could already hear his men bickering beyond.

“…Andraste really did send her? Maker, she could save us all, and you’re too stupid to see it!”

“And if she wasn’t, she could kill us all, too! Obviously you’re too dense to see that, you idiot-”

“Enough!”

Cullen’s sharp bark cut through the air as he broke through their audience, silencing the argument then and there. His soldiers’ eyes widened at his approach, and before they could say anything in protest, he pointed at the gates and demanded, “Tell me why you aren’t at your posts.”

“W-well… ser… there’s a p-prisoner.”

“She came through the Fade and w-we brought her here!”

“She could have done it, ser! She could have-”

His raised hand silenced them again.

“What the prisoner may or may not have done is none of your concern,” he said sternly, his words laced with annoyance. “The situation will be handled by the Hands of the Divine. Not you. Unless your input is requested, which it has not been, or your orders change, which they have not, you will return to your posts immediately and continue your watch, is that understood?”

Fists struck chests in salute.

“Y-yes ser!”

The handful of soldiers spun and scrambled for their watch posts, not eager to anger him further.

Once satisfied they would no longer be trouble, he turned back to the crowd around him with voice raised. “And that goes for the rest of you, too! Back to your duties! We still have a Breach to work against!”

They dispersed, albeit slowly and with much grumbling, and he remained standing there for a few minutes to ensure they didn’t linger. He knew he couldn’t stop people from talking – gossip would spread whether they wanted it to or not – but he could keep them occupied and help prevent tensions from escalating into an all-out brawl, which would do no one any good.

Then, he saw Rylen heading down the village stairs towards him, a grave expression writ on the man’s face. He hadn’t seen the Knight-Captain so serious since the cleanup in Kirkwall, and it was more than a bit disconcerting to witness.

“Commander,” the Templar said as he approached, his brogue unusually thick from fatigue. “Cassandra has sent for you. They’re discussing what to do about the prisoner and want you in on it.”

Nodding, Cullen clapped his hand on his second’s shoulder. “You should probably get some rest if you can.”

He shook his head. “Can’t. Another rift has opened. I’ve already got men on it, but I may have to go afield to help.”

“Damnit,” Cullen hissed. The situation was worsening rapidly.

Rylen offered a light chuckle. “Don’t worry about me. It was about this bad when the Starkhaven Circle went down. I made it through that, I can make it through this. I probably have more sleep on me than you anyway.”

With that, the Knight-Captain proceeded towards the gates and Cullen began heading for the Chantry. His own weariness made itself known again, his headache throbbing in the back of his skull and his knees protesting as he climbed the village steps for perhaps the hundredth time in the last day. He lifted a hand to wipe a stray lock of hair out of his face and noticed that his fingers were trembling uncontrollably. At first, he thought it was just because of how long he had been awake. But then…

Maker, has it started?

He suddenly realized that half of his troubles could have been stemming from the first stages of lyrium withdrawal, and he cursed his ill luck. How typical was it that the first time he saw to his own needs, did something for himself and not for anyone else, a disaster made him regret such a selfish move?

But as his thoughts fell upon the lyrium kit, he felt his stomach churn, and the urge to vomit nearly overwhelmed him. No, if they were going to die here, then he would die a free man. That was the end of it…

That was the end of it.

Suddenly, he found himself standing before the Chantry, his memories of passing through the village abuzz with activity but a blur. Maker how he needed sleep, but they had just begun to fight…

He opened the doors and entered the dark Chantry, waiting for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. There, at the far end of the building, he slowly made out the forms of Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine in deep discussion. The flame of the candle on Josephine’s writing tablet bobbed as she gestured with it, and Cassandra’s sword and shield glinted with the Seeker’s shifting back and forth in the torchlight.

He could hear their voices well before he reached them.

“…that thing that keeps flaring up on her hand. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

They fell quiet, though, as they saw him approach, each nodding their greetings.

“You have a prisoner, or so I hear,” Cullen remarked as he neared.

“Yes,” Cassandra replied, her voice short. “We do. And she has already been secured. I will begin questioning her the moment she awakens.”

“That could be a while,” Leliana observed, putting one hand on her hip. “We might have to forcibly awaken her. Adan could help with that, I think.”

“In the meantime, we should attempt to find out exactly who she is,” Josephine added. “That alone could provide us much information.”

“And how do we do that without waking her up first?” Cullen inquired. “Did she have any identifying items on her person?”

Josephine offered him a small smile. “Well, I noticed she had the symbol of the Circle of Magi on her patchwork armor. It was difficult to see for the grime, but it was there. That narrows it down considerably.”

“So she is either a loyalist Circle delegate, or a rebel,” said Leliana, glancing Cullen’s way as well.

“That does a great deal to explain this strange ‘mark’ people say she has.” He crossed his arms. “The question is, did it create the Breach, or is it a result of the explosion, somehow?”

“If she is indeed a mage,” Josephine replied musingly, “then either option is equally as likely.”

Cassandra’s expression hardened, and she paced back and forth out of sheer frustration, running her hands through her short-cropped hair. Her voice was heavy with emotion. “If she is responsible for this…”

“Then we will see justice done,” Leliana replied, her tone reassuring. “She will be sent to Val Royeaux for sentencing.”

“However,” Josephine interjected pointedly, “we must not ignore the possibility that she could be an unfortunate victim of circumstance. We will not know anything for certain until she awakens.”

“And even then,” Leliana added, “she might not tell us the truth.”

Cassandra inhaled slowly. “If she doesn’t, then I will pull it from her by force. I will know what happened here.”

“I’ll admit,” Cullen rubbed his neck, twisting his head from side to side to try and ease the cramped muscles, “whatever it is on her hand is rather damning. As is the fact she is the only known survivor. There are already people in the village calling for her death, but-”

“Lady Seeker!”

Of a sudden, a voice came from the doors of the Chantry. There was a Templar, his helm tucked under one arm as he walked briskly towards them. When he was sure he had Cassandra’s attention, he paused his advance and continued, “There is an elf mage at the gates. He says he believes he can help against the Breach, and he wishes to know if he can speak with the leadership here.”

They all exchanged wide-eyed glances before Leliana pushed forth. “I will handle this. Let me know if the situation changes.”

They watched her leave with the Templar, the Chantry door closing behind them both with a loud bang. A few moments later, Josephine spoke again, scribbling a few notes all the while. “I will do what I can to find out about this woman. We may have to bring in the mages in the camp here for interrogation, or to see if any among them can identify her.”

“In the meantime,” Cassandra added, “I am having a contingent of soldiers watch her in the prison. If she tries anything with that mark of hers, she will die.”

Cullen took in a breath, glancing from side to side to see if there were any lingering Chantry sisters, and then stepped closer to the two women, his voice but a murmur. “Have you heard what the men are spreading around about this prisoner?”

“About her being the culprit who opened the Breach with her mark?” Cassandra asked. “Yes.”

“No, there is another.” When she and Josephine looked at him quizzically, indicating they had not heard the other side of the tale, he sighed and continued, lowering his voice even more, so that they had to lean forward to understand him. “There are a few who maintain that there was someone in the rift behind her when she fell through. Judging from this figure’s appearance and actions, they are certain that it was Andraste.”

At that, both Josephine and Cassandra’s brows rose, and the former’s eyes widened a little. “Are they?”

“Yes.” He nodded gravely. “And they are fairly adamant about it.” He looked away, pausing for a moment, before he added, “They think Andraste sent the prisoner through to save us. I don’t know how true that is. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it.” His lips pressed together. “But… it is something to think about.”

He stepped back and sighed again. “Whatever the case. There is certainly more to this than meets the eye.”

Cassandra stood there for a moment, looking down at the stone floor as she absorbed his words, and Josephine was silent beside her. It was then that the Seeker’s face relaxed, and her own exhaustion became more evident in the dark circles around her eyes and the way her mouth pulled downwards at the corners. At last, she looked up and met his gaze, her expression steeling once more.

“Yes, there is. And it is up to us to find out the truth. Whatever that may be.”

Chapter Text

“Commander!”

Cullen’s head turned when he heard the distant call. A red-faced young lad, one of Leliana’s scouts, stumbled through Haven’s gates and kept plowing forth at a breakneck clip, headed straight for him. His brow furrowed as he noticed the frightened expression on the young man’s countenance, and he steeled himself for bad news. He knew it was coming; it was only a matter of time before the situation would begin to deteriorate more rapidly and their somewhat stable position would be dismantled bit by bit.

“Commander… urgent message to deliver, ser!” the messenger panted upon reaching him.

“Report.”

The boy gasped for air, leaning on a barrel and clutching at the stitch in his side as he passed along his message. “New rift… opened past the forward camp… closer to Haven. Knight-Captain Briony… is holding… but has asked for reinforcements.”

To punctuate his words, a shuddering crack rang out from the Breach, accompanied by a bright green flash pulsing through the air in a physical vibration that caused the hairs stand up on the back of Cullen’s neck. The periodic expansions of the hole in the Veil were increasing in frequency, and it seemed the growth was causing more and more rifts to open up around the valley as the Veil itself gradually lost its strength.

Despite their attempts at maintaining a brave face, they were losing hope, and fast.

Turning back and keeping his expression as reassuring as possible, Cullen clapped an armored hand to the messenger’s shoulder. “Good work. Go find someplace to rest and recover. I’ll send for you if I need you.”

The lad’s expression shifted to one of weary gratitude. “Thank you, ser.”

Once he was gone, Cullen gestured to a sidelined messenger near the gates. “Jim!”

The man gave him a blank look for a moment before snapping out of his shock and nearly tripping over his own feet to get to him. “S-ser?”

Cullen sighed, resisting the distinct urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “We’ve got another rift in the valley where Briony is set up and she’s asked for reinforcements. Get to the patrol between the Crossing and the second bridge and tell them I’ve ordered them to reroute to Briony’s position. They should defer to her command and give me a report on injuries as soon as they are able.”

Jim blinked, his mouth open slightly.

Maker’s breath, this man is insufferable…

“Now!” Cullen barked.

“Y-yes ser! Right away, ser!”

Jim scrambled away, almost plowing face-first into the dirt before recovering his balance and charging for the gate.

Cullen took in a deep breath, drawing copious amounts of cool air into his lungs, and exhaled slowly. His anxiety was making him short of temper, and the slowly-developing lyrium withdrawals weren’t helping matters at all. Finally succumbing to his body’s sheer exhaustion, he had managed to find a few hours of sleep the previous night, which he had thought eased his trembling hands. However, an hour or so after he had awoken again, the tremors returned. He couldn’t even write a legible sentence, and so now his orders were delivered to his various units by word of mouth.

He also increasingly found himself fighting sporadic spells of chills and cold sweats, symptoms he had suffered after the fall of Kinloch Hold. The magic of the Breach was dredging up nigh-crippling memories he had buried under a decade’s worth of effort. It took all of his strength of will to control them, pushing them back behind the wall he had built in his mind, but always they were poised to spill over again. They threatened to resurface even when he wasn’t consciously thinking about them, and he feared what they might make him do…

On top of that was the knowledge of the growing number of demons in the field, spilling out of these rifts and falling out of the very sky. The irrepressible urge to find his lyrium kit and resume his consumption of it tickled at the back of his mind, torturing and taunting him.

You need it… need it for stability… need it if you are to help your men who are dueling demons at this very moment…

His fists clenched.

No. I will fight them without it if I have to.

To his great frustration, Cassandra refused to let him take the field personally for the time being. She insisted that she and Rylen be the ones overseeing the various units in the valley on their way back and forth from the forward camp. When he had protested, she had reasoned that he needed to conserve his energy for when he really was needed out there, which was only a matter of time. It seemed like sound logic at first, but doubts had begun to plague him.

At times, it felt as though she were coddling him, holding him back for his own preservation, trying to keep her commander safe from harm. Other times, he sensed she was not confident in his abilities to lead in a situation like this, something that none of them had ever anticipated. Though he fully well realized that both cases were, in all actuality, highly unlikely, these thoughts nevertheless gnawed at the back of his mind as he struggled to follow her orders. She was the one who recruited him, and thus he felt he had no right to disobey her, and yet, at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to be out there fighting alongside the men he had hired and trained, helping to hold back the tide of demons. He needed to be there. He knew the value of an extra sword and the knowledge of someone who had been trained to fight such beasts. He could make a difference…

But without the lyrium, that difference was significantly minimized compared to that of the other Templars under their command. Perhaps that was why she was holding him at bay…

He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to release the tension in his arms. When he opened them again, he saw Cassandra herself approaching from the direction of the Chantry, pushing her matted hair out of her eyes as she wandered towards him. Her emotions were never well-hidden, and her frustration and worry were apparent on her face as she met his gaze and nodded to him in acknowledgment. He shoved his own doubts and fears behind his mental wall, then, determined not to let her know of them. They were all under too much duress as it was.

“What is the word on the prisoner, Seeker?” he asked when she neared enough to hear him, curious as to how they were proceeding with the captive.

Cassandra sighed, crossing her arms as she drew up next to him. “After reading Leliana’s report on the apostate elf, I decided to let him study the prisoner to see if he can discover anything about the mark she bears while she is still unconscious. His name is Solas, and from what Leliana tells me, he seems to have extensive knowledge of the Fade and its effects on the living. He has promised to use that knowledge to help us find a way to close the Breach, which he claims is something that will eventually swallow the world if not stopped. I am currently awaiting his findings.” She looked off in the direction of the Breach, visibly wincing as another shockwave erupted from it. “I will admit, it is a painfully slow process.”

“Time is not exactly a luxury we have right now,” Cullen remarked, following her gaze and watching as a spray of smoking rocks plummeted from the hole in the sky.

“No, it is not,” she agreed. Then, motioning to him, the Seeker continued, “Come. Leliana wished to speak with you about a scouting squad she sent through the mines to the Temple.”

Brow furrowing, he followed in silence, wondering what had arisen. As they walked, he noticed that many of Haven’s villagers were either avoiding each other entirely or immersed in heated arguments as they repaired torn armor and replaced bloody bandages. The tension and fear in the air had only grown in the last day, in part due to the swelling of the Breach, but mostly because of the presence of the prisoner. The populace remained firmly divided concerning the marked woman; half believed her to be the culprit behind the whole disaster, while the other half was unsure of her or hoped she could help them somehow. Both sides, however, were scared out of their wits, frightened at what she was and what her presence might mean for them all.

If he was honest with himself, Cullen did not know what to think of it. He could not say that the prisoner’s being a mage did not concern him, that her possessing an unknown magical anomaly on her body did not worry him, or that her falling out of the Fade did not make him ill at ease. All of those factors most certainly did do those very things. However, he was not about to condemn her when he had no proof of her wrongdoing.

That was something Meredith would have done.

What primarily concerned him at the moment was the possibility that the strange mark on her hand would do something none of them expected, up to and including transforming her into an abomination. He could only hope that she retained her will while unconscious and could still defend against demonic intrusion, both from within her mind and without. If not…

He shook his head to clear it. It hadn’t happened yet, and perhaps they would remain lucky.

As the two warriors finally entered the Chantry, they found Leliana and Josephine in deep discussion in an alcove not far from the doors. At the burst of light into the dark interior, they stopped their talk and looked towards the entrance. The ambassador, Cullen noted, had managed to pull her hair back up into a tight bun, her appearance less disheveled than it had been the previous day.

“There you are,” Leliana said as she spotted him. “I wanted to talk with you. Have you any unusual reports lately? I sent a small group of scouts to the Temple, but they have not sent any runners or ravens back yet, and it has been a good amount of time. I thought something might have delayed them.”

“I just received word of a new rift opening closer to the village,” he replied. “Perhaps that is the cause. I already rerouted a patrol that way after reinforcements were requested.”

The Nightingale sighed, putting her hand to her forehead. “This is not good. Our men are being spread too thin.”

“Something I have been trying to remedy,” Josephine added, her usually calm tone more than a little aggravated. “But it seems almost every local noble with any significant forces whatsoever is far more content with waiting for the problem to come to them than sending their soldiers to delay it. We do have a small contingent of Orlesian guards coming at the behest of a few of the remaining nobility here, but they won’t arrive for another two days.”

“And in the meantime, we cannot afford to lose what men we do have,” Leliana observed pointedly.

Cullen was about to offer a possible plan when an elf garbed in ragtag Circle robes suddenly burst into the Chantry, causing them each to start at the sound.

“I have to see her!”

Cassandra immediately blocked his path, her hand on the hilt of her sword. “Hold! Who are you?”

The elf’s face bore an expression of pure panic as he halted in his tracks and frantically glanced between the four of them, his heterochromatic green and brown eyes widening as he noticed the Seeker’s readiness to draw a weapon on him. He inhaled slowly to calm himself before replying clearly, his hands held upwards in a sign of peace. “My name is Danlan. I am a mage from the Circle of Ostwick. Our Archmage led us here for the Conclave. If your prisoner is who I think she is, then that’s her. And I can tell you right now that she didn’t do this! No matter what you think, she didn’t murder the Divine!”

Josephine’s brows rose as she remarked, “I think we should let him see her.” When that garnered a strange look from Cassandra, the ambassador hastily added, “At least, from a safe distance. Through the door.”

Glancing between the elf and the Seeker, Cullen nodded. “I agree. If he can help identify her, then I think it would do much to clarify the situation.”

At last, after several moments of contemplation, Cassandra huffed, “Very well. Danlan, you say? Follow me.”

Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine all stood back to let the elf follow at the Seeker’s heels before bringing up the rear themselves. The three exchanged looks of curiosity as they went, descending into the prison beneath the Chantry. Each knew what the other was thinking – were they lucky enough to have someone on hand who could identify her so soon?

When they finally reached the cell in which the prisoner was being watched by a ring of armed guards and observed by the elven apostate, the Seeker stood back and gestured to the door for Danlan to look through. He approached tentatively, and his eyes squinted as he peered through the barred window. Then, as they beheld the figure beyond, they widened in both shock and horror at the sight that Cullen himself could not see: she was on her knees, her hands shackled together, one ungloved palm smarting and crackling with eerie green light every few minutes; her head was bowed as she slept where she sat, and her raven-black hair was half falling out of her ponytail, laced with dirt and grime; her ragged outfit of cobbled-together equipment was filthy, and her pale face was smeared with mud and blood. But despite her condition, she was apparently instantly-recognizable to the elf, who slowly backed away from the door.

“That’s her! Maker, that’s her! That’s our Archmage! Oh, sweet Andraste… what happened to her?”

“You’re certain?” Josephine inquired, scribbling away on her tablet of parchment. “Please, tell me all you can about her. Was she loyalist? A rebel?”

Danlan shook his head back and forth rapidly, and Cullen could tell that his hands were trembling. “No, we were – are – all loyalists. She led us from the carnage when our Circle fell… she kept what was left of us safe before bringing us here when we heard about the Conclave.” He took a breath to steady himself, and then continued, speaking very slowly so that Josephine could record his words accurately. “Her name is Verana-Kathryn Trevelyan. She is the daughter of the Bann of Ostwick. Or a daughter.” He glanced away briefly as his brow furrowed in thought. “I think she has siblings. Several. If I remember right, she said one of them was a Templar.”

“The Trevelyans,” Josephine repeated as she continued to take notes, her quill scratching loudly. “I have heard of them… minor Marcher nobility, yet still somewhat prominent in local politics. They are quite the ancient house, if I remember correctly, and tied to several other noble families in the region.”

“Would she have any reason to attack the Divine? Disrupt the proceedings?” Cassandra crossed her arms.

“No!” Danlan’s eyes widened again. “Maker, no, she… she is one of the faithful herself! At least, as far as I know. And she would never dream of doing something so terrible! I tell you, she didn’t do it! Besides, she didn’t have that… that thing on her hand before we arrived!”

“But she could have obtained it after she left for the Temple, or even at the Temple itself,” Leliana replied.

“No, no, this can’t be her fault!”

“Please, Danlan,” Josephine implored, her tone a soothing one in an attempt to calm the elf. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything at all that might be of assistance?”

He raked his hands through his sandy-brown hair. “She came here to help achieve peace. That’s all. She hated this war! She hated what it did to the Circle! It was our home before rebel mages decided to take it down in flames. Maker, she would never do anything to perpetuate this conflict or to hurt the Divine. Please, I know I have no proof other than my word, but you must believe me!”

Cassandra shook her head. “We cannot go on your word alone. We will question her ourselves when she awakens.”

“If she awakens,” Leliana added.

“Though we do thank you for the information you have provided us.” Josephine inclined her head to the elf gratefully.

“I…” the elf trailed, obviously unsure of what else to say. He looked almost defeated as he sighed and turned to leave. “You’re welcome. I… I hope it is useful.”

With that, he walked quietly down the prison corridor to the stairwell, his robes rustling only slightly as he walked, his shoulders hunched. He had obviously hoped to convince them of her guiltlessness, but Cassandra was right. His word alone would not be enough.

Once Danlan was gone, Leliana pulled her hands behind her back and glanced between them. “So, it seems she has a friend.”

“A friend who quite adamantly vouches for her innocence,” Josephine remarked.

“Which is either true, or she has put up a very convincing act. Enough to fool those closest to her,” Cullen observed.

“Either way,” the ambassador added as she scribbled down a few more notes, “the chances of her being a victim in this affair are becoming more likely.”

Suddenly, the elven hedge mage opened the cell door and then closed it again behind him before offering them each a slight bow in greeting. He was a slim, lithe man of shorter height than each of them, but he carried himself with an air of self-assuredness that was not like that of most elves whom Cullen had met before. He wore plain breeches and a loose tunic, his feet all but bare, his only adornment a wolf’s jawbone on a leather cord around his neck. His bald pate shone a bit in the low light, his sharp features thrown in high relief and his greyish eyes sparkling as he regarded them.

“Well?” Cassandra prompted expectantly.

“I bear what I would think to be good news,” he said, the elf’s manner of speech striking Cullen as quite peculiar for some reason. “Firstly, you should be comforted by the fact that she is not possessed in any way, shape, or form. You likely already suspected such, but I felt it prudent to confirm it. By luck, intervention, or her own strength of will, she has been spared from such a fate. For now.”

The Seeker was quiet, and Cullen saw her dark eyes squint at the elf, as if she was suspicious of Solas’s honesty. Josephine and Leliana both watched her expectantly, exchanging slight glances. After a few moments, however, Cassandra at last nodded. “Continue.”

“Secondly, the mark she bears on her hand is most certainly connected to the Breach, as you have no doubt already assumed. I believe it to be a side effect of the creation of the Breach, branded upon her palm the same moment the hole in the Fade was formed. If it has the same source as the magic that produced this Breach, as seems likely, then it could be possible that this Mark holds the power of sealing the Breach itself.”

The Seeker’s brow furrowed. “How?”

The elf glanced away, as if thinking for a brief moment, before answering, “I will spare you the technical details and say simply this – what is done can, very often, be undone. The Fade is mutable, subject to changing simply on the whims of those who imagine there. Why should we assume that any hole torn in the Veil that separates us from the Fade is any less so?”

Not waiting for a response, Solas continued, “This mark is perhaps best seen as a key... one that both locks and unlocks. As a key fits a lock, this mark seems to fit the Breach, and perhaps has the power to seal it again by virtue of the fact that it stems from the selfsame magic.

“Unfortunately,” he added, his tone grave, “the very act of possessing this key is destroying your prisoner. She is slowly dying as it consumes her. It spreads from her hand with each expansion of the Breach, and the faster the Breach grows, the more quickly her deterioration will occur. I have done what I can to stall this progression, but know that is all I am able to do. We must hope she wakens quickly, or she will perish before we can even attempt to stop the Breach.”

“If it can be stopped, as you theorize,” Cassandra remarked, her heavy skepticism evident.

“But if there is even the slightest possibility that it will work,” Leliana countered firmly, “we must try.”

Solas nodded his approval before continuing on, “To know for certain that my theory is correct, however, the Mark would need to be tested somehow.”

“I just received a report that there is a new rift nearby,” Cullen replied. “Perhaps that would be sufficient?”

The elf then inclined his head to him. “I would very much like the opportunity to bring the prisoner to one of these smaller rifts. If my theory holds true, and the power of the Mark can be used to close it, then it would be safe to assume that the Mark will also work on the Breach itself. ”

At that moment, Varric approached from the corridor, his coat even filthier than it had been the day before. He looked to each of them in turn before addressing Cullen, “Hey, Curly, they sent me back to tell you… that new rift is under control for the time being. You’ve got a handful of soldiers returning with Briony to the village to get their wounds patched up. One of them has some broken ribs. Other than that, everyone is still alive. At the moment, at least.”

Solas turned back to Cassandra. “Seeker, perhaps you would let me replace some of your wounded. My knowledge of the Fade does include how to fight its denizens, and I think it would be of great help to be able to study one of these rifts up close, at least until the prisoner awakens.”

The Seeker glanced to Leliana, who nodded her approval. Sighing, Cassandra replied, “Very well. Varric, would you escort Solas to this rift?”

“Of course, Seeker,” Varric acquiesced to her request, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “As always, I live to serve.”

As he bowed to her, Cassandra rolled her eyes in disgust. Solas, however, seemed somewhat amused at the sight, as a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Nodding respectfully to each of them in turn, the elf then gently pushed past them and followed the dwarf down the hall towards the stairs.

“Do you think he is telling the truth?” Josephine asked, once Varric and Solas had disappeared around the corner.

Cassandra shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. And that scares me. To think we have to put our trust in an apostate who just happens to show up when we need him.”

“The timing is most certainly suspicious,” Leliana concurred.

“Or fortunate,” Josephine remarked.

Cullen sighed. “I don’t know if it is any consolation, but most of what he said seems to ring true, at least from what little I know about magical functionality and the Fade. I suppose the question now must be whether or not our prisoner will cooperate with our experiment.”

“She has no choice,” Cassandra said flatly. “If she does not help close the Breach, and what Solas says is true, then she will die and we will be doomed. She must help us, at the very least, to save herself.”

“We will need to be ready to help her, as well,” Leliana added. “The prisoner must get to the Temple alive.”

“I agree,” Cullen replied, propping a hand atop the hilt of his sword as he began to formulate a plan of attack. “And that means we will need to concentrate our forces in the valley to try and clear the way as much as possible. Rylen is already at the forward camp. I will bring what men I have in the village and as many as I can spare from the outposts to –”

“Lady Seeker, she’s waking up!”

The sudden loud call came from within the cell, causing each of them to turn towards the door in slight alarm.

At that moment, Leliana put a gloved hand on his shoulder. “It seems we won’t have to wait as long as we feared. Go ahead to the forward camp. I will meet you there after we interrogate the prisoner, and then we can decide how to proceed.”

He nodded, and as the two Hands turned from him and made for the cell, he and Josephine departed the prison, the only sounds after the loud creak of the door opening being his own heavy footsteps, accompanied by the lighter ones of the ambassador. They said nothing to each other during the walk, even as they reentered the Chantry proper, until he was at the doors and he heard the Seeker say very quietly behind him, “Good luck, Commander.”

Chapter Text

Cullen’s armor clanked with every step as he entered the forward camp, quickly garnering the attention of all those who milled around the bridge and gates awaiting orders. He clutched his helmet under one arm, shifting its weight in his grip as he spared a glance towards the Breach just over the mountains. The storm-grey clouds churned overhead as they were drawn towards the brightly-glowing maelstrom over the Temple ruins. It seemed impossibly large now, as if it were already swallowing the world in its terrible maw. He subconsciously gritted his teeth together as the power pulsating from it set his nerves on edge and sent a shudder down his spine.

“Your orders, ser?”

Rylen had quietly moved to his side and now stood there with his hands behind his back, stalwartly awaiting instructions. His Templar armor was worn, battered, and stained with the filth of demons, and yet the warrior still wore it with dignity. He watched Cullen with a sharp gaze, not yet dimmed by the weariness that had begun to weigh him down, and he gave his commander a small nod of assurance.

“Get the men to form up on the other side of the bridge. I want everyone who can hold a weapon against these monsters. Leave only the stationed guards at the gates.”

“You’ve got it.”

The Knight-Captain then turned and began barking orders over the din of the camp, gathering the soldiers, mercenaries, and scouts who were yet fit to fight. As Cullen looked on, he noticed Chancellor Roderick slowly approaching at the edge of his field of vision, arms folded across his chest and watching as the men Cullen had brought with him from the village and outposts passed them by, following Rylen across the bridge.

“And what is all of this, Commander? Pouring even more men into a desperate attempt to hold the line?” Roderick asked, his tone bearing a note of haughtiness.

Cullen bit back a sharp quip and instead replied shortly, “No.”

“Then what is it?” Roderick pressed.

The commander’s answering glare seemed to take the Chancellor by surprise for once, as Roderick reflexively flinched when Cullen’s head abruptly jerked in his direction. The man recovered quickly, however, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes and adding, “Let me guess… you’re leading a valiant charge to push back the tide? And at what cost? For what purpose? I cannot allow-”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Chancellor, I don’t answer to you,” Cullen hissed, taking his helm in hand and settling it on his head. “We have a chance to end this now, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that if we fail, it will not be because I was afraid to risk my life for the people who depend on us.”

Unlike you, he thought darkly.

For a moment, Roderick seemed too stunned to say anything in response, and an unseen smirk pulled at Cullen’s lips, concealed behind the fangs of the lion. The Chancellor was under the unfortunate assumption that he had any control over anyone at that camp other than the lay sisters who tended the wounded, desperately clinging to what piddling authority the Chantry had granted him. Cullen, Leliana, and Cassandra did not serve the Chantry anymore – that had ended with Justinia’s death – but Roderick was still stubbornly operating as if they did in a desperate attempt to elevate his standing.

“I can see why Seeker Pentaghast hired you,” the Chancellor sneered at last, leaving Cullen to guess the reason to which he was referring. “And as for this ‘chance’ you speak of… tell me you do not believe these misbegotten rumors that your prisoner can do anything to help us. That you aren’t leading men to die for the sake of a mage who-”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Cullen replied, leaning in so that he was peering down at the Chancellor from beneath the shadows of his helmet, the muzzle of the lion inches away from Roderick’s forehead. “Because if I don’t, then there is an even greater possibility that everyone, everywhere, will die. I cannot say whether or not she can help us, or whether or not she murdered the Divine, or whether or not she has been guided by the Maker any more than you can. But unlike you, I’m not going to sit back and let the world end because my pride won’t let me admit that-”

“Commander!”

Leliana’s breathless call suddenly came from his right. She jogged up to him, her pale face reddened by wind and exertion. His brows rose as he realized she must have run all the way from Haven to have arrived so soon after him. He noted that her bow and a full quiver of arrows were strapped to her back.

“Are you all right, Sister?”

She nodded, giving him a very small appreciative smile before adding, “The prisoner is on her way. Cassandra is taking her to the rift where Solas and Varric are so they can test the Mark. If all goes well, she’ll be brought here next.”

“This is ridiculous,” Roderick muttered as he stormed away.

Ignoring the Chancellor, Cullen jerked his thumb behind him, to the other side of the bridge. “I brought as many men as I could. They’re forming up on the other side under Rylen’s direction.”

“Good,” Leliana replied, her lips thinning. “We need to make sure she gets to the Temple, no matter the cost.” Glancing to the mountains where the Breach hovered, the Nightingale paused and added, “I did think of something, though… something I will bring up when they arrive. Perhaps it would be a better to have our forces charge head-on at the ruins as a distraction, so that we might go through the mountain path more safely, rather than all of us pursuing the same route together and risking the prisoner’s life in the battle. Is that a plan of action you would be agreeable to, Commander?”

Cullen followed her gaze as he absorbed her words, resting a hand atop the pommel of his sword. After a few moments, he answered, “Yes… it would save us having to look out for her personally. And if we can draw the demons away from the ruins, then perhaps you can move even more quickly.” Returning his attention to her, he nodded again. “Right. If that is the plan Cassandra ultimately wishes to follow, I will not object. We will draw their attention for as long as possible.”

Leliana crossed her arms, moving to a table that had been set up with a map of the area atop it. Not looking back up at him as she examined the map, she answered, “I will wait here and give you a signal, then, if you are to proceed without us. If not, we will, of course, join you on the other side.”

He inclined his head. “At your order, Sister Nightingale.”

At that moment, there was a loud crack from the Breach, followed by a smaller one that resounded outside the gates through which Leliana had just arrived. Shouts of surprise followed, and Cullen and the Nightingale glanced to one another with eyes wide and brows lifted.

“There’s another rift!” the guards cried.

“Seal the gates! Quickly!”

The order caused both Cullen and Leliana to share looks of borderline despair as they shook their heads. This couldn’t go on much longer.

“At least the prisoner will have plenty of practice,” the Nightingale finally remarked dryly before sighing. “I’ll make sure nothing comes through but Cassandra and the prisoner. Go on, and make sure the men are ready.”

“At once.”

Cullen then spun on his heel and headed in the opposite direction, towards the gates beyond which Rylen had assembled all the men they could bring with them to the ruins. His boots were heavy on the cobbles as he walked, and he was acutely aware of the sound of his own breathing inside his helm.

They stood in formation on the road to the Temple, at attention, not a sound to be heard among them as he strode from the gates to where they faced Rylen. The Templars among them stood in their own unit to the side, as did the archers; there were no mages with them, as Cullen feared what the presence of too many demons might do to them. As he made his way towards the front of the company, Rylen nodded to him in acknowledgement, now with his winged helm on his head, and saluted. “Ready and awaiting your orders, Commander!”

Another crack erupted from the Breach, and Cullen squinted at it to make sure it wasn’t going to rain demons on their heads. After a few breaths, satisfied they would be safe for the moment, he returned his attention to his men. Though their discipline kept them nigh motionless, he could see the fear in their eyes and in the tiniest waver of the weapons in their hands. He could feel his own heart pounding a little harder in anticipation of the battle to come, and he took in a deep breath to steady himself. This battle would decide the course of history, a fact that weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Glancing about, he saw a nearby boulder, and he jumped atop it to make himself more visible to all the soldiers assembled as he prepared to address them. He had thought about what he wanted to say to them as they had marched to the forward camp, knowing they would need a speech that would transform fear into hope and anger into focus.

“Defenders of Haven! Hear me now!”

Heads turned towards him with a ripple of silver that was tinted green with the light of the Breach, accompanied by the occasional bob of feathers and dancing of plumes. As Cullen looked down on this ragtag company of Templars, mercenaries, scouts, and hastily-trained recruits, he drew his sword, the blade ringing out of its sheath with the clarity of a bell.

“We have lost much in these past few days, bringing darkness into our hearts, just as the Breach has unleashed darkness onto the world. But the Chant reminds us that even in darkness there is hope! And that sliver, that chance, is why we stand here, now, together. Here we make our stand, so that the Breach might be closed once and for all! Here we charge into darkness, so that we might protect our loved ones and all that we cherish! We will take the fight to these demons who invade our world! We will let them taste our steel and arrows! We will exact vengeance upon their hides for our losses! And if we die here, then we will do so with honor, fighting so that others might yet live!”

Nods and murmurs ensued, filling the air with a soft hum.

He raised his blade high. “Are you with me?”

There was a roar in response, blades crashing against shields. Cullen smiled. They were brave souls. He only hoped that bravery would be enough. He hopped down from the boulder, scanning every row for a last-minute equipment check and making eye contact with each man and woman there. He wanted them to know that they were not lost in a collective… that he was not sending them into battle without knowing that his forces were comprised of people and not mindless weapons.

Then, a sharp whistle split the air. Glancing to the bridge’s gatehouse, he saw Leliana waving him forth, her bow in her hand as she stood in the archway.

It was the distracting charge, then.

“Templars! Form a vanguard and follow Knight-Captain Rylen’s command!” He shouted.

“Ser!”

“Archers, defend the flanks and fire when clear!”

“Yes, ser!”

“The rest of you! Keep ranks and advance with me!”

He moved them forward at a brisk pace behind the assembled Templar vanguard, very nearly jogging. Armor clanked and breaths panted loudly inside helmets, puffing out tiny clouds of moisture in the cool air, which quickly condensed on steel visors. Chains jingled, potions clinked, and quivers rattled. These sounds blocked out even the eerie noises constantly emanating from the Breach that loomed ever nearer as they closed in on the ruins. Cullen felt his skin prickle, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck as a cold sweat beaded upon his brow, his own breath becoming shaky with adrenaline. He shrugged his shield upon his arm and adjusted his sword in his grip, forcing himself to focus. Memories of Kinloch would not cause him to lose this fight…

“Steady!”

Rylen slowed the Templars ahead of them, stretching them across the road to form a barrier between the demons and the rest of the soldiers. Cullen knew they would come quickly, drawn out by the sounds and sensations of living beings nearby, tempted by the presence of new prey. “Archers! Find high ground! Soldiers, stay steady behind the vanguard!” he shouted.

The marksmen scrambled up rocks and broken towers to find cover and better vantage points while Cullen paced alongside the right flank of his company. He could hear bowstrings tightening and boots shifting as the soldiers settled their weight.

“Here they come!” Rylen warned.

And, sure enough, they did. Out of the yet-smoldering ruins emerged flickering shadows – shades and wraiths, accompanied by Rage demons that smoldered in the gloom like embers on a cold winter night. On and on they came, like a river that had broken through a dam, rushing at them in an overwhelming surge…

“Steady!” Rylen commanded the Templars.

“Stay behind the vanguard!” Cullen ordered. “Let them come to you!”

Arrows whistled overhead as the marksmen let loose their volleys as soon as they could find clear targets. They found their marks in the shades and wraiths, but that only seemed to spur the beasts onward, quickening the surge. The Rage demons struck the vanguard first, waves of fire crashing into the Templars’ raised shields but dissipating upon impact as the warriors willed the magic away to nothingness. The other demons then descended after as a massive shadow upon the company of soldiers; the wraiths were empowered by the Rage demons among them, and their forms shimmered like living fire amongst the darkness of the shades.

“Focus on the Rage demons!” Cullen roared from the flank as the Templars engaged the enemy. He knew they could weaken the wraiths if they removed their empowering force from the equation entirely, but the Templars would have to act quickly. Rylen echoed his order, and lyrium-powered blades sang as they struck demon flesh.

Almost in response, the Rage demons swelled in size as the shades and wraiths pushed forth, feeding off of the emotions of their prey. The demons flickered in and out of existence, the Veil so weak that they could use it to blink past the frontline. The soldiers were quick to act, charging forward and cutting down the demons already enfeebled by the power of the Templars as they fought. For the longest time, it was as if two tides were pushing and pulling against each other, neither side gaining or giving ground.

Cullen shouted encouragements, striking down any wraith or shade that managed to emerge on the rightward flank. The company held together remarkably, despite the demons that managed to flicker past the Templars. Again and again, their foes were reduced to smoking ash and flotsam at their feet…

All semblance of order was lost, however, when suddenly, out of nowhere, demons with spidery legs and gaping jaws erupted out of the ground in the middle of the ranks, sending soldiers and weapons flying into the dirt.

Terrors. He had only heard tale of these particular demons born of fear; until now, Cullen had never personally witnessed one attack. He knew instantly, however, that if he let them, these beasts would scatter his whole company across the Frostbacks with their horrifying power. Already, the rain of arrows was becoming more sporadic as the demons’ very presence began to affect his men’s minds.

“Rush them!” Cullen cried, hoping against hope that his voice would break the spell. “Give them no quarter! Hold together! Hold!”

One of the demons had pinned down a soldier, who was frozen on his back from sheer fright, his axe dropping from his shaking hands as he held them aloft to shield his face from the terrible sight that consumed his vision. Two of the man’s comrades nearby instantly fell to their knees, their hands clamped tightly over their ears as all reason was stripped from them.

And then, Cullen’s own ears were filled with horrific noises – the echoing memories of his friends screaming in pain as they slowly died, tortured to death at Kinloch Hold. Panic assaulted him in debilitating waves, a cold sweat chilling every inch of his skin. Feeding on the raw fear these memories brought, the Terror demons drew them forth from his mind just as they pulled similar memories from the minds of his men to render them helpless.

No, no, NO!

Fueled by resolve, Cullen growled audibly as he burst into action, charging at the Terror with blade uplifted. “Back to the Void with you!” he snarled, his sword tasting the blood of the beast as it first slashed through the creature’s spine and then thrust into its back, buried to the hilt in the demon’s flesh. He wrenched his blade free and spun to find the other Terror. Not two paces to his right, mercenaries struggled with the demon, which had already left one of their number dead on the ground at its feet and was working on another, claws gripped about the soldier’s neck and slowly choking the life out of him. His female comrade struggled to fight through the rivers of tears streaming down her face, her countenance contorted with rage and despair as she hacked like a madwoman at the beast, but missed with every strike.

Cullen dove low and swiped, his sword slicing clean through bone with the force of the slash as he took a leg from the demon at its knee. It lost its balance, dropping the soldier it held into a heap on the ground as it fell. Grabbing at his ankles, the Terror opened its mouth in an unearthly howl, but it broke off into a choked gurgle as the commander severed the creature’s head from its shoulders.

He whirled to assess the situation, eyes scanning the throng. The fight was growing more chaotic by the minute. The vanguard line was completely broken, now, three Templars already dead at the hands of Rage demons and shades – either burned alive in their armor or their life-force completely drained from them. The Terror demons had done much to demoralize the soldiers, and they struggled to regroup as more wraiths and shades pushed through their lines, sapping them of their strength and vitality…

Then, suddenly, there was a shuddering blast from the direction of the Breach. Cullen dared spare a glance in its direction, and what happened next nearly blinded him. A rush of magic erupted from the base of the spiraling column of green in the ruins and chased the trail to the hole in the Veil, where it burst into a brilliantly bright flash of light. The trail itself vanished and the air rippled, pulsing around them, shuddering through the demons among them. At once, the rocks stopped falling from the sky, and, if his imagination wasn’t playing tricks on him, the swirling of the vortex seemed to slow somewhat.

Could it be?

“Victory is at hand! Push them back!” He cried.

And then, he felt it. It was as if the cloud of oppressiveness that had hung over them for days had been lifted at last, and hope rushed forward to replace it. His men felt it too, war cries echoing among them as they began to recover their senses. The demons had lost the source of their energy, and the soldiers had gained one. Cullen could only watch as, one by one, the remaining demons fell, rent to pieces by his men as they charged forth, reforming into a group and pressing onward towards the ruins together until there were no more foes to fight.

“Victory!” Rylen hollered as he ripped his helm from his head, thrusting his sword skyward in exultation. The blade glimmered in the light of the sun, which began to break through the dissipating clouds in the west for the first time since the explosion.

“Victory!” Cullen echoed, answering the gesture with his own.

“Victory! Victory!” the soldiers chanted, pumping their fists in the air and jumping up and down. They whooped and yipped, laughing and crying, clapping each other on the shoulders and helmets. Some dropped their weapons and fell to their knees in prayer and thanks for their lives. Others, unable to contain their emotions any longer, sobbed and wailed both their loss and their relief at the same time.

By the grace of the Maker, they had won, but such a victory came at a high cost. More than a dozen men lay dead around them, their lives ended before they could glimpse the sun again. Thus, to Cullen, their triumph was bittersweet. Once his men had collected themselves and had temporarily bound wounds to stop bleeding, he ordered the survivors to take the fallen and carry them back to Haven to be prepared for funerary rites.

Their slow march back to the village was solemn and silent, and though the sun’s light warmed their faces as they went, coloring the land in brilliant hues of orange and gold, the Breach still swirled – albeit much more slowly – in the sky behind them, stable but yet extant. Cullen brought up the rear along with Rylen, helping the wounded stragglers catch up to the rest. All the while, Cullen’s eyes scanned the area for Leliana or Cassandra, but they were not to be found, not even at the forward camp, and so he deduced that they must have made it back to Haven already. Despite his nearly overwhelming relief that the Breach had ceased to expand, he wondered what exactly prisoner had done during the assault and why the hole in the Veil yet remained.

He could only hope that the Divine’s trusted servants would have answers.