Chapter Text
He returns from his morning mental training with Morrigan to find Cassandra on the balcony overlooking the mountains, a contemplative look on her face.
Careful to make a little noise, so as not to surprise her and end up with his love possibly toppling over the balustrade, he comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against his body. She lets out a pleased sigh, leaning her head against his.
“Successful?” she asks.
“If by successful, you mean Morrigan shouting at me to stop trying to listen with my ears, and comparing me unfavourably to a variety of farm animals and, at more than one point, the King of Ferelden, then yes, my love, very successful.”
She chuckles softly. “She is concerned about you, as are we all.”
“I think I’d believe that if she hadn’t started calling me Dane at one point. Which, I’m fairly sure, is the name of the Hero’s mabari. Although, come to think of it, I suppose that may have been her own special way of complimenting me.”
“Hmm, perhaps.”
“I thought she might have relaxed her antagonism after… well… learning who is actually in my head.”
She sighs. “I am still not…”
He tilts his head to kiss her temple as she struggles to find her words. In all truth, he isn’t particularly happy about having Morrigan’s mother in even partial control of his thoughts. However, Mythal… Flemeth… whoever she was, did not seem as… unpleasant as Morrigan had described afterward. Though she had taken control of his body in the Fade, it had only been to prevent Morrigan from attacking her. Self-defence, after a fashion. And even then, he had had the feeling that she had done it simply because it was expedient, not due to much malicious intention. And she had… insinuated that she did not have any orders for him. Not yet, at least. There will be time to worry about what that means later. Hopefully much later.
Cassandra is still silent in his arms, the concept of the elven god turned witch of the wilds in his head a little too much to comprehend.
“At least I got a pet dragon out of the deal,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.
She turns her head, scowling at him.
“I hardly think…”
He leans in, kissing her again; this time on the tip of her nose, which turns her scowl to a hesitant smile. “I know, my love. Still. A dragon. We can’t discount how much it will help.”
Resting her head back against his, she sighs again. “We must find Corypheus. He will only rebuild his power and come at us again. And he will come. Whatever mad play the magister has in mind, you star as his nemesis. I shudder to think what a creature like that could concoct next, given the time.”
“We’ll deal with whatever he throws at us.”
“Do not underestimate him. He is powerful, and you have yet to fight him one on one. But he will come. You will get your chance.”
“We’ll face Corypheus together.”
His previous panic about Cassandra facing the Elder One has not entirely faded from his mind, but he knows now that he both wants and needs her by his side when they end this.
Her voice softens. “There is not another man I would be more proud to fight beside. Not long ago, this was impossible to imagine. You, the man I love. Victory, close at hand. The time has come to consider what will come next.”
Though he has several quite clear ideas about what he wants next, including an actual proposal, as small a wedding as Josephine will let them get away with, and a handful of other, longer term goals that he doesn’t want to even think about, lest the Maker hear and take them away from him, he simply smiles.
“I don’t care what’s next, as long as we’re together.”
“And if I am named Divine?” Her voice turns light and teasing, shifting in his arms so they are face to face, and he knows what she wants him to say, what she wants him to do.
He tightens his arms around her again, pressing his forehead against hers. “I won’t lose you to the Chantry.”
“You won’t. I promise.”
He lowers his mouth to hers, kissing her slowly and thoroughly, sincerely. She smiles against his lips and even though he prays to the Maker daily that it won’t be the last time, he tries to memorise the feel of it.
Then…
Then his hand bursts into pain, the mark flaring bright and hot in his palm.
He pushes back from her, throwing himself back against the wall between the windows, away from the balcony’s edge, gripping his left hand in his right. A guttural scream echoes into the mountains, but it takes a moment for him to realise that he is making it himself. He senses Cassandra near him, her panic and fear, but before he can pull himself together enough to reassure her, impossibly, the sky rips open again.
“The Breach!” he hears her cry out, distant and muffled, as if from a very long way off, as the voices in his head crescendo.
“Corypheus,” he manages to reply.
Then, all at once, the pain vanishes, the voices vanish, everything goes silent and still.
The mark fades back to its usual luminous scar, and he can’t help but stare at it, even as Cassandra drops into a crouch beside him, near enough to touch but holding herself back. He drags his gaze away from his hand, glancing up into her terrified eyes.
It hurts almost as much as the mark, that terror.
Ever since he has known her, ever since that first day he was knelt in chains while she interrogated him about the death of Divine Justinia, she has been the strong one. His safe place to run to. Even back when he was almost entirely convinced that she either hated him or merely thought he was a useless waste of space, he could still rely on her completely, to protect him from anything.
She could.
She always could.
But she can’t protect him from this.
He reaches out for her with his right hand, squeezing tight when she grips it with her own. The terror still shines in her eyes, but there’s relief there now too. It helps.
“Go and get the others,” he asks her. “Cullen, Leliana, Josephine.”
Thank the Maker that the rest of his councillors and companions had returned from the Arbor Wilds while they were off taming the dragon. If this had happened a week or two ago, he would be panicking even more.
But Cassandra doesn’t move, her hand still tight in his.
“Please? Please, Cassandra.”
“I am not leaving you.” Her voice brooks no argument, though it is not because of her usual strong, commanding tone, but the way it shakes at the edges. He cannot possibly dispute her when she sounds so scared.
He nods. “Then help me up?”
In all truth, he isn’t certain that his legs will hold him, but he has to try. Though her eyes are still worried, her hands are strong and sure as she helps him to stand, her arm sliding around his waist and holding him against her.
They only manage to get as far as the inner door to their quarters before they hear footsteps on the stairs beyond. He opens the door and finds all three of his advisors on the landing.
“Inquisitor?” Cullen is the first to speak.
“It’s Corypheus,” he cuts in.
“He did that?” Leliana’s brow creases in confusion. “But why?”
He can’t help the wry smile that crosses his face. “Either I close the Breach again, or it swallows the world. Simple, really.”
“But that’s madness!” Josephine interrupts. “Wouldn’t it kill him as well?”
“I do not think he cares,” Cassandra adds, her arm tightening around his waist. “He is like a child with a toy. If he can’t have the world, he would prefer that no one did.”
The three advisors exchange glances.
“We… we have no forces to send with you,” Cullen apologises, guilty, though Brennan cannot fathom why. “We must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds. It should only be a few more days. A week, at most.”
He shakes his head, regretting it a little as a dizzy feeling surges in his mind. “I must go now, before it’s too late.”
They exchange glances again.
“I will take everyone who is willing to go,” he tells them, his strength returning to him as he realises what he must do. “My companions, that is, and a few of the scouts and soldiers already here in the castle. We kept one of your special units here when we all went to the Wilds, didn't we?”
Cullen brightens at this. “Of course, Inquisitor, I am sure they will be-“
“They will stay here. As will you.”
He is met with frowns.
“Inquisitor?”
“You said it yourself, Cullen, before the Arbor Wilds. I cannot… we cannot be certain that this – Corypheus opening the Breach – is not a ruse. A trap. That he is not waiting for us to charge off, just as we did to Adamant, to the Arbor Wilds, leaving Skyhold ripe for conquest. A failsafe, should I manage to close the Breach. I cannot guarantee that he wouldn’t rob us of our home here, just as he did Haven. In that eventuality, I would need people here, people that I trust to be able to defend it, again.”
Leliana is the first to react. “Wisely put, Inquisitor.”
There is no small amount of pride in her tone, and it makes him feel yet stronger and more certain in his convictions.
“Can you gather the others in the war room? Cassandra and I will be down presently.”
Cullen attempts to linger even as the two ladies depart immediately, but at Cassandra’s tight nod, he follows them down the stairs. When all three have passed through the outer door, leaving it shut behind them, Cassandra turns to him, her arm shifting from his waist so she can take both of his hands in hers.
“You have not changed your mind, I trust?”
He shakes his head. “I need you by my side. If he is at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, if this is to be our final confrontation, I need you by my side.”
She rests her forehead against his, taking a moment before she places his hands on her waist and snakes her arms around his neck, holding him close.
“I will not let him take you from me.”
It feels like years, like ages, since she told him that for the first time, only a few steps away from here, even though it has only been a matter of a few months. He remembers it vividly, not wanting her to leave, to break their fragile sanctuary and return to the real world. It feels like that again now. As soon as they cross the threshold into the Hall, he must be their Inquisitor, their Herald. He must lead. He must save the world, again.
But for now, he takes just one more moment for themselves, capturing her lips with his, his eyes drifting shut as he tries to return her promise without the need for words.
Soon enough, however, the sound of boots on stone flags echoes from beyond the door.
When Cassandra pulls back, hints of her previous fear still linger in her eyes, but the rest of her countenance is sure and steady.
“To work,” she says softly. Not a question.
He nods.
The war room is full and loud with whispered conversation when they arrive. He glances around the table as they all fall silent, watching, waiting for him to speak. So many faces. People he could not possibly have imagined meeting only two or three years before today, but, yet, people he could not possibly imagine being without now.
“Before I start,” he begins, wishing he’d had a little time to prepare this, to rehearse it in his head. “I want to thank all of you for what you’ve done for the Inquisition. For what you’ve done for me.” Rainier’s gaze drops away, and he fixes his attention specifically on the warrior as he repeats himself. “All of you. I don’t know what I would have done without you all. I certainly wouldn’t be standing here, that’s for sure. So believe me when I say, I believe this is our final stand. I believe this is where we will end Corypheus for good. And, if I had the choice, I would have all of you at my side. But… I can’t make that decision for you. I can’t guarantee what will happen with the Breach, with the archdemon, with… well, any of it. You are welcome to stay here and guard Skyhold with Cullen if you would prefer. I will be leaving him and some of the soldiers here just in case this is a feint. But…”
Bull clears his throat, a near-deafening sound in the lull that follows his hesitation, and then steps up to the war table.
“Nice speech, boss, but you’re mad if you think you’re leaving us behind.”
“I quite agree,” Dorian adds, taking a step forward too and resting his hand on the Bull’s arm.
Then, while all he can do is watch, mute and amazed, the others follow suit.
“What kind of biographer would I be if I missed the climax?”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily, darling.”
“I told you I’d serve you as long as I can.”
“Coryphy-shitheel is going down!”
“Gods do not fall gracefully. You may need my help.”
“Some doors should stay shut.”
Cassandra is the last to step up, warmth in her eyes as she reaches for his hand. “I trust that you do not need to hear my answer.”
He can’t help but grin. Though he had hoped that they would all join him for this, hopefully last and decisive move, he hadn’t had the heart to believe it might be true. But, if he thinks about it, this is almost as much their fight as it is his. Just because he is the one with the glowing mark on his hand does not mean that they have fought beside him all this time for nothing.
“Th… thank you,” he manages, his voice cracking just the tiniest bit despite his best efforts. “We will need to leave as soon as possible. Would… would an hour be enough time for you to make your preparations?”
They exchange a few glances, a few nods.
“I want to send an advance party before us. Just a few scouts, the fewer the better. Subtle. Leliana, could you…?”
“Consider it done,” she interrupts, with her usual enigmatic smile.
“There are already a few soldiers in the area,” Cullen adds. “Just a handful. They’ve been stationed there since… well, since the Breach was closed the last time. If they yet live, they will be of aid to the scouts. And to you, of course.”
He frowns, just slightly. Though the deployment of the soldiers is, of course, Cullen’s domain, he hadn’t been aware that there was anyone stationed there. But it does make sense, and so much had happened in the immediate period after they arrived at Skyhold… perhaps the issue had come across the war table, and he had simply forgotten. No matter.
Hopefully, as Cullen had said, they do still live.
He takes a breath, preparing to dismiss his companions and get to the business of leaving the fortress, and then Bull speaks again.
“I’ll leave my boys here. Just in case. They’re good in a tight spot.”
He nods, though it wasn’t a question. “I’m sure they will be valuable.”
The commander catches his eye, giving him a slow nod behind Bull’s back, which Brennan hopes is a promise that the mercenary company will be all right. After what had happened at the Storm Coast with the failed Qunari alliance, he would hate for them to succeed in destroying Corypheus only to return and find the Chargers gone.
“Well, darling, if there is nothing else?” Vivienne, closest to the door other than Cassandra and himself, steps toward him and rests her hand lightly on his shoulder for a moment. “We really should get started.”
He finds himself flustered again, distracted by the images in his head. “Oh, yes, of… of course. Shall we meet at the stables in an hour?”
More nods, and they begin to file out.
*
The journey down the Frostbacks to the temple seems to pass in a flash. Perhaps it’s the nerves, or the novelty, or the nostalgia. He hasn’t travelled with this many people since they did this journey in reverse, finding Skyhold for the first time. Without meaning to, he catches Solas’ eye, letting the elf’s placid smile ease his own discomfort. But the ease is only momentary.
Before, he was saving all their lives by leading them out of the blizzard to the hidden fortress, and now… now, he might be leading them all to their deaths.
He doesn’t want to think that way, he really doesn’t, but he can’t help the little voice in his head that is repeating it over and over again. Not Mythal, not any of the voices from the Well, thank the Maker. Just his own quiet internal monologue, reminding him that if he had managed to stop Corypheus at Haven, or in the Temple of Mythal, this would all already be over.
How many lives would have been saved if he had? How many wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons, sisters and brothers? How many of the scouts and soldiers, that even now are riding with and ahead of him down the mountains, have lost friends and relations and lovers to this war he has not yet managed to stop…
“You are thinking so loudly, it is practically deafening.”
Cassandra’s voice, solid and steady, breaks through his musing.
“Sorry,” he apologises, softly. “I don’t mean to.”
She reaches over, catching his hand away from the reins of his horse and lacing her fingers with his as they draw to a halt at the edge of the valley. “A copper for your thoughts?”
He forces himself to smile, squeezing her hand in a manner he hopes is reassuring. “Oh, I’m not sure they’re worth that much. You can have them for free. Just… worrying. You know how I am.”
She brings his hand up to her mouth, laying a kiss on his knuckles, so reminiscent of his own usual behaviour that it brings a genuine smile to his lips.
The sound of a soft but pointed throat-clearing brings his attention back to their surroundings, but to his gratitude, Cassandra keeps their hands linked. A single point of comforting contact between them.
He looks down, seeing Scout Harding in front of them, a couple of other scouts at her shoulders.
“He’s here,” she says, simply.
All these months, these years, he’s always thought that Harding must be fearless. No matter where he journeys, what new area he travels to, she is always there to greet him and explain their main points of concern. She might grumble about the environment or the local wildlife or whatever, but she is always there. Somehow, seeing her here, even knowing that she had been sent with the advance party, it makes this whole thing feel… normal. Just another expedition.
“And the archdemon?” he asks.
She nods. “They’re both in the temple.”
“The soldiers?”
She nods again. “Holding ground. Luckily, he seems to be more concerned with ranting about the Maker than actually attacking anyone.”
As if on cue, the sound of energy sparking fills the air, and they look up just in time to see a blast of red light flash above the temple. Quickly, he pulls away from Cassandra, slipping from his horse.
One of the scouts steps forward.
“I’ll look after the mounts, your worship. I think you’re needed.”
Usually, he’d stop for a moment, get the scout’s name, thank them, but he’s right, there is no time to lose. The others dismount too, and they break into a run toward the temple.
When they arrive, only moments later, it is to a scene of near-carnage. Corypheus is standing in a half-collapsed archway, the orb floating in a veil of crackling red energy above his outstretched hand. Demons, cloaked in Fade green light, are tearing through the soldiers, though he is pleased to see that they are still, as Harding had said, holding their ground.
Without pausing, he and the rest of his companions launch into the fight, and they make quick work of the remaining demons.
Just the magister left.
“I knew you would come,” he says, making a mockery of a bow that Brennan almost returns, just for the spectacle of it.
“It ends here, Corypheus,” he declares instead.
“And so it shall.”
The same red, crackling energy, like his own lightning magic corrupted with blood and red lyrium, explodes from his hands, and suddenly, the whole structure begins to… float? The ruins in the valley crack into pieces, some of them rising, others staying stubbornly on the ground.
All his great plans – facing Corypheus with all nine of his companions together – had clearly been for naught. Scrambling to stay upright, he takes stock of who he has left to him.
Cassandra, thank the Maker, had been at his side. He reaches out with his free hand, grasping her elbow as she gives him a determined nod.
Behind them, Varric is leaning heavily against a broken bit of wall, and Solas is getting to his feet, a look of murder on his usually passive face.
Just the three of them. Everyone else must be below, or on one of the other floating islands. He sends up a silent prayer to the Maker, to Andraste, to Justinia, that they have survived Corypheus’ machinations. If any of them have perished now, before even reaching this final battle, he will never forgive himself.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, everything halts. The ruins are stationary, floating in mid-air.
“Thank the Maker,” he hears Cassandra mutter, and gives her a smile he hopes is comforting.
“You have been most successful in foiling my plans,” Corypheus continues, mockingly. “But let us not forget what you are. A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat. We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood.”
“I’m the Maker’s chosen.”
He doesn’t realise how much he believes it, truly believes it, until the words erupt from his mouth. Despite the fact that all the things Corypheus had said – that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, an interloper, worthless – are things that he has thought about himself in the dark times, particularly after the events of the Fade, at every turn he has also had Cassandra’s voice in his head. The voice that tells him that he is faithful, that he is good, and that they are right to call him the Herald of Andraste.
Staring Corypheus down, he dares him to disagree, but all he does is stare back.
Then, the archdemon, dragon, whatever it is, emerges from the ruins of the temple, roaring over them. Just for a moment, a moment, Brennan panics. What if Mythal’s guardian doesn’t come? Or doesn’t come fast enough? He pours his heart into a prayer, though whether it is to Andraste or Mythal, he couldn’t say.
A deafening screech fills the air, and as the archdemon launches itself from the ruins, another large form collides with it.
The guardian has come, just as Mythal promised.
“You dare!” the magister grinds out.
He allows himself a slight smile before raising his staff. Beside him, he senses Cassandra lift her sword, and, though he cannot see them, he trusts that Solas and Varric are following their example.
And so, the battle begins.