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She stared at him, completely unable to disguise her abject horror at what had become of him. It was one of his very worst nightmares come true. She knew because she had walked in on him once when he was dozing at his desk, thrashing from some dream or other. She woke him, afraid he would do himself a mischief, and, in a rare moment of openness, he told her about it.
Red lyrium sprouted from his chest and right arm, like some twisted version of a breast plate and gauntlet. A sickly red cloud danced around his head and stained his golden eyes. The parts of him that were still human were covered in bruises and lacerations. His once proud, majestic coat lay in tatters off his shoulders, the fur at the collar matted and brown. Empty vials littered the floor around him. He was a slave, once again. He looked utterly…broken.
“Cullen.” She breathed in a broken whisper.
He lifted his head with great effort, his eyes widening slightly in recognition. She sprang into action, fumbling with the lock at the door in her haste. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here. It’s going to be okay.”
The cell door swung open but he still sat on the bloodstained stones. He gaped up at her. “Is it really you? Are you really here?”
Her heart broke at the hope and disbelief in his voice. “Yes Cullen. It’s me. I’m here.” She told him.
He was suddenly on his feet wrapping her in his good arm, very careful to let none of the lyrium poising him touch her. “Thank the Maker.” He breathed in her ear.
Tears pricked her eyes. Gently she pushed him away. “I’m so sorry Cullen.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, you’re here now.” He told her. But she saw the shadows in his eyes and knew she was to blame for every one of them.
“Herald.” Dorian prompted gently.
She looked over her shoulder to see him, Solas, and Iron Bull watching her patiently. She shook her head. “Right.” She quickly filled Cullen in on what had happened and what needed to be done, just like she had the others.
“So, if we can get the amulet, you,” Cullen glanced at Dorian, “and him will return to the past and none of…this…” He gestured to himself and the surrounding destruction, “will ever happen?”
“It won’t have happened yet.” Dorian corrected. When Cullen didn’t look comforted, she added, “And we’ll do everything to make sure it never does. Together.” She told him, brushing her fingertips against the back of Cullen’s hand.
He looked down at her, glancing at their hands. “Alright. Then we need to get that amulet.”
To her relief, he was strong enough to join their party. She didn’t know how she would have left him behind if he had been too weak, too sick, to follow.
They crept through the ruins of Redcliffe temple, staying close together. In particular, the Inquisitor stayed close to Cullen. They had hardly even begun to acknowledge…whatever was between them when she was ripped away from his world. But, seeing him like this, she knew suddenly and without doubt, that she would die to keep this from ever happening to him. What that meant, she had neither the time nor the presence of mind to examine right now.
There was a brief lull in the press of opposition against them. She was walking side by side with the commander and, before she could help herself, the question came tumbling out of her lips.
“What…what happened to you?”
He glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t stop walking, sword at the ready. She noted that even though his right hand was…unusable, he was able to use his sword in his left hand as well. Impressive. “After you…disappeared…Leliana sent agents to Redcliffe to try to find you. We never heard from them again. We waited for you to return. Almost two weeks. The Elder One returned first. Somehow he knew you were gone and he pressed his advantage. He laid siege to Haven. We held him off for three days and nights. Then he brought an Archdemon in.” He took a deep breath, peering around a corner. “It leveled the town in hours. We didn’t stand a chance. Hundreds…died. Those of us that didn’t, those of us who might know where you were, were taken here and questioned for any information on your whereabouts. Then for any information on anything in particular. Who and where our allies were, how many stood against them, a thousand questions.”
“Is that how you got…” She gestured impotently at him, biting her lip.
He finally met her eyes. “I’ve had worse.”
She gulped. “What about the others? Varric? Cassandra? Josephine?” By the Maker, if the kind diplomat had been brought to this place…
Cullen shook his head sadly. “I haven’t seen anyone other than my…keeper. Not for months. They took pains to keep us apart.”
She released a shuddering breath. “Maker’s mercy.”
He chuckled harshly. “I’m not sure there is such a thing anymore.” She stiffened. For the devout commander to say such a thing…it must have been truly terrible.
She rested a hand on his arm, just above the lyrium infection. He stopped, looking back at her. “I know I already said it…but I’m truly sorry I wasn’t here.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then his lips twitched in that familiar way and she thought that perhaps everything wasn’t lost. “I’m not.” He confided. “If it means that you’re free to go back and undo…this, then I’m glad you weren’t here.” He hesitated. “I’d be glad you weren’t here even if you couldn’t change a thing.” He confided in a near whisper.
“Cullen…”
He shook his head. “I know in your mind you and I are little more than, well, I’m not sure what we were. But I’ve had a long time to think about it. And I know…this last year…as much as I wished you would come to stop all of this…a large part of me was glad you weren’t being hurt the same way the rest of us were. Or worse. And I know now, it’s because I care for you. Very deeply. I won’t scare you with big words like love but, know that the me of a year ago may not have it figured out yet, but he cares about you just as much.”
She gaped at his admission. She wanted to tell him….so many things. But all she could say was, “You’re…a lot better with words now.”
He smirked. “What are nerves in the face of the end of the world?”
She chuckled. It wasn’t even that funny. What was that saying about gallows’ humor? “For what it’s worth, I care about you too.”
He nodded. “I thought as much. But it’s still nice to know.”
The rest of their conversation, if there was any, was cut off by another mixed force of Tevinter mages and demons. For the next hour they fought their way through the fortress. Eventually they came upon Leliana, strung up and in the middle of being tortured, right until she wrapped her legs around her interrogator’s throat and snapped his neck.
She joined them, but the Inquisitor was almost a little uncomfortable by the vicious intensity the spymaster was putting off. It was unnerving and she had a feeling that the Leliana of today was less interested in fixing things and more interested in vengeance, whatever the cost. Sending she and Dorian back to the past was just another form of vengeance.
She was proven right when Leliana slit Felix’s throat. The one who had warned them, who had tried to prevent all of this, and she killed him in cold blood.
But she didn’t have time for horror. A great tremor wracked the fortress.
“You have to hurry, he’s coming!” Leliana urged in her lilting accent.
Dorian was frantically crafting the spell. “I need more time!”
“And we will give it to you.” Solas intoned. Her eyes snapped to his, Iron Bull standing by his side. “Inquisitor. I look forward to seeing you in the past.”
“Solas…”
“We’ll meet for a pint in the tavern when all this is over, eh Boss?” Iron Bull said with a wink.
She sniffed. “I promise.”
“You have until I run out of arrows.” Leliana told them. She had the strangest urge to embrace the hardened bard, but held back. They headed toward the door, leaving her standing at the bottom of the dais with Cullen.
“I’m going to fix this.” She vowed.
He nodded. “I believe you.” He stooped, brushing his lips over hers and making her gasp at the unexpected contact. “Don’t let me wait too long to do something about us, okay?”
She nodded, fighting back tears.
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek and then turned to go, drawing his greatsword and taking up a stance in front of Leliana.
She backed her way up the dais towards where Dorian was putting the final touches on the spell. The portal burst into life just as the doors to the throne room shattered under the onslaught. She gasped, knowing that if the doors were open it was because Solas and Iron Bull were no longer able to defend them. They took down Leliana next, the Spymaster screaming her vitriol into the night. Her eyes filled with tears at the loss but she blinked them away rapidly, trying desperately to see Cullen. He fought through it all, without hesitation, without thought for his own safety. He fought with the ferocity of a man defending something precious to him.
An arrow hit him in the shoulder and she staggered as if the blow had hit her. He dodged the slash of an axe, but didn’t see the Terror coming from behind him. She tried to scream a warning. His head snapped to her horrified face the instant before the Terror’s claws skewered him from behind.
“NO!” She screamed, taking two steps towards him before Dorian’s arms stopped her. She thrashed against him. “Let go!” She sobbed. “Let me go!”
“It’s not real!” Dorian yelled in her ear. “All you have to do is step through the rift and it will never have happened!”
She could barely hear him over the roaring in her ears. “Let me go, let me go! Cullen!”
Dorian’s arm was an iron band around her waist. Her toes dug into the ground but he dragged her inexorably towards the rift.
“Cullen!” She screamed again.
As they passed through the rift her eyes were too blurred with tears to even see him clearly.
---
She tumbled through the portal, stumbling before finding her feet. It slammed shut behind her, but she barely noticed it, cold fury and terror running like ice through her veins. She needed to find him. She needed to see for herself that it was all a bad dream and that he was still alive.
She grit her teeth through Alexiu’s promises of doom and destruction, barely refraining from impatiently jiggling her leg. Or worse, letting Bull take his head and be done with it.
When they were finally free to go, she blazed a path through Redcliffe, ignoring the looks of apprehension from the townspeople. Dorian followed, mumbling quietly sarcastic commentary to just about everything they passed. Both Solas and Iron Bull fell in with them as they went. She clasped Iron Bull’s forearm and rested a solemn hand on Solas’ shoulder. They both sensed that something was not quite right with her, but accepted her grave affection in stride.
“We’re going back to Haven.” Was all she said. And that was it. They headed off on the entirely too long journey back.
None of the others, save Dorian, really understood what was wrong, though she suspected it didn’t stay that way since she could hear them whispering together at night. But they all tried to comfort her in their own way. Solas brought her cups of soothing tea each night, noticing that she wasn’t sleeping well. Iron Bull and Dorian made endless jokes, apparently competing with each other to see who could make the most lewd jab at the other’s expense. She appreciated it, tried to let it release the tight ball of tension in her chest, but her laughter sounded tinny and false even to her own ears.
All she could see was the look in Cullen’s eyes as he gazed back at her. She watched the light go out of them, watched a trickle of blood come from between his lips.
She woke each night from visions of that moment played on repeat, watching all of them die over and over again while invisible chains held her in place, unable to do anything. He was always last, always worst. The days were no better, the shadow of the dream flashing in her eyes every time she blinked.
She knew her companions were worried about her but she couldn’t find the words to reassure them. There was a fluttering in her chest and a weight in her throat. All she said was that they needed to get back to Haven. If she could just see him, just reassure herself that it had all been a dream, then maybe she would be able to breathe again.
When the walls came into sight, she almost wept from relief. She spurred her horse to new speeds, barely checking to see if the others followed. She thundered through the gates, leaping off before her horse had even come to a complete stop and for once feeling no guilt for handing the reigns off to a waiting stable hand. A glance at the training yard showed that, for once, he wasn’t there. She didn’t hesitate. She took the stairs to the keep in leaps, almost running Leliana over in her haste.
She immediately wrapped the spymaster up in a tight embrace. Leliana stiffened in surprise. “Herald?”
She pulled back to arm’s length, taking in the sight of the bard without the wear of torture and hatred etched into her face. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” She breathed.
Leliana’s brows furrowed in confusion. “…Thank you?”
She looked back and forth over Leliana’s shoulders. “Where’s C…the Commander?”
“I…believe he is in the war room. Is everything all right?” Leliana asked. She was already heading towards the chantry, breaking into a run. “I’ll explain later!” She called over her shoulder.
She nearly flew through the temple, ignoring the greetings of everyone she passed, the only thing between her and blessed peace a thick, oak door. It was only when she stood in front of the door that hesitation gripped her. If she opened that door and he wasn’t there…cold fear trickled down her spine. She rested a tentative hand on the cool wood and, very slowly, pushed it open.
It gave way under her hand, well-oiled hinges letting it swing all the way open to reveal a blonde head bent over a stack of papers. Blessed Maker…he was there. She breathed in sharply.
He lifted his head at the sound, his eyes widening at the sight of her.
“Herald?”
She only stared at him, taking in the sight of him. He was whole. There were no bruises, no slices through his skin. There was no lyrium poising his body. His blonde hair was perfectly coifed, pushed away from his eyes which were full of life and free of the pain that had been in them the last time she saw him.
“Herald?”
He rose from the war table, approaching her like she was a startled hart. He moved gracefully, no limp, no weakness from endless torture and malnutrition. His cloak was graceful and full around his body, his armor polished to a perfect shine. There were no holes in him from the claws of a Terror.
“Herald, is everything all right?”
He was close now, letting her see in perfect detail every unchanged, unmarred part of his wonderful face.
“Herald!” He said firmly, hands coming down on her shoulders. Her breath hitched at the contact. “Maker’s breath, what’s wrong?”
She knew she should say something, but it was the sound of his voice, so close to her, so real, coming from those perfect lips, that broke her. She threw her arms around his neck, her body slamming uncomfortably into his breast plate, and pressed her lips against his.
She pulled away, gulping a great breath of air and taking in his scent with it. Real, this was real.
“Herald?” He squeaked.
She pressed her lips even more firmly back to his. For a moment he was perfectly still, likely stunned, and just let her hang off of him, pressing their lips desperately together. Then, bless the Maker, he seemed to come back to himself, wrapping strong arms around her waist and supporting her where she dangled against him.
Cullen’s lips were warm and firm and slightly chapped from the cold. Not perfect. Not a dream. She pushed him, forcing him to back up until he was pressed against the door. She kissed him ravenously, starving for the real taste of him that would ground her in this reality. If she could just get closer to him, maybe she could convince herself that he was real and here and safe.
She tugged on his lip with her teeth, startling a growl out of him, and he flipped them so that suddenly she was the one pressed between him and the door. His hands were a heavy weight at her waist and tangled in her hair. Her own hands were restless, running over the hot skin at the back of his neck, messing up his hair and tangling in the fur at his collar, squeezing at his waist in a plea to press more fully into her, convince her that he was really real.
He grunted when her tongue flicked his scar, opening to her quickly before pulling away with a surprised pop. She let out a desperate whimper, begging him to stay. He pressed his forehead to hers, a silent message to slow down. They both breathed heavily. His eyes were shut but hers were wide open, still drinking him in.
“That was very...surprising…I mean nice; surprising but nice. A nice surprise. But…um…why did you…is everything…are you okay?” He stuttered, slightly flustered. He opened golden eyes, studying her curiously.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I’ll just go.” She tried to slip out of his arms, suddenly, terribly embarrassed.
“N…no!” He exclaimed, hands tightening on her waist. “Please…s…stay. Just, just tell me what’s wrong.”
His eyes were agonized with worry. For her. When he was the one who had…Her mouth worked silently for a moment. His hands gently massaged her waist, waiting for her to find the words. Finally she spoke. “You died.” She said woodenly.
His brows snapped together, not expecting that. “What?” He asked.
She shook her head, tears gathering. “You died to save me. I watched you die so that Dorian and I could come back. You were dead.” Her voice broke on a sob. All of a sudden she couldn’t hold it back anymore. The fear, the days of stress, the sleepless nights, the desperation, it all built up and broke through the damn she had been using to hold it back. A second sob followed the first, and then a third, and then she was crying, great, heaving, hiccupping sobs.
He seemed at a loss for what to do, looking at her a little helplessly. When she just cried, shudders wracking her small frame, he tentatively wrapped his arms around her, like he was afraid they wouldn’t be welcome. She collapsed against him, fisting her hands in the back of his cloak and holding on for dear life. She didn’t care that his armor was too hard against her face and arms or that Cullen seemed a little lost by her hysterics. All she cared about was that he was alive.
When it didn’t seem like she would stop crying anytime soon, he seemed to take control. He gently scooped her up into his arms, carrying her to his chair and cradling her in his lap. He shifted her head so that it was resting on the fur on his shoulders rather than on the hard metal of his armor. He started to whisper words in her ear, anything, about the Inquisition, about himself, just letting her hear his voice and feel the rumble in his chest. Eventually he ran out of words, instead repeating over and over, like a mantra, “I’m here. I’m right here.”
She didn’t know how long it took for her sobs to quiet but she was pretty sure the only reason they did was because of his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back and helping her to breathe.
“Better now?” He asked.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered hoarsely. “You must think me such a child.”
He shook his head, his cheek rubbing against her forehead. “Not at all. Believe it or not, I know that kind of panic. I would like to know what happened however.”
She gulped a breath. “I…was sent into a vision of the future. I saw what will happen if the rift isn’t stopped. I’d prefer not to tell this story more than once.”
“Would you like me to call the others?”
“Please, not yet.” She almost cried, hands tightening helplessly in his collar.
“Of course. I’m sorry. That was a foolish question.” He said in his calmest, most reassuring voice.
She sighed. “I know this must seem ridiculous. And I know I’m burdening you when you have so many more important things to do right now. I…I should let you get back to your work.” She shifted to get off his lap but his arms tightened around her, holding her firmly to him.
“Please stop trying to leave.” He said firmly. “If you need me, I will always be here for you. There is noth…nothing more important than you.”
She finally met his eyes, releasing a heavy breath. With the way he was looking down at her, so earnest and caring, she couldn’t not tell him the truth. “I saw your future self there. What you would have been like if that future came to pass. We…talked. He told me…not to let you wait too long to do something about…well, about us.” She whispered. “I watched you die Cullen. I can’t do that again. I’m coming to care about you too much. So please, don’t wait too long.”
He blinked at her. Then a slow smile spread across his lips. “Y…yes. No more waiting. I would like that. Very much.”
His stuttering words were rewarded with a watery smile. “So would I.”
He bent his head to kiss her and she closed her eyes, letting this reality finally chase away the nightmare.