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Everything was going to shit.
Back in the War Room, when Evelyn had insisted that they go and investigate Alexius rather than meet with the Templars, she’d said lightly, “What could possibly go wrong?” She’d done it just to wind Cullen up – and sure enough, that little wrinkle appeared in his scrunched nose as he glared, and that was worth it alone – but now she was sure that the Maker had been watching, and was having a great laugh at her expense.
‘What could possibly go wrong’, she had discovered, included ‘You could be sent forward in time by a Tevinter supremacist cultist and find out the world ends in less than a year’. OK, lesson learned.
She’d already found Iron Bull and Sera, or rather what they had become. The sight of them with red lyrium in their eyes, the sound of the unnatural timbre of their voices, had put her into a strange kind of denial. This was horrific, yes - a nightmare, unquestionably - but of course she and Dorian were going to travel back to their own time and ensure this never came to pass, so it would all be fine, so it wasn’t really real. She’d chosen Iron Bull and Sera as the biggest ‘fuck you’ to Tevinter she could muster out of her new band of friends - how could something like this come out of something so stupid? She was going to make it back and change things because the idea of this being real, being the future, was literally unthinkable. Her thoughts would not even humour the idea for an instant. So she kept her eyes forward, proceeded through the castle methodically, and ignored the howling nightmares hammering at the numb barrier around her heart.
Fiona had said Leliana was here, but she hadn’t named anyone else. As they crept through the passages, she couldn’t stop her racing mind imagining the fates of the others. Cassandra would have held the line at Haven as long as she could, of course, and Blackwall and Varric as well, but she hoped they’d retreated when it was clear the battle was lost. Vivienne and Solas might have fled, having their own motives rather than being driven by any particular devotion, but Cullen would have stayed to defend the Inquisition to the death, she knew, and her heart clenched painfully at the thought. He’d never abandon his troops. Unbidden, the image of his body floated into her mind – lying in rubble in the burned out chantry, snow blowing in flurries to cover the blood leaking from so many wounds, still face vanishing beneath the white.
She tried to dismiss it, to see only the stone of the castle corridors, but it lingered like a spirit, hovering before her eyes both open and shut. It seemed more real than everything around her. If you fail then he’ll die. If you fail then he’ll die. If you-
She saw him so clearly that when she turned a corner and found him in front of her, it was as though she’d summoned him herself. Her heart leaped, and her name rose to his lips on a rush of relief just to see him alive, her Cullen, and she called out, “Cullen!” in that instant it took her head to catch up with her heart and observe two things.
One, that she was alone - the others had fallen behind, letting her scout ahead.
Two, that this was not her Cullen.
This Cullen was taller, broader, encased in shining plate emblazoned with a red sword, and his eyes - surprised, but rapidly narrowing at the sight of her - were shot through with the red as well.
“Shit,” she breathed, trying to raise her staff-
The scent of ozone hit her nose a split second before the Smite, and she bent double, as all the wind was knocked out of her along with her magic. Get up get up get up she yelled in her head as she wheezed, struggling to rise - but before she could force her abdominal muscles to obey, a gauntleted hand grabbed the front of her tunic and hauled her upright instead - hauled her all the way up, until her toes barely brushed the floor, her leathers cut painfully under her arms as she instinctively dropped her staff, grabbing for the fist that now held her like a tiny prey animal in its grip.
Cullen was staring at her with - something she couldn’t quite identify. Surprise, yes. Amusement, also. But other emotions flitted through his eyes in seconds - wonder, doubt, anger, fear, confusion - and all he said was, “Evelyn?”
She was surprised enough to stop fighting. He’d never called her by her first name - always ‘the Herald’ or, even more charmingly, ‘the Prisoner’ before that. She wasn’t entirely convinced he even knew it. But at her reaction, a smile spread across his face.
“The Herald of Andraste,” he said slowly, enjoying every word, “Back from the dead? And to think you were such a reluctant saviour.”
She rapidly assessed the situation. Red - he was taking red lyrium. He was with the Red Templars. By choice or not, he was there. Maybe he’d felt he had no other choice. Maybe he’d jumped at the chance. The old Evelyn, the one who’d attended Conclave as quiet eyes for Fiona, would have believed it - once a Templar, always a Templar - but the Evelyn who he had in his grip here today, who had shared words with him by the frozen lake, laughing awkwardly talking about Chantry vows - could only believe the red lyrium had been poured down his throat as he fought every step of the way.
“Listen to me, Cullen,” she said in a low voice, rapidly, “You need to let me go. I can still go back and stop this from happening.”
His brows furrowed, and that wrinkle appeared on his nose again. Oh Maker, this was her Cullen. Even as his smile widened and she saw too many of his teeth.
“Stop it?” His grip on her tunic tightened and she coughed, reflexively, the fabric pinching like a vice around her throat, cutting off her air. “Why would I want you to do that?”
“This isn’t you,” she said firmly, not looking away, “Not the Cullen I knew. This is-”
“No,” he growled, and the smile vanished. “This is better.”
“Cullen, I-” She was cut off as he shoved her back into the wall, knocking the breath from her lungs all over again.
He stepped with the push, stepped right into her, looking down at her, face in shadow from the light behind his head. “Did you know,” he murmured, and she had to crane up to look at him, “that I was in love with you?”
She froze. Her heart ceased its panicked flutterings and went very, very still. His hand clenched around her shirt loosened, relaxed, but remained, pressed lightly to her collarbone. To her heart. It was a gentleness at complete odds from the rest of his posture, tensed with barely restrained power like a ballista ready to fire.
“From the first moment. At first sight.” Even amidst the horror, a slight tone of wonder entered his voice. “Like a child. I didn’t even think I could do that any more. It seemed to me like-” A bitter laugh escaped him, and he was so close, she felt the rush of the breath over her own lips. “Like another miracle worthy of Andraste herself.”
Her voice was dead in her throat, her head empty.
“I was a hopeless, blind fool, a dog beaten too many times and still begging for anyone to hold the leash,” he went on, words falling from his lips like bitter poison, “The Chantry, the Circles, the Inquisition - desperate to follow, desperate to serve, desperate to not be alone. And you-” He chuckled quietly, dangerously. “That suited you just fine, didn’t it? You hated me, but I was still the only Commander you were going to get for your ragtag little band-”
“I didn’t hate you.” The words rushed out of her, an automatic protest, but he froze at them. Stared at her.
Rage clouded his features, and he bared his teeth as he stepped closer, hissing, “Don’t lie to me-”
“I was stupid about you.” Her heart was hammering again, and the words spilled out of her, almost babbling in the hope of saving her skin just by admitting - “I couldn’t think straight around you. I teased you because I didn’t know what else to say. I hounded you because I couldn’t stay away. I challenged you because I knew it was safe, that you’d never hurt me. And -” she swallowed, as he kept staring down at her like he was just seeing her for the first time, “- all this was just hours ago for me. So… I still do. Know that.” She took, released a shaky breath. “You wouldn’t hurt me.” He said nothing. “The version of you I could have come to love as well, anyway.”
Her voice trailed off into a whisper, and they stood in silence, staring into each other’s eyes. She could see the glowing red lacing the little blood vessels, but his natural eye colour still burned through.
“Evelyn?” They both heard Dorian call in the distance. “Herald!” Coming closer. Maybe a minute away.
Cullen was still resting his hand against her chest. She thought he could probably feel her heart thumping away beneath it. “I should take you to Alexius,” he said slowly.
She dared push away from the wall, step closer into him, put her own hand over his own. “If I’m really doomed, I’ll end up there soon enough anyway,” she said softly. “But if you want a chance - a chance for this to happen all over again, and happen right this time… You just need to let me go.”
She was close enough that she could hear the red lyrium song at the edges of her hearing. It was like someone calling her name from a long way off, the way it snagged her attention, pulled it like a fishhook. The way it surrounded Cullen, emanated from him, made her step closer to him again without thinking. The song crept louder into her ears, curled into her brain -
He suddenly stepped back from her, releasing her hand. “Go back the way you came,” he ordered, “This corridor just leads to guard barracks. Go back to the central landing and take the left staircase up. I’ll go and stall them as long as I can.”
It took a second to snap back to herself, to realise he was letting her go. She shook her head, once, clearing it, and began, “You could-”
“Go back with you?” He shook his head. “If this future dies, let me go with it. Let my old sorry bastard self have his second chance. Or however many chances he’s on now…”
“Evelyn!” she heard Dorian call, closer now, but she just looked at Cullen, looked over every inch of him, fearfully committing him to memory before he was taken from her.
“Do me a favour, though,” this Cullen added to her quietly as an afterthought. “When you get back - tell me how you feel. Because I - he - will never figure it out on his own.”
Evelyn nodded. “I will. The second we get a quiet moment - I will.”
Cullen gave a laugh at that. “Not sure when you’ll get one of those, but sure.”
“Evelyn!” Dorian must be just round the corner. They were out of time.
She rapidly stepped in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She stepped away and met his eyes again, which were soft with wonder.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded. “Go.”
He turned and headed back the way he had come, even as she picked up her staff and turned to meet Dorian rapidly hurrying down the corridor towards her. His face was a knot of concern which immediately gave way to exasperation when he spotted her.
“There you are! Wandering off, I thought I was accompanying the Herald of Andraste, not a mischievous child-”
“I can be both,” she said, and started jogging back the way they’d come. “Come on, this path doesn’t lead anywhere good, we need to go back.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all-”
“Ha ha ha. Oh, and I owe you five silver.”
“Really? Wait, for which bet - the Solas one, the Iron Bull one, the Cullen one-”
“You’ll see.” Amidst all the denial and horror blanketed in numbness, she felt the stirring of something new. A fresh flicker of flame. Of hope. “When we get back.”