Chapter Text
Saibra had been the first round the battering ram and into the Bailey, but Cullen had been sure to stick next to her while they waited for his siege weapon to do its work and was right behind her. There hadn’t been time for much more than quick professional words, but they had both known the deeper meaning behind them.
“We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.” I’ll take as much of the danger from you as I can.
“I’ll be fine. Just keep the men safe.” Don’t worry about me. I want you safe.
“We’ll do what we have to, Inquisitor.” I don’t like letting you run into danger but if I must, let me take what risks I can to make it safer for you.
He knew he’d repeated information they’d gone through in the planning meetings; information she knew by heart as well as he did. But she had let him because she knew it made him feel better. And then she had done something that chilled his blood as it warmed his heart – she brushed his cheek with her fingers in exactly the same way that she had the night Haven fell. Thank the Maker she hadn’t said goodbye. Instead she’d lowered her voice so none of the small strike team that would be joining her could hear and whispered, “Stay safe for me, beloved.”
He hadn’t had time to reply before she had darted off into the keep, calling for her companions to follow. Cullen had stood there frozen for a moment as Bull raced by shouting war cries in Qunlat and Varric had saluted him with Bianca. He didn’t think Saibra realised what she’d done – the ominous echoes that touch would bring. Saibra was a tactile woman, but usually when she touched his face it was fingertips to his forehead to soothe a headache, tracing the hated scar on his lip when they lay in each other’s arms after making love, or grabbing him with both hands when she wanted a kiss. That terrible night in Haven had been the only time she had touched him in that way before. And somehow it felt like a terrible omen.
“Commander!” Rylen’s shout had called him back from the spiral of panic he could feel rising inside him. “Our forces are ready for the charge.”
“Thank you, Knight-Captain. I’ll lead them myself.” He couldn’t stand in the courtyard waiting for her to come back. He was a solider and a general, didn’t have time for irrational imaginings and reading nonsense into a simple affectionate gesture. His job now was draw the enemy’s attention from where she was. Saibra was counting on him.
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Cullen felt like he’d been fighting for days, battling against the combined forces of Grey Wardens and demons. In fact, it had only been an hour since their battering ram had breached Adamant’s main gate. Just an hour since he’d last seen Saibra racing off into the fortress with her friends.
He slid his sword from the gut of a Warden mage who’d tried to decapitate him with a spirit blade and whirled, looking for the next enemy. But none came. He appreciated these lulls that always happened in a battle, when you had managed to manoeuver outside the thick of the fighting or the enemy had withdrawn to regroup. They never lasted long, but the chance to draw breath and take stock of the situation was always welcome. He drew a quick swallow of water from the canteen hanging at his waist and flexed fingers stiff from their death grip on his sword and shield. He was about to call out to Rylen for a casualty report when a hideous shriek echoed overhead. Cullen looked up in dread to see Corypheus’ dragon swooping towards the main courtyard of the Keep.
Maker’s breath, it’s after Saibra!
He quickly scanned the group of soldiers around him. They were all people he knew, trusted, veterans of battles both with and outside of the Inquisition. “Rylen, Andrew, Kristophe, and Lysette with me. The rest of you, keep these demons busy. We don’t need them helping that beast.”
He led the group of soldiers through the keep, trying as best he could to remember the old plans for the fortress Leliana had found. By the time he made it into the central courtyard, Saibra and the dragon were gone and the Grey Wardens were fighting one another, warriors against mages. A very young, very frightened looking Warden dashed up to him.
“The Warden Commander told us to help the Inquisition, but the mages have gone mad!” he squeaked out.
“Where is the Inquisitor?” Cullen demanded. The part of his brain that was always the Commander knew he should be giving orders and reassuring these men that had suddenly found themselves fighting their comrades, but the panic he had felt when Saibra had touched his cheek in the bailey had returned full strength. He needed to see she was safe.
“Sh- she went after the Warden Commander and Magister Eremond.” At Cullen’s glare the poor boy pointed through an archway to one side of the courtyard. “That way, Ser.”
“Rylen,” Cullen spun to his second, “aid the Wardens. I’m going after the Inquisitor.”
Rylen could be as insolent as Varric when he wanted to be, but this time he simply snapped off a quick salute and a “Yes, Ser!” before turning and bellowing orders at the nearby Wardens and Inquisition soldiers.
Cullen was halfway up a flight of stairs when the whole fortress began to shake uncontrollably. He had to grab onto the stone balustrade to keep himself from tumbling backwards. Gripping on for dear life he was looking directly at his hands when the runes glowing on his silverite cuff flared and went dark.
He barely recognised the anguished scream as his own. He hauled himself up the stairs, raced around the corner and into his worst nightmare. The body of a woman he recognised as Warden Commander Clarel was lying broken and bloody at the edge of what had once been a bridge between two wings of the fortress. As he watched, the dragon rose up in the space where the bridge had been. It let out a long, angry screech before turning and flying off into the night. It was then Cullen noticed the dark-haired, moustached man lying to one side, groaning in agony.
Cullen hauled the dazed man up by the collar. “Where is she? Where is the Inquisitor?”
Barely conscious, the Vint still managed to laugh in his face. “Dead. Corypheus will reward me well for this.” He spat a mouthful of blood at Cullen’s feet. “Your precious Inquisitor went over the edge with all her pathetic friends.”
Cullen wasn’t even thinking as he pulled the knife from his belt, wasn’t in control of his actions as he raised the blade to the man’s throat. It was only Leliana’s strangled cry of, “Cullen, no! We need him alive!” that brought him back to himself. Without a word he flipped the blade and struck the Magister’s temple with the hilt. He dropped the man seconds before his own knees hit the stones.
“She’s gone. I failed her. Saibra’s gone.” He could hardly understand the words coming from his own mouth. The one person that had made his battles against lyrium bearable, the woman he loved more than he had ever loved anyone, gone in a moment. How could he tell Vastra that he had lost her? Maker, how could he tell Marie and Kitty their beloved Auntie Sai was never coming home? Leliana dropped to her own knees next to him, grabbing for his hand.
“All is not yet lost. My men report that there are no signs of any bodies below and seeing a rift open and close as the bridge collapsed.”
Cullen stared into the spymistress’s almond eyes, hardly daring to hope. “What are you saying?”
Leliana took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But I believe she may have entered the Fade again.”
He felt the breath rush out of him as a tiny flare of hope sparked in his heart. If anyone could physically enter the Fade twice and survive, it would be his Saibra. It was so unlikely, so utterly improbable. But Saibra had been doing the impossible every day since she had first stepped out of the Fade and into the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He had to cling to that one, tiny flicker of hope, or he would drown in the despair that had been flooding him in waves since his bracelet had first gone dark.
Leliana seemed to sense the change in him and stood, pulling Cullen to his feet with her. “There’s still fighting to do, but your men can handle it. Take him,” she nudged the unconscious Magister with her foot, “back to camp and secure him. If- when – the Inquisitor returns, she’ll want to judge him herself. In the meantime, maybe I can get something useful out of him about the Elder One’s plans.”
Cullen nodded silently. It seemed logical enough. He knew himself well enough to know he was in no fit state to lead his men right now. Stooping, he slung Erimond over his shoulder and headed back the way he had come.
Saibra would return to him. She had to.