Author's Note: This is set after the newest DLC for Dragon Age: Inquisition – Trespasser. So clearly there will be spoilers from that story line, but other than that the story is completely AU and based around my assumptions of how the aftermath would play out. Throughout the story each single chapter will consist of two character chapters that way everyone will be able to understand situations through various characters perspectives at the same time instead of just one side. This first chapter will act slightly as an introduction of sorts – setting the scene more than anything since most of it is AU; however much of the DLC Trespasser will be mentioned as stated before.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bioware. I own nothing, except the games themselves.
Anwen: ex- Inquisitor –
The tear that once existed within the sky, that throbbed and pulsed with the magic of the fade, now streaked the winter night sky like blazing tail of green flames. Five years had passed since the defeat of Corypheus and the sealing of the Breach, the marks, however, of the events still festered throughout the world echoing the pain of the lives that were lost during the months of bloodshed. All of Thedas had once called her Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, and a hero; nevertheless, now she was only Anwen of clan Lavellan and it felt as if she no longer knew who the person was who possessed the name. She looked down at her missing arm, the remnants of magic still tingling within the stub where the limb had once been. She knew the sensation well for she'd once loved the man who removed it. She ran her fingers along the lumpy flesh and felt the electrifying shock of Sola's magic.
His signature ran deep within her, both in her life's blood and her mana. Their encounter those two years ago had not been a twist of fate, nor the plan of the Maker, but instead the clever scheming of Solas, attempting to draw her to him one last time. She had been a pawn in the inner workings of his greater machinations, she realized that now, but she had allowed her love for him to blind her of the truth and convince her that redemption was possible. How foolish she had been to believe she could persuade him otherwise. The truth, the harsh, raw, and achingly painful truth had somehow been staring her in the face since the very beginning and she had been too dim to see it. Now, everything that she and he had forged, and reluctantly built from the ground up due to her unfortunate bad luck and timing, and it all stemmed from him. The fault of everything that had happened lay at his feet even, streaked unmistakable red. Now Anwen had to pay for her folly, the debt had cost her not just her arm, or even her heart, but the reputation of the Inquisition as well as the loyalty of countless friends and followers.
She could recall the meeting of the Exalted Council as if it was yesterday. The angry faces, the accusations, and the disappointment radiated from every Ferelden and Orlesian patron that bared witness to the assembly. Perhaps it had been intentional, the Inquisition had grown far too powerful, amassed too many favors and leverage that could be used against much of Thedas. Anwen stood in front of the window and watched as soft powdery snow blanketed the fields and the valley that lay along the land she owned. She wrapped her arm around herself, drawing a semblance of comfort from the bits of magic that danced across her skin. She bared all of herself to the world as she stood naked in the darkness, with only the white glow of the full moon to illuminate her surrounds, and wondered how things could have gone differently. Her blonde hair shimmered like molten gold in the brilliance of the moon. It spilled over her shoulders and cascaded down the length of her back, it had long since grown out from its usual choppy boyish styling, and since her adventuring days were behind her she didn't mind the change. Anwen quickly glanced over her shoulder and back at the wooden bed that resided in the far side of the bedchamber, of Ferelden origin, it was decorated elaborately with the sigil of the country –the fiercely loyal and ferocious mabari. Two bodies peacefully slept, tangled in the blankets and bedding, and neither registered her absence.
Cullen Rutherford snored softly next to his mabari. They oddly fit together, as if two lost souls, remnants of a forgotten era when warriors and gallant heroes charged across battle field planting the seeds of legends in their wake. Solas had warned her that the end was near and that he would rip the world apart by whatever means necessary to repair the damage he inflicted upon the elven people. He'd warned her because he claimed he still loved her, that she would always be his, but that he could not bring himself to lay with her under what he deemed "false" pretenses. He walked the path of the Din'Anshiral, one of solitude, death and destruction, and one that he vowed he would never allow her to follow.
Broken both mentally and physically, she too vowed to stop him and prevent him from destroying the world – even at the cost of losing her own people. His words still echoed within the depths of her heart, "Because I am no monster. If they must die, I would rather they die in comfort." The words slipped from his lips so easily as if he were talking to a mere stranger rather than one of the People, or even his love. What he said next sliced through her more so than the truth of his intentions, "I hope it gives your people some final peace."
What peace was there for her? The word seemed so hollow or perhaps poisonous because of the lack of empathy he possessed or the lack of basic concern for the billions of lives that would be destroyed due to his guilty conscious. She peered down at the golden band on her right ring-finger and thought of the irony. Anwen knew that until she saved Solas from himself that there would be no true peace for her – even with her own husband. He stirred slightly on the bed, rousing from his deep sleep and dreams, and muttered something under his breath before drifting off once more. The lyrium infused nightmares no longer plagued his mind, at least he had found peace and she'd given it to him. He'd been fond of her long before Solas had demonstrated any sort of romantic interest in her, and while she had been drawn more so to Solas than Cullen because of their obvious connection, through magic, heritage, and even their shared respect of the elven lore, but duty had prevented Solas from committing himself to her heart and soul…from loving her or allowing her to follow him and help him. Anwen had earned a few years of ease and comfort, according to Solas; however, the last few had been anything but and her own guilty conscious was getting the better of her and there was no comfort in the inevitability of the destruction of the world.
"Annie?" Cullen called, his words slurred slightly from sleep. He rubbed the sleep from his face and ran a calloused hand through his tangle of golden curls before regaining consciousness and coherency completely. "What's wrong sweetheart, is it your arm? Is it bothering you again?" He was up and moving, leaving behind the warmth and comfort of the bed to join her. Cullen wrapped his arms around her and brushed his lips lightly against her check. His fingers instinctually found their way to her missing forearm and they delicately went to work massaging the lumpy and blotched skin. He stood beside her, naked, and his manhood pressed against the back of her thigh. His lion fierce auburn eyes were liquid warmth and smiled sweetly back at her as she planted a kiss of her own at the base of his throat. Her lips twitched into a smile at the gesture of intimacy. "Shall I get the salve for you? The healers have recommended that you use it twice a day because it will soothe the irritation caused by the magic." He tried again, nuzzling his head into the nook of her shoulder.
"No, Cullen, I'm fine…really." Anwen murmured softly, nibbling on his ear. She played the role of wife well. Initially she'd married Cullen under duress rather than a true desire to be legally bound by human laws and obligation; however, when she'd confessed her love to Solas and he'd rejected her, she somehow found comfort in the arms of the ex-Templar. Anwen was sweet on him, that much was certain, and while his views of mages were troubling over the years they'd discovered some sort of political equal ground to stand on.
The winter wind picked up then, rustling the bare branches of the trees lining the outer edge of their acre and stirring the powdery soft snow that once blanketed the ground undisturbed. The calm before the storm, Anwen thought eerily, the silence of the season was…disconcerting, to say the least and somehow she knew that the final days were upon them.
"Hmm…do you remember the vows we exchanged two years ago?" Anwen inquired, pulling away from him. "Not the human vows, but the elven ones? Can you repeat them back to me?"
He chuckled softly and cleared his throat, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected request. While he was charming, when he wanted to be or attempted, he was a military man – a man of action – and he was no Dorian, meaning he was often easily embarrassed when not informed or in some manner enlightened prior to the fact. "Um…why, yes. I do think I can. Though I may butcher many of the words and perhaps even the accent of the language. Are you sure you want me to repeat them now?" he laughed, "Forgive me, I am still somewhat hazy with sleep."
Even with his jesting he said the words effortlessly, perhaps it was practice, or even hearing Anwen speak words of the elven tongue to his mabari, but his accent mirrored that of her own. "Sylaise enaste var aravel. Lama, ara las mir lath. Bellanaris." She waited for him to finish, smiled proudly, and then pressed her lips softly upon his own. He was careful not to touch or brush her arm as he trailed his fingers down the length of her body. He drew her closer, allowing her to feel his desire between her legs and tangled his fingers within her hair. She allowed him to continue. If nothing else she sought to please him, to play the role of wife, if for nothing else to fill to void that existed within both of them. Cullen tilted her head back, his hand still fully planted in the back of her head as he used her hair as leverage, and flicked his tongue across the base of her neck as if tasting it like a snake.
Cullen's amber eyes met Anwen's jade-green stare with unadulterated devotion and love. Her gut wrenched under his gaze and it quickly seized her heart such a force it made her tremble. She knew what he wanted, more than peace, and more than Solas's death – he wanted a family. Anwen couldn't bring herself to submit to such. He sought the slight glimmer of hope that resided in having a child, the semblance of normalcy that it would have given the both of them; however, Anwen couldn't bear the thought of rearing a child only to watch them parish in the days to come. No future was set in stone, she knew that better than most, but Solas vow to return the elven people to their former glory…felt preordained, if not by him than another elven mage. Cullen moved his hands to the wetness between her legs and soon plunged his finger deep inside her to ready for. A shudder once again rippled through, but this one of something other than guilt. Anwen loved Cullen dearly, that much was undeniable, she meant every word of the vows she'd spoken during their time at the Winter Palace; the secrecy of the ceremony, the two of them pledging their love and lives to one another, and Cullen's desperately craving for the words to represent more than the simplicity of uttering them.
Anwen's body moved his fingers, a rhythm that quickened and slowed with her each and every breath, preventing her from reaching the edge of the precipice too quickly in their love making. He throbbed with longing and moaned with sweet delight as her wetness increased. They made their way to the bed, disturbing the mabari that rest there, and continued to explore and taste each other's bodies before their desire could no longer be denied. He thrust himself inside her, crying out her name, and moved with the swiftness and ferocity of a lion, as to be expected by the ex-Commander. Cullen pleaded with his eyes, the yearning for a child melting his once hard golden eyes as he peered down at her. Before the talk of family and children, their love making had been much like their efforts on the battle field; however, as of late there was an undeniable softness in everything he did which contributed further to the guilt that weighed heavily on her conscious.
The wind howled outside, a snow storm brew just behind the comfort and security of their doors. Faintly, even amongst Cullen's moans and grunts, she could hear the distinct sound of wolves calling out in the distance.
On the morrow the morning sun dimly lit the ash-grey sky making everything visible appear empty against the bleached contrast of the snow. Everything felt so …empty and blank. Anwen was certain that this winter, the falling snow, and the harshness of the cold were all signs. Letters arrived on the bitter morning wind; one a large black crow with wings tipped in blood red, and the smaller with a silver ribbon tied along its talon, carried them along their necks to the open window of the kitchen. Cullen had been absent to their arrival, he'd departed sometime before she'd awaken on his chestnut gelding for reasons unknown to her, but he appeared not too much later after the arrival of the letters. Upon seeing the birds, one perched on Anwen's shoulder and the other standing on the window ledge eating corn from her hand, he scowled.
"Bad news?"
Anwen nodded unsure of exactly where to start. Both letters contained similar information pertaining to the elves of Thedas. "One is from our favorite spymaster and the other from my sister, Marren." She said slowly. The crow that arrived with Marren's letter hobbled around on the window seal, grooming its feathers with its crooked beak. It tucked its head inside the pocket of its right wing, creating a barrier between it and the chilled wind. Anwen watched it thoughtfully as Cullen stomped the snow from his boots and shed wool cloak and rough-spun gloves.
"Your sister? It's been a while since we've heard from her." Cullen started, walking toward her. "A year, at the most, and that was after your keeper, um, what was her name? Istimaethoriel, right? Informed us about the disappearance of a handful of elves, your sister being one of them."
He kissed her lightly on the cheek, his icy lips barely grazing her skin, and then strode to the oak table to sit. "Yes, Marren has apparently joined up with some group that has donned the name The Forgotten Ones, it seems that they have chosen the name based on the myths and lore surrounding the members of the group from our pantheon." She extended her arm to the crow on the window seal allowing it to hop on to the length of her forearm. Both birds resided next to each other as she walked with deliberate slowness, considering the information she'd read with each step, and placed them within the cage near the far end of the kitchen. "The Forgotten Ones were a group of god-like elves, many of whose names were lost to time, that represented the darker aspects of old elven culture and their place during the time of Elvhenan has often been disputed seeing as how our benevolent gods, the Creators, ruled."
Cullen's face twisted into a mask of uncertainty. Even though they had been married three years, Cullen had yet to learn everything there is to know about elven culture. To be fair Anwen hardly knew anything of human customs, she'd learned a bit over the last few years, and of course through her encounters with humans long before she even became the Inquisitor. After the reveal of Solas's betrayal and his involvement with the downfall of the elves, Cullen's confusion was understandable, she hardly understood most of it herself and she'd heard the truth straight from the source. Goose pimples prickled her flesh at the thought of Solas. Was this new group somehow agents of his will? It was hard to say. Over the last few years and even after the truth revealed itself from the depths of the muddled past, elves had been rebelling from all across the world. Reports of such flooded every single connection and network she acquired through the means of the inquisition and even Leliana had continued to keep her ear to the ground concerning the matter.
"And what of Leliana?" he asked wearily, the exasperation thick on his lips. "What does she have to say on the matter? Do any of her agents have anything different to report?"
He grows tired of hearing about Solas, she thought sadly. We all sit idly on our hands while Solas hides away plotting the end of our existence, and yet Cullen would rather enjoy today rather than the morrow. "Her suspicious reflect similar movements among the elves…although I am somewhat surprised she has discovered as much as she has." She turned to him, her lambswool robe swooshing behind her, "It is not unlike Solas to toy with information. To allow his agents to reveal only what he desires."
Cullen's golden lion eyes bore into her, sadness, frustration, and fiery ire glowing brightly hungry for closure on the matter. The mabari padded into the kitchen, a slight happy lope in his steps as he made his way to Cullen's side. The war-hound never truly left the commander's side, thick and thieves they were, and only bound together by the homeland they shared along with their trait of resilience. Cullen scratched the dog behind his ears and the mabari relaxed into his hand. The beast, a mound of muscle, unclenched the rocks of tension that his body consisted of, and melted into jelly at the reassurance of Cullen's hand. Anwen watched the two enviously and found herself oddly out of place. Even with their marriage and their connection to one another, she never fully felt whole with Cullen, at least not in the same manner that he did with the mabari. The dog whimpered affectionately and rolled over on his back to allow Cullen access to his soft underbelly.
"Perhaps we should visit Mia sometime soon?" Anwen proposed suddenly, "To take our minds off of such things. A clear mind might help us with devising our next course of action."
Whatever anguish gripped vanished at the sound of his sister's name, he smiled at the thought, it clearly pleasing him to take some time to visit her. After they eloped the couple had only visited her once, in fact Anwen had only met Cullen's siblings all of once, and the introduction of her to Branson and Rosalie had been abrupt and brief, and perhaps that was due to them needing time to recover from…the last few years. He appreciated the distraction more so than he would ever admit to her, he adored his siblings, especially Mia, even if she was rather pushy for Anwen's taste; however, she cared deeply for her sister-in-law and regarded her as family much like her own blood.
"That sounds like a great idea, although she may ask about whether or not she has a niece or a nephew on the way." He chuckled softly, a weary sadness lingering in the laughter. "I would have liked to tell her we were expecting by now, if nothing else but to ease her persistent questions."
Anwen went to him, a soft sad smile of her own on her lips. "Yes, it's unfortunate that we will have to disappoint her."
Cullen: ex-commander –
"Maker's Breath, Mia…" Cullen sighed wearily, slouching into the arm chair near the brazier. "Annie and I shall have children in due time…could we please talk of something else."
The last few years had been well to Mia, she'd married well and had become a wife of a wealthy lord in Ferelden. The spread for their arrival had been…immense to say the least. Peppered boar, mutton chops, savory duck saturated in gravy, thick and creamy beef and barley stew with thick cuts of potatoes, steamed beets and sweet onions. There were even berries with sweet cold crème, honeycakes drenched with berry sauce; there was also baked apples and flagons of spiced crimson wine and the sickly sweet red wine of Orlais. It had all been far too much for him, he could not stomach so much food in one sitting even if he tried. Cullen watched Anwen from across the table, her face an utter mask of indifference, as she sat listening hearing everything and yet a part of nothing. Her arm moved subtly under the table, a movement that might have gone unnoticed by anyone else other than him. His marbari was at her side, sensing her discomfort with the turn of the conversation, and sat loyally by her side allowing her to scratch at his ears.
The musicians played compassionately and lively, full of such an exuberance that it seemed misplaced considering the turn the atmosphere had taken. Harp, fiddles, and horns all joined in unison in the great hall, echoing warmth and happiness of the walls in such a manner that one could forget that it was winter. He looked at all the unfamiliar faces that surrounded his sister, her husband, and his love, and it was unsettling to see how naïve they all were to the troubles that lie ahead. He might have cried at the thought, sad and lost in his own head, Solas was the cause of this illusion, and he would pay the price dearly if Cullen had anything to say about it. He knew he couldn't, his heart would remain true and strong, if not for himself than for those he loved, he would cherish these moments for as long as the lasted regardless of the impending doom that loomed over the world.
"Cullen? Cullen?" Mia called, from her seat at the center of the long table. "Honestly, you haven't changed from when you were a boy. Never could pay attention and always needing me to remind you things and to look after you." She delicately pressed a spoon to her lips and sipped gingerly at the stew. Always the lady, he thought almost sourly, even when she was prying into his personal life she always remembered her curtsies. "Which is why I think a son or a daughter will help focus your attention on matters other than that of battles, wars, and demons."
Her husband laughed heartily, throwing back his head in one rapid movement, and clutching his belly to stifle the quakes that erupted from the thunderous sound. Lord Edvard Stevon was a minor lordling with ties to Nevarra and Antiva both through blood and social connections. Cullen, however, wasn't impressed by the status and extravagance of his brother-in-law's wealth; nevertheless he was happy for his sister and glad that she had someone else to fuss over and preoccupy herself with. He was gallant and charismatic, like the tales of old when heroes such as the Grey Wardens flew in to strike a deadly blow against the blight on the backs of griffons. Hair dark as ebony with watery blue eyes he stood a head taller than Cullen, but was much rounder and portly due to the luxury of his lifestyle; unlike Cullen who maintained the strapping muscles of youth of twenty, his sister's lord husband love his food as much as he did Anwen.
"Ah, come now love, leave your poor brother be. " Edvard interjected, the amusement thick like honey in his voice. "I am sure Anwen will give him plenty of children. Strong and healthy boys, beyond a doubt. Yes, yes. Give them time. An heir will surely come on with the blooming of spring, but I'm sure that Anwen wants a daughter, much like her. Ah yes, a woman's dream." He glanced at Anwen who was looking down at her stew, lost in thought.
Cullen watched his wife, who looked somehow smaller and more vulnerable than she did before, like a child fearful of their parent's ire. She once stood so proud and strong, full of confidence and life, and now that life that once burned inside her like the blazing summer sun seemed snuffed out, as if nothing more than a mere candle flame. A serving girl crossed the room to the table refilling their flagons with hot mead in place of the spice crimson wine. Mia quickly shooed her away with the wave of her hand and refocused her attention back on Cullen. "I have taken it as a great offense, Cullen. The matter of me having nieces and nephews – a large family – is something I take to heart." She said peering at him with a fiery determination.
"Mia!" Cullen shouted, slamming his hands down on the table as he stood abruptly sending the chair shuttling backwards across the stone floor. "Enough with the prying, this is a matter for Anwen and I. I would hope by now you would understand at least that."
The room fell silent at the outburst. He didn't understand himself why he reacted so rash, perhaps it was the hum of lyrium still lingering within his brain and blood. Singing sweet temptations to him like the whispers of an insistent lover. Until now he had never given it much thought, he often ignored the ache altogether, it wasn't until that letter arrived regarding Solas that the cravings returned. Anwen was beside him then, her hand on his shoulder, soft and light like a kiss, ebbing his fury. The servant girl returned then, her eyes grim with the darkness of the mood. She regarded her mistress nervously as if her own sudden movements would cause another incident. Within her possession she held a letter, it was but a small scrap of parchment, but was sealed in wax. She bowed politely, excusing herself for the disruption, and handed the letter over to Cullen, who did not comprehend why she was doing so. As far as he knew no one had been informed of his and Anwen's decision to visit Mia, but he knew who the letter was from after he inspected the wax seal further: an insignia of a blood red raven with outstretched wings. Leliana, he thought uneasily dread spreading through him like the taint of the blight, something was wrong.
The dread he initially felt continued to spread, clutching his heart and lungs icy grip, and a sense of loneliness and despair slithered along within its wake. He looked to Anwen, whose face still revealed nothing, knew what the letter contained long before he did, she'd always known somehow. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter, his hands shaking with fear, and as his eyes skimmed across the parchment his deepest fears were confirmed.
The Dread wolf had been sighted.