The night, for the most part, was dark. Dark enough to hide the lines of tension and utter pain on Cullen's face as he and his shaken band of warriors hurried up the snowy hills that were the Frostback Mountains. The frigid air was filled with the cries of the wounded, the terrified, and the lost. If Cullen had not felt so absent himself, he would have tried to help more… would have lent a soothing hand or spoken calming words to those in need but it was so frustratingly futile!
Every thought, every brain cell, every synapse, every damned heartbeat of his was screaming out for mercy, was begging any divine power who could bear to listen to safely deliver them from this horrific occurrence. But most fervently, Cullen prayed for her. He prayed that he might see those strange, violet eyes one more time or that she would somehow come barreling out behind him with that half-smile, the one that crumbled him down devastated him so completely, and what a blatant fool he had been to not realize the depth of his affections for her, and what a punishable crime it was to not let her know before she so willingly sacrificed herself…
No! She was not dead. She couldn't be! Not yet… not her.
Lavellan.
The screech of a dragon instantly dissolved every other sound into an aura of fear and desperation. Footsteps slipped and crashed down onto the uphill mountain even more frantically than before, and the people of the Inquisition fled with a renewed vigor that just might save them. They were almost there; if they could just reach that grove of trees up ahead!
The monstrous dragon let loose another growl then, an angry and frustrating cry. A great whoosh and then the sound of something enormous whistling through the air… Cullen dared a glance behind him and nearly lost his footing - Lavellan had done it! She had fired the trebuchet!
A thunderous shudder ripped through the Frostbacks. People, animals, and agriculture alike shook viciously at the impact, causing many of the Inquisitions men to stumble completely into the heaps and piles of freezing snow. This time, Cullen acted. He grabbed on either side of him, entangling his fingers in rough woolen cloaks as he dragged several people upright and to their feet.
"Run!" he shouted at them. "Get to the top and don't you dare look back!" He continued to aid those who could not coherently get their bearings, often times yanking and manhandling people for yards at a time.
The mountains echoes only intensified the Inquisition's terrible, inhuman screams, and Cullen gritted his teeth as the atmosphere of senseless panic began to overwhelm him. Torrents of sweat and fear slicked over his skin, and even when the beginnings of an avalanche threatened to dash them all to the ground, he persevered, scrambling almost angrily toward the masses of Inquisition forces they had all worked so hard to save. In the distance, he could see Cassandra escorting the exceptionally wounded up the dangerous terrain just as he had done with the panicked. He now was the last one among them, and as tons of snow and ice raged down the Frostback cliffs, Cullen could not stop himself from sparing one last look at Haven.
With the avalanche behemoth racing down to meet Lavellan, Cullen choked back a cry as he watched everything he knew and loved be buried in a beautiful blanket tomb of sparkling white.
"Cullen!"
Cullen absentmindedly shifted his wet eyes to see Cassandra gracefully retreating towards where he stood. He stared, bewildered, as she neared him enough to take one of his wrists in an iron grip.
"Cullen!" she shouted again, her brown eyes wide and knowing, "You must leave her! Now!"
And that is what Cullen did. He turned away from his love, his breath, his whole entire world in a single moment and let himself be led by the powerful warrior who, if anyone, had come to care for her just as much as he had.