Tell the one above he's a criminal
For taking and giving life like marble candy
Everything collapses around me
Overwhelms and astounds me
A Terrible Truth
When you leave this life, the world will be a darker place for
All Who Remain
And the Light you gave the human race will go away.
- "All Who Remain", Beware of Darkness
Finding him came hand in hand with a grief that was nearly as bad as the flood of anxiety she had felt at the news of his capture. She found him deep below a Templar Keep, where sunlight could not reach him. Enraged, she had cleared a bloody path. No man or woman could sway her to mercy; she did not listen to their cries, when they had them. Templar after Templar fell by her hand, her magic an icy swath of death that froze the walls in her wake. She could hear the worried whispers of her comrades behind her. Vivienne's disapproval of her wild, emotional magic wielding was like a wall at her back. Dorian's pity even worse. Cassandra was the only one who understand the rage. She marched beside her - her blade cleaving enemies in two with near equal ferocity as Haylen cut her way to his side.
It was not until she stood before his door that the rage finally fell away, replaced with sudden dread and fear and - Maker, what if he's dead. What if I open the door, and it's too late. What if he's dead, what if he's gone, what if…
Her friends remained in a loose ring around her as she pressed open the door, fingers quaking; pale and trembling against the darkness of the cell beyond them.
"Cullen?" She asked into the darkness. "Cullen, are you in there?"
There was silence for a long moment, and in the darkness nothing moved. Until something did. Eyes opened, red and iridescent.
"Inquisitor?" Came a rasping, dry voice. "Haylen, is that you? Maker, please let it be you."
In an instant, she fell to her knees before him.
"Yes, yes, yes," she breathed, "It's me. It's me."
She gathered him to her, fingers feeling out his bones beneath his thin garments. He trembled in her arms, face buried into her neck even as she hid her own in his oily, filthy curls. Longer now, from time. How long had it taken her to find him? Weeks?
"I'm so sorry," she gasped, and pulled him tighter.
"Me too," he said.
She didn't understand the meaning of those words until they were back beneath the safety of Inquisition flags. In the light, she could no longer deny what she could ignore in the darkness of the cell that she had found him in. He had lost weight, but what stood out even more starkly than that was the dried mess of red that clotted the beard of his face. He picked at it, but it did nothing to hide the truth. And even if she could ignore the crust of red lyrium around his mouth, days old and painful; she could not ignore his eyes. In sunlight, the change was barely noticeable. But here, in the dim light of Inquisition tents, there was no mistaking the soft glow of lyrium in his eyes. She had seen it in too many foes not to recognize it for what it was. She could not hold his gaze for long. She did not miss the hurt in his eyes, when he saw her flinch.
"They tortured me," Cullen said to the party at hand, his body braced against his knees as he bowed forward on the healer's cot. "And when I offered them no information, they did the next best thing they could think of that would hurt the Inquisition. I was… I was force-fed lyrium. They tried to convert me hoping that the Lyrium would loosen my tongue."
"How much?" Cassandra asked, her face a mask of calm atop stormy, frothing eyes.
Cullen licked his lips. He ran his hand through his musty hair, and all Haylen could think of was how their relationship had started off with those very same nervous ticks. She swallowed thickly and blinked away the image of his red cheeks and cautious smile back in Haven.
"Enough," he said.
He sought out her gaze, but she could not meet it.
The trip back to Skyhold had been a long one. She stayed near to him, and they spoke to each other in short, frivolous conversations about nothing in particular - but neither could quite yet broach the subject of his incarceration or what it meant.
The subsequent meeting at the War Table was if possible worse than hearing his story the first time. Josephine was exuberant in her greeting as she grasped Cullen tightly and professed her relief at his return. She fussed over him in a way she rarely allowed herself to do, and quickly guided him to a chair despite his protests that he 'was fine, really, Josephine'. Cassandra loomed at the War Table's edge, watching over the exchange with a soldier's diligence as she awaited the inevitable conversation before them. Lelianna however was as blunt as she was merciless; and while she was a friend of them both, Haylen did not know why she expected anything else.
"While I am glad, as we all are, that you have returned to us, Commander; I must insist that we discuss the elephant in the room."
"Lelianna," Josephine scolded.
"We do not have the luxury of time, Josie," she said, eyes keen beneath the hood of her garments as she turned her gaze upon him. "Cullen, I am sorry, but we must discuss what happened."
Josephine opened her mouth to argue, but Cullen rested one large, steady hand on her forearm and quieted her softly.
"It is okay, Josephine," he said. "She is right."
And so they spoke of the future, and all the while the Inquisitor felt the fiercest itch beneath her skin to be anywhere else but there. They spoke of his role as if speaking of another man and not their friend. They spoke of his condition as though speaking of a stranger and they spoke of his future as if it were set in stone. It was when Cullen insisted that Cassandra take over his duties, just as she had promised during his withdrawal mere months ago, that the Inquisitor felt the rage and the dread that pooled and pressed inside her head explode. She slammed her hands unto the table, startling all but Lelianna, and snarled.
"Can we take one bloody moment to acknowledge the fact that we are not simply talking about a stranger?" Her eyes were wild as they scoured each member present. "This is not a matter of moving around chess pieces on this blasted map - this is our Commander we're talking ."
Her breath fluttered wetly in her chest, and she had to draw her chin up high and clench her jaw to stop the burning behind her eyes.
"Inquisitor," Cullen said, eyes soft. She felt her throat tighten when the familiar amber of his gaze flickered red in the candlelight. "It's alright. These things must be discussed. For the Inquisition."
She watched his face for a long moment.
"No. It's not alright. It's not even close."
He found her that night tucked into the rooftops of Skyhold. Despite the aching of his bones, he lowered himself beside her. They sat in companionable silence, each with their eyes upon the bright scattering of stars that watched over Skyhold. As time went on, she reached blindly for his hand. He flinched at first, but accepted her fingers and entwined them with his own at her insistence.
"I am sorry," Cullen said, his voice a welcome sword to the silence.
"For what?" She asked, too tired to rage beneath the dark cover of nightfall.
"I promised you that I would never touch lyrium again."
"Don't be daft," she said, "You were forced. I'd never blame you for that."
He breathed. "Thank you."
Silence befell them again, until finally her dread could bare it no longer.
"How long?"
Cullen sighed.
"Months. Maybe a year or two, if I resist any more temptations… but this affliction is unstudied. Varric said that withdrawal turned his brother mad. Abstaining could very well quicken it just as effectively as indulgence."
Let us run off together, she wanted to say. Let us run from it.
"What will you do?" She asked instead.
He chuckled, but it was a dull imitation of the laugh she had grown to love coaxing from him.
"I knew you would ask that," he said, and kept his amber-red gaze above. "I do not know what road is best to take, but I do know that no matter what I will choose to live as best I can with you in the time that remains. If you will have me, of course."
She punched him, and he squawked.
"What kind of question is that?" She muttered, and he laughed with more warmth.
"I'll take that as a yes?"
"Of course," she said. "I'm not yet done with you."
Days later, when missions could wait no longer, Haylen was surprised to find him already on horseback and awaiting her at the gates. She walked to him, the lead of her Hart in hand, and shaded her eyes with her other hand to look up at him.
"What do you think you're doing?" She asked.
"I have picked my road, Inquisitor," he said, his voice befitting the confident line of his back and the set of his jaw. His armor finally looked at home on him, there astride his mount. He looked more free than he had in most the time she had known him. Her brows rose.
"Oh really? And what road might that be?"
He smiled.
"Yours, my Lady," he said, and when she pulled herself atop her mount beside him, he continued, "If you'll have me."
From that day forth, the Commander of the Inquisition joined the front ranks of its army at the Inquisitor's side. And for a time, it was wonderful. Haylen never felt as at ease or in her element as she did with him beside her. He was a welcome voice of reason, a sturdy wall in her weariness, and a steady blade at her back in a fight. She valued all of her companions, of course, but it was different with him beside her.
One night they kept watch together in the heart of the Hinterlands, keeping warm by sitting close as they scoured the valley around them. The fire crackled contently at their side, and just beneath that familiar song she could hear Dorian's light snores - although the man would never, ever admit to it - and Cassandra's soft restlessness.
"I like us this way," she said. "Together."
"As do I. I had almost forgotten the thrill of the field behind that dusty desk. And to be here with you - well, if my days are to end in this manner, there are few other ways I would have them."
"And what other ways might that be?"
He looked at her, and she tried to ignore the increased brightness of his gaze. It did not take much effort to overlook, distracted as she was by his mischievous smile.
"In a perfect world," he rumbled, "We would spend our days in bed."
"Be serious," she said, and pushed him lightly with her nearer shoulder.
"I am," he said, his laugh light amidst their sleeping companions.
She rolled her eyes.
"And how would you prefer our days spent, if not like that?" He asked wryly.
"Well… I would like to meet your family, for starters."
He sobered softly, like the mist of a starting storm.
"You will one day," he said.
"I know," she whispered, and tried not to think of that day. The day where they would lay his weary body beneath the ground. At first she had thought to lay him to rest at Skyhold, but the more she thought of it, the more she knew that'd be wrong. He deserved peace beneath a large oak tree, overlooking grain and the small, quaint life from which he had come. He blinked the moisture from her eye that she could not prevent and returned her eyes to the stars they loved.
She did not know if the Maker had sent her, but if He had, she considered this to be a poor reward for trying to act in accordance to His will. She could not help but hate Him for it.
She saw him take lyrium when he needed to. Usually before and after battle. Where his addiction had once been held in check, it was now a worthless struggle to fight against. Lyrium prolonged his life just as effectively as it shortened it. His exposure to red lyrium had stirred a hunger in him that created more pain than it was worth in its absence - and abstaining did little to stop the inevitable. He took only blue lyrium, and although it slowed the process, it did not eradicate the damage red lyrium had wrought, nor did it change its outcome.
When the scratching started, Haylen felt the dreaded weight of expectation finally fall in her gut. Just like that, her hope was dashed. Scratching gave way to small, red stones that peeked out from his skin innocently enough - all small enough to hide beneath his armor. Each of them took their turns in reminding him not to scratch as best they could, as if remarking upon a bug bite and nothing else.
"Don't, dear, you'll scar your lovely skin," Vivienne said, instead offering an expensive Orlesian paste to dull the irritation.
"Don't make me tattle, Curly," Varric said, knowing that Haylen's word would work far more effectively than anything he had to offer. And if the threat made the infamous Commander of the Inquisition pout, well then just as well in Varric's book. Literally.
"I have the perfect spell for that, handsome," Dorian would say, fingers sparkling with unspent mana as he smiled a mischievous smile Cullen's way.
Blackwall was his only ally in this matter; giving him short, clipped warnings on when the others were approaching and keeping his judgment to himself. On more than one occasion, he had earned Cullen's grateful sigh of thanks.
"Don't mention it," was all he'd ever say.
Unlike his normal self, Cole did not mutter many words on Cullen's condition; but that did not surprise the Inquisitor. Not being reminded of his predicament was surely a balm that helped calm the man, and easing the pain of those around him was all Cole cared about. Instead, she'd wake some nights - the nights when she could stay awake with him no longer - and she'd find Cole beside Cullen instead, rubbing special oils into the ragged ridges of his skin where they raised around the lyrium fragments and humming soft, off-key Ferelden songs.
Cassandra no longer joined them on their mission, unless the situation was dire. Instead, she rose where Cullen had fell and continued to uphold the strong army that he had created. This, however, was a greater gift than any comforting word could have been. Knowing that the men and women he had trained were in good hands was all Cullen needed to know in order to let go.
Iron Bull offered sparring, when he could. He was easily the only one who could contend with Cullen's growing strength, and he was a welcome outlet for the pent up energy that was ever building in the man's changing body.
Solas offered silent companionship and freshly pulled herbs. It was not altogether uncommon for the Elf to randomly appear from a nearby wood with a handful of some leaf or another and say, "Chew on this, but don't swallow. It will help." He had no other words to give but this, but Cullen was grateful regardless. It did help.
Sera was surprisingly the only one who had nothing to say on the matter. At the first sign of itching, she'd was first to volunteer to be anywhere else but there. Her fear was poignant and obvious. It made Cullen's stomach curl. If the girl could no longer quite look at him anymore, well… no one made a point of mentioning it.
But as the lyrium began to grow, so did his ability. He could cut large holes through enemy lines in a single sword stroke, and as time passed, he found his need for blue lyrium grow less and less as his body began creating its own supply of red. He was rarely tired, he rarely slept. If that meant the others could sleep a sound night for a change, then he'd take the little mercies where they came.
Haylen stayed up with him anyway, though, and no amount of convincing could change her mind. He knew why just as well as she did, but neither said it. No one wanted to dwell on their fading time.
It was when his claws came in that Sera could no longer stomach traveling with them anymore. Lelianna moved her onto other missions, and began to use their group in two separate units - some travelling with Sera while others travelled with the Inquisitor and the red shadow that watched over her. Often times they found company in Dorian, Cole, and Blackwall. Varric tried, he did - but the Inquisitor knew the pain it put him through, watching his friend walk down his brother's footsteps and remain sane where his brother had not.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm ecstatic that he's doing as good as he is," Varric had said to her once in private, his voice heavy like a dead man's regret. "I just… I see him and I wonder if I didn't do enough to help Bartrand."
"There's nothing more you could have done, Varric," the Inquisitor said.
"I don't know. The healers said that your presence has done wonders to prolong the inevitable, Inquisitor. I just can't help but wonder if mine could have done the same."
Cullen had tried to stop touching her when his fingernails fell off beneath the crushing advance of his dagger like claws, but she refused to let him distance himself - Varric's words ringing in her head. At night watch, she wound her fingers into his hand despite his reluctance and held on tight.
"Don't leave me," she'd said, and then she felt his fingers tighten.
"I'll stay for as long as you'll have me."
Months passed and missions passed and seasons passed. His changes were subtle enough that for the most part, he was able to follow her anywhere. He hid his claws beneath thick leather gloves while reluctantly brushing shoulders with royalty at the Winter Palace; and they danced as if nothing had changed when they rose from the ball victorious.
They spent their days together, and for a time, the Inquisitor entertained the idea that maybe they'd find a way to reverse the minor damages thatred lyrium had done to Cullen's body, considering the slow way in which he changed.
And then they fell into the Fade at Adamant.
Her comrades claimed to see spiders, and Maker how she wished they were right. But where they saw long-legged creatures, she saw Cullen, butChanged. Where her friends saw a dozen enemies, she only saw one. He was taller, his stature thicker with a muscle that made him look quite nearly god-like. Red crystal shards of lyrium grew from his forearms and became intricate imitations of arm guards where other Templars she had seen merely grew them at grotesque and random angles. An altogether thicker shard grew from his left breast, seemingly from his heart itself; and while not tall, it was large where it punctured his chest plate. He had a smattering of smaller shards across his body, but it was the one that pierced his breast that illuminated his face with a unnatural red glow. His dagger-like fingers dripped blood from where they hung splayed at his sides, and all around him she could see the bodies of their fallen friends - apparitions, surely, but so real looking they stopped her in her tracks.
She could not will her staff to move. No spells could reach her lips. She merely watched as the creature before her kept her in its sights and smiled an obscene and toothy smile. It growled as it stepped atop Cassandra's back - not Cassandra, she had to remind herself. Cassandra was outside Adamant, securing the Hold with the Inquisition's army - and Haylen could barely suppress the shudder that wracked her body at the sound of Cassandra's body cracking beneath his weight.
"Do you no longer love me?" Not-Cullen growled. There was nothing of the man she loved in those eyes, but she could not look away. "Do you no longer want me?"
She nearly vomitted as she thought of their time together that night atop of Skyhold and the words he had said.
"Well, Inquisitor?" Not-Cullen snarled, suddenly right before her with one meaty claw raised. She stood in his shadow and watched him with wide, wild eyes as he bared his teeth in a malicious grin. She dropped her staff, the thick wood rolling through her limp fingers only to fall with a splash into the unknown waters of the Fade. "Will you have me?"
She awaited his hand to fall, but it didn't. Instead, a sword cleaved the creature in two with a vicious roar - and the blood of the Fear Demon's creature sprayed across her face, rousing her from her stupor.
"You will not speak to her," Cullen snarled, her Cullen. His chin was tucked beneath the rise of his shoulders as he dug his blade deeper into the creature's flesh. "You cannot have her. She is mine."
And in his rage, the lyrium beneath his skin grew before her very eyes. Whether caused by his anger or in reaction to the Fade, they never found out - but by the time they tumbled free of Fear's grasp and back into Adamant's walls, the shards that littered his skin had doubled in size. She never asked him if he had seen what she had; she did not need to. Where their companions saw spiders, they suffered Fear's premonition of their future again and again and again.
Where Hawke had been told of his failings, Cullen heard whispers from his future self on what it would feel like when he killed the Inquisitor. Where Dorian had been told of the similarities between him and his father, Haylen listened to Fear tell her of how Cullen's mind and heart would leave her ever so slowly, and how despite all the lives she had saved and would save, there was nothing she could do to save the only person who mattered to her.
That night, they made love to try and forget. If Cullen kept his shirt on to hide the shard on his breast, neither mentioned it.
"Don't leave me," Haylen said.
"Never," he said, his breath a puff against her neck as she keened. "Not so long as you will have me."
The words rang bitter in her heart despite the way he made it race beneath his gentle touches.
They found Samson in the Temple of Mythal, and that was when Haylen realized that Cullen's progress was anything but normal. Where Cullen appeared to be stronger for the lyrium rushing through his veins, Samson appeared to be absolutely sickly. His skin was sallow and his eyes were sunken. Shards grew from his skin as well, but where Cullen stood tall and majestic in his new found strength, Samson was hunched over and somehow smaller beneath the weight of lyrium's curse.
He seemed as surprised by their differences as she did, because no sooner did he lay eyes on Cullen did he sneer, "I should have figured that a traitorous prick like you would take to it so well."
Cullen flushed with anger and took a towering, angry step forward, but the Inquisitor stopped him with a clutching hand at his forearm.
"Do not let him goad you, Cullen," she said. "You're better than that."
"Yes, Cullen, you're better than that, aren't you? Where have your smug, pompous ideals left you, friend? Where have your morals brought you?" Samson sneered and extended a hand to himself and the hideous creatures behind him that Cullen had once called friends. "Here, on your knees in the muck with the rest of us!"
The battle had been as bloody as Cullen's rage was fierce. When his blade shattered upon a Templar's lyrium encrusted back, he merely traded his metal for his claws and began to tear into the former men with his bare hands. It had taken all her coaxing and convincing to persuade him to let Samson live for research purposes.
She did not miss the disgust that lingered in his eyes as he calmed enough to witness the carnage of his rage, nor did she miss his fear. He walked away before she could say anything, though, which was just as well. She didn't know what she could have said to make it better, anyways.
He was Changing, and that was that.
When she drank from the Well, it was because her heart was too bitter to listen to reason. She was tired of not being enough, and every time Morrigan called her too inept to handle the Well of Sorrows, it only strengthened her bullheaded resolve.
Cullen grabbed her hand before she waded into the pool to drink, his red eyes as terrible as they were loving and pleading as he whispered, "Please do not do this."
She pulled free of his grasp with her jaw set and drank from the Well anyway. For a moment, there was nothing. She turned to her friends with a smile, arms splayed wide to put them at ease - and then the Well exploded. She felt her spirit pulled somewhere that both was and was not the Fade, and faced nothing but darkness.
"Hello?" She asked into the dark, eyes wide as if that would better help her see. "Is anyone there? Can anyone help me?"
Again, there was nothing and she felt her blood rise high as anger rushed her.
"Corypheus, a Magister, wishes to rip the Veil open. I must learn how to stop him," she said, then after a pause, "And how to cure red lyrium'splague."
Whispers filled her ears suddenly, as if from nowhere. She looked around, but the voices only whispered, as if waiting.
"If you can help me, take whatever you wish of me," she said slowly. "I will pay any price."
"Vir Mythal'enaste," the voices said, and she felt her body crumple in on itself as an intense pressure flooded her mind. All across her skin vibrant and unidentifiable markings came to life, and burned themselves into what felt like her very core. No sooner had the pain started, it stopped, and when she opened her eyes, she was on her knees in the middle of what had once been the Well of Sorrows. The water that had once been plentiful was gone.
"Inquisitor?" Cullen asked, and she realized that the hands that clenched so tightly at her shoulders were his hands. "Haylen? Are you alright?"
She opened her eyes to look at him and immediately felt foolish beneath the heavy weight of his worried stare. She began to speak, but movement in the distance caught her eye before she could. Corypheus had arrived. They barely had time to flee through the Eluvian, let alone time enough for her to apologize.
There was no time for private conversation after that. They convened around the War Table only to immediately follow the voices to Mythal. She came to them as she had evidently come to many, with her head held tall and a terrible oldness in her eyes. They spoke of who she was and of the history that had been evidently rewritten, until finally she said:
"The voices did not lie when they told you I could help you stop Corypheus, child."
Haylen closed her eyes and said, "The voices… say you speak the truth."
"I do. And I speak the truth when I say this," she said softer now as she took several steps closer to the Inquisitor, "While I can help you save the world, I cannot help you save your world - and for that, I am sorry."
The Inquisitor fought and tame the dragon that followed with a numb emptiness that caused her companions to exchange worried glances. She did not care. It did not matter.
She fought as if merely going through the motions.
She found Cullen atop Skyhold's rooftops, just as he had once found her many months ago. She let out of a puff of misty air in the cold night as she settled her aching bones beside him. He was larger now - broad and lean and tall where he had once been sturdy and burly and compact. She crawled into his lap and tried not to marvel at the different between his long legs and her lithe ones. She felt him curl his arms around her despite the conflict she felt in them both. If there was one good thing that came from their circumstances, it was that their disagreements did little to keep them from each other - not when time was so fleeting.
"You worried me today," he said, his chin upon her shoulder and his nose warm against her skin.
She tried to pull together the energy to say she was fine, but instead she said, "I know. I'm sorry."
"Does Mythal's influence pain you?" he asked.
"Sometimes," she said, "But no more than the Anchor."
He hummed in her ear as though considering her words.
"I wish you had let that witch drink from the Well in your stead."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Why did you do it?" He asked softly.
She thought about it for a small while, and then drew his arms and his warmth tighter around her. She thought of the truth - of how she saw the Well and saw not only an opportunity for knowledge, but also a way so that she might not be long for this world after Cullen passed. But the realization felt so absolutely selfish, she felt tears burn her winter dry eyes with disgust.
"I did not want to lose you," she said.
He curled his larger hands around hers, and she looked at how they dwarfed her own. They made the Anchor look powerless by comparison. She waited for the response he always gave her, and could not help but tremble when it did not come. Instead, he pulled her tighter to himself and waited for her to settle.
"Haylen," he finally said, his voice a balm in the darkness. "There is something I must ask of you."
"Please don't," she said and her throat constricted painfully as shook her head. "If you're going to ask me to give up on you, don't."
She heard him exhale, and the force of it fluttered softly against her ear and hair. She shut her eyes tight and waited.
"I would never ask you that, love… but I'm afraid my request is no less painful. Haylen, when I pass from this world… Promise me that you'll continue on without me."
"Cullen," she whispered.
"Please, Haylen. I could not forgive myself if the world lost a light as bright as yours because you tried to follow me," he pleaded.
She swallowed.
"Mythal told me that I can't save you," she said.
"I know."
"What worth is there to saving the world when I can't save the only person in it that matters to me?"
"Oh Haylen," Cullen breathed. "This world has asked so much of you, I can't even comprehend the weight that must be on your shoulders… I do not know why the world takes so much from its heroes or why the Maker tests us as He does. But I do know that you are a good and just woman. That you will save this world because you are incapable of seeing suffering and standing idly by while there is still breath in your body." He pressed a kiss to her quaking shoulder. "Saviors are so revered because of their steadfast selflessness in times of great need. You will be known for ages to come as a great woman. I am honored to have had the chance to bask in your light, however short that time may be. The Maker has blessed me in knowing you. If you find no worth in this world, take heart in knowing that you are my world. In surviving this, you'll save the only world I care for now and that's all I could ever ask for. Anything good I have done in my life, any evil I have overcome - surely it has been because you were at my side."
Her shoulders heaved with violent, silent sobs. Her face was an ugly mask of sorrow as he rocked her back and forth in his arms, soothing her with soft murmurs of how he loved her.
"If the world has something as beautiful and good as you in it," he said into her hair, "Surely it is worth saving."
"Don't leave me," she sobbed between wet, ugly breaths.
"I will stay for as long as you will have me," he promised, "For as long as I can."
Cullen survived the defeat of Corypheus, and if Haylen was grateful for anything - it was for the small mercy of having the chance to celebrate with the man she loved at her side. They made love that night and for many nights after that. She asked him if he would ever wish to marry, but he said he did not want to take that from her when he was not long for this world. So she proposed to him instead. They married in private among their friends where Cullen could wear clothing that did not pull at his growths and she could be free with herself where no judging eyes could see. For a night she was Haylen and not the Inquisitor, and that was enough.
As it turned out, there was still much work to be done after the fall of Corypheus. Friends came and left to continue on with their lives, but Cullen remained steadfast at her side. Surprisingly, so did Blackwall. Of their comrades, only he and Cole stayed. Dorian left to battle the many injustices of Tevinter tradition. Sera went on her way to return to the "normal" life she had fought so hard for. Vivienne took up the mantle of Grand Enchanter, and Cassandra left with her Chantry followers to assume the position of Divine that Haylen had advocated her for. The Iron Bull and the Chargers continued to work for the Inquisitions, but often times they operated on their own. And Varric returned to Kirkwall with the promise that he would visit often, and when he couldn't, that he would write.
They returned to her in times of need; but it was Blackwall and Cole that remained more often than not. She did not understand why for a long time.
They had been on a mission when Cullen had lost himself to his first fever. One second he was telling Blackwall to dodge an enemies' attack and the next he was a snarling, hunched over figure that Haylen could barely recognize. He splayed himself onto all fours, weight held up by his hands and his feet as he launched himself into a hunched run at their nearest enemy. His claws sheared through flesh as though the men were made of butter, and the sound of organs piling onto the ground made Haylen's stomach rise to her throat.
"Cullen!" she called to him, and finally the fever in his eyes broke. He released the torn open throat of the man he held in his claws and stared at the gore around him with wide, terrified eyes. He fell to his knees with a wretched sob, and she dashed to his side to hold him.
Things only got worse after that.
They made it through two more fights before the wild fever took him again, and this time for longer. Each time lyrium took control of his mind, it left him absent for larger periods of time until finally Cullen did not wake immediately from his battle rage when one of their fights was done. Instead, he turned upon them and Haylen felt her heart fall. They protected themselves as best they could without harming him, but the simple truth was that even if they had wanted to, it was far harder to harm him than any of them could have imagined. They fought for what felt like hours, all of them trying to bring him back with their words, but nothing broke the fever's hold on him.
It was not until he towered over Haylen, one large hand tight around her throat and squeezing, that he woke. She saw the terror in his eyes. He ran before she could comfort him. She would have followed, if not for the gaping wound he had left in Cole's leg. Instead, they made camp as she and Blackwall tended to the boy's wound as best they could. It was not until dawn approached that Cullen returned, still covered in their blood and shaking. He fell into her arms quivering like a small child, and despite the fact that he dwarfed her, he looked entirely too small in that moment.
"I can't do this," he sobbed into her hair. "I almost killed you, Haylen! Maker, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't do this."
"I know," she said. "I know."
That dawn, they laid together for the last time beneath the traveling blankets that were too small for Cullen, let alone the both of them. He told her what she would need to know in his passing as the sun rose slowly before them. He told her things she already knew, but she let him say it anyway because routine and methodical planning was Cullen's way of staying calm - and she'd be lying if she said it didn't calm her, too.
"We need to tell Blackwall and Cole," Haylen said.
"They know," he said softly. "They have stayed these many months at my request, to protect you from me. They know what is to be done."
She felt as though she should be upset by that, but she wasn't. She did have enough left in her to feel it. When they sat with Blackwall later that morning, the man looked nothing more than gravely expectant. One look, and the man knew what was to come. With a pat to Cole's foot, he rose to his feet.
"You need not put yourself through this, Inquisitor," Blackwall said, "I can do it."
"Thank you, Blackwall," she said, "But I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I asked you to do something I could not ask of myself."
"Haylen," Cullen said, "No one will begrudge you if you ask for help."
She turned to him and shook her head.
"I promised to save you. If this is the only way, then so be it."
He swallowed the grief in his throat and whispered, "Thank you."
Blackwall stayed to ensure that the threat of Haylen's mercy did not send Cullen into another fever. Cole said his goodbyes before they walked a small ways from camp to do the deed. He was well enough to be alone for a short while, and when the deed was said and done, Blackwall would return to him.
"Thank you for giving me a chance, Commander," Cole had said, smile oddly bright on his face.
"I was cruel to you in the beginning, Cole. For that, I am sorry," Cullen said. "You are a good man. A good friend."
"No. You changed. There's nothing to be sorry for at all," he said, "I am happy for you. It's finally come."
They found a small brook to take him to. The water lulled him to a sense of ease as he turned to face Haylen. She held no weapon in her hand, but the Anchor glowed ominously at her side. Her hands trembled.
"I am sorry I cannot go with you any further, Haylen," Cullen said. "Were my body my own, I would follow you to the ends of the earth."
"I know," she whispered.
"Thank you for loving me. In all my years, despite all the wrongs I made in my life, I never thought I'd be blessed with such a life as this." He gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, then brushed back her hair to cup her face. "You saved me, Haylen. I am a better man for having loved you."
"And I you," she breathed. She brought her hands up to cup his own, then reached onto her tiptoes to kiss him. The kiss was as chaste as it was fierce, and she buried her fingers into the short hairs at the nape of his neck for the last time.
"Thank you for staying with me," she whispered against his lips. "Thank you for loving me. May you find peace with the Maker, Cullen... I will keep my promise, for as long as you will have me."
He buried his face into her hair and smiled.
"Thank you, Haylen."
And then she opened a rift above them. From her very grasp, she felt the rift pull him from her until all that was left was the memory of him and his smile. Blackwall left her then, and she was grateful. There, alone in the woods, Thedas' savoir fell to her knees and wept.
Years passed and despite the demands of other nations, the Inquisition remained under the power of Divine Victoria. They were smaller now, but their power laid not in their numbers but in the quality of the people that fought beside them. A mere three months after Cullen's passing, Inquisitor Haylen had found herself with child. Now, years after her promise, she held it for an entirely different reason. She smiled as she brushed her child's hair from his amber eyes and set the book she had been reading aside. From beneath his covers, the little boy yawned.
"Will you stay with me, Mommy?" He asked, eyes already falling shut.
"Of course, sweetheart," she said fondly. "I'll stay for as long as you will have me."