A/N: Hey guys, this is my very first DA piece that I have ever written and also officially my first piece I have written since I had to leave the FF community a year and a half ago, so please be gentle with me! On a serious (pfft, 'serious') note, this is a piece for the Cullenites 1,000 page celebration. Happy 1,000 pages guys! So without further ado, on with the show!
Saving Grace
Their screams echoed within his head. Helpless cries, pleas for mercy. They were given nothing, he had been given nothing. There was no chance of redemption for those mages, they had all turned to blood magic. No one could have resisted Uldred for that length of time.
But you did.
He curses her voice in his head. She had saved him, and yet he hated her for it. Why should he have lived whilst his fellow Templars, his friends, died? He had never seen the woman in his life before, nor any of her companions, but her voice still pervaded his thoughts, seeped into his mind. He sighed in frustration. He was no longer a naïve boy who had foolish infatuations. He had seen the damage that naivety had wrought upon his order and knew now that there was no room for leniency to be granted.
He looked up at the land around him. He was glad he was leaving the tower. The screams seemed even louder there, the nightmares more vivid. He could plainly see Bran's throat being sliced open right in front of him. He remembered the feeling of his blood spattering onto his face, dripping down and seeping into every pore. He could still taste it on his lips, followed by the sharp bite of the bile he hadn't even tried to hold back.
He heard a crack from behind him and, in his panic, almost impaled a poor boy who had been sent alongside several other Templars to escort him to the chantry at Greenfell. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, could feel their pity emanating from their gaze.
"What are you all looking at?!" he snapped, moving to return his sword to its sheath when one of the other Templars stepped forward.
"I think we'd all feel better if you didn't have to carry that sword Cullen. If we run into trouble I'll give it back to you, but you'll end up hurting someone and we can't deal with that right now after everything else." he said, his voice calm but commanding.
"Who are you to tell me what to do?! You know nothing, you have seen nothing! Where were you when Uldred was slaughtering our brothers? Hiding behind Greagoir's skirt?" Cullen sneered as he walked away from the group. He could make his own way to Greenfell, he didn't need to be watched over like an infant.
Cullen waited beneath the shade of a tree, watching the sun lower into the sky. He used to adore watching the day fade away to night, knowing that it meant he was one day closer to becoming a knight. Now all that came was a sense of dread, knowing that when he shut his eyes he would be able to hear the whispering of demons, taunting him, promising him everything he ever wanted if he just let go. Instead of the promise of a new day came the promise of a night even darker and more twisted than the nights before.
He sighed. He knew he shouldn't have been so snide with his fellow Templars. He was dangerous. He could very well have put an end to that boy's hopes of being a Templar, perhaps even his life. Maker, he would never have forgiven himself for that.
Perhaps taking some time out from his duties would be a good thing, allow him time to block out the constant agonised screaming he heard every time he tried to rest. He could dedicate his time to honing his skills. It was better than sitting around a chantry feeling sorry for himself.
Running a gloved hand across his face, his thoughts wandered back to the men he had left behind. He could see them a bit further out from the hill he sat on. He should probably get back to them, apologise for being such a pain. But they just couldn't understand the horrors that he had seen in the tower. Even worse, they didn't want to know. Cullen groaned in frustration. No one would be able to understand unless they had witnessed it.
As he pushed himself up from the ground, grabbing his sword and his backpack, he began to feel like a dog returning to its master with its tail between its legs. Sweet Andraste, he had acted like a child.
He walked down the hill, careful to mind the stones jutting out of the earth. One moment of distraction by something white, almost luminescent in the dullness of the night sent him face first down the steep hillside with a loud yell, his head colliding with the hilt of his sword as he threw his arms forward to protect himself. The next thing he knew was darkness.
Cullen groaned. The throbbing in his head just wouldn't stop and he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He cursed himself over and over. He must have been out for a while now.
"Maker's breath, it feels like I've been hit with a maul." No one was around. Well, no one he could sense anyways. The must not have heard him shouting out.
Cullen lay on the ground, his gloved hands covering his face. He was glad to get a moments peace from the thoughts that had constantly plagued his mind since the tower, though he just wanted the pain to stop.
When he finally felt the throbbing cease a little, he pushed himself up into a kneeling position. He felt around his head for any injuries and, after a few moments, was glad to see that he only had some bruising. Severe, painful, but nothing lasting.
He waited a few moments before pushing himself onto his feet, testing to see if any damage had befallen on his limbs. Thankfully there was only a slight ache, though he suspected it would be worse if he pushed himself too hard. Looks like he was going to have to withhold training for a few days after reaching the Greenfell chantry. Whilst he tried to brush most of the dirt off his clothes, something caught his eye. He could see a faint glowing in the distance. It must have been the thing that had distracted him.
Grabbing his sword which was almost hidden in the tall grass a few feet from him, he cautiously walked towards the mysterious…thing in the distance. He drew his sword from its sheathe as he stalked closer and closer. The glowing became brighter and brighter until he saw a flower. It was surrounded by tall grass and a variety of weeds. Cullen tied the sheathe of his sword to his belt and began pulling the grass back from the flower. He then began untangling the tendrils of the weeds that had wrapped themselves around the flower, holding it down beneath the overgrown grass.
Once he released the flower from their grasp, he was slightly disappointed that it remained glowing faintly in the shadows of the grass surrounding it. Taking one of his gloves off, he reached down with gentle, hesitant fingers and lifted the flower up into the light. It was beautiful and oddly familiar.
It stood at a decent height when he lifted it. Four long petals with a rather bright pink erupting from the centre faded into a bright white colour which was illuminated by the moonlight. Cullen remembered seeing this flower somewhere, but he couldn't remember where.
He knelt there for a while, studying the plant, tracing his fingers down its slender stem whilst holding it up in the other.
"By the Maker, you're beautiful." he muttered. Suddenly he remembered a picture from the book written by one of the older mages in the tower. What was her name? Ines? He remembered the picture of the flower, though it made no mention of the plant glowing at night. He whispered the name of it into the night.
"Andraste's Grace." he smiled as he caressed the flower's petals. These were supposed to be rare. He had never seen one out with the pictures and descriptions in that one book. It was a miracle that it managed to survive without the sun, being pulled down into the darkness. Cullen chuckled at the irony that was facing him. Despite the odds, this plant survived, just as he had.
Eventually he released the plant, standing up only to become suddenly tense again, his hand on the hilt of his sword, when he heard a small snap behind him. He slowly turned around, eyes trying to scan the darkness for any movement. Looking down Cullen saw that the flower he had held in his hand moments ago had snapped and was laying on the ground, its light slowly fading away.
He bent down and picked the plant up with trembling fingers, fearing he may bring further damage to the plant. He felt terrible. Perhaps he should have just left the plant alone, but then he would have felt terrible then as well. This plant had reminded him that he had walked back into the light. He pondered whether it was fate that had brought him to this breath-taking flower, whether he was meant to see that even as one emerges into the light, they can easily fall back into the darkness. He wouldn't let that happen to him. Never. Wandering back over to where he had fallen, he found his backpack with the contents still inside, though slightly worse for wear. Pulling out a journal, he slipped the flower inside and closed the book slowly, being sure to keep the book closed tight as he re-organised his backpack. It must have been fate that had brought him to this flower, he thought. He couldn't believe that he stumbled upon this flower by accident. Either way, the lesson that Cullen had learned was one he was not going to forget. Silently thanking the Maker and Andraste, he wandered towards the camp, the light in the distance guiding him along the way.
A/N: Hopefully you enjoyed that as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you like this story and would like to see more please leave a review saying so, because I'm not 100% happy leaving this story as a one shot and with a little bit of nudging I'll very happily write several follow up chapters following Cullen up to the release of DAI (probably after as well seen as I'll probably fall in love with Cullen's character again). Anyways, keep smiling lovelies and have a great day/night wherever you are. Tatty bye!
