A/N: Takes place during the later part of In Your Heart Shall Burn. Recommended listening is Carry You by Ruelle.
No one saw her. Endless hours have passed since the avalanche, and nothing. No trace of her. And Cullen is still haunted by the look on her face when she left the Chantry. It replays again and again in his mind. Cutting him deeper with each repetition.
"And what of your escape?" A desperate question, a shot in the dark he couldn't help but take. Because he had to hope, to pray that she had some sort of scheme that allowed her to make it through alive.
But no.
Her blue eyes steeled. Acceptance, determination. And she turned away.
That was when it hit, a blow worse than anything magic or weapons could do to him. Squeezing his heart, crushing it until it skipped a necessary beat. A precursor of the pain that would surely come. Because she didn't plan to survive.
His training kicked in, emotions dying, choked down to smother him later. To save the others, to lead their forces, he must function, must do his duty, must let her go.
"Maybe you will surprise it, find a way."
Please, Maker, let her find a way. Cullen's eyes scan the white mountainside for the thousandth time. His pacing steps take him farther and farther from camp.
Faith is hard when reality is cruel. He remembers Dorian, Varric, and Blackwall being spotted by the scouts, their heavy words at what they left behind. The Herald standing alone against Corypheus and what might just be a damned arch-demon.
"The snow buried everything. When I looked back…there was no Haven." Varric's gloved hands gripped his crossbow so tightly the leather groaned in protest. "But hey, if anyone can stumble out of that shit alive, it'd be Viru, right? She's basically a walking miracle."
That almost worked, except Varric never once lifted his eyes.
Another look across the mountainside. Empty as the heavy hollow in his chest.
"Cullen, you need to rest. We will have to move in the morning." Cassandra's voice is quiet, every bit as unwilling to push forward when they might be leaving the Herald behind.
"I'm fine."
The Seeker doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave their post either, lingering with scouts and the Herald's companions on the edge of the camp. The only ones missing are the mages, all busy tending to those wounded during the attack and mass exodus after Haven's fall.
Another frenzied sweep of his eyes. Taking in every minute detail, every disappearing print, every rock and tree and cliff. Piles of white and black shadows, a faint green light that wavers in the distance—
He runs, unheeding of the snow trying to slow him, ignoring the wind burning his face as he fights against it.
"Commander? Cullen what is it?" Cassandra's voice chases him, but he cannot slow his steps, does not dare to turn around and possibly lose that flickering green.
"There! It's her!" His voice is thick, but manages the answer. He can hear the pursuit behind him, Cassandra's reply, but never pauses. Because she's alive.
She's alive. She's alive. She's alive!
He can make her out now, her thin body swaying, stumbling. And then she falls, collapsing to her knees just before he can reach her. And Cullen should probably stop and wait for the others to catch up and help assess the situation, call for a healer. But Viru is trembling violently in the snow, her armor and face streaked with blood, and her eyes look to him with delirious relief.
For the first time since Haven fell, he can breathe.
"Cullen!" A single, hoarse cry from her lips and he drops down beside her just as her hands reach up to him, shaking fingers locking behind his neck. A quick jerk of his cloak and he sweeps the thick material around her tiny form. Gently, he slips an arm beneath her knees and the other under her arms, lifting her slowly to cradle against his chest. And the hold he has on her is so careful, so tender. Not because she is fragile or broken.
But because she is so precious.
"It's alright," he whispers against her hair. "I have you. You're safe."