A/N: Trying something new which involves just writing rather than obsessing over every word endlessly (and never finishing). If you like or hate where this is going, please review/favorite/follow/something so that I know? Nothing's more awkward than continuing a story that no one seems to be enjoying...
Andraste must be joking. He was unable to suppress the thought as he watched the Seeker pass the small, limp body to Solas. Dark hair, matted with something that was likely once the innards of a demon, parted to reveal a bloodless face.
Delicately curved brows.
A cheek too full to have yet seen a third decade.
Young. Very young.
He turned back to the reports scattered on the crate before him with a grimace. Their supposed savior – this Herald – was no more than a girl. It was a forceful reminder of the doubts that had plagued him since Kirkwall. For if this was the best blessed Andraste could do to save them all from world's end, then what was the point? Perhaps they were truly lost to the Maker forever. Perhaps, He had never been there at all.
Cullen glared up at the sickly green sky, half daring it to strike down at him for his blasphemous musings.
The span of three breaths.
Nothing.
He closed his eyes with a sigh. A city's worth of dead mages and innocents had shown him the dangers of a faith held blindly. He would recite the Benedictions tonight. He would hope that he was not a fool.