"Cullen, would you please stop pacing? You are driving me crazy."
A vicious retort bubbled upon the templar's frozen and cracked lips, but he reluctantly swallowed it back down. It tasted like poison and ash and snow, but regretful words would not help the situation. As much as he had wanted to lash out at Cassandra in that moment, Cullen knew that she was suffering immensely as well. He paused in the worn trail he'd made, allowing a moment's refuge by the camp's fire to warm his numb skin.
The three advisors were crouched and huddled by the same fire that the Inquisition's temporary camp had been built around. Only hours ago, the night's silence had been pierced with wails and cries of every tone and tempo. Now, a hushed, almost sacred stillness cloaked them, save for the injured few who could not help but moan and writhe in agony. Cullen could not stand it. The screaming had almost been better. Even in their despair and panic, the people felt urged to do something, to move. Now, in the aftermath, it seemed almost unbearable to sit still and wait for any sign that she might still be alive.
Cullen resumed his pacing.
Cassandra sighed angrily before burying her face in her hands. He understood. They had lost so much… so entirely much… this was surely the most exquisite form of torture they had ever known, to wonder if they still had one more death to mourn. No. The thought alone was unbearable. Cullen stiffened at once and drew in a ragged breath, the gesture radiating waves of pain across his heart and lungs. It was suddenly all too warm, far too hot to focus on not focusing… Cullen mumbled a quick something about taking a walk and then escaped from Cassandra's worried glare, not daring to understand why the jaded warrior had crystal tears in her eyes.
Harsh winds tore at Cullen's face and disassembled his golden hair. The numerous cuts on his cheeks and jaw stung as the uncaring cold split them wide open again, and waves of curls brushed by his temples, smearing the cut skin there with fresh blood. He pushed them all back with an impatient swipe and stomped along towards the edge of camp where the crest of the mountain rose in a gentle slope that overlooked the entire valley below, where Haven… and Lavellan, once stood proudly.
"I see we share the same idea, Commander," said a familiar, if distant voice. Cullen had stalked by Solas without even seeing the lithe, elf turn to face him as he trudged past a small outcropping of rock. The mage had been leaning casually against the pillar of stone and watching out over the horizon when the fair-haired templar could be seen walking, if not hurrying, towards the same destination. If Cullen had been well, he would have had to stifle the instinctive desire to unsheathe his sword - such a reaction was still ingrained in his brain despite the massive amount of mage exposure he's had in the past several months.
Cullen nodded an acknowledgement to Solas, who returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm. For a moment, both of them were silent, devoid anything meaningful to say. It was just as well, for Cullen was soon robbed of his ability to speak anyway, due to every inhale causing him intense pain that throbbed where his heart used to beat. Solas watched grimly from the side as Cullen sagged slightly, the human's shoulders bowed with racking convulsions. Eventually, if only a moment later, Cullen publicly succumbed to his grief, causing him to be sick in the freshly fallen snow beside them. Only the desire to retain a shred of dignity kept Cullen on his feet as violent spasms ripped through his body, and Solas, who understood the preciousness of such a virtue, looked away, his jaw set and his eyes dimmed.
If anything, it was a bitter laugh that tempted Solas to return his gaze to Cullen. Cullen's face was pale and slick with sweat, though a wry smile twisted at the corner's of his mouth. What could possibly be so humorous?
"You know, Solas, you are the only person who actually looks like they are not paying attention to things that they surely are," Cullen said evenly before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "It's very believable."
Solas' lips twitched, if only marginally. He looked at Cullen in the face then, a gesture forced by years of undying politeness. "Are you all right, Commander?"
Cullen spat on the ground. "I'm fine. Have you seen anything yet? Any sign?" The words unspoken hung between them like a hurricane. Any sign of her?
"Nothing."
Cullen swore he could detect a faint emotion burning beneath Solas' reply. Pity? Regret? Or something more…?
With both arms folded over his chest, Cullen shifted uncomfortably. "Isn't there something you can do to see if… that is, isn't there some possibly magical way of finding out… bloody hell."
"Are you asking if magic could help us find out whether or not she still lives, Commander?"
Ravaged by a instance of pain once more, Cullen nodded.
Solas lifted his chin and clasped both hands behind his back as he wandered a few steps towards his colleague. "Unfortunately, I have already tried that. I went to sleep and searched for her in the Fade. When I could not find her, I attempted to search for someone else, a spirit perhaps, who could tell me if they had seen her wandering about."
"And?"
"There were no spirits there," Solas said regretfully. "They all fled from Haven as soon as we were attacked. It was if they knew who ambushed us, and were afraid of such a force."
Cullen swore angrily, forgetting to see the disapproving glare Solas shot back at him. "I cannot take much more of this waiting, Solas. I fear that, come dawn, the Inquisition will not have an adequate commanding officer to dispose of."
Solas blanched visibly, both narrow eyebrows drawn together as a scowl replaced the calculating expression he favored to wear. "So that's it? You're just going to give up, without even knowing how things will inevitably play out in the end?"
Cullen sighed deeply, mournfully. "I shall never give up as long as I continue breathing. I fear, however, that forcing this dream, this movement without the heart of it… without my heart," he added almost imperceptibly, before turning his face away. Fresh snow was already starting to fall again, as it did every half hour or so. Stars shone brightly in the sky above them and constellations of every size and shape seemed to mock this horrific night, being as beautiful as they were. When Cullen returned his gaze to the valley below, he detected no movement from the mage beside him, no indication if he was going to respond in that superior tone he always used. Just when he was about to apologize for his shameful and weak behavior, Solas finally relented, unclasping his hands to cross them over his breast.
"I didn't know," he said, a strange, yearning tone coloring his voice.
By this time, Cullen had already forgotten the topic of conversation, his thoughts and attention turned much, much elsewhere. "Know what?"
Their eyes met, encouraged by Solas' probing, light green against amber brown. And then Solas was suddenly real, his distant facade gone and Cullen knew, just as Solas could see it in his own face, and what a tremendous cliff they were standing upon to have forgotten themselves and their worries amidst this startling and ill conceived revelation.
"That you loved her," Solas said, his eyes flashing both painfully and coldly in contrast to his words.
"Nobody does. For Heaven's sake, I barely knew. I wasn't sure until I saw Haven buried under the avalanche and by then…" Cullen trailed off before clearing his throat. "It hardly matters now."
Solas shook his head from side to side. "Of course it matters, Cullen. It will always matter."
"Nevertheless." Cullen brought his gaze back to Solas and was surprised to find the elf scrutinizing his face with a wandering stare, as if he were trying to find some truth in the tension and discomfort written all over the templar's features. If only to forfeit the moment and detract from the awkwardness, Cullen spoke again. "She is a rare and marvelous woman. I don't find it shocking to know that someone else shares my… affections for her. Least of all you, Solas."
Solas frowned angrily. "Why? Because I am an elf?"
"No. But if any one person was to break through your silence and your secrets and your half-truths, Maker knows why you keep everything to yourself, it was going to be her."
Cullen watched as Solas swallowed his words, for he knew what he said to be true. A certain light bloomed inside the mage's eyes, and then Cullen was smiling grimly, as much as he could, at the evidence of his convictions being validated. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do in that instance, and so Cullen turned his gaze away from the thoughtful elf just as he had done earlier.
"You are right, Commander. She is rare," Cullen heard Solas whisper. And as if beckoned by some holy and ancient power, the relentless wind below them abated so that a dark, stumbling silhouette could be seen heading towards them, trudging up the sloping hill that led to where the two men stood.
"Solas," Cullen choked out. Faster than air, Solas whirled around to see where Cullen was now pointing at. The figure was small and slender, seemingly driven towards them by sheer force alone, though their footsteps were progressively becoming more sloppy… more frequent. Shock kept them rooted to the ground, though when the glint of silver hair rebounded off of the sky's moonlight, Cullen was racing forward, his hoarse screams piercing the eerie and infernal quiet.
"CASSANDRA! Cassandra, it's HER! Cassandra, it's Ellana!"
Cullen didn't know why he was crying out for Cassandra to help him, but it was of no importance. He didn't care whether or not Haven was lost, or if they were all doomed to die in the end, or even if they would make it as far as morning. Cullen especially didn't care about Solas and how he was also in love with the Herald, nor did he care about Solas' pain at seeing Cullen reach her first, touch her first, and damn the courtesies and courtship and the manners because Ellana was alive, truly alive, and everything was real and beautiful again…
He was near now, near enough to see her the grey tattoos upon her snow-flaked brow. He called out for her, not caring that he sounded desperate and lost and relived all at once. She was right in front of him and glorious recognition broke out across her face, causing her to stumble for the final time, and then she was falling, too exhausted and injured and grieved to catch herself. She was crashing to her knees when her violet gaze swept over Cullen, and he caught her, caught her so gently and so safely that she did not protest the hands and arms which fastened her battered body to his, nor did she blush when the position of their shaking bodies caused her head to fall upon his heaving and wonderful chest.
"Ellana, Ellana, Ellana," he crooned, mostly to himself, "Oh thank the Maker, you're safe, darling Ellana."
"Didn't… think I'd make it… did you?" she said in a startlingly weak whisper, her face soft and content against the Commander's heartbeat. "Frankly… you disappoint me, Cullen."
If Cullen had had the capacity to laugh at her jest, he still wouldn't have. Instead, Cullen said nothing. He ignored the tremors that shook his hands and tore off his feathered cloak in one swift and jerky movement before placing it over the elf he still held, making sure that it cocooned her frozen and frostbitten flesh. She shuddered violently, and Cullen was stroking her long hair and choking down sharp sobs that stabbed his throat as he forced them away. He was dimly aware of crashing footsteps behind him - surely it was Solas by now, and Cullen lifted Ellana into his arms and off of the snowy ground that they had both collapsed upon.
"Cullen, is she—" And it was not Solas but Cassandra who had raced after him, along with Leliana and Josephine on her trail.
"She's alive but we need to get her to a healer. Now," Cullen commanded them whilst curling the unmoving girl even closer to his body. "Leliana, Josephine," he nearly barked out, "Wake every bloody mage that you find and prepare them for her. Go! Hurry!" He watched as they retreated back to carry out his orders.
Cullen startled when he felt a hand take purchase on his shoulder. It was Cassandra and she was utterly silent, a small smile formed on her lips, both tender and angry at once. She was gazing at Ellana, still and placated in the Commander's arms, and then Cullen was looking down at her also, until Ellana wordlessly returned his scrutiny with an alertness that solidified this heavenly and amazing fact: she was alive.
Tears, hot and thick obscured Cullen's vision then and as he and Cassandra hurried back to camp. He was grateful of the relentless wind drying the trails of wetness left behind on his cheeks, and although normally he would have been embarrassed to be seen showing such sentimentality in front of women, he was sure that they understood, that if anything in the world warranted such an inappropriate reaction from him, it was this. It was her.
Ellana.