***MAJOR SPOILER ALERT***
This story is set immediately during the episode 'In Your Hearts Shall Burn' and therefore contains numerous references to the events in that episode of the game.
***Trigger Alert***
Strong language, potential character death
****Disclaimer****
Dragon Age: Inquisition is copyright to EA Games and I own nothing to do with it (not even that sweet, adorkable, stammering Fereldan cinnamon-roll Cullen 'Maker's Breath!' Rutherford, *sigh*). Characters and situations are used solely for non-commercial entertainment purposes.
Please review and comment, constructive feedback is always welcomed.
This is the first time I've written for Cole so I REALLY hope I've managed to capture it effectively.
The story so far…
Aided by the allied Mages, the Herald of Andraste succeeds in sealing the Breach in the sky but victory is short lived. As Marcus feared, the enemy behind the scenes is swift to reveal his hand. Haven's celebrations are interrupted by the approach of a massive army of Templars, made deformed and monstrous by Red Lyrium, and pledged to the service of the Elder One Corypheus; an ancient Tevinter magister who attempted to become a God but instead became darkspawn and brought the First Blight.
Led by Sampson, a former comrade of Cullen's from Kirkwall, the force advances upon the poorly defended town; intent on massacre. With Cullen defending the walls, Marcus leads the Inquisition troops; holding back the Templars long enough for the trebuchets to bring a cataclysmic avalanche down upon the attacker. Despite this, for a second time, victory is ripped from their grasp as Corypheus unleashes his deadliest weapon; an arch-demon in the form of a dragon which destroys the south trebuchet before they can completely overwhelm the Templar army, and unleashes a firestorm of destruction on Haven.
Fighting every inch of the way, the survivors fall back to the Chantry and plan a suicidal last stand; one that will bring the mountain down upon the Templars but also bury Haven and everyone left alive in it. Grand Chancellor Roderick, dying from his wounds, reveals there is a way they can survive; an old pilgrim path through the mountains, along which the townsfolk and the Inquisition can escape if the enemy is held back long enough.
Marcus has one chance to save his friends, and the people who now look to him as their leader, but the cost may be his own life…
9:40 Dragon; the Massacre at Ostwick Circle Tower
"The Templars have gone mad, they're killing everyone; rebel or not"
Flames belched from the clerestory windows, the entire south range was on fire; loud cracks and bangs from the Alchemists tower as potion ingredients exploded, hints of burning leather and vellum as the inferno consumed irreplaceable volumes of lore in the library. First Enchanter Raymon ran his hand over his face, streaked with tears and soot. Nothing in the Tower was being spared, not even the Chantry. With Knight Commander Durward dead, Knight Captain Herrick had invoked the Rite of Annulment, on no authority but his own; sentencing every Mage in Ostwick, from the oldest Enchanter to the youngest Apprentice, to death.
A handful of the surviving Magi, Aequitarians who had tried to seek the way of compromise and keep the Circle from falling into the pit of Rebellion, had found temporary sanctuary in this corner of the cloister garden as the fighting raged throughout the buildings. Like many who value reason and common sense in a time of madness they found themselves the target of both sides. It could only be a matter of minutes before they were discovered and slaughtered with the rest.
Marcus thought quickly, crisis giving speed and clarity to his mind; there was still a chance some of them could escape. He pointed across at the still undamaged range on the north side of the cloister
"You can get out through the undercroft of the Harrowing Hall, the old passage down to the river…" he pulled the signet ring from his little finger, pressing it into the first Enchanter's hand "Take this to Revered Mother Simona at Somerberg Chantry. She's a friend of my Great-Aunt Lucille, she'll give you sanctuary and get word to my father."
"But the Templars..." Raymon began. Pursuit would be implacable. Herrick was a fanatic, convinced that the Terynir of Ostwick and its Circle of Magi were breeding grounds of corruption and depravity; resentful of the easy, liberal regime that had prevailed.
"Let me and Marc deal with them" Aidhan insisted. The young Templar had taken up sword against his brothers to protect the loyalists from the wholesale massacre. He had no illusions about what his, or Marcus's, fate would be but he was sworn to protect the innocent and that vow carried no exemption in his eyes. He glanced at the tiny huddle of survivors, most of them elderly or injured "Get them to safety, let the Teryn and the Grand Cleric know what's happening before it's too late."
"Aidhan... Marcus... Don't do this, I beg you…" There was anguish in the First Enchanter eyes. So many dear and valued friends and colleagues had perished today; Lydia, Durward, Kathryn... He couldn't bear the thought of these two fine young men sacrificing themselves in a hopeless fight.
"Raymon, please..." Marcus urged him "We'll make them pay for every good soul they've taken from us."
The first Enchanter didn't hesitate any longer. He embraced both men
"Andraste preserve you and keep you from harm!"
Gathering the terrified survivors, twittering like frightened birds, Raymon shepherded them towards the escape route while Marcus and Aidhan positioned themselves at the cloister doors, already beginning to splinter under the assault of axes and swords.
"Ready, Marc?" Aidhan asked, battle fury glinting in his dark green eyes
Marcus nodded, hefting his staff as the thick oak panels started to give.
"Ready as I'll ever be... Let's make some fucking noise!"
9:41 Dragon; The Fall of Haven
"Bull, I need you and the Chargers to protect the rear. Pick up the stragglers and deal with any of the Red Templars that get past us. Fiona, Dorian and Solas will help the remaining Battle Mages protect the flanks."
"Sure thing, Boss. We'll make sure no one gets left behind." The giant Qunari rumbled "You do know you're on a suicide mission, right? Just want to point that out in case you weren't certain."
"Wouldn't be my first one!" Marcus grinned, shaking The Iron Bull's hand "It's been an honour to fight alongside the Bull's Chargers."
"Honour's all ours, Boss! Make those bastards pay for this!"
The Iron Bull moved through the chantry, gathering his men as the Inquisition soldiers mustered the last of the townsfolk towards the escape route Grand Chancellor Roderick had told them about. The old cleric might have been a pompous fool, but he was a brave one and had given them a chance to survive.
Those who could walk helped those who couldn't. The sick, the injured, those too young or too old to make it by themselves; no one was being abandoned. He'd known plenty of lords who wouldn't have given a shit about saving anyone other than the high command and the nobles. It was why he liked the Boss, he wasn't going to let any of his people fall into the hands of those creatures. He was going to miss that crazy red-headed fucker…
###
"I've just got one order for you..."
Marcus looked around the friends and companions joining him for this last insane battle. Blackwall, testing the edge of his sword, Sera restringing her bow, Varric making a few final calibrations to Bianca, Vivienne checking her mascara in a hand-held mirror; that strange, squirrely boy, Cole with his knives ready. Six of them against an army of monstrously deformed Templars, an arch-demon and the Darkspawn 'Elder One' who led them. It was madness but, for what he had planned, a small group might just have the better chance
"...once we get the trebuchet turned and aimed, you fall back; get clear. I'll wait for Cullen's signal"
"Maker's Balls! You can't expect us to leave you!" Blackwall protested "Not with that thing out there!"
Marcus shook his head
"You must! It's me he wants. On my own I have the best chance of keeping his attention from what we're doing and, besides..." he grinned wickedly "I don't want to be worrying about saving your sorry arses as well"
Blackwall nodded grimly. He didn't like the idea, but this was the Heralds plan, maybe the only chance for anyone to survive. They couldn't afford to fuck this up.
"That's the last of them moving out now, we'll signal you as soon as we're above the treeline" Cullen informed Marcus. The commander looked strained and pale, anxiety and determination etched into his face. He took the Herald's hand and their eyes met, Cullen fought back the urge to beg Marcus to change his mind, not to do this… to let him stand in his place and find atonement in death. "If we are to have a chance... If you are to have a chance... let that thing hear you!"
"Take care of them, Cull..." Marcus said, quietly so the others couldn't hear "Maker go with you"
"And also with you…" Cullen nodded briefly and left, setting the lion helm on his head so the men wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. Marcus took a deep breath to push down the fear that threatened to close his throat and turned to his friends, bowing gracefully to Vivienne
"My Lady Vivienne, will you join me in this dance?"
The Imperial Enchanter responded with a curtsey of equal elegance
"Certainly, my Lord Trevelyan, let us lead these beasts in a courante they will never forget!"
"Bloody nobles!" grinned Blackwall, kicking open the chantry doors. A blast of chill air, and the dull roar of the approaching enemy greeted them. Marcus cracked the butt of his staff off the flagstones, sparks whirling about its tip
Though all before me is darkness, yet shall the Maker be my guide…
"Let's make some fucking noise!"
A day and a half later: Somewhere in the Frostback Mountains.
"We should've gone back for him!" Blackwall stared, red eyed into the fire around which they sat; trying to get some warmth into their bones. "We shouldn't have left him."
"He gave us an order, he knew what he was doing." Varric looked up at the pass through which they'd struggled the night before. Corypheus? Shit… That couldn't be possible, Hawke had killed him, but there he'd been; ten feet tall, crystals of red lyrium glinting in his withered torso, striding through the flames towards Marcus as the young Mage struggled to his feet. The last glimpse he got, as they hauled Blackwall away was Marcus picked up by one arm, dangling from the Darkspawn's hand like a rag doll.
"Fuck orders! We should've gone back… He was a good man, the best I've known" Blackwall's voice cracked "He didn't deserve to die like that… alone…"
Even if Corypheus or the archdemon hadn't torn him apart, there was no way Marcus could have survived the wave of rock and ice that surged down over Haven. Blackwall cursed inwardly… he'd run… like a coward… like the last time; leaving a brave and honourable man, a man who'd called him 'friend', who'd given him a sense of purpose, leaving him to meet a terrible death with no-one to stand alongside him. Orders be damned, he should have gone back…
Cullen, and a few inquisition scouts had been waiting just above the treeline while the bulk of the refugees moved on to find safety and shelter. The look on that man's face when he realised Marcus wasn't with them; Blackwall never wanted to see that again.
Hundreds of people huddled under makeshift tents and around fires but, apart from the faint sounds of pain and grief, a shocked silence lay over the camp. Clerics and Mages, former Templars and hired mercenaries, Orlesian aristocrats and Fereldan peasants, humans, dwarves and elves; none of the differences mattered right now. All they had, all that united them, was sorrow and the question 'what now?'
"Ain't fair… the good ones always get killed; in stories and in real life. Ain't fair…" they'd almost forgotten about Sera. The normally mouthy girl curled around her private misery under a scrap of blanket. She stared defiantly at Varric, eyes wet and nose dripping "When you write about him, you'd better bloody include his stupid jokes… you can trust a man who makes stupid jokes."
Varric sighed heavily
"I'll include the stupid jokes, Buttercup," he promised her "and the farting, and the way he couldn't do a Fereldan accent for shit…"
"You'd better…" she warned him, tugging the blanket tighter round her shoulders "or I'll fucking jab you one!"
###
Near the centre of the camp, Cullen stared down at the maps spread out across the backboard of a cart, trying to force a strategy out of his brain as Cassandra, Josephine and Leliana continued to argue. The lines on the paper blurred into meaningless squiggles in front of his eyes and he pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples, growling as pain stabbed through his head. Ryland, or one of the other former Templars would be sure to have some. If not, then even the diluted mixture the Mages used might give him a little relief. Yes, he had to; there was no other choice.
He tightened his cloak against the gathering chill of evening and felt the pin Marcus had given him as a birthday gift just those few weeks ago; the first one he'd been given since childhood…
If it's any comfort, Cull, I think you're strong enough to do this…
No-one else, not even Varric, would ever have the audacity to call him 'Cull'. He'd never hear that voice again; the ever-present hints of affectionate mockery in that rich, deep, lilting Ostwick accent. He'd never play chess with him late into the evening, share a bottle of good wine, or train with him again in the sharp, pre-dawn air. Marcus had believed in him, he couldn't betray that faith…
Cullen swallowed hard and turned back to the maps, trying to ignore the red-hot shards of need digging into the back of his neck. He rubbed at his eyes, raw and sore from the biting winds
Andraste, carry him safe to the Maker's side… Forgive me… I should have told him…
The Templar was quiet but his pain was so loud. Cole crouched, unseen, on a box nearby; head cocked, listening, searching, trying to find a place where he could begin to help...
So much hurt… so much need… fear and hatred and grief all knotted together. Great, red, wet streaks where the demons hurt him, wounds and gashes that no-one could see. They hadn't believed him afterwards, not really, that's why they'd sent him away to somewhere just as bad; where fear made him cruel and the cruelty made him hate himself even more...
Every time Cole tried to undo a tangle it just tightened somewhere else; making it hurt, making it sharp, making Cullen want the cool blue lyrium release even more. Only the red-haired mage with the voice like music had loosened it a little…
I should have told him why we couldn't be more than friends… I wanted more, but I was afraid… I wasn't ready… too late now…
Voices of hurt weaving and winding together like snakes in a basket, coiling round each other; always moving, one leading to the next. The quiet Templar's pain touching another voice, almost too faint even for Cole to hear and the boy listened hard to catch it
Cold… biting and slicing like the knives… breathing hurts… arm feels wrong… feet hardly moving… One step, then another, how many more? I'm trying to be strong, Aidh… like I promised, but I'm tired and it hurts so much... Just want to sleep but if I lie down I'll die. Maker, I'm so tired… Please, Andraste… let them be safe… let him be safe…
Cole leaned towards Cullen, his whisper hardly more than a breath carried on the wind
"He's still alive."
###
Blackwall looked up from the fire as Cullen came running towards them; Cassandra and a couple of the Inquisition scouts following behind. He lumbered to his feet, grabbing his sword
"What is it? Another attack?"
Cullen shook his head
"We're going back, there's a chance…" he paused to gulp a breath "There's a chance Marcus could have survived."
"The whole mountainside came down" Varric objected "Cullen, Haven's completely gone. There's no way…"
"The old tunnels under Haven, cut by the Disciples of Andraste" Cassandra interrupted, her tone harsher and more impatient than usual. It was the slimmest of chances, but still held out a ray of hope "One of them had an opening near the north trebuchet. If he made it to that…"
"It's a big 'if', Seeker" Varric shrugged "But hey! I didn't have any plans for the evening anyway…"
###
The snow above the pass was deep, almost to the top of Cullen's boots, nearly obliterating the tracks made by the refugees from Haven. This was a mixed blessing, hiding their trail from any pursuit but making the search for Marcus almost impossible. Cullen could feel the muscles in his thighs and calves beginning to ache already, his hopes withering as the pain grew. If it was this difficult for him after only a couple of hours; how could Marcus, lost and probably injured, ever have made it this far? He wasn't ready to give up yet. He wouldn't give up, even if it meant trekking all the way back to Haven on his own. He owed it to Marcus, to the Herald, to find him alive or dead. Even if they were too late, he wouldn't leave his body to the mercy of the predators. He deserved better than that.
He began running, or at least stumbling faster, the moment he heard Scout Ritts's whistle. He saw where she was pointing, a darker shape prone against the snow; something that could be mistaken for a boulder by less perceptive eyes.
Maker, please, don't let it be too late
Marcus lay immobile, one arm twisted under him, a thin dusting of snow over his body. He couldn't have been lying here for long otherwise it would have covered him completely
Please, please, please… Marc, don't be dead… stay with me… don't let me be too late!
Blood crusted around a wound in his scalp and a long gash on his leg, there was no way to tell what other injuries Marcus had suffered and Cullen turned the young man over carefully, wrapping his thickly furred cloak around him, pulling him close in the desperate hope of transferring vital heat to the inert form; scarcely aware of the others joining him
"Maker!" Blackwall gasped "is he...?"
"I don't know!" barked Cullen, anxiety sharpening his voice. He tugged off a glove with his teeth and carefully felt along the cold skin of the Mage's throat. There! Under his searching fingers, just the faintest thread of a pulse "He's alive! Only just, but he's alive!"
"Maker be praised!" Cassandra exclaimed, pulling out the flask Mother Giselle had given her "Here... Quickly!"
"It's a miracle!" Scout Ritts's eyes burned with the flame of rekindled faith "He is the Chosen of Andraste. She brought him back from death; saved him from the Archdemon just like She saved him at the Temple. She hasn't forsaken us!"
Let's get him back to camp alive and then decide if it's a miracle, thought Cassandra, although she said nothing. After what they had seen and been through, a little hope from any source was welcome. No doubt Leliana would exploit this for maximum benefit.
Cullen carefully eased the neck of the flask between Marcus's stiff blue lips, letting a few drops of the cordial trickle into his mouth then rubbing his throat to make him swallow. 'Only a little at a time' Mother Giselle had cautioned 'If there is even a spark of life left, this will strengthen it'
It may just have been Cullen's imagination, but an eyelid seemed to flicker and a faint gasp of breath escaped Marcus's lips. He poured a few drops more and this time Marcus swallowed on his own, the muscles of his face twitching into a barely perceptible grimace. Cullen's heart was pounding in his chest; Marcus was alive… the Maker had heard his prayer, they had a chance… he had a chance…
"Maker be praised! Marcus, can you hear me? It's Cull... It's Cullen!"
"Cull...?" it was no more than a whisper followed by a low moan of protest as the barely conscious man attempted to nestle deeper into the commander's arms, burying his face into the warm fur lining of the cloak wrapped around him "Tired... Lemme sleep..."
"Red always hates getting woken up" choked Varric, halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"No! No sleeping, not yet, it's not safe to sleep yet" Cullen shook him back to semi waking, making him drink some more "We're taking you home. You can sleep there... Blackwall, help me get him on the stretcher."
"Yeah... wan' go home, Cull..." mumbled Marcus, still covered by Cullen's cloak "Tired..."
Even taking turns with the stretcher it was a long, hard, trek back; Varric sustaining a constant grumbling narrative the way only he could, doing his best to keep Marcus hovering on the right side of consciousness until they got him to the healers. Cullen could see Vivienne, Josephine and Leliana waiting anxiously at the edge of the camp, the women running towards them as soon as they came into view. The commander steeled himself for a long and difficult night. The days ahead would be hard, testing them to the limit but, against all the odds, Marcus had survived and that gave them hope. Where that hope would lead them, perhaps tomorrow would tell.
###
By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it; changed you… Scout to the north, be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build and grow… Skyhold!