May the Maker Watch Over You
Chapter 4
A/N: Thank you to ErsbethShadowSong, Kyla Baines, writingNOOB, Amethyst-Guardian-Lycure, LurkingRoseDust and indy's girl for the favorites, story alerts, and comments! They make my day every time they show up on my email. Also, please take some time to leave a review after reading. I love to hear what people think as they read this. Also, if anyone has suggestions, I'm always willing to listen and see if it will work with what I have in mind.
This chapter was fun to write. I tried to have some lighter moments in this chapter since the previous chapters have been very dark. Enjoy!
Inspiration: Dragon Age II Legacy, Dragon Age: Awakening, Ser-Prace-A-Lot, Kasparov's Immortal Chess Game, What We Become by Crisium (another wonderful Cullen/mage story here on fanfiction), Dragon Age Inquisition Champions of the Just.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but a copy of the Dragon Age: Inquisition game. All rights belong to Bioware.
They were had made their way through into the Circle of Magi before Cullen grabbed the petite mage and dragged her into the nearest vacant room, a cramped Tranquil closet for runes and herbs. He pressed her against the door, looming over her.
"What are you doing here Ashiva," he interrogated, keeping her trapped between the door and him.
She had to look up to him, her lips turned up into a smirk. "You were there, Cullen. I'm doing my duty as a Grey Warden. I didn't realize that was a crime here in Kirkwall. I will be sure to let the First Warden know so that I won't have to do these crappy jobs. I always hated being on a boat."
"No, I mean…" the templar stuttered, his words leaving him. "You didn't write. You have always informed me when you were arriving."
"There wasn't time to write," Ashiva replied, resting her arm on his forearm. "I received the news only before we left. I couldn't dally around when there is something like this hanging over our heads."
Cullen looked at her carefully. The elf looked tired, ready to collapse at any moment. A bruise was forming on her small face, a small cut where the armor had cut through her skin when the templar at hit her across the face. Anger flared up in him, not resisting as he moved his gloved hand to brush the discolored skin. "I'll find who did this to you. They had no reason to attack you."
Ashiva glared. "Don't bother, Cullen. I've had worse happen to me," she scoffed. "I'm just an elven mage to them. Nothing more. Especially not an equal that risked her life so that they could beat another mage."
"That's unfair-"
"It's the truth," she interrupted with a hiss.
Sighing, Cullen released her from his grip, missing her warmth as he pulled away. He had stumbled into Meredith's office just in time. Although the meeting had went vastly long, they had finally came to agreement. Ashiva and the other Grey Warden mages would stay in the Circle until they left Kirkwall to venture into the Vinmark Mountains. Although satisfied with those terms, Meredith had insisted the Wardens would be escorted outside of Kirkwall by a few selected Templars. Ashiva disagreed, but finally gave up the battle with a frown.
Needless to say, Cullen had volunteered to escort the Wardens. It would be nice to get fresh air after being cooped up in the city for months. He also thought it would be nice to finally have time to speak to the woman that stood before him for an extended amount of time. They had only communicated through short conversations in a tavern and briefer missives, her writing disguised as a new recruit distantly related to him.
Although it was often the mages that were the first to state the importance of secrecy in the Circle, Templars were no better. Whatever their relationship, it was forbidden. Although Ashiva was no longer in the Circle, he feared what the repercussions would be if it were known of their continued relationship.
"I'll be personally picking the men that will be going with us to the Vinmark Mountains. This will not happen again, not while I am watching," he vowed.
He was gifted with a small smile, gratitude reflected in her eyes. "I believe you," she whispered. He heard the latch on the door. "I'll step out first. I was wanting to investigate the library here...see if there are any books I haven't read through."
Cullen grinned. "You were always reading…"
Ashiva's smile seemed sad, her eyes glancing at the elfroot in the corner. He forgotten. Kinloch Hall was a topic they avoided. There were too many memories, many overshadowed by terror. Before she could escape though, he caught her in his arms, his large form pressing around her lithe frame. "Ash-"
He felt her arms wrap around his waist, her breath caressing his neck. He clung to the moment, only letting go when she pulled away. He saw the mask of the Warden-Commander now. She was no longer the fragile, loving mage he was accustomed to in the tower. She was fierce and powerful. This woman had stared down death, plunging the blade through the dark demon's head. He didn't know if he should admire this side of her, or be cautious of it.
"I'll leave you to your duties, Knight-Captain," she stated, clipped and firm.
Hunched over the desk, fingers gripping tightly the edge, Cullen glared at the carved wooden box. The tools were left carefully in the red velvet compartments, pristine. His stomach churned, staring at the vigilant Andraste. Her eyes stared back at him, reserved, sad. His fingers craved to touch the figurine, the tools. His body yearned to mix the ingredients, to drink, to feel the cool liquid go down his throat.
He growled, shoving the box closed, throwing it into his desk. He made a promise to the Maker, to the Inquisition, to her that he would stop. He would not go mad from the addiction. Yet, it killed him. His head pounded, muscles spasmed often. He woke in a cold sweat, trying to grab a hold of her, cling to her like his life depended on it. Delirious, he'd half expected to hear her whispered comforts, her finger tracing runes onto his back as he woke from his nightmares. Investigating the bed and finding it empty, he would sigh, roll over, and look up at the stary sky through the cracked roof.
"I didn't know you were married."
Startled from his thoughts, the commander looked up. He hadn't heard the Inquisitor open his door and walk in. She was leaning on the desk in her usual spot, arms crossed, forehead scrunched puzzled or maybe concerned. He couldn't discern which. "Inquisitor."
He admired her strength, her courage to face this darkspawn magister. The Herald wore her hair different today, a ponytail, swishing back and forth behind her head as she shook her head with a small smile on her face. "All this time, I thought you were a workaholic. You rarely took time off, rest your feet. I never saw your eyes linger on any of the barmaids, or any maidens for that matter. I was almost under the impression you enjoyed the company of men until-"
"Andraste," Cullen muttered under his breath. "I didn't think it something you would be interested in knowing. We do have higher priorities than knowing my personal relationships."
"No...its just I'm surprised," Evelyn carefully said. "From what I know of the infamous Hero is that she was a mage."
"She is," Cullen corrected.
"And you were a templar," she added, waving her hand in emphasis. "It sounds like something from one of Varric's lovesap novels Cassandra grovels over."
He chuckled, moving away from his desk. "Yes, I once was, and no, I don't think our story would fit well with Varric's writing style," he commented, leaning on the desk next to her. "Even if he didn't get the notion to write our life, Ash would probably string him up one of the flagpoles and burn his trousers."
The Inquisitor smiled slyly, peering at him from the corner of her eye. "I'll be sure to warn him," she said with mirth. Her smile faded though, her face turning to look at him, concern etched in her face. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. We'll find her, you have my word."
Cullen didn't want promises. He wanted his wife here, now, safe and unharmed, scowling as she complained that she could take care of herself. Sighing, he pushed from the desk. "Care for a game of chess?"
"Oh, so you want to lose another round, Commander? I'm up for it."
The trek through the mountains had been hard. The Grey Wardens pushed forward, chatting with each other lightly, as if they weren't marching to a dark prison that held something sinister. Although there had been little information, Cullen knew it had to be bad. Why else would Ashiva go herself bringing powerful mages and warriors alike. She had sent her other Wardens, those she had mentioned in many letters to him to the Deep Roads to investigate ruins.
During the nights, they would camp under the skies. Cullen often found the elven mage sitting alone, sharpening her blade, or just staring at the fires. Once in awhile he could feel the veil open around her, the fires dancing more than they usually did. They had conversed little, keeping the appearance of mage and templar, nearly strangers. It bothered him. Many of the nights he would dig out the delicate letters reading them. Some were full of humor, Wicked Grace in the Great Hall, pranks on the Dwarf, and celebrations in the city. Other times they held confessions and apologies for things in the past, things that continued to haunt her. After putting the letters away at night and leaving for his tent, he sometimes believed he felt her warm amber eyes watching him, unreadable and glowing in the firelight.
Cullen halted in his tracks, blade unsheathed. He could feel the distinct magic at the back of his mind. He knew it all too well.
"Knight-Captain," Ashiva whispered, voice raised in question. She had not drawn her weapon, but her hand remained steady on it, eyes fixed on him.
"Templars, be on your guard," he ordered, before looking at her. "I sense blood magic nearby."
She looked shocked. "Now? We're nearly a four days march away from the city."
He didn't reply, only pushing forward, leading his men. Around the bend in the mountains and he found them, Red Iron mercenaries. Cullen didn't have much time to plan strategy when he heard the shout "We have company!" He ducked the swing of the large man's axe, swiftly cutting him down before moving to the other.
He felt the area purged of magic, weakening their enemies. He struck another warrior before moving on. He was caught unguarded, a dagger cutting into his arm. He grunted, parrying the second attack. He was ready to strike when the rouge was consumed by fire, screaming in agony.
Cullen turned, catching a quick glimpse of Ashiva casting another spell, a barrier around her men, blocking a slash to her legs with her sword. The weapon blazed, fire consuming the metal. "Focus," he scolded himself, facing the battle before him. He turned, catching the enemy cutting their arm, weaving a spell with the blood spilt. Grimacing, Cullen dodged the battles around him, fighting to get to the maleficarum. Striking the mage, he smited, them, destroying their connection to the fade and magic. Swiftly, he decapitated him.
A shriek alerted him, his head turning. The Warden-Commander was cornered, blocking the warrior's broadsword with difficulty. Wittingly, he plunged into the battle, bashing the man in the side with his shield. Stepping in front of the mage, the templar challenged the warrior.
The mercenary took it, swinging his sword with force. Cullen dodge, parrying the attack, scratching the man's right arm. The man growled, eyes full of hatred. The templar could feel himself weakening, exhausted from the battle. Asking for strength, he lunged forward, striking the man over and over until he found an opening. Hitting the man with his shield, dazing him, he plunged the blade into the mercenary's abdomen.
The Knight-Captain pulled his sword out, cringing at the blood dripping from the metal. He looked around, counting numbers. The wardens seemed to be in fine, laughing merrily, his team to the side, pulling bodies to put into a large pile to burn. Turning around, Ashiva looked shocked, staring at him.
"Ash, are you alright," he asked, kneeling next to her. The cut along her arm looked bad, but could had been worse. Other than a few scratches and blood splatters, she looked whole.
"Cullen, your face," she whispered, fingers trembling as they brushed his shoulder.
He tasted blood on his tongue and felt the warmth of the igor trickle down his chin. He touched his face, curious. He felt the cut along his right upper lip. It stung as he pressed on it.
"Stop that," she chide, closing her eyes. He felt the magic, warm, and tingly before he saw the white light glow around her hand. She leaned against the boulder with a sigh, hand still rested on his face. Her eyes were filled with gratitude when they opened again. "Thank you."
That night, she didn't sit alone in camp. She sat next to him, arms encircled around her legs, telling him a recent story about Ser-Prance-A-Lot one of the soldiers of the Silver Order. He couldn't remember a time when he smiled as much.
"So tell me about her," Trevelyan coerced, moving her bishop to take his.
Cullen raised an eyebrow, curious about the offensive move. "Ash? What is there to say? She's a warden, elf, mage. She's clever yet caring. She has always seemed to be able to find the good in anyone," he answers, moving his queen.
Evelyn frowned, deflated by the bishop being taken. She looked at the board curiously. "Well, you said you were married."
"It's really new to me," Cullen stated, scratching at his nose. He moved his pawn. "We were married in the spring of 9:38 in Amaranthine. Ash was a hero in the city, and thus the revered mother married us in secret. I was...still a templar at the time, but I was going to resign from my duties soon."
"So you kept it a secret, keeping you both safe from the chantry."
"I was worried for her safety, not my own," he confirmed. "She was a mage, and one with power. I heard the whispers in Kirkwall. Many admired her, but many also feared her. She was an arlessa in Ferelden and had been appointed as an arcane advisor to Queen Anora. She was trusted by the court. Some said it was by blood magic, others said she was a witch. The Chantry feared the power she wielded, how untouchable she was, and how she could influence mages to rebel."
"I'm surprised," the noblewoman confessed. "So you married, knowing that it could be leaked and caused the Seekers to search for her."
"It wasn't like it was planned. Things...happened and then there we were in the chantry, whispering vows. It was unexpected," He chuckled, taking his turn. "And then I thought it had happened. After we married, I returned to Kirkwall, restoring order to the city-state. She would visit me from time to time. She always said it was a "business" trip, but I knew otherwise. She could have easily sent her ambassador. It wasn't until the leaves began to change that I heard a pounding at my room. I was going to ignore it but the pounding continue."
Evelyn moved her queen. Cullen smiled. "I opened the door, ready to reprimand one of the recruits when I see the hooded woman. Frightened, shaking and wet. Ash was being tracked with her phylactery by the Seekers. They had caught her in the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer, and she nearly escaped with the assistance of a Sister. She had ran, found passage on a boat and raced to Kirkwall. I feared the worst."
He took the castle with the knight. "I thought they knew. So I sent her to the only place I knew I thought was safe, Honneleath. I promised her I would meet her there. I honestly didn't think I would. I was going to make a deal, her life for mine. Let them take me to Aeonar."
"It was Leliana that came to me. She asked me questions, about Kirkwall, the Champion of Kirkwall, the Grey Warden mage, Anders. I waited for her to ask me about Ash, but she didn't say anything. Not until she stated that they needed soldiers like me. She told me if I assisted in the efforts to train men for the Inquisition, the Seekers would never know about Ashiva. I made the deal...and I was given her phylactery."
"You must have felt like a fool when you learned Leliana was a friend to the Hero of Ferelden. Why would she take her own friend in," Evelyn laughed.
"Yes, but I knew then that they couldn't look for her anymore. Without her phylactery, they had no way to track her easily. Once I was recruited by Cassandra, I found I enjoyed the work. It was honest work. I felt like I was doing something important," Cullen explained. "I still do."
"And where did she go, your wife?"
"Honestly, I don't know," he confessed. "She said it was Warden business, that whatever it was, it would give us more time. She looked like she was cornered and trying to find a way out. I didn't pry...or at least I tried not to. Ash always got defensive over the secrets Warden's kept."
The Herald's hand brushed against his over the game, blocking him from moving his pawn.
"We'll find her, Cullen. We'll find her."
The elven mage walked around the ruins of the indestructible Vigil's Keep, rain cascading down from the darkened skies. Flames flickered throughout the keep, revealing the gruesome activities that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Soldiers dragged bodies onto the pyres, the smell of burning corpses burning her senses.
She felt like she had been walking for days, non stop. She was cold, and exhausted. She limped around on her leg, shots of pain keeping her alert every time she stepped on the injured leg. The elf clutched her ribs, struggling to breath. Even through the pain, she couldn't remember how she had become injured in such a way, nor why she stood here in the Ferelden Warden keep. Why didn't this feel real?
Making her way to the staircase to the Grand Hall and looking over the keep, she crumbled onto the steps, hoping to gain some strength to make her way up the steps. She closed her eyes, trying to remember happier times, the sun shining, sounds of children singing, laughing and playing in the grass, arguments of the latest shipment of Orlesian fashion. Anything but the horror she met with, opening her eyes.
The soldier was rigid, silver hair glowed from the torches, silver armor gleaming. His hand was extended, a fatherly smile on his face. "Commander, it would be wise for you not to sit in the rain."
Ashiva gapped at him, unsure what to say. "Varel," her voice raised in question, taking his extended hand. She trusted this man with her life. He had offered her advice on the political situation on Amaranthine and had become close to her shortly after her arrrival. The older man had kept her on her feet, his devotion and loyalty always to the her. Seeing him now, off all places, the elf became weary of her surroundings. "You're dead."
It now becoming clear looking around her. The blurred columns, the faceless people, the greenish fog around her. "This isn't real...you're not real," she whispered, her voice echoing around her. "I'm in the fade."
Varel chuckled, his voice distorting slightly. "Is this shape useful, dearest Commander? Will it let me know you?"
The elf took a step back, searching for spellweaver, a staff, dager, anything to protect her from the abomination in front of her. She had nothing. Her armor was replaced by a brown wool tunic and black trousers. She breathed in deeply, trying to organize a plan.
"Everything tells me about you," Varel continued, moving around her. People emerged from the fog, figures she recognized. She was surrounded by wardens- Nathaniel, Sigrun, and Oghren were present. Even those who had passed on stood around her-Mhairi, Velanna and Anders. Her heart wrenched from her chest.
She clenched her fist to her side, mumbling under her breath. "This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real."
"Ashiva," the voice was light, almost teasing. She turned, her eyes gravitating to the blade. Alistair's smile was dark, his short dagger he always carried in his left boot placed to Cullen's throat. Cullen didn't fight, only looked beyond, lifeless.
"Ali, what are doing," she hushly demanded, staring between the two men she respected beyond any others. One, a former lover, now trusted friend and comrade. And then there was Cullen, the man she admired from afar in the Circle, the man she loved beyond all else, her rock and salvation.
"So will this," Alistair stated darkly. "Watch."
Ashiva bite her lip, tasted the coppery taste of blood on her tongue. This isn't real, she screamed in her head. She had to stay calm, to think logically. She was in the fade. The fade. The mage had encountered the dark realm countless times before. Why was it so hard for her to remember this?
Composing herself, she glared at the warden impersonator. "Are you trying to tempt me or copy me?"
The demon seemed to pause, thinking carefully. It wasn't until the sickening sound of a blade sinking into skin, did Ashiva cringe. Blood poured from Cullen's throat, his body crumbling to the floor. She was becoming delirious, panic washing over her in waves. This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real.
Alistair looked at her, blood shimmering on the silver blade. Eyes bright, smile peculiar sent shivers down her spine. "Are you trying to copy me," the demon shouted, voice changing, more feminine and...hers.
Alistair had vanished into the fog. Ashiva couldn't keep her eyes off her beloved, blood pooling on the stoned steps. Where was Cullen? Was he safe? She remembered leaving him in Kirkwall, trying to remain strong for him. From the letters she received, he had joined the Inquisition and had left for Haven. She prayed silently that this wasn't real. Cullen was alive, somewhere, waiting for her to return. He maybe even was stabbing a few demons, in memory of her.
The demon laughed again, dark and sinister. Stepping forward, the imposter had changed again, peaceful eyes, aged skin and white hair. Wynne. Ashiva had heard of Wynne's passing. It tore at her, a mentor from the Circle of Magi, the kind woman who had taken her in, taught her, and was even patient enough to deal with all of them during the Blight. This monster wore the body of someone dear to her. The elf's stomach twisted in disgust. "Ahh...Warden-Commander Surana," the demon sighed, face full of hunger. "Being the Hero of Ferelden will be so much more interesting."
The room shifted, making her unbalanced and unfocused. The floor was solid, her elbows scrapped from the fall. Her face scrunched in pain, fighting the urge to scream as her muscles and bones screamed for her to stop moving. Rest, give up, they urged. Stubbornly, she made herself look up, recognizing the rows of bookshelves, violet, red, and blue books lining them. The stained glass windows reflected the familiarity and dread of being back here again-Kinloch Hold.
"You don't realize the power you possess...how much you can take with a flick of your hand. You'll see," Wynne lectured, pacing around her, arms behind her back as if she were teaching a lesson. "When I'm done, everything you worked for, everything you care about, will be mine. I will be you."
"Do you really think I'll just let you take over," questioned Ashiva in defiance, pushing herself to her feet. "My whole life I was warned about demons like you. I was forced into the fade at eighteen to confront and fight against your kind. I will not submit. I'd rather become Tranquil than let you possess my body."
"It doesn't matter what you think, mage. The Elder One has a plan, and he promised you to me," Wynne replied, unwavering.
Flabbergasted, Ashiva rested against the pillar, watching her former mentor walk back and forth. "The Elder One?"
"He will be disappointed to learn that you don't remember him. He remembered you quite fondly," the mage laughed. "He is between things. Mortal once, but no longer."
"Glory is coming. And the Elder One wants you to serve him like everyone else: by dying in the right way," Wynne announced, placing her hands on Ashiva's shoulders.
Ashiva cringed, anger searing. She sneered at the abomination. "Then please, keep talking," she challenged. "I've always loved a monologue from my villain as I ripe their heart out of their chest."
Wynne looked offended, stepping back. The greyish blue eyes stared at her, as if they were burning through her. She turned away, leaving elven mage to her thoughts.
Ashiva sighed, pinching her nose. This was new. She often walked the fade, demons tempting her with fates beyond her imagination, taking the form of mice, bears and strangers, but to see those she cared for deceased walking, talking, as if it had all been a dream. It was maddening. Taking the one step at time, she nearly fell into the plush chair next to the desk she use to study at. Piles of books were stacked neatly, another laying neatly open next to her. She was tempted to look at the page, see if she recognized the text.
Her body was weakening, the stress overbearing. The elven women didn't know how long she would be able to keep fighting, not subcoming to the madness around her. She had no weapon, no armor, no protection whatsoever. Absently wrapping her hand around the bracelet she always wore, she whispered a short prayer. "O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places."
"I am not your toy!"
Ashiva looked up, breath stifled, body tensed. The light reflected off his hair like sunlight, yellows and golds glittering from his eyes. He frowned, bringing out the wrinkles she often brushed away with her hands. He looked angry, frustrated, as if things were not going according to plan. Had she forgotten to clean her sword before laying it on the bed? She remembered doing that once and having to clean the linens for weeks, trying to get the dark blood stains off. Or maybe Dog had found one of his wool shirts. "Cullen-" she started, but halted in her apology, her declaration of love. Wait, this isn't real. This isn't real.
"I am Envy, and I will know you," the perpetrator declared.
The fog arose around him, a dark form taking shape. Pale skin, ebony hair pulled back into a braid, amber eyes staring at her. She gasped, standing straight up, alert, aware. Ashiva stared at herself, head rested against Cullen's broad shoulder. Her doppelganger stared at her, a sad smile on her face.
"Tell me "Love," what you think," he growled, knife piercing clone's back. Ashiva gasped, clenching her side, yet there was no evidence of a wound. She watched her other self, crumble, fear clinging to her.
His face was scrunched in fury, leaning over her now at the table, eyes almost dark as he demanded. "Tell me what you feel!"
Ashiva's duplicate cried out, dragging herself on the stone floor, a blood trail following her. She reached out, touching the elf on her leather boot, pulling her, dragging her to her death. Shrieking, Ashiva, stumbled backwards, crying out when she felt the blade cut into her hand. She looked down, the blade covered in blood in her hands. How did she get this?
The pale elf dropped to the ground, rolling on to her back. Her skin was ashened, gasping for air, fighting to fill her lungs with precious oxygen. The amber eyes looked at her, anguished, her whisper sounding like her own. "Tell me what you see."
Ashiva wouldn't listen to this anymore. She refused to think, feel nor see anymore. She ran, not looking back at herself dying. Her vision blurred, making it hard to navigate through the tower's maze. Hearing Cullen's chuckle behind her, she felt as if a knife had slowly been twisted in her still beating heart.