Jacob clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He holds his arms crossed over his armored chest, and he takes a few deep calming breaths as he stares up at the tumultuous sky. Josephine's fingers lace into his own, and when he glances at her she wears an expression of determination that matches his own. She gives him a nod, then lets go of his hand and pushes him forward.
A new dusting of snow crunches beneath his boots with every step. The wind whistles in his ears. After just a few seconds, he is alone at the edge of a cliff, with the sky roaring above and around him. He glances backward nervously, but quickly. Josephine won't let him hesitate for more than a moment.
They cannot wait any more. Every report he has, from Inquisition agents stretching across Orlais and Ferelden, provides evidence that the Fade Rifts seeded from this tear in the fabric of reality are growing; in size, and in number, and in damage caused. He cannot be everywhere at once. The only chance he has to set things right is to shut things off at the source. And this, he cannot do alone.
He glances back once more, not toward Josephine this time, but to the army at his back. There is a restless murmur of dozens of mages, waiting. Most of them are young, but they have been hardened by a war they did not ask for. They fear the tear in the sky, but against people, they are hardened and aggressive. Even against him. They will work with him to do this thing though, because no one else can. The Breach was created by magic – is magic – and magic is the only way to close it.
Jacob can feel the pressure of the Fade pushing down on him, the whispers at the edges of his mind that seem to dig deep into his soul. His left hand flares with searing pain, enough to bring tears to his eyes. He takes another deep breath, then announces, in a calm, clear voice, what he'll need to do: "I need help," he says simply. His voice carries into the emptiness. Someone grabs his hand; through fluttering eyelids, he can't tell who. But he recognizes the upswell of power they dump into him.
The mark on his hand skips and, finally, catches, pulled toward the source of its own aberrant nature. Jacob bites his lip and struggles to stay standing as these uncontainable forces war, all around and through him. The demons howl at the edge of the Veil, creeping closer, their curiosity pulling them toward the world of living flesh as the Herald of Andraste fights for control of the Breach. Solas, at his side, holds his breath and digs in deep, drawing strength from the Fade and from the world around it. The elven mage does not falter. His magic reflects knowledge of these currents of power far more than any of the rest of them, and his easy confidence provides a buoy that pulls Jacob up to crest above the crashing waves of force. What they are doing is difficult but not complicated: with enough strength, they can slam a door shut.
The Breach swirls around them, rushing and violent, sucking in the power that they feed it. Jacob reaches, feeling-but-not-feeling his arm pulled toward the opening that reflects in the jagged unnatural gash across his palm. An invisible, powerful force yanks against his fragile body, pulling his arm out of its socket, ripping and tearing. He screams behind clenched teeth. A rattling vibration shakes through every bone in his body.
Fingers tighten and squeeze at his right hand, keeping him grounded. The all-over pain eases slightly. The pressure fades. He gasps for breath, and darkness tints the edges of his vision.
"Did it work?" a teenage voice asks cautiously.
Jacob tries to pull himself to his feet, but it hurts too much. Someone runs toward him. He recognizes Josephine's soft fingers stroking his arm. Her perfume envelops him. He smiles. "Did it work?" he chokes out, repeating the boy's question.
Hawke lets go of his hand. She glances over at the mages she'd brought here to fight with Jacob – Inquisitor Trevelyan. They're exhausted. So is she. But the sky seems clear and calm, for the first time in months. There is no green tear, no visible demons pressing against the hole in the world. She takes a deep breath, blows it out slowly.
Jacob's left hand flickers and flares; the light is pale and easily swallowed in the daylight. She helps him to his feet. "I don't know," she answers honestly.
"Hey," Cullen murmurs softly. Hawke glances up. Even now, when the cold clear light of midday has given way to the dark of night, her head still feels too heavy to lift, her heartbeat still races too fast. The green tendrils of the Fade still wrap themselves around her, cutting sharp and deep.
She can feel the touch of Cullen's antimagic, a burn on the surface of the pain. She struggles to a sitting position.
"Don't -" Cullen begins, but she shakes her head. She is not that weak. She pushes at him, with what little mana she is able to summon, but he smacks her, hard. His face immediately flushes to the same red color of the mark he's left behind. Mira holds her hand to her cheek. The shock and the pain is already fading. "I'm sorry," Cullen murmurs. It's old habits. Old, bad habits. He should be better than this.
Hawke shakes her head, pushing away his guilt. "I don't know if I'm supposed to be mad at you," she mutters. Cullen smiles grimly, and sets himself down on the cot next to her. For a long moment, neither of them speak. This close, it's easy to see Cullen's hands shaking, the bloodshot red of his eyes. "It's been a long time since I lost control," she points out.
"I don't think you've ever done anything like what you did today."
Hawke nods, conceding the point. "You got all my kids under guard?" she asks.
Cullen sighs. Mira doesn't miss the way he flinches when she refers to the remnants of the mage army as hers. But they are. She won't apologize for that.
He nods, answering her question, and Mira holds his gaze. "Just be careful," she insists. "They don't all know you like I do."
"We know what we're doing."
The way he says it, she instantly believes it. She has never been afraid of him, but she knows he can handle himself. If one of her kids tries to fight against him, they'll lose.
Cullen pulls away, stands up, starts pacing. He leans against the wall, just inside the door, unable to stay but unwilling to leave. "Solas says the Breach is truly closed," he says softly. "There has been no rift activity. In fact, he says there is no magical activity at all. He seemed almost disappointed."
Hawke tries to smile, but she's too tired for it to reach her eyes. She settles for nodding instead. All that she knows is that Cullen is pissed at her. He won't say it; he hurts too much, he blames himself for how shitty he feels off the lyrium, and he feels shitty because he thinks he deserves to. Mira knows that he used to want to be a hero, but now she figures he's mostly just tired. "They're still looking to me for advice," she mutters. "Asking me what they're supposed to do, wanting me to keep them safe. And I'm not sure if I can."
Cullen sighs. "You want to go back to the way things were before, but you can't do that." How far back would you go, anyway? Things fall apart, have been falling apart for decades; tiny cracks that cannot be closed.
Mira looks up, meeting his eyes. "Solas said the storm is underneath."
Cullen nods. "Yeah. I guess it is."
"So do you think we fixed it?"
"I dunno, Mira. I don't think it's that easy."
She frowns, staring up at him with dull eyes. Her head still hurts. "We're not talking about the Breach anymore, are we?"
"The Inquisition still needs me. Things are starting, not ending. But I won't make you stay."
"But you want me to?"
"Yeah, Mira. Of course I want you to."
Something stirs in her, old memories. And for once – for the first time in a very long time – they aren't all bad. She grins, tilting her head back to look up at Cullen. "You remember that time in the Blooming Rose?" she teases. He blushes furiously, but then he laughs. The sound swells over her, waking up something inside. Joy bubbles up, overwhelming her exhaustion, just for a little bit. "Come here," she says, reaching out for Cullen.
"Mira... I can't. We shouldn't."
"We never should have. What makes it different now?"
"Everything is different now."
"Not us." Her voice trembles just a little as she says it. She hadn't let herself recognize how much she missed him. "Please, Cullen," she murmurs. It doesn't have to be forever. They can pretend nothing is happening between them, she doesn't care about that. As long as he lets her come to him; as long as she's not completely alone.
He takes a few steps closer to her, and before she knows it, she's tucked against his chest. His arms wrap around her, protecting her. She brushes her lips against his, and she lets herself cry. She's still empty, but it isn't scary anymore. It almost feels like something good, like everything bad has been washed away. Cullen's hand presses between her breasts, above her heart.
In a moment, they're back on the cot, fumbling around until Mira is both afraid the flimsy bed might collapse, and beyond caring.
The road back to Haven is long. Eris shies away from the remnants of the Inquisition's forces, as much as it's possible to do so. Bull notices, of course. He doesn't chase after her at first, but after several days of watching her slipping away whenever she notices eyes on her, it becomes a game that he won't let himself lose. They've stopped for supplies and a few politically-important words with Gaspard's army, at one of the crumbling keeps scattered through the Dales. Far from making her feel better, Eris just feels trapped here; and Bull knows it.
He crests the battlements in the gathering dark, hanging back until she turns around, looking right at him. "Hey," he grunts.
"Hey."
He walks up to her without waiting for an invitation. She settles against his expansive chest, staring out at nothing. She holds herself tense, barely breathing. He runs a nail gently over the deep groove between her eyebrows that only manifests when she's worried. "Don't you trust me?" he asks softly. He exhales slowly, more comfortable now, with Eris' body comfortably wrapped up against his, than he can remember being in a long time. He glances down at her, watching the shadows of the campfire play across her features, painting sharp shadows over her nose and cheekbones.
Eris nods. "Of course I do."
"You think I'd back a losing horse? That I'd really join up with this Inquisition if the world were just gonna come to a fiery end anyway?"
Eris shifts position so that she can look into his single eye. He stares at her, unblinking. He remains completely still except for the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Eris bites her lip, wishing she could read him. He hasn't said a word to her since Adamant, none of them have. She's been holding her breath, for days, alone with only her nightmares. "Shit happens, Bull," she tells him, with shaky bravado she doesn't feel. "We can't stop all of it."
"We can stop some of it."
His voice is gruff and determined, and it's enough to make Eris believe him when he talks about keeping her safe, no matter what the threat. Demons, dragons... the kinds of kids' stories she hadn't believed in at all until a few months ago. He's gone up against all of it. But while she hides, and prays she can keep one step ahead of the apocalyptic army, the Qunari mercenary charges right into the fray.
She shrugs, trying to pull away from him, but he grabs her wrist, preventing her from leaving.
"Talk to me," he begs her.
She shakes her head. "I fucked up. I froze."
"You feel like shit, and you want me to punish you for it."
Eris can't look at him. She feels her face flush with heat. It feels ridiculous when he says it like that, it feels like a personal failing. Like there's something wrong with her. "There's nothing wrong with you," Bull growls. Eris sucks in a shocked breath. Even after all this time, it unnerves her when he can do... that. "Adamant wasn't your fault. Those people didn't die because of you."
"Get out of my head," she murmurs.
"Quit being so fucking predictable," he counters easily.
She tries to pull away from him, but he doesn't let her, and he is so much stronger than she is. This is predictable too. For all his talk about wants and needs, she never seems to be able to tell the difference. She lets him figure it out.
He pulls her closer, presses their mouths together, lets his tongue slide between her lips. They kiss with heated passion until she comes up gasping for air. There is a dangerous twinkle in Bull's eye. He tucks a lock of tangled hair behind her ear with one blunted claw. The watch fires flicker below them, and he's always been able to see in the dark. "Let's go inside," he whispers. He's sure she can hear the roar of his heart, feel the heat of his body. He needs sex about as badly as she does, probably.
She glances up at him, nodding slowly.
The Keep is full of rooms that have gone unused for decades at least, maybe longer. Bull pads surprisingly softly through the darkness, pushing Eris ahead of him until he finds a half-open door that reveals a cavernous bedroom, coated in a thick layer of dust, but private. He grins hungrily, running his hand under Eris' shirt. She looks small, in this huge space. He wraps her up in his arms.
When he throws her down on the huge bed, she doesn't move, even though he's not even touching her anymore. She stares at him with wide eyes.
"Turn over," he orders. She resists the command, without even being sure why. The retribution is instantaneous. Bull does it for her, rolling her onto her stomach, spreading her legs with one huge hand. He takes her from behind, quick and rough. She doesn't cry, although he is being anything but gentle. There will be marks, raw bruises that will linger far longer than their time in this room.
"Feel better yet?" he asks, when he has spent himself inside her.
She doesn't reply. Bull sighs. His stubborn little Saarebas. She'd let him kill her and she wouldn't fight. He gives her pain because she wants it, but what he needs is the flicker of fire in her dark eyes. He laughs, deep and resonant, as she glares at him. Her resistance brings him alive.
He ties the ropes gently, waiting for her to protest, but she doesn't. He leaves her play, loose knots, easily to pull apart if she tries, even a little, but she doesn't. She stares at him with fierce fire in her eyes. He ties the ropes a little tighter. She doesn't flinch. "You wanna go again?" she asks. Her voice is rougher and deeper than it usually is, and it shakes just a little.
Bull grins, slapping her on the ass with his open hand. "Would you like that?"
She holds her breath for a long moment, then nods.
Bull sighs, laying down next to her. He rolls over and cups one of her breasts gently. He kisses her forehead, soft and slow. Her body is still soaked with sweat, and she pulls away when he runs his thumb over a tender patch of discolored flesh. "I'll go slow," he murmurs.
Eris wakes up early, too exhausted to think for the first time since Adamant. Bull snores loudly beside her. She slips out of the bed, holding her breath for a moment as she pads across the stone floor. Bull shifts position, his sudden silence proving that he's awake. But he lets her go. By the time she's out in the corridor, he's snoring softly again.
"You almost say the word, sometimes. Katoh. But you don't."
The rest of the Inquisition seems to be slowly getting used to Cole's intrusive comments, but Eris has survived as long as she has only by keeping things locked away. He unsettles her. For one thing, he just appears, out of nowhere.
When she came out to the grassy field just on the other side of the gates, it was empty. The colors seem brighter in the aftermath of a pouring rain that had swept through in the early morning hours. She glances back at the... half-spirit. She doesn't know what to call him. She's half-expecting him to not even be there anymore, but he is. He's no longer standing next to her; instead, he's sitting on a flat boulder that's mostly overgrown by the tall grasses, several paces away.
Eris frowns, but she avoids the obvious question. "People treat you like a child," she points out instead. "But you're not one."
Cole tilts his head back, staring at her from beneath his ridiculously wide-brimmed hat. He doesn't blink. He doesn't squirm. He's not a child.
He swings his legs back at forth through a small puddle of water, watching her reaction. Eris can't tell if he's acting to make her feel more comfortable, or if he's genuinely curious about the ripples and reactions his physical form creates.
"Bull doesn't need me to tell him when to stop," she finally says. The safe word is a security blanket, but it's one she's never needed to use. She trusts Bull. Far more, sometimes, than she trusts herself.
"You love him." Eris nods. "He loves you too. There's no word for love in Qunlat, but he loves you anyway." He pauses, cocking his head to the side, swinging his bare feet. "If he loves you, why does he hurt you?"
"Because I tell him to."
"That doesn't makes sense."
"People don't always make sense, Cole," Eris adds. "It's... not really hurting. Sometimes things that hurt can make you feel better."
"It's all mixed together," Cole laments, and Eris starts to think he understands a little bit after all. "Hurting and love."