In Mar Lath'in Dys Nuisa (no) - In Your Heart Shall Burn (6)

She had eyes that glowed in the dark with the barest hint of amethyst hidden deep within ebony irises. The swirling lush green tattoos underneath added an exotic touch to her steely gaze, sharp and piercing like her brilliant mind. Straight nose turned up at the tip, and her rosy lips were often thinned into an unsatisfied frown until her eyes lit up with that spark. Then her lips twitched into a grin more beautiful than any other, a rare treat for those who were lucky enough to witness. He was very luck indeed, to be the first to see her laugh.

Her ears were long and pointy, even for an elf. At least he thought so, from the limited experience he's had with elven Mages. He'd enjoyed watching how they twitched, flickered, and swiveled depending on her moods as readily as a pup's might. He'd wanted to ask if she knew her ears moved. He hadn't worked up the courage to sound the question out loud.

There were nine silver bells braided into her hair. He counted them that one time while they sat drinking together in the tavern, after they made peace in the forest. Those tiny bells rang notes pitched high and clear, like a singing canary. And yet when she glided across the ground without a whisper of noise, those bells never jostled. He used to wonder how she could ever move without those nine bells betraying her presence. He had gotten close to asking out of curiosity, but had put it off.

Her furry armor wrapped around her body as if it was second skin, and Cullen remembered how natural she looked in her strange, elven armor. Grey furs that made her look twice her normal size… Dorian had always poked fun at her for her low endurance of the southern cold and she shot right back – then they'd look at him and shake their heads. It's because I'm Ferelden, he'd chuckle at them. She'd rolled her eyes, and even poked a tip of her tongue out once.

He could almost see her smile lighting up her face in the snowy night – when pure snowflakes clung to her hair like gems. Shining like the world's most precious stones in her black hair… and when he'd carried her to her cabin, she'd looked so… so in peace… so soft, so serene… would she look just so now? Entombed in this cruel winter forest, will she be as how he remembered? Gentle and kind while swaddled in this blanket of ice?

Relentless snowflakes came down from the now-pitch black sky. The snow was piling up to his thighs now. What if this encompassing white covered her from his searching eyes? What if this merciless snow hid her lithe form lying limp on the ground? He pushed through the resisting snowbanks, leaving behind a wavy trail of depression in the flawless ice-blue canvas.

His torch stuttered in the gusting wind, sputtering and flickering without rest, fighting for its light. Wavering amber glow lit three feet, perhaps five, in front of him. Suffocating darkness pressed in from all directions, blinding him to her possible presence.

"Cullen! This is hopeless." Cassandra called to him from behind, an arm raised over her eyes to protect herself from the whipping winds with raised claws. He doggedly stomped forward.

"At the very least we must have more light!" She shouted over the howling wind. Her torch had already burned out.

"We will freeze out here! We must turn back!"

"…Cassandra," he mumbled. She struggled up to him through the snow and laid her hand over his shoulder.

"She fell," he spoke.

"Cullen, this is foolhardy. We will-"

"You know as well as I do, she fell to protect us."

"Cullen, she's-"

"Gone."

Cassandra stopped speaking, simply squeezing his shoulder harder. They stood in the cold, unable to meet each other's eyes – guilt too plain in their heart. Silence stretched out over their panting breaths, heavy, heated breaths frosting in the air.

"…and yet, I cannot stop. I cannot turn around, Cassandra. She's in my thoughts. It seems I'm unable to let her go just yet."

"I see."

Cassandra gripped him tighter, her eyes softening ever so slightly. For some reason, it made him fumble for words.

"I-"

"What are you standing still for, Cullen? You're wasting our precious light. Did you forget we came out here to find her?"

Cassandra rapped her hand against his back and started forward again, refusing to look back. He felt a memory of a grin springing to his lips – he owed her a drink when they survived this. Gripping the torch tighter he started forward once more, knowing the truth, and yet willfully ignorant.

"We are fools, Cassandra."

"You are. I am simply keeping our Comman-"

"Stop! Don't move."

"Wha-"

He grabbed her and hunkered down in the snow and threw the torch down to put out the fire. Peeking at the shadows lurking just at the edge of his peripherals, he and Cassandra spied dark forms speeding across the ice-blue plane, almost invisible against the deep night. They both unsheathed their swords, though neither had brought a shield with them. He cursed silently, hefting his longsword.

"Enemies? Could the Templars have followed all this way?"

"Harding reported she didn't sight any pursuers…" He muttered, squinting.

"They're moving fast. And moving towards the Inquisition. We must inform them!"

"Cassandra, hurry back and alert the Inquisition. I will trail... are they…?"

"Wolves!"

"I've never seen a pack so huge. Maker, if they were to attack the camp now…"

"Let's move."

"Wait! There! There, it's… it's her!"

"Cullen!"

But he was no longer listening. He bolted from their cover, pelting across the snow towards the wolves with his sword ready. He could see her, Maker, he could actually see her slung over that monstrously gigantic wolf. The wolves of the pack swirled around and bared their teeth, hackles rising, growls rumbling like a wave rolling across their numbers. But he did not stop, rushing headlong for her.

Then, the wolves were running towards him. Like the wind they sped towards him, and Cullen heard Cassandra screaming her battle cry as she ran after him. He brought his sword up to attack – and dropped it.

The gigantic wolf had twisted and skidded at the very last second, hurling the body of Lavellan straight at his hands. He caught her as she sailed across the air, his longsword flopping uselessly into the snow by his feet.

Maker's breath, she was drenched in frozen blood. Was it hers? She was like ice. But…

He lifted her and pressed his lips against her throat, searching for a beat, for a stuttering, shredding thread of hope. A pulse, a weak heartbeat to thump against his lips – by the Maker, there it is! Thin and too slow, but an insistent thud against his frozen, chapped lips. A proof of life.

"Cullen!" Cassandra's scream brought him up short, and he lurched back away from the wolves realizing he'd stood still for far too long. He could not pick up his sword, not with his gloved hands full of injured Lavellan. And Cassandra was still too far away to help. He staggered back as the gigantic wolf – an alpha? – lunged forward and yanked Lavellan out of his embrace with a nip on her furs.

The alpha wolf swung limp Lavellan around to sling over its back again, and stared at him.

The wolf was… carrying Lavellan. Protecting her, perhaps? Carrying her towards the Inquisition… and it had given him enough time to check for her pulse. Maker, could it be…?

The alpha wolf nudged hard at his leg with its head and then yanked at his cloak with a bite, stumbling him. Cassandra ran up to them with sword raised high, and Cullen threw out his hands to stop her.

"Wait, Cassandra! Stop!"

"Cullen?!" She twisted, stumbling into him as she narrowly avoided skewering him with her sword. They sprawled in the snow, panting.

"They're protecting her!" He sprang to his feet.

"What- ah!" Another huge wolf had approached them, and threw her over its back while she was unbalanced from the tumble. There was another yank from the gigantic wolf, and Cullen did not stop to think. Scooping up his sword and sheathing it he jumped onto the wolf's back and pulled Lavellan into his arms, pressing her against his chest. Wrapping her in his thick fur coat, he leaned low and grabbed its hackles just as the wolf bolted forward with frightful speed.

"What is going on here?!" He heard Cassandra scream somewhere, and shouted back.

"They can move much faster than us! She's alive, Cassandra!"

"They're wolves! They… what?!"

"Lavellan's alive! I felt her pulse, but she needs healers! For whatever reasons, these wolves are willing to help and I for one will not stop them."

"She… she's alive?"

"Yes!"

Yes, by the Maker, the word squeezed his throat and froze his tongue. Alive. Barely, but still, alive.

"Faster, Maker, faster. Run with the wind, wolf, for her sake as well as ours," he whispered, leaning low over the wolf with Lavellan clutched against him.

As if it understood his words, it sped into the night.