Chapter 27: Pushit
The cool, frosty air of the Frostbacks churned outside the Commander's tent. Dark save the faint glow of the moon. Soldier instincts on alert. They were nearing the town of Sahrnia and with it the risk of exposure. Closing his eyes and praying that the Inquisitor got a healthy night sleep, tomorrow they move on the quarry and Suliden Keep. Daring not to send a bird incase of interception.
On most of her missions he rarely worried over her, she was mostly doing grunt work save the closing of the rifts. Strong, powerful and able to take care of herself. He worried over her more when it came from the diplomatic end than fighting. This was different though, this was the first siege she had planned. Granted it was a relative small siege.
The plan was sound, all that was left was the execution.
"I've never done this before Cullen." She said the last night before their two camps parted in the Frostbacks.
She was afraid. Of failure or general fuck ups.
"The sooner this is over the better." Katja huffed out.
Then the freighting over supplies and the readiness of the healers to the soldiers. He was able to relax her a bit, but by now she's back at it at the separate camp. Cullen couldn't blame her. He remembered back as a templar the first time he conducted an operation with various parties and how squirrelly he was.
"If the soldiers and healers see you like this Inquisitor, they are more likely to be more nervous than you are. If they are nervous, they are more likely to make a mistake. Don't do that to them."
That was the only advice he could give her. And with luck she is following through.
Pulling out his own luck from his pocket. Feeling out the weathered shape of Andraste's serene face on the coin in the cold dark. However, it wasn't Andraste's face he felt on the coin. It was a thoughtful oval face, salacious red eyes, dreamy spider silk hair, and a knowing smile. Sending a silent prayer for a swift victory tomorrow before putting it back into his pocket. A safe little reminder that kept him grounded, focused even.
An itch quacked under his skin the closer he got to Sahrnia. Cullen could feel the pull of lyrium. He wasn't a fool. He read the reports about the red lyrium dotting the snow-clad area. Whether it was the ache in his chest, twitch of nerves, or the creep on the back of his neck that caused a twisting knot in his gut and mind. Both drawn and repulsed. A ravenous predator stalking just on the outskirts of safety around a warm fire – gnashing teeth mad with hunger and desire.
Deep breaths Commander… deep breaths.
At dawn his small set of soldiers along with Lady Katja's companions quietly fell into position. He couldn't plan it better himself. The rising sun was behind them and they had the high ground over the quarry. Archers in place on the rock while he and the footmen on the low ground.
He saw them, just like at Haven. A grim reminder of his alternative fate. Anger, pity, sympathy boiled in his breast at seeing his former comrades in such a state.
They are gone.
With that reality, he led the charge.
Twisting the contorted head with hard yank and one final stab into another body. Then it was done. The final camp was secure – the juncture between the mine and the Keep.
Wiping the crystallized blood off her blades before sheathing them. Once it was determined that the red templars in the camp were down, a messenger came to her, Cullen and his party will be joining up shortly. Their camps aligning against the Keep.
Letting out a worried breath, good, all is going to plan. It had taken a few short hours at this point, the sun only a quarter way for it's full rotation. Their surprise attack was going smoothly. The red templars were still excellent fighters and hard to take down (especially that Behemoth one) despite the surprise.
Their party taking a small reprieve for the other half of their troops to arrive. Maker-damn she couldn't wait for it to be over with. The reports weren't lying about the mining of the red lyrium. Being so close to so much did nothing for her mood. With regular lyrium it wasn't so bad, but this stuff… fuck. It felt like claws on her back and her eyeballs were burning out of her skull. Having similar reactions to demons, but this was worse with so much in close proximity. Fighting the instinct to burn it – the stink, the corruption.
Once the operation was finished, destroying the veins must be a priority. If anything to stop the needles in her mind to stop digging in further.
Then the whole desire demon in control of the red lyrium operation here.
Fuck.
Well, it's nothing she's is not familiar with. In a dark, ironic sense the templars were to fight demons, now their opposites are taking orders from one. Pah…
Bull's Ben-Hassreth eye watched her. She was stupid to facial reads, but she knew when she was being watched. He made a point to sit with her around a fire while they were waiting for Cullen's forces to arrive. They were alone save Dorian and Cole. Well, as alone as they can be in enemy territory with ten other soldiers resting scattered about.
"You doin' alright their boss?" he asked while poking her shoulder with his elbow.
Crooking her brow and smiling uneasily, "Just nerves," she said evasively.
Cole's bright blues let her know that he knew, "The red hurts. Claws on the skin." He said simply.
Katja rolled her eyes as her other two compatriots gave her degrees of worried looks. She thinks.
"Doesn't matter. I'll live."
Then, all hell broke loose as something hit her neck as she instantly collapsed into black.
The Commander heard more than saw the commotion. Dread in his gut. His messenger routed back saying that the juncture camp was taken but why all the battle calls? Their voices echoed in the high crags of the quarry and rocky terrain.
Something happened.
"Double time soldiers!" he shouted as they ran to the juncture camp.
A small force of red templars were fighting their established camp. The same one that Lady Katja was in. During the combat, his bronze eyes searched for her familiar features in the throng.
He didn't see her or feel her pull.
The last of the enemy forces were put down and he quickly gathered information from her companions.
They had taken her to the Keep.
Caked eyes pulled open, the light nearly blinding her, ears ringing. Feeling a pressure on her wrists and ankles – the heavy sting. Cold biting her flesh. Rolling her head, forcing herself to focus.
Where was she?
Eyes focusing more to the light – magical torches burning brightly. She was in a cell. Hands and ankles bound. Heart racing as the realization hit her like a punch to the chest.
Captured.
Imprisoned.
Breathing in to calm herself as age old instincts began to warm.
You will not fear the Dark. The clawing Creeps on the inky floor…
Burning her instincts and emotions like she had learned long ago. Only one notion came to mind: Risk Assessment and Processing.
Logically she must be in Suliden Keep, more than likely the dungeon area, or what was being used as the dungeon. Looking back on her last memory and coming to the conclusion that their camp must have been ambushed while waiting for Cullen's troops to join. Remembering the sting on her neck before she passed out. A drug of some sort.
She was bound to the ceiling and floor by metal chains and she can faintly see the runes on the shackles, chains and around the walls. She was defenseless as well – her armor and weapons gone. All that was covering her was her thin under shirt and smallclothes.
Focusing her mana on her metal binds. Only to be greeted by heavy resistance as the runes on her shackles and the walls came to life – electrifying her senses and Fade-connection. Howling out until she stopped raising her mana. The pressure ceased.
Shit.
The door of the cell came open with a loud creak. In came a slender man with auburn hair and diamond eyes and finely dressed, carrying a small tome sized box with him. Her small tendril of the Fade detected a harmful pressure from him, itching her skin.
Demon. This must be Imshael that Michel warned us of.
Behind him, before the door closed, was two red templars. Feeling the claws on her skin from their proximity. Closing off her emotional center so that the demon couldn't read her.
It's eyes cocked at her, "Well, Lady Herald I must congratulate you on your surprise attack on this operation here. You're much smarter than what Corypheus gives you credit for. First, you take the mages away from him, then, the performance at the Winter Palace. Bravo!
"Unfortunately, he's rather tired of you and your 'Inquisitions' meddling. 'Tis up to me to salvage what I can from you. What would be your choice?"
Already tired from his talking, "You will not sway me demon," she responded calmly, almost monotonely.
He laughed haughtingly, "Is that what you think? That must have been Michel that said that too you, my agents report him in the area. Besides that, I can assure you that I am no demon, but a Choice spirit. And you do have a choice. Just like the templars who willingly serve Samson and Corypheus."
"This monologue you have is of mute point, that I assure you Imshael."
It smiled, "Really?"
Katja could feel the demon's consciousness probe her mind. Not reacting to the intrusion, keeping her thoughts blank and empty. Not even when it caused pain. Her thoughts are silent, mute and tuneless. Gaining a small flicker of frustration from the demon's entity before it fled out of her mind.
"Intriguing, but fruitless of you. Your choice will be made. But, perhaps I've not convinced you correctly? Hum?"
Taking graceful steps to a low table to put down the tome-sized box he brought with him. Then, walking behind her, trickles of it's energy poking her skin.
"I'm sure you are aware that Corypheus has spies, even a few within your Inquisition and that have given me some interesting details. However, by their accounts it isn't so secret. I've even had glimpses myself, and I can't help but be fascinated…"
What in Andraste's ass is Imshael prattling about?
Then his voice turned deeper that familiar tenor, cool armor and a warm fur mantle caressed her ear and back, "Of how much I need you my lady."
His – it's – warm hand flatly rubbed from a line from her back to her tummy as it walked in front of her. He – it – smiled that pulled on the scar on it's lip. It's thumb rubbing smooth circles around her belly button. It's honey, bronze eyes trying to pull her in. Missing the warm glow that made them burn.
"Is it your choice to be with me? Pardon my deception my lady, I didn't mean to do that. It's my choice to be with you as well. Corypheus has a plan – "
She spat in it's face. The spittle running down the side of it's nose to the tip of the lip scar. That was all too life-like.
Cocking it's brows, "Well, I suppose I deserve that. I truly am sorry for the deception." Pulling out a handkerchief within it's cloak with the hand that was on her tummy. Wiping away the glob of spit.
Closing her eyes and stopping her ears. She couldn't smell the earthy dried thyme or the lemon from his pomade. Or the underlining shy, sweetness to his voice when in her presence. Or the warmth from his hand. It wasn't him. An imperfect copy. Imitator.
It sighed dejectfully, hearing the steps from it's boots walk away. "I had hoped to avoid this, but I have little choice in the matter. You'll feel better love once it's over. Stronger even. Templars."
Their heavy, armored boots signaled their coming to her.
Her eyes flying open in horror as their clicking hands grabbed hold of her head and neck. Her immobile hands and feet useless – yanking and pulling the hard chains. One hand held her nose closed while the other around the bottom of her jaw – keeping her mouth open.
"Good girl…"
Thrashing as much as she could. The red templars hold was like stone in comparison. She couldn't move. At the corner of her eyes she saw the demon in his guise coming to her with a philter. It was glowing red.
"Sweet girl…"
Redoubling her efforts, even as she felt her jaw pop, her wrists and ankles stinging, surging her mana to try to escape. The runes flared again as the pain coursed through her. Keeping hold of the Fade as long as she could as she screamed for help in it. Imshael loomed over her, a smile on his scared lip as it opened the top of the philter and let the red pour into her mouth.
"You're mine!"
Ears picking up her plea, loud and full of pain. Feeling out that bright source on her paw-called-hand. Images flashed within his dominion before her call fell silent. The call in him strong, protective of his charge. Find her before she is lost. The red must not take her.
Finding the thinnest piece of the barrier between him and his charge, his Snow Kitten. The twisted brethren coming forth.
I am he of a blade. His thoughts contorting, twisting, demanding of the twists of the here. He that is called Havardr. Obey.
The space shuttered under his dominance, those that did not leave fell before him. Paws becoming hands and feet. Willing himself of what he was. That which is called warrior, protector, Knower-of-a-Blade, a Sword-Dancer. Unsheathing his greatsword and slicing the thin barrier, ripping it more as he passed through the rift. Leaving his spirit-mark on the Veil-scar.
Pulled down, the weight on him, senses narrowing. Shifting the unshifting. It is he who is to focus. His duty. The pull and whisper of Snow Kitten's scar hummed and called to him. That which is feet lifted from his legs. I am he. Proclaiming, ringing within him.
I come.
"Commander!" Harding shouted to him above the loud battle cries. Her features weary as she ran quickly toward him.
It had been three days.
Three torturous days since Lady Katja's party was ambushed at the joint camp. Three days of him feeling his guts being ripped out. Sleep evaded him and what little he received was plagued by horrors of whatever she was enduring within the Keep. The red templars have fortified themselves well and heavily bared the front door. Making it worse, they somehow enchanted the door as well, and no matter how hard the battering ram collided, it was fruitless. Even the mages seemed puzzled. Compounding with the surprise skirmishes from atop the walls raining stones. The corrupted lyrium within them made them not tire so easily.
They even tried to "persuade" her dragon to help, to no avail. The dragon seemed to be chasing it's tail and was driving itself mad.
A gnawing thought in the back of him mind that the dragon's madness was a reflection of her own.
"Report Harding."
"We shot down a bird from the Keep," she stated quickly, "it was no doubt carrying a message to Corypheus or Samson. Here."
Handing the finely rolled paper to him as he quickly took it from her and read.
I apologize for the delay in the update Lord Corypheus. After several attempts to give the heretic the red lyrium, it seems to have no effect in terms of your ability to control her. It simply will not grow within her. Though I must say seeing her wreath is quite pleasing. The runes and cuffs within the cell are holding her mana at bay as you said they would.
I know you advised that the final solution should be a last resort, but I see little choice. It is either that or bringing her to you to remove the Anchor. The tools and red lyrium are ready and I have a fantastic design that would be very pleasing to you once it is on her head.
-Imshael
Bile rose in his throat over every syllable over the letter. Panic scratching his limbs and gnawed his thoughts. Several black thoughts raced in his mind but one was the loudest, I'll kill the demon myself!
Then, several things happened at once.
Loud cries came from within the camp and a loud, glowing whoosh rushed passed him to the main gate. All that he was able to discern was a lion skull and a greatsword. The magic that reinforced the gate ignited in a flurry of sparks, in a blinding second the gates exploded like gaatlock. The wood enflamed with white and gold.
The gates were open.
He had just a second to register what had happened before the red templars pooled out of the broken gates.
The thing that had caused the explosion was fighting them off. An unknown warrior. Uncaring at that point to about the unexpected ally, only the single-minded determination to save Katja.
"Charge! Take the Keep!" he shouted at the stunned troops.
His booming voice snapped his soldier's back into focus and filed into the opening. Cullen's sword and shield raised as he rushed in closer to the unknown warrior. The red templars falling beneath their blades. The techniques the warrior used were… familiar. The fluid grace, action and reaction, the quick steps that were dance-like, and the combination use of magic.
Just as the connection was made he felt unprecedented pain in his gut and a knife in his skull. Drowning out were the screams of his former brethren. He felt like he was being set on fire! Try as he will to stay upright and holding his sword. Through teared eyes he saw with horror as the red templars were set aflame. Bright, angry red as their bodies were hastily consumed. The fissures that sprouted the red lyrium exploded before, they too, bursted into flame. His ears popped and he was deaf save the drumming of his heart. A consuming fog of sadness dripped into his soul but drowning that was seething rage and pain. Emotions that were not his own. His palate filled with the sharp taste of copper and the dull sweetness of too-hot lyrium.
Lyrium that was coming from inside him!
The familiar tingle. The cooing call of the lyrium on his palate ignited his insatiable thirst. Warring with himself to spit it out or to swallow it back within.
Keep me. Want me. Thirst for me!
Revulsion winning as he spat out the blood in his mouth. Little flecks of blue mingling with his red spittle. Steam wafted off the spatter that went up into the cold air.
Just as quickly as the overwhelming sensation seized him, it faded away. But the ache, the cry, the heat remained. Gritting his teeth to make himself stand. Only to nearly fall over if it wasn't for Bull's massive hand to steady him. When did that happen?
"Yo- -ight Cul- ? Wha- -n Kor- a- hap-nd?!" Were all the syllables he could hear above the ringing in his ears and the loud muffled cries of the burning red templars.
"I'm alright!" he shouted, or he thought he shouted.
Focusing on steadying himself and his hard, knotted stomach from vomiting. Both from whatever he experienced and from the putrid, acrid smell of burning flesh and corruption. The edges of his vision were blurry. Rays of green wrapped around his body as he felt the power of a healing spell. It was enough for him to gather more of his senses and to settle his stomach. Sweat begun to drip from his forehead from the heat like he was having a fever.
The screams of the templars fell silent. The only sound that was made was the clicking pops like wood over a fire.
An instinct creeped into his mind, silently whispering a dread that reminisces when he awoke from a nightmare. Unable to enunciate what it was, but he knew what it spoke of. He must hurry.
"Keep going!" Breathing in deeply before he pushed away from Bull and the close companions of Katja's. step by aching step it became easier until he was running.
In the distance, he saw that same warrior with the lion skull helm and greatsword. Following behind.
The further into the Keep, the more of the burning bodies of the red templars were found along with the fissures. The more hot he felt the further they went. His insides churning. Bones heavy.
Cullen could feel the worried eyes of the group on his back. Watching him.
Unconcerned with his own welfare at that point, only to find Katja.
His love.
Wordlessly trekking along, the plan of lighting the Veil-torch forgotten as every templar was slain, burned alive. Unneeded to their destination. Cullen could hear the worried conversations between Katja's companions. How and what were the main starters, followed by where.
The search fruitless until they entered the main sanctum. Registering the warrior with the lion skull and greatsword and Katja…
Or, what he could see of her. Her back to them.
Relief that they had found her. That she was alive!
His feet of their own accord before he was suddenly stopped by invisible hands on his legs and feet. The other companions in a similar state far behind him.
Only needing his eyes to see something wasn't right. Clearly making out the angry, red welts on her wrists and ankles. His gut twisted at seeing physical proof of her imprisonment. Her armor and weapons gone – only in her under shirt and smallclothes. In her left hand as the head of a High Fear demon, dripping oozing black blood. Only momentarily seeing it before it burned away like paper in a green flame.
The warrior with the lion skull acknowledged him – a trickle of something otherworldly ghosted his mind and a strong impression pressed, "No." In tune with the shaking of the warrior's head.
His throat constricting as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Fearful for her.
"Katja…" he called. Praying that he heard him.
Cullen saw a visible twitch in her body from the sound of his voice. The warrior creature lifted it's hand to stop her from turning her head to face him. Her arms lifting, a familiar tick of her hands.
"Katja…" he called softly.
I'm here, he wanted to say, don't run. Please don't.
Her weary, crooked posture shifted. Standing taller as a green glow from a heal spell floated on her skin. The red welts on her wrists and ankles disappearing as the green light faded. Leaving a thin scar.
She seemed to take a deep breath and the heat and pressure he felt within himself lifted. Only the pounding in his head remained. The cold on his skin a relief. The invisible binds on his body lifted as well, along with the companion's Cullen felt a danger in the back of his mind at his slow, cautious approach to Lady Katja. Old templar instincts.
The eyes of the warrior with the lion skull helm watched him at his approach.
Only a few feet away from her did he stop and say her name, "Katja." His voice thick and hoarse with worry.
Then she turned around slowly to acknowledge him. Angry bile rose in his stomach as he saw the templar insignia dripping from her head. Mixing with the blood, ink, and red glow of lyrium. Dark yellow bruises in the shape of hands and fingers around her jaw and neck. Her red eyes dim and weary, no doubt from sleep exhaustion and whatever torture they made her suffer through. Hands shaking as he wanted to just… smash something. Break something.
Also to just hold her. She was alive!
It didn't make it easier to know without words what they tried to do to her. Revulsion mixing in with everything else. But how…?
Doesn't matter, she is alive!
Her awkward smile was misplaced on her features as she said through chapped lips, "They failed. The Keep is ours." Lady Katja's voice was broken and raspy like sand.
She needs medical attention, food, and water.
Frowning he whispered, "To the Void with the Keep." Throat thick with emotion that he was barely keeping, "I'm taking you back to camp."
Red eyes flaring as she was about to protest when the warrior behind her stopped her.
"Listen to him Snow Kitten. Remember your lessons." It's voice big and deep, the kind of voice that demanded obediance.
[A.N.] Thank you to allhallowsevebabe, reds-pidgeon, and Dragonmaster300 for the fav/follows. And review from Rae.
