sixteen: the lost and the found
If they didn't find a place to rest their heads beyond this snow-drenched, death-touched mountain, her sacrifice would be for nothing. It was the single driving thought pushing Cullen onward, step after step, neither stumbling nor stopping as Chancellor Roderick led them through the winding paths, into the snow, and beyond. Don't stop, don't let it be in vain. The mantra repeated in his head, each time as unsatisfactory as the rest, only abated by the miles long trail they left behind.
The thought ran rampant once their march came to a stop.
Cullen sat with others around the fire, the smoke wafting into his face and burning his eyes, but he made no attempt to move, only tilted his head to the side, regarding their poor attempt at making camp with the little supplies they had managed to grab. More and more people stumbled across them, bearing bruises, wounds, and the minimal things they could carry, and he thanked the Maker that he had drilled a safe location to retreat into their heads.
Each person to come along sent his heart jolting, eyes lifting for the newest addition in search of Ophelia's small smile. He tried not to let the disappointment show. As the hours passed, it was more and more foolish to think she would make it free, and still he looked, still he hoped. If he did either of them hard enough, maybe he would feel less like a man waking from sleep and grasping for a dream.
A log in the fire collapsed, sending bursts of embers flying out. Cold as it was, they were snuffed out the moment they hit the snow. She would hate it, he thought, it was cold even for him and he was born and raised in Ferelden. If she were here, Ophelia would sit close enough to the fire to singe her hair.
Cullen sighed, running a hand over his face. He had to maintain his composure, he had to keep his spirits up, if only because everyone looked to him and the others for survival. Somehow, it didn't make things easier.
"Doubt anybody here knows who she is," Alfonso said quietly, his elbows on his knees and his red-tinged eyes on the fire. He hadn't stopped moving since he had woken up, first fighting with the others to find Ophelia, and the next encouraging everyone onwards through each painful step, dragging them when they wouldn't. Like Cullen, he must have known the only thing they could do for her sake was walk, no matter how badly they wanted to find her. What could they do, though, short of dying with her? Two less people in the world to remember her name, and even less to know her last wish.
She deserved more, but this is what they could do. The only thing. Cullen closed his eyes, forcing away the piercing ache in his skull through sheer will alone. Trying, too, not to remember the final time he saw her and equally unwilling to let the image drift from his mind. He could still feel a phantom touch on his cheek from her lips, and recall the exact shade of her eyes, even blurred with tears as they were at the time.
He would know her kiss and her eyes the rest of his life. It was hard to believe only four months ago, he was meeting her for the very first time. He hadn't known then nor in the month of her subsequent flight that she would become important. Of all the things in his life he longed to forget, this wasn't one of them, no matter how badly it ended.
Leliana's words all those years ago in Kinloch rang true. He seemed to find a new meaning to it every time someone new and important to him was lost. The longing for his family and the comfort they once brought him was stronger now than it had been in months.
Alfonso continued, lost in his own world and his own grief. "Prisoner this, Herald that." His words were a mumble and if they weren't sitting so close, he might not have heard them. "She doesn't deserve to be remembered as something she's not." Cullen opened his eyes, watching Alfonso with worry. His shoulders were slumped, his head bowed down under a weight none of them could see, but to which Cullen could feel an aching understanding.
"No, she doesn't," he said quietly, though the man hardly heard him. He didn't repeat himself.
"She deserves better than this."
Cullen didn't argue. He thought the same, even if he could see no solution, cloudy as his head was with lyrium ghosts lurking around every corner. His thumb rubbed his brow, finding no solace in the pressure or pain.
"Cold. She's so cold."
"Andraste's knickers! When did you get here?" Alfonso exclaimed. A lanky boy with too big eyes perched across the fire, hat tipped low, so familiar Cullen felt a name rising to the tip of his tongue. The urge faded, there and gone.
Heads shot up at the noise, hands shooting to hips where weapons rested. Everyone was on edge, and the idea of a new enemy had the people nearest them surging forward, half out of fear and half out of vengeance. Cullen shot to his feet, holding his hand up to halt the other's movements.
The boy - Cole, that was it - lifted his eyes, seeming to look through him for several seconds. A blink, and they were piercing, peering at a piece of his soul. The sensation was strange and so familiar he balked, backing away. Memories of another time ghostly hands tried to mess with his mind rose to the forefront, stealing his breath. He steeled himself, fingers closing around the hilt of his sword.
His hands trembled. Would he always be haunted?
"No, not like that."
Cullen blinked.
A boy was standing near him, eyes strong and piercing, and he didn't understand the feeling of sickness welling in him. Was it lyrium?
"She's too cold. Dim. I can't see the light, just the cold."
"Andraste's knickers! How did you get here?" Alfonso exclaimed. A headache was forming behind Cullen's eyes, a burning familiarity racing through him. He hadn't felt anything like it, not since-
"Those ghosts aren't here," the boy said. Cole, wasn't it? The name popped into his mind, though he couldn't say where he learned it or how he knew it to be true without asking. Memory came back to him, too slow to voice, and he recalled Cole, telling them why the enemy fought them, and who the enemy would stop for. His chest twisted. "Too many. Which are the ones he means? The ones wanted, the ones forgotten."
"What are you?" Cullen asked.
The cries had garnered attention. Hawke strode briskly across the snow, her eyes bright, darker than he'd seen in a long while. Last time he had seen it, she was striding to the person who betrayed her. This time, she halted a heartbeat away, jaw clenching and unclenching as she fought for words. The dark left them all weary, and the fight fell from her, a cloak falling to the snow. "Why are you here?" She asked Cole stiffly, waving away the crowd. They hesitated, and only a stern look sent them back to where they came.
"You sent me away, but I can help. I want to help. Bring back the light." Cole rocked on his feet. In a blink, he was standing further away. The people nearest him scrambled back, but he remained impassive to their presence, focused intently on something in the distance. "Dimmer. Is it always so quiet at night?" Cole waited.
Hawke sighed, exasperated. "Speak plainly."
Cole stared, as if he could think of no other way to speak so clearly.
Alfonso edged closer to Hawke, the limp in his leg less pronounced. His hand strayed to his weapon, coming up empty. Cullen didn't even realize he was holding the pommel of his blade until Cole's gaze turned on him. Piercing. Familiar.
"There's no sun here," he said, and Cullen halted. It'll never change. The sun rises, the sun sets, and all of us see it - circle or no circle, he remembered. A small, fragile hope bloomed in him. His hand dropped, automatically stepping closer.
"Is she alive?" He asked quietly. Alfonso sucked in a breath, falling silent when Cole returned his gaze to the three of them. His eyes were miles away once more.
Cullen exchanged a hopeless look with Hawke and Alfonso, then looked to the horizon. It had to be her, it just had to be. It was too much to imagine Cole's words were a coincidence when he could recall every detail of their last conversation with painful clarity.
The hopeful part sank slowly as reason prevailed. Who wouldn't be thinking of the sun in a place like this? Cold, and dreary, and the dawn seeming so far away.
"Colder. Can't think, need to find them. One step, two. Warmer, closer. One, two." Cole struggled. "I can hear her. Faint. Slipping."
"Where?" He said, voice tight, trying not to bark, trying to coax. If he startled him, if he was gone, it was over. How would they find her out there? Alfonso and Hawke were quiet, two coiled springs waiting for a direction to jump.
Cole lifted a hand, pointing back the way they came. "She found your beacons. It's not enough." A blink, and Cole was gone.
A dizziness washed over Cullen, his vision blurring around the edges. He couldn't remember why he was standing, or why Hawke and Alfonso were so tense, their hands on weapons. His body shook. Perhaps he required sleep, but, no, this wasn't fatigue, it was though he had woken from sleep with new energy and purpose.
For what? Memory tugged at his head.
"When did you get here, Tilda?" Alfonso asked, tired, slumping down into his seat. When did he stand up? If a mystery wasn't dangling in front of him, taunting him, he might wonder when the two became close enough to speak so informally. When it became normal for Hawke to drop down beside him, expression pinched.
"Just now. I..." she struggled. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave her; I didn't want anyone else to die for me."
Alfonso blinked rapidly. "She's not dead, don't talk about her like that. I know she's still out there." The headache in Cullen's skull was terrible, worse than he had felt around the red lyrium of the future.
"How?"
"I... I feel it. I know it, she's still alive."
She was, Cullen agreed with a jolt. That was it, that was what he needed to do. "If she is, she'll be too hurt to find us," Hawke said quietly, carefully, brows furrowing. She looked at them, and he knew she grappled with the same feeling surging through him. "She'll get lost out there, it's so dark and so cold, she'd need a beacon to-" Hawke held her head.
Cullen understood the feeling. Something was there, niggling in his head. Anxious, he shook his head, rubbing his fingers into his eyes. They were sore, more than usual, as if he had done the same motion multiple times. "The campfires. We left some, she can find them." Cullen frowned, looking out to the horizon. The idea of her stumbling around in the dark bothered him. It was cold, and she could be hurt. Why hadn't they thought to send people to watch before? They didn't have the numbers, he knew, but it still seemed a gross oversight.
The urge to look was unbearable, and he walked several steps to the exit before Hawke called his name. He looked over his shoulder.
"We should look," said Alfonso. He shot to his feet and blanched. His arms wind milled for balance, and a hiss escaped his lips. Hawke gripped his arm between one of her hands, drawing him back down to the log acting as a bench. Her hand stayed clasped on his shoulder, though Cullen didn't know if it was out of support or to hold the man in place through sheer force of power.
"Your leg won't last in the snow, it'll only hurt you more or slow us down, and we need all the time we can get," he said, uncomfortable with asking him to stay. If it were his own siblings, could he stand to sit here around the fire and wait? Maybe. Cullen hoped he was pragmatic enough to know his own limits. Marching through the snow, further and further away from the place he wanted to be, seemed proof enough.
"We'll send word," Hawke reassured in the quiet to fall over them, holding his shoulder just a little tighter. His reluctant nod brought a softer frown to her face, there and gone in a heartbeat, and she turned to face him. "Cullen, we need to go. Hey! Search party for the Herald, who can walk still?"
Mumbled groans reached her ears. Her lips tightened with disappointment and resignation. "Okay, well, we need to get Bethany at least. The Herald will need a healer if she's-I mean when we find her." Her correction was quick, looking at Alfonso and letting out a shallow breath at his closed eyes. Whether he heard or not, Cullen didn't notice, unable to hold back an instinctive flinch at Hawke's words.
"We'll find her," Cullen said, and hoped it was true.
…
…
It was colder than he remembered. The snow bit against every inch of exposed skin, and the wind slashed against his cheeks, each gust worse than the last. Bethany fared no better, slipping and sliding in the snow, and often her hand caught his shoulder for balance. The third such time, she nearly knocked his legs out from under him, her yelp muffled with a hand across her lips. Cullen caught her arm, pausing to let her regain her balance as he scoured the land around them.
Snow in every direction, only the bottoms of trees sticking out from the ground proved they weren't walking in circles. Cullen held the lantern up higher, squinting. They could only see several feet in front of them, and he wasn't sure how they were going to find Ophelia in all this.
"How is it still storming? The blizzard is over, I can see the stars sort of," Hawke said, huffing, her breath appearing from her lips in plumes of white air as she halted next to him. She squinted, swinging her lantern one direction and the other, as if the movement might provide her extra sight. "We should have gone the other way with Cassandra. Why did we take this path again?"
Cullen didn't remember. An instinct, maybe, the same type to send them walking into the snow with nary an idea of where to look and only a blind hope of finding the lost. He inclined his head for them to continue moving. Their steps were slow, fumbling as they were against the slick ground. His teeth chattered, and through his gloves, a coldness was creeping in. Ignore it, he reminded himself, a mantra as they put one foot in front of the other.
"It was your idea, Tilda," Bethany said, a frown in her voice. Cullen didn't turn to check.
"Was not. It would probably be safer for everyone to travel together. Last thing we need is more people getting lost out here."
"Someone… told us," he said, because talking made him less cold, or it made him think about everything a little less. Worry guided him as much as fear and neither left room for thought.
Tilda snorted. "If you have a gap in your memory too, we need to look into that, it could be- Wait, do you hear that?"
Cullen halted, holding his breath. What else was there, other than the howling wind and his own pounding heart? He frowned, unable to place the noise. "It sounds like humming," he murmured. "Where? Ophelia!"
He didn't expect an answer, but his heart still twisted at the lack of one.
"It must have been the wind," Hawke said, disappointed.
They walked for several feet more before something tugged them to a stop. He exchanged looks with Bethany and Hawke, unsure of what was holding them in place. Instinct, again, and a foggy memory of someone whispering for them to stop.
Hawke rubbed her forehead. "Cole," she muttered, and he didn't know who that was, but he knew she was right.
Bethany murmured, and the sound of humming was replaced with the flash of awareness as she cast a spell. A wisp of white light appeared in her palms, growing brighter as she murmured to it quietly. Cullen rocked away, hand half rising to cup his forehead and dropping as he let out a shallow breath, forcing the pain away. Later, he could allow it to sweep over him, but not now. He blinked slowly, breathing through it.
Hawke watched him with open curiosity. He shook his head, returning his attention to Bethany.
The light seeped from her fingers, bright like a star clutched in her fingers. She let the magic drop, the fade falling away from her and the pressure on his head eased, only a faint buzzing remained. She tossed it across the snow, watching it bounce soundlessly into the distance, the trees appearing as long shadows across the snow. It struck a stone several yards ahead and burst into a spiral of light illuminating several feet around it: the dark trunk of a tall tree, a snow-topped grey stone, a broken wagon wheel sticking out of a fire not quite frozen.
A person slumped against the ground, curled up around themselves, snow and blood clinging to them like a second skin. Her dark hair was half-frozen, braid long forgotten, and her clothes so torn and shabby he might not have recognized her. But he did, he would have known her anywhere. He inhaled sharply, Hawke and Bethany at his heels as he shot across the snow. "Ophelia!"
Bethany was already calling magic to her, and this time, Cullen felt none of it as he dropped into a crouch beside Ophelia's still form.
Ophelia's lips were parted, as though she were mid-hum when her strength had given up on her. Her hand was tucked beneath her cheek, and the other was splayed across the ground, the mark on her hand eerily still.
Were they too late? No, they couldn't be, they couldn't have come so far only to have lost at the last possible second. Cullen had just found her, and his hands trembled with the urge to reach out and draw her close, as if he could somehow bring the warmth back to her with only a touch.
"Herald, can you hear us?" Bethany asked quietly, laying a hand across her forehead. It did little to ease the paleness, nor did it bring a response from Ophelia's lips, but the mark grew a little brighter.
If it was alive, then surely so was she.
"Her ankle is broken. Some of her ribs, I… I think that's the worst of it, but I can't tell, it's too…" Bethany grimaced, bringing another hand up, fingertips resting on Ophelia's brows. Whatever she did, drawing enough on the fade to bring a sharp inhale to Cullen's lips, worked enough to draw a shaky breath from Ophelia.
He unbuckled the mantle he wore, the red-brown fur sliding from his shoulders. "Can you heal while we walk?" he murmured, tucking the edges of the fur around her still form. It was only his imagination that her face softened as if she knew. "We can't stay here; the storm could get worse any minute."
Bethany nodded, scooting away. "Careful," she murmured, helping settle Ophelia into his arms.
"Maker, it's like holding ice," he murmured, brushing a hand across her face, pushing the hair away from her forehead as he did so. He could feel the chill of her skin against his fingers, even gloved. "Up we go." Cullen stood up slowly, shifting her weight in his arms and tucking her hands in the fur wrapped around her. She was lighter than he anticipated, and if it were less dire, his cheeks would blaze, but he couldn't think of anything other than the trek between them and safety with the rest of the Inquisition. Safe as it could be in the middle of nowhere, as they were now.
"I need one of her hands," Bethany said quietly. He glanced at her, but didn't argue, shifting slightly for her to take one of Ophelia's hands. It left them lopsided, and Cullen adjusted his stance once more. Bethany leaned against him, blinking in surprise.
"Easier, I'll keep us steady," he murmured. It wasn't like he could sprint through the snow, not with Ophelia in his arms, too important to drop. Bethany didn't argue, only exchanged a brief look with Hawke before the hum of magic echoed in his ears as she murmured a spell. What a strange sight they must make: one half frozen woman wrapped in fur, one man in armor holding her too closely to be professional, and another woman grasping the first's hand like it was a lifeline.
Perhaps, in the case of healing magic, it was. The thought was sobering, any levity premature when all around them was a desolate, cold emptiness.
Hawke nudged his elbow with her own, little of the usual fervor in her hit. Whether it was concern for the woman in his arms whom Hawke watched with a tenderness he didn't expect her to show to anyone other than Bethany, or the weight of the last few hours, he didn't know. Nothing on her face betrayed her, not for a long second before she blew out a breath and a wide grin crossed her face. He didn't quite believe it. "I'm running ahead, someone will be waiting for you," she said. "Try not to lose her in the snow, will you?"
"I won't," he promised.
"Thought you'd say something like that."
…
...
The Inquisition was floundering. Haven's loss hit harder as the night waned and dawn approached with no end in sight. No plan, no home, and an enemy waiting for them, somewhere, and Cullen could think of a dozen first steps to take, but none they could act upon without knowing more. In the aching hours after their near deaths, it was relief at being alive holding them together. It kept the fighting at a minimum as they scrambled from one check point to the next through the mountains, seeking shade in the shadows of the mountain. With dawn, the relief faded, leaving people with room to argue, and they hadn't stopped since the search party - small as it was with two teams and six people altogether - returned.
It left Cullen tetchy, and anxious to boot. Worse because Ophelia was still asleep, curled up in one of the few cots they had managed to scour from their meager supplies. Her brother had hardly left her side, holding one of her hands tightly and murmuring, only falling silent when another approached. When a break between his other duties allowed it, Cullen would join him, plan found and scrapped one after another.
Another day faded, and they were trekking along through the snow for the Imperial Highway, the only goal they could agree on. The future, shrouded as it was, frightening as it was, left them little room to move.
"We need to know," Leliana said.
"She isn't awake still," Cullen said, a tad impatiently, alternating between the map and their surroundings. They were working on crates, several feet away from the rest of the Inquisition. It was no War Room, but it was the best they could do with their circumstances, a motto they were clinging to with each passing hour. Less comforting was the fact that they were only responding to each new problem rather than preparing for it. He suspected that wouldn't change, not until Ophelia woke up and told them more.
If she woke up. Soon, Bethany had said, and Solas, too, when roused from his brief slumber upon their arrival the night before. Maybe, Adan had thought, his words slurred as a healing potion surged through him, attempting to fix the burns running his face. He took solace in them.
He was the only one who did.
"She said nothing?" Leliana asked, head shaking. "A hint, a clue, a name, anything?"
Cullen sighed, exasperated, reigning in his temper with great force. They were all working on little sleep and a mile-high list of things hanging over their head. He would not take it out on his allies. "She was half gone when we found her, unable to talk let alone think coherently. Maker knows what would have happened if we were a few minutes later." He faltered, and cleared his throat, eyes fixed once more upon the map. The sight of it was burned into his eyes, and he saw their route whenever he blinked, but it was better than worrying. A little.
"We can explore nothing without allies, and we cannot keep our allies if we are buried under snow," Josephine said, snow clinging to her hair and falling on her board. She swept them both off with the same carefulness she did everything, still as well-kept and graceful as ever despite their circumstances. Often, Josephine made him feel sloppy, but in their current situation, he admired her ability to stay put together no matter the surroundings. It was the only reason he was sleeping anymore or attempting it.
"Solas wants to talk with me after this, says he knows something that will help. Maybe he'll know somewhere nearby," Hawke said, dubious. "I'll take a ruin over this mountain anytime."
"Inquisitor, some of the soldiers are arguing over blankets again," said one weary messenger, startling them from their conversation. How easy it was to forget they were talking out in the open rather than secure inside the Chantry.
Hawke groaned. "Again?" The messenger blinked, and she waved them off with an apologetic smile, or so he assumed from the odd grimace like smile on her face. When he was out of ear shot, she shot them all a look. "I handled it last time, it's someone else's turn."
Cullen exchanged a look with the two women. None of them wanted to settle a fight once more, not when it was spent listening to complaints for several minutes longer than either of them wanted right now. Josephine blinked, serene, and said, "This is quite like my usual duties, albeit with less high stakes in the game than usual. I will attend to it, if someone will promise to argue my side while I am gone."
"And your side is?" Hawke asked, arching a brow.
Josephine smiled. "As you said before, I would take nearly anything over this mountain."
Once she was gone, Hawke ran a hand through her hair. "Well, you wanted a clue, and we do have one from all this: Samson. Why would he even want to fight us, and what does he have to do with the Elder One? If there's any lead to explore, that's the one."
Cullen had, in truth, almost forgotten about Samson, or pushed him out of his mind far enough that the mention of him brought the flickers of another headache. Some of the unconscious tension in his shoulders had Samson's name on it. "This isn't like him," he admitted, pushing away the slight sickness swelling in him as he remembered the last time he saw Samson. Kirkwall was no easy place for the mind to dwell, but what he knew of Samson and his story was worse. How could Samson - of all people - allow the events of Haven to happen without blinking an eye? "He was not so callous." It ended as a question, and he tried not to look at Hawke for an answer. His doubts were not something he would have her carry, too.
"He told me once he helped the mages in Kirkwall out of guilt, that he was removed from the Order for helping a mage send letters, and I couldn't see that man returning to fight us like this. We certainly didn't consider him an enemy until now," Hawke said with a shrug. It was as Cullen thought, too, but Hawke wasn't done. "But people change. You did. I remember what you said in Kirkwall about mages once and yet here you are. Maybe he changed for the worse."
Cullen wondered which thing he had said - and the fact he had to think made a knot in his stomach grow. He cleared his throat, pushing the thought away. Another time, when duty wasn't demanding him, when he could find the words to soothe and heal the words he had once spoken out of fear and anger.
"We can't dismiss the idea that he's being manipulated but underestimating him on the possibility is… a dangerous mistake. Samson is a capable man, he withstood lyrium withdrawal longer than anyone I know. The real power is the Elder One - and we know that's not Samson. It was whoever or whatever was next to him." He paused, unable to think of the description for the person who had stood next to Samson on the battlefield. A figment of his imagination, surely, and if that were the case, he would need to speak to Cassandra sooner rather than later.
He wished he had forced the spy glass into Hawke's hands, if only for someone else to confirm what he thought he saw. A demon, the others had said when he told them.
"Regardless, we need more information. Samson can't be the Elder One, he doesn't have the knowledge to do things like this last I checked," Hawke said, gesturing up to the sky. The breach was closed, but the sky was scarred, leaving patches of green in the sky where once there was none. "But who does?"
"Corypheus does."
Ophelia's soft voice washed over him. The tension and worry of the last day washed away from him, and he spun around, eyes drinking in the sight of her face as she did his. Her cheeks were pink and her hair tousled; if it weren't for the bruises still lingering on her skin and the tremble in her steps as she approached them, Cullen wouldn't have thought she was several hours near death only the night before. His mantle was around her shoulders - he had forgotten it was with her.
She made a small gesture, offering it back, and he shook his head slightly.
"What did you just say?" Hawke asked in a deadly quiet, fixing Ophelia with such a look that Cullen fought the urge to step between them. It was the panic in her eyes that stilled him, and he wondered what kind of power this Corypheus contained if he frightened one of the toughest people he knew.
Ophelia crept closer, tightening her fingers on the mantle as she squeezed herself into the gap Leliana and Cullen made for her around the crate. Their shoulders brushed, and it was a relief to know she was solid, if not yet sturdy. "The Elder One. His name is Corypheus, and we haven't seen the last of him. He'll come back, if not for me then for you and whoever else is in his way," Ophelia said, shivering. Cullen clenched his fingers, fighting the urge to lay a hand on her shoulder, to offer what little warmth he could.
Hawke shook her head, looking pained. "No, there's no way he's still alive, I killed him, I practically danced on his fucking corpse."
"I'm not lying," she said quietly, fingers clutching the mantle. They were trembling, and he resolved to end this conversation if it grew any worse.
"Could he be lying?" Leliana asked bluntly. "Your history is well known, and the pieces that aren't are easy to dig up with the right pressure."
"Was your Corypheus a tall, weird darkspawn monster with a fondness for dress-like robes and looked like someone who bathed in red lyrium?" Hawke asked her. Cullen frowned, the furrow deepening as Ophelia nodded at what he considered the strangest description of a person ever. But familiar, too, and he wondered if the man in the snow was less a hallucination and more an enemy he had never seen nor faced.
The agreement stole something from Hawke, knocking away one of the beams holding her aloft. Her fingers gripped the crate, knuckles white from the force.
"Inquisitor?" he found himself asking, concerned.
Hawke shook her head. "I fought him once and it nearly killed me, but I won. I thought I won." She let go of the crate abruptly, stray hand reaching for her own hair.
Ophelia was the only one who looked understanding, and Cullen felt as though he were asleep, dreaming something absurd. Darkspawn monsters, after all, seemed like something akin to a tale you heard during a blight, not ten years after it. Leliana was tight-lipped, and it occurred to him she was in the thick of the blight and knew better than anyone what a darkspawn threat could mean.
"If it's him, I don't know what we're going to do," Hawke said finally, so quiet Cullen almost didn't hear it, lost as he was in his own thoughts. "I don't even know how you lived, Herald, I almost died to him and you- you have all the strength of a two-year-old, no offense."
"None taken," Ophelia said with a shaky smile, one that didn't reach her haunted eyes. He swayed closer to her but stopped short before he could do anything more. "I think it was luck."
Hawke sucked in a breath and let it go with a ragged sigh. "Well, damn, I hope you have more of it, we're going to need it." Ophelia nodded. "Tell us everything that happened, and then I'm going to see Solas. We can't waste any more time on this mountain if Corypheus is the Elder One."
Apologies for the wait. I was experiencing some issues that I needed to hand before I could settle down to write. Since I started school recently, we will likely be moving to a bi-weekly update schedule instead of a weekly one unless time allows me to do it weekly!