Chapter Eight
Pale Shadow of a Woman
"Did she make you cry?
Make you break down?
Shatter your illusions of love?
And is it over now?
Do you know how to pick up the pieces and go home?"
—"Gold Dust Woman," Fleetwood Mac
She found Dorian staring out a window in the library the morning they were set to leave for Adamant Fortress. It was a gray, misty dawn that made her want to lounge in bed until the sun was high enough to burn it all away. The buzzing of the keep was a stark contrast to the weather. There were flurries of preparations still to be made, goods to load on wagons, troops to organize—a million things to do and not enough time, it seemed. She'd been gathering a few last-minute reports from Helissima on the Grey Wardens and demons when she noticed her friend's unusually somber mood.
"Dorian?" she asked quietly, wary of disturbing the tense silence. The advisors could wait; it looked like he could use a friend.
"He says we're alike," the mage said without turning to her. "Too much pride. Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now, I'm not certain. I don't know if I can forgive him."
"He tried to change you?" She knew without him saying a word that he meant his father.
"Out of desperation." He half-turned towards her, even his profile showing his wracked emotions. "I wouldn't put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavory private and locked away. Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside. He was going to do a blood ritual—alter my mind. Make me… acceptable. I found out. I left."
It was so cold, so factual. So unlike her passionate, colorful friend. Katerina's heart twisted to know he'd been so rejected simply for who he loved. "Can blood magic actually do that?"
"Maybe. It could also have left me a drooling vegetable." The faint reflection showed his knit brows and tired eyes. "It crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal. Part of me has always hoped he didn't really want to go through with it. If he had… I can't even imagine the person I would be now. I wouldn't like that Dorian."
"Are you alright?" Kat asked, moving to lean against the opposite edge of the window.
"No. Not really." He stared out into the distance for a long moment, reaching out to take her hand without even glancing at her. "Thank you for bringing me out there. It wasn't what I expected, but… it's something. Maker knows what you must think of me now—after that whole display."
"I think you're very brave." She pumped his fingers fondly, purposely not looking at him either. It seemed easier, somehow, to share these things without having every expression analyzed and weighed. There was a certain sense of safety in going unobserved.
"Brave?" She didn't need to look at him to hear the bewilderment coloring his words.
"It's not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path." She couldn't help thinking of her own family and their blatant disapproval of her very nature. It had started with the onset of her magic and compounded year by year until that awful fight about her mother's plans for her.
He was quiet for a long moment before he squeezed her fingers as a silent thanks. Whether he didn't know what to say or was simply unable to say it didn't matter. She returned the gesture, silently telling him in no uncertain terms that she was there for him regardless of who he loved.
"Ride with me today." She offered no resistance when he slipped his hand free. "I could use the company."
"As my lady commands." His smile was teasing, but it fell flat under the weight of their conversation. "I'd prefer my company to the overbearing Seeker or that hairy lummox too. Maker knows I'm far more entertaining."
"It is too early for surly moods," she agreed. "I'll see you out there soon."
He nodded and she slipped down the stairs like a whisper. No one in the main hall noticed her amidst the bustling as she hurried towards the war room. Marion Hawke and Varric sat on a bench outside the massive doors, talking quietly as she approached. Dorian wasn't the only one feeling the weight of the day, it seemed. The pair grew quiet as she neared and watched her closely.
"I know it's too late to turn back from this," Katerina started, "but are you alright with this?"
The other woman shot her a sharp grin. "Striking a blow against Corypheus and playing the hero? Count me in."
Varric heaved a shrug, his frown not lightened by his friend's breezy swagger. "Helping to stop the Wardens is the least I can do after stirring up this shit pot."
Katerina laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Trust me, I'm not exactly thrilled about this either."
"Best put on your Inquisitor face, Trevelyan," Marion said as she stretched lazily in her seat. "We can't have the troops nervous before a siege."
"Of course! That's what this meeting is for: Leliana and the others don't talk strategy, they just help me practice my war cries." Katerina growled at the other woman before they both burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. "Ride with Dorian and me today—we can at least try to enjoy the journey."
Varric managed to shoot her a mischievous smirk at that. "Sure, and you can tell us all about why Curly keeps looking at you like a kicked puppy."
"I don't know what you mean." With that, she turned on her heel and strode away to hide her flush. "See you soon!"
"You're a terrible liar!" Marion called after her. "Cully Wully is wrapped around your little finger, and you know it!"
Katerina closed the heavy door behind her with more force than she intended, taking out her embarrassment on the ancient wood and startling her advisors with the dramatic entrance. She dropped her head against the cool wood for a moment as she allowed herself a beat to regain her composure. There wasn't time for these distractions, not now. Not with a siege looming on the horizon and an army to lead. Right now, she needed to set Katerina aside and become the Inquisitor.
"Good morning," she said, keeping her words light and crisp. "What do you have for me?"
"Adamant Fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight." Leliana dove right in, sizing the younger woman up and not missing a thing. She'd heard the teasing from the hall, they all had, and she'd seen the way the Commander rubbed his neck in discomfort. A kicked puppy, indeed.
"Fortunately for us, that means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment," Cullen said, picking up where the redhead left off. He watched the Inquisitor as he spoke, not missing the way her eyes flickered to his hands resting on the pommel of his sword before she tore them away. "A good trebuchet will do major damage to those ancient walls, and thanks to our Lady Ambassador…"
Josephine interrupted the general, her gaze never leaving her papers as she triple-checked her lists and frowned at the words on the pages. "Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers. They've already delivered the trebuchets and they are being hauled with the main body of our forces."
"That is the good news," Leliana concluded.
"None of which accounts for the Wardens summoning a giant demon army," the Inquisitor sighed, staring down at the maps and building plans for the fortress. The details were certainly lacking, though Loghain Mac Tir, Hawke's Warden contact, had done his best to fill in some of the details.
"That is the bad news," the spymaster quipped with a shadow of a smile.
"The Inquisition forces can breach the gate," Cullen said, tearing his gaze away from the raven-haired mage opposite him. "If the Wardens already have their demons…"
"Loghain has provided me with additional information," the redhead supplied, sliding over a copy of the fortress plans and pointing out a few spots of interest. "There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle."
"That's good." He nodded tersely, easily falling into his role as general. "We may not be able to defeat them outright, but if we can cut off reinforcements, we can carve you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel."
Katerina swallowed back her doubts and desire for another way. This was the only option left to them, the only chance to deny Corypheus his demon army and the extinction of the Grey Wardens. Her mouth filled with an acrid taste, and she couldn't hide her discomfiture with their plan. "Right. Let's do this."
"It'll be hard-fought, no way around it," Cullen told her, voice softening at her grim resignation. "But we'll get that gate open."
Josephine looked up for the first time, slanting a searching glance at the Commander. "It's also possible that some Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause."
"The warriors may be willing to listen to reason, though I doubt they'll turn against Clarel directly," the spymaster added. "The mages, however, are slaves to Corypheus and will fight to the death."
"I know," Katerina breathed. Her hands balled into fists at her side as she nodded. "I can't save everybody."
Leliana patted her on the shoulder, her own eyes tight with regret. "No, but it's the price of saving the world."
"And who doesn't love a bargain?" The joke rang darkly hollow in the gray morning light.
"Give the word," the Commander said, "and we march on Adamant."
With a final, tight nod, Kat lifted her chin and met his eyes dispassionately. "Let's do this."
"Yes, run along, Cully Wully," Leliana echoed. She and Josephine broke into titters, the jolly sound echoing after the pair.
Both pretended to ignore the spymaster as they silently made their way to the stables. Katerina simply didn't know what to say—the teasing had left her red-faced and flustered. Between that and her resignation to the siege, her throat felt too tight to eke out any words at all. She did her best to ignore the Commander as they trekked to the stables where their mounts waited alongside the others. Those going to participate in the siege were already mounted while the stable yard milled with onlookers and well-wishers.
Katerina was caught up in a whirlwind of goodbyes, hugging her friends and nodding solemnly towards those staying behind. But it was her brother that received the fondest farewell. The pair nearly tackled each other in a tight hug that knocked the air from the Inquisitor's lungs. Her throat was tight with emotion, tongue too thick to form words—not that she knew what to say anyway.
"Come back, you hear me?" Aidan murmured. His eyes squeezed shut as he held his sister close. "That's an order, Rina. You get your ass back here in one piece."
"Yes, ser," she sniffled, turning her head to hide the tears pricking her eyes. "Don't let Skyhold fall apart while I'm gone."
"Don't worry, Rina." He pressed a kiss to her temple before pulling away. "I won't let your ruins go to waste, though I'd rather ride out with you."
She nodded, pulling her mask of poise firmly into place. "I'm sorry, but I need you here, Aidan. We'll share reports—don't hesitate to let us know if you need anything. You'll work with Leliana and Josephine, so don't be afraid to ask for help."
"Sister Nightingale scares me," he shuddered with a grin. "But at least the ambassador's approachable." He helped her mount and rested a hand on her knee as he stared up at his baby sister. "Give them hell."
With a slight smile meant just for him, Katerina rode out with the others quickly falling in with her. Time seemed to slow with her dread, giving the Inquisitor too much time to think. Her lips were chapped and painful from constantly being chewed. She wished that Aidan were here—he'd know how to distract her. But no, he was back in Skyhold to manage the keep's defenses should things go poorly.
She tried to distract herself with her companions, hoping that one of them could pull her from her dark thoughts. But Blackwall's stories only offered so much diversion before his dirty jokes lost their appeal. Dorian and Bull were too busy bickering—or was that their version of flirting?—while Cassandra and Varric traded barbs. Hawke delighted herself with heckling whoever was nearest. Vivienne just seemed to disapprove of it all and occupied herself with the Commander and her mages.
As for the Commander, Katerina had no choice but to talk to him every evening. He gave her updates on the troops, their progress, and shared correspondence from Skyhold. She would listen and conduct business as needed, she even traded a few jokes with him, but she was intensely aware of every word that passed through her lips. She couldn't allow herself any slip ups now, not when all her focus was supposed to be elsewhere. There were too many people depending on her to err now.
In the end, her own anxieties won out and concern about his impressions of her fell lower and lower on her list. Still, an unwillingness to compromise their working relationship took hold. In this mood—this stubborn, defensive, wracked mood—it was best to simply be terse. He didn't want her to stop flirting, but he did want to keep things professional—it was too much for her to sort out right now. Katerina saw the frown that would mar his brow and make the thought of kissing that scarred lip even more tempting, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything about it. Sleepless nights and tortured dreams sapped her energy in a way she hadn't felt since that first trek to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.
It took them two weeks to reach Griffon Wing Keep where they rendezvoused with the main host of the Inquisition's armies. The troops had marched out several weeks ahead of them, followed closely by wagons and carts laden with food, weapons, and a wide variety of herbs and poultices.
The night they arrived at the desert keep, a cheer went up among the troops camped around its walls. It startled her from her exhausted daze. It was as if they could sense her anxiety and were determined to jolt her out of it. The newcomers quickly settled in, taking advantage of the tents set up for them in the walls of the fortress. A hush settled over the keep as the inevitability of their situation set in. They would begin the march to Adamant Fortress in two days and it weighed heavily on everyone.
Soldiers and her companions sat about the fires inside the keep's walls, quiet save a few low murmurs and crackling fires. It made her shoulders itch.
"What a cheery lot," Dorian observed. His mercurial gaze swept about the camp and his mustache fluttered with his huff. "Rather more like a death march than a conquering army."
"And what do you suggest we do?" Cassandra asked from the Inquisitor's other side. "Run about with our knickers on our heads?"
"Seeker!" Varric gasped in mock-surprise. "Is that a sense of humor I hear?"
"I think Cassandra wants to show you her knickers, Varric!" Hawke teased, grinning broadly at the Seeker's reddening cheeks.
Dorian ignored them all and called to the next fire over where the Iron Bull and his Chargers sat. "Bull! Did you bring any ale?"
"Of course, Dorian," the Qunari called back. The men and women in earshot perked up at the Qunari's easy confirmation. "Are we breaking into the stash, boss?"
Katerina stole a glance at the soldiers around her, seeing the tentative hope in their eyes and the weary expressions that practically begged for a change of pace. They knew the risks they were taking, knew many were walking to their deaths—they needed to celebrate life while they could. She didn't have the heart to disappoint them just to continue her own sulking.
"Get the axes, Krem."
Her words were met with a cheer from the Chargers and excited whispers from the other soldiers. They quickly amassed around the kegs of ale that the mercenaries rolled out. The camp began to buzz with life once more and music soon followed. Voices rose in song, spurred on by those clapping the beat and shouting encouragement. Cards materialized and stories abounded. A desperate levity swept through their camp, a sharp undercurrent to the bawdy songs rising with the smoke only to be swept away by the cold desert winds.
Cullen came back from inspecting their supplies and the siege machines, his ears perking at the singing and raucous laughter echoing through the stone walls of the keep. A few people waylaid him with reports and supply counts that he'd requested, but none of it held his attention. As he mounted the stairs to the uppermost level, he found a strange scene.
The Inquisitor was being whirled about by the Iron Bull as the troops clapped along to the music. And the Bull was singing, something about a soldier with a mighty sword and tearing a city down. The overt innuendo earned a few merry hoots. The Qunari waggled his brow at the giggling mage before releasing her. She quickly snatched Dorian's hand and he joined her in the strange dance as she started to sing about a poet slaying with his tongue.
The soldiers cackled and applauded her verse. By a nearby fire, Varric was watching the scene raptly, he noticed, almost assuredly taking mental notes for his next novel. Even Cassandra and the austere Vivienne couldn't hide their smiles. Maybe the game was crass, but the way she so easily slipped in and out of her Inquisitor mantle was something to be admired. Right now, she seemed like one of them, bringing happiness to her soldiers with drinks and lewd tavern songs. The Commander shook his head as the scene unfolded before him and he contented himself with watching from the periphery.
Katerina practically glowed in the golden firelight though the full moon crowned her in silver. Her bright smile and willingness to dance a turn with anyone bold enough to ask left the soldiers in awe of her. He saw more than one poor sap shake themselves out of a daze when she flitted out of their arms. She even got the stern Blackwall to dance a round with her before slipping away to take a turn with the Chargers' lieutenant.
When she begged off to fetch another drink, Cullen saw through the celebratory veneer. Her bright smile didn't meet her eyes, lined and tight with suppressed emotion. She slipped through the soldiers towards the ale. When no one paid her any mind, she veered off to the battlements. A few beats later, one of the guards assigned to the watch came down with a puzzled frown. Cullen knew then that she'd sent the man down to enjoy himself so she could be alone.
The Commander chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment as he debated going after her. On the one hand, she probably needed someone to share her burdens with. But that didn't mean it had to be him. It was probably better if it were anyone else. He'd seen the flush on her cheeks and felt the charged air between them after his "pep talk" in her rooms that one night. Even before that, it was hard not to notice the way she started avoiding him except for work. He knew exactly why she did it—their argument still loomed over their previously easy relationship, and added to the tension caused by his unwavering attraction to her. Cullen couldn't believe he'd called their flirtation inappropriate, that he'd nearly lectured her about it—He hadn't stopped kicking himself in the weeks since.
"You should talk to the boss," a gruff voice said from beside the general.
Cullen started at the Qunari's silent appearance. He'd been lost in thought, certainly, but the horned man's ability to move like a shadow was something he hadn't expected. He slowly took the flagon the spy offered him but didn't drink.
"Sorry about that. Old habits die hard." Bull shrugged and sipped lazily from his flagon of ale as his eye scanned the crowd. "She did some good here, lifting the soldiers' spirits and reminding them of things to live for. She even got Vivienne to crack a smile."
"A miracle in and of itself," Cullen agreed with a wry smile.
"Right? That woman is more than a little tamassran." He watched the dark-skinned woman with an unreadable stare for a long moment. "She always calls me 'dear.'"
"And you call her 'ma'am.'"
"It's a little taste of home." Iron Bull slanted him a searching glance. "You know the boss is having a tough time with this. She's not a fighter. Don't get me wrong, she fights when needed and she's good at setting people on fire, but she never seeks out action. It doesn't take a Ben-Hassrath to see that she's struggling."
Cullen sipped the dark ale to buy himself a beat. He knew that the Inquisitor was a reluctant warrior at best. He recalled her saying once that she missed her little garden and the library in the Circle. Like most Circle mages, she'd lived a sheltered life. Constant warfare was taking its toll.
"Why don't you talk to her, then?" he asked eventually.
The horned man chuckled at that, like it was a private joke that only Cullen wasn't in on. "Because I'm not the one who went and fell in love with her. Also, I've got money on you winning her over. Dorian thinks it's you, too. Sera thinks the Warden will win out because he's 'broody and bushy.'"
"You're betting on her love life?" Cullen sputtered, glowering up at the Qunari.
"Sure." The Bull shrugged at that, unbothered by the blond man's glare. "It builds camaraderie."
"It bui—No, she deserves better than that."
Iron Bull chuckled again, shaking his head at the other man's indignation. "She knows about it and doesn't mind; she even asks for updates on the pot. Nobles are used to these things—the servants gossip and trade bets on affairs and proposals just like other nobles do. She grew up with it and knows how to ignore it. It's you common boys that need to get over an over-inflated sense of honor."
Cullen's face twisted at that as he looked back over the raucous crowd. The spirited singing and happy cries were because of her. She'd given this night to them, given them permission to celebrate their lives and their work, even when she hadn't felt that same merriment. That she'd slipped away so quietly that no one noticed her absence was enough to quell the urge to follow her. If she wanted solitude, he owed it to her to respect that.
"Pull your head out of your ass, general, and go get the girl already. We're all sick of waiting." Iron Bull shoved an empty cup into the man's hands before he herded the Commander towards the ale barrels. "Get her a drink and keep her warm."
"No, I—" The Qunari warrior simply left, cutting the Commander off with a jaunty wave of his massive hand. "—can't," Cullen finished lamely.
He looked between the flickering firelight where soldiers continued singing and trading jokes, their laughter spiking through the night and the dark stairs where the Inquisitor had disappeared. Everything in him screamed to follow her, to set things right before the siege. This might very well be his last chance to talk to her. Almost without thinking, Cullen moved to fill the second tankard Bull had thrust into his hands. Only when he saw the Grey Warden's gaze linger on the stairs did the general move swiftly, consciously forward. Let the Warden find his entertainment elsewhere that night. When Bull swung Dorian into a wild dance, all eyes flew to the odd, laughing pair. Even Blackwall was distracted by the sight, giving the general the opportunity to climb the stairs unnoticed.
Cullen flew up to the ramparts and glanced about for that familiar dark head. He didn't see her anywhere, and she was a hard woman to miss. He forced himself to slow, allowing his eyes to adjust to the silvery moonlight without the bright fires. It was all silver and shadow and distant watchmen. After taking a few turns and still not seeing her, he wondered if she'd somehow disappeared into her tent after all.
"He stood there under the willow, and he gave her the yellow bloom..."
The faint song caught his ear over the raucous celebrations below, echoing from within and without the keep. It seemed that everyone had decided to make the most of this last night of safety. But that soft song continued to hum and pulse under the tide of sound from below, drawing him forward.
"'Girl, my heart you've captured—oh, I would be your groom…'" The quiet refrain grew louder as rounded a corner and found her sitting against the stone wall and staring up at the sky. "She said she'd wed him never, not near, not far, nor soon."
"I didn't know you could sing," he interrupted, watching the Inquisitor's face fall into shadow as she snapped about to look at him. Lamely, he held the tankard out to her. "Here."
Katerina took it after a pause, her heart hammering in her throat at his unexpected appearance. She forced her fingers to grasp the drink, not to shake or spill it. She hadn't expected anyone to notice her disappearance much less come after her. But of course it was him. Somehow, it was always him.
"Thanks," she rasped, tongue darting out to wet her lips.
The quiet dragged between them, insurmountable and yawning. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and she pretended not to notice.
"Inquisi—Kat." Cullen's voice softened when he said her name. It was tender, like a prayer or a whispered secret. He heard her sharp breath at the way he said it and knew she was listening. "Do you mind if I join you?"
She shrugged. "It's a free wall—I think."
He folded himself in beside her, careful not to spill his drink or get hopelessly tangled in his cloak. The last thing he needed was to once more make an ass of himself in front of her. They sat close, barely touching and each intensely aware of the other. The hairs on his arms stood on end at her nearness and Katerina's skin prickled. She ignored her body's reaction to him, forcing her gaze up to the twinkling stars above.
"I'd ask if you're alright, but that seems like a foolish question," Cullen said, his dry words breaking the tense silence. "What can I do to make this better?"
"Can you find a way to speak sense to the Wardens? To avert the siege altogether?" Stormy gray eyes cut over to him, lids heavy and dark circles apparent even in the shadows.
"You know I would if I could." He sipped from his ale and stole a look at her—really looked at her for the first time in what felt like weeks. "How long has it been since you slept?"
She shrugged and let her head fall back against the cold stone. "I don't know. How long has it been since we saw grass?"
Cullen felt his eyes widen in surprise; she hadn't slept in five days. It certainly explained a lot. He'd been stewing over her sudden coldness on the journey, her clipped words and short responses. But she was exhausted and frightened. His stomach sank like a ball of lead in a pond. His Inquisitor needed sleep.
"Inquisitor, you should—no, you need to rest." He took her hand, dangling from its resting place atop her knee, and tried not to wince when she snatched it back like she'd been burned. "I need you strong."
"I'll be ready to fight, Commander, don't fret." A bout of laughter rose to cut her off, echoing out over the empty sands. "You should go mingle with the troops; I hear that's good for morale."
"Their morale is fine. I'm more concerned with yours." Cullen frowned at the weariness lining her face. "Kat, please. Talk to me."
"About what, Commander?" The question came out on a sigh as she watched a cloud skate across the moon. "The nightmares I can't remember or the concerns I've expressed a hundred times already? The siege is now inevitable, so I can't see what it matters."
He couldn't deny the truth behind her words, however bitter she sounded. "Perhaps we did rush this, but you must know—"
"There was no other option," she finished for him. "I know. Corypheus forced our hand, so this is the only way."
"You've taken keeps before," Cullen said, trying to force some optimism into his voice. It sounded strained even to his ears as he squeezed it out past the lump in his throat. "But now you've got backup."
"Thank you." She said it softly, so polite that Cullen wasn't even certain she meant it. But she nudged him with her knee. That one little touch assured him that she did, though the mage kept her gaze locked on the sky.
Voices below were raised in a bawdy tavern song that grew louder with each line while the pair fell into another silence. This one, however, was companionable. Past the lewd words he could hear the wind teasing the sands, the flapping of the banners, and her quiet breathing.
"How did you start singing?" he asked, breaking the peaceful stillness at length.
"Hm? Oh." Kat sat up straighter and stifled a yawn. "I wasn't proficient at any instruments—the harp, the viol, the harpsichord. I was all thumbs. It was honestly painful for anyone listening to my bumbling. As a last resort, the tutor turned to singing."
"You've a lovely voice, how is that a last resort?" He balked at the thought of her sweet voice being anything less than adored.
"Singing isn't ladylike. It contorts the face into unattractive expressions that might deter a suitor, or so said my mother." Katerina let her head loll to the side so she could watch him. "She was determined that her daughters be accomplished young ladies, so I've learned languages, embroidery, music, dances, and how to signal a coup with a fan."
"You—what?" Cullen sputtered, wiping away a small dribble of ale from his chin. It was worth it when she chuckled at him.
"That was a joke, Commander, though I did learn fan language. And flower language." Those bright eyes rolled at that when she turned back to watching the sky. "Talk about utter tripe."
"You mean you don't want to start a civil war with a bouquet?"
"Of course I did, but noblemen are never that interesting."
He chuckled at that, relieved that all the weight on her shoulders hadn't taken away her ability to crack a joke. The stars twinkled down on them, reflecting in her eyes and making his stomach clench. Even when exhausted she was beautiful. A gust of wind tore through them then, sending a shiver through her lithe frame. Cullen instantly regretted not grabbing a spare blanket to tuck around her.
"Here," he said, beginning to shrug out of his thick, scarlet cloak. "I won't have you cold—"
"Then you'll be cold, and I'll feel like an ass. Just…" Katerina stayed him with a patient hand, pink tongue darting out to wet her lips. She debated for a moment, wondering if she dared be so bold as to press against him and share the warmth of their bodies. Realizing that she may not survive the siege, Katerina threw caution to the wind. Let him think her forward; there would be no reputation to worry about if she died. She lifted his arm and squirmed her way against him. "Is this alright?"
"Y-yes." Cullen's breath caught in his throat at her nearness. The length of her was pressed against him and her sweet scent filled his nose—it was almost too much. Holding her so left his stomach in knots and had his heart galloping faster than an Orlesian racer. Even tucked under his arm and half-wrapped in his cloak, he could feel her shivering a bit.
He swallowed roughly and said a silent prayer for strength before murmuring, "You're still cold."
"No, I'm fine," she denied, though the way she nestled closer told him otherwise. Katerina, for her part, wanted to feel him surrounding her. The smell of him, all leather and sandalwood and something uniquely him, affected her more than the ale. It was addicting.
"How did you stay warm after Haven?" he asked, voice so low that she only heard the question because his lips tickled her ear as he formed the words. "Go on and do that."
Katerina frowned up at him, so close that their noses nearly collided. "Cullen, it's magic. I won't make you uncomfortable—"
"I trust you, Kat. Do it."
His soft words hung between them as she searched his face for any fear or hesitation. She found only a warm smile and a relaxed brow. He really did trust her, it seemed. Here he was, with a mage practically curled in his lap on an empty stretch of battlement, and he trusted her to cast a spell for warmth. It truly was a far cry from the man he'd described himself to be a few short years before.
Her walls crumbled at his sincerity. She nuzzled her head against his shoulder so that her lips tickled against his neck when she spoke. "Would you like me to share it with you?"
Cullen stilled at that, knowing she could feel how he froze before he squeezed her waist. "I-I think I would."
And he meant it. Cullen wanted to share that with her, to feel that integral, intimate part of her surrounding him. It was a way to grow closer to her. He wanted to show her—and himself—that he trusted her. He felt that familiar pull at the Fade as if someone were tugging gently at the hair on the back of his neck and knew that cool rush would soon send waves of goosebumps over his skin. It happened as he expected, but the air around him felt warmer. It was like a balmy, sunny day had dawned in the air against his skin. That was the spell, he realized as his muscles relaxed under the warmth.
"Is that alright?" Kat asked, watching him closely. "Too warm? Not warm enough—or do you need me to stop? Just say the word."
He squeezed her fondly and almost purred when she curled her legs over his thigh. "It's perfect."
"Will you be terribly put out if I nod off on you?" she asked with a yawn.
"Not at all." Cullen ghosted his lips over her temple when she relaxed into him.
Muscles that had been coiled tight with the cold and her anxieties softened, and her breath evened out on his neck. The warm puffs lit his nerves aflame in the sweetest torment. Knowing how she felt curled against him, her magic warming his skin, and her pink lips tickling his neck when she spoke was a delicious pain. He wanted this and so much more.
"I'm glad you're not wearing armor," Kat said sleepily as her eyes grew heavy. "You feel so good."
He silently cursed at that, squeezing his eyes shut against the improper images that flooded through his head. Images of her straddling him as he buried himself deep within her and stretching her silken heat; flickers of holding her against a stone wall and pressing into her from behind as he murmured every depraved thing he wanted to do to her in that delicate ear; a dark desire to have her mouth on him—he forced those away, begging his body not to react. He couldn't, not with her softer curves pressed so close. Not during such a sweet, peaceful moment.
Instead, he gently shushed her and rested his cheek against her head. "I'm sorry for what I said in the training yard."
She hummed absently, her nose brushing against his throat. "For our fight? Or for basically calling me a hussy?"
"All of it." Cullen's fingers found her hair and twisted the silken ends. "You shouldn't have ridden out unprotected, but I shouldn't have shouted at you for it. And I like it when you flirt—"
"Cullen, just stop. We were both in the wrong." A yawn cracked her jaw then, cutting off whatever else she might have said.
"Just sleep, Kat."
"As you command."
And she did. For the first time in nearly a week, the Inquisitor slept without nightmares or worries waking her. Cullen allowed himself to watch her and run his fingers through the ends of her curls as she slumbered against him. Content that she was finally resting (and stubbornly refusing to think about why she could sleep so soundly in his arms but not in her own bed), he allowed his own eyes to droop shut. He didn't know how long they were like that, but dawn was peaking over the horizon when someone shook him awake. Amber eyes flew open and met a silvery pair rimmed with kohl.
"Such a pity to wake you, but we need to return the Inquisitor to her tent," Dorian said quietly.
Cullen nodded groggily and forced his stiff muscles to move. Her spell had worn off at some point while they slept, allowing the cold to set in. His body groaned and creaked when he unfolded himself, but he ignored it. With the mage's help, he was able to disentangle himself from the Inquisitor. The Commander waved away his offer of help from there, instead hauling her into his arms. He wasn't ready to let her go yet.
"You make such a charming pair," the mage teased as he kept pace with the general. "Have you given any thought to wooing the lady?"
"I don't see how that is anyone's concern," Cullen replied stiffly.
"Her happiness is my concern." Dorian pulled back the flap of her tent and watched the blond man settle his friend into her cot. The tender way he pulled the blankets up to her chin did not go unnoticed, nor did her little murmur when the soldier drew back. "Is she always so… so good?"
"I've never known her to be anything less." The ex-templar tilted his head at the other man, curiously searching the mage for any hint of an ulterior motive. Finding none, Cullen asked, "You truly care for her, don't you?"
Dorian licked his lips, weighing his response to the loaded question. "I detest confessions so let me just say this. Katerina has shown me a level of acceptance and compassion I never thought to find again. It—I don't have any siblings, but she's what I imagine having a sister is like." The mage shot him a glower so stern that his mustache bristled. "You make her happy—give her peace. She needs that. And I have no qualms about making your life miserable if you hurt her."
The siege began at dawn and lasted well into the evening. Trebuchets launched their ballast, often set aflame by the mages, and tore apart the ancient walls. Inquisition soldiers flew up ladders and engaged the warriors above them. Rocks and arrows rained down, making every step a hard-won gift. Lightning strikes homed in on the archers while flames engulfed the demons, allowing the ground forces to create a shield wall around the battering ram. It was already upon the fortress when the Wardens noticed.
Cullen strode behind the ram, shield held aloft to cover himself and the woman at his side. Three hard strikes had the doors crashing open. Their forces rushed in to engage the Wardens there. Shouts and cries of pain filled the air, echoing eerily through the smoke and ash.
"Pull back!" an armored warrior cried from atop the battlements. "They're through!"
The general held the other troops at bay as the advance team cleared the courtyard. Katerina went in with them, followed by Dorian, Blackwall, and the Iron Bull. Loghain trailed behind them, his expression hard with determination. The courtyard cleared, the Inquisitor allowed herself a wince, flexing her left hand as it sparked and burned beneath her leather gauntlet.
Once the troops had advanced to give aide on the walls, Cullen followed her in. He gripped his weapon tightly, helmet tucked under his other arm. Keeping his hands occupied was the only thing that kept him from hauling her far away from war or dragging her into a bruising embrace. If he could take her place and send her back to safety, he would. But they both had jobs to do. There was no choice but to send her off to battle Wardens and demons and blood magic.
"Alright, Inquisitor," he called, drawing close. He forced himself to be brusque, all business. "You have your way in. Best make use of it. We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can."
"I'll be fine, just keep the men safe," she ordered, ignoring the flames burning behind her. "Cullen—don't take any risks."
Maker, he hated this. His face screwed up with emotion as he forced himself to send her into the thick of this mess. Memorizing her face, he said, "We'll do what we have to, Inquisitor. Warden Mac Tir will guard your back, and Hawke is with our soldiers on the battlements. She's assisting them until you arrive."
A helpless cry from above them had Cullen jerking her behind him, just in time to avoid the soldier thrown to his death from above. A shade peered down at them, its talons curling in anticipation, before it drifted away with a hiss.
"There's too much resistance on the walls," Cullen surmised, knowing he had no choice but to heap another task upon those slender shoulders. "Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold. If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we'll cover your advance."
With that, the general tore himself away to oversee the troops. He had no choice. If he lingered, he knew he'd haul her close and kiss her, and if he kissed her… Well, Cullen was fairly certain that if he kissed her, he'd carry her off to a cabin in some distant woods where war couldn't find them. They couldn't do that, so he had to send her in with her team to do what they'd done before—but that didn't make it hurt any less. Cullen donned his helm once more and joined his soldiers on the front lines with a signal to Vivienne and Cassandra in the rear.
The thrum of magic filled the air, making his skin crackle with awareness as he shouted his commands. It was bright and familiar behind him, wrong and sickening up ahead. He recognized the feel of it from Kinloch Hold—it left a taste in his mouth akin to old blood, writhing like a nest of snakes over his skin.
Blood magic.
Wardens on the walls began to fall, their demons melting away as the host's tie was severed. Inquisition troops began to advance, their Commander climbing up with them to take the walls. Lightning sparked further into the fortress and the flashes of fire followed in quick succession. Dark laughter echoed over the clashes and clangs of swords, a twisted undercurrent to the soldiers' shouts.
As they advanced, they came upon Wardens holding their hands aloft before diving into battle against their own kin. The mages were tricky, but easily subdued once Vivienne and her unit arrived. The demons fell faster and faster now, easing their advance through the fortress.
Cullen fought back-to-back with Cassandra for a while, the Seeker's familiar grunts as she blocked and parried assuring him that all was well.
Then she whirled away to dance around a rage demon, the flares of her suppression tugging at the nape of his neck. Vivienne soon joined him, the frigid hum of her magic like a cloak at his back. Her magical blade swung deadly and true.
For a brief moment, Cullen allowed himself to hope that this would end relatively quickly when it happened. All at once, a sickening green light flared from the heart of the fortress and a shriek straight from his nightmares filled the air.
"The Archdemon!" the Seeker shouted in alarm.
Something had gone horribly wrong.
A dark shadow blotted out the moon as it circled lower, that unnatural flame raining down on the center of the fortress. All its focus was aimed there, right where he instinctively knew Katerina to be. With a desperate vigor, Cullen and his troops hewed through their enemies, forcing a path to the Inquisitor as quickly as they could. Vivienne and Cassandra pushed themselves harder too, that same fear and despair spurring them into a flurry of motion.
It felt like years but could only have been mere minutes later when they crashed through to the bloody central yard. Bodies littered the ground, their throats slits and blood staining the stones. The coppery smell permeated the air, thick and putrid, and set several of the soldiers to retching. Demons spilled through the giant rift undulating and pulsing at the center of the scene, barely held at bay by some of the other Wardens.
The Inquisitor was nowhere to be found.
With a snarled curse, Cullen barked for the Inquisition forces to engage the demons and they leapt into the fray once more. Steel clashed and shouts filled the air.
The occasional screech from the damned dragon drowned it all out as it circled the keep. Jets of unnatural red flame tore through the smoke and ash. But onwards they fought, beating back this wave of demons with grim determination.
After wading through a field of demons, there was a moment to breathe. Cullen allowed himself a measured sip of water before passing the skin to the First Enchanter at his shoulder. She nearly choked on it when a cry went up.
"Look! Up there, the Inquisitor!"
On a battlement high above them, the faintest spark of magic caught his gaze. Kat stood against Warden-Commander Clarel, a horned figure striding at her side. He could see the familiar glint of her staff, the dark leathers billowing in the wind. And then the dragon swept low, snatching Clarel in its jaws.
It paced closer to the Inquisitor, the old stones of the fortress cracking and protesting the massive beast's weight. They were trapped between the Archdemon and a precipice, steadily backing away and rapidly running out of options.
The bony black dragon glinted like ebony in the moonlight, its bone-chilling shriek echoing over the sprawling sands.
An explosion, violet lightning and smoke caught the beast, sending it toppling over the edge.
The troops cried out, scattering as it plummeted towards the ground before righting itself and flying away with a final screech. The downward gust from its wings knocked Cullen to the ground, but still he couldn't look away from the ledge that held her.
It creaked and moaned before the ancient stones crumbled away. They crashed like thunder and toppled like a row of dominoes, raining down to the ground below. Smoke and ash and debris filled the air, making it impossible to see anything except a bright flare of green.
He was temporarily blinded by the flash but blinked it away just in time. Something—or someone wriggled out of the rubble. A man, pale and inky haired, with a staff and Venatori robes.
"Take him prisoner!" Cullen cried, directing a trio of soldiers to bind the man and carry him off. The rift hissed and pulsed then. "Demons! Be ready."
A fresh wave of demons materialized with a hiss like water dripping on hot oil. The general leapt back into the fray with a snarl. He soon lost all sense of time as he hacked and slashed, shouting commands, and simply fighting to stay alive. The Inquisitor was lost, and the demons never stopped coming. Dust filled his mouth, dry and ashen, underscoring the acrid taste of grief.
She was gone.
Slash.
She was gone.
Block.
Katerina was gone.
Thrust.
Time slowed and melted away until it lost all meaning. There was only the endless stream of demons, only the grunts and cries as demons and soldiers alike fell around him. He channeled all his rage, all his grief into the fight. Muscles screamed with exhaustion and his body felt numb with adrenaline, but Cullen didn't care. His heart had broken when she fell, and all he wanted was to hack and slash at the creature responsible for taking her away. That wasn't an option, so demons would have to suffice. He knew it was only a matter of time before they were overrun, but he would take out as many of these monsters as he could before succumbing.
"Herald!" someone cried.
That was all the warning Cullen had before the demons fell prostrate and twisted in on themselves. The creatures were sucked back into the rift before it collapsed with a resounding boom. His heart leapt—only one person could exercise such control of the rifts. Did he dare hope?
He pushed through the cheering soldiers, his quaking muscles and desperately aching heart driving him onwards. Cullen had to know. The soldiers' cries of celebration hid his muffled sob when he saw her.
She was here.
Dirt and dust streaked her face and tears cut tracks in the grime, but she stood there taut and determined. It wasn't a trick—she was really here. Katerina looked over the soldiers, her expression fierce despite the tears streaking down her cheeks. Inquisition troops and Wardens alike stood together, staring at her in awe as they shifted warily.
"She was right." Marion Hawke strode up beside Cullen, then, clapping him on the shoulder and exchanging a glance with Blackwall. "Without the nightmare to control them, the mages are free and Corypheus loses his demon army."
He blinked at that, confused by the specifics of her statement. But a glance around him showed the truth underscoring her words. Warden mages were blinking dazedly up at their comrades as swords were held at their throats. The demons had vanished, leaving only anger and confusion in their wake. A tense stillness settled over the courtyard.
Beside him, Vivienne hissed and her dark fingers rose up to his side. "Commander, you need medical attention."
"No, I'm fine," he said, blinking away dark spots dancing before his eyes. His Kat was back, alive and safe, and he was so close… He swayed where he stood, shaking his head to clear the fog settling over him.
A sharp prod to the side had him biting back a pained curse before an elegant finger was held aloft. It glistened red with blood. His blood. It was only then that he felt the fiery pain licking at his side and the way his clothes stuck to his clammy skin. With a final glance back at his Inquisitor, Cullen allowed the First Enchanter to have a soldier lead him away. He exchanged a few curt words with one of his lieutenants before departing the courtyard.
"Though, as far as they're concerned," Hawke said wryly to the Inquisitor, one russet brow quirking up at the other woman, "the Inquisitor broke the spell with the blessing of the Maker."
"They came out of this alive," Cullen heard her say in that voice that slid like silk across his skin. "As far as I'm concerned, they can tell whatever stories they like."
"Big legend," Hawke said with a nod. "Hope you live up to it."
A soldier trotted up to the Inquisitor then, bowing at her with a hand over his heart as he said, "Inquisitor, the Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive. Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself. As for the Wardens, those who weren't corrupted helped us fight the demons."
Katerina watched as a Warden warrior came up to the lieutenant's side. His winged helmet glinted in the dusty darkness as he saluted her. "We stand ready to help make up for Clarel's… tragic mistake. Where is Loghain?"
That set a fresh bout of tears burning her eyes, but she blinked them back. She needed to be strong right now, a symbol of endurance and resiliency. Her weeping would do no one any good.
"Warden Loghain died striking a blow against a servant of the Blight," she said, pitching her voice so that everyone could hear. The words nearly stuck in her throat, but she forced them out past the knot of grief. "We will honor his sacrifice and remember how he exemplified the ideals of the Grey Wardens—even as Corypheus and his servants tried to destroy you all from within."
"Inquisitor," the Warden said, "we have no one left of any significant rank. What do we do now?"
"You stay and do whatever you can to help."
Katerina barreled forward, searching for Varric and the others at the healers' tents that had sprung up on the edge of the battle. Wardens and Inquisition soldiers alike received care at the hands of Chantry sisters, surgeons, and mages. The pained moans of the wounded and dying filled the air, replacing the clashing steel and battle cries of earlier. The acrid scent of smoke and ash mingled with the metallic smell of blood and sharp elfroot.
The Seeker followed hot on her heals, a storm cloud marring her elegant features. "After all that, you give them yet another chance?"
Vivienne was right there as well, somehow looking pristine despite being in the thick of it. "Are you flinging these fools at demons now, my dear? Couldn't you just use rocks?"
The Inquisitor ignored them both as she sought her conspicuously absent companions and Commander. It wasn't like Varric, Krem, or Solas to be missing from the heart of the action. All she wanted to do was see that everyone was alright. She needed to know—needed to confirm that she didn't have their blood on her hands too.
She found the dwarf sitting up while a medic stitched his thigh, talking quietly with Hawke. The fierce woman softened as she spoke with her old friend, smiling easily and holding his hand as the needle flashed in the torchlight. When she saw the Inquisitor draw close, she rose with a smile.
"While he recovers, I'll inform the Wardens at Weisshaupt what's happened," she said, stretching her tired muscles. "Best they not get caught off-guard."
The dwarf shook his head, hissing as the medic jostled him a bit. "Glad to see you in one piece, Firecracker. Let's hope your decision to recruit the Wardens pays off."
Hawke pressed a fond kiss to the dwarf's cheek before clapping a hand to the Inquisitor's shoulder. "You've got a lot more blood ahead of you—fight well. And take care of Varric for me."
"I don't need a babysitter!" he called after the other woman, huffing a laugh as she simply waved and melted into the bustle. "Have you seen Curly yet?"
"No," Katerina said. "I assumed he was occupied elsewhere."
"Please, as if anything but serious injury or death could keep him from running to your side after… whatever you did with the rift."
Cassandra grunted her disapproval of the entire situation and glowered at the pair. "I'm more concerned with your foolish decision to recruit the Wardens. They have already proven themselves susceptible to Corypheus's influence—and now you wish to put them in his way again!"
"Enough. How are you, Varric?" she asked, stern gaze tracking the medic bandaging his wound.
He waved dismissively. "I'm fine, Firecracker. I've had worse scrapes than this—don't worry. You really should go find Cullen. He's in a bad way."
"It's true, my dear," Vivienne confirmed, resting a hand on the Inquisitor's shoulder. "I discovered the belly wound and sent him off for immediate medical attention."
Katerina's blood ran cold at that, and she immediately began searching for any sign of him. In the crowd and swirling dust, she found nothing. Not his familiar blond hair or the bear fur mantle. Bile rose in her throat as her imagination ran wild. She had some experience with healing, having worked in the Circle's infirmary for a time. She could remember the lectures from Enchanter Elara, the resident healer, about repairing organs and knitting flesh, the gruesome sketches in the books she studied. That Cullen had been injured there, in such a weak spot, turned her blood to ice.
A healer passed by with a stack of towels and bandages, and the Inquisitor pulled her to a stop. "Do you know where Commander Cullen is?"
With a few gentle directions and a leaden stomach, Katerina marched through the wounded to find her general. She quickly found the tent the healer had mentioned and pushed her way in. Blood and elfroot created a strange perfume, one that was all too familiar to her after her adventures. It wasn't a scent she'd ever wanted to associate with Cullen. He was supposed to smell of sunlight and leather and something wholly masculine, not like this. The man in question was stretched on a cot, covered only with a sheet and a sheen of sweat, as Solas cleaned the wound.
The elf looked up at her arrival and nodded, his brow knit with concentration. "Wash up, quickly. I'm going to need your help."
Katerina did as he instructed, letting her staff and filthy coat drop as she quickly scrubbed her face and hands. It was a familiar routine. She'd clean herself before healing her companions or the wounded who came to the Circle for help. 'Clean hands save lives,' she remembered Enchanter Elara saying.
"He's lost a great deal of blood and there may be some internal bleeding," Solas told her as she toweled off. "One of the terrors struck him, and he continued fighting after. We need to work quickly."
"Is he conscious at all?" she asked, joining the elf to examine the wound. The angry gash oozed blood, the skin around it red and irritated where it should have been smooth and pale.
"In and out," the elf said, wiping away the blood. "I've exhausted my mana in the battle and in healing the others. You'll need to do this."
She nodded, resigned and determined to do whatever she must to keep her Commander by her side. If he didn't like her using magic to save his life, he could pull through and yell at her later. It may cost her his trust, but at least he would live to feel betrayed. After downing a small bottle of diluted lyrium to bolster her magic, Katerina drew on the Fade and carefully pressed her fingers into the wound.
Cullen cried out and shifted in his fevered sleep, stilling only when Solas used a final burst of energy to force him unconscious.
She'd frozen with two fingers inside him, trembling with the effort to stay perfectly still until he settled once more. The magic rushed from her hands and into him, acting as her eyes to find any wrongs. She worked to knit his veins back together, to inspect and repair his spleen, heal his bruised ribs—it was a slow process. Each correction sapped her strength a little more.
He was eerily still beneath her sure touch as she sought any fragments left behind by the monster that did this, any sign of infection or internal bleeding. She knew it must hurt unbearably to feel his body working overtime to heal itself, knew that the feel of magic on him—inside him would likely not sit well with the ex-templar. She was violating him on such a visceral level that Kat wouldn't blame him for never speaking to her again.
But she couldn't care.
In that moment, all that mattered was keeping him alive.
Sweat beaded on his brow and his mouth twisted in his sleep. She sensed more than saw when Solas dabbed a damp towel over the Commander's face before refocusing on the task at hand. The worst was over, so now her blood-stained fingers traced the edges of the wound. Her magic had the skin knitting itself back together with a sound like rustling leather.
Solas politely pretended not to notice when she emptied the contents of her stomach in the chamber pot in the corner, something she was eternally grateful for. Katerina fell back when it was over, feeling the last of her mana drain away as she finished. She wobbled, catching herself on the edge of the cot when she tried to rise. Muscles trembled with exertion and her stomach rocked like a ship on a stormy sea. A firm hand on her shoulder told her to stay put while Solas inspected her handiwork.
"Well done, my friend." He nodded at her and folded the rag stained with the Commander's blood. "Now all we can do is wait."