Following several days of marching with the water supply running somewhat low, the Inquisition's forces encamped at a small oasis. The water here was no more than a murky, burbling brook, but at least it was water in the middle of a seemingly endless expanse of desert. And with some rudimentary filtration and boiling, the soldiers could quench their thirst and the Inquisition could even replenish its supply.
After a meal of dry rations and the final order for the night, the Commander settled in front of a huge campfire burning brightly in the middle of the camp. It was, of course, a risk to have a fire going that large since it could act as an unwitting beacon and draw in potential enemies, but so was the camp itself. In the middle of a sandy, flat terrain, it was impossible to hide away thousands. With constant patrols and Leliana's people surveilling the surrounding areas, however, the camp was as secure and safe as could be.
Cullen spaced out. A habit he had picked up at Haven, he watched the flame of the campfire ceaselessly break and then converge in hazy, everchanging gambols. He listened to the mixed sounds of soldiers and mages chatting around him. Many were making plans for after the expedition, so joyfully optimistic even after the loss of the Inquisitor. A leave to see one's family, a visit to the Herald's Rest – a morbid name for the tavern now – with close comrades, a proposal of marriage to the one's beloved… The optimism accentuated for Cullen his own dispiritedness and forced a heavy sigh out of him.
"You remember how the Inquisitor often came to drink with us and the Chargers? Well, before he went teetotal, I guess," someone spoke in a gruff tone, though still trying to keep his voice low. Cullen looked up to find its source was a soldier on the opposite side of the campfire. The man continued, "He was a fun person. 'M gonna miss him."
"Yeah, me too," replied another voice, softer and hushed. "D'you remember when he won that drinking competition against the Iron Bull?"
"How could anyone forget, that was a wild night! I think they both threw up after?" Following a brief respite in which both soldiers looked down as though to pay respect, the gruff voiced one added, "I'll name my son after the Inquisitor. Haretharin. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
The other soldier frowned. "Really? That's a knife-ear name."
Cullen took a sharp inhale. He balled his hands into fists. But the gruff voiced soldier spoke up, "Hey now, don't be a hateful little shit. Elves have feelings too."
"The Inquisitor wasn't one of them elves."
The gruff voiced soldier pulled the other one's helmet down, making him squirm. "He was half, you dipshit. Don't be disrespecting."
"Alright, fine!" The other soldier adjusted the helmet and huffed, his voice rising and ringing clearly over the din of the campfire. "Fine, it's a great name."
Cullen exhaled, glad the situation had been propitiated. If the other one kept insulting, Cullen was sure he would have confronted the man.
His mind drifted to the image of Tharin coolly recounting his life in the tavern at Haven. Maker, the man was young, and Cullen was so enamored. Limerence was the sweetest. And now that he had a chance to properly love the man, the Maker took him.
The punishment Cullen deserved, yet it still hurt. He drew a shaky breath, gathered his knees, and hid his face.
A hand landed on his shoulder and patted softly.
"Mind if I sit with you?"
Cullen looked up to find Leliana standing over him. He tried to smile, unsuccessfully if he were honest, and motioned to the empty spot on the sand next to him.
Leliana was careful, every single movement of hers deliberate and intentional, as expected of a good spymaster. After taking a seat on Cullen's left side, she bent her left knee and looped her arms around it.
For a while, they both watched the campfire. Cullen went back to listening to others talk about the future as though it were a guaranteed thing. Or perhaps they talked that way because they knew it was not guaranteed. Perhaps they were willing for it to be so, to manifest it.
The conversations were quieter and calmer than the ones Cullen had heard around campfires before. Back at Haven, when suturing the wound on the sky seemed like the only problem they faced and Corypheus's design was yet unknown, the jokes and the tales were cheeky, almost impudent.
Back at Haven, where Leliana interceded and Cullen obliged.
Wistfully, Cullen began, "I remember when you said you and I are the same. We really are, aren't we. What was it, bit players on a stage set for heroes?" He turned to find Leliana's countenance unreadable per usual. "You've lost your Warden, and now I've lost my Inquisitor. I suppose… that makes me a widower."
Leliana's response came after a moment too long of silence, "But you don't regret being with Tharin."
"No. I just wish we had more time."
"You won't believe me, but things will get easier."
Cullen gulped down a mass rising in his throat and rasped, "But I don't think I want things to get easier." A metaphor came to him, and though he knew he was neither eloquent nor poetic, Cullen tried, "You know when you've trimmed your nail too short and the skin underneath gives away, you cannot stop bending the nail down. It makes it hurt more, but the hurt somehow feels… good? Even pleasurable?"
Leliana blinked and hummed. "I suppose."
"The hurt is good for me. I want to hurt. I want to remember how much I love Tharin." He considered and amended, "…Loved Tharin," a bitter taste lingering in his mouth.
"You and I really are the same," noted Leliana with a subdued grin, "I've had a same thought about the Warden."
Leliana looked up at the starry sky, and Cullen's eyes followed her gaze. The moons and stars were brighter out here, in the middle of a tortured land abandoned by most, if not all, flora and fauna. She mused, "The last time Tharin and I talked properly, we talked about the Warden. It made me recognize that the pain of loss dissipates. Slowly but surely. I've wondered if that meant I did not love him enough, but I don't believe so." After taking a beat, she whispered, "Your pain will lessen over time too. Don't be disheartened by that."
Cullen could not bring himself to truly believe the hurt he felt would ever go away. But he knew Leliana was right. He looked down at his gathered hands, wondering what the future held for him now.
The open doors to the manifold possibilities Cullen saw when Tharin was next to him had slammed shut. Whatever his plans had been before, they could no longer be. Except he did not even have enough time to choose and plan for a future with Tharin before Adamant.
The Maker may be just, but this was unfair.
Leliana's introspective voice interrupted a welling tide of angry thoughts in Cullen. "Tharin was happy with you. The few moments you had, he was happy. I promised him I would not let him share the same fate as the Warden, but… I obviously broke that promise."
Imagining Tharin sharing a tête-à-tête with Leliana brought out a smile upon Cullen. They both possessed strong and unbending personalities, and he wondered what their dialogue was like.
But Cullen had been obdurate in his own way too. He remembered all the instances he had quarreled with Leliana. And he knew he wanted to apologize.
"Thank you for your kind words. And I am sorry."
Leliana turned with her brow creased, her expression questioning. Sheepishly, Cullen explained, "For the longest time, I hated you. I cursed your name and yelled at you. I made it my mission to contradict and challenge you. I even threatened to kill you once… You deserved better from me."
With the light wrinkle on her brow straightened, Leliana raised her hand to rest her chin upon it. The campfire illuminated her soft grin. Her gaze did not stray from Cullen as she spoke airily, "Are you implying we should've been better friends to each other? Are we mayhaps friends?"
"Only if you would like. I've no clandestine plan to force my friendship on you. I am far less capable of managing a conspiracy after all."
Cullen felt a hand upon his linked hands. He inhaled in mild surprise, at Leliana's hand patting him. He clasped Leliana's hand with his own.
A firm squeeze transferred heat from Leliana, welcome on this frigid desert night.
But the moment lasted only so long. Leliana stood up, dusted her seat, and gently susurrated parting words, "Good night, Cullen."
Cullen looked up and responded, his eyes crinkled despite everything, "Good night, Leliana."
Before Tharin stood Kyr, the young apprentice from Hasmal and Tharin's old love. The one he could not save.
Tharin stammered, "You are not… real… Are you?" He reached out with his right hand only to let it drop before it had any chance of brushing up against Kyr. He dared not touch the figure in front of him, afraid this was merely another sinister hallucination created by a demon, afraid this would morph into another fiend.
But here he was, strawberry blond and slim and all kinds of wonderful. Kyr spread his arms and chortled. "I am as real as you want me to be."
"But… you aren't exactly him."
Kyr, or what passed as him, shrugged. "What is a person but a collection of memories and experiences? I retain all memories of Kyr." With the sureness of someone who had done it thousands of times over, as though the two men were back at their secret corner of the library in the Hasmal Circle, Kyr strode forward and grasped Tharin's left hand as he declared in his soft tone, "And I am here to help."
Kyr opened Tharin's hand and lightly stroked the palm. He whispered, "You look thinner… You need to take care of yourself." The Anchor had begun to throb and inflame in a clear prelude to another energy discharge, yet as Kyr's fingertips ran across, the sensation of cool relief spread.
Still unsure about how to treat this entity in front of him, Tharin forcefully retracted his hand and rubbed it before murmuring, "Thank you."
But the smile tugging at Kyr's lips was tinged with sadness. "Whilst I have managed to reverse the Anchor from breaking down further, it is but temporary. It cannot be stopped. Unless you dispose of your left hand, it will consume you whole."
It took Tharin a moment to digest the news, but when he did, he could not help but scoff, his cynical laugh ringing amongst the strange, unidentifiable noises of the Fade. "Just my luck. Well, none of it matters, right? I'm stuck here."
"Like I said, I am here to help." Kyr whipped around and pointed at something faraway. "See that tower over there?"
Tharin frowned as he concentrated on the spot. There was something on the horizon above the mountainous terrain, but the foul, gaseous air obscured the view. "…Perhaps?"
"Trust me, it is a stone tower. A structure from Elvhen times. The mountains are hiding it, but a rift is there." After taking a deep breath, Kyr made a solemn proclamation, "We shall try for it."
Inadvertently sounding skeptical, Tharin drawled, "We shall?"
Kyr spun around once again. His face had a tight frown. "Yes. You look like you are about to keel over from your wounds, and you must be thirsty and hungry. So, I am not about to idle and watch you die. You will live, and you will get out."
Despite the impossibility of the situation, Tharin remembered how adorable Kyr was when he was determined on something, and his heart somersaulted. Inconvenient at this point, to be sure.
After his chat with Leliana, Cullen saw the Fade. Or he thought he did.
He watched as Tharin wandered through the wasteland, his back bent and his body emaciated. He had lost his armor and greatsword somewhere. He was defenseless.
"Tharin! Look, I am here!"
Cullen shouted, but the sound seemed to bounce back. No… He was back in Uldred's magical prison.
As he unsuccessfully tried to shatter the arcane cage with his bare fists, Tharin at least seemed to notice his presence. It took him awhile to approach, as he was almost crawling in his unsteady gait. When he did, Tharin lifted his hands and placed them against the transparent wall of the prison.
Tharin said in a hoarse voice, "You are safe in there, Cul… Forgive me for leaving you."
Cullen stopped pounding on the wall and instead laid his palms flat against the spots Tharin's hands were on. He desperately wanted to hold the man's hands, yet the wall would not give away. It was pointless to try, he knew.
Leaving only a doleful smile behind, Tharin turned around and began to walk away. Cullen yelled, "No, Tharin! Tharin! Don't go! Don't leave me here! Please!"
Tharin never looked back.
When Cullen escaped the fitful slumber, he saw the white of the tent canvas hanging over him somehow incandescent against the night. It emitted a flapping noise as the desert wind blew. It was a dream. Uldred's prison, Tharin's last words, they were all nothing more than a bad dream.
But the blissful ignorance lasted only for a moment. Everything flooded back in Cullen's mind. Though what he saw may have been but a dream, Tharin was indeed missing in the Fade. There was no way for the Inquisition to rescue the Inquisitor. Cullen was alone.
His throat began to ring with muffled cries. Cullen lifted his arm to hide his blurry eyes, to stem the flow of the coming tears.
As the Inquisition crossed Orlais and neared the Arbor Wilds, the scene surrounding the road changed dramatically. The great desert was no more, and with Thedas approaching spring, there were green buds shooting up everywhere.
After a whole day of grueling marching, the soldiers gathered to set camp for the night.
As Cullen stood on a bluff overlooking the campsite and watched the sunset, a raven flew toward him. It perched on his right shoulder and nudged him with its beak.
The raven carried on its leg a bundle of folded letters. Cullen retrieved it and unfurled the one on top. Immediately, Josephine's cursives came into view.
Commander,
A thousand apologies for not writing you sooner. I had to calm the fear among our allies now that the Inquisitor is missing.
No, I suppose that is not the entire truth.
I was afraid to write you. I know it is feeble of me. You must be hurting, and I did not know what to say or do. Please forgive me.
I only wish I could have forgiven Tharin before. I only wish he left knowing I consider him a friend, more than just the Herald or the Inquisitor.
Do let me know how you are faring and if there is anything I can do for you. In the meantime, I am enclosing all the letters your sister has sent to us. I hope they cheer you up.
Warmly yours,
Josephine.
Cullen knew he would cry if he were to read the letters from Mia now. And so, he decided to save them for later, when he would be stronger.
In slow but sure steps, he descended the bluff with the raven in tow. Josephine was brave enough to send him such a personal message. The least he could do was write her back right away.
As they walked on the path that led to the far mountain range of ominously gray, pointed peaks, Tharin mulled over what he wanted to say to Kyr.
Otto Trevelyan, or the demon that disguised as him, need not be so probing. Tharin already blamed himself for Kyr's untimely death at the hands of his templar tormenters. He left Hasmal before the abridged funeral rite afforded to Kyr because the slender, yet unyielding arms of guilt extended themselves and latched onto him. Dazed and possessed by it, Tharin did not look back as he left Hasmal in a hurry.
Yet, somewhere in his consciousness was the recognition that he should have stayed at least to see to the proper burial of Kyr's body. Through all this, the one question kept circling in his head. The one question he could not ask until now.
"Do you hate me?"
Kyr – Maker, if it was merely a benevolent spirit, then it was doing a terrific job of imitating him – narrowed his gait until he came to a halt, turned, and gave a curious look. "Why would I hate you?"
Likewise, Tharin stopped. He hesitated at first, that guilt weighing down in his heart, but the words had been the same ones he had been reciting in his head for years. Once he overcame the hurdle, they flowed easily. "Because… Because if you had not been with me, you might still be alive. You wouldn't have been targeted."
And yet, Kyr only shook his head. "Leland and his bullies are the ones responsible for my death, nobody else. If you think you are responsible, you are wrong."
"So… you don't hate me?"
Dimples stood out as Kyr's lips rose in a smile. Before the Inquisition commanded all his attention, before the Conclave ended in an enormous explosion and too many deaths, before Cullen… it was the smile Tharin reminisced of every day. Even as the memory faded and he could not exactly sketch it out on his bundle of parchments, he thought of it. Every single day. "No, Tharin. I love you."
Kyr turned back and began to move again. One foot before the other, and so forth. And Tharin dutifully followed in a wider gait, necessary to keep up with the mage.
"You have someone new, do you not?" It was a loaded question, yet Kyr let those words forth with lightness and casualness of someone asking after one's day at the market.
Tharin inhaled and exhaled frayed breaths as though he had been running. Eventually, he murmured, "…Yes."
"What's his name?"
"Cullen. I call him Cul."
"What is he like?"
"He's…" Tharin soughed. Guilt kept ballooning, but so did the feeling of elation at being able to mention Cullen. Any chance to talk about Cullen was welcome, especially in this eternal dark. Letting these thoughts clash, he gushed, "He's everything. I know it's trite to say, but he truly is everything for me. His eyes are deep, he smells amazing, his manners are gentle, and above all, he is caring and kind.
"Whenever he adventures with me and my companions, he always volunteers to watch during the late hours. And he never raises a hand against his subordinates. He treats them with the respect they deserve."
A recognition dawned and Tharin added with remorse, "But I am certain I have hurt him. I was stupid. I shouldn't have decided to stay in the Fade."
Kyr chuckled. "Well, as long as you are aware of your stupidity."
Knowing Kyr could not see him, Tharin nonetheless rolled his eyes and rebuked, "Hey, that's not nice!"
"You deserve that for talking about your new beau in such flattering terms in front of your old love."
And to that point, there was nothing Tharin could add. "…Sorry."
Kyr laughed, his head rocking back and forth. "I jest! I am glad you have found someone. When I died, I knew you would be sad, and I did not want you to be sad. That is the last thing I want.
"I happen to like this Cullen very much. He tracked down my grave in Hasmal and has been tending to it ever since. Left me a very nice bouquet the first time he visited. Thank him for me when you're out of here."
Surprised at this new information, Tharin gawked at the back of Kyr for a moment before nodding. "I will."
"Cullen told me he's failed you many times. Is that true?" asked Kyr in a curious tone.
"Failed me? No, no, that's not possible. He's never failed me. I've failed him…" By staying here, Tharin almost blurted, but he stopped himself in time.
"He is sorry for selling you to Orlais, is what he said."
"That… wasn't his fault. I did that to myself." Just like how I decided to stay and die in the Raw Fade.
Kyr finally added, "Ah, I see…"
In the silence of a lull, the two men continued one after another. Tharin focused his eyes on the road, dotted with green puddles and ethereal dirt that did not look natural. Perhaps it was the function of having been in the Fade for the better part of the day, but the scenery began to feel familiar, although not exactly comforting.
After they crested a rolling hill and began to descend onto a plain, Tharin spoke. Softly, as if he were talking to himself. "A part of me died when you died."
A somber tone cut through the ambient noises. "I know."
Tharin confessed, "Never once have I forgotten about you. I still love you."
He sped and caught up to Kyr to embrace him from behind. He felt real. Flesh and bone and heat that were excruciatingly real. Even if this was an ersatz version, some mirror image of the real Kyr, he did not care.
They stopped in their steps. Tharin said, serious in his intention, "I want to stay with you."
Kyr enfolded Tharin's hands with his own and began in an unbearably tender tone, "I want you to stay with me. Unfortunately, you cannot survive the Fade much longer. This is not your world." The hands squeezed. "And do not feel guilty about falling in love again. Your heart is big enough to love another man." Tharin thought Kyr had trembled, but he could not be certain until the next moment when he spoke in a breaking tone, "Just keep focusing on Cullen. You cannot give up now."
Tharin squeezed Kyr and nodded. But they held the embrace for much longer.
The Fade was a strange place indeed. The two were traveling no faster than trekking wanderers, zigzagging as the path did, yet they had hiked the mountains and arrived at the tower within a few hours. It was as though the fabric of space had shrunk for Tharin's benefit. They were standing on one of many high peaks, yet the air was perfectly calm. No icy winds Tharin had gotten so used to in the Vimmarks or the Frostbacks. Though he was beyond thirsty, and its insistence threatened to turn intolerable.
The tower was a four-story structure standing on a narrow alpine flatland that had a steep cliff on one side. Not only was it a good vantage point for these mountains, but it was also beautifully constructed. Unfamiliar, intricate patterns of masonry standing atop the ashlar foundation endured centuries and centuries of the Fade. Or perhaps objects conjured in the Fade could never be eroded or destroyed.
The rift, what was to be Tharin's escape route, closely abutted the tower. Through the coruscating light that alternated among luminous verdigris and blood red and blinding white, Tharin thought he could catch glimpses of his own world and its verdure.
But there were many wispy spirits circling about. Every spirit had its gaze focused on the rift, its expression transfixed. They were mesmerized.
A spirit, which had taken a form of a voluptuous woman in a flowing robe, dared to step forward and submerged into the light of the rift. With a booming sound that reverberated through the stale air, the spirit disappeared. The other spirits circled the rift even faster now.
Kyr hummed, "That… poses a problem." After crossing his arms, he expounded further, "They are curious about the outside world. But some do not have enough sentience to realize that if they step a foot outside through a rift, they can be twisted into demons.
"Many will try to possess you, a safer way for them to travel the outside. Still, you need to go through. This is your best chance."
Tharin glanced at Kyr, hoping for a different answer. "No way around it, I gather?"
Kyr simply nodded. "Correct." He appeared to ponder for a while before approaching for another hug. With his lips close to Tharin's ear, he spoke in a grave tone, "I will try to hold back the spirits while you sneak around. But before we part…" A sigh punctuated his words. "You are entitled to love. You deserve it. So be gentle with yourself."
"Thanks…"
"Find happiness with Cullen." Those words were breathed almost curtly, and Tharin felt Kyr push him away.
With the back of his nose stinging, Tharin looked away. There were two ways down to the tower. He began to descend the rocky slope that was not quite a trail, being mindful of the barren terrain and crouching to hide behind odd boulders here and there.
Kyr took the smooth, well-traversed path winding around the other way. With wild gestures, he drew the attention of the spirits away from the Fade. When the spirits gathered around him in a crescent, Kyr raised his arms and began to exert magical restraint, locking them in place.
With the outcrops and the tower providing a good cover, Tharin arrived at the rift without much trouble, but when he tried to pass through, he felt arcane power zap him. The pain was intense and immediate, forcing him to yelp and step back. The disturbed rift seemed to roar, and a cloud of green emission enshrouded him for a moment.
As he nursed the raw skin on his neck, he heard Kyr shout, "You need to make the rift larger!"
Tharin remembered the rift on Adamant's main courtyard was truly titanic. It was the largest he had ever seen. He concentrated, hoping to emulate the rift torn open by the Grey Wardens.
He knew his Anchor could open a portal from the Fade just as it could close it from the outside. That was what Leliana of Redcliffe said. But mere knowledge did not mean he had any control over how the Anchor operated and the pain it elicited. He struggled with his eyes squeezed shut, his mind ordering to widen the rift without much success.
Kyr's anxious voice rang, "Now! Do it now!"
A scorching pain cut through Tharin's left hand. It spread to the wound on his shoulder. Energy that had gathered fizzed and crepitated.
As a lightning struck, Tharin shielded his eyes with his right hand. A thunderous explosion followed.
When he moved the hand, he could see the forest clearly through the broad rift. He could even count the lush leaves on the closest tree. He smelled the fresh scent of leaves crushed by the spell of energy, he was certain.
Tharin glanced back at his old love one last time. Kyr was still in position, but his control was unraveling. The spirits were beginning to wiggle themselves free and float toward the rift and Tharin.
Above the din of the whirring portal, Tharin's heart beat furiously. How could he be so inconsolable and thrilled at the same time? He was going home, leaving Kyr behind yet again. He sighed, "Goodbye, Kyr."
As he turned and began to walk forward, he heard Kyr's weak reply, "Goodbye, ma vhenan…"
Tharin refused to look at Kyr. He did not stop until the fulgent light overtook his vision.
Next chapter marks the end of Part IV. The last three chapters will constitute Part V. I will put updates on my posting schedule here.
Thank you for reading!