Sorry for the late posting. I hope everyone had a good weekend despite everything that's been happening.
Sister Nightingale entered the Commander's office without the usual polite knocking. She was out of breath and agitated, which was most unlike her.
For a second, the Commander forgot to hide his irritation at the Spymaster crashing through his door and asked, "What are you doing here?"
But the overt change in Leliana's demeanor was enough for him to drop the report from his hand and stand at attention.
"Commander, we must dispatch a healer and trained escorts at once. You must have someone you can spare. I suppose Fiona is the best healer around…" Half-asking and half-talking to herself, Leliana was rambling.
"Wait, wait, stop. Slow down. Tell me what happened."
Leliana sighed and handed him a dispatch. "I just received this."
Main mission AR – Mark 2, 3 SV INJ – Immediate assistance requested – Hinterlands Camp 2.
Cullen recognized the codes Leliana's people used but had to think for a moment to decipher the meanings. AR was all right, SV INJ was… severe injuries. The retinue consisted of Cassandra, Dorian, the Herald, the Iron Bull, Varric, and Vivienne, so the marks two and three would be…
Tharin!
There was no need to think. The words sprang forth like Cullen had rehearsed them a thousand times. "I will go. I will take Fiona to their location."
Evidently, the Spymaster had managed to piece back her unflappable demeanor. "You mustn't. With the Herald injured, possibly fatally–" Cullen furrowed his brows. "–Our forces must be able to secure Skyhold, now more than ever."
"I am doing this." Cullen knew he could not, but he nonetheless tried to intimidate Leliana. She did not budge.
"You need to think of the bigger picture. The Inquisition needs you here, at Skyhold."
Yes, well, you are needed at Skyhold. I will manage, but still, thank you for the offer, Cullen.
"Always with Maker-cursed Skyhold!" Cullen punched his desk in a singular fury. His inkwell hit the floor and shattered, bleeding everywhere. "What good is a damned fortress if the Herald is in danger outside?!"
The outburst broke down the last vestige of restraint and Cullen's grievances poured forth, "This is your fault! You pushed and pushed, and now Tharin is hurt because of you! Do you feel any remorse or are you racking your brain for a way to spin your way out of this yet again?"
As much as Cullen's ire was directed at the right cause of this debacle, what he really wanted to cry out was, Why couldn't I have stopped him?
After the interminable quiet, only broken by some nameless bird squawking outside his tower, Cullen was calm in his determination. "I shall debrief Rylen and put him in charge. He is more than capable of overseeing all military matters at Skyhold. And he is loyal. I trust him with my life."
The Commander grasped his sheathed sword as if he wanted to throttle it before proclaiming again, "I must go."
Leliana regarded her colleague with steely eyes that betrayed no emotion. Cullen wondered if she was gauging her past failures and mistakes wreaked upon the Herald against the unequivocal value of Skyhold to the Inquisition. Perhaps she would put Tharin's interest before the Inquisition's for once.
Although it was unclear even to Cullen how his going to Tharin would be in the man's best interest. It didn't matter. He must go to him.
Cullen hoped he had conveyed his resolve and was thankful when she finally nodded, "All right." No more, no less. "But you will find a message with updates at every camp you reach, and I expect the same from you. And once you have checked on the Herald, you must come back straightaway. In these, I will not yield."
This was an unforeseen situation, and Cullen recognized the Spymaster was trying her hardest to handle the crisis. If Cullen's concern for Tharin was not so overpowering, he would have felt admiration for Leliana, standing tall as someone who could put the institution ahead of everything, even herself. The Commander pushed down the overwhelming feeling of guilt at abandoning his post.
Hopefully, this was not the prelude to an attack similar to the one that decimated Haven.
Cullen was like a toddler splashing in his bathwater when it came to playing the Grand Game, but his guilt goaded him to provide ideas that were at least a little bit helpful.
"Ask Lady Montilyet to send out missives to our closest allies. The Herald is our most important asset, and they will aid us to protect their newfound interests. And make sure to stem the flow of information to Val Royeaux and Denerim. Those two courts will swallow us whole if given the chance," said Cullen with enough conviction to convince himself. Perchance Leliana as well.
A thin shadow of grin appeared on the Spymaster's lips. "Cullen. I've got this. Now go gather Fiona and others. I will notify Master Dennet and have the mounts ready."
Cullen fastened the sword to his side and straightened his posture. He felt like Leliana had finally freed him from the obligation she had imposed on him back at Haven. To this, there was only one thing he could say.
"Thank you, Sister."
Cullen was pacing at the gate, feeling impatient waiting for Fiona and the rest of his retinue when Cole appeared.
"You should bring these to him." In his hands were an explorer's guide to the Korcari Wilds and a bundle of hot pasties. The Commander accepted the gifts and put them in the rucksack slung over his shoulder.
"Cole… Thank you."
The boy beamed, but a shadow suddenly converged on his face, and he began to speak ominously. His voice slurred, but the words were somehow choppy. He appeared to be in great pain.
"The humming never ceases, but the hand has let go. Chains fit snugly once they dig into his skin. Like a serpent, they will keep him in place and exile his wants. But the world is made whole, so he departs with the chains, and only the music remains. Altered, scarred, contrite, he bids farewell. Farewell, Messere."
Foreboding. As well as confounding. "What do you mean, Cole?"
As soon as Cullen asked, Cole's face returned to its normal guilelessness and the boy tilted his head looking confused. "What do I mean what?"
Cullen and his retinue dashed through the snowy landscape without taking a moment of respite. He would have kept on riding in the dark with torches on if Fiona had not caught up and admonished him gently.
"Commander, the horses are slowing," informed the matron without a flourish yet her real intention was clear. In his peripheral vision he saw their mounts puff steamy, exhausted breaths into the frozen air. The soldiers' straight postures were breaking down. Fatigue suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.
Nevertheless, a full night of sleep was out of the question. It was all he could do to stare at the hanging canvas above his bedroll, lying motionless, while everyone else was snoring away. In the dead of the night, his troubled mind finally decided to latch onto the memory of Tharin fussing over him.
You need to take better care of yourself in general. You've been skipping meals and staying up late to work, haven't you.
And suddenly, his eyes conspired with his never-ending thoughts to break him.
With all his might, he shut the burning eyes and built himself back together with a futile oath fervently whispered: "I shall carry on. No matter what, I shall carry on…" At least he could blame his bloodshot sclerae on the forsaken sleep. They had another full day of riding ahead of them.
By the late morning of the third day, they rode into the Inquisition campsite lightly dusted with snowflakes where the Herald was recuperating in.
Cullen was fuming, upset that they could have reached Tharin quicker had Arl Teagan deigned to transport and host the injured man in Redcliffe. But no, Teagan was still sulking about the way the Herald resolved the town's occupation by rebel mages. Indeed, one of Leliana's messages contained a warning about not stepping on the Arl's toes and worsening the situation while in the Hinterlands.
In any case, Teagan had no real claim to any righteous anger as an absentee lord. And now, he was exacting his revenge on Tharin in the worst way possible. The Commander wanted to wring the neck of that crusty gaffer.
It was somewhat unfortunate that Cullen was holding on to that murderous intent when he encountered the first Inquisition personnel at the camp. Rattled by the sheer intensity of his approach, the scout fumbled the water jug he was holding and stuttered badly to inform that the Herald was fast recovering. In fact, the man was up and about.
Cullen saw the lavish velvet tent emblazoned with the Inquisitor's heraldry in gold and ran toward it as fast as he could.
But he heard two men conversing and stopped short of storming the tent.
As he snuck a peek inside as discreetly as his plated body allowed, the impeccable Tevene accent murmured, "How could you be so reckless? I thought…" Even from some distance he could hear the words accentuated by the slightest vibratos as though the man was racked with nerves.
After a few shallow breaths that sounded like snorts, Tharin said, "I would say I escaped relatively unscathed. Your onyx ring shielded me from any major harm."
Dorian scolded, "That is neither here nor there. You really could have been killed! Why would you put yourself in harm's way to save me?"
The Herald laughed as if the man had said something preposterous, but it was immediately followed by a long, painful groan. "How could I not?"
"Are you actually asking me that?" A heavy sigh followed that seemed to indicate a growing smile, not displeasure. The Commander knew what he was doing was reprehensible but inched closer.
The voices were clearer, more discernible. "I'm replaceable and you're not. You are the Herald of Andraste and I'm an apostate necromancer from Tevinter who everyone hates. Absolutely everything would be fine if I were gone. Absolutely everything would come to naught if, Maker forbid, you were… gone."
"You can't mean that. You must know you're not replaceable. To me, you're…" The Herald hummed thoughtfully, "I do not want you to get hurt. That's all. I would never allow myself to judge whether anyone fighting for the Inquisition is expendable."
"While I respect and highly value the sentiment, I must warn you the war council will not find this behavior–"
And something shifted in that moment that rocked everything in Cullen's broken down but orderly world.
In front of his disbelieving eyes, Tharin bent forward and kissed Dorian in one smooth motion.
As if he had been waiting all along, Dorian lifted his arm to push Tharin's head toward him.
It was something Cullen had pictured many times over, but watching it unfold in real life was worse.
It hurt. The ache quickly spread throughout his body and kept it arrested in place, forcing him to bear witness to the birth of what he recognized was a new relationship. He was finally left behind. Emphatically left behind.
It hurt even more when Cullen realized Tharin had on the gloves he made for him as he kissed Dorian. Not Cullen, but Dorian.
Tharin winced like the movement bothered his injuries, but it soon gave way to a wide smile. He susurrated quite audibly, "That was boorish of me, and I should apologize, but I don't want to. I've always wanted to do that."
An amused laugh emanated before Dorian teased, "That's quite a confession from you. I thought you might be too proud to admit something like that."
"Well, I have my moments. Especially when a near-death experience provides me with much needed and much appreciated clarity." Tharin chuckled. "You've always been there for me. And I've always wanted you."
Dorian rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, it isn't exactly flattering when you say you only kissed the person because of a nasty shock. It almost sounds like a dare, if you understand my meaning?"
"A dare I've won, I believe."
After the two men tittered, there sat heavy silence. Tharin broke it by lifting his uninjured left hand and gently caressing the mage's cheek.
"So… what are we meant to do now?"
Dorian cupped Tharin's hand with his own. "I do not know, my dear man. And I am… actually fine with that delicious uncertainty."
And neither did Cullen know what was to come. He stood there, letting his heart fragment into a million pieces of smoldering nothing.
Cassandra left the campsite for her morning training as usual. She walked out of the small gorge the camp was in, where she then found a secluded spot by an outcrop. It was near a steep cliff that plunged into Lake Calenhad below. As her sword swerved and slashed the thin, dry air around her, the Seeker let her mind wander.
Despite the Herald's injury, Cassandra could not help but feel happy at the general state of everything. The Inquisition seemed to be getting back on track. For one, Tharin was finally free of lyrium, for which she was proud of the young man. What was more, the dragon was slain, and this corner of Ferelden was once again safe. There was still the question of the Inquisition's capacity to defeat Corypheus, but the trajectory was clear. Their cause was winning.
The Seeker completed her training for the day with her mouth curved in a soft smile. Even her body felt lighter than usual. She had not realized it until now, but the recent troubles with Tharin must have been weighing heavily on her.
Cassandra heard the commotion when she neared the camp. She saw Fiona chatting with some of the Inquisition personnel with her hands on the hips, looking distinctly relaxed. She had received a message from Leliana about the healer's departure from Skyhold, so her arrival here was expected. Though the speed by which Fiona arrived with her retinue was remarkable. It had only been two days since she received the Spymaster's message.
Approaching the woman gradually, Cassandra greeted and thanked her for coming out all this way, despite the Herald's injuries being expertly mended by Vivienne and not at all life-threatening. Still, there was no harm in applying Fiona's meticulous ministrations on Tharin's broken arm, and she therefore decided to check on the young man to make sure he was ready for a healing session.
When the Seeker quickly padded to the main tent, she found Cullen standing outside, looking quite lost. Leliana had failed to mention that he was coming too.
"Cullen! What are you doing here?"
The man practically jumped when he heard his name called. "Seeker, I…" But he did not answer her. With an expression the Seeker could not understand the meaning of, the Commander turned around abruptly and began to speed away.
"Where are you going?" Puzzled, Cassandra asked with a raised voice.
Cullen gave no reply.
With a pronounced frown, Cassandra turned to the tent and entered. In front of her were Dorian and the Herald, their kiss quite ferocious in intensity. She felt her cheeks heat up at once.
"Oh, uh, Seeker. Dorian and I were just… um…" Tharin's face bloomed scarlet as well, as the two men instantaneously separated. The mage grazed his lips with his own hand briefly and looked away.
"It is all right." What was all right exactly? She did not know what she was babbling about. The words continued to fall out of her like a waterfall. "I am sorry for barging in. Fiona has arrived and I thought you might want to see her now…" After making an unnerving eye contact with Tharin and then Dorian, Cassandra backed out of the tent as though she were sneaking away from a slumbering bear. "Excuse me."
Once the couple became enshrouded behind the tent covers, Cassandra whispered to herself, "What in the Maker's name…?" Oh, but she had forgotten all about Cullen. She whirled around and ran toward the horses.
The faulds and the cuisses kept grinding against each other, making ridiculous jangling sound that rang across the camp. She felt Inquisition soldiers stare at her as she ran past them. Yet Cassandra did not abate her speed. All she could think about was the fact that Cullen saw the two men kissing.
It was the end of a long epoch, and her heart drummed heavily for Cullen's sake.
As she correctly deduced, the Commander was standing by a horse, skillfully tying his rucksack behind the saddle. His movements were graceful, and she would have thought him unaffected, if not for his ashen face.
"Cullen! Wait!"
Cassandra saw the man's eyes and they were hard. So incredibly hard.
Cullen stated with an abnormally calm voice, "I shouldn't have come. The Herald is obviously fine. I cannot apologize enough for abandoning my post."
"You don't have to apologize to me. But you and Tharin…"
"There's no 'Tharin and I.' I am glad the Herald's found a companion worthy of his time." The man hopped up on his mount and bowed lightly. "I should be able to get back to Skyhold in a day and a half if I keep on riding. Please send Sister Leliana a message that I am keeping my promise and returning right away."
As he guided the horse northwest, the Commander pulled on the reins quite severely. Cullen refused to look at the Seeker as he finished, "Do not tell the Herald that I was here." And he firmly tapped the horse's sides with his feet in the stirrups and departed.
"Wha–" The Seeker did not have time to give a proper reply or a farewell.
What is happening? Cassandra felt like somebody had pulled the rug from under her feet. Everything had turned upside down in that short time she was training, which seemed like an undeserved prank the Maker was pulling on her.
The woman watched haplessly as the figure on the mount rode away into a distant dot.
END NOTES
Next up, Dorian gets... *ahem* busy, on Sunday, March 27!
Comments and reviews are never obligatory but give me life! Thank you for reading!