At this point, Cullen could not even feign surprise. Nothing surprised him anymore.
Leliana had conveniently left out an important detail in her messages, Cullen realized as he rode into Griffon Wing Keep and saw Marian Hawke wave at him with a goofy expression. She held her staff and mouthed, Look, I'm a mage.
Cullen huffed a hollow laugh. It was a friendly face from the past he did not relish in reliving.
That night, the Inquisition held a feast, something to prepare everyone for the upcoming battle and boost morale. The companions consumed steins after steins of ale and enjoyed the revelry. Meanwhile, the Inquisitor, the Spymaster, and the Commander were in a temporary war room, hunched over an area map and a blueprint of Adamant's construction. Standing mere steps away from the rowdy jollity, they were grave as they discussed the minutiae of the upcoming siege for the last time.
Tharin noted, "Our reconnaissance shows the Wardens already have a considerably sized demon army."
Leliana hummed, unfazed, "That is bad news."
Cullen crossed his arms and pursed his lips. "The Inquisition forces can breach the gate, but we will be outmatched against an army that never tires."
The Spymaster approached the blueprint and began to point. "There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle. Here, here," Leliana's fingers slid across the parchment, her pale hand steady and methodical, "and here. And we take the demons out as they come out one by one."
The Commander nodded. "That's good. We may not be able to defeat them outright… But if we cut off reinforcements, we can carve the Inquisitor a path to Warden-Commander Clarel. Whether she surrenders or dies fighting for Corypheus, the battle will be over once the leader falls."
There was a bout of silence, after which Tharin spoke in a hushed tone, "This is going to get a lot of good soldiers killed…"
"Our soldiers know the risks, and they know what they're fighting for." Hardly an unexpected turn of phrase from Leliana, obviously.
"Don't…" Cullen hesitated only to stare down at the map and continue in a subdued voice, "don't try to take on the enemies all by yourself. Take care of yourself and remember what the objective is. This is going to be a bloodbath. I need you to come out of it in one piece."
The professional demands of the war council precluded any signs of physical affection between the Inquisitor and the Commander. Yet, Tharin and Leliana must have known that this was Cullen at his most vulnerable. This was his plea for Tharin to come back alive.
Cutting through that heavy silence, Leliana adjourned the meeting, "Well then, until the briefing tomorrow morning, gentlemen." With quick steps, she opened the ungreased metal door and left.
When Tharin crashed into Cullen's bosom, Cullen wrapped his arms around and buried his nose in the man's unkempt hair. Tharin's scent flooded his nostrils.
Cullen reached into the pocket of his surcoat and made sure the locket was still there. It was, same as the last hundred times he checked. With his throat hoarse from thirst and the sand, Cullen began only to halt midway, "Before we go out, um… I wanted to…" Feeling mortified by the decidedly emotive and vain nature of his gift, he susurrated, "Maker, this is hard."
A chortle emanated from Tharin. "It's not too hard to give me a kiss though, right? I missed you."
Cullen let go of the locket in his pocket and lifted his hand to cup Tharin's face. With upturned lips, he kissed his love. A kiss to make up for many weeks of being apart, deep enough to satiate.
After breaking, they let their foreheads touch. Tharin whispered, "Hello."
His lips still curved up, Cullen whispered back in the most earnest way he could, "Hello. I missed you, too." The two men kissed once again. This time, the physical desire for each other faintly burned in their background so much as a fireplace full of ember would.
Attempting to will away his hardening desire, Cullen held Tharin by his arms and began, "I wanted to tell you that–"
He was interrupted by the harsh wail of the door flying open and a raucous voice clanging, "C'mon! Your spymistress said you were done with the strategy meeting. Time to get your drink on." Cullen turned to find Hawke, her face distinctly reddish. She belched, "Oops. Sorry to disturb."
Tharin crinkled his eyes and pecked a light kiss, bidding him a farewell, "Tell me later. I will drop by your chamber before sleep."
Tharin greeted Hawke and sauntered away, and Cullen watched with rising irritation. He mumbled, "Must you interrupt like that?"
Poking at Cullen's chest with her forefinger, Hawke argued, "Hey, I was trying to be a friend. You need to relax and get some ale in you." She hiccupped before a sly smile crossed her visage. "But Cullen, I'm pleasantly surprised. Here I was, thinking the Inquisitor has the hots for the too serious Commander. Turns out, you're just one big lovesick puppy too!" Hawke burst out laughing, causing Cullen to blush.
"Stop it."
"Oh, my curly-haired, flaxen friend. You do always make it so easy to tease." She pointed at the middle of Cullen's trousers, which he belatedly realized was somewhat tented despite his efforts. "Have you gotten into his pants yet? Looked like he's packing, am I right?"
Lowering his hands to hide the shame, Cullen growled, "Do be quiet, Hawke."
Instead of following Cullen's command, however, Hawke approached, craned her head, and looked into Cullen's eyes. "Wait, judging by your prudish yet disappointed reaction, you haven't made it there yet?"
Cullen chewed on his lower lip. He refused to utter another word.
Hawke held her hands up and sniffed. "Fine. I guess that's more my style than yours. You want to court him, be with him all the time, make that smooshed puppy face at him until he gives you all the kisses you need, don't you?"
No longer willing to tolerate Hawke's teasing and with his excitement bated, Cullen wordlessly walked away. He pushed the half-closed door with much force, enough for the rusting metal to grate and shriek pathetically through the night air.
Behind him, Cullen heard Hawke guffaw and call out, "Better try your luck tonight! And it's good to see you, Ser Cullen!"
The feast reached its apogee with some outrageous antics. Sera challenged Cassandra to an arm-wrestling contest, which ended with Sera shamelessly pulling on Cassandra's right hand with both of her hands. Cassandra still won. Dorian conjured ethereal visions of fire-breathing dragons to the delight of many. Hawke in her joviality would no doubt have joined in if she could stand let alone wield her magic.
There were a couple streakers, and more than a few rows. But Cullen made sure these antics did not get out of hand. While the boost of morale was important, the army still had to maintain some degree of combat readiness.
Leaving Rylen in charge for the night, Cullen retired to his bedchamber inside the keep.
Cullen had fought in battles unforeseen and unforetold before. In Kinloch Hold, in Kirkwall, and once again at Haven. He had always been a defender. But this was different. He was leading an attack on Adamant with a plan.
It was a strangely unfamiliar position to be in. He was certain when the battle would commence and how it should unfold. But the plan was not entirely foolproof and proffered much uncertainty despite the initial certainty it guaranteed. Nobody in the Inquisition knew what they would find once inside Adamant. He began to think about the countless ways it could go wrong.
When the uncertainty got to be too much on his anxious mind, he lit a candle on the window, knelt on the stone floor, and began to pray. It was a lapsed habit from before Kirkwall when he was not so jaded. But now that he had someone he wanted to protect at all cost, a prayer seemed like a fair price to pay for the Maker to watch over them.
He chanted, "For there is no darkness in the Maker's light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost…"
Cullen let his chant peter out when he heard the wooden door creak open. Tharin's soft voice rang, "A prayer for you?"
Cullen got on his feet. "For all of us. But mostly for you." He turned and approached the other man. Surely, he was allowed some emotions tonight when the fate of the world hung in the balance. "Tomorrow, when the time comes, I will have to watch you be thrown in Corypheus's path again." Looking away, he emphasized in a breaking voice, "Andraste preserve me, I must send you to him." Cullen felt a hand on his cheek and leaned into it as he closed his tired eyes. He susurrated, "Whatever happens, you will come back."
Tharin said nothing, neither to add nor contradict. Cullen would have liked him to say something, even if it was an empty promise.
With the back of his nose stinging mercilessly, Cullen reached into his pocket and brought the locket out for Tharin. He looked straight at Tharin's eyes. Those blues were striking even under the faint light of the candle. "Here. A gift for you. This is what I wanted to tell you earlier."
"Another? You really do not have to." Tharin grinned, playful and caring in his touch.
"It's a locket. I… put a lock of my hair and the plum petal from Haven in it." Cullen's depthless fear for Tharin's safety was enough to fracture his heart into abrading fragments. Only after a deep inhale and an exhale did Cullen manage to piece back his composure somehow. "Despite the turns we've taken, my heart never wavered from you. I'll be honest and say… it sometimes felt intolerable when you were away from me. With the locket, I will always be with you. And you will always find your way back to me."
And an empty promise, something Cullen had been seeking desperately, finally came. "I will, Cul. I swear."
Cullen stepped forward, holding the locket out. Tharin turned around, exposing his nape. Cullen draped the locket and snapped the fastener in place.
Before Tharin could turn back, Cullen embraced the man from behind. His bulky armor was in the way, but Cullen gathered his courage and whispered in his ear, "Come to bed with me."
He saw Tharin nod once.
Against the uncertainties of tomorrow, which silenced even the residual hauntings of the Ferelden Circle, Cullen devoted himself to the man he loved. Momentary pleasure was all that was afforded to Cullen and Tharin, and they took it gladly.
And after the end, after pleasure had receded, they declared to each other, "I love you."
The Inquisition siege of Adamant Fortress went according to the plan as much as the Inquisitor could will the sun to stay up and stop the night from encroaching.
For one, Cullen did not stay at the gate once the battering ram breached as the battle plan dictated. He left Rylen in charge of defending the gate and keeping the path of withdrawal clear while he joined Tharin and his retinue to penetrate deeper into the fortress.
When Tharin anxiously cogitated about the unanticipated consequences of this deviation, he was almost cut down by a Grey Warden berserker. The berserker flanked the retinue and emitted a monstrous roar as he swung his battleaxe at the Inquisitor. The blade swerved inches away from Tharin's nose. But Cullen jumped in with much aplomb and drove his sword through the berserker's neck. The enemy's fearsome roar petered out into a burbling keen before he crumpled backward.
Tharin exhaled, his heart racing and grateful for Cullen's protection. Unliteral it may have been, but Cullen's action saved his life. And in truth, he would have preferred to have Cullen close by so that he could be Cullen's protective shield as well.
Blood flowed in innumerable rivulets on the stone and soil of the fortress. Demonic ectoplasm splattered until it covered much of the Inquisitor, Hawke, and the companions as they cut and slashed their way to the innermost part of the fortress. And through it all, Cullen remained close to Tharin, tirelessly wielding his sword to defend.
As they traversed the main bailey and finally arrived at the main courtyard, the Inquisitor and his companions found a rift larger than any other they had seen. It was a gaping wound of the Veil rendered wider with blood of the gullible Grey Wardens. The blood that now adorned the fortress too. Through the rift, they could see some odd structure of the Fade, the surface of which was filled with irregular holes. A trypophobe's nightmare.
The courtyard was completely occupied by a crowd of Grey Wardens. But with their attention rapt upon Warden-Commander Clarel and Magister Erimond standing on a raised platform, the Inquisition managed a few seconds of respite. With his breath ragged from the fighting, Stroud mumbled, "Maker… They are summoning demons through the rift…"
The Inquisitor and his companions slowly approached the dais, and the Grey Wardens finally took notice. Most stepped aside, opening a clear path for them. With his dirtied hand, Tharin wiped his face of the gore and sheathed his greatsword. He was afraid, yes, and would much rather have his weapon out, but he wanted to avoid further bloodshed. The Inquisition was here to save the Grey Wardens, and some Wardens had to be reasonable. His heartbeats kept quickening as several Grey Wardens crouched, readying themselves for a fight.
Hawke apparently had the same idea. Her staff was hanging askew from her back as she raised both her hands and appealed, "Please, I have seen more than my share of blood magic! It is never worth the cost!" At this earnest plea, a few Grey Wardens began to whisper amongst themselves. Too few, Tharin thought.
Stroud then stepped forward and threatened, "I trained half of you myself! Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!"
Thinking the Wardens would not take kindly to such a threat, Tharin pushed past Stroud and declared, "Listen to me! I have no quarrel with the Wardens! I have spared those I could! You're being used, and some of you know it, don't you?"
More and more Wardens joined in the whispers. And through the sibilating murmurs rang a despondent voice of a warrior, "The mages who've done the ritual? They're not right. They were my friends, but now they're like puppets on a string!"
"No!" a shout emanated from the dais. It was Clarel. Sounding desperate, she countered, "You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!"
As Tharin scrambled to formulate a response that would be half-convincing, Hawke pointed her forefinger at Clarel. Her voice only gained in gravitas as it reverberated and shook the ramparts. "He's not afraid. You are! You're afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing!" Tharin took a deep breath. There was a reason why Marian Hawke became the leader of a ragtag group of friends. If not convincing, she was at the very least charismatic.
The nervous murmurs of the Grey Wardens now became outright talks of dissent. And Tharin nodded deeply, certain that the tide of this great battle was turning for the Inquisition.
Still, Erimond was not done. Tharin saw a movement on the dais and turned to find Erimond approach Clarel. The man whispered something in her ear. Clarel shook her head and answered, which seemed to displease Erimond. Greatly.
The magister banged his staff against the stone repeatedly, silencing the Grey Wardens. When the forced hush descended upon the courtyard, Erimond proclaimed in a tone dripping with self-importance, "My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!"
With a loud howl, something appeared in the sky. Tharin looked up to find the same darkspawn dragon that came down on Haven on that fateful night, a creature whose very existence was an anathema to all living, breathing creatures of Thedas. As it flew down, its body crashed against one of the many statues adorning the fortress, completely pulverizing it.
If the appearance of an Archdemon was not a clear sign the Grey Wardens had been deceived, Tharin did not know another way to convince them.
The dragon landed on a perch and surveyed the surroundings. The wavering Grey Wardens notwithstanding, their blood magic had worked, and a pride demon began to emerge from the courtyard's rift portal.
Panic filled Tharin as he looked back and forth between the bailey and the courtyard. The Inquisition was stretched too thin across the fortress, and with the Grey Wardens in a disarray, the Inquisitor and his companions would have to face two powerful enemies all by themselves. His brain flitted through different scenarios, different plans of attack, but he could not land on one. His heart was in his throat.
But Hawke yet again pointed to the bailey and exclaimed, "Look!"
In the blink of an eye, Clarel fired an arcane discharge at the dragon, and things began to move quickly. Far more quickly than before. The time of debate and rebuttal was over, now was the time for combat.
Clarel disappeared along with Erimond, her voice echoing in the air, "Help the Inquisitor!"
The Grey Warden warriors turned toward the pride demon with their swords drawn. But the sudden change in Clarel's attitude only compounded to their disorientation and confusion, and the demon took full advantage. It smacked away a couple Grey Wardens whose pitiful wails could be heard even above the din.
The pride demon stomped on the courtyard, and most Grey Wardens fell from the tremor. But Tharin had been anticipating it, and he, along with a few of the companions, nimbly jumped aside. After that, it was the game of attrition as one demon, albeit large, struggled against many enemies.
Once they regained their composure, the Grey Wardens were indeed fierce fighters. They assaulted the demon with fearlessness and ruthlessness of those without any hope for the future. When Tharin was reasonably certain the Wardens had a handle on the demon, he yelled and waved to his companions, Hawke, and Cullen, "Let's go! Our goal is to get to Clarel and end this!"
They ran along mazelike structure of the fort infested with minor demons until they reached the main ramparts. There, they found Clarel throwing Erimond about like a rag doll. Tharin raised his brow, impressed that the woman broke free from Erimond's thrall.
But in the race to the ramparts, Tharin forgot one important detail. Just as Clarel was about land a finishing blow on Erimond, the dragon swooped down, bit down on the woman, and flew away. The Inquisitor and his companions recoiled.
After circling the sky, the dragon spat Clarel out and landed on the rampart. This time, it was Clarel who looked like a rag doll as she was thrown so carelessly on the masonry. She could not have been alive any longer.
The dragon peered at the Inquisitor and his party intently, ready to strike. But, as the Inquisition unsheathed their weapons and readied against an Archdemon rushing toward them, Clarel feebly reached up and emitted her final arcane discharge. Her most powerful yet.
The dragon screeched and rolled across the rampart, which must have destabilized the ancient edifice. Pieces of it began to crumble and fall into the Abyssal Reach, and the Inquisitor and the others turned to run from the epicenter. But gravity worked fast. There was no getting away from the vortex of stones pulling everyone down.
It was not instantly obvious to Tharin he was falling. His legs were still moving, after all. Yet once it registered, when the solid stone rampart he had been running on somehow vaporized, it felt strangely exhilarating. If this was what death felt like, he would not mind it too much. But he saw Cullen spring forward, straining to grab his hand. He was already teetering on the edge. He was going to fall too.
Tharin pushed Cullen away with every force he had left in him. It thrusted Cullen onto the intact part of the rampart with enough left over for him to fall backward. And Tharin kept plunging down. This was it.
The end.
Before it was too late, Tharin declared, "Live for me."
He was grateful Cullen was the last person, last thing he saw. And he hoped that Cullen would be happy again someday soon without him. Maker, I will suffer anything for that.
But the instinct to survive was greater than the inertia. As he turned around midair, Tharin reached out with his two arms, and the Anchor crackled. The green light filled the ether.
And everything turned dark.
Finally settled and ready to write and edit! Next up, fun times in the Raw Fade, coming on Sunday, August 21.
Comments and reviews are never obligatory but give me life! Thank you for reading!