Many apologies for the late update. It's a shortie, but I hope you enjoy.
TRIGGER WARNING! Suicidal ideation.
The battle for Adamant had been ferocious. But according to those who made out, the Raw Fade demanded far more than what anyone's wildest imagination could conceive. While Cullen came to his senses and listened to Hawke and the companions recount their treacherous journey, his heart wept for Tharin. Cullen wondered if any of their lives, his included, should have been traded for Tharin's, and he hated himself for thinking this way.
What was the point in dwelling what could have been?
The recovery efforts at Adamant wound down in just a few days. Healers patched up injured soldiers, the Grey Wardens cooperated fully to restore the ramparts, and the Inquisition reconstituted leadership in a form of the war council. After those busy days came the waiting. Simply waiting for something to happen. As for what, no one, including the Spymaster, could articulate.
In the meantime, Cullen's brain spun thoughts upon thoughts. Those thoughts turned into a ravenous vortex that consumed the days and nights with impunity.
Tharin was gone. Cullen could not help but think of this as a divine retribution for him. To have a taste of unconditional love only to have it snatched away. Forever.
And how deserving. Cullen had never had to account for his actions. No reckoning had ever befallen him. There was no denying, however, that he murdered all those mages at Kinloch and rendered them Tranquil in Kirkwall. A murder of one person was already a sin greater than any other, and the Knight-Captain had killed and harmed so many lives. And yet, everyone had been quick to forgive. The Inquisition gave him a place when he deserved none, and Tharin forgave him as soon as he confessed his sordid past.
But the souls of his victims must have beseeched the Maker to strike him down, and the time for punishment had finally come.
Still, Cullen considered it unfair that Tharin had to pay with his own life for having forgiven Cullen, for having loved him. Why did the Maker spare Cullen? If only he had been the one to plummet to the Abyssal Rift and not Tharin, it would have been fairer. If only Cullen had died that fateful day, everything would be better.
The answer came to him one night as he tossed and turned in his cot. Having Tharin die on his behalf was the crueler retribution he deserved. Not only had Cullen lost his love, but he was also burdened with the knowledge that he was the cause of that horrendous loss. Sins were like interests; they kept accruing, never to alleviate. And Cullen realized he would be torturing himself for the rest of his life with these thoughts.
Suddenly, the notion of self-destruction occupied his mind, its sweet yet poisonous reach caressing him. What if he could escape these endless thoughts? What if his death could convince the Maker to resurrect Tharin? It was only his duty as the Commander that halted his hand reaching for his own dagger.
Barely a week had passed, but Hawke and Warden Stroud left for Weisshaupt. They argued that they were healed enough to travel and that they must report on the downfall of Orlesian Grey Wardens. Cullen saw them off, noting how tired and beaten down they looked. Even Hawke, who would normally chirp and tweet as she traded some asinine banter with anyone who would engage, departed without many words. Varric certainly tried his best, but she yielded not.
There was a sense of finality in their departure, like Cullen would never see them again. He hoped not, but there was no certainty in this Thedas. Hawke said her goodbye without appending any promise of reunion.
Two more weeks passed by. The companions busied themselves by hunting down the Venatori stragglers and the Abyssal High Dragon. In contrast, for Cullen, who commanded the troops at the fort, the waiting continued as before. Thus, he was quite happy to be called away to another battlefield. Anything to distract him from his own thoughts was welcome.
Morrigan dispatched a message conveying a worrisome development in the Arbor Wilds. Corypheus sought to use an elven artifact called an eluvian to enter the Fade and achieve godhood. Cullen and Leliana agreed the Inquisition could not wait around any longer for some indeterminate miracle. They had to leave Adamant Fortress.
"You there, make sure these papers are secured and transported." Standing in front of his office tent, the Commander handed a sheaf of his correspondences with the Ambassador to an Inquisition guard. Not that they were worthy of such clandestine treatment, but Josephine did include some sensitive information about the Orlesian chevaliers and nobles who would be joining the Inquisition's forces in the Arbor Wilds.
Sensitive information that he, a military man, frankly did not give two hoots about.
When the soldier bowed and took the letters, he saw Dorian pass by with an armful of parchments. Important documents of his own, Cullen assumed.
The Commander hurriedly left his tent behind and walked alongside the mage. When Dorian noticed Cullen, he turned his nose heavenward and sped up. His gait grew impossibly long.
"Master Pavus," Cullen called out.
Dorian grumbled and kept walking.
"Master Pavu–Dorian." Cullen reached out and grasped Dorian's shoulder to stop the man.
Dorian turned and snapped, "What?"
Cullen felt his cheeks warm. He directed his gaze down and guided his hand to his nape. "I've yet to apologize for my appalling behavior, back when we interrogated Erimond. And so… I sincerely apologize."
When Cullen looked up, he saw Dorian had turned away. The mage exhaled extravagantly and intoned, "Yes, yes, you are sorry. I forgive you. Now, is that all?"
Such a tetchy response did not surprise Cullen. Dorian had been wronged by him at least twice before – once at Haven during that tumultuous war room meeting and once more at Skyhold when Tharin forsook the mage for Cullen. But at the same time, Dorian was the only one who truly understood the pain of losing Tharin. As much as Cullen thought it prudent to leave Dorian be, he found that he needed to lean on the mage, to be consoled by Dorian.
Feeling lost and impossibly alone, Cullen tightly clutched his arms together and whispered, "I miss Tharin."
Dorian adjusted his arms holding the parchments and pursed his lips into a thin line. "I know. I miss him too."
"It's my fault Tharin is in…" susurrated Cullen.
When Dorian gave a questioning look, Cullen finished, "It's my fault he couldn't escape the Fade."
The mage sighed. "I have categorically no clue as to what made you think that, but don't be absurd. This is not your fault."
The ground was sandy and dusty. It always was out here in the desert. Cullen dallied as he traced lines in the sand. Innumerable feet trampled the grains and left their marks, footprints upon footprints. When Cullen had gathered enough courage, he faced Dorian and said, "I know you've planned to remain here to fight the Venatori, but… Please come with me to the Arbor Wilds."
Dorian's smooth face became marred with a deep frown as he snorted. "What, so we can trade jabs?"
Cullen spoke, hoping earnestness would carry in his low tone, "Because Tharin trusted you more than any other companion, and I trust you. Although I am sorry for the terrible words I have said, I do not expect you to accept my apology. Just… please come to the Arbor Wilds."
Dorian raised his eyebrows. "Tharin trusted me? You mean Tharin trusts me. Do not talk as though you have given up on him," he fumed, "I did not give him up so you can too."
Cullen did not have the heart to confess how his hope for Tharin dwindled with every passing hour. How could it not? They were nowhere close to devising a means of communication with Tharin if he were still alive, let alone help him make his getaway. Hoping hurt. Excruciatingly so. A small part of Cullen had already quit hoping.
Instead, the Commander of the Inquisition's forces would engage with the problems of the present. And Corypheus in possession of an eluvian represented a danger the Inquisition could not overlook.
As he bit his lower lip and intently gazed at Dorian, the mage eventually groaned. "Very well. I shall accompany you to the Arbor Wilds. On one condition," he raised his forefinger, "that you find me a bottle of red before we leave. A damn good one."
Cullen thought for a beat. Adamant was out of the way from major trade routes, but it had an adequate storage. What's more, the Grey Wardens had accumulated a good amount of supplies in the months they had been garrisoning the fort. He probably could scrounge up something that would meet the mage's exacting standards. He nodded. "Your condition is more than acceptable. Thank you, Dorian."
Dorian slowly shook his head, soughed, and rolled his eyes. But then, a thin smile snuck upon his visage and his mustache twitched. "You better be thankful, Cullen."
The battle-hardened Inquisition soldiers lined the entrance of the fortress in formations. Orlesian Grey Wardens who were given a reprieve by the war council stood behind the Inquisition. At the front were two mounts. Leliana was already on hers.
The Spymaster watched as the Commander hopped on his horse most effortlessly. Though the man appeared to be unaffected, she knew better. He was hurting.
In a cheery tone, which belied her breaking heart as well, Leliana asked, "Ready to depart, Commander?"
A pallid grin flashed on Cullen's visage only to disappear in the blink of an eye. "Yes. I am ready."
But she could not help herself. As her horse began to trot onward, she whispered, "I am sorry."
Cullen held the rein rigidly, brittle in his firmness. "Don't," he stressed.
The silence of neighing horses and marching feet overtook the space between Leliana and Cullen. As she observed Cullen's countenance, a thought popped into her mind. And it was an alarming thought indeed, that Cullen may want to end it all.
She caught up to the Commander and said in a hushed tone, "We need you."
Cullen's hard visage broke into a crooked smile. "I know."
The next chapter will be posted a week later on Sunday, September 18.
Comments and reviews are never obligatory but give me life! Thank you for reading!