Many apologies for posting late.
The world managed to turn upside down in one breath, and the relaxed sentimentality of previous days evaporated without a trace. The Divine's agents found a Qunari warrior clad in full armor dead on the palace ground. Of course, the Winter Palace was famous for its intrigues, the kind that would have wandering shadows slash unsuspecting throats. But this felt different. A Qunari most definitely did not belong in Orlais, and what's more, he had been felled by repeated arcane attacks and blades.
This did not feel like a sloppily executed assassination. This felt like the aftermath of a heated battle.
The Exalted Council was put on hold as the Inquisition agents swept the palace and tracked a trail of blood leading to an active eluvian. Once an eluvian came into play, everyone agreed. The Inquisitor could not very well leave it be.
When the Inquisitor and his friends walked through the eluvian at the Winter Palace, they encountered a dead panorama filled with mountains upon mountains, as though the Maker had placed a folding screen across the land. On each peak were carved elven pillars, volcanic columns forged from cooling magma, and an eluvian shining with potential. There were tall trees framing each peak, but they looked gray and lifeless.
Through it all, a buzzing sound permeated. An invisible swarm of bugs flying about. It was only mildly irritating, though its insistence promised discomfort in the long run.
Tharin looked up and saw the sun burn. Its rays were bright enough to blind, more fulgent than the ones he had been used to, and he held up his hand to avert from them.
Behind Tharin, Sera started, "It's pretty, I guess. Kind of… stretchy. Ugh, too many colors."
Cassandra made a confused noise. "I do not understand. Everything is gray."
Tharin turned sharply. "Sera, what do you mean, too many colors?"
It was Sera who sounded mystified now. She stressed, "I mean, there's patterns all over. The sky's like glass from… where's it… Serault. Isn't it? And the trees are all friggin' pink."
"I do not see any of that. But that sound. That sound is… too much," Cassandra groaned.
Dorian added in an annoyed tone, "Yes, it's the sound of a thousand bees buzzing inside your head, stinging as they do."
"What sound?" Sera queried in a squeaky voice.
"Are you joking? How could anyone not hear that sound?" Dorian spat.
Sera's mouth protruded a good inch. "Okay, calm down, poncypants. I really don't hear anything."
Tharin creased his brow. "The trees look gray to me too, and I also hear that noise." In fact, the insistence of the noise had finally rendered it disconcerting. It portended doom.
The man walked forward and surveyed the landscape, hoping to glean something from this mystery. It took him way too long to realize, but when he did, he turned to Sera and explained, "It's because you are elven. I'm half-human, so I must not have the magical connection to see anything different about this place. And because you are not human, you don't hear that unpleasant sound either."
Sera grunted, annoyed by the invocation of the elven, "How would that work? Eyes are eyes, and ears are ears, or supposed to be! Ugh, stupid place!"
"Well, for once, being elven beats being human. Though I suppose we are not in Thedas anymore, so the rules must be a little different," Dorian was acerbic, but his voice softened as he continued, "I wonder if I could research the perceptive divergence of magic between humans and elves. It is a fascinating premise."
"Research this and shove it up your arse." Sera made a rude V sign at Dorian and heckled, bristling.
Dorian glanced at Sera with an imperious stare. "How charming."
The Inquisitor felt his heart echo. The recognition only ratcheted up the shapeless apprehension. "We are in a magical territory with hostile forces. Stop fooling around and be on guard."
It was as though the seams that had stitched the world back together after Corypheus's defeat were coming undone, and Tharin did not know how to stop it without pulling the threads apart even more.
The eluvians of the Crossroads sent Tharin and his companions to seemingly unrelated places, as if they were spectral beings rushing about the plane without any purpose. Except the purpose was clear. It was always clear. Stop the world from crumbling and protect its people. Dismally usual.
But there was more to it than what the Inquisition had to face in the past. With Corypheus, the man – an ancient magister turned a monstrosity – had always been so helpfully direct about the motivation behind his intention to ascend to godhood: because he went to the Black City and saw the throne empty. With the Qunari, their motivation was opaque at best. Sure, there was the characteristic Qunari distrust of the southern nations of Thedas and the Inquisitor had ruined the prospect for an alliance, but it was not enough to lash out this way.
As the Inquisition explored, however, Tharin found little clues scattered throughout, and the pieces of the puzzle began to come together.
In the mountain ruins built by elves, he found mosaics of Fen'Harel's exploits. How the Dread Wolf fought for slaves and lifted the vallasin off their faces. How the Evanuris were not gods but mages who acquired abilities beyond those of mere mortals. In the Deep Roads, he learned the Viddasala considered the Inquisitor an agent of a reawakened Fen'Harel. And at the deserted, broken elven library, the Inquisitor witnessed Elvhenan at its glorious height and found the Qunari had come to learn about the Veil.
The library chambers were dusty and filled with rubble. Beyond the balconies, one could see grotesquely misshapen outcrops and rock pillars floating in the air. Some of the pieces of the library were completely inverted, yet everything stayed in place. It reminded Tharin too much of the Fade, making him shudder.
"Everything comes back to this Fen'Harel fellow," with a thoughtful hum, Dorian began.
Tharin returned, "Right. The Qunari seem bent on taking him down along with the South. But if the Evanuris were just mages with powers, does this mean Fen'Harel himself is a mage as well?"
Dorian nodded. "We have to assume so. To go against the Evanuris, I imagine one has to be equally as powerful and proficient in magic. I am no expert in elven pantheon, yet even I can tell our findings will revolutionize and revitalize the entire field."
And Sera, tactful as usual, burst out, "Of course, it's magey shite! Friggin' magey shite always have to do with something bad."
"Yes, let us blame the mages because we always turn out to be the villains in every story, don't we," Dorian sighed and spoke with bared barbs.
"If the shoe fits and whatnot."
After a beat, Cassandra started, "I am sorry, Dorian. But seeing as this Fen'Harel is the source of the new war, I must agree. Mages fall prey to darkness too often."
Dorian scoffed. "It is just like you to be on the side against the mages, Seeker. Now, do tell me, has a mage personally wronged you in any way?"
"…Yes." Cassandra stopped. She spoke matter-of-factly, "A group of blood mages beheaded my brother in front of me."
"Oh," Dorian breathed.
Everyone halted and stared at Cassandra who looked unmoved. She stretched her mouth into a thin line and soughed. Dorian cleared his throat and peeped, "I am so sorry."
"See! Mages shouldn't be trusted!" Sera shouted almost gleefully.
It was high time for the Inquisitor to step in. Though weary, he summoned his authoritative voice and ordered, "No more bickering!" He turned to each companion. "Cassandra, I am truly sorry you lost your brother that way. Sera, mages are just people. Some are good, some are bad, most are ordinary like you and me. So do not be hateful. And Dorian." He heaved a long sigh. "Please stop stirring the pot."
There was a snort of a laugh from the Iron Bull's direction. With disgruntled murmurs of agreement arising from the said companions, the Inquisition began to march forward.
The Viddasala they found at the library was obdurate and single-minded. The South would be conquered and converted. And Fen'Harel would be crushed. Tharin thought it maddening he had no idea who this Fen'Harel may be.
All this as his Anchor began to act up more and more.
After failing to end the Viddasala and her plot, Tharin returned to the Winter Palace and convened the war council to inform the advisors.
It was tense. No, tense was not adequate to describe the pressure everyone felt. The tempers ran hot. Leliana expounded how the Qunari spies embedded in the Inquisition had smuggled barrels of gaatlok explosives onto palaces across Thedas. And Josephine, who had been the only advisor in favor of keeping the Inquisition intact, began to shout in an acrimonious tirade.
"I fought to protect the Inquisition in this Exalted Council. And for what? So we could deceive and threaten those we claimed to protect?!"
Cullen turned to Josephine and started, "Once we locate the spies–"
Josephine snapped back, "This isn't about the spies! You hid the Qunari body, Your Perfection. And Commander, you've all but seized control of the Winter Palace!"
Tharin felt a tingle on his left hand. It was a familiar prelude to a spell of crepitation. His breathing turned ragged as his anxiety spiked.
With a divot appearing on his brow, the Commander raised his voice at the Ambassador, "We did what was right, not what was politically convenient!"
The tingling sensation intensified. Tharin looked down at his Anchor hand as the light began to glint irregularly. Like spilled water saturating a rag, the pain began to spread from the Anchor outward.
The Ambassador exclaimed, "Do you know what this has cost us with Orlais and Ferelden? They are planning to dismantle us as we speak!" But her body seemed to shrivel as she gazed at the floor. "And… perhaps they are right."
The Anchor's light winked and pulsed, and the aching feeling that had been growing suddenly jumped to its apogee. Tharin had to assume it was its apogee because he could not imagine a worse pain. He felt his left hand being ripped apart by a thousand little cuts. He could not stop himself from crying out.
Tharin held onto his left wrist and bit down hard. Even as the eruption of pain subsided, he refused to look up. He knew the advisors were watching him.
He recalled what Kyre said in the Fade, that the Anchor would eventually destabilize again and consume his body unless he cut off his left hand. And now, the time had come, yet there was no Solas or Kyre to assist with this vibrating, throbbing blight upon his life.
But Tharin had to hide the truth. He did not want to worry Cullen. He could be brave for a moment longer.
Just until he managed to fool his husband.
When the silence became too cumbersome to be ignored, Tharin looked up to find Cullen standing in front of him with a countenance wrinkled in concern.
"Tharin… You…" Trepidation clouded the man's warm amber irises.
To this, Tharin ungritted his teeth and conjured a convincing smile. He took a deep breath to ensure his voice would not wobble, "Troublesome little thing… It just does that sometimes."
The Anchor continued to pound to the beat of his heart, but the pain was endurable. Tharin turned away from Cullen and spoke to Leliana and Josephine. "The Viddasala mentioned the Darvaarad. I shall try to stop her there."
It was unnerving to see Leliana's face breaking. Something akin to fear showed on her expression as she spoke in a soft voice, "Thank you, Inquisitor."
Before Tharin could reply, Cullen crashed into him. Connected in an embrace interrupted only by hitched breaths from Cullen, Tharin decided to lie even more. He had no choice. Without the comforting lies, he did not think they all could face what was coming.
Tharin wondered how much of his ersatz confidence had been laid bare as he whispered, "I promise, everything will be fine, Cul. I will come back."
Cassandra faithfully followed the Inquisitor to the Darvaarad. And the further they went in the citadel, the more challenging foes they faced.
Despite the unpleasant discourse regarding mages before, the companions stuck close to each other. At this point, they formed a well-oiled machine, working in perfect concert and with implicit trust in each other. When the Viddasala ordered the Iron Bull to attack the Inquisitor, his expression turned stony, and he droned instead, "Not a chance, ma'am."
The Viddasala growled and raised her arm at the Inquisitor. The two warriors who had been guarding a dragon strapped to the citadel turned and reached for the mauls on their backs.
The Inquisition readied their weapons.
The Qunari attacked first, rushing the stairs to the middle of the chamber and taking a calculated swing at the Inquisitor. In spite of their massive size, their movements were lithe and complementary. In fact, Cassandra found it nary impossible to initiate attacks. She was on the defensive, holding onto her shield with all her might as the errant mauls smacked it one after another. Like a blacksmith's hammer hitting the white-hot iron.
Still, the Iron Bull was obviously not about to shrink from the challenge. He whirled about, his axe grazing the enemies' sides. Cassandra recognized the man was trying to turn this into a battle of attrition the Inquisition had a fair chance of winning. It was two Qunari against five Inquisition members, after all.
The Qunari switched their tactic and began to swing their mauls brutally, forbidding the Inquisition from approaching them. Stepping back away from the spiraling steel, Cassandra shouted at Dorian, "Can you immobilize one?" If not, then getting near enough to inflict damage was going to be a tall order.
"As you command, Seeker," Dorian shouted back, releasing an enormous arcane discharge at one of the Qunari. It stunned him, which gave Tharin a chance to sweep his feet and drive the greatsword through his heart. With a death knell of burbling noise, the Qunari expired.
The last Qunari was a fearsome warrior.
"Eat shit!" Sera discharged arrows upon arrows at him, which he shrugged off. Cassandra kept bashing him with her shield and slashing, which he fended off.
It appeared as though the Qunari could continue fighting forever. However, Tharin suddenly yelled, "Step away from me!"
Cassandra recognized the Anchor cracking and added, "Everyone, step back!"
She turned and pushed Dorian and Sera away from the epicenter of the explosion to come. The air crackled with magical energy, and the next moment, there was a loud boom. Cassandra flinched. Unable to shield her ears, they rang.
When she turned back, she saw Tharin on his knees and the Qunari on his back. The masonry around the Inquisitor was singed, radiating a pattern of char that stretched far. The Iron Bull swiftly leapt at the Qunari lying supine and landed blows with his axe.
The Bull was now covered in Qunari blood and guts yet looked inexplicably unaffected. He swung his axe as though it weighed nothing, put it away, and extended a hand to Tharin as he drawled, "Ready to finish this, boss?"
The Bull's hand pulled Tharin up smoothly. The man puffed his chest and declared, "Oh, yes. I'm ready," belying his exhausted eyes, Cassandra noticed.
The retinue released the dragon and chased after the Viddasala. They managed to catch up to her at yet another eluvian as she was about to depart.
It was as though the Anchor knew exactly when to act up. It crepitated once more, and Tharin halted his steps and grasped his left wrist. He let forth a low growl, a pained beast frantically searching for a respite. Cassandra took a sharp inhale.
The Viddasala smirked. "Dear Inquisitor, you have such little time left. You must finally see the truth." Her face turned deadpan. "Elven magic already tore the sky apart. If the agents of Fen'Harel are not stopped, you will shatter the world as well."
"The Inquisition has nothing to do with Fen'Harel! There need not be another war!" shouted Tharin in a frayed voice.
The Viddasala raised her brow. "Oh, but that is where you are wrong. You would have died from the mark on your hand but for the help of one of their chief agents. The same agent who helped seal the Breach. Who led you to Skyhold. Who gave Corypheus the orb, then founded the Inquisition." She then turned and submerged into the eluvian.
Cassandra felt her heart ringing in her ears as the realization struck. She whispered, "…Solas."
Sera yelled, "Fuck! I knew he was up to something. I just knew it! Always elf this and Fade that!"
Dorian chimed in, "That surprises me not one bit. Why, with the attitude of looking down his nose at everyone, he is positively Tevene. Of course, the man's part of some grandiose plot to take over the world."
"Should've taken him down when I had the chance," the Iron Bull hissed.
Cassandra's thoughts raced, the most prominent of which was her decision to let Solas into the Inquisition after the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.
But I had no choice, no choice whatsoever.
Back then, Leliana and she had no other recourse. They hadn't the foggiest idea why the Conclave had been blown up, who executed the plan, and which people to trust. Solas offered his assistance freely, and Cassandra latched onto it out of desperation.
To be fair, she even trusted a former templar runaway and found in him a great Inquisitor. What harm could one more apostate bring?
But I shouldn't have trusted so blindly.
All this mess, the Viddasala's warmongering against the Inquisiton and the South and Fen'Harel's threat looming over the horizon, had been begotten with her careless decision to accept Solas. All this could have been avoided if she had been a little bit more wary. She was the source of this new war, not Fen'Harel. She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled. It came out in a shaky breath.
Her self-reproach did not last long as Tharin's strident voice interrupted. He declared, "If Solas really manipulated us, then we must punish him. Come on!" And the Inquisition walked through the eluvian the Viddasala went through.
The journey continued through more elven ruins. After traveling through a series of eluvians standing forlornly in many remnants of Elvhenan, the Inquisitor and his party defeated Saaraths and was confronted by yet another eluvian.
"How many more of these mirrors do we need to walk through?" lifting both her hands in apparent frustration, Sera whined. Rather taken aback by how much in agreement Sera and she were, Cassandra harrumphed and nodded.
"I don't know. We must be getting near the end, though. The foes are getting stronger," Tharin commented. "Whereas we are getting more tired."
Dorian, still looking put together and sprightly unlike other disheveled companions, twirled his staff and appended, "I suppose the only thing is to walk through another and fight whoever is on the other side. What say you, Inquisitor?"
Tharin looked at his companions and nodded. He lifted his arm and gradually pushed through.
But the moment the shimmering surface devoured Tharin's body, the eluvian shattered. The magic in it dissipated as it broke into thousands of shards. When the shock receded, Cassandra recognized Tharin would confront Solas by himself.
"Well, that was certainly unexpected," Dorian drawled, "a worrying development, indeed. We better find another way to Solas."
She gathered her hands and prayed, Maker, please watch over Tharin. Keep him safe against all evils.
Cassandra then scrutinized the surroundings and proclaimed, "Dorian's right. There has to be another way forward for us."
After emerging on the other side of the final eluvian, Tharin was stunned to find the Qunari army turned into stone. And he saw the Viddasala on the warpath, about to throw her spear at someone only to join her minions for perpetuity in taciturn stillness.
Statues of formerly living beings, forever to adorn this part of the universe.
It was Solas. He need not even wave his hand to conjure spells. Up ahead, the man's eyes simply glowed, and living beings became stone. It was then Tharin realized.
Solas was not an agent of Fen'Harel. Solas was Fen'Harel.
Despite the rising tide of anger within him and a degree of fear at Solas's evident omnipotence, Tharin composed himself long enough to ask questions. All the clues he had found had been leading up to this moment, and he had to know the truth.
And what Solas had to reveal was nothing short of incredible. He created the Veil to banish the Evanuris for murdering Mythal and threatening to destroy the world. He woke from millennia of slumber to witness a world altered, a world filled with people ripped away from the magic of the Fade. He hatched a plan to use Corypheus to bring down the Veil. He gave the elven orb to Corypheus, leading to the destruction at the Conclave. And he still planned to bring down the Veil.
In the ashes of the destroyed world shall rise a new elven world. The old one Solas inhabited a long time ago.
The man sure liked to listen to his own voice, Tharin noted with much bitterness. It was as though he had been entranced by his own explanation of everything. Every plot he had thought of, every unfortunate event he had a hand in, and every deception he had unleashed upon the Inquisition, Solas left nothing out. And Tharin could not hide the rage any longer. He let his naked disgust simmer as he spat, "I'm half-human and not attuned to the Fade… Those who are like me, are we not even people to you?"
Solas raised the corners of his lips in a sad smile. Somehow, the display of such soft emotion was even more irritating. "You are. Yet, this is what must be done."
"Like putting down a hurt animal, kicking us when we are already down."
"Yes, because this world and its people have been hurt. It is my action that wrought such damage to this world, and it is through my action it shall be reborn." Solas puffed his chest, gathered his hands behind him, and declared in a solemn tone, "The Veil shall fall."
"You are going down the path you cannot return from." Tharin rumbled, "A lot of people will die. A lot of good people who don't deserve to die."
Solas paused. He seemed to ponder for a moment before answering, "I expect so. I accept it." The infuriating melancholy smile remained firmly etched in his countenance.
Goosebumps returned as that feeling came back. The Anchor began to throb, and with exhausting familiarity, the pain began to spread. It was severe enough for Tharin's legs to give out. He fell, and his knees scraped on the ground. More pain, to distract but for a fraction of a second.
He looked up to find Solas holding his hand out. "The mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you… At least for now. Take my hand." After all that revelation of betrayals, each one enough to drive one mad with the thought of revenge, Tharin still had but one choice. He laid his hand upon Solas's. And Solas had only to gesture at the Anchor for it to leave Tharin permanently. No potion, no poultice, not even an incantation had been necessary.
Treacherous bastard.
"I'm sorry." Solas turned away and murmured, "Live well, my friend, while time remains."
Tharin wanted to chase after Solas and kill him. Plunge a dagger into an elven deity's heart. But as Solas left him, the pain from his hand, now bereft of the Anchor, became overwhelming again. Holding onto his hand still emanating green glow, Tharin bit down on his lower lip hard enough to taste iron and crouched until his forehead hit the ashlar stone.
The moldy, damp air in the undercroft of the Winter Palace swished as Cullen paced to and fro, worrying his wedding band. His agitated steps must have been irritating to the guards, he noted. Because they were irritating to himself too.
Every time Cullen thought he saw something in his peripheral, he turned to find the eluvian inactive. He had been waiting for nearly a day, yet there was no news. No messenger reaching through the portal with a report to the war council.
It was just another mistaken glimmer, another hallucinated glow until it wasn't.
All of a sudden, the eluvian shone and its dull surface broke into rainbow colors. Expectantly, Cullen approached and stood in front of it.
The first to come through was a wide-eyed Sera, frantically waving her arms. "Get away, get away!"
Cullen jerked in surprise and hopped aside. She was followed by Dorian whose body was still halfway through the portal when he screamed, "Go get Vivienne! And sleeping potions, lots of them!" The guard next to Cullen jumped from his chair and ran out.
Finally, Tharin came through, supported by Cassandra and the Iron Bull on each side. Cullen's heart sank when he saw the man's head slumped.
The warriors charily laid Tharin on his back. It was only then Cullen noticed the man's left hand. There was a deep cavity where the Anchor used to thrum, and from there oozed threads of lambent patina like an unstoppable flow of pus.
The arcane blazed in cracks and fissures all the way up to the elbow, illuminating the whole of the undercroft verdigris.
Cullen's heart sped, thumping so weightily as to let its presence known. He collapsed to his knees next to Tharin. He rasped, "What happened?"
Tharin turned his head and replied in a voice barely audible, "Solas… He betrayed us…"
Cassandra interrupted, "He has been the force behind Corypheus all along. And he plans to tear down the Veil!"
"Maker…" Cullen could not add another word. Solas, the friendly apostate. Solas, the elven expert of the Inquisition. He had been poisoning the well.
Maybe apostates shouldn't be trusted, the Commander's raw fear whispered. Maybe Solas used blood magic, tricking you into trusting him.
But the next moment, Tharin's low, distressed groan demanded Cullen's attention. The corners of Cullen's lips kept turning down as though tears would fall, but he forced a grin instead. The corners of his lips barely obliged to his command. He grasped Tharin's right hand and susurrated, "You came back to me, like you promised."
Yet, Tharin untwined their hands. As he reached into his tunic pocket, he whispered, "Here, I want to return this to you." When he opened his right hand, Cullen's silver coin rested on its palm. It was strange how common and unimportant it looked now. "It's given me enough good luck to last this long, but I won't require it where I am headed. It should be yours again."
Despite his effort, Cullen's vision began to blur. He closed Tharin's right hand, refusing the coin, and held the entwined hands against his forehead. Unbidden catches interrupted him as he susurrated, "I will take it back when you come through. You will be fine."
Tharin murmured, "I'm sorry, Cul."
Before Cullen had the chance to reply, Tharin continued in a slurred tone, "Why… is your face glowing? Are you the Maker?"
Through Cullen's blurred view came Tharin's confused countenance. Perplexed as well, Cullen replied, "Tharin, it's me. What do you mean, my face is glowing?"
"Am I nodding or… shaking my head?" Tharin said weakly.
"No. You are perfectly still."
"Then why do I feel like I'm falling and…" Tharin did not get to finish the sentence as his eyes rolled back in his head.
Panicked, Cullen roughly shook Tharin's right arm. The limb was limp, moving like that of a marionette doll. He whispered to himself, "Maker, no…"
Cassandra spoke, but there was a tiny vibrato on her voice. Her apprehension was showing. "He's all right. We will fix him right up."
I am losing him. Cullen gripped the man's hand tighter, as though that would anchor the life draining out of Tharin. Unhelpful it may be, holding on was the only thing he knew how to do now.
It was strange. No one spoke aloud after Tharin lost consciousness, and yet the tension in the air was like a droning noise that would not stop. The silence that was anything but silence broke only when Dorian's metallic yell clanged, "What took you so long, man!"
The guard stammered, "I-I apologize. I could not locate Madame de Fer fast…"
While Cullen crouched, Vivienne stood tall on the other side of Tharin. The woman was dressed in cerulean Royan silk yet knelt on the dirt floor without a moment of hesitation. She glanced at Cullen and spoke in a soothing tone, "Don't you worry, my dear. I shall see to everything." Cullen still did not let go of Tharin.
But Tharin began to convulse. His eyes were still rolled to the back, and his mouth foamed. It was as though his body were possessed, jerking about and writhing. The green overflow from the hand intensified, the sticky, sickly fluid spreading on the floor bit by bit and soaking Tharin's tunic. The left hand itself seemed to swell even more, if that was possible.
Cullen had seen many deaths and knew what the final moments looked like for those felled in battle. Tharin was the same. He was no exception. Cullen had been a damn fool to think they could just retire and lead a peaceful domestic existence.
He felt the future he envisioned shrivel up and expire in his mind. The bright future in which they were just Tharin and Cullen and nothing more. Now, Tharin would forever be remembered as the Inquisitor, the martyr. A new Andraste for the Dragon Age. Neither man deserved this.
I don't deserve this.
"Please, do something!" Cullen yelled at everyone and no one in particular.
Dorian snatched a bottle of sleeping potion from the guard and got on one knee by Tharin. He forced open Tharin's mouth and began to pour the liquid in bouts until the bottle was empty.
You should have said goodbye when you had the chance. So many thoughts buzzed around in his mind, yet this was the one that stood out the most, and Cullen hated it.
Grimly, Vivienne whispered, "Let us begin," her hands motioning to gather mana for extensive healing magic.
But the Maker, an entity known for his senseless cruelty, did not bestow a miracle. All their efforts, tremendous as they may have been, amounted to naught.
The Inquisitor died that day.
Cullen gritted his teeth as he was forced to listen to Duke Cyril Montfort, Orlais's ambassador to the Exalted Council.
"While I do sympathize and mourn the great loss of, truly, this world, Orlais shall not sit and watch as those with malicious intents deprive her of the lands and resources rightfully hers." He sighed and began to pace the length of the dais. "The Inquisitor was a great man. A remarkable man whose pure intentions were always beyond reproach. But now, I fear… No, I am certain a person of fewer scruples will take over. And I shall not allow Orlais to suffer from the whims of such an individual."
Montfort gestured a flourish toward Divine Victoria and concluded in a smarmy voice, "Orlais demands the dissolution of the Inquisition."
Ferelden had always been forthright in its message that the Inquisition had to go. Orlais, not so much. Now that the Inquisitor was dead, however, it was a perfect opportunity for both nations to pounce.
The control over large swaths of territories would be reverted back to the Empress, which would shore up her power. He understood. Cullen understood why this was happening.
And he had been for the dissolution, had he not? For him to relinquish the responsibilities of the Commandership?
Yet, now that the Inquisitor was gone, the attacks and grievances laid against the Inquisition felt personal. Everything they, the Inquisitor and the advisors and the companions, had achieved together seemed to be falling away like rotten meat off the bone. He balled his hands into fists until his fingernails dug into the palms. He breathed harshly.
A hand landed on Cullen's right fist. He need not look to know it was Josephine's. The two of them were alone facing a dais of hostile ambassadors.
Cullen turned his gaze to Divine Victoria. With half her face obscured by her gathered hands, Leliana looked impassive. After Josephine reconvened the Exalted Council and announced the Inquisitor's death, Leliana took him aside and informed that she had no plans to stop the Inquisition from disbanding.
Cullen understood. Divine Victoria was a radical reformer. She needed to maintain friendship in high places if she were to succeed in her efforts to modernize the Chantry.
After a brief moment of contemplation with her eyes shut, Divine Victoria began, "The two nations of Thedas agree. I declare the mission of the Inquisition complete and revoke Justinia's writ. As of this moment, the Inquisition is no more." Her eyes turned directly to Cullen, which he answered with a glare.
Unfazed, Leliana continued, "Those who wish to remain, whether a soldier or a mage, shall be integrated in the Chantry as the Divine's peacekeeping force. They would carry on the legacy of the Inquisitor, the man who gave his life saving Thedas."
Murmurs and whispers broke out among the audience that had gathered in the back. But no one dared to raise their voice to defend the Inquisition.
When Montfort started to speak again, Cullen thought he would break his teeth from gritting them so hard. The man was unctuous.
"Your Perfection, Orlais is ready to assist the former members of the Inquisition in the Inquisitor's last rite. The imperial household has a protocol for every eventuality, and we have prepared one for this as well."
Cullen did not have time to parse Montfort's invocation of "every eventuality" – insinuating they had plotted to kill the Inquisitor – as his heart began to race. He was anxious. Knowing Orlesian penchant for extravagance and theatrics, he could not imagine they would respect Cullen's wishes to keep the funeral private and small. No, they would spring for the expensive and gaudy accoutrements and make the funeral as public as possible, cheapening the memory of the Inquisitor. Cullen had to speak out.
"I genuinely appreciate the imperial house's offer, but as the Inquisitor's husband, I must insist on–"
"We are all guests of the Empress here in Halamshiral. The Commander is grateful for the offer as am I," Leliana's clear voice rang, and Cullen turned in surprise. She added, "This is Her Radiance's wish, I assume?"
Montfort bowed deeply. "It is, indeed. Orlais expresses her gratitude for your understanding."
Cullen took a deep breath and sat back, hoping to avoid further eye contact with Leliana.
Yes, he understood. He understood it all.
Utterly garish.
The Inquisitor's funeral was held in the palace courtyard. The Orlesians placed the casket made from cedars in its center and covered the open expanse with hundreds of white lily stalks wrapped in golden bows. How they managed to locate and harvest so many lilies this early in spring was beyond anyone's conjecture. Cassandra watched as the Divine presided over the rituals and Cullen sat in front as the widower.
Earlier, Cassandra questioned Leliana why she pushed for the Orlesians to have the total control over the funeral. And Leliana being Leliana, she answered in something of a riddle, "Because we needed to distract," and shrugged.
As was the Free Marcher tradition, however, a large gathering of the public sent the Inquisitor off in a cremation. A pyre had been prepared in the center square of Halamshiral, chevaliers hauled the casket there with much care, and Cullen lit the fire. A crowd of curious onlookers and despondent pilgrims watched as the conflagration consumed the Inquisitor. A fitting end to the Herald of Andraste, one could say.
On the dais overlooking the burning pyre, Cassandra observed Cullen shamble back through the throng, concerned about how gaunt and haggard the man looked.
Suddenly, she felt a hand on her back. She turned to find Leliana still in her Divine garb. The bard spoke in a hushed tone, "My agents have found nothing. With the eluvians, he could be anywhere."
Cassandra was exasperated. How could there be no trace of a figure as grand as an elven god? But then, Solas hid his real identity with much aplomb to everyone until now, even to the Viddasala. He was indeed a trickster. She murmured, "With the Inquisition officially disbanded, we have no army, no formal alliances…"
But a thin grin crossed Leliana's visage. "We have what we truly need."
"We will need to be careful."
Leliana tilted her head in brief contemplation. She eventually added, "Solas knows everything about us. Who we are, how we work, our strengths and weaknesses…"
"Then we find people he doesn't know," a resonant, robust voice rang. Cassandra and Leliana turned toward the voice and found Cullen standing with his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. He looked determined. "We begin anew."
Cullen was but one man, however. After Skyhold had been emptied out, he was no longer the Commander of the Inquisition's forces. And with many of his former friends turning their backs on now an ordinary civilian without a title, Cullen disappeared quietly and without ceremony. No one heard from him ever again.
Soon, a rumor floated amongst the soldiers who remained in the Chantry that the former Commander succumbed to the ever-seductive call of lyrium and fell back to the templar way, and that Scout Harding found him half-mad, begging for change in the streets of Val Chevin. It made sense. Not only that, but the story was also too detailed to be waved aside as a mere groundless gossip.
The tragic loss of the Inquisitor must have had a profound effect on the man's psyche, and not for good. Losing the love of his life, Cullen must have wanted to go mad. Those who knew the former Commander, who had been trained by him all shook their heads ruefully and hoped it wasn't true. But nobody dared to go find out the truth.
Besides, people had to confront an elven god bent on total destruction of Thedas as it was known. They had no time to spare for the man who gave up.
And so, the world moved on.
Oh, I couldn't possibly tell you all how I feel about Solas. I just couldn't.
The next chapter is coming on Sunday, December 11. Thank you for reading!